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This carpenter hadde wedded newe a wifWhich that he loved more than his lif.Of eighteene yeer she was of age;Jalous he was, and heeld hir narwe in cage,For she was wilde and yong, and he was old,And deemed himself been lik a cokewold.He knew nat Caton, for his wit was rude,That bad men sholde wedde his similitude;Men shold ewedden after hir estat,For youthe and elde is often at debat.But sith that he was fallen in the snare,He moste endure, as other folk, his care.Fair was this yonge wif, and therwithalAs any wesele hir body gent and smal...Her filet brood of silk and set ful hye;And sikerly she hadde a likerous ye...Therto she coulde skippe and make gameAs any kide or calf folwing his dame.Her mouth was sweet as bragot or the meeth,Or hoord of apples laid in hay or heeth.Winsing she was as is a joly colt,Long as a mast, and upright as a bolt...She was a primerole, a piggesnye,For any lord to leggen in his bedde,Or yit for any good yeman to wedde.

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