Front matter (continued 9)

If that I mighte in any wyse espye What was the cause of his deedly wo, 150 Or why that he so pitously gan crye On his fortune, and on his ure also; With al my might I layde an ere to, Every word to marke, what he seyde, Out of his swough among as he abrayde.

155 But first, if I shulde make mencioun Of his persone, and plainly him discryve, He was in sothe, without excepcioun, To speke of manhode, oon the best on-lyve; Ther may no man ayen the trouthe stryve. 160 For of his tyme, and of his age also He proved was, ther men shulde have ado,

For oon the beste there, of brede and lengthe So wel y-mad by good proporcioun, If he had be in his deliver strengthe; 165 But thought and seknesse were occasioun That he thus lay, in lamentacioun, Gruffe on the grounde, in place desolat, Sole by him-self, awhaped and amat.

And, for me semeth that it is sitting 170 His wordes al to putte in remembraunce, To me, that herdë al his complayning And al the groundë of his woful chaunce, If ther-withal I may you do plesaunce, I wol to you, so as I can, anon, 175 Lyk as he sayde, reherce hem everichon.

But who shal helpe me now to complayne? Or who shal now my style gye or lede? O Niobè, let now thy teres rayne In-to my penne; and helpe eek in this nede, 180 Thou woful Mirre, that felest my herte blede Of pitous wo, and myn hand eek quake Whan that I wryte, for this mannes sake!

For unto wo accordeth complayning And doleful cherë unto hevinesse; 185 To sorowe also, syghing and weping, And pitous mourning, unto drerinesse; And whoso that shal wryten of distresse In party nedeth to knowe felingly Cause and rote of al such malady.

190 But I, alas! that am of witte but dulle, And have no knowing of such matere, For to discryve and wryten at the fulle The woful complaynt, which that ye shal here, But even-lyk as doth a skrivenere 195 That can no more what that he shal wryte, But as his maister besyde doth endyte;

Right so fare I, that of no sentement Saye right naught, as in conclusioun, But as I herde, whan I was present, 200 This man complayne with a pitous soun; For even-lyk, without addicioun Or disencrees, either more or lesse, For to reherce anon I wol me dresse.

And if that any now be in this place 205 That fele in love brenning or fervence, Or hindred werë to his lady grace With false tonges, that with pestilence Slee trewe men that never did offence In word nor dede, ne in hir entent— 210 If any suche be here now present,

Let him of routhe lay to audience, With doleful chere and sobre countenaunce, To here this man, by ful high sentence, His mortal wo and his gret perturbaunce 215 Cómplayning, now lying in a traunce, With lokes upcaste, and with ruful chere, Th' effect of whiche was as ye shal here.—

Compleynt.

The thought oppressed with inward sighes sore, The painful lyf, the body languisshing, 220 The woful gost, the herte rent and tore, The pitous chere, pale in compleyning, The deedly face, lyk ashes in shyning, The salte teres that fro myn eyën falle, Parcel declare grounde of my peynes alle:

225 Whos herte is grounde to blede in hevinesse; The thought, resceyt of wo and of complaynt; The brest is cheste of dole and drerinesse; The body eek so feble and so faynt; With hote and colde myn acces is so meynt, 230 That now I chiver for defaute of hete, And, hoot as gleed, now sodainly I swete.

Now hoot as fyr, now cold as asshes dede, Now hoot fro cold, now cold fro hete agayn; Now cold as ys, now as coles rede 235 For hete I brenne; and thus, betwixe twayne, I possed am, and al forcast in payne; So that my hete plainly, as I fele, Of grevous cold is causë, every-deel.

This is the cold of inward high disdayne, 240 Cold of dispyt, and cold of cruel hate; This is the cold that doth his besy payne Ayeines trouthe to fighte and to debate. This is the cold that wolde the fyr abate Of trewe mening; alas! the harde whyle! 245 This is the cold that wolde me begyle.

For ever the better that in trouthe I mente With al my mighte faythfully to serve, With herte and al for to be diligent, The lesse thank, alas! I can deserve! 250 Thus for my trouthe Daunger doth me sterve. For oon that shulde my deeth, of mercy, lette Hath mad despyt newe his swerd to whette

Ayeines me, and his arowes to fyle To take vengeaunce of wilful crueltè; 255 And tonges false, through hir sleightly wyle, Han gonne a werre that wil not stinted be; And fals Envye, Wrathe, and Enmitè, Have conspired, ayeines al right and lawe, Of hir malyce, that Trouthe shal be slawe.

260 And Male-Bouche gan first the tale telle, To slaundre Trouthe, of indignacioun; And Fals-Report so loude rong the belle, That Misbeleve and Fals-Suspeccioun, Have Trouthe brought to his dampnacioun, 265 So that, alas! wrongfully he dyeth, And Falsnes now his placë occupyeth,

And entred is in-to Trouthes lond, And hath therof the ful possessioun. O rightful god, that first the trouthe fond, 270 How may thou suffre such oppressioun, That Falshood shulde have jurisdiccioun In Trouthes right, to slee him giltëlees? In his fraunchyse he may not live in pees.

Falsly accused, and of his foon forjuged, 275 Without answere, whyl he was absent, He dampned was, and may not ben excused, For Crueltè sat in jugëment Of hastinesse, withoute avysëment, And bad Disdayn do execute anon 280 His jugëment, in presence of his foon.

Attourney noon ne may admitted been T'ëxcuse Trouthë, ne a word to speke; To fayth or ooth the juge list not seen, There is no gayn, but he wil be wreke. 285 O lord of trouthe, to thee I calle and clepe; How may thou see, thus in thy presence, Withoute mercy, murdred innocence?

Now god, that art of trouthe soverain And seëst how I lye for trouthe bounde, 290 So sore knit in loves fyry chain Even at the deth, through-girt with many a wounde That lykly are never for to sounde, And for my trouthe am dampned to the deeth, And not abyde, but drawe along the breeth:

295 Consider and see, in thyn eternal right, How that myn herte professed whylom was For to be trewe with al my fulle might Only to oon, the whiche now, alas! Of voluntè, withoute any trespas, 300 Myn accusours hath taken unto grace, And cherissheth hem, my deth for to purchace.

What meneth this? what is this wonder ure Of purveyauncë, if I shal it calle, Of god of love, that false hem so assure, 305 And trewe, alas! doun of the whele ben falle? And yet in sothe, this is the worst of alle, That Falshed wrongfully of Trouthe hath name, And Trouthe ayenward of Falshed bereth the blame.

This blinde chaunce, this stormy aventure, 310 In lovë hath most his experience; For who that doth with trouthe most his cure Shal for his mede finde most offence, That serveth love with al his diligence; For who can faynë, under lowliheed, 315 Ne fayleth not to finde grace and speed.

For I loved oon, ful longë sith agoon, With al my herte, body, and ful might, And, to be deed, my herte can not goon From his hest, but holde that he hath hight; 320 Though I be banisshed out of her sight, And by her mouth dampned that I shal deye, †To my behest yet I wil ever obeye.

