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237

VII. A MORAL BALADE.

Here foloweth next a Moral Balade, to my lord the Prince, to my lord of Clarence, to my lord of Bedford, and to my lord of Gloucestre, by Henry Scogan; at a souper of feorthe merchande in the Vyntre in London, at the hous of Lowys Johan.

My noble sones, and eek my lordes dere,
I, your fader called, unworthily,
Sende un-to you this litel tretys here
Writen with myn owne hand full rudëly;
Although it be that I not reverently
Have writen to your estats, yet I you praye,
Myn unconning taketh benignëly
For goddes sake, and herken what I seye.
I complayn sore, whan I remembre me
The sodeyn age that is upon me falle;
More I complayn my mispent juventè
The whiche is impossible ayein to calle.
238

But certainly, the most complaynte of alle
Is for to thinke, that I have been so nyce
That I ne wolde no virtue to me calle
In al my youthe, but vyces ay cheryce.
Of whiche I aske mercy of thee, lord,
That art almighty god in majestè,
Beseking thee, to make so even accord
Betwix thee and my soule, that vanitè
Of worldly lust, ne blynd prosperitè
Have no lordship over my flesshe so frele.
Thou lord of reste and parfit unitè,
Put fro me vyce, and keep my soules hele.
And yeve me might, whyl I have lyf and space,
Me to conforme fully to thy plesaunce;
Shewe upon me th'abundaunce of thy grace,
In gode werkes graunt me perséveraunce.
Of al my youthe forget the ignoraunce;
Yeve me good wil, to serve thee ay to queme;
Set al my lyf after thyn ordinaunce,
And able me to mercy, or thou deme!
My lordes dere, why I this complaint wryte
To you, alle whom I love entierly,
Is for to warne you, as I can endyte,
That tyme y-lost in youthe folily
Greveth a wight goostly and bodily,
I mene hem that to lust and vyce entende.
Wherfore, I pray you, lordes, specially,
Your youthe in vertue shapeth to dispende.
Planteth the rote of youthe in suche a wyse
That in vertue your growing be alway;
239

Loke ay, goodnesse be in your exercyse,
That shal you mighty make, at eche assay,
The feend for to withstonde at eche affray.
Passeth wysly this perilous pilgrimage,
Thinke on this word, and werke it every day;
That shal you yeve a parfit floured age.
Taketh also hede, how that these noble clerkes
Write in hir bokes of gret sapience,
Saying, that fayth is deed withouten werkes;
So is estat withoute intelligence
Of vertue; and therfore, with diligence,
Shapeth of vertue so to plante the rote,
That ye therof have ful experience,
To worship of your lyfe and soules bote.
Taketh also hede, that lordship ne estat,
Withoute vertue, may not longe endure;
Thinketh eek how vyce and vertue at debat
Have been, and shal, whyles the world may dure;
And ay the vicious, by aventure,
Is overthrowe; and thinketh evermore
That god is lord of vertue and figure
Of al goodnesse; and therfore folowe his lore.
My mayster Chaucer, god his soulë have!
That in his langage was so curious.
He sayde, the fader whiche is deed and grave,
Biquath nothing his vertue with his hous
Unto his sone; therfore laborious
Ought ye to be, beseching god, of grace,
To yeve you might for to be vertuous,
Through which ye might have part of his fayr place.
240

Here may ye see that vertuous noblesse
Cometh not to you by way of auncestrye,
But it cometh thorugh leefful besinesse
Of honest lyfe, and not by slogardrye.
Wherfore in youthe I rede you edefye
The hous of vertue in so wys manere
That in your age it may you kepe and gye
Fro the tempest of worldly wawes here.
Thinketh how, betwixë vertue and estat
There is a parfit blessed mariage;
Vertue is cause of pees, vyce of debat
In mannes soule; for which, with ful corage,
Cherissheth vertue, vyces to outrage:
Dryveth hem away; let hem have no wonning
In your soules; leseth not the heritage
Which god hath yeve to vertuous living.
Taketh hede also, how men of povre degree
Through vertue have be set in greet honour,
And ever have lived in greet prosperitee
Through cherisshing of vertuous labour.
Thinketh also, how many a governour
Called to estat, hath oft be set ful lowe
Through misusing of right, and for errour,
Therfore I counsaile you, vertue to knowe.
Thus ‘by your eldres may ye nothing clayme,’
As that my mayster Chaucer sayth expresse,
‘But temporel thing, that man may hurte and mayme’;
Than is god stocke of vertuous noblesse;
And sith that he is lord of blessednesse,
And made us alle, and for us alle deyde,
241

Folowe his vertue with ful besinesse,
And of this thing herke how my mayster seyde:—
The firste stok, fader of gentilesse,
What man that claymeth gentil for to be
Must folowe his trace, and alle his wittes dresse
Vertu to sewe, and vyces for to flee.
For unto vertu longeth dignitee,
And noght the revers, saufly dar I deme,
Al were he mytre, croune, or diademe.
This firste stok was ful of rightwisnesse,
Trewe of his word, sobre, pitous, and free,
Clene of his goste, and loved besinesse
Ageinst the vyce of slouthe, in honestee;
And, but his heir love vertu, as dide he,
He is noght gentil, though he riche seme,
Al were he mytre, croune, or diademe.
Vyce may wel be heir to old richesse;
But ther may no man, as men may wel see,
Bequethe his heir his vertuous noblesse;
That is appropred unto no degree,
But to the firste fader in magestee
That maketh him his heir, that can him queme,
Al were he mytre, croune, or diademe.
Lo here, this noble poete of Bretayne
How hyely he, in vertuous sentence,
The losse in youthe of vertue can complayne;
Wherfore I pray you, dooth your diligence,
For your estats and goddes reverence,
T'enprintë vertue fully in your mynde,
That, whan ye come in your juges presence,
Ye be not set as vertules behynde.
Ye lordes have a maner now-a-dayes,
Though oon shewe you a vertuous matere,
242

Your fervent youthe is of so false alayes
That of that art ye have no joy to here.
But, as a ship that is withouten stere
Dryveth up and doun, withouten governaunce,
Wening that calm wol lastë, yeer by yere,
Right so fare ye, for very ignoraunce.
For very shamë, knowe ye nat, by réson
That, after an ebbe, ther cometh a flood ful rage?
In the same wyse, whan youth passeth his séson,
Cometh croked and unweldy palled age;
Sone after comen kalends of dotage;
And if your youth no vertue have provyded,
Al men wol saye, fy on your vassalage!
Thus hath your slouth fro worship you devyded.
Boëce the clerk, as men may rede and see,
Saith, in his Boke of Consolacioun,
What man desyreth have of vyne or tree
Plentee of fruit, in the ryping sesoun,
Must ay eschewe to doon oppressioun
Unto the rote, whyle it is yong and grene;
Ye may wel see, by this conclusioun,
That youthë vertulees doth mochel tene.
Seeth, there-ayenst, how vertuous noblesse
Roted in youthe, with good perséveraunce,
243

Dryveth away al vyce and wrecchednesse,
As slogardrye, ryote and distaunce!
Seeth eek how vertue causeth suffisaunce,
And suffisaunce exyleth coveityse!
And who hath vertue hath al abundaunce
Of wele, as fer as reson can devyse.
Taketh hede of Tullius Hostilius,
That cam fro povertee to hy degree;
Through vertue redeth eek of Julius
The conquerour, how povre a man was he;
Yet, through his vertue and humanitee,
Of many a countree had he governaunce.
Thus vertue bringeth unto greet degree
Eche wight that list to do him entendaunce.
Rede, here-ayenst, of Nero vertulees;
Taketh hede also of proude Balthasar;
They hated vertue, equitee, and pees.
Loke how Antiochus fil fro his char,
That he his skin and bones al to-tar!
Loke what meschauncë they had for hir vyces!
Who-so that wol not by these signes be war,
I dar wel say, infortunat or nyce is.
I can no more; but here-by may ye see
How vertue causeth parfit sikernesse,
And vyces doon exyle prosperitee;
The best is, ech to chesen, as I gesse.
244

Doth as you list, I me excuse expresse;
I wolde be sory, if that ye mischese.
God you conferme in vertuous noblesse,
So that through negligence ye nothing lese!
Explicit.
299

XVI. LA BELLE DAME SANS MERCY.

TRANSLATED OUT OF FRENCH BY SIR RICHARD ROS.

Half in a dreme, not fully wel awaked,
The golden sleep me wrapped under his wing;
Yet nat for-thy I roos, and wel nigh naked,
Al sodaynly my-selve rémembring
Of a matér, leving al other thing
Which I shold do, with-outen more delay,
For hem to whom I durst nat disobey.
My charge was this, to translate by and by,
(Al thing forgive), as part of my penaunce,
A book called Belle Dame sans Mercy
Which mayster Aleyn made of rémembraunce,
Cheef secretarie with the king of Fraunce.
And ther-upon a whyle I stood musing,
And in my-self gretly imagening
What wyse I shuld performe the sayd processe,
Considering by good avysement
Myn unconning and my gret simplenesse,
300

And ayenward the strait commaundement
Which that I had; and thus, in myn entent,
I was vexed and tourned up and doun;
And yet at last, as in conclusioun,
I cast my clothes on, and went my way,
This foresayd charge having in rémembraunce,
Til I cam to a lusty green valey
Ful of floures, to see, a gret plesaunce;
And so bolded, with their benygn suffraunce
That rede this book, touching this sayd matere,
Thus I began, if it plese you to here.
Nat long ago, ryding an esy paas,
I fel in thought, of joy ful desperate
With greet disese and payne, so that I was
Of al lovers the most unfortunate,
Sith by his dart most cruel, ful of hate,
The deeth hath take my lady and maistresse,
And left me sole, thus discomfit and mate,
Sore languisshing, and in way of distresse.
Than sayd I thus, ‘it falleth me to cesse
Eyther to ryme or ditees for to make,
And I, surely, to make a ful promesse
To laugh no more, but wepe in clothes blake.
My joyful tyme, alas! now is it slake,
For in my-self I fele no maner ese;
Let it be written, such fortune I take,
Which neither me, nor non other doth plese.
If it were so, my wil or myn entent
Constrayned were a joyful thing to wryte,
Myn pen coud never have knowlege what it ment;
To speke therof my tonge hath no delyte.
301

And with my mouth if I laugh moche or lyte,
Myn eyen shold make a countenaunce untrewe;
My hert also wold have therof despyte,
The weping teres have so large issewe.
These seke lovers, I leve that to hem longes,
Which lede their lyf in hope of alegeaunce,
That is to say, to make balades and songes,
Every of hem, as they fele their grevaunce.
For she that was my joy and my plesaunce,
Whos soule I pray god of his mercy save,
She hath my wil, myn hertes ordinaunce,
Which lyeth here, within this tombe y-grave.
Fro this tyme forth, tyme is to hold my pees;
It werieth me this mater for to trete;
Let other lovers put hem-self in prees;
Their seson is, my tyme is now forgete.
Fortune by strength the forcer hath unshet
Wherin was sperd al my worldly richesse,
And al the goodes which that I have gete
In my best tyme of youthe and lustinesse.
Love hath me kept under his governaunce;
If I misdid, god graunt me forgifnesse!
If I did wel, yet felte I no plesaunce;
It caused neither joy nor hevinesse.
For whan she dyed, that was my good maistresse,
Al my welfare than made the same purchas;
The deeth hath set my boundes, of witnes,
Which for no-thing myn hert shal never pas.’
In this gret thought, sore troubled in my mynde,
Aloon thus rood I al the morow-tyde,
Til at the last it happed me to fynde
The place wherin I cast me to abyde
302

Whan that I had no further for to ryde.
And as I went my logging to purvey,
Right sone I herde, but litel me besyde,
In a gardeyn, wher minstrels gan to play.
With that anon I went me bakker-more;
My-self and I, me thought, we were y-now;
But twayn that were my frendes here-before
Had me espyed, and yet I wot nat how.
They come for me; awayward I me drow,
Somwhat by force, somwhat by their request,
That in no wyse I coud my-self rescow,
But nede I must come in, and see the feest.
At my coming, the ladies everichoon
Bad me welcome, god wot, right gentilly,
And made me chere, everich by oon and oon,
A gret del better than I was worthy;
And, of their grace, shewed me gret curtesy
With good disport, bicause I shuld nat mourne.
That day I bood stille in their company,
Which was to me a gracious sojourne.
The bordes were spred in right litel space;
The ladies sat, ech as hem semed best.
Were non that did servyce within that place
But chosen men, right of the goodliest:
And som ther were, peravénture most fresshest,
That sawe their juges, sitting ful demure,
Without semblaunt either to most or lest,
Notwithstanding they had hem under cure.
Among al other, oon I gan espy
Which in gret thought ful often com and went
As man that had ben ravished utterly,
In his langage nat gretly diligent;
303

His countenaunce he kept with greet tourment,
But his desyr fer passed his resoun;
For ever his eye went after his entent
Ful many a tyme, whan it was no sesoun.
To make good chere, right sore him-self he payned,
And outwardly he fayned greet gladnesse;
To singe also by force he was constrayned
For no plesaunce, but very shamfastnesse;
For the complaynt of his most hevinesse
Com to his voice alwey without request,
Lyk as the sowne of birdes doth expresse
Whan they sing loude, in frith or in forest.
Other ther were, that served in the hal,
But non lyk him, as after myn advyse;
For he was pale, and somwhat lene with-al;
His speche also trembled in fereful wyse;
And ever aloon, but when he did servyse.
Al blak he ware, and no devyce but playn.
Me thought by him, as my wit coud suffyse,
His hert was no-thing in his own demeyn.
To feste hem al he did his diligence,
And wel he couth, right as it semed me.
But evermore, whan he was in presence,
His chere was don; it wold non other be.
His scole-maister had suche auctoritè
That, al the whyle he bood stille in the place,
Speke coude he nat, but upon her beautè
He loked stil, with right a pitous face.
With that, his heed he tourned at the last
For to behold the ladies everichon;
But ever in oon he set his ey stedfast
On her, the which his thought was most upon.
304

And of his eyen the shot I knew anon
Which federed was with right humble requestes.
Than to my-self I sayd, ‘By god aloon,
Suche oon was I, or that I saw these gestes.’
Out of the prees he went ful esely
To make stable his hevy countenaunce;
And, wit ye wel, he syghed tenderly
For his sorowes and woful remembraunce.
Than in him-self he made his ordinaunce,
And forth-withal com to bringe in the mes;
But, for to juge his most ruful semblaunce,
God wot, it was a pitous entremes!
After diner, anon they hem avaunced
To daunce about, these folkes everichoon;
And forth-withal this hevy lover daunced
Somtyme with twayn, and somtyme but with oon.
Unto hem al his chere was after oon,
Now here, now there, as fel by aventure;
But ever among, he drew to her aloon
Which he most dredde of living creature.
To myn advyse, good was his purveyaunce
Whan he her chase to his maistresse aloon,
If that her hert were set to his plesaunce
As moche as was her beauteous persone.
For who that ever set his trust upon
The réport of the eyen, withouten more,
He might be deed and graven under stoon
Or ever he shulde his hertes ese restore.
In her fayled nothing, as I could gesse,
O wyse nor other, prevy nor apert;
A garnison she was of al goodnesse
To make a frounter for a lovers hert;
305

Right yong and fresshe, a woman ful covert;
Assured wel her port and eke her chere,
Wel at her ese, withouten wo or smert,
Al underneth the standard of Daungere.
To see the feest, it weried me ful sore;
For hevy joy doth sore the hert travayle.
Out of the prees I me withdrew therfore,
And set me down aloon, behynd a trayle
Ful of leves, to see, a greet mervayle,
With grene withies y-bounden wonderly;
The leves were so thik, withouten fayle,
That thorough-out might no man me espy.
To this lady he com ful curteisly
Whan he thought tyme to daunce with her a trace;
Sith in an herber made ful pleasauntly
They rested hem, fro thens but litel space.
Nigh hem were none, a certayn of compace,
But only they, as fer as I coud see;
And save the trayle, ther I had chose my place,
Ther was no more betwix hem tweyne and me.
I herd the lover syghing wonder sore;
For ay the neer, the sorer it him sought.
His inward payne he coud not kepe in store,
Nor for to speke, so hardy was he nought.
His leche was neer, the gretter was his thought;
He mused sore, to conquere his desyre;
For no man may to more penaunce be brought
Than, in his hete, to bringe him to the fyre.
The hert began to swel within his chest,
So sore strayned for anguish and for payne
That al to peces almost it to-brest,
Whan bothe at ones so sore it did constrayne;
306

Desyr was bold, but shame it gan refrayne;
That oon was large, the other was ful cloos;
No litel charge was layd on him, certayn,
To kepe suche werre, and have so many foos.
Ful often-tymes to speke him-self he peyned,
But shamfastnesse and drede sayd ever ‘nay’;
Yet at the last so sore he was constrayned,
Whan he ful long had put it in delay,
To his lady right thus than gan he say
With dredful voice, weping, half in a rage:—
‘For me was purveyd an unhappy day
Whan I first had a sight of your visage!
I suffre payne, god wot, ful hoot brenning,
To cause my deeth, al for my trew servyse;
And I see wel, ye rekke therof nothing,
Nor take no hede of it, in no kins wyse.
But whan I speke after my best avyse,
Ye set it nought, but make ther-of a game;
And though I sewe so greet an entrepryse,
It peyreth not your worship nor your fame.
Alas! what shulde be to you prejudyce
If that a man do love you faithfully
To your worship, eschewing every vyce?
So am I yours, and wil be verily;
I chalenge nought of right, and reson why,
For I am hool submit to your servyse;
Right as ye liste it be, right so wil I,
To bynde my-self, where I was in fraunchyse!
Though it be so, that I can nat deserve
To have your grace, but alway live in drede,
Yet suffre me you for to love and serve
Without maugrè of your most goodlihede;
307

Both faith and trouth I give your womanhede,
And my servyse, withoute ayein-calling.
Love hath me bounde, withouten wage or mede,
To be your man, and leve al other thing.’
Whan this lady had herd al this langage,
She yaf answere ful softe and demurely,
Without chaunging of colour or corage,
No-thing in haste, but mesurabelly:—
‘Me thinketh, sir, your thought is greet foly!
Purpose ye not your labour for to cese?
For thinketh not, whyl that ye live and I,
In this matére to set your hert in pees!’
Lamant.
‘Ther may non make the pees, but only ye,
Which ar the ground and cause of al this werre;
For with your eyen the letters written be,
By which I am defyed and put a-fer.
Your plesaunt look, my verray lode-sterre,
Was made heraud of thilk same défyaunce
Which utterly behight me to forbarre
My faithful trust and al myn affyaunce.’

La Dame.
‘To live in wo he hath gret fantasy
And of his hert also hath slipper holde,
That, only for beholding of an y,
Can nat abyde in pees, as reson wolde!
Other or me if ye list to beholde,
Our eyen are made to loke; why shuld we spare?
I take no kepe, neither of yong nor olde;
Who feleth smert, I counsayle him be ware!’

Lam.
‘If it be so, oon hurte another sore,
In his defaut that feleth the grevaunce,
Of very right a man may do no more;
Yet reson wolde it were in remembraunce.
308

And, sith Fortune not only, by her chaunce,
Hath caused me to suffre al this payn,
But your beautè, with al the circumstaunce,
Why list ye have me in so greet disdayn?’

La D.
‘To your persone ne have I no disdayn,
Nor ever had, trewly! ne nought wil have,
Nor right gret love, nor hatred, in certayn;
Nor your counsayl to know, so god me save!
If such beleve be in your mynde y-grave
That litel thing may do you greet plesaunce,
You to begyle, or make you for to rave,
I wil nat cause no suche encomberaunce!’

Lam.
‘What ever it be that me hath thus purchased,
Wening hath nat disceyved me, certayn,
But fervent love so sore hath me y-chased
That I, unware, am casten in your chayne;
And sith so is, as Fortune list ordayne,
Al my welfare is in your handes falle,
In eschewing of more mischévous payn;
Who sonest dyeth, his care is leest of alle.’

