After these words Emma and Moonen have taken their way to Bolduc, where for some while they tarried, feasting merrily, and paying the shot of each and all who ate and drank in their company. Now shall we stint a little of Emma and Moonen and tell of Sir Gysbrecht, her eme. After that Mary, the which now hight Emma, had been for some while away, Sir Gysbrecht, her eme, much wondered at her tarrying, and said with himself thus: O anxiety, which clamors within me strong, How dost thou rend my heart and my wit molest. For that my niece Mary doth bide so long Who to Nimmegen market hath her dress’d, Where if it grew dark, I told her, as for the best, Or haply in any wise she were frighted, She should at my sister’s seek her rest; There ever I lodge when I am benighted. Nor will my troubled heart be righted Ere I know how she doth speed. If mischief on her hath alighted, I die without all hope or rede, For the lass is all I have at need, And ever from childhood hath been my care; If foul befall her ’twere woe indeed. These lasses lightly fall in despair. Now to Nimmegen I repair To get me tidings without fail. Men oft must hear a sorry tale. After these words is Sir Gysbrecht gone to his sister’s house, asking after Mary, the niece of them both, the which answered rudely that she wist nought of her. Whereat he was right sad, saying to her thus: Alas, my sister, ye deceive me, When ye say that of Mary ye nothing wot. AUNT Nay, good clodpate John, believe me. UNCLE Alas, my sister, ye deceive me. AUNT Nay, she is cloistered, I conceive me Where such birds be spitted for a groat. UNCLE Alas, my sister, ye deceive me, When ye say that of her ye nothing wot; And thus with wrath yourself besot, Though I bid you but tell in all gentleness If ye have seen her. AUNT Natheless, Say ye not her charge was mine. She came, ’tis true, eight or ten days syne, Saying, “Make me a bed, aunt, for to-night I dare not go home, lest I be done despight Of knaves who would lightly some mischief begin.” I bade her take her once more to the inn Where the livelong day she had sat drinking and skinking. UNCLE How! had she the livelong day been a-drinking? AUNT That you may well be thinking, and nothing loath. And her cheeks were as red, I make an oath, As a baby’s bottom that has been well thwack’d. When I blamed her a little for her shameful fact, She made as with good sharp sauce she could eat me straight. Thus cursing and shouting she goes her gate, And no more of my fine young lady I see. UNCLE Alas, what shall become of me? O God in three, where hath she gone or far or near? AUNT Why, goodman dull, in the muddy wine or clear, Where they resort as for such sport are meet. UNCLE