For ever, sithë that the world began, Who-so list lokë, and in storie rede, 325 He shal ay finde that the trewe man Was put abakke, wher-as the falshede Y-furthered was; for Love taketh non hede To slee the trewe, and hath of hem no charge, Wher-as the false goth freely at hir large.

330 I take recorde of Palamides, The trewe man, the noble worthy knight, That ever loved, and of his payn no relees; Notwithstonding his manhood and his might Love unto him did ful greet unright; 335 For ay the bet he did in chevalrye, The more he was hindred by envye.

And ay the bet he did in every place Through his knighthood and his besy payne, The ferther was he from his lady grace, 340 For to her mercy mighte he never attayne; And to his deth he coude it not refrayne For no daungere, but ay obey and serve As he best coude, plainly, til he sterve.

What was the fyne also of Hercules, 345 For al his conquest and his worthinesse, That was of strengthe alone pereles? For, lyk as bokes of him list expresse, He sette pillers, through his hy prowesse, Away at Gades, for to signifye 350 That no man mighte him passe in chevalrye.

The whiche pillers ben ferre beyonde Inde Beset of golde, for a remembraunce; And, for al that, was he set behinde With hem that Love liste febly avaunce; 355 For [he] him sette last upon a daunce, Ageynes whom helpe may no stryf; For al his trouthe, yit he loste his lyf.

Phebus also, for al his persaunt light, Whan that he wente here in erthe lowe, 360 Unto the herte with fresh Venus sight Y-wounded was, through Cupydes bowe, And yet his lady liste him not to knowe. Though for her love his herte didë blede, She leet him go, and took of him no hede.

365 What shal I saye of yonge Piramus? Of trew Tristram, for al his hye renoun? Of Achilles, or of Antonius? Of Arcite eke, or of him Palemoun? What was the endë of hir passioun 370 But, after sorowe, deeth, and than hir grave? Lo, here the guerdon that these lovers have!

But false Jason, with his doublenesse, That was untrewe at Colkos to Medee, And Theseus, rote of unkindënesse, 375 And with these two eek the false Enee; Lo! thus the falsë, ay in oon degrè, Had in love hir lust and al hir wille; And, save falshood, ther was non other skille.

Of Thebes eek the false [knight] Arcyte, 380 And Demophon †also, for [al] his slouthe, They had hir lust and al that might delyte For al hir falshode and hir greet untrouthe. Thus ever Love (alas! and that is routhe!) His false leges forthereth what he may, 385 And sleeth the trewe ungoodly, day by day.

For trewe Adon was slayn with the bore Amid the forest, in the grene shade; For Venus love he feltë al the sore. But Vulcanus with her no mercy made; 390 The foule chorl had many nightes glade, Wher Mars, her worthy knight, her trewe man, To finde mercy, comfort noon he can.

Also the yonge fresshe Ipomenes So lusty free [was], as of his corage, 395 That for to serve with al his herte he chees Athalans, so fair of hir visage; But Love, alas! quitte him so his wage With cruel daunger plainly, at the laste, That, with the dethe, guerdonles he paste.

400 Lo! here the fyne of loveres servyse! Lo! how that Love can his servaunts quyte! Lo! how he can his faythful men despyse, To slee the trewe, and false to respyte! Lo! how he doth the swerd of sorowe byte 405 In hertes, suche as most his lust obeye, To save the false, and do the trewe deye!

For fayth nor ooth, word, ne assuraunce, Trewe mening, awayte, or besinesse, Stille port, ne faythful attendaunce, 410 Manhood, ne might, in armes worthinesse, Pursute of worship, nor no hy prowesse, In straunge lande ryding, ne travayle, Ful lyte or nought in lovë doth avayle.

Peril of dethe, nother in see ne lande, 415 Hunger ne thurst, sorowe ne sekenesse, Ne grete empryses for to take on hande, Sheding of blode, ne manful hardinesse, Ne ofte woundinge at sautes by distresse, Nor †juparting of lyf, nor deeth also— 420 Al is for nought, Love taketh no hede therto!

But lesings, with hir false flaterye, Through hir falshede, and with hir doublenesse, With tales newe and many fayned lye, By fals semblaunt and counterfet humblesse, 425 Under colour depeynt with stedfastnesse, With fraude covered under a pitous face Accepte been now rathest unto grace,

And can hem-selve now best magnifye With fayned port and fals presumpcioun; 430 They haunce hir cause with fals surquedrye Under meninge of double entencioun, To thenken oon in hir opinioun And saye another; to sette hemselve alofte And hinder trouthe, as it is seyn ful ofte.

435 The whiche thing I bye now al to dere, Thanked be Venus and the god Cupyde! As it is sene by myn oppressed chere, And by his arowes that stiken in my syde, That, sauf the deth, I nothing abyde 440 Fro day to day; alas, the harde whyle! Whan ever his dart that him list to fyle,

My woful herte for to ryve a-two For faute of mercy, and lak of pitè Of her that causeth al my payne and wo 445 And list not ones, of grace, for to see Unto my trouthe through her crueltee; And, most of alle, yit I me complayne, That she hath joy to laughen at my peyne!

And wilfully hath [she] my deeth y-sworn 450 Al giltëlees, and wot no cause why Save for the trouthe that I have had aforn To her alone to serve faithfully! O god of lovë! unto thee I cry, And to thy blinde double deitee 455 Of this gret wrongë I compleyne me,

And to thy stormy wilful variaunce Y-meynt with chaunge and greet unstablenesse; Now up, now doun, so renning is thy chaunce, That thee to truste may be no sikernesse. 460 I wyte it nothing but thy doublenesse; And who that is an archer and is †blent Marketh nothing, but sheteth as he †went.

And for that he hath no discrecioun, Withoute avys he let his arowe go; 465 For lakke of sight, and also of resoun, In his shetinge, it happeth ofte so, To hurte his frend rather than his fo; So doth this god, [and] with his sharpe floon The trewe sleeth, and let the false goon.

470 And of his wounding this is the worst of alle, Whan he hurteth, he doth so cruel wreche And maketh the seke for to crye and calle Unto his fo, for to been his leche; And hard it is, for a man to seche, 475 Upon the point of dethe in jupardye, Unto his fo, to finde remedye!

Thus fareth it now even by me, That to my fo, that yaf myn herte a wounde, Mote aske grace, mercy, and pitè, 480 And namëly, ther wher non may be founde! For now my sore my leche wil confounde, And god of kinde so hath set myn ure, My lyves fo to have my wounde in cure!

Alas! the whyle now that I was born! 485 Or that I ever saw the brighte sonne! For now I see, that ful longe aforn, Or I was born, my desteny was sponne By Parcas sustren, to slee me, if they conne; For they my deth shopen or my sherte 490 Only for trouthe! I may it not asterte.

The mighty goddesse also of Nature That under god hath the governaunce Of worldly thinges committed to her cure, Disposed hath, through her wys purveyaunce, 495 To yeve my lady so moche suffisaunce Of al vertues, and therwithal purvyde To murdre trouthe, hath take Daunger to gyde.

