The Prologue

was false, but that I took witness On Jenkin, and upon my niece also. O Lord! the pain I did them, and the woe, Full guiltëless, by Goddë’s sweetë pine; For as a horse I couldë bite and whine; I couldë plain, an’ I was in the guilt, Or ellës oftentime I had been spilt. Whoso first cometh to the mill, first grint; I plained first, so was our war y-stint. They were full glad to excuse them full blive Of things that they never aguilt their live. Of wenches would I bearë them on hand, When that for sickness scarcely might they stand, Yet tickled I his heartë for that he Ween’d that I had of him so great cherté: I swore that all my walking out by night Was for to éspy wenches that he dight: Under that colour had I many a mirth. For all such wit is given us at birth; Deceit, weeping, and spinning, God doth give To women kindly, while that they may live. And thus of one thing I may vauntë me, At th’ end I had the better in each degree, By sleight, or force, or by some manner thing, As by continual murmur or grudging, Namely a-bed, there haddë they mischance, There would I chide, and do them no pleasance: I would no longer in the bed abide, If that I felt his arm over my side, Till he had made his ransom unto me, Then would I suffer him do his nicetý. And therefore every man this tale I tell, Win whoso may, for all is for to sell; With empty hand men may no hawkës lure; For winning would I all his will endure, And makë me a feigned appetite⁠— And yet in bacon had I never delight: That made me that I ever would them chide. For, though the Pope had sitten them beside, I would not spare them at their owen board, For, by my troth, I quit them word for word. As help me very God omnipotent, Though I right now should make my testament, I owe them not a word, that is not quit, I brought it so aboutë by my wit, That they must give it up, as for the best, Or ellës had we never been in rest. For, though he looked as a wood lión, Yet should he fail of his conclusión. Then would I say, “Now, goodë lefe, take keep How meekly looketh Wilken ourë sheep! Come near, my spouse, and let me ba thy cheek. Ye shouldë be all patient and meek, And have a sweet y-spiced conscience, Since ye so preach of Jobë’s patience. Suffer alway, since ye so well can preach, And but ye do, certáin