University of Virginia Library

The soft morow ande The lustee Aperill,
The wynter set, the stormys in exill,
Quhen that the brycht & fresch illumynare
Uprisith arly in his fyre chare
His hot courss in to the orient,
And frome his spere his goldine stremis sent
Wpone the grond, in maner off mesag,
One euery thing to valkyne thar curage,
That natur haith set wnder hire mycht,
Boith gyrss, and flour, & euery lusty vicht;
And namly thame that felith the assay
Of lufe, to schew the kalendis of may,
Throw birdis songe with opine wox one hy,
That sessit not one lufaris for to cry,
Lest thai forȝhet, throw slewth of Ignorans,
The old wsage of lowis obseruans.
And from̄e I can the bricht face asspy,
It deuit me no langare fore to ly,
Nore that loue schuld sleuth In to me finde,
Bot walkine furth, bewalinge in my mynde
The dredful lyve endurit al to longe,
Sufferans in loue of sorouful harmys stronge,
The scharpe dais and the hewy ȝerys,
Quhill phebus thris haith passith al his speris,
Vithoutine hope ore traistinge of comfort;
So be such meine fatit was my sort.
Thus in my saull Rolinge al my wo,
My carful hart carwing can̄ In two
The derdful suerd of lowis hot dissire,
So be the morow set I was afyre
In felinge of the access hot & colde,
That haith my hart in sich a fevir holde,
Only to me thare was non̄e vthir ess
Bot thinkine qhow I schulde my lady pless.
The scharp assay and ek the Inwart peine
Of dowblit wo me neulyngis can̄ constrein,
Quhen that I have remembrit one my thocht
How sche, quhois bewte al my harm̄ haith wrocht,
Ne knouith not how I ame wo begon̄e,
Nor how that I ame of hire seruandis on̄e;
And in my self I can̄ nocht fynde the meyne
In to quhat wyss I sal my wo compleine.
Thus in the feild I walkith to & froo,
As thochtful wicht that felt of nocht bot woo,
Syne to o gardinge, that wess weil besen̄,
Of quiche the feild was al depaynt with gren̄.
The tendyre and the lusty flouris new
Up thrōue the gren̄ vpone thar stalkis grew
Aȝhane the sone, and thare levis spred,
Quharwith that al the gardinge was Iclede,
That pryapus, in to his tyme before,
In o lustear walkith nevir more;
And al about enweronyt and Iclosit
One sich o wyss, that none within supposit
Fore to be sen̄ with ony vicht thare owt,
So dide the levis clos it all about.
Thar was the flour, thar was the quen̄ alphest,
Rycht wering being of the nychtis rest,
Wnclosing gan̄e the crownel for the day;
The brycht sone illumynit haith the spray,
The nychtis sobir ande the most schowris,
As cristoll terys withhong vp[o]ne the flouris,
Haith vpwarpith In the lusty aire,
The morow makith soft, ameyne, and faire;
And the byrdis thar mychty voce out throng,
Quhill al the wood resonite of thar songe,
That gret confort till ony vicht It wer
That plessith thame of lustenes to here;
Bot gladness til the thochtful, auer mo
The more he seith, the more he haith of wo.
Thar was the garding with the flouris ourfret,
Quich is in posy fore my lady set,
That hire Represent to me oft befor,
& thane also; thus al day gan be sor
Of thocht my gost with torment occupy,
That I becam̄e In to one exasy,
Ore slep, or how I wot, bot so befell,
My wo haith done my livis gost expell,
And in sich wiss weil long I can endwr,
So me betid o wondir aventur.
As I thus lay, Rycht to my spreit vas sen̄
A birde, yat was as ony lawrare gren̄,
Alicht, and sayth in to hir birdis chere;
“O woful wrech, that levis in to were!
To schew the thus the god of loue me sent,
That of thi seruice no thing is content,
For in his court yhoue lewith in disspar,
And vilfully sustenis al thi care,
And schapith no thinge of thine awn remede,
Bot clepith ay and cryith apone dede;
Yhow callith the birdis be morow fro thar bouris,
Yhoue devith boith the erbis and the flouris,
And clepit hyme vnfaithful king of lowe,
Yow dewith hyme in to his rigne abuse,
Yhow tempith hyme, yhoue doith thi self no gud,
Yhoue art o mon̄ of wit al destitude.
Wot yhoue nocht that al liwis creatwre
Haith of thi wo in to hir hand the cwre?
And set yhoue clep one erbis and one treis,
Sche heris not thi wo, nore ȝhit sche seis;
For none may know the dirkness of thi thocht,
Ne blamyth her, thi wo sche knowith nocht,
And It is weil accordinge It be so.
He suffir harme, that to redress his wo
Previdith not; for long ore he be fonde,
Holl of his leich, that schewith not his vound.
