The folkis wyll mocke me whan they here me brall;[242] But for all that, shall I let[243] therfore To chastyce my wyfe ever the more, 50 And to make her at home for to tary? Is not that well done? yes, by Saynt Mary, That is a poynt[244] of an honest man For to bete his wyfe well nowe and than. Therfore I shall bete her, have ye no drede! 55 And I ought to bete her, tyll she be starke dede. And why? by God, bicause it is my pleasure, And if I shulde suffre her, I make you sure, Nought shulde prevayle[245] me, nother staffe nor waster,[246] Within a whyle she wolde be my mayster. 60 Therfore I shall bete her by cokkes mother, Both on the tone syde and on the tother, Before and behynde; nought shall be her bote,[247] From the top of the heed to the sole of the fote. But, masters, for Goddis sake, do not entrete 65 For her, whan that she shal be bete; But, for Goddis passion, let me alone, And I shall thwak her that she shall grone: Wherfore I beseche you, and hartely you pray, And I beseche you say me not nay, 70 But that I may beate her for this ones; A ii And I shall beate her, by cokkes bones, That she shall stynke lyke a pole-kat; But yet, by goggis body, that nede nat, For she wyll stynke without any betyng, 75 For every nyght ones she gyveth me an hetyng; From her issueth suche a stynkyng smoke, That the savour therof almost doth me choke. But I shall bete her nowe, without fayle; I shall bete her toppe and tayle, 80 Heed, shulders, armes, legges, and all, I shall bete her, I trowe that I shall; And, by goggis boddy, I tell you trewe, I shall bete her tyll she be blacke and blewe. But where the dyvell trowe ye she is gon? 85 I holde a noble[248] she is with Syr Jhān; I fere I am begyled alway, But yet in faith I hope well nay; Yet I almost enrage that I ne can Se the behavour of our gentylwoman. 90 And yet, I thynke, thyther as she doth go Many an honest wyfe goth thyther also, For to make some pastyme and sporte. But than my wyfe so ofte doth thyther resorte That I fere she wyll make me weare a fether. 95 But yet I nede not for to fere nether, For he is her gossyp, that is he. But abyde a whyle, yet let me se, Where the dyvell hath our gyssypry[249] begon? My wyfe had never chylde, daughter nor son. 100 Nowe if I forbede her that she go no more, Yet wyll she go as she dyd before, Or els wyll she chuse some other place;