Confessio Amantis; Or, Tales of the Seven Deadly Sins. John Gower

Which toun he scholde passe thurgh,

       Ridende cam the ferste day.

       The kinges Moder there lay,

       Whos rihte name was Domilde,

       Which after al the cause spilde:

       For he, which thonk deserve wolde,

       Unto this ladi goth and tolde 950

       Of his Message al how it ferde.

       And sche with feigned joie it herde

       And yaf him yiftes largely,

       Bot in the nyht al prively

       Sche tok the lettres whiche he hadde,

       Fro point to point and overradde,

       As sche that was thurghout untrewe,

       And let do wryten othre newe

       In stede of hem, and thus thei spieke:

       "Oure liege lord, we thee beseke 960

       That thou with ous ne be noght wroth,

       Though we such thing as is thee loth

       Upon oure trowthe certefie.

       Thi wif, which is of faierie,

       Of such a child delivered is

       Fro kinde which stant al amis:

       Bot for it scholde noght be seie,

       We have it kept out of the weie

       For drede of pure worldes schame,

       A povere child and in the name 970

       Of thilke which is so misbore

       We toke, and therto we be swore,

       That non bot only thou and we

       Schal knowen of this privete:

       Moris it hatte, and thus men wene

       That it was boren of the qweene

       And of thin oghne bodi gete.

       Bot this thing mai noght be foryete,

       That thou ne sende ous word anon

       What is thi wille therupon." 980

       This lettre, as thou hast herd devise,

       Was contrefet in such a wise

       That noman scholde it aperceive:

       And sche, which thoghte to deceive,

       It leith wher sche that other tok.

       This Messager, whan he awok,

       And wiste nothing how it was,

       Aros and rod the grete pas

       And tok this lettre to the king.

       And whan he sih this wonder thing, 990

       He makth the Messager no chiere,

       Bot natheles in wys manere

       He wrote ayein, and yaf hem charge

       That thei ne soffre noght at large

       His wif to go, bot kepe hire stille,

       Til thei have herd mor of his wille.

       This Messager was yifteles,

       Bot with this lettre natheles,

       Or be him lief or be him loth,

       In alle haste ayein he goth 1000

       Be Knaresburgh, and as he wente,

       Unto the Moder his entente

       Of that he fond toward the king

       He tolde; and sche upon this thing

       Seith that he scholde abide al nyht

       And made him feste and chiere ariht,

       Feignende as thogh sche cowthe him thonk.

       Bot he with strong wyn which he dronk

       Forth with the travail of the day

       Was drunke, aslepe and while he lay, 1010

       Sche hath hise lettres overseie

       And formed in an other weie.

       Ther was a newe lettre write,

       Which seith: "I do you forto wite,

       That thurgh the conseil of you tuo

       I stonde in point to ben undo,

       As he which is a king deposed.

       For every man it hath supposed,

       How that my wif Constance is faie;

       And if that I, thei sein, delaie 1020

       To put hire out of compaignie,

       The worschipe of my Regalie

       Is lore; and over this thei telle,

       Hire child schal noght among hem duelle,

       To cleymen eny heritage.

       So can I se non avantage,

       Bot al is lost, if sche abide:

       Forthi to loke on every side

       Toward the meschief as it is,

       I charge you and bidde this, 1030

       That ye the same Schip vitaile,

       In which that sche tok arivaile,

       Therinne and putteth bothe tuo,

       Hireself forthwith hire child also,

       And so forth broght unto the depe

       Betaketh hire the See to kepe.

       Of foure daies time I sette,

       That ye this thing no longer lette,

       So that your lif be noght forsfet."

       And thus this lettre contrefet 1040

       The Messager, which was unwar,

       Upon the kingeshalve bar,

       And where he scholde it hath betake.

       Bot whan that thei have hiede take,

       And rad that writen is withinne,

       So gret a sorwe thei beginne,

       As thei here oghne Moder sihen

       Brent in a fyr before here yhen:

       Ther was wepinge and ther was wo,

       Bot finaly the thing is do. 1050

       Upon the See thei have hire broght,

       Bot sche the cause wiste noght,

       And thus upon the flod thei wone,

       This ladi with hire yonge Sone:

       And thanne hire handes to the hevene

       Sche strawhte, and with a milde stevene

       Knelende upon hire bare kne

       Sche seide, "O hihe mageste,

       Which sest the point of every trowthe,

       Tak of thi wofull womman rowthe 1060

       And of this child that I schal kepe."

       And with that word sche gan to wepe,

       Swounende as ded, and ther sche lay;

       Bot he which alle thinges may

       Conforteth hire, and ate laste

       Sche loketh and hire yhen caste

       Upon hire child and seide this:

       "Of me no maner charge it is

       What sorwe I soffre, bot of thee

       Me thenkth it is a gret pite, 1070

       For if I sterve thou schalt deie:

       So mot I nedes be that weie

       For Moderhed and for tendresse

       With al myn hole besinesse

       Ordeigne me for thilke office,