For bountè, beautè, shappe, and semeliheed, Prudence, wit, passingly fairnesse, 500 Benigne port, glad chere with lowliheed, Of womanheed right plenteous largesse, Nature did in her fully empresse, Whan she her wroughte; and alther-last Disdayne, To hinder trouthe, she made her chamberlayne;

505 Whan Mistrust also, and Fals-Suspeccioun, With Misbeleve, she made for to be Cheef of counsayl to this conclusioun, For to exyle Routhe, and eek Pitè, Out of her court to make Mercy flee, 510 So that Dispyt now holdeth forth her reyne, Through hasty bileve of tales that men feyne.

And thus I am, for my trouthe, alas! Murdred and slayn with wordes sharpe and kene, Giltlees, god wot, of al maner trespas, 515 And lye and blede upon this colde grene. Now mercy, swete! mercy, my lyves quene! And to your grace of mercy yet I preye, In your servyse that your man may deye!

But if so be that I shal deye algate, 520 And that I shal non other mercy have, Yet of my dethe let this be the date That by your wille I was brought to my grave; Or hastily, if that you list me save, My sharpe woundes, that ake so and blede, 525 Of mercy, charme, and also of womanhede.

For other charme, playnly, is ther non But only mercy, to helpe in this case; For though my woundes blede ever in oon, My lyf, my deeth, standeth in youre grace; 530 And though my gilt be nothing, alas! I aske mercy in al my beste entente, Redy to dye, if that ye assente.

For ther-ayeines shal I never stryve In worde ne werke; playnly, I ne may; 535 For lever I have than to be alyve To dye soothly, and it be her to pay; Ye, though it be this eche same day Or whan that ever her liste to devyse; Suffyceth me to dye in your servyse.

540 And god, that knowest the thought of every wight Right as it is, in †al thing thou mayst see, Yet, ere I dye, with all my fulle might Lowly I pray, to graunte[n] unto me That ye, goodly, fayre, fresshe, and free, 545 Which slee me only for defaute of routhe, Or that I dye, ye may knowe my trouthe.

For that, in sothe, suffyseth unto me, And she it knowe in every circumstaunce; And after, I am wel apayd that she 550 If that hir list, of dethe to do vengeaunce Untó me, that am under her legeaunce; It sit me not her doom to disobeye, But, at her luste, wilfully to deye.

Withoute grucching or rebellioun 555 In wille or worde, hoolly I assent, Or any maner contradiccioun, Fully to be at her commaundëment; And, if I dyë, in my testament My herte I sende, and my spirit also, 560 What-so-ever she list, with hem to do.

And alder-last unto her womanhede And to her mercy me I recommaunde, That lye now here, betwixe hope and drede, Abyding playnly what she list commaunde. 565 For utterly, (this nis no demaunde), Welcome to me, whyl me lasteth breeth, Right at her choise, wher it be lyf or deeth!

In this matere more what mighte I seyn, Sith in her hande and in her wille is al, 570 Both lyf and deeth, my joy and al my payn? And fynally, my heste holde I shal, Til my spirit, by desteny fatal, Whan that her liste, fro my body wende; Have here my trouthe, and thus I make an ende!'

575 And with that worde he gan syke as sore Lyk as his herte ryve wolde atwayne, And held his pees, and spak a word no more. But, for to see his wo and mortal payne, The teres gonne fro myn eyen rayne 580 Ful pitously, for very inward routhe That I him saw so languisshing for trouthe.

And al this whyle my-self I kepte cloos Among the bowes, and my-self gan hyde, Til, at the laste, the woful man aroos, 585 And to a logge wente ther besyde, Where, al the May, his custome was t'abyde, Sole, to complaynen of his paynes kene, Fro yeer to yere, under the bowes grene.

And for bicause that it drow to the night 590 And that the sonne his ark diurnál Y-passed was, so that his persaunt light, His brighte bemes and his stremes al Were in the wawes of the water fal, Under the bordure of our ocëan, 595 His char of golde his cours so swiftly ran:

And whyl the twylight and the rowes rede Of Phebus light were dëaurat a lyte, A penne I took, and gan me faste spede The woful playntë of this man to wryte 600 Word by wordë, as he did endyte; Lyk as I herde, and coude him tho reporte, I have here set, your hertes to disporte.

If ought be mis, layeth the wyte on me, For I am worthy for to bere the blame 605 If any thing [here] misreported be, To make this dytè for to seme lame Through myn unconning; but, to sayn the same, Lyk as this man his complaynt did expresse, I aske mercy and forgivënesse.

610 And, as I wroot, me thoughte I saw a-ferre, Fer in the weste, lustely appere Esperus, the goodly brighte sterre, So glad, so fair, so persaunt eek of chere, I mene Venus, with her bemes clere, 615 That, hevy hertes only to releve, Is wont, of custom, for to shewe at eve.

And I, as faste, fel doun on my knee And even thus to her gan I to preye:— 'O lady Venus! so faire upon to see, 620 Let not this man for his trouthe deye, For that joy thou haddest whan thou leye With Mars thy knight, whan Vulcanus you fond, And with a chayne invisible you bond

Togider, bothe twayne, in the same whyle 625 That al the court above celestial At youre shame gan for to laughe and smyle! A! fairë lady! welwilly founde at al, Comfort to careful, O goddesse immortal! Be helping now, and do thy diligence 630 To let the stremes of thyn influence

Descende doun, in forthering of the trouthe, Namely, of hem that lye in sorowe bounde; Shew now thy might, and on hir wo have routhe Er fals Daunger slee hem and confounde. 635 And specially, let thy might be founde For to socourë, what-so that thou may, The trewe man that in the herber lay,

And alle trewe forther, for his sake, O gladde sterre, O lady Venus myne! 640 And cause his lady him to grace take. Her herte of stele to mercy so enclyne, Er that thy bemes go up, to declyne, And er that thou now go fro us adoun, Fór that love thou haddest to Adoun!'

645 And whan that she was gon unto her reste, I roos anon, and hoom to bedde wente, For verily, me thoughte it for the beste; Prayinge thus, in al my best entente, That alle trewe, that be with Daunger shente, 650 With mercy may, in reles of hir payn, Recured be, er May come eft agayn.

And for that I ne may no lenger wake, Farewel, ye lovers alle, that be trewe! Praying to god; and thus my leve I take, 655 That, er the sonne to-morowe be risen newe, And er he have ayein his rosen hewe, That eche of you may have suche a grace, His owne lady in armes to embrace.

I mene thus, that, in al honestee, 660 Withoute more, ye may togider speke What so ye listë, at good libertee, That eche may to other hir herte breke, On Jelousyë only to be wreke, That hath so longe, of malice and envye, 665 Werreyed Trouthe with his tirannye.

Lenvoy.

Princesse, plese it your benignitee This litel dytè for to have in mynde! Of womanhedë also for to see Your trewe man may youre mercy finde; 670 And Pitè eek, that long hath be behinde, Let him ayein be próvoked to grace; For, by my trouthe, it is ayeines kinde, Fals Daunger for to occupye his place!