La D.
‘This sicknesse is right esy to endure,
But fewe people it causeth for to dy;
But what they mene, I know it very sure,
Of more comfort to draw the remedy.
Such be there now, playning ful pitously,
That fele, god wot, nat alther-grettest payne;
And if so be, love hurt so grevously,
Lesse harm it were, oon sorowful, than twayne!’

Lam.
‘Alas, madame! if that it might you plese,
Moche better were, by way of gentilnesse,
Of one sory, to make twayn wel at ese,
Than him to stroy that liveth in distresse!
For my desyr is neither more nor lesse
But my servyce to do, for your plesaunce,
In eschewing al maner doublenesse,
To make two joyes in stede of oo grevaunce!’

309

La D.
‘Of love I seke neither plesaunce nor ese,
Nor greet desyr, nor right gret affyaunce;
Though ye be seke, it doth me nothing plese;
Also, I take no hede to your plesaunce.
Chese who-so wil, their hertes to avaunce,
Free am I now, and free wil I endure;
To be ruled by mannes governaunce
For erthely good, nay! that I you ensure!’

Lam.
‘Love, which that joy and sorowe doth departe,
Hath set the ladies out of al servage,
And largëly doth graunt hem, for their parte,
Lordship and rule of every maner age.
The poor servaunt nought hath of avauntage
But what he may get only of purchace;
And he that ones to love doth his homage,
Ful often tyme dere bought is the rechace.’

La D.
‘Ladies be nat so simple, thus I mene,
So dul of wit, so sotted of foly,
That, for wordes which sayd ben of the splene,
In fayre langage, paynted ful plesauntly,
Which ye and mo holde scoles of dayly,
To make hem of gret wonders to suppose;
But sone they can away their hedes wrye,
And to fair speche lightly their eres close.’

Lam.
‘Ther is no man that jangleth busily,
And set his hert and al his mynd therfore,
That by resoun may playne so pitously
As he that hath moche hevinesse in store.
Whos heed is hool, and sayth that it is sore,
His fayned chere is hard to kepe in mewe;
But thought, which is unfayned evermore,
The wordes preveth, as the workes sewe.

310

La D.
‘Love is subtel, and hath a greet awayt,
Sharp in worching, in gabbing greet plesaunce,
And can him venge of suche as by disceyt
Wold fele and knowe his secret governaunce;
And maketh hem to obey his ordinaunce
By chereful wayes, as in hem is supposed;
But whan they fallen in-to repentaunce,
Than, in a rage, their counsail is disclosed.’

Lam.
‘Sith for-as-moche as god and eke nature
Hath love avaunced to so hye degrè,
Moch sharper is the point, this am I sure,
Yet greveth more the faute, wher-ever it be.
Who hath no cold, of hete hath no deyntè,
The toon for the tother asked is expresse;
And of plesaunce knoweth non the certeyntè
But it be wonne with thought and hevinesse.’

La D.
‘As for plesaunce, it is nat alway oon;
That you is swete, I thinke it bitter payne.
Ye may nat me constrayne, nor yet right non,
After your lust, to love that is but vayne.
To chalenge love by right was never seyn,
But herte assent, before bond and promyse;
For strength nor force may not atteyne, certayn,
A wil that stant enfeffed in fraunchyse!’

Lam.
‘Right fayr lady, god mote I never plese,
If I seke other right, as in this case,
But for to shewe you playnly my disese
And your mercy to abyde, and eke your grace.
If I purpose your honour to deface,
Or ever did, god and fortune me shende!
And that I never rightwysly purchace
Oon only joy, unto my lyves ende!’

311

La D.
‘Ye and other, that swere suche othes faste,
And so condempne and cursen to and fro,
Ful sikerly, ye wene your othes laste
No lenger than the wordes ben ago!
And god, and eke his sayntes, laughe also.
In such swering ther is no stedfastnesse,
And these wrecches, that have ful trust therto,
After, they wepe and waylen in distresse.’

Lam.
‘He hath no corage of a man, trewly,
That secheth plesaunce, worship to despyse;
Nor to be called forth is not worthy
The erthe to touch the ayre in no-kins wyse.
A trusty hert, a mouth without feyntyse,
These ben the strength of every man of name;
And who that layth his faith for litel pryse,
He leseth bothe his worship and his fame.’

La D.
‘A currish herte, a mouth that is curteys,
Ful wel ye wot, they be not according;
Yet feyned chere right sone may hem apeyse
Where of malyce is set al their worching;
Ful fals semblant they bere and trew mening;
Their name, their fame, their tonges be but fayned;
Worship in hem is put in forgetting,
Nought repented, nor in no wyse complayned.’

Lam.
‘Who thinketh il, no good may him befal;
God, of his grace, graunt ech man his desert!
But, for his love, among your thoughtes al,
As think upon my woful sorowes smert;
For of my payne, wheder your tender hert
Of swete pitè be not therwith agreved,
And if your grace to me were discovert,
Than, by your mene, sone shulde I be releved.’

312

La D.
‘A lightsom herte, a folly of plesaunce
Are moch better, the lesse whyl they abyde;
They make you thinke, and bring you in a traunce;
But that seknesse wil sone be remedyed.
Respite your thought, and put al this asyde;
Ful good disportes werieth men al-day;
To help nor hurt, my wil is not aplyed;
Who troweth me not, I lete it passe away.’

Lam.
‘Who hath a brid, a faucon, or a hound,
That foloweth him, for love, in every place,
He cherissheth him, and kepeth him ful sound;
Out of his sight he wil not him enchace.
And I, that set my wittes, in this cace,
On you alone, withouten any chaunge,
Am put under, moch ferther out of grace,
And lesse set by, than other that be straunge.’

La D.
‘Though I make chere to every man aboute
For my worship, and of myn own fraunchyse,
To you I nil do so, withouten doute,
In eschewing al maner prejudyse.
For wit ye wel, love is so litel wyse,
And in beleve so lightly wil be brought,
That he taketh al at his own devyse,
Of thing, god wot, that serveth him of nought.’

Lam.
‘If I, by love and by my trew servyse,
Lese the good chere that straungers have alway,
Wherof shuld serve my trouth in any wise
Lesse than to hem that come and go al-day,
Which holde of you nothing, that is no nay?
Also in you is lost, to my seming,
Al curtesy, which of resoun wold say
That love for love were lawful deserving.’

313

La D.
‘Curtesy is alyed wonder nere
To Worship, which him loveth tenderly;
And he wil nat be bounde, for no prayere,
Nor for no gift, I say you verily,
But his good chere depart ful largely
Where him lyketh, as his conceit wil fal;
Guerdon constrayned, a gift don thankfully,
These twayn may not accord, ne never shal.’

Lam.
‘As for guerdon, I seke non in this cace;
For that desert, to me it is to hy;
Wherfore I ask your pardon and your grace,
Sith me behoveth deeth, or your mercy.
To give the good where it wanteth, trewly,
That were resoun and a curteys maner;
And to your own moch better were worthy
Than to straungers, to shewe hem lovely chere.’

La D.
‘What cal ye good? Fayn wolde I that I wist!
That pleseth oon, another smerteth sore;
But of his own to large is he that list
Give moche, and lese al his good fame therfore.
Oon shulde nat make a graunt, litel ne more,
But the request were right wel according;
If worship be not kept and set before,
Al that is left is but a litel thing.’

Lam.
‘In-to this world was never formed non,
Nor under heven crëature y-bore,
Nor never shal, save only your persone,
To whom your worship toucheth half so sore,
But me, which have no seson, lesse ne more,
Of youth ne age, but still in your service;
I have non eyen, no wit, nor mouth in store,
But al be given to the same office.’

314

La D.
‘A ful gret charge hath he, withouten fayle,
That his worship kepeth in sikernesse;
But in daunger he setteth his travayle
That feffeth it with others businesse.
To him that longeth honour and noblesse,
Upon non other shulde nat he awayte;
For of his own so moche hath he the lesse
That of other moch folweth the conceyt.’

Lam.
‘Your eyen hath set the print which that I fele
Within my hert, that, where-so-ever I go,
If I do thing that sowneth unto wele,
Nedes must it come from you, and fro no mo.
Fortune wil thus, that I, for wele or wo,
My lyf endure, your mercy abyding;
And very right wil that I thinke also
Of your worship, above al other thing.’

La D.
‘To your worship see wel, for that is nede,
That ye spend nat your seson al in vayne;
As touching myn, I rede you take no hede,
By your foly to put your-self in payne.
To overcome is good, and to restrayne
An hert which is disceyved folily.
For worse it is to breke than bowe, certayn,
And better bowe than fal to sodaynly!’

Lam.
‘Now, fair lady, think, sith it first began
That love hath set myn hert under his cure,
I never might, ne truly I ne can
Non other serve, whyle I shal here endure;
In most free wyse therof I make you sure,
Which may not be withdrawe; this is no nay.
I must abyde al maner aventure;
For I may not put to, nor take away.’

315

La D.
‘I holde it for no gift, in sothfastnesse,
That oon offreth, where that it is forsake;
For suche gift is abandoning expresse
That with worship ayein may not be take.
He hath an hert ful fel that list to make
A gift lightly, that put is in refuse;
But he is wyse that such conceyt wil slake,
So that him nede never to study ne muse.’

Lam.
‘He shuld nat muse, that hath his service spent
On her which is a lady honourable;
And if I spende my tyme to that entent,
Yet at the leest I am not reprevable
Of feyled hert; to thinke I am unable,
Or me mistook whan I made this request,
By which love hath, of entreprise notable,
So many hertes gotten by conquest.’

La D.
‘If that ye list do after my counsayl,
Secheth fairer, and of more higher fame,
Whiche in servyce of love wil you prevayl
After your thought, according to the same.
He hurteth both his worship and his name
That folily for twayne him-self wil trouble;
And he also leseth his after-game
That surely can not sette his poyntes double.’

Lam.
‘This your counsayl, by ought that I can see,
Is better sayd than don, to myn advyse;
Though I beleve it not, forgive it me,
Myn herte is suche, so hool without feyntyse,
That it ne may give credence, in no wyse,
To thing which is not sowning unto trouthe;
Other counsayl, it ar but fantasyes,
Save of your grace to shewe pitè and routhe.’

316

La D.
‘I holde him wyse that worketh folily
And, whan him list, can leve and part therfro;
But in conning he is to lerne, trewly,
That wolde him-self conduite, and can not so.
And he that wil not after counsayl do,
His sute he putteth in desesperaunce;
And al the good, which that shulde falle him to,
Is left as deed, clene out of rémembraunce.’

Lam.
‘Yet wil I sewe this mater faithfully
Whyls I may live, what-ever be my chaunce;
And if it hap that in my trouthe I dy,
That deeth shal not do me no displesaunce.
But whan that I, by your ful hard suffraunce,
Shal dy so trew, and with so greet a payne,
Yet shal it do me moche the lesse grevaunce
Than for to live a fals lover, certayne.’

La D.
‘Of me get ye right nought, this is no fable,
I nil to you be neither hard nor strayt;
And right wil not, nor maner customable,
To think ye shulde be sure of my conceyt.
Who secheth sorowe, his be the receyt!
Other counsayl can I not fele nor see,
Nor for to lerne I cast not to awayte;
Who wil therto, let him assay, for me!’

Lam.
‘Ones must it be assayd, that is no nay,
With such as be of reputacioun,
And of trew love the right devoir to pay
Of free hertes, geten by due raunsoun;
For free wil holdeth his opinioun,
That it is greet duresse and discomfort
To kepe a herte in so strayt a prisoun,
That hath but oon body for his disport.’

317

La D.
‘I know so many cases mervaylous
That I must nede, of resoun, think certayn,
That such entree is wonder perilous,
And yet wel more, the coming bak agayn.
Good or worship therof is seldom seyn;
Wherefore I wil not make no suche aray
As for to fynde a plesaunce but barayn,
Whan it shal cost so dere, the first assay.’

Lam.
‘Ye have no cause to doute of this matere,
Nor you to meve with no such fantasyes
To put me ferre al-out, as a straungere;
For your goodnesse can think and wel avyse,
That I have made a prefe in every wyse
By which my trouth sheweth open evidence;
My long abyding and my trew servyse
May wel be knowen by playn experience.’

La D.
‘Of very right he may be called trew,
And so must he be take in every place,
That can deserve, and let as he ne knew,
And kepe the good, if he it may purchace.
For who that prayeth or sueth in any case,
Right wel ye wot, in that no trouth is preved;
Suche hath ther ben, and are, that geten grace,
And lese it sone, whan they it have acheved.’

Lam.
‘If trouth me cause, by vertue soverayne,
To shew good love, and alway fynd contráry,
And cherish that which sleeth me with the payne,
This is to me a lovely adversary!
Whan that pitè, which long a-slepe doth tary,
Hath set the fyne of al myn hevinesse,
Yet her comfort, to me most necessary,
Shuld set my wil more sure in stablenesse.’

318

La D.
‘The woful wight, what may he thinke or say?
The contrary of al joy and gladnesse.
A sick body, his thought is al away
From hem that fele no sorowe nor siknesse.
Thus hurtes ben of dyvers businesse
Which love hath put to right gret hinderaunce,
And trouthe also put in forgetfulnesse
Whan they so sore begin to sighe askaunce.’

Lam.
‘Now god defend but he be havëlesse
Of al worship or good that may befal,
That to the werst tourneth, by his lewdnesse,
A gift of grace, or any-thing at al
That his lady vouchsauf upon him cal,
Or cherish him in honourable wyse!
In that defaut what-ever he be that fal
Deserveth more than deth to suffre twyse!’

La D.
‘There is no juge y-set of such trespace
By which of right oon may recovered be;
Oon curseth fast, another doth manace,
Yet dyeth non, as ferre as I can see,
But kepe their cours alway, in oon degrè,
And evermore their labour doth encrese
To bring ladyes, by their gret soteltè,
For others gilte, in sorowe and disese!’

Lam.
‘Al-be-it so oon do so greet offence,
And be not deed, nor put to no juÿse,
Right wel I wot, him gayneth no defence,
But he must ende in ful mischévous wyse,
And al that ever is good wil him dispyse.
For falshed is so ful of cursednesse
319

That high worship shal never have enterpryse
Where it reigneth and hath the wilfulnesse.’

La D.
‘Of that have they no greet fere now-a-days,
Suche as wil say, and maynteyne it ther-to,
That stedfast trouthe is nothing for to prays
In hem that kepe it long for wele or wo.
Their busy hertes passen to and fro,
They be so wel reclaymed to the lure,
So wel lerned hem to withholde also,
And al to chaunge, whan love shuld best endure.’

Lam.
‘Whan oon hath set his herte in stable wyse
In suche a place as is both good and trewe,
He shuld not flit, but do forth his servyse
Alway, withouten chaunge of any newe.
As sone as love beginneth to remewe,
Al plesaunce goth anon, in litel space;
For my party, al that shal I eschewe,
Whyls that the soule abydeth in his place.’

La D.
‘To love trewly ther-as ye ought of right,
Ye may not be mistaken, doutëlesse;
But ye be foul deceyved in your sight
By lightly understanding, as I gesse.
Yet may ye wel repele your businesse
And to resoun somwhat have attendaunce,
Moch better than to byde, by fol simplesse,
The feble socour of desesperaunce.’

Lam.
‘Resoun, counsayl, wisdom, and good avyse
Ben under love arested everichoon,
To which I can accorde in every wyse;
For they be not rebel, but stille as stoon;
320

Their wil and myn be medled al in oon,
And therwith bounden with so strong a cheyne
That, as in hem, departing shal be noon,
But pitè breke the mighty bond atwayne.’

La D.
‘Who loveth not himself, what-ever he be
In love, he stant forgete in every place;
And of your wo if ye have no pitè,
Others pitè bileve not to purchace;
But beth fully assured in this case,
I am alway under oon ordinaunce,
To have better; trusteth not after grace,
And al that leveth tak to your plesaunce!’

Lam.
‘I have my hope so sure and so stedfast
That suche a lady shulde nat fail pitè;
But now, alas! it is shit up so fast,
That Daunger sheweth on me his crueltè.
And if she see the vertue fayle in me
Of trew servyce, then she to fayle also
No wonder were; but this is the suretè,
I must suffre, which way that ever it go.’

La D.
‘Leve this purpos, I rede you for the best;
For lenger that ye kepe it thus in vayn,
The lesse ye gete, as of your hertes rest,
And to rejoice it shal ye never attayn.
Whan ye abyde good hope, to make you fayn,
Ye shal be founde asotted in dotage;
And in the ende, ye shal know for certayn,
That hope shal pay the wrecches for their wage!’

Lam.
‘Ye say as falleth most for your plesaunce,
And your power is greet; al this I see;
321

But hope shal never out of my rémembraunce,
By whiche I felt so greet adversitè.
For whan nature hath set in you plentè
Of al goodnesse, by vertue and by grace,
He never assembled hem, as semeth me,
To put Pitè out of his dwelling-place.’

La D.
‘Pitè of right ought to be resonable,
And to no wight of greet disavantage;
There-as is nede, it shuld be profitable,
And to the pitous shewing no damage.
If a lady wil do so greet out-rage
To shewe pitè, and cause her own debate,
Of such pitè cometh dispitous rage,
And of the love also right deedly hate.’

Lam.
‘To comforte hem that live al comfortlesse,
That is no harm, but worship to your name;
But ye, that bere an herte of such duresse,
And a fair body formed to the same,
If I durst say, ye winne al this defame
By Crueltè, which sitteth you ful il,
But-if Pitè, which may al this attame,
In your high herte may rest and tary stil.’

La D.
‘What-ever he be that sayth he loveth me,
And peraventure, I leve that it be so,
Ought he be wroth, or shulde I blamed be,
Though I did noght as he wolde have me do?
If I medled with suche or other mo,
It might be called pitè manerlesse;
And, afterward if I shulde live in wo,
Than to repent it were to late, I gesse.’

Lam.
‘O marble herte, and yet more hard, pardè,
Which mercy may nat perce, for no labour,
322

More strong to bowe than is a mighty tree,
What vayleth you to shewe so greet rigour?
Plese it you more to see me dy this hour
Before your eyen, for your disport and play,
Than for to shewe som comfort or socour
To respite deth, that chaseth me alway!’

La D.
‘Of your disese ye may have allegeaunce;
And as for myn, I lete it over-shake.
Also, ye shal not dye for my plesaunce,
Nor for your hele I can no surety make.
I nil nat hate myn hert for others sake;
Wepe they, laugh they, or sing, this I waraunt,
For this mater so wel to undertake
That non of you shal make therof avaunt!’

Lam.
‘I can no skil of song; by god aloon,
I have more cause to wepe in your presence;
And wel I wot, avauntour am I noon,
For certainly, I love better silence.
Oon shuld nat love by his hertes credence
But he were sure to kepe it secretly;
For avauntour is of no reverence
Whan that his tonge is his most enemy.’

La D.
‘Male-bouche in courte hath greet commaundement;
Ech man studieth to say the worst he may.
These fals lovers, in this tyme now present,
They serve to boste, to jangle as a jay.
The most secret wil wel that some men say
How he mistrusted is on some partyes;
Wherfore to ladies what men speke or pray,
It shuld not be bileved in no wyse.’

323

Lam.
‘Of good and il shal be, and is alway;
The world is such; the erth it is not playn.
They that be good, the preve sheweth every day,
And otherwyse, gret villany, certayn.
Is it resoun, though oon his tonge distayne
With cursed speche, to do him-self a shame,
That such refuse shuld wrongfully remayne
Upon the good, renommed in their fame?’

La D.
‘Suche as be nought, whan they here tydings newe,
That ech trespas shal lightly have pardoun,
They that purposen to be good and trewe—
Wel set by noble disposicioun
To continue in good condicioun—
They are the first that fallen in damage,
And ful freely their hertes abandoun
To litel faith, with softe and fayr langage.’

Lam.
‘Now knowe I wel, of very certayntè,
Though oon do trewly, yet shal he be shent,
Sith al maner of justice and pitè
Is banisshed out of a ladyes entent.
I can nat see but al is at oo stent,
The good and il, the vyce and eek vertue!
Suche as be good shal have the punishment
For the trespas of hem that been untrewe!’

