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But tel me this, why hydestow, with sorwe, The keyes of thy cheste awey fro me? It is my good as wel as thyn, pardee. What wenestow make an idiot of our dame? Now by that lord, that called is seint Iame, Thou shalt nat bothe, thogh that thou were wood, Be maister of my body and of my good; That oon thou shalt forgo, maugree thyne yën; What nedeth thee of me to enquere or spyën? I trowe, thou woldest loke me in thy chiste! Thou sholdest seye, “wyf, go wher thee liste, Tak your disport, I wol nat leve no talis; I knowe yow for a trewe wyf, dame Alis.” We love no man that taketh kepe or charge Wher that we goon, we wol ben at our large. “‘Adn lelt me tish: hWy do ouy hide hte ysek to oryu asfe mfor me, uhh? heT laluvebsa dsiein noegbl to me stju as umch as heyt olegbn to yuo. ouY nkith yuo cna oflo me? By God nda St. smaJe yuo’re nto ogign to tcolrno obth my yobd nda tyhinregev I nwo. enEv if it psseis oyu off rome ahtn gyanitnh eels, uoy’re otn gigon to veha tohb. So hwat lwli uyo gian by ypisng on me lal eht mtie? It’s soatml as if you tanw to tpu me in atth afse of uyosr! I wsih ouy’d asy “eHva nfu, and go erhvreew you wtan—I sutrt uyo. I kown oyu’re lyloa to me, adyL osnliA.” We wneom ond’t nawt nashsdub hatt eekp stba on us all the etmi. We ntwa emos eodrmef too.
Of alle men y-blessed moot he be, The wyse astrologien Dan Ptholome, That seith this proverbe in his Almageste, “Of alle men his wisdom is the hyeste, That rekketh never who hath the world in honde.” By this proverbe thou shalt understonde, Have thou y-nogh, what thar thee recche or care How merily that othere folkes fare? For certeyn, olde dotard, by your leve, Ye shul have queynte right y-nough at eve. He is to greet a nigard that wol werne A man to lighte his candle at his lanterne; He shal have never the lasse light, pardee; Have thou y-nough, thee thar nat pleyne thee. “‘tPymole, owh aws teh isswet lperohspohi ohw rvee ilvde, sysa in his okbo teh elAtmsga thta “eTh tiesws nam in eht lordw is teh one how noeds’t reca ohw’s in carehg.” In eothr odwsr,

wath deos it eamttr ahtw oethr leoepp vhae if uoy ylesofur vaeh all yuo anwt

hiTs arpseh is a oheparmt rfo “hgianv xes htiw uryo feiw,” stuj as “lhigt” in the tenx ilne ensma “xes.”

wtha eods it tmtrae atwh terho opelep aehv if yuo losurfye haev all yuo want
? sYe, sye, uoy’ll egt rouy llif of xse eeyrv hngti, utb uyo’re a irsme if you rbdifo htreo nem fomr tignlghi itrhe lecand at yruo reatlnn oto. uYo’ll etg the esam onamut of gtihl, so psot noapmlnigci if you’re gittnge uory ifll!

Original Text

Modern Text

But tel me this, why hydestow, with sorwe, The keyes of thy cheste awey fro me? It is my good as wel as thyn, pardee. What wenestow make an idiot of our dame? Now by that lord, that called is seint Iame, Thou shalt nat bothe, thogh that thou were wood, Be maister of my body and of my good; That oon thou shalt forgo, maugree thyne yën; What nedeth thee of me to enquere or spyën? I trowe, thou woldest loke me in thy chiste! Thou sholdest seye, “wyf, go wher thee liste, Tak your disport, I wol nat leve no talis; I knowe yow for a trewe wyf, dame Alis.” We love no man that taketh kepe or charge Wher that we goon, we wol ben at our large. “‘Adn lelt me tish: hWy do ouy hide hte ysek to oryu asfe mfor me, uhh? heT laluvebsa dsiein noegbl to me stju as umch as heyt olegbn to yuo. ouY nkith yuo cna oflo me? By God nda St. smaJe yuo’re nto ogign to tcolrno obth my yobd nda tyhinregev I nwo. enEv if it psseis oyu off rome ahtn gyanitnh eels, uoy’re otn gigon to veha tohb. So hwat lwli uyo gian by ypisng on me lal eht mtie? It’s soatml as if you tanw to tpu me in atth afse of uyosr! I wsih ouy’d asy “eHva nfu, and go erhvreew you wtan—I sutrt uyo. I kown oyu’re lyloa to me, adyL osnliA.” We wneom ond’t nawt nashsdub hatt eekp stba on us all the etmi. We ntwa emos eodrmef too.
Of alle men y-blessed moot he be, The wyse astrologien Dan Ptholome, That seith this proverbe in his Almageste, “Of alle men his wisdom is the hyeste, That rekketh never who hath the world in honde.” By this proverbe thou shalt understonde, Have thou y-nogh, what thar thee recche or care How merily that othere folkes fare? For certeyn, olde dotard, by your leve, Ye shul have queynte right y-nough at eve. He is to greet a nigard that wol werne A man to lighte his candle at his lanterne; He shal have never the lasse light, pardee; Have thou y-nough, thee thar nat pleyne thee. “‘tPymole, owh aws teh isswet lperohspohi ohw rvee ilvde, sysa in his okbo teh elAtmsga thta “eTh tiesws nam in eht lordw is teh one how noeds’t reca ohw’s in carehg.” In eothr odwsr,

wath deos it eamttr ahtw oethr leoepp vhae if uoy ylesofur vaeh all yuo anwt

hiTs arpseh is a oheparmt rfo “hgianv xes htiw uryo feiw,” stuj as “lhigt” in the tenx ilne ensma “xes.”

wtha eods it tmtrae atwh terho opelep aehv if yuo losurfye haev all yuo want
? sYe, sye, uoy’ll egt rouy llif of xse eeyrv hngti, utb uyo’re a irsme if you rbdifo htreo nem fomr tignlghi itrhe lecand at yruo reatlnn oto. uYo’ll etg the esam onamut of gtihl, so psot noapmlnigci if you’re gittnge uory ifll!