CEL. Now the blessing that our lady gave her son, That same blessing I give now to you all! That I come thus homely, I pray you of pardon; I am sought and send for as a woman universal. Celestina, of truth, my name is to call; Sempronio for me about doth inquire, And it was told me I should have found him here. I am sure he will come hither anon; But the whilst I shall tell you a pretty game: I have a wench of Sempronio's, a pretty one, That sojourneth with me: Elicaea is her name. But the last day we were both nigh a stark shame, For Sempronio would have her to himself several; And she loveth one Crito better or as well. This Crito and Elicaea sat drinking In my house, and I also making merry; And as the devil would, far from our thinking, Sempronio almost came on us suddenly. But then wrought I my craft of bawdry; I bade Crito go up, and make himself room To hide him in my chamber among the broom.[42] Then made I Elicaea sit down a-sewing, And I with my rock[43] began for to spin; As who saith of Sempronio we had no knowing. He knocked at the door, and I let him in; And for a countenance I did begin To catch him in mine arms, and said, see, see! Who kisseth me, Elicaea, and will not kiss thee? Elicaea for a countenance made her grieved, And would not speak, but still did sew. Why speak ye not? quoth Sempronio, be ye moved? Have I not a cause, quoth she? no, quoth he, I trow. Ah! traitor, quoth she, full well dost thou know! Where hast thou been these three days from me, That the imposthumes and evil death take thee! Peace, mine Elicaea, quoth he, why say ye thus? Alas! why put you yourself in this woe? The hot fire of love so brenneth between us, That my heart is with yours, wherever I go; And for three days' absence to say to me so, In faith, methinketh, ye be to blame. But now hark well, for here beginneth the game! Crito, in my chamber above that was hidden, I think lay not easily, and began to rumble; Sempronio heard that, and asked who was within, Above in the chamber that so did tumble. Who? quoth she; a lover of mine! may-hap, ye stumble, Quoth he, on the truth, as many one doth. So up, quoth she, and look, whether it be sooth. Well, quoth he, I go. Nay, thought I, not so, I said, come, Sempronio, let this fool alone; For of thy long absence she is in such woe, And half beside herself, and her wit nigh gone. Well, quoth he, above yet there is one. Wilt thou know, quoth I? yea, quoth he, I thee require; It is a wench, quoth I, sent me by a friar. What friar? quoth he. Wilt thou needs know? quoth I; then It is the friar[44] ... Oh, quoth he, what a load hath that woman To bear him! Yea, quoth I; though women per case