All innocent of his crowned malíce,
Forfeared of his death,3172 as thoughtë me,
Upon his oathës and his surëtý
Granted him love, on this conditioún,
That evermore mine honour and renown
Were saved, bothë privy and apert;3173
This is to say, that, after his desert,
I gave him all my heart and all my thought
(God wot, and he, that other wayës nought3174),
And took his heart in change of mine for aye.
But sooth is said, gone since many a day,
A true wight and a thiefë think not one.3175
And when he saw the thing so far y-gone,
That I had granted him fully my love,
In such a wise as I have said above,
And given him my truë heart as free
As he swore that he gave his heart to me,
Anon this tiger, full of doubleness,
Fell on his knees with so great humbleness,
With so high reverence, as by his cheer,3176
So like a gentle lover in mannére,
So ravish’d, as it seemed, for the joy,
That never Jason, nor París of Troy—
Jason? certes, nor ever other man,
Since Lamech was, that alderfirst3177 began
To lovë two, as writë folk beforn,
Nor ever since the firstë man was born,
Couldë no man, by twenty thousand part,
Counterfeit the sophimës3178 of his art;
Nor worthy were t’ unbuckle his galoche,3179
Where doubleness of feigning should approach,
Nor could so thank a wight, as he did me.
His manner was a heaven for to see
To any woman, were she ne’er so wise;
So painted he and kempt,3180 at point devise,3181
As well his wordës as his countenánce.
And I so lov’d him for his obeisánce,
And for the truth I deemed in his heart,
That, if so were that any thing him smart,3182
All were it ne’er so lite,3183 and I it wist,
Methought I felt death at my heartë twist.
And shortly, so farforth this thing is went,3184
That my will was his willë’s instrumént;
That is to say, my will obey’d his will
In allë thing, as far as reason fill,3185
Keeping the boundës of my worship ever;
And never had I thing so lefe, or lever,3186
As him, God wot, nor never shall no mo’.
“This lasted longer than a year or two,
That I supposed of him naught but good.
But finally, thus at the last it stood,
That fortune wouldë that he mustë twin3187
Out of that placë which that I was in.
Whe’er3188 me was woe, it is no questión;
I cannot make of it descriptión.
For one thing dare I tellë boldëly,
I know what is the pain of death thereby;
Such harm I felt, for he might not byleve.3189
So on a day of me he took his leave,
So sorrowful eke, that I ween’d verily,
That he had felt as muchë harm as I,
When that I heard him speak, and saw his hue.
But natheless, I thought he was so true,
And eke that he repairë should again
Within a little whilë, sooth to sayn,
And reason would eke that he mustë go
For his honoúr, as often happ’neth so,
That I made virtue of necessitý,
And took it well, since that it mustë be.
As I best might, I hid from him my sorrow,
And took him by the hand, Saint John to borrow,3190
And said him thus; ‘Lo, I am yourës all;
Be such as I have been to you, and shall.’
What he answér’d, it needs not to rehearse;
Who can say bet3191 than he, who can do worse?
When he had all well said, then had he done.
Therefore behoveth him a full long spoon,
That shall eat with a fiend; thus heard I say.
So at the last he mustë forth his way,
And forth he flew, till he came where him lest.
When it came him to purpose for to rest,
I trow that he had thilkë text in mind,
That allë thing repairing to his kind
Gladdeth himself;3192 thus say men, as I guess;
Men love of [proper] kind newfangleness,3193
As birdës do, that men in cages feed.
For though thou night and day take of them heed,
And strew their cagë fair and soft as silk,
And give them sugar, honey, bread, and milk,
Yet, right anon as that his door is up,3194
He with his feet will spurnë down his cup,
And to the wood he will, and wormës eat;
So newëfangle be they of their meat,
And love novelties, of proper kind;
No gentleness of bloodë may them bind.
So far’d this tercëlet, alas the day!
Though he were gentle born, and fresh, and gay,
And goodly for to see, and humble, and free,
He saw upon a time a kitë flee,
And suddenly he loved this kite so,
That all his love is clean from me y-go:
And hath his trothë falsed in this wise.
Thus hath the kite my love in her servíce,
And I am lorn3195 withoutë remedy.”
And with that word this falcon gan to cry,
And swooned eft3196 in Canacéë’s barme.3197
Great was the sorrow, for that hawkë’s harm,
That Canacé and all her women made;
They wist not how they might the falcon glade.3198
But Canacé home bare her in her lap,
And softëly in plasters gan her wrap,
There as she with her beak had hurt herselve.
Now cannot Canacé but herbës delve
Out of the ground, and makë salvës new
Of herbës precioús and fine of hue,
To healë with this hawk; from day to night
She did her business, and all her might.
And by her beddë’s head she made a mew,3199
And cover’d it with velouettës blue,3200
In sign of truth that is in woman seen;
And all without the mew is painted green,
In which were painted all these falsë fowls,
As be these tidifes,3201 tercëlets, and owls;
And piës, on them for to cry and chide,
Right for despite were painted them beside.
Thus leave I Canacé her hawk keeping.
I will no more as now speak of her ring,
Till it come eft3202 to purpose for to
