But finally, when that the sooth is wist, That Alla guiltless was of all her woe, I trow an hundred timës have they kiss’d, And such a bliss is there betwixt them two, That, save the joy that lasteth evermo’, There is none like, that any creatúre Hath seen, or shall see, while the world may dure.
Then prayed she her husband meekëly In the relief of her long piteous pine, That he would pray her father specially, That of his majesty he would incline To vouchësafe some day with him to dine: She pray’d him eke, that he should by no way Unto her father no word of her say.
Some men would say, how that the child Mauríce Did this messáge unto the emperor: But, as I guess, Alla was not so nice, To him that is so sovereign of honór As he that is of Christian folk the flow’r, Send any child, but better ’tis to deem He went himself; and so it may well seem.
This emperor hath granted gentilly To come to dinner, as he him besought: And well rede I, he looked busily Upon this child, and on his daughter thought. Alla went to his inn, and as him ought Arrayed for this feast in every wise, As farforth as his cunning may suffice.
The morrow came, and Alla gan him dress, And eke his wife, the emperor to meet: And forth they rode in joy and in gladness, And when she saw her father in the street, She lighted down and fell before his feet. “Father,” quoth she, “your youngë child Constance Is now full clean out of your rémembránce.
“I am your daughter, your Constance,” quoth she, “That whilom ye have sent into Syrie; It am I, father, that in the salt sea Was put alone, and damned for to die. Now, goodë father, I you mercy cry, Send me no more into none heatheness, But thank my lord here of his kindëness.”
Who can the piteous joyë tellen all, Betwixt them three, since they be thus y-met? But of my talë make an end I shall, The day goes fast, I will no longer let. These gladdë folk to dinner be y-set; In joy and bliss at meat I let them dwell, A thousand fold well more than I can tell.