3980'I was a servant once in Darwey Hall,
Where that young monk I oftentimes did see;
Who oft in private would disport with me,
And promised that I should his sweeting be.
But, by misfortune being turned away,
This jovial tinker took me unto wife,
So, as this morn by his warm side I lay,
I of Albino dreamed—my joy, my life.'
'He's not thy mon,' quoth Maudge; 'thou li'st, base drab':
'Peace, housewife,' says mine host, 'you tattling blab.'