For love is blynd. 13

O stormy peple! unsad and evere untrewe!

No wedded man so hardy be t’assaille His wyves pacience, in trust to fynde Grisildis, for in certein he shal faille!

Love is noght oold as whan that it is newe.

Ye been oure lord, dooth with youre owene thyng Right as yow list.

That he is gentil that dooth gentil dedis.

For thogh we slepe, or wake, or rome, or ryde, Ay fleeth the tyme, it nyl no man abyde.

“My lige lady, generally,” quod he, “Wommen desiren have sovereynetee As well over hir housbond as hir love.”

Looke who that is moost vertuous alway, Pryvee and apert, and most entendeth ay To do the gentil dedes that he kan; Taak hym for the grettest gentil man.

Whan she cast of hir smok.