Go, litel quayre, unto my lyves queen, 675 And my very hertes soverayne; And be right glad; for she shal thee seen; Suche is thy grace! But I, alas! in payne Am left behinde, and not to whom to playne. For Mercy, Routhe, Grace, and eek Pitè 680 Exyled be, that I may not attayne Recure to finde of myn adversitè.

Explicit.

In Fevrier, whan the frosty mone Was horned, ful of Phebus fyry light, And that she gan to reyse her stremes sone, Saint Valentyne! upon thy blisful night 5 Of duëtee, whan glad is every wight, And foules chese (to voyde hir olde sorowe) Everich his make, upon the nexte morowe;

The same tyme, I herde a larke singe Ful lustely, agayn the morowe gray— 10 'Awake, ye lovers, out of your slombringe, This gladde morowe, in al the haste ye may; Some óbservaunce doth unto this day, Your choise ayen of herte to renewe In cónfirming, for ever to be trewe!

15 And ye that be, of chesing, at your large, This lusty day, by custome of nature, Take upon you the blisful holy charge To serve lovë, whyl your lyf may dure, With herte, body, and al your besy cure, 20 For evermore, as Venus and Cipryde For you disposeth, and the god Cupyde.

For joye owe we playnly to obeye Unto this lordes mighty ordinaunce, And, mercilesse, rather for to deye 25 Than ever in you be founden variaunce; And, though your lyf be medled with grevaunce, And, at your herte, closed be your wounde, Beth alway one, ther-as ye are bounde!'

Thát whan I had herd, and listed longe, 30 With devout herte, the lusty melodye Of this hevenly comfortable songe So ágreable, as by harmonye, I roos anon, and faste gan me hye Toward a grove, and the way [gan] take 35 Foules to sene, everich chese his make.

And yet I was ful thursty in languisshing; Myn ague was so fervent in his hete, Whan Aurora, for drery complayning, Can distille her cristal teres wete 40 Upon the soile, with silver dewe so swete; For she [ne] durste, for shame, not apere Under the light of Phebus bemes clere.

And so, for anguisshe of my paynes kene, And for constraynte of my sighes sore, 45 I sette me doun under a laurer grene Ful pitously; and alway more and more, As I beheld into the holtes hore, I gan complayne myn inward deedly smerte, That ay so sore †crampisshed myn herte.

50 And whyl that I, in my drery payne, Sat, and beheld aboute on every tree The foules sitten, alway twayne and twayne, Than thoughte I thus: 'alas! what may this be, That every foul hath his libertee 55 Frely to chesen after his desyre Everich his make thus, fro yeer to yere?

The sely wrenne, the titmose also, The litel redbrest, have free eleccioun To flyen y-ferë and †togider go 60 Wher-as hem liste, abouten enviroun, As they of kynde have inclinacoun, And as Nature, emperesse and gyde, Of every thing, liste to provyde;

But man aloon, alas! the harde stounde! 65 Ful cruelly, by kyndes ordinaunce, Constrayned is, and by statut bounde, And debarred from alle such plesaunce. What meneth this? What is this purveyaunce Of god above, agayn al right of kynde, 70 Withoute cause, so narowe man to bynde?'

Thus may I [soothly] seen, and playne, alas! My woful houre and my disaventure, That dolefully stonde in the same cas So fer behyndë, from al helth and cure. 75 My wounde abydeth lyk a sursanure; For me Fortune so felly list dispose, My harm is hid, that I dar not disclose.

For I my herte have set in suche a place Wher I am never lykly for to spede; 80 So fer I am hindred from her grace That, save daunger, I have non other mede. And thus, alas! I not who shal me rede Ne for myn helpe shape remedye, For Male-bouche, and for false Envye:

85 The whiche twayne ay stondeth in my wey Maliciously; and Fals Suspeccioun Is very causë also that I dey, Ginning and rote of my distruccioun; So that I fele, [as] in conclusioun, 90 With hir traynes that they wol me shende, Of my labour that deth mot make an ende!

Yet, or I dye, with herte, wil, and thought To god of lovë this avowe I make, (As I best can, how dere that it be bought, 95 Wher-so it be, that I slepe or wake, Whyl Boreas doth the leves shake) As I have hight, playnly, til I sterve, For wele or wo, that I shal [ay] her serve.

And, for her sake, now this holy tyme, 100 Saint Valentyne! somwhat shal I wryte Al-though so be that I can not ryme, Nor curiously by no crafte endyte, Yet lever I have, that she putte the wyte In unconning than in negligence, 105 What-ever I sayë of her excellence.

What-ever I saye, it is of duëtee, In sothfastnesse and no presumpcioun; This I ensure to you that shal it see, That it is al under correccioun; 110 What I reherce in commendacioun Of herë that I shal to you, as blyve, So as I can, her vertues here discryve.—

¶ Right by example as the somer-sonne Passeth the sterre with his bemes shene, 115 And Lucifer among the skyës donne A-morowe sheweth to voyde nightes tene, So verily, withouten any wene, My lady passeth (who-so taketh hede) Al tho alyve, to speke of womanhede.

120 And as the ruby hath the soveraintè Of riche stones and the regalyë; And [as] the rose, of swetnesse and beautè, Of fresshe floures, withouten any lyë; Right so, in sothe, with her goodly yë, 125 She passeth al in bountee and fairnesse, Of maner ekë, and of gentilnesse.

For she is bothe the fairest and the beste, To reken al in very sothfastnesse; For every vertue is in her at reste; 130 And furthermore, to speke of stedfastnesse, She is the rotë; and of seemlinesse The very mirrour; and of governaunce To al example, withouten variaunce.

Of port benigne, and wonder glad of chere, 135 Having evermore her trewe advertence Alway to reson; so that her desyre Is brydeled ay by witte and providence; Thereto, of wittë and of hy prudence She is the wellë, ay devoide of pryde, 140 That unto vertue her-selven is the gyde!

And over this, in her daliaunce Lowly she is, discret, wyse, [and secree], And goodly gladde by attemperaunce, That every wight, of high and low degree, 145 Are gladde in herte with her for to be; Só that, shortly, if I shal not lye, She named is 'The Flour of Curtesye.'

And there, to speke of femininitee, The leste mannish in comparisoun, 150 Goodly abasshed, having ay pitee Of hem that been in tribulacioun; For she aloon is consolacioun To al that arn in mischeef and in nede, To comforte hem, of her womanhede.

155 And ay in vertue is her besy charge, Sadde and demure, and but of wordes fewe; Dredful also of tonges that ben large, Eschewing ay hem that listen to hewe Above hir heed, hir wordes for to shewe, 160 Dishonestly to speke of any wight; She deedly hateth of hem to have a sight.

The herte of whom so honest is and clene, And her entent so faithful and entere That she ne may, for al the world, sustene 165 To suffre her eres any word to here, Of frend nor fo, neither fer ne nere, Amis resowning, that hinder shulde his name; And if she do, she wexeth reed for shame.

