He was a gentle harlot 225 and a kind; A better fellów should a man not find. He wouldë suffer, for a quart of wine, A good fellow to have his concubine A twelvemonth, and excuse him at the full. Full privily a finch eke could he pull. 226 And if he found owhere 227 a good felláw, He wouldë teachë him to have none awe In such a case of the archdeacon’s curse; But if 228 a mannë’s soul were in his purse; For in his purse he should y-punished be. “Purse is the archëdeacon’s hell,” said he. But well I wot, he lied right indeed: Of cursing ought each guilty man to dread, For curse will slay right as assoiling 229 saveth;