¶ Here bigynneth the tale / of the Wyf of Bathe . [folio 68b]
IN tholde dayes / of the kyng Arthour
Of which that Britons / speken greet honour
Al was this land / fulfild of ffairye
The Elf queene / with hir ioly compaignye
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Daunced ful ofte / in many a grene mede
This was / the olde opynyon / as I rede
I speke / of many hundred yerys ago
But now kan no man / se none Elues mo
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ffor now the grete charitee / and prayeres
Of lymytours / and othere holy freres
That serchen / euery lond and euery streem
As thikke / as motes in the sonne beem
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Blessynge halles / chambres / kichenes boures
Citees / Burghes / Castels / hye Toures
Thropes / Bernes / Shipnes / dayeryes
This maketh / þat ther been no fairyes
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ffor ther as wont to walken was an Elf
Ther walketh now / the lymytour hym self
In vndermelys / and in morwenynges
And seith his matyns / and his holy thynges
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As he gooth / in his lymytacioun
Wommen / may go saufly vp and down
In euery bussh / or vnder euery tree
Ther is noon oother Incubus / but he
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And he ne wol doon hem / but dishonour
¶ And so bifel / that this kyng Arthour
Hadde in his hous / a lusty Bachiler
That on a day / cam ridyng fro Ryuer
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