He by the hond than takith this olde man.
And sayde thus, whan he him had aside:
“Janicula, I neither may nor can
Longer the plesaunse of myn herte hyde;
If that ye vouchesafe, what so betyde,
Thy doughter wil I take ere that I wende
As for my wyf, unto hir lyves ende.

“Thou lovest me, I wot it wel certéyn,
And wert my faithful liege-man i-bore,
And al that likith me, I dar wel sayn,
It likith thee and specially therfore
Tel me that poynt, as ye have herd bifore,
If that thou wilt unto that purpos agree,
As for thy sone-in-lawe to take me.”

The sodeyn case the man astoneyd so,
That red he wax, abassht, and al quakyng
He stood, and scarce sayd he wordes mo,
But only this: “Lord,” quoth he, “my willyng
Is as ye wol; against youre good likyng
I wil no thing, ye be my lord so dere;
Right as yow wolde, so governe this matére.”

“Yit wil I,” quoth this markys softely,
“That in thy chambre, I and thou and she
Meet al of us togider, and knowest thou why?
For I wil aske if that it hir wille be
To be my wyf, and in al to list to me;
And al this shal be doon in thy presénce,
I wil not speke out of thyn audience.”

And in the chamber, while thay were aboute
Their talkyng, as ye al shal after here,
The peple cam unto the hous withoute,
And wondrid moche, in how honést manére
And tendurly she kept hir fader dere;
But most of al Grisildes wonder might,
For never had she seene such a sight.

No wonder is though that she were aferd,
To see so gret a gest come in that place;
She never had suche gestes seen or herd,
For which she lokèd forth with ful pale face.
But shortely this matere forth to chace,
These are the wordes that the marquys sayde
To this benigne, verray, faithful mayde.

“Grisyld,” he sayde, “ye shal wel under-stonde,
It liketh to your fader and to me,
That I you wedde, and eek it may so stonde,
As I suppose ye wil that it so be;
But these demaundes aske I first,” quoth he,
“That since it shal be doon in hasty wyse,
Wol ye assent, or wayte and you advyse?

“I say this, be ye redy with good hert
To al my wil, and that I frely may
As me best pleaseth do you laughe or smert,
And never ye to murmur, night or day;
And eek whan I say yea, ye say not nay,
Neyther by word, nor frownyng countenaunce?
Swer this, and here swer I our álliaunce.”

Wondryng upon this word, quakyng for drede,
She sayde: “Lord, undigne I and unworthy
To take that gret honoúr that ye me bede;
But as ye wil your self, right so wil I;
And here I swere, that never wityngly
In werk, or thought, I wil you disobeye
Even to be deed, though me were loth to dye.”

“This is ynough, Grisilde myn,” quoth he.
And forth he goth with a ful sobre chere,
Out at the dore, and after that cam she,
And to the peple he sayd in this manére:
“This is my wyf,” quoth he, “that stondith here.
Honoúr and love hir, I yow alle pray,
Who so me loveth; ther is no more to say.”

And for that no thing of hir olde gear
She shulde brynge unto his hous, he bad
That wommen shuld despoilen hir right there,
Of which these ladyes were nought ful glad
To handle hir clothes wherin she was clad;
But natheles this mayde bright of hew
Fro foot to heed thay shrouded have al newe.

Hir heres have thay kempt, that lay untressed
Ful rudely, and with their fyngres smale
A crown upon hir heed thay have yplaced,
And set hir ful of brooches gret and smale.
Of hir array what shuld I make a tale?
Scarce the peple hir knew for hir fairnésse,
Whan she translated was in such richésse.

This marquis hath hir spousèd with a ryng
Brought for the same cause, and then hir sette
Upon on hors snow-whyt, and wel amblyng,
And to his palys, with no further let,
(With joyful peple, that hir ladde and mette)
Conveyèd hire, and thus the day they spende
In revel, til the sonne gan descende.

And shortly forth this tale for to chace,
I say, that to this newe marquisesse
God hath such favour sent hir of his grace,
That it seemed not by any liklynesse
That she was born and fed in rudenesse,
As in a cote, or in an oxe stalle,
But nourisht in an emperoures halle.