So trewëly in mening she is set, 170 Without chaunging or any doublenesse; For bountee and beautee ar togider knet In her personë, under faithfulnesse; For void she is of newëfangelnesse; In herte ay oon, for ever to perséver 175 Ther she is set, and never to dissever.

I am to rude her vertues everichoon Cunningly [for] to discryve and wryte; For wel ye wot, colour[es] have I noon Lyk her discrecioun craftely t'endyte; 180 For what I sayë, al it is to lyte. Whérfor to you thus I me excuse, That I aqueynted am not with no muse!

By rethoryke my style to governe, In her preyse and commendacioun, 185 I am to blind, so hyly to discerne, Of her goodnesse to make discripcioun, Save thus I sayë, in conclusioun, If that I shal shortly [her] commende, In her is naught that Nature can amende.

190 For good she is, lyk to Policene, And, in fairnesse, to the quene Helayne; Stedfast of herte, as was Dorigene, And wyfly trouthë, if I shal not fayne: In constaunce eke and faith, she may attayne 195 To Cleopatre; and therto as †secree As was of Troye the whyte Antigone;

As Hester meke; lyk Judith of prudence; Kynde as Alceste or Marcia Catoun; And to Grisilde lyk in pacience, 200 And Ariadne, of discrecioun; And to Lucrece, that was of Rome toun, She may be lykned, as for honestè; And, for her faith, unto Penelope.

To faire Phyllis and to Hipsiphilee, 205 For innocencë and for womanhede; For seemlinessë, unto Canacee; And over this, to speke of goodlihede, She passeth alle that I can of rede; For worde and dede, that she naught ne falle, 210 Acorde in vertue, and her werkes alle.

For though that Dydo, with [her] witte sage, Was in her tyme stedfast to Enee, Of hastinesse yet she did outrage; And so for Jason did also Medee. 215 But my lady is so avisee That, bountee and beautee bothe in her demeyne, She maketh bountee alway soverayne.

This is to mene, bountee goth afore, Lad by prudence, and hath the soveraintee; 220 And beautee folweth, ruled by her lore, That she †n'offendë her in no degree; So that, in one, this goodly fresshe free Surmounting al, withouten any were, Is good and fair, in oon persone y-fere.

225 And though that I, for very ignoraunce, Ne may discryve her vertues by and by, Yet on this day, for a rémembraunce, Only supported under her mercy, With quaking hondë, I shal ful humbly 230 To her hynesse, my rudenes for to quyte, A litel balade here bineth endyte,

Ever as I can suppryse in my herte, Alway with fere, betwixe drede and shame, Lest out of lose any word asterte 235 In this metre, to make it seme lame; Chaucer is deed, that hadde suche a name Of fair making, that [was], withoute wene, Fairest in our tonge, as the laurer grene.

We may assaye for to counterfete 240 His gaye style, but it wil not be; The welle is drye, with the licour swete, Bothe of Clio and of Caliopè; And first of al, I wol excuse me To her, that is [the] ground of goodlihede; 245 And thus I saye until hir womanhede:—

Balade simple.

¶ 'With al my mightë, and my beste entente, With al the faith that mighty god of kynde Me yaf, sith he me soule and knowing sente, I chese, and to this bonde ever I me bynde, 250 To love you best, whyl I have lyf and mynde':— Thus herde I foules in the dawëninge Upon the day of saint Valentyne singe.

'Yet chese I, at the ginning, in this entente, To love you, though I no mercy fynde; 255 And if you liste I dyed, I wolde assente, As ever twinne I quik out of this lynde! Suffyseth me to seen your fetheres ynde':— Thus herde I foules in the morweninge Upon the day of saint Valentyne singe.

260 'And over this, myn hertes lust to-bente, In honour only of the wodëbynde, Hoolly I yeve, never to repente In joye or wo, wher-so that I wynde Tofore Cupyde, with his eyën blynde':— 265 The foules alle, whan Tytan did springe, With dévout herte, me thoughte I herde singe!

Lenvoy.

¶ Princesse of beautee, to you I represente This simple dytè, rude as in makinge, Of herte and wil faithful in myn entente, 270 Lyk as, this day, [the] foules herde I singe.

Here endeth the Flour of Curtesye.

A thousand stories coude I mo reherce Of olde poetes, touching this matere, How that Cupyde the hertes gan so perce Of his servauntes, setting hem on fere; 5 Lo, here the fyn of th'errour and the were! Lo, here of love the guerdon and grevaunce That ever with wo his servaunts doth avaunce!

Wherfor now playnly I wol my style dresse Of one to speke, at nede that wol nat fayle; 10 Alas! for dole, I ne can ne may expresse Her passing pryse, and that is no mervayle. O wind of grace, now blow into my sayle! O aureat licour of Cleo, for to wryte My penne enspyre, of that I wolde endyte!

15 Alas! unworthy I am and unable To love suche oon, al women surmounting, To be benigne to me, and merciable, That is of pitè the welle and eek the spring! Wherfor of her, in laude and in praysing, 20 So as I can, supported by her grace, Right thus I say, kneling tofore her face:—

O sterre of sterres, with thy stremes clere, Sterre of the see, to shipmen light and gyde, O lusty living, most plesaunt to apere, 25 Whos brighte bemes the cloudes may not hyde; O way of lyf to hem that go or ryde, Haven from tempest, surest up to ryve, On me have mercy, for thy joyes fyve!

O rightful rule, O rote of holinesse, 30 And lightsom lyne of pitè for to playne, Original ginning of grace and al goodnesse, Clenest conduit of vertue soverayne, Moder of mercy, our trouble to restrayne, Chambre and closet clenest of chastitè, 35 And named herberwe of the deitè!

O hoolsom garden, al voyde of wedes wikke, Cristallin welle, of clennesse clere consigned, Fructif olyve, of foyles faire and thikke, And redolent cedre, most dereworthly digned, 40 Remembre on sinners unto thee assigned Er wikked fendes hir wrathe upon hem wreche; Lanterne of light, thou be hir lyves leche!

Paradyse of plesaunce, gladsom to al good, Benigne braunchelet of the pyne-tree, 45 Vyneyerd vermayle, refressher of our food, Licour ayein languor, palled that may not be, Blisful bawme-blossom, byding in bountè, Thy mantel of mercy on our mischef sprede, And er wo wake, wrappe us under thy wede!

50 O rody rosier, flouring withouten spyne, Fountayne filthles, as beryl currant clere, Som drope of graceful dewe to us propyne; Light withoute nebule, shyning in thy spere, Medecyne to mischeves, pucelle withouten pere, 55 Flame doun to doleful light of thyn influence On thy servauntes, for thy magnificence!

Of al Christen protectrice and tutele, Retour of exyled, put in prescripcioun To hem that erre in the pathe of hir sequele; 60 To wery wandred tent and pavilioun, The feynte to fresshe, and the pausacioun; Unto unresty bothe reste and remedye, Fruteful to al tho that in her affye.

To hem that rennen thou art itinerárie, 65 O blisful bravie to knightes of thy werre; To wery werkmen thou art diourn denárie, Mede unto mariners that have sayled ferre; Laureat crowne, streming as a sterre To hem that putte hem in palestre for thy sake, 70 Cours of her conquest, thou whyte as any lake!

