Ther ben a knyght, Sir Hoten hight,
That on a time did swere
In mighty store othes mickle sore,
Whiche grieved his wiffe to here.
Soth, whenne she scoft, his wiffe did oft
Swere as a lady may;
"I'faith," "I'sooth," or "lawk" in truth
Ben alle that wiffe wold say.
Soe whenne her good man waxed him wood
She mervailed much to here
The hejeous sound of othes full round
The which her lord did swere.
"Now, pray thee, speke and tell me eke
What thing hath vexed thee soe?"
The wiffe she cried; but he replied
By swereing moe and moe.
Her sweren zounds which be Gog's wounds,
By bricht Marie and Gis,
By sweit Sanct Ann and holie Tan
And by Bryde's bell, ywis.
By holie grails, by 'slids and 'snails,
By old Sanct Dunstan bauld,
The virgin faire that him did beare,
By him that Judas sauld;
By Arthure's sword, by Paynim horde,
By holie modyr's teir,
By Cokis breath, by Zooks and 's death,
And by Sanct Swithen deir;
By divells alle, both greate and smalle,
And in hell there be,
By bread and salt, and by Gog's malt,
And by the blody tree;
By Him that worn the crown of thorn
And by the sun and mone,
By deir Sanct Blanc and Sanct Fillane,
And three kings of Cologne;
By the gude Lord and His sweit word,
By him that herryit hell,
By blessed Jude, by holie rude,
And eke be Gad himsell!
He sweren soe (and mickle moe)
It made man's flesch to creepen,
The air ben blue with his ado
And sore his wiffe ben wepen.
Giff you wold know why sweren soe
The goodman high Sir Hoten,
He ben full wroth, because, in soth,
He leesed his coler boten.