The works of our ancient, learned, & excellent English poet, Jeffrey Chaucer as they have lately been compar'd with the best manuscripts, and several things added, never before in print : to which is adjoyn'd The story of the siege of Thebes, by John Lidgate ... : together with The life of Chaucer, shewing his countrey, parentage, education, marriage, children, revenues, service, reward, friends, books, death : also a table, wherein the old and obscure words in Chaucer are explained, and such words ... that either are, by nature or derivation, Arabick, Greek, Latine, Italian, French, Dutch, or Saxon, mark'd with particular notes for the better understanding of their original. — Works. 1687

The works of our ancient, learned, & excellent English poet, Jeffrey Chaucer as they have lately been compar'd with the best manuscripts, and several things added, never before in print : to which is adjoyn'd The story of the siege of Thebes, by John Lidgate ... : together with The life of Chaucer, shewing his countrey, parentage, education, marriage, children, revenues, service, reward, friends, books, death : also a table, wherein the old and obscure words in Chaucer are explained, and such words ... that either are, by nature or derivation, Arabick, Greek, Latine, Italian, French, Dutch, or Saxon, mark'd with particular notes for the better understanding of their original. — Works. 1687

The works of our ancient, learned, & excellent English poet, Jeffrey Chaucer as they have lately been compar'd with the best manuscripts, and several things added, never before in print : to which is adjoyn'd The story of the siege of Thebes, by John Lidgate ... : together with The life of Chaucer, shewing his countrey, parentage, education, marriage, children, revenues, service, reward, friends, books, death : also a table, wherein the old and obscure words in Chaucer are explained, and such words ... that either are, by nature or derivation, Arabick, Greek, Latine, Italian, French, Dutch, or Saxon, mark'd with particular notes for the better understanding of their original. — Works. 1687

Table of contents

§

Title page

TO THE Right Honourable Sir ROBERT CECIL, Knt. PRINCIPAL SECRETARY To the QUEEN's Most Excellent Majesty, Master of the Court of Wards and Liveries, one of her Highness's most Honourable Privy Council, and Right Worthy Chancellor of the Vniversity of CAMBRIDGE.

To the Readers.

TO HIS Very Loving and assured Good Friend, Mr. THOMAS SPEGHT.

THE READER TO Geffrey Chaucer.

Vpon the Picture of Chaucer.

Of the Animadversions upon Chaucer.

THE LIFE Of Our Learned English Poet, Geffrey Chaucer. So much as we can find by Heralds, Chronicles, and Records, of his Country.Parentage.Education.Marriage.Children, With their Marriage.Lands.Service.Reward.Issue.Death.Revenues.Service.Reward.Friends.Books.Death.

His Country.

His Parentage.

His Education.

His Marriage.

Stemma peculiare Gaufredi Chauceri Poetae celeberrimi.

His Children, with their Advancement.

His Revenues.

His Service.

His Rewards.

His Friends.

His Books.

His Death.

ADVERTISEMENT TO THE READER.

§

To the KING's HIGHNESS, My most Gracious Soveraign Lord, HENRY the Eighth, By the Grace of God, King of England, and of France, Defensor of the Faith, and Lord of Ireland, &c.

A TABLE of the Principal Matters Contained in this VOLUME; Which you may find by the Folio's, as follows.

Eight goodly Questions, with their Answers.

To the King's most noble Grace, and to the Lords and Knights of the Garter.

§

Canterbury Tales

The Argument to the Prologues.

§

¶The Knight. 1.

¶The Squire. 2.

¶The Squires Yeoman. 3.

¶The Prioresse. 4.

¶The Monke. 5.

¶The Frere. 6.

¶The Marchaunt. 7.

¶The Clerke of Oxenford. 8.

¶The Sergeant at Law. 9.

¶The Frankelein. 10.

¶The Haberdasher. 11.

¶The Coke. 12.

¶The Shipman. 13.

¶The Doctor of Phisike. 14.

¶The Wife of Bathe. 15.

¶The Parsone. 16.

¶The Plowman. 17.

¶The Miller. 18.

¶The Mancile. 19.

¶The Reue. 20.

¶The Sompnour. 21.

¶The Pardoner. 22.

§

The Knight's Tale.

The MILLERS Tale.

¶The Millers Prologue.

¶The Millers Tale.

§

¶The Reues Prologue.

¶The Reues Tale.

§

¶The Cookes Prologue.

¶The Cookes Tale.

§

¶The man of Lawes Prologue.

§

¶The man of Lawes Tale.

2

3

§

¶The Squires Prologue.

The Squires Tale.

1

2

3

¶Here followeth the words of the Marchaunt to the Squier, and the words of the Host to the Marchaunt.

§

The Marchants Prologue.

¶The Marchants Tale.

§

The wife of Bathes Prologue.

¶The wife of Bathes Tale.

§

¶The Friers Prologue.

¶The Freres Tale.

§

¶The Sompners Prologue.

¶The Sompners Tale.

§

¶The Clerke of Oxenfords Prologue.

§

¶The Clerke of Oxenfords Tale.

Explicit prima pars, & sequitur pars secunda.

Explicit secunda pars, & incipit pars tertia.

Explicit tertia pars, & incipit pars quarta.

Explicit quarta pars, & sequitur pars quinta.

Explicit quinta pars: & sequitur pars sexta.

¶Here follow the words of our Host.

§

¶The Frankeleins Prologue.

¶The Frankeleins Tale.

§

¶The Second Nonnes Prologue.

¶The second Nonnes Tale.

§

¶The Chanons Yeomans Prologue.

¶The Thanons yeomans Tale.

§

¶The Doctor of Physicks Prologue.

¶The Doctor of Physicks Tale.

¶The words of the Host.

§

¶The Pardoners Prologue.

¶The Pardoners Tale.

§

¶The Shipmans Prologue.

¶The Shipmans Tale.

¶Here followeth the wordes of our Hoste.

§

¶The Prioresses Prologue.

¶The Prioresses tale.

¶Here followeth the wordes of the Hoste to Chaucer.

¶Here followeth the Rime of Sir Thopas.

¶The words of our Hoste.

¶Chaucers Tale of Melibeus.

§

¶The Monkes Prologue.

¶The Monkes Tale.

Lucifer.

Adam.

Sampson.

Of Hercules.

Nabuchodonosor.

Balthaser.

Zenobia.

Nero.

Holofernes.

Antiochus.

Alexander.

Iulius Cesar.

Cresus.

Peter of Spaine.

Petro King of Cipre.

Barnabo Vicount.

Hugeline of Pise.

§

¶Here stinteth the Knight the Monke of his Tale, and here followeth the Prologue of the Nonnes Priest.

¶The Nonnes Priest his Tale.

§

¶The Manciples Prologue.

¶The Manciples Tale.

§

¶The Plowmans Prologue.

§

¶The Plowmans Tale.

2

3

§

¶The Parsons Prologue.

§

¶The Parsons Tale.

2

De septem peccatis mortalibus, & de eorum dependentiis, circumstantiis, & speciebus.

¶Sequitur secunda pars Poenitentiae.

3

THE Romaunt of the Rose. THis Book was begun in French Verse by William de Lorris, and finished forty years after by John Clopinell, alias John Moone, born at Mewen upon the River of Loyer, not far from Paris, as appeareth by Molinet, the French Author of the Morality upon the Romaunt; and afterward translated for the most part into English Metre by Geffrey Chaucer, but not finished. It is entituled, The Romaunt of the Rose; or, The Art of Love: wherein is shewed the helps and furtherances, as also the lets and impediments that Lovers have in their Suits. In this Book the Authour hath many glaunces at the Hypocrisie of the Clergy: whereby he got himself such hatred amongst them, that Gerson, Chancellour of Paris, writeth thus of him: saith he, There was one called Johannes Meldinensis, who wrote a Book called, The Romaunt of the Rose; which Book if I only had, and that there were no more in the World, if I might have five hundred pound for the same, I would rather burn it than take the Money. He sayeth more, That if he thought the Authour thereof did not repent him for that Book before he dyed, he would vouchsafe to pray for him no more than he would for Judas that betrayed Christ.

¶Coment Raison vient a Lamant.

¶Raisoun.

¶Lamaunt.

¶Raisoun.

¶Lamaunt.

¶Lamant.

¶Raison.

¶Comment Raison diffinist Aunsete.

Troilus and Criseyde

In this excellent Book is shewed the fervent love of Troylus to Creiseid, whom he enjoyed for a time: and her great untruth to him again in giving herself to Diomedes, who in the end did so cast her off, that she came to great misery. In which discourse Chaucer liberally treateth of the divine purveyance.

2

§

§

3

§

Incipit Liber Tertius.

4

§

Incipit liber quartus.

Incipit Liber Quintus.

The Testament of Creseide.

The Complaint of Creseide.

The Legend of good Women. For that some Ladies in the Court took offence at Chaucers large speeches against the untruth of Women, the Queen enjoyned him to compile this Book in the commendation of sundry Maidens and Wives, who shewed themselves faithful to faithless men.

§

¶Here beginneth the legende of Cleopatras Queene of Egipt.

¶The Legend of Tisbe of Babilon.

¶The Legend of Dido, Queene of Cartage.

¶The Legend of Hipsiphile and Medea.

¶The Legende of Lucrece of Rome.

¶The Legend of Ariadne of Athens.

¶The Legende of Philomene.

¶The Legende of Phillis.

¶The Legende of Hypermestre.

¶A goodly Ballade of Chaucer.

¶Lenuoye.

Boecius de Consolatione Philosophiae. In this Book are handled high and hard obscure Points, viz. The purveyance of God; The force of Destiny; The freedom of our Wills; and the infallible Prescience of the Almighty; and that the Contemplation of God himself is our Summum bonunt.

Carmina qui quondam studio florenti peregi Flebilis heu moestos coger inire modos.

Haec dum mecum tacitus ipse reputarem, querimoniamque lacrimabilem stili Officio designarem; astitisse mihi supra verticem visa est mulie• reverendi admodum vultus, oculis ardentibus, & ultra communem, &c.

Heu quam praecipiti mersa profundo. Mens habet, & propria luce relicta. Tendit ad externas ire tenebras. Terrenis quoties flatibus acta. Crescit in immensum noxia cura. Hic quondam coelo liber aperto, &c.

Sed magis medicinae (inquit) tempus est quam querelae. Boe. Tum vero totis in me intenta luminibus. Philo. Tu ne ille es (ait) qui nostro quondam lacte nutritus, nostris educatus alimentis, in virilis animi robur evaseras, &c.

Tunc me discussa liquerunt nocte tenebre, Luminibusque prior redit vigor. Ut cum praecipiti glomerantur sidera choro. Nimbosisque polus stetit imbribus. Sol later, ac nondum coelo venientibus astris, &c.

Haud aliter tristitiae nebulis dissolutis, hausi coelum, & ad cognoscendam medicantis faciem, mentem recepi. Itaque ubi in eam deduxi oculos, intuitum que defixi, respicio nutricem meam, in cujus ab adolescentia, &c.

Quisquis composito serenus evo, Fatum sub pedibus egit superbum: Fortunam que tuens utram que rectus, Invictum potuit tenere vultum, &c.

Sentis ne (inquit) haec? Atque animo illabuntur tuo? Expers ne es lyrae? Quid fles? Quid lachrimis manas? Si operam medicantis expectas, oportet ut vulnus detegas tuum, &c.

O stelliferi Conditor Orbis, Qui perpetuo nixus solio, Rapido Coelum turbine versas, Legemque pati sidera cogis, ut nunc pleno lucida cornu. Totis fratris obvia flammis. Condat stellas Luna minores: Nunc obscuro pallida cornu Phoebo proprior lumina perdat, &c.

Haec ubi continuato dolore delatravi: illa vultu placido, nihilque meis questubus mota. Phi. Cum te (inquit) moestum, lachrymantemque vidissem: illico miserum exulemque cognovi. Sed quam id longinquum esser exilium.

Cum Phoebi radiis grave Cancri sidus inaestuat, Tum qui largo negantibus, Sulcis semina credidit, Elusus Cereris fide, Quarnas pergat ad arbores. Nunquam purpureum nemus lecturus violas petas, &c.

Primum igitur, pateris ne me pauculis rogationibus statum tuae mentis attingere, atque tentare? ut quis modus sit tuae curationis intelligam, &c.

Nubibus atris condita nullum fundere possunt sidera lumen. Si mare voluens turbidus auster misceat estum: Vitrea dudum, Parque serenis, &c.

Post haec paulisper obticuit, atque ubi attentionem meam modesta taciturnitate collegit, sic exhorsa est. Si poeuitus egritudinis tuae causas, habitumque, &c.

Haec cum superba verterit vices dextra, Ex aestuantis more fertur Euripi. Dudum tremen dos seva proterit reges, Humilemque victi sublevat fallax vultum. Non illa dura miseros audit, haud curat flerus, &c.

Vellem autem pauca tecum, Fortunae ipsius verbis agitare. Tu igitur an jus postulet animadverte. P. Quid tu ô homo ream me agis quotidianis querelis, &c.

Si quantas rapidis flatibus incitus Pontus versat arenas. Aut quot stellifei is edita noctibus Coelo Sidera fulgent: Tantas fundat opes, nec retrahat manum pleno copia cornu: Humanum miseras haud ideo genus cesset flere querelas, &c.

His igitur, si pro se tecum, verbis fortuna loqueretur, quid profecto contrahisceres, non haberes. At si quid est, quo querelam tuam jure tuearis, proferas oportet.

Cum polo Phebus, roseis quadrigis Lucem spergere caeperit, Pallet albentes hebetara vultus Flammis stella permentibus, &c.

Tum ego, vera inquam, commemoras ô virtutum omnium nutrix: nec inficiati possum prosperitatis meae velocissimum cursum. Sed hoc est, quid, &c.

Sed quoniam rationum jam in te mearum fomenta discendunt, paulo validioribus utendum puto. Age enim. Si jam caduca ac momentaria fortunae, &c.

Foelix nimium prior aetas, Contenta fidelibus arvis. Nec inerti perdita luxu. Facilique sera solebat Jejunia solvere glande. Nec bacchia munera norat liquido confundere melle. Nec lucida vellera serum, &c.

Quid autem de dignitatibus, potentiaque disseram, quas vos, vere dignitatis, ac potestatis inscii, Coelo exaequatis? Quae si in improbissimum quemque ceciderint, &c.

Novimus, quantas dederit ruinas. Urbe flammata, patribusque caesis. Fratre qui quondam ferus interempto, matris effuso maduit cruore. Corpus & visu gelidum pererrans, ora non tinxit lachrimis: sed esse, Censor extincti potuit decoris, &c.

Tunc ego. Scis (inquam) ipsa, minimam nobis ambitionem mortalium rerum fuisse dominatam. Sed materiam gerendis rebus optavimus, quo ne virtus cacita consenesceret. P. Et illa. Atqui hoc unum est, &c.

Quicunque solam mente praecipiti petit, summumque credit gloriam, Lace patentes aetheris cernat plagas, Artumque terrarum situm, Brevem replere non valentis ambitum, &c.

Sed ne me inexorabile contra fortunam gerere Bellum putes, est aliquando, cum de hominibus fallax illa non nihil bene mereatur: tum scilicet cum se aperit, &c.

Quod mundus stabili fide, concordes variat vices, quod pugnantia semina, Faedus perpetuum tenet, &c.

Jam cantum illa finierat, cum me audiendi avidum, stupentemque arrectis adhuc auribus carminis dulcedo defixerat. Itaque paulo post, O inquam summum lassorum solamen animorum, quantum me, &c.

Qui serere ingenuum volet agrum, liberat arva prius fruticibus, falce rubos, filicemque resecat, &c.

Tum defixo paululum visu, & velut in angustam suae mentis sedem recepta: sic cepit. P. Omnis mortalium cura quam multiplicium studiorum labor exercet, &c.

Quantas rerum flectit habenas Natura potens, quibus immensum, Legibus orbem provida servet, stringatque ligans irresoluto. Singula nexu, placet arguto, fidelibus lentis promere cantu, &c.

Vos quoque ô terrena animalia, tenui licet imagine, vestrum tamen principium somniatis. Verum que illum beatitudinis finem, licet minime perspicaci, &c.

Quamvis fluente dives auri gurgite. Non expleturas cogat avarus opes, &c.

Sed dignitatis honorabilem, reverendum que cui provenerint, reddunt. Num vis ea est magistratibus, ut utentium mentibus vi•tutes inserant, vicia depellant, &c.

Quamvis se Tyrio superbus ostro comeret & niveis lapillis, &c.

An vero regna, regnumque familiaritas efficere potentem valent? Quidni, &c.

Qui se volet esse potentem, Animos domet ille feroces: Nec victa libidine colla, &c.

Gloria vero quam fallax saepe, quam turpis est; Unde non injuria tragicus exclamat. O gloria, gloria, millibus mortalium nihil aliud facta, nisi aurium inflatio magna, &c.

Omne hominum genus in terris Simili surgit ab hortu. Unus enim rerum pater est. Unus cuncta ministrat, &c.

Quid autem de corporis voluptatibus loquar, quarum appetentia quidem plena est anxietatis, &c.

Habet hoc voluptas omnis stimulis agit fruentes: Apiumque par volantium ubi gratia mella sudit. Fugit & nimis tenaci ferit icta corda morsu, &c.

Nihil igitur dubium est, quin hae ad beatitudinem viae devia quaedam sint, nec perducere eo quenquam valeant, &c.

Heu heu quae miseros tramite devios abducit ignorantia, non aurum in viridi quaeritis, arbore, &c.

Hactenus mendacis formam faelicitatis ostendisse sufficerit, quod si perspicaciter intuearis, ordo est deinceps, &c.

O qui perpetua mundum ratione gubernas, Terrarum caelique sator, qui tempus ab aevo, Ire jubes, stabilis que manens dans cuncta moveri: Quem non externae pepulerunt fingere causae, &c.

Quoniam igitur, quae sit imperfecti, quae etiam perfecti boni forma vidisti, nunc demonstrandum reor, &c.

Huc omnes pariter venite capti. Quos fallax ligat improbis catenis. Terrenas habitans libido mentes. Hic erit vobis requies laborum, &c.

Assentior (inquam) cuncta enim firmissimis nexa rationibus constant. Tum illa, quanti, inquit, tu aestimabis, si bonum ipsum, quid sit, agnoveris, &c.

Quisquis profunda mente vestigat verum. Cupitque nullis ille deviis falli, in se revolvat intimi lucem visus, &c.

Tum ego, Platoni (inquam) vehementer assentior. Nam me horum jam secundo commemoras. Primum quod memoriam corporea contagione, &c.

Felix qui potuit boni, Fontem visere lucidum. Felix qui potuit gravis, &c.

Haec cum Philosophia dignitate vultus, & oris gravitate servata, leviter suaviterque cecinisset, Tum ego nondum penitus insiti maeroris oblitus, &c.

Sunt enim pennae volucres mihi, Quae celsa conscendunt poli, Quas sibi cum velox mens induit, &c.

Turn ego pape inquam, ut magna promittis. Nec dubito, quin possis efficere, tu modo quem excitaveris, ne moreris, &c.

Quos vides sedere celsos, Solii culmine reges, Purpura claros nitente, &c.

Vides ne igitur quanto in coeno probra volvantur, qua probitas luce resplendeat? in quo perspicuum est nunquam bonis praemia, &c.

Vela Naricii ducis, & vagas pelago rates, Eurus appulit insulae, pulchra qua residens dea, Solis edita semine, &c.

Tu ego fateor, inquam, nec injuria dici video vitiosos, tam & si humani corporis speciem servent, &c.

Quid tantos juvat excitare motus. Et propria fatum sollicitate manu? Si mortem petitis, propinquat ipsa sponte sua, volucres nec remoratur equos, &c.

Hinc ego video inquam, quae sit vel felicitas vel miseria in ipsis proborum at que improborum meritis constituta. Sed in hac ipsa fortuna populari, &c.

Si quis Arcturi sidera nescit. Mergatque seras aequore flammas. Propinqua summo cardine labi. Cum nimis sceleris explicet ortus. Cur legat tardus plaustra Bootes, &c.

Ita est inquam. Sed cum tui muneris sit latentium rerum causas evolvere, velatas que caligine explicare rationes: quaeso uti hinc decernas, &c.

Si vis oelsi jura tonantis. Plura solers cernere mente. Aspice summi culmina coeli.

Jam ne igitur vides quid haec omnia quae diximus consequantur. Quid nam inquit. Omnem inquit, &c.

Bella bis quinis operatus annis. Ultor Atrides phrygiae ruinis, &c.

Dixerat, orationisque cursum ad alia quaedam tractanda atque expedienda vertebat. B. Tum ego, recta quidem inquam, &c.

Rupis Achimeniae scopulis ubi versa sequentum. Pectoribus figit spicula, &c.

Animadverto inquam, idque uti tu dicis ita esse, consentio. Sed in hac haerentium, &c.

Puro clarum lumine Phoebum. Melliflui canit oris Homerus, &c.

Tum ego: en inquam difficiliori rursus ambiguitate confundor, &c.

Quae nam discors federa rerum, Causa resolvit? Quis tanta deus, &c.

Tum illa. Vetus inquit, haec est de providentia querela: Marco Tullio, &c.

Quondam porticus attulit, Obscuros nimium senes, &c.

Quod si in corporibus sentiendis quamvis efficiant Instrumenta sensuum, &c.

Quam variis terras animalia permeant figuris. Namque alia extento sunt corpore, &c.

Quoniam igitur uti paulo ante monstratum est, omne quod scitur, &c.

The Book commonly entituled, Chaucer's Dream. By the Person of a mourning Knight sitting under an Oak, is meant John of Gaunt, Duke of Lancaster, greatly lamenting the death of one whom he entirely loved, supposed to be Blanch the Dutchess.

poem

The Assembly of Fowls. All Fowls are gathered before Nature on S. Valentines day, to chose their makes. A Formell Eagle, being belov'd of three Tercels, requireth a years respite to make her choice: upon this trial, Qui bien aime tard oublie. He that loveth well, is slow to forget.

The Floure of Courtesie.

¶Ballade simple.

¶Lenuoye.

Complaint to Pity

La belle Dame sans Mercie. M. Aleyn, Secretary to the King of France, framed this Dialogue between a Gentleman and a Gentlewoman, who finding no mercy at her hand, dieth for sorrow.

Lenuoy.

Of Queen Annelida and false Arcite. Arcite a Theban Knight, forsaketh Queen Annelida, who loved him intirely, and taketh a new Lady: whereupon Annelida maketh this great complaint.

The complaint of Annelida to false Arcite.

The Assembly of Ladies. A Gentlewoman dreameth that she seeth a great number of Ladies put up their Bills of Complaint before a Judge, who promiseth to relieve their Grievances.

Discrecion, Purueiour.

Acquaintance, Herbyger.

Countenaunce, Porter.

Largesse, Steward.

Remembraunce chamberlaine.

The Conclusions of the Astrolabie. This Book (written to his Son in the year of our Lord 1391, and in the 14th of King Richard 2.) standeth so good at this day, especially for the Horizon of Oxford, as in the opinion of the Learned, it cannot be amended.

§

§

The first Party.

The second Party.

The third Party.

The fourth Party.

The fifth Party.

§

The Ring.

The Turet.

The Moder.

Of the four Lines.

Of four Lines, East, West, North, and South.

Which is the right side, and which is the left.

The degrees fro the East line to the South.

Of the twelve Signs, Aries, Taurus, Gemini, Cancer, and the others.

The Cercle of the Days.

The Cercle of the twelve Months.

The Names of the holy days.

The Scale of the Astrolabie.

The Rule.

The Pin, which is imagined to be Pole artike, and the Horse.

For lines on the Womb side.

The degrees of the Womb side.

Of the principal Cercles.

Of the Almicanteras, the signet, and what is thine Orizont.

What been thine Azimutes.

Of the Twelve Hours of the Planets.

Thy Reete, or else thy Zodiake.

The Labell.

The Almury, the denticle of Capricorne, or else the calculere.

§

Here beginneth the Conclusions of thine Astrolaby, to find the degree in the which the Sun is day by day, after his course about.

To know the altitude of the Sun, either of celestiall bodies.

To know the degree of the Sun, and of thy Zodiake, by the days in the backside of thine Astrolabie.

To know every time of the day, by light of the Sun, and every time of the night by the Stars fixe, and eke to know by night or by day the degree of the Sign that ascendeth on the East Orizont, which is cleped commonly ascendent.

To know the degree of the Sun in thy Zodiake, by the days, in the backside of thine Astrolabie.

Speciall declaration of the Ascendent.

To know the very equacion of the degrees of the Sun, if it so be that it fall betwixt two almicanteras.

To know the spring of the dawning, and the end of the evening, the which been cleaped the two coepusculis.

To know the Arch of the Day, that some folk callen the Day artificial, fro the Sun rising, till it go down.

To turn the hours inequals, and the hours equals.

To know the quantity of the day vulgare, that is to say, fro spring of the day unto the very Night.

To know the Hours inequals by Day.

To know the quantity of hours equales.

Special declaration of the Hours of the Planets.

To know with which degree of the Zodiack any Star fix in thine Astrolabie, ariseth upon the East Orizont, although the Orizont be in another Sign.

To know the declination of any Degree in the Zodiack, fro the equinoctiall Circle.

To know for what latitude in any Region the Almicanteras in my Tables been compouned.

To know the latitude of the Sun, in the midst of the day, that is cleped the altitude Meridian.

To know the degree of the Sun, by the Reet, for a manner coryosyte.

To know which day is like to other in length throughout the year.

§

This Chapter is a manner declaration to Conclusions that followeth.

To know the very degree of any manner Star strange after his latitude, though he be indeterminate in thy Astrolabie, soothly to the truth thus he shall be known.

To know the degrees of Longitudes of fixe Stars, after that they been determinate in thine Astrolabie, if it so be that they been truely set.

To know in special the Latitude of our Center, I mean after the altitude of Oxenford, and the heighth of our Pole.

To prove the Latitude of any place in a Region, by the proof of the heighth of the Pole artike in that same place.

Another Conclusion to prove the heighth of the Pole artike from the Orizont.

Another Conclusion to prove the Latitude of a Region that ye been in.

Declaration of the ascension of Signs, as well in the Circle direct, as in oblique.

This is the Conclusion to know the ascensions of Signs in the right Circle, that is, Circulus directus.

To know the ascensions of Signs in the embolyfe Circle in every Region, I mean, in circulo obliquo.

To know justly rhe four Quarters of the World, as East, West, South, and North.

To know the altitude of Planets from the way of the Sun, whether they been North or South from the way aforesaid.

For to know the Signet for the arising of the Sun, this is to fain, the party of the Orizont in which the Sun ariseth.

The manner of division of thine Astrolabie, is thus enjoyned, as in this case.

To know in which party of the Firmament is the Conjunction.

To know the Signet of the altitude of the Sun.

To know sothly the longitude of the Moon, or any Planet that hath no Latitude, from the time of the Ecliptike Line.

This is the werching of the Conclusions to know whether any Planet be direct or retrograde.

The conclusion of equacions of Houses after the Astrolaby.

Another maner of equacions of Houses, by the Astrolaby.

To find the line Meridional, to dwell fix in any certain place.

Description of the Meridional line, and of the longitudes and latitudes of cities and towns, as well as of climates.

To know with what degree of the Zodiack, that any Planet ascendeth on the Orizont, where his Latitude be North or South.

Vmbra recta.

Vmbra versae.

Vmbra recta.

Vmbra recta.

Vmbra versa.

Vmbra recta.

Vmbra versa.

The Complaint of the Black Knight. The heavy Complaint of a Knight, for that he cannot win his Ladies grace.

¶Lenuoye.

A Praise of Women.

The House of Fame.

In this Book is shewed how the Deeds of all Men and Women, be they good or bad, and carried by Report to Posterity.

2

3

Testament of Love

The Prologue of the Testament of Love.

The Testament of Love. This book is an Imitation of Boetius de Consolatione Philosophiae; in the first part whereof, Love (by way of Legacy) doth bequeath to all them which follow her lore, the knowledge of Truth from Errour, whereby they may rightly judge of the Causes of cross Fortune, and such Adversities as befall them, whether in their Suits of Love, or otherwise, and so in the end obtain their wished Desires. In this second part she reacheth the Knowledge of one very God our Creatour, as also the State of Grace, and the State of Glory; all the which good things are figured by a Margarite Pearl. Chaucer did compile this book as a Comfort to himself after great Griefs conceived for some rash Attempts of the Commons, with whom he had joyned, and thereby was in fear to lose the Favour of his best Friends; and also therein to set end to all his Writing, being commanded by Venus (as appeareth by Gower in the end of his eighth Book, entituled Confessio Amantis) so to do, as one that was Venus's Clerk, even as Gower had made his Confessio Amantis his last Work, and shrift of his former Offences.

2

3

§

The Lamentation of Mary Magdalen.

§

The Prologue to the Remedy of LOVE.

The Remedy of Love.

The Complaint of Mars and Venus.

The Complaint of Mars.

The Complaint of Venus.

¶Lenuoy.

The Letter of Cupid.

A Ballade in Commendation of our Lady.

John Gower unto the Noble King Henry the Fourth.

§

¶A Saying of Dan Iohn.

¶Yet of the same.

Balade de bon consail.

Of the Cuckow and the Nightingale.

§

Lenuoye.

Scogan unto the Lords and Gentlemen of the Kings House.

§

Lenvoye.

Good Counsail of Chaucer.

A Ballade of the Village without Painting.

Plaintife to Fortune.

The answer of Fortune.

The answer to Fortune.

Fortune.

The Plaintife.

Thenuoye of Fortune.

Lenuoy.

§

Th. Occleve to his empty Purse.

Occleve unto the King.

A Ballad of good counsail, translated out of Latin verses into English by Dan John Lidgate, cleped the Monk of Bury.

A Ballad in the Praise and Commendation of Master Geffery Chaucer, for his golden Eloquence.

Here followeth certain Works of Geffrey Chaucer, annexed to the Impressions printed in the Years 1561, and 1602. All collected and adjoyned to his former Works by John Stowe.

§

A Proverb against Covetise and Negligence.

A Ballad which Chaucer made against Women unconstant.

Here followeth a Ballad which Chaucer made in the Praise, or rather Dispraise, of Women, for their Doubleness.

Lenuoye.

This Work following was compiled by Chaucer, and it is called the Craft of Lovers.

A Ballad.

The Ten Commandments of Love.

Faith.

Entencion.

Discrecion.

Pacience.

Secretnesse.

Prudence.

Perseueraunce.

Pity.

Measure.

Mercy.

Lenuoye.

The Nine Ladies worthy.

Queene Sinope.

Lady Ipolite.

Lady Deifile.

Lady Teuca.

Queene Pantasile.

Queene Thamiris.

Lady Lampedo.

Queene Semiramys.

Lady Menalip.

§

A Ballad.

A Ballad.

Here followeth how Mercury with Pallas, Venus, and Minerva, appeared to Paris of Troy, he sleeping by a Fountain.

Pallas loquitur ad Parisum de Troiae.

Pallas loquitur primo.

Venus loquitur ad Parisum.

Minerva loquitur ad Parisum.

A Ballad pleasant.

Another Ballad.

A Ballad, warning men to beware of deceitful women.

These Verses next following were compiled by Geffrey Chaucer, and in the written Copies follow at the end of the Complaint of Pity.

A Ballad, declaring that Womens chastity Doth much excell all treasure worldly.

The Court of Love. This Book is an imitation of the Romaunt of the Rose, shewing that all are subject to love, what impediments soever to the contrary: containing also those twenty Statutes which are to be observed in the Court of Love.

Chaucer's DREAM, never Printed before the Year 1597. That which heretofore hath gone under the name of his Dream, is the Book of the Dutchess: or the Death of Blanch, Dutchess of Lancaster. This Dream, devised by Chaucer, seemeth to be a covert report of the Marriage of John of Gaunt the King's Son, with Blanch the Daughter of Henry Duke of Lancaster, who, after long love, (during the time whereof the Poet feigneth them to be dead) were in the end by consent of Friends happily Married: figured by a Bird bringing in her Bill an Herb which restored them to life again. Here also is shewed Chaucer's match with a certain Gentlewoman, who, although she was a Stranger, was notwithstanding so well liked and loved of the Lady Blanch and her Lord, as Chaucer himself also was, that gladly they concluded a Marriage between them.

The Flower and the Leaf. A Gentlewoman out of an Arbor in a Grove, seeth a great company of Knights and Ladies in a Dance upon the green Grass: the which being ended, they all kneel down, and do honour to the Daisie, some to the Flower, and some to the Leaf. Afterward this Gentlewoman learneth by one of these Ladies the meaning hereof, which is this: They which honour the Flower, a thing fading with every blast, are such as look after Beauty and worldly Pleasure. But they that honour the Leaf, which abideth with the Root, notwithstanding the Frosts and Winter storms, are they which follow Vertue and during Qualities, without regard of worldly Respects.

Chaucers A. B. C. called La Priere de nostre Dame. Chaucer's A. B. C. called La Priere de nostre Dame: made, as some say, at the request of Blanch, Dutchess of Lancaster, as a Prayer for her private use, being a Woman in her Religion very devout.

Jack Upland. In this Treatise is set forth the blind ignorance and variable Discord of the Church•men, how rude and unskilful they were in Matters and Principles of our Christian Institution. This is thought to be that Crede which the Pellican speaketh of in the Plowmans Tale, in these Words: Of Freers I haue told before, In a making of a Crede, And yet I could tell worse and more, But men would werrien it to rede.

Chaucer's Words unto his own Scrivener.

THE Story of THEBES, Compiled by John Lidgate, Monk of Bury.

The Prologue to the Story of THEBES.

Here beginneth the History of the Destruction of the City of THEBES.

What the goodlihead of a Prince availeth, to win the hearts of his People.

Example good of King Amphion.

How, after the opinion of some Authours, King Cadmus built first the city of Thebes.

How the Country of Boece took first its name of a Bulls skin, and after called Thebes. And how King Cadmus was exiled out of Thebes, by Prowess of King Amphion.

How the Line of Amphion by descent was conveyed to King Laius.

Here beginneth the Story of King Laius, and Iocasta his Wife.

How the Astronomiens and Philosophers of Thebes calcled out the fate of Edippus.

The cursed Constellation and Disposition of the Heaven at the Nativity of Edippus.

How the fate of Edippus disposed, that he should slea his own Father.

How the hunts of King Polibon found the child in the forrest, and presented him unto the King.

The request of Edippus unto the King Polibon.

The Answer of the King unto Edippus.

How Edippus slough his Father by ignorance, at the Castle of Pilotes.

How Edippus passed by the hill where the Monster lay, that was called Sphinx.

The destruction of the foul Monster.

The words of the foul Monster.

The Probleme that Sphinx put to Edippus.

How Edippus expounded the Probleme that Sphinx put to him.

The Names of the People, being at the Wedding of the King Edippus, and of Jocasta the Queen.

Tragediae Senecae de Egypto Reg. Thebax.

How every Man ought of Duty, to do Reverence to his Father and Mother, or else there will fall Vengeance.

Immediate sequitur secunda pars ejusdem.

How the Sons of Edippus, debated for the Crown.

The controversie of the two Brethren.

The common Union between these two Brethren.

How Polimite first came into the Lond of Arge.

Argiue and Deiphile, the doughters tweine of King Adrastus.

The Dream of King Adrastus of a wild Boar and a fers Lion.

How Tideus and Polimite striuen for her Lodging.

How Adrastus spake to the Knights in secret touching the marriage of his Daughters.

Commendation of Trouth.

How Trouth is preferred in the Book of Esdre aforne Kings, Women, and Wine.

Trouth and Mercy preserven a King from all Adversity.

Chaunge nor doubleness should not be in a King.

The Counsell of false Flatterers.

How the year was come out that Ethiocles reigned in Thebes.

How Tideus took upon him to do the message of Polimite his Brother.

The sorrow of Deiphile, when Tideus went toward Thebes the City.

How wisely and how knightly Tideus did his message.

The request that Tideus made in the name of Polimite, under the title of Convention.

The Answer of King Ethiocles.

The knightly Answer that Tideus yaue ayeine to the King.

How manly Tideus departed from the King.

How falsely Ethiocles laid an Ambushment in the way to have slain Tideus in his repair.

How worthy Tideus outrayed fifty Knights, lying in await for to slaen him.

How Truth with little Multitude hath ever in the fine, Victory of Falshood.

How Tideus all to wounded, came into Ligurgus lond.

How Ligurgus Doughter found Tideus sleeping in the Herber, all forwounded.

How womanly the Lady acquit her to Tideus in his Disease.

How Tideus was refreshed in the Castle of the Lady.

How Tideus repeired is home to Arge.

How Ethiocles sore was astonied, when he heard the death of his Knights.

Finitur Pars secunda, sequitur Pars tertia.

The great purveyaunce of King Adrastus toward the City of Thebes.

The Kings and Princes that come to Adrastus.

That it availeth a King to pay his People truely her fond.

How love availeth more to a King, than Gold or Riches.

How Ethiocles made him strong ayenst the coming of the Greeks.

How the Bishop Amphiorax was sent for to come unto the Greeks.

The Prophecy of Amphiorax the Bishop.

How the Wife of Amphiorax, of conscience to save her Oath, discured her Husband.

How Age and Youth been of diverse Opinions.

How that Wisdom without Supportation availeth little or nought.

The great Mischief that the Greeks had for default of Water.

How Tideus complained to the Lady in the Herber for Water.

How the Lady courteously taught Tideus to the Well.

How the Child was slain of a foul Serpent in the Herber.

How Adrastus and all the states of Grekes preiden Ligurgus for the life of Isophile.

The sorow that King Ligurgus made for the death of his Child, and the lamentation of the Queen.

How the Queen will algate have the Serpent dead.

How Parthonolope slew the Serpent.

Nota, de Ligurgo Rege Traceae.

Baccus, Deus Vini.

Nota, de duodecim arboribus in libra Bochacii de genealogia Deorum.

The Forrey that the Greeks made in the Countrey about Thebes.

The variaunce in Thebes among hemselfe.

The words of the worthy Queen Jocasta unto Ethiocles.

The Treaty that Ethiocles sent unto his Brother.

The knightly Answer of worthy Tideus.

Of a tame Tygre dwelling in Thebes.

How the Bishop Amphiorax fell down into Hell.

How the Greeks chosen a new Divinour in steed of Amphiorax.

How pitiously this worthy Tideus was slain with a quarrel.

How each of the Theban Brethren slough other, even tofore the Citee.

How all the royal blood both of Grekes side, and on the City side, islain were upon o day.

How Creon the old tyrant ychosen was to be King of Thebes.

How all the Ladies of Graece arrayed hem toward Thebes.

How the old cursed Creon will not suffer the bodies neither to be brent nor buried.

How the final destruction of Thebes is compendiously rehearsed in the Knights tale.

How that Duke Theseus delivered to the Ladies the Bodies of their Lords.

How King Adrastus, with the Ladies, repaired home ayen to Arge.

Four hundred year tofore the foundation of Rome was the City of Thebes destroyed.

How all the worthy Blood of Greece destroyed was at siege, and the City brought to nought, to final loss of both parties.

Bellona goddesse is of battaile.

How that War first began in Heaven, by the high Pride and Surquedy of Lucifer.

Surget gens contra gentem. Luc. xxi.

The Old and Obscure Words in Chaucer explained,

So much of the Latin in Chaucer translated, as is not by himself Englished

The French in Chaucer translated.

The Authors cited by G. Chaucer in his Works, by Name declared.

ADVERTISEMENT.

Immediately after what you find of the Cooks Tale, add this:

Immediately after these words, at the end of the Squires Tale,

Let this be added,

§

§

[Page]

THE PROGENIE OF GEFFREY CHAUCER

The true portraiture of GEFFREY CHAUCEER the famous English poet as by THOMAS OCCLEUE is described who liued in his time and was his Scholar.

§

§

[Page]

THE WORKS OF OUR Ancient, Learned, & Excellent ENGLISH POET, JEFFREY CHAUCER: As they have lately been Compar'd with the best Manuscripts; and several things added, never before in Print.

To which is adjoyn'd, The STORY of the SIEGE of THEBES, By John Lidgate, Monk of Bury.

TOGETHER WITH The Life of Chaucer, SHEWING His Countrey, Parentage, Education, Marriage, Children, Revenues, Service, Reward, Friends, Books, Death.

Also a TABLE, wherein the Old and Obscure Words in Chaucer are explained, and such Words (which are many) that either are, by Nature or Derivation, Arabick, Greek, Latine, Italian, French, Dutch, or Saxon, mark'd with particular Notes for the better understanding their Original.

LONDON, Printed in the Year, MDCLXXXVII.

TO THE Right Honourable Sir ROBERT CECIL, Knt. PRINCIPAL SECRETARY To the QUEEN's Most Excellent Majesty, Master of the Court of Wards and Liveries, one of her Highness's most Honourable Privy Council, and Right Worthy Chancellor of the Vniversity of CAMBRIDGE.

[Page]

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Right Honourable,

AT the last Impression of this Work, in way of humble Duty and Thankfulness, I presented to Your Honour certain Collections and Observations upon Chaucer; as namely, His Life, Picture, and Pedigree: the Arguments of every Book and Tale: the Explanation of old Words, with Declaration of Authors by him cited: and also two Treatises, the Death of Blanch, called his Dream: and the Flower and the Leaf, never before printed. But as these things then through want of time were not fully perfected, so were there some other things omitted, at the next Impression to be performed.

Now therefore, that both by old written Copies, and by Mr. William Thynn's praise-worthy Labours, I have reformed the whole Work, whereby Chaucer, for the most part, is restored to his own Antiquity; and noted withal most of his Sentences and Proverbs; having also, with some Additions, reduced into due place those former Notes and Collections; as likewise proved the Significations of most of the old and obscure Words, by the Tongues and Dialects from whence they are derived; translated also into English, all the Latin and [Page] French by him used; and lastly, added to his Works some Things of his own doing, as the Treatise of Jack Upland against Fryars, and his A. B. C. commonly called La Priere de nostre Dame: I am bold to present the whole to your Honourable Favour and Patronage, always mindful of my bounden Duty to Your Honour's House, which with hearty Prayer I commend to the Grace of the Almighty.

Your Honour's in all Duty at Commandment, THO. SPEGHT.

To the Readers.

[Page]

AFter this Book was last Printed, I understood that Mr. Francis Thynn had a purpose, as indeed he hath when time shall serve, to set out Chaucer with a Comment in our Tongue, as the Italians have Petrark and others in their Language. Whereupon, I purposed not to meddle any farther in this Work, altho some promise made to the contrary, but to referr all to him; being a Gentleman for that purpose inferiour to none, both in regard of his own Skill, as also of those helps left to him by his Father. Yet notwithstanding, Chaucer now being Printed again, I was willing, not only to help some Imperfections, but also to add some things; whereunto he did not only persuade me, but most kindly lent me his Help and Direction. By this means most of his old Words are restored; Proverbs and Sentences marked; such Notes as were collected, drawn into better order; and the Text by old Copies corrected.

But of some things I must advertise the Readers; as first, that in Chaucer they shall find the Proper Names oftentimes much differing from the Latin and Greek, from whence they are drawn; which they must not condemn in him as a fault: for both he, and other Poets, in Translating such Words from one Language into another, do use, as the Latins and Greeks do, the sundry Species of Metaplasmus: as Campaneus for Capaneus; Atheon for Acteon; Adriane for Ariadne. Which Chaucer doth in other Words also; as gon for begon; leve for beleve; peraunter for peradventure; loveden for did love; woneden for did won, &c.

It is his manner likewise, imitating the Greeks, by two Negatives to cause a greater Negation; as, I ne said none ill.

Also many times to understand his Verb; as, I not what men him call, for I know not, &c.

And, for the Author, to name some part of his Work; as, Argonauticon for Apollonius Rhodius. And that sometime in the Genitive Case, a former Substantive being understood: as, read Aeneidos: Metamorphoseos: for the Authors of those Works.

[Page] And for his Verses, altho in divers places they may seem to us to stand of unequal Measures; yet a skilful Reader, that can scan them in their nature, shall find it otherwise. And if a Verse here and there fall out a Syllable shorter or longer than another, I rather aret it to the negligence and rape of Adam Scrivener, that I may speak as Chaucer doth, than to any unconning or over-sight in the Author: for how fearful he was to have his Works miswritten, or his Verse mismeasured, may appear in the End of his Fifth Book of Troylus and Creseide, where he writeth thus:

And for there is so great diversitie

In English, and in writing of our tongue,

So pray I God, that none miswrite thee,

Ne thee mismetre for defaut of tongue, &c.

Moreover, whereas in the explanation of the old Words, sundry of their Significations by me given, may to some seem conjectural; yet such as understand the Dialects of our Tongue, especially in the North, and have knowledge in some other Languages, will judge otherwise: and for the satisfying of others, which want such skill, I have by these Characters a. g. l. i. f. d. b. notified to them from what Tongue or Dialect such Words are derived.

It were a Labour worth commendation, if some Scholar, that hath Skill and Leisure, would conferr Chaucer with those learned Authors, both in Greek and Latin, from whom he hath drawn many excellent things; and at large report such Histories, as in his Works are very frequent, and many of them hard to be found: which would so grace this Ancient Poet, that whereas divers have thought him unlearned, and his Writings mere Trifles, it should appear, That besides the knowledge of sundry Tongues, he was a Man of great Reading and deep Judgment. This course I began in the former Impression, but here of purpose have left it off; as also the Description of Persons and Places, except some few of more worthy note; as a labour rather for a Commentor, for that it concerneth Matter, than for him that intendeth only the explaining of Words. And thus to conclude, I commit to your wonted Favour, this our Poet, and what here is done for the Poet's sake.

TO HIS Very Loving and assured Good Friend, Mr. THOMAS SPEGHT.

[Page]

I Am sorry, that neither the worthiness of Chaucer's own Praise, nor the importunate Prayers of divers your loving Friends, can yet move you to put into print those good Observations of him, and Collections that you have gathered. For, as for the Objections against him, that in our private Talk you are wont to say are commonly alledged, as first, That many of his Words are become (as it were) vinewed and hoary with over-long lying; and next, that some of his Speeches are somewhat too broad and plain; and that the Work therefore should be the less gracious: these are either no Causes, or no causes sufficient, to withold from Chaucer such desert of Glory as you may bestow upon him at your Pleasure.

It is well known to wise and learned Men, that all Languages be either such as are contained in Learning, or such as be used in daily practise: and for learned Tongues, they having Testamentario jure, their Legacies set down by them that be dead, Words must be retained and continued in them in such sort as they were left, without alteration of the Testators Wills in any thing, although in his choice it be that is to use them, when to use, or where to refuse them, at his own discretion. But in usual Languages of common Practise, which in choice of Words are, and ever will be subject unto change, never standing at one stay, but sometimes casting away old Words, sometimes renewing of them, and always framing of new, no man can so write, as that all his Words may remain currant many Years. Which thing, Horace, in his Book De arte Poetica, precisely noteth in these Verses:

Vt silvae foliis pronos mutantur in annos:

Prima cadunt: ita verborum vetus interit aetas:

Et juvenum ritu florent modo nata, vigentque.

Debemur morti nos, nostraque, &c.

Whereby he declareth, that Words in common Tongues, like unto Leaves, must of necessity have their Buddings, their Blossomings, their Ripenings, and their Fallings: and Chaucer most excellently also himself in true foresight hereof in these Verses of his:

I know that in fourme of speech is chaunge

Within a hundreth yeere, and wordes tho

That hadden price, now wonder nice and straunge

Think we them, and yet they spake them so,

And sped as well in love, as men now do.

And therefore impossible it was, that either Chaucer could, or any man living can, keep Words of unlearned Tongues from falling after so long a time. And this hath happened amongst the Latin Writers themselves, when theirs was a spoken Tongue, as ours now is, who, though they first made their own Words, and gave [Page] them their Allowance, yet divers of Cecilius, Statius, Ennius and Plautus, were by latter Latinists rejected; and now again many of them, by the last Writers of all (though before, as it were by Proclamation, put down for baseness) are upon a new touch warranted for good, and pass abroad as Sterling. But so pure were Chaucer's Words in his days, as Lidgate, that learned Man, calleth him, The Loadstar of the English Language; and so good they are in our days, as Mr. Spencer (following the Counsel of Tully in his Third Book De Oratore, for reviving of ancient Words) hath adorned his Stile with that Beauty and Gravity, that Tully there speaks of: and his much frequenting of Chaucer's ancient Words, with his excellent imitation of divers Places in him, is not the least help that hath made him reach so high, as many learned men do think, that no Poet, either French or Italian, deserves a second place under him. And furthermore, by your Interpretation of the unusual Words, that ancient Hardness and Difficulty is made most clear and easie: and in the Pains and Diligence you have used in collecting his Life, methinks you have bestowed upon him as favourable Graces as Medea did upon Aeson; for you have restored us Chaucer, both alive again, and young again; and delivered many from the erroneous Conjectures they conceived of him. And therefore, though every thing be not perfect to your own mind, (for Desires be endless; and nothing can be at one time both begun and perfected) yet since you have opened the way to others, and attempted that which was unattempted before you, your Endeavours herein cannot but be well accepted, unless of such as have better Will, without just cause, to reprove others, than either Wit or Skill to do well themselves.

Touching the Incivility Chaucer is charged withal; what Roman Poet hath less offended this way than he? Virgil in his Priapus is worse by a thousand Degrees, and Ovid in his Book De Arte Amandi, and Horace in many Places as deep as the rest; but Catullus and Tibullus, in unclean Wantonness, beyond measure pass them all. Neither is Plautus nor Terence free in this behalf: But these two last are excused above the rest, for their due Observation of Decorum, in giving to their Comical Persons such manner of Speeches as did best fit their Dispositions. And may not the same be said for Chaucer? How much had he swarved from Decorum, if he had made his Merchant, his Miller, his Cook, his Carpenter, tell such honest and civil Tales, as were told of his Knight, his Squire, his Lawyer and his Scholar? But shewing the disposition of the baser sort of People, he declareth in their Prologues and Tales, That their chief Delight was in undecent Speeches of their own, and in their false Defamations of others, as in these Verses appeareth:

Let be thy leud dronken Harlotry,

It is a sinne and eke a great folly

To apairen any man, or him defame,

And eke to bring wives in such blame.

And in excuse of himself for uttering those broad Speeches of theirs, he useth these Words:

But first I pray you of your curtesie

That ye ne arette it not my follie,

Though that I plainly speake in this mattere

To tellen you her words, and eke her chere,

Ne though I speake her words properly:

For this ye knowen, as well as I,

Who shall tellen a tale after a man,

He mote rehearse, as nye as ever he can,

Everich worde, if it been in his charge,

All speake he never so rudely ne large,

Or els he mote tellen his tale untrue,

Or feine things, or find words newe.

[Page] And in another place:

Deemeth not for Gods love, that I say

Of evil entent, but that I mote rehearce

Her tales all, been they better or werce,

Or els falsen some of my matere.

The wise Plato saieth, as ye mowe rede,

The worde must needs acord with the dede:

It men should tell properly a thing,

The word must cosin be to the working.

For no man can imagine in his so large compass, purposing to describe all English-mens Humours living in those days, how it had been possible for him to have left untouch'd their filthy Delights; or in discovering their desires, how to have express'd them without some of their Words.

And now to compare him with other Poets: His Canterbury Tales contain in them almost the same Argument that is handled in Comedies: His Stile therein for the most part is low and open, and like unto theirs: but herein they differ; The Comedy-Writers do all follow and borrow one from another, as Terence from Plautus and Menander: Plautus from Menander and Demophilus: Statius and Caecilius from Diphilus, Apollodorus, and Philemon; and almost all the last Comedians from that, which was called Antiqua Comaedia. The Ring they beat is this, and out of the same Track they go not; To shew the Looseness of many Young-men; the Lewdness of some Young-women; the crafty School Points of old Bawds; the little regard of honest disposed Serving-men; the miserable Wretchedness of divers old Fathers, and their Folly in countenancing and committing their Sons to the Charge and Government of most impudent and flattering Parasites; such as in Terence is prating Davus and Geta, and bold bawdy Phormio. Chaucer's Device of his Canterbury Pilgrimage is merely his own: His Drift is to touch all sorts of men, and to discover all Vices of that Age; which he doth so feelingly, and with so true an Aim, as he never fails to hit whatsoever mark he levels at.

In his five Books of Troylus and Creseid, in the Romaunt of the Rose, in his Black Knight, in the Merciless Lady, in some few also of his Tales, in his Dream, and in that of Blanch, (which is in your hands, and was never yet imprinted) and in other his Discourses he soareth much higher; and is in his Troilus so sententious, as there be few Staves in those Books which include not some principal Sentence; most excellently imitating Homer and Virgil, and borrowing often of them, and of Horace also, and other the rarest both Orators and Poets that have written. Of whom, for the sweetness of his Poetry, may be said, that which is reported of Stesichorus: and as Marcus Cethegus was termed by Ennius, Suadae medulla; so may Chaucer rightly be called, The Pith and Sinews of Eloquence, and very Life it self of all Mirth and pleasant Writing: besides, one Gift he hath above other Authors, and that is, By excellency of his Descriptions, to possess his Readers with a more forcible Imagination of seeing that (as it were) done before their Eyes, which they read, than any other that ever hath written in any Tongue. And here I cannot forget to remember unto you, those ancient learned Men of our time in Cambridge, whose diligence, in reading of his Works themselves, and commending them to others of the younger sort, did first bring you and me in love with him: and one of them at that time, and all his Life after, was (as you know) one of the rarest men for Learning in the whole World. The same may be said of that worthy learned Man your good Friend in Oxford, who with many other of like excellent Judgment have ever had Chaucer in most high Reputation.

And now, (Mr. Speght) seeing not only all Greek and Latin Poets have had their Interpreters, and the most of them translated into our Tongue, but the French also and Italian, as Guillaume de Salust, that most divine French Poet; Petrark and Ariosto, those two excellent Italians, (whereof the last, instructed by Mr. Iohn [Page]Harington doth now speak as good English as he did Italian before,) shall only Chaucer, our Ancient Poet, nothing inferiour to the best, amongst all the Poets of the World, remain always neglected, and never be so well understood of his own Country-men as Strangers are? Well, content your self, and set your heart at rest; for, seeing I was one of them which first procured you to take in hand this Work, and since you have given me of your Copies to use privately for mine own Pleasure; if you will not put them abroad your self, they shall abroad 'ere long, and look into the World without your consent. Yet, lest many Inconveniences might happen by this Attempt of mine, and divers things be set forth contrary unto your own liking, let me once again intreat you (as I have done often heretofore) to yield to my just and reasonable suit: wherein you shall not only satisfie that Conceit which I have many Years carried of your unfeigned Love towards me; but pleasure many who daily expect your Pains herein; and perform also unto Chaucer great part of that Honour that he most worthily deserveth. So with my thrice hearty Commendations I bid you farewel.

From Leicester the last of June, Anno 1597.

Your assured and ever loving Friend, Francis Beaumont.

THE READER TO Geffrey Chaucer.

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Reader.

WHere hast thou dwelt, good Geffrey, all this while,

Vnknown to us, save only by thy Books?

Chaucer.

In Haulks and Herns, God wot, and in Exile,

Where none vouchsaft to yield Me Words or Looks;

Till one which saw me there, and knew my Friends,

Did bring me forth: such Grace sometime God sends.

Reader.

But who is he that hath thy Books repair'd,

And added more, whereby thou art more graced?

Chaucer.

The self-same Man who hath no Labour spar'd

To help what Time and Writers had defaced:

And made old Words, which were unknown of many,

So plain, that now they may be known of any.

Reader.

Well fare his heart; I love him for thy sake,

Who for thy sake hath taken all this Pains.

Chaucer.

Would God I knew some means amends to make,

That for his Toil he might receive some Gains.

But wot ye what? I know his Kindness such,

That for my good he thinks no Pains too much.

H. B.

Vpon the Picture of Chaucer.

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WHat Pallas City owes the heavenly mind

Of prudent Socrates, wise Greece's Glory;

What Fame Arpinas spreadingly doth find

By Tully's Eloquence and Oratory;

What lasting Praise sharp witted Italy

By Tasso's and by Petrark's Pen obtained;

What Fame Bartas unto proud France hath gained,

By seven days World Poetically strained:

What high Renown is purchas'd unto Spain,

Which fresh Dianaes Verses do distill;

What Praise our Neighbour Scotland doth retain

By Gawine Douglas, in his Virgil Quill;

Or other Motions by sweet Poets Skill;

The same, and more, fair England challenge may,

By that rare Wit and Art thou do'st display

In Verse, which doth Apollo's Muse bewray.

Then Chaucer live, for still thy Verse shall live

T'unborn Poets which Life and Light will give.

Fran. Thynn.

Of the Animadversions upon Chaucer.

IN reading of the learn'd praise-worthy Pain,

The helpful Notes explaining Chaucer's Mind,

The abstruse Skill, and artificial Vein;

By true Annalogy I rightly find

Speght is the Child of Chaucer's fruitful Brain;

Vernishing his Works with Life and Grace,

Which envious Age would otherwise deface.

Then be he lov'd and thanked for the same,

Since in his Love he hath reviv'd his Name.

THE LIFE Of Our Learned English Poet, Geffrey Chaucer.
So much as we can find by Heralds, Chronicles, and Records, of his • Country. , • Parentage. , • Education. , • Marriage. , • Children, With their • Marriage. , • Lands. , • Service. , • Reward. , • Issue. , and • Death.  , • Revenues. , • Service. , • Reward. , • Friends. , • Books. , and • Death. 

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Gulielmus Camdenus.

Gaufredus Chaucer sui saeculi ornamentum extra omnem ingenii aleam positus, & Poetastras nostros longo post se intervallo relinquens.

—jam monte potitus

Ridet anhelantem dura ad fastigia turbam.

His Country.

THis famous and learned Poet, Geffrey Chaucer, Esq was supposed byThis Leland had Commission from King Hen. Eighth to search all Libraries in England for matters of Antiquity. He died in the days of Edw. Sixth. Leland to have been an Oxfordshire or Barkshire Man born: for so reporteth John Bale in his Catalogue of English Writers; Quibusdam argumentis adducebatur Lelandus, ut crederet, &c. Some Reasons did move Leland to think, That Oxfordshire or Barkshire was his Native Country.

But as it is evident by his own Words in the Testament of Love In the 1. Book and 5th Sect., he was born About the 2d or 3d Year of Edw. Third. in the City of London: for thus he writeth there; Also in the City of London that is to me so dear and sweet, in which I was foorth growen, and more kindly Love have I to that Place than to any other in yerth (as every kindly Creature hath full Appetite to that Place of his kindly Engendure, and to wilne Rest and Peace in that stede to abide) thilke Peace should thus there have been broken, which of all wise Men is commended and desired.

[Page] In the Records of the Guild-Hall in London we find, that there was one Richard Chaucer Vintner, quasi Wineturner, that is, a Merchant of the Vi [...]ry, which sold by whole sale. Vintner of London in the twenty third Year of Edward 3d. who might well be Geffrey Chaucer's Father.

Also there was a Nun of St. Hellens in London named Elizabeth Chaucer, in the first Year of Rich. 2d. as it is in Record, which seemeth either to have been his Sister, or of his Kindred, and by likelihood a Londoner born.

Moreover, in the eighth year of the same King, Geffrey Chaucer was Controller of the Custom-House in London, as after out of the Records shall appear.

Other Dealings he had in the City, as we may plainly see in the Testament of Love; all which may move us to think, That he was born in London.

His Parentage.

FOR his Parentage and Place of Birth, although Bale termeth him, Galfridus Chaucer nobili loco natus, & summae spei juvenis, yet in the Opinion of some Heralds, (otherwise than his Vertues and Learning commended him) he descended not of any great House; which they gather by his Arms, De argento & rubeo colore partita per longitudiuem scuti cum benda ex transverso, eisdem coloribus sed transmutatis depicta sub hac forma.

[figure]

But this is but a simple Conjecture: for, honourable Houses, and of great Antiquity, have borne as mean Arms as Chaucer; and yet his Arms are not so mean, either for Colour, Charge, or Particion, as some would make them.

And indeed both in respect of the Name, which is French, as also by other Conjectures, it may be gathered, That his Progenitors were Strangers.

But wheras some are of Opinion, that the first coming of the Chaucers into England was when Qu. Isabel, This Q. Isabel being sent into France with her young Son Edw. by the K. of England her Husband, to conferr about matters with her Brother the French King, would by no means return, having conceived a great Hatred against the Spensers, and also against the King, for suffering himself to be misled by their naughty Counsel; but by all means stirred the People to Rebellion, and in the end came over her self with almost three thousand Strangers besides Englishmen. Wife to Edw. 2. and her Son Prince Edw. returned out ofHenault, a Province lying between France and Flanders. Henault into England, at which time also almost 3000 Strangers came over with them, as by Chronicles appeareth; or some two Years after, when Philip, Daughter to the Earl of Henault, came over to be married to Prince Edward: I can by no means consent with them, but rather must think, That their Name and Family was of far more ancient Antiquity, although by time decayed, as many more had been of much greater Estate. For in the days of Edw. 1. there was one John Chaucer, as appeared by the Records of the Tower; where it is said, That the King did hear the Complaint of John Chaucer in the damage of 1000 l. There was also in the time of Hen. 3. and Edw. 1. Elias Chaucesir; of whom the Records in the Exchequer have thus; Edwardus Dei Gratia, &c. liberate de Thesauro nostro Elias Chaucesir decem solid. &c. with which Characters Geffrey Chaucer is written in the Records of Edw. 3. and Rich. 2. This Name was at the first a Name of Office or Occupation, which afterward came to be the Name of a Family, as Smith, Baker, Skinner, and others have done. In the time of King John likewise, there was one named le Chaucer, as appeareth by the Records of the Tower. But what need I to stand upon the Antiquity or Gentry of Chaucer, when the Roll of Battle Abbey affirmeth Chaucer to have come in with the Conquerour. Moreover, it is more likely that the Parents of Geffrey Chaucer were mere English, and himself an English-man born; for else how could he have come to that Perfection in our Language, as to be called, The first Illuminer of the English Tongue, had not both he, and his Parents before him, been born and bred among us? But what their Names were, or what Issue they had, otherwise than by Conjecture before given, we cannot declare.

[Page] Now whether they were Merchants, as some will have it, (for that in Places where they have dwelled, theThis Coniecture is of small force: for the Merchants of the Staple had not any Arms granted to them, as I have been informed, before the time of Henry the Sixth, or much thereabout. Arms of the Merchants of the Staple have been seen in the glass Windows) or whether they were of other Calling, it is not much necessary to search; but wealthy no doubt they were, and of good account in the Commonwealth, who brought up their Son in such sort, that both he was thought fit for the Court at home, and to be employed for matters of State in foreign Countries.

His Education.

HIS bringing up, as Leland saith, was in the University of Oxford, as also in Cambridge, as appeareth by his own Words, in his Book entituled, The Court of Love; and in Oxford (by all likelihood) in Canterbury or in Merton Colledge,Canterbury Colledge in Oxford, founded by Simon Islip Archbishop of Canterbury, was suppressed in the Reign of K. Hen. 8. and joyned unto Christs-Church. with John Wickliffe, whose Opinions in Religion he much affected; where, besides his private Study, he did with great diligence frequent the publick Schools and Disputations; Hinc acutus Dialecticus, hinc dulcis Rhetor, hinc lepidus Poeta, hinc gravis Philosophus, ac sanctus Theologus evasit. Mathematicus insuper ingeniosus erat à Johanne Sombo, &c. Hereupon saith Leland, he became a witty Logician, a sweet Rhetorician, a pleasant Poet, a grave Philosopher, and a holy Divine. Moreover, he was a very skilful Mathematician, instructed therein by John Some and Nicholas Nicholas de Lynna studiorum praecipuas partes in Mathesi collocavit, quae quatuor disciplinarum orbem complectitur: videlicet, Arithmeticam, Geometriam, Musicam, & Astrologiam. Bale. Lynne, Friars Carmelites of Lynne, and men very skilful in the Mathematicks, whom he, in his Book called The Astrolaby, doth greatly commend, and calleth them, Reverend Clerks.

By his Travel also in France and Flanders, where he spent much time in his young Years, but more in the latter end of the Reign of King Rich. 2. he attained to great Perfection in all kind of Learning: for so do Bale and Leland also report. Circa postremos Richardi secundi annos in Galliis floruit, magnamque illic ex assidua in literis exercitatione gloriam sibi comparavit. Domum reversus forum Londinense, & Collegia Leguleiorum, qui ibidem patria jura interpretantur, frequentavit, &c. About the latter end of King Richard the Second's Days he flourished in France, and got himself great Commendation there by his diligent Exercise in Learning. After his Return home, he frequented the Court at London, and the Colledges of the Lawyers, which there interpret the Laws of the Land, and among them he had a familiar Friend calledJohn Gower, a Knight, as Bale writeth, studied not only the common Laws of the Land, but all other kind of good Literature. He lieth buried in St. Mary Overies in Southwark, in a stately Tomb erected in the Wall, with his Image lying over him, in a Habit of greenish Damask down to his Feet, a Collar of Esses Gold about his Neck, and on his Head a Chaplet of Roses, the Ornaments of Knighthood. Under his Head he hath the likeness of three Books, which he compiled: the first, Speculum Meditantis in French; the second, Vox Clamantis in Latin; the third, Confessio Amantis in English. John Gower.

It seemeth that Chaucer was of the Inner Temple; for not many Years since, Master Buckley did see a Record in the same House, where Geffrey Chaucer was fined two Shillings for beating a Franciscan Friar in Fleet-street.

Thus spending much time in the Universities, France, Flanders, and Inns of Court, he proved a singular man in all kind of Knowledge.

His Marriage.

HE matched in Marriage with a Knights Daughter of Henault, called Paon de Ruet, King of Arms, as by this Draught appeareth, taken out of the Office of the Heralds. This Gentlewoman whom he married (whose Name we cannot find) as it may be gathered by Chaucer's own Words in his Dream, was Attendant on Blanch the Dutchess, in the Duke of Lancaster's House, as also her Sister Katharine was; or else waited on the Dutchess Maud, Sister of Blanch, who was married to William Duke of Bavare, Earl of Henault, Zeland, and Holland. But howsoever it was, by this Marriage he became Brother-in-Law toJohn Plantagenet, sirnamed Gaunt, of Gaunt in Flanders, where he was born, was the fourth Son of King Edward the Third. He was Duke of Lancaster, Earl of Lincoln, Darby, and Leicester, King of Castile and Lyons, and Steward of England. He was also Earl of Richmond, and Duke of Aquitain. He had three Wives, Blanch, Constance, and Katharine. He lieth buried in the Quire of Pauls. John of Gaunt, Duke of Lancaster, as hereafter appeareth.

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Stemma peculiare Gaufredi Chauceri Poetae celeberrimi.

Paganus de Rouet Hannoniensis, aliter dictus Guien Rex Armorum.

Catherina de Rouet à priore marito Hugone Swinford Equite cognominata Swinford: Quae postea renupta Johanni Gandavensi tertii Edovardi Regis filio Lancastriae Duci, illi procreavit filios tres & unicam filiam.

Gaufredus Chaucer Poeta celeber. sui saeculi ornamentum ac decus ingens.

Altera filiarum & cohaeredum Guienni Armorum Regis, cujus Nomen non editur.

Thomas Chaucer Armiger dominus Manerii de Ewhelm in Oxoniensi Comit.

William de la Pole Comes Marchio, & postea Dux Suffolciae.

Alicia unica filia, & haeres Thomae Chaucer ter nupta Johanni Philip. equiti, deinde comiti Sarum, & postea Will. Com. Suff.

Johannes de la Pole Dux Suffolciae.

Edmundus de la Pole Comes Suffolciae, ultimus ex hac stirpe attinctus tempore Regis Hen. 7.

Johannes Burg hershe, Miles.

Matildis filia William Kerdeston Militis.

Johannes Burghershe Miles.

Imania filia natu maxima, & una haeredum Simonis Hannap vel Hanning de Comit. Glouc.

Matildis filia & cohaeres Johannis Burghershe Militis.

Margareta altera filiarum & haeredum Johannis Burghershe nupta Johanni Arundel de Com. Cornubiae.

Johannes Arundell.

Hinc descendit hodiernus Johannes Arundel.

His Children, with their Advancement.

IT should seem, that Geffrey Chaucer had another Son besidesThomas Chaucer was born about the 38 or 39th Year of Edw. 3. Thomas; for in the Preface to theWritten Ann. Domini 1391. Rich. secund. 14. Astrolabe writeth to one, whom he calleth his little Son Lewis: yet some hold opinion, (but I know not upon what Grounds) that Thomas Chaucer was not the Son of Geffrey Chaucer, but rather some Kinsman of his, whom he brought up. But this Pedigree by the hands of Master Glover alias Somerset, that learned Antiquary, as also the Report of Chronicles, shew it to be otherwise.

[Page] Some say that in recompence of Geffrey Chaucer's Service in France, being sent thither Ambassador, Edward the Third gave him this Maud, Daughter and Heir of Sir This John Burghershe was of the same Line of Barrholomew Burghershe, one of the first Knights of the Garter at the Institution thereof by Edward 3. and of Henry Burghershe Bishop of Lincoln, and Chancellor and Treasurer of England. John Burghershe, Knight, whom he married to Thomas Chaucer his Son, to the great increase of his Living, and amendment in Blood.

This Thomas Chaucer, besides his own Inheritance ofEwelme olim Chauceri & Delapolorum, nunc Regiae aedes. Dum enim Johannes Lincolniae Comes Gulielmo Delapolo è filio Johanne nepos res novas contra Henricum septimum moliretur proscriptus omnibus honoribus, & his possessionibus excidit: quae in patrimonium Regium transcriptae fuerunt. G. C. Ewelm andDunnington Castle standeth in a Park in Barkshire not far from Newberry, where to this day standeth an old Oak called Chaucer's Oak. Dunnington Castle, (which M. Camben, England's most excellent Antiquiographer termeth, Quondam Chauceri, & postea Delapolorum Castellum exiguum) was divers ways preferred, as out of Records in the Tower of London here we may partly see.

Vicesimo secundo Rich. secundi viginti Marcae datae Thomae Chaucer per ann. durante vita.

Anno primo Henrici quarti idem donum viginti Marcarum confirmatum.

Thomas Chaucer primo anno Henrici sexti capitalis Pincerna Regis Angliae.

Thomas Chaucer, Sheriff of Oxfordshire and Barkshire, and Constable ofWallingford in Barkshire: Castrum admirandae amplitudinis & magnificentiae duplici murorum ambitu, duplici item vallo circundatum, in medio, moli in magnam altitudinem aeditae arx imponitur, in cujus acclivi per gradus ascensu fons est immensae profunditatis. Incolae constructum à Danis credunt, alii à Romanis. G. Camben. Wallingford-Castle andKnaresborow in Yorkshire. Castrum rupi asperrimae impositum, quod Serlonem de Burgo patruum Eustacii Vescii condidisse ferunt: nunc patrimonii Lancastrensis censetur. G. Camden. Knaresborow Castle, and the Forest of Knaresborow, during Life.

Queen This Jane of Navarr, Widow to John of Mounford, Duke of Britain, was married to Henry the Fourth, about the fourth Year of his Reign. Jane, Wife to Henry the Fourth, the twelfth year of his Reign, gave to Thomas Chaucer, for his good Service, Manerium de Woodstock, Hannebrough, Wotton, & Stuntesfield, cum omnibus membris & Hamlet. suis durante vita.

Thomas Chaucer, the last Heir male of the Chaucers, and Owner of Ewelm and Dunnington Castle, the Inheritance of the Chaucers, lieth buried in a black Marble Tomb, in a fair Chappel, in the Parish-Church of Ewelm, in the south side of the Quire, with this Epitaph, Hic jacet Thomas Chaucer, Armiger, quondam dominus istius villae, & patronus istius Ecclesiae, qui obiit 18 die Mensis Novemb. Anno Dom. 1434. & Matildis uxor ejus, quae obiit 28 die Mensis Aprilis, Anno Dom. 1436.

Thomas Chaucer had one only Daughter, named Alice, married thrice; first to Sir John Phillip, Knight; then to Thomas Mountacute, Earl of Salisbury; and the third time toThe Pooles Advancement grew first by Merchandise: and Sir Richard Poole, Kt. was Father to William de la Pool, Merchant of Hull, who, for that he frankly and freely did lend to King Ed. 3. a great Sum of Mony (at Mortaign in France, when he was greatly distressed) was honoured with the Girdle Military, made Banneret, and endued with 1000 Marks by the Year; and his Successors after were advanced to be Dukes of Suffolk, as in Master Stow's Annals appeareth. William de la Pole, Earl, and after Duke of Suffolk; who, for love of his Wife, and commodity of her Lands, fell much to dwell in Oxfordshire and Barkshire, where his Wives Lands lay. Between them they had a Son called John, as appeareth in the Book of the Foundation of the Hospital of Ewelm, (which is to be seen in Mr. Stow's Library) where the Master, Minister, and the poor Men, are enjoyned to gather themselves at appointed times about the Tomb of Thomas Chaucer and Maud his Wife, Father and Mother of the Dutchess, and there to say certain Prayers appointed; which being ended, one of them is to say openly in the English Tongue, God save in Body and Soul our sovereign Lord the King; my Lord William Duke of Suffolk; my Lady Alice, Dutchess of Suffolk his Wife, our Foundress; my Lord John their Son, and all Christian People; the Brethren answering, Amen. This is added, because some have held, that she never had Child, but that the Duke had this Son by another Wife: although indeed the descending of the Chaucers Lands to the Poles, and after to the King, might sufficiently confute them. But what is it wherein some will not cavil?

This William and his Wife increased the Manor Place of Ewelm, William de la Pole was first secretly married to the Countess of Henault, by whom he had a Daughter: and after being divorced from her, was publickly married to T. Chaucer's Daughter, Countess of Salisbury, who proved this Daughter, being married to one Barentine, a Bastard. The which Barentine afterward, for a Rior made against the Countess, was condemned, and lost an hundred Pounds by the Year. J. Stow. and builded there a Parish-Church, and an Hospital called Gods-house, for two Priests and thirteen poor men, to be sustained for ever. One of the Priests to be Master of the Alms-house and Alms people, them to instruct; the other Priest, a School-master, freely to teach the Children of the Tenants of the said Lordship their Grammar; and either of them to have ten Pounds by the Year. Also one of the poor men to be called Minister, to present the Faults of the other to the Master, and to ring their common Bell to Service, [Page] and to have sixteen Pence the Week, and the rest fourteen Pence. To the which House they gave the Manors of Ramridge in Hampshire, Conock in Wiltshire, and Mersh in Buckinghamshire. They also founded an Hospital at Donnington Castle J. St.

This Alice, In the 28. of K. Hen. 6. 1450. this William de la Pole was banished the Realm for five Years, to pacifie the hard opinion which the Commons had conceived against him. In his Journey to his Banishment he was taken and beheaded, and his Body cast up at Dover Sands, and buried in the Charter-house at Hull. J. St. Wife of Duke William, surviving her Husband, was after buried in the Parish Church of Ewelm, on the South-side of the high Altar, in a rich Tomb of Alabaster, with an Image in the Habit of a Vowess, and Dutchess crowned, lying on the same Tomb: and another Image under the Tomb, so near as may be, like unto her at the time of her Death, with this Epitaph, Orate pro anima serenissimae principissae Aliciae Suffolchiae, hujus Ecclesiae Patronae, & primae fundatricis hujus Eleemosinariae, quae obiit 20 die mensis Maii, Anno Dom. 1475. Litera Dominicali, A.

Among many things that greatly renowned Geffrey Chaucer, this was one saith Bale, That he had a Kinswoman, Quae Gulielmo Sudovolgiorum Duci nupsit, ac magno in splendore Aquelmi vitam egit: that is, which being married to William Duke of Suffolk, lived in great Honour at Ewelm.

His Revenues.

BUT now to return to Geffrey Chaucer: although he had Lands and Revenues in divers Places, and that to the yearly value, as some say, almost of a thousand Pounds, yet the Place of his most Abode was at Woodstock, in a fair House of Stone next to the King's Place, called to this day Chaucer's House, and by that Name passed by the Queen to the Tenant which there now dwelleth. Chaucer took great Pleasure to lye there, in regard of the Park, in sundry of his Writings much by him commended; as also to be near the Court, where his best Friends were, and they who were able to do him most Pleasure: by whose means he had sundry Rewards bestowed upon him, and that worthily, for his good Service, which often he performed, and whereof in Chronicles and Records we may read.

His Service.

IN the last Year of King Edward the Third,This Sir Rich. Dangle, a Knt. of Poictu, came over with the Duke of Lancaster, who, for his Valiancy and tryed Truth to the King of England, was made Knight of the Garter. he with Sir Richard Dangle, and Sir Richard Stan, was sent to Montrevil to move a Marriage to be had between Richard Prince of Wales, and the Lady Mary, Daughter to the French King. Some write, that he, with Petrark, was present at the Marriage of Lionel Duke of Clarence with Violant Daughter of Galeasius Duke of Millain; yet Paulus Jovius nameth not Chaucer, but Petrark, he saith, was there. And yet it may well be; for it is in Record, that twice or thrice he was employed in foreign Countries: which if it be true, well might the man be at such Charges and Expences as he might stand in need of King Richard the Second's Protection (as after shall appear) till he had better recovered himself. But for his Service he was not unrewarded.

His Rewards.

CHaucer is called Armiger Regis: for in the Patent Rolls of Part 1. of 50 Ed. 3. M. 5. the King maketh a Grant, Armigero nostro Galfrido Chaucer. This Armiger Regis was of good Worship and Reputation about the Prince, being also the same that Scutifer Regis was, to bear the King's Shield and other Armour of his, both out and in the Wars. By which Name of Scutifer Regis, the King granted to him the Lands and Body of Sir Edmund Staplegat, for the Manor of Bilsington in Kent, to whom he paid 104 Pounds for the same; as appeareth in Patent Part 2. de anno 49 Edw. 3. Again, the King before that, in 45 Edw. 3: as appeareth in pellis Exitus of the Exchequer, had granted unto him twenty Marks by Year, by the Name of Galfride Chaucer Valectus Hospitii; which is, Groom of the Palace, a place of good Worship. By which Name of Valectus▪ also King Edw. 3. long before did entite Laurence Hastings, Lord of Aburganey, calling him Valectum nostrum, being the King's Groom, Page, or Servant. For unto this day, certain Servitors of the Queens are called Pages and Grooms, being of Worship and Reputation, as are the Grooms of the Privy Chamber. By which may be gathered in what Credit G. Chaucer was with King Edw. 3.

[Page] Anno 8 Richardi 2. Galfridus Chaucer Contrarotulator Customarïorum & Subsidiorum in portu Civitatis nostrae London.

Anno 17 Richardi 2. Viginti librae datae Galfrido Chaucero per annum durante vita:

Vigessimo secundo anno Richardi secundi concessum Galfrido Chaucer unum dolium vini per annum durante vita, in portu civitatis London. per manus capitalis Pincernae nostri.

Anno primo Henrici quarti Galfrido Chaucero Armigero literae patentes confirmatae pro viginti libris nummorum per annum durante vita & uno dolio vini.

Eodem etiam anno concessae adhuc & datae eidem Galfrido Chaucero Quadraginta marcae per annum durante vita.

His Friends.

FRiends he had in the Court, of the best sort: for besides that he always held in with the Princes, in whose days he lived, he had of the best of the Nobility, both Lords and Ladies, which favoured him greatly. But chiefly John of Gaunt Duke of Lancaster, at whose commandment he made the TreatiseSome say he did but translate it; and that it was made by Sir Otes de Grantsome, Knight, in French: of my Lady of York, Daughter to the King of Spain, representing Venus; and my Lord of Huntingdon, sometime Duke of Excester. This Lady was younger Sister to Constance, John of Gaunt's second Wife. This Lord of Huntingdon was called John Holland, half Brother to Richard the Second: He married Elizabeth the Daughter of John of Gaunt Duke of Lancaster. Of the Alliance betwixt Mars and Venus: and also the Book of the Dutchess. Likewise the Lady Isabel, Daughter to King Edward the Third, and Wife to Ingeram de Guynes, Lord De Coucy: also the Lady Margaret, Daughter to the same King, married to John Hastings Earl of Penbrook, did greatly love and favour Geffrey Chaucer; and he again did as much honour them, but especially the Lady Margaret, as it may appear in divers Treatises by him written: as in the Prologue of the Legend of good Women under the Name of the Daisy; and likewise in a Ballad, beginning, In the season of Feuerier. Others there were of great account, whereof some, for some causes, took liking of him, and other for his rare Gifts and Learning did admire him. And thus he lived in honour many Years both at home and abroad.

Yet it seemeth that he was in some trouble in the days of King Richard the Second, as it may appear in the Testament of Love; where he doth greatly complain of his own rashness in following the multitude, and of their hatred against him for bewraying their purpose. And in that complaint which he maketh to his empty Purse, I do find a written Copy, which I had of Mr. Stow (whose Library helped me in many things) wherein ten times more is adjoyned than is in Print. Where he maketh great Lamentation for his wrongful Imprisonment, wishing death to end his days: which in my Judgment doth greatly accord with that in the Testament of Love. Moreover, we find it thus in Record:

In the second Year of Richard the Second,Out of the Records in the Tower. The King took Geffrey Chaucer and his Lands into his Protection: the occasion whereof, no doubt, was some danger and trouble wherein he was fallen by favouring some rash attempt of the common People. For living in such troublesome times, wherein few knew what part to take, no marvel if he came into some danger, nay great marvel that he fell not into greater danger. But as he was learned, so was he wise, and kept himself much out of the way in Holland, Zeland, and France, where he wrote most of his Books.

His Books.

CHaucer had always an earnest desire to enrich and beautifie our English Tongue, which in those days was very rude and barren; and this he did, following the Example of Dantes and Petrarch, who had done the same for the Italian Tongue, Alanus for the French, and Johannes Mena for the Spanish; neither was Chaucer inferiour to any of them in the performance hereof: and England in this respect is much beholden to him, as Leland well noteth;

Anglia Chaucerum veneratur nostra poetam,

Cui veneres debet patria lingua suas:

Our England honoureth Chaucer Poet, as principal

To whom her Country Tongue doth owe her Beauties all.

[Page] Besides those Books of his which we have in print, he wrote divers others; as,

De Vulcani veru.

De Leone & eius dignitate.

Comoedias & Tragoedias.

Facetias & Jocos.

Jack Vpland against Friars. Now Printed.

And His A. B. C. Now Printed.

Others I have seen without any Authors Name, in the hands of Mr. Stow, that painful Antiquary; which for the Invention I would verily judge to be Chaucer's, were it not that Words and Phrases carry not every where Chaucer's Antiquity. Mr. William Thynn, in his first printed Book of Chaucer's Works, with one Column on a side, had a Tale called the Pilgrims Tale, which was more odious to the Clergy than the Speech of the Plowman. The Tale began thus; In Lincolneshire fast by a fenne, Standeth a religious house who doth it kenne. The Argument of which Tale, as also the occasion thereof, and the cause why it was left out of Chaucer's Works, shall hereafter be shewed, if God permit, in Mr. Francis Thynn's Comment upon Chaucer; and the Tale it self published if possibly it can be found.

Now, concerning those Books which we have in print; The Canterbury Tales for the most part were of his own Invention; yet some of them translated, and penned in King Richard the Second's Days, and after the Insurrection of Jack Straw, which was in the fourth Year of the same King; for in the Tale of the Nuns Priest, he maketh mention thereof.

The Romaunt of the Rose was translated out of French.

Troilus and Creseid, called Trophe in the Lumbard Tongue, was translated out of Latin, as in the Preface to the second Book of Troilus and Creseid he confesseth in these Words:

To every Lover I me excuse,

That of no sentement I this endite,

But out of Latin in my Tongue it write.

Mary Magdalen, translated out of St. Origen.

The Ballad, Fly from the Prease, made by Chaucer on his Death-bed:

The Letter of Cupid is none of Chaucer's doing, but was compiled byThomas Occleve, vel Ockelese, vir tam bonis literis, quam generis prosapia clarus exquisua quadam Anglici sermonis eloquentia post Chaucerum, cujus suerat discipulus, patriam ornavit linguam. Johannis Wiclevi, & ipsius Berengarii in religione doctrinam sequebatur. Tractatus hos fecit: Planctum proprium. Dialogum and amicum. De quadam Imperatrice. De arte moriendi. De coelesti Hierusalem. De quodam Jonatha. De Regimine Principis. Thomas Occleve, of the Office of the privy Seal, sometime Chaucer's Scholar. The which Occleve, for the Love he bare to his Master, caused his Picture to be truly drawn in his Book De Regimine Principis, dedicated to Henry the Fifth; the which I have seen, and according to which this in the beginning of this Book was done by Mr. Spede, who hath annexed thereto all such Coats of Arms, as any way concern the Chaucers, as he found them (travelling for that Purpose) at Ewelm and at Wickham.

Occleve, in that Book where he setteth down Chaucer's Picture, addeth these Verses:

Although his life be queint, the resemblaunce

Of him that hath in me so fresh livelines,

That to put other men in remembraunce

Of his person, I have here the likenes

Do make, to the end in soothfastnes,

That they that of him have lost thought and mind,

By this peinture may again him find.

His Death.

GEffrey Chaucer departed out of this World the 25th of October, in the Year of our Lord 1400, after he had lived about 72 Years. Thus writeth Bale out of Leland; Chaucerus ad canos devenit, sensitque senectutem morbum esse; & dum causas suas Londini curaret, &c. Chaucer lived till he was an old Man, and found old Age to be grievous: and whilst he followed his Causes at London, he died, and was buried at Westminster.

[Page] The old Verses which were written on his Grave at the first, were these:

Galfridus Chaucer vates & fama poesis,

Maternae hac sacra sum tumulatus humo.

But since Mr. Nicholas Brigham did at his own Cost and Charges erect a fair marble Monument for him, with his Picture, resembling that done by Occleve; and these Verses:

Qui fuit Anglorum vates ter maximus olint

Gaufredus Chaucer conditur hoc tumulo:

Annum si quaeras domini, si tempora vitae

Ecce notae subsunt, quae tibi cuncta notant.

Anno Domini 1400, die mensis Octob. 25.

About the Ledge of which Tomb were these Verses; now clean worn out:

Si rogites quis eram, forsan te fama docebit:

Quod si fama negat, mundi quia gloria transit,

Haec monumenta lege.

Now it shall not be amiss to these Epitaphs, to add the Judgements and Reports of some learned men, of this worthy and famous Poet. And first of all, Thomas Occleve, who lived in his Days, writeth thus of him in his Book De Regimine Principis:

But welaway so is mine hert woe

That the honour of English Tongue is deed,

Of which I wont was counsail have and reed.

O Master dere and Fadre reuerent,

My Master Chaucer, floure of Eloquence,

Mirror of fructuous entendement,

O universal Fadre of Science:

Alas that thou thine excellent prudence

In thy bed mortal mightest not bequeath.

What eyld Death? Alas why would she thee sle.

O Death that didest not harme singler in slaughter of him

But all the land it smerteth.

But nathelesse yet hast thou no power his Name sle,

His hie vertue afterteth

Vnslain fro thee, which ay us lifely herteth,

With Books of his ornat enditing,

That is to all this land enlumining.

The same Author again in the same Book:

My dear Maister, God his soule quite,

And Fader Chaucer faine would have me taught,

But I was young, and leered lite or nought,

Alas my worthy Maister honorable,

This Lands very treasure and richesse,

Death by thy death hath harme irreparable

Vnto us done: her vengeable duresse

Dispoiled hath this lond of the sweetnesse

Of Rhetorige: for unto Tullius

Was never man so like among us:

Also who was heire in Philosophy

To Aristotle, in our Tongue, but thou?

The steppes of Virgil in Poese

Thou suedest eken, men know well inough.

That combre World that thee my Maister slough

Would I slaine were: Death was too hastife

To renne on thee, and reve thee thy life,

She might have tarried her vengeance a while,

To that some man had egal to thee be.

Nay let be that: she knew wele that this Ile

May never man forth bring like unto thee:

And her Office needs do must she,

God had her so, I trust all for the best,

O Maister, Maister, God thy Soul rest.

[Page] DanJohn Lidgate Monk of Bury, an excellent Poet: He travelled France and Italy, to learn the Languages and Sciences. John Lidgate likewise, in his Prologue of Bocchas of the Fall of Princes, by him translated, saith thus in his Commendation.

My Maister Chaucer with his fresh Comedies,

Is dead alas, chief Poet of Britaine,

That whilome made full pitous Tragedies,

The faule also of Princes he did complaine,

As he that was of making soveraine,

Whom all this land should of right preferre,

Sith of our Language he was the Loadsterre.

Afterward in the same place do follow fourscore and three Verses in the Commendation of Chaucer, and the Books that he made particularly named.

In a Book of Master Stow's (but I know not who was the Author) I find these Verses;

O fathers and founders of enornat eloquence,

That elumined have our great Britaine,

To soon we have lost our lauriat Science,

O lusty licour of that fulsome Fountain,

O cursed Death, why hast thou those Poets slain,

I mean Gower, Chaucer, and

That is Geffrey Vinesause: of whom read in the Recital of Authors.

Gaufride,

Alas the time that ever they fro us dide.

John Lidgate again, in a Book which he writeth of the Birth of the Virgin Mary, hath these Verses;

And eke Maister Chaucer now is in graue,

The notable Rhetore, Poet of Britaine,

That worthy was the laurell to haue

Of poetry, and the palme attain,

That made first to distil and rain

The gold dew drops of speech and eloquence

Into our Tongue through his excellence.

And found the floures first of Rhetoricke,

Our rude Speech only to enlumine,

That in our Tongue was never none him like:

For as the sunne doth in heaven shine,

In midday spere down to us by line,

In whose presence no sterre may appear,

Right so his ditties withouten any peare

Every making with his light dislaine,

In soothfastnesse, who so taketh heed:

Wherefore no wonder though my hert plain

Vpon his death, and for sorrow bleed

For want of him now in my great need,

That should (alas) convay and eke direct,

And with his support amend and correct

The wrong traces of my rude Pen,

There as I erre, and go not line right.

But that for he ne may me not kenne,

I can no more but with all my might,

With all mine heart, and mine inward sight,

Prayeth for him that now lieth in chest,

To God aboue to giue his Soul good rest.

The excellent and learned Scottish Poet Gawyne Dowglas, Bishop of Dunkeld, in the Preface of Virgil's Eneados, turned into Scottish Verse, doth thus speak of Chaucer:

Venerable Chaucer, principal Poet without pere,

Heauenly Trumpet, Orloge, and Regulere,

[Page] In eloquence, baulme conduct, and Dyal,

Milky fountein, clear strand, and rose ryal

Of fresh endite through Alvione Island brayed,

In his Legend of notable ladies sayed, &c.

About William Caxton's Time,This William Caxton of London, Mercer, brought Printing out of Germany into England about the latter end of the Reign of Henry the Sixth, and practised the same in the Abbey of St. Peter at Westminster. It was first found in Germany at Mogunce, by one John Cuthembergus, a Knight; and brought to Rome by Conradus an Almaigne, as some Authors say. Stephanus Surigonius, Poet Laureat of Millain, did write this Epitaph upon Geffrey Chaucer, in Latin.

Epitaphium Galfridi Chaucer, per Poetam laureatum Stephanum Surigonum Mediolanensem in decretis licentiatum.

PYerides musae, si possint numina fletus

Fundere, divinas atque rigare genas:

Galfridi vatis Chaucer crudelia fata

Plangite: sit lachrimis abstinuisse nephas.

Vos coluit vivens: at vos celebrate sepultum,

Reddatur merito gratia digna viro.

Grande decus vobis est docti musa Maronis,

Qua didicit melius lingua latina loqui.

Grande, novum (que) decus Chaucer, famam (que) paravit:

Heu quantum fuerat prisca Britanna rudis.

Reddidit insignem maternis versibus, ut jam

Aurea splendescat, ferrea facta prius.

Hunc latuisse virum nil, si tot opuscula vertes,

Dixeris, egregiis quae decorata modis,

Socratis ingenium, vel fontes Philosophiae,

Quicquid & arcani dogmata sacra ferunt.

Et quascumque velis, tenuit dignissimus artes:

Hic vates parvo conditus hoc tumulo.

Ah laudis quantum, praeclara Britannia, perdis,

Dum rapuit tantum mors odiosa virum.

Crudeles Parcae, crudelia filia sororum:

Non tamen, extincto corpore, fama perit:

Vivet in aeternum, vivent dum scripta poetae:

Vivent aeterno tot monumenta die.

Si qua bonos tangit pietas, si carmine dignus,

Carmina, qui cecinit, tot cumulata modis,

Haec sibi Marmoreo scribantur verba sepulchro,

Haec maneat landis sarcina summa suae.

Galfridus Chaucer vates, & fama poesis

Maternae haec sacra sum timulatus humo.

Post obitum Caxton voluit te vivere cura

Guillelnii, Chaucer clare poeta, tui.

Nam tua non solum compressit opuscula formis,

Has quoque sed landes jussit hic esse tuas.

And as for men of later time, Mr. William Thynn, that learned Gentleman, and painful Collector of Chaucer's Works, in his Epistle Dedicatory to the King's Majesty, hath duely set forth the commendable Qualities of this Poet; whose Judgment we are the rather to approve, for that he had farther insight into him than many others: of whom, John Bale, in his Book De Scriptoribus Britan. Centur. 12. hath some 60 Years past delivered this; Guilhelmus Thynn, praeclari generis homo, & ab ineunte aetate in literis educatus, multo labore, sedulitate & cura usus, in perquirendis vetustis exemplaribus, Chauceri[Page]opera restituit, atque in unum collegit volumen: quod Henrico octavo Anglorum regi dedicavit. Since whose time, two of the purest and best Writers of our days, the one for Prose, the other for Verse, Mr. Ascham and Mr. Spenser, have delivered most worthy Testimonies of their approving of Chaucer. Mr. Ascham in one Place calleth him English Homer, and makes no doubt to say, that he valueth his Authority of as high Estimation as ever he did either Sophocles or Euripides in Greek. And in another place, where he declareth his Opinion of English versifying, he useth these Words. Chaucer and Petrark, those two worthy Wits, deserve just Praise. And last of all, in his Discourse of Germany, he putteth him nothing behind either Thucidides or Homer for his lively descriptions of site of Places, and nature of Persons both in outward shape of Body, and inward disposition of Mind; adding this withal, That not the proudest that hath written in any Tongue whatsoever, in these Points, can carry away the Praise from him.

Mr. Spenser, in his first Eglogue of his Shepherds Kalendar, calleth him Tityrus, the God of Shepherds, comparing him to the Worthiness of the Roman Tityrus Virgil. In his Fairy Queen, in his Discourse of Friendship, as thinking himself most worthy to be Chaucer's Friend, for his like natural Disposition that Chaucer had, the sheweth, that none that lived with him, nor none that came after him, durst presume to revive Chaucer's lost Labours in that imperfect Tale of the Squire, but only himself; which he had not done, had he not felt (as he saith) the Infusion of Chaucer's own sweet Spirit surviving within him. And a little before, he termeth him, Most renowned and Heroical Poet; and his Writings, The Works of Heavenly Wit; concluding his Commendation in this manner:

Dan Chaucer, Well of English, undefiled,

On Fame's eternal Beadrole worthy to be filed.

I follow here the footing of thy Feet,

That with thy meaning so I may the rather meet.

And once again I must remember Mr. Camden's Authority, who as it were reaching one hand to Mr. Ascham, and the other to Mr. Spenser, and so drawing them together, uttereth of him these Words: De Homero nostro Anglico illud vere asseram, quod de Homero eruditus ille Italus dixit:

—Hic ille est, cujus de gurgite sacro

Combibit arcanos vatum omnis turba furores.

And that we may conclude his Praises with the Testimony of the worthiest Gentleman that the Court hath afforded in many Years; Sir Philip Sidney, in his Apology for Poetry, saith thus of him; Chaucer undoubtedly did excellently in his Troilus and Creiseid; of whom truly I know not whether to marvel more, either that he in that misty time could see so clearly, or that we in this clear Age walk so stumblingly after him. Seeing therefore that both old and new Writers have carried this reverend Conceit of our Poet, and openly declared the same by Writing, let us conclude with Horace, in the eighth Ode of his fourth Book:

‘Dignum laude virum musa vetat mori.’

ADVERTISEMENT TO THE READER.

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HAving, for some Years last past, been greatly sollicited by many Learned and Worthy Gentlemen, to Re-print the Works of this Ancient Poet; I have now, not only to answer their Desire, but I hope to their full Satisfaction, perform'd the Obligation long since laid upon me, and sent Chaucer abroad into the World again, in his old dress, and under the Protection of his own Merits, without any new Preface or Letters Commendatory, it being the Opinion of those Learned Persons, that his own Works are his best Encomium.

Whereas in the Life of Chaucer, mention is made of a Tale, call'd the Pilgrims Tale, which is there said to have been seen in the Library of Mr. Stow, and promis'd to be printed so soon as opportunity should offer; I have, for the procuring of it, used all Diligence imaginable, not only in searching the publick Libraries of both Universities, but also all private Libraries that I could have Access unto; but having no Success therein, I beg you will please to accept my earnest Endeavour to have serv'd you, and take what is here printed, it being all that at present can be found that was Chaucer's.

J. H.

§

§

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THE Works of Ieffrey Chaucer, With Additions. Also the Siege and Destruction of the worthy City of Thebes; Compiled by John Lidgate, Monk of BVRY.

Virtue flourisheth in Chaucer still, Though Death of him hath wrought his will.

To the KING's HIGHNESS, My most Gracious Soveraign Lord, HENRY the Eighth, By the Grace of God, King of England, and of France, Defensor of the Faith, and Lord of Ireland, &c.

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AMongs all other excellencies, most Gracious Soveraigne Lord, wherewith Almighty God hath endowed mankind, above the residue of earthly creatures, as an outward declaration of reason or reasonableness, wherein consisteth the similitude of Man unto Angels, and the difference between the same and brute beasts, I verayly suppose, that Speech or Language is not to be reputed amongs the smallest or inferiours: for thereby is expressed the conceit of one to another, in open and plaine Sentence, which in the residue of lively creatures lacketh and is not shewed amongs them, but by certain covert and derke signes, and that in few things, having course and operation onely of nature. This Speech or Language, after the confusion of Tongues, sent by Gods punishment for pride and arrogancy of people, hath been by a certaine instinct and disposition natural, devised and invented in sundry parts of the world, as fellowships or companyings of folks one with another chaunced, much to the outward expressing of the thing in word or sound, according to that whereof it had meaning or signification. But in processe of time, by diligence or pollicy of people, after divers formes, figures, and impressions in mettall, barks of trees, and other matter used for memory and knowledge of things, then present or passed, sundry letters or carectes were first amongs the Phenices devised and found, with such knittings and joynings of one to another, by a marvellous subtilty and craft, as counterveiled was and is equivalent to the same Languages. So as the conceit of mans mind, which at the beginning was used to be declared by mouth only, came to such point, that it was as sensibly and vively expressed in writing. Hereupon ensued a great occasion & courage unto them that should write, to compone and adorne the rudeness and barbariety of speech, and to forme it to an eloquent and ordinate perfection: whereunto many, and many great Poets and Orators have highly employed their studies and courages, leaving thereby notable Renoume of themselves, and example perpetual to their posterity. Amongs other, the Greeks in all kinds of sciences seemed so to prevail, and so to ornate their Tongue, as yet by other of right noble Languages cannot be perfitely imitated or followed. The Latines by example of the Greeks, have gotten or wonne to them no small glory, in the forming, order, and uttering of that Tongue. Out of the which two, if it be well searched, that is to say, Greeke and Latin (though by corruption of speech it should seeme much otherwise) have been derived the residue of the Languages, that be written with the letters of carectes of either of them both: But of all Speeches, those which most approch to ye Latin, be the Italian and Spanish Tongues; of whom the one by corruption of the Gothes and Longobardes had her beginning, as Latin spoken by strangers of a barbare understanding: the other being also Latin, was by Vandales, Gothes, Moores, Sarracenes, and other so many times blemished, as marveile it is to see now unto what perfection these two formed out of the Latin and Barbares speeches be reduced. Next unto them in similitude to the Latin is the French tongue, which by diligence of people of the same, is in few years passed so amended, as well in Pronunciation as in Writing, that an Englishman, by a small time exercised in that Tongue, hath not lacked ground to make a Grammere, or rule ordinary thereof. Though of trouth (which some shall scarcely believe) the Germans have so formed the order of their Language, that in the same is both as much plenty and as nere concordaunce to the phrase of the Latin, as the French Tongue hath. And veraily, like as all these and the rest have been thus vigilant and studious to meliorate or amend their Languages; so hath there not lacked amongs us, Englishmen, which have right well and notably endeavored and emploied themselves, to the beautifying and bettering of the English Tongue.

Amongs whom, most excellent Prince, my most redoubted and gracious soveraign lord, I your most humble Vassale, Subject & Servaunt, William Thynn, chief Clerke of your Kitchin, mooved by a certain inclination and [Page] zeal, which I have, to hear of any thing sounding to the laud and honour of this your noble Realm, have taken great delectation, as the times and leisers might suffer, to rede and heare the books of that noble & famous Clerke Geffrey Chaucer, in whose workes is so manifest comprobation of his excellent learning, in all kindes of doctrines and sciences, such fruitfulness in words, well according to the matter and purpose, to sweet & pleasaunt sentences, such perfection in metre, the composition so adapted, such freshness of invention, compendiousnesse in narration, such sensible and open stile, lacking neither majesty ne mediocrity, covenable in disposition, and such sharpness or quickness in conclusion, that it is much to be marvailed, how in his time, when doutless all good letters were laid asleep throughout the world, as the thing, which either by the disposition and influence of the bodies above, or by other ordinaunce of God, seemed like (as was in danger) to have utterly perished, such an excellent Poet in our tongue, shuld as it were (nature repugning) spring and arise. For tho it had been in Demosthenes or Homerus times, when all learning and excellency of sciences flourished amongs the Greeks, or in the season that Cicero prince of eloquence amongs Latines lived, yet had it been a thing right rare & straunge, and worthy perpetual laud, that any Clerke by learning or witte, could then have framed a tongue, before so rude & imperfite, to such a sweet ornature and composition; likely, if he had lived in these days, being good letters so restored and revived as they be, if he were not empeached by the envy of such as may tollerate nothing, which to understond, their capacity doth not extend, to have brought it unto a full and final perfection. Wherefore, gracious soveraigne lord, taking such delight and pleasure in the works of this noble Clerke (as is aforementioned) I have of a long season much used to rede and visite the same, and as books of divers imprints came unto my hands, I easily and without great study might and have deprehended in them many errours, falsities, and depravations, which evidently appeared by the contrarieties and alterations found by collation of the one with the other, whereby I was moved and stirred to make diligent search where I might find or recover any true copies or exemplaries of ye said books, whereunto in process of time, not without cost and pain, I attained, and not only unto such as seem to be very true copies of those works of Geffrey Chaucer, which before had been put in print, but also to divers other never till now imprinted, but remaining almost unknowne, and in oblivion: whereupon lamenting with my self the negligence of the people that have been in this Realm, who doubtless were very remiss in the setting forth or avauncement either of the Histories thereof, to the great hinderaunce of the renoume of such noble Princes, & valiant Conquerours and Captains, as have been in the same, or also of the works of memory of the famous and excellent Clerks in all kinds of sciences, that have flourished therein. Of which both sorts, it hath pleased God as highly to nobilitate this Isle, as any other Region of Christendome: I thought it in manere appertenaunt unto my duty, and that of very honesty and love to my Country, I ought no less to do, than to put my helping hand to the restauration and bringing again to light of the said works, after the true Copies and Exemplaries aforesaid. And devising with my self, who of all other were most worthy, to whom a thing so excellent and notable should be dedicate, which to my conceit seemeth for the admiration, novelty, and strangeness, yt it might be deputed to be of in the time of ye Authour, in comparison, as a pure and fine tried precious or pollished jewel, out of a rude or indigest masse or matere, none could to my thinking occurre, that since, or in ye time of Chaucer, was or is sufficient, but only your Majesty Royal, which by discretion and judgement, as most absolute in wisedome, and all kinds of doctrine, could, and of his innate clemency and goodness would, add or give any Authority hereunto.

For this cause, most excellent, and in all vertues most prestante Prince, I as humbly prostrate before your Kingly estate, lowly supply and beseech the same, yt it woll vouchsafe to toke in good part my poor study and desirous mind, in reducing unto light this so precious and necessary an ornament of the tongue in this your Realm, over pitous to have been in any point lost, falsified, or neglected: So that under the shield of your most royal Protection and Defence, it may go forth in publick, and prevail over those yt would blemish, deface, and in many things clearly abolish the laud, renoume, and glory heretofore compared, and meritoriously adquired by divers Princes, and other of this said most noble Isle, whereunto not only Straungers under pretext of high learning and knowlege of their malicious and perverse minds, but also some of your own subjects, blinded in folly and ignoraunce, do with great study contend. Most gracious, victorious, and of God most elect and worthy Prince, my most dread soveraigne Lord, in whom of very merite, duty, and succession, is renued the glorious Title of Defensor of ye Christen Faith, which by your noble Progenitour, the Great Constantine, sometime King of this Realm, & Emperour or Rome, was next God and his Apostles, cheefly maintained, corroborate, and defended: Almighty Iesu send to your Highness the continuall and everlasting habundance of his infinite Grace. Amen.

A TABLE of the Principal Matters Contained in this VOLUME; Which you may find by the Folio's, as follows.

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Folio

THE Prologues of the Canterbury Tales 1

The Knights Tale Folio 9

The Millers Tale Folio 26

The Reves Tale Folio 33

The Cooks Tale Folio 36

The man of Laws Tale Folio 38

The Squires Tale Folio 47

The Marchants Tale Folio 53

The Wife of Bathes Prologue Folio 62

The Wife of Bathes Tale Folio 69

The Freres Tale Folio 72

The Sompnours Tale Folio 75

The Clerke of Oxenfords Tale Folio 80

The Frankeleins Tale Folio 91

The second Nonnes Prologue Folio 98

The second Nonnes Tale Folio 99

The Prologue of the Chanons Yeoman 102, Folio 103

The Chanons Yeomans Tale Folio 104

The Doctour of Physickes Tale Folio 110

The Pardoners Prologue Folio 112

The Pardoners Tale Folio 113

The Shipmans Tale Folio 117

The Prioresse Prologue Folio 121

The Prioresse Tale ibid.

The Rime of Sir Topas Folio 123

The Tale of Chaucer Folio 125

The Monks Prologue Folio 141

The Monks Tale Folio 142

The Tale of the Nonnes Priest Folio 149

The Manciples Tale Folio 155

The Plowman's Tale Folio 157

The Parsons Tale Folio 169

The Romaunt of the Rose Folio 199

Troilus and Creseide is divided into five Books.

The first Booke beginneth Folio 258

The second Booke beginneth Folio 268

The third Booke beginneth Folio 283

The fourth Booke beginneth Folio 298

The fifth Booke beginneth Folio 313

The Testament of Creseide Folio 329

The Legend of good women hath all these following.

The Prologue Folio 334

The Legend of Cleopatras Folio 339

The Legend of Tisbe of Babylon Folio 340

The Legend of Queene Dido Folio 341

The Legend of Hipsiphile and Medea Folio 345

The Legend of Lucrece of Rome Folio 347

The Legend of Ariadne Folio 349

The Legend of Philomene Folio 351

The Legend of Phillis Folio 353

The Legend of Hypermestra Folio 354

A goodly Ballad of Chaucer Folio 355

Boetius de Consolatione is divided into five Books.

The first booke beginneth Folio 356

The second booke beginneth Folio 363

The third booke beginneth Folio 373

The fourth booke beginneth Folio 387

The fifth booke beginneth Folio 399

All these Works following be Works by themselves.

The Dream of Chaucer called the Duchess Folio 408

The Assembly of Poules Folio 418

The Floure of Courtesie Folio 425

How Pity is dead, &c. Folio 427

La belle dame sans mercy Folio 428

Annelida and false Arcite Folio 435

The Complaint of Annelida to false Arcite Folio 437

The Assembly of Ladies Folio 439

The Conclusion of the Astrolaby Folio 445

The Complaint of the black Knight Folio 460

A Praise of Women Folio 466

The House of Fame is divided into three Books.

The first booke beginneth Folio 467

The second booke beginneth Folio 471

The third booke beginneth Folio 476

The Testament of Love is divided into three Books.

The Prologue of the Testament of Love Folio 484

The first booke beginneth Folio 485

The second booke beginneth Folio 500

The third booke beginneth Folio 521

All these Works following be Works by themselves.

[Page]The Lamentation of Mary Mag. Folio 537

The Remedy of Love Folio 545

The Complaint of Mars and Venus Folio 548

The Complaint of Mars alone Folio 550

The Complaint of Venus alone Folio 551

The Letter of Cupid Folio 552

A Ballad of our Lady Folio 556

A Ballad to King Henry the IV. Folio 558

Three Sayings of Dan John Lid. Folio 562

Of the Cuckow and the Nightingale ibid.

Scogan unto the young Lords and Gentlemen of the King's House Folio 565

Divers other Ballads of Chaucer, &c. Folio 567

A Ballad of good Counsel, made by John Lidgate Folio 569

A Praise or Commendation of Caucer's Eloquence Folio 570

A Ballad, [...]eaching what is Gentilness ibid.

A Proverb against Covetise and Negligence ibid.

A Ballad against unconstant Women ibid.

How all things in this World is variable, save Women only ibid.

The Craft of Lovers Folio 571

A pleasant Ballad of Women Folio 573

The ten Commandements of Love ibid.

The nine Ladies worthy Folio 574

Certain Ballads Folio 575

How Mercury, with three Goddesses, appeared to Paris Folio 576

A Ballad pleasaunt ibid.

The discriving of a fair Lady ibid.

A Ballad warning men to beware of deceitful Women ibid.

Certain Verses compiled by Chaucer Folio 578

A Ballad declaring the worthiness of Womens Chastity Folio 579

The Court of Love ibid.

Chaucer's Dream Folio 592

The Floure and the Leafe Folio 609

The A. B. C. called, la priere de nostre dame Folio 615

Jack Upland Folio 616

Chaucer's Words to Adam his own Scrivener Folio 621

The Prologue of the Story of Thebes Folio 622

The first Part of the Siege of Thebes Folio 623

The second Part of the Siege of Thebes Folio 630

The third Part of the Siege of Thebes Folio 643

Eight goodly Questions, with their Answers.

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SOmetime in Greece, that noble region,

There were eight clerkes of full great

science,

Philosophers of notable discretion:

Of whom was asked, to proue their prudence

Eight Questions, of derke intelligence:

To which they answered after their entent,

As here doth appeare plaine and euident.

The first question was, What earthly thing

Is best, and to God most commendable?

The first clerke answerd without tarying,

A mans soule, euer ferme and stable

In right, from the trouth not variable.

* But now alas, full sore may we weepe:

For couetise hath brought trouth asleepe.

The second, What thing is most odious?

A double man, saied the Philosopher,

With a virgine face, and a taile venemous:

With a faire view, and a false profer:

A corrupt carien in a golden tree.

* It is a monster in natures linage,

One man to have a double visage.

The third, What is the best dower

That may be to a wife appropriate?

A cleane life, was the clerkes answer,

Without sinne, all chast, and inuiolate

From all deceits, and speeches inornate,

Or countenaunce, which shall be to dispise.

* No fire make, and then no smoke woll arise.

The fourth question, What maiden may

Be called cleane in chastity?

The fourth clerke answered, which alway

Euery creature is ashamde on to lie:

Of whom men reporten great honestie.

* Good maidens keepe your chastity forth,

And remember, y• good name is gold worth.

Who is a poore man euer full of wo?

A couetous man, which is a nigon:

He that in his heart can neuer say ho:

The more good, the lesse distribution,

The richer, the worse of condition,

Men in this coast clepen him a niggard,

Sir Guy the bribour is his steward.

Which is a rich man, without fraud?

He that can to his good suffise:

Whatsoeuer he hath, he yeueth God y• laud:

And keepeth him cleane from all couetise:

He desires nothing in vngodly wise:

His body is here, his mind is aboue:

* He is a rich man, for God doth him loue.

Who is a foole is the seventh demaund?

He that would hurt, and hath no powere:

Might he mikell, much would he command:

His mallice great, his might nought were:

He thretteth full fast, full little may he dere:

He thinketh not how men haue saied be forne,

* God sendeth a shrewd Cow a short horne.

Who is a wise man is the eight question?

He that might noye, & doth no annoiaunce:

Might punish, and leaueth punission:

A man mercifull, without vengeaunce.

A wise man putteth in remembraunce,

* Saying, Had I venged all mine harme,

My cloke had not be furred halfe so warme.

Explicit.

To the King's most noble Grace, and to the Lords and Knights of the Garter.

TO you wele of honour and worthiness,

Our Christen King, ye heire & successour

Vnto Iustinians deuout tendernesse,

In the faith of Iesu our redemptour:

And to your Lords of the Garter, floure

Of cheualrie, as men you clepe and call,

The lord of vertue, and of grace authour,

Graunt the fruit of your lose, neuer appall.

O liege Lord, that haue the likenesse

Of Constantine, thensample and mirrour

To Princes all, in humble buxomenesse,

To holy Church, o veray sustainour

And piller of our faith, and werriour,

Againe of heresies the bitter Gall:

Doe forth, doe forth, continue your succour,

Hold up Christs banner, let it not fall.

This Isle or this had been but heathenesse

Had be of your faith the force and vigour,

And yet this day the fiends crabbedness

Weneth fully to catch a time and houre,

To haue on vs your lieges a sharpe shoure,

And to his seruitude vs knitte and thrall:

But aye we trust in you our protectour,

On your constaunce we awaiten all.

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Commandeth yt no wight haue hardinesse,

O worthy King, our Christen Emperour,

Of the faith to disputen more or lesse

Openly emong people: Her errour

Springeth all day, and engendreth rumour.

Maketh such law, and for ought may befall,

Obserue it wele, thereto be ye doctour,

Doeth so, and God in glorie shall you stall.

Ye Lords eke, shining in noble fame,

To which appropred is the maintenaunce

Of Christs cause, in honour of his name,

Shoue on, and put his foes to vttraunce,

God would so, so would eke your legiaunce,

To tho two, aye pricketh you your dutie:

Who so nat keepeth this double obseruaunce

Of merite and honour naked is he.

Your stile saieth, ye be foes to shame,

Now kith of your faith the perseuerance,

In which an heap of us he halt and lame:

Our christen King of England & of France,

And ye my lords, with your alliance,

And other faithfull people that there be,

Trust I to God, shal quench al this noisance,

And this land set in high prosperitie.

Conquest of high prowesse is for to tame

The wild woodnesse of all these miscreaunce,

Right to the rote daily repe ye that same,

Slepen nat this, but for Gods pleasaunce

And his mother, and in signifiaunce,

That ye been of Saint Georges liuere,

Doeth him seruice, and knightly obeisaunce,

For Christs cause is his, well knowne ye.

Stiff stand in that, & ye shall greeue & grame

The foe to peace, the norice of distaunce,

That now is earnest, turne it into game,

Now kithe of your beleeve the constaunce,

Lord liege, & Lords haue in remembraunce,

Lord of all is the blisfull Trinitie,

Of whose vertue, the mightie habundaunce

You heart and strength in faithfull vnitie.

Explicit.

§

§

WHen faith fayleth in Priestes sawes,

And lords hestes are holden for lawes,

And robberie is holden purchace,

And letchery is holden sollace:

Then shall the lond of Albion

Be brought to great confusion.

It falleth for a gentleman

To say the best that he can

Always in mannes absence,

And the sooth in his presence.

It commeth by kind of gentill blood

To cast away all heauinesse,

And gader togither words good,

The werke of wisdome beareth witnesse.

Canterbury Tales

Canterbury Tales

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The Argument to the Prologues.

THE Author, in these Prologues to his Canterbury Tales, doth describe the Reporters thereof for two causes: first, that the Reader, seeing the quality of the Person, may judge of his speech accordingly: wherein Chaucer hath most excellently kept that decorum, which Horace requireth in that behalf. Secondly, to shew, how that even in our Language, that may be performed for descriptions, which the Greek and Latine Poets in their Tongues have done at large. And surely this Poet, in the judgment of the best learned, is not inferiour to any of them in his descriptions, whether they be of Persons, Times, or Places. Under the Pilgrims, being a certain number, and all of differing Trades, he comprehendeth all the People of the Land, and the nature and disposition of them in those dayes; namely, given to devotion, rather of custom than of zeal. In the Tales is shewed the state of the Church, the Court, and Countrey, with such Art and cunning, that although none could deny himself to be touched, yet none durst complain that he was wronged. For the man, being of greater Learning than the most, and backed by the best in the Land, was rather admired and feared, than any way disgraced. Whoso shall read these his Works without prejudice, shall find that he was a man of rare Conceit and of great Reading.

§

WHen that Aprill with his shours sote,

The drought of March had pierced to the rote,

And bathed every vaine in suche lycour,

Of which vertue engendred is the flour:

When Zephyrus eke with his sote breath,

Espired hath in every holt and heath,

The tender croppes, and that the yong sonne

Hath in the Ram halfe his course yronne,

And small foules maken melody,

That slepen all nyght with open eye:

So priketh hem nature in her courage,

Then longen folke to goe on pilgrimage,

And Palmers to seeken straunge strondes,

To serve hallowes couth in sundry londes:

And specially fro every shyres end

Of England, to Canterbury they wend,

The holy blissful martyr for to seeke,

That hem hath holpen when they were seeke.

IT befell that season on a day,

In Southwarke at the Taberde as I lay,

Ready to wend in my pilgrimage

To Canterbury, with devout courage,

That night was come into that hostelry,

Well nine and twenty in a company,

Of sundry folke, by aventure yfall

In fellowship, and pilgrimes were they all,

That toward Canterbury would ride:

The chambers and stables weren wide,

And well weren they eased at the best.

And shortly, when the sunne was at rest,

So had I spoken with hem everychone,

That I was of her fellowship anone,

And made forward early for to rise,

To take our way there as I you devise.

But nathelesse, while I have time & space,

Or that I ferther in this tale pace,

Me think it accordaunt to reason,

To tell you all the condition

Of each of hem, so as it seemed me,

And which they were, and of what degree:

And eke in what array that they were in:

And at a Knight then will I first begin.

¶The Knight. 1.

A Knight there was, and that a worthy

man,

That fro the time that he first began

To riden out, he loved chivalry,

Trouth, honour, freedome, and courtesie:

Full worthy was he in his Lords warre,

And thereto had he ridden no man so farre,

As well in Christendome as in Heathenesse,

And ever had honour for his worthinesse.

At Alisaundre he was when it was won,

Full often time he had the bourd begon,

Aboven all nations in Pruce:

In Lettowe had he ridden and in Luce,

No Christen man so oft of his degree:

In Garnade at the Siege had he be,

At Algezer, and riden in Belmary,

At Leyes was he, and also at Sataly,

When they were wonne, & in the great see,

At many a noble Army had he be.

At mortal Battels had he been fiftene,

And foughten for our faith at Tramissene

In listes thries, and aye slaine his fo.

This ilke worthy Knight had been also

Sometime with the Lord of Palathy,

Ayenst another Heathen in Turky:

And evermore he had a soveraigne prise,

And though he was worthy he was wise,

And of his sport as meeke as is a Maid,

He never yet no villany ne said

In all his life, unto no manner wight:

He was a very perfite gentil knight.

For to tell you of his array,

His horse were good, but he was nothing gay;

[Page] Of fustian he weared a gippon,

All besmottred with his Haubergion:

For he was late come fro his voyage,

And went for to done his pilgrimage.

¶The Squire. 2.

