But as for me, I say that evil it sit2534
T’ assay a wife when that it is no need,
And puttë her in anguish and in dread.
For which this marquis wrought in this mannére:
He came at night alone there as she lay,
With sternë face and with full troubled cheer,
And saidë thus; “Griseld’,” quoth he “that day
That I you took out of your poor array,
And put you in estate of high nobléss,
Ye have it not forgotten, as I guess.
“I say, Griseld’, this present dignity,
In which that I have put you, as I trow2535
Maketh you not forgetful for to be
That I you took in poor estate full low,
For any weal you must yourselfë know.
Take heed of every word that I you say,
There is no wight that hears it but we tway.2536
“Ye know yourself well how that ye came here
Into this house, it is not long ago;
And though to me ye be right lefe2537 and dear,
Unto my gentles2538 ye be nothing so:
They say, to them it is great shame and woe
For to be subject, and be in serváge,
To thee, that born art of small lineage.
“And namely2539 since thy daughter was y-bore
These wordës have they spoken doubtëless;
But I desire, as I have done before,
To live my life with them in rest and peace:
I may not in this case be reckëless;
I must do with thy daughter for the best,
Not as I would, but as my gentles lest.2540
“And yet, God wot, this is full loth2541 to me:
But natheless withoutë your weeting2542
I will nought do; but this will I,” quoth he,
“That ye to me assenten in this thing.
Shew now your patience in your working,
That ye me hight2543 and swore in your villáge
The day that maked was our marriáge.”
When she had heard all this, she not amev’d2544
Neither in word, in cheer, nor countenance
(For, as it seemed, she was not aggriev’d);
She saidë; “Lord, all lies in your pleasánce,
My child and I, with hearty obeisánce
Be yourës all, and ye may save or spill2545
Your owen thing: work then after your will.
“There may no thing, so God my soulë save,
Likë to2546 you, that may displeasë me:
Nor I desire nothing for to have,
Nor dreadë for to lose, save only ye:
This will is in mine heart, and aye shall be,
No length of time, nor death, may this deface,
Nor change my corage2547 to another place.”
Glad was the marquis for her answering,
But yet he feigned as he were not so;
All dreary was his cheer and his looking
When that he should out of the chamber go.
Soon after this, a furlong way or two,2548
He privily hath told all his intent
Unto a man, and to his wife him sent.
A manner sergeant2549 was this private man,2550
The which he faithful often founden had
In thingës great, and eke such folk well can
Do executión in thingës bad:
The lord knew well, that he him loved and drad.2551
And when this sergeant knew his lordë’s will,
Into the chamber stalked he full still.
“Madam,” he said, “ye must forgive it me,
Though I do thing to which I am constrain’d;
Ye be so wise, that right well knowë ye
That lordës’ hestës may not be y-feign’d;2552
They may well be bewailed and complain’d,
But men must needs unto their lust2553 obey;
And so will I, there is no more to say.
“This child I am commanded for to take.”
And spake no more, but out the child he hent2554
Dispiteously,2555 and gan a cheer to make2556
As though he would have slain it ere he went.
Griseldis must all suffer and consent:
And as a lamb she sat there meek and still,
And let this cruel sergeant do his will.
Suspicious2557 was the diffame2558 of this man,
Suspect his face, suspect his word also,
Suspect the time in which he this began:
Alas! her daughter, that she loved so,
She weened2559 he would have it slain right tho,2560
But natheless she neither wept nor siked,2561
Conforming her to what the marquis liked.
But at the last to speakë she began,
And meekly she unto the sergeant pray’d,
So as he was a worthy gentle man,
That she might kiss her child, ere that it died:
And in her barme2562 this little child she laid,
With full sad face, and gan the child to bless,2563
And lulled it, and after gan it kiss.
And thus she said in her benignë voice:
“Farewell, my child, I shall thee never see;
But since I have thee marked with the cross,
Of that father y-blessed may’st thou be
That for us died upon a cross of tree:
Thy soul, my little child, I him betake,2564
For this night shalt thou dien for my sake.”
I trow2565 that to a norice2566 in this case
It had been hard this ruthë2567 for to see:
Well might a mother then have cried, “Alas!”
But natheless so sad steadfást was she,
That she endured all adversity,
And to the sergeant meekëly she said,
“Have here again your little youngë maid.
“Go now,” quoth she, “and do my lord’s behest.
And one thing would I pray you of your grace,
But if2568 my lord forbade you at the least,
Bury this little body in some place,
That neither beasts nor birdës it arace.”2569
But he no word would to that purpose say,
But took the child and went upon his way.
The sergeant came unto his lord again,
And of Griselda’s words and of her cheer2570
He told him point for point, in short and plain,
And him presented with his daughter dear.
Somewhat this lord had ruth in his mannére,
But natheless his purpose held he still,
As lordës do, when they will have their will;
And bade this sergeant that he privily
Shouldë the child
