This Duke, of whom I makë mentioún, When he was come almost unto the town, In all his weal 287 and in his mostë pride, He was ware, as he cast his eye aside, Where that there kneeled in the highë way A company of ladies, tway and tway, Each after other, clad in clothës black: But such a cry and such a woe they make, That in this world n’is creatúre living, That heardë such another waimenting. 288 And of this crying would they never stenten, 289 Till they the reinës of his bridle henten. 290 “What folk be ye that at mine homecoming Perturben so my feastë with crying?” Quoth Theseus; “Have ye so great envý Of mine honoúr, that thus complain and cry? Or who hath you misboden, 291 or offended?