And whan this Walter saugh hir pacience,
1045 Hir glade chiere, and no malice at al,
And he so ofte had doon to hir offence
And she ay sad and constant as a wal,
Continuynge evere hir innocence overal,
This sturdy markys gan his herte dresse
1050 To rewen upon hir wyfly stedfastnesse.


       And when this Walter thought of her patience,
1045 Her glad face, with no malice there at all,
And how so oft he'd done to her offence,
And she always firm and constant as a wall,
Remaining ever blameless through it all,
This cruel marquis did his heart address
1050 To pity for her wifely steadfastness.


       "This is ynogh Grisilde myn," quod he,
"Be now namoore agast, ne yvele apayed.
I have thy feith and thy benyngnytee
As wel as evere womman was, assayed
1055 In greet estaat, and povreliche arrayed;
Now knowe I, goode wyf, thy stedfastnesse!"
And hire in armes took, and gan hir kesse.


       "This is enough, Griselda mine!" cried he,
"Be now no more ill pleased nor more afraid;
I have your faith and your benignity,
As straitly as ever woman's was, assayed
1055 In high place and in poverty arrayed.
Now know I well, dear wife, your steadfastness."
And he began to kiss her and to press.


       And she for wonder took of it no keep.
She herde nat, what thyng he to hir seyde.
1060 She ferde as she had stert out of a sleep,
Til she out of hire mazednesse abreyde.
"Grisilde," quod he, "by God that for us deyde,
Thou art my wyf, ne noon oother I have,
Ne nevere hadde, as God my soule save.


       And she, for wonder, took of this no keep;
She heard not what the thing was he had cried;
1060 She fared as if she'd started out of sleep,
Till from bewilderment she roused her pride.
"Griselda," said he, "by our God Who died,
You are my wife, no other one I have,
Nor ever had, as God my soul may save!


1065        This is thy doghter which thou hast supposed
To be my wyf; that oother feithfully
Shal be myn heir, as I have ay purposed;
Thou bare hym in thy body trewely.
At Boloigne have I kept hem prively.
1070 Taak hem agayn, for now maystow nat seye
That thou hast lorn noon of thy children tweye.


1065        This is your daughter, whom you have supposed
Should be my wife; the other child truly
Shall be my heir, as I have always purposed;
You bore him in your body faithfully.
I've kept them at Bologna secretly;
1070 Take them again, for now you cannot say
That you have lost your two children for aye


       And folk that ootherweys han seyd of me,
I warne hem wel that I have doon this deede
For no malice, ne for no crueltee,
1075 But for t'assaye in thee thy wommanheede,
And not to sleen my children - God forbeede! -
But for to kepe hem pryvely and stille,
Til I thy purpos knewe and al thy wille."


       And folk that otherwise have said of me,
I warn them well that I have done this deed
Neither for malice nor for cruelty,
1075 But to make trial in you of virtue hid,
And not to slay my children, God forbid!
But just to keep them secretly and still
Till I your purpose knew and all your will."

        O thyng biseke I yow, and warne also
That ye ne prikke with no tormentynge
This tendre mayden, as ye han doon mo;
1040 For she is fostred in hir norissynge
Moore tendrely, and to my supposynge
She koude nat adversitee endure,
As koude a povre fostred creature."


       One thing I beg, my lord, and warn also,
That you prick not, with any tormenting,
This tender maid, as you've hurt others so;
1040 For she's been nurtured in her up-bringing
More tenderly, and, to my own thinking,
She could not such adversity endure
As could one reared in circumstances poor."

1030        "Grisilde," quod he, as it were in his pley,
"How liketh thee my wyf and hir beautee?"
"Right wel," quod she, "my lord, for in good fey
A fairer saugh I nevere noon than she.
I prey to God yeve hir prosperitee,
1035 And so hope I that he wol to yow sende
Plesance ynogh unto youre lyves ende.


