And as she wolde over hir thresshfold gon
The markys cam and gan hire for to calle,
290 And she set doun hir water pot anon
Biside the thresshfold in an oxes stalle,
And doun up-on hir knes she gan to falle,
And with sad contenance kneleth stille,
Til she had herd what was the lordes wille.


       And as across her threshold she'd have gone,
The marquis came, and for her did he call;
290 And she set down her water jar anon
Beside the threshold, in an ox's stall,
And down upon her two knees did she fall
And, kneeling, with grave countenance, was still
Till she had heard what was the lordship's will.


295        This thoghtful markys spak unto this mayde
Ful sobrely, and seyde in this manere,
"Where is youre fader, O Grisildis?" he sayde,
And she with reverence in humble cheere
Answerde, "Lord, he is al redy heere."
300 And in she gooth, withouten lenger lette,
And to the markys she hir fader fette.


295        This thoughtful marquis spoke unto this maid
Full soberly, and said in this manner:
"Griselda, where's your father?" so he said.
And she, with reverence and with humble cheer,
Answered: "My lord, he is but inside here."
300 And in she went without more tarrying
And to the marquis did her father bring.


       He by the hand thanne took this olde man,
And seyde thus, whan he hym hadde asyde,
"Janicula, I neither may ne kan
305 Lenger the plesance of myn herte hyde;
If that thou vouch sauf, what so bityde,
Thy doghter wol I take, er that I wende,
As for my wyf unto hir lyves ende.


       He by the hand then took this ancient man
And said, when he had led him well aside:
"Janicula, I neither will nor can
305 Conceal my love, nor my heart's longing hide.
If you but acquiesce, whate'er betide,
Your daughter will I take, before I wend,
To be my wife until her life's dear end.


       Thou lovest me, I woot it wel certeyn,
310 And art my feithful lige man ybore,
And all that liketh me, I dar wel seyn,
It liketh thee; and specially therfore
Tel me that poynt that I have seyd bifore,
If that thou wolt unto that purpos drawe,
315 To take me as for thy sone-in-lawe."


       You love me, and I know it well today,
310 And are my faithful liege, and were of yore;
And all that pleases me, I dare well say,
Pleases you too; especially therefore
Assure me on the point I made before-
Can we together in this compact draw,
315 And will you take me as your son-in-law?"

       This sodeyn cas this man astonyed so,
That reed he wax; abayst and al quakyng
He stood, unnethes seyde he wordes mo,
But oonly thus, "Lord," quod he, "my willynge
320 Is as ye wole, ne ayeyns youre likynge
I wol no thyng, ye be my lord so deere;
Right as yow lust governeth this mateere."


       This sudden word the man astonished so
That red he grew, abashed, and all quaking
He stood; nor could he answer further, no,
Than but to say: "O Lord, I am willing
320 To do your will; but against your liking
I'll do no thing; you are my lord so dear
That what you wish governs this matter here."

       "Yet wol I," quod this markys softely,
"That in thy chambre I and thou and she
325 Have a collacioun, and wostow why?
For I wol axe, if it hir wille be
To be my wyf, and reule hir after me;
And al this shal be doon in thy presence,
I wol noght speke out of thyn audience."


       "Then I will," said this marquis, quietly,
"That in your chamber you and I and she
325 Have consultation, and do you know why?
Because I'd ask her if her will it be
To be my wife and so be ruled by me;
And all this shall be done in your presence,
I will not speak without your audience."


330        And in the chambre whil they were aboute
Hir tretys which as ye shal after heere,
The peple cam unto the hous withoute,
And wondred hem in how honeste manere
And tentifly she kepte hir fader deere.
335 But outrely Grisildis wondre myghte
For nevere erst ne saugh she swich a sighte.


330        And while in chamber they three were about
Their business, whereof you'll hereafter hear,
The people crowded through the house without
And wondered by what honest method there
So carefully she'd kept her father dear.
335 But more Griselda wondered, as she might,
For never before that saw she such a sight.


