He hath sent to my lady Canacé, Your excellentë daughter that is here. The virtue of this ring, if ye will hear, Is this, that if her list it for to wear Upon her thumb, or in her purse it bear, There is no fowl that flyeth under heaven, That she shall not well understand his steven, 3062 And know his meaning openly and plain, And answer him in his languáge again: And every grass that groweth upon root She shall eke know, to whom it will do boot, 3063 All be his woundës ne’er so deep and wide. This naked sword, that hangeth by my side, Such virtue hath, that what man that it smite, Throughout his armour it will carve and bite, Were it as thick as is a branched oak: And what man is y-wounded with the stroke Shall ne’er be whole, till that you list, of grace, To stroke him with the flat in thilkë 3064 place Where he is hurt; this is as much to sayn,