18SH.] SMYTH — PERICLES AND APOLLONIUS. 251 



Heo caught him to hire armes two, 



For joy sche ne mytjhte spek a word ; 



The kyng was wroth, and pute her fro, 



Heo cryede loude, ye beth my lord ! 



I am youre wyf, youre leof y-core, 



Archistrate ye lovede so I 



The kynges doughter y was bore, 



Archistrates he ne hadde na mo. 



Heo chpte hym, and efter gan to kysse, 



And tolde that was byfalle; 



Sche dipt and keuste with wouten lysse 



And saide thus byfore hem alle, — 



Ye seeth Appolyn, the kyng. 



My maister thot taughte me al my goud. 



• ••••• 



.... me out of my grace 



Archistra .... 



.... wham the other forsok, 



And to my lord you ches ; 



My lord that leide me on cheste, 



Or y were cast into the see, 



My lord that ofte me keuste, 



And never wende me more y-se2, 



My lord that y have founde, 



Y thanke God in Trinyte ! " 



Ure doughter on thys grounde, 



Ye, dame, par fay, thys hys sche ! 



.... te he hire, me scholde nought knowe. 



Ho was gladdest of the threo; 

 .... They wepte alle arowe, 



That ech of other hadde pite ; 

 Ephese hit was couth. 

 The goddesse had hire lord knowe, 

 .... An may no man telle wit mouth 



The grete mirthe thot was mad, y trowe ; 

 .... An song and made gleo 



In gret conf<)rt of here goddesse, 

 .... thes y- streghyt over al thoe cite. 



An keverede for gret gladnesse : 

 They made a feste of gret plente. 

 And fedde the citesaynes alle at ones. 

 They made of him gret dente. 

 The fest was gret for the nones. 

 They made hym prest of the lawe, 

 Here norry that sche loved mest, 

 .... the maner by har dawe, 



Wymmen dide thoe offys of prest. 



