Men beren eek thise wommen upon honde That lightly, and withouten any peyne, 275 They wonne been; they can no wight withstonde That his disese list to hem compleyne. They been so freel, they mowe hem nat refreyne; But who-so lyketh may hem lightly have; So been hir hertes esy in to grave. 280 To maister Iohn de Meun, as I suppose, Than it was a lewd occupacioun In making of the Romance of the Rose; So many a sly imaginacioun And perils for to rollen up and doun, 285 So long proces, so many a sly cautele For to deceyve a sely damosele! Nat can I seen, ne my wit comprehende That art and peyne and sotiltee sholde fayle For to conquére, and sone make an ende, 290 Whan man a feble place shal assayle; And sone also to venquisshe a batayle Of which no wight dar maken resistence, Ne herte hath noon to stonden at defence. Than moot it folwen of necessitee, 295 Sin art asketh so greet engyn and peyne A womman to disceyve, what she be, Of constauncë they been not so bareyne As that somme of thise sotil clerkes feyne; But they ben as that wommen oghten be, 300 Sad, constant, and fulfilled of pitee. How frendly was Medea to Jasoun In the conquéring of the flees of gold! How falsly quitte he her affeccioun By whom victórie he gat, as he hath wold! 305 How may this man, for shame, be so bold To falsen her, that from his dethe and shame Him kepte, and gat him so gret prys and name? Of Troye also the traitour Eneas, The feythles wrecche, how hath he him forswore 310 To Dido, that queen of Cartágë was, That him releved of his smertes sore! What gentilesse might she han doon more Than she with herte unfeyned to him kidde? And what mischeef to her ther-of betidde! 315 In my Legende of Martres men may fynde (Who-so that lyketh therin for to rede) That ooth noon ne behest may no man bynde; Of reprevable shame han they no drede. In mannes herte trouthe hath no stede; 320 The soil is noght, ther may no trouthe growe! To womman namely it is nat unknowe. Clerkes seyn also: 'ther is no malyce Unto wommannes crabbed wikkednesse!' O woman! How shalt thou thy-self chevyce, 325 Sin men of thee so muchel harm witnesse? No fors! Do forth! Takë no hevinesse! Kepë thyn ownë, what men clappe or crake; And somme of hem shul smerte, I undertake! Malyce of wommen, what is it to drede? 330 They slee no men, distroyen no citees; They not oppressen folk ne overlede, Betraye empyres, remes, ne duchees, Ne men bereve hir landes ne hir mees, Empoyson folk, ne houses sette on fyre, 335 Ne false contractes maken for non hyre!