Front matter (continued 8)

The Proem.

Gladeth, ye foules, of the morow gray, Lo! Venus risen among yon rowes rede! And floures fresshe, honoureth ye this day; For when the sonne uprist, then wol ye sprede. 5 But ye lovers, that lye in any drede, Fleëth, lest wikked tonges yow espye; Lo! yond the sonne, the candel of Ielosye!

With teres blewe, and with a wounded herte Taketh your leve; and, with seynt Iohn to borow, 10 Apeseth somwhat of your sorowes smerte, Tyme cometh eft, that cese shal your sorow; The glade night is worth an hevy morow!'— (Seynte Valentyne! a foul thus herde I singe Upon thy day, er sonne gan up-springe).—

15 Yet sang this foul—'I rede yow al a-wake, And ye, that han not chosen in humble wyse, Without repenting cheseth yow your make. And ye, that han ful chosen as I devyse, Yet at the leste renoveleth your servyse; 20 Confermeth it perpetuely to dure, And paciently taketh your aventure.

And for the worship of this hye feste, Yet wol I, in my briddes wyse, singe The sentence of the compleynt, at the leste, 35 That woful Mars made atte departinge Fro fresshe Venus in a morweninge, Whan Phebus, with his fyry torches rede, Ransaked every lover in his drede.

The Story.

¶ Whylom the thridde hevenes lord above, 30 As wel by hevenish revolucioun As by desert, hath wonne Venus his love, And she hath take him in subieccioun, And as a maistresse taught him his lessoun, Comaunding him that never, in hir servyse, 35 He nere so bold no lover to despyse.

For she forbad him Ielosye at alle, And cruelte, and bost, and tirannye; She made him at hir lust so humble and talle, That when hir deyned caste on him her yë, 40 He took in pacience to live or dye; And thus she brydeleth him in hir manere, With no-thing but with scourging of hir chere.

Who regneth now in blisse but Venus, That hath this worthy knight in governaunce? 45 Who singeth now but Mars, that serveth thus The faire Venus, causer of plesaunce? He bynt him to perpetual obeisaunce, And she bynt hir to loven him for ever, But so be that his trespas hit dissever.

50 Thus be they knit, and regnen as in heven By loking most; til hit fil, on a tyde, That by hir bothe assent was set a steven, That Mars shal entre, as faste as he may glyde, Into hir nexte paleys, to abyde, 55 Walking his cours til she had him a-take, And he preyde hir to haste hir for his sake.

Then seyde he thus—"myn hertes lady swete, Ye knowe wel my mischef in that place; For sikerly, til that I with yow mete, 60 My lyf stant ther in aventure and grace; But when I see the beaute of your face, Ther is no dreed of deth may do me smerte, For al your lust is ese to myn herte."

She hath so gret compassion of hir knight, 65 That dwelleth in solitude til she come; For hit stood so, that ilke tyme, no wight Counseyled him, ne seyde to him welcome, That nigh hir wit for wo was overcome; Wherfore she spedde hir as faste in hir weye, 70 Almost in oon day, as he dide in tweye.

The grete Ioye that was betwix hem two, Whan they be met, ther may no tunge telle, Ther is no more, but unto bed they go, And thus in Ioye and blisse I let hem dwelle; 75 This worthy Mars, that is of knighthod welle, The flour of fairnes lappeth in his armes, And Venus kisseth Mars, the god of armes.

Soiourned hath this Mars, of which I rede, In chambre amid the paleys prively 80 A certeyn tyme, til him fel a drede, Through Phebus, that was comen hastely Within the paleys-yates sturdely, With torche in honde, of which the stremes brighte On Venus chambre knokkeden ful lighte.

85 The chambre, ther as lay this fresshe quene, Depeynted was with whyte boles grete, And by the light she knew, that shoon so shene, That Phebus cam to brenne hem with his hete; This sely Venus, dreynt in teres wete, 90 Enbraceth Mars, and seyde, "alas! I dye! The torch is come, that al this world wol wrye."

Up sterte Mars, him liste not to slepe, Whan he his lady herde so compleyne; But, for his nature was not for to wepe, 95 In stede of teres, fro his eyen tweyne The fyry sparkes brosten out for peyne; And hente his hauberk, that lay him besyde; Flee wolde he not, ne mighte him-selven hyde.

He throweth on his helm of huge wighte, 100 And girt him with his swerde; and in his honde His mighty spere, as he was wont to fighte, He shaketh so that almost it to-wonde; Ful hevy he was to walken over londe; He may not holde with Venus companye, 105 But bad hir fleen, lest Phebus hir espye.

O woful Mars! alas! what mayst thou seyn, That in the paleys of thy disturbaunce Art left behinde, in peril to be sleyn? And yet ther-to is double thy penaunce, 110 For she, that hath thyn herte in governaunce, Is passed halfe the stremes of thyn yën; That thou nere swift, wel mayst thou wepe and cryen.

Now fleeth Venus un-to Cylenius tour, With voide cours, for fere of Phebus light. 115 Alas! and ther ne hath she no socour, For she ne fond ne saw no maner wight; And eek as ther she had but litil might; Wher-for, hir-selven for to hyde and save, Within the gate she fledde into a cave.