La D.
‘I have no power you to do grevaunce,
Nor to punisshe non other creature;
But, to eschewe the more encomberaunce,
To kepe us from you al, I holde it sure.
Fals semblaunce hath a visage ful demure,
Lightly to cacche the ladies in a-wayt;
324

Wherefore we must, if that we wil endure,
Make right good watch; lo! this is my conceyt.’

Lam.
‘Sith that of grace oo goodly word aloon
May not be had, but alway kept in store,
I pele to god, for he may here my moon,
Of the duresse, which greveth me so sore.
And of pitè I pleyn me further-more,
Which he forgat, in al his ordinaunce,
Or els my lyf to have ended before,
Which he so sone put out of rémembraunce.’

La D.
‘My hert, nor I, have don you no forfeyt,
By which ye shulde complayne in any kynde.
There hurteth you nothing but your conceyt;
Be juge your-self; for so ye shal it fynde.
Ones for alway let this sinke in your mynde—
That ye desire shal never rejoysed be!
Ye noy me sore, in wasting al this wynde;
For I have sayd y-nough, as semeth me.’

Verba Auctoris.

This woful man roos up in al his payne,
And so parted, with weping countenaunce;
His woful hert almost to-brast in twayne,
Ful lyke to dye, forth walking in a traunce,
And sayd, ‘Now, deeth, com forth! thy-self avaunce,
Or that myn hert forgete his propertè;
And make shorter al this woful penaunce
Of my pore lyfe, ful of adversitè!’
Fro thens he went, but whider wist I nought,
Nor to what part he drow, in sothfastnesse;
325

But he no more was in his ladies thought,
For to the daunce anon she gan her dresse.
And afterward, oon tolde me thus expresse,
He rente his heer, for anguissh and for payne,
And in him-self took so gret hevinesse
That he was deed, within a day or twayne.

Lenvoy.

Ye trew lovers, this I beseche you al,
Such avantours, flee hem in every wyse,
And as people defamed ye hem cal;
For they, trewly, do you gret prejudyse.
Refus hath mad for al such flateryes
His castelles strong, stuffed with ordinaunce,
For they have had long tyme, by their offyce,
The hool countrè of Love in obeysaunce.
And ye, ladyes, or what estat ye be,
In whom Worship hath chose his dwelling-place,
For goddes love, do no such crueltè,
Namely, to hem that have deserved grace.
Nor in no wyse ne folowe not the trace
Of her, that here is named rightwisly,
Which by resoun, me semeth, in this case
May be called La Belle Dame sans Mercy.

Verba Translatoris.

Go, litel book! god sende thee good passage!
Chese wel thy way; be simple of manere;
Loke thy clothing be lyke thy pilgrimage,
And specially, let this be thy prayere
Un-to hem al that thee wil rede or here,
Wher thou art wrong, after their help to cal
Thee to correcte in any part or al.
326

Pray hem also, with thyn humble servyce,
Thy boldënesse to pardon in this case;
For els thou art not able, in no wyse,
To make thy-self appere in any place.
And furthermore, beseche hem, of their grace,
By their favour and supportacioun,
To take in gree this rude translacioun,
The which, god wot, standeth ful destitute
Of eloquence, of metre, and of coloures,
Wild as a beest, naked, without refute,
Upon a playne to byde al maner shoures.
I can no more, but aske of hem socoures
At whos request thou mad were in this wyse,
Commaunding me with body and servyse.
Right thus I make an ende of this processe,
Beseching him that al hath in balaunce
That no trew man be vexed, causëlesse,
As this man was, which is of rémembraunce;
And al that doon their faythful observaunce,
And in their trouth purpose hem to endure,
I pray god sende hem better aventure.
Explicit.
359

XIX. ENVOY TO ALISON.

O lewde book, with thy foole rudenesse,
Sith thou hast neither beautee n'eloquence,
Who hath thee caused, or yeve thee hardinesse
For to appere in my ladyes presence?
I am ful siker, thou knowest her benivolence
Ful ágreable to alle hir obeyinge;
For of al goode she is the best livinge.
Allas! that thou ne haddest worthinesse
To shewe to her som plesaunt sentence,
Sith that she hath, thorough her gentilesse,
Accepted thee servant to her digne reverence!
O, me repenteth that I n'had science
And leyser als, to make thee more florisshinge;
For of al goode she is the best livinge.
Beseche her mekely, with al lowlinesse,
Though I be fer from her [as] in absence,
To thenke on my trouth to her and stedfastnesse,
And to abregge of my sorwe the violence,
Which caused is wherof knoweth your sapience;
She lyke among to notifye me her lykinge;
For of al goode she is the best livinge.
360

Lenvoy.

Aurore of gladnesse, and day of lustinesse,
Lucerne a-night, with hevenly influence
Illumined, rote of beautee and goodnesse,
Suspiries which I effunde in silence,
Of grace I beseche, alegge let your wrytinge,
Now of al goode sith ye be best livinge.
Explicit.
361

XX. THE FLOWER AND THE LEAF.

When that Phebus his chaire of gold so hy
Had whirled up the sterry sky aloft,
And in the Bole was entred certainly;
Whan shoures swete of rain discended soft,
Causing the ground, felë tymes and oft,
Up for to give many an hoolsom air,
And every plain was [eek y-]clothed fair
With newe grene, and maketh smalë floures
To springen here and there in feld and mede;
So very good and hoolsom be the shoures
That it reneweth, that was old and deede
In winter-tyme; and out of every seede
Springeth the herbë, so that every wight
Of this sesoun wexeth [ful] glad and light.
And I, só glad of the seson swete,
Was happed thus upon a certain night;
As I lay in my bed, sleep ful unmete
Was unto me; but, why that I ne might
Rest, I ne wist; for there nas erthly wight,
As I suppose, had more hertës ese
Than I, for I n'ad siknesse nor disese.
362

Wherfore I mervail gretly of my-selve,
That I so long, withouten sleepë lay;
And up I roos, three houres after twelve,
About the [very] springing of the day,
And on I put my gere and myn array;
And to a plesaunt grovë I gan passe,
Long or the brightë sonne uprisen was,
In which were okës grete, streight as a lyne,
Under the which the gras, so fresh of hew,
Was newly spronge; and an eight foot or nyne
Every tree wel fro his felawe grew,
With braunches brode, laden with leves new,
That sprongen out ayein the sonnë shene,
Som very rede, and som a glad light grene;
Which, as me thought, was right a plesaunt sight.
And eek the briddes song[ës] for to here
Would have rejoised any erthly wight.
And I, that couth not yet, in no manere,
Here the nightingale of al the yere,
Ful busily herkned, with herte and ere,
If I her voice perceive coud any-where.
And at the last, a path of litel brede
I found, that gretly had not used be,
For it forgrowen was with gras and weede,
That wel unneth a wight [ther] might it see.
Thought I, this path som whider goth, pardè,
And so I folowèd, til it me brought
To right a plesaunt herber, wel y-wrought,
That benched was, and [al] with turves new
Freshly turved, wherof the grenë gras
So small, so thik, so short, so fresh of hew,
That most lyk to grene wol, wot I, it was.
363

The hegge also, that yede [as] in compas
And closed in al the grene herbere,
With sicamour was set and eglantere,
Writhen in-fere so wel and cunningly
That every braunch and leef grew by mesure,
Plain as a bord, of on height, by and by,
[That] I sy never thing, I you ensure,
So wel [y-]don; for he that took the cure
It [for] to make, I trow, did al his peyn
To make it passe al tho that men have seyn.
And shapen was this herber, roof and al,
As [is] a prety parlour, and also
The hegge as thik as [is] a castle-wal,
That, who that list without to stond or go,
Though he wold al-day pryen to and fro,
He shuld not see if there were any wight
Within or no; but oon within wel might
Perceive al tho that yeden there-without
In the feld, that was on every syde
Covered with corn and gras, that, out of dout,
Though oon wold seeken al the world wyde,
So rich a feld [ne] coud not be espyed
[Up]on no cost, as of the quantitee,
For of al good thing ther was [greet] plentee.
And I, that al this plesaunt sight [than] sy,
Thought sodainly I felt so sweet an air
[Come] of the eglantere, that certainly,
Ther is no hert, I deme, in such despair,
Ne with [no] thoughtës froward and contrair
So overlaid, but it shuld soone have bote,
If it had onës felt this savour sote.
364

And as I stood and cast asyde myn y,
I was ware of the fairest medle-tree
That ever yet in al my lyf I sy,
As full of blossomës as it might be.
Therin a goldfinch leping pretily
Fro bough to bough, and, as him list, he eet
Here and there, of buddes and floures sweet.
And to the herber-sydë was joining
This fairë tree, of which I have you told;
And, at the last, the brid began to sing,
Whan he had eten what he etë wold,
So passing sweetly, that, by manifold,
It was more plesaunt than I coud devyse;
And whan his song was ended in this wyse,
The nightingale with so mery a note
Answéred him, that al the wodë rong
So sodainly, that, as it were a sot,
I stood astonied; so was I with the song
Through ravishèd, that, [un]til late and long
Ne wist I in what place I was, ne where;
And ay, me thought, she song even by myn ere.
Wherfore about I waited busily
On every syde, if I her mightë see;
And, at the last, I gan ful wel aspy
Wher she sat in a fresh green laurer-tree
On the further syde, even right by me,
That gave so passing a delicious smel
According to the eglantere ful wel.
Wherof I had so inly greet plesyr
That, as me thought, I surely ravished was
Into Paradyse, where my desyr
Was for to be, and no ferther [to] passe
365

As for that day, and on the sotë gras
I sat me doun; for, as for myn entent,
The birdës song was more convenient,
And more plesaunt to me, by many fold,
Than mete or drink, or any other thing;
Thereto the herber was so fresh and cold,
The hoolsom savours eek so comforting
That, as I demed, sith the beginning
Of the world, was never seen, or than,
So plesaunt a ground of non erthly man.
And as I sat, the briddës herkning thus,
Me thought that I herd voices sodainly,
The most sweetest and most delicious
That ever any wight, I trow trewly,
Herde in his lyf, for [that] the armony
And sweet accord was in so good musyk,
Thát the voice to angels most was lyk.
At the last, out of a grove even by,

The Leaf.


That was right goodly and plesaunt to sight,
I sy where there cam singing lustily
A world of ladies; but to tell aright
Their greet beautè, it lyth not in my might,
Ne their array; nevertheless, I shal
Tell you a part, though I speke not of al.
In surcotes whyte, of veluet wel sitting,
They were [y-]clad; and the semes echoon,
As it were a maner garnishing,
Was set with emeraudës, oon and oon,
By and by; but many a richë stoon
Was set [up-]on the purfils, out of dout,
Of colors, sleves, and trainës round about;
366

As gret[e] perlës, round and orient,
Diamondës fyne and rubies rede,
And many another stoon, of which I want
The namës now; and everich on her hede
A richë fret of gold, which, without drede,
Was ful of statly richë stonës set;
And every lady had a chapëlet
On her hede, of [leves] fresh and grene,
So wel [y-]wrought, and so mervéilously,
Thát it was a noble sight to sene;
Some of laurer, and some ful plesauntly
Had chapëlets of woodbind, and sadly
Some of agnus-castus ware also
Chápëlets fresh; but there were many tho
That daunced and eek song ful soberly;
But al they yede in maner of compas.
But oon ther yede in-mid the company.
Sole by her-self; but al folowed the pace
[Which] that she kept, whos hevenly-figured face
So plesaunt was, and her wel-shape persòn,
That of beautè she past hem everichon.
And more richly beseen, by manifold,
She was also, in every maner thing;
On her heed, ful plesaunt to behold,
A crowne of gold, rich for any king;
A braunch of agnus-castus eek bering
In her hand; and, to my sight, trewly,
She lady was of [al] the company.
And she began a roundel lustily,
That Sus le foyl de vert moy men call,
Seen, et mon joly cuer endormi;
And than the company answéred all
367

With voice[s] swete entuned and so small,
That me thought it the sweetest melody
That ever I herdë in my lyf, soothly.
And thus they came[n], dauncing and singing,
Into the middes of the mede echone,
Before the herber, where I was sitting,
And, god wot, me thought I was wel bigon;
For than I might avyse hem, on by on,
Who fairest was, who coud best dance or sing,
Or who most womanly was in al thing.
They had not daunced but a litel throw
When that I herd, not fer of, sodainly
So greet a noise of thundring trumpës blow,
As though it shuld have départed the sky;
And, after that, within a whyle I sy
From the same grove, where the ladyes come out,
Of men of armës coming such a rout
As al the men on erth had been assembled
In that place, wel horsed for the nones,
Stering so fast, that al the erth[ë] trembled;
But for to speke of riches and [of] stones,
And men and hors, I trow, the largë wones
Of Prester John, ne al his tresory
Might not unneth have bought the tenth party!
Of their array who-so list herë more,
I shal reherse, so as I can, a lyte.
Out of the grove, that I spak of before,
I sy come first, al in their clokes whyte,
A company, that ware, for their delyt,
Chapëlets fresh of okës cereal
Newly spronge, and trumpets they were al.
368

On every trumpe hanging a brood banere
Of fyn tartarium, were ful richly bete;
Every trumpet his lordës armës bere;
About their nekkës, with gret perlës set,
Colers brode; for cost they would not lete,
As it would seme; for their scochones echoon
Were set about with many a precious stoon.
Their hors-harneys was al whyte also;
And after hem next, in on company,
Cámë kingës of armës, and no mo,
In clokës of whyte cloth of gold, richly;
Chapelets of greene on their hedes on hy,
The crownës that they on their scochones bere
Were set with perlë, ruby, and saphere,
And eek gret diamondës many on;
But al their hors-harneys and other gere
Was in a sute according, everichon,
As ye have herd the foresayd trumpets were;
And, by seeming, they were nothing to lere;
And their gyding they did so manerly.
And after hem cam a greet company
Of heraudës and pursevauntës eke
Arrayed in clothës of whyt veluët;
And hardily, they were nothing to seke
How they [up]on hem shuld the harneys set;
And every man had on a chapëlet;
Scóchones and eke hors-harneys, indede,
They had in sute of hem that before hem yede.
Next after hem, came in armour bright,
Al save their hedes, seemely knightës nyne;
And every clasp and nail, as to my sight,
Of their harneys, were of red gold fyne;
369

With cloth of gold, and furred with ermyne
Were the trappurës of their stedës strong,
Wyde and large, that to the ground did hong;
And every bosse of brydel and peitrel
That they had, was worth, as I would wene,
A thousand pound; and on their hedës, wel
Dressed, were crownës [al] of laurer grene,
The best [y-]mad that ever I had seen;
And every knight had after him ryding
Three henshmen, [up]on him awaiting;
Of whiche the first, upon a short tronchoun,
His lordës helme[t] bar, so richly dight,
That the worst was worth[y] the raunsoun
Of a[ny] king; the second a sheld bright
Bar at his nekke; the thridde bar upright
A mighty spere, ful sharpe [y-]ground and kene;
And every child ware, of leves grene,
A fresh chapelet upon his heres bright;
And clokes whyte, of fyn veluet they ware;
Their stedës trapped and [a]rayed right
Without[en] difference, as their lordës were.
And after hem, on many a fresh co[u]rsere,
There came of armed knightës such a rout
That they besprad the largë feld about.
And al they ware[n], after their degrees,
Chapëlets new, made of laurer grene,
Some of oke, and some of other trees;
Some in their handës berë boughës shene,
Some of laurer, and some of okës kene,
Some of hawthorn, and some of woodbind,
And many mo, which I had not in mind.
370

And so they came, their hors freshly stering
With bloody sownës of hir trompës loud;
Ther sy I many an uncouth disgysing
In the array of these knightës proud;
And at the last, as evenly as they coud,
They took their places in-middes of the mede,
And every knight turned his horse[s] hede
To his felawe, and lightly laid a spere
In the [a]rest, and so justës began
On every part about[en], here and there;
Som brak his spere, som drew down hors and man;
About the feld astray the stedës ran;
And, to behold their rule and governaunce,
I you ensure, it was a greet plesaunce.
And so the justës last an houre and more;
But tho that crowned were in laurer grene
Wan the pryse; their dintës were so sore
That ther was non ayenst hem might sustene;
And [than] the justing al was left of clene;
And fro their hors the nine alight anon;
And so did al the remnant everichon.
And forth they yede togider, twain and twain,
That to behold, it was a worldly sight,
Toward the ladies on the grenë plain,
That song and daunced, as I sayd now right.
The ladies, as soone as they goodly might,
They breke[n] of both the song and dance,
And yede to mete hem, with ful glad semblance.
And every lady took, ful womanly,
Bý the hond a knight, and forth they yede
Unto a fair laurer that stood fast by,
With levës lade, the boughës of gret brede;
And to my dome, there never was, indede,
371

[A] man that had seen half so fair a tree;
For underneth it there might wel have be
An hundred persons, at their own plesaunce,
Shadowed fro the hete of Phebus bright
So that they shuld have felt no [greet] grevaunce
Of rain, ne hail, that hem hurt[ë] might.
The savour eek rejoice would any wight
That had be sick or melancolious,
It was so very good and vertuous.
And with gret reverence they enclyned low
[Un]to the tree, so sote and fair of hew;
And after that, within a litel throw,
Bigonne they to sing and daunce of-new;
Some song of love, some playning of untrew,
Environing the tree that stood upright;
And ever yede a lady and a knight.
And at the last I cast myn eye asyde,

The Flower.