WIth him there was his son, a yong squire,

A lover and a lusty Bachelere,

With his locks crull as they were laid in presse,

Of twenty yeare of age he was as I gesse:

Of his stature he was of even length,

And wonderly deliver, and of great strength.

And he had be sometime in chivauchy,

In Flaunders, in Artois, and Picardy,

And borne him well, as of so little space,

In hope to stand in his Ladies grace.

Embrouded was he, as it weren a mede,

All full of fresh floures, both white and rede,

Singing he was, or floiting all the day,

He was fresh, as is the moneth of May.

Short was his gown, with sleves long & wide

Well coud he sitte on a horse, and faire ride:

He coud songs make, and eke well indite,

Iust, and eke dance, portray and well write.

So hote he loved, that by nighter tale,

He slept no more than doth the Nightingale.

Curteis he was, lowly, and servisable,

And kerfte before his Fader at the table.

¶The Squires Yeoman. 3.

A Yeoman had he, and servaunts no mo

All that time, for him list to ride so:

And he was clad in cote and hoode of grene,

A shefe of Peacocke arrows bright & shene,

Vnder his belt he bare full thriftely:

Well coud be dress his tackle yeomanly:

His arrowes drouped not with feathers low,

And in his hand he bare a mighty bow.

A notte head had he, with a browne visage:

Of wood craft well couth he all the usage:

Vpon his arme he bare a gay bracer,

And by his side a swerde and a bokeler,

And on that other side a gay daggere,

Har [...]eised well, and sharp as point of spere:

A Christofer on his brest of silver shene,

An horne he bare, the baudricke was of grene:

A foster was he soothly as I gesse.

¶The Prioresse. 4.

THere was also a Nonne, a Prioresse,

That of her smiling was simple & coy,

Her greatest oth was by Saint Loye,

And she was cleped dame Eglentine,

Full well she song tho service devine,

Entuned in her voice full semely,

And French she spake full fetou [...]y,

After the school of Stratford at Bow,

For French of Paris was to her unknow.

At meat was she well ytaught withall,

She let no morsell fro her lips fall:

He wete her fingers in her sauce deepe:

Well couth she carry a morsel and well keep,

That no drop ne fell upon her brest:

In courtesie was set full much her lest.

Her overlip wiped she so clean,

That in her cup was no ferthing sene

Of grece, when she droken had her draught,

Full semely after her meat she raught:

And sikerly she was of great disport,

And full pleasaunt and amiable of port,

And pained her to counterfete chere

Of court, and be stateliche of manere,

And to been holden digne of reverence.

But for to speake of her conscience,

She was so charitable and so pitous,

She would weep if that she saw a mous

Caught in a trappe, if it were dead or bled;

Of small hounds had she, that she fed

With rost flesh, milke, and wastel bread,

But sore wept she if any of hem were dead,

Or if men smote hem with a yard smart:

And all was conscience and tender hart.

Full seemely her wimple pinched was:

Her nose tretes, her eyen gray as glas:

Her mouth smale, and thereto soft and red:

But sikerly she had a fair forehead,

It was almost a span brode I trow,

For hardely she was not undergrow.

Full fetise was her cloke, as I was ware:

Of small Coral about her arm she bare

A paire of bedes, gauded all with grene,

And thereon hong a broch of gold full shene,

On which there was first writ a crowned A,

And after (Amor vincit omnia.)

Another Nonne also with her had she,

That was her chapleine, and priests three.

¶The Monke. 5.

A Monke there was, fair for the maistry,

An out rider, that loved venery:

A manly man, to been an abbot able,

Full many a dainty horse had he in stable:

And when he rode, men might his bridle here

Gingeling in a whistling wind as clere,

And eke as loud as doth the chappell bell:

There as this lord was keeper of the sell,

The rule of saint Maure and of saint Benet,

Because it was old and somedele streit,

This ilke Monke let old things to passe,

And held after the new world the pace:

He yave not of the text a pulled hen,

That saith, that hunters be not holy men,

Ne that a Monke, when he is recheless,

Is like to a fish that is waterless:

This to say, a Monke out of Cloystre:

This ilke text yeeld he not worth an oystre.

And I say his opinion was good,

Whereto should he study, and make himselfe wood,

Vpon a booke alway in Cloyster to pore,

Or swinke with his hands, or to labore,

As Austin bid, how shull the world be served?

Let Austin haue his swinke to him reserved.

Therefore he was a pricksoure aright,

Greyhounds he had as swift as foul of flight:

Of prickinge and of huntinge for the hare

Was all his lust, for no coste would he spare.

I sawe his sleves purfled at the hande

With Grece, and that the finest in a lande;

[Page] And for to fast his hoode vnder the chinne,

He had of golde wrought a curious pinne.

A love knot in the greater ende there was,

His hede was bald, and shone as any glas.

And eke his face, as he had ben anointe,

He was a lorde ful fat and in good pointe.

His eyen slepe, and rolinge in his hede,

That stemed as a furneis of a lead.

His bootes sowple, his hors in great estate,

Now certainly he was a fair prelate.

He was not pale as a forpined ghost,

A fatte Swan loued he best of any rost.

His palfray was brown as is a berry.

¶The Frere. 6.

A Frere there was a wanton and a merry,

A limitour, a full solempne man:

In all the orders foure is none that can

So moche of daliance and fair language:

He had made full many a mariage

Of yonge women at his own cost,

Vntill his order he was a noble post.

Full well beloved, and familier was he

With frankeleins over all his countre.

And with worthy women of the toun,

For he had power of confessyoun,

As he said himself, more than a curate,

For of his order he was licenciate.

Full sweetly herde he confession,

And plesaunt was his absolucion.

He was an easie man to giue penaunce,

There as he wist to have a good pitaunce.

For vnto a poore order for to giue,

Is a signe that a man is well ishriue;

For if he gaue ought he durst make auaunt,

He wist well that a man was repentaunt.

For many a man is so hard of herte,

That he may not wepe although him smerte.

Therefore in stede of wepinge and prayers,

Men mote give silver to the poore freres.

His tippet was aye sassed full of knives

And pinnes, for to give faire wives.

And certainly he had a merry note,

Well coude he singe and plaien on a rote.

Of yedding he bare vtterly the price,

His neck was white as the floure delice,

Thereto stronge he was as a champioun,

And knew the taverns well in every toun,

And every hosteler and tapstere

Better than a lazer or a beggere:

For vnto such a worthy man as he,

Accordeth naught, as by his faculte,

To have with lazers such acquaintaunce

It is not honest, it may not avaunce

For to dele with such porayle,

But all with riche, and sellers of vitaile.

And over all there as profite shulde arise,

Curteis he was, and lowly of service.

There nas no man no where so vertuous,

He was the best begger in all his hous;

And gaue a certaine ferme for the graunte,

None of his brethren came in his haunte.

For though a widowe had but a shoo,

(So plesaunt was his in principio)

Yet wolde he have a farthing or he went,

His purchase was better than his rent.

And rage he couth as it were a whelpe,

In loue dayes there coude he mikel helpe;

For there he was nat like a cloisterere,

With a threde bare cope, as a poore frere;

But he was like a maister or a pope,

Of double worstede was his semy cope.

So rounded was as a bell out of presse,

Somwhat he lisped for his wantonnesse,

To make his Englishe swete upon his tong,

And in harpinge, whan that he song,

His eyen twinkeled in his head a right,

As done the sterres in a frosty night.

This worthy frere was called Huberde.

¶The Marchaunt. 7.

A Marchaunt was there with a forked berde,

In motley, and high on his Horse he sat,

Vpon his head a Flaunders bever hat,

His bootes clasped faire and fetously,

His reasons spake he full solemnly,

Shewing alway the increase of his winning:

He would the see were kept for any thing

Betwixe Middleborough and Orewell:

Well could he in exchaunge sheldes sell,

This worthy man so well his wit besette,

There wist no wight that he was in dette,

So stately was he of his governaunce,

With his bargeins, & with his cheuisaunce.

Forsooth he was a worthy man withall,

But sooth to saine, I not what men him call.

¶The Clerke of Oxenford. 8.

A Clerke there was of Oxenford also,

That unto Logicke had long ygo:

As leane was his hors as is a rake,

And he was nothing fat I undertake,

But looked hollow, and thereto soberly:

Full thredbare was his over courtpy,

For he had yet getten him no benefice,

Ne was nought worldly to have none office:

For him was leuer han at his beds hed

Twentie bookes clad with blacke or red,

Of Aristotle, and of his Philosophy,

Than robes riche, or fiddle, or gay sautrie,

But all he that he was a philosopher,

Yet had he but little gold in cofer,

But all that he might of his friends hent,

On bookes and on learning he it spent,

And busily gan for the soules pray

Of hem that holpen him to scholay.

Of study took he most cure and hede,

Not a word spake he more than was nede,

And that was said in forme and reverence,

And short and quick, and of high sentence,

Sowning in moral vertue was his speach,

Gladly would he learn, and gladly teach.

¶The Sergeant at Law. 9.

A Sergeant of Law ware and wise,

That often had been at the pervise,

There was also, full rich of excellence,

Discreete he was, and of great reverence:

[Page] He seemed such, his words were so wise.

Iustice he was full often in assise,

By patent, and by plain commissioun,

For his science, and his high renoun,

Of fee and robes had he many one:

So great a purchasour was no where none:

All was fee simple to him in effect,

His purchasing might not been in suspect.

No where so besie a man as he there nas,

And yet he seemed busier than he was:

In tearmes had he case and domes all,

That fro the time of king William was fall,

Thereto he coud endite, and maken a thing,

There coud no wight pinch at his writing:

And every statute coud he plain by rote,

He rode but homely in a medley cote,

Girt with a seint of silke, with barres smale,

Of his array tell I no lenger tale.

¶The Frankelein. 10.

A Frankelein there was in his company:

White was his berd as is the daisie,

And of his complexion he was sanguine,

Well loved he by the morrow a sop in wine:

To liven in delite was ever his wonne,

For he was Epicures own sonne,

That held opinion, that plain delite

Was very felicitie perfite.

An housholder, and that a great was he,

Saint Iulian he was in his countre:

His bread, his ale, was alway after one,

A better viended man was no where none.

Without bake meat was never his house,

Of fish and flesh, and that so plenteouse,

It snewed in his house of meat and drink,

Of all deintes that men coud of think:

After the sondre seasons of the yere

So chaunged he his meat and his suppere.

Full many a fatte Partriche had he in mew,

And many a Breme, & many a Luce in stew,

Wo was his Coke, but his sauce ay were

Poynante and sharp, and ready all his gere,

His table dormaunt in his hall alway,

Stode redy covered all the long day.

At cessions there was he lord and sire,

Full ofte time he was knight of the shire.

An anelace and gipsere all of silk,

Hing at his girdle, white as morow milk,

A sherife had he been, and a countour,

Was no where such a worthy vavesour.

¶The Haberdasher. 11.

AN Haberdasher there was, & a carpenter

A webbe, a dier, and a tapiser:

All were yclothed in o Lyvere,

Of a solempne and a great fraternite.

Full fresh and new her geare ypiked was,

Her knives ychaped nere not with bras,

But al with silver, wrought ful clene & wele:

Her girdles and her pouches every dele.

Wel semde everich of hem a faire burgeis,

To sitten at a yeld hal, on the hie deys:

Everich for the wisedom that he can,

Was shape liche for to ben an alderman,

For cattaile had they right inough and rent,

And eke her wives would it well assent:

And els certaine they were to blame,

It is full faire to been ycleped madame,

And to gone to vigilles all before,

And have a mantell roialliche ibore.

¶The Coke. 12.

A Coke they had with hem for the nones,

To boyle the Chikens and the mariebones.

And pouder marchaunt, tarte, and galingale:

Well coud he know a draught of London ale,

He couthe roste, sethe, boil, and fry,

Make mortreis, and well bake a pie.

But great harme was it, as it thought me,

That on his shinne a mormall had he,

And blanke manger made he with the best.

¶The Shipman. 13.

A Shipman was there wonning ferre by West:

For aught I wote he was of Dertmouth,

He rode upon a rouncie, as he couthe

In a goune of falding to the knee:

A dagger hanging by a lace had he:

About his neck under his arme doune:

The hot somer had made his hew all broune:

And certain he was a good felaw,

Full many a draught of Wine had he draw

From Burdeux ward, while the chapmen slepe,

Of nice conscience took he no kepe:

If that he faught, and had the higher hand,

By water he sent him home to every land:

But of his craft to reken well his tides,

His stremes and his daungers him besides,

His herbrough, his mone, & his lode manage,

There was none soch from Hull to Cartage.

Hardy he was and wise to undertake:

With many a tempest had his berde be shake:

He knew all the havens as there were

Fro Scotland, to the Cape de Fenestre,

And every creeke in Britain and in Spain:

His barge was called the Maudelain.

¶The Doctor of Phisike. 14.

WIth us there was a Doctor of Phisike,

In all this world ne was there none him like

To speake of Phisike, and of Surgerie:

For he was grounded in Astronomie,

He kept his patient a full great dell

In houres by his Magike naturell:

Well couthe he fortune the assendent,

Of his Image for his patient.

He knew the cause of every maladie,

Were it of cold, heate, moist, or drie,

And whereof engendred was eche humour,

He was a very parfite practisour,

The cause iknow, & of his harm the roote,

Anone he gave to the sicke man his boote:

Full readie had he his Apothecaries

To send him drugges, and his lectuaries,

[Page] For eche of hem made other for to winne:

Her friendship nas not new to beginne,

Well knew he the old Esculapius,

And Dioscorides, and eke Ruffus,

Old Hippocrates, Halie, and eke Gallen,

Serapion, Rasis, and also Avicen,

Averrois, Damascene, and Constantin,

Bernard, Gatisden, and Gilbertin,

Of his diete, miserable was he,

For it was of no superfluitee,

But of great nourishing, and digestible:

His studie was but little on the Bible.

In sangwine and in perce he clad was all

Lined with Taffata, and with Sendall.

And yet he was but easie of dispence,

He kept that he wan in time of Pestilence,

* For Gold in Phisike is a Cordiall,

Wherefore he loved Gold in speciall.

¶The Wife of Bathe. 15.

A Good wife also there was beside Bathe,

But she was some deale defe, and that was scathe:

Of cloth making she had such an haunt,

She passed hem of Ipre, or of Gaunt.

In all the Parish wife ne was there none

That to the offring before her should gone,

And if there did, certain right wroth was she,

That she was all out of charitee.

Her kerchers full large were & fine of ground,

I durst sweare they waiden ten pound,

That on a Sonday were upon her hedde.

Her hosen were of fine scarlet redde,

Full straite istrained, and shoes full new,

Bold was her face, and redde was her hew,

She was a worthy Woman all her liue,

Husbands at the Church doore had she fiue,

Withouten other company in youth:

But thereof needed not to speake as nouth:

And thrise had she been at Ierusaleme,

She had passed many a strong streme:

At Rome had she been, and at Boloine,

In Calis, at sainct Iames, and at Coloine,

She couthe moche of wandring by the way:

Gat tothed was she, sothly for to say.

Vpon an Ambler easely she satte,

Iwimpled well, and on her hedde an hatte

As brode as is a bokeler or a targe:

A foote mantell about her hippes large,

And on her feete a paire of spurres sharpe:

In fellowship well couth she laugh and carpe.

Of remedies of loue she could perchance,

For she couth of that arte the old dance.

¶The Parsone. 16.

A Good manne there was of religioun,

And was a poore Parsone of a toun:

But rich he was of holy thought and werke,

He was eke a learned man and a clerke,

That Christes Gospels truly would preach,

His Parishens devoutly would he teach.

Benigne he was, and wonder diligent,

And in adversitie full pacient:

And soch one he was proved oft sithes,

Full loth were him to curse for his tithes,

But rather would he yeuen out of doubt,

Vnto his poore parishens all about,

Both of his offring, and of his substaunce,

He couthe in little thing have suffisaunce.

Wide was his parish, and houses fer asonder,

But he ne left, neither for raine ne thonder,

In sikenesse ne in mischiefe, for to visite

The ferdest in his parish, moch or lite,

Vpon his feet, and in his hand a stafe:

This noble ensample to his shepe he yafe,

That first he wrought, & afterward taught,

Out of the Gospel he the words caught,

And this figure he added eke thereto,

* That if Gold rust, what should Iron do?

For yef a Priest be foule, on whom we trust,

No wonder is a leude man to rust:

* And shame it is, if a Priest take kepe,

To see a shitten shepherd, and a cleane shepe:

* Well ought a Priest ensample for to yeue

By his clenenesse how his shepe should liue.

He set not his benefice to hire,

And let his shepe acomber in the mire,

And renne to London to sainct Poules,

To seken him a Chauntrie for soules:

Or with a brotherhede to be withold:

But dwelt at home, and kept well his fold,

So that the Wolfe made hem not miscary,

He was a shepherd, and not a mercenarie.

And though he holy were, and vertuous,

He was not to sinfull men dispitous,

Ne of his speech daungerous ne digne,

But in his teaching discrete and benigne,

To drawen folke to heaven with fairenesse,

By good ensample, this was his besinesse,

But if he were any persone obstinate,

Whether he were of hie, or low estate,

Him would he snibbe sharply for the nonis,

A better Priest, I trowe, no where none is.

He waited after no pompe ne reuerence,

Ne maked him no spiced conscience.

But Christes lore, and his Apostles twelue,

He taught, but first he followed it him selue.

¶The Plowman. 17.

WIth him there was a Plowman his brother,

That had iland of dong many a fother

A true swinker, and a good was he,

Living in peace, and perfite charitee.

God loved he best with all his hart

At all times, though him gained or smart:

And then his neighbours right as himselfe.

He would thresh, and thereto dike, and delfe,

For Christes sake, for every poore wight,

Withouten hire, if it lay in his might.

His tithes payed he full faire and well,

Both of his proper swinke, and his cattell.

In a tabard he rod upon a Mare.

There was also a Reue, and Millare,

A Sompnour, and a Pardoner also,

A Mansiple, and my selfe, there was no mo.

[Page]

¶The Miller. 18.

THe Miller was a stout carle for the nones,

Full bigg he was of braune, and eke of bones,

That proved well, for over all there he came,

At wrastling he would have away the Ram.

He was short shuldred, a thick gnarre,

There has no doore, but he would heue the bar,

Or breake it with the renning of his hedde,

His beard as any Sowe or Fore was redde,

And thereto brode, as it were a spade,

Vpon the coppe right of his nose he hade

A werte, and thereon stode a tufte of heeres,

Redde as the bristles of a Sowes eares:

His nostrels blacke were and wide.

A swerd and buckeler bare he by his side:

His mouth as great was as a furneis,

He was a jangler, and a golierdeis,

And that was most of sinne, and harletrise:

Well couth he steale Corne, & toll it thrise,

* And yet he had a thombe of gold parde.

A white coate and a blew hode weared he.

A bagpipe well couth he blow and soune,

And therewithall brought he us out of toune.

¶The Mancile. 19.

A Manciple there was of the Temple,

Of which all Catours might taken ensemple,

For to been wise in buying of vitaile,

For whether he payed, or tooke by the taile,

Algate he waited so in his ashate,

That he was aye before in good estate.

Now is not that of God a full faire grace,

That soch a leude mannes wit should pace

The wisedome of an heape of learned men?

Of maisters had he mo than thrise ten,

That were of Lawe expert and curious,

Of which there was a dosen in that hous,

Worthy to been stewards of rent and land,

Of any Lord that is in England,

To maken him live by his proper good,

In honour deptlesse, but if he were wood,

Or live as scarsly, as him list desre,

And able to helpen all a shire

In any case that might fallen or hap:

And yet the Manciple set all her cap.

¶The Reue. 20.

THe Reue was a slender cholerik Man,

His bearde was shave as nie as ever he can,

His heere was by his eares round ishorne,

His top was docked like a Priest beforne,

Full long were his legs, and eke full lene,

I like a staffe, there was no calfe i seene.

Well couth he kepe a Garner and a Binne:

There was none Auditour coud on him win.

Well wist he by the drought, & by the raine,

The yelding of his seed, and of his graine.

His Lords Shepe, his Nete, and his Deirie,

His swine, his Hors, his store, and his pultrie,

Were holly in this Reuis governing,

And by his Covenant yaue he rekening,

Sith his Lord was twentie yeere of age,

There could no man bring him in arerage.

There nas Bailie, Herde, nor other Hine,

That he ne knew his sleight and his covine,

They were adradde of him as of the death:

His wonning was full faire upon an Heath,

With grene trees shadowed was his place,

He couth better than his Lord purchace:

Full riche he was and stored priuely,

His Lord he could well please, and subtiliy

To yeue and lene him of his owne good,

And have a thank, and yet a coate & a hood.

In youth he had learned a good mystere.

He was a whele wright, & a Carpentere.

This Reue satte upon a right god stot,

That was all pomell gray, and height Scot.

A long surcote of perce upon he hade,

And by his side he bare a rustie blade.

Of Norfolke was this Reue, of which I tell,

Biside a toune, men clepen it Baldeswell.

Tucked he was, as is a Frere about,

And euer he rode hinderest of the route.

¶The Sompnour. 21.

A Sompnour was with us in the place,

That had a fire red Cherubins face,

For saufleme he was, with iyen narow,

All hot he was, and lecherous as a Sparow,

With scaled brows blacke, and pilled berde:

Of his visage Children were fore afferde.

There nas quicksilver, litarge, ne brimstone,

Borage, Ceruse, ne oile of Tartar none,

Ne Ointment that would cleanse or bite,

That him might helpe of his whelks white,

Ne of his knobbes sitting on his Chekes:

Well loued he Garlike, Onions, and Lekes,

And for to drink strong wine, as red as blood,

Then would he speak, & cry as he were wood.

And when he had well idronke the wine,

Then would he speake no word but Latine:

A few terms coud he, two or three,

That he had learned out of some degree:

No wonder is, he had heard it all the daie,

And ye knowen well eke, how that a Iaie

Can clepe watte, as well as can the Pope:

But who so couth in other thing him grope,

Then had he spent all his Philosophie,

(A questio quid juris) would he crie.

He was a gentill harlot and a kind,

A better fellow should a man not find:

He would suffer for a quart of Wine,

A good fellow to have his Concubine,

A twelue month, and excuse him at the full:

* Full priuely eke a Finch couth he pull,

And if he found o where a good fellawe,

He would teachen him to have none awe

In soch case of the Arch Deacons course:

But if mans Soul were in his Pourse.

For in his Pourse he should ipunished be,

Pourse is the Arch Deacons Hell, said he.

But well I wote, he lieth right in dede:

Of cursing ought eke sinfull man drede.

For cursing woll slea as asoiling saveth.

And also ware him of a Significav it.

[Page] In daunger had he at his own gise,

The young Girls of the Diocise,

And knew her counsaile, and was of her red,

A garlond he set upon his hed,

As great as it were for an alestake:

A Buckler had he maked him of a Cake.

¶The Pardoner. 22.

WIth him there rode a gentle Pardonere

Of Rouncevall, his friend and his compere,

That strait was come fro the court of Rome,

Full loud song he, come hider love sone,

This Sompnour bare to him a stiff burdoun,

Was never Trompe of half so great a soun.

This Pardoner had heer as yellow as wax,

But somth it hing, as doth a stricke of flax:

By unces hing his lockes that he had,

And therewith he his shoulders oversprad,

Full thinne it laie, by culpons one and one,

But hode for iolite, ne weared he none,

For it was trussed up in his wallet,

Him thought he rode all of the new set,

Dishe vild, save his Cappe he rode all bare,

Soch glaring iyen had he as an Hare.

A Vernacle had he sowed upon his cappe,

His wallet beforne him on his lappe,

Bret full of pardon come from Rome al hote,

A voice he had as small as hath a Gote.

No berde had he, ne never should have,

As smoth it was as it were new shave,

I trow he were a Gelding or a Mare:

But of his craft, fro Barwike unto Ware,

Ne was there soch another Pardonere,

For in his male had he a Pillowhere,

Which, as he said, was our Ladies vaile:

He said, he had a gobbet of the saile

That sanct Peter had when that he went

Vpon the Sea, till Iesu Christ him hent.

He had a Cross of Latine full of stones,

And in a glass he had Pigges bones:

But with these relikes; when that he fond

A poore Parsone dwelling in uplond,

Vpon a day he gat him more money

That that Parsone gat in months twey.

And thus with fained flattering and japes,

He made the Parsone, and People, his apes.

But truly to tellen at the last,

He was in Church a noble Ecclesiast:

Well couth he read a lesson or a storie,

But alder best he sang an offitorie:

Full well he wist, when that song was song,

He must preach, and well afile his tong,

To winne silver, as he full well coud:

Therefore he song so merily and loud.

Now have I told you sothly in a Clause,

The state, the araie, eche number, & the cause

Why that assembled was this Companie

In Southwerk at this gentell hostelrie,

That hight the Tabard, fast by the Bell.

But now is time to you for to tell,

How that we baren us that like night.

When we were in that hostelrie alight.

And after woll I tell of our voiage,

And all the remnaunt of our Pilgrimage.

But first I pray you of your courtesie,

That ye ne arrete in not my follie,

Though that I plainly speak in this matter,

To tellen you her words and eke her chere:

Ne though I speak her words properly.

For this ye knowen as well as I,

* Who shall tellen a tale after a man,

He mote rehearse as nie as ever he can

Everich word, if it bee in his charge,

All speak he never so rudely ne large:

Or else he mote tellen his tale untrue,

Or fein things, or find words new:

He may not spare, altho he were his brother,

He mote as well say o word, as another.

Christ spake himself full brode in holy writ,

And well I wotte no villany is it.

Eke Plato saith, who so can him rede,

* The words mote been cosin to the dede.

Also I pray you forgive it me,

All have I not set folk in her degree,

Here in this tale as they shoulden stand,

My wit is short, ye may well understand.

GReat cheer made our hoste us verichone,

And to the Supper set he us anone:

And served us with vitaile of the best,

Strong was the wine, & well to drink us lest.

A seemly man our Host was with all,

For to been a Marshal in a Lords Hall.

A large man he was with iyen stepe,

A fairer Burgeis is there none in Chepe:

Bold of his speech, wise and well itaught,

And of manhood him lacked right nought.

Eke thereto he was a right merry man,

And after supper plaien he began,

And speak of n [...]th among other things,

When that we had made our reckonings:

And said thus, now lordings truly

Ye been to me welcome right heartily:

For by my trouth, if I should not lie,

I saw not this year so merry a Company

Atones in this her borough, as is now:

Fain wold I don you mirth, & I wist how:

And of a mirth I am right now bethought,

To don you ease, and it shall cost nought.

Ye gon to Canterbury, God mote you spede,

The blissful Martyr quite you your mede,

And well I wot, as ye gone by the way,

Ye shapen you to talken and to play:

For truly comfort ne mirth is there none,

To riden by the way as dumb as a stone:

And therefore wold I maken you disport,

As I said erst, and done you some comfort,

And if you liketh all by one assent

For to stonden at my Iudgment:

And for to worchen as I shall you say,

To morrow, when we riden on the way,

Now by my Fathers Soul that is deed,

But ye be merry, I will give you my heed:

Hold up your hands withouten more speech:

Our counsail was not long for to sech:

Vs thouȝt it was not worth to make it nice,

And graunted him without more avise,

And bad him say his verdit as him lest.

Lordings (qd. he) now herkeneth for the best,

[Page] But take it nat, I pray you, in disdain,

This is the point to speak it plat and plain:

That ech of you to shorten others way,

In this viage, shall tellen tales tway,

To Canterbury ward, I mean it so,

And homewards he shall tell tales other two,

Of a ventures whilom that han befall:

And which of you that hereth him best of all,

That is to sain, that tellen in this case

Tales of best sentence and most solace,

Shall have a supper at our alder cost,

Here in this place, sitting by this post.

When that we comen ayen from Canterbury,

And for to make you the more merry,

I will my selven goodly with you ride,

Right at mine own cost, and be your guide.

And who that woll my judgment with say,

Shall pay all that we spend by the way:

And yef ye vouchsafe that it be so,

Tell me anone without words mo,

And I woll erly shape me therefore.

This thing was granted & our oaths swore

With glad hert, and praiden him also,

That he would vouchsafe for to do so,

And that he would ben our Governour,

And of our tales judge and reportour:

And set a Supper at a certain prise,

And we wollen ben demed at his devise,

In hie and low, and thus by one assent,

We ben accorded to his judgment.

And thereupon the wine was fette anone,

We dronken and to rest went ilke one,

Withouten any lenger tarying.

A morrow when the day gan to spring,

Vp rose our Host, and was our alder cocke,

And gadird us togedirs on a flocke,

And forth we riden a little more than paas,

Vnto the watering of saint Thomas:

And there our Host began his Horse arest,

And said; Lords, herkeneth if you lest:

Ye wote your forward, and I it record

* If eve song and morrow song accord,

Let see now who shall tell the first tale.

As ever I mote drink wine or ale,

Who so is rebel to my Iudgment,

Shall pay for all that by the way is spent:

Now draweth cut or that ye farther twin,

The which that hath the shortest shall begin.

Sir Knight (qd. he) my maister & my lord,

Now draweth cut, for that is mine accord:

Commeth nere (qd. he) my lady Prioress,

And ye, sir Clerk, let be your shamefastness,

Ne studieth nought, lay hand to, every man,

Anone to draw every wight began,

And shortly for to tellen as it was,

Were it by aventure, chaunce, or caas,

The sothe is this, the cut fill to the Knight,

Of which blith and glad was every wight,

And tell he must his tale as was reason,

By forward, and by composition,

As ye han heard, what nee deth words mo?

And when this good man saw that it was so,

As he that wise was and obedient

To keepen his forward by his free assent:

He said, sithen I shall begin the game,

What welcome cut to me a Goddesname,

Now let us ride, and herkeneth what I say:

And with that word we riden forth our way,

And he began with a right merry chere,

His tale anone, right as ye shall hear.

¶Thus endeth the Prologues of the Canterbury Tales.

§

[Page]

The Knight's Tale.

PAlamon and Arcite, a pair of Friends and Fellow-prisoners, fight a Combat before Duke Theseus, for the Lady Emely, Sister to the Queen Ipolita, Wife of Theseus. A Tale fitting the Person of a Knight, for that it discourseth of the Deeds of Arms, and Love of Ladies.

WHilome, as old stories tellen us

There was a Duke that hight Theseus,

Of Athens he was lord and governour,

And in his time such a conquerour,

That greater was none under the son:

Full many a rich country had he won.

What with his wisdom and his chivalry

He conquered all the reigne of Feminy,

That whilome was ycleaped Cithea,

And wedded the queene Ipolita,

And brought her home with him to his country,

With mikell glory and solemnity,

And eke her young sister Emely.

And thus with victory and melody

Let I this worthy Duke to Athens ride,

And all his hoast, in armes him beside.

And certes, if it nere to long to here,

I would have told fully the mannere,

How wonnen was the reign of Feminy

By Theseus, and by his Chivalry.

And of the great battaile for the nones

Betweene Athens and Amasones,

And how besieged was Ipolita

The young hardy queene of Cithea:

And of the feast, that was at her wedding,

And of the tempest at her home coming.

But all that thing I mote as now forbear,

* I have God wot a large field to ear:

And weked ben the oxen in the plow,

The remnant of my tale is long ynow.

I will not letten eke none of this rout,

Let every fellow tell his tale about,

And let see now who shall the supper win:

And there I left, I will again begin.

This Duke, of whom I make mencioun,

When he was come almost to the toun

In all his wele and in his most pride,

He was ware, as he cast his eye aside,

Where that there knee led in the hight wey

A company of Ladies, twey and twey

Each after other, clad in cloths black:

But such a cry, and such a wo they make,

That in this world nis creature living

That ever heard such a waimenting;

And of this cry they nold never stenten,

Till they the reines of his bridle henten.

What folke be ye that at mine home coming

Perturben so my feast with your crying,

Quod Theseus? Have ye so great envy

Of mine honour, that thus complain & cry?

Or who hath you misbode, or offended?

Now telleth me, if it may be amended,

And why that ye be clothed thus in black?

The oldest lady of them all spake,

When she had sowned with a deadly chere,

That it was ruth for to see and here;

She said, lord, to whom fortune hath yeve

Victory, and as a conquerour to live,

Nought greeveth us your glory & honour:

But we beseeke you of mercy and succour,

And have mercy on our wo and distress,

Some drop of pity, through thy gentilness,

Vpon us wretched women let thou fall.

For certes lord, there nis none of us all,

That she ne hath be a duchess or a queen:

Now be we caitives, as it is well iseen,

Thanked be fortune, and her false wheel,

That none estate assureth to be wele,

Now certes lord, to abide your presence

Here in this temple of the goddess Clemence

We have be waiting all this fourtenight:

Helpe us lord, sith it lieth in thy might.

I Wretch, that weep and wailen thus

Whylome wife was to king Campaneus,

That starfe at Thebes, cursed be the day:

And all we that been in this aray,

And maken all this lamentacioun,

We losten all our Husbands at that toun,

While that the Siege there about is say:

And yet the old Creon (welaway)

That lord is now of Thebes city

Fulfilled of ire and iniquity,

He for despight, and for his tyranny

To done the dead bodies villany

Of all our lords, which that ben slaw,

Hath all the bodies on an heap y [...]raw,

And will not suffer hem by none assent

Neither to be buried ne to be brent,

But maketh hounds to eat hem in despite:

And with that word, without more repite

They fallen grofly, and crien pitously,

Have on us wretched Women some mercy,

And let our sorrow sinke in thine hert.

This gentle duke down from his horse stert

With hert pitous, when he heard hem speak

Him thought that his hert would all to break

[Page] When he saw hem so pitous and so mate,

That whylome were of so great astate:

And in his armes he hem all up hent,

And hem comforted in full good intent,

And swore his oath, as he was true Knight,

He would done so fer forthly his might

Vpon the tyrant Creon hem to wreake,

That all the people of Greece should speake

How Creon was of Theseus yserved,

As the that hath his death full well deserved.

And right anon withouten more abode

His banner he displayed, and forth rode

To Thebes ward, and all his hoost beside:

No neere Athens nold he go ne ride,

Ne take his ease fully half a day,

But onward on his way that night he lay:

And sent anon Ipolita the quene,

And Emely her young sister shene

Vnto the toune of Athens to dwell:

And forth he rideth, there nis now more to tell.

THe red statue of Mars with spear & targe,

So shineth in his white banner large,

That all the fields glyttren up and doun:

And by his banner, borne is his penon

Of Gold full rich, in which there was ybete

The minotaure, that he won in Crete.

Thus rideth this duke, this conquerour

And in his hoast of chivalry the flour,

Till that he came to Thebes, and alight

Fair in a Field, there as he thought to fight.

But shortly for to speaken of this thing,

With Creon, which was of Thebes King,

He fought, and slew him manly as a Knight

In plain battaile, and put his folk to flight:

And at a saut he wan the city after,

And rent adowne wall, spar, and rafter:

And to the ladies he restord again

The bodies of her husbands that were slain,

To done obsequies, as tho was the gise.

But it were all too long for to devise

The great clamour, and the weimenting,

That the ladies made at the brenning

Of the bodies, and the great honour

That Theseus the noble conquerour

Doth to the ladies, when they from him went:

But shortly to tellen is mine intent.

When that this worthy duke, this Theseus

Hath Creon slaine, and wan Thebes thus,

Still in the field he took all night his rest,

And did with all the country as him lest:

To ransacke in the taas of bodies deed

Hem for to strip of harneis and of weed

The pillours did her business and cure

After the battaile and discomfiture:

And so befell, that in the taas they found

Though girt with many a grievous wound

Two young knights lying by and by

Both in armes fame, wrought full richely:

Of which two, Arcite hight that one,

And that other hight Palamon:

Not fully quick, ne fully dead they were,

But by her coat armours and by her gere

The Heraulds knew hem best in special

As tho that weren of the blood rial

Of Thebes, and of sistren two yborn.

Out of the taas the pillours hath hem torn,

And han hem caried soft into the tent

Of Theseus, and he full soon hem sent

To Athens, to dwellen there in prison

Perpetuall, he nold hem not raunson.

And when this worthy Duke had thus idone,

He tooke his hoast, and home he goth anone,

With Iawrel crowned as a conquerour,

And there he liveth in joy and honour,

Tearm of his life, what needeth words mo?

And in a toure, in anguish and in wo

Dwelleth Palamon, and his fellow Arcite

For evermore, there may no gold hem quite.

THus passeth yere by yere, and day by day,

Till it fell once in a morrow of May

That Emely, that fairer was to seen

Than is the lilly upon the stalke green,

And fresher than may, with floures new,

For with the rose colour strofe her hew,

I not which was the fairer of them two.

Er it was day, as was her wont to do,

She was arisen, and all ready dight,

For May woll have no slogardy a night;

The season pricketh every gentell hert,

And maketh it out of their sleep to stert,

And saith arise, and do May observaunce;

This maketh Emely to have remembrance

To done honour to May, and for to rise,

Iclothed was she fresh for to devise;

Her yellow haire was broided in a tresse

Behind her backe, a yard long I gesse,

And in the gardyn at sunne uprist

She walketh up and downe as her list:

She gathereth floures, party white and reed

To make a subtell garland for her heed,

And, as an Angel, heavenly she song:

The great toure, that was so thick & strong,

Which of the castell was the chefe dungeon,

Wherein the two Knights were in prison,

Of which I told you, and tellen shall

Was even joynant to the gardyn wall;

There as this Emely had her playing,

Bright was the sonne, & clere the morning,

And Palamon, this woful prisoner,

As was his wont, by leave of his gayler,

Was risen, and romed in a chambre on high,

In which he all the noble cite sigh,

And eke the gardyn, full of braunches grene,

There, as this fresh Emely the shene

Was in her walk, and romed up and down;

This sorrowful prisoner, this Palamon,

Goth in his chambre roming to and fro,

And to himself complaining of his wo,

That he was borne full oft said alas.

And so befell, by auenture or caas,

That through a window thick of many a bar

Of yron great, and square as any spar,

He cast his eyen upon Emilia,

And therewith he blent, and cried, ha, ha,

As though he stongen were unto the hert.

And with that cry Arcite anon up stert,

And said, cosin mine, what eyleth thee,

That art so pale and deadly for to see?

Why cryest thou? who hath do thee offence?

For goddes love take all in pacience

[Page] Our prison, for it may none other be,

Fortune hath yeven us this adversite,

Some wicked aspect or disposition

Of Saturne, by some constellation,

Hath yeven us this, altho we had it sworn

So stood the heauen when that we were born,

We mote endure, this is short and plain.

This Palamon answered, and said again,

Cosyn, forsoth, of this opinion

Thou hast a vain imaginacion,

This prison caused me not to cry,

But I was hurt right now through mine eye

Into mine herte, that woll my bane be,

The fairness of a Lady that I se

Yond in the gardyn, roming to and fro,

Is cause of all my crying and wo.

I not wher she be woman or goddess,

But Venus it is, sothly as I guess,

And therewithall on knees down he fyll,

And said; Venus, if it be thy will

You in this gardyn thus to transfigure

Beforne me, sorrowful wretched creature,

Out of this prison help that we may scape,

And if our destiny be so ishape

By eterne word, to dyen in prison,

Of our linage have some compassion,

That is so low ybrought by tyranny.

And with that word Arcite gan espy

Whereas the Lady romed to and fro,

And with that sight her beauty hurt him so,

That if that Palamon were wounded sore,

Arcite was hurt as much as he, or more;

And with a sigh he said pitously,

The fresh beauty sleeth me sodenly

Of her that rometh in yonder place,

And but I have her mercy and her grace

That I may seen her at the least way,

I nam but dead, there nys no more to say.

This Palamon, whan he these words herd,

Dispitously he looked, and answerd:

Whether sayst thou this in ernest or in play?

Nay, quod Arcite, in ernest by my fay,

God help me so, me list full yll to pley.

This Palamon gan knit his browes twey,

It were (quod he) to thee no great honour

To be false, ne for to be a traytour

To me, that am thy cosyn and thy brother,

Isworne full depe, each of us to other,

That never for to dien in the pain,

Till that the death depart shall us twain,

Neither of us in love to hindre other,

Ne in none other case, my leve brother,

But that thou shouldest truly further me

In every case, as I should further thee;

This was thine oth, and mine also, certain

I wot it well, thou darst it not withsain.

Thus art thou of my counsell out of dout,

And now thou woldest falsly ben about

To love my Lady, whom I love and serve,

And ever shall, till that mine hert sterve.

Now certes, false Arcite, thou shalt not so,

I loved her first, and told thee my wo

As to my counsell, and to my brother sworne

To further me, as I have told beforne,

For which thou art thounden as a Knight

To helpen me, if it lye in thy might,

Or else art thou false, I dare well sain.

This Arcite full proudly spake again,

Thou shalt (quod he) be rather false than I,

And thou art false, I tell thee utterly.

For paramour I loved her first or thou,

What wilt thou sain, thou wist it not or now

Whether she be woman or goddess:

Thine is affection of holiness,

And mine is love, as to a creature:

For which I told thee mine aventure,

As to my cosin, and my brother sworne.

Suppose that thou lovedst her beforne:

* Wost thou not well the old Clerks saw?

That who shall give a lover any law?

Love is a greater law by my pan,

Then may be yeven to any earthly man:

And therefore positive law, and such decree

Is broken all day for love in eche degree;

A man mote needs, love maugre his head,

He may not fleen it, tho he shuld be dead,

All be she maid, widow, or else wife.

And eke it is not likely all thy life

To stonden in her grace, no more shall I:

For well thou wost thy selfe verely,

That thou and I be damned to prison

Perpetual, us gaineth no raunson.

* We striven, as did the hounds for the bone,

That fought all day, & yet her part was none,

Ther came a cur, while that they wer so wroth

And bare away the bone from hem both.

* And therefore, at Kings court, my brother,

Each man for himself, there is none other.

Love if thou list, for I love, and aye shall:

And soothly, lefe brother, this is all.

Here in this prison mote we endure,

And everich of us taken his aventure.

Great was the strife and long betwixt hem twey,

If that I had leisure for to sey:

But to theffect: it happed on a day,

(To tell it you shortly as I may)

A worthy Duke that hight Perithous,

That fellow was to Duke Theseus,

Sith thilke day that they were children lite,

Was come to Athens his fellow to visite,

And for to play, as he was wont to do,

For in this world he loved no man so:

And he loved him as tenderly again.

So well they loved, as old books saine,

That when that one was dead, soothly to tell,

His fellow went & sought him down in hell:

But of that storie list me not to write.

Duke Perithous loved well Arcite,

And had him know at Thebes yere by yere:

And finally, at the request and prayere

Of Perithous, withouten any raunson

Duke Theseus let him out of prison.

Freely to gone whether him list over all

In such a guise, as I you tellen shall.

This was the forward, plainly to endite

Betwixt Duke Theseus and him Arcite:

That if so were, that Arcite were yfound

Ever in his life, by day, night, or stound,

In any countrey of this Duke Theseus,

And he were caught, it was accorded thus,

That with a sword he should lese his heed,

There was no other remedy ne reed,

[Page] But taketh his leave, & homeward him sped:

Let him beware, his neck lieth to wed.

How great sorw suffereth now Arcite?

The death he feeleth through his hert smite:

He weepeth, waileth, and crieth pitously,

To sleen himself he waiteth prively:

And said, alas, the day that I was borne,

Now is my prison worse than beforne:

Now is me shap eternally to dwell

Nought in purgatorie, but in Hell.

Alas, that ever I knew Perithous,

For else had I dwelt with Theseus

I fettered in his prison evermo:

Then had I be in bliss, and not in wo.

Only the sight of her, whom that I set ve,

Though that I never her grace may deserve,

Would have sufficed right ynough for me.

O deare cousin Palamon (quod he)

Thine is the victorie of this aventure,

Full blissul in prison maiest thou endure:

In prison, nay certes but in paradice,

* Well hath fortune to thee turned the dice,

That hast the sight of her, and I thabsence:

For possible is, sithens thou hast her presence,

And art a knight, a worthy man and able,

That by some case since fortune is changeable

* Thou maiest sometime to thy desire attain.

But I that am exiled, and barraine

Of all grace, and in so great despair,

That there nis water, earth, fire, ne aire,

Ne creature, that of hem maked is,

That may me heale, or done comfort in this,

Well ought I sterve in wanhope and distresse.

Farewell my life, my lust, and my gladnesse.

Alas, why playnen men so in commune

Of purueyance of God, or of fortune

* That yeueth hem full oft in many a gise

Well better than hemselfe can devise.

Some man desireth to haue richesse,

That cause is of her murdre or sicknesse,

And soure man wold out of his prison faine

That in his house is of his meyne slaine.

Infinite harmes bene in this mattere,

We wote not what thing we prayen here,

We faren as he that dronke is as a mouse,

A dronken man wot well he hath an house,

But he wot not which the right way thider,

And to a dronken man the way is slider;

And certes in this world so faren we.

We seken fast after felicite,

But we go wrong full oft truly,

Thus we may say all, and namely I

That wenden, and had a great opinion

That if I might scape fro prison,

Then had I been in [...]oy and perfite hele,

There now I am exiled fro my wele,

Sith that I may not seene you Emely,

I nam but dead, there nys no remedy.

¶Vpon that other side Palamon,

Whan that he wist Arcite was gon,

Such sorrow he maketh, that the great tour

Resowned of his yelling and clamour,

The pure fetters on his shinnes grete

Were of his bitter salt teares wete.

Alas (quoth he) Arcite cosyn mine,

Of all our strife, God wot the frute is thine;

Thou walkest now in Thebes at large,

And of my wo, thou yeuest little charge;

Thou maist, sith thou hast wisdom & manhed,

Assemble all the folke of our kindred,

And make warre so sharpe in this countre,

That by some auenture, or by some treate

Thou maiest haue her to lady and to wife,

For whom I must nedes lese my life.

For as by way of possibilite,

Sith thou art at thy large of prison fre,

And art a lord, great is thine advantage

More than is mine, that sterve here in a cage;

For I may wepe & wayle whiles that I liue,

With all the wo that prison may me yeue,

And eke with paine, that loue yeueth me also,

That doubleth all my tourment and my wo.

Therewith the fire of jelousie vp stert

Within his brest, and hent him by the hert

So woodly, that he likely was to behold

The boxe tree, or the ashen deed and cold.

Then said he, O cruell goddes, that governe

This world with your word eterne,

And written in the table of Athamant

Your parliament and eterne graunt,

What is mankind more unto you yhold

Than is the shepe, that rouketh in the fold.

For slain is man, right as another beest,

And dwelleth eke in prison, and in arrest,

And hath sicknesse, and great adversite,

And oft time giltlesse parde.

What governance is in this prescience

That giltlesse turmenteth innocence?

And encreaseth thus all my penance,

That man is bounden to his obseruaunce

For Gods sake to leten of his will,

There as a beest may all his lusts fulfill,

And whan a beest is dead, he hath no pain,

But after his death man mote wepe & plain:

Though in this world he haue care and wo

Without dout it may stonden so.

The answere of his lete I to diuines,

But well I wote, in this world great pine is,

Alas, I see a serpent or a thefe,

That many a true man hath do mischiefe,

Gon at his large, & where him list may turn,

But I mote ben in prison through Saturn,

And eke through Iuno, jalous and eke wood,

That hath stroied well nye all the blood

Of Thehes, with his wast walles wide,

And Venus sleeth me on that other side

For ielousie, and feare of him Arcite.

Now will I stint of Palamon alite,

And let him in his prison still dwell,

And of Arcite forth woll I you tell.

The sommer passeth, and the nights long

Encreaseth double wise the paines strong

Both of the lover, and of the prisoner,

I not which hath the wofuller mister,

For shortly to say, this Palamon

Perpetuel is damned to prison,

In chaines and fetters to the deed,

And Arcite is exiled on his heed

For euermore as out of that countre,

Ne neuermore shall his lady se.

You louers aske I now this question,

Who hath the worse, Arcite or Palamon?

[Page] That one may se his lady day by day,

But in prison mote he dwell asway;

That other where him list may ride or go,

But sene his lady shall he neuer mo.

Now deemeth as ye list, ye that can,

For I woll tell forth my tale as I began.

¶Whan that Arcite to Thebes comen was,

Ful oft a day he swelt and said alas,

For sene his lady shall he neuer mo,

And shortly to conclude all his wo

So mikell sorrow made neuer creature,

That is or shal be, while the world may dure,

His slepe, his meat, his drinke is him byraft,

That leane he waxeth, and drie as a shaft,

His eyen hollow, and grisly to behold,

His hew pale, and fallow as ashen cold,

And solitary he was, and ever alone,

And wailing all the night, making mone,

And if he heard song or instrument,

Then would he wepe, he might not stent

So feble were his spirits, and so low

And changed so, that no man coud him know

His speech ne his voice, though men it herd

As in his gyre, for all the world it ferd

Nought comly like to louers malady

Of Eros, but rather like manie

Engendred of humours melancolike

Beforne his fell fantastike

And shortly was turned all vp so doun

Both habit and disposicioun

Of him, this wofull louer Arcite,

What should I all day his wo endite?

Whan he endured had a yere or two

This cruell torment, and this paine and wo

At Thebes, in his countre, as I said,

Vpon a night in slepe as he him laid,

Him thought how that the winged Mercury

Beforne him stood, aud bad him be mery,

His slepy yerd in hand he bare vpright,

An hat he weered vpon his hairs bright

Irayed was this god, as he toke kepe

As he was when Argus tooke his slepe,

And said him thus: to Athens shali thou wend

There is the shapen of thy woe and end.

And with that word Arcite awoke and stert,

Now truly how sore that ever me smert

Quod he, to Athens right now wol I fare,

Ne for no drede of death shall I spare

To see my ladie, that I loue and serve,

In her presence recke I not to sterve.

And with that word he caught a gret mirrour

And saw that chaunged was all his colour,

And saw his visage all in another kind,

And right anon it ran him in his mind,

That sith his face was so disfigured

Of malady, the which he had indured,

He might well, if that he bare him low,

Live in Athens evermore unknow,

And sene his ladie welnigh day by day,

And right anon he chaunged his aray,

And clad him as a poore labourer,

And all alone, saue only a squier

That knew his privitie and all his caas,

Which was disguised poorly as he was.

To Athens is he gone the next way,

And to the court he went vpon a day,

And at the gate he profered his service

To drugge & draw, what men would deuise:

And shortly of this matter for to saine,

He fell in office with a chamberlaine

The which was dwelling with Emelie,

For he was wise, and soone couth espie

Of euery seruaunt, which that serued here,

Well couth he hewen wood, and water bere,

For he was yong and mightie for the nones,

And thereto he was strong and big of bones

To done that any wight gan him deuise;

A yere or two he was in this service

Page of the chamber of Emelie the bright,

And Philostrate he said that he hight.

But halfe so wel beloued man as he

Ne was there none in court of his degre,

He was so gentill of conditioun,

That through all the court was his renown,

The said it were a charitie

That Theseus would enhauneen his degre,

And put him in a worshipfull seruice

There as he might his vertue exercise:

And thus within a while his name is sprong

Both of his deeds, and of his good tong,

That Theseus hath taken him so nere

That of his chamber he made him squier,

And yaue him gold to maintaine his degre,

And eke men brought him out of his countre

Fro yere to yere full prively his rent,

But honestly and slyly he it spent,

That no man wonderd how he it had,

And three yere in this wise his life he lad,

And bare him so in peace and eke in wer

That there nas man that Theseus durst der;

And in this blisse let I now Arcite,

And speake I woll of Palamon alite:

In darkenesse horrible and strong prison

This seven yere hath sitten this Palamon

Forpined, what for woe and distresse

Who feeleth double sore and heuinesse:

But Palamon, that loue distraineth so,

That wood out of his wit he goeth for wo,

And eke thereto he is a prisonere

Perpetuell, and not onely for a yere.

Who coud rime in English properly

His martirdome? forsooth it am not I,

Therefore I passe as lightly as I may.

It befell that in the seuenth yere in May,

The third night, as old bookes us saine

(That all this storie tellen more plaine)

Were it by aduenture or by destine

As when a thing is shapen, it shal be,

That soone after midnight, Palamon

By helping of a friend brake his prison,

And fleeth the citie as fast as he may go,

For he had yeuen the gailer drinke so

Of a clarrie, made of certaine wine,

With Narcotise and Opie, of Thebes fine,

That all the night though men would him shake

The gailer slept, he nught not awake;

And thus he fleeth as fast as he may,

The night was short, and fast by the day,

That needs cost he mote himselfe hide,

And to a grove that was fast there beside

With dreadfull foot then stalketh Palamon,

For shortly this was his opinion,

[Page] That in the grove he would him hide all day,

And in the night then would he take his way

To Thebes ward, his friends for to prie

On Theseus to help him to warrie:

And shortly, either he would lese his life

Or win Emelie unto his wife,

This is the effect, and his intent plaine.

Now will I turne to Arcite againe,

That little wist how nie was his care

Til that fortune had brought him in her snare,

The merrie Larke, messenger of the day,

Saleweth in her song the morrow gray,

And fierie Phebus riseth up so bright,

That all the orisont laugheth of the sight,

And with his stremes, drieth in the greues

The siluer drops hanging in the leues.

And Arcite, that in the court riall

With Theseus is squire principall,

Is risen, and looketh on the merrie day

And for to doen his obseruaunces to May,

Remembring on the point of his desire

He on his courser, startling as the fire

Is riden into the fieldes him to pley

Out of the court, were it a mile or twey,

And to the groue of which I you told

By aduenture, his way he gan hold

To maken him a garlond of the greves

Were it of Woodbind or Hauthorn leves,

And loud he song ayenst the Sonne shene,

May, with all thy floures and thy grene,

Welcome be thou (said he) faire fresh May,

I hope that I some greene thing get may:

And from his courser, with a lusty hert

Into the groue full hastily he stert,

And in a path he romed vp and doun

There, as by aduenture this Palamon

Was in a bush, that no man might him se,

For sore afraied of his death was he;

Nothing ne knew he that it was Arcite,

God wot he would have trowed that full lite.

But sooth is said, gone sithen are many yeres

* That field hath iyen, & the wood hath eres,

* It is full fair a man to bear him euin

For all day men mete at vnset steuin

Full little wote Arcite of this felaw

That was so nigh to hearken of his saw,

For in the bush sitteth he now full still.

When that Arcite had romed all his fill,

And songen all the roundell lustily,

Into a studie he fell sodenly,

As doen these louers in their queint gires,

Now in the crop, and now doun in the brires

Now vp now doune, as boket in a well,

Right as the Friday, soothly for to tell

Now it raineth, now it shineth fast,

Right so gan gerie Venus ouercast

The hearts of here folke, right as her day

Is gerifull, right so chaungeth she aray,

Selde is the Friday all the weeke ilike,

When that Arcite had song, he gan to like

And set him doune withouten any more:

Alas (qd. he) the day that I was bore,

Now long Iuno through thy crueltee

Wilt thou warren Thebes the citee?

Alas ybrought is to confusion

The bloodriall of Cadmus and Amphion.

Of Cadmus, I say, which was the first man

That Thebes built, or first the toune began,

And of the citie first was crowned king:

Of his linage am I, and of his spring

By very line, as of the stocke riall:

And now I am so caitife and so thrall,

That he that is my mortall enemie

I mought serue him as his squire poorely.

And yet doeth me Iuno well more shame,

For I dare not be know mine owne name,

But there as I was wont to hight Arcite,

Now hight I Philostrat, not worth a mite.

Alas thou fell Mars, alas thou Iuno,

Thus hath your ire our linage all fordo

Save onely me, and wretched Palamon,

That Theseus martireth in prison:

And ouer all this, to slean me vtterly

Loue hath his fierie dart so brenningly

I sticked thorough my true carefull hert,

That shapen was my death erst my shert.

Ye slean me with your eyen Emelie,

Ye been the cause wherefore that I die.

Of all the remnaunt of mine other care

Ne set I not the mountaunce of a Tare,

So that I coud do ought to your pleasaunce.

And with that word he fell doun in a traunce

A long time, and afterward he vp stert.

This Palamon thought that thro his hert

He felt a cold sword sodenly glide:

For ire he quoke, no lenger would he bide.

And when that he had heard Arcites tale,

As he were wood, with face dead and pale,

He stert him vp out of the bushes thicke,

And said: Arcite thou false traitour wicke

Now art thou hent, that lovest my ladie so

For whom that I have this pain and wo,

And art my blood, and to my counsell sworn

As I have full oft told thee here beforn,

And hast beyaped here duke Theseus,

And falsely hast chaunged thy name thus;

I will be dedde, or els thou shalt die,

Thou shalt not loue my ladie Emelie,

But I will loue her only, and no mo,

For I am Palamon thy mortall fo;

Though that I have no weapon in this place,

But out of prison am astert by grace,

I dred nat, that either thou shalt die

Or thou ne shalt nat louen Emelie,

These which thou wilt, or thou shalt not affert.

This Arcite, with full dispitous hert

When he hym knew, and had his tale heard,

As fers as a Lion, pulled out his swerd

And saied: By God that sitteth aboue

Ne wer that thou art sick, and wood for love,

And eke that thou no weapen hast in this place

Thou shouldest never out of this grove pace,

That thou ne shouldest dien of mine hond,

For I defie the suertie and the bond

Which that thou saist that I have made to thee,

What very fool, think well that love is free,

And I will love her maugre all thy might,

But forasmoche as thou art a Knight,

And wilnest to daren here by battaile,

Have here my truth, to morow I will not fail

Without witting of any other wight,

That here I will be founden as a knight,

[Page] And bringen harneis, right inough for thee,

And chese the best, and leave the worst for me,

And meat and drinke this night will I bring

Ynough for thee, and clothes for thy bedding,

And if so be that thou my ladie win

And slea me in this wodde, there I am in,

Thou maiest well haue thy ladie as for me,

This Palamon answered, I grant it thee.

And thus they been departed till a morow

When ech of hem had laid his faith to borow,

O Cupide out of all charitee

Oreigne, that wouldest haue no felow with thee

Full soth is saied, that loue ne lordship

Woll nat his thankes haue any fellowship

We find that of Arcite and Palamon,

Arcite is ridden anon into the toun,

And on the morow or it were day light

Full priuely two harneis had he dight

Both sufficient and mete to darreigne

The battail in the field betwixt hem tweine

And on his horse, alone as he was borne

He carrieth all his harneis him beforne,

And in the groue, at time and place iset

That Arcite and this Palamon been met,

To changen gan the colour in her face

Right as the hunter in the reigne of Trace

That standeth at a gappe, with a speare

When hunted is the Lion or the Beare

And hereth him rushing in the leues

And breaketh the boughs in the greues

And thinketh, here cometh my mortal enemy

Without faile, he must be dedde or I

For either I mote slea him at the gap

Or he mote slea me, if me mishap

So ferden they, in chaunging of her hew

As farre as euerich of other knew

There nas no good day, ne no saluing

But streight, without word or rehearsing

Eueriche of hem helped for to arme other

As friendly, as he were his owne brother

And after that, with sharp speares strong

They foinen ech at other wonder long

Thou mightest wenen, that this Palamon

In his fighting, were a wood Lion

And as a cruell Tigre was Arcite

As wild Bores gan they fight and smite

That frothen white as some for ixe wood

Vp to the ancle foughten they in her blood

And in this wise, I let hem fighting dwell

As forth I woll of Theseus you tell.

The destinie and the minister generall

That executeth in the world ouer all

The purveiance, that God hath said beforne

So strong it is, that though the world had sworne

The contrary of thing by ye & nay,

Yet sometime it shall fall on a day

That fell never yet in a thousand yere,

For certainly our appetites here,

Be it of warre peace hate or loue,

All is ruled by the sight aboue,

This meane I now by mightie Theseus,

That for to hunt is so desirous,

And namely at the great Hart in May,

That in his bed there daweth him day,

That he nis clad, and ready for to ride

With hunt and horne, and hounds him beside,

For in his hunting hath he soch delite,

That it is all his ioy and appetite

To been himselfe great Harts bane,

For after Mars, he serueth now Diane.

Clere was the day, as I haue told or this,

And Theseus, with all ioy and bliss,

With his Ipolita, the faire quene,

And Emelie iclothed all in greene,

An hunting been they ridden rially,

And to the groue, that stood there fast by

In which ther was an Hart as men him told,

Duke Theseus the streight way hath hold,

And to the land he rideth him full right,

For thither was the hart wont to haue his flight,

And ouer a brook, & so forth his wey,

This duke woll haue a course at him or twey

With hounds, soch as him list commaund,

And when the duke was comeninto the laund

Vnder the sonne he looked, and that anon

He was warre of Arcite and Palamon

That foughten breme, as it were bulles two,

The bright swords wenten to and fro

So hidiously, that with the lest stroke

It semed that it would have fellen an oke,

But what they weren, nothing he ne wote,

This duke with his spors his courser smote,

And at start he was betwixt hem two,

And pulled out his sword, and cried, ho

No more on paine of lesing your head

By mightie Mars, he shall anone be dead

That smiteth any stroke, that I may seen

But telleth me what mister men ye been,

That been so hardie for to fighten here

Without iudge or other officere,

As though it were in listes rially?

This Palamon answered hastily,

And said: sir, what nedeth words mo?

We haue the death deserued both two

Two wofull wretches been we and caitiues

That been encombred of our own liues,

And as thou art a rightfull lord and iudge,

Ne yeue vs neither mercie ne refuge,

But slea me first, for saint charite,

But slea my fellow as well as me,

Or slea him first, for though thou know it lite

This is thy mortal foe, this is Arcite,

That fro thy sand is banished on his head,

For which he hath deserved to be dead,

For this is he that came unto thy yate,

And saied, that he hight Philostrate,

Thus hath he iaped full many a yere

And thou hast made him thy chief squiere,

And this is he, that loveth Emelie.

For sith the day is come that I shall die,

I make plainly my confession,

That I am thilke wofull Palamon,

That hath thy prison broke wickedly

I am thy mortall foe, and he am I

That loueth so hot Emelie the bright,

That I woll die here present in her sight.

Wherefore I aske death and my iewise,

But slea my fellow in the same wise,

For both we haue deserved to be slaine.

This worthy duke answered anon againe

And saied, this is a short conclusion,

Your owne mouth, by your owne confession

[Page] Hath damned you, and I woll it record

It needeth not to pine you with a cord,

Ye shall be dead by mighty Mars the redde.

The queene anon for very womanhedde

Gan for to weepe, and so did Emelie,

And all the ladies in the companie

Great pitie was it, as thought hem all,

That euer such a chaunce should befall.

For gentlemen they were of great estate,

And nothing but for loue was this debate,

And saw her bloudie wounds wide and sore,

And all criden at once both lesse and more,

Have mercie lord upon vs women all:

And on her bare knees adoune they fall,

And wold haue kist his feet there as he stood,

Till at the last, assaked was his mood:

* For pitie renneth soone in gentle hert

And though he at first for ire quoke and stert,

He hath considered shortly in a clause

The trespasses of hem both, and eke the cause:

And although his ire her gilt accused,

Yet in his reason he hem both excused

* As thus: he thought well that euery man

Woll helpe himselfe in loue all that he can,

And eke deliue [...] himselfe out of prison,

And eke his heart had compassion

Of women, for they weepen euer in one:

And in his gentle heart he thought anone,

And foft vnto himselfe he saied: fie

* Vpon a lord that woll haue no mercie,

But be a Lion both in word and deed

To hem that been in repentaunce and dreed

As well as to a proud dispitous man

That will maintaine that he first began.

* That lord hath little of discretion,

That in such case can no diffinition:

But weigheth pride & humblenesse after one.

And shortly, when his ire was thus agone,

He gan to looken vp with eyen light

And spake in place these words all on hight.

The God of loue, ah benedicite,

How mightie and how great a lord is he:

Againe his might there gaineth no obstacles,

He may be cleaped a God for his miracles.

For he can maken at his owne gise

Of everich hart, as him list deuise.

Lo here this Arcite, and this Palamon,

That quietly were out of my prison gon,

And might haue liued in Thebes riasly,

And knowne I am her mortall enemie,

And that her death is in my power also,

And yet hath loue, maugre her eyen two

I brought hem hither both for to die.

Now looketh, is not this a great follie?

* Who may be a foole, but if he loue?

Behold for Gods sake that sitteth aboue,

See how they bleed, be they not well araied?

Thus hath her lord, the god of loue hem paied

Her wages, and her fees for her seruice:

And yet they wenen to be full wise,

That serue loue, for ought that may befall.

But yet is this the best game of all,

That she, [...] whom they haue this iollite,

Con hem therefore as much thanke as me.

She wot no more of all his hote fare

By God, than wot a Cuckow or an Hare.

But all mote been assaied hot and cold,

A man mote been a foole other yong or old,

I wot it by my selfe full yore agone:

For in my time a seruant was I one.

And therefore sith I know of loues paine,

I wot how sore it can a man distraine,

As he that oft hath be caught in her iaas,

I you foryeue all wholly this trespaas

At the request of the queen that kneeleth here,

And eke of Emely, my sister dere,

And ye shall both anon vnto me swere,

That ye shall neuer more my country dere,

Ne make warre vpon me night ne day,

But been my friends in all that ye may:

I you foryeue this trespass every dele.

And they him sware his asking fair and wele,

And him of lordship and of mercie praid,

And he hem graunted grace, and thus he said.

To speake of worthie linage and richesse,

Though that she were a queen or a princesse

Ilke of you both is worthie doubtlesse

To wed when time is, but nethelesse

I speake, as for my sister Emelie

For whom ye haue this strife and ielousie,

Ye wot your selfe, she may not wed two

At ones, though ye fighten euermo:

But one of you, all be him loth or lefe,

He mot goe pipe in an Yuie leafe:

This is to say, she may not haue both

Been ye neuer so iealous, ne so wroth.

And therefore I you put in this degre,

That each of you shall haue his destine

As him is shape, and hearken in what wise,

Lo here your end, of that I shall deuise.

My will is this, for plat conclusion

Without any replication

If that you liketh, take it for the best

That euerich of you shall goe where him lest

Freely without ransome or daungere

And this day fiftie weekes, ferre ne nere

Euerich of you shall bring an C. knights

Armed for the lists upon all rights

Alredy to darrein here by battaile

And this behote I you withouten faile

Vpon my truth, as I am true knight

That whether of you both hath that might

That is to say, that whether he or thou

May with his hundred, as I spake of now,

Slea his contrary, or out of lists driue

Him shall I yeue Emely to wiue

To whom fortune yeueth so fair a grace.

The lists shall I do make in this place

And God so wisely on my soule rew

As I shall euen iudge be, and trew.

Ye shall none other end with me make

That one of you shall be dedde or take

And ye thinken this is well isaid

Saith your aduise, and hold you well apaid

This is your end, and your conclusion.

Who looketh lightly now but Palamon?

Who springeth up for ioy but Arcite?

Who could tell, or who could rightly endite

The great ioy that is made in this place

When Theseus had done so fair a grace?

[Page] But doun on knees went euery maner wight

And thanked him with all her hert and might

And namely these Thebanes full many a sith

And thus with good hope and hert blith

They taken her leue, & homward gan they ride

To Thebes ward, with his old wals wide.

I trow men would deme it negligence

If I foryetten to tell the dispence

Of Thebes, that goeth busely

To maken vp the lists rially

To such a noble Theatre, as it was

I dare well say, in all this world there nas

The circuit whereof a mile was about

Walled with stone, and diched all about

Round was the shape, in manner of a compas

Full of degrees, the hight of sixtie paas

That when a man was set on one degree

He letted not his fellow for to see.

Eastward there stood a gate of marble white,

Westward right such another in thopposite.

And shortly to conclude, such a place

Was none in yearth, as in so little space,

For in the lond there nas no crafts man

That Geometrie, or Arithmetike can

Ne purtreiture, ne caruer of Images

That Theseus ne gaue him meat and wages

That Theatre to make and deuise

And for to do his Rite and Sacrifice

He Eastward hath upon the yate aboue

In worship of Venus, the Goddesse of loue,

Doe make an auter and an oratorie,

And on the West side, in memorie

Of Mars he maked such another

That cost of gold largely a fother.

And Northward, in a turret in the wall

Of Alabaster white and red Corall

An oratorie riche for to se

In worship of Diane the Goddes of chastite

Hath Theseus doe wrought in noble wise.

But yet had I foryetten to deuise

The noble caruings and the purtreitures

The shape, the countenaunce and the figures

That were in the oratories three,

First in the temple of Venus thou maiest see

Wrought on the wall, full pitously to behold

The broken sleepes, and the sighs cold

The salt teares, and the weimenting

The fire strokes, and the desiring

That loues seruants in this life enduren

The othes, that her couenants assuren

Pleasaunce and hope, desire, foolehardinesse

Beautie and youth, braudrie and richesse

Charmes and sorcerie, leasing and flatterie

Dispence, businesse, and ielousie

That weared of yellow golds a garland

And a Cuckow sitting on her hand.

Feasts, instruments, carols, and daunces,

Iusts and array, and all the circumstaunces

Of loue, which I reken and reken shall

By order, were painted on the wall,

And mo than I can make of mencion

For sothly all the mount of Citheron

Where Venus hath her principall dwelling

Was shewed on the wall in purtreing

With all the ioy, and the lustinesse

Nought was foryetten the portresse idlenesse

Ne Narcissus the faire of yore agon

Ne yet the follie of king Salomon

Ne yet the great strength of Hercules

Thenchauntment of Medea and Circes

Ne of Turnus, with his hardie corage

The rich Cresus caitife in seruage

* Thus may you seen, that wisdome ne richesse

Beautie ne slight, strength ne hardinesse

Ne may with Venus hold champartie

For as her list the world may she gie,

Lo, all these folke so cought were in her laas

Till they for wo full oft said alas

Sufficeth here one example or two

And though I coud reken a thousand mo.

The statue of Venus glorious to see

Was maked fleeting in the large see

And fro the nauell doune all couered was

With waues grene, and bright as any glas

A citriole in her right hand had shee

And on her hedde, full semely for to see

A rose garland fresh and well smelling

Aboue her hedde Doues flittering

Before her stood her sonne Cupido

Vpon his shoulders wings had he two

And blind he was, as it is oft sene

A bow he had and arrowes bright and kene

Why should I not as well tellen all

The purgatory that was thereabout ouer all

Within the temple of mightie Mars the rede

All painted was the wall in length and brede

Like to the Estris of the grisly place,

That hight the great temple of Mars in Thrace,

In thilke cold and frostie region,

There Mars hath his soueraine mancion.

First on the wall was painted a forrest,

In which there wonneth nother man ne beast

With knottie and knarie barrein trees old

Of stubs sharpe and hidious to behold:

In which there was a romble and a swough

As though a storme should break euery bough

And downward from an hill vnder a bent,

There stood the temple of Mars armipotent

Wrought all of burned stele, of which thentre

Was long and streight, and gastly for to see,

And thereout came such a rage and a vise,

That it made all the gates for to rise.

The Northern light in at the dores shone,

For window on the wall was there none,

Throgh which men might any light discerne.

The dores were all of Athamant eterne

Y [...]lenched ouerthwart and head long

With yron tough, for to maken it strong.

Every piller, the temple to susteine

Was tonne great, of yron bright and shene.

There saw I first the dark imagining

Of fellonie, and eke the compassing:

The cruell ire, red as any glede,

The pickpurse also, and eke the pale drede,

The smiler, with the knife under the cloke,

The shepen brenning with the blacke smoke

The treason of the murdring in the bed,

The open war, with wounds all be bled.

Conteke with bloody kniues, & sharp manace

All full of chirking was that sorrie place.

The sleer of himselfe yet saw I there,

His heart blood hath bathed all his here:

[Page] The naile ydriuen in the shode on hight,

with cold death, with mouth gaping vpright.

Amids of the temple sate Mischaunce

With discomfort and sorrie Countenaunce:

Yet saw I Woodnesse laughing in his rage

Armed complaint, theft, and fierce courage,

The carraine in the bush, with throte ycorue

A thousand slaine, and not of qualme istorue.

The tirant, with the prey by force iraft,

The toune destroied, there was nothing ilaft.

Yet saw I brent the ships hoppesteres,

The hunter istrangled with the wild beres:

The Sow fretting the child in cradle,

* The Cooke iscalded, for all his long ladle.

Nought was foryeten the infortune of Mart,

The carter ouerridden by his owne cart,

Vnder the wheele, full low he lay adoun.

There were also of Marts devision,

The Barbour, the Botcher, and the Smith,

That forgeth sharpe swords on the stith.

And all aboue depainted in a tour

Saw I Conquest, sitting in great honour

With the sharpe sword right ouer his head

Hanging by a subtill twined thread.

Depainted was there the slaughter of Iulius,

Of great Nero, and of Antonius:

All be that thilke time they were unborne,

Yet was her death depainted there beforne

By manacing of Mars, right by figure,

So was it shewed on that portreiture

As is depainted in the starres aboue,

Who shall be dead or els slaine for loue.

Sufficeth one ensample in stories old,

I may not reken them all, though I would.

The statue of Mars vpon a cart stood

Armed, and looked grim as he were wood,

And ouer his head there shinen two figures

Of starres, that been cleaped in scriptures,

That one (Puella) hight, that other (Rubeus)

This god of armes was araied thus:

A wolfe there stood beforne him at his fete

With eyen red, and of a man he ete:

With subtill pensill was painted this storie

In redouting of Mars and of his glorie.

Now to the temple of Diane the chast

As shortly as I can I woll me hast,

To tell you all the discriptioun:

Depainted been the wals vp and doun

Of hunting and of shamefast chastite:

There saw I how wofull Calistope,

When that Diane greeued was with her,

Was turned fro a woman to a bere,

And afterward was she made the loadsterre:

Thus was it painted, I can say no ferre,

Her sonne is eke a starre as men may see.

There saw I Dane turned vnto a tree,

I meane not the goddesse Diane,

But Venus daughter, which that hight Dane

There saw I Acteon an Hert ymaked

For vengeance that he saw Diane all naked:

I saw how that his hounds haue him cought,

And freten him, for they knew him nought.

Yet painted was a little furthermore,

How Athalant hunted the wild Bore,

And Mellager, and many other mo,

For which Diane wrought him care and wo.

There saw I many another wonder storie,

Which me list not to draw in memorie.

This goddesse full well vpon an Hart sete,

With small hounds all abouten her fete,

And vnderneath her feet she had a Moone,

Wexing it was, and yet should wane soone.

In gaudie greene her statue clothed was,

With bow in hand, and arrowes in caas.

Her iyen aye she cast full low adoun

There Pluto hath his darke regioun.

A woman trauelling was her before,

But for her child so long was vnbore,

Full pitously Lucina gan she call,

And said helpe, for thou maiest best of all.

Well coud he paint liuely that it wrought,

With many a florein he the hewes bought.

Now been these lists made, and Theseus

That at his great cost hath arayed thus

The temples, and the theatre eueridele,

When it was done, it him liked wonder wele.

But stint I woll of Theseus alite,

And speake of Palamon and of Arcite.

The day approcheth of her returning,

That euerich should an C. knights bring,

The battaile to darreine, as I you told,

And to Athens her couenants to hold,

Hath euerich of hem brought an C. knights

Well armed for the warre at all rights:

And sikerly, there trowed many a man

That never sithens the world began,

As for to speak of knighthood of her hond,

As farre as God hath made sea or lond,

Nas of so few, so noble a company:

For every wight that loued chiualry,

And would his thankes haue a passing name

Hath praied, that he might be of that game,

And well was him, that thereto chosen was:

For if there fell to morrow such a caas,

Ye know well, that euery lusty knight,

That loueth paramours, and hath his might

Were it in England, or were it elsewhere,

They would all full faine willen to be there.

* To fight for a lady, ah, benedicite,

It were a lustie sight for men to se.

And right so farden they with Palamon,

With him there went knights many on:

Some would been armed in an habergeon,

And in a brest plate, with a light gippion,

And some would have a paire of plates large,

And some wold haue a pruce sheld, som a [...]arge

Some would be armed on his legs wele,

And haue an axe, and some a mace of stele.

There nas none new gise, that it nas old.

Armed were they, as I haue you told

Euerich after his opinion.

¶Ther maist thou se comming with Palamon

Ligurge himselfe, the great king of Trace:

Blacke was his berd, & manly was his face.

The sercles of his iyen in his hed

They glouden betwixt yellow and red:

And like a Lion looked he about,

With kemped haires on his browes stout.

His lims great, his brawnes hard and strong

His shoulders brode, his armes round & long.

[Page] And as the guise was in his countre,

Full high upon a chaire of gold stood he,

With foure great white buls in the trasys.

Instead of a coat armour ouer his harnays

With nailes yellow, and bright as any gold

He hath a beares skin, cole blacke for old.

His long haire was kempt behind his backe,

As any ravens feather it shone for blacke.

A wreath of gold arme great, of huge weight

Vpon his head set full of stones bright

Of fine rubies and clere diamands.

About his chaire there went white allaunds

Twenty and mo, as grete as any stere

To hunten at the lion or the wild bere

And followed him, with mosell fast ybound:

Collers of gold, and torrettes filed round.

An hundred lordes had he in his rout

Armed full well, with hearts sterne and stout.

With Arcite, in stories as men do find,

The great Emetrius the King of Inde

Vpon a steed bay, trapped in stele,

Covered with a cloth of gold diapred wele,

Came riding like the god of armes Marce,

His coat armure was of cloth of Trace

Well couched with perle, white, round & gret:

His saddle was of brent gold new ybet.

A mantle upon his shoulders hanging

Brette full of rubies, red as fire sparkling.

His crispe haire like rings was of yron,

And that was yellow, and glittering as the son.

His nose was high, his eyen bright cytryn,

His lips ruddie, his colour was sanguyn.

A few freckles, in his face yspreint

Betwixt yellow, and somdele blacke ymeint,

And as a Lion he his eyen kest

Of fiue and twenty yere his age I gest:

His beard was well begun for to spring,

His voice was as a trumpet sowning.

Vpon his head he weared of laurer greene

A garland fresh and lustie for to seene.

Vpon his hand he bare for his delite

An Eagle tame, as any lilly white.

An hundred lords had he with him there,

All armed saue her heads in her gere,

And that full richely in all manner things.

For trusteth well, that earles, dukes, & kings

Were gathered in this noble company

For loue, and for encrease of chiualry.

About this king there ran on euery part

Full many a rame Lion and Libart.

And in this wise, these lords all and some

Been on the sunday to the citie come

About prime, and in the toune a light.

This Theseꝰ, this duke, this worthy knight

When he had brought hem into his citee,

And inned hem, euerich after his degree,

He feasted hem, and doth so great labour

To easen hem, and done hem all honour,

That yet men wenen that no mans wit

Of none estate coud ne amend it.

The minstralcie, the seruice at the feast,

The great yefts also, to the most and least,

The rich array, throughout Theseus paleis,

Ne who sat first ne last vpon the deys,

What ladies fairest been or best dauncing,

Or which of hem can best daunce or sing,

Ne who most feelingly speaketh of loue,

Ne what haukes sitten on perchen aboue,

Ne what hounds liggen on the flour a doun

Of all this now make I no mentioun:

But of the effect, that thinketh me the best,

Now cometh the point, harkeneth if you list.

The sunday at night, or day gan to spring,

When Palamon the larke herd to sing,

Although it were not day by hours two,

Yet song the larke, and Palamon right tho

With holy heart, and with an high corage

He rose vp, to wenden on his pilgrimage

Vnto the blisfull Cithera benigne,

I mean Venus, honourable and digne:

And in her houre, he walketh foorth apaas

Vnto the lists, there as the temple was:

And doun he kneleth, and with humble chere

And hert full sore, he said as ye shall here.

¶Fairest of faire: O lady mine Venus,

Doughter of Ioue, and spouse to Vulcanus,

Thou glader of the mount of Citheron,

For thilke loue thou haddest to Adon,

Haue pity of my bitter teares smart,

And take my humble prayer at thine heart.

Alas, I ne haue no language to tell

The effect, ne the torment of mine hell:

Mine heart may not mine harmes bewray,

I am so confuse, that I cannot say,

But mercy lady bright, that wost wele

My thought, & seest what harms that I fele:

Consider all this, and rue vpon my sore,

As wisly as I shall for euermore

Enforce my might, thy true seruant to be,

And hold warre alway with chastite:

That make I mine auow, so ye me helpe.

I keepe not of armes, still for to yelpe,

Ne aske I to morrow to haue victory,

Ne renounce in this case, ne vaine glory

Of prise of armes, to blowen vp and doun,

But would haue full possessioun

Of Emely, and die in her service,

Find thou the maner how, and in what wise,

I retch it not, but it may better be

To haue victory of hem, or they of me,

So that I haue my lady in mine armes.

For though so be that Mars is god of Armes

Your Vertue is so great in heauen aboue,

That if you list, I shall well haue my loue.

Thy temple shall I worship euer mo,

And on thine aulter, where I ride or go

I woll done sacrifice, and fires bete.

And if you woll not so, my lady swete,

Then pray I you, to morrow with a spear

That Arcite doe me through the heart beare:

Then reke I not when I haue lost my life,

Though Arcite win her to his wife.

This is the effect and end of my prayere,

Yeue me my lady, thou blisfull lady dere.

When the orison was done of Palamon,

His sacrifice he did, and that anon

Full pitously, with all circumstaunces,

All tell I not as now his obseruaunces.

[Page] But at the last the statue of Venus shoke,

And made a signe, whereby that he toke,

That his prayer accepted was that day,

For though the signe shewed a delay,

Yet wist he well that graunted was his bone,

& with glad hart he went him home full sone,

The third houre in equall that Palamon

Began to Venus temple for to gon,

Vp rose the sunne, and vp rose Emelie,

And unto the temple of Diane gan hie:

Her maidens, the which thider were lad

Full readily with hem the fire they had,

The incense, the clothes, and the remnant all,

That to the sacrifice longen shall:

The hornes full of meeth, as was the gise,

There lacked nought to done her sacrifise

Smoking the temple, full of clothes faire:

This Emely with heart debonaire

Her body wisshe with water of a well:

But how she did right I dare not tell,

* But it be any thing in generall,

And yet it were a game to hear it all,

To him that meaneth wel it were no charge:

* But it is good a man be at his large.

Her bright haire vnkempt was, vntressed all,

A crown of a greene Oke vnseriall

Vpon her head was set full faire and mete,

Two fires on the aulter gan she bete,

And did her things, as men may behold

In Stace of Thebes, and these bookes old.

When kindled was the fire, with pitous chere

Vnto Diane she spake as ye may here.

O chast goddesse of the woods greene,

To whom both heauen & earth and see is sene:

Queen of the reigne of Pluto, dark and low,

Goddess of maidens, that my hart hath know

Full many a yeare, and wost what I desire,

As keepe me fro the vengeance of thine ire,

That Acteon abought cruelly:

Chast goddesse, well wost thou that I

Desire to been a maid all my life,

Ne neuer woll I be loue ne wife.

I am (thou wost well) of thy company

A maid, and loue hunting and venery,

And for to walken in the woods wild,

And not for to been a wife, & been with child,

Nought will I know company of man,

Now helpe me lady sith you may and can,

For the three formes that thou hast in thee.

And Palamon, that hath such a loue to me,

And eke Arcite, that loueth me so sore,

This grace I pray thee withouten more,

As send loue and peace betwixt hem two:

And fro me turn away her hearts so,

That all her hote loue, and her desire,

And all her busie torment, and all her fire

Be queint, or turned in another place.

And if so be thou wolt not do me that grace

Or if any destiny be shapen so,

That I shall needs have one of hem two,

As send me him that most desireth me.

Behold goddesse of cleane chastite

The bitter tears, that on my cheekes fall,

Since thou art a maid, and keeper of vs all,

My maidenhed thou keep and well conserue,

And while I liue, a maiden woll I thee serue.

The fires bren vpon the aulter clere,

While Emely was thus in her prayere:

But sodeinly she saw a thing queint,

For right anon one of the fires queint,

And quicked againe, and after that anon

That other fire was queint, and all agon:

And as it queint, it made a whistling,

As done these wet bronds in her brenning.

And at the bronds end outran anone

As it were bloudy drops many one:

For which so sore agast was Emely,

That she was well nie mad, and gan to cry,

For she ne wist what it signified,

But onely for the feare thus she cried,

And wept, that it was pity for to heare.

And therewithall Diane gan to appeare

With how in hond, right as an hunteresse:

And said doughter, stint thine heavinesse:

Among the gods high it is affirmed,

And by eterne word written and confirmed,

Thou shalt been wedded to one of tho,

That have for thee so much care and wo:

But vnto which of hem I may not tell.

Farwell, for I may no longer dwell:

The fires which now on mine aulter bren

Shall declaren, ere that thou gon hen

This auenture of loue, as in this case.

And with that word the arrows in the case

Of the goddesse clatteren fast and ring,

And forth she went, and made vanishing,

For which this Emely astonied was,

And said: what amounteth this, alas,

I put me vnder thy protection

Diane, and vnder thy disposition.

And home she goth anon the next way,

This is the effect, there is no more to say,

The next houre of Mars following this

Arcite vnto the temple walked is

Of fierce Mars to done his sacrifise

With all the might of his paymem wise.

With pitous heart and high deuotion,

Right thus to Mars he said his orison.

O strong god, that in the reignes cold

Of Trace honoured art, and lord yhold,

And hast in euery reigne and euery lond

Of armes, all the bridle in thine hond,

And hem fortunest as thee list deuise,

Accept of me my pitous sacrifise.

If so be that my thought may deserue,

And that my might be worthy for to serue

Thy godhead, that I may been one of thine:

Then pray I thee that thou rue on my pine

For thilke sore paine, and for thilke hot fire,

In which thou brentest whylom for desire,

When thou vsedst the faire beaute

Of faire young Venus both fresh and fre,

And haddest her in thine armes at thy will:

Although thou ones on a time misfull,

When Vulcanus had caught thee in his laas,

And found thee ligging by his wife alas:

For thilke sorrow that was in thine hart,

Have ruth as well on my paines smart.

[Page] I am young and uncunning, as thou wost,

And as I trow with love offended most,

That ever was any lives creature:

For she that doth me all this wo endure,

Ne retcheth neuer, where I sinke or flete.

And well I wot, or she me mercy hete,

I mote with strength with her in this place:

And well I wot, without help or grace

Of thee, ne may my strength not auaile:

Then help me lord to morrow in my battaile,

For thilke fire that whilome brenned thee,

As well as the fire now brenneth mee.

And do, that I to morrow have the victory,

Mine be the trauell and thine be the glory,

Thy soveraign temple woll I most honouren

Of any place, and alway most labouren

In thy pleasaunce and in thy crafts strong.

And in thy temple I woll my banner hong,

And all the armes of my companie,

And euermore, untill the day I die,

Eterne fire I woll beforne thee find:

And eke to this auow I woll me bind.

My heard, my haire that hongeth low adoun

That neuer yet felt offencioun

Of rasour ne of shere, I woll thee yeve,

And been thy true seuaunt while I liue.

Now lord have ruth vpon my sorrowes sore,

Yeve me the victory, I aske thee no more.

The praier stint of Arcite the strong.

The rings on the temple dore they rong,

And eke the dores yclattren full fast,

Of which Arcite somewhat him agast.

The fires brennen upon the auter bright,

That it gan all the temple for to light:

A sweet smell anon the ground up yafe.

And Arcite anon his hond up hafe,

And more insence into the fire he cast,

With other rites mo, and at the last

The statu of Mars began his hautherke ring:

And with that sound he heard a murmuring

Full low and dim, that said thus: Victory.

For which he yafe to Mars honor and glory.

And thus with joy, and hope well to fare

Arcite anon into his inne is fare,

As faine as foule is of the bright sun.

And right anon such a strife is begun

For thilke graunting, in the heauen aboue

Betwixt Venus the goddess of loue,

And Mars the sterne god armipotent,

That Iupiter was busie it to stent:

Till that the pale Saturnus the cold,

That knew so many aventures old,

Found in his experience and art,

That he full soone hath pleased every part.

And sooth is said, elde hath great auauntage,

* In elde is both wisdome and usage:

Men may the old outren, but not outread.

Saturne anon, to stinten strife and dread,

Albeit that it be again his kind,

Of all this strife he can remedy find.

My deare doughter Venus, qd. Saturne,

My course that hath so wide for to turne,

Hath more power than wot any man.

Mine is the drenching in the sea so wan,

Mine is the prison in the darke coat,

Mine is the strangling and hanging by the throat,

The murmure, and the churles rebelling,

The groning, and the priuy enpoysoning.

I do vengeance and plaine correction,

While I dwell in the signe of the Lion.

Mine is the ruine of the high hals,

The falling of the toures and of the wals

Vpon the minor, or on the carpenters:

I slew Sampson, shaking the pillers.

And mine been also the maladies cold,

The darke treasons, and the casts old:

My looking is the father of pestilence.

Now weep no more, I shall do my diligence,

That Palamon, that is thine owne knight,

Shall have his lady, as thou him behight.

Though Mars shal help his knight, natheles

Betwixt you it mot sometime be pees:

All be ye not of one complection,

That couseth all day such deuision.

I am thine ayle, ready at thy will,

Weep no more, I woll thy lust fulfill.

Now woll I stenten of these gods aboue

Of Mars, and of Venus goddesse of loue,

And plainely woll tellen you as I can

The great effect, of which that I began.

Great was the feast in Athens that day,

And eke that lusty season in May

Made euery wight to ben in such pleasaunce,

That all that day iusten they and daunce,

And spenden it in Venus high seruise:

But because that they shoulden arise

Early, for to see the great and strange sight,

Vnto her rest went they quickly at night:

And on the morrow when day gan spring,

Of horse and harneis, noise and clattering

There was in the hostelries all about:

And to the pallace rode there many a rout

Of lords, upon great steeds and palfreis.

There maiest thou see deuising of harneis

So vncouth, so rich, and wrought so wele

Of Goldsmithry, of braudry, and of stele,

The shields bright, testers, and trappers,

Gold hewen helms, hauberks, & coat armers,

Lords in paraments on her coursers,

Knights of retinue, and eke squiers,

Nailing the speares, and helmes bokeling.

Gigging of shields with lamers lacing

There as need is, they were nothing ydell:

The foming steeds on the golden bridell

Gnawing and fast the armurers also

With file and hammer, riding to and fro:

Yemen on foot, and communes many one

With short staues, thicke as they may gone.

Pipes, trompes, nakoners, and clariouns,

That in the battaile blowne bloudie souns.

The pallace full of people up and doun,

Here three, there ten, holding her questioun:

Deuining of these Theban knights two.

Some said thus, some said it should he so:

Some did hold with him with the black berd,

Som with the balled, som with the thick herd.

Some said he looked grim and would fight,

He hath a sparth of twenty pound of weight.

Thus was the hall full of deuining

Long after the sunne gam to spring.

[Page] The great Theseus of his sleepe gan wake

With minstralcie and noise that they make:

Held yet the chamber of his pallace rich,

Till that the Theban knights both ylich

Honoured weren, and to the place yfet.

Duke Theseus is at the window set

Arayed right as he were a god in trone:

The people preased thyderward full sone

Him for to seen, and done him high reuerence,

And eke to heare his hest and his sentence.

An herauld on a scaffold made an oo,

Till all the noise of the people was ydo:

And when he saw the people of noise still,

Thus shewed he forth the mighty dukes will.

The lord hath of his high discretion

Considered, that it were destruction

To gentle blood, to fighten in this gise

Of mortall battell, now in this emprise:

Wherefore to shapen that they shall not die,

He woll his first purpose modifie.

No man therefore, up paine of losse of life

No manner shot, polax, ne short knife

Into the lists send, or thider bring,

Ne short sword to sticke with point biting

No man ne draw, ne heare it by his side:

Ne no man shall to his fellow ride

But one course, with a sharp grounden spere:

Foin if him list on foot, the same he shall were.

And he that is at mischiefe, shall he take,

And not slaine, but brought unto the stake,

That shal ben ordained on either side,

Thider he shall by force, and there abide.

And if so fall, that the cheefetaine be take

On either side, or els sleen his make,

No longer shall the turnament last:

God speed you, goth and layeth on fast

With swords & long mases fighten your fill,

Goth now your way, this is the lords will.

The voice of the people touched heuen,

So loud cried they with mery steuen:

God saue such a lord that is so good,

He willeth no destruction of blood.

Vp goth the trompes and the melody,

And to the lists rideth so the company

By ordinance, throughout the cite large,

Hanged with cloth of gold, & not with sarge.

Full like a lord this noble duke gan ride

And these two Thebans on either side:

And after rode the queene and Emely,

And after that another company

Of one and other, after her degree:

And thus they pasten throughout the citee,

And to the lists comen they be by time.

It nas not of the day yet fully prime,

When set was Theseus full rich and hie

Ipolita the queene, and Emelie,

And other ladies in degrees about:

Vnto the seats preaseth all the rout.

And westward, through the yates under mart

Arcite, and eke and hundred of his part

With banner red, is entred right anon:

And in the selue moment entred Palamon

Is, under Venus, eastward in that place,

With banner white, and hardy cheare & face.

In all the world, to seken up and doun,

So euen without variatioun

There nas no where such companies twey:

For there was none so wise that coud sey,

That any had of other auauntage

Of worthinesse, ne of estate, ne age,

So euen were they chosen for to gesse:

And into the renges faire they hem dresse.

When that her names red were euerichone,

That in her number, gile were there none,

Tho were the gates shut, and cried was loud,

Do now your deuoir yong knights proud.

The heraulds left her pricking up & doun,

Now ringen trompes loud and clarioun,

There is no more to say, east and west

In goth the sharpe speres sadly in the arrest:

In goth the sharpe spurs into the side,

There see men who can iust, and who can ride.

There shiueren shafts upon sheilds thicke,

He feeleth through the hert spoone the pricke.

Vp springeth the speres, twenty foot on hight,

Out goth the swords as the siluer bright.

The helmes they to hew, and to shred,

Out burst the blood, with sterne stremes red:

With mighty maces the bones they to breke.

He thro the thickest of the throng gan threke.

There stumblen steeds strong, & doun gon all,

He rolled under foot as doth a ball.

He foineth on his feet with a tronchoun,

And he hurleth with his horse adoun.

He through the body is hurt, and sith ytake

Maugre his head, & brought unto the stake,

As forward was, right there he must abide.

Another is lad on that other side.

And sometime doth hem Theseus to rest,

Hem to refresh, and drinke if hem lest.

Full oft a day have these Thebans two

Together met, and done ech other wo:

Vnhorsed hath ech other of hem twey.

There was no tigre in the vale of Colaphey,

When her whelpe is stole, when it is lite,

So cruell on the hunt, as is Arcite

For jealous hert upon this Palamon:

Ne in Belmarie there is no fell Lion,

That hunted is, or for his hunger wood,

Ne of his prey desireth so the blood,

As Palamon to slee his foe Arcite:

The iealous strokes on her helmes bite,

Out renneth the blood on both her sides reed.

Sometime an end there is of euery deed:

For ere the sunne unto the rest went,

The strong king Emetrius gan hent

This Palamon, as he fought with this Arcite,

And made his sword deepe in his flesh bite.

And by force of twenty is he take

Vnyolden, and drawne to the slake.

And in the rescous of this Palamon

The strong king Ligurge is borne adoun:

And king Emetrius for all his strength

Is borne out of his saddle a swords length,

So hurt him Palamon or he were take:

But all for naught, he was brought to the stake:

His hardy heart might him helpen naught,

He must abide, when that he was caught

By force, and eke by composition.

Who sorroweth now but wofull Palamon?

That mote no more gone againe to fight.

And when that Theseus had seen that sight,

[Page] He cried ho: no more, for it is don:

Ne none shall lenger to his fellow gon.

I woll be true iudge, and not party,

Arcite of Thebes shall haue Emely,

That by his fortune hath her faire ywon.

Anon there is a noise of people begon

For ioy of this, so loud and high withall,

It seemed that the listes shoulden fall.

What can now faire Venus done aboue?

What saith she now? what doth the quene of loue?

But wepeth so, for wanting of her will,

Till that her teares adowne on the lists fell:

She said: I am ashamed doutles:

Saturnus said: fair daughter hold thy pees,

Mars hath al his wil, his kniȝt hath his boon

And by mine dead thou shait be eased soon.

The trumpes with the loud minstralcie,

The heraulds, that so loud yell and crie

Been in her wele, for loue of Dan Arcite.

But hearkeneth me, and stinteth noise alite,

Which a miracle there befell anon.

The fierce Arcite hath his helme off ydon,

And on a courser for to shew his face

He pricketh endlong in the large place,

Looking vpward vpon Emelie,

And she ayen him cast a friendly eye.

* (For women, as to speak in commune,

They followen all the favour of fortune)

And was all his chere, as in his hert.

Out of the ground a fire infernall stert

From Pluto sent, at the request of Saturne,

For which his horse for feare gan to turne,

And leape aside, and foundred as he lepe:

And ere that Arcite may taken kepe,

He pight him off on the pomell of his head,

That in the place he lay as he were dead.

His breast to brosten with his saddle bow:

As blacke he lay as any coale or crow,

So was the blood yroune in his face.

Anon he was ybrought out of the place

With hart full sore, to Theseus paleis,

Tho was he coruen out of his harneis,

And in a bed ybrought full faire and bliue,

For he was yet in memory, and on liue,

And alway crying after Emely.

Duke Theseus, with all his company

Is comen home to Athens his cite

With all blisse and great solemnite:

Albeit that this auenture was fall,

He would not discomfort hem all.

Men said eke, that Arcite should not die,

He should ben healed of his maladie.

And of another thing they were as faine,

That of hem all there was none islaine,

All were they sore hurt, and namely one,

That with a spere was thirled his brest bone.

Two other had wounds, & two broken arms,

Some of them had salues, & some had charms:

Sundry fermaces of hearbes, and eke saue

They dronken, for they would her liues haue.

For which this noble duke, as he well can,

Comforteth and honoureth euery man,

And made great reuell all the long night,

Vnto the straunge lords, as it was right.

Ne there nas hold no discomforting,

But as is at iusts or a turneying:

For soothly there nas no discomfiture,

For falling is hold but an auenture.

Ne to be [...] by force unto a stake

Vnyolden, and with twenty knights take:

And one person, withouten any mo

To be harted forth by arme, foot, and too,

And eke his steed driuen forth with staues,

With footmen, both yeomen and knaues,

It was arretted him no villanie:

There may no man cleape it cowardie.

For which anon, duke Theseus did cry

To stinten all rancour and enuy.

They gre as well of one side as of other,

And either side is like, as others brother,

And yaue hem gyfts after her degree,

And helden a feast fully dates three:

And conueyed the knights worthily

Out of his toune a daies iourney largely.

And home went euery man the right way,

There nas no more but farwell & haue good day.

Of this battel I woll no more endite,

But speake of Palamon and of Arcite.

Swelleth the breast of Arcite, and the sore

Encreaseth at his heart still more and more.

The clottered blood, for any lee chcraft

Corrumped, and is in his bouke last,

That neither veineblood, ne vent ousing,

Ne drinke of hearbes may be helping,

By vertue expulsiue, or animall:

For thilke vertue cleaped naturall

Ne may the venim void, ne expell:

The pipes of his lungs began to swell,

And euery lacerte in his breast adoun

Is shent with venim and corruptioun.

Him gaineth neither, for to get his life,

Vomit vpward, ne downward laxatife:

All is to brusten thilke region,

Nature hath no domination..

* And certainly ther as nature woll not wirch,

Farwell physicke, go beare the corse to chirch.

This is all and some, that Arcire must die:

For which he sendeth after Emelie,

And Palamon that was his cosyn deare:

Then said he thus, as ye shall after heare.

Nought may my wofull spirit in my hart

Declare o point of all my sorrows smart,

To you my lady, that I love most,

But I bequeath the service of my gost

To you abouen any creature,

Since that my life may no lenger dure.

Alas the wo, alas my paines strong,

That I for you haue suffered, and so long.

Alas the death, alas mine Emely,

Alas departing of our company:

Alas mine hearts queene, alas my liues wife,

Mine hearts ladie, ender of my life.

* What is the world, what asken men to haue?

Now with his loue, now in his cold graue

Alone withouten any company.

Farwell my sweet foe, mine Emely,

And soft doe take me in your armes twey,

For the loue of God, & hearkeneth what I say:

I haue here with my cousin Palamon

Had strife and rancour many a day agon

For loue of you, and for my iealousie:

And Iupiter so wisely my soule gie.

[Page] To speaken of a seruant properly

With circumstances all, and truly,

That is to say, trouth, honor, and knighthede

Wisdome, humblesse, estate, & high kinrede,

Freedome, and all that longeth to that art,

So Iupiter have of my soule any part,

As in this world, right now know I non,

So worthy to be loued as Palamon:

That serueth you, and woll doen all his life.

And if that you shall euer been a wife,

Foryet not Palamon, the gentleman:

And with that word his speech faile began.

For from his feet vnto his breast was come

The cold death, that had him ouernome.

And yet moreouer, for in his armes two

The vitall strength is lost, and all ago.

Saue only the intellect, without more,

That dwelleth in his heart sicke and sore,

Gan failen, wher the hart felt death.

Dusked been his iyen two, and failed breath.

But on his ladie yet cast he his iye,

His last word was, mercy Emelie.

His spirit chaunged, and out went there,

Whitherward I cannot tell, ne where:

Therfore I stint, I am no diuinistre,

Of soules find I not in this registre.

Ne me list not thilke opinion to tell

Of hem, though they writen where they dwel.

Arcite is cold, there Mars his soule gie.

Now woll I speake forth of Emelie.

Shright Emelie, and houlen Palamon,

And Theseus his sister vp tooke anon

Swouning, and bare her fro his corse away:

What helpeth it to tarrie forth the day,

To tellen how she wept both euen & morow?

* For in such case women haue much sorow,

When that her husbands been fro hem go,

That for the more part they sorowen so,

Or els fallen in such maladie,

That at the last certainely they die.

Infinit been the sorow and the teares

Of old folke, and folke of tender yeares,

In all the toune for death of this Theban:

For him there weepeth both child and man.

So great weeping was there not certaine,

When Hector was brought, all fresh yssaine

To Troy alas, the pitie that was there

Scratching of cheekes, and renting eke here.

Why woldest thou be dead? thus women crie,

And haddest gold inough, and Emelie.

No man ne may gladen Theseus,

Saving his old father Egeus,

That knew this worlds transmutatioun,

* As he had seene it, both vp and doun:

Ioy after wo, and wo after gladnesse,

And shewed him ensamples and likenesse.

* Right as there died neuer man (qd. he)

That he ne liued in yearth in some degree,

Right so there liued neuer man (he saied)

In this world, that sometime he ne deied.

* This world is but a throughfare full of wo,

And we been pilgrimes, passing to and fro:

Death is an end of euery worlds sore.

And over all this yet said he much more

To this effect, full wisely to exhort

The people, that they should hem recomfort.

Duke Theseus with all his busie cure

Casteth now, where that the sepulture

Of good Arcite shall best ymaked bee

And eke most honourable for degree.

And at the last he tooke conclusion,

That there as Arcite and Palamon

Had for love the battaile hem betweene,

That in the same selue groue, sweet & greene,

There as he had his amorous desires,

His complaint, and for loue his hote fires,

He would make a fire, in which the offis

Funerall he mighten all accomplis.

He hath anon commaunded to hack and hew

The Okes old, and lay hem all on a rew

In culpons, well araied for to brenne:

His officers with swift foot they renne

Right anon at his commaundement.

And after Theseus hath ysent

A large bere, and it all ouersprad

With cloth of gold, the richest that he had:

And of the same sute he clothed Arcite.

Vpon his hands his gloues white,

Eke on his head a croune of Laurell grene,

And in his hand a sword full bright and kene.

He laied him bare visaged on the bere,

Therewith he wept that pitie was to here.

And for the people should seene him all.

When it was day he brought him to the hall,

That roreth of the crying and the soun.

Tho come this wofull Theban Palamon

With glitering beard, & ruddie shining heres

In clothes blacke, dropped all with teres

(And passing other of weeping Emelie)

The rufullest of all the companie.

And in as much as the seruice should bee

The more noble and rich in his degree,

Duke Theseus let foorth the steeds bring,

That trapped were in steele all glittering,

And couered with the armes of Dan Arcite:

Vpon these steeds great and lilly white,

There saten folk, of which one bare his shield,

Another his speare in his hand held:

The third bare with him a bow Turkes,

Of brent gold was the case and the harnes:

And ridden forth apace with sorie chere

Toward the groue, as ye shall after here.

The noblest of the Greeks that there were

Vpon her shoulders caried the bere

With slacke pace, and eyen red and wete

Throughout the citie, by the maister strete,

That sprad was all with black, & that wonder hie:

Right of the same is the street ywrie.

Vpon the right hand went Egeus,

And on the other side duke Theseus

With vessels in her hand of gold full fine,

All full of hony, milke, blood, and wine.

Eke Palamon, with full great companie:

And after that came wofull Emelie,

With fire in hand, as was that time the gise,

To doen the office of funerall seruice.

Hie labour, and full great apparelling

Was at seruice, and at fire making,

That with his green top the heaven raught,

And twenty fadome of bred armes straught:

This is to saine, the boughes were so broad,

Of straw first there was laid many a load.

[Page]

But how the fire was maken vp on height

And eke the names, how all the trees hight,

As oke, firre, beech, aspe, elder, elme, popelere,

Willow, holme, plane, boxe, chesten, & laurere.

Maple, thorne, beech, ewe, hasell, whipuitre,

How they were feld, shall not be told for me:

Ne how the gods runnen vp and doun

Disherited of her habitatioun,

In which they wonned in rest and pees:

Nimphes, Faunies, and Amadriades.

Ne how the beasts, ne how the birds all

Fledden for feare, when the trees was fall.

Ne how the ground agast was of the light,

That was not wont to see the sunne bright.

Ne how the fire was couched first with stre,

And then with drie stickes clouen a thre,

And then with greene wood and spicerie,

And then with cloth of gold and perrie,

And garlands hanging with many a flour,

The mirrhe, the incense, with sweet odour.

Ne how Arcite lay among all this,

Ne what richesse about his body is,

Ne how that Emely, as was the guise

Put in the fire of funerall service,

Ne how she souned when made was the fire,

Ne what she spake, ne what was her desire:

Ne what iewels men in the fire cast

When that the fire was great and brent fast:

Ne how some cast her shield, & some her spere,

And of her vestments, which that they were,

And cups full of wine, of milke, and blood,

Into the fire, that brent as it were wood.

Ne how the Greekes with a huge rout

Thrice did riden all the fire about

Vpon the left hand, with a loud shouting,

And thrice on the right, with her speres clatering:

And thrice how the ladies gan all to crie.

Ne how that led was homeward Emelie:

Ne how that Arcite is brent to ashen cold,

Ne how the liche wake was yhold.

All that night long ne how the Greeks play.

The wake plaies ne keepe I not to say:

Who wrestled best naked, with oile annoint.

Ne who bare him best in euery point.

I woll not tellen eke how they gone

Home to Athens when the play is done.

But shortly to the point then woll I wend,

And maken of my long tale an end.

By processe and by length of certain yeares

All stinten is the mourning and the teares

Of Greekes, by one generall assent.

Then seemed me there was a parliament

At Athens, vpon a certain point and caas:

Among the which points yspoken was

To haue with certaine countries alliance,

And haue of Thebanes fully obeisance.

For which this noble Theseus anon

Let send after this gentle Palamon

Vnwist of him, what was the cause and why:

But in his blacke clothes sorrowfully

He came at his commaundement on hie,

Tho sent Theseus after Emelie.

When they were set, & husht was the place,

And Theseus abidden hath a space,

Or any word came from his wise brest

His eyen set he there as was his lest,

And with a sad visage he siked still,

And after that, right thus he saied his will.

* The first mouer of the cause aboue

When he first made the faire chaine of loue,

Great was theffect, and high was his intent,

Well wist he why, and what thereof he ment,

For with that faire chaine of loue he bond

The fire, the aire, the water, and the lond

In certaine bonds, that they may not flee:

The same prince and that mouer (qd. he)

Hath stablisht in this wretched world adoun

Certaine of daies and duracioun

To all that are engendred in this place,

Ouer the which day they may not pace,

All mow they yet tho daies abredge:

There needeth none authority to ledge.

For it is proued by experience,

But that me list declare my sentence.

Then may men by this order discerne,

That thilke mouer stable is and eterne.

* Well may men know, but he be a foole,

That every part is deriued from his hoole.

For nature hath not taken his beginning

Of one part or cantle of a thing,

But of a thing that perfit is and stable,

Descending so, till it be corrumpable.

And therefore of his wise purueyanuce

He hath so well beset his ordinaunce,

That spaces of things and progressions

Shullen endure by successions

And not eterne, without any lie:

This maiest thou vnderstand and see at eie:

* Lo the oke, that hath so long a norishing,

Fro the time that it beginneth first to spring,

And hath so long a life, as ye may see,

Yet at the last wasted is the tree.

Considereth eke, how that the hard stone

Vnder our feet, on which we tread and gone

Yet wasteth it, as it lieth in the wey.

The broad riuer sometime wexeth drey.

The great tounes see we do wane and wend,

Then ye see that all this thing hath end.

And man and woman see shall we also,

That nedeth in one of the tearmes two,

That is to saine, in youth or els in age

He mote be dead, a king as well as a page.

Some in his bed, some in the deepe see,

Some in the large field, as ye may see:

It helpeth not, all goeth that ilke wey:

Then may you see that all thing mote dey.

What maketh this but Iupiter the king?

That is prince, and cause of all thing,

Converting all to his proper will,

From which it is deriued sooth to tell.

And here again, no creature on liue

Of no degree auaileth for to striue.

* Then is it wisdome, as thinketh me,

To make vertue of necessite:

And take it well, that we may not eschew.

And namly that to vs all is dew.

And who so grutcheth ought, he doth follie,

And rebell is to him that all may gie.

* And certainely, a man hath most honour

To dien in his excellence and flour,

[Page] When he is siker of his good name:

Then hath he don his frends ne him no shame.

And glader ought his friends be of his death,

When with honour iyold is vp the breath,

Then when his name apaled is for age,

For all foryetten is his vassellage:

Then it is best, as for a worthy fame,

* To dien when he is best of name.

The contrary of all this, is wilfulnesse,

Why grutchen we? why haue we heauinesse,

That good Arcite (of chiualry the flour)

Departed is, with dutie and with honour,

Out of this foule prison of this life?

Why grutchen here his cosin and his wife,

Of his welfare, that loueth him so wele:

Can he hem thank? nay God wot neuer adele,

That both his soule, and eke himselfe offend,

And yet they mow not her lusts amend?

What may I conclude of this long storie,

But after sorrow I rede vs be merrie,

And thanke Iupiter of all his grace:

And ere we departen from this place,

I rede we maken of sorrowes two

One perfit ioy, lasting euermo:

And look now where most sorrow is herein,

There woll I first amend and begin.

Sister (qd. he) this is my full assent

With all the people of my parlement

Of gentle Palamon your owne knight,

That serueth you with wil, hart, and might,

And euer hath done, sith ye first him knew,

That ye shall of your grace vpon him rew,

And take him for husband and for Lord:

Lend me your hand, for this is our accord.

Let see now of your womanly pite:

He is a kings brothers sonne parde,

And though he were a poore batchelere,

Since he hath serued you so many a yere,

And had for you so great aduersite,

It must ben considered, leueth me,

For gentle mercy ought to passen right.

Then said he thus to Palamon the knight:

I trow there need little sermoning

To make you assenten to this thing.

Commeth nere, & take your lady by the hond,

Betwixt hem was maked anon the bond,

That hight Matrimonie or mariage,

By all the counsaile of the Baronage.

And thus with all blisse and melody

Hath Palamon iwedded Emely.

And God that all this world hath ywrought,

Send him his loue, that it hath so dere bought,

For now is Palamon in all wele,

Liuing in blisse, in richesse, and in hele,

And Emely him loueth so tenderly,

And he her serueth so gentilly,

That neuer was there no word hem betwene

Of iealousie, or of any other tene.

Thus endeth Palamon and Emely:

And God saue all this faire company.

The MILLERS Tale.

NIcholas, a Scholar of Oxford, practiseth with Alison the Carpenters wife of Osney, to deceive her Husband, but in the end is rewarded accordingly.

¶The Millers Prologue.

WHen that the Knight had thus his tale ytold,

In all the company nas there yong ne old,

That he ne said it was a noble storie,

And worthie to be drawne in memorie:

And namely the gentiles eueriehone.

Our host lough and sware, so mote I gone,

* This goeth aright, vnbokeled is the male,

Let see now who shall tell another tale:

For truly the game is well begon.

Now telleth us sit Monke if you can

Somewhat, to quite with the knights tale.

The Miller for dronken was all pale,

So that vnneths vpon his horse he sat,

Ne nold availe neither hood ne hat,

Ne abide no man for his courtesie,

But in Pilats voice he began to crie,

And s [...]re by armes, blood, and bones,

I can a noble tale for the nones,

With which I woll now quite the knight his tale.

Our host saw that he was dronken of ale,

And said: abide Robin leue brother,

Some better man shall tell vs first another:

Abide, and let vs wirch thriftely.

By Gods soule (qd. he) that woll not I,

For I woll speake, or els goe my way.

Our host answered: tell on a deuill way:

Thou art a foole, thy wit is ouercome.

Now hearketh qd. the Miller, all & some:

But first I make protestatioun,

That I am drunke, I know it by my soun:

And therefore if I mispeake or say,

Wite it the ale of Southwarke, I you pray:

For I woll tell a legend and a life

Both of a Carpenter and his wife,

* How that a clarke set a Wrights cap▪

The Reue answered & said stint thy clap:

Let be thy leaud drunken harlottrie,

* It is a sinne, and eke a great follie

To apairen any man, or him defame,

And eke to bring wiues in such blame.

Thou maiest inough of other things faine,

This drunken Miller spake full soon againe

And saied: my leue brother Oswold,

* Who hath no wife, he is no cokewold.

But I say not therefore that thou art one,

There been full good wiues many one.

Why art thou angry with my tale now?

I haue a wife parde as well as thou,

* Yet now I for all the Oxen in my plough,

Take vpon me more then is inough

To deemen of my selfe that I am one,

I woll beleeue well that I am none.

[Page] * An husband should not been inquisitife

Of Gods priuity, ne of his wife.

For so he find Gods foison there,

Of the remnant needeth not to enquere.

What should I more say, but this Millere

He nold his word for no man forbere,

But told his churles tale in this mannere:

Me forthinketh I shall rehearce it here,

And therefore euery gentle wight I pray,

Deemeth not for Gods loue that I say

Of euill intent, but that I mote rehearse

Her tales all, been they better or werse,

Or else falsen some of my matere.

And therefore who so list it not to here,

Turne ouer the leafe, and chuse another tale,

For ye shall find ynow great and smale

Of historiall thing touching gentlenesse,

And eke moralitie, and holinesse.

Blame not me, if that ye chuse amis,

The Miller is a churle, ye know well this,

So was the Reue eke, and other mo,

And harlotrie they told eke both two.

Auise you, and put me out of blame,

* And eke men should not make ernest of game.

¶The Millers Tale.

WHylome there was dwelling in Oxenford

A rich gnofe, that gests helden to bord,

And of his craft he was a Carpenter,

With him there was dwelling a poor scholler

Had learned Art, but all his fantasie

Was turned to learne Astrologie:

And coud certaine of conclusions

To demen by interrogations,

If that men asken him in certain hours

When that men shoulden have drought or shours:

Or if men asked him what shuld befal

Of every thing, I may not reken all.

This clarke was cleped Hend Nicholas:

Of berne loue he coud and of solas,

And thereto he was slie, and right priuee

And ilike to a maiden meeke to see.

A chamber he had in that hostelrie

Alone, withouten any companie,

Full tetously dight with hearbes sote,

And he himselfe as sweet as is the rote

Of Licores, or of any Seduwall.

His almagiste, and bookes great and small.

His asterlagour, longing for his art,

His augrim stones lying faire apart

On shelues all couched at his beds hed:

His presse icouered with a folding red,

And all aboue there lay a gay Sautrie,

On which he made on nights melodie,

So sweetly, that all the chamber rong:

And Angelus ad virginem he song.

And after that he song the kings note,

Full oft blessed was his merry throte.

And thus the sweet clarke all his time spent

After his friends finding and his rent.

This Carpenter had wedded new a wife,

Which that he loved more then his life:

Of eighteene yeare I gesse she was of age,

Iealous he was, and kept her strait in cage,

For she was wild and young: & he was old,

And deemed himself to been a Cokewold.

* He knew not Cato, for his wit was rude,

That bade men wed her similitude.

* Men shoulden wed after her estate,

For youth and elde is often at debate.

But sith he was fallen in the snare,

He must enduren (as other folke) his care.

Faire was this young wife, and therewithall

As any Wisele her bodie gentle and small.

A seinte she weared, barred all with silke,

A barme cloth, as white as morrow milke

Vpon her lendes, full of many a gore.

White was her smock, embrouded all before

And eke behind, on her colere about,

Of cole blacke silke, within and eke without.

The tapes of her white volipere

Were of the same sute of her colere.

Her fillet broad of silke, and set full hie,

And sikerly, she had a likerous eie:

Full small ypulled were her browes two

And tho were bent, and blacke as any s [...]o.

She was much more blisful for to see

Than is the new Perienet tree:

And softer than the wool is of a weather.

And by her girdle hung a purse of leather

Tassed with silke, and perled with latoun,

In all this world to seeken up and down

There nis no man so wise, that couth thence

So gay a popelote, or so gay a wench.

Full brighter was the shining of her hew,

Then in the toure the Noble forged new.

But of her song it was so loud and yerne,

As any swallow sitting on a berne:

Thereto she couth skip, and make a game,

As any Kid or Calfe following his dame.

Her mouth was sweet, as braket or the meth

Or hord of Apples, lying in hay or heth.

Winsing she was, as is a jolly colt,

Long as a mast, and upright as a bolt.

A brooch she bare on her sow collere,

As broad as the bosse of a bucklere.

Her shoes were laced on her legs hie:

She was a primrose and a piggesnie,

For any lord to liggen in his bed,

Or yet for any good yoman to wed.

Now sir, and eft sir, so befell the caas,

That on a day this Hende Nicholas

Fell with this yong wife to rage and pley,

While that her husband was at Oseney:

As clerkes ben full subtill and queint,

And priuily he caught her by the queint

And saied: I wis but I haue my will,

For derne loue of thee lemman I spill:

And held her full fast by the haunch bones,

And saied: lemman loue me well at ones,

Or I woll dien also God me saue.

And she sprong as a colt in a traue:

And with her head she wrieth fast away,

And saied: I woll not kiss thee by my fay▪

Why let be (qd. she) let be Nicholas,

Or I woll crie out harrow and alas.

Doe away your hands for your courtesie.

This Nicholas gan mercy for to crie,

And spake so faire. and profered him so fast,

That she her loue graunted him at last,

[Page] And swore her oth by S. Thomas of Rent,

That she would been at his commandement,

When that she may her leisure well espie.

My husband is so full of jealousie,

That but ye wait well, and be priue,

I wot right well I nam but dead qd. she.

Ye mote be full derne as in this caas.

Nay thereof care ye not qd. Nicholas:

* A clarke had litherly beset his while,

But if he couth a Carpenter beguile.

And thus they were accorded and y [...]worne

To awaiten a time as I haue said beforne.

And when Nicholas had don thus euery dele,

And thacked her about the lends wele,

He kissed her sweet, then taketh his Sautrie

And plaieth fast, and maketh melodie.

Then fell it thus, that to the parish chirch

(Christes owne workes for to wirch)

This good wife went upon a holy day:

Her forehead shone as bright as any day,

So was it wash, when she lete her werke.

Now was there of the chirch a parish clerke,

The whiche that was cleaped Absolon,

Croule was his haire, and as gold it shon,

And strouted as a fanne large and brode,

Full straight and even lay his jolly shode,

His rode was red, his eyen gray as Goos,

With Poles windowes coruen on his shoos.

