 | The Harley Lyrics |  |
24 DE CLERICO ET PUELLA
‘My deþ y loue, my lyf ich hate, for a leuedy shene,
heo is briht so daies liht, þat is on me wel sene;
al y falewe so doþ þe lef in somer when hit is grene.
Ȝef mi þoht helpeþ me noht, to wham shal y me mene?
heo is briht so daies liht, þat is on me wel sene;
al y falewe so doþ þe lef in somer when hit is grene.
Ȝef mi þoht helpeþ me noht, to wham shal y me mene?
Sorewe ant syke ant drery mod byndeþ me so faste
þat y wene to walke wod ȝef hit me lengore laste;
my serewe, my care, al wiþ a word he myhte awey caste.
Whet helpeþ þe, my suete lemmon, my lyf þus forte gaste?’
þat y wene to walke wod ȝef hit me lengore laste;
my serewe, my care, al wiþ a word he myhte awey caste.
Whet helpeþ þe, my suete lemmon, my lyf þus forte gaste?’
‘Do wey, þou clerc, þou art a fol, wiþ þe bydde y noht chyde;
shalt þou neuer lyue þat day mi loue þat þou shalt byde.
Ȝef þou in my boure art take, shame þe may bityde;
þe is bettere on fote gon þen wycked hors to ryde.’
shalt þou neuer lyue þat day mi loue þat þou shalt byde.
Ȝef þou in my boure art take, shame þe may bityde;
þe is bettere on fote gon þen wycked hors to ryde.’
‘Weylawei! Whi seist þou so? Þou rewe on me, þy man!
Þou art euer in my þoht in londe wher ich am.
Ȝef y deȝe for þi loue, hit is þe mykel sham;
þou lete me lyue ant be þi luef ant þou my suete lemman.’
Þou art euer in my þoht in londe wher ich am.
Ȝef y deȝe for þi loue, hit is þe mykel sham;
þou lete me lyue ant be þi luef ant þou my suete lemman.’
‘Be stille, þou fol, y calle þe riht; cost þou neuer blynne?
Þou art wayted day ant nyht wiþ fader ant al my kynne.
Be þou in mi bour ytake, lete þey for no synne
me to holde ant þe to slon, þe deþ so þou maht wynne!’
Þou art wayted day ant nyht wiþ fader ant al my kynne.
Be þou in mi bour ytake, lete þey for no synne
me to holde ant þe to slon, þe deþ so þou maht wynne!’
‘Suete ledy, þou wend þi mod, sorewe þou wolt me kyþe.
Ich am al so sory mon so ich was whylen blyþe.
In a wyndou þer we stod we custe vs fyfty syþe;
feir biheste makeþ mony mon al is serewes mythe.’
Ich am al so sory mon so ich was whylen blyþe.
In a wyndou þer we stod we custe vs fyfty syþe;
feir biheste makeþ mony mon al is serewes mythe.’
63
‘Weylawey! Whi seist þou so? Mi serewe þou makest newe.
Y louede a clerk al par amours, of loue he wes ful trewe;
he nes nout blyþe neuer a day bote he me sone seȝe;
ich louede him betere þen my lyf, whet bote is hit to leȝe?’
Y louede a clerk al par amours, of loue he wes ful trewe;
he nes nout blyþe neuer a day bote he me sone seȝe;
ich louede him betere þen my lyf, whet bote is hit to leȝe?’
‘Whil y wes a clerc in scole, wel muchel y couþe of lore;
ych haue þoled for þy loue woundes fele sore,
fer from hom ant eke from men vnder þe wode-gore.
Suete ledy, þou rewe of me; nou may y no more!’
ych haue þoled for þy loue woundes fele sore,
fer from hom ant eke from men vnder þe wode-gore.
Suete ledy, þou rewe of me; nou may y no more!’
‘Þou semest wel to ben a clerc, for þou spekest so stille;
shalt þou neuer for mi loue woundes þole grylle;
fader, moder, ant al my kun ne shal me holde so stille
þat y nam þyn ant þou art myn, to don al þi wille.’
shalt þou neuer for mi loue woundes þole grylle;
fader, moder, ant al my kun ne shal me holde so stille
þat y nam þyn ant þou art myn, to don al þi wille.’
| The Harley Lyrics | |