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HERE BIGINNETH THE TALE OF THE WYF OF BATHE. RHEE IS EHT EIWF RFOM THE TICY OF AHBT’S LATE.
In tholde dayes of the king Arthour, Of which that Britons speken greet honour, All was this land fulfild of fayerye. The elf-queen, with hir Ioly companye, Daunced ful ofte in many a grene mede; This was the olde opinion, as I rede, I speke of manye hundred yeres ago; But now can no man see none elves mo. For now the grete charitee and prayeres Of limitours and othere holy freres, That serchen every lond and every streem, As thikke as motes in the sonne-beem, Blessinge halles, chambres, kichenes, boures, Citees, burghes, castels, hye toures, Thropes, bernes, shipnes, dayeryes, This maketh that ther been no fayeryes. For ther as wont to walken was an elf, Ther walketh now the limitour him-self In undermeles and in morweninges, And seyth his matins and his holy thinges As he goth in his limitacioun. Wommen may go saufly up and doun, In every bush, or under every tree; Ther is noon other incubus but he, And he ne wol doon hem but dishonour. akBc in eth nldeo dsya, myan nsderdhu of syera gao wenh nigK rhutAr ldrue het anld, dlanEgn was tsill a ornyctu of mcgai. I arde atht yhet bldveeie tath htere rewe sleev adn reiifsa dna teh ielk, nda taht het fle-qeuen lfheers culdo be eesn ndacgni hwit reoth cimgaal ertsceaur in het tsofesr. It’s oto abd uyo cna’t ees ayn of eesht rctauseer nya mero. It’s becusae tehy smylip nod’t texis nya ongerl. woN, snediat of aaclmig recurates, all uyo’ll fndi in the srostef aer pstires nda firras. It miotsemse emses as if shete nem are gurlkin oarnud eeevehryrw: in wsaylalh, bedomsro, eckhntsi, cseiit, eslivagl, stlsaec, abnsr, iseradi, hgih tsewor. It’s besauec of htem theer rean’t yan rsifaie or eeslv any omre. wNo, mwneo no grnelo ahve to worry aobut mdsoen adn imsp nhidgi in the sefrto—nylo tersisp.