KnT.4. |
Fragment II (Group B1). |
d120. |
d121. |
Pride. |
Envy. |
Rage. |
Sloth. |
Avarice. |
Gluttony. |
Lechery. |
1. |
2. |
3. |
1. |
M1. |
P1. |
M2. |
P2. |
M3. |
P3. |
M4. |
P4. |
M5. |
P5. |
M6. |
P6. |
M7. |
2. |
P1. |
M1. |
P2. |
M2. |
P3. |
M3. |
P4. |
M4. |
P5. |
M5. |
P6. |
M6. |
P7. |
M7. |
P8. |
M8. |
3. |
P1. |
M2. |
P2. |
M2. |
P3. |
M3. |
P4. |
M4. |
P5. |
M5. |
P6. |
M6. |
P7. |
M7. |
P8. |
M8. |
P9. |
M9. |
P10. |
M10. |
P11. |
M11. |
P12. |
M12. |
4. |
P1. |
M1. |
P2. |
M2. |
P3. |
M3. |
P4. |
M4. |
P5. |
M5. |
P6. |
M6. |
M7. |
M7. |
5. |
P1. |
M1. |
P2. |
M2. |
P3. |
M3. |
P4. |
M4. |
P5. |
M5. |
P6. |
I. |
II. |
BOOK III. |
BOOK IV. |
BOOK V. |
1 The Proem. |
2. The Story. |
3. |
II. |
III. |
IV. |
V. |
I. |
II. |
III. |
IV. |
I. |
II. |
III. |
[IV]. |
[V]. |
1. |
2. |
3. |
4. |
5. |
6. |
7. |
8. |
9. |
10. |
11. |
12. |
13. |
14. |
15. |
16. |
17. |
18. |
19. |
20. |
21. |
22. |
23. |
24. |
25. |
26. |
27. |
28. |
29. |
30. |
31. |
32. |
33. |
34. |
35. |
36. |
37. |
38. |
39. |
40. |
41. |
42. |
43. |
44. |
45. |
46. |
Fragment A. |
Fragment B. |
Fragment C. |
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Gladeth, ye foules, of the morowe gray;
Lo, Venus, rysen among yon rowes rede.
And floures fressh, honoureth ye this day,
For when the sunne uprist then wol ye sprede.
But ye lovers, that lye in any drede,
Fleeth, lest wikked tonges yow espye.
Lo, yond the sunne, the candel of jelosye!
Lo, Venus, rysen among yon rowes rede.
And floures fressh, honoureth ye this day,
For when the sunne uprist then wol ye sprede.
But ye lovers, that lye in any drede,
Fleeth, lest wikked tonges yow espye.
Lo, yond the sunne, the candel of jelosye!
Wyth teres blewe and with a wounded herte
Taketh your leve, and with Seint John to borowe
Apeseth sumwhat of your sorowes smerte.
Tyme cometh eft that cese shal your sorowe;
The glade nyght ys worth an hevy morowe—
Seynt Valentyne, a foul thus herde I synge
Upon thy day er sonne gan up-sprynge.
Taketh your leve, and with Seint John to borowe
Apeseth sumwhat of your sorowes smerte.
644
The glade nyght ys worth an hevy morowe—
Seynt Valentyne, a foul thus herde I synge
Upon thy day er sonne gan up-sprynge.
Yet sang this foul— I rede yow al awake,
And ye that han not chosen in humble wyse,
Without repentynge cheseth yow your make,
And ye that han ful chosen as I devise,
Yet at the leste renoveleth your servyse.
Confermeth hyt perpetuely to dure,
And paciently taketh your aventure.
And ye that han not chosen in humble wyse,
Without repentynge cheseth yow your make,
And ye that han ful chosen as I devise,
Yet at the leste renoveleth your servyse.
Confermeth hyt perpetuely to dure,
And paciently taketh your aventure.
And for the worship of this highe feste,
Yet wol I, in my briddes wise, synge
The sentence of the compleynt, at the leste,
That woful Mars made atte departyng
Fro fresshe Venus in a morwenynge,
Whan Phebus with his firy torches rede
Ransaked every lover in hys drede.
Yet wol I, in my briddes wise, synge
The sentence of the compleynt, at the leste,
That woful Mars made atte departyng
Fro fresshe Venus in a morwenynge,
Whan Phebus with his firy torches rede
Ransaked every lover in hys drede.
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