Thou mirthe of martyrs, sweter than citole, Of confessours also richest donatyf, Unto virgynes eternal lauriole, Afore al women having prerogatyf; 75 Moder and mayde, bothe widowe and wyf, Of al the worlde is noon but thou alone! Now, sith thou may, be socour to my mone!

O trusty turtle, trewest of al trewe, O curteyse columbe, replete of al mekenesse, 80 O nightingale with thy notes newe, O popinjay, plumed with al clennesse, O laverok of love, singing with swetnesse, Phebus, awayting til in thy brest he lighte Under thy winge at domesday us dighte!

85 O ruby, rubifyed in the passioun Al of thy sone, among have us in minde, O stedfast dyamaunt of duracioun, That fewe feres that tyme might thou finde, For noon to him was founden half so kinde! 90 O hardy herte, O loving crëature, What was it but love that made thee so endure?

Semely saphyre, depe loupe, and blewe ewage, Stable as the loupe, ewage of pitè, This is to say, the fresshest of visage, 95 Thou lovest hem unchaunged that serven thee. And if offence or wrything in hem be, Thou art ay redy upon hir wo to rewe, And hem receyvest with herte ful trewe.

O goodly gladded, whan that Gabriel 100 With joy thee grette that may not be nombred! Or half the blisse who coude wryte or tel Whan the holy goost to thee was obumbred, Wherthrough fendes were utterly encombred? O wemlees mayde, embelisshed in his birthe, 105 That man and aungel therof hadden mirthe!

Lo, here the blossom and the budde of glorie, Of which the prophet spak so longe aforn; Lo, here the same that was in memórie Of Isaie, so longe or she was born; 110 Lo, here of David the delicious corn; Lo, here the ground that list [him] to onbelde, Becoming man, our raunsom for to yelde!

O glorious vyole, O vytre inviolat! O fyry Tytan, persing with thy bemes, 115 Whos vertuous brightnes was in thy brest vibrat, That al the world embelisshed with his lemes! Conservatrice of kingdomes and remes; Of Isaies sede O swete Sunamyte, Mesure my mourning, myn owne Margaryte!

120 O sovereignest, sought out of Sion, O punical pome ayens al pestilence; And aureat urne, in whom was bouk and boon The agnelet, that faught for our offence Ayens the serpent with so high defence 125 That lyk a lyoun in victorie he was founde; To him commende us, of mercy most habounde!

O precious perle, withouten any pere, Cockle with gold dew from above berayned, Thou busshe unbrent, fyrles set a-fere, 130 Flambing with fervence, not with hete payned; Thou during daysye, with no †weder stayned; Flees undefouled of gentil Gedeon, And fructifying yerd thou of Aaron.

Thou misty arke, probatik piscyne, 135 Laughing Aurora, and of pees olyve; Columpne and base, up bering from abyme; Why nere I conning, thee for to discryve? Chosen of Joseph, whom he took to wyve, Unknowing him, childing by greet mirácle, 140 And of our manhode trewe tabernacle!

I have non English convenient and digne Myn hertes hele, lady, thee with t'honoure, Ivorie clene; therfore I wol resigne In-to thyn hand, til thou list socoure 5 To help my making bothe florisshe and floure; Than shulde I shewe, in love how I brende, In songes making, thy name to commende.

For if I coude before thyn excellence Singen in love, I wolde, what I fele, 10 And ever standen, lady, in thy presence, To shewe in open how I love you wele; And sith, although your herte be mad of stele, To you, withoute any disseveraunce, J'ay en vous toute ma fiaunce.

15 Wher might I love ever better besette Than in this lilie, lyking to beholde? The lace of love, the bond so wel thou knette, That I may see thee or myn herte colde, And or I passe out of my dayes olde, 20 Tofore singing evermore utterly— 'Your eyën two wol slee me sodainly.'

For love I langour, blissed be such seknesse, Sith it is for you, my hertely suffisaunce; I can not elles saye, in my distresse, 25 So fair oon hath myn herte in governaunce; And after that I †ginne on esperaunce With feble entune, though it thyn herte perce, Yet for thy sake this lettre I do reherce.

God wot, on musike I can not, but I gesse, 30 (Alas! why so?) that I might say or singe, So love I you, myn own soverain maistresse, And ever shal, withouten départinge. Mirrour of beautè, for you out shuld I ringe, In rémembraunce eke of your eyen clere, 35 Thus fer from you, my soverain lady dere!

So wolde god your love wold me slo, Sith, for your sake, I singe day by day; Herte, why nilt thou [never] breke a-two, Sith with my lady dwellen I ne may? 40 Thus many a roundel and many a virelay In fresshe Englisshe, whan I me layser finde, I do recorde, on you to have minde!

Now, lady myn! sith I you love and drede, And you unchaunged finde, in o degree, 45 Whos grace ne may flye fro your womanhede, Disdayneth not for to remembre on me! Myn herte bledeth, for I may nat you see; And sith ye wot my mening désirous, Pleurez pur moi, si vous plaist amorous!

50 What marveyle is, though I in payne be? I am departed from you, my soveraine; Fortune, alas! dont vient la destenee, That in no wyse I can ne may attayne To see the beautè of your eyën twayne. 55 Wherfore I say, for tristesse doth me grame, Tant me fait mal departir de ma dame!

Why nere my wisshing brought to suche esploit That I might say, for joye of your presence, 'Ore a man cuer ce quil veuilloit, 60 Ore a man cuer the highest excellence That ever had wight;' and sith myn advertence Is in you, reweth on my paynes smerte, I am so sore wounded to the herte.

To live wel mery, two lovers were y-fere, 65 So may I say withouten any blame; If any man [per cas] to wilde were, I coude him [sonë] teche to be tame; Let him go love, and see wher it be game! For I am brydled unto sobernesse 70 For her, that is of women cheef princesse.

But ever, whan thought shulde my herte embrace, Than unto me is beste remedye, Whan I loke on your goodly fresshe face; So mery a mirrour coude I never espye; 75 And, if I coude, I wolde it magnifye. For never non was [here] so faire y-founde, To reken hem al, and also Rosamounde.

And fynally, with mouthe and wil present Of double eye, withoute repentaunce, 80 Myn herte I yeve you, lady, in this entent, That ye shal hoolly therof have governaunce; Taking my leve with hertes obeysaunce, 'Salve, regina!' singing laste of al, To be our helpe, whan we to thee cal!

85 Al our lovë is but ydelnesse Save your aloon; who might therto attayne? Who-so wol have a name of gentillesse, I counsayle him in love that he not fayne. Thou swete lady! refut in every payne, 90 Whos [pitous] mercy most to me avayleth To gye by grace, whan that fortune fayleth.

Nought may be told, withouten any fable, Your high renome, your womanly beautè; Your governaunce, to al worship able, 95 Putteth every herte in ese in his degree. O violet, O flour desiree, Sith I am for you so amorous, Estreynez moy, [lady,] de cuer joyous!

