Part 41

The king declareth him the cas With sturne lok and sturdi chiere, To him and seide in this manere: “With felonie I am upbore, I ete and have it noght forbore Mi modres fleissh, whos housebonde Mi fader forto seche I fonde, Which is the Sone ek of my wif. Hierof I am inquisitif; 410 And who that can mi tale save, Al quyt he schal my doghter have; Of his ansuere and if he faile, He schal be ded withoute faile. Forthi my Sone,” quod the king, “Be wel avised of this thing, Which hath thi lif in jeupartie.”

Appolinus for his partie, Whan he this question hath herd, Unto the king he hath ansuerd 420 And hath rehersed on and on The pointz, and seide therupon: “The question which thou hast spoke, If thou wolt that it be unloke, It toucheth al the privete Betwen thin oghne child and thee, And stant al hol upon you tuo.”

The king was wonder sory tho, And thoghte, if that he seide it oute, Than were he schamed al aboute. 430 With slihe wordes and with felle He seith, “Mi Sone, I schal thee telle, Though that thou be of litel wit, It is no gret merveile as yit, Thin age mai it noght suffise: Bot loke wel thou noght despise Thin oghne lif, for of my grace Of thretty daies fulle a space I grante thee, to ben avised.”

And thus with leve and time assised 440 This yonge Prince forth he wente, And understod wel what it mente, Withinne his herte as he was lered, That forto maken him afered The king his time hath so deslaied. Wherof he dradde and was esmaied, Of treson that he deie scholde, For he the king his sothe tolde; And sodeinly the nyhtes tyde, That more wolde he noght abide, 450 Al prively his barge he hente And hom ayein to Tyr he wente: And in his oghne wit he seide For drede, if he the king bewreide, He knew so wel the kinges herte, That deth ne scholde he noght asterte, The king him wolde so poursuie. Bot he, that wolde his deth eschuie, And knew al this tofor the hond, Forsake he thoghte his oghne lond, 460 That there wolde he noght abyde; For wel he knew that on som syde This tirant of his felonie Be som manere of tricherie To grieve his bodi wol noght leve.

Forthi withoute take leve, Als priveliche as evere he myhte, He goth him to the See be nyhte In Schipes that be whete laden: Here takel redy tho thei maden 470 And hale up Seil and forth thei fare. Bot forto tellen of the care That thei of Tyr begonne tho, Whan that thei wiste he was ago, It is a Pite forto hiere. They losten lust, they losten chiere, Thei toke upon hem such penaunce, Ther was no song, ther was no daunce, Bot every merthe and melodie To hem was thanne a maladie; 480 For unlust of that aventure Ther was noman which tok tonsure, In doelful clothes thei hem clothe, The bathes and the Stwes bothe Thei schetten in be every weie; There was no lif which leste pleie Ne take of eny joie kepe, Bot for here liege lord to wepe; And every wyht seide as he couthe, “Helas, the lusti flour of youthe, 490 Our Prince, oure heved, our governour, Thurgh whom we stoden in honour, Withoute the comun assent Thus sodeinliche is fro ous went!” Such was the clamour of hem alle.

Bot se we now what is befalle Upon the ferste tale plein, And torne we therto ayein. Antiochus the grete Sire, Which full of rancour and of ire 500 His herte berth, so as ye herde, Of that this Prince of Tyr ansuerde, He hadde a feloun bacheler, Which was his prive consailer, And Taliart be name he hihte: The king a strong puison him dihte Withinne a buiste and gold therto, In alle haste and bad him go Strawht unto Tyr, and for no cost Ne spare he, til he hadde lost 510 The Prince which he wolde spille. And whan the king hath seid his wille, This Taliart in a Galeie With alle haste he tok his weie: The wynd was good, he saileth blyve, Til he tok lond upon the ryve Of Tyr, and forth with al anon Into the Burgh he gan to gon, And tok his In and bod a throwe. Bot for he wolde noght be knowe, 520 Desguised thanne he goth him oute; He sih the wepinge al aboute, And axeth what the cause was, And thei him tolden al the cas, How sodeinli the Prince is go. And whan he sih that it was so, And that his labour was in vein, Anon he torneth hom ayein, And to the king, whan he cam nyh, He tolde of that he herde and syh, 530 Hou that the Prince of Tyr is fled, So was he come ayein unsped. The king was sori for a while, Bot whan he sih that with no wyle He myhte achieve his crualte, He stinte his wraththe and let him be.

