“Twelvepence!” quoth she; “now lady Saintë Mary So wisly 2239 help me out of care and sin, This widë world though that I should it win, Ne have I not twelvepence within my hold. Ye know full well that I am poor and old; Kithë your almës 2240 upon me poor wretch.” “Nay then,” quoth he, “the foulë fiend me fetch, If I excuse thee, though thou should’st be spilt.” 2241 “Alas!” quoth she, “God wot, I have no guilt.” “Pay me,” quoth he, “or, by the sweet Saint Anne, As I will bear away thy newë pan For debtë, which thou owest me of old⁠— When that thou madest thine husbánd cuckóld⁠— I paid at home for thy correctión.” “Thou liest,” quoth she, “by my salvatión; Never was I ere now, widow or wife, Summon’d unto your court in all my life; Nor never I was but of my body true. Unto the devil rough and black of hue