"I say, Griseld', this present dignity, In which that I have put you, as I trow* *believe Maketh you not forgetful for to be That I you took in poor estate full low, For any weal you must yourselfe know.

Take heed of every word that I you say, There is no wight that hears it but we tway.* *two

"Ye know yourself well how that ye came here Into this house, it is not long ago; And though to me ye be right lefe* and dear, *loved Unto my gentles* ye be nothing so: *n.o.bles, gentlefolk They say, to them it is great shame and woe For to be subject, and be in servage, To thee, that born art of small lineage.

"And namely* since thy daughter was y-bore *especially These wordes have they spoken doubteless; But I desire, as I have done before, To live my life with them in rest and peace: I may not in this case be reckeless; I must do with thy daughter for the best, Not as I would, but as my gentles lest.* *please

"And yet, G.o.d wot, this is full loth* to me: *odious But natheless withoute your weeting* *knowing I will nought do; but this will I," quoth he, "That ye to me a.s.senten in this thing.

Shew now your patience in your working, That ye me hight* and swore in your village *promised The day that maked was our marriage."

When she had heard all this, she not amev'd* *changed Neither in word, in cheer, nor countenance (For, as it seemed, she was not aggriev'd); She saide; "Lord, all lies in your pleasance, My child and I, with hearty obeisance Be youres all, and ye may save or spill* *destroy Your owen thing: work then after your will.

"There may no thing, so G.o.d my soule save, *Like to* you, that may displease me: *be pleasing*

Nor I desire nothing for to have, Nor dreade for to lose, save only ye: This will is in mine heart, and aye shall be, No length of time, nor death, may this deface, Nor change my corage* to another place." *spirit, heart

Glad was the marquis for her answering, But yet he feigned as he were not so; All dreary was his cheer and his looking When that he should out of the chamber go.

Soon after this, a furlong way or two,<8> He privily hath told all his intent Unto a man, and to his wife him sent.

A *manner sergeant* was this private* man, *kind of squire*

The which he faithful often founden had *discreet In thinges great, and eke such folk well can Do execution in thinges bad: The lord knew well, that he him loved and drad.* *dreaded And when this sergeant knew his lorde's will, Into the chamber stalked he full still.

"Madam," he said, "ye must forgive it me, Though I do thing to which I am constrain'd; Ye be so wise, that right well knowe ye *That lordes' hestes may not be y-feign'd;* *see note <9>*

They may well be bewailed and complain'd, But men must needs unto their l.u.s.t* obey; *pleasure And so will I, there is no more to say.

"This child I am commanded for to take."

And spake no more, but out the child he hent* *seized Dispiteously,* and gan a cheer** to make *unpityingly **show, aspect As though he would have slain it ere he went.

Griseldis must all suffer and consent: And as a lamb she sat there meek and still, And let this cruel sergeant do his will

Suspicious* was the diffame** of this man, *ominous **evil reputation Suspect his face, suspect his word also, Suspect the time in which he this began: Alas! her daughter, that she loved so, She weened* he would have it slain right tho,** *thought **then But natheless she neither wept nor siked,* *sighed Conforming her to what the marquis liked.

But at the last to speake she began, And meekly she unto the sergeant pray'd, So as he was a worthy gentle man, That she might kiss her child, ere that it died: And in her barme* this little child she laid, *lap, bosom With full sad face, and gan the child to bless,* *cross And lulled it, and after gan it kiss.

And thus she said in her benigne voice: Farewell, my child, I shall thee never see; But since I have thee marked with the cross, Of that father y-blessed may'st thou be That for us died upon a cross of tree: Thy soul, my little child, I *him betake,* *commit unto him*

For this night shalt thou dien for my sake.

I trow* that to a norice** in this case *believe **nurse It had been hard this ruthe* for to see: *pitiful sight Well might a mother then have cried, "Alas!"

But natheless so sad steadfast was she, That she endured all adversity, And to the sergeant meekely she said, "Have here again your little younge maid.

"Go now," quoth she, "and do my lord's behest.

And one thing would I pray you of your grace, *But if* my lord forbade you at the least, *unless*

Bury this little body in some place, That neither beasts nor birdes it arace."* *tear <10> But he no word would to that purpose say, But took the child and went upon his way.

The sergeant came unto his lord again, And of Griselda's words and of her cheer* *demeanour He told him point for point, in short and plain, And him presented with his daughter dear.

Somewhat this lord had ruth in his mannere, But natheless his purpose held he still, As lordes do, when they will have their will;

And bade this sergeant that he privily Shoulde the child full softly wind and wrap, With alle circ.u.mstances tenderly, And carry it in a coffer, or in lap; But, upon pain his head off for to swap,* *strike That no man shoulde know of his intent, Nor whence he came, nor whither that he went;

But at Bologna, to his sister dear, That at that time of Panic'* was Countess, *Panico He should it take, and shew her this mattere, Beseeching her to do her business This child to foster in all gentleness, And whose child it was he bade her hide From every wight, for aught that might betide.

The sergeant went, and hath fulfill'd this thing.