120 Derk was this cave, and smoking as the helle, Not but two pas within the gate hit stood; A naturel day in derk I lete hir dwelle. Now wol I speke of Mars, furious and wood; For sorow he wolde have seen his herte blood; 125 Sith that he mighte hir don no companye, He ne roghte not a myte for to dye.

So feble he wex, for hete and for his wo, That nigh he swelt, he mighte unnethe endure; He passeth but oo steyre in dayes two, 130 But ner the les, for al his hevy armure, He foloweth hir that is his lyves cure; For whos departing he took gretter yre Thanne for al his brenning in the fyre.

After he walketh softely a pas, 135 Compleyning, that hit pite was to here. He seyde, "O lady bright, Venus! alas! That ever so wyde a compas is my spere! Alas! whan shal I mete yow, herte dere, This twelfte day of April I endure, 140 Through Ielous Phebus, this misaventure."

Now god helpe sely Venus allone! But, as god wolde, hit happed for to be, That, whyl that Venus weping made hir mone, Cylenius, ryding in his chevauchè, 145 Fro Venus valance mighte his paleys see, And Venus he salueth, and maketh chere, And hir receyveth as his frend ful dere.

Mars dwelleth forth in his adversite, Compleyning ever on hir departinge; 150 And what his compleynt was, remembreth me; And therfore, in this lusty morweninge, As I best can, I wol hit seyn and singe, And after that I wol my leve take; And God yeve every wight Ioye of his make!

The compleynt of Mars.

The Proem of the Compleynt.

155 ¶ The ordre of compleynt requireth skilfully, That if a wight shal pleyne pitously, There mot be cause wherfor that men pleyne; Or men may deme he pleyneth folily And causeles; alas! that am not I! 160 Wherfor the ground and cause of al my peyne, So as my troubled wit may hit ateyne, I wol reherse; not for to have redresse, But to declare my ground of hevinesse.

Devotion.

¶ The firste tyme, alas! that I was wroght, 165 And for certeyn effectes hider broght By him that lordeth ech intelligence, I yaf my trewe servise and my thoght, For evermore—how dere I have hit boght!— To hir, that is of so gret excellence, 170 That what wight that first sheweth his presence, When she is wroth and taketh of him no cure, He may not longe in Ioye of love endure.

This is no feyned mater that I telle; My lady is the verrey sours and welle 175 Of beaute, lust, fredom, and gentilnesse, Of riche aray—how dere men hit selle!— Of al disport in which men frendly dwelle, Of love and pley, and of benigne humblesse, Of soune of instruments of al swetnesse; 180 And therto so wel fortuned and thewed, That through the world hir goodnesse is y-shewed.

What wonder is then, thogh that I besette My servise on suche oon, that may me knette To wele or wo, sith hit lyth in hir might? 185 Therfor my herte for ever I to hir hette; Ne trewly, for my dethe, I shal not lette To ben hir trewest servaunt and hir knight. I flater noght, that may wite every wight; For this day in hir servise shal I dye; 190 But grace be, I see hir never with yë.

A Lady in fear and woe.

¶ To whom shal I than pleyne of my distresse? Who may me helpe, who may my harm redresse? Shal I compleyne unto my lady free? Nay, certes! for she hath such hevinesse, 195 For fere and eek for wo, that, as I gesse, In litil tyme hit wol hir bane be. But were she sauf, hit wer no fors of me. Alas! that ever lovers mote endure, For love, so many a perilous aventure!

200 For thogh so be that lovers be as trewe As any metal that is forged newe, In many a cas hem tydeth ofte sorowe. Somtyme hir ladies will not on hem rewe, Somtyme, yif that Ielosye hit knewe, 205 They mighten lightly leye hir heed to borowe; Somtyme envyous folke with tunges horowe Depraven hem; alas! whom may they plese? But he be fals, no lover hath his ese.

But what availeth suche a long sermoun 210 Of aventures of love, up and doun? I wol returne and speken of my peyne; The point is this of my destruccioun, My righte lady, my salvacioun, Is in affray, and not to whom to pleyne. 215 O herte swete, O lady sovereyne! For your disese, wel oghte I swoune and swelte, Thogh I non other harm ne drede felte.

Instability of Happiness.

¶ To what fyn made the god that sit so hye, Benethen him, love other companye, 220 And streyneth folk to love, malgre hir hede? And then hir Ioye, for oght I can espye, Ne lasteth not the twinkeling of an yë, And somme han never Ioye til they be dede. What meneth this? what is this mistihede? 225 Wherto constreyneth he his folk so faste Thing to desyre, but hit shulde laste?

And thogh he made a lover love a thing, And maketh hit seme stedfast and during, Yet putteth he in hit such misaventure, 230 That reste nis ther noon in his yeving. And that is wonder, that so Iust a king Doth such hardnesse to his creature. Thus, whether love breke or elles dure, Algates he that hath with love to done 235 Hath ofter wo then changed is the mone.

Hit semeth he hath to lovers enmite, And lyk a fissher, as men alday may see, Baiteth his angle-hook with som plesaunce, Til mony a fish is wood til that he be 240 Sesed ther-with; and then at erst hath he Al his desyr, and ther-with al mischaunce; And thogh the lyne breke, he hath penaunce; For with the hoke he wounded is so sore, That he his wages hath for ever-more.

The Brooch of Thebes.

