¶ Of the Answere of the Mastres to the Mayde. XCIV
¶ A certayne wyfe there was, whiche was somwhat fayre, and, as all women be that be fayre, was somwhat proude of her beautye; and as she and her mayde satte together, she, as one that was desyrous to be praysed, sayd to her thus: I, faythe, Jone, howe thynkest thou? am I nat a fayre wyfe? Yes, by my trouth, maistres, quod she, ye be the fayrest that euer was excepte * * *
The end is wanting.