XIX.

But God reward you for your girdle.

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

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 werkkeȝ,

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 ȝe be lorde of þe ȝonde[r] londe, þer I haf lent inne,

Wyth yow wyth worschyp,—þe wyȝe hit yow ȝelde

Þat vp-haldeȝ þe heuen, & on hyȝ sitteȝ,—

How norne ȝe yowre ryȝt nome, & þenne no more?"

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

"Bernlak de Hautdesert I hat in þis londe,

Þurȝ myȝt 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 hatȝ dalt drwry ful dere sum tyme,

With þat conable klerk, þat knowes alle your knyȝteȝ

at hame;

Morgne þe goddes,

Þer-fore hit is hir name;

Weldeȝ non so hyȝe hawtesse,

Þat ho ne con make ful tame.

¹ in (?). ² ho hatȝ (?).