O Donegild, I ne have noon Englissh digne
Unto thy malice and thy tirannye;
780 And therfore to the feend I thee resigne,
Lat hym enditen of thy traitorie!
Fy, mannysh, fy? - O nay, by God, I lye -
Fy, feendlych spirit! for I dar wel telle,
Thogh thou heere walke, thy spirit is in helle.


       O Donegild, there is no English mine
Fit for your malice and your tyranny!
780 Therefore you to the devil I do resign,
Let him go write of your foul treachery!
Fie, mannish women! Nay, by God, I lie!
Fie, fiendish spirit, for I dare well tell,
Though you walk here, your spirit is in Hell!

       O messager, fulfild of dronkenesse,
Strong is thy breeth, thy lymes faltren ay,
And thou biwreyest alle secreenesse.
Thy mynde is lorn, thou janglest as a jay,
775 Thy face is turned in a newe array;
Ther dronkenesse regneth in any route,
Ther is no conseil hyd, withouten doute.


       O messenger, possessed of drunkenness,
Strong is your breath, your limbs do falter aye,
And you betray all secrets, great and less;
Your mind is gone, you jangle like a jay;
775 Your face is mottled in a new array!
Where drunkenness can reign, in any rout,
There is no counsel kept, beyond a doubt.

       Wo was this kyng whan he this lettre had sayn,
But to no wight he tolde his sorwes soore,
But of his owene hand he wroot agayn:
760 "Welcome the sonde of Crist for everemoore
To me, that am now lerned in his loore!
Lord, welcome be thy lust and thy plesaunce,
My lust I putte al in thyn ordinaunce.


       Sad was the king when this letter he'd seen;
But to no man he told his sorrows sore,
But with his own hand he wrote back again:
760 "Welcome what's sent from Christ, for evermore,
To me, who now am learned in his lore;
Lord, welcome be thy wish, though hidden still,
My own desire is but to do your will.


Kepeth this child, al be it foul or feire,
765 And eek my wyf, unto myn hoom-comynge;
Crist, whan hym list, may sende me an heir
Moore agreable than this to my likynge."
This lettre he seleth, pryvely wepynge,
Which to the messager was take soone
770 And forth he gooth, ther is namoore to doone.


Guard well this child, though foul it be or fair,
765 And guard my wife until my home-coming;
Christ, when he wills it, may send me an heir
More consonant than this with my liking."
This letter sealed, and inwardly weeping,
To the same messenger 'twas taken soon,
770 And forth he went; there's no more to be done.

       This messager drank sadly ale and wyn,
And stolen wer hise lettres pryvely
745 Out of his box, whil he sleep as a swyn;
And countrefeted was ful subtilly
Another lettre wroght ful synfully,
Unto the kyng direct of this mateere
Fro his constable, as ye shal after heere.


       This messenger drank deep of ale and wine,
And stolen were his letters, stealthily,
745 Out of his box, while slept he like a swine;
And counterfeited was, right cleverly,
Another letter, wrought full sinfully,
Unto the king; of this event so near,
All from the constable, as you shall hear.


750 The lettre spak, the queene delivered was
Of so horrible a feendly creature
That in the castel noon so hardy was
That any while dorste ther endure;
The mooder was an elf, by aventure,
755 Ycomen by charmes or by sorcerie,
And every wight hateth hir compaignye.


750 The letter said, the queen delivered was
Of such a fiendish, horrible creature,
That in the castle none so hardy as
Durst, for a lengthy time, there to endure.
The mother was an elf or fairy, sure,
755 Come there by chance of charm, or sorcery,
And all good men hated her company.

       This messager, to doon his avantage,
730 Unto the kynges mooder rideth swithe,
And salueth hir ful faire in his langage,
"Madame," quod he, "ye may be glad and blithe,
And thanketh God an hundred thousand sithe.
My lady queene hath child, withouten doute,
735 To joye and blisse to al this regne aboute.


       This messenger, to forward his own ends,
730 To the king's mother rode with swiftest speed,
Humbly saluting her as down he bends:
"Madam," said he, "be joyful now indeed!
To God a hundred thousand thanks proceed.
The queen has borne a child, beyond all doubt,
735 To joy and bliss of all this land about.


