The Tale

wept, as she to water wo’ld, Till that the falcon bade her to be still, And with a sigh right thus she said her till: “Where I was bred (alas that ilkë day!) And foster’d in a rock of marble gray So tenderly, that nothing ailed me, I wistë not what was adversitý, Till I could flee full high under the sky. Then dwell’d a tercëlet me fastë by, That seem’d a well of allë gentleness; All were he full of treason and falsenéss, It was so wrapped under humble cheer, And under hue of truth, in such mannére, Under pleasánce, and under busy pain, That no wight weened that he couldë feign, So deep in grain he dyed his coloúrs. Right as a serpent hides him under flow’rs, Till he may see his timë for to bite, Right so this god of lovë’s hypocrite Did so his ceremonies and obeisánces, And kept in semblance all his óbservánces, That sounden unto gentleness of love. As on a tomb is all the fair above, And under is the corpse, which that ye wot, Such was this hypocrite, both cold and hot; And in this wise he served his intent, That, save the fiend, none wistë what he meant: Till he so long had weeped and complain’d, And many a year his service to me feign’d, Till that mine heart, too piteous and too nice, All innocent of his crowned malíce, Forfeared of his death, as thoughtë me, Upon his oathës and his surëtý Granted him love, on this conditioún, That evermore mine honour and renown Were saved, bothë privy and apert; This is to say, that, after his desert, I gave him all my heart and all my thought (God wot, and he, that other wayës nought ), And took his heart in change of mine for aye. But sooth is said, gone since many a day, A true wight and a thiefë think not one. And when he saw the thing so far y-gone, That I had granted him fully my love, In such a wise as I have said above, And given him my truë heart as free As he swore that he gave his heart to me, Anon this tiger, full of doubleness, Fell on his knees with so great humbleness, With so high reverence, as by his cheer, So like a gentle lover in mannére, So ravish’d, as it seemed, for the joy, That never Jason, nor París of Troy⁠— Jason? certes, nor ever other man, Since Lamech was, that alderfirst began To lovë two, as writë folk beforn, Nor ever since the firstë man was born, Couldë no man, by twenty thousand part,