“No force,” 2394 quoth he; “but tell me all your grief.” “Sir,” quoth this friar, “an odious mischíef This day betid 2395 is to mine order and me, And so par consequence to each degree Of holy churchë, God amend it soon.” “Sir,” quoth the lord, “ye know what is to doon: 2396 Distemp’r you not, 2397 ye be my confessoúr. Ye be the salt of th’ earth, and the savoúr; For Goddë’s love your patiénce now hold; Tell me your grief.” And he anon him told As ye have heard before, ye know well what. The lady of the house aye stillë sat, Till she had heardë what the friar said. “Hey, Goddë’s mother;” quoth she, “blissful maid, Is there ought ellës? tell me faithfully.”