Here begynneth a lytell prosses or matter called the Chauc̃e of the dolorous louer newely cõpyled or made by Crystofer Goodwyn the yere of our Lorde God, a. M.ccccc.xx.

Here begynneth a lytell prosses or matter called the Chauc̃e of the dolorous louer newely cõpyled or made by Crystofer Goodwyn the yere of our Lorde God, a. M.ccccc.xx.

Table of contents

Title page

¶The prologue of the auctour.

¶Here foweth a lytell treatyse called The chaunce of the dolorous louer.

§

§

¶Lenuoy of the auctour.

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§

§

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¶Here begynneth a lytell prosses or matter called the chaūce of the dolorous louer newely cōpyled or made by Crystofer Goodwyn The yere of our Lorde god, a, M. ccccc. xx.

[figure]

¶The prologue of the auctour.

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Upon a certayne tyme as it befell

I was all pensyfe and thoughtfull in my herte

For sondry thynges whiche I knewe full well

Coude not be remedyed as touchynge my parte

Wherfore I ymagynynge from me to astarte

Suche thoughtes & fātasies comynge thrugh ydeues

And euen so I began this lytell mater or prosses

For as I haue redde in bokes and in storyes olde

Of all vyces the chefe rote of Idelnes

And yf it be as wyse men haue tolde

Whiche veryfyenge of the same playnly dyde expres

That of all synnes Slouthe is chefe maystres

Into the whiche lest I sholde fall I made for fere

This treatyse callyd ye chaunce of the dolorous louer

Not for no prasynge but my spyrytes to wake

Whiche at that tyme were full rude and dull

And so I you requyer that you wyll it take

Whiche that dothe entende for to rede it full

Or it to here and so I trust that you wyll

That slouthe to auoyde whiche enemy is to vertue

Thys werke I toke in honde that after dothe ensewe

¶Thus endeth the prologue.

¶Here foweth a lytell treatyse called The chaunce of the dolorous louer.

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AS it fortuned me for passe

Thrughe straunge countres my solace to take.

Whan the feldes were resplendent and couered with grasse

And with swete herbes and floures delycate

And byrdes melodyously syngynge on euery busshe or stake

I mene in the pleasaunt tyme of Autom

Whiche nexte vnto vere may haue the chefe rome

And thus as I rode my selfe all alone

Musynge of thynges that were in tymes past

By the space of thre dayes and than aboute none

My waye I dyde lose by rydynge ouer fast

Than I was full sory yet at the last

A pleasaunt way I founde I thanke god of his grace

In whiche I entred and rode in an esye pace

For my Journayes whiche I had the dayes afore

And also the wayes that I had reden wronge

Had made me full wery and also faynte and sore

That ferther on my hors I coude not endure longe

Wherfore I thought me to rest & wt yt I herde asonge

Nere by whiche was so melodyous and swete

That all my werynes I dyde all forgete

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¶To knowe what it myght be I had grete purpose

Wherfore thyderwarde full fast I dyde me hye

And then before me I sawe a grene close

Enuyronned with grete trees & hedges full strongly

Yet not withstandynge I entred pryuely

In at the gate wiche open then I founde

And there I tyed my horse & lyghted on the grounde.

¶And whan I within this close entred was

Beynge nothynge rounde but of compas quadrant

I behelde it well in euery corner and place

Sayenge to my selfe that suche another skant

Coulde not be founde of floures so habundaunt

As was this lytell close whiche before truely

I herde the songe that was songe so swetely

¶And in beholdynge this felde rounde aboute

Ryght agaynst me then dyde I espye

A waye whiche as this close wente out

Also in another place truely

I sawe a byrde whiche sange full hye

Upon foure floures castynge so swete a sauour

yt they quyckened my spyrytes wt theyr doulcet odour

¶And euer this byrde full plesauntly dyde synge

With her sugered notes very lowde and shyll

That all aboute ye place her Iocoūde voyce dyd rynge

Whom dylygently to here I stode full softe and styll

And to vnderstonde I fyxed my mynde and wyll

The dytte of her songe whyche was so certayne

God sende euery true louer his lady to optayne

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¶Than to this swete byrde or auys I [...] nere

