And Colyn Cobeller, folowing his felawe, Hathe hade his part of the same lawe, For by the fayth that the preost him gaf His wyff hathe taught him to pleyne at the staff. Hir quarter strooke were so large and rounde That on his rigge the towche was alwey founde. 60 Cecely Sourechere, his owen precyous spouse, Kowde him reheete whan he came to house. Yif he ought spake whanne he felt peyne, Ageyne oon worde alweys he hade tweyne. Sheo qwytt him euer, ther was no thing to seeche, Six for oon, of worde and strookes eeche. Ther was no meen bytweene hem for to goone. What euer he wan : clowting olde shoone The wykday, pleynely this is no tale, Sheo wolde on Sondayes drynk it at the nale. 70 His part was noon, he sayde not oonys nay. Hit is no game, but an hernest play For lack of wit a man his wyf to greeve. Theos housbondemen : who so wolde hem leeve, Koude yif they dourst telle : in Audyence, What folowethe ther of wyves to doone offence. Is noon so olde ne ryveld on hir face, Wit tong or staff but that she dare manase. Mabyle, God hir sauve and blesse, Koude yif hir list bere here of witnesse, 80 Wordes, strookes vnhappe, and harde grace, With sharp nayles kracching in the face. I mene thus, whane the distaff is brooke With theyre fistes wyves wol be wrooke. Blessed thoo men that cane in suche offence Meekly souffre, take al in pacyence Tendure suche wyfly purgatorye. Heven for theyre meede, to regne ther in glorye. God graunt al housbandes that beon in this place To wynne so heven for his hooly grace. 90 Nexst in ordre, this bochier stoute and bolde That killed hathe bulles and boores olde, This Berthilmew, for al his broode knyff, Yit durst he neuer with his sturdy wyff In no mater holde chaumpartye. And if he did, sheo wolde anoon defye His pompe, his pryde, with a sterne thought, And sodeynly setten him at nought. Thoughe his bely were rounded lyche an ooke She wolde not fail to gyf the first strooke. 100 For proude Pernelle lyche a Chaumpyon Wolde leve hir puddinges in a gret Cawdroun, Suffre hem boylle and taake of hem noon heede, But with hir skumour reeche him on the heued. Shee wolde paye him and make no delaye, Bid him goo pleye him a twenty deuel way. She was no cowarde founde at suche a neode, Hir fist ful offt made his cheekis bleed. What querell euer that he agenst hir sette, She cast hir not to dyen in his dette. 110 She made no taylle, but qwytt him by and by. His quarter sowde, she payde him feythfully. And his waages, wt al hir best entent, She made ther of noon assignement.