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Her sister, nurse, and many another,

And e’en with equal zest her mother

Will need anointing in the palms

To quiet conscientious qualms;

Robes, mantles, gloves, and such delights,

They’ll pounce upon like ravening kites.

When once the victim’s in their grip,

With utter ruthlessness they’ll strip

Their prey, till scarce doth he possess

A rag to hide his nakedness.

Jewels and gold he’ll give as though

Nuts were they off a hazel bough.

Soon comes the banquet to an end,

When many mouths assistance lend,

And then they cry aloud: “Good sir,

’Twere well you should your purse-strings stir

To give our lady something new

Of vesture; doth it trouble you

So little? By St. Giles, I know

One who for her would quickly show

His bounty, she through him, I ween,

Might drive her carriage like a queen!”

And to the damsel would they say:

“Wherefore then make you such delay

To ask more gifts? Why not more bold?

His love to you grows slack and cold.”

And she, though with their words content,

Should bid that they such speech forewent,

Vowing she hath no fault to find,

Unless ’tis that he’s overkind.

But if she note that he’s aware

That ruin in his face doth stare,