Confessor.
Mi Sone, hast thou such covoitise?
Amans.
Nai, fader, such love I despise,[46] 2500
And whil I live schal don evere,
For in good feith yit hadde I levere,
Than to coveite in such a weie,
To ben for evere til I deie
As povere as Job, and loveles,
Outaken on, for haveles