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"Now elles God forbede, sire," quod she; |
| And forth she gooth as jolif as a pye, |
| 210 | And bad the cookes that they sholde hem hye, |
| So that men myghte dyne, and that anon. |
| Up to hir housbonde is this wyf ygon, |
| And knokketh at his countour boldely. |
| "Quy la?" quod he. "Peter! it am I," |
| 215 | Quod she, "what,sire, how longe wol ye faste? |
| How longe tyme wol ye rekene and caste |
| Youre sommes, and youre bookes, and youre thynges? |
| The devel have part on alle swiche rekenynges! |
| Ye have ynough, pardee, of Goddes sonde; |
| 220 | Com doun to-day, and lat youre bagges stonde. |
| Ne be ye nat ashamed that daun John |
| Shal fasting al this day alenge goon? |
| What! lat us heere a messe, and go we dyne." |
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"Now all else God forbid, sir," then said she. |
| And in she went as jolly as a pie, |
| 210 | And bade the cooks that they to kitchen hie, |
| So that her men might dine, and that anon. |
| Up to her husband is this wife then gone, |
| And knocked upon his counting-room boldly. |
| "Qui est la?" asked he. "Peter! It is I," |
| 215 | Said she; "What, sir, and how long will you fast? |
| How long time will you reckon up and cast |
| Your sums and books and other tiresome things? |
| The devil take away such reckonings! |
| You have enough, indeed, of God's mercy; |
| 220 | Come down today, and let your gold-bags be. |
| Why, are you not ashamed that our Dan John |
| Has fasted miserably all morning gone? |
| What! Let us hear a mass and then go dine." |
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