IN MORELS SKIN. 443
And after that in Morels salte skin I will her lay, and full faste binde, That all her friendes, and eake her kyn, Shall her long seeke or they her fynde.
Then he her met, and to her gan say,
How sayest thou, wife, wilte thou be mayster yet ?
She sware by Gods body, and by that day,
And sodaynly with her fyst she did him hit,
And defyed him, dreuill, at euery worde,
Saying, precious horesone, what doest thou thinke
I set not by thee a stinking torde,
Thou shalt get of me neyther meate nor drinke.
Sayest thou me that wyfe ? quoth he than. With that in his armes he gan her catche, Streyght to the seller with her he ran, And fastened the dore with locke and latche, And threwe the key downe him besyde, Askyng her than if she would obay ? Than she sayde nay, for all thy pryde, But she was mayster, and would abyde alway.
Then, quoth he, we must make a fraye : And with that her cloths he gan to teare, Out vpon thee, horesone ! than she did saye, Wilte thou robbe me of all my geare ? It cost thee naught, thou arrant theefe: And quickly she gat hym by the heade ; With that she sayde, God giue thee a mischiefe. And them that fed thee fyrst with breade.
They wrestled togyther thus they two,
So long that the clothes asunder went,
And to the grounde he threwe her tho,
That cleane from the backe her smock he rent
In euery hand a rod he gate,
And layd vpon her a right good pace j
Asking of her what game was that ?
And she cryed out, horeson, alas 1 alas !