1030        "Griselda," said he, as it were in play,
"How like you my new wife and her beauty?"
"Right well," said she, "my lord, for by my fay
A fairer saw I never than is she.
I pray that God give her prosperity;
1035 And so I hope that to you both He'll send
Great happiness until your lives shall end.

       Ful bisy was Grisilde in every thyng
1010 That to the feeste was apertinent.
Right noght was she abayst of hir clothyng,
Thogh it were rude and somdeel eek torent,
But with glad cheere to the yate is went
With oother folk to greete the markysesse,
1015 And after that dooth forth hir bisynesse.


       Full busy Griselda was in everything
1010 That to the marquis' feast was pertinent;
Nothing was she confused by her clothing,
Though rude it was and somewhat badly rent
But with a glad face to the gate she went,
With other folk, to greet the marchioness,
1015 And afterward she did her busyness.


       With so glad chiere hise gestes she receyveth,
And konnyngly everich in his degree,
That no defaute no man aperceyveth,
But ay they wondren what she myghte bee
1020 That in so povre array was for to see,
And koude swich honour and reverence;
And worthily they preisen hire prudence.


       With so glad face his guests she did receive,
And with such tact, each one in his degree,
That no fault in it could a man perceive;
But all they wondered much who she might be
1020 That in so poor array, as they could see,
Yet knew so much of rank and reverence;
And worthily they praised her high prudence.


       In al this meenewhile she ne stente
This mayde and eek hir brother to commende
1025 With al hir herte, in ful benyngne entente,
So wel that no man koude hir pris amende
But atte laste, whan that thise lordes wende
To sitten doun to mete, he gan to calle
Grisilde, as she was bisy in his halle.


       In all this while she never once did cease
The maiden and her brother to commend
1025 With kindness of a heart that was at peace,
So well that no man could her praise amend.
But at the last, when all these lords did wend
To seat themselves to dine, then did he call
Griselda, who was busy in his hall.

       Abouten undren gan this Erl alighte,
That with hym broghte thise noble children tweye,
For which the peple ran to seen the sighte
Of hire array, so richely biseye;
985 And thanne at erst amonges hem they seye,
That Walter was no fool, thogh that hym leste
To chaunge his wyf, for it was for the beste.


       About mid-morning did this count alight,
Who brought with him these noble children two,
Whereat the people ran to see the sight
Of their array, so richly dressed and all thereto;
985 And for the first time did they not complain,
But said that Walter was no fool, at least,
To change his wife, for it was for the best.


       "For she is fairer," as they deemen alle,
"Than is Grisilde, and moore tendre of age,
990 And fairer fruyt bitwene hem sholde falle,
And moore plesant for hir heigh lynage."
Hir brother eek so faire was of visage,
That hem to seen the peple hath caught plesaunce,
Commendynge now the markys governaunce.


       For she was fairer far, so thought they all,
Than was Griselda, and of younger age,
990 And fairer fruit between the two should fall,
And pleasing more, for her high lineage;
Her brother, too, so fair was of visage,
That, seeing them, the people all were glad,
Commending now the sense the marquis had.


995        "O stormy peple, unsad and evere untrewe!
Ay undiscreet and chaungynge as a vane,
Delitynge evere in rumbul that is newe;
For lyk the moone ay wexe ye and wane,
Ay ful of clappyng, deere ynogh a jane,
1000 Youre doom is fals, youre constance yvele preeveth,
A ful greet fool is he that on yow leeveth!"


995        "O storm-torn people! Unstable and untrue!
Always indiscreet, and changing as a vane,
Delighting ever in rumour that is new,
For like the moon aye do you wax and wane;
Full of all chatter, dear at even a jane;
1000 Your judgment's false, your constancy deceives,
A full great fool is he that you believes!"


       Thus seyden sadde folk in that citee,
Whan that the peple gazed up and doun,
For they were glad right for the noveltee
1005 To han a newe lady of hir toun.
Namoore of this make I now mencioun,
But to Grisilde agayn wol I me dresse,
And telle hir constance and hir bisynesse.