Bot over this now forto telle Of aventures that befelle Unto this Prince of whom I tolde, He hath his rihte cours forth holde 540 Be Ston and nedle, til he cam To Tharse, and there his lond he nam. A Burgeis riche of gold and fee Was thilke time in that cite, Which cleped was Strangulio, His wif was Dionise also: This yonge Prince, as seith the bok, With hem his herbergage tok; And it befell that Cite so Before time and thanne also, 550 Thurgh strong famyne which hem ladde Was non that eny whete hadde. Appolinus, whan that he herde The meschief, hou the cite ferde, Al freliche of his oghne yifte His whete, among hem forto schifte, The which be Schipe he hadde broght, He yaf, and tok of hem riht noght. Bot sithen ferst this world began, Was nevere yit to such a man 560 Mor joie mad than thei him made: For thei were alle of him so glade, That thei for evere in remembrance Made a figure in resemblance Of him, and in the comun place Thei sette him up, so that his face Mihte every maner man beholde, So as the cite was beholde; It was of latoun overgilt: Thus hath he noght his yifte spilt. 570

Upon a time with his route This lord to pleie goth him oute, And in his weie of Tyr he mette A man, the which on knees him grette, And Hellican be name he hihte, Which preide his lord to have insihte Upon himself, and seide him thus, Hou that the grete Antiochus Awaiteth if he mihte him spille. That other thoghte and hield him stille, 580 And thonked him of his warnynge, And bad him telle no tidinge, Whan he to Tyr cam hom ayein, That he in Tharse him hadde sein.

Fortune hath evere be muable And mai no while stonde stable: For now it hiheth, now it loweth, Now stant upriht, now overthroweth, Now full of blisse and now of bale, As in the tellinge of mi tale 590 Hierafterward a man mai liere, Which is gret routhe forto hiere. This lord, which wolde don his beste, Withinne himself hath litel reste, And thoghte he wolde his place change And seche a contre more strange. Of Tharsiens his leve anon He tok, and is to Schipe gon: His cours he nam with Seil updrawe, Where as fortune doth the lawe, 600 And scheweth, as I schal reherse, How sche was to this lord diverse, The which upon the See sche ferketh. The wynd aros, the weder derketh, It blew and made such tempeste, Non ancher mai the schip areste, Which hath tobroken al his gere; The Schipmen stode in such a feere, Was non that myhte himself bestere, Bot evere awaite upon the lere, 610 Whan that thei scholde drenche at ones. Ther was ynowh withinne wones Of wepinge and of sorghe tho; This yonge king makth mochel wo So forto se the Schip travaile: Bot al that myhte him noght availe; The mast tobrak, the Seil torof, The Schip upon the wawes drof, Til that thei sihe a londes cooste. Tho made avou the leste and moste, 620 Be so thei myhten come alonde; Bot he which hath the See on honde, Neptunus, wolde noght acorde, Bot altobroke cable and corde, Er thei to londe myhte aproche, The Schip toclef upon a roche, And al goth doun into the depe. Bot he that alle thing mai kepe Unto this lord was merciable, And broghte him sauf upon a table, 630 Which to the lond him hath upbore; The remenant was al forlore, Wherof he made mochel mone.

Thus was this yonge lord him one, Al naked in a povere plit: His colour, which whilom was whyt, Was thanne of water fade and pale, And ek he was so sore acale That he wiste of himself no bote, It halp him nothing forto mote 640 To gete ayein that he hath lore. Bot sche which hath his deth forbore, Fortune, thogh sche wol noght yelpe, Al sodeinly hath sent him helpe, Whanne him thoghte alle grace aweie; Ther cam a Fisshere in the weie, And sih a man ther naked stonde, And whan that he hath understonde The cause, he hath of him gret routhe, And onliche of his povere trouthe 650 Of suche clothes as he hadde With gret Pite this lord he cladde. And he him thonketh as he scholde, And seith him that it schal be yolde, If evere he gete his stat ayein, And preide that he wolde him sein If nyh were eny toun for him. He seide, “Yee, Pentapolim, Wher bothe king and queene duellen.” Whanne he this tale herde tellen, 660 He gladeth him and gan beseche That he the weie him wolde teche: And he him taghte; and forth he wente And preide god with good entente To sende him joie after his sorwe.