And as I wente I stombled on a busshe

And almost had a fall and with a ragged bryere

I was constrayned to make a grete russhe

Wher with she was a ferde and sodaynly dyde flusshe

And wolde no longer tary but with all her myght

Frō thens I wyst not whyther fast she toke her flyght

¶Than I was full sory whan I sawe her gone

Not withstondynge I knewe there was no remedy

And streyght vnto the place I walked all alone

From whiche a lytell before I dyde se her flye

And whan I was this foresayd place by

I wyst not well wheder I dyde wake or slepe

So grete a swetnes in to my stomake dyde bete

¶And whā I was reuyued & come to my selfe agayne

I behelde ye meruaylous facyon of this foresayd place

Whiche was square and also lowe and playne

Compassed rounde about with hye herbes and gras

So that no man myght se in but at one space

Whiche was opyn wherin to entre I dyde purpose

Thynkynge there my selfe for to repose

¶And whan I had entred in this lytell gardyn grene

Whiche full smothe and lowe was with herbes

In all my lyfe I had neuer sene

An arbour that was so pleasant I wys

Wherin stode in the myddes

Of this sayd place foure delycyous floures

Castynge meruaylous swete & delycyous sauoures

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¶ [...] whiche I wente & downe by them dyd lye

And ouer this as I lay ryght well I dyde beholde

What herbes and floures they were yf I coude dyscry

Then of all theyr names I might rede as I wolde

The fyrst letters whiche were of beten golde

Syngulerly set on euery floure aboue

Growyng after the maner of a goodly trewe loue

The fyrste floure to my thynkynge was of a crymsyn pure

Hauynge an A wryten hym vpon

Whiche stode for ȳe fyrst letter of his name I was right sure

Yet what floure it was I lay musynge longe

And whan I had all studyed yet knewe I none

Name that it had wherfore I was right sore

For it passed all other in swetenes and beaute

¶The seconde floure was a vyolet full swete

That had on hym wryten of hys name the fyrst lettre

Whiche was an. U. bothe fayre and grete

In all the worlde coude not be a better

The .iij. herbe orfloure whiche myght none be swetter

Was Isope of sauour bothe good and holsome

Whiche had for his name an I vpon hym wryten

¶The souerayne herbe sauge was the fourte

Whiche all other herbes in vertue dothe excell

As in olde tyme wyse men dyde reporte

Whiche had wryten vpon hym an. S. as I you tell

For the fyrste letter of his name meruaylously well

And than full well I knewe these herbes amonge

Sate this lytell byrde or auys syngynge of her songe

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¶All these foure floures so swete and delectable

Grewe lyke a trewe loue as I before dyde tell

Hauynge this golde lettres without ony fable

Eche one his owne whiche I to geder dyde spell

And whan I had set them to gyder than I knewe wel

That it was the name of my true loue

Whome specyally I desyryd nexte god aboue

And thus whan I had rede the name of my lady dere

From wome I was departed not longe afore

Sodaynly was chaunged all my mery chere

And my herte began to be full heuy and sore

With greuous grones and syghes more and wore

So that in fayth it was no grete wondre

Though in a hundrede peaces it had brast a sondre

¶From her the departynge to me so greuous was

Whome to the sayd floures full well lyken I myght

She is so goodly and beautefull of face

So curteys so gentyll so amyable and so bryght

That in the wyde worlde suche another wyhgt

Coude not be founde so full of grace and goodnes

As is this myne owne swete lady and maystres

¶And whan I had ben a longe tyme in this heuynes

The absence of my loue ryght peteously be waylynge

It came to my mynde my sorowes to releys

Some balade to make whiche that I myght synge

And thus I began ryght dolorously wenynge

By cause of her the syghte I had lost

Whome in this worlde I desyre moost

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§

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¶Here after foloweth the balade of the dolorous louer.

O Myserable creature wrapped all in wo

Full well may I complayne both morne & wepe

Syth my louely lady I am departed fro

That was so gentell so goodly fayre and swete

So dulcet a byrde or auys a man cannot gete

Wherfore I maye saye alas my mortall payne.

From her the departynge full nyghe hath me slayne.

