SET MEDICINE INQUIT TEMPUS. — Prosa 2
"But tyme is now," quod sche, "of medicyne more than
of
compleynte." Forsothe thanne sche, entendynge to meward with al
the lookynge of hir eien, seyde: "Art nat thou he," quod
sche,
"that whilom, norissched with my melk and fostred with myne
metes, were escaped and comyn to corage of a parfit man? Certes
I yaf the swiche armures that, yif thou thiselve ne haddest first
cast hem awey, they schulden han defended the in sekernesse that
mai nat ben overcomyn. Knowestow me nat? Why arttow stille? Is
it for schame or for astonynge? It were me levere that it were
for schame, but it semeth me that astonynge hath oppresside
the."
And whan sche say me nat oonly stille but withouten office of
tunge and al dowmbe, sche leyde hir hand sooftly uppon my breest
and seide: "Here nys no peril," quod sche; "he is
fallen into a
litargye, whiche that is a comune seknesse to hertes that been
desceyved. He hath a litil foryeten hymselve, but certes he schal
lightly remembren hymself yif so be that he hath knowen me or
now; and that he may so doon, I will wipe a litil his eien that
ben dirked by the cloude of mortel thynges." Thise woordes
seide
sche, and with the lappe of hir garnement yplited in a frownce
sche dryede myn eien, that weren fulle of the wawes of my
wepynges.
