The Minor Poems of John Lydgate edited from all available mss. with an attempt to establish The Lydgate Canon: By Henry Noble MacCracken |
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1 | II. |
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47, 48. |
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54B. |
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The Minor Poems of John Lydgate | ||
5. A GENTLEWOMAN'S LAMENT.
And here begynneþe a balade sayde by a gentilwomman
whiche loued a man of gret estate.
1
Allas! I wooful creature,Lyving betweene hope and dreed,
Howe might I þe woo endure,
In tendrenesse of wommanhede,
In langoure ay my lyff to leede,
And sette myn hert in suche a place,
Wher as I, be liklyhede,
Am euer vnlyke to stonde in grace!
419
2
Þer is so gret a differenceTweene his manheed and my symplesse,
Þat Daunger by gret vyolence
Haþe me brought in gret distresse;
And yit in verray sikurnesse,
Þoughe my desyre I neuer atteyne,
Yit withoute doublenesse
To love him best I shal not feyne.
3
For whane we were ful tendre of yeeris,Flouring booþe in oure chyldheed,
Wee sette to nothing oure desyres,
Sauf vn-to playe, and tooke noon heede,
And gaderd flowres in þe meede,
Of youþe þis was oure moost plesaunce,
And Love þoo gaf me for my meede
A knotte in hert of remembraunce,
4
Which þat neuer may beo vnbounde,Hit is so stedfast and so truwe,
For alwey oone I wol beo founde
His womman, and chaunge for no nuwe!
Wolde God þe sooþe þat he knewe,
Howe offt I sighe for his saake,
And he me list not onys ruwe,
Ne yyveþe no force, what yvell I make.
5
His poorte, his cheere, and his fygureBeon euer present in my sight,
In whos absence eeke I ensure,
I cane neuer be gladde ne light:
Fore he is my chosen knyght,
Þaughe hit to him ne beo not kouþe,
And so haþe he beon boþe day and night,
Truly fro my tendre youþe.
6
Emprynted in myn inwarde thought,And alwey shal til þat I deye,
420
Ne neuer shal, I dare weel seye.
His loue so soore me dooþe werreye,
God graunt hit tourne for þe best!
For I shal neuer, I dare wel sey,
Withoute his love lyve in rest.
7
A trouthe in tendre aage gonne,Of loue with longe perseueraunce,
In my persone so sore is ronne,
Þat þer may beo no varyaunce;
For al myn hertes souffysaunce
Is, wheþer þat I waake or wynk,
To haue hooly my remembraunce
On his persone, so mychil I thynk!
The Minor Poems of John Lydgate | ||