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8. THE SERVANT OF CUPYDE FORSAKEN.

“Complaynt Lydegate.”

[_]

[MS. B.M. Adds. 16165, leaves 255–256.]

1

Ful longe I haue a seruant be
Vn-to mighty god Cupyde;
Thorughe his gret[e] crueltee
Euer I haue be set a-syde.
For cruwel Daunger was my guyde
Withoute mercy oþer grace,
And so for me can ay provyde,
I was forsake in euery place.

2

And wher I put me most in prees,
Þer was I firþest esett abacke.
Disdeyne enseled my releesse,
428

And wrot þe quytaunce al with black,
So þat vpon me fel al þe wrack
Of hem þat list at loue chace;
Þer was of mercy so gret lacke
I was forsake in euery place.

3

I koude neuer go to-forne
In no servyce my-self tavaunce;
I blewe alwey þe bukkes horne,
So vnhappy was my chaunce;
And ay þe fyne of my plesaunce,
And cheef also of my pourchace,
Was to begynne a newe daunce
To be forsake in euery place.

4

Yif I loued in hye estate,
Þer fonde I nought but disdeyne;
And lower dovne I fonde debate,
And þus I served euer in veyne;
Of hope þer was no dewe ne reyne
In no degre me to solace;
For which I may of trouthe seyne
I am forsake in euery place.

5

I loued some þat wer right feyre,
Þat tooke of me no maner heed;
And some right fresshe and debonayre,
Þat gaf me daunger for my mede;
And some eke for hir wommanhed,
And some for hir goodely face;
Þat my fortune doþe me lede
To be forsaken in euery place.

6

And þer as I loued for richchesse
Pouert plonged me a-dovne;
And wher I did moost bisynesse
Skorne was my conclusyoun
And for my truwe affeccioun
A deynous looke gan me manace;
Þat I may wryte for my resoun
I am forsake in euery place.
429

7

I loued some fer ronne in age,
Al þoughe hit wer ful truwe chaffare;
And yonge eke ful wylde and rage,
And list not for no coste to spare;
And þus I pleyde Iacke þe Haare,
And gane to hoppe a newe trace,
And sange “Go, farewell feldfare,”
As man forsake in euery place.

8

Þer fonde I moost confusyoun
Þer as I did moost my cure;
And moost hade indignacioun
Wher as lengest I did endure;
And my woful aventure
Disdayne and Daunger did enbrace;
Þat I may singe þe Chaunteplure
As man forsake in euery place.

LENVOYE.

To alle wymmen þis compleynt
With cursed hert I nowe direct,
Whos corage is euer emeynt
With doubulnesse, suche is þe sect,
Which soþely no man may correct,
Youre nature haþe so double a face,
Whos galle ay newe doþe infect
Þe sugre of men in euery place.
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