It was noght passed yit Midmorwe, Whan thiderward his weie he nam, Wher sone upon the Non he cam. He eet such as he myhte gete, And forth anon, whan he hadde ete, 670 He goth to se the toun aboute, And cam ther as he fond a route Of yonge lusti men withalle; And as it scholde tho befalle, That day was set of such assisse, That thei scholde in the londes guise, As he herde of the poeple seie, Here comun game thanne pleie; And crid was that thei scholden come Unto the gamen alle and some 680 Of hem that ben delivere and wyhte, To do such maistrie as thei myhte. Thei made hem naked as thei scholde, For so that ilke game wolde, As it was tho custume and us, Amonges hem was no refus: The flour of al the toun was there And of the court also ther were, And that was in a large place Riht evene afore the kinges face, 690 Which Artestrathes thanne hihte. The pley was pleid riht in his sihte, And who most worthi was of dede Receive he scholde a certein mede And in the cite bere a pris.

Appolinus, which war and wys Of every game couthe an ende, He thoghte assaie, hou so it wende, And fell among hem into game: And there he wan him such a name, 700 So as the king himself acompteth That he alle othre men surmonteth, And bar the pris above hem alle. The king bad that into his halle At Souper time he schal be broght; And he cam thanne and lefte it noght, Withoute compaignie al one: Was non so semlich of persone, Of visage and of limes bothe, If that he hadde what to clothe. 710 At Soupertime natheles The king amiddes al the pres Let clepe him up among hem alle, And bad his Mareschall of halle To setten him in such degre That he upon him myhte se. The king was sone set and served, And he, which hath his pris deserved After the kinges oghne word, Was mad beginne a Middel bord, 720 That bothe king and queene him sihe. He sat and caste aboute his yhe And sih the lordes in astat, And with himself wax in debat Thenkende what he hadde lore, And such a sorwe he tok therfore, That he sat evere stille and thoghte, As he which of no mete roghte.

The king behield his hevynesse, And of his grete gentillesse 730 His doghter, which was fair and good And ate bord before him stod, As it was thilke time usage, He bad to gon on his message And fonde forto make him glad. And sche dede as hire fader bad, And goth to him the softe pas And axeth whenne and what he was, And preith he scholde his thoghtes leve. He seith, “Ma Dame, be your leve 740 Mi name is hote Appolinus, And of mi richesse it is thus, Upon the See I have it lore. The contre wher as I was bore, Wher that my lond is and mi rente, I lefte at Tyr, whan that I wente: The worschipe of this worldes aghte, Unto the god ther I betaghte.” And thus togedre as thei tuo speeke, The teres runne be his cheeke. 750 The king, which therof tok good kepe, Hath gret Pite to sen him wepe, And for his doghter sende ayein, And preide hir faire and gan to sein That sche no lengere wolde drecche, Bot that sche wolde anon forth fecche Hire harpe and don al that sche can To glade with that sory man. And sche to don hir fader heste Hir harpe fette, and in the feste 760 Upon a Chaier which thei fette Hirself next to this man sche sette: With harpe bothe and ek with mouthe To him sche dede al that sche couthe To make him chiere, and evere he siketh, And sche him axeth hou him liketh. “Ma dame, certes wel,” he seide, “Bot if ye the mesure pleide Which, if you list, I schal you liere, It were a glad thing forto hiere.” 770 “Ha, lieve sire,” tho quod sche, “Now tak the harpe and let me se Of what mesure that ye mene.” Tho preith the king, tho preith the queene, Forth with the lordes alle arewe, That he som merthe wolde schewe; He takth the Harpe and in his wise He tempreth, and of such assise Singende he harpeth forth withal, That as a vois celestial 780 Hem thoghte it souneth in here Ere, As thogh that he an Angel were. Thei gladen of his melodie, Bot most of alle the compainie The kinges doghter, which it herde, And thoghte ek hou that he ansuerde, Whan that he was of hire opposed, Withinne hir herte hath wel supposed That he is of gret gentilesse. Hise dedes ben therof witnesse 790 Forth with the wisdom of his lore; It nedeth noght to seche more, He myhte noght have such manere, Of gentil blod bot if he were. Whanne he hath harped al his fille, The kinges heste to fulfille, Awey goth dissh, awey goth cuppe, Doun goth the bord, the cloth was uppe, Thei risen and gon out of halle.