In hosen redde he went fetously,

Gird he was full small and properly,

All in a kirtle of light waget:

Full faire and thicke been the points set,

And thereupon he had a gay surplise,

As white as the blossome on the rise.

A merrie child he was, so God me saue,

Well coud he let bloud, clippe, and shaue,

And make a charter of lond, and a quitaunce:

In twenty manner coud he trip and daunce,

After the schoole of Oxenford tho,

And with his legs casten to and fro:

And play songs on a small Ribible,

Thereto he song sometime a loud quinible:

And as well coud he play on a Geterne.

In all the toune nas brewhouse ne Tauerne,

There as any gay girle or Tapstere was,

That he ne visited with his solas,

But sooth to say he was somwhat squaimus

Of farting, and of speech daungerous.

This Absolon, that was jolly and gay,

Goeth with a Censer on a Sunday,

Censing the wiues of the parish fast,

And many a louely looke on hem he cast,

And namely on this Carpenters wife:

To looke on her him thought a merry life.

She was so proper, and sweet as Licorous.

I dare well saine, if the had been a Mous,

And he a Cat, he would haue her he [...] anon.

This parish clerke, this jolly absolon

Hath in his heart such a loue longing,

That of no wife he tooke none offering,

For courtesie he saied he would haue none.

The moon when it was night ful bright shone,

And Absolon his Geterne hath ytake,

For paramours he thought for to wake,

And foorth he goeth, jealous and amorous,

Till he came to the Carpenters hous,

A little after the Cockes had yerow.

And dressed him by a shot window,

That was upon the Carpenters wall:

He singeth in his voice gentle and small,

Now deare lady, if that thy will it be,

I pray you that ye would rew on me:

Full well according to his Geterning.

This Carpenter awoke, & heard him sing,

And spake unto his wife and said anon,

What Alison, heares thou not Absolon,

That chaunteth thus vnder our boures wall?

And she answerd her husband therewithall,

Yes God wot, I heare him euery dele.

This passeth forth, what wol ye bet then wele:

Fro day to day this jolly Absolon

So woeth her, that him was woe begon.

He waketh all the night, and all the day,

He kembeth his locks broad, & made him gay

He woeth her by meanes and brocage,

And swore that he would been her own page.

He singeth brokking as a Nighttingale:

He sent her piment, methe, and spiced ale,

And wafres piping hot out of the glede:

And for she was of roun, he profered her mede.

For some folke woll be won for richesse,

And some for strokes, & some with gentlenesse.

Somtime to shew his lightnesse & mastrie

He plaieth Heraudes on a skaffold hie.

But what auaileth him as in this caas?

So loueth she this Hende Nicholas,

* That Absolon may blow the Buckes horne:

He ne had for his labour but a scorne,

And thus she maketh Absolon her ape,

And all his request tourneth to a yape.

Forsooth this proverbe it is no lie,

* Men say thus alway, that the nye slie

Still maketh the ferre loue to be lothe:

For though that Absolon be wood or wrothe,

Because that he ferre was from her sight,

This nie Nicholas stood in his light.

But now beare thee well Hend Nicholas,

For Absolon may waile and sing alas.

And so befell it on a Saterday,

This Carpenter was gone to Osnay,

And Hende Nicholas and Alison

Accorded were to this conclusion,

That Nicholas should shapen hem a while

This silly jealous Carpenter to beguile:

And if so be the game went aright,

She should sleep in his armes all night,

For this was his desire and hers also.

And right anon, withouten words mo,

This Nicholas no longer would tarie,

But doth full soft vnto his chamber carie

Both meat and drinke for a day or twey.

And to her husbond had her for to sey,

If that he asked after Nicholas,

She should aunswere she mst where he was:

Of all that day she saw him not with eie,

She trowed he was in some maladie.

For no crie that she or her maid coud call

He nold answer, for nought that might befall.

Thus passeth forth all the like Saturday,

That Nicholas still in his chamber lay,

And eat, dranke, and slept, & did what him list

Till Sunday, that the sunne goeth to rest.

[Page] This silly Carpenter hath great marueile

Of Nicholas, or what thing might him eile,

And said: I am adrad by saint Thomas

It stondeth not aright with Nicholas.

God shilde that he died sodainely:

This world is now full tickle sekerly.

I saw to day a corse horne to cherch,

That now on monday last I saw him werch.

Goe up (qd. he unto his knaue) anone,

Cleape at his dore, & knocke fast with a stone:

Looke how it is, and tell me boldely.

This knaue goeth him vp full sturdely,

And at the chamber dore while that he stood,

He cried and knocked as he were wood:

What how? what doe ye maister Nicholay?

How may ye sleepen all this long day?

But all for nought, he heard not a word.

A hole he found full low vpon a bord,

There as the cat was wont in to creepe,

And at that hole he looked in full deepe,

And at the last he had of him a sight.

This Nicholas sat euer gaping vpright,

As he had keyked on the new moone.

Adowne he goeth, & told his maister soone,

In what array he saw this ylke man.

This carpenter to blissen him began,

And said: now helpe vs saint Frideswide.

A man wote little what shall him betide.

This man is fallen with his Astronomie

In some woodnesse or in some agonie.

I thought aye well how it shoulden be,

* Men shoulden not know of Gods priuite.

Yea blessed be alway the leaud man,

* That naught but only his beleefe can.

Right so ferd another clarke with astronomy,

He walked into the fields for to pry

Vpon the starre, to wete what should befall,

Till he was in a marlepit yfall,

He saw not that: yet by saint Thomas

Me reweth sore on Hende Nicholas:

He shall be arated out of his studying,

If that I may, by Iesus heauen king.

Get me a staffe, that I may underspore

While that thou Robin heauest vp the dore:

He shall out of his studying, as I gesse.

And to the chamber dore he gan him dresse.

His knaue was a strong carle for the nones,

And by the haspe bare vp the dore at ones,

Into the floore the dore fell anone.

This Nicholas sat as still as any stone,

And euer gaped vpward into the aire.

This carpenter wend he were in despaire,

And hent him by the shoulders mightily,

And shoke him hard, and cried pitously,

What Nicholas, what? how looke adoun:

Awake, and thinke on Christs passioun.

I crouch the from elues, & from wiked wights:

Therewith the night spell he said anon rights

On foure halues of the house about,

And on the dreshfold of the dore without,

Iesu Christ, and sainte Benedight

Blisse this house from euery wicked wight:

Fro the nights mare, the wite Pater noster,

* Where wonnest thou saint Peters sister?

And at the last this Hende Nicholas,

Gan for to sike sore, and said alas:

Shall all this world be lost eftsoones now?

This carpenter answerd: what saiest thou?

What think on God, as we men do that swink.

This Nicholas answerd, fetch me drink,

And after woll I speake in priuite

Of certaine things that toucheth thee & me:

I woll tell it none other man certaine.

This carpenter goth doun, & cometh againe,

And brought of mighty ale a large quart,

And when each of hem had dranken his part,

This Nicholas his chamber dore fast shet,

And doune the carpenter by him set

And said: Iohan hoast mine lefe and dere,

Thou shalt vpon thy trouth swere me here,

That to no wight thou shalt my counsel wrey:

For it is Christs counsaile that I say,

That if thou tell it any man, thou art forlore:

For this vengeance thou shalt haue therfore,

That if thou wray me, thou shalt be wood.

Nay Christ it forbid for his holy blood

Qd. tho this silly man, I am no blabbe

Ne though I say it, I nam not lefe to gabbe.

Say what thou wolt, I shall it neuer tell

To child ne wife, by him that harrowed hell.

Now Iohn (qd. Nicholas) I woll not lie,

I haue yfounden in mine astrologie,

As I haue looked in the Moone bright,

That now on munday next, at quarter night

Shall fall a raine, and that so wild and wood

That halfe so great was neuer Noes flood:

This world (he said) in lesse than in an houre

Shall all be orient, so hidous is the shoure:

Thus shall mankind drench, and lese her life.

This carpenter answerd & said: alas my wife

And shall she drench? Alas mine Alisoun?

For sorrow of this he fell almost adoun,

And said: is there no remedy in this caas?

Yes yes full good (qd. Hende Nicholas)

If thou wolt werchafter lore and rede,

Thou maist not werchen after thine own hede:

For thus saith Salomon that was full trew,

* Worke all by counsel, & thou shalt not rew.

And if thou wilt werken by good counsaile,

I vndertake, without mast or saile

Yet shall I saue her, and thee and me.

Hast thou not heard how saved was Noe,

When that our lord had warned him beforne,

That all the world with water shuld be lorne?

Yes (qd. the carpenter) full yore ago.

Hast thou not heard (qd. Nicholas) also,

The sorrow of Noe with his fellowship,

Or that he might get his wife to ship?

Him had leuer I dare well undertake

At thilke time, than all his wethers blake,

That she had a ship her selfe alone:

And therfore wost thou what is best to done?

* This asketh hast, and of an hasty thing

Men may not preach ne make tarrying.

Anon goe get vs fast into this inn

A kneding trough or els a kemelyn,

For ech of vs: but looke that they been large,

In which men mow swimmen as in a barge?

And haue therein victuals sufficiaunt

But for a day, fie on the remnaunt:

The water shall aslake and gone away

Abouten prime vpon the next day.

[Page] But Robin may not weten of this, thy knave,

Ne eke thy maid Gille I may not save:

Aske not why: for though thou aske me,

I woll not tellen Gods privite.

Sufficeth thee, but if thy wits be mad,

To haue as great a grace as Noe had:

Thy wife shall I well save out of doubt,

Goe now thy way, and speed thee hereabout.

But when thou hast for her, & thee, and me,

Ygetten vs these kneading tubs thre,

Then shalt thou hang hem in the roofe full hie,

That no man of our purueyaunce espie:

And when thou hast don thus as I haue said,

And hast our vitaile faire in hem ylaid,

And eke an axe to smite the cord arwo

When the water commeth, that we may go,

And breake an hole on high vpon the gable

Vnto the garden ward, ouer the stable,

That we may freely passen forth our way,

When that the great shoure is gone away,

Then shalt thou swim as mery I vndertake,

As doth the white ducke after her drake:

Then woll I cleape, how Alison, how Iohn

Be merry: for the flood woll passe anon:

And thou wolt saine, haile maister Nicholay,

Good morrow, for I see well that it is day:

And then we shall be lords all our life

Of all the world, as was Noe and his wife.

But of one thing I warne thee full right,

Be well auised on that ilke night,

That we benentred into the ships bord,

That none of us ne speake not a word,

Ne clepe ne crie, but been in his prayere,

For so to done it is Gods owne hest dere.

Thy wife & thou mote hang fer a twinne,

For that betwixt you shall be no sinne,

No more in looking than there shall in deed:

This ordinaunce is said, go God thee speed.

To morow at night, when men ben all asleepe,

Into our kneading tubs woll we creepe,

And sitten there, abiding Gods grace:

Go now thy way, I haue no longer space

To make of this no longer sermoning:

* Men saine thus: send the wise & say nothing:

Thou art so wise, it needeth thee not teach,

Goe saue our liues, and that I thee beseech.

This silly carpenter goeth forth his way,

Full oft he said alas, and welaway,

And to his wife he told his privite,

And she was ware, and knew it bet than he

What all this queint cast for to sey:

But natheles, she ferde as she would dey,

And said, alas, go forth thy way anone,

Helpe vs to scape, or we be dead eachone:

I am thy true very wedded wife,

Go deare spouse, and help to saue our life.

* Lo, what a great thing is affection,

Men may die of imagination,

So deep may impression be take.

This silly carpenter beginneth to quake:

Him thinketh verily that he may see

Noes flood come waltering as the see

To drenchen Alison, his hony dere:

He weepeth, waileth, and maketh sory chere,

He siketh, with many a sorry thought,

He goth, and geteth him a kneading trough,

And after a tub, and a kemelin,

And priuily he sent hem to his in:

And hing hem in the roofe full priuilie.

With his own hand he made him ladders thre

To climben by the ronges, and by the stalkes

Into the tubs honging by the balkes,

And hem vitailed, both trough and tubbe,

With bread and cheese, & good ale in a iubbe:

Sufficing right ynow as for a day.

But er that he had made all this array,

He sent his knaue, and eke his weuch also

Vpon his need to London for to go,

And on the munday, when it drew to night,

He shut his dore, without candle light,

And dressed all thing as it should bee.

And shortly they clomben vp all three.

They sitten still not fully a furlong way,

Now pater noster clum, said Nicholay,

And clum qd. Iohan, and clum said Alison:

This carpenter said his deuotion,

And still he sit, and biddeth his prayere

Awayting on the raine, if he it here.

The dead sleepe, for wery businesse

Fell on this carpenter, right as I gesse

About curfewe time, or little more:

For trauaile of his ghost he groneth sore,

And est he routeth, for his head mislay:

And doune the ladder stalketh Nicholay,

And Alison full loft after she sped:

Withouten words mo they went to bed

There as the carpenter was wont to lie,

There was the reuell, and the melodie.

And thus lieth Alison and Nicholas

In businesse of mirth and solas,

Till that the bell of laudes gan to ring,

And Freres in the chaunsell gone to sing.

This parish clerke, this amorous Absolon,

That is for loue alway so wo bygon,

Vpon the monday was at Osenay

With company, him to disport and play:

And asked vpon a case a cloisterere

Full priuily, after Iohn the carpentere:

And he drew him apart out of the chirch,

And said I not: I saw him not here wirch

Sith saturday, I trow that he be went

For timbre, there our Abbot hath him sent.

For he is wont for timbre for to go,

And dwellen at the graunge a day or two:

Or els he is at his house certaine,

Where that he be, I cannot sorthly saine.

this Absolon full iolly was and light,

And thouȝt, now is my time to walk all night

For sikerly, I saw him nat stering

About his dore, sith day began to spring.

So mote I thriue, I shall at cockes crow

Full priuily knocke at his window,

That stant full low vpon his boures wall:

To Alison woll I now tellen all

My loue longing: for yet I shall not misse.

That at the least way I shall her kisse.

Some manner comfort shall I haue parfay,

My mouth hath itched all this long day:

That is a signe of kissing at the least.

All night me mette eke, that I was at a feast.

Therefore I woll goe sleepe an houre or twey.

And all the night than woll I walke and pley.

[Page] When that the first cocke hath crow anon,

Vp rist this iolly louer Absolon,

And him arayeth gay, and in queint deuice:

But first he cheweth greins and licorice,

To smellen sote, or he had kempt his here,

Vnder his tongue a true loue he bere,

For thereby he wend to been graciouse.

He cometh to the carpenters house,

And still he stant under the shot window,

Vnto his breast it raught, it was so low:

And soft he knocked with a semely soun.

What doe you honycombe, sweet Alisoun?

My faire bird, and my sweet sinnamon:

Awake lemman mine, and speketh to Absolon

Full little thinken ye upon my wo,

That for your loue I swelt there as I go.

No wonder is though I swelt and sweat,

I mourne as doth the lambe after the teat.

I wis lemman, I haue such loue longing,

That like a Turtle true is my mourning.

I may not eaten no more than may a maid.

Go fro the window iacke fool, she said:

As help me God and sweet saint Iame,

I loue another, or els I were to blame

Well bet than thee (by Iesu) Absolon:

Goe forth thy way, or I woll cast a stone,

* And let me sleepe, a twenty diuell way.

Alas, qd. Absolon, and welaway,

That true loue was euer so yuell besette:

Then kisse me, since it may be no bette

For Iesus loue, and for the loue of me.

Wilt thou then go thy way therewith, qd. she?

Ye tertes lemman, qd. this Absolon.

Then make thee ready, (qd. she) I come anon.

And vnto Nicholas she said, be still,

Now peace, and thou shalt laugh thy fill.

This Absolon doun set him on his knees,

And said: I am a lord at all degrees:

For after this I hope there commeth more.

Lemman thy grace, and sweet bird thy nore.

The window she vndoth, and that in hast,

Haue do (qd. she) come off and speed thee fast,

Least that our neighbours thee espie.

This Absolon gan wipe his mouth full drie.

Darke was the night as any pitch or cole,

And at the window she put out her ers hole,

And Absolon sped neither bet ne wers,

But with his mouth he kist her bare ers

Full sauorly: and as he was ware of this,

Abacke he stert, and thought it was amis,

For well he wist a woman had no berde,

He felt a thing all rowe, and long herde,

And said: fie, alas what haue I do?

Te he (qd. she) and clapt the window to,

And Absolon goeth forth a sorrie paas.

A heard, a beard, said Hende Nicholas,

By gods corpus, this goeth faire and wele.

This silly Absolon heard it every dele,

And on his lip he gan for anger bite,

And to himselue he said, I shall thee quite.

Who rubbeth now, who froteth now his lips

With dust, with sond, with straw, & with chips

But Absolon? that saith full oft alas,

My soule be take I to Sathanas,

But me were lever than all this toun, qd. he,

Of this despight awreken for to be.

Alas, qd. he, alas that I ne had bleint,

His hot loue is cold, and all yqueint.

For fro the time that he had kist her ers,

Of paramours he set not a kers,

For he was healed of his maladie,

Full oft paramours he gan defie.

And weepe as doth a child that is ybete.

A soft pace he went ouer the strete

Vnto a smith, men callen dan Gerueys,

That in his forge smiteth plow harneis,

He sharpeth shares and culters busily.

This Absolon knocketh all easily,

And said vndo Gerueys, and that anon.

What who art thou? It am I Absolon.

What Absolon, what for Christs sweet tre,

Why rise ye so rath? eye benedicite

What eileth you? some gay girle God it wote

Hath brought you thus on the merytote:

By saint Neotes, ye wote wele what I mene.

This Absolon ne raught not a bene

Of all his play, no word againe he gaffe,

* He had more towe vpon his distaffe

Than Garuays knew, & said friend so dere,

The hot culter in the chimney here

As lene it me, I haue therewith to done:

I woll bring it thee againe full sone.

Geruays answerd: certes were it gold,

Or in a poke nobles all vntold,

Thou shouldest it haue, as I am true smith:

Eye Christs foot, what wol ye don therwith?

Thereof (qd. Absolon) be as be may

I shall well tellen thee by to morrow day.

And caught the culter by the cold stele,

Full soft out at the dore gan he stele,

And went vnto the carpenters wall:

He coughed first, and knocked therewithall

Vpon the window, right as he did ere.

This Alison answerd: who is there

That knocketh so? I warrant hee is a thefe.

Why nay (qd. he) God wot my sweet lefe,

I am thine Absolon, thine owne derling:

Of gold (qd. he) I haue thee brought a ring,

My mother yaue it me, so God me saue,

Full fine it is, and thereto well ygraue:

This woll I yeue thee, if thou me kisse.

This Nicholas was risen for to pisse,

And thought he would amenden all the iape,

He should kisse his ers ere that he scape:

And vp the window did he hastily,

And out his ers he put full priuily

With all his buttocke, to the haunch been:

And therwith spake this clerke, this Absolon,

Speak sweet bird, I not where thou art.

This Nicholas anon let fleen a fart,

As great as it had been a thunder dent,

That with the stroke he was well nie yb [...]ent:

And he was readie with his yron hote,

And Nicholas in the arse he smote.

Off goeth the skin a hondbrede about,

The hot cultor brend so his tout,

That for the smart he wend for to die,

As he were wood, he gan for to crie,

Helpe, water, water, for Gods hert.

This carpenter out of his slumber slert,

And heard one crie water, as he were wood,

And thought, alas how commeth Noes flood,

[Page] And set him vp withouten words mo,

And with an axe, he smote the corde at wo:

And doun goeth all, he found neither to sell

Bread ne ale, but doune shortly he fell

Vpon the floore, and there a swowne he lay.

Vp stert then Alison and Hende Nicholay

And cried out, and harrow in the street.

The neighbors about both small and great

In ronne, for to gauren on this man,

That in a swoune lay, all palish and wan:

For with that fall brosten hath he his arme,

But stonden he must vnto his owne harme.

For when he spake, he was yborne adoun

With Hende Nicholas and Alisoun,

They told euery man that he was wood

He was agast so sore of Noes flood

Through fantasie, that of his vanite,

He had getten him kneading tubs thre,

And had hem honged in the roofe aboue

And that he paried hem for Gods loue

To sitten in the roofe par companie.

The folke gan laughen at his fantasie,

And into the roofe they kyken and they gape,

And turned all his earnest into a jape,

For what so this carpenter answerd,

It was for nought, no man his reason herd,

With othes great, he was ysworne adoun,

That he was holden wood in all that toun.

* For euerich clerke anon held with other,

They said the man was wood, my leue brother,

And euery wight gan laughen at this strife.

Thus swiued was the carpenters wife,

For all his keeping, and his jealousie:

* And Absolon hath kist her nether eie,

And Nicholas is scalded in the tout,

This tale is done, and God saue all the rout.

§

¶The Reues Prologue.

WHen folke had laughed at this nice caas

Of Absolon and Hende Nicholas,

Diuers folke hereof diuersly they said,

But for the more part they lough and plaid:

Ne at this tale I saw no man him greue,

But it were onely Oswolde the Reue:

Because he was of carpenters craft,

A little ire in his heart ylaft.

He gan to grutchen and blame it a lite:

Soothly (qd. he) full well couth I thee quite

With blearing of a proud Millers eie,

If that me list to speake of ribaudrie.

But I am old, me lust not play for age,

* Grasse time is done, my fodder is forage:

This white top writeth mine old yeres,

Which sometime yelow was, now white ben min heres:

* But yet I fare as doth an open ers,

That ilke fruit is euer lenger the wers

Till it be rotten in molloke or in stre.

We old men, I dreaden so fare we,

Till we be rotten can we not be ripe,

* We hoppen alway, while the world wol pipe:

* For in our will there stiketh euer a naile,

To haue an hore head and a greene taile,

As hath a leke, for though our might be gone,

Our will desireth folly euer in one:

For when we may not don, than wol we speken.

* Yet in our ashen cold is fire yreken.

* Four gledes han we, which I shall deuise,

Auaunting, lying, anger, and couetise,

These foure sparkles longen unto elde:

Our old lims mow well been vnwelde,

But will ne shall not faile, that is sooth.

* And yet have I alway a colts tooth,

As many a yeare as it is passed henne,

Since that my tap of life began to renne.

For sikerly, when I was borne anone,

Death drew the tap of life, and let it gone:

And euer since hath the tap pronne,

Till that almost all emptie is the tonne.

The streme of life now droppeth on the chimb,

* The silly tongue may well ring and climb

Of wretchednesse, that passed is full yore:

With old folke saue dotage is no more.

When that our host had heard this sermoning,

He gan to speake as lordly as a king,

And said: what amounteth all this wit?

What shall we speake all day of holy writ?

* The diuel I thinke made a Reue to preche

Or a souter, a shipman, or a leche.

Say forth thy tale, and tary not the time:

Lo Depford, and it is halfe way prime:

Lo Greenwiche, that many a shrew is in,

It were time thy tale for to begin.

Now sirs then qd. this Oswold the Reue,

I pray you all, that ye not you greue,

* That I answere, & somedele set his houfe,

* For lefull it is with force, force off to shoufe.

This dronken Miller hath ytold vs here,

How that beguiled was a carpentere

Perauenture in scorne, for I am one:

And by your leaue, I shall him quite anon,

Right in his churles tearmes woll I speke,

I pray to God his necke mote be to breke,

* He can well in mine eye seene a stalke,

But in his own he cannot seene a balke.

[Page]

DEnyse Simkin, the Miller of Trompington, deceiveth two Clarks of Schollars Hall in Cambridge, in stealing their Corn; but they so use the matter, that they revenge the wrong to the full. The Argument of this Tale is taken out of Bocchace in his Novels.

¶The Reues Tale.

AT Trompington, not far fro Cambridge

There goth a brook, and ouer that a bridge,

Vpon the which brooke there stant a mell:

And this is very sooth, as I you tell.

A Miller was there dwelling many a day,

As any peacocke he was proud and gay:

Pipen he couth, and fishen, and nets bete,

And turne cups, and well wrastle and shete.

Aye by his belt he bare a long pauade,

And of a sword full trenchaunt was the blade.

A jolly popere bare he in his pouch,

Ther nas no man for perill durst him touch.

A Shefeld thwitel bare he in his hose,

Round was his face, & camised was his nose.

As pilled as an ape was his skull,

He was a market beater at the full.

There dursten no wight hond on him ledge,

But he ne swore he should sore abedge.

A theefe he was forsooth, of corne and mele,

And that a slie, and vsaunt for to stele.

His name was hoten Deynous Simkyn,

A wife he had, comen of noble kin:

The parson of the toune her father was,

With her he yafe full many a panne of bras.

For that Simkyn should in his blood allie,

She was yfostered in a nunnerie:

For Simkyn would no wife, as he said,

But she were well ynourished, and a maid,

To saue his estate of yomanrie.

And she was proud, and pert as a pie,

A full faire sight was it to see hem two.

On holy daies beforne her would he go

With his tipet wounden about his heed,

And she came after in a gite of reed,

And Simkyn had hosen of the same.

There durst no wight clepen her but dame:

Was none so hardy, that went by the way,

That with her once durst rage or play,

But if he would be slaine of Simkyn

With pauade, or with knife, or bodkin.

* For jealous folkes been perilous euermo

Algates they would her wiues wenden so.

And eke for she was somedele smoterliche:

She was as digne as water in a diche,

And as full of hoker, and of bismare,

As though that a ladie should her spare,

What for her kinred, and her norterly,

That she had learned in the nonnery.

A doughter had they betwixt hem two

Of twenty yeare, withouten any mo,

Sauing a child was halfe a yeare of age,

In cradle it lay, and was a proper page.

This wench thicke and well ygrowne was,

With camised nose and eyen gray as glas:

With buttockes broad, & brests round & hie,

But right faire was her haire, I woll nat lie.

The parson of the toune, for she was faire,

In purpose was to maken her his haire

Both of his cattell, and of his mesuage,

And straunge he made it of her mariage:

His purpose was to bestowen her hie

Into some worthy blood of auncetrie.

For holy churches good mote been dispended

On holy churches blood that is descended.

Therefore he would his holy blood honour,

Though that he holy church should deuour.

Great soken hath this Miller out of dout

With wheat and malt, of all the land about,

And namely there was a great college

Men clepen it the Schollers Hall of Cambrege,

Ther was her wheat & eke her malt iground.

And on a day it happed in a stound,

Sicke lay the Manciple on a maladie,

Men wenden wisely that he should die.

For which this miller stale both wheat & corn

An hundred time more than he did biforn.

For there before, he stale but courteously,

But he now was a theefe outragiously:

For which the warden chid and made fare,

But thereof set the Miller not a tare,

He cracked, bosted, and swore it nas not so.

Then were there yong poor schollers two,

That dwelten in the Hall, of which I say,

Testife they were, and lustie for to play:

And only for her mirth and reuely,

Vpon the Warden busily they cry

To yeue hem leaue but a little stound,

To gone to mill, to see her corne yground:

And hardely they durst lay her neck,

The Miller should not steale hem halfe a peck

Of corne by sleight, ne by force hem reue.

And at the last the warden yaue hem leue:

Iohan hight that one, & Alein hight the other,

Of a town they were both, that hight Strother

Farre in the North, can I not tell where.

This Alein maketh alredy his gere,

And on a horse the sacke he cast anon:

Forth goeth Alein the clerke, and also Iohn,

With good sword and buckeler by her side.

Iohan knew the way, him needeth no guide,

And at the mill dore the sacke down he layth.

Alein spake first: all haile Simken in fayth,

How fares thy faire doughter, and thy wife?

Alein welcome (qd. Simken) by my life,

And Iohn also: how now, what do ye here?

* By god Simond (qd. Iohn) need has no pere,

* Him behoues serue himselfe that has no swaine,

Or els he is a foole, as clerkes saine.

Our Manciple I hope he will be dead,

Swa werkes aye the wange in his head:

And therefore is I come, and eke Alein,

To grind our corne and carry it home agein:

We pray you speed vs home in that ye may.

It shall be done (qd. Simkin) by my fay:

What woll you done while it is in hand?

By God, right by the hopper woll I stand,

[Page] Qd. Iohn: & seen howgates the corn goth in,

Yet saw I neuer by my father kin,

How that the hopper waggs to and fra.

Alein answerd: Iohan wilt thou sa?

Then woll I stand beneath by my croune,

And see how the meale falleth adoune

Into the troghe, that shall be my disport:

Qd. Iohn, in say I may been of your sort,

I is as ill a Miller as is ye.

This Miller smileth at her nicite,

And thought all his done for a wile,

They wene that no man may hem beguile,

* But by my thrift yet shall I bleare her eie,

For all the sleight in her philosophie,

The more queint clerks that they themselves make,

The more woll I steale when I gin to take:

* Insteed of flour yet, woll I give hem brenne,

* The greatest clerks ben not the wisest menne

As why some to the wolfe spake the Mare:

Of all her art count I not a tare.

Out of the doore he goeth full priuily,

When that he saw his time, subtilly

He looked up and doune, till he had yfound

The clerkes horse, there as he stood ybound

Behind the Mill, vnder a lessell:

And to the horse he goth him faire and well,

He strippeth of the bridle right anon.

And when the horse was loose, he gan to gon

Toward the fen, there as wild mares rinne,

And forth with wehe, through thick & thinne.

The Miller goeth againe, no word he said,

But doth his note, & with these clerkes plaid,

Till that her corne was faire & well yground.

And when the meal was sacked and ybound,

This Iohn goth out & found her horse away,

And gan to crie harrow and welaway,

Our horse is lost, Alein for Gods benes,

Step on thy feet man, come forth all atenes:

Alas our Warden has his paltrey lorne,

This Alein all forgot both meale & corne:

All was out of mind his husbandrie:

What, whilke way is he gone? he gan to crie.

The wife came leaping inward at a renne,

She saied alas, he goeth to the fenne

With wild Mares, as fast as he may go:

Vnthank come on his hond that bound him so,

And he that better should haue knit the rein.

Alas (qd. Iohn) Alein for Christs pein

Lay doun thy sword, & I shall mine alswa:

I is full swift God wete as is a raa.

By Gods fale he shall not scape vs bathe:

Why ne hadst thou put the capel in the lathe?

Ill heste Alein, by God thou is a fonne.

These [...]elie clerkes han full fast ironne

Toward the fenne, Alein and eke Iohn:

And when the miller saw that they wer gon,

He halfe a bushell of her flower both take.

And had his wife knede it in a cake.

He said, I trow the clerks were aferde.

* Yet can a Miller make a clerks berde,

For all her art, yet let hem gone her way,

* Lo where they gone, let the children play:

They get him not so litely by my croune.

These selie clerks re [...]nen vp and doune

With kepe, kepe, iossa, iossa warth there,

Go whistle thou, and I shall keepe him here.

But shortly, till it was very night

They couth not tho they did all her might,

Her capell catch, he ran away so fast:

Till in a ditch they caught him at the last.

Werie and wet as beastes in the rain,

Cometh silly Iohn, & with him cometh Alein:

Alas (qd. Iohn) the day that I was borne,

Now are we driven to hethen and to skorne:

Our corne is stole, men woll us fooles call,

Both the Warden, and our fellowes all,

And namely the Miller, wallaway.

Thus plaineth Iohn, as he goth by the way

Toward the Mill, and bayard in his hond.

The Miller sitting by the fire he fond,

For it was niȝt, & ferther might they nought.

But for the love of God they him besought

Of her borough and ease, as for her peny.

The Miller said ayen, if there be any,

Such as it is, yet shall ye haue your part:

My house is strait, but ye haue learned art,

Ye can by argument make a place

A mile broad, of twenty foot of space:

Let see now if this place may suffice,

Or make it romer with speech, as is your gise.

Now Simond (said Ihon) by S. Cutherd

Aye is thou mery, and that is faire answerd.

I haue heard say, men shuld take of two things

* Swilke as he finds, or swilke as he brings.

But specially I pray thee host dere,

Get us some meat & drink, & make vs chere

And we will pay truly at the full:

* With empty hond, men may no haukes tull.

Lo here our siluer ready for to spend.

The Miller to the toun his doughter send

For ale and bread, and rosted hem a goos,

And bound her hors he shuld no more go loos:

And in his owne chamber he made a bed

With sheetes and with chalons faire yspred,

Not from his owne hed ten foot or twelue:

His doughter had a hed all by her selue,

Right in the same chamber fast them by:

It might he ne bette, and the cause why,

There was no roumer herbrough in that place.

They soupen, & speaken of mirth and solace,

And dronken euer strong ale at the best.

About midnight went they to rest.

Well hath this Miller vernished his hed,

Full pale he was for dronken, & nothing red.

He gaspeth, & he speaketh through his nose,

As he were in the quacke, or in the pose.

To hed he goeth, and with him his wife,

As any Iay was she light and iolife,

So was her iolly whistle well ywet.

The cradle at the beds fe [...]t was set

To roken, and to yeue the child to suke.

And when that dronken was all in the cruke

To bed went the doughter right anon,

To bed goeth Alein and also Iohn.

There uas no more, hem needed no dwale,

This Miller hath so wisely bibbed ale,

That as an hors he snorteth in his steepe,

Ne of his taile behind he tooke no keepe.

His wife bare to him a bordon well strong,

Men might hem heare routen a furlong.

[Page] The wench routeth eke par company.

Alein the clerke that heard this melody,

He poked on Iohan, and saied: sleepest thou?

Heardst thou euer swilke a sang ere now?

Lo swilke a coupling is it wixt hem all,

A wild fire vpon her bodies fall,

Who heard euer swilke a ferly thing,

Ye, they shall haue the floure of euill ending:

All this lang night there tides me no rest:

But yet naforce, all shall be for the best.

For Ihon (saied he) as euer mote I thriue?

If that I may, yon wench woll I swiue.

Some easement hath law yshapen vs.

For Iohan, there is a law that saieth thus,

* That if a man in one point been agreeued,

That in another he shall be releeued.

Our corne is stolne, soothly it is no nay,

And we haue had an euill fit to day.

And since I shall haue none amendement

Againe my losse I will haue mine easement:

By Gods sale, it shall none other bee.

This Iohan answered: Alein, auise thee:

The Miller is a perillous man, he saied,

And if that he out of his sleepe abraied,

He might doen vs both a villanie.

Alein answered: I count him not worth a flie.

And vp he rest, and by the wench he crept.

This wench say vpright, and fast she slept,

Till he so nigh was, ere she might espie,

That it had been too late for to crie:

And shortly for to say, they were at one.

Now play Alein, for I woll speake of Ihon.

This Ihon lay still a furlong way or two,

And to himselfe he maketh routh and wo:

Alas (qd. he) this is a wicked iape,

Now may I say, I is but an Ape:

Yet hath my fellow somewhat for his harme,

He hath the Millers doughter in his arme:

He auntreth him, and hath his need ysped,

And I lie as a drafte sacke in my bed,

And when this iape is told another dey,

I shall be hold a daffe or a cokeney:

I woll arise, and auntre me by my fay:

* Vnhardie is vnsely, thus men say.

And vp he rose, and softly he went

Vnto the cradle, and in his arme it hent,

And bare it softly to his beds fete.

Soone after the wife her routing lete,

And gan awake, and went her out to pisse,

And came againe, and gan the cradle misse,

And groped here & there, but she found none:

Alas (qd. she) I had almost misgone,

I had almost gone to the clerkes bed:

Eye benedicite, then had I foule ysped.

And forth she goeth, till she the cradle fond,

She gropeth alway further with her hond,

And found the bed, and thought nat but good,

Because that the cradle by it stood:

And nist where she was, for it was derke,

But faire and well she crept in by the clerke,

And lieth full still, & wold haue caught a slepe.

Within a while this Ihon the clerke vp lepe,

And on this good wife he laied full sore,

So merry a fit had she nought full yore:

And priked hard and deepe, as he were mad.

This iolly life haue these two clerkes lad,

Till that the third cocke began to sing.

Alein waxe wearie in the dauning,

For he had swonken all the long night,

And saied, farewell Malin my sweet wight.

The day is comen, I may no longer bide,

But euermo, whereso I goe or ride,

I am thine owne clerke, so haue I hele.

Now deare lemman (qd. she) go, farwele:

But or thou go, one thing I woll thee tell,

When thou wendest homeward by the Mell,

Right at the entre of the dore behind

Thou shalt a cake of halfe a bushell find,

That was ymaked of thine owne meale,

Which that I did helpe my fire to steale.

And good lemman God thee saue and keepe,

And with that word she gan almost to weepe.

Alein vprist and thought ere it daw

He would goe creepe in by his felaw:

And found the cradle with his hand anon,

By God thought he all wrong haue I gon:

My head is tottie of my swinke to night,

That maketh me that I go not aright.

I wot well by the cradle I haue misse go,

Here lieth the Miller and his wife also.

* And forth he goeth on twenty deuill way

Vnto the bed there as the Miller lay.

He wend haue cropen by his fellow Ihon,

And by the Miller he crept in anon,

And caught him by the necke, & soft he spake,

And saied: Ihon, thou swineshead awake,

For Christs soule, and heare a noble game:

For by that lord that called is saint Iame,

I haue thrise as in this short night

Swiued the Milers doughter bolt upright,

Whilest thou hast as a coward been agast.

Ye false harlot (qd. the Miller) hast?

A false traitour, A thou clerke (qd. he)

Thou shalt be dead by Gods dignite.

Who durst be so bold to disparage

My doughter, that is come of such linage?

And by the throat boll he caught Alein,

And he him hent dispitously again,

And on the nose he smote him with his fest,

Doune ran the blood stream vpon his brest:

And in the floore, with mouth and nose ybroke

They wallowen, as doth pigs in a poke.

And vp they gone, and doune ayen anone,

Till that the Miller spurned on a stone,

And doune he fell backward vpon his wife,

That wist nothing of this nice strife.

For she was fall asleepe a little wight

With Ihon the clerk that waked had all night:

And with the fall out of her steepe she braied,

Helpe holy crosse of Bromholme she saied:

In manus tuas, lord to thee I call,

Awake Simond, the fiend is on me fall.

My heart is broken, helpe I am but dead,

There lieth one on my wombe & on my head,

Helpe Simkin, for these false clerks do fight.

This Ihon stert vp as fast as euer he might,

And graspeth by the wals to and fro

To find a staffe, and she stert vp also,

And knew the eftres bet than did this Ihon,

And by the wall she found a staffe anon:

And saw a little shemering of a light,

For at an hole in shone the Moone bright,

[Page] And by that light she saw hem both two,

But sikerly she nist who was who,

But as she sey a white thing in her eie:

And when she gan this white thing espie

She wend the clerke had weard a voluper,

And with the staffe she drow ner and ner,

And wend haue hit this Alein at full,

And smote the Miller on the pilled skull,

That doun he goth, and cried harrow I die:

These clerkes beat him well, and let him lie,

And raieth hem, and tooke her horse anon,

And eke her meale, and on her way they gon:

And at the Mill dore they tooke her cake

Of halfe a bushell floure, well ybake.

Thus is the proud Miller well ybete,

And hath ylost the grinding of the whete,

And paid for the supper euery dele

Of Alein and of Ihon, that beat him wele:

His wife is swiued, and his doughter als,

Lo such it is a Miller to be fals.

And therefore this prouerbe is full sooth,

* Him dare not well weene that euill dooth:

A guilour shall himselfe beguiled be.

And God that sit in hie maieste

Saue all this company, great and smale,

Thus haue I quit the Miller in his tale.

§

¶The Cookes Prologue.

THe Cooke of London, while the Reue spake,

For joy he thought, he claude him on

the backe:

A ha (quoth hee) for Christes passioun.

This Miller hath a sharpe conclusioun,

Vpon this argument of her bigage.

Well sayd Salamon in his language,

Ne bring not euery man into thine house,

For herbouring by night is perillous,

Well ought a man auised for to be,

Whome that he brought into his priuite.

I pray to God so yeue me sorrow and care,

If euer sithen I hight Hodge of Ware,

Heard I a Miller bette isett awerke,

He had a iape of malice in the derke.

But God forbid that we stinten here,

And therefore if ye vouchsafe to heare

A tale of me that am a poore man,

I woll tell you as well as I can

A little yape that fell in our citee.

Our host saied, I graunt it thee:

Now tell on Rodger, looke that it be good,

* For many a pastie hast thou letten blood,

And many a Iacke of Douet hast thou sold,

That hath been twise hot and twise cold.

Of many a pilgrime hast thou Christs curse,

* For of thy persse yet fare they the worse,

That they haue eaten with thy stoble Goos:

* For in thy shop is many a Flie loos.

Now tell on gentle Rodger by thy name,

But yet I pray thee be not wroth for game,

* A man may say full sooth in game & play.

Thou saiest full sooth (qd. Roger) by my fay

* But soth play, quade play, as the Fleming

Saith:

And therefore Henry Bailly by thy faith,

Be thou not wroth, or we departen here,

Though that my tale been of an hostelere.

But nethelesse, I woll not tellen it yet,

But ere we part, ywis thou shalt be quit.

And therwithall he lough and made cheare,

And saied his tale, as ye shullen after heare.

THE Description of an unthriftie Prentice, given to Dice, Women, and Wine, wasting thereby his Masters Goods, and purchasing Newgate to himself. The most of this Tale is lost, or else never finished by the Author.

¶The Cookes Tale.

A Prentise whylome dwelt in our cite,

And of the craft of Vitailers was he:

Galiard he was, as Goldfinch in the shawe,

Broune as a berrie, a proper short felawe:

With lockes blacke, and kemt full fetously,

Daunce he couth full well and jollily:

He was called Perkin Reuelour,

He was as full of loue and paramour,

As is the hiue full of honey sweet,

Well was the wench with him that might meet.

At euery Bridal would he sing and hop,

He loued bette the tauernes than the shop.

For when any riding was in Cheape,

Out of the shoppe thither would he leape,

Till that he had of all the sight isein.

And soothly, he would not come agein,

But gather him a meinie of his sort,

To hop and sing, and make such disport:

And there they set Steuin for to meet

To plaien at the dice in such a street.

For in the city nas there no Prentise

That fairer couth casten a paire of dise

Then Perkin couth, and thereto he was fre

Of his dispence, in place of priuite.

That found his maister well in his chafare,

For oft times he found his boxe full bare.

* For sikerly, a prentise reuelour.

That haunteth dise, riot, or paramour,

His maister shall it in his shop abie.

All haue he no part of the Ministralcie.

For theft and riot they been conuertible,

All can he play on Gettron or on Rebible,

* Revel and truth, as in lowe degree

They ben full wroth all day, as men may see.

This iolly prentise with his maister abode,

Till he were nigh out of his prentishode,

All were he snibbed both earely and late,

and sometime led with reuel to Newgate.

But at the last, his maister him bethought

Vpon a day, when he his paper sought,

Of a prouerbe, that saith this same word,

* Well bette is rotten apple out of hord,

Than that it should rot all the remnaunt:

So fareth it by a roiotous seruaunt.

It is much lesse harme to let him passe,

Then he shend all the seruaunts in the place.

[Page] Therefore his master gaue him a quittaunce,

And bad him go, with sorow & mischaunce.

And thus this iolly prentise had his leue:

Now let him roiot all the night or leue.

And for there is no theefe without a louke,

That helpeth him to waste or to souke

Of that he bribe can, or borrow may,

Anon he sent his bed and his array

Vnto a compere of his owne sort,

That loued dice, reuel, and disport:

And had a wife, that held for countenance

A shop, and swiued for her sustenance.

§

¶The man of Lawes Prologue.

OUr host saw well, how that the bright Sunne

The arke of his artificial day had runne

The fourth part, and eke halfe an houre more:

And though he were not deepe expert in lore,

He wist well it was the eighteene day

Of April, that is the messenger to May:

And saw well that the shadow of euery tre

Was in length of the same quantite

As was the body erect, that caused it:

And therefore by the shadow he tooke his wit,

That Phebus, which that shone clear & bright

Degrees was fortie fiue clomben of hight.

And for that day, as in latitude

It was ten of the clocke, he gan conclude,

And suddenly he plight his horse about.

Lordings (qd. he) I warne you al the rout,

The fourth part of this day is now agon.

Now for the loue of God and of saint Iohn

Leseth no time, as ferfoorth as ye may:

Lordings the time wasteth both night & day,

And stealeth from us, what priuely sleeping,

* And what through negligence in our waking

As doth the streme, that turneth neuer again,

Descending fro the mountain into the plain.

Well can Seneke & many a Philosophre,

Bewailen time, more than gold in cofre.

* For losse of cattell may recouered be,

But losse of time shendeth us (qd. he)

It would not come ayen withouten dread,

* No more than woll Malkins maidenhead,

When she hath lost it in her wantonnesse.

Let us not mowlen thus in idlenesse.

Sir man of Law (qd. he) so haue I blis,

Tell us a tale anon, as forward is:

Ye been submitted, through your free assent

To stonden in this case at my judgement.

Acquiteth you nowe of your behest,

Then haue you done your deuer at the lest.

Host (qd. he) de pardeux ieo assent,

To breake forward is not mine intent.

* Bihest is debt, and I woll holde faine

All my behest, I can no better saine.

* For such law as a man yeueth another

He should himselfe vsen it by right,

Thus woll our text: but nathelesse certaine wight,

I can right now no thrifty tale saine.

For that Chaucer (though he can but leaudly

On Metres and in rinning craftily)

Hath saied hem, in such English as he can

Of old time, as knoweth many a man:

And if he haue not sayd hem leue brother

In one booke, he hath said hem in another,

For he hath told of louers up and doun,

Mo than Ouide made of mentioun

In his Epistles, that been full old.

What should I tell hem, sithen they ben told?

In youth he made of sixe all alone,

And sithen he hath spoken of euerichone

These noble wiues, and these louers eke,

Who so that woll his large volume seke

Cleaped the saints liues of Cupide:

There may he see the large wounds wide

Of Lucresse, and of Babylon Thisoe

The swerd of Dido for the false Enee,

The tree of Phillis for her Demophoon,

The plaint of Deianire, and of Hermion,

Of Ariadna, and of Hypsiphilee,

The barraine Ile stonding in the see

Which that dreint Liandre for Hero,

The teares of Helein, and eke the wo,

Of Briseis, and of Laodomia,

The crueltie of queene Medea.

The little children honging by the hals,

For the Iason that was of loue so fals.

Of Hipermistra, Penelope, and Alcest,

Your wifehood he commendeth with the best,

But certainely no word ne writeth he

Of thilke wicke ensample of Canace,

That loued her owne brother sinfullie:

Of suche cursed stories I say fie.

Or els of Tyro Appoloneus,

How that cursed kinge Antiochus

Biraft his doughter of her maidenhead,

That is so horrible a tale for to read,

When he her drew upon the pament,

And therefore he of full auisement

Nold neuer write in none of his setmons

Of such unkind abhominations.

Ne I woll none rehearse, yef that I may.

But of my tale how shall I done this day?

Me were loth be likened doubtles

To Muses, that men cleaped Piriades,

Methamorphoseos wote what I mene.

But nathelesse I retche not a Bene,

Though I come after him with Haubake,

I speake in prose, and let him rimes make.

And with that word, he with a sober chere

Began his tale, as ye shullen after here.

§

[Page]

LAdy Custance the Emperours Daughter of Rome, after her marriage with the Soudan of Surrey, through the Malice of the Soudans Mother, suffereth great trouble and misery with her young Child Mauris: but yet in the end is restored to Comfort.

¶The man of Lawes Tale.

O Hatefull harme, condition of pouert

With thirst, with cold, with hunger

confounded,

To asken helpe thee shameth in thine hert,

If thou non ask, with need thou art so

wounded,

That very nede vnwrappeth al thy wounds hid

* Maugrie thine head, thou must for indigence

Or stele, or beg, or borow thy dispence.

Thou blamest Christ, & saiest ful bitterly,

He misdeparteth richesse temporall,

Thy neighbour thou witest sinfully,

And saiest, thou hast too little, & he hath all:

Parfay (saiest thou) sometime he reken shall

When that his taile shall to brenne in glede,

For he nought helpeth needfull in her nede.

Hearken what is the sentence of the wise,

* Better is to dien than haue indigence,

* Thine owne neighbour woll thee to despise,

If thou be poore, farwell thy reverence.

Yet of the wise man take this sentence,

* All the dayes of poore men been wicke,

Beware therefore or thou come to the pricke.

If thou be poore, thy brother hateth thee,

* And all thy friends fleech fro thee, alas:

O rich Merchaunts full of wele be yee,

O noble prudent folke, as in this caas,

Your bags been not fild with ambes aas,

* But with cise sink, that reuneth for your chance

At Christeninass mery may ye dance.

Ye seeken lond & see for your winnings,

As wise folke ye knowne all the state

Of reignes, ye been fathers of tidings,

And tales many, both of peace and debate:

I was right now of tales desolate,

Nere that a marchant, gone many a yeare,

He taught a tale, which ye shullen heare.

IN Surrey whylome dwelt a company

Of chapmen rich, & thereto sad & true,

That wide where senten her spicery,

Clothes of gold & Satten rich of hew:

Her chafare was so thriftie and so new,

That euery wight hath deintie to chafare

With hem, and eke to sellen hem her ware.

Now fell it, that the maisters of that sort

Han shapen hem to Rome for to wend,

Were it for chapmanhood or for disport,

None other messenger would they send,

But comen hemself to Rome, this is the end:

And in such place as thought hem auauntage

For her intent, they taken her herbigage.

Soiourned han these merchants in that toun

Certain time, as fell to her pleasance:

But so befell that the excellent renoun

Of the emperours doughter dame Custance

Reported was, with euery circumstance

Vnto these Surrein marchants, in such wise

Fro day to day, as I shall you deuise,

This was the comen voice of euery man:

Our Emperour of Rome God him se,

A doughter hath, that sithen the world began,

To recken as well her goodnesse as beaute,

Nas neuer such another as is she:

I pray to God in honour her susteine,

And would she were of all Europe the quene.

In her is high beautie without pride,

Youth, without grenhed or follie,

To all her works vertue is her guide,

Humbles hath slaine in her all tyrannie:

She is a mirrour of all courtesie,

Her heart is very chamber of holinesse,

Her hond minister of freedome and almes.

And al this voice was soth, as God is true.

But now to our purpose let vs turne ayen:

These marchants han don fret her ships new:

And when they han this blisfull maiden sein,

Home to Surrey been they went agein,

And doen her needs, as they han doen yore,

And liuen in wealth, I can say no more.

Now fell it, that these marchants stood in grace

Of him that was the Soudan of Surrie:

For when that they came from any strange place

He would of his benigne courtesie

Maken hem good cheare, and busily espie

Tidings of sundry realmes, for to lere

The wonders that they might seen or here.

Emong other things specially

These marchants haue him told of dame Custance,

So great noblesse, in earnest seriously,

That this Soudan hath cauȝt so great plesance

To han her figure in his remembrance,

And all his lust, and all his busie cure

Was for to loue her, while his life may dure.

Parauenture in that like large booke

Which cleaped is the heauen, ywritten was

With starres, when that he his birth tooke,

That he for loue should han his death, alas:

* For in the starres, clearer then is the glas

Is written God wot, who so could it read,

The death of euery man withouten dread.

In starres many a Winter there before

Was written the death of Hector & Achilles,

Of Pompey, and Iulius, or they were bore:

The strife of Thebes, and of Hercules,

Of Sampson, Turnus, and of Socrates

The death: but that mens wits been so dust,

That no wight can well read it at the full.

[Page]

This Soudan for his priuie counsel sent,

And shortly of this matter for to pace,

He hath to hem declared all his intent,

& said hem certain, but if he might haue grace

To haue Custance, within a little space

He nas but dead, and charged hem to hie

To shapen for his life some remedie.

Diuers men, diuersly they saiden:

The argument they casten vp and doune,

Many a subtill reason forth they laiden,

They speaken of Magicke, and abusioun:

But finally, as in conclusioun

They cannot seene in that none auauntage

Ne in none other way, saue in mariage.

Then saw they therein such difficulty

By way of reason, to speake all plain,

Because that there was such diuersity

Between both her laws, that they sain,

They trow that no christen prince would fain

Wedden his child vnder our lawes swete,

That vs was tauȝt, by Mahound our prophet

And he answerd: rather than I lese

Custance, I would be christen doubtles:

I mote been hers, I may none other chese,

I pray you hold your arguments in pees,

Saueth my life, and be ye not retcheles

To getten her that hath my life in cure,

For in this woe I may not long endure.

What needeth greater delatation?

I say, by treatie and embassadrie,

And by the Popes mediation

And all the church, and all the chiualrie,

That in destruction of Maumetrie

And in encrease of Christs law deare,

They been accorded, as ye shall heare.

How that the Soudan and his baronage,

And all his lieges should ychristened be,

And he shall han Custance in marriage

And certaine gold, I not what quantite;

And her to find sufficient surete:

The same accord was sworne on either side,

Now fair Custance, almighty God thee gide.

Now woulden some men waiten as I gesse

That I should tellen all the purueiance

That the Emperour of his noblesse

Hath shapen for his doughter dame Custance:

Well may men know that so great ordinance

May no man tellen in a little clause,

As was araied for so high a cause.

Bishops been shapen with her for to wend,

Lords and ladies, and knights of renoun,

And other folke y [...]ow this is the end,

And notified is throughout the toun,

That euery wight with great deuotioun

Should pray Christ, that he this mariage

Receiue in gree, and speed this voyage.

The day is come of her departing,

I say the wofull day naturall is come,

That there may be no longer tarrying,

But forward they hem dresse all and some:

Custance, that with sorrow is all ouercome

Full pale arist, and dressed her to wend,

For well she sey there is none other end.

Alas, what wonder is it though she wept?

That shall be sent to a straunge nation

Fro friends, that so tenderly her kept,

And be bounden vnder subjection

Of one, she knoweth not his condition.

* Husbands been all good, & han been yore,

That know ne wiues, I dare say no more.

Father (she said) thy wretched child Custance,

Thy young daughter, fostered vp so loft,

And ye my mother, my soueraigne pleasaunce

Ouer all thing (out take Christ on loft)

Custance your child her commendeth oft

Vnto your grace: for I shall to Surrie,

Ne shall I neuer more see you with eie.

Alas vnto the Barberie nation

I must anon, sithen it is your will:

But Christ that starfe for our redemption,

So yeue me grace his hestes to fulfill:

I wretched woman no force though I spill,

* Women are born to thraldome & penaunce,

And to been vnder mans gouernaunce.

I trow at Troy when Thurus brake the wall

Of Ilion, ne when brent was Thebes cite,

Ne Rome for the harme of Hanniball,

That Romans hath ivenqueshed times thre,

Nas heard such tender weeping for pite,

As was in the chamber for her parting.

But forth she mote, wheder she weepe or sing.

O first mouing cruel firmament

With thy diurnal swegh, that croudest aye,

And hurriest all fro East to Occident,

That naturally would hold another way:

Thy crouding set the heauen in such array

At the beginning of this fierce Voyage,

That cruell Mars hath slaine this mariage.

O infortunat assendent tortuous,

Of which the lord is helpelesse fall, alas,

Out of his angle into his derkest house

O Mars, O occisier, as in this caas:

O feeble Mone, vnhappy been thy paas,

Thou knittest there thou nart not receiued,

Ther thou wer wel, fro thence art thou waiued.

Imprudent Emperour of Rome, alas,

Was there no philosopher in thy toun?

Is no time bette than other in such cas?

Of voiage, is there none electioun?

Namely to folke of high conditioun

Nat when a rote is of a birth yknow?

Alas we been too leaud, or to slow.

To ship is brought this wofull faire maid

Solemnely, with euery circumstance:

Now Iesus Christ be with you all (she said)

There nis no more, but farwell fair Custance.

[Page] She paineth her to make good countenance,

And forth I let her saile in this mannere,

And turne I woll againe to my mattere.

Explicit prima pars: & sequitur pars secunda.

2

THe mother of the Soudan, well of vices,

Espied hath her sonnes plaine intent,

How he woll lete his old sacrifices:

And right anon she for her counsaile sent,

And they ben comen, to know what she ment,

And when assembled was this folke in feare,

She set her doune, and said as ye shall heare.

Lords (qd. she) ye knowne euery chone,

How that my sonne is in point to lete

The holy lawes of our Alkaron

Yeuen by Gods messenger Mahomete:

But one auow to great God I hete,

The life shall rather out of my body start,

Or Mahomets law goe out of my hart.

What should vs tiden of this new law

But thraldome to our bodies and pennaunce

And afterward in hell to been draw,

For we reneyed Mahound our creaunce,

But lords, woll ye now make assuraunce,

As I shall say, assenting to my lore,

And I shall make us fafe for euermore?

They sworen, and assenten euery man

To liue with her and die, and by her stond:

And euerich in the best wise that he can

To strengthen her, shall all his friends fond.

And she hath this emprise taken in hond,

Which ye shall heare that I shall deuise,

And to hem all she spake in this wise.

We shal vs first faine, christendom to take,

Cold water shall not greeue us but alite:

And I shall such a reuell and a feast make,

That as I trow I shall the Soudan quite:

For tho his wife be christened neuer so white,

She shall haue need to wash away the rede,

Though she a font ful of water with her lede.

O Soudonnesse, root of iniquite,

Virago, thou Symyram the secound,

O serpent vnder fememnete,

Like to the serpent deepe in hell ibound:

O faigned woman, all that may confound

Vertue & innocence, through thy mallice

Is bred in thee a neast of euery vice.

O Sathan enuious, since thilke day

That thou wert chased from our heritage,

Well knewest thou to women the old way:

Thou madest Eue to bring us in seruage,

Thou wolt fordoen this Christen mariage:

* This instrument, so welaway the while,

Make thou of women when thou wolt begile.

This Soudonnesse, whom I blame and werie,

Let priuily her counsaile gone her way:

What should I in this tale longer tarie?

She rideth to the Soudon on a day,

And saied him that she would reny her lay,

And christendome of priests hondes fong,

Repenting her she Heathen was so long.

Beseeching him to doen her that honour,

That she might haue the christen folke to fest:

To pleasen hem I woll doen my labour.

The Soudon saith, I woll doen al your hest,

And kneeling, thanked her of that request,

So glad he was, he nist not what to say,

She kist her sonne, & home she goth her way.

Arriued been these christen folke to lond

In Surrey, with a great solemne rout,

And hastily this Soudon sent his sond,

First to his mother, and all the reigne about,

And saied, his wife was comen out of dout,

And praiden hem for to riden against the quene

The honour of his reigne for to sustene.

Great was the presse, & rich was the ray

Of Surreyans, and Romanes ymet yfere:

The mother of the Soudon rich and gay

Receiueth her with all manner glad chere,

As any mother might her doughter dere:

Vnto the next city there beside

A soft paas solemnly they all ride.

Nought trow I, the triumph of Iulius,

Of which that Lucan maketh such a bost,

Was roialler, and more curious,

Than was thassembling of his blisfull host:

But this Scorpion, this wicked ghost

The Soudonnesse, for all her flattering

Cast vnder all this, mortally to sting.

The Soudon cometh himself soon after this

So rially, that wonder is to tell:

He welcometh her with much ioy and blis,

And thus in mirth and ioie I let hem dwell.

The fruit of euery tale is for to tell,

Whan time come, men thought it for the best,

That reuel stint, and men gon to rest.

The time come, this old Soudonnesse

Ordained hath the feast of which I told,

And to the feast, christen folke hem dresse

And that in the general, both yong and old:

There may men feast and rialte behold

And dainties moe than I can deuise,

But all to dere they bought it or they rise.

O Soudon, wo that euer thou art successour

To worldly blisse, springed with bitternesse,

* The end of ioy, is worldly labour.

Wo occupieth the ende of our gladnesse,

Herken this counsaile for thy sikernesse:

* Vpon thy glad day ha [...] thou in minde,

The vnware wo or harme, that cometh behinde.

For shortly to tellen at a word,

The Soudon, & the Christen euerichone

Been all to hewe, and sticken at the boord,

But it were onely dame Custance alone,

This old Soudonnesse, this cursed crone,

[Page] Hath with her friends doen this cursed deed,

For she her selfe would all the country lede.

There was Surreien non yt was conuerted,

That of the counsaile of the Soudon wot,

That he nas all to heawe, er he asterted:

And Custance han they taken anon fotehot,

And in a ship all sternelesse (God wot)

They han her set, and bidden her lerne to saile

Out of Surrey ayenward to Itale.

A certain tresour that she thither ladde,

And sooth to sayne, vitaile great plente,

They han her yeuen, and clothes eke she had,

And forth she saileth in the salt se:

O my Custance, full of benignite

O Emperours yong doughter so dere,

He that is lorde of fortune be thy stere.

She blesseth her, & with full pitious voice

Vnto the crosse of Christ, tho said she.

O clere, O welful auter, holy croice

Reed of the lambes blood full of pite,

That wesh the world fro the old iniquite:

Me fro the fende, and fro his clawe kepe.

That day that I shall drenchen in the deepe.

Victorious tree, protection of trewe,

That onely worthy were for to bere

The king of heauen, with his woundes new,

The white lambe, that hurt was with a spere:

Flemere of feendes, out of him and here

On which thy limmes, faithfully extenden

Me kepe & yeue me might my life to menden.

Yeres and daies fleeteth this creature

Through the see of Grece, vnto the straite

Of Marocke, as it was her auenture:

O, many a sory meale may she baite,

After her death full oft may she waite,

Or that the wilde waves would her driue

Vnto the place there she should ariue.

Men mighten asken why she was not slayn

Eke at the feast, who might her body saue?

I answer to that demaund agayn,

Who saued Daniel in that horrible caue?

That euery wight, were he master or knaue,

Was with the Lion frette or he asterte,

No wight but God, that he bare in his hert.

God list to shew his wonderfull miracle

In her, for she should seen his mighty werkes:

Christ that is to euery harme triacle,

* By certain means often, as knowen clerkes,

Doth thing for certaine end, yt full derke is

To mans wit, that for our ignorance

Ne can nat know his prudent purueyance.

Now that she was not at the feast yslawe,

Who kepeth her fro ye drenching in the see?

Who kept Ionas in the fishes mawe,

Till he was spouted out at Niniuee?

Wel may men know, it was no wight but he

That kept the people Ebrak from drenching

With dry feet, through the see passing.

Who hath the foure spirits of the tempest,

That power had, both to anoy lond and see?

Both north and south, & also west and east,

Anoyeth neither see, ne londe, ne tree.

Southly the commaunder thereof was he

That fro the tempest aye this woman kept,

As well whan she woke as whan she slept.

Wher might this woman meat & drink haue?

Thre yere and more, how lasteth her vitaile?

Who fed the Egyptian Mary in the caue

Or in desert (none but Christ sans faile)

Fiue thousand folk it was as great maruaile

With loaues fiue and fishes two to feed,

God sent his foyson at her great need.

She driueth forth into our Occian

Throughout the wide see, till at the last

Vnder an holde, that nempne I ne can,

Fer in Northumberlond, the waue her cast,

And in the sand her ship sticked so fast,

That thence nolne it not of all a tyde,

The wil of Christ was yt she should ther abide.

The constable of the castle doun is fare

To seene this wrecke, & al the ship he sought,

And found this weary woman full of care,

He found also ye treasure that she brought:

In her language, mercy she besought

The life out of her body for to twin,

Her to deliuer of wo that she was in.

A manner latin corrupt was her speche

But algates thereby was she vnderstond,

The constable, when him list no lenger seche,

This wofull woman brought he to lond:

She kneleth doun, and thanketh Gods sond,

But what she was, she would no man sey

For foule ne faire, though she shoulden dey.

She said she was so mased in the see,

That she foryate her mind by her trouth:

The constable of her hath so great pite

And eke his wife, yt they weepen for routh:

She was so diligent withouten slouth

To serue and please euerich in that place,

That all her louen, that looken in her face.

The constable, & dame hermegild his wife

Were painems, & that countrey euery where,

But Hermegild loued her right as her life,

And Custance hath so long soiourned there

In orisons, with many a bitter tere,

Till Iesu hath conuerted through his grace

Dame Hermegild, constablesse of yt place.

In all that lond dursten no christen rout,

All christen folke been fled from the countre

Through painims, that conquered all about

The plagues of the North by lond and see:

To Wales fled the christianite

Of old Bretons, dwelling in that Ile,

There was her refute for the meane while.

Yet nas there neuer Christen so exiled,

That there nas some in her priuite

[Page] honoured Christ, and Heathen beguiled,

And nigh the castle such there dwellen three:

That one of hem was blind, & might not see

* But it were with thilke eyen of his mind,

With which men seen after they been blind.

Bright was the sunne, as in sommers day,

For which the constable and his wife also

And Custance, han taken the right way

Toward the sea, a furlong way or two,

To plaien, and to romen to and fro:

And in her walke, three blind men they met

Crooked and old, with eyen fast yshet.

In the name of Christ cried this blind Breton

Dame Hermegild, yeue me sight again:

This lady waxe afraied of the soun,

Least that her husbond shortly forto sain

Would her for Iesus Christs lore haue slain,

Till Custance made her bold, & bad her werch

The will of Christ, as doughter of his cherch.

The constable woxe abashed of that sight,

And saied: what amounteth all this fare?

Custance answered: sir it is Christs might,

That helpeth folke out of the fiends snare:

And so ferforth she gan our law declare,

That she the constable ere that it was eue

Conuerted, and on Christ made him beleeue.

This constable was nothing lord of this place

Of which I speake, there he Custance fond,

But kept it strongly many a Winter space,

Vnder Alla, king of Northumberlond,

That was full wise, and worthy of his hond

Againe the Scots, as men may well here,

But tourne I woll againe to my mattere.

Sathan, that euer vs waiteth to beguile,

Saw of Custance all her perfectioun,

And cast anon how he might quite her wile,

And made a yong knight yt dwelt in the toun

Loue her so hot, of foule affectioun,

That verily him thought that he should spill,

But he of her once might haue his will.

He woeth her, but it auailed nought,

She would doe no manner sinne by no wey:

And for despight, he compassed in his thought

To maken her on shamefull death to dey:

He waiteth when the Constable is away,

And priuily on a night he crept

Into Hermgilds chamber while she slept.

Werie forwaked in her orisons

Sleepeth Custance and Hermegilde also:

This knight, through sathans temptations

All softly is to the bed ygo,

And cut the throat of Hermegilde atwo,

And laied the bloody knife by dame Custance.

& went his way, ther God yeue him mischance.

Soon after cometh the constable home again

And eke Alla, that king was of that lond,

And saw his wife dispitously yslain,

For which he wept and wrong his hond,

And in the bed the bloody knife he fond

By dame Custance, alas what might she say?

For very wo her wit was all away.

To king Alla was told all this mischance,

And eke ye time, and where, and in what wise,

That in a ship was founden this Custance,

As here before ye han heard me deuise:

The kings heart for pity gan agrise,

When he saw so benigne a creature

Fall in disease and in misaduenture.

For as the lamb toward his deth is brought,

So stant this innocent beforne the king:

This fals knight yt hath this treson wrought

Bereth her in hond yt she hath don this thing:

But nathelesse there was great mourning

Emong the people, and said they cannot gesse

That she had done so great a wickednesse.

For they han seen her euer so vertuous,

And louing Hermegild right as her life:

Of this bare witnesse euerich in the hous,

Saue he that Hermegild slow with his knife:

This gentle king hath caught a great motife

Of this witness, & thought he would enquere

Deeper in this case, the trouth to lere.

Alas Custance, thou hast no champion,

He fight canst thou not, so welaway:

But he that starft for our redemption

And bond Sathan, and yet lith there he lay,

So be thy strong champion this day:

For but if Christ on thee miracle kithe,

Without gilt thou shalt been slaine aswithe.

She set her doun on knees, & thus she said:

Immortall God, that sauedest Susanne

Fro fals blame, and thou mercifull maid,

Marie I meane, doughter to saint Anne,

Beforne whose child angels sing Osanne,

If I be guiltlesse of this felonie,

My succour be, or els shall I die.

Haue ye not seene sometime a pale face

(Emong a prees) of hem that hath been lad

Toward his deth, wheras hem get no grace,

And such a colour in his face hath had,

That men might know his face yt was bistad

Emongs all the faces in that rout,

So standeth Custance, and loketh her about.

O Queenes liuing in prosperity,

Dutchesses, and ye ladies euerichone,

Haue some routh on her aduersity,

An Emperors doughter stant alone:

She hath no wiȝt to whom to make her mone,

O blood roiall, that stondeth in this drede,

Fere of been thy friends at thy greatest nede.

This Alla king, hath suche compassioun,

As gentle herte is full of pyte,

That from his eyen ran the water doun.

Nowe hastely do fette a boke (qd. he)

And if this knight wol swere, how that she

This woman slowe, yet wol we us avyse

Whom that we wol shall ben our iustyse

[Page]

A Breton booke, written with Euangeles

Was fet, and thereon he swore anone,

She guilty was, and in the meane whiles

An hond him smote vpon the necke bone,

That doune he fell atones as a stone:

And both his eyen brust out of his face

In sight of euery body in that place.

A voice was heard, in generall audience

That saied: Thou hast disclandred guiltles

The doughter of holy chirch in high presence,

Thus hast thou doen, and yet I hold my pees.

Of this marueile agast was all the prees,

As dismaide folke they stonden euerichone

For dread of wreche, saue Custance alone.

Great was the dread and eke the repentance

Of hem that hadden wrought suspection

Vpon this silly innocent Custance,

And for this miracle, in conclusion

And by Custances mediation

The king, and many another in that place

Conuerted was, thanked be Gods grace.

This fals knight was slain for his vntroth

By judgement of Alla hastily,

And yet Custance had of his death great roth,

And after this, Iesus of his mercy

Made Alla wedden full solemnely

This holy maid, that is so bright and shene,

And thus hath Christ made Custance a quene.

But who was wofull (if I should not lie)

Of this wedding? but Donegild and no mo:

The kings mother, full of tyrannie,

Her thought her cursed hart brast a two:

She would not that her sonne had doe so,

Her thought a despight, that he should take

So straunge a creature vnto his make.

* He list not of the chaffe ne of the stre,

Make so long a tale, as of the corne,

What should I tell of the realte

Of yt mariage, or which course goth beforne:

Who bloweth in a trumpe or in a horne,

The fruit of euery tale is for to say,

They eaten and drinken, daunce, and play.

They gon to bed, as it was skill and right,

For though that wiues been ful holy things,

They must take in patience a night

Such manner necessaries, as been pleasings

To folke that han wedded hem with rings,

And lay a little her holinesse aside

As for the time, it may none other betide.

On her he gat a man child anone,

And to a bishop, and to his constable eke

He tooke his wife to keepe, when he is gone

To Scotland ward, his fomen for to seke.

Now fair Custance yt is so humble and meke

So long is gone with child till that still

She halt her chamber, abiding Christs will.

The time is come, a man child she bare,

Mauricius at fontstone they him call,

This constable doth forth come a messenger,

And wrote to his king that cleaped was Alla,

How that this blisfull tiding is befall,

And other tidings needfull for to say,

He takes the letter, and forth goth his way.

This messenger to doen his auauntage,

Vnto the kings mother rideth swithe,

And salueth her full faire in his language,

Madame (qd. he) ye may be glad and blithe,

And thanked God an hundred thousand sith,

My lady quaene hath a child, withouten dout

To joy and blisse of all this reigne about.

Lo here the letters sealed of this thing,

That I mote beare in all the hast I may:

Yeue ye wol ought vnto your sonne the king,

I am your seruaunt both night and day.

Donegilde answered, as at this time nay,

But here I woll all night thou take thy rest,

To morrow woll I say thee what my lest.

This messenger dronk sadly both ale & wine,

And stollen were his lettets priuily

Out of his boxe, while he slept as a swine,

And counterfeited was full subtilly

Another letter, wrought full sinfully

Vnto the king direct of this mattere

Fro his Constable, as ye shall after here.

The letter spake the queene deliuered was

Of so horrible a fendlishe creature,

That in the castle none so hardy was

That any while dursten therein endure:

The mother was an Elfe by auenture

I come, by charmes or by sorcerie,

And euery wight hateth her companie.

Wo was this king when he yt letter had sein,

But to no wight he told his sorrow sore,

But with his owne hand he wrote again,

Welcome the sonde of Christ for euermore

To me, that am new learned in his lore:

Lord, welcome be thy lust and thy pleasance,

My lust I put all in thy ordinance.

Keepeth this child, all be it foule or faire,

And eke may wife vnto mine home coming:

Christ when him lest may send me an heire,

More agreeable than this to my liking:

This letter he sealed, priuily weeping,

Which to the messenger was taken sone,

And forth he goth, there is no more to done.

O messenger fulfilled of dronkenesse,

Strong is thy breth, thy limmes faltren aie,

And thou be wraiest all secretnesse,

Thy mind is sorne, thou ianglist as a Iaie:

Thy face is tourned in a new array,

* There dronkennesse reigneth in any rout,

There nis no counsaile hid withouten dout.

O Donegild, I ne haue non English digne

Vnto thy malice, and thy tirannie:

And therefore to the fende I thee resigne,

Let him enditen of thy traitrie.

[Page] Fie mannish fie: O nay by God I lie:

Fie fendishe spirit, for I dare well tell,

Though thou here walke, thy spirit is in hell.

This messenger came fro the king againe,

And at the kings mothers house he light,

And she was of this messenger full faine,

And pleased him in all that euer she might:

He dronke, and well his girdle vnder pight,

He sleepeth, and he snoreth in his guise

All night, till the summe gan arise.

Eft were his letters stollen euerichone,

And counterfeited letters in this wise,

The king commaundeth his constable anone

Vpon paine of hanging on an high iewise,

That he ne should suffren in no wise

Custance, within his realme for to abide

Three daies, and a quarter of a tide.

But in the same ship as he her fond,

Her and her young sonne, and all her gere

He should crouden, and put fro the lond,

And charge her, that she neuer eft come there:

O Custance, well may thy ghost haue fere,

And sleeping in thy dreame been in pennance,

When Donegild cast all this ordinance.

This messenger on ye morrow when he woke,

Vnto the castle halt the next way:

And to the Constable he the letter tooke,

And when that he this pitous letter sey,

Full oft he saied (alas) and welaway,

Lord christ, qd. he, how may this world indure

So full of sinne is many a creature.

O mighty God, if that it be thy will,

Sin thou art rightful iudge, how may it be

That thou wolt suffer innocence to spill,

And wicked folke to reigne in prosperite?

O, good Custance (alas) so woe is me,

That I mote be thy turmentour, or els dey

On shames death, there nis none other wey.

Weepen both yong and old in that place,

When that the king this cursed letter sent:

And Custance with a deadly pale face,

The fourth day toward the ship she went:

But nathelesse she taketh in good intent

The will of Christ, & kneeling in that strond,

She saied lord, aye welcome be thy sond.

He that me kept fro that false blame,

Whiles I was on the lond amongs you,

He can me keepe fro harme & eke fro shame

In the salt sea, although I see not how:

As strong as euer he was, he is now,

In him trust I, and in his mother dere,

That is to me my saile and eke my stere.

Her little child lay weeping in her arme,

And kneeling pitously to him she said,

Peace little sonne, I woll do thee none harm:

With that her kercher off her head she braid,

And ouer his little eyen she it laid,

And in her arme she lulleth it full fast,

And into heauen her eyen vp the cast.

Mother (qd. she) and maiden bright Marie.

Sooth it is, that through womans eggement

Mankind was lore, and damned aye to die,

For which thy child was on crosse yrent:

Thy blisfull eyen saw all his turment,

Then is there no comparison betwene

Thy wo, and any wo that man may sustene.

Thou see thy child yslaine before thine eien,

And yet liueth my little child parfay:

Now lady bright, to whom all wofull crien,

Thou glory of womanhead, thou faire may,

Thou hauen of refute, bright sterre of day,

Rew on my child of thy gentilnesse,

That rewest on euery rufull in distresse.

O little child (alas) what is thy guilt?

That neuer wroughtest sinne, as yet parde,

Why woll thine hard father haue thee spilt?

O mercy dear constable (qd. shee)

As let my little child dwell here with thee:

And if thou darst not sauen him fro blame,

So kisse him once in his fathers name.

Therwith she looketh backward to the lond,

And said: farewell husband routhlesse:

And vp she rist, and walketh doune the strond

Toward the ship, her followeth all the prees:

And aye she praieth her child to hold his pees,

And taketh her leaue, and with an holy entent

She blesseth her, and into the ship she went,

Vitailed was the ship, it is no drede

Habundantly, for her a full long space:

And other necessaries that should nede

She had ynow, hereid by Gods grace:

For wind & weather, almighty God purchace,

And bring her home, I can no better say,

But in the see she driueth forth her way.

Alla the king cometh home soone after this

Vnto his castle, of which I told,

And asketh where his wife and his child is,

The constable gan about his heart wax cold,

And plainely all the manner him told

As ye han heard, I can tell it no better,

And shewed the king his seale and his letter.

And said: lord as ye commaunded me

On paine of death, so haue I done certain:

This messenger turmented was, till he

Must be knowne, and tell plat and plain

Fro night to night, in what place he had lain:

And thus by wittie subtill enquiring,

Imagind was by whom this harm gan spring

The hand was knowen that the letter wrot,

And all the venim of this cursed dede:

But in what wise, certainely I not,

The effect is this, that Alla out of drede

His mother slow, that may men plainly rede,

For that she traitour was to her allegeaunce:

Thus endeth old Donegild with mischaunce.

The sorrow that this Alla night and day

Maketh for his child and his wife also,

[Page] There is no tongue that it tellen may.

But now woll I to Custance go,

That fleeteth in the sea in paine and wo

Fiue yeare and more, as liked Christs sonde,

Or that her ship approched vnto londe.

Vnder an heathen castle at the last,

(Of which the name in my text I not find)

Custance and eke her child the sea vp cast,

Almighty God, that saueth all mankind,

Haue on Custance & on her child some mind,

That fallen is in heathen hond eftsoone.

In point to spill, as I shall tell you soone.

Doun fro the castle cometh there many a wight

To gauren on this ship, and on Custance:

But shortly fro the castle on a night,

The lords steward (God yeue him mischance)

A theefe, that had renied our creaunce,

Came into the ship alone, and said he should

Her lemman be, whether she would or nold.

Wo was the wretched woman tho begon,

Her child and she cried full pittously:

But blisfull Mary halpe her anon,

For with her strogling well and mightily

The theefe fell ouer the boord all sodainly,

And in the see he drenched for vengeance,

And thus hath Christ unwemmed kept Custance.

* O foule lust of luxure, lo thine end,

Nat onely that thou faintest mans mind,

But verily, thou wolt his body shend,

The end of thy werke, or of thy lusts blind

Is complaining: how many one may men find

That not for werke somtime, but for thentent

To done this sinne been either slaine or shent.

How may this weak woman haue ye strength

Her to defend against this renegate?

O Golias, vnmeasurable of length

How might Dauid make thee so mate?

So young and of armure so desolate,

How durst he looke on thy dreadfull face?

Well may men seene it is but Gods grace.

Who yaue Iudith courage or hardinesse

To slean prince Holofernes in his tent,

And to deliuer out of wretchednesse

The people of God? I say, for this intent

That right as God spirit and vigor sent

To hem, and saued hem out of mischance,

So sent he might and vigor to Custance.

Forth goth her ship through ye narow mouth

Of Subalter and Sept, yfleeting aie

Somtime West, & somtime North & South,

And sometime East full many a wearie daie:

Till Christs mother, yblessed be she aie,

Hath shapen through her endlesse goodnesse,

To make an end of all her heauinesse.

Explicit secunda pars, & sequitur pars tertia.

3

NOW let vs stint of Custance but a throw,

And speake we of the Romane Emperour,

That out of Surrey hath by letters know

The slaughter of Christians, and dishonour

Doen to his doughter by a false traitour,

I meane the cursed wicked Soudonnesse

That at the feast let stean both more and lesse.

For which this Emperour hath sent anon

His senatour, with roiall ordinance,

And other lords God wote many one,

On Surreians to done high vengeance:

They brennen, slean, & bring hem to mischance

Full many a day: but shortly in the end

Homeward to Rome they shapen hem to wend.

This senatour repaireth with victory

To Rome ward, sayling full roially,

And met the ship driuing, as saith the story,

In which Custance sat full pitously:

Nothing knew he what she was, ne why

She was in such array, ne she nold sey

Of her estate, though she shoulden dey.

He bringeth her to Rome, and to his wife

He yaue her, and her young sonne also:

And with the senatour she lad her life.

Thus can our lady bring out of wo

Wofull Custance, and many another mo:

And long time dwelled she in that place

In holy werkes euer, as was her grace.

The senatours wife her aunt was,

But for all that she knew her nere the more:

I woll no longer tarry in this caas,

But to king Alla, which I spake of yore,

That for his wife weepeth and siketh sore,

I woll retourne, and let I woll Custance

Vnder the senatours gouernance.

King Alla, which that had his mother slain,

Vpon a day fell in such repentaunce,

That if I shortly tell all shall, and plain,

To Rome he cometh to receiue his penaunce,

And putten him in the Popes ordinaunce

In high and low, and Iesu Christ besought,

Foryeue his wicked werks that he wrought.

The fame anon through Rome town is born,

How Alla king shall come on pilgrimage,

By herbegers that wenten him beforn,

For which the senatour, as was vsage

Rode him againe, and many of his linage,

As well to shewen his high magnificence,

As to done any king reuerence.

Great cheare doth this noble senatour

To king Alla, and he to him also:

Euerich of hem doth other great honour,

And so befell, that on a day or two

This senatour is to king Alla go

To feast, and shortly if I shall not lie,

Custances sonne went in his companie.

[Page] Som men would sain at ye request of Custance

This senatour had lad this child to feast:

I may not tellen euery circumstance,

Be as be may, there was he at the least:

But sooth it is, right at his mothers hest

Beforne Alla, during the meat space

The child stood, looking in the kings face.

This Alla king hath of this child gret wonder,

And to the senatour he said anon,

Whose is yt faire child that stondeth yonder?

I not (qd. he) by God and by saint Iohn:

A mother he hath, but father hath he non,

That I of wote: but shortly in a stound

He told Alla how the child was yfound.

But God wot (qd. the Senatour also)

So vertuous a liuer in my life

Ne saw I neuer, as she, ne heard of mo

Such wordly woman, maiden, ne of wife:

I dare well say she had leuer a knife

Through her brest, than ben a woman wicke.

* There is no man couth bring her to ye prick.

Now was the child as like Custance

As possible is a creature for to be:

This Alla hath the face in remembrance

Of dame Custance, and thereon mused he,

Yeue that the childs mother were aught she

That is his wife, and priuily he sight,

And sped him fro the table all that he might.

Parfay he thought, yt fatome is in mine hed,

I oughten deme of skilfull judgement,

That in the salt sea my wife is ded:

And afterward he made his argument,

What wot I, if Christ hath hither sent

My wife by sea? as well as he her sent

To my country, fro thence that she was went.

After anone, home with the Senatour

Goth Alla, for to see this wonder chaunce:

This Senatour doth Alla great honour,

And hastily he sent after Custance:

But trusteth well, her lust not to dance.

When that she wist wherfore was that sond,

Vnneth vpon her feet might she stond.

When Alla saw his wife, faire he her gret,

And wept, that it was ruth for to see,

For at the first looke he on her set,

He knew well verely that it was she:

And for sorrow, as dombe stant as a tree:

So was her heart shet in distresse,

When she remembered his vnkindnesse.

Twice she souned in his owne sight,

He weepeth and him excuseth pitously:

Now God (qd. he) and his hallowes bright

So wisty on my soule haue mercy,

That of your harme as guiitlesse am I,

As is Mauris my sonne, so like your face,

Els the fiend me fetch out of this place.

Long was the sobbing and the bitter pain,

Or that her wofull heart mighten cease,

Great was the pity to heare hem complain,

Throgh which plaints gan her wo to encrese.

I pray you all my labour to release,

I may not tell her wo till to morrow,

I am so wearie to speake of her sorrow.

But finally, when the sooth is wist,

That Alla guiltlesse was of her wo,

I trow an hundred times been they kist,

And such a blisse is there betwixt hem two,

That saue the joy that lasteth euermo,

There is no like, that any creature

Hath seen or shall, while the world may dure.

Tho praied she her husbond meekely

In releasing of her pitous paine,

That he would pray her father specially,

That of his Majestie he would encline

To vouchsafe some day with him to dine:

She praied him eke, he should by no way

To her father no word of her to say.

Some men would say, yt the child Maurice

Doth this message vntill this Emperour:

But as I gesse, Alla was not so nice,

To him that was of so soueraigne honour,

As he that is of christen folke the flour,

To send a child, but it is bette to deeme

He went himselfe, and so it may well seeme.

This Emperour graunted full gentilly

To come to dinner, as he him besought:

And all ready he came, and looked busily

Vpon this child, & on his doughter thought:

Alla goeth to his inne, and as he him ought

Arraied for this feast in euery wise,

As ferforth as his cunning may suffice.

The morow came, and Alla gan him dresse

And eke his wife, the Emperour to mete:

And forth they ride in ioy and in gladnesse,

And when she saw her father in the strete,

She light doune and falleth to his fete.

Father (qd. she) your young child Custance

Is now full cleane out of your remembrance.

I am your doughter Custance (qd. she)

That whilome ye han sent into Surrie:

It am I father, that in the salt see

Was put alone, and damned for to die.

Now good father I you mercy crie,

Send me no more into Heathennesse,

But thanken my lord here of his kindnesse.

Who can the pitous joy tellen all

Betwixt hem thre? since they been thus imet:

But of my tale make an end I shall

The day goeth fast, I woll no longer let:

This glad folke to dinner been ylet,

In ioy and blisse, at meat I let hem dwell,

A thousand fold well more than I can tell.

This child Mauris was sithen Emperour

Made by the Pope, and liued christenly,

To Christs church he did great honour:

But I let all this storie passen by,

[Page] Of Custance is my tale specially,

In old Romane jestes men may find

Mauris life, I beare it not in mind.

This king Alla, when he his time sey

With this Custance, his holy wife so swete,

To Englond been they come the right wey,

Where as they liue in joy and in quiete.

But little while it lasteth I you hete,

* Ioy of this world fer time woll not abide,

Fro day to night, it chaungeth as the tide.

Who liued euer in such delite a day,

That he ne meued either in conscience

Or ire, or talent of some kin affray,

Enuie or pride, or passion, or offence?

I ne say, but for this end and sentence,

That little while in ioy or in pleasance

Lasteth the blisse of Alla with Custance.

* For death, that taketh of hie & low his rent,

When passed was a yeare, euen as I gesse,

Out of this world king Alla gan hent,

For whom Custance hath full great heauines.

Now let vs praien God his soule to blesse:

And dame Custance, finally to say,

Toward the toune of Rome goth her way.

To Rome is come this holy creature,

And findeth her father whole and sound:

Now is she scaped all her auenture,

And when that she her father hath yfound,

Doune on her knees she goeth to ground

Weeping for tendernesse in her heart blithe,

She herieth God an hundred thousand sithe.

In vertue and holy almes dede

They liuen all, and neuer asunder wend,

Till death departen hem, this life they lede:

And fareth now well, my tale is at an end.

Now Iesu Christ, that of his might may send

Ioy after wo, gouerne vs in his grace,

And keepe vs all that been in this place.

§

¶The Squires Prologue.

OUR host on his stirrops stoode anon,

And said: good men hearkeneth euerichon,

This was a thriftie tale for the nones:

Sir parish priest (qd. he) for Gods bones,

Tell vs a tale, as was thy forward yore:

I see well that ye learned men in lore,

Can muckle good, by Gods dignite.

The Parson him answerd, benedicite,

What eileth the man, so sinfully to swere?

Our host answerd, O Ienkin, be ye there?

Now good men (qd. our host) harkneth to me,

I smell a loller in the wind (qd. he)

Abideth for Gods digne passion,

For we shall haue a predication:

This loller here woll preachen vs somewhat.

Nay by my fathers soule, that shall he nat,

Saied the Squier, here shall he nat preach,

Here shall he no Gospell glose ne teach:

We leueth all in the great God (qd. he)

He would sowen some difficulte,

* Or spring some cockle in our cleane corne.

And therefore host, I warne thee beforne,

My jolly body shall a tale tell,

And I shall ringen you so merry a bell,

That I shall waken all this companie:

But it shall not been of Philosophie,

Ne of Physicke, ne tearmes queint of law,

There is but little Latine in my maw.

The King of Arabie sendeth to Cambuscan King of Sarra, an Horse and a Sword of rare qualitie: and to his daughter Canace a Glass and a Ring, by the vertue whereof she understandeth the language of all Fowls. Much of this Tale is either lost, or else never finished by Chaucer.

The Squires Tale.

1

AT Sarra, in the lond of Tartarie,

There dwelt a king that warred on Surrie,

Through which ther died many a doughtie man:

This noble king was called Cambuscan.

Which in his time was of so great renoun,

That there nas no where in no regioun

So excellent a lord in all thing:

Him lacked nought that longeth to a king,

As of the sect of which he was borne.

He kept his lay to which he was sworne,

And thereto he was hardie, wise, and riche,

And pitous and just alway yliche:

True of his word, benigne and honourable

Of his corage, as any centre stable.

Young, fresh, and strong, in armes desirous,

As any batcheler of all his hous,

A faire person he was, and fortunate,

And kept alway so roiall astate,

That there nas no where such another man.

This noble king, this Tartre, this Cambuscan

Had two sonnes by Eltheta his wife,

Of which the eldest hight Algarsife,

That other was cleaped Camballo.

A doughter had this worthy king also

That youngest was, and hight Canace:

But for to tell you all her beaute,

It lithe not in my tong, ne in my conning,

I dare not vndertake so high a thing:

Mine English eke is vnsufficient,

It must been a Rethor excellent,

That couth his colours longing for the art.

If he should discriue here every part:

I am none such, I mote speake as I can.

And so befell, that this Cambuscan

Hath twenty Winter borne his diademe,

As he was wont fro yeare to yeare I denie

He let the feast of his natiuity

Doen crien, throughout Sarra his city,

The last Idus of March, after the yere.

Phebus the Sunne full jolly was & clere,

For he was nigh his exaltation

In Marces face, and in his mansion

[Page] In Aries, the collerike, the hote signe:

Full lustie was the weather and benigne,

For which the foules ayenst the sunne shene

What for the season and the yong grene,

Full louden song her affections:

Hem seemed han getten hem protections

Ayen the swerd of Winter kene and cold.

This Cambuscan, of which I haue you told

In roiall vestements, sit on his deis

With diademe, full high in his paleis:

And held his feast so roiall and so riche,

That in this world nas there none it liche.

Of which, if I shall tell all the array,

Then would it occupie a Sommers day,

And eke it needeth not to deuise

At euery course the order of seruice.

I wol not tellen as now of her strange sewes,

Ne of her Swans, ne of her Heronsewes.

Eke in that lond, as tellen knights old

There is some meat that is full dainty hold,

That in this lond men retch of it but small:

There is no man that may reporten all.

I will not tarie you, for it is prime,

And for it is no fruit, but losse of time,

Vnto my first purpose I woll haue recourse.

And so befell that after the third course,

While that this king sit thus in his noblay,

Hearkening his minstrals her things play,

Beforne him at his boord deliciously

In at the hall doore all suddainely

There came a knight on a steed of brasse,

And in his hond a broad mirrour of glasse:

Vpon his thombe he had of gold a ring,

And by his side a naked sword honging,

And vp he rideth to the high bord.

In all the hall ne was there spoke a word,

For maruaile of the knight, him to behold

Full busily they waiten yong and old.

This straunge knight yt come thus sodenly

All armed saue his head, full roially

Salued king and queene, and lords all

By order, as they sitten in the hall,

With so high reuerence and obeisaunce,

As well in speech as in countenaunce,

That Gawaine with his old courtesie,

Though he come ayen out of fairie,

Ne could him not amend of no word.

And after this, before the high bord

He with a manly voice saied his message,

After the forme vsed in his language,

Without vice of sillable or of letter.

And for his tale should seeme the better,

Accordant to his words was his chere,

As teacheth art of speech hem that it lere.

All be that I cannot sowne his stile,

Ne I cannot climben so high a stile:

Yet say I thus as to my comen intent,

Thus much amounteth all yt euer he ment,

If it so be, that I haue it in my mind.

He saied: The king of Araby and of Inde

My liege lord, on this solemne day

Salueth you as he best can and may,

And sendeth you in honour of your feest

By me that am readie at your heest

This steed of brasse, that easily and well

Can in the space of a day naturell

(That is to say, in foure and twenty houres)

Where so ye list, in drought or in shoures

Beren your body into euery place,

Into which your heart willeth to pace,

Without weine of you, through foule or faire.

Or if ye list to fleen in the aire,

As doth an Eagle, when him list to sore,

This same steed shall beare you euermore

Withouten harm, till you been there you lest,

Though that ye sleepen on his back and rest,

And turne again, with writhing of a pin.

He that it wrought, could full many a gin:

He waited many a constellation,

Or he had doen this operation,

And knew full many a seale & many a bond.

This mirror eke that I haue in mine hond,

Hath such a might, that men may in it see,

When there shall fallen any aduersitee

Vnto your reigne, or to your selfe also:

And openly see, who is your friend and fo:

And ouer all this, if any lady bright,

Hath set her heart on any manner wight,

If he be false, she shall the treason see,

His new loue, and all his subteltee

So openly, that there shall nothing hide.

Wherefore againe this lusty Summer tide

This mirrour and this ring, that ye may se,

He hath sent to my lady Canace

Your excellent doughter that is here.

The vertue of this ring, if ye woll here

Is this, that if she list it for to were

Vpon her thombe, or in her purse it bere,

There is no foule that fleeth under heuen,

That she ne shall vnderstond his steuen,

And know his meaning openly and plaine,

And answere him in his language againe:

And euery grasse that groweth vpon root

She shall wel know, & whom it wol do boot,

All he his wounds neuer so deepe and wide.

This naked swerd that hangeth by my side,

Such vertue hath, yt what man so ye smite,

Throughout his armure it woll kerue & bite,

Were it as thicke as a braunched oke:

And what man yt is wounded with the stroke

Shall neuer be hole, till that you list of grace

To stroken him with ye platte in thilke place

There he is hurt, this is as much to saine,

Ye mote with the plat swerd againe

Stroken him in ye wound, and it woll close:

This is very sooth withouten glose,

It faileth not, whiles it is in your hold.

And when this kniȝt hath thus his tale told,

He rideth out of the hall, and doun he light:

His steed, which that shone as Sunne bright

Stant in the court still as any stone:

The knight is in to chamber sadde anone,

He is vnarmed, and to the meat ysette,

And all these presents been full rich yfette,

This is to sain, the swerd & eke the mirrour

And borne anon was into the high tour,

With certaine officers ordained therefore:

And to Canace the ring is bore

Solemnely, there she sat at the table.

But sikerly without any fable

The horse of brasse, that may not be remeued,

It stant, as it were to the ground yglewed:

[Page] There may no man out of the place it driue

For none engine, or windlas, or poliue:

And cause why, for they cannot the craft,

And therefore in the place they han it laft,

Till yt the knight hath taught hem ye manere

To voiden him, as ye shall after here.

Great was ye prees, that swarmed to & fro

To gauren on the hors that stondeth so:

For it so high was, and so broad and long,

So well proportioned for to been strong,

Right as it were a steed of Lombardie:

Therewith so horsly, and so quicke of eie,

As it a gentle courser of Poile were:

For certes, fro his tale to his ere

Nature ne art coud him not amend

In no degree, as all the people wend.

But euermore her most wonder was,

How that he couth gon, and was of bras?

It was of fairie, as the people semed:

Diuers folke diuersly they demed,

* As many heads, as many wits there been:

They murmure, as doth a swarme of Been,

And maden skils after her fantasies,

Rehearsing of the old Poetries,

And saied it was ylike the Pegase

The hors that had wings for to flee,

Or els was the Greekes hors Sinon,

That brought Troy to destruction,

As men in these old bookes rede.

Mine heart (qd. one) is euermore in drede,

I trow some men of armes been therein,

That shapen hem this citie for to win:

It were right good yt such things were know.

And other rowned to his felaw low,

And saied he lied, for it is rather like

An apparence made by some Magike,

As Iogglours plaien at these feasts great:

Of sundry thoughts thus they iangle & treat,

* As leaud people deemeth commonly

Of things that been made more subtilly,

Than they can in her leaudnesse comprehend:

They demen gladly to the badder end.

And some of hem wondren on the mirrour,

(That born was vp to the maister tour)

How men mighten in it such things see.

Another answered, certes it might well bee

Naturally by compositions

Of Angels and of slie reflections:

And saiden that in Rome was such on.

They speaken of Alhazen and Vitellion,

And Aristotle that writeth in her liues

Of queint mirrours, and of prospecttues,

As knowen they that han her bookes heard.

And other folk han wondred on the sweard

That would so piercen through euery thing:

And fell in speech of Telephus the king,

And of Achilles for his queint spere,

For he couth with it both heale and dere,

Right in such wise as men may with ye swerd,

Of which right now ye haue your selue herd.

They speaken of sundry harding of mettall,

And speaken of medicines eke withall,

And how, and when it should hardened be,

Which is vnknow algate to me.

Tho speake they of Canaces ring,

And saiden all, that such a wonder thing

Of craft of rings heard they neuer non,

Saue that Moses and king Salamon

Had a name of cunning of such art:

Thus sain the people, and drawen hem apart

But nathelesse, some saiden that it was

Wonder to make of ferne ashen, glas,

And yet is glas not like ashen of ferne,

But for that they han knowen it so ferne,

Therefore ceaseth her iangling and wonder.

As sore wandren some on cause of thunder,

On ebbe and floud, on gossomer, and on mist,

And on all thing, till the cause is wist.

Thus ianglen they, and demen and deuise,

Till that the king gan fro his boord arise.

Phebus hath left the angle meridionall,

And yet ascending was the beest royall

The gentle Lion with his Aldrean,

When that this Tartre king Cambuscan

Rose from his bord, there as he fat full hie:

Beforne him goth the loud minstralcie,

Till he came to his chamber of paraments,

There as they sownen diuers instruments,

That is like an heuen for to here.

Now dauncen lusty Venus children dere:

For in the fish her lady sat full hie,

And looketh on hem with a friendly eie.

This noble king is set vpon his trone,

This straunge knight is fet to him full sone,

And in the daunce he goeth with Canace.

Here is the reuell and the iolite

That is not able a dull man to deuise:

He must han know loue and her seruise

And been a feestliche man, as fresh as May,

That should you deuise such an array.

Who couth tellen you ye forme of daunces

So vncouth, and so fresh countenaunces?

Such subtill lookings and dissimulings

For dread of jealous mens apperceiuings?

Ne man but Launcelot, and he is dead

Therefore I passe ouer all this lusty head,

I say no more, but in this iollinesse

I lete hem, till men to supper them dresse.

The steward biddeth spices for to hie

And eke the wine, in all this melodie

The vshers and the squires been ygone,

The spices and the wine is comen anone:

They eten & dronken, & when this had an end

Vnto the temple, as reason was, they wend:

The seruice done, they soupen all by day.

What needeth it to rehearsen her array?

Each man wot well, that at a kings feast

Is plenty, to the most and to the least

And dainties mo, than been it my knowing.

And after supper goeth this noble king

To seen this horse of brasse, with all his rout

Of lords and of ladies him about:

Such wondring there was on this horse of bras,

That sithen the great siege of Troy was,

There as men wondred on an horse also,

Ne was there such a wondring, as was tho.

But finally, the king asketh the knight

The vertue of this horse and the night,

And praied him to tell of his gouernaunce.

The horse anon gan to trip and daunce.

When yt this knight laid hond on his raine,

And said, sir there is no more to saine,

[Page] But when you list to riden any where,

Ye mote trill a pin, stant in his ere:

Which I shall tell you betweene vs two.

Ye mote nempne him to what place also,

Or to what country you list to ride.

And when ye come there you list abide,

Bid him discend, and trill another pin,

For therein lieth the effect of all the gin:

And he woll downe discend & done your will,

And in that place he woll abide still:

Though al ye world had the contrary sworne,

He shall not thence be ythrow ne yborne,

Or if you listen bid him thence to gone,

Trill this pin, and he woll vanish anone

Out of the sight of euery manner wight,

And come ayen, be it day or night,

When that you list to clepen him againe

In such a guise, as I shall to you saine

Betwixt you and me, and that full sone,

Ride when you list, there nis no more to done.

Enfourmed when ye king was of y• knight,

And hath conceiued in his wit aright

The manner and the forme of all this thing,

Full glad and full blith, the noble king

Repaireth to his reuell, as beforne:

The bridie is in the toure yborne,

And kept among his iewels lefe and dere:

The horse vanished, I not in what mannere

Out of her sight, ye get no more of me:

But thus I lete in lust an iolite

This Cambuscan, and his lords feasting

Till well nigh the day began to spring.

Explicit prima pars: & sequitur pars secunda.

2

THe noryce of digestion, the sleepe

Gan on hem winke, and bad hem take keepe,

* That mirth, drink, and labour woll haue rest:

And with a galping mouth hem all he kest,

And said, it was time to lie adoun,

For blood was in his dominatioun:

* Cherisheth blood, natures friend (qd. hee)

They thanken him galping, by two by three,

And euery wight gan drawen him to his rest,

As sleepe hem bade, chey tooke it for the best.

Her dreames shul not now ben ytold for me,

Full were her heeds of fumosite,

That causeth dreames, of which there is no charge,

They sleepen soundly, till it was prime large

The most part, but it were Canace:

She was full measurable, as women be.

For of her father had she take her leue

To gone to rest, soone after it was eue:

Her list not apalled for to be,

Nor on the morrow, vnfestliche for to see

And slept her first slepe, and then awoke

For such a joy she in her heart tooke

Both of her queynt ring, & of her mirrour,

That twenty times she chaunged her colour:

And in her slepe, right for impression

Of her mirrour, she had a vision.

Wherfore, or that the sunne vp gan glide,

She cleped her maistresses her beside

And said, that her lust for to arise.

These old women that been gladly wise

As is her maistresse, answerd her anon,

And said: Madam whider woll ye gon

Thus early? for folke been all in rest.

I woll (quoth she arise) for me lest

No lenger to slepe but walken about.

Her maistresse cleped women a great rout,

And vp they risen, wel ten or twelue:

Vp riseth fresh Canace her selue

As ioly and bright, as the yong sunne,

That in the Ram is foure degrees vp runne,

No higher was he, whan she ready was:

And forth she walked an easie paas

Arrayed after the lusty season sote,

Lightly for to playen, and walken on foote:

Nought but fiue or sixe of her meyne,

And in a trenche, fer in the parke goeth she.

The vapor which that fro the earth glode,

Maketh the sunne to seem ruddy and brode:

But nathelesse, it was so faire a sight,

That it made all her hearts for to light,

What for the season, and for the morowning,

And for the foules that she herde to sing.

For right anon, she wiste what they ment

Right by her song, and knew al her entent.

* The knot why, that euery tale is tolde,

If it be taried till lust be colde

Of hem that han it hearkened after yore,

The sauour passeth, euer lenger the more,

For fulsumnes of prolixite,

And by that same reason thinketh me

I should vnto the same knot condiscende,

And make of her walking sone an ende.

Amidde a tre, for dry as white as chalke,

As Canace was playing in her walke,

There sat a falcon ouer head full hie,

That with a pitious voyce gan to cry,

That all the wood resouned of her cry,

And beaten had her selfe so pitously

With both her wings, till the reed blood

Ran endlong the tre, there as she stood:

And euer in one she cryed and shright,

And with her becke, her seluen so she pight,

That there nas Tygre, ne cruell beast

That dwelleth in wood, neither in forrest,

That nolde han wept, if that they wepe coud,

For sorrow of her, she shright alway so loud.

For there was neuer yet man on liue,

If that he couthe a Falcon well discriue,

That herde of such another of fayrenes

As wel of plumage, as of gentilnes,

Of shape, of all that might irekened be:

A Falcon peregryn than seemed she

Of fremd lond, and euermore as she stood,

She swounded now & now for lacke of blood,

Til welny is she fallen fro the tree.

This faire kings doughter, this Canace,

That on her finger bare the queint ring,

Through which she vnderstood wel euery thing

That any foule may in his leden saine,

And coud answere him in his leden againe,

Hath vnderstand what this falcon seyd

And welny for routhe almost she deyd:

And to the tree she goeth full hastily

And on this Falcon gan looke pitously,

[Page] And held her lap abroad, for well she wist

The Falcon must fallen from the twist

Whan yt she swouned next, for lacke of blood:

A long while to waiten there she stood,

Till at the last she spake in this manere

Vnto the hauke as ye shallen after here.

What is the cause, if it be for to tell,

That ye ben in this furiall paine of hell?

Qd. Canace, vnto this Hauke aboue:

* Is this for sorow of death, or losse of loue?

For as I trow, these ben causes two,

That causen most a gentil heart wo:

Of other harme it nedeth not to speake,

For ye your selfe, vpon your selfe wreake,

Which proueth well, that either ire or dread

Mote ben encheson of your cruel deed.

Syn that I se none other wight you chace,

For ye loue of God, so doeth your selfe grace:

Or what may be your helpe? for west or east

Ne saw I neuer er now, no bird ne beast,

That farde with himselue so pitously:

Ye slea me with your sorrow verily,

I haue of you so great compassioun:

For Gods loue come fro the tree adowne.

And as I am a kings daughter trew,

If that I verily the causes knew

Of your disease, if it lay in my might

I would amend it, certes or it be night,

As wisely help me the great God of kind.

And hearbes also shall I right ynough find,

To heale with your hurts hastily.

Tho shright this Falcon yet more pitously

Than er she did, and fell to ground anone,

And lyeth a swoune deed as is a stone,

Til Canace had her in her lappe itake

Vnto the time she gan of swoune awake:

And after that she of swoune can abreyd,

Right in her Haukes leden thus she seyd.

* That pity renneth soone in gentle hert

(Feeling his similitude in paines smert)

Is proued all day, as men may see,

As well by werke as by authorite,

For gentle heart keepeth gentlenesse.

I see well, that ye haue of my distresse

Compassion, my faire Canace

Of very womanly benignite,

That nature in your principles hath set,

But for none hope for to fare the bet.

But for to obey vnto your heart free,

And for to make other beware by mee,

As by the whelpe chastised is the Lion,

Right for that cause, and that conclusion,

While that I haue a leysure and a space,

Mine harme I woll confessen or I pace:

And euer while that one her sorrow told,

That other wept, as she to water wold,

Till that the Faucon bad her to be still:

And with a sike, thus she said her till.

There I was bred, alas that ilke day,

And fostred in a roche of marble gray

So tenderly, that nothing aileth me,

I ne wist what was aduersite,

Till I coud flie, full high vnder the skie.

There dwelt a Tercelet me fast by,

That seemed well of all gentlenesse,

All were he full of treason and of falsenesse.

It was so wrapped vnder humble chere,

And hew of trouth, and in such manere

Vnder pleasaunce, and vnder busie pain,

That no wight coud haue wend he coud fain:

So deepe in greyne he died his colours,

Right as a serpent hideth him vnder flours,

Till he may see his time for to bite:

Right so, this god of loues hypocrite

Doth so his ceremonies and obeysaunce,

With his dissimuling and fair assemblaunce,

That souneth vnto gentlenesse of loue,

As in a tombe is all the faire aboue,

And vnder, the corse, such as ye wote,

Such was this hypocrite cold and hote,

And in this wise he serued his intent,

That saue the fiend, non wist what he ment:

Till he so long had weeped and complained,

And many a yeare his seruice to me fained,

Till that mine hert, too pitous and too nice,

All innocent of his cruell mallice,

For ferd of his death, as thought me

Vpon his othes and his surete,

Graunted him loue, vpon this conditioun,

That euermore mine honour and renoun

Where saued, both preuy and apert,

This is to say, that after his desert,

I yaue him all mine hert and all my thought

God wote, and in none other wise nought:

And tooke his hert in chaunge of mine for aye.

* But sooth is said, gone sithen many a day,

A true wight and a theefe thinketh not one.

And when he saw the thing so fer igone,

That I graunted him fully my loue

In such a guise, as I haue said aboue,

And yeuen him my true heart as free

As he swore he yafe his heart to mee.

Anon this tigre, full of doublenesse

Fell on his knees with so deuout humblesse,

With high reuerence, and eke by his chere

So like a gentle louer, as of manere

So rauished, as it seemed for joy,

That neuer Troylus, ne Paris of Troy,

Iason certes, ne none other man,

Since Lamech was, that alder first began

To louen two, as writen folke beforne,

Ne neuer sithen Adam was borne,

Ne couth man by twenty thousand part

Counterfeit the sophimes of his art:

Ne were worthy to vnbocle his galoche,

Ther doublenesse or faining should approach:

Ne so couth thanke a wight, as he did me,

His manner was an heauen for to see

To any woman, were she neuer so wise:

So painteth he his chere, point deuise,

As well his words, as his countenaunce,

And I so loued him for his obeysaunce,

And for the trouth that I demed in his hert

That if so were that any thing him smert,

Were it neuer so lite, and I it wist,

Me thought I felt death at my hart twist,

And shortly, so ferforth this thing went,

That my will was his wils instrument.

That is to say, my will obeied his will

In all thing, as farre as reason fill,

Keeping the bounds of my worship euer:

Ne neuer had I thing so lefe ne so leuer

[Page] As him God wot, ne neuer shall no mo.

This lasteth lenger than a yeare or two,

That I supposed of him nothing but good.

But finally, thus at the last it stood,

That fortune would that he must twin

Out of that place, which that I was in:

Whereof me was wo, it is no question,

I cannot make of it description.

For o thing dare I tell boldely,

I know what the paine of death is thereby,

Such harme I felt, that he ne might bleue.

So on a day of me he tooke his leue

So sorrowfully eke, that I wend verily,

That he had felt as much harme as I,

When that I heard him speak, & saw his hew

But natheles, I thought he was so trew,

And eke that he repaire should againe

Within a little while sooth to saine

And reason would eke, that he must go

For his honour, as oft happeth so,

* That I made vertue of necessite,

And tooke it well, sith it must needs be:

As I best might, I hid fro him my sorrow

And took him by the hond, S. Iohn to borow,

And said him thus: lo I am yours all,

Beth such as I haue ben to you and shall.

What, he answerd, it needeth not reherse,

* Who can sain bet than he who can do wers:

When he hath al wel isaid, than hath he done.

* Therefore behoueth him a long spoone

That shal eaten with a fiend, thus herd I say.

So at the last he mote forth his way,

And forth he fleeth till he come there him lest

When it come him to purpose for to rest:

I trow he had thilke text in mind,

* That all thing repairing to his kind

Gladeth hemselue, thus sain men as I gesse:

* Men louen of kind newfanglenesse

As birds done, that men in cages feed.

For thogh thou night & day take of hem heed,

And straw her cage faire and soft as silke,

And giue hem sugre, hony, bread and milke,

Yet right anon as his dore is vp,

He with his feet would sporne adoun his cup,

And to the wood he would, and wormes eat,

So newfangle ben they of her meat,

And louen nouelries of proper kind,

No gentlenesse of blood may hem bind:

So ferd this Tercelet, alas the day.

Tho he were gentle borne, fresh and gay

And goodly for to see, and humble and free,

He saw vpon a time a kite flee,

And suddainly he loued this kite so,

That all his loue is cleane fro me go:

And hath his trouth falsed in this wise.

Thus hath the kite my loue in her seruice,

And I am lorne without remedy.

And with yt word this faucon gan to cry,

And swouned oft in Canaces barme:

Great was the sorow for that hawkes harme,

That Canace and all her women made,

They nist how they might her faucon glade.

But Canace home heareth her in her lap,

And softly in plaisters gan her wrap,

There as she with her beck had hurt her selue.

Now cannot Canace but herbes delue

Out of the ground and make salues new

Of herbes precious and fine of hew,

To helen with the hawke: fro day to night

She doeth her businesse, and all her might.

And by her beds head she made a mew,

And couered it with veluets blew,

* In signe of trouth, that is in women seene.

And all without the Mew is painted greene,

In which were painted all these false foules,

As ben these tidefes, tercelets, and owles,

Right for despight were painted hem beside

Pyes fele on hem for to cry and chide.

Thus leaue I Canace her hauke keeping,

I woll no more as now speake of her ring,

Till it come eft to purpose for to sain,

How that this faucon got her loue againe

Repentaunt, as the storie telleth vs,

By mediation of Camballus

The kings sonne, of which I haue of told.

But henceforth I woll my processe hold

To speaken of auentures, and of battails,

That yet was neuer herd of so gret maruails.

First woll I tell you of Cambuscan,

That in his time many a city wan:

How that he wan Thedora to his wife,

And after woll I speake of Algarsife,

For whom full oft in great perill he was,

Ne had he ben holpen by the horse of bras.

And after woll I speake of Camballo,

That fought in lists with the brethren two

For Canace, ere that he might her win,

And there I left, I woll againe begin.

Explicit secunda pars.

3

Apollo whirleth vp his chare so hie,

Till that the god Mercurius house he flie.

¶There can be found no more of this foresaid tale, which hath been sought in divers places.

¶Here followeth the words of the Marchaunt to the Squier, and the words of the Host to the Marchaunt.

IN faith Squier thou hast thee well yquit

And gentely to, I praise well thy wit

Qd. the Marchaunt, considering thine youth,

So feelingly thou speakest, I thee alouth

As to my doome, there is none that is here

Of eloquence, that shall be thy pere

If yt thou liue, God giue ye right good chaunce

And in vertue send thee perseuerance.

For of thy speaking I haue great deinte,

I haue a sonne, and by the Trinite,

I had leuer than twenty poundsworth lond

(Though it now were fallen in my hond)

He were a man of such discretion,

As that ye ben: fie on possession,

But if a man be vertuous withall.

I haue my sonne snibbed, and yet shall,

For he to vertue listeth not to intend,

But for to play at dise, and to spend,

And lese all that he hath is his vsage:

And he had leuer talke with a page,

[Page] Than to commune with any gentle wight,

Where he might learne gentlenesse aright.

Straw for your gentlenesse (qd. our host)

What Marchant, pardy full well thou wost,

That ech of you mote tellen at the lest

A tale or two, or breaken your behest.

That know I well (qd. ye Marchant) certain,

I pray you haue me not in disdain,

Though I to this man speake a word or two.

Tell on thy tale withouten words mo.

Gladly sir host (qd he) I woll obey

Vnto your will, now hearkeneth what I sey:

I woll you not contrary in no wise,

As farre as my wits may suffice,

I pray to God that it may pleasen you,

Then wot I well it is good ynow.

§

The Marchants Prologue.

WEeping and wailing, care and other

sorrow

I haue ynow, both euen and eke a morrow

Qd. the Marchant, and so haue other mo,

That wedded be, I trow that it be so:

For well I wot it fareth so by me,

I haue a wife, the worst that may be,

For though the fiend coupled to her were,

She wold him ouermatch I dare well swere.

What should I rehearse in speciall

Her high malice? she is a shrew at all.

There is a long and a large difference

Betwixt Grisilds great patience,

And of my wife the passing cruelte:

Were I vnbound, all so mote I thee,

I would neuer eft come in the snare:

* We wedded men liue in sorrow and care,

Assay who so woll, and he shall find

That I say sooth, by saint Thomas of Inde,

As for the more part, I say not all,

God sheild that it should so befall.

Ah good sir host, I haue wedded be

These moneths two, and more not parde:

And yet I trow, he that all his life

Hath wedded be, though men him rife

Into the heart, ne couth in no mannere

Tell so much sorrow, as I now here

Coud tell, of my wiues cursednesse.

Now (qd, our host) Marchant so God the blesse,

Since ye ben so much know of that art,

Full heartily I pray you tell vs part.

Gladly (qd. he) but of mine owne sore

For sorry heart I tell may no more.

¶The Marchants Tale.

Old January marrieth young May, and for his unequal match receiveth a foul reward.

WHylome there was dwelling in

Lumbardie

A worthy knight, that born was at

Pauie,

In which he liued in great prosperite,

And sixtie yere a wife lesse man was he:

And followed aye his bodily delite

On women, there as was his appetite,

As done these fooles that ben seculeres.

And when that he was past sixtie yeres,

Were it for holinesse or dotage,

I cannot saine, but such a great corage

Had this knight to ben a wedded man,

That day and night he doth all that he can

To espie, where that he wedded might be:

Praying our lord to graunten him that he

Mighten once knowen of that blisfull life,

That is betwixt an husbond and his wife:

And for to liuen vnder that holy bond,

With which God first man and woman bond.

None other life (said he) is worth a beane:

* For wedlocke is so easie and so cleane,

That in this world it is a paradise:

Thus saith this old knight that is so wise.

* And certainely, as south as God is king,

To take a wife, it is a glorious thing,

And namely when a man is old and hore,

Then is a wife the fruit of his tresore:

Then should he take a yong wife & a faire,

On which he might engendren him an heire,

And lead his life in joy and in sollace:

Whereas these batchelers singen alas,

When that they finden any aduersite

In loue, which nis but childs vanite.

And truly it sit well to be so,

That batchelers han oft paine and wo:

On brotell ground they bilden brotelnesse,

They find freelte, when they wenen secrenesse:

They liue but as liuen birds or bestes,

In liberty, and vnder nice arestes,

There as a wedded man in his estate

Liueth a life blisfully and ordinate,

Vnder the yoke of mariage ybound:

Well may his heart in joy and blisse abound.

For who can be so buxome as a wife?

Who is so true and eke so tentise

To keep him sicke and hole, as is his make?

For wele or wo she nill him not forsake:

She nis not weary him to loue and serue,

Though that hee lie bedred till he sterue.

And yet some clerkes sain, that it is not so,

Of which Theophrast is one of tho:

What force though Theophrast list to lie.

Ne take no wife (qd. he) for husbondrie,

As for to spare in houshold thy dispence:

* A true seruaunt doeth more diligence

Thy good to keep, than doth thine own wife,

For she woll claime halfe part all her life.

* And if that thou be sick, so God me saue

Thy very owne friends or a true knaue

Woll keepe thee better, than she yt waiteth aye

After thy good, and hath done many a day.

And if thou take to thee a wife vntrew,

Full oftentime it shall thee sore rew.

This sentence, and an hundred sithes worse

Writeth this man there, God his bones curse.

But take no keepe of such vanite,

Defieth Theophrast, and hearkeneth me.

[Page] A wife is Gods yeft verely,

All other manner yefts hardely,

As londs, rents, pasture, or commune,

Or mouables, all ben yefts of fortune,

That passen as a shaddow on a wall:

But dread not, if plainely speake I shall,

* A wife woll last and in thine house endure,

Well lenger than thee list peraduenture.

* Mariage is a full great sacrament,

He which hath no wife I hold him shent:

He liueth helplesse, and all desolate,

I speake of folke in seculer estate.

And herkneth why, I say not this for nought:

A woman is for mans helpe ywrought.

The high God, when he had Adam maked,

And saw him alone all belly naked,

God of his great goodnesse said than,

Let vs maken an helpe to this man

Like to himselfe, and then he made Eue.

Here may ye see, and hereby may ye preue,

* That a wife is mans helpe and comfort,

His paradice terrestre and his disport:

So buxome and so vertuous is she,

They must needs liuen in vnite:

One flesh they ben, and two soules as I gesse,

Nat but one heart in wele and in distresse.

A wife, ah saint Mary, benedicite,

How might a man haue any aduersite

That hath a wife? certes I cannot say,

The blisse that is betwixt hem twey

There may no tongue tellen or heart thinke.

If he be poore, she helpeth him to swinke,

She keepeth his good, & wasteth neuer a dell,

All that her husbond lust, her liketh well.

She saith not once nay, when he saith ye,

Do this (saith he) a ready sir (saith she.)

O blisfull order of wedloke precious,

Thou art so merry, and eke so vertuous,

And so commended, and approued eke,

That euery man that halt him worth a leke,

Vpon his bare knees ought all his life

Thanken God, that him hath sent a wife.

Or pray to God dayly him for to send

A wife, to last vnto his liues end.

For then his life is set in sikernesse,

He may not be deceiued, as I gesse,

So that he werch after his wiues rede:

Then may he boldly bearen vp his hede,

They beene euer so true and also wise.

