“Weeping and wailing, care and other sorrow, I have enough, on even and on morrow,” Quoth the Merchánt, “and so have other mo’, That wedded be; I trow that it be so; For well I wot it fareth so by me. I have a wife, the worstë that may be, For though the fiend to her y-coupled were, She would him overmatch, I dare well swear: Why should I you rehearse in speciál Her high malíce? she is a shrew at all. There is a long and largë difference Betwixt Griselda’s greatë patience, And of my wife the passing cruelty. Were I unbounden, all so may I thé, I wouldë never eft come in the snare. We wedded men live in sorrow and care; Assay it whoso will, and he shall find That I say sooth, by Saint Thomas of Ind, As for the morë part; I say not all— God shieldë that it shouldë so befall. Ah! good Sir Host, I have y-wedded be These moneths two, and morë not, pardie; And yet I trow that he that all his life Wifeless hath been, though that men would him rive Into the heartë, could in no mannére Tellë so much sorrów, as I you here Could tellen of my wifë’s cursedness.”
“Now,” quoth our Host, “Merchánt, so God you bless, Since ye so muchë knowen of that art, Full heartily I pray you tell us part.” “Gladly,” quoth he; “but of mine owen sore, For sorry heart, I tellë may no more.”