The Castell of Pleasure by William Nevill: The text of the first issue of the poem with variant readings from the reprint of 1518; Together with introduction, notes and glossary by Roberta D. Cornelius |
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The supplycacyon made by desyre to Beaute. |
 | The Castell of Pleasure |  |
The supplycacyon made by desyre to Beaute.
O excellent empresse whiche guydeth in your guardon
This goodly gardyn of amyable affeccyon
Whiche also graunteth to true louers pardon
All obstynate people ye subdue to correccyon
It is also in your power and eleccyon
Louers to redress under Venus ye haue moste power
By you they must be ordered after your dyreccyon
Whiche in your gardyn sholde gader ony floure.
This goodly gardyn of amyable affeccyon
Whiche also graunteth to true louers pardon
All obstynate people ye subdue to correccyon
It is also in your power and eleccyon
Louers to redress under Venus ye haue moste power
By you they must be ordered after your dyreccyon
Whiche in your gardyn sholde gader ony floure.
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Pleaseth your hyghnes to gyue hede and intent
To this expressynge of my wofull payne
Late to slepe whan I was dylygent
To me there happed a grete cause to complayne
None erthly conforte coude in me remayne
Cupyde had bewrapped myne herte so sore
To serche meane to slepe it was but vayne
I was neuer so troubled syth that tyme nor before.
To this expressynge of my wofull payne
Late to slepe whan I was dylygent
To me there happed a grete cause to complayne
None erthly conforte coude in me remayne
Cupyde had bewrapped myne herte so sore
To serche meane to slepe it was but vayne
I was neuer so troubled syth that tyme nor before.
To me there came as I well perceyued
Late sent from Cupyde a golden darte ryght hote
Whiche perced me so sore whan I it fyrst receyued
That neyther salues nor surgyens coude helpe nor be my bote
They durst not serche the wounde it laye at myn herte rote
And for that there was but one that coude it remedy
It pleased me not than to go to here a mote
But ofte on Cupyde it caused me out to crye.
Late sent from Cupyde a golden darte ryght hote
Whiche perced me so sore whan I it fyrst receyued
That neyther salues nor surgyens coude helpe nor be my bote
They durst not serche the wounde it laye at myn herte rote
And for that there was but one that coude it remedy
It pleased me not than to go to here a mote
But ofte on Cupyde it caused me out to crye.
It was your loue whiche was cause of all this
I can not denye it but shewe it in wordes playne
I durst to none erthy shewe my woo as it is
To overcome this feruent loue I dyde my besy payne
But when I sawe it auyled not than I was fayne
To labour for socour then I thought it best
But yf ones grace be shewed none can sure helth obteyne
Thefore trustynge on pyte of this poynt I dyde rest.
I can not denye it but shewe it in wordes playne
I durst to none erthy shewe my woo as it is
To overcome this feruent loue I dyde my besy payne
But when I sawe it auyled not than I was fayne
To labour for socour then I thought it best
But yf ones grace be shewed none can sure helth obteyne
Thefore trustynge on pyte of this poynt I dyde rest.
Wherefore o lady preelecte pryncesse
On all louers hauynge the soueraynty
I hertely beseche you my wo to redresse
The cause consydered of my grete ieoperdy
I trust ye nether wyll ne can this my request deny
For I haue founde suche grace in your eyes or this
That yf all the peryll in the worlde sholde on it ly
I coude not forbere but tell you as it is.
On all louers hauynge the soueraynty
I hertely beseche you my wo to redresse
The cause consydered of my grete ieoperdy
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For I haue founde suche grace in your eyes or this
That yf all the peryll in the worlde sholde on it ly
I coude not forbere but tell you as it is.
No worldly ryches to you I can promyse
Moste I can saye is that ye shall be my moste conforte
But god which to al folkes after theyr merites can deuyse
Rewarde or punishement moste egally he doeth sorte
He is the lorde of pyte Iusques a la mort
Gyue you rewarde and preserue you at all houres
Of perfyte loue he bereth a pryncy porte
And to encrease my Ioye I aske no more but yours
Moste I can saye is that ye shall be my moste conforte
But god which to al folkes after theyr merites can deuyse
Rewarde or punishement moste egally he doeth sorte
He is the lorde of pyte Iusques a la mort
Gyue you rewarde and preserue you at all houres
Of perfyte loue he bereth a pryncy porte
And to encrease my Ioye I aske no more but yours
| The Castell of Pleasure | |