And he answerde: “Rather than I lose
Constance, I wol be cristen douteles;
I must be hers, I may no other choose;
I pray you hold your arguments in pees,
Save ye my lyf, and do your businesse.
Go gette me hir that wil my lyf ensure,
For in this wo I may no longer dure.”

What needeth gretter dilatacioún?
I say, by tretys and by embassye,
And by the popes mediacioún,
And al the chirche, and al the chyvalrye,
That to destroye the fals idolatrye,
And in encrease of Cristes lawe deere,
They be acordid, as ye shal after heere,
How that the sultan and his baronage,
And alle his lieges shuld i-crystned be,
And he shal have Constánce in mariáge,
And gold, I know not what in quantitee,
And they have founden súffisánt suretee.
This same acord was sworn on every syde;
Now, fair Constánce, almighty God thee guyde!

Now wolde som men thinken, as I gesse,
That I shulde tellen al the purveyaúnce,
That the emperoúr out of his gret noblesse
Hath made for his doughter dame Constaúnce.
Wel may men know that so gret ordynaúnce
May no man tellen in so litel a clause,
As was arrayèd for so high a cause.

Bisshops be redy with hir for to wende,
Lordes and ladyes, and knightes of renoun,
And other folk ynough, this is the ende.
And notefièd is thurghout the toun,
That every wight with gret devocioún
Shulde preye Crist, that he this mariáge
Accepte wel, and spede this voyáge.

The day is comen of hir départýng,
(I say the woful fatal day is come)
That ther may be no longer tarryyng,
But forthe they be preparèd alle and some.
Constance, that with sorrow is overcome,
Ful pale arose, and dresseth hir to wende.
For wel she saw ther was no other ende.

Allas! what wonder is it though she wepte,
That shal be sent to straunge nacioún,
Fro frendes, that so tenderly hir kepte,
And to be bounde undur subjeccioún
Of one she knew not his condicioún?
Housbondes be al goode, and have been of yore;
That knowen wyfes, I dar saye no more.

“Fader,” she seide, “thy wretched child Constaunce,
Thy yonge daughter fostred softely,
And ye, my moder, my soverayn plesaúnce
Over al thing, excepte Crist on hy,
Constaunce your child hir récomaundeth ofte
Unto your grace; for I shal into Syrie,
Nor shal I never see you more with eye.

“Allas! unto the Barbre nacioun
I most anon, since that it is your wille:
But Crist, that dyed for our redempcioún,
So geve me grace his hestes to fulfille,
Me, wrecched womman, though my lyf I spille!
Wommen be born to thraldom and penaúnce,
And to be under mannes governaúnce.”

I trowe that Troye whan Pirrus brak the wal,
Or when was burnèd Thebes the cité,
Nor Rome for the harme thurgh Hanibal,
That did the Romayns vanquyssh tymes three,
Had herd such tender wepyng for pitee,
As in the chamber was for hir partynge;
But forth she must, whether she weep or synge.

O firste moving cruel firmament,
With thi diurnal sway that crowdest ay,
And hurlest al from east to occident.
That naturelly wold hold another way;
Thy crowdyng set the heven in such array
At the bygynnyng of this sad voyáge,
That cruel Mars hath slayn this marriáge.

Unfortunat ascendent tortuous,
Of which the lord is helples fallen, allas!
Out of his angle into the derkest hous.
O Mars, O Influence, as in this case;
O feeble moone, unhappy be thi pace,
Thou shynest bright where thou art not receyved,
Wher thou art welcome, from thence thy light is sped.

Imprudent emperour of Rome, allas!
Was ther no phílosóphre in al thy toun?
Is no tyme better than other in such case?
Of voyage is ther no eleccioún,
And that to folk of high condicioún,
Nought when a fate is wel from birthe i-knowe?
Allas! we be too ignorant or slowe.

To shippe is brought this woful faire mayde
Solemnely, with every circumstaúnce.
“Now Jesu Crist so be with you,” she sayde.
Ther is nomor, but farwel, fair Constaunce;
She stryveth hir to make good countenaunce.
And forth I lete hire sayle in this manére,
And torne I wil again to my matére.