A year and more lasted this blissful life, Till that this knight, of whom I spake thus, That of Cairrud <5> was call'd Arviragus, Shope* him to go and dwell a year or twain *prepared, arranged In Engleland, that call'd was eke Britain, To seek in armes worship and honour (For all his lust* he set in such labour); *pleasure And dwelled there two years; the book saith thus.

Now will I stint* of this Arviragus, *cease speaking And speak I will of Dorigen his wife, That lov'd her husband as her hearte's life. For his absence weepeth she and siketh,* *sigheth As do these noble wives when them liketh; She mourneth, waketh, waileth, fasteth, plaineth; Desire of his presence her so distraineth, That all this wide world she set at nought. Her friendes, which that knew her heavy thought, Comforte her in all that ever they may; They preache her, they tell her night and day, That causeless she slays herself, alas! And every comfort possible in this case They do to her, with all their business,* *assiduity And all to make her leave her heaviness. By process, as ye knowen every one, Men may so longe graven in a stone, Till some figure therein imprinted be: So long have they comforted her, till she Received hath, by hope and by reason, Th' imprinting of their consolation, Through which her greate sorrow gan assuage; She may not always duren in such rage. And eke Arviragus, in all this care, Hath sent his letters home of his welfare, And that he will come hastily again, Or elles had this sorrow her hearty-slain. Her friendes saw her sorrow gin to slake,* *slacken, diminish And prayed her on knees for Godde's sake To come and roamen in their company, Away to drive her darke fantasy; And finally she granted that request, For well she saw that it was for the best.

Now stood her castle faste by the sea, And often with her friendes walked she, Her to disport upon the bank on high, There as many a ship and barge sigh,* *saw Sailing their courses, where them list to go. But then was that a parcel* of her woe, *part For to herself full oft, "Alas!" said she, Is there no ship, of so many as I see, Will bringe home my lord? then were my heart All warish'd* of this bitter paine's smart." *cured <6> Another time would she sit and think, And cast her eyen downward from the brink; But when she saw the grisly rockes blake,* *black For very fear so would her hearte quake, That on her feet she might her not sustene* *sustain Then would she sit adown upon the green, And piteously *into the sea behold,* *look out on the sea* And say right thus, with *careful sikes* cold: *painful sighs* "Eternal God! that through thy purveyance Leadest this world by certain governance, *In idle,* as men say, ye nothing make; *idly, in vain* But, Lord, these grisly fiendly rockes blake, That seem rather a foul confusion Of work, than any fair creation Of such a perfect wise God and stable, Why have ye wrought this work unreasonable? For by this work, north, south, or west, or east, There is not foster'd man, nor bird, nor beast: It doth no good, to my wit, but *annoyeth.* *works mischief* <7> See ye not, Lord, how mankind it destroyeth? A hundred thousand bodies of mankind Have rockes slain, *all be they not in mind;* *though they are Which mankind is so fair part of thy work, forgotten* Thou madest it like to thine owen mark.* *image Then seemed it ye had a great cherte* *love, affection Toward mankind; but how then may it be That ye such meanes make it to destroy? Which meanes do no good, but ever annoy. I wot well, clerkes will say as them lest,* *please By arguments, that all is for the best, Although I can the causes not y-know; But thilke* God that made the wind to blow, *that As keep my lord, this is my conclusion: To clerks leave I all disputation: But would to God that all these rockes blake Were sunken into helle for his sake These rockes slay mine hearte for the fear." Thus would she say, with many a piteous tear.

Her friendes saw that it was no disport To roame by the sea, but discomfort, And shope* them for to playe somewhere else. *arranged They leade her by rivers and by wells, And eke in other places delectables; They dancen, and they play at chess and tables.* *backgammon So on a day, right in the morning-tide, Unto a garden that was there beside, In which that they had made their ordinance* *provision, arrangement Of victual, and of other purveyance, They go and play them all the longe day: And this was on the sixth morrow of May, Which May had painted with his softe showers This garden full of leaves and of flowers: And craft of manne's hand so curiously Arrayed had this garden truely, That never was there garden of such price,* *value, praise *But if* it were the very Paradise. *unless* Th'odour of flowers, and the freshe sight, Would have maked any hearte light That e'er was born, *but if* too great sickness *unless* Or too great sorrow held it in distress; So full it was of beauty and pleasance. And after dinner they began to dance And sing also, save Dorigen alone Who made alway her complaint and her moan, For she saw not him on the dance go That was her husband, and her love also; But natheless she must a time abide And with good hope let her sorrow slide.

Upon this dance, amonge other men, Danced a squier before Dorigen That fresher was, and jollier of array *As to my doom,* than is the month of May. *in my judgment* He sang and danced, passing any man, That is or was since that the world began; Therewith he was, if men should him descrive, One of the *beste faring* men alive, *most accomplished* Young, strong, and virtuous, and rich, and wise, And well beloved, and holden in great price.* *esteem, value And, shortly if the sooth I telle shall, *Unweeting of* this Dorigen at all, *unknown to* This lusty squier, servant to Venus, Which that y-called was Aurelius, Had lov'd her best of any creature Two year and more, as was his aventure;* *fortune But never durst he tell her his grievance; Withoute cup he drank all his penance. He was despaired, nothing durst he say, Save in his songes somewhat would he wray* *betray His woe, as in a general complaining; He said, he lov'd, and was belov'd nothing. Of suche matter made he many lays, Songes, complaintes, roundels, virelays <8> How that he durste not his sorrow tell, But languished, as doth a Fury in hell; And die he must, he said, as did Echo For Narcissus, that durst not tell her woe. In other manner than ye hear me say, He durste not to her his woe bewray, Save that paraventure sometimes at dances, Where younge folke keep their observances, It may well be he looked on her face In such a wise, as man that asketh grace, But nothing wiste she of his intent. Nath'less it happen'd, ere they thennes* went, *thence (from the Because that he was her neighebour, garden)* And was a man of worship and honour, And she had knowen him *of time yore,* *for a long time* They fell in speech, and forth aye more and more Unto his purpose drew Aurelius; And when he saw his time, he saide thus: Madam," quoth he, "by God that this world made, So that I wist it might your hearte glade,* *gladden I would, that day that your Arviragus Went over sea, that I, Aurelius, Had gone where I should never come again; For well I wot my service is in vain. My guerdon* is but bursting of mine heart. *reward Madame, rue upon my paine's smart, For with a word ye may me slay or save. Here at your feet God would that I were grave. I have now no leisure more to say: Have mercy, sweet, or you will *do me dey."* *cause me to die*

She gan to look upon Aurelius; "Is this your will," quoth she, "and say ye thus? Ne'er erst,"* quoth she, "I wiste what ye meant: *before But now, Aurelius, I know your intent. By thilke* God that gave me soul and life, *that Never shall I be an untrue wife In word nor work, as far as I have wit; I will be his to whom that I am knit; Take this for final answer as of me." But after that *in play* thus saide she. *playfully, in jest* "Aurelius," quoth she, "by high God above, Yet will I grante you to be your love (Since I you see so piteously complain); Looke, what day that endelong* Bretagne *from end to end of Ye remove all the rockes, stone by stone, That they not lette* ship nor boat to gon, *prevent I say, when ye have made this coast so clean Of rockes, that there is no stone seen, Then will I love you best of any man; Have here my troth, in all that ever I can; For well I wot that it shall ne'er betide. Let such folly out of your hearte glide.