Schewe al the plesir that sche mihte. So that be daie ne be nyhte Sche not what thing is for the beste, Bot liveth out of alle reste; For what as evere him liste sein, Sche dar noght speke a word ayein, Bot wepth and holt hire lippes clos. Sche mai wel wryte, “Sanz repos,” The wif which is to such on maried. Of alle wommen be he waried, 510 For with this Fievere of Jalousie His echedaies fantasie Of sorghe is evere aliche grene, So that ther is no love sene, Whil that him list at hom abyde. And whan so is he wol out ryde, Thanne hath he redi his aspie Abidinge in hir compaignie, A janglere, an evel mouthed oon, That sche ne mai nowhider gon, 520 Ne speke a word, ne ones loke, That he ne wol it wende and croke And torne after his oghne entente, Thogh sche nothing bot honour mente. Whan that the lord comth hom ayein, The janglere moste somwhat sein; So what withoute and what withinne, This Fievere is evere to beginne, For where he comth he can noght ende, Til deth of him have mad an ende. 530 For thogh so be that he ne hiere Ne se ne wite in no manere Bot al honour and wommanhiede, Therof the Jelous takth non hiede, Bot as a man to love unkinde, He cast his staf, as doth the blinde, And fint defaulte where is non; As who so dremeth on a Ston Hou he is leid, and groneth ofte, Whan he lith on his pilwes softe. 540 So is ther noght bot strif and cheste; Whan love scholde make his feste, It is gret thing if he hir kisse: Thus hath sche lost the nyhtes blisse, For at such time he gruccheth evere And berth on hond ther is a levere, And that sche wolde an other were In stede of him abedde there; And with tho wordes and with mo Of Jelousie, he torneth fro 550 And lith upon his other side, And sche with that drawth hire aside, And ther sche wepeth al the nyht. Ha, to what peine sche is dyht, That in hire youthe hath so beset The bond which mai noght ben unknet! I wot the time is ofte cursed, That evere was the gold unpursed, The which was leid upon the bok, Whan that alle othre sche forsok 560 For love of him; bot al to late Sche pleigneth, for as thanne algate Sche mot forbere and to him bowe, Thogh he ne wole it noght allowe. For man is lord of thilke feire, So mai the womman bot empeire, If sche speke oght ayein his wille; And thus sche berth hir peine stille. Bot if this Fievere a womman take, Sche schal be wel mor harde schake; 570 For thogh sche bothe se and hiere, And finde that ther is matiere, Sche dar bot to hirselve pleine, And thus sche suffreth double peine.