nevertheles ther was gret murmuring
Among the people, and never one can gesse
That she hadde doon so gret a wikkednesse.
For they have seen hir ever so vertuous,
And lovyng Hermegyld right as hir lyf;
Of this bar witnesse al men in that hous,
Save he that slewe Hermegyld with his knyf.
This gentil kyng hath caught a gret motyf
Of this witnesse, and thought he wold enquere
Deppere in this to find the trouthe there.
Allas! Constaunce, thou hast no champioún,
And fighte canst thou nat, so welaway!
But He that once for oure redempcioun
Bounde Sathan, that yit lieth where he lay,
So be thy stronge champioun this day;
For save that Crist thee a mirácle sende,
Withoute doute thy lyf shal have hys ende.
She set hir doun on knees, and than she sayde
“Immortal God, that savedest Susanne
From false blame; and thou, mercyful mayde,
Mary I mene, doughter of seint Anne,
Bifore whos child the aungels syng Osanne;
If I be gultles of this felonye,
My socour be, for else I moste dye!”
Have ye not seen som tyme a pale face,
Among a press, of him that hath been lad
Toward his deth, wher him gayneth no grace,
And such a colour in his face hath had,
Men mighte knowe his face who was bestead,
Amonges alle the faces in that route;
So stant Constance, and loketh hir about.
O queenes lyvyng in prosperitee,
Duchesses, and ye ladies everyone,
Have som pitee on hir adversitee;
An emperoures doughter stond allone;
She hath no wight to whom to make hir moan;
O blod royal, that stondest in this drede,
Far be thy frendes at thy grete neede!
This Alla kyng hath such compassioun,
As gentil hert is filled ful of pitee,
That from his eyen ran the water doun.
“Now hastily do fetch a book,” quoth he;
“And if this knight wil swere how that she
This womman slew, yet wil we us avyse,
One that we wille shal be oure justise.”
A Britoun book, i-writ with Evaungiles,
Was brought, and on this book he swor anon
She gulty was; and on this mene whiles
An hond him smot upon the nekke bone,
That doun he fel anon right as a stoon;
And bothe his eyen brast out of his face,
In sight of every body in that place.
A vois was herd, in general audience,
And seide, “Thou hast slaundred gilteles
The doughter of holy chirche in this presence;
Thus hast thou doon, and yit I helde my pees”
Of this mervaíle agast was al the press,
As masèd folk they stooden everyone
For drede of vengeance, save Constaúnce allone.
Gret was the drede and eek the répentaúnace
Of them that hadden wrong suspeccioún
Upon the simple innocent Constaúnce;
And for this miracle, in conclusioún,
And by Constaunces mediacioún,
The kyng, and many other in the place,
Converted was, thankèd be Cristes grace!
This false knight was slayn for his untruthe
By judgement of Alla hastyly;
And yit Constaunce hath of his deth gret ruth.
And after this Jesus of his mercy
Made Alla wedde ful solemnely
This holy mayde, that is bright and shene,
And thus hath Crist i-made Constance a queene.

But who was woful, if I shal not lye,
Of this weddyng but Donegild and no mo,
The kynges moder, ful of tyrannye?
Hir thought hir cursed herte brast a-two;
She wolde nat hir sone had wedded so;
She thoughte despyteous, that he shulde wedde
So straunge a créatúre unto his bedde.

I list not of the straw or of the chaffe
Make so long a tale, as of the corn.
What shuld I telle the triumphe that men have
In this mariáge, or which cours goth biforn,
Who bloweth in a trompe or in an horn?
The fruyt of every tale is for to seye;
They ete and drynk, and daunce and synge and pleye.

They gon to bed, as it was juste and right;
For though that wyfes be ful holy thinges,
They moste take in pacience a-night
Such maner necessaries as be plesynges
To folk that have i-wedded them with rynges,
And half their holynesse ley aside
As for the tyme, there may no other betyde.

On hire he gat a manne child anon,
And to a bisshope, and to his constable eek,
He lefte his wyf to kepe, whan he is gon
To Scotland-ward, his fomen for to seeke.
Now faire Constaunce, that is so humble and meeke,
So long is goon with childe til that stille
She held hir chambre, abidyng Goddes wille.

The tyme is come, a manne childe she bere;
Mauricius atte font-stone men him calle.
This constabil bringeth forth a messager,
And wrot unto his kyng that cleped was Alle,
How that this blisful tydyng is bifalle,
And other thinges spedful for to seye.
He taketh the lettre, and forth he goth his weye.

This messanger, to do his ávauntáge.
Unto the kynges moder he taketh his weye,
And hire saluteth fair in his langáge.
“Madame,” quoth he, “ye may be glad and gaye,
And thanke God an hundred tymes a daye;
My lady queen hath child, withouten doute
To joye and blis of al the realm aboute.