And she sprang as a colt doth in the trave: 990 And with her head she writhed fast away, And said; “I will not kiss thee, by my fay. 991 Why let be,” quoth she, “let be, Nicholas, Or I will cry out harow and alas! 992 Do away your handës, for your courtesy.” This Nicholas gan mercy for to cry, And spake so fair, and proffer’d him so fast, That she her love him granted at the last, And swore her oath by Saint Thomas of Kent, That she would be at his commandement, When that she may her leisure well espy. “My husband is so full of jealousy, That but 993 ye waitë well, and be privy, I wot right well I am but dead,” quoth she. “Ye mustë be full derne 994 as in this case.” “Nay, thereof care thee nought,” quoth Nicholas: