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| 52. | 52. The Thrush and the Nightingale. |
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 | English Lyrics of the XIIIth Century |  |
101
52. The Thrush and the Nightingale.
Ci comence le cuntent parentre le Mauuis & la russinole
Somer is comen wiþ loue to toune,
Wiþ blostme, and wiþ brides roune
Þe note of hasel springeþ,
Þe dewes darkneþ in þe dale.
For longing of þe niȝttegale,
Þis foweles murie singeþ.
Wiþ blostme, and wiþ brides roune
Þe note of hasel springeþ,
Þe dewes darkneþ in þe dale.
For longing of þe niȝttegale,
Þis foweles murie singeþ.
Hic herde a strif bitweies two—
Þat on of wele, þat oþer of wo.
Bitwene two I-fere,
Þat on hereþ wimmen þat hoe beþ hende,
Þat oþer hem wole wiþ miȝte shende.
Þat strif ȝe mowen I-here.
Þat on of wele, þat oþer of wo.
Bitwene two I-fere,
Þat on hereþ wimmen þat hoe beþ hende,
Þat oþer hem wole wiþ miȝte shende.
Þat strif ȝe mowen I-here.
Þe niȝtingale is on bi nome
Þat wol shilden hem from shome,
Of skaþe hoe wole hem skere;
Þe þrestelcok hem kepeþ ay,
He seiþ bi niȝte and eke bi day,
Þat hy beþ fendes I-fere.
Þat wol shilden hem from shome,
Of skaþe hoe wole hem skere;
Þe þrestelcok hem kepeþ ay,
He seiþ bi niȝte and eke bi day,
Þat hy beþ fendes I-fere.
For hy biswikeþ euchan mon
Þat mest bi-leueþ hem ouppon.
Þey hy ben milde of chere,
Hoe beþ fikele and fals to fonde,
Hoe wercheþ wo in euchan londe;
Hit were betere þat hy nere.
Þat mest bi-leueþ hem ouppon.
Þey hy ben milde of chere,
Hoe beþ fikele and fals to fonde,
Hoe wercheþ wo in euchan londe;
Hit were betere þat hy nere.
102
‘Hit is shome to blame leuedy,
For hy beþ hende of corteisy;
Ich rede þat þou lete.
Ne wes neuere bruche so strong,
I-broke wiþ riȝte ne wiþ wrong,
Þat mon ne miȝte bete.
For hy beþ hende of corteisy;
Ich rede þat þou lete.
Ne wes neuere bruche so strong,
I-broke wiþ riȝte ne wiþ wrong,
Þat mon ne miȝte bete.
Hy gladieþ hem þat beþ wroþe,
Boþe þe heye and þe lowe,
Mid gome hy cunne hem grete.
Þis world nere nout ȝif wimen nere;
I-maked hoe wes to mones fere,
Nis no þing al so swete.’
Boþe þe heye and þe lowe,
Mid gome hy cunne hem grete.
Þis world nere nout ȝif wimen nere;
I-maked hoe wes to mones fere,
Nis no þing al so swete.’
[Thrush]
‘I ne may wimen herien nohut,
For hy beþ swikele and false of þohut,
Also ich am ounderstonde.
Hy beþ feire and briȝt on hewe,
Here þout is fals, and ountrewe
Ful ȝare ich haue hem fonde.
For hy beþ swikele and false of þohut,
Also ich am ounderstonde.
Hy beþ feire and briȝt on hewe,
Here þout is fals, and ountrewe
Ful ȝare ich haue hem fonde.
Alisaundre þe king meneþ of hem—
In þe world nes non so crafti mon,
Ne non so riche of londe.
I take witnesse of monie and fele
Þat riche weren of worldes wele,
Muche wes hem þe shonde.’
In þe world nes non so crafti mon,
Ne non so riche of londe.
I take witnesse of monie and fele
Þat riche weren of worldes wele,
Muche wes hem þe shonde.’
[Nightingale]
Þe niȝtingale hoe wes wroþ:
‘Fowel, me þinkeþ þou art me loþ
Sweche tales for to showe.
Among a þousent leuedies I-tolde,
Þer nis non wickede I holde
Þer hy sitteþ on rowe.
‘Fowel, me þinkeþ þou art me loþ
Sweche tales for to showe.
Among a þousent leuedies I-tolde,
Þer nis non wickede I holde
Þer hy sitteþ on rowe.
103
Hy beþ of herte meke and milde,
Hem-self hy cunne from shome shilde
Wiþinne boures wowe,
And swettoust þing in armes to wre
Þe mon þat holdeþ hem in gle.
Fowel, wi ne art þou hit I-cnowe?’
Hem-self hy cunne from shome shilde
Wiþinne boures wowe,
And swettoust þing in armes to wre
Þe mon þat holdeþ hem in gle.
