| | Than crew he that it mighte not be amendid | |
| | His comb was redder than the fyn coral | |
| 40 | And batellid as it had be a castel wal | |
| | His bil was blak as ony geet it shoon | |
| | Lik asure were his leggis and his toon | |
| | His naylis whitter than the lily flour | |
| | And lik the burned gold was his colour | |
| 45 | This gentil cok hadde in his gouernaunce | |
| | Seuen hennys to do with his plesaunce | |
| | Whiche were his sistris and his paramouris | |
| | And wonder lik to hym as of colouris | |
| | Of whiche the fairist hewid in the throte | |
| 50 | Was clepid faire damysel Pertelote | |
| | Curteys she was discreet and debonaire | |
| | And compenabil and baar hir self so faire | |
| | Syn that tyme that she was seue nyght olde | |
| | That trewlich she hath the herte in hold | |
| 55 | Of chauntecleris lokyng in euery lith | |
| | He loueth her so that wel was hym therwith | |
| | Whan the bright sonne gan to sprynge | |
| | Hit was a melodye to here hem synge | |
| | In swete accorde my leef is fare in londe | |
| 60 | For that tyme as I haue vnderstonde | |
| | Bestis and briddis coude speke and synge | |
| | And so it fil that in the dawenynge | |
| | Chauntecleer among his wyuys alle | |
| | Sat on his perche that was in the halle | |
| 65 | And next hym sat his faire Pertelote | |
| | This chauntecleer gan to grone in his throte | |