       Thus said the sober folk of that city,
Seeing the people staring up and down,
For they were glad, just for the novelty,
1005 To have a young new lady of their town.
No more of this I'll mention or make known;
But to Griselda I'll myself address
To tell her constancy and busyness.

       "Nat oonly lord, that I am glad," quod she,
"To doon your lust, but I desire also
Yow for to serve and plese in my degree
970 Withouten feyntyng, and shal everemo.
Ne nevere, for no wele ne no wo,
Ne shal the goost withinne myn herte stente
To love yow best with al my trewe entente."


       "Not only am I glad, my lord," said she,
"To do your wish, but I desire also
To serve you and to please in my degree;
970 This without wearying I'll always do.
And ever, lord, in happiness or woe,
The soul within my heart shall not forgo
To love you best with true intent, I know."


       And with that word she gan the hous to dighte,
975 And tables for to sette, and beddes make,
And peyned hir to doon al that she myghte,
Preyynge the chambereres for Goddes sake
To hasten hem, and faste swepe and shake,
And she, the mooste servysable of alle,
980 Hath every chambre arrayed, and his halle.


       Then she began to put the house aright,
975 To set the tables and the beds to make;
And was at pains to do all that she might,
Praying the chambermaids, for good God's sake,
To make all haste and sweep hard and to shake;
And she, who was most serviceable of all,
980 Did every room array, and his wide hall.

       Fro Boloigne is this Erl of Panyk come,
940 Of which the fame up sprang to moore and lesse,
And in the peples eres, alle and some,
Was kouth eek that a newe markysesse
He with hym broghte, in swich pompe and richesse,
That nevere was ther seyn with mannes eye
945 So noble array in al Westlumbardye.


       Now from Bologna is Panago come,
940 Whereof the word spread unto great and less,
And in the ears of people, all and some,
It was told, too, that a new marchioness
Came with him, in such pomp and such richness
That never had been seen with human eye
945 So noble array in all West Lombardy.


       The markys, which that shoop and knew al this,
Er that this Erl was come, sente his message
For thilke sely povre Grisildis;
And she with humble herte and glad visage,
950 Nat with no swollen thoght in hire corage
Cam at his heste, and on hir knees hire sette,
And reverently and wysely she hym grette.


       The marquis, who had planned and knew all this,
Before this count was come, a message sent
To poor Griselda, who had lost her bliss;
With humble heart and features glad she went
950 And on her knees before her lord she bent.
No pride of thought did her devotion dim;
She wisely and with reverence greeted him.


       "Grisilde," quod he, "my wyl is outrely
This mayden, that shal wedded been to me,
955 Received be to-morwe as roially
As it possible is in myn hous to be;
And eek that every wight in his degree
Have his estaat in sittyng and servyse
And heigh plesaunce, as I kan best devyse.


       He said, "Griselda, hear what I shall say:
This maiden, who'll be wedded unto me,
955 Shall be received with splendour of array
As royally as in my house may be,
And, too, that everyone in his degree
Have his due rank in seating and service,
And high pleasance, as I can best devise.


960        I have no wommen, suffisaunt, certayn,
The chambres for t'arraye in ordinaunce
After my lust, and therfore wolde I fayn
That thyn were al swich manere governaunce;
Thou knowest eek of olde al my plesaunce,
965 Thogh thyn array be badde and yvel biseye,
Do thou thy devoir at the leeste weye."


960        I have not serving women adequate
To set the rooms in order as I would.
And so I wish you here to regulate
All matters of the sort as mistress should.
You know of old the ways I think are good,
965 And though you're clothed in such a slattern's way,
Go do at least your duty as you may."

       Thus with hir fader for a certeyn space
Dwelleth this flour of wyfly pacience,
920 That neither by hir wordes ne hir face,
Biforn the folk, ne eek in hir absence,
Ne shewed she that hir was doon offence,
Ne of hir heighe estaat no remembraunce
Ne hadde she, as by hir contenaunce.