For which, if thou wilt werchen as the wise,

Do alway so, as women woll thee rede.

Lo how that Iacob, as these clerkes rede,

By good counsaile of his mother Rebecke

Bounden the kids skin about his necke:

For which his fathers beneson he wan.

Lo Iudith, as the storie tell can,

By her wise counsaile Gods people kept,

And slue him Holofernes while he slept.

And Abigail by counsaile, how she

Saved her husbond Naball, when that he

Should haue be slain. And looke Hester also

By good counsaile deliuered out of wo

The people of God, & made him Mardochee

Of Assure enhaunsed for to be.

* There nis nothing in gree superlatife

(As saith Seneck) aboue an humble wife.

Suffer thy wives tongue, as Caton bit,

She shall command, and thou shalt suffer it,

And yet she woll obey of courtesie.

A wife is keeper of thine husbondrie:

* Well may the sicke man still waile & weep,

There as there nis no wife the house to keep,

I warne thee, if wisely thou wilt werch,

Loue thy wife, as Christ loueth his cherch:

If thou loue thy selfe, thou louest thy wife.

No man hateth his flesh, but in his life

He fostreth it, and therefore bid I thee

Cherish thy wife, or thou shalt neuer ythee.

Husbond and wife, what so men yape or play

Of wordly folke hold the seker way:

They be so knit, there may none harm betide,

And namely vpon the wiues side.

For which Ianuary, of which I told

Considred hath in his dayes old

The lusty life, the vertuous quiete,

That is in mariage hony swete.

And for his friends on a day he sent

To tellen hem theffect of his intent.

With face sad, his tale hath he hem told:

He saied good friends, I am hore and old,

And almost (God wot) on the pits brinke,

Vpon my soule somewhat must I thinke.

I haue my body folily dispended,

Blessed be God, it shall ben amended:

For I woll ben certain a wedded man

And that anon in all the hast I can,

Vnto some maid, faire and tender of age.

I pray you shapeth for my mariage

All suddainly, for I woll not abide:

And I woll fonden to espie on my side,

To whom I may be wedded hastily.

But for as much as ye ben more than I,

Ye shullen rather such a thing espien

Than I, and there me lust best to alien.

But one thing warn I you my friends dere,

I woll none old wife haue in no mannere:

She shall not passe fifteen yere certaine.

* Old fish and young flesh woll I haue faine:

Better is (qd. he) a Pike than a Pikereell,

And bet than old Beefe is the tender Veell.

I woll no woman of thirtie Winter age,

* It nis but Beanstraw and great forage,

And eke these old widdows (God it wote)

* They connen so much craft in Wades bote,

So much broken harm can they when hem lest,

That with hem should I neuer liue in rest.

* For sundry schooles maketh subtill clerkes,

A woman of many schooles halfe a clerke is.

But certainely, a young thing may men gie,

Right as men may warm wax with hands plie.

Wherefore I say you plainly in a clause,

I nill none old wife haue for this cause.

For if so were I had such mischaunce,

That I in her couth haue no pleasaunce,

Then should I lead my life in aduoutrie,

And so streight to the devill when I die.

Ne children should I none on her geten:

Yet had I leuer hounds had me eaten,

Than that mine heritage should fall

In straunge honds: and thus I tell you all

I dote not, I wot the cause why

Men should wedden: & furthermore wot I,

[Page] There speaketh many a man of mariage,

That wot no more of this that doth my page:

For which causes man should take a wife,

If he may not liue chast in his life,

Take him a wife with great deuotion,

Because of lefull procreation

Of children, to the honour of God aboue,

And not only for paramour or for loue:

And for they shoulden Letcherie eschue,

And yeeld his debts when that it is due:

Or for that each man should helpen other

In mischeefe, as a suster should the brother,

And liuen in chastity full heauenly.

But sirs (by your leaue) that am not I,

For God be thanked, I dare make auaunt,

I feele my lims hole and sufficiaunt

To doen all that a man belongeth to:

I wot my selue best what I may do.

Though I be hore, I fare as doth a tree,

That blossometh ere that fruit ywox bee,

The blossomd tree is neither drie ne dead:

I feele no where hore but on my head.

Mine heart and my lims been as greene,

As Laurell is through the yeare to seene.

And sithen ye han heard all mine intent,

I pray you to my will ye woll assent.

Diuers men diuersly hem told

Of mariage many examples old.

Some blameth it, some praiseth it certaine,

But at the last, shortly for to saine,

(As all day falleth alteration,

Betwixt friends and disputation)

There fell a strife betwixt his brethren two,

Of which that one was cleaped Placebo,

Iustinus soothly called was that other.

Placebo saied: O Ianuarie brother,

Full little need han ye my Lord so dere,

Counsaile to aske of any that is here:

But that ye been so full of sapience,

That you ne liketh for your high prudence,

To waiue fro the word of Salomon:

This word saieth he vnto euerichone,

* Worke all thing by counsaile, thus saied hee,

And then shalt thou not repent thee.

But tho that Salomon speake such a word,

Mine owne deare brother and my Lord,

So wisely God my soul bring to ease and rest,

I hold your owne counsaile for the best.

For brother mine, take of me this motife,

I haue been now a court man all my life,

And God wot, though I now vnworthy bee,

I haue stonden in full great degree

Abouten Lords in full great estate:

Yet had I neuer with none of hem debate,

I neuer hem contraried truly.

I wot well that my lord can more than I,

That he saith, I hold it firme and stable,

I say the same, or els thing semblable.

* A full great foole is any counsailour,

That serueth any Lord of high honour,

That dare presume, or once thinke it,

That his counsaile should passe his lords wit,

Nay, Lords be no fooles I sweare by my fay.

Ye haue your selfe spoken here to day

So high sentence, so holy, and so well,

That I consent, and confirme euery dell

Your words all, and your opinioun.

By God there nis no man in all this toun

Ne in Italie, coud better haue saied:

Christ holdeth him of this full well apaied.

And truly it is an high courage

Of any man that is stopen in age,

To take a yong wife, by my father kin:

Your heart hongeth on a jolly pin.

Doth now in this matter right as you lest.

For finally I hold it for the best.

Iustinus that aye still sat and herd,

Right in this wise to Placebo answerd.

Now brother mine be patient I you pray,

Sith ye haue said, now hearkneth what I say,

Senecke among his other words wise

* Saith, that a man ought him well auise,

To whom he yeueth his lond or his cattell.

And sithens I ought auise me right well,

To whom I giue my goods away fro me,

Well much more I ought auised be,

To whom I giue my bodie: for alway

I warne you well it is childs play

To take a wife without auisement,

Men must inquire (this is mine assent)

Wheder she be sober, wise, or dronkelew,

Or proud, or any other waies a shrew,

A chider, or a waster of thy good,

Other rich or poore, or els a man is wood:

* All be it so, that no man find shall

None in this world, that trotteth hole in all,

Ne man, ne beast, such as men can deuise,

But natheles, it ought inough suffice

With any wife, if so were that she had

Mo good thewes, than her vices bad:

And all this asketh leisure to enquere,

For God wot I haue wept many a tere

Full priuily, sith I had a wife.

* Praise who so woll a wedded mans life,

Certaine I find in it but cost and care,

And obseruaunces of all blisses bare.

And yet God wot my neighbours about

And namely of women many a rout,

Saine that I have the most stedfast wife,

And eke the meekest one that beareth life.

* But I wot best, where wringeth me my shoe.

Ye may for me, right as you list doe,

Auise you, ye been a man of age,

How that ye entren into mariage,

And namely with a yong wife and a faire.

By him that made water, earth, and aire

The yongest man that is in all this rout,

Is busie ynow to bring it about

To haue his wife alone, trusteth me:

Ye shall not pleasen her yeres thre.

This is to sain, to doen her pleasaunce,

A wife asketh full much obseruaunce:

I pray you that ye be not euill apaid.

Well (qd. this Ianuary) & hast thou all said?

Straw for thy Seneck, & for thy prouerbes,

I count it not worth a pannier of herbes

Of schoole termes, wiser men than thou,

As thou hast heard, assenteth it right now

To my purpose: Placebo, what say ye?

* I say it is a cursed man (qd. he)

That letteth Matrimonie sekerly:

And with that word they risen suddainly,

[Page] And ben assented fully, that he should

Be wedded when he list, & where he would.

High fantasie and curiousnesse

Fro day to day gan in the soule empresse

Of Ianuary, about his marriage:

Many a faire shap, and many a faire visage

Ther passeth thrugh his heart night by night:

As who so tooke a mirrour polished bright,

And set it in a common market place,

Then should he see many a figure pace

By his mirrour, and in the same wise

Gan Ianuary within his thought deuise

Of maidens, which that dwellen beside:

He wist not where he might best abide.

For if that one had beauty in her face,

Another stont so in the peoples grace

For her sadnesse and her benignite,

That of the people greatest voice had she.

And some were rich and had bad name:

But nathelesse, betwixt earnest and game,

He at last appointed him on one,

And let all other from his heart gone:

And chese her of his owne authoritee,

* For loue is blind all day, and may not see.

And when that he was in his bed ybrought,

He puttreid in his heart and in his thought

Her fresh beauty, and her age so tender.

Her middle small, her armes long & slender,

Her wise gouernance, and her gentlenesse,

Her womanly bearing, and her sadnesse.

And when he was on her condiscended,

Him thouȝt his choise might not ben amended.

For when that he himself concluded had

Him thought ech other mens wit so bad:

That impossible it were to replie

Ayenst his choice, this was his fantasie.

His friends sent he to, at his instaunce,

And prayeth hem to done him yt pleasaunce,

That hastily they would to him come,

He would bredgen her labour all and some:

Needeth no more for him to go ne ride,

He was appointed there he would abide.

Placebo came, and eke his friends soone,

And alder first he bad hem all a boone,

That none of hem none arguments make

Ayenst his purpose that he hath ytake:

Which purpose was pleasant to God (said he)

And very ground of his prosperite.

He said there was a maiden in the toune,

Which for her beautie hath great renoune,

All were it so, she were of small degre,

Sufficeth him her youth and her beautie:

Which maid he said he would haue to wife

To liuen in ease and holinesse of life:

And thanked God, yt he might hauen her all,

And that no wight his blisse parten shall:

And praieth hem to labour in this need,

And shapeth that he faile not to speed.

For then he saied, his spirit was at ease,

Then is (qd. he) nothing may me displease,

Saue o thing pricketh in my conscience,

The which I woll rehearse in your presence,

* I haue (qd. he) heard say full yore ago,

There may no man haue perfite blisses two:

This is to say, in yearth and eke in heauen.

For though he kept him fro the sinnes seuen,

And eke from euery braunch of thilke tree,

Yet is there so perfit prosperitee

And so great ease and lust in mariage,

That euer I am agast now in mine age,

That I shall lead now so mery a life

So delicate without wo or strife,

That I shall haue mine heauen in earth here.

For sithen very heauen is bought so deere

With tribulation and great penaunce,

How should I then liuing in such pleasaunce,

As all wedded men doen with there wiues,

Come to yt blisse, ther Christ eterne on liue is.

This is my drede, and ye my brethren tweie

Assoileth me this question I you preie.

Iustinus, which that hated his folly,

Answerd anon right in his yaperie:

And for he would his long tale abrege,

He would non authoritie allege,

But saied: sir, so there he non obstacle

Other than this, God of his hie miracle,

And of his mercy may so for you werch,

That er ye han your rights of holy cherch,

Ye may repent of a wedded mans life,

In which ye sain is neither wo ne strife:

* And els God forbid, but if he sent

A wedded man grace him to repent

Well after, rather than a single man.

And therefore sir, the best rede that I can

Despeireth you not, but haue in memory,

* Parauenture, she may be your purgatory,

She may be Gods meane and Gods whip,

Then shall your soule vp to heauen skip

Swifter than doth an arrow out of a bow.

I hope to God hereafter ye shall know,

That there nis none so great felicite

In mariage, ne neuer none shall be,

That you shall let of your saluation,

So that ye vse as skil is and reason

The lusts of your wife attemperatly,

And that ye please her nat too amorously:

And that ye keep you eke from other sin.

My tale is done, for my wit is thin:

Beth not agast hereof my deare brother.

But wade we fro this matter to another.

The wife of Bathe, if ye vnderstand

Of mariage, which ye now haue in hand,

Declareth full well in a litle space:

Fareth now well, God haue you in his grace.

And with this word, Iustine & his brother

Han take her leaue, and ech of them of other.

For whan they saw that it must needs be,

They wrought so by wise and slie treate.

That she this faire maide which May did hight

As hastily as euer that she might

Shall wedded be to this Ianuary.

I trow it were too long to you to tary,

If I you told of euery escrite and bond,

By which she was feossed in his lond:

Or for to herken of her rich aray.

But finally icomen is the day,

That to the cherch both tway ben they went,

For to receiue the holy Sacrament,

Forth cometh the priest, with stole about his necke,

And bad her be like Sara and Rebeck

In wisedome and truth of marriage:

And saied his orisons, as is the vsage,

[Page] And crouched hem, & bad God shuld hem bles.

And made all seker inow with holines.

Thus been they wedded with solemnitie:

And at feast sitteth both he and she

With other worthy folke vpon the deies,

All full of joy and blisse is the palaies,

And full of instruments and of vittaile,

And that the most deintiest of all Itaile.

Beforne him stood instruments of such soun,

That Orpheus, ne of Thebes Amphion

Ne made neuer such a melodie.

At euery course came loude ministralcie,

That neuer Ioab tromped for to here,

Neither Theodomas yet halfe so clere

At Thebes, whan the city was in dout,

Bacchus the wine hem skinketh all about,

And Venus laugheth on euery wight,

For Ianuarie was become her knight:

And would now both assain his corage

In liberte, and eke in mariage.

And with her firebrond in her hond about,

Daunceth before the bride all the rout:

And certainly, I dare well say right this,

Emenius, that God of wedding is,

Saw neuer so mery a wedded man.

Hold thou thy peace thou poet Marcian,

That writest vs that ilke wedding mery

Of Philologie and him Mercurie,

And of the songs that the Muses song:

Too small is both thy pen & eke thy tongue

For to discriuen of this marriage,

Whan tender youth hath wedded stooping age,

There is such mirth, it may not be written,

Assaieth your self, than may ye witten

If that I lie or non in this matere.

May she sit, with so benigne a chere,

That her to behold, it seemed a feire.

Queen Hester looked neuer with such an eie

On Assuere, so meeke a looke hath she.

I may you not deuise all her beautie,

But thus much of her beautie tell I may,

That she was like the bright morow of May

Fulfilde of all beautie, and of plesaunce.

This Ianuarie is rauished in a traunce,

And at euery time he looked in her face,

But in his heart he gan her to manace,

That he yt night, in his arms would her strein

Harder than euer Paris did Helein.

But natheles, yet had he great pittie

That thilke night offenden her must he:

And thought alas, O tender creature,

Now would God ye might well endure

All my corage, it is so sharpe and kene,

I am agast, ye shall it nat sustene.

But God forbid, that I did all my might,

Now would to God that it were waxen night,

And that the night would last euer mo,

I would that all these people were ago.

And finally he doth all his labour,

As he best might, sauing his honour,

To hast hem fro the meat in subtill wise,

The time came that reason was to rise,

And after that men dauncen, and drinke fast,

And spices all about the house they cast:

And full of joy and blisse is euery Man,

All but a Squire, that hight Damian,

Which carfe before the Knight many a day:

He was so rauisht on his Lady May,

That for very paine he was nie wood,

Almost he swelt, and swounded there he stood:

So sore hath Venus hurt him wich her brand,

So fresh she was, and thereto so licand:

And to his bed he went him hastily,

No more of him at this time speake I:

But there I let him weep inow and plaine,

Till the fresh May woll rewen on his paine.

O perilous fire, that in the bedsraw bredeth,

O familiar foe, that his seruice bedeth.

O seruaunt traytour, false homely hew,

Like to the Adder slie in bosome vntrue.

O Ianuary all drunken in pleasaunce,

God shilde vs all from your iniquitaunce

Of mariage, see how this Damian,

Thine owne squire and eke thy borne man

Entendeth to doen thee villanie:

God graunt thee thine homely foe to espie.

* For in this world nis wers pestilence,

Than homely foe, all day in thy presence.

Parformed hath the sunne his arke diurne,

No lenger may the body of him soiourne

On orisont, as in that latitude:

Night with his mantill, that is darke & rude,

Gan for to spred the Hemisperie aboue:

For which departed is the lustie rout

Fro Ianuary, with thonke on euery side

Home to her house lustely they ride,

There as they doen her things, as hem lest,

And whan they saw her time they go to rest.

Sone after this lustie Ianuarie

Woll go to bed, he would no longer tary.

He drinketh Ipocras, clarrie, and vernage

Of spices hot, to encrease his corage:

And many a lectuarie had he full fine,

Such as the cursed monke dan Constantine

Hath written in his booke of Coitu:

To eten hem al he nolde nothing eschew,

And thus to his priuie friends saied he:

For Gods loue, as sone as it may be,

Let voyd all this house in curteis wise sone.

Men drinken, and the trauers drew anon,

So hasted Ianuarie, it must be done:

The bride was brought to bed as stil as ston

And whan the bed was with the priest iblessed

Out of the chamber euery wight hem dressed.

And Ianuary hath fast in armes take

His fresh May, his paradise, his make:

He lulleth her, he kisseth her full oft

With thicke bristles of his beard vnsoft,

I like the skin of Houndfish, sharp as brere,

For he was shaue all new in his manere:

He rubbeth her vpon her tender face,

And sayed thus: Alas, I mote trespace

To you my spouse, and you greatly offend,

Or time come that I woll doune discend.

But nathelesse, considreth this (quoth he)

There nis no workeman, whatsoeuer he be,

That may both wirch well and hastely:

This woll be doen at leiser perfectly,

It is no force how long that we play,

In true wedlocke coupled be we tway:

And blessed be the yoke that we been in,

For in our acts we mow do no sin.

[Page] * A man may do no sin with his wife,

Ne yet hurt himself with his own knife:

For we haue leaue to play vs by the law.

Thus laboureth he, till the day gan daw:

And then he taketh a soppe of fine clarre,

And vpright in his bed then sitteth he

And after he singeth full loud and clere,

And kist his wife, and maketh wanton chere.

He was all coltish, and full of ragerie,

And full of gergon, as is a flecked Pie.

The slacke skin about his necke shaketh,

While yt he sang, so chaunteth he & craketh.

But God wot what May thoght in her hert,

Whan she him saw vp sitting in his shert

In his night cap, with his necke all leane:

She prayseth not his playing worth a Bean.

Then sayed he thus: my rest woll I take

How day is come, I may no lenger wake,

And down he layed his head & slept till prime:

And afterward, when that he saw his time

Vp riseth Ianuarie, but the fresh May

Holdeth her chamber to the fourth day,

As vsage is of wiues for the best.

* For euery labour sometime mote haue rest,

Or els long may he not to endure.

This is to say, no liues creature,

Be it fish or beast or brid or man.

Now woll I speake of wofull Damian,

That langureth for loue, as ye shall here.

Therefore I speake to him in this manere.

I say, O sely Damian, alas

Answer to this demaund, as in this caas,

Now shalt thou to thy Lady fresh May

Tell thy wo? She woll alway say nay:

Eke if thou speake, she woll thy wo bewray.

God be thine help, I can no better say.

This sicke Damian in Venus fire

So brenneth, that he dieth for desire:

For which he put his life in aduenture,

No lenger might he in this wise endure,

But priuily a penner gan he borrow,

And in a letter wrote he all his sorrow,

In manner of a complaint or a lay

Vnto this faire and fresh Lady May.

And in a purse of silke, honging on his shert,

He hath it put and layed it at his hert.

The Moone at moonetide that ilke day

(That Ianuarie had iwedded fresh May)

Out of Taure was in the Cankre gleden,

So long hath May in her chamber bidden

As custome is vnto these nobles all:

A bride shall not eaten in the hall

Till days foure, or three at the least

I passed been, than let her go to feast.

The fourth day complete fro noone to noone,

Whan that the high Masse was now idoon,

In hall sat this Ianuary and May,

As fresh as is the bright Somers day,

And so befell, how that this good man

Remembreth him vpon his Damian,

And saied: Saint Mary, how may this he,

That Damian entendeth not to me?

Is he aie sicke: or how may this betide?

His squires, which that stoden him beside,

Excused him, because of his sicknesse,

Which letted him to doen his besinesse:

None other cause might make him tary.

That me forthinketh (qd. this Ianuary)

He is a gentle squire by my trouth,

If that he died, it were harme and routh:

He is as wise, discreet, and secree,

As any man that I wote of his degree,

And thereto manly and seruiceable,

And for to be a thrifty man right able.

But after meat as soone as euer I may

I woll my selfe visit him, and eke May,

To doen him all the comfort that I can:

And for that word, him blessed euery man,

That of his bounty and his gentlenesse

He would so comforten in his distresse

His squire, for it was a gentle deed.

Dame (qd. this Ianuary) take good heed,

That after meat, ye and your women all

(Whan ye haue ben in chamber out of this hall)

That all ye gone to see this Damian:

Doeth him disport, he is a gentleman,

And tellen him that I woll him visite,

Haue I nothing but rested me alite:

And speed you fast for I woll abide,

Till that you sleepen fast by my side.

And with that word he gan to him call

A squire, that was Marshall of his hall,

And told him certaine thing that he would,

This fresh May hath streight her way ihold

With all her women, vnto this Damian:

And downe by his beds side sat she than

Comforting him as goodly as she may.

This Damian, whan that he his time say

In secret wise his purse, and eke his bill

(In which he had written all his will)

Hath put into her honde withouten more,

Saue that he sighed wonderous deep & sore:

And sothly, to her right thus sayed he,

Mercie, and that ye discouer nat me:

For I am dead, if that this thing be kid.

This purse hath she in her bosome hid,

And went her way, ye get no more of me,

But vnto Ianuary icome is she,

And on his bed side she sit full soft,

He taketh her, and kisseth her full oft:

And layed him down to sleep, and that anon.

She fained her, as that she must gon

Ther as ye wote, that euery wight had need:

And whan she of this bill hath taken heed,

She rent it all to clouts, and at last

Into the priuie, sothly she it cast.

Who studieth now but faire fresh May:

And downe by Ianuary she lay,

That slept, till the cough hath him awaked:

Anon he prayed her to strip her all naked,

He would of her (he said) haue some pleasance:

He said her clothes did him encombrance.

And she obeieth he she lefe or loth.

But lest yt precious folk be with me wroth,

How that he wrought, I dare nat to you tell,

Or wheder she thought it paradise or hell:

But I let hem worch in her wise.

Till euen song ring, that they must arise.

Were it by destenie or by aduenture,

Where it by influence, or by nature,

Or constellation that in such estate

The heauen stood, that time fortunate,

[Page] (As for to put a bill of Venus werkes)

* For all thing hath time, as saien clerkes

To any woman for to get her loue:

I cannot say, but the great God aboue

That knoweth, that non act is causeles,

He deme all, for I woll hold my pees.

But soth is this, how that this fresh May

Hath take such impression that day

Of pittie, on this sicke Damian,

That fro her heart she driuen ne can

The remembrance for to doen him ease;

Certain (thouȝt she) whom this thing displease

I recke not, for this I him assure,

I loue him best of any creature,

Though he no more had than his shert.

* Lo pittie renneth sone in gentle hert,

Here may ye see, how excellent franchise

* In women is whan they hem narow auise.

Some tyraunt is, as there be many a one,

That hath an heart as hard as any stone,

Which would haue letten sterue in the place

Well rather than haue granted him her grace:

And her rejoyced in her cruel pride,

And not haue recked to been an homicide.

This gentle Maie, fulfilled of pittie,

Right so of her hond a letter made she,

In which she graunted him her very grace,

There lacked nought, but onely time & place,

Where that she might to his lust suffice:

For it shall be, right as he woll deuise.

And whan she saw her time vpon a day,

To visit this Damian goth this faire Maie,

And subtilly this letter downe she thrust

Vnder his pillow, read it if him lust.

She taketh him by the hond, & hard him twist

So secretly, that no wight of it wist,

And bad him been all whole, & forth she went

To Ianuary, when that he for her sent.

Vp riseth Damian the next morow,

All passed was his sicknesse and his sorowe:

He kembeth him & proineth him and piketh,

And doth all that his Lady lust and liketh:

And eke to Ianuary he goeth as low,

As euer did a dog for the bow.

He is so pleasaunt to euery man

(For craft is all, who that it can)

That euery wight is fain to speken him good,

And fully in his Ladies grace he stood.

Thus let I Damian about his need,

And in my tale, forth I woll proceed,

Some clerkes holden that felicite

Stont in delite, and therefore certain hee

This noble Ianuarie, with all his might

In honest wise as longeth to a knight,

Shope him to liue full deliciously,

His housing, his array, as honestly

To his degree, was made as a kings.

Among other of his honest things

He had a garden walled all with stone,

So fayre a garden was there neuer none.

For out of doubt, I verily suppose,

That he that wrote the Romant of the Rose,

Ne couth of it the beautie well deuise:

Ne Priapus, ne might not suffise,

Though he be god of gardens, for to tell

The beautie of the garden, and of the well,

That stont vnder a laurer alway green:

Full oft time king Pluto and his queen

Proserpina, and all her fayrie

Disporten hem and maken melodie

About that well, and daunced as men told.

This noble knight, this Ianuarie the old

Such deinte hath, in it to walke and play,

That he woll suffer no wight to bear ye kay,

Saue he himselfe, for the small wicket

He bare alway of siluer a clicket,

With which when yt him list ne would vnshet

And when that he would pay his wife her det

In summer season thider would he go,

And Maie his wife, & no wight but they two:

And things which yt weren not done a bed,

He in the garden perfourmed hem and sped.

And in this wise, many a mery day

Liued this Ianuarie and this fresh May.

But worldly joy may not alway endure

To Ianuarie, ne to no liuing creature,

* O sudden hap, O thou fortune vnstable,

Like to the Scorpion diceiuable,

That flattrest with thy head when thou wolt sting:

Thy tale is deth, thrugh thine enuenoming.

O brotell joy, O sweet poyson queint,

O monster, that so suddenly canst peint

Thy gifts, vnder the hew of stedfastnesse,

That thou deceiuest both more and lesse.

Why hast thou Ianuary thus deceiued,

And haddest him for thy friend receiued?

And now thou hast beraft him both his eyen,

For sorow of which desireth he to dyen.

Alas, this noble Ianuarie that so free,

Amidde his lust and his prosperitie

Is woxen blind, and all suddenly,

His death therefore desireth he vtterly.

And therewithall, the fire of jelousie

(Lest that his wife should fall in some folly)

So brent his heart, that he would full faine,

That some man, both him and her had slaine.

For neuer after his death, ne in his life

Ne would he that she were loue ne wife:

But euer liue a widdow in clothes blacke,

Sole as the turtle doth yt hath lost her make.

But at the last, after a moneth or tway

His sorow gan to swage, soth to say.

For whan he wist it might non other be,

He paciently tooke his aduersite:

Saue out of doubt may he nat forgone,

That he nas ielous euer more in one:

Which jelousie, it was so outragious,

That neither in hall ne in none other house,

Ne in none other place neuer mo

He nolde suffer her neither ride ne go,

But if that he had honde on her alway.

For which full often wepeth fresh May,

That loued Damian so benignely,

That she mote either die sodainely,

Or she mote haue him all at her lest:

She waiteth whan her heart should to brest.

Vpon that other side, Damian

Become is the sorowfullest man

That euer was, for neither night ne day

Ne might he speake a word to fresh May,

As to his purpose of no such matere,

But if that Ianuary must it here,

[Page] That had an hand vpon her euermo.

But natheles, by writing to and fro,

And priuie signes, wist he what she ment,

And she knew all the signes of his entent.

O Ianuary, what might thee it auaile?

Tho thou mightest see, as far as ships saile:

* For as good is a blind man disceived be,

As to be disceiued, when that he may see.

Lo Argus, which had an hundred eien,

For all that euer he couth pore and prien,

Yet was he blent, and God wot so ben mo,

That wenen wisely that it is not so:

Passe ouer is an ease, I say no more.

The fresh May, of which I spake of yore

In warme waxe, hath printed this clicket,

That Ianuary bare of that small wicket,

By which vnto his garden oft he went.

And Damian that knew all her intent

The clicket counterfeited priuily:

There nis no more to say, but hastily

Some wonder by this clicket shall betide,

Which ye shall heren, if ye woll abide.

O noble Ouid, sooth sayest thou God wote,

* What flight is it, if loue be long and hote,

That he nill find it out in some manere:

By Pyramus and Thisbe may men lere,

Thogh they were kept ful long streit ouer all,

They ben accorded, rowning through a wall:

There nis no wight couth find such a sleight.

But now to purpose, ere the daies eight,

Were passed, ere the month Iuly befill,

That Ianuary hath caught so great a will

Through egging of his wife him for to play,

In his garden, and no wight but they tway,

That in a morrow, vnto this May said hee,

Rise vp my wife, my loue, my lady free:

The turtle voice is heard my lady swete,

The winter is gone, with all his raines wete,

Come forth now with thine eyen columbine,

Now fairer been thy brests than is wine.

The garden is enclosed all about,

Come forth my white spouse out of all dout,

Thou hast me wounded in my hert, O wife:

No spot in thee nas in all thy life.

Come forth and let vs taken our disport,

I chese thee for my wife and my comfort.

Such old leaud words then vsed he.

Vnto Damian a signe made she,

That he should go before with his clicket:

This Damian hath opened this wicket,

And in he stert, and that in such manere,

That no wight might it see ne here,

And still he sat vnder a bush anone.

This Ianuary, as blind as is a stone

With May in his hand, and no wight mo,

Into his fresh garden is he go,

And clapt to the wicket suddainly.

Now wife (qd. he) here nis but thou and I,

That art the creature that I best loue:

For by that lord that sit vs all aboue,

I had leuer dien on a knife,

Than thee offend my dere true wife.

For Gods sake thinke how I thee chees,

Not for couetise, ne other good doubtles,

But only for the loue I had to thee.

And though that I be old and may not see,

Be to me true, and I woll tell you why,

Certes three things shall ye win thereby.

First loue of Christ, & to your selfe honour,

And all mine heritage, toune and tour

I giue it you, maketh charters as ye list:

This shall be done to morrow ere sunne rist

So wisely God my soule bring to blisse:

I pray you on couenaunt that ye me kisse.

And though that I be jelous, wite me nought,

Ye been so deepe imprinted in my thought,

That when I consider your beaute,

And withall, the vnlikely elde of me,

I may not certes, though I should die

Forbeare to ben out of your companie

For very loue, this is withouten dout:

Now kisse me wife, and let vs rome about.

This fresh May when she these words herd,

Benignely to Ianuarie answerd,

But first and forward she began to weepe:

I haue (qd. she) a soule for to keepe

As well as ye, and also mine honour,

And of wifehood ilke tender flour,

Which that I haue ensured in your hond,

When that the priest to you my body bond.

Wherefore I woll answere in this manere

By the leaue of you my lord so dere.

I pray God that neuer daw that day,

That I ne sterue, as foule as woman may,

If euer I do to my kin that shame,

Or els that I empaire so my name,

That I be false, and if I do that lacke,

Do strip me and put me in a sacke,

And in the next riuer do me drench:

I am a gentlewoman, and no wench.

Why speke ye thus, but men ben euer vntrew,

And women haue reproofe of you, aye new.

Ye can none other communing, I leue,

But speak to vs of vntrust and repreue.

And with yt word she saw where Damian

Sat in the bush, and kneele he began:

And with her finger signes made she,

That Damian should climbe vpon a tre,

That charged was with fruite, & vp he went:

For verily he knew all her intent,

And euery signe that she couth make,

Well bet than Ianuarie her owne make.

For in a letter she had told him all

Of this matter, how that he werch shall.

And thus I let him sit in the pery,

And Ianuarie and Maie roming full mery.

Bright was the day, & blew the firmament,

Phebus of gold doun hath his streames sent

To gladen every flour with his warmenesse:

He was that time in Gemini, as I gesse,

But little fro his declination,

The causer of Ioues exaltation.

And so befell that bright morow tide,

That in the garden, on the further side

Pluto, that is the king of Fayrie

And many a ladie in his companie

Following his wife, the queene Proserpine

Ech after other right as a line,

Whiles she gadred floures in a mead:

In Claudian ye may the story read,

How in his grisely cart he her fet.

This king of Fayrie adoune him set

[Page] Vpon a bench of turues fresh and greene,

And right anon thus said he to his queene:

My wife (qd. he) that may nat say nay

Experience so proveth euery day

The treason which that women doth to man,

Ten hundred thousand stories tell I can,

Notable, of your vntrouth and brotelnesse.

O Salomon, richest of all richesse,

Fulfild of sapience, and of worldly glory,

Full worthy ben thy words in memory

To euery wight, that wit and reason can:

Thus praiseth he the bounty of man.

* Among a thousand men yet found I one,

But of all women found I neuer none:

Thus saith ye king, yt knoweth your wickednesse.

And Iesus Filius Sirach, as I gesse,

Ne speaketh of you but selde reuerence:

A wild fire, a corrupt pestilence

So fall upon your bodies yet to night:

Ne see ye not this honourable knight?

Because (alas) that he is blind and old,

His owne man shall maken him cuckold.

Lo where he sit, the letchour in the tree.

Now woll I graunt of my maiestie

Vnto this old blind worthy knight,

That he shall haue again his eye sight:

When that his wife would done him vilanie,

Then shall he know all her harlotrie,

Both in reprefe of her and other mo.

Ye shall (qd. Proserpine) and woll ye so?

Now by my mothers soule sir I swere,

That I shall yeuen her sufficient answere.

And all women after for her sake:

That though they been in any gilt ytake

With face bolde, they shullen hemselue excuse

And bear hem down that would hem accuse.

For lacke of answere, non of hem shull dien,

All had he see a thing with both his eyen,

Yet should we women so visage it hardely,

And weepe and swere and chide subtilly,

That ye shall been as leude as are gees,

What recketh me of your authoritees?

I wote well this Iewe, this Salomon,

Found of vs women, fooles many one:

But though he ne found no good woman,

Yet there hath found many an other man

Women full true, full good, and vertuous;

Witnes of hem that dwell in Christes house,

With Martyrdom they preued her constance.

The Romain iests eke make remembrance

Of many a very true wife also.

But sir, he not wroth that it be so,

Thogh that he said he found no good woman

I pray you take the sentence of the man:

* He meant thus, That in soueraign bounte

His none but God, that sitteth in trinite.

Eye, for very God that nis but one.

What make ye so much of Salomon?

What though he made a temple, Gods house?

What though he were rich and glorious?

So made he a temple of false godis,

How might he don a thing yt more fore forbod is?

Parde as faire as ye his name emplaster,

He was a lechour, and an idolaster,

And in his elde, very God forsooke.

And if that God nad (as saith the booke)

Yspared him for his fathers sake, he should

Haue lost his reigne soner than he would.

Iset nat of all the villanie,

That ye of women write, a butterflie,

I am a woman, needs more I speake

Or els to swell till that mine heart breake.

For sithen he said that we been iangleresses

As euer mote I hole broke my tresses,

I shall not spare for no curtesie

To speak hem harm, that would vs villanie.

Dame (qd. this Pluto) be no lenger wroth,

I giue it vp: but sith I swore mine oth,

That I would graunt him his sight ayen,

My word shall stand, yt warne I you certeine:

I am a king, it set me not to lie.

And I (quoth she) queen am of Fairie.

Her answere she shall haue I vndertake,

Let vs no mo words hereof make:

Forsoth I will no longer you contrary.

Now let vs turne againe to Ianuarie,

That in the garden with this faire Maie

Singeth merier than the Popingay:

You loue I best, and shall, and other non.

So long about the alleyes is he gon,

Till he was commen ayenst thilke pery,

Where as this Damian sitteth full mery

On high, among these fresh leues green.

This fresh Maie, that is so bright & shene

Gan for to sike, and said: alas my side:

Now sir (qd. she) for ought that may betide

I must haue of these peers that here I see

Or I mote die, so sore longeth me

To eten some of the small peers greene:

Help for hir loue that is heauens queen.

I tell you well a woman in my plite,

May haue to fruite so great an appetite,

That she may dyen, but she it haue.

Alas (qd. he) that I ne had here a knaue,

That couth climbe, alas, alas (qd. he)

For I am blinde, ye sir no force (qd. she)

But would ye vouchsafe for Gods sake,

The pery in your armes for to take:

For well I wot that ye mistrust me,

Then would I climbe well ynough (qd. she)

So I my foote might set vpon your backe.

Forsooth said he, in me shall be no lacke,

Might I you helpe all with mine hart blood:

He stoupeth down, & on his back she stood,

And caught her by a twist, and vp she goth.

Ladies I pray you that ye be not wroth,

I can nat glose, I am a rude man:

And sodainely anon this Damian

Gan pullen vp the smocke, and in the throng

A great tent a thrifty and a long.

She said it was the meriest fit,

That euer in her life she was at yet:

My lords tent serueth me nothing thus

It foldeth twifold by sweet Iesus,

He may not swiue not worth a leke:

And yet he is full gentill and full meke.

This is leuer to me than an euensong.

And when that Pluto saw this wrong,

To Ianuary he gaue againe his sight,

And made him see as well as euer he might:

And whan he had caught his sight againe,

Ne was there neuer man of thing so faine:

[Page] But on his wife his thought was euer mo.

Vp to the tree he cast his eyen two,

And saw how Damian his wife had dressed

In such mannere, it may not be expressed,

But if I would speak vncurtesly.

And vp he yaf a roring and a cry,

As doth the mother when the child shall die:

Out helpe, alas, (harow) he gan to cry:

For sorrow almost he gan to die,

That his wife was swiued in the pery.

O strong lady whore what doest thou?

And she answered: sir what ayleth you?

Haue patience and reason in your minde,

I haue you holpen of both your eyen blinde.

Vp peril of my soule I shall nat lien

As me was taught to help your eyen.

Was nothing bet for to make you see,

Than strogle with a man vpon a tree:

God wot I did it in full good entent.

Strogle (qd. he) ye algate in it went

As stiffe and as round as any bell:

It is no wonder though thy belly swell.

Thy smocke on his breast it lay so thech,

That stil me thought he pointed on the brech.

God giue you both on shames death to dien,

He swiued thee, I saw it with mine eyen,

Or els I be honged by the halse.

Then is (qd. she) my medicine false,

For certainely, if that ye might see,

Ye would not say these words vnto me,

Ye haue some glimsing, and no perfit sight.

I see (qd. he) as well as euer I might,

Thanked be God, with both mine eyen two,

And by my trouth me thought he did so.

Ye mase ye mase, good sir (quoth she)

This thanke haue I for that I made you see:

Alas, quoth she, that euer I was so kind.

Now dame, qd. he, let al passe out of mind:

Come down my sefe, and if I haue missaid,

God helpe me so, as I am euill apaid.

But by my fathers soule, I wende haue seyn,

How that this Damian had by thee lyen,

And that thy smocke had lyen vpon his brest,

Ye sir (qd. she) ye may wene as ye lest:

* But sir, a man that waketh out of his sleep,

He may not suddenly well taken kepe

Vpon a thing, ne se it perfectly

Till that he be adawed verily.

* Right so a man that long hath blinde be,

Ne may not suddainly so well ysee

First when the sight is new comen again,

As he that hath a day or two ysain.

Till that your sight istabled be awhile,

There may full many a sight you begile.

Beware I pray you, for by heauen king

* Full many a man weneth to see a thing,

And it is all another than it seemeth:

* He that misconceiueth oft misdemeth.

And with that word she lept down fro ye tree:

This Ianuarie who is glad but he?

He kisseth her, he cleppeth her full oft,

And on her wombe he stroketh her full oft:

And to his paleis home he hath her lad.

Now good men I pray you beth ye all glad.

Thus endeth here my tale of Ianuarie,

God blesse vs all, and his mother Marie.

§

The wife of Bathes Prologue.

Experience, though none authoritie

Were in this world, is right ynow for me

To speak of wo that is in mariage:

For lordings, sith I twelue yeres was of age,

Thanked be God that is eterne on liue,

Husbonds at chirche dore haue I had fiue

For I so often haue ywedded be,

And all were worthy men in her degree.

But me was told not long ago iwis,

That sithen Christ went neuer but onis

To wedding, in the Cane of Galilee,

That by thilke ensample taught he me,

That I ne should wedded be but ones.

Lo here, which a sharpe word for the nones,

Beside a well, Iesu God and man

Spake in reprefe of the Samaritan:

Thou hast had fiue husbonds (quoth he)

And that ilke man that now hath thee,

Is not thyn husbond: thus said he certain,

What he meant hereby, I can not sain,

But that I aske a point, why the fift man

Was nat husbond to the Samaritan:

How many might she haue in marriage?

Yet herd I neuer tellen in mine age

Vpon this number true definitioun,

Men may deuine, and glosen vp and down.

But well I wot expresse without lie,

God bad vs for to wex and multiplie,

That gentle text can I well vnderstond:

Eke wel I wot (he said) mine husbond:

Should leaue father & mother, & take to me,

But of number no mention made he

Of bigamie or of octogamie,

Why should men speak of it villany?

Lo he the wise king Dan Salomon

I trow had wiues many mo than on,

As would God it lefull were to me

To be refreshed half so oft as he.

Which a gift of God had he, for his wyuis?

No man hath such, that in this world a liue is.

God wot this noble king, as to my wit

The first night had many a mery fit

With each of hem, so well was him aliue.

Blessed be God, I haue wedded siue,

Welcome the sixth wheneuer he shall

Forsoth I woll not keep me chaste in all:

When mine husbond is fro the world ygon,

Some christen man shall wed me anon.

For then the Apostle saith, that I am fre

To wed a godeshalfe where it liketh me:

* He saith, that to be wedded is no sinne,

Better is to be wedded than to brinne.

What recketh me though folke say villany

Of shreud Lamech, and of his bigamy?

I wot well Abraham was an holy man,

And Iacob eke, as fer as euer I heare can,

And each of hem had wiues mo than two,

And many another holy man also.

Where can you say in any manner age

That euer God defended mariage

By expresse words, I pray you tell me?

Or where commaunded he virginite?

I wot as well as ye, it is no dread,

The Apostle, when he spake of maidenhead,

[Page] He said, thereof precept had he none:

Men may counsaile a woman to be one,

* But counsailing is no commaundement,

He put it wholly in our owne judgement.

For had God commaunded maidenhead,

Then had he damned wedding out of dread.

* And certes, if there were no seed ysow,

Virginity then whereof should it grow?

Poule ne durst not commaund at the lest

A thing, of which his master yafe none hest:

The dart is set vp for virginite,

Catch who so may, who runneth best let see.

But this word is not taken of euery wight,

But there as God list yeue it of his might.

I wot well that the Apostle was a maid,

But natheles, though that he wrote and said

He would that euery wight were such as he,

All nis but counsaile to virginite.

And for to ben a wife he yaue me leue,

Of indulgence, so nis it to repreue

To v [...]ed me, if that my make die

Without exception of bigamie:

All were it good no woman for to touch,

He ment as in his bed or in his couch.

* For perill is, both fire and tow to assemble,

Ye know what this ensample may resemble.

This is all and some, he held virginite

More perfit than wedding in freelte.

Freelte clepe I, but if that he and she

Would lead her life all in chastite.

I graunt it well, I haue none enuie,

Though maidenhead preferre bigamie,

It liketh hem to be clean in body and ghost:

Of mine estate I woll make no bost.

For wel ye know, a lord in his houshold

Hath nat euery vessell all of gold:

Some been of tre, and don her lord seruice

God clepeth folke to him in sundry wise,

And euerich hath of God a proper gift,

Some this, some that, as him liketh shift.

Virginitie is great perfection,

And continence eke with deuocion:

But Christ, that of perfection is well,

Bad not euery wight he should go sell

All that he had, and giue it to the poore,

And in such wise folow him and his lore:

He spake to hem that would liue parfectly,

And lordings (by your leaue) that am nat I,

I wol bestow the floure of all mynage

In the acts and fruit of marriage.

Tell me also, to what conclusion

Were members made of generation?

And of so perfit wise a wight iwrought?

Trusteth well, they were nat made for nouȝt,

Glose who so woll, and say vp and down

That they were made for purgatioun

Of vrine, and other things smale,

And eke to know a female from a male,

And for none other cause, what say ye no?

The experience wot well it is not so:

So that the clerks be not with me wroth,

I say that they were maked for both,

This is to saien, for office, and for ease

Of engendrure, there we not God displease.

Or why should men els in her bookes set,

That man should yeeld to his wife her det?

Now wherwith should he pay his payment

If he ne vsed his sely instrument?

Then were they made vpon a creature

To purge vrine, and eke for engendrure.

But I say not that euery wight is hold,

That hath such harnesse as I to you told,

To gon and vsen hem to engendrure,

Then should men take of chastitie no cure.

Christ was a maide, and shapen as a man,

And many a saint, sithen the world began,

Yet liued they euer in perfit charitie:

I nill enuy no virginitie.

Let hem with bread of pure wheat be fed,

And let vs wiues eat barley bread,

And yet with barley bread, Marke tell can,

Our lord Iesu refreshed many a man.

In such a state as God hath cleped vs,

I woll perseuer, I nam not precious,

In wifehood woll I vse mine instrument

As frely as my maker hath it sent.

If I be dangerous, god giue me sorow,

Mine husbond shal it haue both euin & morow,

When that him list come forth & pay his det,

An husbond wol I haue I wol not let,

Which shall be both my debtour & my thrall,

And haue his tribulation withall

Vpon his flesh, while that I am his wife.

I haue the power during all my life

Vpon his proper body, and nat he,

Right thus the Apostle told to me,

And bad our husbonds for to loue vs well,

All this sentence me liketh euery dell.

Vp stert the Pardoner, and that anon,

Now dame qd. he, by God & by saint Iohn,

Ye been a noble preacher in this caas:

I was about to wed a wife, alas

What, should I bie it on my flesh so deare?

Yet had I leuer wed no wife to yeare.

Abide qd. she, my tale is not begon:

Nay, thou shalt drinke of another ton

Er that I go, shall sauer worse than ale,

And when that I haue told forth my tale

Of tribulation that is in marriage,

Of which I am expert in all mine age,

This is to say, my selfe hath been the whip,

Then maiest thou chese wheder thou wolt sip

Of thilke ton, that I shall set abroch:

Beware of it, er thou to nere aproch.

For I shall tell ensamples mo than ten:

* Who so woll not beware by other Men

By him shall other men corrected be:

These same words writeth Dan Ptholome,

Read in his almagest, and take it there.

Dame I woll pray you, if your will were,

Said this Pardoner, as ye began,

Tell forth your tale, spareth for no Man,

And teach vs young Men of your practike.

Gladly (qd. she) if it may you like.

But that I pray to all this company,

If that I speake after my fantasy,

As taketh not a griefe of that I say,

For mine entent is not but to play.

Now sirs, then shall I tell forth my tale:

As euer might I drinke wine or ale

I shall say sooth. Tho husbonds that I had

Three of hem were good, and two were bad:

[Page] The three good men were rich and old,

Vnnethes might they the stature hold,

In which they were bounden vnto me.

Ye wot well what I meane of this parde:

As God me helpe, I laugh when I thinke,

How pitiously a night I made hem swinke,

But by my fay, I tolde of it no store:

They had me yeue her lond and her treasore,

Me neded no lenger to doe diligence

To win her loue, and do hem reuerence.

They loued me so well by God aboue,

That I ne tolde no deinte of her loue.

* A wise woman woll besie her euer in one

To get her loue there as she hath none.

But sithen I had hem holly in mine hond,

And that they had giue me all her londe,

What, should I take keep hem for to please,

But it were for my profit and mine ease?

I set hem so a worke by my fay,

That many a might they songen well away:

The bacon was not fet for hem I trow,

That some men haue in Essex at Donmow.

I gouerned hem so well after my law,

That ech of hem full blisfull was and faw

To bring me gay things home fro the fayre.

They were full fain when I spake hem faire:

For God it wot, I chid hem spitously.

Now herkeneth how I bere me properly.

Ye wise wiues that can vnderstond,

Thus shul ye speak, and bere hem on hond,

* For halfe so boldly there can no man

Swere and lie, as a woman can:

I say not this by wiues that been wise,

But if it be when they him misse auise.

* A wise wife shall if that she can her good,

Bere hem in hond that the cow is wood,

And taken witnesse of her owne maid

Of her assent: but herkeneth how I said.

Sir old keynard, is this thine aray,

Why is my neighbours wife so gay?

She is honoured ouer all where she goth,

I sit at home, and haue no thriftie cloth.

What dost thou sirha at my neighbors house?

Is she so faire? art thou so amorous?

What rownest thou with our maid? benedicite

Sir old lechour, let thy yapes be.

And if I haue a Gossip or a friend

(Without gilt) thou chidest as a fiend,

If that I walke or play vnto his house:

Thou comest home as drunken as Mouse,

And preachest on thy bench with euill prefe:

Thou sayest to me it is a great mischiefe

To wed a poore woman, for costage:

And if that she be rich of high parage,

Then saiest thou, it is a very tourmentrie

To suffer her pride and her Melancholy.

And if that she be faire, thou very knaue,

Thou saiest that euery holour woll her haue.

She may no while in chastitie abide,

That is assailed on euery side.

Thou saist some folke desiren vs for richesse,

Some for our shape, & some for our fairnesse,

And some, for she can either sing or dance,

And some for gentlenesse or for daliance,

Some for her honds and her armes smale:

Thus goeth all to the deuill by thy tale.

Thou saist Men may not keep a castle wall,

It may so long assailed be ouer all.

And if that she be foule, thou saiest that she

Coueteth euery Man that she may see.

For as a Spaniell, she woll on him lepe,

Til that she find some man that wol her chepe:

* Ne none so gray Gose goth there in the lake

(As saist thou) yt woll been without her make.

And saiest, it is a hard thing for to welde

A wight, that no man woll his thonke helde.

Thus saist thou lorell, whan thou goest to bed,

That no wise Man needeth for to wed,

Ne no man that entendeth vnto heuin.

With wild thunder dent and fire leuin

Mote thy wicked necke be all to broke.

* Thou saist, dropping houses, & eke smoke,

And chiding wiues maken Men to flee

Out of her owne house, ah, Benedicite,

What aileth such an old man for to chide?

Thou saiest, we wiues woll our vices hide,

Till we be wedded, & than we wol hem shew.

Well may this be a prouerbe of a shrew.

Thou saist, that oxen, horses, asses, & hounds,

They ben assaied at diuers stounds:

Basins, lauers, or that Men hem bie,

Spones, stooles, and all such husbondrie,

And so be pots, clothes, and araies,

But folke of wiues maken non assaies,

Till they been wedded, old dotard shrew,

And saiest, how we woll than our vices shew.

Thou sayest also, that it displeaseth me,

But if that thou wilt praise my beaute,

And but thou pore alway on my face,

And clepe me faire dame in euery place:

And but thou maken a feast on that ilke day

That I was borne, & make me fresh and gay:

And but thou doen to my norice honour,

And to my chamber within my bour:

And to my fathers folke, and his alies,

Thus saiest thou old barell full of lies.

And againe of our prentise Ienkin,

For his crispe heer, shining as gold fine,

And for he squireth me both vp and down,

Hast thou caught a false suspection:

I woll him nat, tho thou wer ded to morow.

But tell me this, why hidest thou with sorow

The keies of thy chest away fro me?

It is my good as well as thine parde.

What, wenest thou make an idiot of our dame

Now by that Lord that called is sainct Iame

Thou shalt nat both althogh thou wer wood

Be maister of my body and of my good,

That one thou shalt forgon maugre thin iyen.

What helpeth it of me to enquere and spien?

I trow thou wouldest locke me in thy chist?

Thou shouldest say, Wife, go where thou list,

Take your disport, I woll leue no tales,

I know you for a true wife dame Ales.

We loue no Man, yt taketh keep or charge

Where that we go, we woll be at our large.

Of all Men iblessed mote he be

The wise Astrologien Dan Ptholome,

That saieth this prouerbe in his almagest,

* Of all Men his wisedome is the best,

That recketh not who hath the world in hond.

By this prouerb thou shalt vnderstond,

[Page] Haue thou inow, what need thee recke or care

How merely that other folke do fare.

For certes, old dotarde by your leue,

Ye shallen haue queint inow at eue.

* He is too great a nigard that woll werne

A man to light a candle at his Lanterne:

He shall haue neuer the lesse light parde.

Haue thou inow, thou darst not plain thee:

Thou saiest also, that if we make vs gaie

With clothes or with precious array,

That it is perill of our chastitie:

And yet with sorow, thou must enforcen thee,

And say these words in the Apostles name:

In habite made with chastitie and shame

Yee women should appareile you (qd. he)

And nat in tressed heere, and gay peere

As perle, ne with gold, ne clothes rich.

After the text, ne after thy rubriche

I nill not worche as much as a Gnat.

Thou saiest also, I was like a Cat:

* But who so would senge the Cats skin,

Than would the Cat dwellen in his Inne:

And if the Cats skin be sticke and gay,

She nill nat dwell in house halfe a day,

But forth she woll or any day be dawed

To shew her skin, and gon a catrewawed,

Thus thou saiest, if I be gaie, sir shrew,

I woll ren out, my borell for to shew.

Sir old foole what helpeth thee to spien?

Though thou play Argus with his C. eyen

To be my wardcors, as he can best,

In faith he shall not keepe me but my lest:

* Yet couth I make his beard so mote I thee.

Thou saiest eke yt there been things three

The which greatly troublen all the earth,

And that no wight may endure the ferth:

O, lefe sir shrew, Iesu short thy life.

Yet preachest thou, & saiest, an hateful wife

Rekened is for one of these mischaunces:

Been there non other resemblaunces

That ye may liken your parables to

But if a sely wife be one of tho?

Thou likenest eke womans loue to hell,

To barren lond, there water may not dwell:

Thou likenest it also to wild fire,

The more it brenneth, the more it hath desire

To consume any thing, that brent would be.

Thou saiest, right as wormes shenden a tre,

Right so a wife destroieth her husbond,

This known they that ben to wiues bond.

Lordings, right thus as ye haue vnderstond

Bare I stiffely mine old husbond on hond,

That thus they saiden in her drunkennesse,

And all was false, but as I tooke witnesse

Of Ienken, and of my neece also:

O Lord the paine I did hem, and the wo,

And that full giltles by Gods sweet pine:

* For as an horse, I couth both bite & whine,

I couth plain, though I were in the gilt,

Or els oftentime I had been spilt.

* Who so first to Mill commeth, first grint,

I plained first, and so was our war istint:

They were full glad to excusen hem bliue

Of thing, that they a gilt neuer in her life.

Of wenches would I beare hem on hond,

When yt for sick, vnneths might they stond,

Yet tickled I his heart for that he

Wend I had of him so great cheerte:

I swore that all my walking out by night,

Was for to espie wenches that he dight:

Vnder that colour had I much mirth,

For all such wit is giuen vs in our birth,

* Disceipt, weeping, spinning, God haue giue

To women, kindly while that they liue.

And thus of a thing I may auaunt mee,

At thende I had the best in each degree,

By sleight or force, or by some manner thing,

As by continuall murmure or grudging.

Namely a bed had they muckle mischance,

There would I chide, and don no pleasance:

I would no lenger in the bed abide

(If I felt his arme ouer my side)

Till he had made his raunsom vnto me,

Then would I suffer him doe his nicete.

And therefore, euery man this tale I tell,

* Wiue who so may, all been for to sell:

* With empty honds men may no hauks lure,

For winning would I all his lust indure,

And make me then a fained appetite,

And yet in Bacon had I neuer delite:

That maked me euer yt I would hem chide.

For though the Pope had sitten hem beside,

I would not spare hem at her owne bord,

For by my truth I quit him word for word,

As helpe me very God omnipotent,

Tho I right now should make my testament,

I ne owe hem a word, but it is quit,

I brought it so about by my wit,

That they must giue it vp, as for the best,

Or els had we neuer been in rest.

For though he looked as wood as a Lyon,

Yet should he faile of his conclusion.

Then would I say (good lefe) take keep,

How meekly looketh wilken our sheep:

Com neer my spouse, & let me kisse your cheek.

Ye should be all patient and meek,

And haue a sweet spiced conscience,

Sith ye so preach of Iobs patience,

Suffreth alway sith ye so well can preach,

And but if ye do, we shall you teach,

That it is faire to haue a wife in pees,

One of vs two mote obeien doubtles:

* And sith a man is more reasonable

Than a woman is, ye must been sufferable.

What aileth you to grutch thus and grone?

Is it for ye would haue my queint alone?

Why take it all: lo, haue it euery del,

Peter I shrew you but ye loue it wel.

For if I would sell my belchose,

I couth walke as fresh as any rose,

But I woll keep it for your owne tooth:

Ye be to blame by God, I say you sooth.

Such maner words had we often on hond.

And now will I speake of my fourth husbond.

My fourth husbond was a reuellour,

This is to say, he had a Paramour,

And I was yong and full of ragarie,

Stubburne and strong, and ioly as a Pie,

Well coud I daunce, to an Harpe smale,

And sing iwis as a Nightingale,

When I had drunken a draught of sweet wine.

Mettellus, the foul churle and the swine,

[Page] That with a staffe bireft his wife her life

For she drunk wine: though I had be his wife,

Ne should he not haue daunted me fro drinke:

And after wine, of Venus must I thinke.

* For all so seker, as cold engendreth haile,

A licorus mouth must hane a lecherous taile.

* In women vinolent is no defence,

This know lechours by experience.

But lord Christ, when it remembreth me

Vpon my youth, and my iolite,

It tickleth me about the hart root,

Vnto this day it doth my hart boot,

That I haue had my world as in my time:

But age alas, that all woll enuenime

Hath me bireft my beauty and my pith:

Let go, farewell, the deuill goe therewith.

* The flower is gon, there nis no more to tell,

The bran (as I best can) now mote I sell.

But yet to be right mery woll I fond,

Now forth to tell of my fourth husbond.

I say I had in hert great dispite,

That he of any other had delite:

But he was quit by God and saint Ioce,

* I made him of the same wood a troce,

Not of my body in no foule manere,

But certainly, I made folke such chere,

* That in his owne greace I made him frie

For anger, and for very jelousie.

By God, in earth I was his purgatorie,

For which I hope his soule bene in glorie.

For God it wote, he sate full oft and song,

When that his shooe full bitterly him wrong.

There was none, saue God and he, that wist

In many wise, how sore that I him twist,

He died when I came fro Hierusalem,

And lyeth in graue vnder the Rode beem.

All nis not his tombe so curious

As was the sepulture of Darius,

Which that Appelles wrought so subtilly:

It is but wast to bury him preciously.

Let him farewel, God giue his soul good rest,

He is now in his graue and in his chest.

Now of my fifth husbond woll I tell,

God let neuer his soule come in hell.

And yet was he to me the most shrew,

That feele I on my ribbes all by rew,

And euer shall, vnto mine ending day.

But in our bed he was so fresh and gay,

And therewithall, he couth so well me glose,

When that he would haue my belly chose,

That though he had me beat on euery bone,

He couth win ayen my loue anone.

I trow I loued him the bet, for that he

Was of his loue so dangerous to me.

We women haue, if that I shall not lie

In this mattere a queint fantasie.

* Waite to thing we may nat lightly haue,

Thereafter woll we all day cry craue.

Forbid vs thing, and that desiren we:

Prese on vs fast, and then woll we flee.

With danger vttren we all our chaffare,

* Great prees at market maketh deere ware.

And to great cheap is hold at to little prise,

This knoweth euery woman that is wise.

My fifth husbonde, God his soule blesse,

Which I tooke for loue and no richesse,

He sometime was a clerke in Oxenford,

And had left schole, & went at home to borde

With my Gossip dwelling in our town:

God haue her soule, her name was Alisoun.

She knew my heart and eke my priuite,

Bet than our parish priest so mote I thee,

To her bewrayed I my counsell all,

For had my husbond pist againe the wall,

Or done a thing that should haue cost his life,

To her, and to another worthy wife,

And to my nece, which that I loued well.

I would haue told his counsell euery dell,

And so I did full often God it wote

That made his face full oft red and hote

For very shame, and blamed himselfe, for he

Had told to me so great a priuite.

And so befell that ones in a Lent

So oft time I to my Gossip went.

For euer yet I loued to goe gaie,

And for to walke in March, April, and Maie

Fro house to house, to hearken sundry tales,

That Ienkin clerk, & my Gossip dame Ales,

And I my selfe, into the fields went:

My husbond was at London all that Lent,

I had the better leasure for to pleie,

And for to see, and eke for to be seie

Of lustie folke, what wist I where my grace

Was shapen for to been, or in what place?

Therefore made I my visitations

To Villages, and to processions,

To preachings eke, and to pilgrimages,

To playes of miracles, and to marriages,

And weared on my gaie skarlet gites:

These worms, these moughts, ne these mites

Vpon my parell fret hem neuer a dell,

And wost thou why? for they were vsed well.

Now woll I tell foorth what happed me:

I say, that in the fields walked we,

Till truely we had such daliance

This clerke and I, that of my purueyance

I speake to him, and said how that he,

If I were widow, should wedden me.

For certainely, I say for no boastance,

Yet was I neuer without purueyance

Of marriage, ne of other things eke:

I hold a Mouses wit not worth a Leke.

That hath but one hole to sterten to,

And if that faile, then is all idoe.

I bare him on hand he had enchanted me:

My Dame taught me forsoth that subtiltie,

And eke I saied, I met of him all night,

He would a slaine me, as I lay vpright,

And all my bed was full of very blood,

But yet I hope truely he should doe me good:

For blood betokeneth gold, as I was taught.

And al was fals, I dremed of hem right nauȝt;

But as I followed aye my Dames lore,

As well of that as of other things more.

But now sir let me see, what shall I sain:

A ha, by God I haue my tale againe.

When that my fourth husband was on here,

I wept algate and made heauy chere,

As wiues moten, for it is vsage:

And with my kerchefe couered my visage.

But for that I was purueyed of a make,

I wept but small, and that I vndertake.

[Page] To church was my husbond born on morow

With neighbours yt for him maiden sorow,

And Ienken our clerke was one of tho:

As helpe me God, when that I saw him go

After the bere, me thought he had a paire

Of legs and of feet, so cleane and so faire,

That all my heart I yaue vnto his hold,

He was I trow twentie Winter old,

And I was fortie, if I shall say footh,

But yet I had alway a Colts tooth:

Gaptothed I was, and that became me wele,

I had the print of dame Venus seale.

As helpe me God, I was a lustie one,

And faire, rich, and yong, and well bigone:

And truly, as mine husbond told me

I had the best queint that might be.

For certes I am all fully Venerian

In feeling, and my heart is Marcian:

Venus me yaue my lust and my licorousnesse

And Mars yaue me my sturdie hardinesse.

Mine ascendent was Taure, & Mars therin:

Alas, alas, that euer loue was sin.

I followed aye mine inclination

By vertue of my constellation:

That made me I couth neuer withdraw

My chamber of Venus from a good fellaw.

Yet haue I Martes marke vpon my face,

And also in another priuie place.

For God so wisely be my saluation,

I loued neuer by no discretion,

But euer followed mine appetite,

All were he short, long, blacke, or white,

I tooke no keepe, so that he liked mee,

How poore he was, ne eke of what degree.

What should I say? but at ye months end

This jolly clerke Ienken, that was so hend,

Hath wedded me with great solemnitee,

And to him yaue I all the lond and fee,

That euer was yeuen me here before:

But afterward repented me full sore,

He nold suffer nothing of my list.

By God he smote me once with his fist,

For that I rent out of his booke a lefe

That of that stroke my eares wex defe.

Stubborne I was, as is a Lionesse,

And of my tongue a very iangleresse.

And walke I would, as I had doen beforn

Fro hous to hous, although he had it sworn:

For which full oftentime would he preach,

And me of old Romane iests teach.

How he Sulpitius Gallus left his wife,

And her forsooke for tearme of his life,

Not but for open hede he her seie

Looking out at his dore on a daie.

Another Romane told he me by name,

That for his wife was at a Summer game

Without his weting, he forsooke her eke.

And then would he vpon his Bible seke

That ilke prouerbe of Ecclesiast,

Where he commaundeth, & forbiddeth fast,

A man shall not suffer his wife roile about.

Then would he say right thus out of dout:

* Who so buildeth his house all of sallowes,

And pricketh his blind hors ouer the fallowes

And suffereth his wife for to seche hallowes,

Is worthy to be honged on the gallowes.

But all for nought, I set not an haw

Of his prouerbes, ne of his old saw:

Ne I would not of him corrected be,

I hate him that my vices telleth me,

And so doe mo (God it wote) than I.

This made him wood with me all vtterly,

I nold not forbeare him in no caas.

Now woll I say you sooth by S. Thomas,

Why that I rent out of his booke a lefe,

For which he smote me, that I was defe.

He had a booke, that gladly night and day

For his disport, he would read alway:

He cleped it Valerie, and Theophrast,

At which booke he lough alway full fast.

And eke there was a clerk somtime at Rome,

A Cardinall, that hight saint Ierome,

That made a booke ayenst Iouinian,

In which booke there was eke Tertullian,

Crisippus, Trotula, and Helowis,

That was Abbesse not ferre fro Paris:

And eke the parables of Salomon,

Ouids art, and bookes many one,

And all these were bounden in one volume,

And euery night and day was his custome

(When he had leisure and vacatioun

From other worldly occupatioun)

To readen in this booke of wicked wiues:

He knew of hem mo legends and liues,

Than been of good women in the Bible.

For trusteth well, it is an impossible,

That any clerke would speak good of wiues,

But if it been of holy saints liues,

Ne of none other woman nere the mo

* Who painteth the Lion, tell me who?

By God, if women had written stories,

As clerkes han, within her oratories,

They wold haue writ of men more wickedness

Than all the marke of Adam may redresse.

The children of Mercurie and Venus

Been in her working full contrarious.

Mercurie loueth wisdome and science,

And Venus loueth riot and dispence.

And for her diuers disposition,

Ech falleth in others exaltation.

And thus God wote, Mercurie is desolate

In Pisces, where Venus is exaltate,

And Venus falleth where Mercurie is reised,

Therefore no woman of no clerke is preised.

* The clerke when he is old, & may nought do

Of Venus werkes, not worth his old sho,

Then sit he downe, and writ in his dotage,

That women cannot keepe her marriage.

But now to purpose, why I told thee,

That I was beaten for a booke parde.

Vpon a night Ienken, that was our sire,

Red vpon his booke, as he sate by the fire,

Of Eue first, that for her wickednesse,

Was all mankind brought to wretchednesse:

For which yt Iesu Christ himselfe was slaine,

That bought vs with his hart blood againe.

Lo here expresse of women may ye find,

That woman was the losse of all mankind.

Tho rad he me how Sampson lost his heres

Sleping, his lemman cut hem with her sheres

Through which treason lost he both his eyen,

Tho rad he me, if that I shall not lien,

[Page] Of Hercules, and of his Deianire,

That caused him to set himselfe a fire.

Nothing forgot he the care and the wo

That Socrates had with his wiues two:

How that Xantippe cast pisse on his head,

This silly man sat still, as he were dead,

He wiped his head no more durst he saine,

But er the thunder stint there cometh raine.

Of Pasiphae, that was queene of Crete,

For shreudnesse him thought y• tale was swete.

Fie, speake no more, it is a grisely thing,

Of her horrible lust and her liking.

Of Clitemnestra for her letcherie,

That falsely made her husbond for to die,

He rad it with well good deuotion.

He told me eke, for what occasion

Amphiaraus at Thebes lost his life:

My husbond had a legend of his life.

Eriphilem, that for an ouche of gold

Hath priuily vnto the Greekes told,

Where that her husbond hid him in a place,

For which he had at Thebes sorry grace.

Of Lima told he me, and of Lucie:

They both made her husbonds for to die,

That one for loue, that other was for hate:

Lima her husbond on an euin late

Empoysoned had, for that she was his fo:

Lucia Is [...]erous loued her husbond so,

That for he should alway vpon her thinke,

She gaue him such a loue manner drinke,

That he were dead ere it were morrow:

And thus algates husbonds han sorrow.

Then told he me, how one Latumeus

Complained to his fellow Arius,

That in his garden growed such a tree,

On which (he said) that his wiues three

Honged hemselfe for harts dispitous:

O lefe brother (qd. this Arius)

Yeue me a plant of this blisful tree,

And in my garden planted shall it bee.

Of latter date of wiues hath he red,

That some han slain her husbands in bed,

And let her letchour dight hem all the night,

Whiles that the corse lay in floore vpright.

And some had driuen nailes in her brain,

Whiles they sleep, & thus they haue hem slain.

Some haue yeue hem poyson in her drink:

He spake more harm than any hart may think,

And therwithall he knew mo prouerbes,

Than in this world there groweth grasse or herbes.

* Bet is (qd. he) thine habitation

Be with a Lion, or a foule Dragon,

Than with a woman vsing for to chide.

* Bet is (qd. he) high in the roofe to abide,

Than with an angry wife doun in an hous,

They ben so wicked and so contrarious:

They haten, that their husbonds louen aie.

* He saied, a woman cast her shame awaie,

When she cast off her smock: and farther mo,

A faire woman, but she be chast also,

Is like a gold ring on a Sowes nose.

Who coud wen [...], or who coud suppose

The wo that in miue hart was and pine.

And when I saw he would neuer fine

To reden on this cursed booke all night,

All suddainly three leaues haue I plight

Out of his booke, right as he radde, and eke

I with my fist so tooke him on the cheke,

That in the fire he fell backward adoun:

And vp he stert, as doth a wood Lioun,

And with his fist he smote me on mine head,

That in the floore I lay as I were dead.

And when he seie how still that I lay,

He was agast, and would haue fled away,

Till at the last out of my swoun I braied:

Oh, hast thou slaine me false theefe I saied,

For my lond thus hast thou murdred mee?

Et I be dead, yet woll I once kisse thee,

And neere he came, and kneeled faire adoun,

And saied: deere suster, sweet Alisoun,

As helpe me God I shall thee neuer smite:

That I haue doen it is thy selfe to wite,

Foryeue it me, and that I thee beseke.

And yet eftsoones I hit him on the cheke,

And saied: theefe, thus much am I bewreke,

Now woll I die, I may no longer speke.

But at the last, with mokell care and wo

We fell accorded within out selues two:

He yafe me all the bridle in mine hond

To haue the gouernaunce of hous and lond,

And of his tongue, and of his hond also,

And I made hem bren his booke anon tho.

And when I had gotten vnto me

By maistrie, all the soueraignte,

And that he saied: mine owne true wife,

Do as thou list, the tear me of all thy life,

Keepe thine honour, and eke mine estate,

After that day we had neuer debate.

God helpe me so, I was to him as kinde,

As any wife fro Denmarke vnto Inde,

And also true, and so was he to me.

I pray to God that sit in Majestie

So blisse his soule, for his mercy deare,

Now woll I say my tale if ye woll heare.

The Frere lough when he had heard all this:

Now dame (qd. he) so haue I joy or blis,

This is a long preamble of a tale.

And when the Sompner herd the frere gale,

Lo (qd. this Sompner) by Gods armes two,

A Frere woll entermete him euermo:

* Lo good men, a Flie and eke a Frere

Woll fall in euery dish and eke matere.

What speakest thou of preambulatioun?

What amble or trot? either peace or sit adoun:

Thou lettest our disport in this mattere.

Ye wolt thou so sit Sompner (qd. ye Frere)

Now by my fay I shall, ere that I go,

Tell of a Sompner such a tale or two,

That all the folke shull laugh in this place.

Now do, els Frere I beshrew thy face

(Qd. this Sompner) and I beshrew mee,

But if I tell tales two or three

Of Freres, ere I come to Sitting burne,

That I shall make thine hart for to murne:

For well I wot thy patience is gone.

Our host cried peace, and that anone,

And saied: let the woman tell her tale,

Ye faren as folke that dronken been of ale:

So dame, tell forth your tale, and that is best.

All ready sir (qd. she) right as you lest,

If I haue licence of this worthy Frere.

Yes dame, tell forth your tale, I woll it here.

[Page]

A Batcheler of King Arthurs Court is enjoined by the Queen to tell what thing it is that Women most desire. At length he is taught it by an old Woman, who for that cause is enforced to marry her.

¶The wife of Bathes Tale.

IN the old dayes of King Artour,

(Of which the Bretons speaken great honour)

All was this lond fulfilled of Fairie,

The Elfe queene, with hir iolly companie

Daunced full oft in many a greene mead:

This was the old opinion as I read.

I speake of many an hundred yeare ago,

But now can no man see none elfes mo,

For now the great charity and prayeres

Of limitours and other holy Freres,

That fearchen euery land and euery streame,

As thicke as motes in the Sunne beame,

Blissing hals, chambers, kitchens, & boures,

Cities, boroughes, castles, and hie toures,

Thropes, Bernes, Shepens, and Dairies,

This maketh that there been no Fairies:

* For there as wont to walke was an Elfe,

There walketh now the limitour himselfe

In vndermeles, and in mornings,

And saieth his Mattins and his holy things

As he goeth in his limitatioun:

Women may go safely vp and doun

An euery bush, and vnder euery tree,

There nis none other incubus but hee,

And he ne will doen hem no dishonour.

And so fell it, that this king Artour

Had in his house a lustie batcheler,

That on a day came riding fro the riuer:

And happed, that alone as he was borne,

He saw a maid walking him beforne,

Of which maid anon, maugre her head,

(By very force) he beraft her maidenhead:

For which oppression was such clamour,

And such pursute vnto king Artour,

That damned was this knight to be dead

By course of law, & should haue lost his head.

Perauenture such was the statute tho:

But that the Queene and other ladies mo

Sa long praiden the king of his grace,

Till he his life graunted in that place,

And yaue him to the queene, all at her will

To chese where yt she would him saue or spill.

The queen thanketh ye king with al hir might

And after this, thus spake she to the knight,

When she sey her time on a certaine day.

Thou standeth yet (qd. she) in such array,

That of thy life yet hast thou no surete:

A graunt thee thy life, if thou canst tell me

What thing is it that women most desiren:

Beware, and keepe thy necke bone from yren.

And if thou canst not tell it me anon,

Yet woll I yeue thee leaue for to gon

A tweluemonth and a day, to seeke and lere

An answere sufficient in this matere.

And suertie woll I haue, ere that thou passe,

Thy body for to yelde in this place.

Wo was the knight, and sorrowfully liketh:

But what? he may not done all as him liketh.

And at last he chese him for to wend,

And come ayen right at the yeares end

With such answer, as God wold him puruay:

And taketh his leue, & wendeth forth his way.

He seeketh euery house and euery place,

Where as he hopeth for to find grace,

To learne what thing women louen most:

But he ne couth arriuen in no coost,

Where as he might find in this matere

Two creatures according yfere.

Some said, women loued best richesse,

Some said honour, some said jollinesse,

Some said rich array, some said lust a bed,

And oft time to been widdow and wed.

Some said, that our heart is most yeased

When that we been flatered and ypraised.

He goeth full me the sooth, I woll not lie,

* A man shall win vs best with flatterie,

And with attendaunce, and with businesse

Ben wee ylimed both more and lesse.

And some men sain, how that we louen best

For to been free, and do right as vs lest:

And that no man repreue vs of our vice,

But say that we be wise, and nothing nice.

For truly there nis none of vs all,

If any wight woll claw vs on the gall,

That we nill like, for that he saith vs footh:

Assay, and he shall find it, that so dooth.

* For be we neuer so vicious within,

We woll be holden wise and cleane of sin.

And some men sain, that great delite haue we

For to been hold stable and eke secre,

And in o purpose stedfastly to dwell,

And not bewray thing that men vs tell.

But that tale is not worth a rake stele,

* Parde we women can nothing hele,

Witnesse of Midas, woll ye here the tale?

Ouid, among other things smale

Said, Midas had vnder his long haires

Growing on his head two asses eares:

The which vice he hid, as he best might,

Full subtilly from euery mans sight:

That saue his wife, there wist of it no mo,

He loued her most, and trusted her also,

He praied her, that to no creature

She nold tellen of his disfigure.

She swore him, not for all the world to win,

She nold do that villany, ne that sin,

To maken her husbond haue so foule a name:

She nold not tell it for her owne shame.

But natheles, her thought that she dide,

That she so long should a counsaile hide,

Her thought it swoll so sore about her hert,

That needely some word she must astert:

And sith she durst tellen it to no man,

Doun to a marris fast by she ran,

Till she came there, her hert was on a fire:

And as a bittour bumbeth in the mite,

She laid her mouth vnto the water adoun.

Bewray me not thou water with thy soun

[Page] Qd. she, to thee I tell it, and to no mo,

Mine husbond hath long Asses eares two.

Now is mine heart all hole, now it is out,

I might no lenger keepe it out of dout.

* Here mow ye see, though we a time abide,

Yet out it mote, we can no counsaile hide.

The remnaunt of the tale, if ye will here,

Readeth Ouid, and there ye may it lere.

This knight, of which my tale is specially,

When that he saw he might not come therby,

This is to say, what women louen most:

Within his heart sorrowfull was his ghost.

But home he goth, he might not soiourne,

The day was come, he must home returne.

And in his way, it happed him to ride

In all his care, vnder a forrest side,

Whereas he saw vpon a daunce go

Of ladies foure and twenty, and yet mo:

Toward the daunce he drow him full yerne,

In hope that some wisdome should he lerne.

But certainly, ere that he came fully there,

Vanished was the daunce, he nist not where,

No creature saw he that bare life,

Saue in the greene sitting an old wife:

A fouler wight there may no man deuise.

Againe the knight the old wife gan arise,

And said: sir knight, here forth lieth no way,

Tell me what ye seeken by your fay,

Peraduenture it may the better be:

* These old folke con much thing (qd. she.)

My lefe mother (qd. this knight) certaine,

I nam but dead, but if that I can saine,

What thing it is that women most desire:

Coud ye me wisse, I wold quite wel your hire.

Plight me thy troth here in my hand (qd. she)

The next thing that I require of thee

Thou shalt it do, if it be in thy might,

And I woll tell it you or it be night.

Haue here my troth (qd. ye knight) I graunt.

Then (qd. she) I may me well auaunt,

Thy life is safe, for I woll stond therby,

Vpon my life the queene will say as I:

Let see, which is the proudest of hem all

That weareth on a kerchefe or a call,

That dare say nay, of that I shall you teach,

Let vs go forth without lenger speche.

Tho rowned she a pistell in his eare,

And had him to be glad, and haue no feare.

When they ben comen to ye court, the knight

Said, he had hold his day, as he had hight,

And ready was his answere, as he said:

Full many a noble wife, and many a maid

And many a widdow, for that they be wise,

(The queen her selfe sitting as a iustice)

Assembled ben, his answere for to heare,

And afterward this knight was bode apeare.

To euery wight commanded was silence,

And that the knight should tell in audience,

What thing that worldly women loued best:

This knight ne stood not still as doth a beast,

But to his question anon answerd

With manly voice, that all the court it herd.

My liege lady: generally (qd. he)

Women desiren to haue soueraignte

As well ouer her husbonds as her loue,

And for to ben in maistrie hem above.

This is your most desire, though ye me kill,

Doth as you list, I am here at your will.

In all the court nas there wife ne maid

Ne widdow, that contraried that he said,

But said, he was worthy han his life.

And with that word, vp stert the old wife,

Which yt the knight found sitting on ye green:

Mercy (qd. she) my soueraigne lady queen,

Ere that your court depart do me right:

I taught this answere vnto this knight,

For which he plight me his trouth there,

The first thing I would of him requere,

He would it do, if it lay in his might:

Before the court then pray I thee sir knight,

(Qd. she) that thou me take vnto thy wife,

For well thou wost, that I haue kept thy life:

If I say false, say nay vpon thy fay.

This knight answerd, alas and welaway:

I wot right well that such was my behest,

For Gods loue chese a new request:

Take all my good, and let my body go.

Nay (qd. she) then I shrew vs both two.

For though that I be foule, old, and pore,

I nold for all the mettall ne the ore,

That vnder yerth is graue, or lithe aboue,

But if I thy wife were and thy loue.

My loue (qd. he) nay my damnation:

Alas that any of my nation

Should euer so foule disparaged be.

But all for nought, the end is this, that he

Constrained was, that needs must he her wed,

And taketh this old wife, and goth to bed.

Now woulden some men say perauenture

That for my negligence, I do no cure

To tellen you the ioy and the array,

That at the feast was that ilke day.

To the which thing answer shortly I shall:

I say there nas no ioy ne feast at all,

There nas but heavinesse and much sorrow:

For priuily he wedded her on a morrow,

And all day after hid him as an oule.

So wo was him, his wife looked so foule.

Gret was ye sorow yt kniȝt had in his thought

When he was with his wife a bed ybrought,

He walloweth, and turneth to and fro.

His old wife lay smiling euermo,

And said: O deare husbond, O benedicite,

Fareth euery knight thus as do ye?

Is this the law of king Artours hous?

Is euery knight of his loue so daungerous?

I am your owne loue, and eke your wife,

I am she, which that saued hath your life,

And certes yet did I neuer you vnright.

Why fare ye thus with me the first night?

Ye faren like a man that had lost his wit.

Fie, what is my gilt? for Gods loue tell me it,

And it shall be amended if I may.

Amended (qd. this knight) alas nay nay:

That woll not been amended neuer mo,

Thou art so loathly, and so old also,

And thereto comen of so low a kind,

That little wonder is thogh Iwallow & wind,

So would God (qd. he) mine hert would brest,

Is this (qd. she) the cause of your vnrest?

Ye certainely (qd. he) no wonder nis.

Now sir (qd. she) I couth amend all this,

[Page] If that me list, ere it were dayes three,

So well ye might beare you vnto me.

But for ye speake of such gentlenesse,

As is discended out of old richesse,

That therefore shullen ye be gentlemen:

Such errogaunce is not worth an hen.

* Lo who that is most vertuous alway,

Preuy and apert, and most intendeth aye

To do the gentle deeds that he can,

Take him for the greatest gentleman.

Christ wold we claimed of him our gentlenesse,

Not of our elders, for our old richesse.

* For though they yeue vs all her heritage,

For which we claimen to ben of high parage,

Yet may they not bequeath, for nothing,

To none of vs, her vertuous living,

That made hem gentlemen ycalled be,

And bad vs followen hem in such degre.

Full well can the wise poet of Florence,

That hight Dantes, speake in this sentence:

Lo in such manner rime is Dantes tale.

* Full selde vp riseth by his braunches smale

Prowesse of man, for God of his goodnesse

Woll that we claime of him our gentlenesse:

For of our elders may we nothing claime

But temporal thing, yt men may hurt & maime.

Eke euery wight wot this as well as I,

If gentlenesse were planted naturally

Vnto a certaine linage doun the line,

Preuy and apert, then wold they neuer fine

To done of gentlenesse the faire office,

They might done no villany ne vice.

Take fire and beare it into the derkest hous

Betwixt this and the mount Caucasus,

And let men shut the dores, and go thenne,

Yet woll the fire as faire lie and brenne

As twenty thousand men might it behold:

His office naturall aye woll it hold

Vpon perill of my life, till that it die.

* Here may ye see well, how that gentrie

Is not annexed to possession,

Sithen folke do not her operation

Alway as doth the fire, lo in his kind:

For God it wot, men may full often find

A lords sonne done shame and villany.

* And he that woll haue prise of his gentry,

For he was borne of a gentle hous,

And had his elders noble and vertuous,

And nill himselfe don no gentle deedes,

He follow his gentle auncetre, that dead is,

He nis not gentle, be he duke or erle.

* Fie villaines, sinful deeds maketh a cherle.

For gentlenesse nis but the renomie

Of thine auncetres, for her high bountie,

Which is a strong thing to thy persone:

Thy gentlenesse commeth fro God alone.

* Then cometh out very gentlenesse of grace,

It was nothing bequeath vs with our place.

Thinketh how noble, as saith Valerius,

Was thilke Tullius Hostilius,

That out of pouerty rose to high noblesse:

Readeth Seneck, and readeth eke Boece,

There shall ye seene expresse, no dread is,

* That he is gentle that doth gentle deedis.

And therfore deare husbond, I thus conclude,

All were it that mine auncetors were rude,

Yet may that high God, and so hope I,

Graunt me grace to liue vertuously:

* Then am I gentle, when I begin

To liue vertuously, and leauen sin.

And there as ye of pouertie me repreue,

The high God, on whom that we beleue,

In wilfull pouerte chese to lead his life:

And certes, euery man, maid, and wife

May vnderstond, Iesu heauen king

Ne would not chese a vicious liuing.

* Glad pouert is an honest thing certaine,

This woll Seneck and other clerkes saine.

* Who so wold hold him paid of his pouert,

I hold him rich, all had he not a shert.

* He that coueteth is a full poore wight,

For he would han that is not in his might.

* But who yt nought hath, ne coueteth to haue,

Is rich, although ye hold him but a knaue.

Very pouert is sinne properly.

Iuuenall saith of pouert merrily:

* The poore man when he goeth by the way

Beforne theeues, he may sing and play.

* Pouert is hatefull good: and as I gesse,

A full great bringer out of businesse:

A great amender eke of sapience,

To him that taketh it in patience.

Pouert is, although it seeme elenge,

Possession that no wight woll challenge.

* Pouerte full often, when a man is low,

Maketh him God and eke himselfe to know.

* Pouert a spectacle is, as thinketh me,

Through which one may his very friends see.

And therfore, since that I you not greue,

Of my pouert no more me repreue.

Now sir, eke of elde ye repreued me:

And certes sir, though none authorite

Were in no booke, ye gentles of honour

Sain, that men should an old wight honour,

And cleape hem father for her gentlenesse,

And authors shall I find, as I gesse.

Now there as ye sain yt I am foule and old,

Then drede you not to been a cokewold.

* For filth, elthe, and foule, all so mote I thee,

Ben great wardeins vpon chastite.

But natheles, since I know your delite,

I shall fulfill your worldly appetite.

These now (qd. she) one of these things twey,

To haue me foule and old till that I dey,

And be to you a true humble wife,

And neuer you displease in all my life:

Or els woll you haue me yong and faire,

And take your auenture of the repaire

That shall come to your house because of me,

Or in some other place may well be?

Now chese your selue whether yt you liketh.

This knight auiseth him, and sore liketh,

But at the last he said in this manere:

My lady and my loue, and wife so dere,

I put me in your wise gouernaunce,

Cheseth your selfe which may be more pleasaunce

And most honour to you and me also,

I do no force whether of the two:

For as you liketh, it sufficeth me.

Then haue I got of you the maistry (qd. she)

Since I may chese and gouerne as my lest:

Ye certes wife (qd. he) I hold it for the best.

[Page] Kisse me (qd. she) we be no lenger wroth:

For by my truth, I woll be to you both,

This is to say, to be both faire and good.

I pray to God that I mote sterue wood,

But I to you be also good and trew,

As euer was wife, sithen the world was new:

And but I be to morrow as faire to seene,

As any Lady, Empresse, or Queene,

That is between East and eke the West,

Doth with my life right as you lest.

Cast vp the courtein, and looke how it is.

And when this knight saw verily all this,

That she so faire was, and so young thereto,

For ioy he hent her in his armes two:

His hart bathed in the bath of blisse,

A thousand times a row he gan her kisse:

And she obeyed him in euery thing,

That mought done him pleasure or liking.

And thus they liued vnto her liues end

In perfit joy, and Iesu Christ vs send

Husbonds meeke and yong, and fresh abed,

And grace to ouerliue hem that we wed.

And I pray to God to short her liues,

That will not be gouerned by her wives.

And old and angry niggards of dispence,

God send hem soone a very pestilence.

§

¶The Friers Prologue.

THis worthy limitour, this noble Frere

He made alway a maner louring chere

Vpon the Sompner, but for honeste

No villaines word as yet to him spake he:

But at the last he said to the wife,

Dame, God yeue you right good life,

Ye haue touched here, all so mote I the,

In schole matter, a full great difficulte,

Ye haue said much thing right well I say:

But dame, here as we riden by the way

Vs needeth not to speaken but of game,

And let authorities a Gods name

To preaching, and to schoole of clargie.

But if it like vnto this companie,

I woll you of a Sompner tell a game,

Parde ye may well know by the name,

That of a Sompner may no good be said.

I pray that none of you be euill apaid:

A Sompner is a renner vp and doun

With maundements for fornicatioun,

And is ybeat at euery tounes end.

Tho spake our host & said: sir ye should ben hend

And curteis, as a man of your estate,

In this company we woll no debate:

Telleth your tale, and let the Sompner be.

Nay (qd. the Sompner) let him say to me

What so him list: when it cometh to my lote,

By God I shall him quite euery grote,

I shall him tell which a great honour

It is to be a flattering limitour,

And eke of many another manner crime,

Which needeth not to rehearse at this time,

And of his office I shall him tell ywis.

Our host answerd: peace, no more of this,

And afterward he said vnto the Frere,

Tell forth your tale mine owne maister dere.

¶The Freres Tale.

THE Sompner and the Devil meeting on the way, after conference, become sworn brethren, and to Hell they go together. A covert invective against the Bribery of the Spiritual Courts in those dayes.

WHylome there was dwelling in my countre

An Archdeacon, a man of high degre,

That boldly did execution

In punishing of fornication,

Of witchcraft, and eke of baudrie,

Of defamation, and aduoutrie,

Of church reues, and of testaments,

Of contracts, and lacke of sacraments,

Of vsurie, and of simonie also:

But certes letcherours did he much wo,

They shoulden sing, if they weren hent,

And small tythers they were foule yshent,

If any person would vpon hem plaine,

There might assert hem no pecunial paine

For small tithes, and small offering,

He made the people pitously to sing:

For ere the bishop caught hem with his hooke

They were in the Archdeacons booke,

And then had he (through his jurdiction)

Power to done on hem correction.

He had a Sompner ready to his hond,

A s [...]ier boy was there none in Englond:

For subtilly he had his espiaile,

That taught him where he might auaile.

He couth spare of letchours one or two,

To teachen him to foure and twenty mo:

For thogh this sompner wood were as an hare,

To tell his harlottry I woll not spare,

For we ben out of his correction,

They have of vs no juridiction,

Ne neuer shullen, tearme of all her liues.

Peter so ben women of the stewes,

(Qd. this Sompner) yput out of our cure.

Peace with mischance & with misauenture

Said our host, and let him tell his tale,

Now telleth forth and let the Sompner gale,

Ne spareth not mine owne maister dere.

This false theef, this sompner (qd. the frere)

Had alway bauds ready to his hond,

As any hauke to lure in Englond,

That telleth him all the secre they knew,

For her acquaintance was not come anew,

They weren his approvers priuely,

He tooke himselfe a great profit thereby,

His maister knew not alway what he wan:

Without maundement, a leaud man

He coud summon, on paine of Christs curse,

And they were glad to fillen his purse,

And maden him great feasts at the nale.

* And right as Iudas had purses smale

[Page] And was a theefe, right such a theefe was he.

His maister had but halfe his dutie,

He was (if I shall yeue him his laud)

A theefe, a sompner, and eke a baud.

He had eke wenches of his retinue,

That whether sir Robert or sir Hue,

Or Iohn, or Rafe, or who so that it were

That lay by hem, they told it in his eare.

Thus were the wenches and he of one assent,

And he would fetch a fained maundement,

And summon hem to the chapiter both two,

And pill the man, and let the wench go:

Then would he say, friend I shall for thy sake

Do striken thee out of our letters blake,

Thou dare no more as in this case trauaile:

I am thy friend there I may thee auaile.

Certaine he knew of bribries mo,

Than possible is to tell in yeares two:

For in this world nis dog for the how,

That can an hurt deere from an whole know,

Bet than the Sompner knew a slie letchour,

Or auouter, or els any paramour:

For that was the fruit of all his rent,

Therefore on it he set all his intent.

And so befell, that once on a day

This Sompner waiting euer on his pray,

Rode to summon an old widdow a ribibe,

Faining a cause, for he would haue a bribe,

And happed that he saw beforne him ride

A gay yeoman vnder a forrest side:

A bow he bare, and arrows bright and shene,

He had vpon him a courtpie of greene,

An hat vpon his head with strings blacke.

Sir (qd. this Sompner) haile & well itake.

Welcome (qd. he) and euery good fellaw,

Whider ridest thou vnder ye green wood shaw

Said this yeoman, wolt thou ferre to day?

This Sompner him answerd, & said: nay,

Here fast by (qd. he) is mine intent

To riden for to reysen vp a rent

That longeth vnto my lords dutie.

Art thou then a baylie? Yea qd. he.

He durst not then for very filth and shame

Say that he was a Sompner for the name.

Depardieur, qd. this yeoman lefe brother,

Thou art a bayly, and I am another,

I am vnknowne, as in this countre,

Of thine acquaintance I woll pray thee,

And eke of brotherhead, if that thou lift,

I haue gold and siluer in my chist:

If that ye hap to come in our shire,

All shall be thine, right as thou wolt desire.

Grant mercy (qd. this sompner) by my faith.

Euerich in other his truth laith,

For to be sworne brethren till they dey,

And with yt word they riden forth her wey,

This sompner with yt was as ful of iangles,

As full of venome, as ben these wariangles,

And euer requiring vpon euery thing.

Brother qd. he, where is your dwelling,

Another day if that I should you seech?

This yeoman him answerd in soft speech:

Brother qd. he, ferre in the North countre,

Whereas I hope sometime I shall thee see,

Or we depart I shall thee so well wisse,

That of mine house thou shalt neuer misse.

Now brother qd. the sompner, I you pray

Teach me, while we riden by the way,

(Sith that ye ben a bayly as am I)

Some subteltie, tell me faithfully

In mine office how I may most win,

And spare not for conscience ne for sin,

But as my brother, tell me how done ye,

Now by my trouth brother deare said he,

As I shall tellen thee a faithfull tale,

My wages been full strait and full smale,

My lord is hard to me and daungerous,

And mine office full laborious:

And therefore by extortion I leue

Forsooth by all that men woll me yeue,

Algate by sleight or by violence:

From yeare to yeare I win all my dispence,

I can no better tellen faithfully.

Now certes (qd. the Sompner) so fare I,

I spare not to taken God it wote:

* But if it be too heauy or too hote,

That I may getten in counsaile priuily,

No manner conscience of that haue I,

Nere mine extortion, I might not liuen,

Of such yapes woll I not be shriuen:

Stomacke ne conscience know I none,

I shrew all these shrift fathers euerychone,

Well be we met by God and sweet S. Iame,

But leue brother, tell me thy name

Qd. this Sompner: in this meane while

This yeoman gan a little for to smile.

Brother qd. he, wolt thou yt I thee tell?

I am a fiend, my dwelling is in hell,

And here I ride about my purchasing,

To wete where I may get any thing:

My purchasing is theffect of all my rent,

Looke how thou ridest for the same intent

To win good, thou reckest neuer how,

Right so fare I, for ride woll I now

Vnto the worlds end for to pray.

Ah (qd. this sompner) what do ye say,

I wend ye were a yeoman truly,

Ye haue a mans shape as well as I,

Haue ye a figure then determinate

In hell, there ye ben in your estate?

Nay certainly (qd. he) there haue we none,

But when vs liketh we can take vs one,

Or els make to you seeme: we ben shape

Sometime like a man, or like an ape,

Or like an Angell can I ride or go:

It is no wonder thing though it be so,

A lousie iugler can deceiue thee,

And parde can I more craft than hee.

Why qd. ye Sompner, ride ye then or gone

In sundry shape, and not alway in one?

For we (qd. he) woll vs such forme make,

As most able is our preyes for to take.

What maketh you to haue al his labour?

Full many a cause lefe sir Sompnour

Said this fiend, But all thing hath time,

The day is short, and it is passed prime,

And yet ne got I nothing in this day,

I woll entend to winning, if I may,

And not entend our wits to declare:

For brother mine, thy wits ben all too bare

To vnderstand all, though I would tell thee,

But for thou askest why labouren we:

[Page] For sometime be we Gods instruments

And meanes to done his commaundments

What that him lust, on his creatures,

In diuers art and in diuers figures:

Withouten him we haue no might certaine,

If that him list to stonden there againe,

And sometime at our praier haue we leue,

Only the body, and not the soule to greue:

Witnesse of Iob, whom we deden wo.

And sometime haue we might of both two,

This is to saine, of body and soule eke,

And sometime we ben suffered for to seeke

Vpon a man, and done his soule vnrest,

And not his body, and all is for the best

When he withstandeth our temptation,

It is a cause of his saluation,

Albeit that it was not our intent

He should be safe, but that we wold him hent,

And sometime be we seruaunts vnto man,

As to the archbishop saint Dunstan

And to the Apostle eke seruaunt was I.

Yet tell me (qd. this Sompner) faithfully,

Make ye you new bodies thus alway

Of elements? the fiend answered nay:

Sometime we faine, and sometime we arise

With dead bodies, and that in sundry wise,

And speake as renably, faire, and well,

As the Phitonesse did to Samuell:

And yet would some men say it was not he.

I do not force of your diuinite,

But a thing I warne thee, I woll not yape,

Thou wolt algates wete how we be shape:

Thou shalt hereafterward (my brother dere)

Come, where thee needeth not of me to lere,

For thou shalt by thine owne experience

Conne in the chare the rede of this sentence

Bet than Virgill, while he was on liue,

Or Daunt also. Now let vs ride bliue,

For I woll hold company with thee,

Till it be so that thou forsake mee.

Nay (qd. this Sompner) yt shall not betide,

I am a yeoman knowen full wide:

My trouth wol I hold to thee, as in this caas

For though thou were the deuill Sathanas,

My trouth woll I hold to my brother

As I am sworne, and ech of vs to other,

For to be true brother in this caas,

And brother, we gone to our purchaas.

Take thou thy part, that men woll ye yeue,

And I shal mine, and thus shall we both leue.

And if that any of vs haue more than other,

Let him be true, and part it with his brother.

I graunt (qd. the deuill) by my fay,

And with that word they riden forth her way,

And right at them ring of the tounes end

(To which ye sompner shope him for to wend)

They saw a cart that charged was with hay,

Which that a carter droue forth on his way,

Deepe was the way, for which the cart stood:

This carter smote, & striued as he were wood,

Heit scot, heit brok, wt spare ye for ye stones,

The fiend (qd. he) you fetch body & bones,

As ferforth as euer ye were yfoled,

So much wo as I haue for you tholed,

The deuill haue all, both hors, cart, and hay.

Qd. this Sompner here shal we haue a pray

And nere y• fiend he drew, as nought ne were

Full priuily, and rouned in his eare:

Hearken brother, hearken by thy faith

Hearest not thou what the carter saith?

Hent it anon, for he hath yeue it thee,

Both hay and cart, and eke his caples three,

Nay (qd. the deuill) God wot neuer a dele,

It is not his intent trust me wele,

Aske him thy selfe, if thou trowest not mee,

Or els stint a while and thou shalt see.

This carter thacked his hors on the croupe,

And they begun to draw and to stoupe.

Heit now (qd. he) yt Iesus Christ you blesse,

And all his hondy werke, both more and lesse:

That was well it wight mine own liard boy,

I pray God saue thee and saint Loy,

Now is my cart out of the slow parde.

Lo brother (qd. the fiend) what told I thee,

Here may ye seene mine owne deare brother

* The carle spake o thing but he thought another

Let vs goe forth about our voyage,

Here win we nothing vpon cariage.

When they comen somwhat out of the toun,

This Sompner to his brother gan to roune:

Brother, qd. he, here wonneth an old rebecke,

That had almost as lefe to lese her necke,

As for to yeue a penny of her good,

I woll haue xii. d. tho that she were wood,

Or I woll sompne her to our office,

And yet God wot of her I know no vice:

But for thou canst not, as in this countre

Win thy cost, take here ensample of me.

This Sompner clappeth at ye widdows gate,

Come out he saied thou old veritrate:

I trow thou hast some frere or priest withthee.

Who clappeth there said this wife, benedicite,

God saue you sir, what is your sweet will?

I haue (qd. he) in summons of thee a bill,

Vp paine of cursing, looke that thou bee

To morrow before our Archdeacons knee,

To answere to the court, of certaine things.

Now lord (qd. she) Iesu king of kings

So wisely helpe me, as I ne may,

I haue ben sicke, and that full many a day.

I may not goe so ferre (qd. she) ne ride,

But I be dead, so pricketh it my side,

May I not aske a libell sir Sompnour,

And answere there by my proctour

To such thing as men would apposen me.

Yea qd. this Sompner, pay anon let see

Twelue pence to me, and I will thee acquite,

I shall no profit haue hereof but lite.

My maister hath the profit and not I,

Come of, and let me ridden hastily:

Giue me xii. pence, I may no lenger tary.

Twelue pence qd. she, lady saint Mary,

So wisely helpe me out of care and sin,

This wide world though I should it win,

Ne haue I not xii. d. within my ho [...]d:

Ye know well that I am poore and old,

Kith your almesse on me poore wretch,

Nay then qd. he, the foule fiend me fetch,

If I thee excuse, thogh thou shouldest be spilt.

Alas qd. she, God wot I haue no guilt,

Pay me qd. he, or by sweet saint Anne

I woll streight beare away the new panne

[Page] For debt, which thou owest me of old,

When thou madest thy husbond cokold,

I paied at home for thy correction.

Thou liest (qd. she) by my saluation,

Ne was I neuer ere now, widdow ne wife,

Sompned vnto your court in all my life:

Ne neuer I nas but of body trew,

Vnto the deuill blacke and rough of hew

Yeue I thy body and my panne also.

And when the deuill heard her curse so

Vpon her knees, he said in this manere:

Now Mably, mine owne mother dere

Is this your will in earnest that ye sey?

The deuill (qd. she) fet him ere he dey,

And panne and all, but he woll him repent.

Nay old stotte, that is not mine intent,

Qd. this Sompner, for to repent mee

For any thing that I haue had of thee,

I would I had thy smocke and euery cloth.

Now brother (qd. the deuill) be not wroth:

Thy body and thy pan is mine by right,

Thou shalt with me to hell yet to night,

Where thou shalt knowen of our priuitie

More than a maister of diuinitie.

And with that word ye foule fiend him hent

Body and soule, he with the deuill went,

Where yt Sompners haue their heritage,

And God that made after his image

Mankind, saue and guide vs all and some,

And leaue ye Sompner good man to become.

Lordings I coud haue told you (qd. this frere)

Had I had leisure, of this Sompner here,

After the text of Christ, Poule, and Ihon

And of other doctours many one,

Such paines, as your hearts might agrise,

Albeit so, that no tongue may deuise,

Though that I might a thousand winter tell

The paines of that cursed hous of hell,

But for to keepe vs from that cursed place,

Wake we, and pray Iesu of his grace,

So keepe he us from the temper Sathanas

Hearkneth this word, beware as in this caas

* The Lion sitteth in await alway

To slea the innocent, if that he may.

Disposeth aye your hearts to withstond

The fiend, that you would make thral & bond.

* He may not tempt you ouer your might,

For Christ woll be your champion & knight,

And prayeth, that the Sompner him repent

Of his misdeed ere that the fiend him hent.

§

¶The Sompners Prologue.

THis Sompner in his stirrops high stood,

Vpon this Frere his hert was so wood,

That like an Aspen leafe he quoke for ire:

Lordings (qd. he) but one thing I desire,

I you beseech, that of your courtesie,

Sithens ye han heard this false Frere lie,

As suffereth me I may my tale tell.

This Frere boasteth that he knoweth hell,

And God wot that is little wonder,

Freres and fiends ben but little asunder.

For parde, ye han oft time heard tell,

How that a Frere rauished was to hell

In spirit once by a visioun,

And as an Angell led him vp and doun,

To shewen him the paines that there were:

In all the place saw he not a Frere,

Of other folke he saw ynow in wo.

Vnto the Angell spake the Frere tho:

Now sir (qd. he) han Freres such a grace,

That none of hem shall come in this place?

Yes (qd. this Angell) many a millioun:

And vnto Sathanas lad he him adoun.

And now hath Sathanas such a taile

Broader than of a Caricke is the saile:

Hold vp thy taile thou Sathanas (qd. he)

Shew forth thine erse, and let the Frere see

Whereas is the neast of Freres in this place.

And ere that halfe a furlong way of space

(Right as Bees swarmen out of an Hiue)

Out of the Deuils erse they gan driue

Twenty thousand Freres all on a rout,

And throughout hell swarmed all about,

And come ayen, as fast as they might gone,

And into his erse they crepten euerichone:

He clapt his taile ayen, and lay still.

This Frere, when he looked had his fill

Vpon the turments of this sorry place,

His spirit God restored of his grace

Vnto his body ayen, and he awoke,

But nathelesse, yet for feare he quoke,

So was the deuills erse aye in his mind:

That is his heritage of very kind.

God saue you all, saue this cursed Frere,

My Prologue woll I end in this mannere.

¶The Sompners Tale.

A Begging Fryar coming to a Farmers house, who lay sick, obtaineth of him a certain Legacy, which must be equally divided among his Covent. A requital to the Friar, shewing their cozenage, loytering, impudent begging, and hypocritical praying.

LOrdings, there is in Yorkshire as I ghesse,

A marish Countrey called Holdernesse,

In which there went a limitour about

To preach, and eke to beg it is no doubt:

And so befell that on a day this Frere

Had preached in a church in his manere,

And specially abouen euery thing

Excited he the people in his preaching,

To trentals, and to yeuen for Gods sake,

Wherewith men mighten holy houses make,

There as diuine seruice is honoured,

Not there as it is wasted and deuoured,

Ne there it needeth not to be yeuen,

As to possessioners that mowen els leuen,

Thonked be God, in wele and aboundance

Trentals deliuereth (qd. he) fro pennance

Her friends soules, as well old as yong

If that they be hastily ysong,

[Page] Not for to hold a Priest jolly and gay,

(He singeth not but one Messe a day)

Deliuereth out (qd. he) anon the soules.

Full hard it is, with fleshhooke or with oules

To be yclawed, or to bren or bake:

Now speedeth you hastily for Christs sake.

And when this Frere had said all his intent,

With qui cum patre, forth his way he went,

When folk in church had yeue him what hem lest

He went his way, no lenger would he rest,

With scrip and tipped staffe, ytucked hie:

In euery hous he gan to pore and prie,

And begged meale and cheese, or els corne:

His fellow had a staffe tipped with horne,

A paire of tables all of Iuory,

A pointell ypolished fetously,

And wrote alway the names as he stood

Of all folke that yaue hem any good,

Askaunce that he woulden for hem prey.

Yeue vs a bushell Wheat, Malt, or Rey,

A Gods kichell, or a trippe of Chese,

Or els what ye list, I may not chese:

A Gods halfepenny, or a Masse peny,

Or yeue vs of your Brawne, if ye haue any,

A dagon of your blanket, leue dame,

Our suster deare, lo here I write your name,

Bacon or Beefe, or such thing as ye find.

A sturdy harlot went him aye behind,

That was her hostes man, and bare a sacke,

And that men yaue hem, laied it on his backe.

And when he was out at the dore, anone

He plained away the names euerichone,

That he before had written in his tables:

He serued hem with nifles and with fables.

Nay there thou liest Sompner (qd. yt Frere)

Peace (qd. our host) for Christs mother dere,

Tell forth thy tale, and spare it not at all.

So thriue I (qd. the Sompner) so I shall.

So long he went fro hous to hous, till he

Came to an hous, there as he was wont to be

Refreshed more than in a hundred placis:

Sicke lay the good man, whose the place is,

Bedred vpon a couch low he lay:

Deus hic (qd. he) O Thomas friend good day,

Saied this Frere all courteously and soft,

Thomas God yeeld it you: for full oft

Haue I vpon this bench faren full weale,

Here haue I eaten many a merry meale.

And fro the bench he droue away the cat,

And laied adoune his potent and his hat,

And eke his scrip, and set him soft adoune:

His fellow was go walked into the toune

Forth with his knaue into that hostelrie,

Where as he shope him that like night to lie.

O deare maister (qd. this sicke man)

How haue ye faren sithen March began,

I saw you not this fourtenight and more.

God wot (qd. he) laboured haue I full sore,

And specially for thy saluation

Haue I saied many a precious orison.

And for our other friends God hem blesse.

I haue this day ben at your church at messe,

And said a sermon after my simple wit,

Not all after the text of holy writ,

For it is hard to you, as I suppose,

And therfore I woll teach you all the glose.

Glosing is a glorious thing certain

For letter slaeth, as we clerkes sain.

There haue I hem taught to ben charitable,

And spend her good there as it is reasonable.

And there I saw our dame, ah where is she?

Yonder in the yard I trow she be

Saied this man, and she woll come anon.

Eye maister, welcome ye be by saint Ihon

Saied this wife, how fare ye heartily?

This Frere ariseth vp full courteously,

And her imbraceth in his armes narrow,

And kisseth her sweet, & chirketh as a sparrow

With his lips: dame (qd. he) I fare right wele.

As he that is your seruaunt euery dele.

Thanked be God that you haue soul and life,

Yet saw I not this day so faire a wife

In all the whole church, so God saue me.

Yea God amend all faults sir (qd. she)

Algates welcome ye be, by my fay:

Graunt mercy dame, yt haue I found alway.

But of your great goodnesse, by your leue

I woll pray you that ye not you greue,

I woll with Thomas speake a little throw:

These curates ben full negligent and slow

To gropen tenderly a mans conscience.

In shrift, and in preaching is my diligence,

And to studie on Peters words and Poules,

I walke to fishen Christen mens soules,

To yeeld Iesu Christ his proper rent,

To spread his words is all mine intent.

Now by your leaue deare maister (qd. she)

Chideth him well for saint Charite:

He is aye angry as a pissemire.

Though that he haue all that he can desire,

Thogh I him wrie a night, & make him warm,

And ouer him lay my leg or mine arm,

He groneth as our bore that lieth in the stie:

Other disport of him right none haue I,

I may not please him in no manner caas.

O Thomas, ie vous die, Thomas Thomas:

This maketh ye fiend, this must ben amended.

Ire is a thing that God highly defended,

And thereof woll I speake a word or two.

Now maister (qd. the wife) ere that I go,

What woll ye dine? I woll go thereabout.

Now dame (qd. he) ie vous die sanz dout

Haue I of a Capon but the liuer,

And of your white bread but a shiuer,

And after that a rosted Pigs head

(But I nold not for me no beast were dead)

Then had I ynow for my suffisaunce:

I am a man of little sustenaunce.

My spirit hath his fostring in the Bible,

My body is aye so ready and so penible

To wake, that my body is destroied.

I pray you dame, be ye nought annoied,

Though I so friendly you my counsaile shew,

By God I now haue told it but a few.

Now sir (qd. she) but one word ere you go,

My child is dead within these weekes two,

Soone after that ye went out of this toun.

His death saw I by reuelatioun,

Saied this Frere, at home in our Dortour

I dare well saine, ere that halfe an hour

After his death, I saw him borne to blisse

In mine auision, God me so wisse,

[Page] So did our Sexten, and our Fermerere,

That han been true Freres this fiftie yere:

They may now, God be thanked of his loue,

Maken her Iubelie, and walken alone.

And vp I arose, and all our couent eke,

With many a teare trilling on our cheeke:

Withouten noise or clattering of bels,

Te deum was our song, and nothing els,

Saue that to Christ I saied an orison,

Thanking him of my reuelation:

For sir and dame, trusteth me right well,

Our orisons been more effectuell,

And more we seene of Christs secret things,

Than borell folke, although they were kings.

We liue in pouerte, and in abstinence,

And borell folke in richesse and dispence,

In meat and drinke, and in her foule delite:

We han this worldly lust all in despite.

Lazar and Diues liueden diuersely,

And diuers guerdons had they thereby.

* Who so woll pray, he must fast and be cleane,

And fat his soule, and make his body leane.

We fare as saieth the Apostle, cloth and food

Sufficeth vs, though they be not full good:

The cleanenesse and the fasting of vs Freres,

Maketh that Christ accepteth our prayeres.

Lo Moises, fortie daies and fortie night

Fasted, ere that the high God of his might

Spake with him in the mount of Sinay:

With empty wombe, fasting many a day,

Receiued he the law, that was written

With Gods finger, and Hely well witten:

In mount Oreb, ere he had any speech

With the high God, that is our soules leech,

He fasted long, and was in contemplaunce.

Aaron, that had the temple in gouernaunce,

And eke the other priests euerichone

Into the temple when they should gone

To praien for the people, and doen seruice,

They nold drinke in no manner wise

No drinke, that dronke might hem make,

But there in abstinence pray and wake,

Least that they deiden: take heed what I say,

But they be sober that for the people pray,

Ware that I say no more: for it sufficeth.

Our Lord Iesu, as holy writ deuiseth,

Yaue vs ensample of fasting and prayeres:

Therefore we Mendicantes, we silly Freres

Ben wedded to pouert and continence,

To charity, humblenesse, and abstinence,

To persecution for rightwisnesse,

To weeping, misericorde, and cleanenesse.

And therefore may ye see that our prayeres

(I speake of vs mendicants, we Freres)

Ben to the high God more acceptable

Than yours, with your feast at your table.

Fro Paradice first, if I shall not lie,

Was man chased out for his gluttonie,

And chast was man in Paradice certain.

But herken now Thomas what I shall sain,

I haue no text thereof, as I suppose,

But I find it in manner of a glose,

That specially our sweet Lord Iesus

Spake this by Freres, when he saied thus.

Blessed be they that poore in spirit been:

And so forth all the Gospell may ye seen,

Whether it be liker our perfection,

Or hers that swimmen in possession.

Fie on her pompe, and on her gluttonie,

And on her leaudnesse, I hem defie.

Me thinketh they ben like Iouinian,

Fat as a Whale, and walking as a Swan,

As vinolent as bottle in the spence,

Her prayer is of full little reuerence:

When they for souls say the Psalme of Dauid

Lo bouffe they sain (Cor meum eructauit.)

Who followeth Christs Gospell & his lore

But we? that humble be, chast, and poore.

Workers of gods word, and not auditours.

Therefore right as an hauke at a sours

Vp springeth into the aire, so prayeres

Of charitable and cahst busie Freres,

Maken her sours vp to Gods eares two.

Thomas Thomas, so mote I ride or go,

And by that lord that cleaped is saint Yue,

Ne thou our broder wer, thou shouldst not thriue.

For in our Chapiter pray we day & night

To Christ, that he thee send health and might

Thy body for to welden hastily.

God wot (qd. he) nothing therof feele I

As help me Christ: for within few years

Haue I spended vpon diuers maner Freres

Well many a pound, yet fare I neuer the bet,

Certain my good haue I almost beset:

Farewell my good, for it is almost ago.

The frere answerd, o Thomas dost thou so?

What needeth thee diuers Freres to sech?

What needeth him that hath a perfit lech,

To sechen other leches in the town?

Your inconstance is your confusion,

Hold ye me then, or els our Couent,

To prayen for you, insufficient?

Thomas, that iape nis not worth a Mite,

Your maladie is for we haue to lite.

A, yeue that couent halfe a quarter Otes:

And yeue that couent four & twenty gortes,

And yeue that Frere a penny, and let him go:

Nay, nay Thomas, it may nothing be so.

What is a farthing worth parted in twelue?

Lo, ech thing that is oned in himselue

Is more strong than when it is so scattered.

Thomas, of me thou shalt not be iflattered,

Thou wolst haue all our labour for nought.

The hie God, yt all this world hath wrought

* Saith, that ye workman is worthy his hire

Thomas, naught of your treasure I desire

As for my self, but that all our couent

To pray for you is aie so diligent:

And holy for to builden Christ owne chirch.

Thomas, if ye woll learne for to wirch,

Of building vp of Chirches may ye sinde

If it be good, in Thomas life of Inde.

Ye liggen here full of anger and ire

With which the deuil set your heart on fire.

And chiden here this holy innocent

Your wife, that is so good and patient.

And therfore trow me Thomas if ye lest,

Ne chide not with thy wife, as for the best:

And beare this word away by thy faith.

Touching such thing lo what the wise saith:

* Within thy house be thou no Lion:

To thy subjects do thou none oppression:

[Page] Ne make not thine acquaintance to flee.

And yet Thomas, eftsones charge I thee,

Beware of her that in thy bosom sleepeth,

Ware of the serpent, that so slily creepeth,

Vnder the grasse, and stingeth full subtilly:

Beware my sonne, and hearken patiently,

That twenty thousand men han lost her liues

For striuing with her lemmans & her wiues.

Now since you haue so holy and meek a wife,

What nedeth you Thomas to make strife?

* There nis iwis no serpent so cruell

(When men treden on his taile) ne halfe so fel,

As a woman is, when she hath caught an ire,

Vengeance is then all her desire.

Ire is a sinne, one of the greatest of seuen,

Abhominable unto the high God of heven,

And to himself it is destruction,

This every lewd Vicar and Parson

* Can say, how ire engendreth homecide,

Ire is in sooth the executour of pride.

I could of ire say so much sorrow,

That my tale should last till to morrow.

And therfore I pray God both day and night

That to an irous man he send little might.

* It is great harme, and eke great pitee

To see an irous man in high degree.

Whiledom ther was an irous potestate,

As saith Seneck, that during his estate

Vpon a day out riden knights two,

And as fortune would it should be so,

That one of hem came home, yt other nought:

Anon the knight before the judge is brought,

That said thus: thou hast thy fellow slain,

For which I deme thee to the death certain.

And to another knight commanded he,

Go, lead him to the death I charge thee.

And hapned as they went by the wey

Toward the place ther as he should dey,

The knight came, which men wend had be ded

Then thought they that it was the best reed.

To lede hem both to the Iudge again:

They saiden lord, the knight hath not slain

His fellow, here he stant hole aliue.

Ye shullen be dead (qd. he) so mot I thriue:

That is to say, both one, two, and three,

And to the first knight, right thus spake he.

I damned thee, thou must algate be dead:

And thou must also leese needs thyn head,

For thou art cause why thy fellow dieth.

And to ye third knight, right thus he sayeth,

Thou hast not don yt I commanded thee.

And thus he lete do fle hem all three.

Irous Cambises was eke drunkelew,

And aie delighted him to been a shrew,

And so befell, a lord of his meine,

That loued well vertuous moralite,

Said on a day betwixt hem two right thus:

A lord is lost, if he be aught vicious,

* And dronkennesse eke is a foule record

Of any man, and namely of a lord.

* There is many an ey and many an ear

A waiting on a lord, he not whear.

For Gods loue drinketh temperatly:

* Wine maketh a man to lese wretchedly

His mind, and his limbes euerichone.

The reuers shalt thou see (qd. he) anon,

And preue it by thyn own experience,

That wine ne doth to folke no such offence.

There nis no wine bereaueth me my might

Of hond, of foote, ne of mine eyesight.

And for despight he dronke mochell more

An hundred times than he did before,

And right ay, this cursed irous wretch

Let this knights son beforne him fetch

Commanding him he shuld beforn him stond:

And suddenly he took his how in hond,

And vp the string he plucked to his eare,

And with an arrow he slough the child thear,

Now wither haue I a siker hond or none,

Qd. he? Is all my might and minde agon?

Hath wine bereuen me mine iyen sight?

What shuld I tel the answer of y• knight?

His sonne was slain, ther is no more to say,

* Beware therefore, with lords how ye play,

Sing Placebo, and I shall if I can,

But if it be vnto a poore man:

To a poore man one should his vices tell,

But not to a lord, though he should go to hell.

Lo irous Cirus, thilke Percien,

How destroyed he the riuer of Gisen?

For that an horse of his was dreint therein,

When as he went Babilon to win:

He made that the riuer was so small,

That men might ride and waden ouer all.

Lo, what said he, that so well teach can,

* Ne be no fellow to none irous man,

Ne with no wood man walke by the way,

Lest thou repent, I woll no further say.

Now Thomas leue brother, leaue thyn ire,

Thou shalt me find as iust, as is a squire:

Hold not the deuils knife aie in thine heart,

Thine anger doth thee all to sore smart,

But shew to me all thy confession.

