Ellesmere

Chaucer Therfore lordynges alle I yow biseche If [tha]t yow thynke I varie as in my speche As thus though that I telle som what moore Of proverbes than ye han herd bifoore Comprehended in this litel tretys heere To enforce with theffect of my mateere And though I nat the same wordes seye As ye han herd yet to yow alle I preye Blameth me not for as in my sentence Shul ye nowher fynden difference Fro the sentence of this tretys lyte After the which this murye tale I write And therfore herkneth what [tha]t I shal seye And lat me tellen al my tale I preye Explicit Heere bigynneth Chaucers tale of melibee A yong man called melibeus myghty and riche bigat upon his wyf that called was prudence a doghter which that called was sophie. Upon a day bifel [tha]t he for his desport is went in to the feeldes hym to pleye his wyf and eek his doghter hath he left in with his hous of which the dores weren faste yshette. Thre of hise olde foes han it espyed and setten laddres to the walles of his hous and by wyndowes been entred and betten his wyf and wounded his doghter with fyve mortal woundes in fyve sondry places. This is to seyn in hir feet, in hir handes, in hir erys, in hir nose, and in hir mouth and leften hir for deed and wenten awey. Whan melibeus re tourned was in to his hous and saugh al this meschief; he lyk a mad man rentynge his clothes gan to wepe and crie. Prude[n] ce his wyf as ferforth as she dorste bisoghte hym of his wepyng for to stynte but not for thy he gan to crie and wepen ev[er]e lenger the moore. This noble wyf Prudence remembred hir upon the sentence of Ovide in his booke that cleped is the remedie of love Wher as he seith he is a fool that destourbeth the mooder to wepen in the deeth of hir child til she have wept hir fille as for a certein tyme. And thanne shal man doon his diligence with amyable wordes hir reconforte and preyen hir of hir wepyng for to stynte. For which resou[n] this noble wyf Prudence suffred hir housbonde for to wepe and crie as for a certein space, And whan she saugh hir tyme she seyde hym in this wise, Allas my lord quod she why make ye your self for to be lyk a fool for so the it ap[er]teneth nat to a wys man to maken swich a sorwe your