My soul betake I unto Sathanas, But me were lever 1151 than all this town,” quoth he, “Of this despite awroken 1152 for to be. Alas! alas! that I have been y-blent.” 1153 His hotë love is cold, and all y-quent. 1154 For from that time that he had kiss’d her erse, Of paramours he settë not a kers, 1155 For he was healed of his malady; Full often paramours he gan defy, And weep as doth a child that hath been beat. A softë pace he went over the street Unto a smith, men callen Dan 1156 Gerveis, That in his forgë smithed plough-harnéss; He sharped share and culter busily. This Absolon knocked all easily,