The poems of John Audelay Edited with introduction, notes and glossary [by Ella Keats Whiting] |
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The poems of John Audelay | ||
49
De matrimonio mulierum.
Avyse ȝoue wemen wom ȝe trust
And be ware of ‘had I wyst.’
And be ware of ‘had I wyst.’
Hit is ful heue chastite
With mone maydyns now-o-day,
Þat louyn to haue gam and gle,
Þat turnes to sorowe soþly to say;
Alle day þou sist.
With mone maydyns now-o-day,
Þat louyn to haue gam and gle,
Þat turnes to sorowe soþly to say;
Alle day þou sist.
209
Now ȝif a womon mared schal be,
Anon heo schal be boȝt and solde,
Fore no loue of hert truly,
Bot fore couetyse of lond ore gold;
Al day þou seest.
Anon heo schal be boȝt and solde,
Fore no loue of hert truly,
Bot fore couetyse of lond ore gold;
Al day þou seest.
Bot þus Godis low and his wil wolde,
Even of blod, of good, of ache,
Fore loue to-geder þus com þai schuld,
Fore þis makis metle mareache;
Ale day þou sees[t].
Even of blod, of good, of ache,
Fore loue to-geder þus com þai schuld,
Fore þis makis metle mareache;
Ale day þou sees[t].
And þe froyt þat coms hom betwene,
Hit schal haue grace to þryue and þe;
Þer oþer schal haue turment and tene,
Fore couetyse vnlaufully;
Al day þou seest.
Hit schal haue grace to þryue and þe;
Þer oþer schal haue turment and tene,
Fore couetyse vnlaufully;
Al day þou seest.
Þer is no creatuere, as wretyn I fynd,
Saue onele mon þat [doþ] outtrache,
Bot [ch]esyn hom makys of here oune kynd,
And so þai makyn treu mareache;
Alle day þou seest.
Saue onele mon þat [doþ] outtrache,
Bot [ch]esyn hom makys of here oune kynd,
And so þai makyn treu mareache;
Alle day þou seest.
Bot now a lady wil take a page
Fore no loue bot fleschele lust,
And so here blod is disparage;
Þus lordus and lordchip al day ben lost;
Al day þou seest.
Fore no loue bot fleschele lust,
And so here blod is disparage;
Þus lordus and lordchip al day ben lost;
Al day þou seest.
Lordis and lorchip þus wastyn away
In Englond in mone a place;
Þat makis false ayrs hit is no nay,
And lese worchip, honowre, and grace;
Al day þou seest.
In Englond in mone a place;
Þat makis false ayrs hit is no nay,
And lese worchip, honowre, and grace;
Al day þou seest.
The poems of John Audelay | ||