A voys was herd in general audience,
And seyde, 'thou hast disclaundered giltelees
The doughter of holy chirche in hey presence;
Thus hastou doon, and yet holde I my pees.'
Of this meruaille agast was al the prees;
As masëd folk they stoden euerichone,
For drede of wreche1, saue Custance allone.
Gret was the drede and eek the repentance
Of hem that hadden wrong suspeccioun
Vpon this sely innocent Custance;
And, for this miracle, in conclusioun,
And by Custances mediacioun,
The king, and many another in that place,
Conuerted was, thanked be Cristës grace!
This false knyght was slayn for his vntrewthe
By lugëment of Alla hastily;
And yet Custance hadde of his deth gret rewthe.
And after this Iesus, of his mercy,
Made Alla wedden ful solempnëly
This holy mayden, that is so bright and sheene,
And thus hath Crist ymaad Custance a queene.
[Through the intrigues of Donegild, the queen mother, a forged letter is sent in the king's name bidding Custance to be banished and turned adrift in an open boat.]
Wepen both yonge and olde in al that place,
Whan that the king this cursed letter sente,
And Custance, with a deedly palë face,
The ferthe day toward hir ship she wente.
But nathëles she taketh in good entente
The wille of Crist, and, kneling on the stronde,
She seyde, 'lord! ay wel-com be thy sonde2!
He that me keptë fro the falsë blame
Why I was on the londe amongës yow,
He can me kepe from harme and eek fro shame
In saltë see, al-though I se nat how.
As strong as euer he was, he is yet now.
In him triste I, and in his moder dere,
That is to me my seyl and eek my stere1.'
Hir litel child lay weping in hir arm,
And kneling, pitously to him she seyde,
'Pees, litel sone, I wol do thee noon harm.'
With that hir kerchef of hir heed she breyde,
And ouer his litel yën she it leyde;
And in hir arm she lulleth it ful faste,
And in-to heuen hir yën vp she caste.
'Moder,' quod she, 'and maydë bright, Marye,
Soth is that thurgh womannës eggëment 2
Mankynd was lorn and damnëd ay to dye,
For which thy child was on a croys yrent;
Thy blisful yën seye al his torment;
Than is ther no comparisoun bitwene
Thy wo and any wo man may sustene.
Thou sey thy child yslayn bifor thyn yën,
And yet now lyueth my litel child, parfay!
Now, lady bryght, to whom alle woful cryën,
Thou glorie of wommanhede, thou fayrë may,
Thou hauen of refut, bryghtë sterre of day,
Rewe on my child, that of thy gentillesse
Rewest on euery rewful in distresse!
O litel child, allas! what is thy gilt,
That neuer wroughtest sinne as yet, parde,
Why wil thyn hardë fader han thee spilt?
O mercy, derë Constable!' quod she;
'As lat my litel child dwelle heer with thee;
And if thou darst not sauen him, for blame,
So kis him onës in his fadres name!'
Ther-with she loketh bakward to the londe,
And seyde, 'far-wel, housbond rewthëlees!'
And vp she rist', and walketh doun the stronde
Toward the ship; hir folweth al the prees,
And euer she preyeth hir child to holde his pees;
And taketh hir leue, and with an holy entente
She blisseth hir; and in-to ship she wente.
Vitailled was the ship, it is no drede,
Habundantly for hir ful longe space,
And other necessaries that sholde nede
She hadde ynough, heried be Goddes grace!
For wynd and weder almyghty God purchace
And bringe hir hoom! I can no better seye;
But in the see she dryueth forth hir weye.
[King Alla and Custance meet at Rome after many years.]
Whan Alla sey his wyf, fayre he hir grette,
And weep, that it was rewthë for to see.
For at the firstë look he on hir sette
He knew wel verraily that it was she.
And she for sorwe as domb stant as a tre;
So was hir hertë shet in hir distresse
Whan she remembred his vnkyndënesse.
Twyës she swownëd in his owën syghte;
He weep, and him excuseth pitously :-
'Now God,' quod he, and alle his halwes bryghte So wisly on my soule as haue mercy,
That of your harm as giltelees am I
As is Maurice my sone so lyk your face;
Ellës the feend me fecche out of this place!'
Long was the sobbing and the bitter peyne
Er that her woful hertës myghtë cesse ;
Greet was the pitë for to here hem pleyne
Thurgh whichë pleyntës gan her wo encresse.
I prey yow al my labour to relesse ;
I may nat telle her wo vn-til tomorwe,
I am so wery for to speke of sorwe.
But fynally, when that the soth is wist
That Alla giltëlees was of hir wo,
I trowe an hundred tymës been they kist,
And swich a blisse is ther bitwix hem two
That, saue the Ioye that lasteth euermo,
Ther is noon lyk that any creature
Hath seyn or shal, whyl that the world may dure.
[Chaucer moralises on the story of Patient Grisildis.]
Lenuoy de Chaucer.
Grisild is deed, and eek hir pacience,
And bothe atonës buried in Itaille;
For which I crye in open audience,
No wedded man so hardy be tassaille
His wyuës pacience, in hope to fynde
Grisildes, for in certein he shal faille !
O noble wyuës, ful of heigh prudence,
Lat non humilitee your tongë naille,
Ne lat no clerk haue cause or diligence
To wryte of yow a storie of swich meruaille
As of Grisildis pacient and kynde;
Lest Chicheuache yow swelwe in hir entraille1!
Folweth2 Ekko, that holdeth no silence,
But euere answereth at the countretaille3;
1 An allusion to the old French fable of Chichevache and Bicorne, two monstrous cows, of which the former fed on patient wives and was consequently thin, the latter on patient husbands and was always fat.
2 follow: eth is the termination of 2nd pers. plural imperative. * in return.
Beth nat bidaffed' for your innocence,
But sharply tak on yow the gouernaille.
Emprinteth wel this lesson in your mynde
For commune profit, sith it may auaille.
Ye archewyuës2, stondeth at defence,
Sin ye be stronge as is a greet camaille;
Ne suffreth nat that men yow don offence.
And slendre wyuës, feble as in bataille,
Beth egre as is a tygre yond in Ynde;
Ay clappeth as a mille, I yow consaille.
Ne dreed hem nat, do hem no reuerence;
For though thyn housbonde armed be in maille,
The arwes of thy crabbed eloquence
Shal perce his brest, and eek his auentaille 3;
In Ialousye I rede eek thou him bynde,
And thou shalt make him couche as doth a quaille.
If thou be fair, ther folk ben in presence
Shew thou thy visage and thy apparaille;
If thou be foul, be fre of thy dispence,
To gete thee frendës ay do thy trauaille;
Be ay of chere as lyght as leef on lynde',
And lat him care, and wepe, and wringe, and waille!
In Armoryke, that cleped is Briteyne,
Ther was a knight, that lovede and dide his peyne
To serve a lady in his beste wise;
And many a labour, and many a greet emprise
He for his lady wrought, er sche were wonne;
For sche was on the fairest under sonne,
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