Hir litel child lay wepyng in hir arm,
And knelyng piteously to him she sayde:
“Pees, litle son, I wil do thee no harm.”
With that hir kerchef drew she off hir hed,
And over his litel eyen she it layde,
And in hir arm she lullith it wel faste,
And unto heven hir eyen up she caste.

“Moder,” quoth she, “and madye bright, Marie,
Soth is, that thurgh a wommannes evil intent
Mankynde was lost and damnèd ay to dye,
For which thy child was on a cross to-rent;
Thy blisful eyen saw al this torment;
Then is ther no comparisoun bitwene
Thy wo, and any woman may sustene.

“Thow saw thy child i-slain byfor thyn eyen,
And yet now lyveth my litel child, parfay;
Now, lady bright, to whom alle wofulle cryen,
Thou glory of wommanhod, thou faire may,
Thou heven of refuge, brighte sterre of day,
Pity my child, that of thy gentilnesse
Hast pity on every synful in distresse.

“O litel child, alas! what is thi gilt,
That never wroughtest synne as yet, pardé?
Why wil thyn harde fader have thee spilt?
O mercy, deere constable,” seyde she,
“And let my litel child here dwelle with thee,
And if thou darst not saven him for blame,
So kys him once but in his fadres name.”

Therwith she lokede bak-ward to the londe,
And seyde, “Farwel, housbond rutheles!”
And up she rist, and walketh doun the stronde
Toward the ship, hir folweth al the press;
And ever she preyeth hir child to hold his pees,
And took hir leve, and with an holy entent
She crosseth hir, and to the ship she wente.

Vytaillèd was the ship, it is no drede,
Abundauntly for her a ful longe space;
And other necessaries that shulde nede
She had ynowgh, praysèd be Cristes grace;
Fair wether God give hir in this yvel case,
And bryng hir hom, I can no bettre say,
But in the see she dryveth forth hir way.

Alla the kyng cometh hom soon after this
Unto the castel, of the which I tolde,
And asketh wher his wyf and his child ys.
The constable gan aboute his herte grow colde,
And playnly al the maner he him tolde
As ye have herd, I can telle it no better,
And shewede the kynges seal and his letter;

And seyde, “Lord, as ye comaunded me
On peyne of deth, so have I done certayn.”
This messager tormented was, til he
Moste rémembér and telle it plat and playn,
Fro nyght to night in what place he had layn
And thus by witt and subtil ènquerýng,
Ymagined was by whom this gan to spryng.

The hand was knowen that the lettre wrot,
And al the venom of this cursed dede;
But in what wyse, certeyn I knowe not.
The effect is this, that Alla, out of drede,
His moder slew, as men may pleynly reed,
For that she traytour was to hir ligeaunce.
Thus endeth olde Donegild with meschaunce.

The sorwe that this Alla night and day
Makth for his wyf and for his child also,
Ther is no tonge that it telle may.
But now I wil unto Constaunce go,
That floteth in the see in peyne and wo
Fyve yeer and more, as pleasèd Cristes hand,
Ere that hir ship approchèd unto lande.

Under an hethen castel atte last,
Of which the name in my text nought I fynde,
Constaunce and eek hir child the see upcast.
Almighty God, that saveth al mankynde,
Have on Constaunce and on hir child som mynde!
That fallen is in hethen hond eftsone,
In poynt to dye, as I shal telle you soone.

Doun fro the castel comth many a wight,
To gazen on this ship, and on Constaunce;
But shortly fro the castel on a night,
The lordes styward, God give him meschance!
A theef that hadde denièd oure credence,
Com into ship alone, and syd he sholde
Hir lover be, whethir she wold or nolde.

To stryve this wrecched womman had bigunne,
Her childe crieth and she pyteously;
But blisful Mary help hir right anon,
For with her strogelynge wel and mightily
The theef fel over-boord al sodeinly,
And in the see he drownèd for vengeaunce,
And thus hath Crist unhurt kept fair Constaunce.

O foule luste, O luxurie, lo thin ende!
Nought only that thou spoilest mannes mynde,
But verrayly thou wolt his body rend.
The ende of al thy werk, and lustes blynde,
is cómpleynyng; how many may men fynde,
That nought for sin som tyme, but for the entent
To doon his synne, be eyther slayn or spent!