| Now of my fifthe housbonde wol I telle. |
| 510 | God lete his soule nevere come in helle! |
| And yet was he to me the mooste shrewe; |
| That feele I on my ribbes al by rewe, |
| And evere shal, unto myn endyng day. |
| But in oure bed he was ful fressh and gay, |
| 515 | And therwithal so wel koude he me glose |
| Whan that he solde han my bele chose, |
| That thogh he hadde me bet on every bon |
| He koude wynne agayn my love anon. |
| I trowe I loved hym beste, for that he |
| 520 | Was of his love daungerous to me. |
| We wommen han, if that I shal nat lye, |
| In this matere a queynte fantasye; |
| Wayte what thyng we may nat lightly have, |
| Therafter wol we crie al day and crave. |
| 525 | Forbede us thyng, and that desiren we; |
| Preesse on us faste, and thanne wol we fle; |
| With daunger oute we al oure chaffare. |
| Greet prees at market maketh deere ware, |
| And to greet cheep is holde at litel prys; |
| 530 | This knoweth every womman that is wys. |
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And now of my fifth husband will I tell.
| | 510 | God grant his soul may never get to Hell!
| | And yet he was to me most brutal, too;
| | My ribs yet feel as they were black and blue,
| | And ever shall, until my dying day.
| | But in our bed he was so fresh and gay,
| | 515 | And therewithal he could so well impose,
| | What time he wanted use of my belle chose,
| | That though he'd beaten me on every bone,
| | He could re-win my love, and that full soon.
| | I guess I loved him best of all, for he
| | 520 | Gave of his love most sparingly to me.
| | We women have, if I am not to lie,
| | In this love matter, a quaint fantasy;
| | Look out a thing we may not lightly have,
| | And after that we'll cry all day and crave.
| | 525 | Forbid a thing, and that thing covet we;
| | Press hard upon us, then we turn and flee.
| | Sparingly offer we our goods, when fair;
| | Great crowds at market for dearer ware,
| | And what's too common brings but little price;
| | 530 | All this knows every woman who is wise. |
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