And been a feastly 3098 man, as fresh as May, That shouldë you devisë such array. Who couldë tellë you the form of dances So úncouth, 3099 and so freshë countenances, 3100 Such subtle lookings and dissimulances, For dread of jealous men’s appérceivíngs? No man but Launcelot, 3101 and he is dead. Therefore I pass o’er all this lustihead; 3102 I say no more, but in this jolliness I leave them, till to supper men them dress. The steward bids the spices for to hie 3103 And eke the wine, in all this melodý; The ushers and the squiërs be y-gone, The spices and the wine is come anon; They eat and drink, and when this hath an end,