though she lose her wits;
Or else I’ll cite her with a score of writs:
And yet, God wot, I know of her no vice.
So learn of me, Sir Fiend: thou art too nice.”

  The Sumner clappeth at the widow’s gate.
“Come out,” he saith, “thou hag, thou quiver-pate:
I trow thou hast some friar or priest with thee.”
  “Who clappeth?” said this wife; “ah, what say ye?
God save ye, masters: what is your sweet will?”
  “I have,” said he, “of summons here a bill:
Take care, on pain of cursing, that thou be
To-morrow morn, before the Archdeacon’s knee,
To answer to the court of certain things.”

  “Now, Lord,” quoth she, “sweet Jesu, King of kings,
So help me, as I cannot, sirs, nor may:
I have been sick, and that full many a day.
I may not walk such distance, nay, nor ride,
But I be dead, so pricketh it my side.
La! how I cough and quiver when I stir! -
May I not ask some worthy officer
To speak for me, to what the bill may say?”

  “Yea, certainly,” this Sumner said, “ye may,
On paying - let me see - twelve pence anon.
Small profit cometh to myself thereon:
My master hath the profit, and not I.
Come - twelve pence, mother - count it speedily,
And let me ride: I may no longer tarry.”

  “Twelve pence!” quoth she; “now may the sweet Saint Mary
So wisely help me out of care and sin,
As in this wide world, though I sold my skin,
I could not scrape up twelve pence, for my life.
Ye know too well I am a poor old wife:
Give alms, for the Lord’s sake, to me, poor wretch.”

  “Nay, if I quit thee then,” quoth he, “devil fetch
Myself, although thou starve for it, a