The Minor Poems of John Lydgate :: :: University of Virginia Library

O þow Lucyna, qwene and empyresse
Of waters alle, and of floodes rage,
And cleped art lady and goddesse
Of iorneying and fortunate passage,
Governe and guye by grace þe vyage,
Þowe Heuenly Qweene, sith I of hert[e] prey
My maystre Chaucyer goodely to convey,

is Thomas.

2

Him to expleyten, and firþerne on his way
With holsome spede, ay in his iournee.

658

And Neptunus, make eke no delaye
Hym to fauour whane he is on þe see,
Preserving him frome al aduersytee,
Frome al trouble of wynde and eke of wawe.
And lat þy grace so to him adawe

3

Þat wher to hym may beo moost plesaunce,
Þer make him lande, he and his meynee.
And God I prey, þe whyle he is [in] Fraunce,
To sende him helthe and prosparytee,
Hasty repayre hoome to his cuntree,
To reconfort þer with his presence
Folkys þat mowrne moost for his absence.

4

For soþely nowe þagreable sonne
Of housholding and fulsum haboundaunce
Eclipsid is, as men recorden konne,
Þat founden þer so ryche souffisaunce,
Fredam, bountee, with gode governaunce,
Disport, largesse, ioye and al gladnesse,
And passingly goode chere with gentylesse.

5

Ceres also, goddesse of welfare,
Was ay present, hir chaare with plentee lade;
And Bacus þer ne koude neuer spare
With his lykour hertes for to glade,
Refresshe folkis þat were of colour fade,
With his conduytes moost plentyvous habounde,
Þe wellis hed so fulsome ay is founde.

6

His moost ioye is innly gret repayre
Of gentilmen of heghe and lowe estate,
Þat him thenkeþ, boþe in foule and fayre,
With-outen hem he is but desolate;
And to be loued þe moost fortunate
Þat euer I knewe, with othe of soþefastnesse,
Of ryche and pore, for bounteuouse largesse.

659

7

And gentyl Molyns, myn owen lord so der,
Lytel merveyle þoughe þow sighe and pleyne;
Now to forgone þin owen pleying feere,
I wot right wel, hit is to þe gret peyne.
But haue good hope soone for to atteyne
Þin hertis blisse agayne, and þat right sone,
Or foure tymes echaunged be þe mone.

8

Lat be youre weping, tendre creature,

i. la femme Chaucer.

By my sainte Eleyne fer away in Ynde.
How shoule ye þe gret woo endure
Of his absence, þat beon so truwe and kynde?
Haþe him amonge enprynted in your mynde,
And seythe for him, shortly in a clause,
Goddes soule to hem þat beon in cause.

9

Ye gentilmen dwelling envyroun,
His absence eke ye aught to compleyne,
For farwell nowe, as in conclusyoun
Youre pleye, your ioye, yif I shal not feyne;
Farwel huntyng and hawkyng, boþe tweyne,
And farewel nowe cheef cause of your desport,
For he absent, farewel youre recomfort.

10

Late him not nowe out of remembraunce,
But euer amonge haþe him in memoyre;
And for his saake, as in youre dalyaunce,
Saythe euery day deuotely þis memoyr(r)e,
“Saint Iulyan, oure ioye and al oure gloyre,
Come hoome ageyne, lyche as we desyre,
To suppowaylen al þe hole shyre.”

11

And for my part, I sey right as I thenk,
I am pure sory and hevy in myn hert,
More þan I expresse can wryte with inke,
Þe want of him so sore doþe me smert;
But for al þat hit shal me nought astert,
Daye and night, with hert[e] debonayre,
And prey to God, þat he soone may repayre.