let them dwell. The fruit of his mattér is that I tell; When the time came, men thought it for the best That revel stint, and men go to their rest.
The time is come that this old Soudaness Ordained hath the feast of which I told, And to the feast the Christian folk them dress In general, yea, bothë young and old. There may men feast and royalty behold, And dainties more than I can you devise; But all too dear they bought it ere they rise.
O sudden woe, that ev’r art successoúr To worldly bliss! sprent is with bitterness Th’ end of our joy, of our worldly laboúr; Woe occupies the fine of our gladness. Hearken this counsel, for thy sickerness: Upon thy gladë days have in thy mind The unware woe of harm, that comes behind.
For, shortly for to tell it at a word, The Soudan and the Christians every one Were all to-hewn and sticked at the board, But it were only Dame Constance alone. This oldë Soudaness, this cursed crone, Had with her friendës done this cursed deed, For she herself would all the country lead.
Nor there was Syrian that was converted, That of the counsel of the Soudan wot, That was not all to-hewn, ere he asterted: And Constance have they ta’en anon foot-hot, And in a ship all steerëless, God wot, They have her set, and bid her learn to sail Out of Syria again-ward to Itale.
A certain treasure that she thither lad, And, sooth to say, of victual great plenty, They have her giv’n, and clothës eke she had, And forth she sailed in the saltë sea: O my Constance, full of benignity, O emperorë’s youngë daughter dear, He that is lord of fortune be thy steer!
She bless’d herself, and with full piteous voice Unto the cross of Christ thus saidë she; “O dear, O wealful altar, holy cross, Red of the Lambë’s blood, full of pity, That wash’d the world from old iniquity, Me from the fiend and from his clawës keep, That day that I shall drenchen in the deep.