And was ware of a lusty company
That came, roming out of the feld wyde,
Hond in hond, a knight and a lady;
The ladies alle in surcotes, that richly
Purfyled were with many a riche stoon;
And every knight of greene ware mantles on,
Embrouded wel, so as the surcotes were,
And everich had a chapelet on her hede;
Which did right wel upon the shyning here,
Made of goodly floures, whyte and rede.
The knightës eke, that they in hond lede,
In sute of hem, ware chapelets everichon;
And hem before went minstrels many on,
As harpës, pypës, lutës, and sautry,
Al in greene; and on their hedës bare
Of dyvers flourës, mad ful craftily,
372

Al in a sute, goodly chapelets they ware;
And so, dauncing, into the mede they fare,
In-mid the which they found a tuft that was
Al oversprad with flourës in compas.
Where[un]to they enclyned everichon
With greet reverence, and that ful humblely;
And, at the last[ë], there began anon
A lady for to sing right womanly
A bargaret in praising the daisy;
For, as me thought, among her notës swete,
She sayd, ‘Si doucë est la Margarete.’
Thén they al answéred her infere,
So passingly wel, and so plesauntly,
Thát it was a blisful noise to here.
But I not [how], it happed sodainly,
As, about noon, the sonne so fervently
Wex hoot, that [al] the prety tender floures
Had lost the beautè of hir fresh coloures,
For-shronk with hete; the ladies eek to-brent,
That they ne wist where they hem might bestow.
The knightës swelt, for lak of shade ny shent;
And after that, within a litel throw,
The wind began so sturdily to blow,
That down goth al the flourës everichon
So that in al the mede there laft not on,
Save suche as socoured were, among the leves,
Fro every storme, that might hem assail,
Growing under hegges and thikke greves;
And after that, there came a storm of hail
And rain in-fere, so that, withouten fail,
The ladies ne the knightës n'ade o threed
Drye [up]on hem, so dropping was hir weed.
373

And when the storm was clene passed away,
Tho [clad] in whyte, that stood under the tree,
They felt[ë] nothing of the grete affray,
That they in greene without had in y-be.
To hem they yedë for routh and pitè,
Hem to comfort after their greet disese;
So fain they were the helpless for to ese.
Then was I ware how oon of hem in grene
Had on a crown[ë], rich and wel sitting;
Wherfore I demed wel she was a quene,
And tho in greene on her were awaiting.
The ladies then in whyte that were coming
Toward[ës] hem, and the knightës in-fere
Began to comfort hem and make hem chere.
The quene in whyte, that was of grete beautè,
Took by the hond the queen that was in grene,
And said, ‘Suster, I have right greet pitè
Of your annoy, and of the troublous tene
Wherein ye and your company have been
So long, alas! and, if that it you plese
To go with me, I shal do you the ese
In al the pleisir that I can or may.’
Wherof the tother, humbly as she might,
Thanked her; for in right ill aray
She was, with storm and hete, I you behight.
And every lady then, anon-right,
That were in whyte, oon of hem took in grene
By the hond; which when the knightes had seen,
In lyke wyse, ech of hem took a knight
Clad in grene, and forth with hem they fare
[Un]to an heggë, where they, anon-right,
To make their justës, [lo!] they would not spare
Boughës to hew down, and eek treës square,
374

Wherewith they made hem stately fyres grete
To dry their clothës that were wringing wete.
And after that, of herbës that there grew,
They made, for blisters of the sonne brenning,
Very good and hoolsom ointments new,
Where that they yede, the sick fast anointing;
And after that, they yede about gadring
Plesaunt saladës, which they made hem ete,
For to refresh their greet unkindly hete.
The lady of the Leef then gan to pray
Her of the Flour, (for so to my seeming
They should[ë] be, as by their [quaint] array),
To soupe with her; and eek, for any thing,
That she should with her al her people bring.
And she ayein, in right goodly manere,
Thanketh her of her most freendly chere,
Saying plainly, that she would obey
With al her hert al her commaundëment.
And then anon, without lenger delay,
The lady of the Leef hath oon y-sent
For a palfray, [as] after her intent,
Arayed wel and fair in harneys of gold,
For nothing lakked, that to him long shold.
And after that, to al her company
She made to purvey hors and every thing
That they needed; and then, ful lustily,
Even by the herber where I was sitting,
They passed al, so plesantly singing,
That it would have comfórted any wight;
But then I sy a passing wonder sight:—
For then the nightingale, that al the day
Had in the laurer sete, and did her might
The hool servyse to sing longing to May,
375

Al sodainly [be]gan to take her flight;
And to the lady of the Leef forthright
She flew, and set her on her hond softly,
Which was a thing I marveled of gretly.
The goldfinch eek, that fro the medle-tree
Was fled, for hete, into the bushes cold,
Unto the lady of the Flour gan flee,
And on her hond he set him, as he wold,
And plesantly his wingës gan to fold;
And for to sing they pained hem both as sore
As they had do of al the day before.
And so these ladies rood forth a gret pace,
And al the rout of knightës eek in-fere;
And I, that had seen al this wonder case,
Thought [that] I would assay, in some manere,
To know fully the trouth of this matere,
And what they were that rood so plesantly.
And, when they were the herber passed by,
I drest me forth, and happed to mete anon
Right a fair lady, I you ensure;
And she cam ryding by herself aloon,
Al in whyte, with semblance ful demure.
I salued her, and bad good aventure
Might her befall, as I coud most humbly;
And she answered, ‘My doughter, gramercy!’
‘Madam,’ quod I, ‘if that I durst enquere
Of you, I wold fain, of that company,
Wit what they be that past by this herbere?’
And she ayein answéred right freendly:
‘My fair daughter, al tho that passed hereby
In whyte clothing, be servants everichoon
Unto the Leef, and I my-self am oon.
376

See ye not her that crowned is,’ quod she,
‘Al in whyte?’ ‘Madamë,’ quod I, ‘yis!’
‘That is Diane, goddesse of chastitè;
And, for bicause that she a maiden is,
In her hond the braunch she bereth, this
That agnus-castus men call properly;
And alle the ladies in her company
Which ye see of that herb[ë] chaplets were,
Be such as han kept ay hir maidenhede;
And al they that of laurer chaplets bere
Be such as hardy were and wan, indede,
Victorious name which never may be dede.
And al they were so worthy of hir hond,
[As] in hir tyme, that non might hem withstond.
And tho that werë chapelets on hir hede
Of fresh woodbind, be such as never were
To love untrew in word, [ne] thought, ne dede,
But ay stedfast; ne for plesaunce, ne fere,
Though that they shuld hir hertës al to-tere,
Would never flit, but ever were stedfast,
Til that their lyves there asunder brast.’
‘Now, fair madam,’ quod I, ‘yet I would pray
Your ladiship, if that it might be,
That I might know[ë], by some maner way,
Sith that it hath [y-]lyked your beautè,
The trouth of these ladies for to tel me;
What that these knightës be, in rich armour;
And what tho be in grene, and were the flour;
And why that some did reverence to the tree,
And some unto the plot of flourës fair?’
‘With right good wil, my fair doughter,’ quod she,
‘Sith your desyr is good and debonair.
377

Tho nine, crownèd, be very exemplair
Of all honour longing to chivalry,
And those, certain, be called the Nine Worthy,
Which ye may see [here] ryding al before,
That in hir tyme did many a noble dede,
And, for their worthines, ful oft have bore
The crowne of laurer-leves on their hede,
As ye may in your old[ë] bokes rede;
And how that he, that was a conquerour,
Had by laurer alway his most honour.
And tho that bere boughës in their hond
Of the precious laurer so notáble,
Be such as were, I wol ye understond,
Noble knightës of the Round[ë] Table,
And eek the Douseperes honourable;
Which they bere in signe of victory,
As witness of their dedes mightily.
Eek there be knightës olde of the Garter,
That in hir tyme did right worthily;
And the honour they did to the laurer
Is, for by [it] they have their laud hoolly,
Their triumph eek, and martial glory;
Which unto hem is more parfyt richesse
Than any wight imagine can or gesse.
For oon leef given of that noble tree
To any wight that hath don worthily,
And it be doon so as it ought to be,
Is more honour then any thing erthly.
Witnesse of Rome that founder was, truly,
Of all knighthood and dedës marvelous;
Record I take of Titus Livius.
And as for her that crowned is in greene,
It is Flora, of these flourës goddesse;
378

And al that here on her awaiting been,
It are such [folk] that loved idlenes,
And not delyte [had] of no busines
But for to hunt and hauke, and pley in medes,
And many other such [lyk] idle dedes.
And for the greet delyt and [the] plesaunce
They have [un]to the flour, so reverently
They unto it do such [gret] obeisaunce,
As ye may see.’ ‘Now, fair madame,’ quod I,
‘If I durst ask what is the cause and why
That knightës have the signe of [al] honour
Rather by the Leef than by the Flour?’
‘Sothly, doughter,’ quod she, ‘this is the trouth:
For knightës ever should be persévering,
To seeke honour without feintyse or slouth,
Fro wele to better, in al maner thing;
In signe of which, with Levës ay lasting
They be rewarded after their degree,
Whos lusty grene may not appeired be,
But ay keping hir beautè fresh and greene;
For there nis storm [non] that may hem deface,
Hail nor snow, wind nor frostës kene;
Wherfore they have this propertè and grace.
And for the Flour within a litel space
Wol be [y-]lost, so simple of nature
They be, that they no grevance may endure,
And every storm wil blow hem sone away,
Ne they last not but [as] for a sesoun,
That is the cause, the very trouth to say,
That they may not, by no way of resoun,
Be put to no such occupacioun.’
379

‘Madame,’ quod I, ‘with al my hool servyse
I thank you now, in my most humble wyse.
For now I am acértainèd throughly
Of every thing I désired to know.’
‘I am right glad that I have said, sothly,
Ought to your pleysir, if ye wil me trow,’
Quod she ayein, ‘but to whom do ye ow
Your servyce? and which wil ye honour,
Tel me, I pray, this yeer, the Leef or Flour?’
‘Madame,’ quod I, ‘though I [be] leest worthy,
Unto the Leef I ow myn observaunce.’
‘That is,’ quod she, ‘right wel don, certainly,
And I pray god to honour you avaunce,
And kepe you fro the wikked rémembraunce
Of Male-Bouche, and al his crueltè;
And alle that good and wel-condicioned be.
For here may I no lenger now abyde,
I must folowe the gret[ë] company
That ye may see yonder before you ryde.’
And forth[right], as I couth, most humblely,
I took my leve of her as she gan hy
After hem, as fast as ever she might;
And I drow hoomward, for it was nigh night;
And put al that I had seen in wryting,
Under support of hem that lust it rede.
O litel book, thou art so unconning,
How darst thou put thy-self in prees for drede?
It is wonder that thou wexest not rede,
Sith that thou wost ful lyte who shal behold
Thy rude langage, ful boistously unfold.
Explicit.
380

XXI. THE ASSEMBLY OF LADIES.

In Septembre, at the falling of the leef,
The fressh sesoun was al-togider doon,
And of the corn was gadered in the sheef;
In a gardyn, about twayn after noon,
Ther were ladyes walking, as was her wone,
Foure in nombre, as to my mynd doth falle,
And I the fifte, the simplest of hem alle.
Of gentilwomen fayre ther were also,
Disporting hem, everiche after her gyse,
In crosse-aleys walking, by two and two,
And some alone, after her fantasyes.
Thus occupyed we were in dyvers wyse;
And yet, in trouthe, we were not al alone;
Ther were knightës and squyers many one.
‘Wherof I served?’ oon of hem asked me;
I sayde ayein, as it fel in my thought,
‘To walke about the mase, in certayntè,
As a woman that [of] nothing rought.’
He asked me ayein—‘whom that I sought,
And of my colour why I was so pale?’
‘Forsothe,’ quod I, ‘and therby lyth a tale.’
381

‘That must me wite,’ quod he, ‘and that anon;
Tel on, let see, and make no tarying.’
‘Abyd,’ quod I, ‘ye been a hasty oon,
I let you wite it is no litel thing.
But, for bicause ye have a greet longing
In your desyr, this proces for to here,
I shal you tel the playn of this matere.—
It happed thus, that, in an after-noon,
My felawship and I, by oon assent,
Whan al our other besinesse was doon,
To passe our tyme, into this mase we went,
And toke our wayes, eche after our entent;
Some went inward, and wend they had gon out,
Some stode amid, and loked al about.
And, sooth to say, some were ful fer behind,
And right anon as ferforth as the best;
Other ther were, so mased in her mind,
Al wayes were good for hem, bothe eest and west.
Thus went they forth, and had but litel rest;
And some, her corage did hem sore assayle,
For very wrath, they did step over the rayle!
And as they sought hem-self thus to and fro,
I gat myself a litel avauntage;
Al for-weried, I might no further go,
Though I had won right greet, for my viage.
So com I forth into a strait passage,
Which brought me to an herber fair and grene,
Mad with benches, ful craftily and clene,
That, as me thought, ther might no crëature
Devyse a better, by dew proporcioun;
Safe it was closed wel, I you ensure,
382

With masonry of compas enviroun,
Ful secretly, with stayres going doun
Inmiddes the place, with turning wheel, certayn;
And upon that, a pot of marjolain;
With margarettes growing in ordinaunce,
To shewe hemself, as folk went to and fro,
That to beholde it was a greet plesaunce,
And how they were acompanyed with mo
Ne-m'oublie-mies and sovenez also;
The povre pensees were not disloged there;
No, no! god wot, her place was every-where!
The flore beneth was paved faire and smothe
With stones square, of many dyvers hew,
So wel joynëd that, for to say the sothe,
Al semed oon (who that non other knew);
And underneth, the stremës new and new,
As silver bright, springing in suche a wyse
That, whence it cam, ye coude it not devyse.
A litel whyle thus was I al alone,
Beholding wel this délectable place;
My felawship were coming everichone,
So must me nedes abyde, as for a space.
Rememb[e]ring of many dyvers cace
Of tyme passed, musing with sighes depe,
I set me doun, and ther I fel a-slepe.
And, as I slept, me thought ther com to me
A gentilwoman, metely of stature;
Of greet worship she semed for to be,
Atyred wel, not high, but by mesure;
Her countenaunce ful sad and ful demure;
383

Her colours blewe, al that she had upon;
Ther com no mo [there] but herself aloon.
Her gown was wel embrouded, certainly,
With sovenez, after her own devyse;
On her purfyl her word [was] by and by
Bien et loyalment, as I coud devyse.
Than prayde I her, in every maner wyse
That of her name I might have remembraunce;
She sayd, she called was Perséveraunce.
So furthermore to speke than was I bold,
Where she dwelled, I prayed her for to say;
And she again ful curteysly me told,
“My dwelling is, and hath ben many a day
With a lady.”—“What lady, I you pray?”
“Of greet estate, thus warne I you,” quod she;
“What cal ye her?”—“Her name is Loyaltè.”
“In what offyce stand ye, or in what degrè?”
Quod I to her, “that wolde I wit right fayn.”
“I am,” quod she, “unworthy though I be,
Of her chambre her ussher, in certayn;
This rod I bere, as for a token playn,
Lyke as ye know the rule in such servyce
Pertayning is unto the same offyce.
She charged me, by her commaundëment,
To warn you and your felawes everichon,
That ye shuld come there as she is present,
For a counsayl, which shal be now anon,
Or seven dayës be comen and gon.
And furthermore, she bad that I shuld say
Excuse there might be non, nor [no] delay.
384

Another thing was nigh forget behind
Whiche in no wyse I wolde but ye it knew;
Remembre wel, and bere it in your mind,
Al your felawes and ye must come in blew,
Every liche able your maters for to sew;
With more, which I pray you thinke upon,
Your wordës on your slevës everichon.
And be not ye abasshed in no wyse,
As many been in suche an high presence;
Mak your request as ye can best devyse,
And she gladly wol yeve you audience.
There is no greef, ne no maner offence,
Wherin ye fele that your herte is displesed,
But with her help right sone ye shul be esed.”
“I am right glad,” quod I, “ye tel me this,
But there is non of us that knoweth the way.”
“As of your way,” quod she, “ye shul not mis,
Ye shul have oon to gyde you, day by day,
Of my felawes (I can no better say)
Suche oon as shal tel you the way ful right;
And Diligence this gentilwoman hight.
A woman of right famous governaunce,
And wel cherisshed, I tel you in certayn;
Her felawship shal do you greet plesaunce.
Her port is suche, her maners trewe and playn;
She with glad chere wol do her besy payn
To bring you there; now farwel, I have don.”
“Abyde,” sayd I, “ye may not go so sone.”
“Why so?” quod she, “and I have fer to go
To yeve warning in many dyvers place
To your felawes, and so to other mo;
And wel ye wot, I have but litel space.”
385

“Now yet,” quod I, “ye must tel me this cace,
If we shal any man unto us cal?”
“Not oon,” quod she, “may come among you al.”
“Not oon,” quod I, “ey! benedicite!
What have they don? I pray you tel me that!”
“Now, by my lyf, I trow but wel,” quod she;
“But ever I can bileve there is somwhat,
And, for to say you trouth, more can I nat;
In questiouns I may nothing be large,
I medle no further than is my charge.”
“Than thus,” quod I, “do me to understand,
What place is there this lady is dwelling?”
“Forsothe,” quod she, “and oon sought al this land,
Fairer is noon, though it were for a king
Devysed wel, and that in every thing.
The toures hy ful plesaunt shul ye find,
With fanes fressh, turning with every wind.
The chambres and parlours both of oo sort,
With bay-windowes, goodly as may be thought,
As for daunsing and other wyse disport;
The galeryes right wonder wel y-wrought,
That I wel wot, if ye were thider brought.
And took good hede therof in every wyse,
Ye wold it thinke a very paradyse.”
“What hight this place?” quod I; “now say me that.”
“Plesaunt Regard,” quod she, “to tel you playn.”
“Of verray trouth,” quod I, “and, wot ye what,
It may right wel be called so, certayn;
But furthermore, this wold I wit ful fayn,
386

What shulde I do as sone as I come there,
And after whom that I may best enquere?”
“A gentilwoman, a porter at the yate
There shal ye find; her name is Countenaunce;
If it so hap ye come erly or late,
Of her were good to have som acquaintaunce.
She can tel how ye shal you best avaunce,
And how to come to her ladyes presence;
To her wordës I rede you yeve credence.
Now it is tyme that I depart you fro;
For, in good sooth, I have gret businesse.”
“I wot right wel,” quod I, “that it is so;
And I thank you of your gret gentilnesse.
Your comfort hath yeven me suche hardinesse
That now I shal be bold, withouten fayl,
To do after your ávyse and counsayl.”
Thus parted she, and I lefte al aloon;
With that I saw, as I beheld asyde,
A woman come, a verray goodly oon;
And forth withal, as I had her aspyed,
Me thought anon, [that] it shuld be the gyde;
And of her name anon I did enquere.
Ful womanly she yave me this answere.
“I am,” quod she, “a simple crëature
Sent from the court; my name is Diligence.
As sone as I might come, I you ensure,
I taried not, after I had licence;
And now that I am come to your presence,
Look, what servyce that I can do or may,
Commaundë me; I can no further say.”
I thanked her, and prayed her to come nere,
Because I wold see how she were arayed;
387

Her gown was blew, dressed in good manere
With her devyse, her word also, that sayd
Tant que je puis; and I was wel apayd;
For than wist I, withouten any more,
It was ful trew, that I had herd before.
“Though we took now before a litel space,
It were ful good,” quod she, “as I coud gesse.”
“How fer,” quod I, “have we unto that place?”
“A dayes journey,” quod she, “but litel lesse;
Wherfore I redë that we onward dresse;
For, I suppose, our felawship is past,
And for nothing I wold that we were last.”
Than parted we, at springing of the day,
And forth we wente [a] soft and esy pace,
Til, at the last, we were on our journey
So fer onward, that we might see the place.
“Now let us rest,” quod I, “a litel space,
And say we, as devoutly as we can,
A pater-noster for saint Julian.”
“With al my herte, I assent with good wil;
Much better shul we spede, whan we have don.”
Than taried we, and sayd it every del.
And whan the day was fer gon after noon,
We saw a place, and thider cam we sone,
Which rounde about was closed with a wal,
Seming to me ful lyke an hospital.
Ther found I oon, had brought al myn aray,
A gentilwoman of myn aquaintaunce.
“I have mervayl,” quod I, “what maner way
Ye had knowlege of al this ordenaunce.”
“Yis, yis,” quod she, “I herd Perséveraunce,
388

How she warned your felawes everichon,
And what aray that ye shulde have upon.”
“Now, for my love,” quod I, “this I you pray,
Sith ye have take upon you al the payn,
That ye wold helpe me on with myn aray;
For wit ye wel, I wold be gon ful fayn.”
“Al this prayer nedeth not, certayn;”
Quod she agayn; “com of, and hy you sone,
And ye shal see how wel it shal be doon.”
“But this I dout me greetly, wot ye what,
That my felawes ben passed by and gon.”
“I warant you,” quod she, “that ar they nat;
For here they shul assemble everichon.
Notwithstanding, I counsail you anon;
Mak you redy, and tary ye no more,
It is no harm, though ye be there afore.”
So than I dressed me in myn aray,
And asked her, whether it were wel or no?
“It is right wel,” quod she, “unto my pay;
Ye nede not care to what place ever ye go.”
And whyl that she and I debated so,
Cam Diligence, and saw me al in blew:
“Sister,” quod she, “right wel brouk ye your new!”
Than went we forth, and met at aventure
A yong woman, an officer seming:
“What is your name,” quod I, “good crëature?”
“Discrecioun,” quod she, “without lesing.”
“And where,” quod I, “is your most abyding?”
“I have,” quod she, “this office of purchace,
Cheef purveyour, that longeth to this place.”
389

“Fair love,” quod I, “in al your ordenaunce,
What is her name that is the herbegere?”
“For sothe,” quod she, “her name is Acquaintaunce,
A woman of right gracious manere.”
Than thus quod I, “What straungers have ye here?”
“But few,” quod she, “of high degree ne low;
Ye be the first, as ferforth as I know.”
Thus with talës we cam streight to the yate;
This yong woman departed was and gon;
Cam Diligence, and knokked fast therat;
“Who is without?” quod Countenaunce anon.
“Trewly,” quod I, “fair sister, here is oon!”
“Which oon?” quod she, and therwithal she lough;
“I, Diligence! ye know me wel ynough.”
Than opened she the yate, and in we go;
With wordës fair she sayd ful gentilly,
“Ye are welcome, ywis! are ye no mo?”
“Nat oon,” quod she, “save this woman and I.”
“Now than,” quod she, “I pray yow hertely,
Tak my chambre, as for a whyl, to rest
Til your felawës come, I holde it best.”
I thanked her, and forth we gon echon
Til her chambre, without[en] wordës mo.
Cam Diligence, and took her leve anon;
“Wher-ever you list,” quod I, “now may ye go;
And I thank you right hertely also
Of your labour, for which god do you meed;
I can no more, but Jesu be your speed!”
Than Countenauncë asked me anon,
“Your felawship, where ben they now?” quod she.
“For sothe,” quod I, “they be coming echon;
390

