For in
that she said she would cast away all her old shrewishness,
therein I daresay she sported. But in that she said she would
begin it all afresh, her husband found that in good earnest!

VINCENT: Well, I shall tell her what you say, I warrant you.

ANTHONY: Then will you make me make my word good!

But whatsoever she did, at least so fared now this wolf, who had
cast out in confession all his old ravine. For then hunger pricked
him forward so that, as the shrewish wife said, he should begin
all afresh. But yet the prick of conscience withdrew him and held
him back, because he would not, for breaking of his penance, take
any prey for his mealtide that should pass the price of sixpence.

It happed him then, as he walked prowling for his gear about, that
he came where a man had, a few days before, cast off two old lean
and lame horses, so sick that no flesh was there left upon them.
And the one, when the wolf came by, could scant stand on his legs,
and the other was already dead and his skin ripped off and carried
away. And as he looked upon them suddenly, he was first about to
feed upon them and whet his teeth upon their bones. But as he
looked aside, he spied a fair cow in an enclosure, walking with
her young calf by her side. And as soon as he saw them, his
conscience began to grudge him against both those two horses. And
then he sighed and said to himself, "Alas, wicked wretch that I
am, I had almost broken my penance ere I was aware! For yonder
dead horse, because I never sad a dead horse sold in the market,
even if I should die for it, I cannot guess, to save my sinful
soul, what price I should set on him. But in my conscience I set
him far above sixpence, and therefore I dare not meddle with him.
Now, then, yonder live horse is in all likelihood worth a great
deal of money. For horses are dear in this country--especially
such soft amblers, for I see by his pace he trotteth not, nor can
scant shift a foot. And therefore I may not meddle with him, for
he very far passeth my sixpence. But cows this country hath
enough, while money have they very little. And therefore,
considering the plenty of the cows and the scarcity of the money,
yonder foolish cow seemeth unto me, in my conscience, worth not
past a groat, if she be worth so much. Now then, her calf is not
so much as she, by half. And therefore, since the cow is in my
conscience worth but fourpence, my conscience cannot serve me, for
sin of my soul, to