And there I saw our dame. Ah! where is she?' 'Yonder I trow that in the yard she be,' Saidé this man, 'and she will come anon.' 'Eh master, welcome be ye, by St. John!' Saide this wife; 'how fare ye heartily?' This friar ariseth up full courteously, And her embraceth in his armés narwe,[39] And kisseth her sweet, and chirketh as a sparrow With his lippes: 'Dame,' quoth he, 'right well. As he that is your servant every deal.[40] Thanked be God that you gave soul and life, Yet saw I not this day so fair a wife In all the churché, God so save me.' 'Yea, God amendé defaults, sire,' quoth she: 'Algates welcome be ye, by my fay.' '_Graunt mercy_, dame; that have I found alway. But of your great goodness, by your leve, I wouldé pray you that ye not you grieve, I will with Thomas speak a little throw; These curates be so negligent and slow To searchen tenderly a conscience. In shrift, in preaching, is my diligence, And study, on Peter's words and on Paul's, I walk and fishen Christian menne's souls, To yield our Lord Jesu his proper rent; To spread his word is set all mine intent.' 'Now, by your faith, dere sir,' quoth she, 'Chide him well for Seinté Charitee. He is as angry as a pissemire,'" &c. Whereupon the friar begins at once to scold the goodman:-- "'O Thomas, _je vous die_, Thomas, Thomas, This maketh the fiend, this must be amended. Ire is a thing that high God hath defended,[41] And therefore will I speak a word or two.' 'Now, master,' quoth the wife, 'ere that I go, What will ye dine? I will go thereabout.' 'Now, dame,' quoth he, '_je vous dis sans doubte_, Have I not of a capon but the liver, And of your white bread but a shiver, And after that a roasted piggé's head (But I ne would for me no beast were dead), Then had I with you homely suffisance; I am a man of little sustenance, My spirit hath his fostering in the Bible. My body is aye so ready and so penible To waken, that my stomach is destroyed. I pray you, dame, that ye be not annoyed, Though I so friendly you my counsel shew. By God! I n'old[42] have told it but a few.' 'Now, sir,' quoth she, 'but one word ere I go. My child is dead within these weekés two, Soon after that ye went out of this town.'[43] 'His death saw I by revelation,' Said this frere, 'at home in our dortour.[44] I dare well say that ere that half an hour After his death, I saw him borne to blisse In mine vision, so God me wisse. So did our sexton and our fermerere,[45] That have been trué friars fifty year; They may now, God be thanked of his loan, Make their jubilee and walke alone.'"[46] We do not care to continue the blasphemous lies with which he plays upon the mother's tenderness for her dead babe. At length, addressing the sick goodman, he continues:--