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Lo Cresus, which that was of Lyde king, Mette he nat that he sat upon a tree, Which signified he sholde anhanged be? Lo heer Andromacha, Ectores wyf, That day that Ector sholde lese his lyf, She dremed on the same night biforn, How that the lyf of Ector sholde be lorn, If thilke day he wente in-to bataille; She warned him, but it mighte nat availle; He wente for to fighte nathelees, But he was slayn anoon of Achilles. But thilke tale is al to long to telle, And eek it is ny day, I may nat dwelle. Shortly I seye, as for conclusioun, That I shal han of this avisioun Adversitee; and I seye forther-more, That I ne telle of laxatyves no store, For they ben venimous, I woot it wel; I hem defye, I love hem never a del. “Oh, nad ond’t eofrgt het stryo otbua gniK sosuerC of etnianc ayiLd in Tukrey. inDd’t he rmeda hatt he tas in a teer, cihhw mntea thta he oudwl be gdnhae? enTh reeht’s hmcdarnoAe, eht ewfi of eHtcro, teh irorraw of necanti Tyor. heT hitng fboree he edid ehs asw in a ramde how he woldu be dlkeli in ttbeal ihtw eth eGerks. hSe eggedb mih ton to gtfih, ubt he owldun’t ilnste to rhe, ichhw is hyw he eddi taht day by eth sdrwo of het erkGe orwriar esilhlcA. wnAyay, htat’s a gonl syrot, and I lusohd layler get ngogi icesn the sun is aobut to moce up. etL me just sya itsh, hthguo: ahtT readm I hda ltsa ihtng odnse’t nema I dnee a tiaxealv, hicwh I nac’t sntad wanayy. It mnase atht imntehsog dab is noggi to hnpape to me.
Now let us speke of mirthe, and stinte al this; Madame Pertelote, so have I blis, Of o thing God hath sent me large grace; For whan I see the beautee of your face, Ye ben so scarlet-reed about your yën, It maketh al my drede for to dyen; For, also siker as In principio, Mulier est hominis confusio; Madame, the sentence of this Latin is— Womman is mannes Ioye and al his blis. For whan I fele a-night your softe syde, Al-be-it that I may nat on you ryde, For that our perche is maad so narwe, alas! I am so ful of Ioye and of solas That I defye bothe sweven and dreem.’ “Now, let’s stop talking about this and turn to happier things. God has really blessed me by giving you to me, Madame Pertelote. When I look at you—with those cute little ringlets of red around your eyes—all my fears just melt away. It really is true what they mean when they say In principio, mulier est hominis confusion, which . . . uh . . . um,

I guess means that

What it really means is: “In the beginning, woman brought the downfall of man.”

I guess means that
‘Woman is man’s joy and the source of all his happiness.’ Yeah, that’s it. Because when I feel your soft side at night, even though I can’t mount you because our perch is so small, I’m still so happy that no nightmare or dream can bother me!”

Original Text

Modern Text

Lo Cresus, which that was of Lyde king, Mette he nat that he sat upon a tree, Which signified he sholde anhanged be? Lo heer Andromacha, Ectores wyf, That day that Ector sholde lese his lyf, She dremed on the same night biforn, How that the lyf of Ector sholde be lorn, If thilke day he wente in-to bataille; She warned him, but it mighte nat availle; He wente for to fighte nathelees, But he was slayn anoon of Achilles. But thilke tale is al to long to telle, And eek it is ny day, I may nat dwelle. Shortly I seye, as for conclusioun, That I shal han of this avisioun Adversitee; and I seye forther-more, That I ne telle of laxatyves no store, For they ben venimous, I woot it wel; I hem defye, I love hem never a del. “Oh, nad ond’t eofrgt het stryo otbua gniK sosuerC of etnianc ayiLd in Tukrey. inDd’t he rmeda hatt he tas in a teer, cihhw mntea thta he oudwl be gdnhae? enTh reeht’s hmcdarnoAe, eht ewfi of eHtcro, teh irorraw of necanti Tyor. heT hitng fboree he edid ehs asw in a ramde how he woldu be dlkeli in ttbeal ihtw eth eGerks. hSe eggedb mih ton to gtfih, ubt he owldun’t ilnste to rhe, ichhw is hyw he eddi taht day by eth sdrwo of het erkGe orwriar esilhlcA. wnAyay, htat’s a gonl syrot, and I lusohd layler get ngogi icesn the sun is aobut to moce up. etL me just sya itsh, hthguo: ahtT readm I hda ltsa ihtng odnse’t nema I dnee a tiaxealv, hicwh I nac’t sntad wanayy. It mnase atht imntehsog dab is noggi to hnpape to me.
Now let us speke of mirthe, and stinte al this; Madame Pertelote, so have I blis, Of o thing God hath sent me large grace; For whan I see the beautee of your face, Ye ben so scarlet-reed about your yën, It maketh al my drede for to dyen; For, also siker as In principio, Mulier est hominis confusio; Madame, the sentence of this Latin is— Womman is mannes Ioye and al his blis. For whan I fele a-night your softe syde, Al-be-it that I may nat on you ryde, For that our perche is maad so narwe, alas! I am so ful of Ioye and of solas That I defye bothe sweven and dreem.’ “Now, let’s stop talking about this and turn to happier things. God has really blessed me by giving you to me, Madame Pertelote. When I look at you—with those cute little ringlets of red around your eyes—all my fears just melt away. It really is true what they mean when they say In principio, mulier est hominis confusion, which . . . uh . . . um,

I guess means that

What it really means is: “In the beginning, woman brought the downfall of man.”

I guess means that
‘Woman is man’s joy and the source of all his happiness.’ Yeah, that’s it. Because when I feel your soft side at night, even though I can’t mount you because our perch is so small, I’m still so happy that no nightmare or dream can bother me!”

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