atte last, with mochil care and wo,
We fyl accordid by ourselven tuo;
He yaf me al the bridil in myn hand
To have the governaunce of hous and land,
And of his tonge, and of his hond also,
And made him brenne his book anoon right tho.
And whan I hadde geten unto me
By maistry al the sovereynete,
And that he sayde, ‘Myn owne trewe wyf,
Do as the list in term of al thy lyf,
Kepe thyn honour, and kep eek my myn estat;’
And after that day we never hadde debat.
God help me so, I was to him as kynde
As eny wyf fro Denmark unto Inde,
And al-so trewe was he unto me.
I pray to God that sitte in magesté
So blesse his soule, for his mercy deere.
Now wol I say my tale, if ye wol heere.”

The Frere lough when he had herd al this:
“Now, dame,” quod he, “so have I joye and blis,
This a long preambel of a tale.”
And whan the Sompnour herd the Frere gale,
“Lo!” quod this Sompnour, “for Goddes armes tuo,
A frer wol entremet him evermo.
Lo, goode men, a flie and eek a frere
Woln falle in every dissche and matiere.
What spekst thou of perambulacioun?
What? ambil, or trot; or pees, or go sit doun;
Thou lettest oure disport in this matere.”
“Ye, woltow so, sir sompnour!” quod the Frere:
“Now, by my fay, I schal, er that I go,
Telle of a sompnour such a tale or tuo,
That alle the folk schuln laughen in this place.”
“Now, ellis, frere, I byschrew thy face,”
Quod this Sompnour, “and I byschrewe me,
But-if I telle tales tuo or thre
Of freres, er I come to Sydingborne,
That I schal make thin herte for to morne,
For wel I wot thy paciens is goon.”
Oure Hoste cride, “Pees, and that anoon;”
And sayde, “Let the womman telle hir tale.
Ye fare as folkes that dronken ben of ale.
Do, dame, tel forth your tale, and that is best.”
“Al redy, sir,” quod sche, “right as you lest,
If I have the licence of this worthy frere.”
“Yis, dame,” quod he, “tel forth, and I schal heere.”

In olde dayes of the kyng Arthoúr,
Of which that Britouns speken gret honoúr,
This lond was al fulfilled of fäerie;
The elf-queen, with hir joly companye,
Dauncède ful oft in many a grene mede.
This was the old opynyoun, as I rede;
I speke of many hundrid yer ago;
But now can no man see noon elves mo.
For now the grete charitee and prayeres
Of prechours and of other holy freres,
That sechen every lond and every streem,
As thik as motes in the sonne-beam,
And bless the halles, chambres, kitchenes, boures,
Citees and burghes, castels hihe and toures,
The thorpes, barnes, stables, dayeries,
That makith that ther be no fayeries.
For where was wont to walken many an elf,
Ther walkith non but the prechour by himself,
In evening tymes and in morwenynges,
And saith his matyns and his holy thinges
As he goth prechyng through villáge and toun.
Women may now go safely up and doun,
In every bush, or under every tre,
Ther is no other incubus but he,
And he wil do women no dishonoúr.

And so bifel it, that this king Arthoúr
Had in his hous a lusty bacheler.
That on a day com rydyng fro rivér;
And happèd, al alone as she was born,
He saw a mayde walkyng him byforn,
Of which mayden anon, with foule dede,
By verray fors bireft hir maydenhed.
For which oppressioun was such clamoúr,
And such pursuyte made to kyng Arthoúr,
That damnèd was the knight and shuld be ded
By cours of lawe, and shuld have lost his hed,
(Paráventure such was the statut tho,)
But that the queen and other ladys mo
So longe preyeden thay the kynges grace,
Til he his lif hath graunted in the place,
And gaf him to the queen, al at hir wille
To choose wethir she wolde him save or spille.
The queen thankèd the kyng with al hir might;
And after thus she spak unto the knight,
Whan that she saw hir tyme upon a day:
“Thou stondest yet,” quoth she, “in such array,
That of thy lyf hast thou no suretee;
I graunte thy lif, if thou canst telle me,
What thing is it that women most desiren;
Be ware, and keep thy nek-bone fro the iron.
And if thou canst not tellen it anon,
Yet wil I yive thee leve for to goon
A twelfmonth and a day, for to enquere
An answer suffisaunt in this matére.
And suretee wil I have, ere that thou pace,
Thy body for to yielden in this place.”
Wo was this knight, and sorwfully he sighèd;
But what? he may not do al as him likèd,
And atte last he chose him for to wende,
And com agein right at the yeres ende
With swich answer as God him wolde purveye;
And takith his leve, and wendith forth his weye.
He sekith every hous and every place
Wher-so he hopith for to fynde grace,
To lerne what thing wommen loven most;
But he ne coude arryven in no coast,
Wher as he mighte fynde in this matére
Two créatúres áccordyng togider.
Some sayden, women loven best richésse,
Some sayde honoúr, and some sayde jolynesse.
Some sayden that oure herte is then most easèd
When that we be y-flaterid and y-pleasèd,
He goth ful nigh the soth, I wil not lye;
A man shal wynne us best with flaterye;
And with attendaunce, and with busynesse
We are y-limèd bothe more and lesse.
Some sayden eke, that we loven best
For to be free, and to do as we lest,
And that no man reprove us of oure vice,
But say that in al thinges we be wyse.
For trewely ther is noon of us alle,
If eny wight wolde stroke us on the galle,
We wil