Alas! what wonder is it though she wept, That shall be sent to a strange nation From friendes, that so tenderly her kept, And to be bound under subjection of one, she knew not his condition? Husbands be all good, and have been *of yore*, *of old* That knowe wives; I dare say no more. “Father,” she said, “thy wretched child Constance, Thy younge daughter, foster’d up so soft, And you, my mother, my sov’reign pleasance Over all thing, out-taken* Christ *on loft*, *except *on high* Constance your child her recommendeth oft Unto your grace; for I shall to Syrie, Nor shall I ever see you more with eye. “Alas! unto the barbarous nation I must anon, since that it is your will: But Christ, that starf* for our redemption, *died So give me grace his hestes* to fulfil. *commands I, wretched woman, *no force though I spill!* *no matter though Women are born to thraldom and penance, I perish* And to be under mannes governance.” I trow at Troy when Pyrrhus brake the wall, Or Ilion burnt, or Thebes the city, Nor at Rome for the harm through Hannibal, That Romans hath y-vanquish’d times three, Was heard such tender weeping for pity, As in the chamber was for her parting; But forth she must, whether she weep or sing. O firste moving cruel Firmament,<5> With thy diurnal sway that crowdest* aye, *pushest together, drivest And hurtlest all from East till Occident That naturally would hold another way; Thy crowding set the heav’n in such array At the beginning of this fierce voyage, That cruel Mars hath slain this marriage. Unfortunate ascendant tortuous, Of which the lord is helpless fall’n, alas! Out of his angle into the darkest house; O Mars, O Atyzar,<6> as in this case; O feeble Moon, unhappy is thy pace.* *progress Thou knittest thee where thou art not receiv’d, Where thou wert well, from thennes art thou weiv’d. <7> Imprudent emperor of Rome, alas! Was there no philosopher in all thy town? Is no time bet* than other in such case? *better Of voyage is there none election, Namely* to folk of high condition, *especially Not *when a root is of a birth y-know?* *when the nativity is known* Alas! we be too lewed*, or too slow. *ignorant To ship was brought this woeful faire maid Solemnely, with every circumstance: “Now Jesus Christ be with you all,” she said. There is no more,but “Farewell, fair Constance.” She *pained her* to make good countenance. *made an effort* And forth I let her sail in this manner, And turn I will again to my matter.