But in certayn, I know nat wher they be,
Without I may hem at this window see.
Here wil I stande, awaytinge ever among,
For, wel I wot, they wil nat now be long.”
Thus as I stood musing ful busily,
I thought to take good hede of her aray,
Her gown was blew, this wot I verely,
Of good fasoun, and furred wel with gray;
Upon her sleve her word (this is no nay),
Which sayd thus, as my pennë can endyte,
A moi que je voy, writen with lettres whyte.
Than forth withal she cam streight unto me,
“Your word,” quod she, “fayn wold I that I knew.”
“Forsothe,” quod I, “ye shal wel knowe and see,
And for my word, I have non; this is trew.
It is ynough that my clothing be blew,
As here-before I had commaundëment;
And so to do I am right wel content.
But tel me this, I pray you hertely,
The steward here, say me, what is her name?”
“She hight Largesse, I say you suërly;
A fair lady, and of right noble fame.
Whan ye her see, ye wil report the same.
And under her, to bid you welcome al,
There is Belchere, the marshal of the hall.
Now al this whyle that ye here tary stil,
Your own maters ye may wel have in mind.
But tel me this, have ye brought any bil?”
“Ye, ye,” quod I, “or els I were behind.
Where is there oon, tel me, that I may find
391

To whom that I may shewe my matters playn?”
“Surely,” quod she, “unto the chamberlayn.”
“The chamberlayn?” quod I, “[now] say ye trew?”
“Ye, verely,” sayd she, “by myne advyse;
Be nat aferd; unto her lowly sew.”
“It shal be don,” quod I, “as ye devyse;
But ye must knowe her name in any wyse?”
“Trewly,” quod she, “to tell you in substaunce,
Without fayning, her name is Remembraunce.
The secretary yit may not be forget;
For she may do right moche in every thing.
Wherfore I rede, whan ye have with her met,
Your mater hool tel her, without fayning;
Ye shal her finde ful good and ful loving.”
“Tel me her name,” quod I, “of gentilnesse.”
“By my good sooth,” quod she, “Avysënesse.”
“That name,” quod I, “for her is passing good;
For every bil and cedule she must see;
Now good,” quod I, “com, stand there-as I stood;
My felawes be coming; yonder they be.”
“Is it [a] jape, or say ye sooth?” quod she.
“In jape? nay, nay; I say you for certain;
See how they come togider, twain and twain!”
“Ye say ful sooth,” quod she, “that is no nay;
I see coming a goodly company.”
“They been such folk,” quod I, “I dar wel say,
That list to love; thinke it ful verily.
And, for my love, I pray you faithfully,
At any tyme, whan they upon you cal,
That ye wol be good frend unto hem al.”
392

“Of my frendship,” quod she, “they shal nat mis,
And for their ese, to put therto my payn.”
“God yelde it you!” quod I; “but tel me this,
How shal we know who is the chamberlayn?”
“That shal ye wel know by her word, certayn.”
“What is her word? Sister, I pray you say.”
“Plus ne purroy; thus wryteth she alway.”
Thus as we stood togider, she and I,
Even at the yate my felawes were echon.
So met I hem, as me thought was goodly,
And bad hem welcome al, by on and on.
Than forth cam [lady] Countenaunce anon;
“Ful hertely, fair sisters al,” quod she,
“Ye be right welcome into this countree.
I counsail you to take a litel rest
In my chambre, if it be your plesaunce.
Whan ye be there, me thinketh for the best
That I go in, and cal Perséveraunce,
Because she is oon of your aquaintaunce;
And she also wil tel you every thing
How ye shal be ruled of your coming.”
My felawes al and I, by oon avyse,
Were wel agreed to do lyke as she sayd.
Than we began to dresse us in our gyse,
That folk shuld see we were nat unpurvayd;
And good wageours among us there we layd,
Which of us was atyred goodliest,
And of us al which shuld be praysed best.
The porter cam, and brought Perséveraunce;
She welcomed us in ful curteys manere:
“Think ye nat long,” quod she, “your attendaunce;
393

I wil go speke unto the herbergere,
That she may purvey for your logging here.
Than wil I go unto the chamberlayn
To speke for you, and come anon agayn.”
And whan [that] she departed was and gon,
We saw folkës coming without the wal,
So greet people, that nombre coud we non;
Ladyes they were and gentilwomen al,
Clothed in blew, echon her word withal;
But for to knowe her word or her devyse,
They cam so thikke, that I might in no wyse.
With that anon cam in Perséveraunce,
And where I stood, she cam streight [un]to me.
“Ye been,” quod she, “of myne olde acquaintaunce;
You to enquere, the bolder wolde I be;
What word they bere, eche after her degree,
I pray you, tel it me in secret wyse;
And I shal kepe it close, on warantyse.”
“We been,” quod I, “fyve ladies al in-fere,
And gentilwomen foure in company;
Whan they begin to open hir matere,
Than shal ye knowe hir wordës by and by;
But as for me, I have non verely,
And so I told Countenaunce here-before;
Al myne aray is blew; what nedeth more?”
“Now than,” quod she, “I wol go in agayn,
That ye may have knowlege, what ye shuld do.”
“In sooth,” quod I, “if ye wold take the payn,
Ye did right moch for us, if ye did so.
The rather sped, the soner may we go.
Gret cost alway ther is in tarying;
And long to sewe, it is a wery thing.”
394

Than parted she, and cam again anon;
“Ye must,” quod she, “come to the chamberlayn.”
“We been,” quod I, “now redy everichon
To folowe you whan-ever ye list, certayn.
We have non eloquence, to tel you playn;
Beseching you we may be so excused,
Our trew mening, that it be not refused.”
Than went we forth, after Perséveraunce,
To see the prees; it was a wonder cace;
There for to passe it was greet comb[e]raunce,
The people stood so thikke in every place.
“Now stand ye stil,” quod she, “a litel space;
And for your ese somwhat I shal assay,
If I can make you any better way.”
And forth she goth among hem everichon,
Making a way, that we might thorugh pas
More at our ese; and whan she had so don,
She beckned us to come where-as she was;
So after her we folowed, more and las.
She brought us streight unto the chamberlayn;
There left she us, and than she went agayn.
We salued her, as reson wolde it so,
Ful humb[el]ly beseching her goodnesse,
In our maters that we had for to do
That she wold be good lady and maistresse.
“Ye be welcome,” quod she, “in sothfastnesse,
And see, what I can do you for to plese,
I am redy, that may be to your ese.”
We folowed her unto the chambre-dore,
“Sisters,” quod she, “come ye in after me.”
But wite ye wel, there was a paved flore,
The goodliest that any wight might see;
395

And furthermore, about than loked we
On eche corner, and upon every wal,
The which was mad of berel and cristal;
Wherein was graven of stories many oon;
First how Phyllis, of womanly pitè,
Deyd pitously, for love of Demophoon.
Nexte after was the story of Tisbee,
How she slew her-self under a tree.
Yet saw I more, how in right pitous cas
For Antony was slayn Cleopatras.
That other syde was, how Hawes the shene
Untrewly was disceyved in her bayn.
There was also Annelida the quene,
Upon Arcyte how sore she did complayn.
Al these stories were graved there, certayn;
And many mo than I reherce you here;
It were to long to tel you al in-fere.
And, bicause the wallës shone so bright,
With fyne umple they were al over-sprad,
To that intent, folk shuld nat hurte hir sight;
And thorugh it the stories might be rad.
Than furthermore I went, as I was lad;
And there I saw, without[en] any fayl,
A chayrë set, with ful riche aparayl.
And fyve stages it was set fro the ground,
Of cassidony ful curiously wrought;
With four pomelles of golde, and very round,
Set with saphyrs, as good as coud be thought;
That, wot ye what, if it were thorugh sought,
As I suppose, fro this countrey til Inde,
Another suche it were right fer to finde!
396

For, wite ye wel, I was right nere that,
So as I durst, beholding by and by;
Above ther was a riche cloth of estate,
Wrought with the nedle ful straungëly,
Her word thereon; and thus it said trewly,
A endurer, to tel you in wordës few,
With grete letters, the better I hem knew.
Thus as we stode, a dore opened anon;
A gentilwoman, semely of stature,
Beringe a mace, cam out, her-selfe aloon;
Sothly, me thought, a goodly crëature!
She spak nothing to lowde, I you ensure,
Nor hastily, but with goodly warning:
“Mak room,” quod she, “my lady is coming!”
With that anon I saw Perséveraunce,
How she held up the tapet in her hand.
I saw also, in right good ordinaunce,
This greet lady within the tapet stand,
Coming outward, I wol ye understand;
And after her a noble company,
I coud nat tel the nombre sikerly.
Of their namës I wold nothing enquere
Further than suche as we wold sewe unto,
Sauf oo lady, which was the chauncellere,
Attemperaunce; sothly her name was so.
For us nedeth with her have moch to do
In our maters, and alway more and more.
And, so forth, to tel you furthermore,
Of this lady her beautè to discryve,
My conning is to simple, verely;
For never yet, the dayës of my lyve,
397

So inly fair I have non seen, trewly.
In her estate, assured utterly,
There wanted naught, I dare you wel assure,
That longed to a goodly crëature.
And furthermore, to speke of her aray,
I shal you tel the maner of her gown;
Of clothe of gold ful riche, it is no nay;
The colour blew, of a right good fasoun;
In tabard-wyse the slevës hanging doun;
And what purfyl there was, and in what wyse,
So as I can, I shal it you devyse.
After a sort the coller and the vent,
Lyk as ermyne is mad in purfeling;
With grete perlës, ful fyne and orient,
They were couchèd, al after oon worching,
With dyamonds in stede of powdering;
The slevës and purfilles of assyse;
They were [y-]mad [ful] lyke, in every wyse.
Aboute her nekke a sort of fair rubyes,
In whyte floures of right fyne enamayl;
Upon her heed, set in the freshest wyse,
A cercle with gret balays of entayl;
That, in ernest to speke, withouten fayl,
For yonge and olde, and every maner age,
It was a world to loke on her visage.
Thus coming forth, to sit in her estat,
In her presence we kneled down echon,
Presentinge up our billes, and, wot ye what,
Ful humb[el]ly she took hem, by on and on;
398

When we had don, than cam they al anon,
And did the same, eche after her manere,
Knelinge at ones, and rysinge al in-fere.
Whan this was don, and she set in her place,
The chamberlayn she did unto her cal;
And she, goodly coming til her a-pace,
Of her entent knowing nothing at al,
“Voyd bak the prees,” quod she, “up to the wal;
Mak larger roum, but look ye do not tary,
And tak these billës to the secretary.”
The chamberlayn did her commaundëment,
And cam agayn, as she was bid to do;
The secretary there being present,
The billës were delivered her also,
Not only ours, but many other mo.
Than the lady, with good advyce, agayn
Anon withal called her chamberlayn.
“We wol,” quod she, “the first thing that ye do,
The secretary, make her come anon
With her billës; and thus we wil also,
In our presence she rede hem everichon,
That we may takë good advyce theron
Of the ladyes, that been of our counsayl;
Look this be don, withouten any fayl.”
The chamberlayn, whan she wiste her entent,
Anon she did the secretary cal:
“Let your billës,” quod she, “be here present,
My lady it wil.” “Madame,” quod she, “I shal.”
“And in presence she wil ye rede hem al.”
“With good wil; I am redy,” quod she,
“At her plesure, whan she commaundeth me.”
399

And upon that was mad an ordinaunce,
They that cam first, hir billës shuld be red.
Ful gentelly than sayd Perséveraunce,
“Resoun it wold that they were sonest sped.”
Anon withal, upon a tapet spred,
The secretary layde hem doun echon;
Our billës first she redde hem on by on.
The first lady, bering in her devyse
Sans que jamais, thus wroot she in her bil;
Complayning sore and in ful pitous wyse
Of promesse mad with faithful hert and wil
And so broken, ayenst al maner skil,
Without desert alwayes on her party;
In this mater desyring remedy.
Her next felawës word was in this wyse,
Une sanz chaungier; and thus she did complayn,
Though she had been guerdoned for her servyce,
Yet nothing lyke as she that took the payn;
Wherfore she coude in no wyse her restrayn,
But in this cas sewe until her presence,
As reson woldë, to have recompence.
So furthermore, to speke of other twayn,
Oon of hem wroot, after her fantasy,
Oncques puis lever; and, for to tel you plain,
Her complaynt was ful pitous, verely,
For, as she sayd, ther was gret reson why;
And, as I can remembre this matere,
I shal you tel the proces, al in-fere.
Her bil was mad, complayninge in her gyse,
That of her joy, her comfort and gladnesse
Was no suretee; for in no maner wyse
400

She fond therin no point of stablenesse,
Now il, now wel, out of al sikernesse;
Ful humbelly desyringe, of her grace,
Som remedy to shewe her in this cace.
Her felawe made her bil, and thus she sayd,
In playning wyse; there-as she loved best,
Whether she were wroth or wel apayd
She might nat see, whan [that] she wold faynest;
And wroth she was, in very ernest;
To tel her word, as ferforth as I wot,
Entierment vostre, right thus she wroot.
And upon that she made a greet request
With herte and wil, and al that might be don
As until her that might redresse it best;
For in her mind thus might she finde it sone,
The remedy of that, which was her boon;
Rehersing [that] that she had sayd before,
Beseching her it might be so no more.
And in lyk wyse as they had don before,
The gentilwomen of our company
Put up hir billës; and, for to tel you more,
Oon of hem wroot cest sanz dire, verily;
And her matere hool to specify,
With-in her bil she put it in wryting;
And what it sayd, ye shal have knowleching.
It sayd, god wot, and that ful pitously,
Lyke as she was disposed in her hert,
No misfortune that she took grevously;
Al oon to her it was, the joy and smert,
Somtyme no thank for al her good desert.
401

Other comfort she wanted non coming,
And so used, it greved her nothing.
Desyringe her, and lowly béseching,
That she for her wold seke a better way,
As she that had ben, al her dayes living,
Stedfast and trew, and so wil be alway.
Of her felawe somwhat I shal you say,
Whos bil was red next after forth, withal;
And what it ment rehersen you I shal.
En dieu est, she wroot in her devyse;
And thus she sayd, withouten any fayl,
Her trouthë might be taken in no wyse
Lyke as she thought, wherfore she had mervayl;
For trouth somtyme was wont to take avayl
In every matere; but al that is ago;
The more pitè, that it is suffred so.
Moch more there was, whereof she shuld complayn,
But she thought it to greet encomb[e]raunce
So moch to wryte; and therfore, in certayn,
In god and her she put her affiaunce
As in her worde is mad a remembraunce;
Beseching her that she wolde, in this cace,
Shewe unto her the favour of her grace.
The third, she wroot, rehersing her grevaunce,
Ye! wot ye what, a pitous thing to here;
For, as me thought, she felt gret displesaunce,
Oon might right wel perceyve it by her chere,
And no wonder; it sat her passing nere.
Yet loth she was to put it in wryting,
But nede wol have his cours in every thing.
402

Soyes en sure, this was her word, certayn,
And thus she wroot, but in a litel space;
There she lovëd, her labour was in vayn,
For he was set al in another place;
Ful humblely desyring, in that cace,
Som good comfort, her sorow to appese,
That she might livë more at hertes ese.
The fourth surely, me thought, she liked wele,
As in her porte and in her behaving;
And Bien moneste, as fer as I coud fele,
That was her word, til her wel belonging.
Wherfore to her she prayed, above al thing,
Ful hertely (to say you in substaunce)
That she wold sende her good continuaunce.
“Ye have rehersed me these billës al,
But now, let see somwhat of your entent.”
“It may so hap, paraventure, ye shal.
Now I pray you, whyle I am here present,
Ye shal, pardè, have knowlege, what I ment.
But thus I say in trouthe, and make no fable,
The case itself is inly lamentable.
And wel I wot, that ye wol think the same,
Lyke as I say, whan ye have herd my bil.”
“Now good, tel on, I hate you, by saynt Jame!”
“Abyde a whyle; it is nat yet my wil.
Yet must ye wite, by reson and by skil,
Sith ye know al that hath be don before:—”
And thus it sayd, without[en] wordes more.
“Nothing so leef as deth to come to me
For fynal ende of my sorowes and payn;
What shulde I more desyre, as semë ye?
403

And ye knewe al aforn it for certayn,
I wot ye wolde; and, for to tel you playn,
Without her help that hath al thing in cure
I can nat think that I may longe endure.
As for my trouthe, it hath be proved wele,
To say the sothe, I can [you] say no more,
Of ful long tyme, and suffred every dele
In pacience, and kepe it al in store;
Of her goodnesse besechinge her therfore
That I might have my thank in suche [a] wyse
As my desert deserveth of justyse.”
Whan these billës were rad everichon,
This lady took a good advysement;
And hem to answere, ech by on and on,
She thought it was to moche in her entent;
Wherfore she yaf hem in commaundëment,
In her presence to come, bothe oon and al,
To yeve hem there her answer general.
What did she than, suppose ye verely?
She spak herself, and sayd in this manere,
“We have wel seen your billës by and by,
And some of hem ful pitous for to here.
We wol therfore ye knowe al this in-fere,
Within short tyme our court of parliment
Here shal be holde, in our palays present;
And in al this wherin ye find you greved,
Ther shal ye finde an open remedy
In suche [a] wyse, as ye shul be releved
Of al that ye reherce here, thoroughly.
As for the date, ye shul know verily,
That ye may have a space in your coming;
For Diligence shal it tel you by wryting.”
404

We thanked her in our most humble wyse,
Our felauship, echon by oon assent,
Submitting us lowly til her servyse.
For, as we thought, we had our travayl spent
In suche [a] wyse as we helde us content.
Than eche of us took other by the sleve,
And forth withal, as we shuld take our leve.
Al sodainly the water sprang anon
In my visage, and therwithal I wook:—
“Where am I now?” thought I; “al this is gon;”
And al amased, up I gan to look.
With that, anon I went and made this book,
Thus simplely rehersing the substaunce,
Bicause it shuld not out of remembraunce.’—
‘Now verily, your dreem is passing good,
And worthy to be had in rémembraunce;
For, though I stande here as longe as I stood,
It shuld to me be non encomb[e]raunce;
I took therin so inly greet plesaunce.
But tel me now, what ye the book do cal?
For I must wite.’ ‘With right good wil ye shal:
As for this book, to say you very right,
And of the name to tel the certeyntè,
L'assemblè de Dames, thus it hight;
How think ye?’ ‘That the name is good, pardè!’
‘Now go, farwel! for they cal after me,
My felawes al, and I must after sone;
Rede wel my dreem; for now my tale is doon.’
Here endeth the Book of Assemble de Damys.
409

XXIV. THE COURT OF LOVE.

With timerous hert and trembling hand of drede,
Of cunning naked, bare of eloquence,
Unto the flour of port in womanhede
I write, as he that non intelligence
Of metres hath, ne floures of sentence;
Sauf that me list my writing to convey,
In that I can to please her hygh nobley.
The blosmes fresshe of Tullius garden soote
Present thaim not, my mater for to borne:
Poemes of Virgil taken here no rote,
Ne crafte of Galfrid may not here sojorne:
Why nam I cunning? O well may I morne,
For lak of science that I can-not write
Unto the princes of my life a-right
No termes digne unto her excellence,
So is she sprong of noble stirpe and high:
A world of honour and of reverence
There is in her, this wil I testifie.
Calliope, thou sister wise and sly,
And thou, Minerva, guyde me with thy grace,
That langage rude my mater not deface.
Thy suger-dropes swete of Elicon
Distill in me, thou gentle Muse, I pray;
And thee, Melpomene, I calle anon,
Of ignoraunce the mist to chace away;
And give me grace so for to write and sey,
410

