oved by all because of her
beauty, and none was more sweetly spoken of from Chepstow to Lincoln,
yea, or from there to Ireland. Great was their sin who married the
maiden to this aged man. Since she was young and gay, he shut her fast
within his tower, that he might the easier keep her to himself. He set
in charge of the damsel his elder sister, a widow, to hold her more
surely in ward. These two ladies dwelt alone in the tower, together
with their women, in a chamber by themselves. There the damsel might
have speech of none, except at the bidding of the ancient dame. More
than seven years passed in this fashion. The lady had no children for
her solace, and she never went forth from the castle to greet her
kinsfolk and her friends. Her husband's jealousy was such that when
she sought her bed, no chamberlain or usher was permitted in her
chamber to light the candles. The lady became passing heavy. She spent
her days in sighs and tears. Her loveliness began to fail, for she
gave no thought to her person. Indeed at times she hated the very
shadow of that beauty which had spoiled all her life.

Now when April had come with the gladness of the birds, this lord rose
early on a day to take his pleasure in the woods. He bade his sister
to rise from her bed to make the doors fast behind him. She did his
will, and going apart, commenced to read the psalter that she carried
in her hand. The lady awoke, and shamed the brightness of the sun with
her tears. She saw that the old woman was gone forth from the chamber,
so she made her complaint without fear of being overheard.

"Alas," said she, "in an ill hour was I born. My lot is hard to be
shut in this tower, never to go out till I am carried to my grave. Of
whom is this jealous lord fearful that he holds me so fast in prison?
Great is a man's folly always to have it in mind that he may be
deceived. I cannot go to church, nor hearken to the service of God. If
I might talk to folk, or have a little pleasure in my life, I should
show the more tenderness to my husband, as is my wish. Very greatly
are my parents and my kin to blame for giving me to this jealous old
man, and making us one flesh. I cannot even look to become a widow,
for he will never die. In place of the waters of baptism, certainly he
was plunged in the flood of the Styx. His nerves are like iron, and
his veins quick with blood as those of a young man. Often have I heard
that in years gone by things chanced to the sad,