The freshest sens the world was first begon;
His gilt heere was crouned with a son,
In stede of gold, for hevinesse and weight,
Therwith me thought his face shone so bright
That well vnnethes might I him behold,
And in his hand, me thought I saw him hold
Two firie dartes, as the gledes rede,
And angelike his winges saw I sprede:
And all be that men sain, that blind is he,
Algate me thought that he might se,
For stemnely on me he gan behold,

So that his loking doeth mine herte cold,
And by the hand he held this noble queene,
Crouned with white, and clothed al in greene,
So womanly, so benigne, and so ineke,
That in this worlde though that men wold seke,
Halfe her beaute should they not finde
In creature that formed is by kinde,
And therfore may I sain as thinketh me,
This song in praising of this lady fre.

Hide, Absolon, thy gilte tresses clere,
Hester, lay thou thy mekenesse all adoun,
Hide, Jonathas, all thy frendly manere,
Penelopee, and Marcia Catoun,

Make of your wifehode no comparisoun,
Hide your beauties, Isoude and Helein,
My lady cometh, that all this may distain.

Thy faire body let it not appere,
Lavine, and thou Lucrece of Rome toun,
And Polixene, that boughten love so dere,
And Cleopatras, with all thy passioun,
Hide your trouthe of love, and your renoun,
And thou Tisbe, that hast of love such pain,
My lady commeth, that all this may distain.

Hero, Dido, Laodomia, al ifere,
And Phillis, hanging for Demophoun,
And Canace, espied by thy chere,
Hipsiphile betrayed with Jasoun,

Maketh of your trouth neither boste ne soun,
Nor Hipermistre, or Ariadne, ye twain,
My lady cometh, that all this may distain,

This balade may full well isongen be,
As I have sayd erst, by my lady fre,
For certainly, all these mowe not suffice,
To apperen with my lady in no wise,
For as the Sunne woll the fire distain,
So passeth all my lady soverain,
That is so good, so faire, so debonaire,
pray to God that ever fall her faire,
For nad comforte ben of her presence,
I had ben dead, withouten any defence,
For drede of Loves wordes, and his chere,
As whan time is, hereafter ye shall here.
Behind this god of love vpon the grene,
I saw coming of ladies ninetene,
In roiall habit, a full easie pace,

And after hem came of women such a trace,
That sens that God Adam had made of yeith,
The third part of mankinde, or the ferth,
Ne wende I nat by possibilite,

Had ever in this wide world ibe,

And true of love, these women were echon: Now whether was that a wonder thing or non, That right anon, as that they gonne espie This floure, which that I clepe the daisie,

Full sodainly they stinten all at ones,
And kneled doune, as it were for the nones,
And songen with o voice, "Heale and honour
To trouth of womanbede, and to this flour,
That beareth our alderprise in figuring,
Her white croune beareth the witnessing,"
And with that word, a compas enviroun,
They sitten hem ful softely adoun:
First sat the god of love, and sith his quene,
With the white croune, clad all in grene,
And sithen al the remnaunt by and by,
As they were of estate, full curtesly,
Ne nat a worde was spoken in the place,
The mountenance of a furlong way of space.
I kneling by this floure, in good entent
Abode to knowen what this people ment,
As still as any stone, till at the last
This god of love, on me his iyen cast,

And said, "Who kneleth there ?" and I answerde

Unto his asking, whan that I it herde,

And sayd, "Sir it am I," and come him nere,
And salved him: (quod he) "What doest thou here,
So nigh mine owne floure, so boldly?

It were better worthy truely,

A worme to nigben nere my floure than thou."
"And why sir," (quod I) " and it like you?
"For thou" (quod he)" art therto nothing able,
It is my relike, digne and delitable,

And thou my fo, and all my folke werriest,
And of mine old servaunts thou missaiest,
And hindrest hem, with thy translation,
And lettest folke from hir devocion,
To serve me, and holdest it folie

To serve Love, thou mayst it nat denie,
For in plain text, withouten nede of glose,
Thou hast translated the Romaunt of the Rose,
That is an heresie ayenst my law,

And makest wise folke fro me withdraw;
And of Creseide, thou hast said as the list,
That maketh men to women lesse trist,
That ben as trewe as ever was any stele:
Of thine answere avise thee right wele,
For though thou renied hast my lay,
As other wretches have done many a day,
By seint Venus, that my mother is,
If that thou live, thou shalt repenten this,
So cruelly, that it shall well be sene."