That she, my lady, of her worthinesse,
Accepte in gree this litel short tretesse,
That is entitled thus, ‘The Court of Love.’
And ye that ben metriciens me excuse,
I you besech, for Venus sake above;
For what I mene in this ye need not muse:
And if so be my lady it refuse
For lak of ornat speche, I wold be wo,
That I presume to her to writen so.
But myn entent and all my besy cure
Is for to write this tretesse, as I can,
Unto my lady, stable, true, and sure,
Feithfull and kind, sith first that she began
Me to accept in service as her man:
To her be all the plesure of this boke,
That, whan her like, she may it rede and loke.
When I was yong, at eighteen yere of age,
Lusty and light, desirous of pleasaunce,
Approching on full sadde and ripe corage,
Love arted me to do myn observaunce
To his astate, and doon him obeysaunce,
Commaunding me the Court of Love to see,
A lite beside the mount of Citharee,
There Citherea goddesse was and quene
Honoured highly for her majestee;
And eke her sone, the mighty god, I wene,
Cupid the blind, that for his dignitee
A thousand lovers worship on their knee;
There was I bid, on pain of death, t'apere,
By Mercury, the winged messengere.
So than I went by straunge and fer contrees,
Enquiring ay what costes to it drew,
The Court of Love: and thiderward, as bees,
At last I sey the peple gan pursue:
Anon, me thought, som wight was there that knew
Where that the court was holden, ferre or ny,
And after thaim ful fast I gan me hy.
411

Anone as I theim overtook, I said,
‘Hail, frendes! whider purpose ye to wend?’
‘Forsooth,’ quod oon that answered lich a maid,
‘To Loves Court now go we, gentill frend.’
‘Where is that place,’ quod I, ‘my felowe hend?’
‘At Citheron, sir,’ seid he, ‘without dowte,
The King of Love, and all his noble rowte,
Dwelling within a castell ryally.’
So than apace I jorned forth among,
And as he seid, so fond I there truly.
For I beheld the towres high and strong,
And high pinácles, large of hight and long,
With plate of gold bespred on every side,
And presious stones, the stone-werk for to hide.
No saphir ind, no rubè riche of price,
There lakked than, nor emeraud so grene,
Baleis Turkeis, ne thing to my devise,
That may the castell maken for to shene:
All was as bright as sterres in winter been;
And Phebus shoon, to make his pees agayn,
For trespas doon to high estates tweyn,
Venus and Mars, the god and goddesse clere,
Whan he theim found in armes cheined fast:
Venus was then full sad of herte and chere.
But Phebus bemes, streight as is the mast,
Upon the castell ginneth he to cast,
To plese the lady, princesse of that place,
In signe he loketh aftir Loves grace.
For there nis god in heven or helle, y-wis,
But he hath ben right soget unto Love:
Jove, Pluto, or what-so-ever he is,
Ne creature in erth, or yet above;
Of thise the révers may no wight approve.
But furthermore, the castell to descry,
Yet saw I never non so large and high.
For unto heven it streccheth, I suppose,
Within and out depeynted wonderly,
412

With many a thousand daisy, rede as rose,
And white also, this saw I verily:
But what tho daises might do signify,
Can I not tell, sauf that the quenes flour
Alceste it was that kept there her sojour;
Which under Venus lady was and quene,
And Admete king and soverain of that place,
To whom obeyed the ladies gode ninetene,
With many a thowsand other, bright of face.
And yong men fele came forth with lusty pace,
And aged eke, their homage to dispose;
But what thay were, I could not well disclose.
Yet ner and ner furth in I gan me dresse
Into an halle of noble apparaile,
With arras spred and cloth of gold, I gesse,
And other silk of esier availe:
Under the cloth of their estate, saunz faile,
The king and quene ther sat, as I beheld:
It passed joye of Helisee the feld.
There saintes have their comming and resort,
To seen the king so ryally beseyn,
In purple clad, and eke the quene in sort:
And on their hedes saw I crownes tweyn,
With stones fret, so that it was no payn,
Withouten mete and drink, to stand and see
The kinges honour and the ryaltee.
And for to trete of states with the king,
That been of councell chief, and with the quene,
The king had Daunger ner to him standing,
The Quene of Love, Disdain, and that was seen:
For by the feith I shall to god, I wene,
Was never straunger [non] in her degree
Than was the quene in casting of her ee.
And as I stood perceiving her apart,
And eke the bemes shyning of her yen,
Me thought thay were shapen lich a dart,
Sherp and persing, smale, and streight as lyne.
And all her here, it shoon as gold so fyne,
413

Dishevel, crisp, down hinging at her bak
A yarde in length: and soothly than I spak:—
‘O bright Regina, who made thee so fair?
Who made thy colour vermelet and white?
Where woneth that god? how fer above the eyr?
Greet was his craft, and greet was his delyt.
Now marvel I nothing that ye do hight
The Quene of Love, and occupy the place
Of Citharee: now, sweet lady, thy grace.’
In mewet spak I, so that nought astert,
By no condicion, word that might be herd;
B[ut] in myn inward thought I gan advert,
And oft I seid, ‘My wit is dulle and hard:’
For with her bewtee, thus, god wot, I ferd
As doth the man y-ravisshed with sight,
When I beheld her cristall yen so bright,
No respect having what was best to doon;
Till right anon, beholding here and there,
I spied a frend of myne, and that full soon,
A gentilwoman, was the chamberer
Unto the quene, that hote, as ye shall here,
Philobone, that lovëd all her life:
Whan she me sey, she led me furth as blyfe;
And me demaunded how and in what wise
I thider com, and what myne erand was?
‘To seen the court,’ quod I, ‘and all the guyse;
And eke to sue for pardon and for grace,
And mercy ask for all my greet trespace,
That I non erst com to the Court of Love:
Foryeve me this, ye goddes all above!’
‘That is well seid,’ quod Philobone, ‘in-dede:
But were ye not assomoned to apere
By Mercury? For that is all my drede.’
‘Yes, gentil fair,’ quod I, ‘now am I here;
Ye, yit what tho, though that be true, my dere?’
‘Of your free will ye shuld have come unsent:
For ye did not, I deme ye will be shent.
414

For ye that reign in youth and lustinesse,
Pampired with ese, and jolif in your age,
Your dewtee is, as fer as I can gesse,
To Loves Court to dressen your viage,
As sone as Nature maketh you so sage,
That ye may know a woman from a swan,
Or whan your foot is growen half a span.
But sith that ye, by wilful necligence,
This eighteen yere have kept yourself at large,
The gretter is your trespace and offence,
And in your nek ye moot bere all the charge:
For better were ye ben withouten barge,
Amiddë see, in tempest and in rain,
Than byden here, receiving woo and pain,
That ordeined is for such as thaim absent
Fro Loves Court by yeres long and fele.
I ley my lyf ye shall full soon repent;
For Love will reyve your colour, lust, and hele:
Eke ye must bait on many an hevy mele:
No force, y-wis, I stired you long agoon
To draw to court,’ quod litell Philobon.
‘Ye shall well see how rough and angry face
The King of Love will shew, when ye him see;
By myn advyse kneel down and ask him grace,
Eschewing perell and adversitee;
For well I wot it wol non other be,
Comfort is non, ne counsel to your ese;
Why will ye than the King of Love displese?’
‘O mercy, god,’ quod ich, ‘I me repent,
Caitif and wrecche in hert, in wille, and thought!
And aftir this shall be myne hole entent
To serve and plese, how dere that love be bought:
Yit, sith I have myn own penaunce y-sought,
With humble spirit shall I it receive,
Though that the King of Love my life bereyve.
415

And though that fervent loves qualitè
In me did never worch truly, yit I
With all obeisaunce and humilitè,
And benign hert, shall serve him til I dye:
And he that Lord of might is, grete and highe,
Right as him list me chastice and correct,
And punish me, with trespace thus enfect.’
Thise wordes seid, she caught me by the lap,
And led me furth intill a temple round,
Large and wyde: and, as my blessed hap
And good avénture was, right sone I found
A tabernacle reised from the ground,
Where Venus sat, and Cupid by her syde;
Yet half for drede I gan my visage hyde.
And eft again I loked and beheld,
Seeing full sundry peple in the place,
And mister folk, and som that might not weld
Their limmes well, me thought a wonder cas;
The temple shoon with windows all of glas,
Bright as the day, with many a fair image;
And there I sey the fresh quene of Cartage,
Dido, that brent her bewtee for the love
Of fals Eneas; and the weymenting
Of hir, Anelida, true as turtill-dove,
To Arcite fals: and there was in peinting
Of many a prince, and many a doughty king,
Whose marterdom was shewed about the walles;
And how that fele for love had suffered falles.
But sore I was abasshed and astonied
Of all tho folk that there were in that tyde;
And than I asked where thay had [y-]woned:
‘In dyvers courtes,’ quod she, ‘here besyde.’
In sondry clothing, mantil-wyse full wyde,
They were arrayed, and did their sacrifice
Unto the god and goddesse in their guyse.
‘Lo! yonder folk,’ quod she, ‘that knele in blew,
They were the colour ay, and ever shall,
416

In sign they were, and ever will be trew
Withouten chaunge: and sothly, yonder all
That ben in blak, with morning cry and call
Unto the goddes, for their loves been
Som fer, som dede, som all to sherpe and kene.’
‘Ye, than,’ quod I, ‘what doon thise prestes here,
Nonnes and hermits, freres, and all thoo
That sit in white, in russet, and in grene?’
‘For-soth,’ quod she, ‘they wailen of their wo.’
‘O mercy, lord! may thay so come and go
Freely to court, and have such libertee?’
‘Ye, men of ech condicion and degree,
And women eke: for truly, there is non
Excepcion mad, ne never was ne may:
This court is ope and free for everichon,
The King of Love he will nat say thaim nay:
He taketh all, in poore or riche array,
That meekly sewe unto his excellence
With all their herte and all their reverence.’
And, walking thus about with Philobone,
I sey where cam a messenger in hy
Streight from the king, which let commaund anon,
Through-out the court to make an ho and cry:
‘A! new-come folk, abyde! and wot ye why?
The kinges lust is for to seen you soon:
Com ner, let see! his will mot need be doon.’
Than gan I me present to-fore the king,
Trembling for fere, with visage pale of hew,
And many a lover with me was kneling,
Abasshed sore, till unto tyme thay knew
The sentence yeve of his entent full trew:
And at the last the king hath me behold
With stern visage, and seid, ‘What doth this old,
Thus fer y-stope in yeres, come so late
Unto the court?’ ‘For-soth, my liege,’ quod I,
‘An hundred tyme I have ben at the gate
417

Afore this tyme, yit coud I never espy
Of myn acqueyntaunce any with mine y;
And shamefastnes away me gan to chace;
But now I me submit unto your grace.’
‘Well! all is perdoned, with condicion
That thou be trew from hensforth to thy might,
And serven Love in thyn entencion:
Swere this, and than, as fer as it is right,
Thou shalt have grace here in my quenes sight.’
‘Yis, by the feith I ow your crown, I swere,
Though Deth therfore me thirlith with his spere!’
And whan the king had seen us everichoon,
He let commaunde an officer in hy
To take our feith, and shew us, oon by oon,
The statuts of the court full besily.
Anon the book was leid before their y,
To rede and see what thing we must observe
In Loves Court, till that we dye and sterve.
And, for that I was lettred, there I red
The statuts hole of Loves Court and hall:
The first statut that on the boke was spred,
Was, To be true in thought and dedes all
Unto the King of Love, the Lord ryall;
And to the Quene, as feithful and as kind,
As I coud think with herte, and will and mind.
The secund statut, Secretly to kepe
Councell of love, nat blowing every-where
All that I know, and let it sink or flete;
It may not sown in every wightes ere:
Exyling slaunder ay for dred and fere,
And to my lady, which I love and serve,
Be true and kind, her grace for to deserve.
The thrid statut was clerely write also,
Withouten chaunge to live and dye the same,
Non other love to take, for wele ne wo,
418

For brind delyt, for ernest nor for game:
Without repent, for laughing or for grame,
To byden still in full perseveraunce:
Al this was hole the kinges ordinaunce.
The fourth statut, To purchace ever to here,
And stiren folk to love, and beten fyr
On Venus awter, here about and there,
And preche to thaim of love and hot desyr,
And tell how love will quyten well their hire:
This must be kept; and loth me to displese:
If love be wroth, passe forby is an ese.
The fifth statut, Not to be daungerous,
If that a thought wold reyve me of my slepe:
Nor of a sight to be over squeymous;
And so, verily, this statut was to kepe,
To turne and walowe in my bed and wepe,
When that my lady, of her crueltè,
Wold from her herte exylen all pitè.
The sixt statut, it was for me to use,
Alone to wander, voide of company,
And on my ladys bewtee for to muse,
And to think [it] no force to live or dye;
And eft again to think the remedy,
How to her grace I might anon attain,
And tell my wo unto my souverain.
The seventh statut was, To be pacient,
Whether my lady joyfull were or wroth;
For wordes glad or hevy, diligent,
Wheder that she me helden lefe or loth:
And hereupon I put was to myn oth,
Her for to serve, and lowly to obey,
Shewing my chere, ye, twenty sith a-day.
The eighth statut, to my rememb[e]raunce,
Was, To speke, and pray my lady dere,
With hourly labour and gret attendaunce,
Me for to love with all her herte entere,
And me desyre, and make me joyfull chere,
419

Right as she is, surmounting every faire,
Of bewtie well, and gentill debonaire.
The ninth statut, with lettres writ of gold,
This was the sentence, How that I and all
Shuld ever dred to be to over-bold
Her to displese; and truly, so I shall;
But ben content for thing[es] that may falle,
And meekly take her chastisement and yerd,
And to offende her ever ben aferd.
The tenth statut was, Egally discern
By-twene thy lady and thyn abilitee,
And think, thy-self art never like to yern,
By right, her mercy, nor of equitee,
But of her grace and womanly pitee:
For though thy-self be noble in thy strene,
A thowsand-fold more nobill is thy quene,
Thy lyves lady, and thy souverayn,
That hath thyn herte all hole in governaunce.
Thou mayst no wyse hit taken to disdayn,
To put thee humbly at her ordinaunce,
And give her free the rein of her plesaunce;
For libertee is thing that women loke,
And truly, els the mater is a-croke.
The eleventh statut, Thy signes for to con
With y and finger, and with smyles soft,
And low to cough, and alway for to shon,
For dred of spyes, for to winken oft:
But secretly to bring a sigh a-loft,
And eke beware of over-moch resort;
For that, paraventure, spilleth al thy sport.
The twelfth statut remember to observe:
For al the pain thow hast for love and wo,
All is to lite her mercy to deserve,
Thow must then think, where-ever thou ryde or go;
And mortall woundes suffer thow also,
All for her sake, and thinke it well beset
Upon thy love, for it may be no bet.
420

The thirteenth statut, Whylom is to thinke,
What thing may best thy lady lyke and plese,
And in thyn hertes botom let it sinke:
Som thing devise, and take [it] for thyn ese,
And send it her, that may her herte apese:
Some hert, or ring, or lettre, or device,
Or precious stone; but spare not for no price.
The fourteenth statut eke thou shalt assay
Fermly to kepe the most part of thy lyfe:
Wish that thy lady in thyne armes lay,
And nightly dreme, thow hast thy hertes wyfe
Swetely in armes, straining her as blyfe:
And whan thou seest it is but fantasy,
See that thow sing not over merily,
For to moche joye hath oft a wofull end.
It longith eke, this statut for to hold,
To deme thy lady evermore thy frend,
And think thyself in no wyse a cocold.
In every thing she doth but as she shold:
Construe the best, beleve no tales newe,
For many a lie is told, that semeth full trewe.
But think that she, so bounteous and fair,
Coud not be fals: imagine this algate;
And think that tonges wikke wold her appair,
Slaundering her name and worshipfull estat,
And lovers true to setten at debat:
And though thow seest a faut right at thyne y,
Excuse it blyve, and glose it pretily.
The fifteenth statut, Use to swere and stare,
And counterfet a lesing hardely,
To save thy ladys honour every-where,
And put thyself to fight [for her] boldly:
Sey she is good, virtuous, and gostly,
Clere of entent, and herte, and thought and wille;
And argue not, for reson ne for skille,
421

Agayn thy ladys plesir ne entent,
For love wil not be countrepleted, indede:
Sey as she seith, than shalt thou not be shent,
The crow is whyte; ye, truly, so I rede:
And ay what thing that she thee will forbede,
Eschew all that, and give her sovereintee,
Her appetyt folow in all degree.
The sixteenth statut, kepe it if thow may:—
Seven sith at night thy lady for to plese,
And seven at midnight, seven at morow-day;
And drink a cawdell erly for thyn ese.
Do this, and kepe thyn hede from all disese,
And win the garland here of lovers all,
That ever come in court, or ever shall.
Ful few, think I, this statut hold and kepe;
But truly, this my reson giveth me fele,
That som lovers shuld rather fall aslepe,
Than take on hand to plese so oft and wele.
There lay non oth to this statut a-dele,
But kepe who might, as gave him his corage:
Now get this garland, lusty folk of age.
Now win who may, ye lusty folk of youth,
This garland fresh, of floures rede and whyte,
Purpill and blewe, and colours ful uncouth,
And I shal croune him king of all delyt!
In al the court there was not, to my sight,
A lover trew, that he ne was adred,
When he expresse hath herd the statut red.
The seventeenth statut, Whan age approchith on,
And lust is leid, and all the fire is queint,
As freshly than thou shalt begin to fon,
And dote in love, and all her image paint
In rémembraunce, til thou begin to faint,
As in the first seson thyn hert began:
And her desire, though thou ne may ne can
422

Perform thy living actuell, and lust;
Regester this in thy rememb[e]raunce:
Eke when thou mayst not kepe thy thing from rust,
Yit speke and talk of plesaunt daliaunce;
For that shall make thyn hert rejoise and daunce.
And when thou mayst no more the game assay,
The statut bit thee pray for hem that may.
The eighteenth statut, hoolly to commend,
To plese thy lady, is, That thou eschewe
With sluttishness thy-self for to offend;
Be jolif, fresh, and fete, with thinges newe,
Courtly with maner, this is all thy due,
Gentill of port, and loving clenlinesse;
This is the thing that lyketh thy maistresse.
And not to wander lich a dulled ass,
Ragged and torn, disgysed in array,
Ribaud in speche, or out of mesure pass,
Thy bound exceding; think on this alway:
For women been of tender hertes ay,
And lightly set their plesire in a place;
Whan they misthink, they lightly let it passe.
The nineteenth statut, Mete and drink forgete:
Ech other day, see that thou fast for love,
For in the court they live withouten mete,
Sauf such as cometh from Venus all above;
They take non heed, in pain of greet reprove,
Of mete and drink, for that is all in vain;
Only they live by sight of their soverain.
The twentieth statut, last of everichoon,
Enroll it in thyn hertes privitee;
To wring and wail, to turn, and sigh and grone,
When that thy lady absent is from thee;
And eke renew the wordes [all] that she
Bitween you twain hath seid, and all the chere
That thee hath mad thy lyves lady dere.
And see thyn herte in quiet ne in rest
Sojorn, to tyme thou seen thy lady eft;
But wher she won by south, or est, or west,
With all thy force, now see it be not left:
423

Be diligent, till tyme thy lyfe be reft,
In that thou mayst, thy lady for to see;
This statut was of old antiquitee.
An officer of high auctoritee,
Cleped Rigour, made us swere anon:
He nas corrupt with parcialitee,
Favour, prayer, ne gold that cherely shoon;
‘Ye shall,’ quod he, ‘now sweren here echoon,
Yong and old, to kepe, in that ye may,
The statuts truly, all, aftir this day.’
O god, thought I, hard is to make this oth!
But to my pouer shall I thaim observe;
In all this world nas mater half so loth,
To swere for all; for though my body sterve,
I have no might the hole for to reserve.
But herkin now the cace how it befell:
After my oth was mad, the trouth to tell,
I turned leves, loking on this boke,
Where other statuts were of women shene;
And right furthwith Rigour on me gan loke
Full angrily, and seid unto the quene
I traitour was, and charged me let been:
‘There may no man,’ quod he, ‘the statut[s] know,
That long to woman, hy degree ne low.
In secret wyse thay kepten been full close,
They sowne echon to libertie, my frend;
Plesaunt thay be, and to their own purpose;
There wot no wight of thaim, but god and fend,
Ne naught shall wit, unto the worldes end.
The quene hath yeve me charge, in pain to dye,
Never to rede ne seen thaim with myn ye.
For men shall not so nere of councell ben,
With womanhode, ne knowen of her gyse,
Ne what they think, ne of their wit th'engyn;
I me report to Salamon the wyse,
And mighty Sampson, which begyled thryes
With Dalida was: he wot that, in a throw,
There may no man statut of women knowe.
424