245 ¶ The broche of Thebes was of suche a kinde, So ful of rubies and of stones Inde, That every wight, that sette on hit an yë, He wende anon to worthe out of his minde; So sore the beaute wolde his herte binde, 250 Til he hit hadde, him thoghte he moste dye; And whan that hit was his, than shulde he drye Such wo for drede, ay whyl that he hit hadde, That welnigh for the fere he shulde madde.

And whan hit was fro his possessioun, 255 Than had he double wo and passioun For he so fair a tresor had forgo; But yet this broche, as in conclusioun, Was not the cause of this confusioun; But he that wroghte hit enfortuned hit so, 260 That every wight that had hit shuld have wo; And therfor in the worcher was the vyce, And in the covetour that was so nyce.

So fareth hit by lovers and by me; For thogh my lady have so gret beaute, 265 That I was mad til I had gete hir grace, She was not cause of myn adversite, But he that wroghte hir, also mot I thee, That putte suche a beaute in hir face, That made me to covete and purchace 270 Myn owne deth; him wyte I that I dye, And myn unwit, that ever I clomb so hye.

An Appeal for Sympathy.

¶ But to yow, hardy knightes of renoun, Sin that ye be of my divisioun, Al be I not worthy to so grete a name, 275 Yet, seyn these clerkes, I am your patroun; Ther-for ye oghte have som compassioun Of my disese, and take it noght a-game. The proudest of yow may be mad ful tame; Wherfor I prey yow, of your gentilesse, 280 That ye compleyne for myn hevinesse.

And ye, my ladies, that ben trewe and stable, By way of kinde, ye oghten to be able To have pite of folk that be in peyne: Now have ye cause to clothe yow in sable; 285 Sith that your emperice, the honorable, Is desolat, wel oghte ye to pleyne; Now shuld your holy teres falle and reyne. Alas! your honour and your emperice, Nigh deed for drede, ne can hir not chevise.

290 Compleyneth eek, ye lovers, al in-fere, For hir that, with unfeyned humble chere, Was ever redy to do yow socour; Compleyneth hir that ever hath had yow dere; Compleyneth beaute, fredom, and manere; 295 Compleyneth hir that endeth your labour; Compleyneth thilke ensample of al honour, That never dide but al gentilesse; 298 Kytheth therfor on hir som kindenesse.'

The Proem.

The lyf so short, the craft so long to lerne, Thassay so hard, so sharp the conquering, The dredful Ioy, that alwey slit so yerne, Al this mene I by love, that my feling 5 Astonyeth with his wonderful worching So sore y-wis, that whan I on him thinke, Nat wot I wel wher that I wake or winke.

For al be that I knowe not love in dede, Ne wot how that he quyteth folk hir hyre, 10 Yet happeth me ful ofte in bokes rede Of his miracles, and his cruel yre; Ther rede I wel he wol be lord and syre, I dar not seyn, his strokes been so sore, But God save swich a lord! I can no more.

15 Of usage, what for luste what for lore, On bokes rede I ofte, as I yow tolde. But wherfor that I speke al this? not yore Agon, hit happed me for to beholde Upon a boke, was write with lettres olde; 20 And ther-upon, a certeyn thing to lerne, The longe day ful faste I radde and yerne.

For out of olde feldes, as men seith, Cometh al this newe corn fro yeer to yere; And out of olde bokes, in good feith, 25 Cometh al this newe science that men lere. But now to purpos as of this matere— To rede forth hit gan me so delyte, That al the day me thoughte but a lyte.

This book of which I make mencioun, 30 Entitled was al thus, as I shal telle, Tullius of the dreme of Scipioun'; Chapitres seven hit hadde, of hevene and helle, And erthe, and soules that therinne dwelle, Of whiche, as shortly as I can hit trete, 35 Of his sentence I wol you seyn the grete.

First telleth hit, whan Scipioun was come In Afrik, how he mette Massinisse, That him for Ioye in armes hath y nome. Than telleth [hit] hir speche and al the blisse 40 That was betwix hem, til the day gan misse; And how his auncestre, African so dere, Gan in his slepe that night to him appere.

Than telleth hit that, fro a sterry place, How African hath him Cartage shewed, 45 And warned him before of al his grace, And seyde him, what man, lered other lewed, That loveth comun profit, wel y-thewed, He shal unto a blisful place wende, Ther as Ioye is that last withouten ende.

50 Than asked he, if folk that heer be dede Have lyf and dwelling in another place; And African seyde, 'ye, withoute drede,' And that our present worldes lyves space Nis but a maner deth, what wey we trace, 55 And rightful folk shal go, after they dye, To heven; and shewed him the galaxye.

Than shewed he him the litel erthe, that heer is, At regard of the hevenes quantite; And after shewed he him the nyne speres, 60 And after that the melodye herde he That cometh of thilke speres thryes three, That welle is of musyke and melodye In this world heer, and cause of armonye.

Than bad he him, sin erthe was so lyte, 65 And ful of torment and of harde grace, That he ne shulde him in the world delyte. Than tolde he him, in certeyn yeres space, That every sterre shulde come into his place Ther hit was first; and al shulde out of minde 70 That in this worlde is don of al mankinde.

Than prayde him Scipioun to telle him al The wey to come un-to that hevene blisse; And he seyde, 'know thy-self first immortal, And loke ay besily thou werke and wisse 75 To comun profit, and thou shalt nat misse To comen swiftly to that place dere, That ful of blisse is and of soules clere.

