:: :: University of Virginia Library

"Right fresshe flour, whos I ben have and shal,
Withouten part of elleswhere servyse,
With herte, body, lif, lust, thought, and al,
I, woful wyght, in everich humble wise
That tonge telle or herte may devyse,
As ofte as matere occupieth place,
Me recomaunde unto youre noble grace.

"Liketh yow to witen, swete herte,
As ye wel knowe, how longe tyme agon
That ye me lefte in aspre peynes smerte,
Whan that ye wente, of which yet boote non
Have I non had, but evere wors bigon
Fro day to day am I, and so mot dwelle,
While it yow list, of wele and wo my welle.

"For which to yow, with dredful herte trewe,
I write, as he that sorwe drifth to write,
My wo, that everich houre encresseth newe,
Compleynyng, as I dar or kan endite.
And that defaced is, that may ye wite
The teris which that fro myn eyen reyne,
That wolden speke, if that they koude, and pleyne.

"Yow first biseche I, that youre eyen clere
To loke on this defouled ye nat holde;
And over al this, that ye, my lady deere,
Wol vouchesauf this lettre to byholde;

578

And by the cause ek of my cares colde
That sleth my wit, if aught amys m"asterte,
Foryeve it me, myn owen swete herte!

"If any servant dorste or oughte of right
Upon his lady pitously compleyne,
Thanne wene I that ich oughte be that wight,
Considered this, that ye thise monthes tweyne
Han taried, ther ye seyden, soth to seyne,
But dayes ten ye nolde in oost sojourne—
But in two monthes yet ye nat retourne.

"But for as muche as me moot nedes like
Al that yow liste, I dar nat pleyne moore,
But humblely, with sorwful sikes sike,
Yow write ich myn unresty sorwes soore,
Fro day to day desiryng evere moore
To knowen fully, if youre wille it weere,
How ye han ferd and don whil ye be theere;

"The whos welfare and hele ek God encresse
In honour swich that upward in degree
It growe alwey, so that it nevere cesse.
Right as youre herte ay kan, my lady free,
Devyse, I prey to God so moot it be,
And graunte it that ye soone upon me rewe,
As wisly as in al I am yow trewe.

"And if yow liketh knowen of the fare
Of me, whos wo ther may no wit discryve,
I kan namore hut, chiste of every care,
At wrytyng of this lettre I was on-lyve,
Al redy out my woful gost to dryve,
Which I delaye, and holde hym yet in honde,
Upon the sighte of matere of youre sonde.

"Myn eyen two, in veyn with which I se,
Of sorwful teris salte arn waxen welles;
My song, in pleynte of myn adversitee;
My good, in harm; myn ese ek woxen helle is;
My joie, in wo; I kan sey yow naught ellis,
But torned is—for which my lif I warie—
Everich joie or ese in his contrarie;

"Which with youre comyng hom ayeyn to Troie
Ye may redresse, and more a thousand sithe
Than evere ich hadde encressen in me joie.
For was ther nevere herte yet so blithe
To han his lif as I shal ben as swithe
As I yow se; and though no manere routhe
Commeve yow, yet thynketh on youre trouthe.

"And if so be my gilt hath deth deserved,
Or if yow list namore upon me se,
In guerdoun yet of that I have yow served,
Byseche I yow, myn owen lady free,
That hereupon ye wolden write me,
For love of God, my righte lode-sterre,
That deth may make an ende of al my werre;

"If other cause aught doth yow for to dwelle,
That with youre lettre ye me recomforte;
For though to me youre absence is an helle,
With pacience I wol my wo comporte,
And with youre lettre of hope I wol desporte.
Now writeth, swete, and lat me thus nat pleyne;
With hope, or deth, delivereth me fro peyne.

"Iwis, myne owene deere herte trewe,
I woot that whan ye next upon me se,
So lost have I myn hele and ek myn hewe,
Criseyde shal nought konne knowen me.
Iwys, myn hertes day, my lady free,
So thursteth ay myn herte to byholde
Youre beute, that my lif unnethe I holde.

"I say namore, al have I for to seye
To yow wel more than I telle may;
But wheither that ye do me lyve or deye,
Yet praye I God, so yeve yow right good day!
And fareth wel, goodly, faire, fresshe may,
As she that lif or deth may me comande!
And to youre trouthe ay I me recomande,

"With hele swich that, but ye yeven me
The same hele, I shal non hele have.
In yow lith, whan yow liste that it so be,
The day in which me clothen shal my grave;
In yow my lif, in yow myght for to save

579

Me fro disese of alle peynes smerte;
And far now wel, myn owen swete herte!