Thou yiver of the formes, that hast wroght The faire world, and bare hit in thy thoght Eternally, or thou thy werk began, 2230 Why madest thou, unto the slaundre of man, Or--al be that hit was not thy doing, As for that fyn to make swiche a thing-- Why suffrest thou that Tereus was bore, That is in love so fals and so forswore, 2235 That, fro this world up to the firste hevene, Corrumpeth, whan that folk his name nevene? (10) And, as to me, so grisly was his dede, That, whan that I his foule story rede, Myn eyen wexen foule and sore also; 2240 Yit last the venim of so longe ago, That hit enfecteth him that wol beholde The story of Tereus, of which I tolde. Of Trace was he lord, and kin to Marte, The cruel god that stant with blody darte; 2245 And wedded had he, with a blisful chere, King Pandiones faire doghter dere, (20) That highte Progne, flour of her contree, Thogh Iuno list nat at the feste be, Ne Ymeneus, that god of wedding is; 2250 But at the feste redy been, y-wis, The furies three, with alle hir mortel brond. The owle al night aboute the balkes wond, That prophet is of wo and of mischaunce. This revel, ful of songe and ful of daunce, 2255 Lasteth a fourtenight, or litel lasse. But, shortly of this story for to passe, (30) For I am wery of him for to telle, Five yeer his wyf and he togeder dwelle, Til on a day she gan so sore longe 2260 To seen her suster, that she saw nat longe, That for desyr she niste what to seye. But to her husband gan she for to preye, For goddes love, that she moste ones goon Her suster for to seen, and come anoon, 2265 Or elles, but she moste to her wende, She preyde him, that he wolde after her sende; (40) And this was, day by day, al her prayere With al humblesse of wyfhood, word, and chere. This Tereus let make his shippes yare, 2270 And into Grece him-self is forth y-fare Unto his fader in lawe, and gan him preye To vouche-sauf that, for a month or tweye, That Philomene, his wyves suster, mighte On Progne his wyf but ones have a sighte-- 2275 'And she shal come to yow again anoon. Myself with her wol bothe come and goon, (50) And as myn hertes lyf I wol her kepe.' This olde Pandion, this king, gan wepe For tendernesse of herte, for to leve 2280 His doghter goon, and for to yive her leve; Of al this world he lovede no-thing so; But at the laste leve hath she to go. For Philomene, with salte teres eke,