The king his chamberlein let calle, 800 And bad that he be alle weie A chambre for this man pourveie, Which nyh his oghne chambre be. “It schal be do, mi lord,” quod he. Appolinus of whom I mene Tho tok his leve of king and queene And of the worthi Maide also, Which preide unto hir fader tho, That sche myhte of that yonge man Of tho sciences whiche he can 810 His lore have; and in this wise The king hir granteth his aprise, So that himself therto assente. Thus was acorded er thei wente, That he with al that evere he may This yonge faire freisshe May Of that he couthe scholde enforme; And full assented in this forme Thei token leve as for that nyht.

And whanne it was amorwe lyht, 820 Unto this yonge man of Tyr Of clothes and of good atir With gold and Selver to despende This worthi yonge lady sende: And thus sche made him wel at ese, And he with al that he can plese Hire serveth wel and faire ayein. He tawhte hir til sche was certein Of Harpe, of Citole and of Rote, With many a tun and many a note 830 Upon Musique, upon mesure, And of hire Harpe the temprure He tawhte hire ek, as he wel couthe. Bot as men sein that frele is youthe, With leisir and continuance This Mayde fell upon a chance, That love hath mad him a querele Ayein hire youthe freissh and frele, That malgre wher sche wole or noght, Sche mot with al hire hertes thoght 840 To love and to his lawe obeie; And that sche schal ful sore abeie. For sche wot nevere what it is, Bot evere among sche fieleth this: Thenkende upon this man of Tyr, Hire herte is hot as eny fyr, And otherwhile it is acale; Now is sche red, nou is sche pale Riht after the condicion Of hire ymaginacion; 850 Bot evere among hire thoghtes alle, Sche thoghte, what so mai befalle, Or that sche lawhe, or that sche wepe, Sche wolde hire goode name kepe For feere of wommanysshe schame. Bot what in ernest and in game, Sche stant for love in such a plit, That sche hath lost al appetit Of mete, of drinke, of nyhtes reste, As sche that not what is the beste; 860 Bot forto thenken al hir fille Sche hield hire ofte times stille Withinne hir chambre, and goth noght oute: The king was of hire lif in doute, Which wiste nothing what it mente.

Bot fell a time, as he out wente To walke, of Princes Sones thre Ther come and felle to his kne; And ech of hem in sondri wise Besoghte and profreth his servise, 870 So that he myhte his doghter have. The king, which wolde his honour save, Seith sche is siek, and of that speche Tho was no time to beseche; Bot ech of hem do make a bille He bad, and wryte his oghne wille, His name, his fader and his good; And whan sche wiste hou that it stod, And hadde here billes oversein, Thei scholden have ansuere ayein. 880 Of this conseil thei weren glad, And writen as the king hem bad, And every man his oghne bok Into the kinges hond betok, And he it to his dowhter sende, And preide hir forto make an ende And wryte ayein hire oghne hond, Riht as sche in hire herte fond.

The billes weren wel received, Bot sche hath alle here loves weyved, 890 And thoghte tho was time and space To put hire in hir fader grace, And wrot ayein and thus sche saide: “The schame which is in a Maide With speche dar noght ben unloke, Bot in writinge it mai be spoke; So wryte I to you, fader, thus: Bot if I have Appolinus, Of al this world, what so betyde, I wol non other man abide. 900 And certes if I of him faile, I wot riht wel withoute faile Ye schull for me be dowhterles.” This lettre cam, and ther was press Tofore the king, ther as he stod; And whan that he it understod, He yaf hem ansuer by and by, Bot that was do so prively, That non of othres conseil wiste. Thei toke her leve, and wher hem liste 910 Thei wente forth upon here weie.

The king ne wolde noght bewreie The conseil for no maner hihe, Bot soffreth til he time sihe: And whan that he to chambre is come, He hath unto his conseil nome This man of Tyr, and let him se The lettre and al the privete, The which his dowhter to him sente: And he his kne to grounde bente 920 And thonketh him and hire also, And er thei wenten thanne atuo, With good herte and with good corage Of full Love and full mariage The king and he ben hol acorded. And after, whanne it was recorded Unto the dowhter hou it stod, The yifte of al this worldes good Ne scholde have mad hir half so blythe: And forth withal the king als swithe, 930 For he wol have hire good assent, Hath for the queene hir moder sent. The queene is come, and whan sche herde Of this matiere hou that it ferde, Sche syh debat, sche syh desese, Bot if sche wolde hir dowhter plese, And is therto assented full. Which is a dede wonderfull, For noman knew the sothe cas Bot he himself, what man he was; 940 And natheles, so as hem thoghte, Hise dedes to the sothe wroghte That he was come of gentil blod: Him lacketh noght bot worldes good, And as therof is no despeir, For sche schal ben hire fader heir, And he was able to governe. Thus wol thei noght the love werne Of him and hire in none wise, Bot ther acorded thei divise 950 The day and time of Mariage.

