than I have done, having matter so ample and lengthy, that if all the cuckold husbands and their wives that do make them so, were to hold hands, and form a ring, I verily believe this would be great enough to surround and encircle a good half of the globe.
In the days of the late King Francis an old song was current, which I have heard a very honourable and venerable dame repeat, to the following effect:
Mais quand viendra la saison
Que les cocus s'assembleront,
Le mien ira devant, qui portera la bannière;
Les autres suivront après, le vostre sera au derrière.
La procession en sera grande,
L'on verra une très longue bande.
(But when the season shall come that the cuckolds shall muster, then mine shall march in front, and shall bear the banner; the rest shall follow after, while yours shall bring up the rear. A grand sight will the procession of them be,—a long, long train!)
Yet would I not inveigh over much against honourable and modest wives, which have borne themselves virtuously and faithfully in the fealty sacredly sworn to their husbands; and I do hope anon to write a separate chapter to their praise, and give the lie to Master Jean de Meung.[3] Now this poet in his Roman de la Rose did write these words: Toutes vous autres femmes...
Estes ou fustes,
D'effet ou de volonté, putes.
(Ye women every one are, or have been, mere whores, if not in deed, then in desire.)
By these verses he did incur such ill will on the part of the Court ladies of that day, that by a plot sanctioned
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