Nay, (qd. the sicke man) by saint Simon

I have be shriue this day of my Curate

I have told him wholy mine estate.

It needeth no more to speake of it, saieth he,

But if me list of mine humilite.

Yeue me then of thy gold tomake our cloister

qd. he, for many a muskle & many an Oister,

When other men haue been full well at ease,

Hath been our food, our cloister for to rease:

And yet God wot, vnneath the foundament

Parformed is, ne of our pauement

Is not a tile yet within our wones:

By God we owen fourty pound for stones,

Now help Thomas, for him yt harrowed hell,

For els mote we needs al our books sell,

And if you lacke our predication,

Then goeth this world all to destruction.

For who so woll fro this world vs bereue,

So God me saue, Thomas by your leue,

He would bereaue out of this world the son.

For who can techen & worchen as we con?

And that is not of little time (qd. he)

But sith Helie was, or Helise,

Han freres been, that find I of record

In charitie, ithonked be our Lord,

[Page] Now Thomas, help for saint Charitie:

And down anon he sitteth on his kne.

This sicke man waxeth nie wood for ire

He would the frere had been on a fire

With his false dissimulation.

Such things as been in my possession

(Qd. he) that may I giue, and none other:

Ye sain me thus, how yt I am your brother.

Ye certes (qd. this frere) trusteth me wele,

I tooke our dame our letter and our sele.

Now (qd. he) wel, and somwhat shall I yeue

Vnto your holy couent while I liue:

And in thine hond thou shalt it haue anone

On this condition, and other none,

That you depart it so, my leue brother,

That euery frere haue as much as another:

This shalt thou sweare on thy profession

Without fraud or cauilation.

I swere it, qd. she frere, by my faith:

And therwithall his hond in his he layth,

Lo here my faith, in me shall be no lacke.

Then put thine hond adowne by my backe

Said this man, and grope well behind,

Beneath my buttock there thou shalt find

A thing, that I haue hid in priuitie:

Ah, thought the frere, that shall goe with me.

Adown he shofth his hond to the clift,

In hope to find there some good gift.

And when this sicke man felt this frere

About his tewell, groping here and there,

Amid his hond he let the frere a fart,

There nis no capell drawing in a cart,

That might haue let a fart of such a soun.

The frere vp start, as doth a wood Lioun:

A false churle, qd. the frere, for Gods bones,

This hast thou in dispite doe for the nones:

Thou shalt abie this fart, if I may.

His meinie that heard of this affray,

Came leaping in, and chased out the frere,

And forth he goeth with a full angry chere,

And fet his fellow, there as lay his store:

He looked as he were a wilde Bore,

He grinted his teeth, so was he wroth

A sturdie pace down to the court he goth

Whereas wonned a man of great honour

To whom that he was alway confessour:

This worthy man was lord of that village.

This freer came, as he were in a rage,

Where as this lord sat eating at his bord:

Vnnethes might the frere to speake o word,

Till at the last he said, God you see.

This lord gan looke, and said Benedicite

What frere Ihon, what maner world is this?

I see well that something is amis,

* Ye look as though ye wood wer full of theuis:

Sit downe, and tell me what your griefe is,

And it shall be amended, if that I may.

I haue, qd. he, had a dispite to day,

God yeeld it you, adown in your village,

That in this world is none so poore a page,

That he nolde haue abhominatioun

Of that I haue receiued in your town:

And yet me grieueth nothing so sore,

As that the old churle, with locks hore

Blasphemed hath our holy couent eke.

Now maister, qd. this lord, I you beseke.

No maister sir, qd. he, but seruitour,

Though I haue had in schoole that honour.

God liketh not, that men vs Rabie call

Neither in market, ne in your large hall.

No force, qd. he, but tell me of your griefe.

Sir, qd. this Frere, an odious mischiefe

This day is betide, to mine order, and to me,

And so per consequens to each degree

Of holy church, God amend it sone.

Sir, qd. the lord, ye wot what is to done:

Distemper you not, you be my confessour.

Ye be the salt of the earth, and the savour,

For Gods loue your pacience now hold,

Telleth me your griefe: and he anon him told

As ye han heard before, ye wot well what.

The ladie of the house, aie still sat

Till she had heard fully what the Frere said.

Eye gods mother, qd. she, and blisful maid:

Is there nought els, tell me faithfully?

Madame, qd. he, how thinketh ye therby?

How that me thinketh? so God me speed,

I say a churle hath done a churles deed:

What should I say, God let him neuer the,

His sick head is full of vanite:

I hold him in a manner of frensie.

Madam, qd. he, by God I shall not lye,

But I in any wise, may been on him awreke,

I shall slaunder him ouer all, where I speke:

That false blasphemour that charged me

To part it that might not departed be,

To euery man iliche, with mischance.

The lord sat still, as he were in a trance,

And in his heart he roled vp and down,

How that this churle had imaginatioun

To shew such a probleme to the frere.

Neuer erst or now heard I such a matere,

I trow the Deuill put it in his mind.

In all Arsmetricke there shall no man find

Beforne this day of such a question.

Who should make a demonstration,

That euery man should haue ilike his part

Of a sowne or fauour of a farte:

O nice proud churle, I beshrew thy face.

Lo sirs, qd. the lord, with hard grace,

Who euer heard of such a thing or now?

To euery man ilike, tell me how?

It is an impossible, it may not be,

Eye nice churle, God let hem neuer the.

The rombling of a fart, and euery soun,

Nys but of eyre reverberatioun,

And euer it wasteth little and little away:

There is no man can demen, by my fay,

If that it were departed equally.

What? lo my churle: lo, how shreudly

Vnto my confessour to day he spake,

I hold him certain a demoniake,

Now eteth your meat, & let the churle go play,

* Let him go hongen himselfe a deuil way.

Now stood the lords squire at the bord,

That carf his meat, and heard word by word

Of all thing, of which I haue you sayd.

My lord, qd. he, be ye not euill apaid:

I couth tell for a gowne cloth

To you sir frere, so that ye been not wroth,

How that this fart should euen idealed be

Amonges your couent, if it liketh thee.

[Page] Tel on (qd. ye lord) and thou shalt haue anon

A gown cloth, by God and by saint Iohn.

My lord (qd. he) when the weder is faire

Withouten winde, or perturbing of ayre,

Let bring a cart wheele here into this hall,

But looke well that he haue his spokes all,

Twelue spokes hath a cart whele commonly:

And bring me then xii. freres, wot ye why?

For thirteene is a couent as I gesse:

Your confessour here for his worthnesse

Shall performe vp the number of his couent.

Then shullen they knelen adoun by one assent,

And to euery spokes end in this manere

Full sadly lay his nose shall a frere:

Your noble confessour there, God him saue,

Shall hold his nose vpright vnder the naue,

Then shal this churle with bely stiffe & tought

As any tabour, hither been ibrought,

And set him on the whele right of this cart

Vpon the naue, and make him let a fart,

And ye shullen see, vp perill of my life,

By good prefe which is demonstratife,

That equally the sowne of it will wend,

And eke the stinke, vnto the spokes end.

Saue that this worthy man your confessour

(Because he is a man of great honour)

Shall haue the first fruits as reason is:

The noble vsage of freres yet is this,

The worthest man of hem shul first be serued:

And certainly, he hath it well deserued,

He hath to day taught vs so much good,

With preaching in the pulpet there he stood,

That I may vouchsafe, I say for mee,

He had the first smell of farts three,

And so would all his brethren hardely,

He bereth him so faire and holyly.

The lord, ye lady, & each man saue the frere,

Said that Ienkin spake in this matere

As well as Euclide did, or Ptholome,

Touching the churles sayd subtiltie,

And hie wit made him speake as he spake,

He nis no foole, ne no demoniake:

And Ienkin hath iwonne a new gowne,

My tale is done, we been almost at towne.

§

¶The Clerke of Oxenfords Prologue.

SIr Clerke of Oxenford our host said,

Ye ride as still and coy, as doth a maid

Were new spoused, sitting at the bord:

This day ne heard I of your mouth a word.

I trow that ye studie about some sophime:

* But Salomon saith, all thing hath time.

For Gods sake beth of better chere,

It is no time now to studie here.

Tell vs some merry tale by your fay:

For what man is entred into a play,

He needs mot vnto that play assent.

But preacheth not, as Freres done in Lent,

To make vs for our old sinnes to weep,

He that thy tale make vs not to sleep.

Tell vs some merry thing of auentures,

Your termes, your figures, and your colours

Keep hem in store, till so be that ye endite

Hie stile, as when men to kings do write.

Speake so plaine at this time, I you pray,

That we may vnderstond what ye say.

This worthy Clerke beningly answerd,

Host (qd. he) I am vnder your yerde,

Ye haue of vs as now the gouernance,

And therefore will I do you obeysance,

As farre as reason asketh hardely:

I woll you tell a tale, which that I

Learned at Padow, of a worthy clerke,

As preued is by his words and his werke.

He is now dead, and nailed in his chest,

I pray to God send his soule good rest.

Fraunces Petrarke, the laureat poet

Hight this ilke clerke, whose Rethorike sweet

Enlumined all Itaile of poetrie,

As Liuian did of Philosophy,

Or law or other art perticulere:

But death that wol not suffer vs dwellen here,

But as it were the twinkling of an eye,

Hem both hath slaine, and all we shall dye.

But for to tellen of this worthy man,

That taught me this tale, as I first began

I say that he first with hie stile enditeth

(Or he the body of his tale writeth)

A proheme, in which discriueth he

Piemont, and of Saluce the countre,

And speaketh of Apenniny the hilles hye,

That been the bounds of west Lumbardie:

And of mount Vesulus in speciall,

Where as the Poo, out of a well small

Taketh his first springing and his sours,

That Eastward euer increaseth in his cours

To Emelle ward, to Ferare, and to Venise,

The which a long time were to deuise.

And truly, as to my judgement,

Me thinketh it a thing impartinent,

Saue that him list conueyen his matere:

But this is his tale as ye shullen here.

§

¶The Clerke of Oxenfords Tale.

WAlter the Marquesse of Saluce proveth the patience of his wife Grisill, by three most sharp trials.

THere is in the West side of Itaile

Downe at the ro [...]e of Vesulus the cold,

A lustie plaine habundaunt of vitaile,

Wher many a town & tower thou maist behold

That founded were, in time of fathers old,

And many another delectable sight:

And Saluce this noble countre hight.

A marques whilom was in that lond,

As were his worthy elders him before,

And obeysant aye redy to his hond

Were all his lieges, both lesse and more:

Thus in delite he liued, and hath done yore

Beloued & drad, through favour of fortune

Both of his lords, and of his commune.

[Page]

Therwith he was, as to speak of linage

The gentilest iborne of all Lombardy,

A faire person, and strong, and yong of age,

And full of honour and curtesie:

Discreet inow, his countre for to gye

Saue that in some things he was to blame,

And Walter was this yong lords name.

I blame him thus, yt he considered nought

In time comming, what he might betide,

But on his lust present was all his thought,

And for to hauke and hunt on euery side:

Welny all other cures let he slide,

And eke he ne would (that was worst of all)

Wed no wife for ought that might befall.

Onely that point his people bare so sore,

That flockmele on a day to him they went,

And one of hem, that wisest was of lore

(Or els that the lord would best assent

That he should tel him wt his people ment,

Or els coud he well shew such matere)

He to the Marques said as ye shullen here.

O noble Marques, your humanite

Assureth vs and yeueth vs hardinesse,

As oft time as is necessite,

That we may to you tell our heuinesse:

Accepteth lord of your gentilnesse,

That we to you with pitous hert plaine,

And let your eares nat my voice disdaine.

All haue I not to done in this matere

More than another hath in this place,

Yet for as much, as ye my lord so dere

Haue alway shewed me fauour and grace,

I dare the better aske of you a space

Of audience, to shewen our request,

And ye my lord to done right as you lest

For certes lord: so well us liketh you

And all your werkes, and euer haue don, that we

Ne could our owne selfe deuisen how

We might more liuen in felicite:

Saue one thing lord, if it your will be,

That for to be a wedded man, you lest,

Then were your people in souerain herts rest.

Boweth your necke vnder the blisful yoke

Of souerainte, and not of seruise.

Which men clepen spousaile or wedlocke:

And thinketh lord, among your thouȝts wise,

For though we sleepe or wake, ronne, or ride,

* Aye fleeth the time, it wol no man abide.

And though your grene youth floure as yet,

* In crepeth age alway as still as stone,

And death manaseth euery age, and smite

In ech estate, for there escapeth none:

And also certaine, as we knowne echone,

That we shul die, and vncertaine we all

Ben of that day that death shall on vs fall.

Accepteth then of vs the true intent,

That neuer yet refused your hest,

And we wol all lord, if ye wol assent

Chese you a wife in short time, at the lest

Borne of the gentillest and the best

Of all this lond, so that it ought seme

Honour to god & you, as nere as we can deme.

Deliuer vs out of all this busie dred,

And take a wife, for hie Gods sake:

For if it so befell, as god forbed,

That thorogh death your linage should slake,

And that a strange successour should take

Your heritage, O wo were vs on liue:

Wherefore we pray you hastely to wiue.

Her meeke prayer and her pitious chere

Made the Marques for to haue pite.

Wol ye (qd. he) mine owne people dere

To that I never erst thought, constraine me?

I me rejoyced of my libertie,

That selden time is found in marriage,

There I was free, I mote ben in seruage.

But natheles, I see your true entent,

And trust vpon your wit, and haue done aye:

Wherfore of my free will I woll assent

To wedden me, as sone as euer I may.

But there, as ye haue profred me to day

To chese me a wife, I you release

That choice, & pray you of that profer cease.

* For God it wot, that children oft been

Vnlike her worthy eldes hem before,

Bounte commeth of God, & not of the streen,

Of which they be engendred and ibore:

I trust in gods bounte, and therefore

My marriage, mine estate, and rest

I him be take, he may don as him lest.

Let me alone in chesing of my wife,

That charge vpon my backe I woll endure:

But I you pray, and charge vpon your life,

That what wife I take, ye me ensure

To worship her whiles her life may dure,

In word and werke, both here and elswhere,

As she an Emperours doughter were.

And furthermore, thus shul ye swere, that ye

Against my choice shall neuer grutch nestriue.

For sith I shall forgo my liberte

At your request, as euer mote I thriue,

There as mine hert is set, there wol I wiue:

And but ye woll assent, in such manere,

I pray you speake no more in this matere.

With hearty will they sworne and assent

To all this thing, there said no wight nay:

Beseeching him of grace ere they went,

That he would hem graunt a certaine day

Of his spousaile, as soone as euer he may,

For yet alway the people somwhat dred,

Lest this Marques would no wife wed.

He graunted hem a day, such as him lest,

On which he wold be wedded sekerly:

And said he did all this at her request,

And they with humble entent full buxumely

Kneeling vpon her knees full reuerently

[Page] Him thonked all, and thus they han an end

Of her entent, and home ayen they wend.

And hereupon he took his officers

Commaunding for the feast to purvay,

And to his privie knights and squires

Such charge he yaue, as he list on hem lay:

And they to his commandement obey,

And ech of hem doth his diligence

To done to the feast all reverence.

Explicit prima pars, & sequitur pars secunda.

NOught ferre fro thilke place honorable,

Where this Marques shope his marriage,

There stood a thrope, of sight full delectable,

In which that poore folke of that village

Hadden her beasts and her herbigage,

And of her labour tooke her sustenance,

After that the earth yaue hem haboundance.

Among this poore folke there dwell a man,

Which that was holden poorest of hem all:

* But the high God somtime senden can

His grace unto a little oxe stall:

Ianicola men of that thrope him call.

A doughter had he faire ynough to sight,

And Grisilde this young maiden hight.

But for to speak of vertuous beaute,

Then was she one the fairest under sonne:

And full poorely ifostered was she:

No licorous lust was in her heart yronne:

Well ofter of the well than of the tonne

She dronke, and for she would vertue plese,

She knew well labour, but not idle ease.

But though this maid was tender of age,

Yet in the brest of her virginite

There was enclosed sad and ripe corage:

And in great reverence of charite

Her old pore father fostred she:

A few sheep spinning on the field she kept,

She would not ben idle till she slept.

And when she homeward came, she wold bring

Wortes, and other herbes, times full oft,

Which she shrad and sethe for her living,

And made her bed full hard, & nothing soft:

And aye she kept her fathers life on loft

With every obeisance and diligence,

That child might do to the fathers reuerence.

Vpon Grisilde the poore creature

Well oft hath the Marques set his eye,

As he a hunting went peradventure:

And when it fell that he might her espie

He (not with wanton looking of follie)

His eyen cast upon her, but in sad wise,

Vpon her chere he would him oft auise.

Commending in his hert her womanhede,

And eke her vertue, passing every wight

Of so yong age, as well in chere as in dede.

For though the people have no great insight

In vertue: he considered full right

Her bounte, and disposed that he would

Her wed, if he ever wedden should.

The day of wedding come, but no wight can

Tell, what maner woman it should be,

For which meruaile, wondred many a man

And saiden, when they were in their priuite,

Woll not our Lord leaue his vanite.

Woll he not wed, alas, alas, the while,

Why woll he thus himself and us begile.

But natheles this Marques hath do make

Of iemmes, set in gold and in asure,

Broches and rings, all for Grisildes sake,

And of her clothing tooke he the measure

Of a maiden like to her stature,

And eke of other ornaments all,

That unto such a wedding should fall.

The time vndren, in the same day

Approched, that the wedding should be,

And all the paleis put was in array,

Both hall and chamber, ech in his degre,

Houses of office stuffed with great plente:

There maiest thou see all dainteous vitaile,

That may be found, as ferre as lasteth Itaile,

This royall Marques richly araide,

Lords and ladies in his companie,

The which that to the feast weren praide

And of his retinue the bachelerie,

With many a sown of sondrie melodie,

Vnto the village of which I told,

In this aray the right way hath hold.

Grisilde (God wot of this full innocent,

That for her was shape all this aray)

To fetch water at a well is went,

And cometh home as sone as ever she may.

For well she heard say, that full ilke day

The Marques should wed, and if she might,

She would fain seen some of that sight.

She thouȝt I wil with other maide [...]s stond

That been my fellowes, in our dore and see

The Marques, and thereto wol I fond

To have done at home as soone as it may be,

The labour which that longeth to me,

And then may I at leisure it behold,

If he this way to the castle hold.

And as she wold ouer the dreshold gon,

The Marques came and gan her for to call,

And she set downe her water pot anon

Beside the threshold of the oxe stall,

And downe vpon her knees she gan to fall,

And with sad countenance she kneeled still,

Till she had herd what was the lords will.

This thouȝtful Marques spake to yt maid

Wel soberly, and said in this manere:

Where is your father Grisiilde, he said?

And she with reuerence and meek chere

Answerd, lord he is all ready here,

[Page] And in she goeth without lenger lette,

And to the Marques she her father fette.

He by the hond then tooke this old man,

And said thus, when he had him aside:

Ianicola, I neither may ne can

Lenger the plesance of mine hert hide,

If that thou vouchsafe, whatsoeuer betide

Thy doughter woll I take or that I wend

As for my wife, vnto my liues end.

Thou louest me, I wot well certaine,

And art my faithfull liegeman ibore,

And all that liketh me, I dare well saine

It liketh thee, and specially therefore

Tell me that point, that I haue said before,

If that thou wolt to this purpose draw,

To take me as for thy sonne in law?

This sudden case the man astoned so,

That red he wext abashed, and all quaking

He stood, ne vnneth said he words mo,

But only thus (qd. he) Lord my willing

Is as ye woll, ne ayenst your liking

I woll nothing, ye be my lord so dere,

Right as you list, gouerne this matere.

Then wol I thus (qd. this Marques) sothly,

That in thy chamber, I you, and she,

Haue a collation, and wotest thou why?

For I woll aske her, if her will be

To be my wife, and rule her after me:

And all this shall she done in thy presence,

I woll not speke out of thine audience.

And in the chamber, while they were about

The treties, where ye shall after heare,

The people came into the house without

And wondred hem, in how honest manere

So tentifly she kept her father dere:

But vtterly Grisild wonder might.

For neuer erst saw she such a sight.

No wonder is though she be astoned,

To see so great a gest come into that place,

She was neuer to such gestes woned,

For which she looked with full pale face.

But shortly fro this matter for to pace,

These weren the words yt the Marques said

To this benigne and very faithfull maid.

Grisilde he said, ye shall well vnderstond,

It liketh vnto your father and me,

That I you wed, and eke it may so stond

As I suppose, that ye woll it so be:

But these demaunds I aske first (qd. he)

That sithen it shall be done in hastie wise,

Woll ye thereto assent, or els you auise?

I say thus, be ye redy with good hert

To all my lust, and that I freely may

As me best liketh, though ye laugh or smert,

And neuer ye to grutch, night ne day:

When I say yea, that ye say not ones nay,

Neither in word, ne by frowning countenance;

Swere this, and here I swere our aliance.

Wondring vpon these words, quaking for dred

She said: lord, indigne and vnworthy

Am I, to thilke honour, that ye me bede,

But right as you woll, even so woll I:

And here I swere, that neuer willingly

In word, werke, ne thought, I nill you disobie

For to be deed, though me were loth to die.

This is inough Grisilde mine (qd. he)

And forth he goeth with a sober chere,

Out at the doore and after came she,

And to the people he said in this manere:

This is my wife, (qd. he) that stondeth here.

Honoureth her, and loueth her, I you pray,

Who so me loueth, there nis no more to say.

And for that nothing of her old gere

She should bring into his house, he bad

That women should dispoilen her there,

Of which these ladies were nothing glad

To handle her cloths in which she was clad:

But natheles this maiden bright of hew

Fro foot to head they clothed han all new.

Her heer han they kembe, that lay vntressed

Full rudely, and with her fingers small

A crowne on her head they han idressed,

And set it full of ouches great and small,

Of her arraie what should I make a tale,

Vnneath the people her knew for her fairnes,

When she transformed was in such riches.

This Marques hath her spoused with a ring

Bought for the same cause, and then her set

Vpon an horse snow white, well ambling,

And to his palais, or he lenger let

(With joyfull people, that her lad and met)

Conueyed her, and thus the day they spende

In reuell, till the sunne gan discende.

And shortly forth this tale for to chace,

I say, that to this new Marquesse

God hath isent such fauour of his grace,

That it seemed not, as by her likelinesse

That she was borne and fed in rudenesse,

As in a cote, or in an oxe stall,

But nourished in an Emperours hall.

To euery wight she woxen is so dere,

And worshipful, ye folke there as she was bore,

And fro her birth knew her yere by yere,

Vnneth trowed they, but durst haue swore,

That to Ianicola, of which I spake before,

She doughter nas, for as by coniecture

Hem thought she was another creature.

For though that euer vertuous was she,

She was encreased in such excellence

Of thewes good, set in high bounte,

And so discrete, and faire of eloquence,

So benigne, and digne of reuerence,

And coude the peoples hearts so enbrace,

That eche her loued that looked in her face.

Not onely of Saluce in the towne

Published was the bounte of her name,

[Page] But eke beside, in many a regioun,

If one said well, another said the same:

So sprad of her hie bountie the fame,

That men and women, both yong and old

Gone to Saluces her for to behold.

Thus Walter lowly, and full royally,

Wedded hath with fortunate honestie,

In Gods peace he liueth full easily:

At home, and outward, grace inough had he:

And for he saw that vnder low degree

Was honest vertue hid, the people him held

A prudent man, and that is seene well seld.

Not only this Grisilde, through her wit

Couth all the feate of wifely humblenesse,

But eke when the cause required it,

The commen profit could she redresse:

There nas discord, rancor ne heauinesse

In all the lond, that she ne couth apese,

And bring hem all wisely in rest and ese.

Though her husbond absent were or none,

If gentlemen, or other of that countre

Were wroth, she would bring hem all at one,

So wise counsaile and ripe words had she,

And judgement of so great equitie,

That she from heuen sent was, as men wend,

People to saue, and euery wrong to mend.

Not long time after this faire Grisilde

Was wedded, she a doughter had ibore,

All had she leuer haue borne a man childe:

Glad was the Marques & his folke therfore,

For though a maide childe came all before

She may to a man child after attaine

By likelyhood, sithens she is not baraine.

Explicit secunda pars, & incipit pars tertia.

THere fell, as it befalleth oft times mo,

When that this childe had sucked but a throwe,

This Marques in his heart longed so

To tempt his wife, her sadnesse to know,

That he ne might out his heart throw

This maruellous desire, his wife to assay,

Needlesse God wot, he thought her to affray.

He had assaied her ynough before,

And found her euer good, what needeth it

Her for to tempt? And alway more & more

Though some man praise it for a subtill wit,

But as for me, I say full euill it sit

To assay a wife when it is no nede,

And put her in anguish and in drede.

For which this Marques wrouȝt in this manere,

He came alone a night there as she lay

With full sterne face, and right vgly chere,

And saied thus: Grisilde (qd. he) that day

That I tooke thee out of thy poore aray,

And put thee in estate of high noblesse,

Thou hast not that forgotten, as I gesse.

I say Grisilde, the present dignite

In which I haue put thee, as I trow,

Maketh not thee foryetfull for to be,

That I thee tooke in poore estate full low,

For any wele thou must thy selfe know.

Take heed of euery word what I say,

There is no wight that hereth but we tway.

Thou wotest thy self how yt thou came here

Into this house, it is not long ago,

And though to me thou be both lefe and dere,

Vnto my Gentiles thou art nothing so:

They say, to hem it is great shame and wo

For to been subiect, and been in seruage

To thee, that borne art in so small a village.

And namely sith thy doughter was ybore,

These words often haue they spoken doutles,

But I desire, as I haue doen before,

To lead my life with hem in rest and pees:

I may not in this case be recheles.

I mote doen with thy doughter for the best.

Not as I wold, but as my gentils lest.

And yet God wote, this is full loth to me:

But natheles without thy witting

I woll nought do, but this I woll (qd. he)

That thou to me assent, as in this thing,

Shew now thy pacience in the werking,

That thou me hight and swore in our village

That day that maked was our marriage.

When she had heard all this, she not ameued

Neither in word, in chere, ne countenance,

(For as it seemed, she was not agreeued)

She saied lord, all lyeth in your pleasance,

My child and I, with heartely obeisance

Been yours all, & ye may saue or spill,

With your own therfore worketh your owne will.

There may nothing so God my soule saue,

Liken to you, that may displease me:

Ne I desire nothing for to haue

Ne drede for to lese, saue onely ye:

This will is in my heart, and aye shall be,

No length of time, or death it may deface

Neither change my corage into another place.

Glad was the Marques of her answering,

But yet he fained as he were not so,

All drery was his chere and his looking.

When that he should out of the chamber go

Sone after this, a furlong way or two

He priuily had told all his intent

Vnto a man, and to his wife him sent.

In maner of a sergeant was this priuy man

The which he faithfull often found had

In things great, and eke such folke well can

Doen execution of things bad:

The lord knew well, he him loued and drad.

And when this sergeant wist his lords will,

Into the chamber he stalked him full still.

Madame he saied, ye mote foryeue it me,

Though I do thing, which I am constrained:

[Page] Ye be full wise, and full well know ye,

That great lords hestes may not be fained,

They may well be wailed and complained,

But men must needs unto her lust obey,

And so woll I, there nis no more to say.

This child I am commanded to take.

And spake no more, but vp the child he hent

Dispitously, and gan a chere to make,

As though he would haue slain it or he went.

Grisilde must all suffer and consent:

And as a lambe, she sitteth meeke and still,

And let this cruell Sergeant doe his will.

Suspect was the fame of this ilke man,

Suspect his face, suspect his word also,

Suspect the time in which he this began:

Alas her doughter, that she loued so,

She wende he would haue slain it right tho,

But natheles she neither wept ne liked,

Confirming her to that the Marques liked.

But at the last to speake she began,

And full meekely she the sergeant praid

(So as he was a worthy gentell man)

That she might kisse her child ere that it deid:

And in her arme, this little child she leid,

With full sad face, and gan the child blisse,

And lulled it, and after gan it kisse.

And thus she saied in her benigne voyce:

Farwell my child, I shall thee neuer see,

But sithen I haue marked thee with ye croice,

Of th [...]lke father iblessed mote thou be,

That for vs died vpon the Roode tree:

Thy soule little child I him betake,

For this night shalt thou dien for my sake.

I trow that to a norice in this caas

It had been hard this routh for to see:

Well might a mother then cry alas,

But natheles so sad and stedfast was she,

That she endured all her aduersite,

And to the sergeant meekely shee said,

Haue here ayen your little yong maid.

And goth now (qd. she) & doth my lords hest:

And o thing would I pray you of your grace,

But if my lord forbid it you at the lest.

Burieth this little bodie in some place,

That no beasts ne birds it to race.

But he no word to that purpose would saie,

But tooke y• childe and went anon his waie.

This sergeant came to the lord againe,

And of Grisilds words and of her chere,

He told him word by word, short and plaine,

And him presented with his daughter dere.

Somwhat this lord had routh in his maner,

But natheles his purpose held he still,

As lords doen, when they woll haue their will,

And bad the sergeant that full priuily

He should this child wel soft wind and wrap,

With all the circumstance tenderly,

And carry it in a cofer, or in a lap:

But on paine of his hed off to swap,

That no man should know of his entent,

Ne whens he came ne whither he went.

But at Boleine, to his suster dere,

That thilke time of Pauie was Countesse,

He should it take, and shew her this matere,

Beseeching her to doen her businesse

This child to fostre in all gentlenesse,

And whose child that it was he bad her hide

From euery wight, for ought yt might betide.

This sergeant goth, & hath fulfilde this thing.

But to this Marques now returne we,

For now goeth he full oft imagining

If by his wiues chere, he might ought see

Or els by her words, peceiue that she

Were changed, but he neuer could finde,

But euer in one ilike sad and kinde.

As glad, as humble, as busie in seruice

And eke in loue as she was wont to be,

Was she to him in every manner wise,

Ne of her doughter one word spake she:

None accedent for none adversite

Was seen in her, ne never her doughters name

Nempned she, for ernest ne for game.

Explicit tertia pars, & incipit pars quarta.

IN this estate passed ben four yere,

Er she with child was, but as God would,

A man child she bare by this Waltere

Well gracious, and faire to behold:

And when folke it to the father told,

Not onely he, but all the countrey mery

Was for the child, & God they thonke & hery.

When it was two yere old, & from the brest

Departed from his norice, on a day

This Marques cought yet another lest

To tempten his wife eftsones, if he may.

O needles was she tempted, I dare say.

* But wedded men ne conne no measure,

When they find a patient creature.

Wife (qd. this Marques) ye have heard or this

My people heauily bereth our mariage,

And namely sithen my sonne borne is,

Now is it worse than ever in our age:

The murmure slaieth my heart & my corage,

For to my eares commeth the voice so smart

That it well nie destroyed hath my hart.

Now say they thus, when Walter is agon,

Then shall the blood of Ianicola succede,

And ben our lord, for other have we non:

Such words say my people, it is no drede.

Well ought I of such murmure take hede,

For certainly I dread such sentence,

Though they not plainly speke in myne audience.

I would live in peace, if that I might:

Wherefore I am disposed vtterly,

As I his suster served by night,

[Page] Right so I think to serve him priuily.

Thus warn I you, that ye not sodainly

Out of your self, for no wo should outraie,

Beth patient, and thereof I you pray.

I have, qd. she, saied, and ever shall,

I woll ne nill nothing for certain,

But as you list: nought greueth me at all,

Though that my doughter & my son be slain

At your commandement: this is to sain,

I have had no part of children twain,

But first sickenesse, and after wo and pain.

Ye ben our lord, doth with your own thing

Right as you list, and taketh no reed of me:

For as I left at home my clothing

When I came first to you, right so, qd. she,

Left I my will and all my liberty,

And toke your clothing: wherfore I you pray

Doe your will, I woll to it obey.

And certes, If I had prescience

Your will to know, ere ye your lust me told,

I would it doen without negligence:

But now I wote your lust, & what ye would,

All your pleasance firm and stable I hold,

For wist I that my death would doen you ese,

Gladly would I suffer it you to plese.

Death may not make no comparisoun

Vnto your loue: & when this Marques seie

The constance of his wife, he cast adown

His iyen two, and wondred how she may

In such patience suffer all this arraie:

And foorth he goth with drery countenaunce,

But to his hert it was full great pleasaunce.

This eiger sergeant in the same wise

That he her doughter caught, right so he

Or worse, if that he coud wers deuise,

Hath hent her sonne, that was full of beaute:

And euer in one so patient was she,

That she no chere made of heauinesse,

But kisseth her child & after gan him blesse.

Saue this she praied him, if yt he might,

Her little sonne he would in earth graue,

His tender limmes, delicate to sight,

Fro foules and fro noysom beasts to saue.

But she none answer of him might haue,

He went his way, as he nothing rought,

But to Boleine he tenderly it brought.

This Marques wondred euer lenger the more

Vpon her pacience, and if that he

He had soothly knowen there before,

That perfectly her children loued she,

He would haue wend that for some subtilte

And of malice, or cruell corage,

She had suffered this with sad visage.

But he knew wel, that next himself, certain

She loued her children best in euery wise.

But now of women would I aske fain,

If these assaies mighten not suffise,

What coud a sturdie husbond more deuise

To preue her wifehood, and her stedfastnesse:

But be continuing ever in sturdinesse.

But there be folke of that condition,

That when they han a certain purpose take,

They couth not stint of her entention,

But as they were bounden to a stake

They woll not of that purpose to stake:

Right so this Marques hath fully purposed

To tempt his wife, as he was first disposed.

He waiteth, if by words or countenance

She were to him changed of her corage:

But never could he find variance,

She was aie in one heart and visage,

And euer the further that she was in age,

The more truer (if it were possible)

She was to him in love, and more penible.

For which it semeth thus, that of hem two

There nas but one will: for as Walter lest

The same lust was her pleasance also:

And God be thonked, all fell for the best,

She shewed well, for no worldly vnrest,

* A wife, as for her selfe, nothing should

Willen in effect, but as her husbond would.

The sclander of Walter, wonder wide spread

That of cruel heart full wretchedly,

(For he a poore woman wedded had)

Hath murdred both his children privily:

Which murmure was emong hem comonly.

No wonder was: for to the peoples ere

Ther came no word, but that they murdred were.

For which whereas his people ther before

Had loved him well, the slander of his fame

Made hem that they hated him therefore:

* To been a murtherer is an hateful name.

But natheles, for earnest ne for game

He of his cruel purpose would not s [...]ent,

To tempt his wife was all his entent.

Whan that his doughter twelve yere was of age,

He to the court of Rome, in subtil wise

(Enformed of his will) sent his message

Comanding hem, such billes to devise,

As to his cruel purpose may suffise,

How that the Pope, for his peoples rest

Bad him wed another, if that him lest.

I say he bad, they should counterfete

The Popes bull, making mention

That he hath leave his first wife to lete

As by the Popes dispensacion,

To stint rancor and discencion

Betwixt his people and him: thus spake the bull,

The which they han published at the full.

The rude people, as no wonder nis

Wenden full fell, it had been right so:

But when these tidings come to Grisildis

I deeme, that her heart was full of wo

But she was still lech sad evermo:

Disposed was this humble creature

The adversite of fortune to endure.

[Page]

Abiding ever his list and his pleasaunce

To whom she was yeuen, heart and all,

As to her very worldly suffisaunce:

But certainly, if I this storie tell shall,

This Marques iwritten hath in speciall

A letter, in which he shewed his intent

And prively, he it to Boloine hath sent,

To the Erle of Pauie, which that had tho

Wedden his suffer: he prayed specially

To bringen him ayen his children two

In honourable estate all openly:

But one thing he prayed all vtterly,

That he to no wiȝt, thouȝ men wold enquere

Should tell whose children that they were.

But say that the maiden should wedded be

Vnto the Marques of Saluce anon:

And as the Earle was prayed, so did he,

For at a day set he on his way is gon

Toward Saluce, and lords many one

In rich araie, this maiden for to gide,

Her yong brother riding by her side.

Arayed was toward hyr marriage

This maiden fresh, full of gemmes clere,

And her brother, that seuen yeer was of age

Arayed was eke freshly in his manere:

And thus in great nobles and glad chere

Toward Saluce shapen their iournay

Fro day to day, riding forth her way.

Explicit quarta pars, & sequitur pars quinta.

AMong all this, after his wicked vsage

This Marques his wife yet tempted more

To the vtterest proof of her corage,

Fully to have experience and sore,

If that she were as stedfast (as before.)

He on a day in open audience

Full boistrously hath said her this sentence:

Certes Grisilde, I had inough of pleasance

To han you to my wife, for your goodness

And for your trouth, and your obeysance,

Not for your linage, ne for your riches,

But I now know in very soothfastnesse,

* That in great lordship, if I me well auise

There is great seruitude in sondry wise.

I may not done as every ploughman may:

My people me constraineth for to take

Another wife, and cryen day by day,

And eke the Pope this rancor for to s [...]ake

Consenteth it, that dare I vndertake:

And truely, thus much I woll you say,

My new wife is comming by the way.

Be strong of hert, & void anon her place,

And thilke dowery that ye brought to me

Take it ayen, I grant it of my grace,

Returneth to your fathers house (qd. he)

* No man may alway have prosperite.

With euen heart I read you to endure

The stroke of fortune, or of aventure.

And she ayen answerd in patience:

My lord, qd. she, I wote and wist alway,

How that betwixt your magnificence

And my pouert, no man can ne may

Maken no comparison, it is no nay,

I held me never digne in no manere

To been your wife, ne yet your chamberere.

And in this house there ye me lady made

(The hie God take I as for my witnesse

And all so wisely, as he my soule glad)

I held me neither lady ne maistresse,

But humble servant to your worthinesse,

And ever shall, while my life may endure,

Abouen euery worldly creature.

That ye so long of your benignite

Have hold me in honour and nobley

(Where I was not worthy for to be)

That thonke I God and you, to whom I prey

So yeld it you, there is no more to sey:

Vnto my father gladly wol I wende,

And with him dwell to my lives ende,

There I was fostred of a childe full small

Till I be deed, my life there woll I lead,

A widow cleane in heart, body and all.

For sithen I yave to you my maidenhead,

And am your true wife, it is no dread:

God shilde such a lords wife to take

Another man to husbond or to make.

And of your new wife, God of his grace

So graunt you wealth and high prosperite:

For I woll gladly yeue her my place,

In which I was blisful wont to be.

For sithen it liketh you my lord, qd. she,

(That whilome weren all my hearts rest)

That I shall gone: I shall goe when you lest.

But there as ye me profred such dowaire

As I first brought, it is well in my mind,

It were my wretched clothes, nothing faire,

The which to me now were full hard to find.

Oh, good God, how gentle and how kind

Ye seemed by your speech and your visage,

The day that maked was our mariage?

* But sooth is said, algate I find it trew,

For in effect it is proved now on me,

Love is not old, as when it is new:

For certes lord, for none adversite

To dien in this case, it shall never be

That ever in word or worke I shall repent,

That I you yave mine heart in good intent.

My lord ye wote, that in my fathers place

Ye did me strip out of my poore wede,

And richely ye clad me of your grace,

To you brought I nought els out of drede,

But faith, nakednesse, and maidenhede:

But here ayen your clothing I restore,

And eke my wedding ring for evermore.

The remnaunt of your iewels ready be

Within your chamber, dare I safely saine:

[Page] Naked out of my fathers house (qd. she)

I came, and naked I mote turne againe.

All your pleasaunce would I follow faine:

But yet I hope it be not your entent,

That I smockelesse out of your paleis went.

Ye could not doe so dishonest a thing,

That ilke wombe in which your children lay,

Should before the people, in my walking

Be seene all bare: wherefore I you pray

Let me not like a worme goe by the way:

Remembreth you mine owne lord so dere,

I was your wife, though I vnworthy were.

Wherefore in reward of my maidenhede

Which I to you brought, and not ayen bere,

As vouchsafe to yeue me to my mede,

But such a smock as I was wont to were:

That I therewith may wrie ye wombe of her

That was your wife: & here I take my leue

Of you, mine owne lord, least I you greue.

The smock (qd. he) yt thou hast on thy bake,

Let it be still, and beare it forth with thee:

But well vnneth that word had he spake,

But went his way for routh and pitee:

Before the folke her selfe strippeth she,

And in her smock, with foot and head all bare,

Toward her fathers house forth is she fare.

The folke followed weeping in her wey,

And fortune euer they cursed as they gone:

But she fro weeping kept her eyen drey,

Ne in all this time word spake she none.

Her father, that this tidings heard anone,

Cursed the day and time, that nature

Shope him to been a liues creature.

For out of all doubt, this poore old man

Was euer suspect of her marriage:

For euer he deemed, sithen it began,

That when the lord filled had his corage,

Him would thinke it was a disparage

To his estate, so low for to alight,

And voiden her as soone as euer he might.

Ayenst his doughter hastily goeth he,

(For by ye noise of folk he knew her comming)

And with her old coat as it might be,

He couered her, full sore weeping:

But on her body might he it not bring

For rude was the cloth, and she more of age

By daies fele than she was at her marriage.

Thus with her father for a certaine space

Dwelleth this floure of wifely patience,

That never by her words nor by her face,

Before the folke ne eke in absence,

Ne shewed she that her was done offence,

Ne of her high estate no remembraunce

Ne had she, as by her coutenaunce.

No wonder is, for in her great estate

Her ghost was euer in plaine humilitie:

No tender mouth, ne heart delicate,

Ne pompe, ne semblance of roialtie.

But full of patience and benignite,

Discreet, and pridelesse, and aye honorable.

And to her husband euer meek and stable.

Men speak of Iob, & most for his humblesse,

(As clerkes when hem list can well endite

Namely of men) but in soothfastnesse,

* Though clerkes praisen women but a lite,

There can no man in humblesse hem acquite

As women can: ne be halfe so trew

As women been, but it befall of new.

Explicit quinta pars: & sequitur pars sexta.

FRo Boloine is the Earle of Pauie come,

Of which the fame sprong to more and lesse:

And to the peoples eares all and some

Was couth eke how a new Marquesesse

He with him brought, in pomp & such richesse,

That was neuer seene with mans eie

So noble aray in West Lumbardie.

The Marques that shope & knew all this,

Er that this Erle was come, sent his message

To thilke poore and silly Grisildis,

And she with humble heart and glad visage,

Not with swelling heart in her corage,

Came at his hest, and on her knees her set,

And reuerently and wisely she him gret.

Grisilde (qd. he) my will is vtterly,

This maid that wedded shall be vnto me,

Receiued be to morrow so royally

As it is possible in my house to bee:

And eke that euery wight in his degree

Haue his estate in sitting and seruice,

And also pleasaunt, as ye can best deuise.

I haue no woman sufficient certaine,

The chambers for to array in ordinaunce

After my lust, and therefore woll I faine,

That thine weren all such gouernaunce:

Thou knowest eke of old all my pleasaunce,

Though thine array be bad, and euill besey,

Doe thou thy deuer at the least wey.

Not onely lord I am glad (qd. she)

To doen your lust, but I desire also

You for to please and serue in my degree,

Withouten faining, and shall euermo:

Ne neuer for no weale, ne for no wo,

Ne shall the ghost within my heart stent

To loue you best with all my true entent.

And with yt word she gan ye hous to dight,

And tables to set, and beds to make,

And pained her to doen all that she might,

Praying the chamberers for Gods sake

To hasten hem, and fast sweepe and shake,

And she the most seruiceable of hem all,

Hath euery chamber arraied, and his hall.

Abouten vndren gan this Earle alight,

yt with him brought these noble children twey:

For which the people ran to see that sight

[Page] Of her array, so richely besey:

And then at erst amongs hem they sey,

That Walter was no foole, though him lest

To chaunge his wife: for it was for the best.

For she is fairer, as they deemen all

Than is Grisild, and more tender of age:

And fairer fruit between hem shall fall,

And more pleasant for her high linage:

Her brother eke so fair was of his age,

That him to seen ye people had cauȝt plesance,

Commending now the Marques governance.

O sterne people, unsad and untrue,

Aye undiscreet, and changing as a fane,

Delighting ever in rumer that is new,

For like the Moone ever waxe ye and wane:

Full of clapping, deare ynough of a iane.

Your dome is fals, your constance ill preveth,

A full great foole is he that on you leveth.

Thus saiden sad folke in that citie,

When that the people gased vp and down:

For they were glad, right with the noueltie

To haue a new lady of her toun.

No more of this make I now mentioun,

But to Grisilde ayen woll I me dresse,

And tellen her constance, and her businesse.

Well busie was Grisilde on euery thing,

That to the feast was appertinent:

Right nauȝt was she abashed of her clothing,

Though they wer rude, and somwhat to rent,

But with glad cheare to the yate is went

With other folke, to greet the Marquesesse,

And after doth she forth her businesse.

With right glad chere ye gests she receiueth

And buxomely eueriche in his degree,

That no man defaut there perceiueth,

But euer they wondren what she might bee,

That in so poore array was for to see,

And coud such honour and reuerence,

And worthyly they praisen her prudence.

In all the meane while she neuer stent,

This maiden & eke her brother to commend

With all her heart and benigne intent,

So well, that no man coud her prise amend:

But at the last when these lords wend

To sitten doune to meat, he gan to call

Grisilde, as she was busie in the hall.

Grisilde (qd. he) as it were in his play,

How liketh thee my wife, and her beaute?

Right well my lord (qd. she) for in good fay,

A fairer saw I neuer none than she:

I pray to God so yeue you prosperite,

And so hope I, that he woll to you send

Pleasaunce ynough vnto your liues end.

But one thing I beseech, and warne also

That ye pricke with no such turmenting

This tender maiden, as ye han do mo:

For she is fostered in her nourishing

More tenderly, in my supposing

She could not aduersitie endure,

As could a poore fostred creature.

And when this Walter saw her patience,

Her glad cheare, and no mallice at all,

And he so oft hath done her offence,

And she aye constant, and stable as a wall,

Continuing euer her innocence ouer all,

This sturdie Marques gan his heart dresse

To rue vpon her wifely stedfastnesse.

This is ynough, Grisilde mine (qd. he)

Be no more gast, ne euill apaid,

I haue thy faith and thy benignite,

As well as euer woman was assaid

In great estate, or poorely araid:

Now know I deare wife thy stedfastnesse,

And her in armes tooke, and gan to kesse,

And she for wonder tooke thereof no keepe:

She heard not what thing he to her said:

She fared as she had stert out of her sleepe,

Till she out of her masednesse abraid.

Grisilde (qd. he) by God that for vs deid,

Thou art my wife, and none other I haue,

Ne neuer had, as God my soule saue.

This is thy doughter, which thou supposed

To be my wife, and none other faithfully:

And this shall be mine heir, as I haue disposed,

Thou bare hem in thy body truly:

At Boloine haue I kept hem sikerly,

Take hem ayen, for now maist thou not say,

That thou hast lorn any of thy children tway.

And folke, that otherwise han said of me,

I warne hem wel, that I haue done this dede

For no malice, ne for no cruelte,

But for to assay in thee thy womanhede:

And not to sley my children, God forbede,

But for to keepen hem priuely and still,

Till I thy purpose knew: and all thy will.

When she this herd, a swoune doun she falleth

For pitous joy, and after her swouning,

She both her yong children to her calleth,

And in her armes pitously weeping,

Embraced hem both tenderly kissing

Full like a mother, with her salt teares

She bathed both her visage and her haires.

O which a pitous thing it was to see

Her swouning, and her pitous voice to heare:

Graunt mercy lord, God thonk it you (qd. she)

That ye haue saued me my children deare:

Now recke I neuer to be dead right here,

Sithen I stond in your loue, & in your grace,

No force of death, ne when my spirit pace.

O tender, O deare, O yong children mine,

Your wofull mother wend stedfastly,

That cruell hounds, or some foule vermine

Had eaten you, but God of his mercy,

And your benigne father so tenderly

Hath done you keep: and in yt same stound

All suddainly she swapt doune to the ground.

[Page] And in her swouning, so sadly held she

Her children two when she gan hem embrace,

That with great sleight and difficulte

The children from hir arms they gan to race:

O many a teare, on many a pitous face

Doune ran of hem tht stooden there beside,

Vnneth about her might no man abide.

Walter her gladdeth, and her sorow slaketh,

She riseth up all abashed from her traunce,

And every wight her ioy and feast maketh,

Till she hath caught ayen her countenance,

Walter her doth so faithfully pleasaunce,

That it was deintie to seene the chere

Betwixt hem two when they were met ifere.

These ladies all, when they her time sey,

Han taken her, and into chamber gone,

And strippen her out of her rude arrey,

And in a cloth of gold that bright shone,

With a croune of many a rich stone

Vpon her head, they her into hall brought:

And there she was honoured as she ought.

Thus hath this pitous day a blisful end:

For every man and woman doth his might

This day in mirth and revel to dispend,

Till on the welkin shone the sterres bright:

For more solemne in every mans sight

This feast was, and greater of co [...]age,

Than was the revell of her mariage.

Well many a year in high prosperite

Liven these two in concord and in rest,

And richly his doughter maried he

Vnto a lord, one of the worthiest

Of all Itaile, and then in peace and rest

His wiues father in his court he kept,

Till that his soule out of his body crept.

His sonne succeedeth in his heritage,

In rest and peace after his fathers day:

And fortunate was eke in mariage,

All put he not his wife in great assay:

This world is not so strong, it is no nay,

As it hath been in old times yore,

And her kneth what the autour saith therfore.

THis story is said, not for that wiues should

Followen Grisild, as in humilite:

For it were importable tho they would,

But that every wight in his degre

Should he constant in all adversite

As was Grisild: wherefore Petrarke writeth

This story, which with high stile he enditeth.

* For sith a woman was so patient

Vnto a mortal man, well more we ought

Receive all in gree that God us sent.

For great skill he preueth that he wrought:

* But he ne tempteth no man that he bought

As saith saint Iame, if ye his pistell read,

He preueth folke but assay, it is no dread.

* And suffereth vs as for our exercise

With sharpe scourges of adversite,

Well oft to be beaten in sondry wise:

Not for to know our will, for certes he

Or we were borne, knew all our freelte:

And for our best is all his governaunce,

Let us live then in vertuous suffraunce.

But one word herkeneth lordings or ye go:

It were full hard to find now adayes

In all a countrey, Grisilds three or two:

For if they were put to such assays,

The gold of hem hath so bad alayes

With brasse, for though it be faire at eie,

It will rather brast a two than plie.

For which here, for the wiues loue of Bath

Whose life and sect mighty God maintene

In high maistry, or else were it skath,

I will with Iustie hert, fresh, and greene,

Say you a song, to glad you I wene:

And let us stint of earnest mattere.

Herkneth my song that saith in this manere.

Lenuoye de Chaucer à les mariz de nostre temps.

GRisilde is dead and eke hir patience,

And both at once buried in Itaile:

For which I cry in open audience,

No wedded wan be so hardy to assaile

His wiues patience, in trust to find

Grisildes, for in certaine he shall faile.

O noble wiues, full of high prudence,

Let no humility your tongue naile:

Ne let no clerke have cause ne diligence

To write of you a storie of such maruaile

As of Grisild patient and kinde,

Lest Chechiface swallow you in her entraile.

Followeth Ecco, that holdeth no silence,

But euer answereth at the contretaile:

Beth no addassed for your innocence,

But sharpely taketh on you the gouernaile:

Enprinteth well this lesson in your minde,

For common profit, sith it may auaile.

Ne dredeth hem not, doth hem no reverence,

For though thine husbond armed be in maile

The arrows of thy crabbed eloquence

Shal perce his brest, & eke his adventaile:

In iealousie eke looke thou him binde,

And yt shall make him couch as doth a quaile.

If thou be faire, there folke ben in presence

Shew thou thy visage, and thine apparaile:

If thou be foule, be free of thy dispence,

To get thee friends aye do thy travaile:

Be aye of cheare as light as lefe on linde,

And let him care, weepen, wring and waile.

Ye arch wiues, stondeth aye at your defence,

Sith ye be strong, as is a great camaile:

Ne suffreth not that men do you offence.

And ye sclendre wives, feeble as in battaile,

Beth eygre as any tygre is in Inde:

Aye clappeth as a mill, I you counsail.

¶Here endeth the clerk of Oxenfords tale.

[Page]

¶Here follow the words of our Host.

When this worthy clerke ended had his tale,

Our Host said and sworen by cockes bones,

Me were leuer than a barrel af ale

My wife at home had heard this legend ones:

This is a gentle tale for the nones,

As to my purpose, wist ye my will,

But thing that woll not be, let it be still.

§

¶The Frankeleins Prologue.

THese old gentle Britons in her dayes,

Of divers auentures maden layes,

Rimed at first in her mother tong:

Which layes with her instruments they song

Or else readen hem for her pleasaunce,

And one of hem have I in remembraunce,

Which I shall say, as willing as I can.

But sirs, because I am a borell man,

At my beginning first I you beseech,

Haue me excused of my rude speech:

I learned never Rhetoricke certaine,

Thing that I speke mote be bare and plaine:

I slept neuer on the mount of Pernaso,

Ne learned Marcus Tullius Cicero.

Colours ne know I none, withouten dread,

But such colours as growen in the mead,

Or els such as men dien or paint:

Colours of Rhetoricke been to me quaint,

Ny spirit feeleth not of such mattere.

This is my tale, if ye woll it here.

¶The Frankeleins Tale.

AUrelius, after much labour and cost bestowed to win the love of Dorigen, another mans wife, is content in the end, through the good dealing of her and her husband, to lose both labour and cost. The scope of this Tale seemeth a contention in courtesie.

IN Armorike, that called is Britaine,

There was a knight, that loved and did his paine

To serven Ladies in his best wise,

And many a labour, & many a great emprise

He for his Lady wrought, ere she were won:

For she was one the fairest vnder son;

And eke thereto commen of high kinrede,

That well vnneth durst this knight for drede

Tell her his wo, his pain, and his distresse.

But at the last, she of her worthinesse,

And namely for his meek obeysaunce,

Hath such a pity caught of his pennaunce,

That prively she fell of his accord

To take him for her husbond and her lord,

(Of such lordship as men have over her wives,

And for to lead in the more blisse her lives.)

Of his free will he swore her as a knight,

That never in all his life day ne night

Ne should he take upon him no maistry

Again her will, ne kithe her iealousie,

But her obey, and follow her will in all,

As any louer to his lady shall:

Save that the name of soveraignete

That would he have for shame of his degree.

She thonked him, & with full great humbless

She said: sir, sith of your gentleness

Ye profred me to have so large a raine,

Ne would god never betwixt vs twaine

As in my gilt, were either werre or strife:

Sir, I woll be your true humble wife,

Haue here my trouth, till that my hert brest:

Thus ben they both in quiet and in rest.

For one thing sirs, safely dare I seine,

* That friends everich other must obeine,

If they woll long holden company:

* Love woll not be constrained by maistry.

When maistry comes, the God of loue anone

Beateth his wings, & farewell he is gone.

* Loue is a thing, as any spirit free.

Women of kind desiren libertee,

And not to be constrained as a thrass:

And so done men, if I sooth say shall.

Looke who that most pacient is in loue,

He is at his auantage all aboue:

* Patience is an high vertue certain,

For it venquisheth, as these clerkes sain,

Things that rigour shall never attain.

For every word men may not chide or plain,

* Learneth to suffer, or else so mote I gone,

Ye shall it learne whether ye woll or none.

* For in this world certain no wight there is,

That he ne doth or saieth sometime amis.

Ire, sickness, or constellation,

Wine, wo, or chaunging of complexion,

Causeth full oft to done amisse or speaken:

On every wrong a man may not be wreken.

* After the time must be temperaunce

To every wight that can of governaunce.

And therefore hath this worthy wise knight,

(To liven in ease) suffraunce her hight:

And she to him full wisely gan swere,

That never should there be default in here.

Here may men see, humble and wise accord:

Thus hath she take her servant and her lord,

Servaunt in loue, and lord in marriage,

Then was he both in lordship and seruage:

Servage? nay, but in lordship aboue,

Sithen he hath both his lady and his loue:

His lady certes, and his wife also,

The which that law of lond accordeth to.

And when he was in this prosperity,

Home with his wife he goth into his country,

Not fer fro Denmarke, there his dwelling was

Where as he liueth in ioy and solas.

* Who coud tell, but he had wedded be,

The ioy, the ease, and the prosperity,

That is betwixt an husbond and his wife?

Evermore lasted this blisful life,

Till that this knight, of which I speake thus,

(That of Caere Iuda, was cleped Aruiragus)

Shope him to dwellen a yeare or twaine

In Englond, that cleped was Britaine,

To seeken in armes worship and honour.

For all his lust he set in such labour,

[Page] And dwelt there two year, ye booke faith thus.

Now woll I stint of this Aruiragus,

And speake I woll of Dorigen his wife,

That loueth her husbond as her hearts life:

For his absence weepeth she and siketh,

As done these noble wiues when hem liketh:

She mourneth, waileth, fasteth, & plaineth,

Desire of his presence her so constraineth,

That all this wide world set she at nought.

Her friends, which knew her heauy thought,

Comforten her in all that euer they may,

They preachen hir, and tellen night & day,

That causelesse she slew her selfe, alas,

And euery comfort possible in this caas,

They done to her, with all her businesse,

And all to maken her leaue her heauinesse,

* By processe, as ye knowen euerychone,

Men mowen so long grauen in stone,

Till some figure therein printed be:

So long han they comforted her, till she

Receiued hath by hope and by reason,

The enprinting of her constellation:

Through which her gret sorrow gan assuage,

She may not alway enduren such a rage:

And eke Aruiragus in all this care

Hath sent his letters home of his welfare,

And that he woll come hastily againe,

Or els had this sorrow her heart slaine.

Her friends saw her sorrow gan to slake.

And praiden her on her knees for Gods sake

To come and romen in her companie,

Away to driuen her derke fantasie:

And finally she graunted that request,

For well she saw it was for the best.

Now stood her castle fast by the see,

And often with her friends walked shee,

Her to disporten on the bankes hie,

Where as she may ships and barges sie,

Sailing her course, where him list go.

But yet was that a parcell of her wo,

For to her felfe full oft alas said shee,

Is there no ship, of so many as I see,

Wol bring home my lord? then were my hert

Warished of these bitter paines smert.

Another time would she sit and thinke,

And cast her eyen downward fro the brinke

But when she saw the grisly rockes blake,

For very feare so would her hert quake,

That on her feet she might not her sustene.

Then would she sit adoune vpon the grene,

And pitously into the sea behold,

And say right thus, with sorrowfull sikes cold.

* Eterne God, yt through thy purueiaunce

[...]eadest this world by certaine gouernaunce,

In idle as men sain dost thou nothing make:

But lord, these grisly fiendly rockes blake,

That seemen rather a foule confusion

Of werke, than a faire creation

Of such a perfit God, wise and stable,

Why haue ye wrouȝt this werk vnresonable?

For by this werke, north, south, west, ne east,

There nis fostred ne man, bird, ne beast:

It doth no good at all, but annoyeth:

See ye not lord how mankind it destroyeth?

An hundred thousand bodies of mankind

Haue rockes islaine, all be they not in mind.

Sin mankind is so faire a part of thy werke

That thou it madest like thy owne werke,

Then seemed it ye had a great cherte

Toward mankind: but how then may it be,

That ye such meanes maken it to distroyen?

Which means don no good, but euer anoyen.

* I wote well clerkes woll saine as hem lest

By arguments, that all is for the best:

Though I ne cannot the causes well know,

But thilke God that made the wind to blow,

As keepe my lord, this is my conclusion.

To clerkes lete I all this disputation:

And would God that all these rockes blake

Were sonken into hell for his sake.

These rockes doe slee mine heart for feare:

Thus would she say with many a pitous tear.

Her friends saw it was for her no disport

To romen by the sea, but discomfort,

And shapen hem to plaine some where els,

They leaden her by riuers and by wels,

And eke in other places delectables,

They dauncen and they plaien at the tables.

So on a day, right in the morrow tide,

Vnto a garden that was there beside,

In which yt they had made her ordinaunce

Of vitailes, and other purueyaunce,

They gone and plaien hem all the long day:

And this was in the sixt morrow of May,

Which May hath painted with his soft shours

This garden full of leaues and of flours:

And craft of mans hond so curiously

Arrayed had this garden truly,

That neuer nas there garden of such prise,

But if it were the very paradise.

The odour of flours, and the fresh sight

Would have made any living hert light

That ever was, but it too great sicknesse

Or too great sorrow held it in distresse,

So was it full of beauty, with pleasaunce.

And after dinner gone they to daunce

And sing also, save Dorigene alone,

That yet unto her selfe made her mone.

For she ne seie him on the daunce go,

That was her husbond, and her love also:

But nathelesse, she must her time abide,

And with good hope let her sorrow slide.

Vpon this daunce, among other men

Daunced a squier before Dorigen,

That fresher was and iollier of array,

As to my dome, than is the month of May.

He singeth and daunceth, passing euery man,

That is or was sithen the world began:

He was therewith, & men should him discriue,

One of the best faring men on liue,

Yong, strong, vertuous, rich, and wise,

And well beloued, and holden of great prise.

And shortly, if I the sooth tell shall,

Vnwitting of this Dorigen at all,

This lusty squier, seruaunt to Venus,

Which ycleaped was Aurelius,

Had loved her best of any creature

Two yeare & more, as was his auenture:

But never durst he tell her his greuance,

* Withouten cup he dronke all his pennance.

He was dispaired, nothing durst he say,

Saue in his songs somewhat would he wray

[Page] His wo, as in generall complaining,

He said he loued, and was beloued nothing:

Of which mattere made he many layes,

Songs, complaints, roundels, & verilayes,

How that he durst not his sorrow tell,

But languish, as doth a furie in hell,

And die he must (he said) as did Ecco

For Narcissus, that durst not tell his wo.

In other manner than ye heard me say,

Ne durst not he to her his wo bewray,

Saue perauenture sometime at daunces,

There young folke keepen her obseruaunces,

It may well be he looked on her face

In such a wise, as men that asken grace,

But nothing wist she of his entent:

Nathelesse it happed, ere they thence went,

Because yt he was her neere neighbour,

And was a man of worship and honour,

And she had yknowne him of time yore,

They fell in speech, & so forth more & more

Vnto his purpose then drow Aurelius:

And when he saw his time, he said thus.

Madame (qd. he) by God yt this World made,

So yt I wist, that I might your hert glade,

I would that day, that your Aruyragus

Went ouer the sea, that I Aurelius

Had went there yt I should neuer come again:

For well I wot my seruice is in vain,

My guerdon nis but bresting of mine hert:

Madam, rueth vpon my paines smert,

For with one word ye may me slee or saue,

Here at your foot God would yt I were graue.

I haue as now no leisure more to sey:

Haue mercy sweet, or ye woll doe me dey.

She gan to looke vpon Aurelius,

Is this your will (qd. she) and say ye thus?

Neuer erst (qd. she) ne wist I what ye ment:

But now I know Aurelius your entent.

By thilke God that yaue me soule & life,

Ne shall I neuer be vntrew wife

In word ne werke, as far as I haue wit,

I woll ben his to whom I am knit:

Take this for a final answere of me,

But after this in play thus said she.

Aurelius (qd. she) by God aboue

Yet woll I graunt you to been your loue

(Sithen I see you so pitously complaine.)

Looke what day that endlong in Britaine.

Ye remeue all the rocks, stone by stone,

That they ne let ship ne boat to gone,

I say when ye haue made these coasts so clene

Of rockes, that there nis no stone yseen,

Then woll I loue you best of any man,

Here haue my trouth, in all that euer I can.

Is there none other grace in you (qd. he?)

No by that lord (qd. she) that maked me.

For well I wote that it shall never betide,

Let such follie out of your heart glide.

* What deintie should a man haue in his life

For to goe loue another mans wife?

That hath her body when so that him liketh.

Aurelius full often sore siketh:

Wo was Aurely when he this herd,

And with a sorowfull chere he thus answerd.

Madame (qd. he) this were impossible:

Then mote I die on suddaine death horrible:

And with that word he turned him anone.

Tho come her other friends everichone,

And in the aleyes romeden up and doun,

And nothing wist of this conclusioun,

But suddainely began to revell new,

Till that the bright sonne had lost his hew.

For the orizont hath reft the sunne his light,

This is as much to say, as it was night:

And home they gone in ioy and in solas,

Save onely wretched Aurelius, alas:

He to his house is gone with sorrowfull hert,

He said he might not from his death astert

Him seemed, that he felt his heart all cold,

And up to heaven his honds gan he hold,

And on his knees bare he set him adoun,

And in his raving said this orisoun:

For very wo out of his wit he braied,

He ne wist what he spake, but thus he said.

With pitous heart hath he his complaint begon

Vnto the goddes, and first unto the son

He said: God Apollo and governour

Of every plant, hearbe, tree, and flour,

That yeuest after thy declination

To ilke of hem his time and season,

As thine herberow chaungeth low and hie:

Lord Phebus, cast thy merciable eie

On wretched Aurelius, which am but lorne,

Lo Lord, my Lady hath my death ysworne

Without guilt, but thy benignity

Vpon my deadly heart haue some pity.

For well I wot lord Phebus, if ye lest,

Ye may me helpe, saue my lady, best.

Now vouch ye saue, that I you deuise

How yt I may be holpen & in what wise.

Your blisfull suster Lucina the shene,

That of the sea is goddesse and queene,

Though Neptunus hath deitie in the see,

Yet empresse abouen him is she:

Ye knowen well lord, right as her desire

Is to be quickened and lighted of your sire,

For which she followeth you full besily,

Right to the sea desireth naturally

To followen her, as she that is goddesse

Both of the sea and riuers more and lesse.

Wherefore lord Phebus, this is my request,

Doe this miracle, or doe mine heart brest.

That now next at this oppsition,

Which in signe shall be of the Lion,

As prayeth her so great a flood to bring,

That fiue fadome at the least it ouerspring

The highiest rocke in Armorike Britaine,

And let this floud to duren yeares twaine.

Then certes to my lady may I say,

Holdeth your hest, the rockes been away:

This thing may ye lightly done for me,

Pray her to gone no faster course than ye.

I say thus, prayeth your suster that she go

No faster course than ye in yeares two:

Then shall she be at the full alway,

And spring flood lasting both night & day:

And but she vouchsafe in such manere

To graunt me my soveraigne lady dere,

Pray her to sinken every rocke adoun

Into her owne derke regioun

Vnder the ground, there Pluto dwelleth in,

Or nevermore shall I my lady win.

[Page] Thy Temple in Delphos wol I barefoot seek,

O lord Phebus, see the teares on my cheek,

And on my paine haue some compassioun:

And with yt word, in swoune he fell adoun,

And for a long time he lay in a traunce.

His brother, which yt knew of his pennaunce,

Vp caught him, and to bed him brought.

Dispaired in this turnment and this thought

Let I this wofull creature lie,

Chese he whether he woll liue or die.

Aruiragus with heale and great honour

(As he that was of chiualrie the flour)

Is comen home, and other worthy men:

O blisfull art thou now Dorigen,

That hast thy lusty husbond in thine armes,

That fresh knight, that worthy man of arms,

That loueth thee as his own hearts life:

Nothing list him to be imaginatife,

If any wight had spoken (while he was out)

To her of loue, thereof had he no dout,

He entendeth not to such matere,

But danceth, justeth, and maketh her good chere.

And thus in joy and bliss I let hem dwell,

And of wofull Aurelius woll I tell.

In langour and in turment despitous

Two yeare and more lay wretched Aurelius,

Ere any foot on earth he might gone,

Ne comfort in this time had he none,

Saue of his brother, which was a clerke,

He knew of all this wo and all this werke:

For to none other creature certaine

Of this mattere durst he no word saine,

Vnder his breast he bare it more secre,

Than euer did Pamphilus for Galathe.

His breast was whole without for to seene,

But in his heart aye was the arrow keene,

And well ye knowen, that of a sursanure,

In surgerie, is per [...]ous the cure,

But men might touch the arrow or come thereby.

His brother weepeth and waileth prively,

Till at the last him fell in remembraunce,

That while he was at Orleaunce in Fraunce

(As these clerkes yong that been likerous)

To readen arts that been curious,

Seeken in euery halke and in euery Herne

Particular science for to lerne.

He him remembred, that upon a deie

At Orleaunce in studie a booke he seie

Of Magicke naturall, which his felaw,

That was in that time a batcheler of law,

All were he there to learne another craft,

Had prively upon his dexe ylaft,

Which booke spake of mochell operations

Touching the eight and twentie Mansions

That longen to the Moone, and such follie

As in our dayes is not worth a Flie:

For holy church saieth in our beleeue,

* Ne suffereth none illusion us to greeue.

And when this book was in his remembrance,

Anon for ioy his heart gan to dance,

And to himselfe he saied prively.

My Brother shall be warished sikerly:

For I am siker that there be sciences,

By which men maken diuers apparences,

Such as these subtill tregetores play.

For oft at [...]easts haue I well heard say,

That tragetors, within an hall large

Haue made come in water and a barge,

And in the hall rowen up and doun:

Sometime hath seemed a grim Lioun,

And sometime floures spring as in a mede,

Sometime a vine, & grapes white and rede:

Sometime a Castle of lime and stone,

And when hem liked, voiden hem anone:

Thus seemed it to every mans sight.

Now then conclude I thus, if yt I might

At Orleaunce some old felaw find,

That had this Moones Mansions in mind,

Or other Magicke natural aboue,

He should wel make my brother haue his loue

For with an apparaunce a clerke may make

To a mans sight, that all the rockes blake

Of Britaine were yuoided euerichone,

And ships by the brinke to comen and gone,

And in such forme enduren a yeare or two:

Then were my brother warished of his wo,

Then must she needs holden her behest,

Or els he shall shame her at the lest.

What should I make a lenger tale of this?

Vnto his brothers bed he commen is,

And such comfort he yaue him, for to gone

To Orleaunce, that he up stert anone,

And on his way then is he forth yfare,

In hope to been lessed of his care.

When they were comen almost to y• citee

(But if it were a two furlong or three)

A yong clerke roming by himselfe they met,

Which that in Latine thriftily hem gret,

And afterward he saied a wonder thing,

I know the whole cause of your comming:

And ere they farther any foot went,

He told hem all that was in her intent.

This Briton clerke asked him of fellowes,

The which he had knowen in old daies,

And he answerd him that they dead were,

For which he wept oft full many a tere.

Doune off his horse Aurelius light anon,

And with this Magician forth is he gon

Home to his house, and made him well at ese:

Hem lacked no vitaile that hem might plese.

So well araied an house as there was one,

Aurelius in his life saw neuer none.

He shewed him or he went to suppere

Forrests and parkes full of wild dere,

He saw there Harts with hornes hie,

The greatest that euer were seene with eie,

He see of hem an hundred slaine with hounds,

And some of arows bled with bitter wounds.

He saw, when voided were the wild dere,

These fauconers upon a faire riuere,

That with the haukes han the Heron slaine.

Tho saw he knights iusting in a plaine.

And after this he did him such pleasaunce,

That he him shewed his lady in a daunce,

On which himself daunced as him thought.

And when this master, yt this magike wrouȝt,

Saw it was time, he clapped his honds to,

And farewell our revel, all was ago,

And remeued neuer out of his hous,

While they saw all this sight maruellous.

But in his studie there his bookes bee,

They saten still, no wight but they three.

[Page] To him this maister called his squier,

And saied him thus, is ready our supper?

Almost an hour it is, I vndertake,

Sithen I you bad our supper ready make,

When that these worthy men went with me

Into my studie, there as my bookes be.

Sir (qd. the squier) when it liketh you,

It is all ready, though ye woll right now.

Goe we sup then (qd. he) for the best,

These amorous folk somtime mote haue rest.

And after supper fell they in treate

What sum should this maisters guerdon be,

To remeue all the rockes of Britaine,

And eke from Girond to the mouth of Saine.

He made it strange & swore so God him saue,

Lesse than a thousand pound would he not haue,

Ne gladly for yt sum nold he it done.

Aurelius with blisfull heart anone

Answerd thus: Fie on a thousand pound:

This wide world, which men say is round,

I would it yeue, if I were lord of it.

This bargaine is full driue, for we be knit,

Ye shall be paied truely by my trouth:

But looke now for no negligence or slouth,

Ne tarien vs here no lenger than to morow.

Nay (qd. this clerk) here my trouth to borow.

To bed is gone Aurelius when him lest,

And well nigh all night he had his rest.

What for his labour, and his hope of blisse,

His wofull heart of pennaunce had a lisse.

Vpon the morrow when that it was day,

Home to Britaine tooke they the right way,

Aurelius, and this Magicine him beside,

And been discended there they would abide:

And this was, as the booke doth remember,

In the cold frostie season of December.

Phebus waxed old, and hewed like laton,

That afore in his hot declination

Shone as the brenning gold, with streames bright:

But now in capricorne adoune he light.

Whereas he shone full pale, I dare well saine,

The bitter frost with the slidder raine

Destroyed hath the greene in euery yerd.

Ianus sit by the fire with double berd,

And drinketh of his bugle horne the wine:

Beforn him stout brawne of ye tusked swine,

And nowell crieth euery lustie man.

Aurelius in all that euer he can,

Doeth to this maister chere and reuerence,

And praieth him to doen his deligence

To bringen him out of his paines smart,

Or with a swerd that he would slit his hart.

This clerke such routh hath on this man,

That night & day he speedeth him wt he can

To wait a time of his conclusion:

This is to say, to make illusion,

Or such an apparence of iogglerie

(I ne can no termes of Astrologie)

That she and every wight should wene & say,

That of Britaine the rockes were away,

Or els they were sonken vnder the ground:

Till at the last he hath his time yfound

To make his yapes and his wretchednesse

Of such superstitious cursednesse:

His tollitan tables he forth brought

Full well corrected, him lacked nought,

Neither his collect, ne his expans yeres,

Ne his roots, ne yet his other geres

As been his centris, and his argumentes,

And his proportionell conuenientes

For his equations in euery thing.

And by his eight speres in his werking,

He knew full well how far alnath was shoue

Fro the head of thilke fixt Aries aboue,

That in the ninth spere considered is,

Full subtilly he had calked all this.

And when he had found his first Mansion,

He knew the remnaunt by proportion:

And knew the rising of the Moone wele,

And in such face, the terme and euery dele,

And knew also his other obseruaunces

For such illusions and such mischaunces

As Heathen folke vsed in thilke daies:

For which ne maked he no lenger delaies,

But through his magick, for a weeke or tway

It seemed that all the rockes were away.

Aurelius, which that dispaired is,

Whether he shall haue his loue, or fare amis,

Awaiteth night and day on this miracle:

And when he knew there was none obstacle,

But yt voided were these rocks euerichone,

Doune to the maisters feet he fell anone,

And saied, I wofull wretch Aurelius,

Thanke you lord and lady mine Venus,

That me hath holpen fro my cares cold,

And to ye temple his way forth hath he hold,

Whereas he knew he should his lady see,

And when he saw his time, anon right hee

With dreadfull hart and with humble chere

Salued hath his soueraigne lady dere.

My rightfull lady (qd. this wofull man)

Whom I serue and loue, as I best can,

And lothest were of all this world displease,

Nere it that I for you haue such disease,

That I must die here at your feet anon,

Nought would I tell how wo in me begon.

But certes either must I die or plaine,

Ye slea me guiltlesse for very paine.

But of my death though ye haue no routh,

Auisen you, ere that ye breake your trouth:

Repenteth you, for that like God aboue:

For ye slea me, because that I you loue.

For Madame, well ye wot that ye haue hight

Nut that I chalenge any thing of right

Of you my soueraigne lady, but of your grace:

But in a garden yonde in such a place,

Ye wote right well what ye behight me,

And how in my hond your trouth plight ye

To loue me best, God wote ye saied so,

Albeit I am vnworthy thereto.

Madame I speake for the honour of you

More than for to saue my hearts life now:

I haue doen right as ye commaunded mee,

And if ye vouchsafe, ye may goe see.

Doeth as you list, haueth your hest in mind,

For quick or dead, right there ye shall me find:

In you lieth all to doe me liue or dey,

But well I wote the rockes been all awey.

He tooke his leaue, and she astonied stood,

In all her face there nas a drop of blood:

She wend neuer han come in such a trap.

Alas (qd. she) that euer this should hap,

[Page] For wend I neuer by possibilite:

That such a mister or maruaile might be:

It is against the processe of nature.

And home she goeth a sorrowfull creature,

For very feare vnneths may she go,

She weepeth and waileth a day or two,

And swouneth, that it was routh to see:

But why it was, to no wight told she,

For out of toune was gone Aruiragus.

But to her selfe she spake, and saied thus

In her complaint, as ye shall after heare,

With face pale, and with sorrowfull cheare.

Alas (qd. she) on thee fortune I plain,

That vnware hast wrapped me in thy chain:

Fro which to escape, wot I no succour,

Saue onely death, or els dishonour:

One of these two behoueth me to chese.

But natheles, yet had I leuer to lese

My life, than of my body to haue shame,

Or know my selfe false, or lese my name.

And with my death I may be quit ywis:

Hath there not full many a wife ere this,

And many a maid yslaine her selfe alas,

Rather than with her body doen trespas?

And certes lo, these stories been witnesse,

When thirtie tyrants full of cursednesse

Had slain Phidon in Athens at the feast,

They commaunded his doughters to arrest,

And bringen hem beforne hem in dispite

All naked, to fulfill her foule delite:

And in her fathers blood he did hem dance

Vpon ye pauement, God yeue him mischance.

For which these wofull maidens ful of dread,

Rather than they would lesen her maidenhead,

They priuily been stert into a well,

And drenched hemselfe, as bookes can tell.

They of Messene let enquire and seeke

Of Lacedemony fiftie maidens eke,

On which they would haue doen her lechery:

But there was none of all that company

That she nas slaine, and with a glad intent

Chese rather for to dien, than to assent,

To been oppressed of her maidenhead.

Why should I then to die been in dread?

Lo eke the tyrant Aristoclides,

That loued a maid that hight Simphalides,

When that her father slaine was on a night,

Vnto Dianes temple goth she a non right,

And hent the Image with her armes two,

Fro which Image would she neuer go,

No wight might fro it her honds to race,

Till she was slaine right in the selfe place.

Now sithens y• maidens had such despight

To been defouled with mans foule delight,

* Well ought a wife rather her selfe sle,

Than be defouled, as thinketh me.

What shall I say of Hasdrubals wife,

That at Carthage beraft her selfe her life?

For when she saw the Romans wan the toun,

She tooke her children all, and lept adoun

Into the fire, and chese rather to die,

Than any Romane did her villanie.

Hath not Lucrece yslaine her selfe, alas

At Rome, there as she oppressed was

Of Tarquine? for her thought it was shame

To liue, when that she had lost her name.

The eight maidens of Melesie also

Han slaine hemselue for very dread and wo,

Rather than folk of Gaule should hem oppresse

More than a thousand stories, as I gesse,

Couth I now tell as touching this matere.

When Abradas was slain, his wife so dere

Her selfe slow, and let her blood to glide

In Abradas wounds, broad and wide,

And saied, my body at the least way

There shall no wight defoule if I may.

What should I mo ensamples hereof sain,

Sithens that so many han hem slain,

Well rather than they would defouled be.

I woll conclude that it is best for me

Well rather slea my selfe in some manere,

As did Demotius doughter dere,

Because that she nolde not defouled be.

O Sedasus, it is full great pite

To readen how thy doughters diden, alas?

That slowen hemselfe for such a maner caas.

As great a pity was it or well more,

Of the Theban maid: for that Nichanore,

One of Macedony, had her oppressed,

With her death her maidenhead she redressed.

What shall I saine of Nicerates wife,

That for such case beraft her selfe her life?

How true was eke to Alcibades,

His loue, that for to dien rather chees,

Than to suffren his body vnburied be?

Lo which a wife was Alceste (qd. she)

What saieth Homere of good Penelope?

All Greece knoweth of her chastite.

Parde of Laodomia is written thus,

That when at Troy was slain Protheselaus,

No lenger nolde she liue after this day.

The same of noble Portia tell I may,

Withouten Brutus couth she not liue,

To whom she had all her heart ygiue.

The perfit wifehood of Artemisie

Honoured is throughout all Barbarie.

Oh Thenta Queene, thy wifely chastite

To all wiues liuing may a mirrour be.

The same thing I say of Bilia,

Of Rodogone, and eke Valeria.

Thus plained Dorigene a day or twey,

Purposing euer that she would dey,

But natheles vpon the third night

Home came Aruiragus, the worthy knight,

And asked her why she wept so sore:

And she gan weepen euer lenger the more.

Alas (qd. she) that euer was I borne,

Thus haue I said (qd. she) thus haue I sworn,

And told him all, as ye haue heard before:

It needeth not to rehearse it no more.

This husbond with glad chere in sundry wise

Answerd and saied, as I shall you deuise.

Is there ought els Dorigene but this?

Nay nay (qd. she) God helpe me so as wis,

This is too much, and it were Gods will.

Yea wife (qd. he) let sleepe that may still,

It may be well: yet parauenture to day,

Ye shall your trouth hold by my fay.

For God so wis [...]y haue mercy on me,

I had well leuer sticked for to be

For very loue which that I to you haue,

But if ye should your trouth keepe and saue.

[Page] * Trouth is ye hiest thing that men may kepe.

But with that word he brast anone to weepe,

And saied, I you forbid on paine of death,

That never whiles you lasteth life or breath,

To no wight tell of this misauenture.

As I my best I woll my wo endure,

Ne make no countenance of heavinesse,

That folk of you may deeme harme ne gesse.

And forth he cleped a squier and a maid,

Goth forth anone with Dorigene he said,

And bringeth her in such a place anone.

They took her leue, & on her wey they gone:

But they ne wist why she thider went,

She nolde no wight tellen her intent.

This squier, which that hight Aurelius,

On Dorigene which that was so amorous,

Of auenture happed her to meet

Amid the toune, right in the high street,

As she would haue gone the way forthright

Toward the garden, there as she had hight.

And he went to the gardenward also,

For well he spied when she would go

Out of her house, to any manner place:

But thus they met of auenture or of grace,

And he salueth her with glad intent,

And assked of her whi [...]er that she went.

And she answerd halfe as she were mad,

Vnto the garden as my husbond bad

My trouth for to hold, alas, alas.

Aurelius gan wondren of this caas,

And in his heart had great compassion

Of her chere, and her lamentation,

And of Aruiragus the worthy knight,

That bad her hold all that she had hight,

So loth he was yt she should breke her trouth:

And in his heart he caught of it great routh.

Considering the hest on euery side,

That fro his lust were him better abide,

Than doe so high a churlish wretchednesse

Ayenst fraunchise, and all gentlenesse,

For which in few words saied he thus:

Madame, saieth to your lord Aruiragus,

That sithen I see this great gentlenesse

Of him, and eke I see well your distresse,

That ye to me shoulden hold your trouth,

Certes me thinketh it were great routh:

I haue well leuer euer to suffer wo,

Than depart the loue betwixt you two.

I you release madame into your hond

Quite every surement and every bond

That ye haue made to me, as here beforne,

Sithens thilk time which that ye were born.

My trouth I plight, I shall you neuer repreve

Of no behest, and here I take my leve

As of the truest and the best wife

That euer yet I knew in all my life.

But euery wight beware of her behest,

On Dorigene remembreth at the least.

* Thus can a squier doen a gentle dede,

As well as can a knight, withouten drede.

She thonked him vpon her knees all bare,

And home vnto her husbond is she fare,

And told him all as ye han heard me saied:

And be ye siker, he was so well apaied,

That it were vnpossible me to write.

What should I lenger of this case endite?

Aruiragus, and Dorigene his wife

In soueraigne blisse leaden forth her life,

Neuer after was there anger hem betweene,

He cherished hir as though she were a queene,

And she was to him true for euermore.

Of these two folkes ye get of me no more.

Aurelius, that his cost hath all forlorne,

Cursed the time that euer he was borne.

Alas (qd. he) alas that euer I beheight

Of pured gold a thousand pound of weight

Vnto this Philosopher, how shall I doe?

I see no more, but that I am fordoe.

Mine heritage mote I needs goe and sell,

And bin a begger, here may I no lenger dwell,

And shame all my kinrede in this place,

But I of him may get better grace.

But nathelesse I woll of him assay,

At certaine daies, yeare by yeare to pay,

And thonke him of his great courtesie,

My trouth woll I keepe, I woll not lie.

With heart sore he goth vnto his cofer

And brought gold vnto the Philosopher

The value of fiue hundred pounds as I gesse,

And him beseecheth of his gentlenesse

To graunt him daies of the remnaunt,

And said: maister I dare mell make auaunt,

I failed never of my trouth as yet.

For sikerly my debt shall be quit

Towards you, how that ever I fare

To gone a begging in my kirtle bare:

But would ye vouchsafe upon suerte

Two yeare or three for to respite me,

Then were I well, for els mote I sell

Mine heritage, there is no more to tell.

This Philosopher soberly answerd,

And saied thus, when he this word herd,

Have I not hold covenaunt unto thee?

Yes certes, well and truly (qd. he,)

Hast thou not had thy lady as thee liketh?

No, no (qd. he) and sorily he siketh.

What was the cause, tell me if that thou can?

Aurelius anon his tale began,

And told him all as ye han heard before,

It needeth not to rehearce it any more.

He saied Aruiragus of gentlenesse

Had leuer die in sorow and in distresse,

Than his wife were of her trouth fals.

The sorrow of Dorigene he told him als,

How loth she was to been a wicked wife,

And that she had leuer have lost her life.

And yt her trouth she swore through innocence,

She now erst heard speake of apparence:

That made me have of her so great pite.

And right as freely as he sent her to me,

As freely sent I her to him again:

This is all & some, there nis no more to sain.

The Philosopher answerd, leue brother,

Everych of you did gently to other:

Thou art a squier, and he is a knight,

But God forbid for his blisful might,

But if a clerke could doen a gentle deed

As well as any of you, it is no dreed.

Sir I release thee thy thousand pound,

As now thou were crope out of the ground,

Ne never ere now haddest thou knowen mee.

For sir, I woll not taken a penny of thee.

[Page] For all my craft, ne nought for my trauaile:

Thou hast ypaied right well for m [...] vitaile.

It is ynough, & farwell and haue good day,

And tooke his horse, & rode forth on his way.

Lordings this question would I aske now,

Which was the most free, as thinketh you?

Now telleth me, ere that I further wend,

I can no more, my tale is at an end.

§

¶The Second Nonnes Prologue.

THe minister & the norice vnto vices,

Which yt men clepen in English idlenesse,

That is porter of ye gate of delices

To eschue, and by her contrary her oppresse,

That is to saine, by lefull businesse:

* Well ought we to doen our intent

Least that ye fiend through idlenesse vs hent.

For he that with his thousand cords slie

Continually vs waiteth to be clap,

When he may man in idlenesse espie,

He can so lightly catch him in his trap,

Till that a man be hent right by the lap,

He nis not ware, the fiend hath him in hond:

* Well ought vs werch, & idlenesse withstond.

And though men dreaden neuer for to die,

Yet see men well by reason doubtles,

* That idlenesse is root of sluggardie,

Of which there commeth neuer good encrees,

For soothly sloth holdeth hem in a lees,

Onely to sleepe, and for to eat and drinke,

And to deuouren all that other swinke.

And for to put vs from such idlenesse,

That cause is of so great confusion,

I haue here doen my faithfull businesse

After the Legend in translation,

Right of thy glorious life and passion,

Thou with thy garlond, wrought with rose & lilly,

Thee meane I, maid & martir saint Cecily.

And thou that art floure of virgins all,

Of whom that Bernard list so well to write,

To thee at my beginning first I call,

Thou comfort of vs wretches, doe me endite

Thy maidens death, yt wan through hir merite

The eterne life, and of the fiend victory,

As men may after read in her story.

Thou maiden & mother, doughter of thy son,

Thou Well of mercy, sinfull soules cure.

In whom the God of bounty chese to won:

Thou humble and high ouer euery creature,

Thou noblest, and so farre ouer nature,

That no disdaine the maker had of kind,

His son in bloud and flesh to cloth and wind.

Within the cloyster of thy blisfull sidis,

Tooke mans shape the eterne loue and pees:

That of the true compas Lord and guide is,

Whom heauen, earth, and sea, withouten les

Aye herien, and thou virgine wemles

Bare of thy body, and dwellest maiden pure

The creator of euery creature.

Assembled is in the magnificence

With mercy, goodnesse, and with such pitee,

That thou art the sonne of excellence,

Not onely that helpest them that praien thee,

But oftentime of thy benignitee

Full freely, or that men thine helpe beseech,

Thou goest beforne, and art her liues leech.

Now helpe thou blisfull & meekefaire maid

Me flemed wretch, in this desert of gall:

Thinke on the woman of Canane, that said,

That whelpes eaten some of ye crums small

That from her Lords table been yfall:

And though yt I vnworthy doughter of Eue

Be sinfull, yet accepteth my beleeue.

And for that faith is ded withouten werkis,

So for to werch, yeue me witte and space,

That I be quit from the place yt most derkis

O thou that art so faire and full of grace,

Be mine aduocate in that hie place,

There as without ende is song Osanna,

Thou Christes mother, & doughter of Anna.

And of thy light, my soule in prison light,

That troubled is by the contagion

Of my body, and also by the wight

Of earthly lust, and false affection:

O heauen, O refute, O saluation

Of hem that been in sorow and distresse,

Now help, for to my werke I woll me dresse.

Yet I pray you that reden that I write,

Foryeueth me, that I doe no diligence

This ilke storie subtilly to endite.

For hoth haue I the words and the sentence

Of him that at the saints reuerence

The storie wrote, and followen her legende,

And pray you that ye woll my werke amende.

First woll I you the name of saint Cecily

Expoune, as men may in her storie see

It is to say in English, Heauens lilly,

For pure chastnesse of virginitie,

Or for she witnes had of honestie,

And greene of conscience, and of good same,

The sote sauoured Lilly was her name.

Or Cecily is to say, the way to blinde:

For she ensample was by good teaching,

Or else Cecily, as I written finde,

Is joyned by a manner conioining

Of heauen and Lia, in her figuring:

The heauen is set for thought of holinesse,

And Lia, for her lasting besinesse.

Cecily may eke be saied in this manere,

Wanting of blindnesse, for her great light,

For her sapience, and for her thewes clere.

Or els Lo, this maidens name so bright:

Of heuen & Leos cometh, of which by right

Men might the heauen of people her call,

Ensample of good and wise werkes all.

For Leos, people, in English is to say:

And right as men may in the heauen see

[Page] The sunne and moon, and sterres euery way,

Right so men ghostly, in this maiden free

Sawen of faith the great magnanimitie,

And eke the clerenesse hole of sapience,

And sundrie werkes, bright of excellence.

And right so as these Philosophers write

That heauen is swift, round, & eke brenning,

Right so was faire Cecily the white

Full swift and busie in euery good working,

And round and whole in good perseuering,

And brenning euer in charitie full bright:

Now haue I declared you what she hight.

¶The second Nonnes Tale.

The life and death of Saint Cecily.

THis maiden bright Cecile, as her life saith,

Was comen of Romanes & of noble kind:

And so foorth fostered vp in the faith

Of Christ, and bare his Gospell in her mind:

She neuer ceased, as I written find,

Of her prayer, and God to loue and dread,

Beseeching him to keepe her maidenhead.

And when this maid should vnto a man

I wedded be, that was full yong of age,

Which that ycleped was Valerian,

And day was come of her mariage,

She full deuout and humble in her corage,

Vnder her robe of gold, that sat full faire,

Had next her flesh yclad her in an haire.

And whiles that the organs made melodie,

To God alone thus in hert song she,

O lord, my soule and eke my bodie gie

Vnwemmed, lest I confounded be:

And for his loue that died vpon a tree.

Euery second or third day she fast,

Aye biding in her orison full fast.

The night came, and to bed must she gone

With her husbond, as is the manere,

And priuily she said vnto him anone,

O sweet and well beloued spouse dere,

There is a counsaile, and ye woll it here,

Which that right faine I would to you saine

So that ye me ensure, it not to bewraine.

Valerian gan fast vnto her swere,

That for no case, ne thing that might be,

He should neuer to none bewraien here:

And then at erst thus to him said she,

I haue an Angell which that loueth me,

That with great loue, where so I wake or sleepe,

Is ready aye my body for to keepe.

And if that he may felen out of drede,

That ye me touch or loue in vilonie,

He right anon will slee you with the dede,

And in your youth thus shall ye die.

And if that ye in clene loue me gie,

He woll you loue as me, for your cleanesse,

And shew you of his joy and brightnesse.

This Valerian, corrected as God wold,

Answerd ayen, if I shall trust thee,

Let me that angell see, and him behold,

And if that it a very angell be,

Then woll I done as thou hast prayed me:

And if thou loue another man forsoth,

Right with this sword then woll I slee you both.

Cecile answerd anon in this wise,

If that ye lust, that angel shul you see,

So that ye trow on Christ, and you baptise,

Goth forth to Via apia (qd. she)

That from this toun ne stant but miles three,

And to the poore folke that there doe dwell

Say hem right thus, as I shall you tell.

Tell hem that I Cecile, you to hem sent

To shewen you the good Vrban the old,

For secret needs, and for good entent:

And when that ye saint Vrban han behold,

Tell him the words that I to you told,

And when that he hath purged you from sin,

Then shall ye see that angell ere ye twinne.

Valerian is to that place igon,

And right as him was taught by his lerning,

He found this holy Vrban anon

Among these saints burials louting:

And he anon without tareing

Did his message, and when he had it tolde,

Vrban for joy gan his honds vp hold.

The teres from his eyen let he fall:

Almightie God, O Iesu Christ (qd. he)

Sower of chaste counsell, hierde of vs all,

The fruit of thilke seed of chastite

That thou hast sow in Cecile, take to thee:

Lo like a besy bee withouten gile

Thee serueth aye thine owne thrall Cecile.

For thilke spouse, that she tooke but newe

Full like a fierce Lion, she sendeth here

As meeke as any lambe was to ewe:

And with that word anon ther gan apere

An old man, iclad in white clothes clere,

That had a book with letters of gold in hond,

And gan biforne Valerian for to stond.

Valerian as deed, fell downe for drede,

When he this old man saw standing so,

Which forthwith anon he herd to rede,

O Lord, O faith, O God withouten mo

Of Christendome, and father of all also

Abouen all, and ouer all euery where:

These words all with gold iwritten were,

When this was rad, then said this old man,

Leuest thou this thing or none, say ye or nay:

I leue all this thing (qd. Valerian)

Vnder the heauen no [...]ight ne thinke may

Sother thing than this, I dare well say.

Tho vanished the old man, he nist where,

And Pope Vrban him christned right there.

[Page]

Valerian goeth home, and findeth Cecile

Within his chamber, with an Angell stonde:

This angell had of rose and of lillye

Crownes two, the which he bare in honde,

And first to Cecile, as I vnderstonde,

He yaue that one, and after gan he take

That other to Valerian her make.

With body clean & with vnwemmed thought

Keepeth aye well these crownes two (qd. he)

From paradise to you I haue hem brought,

Ne neuer more shullen they rotten be,

Ne lese her sweet sauour, trusteth me,

Ne neuer wight shall seene hem with eye,

But he be chaste, and hate vilonie.

And thou Valerian, for thou so sonne

Assentedest to good counsell also,

Say what thou list, and thou shalt have thy boone.

I haue a brother (qd. Valerian tho)

That in this world I loue no man so,

I pray you that my brother may haue grace

To know the trouth, as I do in this place.

The angel answerd, God liketh your request,

And both with the palme of martirdome

Shall ye come vnto the blisfull feast:

And with yt word, Tiburce his brother come,

And when that he the sauour [...]idernome,

Which that the roses and the lillies cast,

Within his hert he gan to wonder fast.

And said: I wonder this time of the yere

Whence that this sote sauour commeth so

Of roses and lillies, that I smell here:

For though I had hem in mine hands two,

The sauour might in me no deeper goe:

The sweet smell, that in mine hert I find

Hath changed me all in another kind.

Valerian said, two crownes here have we

Snow white, & rose red, that shineth clere,

Which that thine eyen han no might to see:

And as thou smellest hem through my praier

So shalt thou seen hem my leue brother dere,

If it so be that thou wilt without slouth

Beleeue aright, and know the very trouth.

Tiburce answerd, saiest thou this to me

In soothnesse, or in dreme herken I this?

In dremes (qd. Valerian) han we be

Vnto this time, brother mine iwis:

But now at erst, out dwelling in trouth is.

How wost you this (qd. Tiburce) & in what wise?

Qd. Valerian, yt I shall thee deuise.

The angell of God hath me y• trouth taught

Which thou shalt seene, & thou wilt reney

The idols, and be cleane, and els naught:

And of the miracles of these crownes twey

Saint Ambrose in his preface lust to sey:

Solemnely this noble doctour dere

Commendeth it, and saith in this manere.

The palme of martirdome for to receiue,

Saint Cecile, fulfilled of Gods ye [...]t,

The World and eke her chamber gan weiue,

Witnesse Tiburces and Ceciles shrift,

To which God of his bounty would shift

Crownes two, of floures well smelling,

And made ye angell hem tho crownes bring.

The maid hath brought hem to blisse aboue:

The world hath wist what it is worth certain

Deuotion and chastity well for to loue.

Tho shewed him Cecile all open and plaine,

That all idols ben but things in vaine,

For they ben dumbe, & therto they ben defe,

And charged him his idols for to lefe.

Who that troweth not this, a beast he is

(Qd. this Tiburce) if that I shall not lie.

She kissed his breast when she heard this,

And was full glad he couth trouth espie:

This day take I thee for mine allie,

Said this blisfull maiden faire and deare,

For after that she said as ye may heare.

Lo right so as the loue of Christ (qd. she)

Made me thy brothers wife, right in yt wise

Anon for mine allie here take I thee,

Sithens that thou wolt thine idols despise.

Goth with thy brother now, and thee baptise,

And make thee clean, so yt thou maist behold

The angels face, of which thy brother told.

Tiburce answerd, & said: brother deare

First tell me whither I shal, and to wt man:

To whom he said, come forth with good chere

I woll thee lead vnto the Pope Vrban.

To Vrban brother mine Valerian

(Qd. this Tiburce) wilt thou me thider lede?

Me thinketh that it were a wonder dede.

Ne meanest thou not Vrban (qd. he tho)

That is so oft damned to be dead,

And wonneth in hal [...]es to and fro,

And dare not once putten forth his head?

Men should him bren in a fire so red,

If he were found, & men might him spie,

And we also, that beare him companie.

And while we seeken thilke diuinitie,

That is yh [...]d in heauen priuely,

Algate ybrent in this world should be.

To whom Cecile answerd boldely,

* All men might dread well and skilfully

This life to le [...]e, mine own dere brother,

If this were liuing onely and none other.

* But there is better liuing in other place,

That neuer shall be lost, ne drede thee nought:

Which Gods son to vs told throgh his grace.

That fathers son which hath al thing wroght,

And all iwrought is with a skilfull thought,

The ghost that from the father gan procede,

Hath souled him withouten any drede.

By word and by miracle, lo Gods son

When he was in this world, declared here,

That there is other life there men may won.

To whom answerd Tiburce: O su [...]ter dere

[Page] Ne saidest thou right now in this manere,

There nas but one God in soothfattnesse,

And now of three how may thou bere witnesse.

That shall I tell (qd. she) or that I go:

* Right as a man hath sapiences three,

Memory, engine, and intellect also,

So in such being of diuinitie,

Three persons may there full right well be

Tho gan she there full busily him preach

Of Christs sonne, and of his paines teach.

And many points of his passion,

How Gods son in this world was withhold

To doe mankind plaine remission,

That was b [...]und in sinnes and cares cold.

All these things the vnto Tiburce told,

And after this Tiburce in good intent,

With Valerian to Pope Vrban went.

That thonked God, & with glad hert & light

He christened him, & made him in yt place

Perfite in his learning Gods knight:

And after this, Tiburce got such grace,

That euery day he saw in time and space

The Angell of God, and euery boone

That he God asked, it was sped full soone.

It were full hard by order for to saine

How many wonders Iesu for him wrought:

But at the last, to tell short and plaine,

The sergeaunt of the to [...]e for hem sought.

And hem before Almache ye prouost brought,

Which hem aposed, and knew all her intent,

And to the Image of Iupiter hem sent.

And said, who so woll doe no sacrifice,

Swap of his head, this is my sentence here:

Anon these martyrs, that I you deuise,

One Maximus that was an officere

Of the prefectes, and his councelere

Hem hent, and when he forth the saints lad,

Himselfe he wept for pity that he had.

When Maximus had herd these saints lore,

He gote hem of the turmentours leue,

And had hem to his house withouten more,

And with her preaching, ere yt it were eue,

They gan from the turmentour to reue,

And from Maximus. & from his folke echone

The false faith, to trowen in God alone.

Cecile came, when it was woxen night,

With priests, that hem christened all in fere:

And afterward, when day was woxen light,

Cecile hem said with a sober chere:

Now Christs own knights both leue & dere

Casteth all away the werkes of derkenesse,

And armeth you in armour of brightnesse.

Ye han forsooth idone a great bataile

Your course is done, your faith hath you conserued,

Goth to the croune of life that may not faile,

The rightfull iudge, which ye han serued,

Shall yeue it you, as ye have it deserued:

And when this thing was said, as I deuise,

Men led hem forth to done the sacrifice.

But when they were unto the place ibrought,

To tell shortly the conclusioun,

They [...]old ensence ne sacrifice right nought,

But on her knees they saten hem adoun

With humble heart and sad deuotioun,

And l [...]ssen both her heads in the place,

Her so [...]es wenten to the king of grace.

This Maximus, that saw the thing betide,

With [...] teares told it anone right:

That he her soules saw to heauen glide

With angels full of clearenesse and of light:

And with his word conuerted many a wight.

For which Almachius did him so to bete

With wh [...]s of lead, till he his life gan lete.

Cecile him tooke, and buried him anone

By Tiburce and Valerian soothly,

Within her durying place vnder a stone:

And after this Almachius hastily

Bad his ministers fetchen openly

Cecile, so yt she might in his presence

Doe sacrfide, and Iupiter encence.

But they conuerted at her wi [...]e lore

Weptenfull sore, and yaue full credence

Vnto her word, and criden more and more,

Christ, Gods sonne, withouten difference

Is very God, this is all our sentence,

That hath a se [...]aunt so good him to serue?

Thus with o voice we trow though we sterue.

Almachius, that heard all this doing,

Bad fetch Cecile, that he might her see:

And alderfirst this was his asking,

What manner woman art thou (qd he?)

I am a gentlewoman borne (qd. she:)

I aske of thee (qd. he) thought it thee greeue,

Of thy religion and of thy beleeue?

Ye haue begun your question fondly

(Qd. she) that would two answers conclude

In one demaund, ye asken leaudly:

Almachius answerd to that similitude,

Of whence commeth thine answere so rude?

Of whence (qd. she) when yt she was frained,

Of conscience, and good faith vnfained.

Almachius said, ne takest thou none hede

Of my power? and she him answerd this:

Your might (qd. she) full little is to drede:

* For euery mortall mans power nis

But ylike a bladder full of wind ywis:

For with a needles point, when it is yblow,

May all the boast of it be laid full low.

Full wrongfully beganst thou (qd. he)

And yet in wrong is thy perseueraunce:

Wost thou not how our mighty princes free

Haue thus commanded & made ordinance,

That euery christen wight shal haue penance,

But if that he his Christendome withsey,

And gone all quite, if he woll it reney?

[Page]

Your Princes erren, as your nobles dooth,

Qd. tho Cecile, in a wood sentence

Ye make us guilty, and it is not sooth:

For ye that knowen, well our innocence,

Forasmuch as we done a reverence.

To Christ, and for we heare a Christen name,

Ye put on us a crime, and eke a blame.

But we that well knowen thi [...]ke name so

For vertuous, we may it not withsey,

Almachius answerd, chese one of these two,

Doe sacrifice, or Christendome reney,

That thou mow esca [...]en by that [...].

At which word the holy blisful maid

Gan for to laugh, and to the iudge she said:

O iudge confused [...]

Wolt thou that I reney innocene [...]?

To make me a wicked wight (qd. she)

Lo he dissimuleth here in audience,

He stareth and woddeth in his adv [...]ence:

To whom Almachius said: O silly wretch,

Thou wost not how far my might may stretch.

Hath not our mighty princes [...]

To me both power and eke authorite,

To make folke to dien or to liuen?

Why speakest thou so proudly then to me?

I ne speake it but stedfastly (qd. she)

Not proudely, for I say as for my side,

That I hate deadly thilke vice of pride.

And if thou drede not a sooth for to hear,

Than woll I shewen all openly by right,

That thou hast made a full great lesing here:

Thou saist thy princes han yeven thee might

Both to slee and eke to quite a wight:

Thou ne maist but only life bereve,

Thou hast none other power ne leve.

But thou maist say, thy princes han thee maked

Minister of death, for if thou speake of mo,

Thou liest: for thy power is full naked.

Do way thy boldness, said Almachius tho,

And doe sacrifice to our gods ere thou go.

I recke not what wrong thou me proffer,

For I can it suffer, as can a Philosopher.

But thilke wrongs may I not endure,

That thou speakest of our gods here (qd. he.)

Cecile answerd, O nice creature,

Thou saidst no word sithens thou spakest to me

That I ne knew therewith thy nicete,

And that thou were in every manner wise

And leaud officer, and a vaine iustice.

Thee lacketh nothing to thine utter eien

That thou nart blind: for thing yt we seen all

That is a stone, that men well may aspien,

That ilke stone a god thou wolt it call:

I rede thee let thine hond upon it fall,

And tast it well, and stone thou shalt it find,

Sens yt thou seest not with thine eyen blind.

It is a shame that the people shall

So scorne thee, and laugh at thy follie:

For commonly men wot it well over all:

* That mighty God is in his heavens hie,

And these images well maist thou espie,

To thee ne to hemselfe may they not profite,

For in her effect they be not worth a mite.

These and such other words saiden she,

And he woxe wroth, and bad she should be lede

Home to her house, and in her house (qd. he)

Br [...]n her in a Bathe, with flames rede:

And as he bad, right so was done the dede.

For in a bathe they gan her fast sheten,

And night & day great fire under they beten.

All the long night, and eke the day also,

For all the fire, and eke the bathes hete,

She sat all cold, and felt of it no wo,

It made her not a drop for to swete:

But in that hath her life she mote lete.

For Almachie, with a full wicked intent,

To sleen her in the bathe, his sonde sent.

Three strokes in the necke he smote her tho

The turmentour, but for no manner chaunce

He might not smite all her necke atwo:

And for there was at yt time an ordinaunce

That no man doe no person such pennaunce,

The fourth stroke to smiten, soft or sore:

This turmentour durst smite her no more.

But halfe dead, with her necke ycorven there

He left her lie, and on his way he went:

The christen folke that about her were

With shetes home full faire they her hent:

Three dayes lived she in this turment,

And never ceased the faith to teach,

That she had fostred hem, she gan to preach.

And hem she yave her moveables and her thing,

And to the Pope Vrban betook hem tho,

And said, I asked this of the heaven king,

To have respite three dayes and no mo,

To recommaund to you, ere that I go,

These soules, and that I might do werch

Here of mine house perpetuelliche a cherch.

Saint Vrban, with his deacons priuely

The body fette, and buried it by night

Among his other saints honestly:

Her house the church of saint Cecile hight,

Saint Vrban hallowed it, as he well might,

In which vnto this day, in noble wise,

Men done to Christ and to his saints servise.

§

¶The Chanons Yeomans Prologue.

WHen ended was the life of saint Cecile,

Ere we fully ridden had five mile,

At Boughten vnder the blee vs gan a take

A man, that clothed was in clothes blake,

And vnder that he had a white surplice:

His hackney that was all pomely grise,

So sweat, that it wonder was to see,

It seemed that he had pricked miles three.

The horse eke that his yeoman rode vpon,

So sweateth, that vnneth might he gone.

[Page] About the paytrell stood the fome full hie,

He was of fome as flecked as a pie:

A male twifolde on his croper lay,

It semed that he carried little aray,

All light for sommer rode this worthy man.

And in my heart wondren I began

What that he was, till I understood,

How that his cloke was sewed to his hood,

For which when I had long auised me,

I demed him some chanon for to be,

His hat hing at his back by a lace,

For he had ridden more than trot or pace.

He rode aye pricking as he were wode,

A clote lefe he had laid under his hode

For swette, and for to keep his head fro here.

But it was ioy for to see him swete,

His forehead dropped, as a stillutory

Were full of plantaine or of peritory.

And when he was come, he gan to cry,

God save (qd. he) this ioly company:

Fast have I pricked (qd. he) for your sake,

Because that I would you overtake,

To riden in this mery company.

His yoman was eke full of curtesie,

And said sirs, now in the morow tide

Out of your hostrie I saw you ride,

And warned here my lord and soveraine,

Which that to ridden with you is full faine,

For his disport, he loveth daliance.

Friend for thy warning God yeue thee good chance.

Then said our host, certaine it would seeme

Thy lord were wise, and so I may well deme,

He is full ioconde also dare I say:

Can he ought tell a mery tale or twaie,

With which he glad may this companie?

Who sir, my lord? Ye without lye,

He can of mirth and eke of iolite

Not but inough also sir trusteth me.

And ye him knew all so well as doe I,

Ye would wonder how well and thriftely

He couth werke, and that in sondry wise.

He hath taken on him many a great emprise,

Which were full harde, for any that is here

To bring about, but they of him it lere.

As homely, as he rideth among you,

If ye him knew, it wold been for your prowe:

Ye would not forgon his acquaintaunce

For mochell good I dare lay in balaunce

All that I haue in my possession.

He is a man of high discression:

I warne you well he is a passing wise man.

Well (qd. our hoste) I pray thee tell me than

Is he a clerke or non? tell what he is.

A clerke, nay greater than a clerke iwis,

Said the yoman, and in words few,

Hoste, of his craft somwhat woll I shew.

I say my lord can such a subtelte,

(But all his craft ye may not wete of me,

And somewhat help I yet to his werching)

That all the ground that we be on riding

Till we come to Canterbury towne

He could all clene turnen vp and downe,

And paue it all of siluer and of gold.

And when this yoman had thus itolde

Vnto our hoste: he said benedicite,

This thing is wonder meruailous to me:

(Sens that thy lord is of so hie prudence

Because of which, men shuld him reuerence)

That of his worship wreketh he lite:

His ouerest sloppe is not worthy a mite

As in effect to him, so mote I go,

It is all baudy and to tore also.

Why is thy lord so slothliche I thee prey,

And is of power better clothes to bey?

If that his deed acorde with thy speech

Tell me that, and that I thee beseech?

Why (qd. this yeman) wherto aske ye me?

God helpe me so, for he shall neuer ythe:

But I woll not auowe that I say,

And therefore keep it secret I you pray,

He is too wise in fay, as I beleeue,

* And that is ouerdone nill not preue.

And right (as clerkes saine, it is a vice:

Wherfore I hold him in that leude and nice.

* For when a man hath ouergreat wit,

Full oft it happeth him to misusen it:

So doth my lord, & that me greeueth sore.

God amend it, I can say no more.

Thereof no force good yeman qd. our host)

Sens of the conning of thy lord thou wost,

Tell how he doth, I pray thee heartily,

Sens that he is so crafty and so sly

And where dwellen ye, if it to tell be?

In the Subbarbs of a towne (qd. he)

Lurking in hernes and in lanes blind,

Whereas these robbers and theues by kind

Holden her priuy fearefull residence,

As they that dare not shewen her presence

So fare we, if that I shall say the [...]othe.

Yet (qd. our host) let me talke to thee:

Why art thou so discoloured in thy face?

Peter (qd. he) God yeue it harde grace:

I am so vsed in the hote fire to blow,

That it hath chaunged my colour as I trow,

I am not wont in no mirrour to prie,

But swinke sore, and lerne to multiplie:

We blondren euer, and poren in the fire,

And for all that, we failen our desire,

For euer we lacken our conclusion.

To much folke we do illusion.

And borow gold, be it a pound or two,

Or ten or twelue, or many summes mo,

And make hem wenen at the least way,

That of a pound we could maken tway:

Yet is it false, and aye han we good hope

It for to done, and after it we grope:

But that science is so ferre vs beforne,

We mowe not although we had it sworne

It ouertake, it slyt away so fast,

It wol vs make beggers at the last.

Whiles this yeman was thus in his taking,

This Chanon drew him neere, & herd all thing

Which this yeman spake, for suspection

Of mennes spech euer had this Chanon:

* For Cato saieth, he that gilty is,

Demeth all thing be spoken of him iwis:

Because of that, he gan so nigh to draw

To this yeman, to herken all his sawe,

And thus he said vnto his yeman tho,

Hold now thy peace, & speake no words mo:

For if thou do, thou shalt it sore abie.

Thou slaundrest me here in this companie,

[Page] And eke discouerest that thou shouldest hide.

Ye (qd. our host) tell on whatsoeuer betide

Of all this threting, recke thee not a mite.

In faith (qd. he) no more do I but lite:

And when this Chanon saw it would not be,

But this yeman would tell his priuite,

He fled away for very sorow and shame.

A, qd. the yemon, here shall rise a game:

All that I can anon woll I you tell,

Sens he is gon, the foule tende him quell:

For neuer hereafter woll I with him mete

For peny ne for pound. I you behete

He that me brought first unto that game,

Er that he die, sorow haue he and shame.

For it is ernest to me by my faith,

That fele I well what so any man saith:

And yet for all my smert and all my greue

For all my sorow, labour and mischiefe,

I couth neuer leaue it in no wise.

Now would to God my wit might suffice

To tellen all that longeth to that art:

But nathelesse, yet woll I tell you a part,

Sens that my lord is gon, I woll not spare,

Such thing as I know, I woll declare.

¶The Thanons yeomans Tale.

A Priest of London, more covetous than wise, is deceived by a Chanon professing the Art of Alchimy.

WIth this Chanon I dwelt seuen yere,

And of his science I am neuer the nere:

All that I had, I haue lost thereby,

And God wot, so hath many mo than I.

There I was wont to be right fresh and gay

Of clothing, and eke of other good aray,

* Now may I weare an hose vpon mine hedde:

And where my colour was both fresh & redde,

Now is it wanne, and of a leaden hew,

Who so it vseth, sore shall him rue:

* And of my swinke, yet blered is mine eye,

Lo which auantage it is to multiplie,

That sliding science, hath me made so bare,

That I haue no good, where yt euer I fare:

And yet I amendetted so thereby

Of Gold, that I haue borowed truly,

That while I liue, I shall it quite neuer,

Let euery man beware by me euer.

What maner man that casteth him thereto

If he continue, I hold his thrift ido

* So help me God, thereby shall he neuer win,

But empte his purse, & make his wits thin:

And when he, through his madnesse and folie

Hath lost his own good through ieopardie,

Than he exiteth other men thereto,

To lese her good as himselfe hath do:

* For vnto shrewes, ioy it is and ese

To haue her felawes in pain and disese.

For thus was I once lerned of a clerke,

Of yt no charge: I woll speak of our werke.

When we be there as we shall exercise

Our eluish craft, we semen wonder wise.

Our termes been so clergiall and so quaint.

I blow the fire till my hert faint.

What should I tell eche proportion

Of things, which that we werchen vpon?

As on fiue or sixe ounces, may well be

Of siluer, or of some other quantite,

And besie me to tellen you the names

Of Orpiment, brent bones, yron squames,

That into pouder grounden been full small,

And in an earthen pot, how put is all,

And salt iput in, and also papere,

Before these pouders that I speake of here,

And wel icouered with a lampe of glas,

And of much other thing that there was:

And of the pottes and glas engluting,

That of the aire might passe out nothing.

And of the elle fire, and smart also,

Which that was made, & of the care and wo

That we had in our matters subliming.

And in amalgaming, and calsening

Of quicke siluer, icleped Mercurie crude,

For all our flight we cannot conclude,

Our Orpiment, and sublimed Mercurie,

Our ground litarge eke on porphirie,

Of each of these, ounces a certaine,

Not helpeth us, our labour is in vaine:

Ne eke our spirites assentioun,

Ne our matters that lien all fire adoun

Mowe in our werking nothing auaile.

For lost is all our labour and our trauaile

* And all the cost a twentie deuil way

Is lost also, which we vpon it lay.

There is also full many another thing,

That is to our craft appertaining,

Though I by order hem ne rehearce can:

Because that I am a leude man:

Yet wol I tellen hem, as they come to minde,

Though I ne can set hem in her kinde,

As Bole Armoniake, Verdegrece, Borace,

And sundry vessels made of earth and glas,

Our vrinals, and our discensories

Viols, crossettes, and sublimatories.

Concurbites, and alembekes eke,

And other such, deare inough of a Leke,

It nedeth not to rehearce hem all:

Waters [...]ubisiyng, and Boles gall,

Arsneke, sal Armoniake, and Brimstone,

And herbes cold I tell eke many one,

As Egremonie, Valerian, and Lunarie,

And other such, if that me list to tarie.

Our lamps eke brenning both night & day,

To bring abo [...] our craft if that we may.

Our fournice eke of calcination,

And of waters albification,

Vns [...]eked lime, chalke, and gleire of an eye,

Pounders diuers, ashes, doung, pisse, & cleie,

Sered pokettes, salt Peter, and Vitriole,

And diuers fires made of wood and cole.

Sal Tartre, Alcaly, and Sal preparate,

And combust matters, and coagulate:

Cley made with horse dung, mans here, & oile

Of tartre alim, glas, berme, wort, & argoile,

Resagor, and other matters enbibing,

And eke of our matters encorporing,

And of our siluer citrination,

Our sementing, and eke fermentation

[Page] Our yngottes, testes, and many things mo.

I woll you tell as was me taught also

The foure spirits, and the bodies seuen

By order, as oft I heard my lord nemen.

The first spirit, Quickesiluer cleped is:

The second, Orpiment: the third iwis

Sal Armoniake: the fourth Brimstone:

The bodies seuen eke, lo here hem anone

Sol gold is, and Luna siluer we threpe,

Mars yron, Mercurie quicke siluer we clepe:

Saturnus leade, and Iupiter is tinne,

And Venus coper, by my father kinne.

This cursed craft, who so woll exercise,

He shall no good haue that may him suffice,

For all the good he spendeth thereabout

He lese shall, thereof haue I no doubt.

Who so that listen to vtter his foly,

Let him come forth and learne to multiplie:

And euery man that hath ought in his cofer,

Let him appere, and wex a Philosopher:

Askaunce that craft is so light for to lere.

Nay, nay, God wot, all be he Monke or Frere

Priest or Chanon, or any other wight,

Though he sit at his booke both day & night

In learning of this eluish nice lore,

All is in vaine: and parde much more

Is to lere a leude man this subtilte,

Fie speke not thereof, it woll not be,

All could he lettcure, or could he none

As in effect, he shall finde it all one.

For both two, by my saluation

Concluden in multiplication

Iliche well, when they haue all ido.

This is to saine, they failen both two.

Yet forgate I much rehearsaile

Of waters corosife, and of limaile

And of bodies mollification

And also of her induration:

Oiles, ablusions, mettall fusible

To tellen you all, would passe any bible

That o where is: wherefore as for the best

Of all these names now would I me rest,

For as I trow, I haue you told ynow

To reise a fiende, all looke he neuer so row.

A naie let be: the Philosophers stone

Elixer cleped, we siken fast echone:

For had we him, then were we siker inow,

But vnto God of heauen I make auow,

For all our craft when that we han all ido

And all our sleight, he woll not come vs to.

He hath made vs spenden much good,

For sorow of which, almost we waxen wood,

But that good hope creepeth in our hart

Supposing euer, though we sore smart,

To been relieued of him afterward:

Supposing and hope is sharpe and hard.

