“My dearë love,” quoth she, “O my Dan John, Full lief were me this counsel for to hide, But out it must, I may no more abide. My husband is to me the worstë man That ever was since that the world began; But since I am a wife, it sits not me To tellë no wight of our privity, Neither in bed, nor in none other place: God shield I shouldë tell it for his grace; A wifë shall not say of her husbánd But all honoúr, as I can understand; Save unto you thus much I tellë shall; As help me God, he is nought worth at all, In no degree, the value of a fly. But yet me grieveth most his niggardý. And well ye wot, that women naturally Desire thingës six, as well as I. They wouldë that their husbands shouldë be Hardy, and wise, and rich, and thereto free, And buxom to his wife, and fresh in bed. But, by that ilkë Lord that for us bled, For his honoúr myself for to array, On Sunday next I mustë needës pay A hundred francs, or ellës am I lorn. Yet were me lever that I were unborn, Than me were done slander or villainý. And if mine husband eke might it espy, I were but lost; and therefore I you pray, Lend me this sum, or ellës must I dey. Dan John, I say, lend me these hundred francs; Pardie, I will not failë you, my thanks, If that you list to do that I you pray; For at a certain day I will you pay, And do to you what pleasance and servíce That I may do, right as you list devise. And but I do, God take on me vengeánce, As foul as e’er had Ganilion of France.”
This gentle monk answér’d in this mannére; “Now truëly, mine owen lady dear, I have,” quoth he, “on you so greatë ruth, That I you swear, and plightë you my truth, That when your husband is to Flanders fare, I will deliver you out of this care, For I will bringë you a hundred francs.” And with that word he caught her by the flanks, And her embraced hard, and kissed her oft. “Go now your way,” quoth he, “all still and soft, And let us dine as soon as that ye may, For by my calinder ’tis prime of day; Go now, and be as true as I shall be.” “Now ellës God forbiddë, Sir,” quoth she; And forth she went, as jolly as a pie, And bade the cookës that they should them hie, So that men mightë dine, and that anon. Up to her husband is this wifë gone, And knocked at his contour boldëly. “ Qui est