[Page]

¶Sle me it wyll ye and that ryght shortely

Without that I maye within a lytell space

Haue of her a lyghte or elles ryght gladly

Wolde I dye euen in this same place

And neuer to se no body more in the face

Wherfore I beseche dame venus aboue

To sende me agayne the syght of my true loue

¶Alas vnfortunate man what thynge dyd I mene

Frome her whā I departed whome I so moche set by

Has nowe out of her fauoure clene

I shall be caste than may I bothe sobbe and cry

And also to be sorowfull euer tyll I dye

Wherfore alas my mortall payne

Frome her to departe full nyghe hathe me slayne

¶O rubycunde ruby and perle moost oryent

O gyloffer gentyll and swete floure delyce

O daynty dyamounde and moost respendent

O doulset blossome of a full grete pryce

O swete maystres aboue all creatueres mooste wyse

Wherfore I beseche dame venus aboue

To sende me agayne the syght of you my true loue

¶In vertue to Magulon I maye you well acounte

In wysdome to lady Florypes ye do insewe

In mekenes Gryselde ye do surmounte

In stedfastnes to Clerymounde that lady true

In beaute to the lady Eglantyne I maye deme you

And euer alas my mortall payne

Frome you the departynge full nyghe hath me slayne

[Page]

¶Also foure letters ye haue in your name

In tokenynge of loue ye sholde be true

Of whiche these floures haue the same

That be so swete and full of vertue

Wherfore to theym I may well lyken you

And yet I beseche dame venus aboue

To sende me agayne the syght of my true loue

¶This floure vnknowen and vyolet in swetenes

This Isope so holsome thys sage so souerayn a thȳge

You passe and excell thrughe your goones

Also to this byrde or auys that hereafore dyde synge

With your dulcet voyece ye maye be lykened my dere swetynge

But euer alas my mortall payne

Frome you ye departynge well nyghe hathe me slayne

¶Alas dere lady ye be myne onely hope

My Ioye my herte and the substaunce of my lyfe

My payne my sorowe and also my dethe god wote

Agaynst whiche I can make no maner of stryfe

Nor other remedy I knowe but styll morne & syghe

And yet I beseche dame venus aboue

To sende me agayne the syght of my true loue

¶That I myght to your goodly parsone declare

How faythefull I haue ben how stedfast and how true

But alas I fere that ye be voyde and bare

Of pyte and compassyon whiche I full sore may rewe

For then my wo and sorowe shall renewe

Wherfore alas my mortall payne

From you the departynge well neyghe hath me slayne

[Page]

¶Alas I trowe a Iewe on me wolde take cōpassyon

Knowynge my faythfulnes and my louynge herte

Whicheuer to her I have borne wt all my hole entēcion

And styll purpose to do and neuer for to reuerte

From her my mynde thoughe she vntrewe astarte

And yet I beseche dame venus aboue

To sende me agayne the syght of her whome I do loue

Alas to call her vntrue I am gretely to blame

Seynge that as yet I neuer shewed my mynde

Unto her goodnes alas I durste not for shame

Wherfore I am yet in good hope yt I shall her fynde

To me her owne true seruaūte bothe louynge & kynde

And yet alas my mortall payne

Frome her the departynge full nyghe hathe me slayne

¶She is so gentell so louely and so meke

So fayre so swete so good to more and les

That whā I on her thȳke I wene my herte shal breke

For the loue of her I am in so grete dystres

Whiche is myne owne dere lady and maystres

Wherfore I beseche dame venus aboue

To sende me agayne the syght of my true loue

¶Of all her goodnes what sholde I more endyght

The halfe wherof it wolde not well suffyse

For to be declared is an hole seuvn nyght

If styll therat syt I sholde and neuer fer to ryse

She is so beautefull so curtyes and so wyse

Whefore alas my mortall payne

Frome her the departynge full nyghe hath me slayne

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¶Alas at this tyme I maye no more synge

I feble my herte so fele and so sore

With lamentacyons and contynuall wepynge

Whiche doth in dure euer more and more

Wherfore adue the best that euer was bore

Alwaye besechynge dame venus aboue

To sende me agayne the syght of my trewe loue

¶Adue my swetynge adue my darlynge dere

Adue my helthe and solas with paynes smarte

Adue the goodlyest that euer lyfe dyde bere

Adue for whome I am bothe pale and swarte

Yet crystes dere blessynge have swete herte

But euer alas my mortall payne

Frome you the departynge full nyghe hath me slayne

¶Adue adue my lyfe so swete

Adue my dethe so sherpe and stronge

Adue fayre byrde and auys so dulset

Adue for euer I cannot endure longe

Wherfore this is the last of my songe

yet or I dye I beseche dame venus aboue

To sende me agayne the syght or my true loue

¶There endeth the balade of the dolorous louer & foweth of the aduenture that happened vnto hym shewed by vysyon in his slepe