* I warne you well it is to siken euer,

That future temps hath made men disceuer

In trust thereof, all that euer they had,

Yet of that arte they could not waxe sad

For vnto hem it is a bitter sweet

So seemeth it, for ne had they but a sheet

Which yt they might wrappen hem in a night,

And a bratte towalken in a day light,

They would hem sell, and spend it on this craft,

They conne not stint, till nothing be ilaft:

And euermore, where that euer they gone,

Men may hem ken by smell of Brimstone.

For all the world they stinken as a Gote,

Her sauour is so Rammish and so hote,

That though a man a mile from hem be,

The sauour woll infect him trusteth me.

Lo, thus by smelling, & by thredbare array

If that men list, this folke know they may:

And if a man woll aske him priuely,

Why they be clothed so unthriftily,

Right anon they woll rowne in his ere,

And saien, if that they aspied were,

Men woll hem slea, because of her science:

Lo thus these folke betraien innocence.

Passe ouer this, go my tale unto:

Er that the potte be on the fire ido

Of mettals, with a certaine quantite,

My lord hem tempereth, & no man but he:

Now he is gon, I dare say boldly.

For as men sain, he can doen craftly,

Algate I wote well he hath such a name,

And yet full oft he renneth in the blame,

And wote ye how full oft it happeth so,

The pot breaketh, and farewell all is go.

These mettales beene of so great violence,

Our walles may not make hem resistence.

But if they were wrought of lime and stone,

They percen so, & throgh the wall they gone:

And some of hem sinken into the ground,

Thus have we lost by times many a pound.

And some are scattered all the flore about,

Some lepen into the roofe withouten doubt.

Tho yt the fende not in our sight him shew,

I trow that he with us be, that like shrew.

In hell where that he is lord and fire

Ne is there no more wo, ne angre ne ire,

When yt our pot is broke, as I have saied

Euery man chite, & holte him evill apuied:

Some saied it was long of the fire making,

Some saied naie, it was on the blowing,

Then was I ferde, for that was mine office.

Straw (qd. the third) ye been leude & nice,

It was not tempred as it ought to be.

Nay (qd. the fourth) stint & herken me,

Because our fire was not made of Bech

That is the cause, & none other so theche.

I can not tell whereon it is along,

But well I wot great strife is vs among.

What (qd. my lord) there nis no more to doen

Of these perils I woll beware eftsone.

I am right siker, that the pot was crased:

Be as be may, be ye not amased,

As usage is, let swepe the floore as swithe,

Plucke vp your heart & be glad and blithe.

The mullocke on an heape iswept was,

And on the floore yeast a canuas,

And all this mullocke in a Siue ithrow,

And sifted and I plucked many a throwe,

Parde (qd. one) somewhat of our metall

Yet is there here, though we have not all.

And tho this thing mishapped hath as now

Another time it may been well inow.

We mote put our good in auenture,

* A marchant parde may not aie endure,

Trusteth me well, in his prosperitee:

Sometime his good is drowned in the see,

[Page] And sometime it cometh safe unto the lond.

Peace (qd. my lord) ye next time I woll fond

To bring our craft all in another plite,

And but I doe sirs, let me have the wite:

There was default in somewhat wel I wote.

Another said, the fire was ouer hote,

But be it hote or cold, I dare say this,

That we concluden euer more amis:

We failen of that which we would haue,

And in our madnesse evermore we raue,

And when we be together everychone,

Every man seemeth as wise as Salomon.

* But all thing, which yt shineth as the gold

Is not gold, as that I haue heard told:

* Ne euery apple that is faire at eie,

Nis not good, what so men clap or crie:

Right so lo it fareth emong vs,

He that seemeth the wisest by Iesus,

* Is most foole, when it commeth to ye prefe:

And he that seemeth truest is a thefe.

That shal ye know, er yt I from ye wende,

By that I of my tale haue made an ende.

There was a Chanon of religioun

Emongs vs, would enfect all a town,

Though it as great were as Niniue:

Rome, Alisaundre, Troie, and other three.

His sleight and his infinite falsenesse

There couth no man written as I gesse,

Though that he might liue a thousand yere,

In all this world of falsenesse nis his pere.

For in his termes he woll him so wind,

And speake his words in so slie a kind,

When be comune shall with any wight,

That he woll make him dote anon right,

But if a fiende he be as himselfe is.

Full many a man hath he begiled er this.

And mo woll, if that he may liue a while:

And yet men riden & gone full many a mile

Him for to seeke, and haue his acquaintance,

Not knowing of his false gouernance.

And if ye lust to giue audience.

I woll it tellen here in your presence.

But worshipfull Chanons religious,

Ne demeth not that I slander your house,

Although my tale of a Chanon be:

* Of euery order some shrew is parde,

* And God forbid that all a company

Should rue a singular mans folly.

To slander you is not mine entent,

But to correct that amisse, is ment.

This tale was not onely told for you,

But eke for other mo: ye wote well how

That emong Christes Apostles twelue

There was no traitour but Iudas himselue.

Then why should ye remnant haue any blame

That guiltlesse were? by you I say the same,

Saue onely this, if ye woll hearken me,

If any Iudas in your couent be,

Remeueth him betime, I you rede,

If shame or losse may causen any drede.

And be nothing displeased I you pray,

But in this case herketh what I say.

IN London was a priest annuellere,

That therein had dwelt many a yere,

Which was so pleasant & so seruisable

Vnto the wife where he was at Table,

That she would suffer him nothing to pay

For borde ne clothing, went he never so gay,

And spending siluer had he right ynow:

Thereof no force, I woll proceed as now

And tell forth my tale of the Chanon,

That brought this priest to confusion.

This false chanon came vpon a day

Vnto this priests chamber, where he lay,

Beseeching him to lene him a certain

Of gold, and he would quite him ayen:

Leneth me a Marke (qd. he) but dayes three,

And at my day I woll quite it thee.

And if it so be, that thou finde me false,

Another day hang by the halse.

This priest took him a marke, & that swith,

And this Chanon oft thanked him sith,

And took his leue, and went foorth his wey:

And at third day brought him his money,

And to this priest he took his gold ayen,

Whereof this priest was full glad and fain.

Certes (qd. he) nothing anoieth me

To lene a man a noble, two or three,

Or what thing were in my possession,

When he so true is of condition,

That in no wise he break woll his day:

To such a man I can never say nay.

What, qd. this Chanon, should I be vntrue,

Nay, that were a thing fallen of new:

Trouth is a thing that I woll euer kepe

Vnto the day in which I shall crepe

Into my graue, or else God forbede:

Beleueth this as siker as your crede.

God thanke I, and in good time be it saied,

That there nas neuer man yet euill apayed

For gold ne siluer that he to me lent,

Ne neuer falshede in mine hert I ment.

And sir, qd. he, now of my priuite,

Sens ye so goodliche haue been to me,

And kith to me so great gentlenesse,

Somwhat to quite with your kindnesse,

I woll you shew, if ye woll it lere

(I shall it shew to you anon right here)

How I can werche in Philosophy,

Take good heed, ye shall it see with your eye,

That I woll do a maistrie or I go.

Ye sir (qd. the priest) and woll ye so?

Mary thereof I pray you heartily.

At your commaundement sir truly

(Qd. the Chanon) and else God forbede:

Lo how this theefe couth his seruice bede.

* Full soth it is that such profered service

Stinketh, as witnesseth the old wise,

And that full soone I woll it verefie

In this Chanon, root of all trecherie,

That evermore delight hath and gladnesse

(Such fendly thoughts in his hert empresse)

How Christs people he may to mischief bring.

God keep us from his false dissimuling.

What wist this priest with whom yt he delt?

Ne of his harme comming nothing he felt.

O sely priest, O sely innocent,

With couetise anon thou shalt be blent:

O gracelesse, full blind is thy conceite,

Nothing art thou ware of his disceite.

[Page] Which that this Foxe hath shapen to thee:

His wily wrenches thou maiest not flee:

Wherfore to go to the conclusion

That referreth to thy confusion,

Vnhappy man, anon I woll me hie

To tyll thine unwitte and thy folie,

And eke the falsenesse of that other wretch,

As ferforth as my conning woll stretch.

This Chanon was my lord ye wold wene,

Sir host in faith, and by the heaven Queene

It was another Chanon and not he,

That can an hundred fold more subtilte:

He hath betraied folke many a time,

Of his falsenesse it doleth me to rime:

Ever when I speke of his falshede

For shame of him my cheekes waxen rede:

Algates they beginnen for to glow,

For rednesse have I none, right well I know,

In all my visage, for fumes diuerce

Of mettals, which ye haue heard me reherce,

Consumed and washed hath my rednesse.

Now take hede of this Chanons cursednesse.

Sir (qd. he to the priest) let your man gone

For quicksiluer, that we it had anone,

And let him bring ounces two or three:

And when he commeth, as fast shul you see

A wonder thing, which ye saw neuer er this.

Sir (qd. the priest) it shall be done iwis.

He had his seruant fetch him this thing,

And he all ready was at his bidding,

And went him forth, and came anon again

With this quicksiluer, shortly for to sain,

And took these vnces three to the Chanoun,

And he hem laid well and faire adown:

Add had the seruant coles for to bring,

That he anon might go to his werking.

The coles right anon were ifet,

And this Chanon tooke out a crosselet

Of his bosome, and shewed it to the priest:

This instrument (qd. he) which yt thou seest,

Take in thy hond, and put thy selfe therein

Of this quicksilver an vnce, and begin

In the name of Christ to wex a Philosopher:

There be full few, which I would it profer

To shew hem so much of my science:

For here shul ye see by experience,

That this quicksiluer I woll mortifie,

Right in your sight anon withouten lie,

And make it as good siluer and as fine,

As there is any in your purse or mine,

Or els where: and make it malliable,

And els hold me false and vnstable

Emonges folke euer to appeare.

I haue a pouder that cost me deare,

Shall make all good, for it is cause of all

My cunning, which I to you shew shall.

Voideth your man, and let him be thereout,

And shet the doore, whiles we been about

Our priuitie, that no man vs espie,

Whiles that we werken in our Philosophie.

All, as he had, fulfilled was in dede.

This like seruant anon out he yede,

And his maister shet the doore anon,

And to her labour spedily they gon.

This priest at this cursed Chanons bidding,

Vpon the fire anon set this thing,

And blew the fire, and busied him full fast:

And this Chanon into this croslet cast

A pouder, I not whereof it was

I made, either of chalke, earth, or glasse,

Or somewhat els, was not worth a flie,

To blind with the priest: and bad him hie

These coles for to couchen all aboue

The crosselet, for in token that I thee loue

(Qd. this Chanon) thine owne honds two

Shall werke all thing that here shall be do.

Grant mercy (qd. ye priest) & was full glad,

And couched coles as the Chanon bad:

And while he busie was, this fiendly wretch

This false Chanon, ye foule fende him fetch,

Out of his bosome take a bechen cole,

In which full subtily was made an hole,

And therein was put of siluer limaile

An vnce, and stopped was without faile

The hole with waxe, to keep the limaile in:

And understandeth that this false gin

Was not made there, but it was made before,

And other things that I shall you tell more

Hereafter, which that he with him brought,

Er he came there, to begile him he thought,

And so he did, as they went a twin:

Till he had nere vndon him, could he not blin.

It dulleth me, when that I of him speke,

On his falshede faine would I me wreke,

If I wist how, but he is here and there,

He is so variaunt, he bideth no where.

But taketh hede sirs now for Gods loue.

He toke his cole of which I spake aboue,

And in his honde he bare it prively,

And whiles the priest couched besily

The coles together, as I told you er this,

This Chanon saied, friend ye doen amis,

This is not couched as it ought to be,

But sone I shall amend it (qd. he)

Now let me meddle therewith but a while,

For of you have I pitty by St. Gile.

Ye been right hot, I see well how ye swete,

Haue here a cloth and wipe away the wete.

And all while the priest him wiped hace,

This Chanon took the cole, I shrew his face,

And laied it abouen vpon the midward

Of the croslet, and blew well afterward

Till that the coles began fast to bren,

Now yeue us drink, (qd. this Chanon then)

As swithe all shall be well I undertake,

Sit we down, and let vs mery make.

And when that this Chanons bechen cole

Was brent all, the limaile out of the hole

Into the croslet anon fell adown,

And so it must needs do by reasoun,

Sens it so euen aboue couched was,

But there of wist the priest nothing alas:

He demed all the coles iliche good,

For of the slight nothing he understood.

And when this Alkamister saw his time,

Reiseth up sir priest (qd. he) & stondeth by me,

And for I wote well ingot have I none,

Goth walketh forth, & bring a chalke stone:

For I woll make it of the same shappe,

That an ingot is, if I may have happe,

And bring eke with you a bolle or a pan

Full of water, and ye shall see than

[Page] How that our besines shall hap and preue:

And yet for ye shall haue no misbeleue

Ne wrong conceit of me in your absence,

I woll not been out of your presence,

But go with you & come with you again.

The chamber doore shortly for to sain

They opened & shet, & went forth her weie,

And forth with hem they caried the keie,

And comen ayen withouten any delay.

What should I tary all the long day,

He toke the chalke, and shope it in the wise

Of an yngot, as I shall you deuise.

I say he tooke out of his own sleue

A teine of siluer, iuell mote he cheue,

Which that was but a iust vnce of weight:

And taketh heed now of his cursed sleight.

He shop his yngot in length and in brede

Of the teine, withouten any drede

So slily that the priest it not espide,

And in his sleue again he gan it hide:

And from the fire tooke vp his matere,

And into the yngnot it put with mery chere:

And into the water vessel he it cast,

When that him list, & bad the priest as fast

Loke wt there is put in thine hond & grope,

Thou shalt finde there siluer as I hope,

What diuel of hell should it els be,

Shauing of siluer, siluer is parde.

He put in his hond, and tooke vp a teine

Of siluer fine, and glad in euery vaine

Was this Priest, when he saw it was so:

Gods blessing and his mothers also

And all Hallowes, haue ye sir Chanon,

Saied this priest, and I her malison

But and ye vouchsafe to teachen me

This noble craft and this subtilte,

I woll be yours in all that euer I may.

Qd. the Chanon, yet woll I make assaie

The second time, that ye mow take hede

And been expert of this, and in your nede

Another day assay in mine absence

This discipline, and this craftie science.

Let take another ounce (qd. he) tho

Of quicke siluer, withouten words mo,

And doen therewith as I haue doen er this

With that other, which that now siluer is.

The priest him besieth in all that he can

To doen as this Chanon this cursed man

Commanded him, and fast blewe the fire,

For to come to the effect of his desire.

And this Chanon, right in the meane while

All ready was, this priest eft to begile,

And for a countenance in his hond bare

An hollow sticke, take kepe and beware,

In thende of which an ounce and no more

Of siluer limaile put was, as before

Was in his cole, & stopped with waxe wele

For to keepen in his limaile euery dele.

And whiles this priest was in his businesse,

This Chanon with his sticke gan him dresse

To him anon, and his pouder cast in

As he did erst, the deuill out of his skin

Him torne, I pray to God for his falshede.

For he was euer false in word and dede:

And with his sticke, aboue the crosselet,

That was ordained with that false iet,

He stirreth the coles, till all relent gan

The waxe again the fire, as euery man

But he a foole be, wote well it mote nede.

And all that in the hole was, out yede,

And into the crosselet hastily it fell.

The priest supposed nothing but well,

But busied him fast, and was wonder fain,

Supposing nought but trouth soth to sain:

He was so glad, that I cannot expresse

In no maner his mirth and his gladnesse,

And to the Chanon he profered eft sone

Body & good: ye (qd. the Chanon) anon

Tho I be pore, craftie thou shalt me find:

I warne thee yet is there more behinde.

Is there any coper here within, saied he?

Ye sir (qd. the priest) I trow there be.

Els go and buie some, and that a swithe,

Now good sir go forth thy way and hithe.

He went his way, & with the coper he came,

And this Chanon in his hond it name,

And of that coper wayed out but an ounce:

All to simple is my tonge to pronounce

As to minister by my wit the doublenesse.

Of this Chanon, root of all cursednesse.

but semde frendly, to hem yt knew him nought,

But he was fendly, both in werke & thought.

It werieth me to tell of his falsenesse,

And natheles, yet woll I it expresse

To the intent that men may beware thereby,

And not for none other cause truely.

He put this ounce of coper into the crosselet,

And on the fire as swithe he hath it set,

And cast in pouder, & made ye priest to blow

And in his working for to stoupe low

As he did erst, and all nas but a yape,

Right as him list the priest he made his Ape.

And afterward in the ingot he it cast

And in the pan put it at the last

Of water, and in he put his own hond,

And in his sleue, as ye before hond,

Heard me tell, he had a siluer teine.

He slily tooke it out, this cursed heine,

Vnwitting this priest of his false craft,

And in the pannes botome he hath it laft,

And in the water rombleth too and fro,

And wonder priuily tooke vp also

The coper teine, not knowing this priest,

And hid it, and hent him by the brest,

And to him spake, & thus said in his game:

Stoupeth adown, by God ye be to blame,

Helpeth me now, as I did you whilere,

Put in your hond, & loketh what is there.

This priest tooke vp this siluer teine anon,

And then said the Chanon, let us gon

With these three teines which we han wrouȝt,

To some Goldsmith, and wete if it be ought:

For by my faith, I nold for my hood

But if it were siluer fine and good,

And that as swithe well proued shall be.

Vnto the Goldsmith, with these teines three

They went, and put them in assaie

To fire & hammer: might no man saie nay,

But they were as them ought for to be.

This sotted priest, who was gladder than he?

Was neuer birde gladder ayenst the day,

Ne Nightingale, ayenst the ceason of May

[Page] Was neuer none, that list better to sing,

Ne lady lustier in carolling:

And for to speake of loue and womanhede,

Ne knight in armes to doen a hardy dede

To stonden in grace of his lady dere,

Than had this priest, this craft now to lere:

And to the Chanon thus he spake and said,

For the loue of God, that for us all deid,

And as I may deserue it vnto you,

What shall this receit cost, telleth me now?

By our Lady (qd. this Chanon) it is dere

I warne you well, saue I and a Frere

In England, there can no man it make.

No force (qd. he) now sir for Gods sake,

What shall I pay, tell me I you pray.

I wis (qd. he) it is full deare I say.

Sir at one worde, if that ye list it haue,

Ye shall pay fourtie pound, so God me saue:

And nere the friendship that ye did er this

To me, ye shoulden pay more iwis.

This priest the sum of fortie pound anon

Of nobles fet, and told hem euerichon

To this Chanon, for this ilke receit.

All his worching was fraud and deceit.

Sir priest he said, I keep for to haue no loos

Of my craft, for I would it were kept cloos,

And as you loue me, keepeth it secre,

For and men know all my subtilte,

By God men would haue so great enuie

To me, because of my Philosophie,

I should be dead, there were none other way.

God it forbid (qd. the priest) what ye say,

Yet had I leuer spend all the good

Which that I haue, or els waxe I wood.

Than that ye should fallen in such mischefe:

For your good will haue ye right good prefe

Qd. ye Chanon, & farewell graunt mercie.

He went his way, & ye priest neuer him seie

After yt day: & when that this priest should

Maken assay, at such time as he would

Of this receit, farewell it nold not be.

Lo thus beyaped and beguiled was he:

Thus maketh he his introduction

To bring folke to her destruction.

* Considereth sirs how in each estate

Betwixt men and gold there is debate

So ferforth, that vnneths there is none,

(This multiplying blindeth so many one)

That in good faith I trow that it be

The greatest cause of such scarsite.

These philosophers speaken so mistily

In this craft, yt men cannot come thereby,

For any wit that men haue now adaies:

They may wel chattre & iangle as do ye iaies,

And in her tearmes set her lust and paine,

But to her purpose shull they neuer attaine.

* A man may lightly learne, if he haue ought

To multiplie, & bring his good to nought.

Lo, such a lucre is in this lusty game,

A mans mirth it woll turne all to grame,

And emptien also great & heauy purses,

And maken folke to purchase curses

Of hem that han also her good ylent.

O fie for shame they yt han be brent,

Alas, cannot they flie the fires hete?

Ye that it vsen, I rede that ye it lete,

Least ye lesen all: for bet than neuer is late:

Neuer to thriue, were too long a date.

Though yt ye prolle aye, ye shall it neuer find,

* Ye ben as bold as is bayard the blind

That blondereth forth, & perill casteth none:

He is as bold to renne ayenst a stone,

As for to goe beside in the way:

So faren ye, that multiplien I say.

If that your eyen cannot seene aright,

Looketh yt your mind lacke not his sight.

For though ye looke neuer so broad & stare,

Ye shall not win a mite in that chaffare,

* But wast all yt ye may repe and renne:

Withdraw the fire, least it too fast brenne.

Medleth with that art no more I meane,

For if ye done, your thrift is gone full cleane.

And right as swithe I woll you tellen here

What yt ye philosophers sain in this matere.

Lo thus saith Arnolde of the new toun,

As his Rosarie maketh mentioun,

He saith right thus, withouten any lie,

There may no man Mercurie mortifie,

But if it be with his brothers knowledging:

Lo how that he which first said this thing,

Of Philosophers father was, Hermes.

He saith how that the dragon doutles

Ne dieth not, but if he be slaine

With his brother: And this is for to saine

By the dragon Mercury, and none other,

He vnderstood yt brimstone was his brother,

That out of Sol and Luna were ydraw:

And therefore said he, take heed to my saw.

Let no man busie him this art for to seech,

But he that the entention and speech

Of Philosophers vnderstond can:

And if he doe, he is a leaud man.

For this science and this cunning (qd. he)

Is of the secre of the secres parde.

Also there was a disciple of Plato,

That on a time said his maister to,

As his booke Senior woll beare witnesse,

And this was his demaund in soothfastnesse:

Tell me the name of the priuy stone?

And Plato answerd vnto him anone,

Take the stone that Titanos men name.

Which is that (qd. he?) Magnetia is ye same

Said Plato: ye sir and is it thus?

This is ignotum per ignotius.

What is Magnetia, good sir I you pray?

It is a water that is made I say

Of the elements foure (qd. Plato.)

Tell me the roche good sir (qd. he tho)

Of that water, if it be your will.

Nay, nay (qd. Plato) certaine that I nill:

The Philosophers were ysworne eachone,

That they should discouer it vnto none,

Ne in no booke it write in no manere,

For vnto Christ it is so lefe and dere,

That he woll not that it discouered be,

But where it liketh to his deitie,

Man to enspire and eke for to defend,

When that him liketh, lo this is his end.

Then conclude I thus, sens yt God of heuen

Ne will not that the Philosophers nemen,

How that a man shall come unto this stone,

I rede as for the best, let it gone.

[Page] * For who so maketh God his aduersary

As for to werch any thing in contrary

Vnto his will, certes neuer shall he thriue,

Though yt he multiply tearme of his liue:

And there a point: for ended is my tale.

God send euery true man bote of his bale.

§

¶The Doctor of Physicks Prologue.

WHen this yeoman his tale ended had

Of this false Chanon, which was so bad,

Our host gan say, truly and certaine

This priest was beguiled, sooth for to saine:

He wened for to be a Philosopher,

Till he right no gold left in his cofer:

And soothly this priest had all the yape,

This cursed Chanon put in his hood an ape.

But all this passe I ouer as now:

Sir doctor of Physicke, yet I pray you,

Tell vs a tale of some honest matere.

It shall be done, if that ye woll it here,

Said this doctor, and his tale began anone,

Now good men (qd. he) herkeneth euerichone.

¶The Doctor of Physicks Tale.

Virginius slayeth his onely Daughter, rather than that she shall be defiled by the letcherous Judge Appius.

THere was, as telleth vs Titus Liuius,

A knight, that cleaped was Virginius,

Fulfilled of honour and worthinesse,

And strong of friends, and of great richesse.

A daughter he had by his wife,

And neuer had he mo in all his life:

Faire was this maid in excellent beautee

Abouen euery wight that man may see:

For nature hath with soueraigne dilligence

Formed her in so great excellence,

As though she would say, lo I nature,

Thus can I forme and paint a creature

When that me list, who can me counterfete?

Pigmalion not, though he alway forge & bete,

Or graue or paint: for I dare well saine,

Apelles or Xeuxsis should werch in vaine

To graue or paint: or forge or bete,

If they presumed me to counterfete.

For he that is the fourmer principall,

Hath made me his vicar generall

To fourme and paint earthly creature

Right as me list. All thing is in my cure

Vnder the moone, yt may wane & waxe:

And for my werke nothing woll I axe,

My lord and I been fully of accord.

I made her to the worship of my lord,

So do I all mine other creatures,

Of what colour they be, or of what figures:

Thus seemeth me that nature would say.

This maid was of age xii yere and tway,

In which that nature hath such delite.

For right as she can paint a lilly white

And rody as rose, right with such painture

She painted hath this noble creature

Ere she was borne, vpon her lims free

Were als bright as such colours should bee,

And Phebus died had her tresses grete,

Like to the streames of his burned hete.

And if that excellent were her beaute,

A thousand fold more vertuous was she:

In her ne lacketh no condition

That is to praise, as by discretion

As well in body as in ghost, chast was she:

For which she floured in virginite

With all humility and abstinence,

With all attemperaunce and patience,

With measure eke, and bering of aray.

Discreet she was in answering alway,

Tho she were wise as Pallas, dare I saine.

(Her facond eke full womanly and plaine)

No counterfeited termes at all had she

To seeme wise: but after her degree

She spake, and all her words more & lesse

Sowning in vertue and in gentlenesse.

Shamefast she was in maidens shamefastnesse,

Constant in hert, and euer in businesse

To driue her out of all sluggardie:

Bacchus had of her mouth no maistrie.

* For wine and youth done Venus encrece,

As men in fire woll casten oyle or grece.

And of her owne vertue vnconstrained,

She hath full oft her sicke yfained,

For that she would flie the companie,

Where likely was to treaten of follie,

As is at feasts, at reuels, & at daunces,

That been occasions of daliaunces:

Such things maken children for to bee

Too soone ripe and bold, as men may see:

Which is full perillons, and hath been yore,

For all too soon may she learne the lore

Of boldnesse, when as she is a wife.

And ye maistresses in your old life,

That lords doughters han in gouernaunce,

Ne taketh of my word no displeasaunce:

Think that ye been set in gouernings

Of lords doughters, onely for two things,

Either for you han kept your honesty,

Either for ye han fall in freelty,

And knowen well ynough the old daunce,

And conne forsake fully all mischaunce:

For euermore therefore for Christs sake,

Keepeth well tho that ye vndertake.

A theefe of veneson, that hath forlaft

His likerousnesse, and all his theeues craft.

Can keepe a forrest best of any man:

Now keepeth hem well, for & ye woll ye can:

* Looketh well, to no vice that ye assent,

Least ye be damned for your euill entent.

For who so doth, a traytour is certaine,

And taketh keepe of that I shall you saine:

* Of all treason soueraigne pestilence

Is, when a wight betrayeth innocence.

Ye fathers, and eke ye mothers also,

Though ye han children, be it one or mo,

Yours is the charge of all her sufferaunce,

Whiles that they been in your gouernaunce.

Beth ware, yt by ensample of your liuing,

Either by your negligence in chastising,

[Page] That they ne perish: for I dare well say,

If that they done, ye shall full sore abay.

* Vnder a sheepheard soft and negligent,

The wolfe hath many a sheep & lambe to rent,

Sufficeth one ensample now as here,

For I mote turne ayen to my matere.

This maid of which I tell my tale expresse,

She kept her selue, she needed no maistresse.

For in her liuing maidens might rede

As in a booke, euery good worke and dede,

That longeth to a maid vertuous:

She was so prudent and so bounteous.

For which out sprong on euery side

Both of her beauty, and her bounty wide:

That thorow ye lond they preised her echone,

* That loued vertue, saue enuy alone,

That sorry is of other mens wele,

And glad is of her sorrow and vnhele.

The doctour maketh this descriptioun,

This maid went on a day into the toun

Toward the temple, with her mother dere,

As is of young maidens the manere.

Now was there a iustice in the toun,

That gouernour was of that regioun:

And so befell, this Iustice his eyen cast

Vpon this maid, auising her full fast

As she came foreby, there as the Iudge stood:

Anon his heart chaunged and his mood,

So was he caught with beauty of this maid

And to himselfe full priuely he said,

This maid shall be mine for any man.

Anon the fiend into his heart ran,

And taught him suddainly, by wt sleight

The maid to his purpose win he might.

For certes, by no force, ne by no meed,

Him thought he was not able for to speed.

For she was strong of friends, & eke she

Confirmed was in such soueraigne beaute,

That well he wist he might her neuer win,

As for to make her with her body sin.

For which with great deliberatioun

He sent after a client into the toun,

The which he knew full subtill & full bold.

This Iudge this client his tale hath told

In secret wise, and made him to ensure,

He should tell it vnto no creature:

And if he did, he should lese his hede.

When assented was this cursed rede,

Glad was the iudge, and made good chere

And yaue him gifts precious and dere.

When shapen was all this conspiracie

Fro point to point, how that his letcherie

Performed should be full subtilly,

As ye shullen after heare openly:

Home goth this client yt hight Claudius.

But this false iudge, that hight Appius,

(So was his name, for it is no fable,

But knowen for an historiall thing notable

The sentence of it sooth is out of dout)

This false iudge I say goth now fast about

To hasten his delight all that he may:

And so befell, that soone after on a day

This false iudge, as telleth us the storie,

As he was wont, sat in his consistorie,

And yaue his doomes vpon sundry caas,

This false client came forth a full great paas

And said, Lord, if that it be your will,

As doth me right vpon this pitous bill,

In which I plaine vpon Virginius.

And if he woll say it is not thus,

I woll proue it, and find good witnesse,

That sooth is, that my bill woll expresse.

The iudge answerd, of this in his absence

I may not yeue definite sentence:

Let doe him call, and I woll gladly here,

Thou shalt haue all right, & no wrong here.

Virginius came to wete ye iudges will,

And right anon was rad this cursed bill,

The sentence of it was as ye shall heare.

To you my lord Appius so deare

Sheweth your poore seruaunt Claudius,

How that a knight called Virginius,

Ayenst the law and ayenst all equite,

Holdeth expresse ayenst the will of me

My seruant, which yt is my thral by right,

Which from mine hous was stolen on a night

Whiles she was full yong, I woll it preue

By witnesse, lord, so that ye you not greue:

She is not his doughter, what so he say,

Wherefore my lord iustice I you pray:

Yeeld me my thrall, if it be your will.

Lo this was all the sentence of that bill.

Virginius gan upon the client behold:

But hastily, ere he his tale told,

He would haue defended it, as shuld a knight,

And by witnesse of many a trew wight,

That all was false, that said his aduersarie.

This cursed iudge would no lenger tary,

He here a word more of Virginius

But yaue his iudgment, and said thus.

I deme anon this client his seruaunt haue,

Thou shalt no lenger her in thine house saue,

Go bring her forth, & put her in our ward.

This client shal haue his thrall, thus I award.

And when this worthy knight Virginius

Through the assent of the iudge Appius

Must by force his deare doughter yeuen

Vnto the iudge, in letchery to liuen,

He goth him home, and set him in his hall,

And let anon his deare doughter call:

And with a face dead as ashen cold,

Vpon her humble face he gan behold,

With fathers pity, sticking through his hert,

All would he not from his purpose conuert.

Doughter (qd. he) Virginia by thy name,

There ben two waies, either death, or shame

That thou must suffer, alas yt I was borne,

For neuer thou deseruedest whereforne

To dien with a sword or with a knife:

Oh dere doughter, comfort of my life,

Which I haue fostred vp with such plesance,

That thou neuer were out of my remembrance:

O doughter, which yt art my last wo,

And in my life my last ioy also,

O iemmme of chastitie, in patience

Take thou thy death this is my sentence:

For loue & not for hate thou must be dead,

My pitous hond mote smite of thine head,

Alas that euer Appius thee sey.

Thus hath he falsely iudged thee to dey.

And told her all the case, as ye before

Han heard, it needeth not to tell it more.

[Page] O mercy dere father (qd. this maid)

And with that word both her armes laid

About his necke, as she was wont to do,

The teares brast out of her eyen two,

And said, O good father shall I die,

Is there no grace? Is there no remedie?

No certes deare doughter mine (qd. he.)

Then yeue me leaue father mine (qd. she)

My death to complaine a little space:

For parde, Iepte yaue his doughter grace

For to complaine, ere he her slough, alas,

And God it wot, nothing was her trespas,

But that she ran her father first to see,

To welcome him with great solemnitee:

And with that word she fell aswoune anone,

And after when her swouning was gone,

She riseth vp, and to her father said:

Blessed be God that I shall die a maid.

Yeue me my death, ere that I haue a shame,

Doth with your child your wil a gods name:

And with that word she praieth him full oft,

That with his swerd he should smite her soft,

And with that word, aswoune doune she fell.

Her father with sorrowfull heart and fell,

Her head off smote, and by the top it hent,

And to the iudge he it yaue in present,

As he sat in doome in consistorie.

When the iudge it saw, as saith the storie,

He bad take him, and hong him also fast:

But right anone all the people in thrast

To saue the knight, for routh and for pity,

For knowen was the iudges iniquity.

The people anon had suspect in this thing

By manner of this clients challenging,

That it was by the assent of Appius:

They wist well that he was letcherous.

For which unto Appius they gone,

And kesten him in prison right anone,

Whereas he slew himselfe: and Claudius,

That seruant was vnto this Appius,

Was demed to be honged vpon a tree:

But Virginius of his great pitee

So prayed for him, that he was exiled,

And els certes he had been beguiled:

The remnaunt were honged, more & lesse,

That consented were to his cursednesse.

* Here may men see how sin hath his merite:

Beware, for no man wot how God wol smite

In no degree, ne in no manner wise,

The worme of conscience woll arise

Of wicked life, though it so priuie be,

That no man wote of it but God and he:

Whether he be leaud man or lered,

He not how soone he may been affered.

* Therefore I rede you this counsaile take,

To forsake sinne, or sinne you forsake.

¶The words of the Host.

OUr host gan sweare as he were wood,

Harrow (qd. he) by nailes and by blood,

This was a false theefe, & a cursed iustice:

As shamefull death as heart may deuise,

Come to the iustice and her aduocas,

Algate this silly maiden is slaine, alas,

Alas too deare abought she her beautee.

Wherefore I say, that all men may see,

* That yefts of Fortune or of nature,

Been cause of death of many a creature.

Her beauty was her death, I dare well saine:

Alas so pitously as she was slaine.

But hereof woll I not proceed as now,

* Men haue full oft more harme than prow.

But truly truly mine owne maister dere,

This is a ernefull tale for to here:

But nathelesse, passe ouer and no force.

I pray to God to saue thy gentle corce,

And thy vrinals, and thy iordanes,

Thine ypocras and eke thy galianes,

And euery boxe full of letuarie

God blesse hem and our lady saint Marie.

So mote I thee, thou art a proper man,

And ylike a prelate by saint Runian,

Saue that I cannot speake well in terme.

But well I wot, thou dost mine hert to yerne,

That I haue almost ycaught a cardiacle:

By corpus domini, But I haue triacle,

Or els a draught of moist cornie ale,

Or but I heare anon another merry tale,

My heart is lost for pity of this maid.

Thou belamy, thou Iohn pardoner he said,

Tell vs some merry tale, or iape, right anon.

It shall be done (qd. he) by saint Runion.

But first (qd. he) here at this ale stake

I woll both drinke, and bite on a cake:

But right anone, these gentles gan to crie,

Nay, let him tell vs of no ribaudrie:

Tell vs some morall thing, yt we mow lere

Some wit, and then woll we gladly here.

I graunt (qd. he) ywis, but in ye cup Ile think

On some honest thing, whiles that I drink.

§

¶The Pardoners Prologue.

LOrdings (qd. he) in chirch when I preche,

I paine mee to haue an hauteine speche,

And ring it out, as round as doth a bell,

For I can all by rote that I tell.

My teme is alway one, and euer was,

* (Radix omnium malorum est cupiditas)

First I prono [...]nce fro whence I come,

And then my bils I shew all and some:

Our liege lords seale on my patent

That shew I first, my body to warrent,

That no man be so bold, priest ne clerke,

Me to disturbe of Christs holy werke.

And after that I tell forth my tales

Of Buls, of Popes, and of Cardinales,

Of Patriarkes, and of Bishops I shew,

And in latine I speake words a few

To sauer with my predication,

And for to stere men to deuotion.

Then shew I forth my long christall stones,

Ycrammed full of clouts and of bones,

Relickes they been, as wene they echone:

Then haue I in laton a shoder bone,

Which that was of an holy iewes shepe.

Good men say I, take of my words kepe:

If that this bone be washen in any well,

If cow or calfe, sheepe, or oxe swell

[Page] That any worme hath eaten, or hem stong,

Take water of this well, and wash his tong,

And it is hole anon: and furthermore

Of pockes, and of scabs, and euery sore

Shall shepe be hole, that of this well

Drinketh a draught,, take keepe of yt I tell.

If that the good man that beasts oweth,

Woll euery day ere the cocke croweth,

Fasting drinke of this well a draught,

(As thilke holy iew our elders taught)

His beasts and his store shall multiplie:

And sirs, also it healeth jealousie,

For though a man be fall in jealous rage,

Let make with this water his potage,

And never shall he more his wife mistrist,

Though he in sooth the defaut by her wist:

All had she taken priests two or three.

Here is a mittaine eke, that ye may see:

He that his hand woll put in this mittaine,

He shall have multiplying of his graine,

When he hath sowen, be it wheat or otes,

So that he offer good pens or grotes.

And men & women, o thing I warne you:

If any wight been in this church now,

That hath done sinne horrible, that he

Dare not for shame of it shriuen be:

Or any woman, be she yong or old,

That hath made her husbond a cokewold,

Such folke shull haue no power ne no grace

To offer to my relickes in this place.

And who so findeth him out of such blame,

Commeth up and offer in Gods name,

And I assoyle him by the authoritie,

Such as by bull was graunted vnto me.

By this gaude haue I won every yere

An hundred marke, sithen I was pardonere.

I stond like a clerke in my pulpet,

And when the leud people been doune yset,

I preach so as ye haue lered before,

And tell to them an hundred yapes more.

Then paine I me to stretch forth my necke,

And east and west vpon the people I becke

As doth a dove, sitting upon a berne:

My honds and my tongue gone so yerue,

That it is joy to see my businesse.

Of avarice and of such cursednesse

All my preaching is for to maken hem free

To yeuen her pens, and namely vnto me.

For mine entent is not but for to winne,

And nothing for correction of sinne.

I recke neuer when that they ben buried,

Though her soule gone a black buried.

* For certes many a predication

Commeth oft time of evill entention.

Some for pleasaunce of folke, & for flaterie,

To been auaunced by hipocrisie:

And some for vaineglory, and some for hate.

For when I dare not other wayes debate,

Then woll I sting hem with my tongue smert

In preaching, so that he shall not astert

To ben defamed falsely, if that he

Hath trespassed to my bretherne or to me.

For though I tell not his proper name,

Men shall well know that it is the same

By signes, or by other circumstaunces.

Thus quite I folke, yt doth vs displeasaunces:

Thus put I out my venum under hew

Of holinesse, to seemen holy and trew,

But shortly mine entent I woll deuise,

I preach of nothing but of couetise.

Therefore my teme is yet, and ever was,

Radix omnium malorum est cupiditas.

Thus can I preach ayenst y• same vice

Which that I use, and that is avarice.

But though my self be guilty in that sinne,

Yet can I maken other folke to twinne

From auarice, and sore hem to repent:

But that is not my principal entent,

I preach nothing but for couetise.

Of this matere it ought ynough suffise.

Then tell I hem ensamples many a one

Of old stories done long time agone.

For leaud people aye louen tales old,

Which things they can well report & hold.

What, trowen ye whiles that I may prech,

And win gold and siluer for to tech,

That I woll liue in pouert wilfully?

Nay, nay, I thought it neuer truly.

For I woll preach and beg in sundry londs,

I woll not doe no labour with mine honds,

Ne make baskets and liue thereby,

Because I woll not beg idelly.

I woll none of the apostles counterfete:

I woll haue money, mault, cheese, & whete,

All were it yeuen of the poorest page,

Or of the poorest widdow in a village:

Though her children should sterue for famine.

Nay, I woll drinke the licour of the wine,

And haue a jolly wench in every toun:

But hearkeneth lordings my conclusioun.

Your liking is that I should tell a tale,

Now I haue drunken a draught of corny ale:

By God I hope I shall tell you a thing,

That shall by reason been at your liking:

For though my selfe be a full vicious man,

A morall tale yet I you tell can,

Which I am wont to preach, for to win:

Now hold your peace, my tale I woll begin.

¶The Pardoners Tale.

A company of Riotours conspire to kill Death, who killeth them one after another.

IN Flanders whilom there was a companie

Of yong folke, that haunted follie:

As hasard, riot, stewes, and tauernes,

Whereas with harps, lutes, and geternes,

They dauncen & plaien at dice night & day,

And eaten also, ouer that her might may.

Through which they done the deuill sacrifice

Within the devils temple, in cursed wise,

By superfluitie abhominable:

Her othes been so great and so damnable,

That it is grisly for to heare hem sweare:

Our blessed lords body they all to teare,

Hem thought ye Iews rent him not ynough:

And each of hem at others sinne lough.

And right anon comen in tomblesteres

Fetis and smale, and yong foiteres,

Singers with harpes, bauds, and waferers,

Which that been verely the deuils officers

[Page] To kindle and blow the fire of letcherie,

That is annexed vnto glotonie.

The holy writ take I to my witnesse,

That letchery is in wine and dronkennesse.

Lo how that dronken Loth vnkindly

Lay by his daughters two vnwittingly,

So dronke he was he nist what he wrought,

And therefore sore repenten him ought.

Herodes, who so woll the stories seche,

There may ye learne, & by ensample teche,

When he of wine was replete at his feast,

Right at his owne table yaue his hest

To sleen Iohan the Baptist full guiltlesse.

Seneke saith eke good words doubtlesse:

He saith he can no difference find

* Betwixt a man that is out of his mind,

And a man the which is dronkelew:

But that woodnesse fallen in a shrew,

Perseuereth lenger than doth dronkennesse.

O glotenie, full of cursednesse:

O cause first of our confusion,

O originall of our damnation,

Til Christ had bouȝt vs with his blood again:

Lo how dere, shortly for to sain,

Bought was first this cursed villanie:

Corrupt was all this world throgh glotenie.

Adam our fornfather, and his wife also,

Fro Paradice, to labour and to wo

Were driven for that vice, it is no drede:

For whiles that Adam fasted, as I rede,

He was in Paradise, and when that hee

Eat of the fruit defended on the tree,

Anon he was out cast to wo and paine.

O glotenie, on thee well ought vs to plaine.

* Oh, wist a man how many maladies

Followeth of excesse and of glotenies,

He would been the more measurable

Of his diete, sitting at his table.

Alas the short throat, the tender mouth,

Maketh that East & West, North & South,

In earth, in aire, in water, men to swinke,

To getten a glutton deinte meat and drinke.

Of this matter, O Paul, wel canst thou treat,

* Meat vnto wombe, & wombe eke vnto meat

Shall God destroien both, as Paule saith.

Alas, a foule thing it is by my faith,

To say this word, and fouler is the dede,

When men so drinketh of the white and rede,

That of his throte he maketh his priue

Through thilke cursed superfluite.

The Apostle saieth weeping full pitously,

There walken many, of which told haue I,

I say it now weeping with pitous voice,

They been enemies of Christs croice,

Of which the end is death, womb is her God.

O belly, O wombe, O stinking cod,

Fulfilled of dong and corruptioun,

At either end of thee foule is the soun.

How great cost and labour is there to find

These cookes? Lord how they stamp, strein, & grind,

And turne substance into accident,

To fulfill all thy likerous talent.

Out of the hard bones knocken they

The mary, for they cast it not away,

That may go through the gullet soft & sote:

Of spicerie, of leaves, barke, and rote,

Shall been his sauce ymade by delite

To maken hem have a newer appetite.

* But certes he that haunteth such delices,

Is dead, whiles that he liveth in the vices.

* A lecherous thing is wine & dronkennes,

It is full of striving and of wretchednes.

Oh dronken man, disfigured in thy face,

Soure is thy breath, foul art thou to enbrace:

And through thy dronken nose souneth y• soun,

As tho thou saidest aie Sampson, Sampsoun:

And yet God wot Sampson dronk never wine.

Thou fallest, as it were a sticked swine:

Thy tongue is lost, and all thine honest cure,

* For drunkennesse is very sepulture

Of mans wit, and his discretion.

* In whom that drinke hath domination,

He can no counsaile keepe, it is no drede.

Now kepe you fro the white & fro the rede,

And namely fro the White wine of Lepe,

That is to sell in Fishstreet and in Chepe.

This wine of Spaine creepeth subtilly,

And so do other wines growing fast by:

Of which riseth such fumositee,

That when a man hath dronk draughts three,

And weneth that he be at home in Chepe,

He is in Spaine, right at the toune of Lepe,

Nought at Rochell, ne at Burdeaux toun.

And then woll he say, Sampsoun, Sampsoun,

But herkeneth lordings o word, I you pray,

That all the soveraigne acts dare I say

Of victories in the old Testament,

That through very God, yt is omnipotent,

Were doen in abstinence and in prayere:

Looketh the Bible, and there ye mow it lere.

Looketh Attila, the great conquerour

Died in his sleepe, with shame & dishonour

Bleeding aye at his nose in drunkennesse:

A captaine should liue in sobernesse.

And over all this, auise you right well,

What was commaunded unto Lamuel?

Not Samuell: but Lamuel say I.

Redeth the Bible, and find it expresly

Of wine yeuing to hem that haue justice:

No more of this, for it may well suffice.

And now that I have spoke of glotonie,

Now woll I defend you hasardrie.

Hasard is very mother of lesings,

And of deceit, and cursed forswearings:

Blaspheme of Christ, manslauȝter, & wast also

Of cattel, of time, and of other mo.

* It is repreue, and contrary to honour,

For to be holden a common hasardour.

And ever the higher that he is of estate,

The more he is holden desolate.

If that a Prince shall use hasardrie

In his gouernaunce and pollicie,

He is as by common opinion

Hold the lesse in reputation.

Stillebon that was hold a wise embassadour,

Was sent to Corinth with full great honour

Fro Calidone, to maken hem alliaunce:

And when he came, there happed this chaunce,

That all the greatest that were of the lond

Playing at hasard he hem yfond:

[Page] For which, as soone as it might be,

He stale him home ayen to his countre,

And saied, There woll I not lese my name,

I nill not take on me so great defame,

For to allie you to none hasardours:

Sendeth other wiser embassadours.

For by my trouth, me were leuer die

Than I should you to hasardours alie.

For ye that been so glorious in honours,

Shall not alie you with hasardours,

As by my will, ne by my treatie:

This wise Philosopher thus saied he.

Looke eke how to king Demetrius

The king of Parthes, as ye booke saieth vs,

Sent him a paire of dice of gold in scorne,

For he had vsed hasardrie there biforne:

For which he held his glory and his renoun

At no value or reputatioun.

* Lords might find other manner play

Honest ynough to driue the day away.

Now wol I speake of othes false & great

A word or two, as other bookes entreat,

* Great swearing is thing abhominable,

And false swearing is yet more reprouable:

The high God forbad swearing at all,

Witnesse of Mathew: but in speciall

Of swearing saieth the holy Ieremie,

* Thou shalt sweare sooth thine othes, & not lie:

And sweare in dome & eke in rightwysnes,

But idle swearing is a cursednesse.

Behold and see that in the first table

Of high Gods hestes that ben honourable,

How that the second hest of him is this,

Take not my name in idlenesse amis.

Lo, he rather forbiddeth such swearing,

Than homicide, or any other cursed thing:

I say as thus, by order it stondeth,

This knoweth they yt his hests vnderstondeth,

How that the second hest of God is that:

And furthermore, I woll thee tell all plat,

* That vengeaunce shall not part fro his hous,

That of his othes is too outrageous,

By Gods precious heart, and his nailes,

And by the bloud of Christ, that is in Hailes,

Seuen is my chaunce, & thine fiue and three:

By Gods armes, if thou falsly play me,

This dagger shall through thine heart ygo.

This fruit it commeth of thilke bones two,

For swearing, ire, falsenesse, and homicide.

Now for the loue of Christ that for vs dide,

Leaueth your othes, both great and smale,

For I shall tell you a meruellous tale.

These roitours three, of which I tell,

Long erst or prime rong any bell,

Were set hem in a Tauerne to drinke:

And as they sat, they heard a bell clinke

Before a corse that was carried to his graue:

That one of hem gan to call to his knaue,

Goe bette (qd. he) and aske redily,

What corse is this, that passeth forth by:

And looke that thou report his name wele.

Sir (qd. he) it needeth neuer a dele:

It was me told ere ye came here two hours,

He was parde an old fellow of yours,

All suddainly was he slaine to night:

For drunke as he sat on his bench vpright,

There came a priuy theefe, men clepen death,

That in this countrey all the people s [...]aeth:

And with his speare he smote his heart at wo,

And went his way withouten words mo.

He hath a thousand slaine this pestilence:

And maister ere ye come in his presence,

Me thinketh that it were necessarie:

For to beware of such an aduersarie:

Bethe redy for to meten him euermore,

Thus taught me my dame, I say no more.

By saint Mary, saied this Tauernere,

The child sayeth sooth, for he hath this yere

Hens ouer a mile, slaine in a great village,

Both man and woman, child, and page,

I trowe his habitation be there:

To been auised, great wisdome it were,

Ere that he did a man dishonour,

Ye, Gods armes (qd. this riotour)

Is it such perill with him for to meet?

I shall him seeche by stile and eke by street.

I make auow by Gods digne bones,

Herkeneth fellowes, we three been all ones:

Let ech of vs hold vp his hond to other,

And ech of vs become others brother,

And we woll slea this false traitour death:

He shall be slaine, that so many slaeth

By Gods dignity, ere that it be night.

Togider han these three her trouths plight

To liue and die ech of them with other,

As though he were his owne brother.

And vp they stert all dronken in this rage,

And forth they gone toward that village,

Of which the Tauerner hath spoken before,

And many a gris [...]y othe ha [...] they swore,

And Christes blessed body they to rent,

Death shall be dead, and we may him hent.

When they han gone not fully a mile,

Right as they would haue troden ouer a stile

An old poore man with hem met.

This old man full meekely hem gret,

And saied, now lordings God ye see.

The proudest of these riotours three

Answerd ayen, what churle with hard grace,

Why art thou all forwrapped saue thy face?

Why liuest thou so long in so great age?

This old man gan looken in his visage,

And saied thus: for that I cannot find

A man, though I walked into Iude,

Neither in city, ne in no village,

That would chaunge his youth for mine age,

And therefore mote I haue mine age still

As long time as it shall be Gods will.

Ne death alas [...]ill not haue my life,

Thus walke I like a restlesse caitife,

And on ye ground, which is my mothers gate,

I knocke with my staffe erliche and late,

And say still, leue mother let me in,

Lo how I vanish, flesh, blood, and skin:

Alas, when shall my bones been at rest,

Mother with you would I chaunge my chest,

That in my chamber long time hath be,

Ye for an heren clout to wrap in me:

But yet to me she woll not doen y• grace,

For which full pale and welked is my face.

[Page] * But sirs, to you it is ne courtesie

To speaken vnto an old man villanie,

But he trespace in word either in dede,

In holy writ you may your selfe well rede:

* Ayenst an old man, hore vpon his hede

Ye should arise: therefore I you rede

Ne doeth to an old man no harme as now,

No more than ye would a man did you

In age, if that ye may so long abide.

And God be with you whether ye go or ride,

I mote go thider as I have to go.

Nay old churle, by God thou shalt not so,

Saied these other hasardours anon.

Thou partest not so lightly by saint Iohn:

Thou spakest riȝt now of thilke traitor death,

That in this country all our friends slaeth:

Have here my trouth thou art his espie,

Tell where he is, or els thou shalt die

By God and by the holy Sacrament,

For soothly thou art of his assent

To slea vs yong folke, O thou false thefe.

Now sirs, if it be to you so lefe

To find death, tourne vp this crooked way,

For in that groue I left him by my fay

Vnder a tree, and there he woll abide:

Ne for your bost he nill him nothing hide.

Se ye yonder oke, right there ye shall him find:

God saue you, that bought ayen mankind,

And you amend, thus saied this old man.

Then eueriche of these riotours ran,

Til they came to ye tree, & there they found

Floreines of gold fine, y [...]oined round,

Well nigh a seuen bushels, as hem thought:

No lenger than after death they sought,

But ech of hem so glad was of that sight,

For that the Floreins so faire been & bright,

That doune they sit by the precious hord,

The yongest of hem spake the first word.

Brethren (qd. he) take keepe what I say,

My wit is great, though I bord or play:

This treasure hath fortune to vs yeuen

In mirth and iollity our life to liuen,

And lightly as it comes, so woll we spend:

Heie, Gods precious hart: who did once wend

To day, yt we should have so faire a grace?

But might this gold be caried fro this place

Home to my house, or els vnto yours,

(For well I wote yt all this gold is ours).

Then were we in high felicite.

But truly by day it may not be,

Men would then say that we wer theeues strong,

And for our owne treasure doen vs hong.

This treasure must yearied be by night

As wisely and as slily as it might.

Wherefore I rede, draw cut among vs all,

And let us see where the cut woll fall:

He that hath the shortest cut, with hart blith,

Shall renne to the toune, & that full swith,

To bring vs bread and drinke full priuely:

And two of us shall keepe full subtilly

This treasure well, and if he woll not tarie,

When it is night, we woll this treasure carie

By one assent, where as vs list best.

That one of hem brought grasse in his fest,

And bad hem draw, & look where it wold fall,

And it fell on the yongest of hem all:

And forth toward the toune he went anone.

And also as soone as he was gone,

That one of hem spake vnto that other,

Thou wost well thou art my sworne brother,

Thy profite woll I tell thee right anone:

Thou wost well that our fellow is gone,

And here is gold, and yt full great plentee,

That shall departed be among vs three.

But nathelesse, if that I can shape it so,

That it departed were among vs two,

Had I not doen a friendly turne to thee?

That other answerd, I not how yt might be:

I woll well that the gold were ours two,

What should we doe, that it might be so?

Shall it be counsaile (said the first shrew)

And I shall tell thee in words few

What we woll doen, & bring it well about.

I graunt (qd. that other) out of dout:

That by my trouth I woll thee not bewrain.

Now (qd. he) thou wost well we been twain,

And twain of vs shall stronger be than one?

Looke when he is set, and then anone

Arise, as thogh thou wouldest with him play,

And I shall riuen him through the sides tway,

Whiles yt thou struglest with him as in game:

And with thy dagger looke thou do ye same,

And then shall all the good departed be

My owne dere friend, betwixt thee & me:

Then may we both all our lusts fulfill,

And play at vice, right at our owne will.

And thus accorded ben these shrews tway,

To slea the third, as ye heard me say.

This yongest, which yt went to ye toune,

Full often in his hart rolled up and doune

The beauty of these floreines faire & bright:

O Lord (qd. he) if so were that I might

Haue all this treasure to my selfe alone,

There nis no man that liueth vnder trone

Of God, that should liue so merry as I:

And at the last the fiend our enemy

Put in his thought that he shuld poison bey,

With which he might slaen his felows twey.

For why, the fiend fond him in such liuing,

That he had leue to sorrow him to bring.

For this was vtterly his entent,

To slaen hem both, and neuer to repent.

And forth he goth, no lenger would he tary,

Into the toune vnto a Potecary,

And praied him that he would him sell

Some poyson, that he might his rats quell.

And eke there was a Polkat in his hawe,

That as he saied, his Capons had yslaw:

And said, he would wreken him if yt he might

Of vermine, that destroied hem by night.

The Poticarie answerd, thou shalt haue

A thing, as wisly God my soule saue,

In all this world there nis no creature

That eateth or drinketh of this confecture,

Not but the mountenaunce of a corne of

That he ne shall his life anone forlete,

Ye sterue he shall, and that in lesse while, where,

Than thou woldest gone apace, not but a mile:

This poison is so hard & so violent.

This tursed man hath in his hond hent

This poison in a boxe, and swithe he ran

Into the next street unto a man,

[Page] And borrowed of him large bottles three,

And in the two the poison poured he:

The third he kept cleane for his own drinke,

For all the night he shope him for to swinke

In carying of the gold out of that place.

And when this riotour with sorry grace

Hath fild with him his great bottles three,

To his fellowes ayen repaired hee.

What needeth it thereof to sermon more?

For right as they had cast his death before,

Right so they han him slain, and yt anone.

And when this was doen, then spake yt one,

Now let us sit and drinke, & make vs mery,

And afterward they wolne his body bury:

And after that it happed hem per caas,

The one took the bottle, there ye poison was,

And dronke, & yaue his fellow drinke also,

Through which anon they steruen both two.

But certes I suppose that Auicenne

Wrote neuer in no chanon, ne in no fenne

More wonder sorrows of empoysoning.

Than had these wretches two in her ending.

Thus ended been these homicides two,

And eke the false empoysoner also.

O cursed sinne, full of all cursednesse,

O traitour homicide, O wickednesse,

O glotenie, luxurie, and hasardie,

Thou blasphemour of Christ with villanie,

And othes great, of vsage and of pride:

Alas mankind, how may it betide,

That to thy creatour, which yt thee wrought,

And with his precious blood thee bought,

Thou art so false and so vnkind, alas.

Now good men, God foryeue you your trespas:

And ware you fro the sinne of auarice,

Mine holy pardon may you all warish,

So that ye offer nobles or starlings,

Other els siluer spoones, brooches, or rings.

Boweth your head vnder this holy Bull.

Commeth vp ye wiues, & offreth of your wol,

Your names here I enter in my roll anone,

Into the blisse of heauen shull ye all gone:

I you assoile by mine high powere

Ye that offren, to been as cleane and clere

As ye were borne. Lo sirs, thus I preach:

And Iesu Christ, that is our soules leach,

So graunt you his pardon to receiue,

For that is best, I woll you not deceiue.

But sirs, one word foryate I in my tale,

I haue relickes and pardons in my male,

As faire as any man man in Englond,

Which were yeuen me by the Popes hond.

If any of you woll of deuotion

Offren, and haue mine absolution,

Commeth forth anon, & kneeleth her adoun

That ye may haue part of my Pardoun,

Or els taketh pardon as ye wend,

All new and fresh at euery tounes end,

So that ye offren alway new and new

Nobles or pens, which been good and trew.

It is great honour to euerich that is here,

That ye may haue a sufficient pardonere

To assoile you in countrey there ye ride,

For auentures, which that may betide.

For perauenture there may fall one or two

Doune off her hors, & breke her neck atwo.

Look which suertie it is to you all,

That I am in your fellowship yfall,

That may assoile you both more and lasse,

When that the soule shall fro thy body passe.

I rede that our host shall first beginne,

For he is most enuelopt of sinne.

Commeth forth sir host, & offer first anone,

And thou shalt kisse the relikes euerichone

Ye for a grote, vnbokell anon thy purse.

Nay nay (qd. he) then haue I Christs curse:

Let be (qd. he) it shall not be so theiche,

Thou wouldest make me kisse thine old brech,

And sweare it were a relike of a saint,

Though it were with thy foundement depaint.

But by the crosse which saint Helain fond,

I would I had thine coilons in mine hond

Insteed of relikes, or of sanctuarie:

Let cut hem of, I woll help thee hem to carie,

They shull be shrined in an hogs tord.

This Pardoner answered not a word,

So wroth he was, he would no word say.

Now (qd. our host) I woll no lenger play

With thee, ne with none other angrie man,

But right anon the worthy knight began,

When that he saw that all the people lough:

No more of this, for it is right ynough,

Sir Pardoner, be merry and glad of chere,

And ye sir host, that been to me so dere:

I pray you that ye kisse the Pardonere,

And Pardoner, I pray thee draw thee nere,

And as we did, let us lough and play:

Anon they kissed, and ride forth her way.

§

¶The Shipmans Prologue.

NOw friendes said our host so dere,

How liketh you by Iohn ye Pardonere?

He hath vnbokeled well the male,

He hath us told right a thriftie tale

As touching of mens misgouernaunce:

I pray to God yeue him full good chaunce,

As ye han heard of these riotours three.

Now gentle Mariner, I heartely pray thee,

Tell us a good tale, and that right anon:

It shall be doen, by God & by saint Iohn

Said this Mariner, as well as euer I can:

And right anon his tale he thus began.

¶The Shipmans Tale.

A Marchant of S. Denise is cozened by his own Wife, and by a Monke called Dan John. This Argument is taken out of Bochas in his Novels.

A Marchant whilome dwelled at saint Denise,

That rich was, for which men held him

A wife he had of excellent beaute,

And compinable, & reuelous was she, wise:

Which is a thing yt causeth more dispence,

Than worth is all the chere & reuerence,

That men hem doen at feasts & at daunces:

* Such salutations and countenaunces

Passeth, as doeth the shaddow on a wall:

But wo is him that pay mote for all,

The sely husbond algate he mote pay,

He mote vs both clothe and eke array

[Page] All for his owne worship, richely:

In which array we dauncen jolily.

And if that he may not perauenture,

Or els lust not no such spece endure,

But thinketh that it is wast and ylost,

Then mote another pay for our cost,

And lend vs gold, and that is perillous.

This noble Marchant held a noble hous,

For which he had all day great repaire

For his largesse, and for his wife was faire,

That wonder is: but herkeneth to my tale.

Among all his guells both great & imale

There was a Monke, a faire man & a bold,

I trow thirtie Winter he was old,

That euer in one was drawing to that place:

This yong Monke, that so faire was of face,

Acquainted was so well with this good man,

Sithens that he first knowledge began,

That in his house as familiar was he,

As it is possible any friend to be.

And for as much as this good man

And eke the Monke, of which I began,

Were both two yborne in one village,

The Monke him claimed, as for cousinage,

And he againe saied him not once nay,

But was as glad thereof, as foule of day:

For to his heart it was a great pleasaunce.

Thus ben they knit with eterne alliaunce,

And eke of hem gan other for to ensure

Of brotherhed, whiles her life may dure.

Free was Dan Iohn, & namely of dispence

As in that hous, and full of diligence

To doe pleasaunce, and eke great costage:

He foryate not to yeue the least page

In all that house, but after her degree:

He yaue the lord, and sithen his meinee,

When yt he came, some maner honest thing,

For which they were as glad of his comming

As foule is faine, when the sunne vp riseth:

No more hereof as now, for it suffiseth.

But so befell, this Marchaunt on a day

Shope him to make ready his array

Toward the toune of Bruges for to fare,

To buy there a portion of ware:

For which he hath sent to Paris anon

A messenger, and praied hath Dan Ihon

That he should come to S. Denis to plain

With him, and with his wife, a day or twain,

Or he to Bruges went, in all wise.

This noble Monke, of which I you deuise,

Hath of his Abbot, as him list, licence,

(Because he was a man of high prudence

And eke an officer) out for to ride

To seene her graunges, & her bernes wide,

And vnto saint Denis he commeth anon:

Who was so welcome as my lord Dan Iohn,

Our dere cousin full of courtesie?

With him he brought a jubbe of Maluesie,

And eke another full of fine vernage,

And volatily, as was aye his vsage:

And thus I let hem both eat, drinke, & play,

This marchant & this monke a day or tway.

The third day this Marchaunt vp riseth,

And on his need sadly him aviseth:

And vp into his counting house goth he

To reckon with himselfe, as well may be

Of thilke yere, how it with him stood,

And how he dispended had his good,

And if that he encreased were or none,

His bookes and his bagges many one

He laieth afore him on his counter bord:

Full rich was his treasure and his hord.

For which full fast his counter dore he shet,

And eke he nolde no man should him let

Of his accounts, for the meane time:

And thus he sate till it was passed prime.

Dan Iohn was risen in the morrow also,

And in the garden walked to and fro,

And hath his things saied full courtes [...]y:

This good wife come walking priuely

Into the garden, there he walked soft,

And him salueth, as she hath doen full oft:

A maiden child came in her companie,

Which as her lust she may gouerne and gie,

For yet vnder the yerd was the maid.

O dere cousin mine Dan Iohn, she said

What aileth you so rathe to rise?

Nece (qd. he) it ought ynough suffise

Fiue houres for to sleepen on a night:

But it were for an old palled wight,

As been these old wedded men, yt lie & dare,

As in a forme sitteth a weary Hare

Al forstraught with hounds great & smale,

But deere nece, why looke ye so pale?

I trowen certes, that our good man

Hath you laboured, sith this night began,

That you were need to resten hastely:

And with that word he lough full merely,

And with his owne thought he woxe fall red.

Then this faire wife gan to shake her hed,

And saied thus, ye God wote all (qd. she)

Nay cousin mine, it stonds not so with me:

For by that God, that yave me soule & life,

In all ye realme of Fraunce is there no wife,

That lesse lust hath to that sory play:

For I may singen alas and welaway

That I was borne, but to no wight (qd. she)

Dare I not tell how it stont with me.

Wherefore I think out of this world to wend,

Or els of my selfe soone to make an end,

So full I am of drede and eke of care.

This Monk began vpon his wife to stare,

And saied alas, nay nece God forbede,

That ye for any sorrow, or for any drede

Fordoe your selfe: but telleth me your greefe,

Perauenture I may in your mischeefe

Counsaile or helpe: and therefore telleth me

All your annoy, for it shall secre be:

For on my Porthose I make an oth,

That neuer in my life, for lefe ne loth

Ne shall I not of no counsaile you bewray.

The same ayen to you (qd. she) I say:

By God & by this Porthose I you sweare,

Though men would me all in peeces teare,

Ne shall I neuer, for to goe to hell,

Bewray o word of thing that ye me tell,

Nor for no cousenage, ne for alliaunce,

But verely for loue and affiaunce.

Thus been they sworne, & hereupon kist,

And ilke of hem told other what hem list.

Cousin (qd. she) if I had a space,

As I have none, and namely in this place,

[Page] Then would I tell a legend of my life,

That I suffred haue sith I was a wife

With mine husbond, though he be your cosin.

Nay (qd. this Monke) by God & S. Martin

He nis no more cousin vnto me,

Than is this leafe that hongeth on ye tree:

I clepe him so by saint Denis of Fraunce

To haue the more cause of acquaintaunce

Of you, whom I haue loued specially

Abouen all other women sikerly,

This sweare I you on my profession:

Telleth your greefe, least he come adoun.

And hasteth you, and goth your way anon.

My dere loue (qd. she) O my Dan Iohn,

Full lefe me were this counsaile to hide,

But out it mote, it may no lenger abide.

My husbond is to me the worst man,

That euer was sith the world began:

But sithen I am a wife, it sit not to me

To tellen no wight of our priuite

Neither in bed, ne in none other place,

God shild I should tell it for his grace:

* A wife ne should not say of her husbond

But all honour, as I can vnderstond,

Saue vnto you thus much tell I shall:

As helpe me God, he is nought worth at all

In no degree, the value of a flie.

But yet me greueth most his nigardie:

And well ye wot, that women naturally

* Desiren things sixe, as well as I.

They woulden that her husbonds should be

Hardy, and wise, rich, and thereto free,

And buxome to his wife, and fresh a bed.

But by that ilke Lord that for vs bled,

For his honour my selfe to array

A sunday next comming, I mote needs pay

An hundred frankes, or els am I lorne:

Yet were me leuer that I were vnborne,

Than me were done a slaunder or a villanie.

And if mine husbond eke might it espie,

I nere but lost, and therefore I you prey

Lene me this summe, or els mote I dey:

Dan Iohn I say, lene me this hundred franks,

Parde I woll not faile you my thanks,

If that ye list to doe that I you pray.

For of a certain day I woll you pay,

And to don you wt pleasaunce and seruice

That I may done, right as ye list deuise:

And but I do, God take on me vengeaunce,

As foule as euer had Genilion of Fraunce.

This gentle monk answerd in this manere,

Now truly mine owne lady dere

I haue (qd. he) on you so great touth,

That I you swere, & plight you my trouth,

That when your husbond is to Flanders fare,

I woll deliuer you of all this care,

For I woll bring you an hundred frankes.

And with that he caught her by ye flankes,

And her embraced hard, and kissed her oft.

Goth now your way (qd. he) all still & soft,

And let us dine as soone as euer ye may,

For by my kalender it is prime of ye day:

Goth now, & beth as true as I shall be.

Now els God forbid good sir said she:

And forth she goth, as iolly as a pie,

And bad the cookes yt they should hem hie

So that men might dine, and yt anone:

Vp to her husbond is this wife gone,

And knocked at his counter dore boldely,

Qui est la (qd. he) Peter it am I,

Why what (qd. she) how long woll ye fast?

How long time woll ye recken and cast

Your sums, your bookes, & your things?

The diuell haue part of all such reckonings.

Ye haue ynough (qd. she) of Gods sond,

Come doun to day, & let your bags stond.

Ne be ye not ashamed, that Dan Iohn

Shall fasting all this long day gon?

What let vs go heare masse and go dine.

Wife (qd. this man) little canst thou diuine

The curious businesse that we haue:

For of us chapmen so God me saue,

And by that lord that called is saint Iue,

Scarsly among twenty, twelue shall thriue

Continually, lasting vnto their age.

We may well make chere & good visage,

And driue forth the world as it may be,

And keepe our state in priuite

Till we be dead, or els that we play

A pilgrimage, or gone out of the way:

And therefore haue I great necessite

Vpon this queint world to aduise me.

For euermore we mote stand in drede

Of hap & fortune, in our chapmanhede.

To Flanders woll I gone to morrow day,

And come ayene as sone as euer I may:

For which my dere wife I thee beseke

As be to euery wight buxom and meke,

And for to keepe our good be curiouse,

And honestly gouerne well our house.

Thou hast ynough, in euery maner wise,

That to a thrifty huswife may suffice:

Thee lacketh none array, ne no vitaile,

Of siluer in thy purse thou maiest not faile.

And with yt word his counter dore he shette,

And down he goth, no lenger would he lette.

And hastily a masse was there isaide,

And spedily the tables were ilaide.

And to dinner fast they hem spedde,

And richly the chapman this monke fedde.

And after dinner, Dan Iohn soberly

This chapman tooke apert all priuily,

And said him thus, cousin it stondeth so,

That well I see, to Bruges ye woll go,

God and saint Austen spede you and gide:

I pray you cousin wisely that you ride,

Gouerne you well also of your diete

All temperatly, & namely in this hete:

Betwixt us two nedeth no strange fare.

Farewell cousin, God shilde you fro care.

If any thing there be by day or night,

And it lie in my power or in my might,

That ye me woll command in any wise,

It shall be done, right as ye woll deuise.

O thing or ye go, if that it may be,

I wold faine pray you for to lene me

An hundred frankes for a weke or twey,

For certaine beasts yt I mote needs bey,

To store therewith a place that is ours:

God helpe me so, I would it were yours.

I shall not faile surely at my day

Not for a thousand frankes, a mile way.

[Page] But let this thing be secret, I you pray:

For yet this night these beasts mote I bey.

And fare now wele, mine owne cousin dere,

Grant mercie of your cost and your chere

This noble marchant, gentilly anon

Answerd and said, O cousin Dan Ihon,

Now likerly, this is a small request.

My gold is yours when that you lest,

And not onely my gold, but my chaffare:

That what you list, God shild that ye spare.

But one thing is, ye know it well inough

Of chapmen, that her money is her plough.

We may haue creaunce while we haue a name,

But goodlesse for to be it is a shame.

Pay it ayen, when it lieth at your ese,

After my might faine would I you plese.

The hundreth frankes fet he forth anon,

And priuily tooke hem to Dan Iohn:

No wight of this world, wist of this lone,

Sauing this marchant, & Dan Iohn alone.

They drinke, speak, and rome a while & pley,

Till that Dan Iohn rideth to his abbey.

The morow came, & forth rid this Marchant

To Flanders ward, his prentes brought hem auant.

Til he came to Bruges, wel & merely,

Now goeth this marchant well and besily

About his nedes, and buieth, and creaunseth,

He neither playeth at dice, ne daunceth:

But as a marchant shortly to tell,

He led his life, and there I let him dwell.

The sonday next yt this marchant was gon,

To saint Denis is comen Dan Iohn

With croune & berde all fresh & new ishaue:

In all this house there nas so litle a knaue,

Ne no wight els, but he was full faine,

For yt my lord Dan Iohn was comen againe.

And shortly to the point for to gon,

This faire wife accordeth with Dan Iohn,

That for these C. frankes he should all night

Haue her in his armes bolt upright:

And this accord parformed was in dede.

In mirth all night a besie life they lede

Til it was day, yt Dan Iohn yede his way,

And had the manie farewell & have good day.

For none of hem ne no wight in the toun

Had of Dan Iohn any suspectioun,

And forth he rideth, home to his abbey,

Or where him liste, no more of him I sey,

This marchant, when ended was the faire,

To saint Denis he gan for to repaire,

And with his wife he maketh feest and chere,

And telleth her that chaffare is so dere,

That needs must he make a cheuesaunce.

For he was bonden in a reconysaunce,

To pay twentie thousand shildes anon:

For which this marchant is to Paris gon

To borrow of certaine friends that he had

A certaine frankes, and some with him he lad:

And when he was comen in to the toun,

For cherite and great affectioun

Vnto Dan Iohn he first goth him to pley,

Nought for to borrow of him no money,

But for to wete and see of his welfare,

And for to tellen him of his chaffare

As friends don, when they been mette infere.

Dan Iohn him maketh feast & mercy chere,

And he him tolde ayen full specially,

Now he had bought, full well & graciously,

Thonked be God, all hole his Marchandise:

Saue that he must in all manner wise

Maken a cheuesaunce, as for his best:

And then should he be in ioy and rest.

Dan Iohn answered, certes I am right fane,

That ye in heale be commen home againe:

And if I were rich, as have I blisse,

Of twenty thousand shildes shuld ye not misse.

For ye so kindly this other day

Lent me gold, and as I can and may

I thonke you, by God and by saint Iame.

But natheles, I t [...]k it unto our Dame,

Your wife at home, the same gold againe

Vpon your bench, she wote it wel certaine,

By certaine tokens that I can here tell:

Now by your leave I may no longer dwell:

Our abbot woll out of this toun anon,

And in his company I mote gon.

Grete well our dame, mine own neece swete

And farewell deare cousin, till we mete.

This marchant that was full ware & wise,

Creaunced hath, and eke paide in Paris

To certaine lombardes redy in her honds

This sum of gold, & gate of hem the bonds,

And home he goth, as mery as a popingay.

For well he knew he stood in such aray,

That needs must he win by that viage

A thousand frankes, above all his costage.

His wife full ready mete him at the yate,

As she was wont of old usage algate:

And all that night in mirth they be sette,

For he was rich, and clerely out of dette.

When it was day, this marchant gan enbrace

His wife all new, and kissed her in her face,

And up he goeth, & made it wonder tough:

No more (qd. she) by God ye have ynough:

And wantonly ayen with him she plaide,

Till at the last this marchant thus said.

By God (qd. he) I am a little worthe

With you my wife, although it be me lothe:

And wote ye why? by God as I gesse

For ye haue made a maner of strangenesse

Betwixt me and my cousin Dan Iohn:

Ye should have warned me, or I had gon,

That he had you an hundred frankes paide

By redy token: and held him evill apaide,

For that I to him spake of cheuesaunce:

Me seemed so as by his countenaunce.

But natheles by God our heavenly king,

I thought not to aske of him nothing.

I pray thee wife ne do no more so,

Tell me alway er that I fro thee go,

If any dettour hath in mine absence

Ypaide thee, lest through thy negligence,

I might him aske a thing that he hath paide.

This wife was not aferde ne affraide,

But boldly she said, and that anon,

Mary I defie that false monke Dan Iohn,

I keepe not of his tokens neuer a dele:

He tooke me certaine gold, I wote it wele.

What euill the dome on his monkes snoute:

For God it wote, I wend without doute,

That he had yeue it me, because of you,

To doen therwith mine honour & my prow

[Page] For cosinage, and eke for belle chere,

That he hath had full often times here.

But sith I see it stonte in such disioynte,

I woll answere you shortly to the pointe.

Ye haue mo slacke dettours than am I:

For I woll pay you well and redely

Fro day to day, and if so be I faile,

I am your wife, score it on my taile.

I shall pay it as soone as ever I may.

For by my truth, I have on mine aray,

And not in waste, bestowed it every dele:

And for I have bestowed it so wele

To your honour, for Gods sake I say,

As be not wrothe but let us laugh & play:

Ye shall my joly bodie have to wedde,

By God I nill not pay you but a bedde:

Foryeue it me now, mine owne spouse dere,

Turneth hitherward and make better chere.

This marchant saw ther was no remedy:

And for to chide, it was but a foly,

Sith that the thing may not amended be.

Now wife he said, and I foryeue it thee:

But in thy life be no more so large,

Keep bet my good, this yeue I thee in charge.

Thus endeth now my tale, and God us send

Taling inough, unto our lives ende.

¶Here followeth the wordes of our Hoste.

WEll said by corpus Domini (qd. our Hoste)

Now long mote thou saile all by ye coste

Thou gentle Maister, gentle Marinere:

* God giue ye monk a thousand last quad yere.

A ha fellowes, beware of such a iape,

* The monke put in the marchants hode an ape,

And in his wives eke, by saint Austin:

Draweth no monkes more into your inne.

But now passe over, & let us seeke aboute,

Who shall tell now first of all this route,

Another tale: and with that word he said

As curteously as it had been a maid,

My lady Prioresse, by your leaue,

So that I wist that I shuld you not greue,

I wolden deme, that ye tellen shold

A tale next, if so be that ye wold:

Now wol ye vouchsafe, my lady dere?

Gladly (qd. she) and said in this manere.

§

¶The Prioresses Prologue.

‘Domine dominus noster: quam admirable est nomen tuum in universa terra.’

LOrd our lord, thy name how merueilous

Is in this wide world isprad (qd. she)

For not onely thy laud precious

Parformed is by men of dignite,

But by the mouth of children thy bounte

Parfourmed is, for on the breest sucking

Sometime shewen they thine heriyng.

Wherefore in laude, as I can best & may,

Of thee and of the white lilly floure,

Which that thee bare, & is a maide alway,

To tell a storie I wol do my labour:

Nought that I may encrese her honour,

For she her selfe is honour and rote

Of bountie, next her sonne, & soules bote.

Mother maiden, O maiden & mother fre,

O bushe vnbrent, brenn & in Moyses sight,

That rauishedest downe fro the deite

Through thin humblenes, ye gost that in thee alight:

Of whose vertue, when he in thine hert pight,

Conceiued was the fathers sapience:

Helpe me to tell it in thy reuerence.

Lady, thy bountie, and thy magnificence

Thy vertue and thy great humilite

There may no tongue expresse in no science:

For sometime lady, er men pray to thee

Thou goest before, of thy benignite,

And gettest vs ye light through thy prayere,

To giden vs vnto thy sonne so dere.

My conning is to weake, O blisfull queen,

For to declare thy high worthinesse:

That I ne may not the weight sustene,

But as a childe of twelue moneth old & lesse,

That can vnnethes any word expresse,

Right so fare I, and therfore I you pray,

Gideth my song, that I shall of you say.

¶The Prioresses tale.

A miracle of a Christians Child, murthered by the Jewes.

THere was in Asie, in a great Citie

Amonges christen folke a certain iewrie

Sustened by a lorde of that Countrie,

For foule vsury, and lucre of villany,

Hatefull to Christ, and to his company:

And through the strete men might ride & wend

For it was free, and open at euery end.

A little schole of Christen folke there stood

Down at the farther end, in which ther were

Children an hepe comen of Christen blood,

That learned in that schole yere by yere,

Such manere doctrine as men vsen here:

This is to say, to singen and to rede

As smale children done in her childhede.

Amonges these children was a widows son

A litle clergion, of vii. yeres of age,

That day by day to schole was his won.

And eke also where he sey the image

Of Christes mother, had he in vsage

As him was taught, to kneele adown & say,

An Aue maria, as he goth by the way.

Thus hath this widow, her little child itauȝt

Our blessed Lady Christes mother dere

To worship aye, and he foryate it naught:

For the sely childe would all day sone lere.

But aye, when I remember on this matere,

Saint Nicholas stondeth euer in my presence:

For he so yong to Christ did reuerence.

This litle childe his litle booke lerning,

As he sate in the schole at his primere,

[Page] He (Alma redemptoris mater) herd sing,

As children lered her antiph [...]nere:

And as he durst, he drewe aye nere & nere

And harkened to the wordes and the note,

Till he the first verse couth al by rote.

Nouȝt wist he to this latin was to say:

For he so yong and tender was of age.

But on a day his felow han he pray

To expound him the song, in his language,

Or tellen him why this song was in vsage:

This praid he him to constre & declare,

Full often time vpon his knees bare.

His felow, which that elder was than he

Answerd him thus, this song I haue herd say,

Was made of our blessed Lady fre,

Her to f [...]lewe, and eke her for to prey

To been our help, & succour when we dey.

I can no more expoune in this mater:

I lerne song, I can but small grammer.

And is this song imade in reuerence

Of Christes mother, said this innocent?

Now ce [...]es I woll done my diligence

To conne it all er Christenme [...]se be went

Though that I for my primer shall be shent,

And should be beten thrise in an houre,

I woll it conne, our Ladie to honoure.

His felow taught him homeward priuely

Fro day to day, till he couth it by rote,

And than he sung it well and boldely

Fro [...] do word according to the note:

Twise a day it passed through his throte

To [...], & homeward when he went:

On Christes mother set was all his entent.

As I haue said, throughout the Iewrie

This little child as he came to and fro,

Ful merely then would he sing and crie,

O alina redemptoris mater, euer mo:

The sweetnes hath his hert persed so

Of Christes mother, that to her to pray

He cannot stint of singing by the way.

Our first foe, the Serpent Sathanas,

That hath in Iewes hert his waspes nest,

Vp swale and said, O Chrake people alas,

Is this a thing to you that is honest,

That such a boy shall walke as him le [...]te

In your dispite, and sing of such sentence,

Which is against your lawes reuerence?

From thenceforth the Iewes han conspired

This innocent out of this world to chase:

An homicide the [...] han they hired,

That in an aley had a priuie place,

And as the child gan foreby to pa [...]e,

This cursed Iew him hent, and held fast,

And cut his throte, and in a pit him cast.

I say that in a wardrope they him threw,

Where that the Iewes purged her intraile:

O cursed folke, of heraudes all new,

What may your euil entent you auaile?

Murder woll out, certes it woll not faile,

And namely ther ye honor of God shall spred:

The blood out crieth on your cursed deed.

O martyr founded in virginitie,

Now maist thou sing folowing euer in on

The white lambe celestiall (qd. she)

Of which the great Euangelist saint Iohn

In Pathmos wrote, which saieth yt they gon

Before this lambe, and sing a song all new

That neuer fleshly woman they ne knew.

This poore widow awaiteth al the night

After her little childe, and he came nought:

For which as soone as it was day light,

With face pale for drede and busy thought,

She hath at schole, & els where him sought,

Till finally she gan so farre aspie,

That he last sene was in the Iewrie.

With mother pitie in her breast enclosed

She goth as she were halfe out of her minde

To euery place, where she hath supposed

By likelihood her child for to finde:

And euer on Christes mother good & kinde

She cried, and at last thus she wrought,

Among the cursed Iewes she him sought.

She freneth and she praieth pitously

To euery Iew that dwelleth in thilke place

To tellen her, if her child went there by

They say nay, but Iesu of his grace

Yaue in her thought, within a little space,

That in that place after her sonne she cryde,

There he was cast in a pit beside.

O great God, that performest thy laude

By mo [...]th of innocencie, loe here thy might:

This Iemme of chastitie, this Emerande

And eke of martirdome the rubie bright,

There he with throte icorne lay vpright,

He (Alma redemptoris) gan to sing

So loude, that all the place gan to ring.

The Christen folk, yt through the street went,

In comen, for to wonder on this thing:

And hasteley they for the Prouost sent,

He came anon without tarying,

And herieth Christ that is of heauen king,

And eke his mother honour of mankind,

And after that, the Iews let he binde.

This child with pitous lamentation

Was vp taken, singing his song alway:

And with honour and great procession,

They carien him to the next abbey,

His mother sowning by the bere lay,

Vnneath might the people that were there

This new Rachell bringen fro his bere.

With turment, & with shamefull deth like one

This Prouost doth these Iews for to sterue,

That of this murder wiste, and that anone,

He nolde no such cursednesse obserue:

Euill shall he haue, that euil wol deserue.

[Page] Therefore with wild horse he did hem draw,

And afterward he hong hem by the law.

Vpon a bere aye, lieth this innocent

Beforn cheef aulter whiles the masse last:

And after that, the abbot with his couen

Hem spedde for to burie him als fast:

And when they holy water on him cast,

Yet spake yt child, when sprint was holy water,

And sang, O alma redemptoris mater.

This abbot, which yt was an holy man,

As monkes been, or els ought to be,

This yong childe to couer he began,

And said: O dere child I hailse thee

By vertue of the holy Trinitie,

Tell me what is thy cause for to sing,

Sithens thy throte is cut to my seeming.

My throte is cut vnto my necke bone

Said this child, and as by way of kind

I should haue deyd ye long time agone:

But Iesus Christ, as ye in bookes find,

Woll that his glory last and be in minde,

And for the worship of his mother dere,

Yet may I sing (O alma) loude and clere.

This wel of mercie, Christs mother swete

I loued alway, as after my conning:

And when that I my life should forlete,

To me she came, and bad me for to sing

This antem verily in my dying

As ye han herde, and when that I had song,

Me thought she laid a graine vpon my tong.

Wherefore I sing, and sing mote certaine

In honour of the blisfull maiden free,

Till fro my tongue off taken is the graine,

And after that thus she said to me:

My little child, now woll I fetch thee,

When yt the graine is fro thy tong itake:

Be not agaste, I woll thee not forsake.

This holy monke, this abbot him mene I,

His tong out caught, & toke away yt graine,

And he yaue vp the ghost full softly,

And when this abbot had this wonder seyne,

His salt teres trikled all down as reyne:

And groffe he fell all flat to the ground,

And still he lay, as he had been ibound.

The couent lay eke vpon the pauement

Weeping and herying Christes mother dere,

And after they risen, and forth ben went,

And tooke away this martir fro the bere,

And in a tonthe of marble stones clere

Enclosen they his litle body swete:

There he is now, God leue vs for to mete.

O yong Hew of Lincolne slaine also

With cursed Iewes, as it is notable:

For it is but a little while ago,

Pray for vs we sinfull folke vnstable,

That of his mercie God be merciable

On us, his great mercy multiply

For the reuerence of his mother Mary.

¶Here followeth the wordes of the Hoste to Chaucer.

WHen said was this miracle, euery man

As sober was as wonder was to see,

Till that our hoste to yapen began,

And then at erste he looked vpon me,

And said thus: what man art thou (qd. he)

Thou lookest, as thou wouldest finde an hare,

For euer vpon the ground I see thee stare.

Approch neere, and looke vp merely:

Now ware you sirs, & let this man haue place,

He in the waste is shapen as well as I:

This were a popet in armes to enbrace

For any woman, small and faire of face.

He semeth eluish by his countenance,

For vnto no wight doth he daliance.

Say now somewhat, sithens other folke han said:

Tell vs a tale of mirth and that anon.

Hoste (qd. he) ne be not euil apaide,

For other tale certes can I none,

But of a rime I lerned yore agone.

Ye that is good (qd, he) we shullen here

Some deinte thing, me thinketh by thy chere.

¶Here followeth the Rime of Sir Thopas.

A Northern tale of an outlandish Knight, purposely uttered by Chaucer, in a differing rime and stile from the other tales, as though he himself were not the Author, but onely the reporter of the rest.

LIsteneth lordinges in good entent,

And I woll tell you verament

Of mirth and of solas,

All of a knight was faire and gent

In battaile and in turnament,

His name was sir Thopas.

Iborne he was in ferre countre

In Flaunders, all beyonde the see

At Popering in the place,

His father was a man full fre

And lord he was of that countre,

As it was Gods grace.

Sir Thopas was a doughty swaine

White was his face as paine maine

His lippes reed as rose,

His rudde is like scarlet in graine,

And I you tell in good certaine

He had a seemely nose.

His haire, his berde, was like safroun

That to his girdle raught adowne

His shoone of cordewane,

Of Bruges were his hosen broun

His robe was of chekelatoun,

That cost many a iane,

He couth hunt at the wilde dere

And ride an hauking for by the riuere

With grey Goshauke on honde,

Thereto he was a good archere,

Of wrastling was there none his pere

There any Ram should stonde,

Full many a maide bright in boure

They mourne for him their paramoure,

[Page] Whan hem were bet to sleepe,

But he was chaste and no lechoure,

And sweet as is the bramble floure,

That beareth the red hipe.

And so befell vpon a day

Forsoth, as I you tell may

Sir Thopas would out ride.

He wroth vpon his stede gray

And in his honde a launce gay

A long sword by his side.

He pricketh through a faire forest

Therein was many a wild beest

Ye both Bucke and Hare,

And as he pricked North and Easte

I tellen you him had almeste

Betide a sory care.

There springen herbes great and small

The Licores and the Setual

And many a clowe Gelofer,

And Nutmiges to put in ale

Whether it be new or stale

Or for to lie in cofer.

The birds singen, it is no nay

The Sperhauke and the Popingaie

That ioy it were to here,

The throstell eke made his laie

The Wood doue vpon the spraie

She sung full loude and clere.

Sir Thopas fill in loue longing

And when he heard the Throstill sing

He pricketh as he were wood,

His faire stede in his pricking

So sweete, that men might him wring

His sides were all blood.

Sir Thopas eke so wearie was

For pricking on the soft graas

So fiers was his corage,

That downe he laied him in that place

To maken his stede some solace

And gaue him good forage.

Oh, saint Mary, benedicite

What aileth this loue at me

To blinde me so sore?

Me dreamed all this night parde

An elfe queene shall my lemman be

And sleep vnder my gore.

An Elfe Queene woll I loue [...]wis

For in this world no woman is

To be my make in towne,

All other women I forsake

And to an Elfe Quene I me take

By dale and eke by doune.

Into his saddle [...]e clombe anone

And pricked ouer stile and stone

An Elfe Queene to spie,

Till he so long had ridden and gone

That he found in a priuie wone

The countrey of Fairie.

Wherein he sought North and South

And oft he spied with his mouth

In many a forrest wilde.

And in that countre nas there none

As farre as he had rid and gone,

Neither wife ne childe.

Till him there came a great Giaunt

His name was called sir Oliphaunt

A perillous man of deede,

He swore, child, by Termagaunt

But if you pricke out of my haunt

Anon I slea thy steede.

Here is the Queene of Fairie,

With harpe, and pipe, and simphonie

Within this place and boure:

The childe saied, als so mote I thee

To morow woll I meten thee,

Whan I haue mine armoure.

And yet I hope par ma faie

That thou shalt with this launce gaie

Abien it through thy mawe:

Thy Hawberke shall I perce, if I may,

Or it be fully prime of the day

For here thou shalt be slawe.

Sir Thopas droue abacke full fast,

This Gyaunt at him stones cast

Out of a fell staffe sling:

But faire escaped sir Thopace

And all was through Gods grace.

And through his faire bearing.

Yet listneth lordings to my tale,

Merier than the Nightingale,

For now I woll ye roune,

How sir Thopas with sides smale

Pricking ouer doune and dale

Is comen ayen to toune.

His merry men commanded he

To maken him both game and gle,

For needes must he fight

With a Giant with heads thre,

For Paramours and iolite

Of one that shone full bright.

Doe come he said my ministrales

And iestors for to tellen vs tales

Anon in mine arming,

Of Romaunces that been royals

Of Popes and of Cardinals,

And eke of loue longing.

They fet him first the swete wine

And Mede eke in a Mazeline

And royal spicerie,

Of Ginger bread that was full fine,

Of Licores and eke Comine,

With Suger that is trie.

He did next his white lere

Of cloth of lake fine and clere

A breche and eke a shert,

And next his s [...]ert an haketon

And ouer that an habergion

For percing of his hert.

And ouer that a fine hauber [...]e

Was all iwrought of Iews werke

Full strong it was of plate,

And ouer that his cote armoure

As white as is the Lilie floure

In which he would debate.

His shield was all of gold so red

And therein was a Bores head

A carbocle by his side,

And there he swore on ale and bread

How that the Gyant should be dead

Betide what so betide.

His iambeux were of cure buly

His sword sheth of Iuorie,

[Page] His helmet of Laton bright,

His saddle was of ruel bone,

His bridle as the Sunne shone

Or as the Moone light.

His speare was of fine Sypres

That biddeth warre, and nothing peace,

The head full sharpe iground.

His steede was all dapple gray

Hee goeth an aumble by the way

Full softly and round in londe.

Lo Lords mine, here is a fit

If ye woll any more of it

To tellen it woll I fond.

NOw hold your mouth for charite

Both knight and also ladie fre

And herkeneth to my spell,

Of battaile and of cheualrie

And of ladies love drerie

Anon I woll you tell.

Men speken of Romaunces of pris

Of Hornechild, and of Ipotis,

Of Beuis, and of sir Gie,

Of sir Libeaux and Blandamoure

But sir Thopas, he beareth the floure

Of riall cheualrie.

His good steede he bestrode

And forth upon his way glode

As sparke out of the bronde,

Vpon his crest he bare a tour

And therein stricked a Lilie flour

God shilde his cors fro shonde.

And for he was a knight auntrous,

He nolde slepen in none house

But liggen in his hood,

His bright helme was his wanger

And by him fed his destrer

Of hearbes fine and good.

Himselfe dronke water of the well

As did the knight sir Persiuell

So worthy under wede,

¶The words of our Hoste.

NO more of this for Gods dignite

(Q. d. out Hoste) for thou makest me

So wearie of thy very leudenes,

That also willy God my soule blesse,

Mine eares aken of thy draftie speach:

Now such a riche the deuill I beteach,

* This may wel be clepe rime Dogrel (qd. he:)

Why so (qd. I) why wolt thou let me

More of my tale, than any other man,

Sins that it is the best time I can?

By God (qd. he) plainly at a worde,

Thy draftie timing is not worth a torde,

Thou doest nought els but spendest time.

Sir at one word, thou shalt no lenger rime.

Let see whether thou canst tell ought in gest

Or tell in prose somewhat at the lest,

In which ther may be some mirth or doctrine.

Gladly (qd. I) by Gods swete pine

I woll you tell a little thing in prose,

That ought like you, as I suppose,

Or else ye be certes too dangerous:

It is a morall tale vertuous,

All be it tolde sometime in sundry wise

Of sundry folke, as I shall you devise.

As thus, ye wote that every Evangelist,

That telleth us the paine of Iesu Christ,

Ne saith not all thing that his fellow doth:

But nathelesse her sentence is all soth,

And all accorden in her sentence,

All be there in her telling difference:

For some of hem saien more, and some lesse,

Whan they his pitous passion expresse:

I meane of Marke, Matthew, Luke, & Iohn,

But doubtlesse her sentence is all one.

Therefore lordings all, I you beseech,

If that you thinke I vary in my speech

As thus, although I tell somewhat more

Of Proverbes, than ye han heard before

Comprehended in this little treatise here

To enforcen the effect of my matere,

And though I do not the same words say

As ye han heard, yet to all you I pray

Blameth me not: for in my sentence

Shull ye not finde mochell difference.

Fro the sentence of this treatise lite,

After the which this little tale I write,

And therefore hearkeneth, what I shall say

And let me tell my tale I you pray.

¶Chaucers Tale of Melibeus.

Prudence, the discreet wife of Melibeus, persuadeth her husband to patience, and to receive his Enemies to mercy and grace. A Tale full of Morality, wherein both high and low may learn to govern their affections.

AYong man called Melibeus, mighty and rich, begate upon his wife that called was Prudence, a doughter which that called was Sophie.

Vpon a day befell that he for his disport is went into the fields him to play: his wife and eke his doughter had he left within his house, of which the doores were fast ishet. Foure of his old foes han it aspied, and setten ladders to the walles of his house, and by the windowes beene entred, and bet his wife, and wounded his doughter with five mortall woundes, in five sundry places: That is to say, In her feet, in her honds, in her eares, in her nose, and in her mouth, and leften her for dede, and wenten her way.

When Melibeus returned was into his house, and see all this mischiefe, hee like a mad man, renting his clothes, gan to weep and crie.

Prudence his wife, as farre foorth as shee durst, besought him of his weping for to stint: But not for thy, he gan to weep and cry ever lenger the more.

This noble wife Prudence, remembred her upon the sentence of Ovid, in his booke that cleped is the remedy of loue, whereas he saith, * Hee is a foole that distourbeth the mother to weepe, in the death of her childe, till she have wept her fill, as for a certain time: and then shall a man doen his diligence with amiable [Page] wordes, to recomfort and pray her of her weeping for to stint. For which reason this noble wife Prudence suffered her husbond to weepe and cry, as for a certaine space: and when she saw her time, shee saied him in this wise. Alas, my Lord (qd. she) why make ye your selfe for to be like a foole? Forsoth it apperteineth not unto a wise man to maken such a sorowe. Your doughter with the grace of God, shall warish and escape. And all were it so that she right now were dead, yee ne ought not as for her death your self destroy. Senek saith, * The wise man shall not take to great discomfort for the death of his children, but certes he should suffer it in patience, as wel as he abideth ye death of his own proper person.

This Melibeus answered anon and said: What man (qd. he) should of his weping stint, that hath so great a cause for to weep: Iesus himselfe, our Lorde, wept for the death of Lazarus his friend. Prudence answered, certes well I wote, * A temperat weeping is nothing defended, to him that sorowfull is, among folke in sorow, but it is rather graunted him to weepe. The Apostle Paule unto the Romanes writteth, Men should rejoyce with him that maketh joye, and weepe with such folke as weepen. But though a temperate weeping be granted, certes outragious weeping is defended. Measure of weeping should be considered, after the lore that teacheth us Senek. * When yt thy friend is dead (qd. he) let not thine iyen to moist been of teers, ne to much drie: although teeres comen to thine eyen, let hem not fall. And when thou hast forgon thy friend, doe diligence to get another friend: and this is more wisedom than for to weepe for thy friend, which thou hast lorne, for therein is no bote. And therefore if ye govern you by sapience, put away sorow out of your heart. Remembreth you that Iesus Sirake saieth, * A man yt is joyous and glad in hart: it him conserueth florishing in his age: But sothly a sorowfull heart maketh his bones drie. Hee saith eke thus, That sorow in heart slayeth full many a man. Salomon sayeth, * That right as mouths in the sheepes fleise annoieth the clothes, and the small wormes the tree, right so anoieth sorow the hart of man, wherefore us ought as well in the death of our children, as in the losse of our temporal goods, have patience.

Remember you upon patient Iob, when hee had lost his children and his temporall substaunce, and in his bodies endured and receiued full many a grieuous tribulation, yet saied hee thus: * Our Lord it sent to me, our Lord hath bereft it me, right so as our Lord would, right so it be done, iblessed be the name of our Lord. To these foresaid things Melibeus unto his wife Prudence answered: All thy words (qd. he) ben true, and thereto profitable, but truely mine heart is troubled with this sorrow so grievously, that I not what to do. Let call (qd. Prudence) your true friends al & thy linage, which that been wise, and telleth to hem your case, and hearkeneth what they say in counsailing, & gouerne you after her sentence. Salomon saith, * Werke all thy things by counsaile, & thou shalt never rue. Then by counsaile of his wife Prudence, this Melibeus let cause a great congregation of people, as Surgiens, Phisitions, old folke and yong, and some of his old enemies reconciled (as by her semblance) to his loue and to his grace: & therwithal there came some of his neighbours, that did him reverence more for dread than for loue, as it happe ofte.

There comen also ful many subtil flatterers, and wise Advocates learned in the lawe.

And when these folkes togeders assembled were, this Melibeus in sorrowfull wise shewed hem his case, and by the manner of his speech, it seemed that in hart he bare a cruell ire, ready to doen vengeaunce upon his foes, and suddainly, he desired that warre should begin, but natheles, yet asked he counsaile upon this matter. A Surgien, by licence and assent of such as were wise, up rose, and unto Melibeus saied, as ye shall heare.

Sir (qd. he) as to us Surgiens appertaineth, that we doe to every wight the best that we can, where as we beene withholden, and to our patient that wee dooen no damage: wherefore it happeth many time & ofte, that when two men have everch wounded other, one Surgien healeth hem both, wherfore vnto our arte it is not pertinent to norish warre, ne parties to support. But certes, as to ye warishing of your doughter, all be it so that perilously she be wounded, we shall doe so tentife businesse fro day to night, that with the grace of God, she shall been whole & sound, as soone as is possible. Almost right in the same wise the Phisitions answered, saue yt they saiden a few words more: That right as maladies beene by her contraries cured, right so shall a man warishe warre by peace. His neigbours full of enuie, his fained friends yt seemed reconciled, & his flatterers, maden semblaunce of weeping, & enpaired & agrutched much of this matter, in praysing greatly Melibe, of might, of power, of riches, and of friends, dispising the power of his aduersaries: and said vtterly, that hee anon should wreken him on his foes, and begin warre.

Vp rose then an Aduocate that was wise, by leaue and by counsaile of other that were wise, & saied: The neede for the which wee beene assembled in this place, is a full heauie thing, & a great matter, because of ye wrong and of the wickednesse yt hath bee doen, and eke by reason of great damages, that in time comming been possible to fallen for the same, and eke by reason of ye great riches & power of the parties both, for the which reasons, it were a full great peril to erren in this matter. Wherefore, Melibeus, this is our sentence, we counsaile you abouen all thing, that right anon thou doe thy diligence in keeping of thy proper person, in such a wise yt thou ne [Page] want non espie ne watch, thy body for to saue: And after yt, we counsaile yt in thine house thou set sufficient garrison, so as they may as well thy body as thy house defend: But certes to mouen warre, or to doen suddainly vengeaunce, we may not deeme in so little time that it were profitable, wherefore we aske leiser and space to haue deliberation in this cause to deme, for the common prouerbe saith thus: * He yt sone deemeth, sone shall repent. And eke men saine, * Thilke Iudge is wise yt sone vnderstondeth a matter, & iudgeth by leiser. * For all be it tarriyng be noifull, algate it is not to be reproued in yeuing of iudgement, ne in vengeance taking, when it is sufficient & reasonable. And yt shewed our lord Iesu Christ by ensample, for when the woman was taken in auoutrie, and was brought in his presens to knowen wt shuld be doen of her person, all be it that he wist wel himself wt he would answere, yet ne would he nor answere suddainly, but he would haue deliberation, & in the ground he wrote twise, & by this cause we asken deliberation: and we shall then by the grace of God counsaile you that thing that shall be profitable.

Vp stert then the yong folke at ones, and the most part of that companie haue scorned this old wise man, and begun to make noise & said. * Right so as whiles that iron is hot men should smite, right so men should wreken her wrongs while that they been fresh & new, and with loud voyce they cried warre, warre. Vp rose then one of the old wise, & with his hand made countenance that they should holden hem still, and yeuen him audience. Lordings, qd. he, There is full many a man that crieth warre, warre, that wote full lite what warre amounteth. * Warre at his beginning hath so great an entring & so large, that every wight may enter when him liketh and lightly find warre: but certes what end thereof shall fall, it is not lightly to know. When that warre is once begun, there is ful many a child vnborne of his mother, that shal sterue yong, because of thilke warre, other els liue in sorrow, or dien in wretchednesse: And therefore or that any warre bee begon, men must haue great counsaile and good deliberation. And whan this olde man wende to enforten his tale by reason, wel nie all at ones begon for to rise, for to breaken his tale, & bidden him full oft his wordes to abredge. * For certes hee that preacheth to hem that list not heare his wordes, his sermon hem annoieth. For Iesus Sirake sayeth, yt weeping in musick is a noious thing, This is as much to say, as much auaileth it to speake beforne folk to which his speech anoieth as it is for to singen before hem that weepe. And when this wise man saw that him wanted audience, all shamefast he set him adown ayen. For Salomon saith: There as thou mayest not have audience, enforce thee not to speake. I see well (qd. this wise man) that the common Proverbe is such, * That good counsail wanteth when it is most need.

Yet had this Melibeus in his counsaile many folke, yt privily in his eare counsailed him certain things, & counsailed him the contrary in general audience. When Melibeus had heard that the greatest part of his counsaile were accorded that he should make war, anon he consented to her counsailing, and fully affirmed her sentence. Then Dame Prudence, when that she saw her husbonde shope him for to awreke him on his enemies, and to begin warre: shee in full humble wise, when shee saw her time, sayed to him these words: My lorde (qd. she) I you beseech as heartily as I dare or can, ne halfe you not too fast, and for all guerdons yeue me audience. For Peter Alphons saieth, * Whoso doeth to thee good or harme, haste thee not to quite it, for in this wise thy friend woll abide, & thine enemie shall ye lenger liue in dread. The prouerbe saieth, * He hasteth well that wisely can abide: And in wicked hast is no profite.

This Melibe answered to his wife Prudence: I purpose not (qd. he) to werke by thy counsaile, for many causes and reasons: for certes euery wight would hold mee then a foole. This is to say, if I for thy counsailing would change things that been ordeined and affirmed by so many wise. Secondly, I say, that all women beene wicked, and none good of hem all. For of a thousand men saith Salomon, I found one good man: But certes of al women found I neuer none. And also certes, if I gouerned mee by thy counsaile, it should seeme that I had yeue thee ouer mee ye maistrie: and God forbid that it so were. For Iesus Sirake saieth, that if the wife haue maistrie, shee is contrarious to her husbond. And Salomon saieth, * Neuer in thy life to thy wife, ne to thy childe, ne to thy friend, ne yeue no power ouer thy selfe: for better it were that thy children aske of thee things that hem needeth, than thy selfe to be in the hands of thy children. And also if I woll werche by thy counsail, certes my counsail must be somtime secrete, till it were time that it must bee knowen: and this ne may not bee, if I should be counsailed by thee. When dame Prudence full debonairly and with great patience, had heard all that her husbonde liked for to say, then asked she of him licence for to speake, & saied in this wise. My lord (qd. she) as to your first reason, it may lightly been answerd: * For I say that it is no follie to chaunge counsaile when the thing is changed, or els when the thing seemeth otherwise than it seemed afore. And moreouer I say, though that yee haue sworne & behight to performe your emprise, & by just cause ye doe it not, men should not say therefore ye were a lyer & forsworn: For the booke saieth, * That the wise man maketh no lesing, when hee turneth his corage for the better. And albeit that your emprise bee established and ordeined by great multitude of folke, yet dare you not accomplish thilke ordinance but you liketh: for the trouth of things, & the profit, been rather founden in [Page] few: folke that been wise and full of reason, than by great multitude of folke, there every man crieth and clattereth what him liketh: soothly such multitude is not honest. And as to ye second reason, whereas ye say, * That all women ben wicked: save your grace, Certes ye despise all women in this wise, & he that all despiseth, as saith the booke, al displeaseth. And Senecke saith, * That who so woll haue Sapience, shall no man dispraise, but he shall gladly teach the science that he can, without presumption or pride: and such things as he nought ne can, hee shall not beene ashamed to learne hem, and to enquire of lesse folke than himselfe. And yt ther hath ben many a good woman, may lightly be prooued: for certes sir, our Lord Iesu Christ nold neuer han discended to be borne of a woman, if all women had be wicked: And after yt, for the great bounte that is in women, our Lord Iesu Christ, when he was risen from death to life, appeared rather to a woman than to his Apostles. And tho that Salomon sayed, he found neuer women good, it followeth not therefore, that all women be wicked: for though that hee ne found no good woman, certes many another man hath founde many a woman full good and true. Or els perauenture ye entent of Salomon was this, * That in soueraign bounte he found no woman, this is to say: yt there is no wight that hath parfite bounte saue God alone, as he himselfe recordeth in his Euangelie. * For there nis no creature so good yt him ne wanteth somwhat of ye perfection of God that is his maker. Your third reason is this. Ye say yt if that ye gouerne you by my counsaile, it should seeme that ye had yeue me the maistrie and the lordship of your person, Sir, saue your grace it is not so, for if so were that no man should bee counsailed but onely of hem that han lordship and maistrie of his person, men nolde not bee counsailed so oft: For sothly thilke man that asketh counsaile of a purpose, yet hath he free will whither hee woll doe after that counsaile or non. And as to your fourth reason, there as yee saine that the ianglerie of women can hide things that they wot not, as who so saieth, yt a woman cannot hide that she wote. Sir, these wordes been vnderstonde of women that been iangelers and wicked, of which women men saine that three things driuen a man out of his house, that is to say, smoke, dropping of raine, and wicked wiues. And of such women Salomon saieth, * That a man were better dwell in deserte, than with a woman that is riottous: And sir by your leaue, it am not I, for ye haue full oft assaied my great silence & my great patience, and eke how well that I can hide and heale things, that men oughten secretly to hiden. And sothly as to your fift reason, whereas you say, yt in wicked counsaile women vanquish men: God wote that thilke reason stant here in no stede: for vnderstondeth now, ye asken counsaile for to doe wickednes: * And if ye woll werken wickednes, & your wife restraineth thilke wicked purpose, and ouercome you by reason & by good counsail: certes your wife ought rather to bee praised than blamed. Thus should you vnderstonde the Phylosopher yt saieth, * In wicked counsaile women vanquish her husbondes. And there, as ye blame al women & her reasons, I shall shewe you by many ensamples, that many women haue be full good, and yet been, and her counsaile wholesome and profitable. Eke some men han saied, that ye counsaile of women is either to deere, or too little worth. But albeit so yt full many women bee bad, and her counsaile vile and nought worth, yet han men found full many a good woman, & full discrete and wise in counsailing. Lo Iacob through the counsaile of his mother Rebecke, wan the benison of his father, and the Lordship of all his brethren: Iudith thorow her good counsaile, deliuered the citie of Bethule, in which she dwelt, out of the honde of Holofern that had it all besieged, & wold haue destroyed it. Abigaile deliuered Naball her husbond fro Dauid the king, yt would haue slaine him, and appeased the ire of the King by her wit, and by her good counsaile. Hester by her counsaile enhaunced greatly ye people of God, in the reigne of Assuerus the King. And the same bountie in good counsailing of many a good woman may men reade and tell. And furthermore, whan that our Lord hath created Adam our former father, hee saied in this wise: * It is not good to be a man alone: make wee an helper to himselfe semblable. Here may yee see that if that women were not good, and her counsaile good and profitable, our Lorde God of heauen ne would neither han wrought hem, ne called hem the helper of man, but rather confusion to man. And there sayed a clerke ones in two verses: What is better than gold? * Iasper. What is better than Iasper? Wisdom. And what is better than Wisdome? Woman. And what is better than a good woman? That is a good man? And what is better than a good man? Nothing. And sir, by many other reasons may yee seene, that many women been good, and eke her counsaile good and profitable. And therefore sir, if that yee woll trust to my counsaile, I shall restore you your doughter hole and sound: and eke that I woll doe you so much, yt ye shall haue honour in this case.

When Melibe had heard the words of his wife Prudence, he saied thus: I see well that ye words of Salomon be sooth: For he saith, * The words yt bee spoken discretly by ordinaunce, been Honicombes, for they yeuen sweetnesse to the soule, and holsomnesse to ye body. And wife, because of thy sweet words, and eke for I haue proued & assaied thy great Sapience and thy great trouth, I woll gouerne me by thy counsaile in all thing.

Now sir, (qd. dame Prudence) and sithens that ye vouchsafe to be gouerned by my counsaile, I woll enforme you how that yee shall [Page] govern your self, in chusing of your counsailours. Ye shall first in all your werke, mekely beseeching to the high God, yt he would be your counsailour, and shapeth you to such entent that hee yeue you counsaile and comforte, as taught Thobie his sonne. * At all times thou shalt blesse God, and praie him to dresse thy ways, and loke eke that thy counsailes been in him evermore. Saint Iames saieth, if any man of you have neede of sapience, aske it of God. And afterwarde, then shullen ye take counsaile in your selfe, and examine well your owne thoughts, of such things as you thinken that beene best for your profit: And then shall yee drive fro your heart things that bee contrarious to good counsaile: that is to say, ire, covetise, and hastinesse.

First, * He yt asketh counsaile of himselfe, certes he must be withouten ire and wrath in himselfe, for many causes, The first is this: He that hath great ire and wrath in himselfe, he weneth alway that he may doe thing that he may not do. And secondly, he that is irous and wrothfull, he may not well deeme: And hee that may not well deeme, may not well counsell. The third is this, hee that is irous & wroth, as saieth Seneke, may not speake but blamefull things, and with thilke vicious wordes hee stirreth other folke to anger and to ire. And eke sir yee must drive covetise out of your heart. For ye Apostle saith, * That covetise is the roote of all harmes. And trusteth right well, that a covetous man ne can not deem ne thinke, but only to fulfill the end of his covetise: and certes that ne may never be accomplished, for evermore, the more haboundance that he hath of richesses, the more hee desireth. And sir ye must also drive out of your heart hastinesse: For certes ye may not deme for the best a suddain thought that falleth in your heart, but ye must advise you on it full oft: For as yee have heard here before, the common proverb is this. * He yt sone deemeth, sone repenteth.

Sir, ye ne be not alway in like disposition, for certes some thing that seemeth somtime to you that is good for to doe, another time it seemeth to you the contrarie.

And when ye han taken counsaile in your selfe, and han deemed by good deliberation such thing as you seemeth best, than rede I you that yee keepe it secret. Bewray yee not your counsaile to no person, but if so be that yee wene sikerly, that through your bewraying, your condition shall bee to you the more profitable. For Iesus Sirake saith: * Neither to thy foe ne to thy friend discover not thy secret, ne thy folly: for they woll yeue you audience and looking, and supportation in your presence, and scorn you in your absence. Another Clerke sayth, * That scarsly shall you finde any person that may keepe counsaile secretly. The booke saieth, * While that thou keepest the counsaile in thine heart, thou keepest it in thy prison: and when thou bewrayest thy counsaile to any wight, hee holdeth thee in his snare. And therefore you is better to hide your counsaile in your heart, than to pray him to whom yee have bewrayed your counsaile, that he woll keepe it close still. For Seneca saieth: If so be that thou maiest not thine owne counsaile hide, howe darest thou pray any other wight thy counsaile secret to keepe. But nathelesse, if thou wene sikerly that thy bewraying of thy counsaile to a person woll make thy condition stonde in ye better plight, then shalt thou tell him thy counsaile in this wise. First thou shalt make no semblant whether thee were lever peace or warre, or this or that, ne shewe him not thy will ne thine entent: for trust well that commonly these counsailours beene flatrerers, namely the counsailours of great lordes, for they enforce hem alway rather to speak pleasant words enclining to the lordes lust, than words that ben trew or profitable: and therfore men say, * that ye rich man hath seld good counsaile, but if hee have it of himselfe. And after that thou shalt consider thy friendes and thine enemies. And as touching thy friendes, thou shalt consider which of hem been most faithfull and most wise, and eldest and most approved in counsailing: and of hem shalt thou aske thy counsaile, as the case requireth.

I say, that first yee shall call to your counsaile your friends that been true. For Saloman saith: * That right as ye heart of a man deliteth in savour that is sote, right so the counsaile of true friends yeueth swetenesse to the soule. And hee saieth also, there may nothing be likened to ye true friend: For certes gold ne silver bee not so much worth as the good will of a true friend. And also he saith, that a true friend is a strong defence, who so that it findeth hath a great treasure. Then shall ye also consider if that your true friends be discreet & wise: for the booke saith, Aske alway thy counsaile of them that bin wise. And by this same reason shall ye call to your counsaile your friends yt beene of age, such as seeme and beene expert in many thinges, and been approoved in counsailing. For the booke saieth, * That in olde men is Sapience, & in long time the prudence. And Tullius saieth, * That great things beene not aye accomplished by strength, ne by delivernesse of body, but by counsaile, by aucthoritie of persons, and by Science: the which three things ne beene not feeble by age, but certes they enforce and encrease day by day, and then shall ye keep this for a generall rule. First shall yee call to your counsaile a fewe of your friends yt been especial. For Salomon saieth, * Many friends have thou, but among a thousand chuse thee one to bee thy counsailour: For all bee it so, that thou first ne tell thy counsaile but to a fewe, thou mayest afterwarde tell it to mo folke, if it bee neede. But looke alway that thy counsaylours have those conditions that I have [Page] sayd before, yt is to say, That they be true, wise, and of old experience. And werke not alway in every need by one Counsailer alone: for sometimes behooueth it to bee counsailed by many. For Salomon sayth, * Saluation of things is where as there be many counsaylers.

Now haue I told you of which folke yee shall be counsailed: now woll I tell you which cousaile yee ought to eschew. First yee shall eschew the counsailing of fooles, Salomon sayth, * Take no counsaile of a foole, for hee woll counsaile but after his owne lust & his affection. The booke sayth, that the propertie of a foole is this: * He troweth lightly harme of euery man, and lightly troweth all bountie in himselfe. Thou shalt eschew the counsailing of all flaterers, which as enforcen hem rather to praise your person by flatterie, than for to tell you the soothfastnesse of things.

Wherefore Tullius sayeth, * Among all the pestilence that been in friendship, the greatest is flatterie. And therefore it is more need yt thou eschew and dread flatterers, than any other people. The booke saith, * Thou shalt rather flee fro the sweete wordes of flattering and praising, than fro the eagre words of thy friends that saith the sooths. Salomon saith, * That the words of a flatterer is a snare to catch innocence. He sayth also, * He yt speaketh to his friend wordes of flatterie and of pleasaunce, he setteth a net beforne his feet to catch him. And therefore Tullius sayth, Encline not thine eares to flatterers, ne take no counsaile of flatterers. And Caton sayeth, * Auise thee well, and eschew the wordes of sweetnesse and of pleasaunce. And eke thou shalt eschew the counsailing of thine old enemies that been reconciled. The booke sayth, * That no wight retourneth safely into the grace of his old enemie. And Isope sayth, * Ne trust not to hem, to which thou hast sometime had war or enmity, ne tell hem not thy counsaile. And Seneck telleth ye cause why it may not be, for he sayth, * There as great fire hath long time endured, that there dwelleth some vapour of heat. And therefore saith Salomon, * In thine old foe trust thou neuer. For likerly though thine enemie be reconciled & make the signe of humilitie, and loute to thee with his head, trust him neuer: for certes he maketh thilke faigned humility more for his profite, than for any humility, or for any loue of thy person, because that he deemeth to haue victory ouer thy person by such fained countenaunce, the which victorie he might not haue by strife or warre. And Petrus Alphons sayeth, * Make no fellowship with thine old enemies, for if thou do hem bounty, they wollen pervert it to wickedness. And eke thou must eschew the counsailing of hem yt been thy servaunts, and bearen thee great reverence: for peraventure they sayne it more for dread than for love. And therfore saith a Philosopher in this wise: * There is no wight perfitly true to him that he dredeth. And Tullius sayth, There is no might so great of any emperour that long may endure, but he haue loue of the people and dread. Ye shall eschew also the counsailing of folke that been dronklewe, for they ne can no counsaile hide. For Salomon sayth, * There nis no priuity there as reigneth drunkennesse. Ye shall haue also in suspect ye counsailing of such folke as counsaile you one thing priuily, and counsaile you the contrarie openly. For Cassidorie sayeth, * That it is a manner of sleight to hinder his enemy when he sheweth to done a thing openly, and werketh priuily ye contrary. Thou shalt haue also in suspect the counsailing of wicked folke, that be alway full of fraud. And Dauid sayth, * That blisfull is the man yt hath not followed the counsailing of shrews. Thou shalt also eschew the counsailing of yong folke, for her counsailing is not ripe, as Salomon saith.

Now sir, sithens I haue shewed you of such folke as ye shall be counsailed of, and follow it: now woll I teach you how ye shall examine your counsaile. After ye doctrine of Tullius, in examining of your counsailers, ye shal consider many things.