But brekers of the lawe, soth to seyne, And lecherous folk, after that they be dede, 80 Shul alwey whirle aboute therthe in peyne, Til many a world be passed, out of drede, And than, for-yeven alle hir wikked dede, Than shul they come unto that blisful place, To which to comen god thee sende his grace!'—

85 The day gan failen, and the derke night, That reveth bestes from hir besinesse, Berafte me my book for lakke of light, And to my bedde I gan me for to dresse, Fulfild of thought and besy hevinesse; 90 For bothe I hadde thing which that I nolde, And eek I ne hadde that thing that I wolde.

But fynally my spirit, at the laste, For-wery of my labour al the day, Took rest, that made me to slepe faste, 95 And in my slepe I mette, as I lay, How African, right in that selfe aray That Scipioun him saw before that tyde, Was comen, and stood right at my beddes syde.

The wery hunter, slepinge in his bed, 100 To wode ayein his minde goth anoon; The Iuge dremeth how his plees ben sped; The carter dremeth how his cartes goon; The riche, of gold; the knight fight with his foon, The seke met he drinketh of the tonne; 105 The lover met he hath his lady wonne.

Can I nat seyn if that the cause were For I had red of African beforn, That made me to mete that he stood there; But thus seyde he, 'thou hast thee so wel born 110 In loking of myn olde book to-torn, Of which Macrobie roghte nat a lyte, That somdel of thy labour wolde I quyte!'—

Citherea! thou blisful lady swete, That with thy fyr-brand dauntest whom thee lest, 115 And madest me this sweven for to mete, Be thou my help in this, for thou mayst best; As wisly as I saw thee north-north-west, When I began my sweven for to wryte, So yif me might to ryme hit and endyte!

The Story.

120 This forseid African me hente anoon, And forth with him unto a gate broghte Right of a parke, walled with grene stoon; And over the gate, with lettres large y-wroghte, Ther weren vers y-writen, as me thoghte, 125 On eyther halfe, of ful gret difference, Of which I shal yow sey the pleyn sentence.

Thorgh me men goon in-to that blisful place Of hertes hele and dedly woundes cure; Thorgh me men goon unto the welle of Grace, 130 Ther grene and lusty May shal ever endure; This is the wey to al good aventure; Be glad, thou reder, and thy sorwe of-caste, Al open am I; passe in, and hy the faste!'

Thorgh me men goon,' than spak that other syde, 135 'Unto the mortal strokes of the spere, Of which Disdayn and Daunger is the gyde, Ther tree shal never fruyt ne leves bere. This streem you ledeth to the sorwful were, Ther as the fish in prison is al drye; 140 Theschewing is only the remedye.'

Thise vers of gold and blak y-writen were, The whiche I gan a stounde to beholde, For with that oon encresed ay my fere, And with that other gan myn herte bolde; 145 That oon me hette, that other did me colde, No wit had I, for errour, for to chese, To entre or flee, or me to save or lese.

Right as, betwixen adamauntes two Of even might, a pece of iren y-set, 150 That hath no might to meve to ne fro— For what that on may hale, that other let— Ferde I, that niste whether me was bet, To entre or leve, til African my gyde Me hente, and shoof in at the gates wyde,

155 And seyde, 'hit stondeth writen in thy face, Thyn errour, though thou telle it not to me; But dred thee nat to come in-to this place, For this wryting is no-thing ment by thee, Ne by noon, but he Loves servant be; 160 For thou of love hast lost thy tast, I gesse, As seek man hath of swete and bitternesse.

But natheles, al-though that thou be dulle, Yit that thou canst not do, yit mayst thou see; For many a man that may not stonde a pulle, 165 Yit lyketh him at the wrastling for to be, And demeth yit wher he do bet or he; And if thou haddest cunning for tendyte, I shal thee shewen mater of to wryte.'

With that my hond in his he took anoon, 170 Of which I comfort caughte, and wente in faste; But lord! so I was glad and wel begoon! For over-al, wher that I myn eyen caste, Were treës clad with leves that ay shal laste, Eche in his kinde, of colour fresh and grene 175 As emeraude, that Ioye was to sene.

The bilder ook, and eek the hardy asshe; The piler elm, the cofre unto careyne; The boxtree piper; holm to whippes lasshe; The sayling firr; the cipres, deth to pleyne; 180 The sheter ew, the asp for shaftes pleyne; The olyve of pees, and eek the drunken vyne, The victor palm, the laurer to devyne.

A garden saw I, ful of blosmy bowes, Upon a river, in a grene mede, 185 Ther as that swetnesse evermore y-now is, With floures whyte, blewe, yelowe, and rede; And colde welle-stremes, no-thing dede, That swommen ful of smale fisshes lighte, With finnes rede and scales silver-brighte.

190 On every bough the briddes herde I singe, With voys of aungel in hir armonye, Som besyed hem hir briddes forth to bringe; The litel conyes to hir pley gunne hye, And further al aboute I gan espye 195 The dredful roo, the buk, the hert and hinde, Squerels, and bestes smale of gentil kinde.

