University of Virginia Library

Þe wikked gost onswerde þon
And seide þat he was a folted mon.
“Þou spekest of Lecherie
And of fewe wordes makest monye;
ffalse wordes wolt þou leeue & here hem gladli—
Þou nost what þou menest, i sigge þe sikerli!
Of luytel wit hastou Mynde:
Ne mot a Mon don his kynde?
Hit was ordeynd þorw Godes biddyng
At þe worldes be-gynnyng.
Beo þi tale þow woldest hit bringe
Al to-gedere in to spousynge
Or elles leue þat game,
Þat me nedde of God blame.
Whose aftur þi counseil doþ,
Repente him schal, I sei for soþ:
He þat takeþ hym to spousyng,
Mai not lyuen for no þing,
Bote holden he mot to his wyf
And ben in Cuntek and in stryf—
Betere him were dihte and go—
ffor weddyng is þe longe wo.
Whon he haþ a wyf I-take,
He mai hire nouȝt forsake;
He þat haþ a schrewe to wyue,
Of vche a day him þinkeþ fyue;
Of muche Murþe he schal misse
And euere ha serwe and neuer blisse,
Þer anoþer mai leue and take
Wher he wole, and eke forsake;
Lihtliche and glad may he go,
Whon he þat is bounden schal be ful wo,
And be liht and Iolyf
More þen on þat haþ a wyf.
ffor-þi I rede þat men do so
And lete weddynge a-wey go.”