Mi Sone, a man to beie him pes Behoveth soffre as Socrates 640 Ensample lefte, which is write: And for thou schalt the sothe wite, Of this ensample what I mene, Althogh it be now litel sene Among the men thilke evidence, Yit he was upon pacience So sett, that he himself assaie In thing which mihte him most mispaie Desireth, and a wickid wif He weddeth, which in sorwe and strif 650 Ayein his ese was contraire. Bot he spak evere softe and faire, Til it befell, as it is told, In wynter, whan the dai is cold, This wif was fro the welle come, Wher that a pot with water nome Sche hath, and broghte it into house, And sih how that hire seli spouse Was sett and loked on a bok Nyh to the fyr, as he which tok 660 His ese for a man of age. And sche began the wode rage, And axeth him what devel he thoghte, And bar on hond that him ne roghte What labour that sche toke on honde, And seith that such an Housebonde Was to a wif noght worth a Stre. He seide nowther nay ne ye, Bot hield him stille and let hire chyde; And sche, which mai hirself noght hyde, 670 Began withinne forto swelle, And that sche broghte in fro the welle, The waterpot sche hente alofte And bad him speke, and he al softe Sat stille and noght a word ansuerde; And sche was wroth that he so ferde, And axeth him if he be ded; And al the water on his hed Sche pourede oute and bad awake. Bot he, which wolde noght forsake 680 His Pacience, thanne spak, And seide how that he fond no lak In nothing which sche hadde do: For it was wynter time tho, And wynter, as be weie of kinde Which stormy is, as men it finde, Ferst makth the wyndes forto blowe, And after that withinne a throwe He reyneth and the watergates Undoth; “and thus my wif algates, 690 Which is with reson wel besein, Hath mad me bothe wynd and rein After the Sesoun of the yer.” And thanne he sette him nerr the fer, And as he mihte hise clothes dreide, That he nomore o word ne seide; Wherof he gat him somdel reste, For that him thoghte was the beste. I not if thilke ensample yit Acordeth with a mannes wit, 700 To soffre as Socrates tho dede: And if it falle in eny stede A man to lese so his galle, Him oghte among the wommen alle In loves Court be juggement The name bere of Pacient, To yive ensample to the goode Of pacience how that it stode, That othre men it mihte knowe. And, Sone, if thou at eny throwe 710 Be tempted ayein Pacience, Tak hiede upon this evidence; It schal per cas the lasse grieve. Mi fader, so as I believe, Of that schal be no maner nede, For I wol take so good hiede, That er I falle in such assai, I thenke eschuie it, if I mai. Bot if ther be oght elles more Wherof I mihte take lore, 720 I preie you, so as I dar, Now telleth, that I mai be war, Som other tale in this matiere.