And after this, whan that the tempest stente, 1240 With mirth out as they comen, hoom they wente. The wikked fame up roos, and that anon, How Eneas hath with the quene y-gon (320) In-to the cave; and demed as hem liste; And whan the king, that Yarbas hight, hit wiste, 1245 As he that had her loved ever his lyf, And wowed her, to have her to his wyf, Swich sorwe as he hath maked, and swich chere, Hit is a routhe and pitee for to here. But, as in love, al-day hit happeth so, 1250 That oon shal laughen at anothers wo; Now laugheth Eneas, and is in Ioye And more richesse than ever he was in Troye. (330) O sely womman, ful of innocence, Ful of pitee, of trouthe, and conscience, 1255 What maked yow to men to trusten so? Have ye swich routhe upon hir feined wo, And han swich olde ensamples yow beforn? See ye nat alle, how they been for-sworn? Wher see ye oon, that he ne hath laft his leef, 1260 Or been unkinde, or doon her som mischeef, Or pilled her, or bosted of his dede? Ye may as wel hit seen, as ye may rede; (340) Tak heed now of this grete gentil-man, This Troyan, that so wel her plesen can, 1265 That feineth him so trewe and obeising, So gentil and so privy of his doing, And can so wel doon alle his obeisaunces, And waiten her at festes and at daunces, And when she goth to temple and hoom ageyn, 1270 And fasten til he hath his lady seyn, And bere in his devyses, for her sake, Noot I nat what; and songes wolde he make, (350) Iusten, and doon of armes many thinges, Sende her lettres, tokens, broches, ringes-- 1275 Now herkneth, how he shal his lady serve! Ther-as he was in peril for to sterve For hunger, and for mischeef in the see, And desolat, and fled from his contree, And al his folk with tempest al to-driven, 1280 She hath her body and eek her reame yiven In-to his hond, ther-as she mighte have been Of other lond than of Cartage a queen, (360) And lived in Ioye y-nogh; what wolde ye more? This Eneas, that hath so depe y-swore, 1285 Is wery of his craft with-in a throwe; The hote ernest is al over-blowe. And prively he doth his shippes dighte, And shapeth him to stele a-wey by nighte. This Dido hath suspecioun of this, 1290 And thoughte wel, that hit was al a-mis; For in his bedde he lyth a-night and syketh; She asketh him anoon, what him mislyketh-- (370) 'My dere herte, which that I love most?' 'Certes,' quod he, 'this night my fadres gost 1295