Wher love is lord of the corage, Him thenketh longe er that he spede; Bot ate laste unto the dede The time is come, and in her wise With gret offrende and sacrifise Thei wedde and make a riche feste, And every thing which was honeste Withinnen house and ek withoute It was so don, that al aboute 960 Of gret worschipe, of gret noblesse Ther cride many a man largesse Unto the lordes hihe and loude; The knyhtes that ben yonge and proude, Thei jouste ferst and after daunce. The day is go, the nyhtes chaunce Hath derked al the bryhte Sonne; This lord, which hath his love wonne, Is go to bedde with his wif, Wher as thei ladde a lusti lif, 970 And that was after somdel sene, For as thei pleiden hem betwene, Thei gete a child betwen hem tuo, To whom fell after mochel wo.

Now have I told of the spousailes. Bot forto speke of the mervailes Whiche afterward to hem befelle, It is a wonder forto telle. It fell adai thei riden oute, The king and queene and al the route, 980 To pleien hem upon the stronde, Wher as thei sen toward the londe A Schip sailende of gret array. To knowe what it mene may, Til it be come thei abide; Than sen thei stonde on every side, Endlong the schipes bord to schewe, Of Penonceals a riche rewe. Thei axen when the ship is come: Fro Tyr, anon ansuerde some, 990 And over this thei seiden more The cause why thei comen fore Was forto seche and forto finde Appolinus, which was of kinde Her liege lord: and he appiereth, And of the tale which he hiereth He was riht glad; for thei him tolde, That for vengance, as god it wolde, Antiochus, as men mai wite, With thondre and lyhthnynge is forsmite; 1000 His doghter hath the same chaunce, So be thei bothe in o balance. “Forthi, oure liege lord, we seie In name of al the lond, and preie, That left al other thing to done, It like you to come sone And se youre oghne liege men With othre that ben of youre ken, That live in longinge and desir Til ye be come ayein to Tyr.” 1010 This tale after the king it hadde Pentapolim al overspradde, Ther was no joie forto seche; For every man it hadde in speche And seiden alle of on acord, “A worthi king schal ben oure lord: That thoghte ous ferst an hevinesse Is schape ous now to gret gladnesse.” Thus goth the tidinge overal.

Bot nede he mot, that nede schal: 1020 Appolinus his leve tok, To god and al the lond betok With al the poeple long and brod, That he no lenger there abod. The king and queene sorwe made, Bot yit somdiel thei weren glade Of such thing as thei herden tho: And thus betwen the wel and wo To schip he goth, his wif with childe, The which was evere meke and mylde 1030 And wolde noght departe him fro, Such love was betwen hem tuo. Lichorida for hire office Was take, which was a Norrice, To wende with this yonge wif, To whom was schape a woful lif. Withinne a time, as it betidde, Whan thei were in the See amidde, Out of the North they sihe a cloude; The storm aros, the wyndes loude 1040 Thei blewen many a dredful blast, The welkne was al overcast, The derke nyht the Sonne hath under, Ther was a gret tempeste of thunder: The Mone and ek the Sterres bothe In blake cloudes thei hem clothe, Wherof here brihte lok thei hyde. This yonge ladi wepte and cride, To whom no confort myhte availe; Of childe sche began travaile, 1050 Wher sche lay in a Caban clos: Hire woful lord fro hire aros, And that was longe er eny morwe, So that in anguisse and in sorwe Sche was delivered al be nyhte And ded in every mannes syhte; Bot natheles for al this wo A maide child was bore tho.