Fowel, wi ne art þou hit I-cnowe?’
[Thrush]
‘Gentil fowel, seist þou hit me?
Ich habbe wiþ hem in boure I-be,
I haued al mine wille.
Hy willeþ for a luitel mede
Don a sunfoul derne dede,
Here soule forto spille.
Ich habbe wiþ hem in boure I-be,
I haued al mine wille.
Hy willeþ for a luitel mede
Don a sunfoul derne dede,
Here soule forto spille.
Fowel, me þinkeþ þou art les;
Þey þou be milde and softe of pes,
Þou seyst þine wille.
I take witnesse of adam,
Þat wes oure furste man,
Þat fonde hem wycke and ille.’
Þey þou be milde and softe of pes,
Þou seyst þine wille.
I take witnesse of adam,
Þat wes oure furste man,
Þat fonde hem wycke and ille.’
[Nightingale]
‘Þrestelcok, þou art wod,
Oþer þou const to luitel goed,
Þis wimmen for to shende.
Hit is þe swetteste driwerie,
And mest hoe counnen of curteisie.
Nis noþing al so hende.
Oþer þou const to luitel goed,
Þis wimmen for to shende.
Hit is þe swetteste driwerie,
And mest hoe counnen of curteisie.
Nis noþing al so hende.
Þe mest murþe þat mon haueþ here,
Wenne hoe is maked to his fere
In armes for to wende.
Hit is shome to blame leuedi,
For hem þou shalt gon sori—
Of londe ich wille þe sende.’
Wenne hoe is maked to his fere
In armes for to wende.
Hit is shome to blame leuedi,
For hem þou shalt gon sori—
Of londe ich wille þe sende.’
104
‘Niȝttingale, þou hauest wrong!
Wolt þou me senden of þis lond
For ich holde wiþ þe riȝtte?
I take witnesse of sire wawain,
Þat ihesu crist ȝaf miȝt and main
And strengþe for to fiȝtte,
Wolt þou me senden of þis lond
For ich holde wiþ þe riȝtte?
I take witnesse of sire wawain,
Þat ihesu crist ȝaf miȝt and main
And strengþe for to fiȝtte,
So wide so he heuede I-gon,
Trewe ne founde he neuere non
Bi daye ne bi niȝtte.’
Trewe ne founde he neuere non
Bi daye ne bi niȝtte.’
[Nightingale]
‘Fowel, for þi false mouþ
Þi sawe shal ben wide couþ,
I rede þe fle wiþ miȝtte.
Þi sawe shal ben wide couþ,
I rede þe fle wiþ miȝtte.
Ich habbe leue to ben here,
In orchard and in erbere
Mine songes for to singe.
Herdi neuere bi no leuedi
Bote hendinese and curteysi,
And ioye hy gunnen me bringe,
In orchard and in erbere
Mine songes for to singe.
Herdi neuere bi no leuedi
Bote hendinese and curteysi,
And ioye hy gunnen me bringe,
Of muchele murþe hy telleþ me.
Fere, al so I telle þe,
Hy liuieþ in longinge.
Fowel, þou sitest on hasel bou,
Þou lastest hem, þou hauest wou—
Þi word shal wide springe.’
Fere, al so I telle þe,
Hy liuieþ in longinge.
Fowel, þou sitest on hasel bou,
Þou lastest hem, þou hauest wou—
Þi word shal wide springe.’
[Thrush]
‘Hit springeþ wide, wel ich wot—
Þou tel hit him þat hit not!
Þis sawes ne beþ nout newe.
Fowel, herkne to mi sawe,
Ich wile þe telle of here lawe
Þou ne kepest nout hem I-knowe.
Þou tel hit him þat hit not!
Þis sawes ne beþ nout newe.
Fowel, herkne to mi sawe,
Ich wile þe telle of here lawe
Þou ne kepest nout hem I-knowe.
105
Þenk on costantines quene—
Foul wel hire semede fow and grene—
Hou sore hit gon hire rewe.
Hoe fedde a crupel in hire bour,
And helede him wiþ couertour.
Loke, war wimmen ben trewe!’
Foul wel hire semede fow and grene—
Hou sore hit gon hire rewe.
Hoe fedde a crupel in hire bour,
And helede him wiþ couertour.
Loke, war wimmen ben trewe!’
[Nightingale]
‘Þrestelkok, þou hauest wrong!
Al so I sugge one mi song,
And þat men witeþ wide,
Hy beþ briȝttore ounder shawe
Þen þe day wenne hit dawe
In longe someres tide.
Al so I sugge one mi song,
And þat men witeþ wide,
Hy beþ briȝttore ounder shawe
Þen þe day wenne hit dawe
In longe someres tide.
