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
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
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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