And if I then shall sing the rest, 25
A signe I needs must have;
Hold but your finger up to me,
Or hem,—that's al I crave—
Then wil I sing it with a harte,
And to it roundelye goe; 30
You know my mynde, now let me see
Whether I shal sing't or no. Hem.
Well then, I see you willing are
That I shall sing the reste;
To pleasure al thes good wyves heire 35
I meane to do my best.
For I do see even by their lookes
No hurte to me they thinke,
And thus it chancte upon a tyme,
(But first give me a drinke.) 40
Not long agoe a lustye lad
Did woe a livelye lasse,
And long it was before he cold
His purpose bring to passe;
Yet at the lenth it thus fell out, 45
She granted his petition,
That she would be his wedded wyfe,
But yet on this condicion.
That she shold weare the breeches on
For one yeare and a day, 50
And not to be controld of him
Whatsoere [she'd do or say].
She rulde, shee raignd, she had hir wil
Even as she wold require;
But marke what fell out afterwards, 55
Good wyves I you desyre.
She made him weary of his lyfe;
He wisht that death wold come,
And end his myserye at once,
Ere that the yeare was run; 60
He thought it was the longest yeare
That was since he was borne,
But he cold not the matter mend,
For he was thereto sworne.
Yet hath the longest day his date; 65
For this we al do know,
Although the day be neer soe long,
To even soone wil it goe.
So fell it out with hir at lenth,
The yeare was now come out; 70
The sun, and moone, and all the starres,
Their race had run about.
Then he began to rouse himselfe,
And to his wyfe he saide,
"Since that your raigne is at an end, 75
Now know me for your heade."
But she that had borne swaye so long
Wold not be under brought,
But stil hir tounge on pattens ran,
Though many blowes she caught. 80
He bet hir backe, he bet hir syde,
He bet hir blacke and blew;
But for all this she wolde not mend,
But worse and worse she grew.
When that he saw she wolde not mend, 85
Another way wrought hee;
He mewde hir up as men mew hawkes,
Where noe light she cold see.
And kept hir without meate or drinke
For four dayes space and more; 90
Yet for all this she was as ill
As ere she was before.
When that he saw she wold not mend,
Nor that she wold be quiet,
Neither for stroakes nor locking up, 95
Nor yet for want of dyet,
He was almost at his wits end,
He knew not what to doe;
So that with gentlenes againe
He gane his wyfe to woo. 100
But she soone bad him holde his peace,
And sware it was his best,
But then he thought him of a wyle
Which made him be at rest.