In Armoric’, that called is Bretagne, There was a knight, that lov’d and did his pain To serve a lady in his bestë wise; And many a labour, many a great emprise, He for his lady wrought, ere she were won: For she was one the fairest under sun, And eke thereto come of so high kindréd, That well unnethës durst this knight, for dread, Tell her his woe, his pain, and his distress. But, at the last, she for his worthiness, And namëly for his meek obeisánce, Hath such a pity caught of his penánce, That privily she fell of his accord To take him for her husband and her lord (Of such lordship as men have o’er their wives); And, for to lead the more in bliss their lives, Of his free will he swore her as a knight, That never in all his life he day nor night Should take upon himself no mastery Against her will, nor kithe her jealousy, But her obey, and follow her will in all, As any lover to his lady shall; Save that the name of sovereignëty That would he have, for shame of his degree. She thanked him, and with full great humbléss She saidë; “Sir, since of your gentleness Ye proffer me to have so large a reign, Ne wouldë God never betwixt us twain, As in my guilt, were either war or strife: Sir, I will be your humble truë wife, Have here my troth, till that my heartë brest.” Thus be they both in quiet and in rest.
For one thing, Sirës, safely dare I say, That friends ever each other must obey, If they will longë hold in company. Love will not be constrain’d by mastery. When mast’ry comes, the god of love anon Beateth his wings, and, farewell, he is gone. Love is a thing as any spirit free. Women of kind desirë liberty, And not to be constrained as a thrall; And so do men, if soothly I say shall. Look who that is most patiént in love, He is at his advantage all above. Patience is a high virtúe certáin, For it vanquísheth, as these clerkës sayn, Thingës that rigour never should attain. For every word men may not chide or plain. Learnë to suffer, or, so may I go, Ye