helpèd fro my cares colde.”
And to the temple his way forth he hath holde,
Where well he knew he shold his lady see.
And when he saw his tyme, anon right he
With dredful hert and with ful humble cheere
Saluted hath his owne lady deere.
“My soverayn lady,” quoth this woful man,
“Whom I most drede, and love, as I best can,
And would full loth in al this world displese,
Were it not that I for you have such disese,
That I most deye here at youre foot anon,
Nought wold I tellen of my woe and moan,
But certes most I dye or else complain;
Ye sleen me innocent for verrey peyne.
But of my deth though that ye have no ruth,
Consider now, ere that ye breke your trothe;
Repente you for thilke God above,
Or else me slay, bycause that I you love.
For, wel ye know, madame, your promise;
Nat that I claim now eny thing for this
Of you, my soverayn lady, but youre grace;
But in a gardyn yonder, at such a place,
Ye wot right wel what ye have promised me,
And in myn hand your trothe plighted ye,
To love me best; God wot ye sayde so,
Al be that I unworthy am therto;
Madame, I speke it for the honoúr of you,
More than to save myn hertes lif right now
I have done so as ye comaunded me,
And if ye doubte me, ye may go see.
Do as you list, have youre byheste in mynde,
For quyk or deed, right there ye shal me fynde;
In you it lieth to make me lyve or deye?
But wel I wot the rokkes be away.”

He taketh his leve, and she astonèd stood;
In alle her face was not one drop of blood;
She never thought to have been in such a trappe.

“Allas!” quoth she, “that ever this shulde happe.
For thought I never by possibility
That such a monstre or merveyl mighte be;
It is agaynst the process of natúre.”
And home she goth a sorwful créatúre,
For very fere scarcely may she go.
She wepeth, wayleth al a day or two,
And swooneth, that it ruthe was to see;
But why it was, to no wight tolde she,
For out of toune was gon Arviragus.
But to her self she spak, and sayde thus,
With face pale, and with ful sorwful chere,
In hir compleint, as ye shal after here.
“Allas!” quoth she, “on thee, Fortúne, I pleyne,
That unaware hast wrapped me in thy cheyne,
From which to escape, know I no socoúr,
Save only deth, or else dishonoúr;
One of these two bihoveth me to choose,
But none the less, yet have I rather lose
My lif, than of my body to have shame,
Or knowe my-selve fals, or lose my name;
And with my deth I may be quit, I wis.
Hath ther not many a noble wyf, ere this,
And many a mayden, slayn hir-self, allas!
Rather than with her body do trespás?
Yes certeynly; lo, stories bere witnés.
When thirty tyraunts ful of cursedness
Hadde slayn Phidon in Athenes at the feste,
Thay cómaunded his daughtres to areste,
And bryngen them bifore them in despite
Al naked, to fulfille their foule delight;
And in their fadres blood they made them daunce
Upon the pavement, God give them meschaunce.
For which these woful maydens, ful of drede,
Rather than they wolde lose their maydenhede,
They privily did lepe into a welle,
And drowned them-selfen, as the bookes telle.

#&147;They of Mycenæ did inquere and seeke
Of Lacidomye fifty maydenes eek,
On whom thay wolden do their leccherie;
But ther was noon of al that companye
That was not slayn, and with a good entente
And rather chose to deye, than to assente
To ben deprivèd of her maydenhede.
Why shuld I then to deye be in drede?

“Lo eek the tyraunt Aristoclides,
That loved a mayden named Stimphalides,
When that her father slayn was on a night,
Unto Dyanes temple went she right,
And took the ymage in her hondes two,
Fro which ymáge wold she never go,
No wight could from the ymage her hands unlace,
Til she was slayn right in the selve place.
Now since that maydens hadde such despite
To be defoulèd with mannes foul delight,
Wel aught a wyf rather hir-self to slay,
Than be defoulèd, as it thenketh me.

“What shal I sey of Hasdrubaldes wyf,
That at Cartage byreft hir-self of lyf?
For when she saw that Romayns won the toun,
She took her children alle, and skipte adoun
Into the fyr, and rather chose to deye,
Than that a Romayn did her vilonye.

“Hath not Lucresse slayn her-self, allas!
At Rome, when that she oppressid was
Of Tarquyn? for her thought it was a shame
To lyven, when she hadde lost her name.

“The seven maydens of Milisie also
Have slayn themself for very drede and wo,
Rather than folk of Gawle them shulde oppresse.
More than a thousand stories, as I gesse,
Could I now telle as touching this matére.