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Now hadde this Phebus in his hous a wyf |
| 140 | Which that he lovede moore than his lyf; |
| And nyght and day dide evere his diligence |
| Hir for to plese and doon hire reverence. |
| Save oonly, if the sothe that I shal sayn, |
| Jalous he was, and wolde have kept hire fayn, |
| 145 | For hym were looth byjaped for to be- |
| And so is every wight in swich degree; |
| But al in ydel, for it availleth noght. |
| A good wyf that is clene of werk and thoght |
| Sholde nat been kept in noon awayt, certayn. |
| 150 | And trewely the labour is in vayn |
| To kepe a shrewe, for it wol nat bee. |
| This holde I for a verray nycetee, |
| To spille labour for to kepe wyves, |
| Thus writen olde clerkes in hir lyves. |
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Now had this Phoebus in his house a wife, |
| 140 | Whom he loved better than he loved his life, |
| And night and day he used much diligence |
| To please her and to do her reverence, |
| Save only, if it's truth that I shall say, |
| Jealous he was and so did guard her aye; |
| 145 | For he was very loath befooled to be. |
| And so is everyone in such degree; |
| But all in vain, for it avails one naught. |
| A good wife, who is clean in deed and thought, |
| Should not be kept a prisoner, that's plain; |
| 150 | And certainly the labour is in vain |
| That guards a slut, for, sirs, it just won't be. |
| This hold I for an utter idiocy, |
| That men should lose their labour guarding wives; |
| So say these wise old writers in their lives. |
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