And not a finger all the while he stirred,
Nor, lest his tongue should tire, scarce uttered word.
The name of that same cook was Master Pierre;
He told a tale well—something short and light.
Quoth scribe, “Those people who keep dancing there
Have little wit.” Quoth Pierre, “You’re very right.”
And then he told a tale, or hummed an air;
Then took a sip of something, or a bite;
And then he turned himself to sleep; and then
Awoke and ate. And then he slept again.