[416: T. 8766-8798.]
‘The smok,’ quod he, ‘that thou hast on thy bak, 890
Lat it be stille, and ber it forth with thee.’
But wel unnethes thilke word he spak,
But wente his wey for rewthe and for pitee.
Biforn the folk hir-selven strepeth she,
And in hir smok, with heed and foot al bare, 895
Toward hir fader hous forth is she fare. (840)
The folk hir folwe wepinge in hir weye,
And fortune ay they cursen as they goon;
But she fro weping kepte hir yën dreye,
Ne in this tyme word ne spak she noon. 900
Hir fader, that this tyding herde anoon,
Curseth the day and tyme that nature
Shoop him to been a lyves creature.
For out of doute this olde povre man
Was ever in suspect of hir mariage; 905
For ever he demed, sith that it bigan, (850)
That whan the lord fulfild had his corage,
Him wolde thinke it were a disparage
To his estaat so lowe for talighte,
And voyden hir as sone as ever he mighte. 910
Agayns his doghter hastilich goth he,
For he by noyse of folk knew hir cominge,
And with hir olde cote, as it mighte be,
He covered hir, ful sorwefully wepinge;
But on hir body mighte he it nat bringe. 915
For rude was the cloth, and more of age (860)
By dayes fele than at hir mariage.