Tho spake this lady, clothed all in greene
And saied, "God, right of your curtesie,
Ye mote herken if he can replie
Ayenst all this that ye have to him meved;
A God ne shulde nat be thus agreved,
But of his deite he shal be stable,
Aud there gracious and merciable:
And if ye nere a God that knowen all,
Than might it be as I you tellen shall,
This man to you may falsely ben accused,
That as by right him ought ben excused,
For in your court is many a losengeour,
And many a queinte totoler accusour,
That tabouren in your eares many a soun,
Right after hir imaginatioun,

To have your daliaunce, and for envie,
These ben the causes, and I shall nat lie,
Envie is lavender of the court alway,
For she ne parteth neither night ne day,
Out of the house of Cesar, thus saith Dant,
Who so that goeth algate she wol nat want.
"And eke peraunter for this man is nice,
He might done it, gessing no malice,

But for he vseth thinges for to make,
Him recketh nought of what mater he take,
Or him was boden make thilke twey,
Of some persone, and durst it nat withsey:
Or him repenteth vtterly of this,

He ne hath nat done so grevously amis,
To translaten that old clerkes writen,

As though that he of malice would enditen,
Dispite of Love, and had himselfe it wrought:
This shold a rightwise lord have in his thought,
And nat be like tiraunts of Lombardie,
That han no reward but at tyrannie,
For he that king or lorde is naturell,
Him ought nat be tiraunt ne cruell,

As is a fermour, to done the harme he can,
He must thinke it is his liege man,
And is his tresour, and his gold in cofer,
This is the sentence of the philosopher:
A king to kepe his lieges in justice,
Withouten doute that is his office,
All woll he kepe his lordes in hir degree,
As it is right and skil, that they bee
Enhaunsed and honoured, and most dere,
For they ben halfe goddes in this world here,
Yet mote he done both right to poore and riche,
All be that hir estate be nat both iliche,
And have of poore folke compassion,
For lo, the gentill kinde of the lion,
For whan a flie offendeth him or biteth,
He with his taile away the flie smiteth,
Al easily, for of his gentrie

Him deineth nat to wreke him on a flie,
As doeth a curre, or els another beest;
In noble corage ought ben areest,
And waien every thing by equite,
And ever have regard vnto his owne degre:
For, sir, it is no maistrie for a lord

To dampue a man, without answere of word,
And for a lorde, that is full foule to vse ;
And it so be, he may him nat excuse,
But asketh mercy with a dreadfull herte,
And profereth him, right in his bare sherte
To ben right at your owne judgement,
Than ought a God by short avisement,
Consider his owne honour, and his trespace,
For sith no cause of death lieth in this case,
You ought to ben the lightljer merciable,
Letteth your ire, and bethe somewhat tretable:
The man hath served you of his conninges,
And forthred well your law in his makinges,
All be it that he can nat well endite,
Yet hath he made leude folke delite
To serve you, in preising of your name,

He made the boke, that hight, the House of Fame,
And eke the Death of Blaunche the Duchesse,
And the Parliament of Foules, as I gesse,
And al the Love of Palamon and Arcite
Of Thebes, though the storie is knowen lite,
And many an himpne, for your holy daies,
That highten Balades, Rondels, Virelaies:
And for to speake of other holinesse,
He hath in prose translated Boece,
And made the Life also of Saint Cecile :
He made also, gone is a great while,
Origenes vpon the Maudelaine:
Him ought now to have the lesse paine,
He hath made many a ley, and many a thing.
"Now as ye be a God, and eke a king,
I your Alceste, whilom quene of Trace,
I aske you this man right of your grace,

That ye him never hurt in al his live,
And he shal swearen to you, and that blive,'
He shal never more agilten in this wise,
But shal maken, as ye woll devise,
Of women trewe in loving al hir life,
Where so ye woll, of maiden or of wife,
And forthren you as much as he misseide,
Or in the Rose, or eles in Creseide."

The god of love answerde her thus anon,
"Madame, (quod he) "it is so long agon,
That I you knew, so charitable and trewe,
That never yet, sens the world was newe,
To me ne found I better none than ye,
If that I woll save my degree:

I may nor woll nat werne your request,
Al lieth in you, doth with him as you lest.
"I al foryeve withouten lenger space,
For who so yeveth a yefte or doth a grace,
Do it betime, his thanke shall be the more,
And demeth ye what ye shal do therfore.

