How may this weyke womman have the strengthe
Hir to defende against the renegat?
O Golias, unmesurable of lengthe,
How mighte David bringe thee to thy fate?
So yong, and of armure so desolate,
How dorst he loke upon thy dredful face?
Wel may men seyn, it was but Goddes grace.

Who gaf Judith coráge or hardynesse
To sley him Olofernes in his tent,
And to delyveren out of wretchedness
The peple of God? I say in this entent,
That right as God spiryte and vigor sent
To them, and savèd them out of meschaunce,
So sent he might and vigor to Constaunce.

Forth goth hir ship thurghout the narrow mouth
Of Jubalter and Septé, dryvyng alway,
Som tyme west, and som tyme north and south,
And som tyne est, ful many a wery day;
Til Cristes moder, blessèd be she ay!
Hath shapen thurgh hir endeles goodnesse
To make an ende of al hir hevynesse.

Now let us stynt of Constaunce but a throwe,
And speke we of the Romayn emperour,
That out of Syrrye hath by lettres knowe
The slaughter of cristen folk, and déshonoúr
Doon to his doughter by a fals traytour,
I mene the cursed and wikked sultanesse,
That at the fest let sley bothe more and lesse.

For which this emperour hath sent anon
His senatour, with royal ordynaunce,
And other lordes, God wot, many a one,
On Syrriens to taken high vengeaunce.
They brenne, slay, and bringen them to meschaunce
Ful many a day; but shortly this is the ende,
Hom-ward to Rome they shapen them to wende.

This senatour repayreth with victorie
To Rome-ward, saylyng ful royally,
And mette the ship dryvyng, as seith the story,
In which Constance sitteth ful piteously.
But nothing knew he what she was or why
She was in such aray, she wold not seye
Of her estate, although she sholde deye.

He bryngeth hir to Rome, and to his wyf
He gaf hir, and hir yonge sone also;
And with the senatour ladde she hir lyf.
Thus can our lady bryngen out of wo
Woful Constaunce and many another mo;
And longe tyme dwelled she in that place,
In holy werkes, as ever was hir grace.

The senatoures wif hir aunte was,
But for al that she knew hir never more:
I wil no lenger taryen in this case,
But to kyng Alla, which I spak of yore,
That for his wyf wepeth and sigheth sore,
I will retorne, and let I wil Constaunce
Under the senatoures governaunce.

Kyng Alla, which that had his moder slayn,
Upon a day fel in such répentaúnce,
That, if I shortly telle shal and playn,
To Rome he cometh to receyven his penaunce,
To putte him in the popes ordynaunce
In high and lowe, and Jesu Crist bysoughte,
Forgive his wikked werkes that he wroughte,

The fame anon thurgh Rome toun is born,
How Alla kyng shal come in pilgrymáge,
By messengers that wenten him biforn,
For which the senatour, as was usage,
Rode him to meet, and many of his lynage,
As wel to shewen his magnificence,
As to do eny kyng a reverence.

Gret cheere doth this noble senatour
Unto kyng Alla, and he to him also;
Ech one of them doth the other gret honoúr,
And so bifel, that in a day or two
This senatour is to kyng Alla go
To fest, and shortly if I shal not lye,
Constances sone went in his companye.

Som men wolde seyn at réquest of Custaunce
This senatour hath lad this child to feste;
I may not tellen every circumstaunce,
Be as be may, ther was he atte leste;
But soth it is, right at his modres heste,
Before them alle, duryng the metes space,
The child stood lokyng in the kynges face.

This Alla kyng hath of this child gret wonder,
And to the senatour he seyd anon,
“Whos is that faire child that stondeth yonder?”
“I knowe not,” quoth he, “ne, by seynt Jon!
A moder he hath, but fader hath he non,
That I wot of:” and then in wordes few
He told what of the mother and child he knew.

“But God wot,” quoth this senatour also,
“So vertuous a lyver in my lyf
Have I seen never, such as she, nor know
Of worldly womman, mayden, or of wyf;
I dar wel say she hadde rather a knyf
Thurghout hir brest, than lose her chastitee,
Ther is no man can bryng hir to vilonye.”