The sorrow that this Alla night and day Made for his wife, and for his child also, There is no tonguë that it tellë may. But now will I again to Constance go, That floated in the sea in pain and woe Five year and more, as liked Christë’s sond, Ere that her ship approached to the lond.
Under an heathen castle, at the last, Of which the name in my text I not find, Constance and eke her child the sea upcast. Almighty God, that saved all mankind, Have on Constance and on her child some mind, That fallen is in heathen hand eftsoon In point to spill, as I shall tell you soon!
Down from the castle came there many a wight To gauren on this ship, and on Constance: But shortly from the castle, on a night, The lordë’s steward—God give him mischance— A thief that had renied our creance, Came to the ship alone, and said he would Her leman be, whether she would or n’ould.
Woe was this wretched woman then begone; Her child cri’d, and she cried piteously: But blissful Mary help’d her right anon, For, with her struggling well and mightily, The thief fell overboard all suddenly, And in the sea he drenched for vengeánce, And thus hath Christ unwemmed kept Constánce.
O foul lust of luxúry! lo thine end! Not only that thou faintest mannë’s mind, But verily thou wilt his body shend. Th’ end of thy work, or of thy lustës blind, Is cómplaining: how many may men find, That not for work, sometimes, but for th’ intent To do this sin, be either slain or shent?
How may this weakë woman have the strength Her to defend against this renegate? O Góliath, unmeasurable of length, How mightë David makë thee so mate? So young, and of armoúr so desolate, How durst he look upon thy dreadful face? Well may men see it was but Goddë’s grace.