       No wonder is thogh that she were astoned
To seen so greet a grest come in that place;
She nevere was to swiche gestes woned,
340 For which she looked with ful pale face-
But shortly forth this tale for to chace,
Thise arn the wordes that the markys sayde
To this benigne verray feithful mayde.


       No wonder, though, astonishment she felt
At seeing so great a guest within that place;
With people of his sort she'd never dealt,
340 Wherefore she looked on with a pallid face.
But briefly through the matter now to race,
These are the very words the marquis said
To this most modest, truly constant maid.


       "Grisilde," he seyde, "ye shal wel understonde
345 It liketh to youre fader and to me
That I yow wedde, and eek it may so stonde,
As, I suppose, ye wol that it so be.
But thise demandes axe I first," quod he,
"That sith it shal be doon in hastif wyse,
350 Wol ye assente, or elles yow avyse?


       "Griselda," said he, "You shall understand
345 It's pleasing to your father and to me
That I marry you, and even it may stand,
As I suppose, that you would have it be.
But these demands must I first make," said he,
"And since it shall be done in hasty wise,
350 Will you consent, or will you more advise?

       I seye this, be ye redy with good herte
To al my lust, and that I frely may,
As me best thynketh, do yow laughe or smerte,
And nevere ye to grucche it nyght ne day,
355 And eek whan I sey ye, ne sey nat nay,
Neither by word, ne frownyng contenance?
Swere this, and heere I swere yow alliance."


       I say this: Are you ready with good heart
To grant my wish, and that I freely may,
As I shall think best, make you laugh or smart,
And you to grumble never, night or day?
355 And too, when I say 'yea' you say not 'nay'
By word or frown to what I have designed.
Swear this, and here I will our contract bind."


       Wondrynge upon this word, quakynge for drede,
She seyde, "Lord, undigne and unworthy
360 Am I to thilke honour, that ye me beede,
But as ye wole yourself, right so wol I.
And heere I swere, that nevere willyngly
In werk ne thoght I nyl yow disobeye,
For to be deed, though me were looth to deye."


       Wondering upon this word, quaking for fear,
She said: "My lord, unsuited, unworthy
360 Am I to take the honour you give me here;
But what you'd have, that very thing would I.
And here I swear that never willingly,
In deed or thought, will I you disobey,
To save my life, and I love life, I say."

365        "This is ynogh, Grisilde myn," quod he,
And forth he gooth with a ful sobre cheere
Out at the dore, and after that cam she;
And to the peple he seyde in this manere,
"This is my wyf," quod he, "that standeth heere;
370 Honoureth hir, and loveth hir, I preye,
Whoso me loveth; ther is namoore to seye."


365        "This is enough, Griselda mine," cried he.
And forth he went then with full sober cheer
Out at the door, and after him came she,
And to the people who were waiting near,
"This is my wife," he said, "who's standing here.
370 Honour her, all, and love her, all, I pray,
Who love me; and there is no more to say."


       And for that nothyng of hir olde geere
She sholde brynge into his hous, he bad
That wommen sholde dispoillen hir right theere;-
375 Of which thise ladyes were nat right glad
To handle hir clothes, wherinne she was clad.
But nathelees, this mayde bright of hewe
Fro foot to heed they clothed han al newe.


       And so that nothing of her former gear
She should take with her to his house, he bade
That women strip her naked then and there;
375 Whereat these ladies were not over-glad
To handle clothes wherein she had been clad.
Nevertheless, this maiden bright of hue
From head to foot they clothed her all anew.


       Hir heris han they kembd, that lay untressed
380 Ful rudely, and with hir fyngres smale
A corone on hir heed they han ydressed,
And sette hir ful of nowches grete and smale.
Of hire array what sholde I make a tale?
Unnethe the peple hire knew for hir fairnesse
385 Whan she translated was in swich richesse.


       Her hair they combed and brushed, which fell untressed
380 All artlessly, and placed a coronal
With their small fingers on her head, and dressed
Her robes with many jewels great and small;
Of her array how shall I tell withal?
Scarcely the people knew her for fairness,
385 So transformed was she in her splendid dress.


