Lydgate's Reson and Sensuallyte Edited from the Fairfax MS. 16 (Bodleian) and the additional MS. 29,729 (Brit. Mus.) by Ernst Sieper |
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How Diane ansuerd blamyng Venus. |
 | Lydgate's Reson and Sensuallyte |  |
How Diane ansuerd blamyng Venus.
“My faire frende, in soth[e]nesse,Thou gaf thy doom of wilfulnesse,
Ouer lyghtly, and al in hast;
Thy sentence was soone past,
And hasty domys ever among
Ben oft[e] sithe meynt with wrong,
And who that haueth noon insight
Demeth alday ageyn ryght:
And so destow, I dar afferme,
And notably hyt conferme;
For thou took, yt is no doute,
The worst of al the hool[e] route,
And yaf thy Iugement by graunte
To the lest[e] suffisaunte
Of al[le] thre, so she the blent,
Wherof, in sooth, thou shalt repent;
For thou shalt knowen in certeyn,
How that of the tother tweyn
Kometh worshippe and noblesse:
For Iuno, lady of rychesse,
Graunteth tresour and gold also
Fulsomly to alle tho
That drawen vn-to hir servise,
Maketh hem ryche in sondry wise
Of worldly goodys and dispence;
And Pallas, goddesse of science,
Causeth folke to be prudent
And in worshippe excellent,
Whiche ar two thinges ful notable
And in this worlde ryght profitable
And passyngly of gret renoun.
But Venus, in conclusion,
By in-fluence of hir mevyng,
Yiveth to man no maner thing
Of profyt that may avaylle.
For she of custom doth assaylle
With gret plente of fleshly lust,
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For al hir gyftes ar gynnyng
Of myschef, sorowe, and wepyng,
Of compleynt and mysaventure,
Importable to endure,
Whos lustys be so deceyvable,
So vnsure and variable,
Farsed ful of sorwe and dool,
That he may be cleppyd a fool
That trusteth on hem any tyme,
Outher at even or at prime.
For the fyn of hir swetnesse
Concludeth ay with bitternesse,
And wyth myschef dooth manace,
Thogh she be soote att prime face,
The surge of hir drynkes all
At the ende ys meynt with gall:
Experience shal the lere.
She may be lykned to chymere,
Whiche ys a best[e] Monstruous,
Ryght wonderful and mervelous,
Hedyd as a stronge lyon,
And even lych a scorpion;
Hyr tayl ys werray serpentyne,
And hir bely eke Capryne,
This ys to seyn, whan she is hoot,
Rammysh taraged as a goot:
So stronge and vnkouthe of nature
Is hir mervelous figure
That swich a best[e] now a-lyve
Is no man that kan descryve.
And swich on pleynly is Venus,
That foolis kan deceyven thus,
Whos name for to specyfie
Aftir ethymologye,
Venus, by exposicion,
Is seyde of venym and poysovne;
And of venym, this the fame,
Venus pleynly took her name.
For she venemyth many wyse
90
This her guerdon day and nyght.
For she skorneth euery wyght,
Swiche as she dooth governe;
And whan they come to hir taverne,
She serveth hem first, of entent,
With ypocras and with pyment,
Ryght soote and ryght delycious
To folkys that ben amerous;
But hir confeccioun[e]s alle
With alloes and bitter galle
Ben ymaked and y-tempryd,
That make a man gretly distemprid.
They be so venymous at al,
So to be drad and so mortal,
A-bove y-cured with suetnesse
That no man the treson gesse;
Hyt is so dredful and pervers,
So perilouse sothly and dyvers,
Causyng so gret mortalyte
That non may recuryd be
Ageyn[e]s deth, by noon obstacle,
By herbe, stoon, nor [by] triacle;
So ferful is that maladye,
Save flyght ther is no remedye,
As seyn clerkes that be sage;
For this mortal beverage
So noyous ys and so doutable,
First soot and after deceyvable.
This the beverage of Circes,
With which the folke of Vlixes,
As Auctour[e]s lyst expresse,
Ytourned wer[e]n to lyknesse
Of bestys and, maked bestial,
Lost hir reson natural.
Thynke wel theron, this was the fyn,
Somme wer asses, somme swyn,
To foxes fals and engynovs,
And to wolves ravynouse,
And yet wel wors peraventure.
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Most ynly soote, cler, and fyn,
And in tast fressher than wyn,
But in werkyng dedely felle,
Which the mynystres of babel
Maden falsly of envye,
And gaf hyt to kyng Sedechye,
Wher-thorgh he had A laxatyf
That he shortly lost hys lyf,
Ageyn[e]s which ther was no bote;
But first he founde hyt wonder sote,
Tyl aftir-warde he hath parceved,
How fals[e]ly he was deceyved:
Of the Drynke he dyd attame,
Deyede anoon for verray shame.
And yet the pyment of Venus
Is wors and more malycious,
With which so moche folke ar blent.
And ther-of drinketh the covent
Professid in hir Relygion
Throgh fraude and fals decepcion.
And so shalt thow deceyved be,
Ther is noon help[e] but to fle
With al thy myght and al thy peyne,
And from hir Daunger the restreyne;
Noon other helpe ys in the case
But for to flen a ryght gret pase.”
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