With fervent herte my brest hath broste on fyre; 100 L'ardant espoir que mon cuer poynt, est mort, D'avoir l'amour de celle que je desyre, I mene you, swete, most plesaunt of port, Et je sai bien que ceo n'est pas mon tort That for you singe, so as I may, for mone 105 For your departing; alone I live, alone.

Though I mighte, I wolde non other chese; In your servyce, I wolde be founden sad; Therfore I love no labour that ye lese, Whan, in longing, sorest ye be stad; 110 Loke up, ye lovers [alle], and be right glad Ayeines sëynt Valentynes day, For I have chose that never forsake I may!

Explicit.

Consider wel, with every circumstaunce, Of what estat so-ever that thou be— Riche, strong, or mighty of puissaunce, Prudent or wyse, discrete or avisee, 5 The doom of folke in soth thou mayst nat flee; What-ever that thou do, trust right wel this, A wikked tonge wol alway deme amis.

For in thy port or in thyn apparayle If thou be clad or honestly be-seyn, 10 Anon the people, of malice, wol nat fayle, Without advyce or reson, for to sayn That thyn array is mad and wrought in vayn; What! suffre hem spekë!—and trust right wel this, A wikked tonge wol alway deme amis.

15 Thou wilt to kinges be equipolent, With gretë lordes even and peregal; And, if thou be to-torn and al to-rent, Than wol they say, and jangle over-al, Thou art a slogard, that never thryvë shal; 20 Yet suffre hem spekë!—and trust right wel this, A wikked tonge wol alway deme amis.

If thou be fayr, excelling of beautee, Than wol they say, that thou art amorous; If thou be foul and ugly on to see, 25 They wol afferme that thou art vicious, The peple of langage is so dispitous; Suffre hem spekë, and trust right wel this, A wikked tonge wol alway deme amis.

And if it fallë that thou take a wyf, 30 [Than] they wol falsly say, in hir entent, That thou art lykly ever to live in stryf, Voyd of al rest, without alegëment; Wyves be maistres, this is hir jugëment; Yet suffre hem spekë—and trust right wel this, 35 A wikked tonge wol alway deme amis.

And if it so be that, of parfitnesse, Thou hast avowed to live in chastitee, Thán wol folk of thy persone expresse Say thou art impotent t'engendre in thy degree; 40 And thus, whether thou be chast or deslavee, Suffre hem spekë—and trust right wel this, A wikked tonge wel alway deme amis.

And if that thou be fat or corpulent, Than wol they say that thou art a glotoun, 45 A devourour, or ellës vinolent; If thou be lene or megre of fassioun, Cal thee a nigard, in hir opinioun; Yet suffre hem spekë—and trust right wel this, A wikked tonge wol alway deme amis.

50 If thou be richë, som wol yeve thee laud, And say, it cometh of prudent governaunce; And som wol sayen, that it cometh of fraud, Outher by sleight, or by fals chevisaunce; To say the worst, folk have so gret plesaunce; 55 Yet suffre hem sayë—and trust right wel this, A wikked tonge wol alway deme amis.

If thou be sad or sobre of countenaunce, Men wol say—thou thinkest som tresoun; And if [that] thou be glad of daliaunce, 60 Men wol deme it dissolucioun, And calle thy fair speche, adulacioun; Yet let hem spekë—and trust right wel this, A wikked tonge wol alway deme amis.

Who that is holy by perfeccioun, 65 Men, of malyce, wol calle him ipocryte; And who is mery, of clene entencioun, Men say, in ryot he doth him delyte; Som mourne in blak; som laughe in clothes whyte; What! suffre them spekë—and trust right wel this, 70 A wikked tonge wol alway deme amis.

Honest array, men deme, †is pompe and pryde, And who goth poore, men calle him a wastour; And who goth [mene], men marke him on every syde, And saye that he is a spye or a gylour; 75 Who wasteth, men seyn [that] he hath tresour; Wherfore conclude, and trust [right] wel this, A wikked tonge wil alway deme amis.

Who speketh mochë, men calle him prudent; And who debateth, men say, he is hardy; 80 And who saith litel with gret sentiment, Som men yet wol edwyte him of foly; Trouth is put down, and up goth flatery; And who list plainly know the cause of this, A wikked tonge wol alway deme amis.

85 For though a man were al-so pacient As was David, through his humilitee, Or with Salamon in wysdom as prudent, Or in knighthode egal with Josuë, Or manly proved as Judas Machabee, 90 Yet, for al that—trust right wel this, A wicked tonge wol alway deme amis.

And though a man hadde the high prowesse Of worthy Hector, Troyes champioun, The love of Troilus or the kindenesse, 95 Or of Cesar the famous high renoun, With Alisaundres dominacioun, Yet, for al that—trust right wel this, A wikked tonge wol alway deme amis.

And though a man of high or low degree 100 Of Tullius hadde the sugred eloquence, Or of Senek the greet moralitee, Or of Catoun the foresight or prudence, Conquest of Charles, Arthurs magnificence, Yet, for al that—trust right wel this, 105 A wikked tonge wol alway deme amis.

Touching of women the parfit innocence, Thogh they had of Hestre the mekenes, Or of Griseldes [the] humble pacience, Or of Judith the proved stablenes, 110 Or Policenes virginal clennes, Yit dar I say and truste right wel this, A wikked tonge wol alway deme amis.

The wyfly trouthë of Penelope, Though they it hadde in hir possessioun, 115 Eleynes beautè, the kindnes of Medee, The love unfeyned of Marcia Catoun, Or of Alcest the trewe affeccioun, Yit dar I say and truste right wel this, A wikked tonge wol alway deme amis.

120 Than sith it is, that no man may eschewe The swerde of tonge, but it wol kerve and byte, Ful hard it is, a man for to remewe Out of hir daunger, so they hem delyte To hindre or slaundre, and also to bakbyte; 125 For [this] hir study fynally it is And hir plesaunce, alwey to deme amis.

Most noble princes, cherisshers of vertue, Remembreth you of high discrecioun, The first vertue, most plesing to Jesu, 130 (By the wryting and sentence of Catoun), Is a good tonge, in his opinioun; Chastyse the révers, and of wysdom do this, Withdraw your hering from al that deme amis.

(Balade made by Lydgate.)

This world is ful of variaunce In every thing, who taketh hede, That faith and trust, and al constaunce, Exyled ben, this is no drede; 5 And, save only in womanhede, I can [nat] see no sikernesse; But for al that, yet, as I rede, Be-war alway of doublenesse.

Also these fresshe somer-floures 10 Whyte and rede, blewe and grene, Ben sodainly, with winter-shoures, Mad feinte and fade, withoute wene; That trust is non, as ye may seen, In no-thing, nor no stedfastnesse, 15 Except in women, thus I mene; Yet ay be-war of doublenesse.

The croked mone, this is no tale, Som whyle is shene and bright of hewe, And after that ful derk and pale, 20 And every moneth chaungeth newe; That, who the verray sothe knewe, Al thing is bilt on brotelnesse, Save that these women ay be trewe; Yet ay be-war of doublenesse.