       This markys hath hir spoused with a ryng
Broght for the same cause, and thanne hir sette
Upon an hors, snow-whit and wel amblyng,
And to his paleys, er he lenger lette,
390 With joyful peple that hir ladde and mette
Conveyed hire; and thus the day they spende
In revel, til the sonne gan descende.


       This marquis her has married with a ring
Brought for the purpose there; and then has set
Upon a horse, snow-white and well ambling,
And to his palace, without longer let,
390 With happy following folk and more they met,
Convoyed her home, and thus the day they spent
In revelry until the sun's descent.

       And shortly forth this tale for to chace,
I seye, that to this newe markysesse
395 God hath swich favour sent hir of his grace,
That it ne semed nat by liklynesse
That she was born and fed in rudenesse
As in a cote or in an oxe-stalle,
But norissed in an emperoures halle.


       And briefly forth throughout this tale to chase,
I say that unto this new marchioness
395 God has such favour sent her, of his grace,
It seemed in no way true, by likeliness,
That she was born and bred in humbleness,
As in a hovel or an ox's stall,
But rather nurtured in an emperor's hall.


400        To every wight she woxen is so deere
And worshipful, that folk ther she was bore
And from hir birthe knewe hir yeer by yeere,
Unnethe trowed they, - but dorste han swore -
That she to Janicle, of which I spak bifore,
405 She doghter nere, for as by conjecture,
Hem thoughte she was another creature.


400        To everyone she soon became so dear
And worshipful, that folk where she had dwelt
And from her birth had known her, year by year,
Although they could have sworn it, scarcely felt
That to Janicula, with whom I've dealt,
405 She really was a daughter, for she seemed
Another creature now, or so they deemed.


       For though that evere vertuous was she,
She was encressed in swich excellence,
Of thewes goode, yset in heigh bountee,
410 And so discreet and fair of eloquence,
So benigne, and so digne of reverence,
And koude so the peples herte embrace,
That ech hir lovede, that looked on hir face.


       For though she ever had been virtuous,
She was augmented by such excellence
Of manners based on noble goodness thus,
410 And so discreet and wise of eloquence,
So gentle and so worthy reverence,
And she could so the people's hearts embrace,
That each her loved that looked upon her face.


       Noght oonly of Saluces in the toun
415 Publiced was the bountee of hir name,
But eek biside in many a regioun,
If oon seide wel, another seyde the same;
So spradde of hir heighe bountee the fame
That men and wommen, as wel yonge as olde,
420 Goon to Saluce upon hir to biholde.


       Not only in Saluzzo, in the town,
415 Was published wide the goodness of her name,
But throughout many a land where she'd renown
If one said well, another said the same;
So widespread of her goodness was the fame
That men and women came; the young and old
420 Went to Saluzzo, her but to behold.


       Thus Walter lowely, nay! but roially
Wedded with fortunat honestetee,
In Goddes pees lyveth ful esily
At hoom, and outward grace ynogh had he,
425 And for he saugh that under low degree
Was ofte vertu hid, the peple hym heelde
A prudent man, and that is seyn ful seelde.


       Thus Walter lowly, nay, but royally,
Wedded, by Fortune's grace, right honourably,
In the good peace of God lived easily
At home, and outward grace enough had he;
425 And since he saw that under low degree
Is virtue often hid, the people fairly
Held him a prudent man, and that's done rarely.


       Nat oonly this Grisildis thurgh hir wit
Koude al the feet of wyfly humblenesse,
430 But eek, whan that the cas required it,
The commune profit koude she redresse.
Ther nas discord, rancour, ne hevynesse
In al that land, that she ne koude apese,
And wisely brynge hem alle in reste and ese.


       Not only this Griselda through her wit
Knew how with wifely arts her home to bless,
430 But also, when there was a need for it,
The people's wrongs she knew how to redress.
There was no discord, rancour, heaviness
In all that land that she could not appease,
And wisely bring them all to rest and ease.


435 Though that hir housbonde absent were anon
If gentil men, or othere of hir contree
Were wrothe, she wolde bryngen hem aton.
So wise and rype wordes hadde she,
And juggementz of so greet equitee,
440 That she from hevene sent was, as men wende,
Peple to save and every wrong tamende.