And of owid ye autor schall yhow knaw
Of lufe that seith, for to consel or schow,
The last he clepith althir best of two;
And that is suth, and sal be euer mo.
And loue also haith chargit me to say,
Set yhoue presume, ore beleif, ye assay
Of his seruice, as It wil ryne ore go,
Preswme It not, fore It wil not be so;
Al magre thine a seruand schal yow bee.
And as tueching thine aduersytee,
Complen and sek of the ramed, the cwre,
Ore, gif yhow likith, furth thi wo endure.”
And, as me thocht, I ansuerde aȝain̄e
Thus to the byrde, in wordis schort and plane:
“It ganyth not, as I have harde Recorde,
The seruand for to disput with ye lord;
Bot well he knowith of al my vo the quhy,
And in quhat wyss he hath me set, quhar I
Nore may I not, nore can I not attane,
Nore to hir hienes dare I not complane.”
“Ful!” quod the bird, “lat be thi nyss dispare,
For in this erith no lady is so fare,
So hie estat, nore of so gret empriss,
That in hire self haith visdome ore gentrice,
Yf that o wicht, that worthy is to be
Of lovis court, schew til hir that he
Seruith hire in lovis hartly wyss,
That schall thar for hyme hating or dispiss.
The god of love thus chargit the, at schort,
That to thi lady yhoue thi wo Report;
Yf yhoue may not, thi plant schall yhov vrit.
Se, as yhoue cane, be maner ofe endit
In metir, quhich that no man haith susspek,
Set oft tyme thai contenyng gret effece;
Thus one sume wyss yhow schal thi wo dwclar.
And, for thir sedulis and thir billis are
So generall, and ek so schort at lyte,
And swme of thaim is lost the appetit,
Sum trety schall yhoue for yi lady sak,
That wnkouth is, als tak one hand and mak,
Of love, ore armys, or of sum othir thing,
That may hir one to thi Remembryng brynge,
Qwich soundith Not one to no hewynes,
Bot one to gladness and to lusteness,
That yhoue belevis may thi lady pless,
To have hir thonk and be one to hir ess;
That sche may wit in seruice yhow art one.
Faire weil,” quod sche, “thus schal yhow the dispone,
And mak thi self als mery as yhoue may,
It helpith not thus fore to wep al way.”
With that, the bird sche haith hir leif tak,
For fere of quich I can onone to wak;
Sche was ago, and to my self thocht I
Quhat may yis meyne? quhat may this signify?
Is It of troutht, or of Illusioune?
Bot finaly, as in conclusioune,
Be as be may, I schal me not discharge,
Sen It apperith be of lovis charg;
And ek myne hart non̄e othir bissynes
Haith bot my ladice seruice, as I gess;
Among al vtheris I schal one honde tak
This litil occupatioune for hire sak.
Bot hyme I pray, the mychty gode of loue,
That sitith hie in to his spir abuf,
(At command of o wyss quhois visioune
My gost haith takin this opvnioune,)
That my lawboure may to my lady pless,
And do wnto hir ladeschip sum ess,
So that my trauell be nocht tynt; and I
Quhat vtheris say setith no thing by,
For wel I know that, be this worldis fam̄e,
It schal not be bot hurting to my nam̄e,
Quhen that thai here my febil negligens,
That empit is, and bare of eloquens,
Of discressioune, and ek of Retoryk;
The metire and the cuning both elyk
So fere discording frome perfeccioune;
Quhilk I submyt to the correccioune
Of yaim the quhich that is discret & wyss,
And enterit is of loue in the seruice;
Quhich knouyth that no lovare dare withstonde,
Quhat loue hyme chargit he mot tak one honde,
Deith, ore defam̄, or ony maner wo;
And at this tyme with me It stant rycht so,
As I that dar makine no demande
To quhat I wot It lykith loue commande.
Tueching his chargis, as with al destitut,
Within my mynd schortly I conclud
For to fulfyll, for ned I mot do so.
Thane in my thocht rolling to and fro
Quhare that I mycht sum wnkouth mater fynde,
Quhill at ye last it fell in to my mynd
Of o story, that I befor had sene,
That boith of loue and armys can conten̄,
Was of o knycht clepit lancelot of ye laik,
The sone of bane was king of albanak;
Of quhois fame & worschipful dedis
Clerkis in to diuerss bukis redis
Of quhome I thynk her sumthing for to writ
At louis charge, and as I cane, endit;
Set men tharin sal by experiens
Know my consait, and al my negligens.
Bot for that story is so pasing larg,
One to my wit It war so gret o charg
For to translait the romans of that knycht,
It passith fare my cunyng and my mycht,
Myne Ignorans may It not comprehende;
Quharfor thare one I wil me not depend
How he was borne, nor how his fader deid
And ek his moder, nore how he was denyed
Efter thare deth, presumyng he was ded,
Of al ye lond, nore how he fra that stede
In sacret wyss wnwyst away was tak,
And nwrist with ye lady of ye lak.
