Wondring upon this word, quaking for drede,
She seyde, ‘lord, undigne and unworthy
Am I to thilke honour that ye me bede; 360
But as ye wol your-self, right so wol I.
And heer I swere that never willingly
In werk ne thoght I nil yow disobeye,
For to be deed, though me were looth to deye.’
‘This is y-nogh, Grisilde myn!’ quod he. 365
And forth he gooth with a ful sobre chere (310)
Out at the dore, and after that cam she,
And to the peple he seyde in this manere,
‘This is my wyf,’ quod he, ‘that standeth here.
Honoureth hir, and loveth hir, I preye, 370
Who-so me loveth; ther is na-more to seye.’
And for that no-thing of hir olde gere
She sholde bringe in-to his hous, he bad
That wommen sholde dispoilen hir right there;
Of which thise ladyes were nat right glad 375
To handle hir clothes wher-in she was clad. (320)
But natheles this mayde bright of hewe
Fro foot to heed they clothed han al newe.
Hir heres han they kembd, that lay untressed
Ful rudely, and with hir fingres smale 380
A corone on hir heed they han y-dressed,
And sette hir ful of nowches grete and smale;
Of hir array what sholde I make a tale?
Unnethe the peple hir knew for hir fairnesse,
Whan she translated was in swich richesse. 385