Lo, heere the lettres seled of this thyng,
That I moot bere with al the haste I may.
If ye wol aught unto youre sone, the kyng,
I am youre servant both nyght and day."
740 Donegild answerde, "as now at this tyme, nay,
But heere al nyght I wol thou take thy reste,
Tomorwe wol I seye thee what me leste."


Lo, here are letters sealed that say this thing,
Which I must bear with all the speed I may;
If you will send aught to your son, the king,
I am your humble servant, night and day."
740 Donegild answered: "As for this time, nay;
But here tonight I'd have you take your rest;
Tomorrow I will say what I think best."

       They goon to bedde, as it was skile and right,
For thogh that wyves be ful hooly thynges,
710 They moste take in pacience at nyght
Swiche manere necessaries as been plesynges
To folk that han ywedded hem with rynges,
And leye a lite hir hoolynesse aside
As for the tyme, it may no bet bitide.


       They went to bed, as was but just and right,
For though some wives are pure and saintly things,
710 They must endure, in patience, in the night,
Such necessaries as make pleasurings
To men whom they have wedded well with rings,
And lay their holiness a while aside;
There may no better destiny betide.


715 On hire he gat a knave childe anon,
And to a bisshop and his constable eke
He took his wyf to kepe, whan he is gon
To Scotlond-ward, his foomen for to seke.
Now faire Custance, that is so humble and meke,
720 So longe is goon with childe, til that stille
She halt hire chambre, abidyng Cristes wille.


715 On her he got a man-child right anon;
And to a bishop and the warden eke
He gave his wife to guard, while he was gone
To Scotland, there his enemies to seek;
Now Constance, who so humble is, and meek,
720 So long is gone with child that, hushed and still,
She keeps her chamber, waiting on Christ's will.


The tyme is come; a knave child she beer,
Mauricius at the fontstoon they hym calle.
This constable dooth forth come a messageer,
725 And wroot unto his kyng, that cleped was Alle,
How that this blisful tidyng is bifalle,
And othere tidynges spedeful for to seye;
He taketh the lettre, and forth he gooth his weye.


The time was come, a baby boy she bore;
Mauritius they did name him at the font;
This constable sent forth a messenger
725 And wrote unto King Alla at the front
Of all this glad event, a full account,
And other pressing matters did he say.
He took the letter and went on his way.

But who was woful, if I shal nat lye,
695 Of this weddyng but Donegild, and namo,
The kynges mooder, ful of tirannye?
Hir thoughte hir cursed herte brast atwo,
She wolde noght hir sone had do so,
Hir thoughte a despit, that he sholde take
700 So strange a creature unto his make.


But who was sad, if I am not to lie,
695 At this but Lady Donegild, she who
Was the king's mother, full of tyranny?
She thought her wicked heart must burst in two;
She would he'd never thought this thing to do;
And so she hugged her anger that he'd take
700 So strange a wife as this creature must make.


       Me list nat of the chaf nor of the stree
Maken so long a tale, as of the corn;
What sholde I tellen of the roialtee
At mariages, or which cours goth biforn,
705 Who bloweth in the trumpe, or in an horn?
The fruyt of every tale is for to seye;
They ete, and drynke, and daunce, and synge, and pleye.


       Neither with chaff nor straw it pleases me
To make a long tale, here, but with the corn.
Why should I tell of all the royalty
At that wedding, or who went first, well-born,
705 Or who blew out a trumpet or a horn?
The fruit of every tale is but to say,
They eat and drink and dance and sing and play.

680        Greet was the drede and eek the repentance
Of hem that hadden wronge suspecioun
Upon this sely innocent, Custance;
And for this miracle, in conclusioun,
And by Custances mediacioun,
685 The kyng, and many another in that place,
Converted was, thanked be Cristes grace.


680        Great was the fear and, too, the repentance
Of those that held a wrong suspicion there
Against this simple innocent Constance;
And by this miracle so wondrous fair,
And by her mediation and her prayer,
685 The king, with many another in that place,
Was there converted, thanks to Christ His grace!