"Go thanke now my lady here," (quod hc.)
I rose, and doun I set me on my knee,
And said thus: "Madame, the God above
For yelde you that the god of love
Have maked me his wrath to foryeve,
And grace so long for to live,

That I may know sothely what ye be,
That have me holpen, and put in this degre:
But trewly I wende, as in this caas
Nought have a gilte, ne done to love trespas,
For why? a trewe man withouten drede
Hlath nat to parten with a theves dede.

"Ne a trewe lover ought me nat to blame,
Though that I speke a false lover some shame:
They ought rather with me for to hold,
For that I of Creseide wrote or told,
Or of the rose, what so mine author ment,
Algate God wotte it was mine entent
To forthren trouth in love, and it cherice,
And to ben ware fro falseuesse and fro vice,
By which ensample, this was my mening."

And she answerde, "Let be thine arguing,
For love ne wol not counterpleted be,
In right ne wrong, and lerne that of me :
Thou hast thy grace, and hold the right thereto:
Now woll I saine what penance thou shalt do
For thy trespace, vnderstand it here:
Thou shalt while that thou livest yere by yere,
The most partie of thy time spende,
In making of a glorious legende,
Of good women, maidenes, and wives,
That weren trewe in loving all hir lives,
And tell of false men that hem betraien,
That al hir life ne do nat but assaien
How many women they may done a shame,
For in your world that is now hold a game:
And though thee like nat a lover be,
Speke wel of love, this penance yeve I thee,
And to the god of love I shal so pray,
That he shal charge his servaunts by any way,
To forthren thee, and wel thy labour quite,
Go now thy waie, this penaunce is but lite:
And whan this boke is made, yeve it the quene
On my behalfe, at Eltham, or at Shene."
The god of love gan smile, and than he said:
"Wost thou," (quod he)" where this be wife or maid,
Or queene, or countesse, or of what degree,
That hath so littell penaunce yeven thee,
That hast deserved sore for to smart,
But pite renneth sone in gentle herte:

That maist thou sene, she kitheth what she is."
And I answerde, 66
Naie, sir, so have I blis,
No more, but that I see well she is good."
"That is a trewe tale by mine hood,"
(Quod Love)" and thou knowest wel parde,
If it be so that thou avise the:

Hast thou nat in a booke in thy cheste,
The great goodnesse of the quene Alceste,
That turned was into a daiesie,

She that for her husband chese to die,
And eke to gone to Hell, rather than he,
And Hercules rescued her parde,

And brought her out of Hel againe to blis?"
And I answerde againe, and said "Yes,
Now know I her, and is this good Alceste,
The daiesie, and mine owne hertes reste?
Now fele I well the goodnesse of this wife,
That both after her death, and in her life,
Her great bounte doubleth her renoun,
Wel hath she quit me mine affectioun,
That I have to her floure the daiesie,
No wonder is though Jove her stellifie,
As telleth Agaton, for her great goodnesse,
Her white corowne beareth of it witnesse :
For all so many vertues had she,

As smal florounes in her corowne be,
In remembraunce of her, and in honour,
Cibilla made the daiesie and the floure,
I crowned al with white, as men may se,
And Mars yave to her a corowne reed parde,
In stede of rubies set among the white:"
Therewith this quene woxe reed for shame alite,
Whan she was praysed so in her presence,
Than said Love, "A full great negligence
Was it to thee, that ilke time thou made,
(Hide Absolon thy tresses) in balade,
That thou forget in thy songe to sette,
Sith that thou art so greatly in her dette,
And wost well that kalender is she
To any wonan, that woll lover be:

For she taught all the craft of trewe loving,
And namely of wifehode the living,
And all the bondes that she ought keepe;
Thy litel witte was thilke time a sleepe:
But now I charge thee vpon thy life,
That in thy legende make of this wife,
Whan thou hast other smale imade before:
And fare now well, I charge thee no more,
But er I go, thus much I will the tell,
Ne shal no trewe lover come in Hell.

"These other ladies sitting here a rowe,
Ben in my balade, if thou const hem know,
And in thy bokes, al thou shalt hem find,
Have hem now in thy legende al in mind,
I meane of hem that ben in thy knowing,
For here ben twenty thousand mo sitting
Than thou knowest, good women all,
And trewe of love, for ought that may befall:
Make the metres of hem as the lest,
I mote gone home, the Sunne draweth west,
To Paradis, with all this companie,
And serve alway the fresh daiesie.
At Cleopatras I woll that thou begin,
And so forth, and my love so shalt thou win,
For let see now what man that lover be,
Wol done so strong a paine for love as she.
I wote well that thou maist nat all it rime,
That suche lovers did in hir time:
It were too long to reden and to here,
Suffiseth me thou make in this manere,

That thou reherce of al her life the great,
After these old authours listen for to treat,
For who so shall so many a story tell,
Sey shortely or he shall to long dwell:"
And with that worde my bookes gan I take,
And right thus on my legende gan I make.