Come þou heuere in here londe,
Hy shulen don þe in prisoun stronge
And þer þou shalt abide.
Þe lesinges þat þou hauest maked,
Þer þou shalt hem forsake,
And shome þe shal bitide.’
Hy shulen don þe in prisoun stronge
And þer þou shalt abide.
Þe lesinges þat þou hauest maked,
Þer þou shalt hem forsake,
And shome þe shal bitide.’
[Thrush]
‘Niȝttingale, þou seist þine wille,
Þou seist þat wimmen shulen me spille.
Daþeit, wo hit wolde!
In holi bok hit is I-founde,
Hy bringeþ moni mon to grounde,
Þat proude weren and bolde.
Þou seist þat wimmen shulen me spille.
Daþeit, wo hit wolde!
In holi bok hit is I-founde,
Hy bringeþ moni mon to grounde,
Þat proude weren and bolde.
Þenk oupon saunsum þe stronge,
Hou muchel is wif him dude to wronge,
Ich wot þat hoe him solde.
Hit is þat worste hord of pris
Þat ihesu makede in parais
In tresour for to holde.’
Hou muchel is wif him dude to wronge,
Ich wot þat hoe him solde.
Hit is þat worste hord of pris
Þat ihesu makede in parais
In tresour for to holde.’
106
Þo seide þe niȝttingale:
‘Fowel, wel redi is þi tale;
Herkne to mi lore!
Hit is flour þat lasteþ longe,
And mest I-herd in eueri londe,
And louelich ounder gore.
‘Fowel, wel redi is þi tale;
Herkne to mi lore!
Hit is flour þat lasteþ longe,
And mest I-herd in eueri londe,
And louelich ounder gore.
In þe worlde nis non so goed leche,
So milde of þoute, so feir of speche,
To hele monnes sore.
Fowel, þou rewest al mi þohut,
Þou dost euele ne geineþ þe nohut,
Ne do þou so nammore!’
So milde of þoute, so feir of speche,
To hele monnes sore.
Fowel, þou rewest al mi þohut,
Þou dost euele ne geineþ þe nohut,
Ne do þou so nammore!’
[Thrush]
‘Niȝtingale, þou art ounwis
On hem to leggen so muchel pris,
Þi mede shal ben lene.
Among on houndret ne beþ fiue,
Nouþer of maidnes ne of wive,
Þat holdeþ hem al clene,
On hem to leggen so muchel pris,
Þi mede shal ben lene.
Among on houndret ne beþ fiue,
Nouþer of maidnes ne of wive,
Þat holdeþ hem al clene,
Þat hy ne wercheþ wo in londe,
Oþer bringeþ men to shonde,
And þat is wel I-seene.
And þey we sitten þerfore to striuen,
Boþe of maidnes and of wiue,
Soþ ne seist þou ene.’
Oþer bringeþ men to shonde,
And þat is wel I-seene.
And þey we sitten þerfore to striuen,
Boþe of maidnes and of wiue,
Soþ ne seist þou ene.’
[Nightingale]
‘O fowel, þi mouþ þe haueþ I-shend!
Þoru wam wes al þis world I-wend?
Of a maide meke and milde,
Of hire sprong þat holi bern
Þat boren wes in bedlehem,
And temeþ al þat is wilde.
Þoru wam wes al þis world I-wend?
Of a maide meke and milde,
Of hire sprong þat holi bern
Þat boren wes in bedlehem,
And temeþ al þat is wilde.
107
Hoe ne weste of sunne ne of shame,
Marie wes Ire riȝte name,
Crist hire I-shilde!
Fowel, for þi false sawe
For-beddi þe þis wode shawe,
Þou fare into þe filde!’
Marie wes Ire riȝte name,
Crist hire I-shilde!
Fowel, for þi false sawe
For-beddi þe þis wode shawe,
Þou fare into þe filde!’
[Thrush]
‘Niȝttingale, I wes woed,
Oþer I couþe to luitel goed,
Wiþ þe for to striue.
I suge þat icham ouercome
Þoru hire þat bar þat holi sone,
Þat soffrede wundes fiue.
Oþer I couþe to luitel goed,
Wiþ þe for to striue.
I suge þat icham ouercome
Þoru hire þat bar þat holi sone,
Þat soffrede wundes fiue.
Hi swerie bi his holi name
Ne shal I neuere suggen shame
Bi maidnes ne bi wiue.
Hout of þis londe willi te,
Ne rechi neuere weder I fle,
A-wai ich wille driue.
Ne shal I neuere suggen shame
Bi maidnes ne bi wiue.
Hout of þis londe willi te,
Ne rechi neuere weder I fle,
A-wai ich wille driue.
| English Lyrics of the XIIIth Century | |