him like and take his word as soth;
Assay, and he shal fynd it, who so doth.
For be we never so vicious withinne,
We shuln be holden wys and clene of synne.
And somme sayn, that gret delit have we
For to be holden stabil and secree,
And in one purpos stedfastly to duelle,
And nought betraye thing that men us telle.
But that tale, pardee, is not worth a pyn.
We wymmen can right no thing hold withinne,
Witnes on Mydas; wil ye here the tale?
Ovyd, among his other thinges smale,
Sayde Mydas had under his longe heres
Growyng upon his hed tuo asses eeres;
The whiche vice he hid, as he best might,
Ful subtilly fro every mannes sight,
That, save his wyf, ther wist of that nomo;
He loved hir most, and trusted hir also;
He prayèd hir, that to no créatúre
She shulde tellen of his dísfigúre.
She swor him, nay, for al this world to wynne,
She wold not do that vilonye or synne
To make hir housbond have so foul a name;
She wolde not tel it for hir owne shame.
But natheles she thoughte to have dyed,
If she so longe sholde a counseil hyde;
Hir thought it swelled so sore about hir hert,
That needely som word must from her stert;
And sins she dorst not tel it unto man,
Doun to a poole faste by she ran,
Til she cam ther, hir herte was on fyre;
And as a bittern boometh in the myre,
She layde hir mouth unto the water doun.
“Betray me not, thou watir, with thy soun,”
Quoth she, “to thee I telle it, and nomo,
Myn housbond hath long asses eeris tuo.
Now is myn hert al hole, now is it oute,
I mighte no lenger kepe it out of doute.”
Here may ye see, though we a tyme abyde,
Yet out it must, we can no counseil hyde.
The remenaunt of the tale, if ye wil here,
Rede in Ovid, and ther ye may it leere.

This knight, of which my tale is specially,
When that he saw he mighte nought come therby,
This is to say, what women loven most,
Withinne his brest ful sorwful was the ghost.
But home he goth, he might not long sojourne,
The day was come, that hom-ward most he torne.
And in his way, it hapnyd him to ride
In al his care, under a forest side,
Wher as he saw upon a daunce go
Of ladys four and twenty, and yit mo.
Toward this ilke daunce his feet he set,
In hope that he som wisdom shuld i-get;
But certeynly, ere he com fully there,
Y-vanysshid was this daunce, he knew not where;
No créatúre saw he that bar lif,
But on the greene he saw sittyng a wyf,
A fouler wight ther may no man devyse.
To meet the knight this olde wyf gan ryse,
And sayde, “Sir Knight, heer forth there lieth no way;
Tel me then what ye seekyn, by your fay
Paráventure it may the better be:
Thise olde folk have moche power,” quoth she,
“My lieve modir,” quoth this knight, “certayn
I am but ded but-if that I can sayn
What thing is it that women most desire;
Coude ye me tell, I wolde wel quyt your hyre.”
“Plight me thy troth here in myn hond,” quoth she,
“The nexte thing that I require thee,
Thou shalt it doo, if it be in thy might,
And I wol telle it thee, ere it be night,”
“Have here my trothe,” quoth the knight, “I graunte.”
“Thenne,” quoth she, “I dar me wel avaunte,
Thy lif is sauf, for I wol stonde therby
Upon my lif the queen wil say as I;
Let see, which is the proudest of them alle,
That werith keverchief or cappe or caul,
That dar saye nay to that I shal thee teche.
Let us go forth withouten more speche.”
Tho whispered she a word into his eere,
And bad him to be glad, and have no fere.
When they be comen to the court, this knight
Sayd he had holde his day, as he hadde plight,
Al redy was his answer, as he sayde.
Ful many a noble wyf, and many a mayde,
And many a wydow, for that they be wyse,
The queen hirself sittyng as a justise,
Assemblid be, his answer for to here;
And after-ward this knight was bidden appere,
To every wight comaundid was silence,
And that the knight shuld telle in audience
What thing that worldly women loven best.

This knight he stood not stille, as doth a best,
But to the questioún anon answérde,
With manly voys, that al the court it herde;
“My liege lady, generally,” quoth he,
“Women desiren to have soverayntee
As wel over their housbond as over their love,
And for to be in maystry him above.
This is the most desir, though ye me kille;
Do as you list, I am heer at your wille.”
In al the court ther was not myf, or mayde,
Or wydow, that contráried that he sayde;
But sayden, he was worthy have his lif.
And with that word upstart that olde wif,
Which that the knight saw sittyng on the grene.
“Mercy,” quoth she, “my soveraign lady queene,
Ere that your court departe, do me right.
I taughte this same answer to the knight;
For which he plighte me his trothe there,
The firste thing that I wold him requere,
He wold it do, if it lay in his might.
Before this court then pray I thee, sir knight,”
Quoth she, “that thou me take unto thy wif,
For wel thou knowest, that I have kept thy lif;
If I say fals, sey nay, upon thy fey.”
This knight answerd, “Allas and weylawey!
I wot right wel that such was my byhest.
For Goddes love, choose then a new request;
Tak al my good, and let my body go.”
“Nay,” quoth she then, “beshrew us bothe tuo.
For though that I be olde, foule and poure,
I wold not for the metal or the ore
That under erthe is grave, or lith above,
But I thy wife were and eek thy love.”
“My love?” quoth he, “nay, my damnacioún.
Allas! that eny of my nacioun
Shuld ever foully disparágid be!”
But al