Clerk’s Tale

Grisilde is dead and eke her patience,And both interr'd in far Italia's vale;For which I cry in open audienceLet no man be so hardy as to assailThe patience of his wife, in hope to findGrisildis', for so surely he shall fail.

O noble wives, ye sovereigns of sense,Suffer no lowliness your tongues to nail,Nor any clerk have cause, or find pretence,To write of you so marvellous a taleAs of Grisilde long-suffering and kind,Lest Chichevache devour you, to your bale.

Ape Echo, that will own no diffidenceBut answereth ever up and down the dale ;Be not made fools of for your innocence,But sharply wield of governance the flail;Imprint full well this lesson in your mind,For common profit, sith it may avail.

Ye archwives, stand alway on your defence,Sith as a camel ye be strong and hale,And suffer men to do you none offence;Ye slender wives, that bend in battle's gale,Be terrible as tigers yon in Ind;Aye clap as doth a mill-wheel, when ye rail.

Dread not mankind, do them no reverence,For though thy husband armed be in mail,The arrows of thy crabbed eloquenceShall pierce his armour and his breast impale;In jealousy I charge that thou him bind,And thou shalt make him couch as doth a quail.

If thou be fair, go forth where throngs be denseTo show thy duds and face without a veil;If thou be foul, be lavish of expense;To find thee lovers follow aye the trail;Be aye of cheer as light as leaf i' the wind,And let him weep and wring his hands and wail!