435        Although her husband from the court were gone,
If gentlemen, or less, of her country
Were angered, she would bring them all at one;
So wise and so mature of speech was she,
And judgments gave of so great equity,
440 Men felt that God from Heaven her did send
People to save and every wrong to amend.

       Nat longe tyme after that this Grisild
Was wedded, she a doghter hath ybore-
Al had hir levere have born a man child;
445 Glad was this markys and the folk therfore,
For though a mayde child coome al bifore,
She may unto a knave child atteyne
By liklihede, syn she nys nat bareyne.


       Not long Griselda had, it seems, been wed
Before a daughter to her lord she bore,
Though of a son she'd rather have gone to bed.
445 Glad were the marquis and the folk therefor;
For though a girl-child came thus all before,
She might well to a boy-child yet attain,
Since barren she was not, it now was plain.

       Ther fil, as it bifalleth tymes mo,
450 Whan that this child had souked but a throwe,
This markys in his herte longeth so
To tempte his wyf, hir sadnesse for to knowe,
That he ne myghte out of his herte throwe
This merveillous desir his wyf t'assaye.
455 Nedelees, God woot, he thoghte hir for t'affraye.


       It happened, as it has sometimes before,
450 That when this child had sucked a month or so,
This marquis in his heart such longing bore
To test his wife, her patience thus to know,
He could not in his heart the chance forgo
This marvelous desire his wife to try;
455 Needless it is, God knows, thus to peek and pry


       He hadde assayed hir ynogh bifore,
And foond hir evere good; what neded it
Hir for to tempte and alwey moore and moore?
Though som men preise it for a subtil wit,
460 But as for me, I seye that yvele it sit
To assaye a wyf, whan that it is no nede,
And putten hir in angwyssh and in drede.


       He had sufficiently tried her before
And found her ever good; what needed it
That he should test her ever more and more?
Though some men praise it for a subtle wit,
460 Yet I say that to him 'twas no credit
To try his wife when there was never need,
Putting her heart to anguish and to dread.

       For which this markys wroghte in this manere;
He cam allone a-nyght, ther as she lay,
465 With stierne face and with ful trouble cheere,
And seyde thus, "Grisilde," quod he, "that day
That I yow took out of your povere array,
And putte yow in estaat of heigh noblesse, -
Ye have nat that forgeten, as I gesse.


       In doing which the marquis took this turn:
He came alone by night to where she lay
465 And with a troubled look and features stern
He said to her: "Griselda mine, that day
When I removed you from your poor array
And placed you in a state of nobleness -
You have not all forgotten that, I guess.


470        I seye, Grisilde, this present dignitee
In which that I have put yow, as I trowe
Maketh yow nat foryetful for to be
That I yow took in povre estaat ful lowe
For any wele ye moot youreselven knowe.
475 Taak heede of every word that y yow seye,
Ther is no wight that hereth it but we tweye.


470        I say, Griselda, this your dignity
Wherein I have so placed you, as I trow,
Has not made you forgetful now to be
That I raised you from poor estate and low
For any good you might then have or know.
475 Take heed of every word that now I say,
There's no one else shall hear it, by my fay.


       Ye woot yourself wel how that ye cam heere
Into this hous, it is nat longe ago.
And though to me that ye be lief and deere,
480 Unto my gentils ye be no thyng so.
They seyn, to hem it is greet shame and wo
For to be subgetz, and to been in servage,
To thee, that born art of a smal village.


       You know and well enough how you came here
Into this house, it is not long ago,
And though to me you are both lief and dear,
480 Unto my nobles you are not; and so
They say that unto them 'tis shame and woe
To be your subjects and compelled to serve
You who are village-born and naught deserve.


       And namely, sith thy doghter was ybore,
485 Thise wordes han they spoken, doutelees;
But I desire, as I have doon bifore,
To lyve my lyf with hem in reste and pees.
I may nat in this caas be recchelees;
I moot doon with thy doghter for the beste,
490 Nat as I wolde, but as my peple leste.


