With respects to Chaucer, I wrote this in his style in the mid-1970's....
THE MAID'S TALE
by Daniel D. Mickle
This tale of love to tell at length have I
of maiden fair, the type to make men sigh.
Yet though the maid had passed nineteen in years
the games she played with men bespoke her fears.
While outward she professed to seek her fill,
she shied from love for fear its steal her will,
that she might lose her soul through lust of man
and thus it was she held her secret ban
on giving of her heart till she was sure,
lest it be rent, else not remain so pure.
One man through grace of God did seek her love,
that angels cry with joy in skies above,
and so he came to her to ask a boon-
that she might give herself to him; that soon
the two of them in bliss together lie.
He begged her come, "-lest not, I know I'll die."
"Yes, surely, I would wish to lie with thee,
except that I must with my mother be
for this is that one day within each week
when all the clothing which would mould and reek
must wash-ed be, but soon shall I be done
and then we two may lie as close as one
and seek what pleasure we would chance to take.
Upon thy bed, I'll on the morrow wake..."
A message she would send to him anon
that they could meet in secret and be gone
to his own bed and there to seal their pact;
to join their bodies both in thought and act.
He took him then to leave her to her chore
unto the Inn, where he might bide yet more
and there did drink of spic-ed ale and mead,
well served by buxom wench of peasant breed,
but after many mugs -no message still -
his hand began to move of its own will.
While he, his love did nearly make to cry;
his hand fell on the serving wench's thigh;
and she with smile did patiently forebear
that he should take his hand away from there,
for it did seem the room was getting warm.
She felt she ought protect him from the harm
of broken heart that his pure love would know
if he awoke alone -his pain to grow.
Knew he at dawn someone had shared his bed,
but drink still lay like fog upon his head;
and though he try he still could not recall
if his fair love had come to him at all;
and yet within his throbbing heart he knew
it was the wench who cuddled him for true.
The shameful fondness of that memory
intruded harsh within his reverie.
At midday went he by to see the maid.
"I'm sorry," said she then, "but I was bade
to stay at home and help my brother Ben,
but we could meet this e'en down at the glen.
When evensong is rung -I will be there
to kiss my love and fondly stroke thy hair."
So off again he strode with gladdened heart
that they would meet and nevermore would part.
So, strolling then, he paused and sniffed the air
new leaves and flowers, grass and hay were there,
and pretty birds and butterflies they flew,
while honey-bees collected flower-dew.
Thus contemplating how her love to win
he found him on the door-stoop of the Inn,
and so to be refreshed, he entered there
to order him a draught and other fare.
The wench was there and quickly came she hence
that he might pleas-ed be of her and thence
they could go off together once again,
that she might well console him of his pain.
She found her chance when there arrived this note:
"I'll see you on the morrow, love." Was wrote,
along with explanation of her plight-
the maid must stay at home the whole long night!
So thus the wench did satisfy the gent
and comfort him in life where e'er he went.
At last the maid decided she could give
her heart to he, who for her smile did live.
She met him on the lane near Cotter's way
to tell him she was free the entire day.
He seemed a jot upset that this be so
and downward cast his eyes, "But I must go."
He spake it soft, as though the words he dread,
"Today, my love, the wench and I be wed."
