Now wouldë some men say paráventure, 2078 That for my negligence I do no cure 2079 To tell you all the joy and all th’ array That at the feast was made that ilkë 2080 day. To which thing shortly answeren I shall: I say there was no joy nor feast at all, There was but heaviness and muchë sorrow: For privily he wed her on the morrow; And all day after hid him as an owl, So woe was him, his wifë look’d so foul. Great was the woe the knight had in his thought When he was with his wife to bed y-brought; He wallow’d, and he turned to and fro. This oldë wife lay smiling evermo’, And said, “Dear husband, benedicite , Fares every knight thus with his wife as ye? Is this the law of king Arthoúrë’s house? Is every knight of his thus dangerous?