§

§

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¶And thus whan I had of this balade made an ende

I began ryght strongely to sobbe syghe and wepe

Besechynge dame venus some conforte me to sende

And from all parelles my dere herte for to kepe

And then for pure werynes I fell in a lytell slepe

And as I slepte me thought the foresayd auys

To me dyde come and bad me aryse

¶Saynge o thou slouthfull man & full of ydylnes

Wenest thou with slouggynge thy lady to optayne

Or by alone complaynynge her sorowes to redres

Nay nay it must be througe grete labour and payne

And here thou doost but spende thy tyme in vayne

Wherfore I the counsayle that shortly to her thou go

Elles thy mynde & purpose shalte thou neuer come to

And be nothynge agast to shewe to her playne

All thy mynde and wyll requyrynge her of grace

And when she knoweth yt trouth then wyll she agayne

Some conforte the gyue & that within shorte space

Otherwyse loke neuer thy wyll to brynge to passe

Farewell for I go hens and loke thou take good hede

Unto to my forsayd wordes yf thou purpose to spede

¶Than out of my slepe sodaynly I made abrayde

And loked rounde aboute but nothynge I coude aspy

And than I remembred what ye byrde to me had sayd

And in my secrete mynde I prynted it surely

Sayenge yt I wolde do after it for me thought truely

It was the best counsayll I that herde my lyfe dayes

Wherfore I concluded to ryse and go my wayes

[Page]

¶And whan I was by I wente a full softe pace

Unto my horse whome I lefte behynde

Whan I wente the songe to here and in the same place

Where as I hym lefte I dyde hym fynde

Uppon whome I lyght all thoughtfull in my mynde

And rode for the on my way besechynge our lorde Iesu

To kepe my lady and me and all louers that be true

AMEN

¶Lenuoy of the auctour.

¶Go forthe lytell quayre with full due reuerence

Unto the prynces of beauty souerayne

And the humbly submyt vnto her magnyfycence

Requyrynge her to take not in dysdayne

This lytell werke whiche with grete labour & payne

Her goodnes to declare I toke on honde to make

Though I vnworthy were suche thȳges to vnder take

Wherfore I beseche all you that shall ouer rede

This lytell proses to haue me in no skornynge

Nor me to dysprayse thoughe I so rudely enterprysed

suche maters to take in honde to me nothȳge ꝑtainȳge

But where as is amys there to be amendynge

Thus I you pray with my hole affeccyon

Whiche entendeth to rede or thys dytte to loke uppon

Finis.

§

§

¶Imprynted at London in Flete strete at the sygne of the Sonne by Wynkyn de Worde.

Information about this book

Title statement

Here begynneth a lytell prosses or matter called the Chauc̃e of the dolorous louer newely cõpyled or made by Crystofer Goodwyn the yere of our Lorde God, a. M.ccccc.xx.

Goodwin, Christopher.

Edition statement

1520

Publication

Publisher

Text Creation Partnership,

Place of publication

Ann Arbor, MI ; Oxford (UK) :

Date

2003-01 (EEBO-TCP Phase 1).

ID [DLPS]

A01907

ID [STC]

STC 12046

ID [STC]

ESTC S3995

ID [EEBO-CITATION]

34382691

ID [OCLC]

ocm 34382691

ID [VID]

29054

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Early English books online.

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(EEBO-TCP ; phase 1, no. A01907)

Transcribed from: (Early English Books Online ; image set 29054)

Images scanned from microfilm: (Early English books, 1475-1640 ; 1896:8)

Source

— Here begynneth a lytell prosses or matter called the Chauc̃e of the dolorous louer newely cõpyled or made by Crystofer Goodwyn the yere of our Lorde God, a. M.ccccc.xx., Goodwin, Christopher..

Extent

[14] p. : ill.

By Wynkyn de Worde,. Imprynted at London in Flete strete at the sygne of the Sonne :: [1520?]. (Imprint from colophon; date of publication from STC (2nd ed.).) (Title page contains wood-cut illustration.) (Imperfect: stained and with print show-through.) (Signatures: A⁴, B³.) (Reproduction of original in: British Library.)

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