THUS ENDETH THE PROLOGUE.

HERE BEGINNETH

THE LEGENDE OF CLEOPATRAS
QUEENE OF EGYPT.

AFTER the death of Ptholome the king,
That all Egypt had in his governing,
Reigned his queene Cleopatras,
Till on a time bifel there such a caas,
That out of Rome was sent a senatour,
For to conqueren realmes and honour,
Unto the toune of Rome, as was vsaunce,
To have the world at her obeisaunce,
And soth to say, Antonius was his name,
So fil it, as fortune him ought a shame,
Whan he was fallen in prosperite,
Rebel vnto the toune of Rome is he,
And over al this, the suster of Cesare

He left her falsely, er that she was ware,

And would algates han another wife,

For which he toke with Rome and Cesar strife. Nathelesse, forsoth this ilke senatour,

Was a full worthy gentill werriour,

And of his deth it was ful great damage,

But Love had brought this man in such a rage' And him so narow bounden in his laas,

And all for the love of Cleopatras,

That al the world he set at no value,

Him thought there was nothing to him so due,
As Cleopatras, for to love and serve,
Him thought that in armes for to sterve
In the defence of her, and of her right.
This noble quene, eke loved so this knight,
Through his desert, and for his chevalrie,
As certainly, but if that bokes lie,
He was of person, and of gentilnesse,
And of discretion, and of hardinesse,
Worthy to any wight that liven may,
And she was faire, as is the rose in Maie:
And, for to maken shorte is the best,
She woxe his wife, and had him as her lest.
The wedding and the feast to devise,
To me that have itake such emprise,
And so many a storie for to make,
It were to longe, lest that I should slake
Of thing that beareth more effect and charge,
For men may overlade a ship or barge,
And forthy, to effect than woll I skippe,
And al the remnaunt I woll let it slippe.
Octavian, that wood was of this dede,
Shope him an hooste on Antony to lede,
Al vtterly for his distruction,

With stoute Romaines, cruell as lion;
To ship they went, and thus I let hem saile,
Antonius was ware, and woll nat faile
'To meten with these Romaines, if he may,
Toke eke his rede, and both vpon a day
His wife and he, and all his host forth went..
To ship anone, no lenger they ne stent,

And in the see it happed hem to mete;

And this is storiall, sooth it is no fable:

shete,

And painen hem to set on with the Sunne,
With grisly sown out goeth the great gunne,
And hertely they hurtlen in all at ones,
And fro the top doune cometh the great stones,
In goeth the grapenel so full of crokes,
Among the ropes ran the shering hokes,
In with the polaxe preaseth he and he,
Behind the maste beginneth he to flee,
And out againe, and driveth him over borde,
He sticketh him vpon his speares orde,
He rent the saile with hookes like a sith,
He bringeth the cup, and biddeth hem be blith,
He poureth peesen vpon the hatches slider,
With pottes full of lime, they gone togider,
And thus the longe day in fight they spend,
Till at the last, as every thing hath end,
Antony is shent, and put him to the flight,
And all his folke to go, that best go might,
Fleeth eke the quene, with all her purple
saile,

For strokes which that went as thicke as haile,
No wonder was, she might it nat endure:
And whan that Antony saw that aventure,
"Alas" (quod he)" the day that I was borne,
My worship in this day thus have I lorne,"
And for dispaire out of his wit he start,
And rofe himselfe anon throughout the herte,
Ere that he ferther went out of the place:
His wife, that could of Cesar have no grace,
To Egipt is fled, for drede and for distresse,
But herkeneth ye that speken of kindnesse.

