|
A! goode sire hoost, I have ywedded bee |
| Thise monthes two, and moore nat, pardee; |
| And yet, I trowe, he that al his lyve |
| Wyflees hath been, though that men wolde him ryve |
| 25 | Unto the herte, ne koude in no manere |
| Tellen so muchel sorwe as I now heere |
| Koude tellen of my wyves cursednesse!" |
| Now," quod oure hoost, "Marchaunt, so God yow blesse, |
| Syn ye so muchel knowen of that art |
| 30 | Ful hertely I pray yow telle us part." |
| "Gladly," quod he, "but of myn owene soore, |
| For soory herte, I telle may namoore." |
|
|
Ah, good sir host! Yes I have been married, |
| These past two months, and no day more, indeed; |
| And yet I think that he whose days alive |
| Have been all wifeless, although men should rive |
| 25 | Him to the heart, he could in no wise clear |
| Tell you so much of sorrow as I here |
| Could tell you of my spouse's cursedness." |
| "Now," said our host, "merchant, so God you bless, |
| Since you're so very learned in that art, |
| 30 | Full heartily, I pray you, tell us part." |
| "Gladly," said he, "but of my own fresh sore, |
| For grief of heart I may not tell you more." |
|