25 The lusty fresshe somers day, And Phebus with his bemes clere, Towardes night, they drawe away, And no lenger liste appere; That, in this present lyf now here 30 Nothing abit in his fairnesse, Save women ay be founde intere And devoid of doublenesse.

The see eke, with his sterne wawes, Ech day floweth newe again, 35 And, by concours of his lawes, The ebbe foloweth, in certain; After gret drought ther comth a rain, That farewel here al stabelnesse, Save that women be hole and plain; 40 Yet ay be-war of doublenesse.

Fortunes wheel goth round aboute A thousand tymes, day and night: Whos cours standeth ever in doute For to transmew; she is so light. 45 For which adverteth in your sight Th'untrust of worldly fikelnesse, Save women, which of kindly right Ne have no tache of doublenesse.

What man may the wind restraine 50 Or holde a snake by the tail, Or a sliper eel constraine That it nil voide, withouten fail; Or who can dryve so a nail To make sure new-fangelnesse, 55 Save women, that can gye hir sail To rowe hir boot with doublenesse.

At every haven they can aryve Wher-as they wote is good passage; Of innocence, they can not stryve 60 With wawes nor no rokkes rage; So happy is hir lodemanage, With nelde and stoon hir cours to dresse, That Salamon was not so sage To find in hem no doublenesse.

65 Therfor who-so hem accuse Of any double entencioun, To speke, rowne, other to muse, To pinche at hir condicioun; Al is but fals collusioun, 70 I dar right wel the sothe expresse; They have no better proteccioun But shroude hem under doublenesse.

So wel fortúned is hir chaunce The dys to turnen up-so-doun, 75 With sys and sink they can avaunce, And than, by revolucioun, They sette a fel conclusioun Of ambes as, in sothfastnesse; Though clerkes make mencioun 80 Hir kind is fret with doublenesse.

Sampsoun had experience That women were ful trewe founde, Whan Dalida, of innocence, With sheres gan his heer to rounde; 85 To speke also of Rosamounde And Cleopatras feithfulnesse, The stories plainly wil confounde Men that apeche hir doublenesse.

Sengle thing ne is not preised, 90 Nor oo-fold is of no renoun; In balaunce whan they be peised, For lakke of weght they be bore doun; And for this cause of just resoun, These women alle, of rightwisnesse, 95 Of chois and free eleccioun Most love eschaunge and doublenesse.

Lenvoy.

O ye women, which been enclyned, By influence of your nature, To been as pure as gold y-fyned 100 In your trouth for to endure, Arm your-self in strong armure Lest men assaile your sikernesse: Set on your brest, your-self t'assure, A mighty sheld of doublenesse.

Loke wel aboute, ye that lovers be; Lat nat your lustes lede you to dotage; Be nat enamoured on al thing that ye see. Sampson the fort, and Salamon the sage 5 Deceived were, for al hir gret corage; Men deme hit is right as they see at y; Bewar therfore; the blinde et many a fly.

I mene, in women, for al hir cheres queinte, Trust nat to moche; hir trouthë is but geson; 10 The fairest outward ful wel can they peinte, Hir stedfastnes endureth but a seson; For they feyn frendlines and worchen treson. And for they be chaungeáble naturally, Bewar therfore; the blinde et many a fly.

15 Though al the world do his besy cure To make women stonde in stablenes, Hit may nat be, hit is agayn nature; The world is do whan they lak doublenes; For they can laughe and love nat; this is expres. 20 To trust in hem, hit is but fantasy; Bewar therfore; the blind et many a fly.

What wight on-lyve trusteth in hir cheres Shal haue at last his guerdon and his mede; They can shave nerer then rasóurs or sheres; 25 Al is nat gold that shyneth! Men, take hede; Hir galle is hid under a sugred wede. Hit is ful hard hir fantasy t'aspy; Bewar therfore; the blinde et many a fly.

Women, of kinde, have condicions three; 30 The first is, that they be fulle of deceit; To spinne also hit is hir propertee; And women have a wonderful conceit, They wepen ofte, and al is but a sleight, And whan they list, the tere is in the y; 35 Bewar therfore; the blinde et many a fly.

What thing than eyr is lighter and meveable? The light, men say, that passeth in a throw; Al if the light be nat so variable As is the wind that every wey [can] blow; 40 And yet, of reson, som men deme and trow Women be lightest of hir company; Bewar therfore; the blind et many a fly.

In short to say, though al the erth so wan Were parchëmyn smothe, whyte and scribable, 45 And the gret see, cleped the occian, Were torned in inke, blakker then is sable, Ech stik a penne, ech man a scriveyn able, They coud nat wryte wommannes traitory; Bewar therfore; the blinde et many a fly.

(A). A SAYING OF DAN JOHN.

Ther beth four thinges that maketh a man a fool, Hónour first putteth him in outrage, And alder-next solitarie and sool; The second is unweldy croked age; 5 Women also bring men in dotage; And mighty wyne, in many dyvers wyse, Distempreth folk which [that] ben holden wyse.

(B). YET OF THE SAME.

Ther beth four thinges causing gret folye, Honour first, and [than] unweldy age; Women and wyne, I dar eek specifye, Make wyse men [to] fallen in dotage; 5 Wherfore, by counseil of philosophers sage, In gret honour, lerne this of me, With thyn estat have [eek] humilitee.

(C). BALADE DE BON CONSAIL.

If it befalle, that god thee list visyte With any tourment or adversitee, Thank first the lord; and [than], thyself to quyte, Upon suffrauncë and humilitee 5 Found thou thy quarrel, what-ever that it be; Mak thy defence (and thou shall have no losse) The rémembraunce of Crist and of his crosse.

Half in a dreme, not fully wel awaked, The golden sleep me wrapped under his wing; Yet nat for-thy I roos, and wel nigh naked, Al sodaynly my-selve rémembring 5 Of a matér, leving al other thing Which I shold do, with-outen more delay, For hem to whom I durst nat disobey.

My charge was this, to translate by and by, (Al thing forgive), as part of my penaunce, 10 A book called Belle Dame sans Mercy Which mayster Aleyn made of rémembraunce, Cheef secretarie with the king of Fraunce. And ther-upon a whyle I stood musing, And in my-self gretly imagening

15 What wyse I shuld performe the sayd processe, Considering by good avysement Myn unconning and my gret simplenesse, And ayenward the strait commaundement Which that I had; and thus, in myn entent, 20 I was vexed and tourned up and doun; And yet at last, as in conclusioun,

I cast my clothes on, and went my way, This foresayd charge having in rémembraunce, Til I cam to a lusty green valey 25 Ful of floures, to see, a gret plesaunce; And so bolded, with their benygn suffraunce That rede this book, touching this sayd matere, Thus I began, if it plese you to here.

Nat long ago, ryding an esy paas, 30 I fel in thought, of joy ful desperate With greet disese and payne, so that I was Of al lovers the most unfortunate, Sith by his dart most cruel, ful of hate, The deeth hath take my lady and maistresse, 35 And left me sole, thus discomfit and mate, Sore languisshing, and in way of distresse.