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Abak he sterte, and thoghte it was amis, For wel he wiste a womman hath no berd; He felte a thing al rough and long y-herd, And seyde, ‘fy! allas! what have I do?’ Abak he sterte, and thoghte it was amis, For wel he wiste a womman hath no berd; He felte a thing al rough and long y-herd, And seyde, ‘fy! allas! what have I do?’
‘Tehee!’ quod she, and clapte the window to; And Absolon goth forth a sory pas. ‘Tehee!’ quod she, and clapte the window to; And Absolon goth forth a sory pas.
‘A berd, a berd!’ quod hende Nicholas, ‘By Goddes corpus, this goth faire and weel!’ ‘A berd, a berd!’ quod hende Nicholas, ‘By Goddes corpus, this goth faire and weel!’
This sely Absolon herde every deel, And on his lippe he gan for anger byte; And to him-self he seyde, ‘I shal thee quyte!’ This sely Absolon herde every deel, And on his lippe he gan for anger byte; And to him-self he seyde, ‘I shal thee quyte!’
Who rubbeth now, who froteth now his lippes With dust, with sond, with straw, with clooth, with chippes, But Absolon, that seith ful ofte, ‘allas! My soule bitake I unto Sathanas, But me wer lever than al this toun,’ quod he, ‘Of this despyt awroken for to be! Allas!’ quod he, ‘allas! I ne hadde y-bleynt!’ His hote love was cold and al y-queynt; For fro that tyme that he had kiste hir ers, Of paramours he sette nat a kers, For he was heled of his maladye; Ful ofte paramours he gan deffye, And weep as dooth a child that is y-bete. A softe paas he wente over the strete Un-til a smith men cleped daun Gerveys, That in his forge smithed plough-harneys; He sharpeth shaar and culter bisily. This Absolon knokketh al esily, And seyde, ‘undo, Gerveys, and that anon.’ Who rubbeth now, who froteth now his lippes With dust, with sond, with straw, with clooth, with chippes, But Absolon, that seith ful ofte, ‘allas! My soule bitake I unto Sathanas, But me wer lever than al this toun,’ quod he, ‘Of this despyt awroken for to be! Allas!’ quod he, ‘allas! I ne hadde y-bleynt!’ His hote love was cold and al y-queynt; For fro that tyme that he had kiste hir ers, Of paramours he sette nat a kers, For he was heled of his maladye; Ful ofte paramours he gan deffye, And weep as dooth a child that is y-bete. A softe paas he wente over the strete Un-til a smith men cleped daun Gerveys, That in his forge smithed plough-harneys; He sharpeth shaar and culter bisily. This Absolon knokketh al esily, And seyde, ‘undo, Gerveys, and that anon.’

Original Text

Modern Text

Abak he sterte, and thoghte it was amis, For wel he wiste a womman hath no berd; He felte a thing al rough and long y-herd, And seyde, ‘fy! allas! what have I do?’ Abak he sterte, and thoghte it was amis, For wel he wiste a womman hath no berd; He felte a thing al rough and long y-herd, And seyde, ‘fy! allas! what have I do?’
‘Tehee!’ quod she, and clapte the window to; And Absolon goth forth a sory pas. ‘Tehee!’ quod she, and clapte the window to; And Absolon goth forth a sory pas.
‘A berd, a berd!’ quod hende Nicholas, ‘By Goddes corpus, this goth faire and weel!’ ‘A berd, a berd!’ quod hende Nicholas, ‘By Goddes corpus, this goth faire and weel!’
This sely Absolon herde every deel, And on his lippe he gan for anger byte; And to him-self he seyde, ‘I shal thee quyte!’ This sely Absolon herde every deel, And on his lippe he gan for anger byte; And to him-self he seyde, ‘I shal thee quyte!’
Who rubbeth now, who froteth now his lippes With dust, with sond, with straw, with clooth, with chippes, But Absolon, that seith ful ofte, ‘allas! My soule bitake I unto Sathanas, But me wer lever than al this toun,’ quod he, ‘Of this despyt awroken for to be! Allas!’ quod he, ‘allas! I ne hadde y-bleynt!’ His hote love was cold and al y-queynt; For fro that tyme that he had kiste hir ers, Of paramours he sette nat a kers, For he was heled of his maladye; Ful ofte paramours he gan deffye, And weep as dooth a child that is y-bete. A softe paas he wente over the strete Un-til a smith men cleped daun Gerveys, That in his forge smithed plough-harneys; He sharpeth shaar and culter bisily. This Absolon knokketh al esily, And seyde, ‘undo, Gerveys, and that anon.’ Who rubbeth now, who froteth now his lippes With dust, with sond, with straw, with clooth, with chippes, But Absolon, that seith ful ofte, ‘allas! My soule bitake I unto Sathanas, But me wer lever than al this toun,’ quod he, ‘Of this despyt awroken for to be! Allas!’ quod he, ‘allas! I ne hadde y-bleynt!’ His hote love was cold and al y-queynt; For fro that tyme that he had kiste hir ers, Of paramours he sette nat a kers, For he was heled of his maladye; Ful ofte paramours he gan deffye, And weep as dooth a child that is y-bete. A softe paas he wente over the strete Un-til a smith men cleped daun Gerveys, That in his forge smithed plough-harneys; He sharpeth shaar and culter bisily. This Absolon knokketh al esily, And seyde, ‘undo, Gerveys, and that anon.’