Je hai l'Este

A, Sommer. Although hit be ful fair, with al the herbes and tres, and the briddes-song and grene, one may ete naught but chikkones sin al else should rotten in the sonne er hit may be fin, and one nede chaungen her cloth ful VI times eche day, so wett and foul with swete hem groweth.

Whan in my chaumbre, I may goon about with myn wimple off, my sleves un-bouttoned, my skrits pullen up with my ceincturette and my hosen casten wey, and then hit be nat so badde, but whan I nede appere for othres, unlees hit be my Johne, hit is dredful and I growe reed and drenched, and stynke lyk a stable. My Johne hath sayd he lyketh the mannir in whych I stinke; he is so swoote! But ne myn own selfe lyketh how I stinke, so goon I shale to the bathes thyse weke.

I maye nere nat weyte for Saint Grimbaldes Dey! There shal be a feste for that, and then there shal be mete that is nat chikkon.