Nor no man that intendeth unto heaven. With wildë thunder dint and fiery leven Motë thy wicked neckë be to-broke. Thou say’st, that dropping houses, and eke smoke, And chiding wivës, makë men to flee Out of their owne house; ah! ben’dicite , What aileth such an old man for to chide? Thou say’st, we wivës will our vices hide, Till we be fast, and then we will them shew. Well may that be a proverb of a shrew. Thou say’st, that oxen, asses, horses, hounds, They be assayed at diversë stounds, Basons and lavers, ere that men them buy, Spoonës, stoolës, and all such husbandry, And so be pots, and clothës, and array, But folk of wivës makë none assay, Till they be wedded—oldë dotard shrew!— And then, say’st thou, we will our vices shew. Thou say’st also, that it displeaseth me, But if that thou wilt praisë my beauty, And but thou pore alway upon my face, And call me fairë dame in every place; And but thou make a feast on thilkë day That I was born, and make me fresh and gay; And but thou do to my norice honoúr, And to my chamberere within my bow’r, And to my father’s folk, and mine allies; Thus sayest thou, old barrel full of lies. And yet also of our prentice Jenkin, For his crisp hair, shining as gold so fine, And for he squireth me both up and down, Yet hast thou caught a false suspicioún: I will him not, though thou wert dead to-morrow. But tell me this, why hidest thou, with sorrow, The keyës of thy chest away from me? It is my good as well as thine, pardie. What, think’st to make an idiot of our dame? Now, by that lord that callëd is Saint Jame, Thou shalt not both, although that thou wert wood, Be master of my body, and my good, The one thou shalt forego, maugré thine eyen. What helpeth it of me t’ inquire and spyen? I trow thou wouldest lock me in thy chest. Thou shouldest say, ‘Fair wife, go where thee lest; Take your disport; I will believe no tales; I know you for a true wife, Dame Ales.’
“We love no man, that taketh keep or charge Where that we go; we will be at our large. Of allë men most blessed may he be, The wise astrologer Dan Ptolemy, That saith this proverb in his Almagest: ‘Of allë men his wisdom is highést, That recketh not who hath the world in hand.’ By