A mouth he has, but wordes hath he none;
Cannot complain, alas! for none outrage:
Nor grutcheth[4] not, but lies here all alone
Still as a lamb, most meek of his visage.
What heart of steel could do to him damage,
Or suffer him die, beholding the mannere
And look benign of his twain even clear.'--

* * * * *

Writing her letter, awhapped[5] all in drede,
In her right hand her pen began to quake,
And a sharp sword to make her hearte bleed,
In her left hand her father hath her take,
And most her sorrow was for her childe's sake,
Upon whose face in her barme[6] sleeping
Full many a tear she wept in complaining.
After all this so as she stood and quoke,
Her child beholding mid of her paines' smart,
Without abode the sharpe sword she took,
And rove herselfe even to the heart;
Her child fell down, which mighte not astart,
Having no help to succour him nor save,
But in her blood theself began to bathe.

[1] 'Abraid:' awake.
[2] 'Astart:' escape.
[3] 'Dey:' die.
[4] 'Grutcheth:' murmureth.