540 |
"Madame," quod he, "how thynke ye herby?" |
| "How that me thynketh?" quod she, "So God me speede, |
| I seye, a cherl hath doon a cherles dede. |
| What shold I seye? God lat hym nevere thee! |
| His sike heed is ful of vanytee; |
545 | I holde hym in a manere frenesye." |
| "Madame," quod he, "by god, I shal nat lye |
| But in on oother wyse may be wreke, |
| I shal disclaundre hym over al ther I speke, |
| This false blasphemour, that charged me |
550 | To parte that wol nat departed be, |
| To every man yliche, with meschaunce!" |
|
540 | "Madam," said he, "what do you think of this?" |
| "What do I think?" she said, "So God me speed, |
| I say, a churl has done a churlish deed. |
| What should I say? May God desert him! See- |
| Why his sick head is full of vanity. |
545 | The man, no doubt, is more or less insane." |
| "Madam," said he, "I will not lie or feign: |
| If otherwise I cannot vengeance wreak, |
| I will defame him wheresoe'er I speak, |
| This false blasphemer who has dared charge me |
550 | Thus to divide what won't divided be, |
| To every man alike, and with mischance!" |
|