And faide hem she wol bring him inne, All only of his owne graunt Through ftrength of verray covenaunt The deth and thus to him she saide: That thou unto a question Which I shall axe fhalt answere. Be fo that at thy daies ende For which he shall in that degre Stonde of his life in jeopartie. This woll I axe, and in thempire Of natural complexion To fome woman it is plefaunce, And thus Florent withoute cure He faith, that no man shal him wreke, And thus he went forth his weie And cam nigh there he wolde be, He figh where fat a creature, Tho torned and to her he rode That thou through me thy deth escape And take worship of thy dede, What shall I have to my mede? What thing, quod he, that thou wolde axe. I bid never a better taxe, Quod fhe, but first, or thou be sped, That I woll have thy trouth on honde, Thou shalt be fekerlich dede. Of londe, of rent, of parke, of plough, But all that compteth fhe at nought. Unto this olde lothly wight Tho faid: if that none other chaunce May make my deliveraunce But only thilke fame speche Which as thou faift thou fhalt me teche, Have here min honde, I fhal the wedde. And thus his trouth he leith to wedde. With that the frounceth up the browe: This covenaunt woll I allowe, She faith, if any other thing But that thou haste of my teching |