|
"Wyf," quod this markys, "ye han herd er this |
625 | My peple sikly berth oure mariage; |
| And namely sith my sone yboren is, |
| Now is it worse than evere in al oure age. |
| The murmur sleeth myn herte and my corage, |
| For to myne eres comth the voys so smeerte, |
630 | That it wel ny destroyed hath myn herte. |
|
|
"Wife," said this marquis, "you have heard before, |
625 | My people bear our marriage with ill-will; |
| Particularly since my son you bore |
| Now it is worse than ever, all this ill. |
| Their murmurs all my heart and courage kill, |
| For to my ears come words so aimed to smart |
630 | That they have well-nigh broken all my heart. |
|