"Now sire, and eft sire, so bifel the cas, That on a day this hende Nicholas Fil with this yonge wyf to rage and pleye, Whyl that hir housbond was at Oseneye, As clerkes ben ful subtile and ful queynte; And prively he caughte hir by the queynte, And seyde, ‘y-wis, but if ich have my wille, For derne love of thee, lemman, I spille.’ And heeld hir harde by the haunche-bones, And seyde, ‘lemman, love me al at-ones, Or I wol dyen, also god me save!’ And she sprong as a colt doth in the trave, And with hir heed she wryed faste awey, And seyde, ‘I wol nat kisse thee, by my fey, Why, lat be,’ quod she, ‘lat be, Nicholas, Or I wol crye out “harrow” and “allas.” Do wey your handes for your curteisye!’ This Nicholas gan mercy for to crye, And spak so faire, and profred hir so faste, That she hir love him graunted atte laste,"