       This false knyght was slayn for his untrouthe,
By juggement of Alla hastifly-
And yet Custance hadde of his deeth greet routhe-
690 And after this Jesus, of His mercy,
Made Alla wedden ful solempnely
This hooly mayden, that is so bright and sheene,
And thus hath Crist ymaad Custance a queene.


       This lying knight was slain for his untruth,
By sentence of King Alla, hastily;
Yet Constance had upon his death great ruth.
690 And after this, Jesus, of His mercy,
Caused Alla take in marriage, solemnly,
This holy maiden, so bright and serene,
And thus has Christ made fair Constance a queen.

       This Alla kyng hath swich compassioun,
660 As gentil herte is fulfild of pitee,
That from hise eyen ran the water doun.
"Now hastily do fecche a book," quod he,
"And if this knyght wol sweren how that she
This womman slow, yet wol we us avyse,
665 Whom that we wole, that shal been oure justise."


       This King Alla has such compassion shown
660 Since gentle heart is full of all pity,
That from his two eyes ran the tears right down.
"Now hastily go fetch a book," said he,
"And if this knight will swear that it was she
Who slew the woman, then will we make clear
665 The judge we shall appoint the case to hear."


A Britoun book, written with Evaungiles,
Was fet, and on this book he swoor anoon
She gilty was, and in the meene-whiles
An hand hym smoot upon the nekke-boon,
670 That doun he fil atones, as a stoon;
And bothe hise eyen broste out of his face,
In sighte of every body in that place.


A book of Gospels writ in British tongue
Was brought, and on this Book he swore anon
Her guilt; but then the people all among
A clenched hand smote him on the shoulder-bone,
670 And down he fell, as stunned as by a stone,
And both his eyes burst forth out of his face
In sight of everybody in that place.


       A voys was herd in general audience,
And seyde, "Thou hast desclaundred, giltelees
675 The doghter of hooly chirche in heigh presence,
Thus hastou doon, and yet holde I my pees."
Of this mervaille agast was al the prees,
As mazed folk they stoden everichone
For drede of wreche, save Custance allone.


       A voice was heard by all that audience,
Saying: "You have here slandered the guiltless
675 Daughter of Holy Church, in high Presence;
Thus have you done, and further I'll not press."
Whereat were all the folk aghast, no less;
As men amazed they stand there, every one,
For fear of vengeance, except Constance alone.

       Allas, Custance, thou hast no champioun!
Ne fighte kanstow noght, so weylaway!
But he, that starf for our redempcioun,
And boond Sathan-and yet lith ther he lay-
635 So be thy stronge champion this day!
For but if Crist open myracle kithe,
Withouten gilt thou shalt be slayn as swithe.


       Alas, Constance! You have no champion,
And since you cannot fight, it's welaway!
But he who died for us the cross upon,
And Satan bound (who lies yet where he lay),
635 So be your doughty Champion this day!
For, except Christ a miracle make known,
You shall be slain, though guiltless, and right soon.


She sette hir doun on knees, and thus she sayde,
"Immortal God, that savedest Susanne
640 Fro false blame, and thou, merciful Mayde,
Marie I meene, doghter to Seynte Anne,
Bifore whos child angeles synge Osanne,
If I be giltlees of this felonye,
My socour be, for ellis shal I dye."


She dropped upon her knees and thus she prayed:
"Immortal God, who saved the fair Susanna
640 From lying blame, and you, O gracious maid
Mary, I mean, the daughter of Saint Anna
Before child the angels sing Hosanna,
If I be guiltless of this felony,
My succour be, for otherwise I die!"


645        Have ye nat seyn som tyme a pale face
Among a prees, of hym that hath be lad
Toward his deeth, wher as hym gat no grace,
And swich a colour in his face hath had,
Men myghte knowe his face, that was bistad,
650 Amonges alle the faces in that route?
So stant Custance, and looketh hir aboute.


645        Have you not sometime seen a pallid face
Among the crowd, of one that's being led
Toward his death- one who had got no grace?
And such a pallor on his face was spread
All men must mark it, full of horrid dread,
650 Among the other faces in the rout.
So stood fair Constance there and looked about.


       O queenes, lyvynge in prosperitee,
Duchesses, and ladyes everichone,
Haveth som routhe on hir adversitee;
655 An Emperoures doghter stant allone,
She hath no wight to whom to make hir mone.
O blood roial, that stondest in this drede,
Fer been thy freendes at thy grete nede!