For it paravénture may right so befall,
That they be bound by nature to disceive,
And spinne, and wepe, and sugre strewe on gall,
The hert of man to ravissh and to reyve,
And whet their tong as sharp as swerd or gleyve:
It may betyde, this is their ordinaunce;
So must they lowly doon the observaunce,
And kepe the statut yeven thaim of kind,
Or such as love hath yeve hem in their lyfe.
Men may not wete why turneth every wind,
Nor waxen wyse, nor ben inquisityf
To know secret of maid, widow, or wyfe;
For they their statutes have to thaim reserved,
And never man to know thaim hath deserved.
Now dress you furth, the god of Love you gyde!’
Quod Rigour than, ‘and seek the temple bright
Of Cither[e]a, goddess here besyde;
Beseche her, by [the] influence and might
Of al her vertue, you to teche a-right,
How for to serve your ladies, and to plese,
Ye that ben sped, and set your hert in ese.
And ye that ben unpurveyed, pray her eke
Comfort you soon with grace and destinee,
That ye may set your hert there ye may lyke,
In suche a place, that it to love may be
Honour and worship, and felicitee
To you for ay. Now goth, by one assent.’
‘Graunt mercy, sir!’ quod we, and furth we went
Devoutly, soft and esy pace, to see
Venus the goddes image, all of gold:
And there we founde a thousand on their knee,
Sum freshe and feire, som dedely to behold,
In sondry mantils new, and som were old,
Som painted were with flames rede as fire,
Outward to shew their inward hoot desire:
With dolefull chere, full fele in their complaint
Cried ‘Lady Venus, rewe upon our sore!
Receive our billes, with teres all bedreint;
We may not wepe, there is no more in store;
425

But wo and pain us frettith more and more:
Thou blisful planet, lovers sterre so shene,
Have rowth on us, that sigh and carefull been;
And ponish, Lady, grevously, we pray,
The false untrew with counterfet plesaunce,
That made their oth, be trew to live or dey,
With chere assured, and with countenaunce;
And falsly now thay foten loves daunce,
Barein of rewth, untrue of that they seid,
Now that their lust and plesire is alleyd.’
Yet eft again, a thousand milion,
Rejoysing, love, leding their life in blis:
They seid:—‘Venus, redresse of all division,
Goddes eterne, thy name y-heried is!
By loves bond is knit all thing, y-wis,
Best unto best, the erth to water wan,
Bird unto bird, and woman unto man;
This is the lyfe of joye that we ben in,
Resembling lyfe of hevenly paradyse;
Love is exyler ay of vice and sin;
Love maketh hertes lusty to devyse;
Honour and grace have thay, in every wyse,
That been to loves law obedient;
Love makith folk benigne and diligent;
Ay stering theim to drede[n] vice and shame:
In their degree it maketh thaim honorable;
And swete it is of love [to] bere the name,
So that his love be feithfull, true, and stable:
Love prunith him, to semen amiable;
Love hath no faut, there it is exercysed,
But sole with theim that have all love dispised.
Honour to thee, celestiall and clere
Goddes of love, and to thy celsitude,
That yevest us light so fer down from thy spere,
Persing our hertes with thy pulcritude!
Comparison non of similitude
May to thy grace be mad in no degree,
That hast us set with love in unitee.
426

Gret cause have we to praise thy name and thee,
For [that] through thee we live in joye and blisse.
Blessed be thou, most souverain to see!
Thy holy court of gladness may not misse:
A thousand sith we may rejoise in this,
That we ben thyn with harte and all y-fere,
Enflamed with thy grace, and hevinly fere.’
Musing of tho that spakin in this wyse,
I me bethought in my rememb[e]raunce
Myne orison right goodly to devyse,
And plesauntly, with hartes obeisaunce,
Beseech the goddes voiden my grevaunce;
For I loved eke, sauf that I wist nat where;
Yet down I set, and seid as ye shall here.
‘Fairest of all that ever were or be!
Lucerne and light to pensif crëature!
Myn hole affiaunce, and my lady free,
My goddes bright, my fortune and my ure,
I yeve and yeld my hart to thee full sure,
Humbly beseching, lady, of thy grace
Me to bestowe into som blessed place.
And here I vow me feithfull, true, and kind,
Without offence of mutabilitee,
Humbly to serve, whyl I have wit and mind,
Myn hole affiaunce, and my lady free!
In thilkë place, there ye me sign to be:
And, sith this thing of newe is yeve me, ay
To love and serve, needly must I obey.
Be merciable with thy fire of grace,
And fix myne hert there bewtie is and routh,
For hote I love, determine in no place,
Sauf only this, by god and by my trouth,
Trowbled I was with slomber, slepe, and slouth
This other night, and in a visioun
I sey a woman romen up and down,
Of mene stature, and seemly to behold,
Lusty and fresh, demure of countynaunce,
Yong and wel shap, with here [that] shoon as gold,
With yen as cristall, farced with plesaunce;
427

And she gan stir myne harte a lite to daunce;
But sodenly she vanissh gan right there:
Thus I may sey, I love and wot not where.
For what she is, ne her dwelling I not,
And yet I fele that love distraineth me:
Might ich her know, that wold I fain, god wot,
Serve and obey with all benignitee.
And if that other be my destinee,
So that no wyse I shall her never see,
Than graunt me her that best may lyken me,
With glad rejoyse to live in parfit hele,
Devoide of wrath, repent, or variaunce;
And able me to do that may be wele
Unto my lady, with hertes hy plesaunce:
And, mighty goddes! through thy purviaunce
My wit, my thought, my lust and love so gyde,
That to thyne honour I may me provyde
To set myne herte in place there I may lyke,
And gladly serve with all affeccioun.
Gret is the pain which at myn hert doth stik,
Till I be sped by thyn eleccioun:
Help, lady goddes! that possessioun
I might of her have, that in all my lyfe
I clepen shall my quene and hertes wife.
And in the Court of Love to dwell for ay
My wille it is, and don thee sacrifice:
Daily with Diane eke to fight and fray,
And holden werre, as might well me suffice:
That goddes chaste I kepen in no wyse
To serve; a fig for all her chastitee!
Her lawe is for religiositee.’
And thus gan finish preyer, lawde, and preise,
Which that I yove to Venus on my knee,
And in myne hert to ponder and to peise,
I gave anon hir image fressh bewtie;
‘Heil to that figure sweet! and heil to thee,
Cupide,’ quod I, and rose and yede my way;
And in the temple as I yede I sey
428

A shryne sormownting all in stones riche,
Of which the force was plesaunce to myn y,
With diamant or saphire; never liche
I have non seyn, ne wrought so wonderly.
So whan I met with Philobone, in hy
I gan demaund, ‘Who[s] is this sepulture?’
‘Forsoth,’ quod she, ‘a tender creature
Is shryned there, and Pitè is her name.
She saw an egle wreke him on a fly,
And pluk his wing, and eke him, in his game,
And tender herte of that hath made her dy:
Eke she wold wepe, and morn right pitously
To seen a lover suffre gret destresse.
In all the court nas non that, as I gesse,
That coude a lover half so well availe,
Ne of his wo the torment or the rage
Aslaken, for he was sure, withouten faile,
That of his grief she coud the hete aswage.
In sted of Pitè, spedeth hot corage
The maters all of court, now she is dede;
I me report in this to womanhede.
For weile and wepe, and crye, and speke, and pray,—
Women wold not have pitè on thy plaint;
Ne by that mene to ese thyn hart convey,
But thee receiven for their own talent:
And sey, that Pitè causith thee, in consent
Of rewth, to take thy service and thy pain
In that thow mayst, to plese thy souverain.
But this is councell, keep it secretly;’
Quod she, ‘I nold, for all the world abowt,
The Quene of Love it wist; and wit ye why?
For if by me this matter springen out,
In court no lenger shuld I, owt of dowt,
Dwellen, but shame in all my life endry:
Now kepe it close,’ quod she, ‘this hardely.
Well, all is well! Now shall ye seen,’ she seid,
‘The feirest lady under son that is:
429

Come on with me, demene you liche a maid,
With shamefast dred, for ye shall spede, y-wis,
With her that is the mir[th] and joy and blis:
But sumwhat straunge and sad of her demene
She is, be ware your countenaunce be sene,
Nor over light, ne recheless, ne to bold,
Ne malapert, ne rinning with your tong;
For she will you abeisen and behold,
And you demaund, why ye were hens so long
Out of this court, without resort among:
And Rosiall her name is hote aright,
Whose harte as yet [is] yeven to no wight.
And ye also ben, as I understond,
With love but light avaunced, by your word;
Might ye, by hap, your fredom maken bond,
And fall in grace with her, and wele accord,
Well might ye thank the god of Love and lord;
For she that ye sawe in your dreme appere,
To love suche one, what are ye than the nere?
Yit wot ye what? as my rememb[e]raunce
Me yevith now, ye fayn, where that ye sey
That ye with love had never acqueintaunce,
Sauf in your dreme right late this other day:
Why, yis, parde! my life, that durst I lay,
That ye were caught upon an heth, when I
Saw you complain, and sigh full pitously;
Within an erber, and a garden fair
With floures growe, and herbes vertuous,
Of which the savour swete was and the eyr,
There were your-self full hoot and amorous:
Y-wis, ye ben to nice and daungerous;
A! wold ye now repent, and love som new?’—
‘Nay, by my trouth,’ I seid, ‘I never knew
The goodly wight, whos I shall be for ay:
Guyde me the lord that love hath made and me.’
430

But furth we went in-till a chambre gay,
There was Rosiall, womanly to see,
Whose stremes sotell-persing of her ee
Myn hart gan thrill for bewtie in the stound:
‘Alas,’ quod I, ‘who hath me yeve this wound?’
And than I dred to speke, till at the last
I gret the lady reverently and wele,
Whan that my sigh was gon and over-past;
And down on knees full humbly gan I knele,
Beseching her my fervent wo to kele,
For there I took full purpose in my mind,
Unto her grace my painfull hart to bind.
For if I shall all fully her discryve,
Her hede was round, by compace of nature,
Her here as gold,—she passed all on-lyve,—
And lily forhede had this crëature,
With lovelich browes, flawe, of colour pure,
Bytwene the which was mene disseveraunce
From every brow, to shewe[n] a distaunce.
Her nose directed streight, and even as lyne,
With fourm and shap therto convenient,
In which the goddes milk-whyt path doth shine;
And eke her yen ben bright and orient
As is the smaragde, unto my juggement,
Or yet thise sterres hevenly, smale and bright;
Her visage is of lovely rede and whyte.
Her mouth is short, and shit in litell space,
Flaming somdele, not over-rede, I mene,
With pregnant lippes, and thik to kiss, percas;
(For lippes thin, not fat, but ever lene,
They serve of naught, they be not worth a bene;
For if the basse ben full, there is delyt,
Maximian truly thus doth he wryte.)
But to my purpose:—I sey, whyte as snow
Ben all her teeth, and in order thay stond
Of oon stature; and eke hir breth, I trow,
Surmounteth alle odours that ever I fond
In sweetnes; and her body, face, and hond
Ben sharply slender, so that from the hede
Unto the fote, all is but womanhede.
431

I hold my pees of other thinges hid:—
Here shall my soul, and not my tong, bewray:—
But how she was arrayed, if ye me bid,
That shall I well discover you and say:
A bend of gold and silk, full fressh and gay;
With here in tresse[s], browdered full well,
Right smothly kept, and shyning every-del.
About her nek a flour of fressh devyse
With rubies set, that lusty were to sene;
And she in gown was, light and somer-wyse,
Shapen full wele, the colour was of grene,
With aureat seint about her sydes clene,
With dyvers stones, precious and riche:—
Thus was she rayed, yet saugh I never her liche.
For if that Jove had [but] this lady seyn,
Tho Calixto ne [yet] Alcmenia,
Thay never hadden in his armes leyn;
Ne he had loved the faire Europa;
Ye, ne yet Dane ne Antiopa!
For al their bewtie stood in Rosiall;
She semed lich a thing celestiall
In bowntè, favor, port, and semliness,
Plesaunt of figure, mirrour of delyt,
Gracious to sene, and rote of gentilness,
With angel visage, lusty rede and white:
There was not lak, sauf daunger had a lite
This goodly fressh in rule and governaunce;
And somdel straunge she was, for her plesaunce.
And truly sone I took my leve and went,
Whan she had me enquyred what I was;
For more and more impressen gan the dent
Of Loves dart, whyl I beheld her face;
And eft again I com to seken grace,
And up I put my bill, with sentence clere
That folwith aftir; rede and ye shall here.
‘O ye [the] fressh, of [all] bewtie the rote,
That nature hath fourmed so wele and made
Princesse and Quene! and ye that may do bote
Of all my langour with your wordes glad!
432

Ye wounded me, ye made me wo-bestad;
Of grace redress my mortall grief, as ye
Of all myne harm the verrey causer be.
Now am I caught, and unwar sodenly,
With persant stremes of your yën clere,
Subject to ben, and serven you meekly,
And all your man, y-wis, my lady dere,
Abiding grace, of which I you requere,
That merciles ye cause me not to sterve;
But guerdon me, liche as I may deserve.
For, by my troth, the dayes of my breth
I am and will be youre in wille and hert,
Pacient and meek, for you to suffre deth
If it require; now rewe upon my smert;
And this I swere, I never shall out-stert
From Loves Court for none adversitee,
So ye wold rewe on my distresse and me.
My destinee, my fate, and ure I bliss,
That have me set to ben obedient
Only to you, the flour of all, y-wis:
I trust to Venus never to repent;
For ever redy, glad, and diligent
Ye shall me finde in service to your grace,
Till deth my lyfe out of my body race.
Humble unto your excellence so digne,
Enforcing ay my wittes and delyt
To serve and plese with glad herte and benigne,
And ben as Troilus, [old] Troyes knight,
Or Antony for Cleopatre bright,
And never you me thinkes to reney:
This shall I kepe unto myne ending-day.
Enprent my speche in your memorial
Sadly, my princess, salve of all my sore!
And think that, for I wold becomen thrall,
And ben your own, as I have seyd before,
Ye must of pity cherissh more and more
Your man, and tender aftir his desert,
And yive him corage for to ben expert.
433

For where that oon hath set his herte on fire,
And findeth nether refut ne plesaunce,
Ne word of comfort, deth will quyte his hire.
Allas! that there is none allegeaunce
Of all their wo! allas, the gret grevaunce
To love unloved! But ye, my Lady dere,
In other wyse may govern this matere.’
‘Truly, gramercy, frend, of your good will,
And of your profer in your humble wyse!
But for your service, take and kepe it still.
And where ye say, I ought you well cheryse,
And of your gref the remedy devyse,
I know not why: I nam acqueinted well
With you, ne wot not sothly where ye dwell.’
‘In art of love I wryte, and songes make,
That may be song in honour of the King
And Quene of Love; and than I undertake,
He that is sad shall than full mery sing.
And daunger[o]us not ben in every thing
Beseche I you, but seen my will and rede,
And let your aunswer put me out of drede.’
‘What is your name? reherse it here, I pray,
Of whens and where, of what condicion
That ye ben of? Let see, com of and say!
Fain wold I know your disposicion:—
Ye have put on your old entencion;
But what ye mene to servë me I noot,
Sauf that ye say ye love me wonder hoot.’
‘My name? alas, my hert, why [make it straunge?]
Philogenet I cald am fer and nere,
Of Cambrige clerk, that never think to chaunge
Fro you that with your hevenly stremes clere
Ravissh myne herte and gost and all in-fere:
This is the first, I write my bill for grace,
Me think, I see som mercy in your face.
And what I mene, by god that al hath wrought,
My bill, that maketh finall mencion,
That ye ben, lady, in myne inward thought
434

Of all myne hert without offencion,
That I best love, and have, sith I begon
To draw to court. Lo, than! what might I say?
I yeld me here, [lo!] unto your nobley.
And if that I offend, or wilfully
By pompe of hart your precept disobey,
Or doon again your will unskillfully,
Or greven you, for ernest or for play,
Correct ye me right sharply than, I pray,
As it is sene unto your womanhede,
And rewe on me, or ellis I nam but dede.’
‘Nay, god forbede to feffe you so with grace,
And for a worde of sugred eloquence,
To have compassion in so litell space!
Than were it tyme that som of us were hens!
Ye shall not find in me suche insolence.
Ay? what is this? may ye not suffer sight?
How may ye loke upon the candill-light,
That clere[r] is and hotter than myn y?
And yet ye seid, the bemes perse and frete:—
How shall ye than the candel-[l]ight endry?
For wel wot ye, that hath the sharper hete.
And there ye bid me you correct and bete,
If ye offend,—nay, that may not be doon:
There come but few that speden here so soon.
Withdraw your y, withdraw from presens eke:
Hurt not yourself, through foly, with a loke;
I wold be sory so to make you seke:
A woman shuld be ware eke whom she toke:
Ye beth a clark:—go serchen [in] my boke,
If any women ben so light to win:
Nay, byde a whyl, though ye were all my kin.
So soon ye may not win myne harte, in trouth
The gyse of court will seen your stedfastness,
And as ye don, to have upon you rewth.
Your own desert, and lowly gentilness,
That will reward you joy for heviness;
And though ye waxen pale, and grene and dede,
Ye must it use a while, withouten drede,
435

And it accept, and grucchen in no wyse;
But where as ye me hastily desyre
To been to love, me think, ye be not wyse.
Cese of your language! cese, I you requyre!
For he that hath this twenty yere ben here
May not obtayn; than marveile I that ye
Be now so bold, of love to trete with me.’
‘Ah! mercy, hart, my lady and my love,
My rightwyse princesse and my lyves guyde!
Now may I playn to Venus all above,
That rewthles ye me give these woundes wyde!
What have I don? why may it not betyde,
That for my trouth I may received be?
Alas! your daunger and your crueltè!
In wofull hour I got was, welaway!
In wofull hour [y-]fostred and y-fed,
In wofull hour y-born, that I ne may
My supplicacion swetely have y-sped!
The frosty grave and cold must be my bedde,
Without ye list your grace and mercy shewe,
Deth with his axe so faste on me doth hewe.
So greet disese and in so litell whyle,
So litell joy, that felte I never yet;
And at my wo Fortune ginneth to smyle,
That never erst I felt so harde a fit:
Confounded ben my spirits and my wit,
Till that my lady take me to her cure,
Which I love best of erthely crëature.
But that I lyke, that may I not com by;
Of that I playn, that have I habondaunce;
Sorrow and thought, thay sit me wounder ny;
Me is withhold that might be my plesaunce:
Yet turne again, my worldly suffisaunce!
O lady bright! and save your feithfull true,
And, er I die, yet on[e]s upon me rewe.’
With that I fell in sounde, and dede as stone,
With colour slain, and wan as assh[es] pale;
436

And by the hand she caught me up anon,
‘Aryse,’ quod she, ‘what? have ye dronken dwale?
Why slepen ye? it is no nightertale.’
‘Now mercy, swete,’ quod I, y-wis affrayed:
‘What thing,’ quod she, ‘hath mad you so dismayed?
Now wot I well that ye a lover be,
Your hewe is witnesse in this thing,’ she seid:
‘If ye were secret, [ye] might know,’ quod she,
‘Curteise and kind, all this shuld be allayed:
And now, myn herte! all that I have misseid,
I shall amend, and set your harte in ese.’
‘That word it is,’ quod I, ‘that doth me plese.’
‘But this I charge, that ye the statuts kepe,
And breke thaim not for sloth nor ignoraunce.’
With that she gan to smyle and laughen depe.
‘Y-wis,’ quod I, ‘I will do your plesaunce;
The sixteenth statut doth me grete grevaunce,
But ye must that relesse or modifie.’
‘I graunt,’ quod she, ‘and so I will truly.’
And softly than her colour gan appeare,
As rose so rede, through-out her visage all,
Wherefore me think it is according here,
That she of right be cleped Rosiall.
Thus have I won, with wordes grete and small,
Some goodly word of hir that I love best,
And trust she shall yit set myne harte in rest.
‘Goth on,’ she seid to Philobone, ‘and take
This man with you, and lede him all abowt
Within the court, and shew him, for my sake,
What lovers dwell withinne, and all the rowte
Of officers; for he is, out of dowte,
A straunger yit:’—‘Come on,’ quod Philobone,
‘Philogenet, with me now must ye gon.’
And stalking soft with esy pace, I saw
About the king [ther] stonden environ,
437

