And chitereth out in her langage

What falshede is in mariage,

And telleth in a maner speche

Of Tereus the spouse breche.”

“And of her suster Progne I finde How she was torned out of kinde Into a swalwe swift of wing, Which eke in winter lith swouning There as she may no thing be sene, And whan the world is woxe grene And comen is the somer tide, Then fleeth she forth and ginneth to chide And chitereth out in her langage What falshede is in mariage, And telleth in a maner speche Of Tereus the spouse breche.”