I hied me out ilk murkie night,
It was for poulterie!'
'Wal, damn your 'poulterie'—and you!
Such deed no generous knight would do!
So I mote thee deter!
I'll show thee, though, the coop, sir knight,
Where chickens such as thee are blight—
You are my prisoner!'
Mony maydens weren grieved—
Cleopatras, slouchy-sleeved—