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Of wenches wolde I beren him on honde, Whan that for syk unnethes mighte he stonde. Yet tikled it his herte, for that he Wende that I hadde of him so greet chiertee. I swoor that al my walkinge out by nighte Was for tespye wenches that he dighte; Under that colour hadde I many a mirthe. For al swich wit is yeven us in our birthe; Deceite, weping, spinning God hath yive To wommen kindely, whyl they may live. And thus of o thing I avaunte me, Atte ende I hadde the bettre in ech degree, By sleighte, or force, or by som maner thing, As by continuel murmur or grucching; Namely a bedde hadden they meschaunce, Ther wolde I chyde and do hem no plesaunce; I wolde no lenger in the bed abyde, If that I felte his arm over my syde, Til he had maad his raunson unto me; Than wolde I suffre him do his nycetee. And ther-fore every man this tale I telle, Winne who-so may, for al is for to selle. With empty hand men may none haukes lure; For winning wolde I al his lust endure, And make me a feyned appetyt; And yet in bacon hadde I never delyt; That made me that ever I wolde hem chyde. For thogh the pope had seten hem biside, I wolde nat spare hem at hir owene bord. For by my trouthe, I quitte hem word for word. As help me verray God omnipotent, Thogh I right now sholde make my testament, I ne owe hem nat a word that it nis quit. I broghte it so aboute by my wit, That they moste yeve it up, as for the beste; Or elles hadde we never been in reste. For thogh he loked as a wood leoun, Yet sholde he faille of his conclusioun. Of wenches wolde I beren him on honde, Whan that for syk unnethes mighte he stonde. Yet tikled it his herte, for that he Wende that I hadde of him so greet chiertee. I swoor that al my walkinge out by nighte Was for tespye wenches that he dighte; Under that colour hadde I many a mirthe. For al swich wit is yeven us in our birthe; Deceite, weping, spinning God hath yive To wommen kindely, whyl they may live. And thus of o thing I avaunte me, Atte ende I hadde the bettre in ech degree, By sleighte, or force, or by som maner thing, As by continuel murmur or grucching; Namely a bedde hadden they meschaunce, Ther wolde I chyde and do hem no plesaunce; I wolde no lenger in the bed abyde, If that I felte his arm over my syde, Til he had maad his raunson unto me; Than wolde I suffre him do his nycetee. And ther-fore every man this tale I telle, Winne who-so may, for al is for to selle. With empty hand men may none haukes lure; For winning wolde I al his lust endure, And make me a feyned appetyt; And yet in bacon hadde I never delyt; That made me that ever I wolde hem chyde. For thogh the pope had seten hem biside, I wolde nat spare hem at hir owene bord. For by my trouthe, I quitte hem word for word. As help me verray God omnipotent, Thogh I right now sholde make my testament, I ne owe hem nat a word that it nis quit. I broghte it so aboute by my wit, That they moste yeve it up, as for the beste; Or elles hadde we never been in reste. For thogh he loked as a wood leoun, Yet sholde he faille of his conclusioun.

Original Text

Modern Text

Of wenches wolde I beren him on honde, Whan that for syk unnethes mighte he stonde. Yet tikled it his herte, for that he Wende that I hadde of him so greet chiertee. I swoor that al my walkinge out by nighte Was for tespye wenches that he dighte; Under that colour hadde I many a mirthe. For al swich wit is yeven us in our birthe; Deceite, weping, spinning God hath yive To wommen kindely, whyl they may live. And thus of o thing I avaunte me, Atte ende I hadde the bettre in ech degree, By sleighte, or force, or by som maner thing, As by continuel murmur or grucching; Namely a bedde hadden they meschaunce, Ther wolde I chyde and do hem no plesaunce; I wolde no lenger in the bed abyde, If that I felte his arm over my syde, Til he had maad his raunson unto me; Than wolde I suffre him do his nycetee. And ther-fore every man this tale I telle, Winne who-so may, for al is for to selle. With empty hand men may none haukes lure; For winning wolde I al his lust endure, And make me a feyned appetyt; And yet in bacon hadde I never delyt; That made me that ever I wolde hem chyde. For thogh the pope had seten hem biside, I wolde nat spare hem at hir owene bord. For by my trouthe, I quitte hem word for word. As help me verray God omnipotent, Thogh I right now sholde make my testament, I ne owe hem nat a word that it nis quit. I broghte it so aboute by my wit, That they moste yeve it up, as for the beste; Or elles hadde we never been in reste. For thogh he loked as a wood leoun, Yet sholde he faille of his conclusioun. Of wenches wolde I beren him on honde, Whan that for syk unnethes mighte he stonde. Yet tikled it his herte, for that he Wende that I hadde of him so greet chiertee. I swoor that al my walkinge out by nighte Was for tespye wenches that he dighte; Under that colour hadde I many a mirthe. For al swich wit is yeven us in our birthe; Deceite, weping, spinning God hath yive To wommen kindely, whyl they may live. And thus of o thing I avaunte me, Atte ende I hadde the bettre in ech degree, By sleighte, or force, or by som maner thing, As by continuel murmur or grucching; Namely a bedde hadden they meschaunce, Ther wolde I chyde and do hem no plesaunce; I wolde no lenger in the bed abyde, If that I felte his arm over my syde, Til he had maad his raunson unto me; Than wolde I suffre him do his nycetee. And ther-fore every man this tale I telle, Winne who-so may, for al is for to selle. With empty hand men may none haukes lure; For winning wolde I al his lust endure, And make me a feyned appetyt; And yet in bacon hadde I never delyt; That made me that ever I wolde hem chyde. For thogh the pope had seten hem biside, I wolde nat spare hem at hir owene bord. For by my trouthe, I quitte hem word for word. As help me verray God omnipotent, Thogh I right now sholde make my testament, I ne owe hem nat a word that it nis quit. I broghte it so aboute by my wit, That they moste yeve it up, as for the beste; Or elles hadde we never been in reste. For thogh he loked as a wood leoun, Yet sholde he faille of his conclusioun.
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