But to the marquis now returne we; For now went he full fast imagining If by his wife's cheer he mighte see, Or by her wordes apperceive, that she Were changed; but he never could her find, But ever-in-one* alike sad** and kind. *constantly **steadfast

As glad, as humble, as busy in service, And eke in love, as she was wont to be, Was she to him, in every *manner wise;* *sort of way*

And of her daughter not a word spake she; *No accident for no adversity* *no change of humour resulting Was seen in her, nor e'er her daughter's name from her affliction*

She named, or in earnest or in game.

*Pars Quarta* *Fourth Part*

In this estate there pa.s.sed be four year Ere she with childe was; but, as G.o.d wo'ld, A knave* child she bare by this Waltere, *boy Full gracious and fair for to behold; And when that folk it to his father told, Not only he, but all his country, merry Were for this child, and G.o.d they thank and hery.* *praise

When it was two year old, and from the breast Departed* of the norice, on a day *taken, weaned This marquis *caughte yet another lest* *was seized by yet To tempt his wife yet farther, if he may. another desire*

Oh! needless was she tempted in as say;* *trial But wedded men *not connen no measure,* *know no moderation*

When that they find a patient creature.

"Wife," quoth the marquis, "ye have heard ere this My people *sickly bear* our marriage; *regard with displeasure*

And namely* since my son y-boren is, *especially Now is it worse than ever in all our age: The murmur slays mine heart and my corage, For to mine ears cometh the voice so smart,* *painfully That it well nigh destroyed hath mine heart.

"Now say they thus, 'When Walter is y-gone, Then shall the blood of Janicol' succeed, And be our lord, for other have we none:'

Such wordes say my people, out of drede.* *doubt Well ought I of such murmur take heed, For certainly I dread all such sentence,* *expression of opinion Though they not *plainen in mine audience.* *complain in my hearing*

"I woulde live in peace, if that I might; Wherefore I am disposed utterly, As I his sister served ere* by night, *before Right so think I to serve him privily.

This warn I you, that ye not suddenly Out of yourself for no woe should outraie;* *become outrageous, rave Be patient, and thereof I you pray."

"I have," quoth she, "said thus, and ever shall, I will no thing, nor n'ill no thing, certain, But as you list; not grieveth me at all Though that my daughter and my son be slain At your commandement; that is to sayn, I have not had no part of children twain, But first sickness, and after woe and pain.

"Ye be my lord, do with your owen thing Right as you list, and ask no rede of me: For, as I left at home all my clothing When I came first to you, right so," quoth she, "Left I my will and all my liberty, And took your clothing: wherefore I you pray, Do your pleasance, I will your l.u.s.t* obey. *will

"And, certes, if I hadde prescience Your will to know, ere ye your l.u.s.t* me told, *will I would it do withoute negligence: But, now I know your l.u.s.t, and what ye wo'ld, All your pleasance firm and stable I hold; For, wist I that my death might do you ease, Right gladly would I dien you to please.

"Death may not make no comparisoun Unto your love." And when this marquis say* *saw The constance of his wife, he cast adown His eyen two, and wonder'd how she may In patience suffer all this array; And forth he went with dreary countenance; But to his heart it was full great pleasance.

This ugly sergeant, in the same wise That he her daughter caught, right so hath he (Or worse, if men can any worse devise,) Y-hent* her son, that full was of beauty: *seized And ever-in-one* so patient was she, *unvaryingly That she no cheere made of heaviness, But kiss'd her son, and after gan him bless.

Save this she prayed him, if that he might, Her little son he would in earthe grave,* *bury His tender limbes, delicate to sight, From fowles and from beastes for to save.

But she none answer of him mighte have; He went his way, as him nothing ne raught,* *cared But to Bologna tenderly it brought.

The marquis wonder'd ever longer more Upon her patience; and, if that he Not hadde soothly knowen therebefore That perfectly her children loved she, He would have ween'd* that of some subtilty, *thought And of malice, or for cruel corage,* *disposition She hadde suffer'd this with sad* visage. *steadfast, unmoved

But well he knew, that, next himself, certain She lov'd her children best in every wise.

But now of women would I aske fain, If these a.s.sayes mighte not suffice?

What could a st.u.r.dy* husband more devise *stern To prove her wifehood and her steadfastness, And he continuing ev'r in st.u.r.diness?

But there be folk of such condition, That, when they have a certain purpose take, Thiey cannot stint* of their intention, *cease But, right as they were bound unto a stake, They will not of their firste purpose slake:* *slacken, abate Right so this marquis fully hath purpos'd To tempt his wife, as he was first dispos'd.

He waited, if by word or countenance That she to him was changed of corage:* *spirit But never could he finde variance, She was aye one in heart and in visage, And aye the farther that she was in age, The more true (if that it were possible) She was to him in love, and more penible.* *painstaking in devotion

For which it seemed thus, that of them two There was but one will; for, as Walter lest,* *pleased The same pleasance was her l.u.s.t* also; *pleasure And, G.o.d be thanked, all fell for the best.

She shewed well, for no worldly unrest, A wife as of herself no thinge should Will, in effect, but as her husbaud would.