And eke the Parables* of Solomon, *Proverbs Ovide’s Art, <29> and bourdes* many one; *jests And alle these were bound in one volume. And every night and day was his custume (When he had leisure and vacation From other worldly occupation) To readen in this book of wicked wives. He knew of them more legends and more lives Than be of goodde wives in the Bible. For, trust me well, it is an impossible That any clerk will speake good of wives, (*But if* it be of holy saintes’ lives) *unless Nor of none other woman never the mo’. Who painted the lion, tell it me, who? By God, if women haddde written stories, As clerkes have within their oratories, They would have writ of men more wickedness Than all the mark of Adam <30> may redress The children of Mercury and of Venus,<31> Be in their working full contrarious. Mercury loveth wisdom and science, And Venus loveth riot and dispence.* *extravagance And for their diverse disposition, Each falls in other’s exaltation. As thus, God wot, Mercury is desolate In Pisces, where Venus is exaltate, And Venus falls where Mercury is raised. <32> Therefore no woman by no clerk is praised. The clerk, when he is old, and may not do Of Venus’ works not worth his olde shoe, Then sits he down, and writes in his dotage, That women cannot keep their marriage. But now to purpose, why I tolde thee That I was beaten for a book, pardie. Upon a night Jenkin, that was our sire,* *goodman Read on his book, as he sat by the fire, Of Eva first, that for her wickedness Was all mankind brought into wretchedness, For which that Jesus Christ himself was slain, That bought us with his hearte-blood again. Lo here express of women may ye find That woman was the loss of all mankind. Then read he me how Samson lost his hairs Sleeping, his leman cut them with her shears, Through whiche treason lost he both his eyen. Then read he me, if that I shall not lien, Of Hercules, and of his Dejanire, That caused him to set himself on fire. Nothing forgot he of the care and woe That Socrates had with his wives two; How Xantippe cast piss upon his head. This silly man sat still, as he were dead, He wip’d his head, and no more durst he sayn, But, “Ere the thunder stint* there cometh rain.” *ceases Of Phasiphae, that was queen of Crete, For shrewedness* he thought the tale sweet. *wickedness Fy, speak no more, it is a grisly thing, Of her horrible lust and her liking. Of Clytemnestra, for her lechery That falsely made her husband for to die, He read it with full good devotion. He told me eke, for what occasion Amphiorax at Thebes lost his life: My husband had a legend of his wife Eryphile, that for an ouche* of gold *clasp, collar Had privily unto the Greekes told, Where that her husband hid him in a place, For which he had at Thebes sorry grace. Of Luna told he me, and of Lucie;