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

And he so dede of good corage.

       Whan al is do that was to done,

       The king himself cam after sone. 1340

       This Senatour, whan that he com,

       To Couste and to his wif at hom

       Hath told how such a king Allee

       Of gret array to the Citee

       Was come, and Couste upon his tale

       With herte clos and colour pale

       Aswoune fell, and he merveileth

       So sodeinly what thing hire eyleth,

       And cawhte hire up, and whan sche wok,

       Sche syketh with a pitous lok 1350

       And feigneth seknesse of the See;

       Bot it was for the king Allee,

       For joie which fell in hire thoght

       That god him hath to toune broght.

       This king hath spoke with the Pope

       And told al that he cowthe agrope,

       What grieveth in his conscience;

       And thanne he thoghte in reverence

       Of his astat, er that he wente,

       To make a feste, and thus he sente 1360

       Unto the Senatour to come

       Upon the morwe and othre some,

       To sitte with him at the mete.

       This tale hath Couste noght foryete,

       Bot to Moris hire Sone tolde

       That he upon the morwe scholde

       In al that evere he cowthe and mihte

       Be present in the kinges sihte,

       So that the king him ofte sihe.

       Moris tofore the kinges yhe 1370

       Upon the morwe, wher he sat,

       Fulofte stod, and upon that

       The king his chiere upon him caste,

       And in his face him thoghte als faste

       He sih his oghne wif Constance;

       For nature as in resemblance

       Of face hem liketh so to clothe,

       That thei were of a suite bothe.

       The king was moeved in his thoght

       Of that he seth, and knoweth it noght; 1380

       This child he loveth kindely,

       And yit he wot no cause why.

       Bot wel he sih and understod

       That he toward Arcenne stod,

       And axeth him anon riht there,

       If that this child his Sone were.

       He seide, "Yee, so I him calle,

       And wolde it were so befalle,

       Bot it is al in other wise."

       And tho began he to devise 1390

       How he the childes Moder fond

       Upon the See from every lond

       Withinne a Schip was stiereles,

       And how this ladi helpeles

       Forth with hir child he hath forthdrawe.

       The king hath understonde his sawe,

       The childes name and axeth tho,

       And what the Moder hihte also

       That he him wolde telle he preide.

       "Moris this child is hote," he seide, 1400

       "His Moder hatte Couste, and this

       I not what maner name it is."

       But Allee wiste wel ynowh,

       Wherof somdiel smylende he lowh;

       For Couste in Saxoun is to sein

       Constance upon the word Romein.

       Bot who that cowthe specefie

       What tho fell in his fantasie,

       And how his wit aboute renneth

       Upon the love in which he brenneth, 1410

       It were a wonder forto hiere:

       For he was nouther ther ne hiere,

       Bot clene out of himself aweie,

       That he not what to thenke or seie,

       So fain he wolde it were sche.

       Wherof his hertes privete

       Began the werre of yee and nay,

       The which in such balance lay,

       That contenance for a throwe

       He loste, til he mihte knowe 1420

       The sothe: bot in his memoire

       The man which lith in purgatoire

       Desireth noght the hevene more,

       That he ne longeth al so sore

       To wite what him schal betide.

       And whan the bordes were aside

       And every man was rise aboute,

       The king hath weyved al the route,

       And with the Senatour al one

       He spak and preide him of a bone, 1430

       To se this Couste, wher sche duelleth

       At hom with him, so as he telleth.

       The Senatour was wel appaied,

       This thing no lengere is delaied,

       To se this Couste goth the king;

       And sche was warned of the thing,

       And with Heleine forth sche cam

       Ayein the king, and he tho nam

       Good hiede, and whan he sih his wif,

       Anon with al his hertes lif 1440

       He cawhte hire in his arm and kiste.

       Was nevere wiht that sih ne wiste

       A man that more joie made,

       Wherof thei weren alle glade

       Whiche herde tellen of this chance.

       This king tho with his wif Constance,

       Which hadde a gret part of his wille,

       In Rome for a time stille

       Abod and made him wel at ese:

       Bot so yit cowthe he nevere plese 1450

       His wif, that sche him wolde sein

       Of hire astat the trowthe plein,

       Of what contre that sche was bore,

       Ne what sche was, and yit therfore

       With al his wit he hath don sieke.

       Thus as they lihe abedde and spieke,

       Sche preide him and conseileth bothe,

       That for the worschipe of hem bothe,

       So as hire thoghte it were honeste,

       He wolde an honourable feste 1460

       Make, er he wente, in the Cite,

       Wher themperour himself schal be:

       He graunteth al that sche him preide.

       Bot as men in that time seide,

       This Emperour fro thilke day

       That ferst his dowhter wente away

       He was thanne after nevere glad;

       Bot what that eny man him bad

       Of grace for his dowhter sake,