       Thus with her father, for a certain space,
Did dwell this flower of wifely meek patience,
920 Who neither by her words nor in her face,
Before the people nor in their absence,
Showed that she thought to her was done offense;
Nor of her high estate a remembrance
Had she, to judge by her calm countenance.


925        No wonder is, for in hir grete estaat
Hire goost was evere in pleyn humylitee.
No tendre mouth, noon herte delicaat,
No pompe, no semblant of roialtee,
But ful of pacient benyngnytee,
930 Discreet and pridelees, ay honurable,
And to hire housbonde evere meke and stable.


925        No wonder, though, for while in high estate,
Her soul kept ever full humility;
No mouth complaining, no heart delicate,
No pomp, no look of haughty royalty,
But full of patience and benignity,
930 Discreet and prideless, always honourable,
And to her husband meek and firm as well.


       Men speke of Job, and moost for his humblesse,
As clerkes whan hem list konne wel endite,
Namely of men; but as in soothfastnesse,
935 Though clerkes preise wommen but a lite,
Ther kan no man in humblesse hym acquite,
As womman kan, ne kan been half so trewe
As wommen been, but it be falle of newe.


       Men speak of Job and of his humbleness,
As clerks, when they so please, right well can write
Concerning men, but truth is, nevertheless,
935 Though clerks' praise of all women is but slight,
No man acquits himself in meekness quite
As women can, nor can be half so true
As women are, save this be something new.

       The folk hir folwe, wepynge in hir weye,
And Fortune ay they cursen, as they goon;
But she fro wepyng kepte hir eyen dreye,
900 Ne in this tyme word ne spak she noon.
Hir fader, that this tidynge herde anoon,
Curseth the day and tyme that nature
Shoop hym to been a lyves creature.


       The folk they followed, weeping and with cries,
And Fortune did they curse as they passed on;
But she with weeping did not wet her eyes,
900 And all this while of words she said not one.
Her father, who had heard this news anon,
Cursed then the day and hour when from the earth,
A living creature, nature gave him birth.


       For out of doute this olde povre man
905 Was evere in suspect of hir mariage,
For evere he demed, sith that it bigan,
That whan the lord fulfild hadde his corage,
Hym wolde thynke it were a disparage
To his estaat, so lowe for talighte,
910 And voyden hir as soone as ever he myghte.


       For, beyond any doubt, this poor old man
905 Had always feared the marquis soon would tire,
And doubted since the marriage first began,
If when the lord had satisfied desire,
He would not think a wife of station higher,
For one of his degree, had been more right,
910 And send her thence as soon as ever he might.


       Agayns his doghter hastily goth he,
For he by noyse of folk knew hir comynge,
And with hir olde coote, as it myghte be,
He covered hir, ful sorwefully wepynge,
915 But on hir body myghte he it nat brynge.
For rude was the clooth, and moore of age
By dayes fele than at hir mariage.


       To meet his daughter hastily went he,
For he, by noise of folk, knew her coming;
And with her old coat, such as it might be,
He covered her, full sorrowfully weeping;
915 But the coat over her he could not bring,
For poor the cloth, and many days had passed
Since on her marriage day she wore it last.

       My lord, ye woot that in my fadres place
Ye dide me streepe out of my povre weede,
And richely me cladden of youre grace.
865 To yow broghte I noght elles, out of drede,
But feith, and nakednesse, and maydenhede.
And heere agayn my clothyng I restoore,
And eek my weddyng ryng for everemore.


       My lord, you know that, in my father's place,
You stripped from me my poor and humble weed
And clothed me richly, of your noble grace.
865 I brought you nothing else at all indeed,
Than faith and nakedness and maidenhead.
And here again my clothing I restore,
And, too, my wedding-ring, for evermore.


       The remenant of youre jueles redy be
870 In-with youre chambre, dar I saufly sayn.
Naked out of my fadres hous," quod she,
"I cam, and naked moot I turne agayn.
Al your plesance wol I folwen fayn,
But yet I hope it be nat your entente
875 That I smoklees out of your paleys wente.