Appolinus whan he this knew, For sorwe a swoune he overthrew, 1060 That noman wiste in him no lif. And whanne he wok, he seide, “Ha, wif, Mi lust, mi joie, my desir, Mi welthe and my recoverir, Why schal I live, and thou schalt dye? Ha, thou fortune, I thee deffie, Nou hast thou do to me thi werste. Ha, herte, why ne wolt thou berste, That forth with hire I myhte passe? Mi peines weren wel the lasse.” 1070 In such wepinge and in such cry His dede wif, which lay him by, A thousend sithes he hire kiste; Was nevere man that sih ne wiste A sorwe unto his sorwe lich; For evere among upon the lich He fell swounende, as he that soghte His oghne deth, which he besoghte Unto the goddes alle above With many a pitous word of love; 1080 Bot suche wordes as tho were Yit herde nevere mannes Ere, Bot only thilke whiche he seide. The Maister Schipman cam and preide With othre suche as be therinne, And sein that he mai nothing winne Ayein the deth, bot thei him rede, He be wel war and tak hiede, The See be weie of his nature Receive mai no creature 1090 Withinne himself as forto holde, The which is ded: forthi thei wolde, As thei conseilen al aboute, The dede body casten oute. For betre it is, thei seiden alle, That it of hire so befalle, Than if thei scholden alle spille.

The king, which understod here wille And knew here conseil that was trewe, Began ayein his sorwe newe 1100 With pitous herte, and thus to seie: “It is al reson that ye preie. I am,” quod he, “bot on al one, So wolde I noght for mi persone Ther felle such adversite. Bot whan it mai no betre be, Doth thanne thus upon my word, Let make a cofre strong of bord, That it be ferm with led and pich.” Anon was mad a cofre sich, 1110 Al redy broght unto his hond; And whanne he sih and redy fond This cofre mad and wel enclowed, The dede bodi was besowed In cloth of gold and leid therinne. And for he wolde unto hire winne Upon som cooste a Sepulture, Under hire heved in aventure Of gold he leide Sommes grete And of jeueals a strong beyete 1120 Forth with a lettre, and seide thus:

“I, king of Tyr Appollinus, Do alle maner men to wite, That hiere and se this lettre write, That helpeles withoute red Hier lith a kinges doghter ded: And who that happeth hir to finde, For charite tak in his mynde, And do so that sche be begrave With this tresor, which he schal have.” 1130 Thus whan the lettre was full spoke, Thei haue anon the cofre stoke, And bounden it with yren faste, That it may with the wawes laste, And stoppen it be such a weie, That it schal be withinne dreie, So that no water myhte it grieve. And thus in hope and good believe Of that the corps schal wel aryve, Thei caste it over bord als blyve. 1140

The Schip forth on the wawes wente; The prince hath changed his entente, And seith he wol noght come at Tyr As thanne, bot al his desir Is ferst to seilen unto Tharse. The wyndy Storm began to skarse, The Sonne arist, the weder cliereth, The Schipman which behinde stiereth, Whan that he sih the wyndes saghte, Towardes Tharse his cours he straghte. 1150

Bot now to mi matiere ayein, To telle as olde bokes sein, This dede corps of which ye knowe With wynd and water was forthrowe Now hier, now ther, til ate laste At Ephesim the See upcaste The cofre and al that was therinne. Of gret merveile now beginne Mai hiere who that sitteth stille; That god wol save mai noght spille. 1160 Riht as the corps was throwe alonde, Ther cam walkende upon the stronde A worthi clerc, a Surgien, And ek a gret Phisicien, Of al that lond the wisest on, Which hihte Maister Cerymon; Ther were of his disciples some. This Maister to the Cofre is come, He peiseth ther was somwhat in, And bad hem bere it to his In, 1170 And goth himselve forth withal. Al that schal falle, falle schal; Thei comen hom and tarie noght; This Cofre is into chambre broght, Which that thei finde faste stoke, Bot thei with craft it have unloke. Thei loken in, where as thei founde A bodi ded, which was bewounde In cloth of gold, as I seide er, The tresor ek thei founden ther 1180 Forth with the lettre, which thei rede. And tho thei token betre hiede; Unsowed was the bodi sone, And he, which knew what is to done, This noble clerk, with alle haste Began the veines forto taste, And sih hire Age was of youthe, And with the craftes whiche he couthe He soghte and fond a signe of lif. With that this worthi kinges wif 1190 Honestely thei token oute, And maden fyres al aboute; Thei leide hire on a couche softe, And with a scheete warmed ofte Hire colde brest began to hete, Hire herte also to flacke and bete. This Maister hath hire every joignt With certein oile and balsme enoignt, And putte a liquour in hire mouth, Which is to fewe clerkes couth, 1200 So that sche coevereth ate laste; And ferst hire yhen up sche caste, And whan sche more of strengthe cawhte, Hire Armes bothe forth sche strawhte, Hield up hire hond and pitously Sche spak and seide, “Ha, wher am I? Where is my lord, what world is this?” As sche that wot noght hou it is. Bot Cerymon the worthi leche Ansuerde anon upon hire speche 1210 And seith, “Ma dame, yee ben hiere, Where yee be sauf, as yee schal hiere Hierafterward; forthi as nou Mi conseil is, conforteth you: For trusteth wel withoute faile, Ther is nothing which schal you faile, That oghte of reson to be do.” Thus passen thei a day or tuo; Thei speke of noght as for an ende, Til sche began somdiel amende, 1220 And wiste hireselven what sche mente.

