In London was a priest, an annualére, 4764 That therein dwelled haddë many a year, Which was so pleasant and so serviceáble Unto the wife, where as he was at table, That she would suffer him no thing to pay For board nor clothing, went he ne’er so gay; And spending silver had he right enow; Thereof no force; 4765 will proceed as now, And tellë forth my tale of the canón, That brought this priestë to confusión. This falsë canon came upon a day Unto the priestë’s chamber, where he lay, Beseeching him to lend him a certáin Of gold, and he would quit it him again. “Lend me a mark,” quoth he, “but dayës three, And at my day I will it quitë thee. And if it so be that thou find me false, Another day hang me up by the halse.” 4766 This priest him took a mark, and that as swithe, 4767