Satan, that ever us waiteth to beguile, Saw of Constance all her perfectioún, And cast anon how he might quite her while; And made a young knight, that dwelt in that town, Love her so hot of foul affectioún, That verily him thought that he should spill But he of her might onës have his will.
He wooed her, but it availed nought; She wouldë do no sinnë by no way: And for despite, he compassed his thought To makë her a shameful death to dey; He waiteth when the Constable is away, And privily upon a night he crept In Hermegilda’s chamber while she slept.
Weary, forwaked in her orisons, Sleepeth Constance, and Hermegild also. This knight, through Satanas’ temptatións, All softëtly is to the bed y-go, And cut the throat of Hermegild in two, And laid the bloody knife by Dame Constance, And went his way, there God give him mischance.
Soon after came the Constable home again, And eke Allá that king was of that land, And saw his wife dispiteously slain, For which full oft he wept and wrung his hand; And in the