Of honour, and of perfect worthiness:
And yet, take note, for all this mastery,
This Phoebus was of cheer so frank and free,
That for his sport, and to commend the glory
He gat him o'er the snake (so runs the story),
He used to carry in his hand a bow.

Now this same god had in his house a crow,
Which in a cage he fostered many a day,
And taught to speak, as folks will teach a jay.
White was the crow; as is a snow-white swan,
And could repeat a tale told by a man,
And sing. No nightingale, down in a dell,
Could sing one-hundred-thousandth part so well.

Now had this Phoebus in his house a wife
Which that he loved beyond his very life:
And night and day did all his diligence
To please her well, and do her reverence;
Save only, to speak truly, inter nos,
Jealous he was, and would have kept her close:
He wished not to be treated monstrously:
Neither does any man, no more than he;
Only to hinder wives, it serveth nought; -
A good wife, that is clean of work and thought,
No man would dream of hindering such a way.
And just as bootless is it, night or day,
Hindering a shrew; for it will never be.
I hold it for a very foppery,
Labour in vain, this toil to hinder wives,