For his wyff, Beautryce Bittersweete,
Cast vpon him an hougly cheer ful rowghe
Whane he komethe home, ful wery frome the ploughe,
With hungry stomake, deed and paale of cheere,
In hope to fynde redy his dynier.

Thanne sittethe Beautryce, bolling at the nale,
As she that gyvethe of him no maner tale.
For she alday with hir iowsy nolle,
Hathe for the collyk pouped in the bolle [40]
And for heed aache : with pepir and gynger
Dronk dolled ale, to make hir throte cleer,
And komethe hir hoome, whane hit drawethe to eve.
And thanne Robyn, the cely poure Reeve,
Fynde noone amendes of harome ne damage
But leene growell, and soupethe cold potage,
And of his wyf hathe noone other cheer
But cokkrowortes vn to his souper.
This is his servyce sitting at the borde,
And cely Robyn, yif he speke a worde, [50]
Beautryce of him doothe so lytel rekke
That with hir distaff she hittethe him in the nekke,
For a medecyne to chawf with his bloode.
With suche a metyerde she hathe shape him an hoode.

And Colyn Cobeller, folowing his felawe,
Hathe hade his part of the same lawe,
For by the fayth that the preost him gaf
His wyff hathe taught him to pleyne at the staff.
Hir quarter strooke were so large and rounde