Bot he, which hath the compainie Of such a lusti on as sche, Him thoghte that of his degre Ther was noman so wel at ese: Sche doth al that sche mai to plese, So that his herte al hol sche hadde; And thus this king his joie ladde, 2770 Til it was nyh upon the day. The Steward thanne wher sche lay Cam to the bedd, and in his wise Hath bede that sche scholde arise. The king seith, “Nay, sche schal noght go.” His Steward seide ayein, “Noght so; For sche mot gon er it be knowe, And so I swor at thilke throwe, Whan I hire fette to you hiere.” The king his tale wol noght hiere, 2780 And seith hou that he hath hire boght, Forthi sche schal departe noght, Til he the brighte dai beholde. And cawhte hire in hise armes folde, As he which liste forto pleie, And bad his Steward gon his weie, And so he dede ayein his wille. And thus his wif abedde stille Lay with the king the longe nyht, Til that it was hih Sonne lyht; 2790 Bot who sche was he knew nothing. Tho cam the Steward to the king And preide him that withoute schame In savinge of hire goode name He myhte leden hom ayein This lady, and hath told him plein Hou that it was his oghne wif. The king his Ere unto this strif Hath leid, and whan that he it herde, Welnyh out of his wit he ferde, 2800 And seide, “Ha, caitif most of alle, Wher was it evere er this befalle, That eny cokard in this wise Betok his wif for coveitise? Thou hast bothe hire and me beguiled And ek thin oghne astat reviled, Wherof that buxom unto thee Hierafter schal sche nevere be. For this avou to god I make, After this day if I thee take, 2810 Thou schalt ben honged and todrawe. Nou loke anon thou be withdrawe, So that I se thee neveremore.” This Steward thanne dradde him sore, With al the haste that he mai And fledde awei that same dai, And was exiled out of londe. Lo, there a nyce housebonde, Which thus hath lost his wif for evere! Bot natheles sche hadde a levere; 2820 The king hire weddeth and honoureth, Wherof hire name sche socoureth, Which erst was lost thurgh coveitise Of him, that ladde hire other wise, And hath himself also forlore. Mi Sone, be thou war therfore, Wher thou schalt love in eny place, That thou no covoitise embrace, The which is noght of loves kinde. Bot for al that a man mai finde 2830 Nou in this time of thilke rage Ful gret desese in mariage, Whan venym melleth with the Sucre And mariage is mad for lucre, Or for the lust or for the hele: What man that schal with outher dele, He mai noght faile to repente.