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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 stonde.

Tho was ther great merveile on honde,
That he, which was fo wife a knight,
His life upon fo yonge a wight
Befette 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 she began:
My lege lord, fo as I can,

Quod fhe, the pointes which I herde,
They shull of refon ben answerde.
The firft 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 strength of plough,
Wher it hath of him self inough
So that his nede is ate lefte.
For every man, birde and beste
Of flour and gras and roote and rinde
And every thing by way of kinde

Shall sterve, and erthe it shall become,
As it was out of erthe nome

It shall to therthe torne ayein.
And thus I may by reson sein
That erthe is moft nedeles
And most men helpe it netheles,
So that, my lord, touchend of this
I have anfwerde how that it is.

That other point I understood, Which most is worth and moft 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

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Unto Marie from above

Of that he knewe her humble entente

His owne fone adown he fente

Above all other, and her he chefe
For that vertu, which bodeth pees.
So that I may by refon calle
Humilite moft worthe of alle,
And left it costeth to mainteine

In all the worlde, as it is feine.
For who that hath humbleffe on honde
He bringeth no werres into londe,
For he defireth for the best

To fetten every man in reste.
Thus with your highe reverence
Me thenketh that this evidence
As to this point is suffisaunt.

And touchend of the remenaunt,
Whiche is the thridde of your axinges,
What left is worth of alle thinges
And cofteth moft, I telle it pride,
Which may nought in the heven abide.
For Lucifer with hem that felle
Bar pride with him into helle.
There was pride of to grete coft,
Whan he for pride hath heven lost,
And after that in paradise

Adam for pride lost his prise
In middel-erth. And eke also
Pride is the cause of alle wo,
That all the world ne may fuffife
To staunche of pride the reprise.
Pride is the heved of all finne,

Which wasteth all and may nought winne.

Pride is of every mis the pricke,
Pride is the worste of all wicke
And cofteth most and left is worth
In place where he hath his forth.

Thus have I faid that I woll fay
Of min answere and to you pray,
My lege lorde, of your office,
That ye fuch grace and fuche justice
Ordeigne for my fader here,

That after this, whan men it here,
The world therof may fpeke good.

The king, which refon understood
And hath all herde how fhe hath faid,
Was inly glad and fo well paid,
That all his wrath is over go.
And he began to loke tho
Upon this maiden in the face,
In which he found fo mochel
grace,
That all his prise on her he laide
In audience and thus he saide:
My faire maide, well the be
Of thin anfwere, and eke of the
Me liketh well, and as thou wilte
Foryive be thy faders gilte.
And if thou were of fuch lignage,

That thou to me were of

parage
And that thy fader were a pere,
As he is now a bachelere,
So fiker as I have a life,
Thou fholdest thanne be

my wife.

But this I faie netheles,

That I woll shape thin encrese,

What worldes good that thou wolt crave Are of my yift, and thou fhalt have.

And she the king with wordes wise
Knelende thonketh in this wife:
My lege lord, god mot you quite.
My fader here hath but a lite
Of warison, and that he wende
Had all be loft, but now amende
He may well through your noble grace.
With that the king right in his place
Anon forth in that fresshe hete
An erldome, which than of eschete
Was late falle into his honde,

Unto this knight with rent and londe
Hath yove and with his chartre fefed.
And thus was all the noise appefed.
This maiden, which fate on her knees
To-fore the kinges charitees,
Commendeth and faith evermore :
My lege lord, right now to-fore
Ye faide, and it is of recorde,
That if my fader were a lorde
And pere unto these other grete,
Ye wolden for nought elles lette,
That I ne fholde be your wife.
And thus wote every worthy life
A kinges worde mot nede be holde.
Forthy my lord, if that
ye wolde

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