_Launder._ Then leave not to muche to yonder gyglet.[194] For her desyre contrary to myne is set. I herde by her tale she wolde banyshe the sonne, And then were we pore launders all undonne. Excepte the sonne shyne that our clothes may dry, 895 We can do ryght nought in our laundrye. An other maner losse, yf we sholde mys, Then of suche nycebyceters[195] as she is. _Gentylwoman._ I thynke yt better that thou envy me, Then I sholde stande at rewarde[196] of thy pytte. 900 It is the guyse of such grose quenes as thou art With such as I am evermore to thwart. By cause that no beauty ye can obtayne Therfore ye have us that be fayre in dysdayne. _Launder._ When I was as yonge as thou art now, 905 I was wythin lyttel as fayre as thou, And so myght have kept me, yf I hadde wolde, And as derely my youth I myght have solde As the tryckest and fayrest of you all. But I feared parels[197] that after myght fall, 910 Wherfore some busynes I dyd me provyde, Lest vyce myght enter on every syde, Whyche hath fre entre where ydelnesse doth reyne. It is not thy beauty that I dysdeyne, But thyne ydyll lyfe that thou hast rehersed, 915 Whych any good womans hert wolde have perced. For I perceyve in daunsynge and syngynge, In eatyng and drynkynge and thyne apparellynge, Is all the joye, wherin thy herte is set. But nought of all this doth thyne owne labour get; 920 For, haddest thou nothyng but of thyne owne travayle, Thou myghtest go as naked as my nayle. Me thynke thou shuldest abhorre suche ydylnes And passe thy tyme in some honest besynes; Better to lese some parte of thy beaute, 925 Then so ofte to jeoberd all thyne honeste. But I thynke, rather then thou woldest so do, D ii Thou haddest lever have us lyve ydylly to. And so, no doute, we shulde, yf thou myghtest have The clere sone banysht, as thou dost crave: 930 Then were we launders marde and unto the Thyne owne request were smale commodyte. For of these twayne I thynke yt farre better Thy face were sone-burned, and thy clothis the swetter,[198] Then that the sonne from shynynge sholde be smytten, 935 To kepe thy face fayre and thy smocke beshytten. Syr, howe lycke ye my reason in her case? _Mery-reporte._ Such a raylynge hore, by the holy mas, I never herde, in all my lyfe, tyll now. In dede I love ryght well the ton of you, 940 But, or I wolde kepe you both, by goddes mother, The devyll shall have the tone to fet[199] the tother.