could her praise amend: But at the last, when that these lordës wend To sittë down to meat, he gan to call Griseld’, as she was busy in the hall.
“Griseld’,” quoth he, as it were in his play, “How liketh thee my wife, and her beauty?” “Right well, my Lord,” quoth she, “for, in good fay, A fairer saw I never none than she: I pray to God give you prosperity; And so I hope, that he will to you send Pleasance enough unto your livës’ end.
“One thing beseech I you, and warn also, That ye not prickë with no tórmentíng This tender maiden, as ye have done mo: For she is foster’d in her nourishing More tenderly, and, to my supposing, She mightë not adversity endure As could a poorë foster’d creatúre.”
And when this Walter saw her patience, Her gladdë cheer, and no malíce at all, And he so often had her done offence, And she aye sad and constant as a wall, Continuing ev’r her innocence o’er all, The sturdy marquis gan his heartë dress To rue upon her wifely steadfastness.
“This is enough, Griselda mine,” quoth he, “Be now no more aghast, nor evil paid, I have thy faith and thy benignity As well as ever woman was, assay’d, In great estate and poorëly array’d: Now know I, dearë wife, thy steadfastness;” And her in arms he took, and gan to kiss.
And she for wonder took of it no keep; She heardë not what thing he to her said: She far’d as she had start out of a sleep, Till she out of her mazedness abraid. “Griseld’,” quoth he, “by God that for us died, Thou art my wifë, none other I have, Nor ever had, as God my soulë save.
“This is thy daughter, which thou hast suppos’d To be my wife; that other faithfully Shall be mine heir, as I have aye dispos’d; Thou bare them of thy body truëly: At Bologna kept I them privily: Take them again, for now may’st thou not say That thou hast lorn none of thy children tway.
“And folk, that otherwise have said of me, I warn them well, that I have done this deed For no malíce, nor for no cruelty, But to assay in thee thy