By God, if women had written stories,As clerks had within here oratories,They would have written of men more wickednessThan all the mark of Adam may redress.

The lyf so short, the craft so long to lerne.

Lo, which a greet thing is affeccioun!Men may die of imaginacioun,So depe may impressioun be take.

Then the Miller fell off his horse.

Chese now,” quod she, “oon of thise thynges tweye:To han me foul and old til that I deye,And be to yow a trewe, humble wyf,And nevere yow displese in al my lyf,Or elles ye wol...

Thus in this heaven he took his delight And smothered her with kisses upon kisses Till gradually he came to know where bliss is.

Patience is a conquering virtue.