The which Bardus anon up drouh. And thanne him thoghte wel ynouh It was fantosme, bot yit he herde 75 The vois, and he therto ansuerde, 'What wiht art thou in Goddes name?' 'I am,' quod Adrian, 'the same, Whos good thou schalt have evene half.' Quod Bardus, 'Thanne a Goddes half 80 The thridde time assaie I schal': And caste his corde forth withal Into the pet, and whan it cam To him, this lord of Rome it nam, And therupon him hath adresced, 85 And with his hand ful ofte blessed, And thanne he bad to Bardus hale. And he, which understod his tale, Betwen him and his asse, al softe, Hath drawe and set him up alofte 90 Withouten harm, al esely. He seith noght ones 'grant merci,' Bot strauhte him forth to the cité, And let this povere Bardus be. And natheles this simple man 95 His covenant, so as he can, Hath axed; and that other seide, If so be that he him umbreide Of oght that hath be speke or do, It schal ben venged on him so, 100 That him were betre to be ded. And he can tho non other red, But on his asse aȝein he caste His trusse, and hieth homward faste: And whan that he cam hom to bedde, 105 He tolde his wif hou that he spedde. Bot finaly to speke oght more Unto this lord he dradde him sore. So that a word ne dorste he sein. And thus upon the morwe aȝein, 110 In the manere as I recorde, Forth with his asse and with his corde To gadre wode, as he dede er, He goth; and whan that he cam ner Unto the place where he wolde, 115 He hath his ape anon beholde, Which hadde gadred al aboute Of stickes hiere and there a route, And leide hem redy to his hond, Wherof he made his trosse and bond. 120 Fro dai to dai and in this wise This ape profreth his servise, So that he hadde of wode ynouh. Upon a time and as he drouh Toward the wode, he sih besyde 125 The grete gastli serpent glyde, Til that sche cam in his presence, And in hir kinde a reverence Sche hath him do, and forth withal A ston mor briht than a cristall 130 Out of hir mouth tofore his weie Sche let doun falle, and wente aweie For that he schal noght ben adrad. Tho was this povere Bardus glad, Thonkende God and to the ston 135 He goth and takth it up anon, And hath gret wonder in his wit Hou that the beste him hath aquit, Wher that the mannes sone hath failed, For whom he hadde most travailed. 140 Bot al he putte in Goddes hond, And torneth hom, and what he fond