To every wight she waxen is so deere
And worshipful, that folk where she was born,
And from hir birthe knew hir yer by yere,
Scarce trowèd thay, but dorst have boldly sworn,
That to Janicle, of which I spak biforn,
No daughter she were, for as by cónjectúre
They thought she was another créatúre.

For though that ever vertuous was she,
She was encresèd in such excellence
Of maners goode, i-set in high bountee,
And so discret, and fair of eloquence,
So benigne, and so digne of reverence,
And coude so the peples hert embrace,
That ech hir loveth that lokith in hir face.

Nought only of Saluces in the toun
Publisshèd was the bountee of hir name,
But eek byside in many a regioún,
If one sayd wel, another sayd the same.
So spredde wide her bounté and her fame,
That men and wommen, as wel yong as olde,
Go to Saluces upon hir to byholde.

Thus Walter lowly, nay but royally,
Weddid with fortunat honestetee,
In Goddes pees lyveth ful esily
At home, and outward grace ynough hath he;
And for he saw that under low degree
Was ofte vertu y-hid, the peple him helde
A prudent man, and that is seen ful selde.

Nought only this Grisildes thurgh hir witte
Knew al the wayes of wifly homlynesse,
But eek when that the tyme requirèd it,
The comun profyt coude she wel redresse;
Ther was no discord, rancour, or hevynesse
In al that lond, that she coude not appese,
And wisly bryng them alle in rest and ese.

Though that hir housbond absent were anon,
If gentilmen, or other of hir contree,
Were wroth, she wolde brynge them at one,
So wyse and rype wordes hadde she,
And judgement of so gret equitee,
That she from heven sent was, as men wende,
Peple to save, and every wrong to amende.

Nought longe tyme after that this Grisilde
Was wedded, she a doughter hath i-bore;
Though she had lever hadde a manne childe,
Glad was this marquis and the folk therfore,
For though a mayden child come al byfore,
She may unto a manne child attaine
By liklihed, and she is not barrén.

Incipit Tertia Pars

Ther fel, as fallith many tymes mo,
Whan that this child hath soukèd but a lyte,
This marquys in his herte longith so
Tempten his wyf, hir promise for to wit,
That he might not out of his herte yit
Put this desir his wyfe for to assaye;
Needlesse, God wot, he thought hir to affraye.

He had assayèd hir ynough bifore,
And fond hir ever good, what needith it
To tempten hir, and alway more and more?
Though som men prayse it for a subtil wit,
But as for me, I praise it never a whit
To assay a wyf when that it is no neede,
And putten hir in anguish and in dreede.

For which this marquis wrought in this manére;
He com alone a-night ther as she lay,
With sterne face, and with ful troubled cheere,
And sayde thus, “Grislid,” quoth he, “that day
That I you took out of your pore array,
And putte yow in estat of high noblesse,
Ye have not that forgeten, as I gesse.

“I say, Grisild, this present dignitee
In which that I have put you, as I trowe,
Let it not make you forgetful for to be
That I you took in pore estat ful lowe,
And with no welth, ye must your selve knowe.
Tak heed of every word that I you say,
Ther is no wight that herith it but we tway.

“Ye wot your self how that ye comen heere
Into this hous, it is nought long ago;
And though to me that ye be leef and deere,
Unto my nobles ye be no thing so.
Thay seyn, to them it is gret shame and wo
For to be subject and be in serváge
To thee, that born art of a smal villáge.

“And namely since thy doughter was i-bore,
These wordes have thay spoken douteles.
But I desire, as I have doon byfore,
To lyve my lif with them in rest and pees;
I may not in this case be rekkeless;
I must do with thy doughter for the beste,
Not as I wolde, but at my peples heste.

“And yit, God wot, this is ful loth to me.
But natheles withoute youre witynge
Wil I not do; but this wold I,” quoth he,