It is a murrion crafty drab, and froward to be pleased;
And ye take not the better way, our nedle yet ye lose[692] it:
For when she tooke it up, even here before your doores,
"What, soft, Dame Chat" (quoth I), "that same is none of yours."
"Avant," quoth she, "syr knave! what pratest thou of that I fynd? 30
I wold thou hast kist me I wot whear;" she ment, I know, behind;
And home she went as brag as it had ben a bodelouce,
And I after, as bold as it had ben the goodman of the house.
But there and ye had hard her, how she began to scolde!
The tonge it went on patins, by hym that Judas solde! 35