"I wolde ben y-shryve," quod this sherewe, "And I for shame dorste; I wolde be gladder, by God! That Gybbe hadde meschaunce, Than though I hadde this wouke y-wonne A weye of Essex chese. "I have a neghebore by me, I have anoyed hym ofte, 2660 And lowen on hym to lordes To doon hym lese his silver, And maad his frendes be his foon Thorugh my false tonge; His grace and his goode happes Greven me ful soore. {83} "Bitwene manye and manye I make debate ofte, That bothe lif and lyme Is lost thorugh my speche. 2670 And whan I mete hym in market That I moost hate, I hailse hym hendely, As I his frend were; For he is doughtier than I, I dar do noon oother; Ac hadde I maistrie and myght, God woot my wille! "And whan I come to the kirk, And sholde knele to the roode, 2680 And preye for the peple As the preest techeth, For pilgrymes and for palmeres, For al the peple after, Thanne I crye on my knees That Crist gyve hem sorwe, That beren awey my bolle And my broke shete. "Awey fro the auter thanne Turne I myne eighen, 2690 And bi-holde Eleyne Hath a newe cote; I wisshe thanne it were myn, And al the web after. "And of mennes lesynge I laughe, That liketh myn herte; And for hir wynnynge I wepe, And waille the tyme; And deme that thei doon ille, There I do wel werse. 2700 {84} Who so under-nymeth me hero I hate hym dedly after; I wolde that ech a wight Were my knave, For who so hath moore than I, Than angreth me soore. And thus I lyve love-lees, Lik a luther dogge; That al my body bolneth, For bitter of my galle. 2710 "I myghte noght ete many yeres As a man oughte, For envye and yvel wil Is yvel to defie. May no sugre ne swete thyng Aswage my swellyng? Ne no _diapenidion_ Dryve it fro myn herte? Ne neither shrifte ne shame, But who so shrape my mawe?" 2720 "Yis redily," quod Repentaunce, And radde hym to the beste, "Sorwe of synnes Is savacion of soules." "I am sory," quod that segge, "I am but selde oother, And that maketh me thus megre, For I ne may me venge. "Amonges burgeises have I be Dwellyng at Londone, 2730 And gart bakbityng be a brocour To blame mennes ware; Whan he solde and I nought, Thanne was I redy {85} To lye and to loure on my neghebore, And to lakke his chaffare; I wole amende this, if I may, Thorugh myght of God almyghty." Now awaketh Wrathe, With two white eighen; 2740 And nevelynge with the nose, And his nekke hangyng.