Attendaunce, Diligence, and their felaw
Fortherer, Esperaunce, and many oon;
Dred-to-offend there stood, and not aloon;
For there was eke the cruell adversair,
The lovers fo, that cleped is Dispair,
Which unto me spak angrely and fell,
And said, my lady me deceiven shall:
‘Trowest thow,’ quod she, ‘that all that she did tell,
Is true? Nay, nay, but under hony gall!
Thy birth and hers, [they] be nothing egall:
Cast of thyn hart, for all her wordes whyte,
For in good faith she lovith thee but a lyte.
And eek remember, thyn habilite
May not compare with hir, this well thow wot.’
Ye, than cam Hope and said, ‘My frend, let be!
Beleve him not: Dispair, he ginneth dote.’
‘Alas,’ quod I, ‘here is both cold and hot:
The tone me biddeth love, the toder nay;
Thus wot I not what me is best to say.
But well wot I, my lady graunted me,
Truly to be my woundes remedy;
Her gentilness may not infected be
With dobleness, thus trust I till I dy.’
So cast I void Dispaires company,
And taken Hope to councell and to frend.
‘Ye, kepe that wele,’ quod Philobone, ‘in mind.’
And there besyde, within a bay-window,
Stood oon in grene, full large of brede and length,
His berd as blak as fethers of the crow;
His name was Lust, of wounder might and strength;
And with Delyt to argue there he thenkth,
For this was all his [hool] opinion,
That love was sin! and so he hath begon
To reson fast, and legge auctoritè:
‘Nay,’ quod Delyt, ‘love is a vertue clere,
And from the soule his progress holdeth he:
438

Blind appetyt of lust doth often stere,
And that is sin: for reson lakketh there,
For thow [dost] think thy neigbours wyfe to win:
Yit think it well that love may not be sin;
For god and seint, they love right verely,
Void of all sin and vice: this knowe I wele,
Affeccion of flessh is sin, truly;
But verray love is vertue, as I fele,
For love may not thy freil desire akele:
For [verray] love is love withouten sin.’
‘Now stint,’ quoth Lust, ‘thow spekest not worth a pin.’
And there I left thaim in their arguing,
Roming ferther in the castell wyde,
And in a corner Lier stood talking
Of lesings fast, with Flatery there besyde;
He seid that women were attire of pryde,
And men were founde of nature variaunt,
And coud be false, and shewen beau semblaunt.
Than Flatery bespake and seid, y-wis:
‘See, so she goth on patens faire and fete,
Hit doth right wele: what prety man is this
That rometh here? Now truly, drink ne mete
Nede I not have; myne hart for joye doth bete
Him to behold, so is he goodly fressh:
It semeth for love his harte is tender nessh.’
This is the court of lusty folk and glad,
And wel becometh their habit and array:
O why be som so sorry and so sad,
Complaining thus in blak and whyte and gray?
Freres they ben, and monkes, in good fay:
Alas, for rewth! greet dole it is to seen,
To see thaim thus bewaile and sory been.
See how they cry and wring their handes whyte,
For they so sone went to religion!
And eke the nonnes, with vaile and wimple plight,
439

There thought that they ben in confusion:
‘Alas,’ thay sayn, ‘we fayn perfeccion,
In clothes wide, and lak our libertè;
But all the sin mote on our frendes be.
For, Venus wot, we wold as fayn as ye,
That ben attired here and wel besene,
Desiren man, and love in our degree,
Ferme and feithfull, right as wold the quene:
Our frendes wikke, in tender youth and grene,
Ayenst our will made us religious;
That is the cause we morne and wailen thus.’
Than seid the monks and freres in the tyde,
‘Wel may we curse our abbeys and our place,
Our statuts sharp, to sing in copes wyde,
Chastly to kepe us out of loves grace,
And never to fele comfort ne solace;
Yet suffre we the hete of loves fire,
And after than other haply we desire.
O Fortune cursed, why now and wherefore
Hast thow,’ they seid, ‘beraft us libertè,
Sith nature yave us instrument in store,
And appetyt to love and lovers be?
Why mot we suffer suche adversitè,
Diane to serve, and Venus to refuse?
Ful often sith this matier doth us muse.
We serve and honour, sore ayenst our will,
Of chastitè the goddes and the quene;
Us leffer were with Venus byden still,
And have reward for love, and soget been
Unto thise women courtly, fressh, and shene.
Fortune, we curse thy whele of variaunce!
There we were wele, thou revest our plesaunce.’
Thus leve I thaim, with voice of pleint and care,
In raging wo crying ful pitously;
And as I yede, full naked and full bare
Some I behold, looking dispitously,
On povertè that dedely cast their y;
And ‘Welaway!’ they cried, and were not fain,
For they ne might their glad desire attain.
440

For lak of richesse worldely and of gode,
They banne and curse, and wepe, and sein, ‘Alas,
That poverte hath us hent that whylom stode
At hartis ese, and free and in good case!
But now we dar not shew our-self in place,
Ne us embolde to duelle in company,
There-as our hart wold love right faithfully.’
And yet againward shryked every nonne,
The prang of love so straineth thaim to cry:
‘Now wo the tyme,’ quod thay, ‘that we be boun!
This hateful ordre nyse will don us dy!
We sigh and sobbe, and bleden inwardly,
Freting our-self with thought and hard complaint,
That ney for love we waxen wode and faint.’
And as I stood beholding here and there,
I was war of a sort full languisshing,
Savage and wild of loking and of chere,
Their mantels and their clothës ay tering;
And oft thay were of nature complaining,
For they their members lakked, fote and hand,
With visage wry and blind, I understand.
They lakked shap, and beautie to preferre
Theim-self in love: and seid, that god and kind
Hath forged thaim to worshippen the sterre,
Venus the bright, and leften all behind
His other werkes clene and out of mind:
‘For other have their full shape and bewtee,
And we,’ quod they, ‘ben in deformitè.’
And nye to thaim there was a company,
That have the susters waried and misseid;
I mene, the three of fatall destinè,
That be our werdes; and sone, in a brayd,
Out gan they cry as they had been affrayd,
‘We curse,’ quod thay, ‘that ever hath nature
Y-formed us, this wofull lyfe t'endure!’
And there he was contrite, and gan repent,
Confessing hole the wound that Citherè
Hath with the dart of hot desire him sent,
And how that he to love must subjet be:
441

Than held he all his skornes vanitè,
And seid, that lovers lede a blisful lyfe,
Yong men and old, and widow, maid and wyfe.
‘Bereve me, goddesse,’ quod he, ‘[of] thy might,
My skornes all and skoffes, that I have
No power forth, to mokken any wight,
That in thy service dwell: for I did rave:
This know I well right now, so god me save,
And I shal be the chief post of thy feith,
And love uphold, the révers who-so seith.’
Dissemble stood not fer from him in trouth,
With party mantill, party hood and hose;
And said, he had upon his lady rowth,
And thus he wound him in, and gan to glose
Of his entent full doble, I suppose:
And al the world, he seid, he loved it wele;
But ay, me thoughte, he loved her nere a dele.
Eek Shamefastness was there, as I took hede,
That blusshed rede, and durst nat ben a-knowe
She lover was, for thereof had she drede;
She stood and hing her visage down alowe;
But suche a sight it was to sene, I trow,
As of these roses rody on their stalk:
There cowd no wight her spy to speke or talk
In loves art, so gan she to abasshe,
Ne durst not utter all her privitè:
Many a stripe and many a grevous lasshe
She gave to thaim that wolden loveres be,
And hindered sore the simpill comonaltè,
That in no wyse durst grace and mercy crave;
For were not she, they need but ask and have;
Where if they now approchin for to speke,
Than Shamefastness returnith thaim again:
Thay think, if we our secret councell breke,
Our ladies will have scorn on us, certain,
And [per]aventure thinken greet disdain:
Thus Shamefastness may bringin in Dispeir,
Whan she is dede, the toder will be heir.
442

Com forth, Avaunter! now I ring thy bell!
I spyed him sone; to god I make a-vowe,
He loked blak as fendes doth in hell:—
‘The first,’ quod he, ‘that ever [I] did wowe,
Within a word she com, I wot not how,
So that in armes was my lady free;
And so hath ben a thousand mo than she.
In Englond, Bretain, Spain, and Pycardie,
Arteys, and Fraunce, and up in hy Holand,
In Burgoyne, Naples, and [in] Italy,
Naverne, and Grece, and up in hethen land,
Was never woman yit that wold withstand
To ben at myn commaundement, whan I wold:
I lakked neither silver, coin, ne gold.
And there I met with this estate and that;
And here I broched her, and here, I trow:
Lo! there goth oon of myne; and wot ye what?
Yon fressh attired have I leyd full low;
And such oon yonder eke right well I know:
I kept the statut whan we lay y-fere;
And yet yon same hath made me right good chere.’
Thus hath Avaunter blowen every-where
Al that he knowith, and more, a thousand-fold;
His auncetrye of kin was to Lière,
For firste he makith promise for to hold
His ladies councell, and it not unfold;
Wherfore, the secret when he doth unshit,
Than lyeth he, that all the world may wit.
For falsing so his promise and behest,
I wounder sore he hath such fantasie;
He lakketh wit, I trowe, or is a best,
That can no bet him-self with reson gy.
By myn advice, Love shal be contrarie
To his availe, and him eke dishonoure,
So that in court he shall no more sojoure.
‘Take hede,’ quod she, this litell Philobone,
‘Where Envy rokketh in the corner yond,
And sitteth dirk; and ye shall see anone
His lenë bodie, fading face and hond;
443

Him-self he fretteth, as I understond;
Witnesse of Ovid Methamorphosose;
The lovers fo he is, I wil not glose.
For where a lover thinketh him promote,
Envy will grucch, repyning at his wele;
Hit swelleth sore about his hartes rote,
That in no wyse he can not live in hele;
And if the feithfull to his lady stele,
Envy will noise and ring it round aboute,
And sey moche worse than don is, out of dowte.’
And Prevy Thought, rejoysing of him-self,
Stood not fer thens in habit mervelous;
‘Yon is,’ thought [I], ‘som spirit or some elf,
His sotill image is so curious:
How is,’ quod I, ‘that he is shaded thus
With yonder cloth, I not of what colour?’
And nere I went, and gan to lere and pore,
And frayned him [a] question full hard.
‘What is,’ quod I, ‘the thing thou lovest best?
Or what is boot unto thy paines hard?
Me think, thow livest here in grete unrest;
Thow wandrest ay from south to est and west,
And est to north; as fer as I can see,
There is no place in court may holden thee.
Whom folowest thow? where is thy harte y-set?
But my demaunde asoile, I thee require.’
‘Me thought,’ quod he, ‘no crëature may let
Me to ben here, and where-as I desire:
For where-as absence hath don out the fire,
My mery thought it kindleth yet again,
That bodily, me think, with my souverain
I stand and speke, and laugh, and kisse, and halse,
So that my thought comforteth me full oft:
I think, god wot, though all the world be false,
I will be trewe; I think also how soft
My lady is in speche, and this on-loft
Bringeth myn hart to joye and [greet] gladnesse;
This prevey thought alayeth myne hevinesse.
444

And what I thinke, or where to be, no man
In all this erth can tell, y-wis, but I:
And eke there nis no swallow swift, ne swan
So wight of wing, ne half [so] yern can fly;
For I can been, and that right sodenly,
In heven, in helle, in paradise, and here,
And with my lady, whan I will desire.
I am of councell ferre and wyde, I wot,
With lord and lady, and their previtè
I wot it all; but be it cold or hot,
They shall not speke without licence of me,
I mene, in suche as sesonable be;
For first the thing is thought within the hert,
Ere any word out from the mouth astert.’
And with that word Thought bad farewell and yede:
Eke furth went I to seen the courtes gyse:
And at the dore cam in, so god me spede,
Twey courteours of age and of assyse
Liche high, and brode, and, as I me advyse,
The Golden Love, and Leden Love thay hight:
The ton was sad, the toder glad and light.
[OMITTED]
‘Yis! draw your hart, with all your force and might,
To lustiness, and been as ye have seid;
And think that I no drop of favour hight,
Ne never had to your desire obeyd,
Till sodenly, me thought, me was affrayed,
To seen you wax so dede of countenaunce;
And Pitè bad me don you some plasaunce.
Out of her shryne she roos from deth to lyve,
And in myne ere full prevely she spak,
“Doth not your servaunt hens away to dryve,
Rosiall,” quod she; and than myn harte [it] brak,
For tender reuth: and where I found moch lak
In your persoune, than I my-self bethought;
And seid, “This is the man myne harte hath sought.”’
445

‘Gramercy, Pitè! might I but suffice
To yeve the lawde unto thy shryne of gold,
God wot, I wold; for sith that thou did rise
From deth to lyve for me, I am behold
To thanken you a thousand tymes told,
And eke my lady Rosiall the shene,
Which hath in comfort set myn harte, I wene.
And here I make myn protestacion,
And depely swere, as [to] myn power, to been
Feithfull, devoid of variacion,
And her forbere in anger or in tene,
And serviceable to my worldes quene,
With al my reson and intelligence,
To don her honour high and reverence.’
I had not spoke so sone the word, but she,
My souverain, did thank me hartily,
And seid, ‘Abyde, ye shall dwell still with me
Till seson come of May; for than, truly,
The King of Love and all his company
Shall hold his fest full ryally and well:’
And there I bode till that the seson fell.
On May-day, whan the lark began to ryse,
To matens went the lusty nightingale
Within a temple shapen hawthorn-wise;
He might not slepe in all the nightertale,
But ‘Domine labia,’ gan he crye and gale,
‘My lippes open, Lord of Love, I crye,
And let my mouth thy preising now bewrye.’
The eagle sang ‘Venite, bodies all,
And let us joye to love that is our helth.’
And to the deske anon they gan to fall,
And who come late, he pressed in by stelth:
Than seid the fawcon, our own hartis welth,
‘Domine, Dominus noster, I wot,
Ye be the god that don us bren thus hot.’
446

‘Celi enarrant,’ said the popingay,
‘Your might is told in heven and firmament.’
And than came in the goldfinch fresh and gay,
And said this psalm with hertly glad intent,
‘Domini est terra; this Laten intent,
The god of Love hath erth in governaunce:’
And than the wren gan skippen and to daunce.
‘Jube, Domine, Lord of Love, I pray
Commaund me well this lesson for to rede;
This legend is of all that wolden dey
Marters for love; god yive the sowles spede!
And to thee, Venus, sing we, out of drede,
By influence of all thy vertue grete,
Beseching thee to kepe us in our hete.’
The second lesson robin redebrest sang,
‘Hail to the god and goddess of our lay!’
And to the lectorn amorously he sprang:—
‘Hail,’ quod [he] eke, ‘O fresh seson of May,
Our moneth glad that singen on the spray!
Hail to the floures, rede, and whyte, and blewe,
Which by their vertue make our lustes newe!’
The thrid lesson the turtill-dove took up,
And therat lough the mavis [as] in scorn:
He said, ‘O god, as mot I dyne or sup,
This folissh dove will give us all an horn!
There been right here a thousand better born,
To rede this lesson, which, as well as he,
And eke as hot, can love in all degree.’
The turtill-dove said, ‘Welcom, welcom, May,
Gladsom and light to loveres that ben trewe!
I thank thee, Lord of Love, that doth purvey
For me to rede this lesson all of dewe;
For, in gode sooth, of corage I pursue
To serve my make till deth us must depart:’
And than ‘Tu autem’ sang he all apart.
‘Te deum amoris,’ sang the thrustell-cok:
Tuball him-self, the first musician,
With key of armony coude not unlok
So swete [a] tewne as that the thrustill can:
447

‘The Lord of Love we praisen,’ quod he than,
‘And so don all the fowles, grete and lyte;
Honour we May, in fals lovers dispyte.’
‘Dominus regnavit,’ seid the pecok there,
‘The Lord of Love, that mighty prince, y-wis,
He hath received her[e] and every-where:
Now Jubilate sing:’—‘What meneth this?’
Seid than the linet; ‘welcom, Lord of blisse!’
Out-stert the owl with ‘Benedicite,’
What meneth al this mery fare?’ quod he.
‘Laudate,’ sang the lark with voice full shrill;
And eke the kite, ‘O admirabile;
This quere will throgh myne eris pers and thrill;
But what? welcom this May seson,’ quod he;
‘And honour to the Lord of Love mot be,
That hath this feest so solemn and so high:’
‘Amen,’ seid all; and so seid eke the pye.
And furth the cokkow gan procede anon,
With ‘Benedictus’ thanking god in hast,
That in this May wold visite thaim echon,
And gladden thaim all whyl the fest shall last:
And therewithall a-loughter out he brast,
‘I thank it god that I shuld end the song,
And all the service which hath been so long.’
Thus sang thay all the service of the fest,
And that was don right erly, to my dome;
And furth goth all the Court, both most and lest,
To feche the floures fressh, and braunche and blome;
And namly, hawthorn brought both page and grome.
With fressh garlandës, partie blewe and whyte,
And thaim rejoysen in their greet delyt.
Eke eche at other threw the floures bright,
The prymerose, the violet, the gold;
So than, as I beheld the ryall sight,
My lady gan me sodenly behold,
And with a trew-love, plited many-fold,
She smoot me through the [very] hert as blyve;
And Venus yet I thanke I am alyve.
448

XXV. VIRELAI.

Alone walking, In thought pleyning,
And sore sighing, All desolate,
Me remembring Of my living,
My deth wishing Bothe erly and late.
Infortunate Is so my fate
That, wote ye what? Out of mesure
My lyf I hate Thus desperate;
In pore estate Do I endure.
Of other cure Am I nat sure,
Thus to endure Is hard, certain;
Such is my ure, I yow ensure;
What creature May have more pain?
My trouth so pleyn Is take in veyn,
And gret disdeyn In remembraunce;
Yet I full feyn Wold me compleyn
Me to absteyn From this penaunce.
But in substaunce Noon allegeaunce
Of my grevaunce Can I nat finde;
Right so my chaunce With displesaunce
Doth me avaunce; And thus an ende.
Explicit.
449

XXVII. LEAULTE VAULT RICHESSE.

This warldly joy is only fantasy,
Of quhich non erdly wicht can be content;
Quho most has wit, lest suld in it affy,
Quho taistis it most, most sall him repent;
Quhat valis all this richess and this rent,
Sen no man wat quho sall his tresour have?
Presume nocht gevin that god has don but lent,
Within schort tyme the quhiche he thinkis to crave.
Leaulte vault richesse.
450

XXVIII. SAYINGS PRINTED BY CAXTON.

1.

Whan feyth failleth in prestes sawes,
And lordes hestes ar holden for lawes,
And robbery is holden purchas,
And lechery is holden solas,
Than shal the lond of Albyon
Be brought to grete confusioun.

2.

Hit falleth for every gentilman
To saye the best that he can
In [every] mannes absence,
And the soth in his presence.

3.

Hit cometh by kynde of gentil blode
To cast away al hevines,
And gadre to-gidre wordes good;
The werk of wisdom berith witnes.
Et sic est finis.

XXIX. BALADE IN PRAISE OF CHAUCER.

Master Geffray Chauser, that now lyth in grave,
The nobyll rethoricien, and poet of Gret Bretayne,
That worthy was the lawrer of poetry have
For thys hys labour, and the palme attayne;
Whych furst made to dystyll and reyne
The gold dew-dropys of speche and eloquence
In-to Englyssh tong, thorow hys excellence.
Explicit.
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