       And specially, since that girl-child you bore,
485 These things they've said- of this there is no doubt;
But I desire, as I have done before,
To live at peace with all the folk about;
I cannot in this matter leave them out.
I must do with your daughter what is best,
490 Not as I would, but under men's behest.


       And yet God woot, this is ful looth to me;
But nathelees, withoute youre wityng
I wol nat doon, but this wol I," quod he,
"That ye to me assente as in this thyng.
495 Shewe now youre pacience in youre werkyng,
That ye me highte and swore in youre village,
That day that maked was oure mariage."


       And yet, God knows, the act is hard for me;
And only with your knowledge would I bring
The deed to pass, but this I would," said he,
"That you assent with me to this one thing.
495 Show now that patience in your life's dealing
You told me of and swore to in your village
The day that marked the making of our marriage."

       Whan she had herd al this, she noght ameved
Neither in word, or chiere, or countenaunce;
500 For as it semed she was nat agreved.
She seyde, "Lord, al lyth in youre plesaunce,
My child, and I, with hertely obeisaunce
Been youres al, and ye mowe save and spille
Youre owene thyng, werketh after youre wille.


       When she had heard all this, this she received
With never a word or change of countenance;
500 For, as it seemed, she was in no way grieved.
She said: "Lord, all lies at your own pleasance;
My child and I, with hearty obeisance,
Are all yours, and you may save us or kill
That which is yours; do you what thing you will.


505        Ther may no thyng, God so my soule save,
Liken to yow, that may displese me,
Ne I ne desire no thyng for to have,
Ne drede for to leese, save oonly yee;
This wyl is in myn herte, and ay shal be;
510 No lengthe of tyme or deeth may this deface,
Ne chaunge my corage to another place."


505        There is no thing, and so God my soul save,
That you may like displeasing unto me;
I do not wish a single thing to have,
Nor fear a thing to lose, save only ye;
This will is in my heart and aye shall be,
510 Nor length of time nor death may this deface,
Nor turn my passion to another place."

       Glad was this markys of hir answeryng,
But yet he feyned as he were nat so.
Al drery was his cheere and his lookyng,
515 Whan that he sholde out of the chambre go.
Soone after this, a furlong wey or two,
He prively hath toold al his entente
Unto a man, and to his wyf hym sente.


       Glad was this marquis of her answering,
And yet he feigned as if he were not so;
All dreary were his face and his bearing
515 When it came time from chamber he should go.
Soon after this, a quarter-hour or so,
He privily told all of his intent
Unto a man, whom to his wife he sent.


       A maner sergeant was this privee man,
520 The which that feithful ofte he founden hadde
In thynges grete, and eek swich folk wel kan
Doon execucioun on thynges badde.
The lord knew wel that he hym loved and dradde;-
And whan this sergeant wiste the lordes wille,
525 Into the chambre he stalked hym ful stille.


       A kind of sergeant was this serving man,
520 Who had proved often faithful, as he'd found,
In matters great, and such men often can
Do evil faithfully, as can a hound.
The lord knew this man loved him and was bound;
And when this sergeant learned his lordship's will
525 He stalked into the chamber, grim and still.

       "Madame," he seyde, "ye moote foryeve it me,
Though I do thyng to which I am constreyned,
Ye been so wys, that ful wel knowe ye
That lordes heestes mowe nat been yfeyned,
530 They mowe wel been biwailled and compleyned,
But men moote nede unto hir lust obeye;
And so wol I, ther is namoore to seye.


       "Madam," said he, "you must forgive it me,
Though I do that to which I am constrained;
You are so wise you know well, it may be,
That a lord's orders may not well be feigned;
530 They may be much lamented or complained,
But men must needs their every wish obey,
And thus will I; there is no more to say.


       This child I am comanded for to take."
And spak namoore, but out the child he hente
535 Despitously, and gan a cheere make
As though he wolde han slayn it er he wente.
Grisildis moot al suffren and consente;
And as a lamb she sitteth meke and stille,
And leet this crueel sergeant doon his wille.


