Sche kest here armes aboute his swere;
Ac he made lourand chere,

And drowgh awai with al his might;
He wold his lord don non unright.
Whan the emperice that understod,
Al achaunged was hire blod,
And saide to him, "Sweting fre,
Whi n'el tou nowt speke with me?"
For no thing that sche mightte do,
O word n'olde he speken her to.

Than the emperice wex wroth;
Sche tar hire her and ek here cloth.
Here kirtel, here pilche of ermine,
Here keuerchefs of silk, here smok o line,
Al togidere, with both fest,

Sche to-rent binethen here brest.

With both honden here yaulew here
Out of the tresses sche hit tere;

And sche to-cragged hire visage,

And gradde," Harow!" with gret rage.

In halle was th' emperour.

"Who had thè don this desonòur ?"

"Bot this deuel, that her is,

Hadde me ner i-rauisscht, I wis!
Hadde ich ben a while stille,

With me he hadde don his wille;
And but ye hadde the rather i-come,
Par force he hadde me forht i nome.

470

480

Lo hou he ad me to rent,
Mi bodi and mi face i schent.

490

He ne was neuere of thi blod!
Lat him binde, for he his wod;
A fend he is in kinde of man.
Binde him, sire, and lede han,
For wod of wit I schal be,
Yif ich lengere on him see."

"He schal abigge!" saide th' emperour,

And cleped forht a turmentour.

Quik he het his sone take,

And spoili him of clothes nake,

And beten him with scourges stronge,
And afterward him hegghe an-honge.
"Blethliche!" the boies quathe;
And tok the schild, swithe rathe,

And ladde him forht thourgh the halle,
Among th' erles and barons alle.

Euele thai gonnen him bisèn;
Gentil ronnen him bitwen,

And asked anon of this cas.

500

Thai saide," Here lordes heste hit was."

Anon thai ronnen into the bour,

Biforn here lord the emperour,
And blamed him he dede that dede,
Withouten counseil and rede;

And bad him, that thilke sorewe
Most be respit til amorewe,

510

"And thanne saue him other slen,
Bi conseil of thi gentil men."
The emperour than spared his sone,
And het him caste in his prisòne.
The emperice was fol wroth
That the child was spared, forsoht,

And wel mochel hit here traid,

Sche thought wel more thanne sche said.

An even late, the emperour

Was browt to bedde with hondur.
The emperice, his worhtli fere,

To him cam with lourand chere,
And the emperour asked why
Sche made semblant so sorì.

"O sire, sche saide, no wonder n'is;

For now to londe i-comen is,
He that schal, in thin eld age,
Benime thè thin heritage."

"Pais, dame! who schal that be?"-
"Thin howen sone, I segge the."-
"Min owen sone? dame, nay!
Ne schalt tou neuere se that dai,
That he schal haue ani might

Me for to don unright."

"Pais, sire, what halt hit heled

To-dai tho hast him fram deth i-speled.

Ase wel mot hit like thè,

520

530

540

Als dede the pinnote tre

Of his ympe that he forht browte."
The emperour lai and more thoughte;
And bad hire, with semblannt fre,
Tellen him of that ilche tre,

And of the ympe,

al the cas.

THE I. TALE.

THE PINNOTE TREE AND ITS YMPE.

"WHILOM a riche burgeis was,
And woned her in Rome toun;
A riche man of gret renoun.
He hadde, bihinden his palèys,
A fair gardin of noblays,

Ful of appel tres, and als of pirie ;
Foules songe therinne murie.

Amideward that gardyn fre,
So wax a pinnote-tre,

That hadde fair bowes and frut;

Ther-under was al his dedwt.

He made ther-under a grene bench,

And drank ther-under mani a sscench.

550

560

Certes, therinne was al his playing

In time of solas, and his resting. "So bifel upon a dai,

The burgeis fram home tok his wai;

He boughte marchaundise, and his chaffàre,

And bileued oute al a yare.

Al so sone so he mighte,
Homward he gan him dighte.
Whan he was lith at his in,
Quik he wente to his gardin,
His fair tre for to sen;

Thanne seggh he wexe a litel stren,
A yong ympe vt of his rote;

Fair hit him thoughte, and swote.

Ac that ympe that so sprong,
Hit was sschort and nothing long.
The burgeis cleped his gardiner.
"Lo, he saide, lo me her!

Seste thou this ympe, of gret mounde,
Kanst thou me telle gode bounde,
Whi hit is so short wering?"

"Ya, sire, he saide, be heuene king!
The grete bough that over him is,
So him bisschadeweth, I wis,
That hit mai haue no thedom."
"Neghe up, he saide, mi gode grom,
And hak awai the grete bough,
That hit ne do min ympe no wough."

570

580

590