A Poem About The Wife of Bath From Chaucer's Canterbury Tales, written in (bastardized) Middle English

Ye goon to Caunterbury, God yow speede!

Whoso that nyl be war by othere men, By hym shul othere men corrected be.

I love the Wyf of Bath’s ironye,
As well as her indemnytye
For sooth she loveth her freedome
As for her sondry housbondes sekirly
That of loue can wythe no vileynye
She myghte have kypte one man
as her kyng
Eek to cherish the hourye
Which she gloses as the flour
Of al her age
Of her housbonde, she uses his sely instrument bothe eve and morwe
She wol not lette
From collectyn of his dette
For wel ye knowe she covets not virginitee
Eek this tale of transformationye, I trowe
Rests with the wyf’s verray glorie
To put him who is vileyn in purgatorie
For Housbondes in hir degree being cruel and unjust
Not to mentione coveiteth
To hem equals with their own expectation

we wol ben at oure large.
“To thow seyst we wyves wol oure vices hide The wyf has not eek the tyme for lyes “Til we be fast, and thanne we wol hem shewe”
Take note, she saith “forbede us thyng, and that desiren we; Preesse on us faste, and thanne wol we fle.”
The wyf must hath in her chart some Sagittaurye
For to be Gat-tothed as she was
bicam her weel
For as her tendancye to heere sundry Talys and evere yet loved to be seye
Or to make visitaciouns
To folk of sundry stacions
She cuts to the nekke-boon
The subject matter relates to it anon
The questioun “What thyng is it that wommen moost desiren”
And for men to leere
He may do al as hym liketh
The wyf is a wommen with honour
Not to be eclipsed by her valour
What I fynde in this mateere
Is to clawe the surface
And recognise a femmynyst
But one who for sooth
Can be moost vertuous
At seeing within
Eek the beauty withal
Of age and wisdom
From the entire Kyngdom
Not to mention merit
Pryvee and apert
I fynd her to be of a gentil kynde.