Of instruments of strenges in acord Herde I so pleye a ravisshing swetnesse, That god, that maker is of al and lord, 200 Ne herde never better, as I gesse; Therwith a wind, unnethe hit might be lesse, Made in the leves grene a noise softe Acordant to the foules songe on-lofte.

The air of that place so attempre was 205 That never was grevaunce of hoot ne cold; Ther wex eek every holsom spyce and gras, Ne no man may ther wexe seek ne old; Yet was ther Ioye more a thousand fold Then man can telle; ne never wolde it nighte, 210 But ay cleer day to any mannes sighte.

Under a tree, besyde a welle, I say Cupyde our lord his arwes forge and fyle; And at his fete his bowe al redy lay, And wel his doghter tempred al the whyle 215 The hedes in the welle, and with hir wyle She couched hem after as they shulde serve, Som for to slee, and som to wounde and kerve.

Tho was I war of Plesaunce anon-right, And of Aray, and Lust, and Curtesye; 220 And of the Craft that can and hath the might To doon by force a wight to do folye— Disfigurat was she, I nil not lye; And by him-self, under an oke, I gesse, Sawe I Delyt, that stood with Gentilnesse.

225 I saw Beautee, withouten any atyr, And Youthe, ful of game and Iolyte, Fool-hardinesse, Flatery, and Desyr, Messagerye, and Mede, and other three— Hir names shul noght here be told for me— 230 And upon pilers grete of Iasper longe I saw a temple of bras y-founded stronge.

Aboute the temple daunceden alway Wommen y-nowe, of whiche somme ther were Faire of hem-self, and somme of hem were gay; 235 In kirtels, al disshevele, wente they there— That was hir office alwey, yeer by yere— And on the temple, of doves whyte and faire Saw I sittinge many a hundred paire.

Before the temple-dore ful soberly 240 Dame Pees sat, with a curteyn in hir hond: And hir besyde, wonder discretly, Dame Pacience sitting ther I fond With face pale, upon an hille of sond; And alder-next, within and eek with-oute, 245 Behest and Art, and of hir folke a route.

Within the temple, of syghes hote as fyr I herde a swogh that gan aboute renne; Which syghes were engendred with desyr, That maden every auter for to brenne 250 Of newe flaume; and wel aspyed I thenne That al the cause of sorwes that they drye Com of the bitter goddesse Ialousye.

The god Priapus saw I, as I wente, Within the temple, in soverayn place stonde, 255 In swich aray as whan the asse him shente With crye by night, and with his ceptre in honde; Ful besily men gunne assaye and fonde Upon his hede to sette, of sondry hewe, Garlondes ful of fresshe floures newe.

260 And in a privee corner, in disporte, Fond I Venus and hir porter Richesse, That was ful noble and hauteyn of hir porte; Derk was that place, but afterward lightnesse I saw a lyte, unnethe hit might be lesse, 265 And on a bed of golde she lay to reste, Til that the hote sonne gan to weste.

Hir gilte heres with a golden threde Y-bounden were, untressed as she lay, And naked fro the breste unto the hede 270 Men might hir see; and, sothly for to say, The remenant wel kevered to my pay Right with a subtil kerchef of Valence, Ther was no thikker cloth of no defence.

The place yaf a thousand savours swote, 275 And Bachus, god of wyn, sat hir besyde, And Ceres next, that doth of hunger bote; And, as I seide, amiddes lay Cipryde, To whom on knees two yonge folkes cryde To ben hir help; but thus I leet hir lye, 280 And ferther in the temple I gan espye

That, in dispyte of Diane the chaste, Ful many a bowe y-broke heng on the wal Of maydens, suche as gunne hir tymes waste In hir servyse; and peynted over al 285 Of many a story, of which I touche shal A fewe, as of Calixte and Athalaunte, And many a mayde, of which the name I wante;

Semyramus, Candace, and Ercules, Biblis, Dido, Tisbe and Piramus, 290 Tristram, Isoude, Paris, and Achilles, Eleyne, Cleopatre, and Troilus, Silla, and eek the moder of Romulus— Alle these were peynted on that other syde, And al hir love, and in what plyte they dyde.

295 Whan I was come ayen into the place That I of spak, that was so swote and grene, Forth welk I tho, my-selven to solace. Tho was I war wher that ther sat a quene That, as of light the somer-sonne shene 300 Passeth the sterre, right so over mesure She fairer was than any creature.

And in a launde, upon an hille of floures, Was set this noble goddesse Nature; Of braunches were hir halles and hir boures, 305 Y-wrought after hir craft and hir mesure; Ne ther nas foul that cometh of engendrure, That they ne were prest in hir presence, To take hir doom and yeve hir audience.

For this was on seynt Valentynes day, 310 Whan every foul cometh ther to chese his make, Of every kinde, that men thenke may; And that so huge a noyse gan they make, That erthe and see, and tree, and every lake So ful was, that unnethe was ther space 315 For me to stonde, so ful was al the place.

And right as Aleyn, in the Pleynt of Kinde, Devyseth Nature of aray and face, In swich aray men mighten hir ther finde. This noble emperesse, ful of grace, 320 Bad every foul to take his owne place, As they were wont alwey fro yeer to yere, Seynt Valentynes day, to stonden there.

That is to sey, the foules of ravyne Were hyest set; and than the foules smale, 325 That eten as hem nature wolde enclyne, As worm, or thing of whiche I telle no tale; But water-foul sat lowest in the dale; And foul that liveth by seed sat on the grene, And that so fele, that wonder was to sene.

