Of her array, so richely besey:
And then at erst amongs hem they sey,
That Walter was no foole, though him lest
To chaunge his wife: for it was for the best.
For she is fairer, as they deemen all
Than is Grisild, and more tender of age:
And fairer fruit between hem shall fall,
And more pleasant for her high linage:
Her brother eke so fair was of his age,
That him to seen ye people had cauʒt plesance,
Commending now the Marques gover∣nance.
O sterne people, unsad and untrue,
Aye undiscreet, and changing as a fane,
Delighting ever in rumer that is new,
For like the Moone ever waxe ye and wane:
Full of clapping, deare ynough of a iane.
Your dome is fals, your constance ill preveth,
A full great foole is he that on you leveth.
Thus saiden sad folke in that citie,
When that the people gased vp and down:
For they were glad, right with the noueltie
To haue a new lady of her toun.
No more of this make I now mentioun,
But to Grisilde ayen woll I me dresse,
And tellen her constance, and her businesse.
Well busie was Grisilde on euery thing,
That to the feast was appertinent:
Right nauʒt was she abashed of her clothing,
Though they wer rude, and somwhat to rent,
But with glad cheare to the yate is went
With other folke, to greet the Marquesesse,
And after doth she forth her businesse.
With right glad chere ye gests she receiueth
And buxomely eueriche in his degree,
That no man defaut there perceiueth,
But euer they wondren what she might bee,
That in so poore array was for to see,
And coud such honour and reuerence,
And worthyly they praisen her prudence.
In all the meane while she neuer stent,
This maiden & eke her brother to commend
With all her heart and benigne intent,
So well, that no man coud her prise amend:
But at the last when these lords wend
To sitten doune to meat, he gan to call
Grisilde, as she was busie in the hall.
Grisilde (qd. he) as it were in his play,
How liketh thee my wife, and her beaute?
Right well my lord (qd. she) for in good fay,
A fairer saw I neuer none than she:
I pray to God so yeue you prosperite,
And so hope I, that he woll to you send
Pleasaunce ynough vnto your liues end.
But one thing I beseech, and warne also
That ye pricke with no such turmenting
This tender maiden, as ye han do mo:
For she is fostered in her nourishing
More tenderly, in my supposing
She could not aduersitie endure,
As could a poore fostred creature.
And when this Walter saw her patience,
Her glad cheare, and no mallice at all,
And he so oft hath done her offence,
And she aye constant, and stable as a wall,
Continuing euer her innocence ouer all,
This sturdie Marques gan his heart dresse
To rue vpon her wifely stedfastnesse.
This is ynough, Grisilde mine (qd. he)
Be no more gast, ne euill apaid,
I haue thy faith and thy benignite,
As well as euer woman was assaid
In great estate, or poorely araid:
Now know I deare wife thy stedfastnesse,
And her in armes tooke, and gan to kesse,
And she for wonder tooke thereof no keepe:
She heard not what thing he to her said:
She fared as she had stert out of her sleepe,
Till she out of her masednesse abraid.
Grisilde (qd. he) by God that for vs deid,
Thou art my wife, and none other I haue,
Ne neuer had, as God my soule saue.
This is thy doughter, which thou supposed
To be my wife, and none other faithfully:
And this shall be mine heir, as I haue disposed,
Thou bare hem in thy body truly:
At Boloine haue I kept hem sikerly,
Take hem ayen, for now maist thou not say,
That thou hast lorn any of thy children tway.
And folke, that otherwise han said of me,
I warne hem wel, that I haue done this dede
For no malice, ne for no cruelte,
But for to assay in thee thy womanhede:
And not to sley my children, God forbede,
But for to keepen hem priuely and still,
Till I thy purpose knew: and all thy will.
When she this herd, a swoune doun she falleth
For pitous joy, and after her swouning,
She both her yong children to her calleth,
And in her armes pitously weeping,
Embraced hem both tenderly kissing
Full like a mother, with her salt teares
She bathed both her visage and her haires.
O which a pitous thing it was to see
Her swouning, and her pitous voice to heare:
Graunt mercy lord, God thonk it you (qd. she)
That ye haue saued me my children deare:
Now recke I neuer to be dead right here,
Sithen I stond in your loue, & in your grace,
No force of death, ne when my spirit pace.
O tender, O deare, O yong children mine,
Your wofull mother wend stedfastly,
That cruell hounds, or some foule vermine
Had eaten you, but God of his mercy,
And your benigne father so tenderly
Hath done you keep: and in yt same stound
All suddainly she swapt doune to the ground.