Ye men that falsely swearen many an oth,
That ye woll die, if that your love be wroth,
Here may ye seene of women such a trouth.
This woful Cleopatra had made such routh,
That there nis tonge none that may it tell,
But on the morow she woll no lenger dwell,
But made her subtill werkmen make a shrine
Of all the rubies and the stones fine
In all Egipt that she coulde espie,
And put full the shrine of spicerie,
And let the corse enbaume, and forth she fette
This dead corse, and in the shrine it shette,
And next the shrine a pit than doth she grave,
And all the serpentes that she might have,
She put hem in that grave, and thus she seid:
"Now love, to whom my sorowfull herte obeid,
So ferforthly, that fro that blisfull hour
That I you swore to ben all freely your,
I meane you, Antonius my knight,
That never waking in the day or night,
Ye nere out of mine hertes remembraunce,
For wele or wo, for carole, or for daunce,
And in my selfe this covenaunt made I tho,
That right such as ye felten wele or wo,
As ferforth as it in my power lay,
Unreprovable vnto my wifehood aye,
The same would I felen, life or death,
And thilke covenaunt while me lasteth breath
I woll fulfill, and that shall well be seene,
Was never vnto her love a truer queene:'
And with that word, naked with full good herte,
Among the serpents in the pit she start,
And there she chese to have her burying.
Anone the neders gonne her for to sting,
And she her death receiueth with good chere,
For love of Antony that was her so dere.

And woll for love his death so freely take, I pray God let our hedes never ake.

LEGEND OF TISBE OF BABILON.

AT Babiloine whylome fill it thus,
The whiche toun the queen Simiramus
Let dichenal about, and walles make
Full hie, of harde tiles well ibake:
There were dwelling in this noble toun,
Two lordes, which that were of great renoufi,
And woneden so nigh vpon a grene,
That ther nas but a stone wal hem between,
As oft in great tounes is the wonne :
And sothe to saine, that one man had a sonne,
Of all that lond one of the lustiest,

That other had a doughter, the fairest
That estward in the world was tho dwelling;
The name of everiche, gan to other spring,
By women that were neighbours aboute,
For in that countre yet withouten doute,
Maidenes ben ikept for ielousie
Ful straite, lest they didden some folie.

This yonge man was cleped Piramus,
Thisbe hight the maide, (Naso saith thus)
And thus by report was hir name ishove,
That as they woxe in age, so woxe hir love:
And certaine, as by reason of hir age,
Ther might have ben betwixt hem mariage,
But that hir fathers nolde it nat assent,
And bothe in love ilike sore they brent,
That none of all hir friendes might it lette,
But prively sometime yet they mette
By sleight, and spaken some of hir desire,
As wrie the glede and hotter is the fire,
Forbid a love, and it is ten times so wode.

This wal, which that bitwixt hem both stode,
Was cloven atwo, right fro the top adoun,
Of old time, of his foundatioun,
But yet this clift was so narrow and lite
It was nat seene, dere inough a mite,
But what is that, that love cannot espie ?
Ye lovers two, if that I shall not lie,
Ye founden first this little narrow clift,
And with a sound, as soft as any shrift,
They let hir wordes through the clifte pace,
And tolden, while that they stoden in the place,
All hir complaint of love, and all hir wo,

At every time whan they durst so.

On that one side of the wall stood he, And on that other side stood Tisbe, The sweet sonne of other to receive, And thus hir wardeins would they disceive, And every daie this wall they would threte, And wish to God that it were doun ibete, Thus wold they sain, "Alas, thou wicked wall, Through thine enuie thou vs lettest all, Why nilt thou cleave, or fallen all atwo, Or at the least, but thou wouldest so, Yet wouldest thou but ones let vs mete, Or ones that we might kissen swete, Than were we cured of our cares cold, But nathelesse, yet be we to thee hold,

In as much as thou suffrest for to gone,
Our words through thy lime and eke thy stone,
Yet ought we with thee hen well apaid.

"

And whan these idle wordes weren said,
The cold wall they woulden kisse of stone,
And take hir leave, and forth they wolden gone,
And this was gladly in the eventide,
Or wonder erly, least men it espide.

And long time they wrought in this manere,
Till on a day, whan Phebus gan to clere,
Aurora with the stremes of her hete,
Had dried vp the dew of herbes wete,
Unto this clift, as it was wont to be,
Come Piramus, and after come Tisbe,
And plighten trouthe fully in hir faie,
That ilke same night to steale awaie,
And to beguile hir wardeins everychone,
And forth out of the citie for to gone,
And for the fieldes ben so brode and wide,
For to mete in o place at o tide,

They set markes, hir meetiugs should be
There king Ninus was granen, vnder a tree,
For old painems, that idolles beried,
Useden tho in fields to ben buried,
And fast by his grave was a well,
And shortely of this tale for to tell,
This coucnaunt was affirmed wonder fast,
And long hem thought that the Sunne last,
That it nere gone vnder the see adoun.
This Tisbe hath so great affectioun,
And so great liking Piramus to see,
That whan she saw her time might be,
At night she stale away full prively,
With her face iwimpled subtelly,