330 Ther mighte men the royal egle finde, That with his sharpe look perceth the sonne; And other egles of a lower kinde, Of which that clerkes wel devysen conne. Ther was the tyraunt with his fethres donne 335 And greye, I mene the goshauk, that doth pyne To briddes for his outrageous ravyne.

The gentil faucon, that with his feet distreyneth The kinges hond; the hardy sperhauk eke, The quayles foo; the merlion that peyneth 340 Him-self ful ofte, the larke for to seke; Ther was the douve, with hir eyen meke; The Ialous swan, ayens his deth that singeth; The oule eek, that of dethe the bode bringeth;

The crane the geaunt, with his trompes soune; 345 The theef, the chogh; and eek the Iangling pye; The scorning Iay; the eles foo, the heroune; The false lapwing, ful of trecherye; The stare, that the counseyl can bewrye; The tame ruddok; and the coward kyte; 350 The cok, that orloge is of thorpes lyte;

The sparow, Venus sone; the nightingale, That clepeth forth the fresshe leves newe; The swalow, mordrer of the flyës smale That maken hony of floures fresshe of hewe; 355 The wedded turtel, with hir herte trewe; The pecok, with his aungels fethres brighte; The fesaunt, scorner of the cok by nighte;

The waker goos; the cukkow ever unkinde; The popiniay, ful of delicasye; 360 The drake, stroyer of his owne kinde; The stork, the wreker of avouterye; The hote cormeraunt of glotonye; The raven wys, the crow with vois of care; The throstel olde; the frosty feldefare.

365 What shulde I seyn? of foules every kinde That in this worlde han fethres and stature, Men mighten in that place assembled finde Before the noble goddesse Nature. And everich of hem did his besy cure 370 Benignely to chese or for to take, By hir acord, his formel or his make.

But to the poynt—Nature held on hir honde A formel egle, of shap the gentileste That ever she among hir werkes fonde, 375 The most benigne and the goodlieste; In hir was every vertu at his reste, So ferforth, that Nature hir-self had blisse To loke on hir, and ofte hir bek to kisse.

Nature, the vicaire of thalmyghty lorde, 380 That hoot, cold, hevy, light, [and] moist and dreye Hath knit by even noumbre of acorde, In esy vois began to speke and seye, Foules, tak hede of my sentence, I preye, And, for your ese, in furthering of your nede, 385 As faste as I may speke, I wol me spede.

Ye know wel how, seynt Valentynes day, By my statut and through my governaunce, Ye come for to chese—and flee your way— Your makes, as I prik yow with plesaunce. 390 But natheles, my rightful ordenaunce May I not lete, for al this world to winne, That he that most is worthy shal beginne.

The tercel egle, as that ye knowen wel, The foul royal above yow in degree, 395 The wyse and worthy, secree, trewe as stel, The which I formed have, as ye may see, In every part as hit best lyketh me, Hit nedeth noght his shap yow to devyse, He shal first chese and speken in his gyse.

400 And after him, by order shul ye chese, After your kinde, everich as yow lyketh, And, as your hap is, shul ye winne or lese; But which of yow that love most entryketh, God sende him hir that sorest for him syketh.' 405 And therwith-al the tercel gan she calle, And seyde, 'my sone, the choys is to thee falle.

But natheles, in this condicioun Mot be the choys of everich that is here, That she agree to his eleccioun, 410 Who-so he be that shulde been hir fere; This is our usage alwey, fro yeer to yere; And who so may at this time have his grace, In blisful tyme he com in-to this place.'

With hed enclyned and with ful humble chere 415 This royal tercel spak and taried nought; Unto my sovereyn lady, and noght my fere, I chese, and chese with wille and herte and thought, The formel on your hond so wel y-wrought, Whos I am al and ever wol hir serve, 420 Do what hir list, to do me live or sterve.

Beseching hir of mercy and of grace, As she that is my lady sovereyne; Or let me dye present in this place. For certes, long may I not live in peyne; 425 For in myn herte is corven every veyne; Having reward only to my trouthe, My dere herte, have on my wo som routhe.

And if that I to hir be founde untrewe, Disobeysaunt, or wilful negligent, 430 Avauntour, or in proces love a newe, I pray to you this be my Iugement, That with these foules I be al to-rent, That ilke day that ever she me finde To hir untrewe, or in my gilte unkinde.

435 And sin that noon loveth hir so wel as I, Al be she never of love me behette, Than oghte she be myn thourgh hir mercy, For other bond can I noon on hir knette. For never, for no wo, ne shal I lette 440 To serven hir, how fer so that she wende; Sey what yow list, my tale is at an ende.'

Right as the fresshe, rede rose newe Ayen the somer-sonne coloured is, Right so for shame al wexen gan the hewe 445 Of this formel, whan she herde al this; She neyther answerde 'wel,' ne seyde amis, So sore abasshed was she, til that Nature Seyde, 'doghter, drede yow noght, I yow assure.'

Another tercel egle spak anoon 450 Of lower kinde, and seyde, 'that shal not be; I love hir bet than ye do, by seynt Iohn, Or atte leste I love hir as wel as ye; And lenger have served hir, in my degree, And if she shulde have loved for long loving, 455 To me allone had been the guerdoning.

