She was right faire and of ftature
Lich to an hevenlich figure,
And of maner and goodly fpeche,

Though men wolde alle londes feche,

They fhulden nought have founde her like.

She figh her fader forwe and fike

And wist nought the cause why.
So cam fhe to him prively

And that was, wher he made his mone

Within a gardin all him one.

Upon her knees she gan down falle

With humble herte and to him calle
And faide: O good fader dere,

Why make

ye thus hevy chere
And I wot nothinge how it is?
And well ye knowe, fader, this,
What aventure that you felle
Ye might it faufly to me telle,
For I have ofte herd
you faide,
That ye fuch trufte have on me laide,
That to my fufter ne to my brother
In all this worlde ne to none other
Ye durfte telle a privete

So well, my fader, as to me.
Forthy, my fader, I you praie

Ne cafteth nought that hert awaie,

For I am she, that wolde kepe

Her

Your honour. And with that to wepe
eye may nought be forbore,
She wisfheth for to ben unbore,
Er that her fader fo miftriste
To tellen her of that he wiste.
And ever among mercy fhe cride,
That he ne fhulde his counfeil hide
From her, that fo wolde him good
And was fo nigh fleffhe and blood.
So that with weping ate lafte

His chere upon his childe he cafte
And forwefully to that she praide
He tolde his tale and thus he faide:
The forwe, doughter, which I make
Is nought all only for my fake,
But for the bothe and for you alle.
For fuche a chaunce is me befalle,
That I shall er this thridde day
Lefe all that ever I lefe may,
My life and all my good therto.
Therfore it is I forwe fo.

What is the caufe, alas, quod fhe,

My fader, that ye fhulden be

Dede and deftruied in suche a wife?
And he began the points devife,

Which as the king tolde him by mouthe

And said her pleinly, that he couthe
Answeren to no point of this.

And she, that hereth howe it is,

Her counfeil yaf and faide tho:
My fader, fithen it is fo,
That ye can fe none other weie,
But that ye muft nedes deie,
I wolde pray you of o thinge,
Let me go
with you to the kinge,
And ye shall make him understonde,
How ye my wittes for to fonde
Have laid your anfwere upon me,
And telleth him in fuch degre
Upon my worde ye wol abide
To life or deth what fo betide.
For yet perchaunce I may purchace
With fome good word the kinges grace,
Your life and eke your good to save.
For ofte fhall a woman have

Thing, whiche a man may nought areche.
The fader herd his doughters speche
And thought there was no refon in
And figh his owne life to winne
He couthe done him felf no cure.
So better him thought in aventure
To
put
his life and all his good,
Than in the maner as it stood

His life incertein for to lefe.

And thus thenkend he gan to chese
To do the counseil of this maid

And toke the purpose, which she said.
The day was comen and forth they gone,
Unto the court they come anone,

Where as the kinge in his jugement
Was fet and hath this knight affent.
Arraied in her befte wife

This maiden with her wordes wife
Her fader ledde by the honde
Into the place, where he fonde

The king with other which he wolde,
And to the king knelend he tolde,
As he enformed was to-fore

And praith the king, that he therfore
His doughters wordes wolde take
And faith, that he woll undertake
Upon her wordes for to ftonde.
Tho was ther great merveile on honde,
That he, which was fo wife a knight,
His life upon fo yonge a wight
Besette wolde in jeopartie,
And many it helden for folie.
But at the lafte netheles

The king commaundeth ben in
pees

And to this maide he caft his chere
And faide, he wolde her tale here
And bad her speke, and fhe began:
My lege lord, fo as I can,

Quod fhe, the pointes which I herde,
They fhull of reson ben answerde.
The first I understonde is this,

What thinge of all the worlde it is,
Which men most helpe and hath left nede.
My lege lord, this wolde I rede

The erthe it is, whiche evermo
With mannes labour is bego

As well in winter as in maie.

The mannes honde doth what he may
To helpe it forth and make it riche,
And forthy men it delve and diche
And eren it with ftrength of plough,
Wher it hath of him felf inough
So that his nede is ate lefte.
For every man, birde and befte
Of flour and gras and roote and rinde
And every thing by way of kinde

Shall fterve, and erthe it fhall become,
As it was out of erthe nome
It shall to therthe torne ayein.
And thus I may by refon fein
That erthe is most nedeles
And most men helpe it netheles,
So that, my lord, touchend of this
I have answerde how that it is.

That other point I understood,
Which most is worth and most is good
And cofteth left a man to kepe,
My lorde, if ye woll take kepe,
I fay it is humilite,

Through whiche the high Trinite
As for deferte of pure love

Unto Marie from above

Of that he knewe her humble entente

His owne fone adown he fente