       This child I am commanded now to take"-
And spoke no more, but seized that innocent
535 Pitilessly, and did a gesture make
As if he would have slain it before he went,
Griselda, she must suffer and consent;
And so, meek as a lamb, she sat there, still,
And let this cruel sergeant do his will.

540        Suspecious was the diffame of this man,
Suspect his face, suspect his word also,
Suspect the tyme in which he this bigan.
Allas, hir doghter that she loved so!
She wende he wolde han slawen it right tho;
545 But nathelees she neither weep ne syked,
Conformynge hir to that the markys lyked.


540        Suspicious of repute was this same man,
Suspect his face, suspect his word also,
Suspect the time when this thing he began,
Alas! Her daughter that she had loved so,
She thought he'd slay it right there, whether or no.
545 Nevertheless, she neither wept nor sighed,
Doing the marquis' liking though she died.


       But atte laste speken she bigan,
And mekely she to the sergeant preyde,
So as he was a worthy gentil man,
550 That she moste kisse hire child, er that it deyde,
And in hir barm this litel child she leyde,
With ful sad face, and gan the child to kisse,
And lulled it, and after gan it blisse.


       At last she found her voice and thus began
And meekly to the sergeant then she prayed
That, as he was a worthy, gentle man,
550 She might kiss her child once before his blade;
And on her breast this little child she laid,
With sad face, and so kissed it and did press
And lulled it and at last began to bless.


       And thus she seyde in hir benigne voys,
555 "Fareweel, my child, I shal thee nevere see,
But sith I thee have marked with the croys
Of thilke Fader blessed moote thou be,
That for us deyde upon a croys of tree.
Thy soule, litel child, I hym bitake,
560 For this nyght shaltow dyen for my sake."


       And thus she said in her benignant voice:
555 "Farewell, my child that I no more shall see;
But now I've crossed you thus, I will rejoice
That of the Father blessed may you be,
Who died for us upon the bitter tree.
Your soul, my little child, to Him I give;
560 This night you die for my sake- though I live."


       I trowe, that to a norice in this cas
It had been hard this reuthe for to se;
Wel myghte a mooder thanne han cryd `allas!'
But nathelees so sad and stidefast was she,
565 That she endured al adversitee,
And to the sergeant mekely she sayde,
"Have heer agayn your litel yonge mayde."


       I think that to a nurse in such a case
It had been hard this pitiful thing to see;
Well might a mother then have cried "Alas!"
But so steadfastly serious was she
565 That she endured all her adversity,
And to the sergeant she but meekly said:
"I give you now again your little maid.


       "Gooth now," quod she, "and dooth my lordes heeste;
But o thyng wol I prey yow of youre grace,
570 That, but my lord forbad yow atte leeste,
Burieth this litel body in son place
That beestes ne no briddes it torace."
But he no word wol to that purpos seye,
But took the child, and wente upon his weye.


       "Go now," said she, "and do my lord's behest,
But one thing will I pray you, of your grace,
570 That, save my lord forbade you, at the least
Bury this little body in some place
Where beasts nor birds will tear its limbs and face."
But no word to that purpose would he say,
But took the child and went upon his way.

575        This sergeant cam unto his lord ageyn,
And of Grisildis wordes and hire cheere
He tolde hym point for point, in short and pleyn,
And hym presenteth with his doghter deere.
Somwhat this lord hath routhe in his manere,
580 But nathelees his purpos heeld he stille,
As lordes doon whan they wol han hir wille;


575        This sergeant went unto his lord again
And of Griselda's words and of her cheer
He told him point by point, all short and plain,
And so presented him his daughter dear.
A little pity felt the marquis here;
580 Nevertheless, he held his purpose still,
As great lords do when they will have their will;


       And bad his sergeant, that he pryvely
Sholde this child ful softe wynde and wrappe,
With alle circumstances tendrely,
585 And carie it in a cofre or in a lappe,
But, upon peyne his heed of for to swappe
That no man sholde knowe of his entente,
Ne whenne he cam, ne whider that he wente.


