And in her smock, with foot and head all bare, Toward her father’s house forth is she fare.
The folk her follow’d weeping on her way, And fortune aye they cursed as they gon: But she from weeping kept her eyen drey, Nor in this timë wordë spake she none. Her father, that this tiding heard anon, Cursed the day and timë, that natúre Shope him to be a living creatúre.
For, out of doubt, this oldë poorë man Was ever in suspéct of her marriáge: For ever deem’d he, since it first began, That when the lord fulfill’d had his coráge, He wouldë think it were a disparáge To his estate, so low for to alight, And voidë her as soon as e’er he might.
Against his daughter hastily went he (For he by noise of folk knew her coming), And with her oldë coat, as it might be, He cover’d her, full sorrowfully weepíng: But on her body might he it not bring, For rudë was the cloth, and more of age By dayës fele than at her marriáge.
Thus with her father for a certain space Dwelled this flow’r of wifely patience, That neither by her words nor by her face, Before the folk nor eke in their absence, Ne shewed she that her was done offence, Nor of her high estate no rémembránce Ne haddë she, as by her countenance.
No wonder is, for in her great estate Her ghost was ever in plein humility; No tender mouth, no heartë delicate, No pomp, and no semblánt of royalty; But full of patient benignity, Discreet and pridëless, aye honouráble, And to her husband ever meek and stable.
Men speak of Job, and most for his humbléss, As clerkës, when them list, can well indite, Namely of men; but, as in soothfastness, Though clerkës praisë women but a lite, There can no man in humbless him acquite As women can, nor can be half so true As women be, but it be fall of new.