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I’ll give you nothing else to wear,

By Body of God, but simple gear,

A woollen kirtle, and a gown

Of hempen woof to fall adown

About your heels, nought delicate,

But coarse and rude, and in a state

Of rags and slits, howe’er you fret;

And round about your waist I’ll set

A girdle, of what sort, think ye?

No tricked and tinselled trumpery,

But plain white skin, undecked with gold,

While for your shoes shall serve my old

Worn gaiter leggings; soon I’ll thrash

From mind and body all this trash

Of dress and mincing ways, which draw

You on to break the marriage law.

No longer shall this ribald crew

Unhindered have their will of you.

I charge you that you tell me now,

Without a lie, from whom and how

Did you obtain that rich silk dress

Which at the ball you wore? Confess!

For well I know it was not I

Who gave it you.

Unblushingly

You swore by God the Father and

St. Denis, who protects this land,

And holy Philibert, that you

Received it from your mother, who,

According to your tale, so well

Loves me, that readily she’d sell