Nor, in his ȝouth, think I not to tell
The auentouris, quhich to hyme befell;
Nor how the lady of the laik hyme had
One to the court, quhare that he knycht was mad;
None wist his nome, nore how that he was tak
By loue, and was Iwondit to the stak,
And throuch & throuch persit to ye hart,
That al his tyme he couth It not astart;
For thare of loue he enterit in seruice,
Of wanore throuch the beute and franchis,
Throuch quhois seruice in armys he has vrocht
Mony wonderis, and perellis he has socht.
Nor how he thor, in to his ȝoung curage,
Hath maid awoue, and in to louis rage,
In the rewenging of o wondit knycht
That cumyne was in to the court that nycht;
In to his hed a brokin fuerd had he,
And in his body also mycht men see
The tronsioune of o brokine sper that was,
Quhich no man out dedenyt to aras;
Nor how he haith the wapnis out tak,
And his awow apone this wis can mak,
That he schuld hyme Reweng at his poware
One euery knycht that louith the hurtare
Better thane hyme, the quhich that was I wond.
Throw quich awoue in armys hath ben founde
The deth of mony wereoure ful wicht;
For, fro tho wow was knowing of the knycht,
Thare was ful mony o pasage in the londe
By men of armys kepit to withstond
This knycht, of quhome thai ben al set afyre
Thaim to reweng in armys of desir.
Nor how that thane incontynent was send
He and sir kay togidder to defend
The lady of nohalt, nore how that hee
Gouernit hyme thare, nore in quhat degre.
Nor how the gret pasing vassolag
He escheuit, thrōue the outragouss curag,
In conquiryng of the sorowful castell.
Nor how he passith doune in the cauis fell,
And furth ye keys of Inchantment brocht,
That al distroyt quhich that thare vas vrocht.
Nore howe that he reskewit sir gawane,
With his ix falouss in to presone tane;
Nore mony vthere diuerss aduenture,
Quhich to report I tak not in my cwre;
Nor mony assemblay that gawane gart be maid
To wit his name; nor how that he hyme hade
Wnwist, and hath the worschip & empriss;
Nor of the knychtis in to mony diuerss wyss
Throuch his awoue that hath thare dethis found;
Nor of the sufferans that by louis wounde
He in his trawel sufferith auer more;
Nor in the quenis presens how tharfor
By camelot, in to that gret Revare,
He was ner dround. I wil It not declare
How that he was in louis hewy thocht
By dagenet in to the court Ibrocht;
Nor how the knycht that tyme he cane perfew,
Nor of the gyantis by camelot he slew;
Nor wil I not her tell the maner how
He slew o knycht, by natur of his wow,
Off melyholt; nore how in to that toune
Thar came one hyme o gret confusione
Of pupil & knychtis, al enarmyt,
Nor how he thar haith kepit hyme wnharmyt;
Nor of his worschip, nor of his gret prowes,
Nor his defens of armys in the pres.
Nor how the lady of melyhalt yat sche
Came to the feild, and prayth hyme that he
As to o lady to hir his suerd hath ȝold
Nor how he was in to hir keping hold;
And mony vthir nobil deid also
I wil report quharfor I lat ourgo.
For quho thaim lykith for to specyfy,
Of one of thaim mycht mak o gret story;
Nor thing I not of his hye renōwn
My febil wit to makin mensioune;
Bot of the weris that was scharp & strong,
Richt perellouss, and hath enduryt long,
Of Arthur In defending of his lond
Frome galiot, sone of the fair gyonde,
That brocht of knychtis o pasing confluens;
And how lancelot of arthuris hol defens
And of the veris berith the renown̄;
And how he be the wais of fortoune
Tuex the two princis makith the accorde,
Of al there mortall weris to concorde;
And how that venus, siting hie abuf,
Reuardith hyme of trauell in to loue,
And makith hyme his ladice grace to have,
And thankfully his seruice cane resave;
This is the mater quhich I think to tell.
Bot stil he mot rycht with the lady duell,
Quhill tyme cum eft that we schal of hym spek.
This process mot closine ben̄ and stek;
And furth I wil one to my mater go.
Bot first I pray, and I besek also,
One to the most conpilour to support,
Flour of poyetis, quhois nome I wil report
To me nor to non̄ vthir It accordit,
In to our rymyng his nam̄ to be recordit;
For sum suld deme It of presumpsioune,
And ek our rymyng is al bot derysioune,
Quhen that remembrit is his excellens,
So hie abuf that stant in reuerans.
Ye fresch enditing of his laiting toung
Out throuch yis world so wid is yroung,
Of eloquens, and ek of retoryk,
Nor is, nor was, nore neuer beith hyme lyk,
This world gladith of his suet poetry.
His saul I blyss conseruyt be for thy;
And yf that ony lusty terme I wryt
He haith the thonk yerof, & this endit.