Tho forto knowe hire hol entente, This Maister axeth al the cas, Hou sche cam there and what sche was. “Hou I cam hiere wot I noght,” Quod sche, “bot wel I am bethoght Of othre thinges al aboute”: Fro point to point and tolde him oute Als ferforthli as sche it wiste. And he hire tolde hou in a kiste 1230 The See hire threw upon the lond, And what tresor with hire he fond, Which was al redy at hire wille, As he that schop him to fulfille With al his myht what thing he scholde. Sche thonketh him that he so wolde, And al hire herte sche discloseth, And seith him wel that sche supposeth Hire lord be dreint, hir child also; So sih sche noght bot alle wo. 1240 Wherof as to the world nomore Ne wol sche torne, and preith therfore That in som temple of the Cite, To kepe and holde hir chastete, Sche mihte among the wommen duelle. Whan he this tale hir herde telle, He was riht glad, and made hire knowen That he a dowhter of his owen Hath, which he wol unto hir yive To serve, whil thei bothe live, 1250 In stede of that which sche hath lost; Al only at his oghne cost Sche schal be rendred forth with hire. She seith, “Grant mercy, lieve sire, God quite it you, ther I ne may.” And thus thei drive forth the day, Til time com that sche was hol; And tho thei take her conseil hol, To schape upon good ordinance And make a worthi pourveance 1260 Ayein the day whan thei be veiled. And thus, whan that thei be conseiled, In blake clothes thei hem clothe, This lady and the dowhter bothe, And yolde hem to religion. The feste and the profession After the reule of that degre Was mad with gret solempnete, Where as Diane is seintefied; Thus stant this lady justefied 1270 In ordre wher sche thenkth to duelle.

Bot now ayeinward forto telle In what plit that hire lord stod inne: He seileth, til that he may winne The havene of Tharse, as I seide er; And whanne he was aryved ther, And it was thurgh the Cite knowe, Men myhte se withinne a throwe, As who seith, al the toun at ones, That come ayein him for the nones, 1280 To yiven him the reverence, So glad thei were of his presence: And thogh he were in his corage Desesed, yit with glad visage He made hem chiere, and to his In, Wher he whilom sojourned in, He goth him straght and was resceived. And whan the presse of poeple is weived, He takth his hoste unto him tho, And seith, “Mi frend Strangulio, 1290 Lo, thus and thus it is befalle, And thou thiself art on of alle, Forth with thi wif, whiche I most triste. Forthi, if it you bothe liste, My doghter Thaise be youre leve I thenke schal with you beleve As for a time; and thus I preie, That sche be kept be alle weie, And whan sche hath of age more, That sche be set to bokes lore. 1300 And this avou to god I make, That I schal nevere for hir sake Mi berd for no likinge schave, Til it befalle that I have In covenable time of age Beset hire unto mariage.” Thus thei acorde, and al is wel, And forto resten him somdel, As for a while he ther sojorneth, And thanne he takth his leve and torneth 1310 To Schipe, and goth him hom to Tyr, Wher every man with gret desir Awaiteth upon his comynge. Bot whan the Schip com in seilinge, And thei perceiven it is he, Was nevere yit in no cite Such joie mad as thei tho made; His herte also began to glade Of that he sih the poeple glad. Lo, thus fortune his hap hath lad; 1320 In sondri wise he was travailed, Bot hou so evere he be assailed, His latere ende schal be good.