       O queens that live in all prosperity,
Duchesses, and you ladies, every one,
Have pity, now, on her adversity;
655 An emperor's young daughter stands alone;
She has no one to whom to make her moan.
O royal blood that stands there in such dread,
Far are your friends away in your great need!

       Soone after cometh this constable hoom agayn,
And eek Alla, that kyng was of that lond,
605 And saugh his wyf despitously yslayn,
For which ful ofte he weep and wroong his hond,
And in the bed the blody knyf he fond
By Dame Custance; allas, what myghte she seye?
For verray wo hir wit was al aweye!


       Soon after came the warden home again,
And with him Alla, king of all that land,
605 And saw his wife so pitilessly slain,
For which he wept and cried and wrung his hand;
And in the bed the bloody dagger, and
The Lady Constance. Ah! What could she say?
For very woe her wits went all away.


610        To kyng Alla was toold al this meschance,
And eek the tyme, and where, and in what wise
That in a ship was founden dame Custance,
As heer-biforn that ye han herd devyse.
The kynges herte of pitee gan agryse,
615 Whan he saugh so benigne a creature
Falle in disese and in mysaventure.


610        King Alla was apprised of this sad chance,
And told the time, and where, and in what wise
Was found in a wrecked ship the fair Constance,
As heretofore you've heard my tale apprise.
But in the king's heart pity did arise
615 When he saw so benignant a creature
Fallen in distress of such misadventure.


       For as the lomb toward his deeth is broght,
So stant this innocent bifore the kyng.
This false knyght, that hath this tresoun wroght,
620 Berth hir on hond that she hath doon thys thyng,
But nathelees, ther was greet moornyng
Among the peple, and seyn, they kan nat gesse
That she had doon so greet a wikkednesse;


       For as the lamb unto his death is brought,
So stood this innocent before the king;
And the false knight that had this treason wrought,
620 He swore that it was she had done this thing.
Nevertheless, there was much sorrowing
Among the people, saying, "We cannot gues
That she has done so great a wickedness.


For they han seyn hir evere so vertuous,
625 And lovyng Hermengyld right as hir lyf:
Of this baar witnesse everich in that hous
Save he that Hermengyld slow with his knyf.
This gentil kyng hath caught a greet motyf
Of this witnesse, and thoghte he wolde enquere
630 Depper in this, a trouthe for to lere.


For we have seen her always virtuous,
625 And loving Hermengild as she loved life."
To this bore witness each one in that house,
Except that he that slew the victim with his knife.
The gentle king suspected motive rife
In that man's heart; and thought he would inquire
630 Deeper therein, the truth to learn entire.

       Sathan, that ever us waiteth to bigile,
Saugh of Custance al hir perfeccioun
And caste anon how he myghte quite hir while;
585 And made a yong knyght, that dwelte in that toun,
Love hir so hoote of foul affeccioun
That verraily hym thoughte he sholde spille,
But he of hir myghte ones have his wille.


       Satan, that ever waits, men to beguile,
Saw now, in Constance, all perfection grown,
And wondering how to be revenged the while,
585 He made a young knight, living in the town,
Love her so madly, with foul passion flown,
That verily he thought his life should spill,
Except that, of her, be once might have his will.


He woweth hir, but it availleth noght,
590 She wolde do no synne, by no were;
And for despit he compassed in his thoght
To maken hir on shameful deeth to deye.
He wayteth whan the constable was aweye
And pryvely upon a nyght he crepte
595 In Hermengyldes chambre whil she slepte.


He wooed her, but it all availed him naught;
590 She would not sin in any wise or way;
And, for despite, he plotted in his thought
To make her die a death of shame some day.
He waited till the warden was away,
And, stealthily by night, he went and crept
595 To Hermengild's bed-chamber, while she slept.


       Wery, for-waked in hir orisouns,
Slepeth Custance, and Hermengyld also.
This knyght, thurgh Sathanas temptaciouns,
All softely is to the bed ygo,
600 And kitte the throte of Hermengyld atwo,
And leyde the blody knyf by dame Custance,
And wente his wey, ther God yeve hym meschance!