For all her friends (for to save her trouth)
She hath forsake alas, and that is routh,
That ever woman woulde be so trew,
To trusten man, but she the bet him knew:
And to the tree she goeth a full good pace,
For love made her so hardy in this case,
And by the well adoun she gan her dresse,
Alas, than commeth a wild lionesse
Out of the wood, withouten more arrest,
With bloody mouth, strangling of a beast,
To drinken of the well there as she sat,
And whan that Tisbe had espied that,
She rist her vp, with a full drery herte,
And in a caue, with dreadfull foot she start,
For by the Moone she saw it well withall.
And as she ran, her wimple let she fall,
And toke none hede, so sore she was a whaped,
And eke so glad that she was escaped,
And that she sat, and lurketh wonder still:
Whan that this lionesse hath dronke her fill,
About the well gan she for to wind,
And right anon the wimple gan she find,
And with her bloody mouth it all to rent,
Whan this was done, no lenger she ne stent,
But to the wood her way than hath she nome.
And at the last this Piramus is come,
But all too long (alas) at home was hee,
The Moone shone, men might well isee,
And in his way, as that he come full fast,
His eyen to the ground adoun he cast,
And in the sonde, as he beheld adoun,
He saw the steppes brode of a lioun,
And in his herte he suddainly agrose,
And pale he wext, therwith his herte arose,
And nere he came, and found the wimple torne,
"Alas" (quod hé)" the day that I was borne,
VOL. I.

This o night woll both vs lovers slee,
How should I asken mercy of Tisbee,
Whan I am he that have you slaine, alas,
My bidding hath you slaine in this caas,
Alas, to bidde a woman gone by night
In place thereas perill fallen might,
And I so slow, alas I ne had be
Here in this place, a furlong way ere ye,
Now what lion that is in this forrost,
My body mote he rente, or what beast
That wild is, gnawen mote he mine herte,"
And with that word he to the wimple start,
And kist it oft, and wept on it full sore,
And said, "Wimple, alas, there nis no more,
But thou shalt feele as well the blood of me,
As thou hast felt the bleeding of Tisbe:"
And with that word he smote him to the herte,
The blood out of the wound as broad start,
As water, whan the conduit broken is.

Now Tisbe, which that wist nat this, But sitting in her drede, she thought thus, "If it so fall out that my Piramus Be comen hither, and may me nat ifind, He may me holden false, and eke vnkind," And out she commeth, and after him gan espien, Both with her herte, and with her eien, And thought, "I woll him tellen of my drede, Both of the lionesse and of my dede." And at the last her love than hath she found, Beating with his heeles on the ground, All bloody, and therewithall abacke she start, And like the wawes, quappe gan her herte, And pale as boxe she woxe, and in a throw Avised her, and gan him well to know, That it was Piramus her herte dere.

Who could write whiche a deadly chere
Hath Tisbe now, and how her haire she rent,
And how she gan her selfe to turment,
And how she lieth and swounetn on the ground,
And how she wept of teares full his wound,
How medleth she his blood with her complaint,
How with her blood her selven gan she paint,
How clippeth she the red corse, alas,
How doth this wofull Tisbe in this caas,
How kisseth she his frosty mouth so cold:
"Who hath don this? and who hath ben so bold
To sleen my lefe? o speake Piramus,

I am thy Tisbe, that thee calleth thus,"
And therwithall she lifteth vp his head.

This wofull man that was nat fully dead,
Whan that he herd the name of Tisbe crien,
On her he cast his heavy deadly eyen,
And doun againe, and yeeldeth vp the ghost.
Tisbe rist vp, without noise or bost,
And saw her wimple and his empty sheath,
And eke his swerd, that him hath done to death,
Than spake she thus, "Thy woful hand" (quod she)
"Is strong ynough in such a werke to me,
For love shall yeve me strength and hardinesse,
To make my wound large ynough I gesse,
I woll thee followen dead, and I woll be
Felaw, and cause eke of thy death," (quod she)
"And though that nothing save the death only,
Might thee fro me depart trewly,

Thou shalt no more departe now fro me
Than fro the death, for I woll go with thee.

"And now ye wretched jelous fathers our,
We that weren whylome children your,
We praien you, withouten more enuie,
That in o grave we moten lie,

X