Alas! what wonder is it though she wept, That shall be sent to a strange natión From friendës, that so tenderly her kept, And to be bound under subjectión of one, she knew not his conditión? Husbands be all good, and have been of yore, 1483 That knowë wivës; I dare say no more.

“Father,” she said, “thy wretched child Constance, Thy youngë daughter, foster’d up so soft, And you, my mother, my sov’reign pleasance Over all thing, out-taken 1484 Christ on loft, 1485 Constance your child her recommendeth oft Unto your grace; for I shall to Syrie, Nor shall I ever see you more with eye.