       Weary with waking for her orisons,
Slept Constance, and Dame Hermengild also.
This knight, by Satan's tempting, came at once
And softly to the bedside he did go.
600 And cut the throat of Hermengild, and so
Laid the hot reeking knife by fair Constance,
And went his way- where God give him mischance!

       This constable and dame Hermengyld his wyf
Were payens, and that contree everywhere;
535 But Hermengyld loved hir right as hir lyf,
And Custance hath so longe sojourned there
In orisons, with many a bitter teere,
Til Jesu hath converted thurgh his grace
Dame Hermengyld, constablesse of that place.


       This warden and Dame Hermengild, his wife,
Were pagans, and that country, everywhere;
535 But Hermengild now loved her as her life,
And Constance has so long abided there,
And prayed so oft, with many a tearful prayer,
That Jesus has converted, through His grace,
Dame Hermengild, the lady of that place.


540 In al that lond no Cristen dorste route,
Alle Cristen folk been fled fro that contree
Thurgh payens that conquereden al aboute
The plages of the North by land and see.
To Walys fledde the Cristyanytee
545 Of olde Britons, dwellynge in this ile;
Ther was hir refut for the meene-while.


540 In all that land no Christian dared speak out
All Christians having fled from that country,
For pagan men had conquered all about
The regions of the north, by land and sea;
To Wales was fled the Christianity
545 Of the old Britons dwelling in this isle;
That was their refuge in the wild meanwhile.


But yet nere cristene Britons so exiled
That ther nere somme that in hir privetee
Honoured Crist, and hethen folk bigiled,
550 And ny the castel swiche ther dwelten three;
That oon of hem was blynd, and myghte nat see,
But it were with thilke eyen of his mynde,
With whiche men seen, after that they ben blynde.


Yet ne'er were Christian Britons so exiled
But some of them assembled, privately,
To honour Christ, and heathen folk beguiled;
550 And near the castle dwelt of such men three.
But one of them was blind and could not see,
Except with the inner optics of his mind,
Wherewith all men see after they go blind.


       Bright was the sonne as in that someres day,
555 For which the constable and his wyf also
And Custance han ytake the righte way
Toward the see, a furlong wey or two,
To pleyen, and to romen, to and fro,
And in hir walk this blynde man they mette,
560 Croked and oold, with eyen faste yshette.


       Bright was the sun upon that summer's day
555 When went the warden and his wife also,
And Constance, down the hill, along the way
Toward the sea, a furlong off, or so,
To frolic and to wander to and fro;
And in their walk on this blind man they came,
560 With eyes fast shut, a creature old and lame.


"In name of Crist," cride this olde Britoun,
"Dame Hermengyld, yif me my sighte agayn."
This lady weex affrayed of the soun,
Lest that hir housbonde, shortly for to sayn,
565 Wolde hir for Jesu Cristes love han slayn,
Til Custance made hir boold, and bad hir wirche
The wyl of Crist, as doghter of his chirche.


"In name of Christ!" this blind old Briton cried,
"Dame Hermengild, give me my sight again."
But she was frightened of the words, and sighed,
Lest that her husband, briefly to be plain,
565 Should have her, for her love of Jesus, slain;
Till Constance strengthened her and bade her work
The will of God, as daughter of his church.


       The constable weex abasshed of that sight,
And seyde, "What amounteth all this fare!"
570 Custance answerde, "Sire, it is Cristes myght,
That helpeth folk out of the feendes snare."
And so ferforth she gan oure lay declare,
That she the constable, er that it were eve
Converteth, and on Crist maketh hym bileve.


       The warden was confounded by that sight,
And asked: "What mean these words and this affair?"
570 Constance replied: "Sir, it is Jesus' might
That helps all poor folk from the foul devil's snare."
And so far did she our sweet faith declare
That she the constable, before 'twas eve,
Converted, and in Christ made him believe.


575 This constable was no-thyng lord of this place
Of which I speke, ther he Custance fond;
But kepte it strongly many wyntres space
Under Alla, kyng of al Northhumbrelond,
That was ful wys and worthy of his hond
580 Agayn the Scottes, as men may wel heere;-
But turne I wole agayn to my mateere.