I dar eek seye, if she me finde fals, Unkinde, Iangler, or rebel any wyse, Or Ialous, do me hongen by the hals! And but I bere me in hir servyse 460 As wel as that my wit can me suffyse, Fro poynt to poynt, hir honour for to save, Tak she my lyf, and al the good I have.'

The thridde tercel egle answerde tho, Now, sirs, ye seen the litel leyser here; 465 For every foul cryeth out to been a-go Forth with his make, or with his lady dere; And eek Nature hir-self ne wol nought here, For tarying here, noght half that I wolde seye; And but I speke, I mot for sorwe deye.

470 Of long servyse avaunte I me no-thing, But as possible is me to dye to-day For wo, as he that hath ben languisshing Thise twenty winter, and wel happen may A man may serven bet and more to pay 475 In half a yere, al-though hit were no more, Than som man doth that hath served ful yore.

I ne say not this by me, for I ne can Do no servyse that may my lady plese; But I dar seyn, I am hir trewest man 480 As to my dome, and feynest wolde hir ese; At shorte wordes, til that deth me sese, I wol ben hires, whether I wake or winke, And trewe in al that herte may bethinke.'

Of al my lyf, sin that day I was born, 485 So gentil plee in love or other thing Ne herde never no man me beforn, Who-[so] that hadde leyser and cunning For to reherse hir chere and hir speking; And from the morwe gan this speche laste 490 Til dounward drow the sonne wonder faste.

The noyse of foules for to ben delivered So loude rong, 'have doon and let us wende!' That wel wende I the wode had al to-shivered. Come of!' they cryde, 'allas! ye wil us shende! 495 Whan shal your cursed pleding have an ende? How shulde a Iuge eyther party leve, For yee or nay, with-outen any preve?'

The goos, the cokkow, and the doke also So cryden 'kek, kek!' 'kukkow!' 'quek, quek!' hye, 500 That thorgh myn eres the noyse wente tho. The goos seyde, 'al this nis not worth a flye! But I can shape hereof a remedye, And I wol sey my verdit faire and swythe For water-foul, who-so be wrooth or blythe.'

505 'And I for worm-foul,' seyde the fool cukkow, For I wol, of myn owne auctoritè, For comune spede, take the charge now, For to delivere us is gret charitè.' Ye may abyde a whyle yet, parde!' 510 Seide the turtel, 'if hit be your wille A wight may speke, him were as good be stille.

I am a seed-foul, oon the unworthieste, That wot I wel, and litel of kunninge; But bet is that a wightes tonge reste 515 Than entremeten him of such doinge Of which he neyther rede can nor singe. And who-so doth, ful foule himself acloyeth, For office uncommitted ofte anoyeth.'

Nature, which that alway had an ere 520 To murmour of the lewednes behinde, With facound voys seide, 'hold your tonges there! And I shal sone, I hope, a counseyl finde You to delivere, and fro this noyse unbinde; I Iuge, of every folk men shal oon calle 525 To seyn the verdit for you foules alle.'

Assented were to this conclusioun The briddes alle; and foules of ravyne Han chosen first, by pleyn eleccioun, The tercelet of the faucon, to diffyne 530 Al hir sentence, and as him list, termyne; And to Nature him gonnen to presente, And she accepteth him with glad entente.

The tercelet seide than in this manere: Ful hard were hit to preve hit by resoun 535 Who loveth best this gentil formel here; For everich hath swich replicacioun, That noon by skilles may be broght a-doun; I can not seen that arguments avayle; Than semeth hit ther moste be batayle.'

540 'Al redy!' quod these egles tercels tho. Nay, sirs!' quod he, 'if that I dorste it seye, Ye doon me wrong, my tale is not y-do! For sirs, ne taketh noght a-gref, I preye, It may noght gon, as ye wolde, in this weye; 545 Oure is the voys that han the charge in honde, And to the Iuges dome ye moten stonde;

And therfor pees! I seye, as to my wit, Me wolde thinke how that the worthieste Of knighthode, and lengest hath used hit, 550 Moste of estat, of blode the gentileste, Were sittingest for hir, if that hir leste; And of these three she wot hir-self, I trowe, Which that he be, for hit is light to knowe.'

The water-foules han her hedes leyd 555 Togeder, and of short avysement, Whan everich had his large golee seyd, They seyden sothly, al by oon assent, How that 'the goos, with hir facounde gent, That so desyreth to pronounce our nede, 560 Shal telle our tale,' and preyde 'god hir spede.'

And for these water-foules tho began The goos to speke, and in hir cakelinge She seyde, 'pees! now tak kepe every man, And herkeneth which a reson I shal bringe; 565 My wit is sharp, I love no taryinge; I seye, I rede him, though he were my brother, But she wol love him, lat him love another!'

Lo here! a parfit reson of a goos!' Quod the sperhauk; 'never mot she thee! 570 Lo, swich hit is to have a tonge loos! Now parde, fool, yet were hit bet for thee Have holde thy pees, than shewed thy nycete! Hit lyth not in his wit nor in his wille, But sooth is seyd, "a fool can noght be stille."'

575 The laughter aroos of gentil foules alle, And right anoon the seed-foul chosen hadde The turtel trewe, and gunne hir to hem calle, And preyden hir to seye the sothe sadde Of this matere, and asked what she radde; 580 And she answerde, that pleynly hir entente She wolde shewe, and sothly what she mente.

