| 475 |
But, Lord Crist! whan that it remembreth me |
| Upon my yowthe and on my jolitee, |
| It tikleth me aboute myn herte roote. |
| Unto this day it dooth myn herte boote |
| That I have had my world, as in my tyme. |
| 480 | But age, allas, that al wole envenyme, |
| Hath me biraft my beautee and my pith! |
| Lat go, farewel, the devel go therwith! |
| The flour is goon, ther is namoore to telle, |
| The bren as I best kan, now moste I selle; |
| 485 | But yet to be right myrie wol I fonde. |
| Now wol I tellen of my fourthe housbonde. |
|
| 475 | But Lord Christ! When I do remember me
| | Upon my youth and on my jollity,
| | It tickles me about my heart's deep root.
| | To this day does my heart sing in salute
| | That I have had my world in my own time.
| | 480 | But age, alas! that poisons every prime,
| | Has taken away my beauty and my pith;
| | Let go, farewell, the devil go therewith!
| | The flour is gone, there is no more to tell,
| | The bran, as best I may, must I now sell;
| | 485 | But yet to be right merry I'll try, and
| | Now will I tell you of my fourth husband. |
|