       The rest of all your jewels, they will be
870 Within your chamber, as I dare maintain;
Naked out of my father's house," said she,
"I came, and naked I return again.
To follow aye your pleasure I am fain,
But yet I hope it is not your intent
875 That smockless from your palace I be sent.


       Ye koude nat doon so dishonest a thyng,
That thilke wombe in which your children leye,
Sholde biforn the peple in my walkyng
Be seyn al bare; wherfore I yow preye,
880 Lat me nat lyk a worm go by the weye!
Remembre yow, myn owene lord so deere,
I was your wyf, though I unworthy weere.


       You could not do so base and shameful thing
That the same womb in which your children lay
Should, before all the folk, in my walking,
Be seen all bare; and therefore do I pray
880 Let me not like a worm go on my way.
Remember that, my own lord, always dear,
I was your wife, though I unworthy were.


       Wherfore, in gerdoun of my maydenhede
Which that I broghte, and noght agayn I bere,
885 As voucheth sauf to yeve me to my meede
But swich a smok as I was wont to were,
That I therwith may wrye the wombe of here
That was your wyf. And heer take I my leeve
Of yow, myn owene lord, lest I yow greve."


       Wherefore, as reward for my maidenhead,
The which I brought, but shall not with me bear,
885 Let them but give me, for my only meed,
Such a poor smock as I was wont to wear,
That I therewith may hide the womb of her
Who was your wife; and here I take my leave
Of you, my own dear lord, lest you should grieve."


890        "The smok," quod he, "that thou hast on thy bak,
Lat it be stille, and bere it forth with thee."
But wel unnethes thilke word he spak,
But wente his wey for routhe and for pitee.
Biforn the folk hirselven strepeth she,
895 And in hir smok, with heed and foot al bare,
Toward hir fader hous forth is she fare.


890        "The smock," said he, "that you have on your back,
Let it stay there and wear it forth," said he.
But firmness in so saying the man did lack;
But went his way for ruth and for pity.
Before the folk her body then stripped she
895 And in her smock, with head and feet all bare,
Toward her father's hovel did she fare.

       And she answerde agayn in pacience,
"My lord," quod she, "I woot and wiste alway
815 How that bitwixen youre magnificence
And my poverte, no wight kan ne may
Maken comparisoun; it is no nay.
I ne heeld me nevere digne in no manere
To be your wyf, no, ne youre chamberere.


       And she replied again, of her patience:
"My lord," said she, "I know, and knew alway,
815 How that between your own magnificence
And my poor state, no person can or may
Make a comparison in an equal way.
I never held me worthy or of grade
To be your wife, no, nor your chambermaid.


820        And in this hous ther ye me lady maade -
The heighe God take I for my witnesse,
And also wysly he my soule glaade -
I nevere heeld me lady ne maistresse,
But humble servant to youre worthynesse,
825 And evere shal whil that my lyf may dure
Aboven every worldly creature.


820        And in this house, where lady you made me
The High God do I take now to witness,
And as He truly may my soul's joy be
I never held me lady nor mistress,
But only servant to your worthiness;
825 And ever shall, while my life may endure,
Beyond all worldly beings, that is sure.


       That ye so longe of youre benignitee
Han holden me in honour and nobleye,
Wher as I was noght worthy for to bee,
830 That thonke I God and yow, to whom I preye
Foryelde it yow; ther is namoore to seye.
Unto my fader gladly wol I wende,
And with hym dwelle unto my lyves ende.


       That you so long, of your benignity,
Have held me here in honour in this way,
Where I was never worthy, once, to be,
830 For that, thank God and you- to God I pray
He will reward you. There's no more to say.
Unto my father gladly will I wend
And dwell with him until my life shall end.


       Ther I was fostred of a child ful smal,
835 Til I be deed, my lyf ther wol I lede,
A wydwe clene in body, herte, and al,
For sith I yaf to yow my maydenhede
And am youre trewe wyf, it is no drede,
God shilde swich a lordes wyf to take
840 Another man, to housbonde or to make.


