The oldest lady of them all then spake, When she had swooned, with a deadly cheer, 292 That it was ruthë 293 for to see or hear. She saidë; “Lord, to whom fortúne hath given Vict’ry, and as a conqueror to liven, Nought grieveth us your glory and your honoúr; But we beseechen mercy and succóur. Have mercy on our woe and our distress; Some drop of pity, through thy gentleness, Upon us wretched women let now fall. For certës, lord, there is none of us all That hath not been a duchess or a queen; Now be we caitives, 294 as it is well seen: Thanked be Fortune, and her falsë wheel, That none estate ensureth to be wele. 295 And certes, lord, t’ abiden your presénce Here in this temple of the goddess Clemence We have been waiting all this fortënight: Now help us, lord, since it lies in thy might.