       And bade the sergeant that he privily
Should softly swaddle the young child and wrap
With all the necessaries, tenderly,
585 And in a coffer or some garment lap;
But upon pain his head should meet mishap
No man should know the least of his intent,
Nor whence he came, nor whither that he went;


       But at Boloigne to his suster deere,
590 That thilke tyme of Panik was countesse,
He sholde it take, and shewe hir this mateere,
Bisekynge hir to doon hir bisynesse
This child to fostre in alle gentillesse,
And whos child that it was, he bad hire hyde
595 From every wight, for oght that may bityde.


       But to Bologna, to his sister dear
590 Who then was of Panago the countess,
He should take it, and tell of matters here,
Asking of her she do her busyness
This child to foster in all nobleness;
And whose the child was, that he bade her hide
595 From everyone, for aught that might betide.

       The sergeant gooth, and hath fulfild this thyng,
But to this markys now retourne we,
For now gooth he ful faste ymaginyng,
If by his wyves cheere he myghte se
600 Or by hir word aperceyve that she
Were chaunged, but he nevere hir koude fynde,
But evere in oon ylike sad and kynde.


       The sergeant goes and has fulfilled this thing;
But to this marquis now return must we;
For soon he went to see her, wondering
If by his wife's demeanour he might see,
600 Or by her conversation learn that she
Were changed in aught; but her he could not find
Other than ever serious and kind.


       As glad, as humble, as bisy in servyse,
And eek in love, as she was wont to be,
605 Was she to hym in every maner wyse,
Ne of hir doghter noght a word spak she.
Noon accident for noon adversitee
Was seyn in hire, ne nevere hir doghter name
Ne nempned she, in ernest nor in game.


       As glad, as humble, as busy in service,
And even in love, as she was wont to be,
605 Was she to him at all times in each wise;
And of her daughter not a word spoke she.
No strange nor odd look of adversity
Was seen in her, and her dear daughter's name
She never named in earnest nor in game.

610        In this estaat ther passed been foure yeer
Er she with childe was; but as God wolde,
A knave child she bar by this Walter,
Ful gracious and fair for to biholde.
And whan that folk it to his fader tolde,
615 Nat oonly he, but al his contree, merye
Was for this child, and God they thanke and herye.


610        In this way over them there passed four years
Before she had a child; but as high God would,
A boy-child then she bore, as it appears,
By Walter, fair and pleasing to behold.
And when folk this word to the father told,
615 Not only he but all the people raised
Their joyous hymns to God and his grace praised.

       Whan it was two yeer old, and fro the brest
Departed of his norice, on a day
This markys caughte yet another lest
620 To tempte his wyf yet ofter if he may.
O, nedelees was she tempted in assay!
But wedded men ne knowe no mesure,
Whan that they fynde a pacient creature.


       When he was two years old and from the breast
Weaned by his nurse, it chanced upon a day
This marquis had another wish to test
620 And try his wife yet further, so they say.
Oh, needless her temptation in this way!
But wedded men no measure can observe
When they've a wife who's patient and will serve.


       "Wyf," quod this markys, "ye han herd er this
625 My peple sikly berth oure mariage;
And namely sith my sone yboren is,
Now is it worse than evere in al oure age.
The murmur sleeth myn herte and my corage,
For to myne eres comth the voys so smeerte,
630 That it wel ny destroyed hath myn herte.


       "Wife," said this marquis, "you have heard before,
625 My people bear our marriage with ill-will;
Particularly since my son you bore
Now it is worse than ever, all this ill.
Their murmurs all my heart and courage kill,
For to my ears come words so aimed to smart
630 That they have well-nigh broken all my heart.

       Now sey they thus, `whan Walter is agon,
Thanne shal the blood of Janicle succede,
And been oure lord, for oother have we noon.'
Swiche wordes seith my peple, out of drede,
635 Wel oughte I of swich murmur taken heede,
For certeinly I drede swich sentence,
Though they nat pleyn speke in myn audience.


       Now they say this: 'When Walter's dead and gone.
Then shall Janicula's base blood succeed
And be our lord, for other have we none!'
Such words my people say, 'tis true, indeed!
635 Well ought I of such murmurs to take heed;
For truly do I fear the populace,
Though they say nothing plainly to my face.


