This I myself have proved,
That here I do report,

For he to whom I gave my heart
Makes me his laughing sport.

SECOND PART.

This night he promised me
To meet at five a clock,

Which hour's long past, therefore I doubt

With me he does but mock.

While I sit sighing here,

He's bragging to his mates,

That his sweet-heart within the fields,

Now for his coming waits.

Thus like a lion fierce
He insulteth o'er his prey,
Alas, there is no remedy,
Being bound I must obey.

Hard hearted creature here,

To serve me in this kind,

His flattring tongue hath wrought my bane, As now with grief I find.

Alas, what shall I do,

I am possest with fear,

For rather than I'll homeward go,
My life I'll finish here.

For if that I go home,

My father he will brawl,

My mother she will second him,

And that's the worst of all.

She'll tell me I have been

A gadding after Tom,

She'll swear I'll never leave these tricks, Till I come loaden home.

If he would meet me here,

Those words I well could bear,

For when that I am armed with love

Their taunts I do not fear.

Sweet Tom, make haste away,

Or else I shall despair,

For home, untill I see thy face,
I mean not to repair.

What should the reason be,
That thou wilt me neglect?
For I have cast thy betters off,
Thy person to affect.

If me thou dost forsake,

Look ne'er to find the like,

Methinks experience might thee teach While the iron's hot to strike.

My portion is not small,

My parentage not base,

My looking-glass informs me that

I have a comely face.

Yet have I made a choice

Against my parents will,

With one so mean, who cruelly
My tender heart doth kill.

I hearing her say so

Did boldly to her come,

The night was dark, and she believed

That I was her own Tom.

She blam'd my tarrying long,
Which I did well excuse,

I pray'd her wend along with me,
Which she did not refuse.

Supposing all this while

That I had been her Tom;

She swore she had rather
Than to go ever b

go

with me,

Thus Tom has lost his lass,

Because he broke his vow,

And I have rais'd my fortunes well,
The case is alter'd now.

LXXI.

THE WANTON WIFE OF BATH.

In Bath a wanton wife did dwell,

As Chaucer he doth write

;

Who did in pleasure spend her days

In many a fond delight.

Upon a time sore sick she was

And at the length did die;
Her soul at last at Heaven's gate,
Did knock most mightily.

Then Adam came unto the gate,
Who knocketh there? quoth he;
I am the Wife of Bath, she said,
And fain would come to thee.

Thou art a sinner, Adam said,
And here no place shall have,
And so art thou, I trow, quoth she,
And gip a doting knave.

I will come in in spite, she said,
Of all such churls as thee;
Thou wert the causer of our woe,
Our pain and misery.

And first broke God's commandments In pleasure of thy wife :

When Adam heard her tell this tale,

He run away for life.

Then down came Jacob at the gate,
And bids her pack to hell;
Thou false deceiver why? said she,
Thou may'st be there as well.

For thou deceiv'dst thy father dear,
And thine own brother too.

Away slunk Jacob presently,
And made no more ado.

She knocks again with might and main,
And Lot he chides her straight;
Why then, quoth she, thou drunken ass,
Who bid thee here to prate?

* Gip is an expression of contempt.