575 This constable, though not lord of that place
Where he'd found Constance, wrecked upon the sand,
Had held it well for many a winter's space,
For Alla, king of all Northumberland,
Who was full wise and hardy of his hand
580 Against the Scots, as men may read and hear,
But I will to my tale again- give ear.

505        She dryveth forth into oure occian
Thurghout oure wilde see, til atte laste
Under an hoold that nempnen I ne kan,
Fer in Northhumberlond, the wawe hir caste,
And in the sond hir ship stiked so faste
510 That thennes wolde it noght of al a tyde,
The wyl of Crist was that she sholde abyde.


505        Forth into our own ocean then she came,
Through all our wild white seas, until at last,
Under a keep, whose name I cannot name,
Far up Northumberland, her ship was cast,
And on the sands drove hard and stuck so fast
510 That thence it moved not, no, for all the tide,
It being Christ's will that she should there abide.


       The constable of the castel doun is fare
To seen his wrak, and al the ship he soghte,
And foond this wery womman ful of care,
515 He foond also the tresor that she broghte,
In hir langage mercy she bisoghte,
The lyf out of hire body for to twynne,
Hir to delivere of wo that she was inne.


       The warden of the castle down did fare
To view this wreck, and through the ship he sought
And found this weary woman, full of care;
515 He found, also, the treasure she had brought.
In her own language mercy she besought
That he would help her soul from body win
To free her from the pain that she was in.


A maner Latyn corrupt was hir speche,
520 But algates therby was she understonde.
The constable, whan hym lyst no lenger seche,
This woful womman broghte he to the londe.
She kneleth doun and thanketh Goddes sonde;
But what she was, she wolde no man seye,
525 For foul ne fair, thogh that she sholde deye.


A kind of bastard Latin did she speak,
520 But, nevertheless, these folk could understand;
The constable no longer thought to seek,
But led the sorrowing woman to the land;
There she knelt down and thanked God, on the sand.
But who or what she was, she would not say,
525 For threat or promise, though she died that day.


She seyde, she was so mazed in the see
That she forgat hir mynde, by hir trouthe.
The constable hath of hir so greet pitee,
And eke his wyf, that they wepen for routhe.
530 She was so diligent, withouten slouthe
To serve and plesen everich in that place,
That alle hir loven that looken on hir face.


She said she'd been bewildered by the sea,
And had lost recollection, by her truth;
The warden had for her so great pity,
As had his wife, that both they wept for ruth.
530 She was so diligent to toil, in truth,
To serve and please all folk within that place,
That all loved her who looked upon her face.

       Where myghte this womman mete and drynke have?
Thre yeer and moore how lasteth hir vitaille?
500 Who fedde the Egypcien Marie in the cave,
Or in desert? No wight but Crist, sanz faille.
Fyve thousand folk it was as greet mervaille
With loves fyve and fisshes two to feede;
God sente his foyson at hir grete neede.


       Where might this woman get her drink and meat?
Three years and more, how lasted her supply?
500 Who gave Egyptian Mary food to eat
In cave desert? None but Christ, say I.
Five thousand folk, the gospels testify,
On five loaves and two fishes once did feed.
And thus God sent abundance for her need.

       Now, sith she was nat at the feeste yslawe,
485 Who kepte hir fro the drenchyng in the see?
Who kepte Jonas in the fisshes mawe
Til he was spouted up at Nynyvee?
Wel may men knowe it was no wight but he
That kepte peple Ebrayk from hir drenchynge,
490 With drye feet thurghout the see passynge.


       Now, since she was not slain at feast we saw,
485 Who kept her that she drowned not in the sea?
But who kept Jonah in the fish's maw
Till he was spewed forth there at Nineveh?
Well may men know it was no one but He
Who saved the Hebrew people from drowning
490 When, dry-shod, through the sea they went walking.


       Who bad the foure spirites of tempest,
That power han t'anoyen lond and see,
"Bothe north and south, and also west and est,
Anoyeth neither see, ne land, ne tree?"
495 Soothly, the comandour of that was he,
That fro the tempest ay this womman kepte,
As wel eek when she wook as whan she slepte.


