XXXVI

XXXVI “Sir Knight,” quoth she, “your praises reach too high Above her merit you commenden so, A hapless maid I am, both born to die And dead to joy, that live in care and woe, A virgin helpless, fugitive pardie, My native soil and kingdom thus forego To seek Duke Godfrey’s aid, such store men tell Of virtuous ruth doth in his bosom dwell.

XXXVII “Conduct me then that mighty duke before, If you be courteous, sir, as well you seem.” “Content,” quoth he, “since of one womb ybore, We brothers are, your fortune good esteem To encounter me whose word prevaileth more In Godfrey’s hearing than you haply deem: Mine aid I grant, and his I promise too, All that his sceptre, or my sword, can do.”