       Where I was fostered when an infant small,
835 There will I lead my life till I be dead,
A widow, clean in body, heart, and all.
For, since I gave to you my maidenhead,
And am your true and lawful wife, wedded,
May God forbid such a lord's wife to take
840 Another man for husband or love's sake.


       And of youre newe wyf, God of his grace
So graunte yow wele and prosperitee,
For I wol gladly yelden hir my place
In which that I was blisful wont to bee.
845 For sith it liketh yow my lord," quod shee,
"That whilom weren al myn hertes reste,
That I shal goon, I wol goon whan yow leste.


       And of your new wife, may God of His grace
Grant you but joy and all prosperity:
For I will gladly yield to her my place,
Wherein so happy I was wont to be,
845 For since it pleases you, my lord," said she,
Who have been all my heart's ease and its rest,
That I shall go, I'll go when you request.


       But ther as ye me profre swich dowaire
As I first broghte, it is wel in my mynde
850 It were my wrecched clothes, no thyng faire,
The whiche to me were hard now for to fynde.
O goode God! how gentil and how kynde
Ye semed by youre speche and youre visage
The day that maked was oure mariage!


       But whereas now you proffer me such dower
As first I brought to you, it's in my mind
850 That 'twas my wretched clothes and nothing fair.
The which to me were hard now for to find.
O my good God! How noble and how kind
You seemed then, in your speech and in your face.
The day we married in that humble place.


855        But sooth is seyd - algate I fynde it trewe,
For in effect it preeved is on me -
Love is noght oold, as whan that it is newe,
But certes, lord, for noon adversitee,
To dyen in the cas it shal nat bee
860 That evere in word or werk I shal repente
That I yow yaf myn herte in hool entente.


855        But truth is said - at least I find it true
For actually its proof is seen in me -
Old love is not the same as when it's new.
But truly, lord, for no adversity,
Though I should die of all this, shall it be
860 That ever in word or deed I shall repent
That I gave you my heart in whole intent.

       "Certes, Grisilde, I hadde ynogh plesance,
To han yow to my wyf for your goodnesse,
As for youre trouthe, and for your obeisance-
795 Noght for youre lynage, ne for youre richesse;
But now knowe I, in verray soothfastnesse,
That in greet lordshipe, if I wel avyse,
Ther is greet servitute in sondry wyse.


       "Truly, Griselda, I'd much joy, perchance,
When you I took for wife, for your goodness
And for your truth and your obedience,
795 Not for your lineage nor your wealth, I guess;
But now I know, in utter certainness,
That in great lordship, if I well advise,
There is great servitude in sundry wise.


       I may nat doon as every plowman may;
800 My peple me constreyneth for to take
Another wyf, and crien day by day,
And eek the pope, rancour for to slake,
Consenteth it, that dar I undertake -
And trewely thus muche I wol yow seye,
805 My newe wyf is comynge by the weye.


       I may not act as every plowman may;
800 My people have constrained me that I take
'Another wife, and this they ask each day;
And now the pope, hot rancour thus to slake,
Consents, I dare the thing to undertake;
And truly now this much to you I'll say,
805 My new wife journeys hither on her way.


       Be strong of herte, and voyde anon hir place,
And thilke dower that ye broghten me
Taak it agayn, I graunte it of my grace.
Retourneth to youre fadres hous," quod he;
810 "No man may alwey han prosperitee.
With evene herte I rede yow t'endure
This strook of Fortune or of aventure."


       Be strong of heart and leave at once her place,
And that same dower that you brought to me,
Take it again, I grant it of my grace;
Return you to your father's house," said he;
810 "No man may always have prosperity;
With a calm heart I urge you to endure
The stroke of Fortune or of adventure."

785        Among al this, after his wikke usage,
This markys yet his wyf to tempte moore
To the outtreste preeve of hir corage,
Fully to han experience and loore,
If that she were as stidefast as bifoore,
790 He on a day in open audience
Ful boistously hath seyd hir this sentence.