       Who bade the four great spirits of tempest,
That power have to harry land and sea,
"Not north, nor south, nor yet to east, nor west
Shall ye molest the ocean, land, or tree"?
495 Truly, the captain of all this was he
Who from the storm has aye this woman kept,
As well when waking as in hours she slept.

470        Men myghten asken why she was nat slayn?
Eek at the feeste who myghte hir body save?
And I answere to that demande agayn,
Who saved Danyel in the horrible cave,
Ther every wight save he, maister and knave,
475 Was with the leoun frete, er he asterte?
No wight but God, that he bar in his herte.


470        Men might well ask: But why was she not slain?
And at that feast who could her body save?
And I reply to that demand, again:
Who saved young Daniel in the dreadful cave
Where every other man, master and knave,
475 Was killed by lions before he might up-start?
No one, save God, whom he bore in his heart.


God liste to shewe his wonderful myracle
In hir, for we sholde seen his myghty werkis.
Crist, which that is to every harm triacle,
480 By certeine meenes ofte, as knowen clerkis,
Dooth thyng for certein ende, that ful derk is
To mannes wit, that for oure ignorance
Ne konne noght knowe his prudent purveiance.


God willed to show this wondrous miracle
Through her, that we should see his mighty works;
And Christ who every evil can dispel,
480 By certain means does oft, as know all clerks,
Do that whereof the end in darkness lurks
For man's poor wit, which of its ignorance
Cannot conceive His careful purveyance.

A certein tresor that she thider ladde,
And, sooth to seyn, vitaille greet plentee
They han hir yeven, and clothes eek she hadde,
445 And forth she sailleth in the salte see.
O my Custance, ful of benignytee,
O Emperoures yonge doghter deere,
He that is lord of Fortune be thy steere!


A certain treasure that she'd brought, they add,
And, truth to tell, of food great quantity
They have her given, and clothing too she had;
445 And forth she sails upon the wide salt sea.
O Constance mine, full of benignity,
O emperor's young daughter, from afar
He that is Lord of fortune be your star!


She blesseth hir, and with ful pitous voys
450 Unto the croys of Crist thus seyde she,
"O cleere, o welful auter, hooly croys,
Reed of the lambes blood, ful of pitee,
That wesshe the world fro the olde iniquitee,
Me fro the feend and fro his clawes kepe,
455 That day that I shal drenchen in the depe.


She crossed herself, and in a pious voice
450 Unto the Cross of Jesus thus said she:
"O bright, O blessed Altar of my choice,
Red with the lamb's blood full of all pity,
That washed the world from old iniquity,
Me from the devil and from his claws, oh keep
455 That day when I shall drown within the deep!


Victorious tree, proteccioun of trewe,
That oonly worthy were for to bere
The Kyng of Hevene with his woundes newe,
The white lamb that hurt was with the spere,
460 Flemere of feendes out of hym and here
On which thy lymes feithfully extenden,
Me keep, and yif me myght my lyf tamenden."


Victorious Tree, Protection of the true,
The only thing that worthy was to bear
The King of Heaven with his wounds so new,
The white lamb who was pierced through with the spear,
460 Driver of devils out of him and her
Who on Thine arms do lay themselves in faith,
Keep me and give me grace before my death!"


       Yeres and dayes fleteth this creature
Thurghout the See of Grece unto the Strayte
465 Of Marrok, as it was hir aventure.
On many a sory meel now may she bayte;
After hir deeth ful often may she wayte,
Er that the wilde wawes wol hire dryve
Unto the place ther she shal arryve.


       For years and days drifted this maiden pure,
Through all the seas of Greece and to the strait
465 Of dark Gibraltar dier she adventure;
On many a sorry meal now may she bait;
Upon her death full often may she wait
Before the wild waves and the winds shall drive
Her vessel where it shall some day arrive.

       The Sowdan comth hymself soone after this
So roially, that wonder is to telle,
And welcometh hir with alle joye and blis,
410 And thus in murthe and joye I lete hem dwelle-
The fruyt of this matiere is that I telle.-
Whan tyme cam, men thoughte it for the beste,
The revel stynte, and men goon to hir reste.


       The sultan came himself, soon after this,
So regally 'twere wonderful to tell,
And welcomed her into all joy and bliss.
410 And thus in such delight I let them dwell.
The fruit of all is what I now shall tell.
When came the time, men thought it for the best
Their revels cease, and got them home to rest.


