lap; But, upon pain his head off for to swap, That no man shouldë know of his intent, Nor whence he came, nor whither that he went;
But at Bologna, to his sister dear, That at that time of Panic’ was Countéss, He should it take, and shew her this mattere, Beseeching her to do her business This child to foster in all gentleness, And whosë child it was he bade her hide From every wight, for aught that might betide.
The sergeant went, and hath fulfill’d this thing. But to the marquis now returnë we; For now went he full fast imagining If by his wifë’s cheer he mightë see, Or by her wordës apperceive, that she Were changed; but he never could her find, But ever-in-one alikë sad and kind.
As glad, as humble, as busy in servíce, And eke in love, as she was wont to be, Was she to him, in every manner wise; And of her daughter not a word spake she; No accident for no adversity Was seen in her, nor e’er her daughter’s name She named, or in earnest or in game.
Pars Quarta
In this estate there passed be four year Ere she with childë was; but, as God wo’ld, A knavë child she bare by this Waltére, Full gracious and fair for to behold; And when that folk it to his father told, Not only he, but all his country, merry Were for this child, and God they thank and hery.
When it was two year old, and from the breast Departed of the norice, on a day This marquis caughtë yet another lest To tempt his wife yet farther, if he may. Oh! needless was she tempted in assay; But wedded men not connen no measúre, When that they find a patient creatúre.
“Wife,” quoth the marquis, “ye have heard ere this My people sickly bear our marriáge; And namely since my son y-boren is, Now is it worse than ever in all our age: The murmur slays mine heart and my coráge, For to mine ears cometh the voice so smart, That it well nigh destroyed hath mine heart.