Now tell me, Sone, thin ansuere, If it hath evere so betidd, That thou at eny time hast chidd Toward thi love. Fader, nay: Such Cheste yit unto this day Ne made I nevere, god forbede: For er I sunge such a crede, I hadde levere to be lewed; For thanne were I al beschrewed 480 And worthi to be put abak With al the sorwe upon my bak That eny man ordeigne cowthe. Bot I spak nevere yit be mowthe That unto Cheste mihte touche, And that I durste riht wel vouche Upon hirself as for witnesse; For I wot, of hir gentilesse That sche me wolde wel excuse, That I no suche thinges use. 490 And if it scholde so betide That I algates moste chide, It myhte noght be to my love: For so yit was I nevere above, For al this wyde world to winne That I dorste eny word beginne, Be which sche mihte have ben amoeved And I of Cheste also reproeved. Bot rathere, if it mihte hir like, The beste wordes wolde I pike 500 Whiche I cowthe in myn herte chese, And serve hem forth in stede of chese, For that is helplich to defie; And so wolde I my wordes plie, That mihten Wraththe and Cheste avale With tellinge of my softe tale. Thus dar I make a foreward, That nevere unto my ladiward Yit spak I word in such a wise, Wherof that Cheste scholde arise. 510 This seie I noght, that I fulofte Ne have, whanne I spak most softe, Per cas seid more thanne ynowh; Bot so wel halt noman the plowh That he ne balketh otherwhile, Ne so wel can noman affile His tunge, that som time in rape Him mai som liht word overscape, And yit ne meneth he no Cheste. Bot that I have ayein hir heste 520 Fulofte spoke, I am beknowe; And how my will is, that ye knowe: For whan my time comth aboute, That I dar speke and seie al oute Mi longe love, of which sche wot That evere in on aliche hot Me grieveth, thanne al my desese I telle, and though it hir desplese, I speke it forth and noght ne leve: And thogh it be beside hire leve, 530 I hope and trowe natheles That I do noght ayein the pes; For thogh I telle hire al my thoght, Sche wot wel that I chyde noght. Men mai the hihe god beseche, And he wol hiere a mannes speche And be noght wroth of that he seith; So yifth it me the more feith And makth me hardi, soth to seie, That I dar wel the betre preie 540 Mi ladi, which a womman is. For thogh I telle hire that or this Of love, which me grieveth sore, Hire oghte noght be wroth the more, For I withoute noise or cri Mi pleignte make al buxomly To puten alle wraththe away. Thus dar I seie unto this day Of Cheste in ernest or in game Mi ladi schal me nothing blame. 550