Nay, god forbede a lover shulde chaunge!' The turtel seyde, and wex for shame al reed; Thogh that his lady ever-more be straunge, 585 Yet let him serve hir ever, til he be deed; For sothe, I preyse noght the gooses reed; For thogh she deyed, I wolde non other make, I wol ben hires, til that the deth me take.'

Wel bourded!' quod the doke, 'by my hat! 590 That men shulde alwey loven, causeles, Who can a reson finde or wit in that? Daunceth he mury that is mirtheles? Who shulde recche of that is reccheles? Ye, quek!' yit quod the doke, ful wel and faire, 595 'There been mo sterres, god wot, than a paire!'

Now fy, cherl!' quod the gentil tercelet, Out of the dunghil com that word ful right, Thou canst noght see which thing is wel be-set: Thou farest by love as oules doon by light, 600 The day hem blent, ful wel they see by night; Thy kind is of so lowe a wrechednesse, That what love is, thou canst nat see ne gesse.'

Tho gan the cukkow putte him forth in prees For foul that eteth worm, and seide blyve, 605 'So I,' quod he, 'may have my make in pees, I recche not how longe that ye stryve; Lat ech of hem be soleyn al hir lyve, This is my reed, sin they may not acorde; This shorte lesson nedeth noght recorde.'

610 'Ye! have the glotoun fild ynogh his paunche, Than are we wel!' seyde the merlioun; Thou mordrer of the heysugge on the braunche That broghte thee forth, thou [rewthelees] glotoun! Live thou soleyn, wormes corrupcioun! 615 For no fors is of lakke of thy nature; Go, lewed be thou, whyl the world may dure!'

Now pees,' quod Nature, 'I comaunde here; For I have herd al your opinioun, And in effect yet be we never the nere; 620 But fynally, this is my conclusioun, That she hir-self shal han the eleccioun Of whom hir list, who-so be wrooth or blythe, Him that she cheest, he shal hir have as swythe.

For sith hit may not here discussed be 625 Who loveth hir best, as seide the tercelet, Than wol I doon hir this favour, that she Shal have right him on whom hir herte is set, And he hir that his herte hath on hir knet. This Iuge I, Nature, for I may not lyë; 630 To noon estat I have non other yë.

But as for counseyl for to chese a make, If hit were reson, certes, than wolde I Counseyle yow the royal tercel take, As seide the tercelet ful skilfully, 635 As for the gentilest and most worthy, Which I have wroght so wel to my plesaunce; That to yow oghte been a suffisaunce.'

With dredful vois the formel hir answerde, My rightful lady, goddesse of Nature, 640 Soth is that I am ever under your yerde, Lyk as is everiche other creature, And moot be youres whyl my lyf may dure; And therfor graunteth me my firste bone, And myn entente I wol yow sey right sone.'

645 'I graunte it you,' quod she; and right anoon This formel egle spak in this degree, Almighty quene, unto this yeer be doon I aske respit for to avysen me. And after that to have my choys al free; 650 This al and som, that I wolde speke and seye; Ye gete no more, al-though ye do me deye.

I wol noght serven Venus ne Cupyde For sothe as yet, by no manere wey.' Now sin it may non other wyse betyde,' 655 Quod tho Nature, 'here is no more to sey; Than wolde I that these foules were a-wey Ech with his make, for tarying lenger here'— And seyde hem thus, as ye shul after here.

To you speke I, ye tercelets,' quod Nature, 660 'Beth of good herte and serveth, alle three; A yeer is not so longe to endure, And ech of yow peyne him, in his degree, For to do wel; for, god wot, quit is she Fro yow this yeer; what after so befalle, 665 This entremes is dressed for you alle.'

And whan this werk al broght was to an ende, To every foule Nature yaf his make By even acorde, and on hir wey they wende. A! lord! the blisse and Ioye that they make! 670 For ech of hem gan other in winges take, And with hir nekkes ech gan other winde, Thanking alwey the noble goddesse of kinde.

But first were chosen foules for to singe, As yeer by yere was alwey hir usaunce 675 To singe a roundel at hir departinge, To do Nature honour and plesaunce. The note, I trowe, maked was in Fraunce; The wordes wer swich as ye may heer finde, The nexte vers, as I now have in minde.

Qui bien aime a tard oublie.

680 'Now welcom somer, with thy sonne softe, That hast this wintres weders over-shake, And driven awey the longe nightes blake!

Seynt Valentyn, that art ful hy on-lofte;— Thus singen smale foules for thy sake— 685 Now welcom somer, with thy sonne softe, That hast this wintres weders over-shake.

Wel han they cause for to gladen ofte, Sith ech of hem recovered hath his make; Ful blisful may they singen whan they wake; 690 Now welcom somer, with thy sonne softe, That hast this wintres weders over-shake, And driven awey the longe nightes blake.'

And with the showting, whan hir song was do, That foules maden at hir flight a-way, 695 I wook, and other bokes took me to To rede upon, and yet I rede alway; I hope, y-wis, to rede so som day That I shal mete som thing for to fare 699 The bet; and thus to rede I nil not spare.

Explicit tractatus de congregacione Volucrum die sancti Valentini.