       I wolde lyve in pees, if that I myghte;
Wherfore I am disposed outrely
640 As I his suster servede by nyghte,
Right so thenke I to serve hym pryvely.
This warne I yow, that ye nat sodeynly
Out of yourself for no wo sholde outreye.
Beth pacient, and therof I yow preye."


       I would exist in peace, if that I might;
Wherefore I am determined utterly
640 That as his sister served I, and by night,
Just so will I serve him full secretly;
And thus I warn you, that not suddenly
Out of yourself for woe you start or stray;
Be patient in this sorrow, so I pray."

645        "I have," quod she, "seyd thus, and evere shal,
I wol no thyng, ne nyl no thyng, certayn,
But as yow list. Naught greveth me at al
Though that my doughter and my sone be slayn-
At youre comandement, this is to sayn.
650 I have noght had no part of children tweyne
But first siknesse, and after wo and peyne.


645        "I have," said she, I said thus, and ever shall:
I'll have no thing, or not have, that's certain,
Except as you wish; nothing grieves me at all,
Even though my daughter and my son are slain
At your command, and that, I think, is plain.
650 I have had no part in my children twain
But sickness first, and after, woe and pain.


       Ye been oure lord, dooth with your owene thyng
Right as yow list, axeth no reed at me;
For as I lefte at hoom al my clothyng,
655 Whan I first cam to yow, right so," quod she,
"Lefte I my wyl and al my libertee,
And took youre clothyng, wherfore I yow preye,
Dooth youre plesaunce; I wol youre lust obeye.


       You are our master; do with your own thing
Just as you like; no counsel ask of me.
For, as I left at home all my clothing
655 When first I came to you, just so," said she,
"Left will and all my liberty,
And took your clothing; wherefore do I pray
You'll do your pleasure, I'll your wish obey.


       And certes, if I hadde prescience
660 Youre wyl to knowe, er ye youre lust me tolde,
I wolde it doon withouten necligence.
But now I woot your lust and what ye wolde,
Al youre plesance ferme and stable I holde,
For wiste I that my deeth wolde do yow ese,
665 Right gladly wolde I dyen yow to plese.


       For certainly, if I had prescience
660 Your will to know before you your wish had told,
I would perform it without negligence;
But now I know the wish that you unfold,
To do your pleasure firmly will I hold;
For knew I that my death would give you ease,
665 Right gladly would I die, lord, you to please.


       Deth may noght make no comparisoun
Unto youre love!" and whan this markys say
The constance of his wyf, he caste adoun
His eyen two, and wondreth that she may
670 In pacience suffre al this array;
And forth he goth with drery contenance,
But ot his herte it was ful greet plesance.


       For death can offer no loss that is known
Compared to your love's loss." And when, I say,
He saw his wife's great constancy, then down
He cast his eyes, and wondered at the way
670 She would in patience all his will obey;
And forth he went with dreary countenance,
But in his heart he knew a great pleasance.

       This ugly sergeant, in the same wyse
That he hir doghter caughte, right so he -
675 Or worse, if men worse kan devyse -
Hath hent hire sone, that ful was of beautee,
And evere in oon so pacient was she,
That she no chiere maade of hevynesse,
But kiste hir sone, and after gan it blesse.


       This ugly sergeant in the very wise
That he her daughter took away, so he -
675 Or worse, if worse than this men could devise -
Has taken her son, the child of such beauty.
And always yet so all-patient was she
That she no sign gave forth of heaviness,
But kissed her son and so began to bless;


680        Save this, she preyde hym, that if he myghte,
Hir litel sone he wolde in erthe grave
His tendre lymes, delicaat to sighte,
Fro foweles and fro beestes for to save.
But she noon answere of hym myghte have,
685 He wente his wey, as hym nothyng ne roghte,
But to Boloigne he tendrely it broghte.


680        Except this: She prayed him that, and if he might,
Her son he'd bury in an earthen grave,
His tender limbs, so delicate to sight,
From ravenous birds and from all beasts to save.
But she no answer out of him could have.
685 He went his way as if he cared nor thought,
But to Bologna tenderly 'twas brought.