The Works of John Dryden, now first collected in eighteen volumes. Volume 12. John Dryden

the place,

      And yaf him to the quene, all at hire will

      To chese whether she wold him save or spill.

      The quene thanketh the king with all hire might;

      And after this thus spake she to the knight,

      Whan that she saw hire time upon a day.

      Thou standest yet (quod she) in swiche array,

      That of thy lif yet hast thou not seuretee;

      I grant thee lif if thou canst tellen me

      What thing is it that women most desiren:

      Beware, and kepe thy nekke bone from yren.

      And if thou canst not tell it me anon,

      Yet wol I yeve thee leve for to gon

      A twelvemonth and a day to seke and lere

      An answer suffisant in this matere;

      And seuretee wol I have, or that thou pace,

      The body for to yelden in this place.

      Wo was the knight, and sorwefully he siketh:

      But what? he may not don all as him liketh.

      And at the last he chese him for to wende,

      And come agen right at the yeres ende

      With swiche answer as God wold him purvay,

      And taketh his leve, and wendeth forth his way.

      He seketh every hous and every place,

      Wher as he hopeth for to finden grace,

      To lernen what thing women loven moste;

      But he ne coude ariven in no coste,

      Wher as he mighte find in this matere

      Two creatures according in fere.

      Som saiden women loven best richesse,

      Som saiden honour, som saiden jolinesse,

      Som riche array, some saiden lust a-bedde,

      And oft time to be widewe and to be wedde.

      Some saiden that we ben in herte most esed

      Whan that we ben yflatered and ypreised.

      He goth ful nigh the sothe, I wol not lie;

      A man shal winne us best with flaterie;

      And with attendance and with besinesse

      Ben we ylimed bothe more and lesse.

      And som men saiden, that we loven best

      For to be free, and do right as us lest,

      And that no man repreve us of our vice,

      But say that we ben wise and nothing nice:

      For trewely ther n'is non of us all,

      If any wight wol claw us on the gall,

      That we n'ill kike for that he saith us soth;

      Assay, and he shal find it that so doth:

      For be we never so vicious withinne

      We wol be holden wise and clene of sinne.

      And som saiden, that gret delit han we

      For to be holden stable and eke secre,

      And in o purpos stedfastly to dwell,

      And not bewreyen thing that men us tell;

      But that tale is not worth a rake-stele.

      Parde we women connen nothing hele,

      Witnesse on Mida; wol ye here the Tale?

      Ovide, amonges other thinges smale,

      Said Mida had under his longe heres

      Growing upon his hed two asses eres,

      The whiche vice he hid, as he beste might,

      Ful subtilly from every mannes sight,

      That, save his wif, ther wist of it no mo;

      He loved hire most, and trusted hire also;

      He praied hire that to no creature

      She n'olde tellen of his disfigure.

      She swore him nay, for all the world to winne

      She n'olde do that vilanie ne sinne,

      To make hire husbond han so foule a name:

      She n'olde not tell it for hire owen shame.

      But natheles hire thoughte that she dide

      That she so longe shulde a conseil hide;

      Hire thought it swal so sore about hire herte,

      That nedely som word hire must asterte;

      And sith she dorst nat telle it to no man,

      Doun to a mareis faste by she ran;

      Til she came ther hire herte was a-fire:

      And as a bitore bumbleth in the mire,

      She laid hire mouth unto the water doun.

      Bewrey me not, thou water, with thy soun,

      Quod she; to thee I tell it, and no mo,

      Min husbond hath long asses eres two.

      Now is min herte all hole, now is it out,

      I might no lenger kepe it out of dout.

      Here may ye see, though we a time abide,

      Yet out it moste; we can no conseil hide.

      The remenant of the Tale, if ye wol here,

      Redeth Ovide, and ther ye may it lere.

      This knight, of which my Tale is specially,

      Whan that he saw he might not come therby,

      (This is to sayn, what women loven most)

      Within his brest ful sorweful was his gost.

      But home he goth, he mighte not sojourne;

      The day was come that homward must he turne.

      And in his way it happed him to ride,

      In all his care, under a forest side,

      Wheras he saw upon a dance go

      Of ladies foure and twenty, and yet mo.

      Toward this ilke dance he drow ful yerne,

      In hope that he som wisdom shulde lerne;

      But certainly er he came fully there

      Yvanished was this dance he n'iste not wher;

      No creature saw he that bare lif,

      Save on the grene he saw sitting a wif,

      A fouler wight ther may no man devise.

      Againe this knight this olde wif gan arise,

      And saide Sire Knight, here forth ne lith no way.

      Tell me what that ye seken by your fay,

      Paraventure it may the better be:

      Thise olde folk con mochel thing, quod she.

      My leve mother, quod this knight, certain

      I n'am but ded but if that I can fain

      What thing it is that women most desire:

      Coude ye me wisse I wold quite wel your hire.

      Plight me thy trothe here in myn hond, quod she,

      The nexte thing that I requere of thee

      Thou shalt it do, if it be in thy might,

      And I wol tell it you or it be night.

      Have here my trouthe, quod the knight, I graunte.

      Thanne, quod she, I dare me wel avaunte

      Thy lif is sauf, for I wol stond therby,

      Upon my lif the quene wol say as I.

      Let see