First thou shalt consider thilke thing that thou purposest, and vpon that thing that thou wolt haue counsaile, that very trueth be said & conserued, this is to say, * Tell truly thy tale, for he yt sayeth false, may not well be counsailed in that case, of which he lieth. After this, thou shalt consider the things that accorden to yt thou purposest for to doe by thy counsailours, if reason accord thereto, and eke if thy might may attaine therto: & if the more part and the better part of your counsailours accorden thereto or no. Then shalt thou consider what thing shall follow of her counsailing: As hate, peace, warre, grace, profite, or damage, and many other things: and in all things shalt thou chuse the best, and weiue all other things. Then shalt thou consider of what root is engendred the matter of thy counsaile, and what fruit it may conceive & engender. Thou shalt eke consider all the causes, from whence they be sprong. And when thou hast examined thy counsaile, as I haue said, & which partie is the better and more profitable, and hast approoued it by many wise folke and old, then thou shalt consider, if thou maiest performe it & make of it a good end. * For certes reason woll not that any man shall begin a thing, but if he might performe it as him ought: ne no wight should take vpon him so heauie a charge, but yt he might bere it. For ye proverbe sayth, * He that to much embraceth distraineth little. And Caton saith, * Assay to do such things as thou hast power to done, least the charge oppresse thee too sore, that thee behooueth weiue thing yt thou hast begunne, And if so be yt thou be in dout, whether thou maiest performe a thing or none, chuse rather for to suffer than to begin. And Peter Alphons saieth, * If thou hast might to do a thing, of [Page] which thou must repent, it is better holde thy tongue still than for to speake. Then maiest thou vnderstond by stronger reasons, that if thou hast power to perfourme a werke, of which thou shalt repent thee, then it is better thou suffer than begin. * Well saine they that defenden euery wight to assay a thing of which he is in doubt, whether he may performe it or none. And after when ye haue examined your counsaile (as I haue said before) and know well that yee may performe your emprise, conferme it then sadly till it bee at an end.

Now it is reason and time that I shewe you when and wherfore that ye may chaunge your counsaile, withouten reproofe. * Soothly, a man may change his purpose & his counsaile, if the cause ceaseth, or when a newe case betideth. For ye law saith, * That vpon things that newly betideth, behooueth newe counsaile. And Seneke saieth, * If thy counsaile is come to the eares of thine enemies, chaunge thy counsaile. * Thou maiest also chaunge thy counsaile, if so be thou find that by error or by any other cause, harme or dammage may betide. * Also if thy counsaile be dishonest, other els come of dishonest cause, chaunge thy counsaile. For ye law saith, * That all behests that be dishonest, ne been of no value: And eke, * If so be that it bee vnpossible, or may not gladly be perfourmed or kept.

And take this for a general rule, * That euery counsaile that is enformed so strongly, yt it may not be chaunged for no condition that may betide, I say that ilke counsail is wicked.

MElibeus, when he had heard the doctrine of his wife Dame Prudence, aunswerd in this wise. Dame (qd. he) as yet vnto this time ye han well taught me, as in gouernaile how I shall gouern me in ye chusing and in the withholding of my counsaile: But now would I faine that ye would condiscend in especial, how yt ye seemeth by our counsailours that wee haue chose in this present need.

My lord (qd. she) I beseech you in all humblesse, that yee woll not wilfully replie ayenst my reasons, ne distemper your hert, though I speake thing that you displease, for God wote as in mine entent, I speake it as for your best and for your honour and profit eke, & soothly I hope that your benignity woll take it in patience. And trusteth me well yt your counsaile in this case neshould not (as to speak properly) be called a counsailing, but a motion or a mouing of folly, in which counsaile ye haue erred in many a sundry wise.

First yee haue erred in the assembling of your counsailours: For first yee should haue cleped a fewe folke to your counsaile, & after yee might haue shewed it to mo, if it had bee neede. But ye haue cleped to your counsail a great multitude of people, full chargeous & full noyous for to heare. Also ye haue erred, for there as yee should haue onely cleped to your counsaile your trew friends, olde and wise, ye haue cleped straunge folke, yong folk, false flatterers, and enemies reconciled, and folk yt done you reuerence withouten loue. * And eke yee haue erred, for yee haue brought with you to your counsaile, ire, couetise, & hastinesse, ye which three things been contrary to euery good counsaile, honest & profitable: the which three things yee haue not destroyed neither in your self ne in your counsailours, as ye ought. Ye haue erred also, for yee haue shewed to your counsailours your talent and your affections to make warre anon, & for to do vengeance, and they haue espied by your words to what thing ye beene enclined: & therefore han they rather counsailed you to your talent, than to your profite. Ye han erred eke, for it seemeth that you sufficeth to haue be counsailed by these counsailours onely, and with little auisement, whereas in so high and in so great a need, it had been necessarie mo counsailours, and more deliberation to performe your emprise. Ye han erred also, for ye haue not examined your counsaile in ye foresaid matters ne in due manner, as y• case requireth. Ye haue erred also, for ye made no diuision betweene your true friends & your fained counsailours: ne ye haue not knowne the will of your trewe counsailours and friends, old, & wise, but ye haue cast all her words in an hochpot, and enclined your heart to the more part and to the greater number of fooles than of wise men. * And therefore ye counsaylings that beene at congregations and multitudes of folke, there as men take more regard to the number, than to the sapience of persons: ye seene well, yt in such counsaylings fooles han the maistrie. Melibeus answerd and said ayen: I graunt well that I haue erred, but there as thou hast told me here beforne, yt he nis not to blame that chaungeth his counsaile in certaine case, and for certaine and just cause I am all redie to chaunge my counsailours right as thou wouldest deuise. The Prouerbe sayth, * For to done sinne, is mannish, but certes for to persevere long in sinne, is werke of the Diuell.

To this sentence answereth anone dame Prudence, & said: Examineth (qd. she) well your counsaile, and let vs see which of hem hath spoke most reasonably, and taught you best counsaile. And for as much as the examination is necessarie, let vs begin at Surgiens and Physicians, that first spake of this matter. I say that Physicians & Surgiens haue saied you in your counsayle discreetly, as hem ought: & in her speech said full wisely, that to the office of hem appertaineth to done to euery wight honour & profite, and no wight to annoy, & after her craft to done great diligence vnto the cure of hem which they haue in her gouernaunce: & sir, right as they have answerd wisely and discreetly, right so read I yt they beene highly & souerainly guerdoned for her noble speech, [Page] and eke for they shull more done their ententife businesse in ye curation of your doughter. For all beit so they been your friends, therfore shullen ye not suffer, that they serue you for nought, but ye ought therafter guerdon hem, and pay hem her largesse. And as touching y• proposition, which the Physicians entreteden in this case, this is to saine, that in maladies is, * That contrarie is warished by another contrary: I would faine know how ye vnderstond thilke text, and what is your sentence. Certes (qd. Melibeus) I vnderstond it in this wise: Right as they han doe me a contrary, so should I done hem another, for right as they han venged hem vpon me & done me wrong, right so woll I venge me vpon hem, & done hem wrong, and then haue I cured one contrary by another.

Lo lo (qd. dame Prudence) how lightly is euery man enclined to his own desire & his owne pleasaunce, Certes (qd. she) ye wordes of the Physicians ne should not been vnderstond in yt wise: for certes wickednesse is not contrary to wickednesse, ne vengeaunce is not contrarie to vengeaunce, ne wrong to wrong, but euery of hem encreaseth and engendreth other. But certes the words of the Physicians should be vnderstond in this wise, for good and wickednesse ben two contraries: and peace and warre, vengeaunce and suffraunce, discord and accord, and many other things: * But certes, wickednesse shall be warished with goodnesse, discord by accord, warre by peace, and so forth in other things. And therto accordeth saint Paule the Apostle in many places: He sayth, Ne yeeld not harme for harme, ne wicked speech for wicked speech, but doe well to hem that done to thee harme, and blesse hem that saith thee harme. And in many other places he admonisheth peace & accord. But now woll I speke of ye counsaile which was iyeue vnto you by men of Lawe, and the wise folke, and old folke, that sayden all by one accord as ye heard beforne, That ouer all things ye shall done your businesse & diligence to keepe your person, and to warnstore your house: And they said also, that in this case ye ought to werchen full wisely & with great deliberation. And sir, as to the first point, that toucheth the keeping of your person: ye shall vnderstond, that he that hath warre, shall euer deuoutly and meekly praien beforne all things, that Iesu Christ, of his mercie woll haue him in his protection, and to be his soueraigne helper at his need: For certes in this world there nis no wight that may be counsailed and ikept sufficiently without the keeping of our lord Iesu Christ. To this sentence accordeth the Prophet Dauid yt sayth: * If God ne kept the Citty, in idle waketh hee that it keepeth. Now sir, then should hee commit the keeping of your person to your true friends, that been approued and iknow, and of him should ye aske helpe, your person to keep. For Caton saith: * If thou haue need of helpe, aske it of thy friends, for there nis none so good a Hhysician as thy true friend. And after this then shall yee keep you fro all straunge folke, and fro liers, and have alway in suspect her companie. For Peter Alphons saieth: * Ne take no company by the way, of no straunge man, but if so bee that thou hast known him of lenger time: And if so be that he fall into thy companie, peradventure withouten thine assent and good will, enquire then as subtelly as thou canst, of his conversation, and of his life beforne, and faine thy way, saying thou wouldest go thider as thou wolt not goe: & if he beare a speare, hold thee on the right side of him, & if he beare a swerd, hold thee on the left side of him. And then shall ye keepe you wisely from all manner of such people as I have saied you here before, and hem and her counsaile eschew. And after this then shall yee keepe you in such manner, that for any presumption of your bodily strength, that ye despise not ne account not the might of your adversary so lite, that ye let the keeping of your person for your presumption, * For every wise man dredeth his enemie. And Salomon sayth: * A very foole is he yt of all hath drede: * But certes he that thorow hardnesse of his heart and through ye hardinesse of himselfe, hath too great presumption, him shall euill betide. Then shall ye euermore encounter, waite, embushments, and all espiaile. For Seneke sayeth: * The wise man yt dredeth harmes, escheweth harmes: * He ne falleth into no perils, that perill escheweth. And all be it so, that thou seeme yt thou be in secret place, yet shalt thou alway done diligence in keeping of thy person, this is to say, ne be not negligent to keepe thine owne person, not onely for thy greatest enemy, but also for thy least enemy. Seneke sayth, * A man yt is well aduised, he dreadeth his least enemie. Ouid sayth, * That ye little wesell woll slee ye great Bull and the wild Hart. And the Prouerbe sayth, * That a little thorn woll greeue a king full sore, and a little hound woll hold ye wild Bore. But nathalesse, I say not thou shalt be so coward, that thou doubt where as is no dred. The book sayth, That somemen haue great lust to deceiue, but yet they dread to bee deceiued. And keepe thee fro ye companie of scorners: * For the booke sayth, With scorners ne make no company, but flie her words as venome.

Now as to the second point, whereas your wise Counsaylours counsayled you to warnestore your house with great dilligence, I would faine know how yee vnderstond thilke wordes, and what is your sentence.

Melibeus answered and said, certes I vnderstond it in this wise, that I shall warnestore mine house with toures, such as haue castles & other maner edifices, and armure, and archeries, betweene which things I may my person and my house so keepe & defend, that mine enemies shullen be in dread [Page] mine house to approch. To this sentence answered anon Prudence. Warnishing (qd. she) of high toures and of high edifices, is with great costages and with great travaile, and when yt they ben accomplished, yet bin they not worth a straw, but if they been defended with true friends, that ben old and wise. And understondeth well, that the greatest and the strongest garnison that rich men may have, as well to keepen her person, as her goods, is, that they be beloved with her subjects, and with her neighbours. For thus sayth Tullius, * That there is a manner garrison, yt no man may vanquish ne discomfite, and that is a lord to be beloved of his citizens, and of his people.

Nowe sir, as to the third point, whereas your olde and wise Counsaylours saied, yt ye ought not suddainly ne hastily proceed in this need, but that yee ought purueyen and apparaile you in this case, with great dilligence and deliberation. Verely, I trow that they saied right truly and right sooth. For Tullius sayth: * In every deed or thou begin it, apparaile thee with great diligence. Then say I, in vengeaunce taking, in war, in battaile, and in warnestoring, or thou begin, I rede that thou apparaile thee thereto, and do it with great deliberation. For Tullius sayth: * The long apparailing tofore the battaile, maketh short victorie. And Cassidorus sayth: * The garrison is stronger, when it is long time avised. But now let us speake of the Counsayle that was accorded by your neighbours, such as done you reverence withouten love, your old enemies reconciled, your flatterers, that counsailed you certain things prively, and openly counsailed you the contrarie. The young folke also, that counsailed you to venge you, and to make warre anon. Certes sir, as I have saied before, ye have greatly erred to clepe such manner of folke to your counsaile, which counsailours ben ynough reproued by the reasons aforesaid. But nathelesse, let us now descend to the special. Ye shull first proceed after the doctrine of Tullius. Certes the trouth of this matter or of this counsaile needeth not diligently to enquire, for it is wel wist, which they been that han done you this trespas and villanie, and how many trespassours, and in what manner they have done all this wrong to you, and all this villany. And after this, then shull ye examine the second condition, which Tullius addeth in this matter. For Tullius putteth a thing, which that he clepeth consenting: this is to say, who ben they and which been they, and how many, that consenten to thy counsaile in thy wilfulnesse, to done hastie vengeaunce. And let us consider also who been they, and how many they been that consented to your adversaries. As to the first point, it is well knowen which folke they be that consented to your hastie wilfulnesse. For truly, all tho that counsaile you to maken suddaine warre, ne be not your friends. Let see now which beene they that ye holden so greatly your friends, as to your person: For albeit so that ye be mighty and rich, certes ye been but alone: for truly yee ne have no child but a doughter, ne ye have no brethren ne cousin Germaines, ne none other nigh kinrede, wherefore your enemies should stint to plead with you, ne to destroy your person. Ye know also, that your riches mote be dispended in diverse parties. And when that every wight hath his part, they wollen take but little regard to venge your death. But thine enemies ben three, & they have many brethren, children, cousins, and other nigh kinrede: and though so were, that thou haddest slaine of hem two or three, yet dwelleth there ynowe to avenge her death, and to slea thy person. And though so be that your kinrede be more stedfast and siker than the kinne of your adversaries, yet neverthelesse your kinrede is but after kinrede, for they ben but little sibbe to you, and the kinne of your enemies ben nigh sibbe to hem. And certes as in that, her condition is better than is yours. Then let us consider also of the counsayling of hem that counsayled you to take suddaine vengeaunce, whether it accord to reason or non: And certes yee know well nay, for as by right & reason, there may no man take vengeaunce of no wight, but the judge that hath jurisdiction of it, when it is graunted him to take vengeaunce hastely, or attemperately, as the Law requireth. And yet moreover of thilke word that Tullius clepeth consenting, thou shalt consent, if that thy might and thy power may consent and suffice to thy wilfulnesse, and to thy counsaylours: And certes, thou mayest well say nay, for sikerly as for to speake properly, * We may do nothing but such thing as we may done rightfully: and certes rightfully ye may take no vengeaunce, as of your own proper authority. Then may ye see that your power ne consenteth not, ne accordeth not with your wilfulnesse. Nowe let us examine the third point, that Tullius clepeth consequence. Thou shalt understond, yt the vengeaunce that thou purposest for to take, is consequent, and thereof followeth another vengeaunce, perill, & warre, and other dammages withouten number, of which wee be not ware, as at this time. And as touching the fourth point, that Tullius clepeth engendring, thou shalt consider, that this wrong which that is done to thee, is engendred of the hate of thine enemies, and of the vengeaunce taking upon hem, yt would engender another vengeaunce, and muckell sorrow and wasting of richesse, as I sayed ere.

Now sir, as touching the fift point, that Tully cleapeth causes, which is the last point, thou shalt understond, that the wrong that thou hast received, hath certain causes, which that clerkes callen oryen, and effycien, and causa longinqua, and causa propinqua, that is to say the ferre cause, and the nigh [Page] cause. The ferre cause is almighty God, that is cause of all things. The neere cause, is the three enemies. The cause accidentall was hate. The cause material, ben ye five wounds of thy doughter. The cause formall, is ye maner of their werking, that brought ladders, and clambe in at thy windowes. The cause finall was for to slea thy doughter, it letted not in as much as in them was. But for to speak of the ferre cause, as to what end they should come, or finally, what shall betide of them in this case, ne can I not deme, but by conjecting and supposing: For we shall suppose, that they shall come to a wicked end, because that the booke of Decrees sayth: * Seld or with great paine ben causes brought to a good end, when they ben badly begun.

Now sir, if men would aske me, why that God suffred men to do you this villany. Truly I cannot well answer, as for no soothfastnesse. For ye Apostle sayeth, * That the sciences, and the judgements of our Lord God Almightie been full deep, there may no man comprehend ne search hem. Nathelesse by certain presumptions & coniectings, I hold & beleeve, that God, which that is full of justice and of righteousnes, hath suffred this betide, by iust cause reasonable.

Thy name is Melibe, this is to say, a man that drinketh Honey. Thou hast dronke so much honey of sweet temporall richesse, and delices of honours of this world, that thou art dronke, & hast forgotten Iesu Christ thy creatour: Thou ne hast not doen to him such honour and reverence as thee ought, ne thou ne hast not taken keepe to ye words of Ovid that sayth: * Vnder ye Honey of the goods of thy bodie is hid ye venome yt slaeth thy soule.

And Salomon sayth: * If it so be yt thou hast found honey, eat of the same honey that that sufficeth: for if so bee that thou eat of the same honey out of measure, thou shalt spewe, and also be needy & poore. And peraventure Almightie God Iesu Christ hath thee in dispight, and hath tourned away fro thee his face, and his eares of misericorde & mercie. And also he hath suffred & give licence, that thou thus shouldest bee punished and chastised, in ye manner that thou hast trespassed & offended. Thou hast done sinne against our Lord Christ, for certes the three enemies of mankind, that is to say: the flesh, the fiend, and the world, thou hast suffered hem entre into thine heart wilfully, by the windowes of thy body, & hast not defended thy selfe sufficiently ayenst their assaults, and their temptations, so that they have wounded thy soule in five places, this is to say: the deadly sinnes that ben entred into thy hart by thy five wits. And in the same manner our Lorde Christ hath would and suffered, that thy three enemies been entered into thy hous, by yt windowes, and have wounded thy doughter in the foresaied manner.

Truly (qd. Melibe) I see well that yee enforce you much by words to overcome me, in such manner, that I shall not venge mee on mine enemies, shewing me ye perils and the evils yt might fall of this vengeaunce: but who so would consider in all vengeances the perils & evils that might sue of vengeaunce taking, a man would never take vengeaunce, and that were harme: for by the vengeaunce taken been ye wicked men discevered fro the good men. And they yt have will to doe wickednesse, restrain their wicked purpose, when they see the punishing and chastising of the trespassours: & yet say I mo [...]e. * That right as a singular person sinneth, in taking vengeaunce of another man, right so sinneth ye judge, if he doe no vengeaunce of hem that have deserved. For Senecke sayeth thus: * That maister, he sayth is good, that preveth shrews. And as Cassiodore saith: * A man dredeth to do outrages, when he wot & knoweth, yt it displeaseth to ye Iudges and Soveraignes. And another sayth: * The Iudge yt dreadeth to doe right; maketh men shrewes. Add saint Poule the Apostle sayeth in his Epistle, when he writeth unto the Romanes,

* That the Iudge bear not the speare without-cause, but they beare it to punish the shrewes and misdoers, and for to defend the good men.

If ye woll then take vengeaunce of your enemies, ye shull retourne and have your recourse to the Iudge, that hath the jurisdiction upon hem, and he shall punish hem, as the law asketh and requireth.

A ha, saied Melibe, this vengeaunce liketh me nothing, I bethink me now, and take heed how that fortune hath nourished mee fro my childhood, and hath holpe me to passe many a stronge paas: Now I would assay her, trowing with Gods helpe, that she shall helpe mee my shame for to avenge.

TRuly saied Prudence, if yee woll werke by my counsaile, yee shall not assay fortune by no way: ne yee shall not lean or how unto her, after the words of Senecke: * For things that been foolishly doen, and that been done in hope of fortune, shall never come to good end. And as ye same Senek sayth: * The more clere and the more shining that fortune is, the more britle & the sooner broke she is. Trusteth not in her, for she is not stedfast ne stable. For when thou trowest to be most sure & stedfast of her helpe, she woll faile and deceive thee. And whereas ye say, that fortune hath nourished you fro your childhood, I say that in so much ye shall the lesse trust in her, & in her wit. For Seneke saith: * What man yt is nourished by fortune, she maketh him a great foole. Now then sith ye desire & aske vengeaunce, & the vengeaunce that is done after the law, and before the judge, ne liketh you not, and the vengeaunce that is doen in hope of fortune, is perillous and uncertaine, then have yee none other remedie, but for to haue your recourse vnto the soveraine iudge that vengeth all villanies and wrongs. And [Page] he shall venge you, after that himself witnesseth, whereas he saith: * Leave the vengeaunce to me, and I shall do it.

Melibeus answerd, if I ne venge me of ye villanie yt men haue doen to me, I summon or warne hem that haue doen to me that villanie & all other, to doe me another villany. For it is written: * If thou take no vengeaunce of an old villany, thou summonest thine aduersaries to do thee a new villanie, & also for my sufferaunce, men would doe me so much villanie, that I might neither beare it ne sustain it, & so should I be put and holden ouer low. For men sain, * In mikell suffring shal many things fall vnto thee, which thou shalt not mow suffer.

Certes (qd. Prudence) I graunt you, yt ouermuch suffraunce is not good, but yet ne followeth it not thereof, that euery person to whom men doe villanie, should take of it vengeance: for that appertaineth and longeth all onely to Iudges, for they should venge ye villanies and iniuries: And therefore those two authorities, that yee haue saied before, beene onely vnderstond in the Iudges: * For when they suffer ouermuch the wrongs and villanies to bee doen, withouten punishment, they summon not a man all onely for to doe newe wrongs, but they commaund it. Also a wise man sayth, * That ye Iudge that correcteth not the sinner, commaundeth & biddeth him doe sinne. And the Iudges and soueraines might in their lond so much suffer of the shrews and misdoers, that they should by such suffraunce, by processe of time, were of such power & might, that they should put out the Iudges and the Soueraignes from their places, and at last, make hem lese her Lordships.

But let vs now suppose, that ye haue leue to venge you: I say yee be not of might and power, as now to venge you: for if ye woll make comparison vnto the might of your aduersaries, yee should find in many thinges, that I haue shewed you er this, yt their condition is better than yours, and therefore say I, that it is good as now, that ye suffer & be patient.

Furthermore, ye know well, that after the common saw, * It is a woodnesse, a manne to striue with a stronger, or a more mightie man than hee is himselfe: and for to striue with a man of euen strength, that is to say, with as strong a man as hee is, it is perill: & for to striue with a weaker man, it is folly, & therfore should a man flie striuing, as mikell as he might. For Salomon sayeth: * It is a great worship to a man to keepe him fro noise and strife: * And if it so befall and hap, yt a man of greater might and strength than thou art, doe thee greeuaunce: studie and busie yt rather to still the same greeuaunce, than for to venge thee. For Seneke sayth, * That he putteth him in great perill, that striueth with a greater man than he is himselfe. And Caton sayth, * If a man of higher estate or degre, or more mightie than thou, do thee annoy or greuaunce, suffer him: for he yt once hath greeued thee, may another time releeue thee and helpe thee. Yet set I case ye haue licence for to venge you, I say that there been full many things yt shall restrain you of vengeance taking, and make you for to encline to suffer, and for to haue patience in the wrongs that haue been doen to you. First and formost, if ye woll consider the faults that been in your owne person, for which faults God hath suffered you haue his tribulation, as I haue saied to you here before. For the Poet sayeth,

* That we ought patiently take ye tribulations that come to vs, when that wee thinke and consider, that wee haue deserued to haue them. And saint Gregorie sayth, * That when a manne considereth well the number of his defaults and of his sinnes, the paines and the tribulatious that he suffereth, seeme the lesse vnto him. And in as much as him thinketh his sinnes more heauie and greeuous, in so much seemeth his paine the lighter and the easier vnto him. Also yee owne to encline and bow your heart, to take the patience of our Lord Iesu Christ, as sayeth saint Peter in his Epistles. Iesu Christ he saith hath suffred for vs, & yeuen ensample to euery man to follow and sue him, for he did neuer sinne, ne neuer came there a villainous word out of his mouth. When men cursed him, he cursed hem not. And when men bete him, he manaced hem not. Also the great patience, which Saints that been in Paradice haue had in tribulation that they haue suffered, without her desert or guilt, ought much stirre you to patience. Furthermore, ye shull enforce you to haue patience, considering that the tribulations of this world but little while endure, and soone passen been and gone, and the joy yt a man seeketh to haue by patience in tribulations is perdurable: After that the Apostle says in his Epistle, * The joy of God he sayeth is perdurable: that is to say, euerlasting. Also troweth and beleeueth stedfastly, that he is not well norished and well taught, that cannot haue patience, or woll not receiue patience. For Salomon sayth, * That ye doctrine and the wit of a man is knowne by patience. And in another place he sayeth, That hee that is patient, gouerneth him by great prudence.

And y• same Salomon saith: * The angrie and wrothfull man maketh noises, and the patient man attempreth and stilleth hem. He saith also, It is no more worth to be patient than to be right strong. And he yt may haue ye lordship of his own heart, is more to praise than he that by his force or strength taketh great cities. And therefore saieth saint Iames in his Epistle, * That patience is a great vertue of perfection.

CErtes (qd. Melibee) I graunt you Dame Prudence, yt patience is a great vertue of perfection, but euery man may not haue ye [Page] perfection that yee seeke, ne I am not of ye number of right perfit men: For mine heart may never be in peace, unto the time it bee avenged. And albeit so, yt it was great perill to mine enemies to doe mee a villanie in taking vengeaunce upon me, yet tooke they no heed of ye perill, but fulfilled her wicked will and her courage: and therefore me thinketh men ought not repreve me, though I put me in a little perill for to avenge me, and though I do a great excesse, yt is to say, that I venge one outrage by another.

Ah (qd. dame Prudence) ye say your will as you liketh: but in no case of ye world a man should not do outrage ne excesse, for to venge him. For Cassiodore saith, * That as evill doth he yt vengeth him by outrage, as he that doth y• outrage. And therefore ye shall venge you after the order of right, that is to say, by the law, and not by excesse, ne by outrage. And also if you woll venge you of ye outrage of your aduersaries, in other maner than right commandeth, ye sinne. And therefore sayth Senek: * That a man shall never venge shreudnesse by shreudnesse. And if ye say that right asketh to defend violence by violence, and fighting by fighting: certes ye say sooth, when the defence is doen without intervall, or without tarrying or delay, for to defend him, & not for to venge him. And it behooveth, that a man put such attemperaunce in his defence, that men have no cause ne matter to repreve him that defendeth him of outrage and excesse, for els were it againe reason. Parde yee know well, yt yee make no defence as now, for to defend you, but for to venge you: and so sheweth it, that ye have no will to doe your deed attemperately, & therefore me thinketh that patiente is good. For Salomon saieth, * That he that is not patient, shall have great harme.

CErtes (saied Melibe) I graunt you yt when a man is impatient and wrothe of that that toucheth him not, and that appertaineth not unto him, though it harme him, it is no wonder. For ye law saith, * That hee is culpable that entermetleth or medleth with such things as appertaineth not unto him. And Salomon saith, * That he that entremetleth of the noise or strife of another manne, is like to him that taketh a straunge hound by ye eares: For right as hee that taketh a straunge hound by the eeres, is otherwhile bitten by the hond, right so in the same wise, it is reason that he have harme, that by his impatience medleth him of the noise of another man, whereas it appertaineth not unto him. But ye know well, that this deed, that is to say, my greefe and my disease, toucheth me right nigh. And therefore though I bee wroth and impatient, it is no mervaile: and saving your grace, I cannot see that it might greatly harme me, though I took vengeaunce, for I am richer and more mightie than mine enemies bee: And well know ye, that by money and by having great possessions, beene all things of this world governed. And Salomon sayth, * All these things obey to money.

When Prudence had heard her husbond avaunt him of his richesse and his money, dispraising the power of his adversaries, shee spake and saied in this wise: Certes deare sir, I graunt you that yee bee rich and mightie, and * That ye richesse is good to hem that have well gotten hem, and that well can use them. For right as the body of a manne may not live without the soule, no more may it live without the temporall goodes: and by richesse may a manne get him great friends. And therefore sayeth Pamphillus: If a Nerthes doughter he sayeth be rich, she may chese of a thousand menne, which shee woll take to her husbond: for of a thousand one woll not forsake her ne refuse her. And this Pamphillus saith also: * If thou be right happie, that is to say, if thou be rich, thou shalt find a great number of fellowes and friendes. And if thy fortune chaunge, farewell friendship and fellowship, for thou shalt be alone withouten any companie, but if it be the companie of poore folke. And yet sayeth this Pamphillus moreover, * That they that been bond and thrall of linage, shall be made worthy and noble by the richesses. And right so as by the richesses there come many goodnesses, right so by povertie come there many harmes and evils: * For great povertie constraineth a manne to doe many evils. * And therefore calleth Cassiodor Povertie the mother of ruine, that is to say, the mother of overthrowing or of falling down. And therefore sayth Peter Alfonce: * One of ye greatest adversities of this world is, when a free man by kinde or of birth is constrained by povertie to eate ye almose of his enemie. And the same sayeth Innocente in one of his bookes: He sayth, * That sorrowfull & mishap is the condition of a poore begger, for if he aske not his meat, hee dieth for hunger, and if he aske, he dieth for shame: & algates necessity constraineth him to aske. And therefore sayeth Salomon, * That better is to die, than for to have such povertie. And as the same Saloman sayth: Better it is to die of bitter death, than for to live in such wise. By these reasons that I have said unto you, and by many other reasons that I could say, I graunt you that richesses been good to hem that hem well getten, and to hem that well usen tho richesses: And therfore woll I shew you how ye shall behave you in gathering of riches, and in what manner she shullen use hem.

First, * Yee shall get hem withouten great desire, by good leisure, sokingly, and not over hastily, for a manne that is too desiring to get richesse, habandoneth him first to theft and to all other evils, And therefore sayeth Salomon: * He yt hasteth him too busily to wexe rich, he shall be none innocent. He sayeth also, * That the richesse yt hastily commeth to [Page] a manne, soone & lightly goeth and passeth from a man, but that richesse that commeth little and little, wexeth alway and multiplieth. And sir, ye shall get richesse by your wit and by your trauaile, vnto your profite, and that without wrong or harme doing to any other person. For the Law sayeth, * There maketh no manne himselfe rich, if hee doe harme to another wight: this is to say, that nature defendeth and forbiddeth by right, that no manne maketh himselfe rich, vnto ye harme of another person. And Tullius sayth, * That no sorow, ne no dread of death, ne nothing that may fall vnto a man, is so much ayenst nature, as a man to encrease his owne profite, to the harme of another manne. And though the great and mightie menne get richesses more lightly than thou, yet shalt thou not bee idle ne slowe to doe thy profite, for thou shalt in all wise flie idlenesse. For Salomon sayth, * That idlenesse teacheth a man to doe many evils. And the same Salomon sayeth, * That he that trauaileth and busieth him to tilthe his lond, shall eat bread: but he that is idle, and casteth him to no businesse ne occupation, shall fall into pouertie, & die for hunger. And he that is idle and slow, can neuer find couenable time for to doe his profite. For there is a verifier sayeth, * That ye idle manne excuseth him in Winter, because of ye great cold, and in Sommer because of ye heat. * For these causes (sayth Caton) waketh, and encline you not ouer much for to sleepe, for ouer much rest nourisheth and causeth many vices. And therefore sayeth saint Hierome, * Do some good deeds, yt the diuel which is our enemie, ne find you not vnoccupied, for the deuill ne taketh not lightly vnto his werking, such as hee findeth occupied in good werkes.

Then thus in getting richesses ye must flie idlenesse. And afterward yee shull vse the richesses, which yee haue got by your wit and by your trauaile, in such manner, that men hold you not too scarce ne too sparing, ne foole large, yt is to say, ouer large a spender: for right as men blame an auaricious man, because of his scarcitie and chincherie, in the same wise is he to blame, that spendeth ouer largely. And therfore saith Caton: * Vse (sayth he) the richesses that thou hast gotten in such manner that men may haue no matter ne cause to call thee nother wretch ne chinche: * For it is a great shame to a man to haue a poore heart and a rich purse. Hee sayth also, the goods that thou hast gote, vse them by measure, that is to say, spend measurably, for they that foolishly wast and dispend the goods that they haue, when they haue no more proper of her owne, then they shape hem to take the goods of another manne. I say then that ye shall flie auarice, vsing your richesse in such manner, that men say not that your richesses been buried, but that yee haue hem in your might, & in your welding. For a wise man repreueth the auaricious man, & sayth thus in these verses two. * Whereto and why burieth a manne his goods by his great avarice, and knoweth well that needs he must die, for death is the end of every man, as in this present life? And for what cause or encheson joineth he him, or knitteth he him so fast unto his goods, yt al his wits mow not discever him, ne depart him fro his goods, and knoweth well, or ought to know, that when he is dead, he shall nothing bear with him out of this world.

And therefore saith saint Augustine. * That the avaricious manne is likened unto hell, that the more it swalloweth, the more desire it hath to swallow and devour. And as well as yee would eschew to be called an avaricious man or chinche, as well should yee keepe and governe you in such a wise, that menne call you not foole large. Therefore saith Tullius: * The goods of thine house ne should not be hid ne kept so close, but that they might be opened by pity and debonairte, that is to say, to yeue hem part that have great need. Ne thy goods should not be so open, to be every mannes goods. Afterward, in getting of your richesses, and in using hem, ye shall alway have three things in your heart, that is to say, * Our Lord God, conscience, & good name. First, ye shall have God in your heart, and for no richesse yee should doe any thing, which may in any manner displease GOD your creatour and maker. For after ye word of Salomon, * It is better to have a little good with the love of GOD, than to have much good and treasure, and lese the love of his Lord GOD. And the Prophet saith, * That better it is to be a good manne, and have little good and treasure, than to be holden a shrewe, and have great richesse. And yet I say furthermore, that yee should alway doe your businesse to get you richesse, so that yee get hem with good conscience. And ye Apostle sayeth, * That there nis thing in this world, of which wee should have so great joy, as when our conscience beareth us good witnesse. And the Wise man saith: * That the substaunce of a man is full good, when sinne is not in mannes conscience. Afterward, in getting of your richesses, and in using hem, yee must have great bnsinesse and great dilligence, that your good name bee alway kept and conserved. For Salomon saith, * That better it is, and more it availeth a man to have a good name, than for to have many richesses: And therefore he sayeth in another place: * Do great diligence saith Salomon, in keeping of thy friends, & of thy good name, for it shall lenger abide with thee, than any treasure, be it never so precious. And certes, he should not be called a great Gentleman, that after God & good conscience all things left, ne dooth his dilligence and businesse, to keepe his good name. And Cassiodor sayth, * That it is a signe of a gentle heart, when a manne loveth and desireth to have a good name. And therefore sayeth saint Augustine [Page] * That there ben two things that been right necessarie and also needfull: and that is good conscience, and good lose, that is to say: good conscience to thine owne person inward, and good lose for thy neighbour outward. And hee that trusteth him so much in his good conscience, that hee despiseth and setteth at nought his good name or lose, & recketh not though he keepe not his good name, nis but a cruell churle.

Sir, now haue I shewed you how ye shuld doe in getting richesses, and how yee should vse hem: and I see well that for the trust that ye haue in your richesses, ye woll moue warre and battaile. I counsaile you that ye begin no warre, in trust of your richesses, for they ne suffice not warres to maintaine. And therefore sayeth a Philosopher: * That a man yt desireth and would algates haue warre, shall neuer haue suffisaunce: for the richer yt he is, the greater dispences must he make, if he woll haue worship and victorie. And Salomon saith, * That the greater riches yt a man hath, the more dispendours he hath. And therfore sir, albeit so, yt for your richesses ye may haue much folke, yet behooueth it not, ne it is not good to begin warre, whereas ye may in other manner haue peace, vnto your worship and profit: * For the victorie of battailes yt been in this world, lieth not in great number or multitude of people, ne in ye vertue of man, but it lieth in the will and in the hond of our Lord God almightie. And therfore Iudas Machabeus, which was Gods knight, when hee should fight against his aduersarie, that had a greater number & a greater multitude of folk, and stronget than was his people of Machabe, yet he recomforted his little companie, and saied right in this wise: Also lightly (saied he) may our Lord God Almightie yeue victorie to a fewe folke, as to many folke. For the victorie of a battaile commeth not by ye great number of people, but it commeth from our Lorde GOD of heeuen. And deare sir, for as much as there is no manne certaine, if it be worthie that God yeue him victorie or not, after that Salomon sayeth, * Therefore euery man should greatly dreade warres to begin: and because yt in battels fall many perils, and happeth other while, that as soone is the great man slaine, as the little man. And as it is written in ye second booke of Kings: The deeds of battailes ben adventurous, and nothing certaine, for as lightly is one hurt with a speare, as another: and for there is great perill in warre, therefore should a man flie and eschew warre in as much as a man may goodly. For Salomon sayeth, * Hee that loueth perill, shall fall in perill.

After that dame Prudence had spoken in this manner, Melibe answerd and said: I see well dame Prudence, that by your fair words and your reasons that ye haue shewed mee, that ye warre liketh you nothing: but I haue not yet heard your counsaile, how I shall doe in this need.

Certes (said shee) I counsaile you that ye accorde with your aduersaries, and that yee haue peace with hem. For saint Iames sayth in his Epistle: * That by concorde & peace, small riches wexe great: and by debate and discorde, riches decay. And yee know well, that one of the greatest & moste soueraigne thing that is in this world, is vnity & peace: And therefore sayeth our Lord Iesu Christ to his Apostles, in this wise: * Well happy beene they that loue & purchase peace, for they be called the children of God. Ah, saied Melibe, now see I well, that ye loue not mine honour, ne my worship, ye know well that mine aduersaries haue begun this debate and brige by their outrage. And yee see well, yt they ne require ne pray me of peace, ne they aske not to be reconciled. Woll ye then yt I goe meeke me, & obey me to hem, and crie hem mercie? Forsoth yt were not my worship. * For right as men say, ouer great humblenes engendreth dispraising, so fareth it by too great humilitie or meekenesse.

Then began dame Prudence to make semblaunt of wrathe, and sayed: Certes sir, saue your grace, I loue your honour and profite, as I doe mine owne, and euer haue doe, ye, ne none other neuer see ye contrary: And yet, if I had saied, that yee should haue purchased peace and reconciliation, I ne had much mistake mee, ne saied amisse. For ye Wise man sayeth: * The discention beginneth by another man, and the reconciling beginneth by thy selfe, And ye Prophet saith: * Flie shreudnesse and doe goodnesse, seeke peace and follow it, in as much as in thee is. Yet say I not, that yee should rather pursue to your aduersaries for peace, than they should to you: for I know well that ye ben so hard hearted, that ye woll doe nothing for me. And Salomon sayth: He that hath ouer hard an heart, he at last shall mishap or misbetide.

When Melibe had heard dame Prudence make semblaunt of wrath, hee saied in this wise. Dame, I pray you that yee be not displeased of thing that I say, for yee know well that I am angry and wroth, and that is no wonder: and they that been wroth, wote not well what they doe, ne what they say. Therefore ye Prophet sayth: * That troubled eyen haue no cleare sight. But say and counsaile me as you liketh, for I am ready to doe right as ye woll desire: And if ye repreue me of my folly, I am the more holden to loue and praise you. For Salomon saith, * That he yt repreueth him yt doth follie, he shall find greater grace, than he that deceiueth him by sweete words.

Then saied Dame Prudence, I make no semblaunt of wrath ne of anger, but for your great profit. For Salomon saith: * He is more wroth, that repreueth or chideth a foole for his follie, shewing him semblaunt of wrath, than hee that supporteth him and praiseth him in his misdoing, & laugheth at his folly. And this same Salomon saith afterward: [Page] That by the sorrowfull visage of a man, yt is to say, * By the sorie & heauie countenance of a man, the foole correcteth and amendeth himselfe.

Then said Melibe, I shall not conne aunswere vnto so many faire reasons as ye put to me and shew: say shortly your will and your counsaile, and I am all ready to performe & fulfill it.

Then Dame Prudence discouered all her will vnto him & said: I counsaile you (said shee) aboue all things yt ye make peace betweene God and you, & bee reconciled vnto him and to his grace, for as I haue saied you here before, God hath suffred you to haue this tribulation and disease for your sinnes: and if yee do as I say you, God woll send your aduersaries vnto you, and make hem fall at your feet, ready to doe your will & your commaundement. For Salomon sayeth, * When the condition of man is pleasaunt & liking to God, he chaungeth the hearts of the mans aduersaries, and constraineth hem to beseech him of peace and of grace. And I pray you let me speake with your aduersaries priuely, for they shall not know that it be of your will▪ or your assent: * And then when I know their will and their entent, I may counsaile you the more surely.

Dame, said Melibeus, doth your will and your liking, for I put me wholly in your disposition and ordinaunce.

Then dame Prudence, when she saw the good will of her husbond, delibered & tooke aduise in her selfe thinking how shee might bring this need vnto a good conclusion and to a good end: And when shee saw her time, shee sent for these aduersaries to come vnto her in a priuie place. And shewed wisely vnto hem the great goods that come of peace, and the great harmes and perils that been in warre, and said to hem in a goodly manner: how that hem ought haue great repentaunce of the iniurie and wrong that they had done to Melibeus her lord, and vnto her & to her doughter.

And when they heard the goodly words of Dame Prudence, they were so surprised and rauished, and had so great joy of hir, yt wonder was to tell.

Ah lady (said they) yee haue shewed vnto vs the blessing of sweetnesse, after ye saying of Dauid the Prophet. For the reconsiling which we be not worthy to haue in no mannere. But we ought require it with great contrition & humility, that ye of your goodnesse haue presented vnto vs. Now see we wel, yt the science and cunning of Salomon is full true, for he saith: * That sweet words multiply & encrease friends, & maketh shrewes to be debonaire and meeke.

Certes (said they) wee put our deed & all our matter & cause, all wholly in your good will, and been ready to obey at ye commaundement of our lord Melibeus. And therefore deere and benigne lady: wee pray & beseech you as meekely as we can and may, that it like vnto your great goodnesse to fulfill indeed your goodly wordes. For wee consider and know, that wee haue offended and greeued our lord Melibeus out of measure, so ferforth, that wee be not of power to make him amends. And therefore wee oblige & bind vs and our friends, for to do all at his will and commaundement: but peraduenture he hath such heauinesse and such wrath to vs ward, because of our offence, that he woll enjoyne vs such a paine, as wee mowe not beare ne sustaine. And therefore noble ladie, wee beseech your womanly pitty to take such aduisement in this neede, that wee ne our friends be not disherited ne destroied, through our folly.

Certes (said Prudence) it is an hard thing and right perilious, that a man put him all vtterly in arbitration and iudgement, & in the might and power of his enemie: For Salomon sayth: Leueth me, and yeueth credence to yt I shal say: * Ne yeueth neuer ye power ne gouernaunce of thy goods, to thy sonne, to thy wife, to thy friend, ne to thy brother: ne yeue thou neuer might ne mastry ouer thy body while thou liuest. Now sith he defendeth that a man should not yeue to his brother ne to his friend, the might of his body: By a stronger reason he defendeth & forbiddeth a man to yeue himself to his enemy. And nathelesse, I counsaile you that yee mistrust not my lord: for I wot well & know verely, that he is debonaire and meeke, large, courteous, & nothing desirous ne couetous of goods ne riches. For there is nothing in this world that he desireth, saue onely worship and honour. Furthermore I know, and am right sure, yt he shall nothing doe in this need, without my counsaile: and I shall so werke in this case, yt by the grace of our Lord God, ye shall be reconciled vnto vs.

Then said they with one voice, worshipfull lady, we put vs & our goods al fully in your will & disposition, and been ready to come, what day that it liketh vnto your noblesse to limit vs or assigne vs for to make our obligation & bond, as strong as it liketh vnto your goodnesse, that we mow fulfill ye will of you and of my lord Melibe.

When dame Prudence had herd ye answer of these men, she bad hem goe ayen priuely, and she returned to her lord Melibe, & told him how she found his aduersaries full repentaunt, knowledging full lowly her sinnes & trespas, and how they were ready to suffer all paine, requiring and praying him of mercy and pitie.

Then said Melibe, * He is well worthy to haue pardon and foryeuenesse of his sinne, that excuseth not his sinne, but knowledgeth and repenteth him asking indulgence. For Seneke saith, * There is the remission & foryeuenesse, where as ye confession is: for confessionis neighbour to innocence. And therfore I assent & confirme me to haue peace, but it [Page] is good that we do nought without ye assent and will of our friends.

Then was Prudence right glad and ioyfull and said: Certes sir, ye haue well & goodly answerd: for right as by ye counsell, assent, and help of your friends, yee haue bee steered to venge you and make war: Right so without her counsaile shall ye not accord you, ne haue peace with your aduersaries. For the law saith: * There is nothing so good by way of kind, as a thing to be vnbound by him yt it was ibound.

Then dame Prudence, without delay or tarying, sent anone her messenger for her kinsfolke and her olde friendes, which that were true and wise: and told hem by order, in ye presence of Melibe, all the matter, as it is aboue expressed & declared. And praised hem that they would say their aduise and counsaile, what best were to doe in this need. And when Melibeus friends had taken her aduise and deliberation of the foresaid matter, and had examined it by great businesse and dilligence. They yaue full counsaile for to haue peace and rest, & that Melibe should receiue with good hert his aduersaries to foryeuenes and mercy.

And when dame Prudence had herd ye assent of her lord Melibe, and the counsaile of his friends accord with her will and her entention, she was wondrously glad in her hart, and saied: There is an old Prouerbe (saied she) * That the goodnesse that thou maist do this day, doe it, and abide it not, ne delay it not till the next day. And therefore I counsayle, that yee send your messengers, such as be discreet and wise vnto your aduersaries: telling hem on your behalfe, yt if they woll treate of peace and accord, that they shape hem without delay or tarrying, to come vnto vs: which thing perfourmed was indeed. And when these trespassours and repenting folke of her follies, that is to say, the aduersaries of Melibeus, had heard what these messengers saied vnto hem, they were right gladde and joyfull, and answered full meekely and benignely, yeelding grace and thankes to her lord Melibeus, and to all his companie: and shope hem without delay to goe with the messengers, and obeyed ye commaundement of her lord Melibeus. And right anone they tooke her way to the court of Melibe, and tooke with hem some of their true friendes, to make faith for hem, & for to be her borowes: And when they were comen to the presence of Melibe, he said to hem these words: It stondeth thus, said Melibe, and sooth it is, that causelesse and without skill and reason, ye haue done great iniuries and wrong to me and my wife Prudence, & to my doughter also, for ye haue entred into my house by violence, & haue done such outrage, that all men know well that ye haue deserued death. And therefore woll I know & we [...]e of you, whether ye wol put ye punishing and ye chastising and the vengeaunce of this outrage, in the will of me and of my wife, or ye woll not.

Then the wisest of hem three answerd for hem all, & said. Sir (said he) we know wel that we been unworthy to come to the court of so great a lorde & so worthy as ye be, for we haue so greatly mistaken vs and haue offended and agilted in such wise againe your high lordship, that truely we haue deserued the death, but yet for the great goodnesse & debonairte, that all the worlde witnesseth of your person, wee submit vs to the excellence and benignite of your gracious lordship, and been ready to obey to all your commandements, beseeching you, yt of your mercifull pite ye woll consider our great repentaunce & lowe submision, & graunt vs forgiuenesse of our outragious trespasse & offence: For well we know, that your liberall grace and mercie stretcheth further into the goodnes, than doen outragious gilt and trespasses into the wickednesse. All bee it that cursedly and damnably we haue agilted against your hie lordship.

THan Melibe tooke hem vp fro ye ground full benignly, and receiued her obligations and her bondes, by her others vpon her pledges and borowes, and assigned hem a certain day to returne vnto his court for to receiue and accept sentence & judgement, that Melibeus would command to be done on hem, by the causes aforesayd, which things ordained, euery man returned to his house.

And when dame Prudence saw her time, she fained and asked her lorde Belibe, what vengeance hee thought good on his aduersaries.

To which Melibe answerd, and said: Certes (said hee) I think and purpose mee fully to disherite hem of all that euer they haue, and for to put them in exile for euer.

Certes said Dame Prudence, this were a cruell sentence, and much ayenst reason. For ye be rich inough, and haue no neede of other mens riches. And ye might lightly in this wise get you a couetous name, which is a vicious thing, & ought to be eschewed of euery good man. For after the saying of the Apostle, * Couetise is root of all harmes. And therfore it were better to you to lese so much good of your owne, than for to take of their good in this maner. * For better it is to lese good with worship, than to winne good with villanie and shame. And euery man ought to do his diligence and his businesse, to get him a good name. And yet shall hee not onely busie him in keeping his good name, but he shall also enforce him alway to doe some thing, by which he may renew his good name. For it is written, * That ye olde good lose of a man or good name, is soone gone and past when it is not renued. And as touching yt yee say, that yee woll exile your aduersaries: that thinketh me much ayenst reason, and out of measure, considering the power that they [Page] haue yaue you vpon them selfe. And it is written: * That he is worthy to lose his priuiledge, that misuseth the might and power that is giuen him. And set case, ye might enjoyne hem that paine by right and law, which I trowe ye may not do: I say yee might not put it to execution, for peraduenture then it were like to turne to the warre, as it was before. And therefore if yee woll that men doe your obeisaunce, ye must demeane you more cuteously, yt is to say: Ye must yeue most easie sentences and iudgement. For it is written: * He yt most courteously commandeth, to him men must obey. And therefore I pray you, that in this necessitie and in this need ye cast ye to ouercome your heart. For as Senek saith, * Hee yt ouercommeth his heart, ouercommeth twise. And Tullie saith: * There is nothing so commendable in a great lord, as when he is debonaire and meek, & appeaseth him lightly. And I pray you that ye woll now forbeare to do vengeaunce in such a manner, yt your good name may be kept and conserued, and that men may haue cause and matter to praise you of pite and mercy: and yt ye haue no cause to repent you of thing that is done. For Seneke saieth: * He ouercommeth in an euill maner, yt repenteth him of his victory. Wherefore I pray let mercy be in your hert, to the effect, & entent, that God almightie haue mercy vpon you in his last iudgment. For saint Iames saith in his Epistle: * Iudgement without mercy shall be doe to him, yt hath no mercy of another wight.

When Melibe had heard the great skilles and reasons of dame Prudence, and her wise informations and teachings, his heart gan encline to ye will of his wife: considering her true entent, confirmed him anon & assented fully to worke after her counsaile: and thanked God, of whom proceedeth all goodnesse and vertue, that him had sent a wife of so great discretion. And when the day came that his aduersaries should appeare in his presence, hee spake to hem goodly, and said in this wise,

All be it so that of your pride and high presumption and follie, and of your negligence and vnconning, yee haue misborne you, and trespassed vnto mee, yet for as mikell as I see and behold your great humilitie and that ye be sory and repentant of your giltes, it constraineth mee to doe you grace and mercy: Wherefore I receiue you to my grace, and foryeue you holy all the offences, iniuries, & wronges, that yee haue doen ayenst mee and mine, to theffect and ende, that God of his endles mercie woll at the time of our dying foryeue vs our giltes, that we haue trespassed to him in this wretched world. For doubtlesse if we be sory and repentant for the sinnes and giltes, which we haue trespassed in the sight of our Lorde God: hee is so free and so merciable, that he woll foryeue vs our giltes, and bring vs to the blisse that neuer shall haue end. Amen.

§

¶The Monkes Prologue.

WHen ended was the tale of Melibee

And of Prudence, and her benignite,

Our host saide, as I am faithfull man,

And by the precious corps Madrian,

I had leuer then a barell of ale,

That Goodlefe my wife had heard this tale:

For she nothing is of such patience,

As was this Melibeus wife Prudence.

By Gods bones, when I bete my knaues,

She bringeth me the great clubbed staues,

And cryeth, slee the dogs euerichone,

And break of them both backe and bone.

And if that any neighbour of mine

Woll not in Church to my wife incline,

Or bee so hardie, to her to trespace,

When she cometh home she rampeth in my face,

And cryeth, false coward, wreke thy wife:

By corpus domini, I woll haue thy knife,

And thou shalt haue my distaffe, and go spin:

Fro day till night, she woll thus begin.

Alas, she saith, that euer she was shape

To wed a milkesop, or a coward ape,

That woll be ouerleide with euery wight,

Thou darest not stond by thy wiues right.

This is my life, but if that I woll fight,

And out at doore anone I mote me dight,

And els I am lost, but if that I

Be like a wilde lion, foole hardy.

I wote well she woll doe me slee some day

Some neighbour or other, & then go my way,

For I am perillous with knife in honde,

All be it that I dare not her withstonde:

For she is bigge in armes by my faith,

That shall he finde, that her misdoth or saith.

But let vs passe away from this mattere.

My lord he said, sir Monk, be mery of chere,

For ye shall tell vs a tale truely.

Lo, Rochester stondeth here fast by,

Ride forth mine own lord breke not our game,

But by my troth I know not your name,

Wheder I shall call you my lord Dan Iohn

Dan Thomas, Dan Robert, or Dan Albon,

Of what house be ye, by your father kin?

I vow to God, thou hast a full faire chin,

It is a gentle pasture there thou gost,

Thou art not like a pinaunt or a ghost.

Vpon my faith thou art some officere,

Some worthy Sexten, or some Celerere.

For by my fathers soule, as to my dome,

Thou art a maister, when thou art at home,

No poore cloisterer, ne no poore nouice,

But a gouernour both ware and wise,

And therewithall of brawne and bones,

A well faring person for the nones:

I pray to God yeue him confusion,

That first thee brought into religion.

Thou woldest be a trede foule aright,

Hadst thou as great leaue, as thou hast might

To performe all thy lust in ingendrure,

Thou haddest begotten many a creature.

Alas, why wearest thou so wide a cope?

God yeue me sorow, and I were Pope,

Not onely thou but euery mightie man,

Though he were shore high vpon his pan,

[Page] Should haue a wife, for all this world is lorn,

Religion hath take vp all the corn

Of treding, and borell men ben shrimps:

* Of feble trees ther commeth wretched imps.

This maketh that our heires be so slender

And feeble, yt they may not well engender.

This make that our wiues woll assay

Religious folke, for that they may pay

Of Venus payments better than mow we:

For God wote no lussheburghs payen ye.

But be not wroth my lord though I play,

* Full oft in game a sooth haue I heard say.

This worthy Monke took al in patience,

And said, I woll do my diligence,

As ferre as souneth into honestie.

To tell you a tale, ye two or three:

And if ye list to herken hitherward,

I woll you saine, the life of saint Edward,

Or els tragidies first I woll tell,

Of which I haue an hundred in my cell.

Tragedie is to tell a certaine story

As old bookes vs maken memorie,

Of hem that stood in great prosperitie,

And be fallen out of hie degree

In to miserie, and ended wretchedly:

And they ben versified commonly

Of six feet, which men call exemetron:

In prose eke ben endighted many on

And in mitre, many a sundry wise.

Lo, this ought inough you to suffice.

Now herkeneth, if you list for to here,

But first I beseech you in this matere,

Though I by order tell not these things,

Be it of Popes, Emperours, or kings,

After her ages, as men written finde,

But tell hem some before and some behinde,

As it commeth now to my remembrance,

Haue me excused of mine ignorance.

¶The Monkes Tale.

A Tragical Discourse of such as haue fallen from high estate to extream misery.

I Will bewaile in manner of tragedie

The harme of hem, yt stode in high degree,

And fell so, that there nas no remedie

To bring hem out of their aduersitie.

* For certaine when that fortune list to flie,

Ther may no man of her ye course witholde:

Let no man trust on blinde prosperitie,

Beth ware by this ensample yong and olde.

Lucifer.

AT Lucifer, though he an Angell were

And not a man, at him will I begin,

For though fortune may nat Angell dere

From high degree, yet fell he for his sinne

Down into hell, where he is yet inne.

O Lucifer, brightest of Angels all,

Now art thou Sathanas, thou maist not twin

Out of miserie, in which thou art fall.

Adam.

LO Adam, in the field of Damascene

With Gods owne finger iwrought was he,

And not begotten of mans sperm vncleane,

And welt all Paradise sauing o tree:

Neuer worldly man had so high degree

As Adam, till he for misgouernance

Was driuen out of his high prosperitie

To labour, and to hell, and to mischance.

Sampson.

LO Sampson, which that was annunciat

By the Angell, long or his natiuitie:

And was to God Almightie consecrat,

And stode in nobles while he might see:

Was neuer such another as was he,

To speake of strength, & thereto hardinesse.

But to his wiues told he his secree

Through which he slough him for wretchednesse.

Sampson this noble & mighty champion

Withouten weapon, saue his hands twey,

He slough and all to rent the Lion

Toward his wedding, walking by the wey:

His false wife coulde him so please, & pray,

Till she his counsaile knewe, and she vntrew,

Vnto his foes his counsaile gan bewray,

And him forsoke, and tooke another new.

An hundred foxes tooke Sampson for yre,

And all her tailes hee together bond:

And set the foxes tailes all on fire,

For he in euery taile hath put a brond.

And they brent all the corne in that lond.

And all her oliues, and her vines eke:

A thousand men eke he slough with his hond,

And had no weapen, but an asse cheke.

When they were slaine, so thristed him, yt he

Was well me lorne, for which he gan to prey,

That God wold of his paine haue some pite,

And send him drinke, or els mote he dey:

And of this asse cheke, that was so drey,

Out of a wang toth, sprang anon a well,

Of which he drunke inough shortly to sey,

Thus halp him God, as Iudicum can tell.

By very force at Gasa on a night,

Maugre the Philistins of that cite,

The gates of the town he hath vp plight,

And on his backe icaried hem hath he

High on an hill, where as men might hem se.

O noble mightie Sampson, lefe and dere,

Had thou not told to women thy secre,

In all this world ne had be thy pere.

This Sampson neither sider drank ne wine,

Ne on his head came rasour none ne shere,

By precept of the messenger diuine:

For all his strength in his haires were,

And fully twenty winter yere by yere

Of Israel he had the gouernance:

But after soon shall he weep many a tere.

For women shall bring him to mischance.

Vnto his lemman Dalida he told,

That in his haires all his strength lay,

And falsely to his foes she him sold,

And sleeping in her barme vpon a day

She made to clip or shere his haires away:

And made his fomen all his craft espien,

[Page] And when that they him found in such aray,

They bound him fast, and put out his eyen.

But er his haires were clipped or ishaue,

Ther nas no bond with which men might him bind,

But now is he in prison in a caue,

Whereas they made him at ye querne grinde.

O noble Sampson, strongest of mankind:

O whildom iudge in glory and riches,

Nowe mayest thou weepen with thine eyen blind,

Sith thou art from wele fall to wretchednesse.

The end of this caitife was, as I shall sey:

His fomen made a feast vpon a day,

And made him as their foole before hem play:

And this was in a temple of great aray.

But at the last he made a foule afray,

For he two pillers shoke, and made hem fall,

And down fell the temple all, & there it lay,

And slough himselfe, and eke his fomen all.

This is to say, the princes euerichone,

And eke three thousand bodies were ther slain

With falling of the great temple of stone.

Of Sampson now woll I no more sain:

Beth ware by this example old and plain,

* That no men tell her counsaile to her wiues

Of such thing, as they would haue secret fain,

If that it touch her limmes or her liues.

Of Hercules.

OF Hercules the soueraigne Conquerour,

Singen his werkes, laud, and high renown:

For in his time, of strength he bare ye flower,

He slough and raft the skinne of the lion,

And of the Centaurs laid the boste adowne:

He Harpias slew, the cruell birds fell,

He the golden apples raft fro the dragon:

He drew out Cerberus the hound of hell.

He slew the cruell tirant Busirus,

He made his horse to fret him flesh & bone:

He slough the very serpent venemous:

Of Achelous two hornes brake he that one.

And he slew Cacus in a caue of stone,

He slough the gyant Antacus the strong,

He slough the grisely Bore, and that anon,

And bare his head vpon his speare long.

Was neuet wight sith the world began,

That slough so many monsters, as did he,

Throughout the wide world his name it ran,

What for his strength, & wt for his bounte,

And euery realme went he for to see,

He was so strong, yt no man might him let,

And at both worlds ends, he for Trophe

In stede of bounds, of brasse a pillour set.

A lemman had this noble champion

That hight Deianire, as fresh as Maie:

And as these clerkes maken mention,

She hath him sent a shert fresh and gaie:

Alas this shert, alas and well awaie

Envenomed was subtilly withall,

That er he had weared it halfe a day,

It made his flesh all fro his bones fall.

But nathelesse, some clerkes her excusen

By one that hight Nessus, that it maked:

Be as may be, I woll her not accusen,

But on his body the shert he were al naked,

Till the flesh was with the venim slaked:

And when he saw non other remedie,

In hote coles he hath himselfe iraked,

For with no venim dained he to die.

Thus sterfe this worthy mighty Hercules.

Lo, who may trust in fortune any throw,

For him that foloweth of the world the pres,

Or he beware, is oft laid full lowe:

* Full wise is he, that himselfe can know.

Beware, for when that fortune list to glose,

Then waiteth she her man downe to throwe

By such a way, as he would least suppose.

Nabuchodonosor.

THe mightie trone, the precious tresore,

The glorious scepter, & royall maiestie,

That hath the king Nabuchodonosore.

With tonge vnneth may discriued be:

He twise wan Hierusalem that cite,

The vessell of the temple he with him lad:

At Babilon was his soueraigne see,

In which his glorie and his delight he had.

Of Hierusalem, he did do gelde anon,

The fayrest children of the blood royall,

And make each of hem to been his thrall:

Among all other Daniel was one,

That was the wisest of euerichone,

For he the dremes of the king expouned:

Whereas in Caldee clerkes were there none

That wist to what fine his dreme sounded.

This proude king let make a statu of gold

Sixty cubites long, and seuen in brede,

To the which image, both young and old

Commanded he lout, and haue in drede,

Or in a forneis, ful of flames rede

He should be deed, that would not obey:

But neuer would assent to that dede

Daniel, ne his yong felowes twey.

This king of kings so proud and elate

Weend God, that sitteth in maiestie,

Ne might him nat berefe of his estate:

But sodainly he lost his dignitie,

And like a beast him seemed for to be,

And ete hey as an oxe, and lay therout

In raine, and with wilde beasts walked he,

Till a certaine time was come about.

And like an Egles fethers were his heeres,

And his neiles also like birds clawes were,

God releeued him at certaine yeeres,

And yaue him wit, & then with many a tere

He thonked God, and all his life in fere

Was he to doe amisse, or more trespace:

And ere that he layed was on his bere.

He knew that God was ful of might & grace.

Balthaser.

HIs sonne, which that high Balthasare,

That held ye reign after his faders day,

[Page] He by his fader could not beware,

For proude he was of heart, and of array:

And eke an Ydolaster was he aie.

His high estate assured him in pride.

But fortune cast him downe, & there he lay,

And suddainly his reigne gan deuide.

A feast he made vnto his lords all

Vpon a time, he made hem blith be,

And then his officers gan he call

Goth bring forth all the vessels (qd. he)

Which that my father in his prosperitie

Out of the temple of Hierusalem beraft,

And to our Gods thonkes yelden we,

Of honour, that our elders with vs laft.

His wife, his lords, and his concubines

Aie drunken, whiles her appetites last,

Out of these noble vessels foundrie wines.

And on a wall this king his eyen cast,

A [...] saw an hond armelesse, that wrote fast,

For feare of which he quoke, and sighed sore:

This hond that Balthaser made sore agast,

Wrote (Mane techel phares) and no more.

In al that londe, Magicien was ther non,

That could expoune what this letter ment,

But Daniel expouned it anon,

And said, O king, God, thy father sent

Glory and honour, reign, tresour, and rent,

And he was proud, & nothing God he drad:

And therfore great wrath God vpon him sent,

And him beraft the reigne that he had.

He was out cast of mans company,

With Asses was his habitation:

And eate haie, as a beast in wete and drie,

Till that he knew by wit and reason,

That God of heauen hath domination

Ouer euery reigne, and euery creature:

And then had God of him compassion,

And him restored his reigne and his figure.

Eke thou yt art his sonne, art proud also,

And knowest all these things priuely:

And art rebell to God, and his fo,

Thou dranke eke of his vessels boldly,

Thy wife eke, and thy wenches sinfully

Dronke of the same vessels sundry winis,

And heried false gods cursedly,

Therefore to thee shapen great pine is.

This hond was sent fro God, yt on the wal

Wrote (Mane techel phares) trust me:

Thy reigne is doen, thou wotest not all,

Diuided is thy realme, and it shall be

To Medes and to Perciens giuen (qd. he)

And that same night, the king was slaw:

And Darius occupied his dignitie,

Though he thereto had neither right ne law.

* Lordings, here ensample mowe ye take,

How that in lordship is no sikernesse:

For when that fortune woll a man forsake,

She beareth away his reigne, & his richesse:

And his friends, both more and lesse.

And what man hath friends, throgh fortune,

Mishap woll make hem enemies as I gesse.

This prouerbe is full soth, & full commune.

Zenobia.

ZEnobia of Palmerie Queene

(As writeth Perciens of her noblesse)

So worthy was in armes, and so kene,

That no wight passed her in hardinesse,

Ne in linage, ne in other gentilnesse:

Of kings blood of Perce she is discended,

I say that she had not most of fairenesse,

But of her shape shee might not be amended.

From her childhood I find that she fled

Office of a woman, and to wood she went:

And many a wilde Hartes blood she shed

With arrowes broad that she to hem sent.

She was so swift, that she hem hent,

And when that she was elder, she would kill

Lions, Libards, and Beeres all to rent,

And in her armes weld hem at her will.

She durst the wild beasts dennes to seeke,

And renne in the mountaines all the night,

And sleepe vnder a bush, and she could eke

Wrastell by very force and by very might

With any yong man, were he neuer so wight:

There might nothing in her armes stond:

She kept her maidenhead from euery wight,

To no man dained she to be bound.

But at last her friendes hath her maried

To Odenat, a prince of that countrie:

All were it so, that she hem long taried.

And ye shall vnderstond, how that he

Had such fantasies like as had she:

But natheles, when they were knit in fere,

They liued in joy and in felicite,

For ech of hem had other lefe and dere.

Saue one thing, shee nolde neuer assent

By no way, that he should by her lie

But ones, for it was her plaine entent

To haue a childe, the world to multiply:

And also so sone as she might espie,

That she was not with child with that deed,

Then would she suffer him to do his fantasie

Eftsones, and not but ones out of dreed.

And if she were with child at that cast,

No more should he with her play that game

Till fully fourtie dayes were past:

Then would she ones suffer him the same.

All were this Odenat wild or tame,

He gate no more of her, for thus she saied,

* It was to wiues letcherie and shame,

In other case if men with hem plaied.

Two sonnes by this Odenat had she,

The which she kept in vertue and lettrure,

But now vnto our tale againe turne we:

I say that so worshipfull a creature

And wise therewith, and large with measure,

So penible in warre, and curteis eke,

Ne more labour might in war endure

Was non, though all this world men wold seek.

[Page]

Her rich aray ne might not be told,

As well in vessell as in her clothing:

She was all clad in pierrie and in gold,

And eke she left not for none hunting

To haue of sundry tongues full knowing,

When that she leisure had for to entend

To learne in bookes was all her liking

How she in vertue her life might dispend.

And shortly of this storie for to treat:

As doughtie was her husbond as she.

So that they conquered many reignes great

In the Orient, with many a faire cite

Appertainaunt vnto the maiestie

O Rome, & with strength held the mfull fast

Ne neuer might her foemen doe her fle,

All the while that Odinates dayes last.

Her battailes, who so list hem for to rede

Againe Sapor the king, and other mo,

And how all this proces fill in dede,

Why she conquered, and her title therto,

And after of her mischiefe and her wo,

How that she was besieged, and itake,

Let him to my maister Petrarke go,

That writeth ynough of this, I vndertake.

When Odenat was dead, she mightily

The realmes held, and with her owne honde

Ayenst her foes she fought so truely

That ther nas no prince ne king in all ye lond

But were full glad, if they that grace fond

That she ne should vpon his londe warrey:

With her they made aliaunce by bond

To be in peace, and let hem ride and pley.

The Emperour of Rome Claudius,

Ne him beforne, the Romain Galien

Ne durst neuer be so coragious,

Ne non Armen, ne non Egipcien

Ne Surrien, ne none Arabien

Within the field, that durst with her fight,

Lest yt she would hem with her hondes sleen,

Or with her maine put hem to flight.

In kings habite wenten her sonnes two

As the lawfull heires of her realmes all,

And Hermanno and Titamallo

Her names were, as Perciens hem call.

* But aie fortune hath in her honie gall:

This mightie Queene, may no while endure,

Fortune out of her reigne made her to fall

To wretchednesse, and to misauenture.

Aurelian, when that the gouernance

Of Rome came into his honds twey,

He shope vpon this Queene to do vengeance,

And with his legions he tooke his way

Toward Zenobia, and shortly for to say.

He made her flie, and at last her hent,

And fettered her, and eke her children tway,

And wan the land, & home to Rome he went.

Emongest other things that he wan,

Her chair, that of gold was wrought & pierre,

This great Romaine, this Aurelian

Hath with him lad, that for men should it see:

All beforne his triumph walked she

With golden chaines on her necke honging,

Crowned she was, as after he degre,

And full of pierre charged her clothing.

Alas fortune, she that whilom was

Dredefull to kings and to Emperours,

Now gaureth all the people on her alas:

And she that helmed was in stark stoures,

And wan by force townes strong, and toures,

Shall on her head now weare autremite:

And she that bare the septer full of floures,

Shall beare a distafe her cost for to quite.

Nero.

ALthough that Nero were as vicious,

As any fende, that lieth full low adown:

Yet he, as telleth vs Suetonius

All this world had in subiectioun,

Both East and West, and Septentrioun.

Of Rubies, Saphires, and of Perles white

Were all his clothes broudred vp and down,

For he in gemmes greatly gan delite.

More delicate, more pompous of aray,

More proude, was neuer Emperour than he:

That like cloth that he had weared o day,

After that time, he nold it neuer see:

Nettes of golde threde had he great plente,

To fish in Tiber, when him list to play,

His lusts were as law, in his degre,

For fortune as his friend would him obay.

He Rome brent for his dilicacie,

The Senatours he slue vpon a day,

To heare how her wiues would weepe & crie:

And slow his brother, and by his sister lay.

His mother made he in a pitous aray,

For he her wombe let slit, to behold

Where he conceiued was, so welaway,

That he so little of his mother told.

No teares out of his eyen, for that sight

He came, but saied, a faire woman was she:

Great wonder is, that he coud or might

Be Domisman of her dead beaute:

The wine to bring him commaunded he,

And dranke anon, none other wo he made.

* When might is joined vnto cruelte,

Alas, too deepe will the venume wade.

In youth a maister had this Emperour

To teach him lettrure, and courtesie,

For of moralite he was the flour.

And in his time, but if his bookes lie,

And whiles his maister had of him maistrie,

He made him so cunning and so souple,

That long time it was or tyrannie,

Or any vice durst in him encouple.

Senek his maister was, of which I deuise,

Because Nero had of him such drede,

For he for his vices would him chastise

Discreetly as by word, and not by dede,

Sir he would say, an Emperour mote nede

Be vertuous, and hate tyrannie.

[Page] For which he made him in a bathe to blede

On both his armes, till he must die.

This Nero had eke a customaunce

In youth ayenst his maister to rise:

And afterward, him thought great grevaunce

Because he often would him chastise.

Therefore he made him to die in this wise.

He chose in a bathe to die in this manere,

Rather than to have another turmentise:

And thus hath Nero slaine his maister dere.

Now fell it so, that fortune list no longer

The high pride of Nero to cherishe:

For tho he were strong, yet was she stronger,

She thought thus, by God I am too nice

To set a man, that is fulfilled of vice,

In high degree, and an Emperour him call:

By God out of his seat I woll him trice,

When he least weneth, soonest shall he fall.

The people rose upon him on a night

For his defaut, and when he it aspied,

Out of his dores anon he hath him dight

Alone, and there he wend have been allied,

He knocked fast, and aye the more he cried,

The faster shet they the dores all:

Tho wist he well he had himselfe beguiled,

And went his way, no lenger durst he call.

The people cried & rombled up and down,

That with his ears he heard how they saied

Where is this false tyrant? this Neroun,

For feare full neere out of his wit he braied,

And to his gods right pitously he praied

For succour, but it might not betide:

For drede of this him thought that he deid,

And ran into a garden him to hide.

And in this garden found he chorles twey

Sitting by a fire great and red,

And to the chorles two he gan to prey

To slea him, and to gird off his hed,

That to his body, when he were ded,

Were no despite done for his defame.

Himselfe he slough, he could no better red,

Of which fortune lough & had then game.

Holofernes.

WAs neuer capitaine vnder a king

That reignes mo put in subjectioun,

Ne stronger was in field of all thing

As in his time, ne greater of renoun,

Ne more pompous in high presumptioun,

Than Holoferne, which fortune aye kist,

And so licourous [...]y lad him up and doun,

Till that he dead was ere that he wist.

* Not onely yt this world had of him awe

For lesing of richesse and liberte:

But he made euery man renie his lawe,

Nabuchodonosor was lord, saied he:

None other God should honoured be.

Ayenst his hest, there dare no wight trespace,

Saue in Bethulia, a strong cite,

Where Eliachem was priest of that place.

But take keepe of the death of Holoferue:

Amid his host he dronke lay all night

Within his tent, large as is a berue.

And yet for all his pompe and all his might,

Iudith, a woman, as he lay vpright

Sleeping, his head off smote, & fro his tent

Full priuely she stole from euery wight,

And with his head vnto her toun she went.

Antiochus.

WHat needeth it of king Antiochus

To tell his high and roiall maieste?

His great pride, and his worke venemus,

For soch another man nas neuer as he,

Redeth what that he was in Machabe,

And redeth the proud wordes that he seid,

And why he fill from his prosperite,

And in an hill how wretchedly he deid.

Fortune him had enchaunsed so in pride,

That verily he wend he might attain

Vnto the sterres vpon euerie side,

And in a balaunce to wey each mountain,

And all the floudes of the sea restrain:

And Gods people had he most in hate,

Hem would he slea in torment and in pain,

Wening that God ne might his pride abate.

And for that Nichanore and Timothe

By Iews were venquished mightily,

Vnto the Iewes soch an hate had he,

That he had greithe his chare full has [...]ely,

And swore and saied, full dispitously:

Vnto Hierusalem he would eftsone

To wrecke his yre on it full cruelly,

But of his purpose was he let full sone.

God for his manace him so sore smote,

With inuisible wound, aie incurable,

That in his guttes carfe so and bote,

That his paines was importable:

And certainly the wreche was reasonable.

For many a mans guttes did he paine,

But from his purpose, cursed & damnable,

For all his smert, he nolde him not restrain.

But bade anon, aparaile his host

And sodainly or he then was ware,

God daunted all his pride, and all his bost:

For he so sore fell out of his chare,

That all his limmes and his skinne to tare

So that he no more might go ne ride

But in a chaire, men about him bare

All forbruised both backe and side.

The wreche of God him smote so cruelly,

That in his bodie wicked wormes crept,

And therewithall he stanke so horribly,

That none of all his meine that him kept,

Whether that he woke or els slept,

Ne might not of him the stinke endure.

And in his mischief he wayled and wept,

And knew God, Lord of euerie creature.

To all his host, and to himselfe also

Full lothsome was the stinke of his caraine,

[Page] No man might him beare to ne fro.

And in his stinke, and in his horrible paine,

He sterfe full wretchedly on a mountaine.

Thus hath this robber, and this homicide,

That many a man made to wepe and plaine,

Soch guerdon, as belongeth to pride.

Alexander.

THe storie of Alexander is so commune,

That every wight that hath discretioun

Hath heard somwhat or all, of his fortune:

This wide world, as in conclusioun,

He wan by strength, and for his renoun

They were glad for peace unto him send

The pride of man, and bost he layed adown

Where so he came, vnto the worlds end.

Comparison might yet never be maked

Betwixt him, and another conquerour,

For al this world for dread of him hath quaked

He was of knighthood, & of freedome floure:

Fortune him made the heir of high honour.

Saue wine & women nothing might assuage

His high intent in armes and labour

So was he full of loving courage.

What price wer it to him, though I you told

Of Darius, and of an hundred thousand mo

Of Princes, Earles, and knights bold,

Which he conquered, and brought to wo:

I say as ferre as a man may ride or go

The world was his, wt shuld I more devise:

For though I wrote and told you evermo

Of his knighthood, it might not suffice.

Twelve yere he raigned, as I rede in Machabe:

Phillips sonne of Macedone he was

That first was King of Grece, that countre,

O worthy gentle Alexander, alas

That ever should thee fall soch a case:

Empoisoned of thy folke thou were,

* Thy sice fortune hath turned into an ace,

And yet for thee ne wept she never a tere.

Who shall yeve men teres to complaine

The death of gentlenesse, and of fraunchise,

That all the world welded in his demaine,

And yet him thought it might not suffice:

So full was his courage of high emprise,

Alas, who shall me helpe to endite

False fortune, and her poyson to despise?

The which of all this woe I wite.

Iulius Cesar.

BY wisedome, manhood, and high labour,

From humble bed to royal Majeste

Vp rose he, Iulius Conquerour,

That all the Occident by lond and see

Wan by strength of honde, or else by trete,

And unto Rome made him tributarie:

And sith of Rome Emperour was he

Till that fortune wexe his adversarie.

O mighty Cesar, that in Thessaly

Ayenst Pompey father thine in law,

That of the Orient had the chivalry,

As ferre as that the day beginneth to daw:

Then through knighthood hast take & islaw,

Saue few folke that with Pompeius fled,

Through which thou put all the orient in aw:

Thanke fortune that so well thee ysped.

But now a little while I woll bewaile

This Pompey, this noble governour

Of Rome, which that fled at this battaile.

I say one of his men, a false traitour

His head off smote, to win him favour

Of Iulius, and to him the head brought:

Alas Pompey, of the orient conquerour,

That fortune vnto such a fine thee wrought.

To Rome againe repaireth Iulius

With his triumph lauriate full hie,

But on a time Brutus & Cassius,

That ever had of his high estate envie,

Full prively had made conspiracie

Ayenst this Iulius in subtil wise:

And cast the place in which he should die,

With bodkins, as I shall you deuise.

This Iulius unto the Capitoll went

Vpon a day, as he was wont to gone,

And in the Capitoll anon him hent

This fals Brutus, and his other sone,

And sticked him with bodkins anone

With many a wound, & thus they let him lie:

But never grutched he at no stroke but one,

Or else at two, but if his storie lie.

So manly was this Iulius of hart,

And so well loved stately honeste,

That tho his deadly wounds so sore smart,

His mantle over his hips yet cast he,

For no man should see his privite:

And as he lay in dying in a traunce,

And wist verily that die should he,

Of honestie yet had he remembraunce.

Lucan to thee this storie I recommend,

And to Sueton, and Valerie also,

That of this storie writen word and end:

How that to these great conquerours two

Fortune was first a friend, and sith a fo.

* No man trust upon her favour long,

But have her in await for euermo,

Witnesse on all the conquerours strong.

Cresus.

THe rich Cresus, whilom king of Lide,

Of which Cresus, Cirus sore him drad,

Yet was he caught amid all his pride,

And to brenne, men to the fire him lad:

But such a rain down fro the firmament shad

That queint the fire, and made him to scape:

But to beware yet no grace he had,

Till fortune on the gallows made him gape.

When he escaped was, he could not stint

For to begin a new aray again:

He wend well, for that fortune him sent

Such hap, that he escaped through the rain,

That of his foes he might not be slain,

And eke a sweven upon a night he met,

[Page] Of which he was so proud, and eke so fain,

That on vengeaunce he all his heart set.

Vpon a tree he was, as him thought,

There Iupiter him wisshe, both back & side:

And Phebus eke a faire towell him brought

To dry him with, & therwith wexe his pride.

And to his doughter that stood him beside,

Which yt he knew in hie sentence habound,

He bad her tell what it signified,

And she his dreame right thus did expound.

The tree (qd. she) yt gallows is to meane,

And Iupiter betokeneth snow and rain,

And Phebus with his towell so cleane,

Betokeneth the Sun beames, sooth to sain:

Thou shalt honged be, father, certain,

Raine shall thee wash, & sun shall thee drie:

Thus warned him full plat and full plain

His doughter, that called was Phanie.

And honged was Cresus the proud king,

His roiall throne might him not auaile:

Tragedie is none, ne other manner thing,

That can in singing crie ne bewaile,

But that fortune all day woll assaile

* With unware stroke, ye reignes yt been proud:

For when men trusteth her, then wol she faile,

And couer her bright face with a cloud.

Peter of Spaine.

O Noble, O worthy Petro, glory of Spain,

Whom fortune held so high in Majestie:

Well ought men thy pitous death complain.

Out of thy lond thy brother made thee flee,

And after at a siege by subteltee

Thou were betraied, and lad unto his tent,

Where as he with his owne hond slue thee,

Succeeding in thy reigne and in thy rent.

The field of snow, with thegle of black therin,

Caught with ye limrod, coloured as ye glede,

He brewed his cursednesse, & all this sinne:

The wicked neste was werker of this dede,

Not Charles, ne Oliver, yt tooke aye hede

Of trouth and honour, but of Armorike

Genillion Oliver, corrupt for mede

Brought this worthy king in such a brike.

Petro King of Cipre.

O Worthy Petro, king of Cipre also,

That Alexandrie wan by high maistrie

Full many a heathen wroughtest thou wo,

Of which thine own lieges had enuie:

And for no thing but for thy chiualrie,

They in thy bed han slain thee by the morow,

Thus can fortune her whele governe & gie,

And out of joy bringen men to sorow.

Barnabo Vicount.

OF Millaine great Barnabo Vicounte,

God of delite, & scourge of Lumbardie

Why should not I thine infortune account,

Sens in estate thou clomben were so high:

Thy brothers sonne, yt was thy double alie,

For he thy nevew was, and sonne in lawe,

Within his prison made thee to die,

But why ne how not I, yt thou were slawe.

Hugeline of Pise.

OF the Erle Hugeline of Pise ye langoure

There may no tongue it tell for pite:

But a little out of Pise stont a toure,

In which toure in prison put was he,

And with him bene his little children three,

The eldest scarsely five yere of age:

Alas fortune, it was a great cruelte

Such birds for to put in such a cage.

Damned was he to die in that prison

For Roger, which that bishop was of Pise

Had on him made a false suggestion,

Through which ye people gan upon him rise,

And put him in prison, in such a wise,

As ye have heard, and meat & drinke he had

So small, that unneth it may suffice,

And therewithall it was full poore and bad.

And on a day befell, that in that houre,

Whan yt his meat wont was to be brought,

The geilour shette the doores of the toure,

He heard it well, but he spake right nought:

And in his heart anon there fill a thought,

That they for hunger would doe him dien,

Alas (qd. he) alas that I was wrought,

Therewithall the teares fill fro his eyen.

His yong sonne, that thre yere was of age,

Vnto him said, father, why doe ye wepe?

When will the geilour bring our potage,

Is there no morsell bread that ye do kepe?

I am so hungrie, that I may not sleepe,

Now would God that I might sleepe ever,

Then should not hunger in my wombe crepe.

There nis nothing but bread yt me were lever.

Thus day by day, this childe began to cry,

Till in his fathers arme adowne it lay,

And said, farewell father, I mote die,

And kist his father, and deide the same day.

And when the wofull father did it sey,

For wo, his armes two he gan to bite,

And said alas fortune, and well away,

Thy false whele my wo all may it wite.

His children wend, that it for hunger was

That he his armes gnewe, and not for wo,

And saied: father doe not so (alas)

But rather eat the flesh upon us two,

Our flesh you yaue us, take our flesh us fro

And eate inough: right thus they to him seid

And after that within a day or two

They laid hem in his lap adoun, and deid.

Thus ended is this mighty Earle of Pise.

Himselfe dispeired eke, for hunger starfe:

Of this tragedie, it ought inough suffice,

From high estate fortune away him carfe.

Who so woll heare it in a longer wise

Readeth he the great poete of Itaile

That hight Dante, for he can it all deuise

Fro point to point, not a word woll he faile.

§

¶Here stinteth the Knight the Monke of his Tale, and here followeth the Prologue of the Nonnes Priest.

[Page] HO (qd. ye knight) good sir no more of this:

That ye have said, is right ynough iwis,

And mokell more: for little heavinesse

Is right ynough to much folke, I gesse,

I say for me, it is a great disease,

Where as men have be in wealth & ease,

To heare of her suddaine fall, alas:

And the contrary is joy and solas,

As when a man hath been in poore estate,

And climbeth up, and wexeth fortunate,

And there abideth in prosperite:

Such things is gladsome, as thinketh me,

And of such thing were good for to tell.

Ye (qd. our host) by Saint Poules bell

Ye say right soth, this Monke clappeth loud,

He spake, how fortune covered with a cloud

I wote not what, and also of a Tragedie

* Right now he heard: And perde no remedie

It is for to bewailen, ne complaine

That that is done, and als it is a paine,

As ye have said, to heare of heavinesse.

Sir monke no more of this, so God you blesse,

Your tale anoyeth all the companie,

Such talking is not worth a butterflie,

For therein is there no disport ne game:

Therefore sir monk, dan Piers by your name,

I pray you heartily, tell us somewhat els,

For sikerly, nere clinking of your bels

That on your bridle honge on every side,

By heaven king, that for us all dide,

I should ere this han fall down for slepe,

Although the flough had been never so depe:

Then had your tale all be tolde in vaine.

For certainely, as that these clerkes saine,

* Where as a man may have none audience,

Nought helpeth it to tell his sentence.

And well I wote the substaunce is in me,

If any thing shall well reported be.

Sir, say somwhat of hunting I you pray.

Ne (qd. this Monke) I have no lust to play:

Now let another tell, as I have told.

Then spake our host with rude speech and bold,

And saied unto the Nonnes Priest anon,

Com nere you priest, com hither thou sir Iohn.

Tell us such a thing, as may our herts glad,

Be blithe, though thou ride upon a jade:

What though thy horse be both foule & lene,

If he woll serve thee recke not a bene:

Looke that thy heart be mery evermo.

Yes sir (qd. he) yes host, so mote I go:

But I be mery, iwis I woll be blamed,

And right anon, his tale he hath attained,

And thus he said, unto us everichon,

This sweet priest, this goodly man sir Iohn.

¶The Nonnes Priest his Tale.

Of a Cock and a Hen: the Moral whereof is to embrace true Friends, and to beware of Flatterers.

A Poore widdowe somdele istept in age,

Was whilom dwelling in a poor cotage

Beside a grove, stonding in a dale:

This widowe of which I tell you my tale,

Sens the day that she was last a wife,

In patience, led a full simple life.

For little was her cattell and her rent:

By husbandry, of such as God her sent,

She found her self, & eke her doughters two:

Three large sowes had she, and no mo:

Three kine, & eke a sheep that hight Mall,

Well sooty was her boure, and eke her hall,

In which she ete many a slender mele.

Of poinant sauce ne knew she never adele,

Ne deinty morsell passed through her throte:

Her diet was accordaunt to her cote.

Repletion ne made her never sicke,

A temperate diet was her physicke,

And exercise, and hearts suffisaunce:

The gout let her nothing for to daunce,

Ne apoplexie shent not her hed:

No wine dranke she, white ne red,

Her bord was most served with white & black,

Milk & broun breed, in which she found no lack:

Seinde bacon, & sometime an eye or twey,

For she was as it were a manner dey.

A yerd she had, enclosed all about

With stickes, and drie diched without:

In which she had a cock hight Chaunteclere,

In all the land, of crowing nas his pere.

His voice was merrier than ye merry orgon

On masse days, that in the churches gon:

Well sikerer was his crowing in his loge,

Than is a clocke, or in an abbey an orloge.

By nature he knew ech assentioun

Of the equinoctiall in the toun.

For when degrees xv. were ascended,

Then crew he, it might not be amended.

His combe was redder than the fine corall,

And battelled, as it had be a castle wall.

His bill was blacke, as any jet it shone,

Like as [...]re were his legs and his tone:

His nailes whiter than the lilly flour,

And like the burned gold was his colour.

This gentle cocke had in governaunce

Seven hens, to done on his pleasaunce:

Which were his susters and his paramours,

And wonder like to him, as of colours:

Of which the fairest hewed in the throte,

Was called faire damosell Pertelote.

He fethered her a hundred times a day,

And she him pleaseth all that ever she may.

Curteis she was, discreet, and debonaire,

And compenable, and bare her self so faire.

Sens the time that she was sevennight old,

That truliche she hath the hert in hold

Of Chaunteclere, looking on every lith:

He loveth her so, yt wel was him therwith,

But such a joy it was to heare him sing,

When that the bright sunne gan to spring

In sweet accord: my lefe is ferre in lond.

For that time, as I have understond,

Beasts and birds coulden speake and sing,

And it so fell, that in the dawning,

As Chaunteclere among his wives all

Sat on his perch, that was in the hall,

And next him sat his faire Pertelote,

This Chanteclere gan to grone in his throte,

As a man yt in his dreme is drenched sore:

And when yt Pertelot thus herd him rore,

She was agast, and said her heart dere,

What aileth you to grone in this manere?

[Page] Ye be a very sleper, fie for shame:

And he answered thus, by God madame,

I pray you, that ye take it not in griefe:

By God I mette I was in such mischiefe

Right now, yt yet mine hert is sore afright.

Now God (qd. he) my sweven hede a right,

And keepe my body out of foule prisoun.

Me mette, that I romed up and down

Within your yerde, wher I saw a beest,

Was like an hound, & would have made areest

Vpon my body, & would have had me deed.

His colour was betwixt yellow and reed,

And tipped was his taile, & both his eeres

With black, unlike ye remnant of his heeres.

His snout small, with glowing eyen twey:

Yet for his looke almost for feare I dey:

This causeth me my groning doubtles.

Away (qd. she) fie for shame heartlesse

Alas (qd. she) for by that God above

Now have ye lost my heart & all my love,

I cannot love a cowarde by my faith:

For certes, what so any woman saith,

* We all desire, if that it might be,

To have husbonds, hardy, wise and free,

And discrete, ne no niggard ne no foole,

Ne him that is agast of every toole,

Ne none avauntour by that God above,

How durst ye say for shame, unto your love,

That any sweven might make you aferde?

Have ye no mans heart, and have a berde?

Alas, and con ye be aferd of swevenis,

Nothing bnt vanitie god wotte in sweven is.

Swevens ben engendred of replecions,

And oft of fume, and of complecions.

When humours ben too habundant in a wight:

Certes this dreme wch ye have met to night

Commeth of the great superfluitie

Of red color that is in you parde,

Which causen folke to dred in her dreames

Of arrowes, and of fire with red lemes,

Of red beasts that wollen hem bite,

Of conteke, and of wasps great and lite,

Right as the humour of melancholie,

Causeth many a man in sleepe to cry,

For feare of great bulles, & of beres blake,

Or els that black devills woll hem take.

Of other humours could I tell also,

That werke a man in slepe much wo:

But I woll passe, as lightly as I can.

Lo Caton, which yt was so wise a man

Said he not thus, do not force of dreames?

Now sir (qd. she) when we flie fro the bemes,

For Gods love, as taketh some laxative:

Vp pexill of my soule, and of my life

I counsell you the best, I woll not lie,

That both of collor, and of melancholie

Ye purge you, and for ye shull not tarie,

Though in this town be none Apotecarie,

I shall my selfe two herbes techen you,

That shall be for your heale, & for your prow

And in our yerde, tho hearbs shall I finde

The which have her propertie by kinde

To purge you bineth, and eke above:

Forgetteth not this for Gods owne love:

Ye be right colericke of complection,

Ware the sunne in his ascention

Ne finde ye not repleate of humours hote:

For if it do, I dare wel lay a grote,

That ye shall have a fever terciane,

Or els an ague that may be your bane.

A day or two ye shall have digestives

Of wormes, or ye take your [...]axatives,

Of laurel, centorie, and of femetere,

Or els of elder berries, that grow there,

Of Catapuce, or of gaitres bereis,

Of yvie growing in our yard, that merry is.

Plucke hem up as they grow, & eat hem in:

Be merry husbond, for your father kin,

Dredeth no dreme, I can say no more.

Madame (qd. he) gramercy of your lore.

But nathelesse, as touching dan Caton,

That of wisedome hath so great renoun,

Though he had no dreames for to drede,

By God, men may in old bookes rede,

Of many a man, more of authoritie

Then ever Caton was so mote I thee.

That all the revers saith of his sentence,

And have well found by experience,

* That dreames be significations,

As well of joy, as of tribulations,

That folke endure in this life present:

There nedeth to make of this non argument:

The very prefe sheweth it indeed.

One of the greatest authours yt men rede,

Saith thus: yt whilome two fellowes went

On pilgrimage in full good intent,

And happed so they came into a town,

Where as there was such congregatioun

Of people, and eke of strait herbigage,

That they ne found as much as a cottage,

In which they both might ylodged be.

Wherefore they mote of necessite

As for that night depart company,

And each of hem goeth to his hostelry,

And tooke his lodging as it would fall.

That one of hem was lodged in a stall,

Farre in a yerd, with oxen of the plough:

That other man was lodged well ynough,

As was his aventure, or his fortune,

That us governeth all, as in commune.

And so befell, long or it were day

This man met in his bed, there as he lay,

How that his fellow gan upon him call,

And said (alas) for in an oxes stall

This night shall I be murdered, there I lie:

Now helpe me dere brother or I die,

In all hast, come to me (he said.)

This man out of his sleep for fear abraid:

But when he was waked of his sleeye,

He turned him, and tooke of this no keepe,

Him thought his dreame was but a vanite:

Thus twise in his sleepe dreamed he.

And at the third time, yet his felaw,

Came as him thought, & said, I now am slaw:

Behold my bloudy wounds, deepe & wide,

Arise up earely, in the morrow tide,

And at the West gate of the toun (qd. hee)

A cart full of dung there shalt thou see,

In which my body is hid full prively,

Doe thou that cart arresten boldely,

My gold caused my death, sooth to saine,

And told him every point how he was slaine

[Page] With a full pitous face, pale of hew:

And trust wel, his dreme he found right trew,

For on the morrow, as soone as it was day,

To his fellowes inne he tooke the way:

And when that he came to the oxes stall,

After his fellow he began to call.

The hosteler answerd him anone,

And said, sir, your fellow is igone,

As soone as it was day he went out of toun:

This man gan fall in suspectioun

Remembring of his dreames that he mette,

And forth he goeth, no lenger would he lette,

Vnto the West gate of the toune, and fond

A dung cart, as it were to dung lond,

That was araied in the same wise

As ye haue heard the dead man deuise:

And with hardy heart he gan to crie

Vengeaunce and iustice of this fellonie:

My fellow murdred is this same night,

And in this cart he lieth, gaping vpright.

I crie out on the ministers (qd. he)

That shoulden keepe and rule this cite:

Harow alas, here lieth my fellow slaine.

What should I more of this tale saine?

The people out start, & cast ye cart to ground,

And in the middle of the dung they found

The dead man, that murdred was all new.

O blisfull God, that art so good and trew,

Lo how thou bewrayest murder alway.

Murder woll out, that see we day by day:

* Murder is so waltsome and abhominable

To God, that so just is and reasonable,

That he ne woll it suffer hylled to bee:

Though it abide a yeare, two, or three,

Murder woll out, this is my conclusioun.

And right anon, the ministers of the toun

Haue hent the carter, and sore him pined,

And eke the hosteler so sore engined,

That they be knew her wickednesse anone,

And were honged vp by the necke bone.

Here may ye see that dremes ben to drede.

And certes, in the same lefe I rede,

Right in the next chapter after this,

I gabbe not, so haue I joy and blis:

Two men would haue passed ouer the see

For certaine causes to a ferre countree,

If the wind ne had be contrarie,

That made hem in a city to tarie,

That stood full merry vpon an hauen side:

But on a day, ayenst an euen tide.

The wind gan chaunge, & blew as hem lest,

Iolly and glad they wenten to rest,

And cast hem full early for to saile,

But herken, to one man fell a great meruaile.

That one of hem in sleeping as he lay,

He mette a wonders dreme, again the day:

Him thought a man stood by his beds side,

And him commaunded, that he should abide,

And said him thus, if thou to morrow wend,

Thou shal be dreint, my tale is at an end.

He woke, and told his fellow wt he met,

And praied him his voyage for to let,

As for that day, he prayed him for to abide.

His fellow that lay by his beds side,

Gan for to laugh, and scorned him full fast:

No dreme (qd. he) may so my hart agast,

That I woll let for to doe my things:

I set not a straw for thy dreamings,

For sweuens been but vanities and yapes:

Men meten all day of oules and of apes,

And eke of many a mase therewithall,

And dremen of thing that neuer was, ne shall.

But sith I see that thou wolt here abide,

And thus slouthen wilfully thy tide,

God wot it rueth me, and haue good day,

And thus he tooke his leue, & went his way.

But ere he had halfe his course ysailed,

I not why, ne what mischaunce it ailed,

But casuelly the ships bottome to rent,

And ship and men vnder the water went

In sight of other ships there beside,

That with hem sailed at the same tide.

And therefore, faire Pertelot so dere,

By such ensamples old maist thou lere

That no man should be too rechelesse

Of dremes, for I say thee doubtlesse,

That many a dreme full sore is for to drede.

Lo, in the life of saint Kenelme, we rede,

That was Kenelphus sonne, the noble king

Of Mercenryke, how kenelm mette a thing:

A little ere he were murdred on a deie,

His murder in his vision he seie:

His norice him expouned euery dele

His sweuen, and bad him keepe him wele

Fro treason, but he was but seuen yere old,

And therefore little tale he thereof told

Of any dreame, so holy was his hert:

By God I had rather than my shert,

That ye haue herd his legend, as haue I.

Dame Pertelot, I say to you truly,

Macrobius, that writeth the auision

In Affrick of the worthy Scipion,

Affirmeth dremes, and sayeth that they been

Warning of things that we after seen.

And furthermore, I pray you looketh well

In the old Testament, of Daniel,

If he held dreames for vanitee.

Reade eke of Ioseph, and there shall ye see

Whether dremes ben sometime, but I say not all,

Warning of things that after shall fall.

Looke of Egipt the king, yt hight Pharao,

His baker and his butteler also,

Wheder they felt none effect in dremes?

Who so woll seeke acts of sundry remes,

May rede of dreames many a wonder thing.

Lo Cresus, which that was of Lide king,

Mette he not that he sat vpon a tree,

Which signified he should honged bee?

Lo Andromacha, that was Hectors wife,

That day that Hector should lese his life,

She dreamed in the same night beforne,

How the life of Hector should be lorne,

If that day he went vnto battaile:

She warned him, but it might not auaile,

He went for to fight neuerthelesse,

But he was slaine anone of Achilles.

But that tale is all too long to tell,

And eke it is nigh day, I may not dwell.

Shortely I say, as for conclusion,

That I shall haue of this auision

Aduersity: and I say furthermore,

That I ne tell of laratiues no store,

[Page] For they ben venomous, I wot it wele:

I hem defie, I loue hem neuer adele.

But let vs speke of mirth, & stint all this,

Madame Perrelot, so haue I blis,

Of one thing God hath me sent large grace:

For when I see the beautie of your face,

Ye ben so scarlet red about your eyen,

It maketh all my dread for to dien.

* For all so siker, as In principio

Mulier est hominis confusio.

Madame the sentence of this latine is,

Woman is mans joy and his blis:

For when I fele on night your soft side,

Albeit that I may not on you ride,

For that our perch is made so narrow alas,

I am so full of joy and of solas.

That I defie both sweuen and dreme:

And with yt word he flew doun fro the beme,

For it was day, and eke the hennes all:

And with a chucke he gan hem for to call,

For he had found a corne lay in the yerd:

Royall he was, and no more aferd:

He feddred Pertelot twenty time,

And trode her eke as oft, ere it was prime.

He looketh as it were a grim lioun,

And on his toes he romed vp and doun.

Him deigned not set his feet to the ground:

He chucked, when he had a corne yfound,

And to him then ran his wiues all.

As royall as a prince in his hall,

Leaue I this chaunteclere in his posture:

And after woll I tell of his aduenture.

When y• month in which the world began,

yt hight March, in which God first made man

Was complete, and passed were also

Sith March began, thirtie dayes and two,

Befell that Chaunteclere in all his pride,

His seven wiues walking him beside,

Cast vp his eyen to the bright sunne,

That in the signe of Taurus was irunne

Twenty degrees and one, & somewhat more:

He knew by kind, and by none other lore,

yt it was prime, & crew with a blisfull steuen:

The sunne he said is clombe vp to heuen

Forty degrees & one, & somewhat more iwis,

Madame Pertelot, my worlds blis,

Herken how these blisfull birds sing,

And see the fresh floures how they gan spring.

Full is mine heart of reueli, and sollas.

But suddainely him fell a sorrowfull caas:

* For euer the latter end of joy is wo,

God wote, worldly joy is soone ago:

And if a rethore coud faire endite,

He in a chronicle might safely write

As for a soueraine notabilite.

Now euery wise man herken to me,

This story is all so true I vndertake,

As is the booke of Launcelot du lake,

That women holden in full great reuerence:

Now woll I turne ayen to my sentence.

A col foxe (full of sleight and iniquitee)

That in the groue had wonned yeares three,

By high imagination aforne cast,

The same night through the hedge brast

Into the yerd, there Chaunteclere the faire

Was wont and eke his wiues to repaire:

And in a bed of wortes still he lay,

Till it was passed vndren of the day,

Waiting his time, on Chaunteclere to fall:

As gladly done these homicides all,

That in await lie to murder men.

O false murder, rucking in thy den:

O new Scariot, and new Gauilion,

O false dissimuler, O Greeke Sinon

That broughtest Troy vtterly to sorrow,

O Chaunteclere, accursed be the morrow,

That thou in thy yerd flew from the bemes:

Thou were full well warned by thy dremes,

That ilke day was perillous to thee.

But what yt God afore wote, must needs bee,

After the opinion of certaine clerkis,

Witnesse of him that any clerk is,

That in schole is great altercation

In this matter, and great disputation

And hath been, of an hundred thousand men,

But I ne cannot boult it to the bren,

As can the holy doctour saint Austin,

Or Boece, or the bishop Bradwardin,

Whether that Gods worthy foreweting

Straineth me needly to doe a thing:

(Needly clepe I simple necessite)

Or if the free choice be graunted me

To do the same thing, or do it nought,

Though God forewot it, or it was wrought:

Or of his weting streineth neuer a dele,

But by necessitie condicionele,

I woll not haue to done of such matere,

My tale is of a cocke, as ye shall here,

That took his counsaile of his wife with sorrow

To walke in the yerd vpon the morrow,

That he had met the dreme, as I you told.

* Womens counsailes been often full cold:

Womens counsaile brought vs first to wo,

And made Adam fro paradice to go,

There as he was full merry, & well at ease.

But for I not, whom I might displease

If I counsaile of women would blame,

Passe ouer, I said it in my game.

Redeth authors, where they trete of such mattere,

And what they say of women, ye mow here.

These ben the Cockes words, and not mine,

I can of women no harme deuine.

Faire in the sond, to bath her merely,

Lieth Pertelot, and all her susters by

Ayenst the sunne, and Chaunteclere so free,

Sung merrier than the Mermaid in the see.

For Phisiologus sayeth vtterly,

How that they singen well and merely.

And so befell as he cast his eie

Among the wortes on a butterflie,

He as ware of the foxe that lay full low,

Nothing then list him for to crow,

But cried cocke, cocke, and vp he stert,

As one that was affraid in his hert.

For naturally beasts desireth to flee

Fro her contrarie, if he may it see,

Tho he neuer erst had seene it with his eie.

This chaunteclere, when he gan him espie,

He would haue fled, but the foxe anone

Said: gentle sir alas, what woll ye done?

Be ye afraid of me that am your friend?

Now certes, I were worse than a fiend,

[Page] If I to you would harme or villanie:

I am not come your counsaile to espie.

But truly the cause of my comming

Was only to heren how ye sing:

For soothly ye haue as merry a steuen,

As any Angel hath, that is in heuen,

Therewith ye haue of musicke more feeling,

Than had Boece, or any that can sing.

My lord your father, God his soule blesse,

And eke your mother of her gentlenesse

Haue in my house ben, to my great ease:

And certes sir, full faine would I you please.

But for men speaken of singing, I woll sey,

So mote I broken well mine eyen twey,

Save you, ne herd I neuer man so sing,

As did your father in the morning.

Certes it was of heart, all that he song,

And for to make his voice the more strong,

He would so paine him, y• with both his eyen

He must winke, so loud he must crien,

And stonden on his tiptoes therewithall,

And stretchen forth his neck long and small.

And eke he was of such discretion,

That there was no man in no region,

That him in song or wisdome might passe.

I haue well red dan Burnel the asse

Among his verses, how there was a Cocke,

For that a priests sonne yaue him a knocke

Vpon his legs, while he was yong and nice;

He made him for to lese his benefice.

But certain there is no comparison

Betwixt the wisdome and discretion

Of your father, and of his subtilty.

Now singeth sir, for saint charity,

Let see, can ye your father counterfete?

This Chaunteclere his wings gan to bete,

As a man that could not his treason espie,

So was he rauished with his flatterie.

* Alas ye lords, many a false flatterour

Is in your court, and many a false lesingour,

That pleaseth you well more, by my faith,

Than he that soothfastnesse vnto you saith.

Readeth Ecclesiast of flatterie,

Beware ye lords of her trecherie.

This Chaunteclere stood high vpon his toos

Stretching his necke, & held his eyen cloos,

And gan to crowen loud for the nones:

And dan Russell the foxe start vp at ones,

And by the gorget hent Chaunteclere,

And on his backe toward the wood him bere.

For yet was there no man that him sued.

O destinie, that maist not be eschued:

Alas that Chaunteclere flew fro the beames,

Alas that his wife rought not of dreames:

And on a friday fell all this mischaunce.

O Venus that art goddesse of pleasaunce,

Sithens yt thy seruant was this chaunteclere,

And in thy seruice did all his powere,

More for delite, than y• world to multiplie,

Why woldst thou suffer him on thy day to die?

O Gaulfride, deere maister soueraigne,

That when y• worthy king Richard was slaine

With shot, complainedest his death so sore,

Why ne had I now thy science and thy lore,

The friday for to chide, as did ye?

For on a friday, shortly slaine was he.

Than wold I shew you how y• I coud plaine,

For Chauntecleres drede, and for his paine.

Certes such crie, ne lamentation

Nas neuer of Ladies made, whan that Ilion

Was won, & Pirrus with his bright swerd

When he hent king Priam by the beard,

And slough him (as saieth Eneidos)

As made all the hens in the cloos,

When they had lost of Chaunteclere y• sight:

But souerainly dame Pertelot shright

Well louder than did Hasdruballes wife,

When that her husbond had lost his life,

And that the Romanes had brent Cartage.

She was so full of torment and of rage,

That willfully into the fire she stert,

And brent her selfe, with a stedfast hert.

O wofull hennes, right so cried ye,

As when that Nero brent the cite

Of Rome, cryed the senatours wiues,

For that her husbonds should lese her liues,

Withouten gilt Nero hath hem slaine.

Now woll I turne to my tale againe.

The sely widow, and her doughters two,

Heard the hennes crien and make such wo,

And out at the dore stert they anon,

And saw the foxe toward the wood gon,

And bare vpon his backe the Cocke away:

They cryed out harow and well away:

A ha the Foxe, and after hem they ran,

And eke with staues, many another man:

Ran Coll our dogge, Talbot, & eke Garlond,

And Malkin, with her distaffe in her hond:

Ran Cow & Calfe, and eke the very Hogges,

For they so sore aferd were of the dogges,

And shouting of men and of women eke,

They ran yt they thought her herts shuld breke.

They yellen as loud fendes do in hell:

The Duckes cried as men would hem quell:

The Geese for feare flew ouer the trees,

Out of the Hiues came the swarme of Bees,

So hidous was the noise, a benedicite:

Certes Iacke Straw, ne all his meine,

Ne made neuer shoutes halfe so shrill,

When that they would any Flemming kill,

As that day was made vpon the Foxe.

Of brasse they blew the trompes and of boxe,

Of horne & bone, in which they blew & pouped

And therewith they shriked and shouted:

It semed, as though heauen should fall,

Now good men I pray you herken all.

Lo how fortune tourneth sodainly

The hope and the pride of her enemy.

This Cocke that lay vpon the Foxes backe,

In all his drede, vnto the Foxe he spake,

And saied: good sir, if I were as ye,

Yet should I say, as wise God helpe me,

Tourneth ayen, ye proud churles all:

A very pestilence upon you fall.

Now am I come unto this woods side,

Maugre your hed, the Cocke shall here abide,

I woll him eat in faith, and that anon.

The Foxe answerd, in faith it shall be don:

And as he spake the word, all sodainly

This Cock brake from his mouth deliuerly,

And high upon a tree he flew anon:

And when the Foxe saw that he was gon,

[Page] Alas (qd. he) O Chaunteclere, alas,

I haue (qd. he) done to you trespasse,

In as much as I made you aferd.

Whan I you hent, and brought out of your yerd.

But sir, I did it in no wicked entent:

Come downe, & I shall tell you wt I ment,

I shall you say sothe God helpe me so.

Nay then (qd. he) I shrew vs both two,

And first I shrew my selfe, both blood & bones,

If thou begile me o [...]ter than ones:

Thou shalt no more with thy flatterie

Doe me to sing with a winking eye.

* For he that winketh, when he should see,

All wilfully, God let him neuer thee.

* Nay (qd. y• Fox) but God yeue him mischance,

That is so discrete of gouernance,

That iangleth, whan that he shold haue pees.

Lo, soch it is for to be recheles

And negligent, and trust on flatterie.

But ye that hold this tale for a lie

As of a Foxe, of a cocke, and of a Hen,

Taketh the moralite good men.

For saint Poule sayeth, All that written is,

To our doctrine it is written iwis.

* Taketh the frute, and let the chaffe be still.

Now good God, if that it be thy will,

As saieth my Lord, so make vs all good men:

And bring vs to the high blisse. Amen.

§

¶The Manciples Prologue.

SIr Nonnes Priest, our host saied anone,

I blessed be thy brech and euerie stone:

This was a merrie tale of Chaunteclere:

But by my troth, if thou were seculere,

Thou wouldest be a tredfoule aright:

For if thou haue corage as thou hast might

Thee were nede of hens, as I wene,

Ye more than seuen times seuentene.

Se which braunes hath this gentle priest,

So great a necke, and such a large breest:

He loketh like a Sparhauke with his eyen,

Him needeth not his colours for to dien

With Brasill, ne with gram of Portingale.

But sir, yet faire fall you for your tale.

And after that, he with full merrie chere

Saied to another man, as ye shall here.

Wote ye not where stondeth a little towne,

Which that is called Bob vp and downe

Vnder the blee, in Canterbury way?

There gan our host to yape and to play,

And saied: sirs, what? Dunne is in y• mire:

Is there no man for praier ne for hire,

That woll awake our fellow behind?

A theefe he might full lightly rob and bind:

See how he nappeth, see for cockes bones

How he woll fall from his hors atones.

Is that a Cook of London, with mischaunce?

Doe him comfort, he knoweth his penaunce:

For he shall tell a tale by my fey.

* Although it be not worth a bottle of Hey.

Awake thou cook (qd. he) God yeue thee sorow

What eileth thee to sleepe by the morow?

Hast thou had fleen al night, or art thou dronk?

Or hast thou al night with some quean iswonk,

So that thou maiest not hold vp thy hed?

This Cooke y• was full pale, & nothing red,

Saied: sir hoste, so God my soule yblesse,

There is fallen on me great heuinesse,

But I not why, me were leuer to slepe,

Than the best gallon of wine in Chepe.

Well (qd. y• Mancipie) if it may doe ease

To thee sir Cooke, and to no wight displease,

Which that here ride in this companie,

And that our hoste will of his courtesie,

I woll as now excuse thee of thy tale,

For in good faith thy visage is full pale:

Thine eyen dase, soothly as me thinketh,

And well I wot, thy breath full soure stinketh,

That sheweth wel thou art not wel disposed:

Of me certaine that▪ shalt not be glosed,

See how he galpeth, lo this dronken wight,

As though he would vs swallow anon right.

Hold close thy mouth, by thy father kin:

The deuill of hell set his foot therein,

Thy cursed breath will infect vs all:

Fie stinking swine, fie foule mote thee befall.

Taketh heed sirs of this lustie man,

Now sweet sir, woll ye iust at the van,

Thereto me thinketh ye be well shape:

I trow that ye haue dronken wine ape,

And that is when as men play at straw.

And with his speech y• cooke waxed all wraw,

And on the Manciple he gan to nod fast

For lacke of speech: & doun his hors him cast

Where as he lay, till that men him vp tooke:

This was a faire cheuesaunce of a cooke:

Alas that he ne had hold him by his ladill.

And ere that he ayen were in the sadill,

There was a great shouing to and fro

To lift him vp, and much care and wo,

So vnweldy was this sely palled gost:

And to the Manciple then spake our host.

Because that drinke hath domination

Vpon this man, by my saluation

I trow leudly woll he tell his tale:

For were it wine, or old moistie ale

That he hath dronk, he speketh so in the nose,

And sniueleth fast, and eke hath the pose.

He also hath to done more than ynough

To keepe him on his caple out of the slough:

And if he fall from his caple eftsone,

Then shall we all haue ynough to doen

In lifting vp againe his dronken corce.

Tell on thy tale, of him make I no force.

But yet Manciple, in faith thou art too nice,

Thus openly to repreue him of his vice:

Another day he woll perauenture

Recleime thee, and bring thee to the lure:

I meane that he speake will of smale things,

And for to pinch at thy rekenings

That were not honest, if it came to prefe.

No (qd. y• Manciple) y• were a great mischefe:

So might he bring me into the snare.

Yet had I leuer pay for the Mare

Which he rideth on, than he should with me striue:

I woll not wrath him so mote I thriue:

That I spake, I saied it but in bourd,

And wote ye what, I haue here in my gourd

A draught of wine, ye of a ripe grape.

And right anon ye shall see a good yape.

This Cooke shall drinke thereof, if I may,

Vp paine of my life he woll not say nay.

[Page] And certainly, to tellen as it was,

Of this vessell the Cooke dranke fast, alas,

What needeth it, he dranke ynough beforne.

And when he had pouped in his horne,

To the Manciple he tooke the gourd again,

And of the drinke the Cooke was full fain:

And thonked him in such wise as he coud.

Then gan our host to laugh wonder loud,

* And saied: I see well it is necessary

Where yt we gon, good drinke with vs to cary

For that will turne rancour and disease

To accord and loue, and many a word pease.

O Bacchus, yblessed be thy holy name,

That so canst turne earnest into game:

Worship and thonke be to thy deite.

Of that matter ye get no more of me.

Tell on thy tale thou Manciple, I thee pray.

Well sir (qd. he) herkeneth what I say.

¶The Manciples Tale.

Phoebus keepeth a white Crow, which can speak as a Jay: The Crow accuseth his wife, of whom he was too jelous, to have played false in his absence. Hereupon with an arrow he slayeth his wife: but after repenting of his rashness, he taketh revenge of the Crow.

WHen Phebus dwelled here in earth adoun,

As old books to vs make mentioun:

He was the most lustie batcheler

Of all the world, & eke ye best archer:

He slough Pheton the serpent, as he lay

Sleeping ayenst the Sunne vpon a day.

And many another noble worthy dede

He with his bow wrought, as men mow rede.

Play he could on euery minstralcie,

And sing, that it was a melodie

To heren of his clere voice the soun.

Certes the king of Thebes, Amphioun,

That with his song, walled the cite,

Could neuer sing halfe so well as he:

And thereto he was the seemelist man

That is or was, sith the world began.

What needeth it his feture to discriue?

For in this world nas none so faire aliue.

He was therewith fulfilled of gentlenesse,

Of honour, and of perfite worthinesse.

This Phebus, yt was floure of bachelerie,

As well in freedome, as in chiualrie,

For his disport, in signe eke of victorie

Of Pheton, so as telleth vs the storie,

Was wont to beare in his hond a bow:

Now had this Phebus in his hous a crow

Within a cage yfostred many a day,

And taught in speech, as men teach a Iay.

White was this crow, as is a white Swan,

And counterfete the speech of euery man

He could, when as he should tell a tale.

There was in all this world no Nightingale

Ne could by an hundred thousand dele

Sing so wonderly merry and wele.

Now had this Phebus in his hous a wife,

Which that he loued more than his life,

And night and day did euer his dilligence

Her for to please, and doe her reuerence:

Saue onely, if I the sooth shall sain,

Ielous he was, and wold haue kept her fain.

For him were loth yaped for to bee,

And so is euery wight in such degree:

But all for nought, for it auaileth nought:

* A good wife, yt is clene of werke & thought,

Should not be kept in none await certaine:

And truly the labour is in vaine

To keepe a shrew, for it woll not be:

This hold I for a very nicete

To spill labour, for to keepe our wiues:

Thus writeth old clerkes in her liues.

But now to purpose, as I first began:

This worthy Phebus doth all that he can

To please her, wening through such plesaunce

And for his manhood & for his gouernaunce

That no man should put him from her grace:

But God it wote, there may no man embrace,

* As to distraine a thing, which that nature

Hath naturally set in a creature.

Take any bird, and put him in a cage,

And doe all thine entent, and thy corage,

To foster it tenderly with meat and drinke

Of all dainties that thou canst bethinke,

And keepe it also cleanely as thou may,

Although the cage of gold be neuer so gay,

Yet had this bird by twentie thousand fold,

Leuer in a forrest, that is wide and cold,

Goe eaten wormes, and such wretchednesse.

For euer this bird will doe his businesse

To escape out of his cage when he may:

His libertie the bird desireth aye.

Let take a Cat, and foster her with milke

And tender flesh, and make her couch of silke,

And let her see a Mouse go by the wall,

Anon she weiueth flesh, and couch, and all,

And euery deintie that is in that hous,

Such appetite hath she to eat the Mous.

* Lo here hath lust his domination,

And appetite flemeth discretion.

A shee Wolfe hath also so villanous kind,

The leudest Wolfe that euer she may find,

Or least of reputation, that she woll take

In time when her lust to haue a make.

All these ensamples speake I by those men

That been vntrue, and nothing by women.

* For men haue euer a licorous appetite

On lower thing to performe her delite,

Than on her wiues, be they neuer so faire,

Ne neuer so true, ne so debonaire.

Flesh is so newfangle, with mischaunce,

That we ne con in nothing haue pleasaunce,

That souneth vnto vertue any while.

Now this Phebus which thought no gile,

Disceiued was for all his iolite:

For vnder him another had she,

A man of little reputation,

Nought worth to Phebus in comparison:

The more harme is, it happeth oft so:

Of which there commeth much harme & wo.

And so befell, when Phebus was absent,

His wife anon hath for her lemman sent

Her lemman, certes that is a knauish speech,

Foryeue it me, and that I you beseech.

The wise Plato saieth, as ye mow rede,

* The word must needs accord with ye dede.

[Page] If men should tell properly a thing,

The word must cousin be to the working.

I am a boistous man, right thus say I,

There is but little difference truely

Betwixt a wife that is of high degree,

(If of her body dishonest she be)

And a poore wench, any other than this,

If it so be they werke both amis.