785        Meanwhile, according to his wicked way,
This marquis, still to test his wife once more,
Even to the final proof of her, I say,
Fully to have experience to the core
If she were yet as steadfast as before,
790 He on a day in open audience
Loudly said unto her this rude sentence:

       Abidynge evere his lust and his plesance
To whom that she was yeven, herte and al,
As to hire verray worldly suffisance.
760 But shortly, if this storie I tellen shal,
This markys writen hath in special
A lettre, in which he sheweth his entente,
And secreely he to Boloigne it sente;


       Abiding ever his wish and pleasure still,
To whom she had been given, heart and all;
He was her worldly hope, for good or ill;
760 But to tell all this briefly, if I shall,
This marquis wrote, in letter personal,
The devious working of his whole intent
And secretly 'twas to Bologna sent.


       To the Erl of Panyk, which that hadde tho
765 Wedded his suster, preyde he specially
To bryngen hoom agayn hise children two,
In honurable estaat al openly;
But o thyng he hym preyede outrely,
That he to no wight, though men wolde enquere,
770 Sholde nat telle whos children that they were,


       Unto Panago's count, who had, we know,
765 Wedded his sister, prayed he specially
To bring him home again his children two,
In honourable estate, all openly.
But one more thing he prayed him, utterly,
That he to no one, whoso should inquire,
770 Would tell who was their mother or their sire,


       But seye, the mayden sholde ywedded be
Unto the Markys of Saluce anon.
And as this Erl was preyed, so dide he;
For at day set he on his wey is goon
775 Toward Saluce, and lordes many oon,
In riche array this mayden for to gyde,
Hir yonge brother ridynge hir bisyde.


       But say, the maiden married was to be
Unto Saluzzo's marquis, and anon.
And as this count was asked, so then did he;
For on day set he on his way was gone
775 Toward Saluzzo, with lords many a one,
In rich array, this maiden there to guide,
With her young brother riding at her side.


       Arrayed was toward hir mariage
This fresshe mayde, ful of gemmes cleere;
780 Hir brother, which that seven yeer was of age,
Arrayed eek ful fressh in his manere.
And thus in greet noblesse, and with glad cheere,
Toward Saluces shapynge hir journey,
Fro day to day they ryden in hir wey.


       So toward her marriage went this fresh young maid
Clothed richly and covered with jewels clear;
780 Her brother with her, boyishly arrayed,
And all anew, was now in his eighth year.
And thus in great pomp and with merry cheer
Toward Saluzzo went they on their way,
And rode along together day by day.

       Whan that his doghter twelf yeer was of age,
He to the court of Rome in subtil wyse
Enformed of his wyl sente his message,
Comaundynge hem swiche bulles to devyse
740 As to his crueel purpos may suffyse,
How that the pope as for his peples reste
Bad hym to wedde another, if hym leste.


       Now when his daughter was twelve years of age,
He to the court of Rome in subtle wise
Informed of his design sent his message,
Commanding them such bulls they should devise
740 As for his cruel purpose would suffice,
How that the pope, for Walter's people's rest,
Bade him to wed another, and the best.


       I seye, he bad they sholde countrefete
The popes bulles, makynge mencioun
745 That he hath leve his firste wyf to lete
As by the popes dispensacioun,
To stynte rancour and dissencioun
Bitwixe his peple and hym, thus seyde the bulle,
The which they han publiced atte fulle.


       I say, he ordered they should counterfeit
A papal bull and set it forth therein
745 That he had to leave his first wife now to quit,
By papal dispensation, with no sin,
To stop all such dissension as did win
Between his folk and him; thus said the bull,
The which thing they did publish to the full.


750        The rude peple, as it no wonder is,
Wenden ful wel that it hadde be right so;
But whan thise tidynges cam to Grisildis,
I deeme that hir herte was ful wo.
But she, ylike sad for everemo,
755 Disposed was, this humble creature,
The adversitee of Fortune al t'endure,


750        The ignorant people, as no wonder is,
Supposed of course that things were even so;
But when Griselda's ears caught word of this,
I judge that then her heart was filled with woe.
But she, for ever steadfast, still did show
755 Herself disposed, this humble meek creature,
The adversity of Fortune to endure.

