XIX.

But God reward you for your girdle.

"Bot your gordel," quod G: "God yow for-3elde!

Þat wyl I welde wyth good wylle, not for þe wynne golde,

Ne þe saynt, ne þe sylk, ne þe syde pendaundes,

For wele, ne for worchyp, ne for þe wlonk werkke3,

Bot in syngne of my surfet I schal se hit ofte;

When I ride in renoun, remorde to myseluen

Þe faut & þe fayntyse of þe flesche crabbed,

How tender hit is to entyse teches of fylþe;

& þus, quen pryde schal me pryk, for prowes of armes,

Þe loke to þis luf lace schal leþe my hert.

Bot on I wolde yow pray, displeses yow neuer;

Syn 3e be lorde of þe 3onde[r] londe, þer I haf lent inne,

Wyth yow wyth worschyp,—þe wy3e hit yow 3elde

Þat vp-halde3 þe heuen, & on hy3 sitte3,—

How norne 3e yowre ry3t nome, & þenne no more?"

"Þat schal I telle þe trwly," quod þat oþer þenne,

"Bernlak de Hautdesert I hat in þis londe,

Þur3 my3t of Morgne la Faye, þat in my hous lenges,

&¹ koyntyse of clergye, bi craftes wel lerned,

Þe maystres of Merlyn, mony ho² taken;

For ho hat3 dalt drwry ful dere sum tyme,

With þat conable klerk, þat knowes alle your kny3te3

at hame;

Morgne þe goddes,

Þer-fore hit is hir name;

Welde3 non so hy3e hawtesse,

Þat ho ne con make ful tame.

¹ in (?). ² ho hat3 (?).