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Writer's pictureGeorge Fenn

Geoffrey Chaucer in Modern English - The Wry Maker v1.n1

Updated: Oct 29




She drove forth into our ocean


Throughout the wild sea, until at last


Under a hold that I cannot name,


Far in Northumberland, the wave her cast.


And in the sand her ship struck fast


That thence would not of all a tide;


The will of Christ was that she should abide.



The constable of the castle went down


To see this wreck, and all the ship he sought


And found this weary woman full of care;


He found also the treasure that she brought.


In her language mercy she besought,


The life of her body to sever,


Her to deliver of woe that she was in.



A manner Latin corrupt was her speech,


But always thereby was she understood.


This constable, when he desired no longer seek,


This woeful woman brought he to the land.



She knelt down, and thanked God's dispensation;


But what she was, she would to no man say,


For foul nor fair, though that she should die.



She said, she was so amazed in the see


That she forgot her mind, by her troth.


The constable had of her so great pity,


And also his wife, that they wept for rue.


She was so diligent, without sloth,


To serve and please everyone in that place


That all her loved that looked on her face.



This constable, and dame Hermengild his wife,


Were pagans, and that country everywhere.


But Hermengild loved her right as her life,


And Custaunce had so long sojourned there,


In prayers, with many a bitter tear,


Until Jesus had converted through his grace


Dame Hermengild, constabless of that place.


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