       The sclaundre of Walter ofte and wyde spradde,
That of a crueel herte he wikkedly,
For he a povre womman wedded hadde,
725 Hath mordred bothe his children prively.-
Swich murmur was among hem comunly;
No wonder is, for to the peples ere
Ther cam no word, but that they mordred were.


       The scandal of this Walter widely spread,
That, of his cruel heart, he'd wickedly
Because a humble woman he had wed
725 Murdered his two young children secretly.
Such murmurs went among them commonly.
No wonder, either, for to people's ear
There came no word but they'd been murdered there.


       For which, wher as his peple therbifore
730 Hadde loved hym wel, the sclaundre of his diffame
Made hem, that they hym hatede therfore.
To been a mordrere is an hateful name;
But nathelees, for ernest ne for game
He of his crueel purpos nolde stente:
735 To tempte his wyf was set al his entente.


       For which, whereas the people theretofore
730 Had loved him, now the scandal of such shame
Caused them to hate where they had loved before;
To be a murderer brings a hateful name.
Nevertheless, in earnest nor in game
Would he from this his cruel plan be bent;
735 To test his wife was all his fixed intent.

       This markys wondred evere lenger the moore
Upon hir pacience, and if that he
Ne hadde soothly knowen therbifoore
690 That parfitly hir children loved she,
He wolde have wend that of som subtiltee,
And of malice, or for crueel corage,
That she hadde suffred this with sad visage.


       This marquis wondered ever more and more
Upon her patience; and indeed if he
Had not known truly in her years before
690 That she had loved her children perfectly,
He would have thought that out of subtlety
And malice, or from some urge more savage
She suffered this with calm face and courage.


       But wel he knew that next hymself, certayn,
695 She loved hir children best in every wyse;
But now of wommen wolde I axen fayn,
If thise assayes myghte nat suffise,
What koude a sturdy housbonde moore devyse
To preeve hire wyfhod or hir stedefastnesse,
700 And he continuynge evere in sturdinesse?


       But well he knew that, next himself, 'twas plain
695 She loved her children best in every wise.
But now to ask of women I am fain,
Whether these trials should not the man suffice?
What could an obdurate husband more devise
To prove her wifehood and her faithfulness,
700 And he continuing in his stubbornness?


       But ther been folk of swich condicioun
That whan they have a certein purpos take
They kan nat stynte of hir entencioun,
But right as they were bounden to that stake
705 They wol nat of that firste purpos slake.
Right so this markys fulliche hath purposed
To tempte his wyf, as he was first disposed.


       But there are folk to such condition grown
That, when they do a certain purpose take,
They cannot quit the intent they thus own,
But just as they were bound unto a stake
705 They will not from that first hard purpose shake.
Just so this marquis fully was purposed
To test his wife, as he was first disposed.


       He waiteth, if by word or contenance
That she to hym was changed of corage;
710 But nevere koude he fynde variance,
She was ay oon in herte and in visage.
And ay the forther that she was in age,
The moore trewe, if that it were possible-
She was to hym in love, and moore penyble.


       He watched her, if by word or countenance
She show a change toward him, or in courage;
710 But never could he find a variance.
She was always one in heart and in visage;
And always the farther that she went in age,
The more true, if such thing were possible,
She was in love, and painstaking, as well.


715        For which it semed thus, that of hem two
Ther nas but o wyl; for, as Walter leste,
The same lust was hir plesance also,
And, God be thanked, al fil for the beste.
She shewed wel, for no worldly unreste
720 A wyf as of hirself no thing ne sholde
Wille in effect, but as hir housbonde wolde.


715        From which it seemed that, as between those two,
There was but one will, for, to Walter's quest,
The same thing was her sole desire also,
And- God be thanked!- all fell out for the best.
She showed well that, in all this world's unrest,
720 A wife, of her volition, nothing should
Will to be done, except the way her husband would.

       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.

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.

       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."