The time is come, a knavë child she bare; Mauricius at the font-stone they him call. This Constable doth forth come a messenger, And wrote unto his king that clep’d was All’, How that this blissful tiding is befall, And other tidings speedful for to say. He hath the letter, and forth he go’th his way.
This messenger, to do his ávantage, Unto the kingë’s mother rideth swithe, And saluteth her full fair in his languáge. “Madame,” quoth he, “ye may be glad and blithe, And thankë God an hundred thousand sithe; My lady queen hath child, withoutë doubt, To joy and bliss of all this realm about.
“Lo, here the letter sealed of this thing, That I must bear with all the haste I may: If ye will aught unto your son the king, I am your servant both by night and day.” Donegild answér’d, “As now at this time, nay; But here I will all night thou take thy rest, To-morrow will I say thee what me lest.”
This messenger drank sadly ale and wine, And stolen were his letters privily Out of his box, while he slept as a swine; And counterfeited was full subtilly Another letter, wrote full sinfully, Unto the king, direct of this mattére From his Constable, as ye shall after hear.
This letter said, the queen deliver’d was Of so horrible a fiendlike creatúre, That in the castle none so hardy was That any while he durst therein endure: The mother was an elf by áventure Become, by charmës or by sorcery, And every man hated her company.
Woe was this king when he this letter had seen, But to no wight he told his sorrows sore, But with his owen hand he wrote again; “Welcome the sond of Christ for evermore To me, that am now learned in this lore: Lord, welcome be thy lust and thy pleasance, My lust I put all in thine ordinance.