       The tyme cam, this olde Sowdanesse
415 Ordeyned hath this feeste of which I tolde,
And to the feeste Cristen folk hem dresse
In general, ye, bothe yonge and olde.
Heere may men feeste and roialtee biholde,
And deyntees mo than I kan yow devyse;
420 But al to deere they boghte it er they ryse!


       The time came when this old sultana there
415 Has ordered up the feast of which I told,
Whereto the Christian folk did them prepare,
The company together, young and old.
There men might feast and royalty behold,
With dainties more than I can e'en surmise;
420 But all too dear they've bought it, ere they rise.


       O sodeyn wo, that evere art successour
To worldly blisse, spreynd with bitternesse!
The ende of the joye of oure worldly labour!
Wo occupieth the fyn of oure gladnesse!
425 Herke this conseil for thy sikernesse,
Upon thy galde day have in thy minde
The unwar wo or harm that comth bihynde.


       O sudden woe! that ever will succeed
On worldly bliss, infused with bitterness;
That ends the joy of earthly toil, indeed;
425 Woe holds at last the place of our gladness.
Hear, now, this counsel for your certainness:
Upon your most glad day, bear then in mind
The unknown harm and woe that come behind.


For shortly for to tellen at o word,
The Sowdan and the Cristen everichone
430 Been al tohewe and stiked at the bord,
But it were oonly dame Custance allone.
This olde Sowdanesse, cursed krone,
Hath with hir freendes doon this cursed dede,
For she hirself wolde all the contree lede.


For, but to tell you briefly, in one word-
The sultan and the Christians, every one,
430 Were all hewed down and thrust through at the board,
Save the fair Lady Constance, she alone.
This old sultana, aye, this cursed crone
Has, with her followers, done this wicked deed,
For she herself would all the nation lead.


435 Ne was ther Surryen noon, that was converted,
That of the conseil of the Sowdan woot,
That he nas al tohewe er he asterted.
And Custance han they take anon foot-hoot
And in a ship all steerelees, God woot,
440 They han hir set, and biddeth hir lerne saille
Out of Surrye agaynward to Ytaille.


435 There was no Syrian that had been converted,
Being of the sultan's council resolute,
But was struck down, before from the board he'd started
And Constance have they taken now, hot-foot,
And on a ship, of rudder destitute,
440 They her have placed, bidding her learn to sail
From Syria to Italy- or fail.

       Arryved been this Cristen folk to londe,
In Surrye, with a greet solempne route,
And hastifliche this Sowdan sente his sonde
First to his mooder and all the regne aboute,
390 And seyde his wyf was comen, oute of doute,
And preyde hir for to ryde agayn the queene,
The honour of his regne to susteene.


       Arrived now are these Christian folk at land,
In Syria, with a great stately rout,
And hastily this sultan gave command,
First to his mother and all the realm about,
390 Saying his wife has come, beyond a doubt,
And prayed her that she ride to meet the queen,
That all due honour might be shown and seen.


Greet was the prees, and riche was th'array
Of Surryens and Romayns met yfeere;
395 The mooder of the Sowdan, riche and gay,
Receyveth hir with also glad a cheere
As any mooder myghte hir doghter deere,
And to the nexte citee ther bisyde
A softe pass solempnely they ryde.


Great was the crush and rich was the array
Of Syrians and Romans, meeting here;
395 The mother of the sultan, rich and gay,
Received her open-armed, with smiling cheer,
As any mother might a daughter dear;
And to the nearest city, with the bride,
At gentle pace, right festively they ride.


400        Noght trowe I the triumphe of Julius,
Of which that Lucan maketh swich a boost,
Was roialler, ne moore curius
Than was th'assemblee of this blisful hoost.
But this scorpioun, this wikked goost,
405 The Sowdanesse, for all hir falterynge
Caste under this ful mortally to stynge.


400        I think the triumph of great Julius,
Whereof old Lucan make so long a boast,
Was not more royal nor more curious
Than was the assembling of this happy host.
But this same Scorpion, this wicked ghost-
405 The old sultana, for all her flattering,
Chose in that sign full mortally to sting.