But for the gentill is in estate aboue,

She shal be called his lady and his love,

And for that tother is a poore woman,

She shal be called his wench or his lemman:

* And God it wote, mine owne dere brother,

Men lay as low that one as that other.

Right so betwixt a titlelesse tiraunt,

And an outlaw, or a theefe erraunt,

The same I say, there is no difference.

(To Alexander was told this sentence)

That for the tyrant is of greater might

By force of meine to slea doune right,

And bren house and home, & make all plain,

Lo therfore is he called a captain.

And for the outlaw hath but smale meine,

And maie not doe so great an harme, as he,

Ne bring a Countrey to so great mischiefe,

Men callen him an outlawe or a thiefe.

But for I am a man not textuele,

I woll not tell of textes neuer a dele.

I woll goe to my tale, as I began.

When Phebus wife had sent for her lemman,

Anon they wrought all their lust volage.

This white crowe, yt hing aie in the cage,

Beheld their werke, and saied neuer a word:

And when home was come Phebus the lord,

This crowe song, cuckow, cuckow, cuckow.

What bird (qd. Phebus) wt singest thou?

Were thou not wont so merily to sing,

That to my hart it was reioysing

To heare thy voice? alas, what song is this?

By God (qd. he) I sing not amis:

Phebus (qd. he) for all thy worthinesse,

For all thy beaute, and thy gentilnesse,

For all thy song, and thy minstralcie,

* For all thy waiting, blered is thine iye.

With one of little reputation,

Not worth to thee in comparison

The mountenance of a gnat, so mote I thriue:

For on the bedde, thy wife I saw him swiue,

What wol you more? ye crow anon him told,

By full sad tokens, and by words bold,

How that his wife had doen her lecherie

Him to great shame, and to great villanie,

And told him eft, he sawe it with his iyen.

This Phebus gan awayward for to wryen.

Him thought his wofull hart brast a two.

His bowe he bent, and set therein a flo,

And in his ire he hath his wife slain:

This is the effect, there is no more to sain.

For sorrow whereof he brake his minstralsie:

Both Harp and Lute, Getern, and Sautrie,

And eke he brake his arrowes, & his bowe,

And after that, thus spake he to the crowe.

Traitour (qd. he) with tong of Scorpion

Thou hast me brought to my confusion:

Alas that I was wrought, why nere I dedde.

O dere wife, O gemme, O lustie hedde,

That were to me so sad, and eke so true,

Now lyest thou dedde with face pale of hewe.

Full giltlesse, that durst I sweare iwis:

O rakell hond, to do so foule amis.

* O troubled wit, O yre retchelesse,

That vnauised smitest guiltlesse.

O wantrust, full of false suspection,

Where was thy wit and thy discretion?

* Oh euerie man beware of rekilnesse,

Ne trowe nothing, without strong witnesse.

Smite not to sone, er that thou wete why,

And be auised well and sikerly

Or ye doe any execution

Vpon your yre, for suspection.

* Alas, a thousand folke hath rekell ire

Fully fordoen, and brought hem in the mire.

Alas for sorowe I woll my selfe sle.

And to the crowe, O false thefe said he,

I woll thee quite anon thy false tale.

Thou song whilom, as any Nitingale,

Now shalt thou false thefe, thy song forgone,

And eke thy white fethers euerychone.

Ne neuer in all thy life shalt thou speake,

Thus shull men on a traitour be a wreake.

Thou and thine of-spring euer shall be blake,

Ne neuer after sweet noise shall ye make,

But euer crie ayenst tempest and raine,

In token, that through thee my wife is slaine.

And to the crow he stert, and that anon,

And pulled of his white fethers euerychon,

And made him black, & reft him of all his song

And eke his speech, & out at doore him slong

Vnto the deuill, which I him betake:

And for this cause been all crowes blake.

Lordings, by this ensample I wol you pray

* Beware, and take kepe what I say:

Ne telleth neuer no man in your life,

How that another man hath dight his wife,

He woll you hate mortally certain.

Dan Salomon, as wise Clerkes sain,

Teacheth a man to keepe his tong well:

But as I saied, I am not textuell.

But nathelesse, thus taught me my dame,

My sonne thinke on the crowe a Gods name:

My sonne kepe wel thy tong, & kepe thy frend

A wicked tong is worse then a fend:

My sonne, from a fende men may hem blesse.

My sonne, God of his endlesse goodnesse,

Walled a tong with teeth, and lippes eke,

For man should him auise what he speke.

* My sonne, full oft for too mikell speach,

Hath many a man be spilt, as Clerkes teach:

But for little speech spoken auisedly

Is no man shent, to speake generally.

My sonne, thy tong shouldest thou restrain,

At all times, but when thou doest thy pain

To speake of God in honour and prayere.

The first vertue sonne, if thou wolt lere,

Is to restrain, and kepe well thy tong:

Thus learne Children, when they be yong.

* My sonne, of mikell speaking vnauised,

(There lesse speaking had inough suffised)

Cometh mikell harme, thus was me taught,

In much speech there sinne wanteth naught.

Woste thou wherefore a rakell tong serueth:

Right as a sword forcutteth and forkerueth

[Page] An arme on two, my dere sonne right so

A tongue cutteth friendship all atwo.

A iangler is to God abhominable,

Rede Salomon, so wise and honourable,

Rede David in his Psalmes, rede Seneck,

My sonne speake not, ne with thy head beck:

* Dissimule as thou were deafe, if yt thou here

The janglour speaketh of perlous mattere.

The Flemming saieth, learn if that thou lest,

* That little jangling causeth much rest.

* My sonne, If thou no wicked word hast said,

Thee dare not drede for to be bewraid:

But he that hath missaied, I dare well saine,

He may by no way clepe his word againe.

Thing that is saied, is sayed, & forth it goth,

Though him repent, or be never so loth,

He is thrall to him to whom he hath saied

A tale, for which he is now evill apaied.

* My sonne beware, and be none authour new

Of tidings, whether they be fals or trew.

Where so thou come, among high or low,

Keepe well thy tong, and thinke on the crow.

§

¶The Plowmans Prologue.

THe Plowman plucked up his plowe,

When Midsummer Moone was comen in,

And sayed his beastes should eat ynowe,

And lieg in the grasse up to the chin:

They been feeble both Oxe and Cowe,

Of hem nis left but bone and skin:

He shoke off shere, and coulter off drowe,

And honged his harneis on a pin.

He tooke his tabard and his staffe eke,

And on his head he set his hat:

And saied he would saint Thomas seeke,

On pilgrimage he goth forth plat:

In scrippe he bare both bread and leekes,

He was forswonke, and all forswat,

Men might have seene through both his chekes,

And euery wang tooth, and where it sat.

Our hoste beheld well all about:

And saw this man was Sonne ybrent,

He knew well by his senged snout,

And by his clothes that were to rent,

He was a man wont to walke about,

He was not alway in cloyster ypent:

He could not religiousliche lout,

And therefore was he fully shent.

Our hoste him asked, what man art thou?

Sir (quoth he) I am an hine,

For I am wont to goe to plow,

And earne my meat ere that I dine:

To swette and swinke I make auow,

My wife and children therewith to find,

And serve God and I wist how,

But we leaud men been full blind.

For clerkes say we shullen be faine

For her livelod swette and swinke,

And they right nought vs giue againe,

Neither to eat, ne yet to drinke:

They mowe by law as they saine,

Vs curse and damne to hell brinke,

Thus they putten us to paine

With candles queint, and bells clinke.

They make us thrals at her lust,

And saine we mow not els be saued:

They haue the corne, and we the dust,

Who speaks thereagaine, they say he raued.

What man (qd. our host) canst thou preach?

Come neere and tell us some holy thing:

Sir (quoth he) I heard ones teach

A priest in pulpit a good preaching.

Say on (quoth our host) I thee beseech:

Sir, I am ready at your bidding:

I pray you that no man me reproch

While that I am my tale telling.

§

¶The Plowmans Tale.

A complaint against the Pride and Covetousness of the Clergy: made no doubt by Chaucer with the rest of his Tales. For I have seen it in written hand in John Stowes Library, in a Book of such Antiquity, as seemeth to have been written near to Chaucer's time.

ASterne strife is stirred newe,

In many steedes in a stound,

Of sundry seeds that been sewe,

It seemeth that some been unsound:

For some be great growne on ground,

Some been soukle, simple, and small,

Whether of hem is falser found,

The falser foule mote him befall.

That one side is, that I of tell

Popes, Cardinals, and Prelates,

Parsons, Monkes, and Freres fell,

Priours, Abbots, of great estates:

Of heauen and hell they keep the yates,

And Peters successours they been all,

This is deemed by old dates,

But falshed foule mote it befall.

The other side ben poore and pale,

And people put out of prease,

And seeme caitiues sore a cale,

And euer in one without encrease,

Icleped lollers and londlese:

Who toteth on hem they ben vntall

They ben araied all for the peace,

But falshed foule mote it befall.

Many a countrey have I sought,

To know the falser of these two:

But euer my travaile was for nought,

All so ferre as I have go.

But as I wandred in a wro,

In a wood beside a wall,

Two foules saw I sitten tho

The falser foule mote him befall.

That one did plete on the Popes side

A Griffon of a grimme stature,

A Pellicane withouten pride

To these lollers laied his lure:

[Page] He mused his matter in measure,

To counsaile Christ ever gan he call:

The Griffon shewed a sharpe fuyre.

But falshed foule mote it befall.

The Pellicane began to preach

Both of mercie and of meekenesse:

And saied that Christ so gan us teach,

And meeke and merciable gan blesse:

The Euangely beareth witnesse,

A lambe he likeneth Christ ouer all,

In tokening that he meekest was,

Sith pride was out of heauen fall.

And so should euery Christened be:

Priestes, Peters successours

Beth lowliche and of low degree,

And vsen none earthly honours:

Neither croune, ne curious couetours,

Ne pillour, ne other proud pall,

Ne nought to cofren vp great treasours,

For falshed foule mote it befall.

Priestes should for no cattell plede,

But chasten hem in charite:

Ne to no battaile should men lede,

For inhaunsing of her owne degree.

Nat wilne firting in high see,

Ne soueraignty in hous ne hall,

All wordly worship defie and flee:

For who willeth highnes, foule shal fall.

Alas who may such saints call,

That wilneth welde earthly honour:

As low as Lucifere such shal fall

In balefull blacknesse to builden her boure,

That eggeth the people to errour,

And maketh them to hem thrall:

To Christ I hold such one traitour,

As low as Lucifer such one shall fall.

That willeth to be kings peeres,

And higher than the Emperour:

And some that were but poore Freres,

Now wollen waxe a warriour.

God is not her gouernour,

That holdeth no man his permagall,

While couetise is her counsailour,

All such falshed mote need fall.

That high on horse willeth ride

In glitterande gold of great array,

Ipainted and portred all in pride,

No common knight may go so gay:

Chaunge of clothing euery day,

With golden girdles great and small

As boistous as is Beare at bay,

All such falshed mote need fall.

With pride punisheth they the poore,

And some they sustaine with sale,

Of holy church make they an hore,

And filleth her wombe with wine and ale:

With money fill they many a male,

And chaffren churches when they fall,

And telleth the people a leaud tale,

Such false faitours foule hem befall.

With chaunge of many manner meates;

With song and solas sitting long,

And filleth her wombe, and fast fretes,

And from the meat to the gong:

And after meat with harpe and song.

And ech man mote hem Lords call,

And hote spices euer among,

Such false faitours foule hem fall.

And miters mo than one or two,

Ipearled as the queenes head:

A staffe of gold, and perrie lo,

As heauie as it were made of lead,

With cloth of gold both new and redde,

With glitterande gold as greene as gall:

By dome they damne men to dedde,

All such faitours foule hem fall.

And Christs people proudly curse

With broad boke, and braying bell:

To put pennies in her purse,

They wol fell both heauen and hell.

And in her sentence and thou wilt dwell,

They willen gesse in her gay hall,

And thou the sooth of hem will tell,

In great cursing shalt thou fall.

That is blessed, that they blesse,

And cursed that they curse woll:

And thus the people they oppresse,

And haue their lordships at full.

And many be marchaunts of wull,

And to purse pennies woll come thrall:

The poore people they all to pull,

Such false faitours foule hem fall.

Lords also mote to hem loute,

Obeysaunt to her brode blessing.

The riden with her royall route

On a courser, as it were a king,

With saddle of gold glittering,

With curious harness quaintly crall it,

Stirrops gay of gold mastling,

All such falshed foule befall it.

Christes ministers clepen they beene,

And rulen all in robberie:

But Antichrist they seruen clene,

Attired all in tyrannie:

Witnesse of Iohns prophecie,

That Antichrist is her admirall,

Tiffelers attired in trecherie,

All such faitours foule hem fall.

Who saith, that some of hem may sinne,

He shall be dome to be ded:

Some of hem woll gladly winne

All ayenst that which God forbed:

All holiest they clepen her head,

That of her rule is regall:

Alas that euer they eaten bread,

For all such falshed wol foule fall.

Her head loueth all honour,

And to be worshiped in word and dede.

Kings mote to hem kneele and coure,

[Page] To the Apostles that Christ forbede.

To popes hestes such taketh more hede,

Than to keepe Christs commaundement:

Of gold and silver mote been her wede,

They holdeth him hole omnipotent.

He ordaineth by his ordinaunce

To parish priestes a powere:

To another a greater auaunce,

A greater point to his mistere.

But for he is highest in earth here,

To him reserves he many a point:

But to Christ that hath no pere,

Reserves he neither o pin ne point.

So seemeth he above all,

And Christ above him nothing:

When he sitteth in his stall,

He damneth and saveth as him thinke:

Such pride tofore God doth stinke:

An angel had Iohn to him not kneele,

But onely to God doe his bowing,

Such willers of worship must need evil feele:

They ne clepen Christ, but sanctus deus,

And clepen her head Sanctissimus:

They that such a sect sewis,

I trowe they taken hem amisse:

In earth here they have her blisse,

Her high maister is Beliall.

Christes people from hem wisse,

For all such false will foule fall.

They mowe both binde and lose,

And all is for her holy life:

To save or damne they mow chose,

Betweene hem now is great strife.

Many a man is killed with knife,

To wete which of hem haue lordship shall,

For such Christ suffred wounds five,

For all such falshed will foule fall.

Christ said: Qui gladio percutit,

With swerd surely he shall die:

* He had his priests peace and grith,

And bad hem not drede for to die.

And bad them he both simple and slie,

And carke not for no cattell,

And trusteth on God that sitteth on hie,

For all false shall full foule fall.

These wollen make men to swere

Ayenst Christes commaundement:

And Christes members all to tere

On roode, as he were new yrent.

Such lawes they maken by common assent:

Each one it throweth as a ball,

Thus the poore be fully shent,

But euer falshed foule it befall.

They vsen no simonie,

But sellen churches and priories:

Ne they usen no enuie,

But cursen all hem contraries,

And hireth men by daies and yeares,

With strength to hold hem in her stall:

And culleth all her adversaries.

Therefore falshed foule thou fall.

With purse they purchase personage,

With purse they paynen hem to plede,

And men of warre they woll wage

To bring her enemies to the dede:

And lords liues they woll lede,

And much take, and giue but small:

But he it so get, from it shall shede,

And make such false right foule fall.

They halow nothing but for hire

Church, ne font, ne vestement,

And make orders in every shire,

But priestes pay for the parchment.

Of riotours they taken rent,

Therewith they smere the shepes skall:

For many Churches ben oft suspent

And all such falshed foule it fall.

Some liueth not in lecherie,

But haunt wenches, widowes, and wiues,

And punisheth the poore for putree.

Them selfe it vseth all their liues:

And but a man to them him shrives,

To heuen come he neuer shall,

He shall be cursed as be caitiues,

To hell they saine that he shall fall.

There was more mercy in Maximien,

And in Nero, that neuer was good,

Than is now in some of them,

When he hath on his furred hood.

They follow Christ that shed his blood

To heauen, as buckette into the wall:

Such wretches ben worse than wood,

And all such faitours foule hem fall.

They give her almes to the riche,

To mainteynours, and men of lawe:

For to lords they well be liche,

An harlots sonne not worth an hawe

Sothfastnesse all such han slawe:

They kembe her crokettes with christall,

And drede of God they haue doun drawe,

All such faitours foule hem fall.

They maken parsons for the penny,

And Canons, and her Cardinals,

Vnnethes amonges hem all is any,

That he ne hath glosed the gospell fals.

For Christ made never no Cathedrals,

Ne with him was no Cardinall,

With a redde hatte as vsen minstrals.

But falshede foule mote it befall.

Their tithing, and her offering both.

They clemeth it by possession,

Thereof nill they none forgo,

But robben men as raunsome.

The tithing of Turpe lucrum

With these Maisters is vrniall.

Tithing of brybry, and larson

Will make falshood full foule to fall.

[Page]

They taken to ferme her sompnours

To harme the people what they may:

To pardoners, and false faitours

Sell her seales I dare well say:

And all to holden great aray,

To multiply hem more metall.

They drede full little domes day,

When all such falshed shall foule fall.

Such harlottes shul men disclaunder,

For they shullen maken hem gree:

And ben as proude as Alexander,

And saine to the poore, woe be ye.

By yere eche Priest shal pay his fee

To encrease his lemmans call:

Such heerdes shul wel iuel thee,

And al such false shul foule fall.

And if a man be falsely famed,

And wol make purgatioun,

Than woll the officers be agramed,

And assigne him fro toune to toun:

So need he must pay raunsome,

Though he be clene, as is Christall,

And then have an absolution.

But al such false shull foule fall.

Though he be giltie of the dede,

And that he may money paie,

Al the while his purse wol blede,

He may vse it fro day to day:

The Bishops officers gone ful gay,

And this game they vsen ouer all,

The poore to pill is all their pray.

Al such false shull foule fall.

Alas, God ordained never such lawe

Ne no such craft of couetise:

He forbad it by his sawe,

Such gouernours mowen of God agrise,

For al his rules he is right wise,

These new points ben papall,

And all Gods law they dispise.

All such faitours shull foule fall.

They saine that Peter had the key

Of heuen and hel, to haue and hold,

I trowe Peter tooke no money

For no sinnes that he sold:

Such successours ben to bold,

In winning al their wit they wral,

Her conscience is waxen cold:

And al such faitours foule hem fal.

Peter was never so great a fole

To leaue his key with such a lorell:

Or take such a cursed tole,

He was advised nothing well.

I trowe they have the key of hell,

Their Maister is of that place marshall,

For there they dressen hem to dwell:

And with false Lucifer there to fall.

They been as proud as Lucifarre,

As angry and as enuious,

From good faith they ben ful farre,

In couetise they ben curious:

To catch cattle as couetous

As hound, that for hunger woll yall,

Vngodly and vngracious,

And needly such falshed shall foule fall.

The Pope and he were Peters heire,

Me thinke he erreth in this case:

When chose of Bishops is in despaire

To chosen hem in diuers place:

A lord shall write to him for grace,

For his clerke anone pray he shall,

So shall he speed his purchase.

And all such false foule hem fall.

Though he can do no good,

A lords prayer shall be sped:

Though he be wild of will or wood,

Not understanding what men han red:

A leud boster, and that God forbed.

* As good a bishop is my horse ball:

Such a Pope is foule bested,

And at last he woll foule fall.

He maketh bishops for earthly thanke,

And nothing at all for Christs sake:

Such that been full fat and ranke,

To soule heale none heed they take.

All is well done whateuer they make,

They shall answere at ones for all,

For worlds thanke such worch and wake.

And all such false shall foule fall.

Such that cannot say her Crede,

With prayer shall be made prelates,

Nother can the Gospell rede,

Such shull now weld high estates.

The high gods friendship hem makes:

They toteth on her summe totall,

Such bere the keyes of hell yates.

And such false shall foule fall.

They forsake for Christes loue

Travaile, hunger, thirst, and cold,

For they ben ordred ouer all aboue

Out of youth till they ben old.

By the dore they go not into the fold,

To helpe their sheepe they nought trauall

Hired men all such I hold,

And all such false foule hem fall.

For Christ our king they woll forsake,

And know him nought for his pouerte:

For Christs loue they woll wake,

And drinke piement and ale aparte.

Of God they seeme nothing aferd,

As lusty liueth as did Lamual,

And driuen her sheepe into desert.

All such faitours shul foule fal.

Christ hath xii. Apostles here,

Now, say they, there may be but one,

That may not erre in no manere,

Who leueth not this ben lost echone.

Peter erred, so did not Ihon:

Why is he cleped the principal?

[Page] Christ cleped him Peter, but himselfe y• stone:

All false faitours foule hem fall.

Why cursen they the croisery

Christs christen creatures?

For betweene hem is now enuy

To be enhaunsed in honours,

And Christen liuers with her labours,

For they leuin on no man mortal,

Been do to death with dishonours.

And al such false foule hem fal.

What knoweth a tillour at the plow

The Popes name, and what he hate?

His crede suffiseth to him inow,

And knoweth a cardinall by his hatte,

Thus is the poore vnrightly latte,

That knoweth Christ his God royal,

Such matters be not worth a gnatte.

But such false faitours foule hem fal.

A king shall kneele and kisse his show:

Christ suffered a sinful to kisse his fete.

Me thinketh he holdeth him high ynow,

So Lucifer did, that high set.

Such one me thinketh himselfe foryet,

Either to the trouth he was not cal

Christ that suffered wounds wete,

Shal make such falshed foule fal.

They laieth out her large nettes

For to take siluer and gold:

Fillen coffers, and sackes fettes,

There as they soules catch shold.

Her seruants be to them vnhold,

But they can doublin their rentall

To bigge hem castles, and bigge hem hold.

And all such false foule hem fall.

¶Here endeth the first part of this Tale, the second part followeth.

2

TO accorde with this worde fall,

No more English can I finde:

Shewe another now I shall,

For I haue much to say behinde:

How priests han the people pinde,

As curteis Christ hath me kende,

And put this matter in my minde:

To make these manner men amend.

Shortly to shend hem, and shew now

How wrongfully they werch and walke:

O high God, nothing they tell, ne how,

But in Gods word tilleth many a balke:

In hernes hold hem and in halke,

And prechen of tithes and offrend,

And vntruly of the Gospel talke.

For his mercy God it amend.

What is Antichrist to say?

But euen Christs aduersarie:

Such hath now ben many a day

To Christs bidding ful contrarie,

That from the truth cleane vary,

Out of the way they ben wend,

And Christs people vntruly carry.

God for his pitie it amend.

They liuen contrary to Christs life

In high pride against meekenesse.

Against suffraunce they vsen strife,

And anger ayenst sobernesse,

Against wisdome wilfulnesse:

To Christs tales little tend,

Against measure outrageousnesse.

But when God wol it may amend.

Lordly life ayenst lowlinesse,

And demin al without mercie,

And couetise ayenst largesse,

Against treweth trecherie:

And against almesse enuie,

Against Christ they comprehend,

For chastitie they maintaine lecherie,

God for his grace this amend.

Against pennaunce they vse delights,

Against suffraunce strong defence,

Ayenst God they vsen euil rights,

Ayenst pitie punishments:

Open euil ayenst continence,

Her wicked winning they worse dispend,

Sobernesse they sette into dispence.

But God for his goodnesse it amend.

Why claimen they wholly his powere,

And wranglen ayenst al his hests?

His liuing folow they nothing here,

But liuen worse than witlesse beests.

Of fish and flesh they louen feests,

As lords they ben brode ykend,

Of Gods poore they haten gests.

God for his mercy this amend.

With Diues such shal haue her dome,

That saine that they be Christes friendes,

And do nothing as they should done:

All such been falser than ben fiends.

On the people they ley such bendes.

As God is in earth they han offend,

Succour fro such Christ now send vs.

And for his mercy this amend.

A token of Antichrist they be,

His careckes ben now wide iknow,

Receiued to preach shall no man be

Without token of him I trow.

Ech christen priest to preachen owe,

From God aboue they ben send,

Gods word to al folke for to show.

Sinful man for to amend.

Christ sent the poore for to preach,

The royall rich he did not so:

Now dare no poore the people teach,

For Antichrist is ouer all her foe.

Among the people he mote go,

He hath bidden all such suspend,

Some hath he hent, and thinketh yet mo.

But al this God may wel amend.

[Page]

All they that han the world forsake,

And liuen lowly, as God bad,

Into her prison shullen be take,

Betin and bounden, and forth lad.

Hereof I rede no man be drad,

Christ said, his should be shend:

Ech man ought hereof be glad,

For God ful wel it woll amend.

They take on hem royall powere,

And say they haue swerds two,

One curse to hel, one slee men here:

For at his taking Christ had no mo.

Yet Peter had one of tho,

But Christ, to Peter smite gan defend,

And into the sheath bad put it tho.

And all such mischeues God amend.

Christ bad Peter keepe his sheepe,

And with his sword forbade him smite:

* Swerd is no toole with sheepe to keepe,

But to shepheards that sheepe woll bite:

Me thinketh such shepheards ben to wite,

Ayen her sheepe with swerde that contend:

They driue her sheepe with great despite.

But all this God may well amend.

So successours to Peter be they noght,

Whom Christ made cheefe pasture.

A swerd no shepheard vsen ought,

But he would flea, as a butchoure.

For who so were Peters successoure,

Should bere his shepe til his back bend,

And shaddow hem from euery shoure

And al this God may wel amend.

Successours to Peter ben these

In that, that Peter Christ forsooke,

That had leuer the loue of God lese,

Than a shepheard had to lese his hooke:

He culleth the sheepe as doth the Cooke

Of hem seeken they woll to rend,

And falsely glose the Gospell booke.

God for his mercy them amend.

After Christ had take Peter the kay,

Christ said, he must die for man:

That Peter to Christ gan withsay,

Christ bad him go behind Sathan:

Such counsailours many of these men han,

For worlds wele, God to offend

Peters successours they ben for than.

But al such God may wele amend.

For Sathan is to say no more,

But he that contrary to Christ is,

In this they learne Peters lore,

They sewen him when he did misse.

They follow Peter forsooth in this,

In all that Christ would Peter reprehend,

But not in that, that longeth to heuen blisse.

God for his mercy hem amend.

Some of the Apostles they sewen in case

Of ought that I can vnderstond,

Him that betrayed Christ, Iudas,

That bare the purse in euery lond:

And al that he might set on hond,

He hidde and stale, and mispend,

His rule these traitours han in hond,

Almightie God hem all amend.

And at the last his lord gan tray

Cursedly through his false couetise:

So would these traine him for money,

And they wisten in what wise.

They be seker of the selfe ensise,

From all soothnesse they ben friend,

And couetise chaungen with queintise:

Almighty God all such amend.

Were Christ on earth here eftsoone,

These would damne him to die:

All his hestes they han fordone,

And saine his sawes ben heresie:

And ayenst his commaundements they crie,

And damne all his to be brend,

For it liketh not hem such losengerie.

God almighty hem amend.

These han more might in England here,

Than hath the King and all his lawe:

They han purchased hem such powere,

To taken hem whom list not knawe:

And say that heresie is her sawe,

And so to prison wol hem send:

It was not so by elder dawe.

God for his mercy it amend.

The kings law wol no man deme

Angerliche without answere:

But if any man these misqueme,

He shall be baighteth as a bere:

And yet wel worse they wol him tere,

And in prison woll him pende,

In giues, and in other gere.

When God woll, it may amend.

The king taxeth not his men

But by assent of the comminalte:

But these ech yeare woll raunsome hem

Maisterfully, more than doth he.

Her seales by yeare better be,

Than is the kings in extend,

Her officers han greater fee.

But this mischeefe God amend.

For who so woll pruve a testament,

That is not all worth tenne pound,

He shall pay for the parchement

The third of the money all round.

Thus the people is raunsound:

They say such part to hem should apend,

There as they gripen, it goeth to ground.

God for his mercy it amend.

For a simple fornication

Twenty shillings he shall pay,

And then haue an absolution,

And al the yere vsen it forth he may:

Thus they letten hem go astray,

They recke not though the soule be brend,

[Page] These keepen euill Peters kay.

And all such shepheards God amend.

Wonder is, that the parliament

And all the lords of this lond

Here to taken so little entent,

To helpe the people out of her hond:

For they ben harder in their bond,

Worse beat, and bitter brend,

Than to the king is vnderstond.

God him helpe this to amend.

What Bishops, what religions

Lordshippes and possessions

More than Lordes, it semeth me:

That maketh hem lese charite:

They mowe not to God attende,

In earth they haue so high degre.

God for his mercie it amende.

The Emperour yafe the Pope somtime

So high lordeship him about,

That at last the silly kime

The proude Pope put him out.

So of this Realme is in dout:

But lordes beware, and them defende,

For now these folkes be wonders stout.

The King and Lordes now this amende.

Thus endeth the second part of this Tale, and hereafter followeth the third.

3

MOyses lawe forbode it tho,

That priestes should no lordships welde:

Christes gospell biddeth also,

That they should no lordshippes held.

Ne Christes Apostles were neuer so bold,

No such Lordshippes to hem enbrace,

But smeren her shepe and kepe her fold.

God amend hem for his grace.

For they ne ben but conterfete,

Men may know hem by her fruite,

Her greatnesse maketh hem God foryete,

And take his mekenesse in dispite:

And they wer pore and had but lite,

They nold not demen after the face,

But nourish her shepe, and hem not bite.

God amend him for his grace.

Griffon.

What canst thou preach ayenst Chanons,

That men clepen seculere?

Peli. They ben curates of many tounes,

On earth they haue great powere:

They haue great prebendes and dere,

Some two or three, and some mo,

A personage to ben a playing fere,

And yet they serue the King also.

And let to ferme all that fare,

To whom that woll most giue therefore,

Some woll spend, and some woll spare,

And some woll lay it vp in store.

A cure of soule they care not fore,

So that they mowe much money take,

Whether her soules be wonne or lore.

Her profites they woll not forsake.

They have a gadering procuratour,

That can the poore people enplede,

And robben hem as a rauinour,

And to his Lord the money lede:

And catch of quicke and eke of dede,

And richen him, and his Lord eke,

And to robbe can giue good rede,

Of olde and yonge, of hole and sicke.

Therewith they purchase hem lay fee

In londe, there hem liketh best,

And builde also as brode as a cite

Both in the East, and eke in the West:

To purchase thus they ben full prest,

But on the poore they woll nought spende,

Ne no good giue to Goddes gest,

Ne sende him some that all hath sende.

By her seruice such woll liue,

And trusse that other into treasure:

Though all her parish die vnshriue,

They woll nat giue a rose floure.

Her life should be as a mirrour,

Both to lered and to leude also,

And teach the people her lele labour,

Soche mister men been all misgo.

Some of them been hard nigges,

And some of hem been proude and gaie,

Some spende her goodes vpon gigges,

And finden hem of great araie:

Alas, what thinke these men to saie,

That thus dispenden Goddes good,

At the dreadfull domes daie

Soche wreches shull be worse than wood.

Some her churches neuer ne sie,

Ne neuer o pennie, thider ne send,

Though the poore parishens for hunger die,

O pennie on hem woll they not spend:

Haue they receiuing of the rent,

They recke neuer of the remenaunt,

Alas, the deuill hath cleane hem blent.

Soche one is sathanas soiournaunt.

And vsen horedome and harlottrie,

Couetise, pompe, and pride,

Slothe, wrath. and eke enuie,

And sewen sinne by euerie side.

Alas, where thinke such tabide:

How woll they accomptes yelde,

From high God they mowe hem not hide.

Soche willers witte is not worth a nelde.

They ben so rooted in richesses,

That Christes pouert is foryet,

Serued with so many messes,

Hem thinketh that Munna is no mea [...] ▪

All is good that they mowen geat:

They wene to liue euermore,

But when God at dome is seat,

Such tresure is a feble store.

Vnneth mote they Matins saie

For counting and courtholding:

And yet he iangleth as a Iaie,

[Page] And vnderstont himselfe nothing.

He woll serve both Erle and King

For his finding and his fee,

And hide his tithing & his offring,

This is a feble charite.

Other they been proude, or couetous,

Or they been hard, or hungrie:

Or they ben liberall, or lecherous,

Or els medlers with marchandry:

Or mainteiners of men with mastry,

Or stewardes, countours, or pleadours,

And serue God in Ypocrisie:

Soch Priests been Christes false traitours.

They been false, they been vengeable,

And begilen men in Christs name:

They been vnstedfast and vnstable,

To traie her Lord, hem thinketh no shame.

To serue God they been full lame,

Gods theeues, and falsely steale,

And falsely Gods worde defame:

In winning is her worldes weale.

Antichrist these serue all.

I praie thee who may say naie?

With Antichrist soch shull fall,

They followen him in deede and faie:

They seruen him in rich arraie,

To serue Christ such falsely fain,

Why, at the dreadfull domes day

Shull they not folowe him to paine?

That knowen hem selfe that they doen ill

Ayenst Christes commaundement,

And amend hem neuer ne will,

But serue sathan by one assent?

Who saieth sothe he shall be shent,

Or speaketh ayenst her false liuing:

Who so well liueth shall be brent,

For soch been greater than the king.

Popes, Bishops, and Cardinals,

Chanons, Parsons, and Vicare

In Goddes seruice I trowe been fals,

That Sacraments sellen here:

And been as proude as Lucifere,

Eche man looke whether that I lie,

Who so speketh ayenst her powere,

It shall be holden heresie.

Loke how many orders take

Onely of Christ, for his seruice,

That the worldes goodes forsake:

Who so taketh orders otherwise,

I trow that they shall sore agrise,

For all the glose that they conne,

All sewen not this [...],

In euill time they thus begonne.

Loke how many emong hem all

Holden not this hie waie,

With Antichrist they shullen fall:

For they wullen God betraie.

God amende them that best maie:

For many men they maken shende,

They weten well the sothe I say.

But the deuill hath foule hem blende.

Some on her churches dwell

Apparailled poorely, proude of port:

The seuen sacraments they doen sell,

In cattell catching is her comfort:

Of ech matter they wollen mell,

To doen hem wrong is her disport,

To afraie the people they been fell,

And hold hem lower than doeth the Lord.

For the tithing of a Ducke

Or of an Apple, or an Aie,

They make men swere vpon a boke,

Thus they foulen Christes faie.

Soche bearen euill heauen kaie:

They mowen assoile, they mowe shriue,

With mennes wiues strongly plaie,

With true tillers sturte and striue,

At the wrastling, and at the wake.

And chiefe chauntours at the nale

Market beaters, and medling make,

Hoppen and houten with heue and hale:

At faire fresh, and at wine stale:

Dine and drinke, and make debate:

The seuen sacraments set a saile,

How kepe soche the kaies of heauen gate?

Mennes wiues they wollen hold,

And though that they been right sorye,

To speake they shull not be so bold,

For sompning to the Consistorye:

And make hem saie mouth I lie,

Though they it sawe with her iye,

His lemman holden openly,

No man so hardy to aske why.

He woll haue tithing and offring

Maugre whosoeuer it grutch:

And twise on the day he woll sing,

Goddes priestes nere none soche.

He mote on hunting with dogge and bitch,

And blowen his horne, and crien hey,

And sorcerie vsen as a Witch.

Soche kepen euill Peters key.

Yet they mote haue some stocke or stone,

Gaily painted, and proudly dight,

To maken men leuen vpon,

And saie that it is full of might:

About such men set vp great light,

Other soche stockes shull stande thereby,

As darke as it were midnight,

For it ma [...]e make no mastrie.

That it leud people see mow:

Thou Mary, thou worchest wonder things:

About that, that men offren to now,

Hongen broches, ouches, and rings.

The priest purchaseth the offerings,

But he nill offer to none Image:

Woe is the soule that he for sings,

That preacheth for soche a pilgrimage.

[Page]

To men and women that been poore,

That been Christes owne likenesse

Men shullen offer at her doore,

That suffer hunger and distresse:

And to soche Images offer lesse,

That mow not feele thurst ne cold,

The poore in spirite gan Christ blesse.

Therefore offreth to feble and old.

Bucklers brode, and sweardes long

Baudrike, with baselardes kene,

Soche toles about her necke they hong:

With Antichrist soche priestes been.

Vpon her deedes it is well seen

Whome they serven, whom they honouren,

Antichristes they been clene,

And Goddes goodes falsely devouren.

Of scarlet and grene gaie gounes,

That mote be shape of the newe:

To clippen & kissen they counten in tounes

The damoseles that to the daunce sewe.

Cutted clothes to shewe her hewe,

With long pikes on her shone,

Our Goddes Gospell is not true,

Either they serven the devill or none.

Now been priestes pokes so wide,

That men must enlarge the vestiment:

The holy Gospell they doen hide,

For they contrarien in raiment.

Soche priestes of Lucifer been sent,

Like conquerours they been araied,

The proude pendaunts at her ars is ipent.

Falsely the truth they han betraied.

Shrift silver soche wollen aske

And woll men crepe to the crouche

None of the Sacraments save aske

Without mede shall no man touch:

On her Bishop their warant vouch

That is lawe of the decre:

With mede and money thus they mouch.

And this they sain is charite.

In the middes of her Masse

They nill have no man but for hire:

And full shortly let forth passe,

Such shull men find in each shire,

That Personages for profite desire,

To live in liking and in lusts:

I dare not saine, Sans ose ie dire.

That such been Antichrists priests.

For they yef the bishops why,

Or they mote been in his service:

And holden forth her harlottry,

Such prelates been of feeble emprise.

Of Gods graine such men agrise,

For such matters that taken mede:

How they excuse hem, and in what wise,

Me thinketh they ought greatly drede.

They s [...]ine that it to no man longeth

To reprove them though they erre:

But falsely Goddes goodes they fongeth

And therewith meintein wo and warre.

Her deedes should be as bright as sterre,

Her living leud mannes [...]ight:

They say the Pope may not erre,

Nede must that passe mannes might.

Though a priest lye with his lemman all night,

And tellen his felowe, and he him,

He goth to Masse anon right,

And saieth he singeth out of sinne:

His birde abideth him at his Inne,

And dighteth his diner the meane while,

He singeth his Masse for he would winne,

And so he weneth God begile.

Hem thinketh long till they be met,

And that they usen forth all the yere,

Emong the folke whan he is set,

He holdeth no man halfe his pere:

Of the Bishop he hath powere

To soile men, or els they been lore,

His absolution may them skere,

And wo is the soule that he singeth for.

The Griffon began for to threte,

And saied, of Monkes canst thou ought?

The Pellican said, they been full grete,

And in this world much wo hath wrought:

Saint Benet, that her order brought,

Ne made hem neuer on such mannere,

I trowe it came never in his thought,

That they should use so great powere.

That a man should a Monke lord call,

Ne serve on knees, as a king:

He is as proud as prince in pall,

In meat, and drinke, and all thing:

Some wearen mitre and ring,

With double Worsted well ydight,

With royall meat and rich drinke,

And rideth on a courser as a knight.

With hauke and with hounds eke,

With brooches or ouches on his hood:

Some say no Masse in all a weeke,

Of deinties is her most food.

They have lordships and bondmen:

This is a royall religion.

Saint Benet made never none of hem

To have lordship of man ne toun.

Now they ben queint and curious,

With fine cloth clad, and served cleane:

Proud, angrie, and envious,

Mallice is much that they meane.

In catching, craftie and covetous,

Lordly they liven in great liking,

This living is not religious,

According to Benet in his living.

They ben clerkes, her courts they oversee,

Her poore tenaunce fully they slite:

The higher that a man amerced be,

The gladlier they woll it write:

This is farre from Christes poverty,

For all with covetise they endite,

[Page] On the poore they have no pity,

Ne never hem cherish, but ever hem bite.

And commonly such been comen

Of poore people, and of hem begete,

That this perfection han inomen,

Her fathers riden not but on her fete,

And travailen sore for that they eate,

In povert liveth yong and old:

Her fathers suffreth drought and weate,

Many hungrie meales, thurst, and cold.

And all this these Monkes han forsake

For Christes love and saint Benete:

To pride and ease have hem take,

This religion is evill beseate:

Had they been out of religion,

They must have hanged at the plowe,

Threshing and diking fro toune to toune

With sorrie meat, and not half ynowe.

Therefore they han this all forsake,

And taken to riches, pride and ease:

Full few for God woll Monkes hem make,

Little is such order for to praise:

Saint Benet ordained it not so,

But bad hem be churchliche,

In churchliche manner live and go,

Boistous in earth, and not lordliche.

They disclaunder saint Benet,

Therefore they have his holy curse:

Saint Benet with hem never met,

But if they thought to robbe his purse.

I can no more hereof tell,

But they ben like tho before,

And cleane serve the devill of hell,

And ben his treasure and his store.

And all such other counterfaitours,

Chanons, Canons, and such disguised,

Been Gods enemies and traitours,

His true religion han foule despised.

Of Freres I have told before

In a making of a Crede,

And yet I could tell worse and more,

But men would werien it to rede.

As Gods goodnesse no man tell might,

Write ne speake, ne thinke in thought,

So her falshed, and her unright,

May no man tell that ever God wrought.

The Griffon saied, thou canst no good,

Thou came never of no gentle kind,

Other I trowe thou waxest wood,

Or els thou hast lost thy mind.

Should holy church have no hedde?

Who should be her governaile?

Who should her rule, who should her redde?

Who should her forthren, who should availe?

* Ech man shall live by his travaile,

Who best doeth, shall have most mede:

* With strength if men the church assaile,

With strength men must defend her nede.

And the Pope were purely poore,

Needie, and nothing ne had,

He should be driven from doore to doore,

The wicked of him nolde not be drad:

Of such an head men would be sad,

And sinfully liven as hem lust:

With strength to amend such be made,

* With wepen Wolves from sheep be wust.

If the Pope and Prelates would

So begge, and bid, bow, and borrow,

Holy church should stand full cold,

Her servaunts sit and soupe sorrow:

And they were noughtie foule and horow,

To worship God men would wlate:

Both on even and on morow

Such harlottrie men would hate.

Therefore men of holy church

Should be honest in all thing,

Worshipfully Gods workes werch.

So seemeth it to serve Christ her king

In honest and in cleane clothing,

With vessels of gold and clothes rich,

To God honestly to make offring:

To his Lordship none is liche.

The Pellican cast a huge crie,

* And saied, alas, why saiest thou so:

Christ is our head that sitteth on hie,

Heads ne ought we have no mo:

We ben his members both also,

And father he taught us to call him als,

Maisters to be called defended he tho:

All other maisters ben wicked and fals,

That taketh maisterie in his name,

Ghostly, and for earthly good:

Kings and lord should lordships have,

And rule the people with mild mood.

* Christ for us that shed his blood

Bad his priests no maistership have,

Ne carke not for cloth ne food,

From every mischeefe he will hem save.

Her rich clothing shall be rightwisnesse,

Her treasure true life shall be:

Charity shall be her richesse,

Her Lordship shall be unite:

Hope in God her honeste,

Her vessel cleane conscience,

Poore in spirit, and humilite,

Shall be holy churches defence.

What, saied the Griffon, may thee greve,

That other folkes faren wele?

What hast thou to doen with her live?

Thy falshed ech man may fele.

For thou canst no cattle gete,

But livest in lond as a lorell,

With glosing gettest thou thy mete:

So fareth the devill that wonneth in hell.

He would that ech man there should dwell.

For he liveth in cleane envie,

So with the tales that thou doest tell

[Page] Thou wouldest other people destrie

With your glose, and your heresie:

For ye can live no better life,

But cleane in Hypocrisie,

And bringest thee in woe and strife.

And therewith have not to doen.

For ye ne have here no cure:

Ye serve the Devill, neither God ne man,

And he shall pay you your hire.

For ye woll fare well at feastes,

And warme clothed for the cold,

Therefore ye glose Goddes heestes,

And begile the people yong and old.

And all the seaven Sacraments

Ye speake ayenst, as ye were slie:

Ayenst tithinges, offringes, with your entents,

And on our Lordes bodie falsely lie.

And all this ye doen to live in ease,

As who saieth, there been no ne soche:

And sain the Pope is not worth a pease,

To make the people ayen him groche.

And this commeth in by fendes

To bring the christen in distaunce:

For they would that no man were frendes.

Leave thy chattring with mischaunce:

* If thou live well, what wilt thou more?

Let other men live as hem list,

Spende in good, or keepe in store:

Other mens conscience never thou nist.

Ye han no cure to answere fore:

What meddle ye, that han not to doen?

Let men live as they han doen yore,

For thou shalt answere for no man.

The Pellican sayd, sir, naie,

I dispised not the Pope:

Ne no Sacrament, soth to saie,

But speake in charite and good hope.

But I dispise her hye pride,

Her richesse, that should be poore in spirite:

Her wickednesse is known so wide,

They serve God in false habite:

And tournen mekenesse into pride,

And lowlinesse into high degree,

And Goddes wordes tourne and hide.

And that am I moved by charite.

To let men to live so,

With all my cunning and my might,

And to warne men of her wo,

And to tellen hem trouth and right.

The Sacraments be soule heale,

If they been used in good use,

Ayenst that speake I never a deale:

For then were I nothing wise.

But they that usen hem in misse manere,

Or set hem up to any sale,

I trow they shall abie hem dere,

This is my reason, this is my tale:

Who so taketh hem unrightfulliche

Ayenst the ten commaundements,

Or by glose wrechedliche

Selleth any of the Sacraments,

I trow they doe the devill homage,

In that they weten they doe wrong:

And thereto I dare well wage,

They serven Sathan for all her song.

To tithen and offren is holesome life,

So it be done in due manere:

A man to houselin, and to shrive,

Wedding, and all the other in fere,

So it be nother sold ne bought,

Ne take ne give for covertise:

And it be so taken, it is nought,

Who selleth hem so, may sore agrise.

On our Lords body I doe not lie,

I say sooth through true rede,

His flesh and blood through his misterie

Is there, in the forme of brede:

How it is there, it needeth not strive,

Whether it be sunget or accident,

But as Christ was, when he was on live,

So is he there verament:

If Pope or Cardinal live good live,

As Christ commaunded in his Gospell,

Ayenst that woll I not strive:

But methinketh they live not well.

For if the Pope lived as God bedde,

Pride and highnesse he should dispise,

Richesse, covetise, and croune on hedde,

Meeknesse and poverte he should use.

The Griffon saied he should abie,

Thou shalt be brent in balefull fire,

And all thy sect I shall destrie,

Ye shall be hanged by the swire.

Ye shullen be hanged and to draw,

Who giveth you leave for to preach

Or speake against Gods law,

And the people thus falsely teach?

Thou shalt be cursed with booke and bell,

And discevered from holy church,

And cleane ydamned into hell,

Otherwise but ye woll worch.

The Pellican saied, that I ne drede,

Your cursing is of little value.

Of God I hope to have my mede,

For it is falshed that ye sewe.

For ye been out of charite,

And wilneth vengeaunce, as did Nero:

To suffren I woll ready be,

I drede not that thou canst do.

Christ bad ones suffer for his love:

And so he taught all his servaunts,

And but thou amend for his sake above,

I drede not all thy maintenaunce.

For if I drede the worlds hate,

Me thinketh I were little to praise.

I drede nothing your high estate,

Ne I drede not your disease.

[Page]

Woll ye tourne and leave your pride,

Your high port, and your richesse,

Your cursing should not go so wide,

God bring you into rightwisenesse:

For I drede not your tyrannie,

For nothing that ye can done,

To suffer I am all readie,

Siker I recke never how soone.

The Griffon grinned as he were wood,

And loked lovely as an Owle,

And swore by cocks heart blood,

He would him teare every doule:

Holy church thou disclaundrest foule,

For thy reasons I woll thee all to race,

And make thy flesh to rot and moule,

Losell, thou shalt have hard grace.

The Griffon fiew forth on his way.

The Pellican did sit and weepe,

And to himselfe he gan say:

God would that any of Christs sheepe

Had heard, and ytaken keepe

Of each word that here saied was,

And would it write and well it keepe:

God would it were all for his grace.

Plowman.

I answerd, and saied I would,

If for my travaile any man would pey:

Pelli. He saied yes, these that God han sold,

For they han store of money:

Plowman. I saied, tell me and thou may,

Why tellest thou mens trespas?

Pellican. He said, to amend hem in good fay,

If God woll give me any grace.

For Christ himselfe is likned to me,

That for his people died on rood:

As fare I, right so fareth he,

He feedeth his birds with his blood.

But these doen evill ayenst good,

And ben his foen under friends face,

I told hem how her living stood:

God amend hem for his grace.

Plowman.

What aileth the Griffon, tell why

That he holdeth on the other side?

Pelli. For they two been likely,

And with her kinds roven wide.

The foule betokeneth pride:

As Lucifer, that high flew was,

And sith he did him in evill hide:

For he agilted Gods grace.

As bird flieth up in the aire,

And liveth by birds that been meke

So these been flow up into despaire,

And shenden silly foules eke:

The soules that been in sinnes seke,

He culieth hem kneele: therefore alas.

For briberie Gods forbode breke:

God amend it for his grace.

The hinder part is a Lioun,

A robber and a ravinere,

That robbeth the people in earth doun,

And in earth holdeth none his pere:

So fareth this foule both ferre and nere,

And with temporell strength ye people chase,

As a Lion proud in earth here.

God amend him for his grace.

Pellican.

He flew forth with his wings twaine,

All droping, dased, and dull:

But soone the Griffon came againe,

Of his foules the earth was full:

The Pellican he had cast to pull,

So great a number never seene there was,

What manner of foules tellen I woll,

If God woll give me of his grace.

With the Griffon comen foules fele,

Ravins, Rokes, Crowes, and Pie,

Gray foules, agadred wele,

I gurde above they would hie:

Gledes and Buzzards weren hem by,

White moles & puttockes token her place,

And lapwings, that well conneth lie,

This fellowship han forgard her grace.

Long the Pellican was out,

But at last he commeth againe:

And brought with him the Phenix stout,

The Griffon would have flow full faine:

His foules that flewen as thicke as raine,

The Phenix tho began hem chace,

To flie from him it was in vaine,

For he did vengeaunce and no grace.

He slew hem downe without mercie,

There a start neither free ne thrall,

On him they cast a rufull crie,

When the Griffon down was fall:

He beat hem not, but slew hem all,

Whither he hem drove, no man may trace:

Vnder the earth me thought they yall,

Alas they had a feeble grace.

The Pellican then asked right,

For my writing if I have blame,

Who woll for me fight or flight?

Who shall sheld me from shame?

He that had a maid to dame,

And the lambe that slaine was

Shall sheld me from ghostly blame,

For earthly harme is gods grace.

Therefore I pray every man,

Of my writting have me excused:

This writing writeth the Pellican,

That thus these people hath dispised.

For I am fresh fully advised,

I nill not maintaine his manace.

For the devill is often disguised,

To bring a man to evill grace.

Witeth the Pellican and not me,

For hereof I nill not avow:

In high ne in low, ne in no degree,

But as a fable take it ye mowe:

To holy church I will me bow,

Ech man to amend him Christ send space:

And for my writing me allow

He that is almighty for his grace.

§

[Page]

¶The Parsons Prologue.

BY that the Plowman had his tale ended,

The sunne fro ye south side is descended,

So low, that it was not to my sight

Degrees of five and twenty on hight

Two a clocke it was, so as I gesse,

For eleven foot, a lite more or lesse,

My shadow was at that time, as there

Of such feet as my length parted were

In sixe feet equall of proportion:

Therewith the moones exaltation,

I meane Taurus, alway gan ascend,

As we were entring at the thropes end:

For which our Hoste, as he was wont to gie

Aye in this case, this jolly companie

Said in this wise, lordings everichone

Now lacketh us no tale more than one:

Fullfilled is my sentence and my decree.

Who woll now tell us a tale, let see:

Almost fulfilled is my ordinance:

I pray to God so yeve him right good chance,

That telleth his tale to us lustely.

Sir priest (qd. he) art thou a vicary,

Or art thou a Parson, say sooth by thy fay,

Be what thou be, breke thou not our play.

For every man, save thou, hath told his tale,

Vnbokell, and shew us what is in thy male.

For truly me thinketh by thy chere,

Thou shouldest knit up well a great matere.

Tell us a fable anon, for cockes bones.

This Parson him answerd all at ones:

Thou gettest fable none told of me,

For Poule, that writeth to Timothe,

Repreveth hem that waiven soothfastnesse,

And teachen fables, and such wretchednesse.

* Why should I sow draffe out of my fist,

When I may sow wheat, if that me list?

For which I say, if that ye list to here

Morality, and of vertuous matere,

And then, if ye wol yeve me audience,

I would full faine at Christs reverence

Done you pleasaunce lefull, as I can:

But trusteth well, I am a sotherne man,

I cannot jeast, rum, ram, ruf, by letter,

And God wote, rime hold I but little better.

And therefore if ye list, I woll not glose,

I woll you tell a little tale in prose,

To knit up all this feast, and make an end:

And Iesu for his grace wit me send

To shew you the way in this voyage

Of thilke perfite glorious pilgrimage,

That hight Hierusalem celestial.

And if you vouchsafe, anon I shall

Begin upon my tale, for which I pray

Tell your advise, I cannot better say.

But nathelesse, this meditation

I put it aye under the correction

Of clerkes, for I am not textuell,

I take but the sentence, trusteth well.

Therefore I make protestation,

That I woll stand to correction.

Vpon this word we have assented sone:

For as it seemed, it was for to done,

To end in some vertuous sentence,

And for to yeve him space and audience:

And bad our host he should to him say,

That all we to tell his tale him pray.

Our host had the words for us all:

Sir priest (qd. he) now faire mote you befall,

Say y• what ye list, & we shall gladly here.

And with that word he said in this manere.

Telleth (qd. he) your meditatioun,

But hasteth you, the sunne woll adoun.

Beth fructuous, and that in little space,

And to do well God send you his grace.

§

¶The Parsons Tale.

A Sermon against divers grievous Sins, and remedies for the same, persuading men to penitence.

‘Ieremie .vi. State super vias, & videte, & interrogate de semitis antiquis, quae sit via bona, & ambulate in ea: & invenietis refrigerium animabus vestris.’

OVR sweet Lord God of Heaven, that no man woll perish, but woll that we turne all to the knoweledge of him, and to the blisfull life that is perdurable, admonisheth us by the Prophet Ieremie, that sayeth in this wise: * Stondeth upon the wayes, and seeth and asketh of old pathes: that is to saie, of olde sentences, which is the good way, and walketh in that way, and yee shall finde refreshing for your soules, &c. Many been the wayes espirituels that leade folke to our Lord Iesu Christ, and to the reigne of glory: Of which wayes, there is a full noble way, and full covenable, which may not faile to man ne to woman, that through sinne hath misgone fro the right way of Hierusalem celestiall: and this way is called penitence, of which, manne should gladly hearken and enquire with all his hert, to wete, what is penitence, and which is called penitence, and how many manners been of actions or werkinges of penitence, and how manie speces there been of penitence, and which thinges appertain and behoove to penitence, and which thinges distourbe penitence.

Saint Ambrose saith, * That penitence is the plaining of man for the guilt that he hath done, and no more to do any thing for which him ought to playne. And some Doctours sayth, Penitence is the waymenting of man that sorroweth for his sume, and paineth him self, for he hath misdone. Penitence with certain circumstaunces, is very repentance of a man that holt himself in sorrow, & other paine for his guiltes: and for he shall be very penitent, he shall first bewaile sinnes that hee hath done, and stedfastly purpose in his heart to have shrift of mouth, and to do satisfaction, and never to doe thing, for which him ought more bewayle or complaine, and continue in good works: or els his repentaunce may not availe. For as Saint Isiodor saith, * He is a yaper and a lyer, and no very repentaunt, [Page] yt e [...]tsoone doth thing, for which him ought repent. Weeping, and not for to stint to doe sinne, may not auaile: But nathelesse, men shall hope, that at euery time that man falleth, bee it neuer so oft, that hee may arise through pennaunce, if he haue grace: but certaine, it is great doubt, for as saith saint Gregorie: * Vnnethes ariseth he out of sin, yt is charged with y• charge of euill vsage. * And therefore repentaunt folke, that stint for to sinne, and leue sinne or sinne leaue them, holy Church holdeth them siker of their saluation. * And he that sinneth, & verely repenteth him in his last end: holy Church yet hopeth his saluation, by the great mercy of our Lord Iesus Christ, for his repentaunce: but take the siker way.

And now sith I haue declared you, what thing is Penitence: now ye shall vnderstond, that there beene three actions of Penitence. The first is, that a manne be baptised after that he hath sinned. Saint Augustine sayth, * But he be penitent for his old sinnefull life, hee may not biginne the new cleane life: For certes, if he be baptised without penitence of his old guilt, he retaineth ye marke of baptisme, but not ye grace, ne ye remission of his sins, till hee haue very repentaunce. Another default is this, yt men doe deadly sinne after that they haue receiued baptisme. The third default is this, yt men fall in veniall sinnes after her baptisme, fro day to day. Thereof sayeth Saint Augustine, * That penitence of good and humble folk, is the penitence of euery day.

The speces of penitence ben three: That one of hem is solemne, another is commune, and the third is priuie. That pennaunce yt is solemne, is in two manners: As to be put out of holy church in lent, for slaughter of children, & such manner thing. Another is when a man hath sinned openly, of which sinne the fame is openly spoken in the country: & then holy church by judgement distrayneth him for to do open pennaunce.

Common pennaunce is, yt priests enioyn men in certaine case: as for to go perauenture naked in pilgrimage, or bare foot. Priuie pennaunce is that, yt men doe all day for priuie sins, of which we shriue vs priuily, and receiue priuie pennaunce.

Now shalt thou vnderstond what is behoueful & necessary to very perfit penitence: & this stont on three things. * Contrition of hart, confession of mouth, & satisfaction. For which sayth saint Iohn Chrisostome: * Penitence disstraineth a man to accept benignely every paine y• him is enioined, with contrition of hert, & shrift of mouth, with satisfaction: & in werking of all manner humility. And this is fruitfull penitence ayenst three things, in which wee wrath our Lord Iesus Christ: this is to say, By delite in thinking, by retchlesse in speaking, and by wicked sinfull werking. And ayenst these wicked guilts is penitence, that may be likened vnto a tree:

* The root of this tree is contrition, y• hideth him in the heart of him that is very repentaunt, right as the root of the tree hideth him in the earth. Of this roote of contrition springeth a stalke, that bereth braunches and leaues of confession, and fruit of satisfaction. For which Christ sayth in his gospell: * Doth digne fruite of penitence, for by this fruite men may knowe the tree, and not by the root that is hid in the heart of manne, ne by the braunches, ne the leaues of confession. And therefore our lord Iesu Christ saith thus: By the fruit of hem shall ye knowe hem. Of this root also springeth a seede of grace, the which seed is mother of all sikernesse, & this seed is eager & hote. The grace of this seed springeth of God, through remembraunce on y• day of doome, and on the paines of hell. Of this matter saith Salomon, * That in ye drede of God man forletteth his sinne. The heat of this seed is ye loue of God, and the desiring of the joy perdurable: This heat draweth the heart of man to God, & doth him hate his sinne: For soothly there is nothing that sauoureth so wel to a child, as ye milke of his nurce, ne nothing is to him more abhominable than that milke, when it is meddled with other meate. Right so the sinfull man y• loueth his sinne, him seemeth, that it is to him most sweete of any thing: but fro yt time hee loueth sadly our lord Iesu Christ, and desireth ye life perdurable, there is to him nothing more abhominable: for soothly, The law of God is ye loue of God. For which Dauid the prophet sayth: I haue loued thy law, and hated wickednesse: He that loueth God, keepeth his lawe & his word.

This tree saw the Prophet Daniel in spirit, on ye vision of Nabuchodonosor, when he counsayled him to doe penitence. Pennaunce is the tree of life, to hem that it receyue: & he that holdeth him in very penitence, is blessed, after the sentence of Salomon. In this penitence or contrition, man shall vnderstond foure things, that is to say: What is contrition, and which beene ye causes that moove a man to contrition, & how hee should be contrite, and what contrition auayleth to the soule. Then is it thus, that contrition is y• very sorrow yt a man receiueth in his heart for his sinnes, with sad purpose to shriue him, and to doe pennaunce, & neuer more to doe sinne: And this sorrow shal be in this manner, as sayeth Saint Bernard, * It shall be heauie and greeuous, and full sharpe & poinant in heart.

First, for a man hath agilted his Lord & his Creator, and more sharpe and poinaunt, for he hath agilted his father celestiall: And yet more sharpe and poynaunt, for hee hath wrathed and agilted him that boughte him, that with his precious bloud hath deliuered vs fro the bondes of sinne, and fro ye cruelte of the deuill, and from the paines of hell.

The causes yt ought moue a man to contricion bene fixe. First, a man shall remembre [Page] him of his sinnes, But loke that that remembraunce ne bee to him no delite, by no waye, but greate shame and sorowe for his sinnes. For Iob sayth, sinfull men done werkes worthie of confession. And therefore sayeth Ezechiell: * I woll remember me all ye yeres of my life, in the bitternesse of my herte. And God saieth in the Apocalipse: Remember ye from whence that ye been fall, for before that time that ye sinned, ye were children of God, and limmes of the reigne of God: But for your sinne ye ben waren thral and foule, & membres of ye fende: hate of Angels, slaunder of holye churche, and foode of the false Serpent, perpetuall matter of the fire of hell: And yet more foule and abhominable, for ye trespasse so oft times, as doeth an hounde that returneth ayen to eate his owne spewing: & yet be ye fouler, for your long continuing in sinne, and your sinfull vsage, for which ye bee roted in your sinne, as a beeste in his donge. Suche manner of thoughtes make a manne to have shame of his sinne, & no delite. As God saith, by ye Prophet Ezechiel: * Ye shall remembre you of your ways, and they shull displese you sothly. Sinnes ben the waies that lede folke to Hell.

THe second cause that ought make a man to have disdaine of sinne is this, that as saith saint Peter: * Who so doth sinne, is thrall of sinne, and sinne putteth a manne in great thraldome. And therefore saieth the prophet Ezechiell: * I went sorrowfull, in disdaine of my selfe. Certes, well ought a man have disdaine of sinne, and withdrawe him fro that thraldome and villany. And lo, wt saieth Seneke in this matter, he saith thus: * Though I wist, that neither God ne manne should neuer know it, yet would I have disdaine for to doe sinne. And the same Seneke also sayeth: * I am borne to greater thinge, than to be thrall to my body, or for to make of my body a thrall. Ne a fouler thrall may no man ne woman make of his bodie, than for to yeue his body to sinne, all were it the foulest churle, or the foulest woman that liueth, and least of value, yet is he then more foule, and more in seruitude. Euer fro the higher degree yt man falleth, the more is he thrall, and more to God and to the world vile and abhominable. O good God, well ought man have great disdaine of sinne, sith yt through sinne, there hee was free, he is made bond. And therefore saieth saint Augustine: * If thou hast disdaine of thy seruaunt, if hee offend or sinne, have thou then disdaine, that thou thy selfe shouldest do sinne. Take regard of thine own value, that thou ne bee too foule to thy selfe. Alas, well ought they then have disdaine to bee seruaunts and thralles to sinne, and sore to be ashamed of themself, that God of his endlesse goodnesse hath sette in high estate, or yeue hem witte, strength of bodye, heale, beautie, or prosperitie, and bought hem fro the death with his hert blood, that they so vnkindly ayenst his gentlenesse, quite him so villanously, to slaughter of her owne soules. Oh good God, ye women that been of great beautie, remembreth you on the prouerbe of Salomon, * He saieth he likeneth a faire woman, that is a foole of her bodie, to a ring of gold that were worne on the groine of a sow: For right as a sowe wroteth in euery ordure, so wroteth she her beautie in stinking ordure of sinne.

THe third cause that ought meue a man to contrition, is dread of the day of doome, and of the horrible pains of hell. For as saint Ierome sayeth: * At euery time that me remembreth of the day of doome, I quake: For when I eate and drinke, or what so that I do, euer seemeth me y• the trompe sowneth in mine eare: Riseth ye vp that been ded, and cometh to the judgement. O good God, muche ought a manne to drede such a judgment, there as we shall be all, * as Saint Poule sayeth, before the seat of oure Lorde Iesu Christ, whereas he shal make a generall congregation, whereas no man may bee absent, for certes there auaileth none essoyne ne excusation, and not onely, that our defaults shall be judged, but also that all our werkes shall openly be knowne. And as sayeth saint Bernard, * There ne shall no pleading auaile, ne no sleight: We shall yeue reckoning of euerie idle word. There shall we haue a judge that may not bee deceiued ne corrupt, and why? For certes, all our thoughts been discouered, as to him: ne for prayer ne for mede, he shall not be corrupt. And therefore saith Salomon: * The wrath of God ne woll not spare no wight, for prayer ne for yeft. And therefore at the day of doome there is no hope to escape. Wherfore, as saith saint Anselme: * Full great anguish shall ye sinnefull folke haue at yt time: There shall ye fiers & wroth iudge sitte aboue, and vnder him the horrible pitte of hell open, to destroy him yt must be knowe his sinnes, which sinnes openly beene shewed before God & before euery creature: And on the left side, mo Diuels than anie heart may thinke, for to hale and drawe the sinfull soules to the paine of hell: and within the hearts of folke shall be the biting conscience, and without forth shall bee the world all brenning: whither shall then the wretched sinful man flie to hide him? Certes he may not hide him, he must come forth and shewe him. For certes, as saith S. Ierom, the earth shall cast him out of it, and the see also, and y• ayre that shall be ful of thonder clappes and lightnings. Now sothly, who so well remembreth him of these thinges, I gesse that his sinne shall not turne him in delite, but to great sorrowe, for drede of the paine of hell. And therefore saith Iob to God: * suffer lord yt I may a while bewaile and wepe, er I goe without returning to the darke londe, couered with the derkenesse of death, to the londe of misese and of derkenesse, whereas is the shadowe of [Page] death, where as there is none order or ordinaunce, but fearfull drede that ever shall last. Lo, here may you see, that Iob prayed respite a while, to bewepe and waile his trespasse: For sothely one day of respite is better than all the treasure of this world. And for as much as a man may acquite himselfe before god by penitence in this world, & not by treasure, therefore should he pray to God to yeue him respite a while, to bewepe & waile his trespasse: for certes, all the sorow that a man might make fro y• beginning of the world, nis but a little thing, at regarde of the sorrow of hell. The cause why that Iob calleth hell the londe of derkenesse, understondeth that he calleth it londe or earth, for it is stable and never shall faile, & derke: For he that is in hell hath defaute of light materiall, for certes the derke light that shall come out of the fire that ever shall brenne, shall turn him all to pain ye is in hell, for it sheweth him to the horrible Diuels that him turmenteth, covered with ye derkenesse of death, that is to say, * That hee that is in hell, shall have defaut of ye sight of God: for certes the sight of god is ye life perdurable. The derknes of death, been y• sins that ye wretched man hath don, which that disturb him to see ye face of God, right as the derke cloud betwixt us and y• sunne. Londe of misese, because yt there been three maner of defautes ayenst three things that folke of this world have in this present life, that is to say: honours, delices, & richesse. Ayenst honour have they in hell shame and confusion: For well ye wote, that men call honour ye reverence y• man doth to man, but in hell is none honour ne reverence. For certes no more reverence shal be do there to a king, than to a knave. For which God sayth by the Prophet Ieremie: Those folke that me dispise, shal be in dispite. Honour is also called great lordeship: there shall no wight serve other: but of harme and turment. Honour is also called great dignitie and highnesse, but in hell shall they be all fortroden of divels. As God saith: the horrible Devils shall goe and come upon the heddes of damned folke: and this is, for as much as the higher that they were in this present life, y• more shall they be abated and defoiled in hell. Ayenste the richesse of this world shall they have misese of poverte, that shall be in four thinges. In defaut of treasure. Of which David saith: * The rich folk that embrace & knit all her hert to treasour of this world, shall sleep in the sleeping of death, and nothing ne shull they find in her hondes of all her tresour. And moreover, ye misease of hell shall be in defaut of meat and drinke. For God sayeth thus by Moyses: * They shall bee wasted with hunger, and the byrdes of hell shall devour hem with bitter death, and ye gall of the Dragon shall be her drinke, and y• venum of the Dragon her morsels. Also her misease shall be in defaut of clothing, for they shall be naked in bodie, as of clothing, saue the fire in which they brenne, and other filthes: and naked shall they be of soule, of all manner vertues, which that is ye clothing of the soule, Where been than the gay robes, ye soft shetes, and ye small sherts? Lo, what sayth God of hem by the Prophet Esaie, * That under hem shall bee strewed moughtes, and her covertures shall bee of worms of hell. Also her misease shall be in defaut of friends, for he is not poor ye hath good frends: but ther is no frend, for neither God ne no creature shall be frend to hem, and ech of hem shall hate other with deadly hate: The sonnes and the doughters shall rebell ayenst father and mother, and kinred ayenst kinred, chide, and dispise each other, both day and night, as God sayeth by the prophet Micheas: * And y• loving children that whilom loved so fleshly ech other, would ech of hem eat other if they might. * For how should they love together in the paines of hell, when they hated eche other in prosperity of this life? for trust well, her fleshly love was deedly hate. As saith y• Prophet David: Whoso that loveth wickednesse, he hateth his soul, and who so hateth his own soul, certes he may love none other wight in no maner: And therefore in hel is no solace ne no frendship, but ever ye more kinredes that ben in hell, y• more cursinges, the more chidinges, and ye more deadly hate there is among hem. Also they shall have defaut of all manner delices, for certes delices ben after the appetites of ye five wittes: As sight, hearing, smelling, favouring, and touching. But in Hell her sight shall be full of derkenesse and of smoke, & therefore full of teares, and her hearing full of wailing and grinting of teeth: As saith Iesu Christ. Her nosthrilles shall bee full of stinking. And, as saith Esay ye Prophet: Her savouring shall be full of bitter gall, & as touching of all her bodies, icovered with fire, that never shall quench, and with wormes that never shall die. As God sayth by y• mouth of Esay: and for as much as they shall not wene that they may die for pain, and by death flye fro pain, that they may understond in the wordes of Iob, that saieth: There is the shadow of death. Certes a shadow hath likenesse of the thing of which it is shadowed, but shadow is not the same thing of which it is shadowed: right so fareth the pain of Hell, it is like death, for ye horrible anguish. And why? For it paineth hem ever as though they shold die anon, but certes they shall not die. For as saith saint Greg. * To wretched caitiffes shall be death without death, and end without end, and defaut without fayling, for her death shall alway live, and her end shall ever more begin, and her defaut shall not faile.

And therefore sayth saint Iohn the Evangelist, * They shall follow death, & they shall not find him, and they shall desire to die, and death shall flie from hem. And also Iob saith, That in hell is no order or rule. And all be it so, y• God hath create all thing in right order, and nothing without order, but all things [Page] been ordred and numbred, yet nathelesse they that been dampned been nothing in order, ne hold none order, for ye earth ne shall bere hem no fruit. For, as the Prophet David sayth: God shall destroy ye fruit of the earth, as for hem, ne water, ne shall yeve hem no moisture, ne the ayre no refreshing, ne fire no light. For as saith saint Basilie: * The brenning of y• fire of this world shall God yeve in hell to hem that been dampned, but ye light and the clearnesse shall he yeve in Heaven to his children: right as good men yeve flesh to her children, and bones to her hounds. And for they shall have none hope to escape, sayeth sainct Iob at last, * That there shall terrour & gresly drede dwell without end. Horrour is alway drede that is to come, & this drede shall alway dwell in the hearts of hem that bee dampned. And therfore have they lost all her hope for seven causes. First, for God that is her judge shall be without mercy to hem, and they may not please him, ne none of his saints, ne they may not yeve nothing for her raunsome, ne they shall have no voice to speake to him, ne they may not fly fro pain, ne they have no goodnesse in hem yt they may shew to deliver hem fro pain. And therefore saith Salomon: * The wicked man dyeth, and when he is dead, he shall have no hope to escape fro paine. Who so then would well understond the paines, and bethinke him well that hee hath deserved those paines for his sinnes, certes he should have more talent to sighe and weepe, than for to singe and playe. For as saith Salomon, * Who so that had ye science to know the paines that ben ordained for sinne, he would make sorowe. That science, as saith Saint Austin, maketh a man to weiment in his heart.

THE fourth pointe that oughte make a man have contrition, is the sorowfull remembraunce of the good that hee hath left to doe heare in earthe, and also the good that he hath lost. Sothly the good werkes that hee hath lefte, either they be the good werkes that hee wrought er hee fell in deadly sinne, or else y• good werkes that hee wrought while hee laie in sinne. Sothly the good werkes that he did before that he fell in sinne, been all mortified, astoned, & dull by oft sinning. The werkes that hee did while hee lay in sin, he dead, as to ye life perdurable in heaven: then the good werkes that been mortified by oft sinning, which he did being in charite, may not quick ayen without very penitence. And of it sayth God by the mouth of Ezechiel: * If ye rightfull man retourn ayen fro his rightwisenesse and do wickednes, shall he live? nay, for all y• good werkes that hee hath do, ne shall neuer be in remembrance, for he shall die in his sinne. And upon y• chapter sayth saint Gregory thus, that wee shall understond this principally: * If y• we done deadly sinne, it is for nought then to rehearse or draw into memory the good werkes that wee have wrought before: for certes in the werking of deadly sinne, there is no trust ta no good werke yt we have doen before, that is to say, as for to have thereby the life perdurable in Heaven. But nathelesse, ye good werks quicken and come againe, and helpe and availe to have the life perdurable in Heaven, when we have contricion: but soothly y• good werkes that men don while they be in deedly sinne, for as much as they were doen in deedly sinne, they may never quicke: For certes, thing that never had life, may never quick: And nathelesse, albeit that they avail not to have the life perdurable, yet availe they to abredge of y• pain of hell, or els to get temporall richesses, or els that God woll y• rather enlumine or light the heart of y• sinfull man to have repentaunce, and eke they availe for to use a manne to do good werkes, that the feende have the lesse power of his soul. And thus the curteis Lord Iesu Christ, ne woll that no good work bee loste, for in somewhat it shall availe. But for as much as the good werkes that menne doen while they been in good life, been all amortised by sinne following: and also sithe that all ye good werkes that men doon while they bee in dedly sinne, been utterly dead, as for to have the life perdurable, well may that manne that no good werke ne doeth, sing that new fresh song (lay tout pardu mon temps, et mon labure.) * For certes sinne bereaveth a man both goodnesse of nature, & also the goodnesse of grace. For soothly the grace of the holy ghost, fareth like fire that may not be idle, for fire faileth anon as it foreletteth his werking: and right so grace fayleth anon, as it foreletteth his werking. Then leseth the sinfull man the goodnesse of glory, that only is beheight to good men that labour and werk. Well may he be sory then, that oweth all his life to God, as long as he hath lived, and also as long as he shall live, that no goodnesse ne hath to paie with his debt to God, to whom he oweth all his life: * for trust well he shall yeve accompts as sayth Saint Bernard, of all the goodes that have been yeve him in this present life, and how he hath hem dispended, in so much that there shall not perishe an heere of his hedde, ne a moment of an houre ne shall not perishe of his time, that hee ne shall yeve of it a reckoning.

THE fifthe thinge that ought to moove a man to contricion, is remembraunce of the passion that our Lorde Iesu Christ suffered for our sinnes. For as saieth saint Bernarde, * While that I live, I shall have remembraunce of the travailes, that our Lord Iesu Christ suffered in preaching, his wearinesse in travailing, his temptations when he fasted, his long wakings when he praied, his veares when that he wept for pite of good people: the woe, ye shame, and the filthe that men said to him: of the foule spitting that menne spitte in his face, of the buffettes that [Page] men yave him: of the foule mowes & of the reproves that men said to him: of the nailes with which hee was nailed to the crosse, and of all ye remnaunt of his passion, that he suffred for my sinnes, and nothing for his gilte.

And ye shall understond, yt in mans sinne is every manner order or ordinance, tourned up so doune. For it is soth, yt God, reason, sensualite, and the bodie of man, been ordained that eche of these four things should have lordship over that other: as thus, God should have lordship over reason, and reason over sensualite, and sensualite over the body of man. But sothly when man sinneth, all this order or ordinance, is turned up so doun. And therefore then, for as moche as reason of man, ne woll not be subject ne obeysaunt to God, that is his Lord by right, therefore leseth it the worship that it should have over sensualite, and also over the bodie of manne. And why? For sensualite rebelleth than ayenst reason: and by that way leeseth reason the lordship over sensualite, and over the body: For right as reason is rebell to God, right so is both sensualite rebell to reason, and to the body also. And certes this disordinaunce & this rebellion, our Lord Iesu Christ bought upon his precious body full deere: and herkeneth in what wise. * For as much then as reason is rebell to God, therefore is man worthy to have sorow, and to be dede. This suffred our Lord Iesu Christ for manne, after that he had be betraied of his disciple, & distrained and bound, so that his blood brast out at every naile of his hondes, as saith S. Augustin. And ferthermore, for as much as reason of manne, woll not daunt sensualite, when it may, therefore is manne worthy to have shame: and this suffered our Lord Iesu Christ for man, when they spit in his visage. And ferthermore, for as muche then as the caitiffe body of man, is rebell both to reason & to sensualite, therefore it is worthy death: & this suffered our Lord Iesu Christ upon ye Crosse, whereas there was no part of his body free, without great paine and bitter passion: & all this suffred our Lord Iesu Christ that never forfaited. And therefore reasonably may be said of Iesu in this maner: To much am I pained, for things that I never deserved: and to much defouled for shame that man is worthy to have. And therefore may the sinfull man well say, as sayth saint Bernard: * Accursed be the bitternesse of my sinne, for whiche there must bee suffered so much bitternesse. For certes, after the divers discordance of our wickednesse, was the passion of Iesu Christ ordained in divers things, as thus: Certes sinfull mannes soul is betraied of the Divell, by covetise of temporall prosperite, and scorned by deceit, when that he cheseth fleshly delices, and yet it is turmented by impatience of adversity, and bespet by servage and subjection of sinne, and at the last it is slain finally. For this disordinaunce of sinfull man, was Iesus Christ first betraid, and after that was hee bound, that came for to unbind us of sinne and of paine. Then was he bescorned, that only should have bee honoured in all things. Then was his visage that ought be desired to bee seen of all mankind (in which visage Angels desire to look) villainously bespet. Then was he scourged that nothing had trespassed, and finally, then was he crucified & slain. Then was accomplished the words of Esaie: * He was wounded for our misdeeds, and defoiled for our felonies. Now sith that Iesu Christ took on him the pain of all our wickednesses, moche ought sinfull man wepe and bewaile, that for his sinnes, Gods sonne of Heaven should all this pain endure.

THE Sixt thing that should meve a man to contricion, is the hope of thre things, that is to say: forye venesse of sinne, and the gift of grace for to doe well, and the glory of Heaven with whiche God shall rewarde manne for his good deeds: And for as much as Iesu Christ, yeveth us these gifts of his largenesse, and of his Sovereigne bountie, therefore is hee called (Iesus Nazarenus Rex Iudeorum) Iesus is to say, saviour or salvation, on whom men shal hope to have foryevenesse of sinnes, which that is properly salvation of sinnes. And therefore sayd the Angell to Ioseph, Thou shalt call his name Iesus, that shall save his people of her sinnes. And hereof saith Saint Peter: * There is none other name under Heaven, that is yeve to any man, by which a man may be saved, but onely Iesus. Nazarenus is as much for to say, as flourishing, in which a man shall hope that hee that yeveth him remission of sinnes, shall yeve him also grace well for to doe. * I was at the doore of thine herte, sayth Iesus, and called for to enter: He that openeth to me, shall have foryevenesse of his sinne. I woll enter into him by my grace, and sup with him by the good werkes that hee shall doe, which werkes been the food of the soule, and he shall suppe with me, by the great joye that I shall yeve him. Thus shall man hope for his werkes of penaunce, that GOD shall yeve him his reign, as he behight him in the Gospell. Now shall a man understonde, in which manner shall be his contricion: I say, that it shall be universall and totall, this is to say: a man shall be very repentant for all his sinnes that hee hath dooen in delite of his thought, for it is right perillous.

For there been two manner of consentings that one of hem is called consenting of affection, when a man is moved to do sin, and then deliteth him longe, for to think on that sinne, & his reason apperceiveth it wel, that it is sinne ayenst the Law of God, and yet his reason refraineth not his foule delite on talent, though he see well apertly, yt it is ayenst the reverence of God, although his reason consent not to do yt sinne indeed: yet say some Doctours, that soche delite that [Page] dwelleth longe is full perillous, albeit never so little. And also a man should sorrow, namely for all that ever he hath desired ayenst the Law of God, with perfite consenting of his reason, for thereof is no doubte, that it is deadly sinne in consenting: for certes there is no deadly sinne, but that it is first in mans thought, and after that in his delite, and so forth into consenting, and into deed. Wherfore I say that many men, ne repent hem never of such thoughts and delices, ne never shrive hem of it, but only of the deed of great sinnes outward: wherefore, I say that soche wicked delites been subtill begilers of hem that shall be dampned.

Moreover, man ought to sorowe for his wicked words, as well as for his wicked deeds: for certes the repentance of a singuler sinne, and not repentant of all his other sins: or else repent him of all his other sinnes, and not of a singuler sinne, may not availe: * For certes GOD almighty is all good, and therefore, either he foryeveth all, or else right nought. And therefore saith saint Augustin: I wote certainly, that God is enemy to every sinner: and how then hee that observeth one sinne, shall hee have foryevenesse of those other sinnes? Nay. And moreover, contricion should bee wonder sorowfull and anguishous: and therefore yeveth him God plainly his mercy: and therefore when my soul was anguished, and sorowful within me, then had I remembrance of God, yt my prayer might come to him. Ferthermore, contricion must be continuall, and that manne have stedfast purpose to shrive him, and to amend him of his life. For sothly while contricion lasteth, man may ever hope to have foryevenes. And of this cometh hate of sinne, that destroyeth both sinne in himself, and also in other folke at his power. For which saith David: * They that love God, hate wickednesse: For to love GOD, is for to love that he loveth, and hate that he hateth. The last thing yt men shall understand is this, Wherefore availeth contrition? I say, yt contricion sometime delivereth man fro sinne: Of which David saith, I say (said David) I purposed firmely to shrive me, and thou Lord releasedest my sin. And right so as contricion availeth not without sad purpose of shrift, if man have oppertunity, right so little worth is shrift or satisfaction without contrition. And moreover contricion destroyeth the prison of hell, and maketh weak and feeble all the strengths of the Devils, and restoreth the yeftes of the holy Ghost, and of all good vertues, and it cleanseth the soule of sinne, and delivereth it fro the paine of hell, and fro the company of the Devill, and fro the servage of sinne, and restoreth it to all goods spirituals, and to the company and communion of holy Church. Ferthermore, it maketh him that whilome was sonne of yre, to be the sonne of Grace: And all these things been prooved by holy writ. And therefore he that would set his entent to these things, he were full wise: for truly he ne should have then in all his life courage to sinne, but yeve his heart and body to serve Christ, and thereof doe him homage. For truly our Lord hath spared us so meekly in our foilies, that if he ne had pity of mans soule, a sorry song might we all sing.

Explicit prima pars poenitentiae: & incipit pars secunda.

2

THE second part of penitence is Confession, that is a signe of contricion. Now shull yee understond what is Confession, and it ought needs bee doen or no: and which thinges be covenable to very confession.

First shalt thou understonde, that confession is very shewing of sinnes to the Priest: this is to say very, for hee must confesse him of all the conditions that belong to his sin, as ferforthe as hee can: all must bee sayed, and nothing excused ne hid, * And not avaunt thee of thy good werkes. Also it is necessarie to understonde whence that sinnes springe, and howe they entere, and which they beene.

Of the spring of sins, saith Saint Poule in this wise: * That right as by one man sinne entred first into this world, and through sin death, right so the death entreth into all men that sinne: and this man was Adam, by whom sin entred into this world, when he broke the commandment of God. And therfore he that first was so mighty, that hee ne shuld have died, became so that he must needs die, whether he would or no, and all his progenie in this world, that in the sayed man sinned. Look that in the estate of innocency, when Adam and Eve were naked in Paradise, and shamed not hereof, how the serpent, wilyest of all other beasis y• GOD made, said to the woman: Why commanded God you, that ye should not eate of every tree in Paradise: The woman answered: Of the fruit said she of trees of Paradise we feed us, but of the fruit of the middle tree of Paradise God forbode us to eate and touch, least wee should die. The Serpent sayd to the woman: Nay, nay, ye shall not die of death, for sooth God wotte, that what day that ye eate thereof your eyen shall open, and ye shall be as gods, knowing good & harme. The woman then saw that the tree was good to feeding, and fair to the eyen, and delectable to sight, she took of the fruit of the tree and did eat, and yave to her husbond, and he eat, and anon the eyen of hem both opened: & when that they knewe that they were naked, they sowed of Figg leaves in manner of breches, to hide her members. There may ye see That deadly sin hath first suggestion of the sende, as sheweth here by the Adder: and afterward the delight of the flesh, as sheweth by Eve, & after that, consenting of reason, as sheweth here by Adam. For trust well, though so it [Page] were, that the fende tempted Eve, that is to say, the flesh, and the flesh had delight in the beauty of the fruit defended: yet certes till that reason, that is to say, Adam consented to the eating of the fruit, yet stoode hee in the state of innocency. Of the sayd Adam tooke wee the sayd originall sinne, for of him fleshly discended bee wee all, and engendred of vile and corrupt matter: And when the soule is put in our bodies, right anon is contract originall sinne, and that that was erst, but onely pain of concupiscence, is afterward both paine and sinne: and therefore wee been all borne sonnes of wrath, and of dampnation perdurable, if it nere Baptisme that wee receive, which benimmeth us the coulpe: but forsoth the pine dwelleth with us as to temptation, which pine hight concupiscence. This concupiscence when it is wrongfully disposed or ordained in man, it maketh him covet by covetise of flesh, fleshly sin by sight of his eyen, as to yerthly thinges, and also covetise of highnesse by pride of heart.

Now as to speake of the first covetise, that is concupiscence, after the law of our members, that were lawfully made, and by rightfull judgment of God, I say, * For as much as man is not obeisant to God, that is his Lorde, therefore is the flesh to him disobeisaunt through concupiscence, whiche is called nourishing of sinne, and occasion of sinne. Therefore, all the while that a manne hath within him the pine of concupiscence, it is impossible, but he bee tempted sometime, and moved in his flesh to sin. And this thing may not faile as long as he liveth. It may well wax feeble by vertue of Baptisme, and by the grace of God through penitence, but fully ne shall it never quench, that hee ne shall sometime be mooved in himself, but if he were all refrained by sicknesse, or by malice of sorcery, or cold drinks. For lo, what saith S. Poule: the flesh coveteth ayenst the spirite, and the spirite ayenst the flesh: they been so contrary and so striven, that a manne may not alway do as he would. The same S. Poule, after his great Pennance, in water and in lond: in water by night and by day, in great peril, and in great paine: in londe, famine and thurst, cold and clothlesse, and ones stoned almost to death: Yet (said he) alas, I caitiffe manne, who shall deliver me fro the prison of my caitiffe body? And saint Ierom, when hee long time had dwelled in desert, whereas hee had no company but of wilde beastes, where as hee had no meate, but herbes, and water to drinke, ne no bed, but the naked earth, wherefore his flesh was blacke, as an Ethyopian for heat, and nie destroyed for cold: Yet (said he) that the brenning of lechery boyled in all his body. Wherefore I wot well that they bee deceived that say, they be not tempted in her bodies. Witnes S. Iames that saith, * That every wight is tempted in his owne conscience, y• is to say: That ech of us hath matter and occasion, to be tempted of the norishing of sinne, that is in his body. And therfore saith saint Iohn the Evangelist: If wee say that we been without sinne, wee deceive our selfe, and truth is not in us. Now shall ye understond, how sin waxeth and increaseth in man. The first thing is the same nourishing of sinne, of which I spake before, the fleshly concupiscence: and after that, commeth suggestion of the Devill, this is to say, ye Devils belous, with which he bloweth in man, the fire of concupisence: & after that, a man bethinketh him whether hee woll doe or no that thing to which he is tempted. And then if a man withstond and weive the first intising of his flesh, and of the fiend, then it is no sinne: and if so be he doe not, then feeleth he anon a flame of delight, and then it is good to beware and keep him well, or els he woll fall anone to consenting of sinne, and then woll he do it, if hee may have time and place. And of this matter sayth Moyses by the Devill, in this manner: The fiend sayth, I woll chace and pursue man by wicked suggestion, and I woll take him by mooving and [...]irring of sinne, and I woll depart my prise of my preie by deliberation, and my lust shall be accomplished in delight, I woll draw my swerd in consenting. For certes, right as a swerde departeth a thing in two peeces, right so consenting departeth God fro manne, and then woll I slea him with my honde in deede of sinne: thus sayth the fiend. For certes, then is a man all dead in soule, and thus is sinne accomplished with temptation, by delite and consenting: and then is the sin actuall. Forsooth sinne is in two maners, either it is veniall, or deadly sin. * Sothly, when man loveth any creature, more than Iesu Christ our Creatour, then it is deadly sin: and veniall sin it is, if a man love Iesu Christ lesse than him ought. Forsooth the deed of this veniall sin is full perillous, for it minisheth the love that man should have to God, more & more. And therefore if a man charge himselfe with many such veniall sins, certes, but if so be yt he sometime discharge him of hem by shrift, they may full lightly minish in him all the love that he hath to Iesu Christ: and in this wise skippeth veniall sinne into deadly sinne. For certes, the more that a man chargeth his soule with veniall sinnes, the more hee is enclined to fall into deadly sin. And therefore let us not be negligent, to charge us of veniall sinnes. For the Proverb saith, * That many small make a great. Hearken this ensample: A great wave of the sea commeth sometime with so great a violence, yt it drouneth the shippe. And the same harme dooth sometime the small drops of water, that entereth through a little creveis into the timber, and into the bottom of the ship, if men be so negligent, that they discharge hem not by times. And therefore although there be a difference betwixt these two causes of drowning, algates the ship is drouned. Right so fareth it sometime of deadly sin, and of annoious veniall [Page] sinnes, when they multiplie in man so greatly, that those worldly thinges that hee loueth, through which hee sinneth venially, is as great in his heart as ye loue of God, or more: & therefore the loue of euery thing yt is not beset in God, ne done principally for Gods sake, although that a man loue it lesse than God, yet is it veniall sinne; and deadly sin, when the loue of any thing weigheth in the heart of man, as much as ye loue of God, or more. Deadly sinne, as saith saint Augustine, is, * When a man turneth his heart fro God, whiche that is very soueraigne bounty, that may not chaunge, and yeueth his heart to thing that may chaunge and flit: and certes, that is euerie thing saue God of heauen. For sooth is, yt if a man yeue his loue, which that he oweth to God with all his heart, vnto a creature, certes, as much of loue as he yeueth to the same creature, so muche he bireaueth fro God, and therefore doth he sinne: for he that is debitour to God, ne yeldeth not to God all his debt, yt is to say, all the loue of his heart. Nowe sith man vnderstondeth generallye which is veniall sinne, then it is couenable to tell specially of sin, which that many a man, peraduenture, deemeth hem no sinnes, and shriueth him not of the same things, and yet nathelesse they be sins soothly, as these Clerkes write, this is to say: * At euery tyme that manne eateth or drinketh more than sufficeth to the sustenance of his body, in certain he doth sinne: and also when he speaketh more than it needeth, it is sinne.

Also when he hearkeneth not benignely the complainte of the poore: Also when hee is in heale of bodie, and woll not fast when other folk fast, without cause reasonable: Also when he sleepeth more than needeth, or when he cometh perchance to late to the Church, or to other werkes of charitie: Also when he vseth his wife without soueraigne desire of engendrure, to the honour of God, or for the entent to yeeld to his wife debte of his bodie. Also when he woll not visite the sicke, or the prisoner, if he may. Also if he loue wife or child, or other worldly thing, more than reason requireth. Also if he flatter or blandise more than him ought for any necessitie. Also if he minish or withdrawe the almose of the poore. Also if he apparaile his meat more deliciously than need is, or eat too hastily by lickorousnes. Also, if he talke vanities at Church, or at Gods seruice, or that he be a talker of idle words, of folly or villanie, for he shall yeeld accompts of it at the day of doome. Also, when hee behighteth or assureth to doe thinges that hee maie not perfourme. Also, when that hee by lightnesse or folly, missayeth or scorneth his neighbour. Also, when he hath any wicked suspection of thing, that hee ne wote of sothfastnesse. These things and mo without number be sinnes, as sayth S. Augustine. Nowe shall men vnderstonde, that all be it so that none earthly manne may eschewe all veniall sins, yet may he refrain hem, by the brenning loue that he hath to our Lord Iesu Christ, and by prayers and confession, and other good workes, so that it shall be but little grief. For as saith S. Augustine: * If a man loue God in such manner, that all that euer he doth is the loue of God, or for the loue of God verily, for he brenneth in the loue of God: looke how much that one droppe of water, which doth fall into a great furnace full of fire, annoieth or greueth the brenning of the fire: in like manner annoieth or greueth a venial sin, vnto that man which is stedfast and perfite in the loue of our Sauiour Iesu Christ. Ferthermore, men may also refraine and put awaie veniall sinne, by commening and receiuing worthely ye body of our Sauiour Iesu Christ. Also, by taking of holy water, by almosedeed, by generall confession of Confite or at Masse, and at Complin, and by blessings of Bishops and Priests, and by other good workes.

De septem peccatis mortalibus, & de eorum dependentiis, circumstantiis, & speciebus.

NOw it is expedient to tell whiche been the seauen deadly sinnes, that is to say, chiefetaines of sinnes. All they ren in o lees, but in diuers manners.

Now been they called seauen sinnes, for as much as they bee chiefe, and springe of all other sinnes. Of the roote of these seauen sins, then is Pride the generall root of all harms. For of this roote springeth certaine braunches: as Ire, Enuie, Accidie or Slouth, Auarice or Couetise, (to common vnderstonding) Gluttonie, and Lecherie: and each of these chief sinnes haue her braunches and twigs, as it shall bee declared in her Chapiters following. And though so bee that no manne can vtterly tell the number of twigges, and of the harmes that come of Pride, yet woll I shew a part of hem, as ye shall vnderstond. There is inobedience, auaunting, ipocrisie, dispite, errogance, impudence, swelling of hert, insolence, elation, impatience, strife, contumacie, presumption, irreuerence, pertinacie, vaineglorie, and many other twigs that I cannot declare. Inobedience, is he that disobeyeth for dispite, the commaundements of God, to his soueraignes, and to his ghostly father. Auaunter, is he that boasteth of the harme or of the bounty y• he hath done. Ipocrite, is he that hideth to shew him such as he is, and sheweth him to seme such as he is not. Dispitous, is he that hath disdain of his neibour, that is to saie, of his euin Christen, or hath dispite to do that him ought to do. Errogance, is hee that thinketh that hee hath those bounties in him that hee hath not, or weneth that hee shoulde haue hem by his deserts, or else that he deemeth, he is that he is not. Impudent, is he that for his pride, hath no shame of his pride ne sinne. Swelling of heart, is when man rejoyceth him of harme [Page] that he hath done. Insolence, is he that dispiseth in his judgement all other folke, as in regarde of his value, of his cunning, of his speaking, and of his bering. Elation, is when hee ne may neither suffer to haue maister ne fellowe. Impatience, is he that woll not be taught, ne rebuked of his vice, and by strife denyeth truth wittingly, and defendeth his folly. Contumacie, is he that through his indignation, is ayenst euerie aucthoritie or power of hem y• been his Soueraines. Presumption, is when a manne vndertaketh an emprise that him ought not to do, or els that he may not doe, and this is called surquidie. Irreuerence, is when man doth not honour there as him ought to do, and looke to be reuerenced. Pertinacie, is when men defende her folly, and trust too much on her own wit. Vaineglorie, is for to haue pomp, & delight in his temporall highnesse, and glorye him in worldly estates. Iangling, is when men speak too muche before folke, and clappeth as a mill, and take no keepe what they say.

And yet there is a priuie spece of pride, that waiteth first to bee salewed, or he woll salew, all be he lesse worthye than that other is. And also he waiteth or desireth to sit, or else to go aboue him in the way, or kisse paxe, to be encenced, or go to offring before his neighbour, and suche semblable thinges, ayenst his duetie peraduenture, but that hee hath his heart and his entent in suche a proude desire to be magnified and honoured before the people.

Now ben there two maner of prides. One of hem is within the heart of a man, and that other is without. Of whiche foresayd things soothly, and mo than I haue sayd, appertaine to pride, that is in the heart of man, and other speces of pride been without: but nathelesse, that one of these speces of pride, is signe of that other, right as the gaye leuesell at the Tauerne, is signe of the wine that is in the Seller. And this is in many thinges: as in speeche and countenaunce, and outragious arraye of clothing: for certes, if there had ben no sinne in clothing, Christ would not so sone haue noted and spoken of the clothing of the rich menne in the Gospell. And as S. Greg. saith, * That precious cloathing is culpable for the dearth of it, and for his softnesse, and for his straungenesse and disguising: and for the superfluitie, or for the inordinate scantnes of it. Alas, may not a man see as in our daies, the sinnefull costlewe arraie of clothing, and namely in too much superfluitie, or else in too disordinate scantnesse.

As to the firste sin in superfluity of cloathinge, suche that maketh it so deare, to the harme of the people, not onely the coste of enbroudering, the disguised endenting, or barring, ounding, paling, winding, or bending, and semblable wast of cloth in vanitie: but there is also the costlewe Furring in her gounes, so much pounsing of chesell to make holes, so muche dagging of Sheres, with the superfluitie in length of the foresaide gounes, trayling in ye dong and in ye myre, on horse and also on foot, as well of manne as of woman: that all that trayling is verely (as in effect) wasted, consumed, thredbare, and rotten with doung, rather than it is yeue to the poore, to great dammage of the foresaid pore folke, and that in sundrie wise: this is to say, that the more the cloth is wasted, the more must it cost to the poore people for the scarcenesse. And moreouer, if so be that they would yeue suche pounsed and dagged clothing to the poore people, it is not conuenient to were for her estate, ne sufficient to her necessitie, to keepe hem fro the distemperaunce of the firmament. Vpon that other side, to speake of the horrible disordinate scantnesse of clothing, as been these cutted sloppes or hanselines, that through her shortenesse couer not the shameful members of man, to wicked entent. Alas, some of hem shew the bosse of her shape, and the horrible swole members that semeth like the maladie of Hernia, in the wrapping of her hosen, and also the buttocks of hem fare as it were the hinder parte of a she Ape in the full of the moone. And moreouer the wretched swoln members that they shew throughe disguising, in departing of her hosen, in white and redde, seemeth that half her shamefull priuy members were flaine. And if so be that they departe her hosen in other colours, as is white and blewe, or white and blacke, or blacke & redde, and so forth: Then seemeth it as by variaunce of colour that the halfe part of her priue members ben corrupt by the fire of saint Anthonie, or by canker, or other suche mischaunce. Of the hinder parte of the buttockes it is full horrible for to see, for certes in that partie of her bodie there as they purge her stinking ordure, that foul partie shew they to the people proudly in dispite of honestie, which honestie that Iesu Christe and his freends obserued to shew in her life. Now as to the outragious arraie of women, God wot, yt though the visages of some of hem seem full chast and debonaire, yet notifie in her aray or attire, licorousnes and pride: I say not that honestie in clothing of man or woman is vncouenable, but certes the superfluitie of disordinate quantitie of clothing is reprouable. Also the sinne of ornament or of apparaile, is in things that appertaine to riding, as in companie, delicate horses that ben holden for delight, y• been so faire, fatte, and costlewe, and also in many a nice knaue, that is sustained because of hem, in curious harneis, as in saddles, cropers, peitrels, and bridles couered with precious clothing, and rich barres of plates of gould and of siluer. For which God saith by Zacharie the Prophet, I woll confounde the riders of suche horses. These folke take little regarde of ye riding of Goddes sonne of heauen, and of his harneis, when he rode vpon the Asse, and had none other harneis but the poore clothes of his disciples [Page] ne we read not that euer hee rode on other beest. I speak this for ye sinne of superfluitie, and not for reasonable honeste, when reason it requireth. And moreouer, certes pride is greatly notified in holding of great meine, when they been of little profite or of right no profite, & namely when that meine is felonous and dammageous to the people by hardinesse of high lordship, or by way of offices. For certes, such Lordes sell then her lordshippe to the Deuil of Hell, when they sustain the wickednesse of her meine. Or else, when these folke of low degree, as those that keep hostleries, susteine thefte of her hostellers, and that is in many manner of deceits: those maner of folk been ye flyes that follow the honie, or else the hounds that follow the caraine. Suche foresayde folke strangle spirituelly her lordeships: For suche, thus saith David the Prophet: * Wicked death might come on those lordeshippes, and God yeve that they might descend into hell, all downe, all downe: For in her houses been iniquities and shrewdnesse, and not God of heaven. And certes, till they done amendment, right as God yaue his blessing to Pharao by the seruice of Ioseph, and to Laban by the seruice of Iacob: Right to God will yeue his curse to such lordeshippes as sustaine the wickednesse of her seruaunts, but they come to amendment. Pride of the table appeareth also full oft: for certes, riche menne bee called to feasts, and poore folke been put away and rebuked. And also in excesse of diuers meates and drinkes, and namely such manner bake meates and dishe meates brenning of wilde fire, peinted and castelled with paper and semblable wast, so that it is abusion to think. And also in too great preciousnesse of vessell, and curiositie of minstralcie, by which a man is sterred more to delices of lecherye, if so bee that he sette his hearte the lesse vppon oure Lord Iesu Christ, certainely it is a sinne. And certainely the delices myght bee so great in this case, that a manne might lightly fall by hem into deadly sinne. The especes that sourde of pride, soothly when they sourde of malice imagined, auysed, and forecaste, or els of vsage, ben deadly sinne, it is no doubt. And when they sourde by freelte vnauised sodenly, and sodaynely withdraw ayen, all be they greuous sinnes, I gesse that they be not deadly. Nowe might menne aske, whereof that pride sourdeth and springeth. I say that somtime it springeth of ye goods of nature, sometime of the goodes of fortune, and sometime of the goodes of grace. Certes the goodes of nature stondeth onely in goodes of bodye, or goodes of the soule. Certes, goodes of body ben hele of body, strength, deliuernesse, beauty, gentrie, franchise. Goodes of nature of the soule, ben good with sharpe vnderstonding, subtill engine, vertue naturall, good memory. Goodes of fortune, be riches, hie degrees of lordships, praysinges of the people. Goodes of grace, ben science, power to suffice spirituell trauaile, benigne, vertuous contemplation, vnderstonding of temptation, and semblable thinges: of which foresayd goods, certes it is a full great folly, a manne to haue pride in any of hem all. Now, as for to speak of goods of nature, God wote that sometime we haue hem in nature as much to our damage as to our profite. As to speake of hele of body, truely it passeth full lightly, and also it is full oft occasion of sicknesse of the soul: for God wote, * The flesh is a great enemy to the soul: and therfore the more that the body is whole, the more we be in peril to fall. Also for to haue pride in his strength of body, it is an hie folly: for certes ye flesh coueteth ayenst the spirite: and the more strong that the flesh is, the sorrier may the soule be. And ouer all, this strength of body and worldly hardinesse causeth full ofte many man to perill & mischaunce. And also to have pride of gentry, is right great folly: * For oft time the gentry of the body taketh away the gentry of the soule: and also we been all of o father and mother: & all we ben of o nature, rotten and corrupt, both rich and poore. Forsooth o manner gentry is for to praise, that apparelleth mannes courage: wit, vertue, and morality, maketh him Christs child. * For trust well, That ouer what man that sinne hath maystry, he is a very churle to sinne.

Now been there generall signes of gentlenesse: as eschewing of vice and ribaudrye, and seruage of sinne: in word, in werke, and continuance & vsing of vertue, courtesie, and cleanenesse, and to bee liberall: that is to say, large by measure: for that that passeth measure, is folly and sin: Another is to remember him of bounty, that he of other folk hath receiued: Another is to be benigne to his good subjects. Wherefore saith Senecke: * There is nothing more couenable to a manne of high estate, than debonairtie and pity. And therefore these flies that men call bees, when they make her king, they chese one that hath no pricke wherewith he may sting.

Another is, manne to haue a noble heart and a dilligent, to attaine to the high vertuous things. Now certes, a manne to haue pride in y• goods of grace, is also an outragious folly: for those gifts of grace that should haue tourned him to goodnesse, and to medicine, tourneth him to venome and confusion, as saith saint Gregorie. Certes also, who so hath pride in the goodnesse of fortune, he is a full great foole: For sometime is a manne a great lord by the morne, that is a caitiffe and a wretche or it bee night: and sometime the riches of a man is cause of his death. Sometime the delices of a manne is cause of greeuous maladie, through which he dieth. Certes, the commendation of ye people is sometime full false and brotell for to trust. This day they praise, to morrow they blame. God wote, desire to haue commendation of the [Page] people, hath caused death to manie a busie manne. Now sith that so is, that yee have vnderstond what is pride, and which bee the speces of it, and whence it sourdeth & springeth: now yee shall vnderstond which is the remedie ayenst it. Humility or meekenesse is the remedy ayenst pride, that is a vertue, thorow which a manne hath very knowledge of himselfe, and holdeth of himselfe nor price ne daintie, as in regard of his desertes, considering euer his freelte. Now been there three manner of humilities: As humility in heart, another humility is in mouth, and the third is in works. The humility in hert is in foure manners: That one is, when a man holdeth himselfe as nought worth before God of heauen. The second is, when he despiseth none other man. The third is, when hee ne recketh nat though men holde him nought worth. And the fourth is, when he is not sorry of his humiliation. Also the humility of mouth is in four things. In a temperate speech, in humility of speech, & when he confesseth with his own mouth, that he is such as him thinketh that he is in his heart: Another is, when he praiseth the bounty of another man & nothing thereof minisheth. Humilitie also in werke, is in four maners. The first is, when he putteth other men before him, the second is, to these the lowest place ouer al, the third is, gladly to assent to good counsail, the fourth is, to stond gladly to the award of his souereigns, or of him that is in hier degre: Certain this is great werke of humilitie.

¶De Invidia.

AFter pride woll I speak of the foul sin of Enuye, which that is after the worde of the Philosopher, sorowe of other mens prosperitie. And after the worde of Saint Augustine: * It is the sorow of other mens weal, and the ioy of other mens harme. This foule sinne is platly ayenst the holy Ghost: All be it so, that euerie sinne is ayenst the holy Ghoste, Yet nathelesse, for as much as bountie appertaineth properly to the holy Ghost, and Enuy cometh properly of malice, therefore it is properly ayenst the bountie of the holye Ghost. Now hath malice two speces, that is to say, hardnes of hart in wickednes, or else the flesh of a manne is so blind, that he considreth not that he is in sinne, or recketh not that he is in sinne, which is the hardinesse of the Diuell. That other spece of Enuie is, when that a man dennieth trouth, when he knoweth that it is trouth, and also when he repenteth the grace that god hath yeue to his neighbour: and all this is by Enuie. Certes, then is Enuie the worst sin that is, for soothly all other sins be sometime onely ayenst a special vertue: but certes, enuy is ayenst all vertues and all goodnesse. For it is sory ayenst all the bounties of her neighbour, and in this manner it is diuers from all other sins. Alas: * For there ne is any sin that it ne hath some delight in it self, saue only Enuy, that euer hath in it self anguish & sorrow. The speces of Enuy ben these: there is first sorrow of other mennes goodnesse and of her prosperitie, and prosperitie is kindly matter of joy: Then is enuy a sinne ayenst kind. The second spece of Enuy, is ioy of other mennes harme, and that is properly like to ye Diuell, that euer reioyseth him of mannes harme. Of these two backbiting or detracting hath certain speces, as thus: Some manne praiseth his neighbor by a wicked entent, for he maketh alway a wicked knot at the last end: alway he maketh a but at the last end, that is digne of more blame, than is worth all the praising. The second spece is, that if a man be good, or doth or sayth a thing to good intent, ye backbiter woll turn all that goodnesse vp so doun, to his shrewd entent. The third is, to amonish the bountie of his Neyghbour. The fourth spece of backbiting is this, that if menne speak goodnesse of a manne, then wol the backbiter say: Perfay such a manne is yet better than he, in dispraising of him that menne prayse. The fifth spece is this, for to consent gladly and herk gladly to the harm that men speak of other folk: This sinne is full great, & aye encreaseth after the wicked entent of ye backbiter. After backbiting commeth grutching or murmuration, and sometime it springeth of impatience ayenst God, and sometime ayenst manne. Ayenst God it is when a man grutcheth ayenst ye pain of hel, or ayenst pouertie, or losse of cattel, or ayenst rain or tempest, or els grutcheth that shrews haue prosperitie, or else for that good menne haue aduersitie: and all these things should menne suffer patiently, for they come by the rightful judgment and ordinaunce of God. Sometime cometh grutching of auarice, as Iudas grutched ayenst Maudelein, when she annointed the head of our Lord Iesu Christ with her precious oyntment. This manner murmuring is such as when man grutcheth of goodnesse that himself doth, or that other folk doen of her own cattel. Sometime cometh murmure of pride, as when Simon the Pharisee grutched ayenst Maudelein when she approched to Iesu Christ and wept at his feet for her sins. And sometime it sourdeth of Enuie, when men discouer a mans harm that was priuy, or beareth him on hond thing that is false. Murmure also is ofte among servaunts that grutch when her souereigns bid hem do lefull thinges, and for as much as they dare not openly withsaye the commaundment of her souereigns, yet wol they say harme and grutche and murmure priuely for very spight: which words they call the diuels Pater noster, though so be that the diuel had neuer Pater noster, but that lewd [Page] folke yeueth it such a name. Sometime it cometh of yre or priuie hate, that norisheth rancour in ye heart, as afterward I shall declare. Then cometh also bitternesse of heart, thorow which bitternesse, euery good deed of his neighbor semeth to him bitter and unsauery. Then cometh discord yt vnbindeth all maner of friendship. Then commeth scorning of his neighbour, all doe he neuer so well. Then commeth accusing, as when a man seeketh occasion to annoy his neighbor, which is like the craft of the diuel, that waiteth both daye and night to accuse vs all. Then cometh malignity, through which a manne annoieth his neighbour priuily if he may, and if he maye not, algate his wicked will shall not let, as for to brenne his house priuily, or enpoison or s [...]ea his beastes, and semblable things. Now woll I speak of the remedie ayenst this foul sin of enuie. First is the loue of God principally, and louing of his neighbour as himselfe: for soothly that one ne may not be without that other. And trust well that in the name of thy neighbour thou shalt understand the name of thy brother, for certes all we haue one father fleshly, and one mother, that is to say, Adam and Eue: and also one father spirituel, that is God of heauen. Thy neighbor art thou bound for to loue, and will him all goodnesse, and therefore sayth God: Loue thy neighbor as thy self, that is to say, to saluation both of life and soul. And moreouer thou shalt loue him in word and in benig [...]e admonishing and chastising, and comfort him in his noyaunces, and praye for him withal thy heart. And in deede thou shalt loue him in such wise that thou shalt do to him in charitie, as thou woldest that it were don to thine own person: and therefore thou ne shalt do him no damage in wicked worde, ne harm in his body, ne in his cattel, ne in his soul, by entising of wicked ensample. Thou shalt not desire his wife, ne none of his things. Vnderstond also that in the name of neighbour, is comprehended his enemy: Certes man shal loue his enemy by the commandment of god, and soothly thy friend thou shalt loue in God. I say thine enemy, shalt thou loue for Gods sake, by his commandment: for if it were reason that man should hate his enemy, forsoth God nold not receiue vs to his loue that been his enemyes. Ayenst three manner of wrongs that his enemy doth to him, he shall do three things as thus: ayenst hate and rancour of heart, he shall loue him in heart: Ayenst chiding & wicked words, he shall pray for his enemy: Ayenst wicked deeds, he shal do him bounty. For Christ sayth: Loue your enemies, & pray for hem that speke you harm, and for hem that chase & pursue you: and do bounty to hem that hate you. Lo, thus commaundeth vs our Lord Iesu Christ to do to our enemies: forsooth nature driueth vs to loue our freends, & perfay our enemies haue more need of loue than our freends, & they that more need haue, certes to hem shall men do goodnesse. And certes in that deed haue we remembraunce of the loue of Iesus Christe y• died for his enemies: And in as much as that loue is more greuous to perfourm, so much is the more great the merit, and therfore the louing of our enemy hath confounded the diuels venim: * For right as the deuil is confounded by humilitie, right so is he wounded to the death by the loue of our enemie: certes then is loue the medicine that casteth out the venim of enuie fro mans heart. The speces of this place shall be more largely declared in her chapters following.

¶De Ira.

AFter Enuy woll I discriue the sinne of Ire: for soothly who so hath Enuy upon his Neighbour, anon he woll commonly find him a matter of wrath in word or in deed, ayenst him to whom he hath Enuie: And as well commeth Ire of Pride as of Enuie, for soothly he that is proud or enuious is lightly wroth.

This sin of Ire, after the disriuing of S. Austin, is wicked will to be auenged by word or by deed. * Ire, after the Philosopher, is the feruent blood of man iquicked in his heart, through which he would harm to him that he hateth: for certes the hart of man by eschausing and moouing of his blood, waxeth so troubled, yt it is out of all manner iudgment of reason. But ye shall vnderstond that * Ire is in two manners, that one of hem is good, & that other is wicked. The good ire is by jealousie of goodnes through which a man is wroth with wickednesse, and ayenst wickednesse. And therefore saith a wise man, that yre is bet than play. This ire is with debonairte, and it is wrath without bitternesse: not wroth ayenst the man, but wroth with the misdeed of the manne. As saith the Prophet Dauid: Irascimini, & nolite peccare. Now understond that wicked Ire is in two manners, that is to say, sodain yre or hasty yre without auisement & consenting of reason: The meaning and the sence of this is, that ye reason of a manne ne consent not to that sodain yre, and then it is venial. Another yre is ful wicked, that cometh of felony of heart, auised and cast before with wicked will to do vengeaunce, & thereto his reason consenteth: and soothly this is deadly sinne. This yre is so displeasant to God, yt it troubleth his house, & chaseth the holy ghost out of mans soul, and wasteth and destroyeth that likenesse of God, that is to say, ye vertue that is in mans soul, and putteth in him the likenesse of the deuill, and taketh the man fro God that is his rightful Lord. This is a ful great pleasaunce to the deuil, for it is ye deuils forance that is eschaused with y• fire of hell: For certes right so as fire is more mightie to destroy earthly things, than any other Element, [Page] right so ire is mightie to destroie all spiritual things. Look how that fire of small coles that been almost dead under ashen, wol reuiue or quick ayen when they ben touchen with brimstone, right so yre woll euermore quick ayen, when it is touched by the pride that is couered in mans heart. For certes fire ne may not come out of nothing, but if it were first in the same thing naturally: as fire is drawn out of flints with steele. And right so as pride is many times matter of yre, right so is rancour norice and keeper of Ire. There is a manner tree, as sayth saint Isodore, that when a man maketh a fire of the said tree, and couer the coals of it with ashen, soothly the fire of it will last a yeer or more: And right so fareth it of rancour, when it is ones conceiued in y• hearts of some men, certes it woll last peraduenture from one Easter day until another Easter day, or more. But certes the same man is full ferre from the mercie of God all that while.

In this foresaid deuils fournace there forge three shrewes: Pride, that aye bloweth and encreaseth the fire, by chiding and wicked words: Then stondeth Enuy, & holdeth hot yron in the fire vpon y• heart of man, with a payre of long tongs of long rancour: And then stondeth the sin of Contumelie or strife and cheste, and battereth and forgeth by vilainous repreuings. Certes this cursed sin annoyeth both to the man himself, and also his Neighbour. For soothly almost all the harm or damage that any man doth to his Neighbor cometh of wrath: for certes, outragious wrathe doth all that euer the foule fend willeth or commandeth him: for he ne spareth neither our Lord Iesu Christ, neither his sweet mother. And in his outragious anger and yre, alas, alas, full many and diuers at that time, feleth in his heart full wickedly, both of Christ, and also of all his hallowes: Is not this a cursed vice? Yes certes. Alas it taketh fro man his wit & his reason, and all his debonaire life spirituel, that should keep his soul. Certes it withdraweth also Goddes due lordship (& that is mans soul) and the loue of his Neighbors. It striueth also all day ayenst trouth, it reaueth him the quiet of his heart, and subverteth his soul.

Of Ire cometh these stinking engendrures, First, Hate, that is old wrath: Discord, thorow which a manne forsaketh his old friend that he hath loued full long: and then commeth War, & euery manner of wrong that a man doth to his neighbour in body or in cattel. Of this cursed sin of yre commeth also manslaughter. And understond well that homicide (that is, manslaughter) is in diuers wise.

Some manner of homicide is spirituell, and some is bodily. Spirituell manslaughter is in vi. things. First by hate, as sayth Saint Iohn: * He that hateth his brother, is an homicide. Homicide is also by backbiting, of which backbiting, sayth Salomon, that they haue two swerds, with which they slay her neighbours: * For soothly as wicked is to take fro him his good name as his life. Homicide is also in yeuing of wicked counsail by fraud, as for to yeue counsayle to areise wrongful customs and talages. Of which, sayth Salomon: * A Lion roring, & a Bear hungrie, be like to the cruel Lords, in withholding or abridging of the shepe or the hire of the wages of Seruaunts, or else in vsurie, or in withdrawing of the Alms of poore, folke. For whiche the wise manne sayeth: * Feedeth him that almost dyeth for honger, for soothly but if you feed him you slay him. And all these ben deadly sins. Bodily manslaughter is when thou sleest him with thy tongue: Another manner is, when thou commaundest to slea a man, or else yeuest counsail to slea a man. Mauslaughter indeed is in four manners. That one is by law, right as a Iustice dampueth him that his culpable to the death: But let the Iustice beware that he doe it rightfully, and that he do it not for delight to spill blood, but for keeping of rightwisenesse. Another homicide is done for necessitie, as when a man slayeth another in his defence, and that he ne may none otherwise escape, without slaughter of his aduersarie, he doth sin, and he shall bear pennaunce as for deadly sin. Also if a man by case or aduenture shoot an arrow or cast a stone, with which he slaieth a man, he is an homicide. And if a woman by negligence ouerlyeth her child in her sleeping, it is homicide & deadly sin. Also when a man disturbleth conception of a child, & maketh a woman either barren by drinking of venemous herbes, through which she may not conceiue, or slaieth a child by drinks, or else putteth certain material things in her secret places to slaie the child, or else doth unkindly sin, by which a man or woman sheddeth her nature in manner or in a place there as a child may not be conceiued. Or else if so be that a woman hath conceiued, and hurteth her self, and by that mishap the childe is slain, yet it is homicide. What say we of those women that murderen her children for because of eschewing of worldly shame? Certes, it is an horrible homicide. Homicide is also, if a manne approche to a woman by desire of letchery, thorow which ye child is perished: or els smiteth a woman wittingly, through which she leseth her child: All these been homicides, & horrible deadly sinnes. Yet come there of ire mo sinnes, as well in worde, as in thought and deede. As he that arreteth upon God, or blameth God of the thing of which he is himself guilty, or despiseth God & all his hallows, as done the cursed hasardors in diuers countries: This cursed sin done they, when they fele in her hert full wickedly of God & of his halowes. Also when they treat unreuerently the sacrament of the aulter, that sin [Page] is so great, y• vnneth it may be releaced, but that the mercy of God passeth all his werks, it is so great, and he so benign. Then commeth of Ire an atterly anger, when a man is sharply amonested in his shrift to leaue his sin: Then woll he be angrie, and aunswere hokerly and angerly, or defend or excuse his sin by unstedfastnesse of his fleshe, or else he did it for to hold companie with his fellows, or els he sayth the fiend enticed him, or els he doth it for his youth, or els his complexion is so courageous that he may not forbear, or els it is his destinie he sayth unto a certain age, or els he sayth it cometh him of gentlenesse of his auncestors, and semblable things. All these manner of folke so wrappe hem in her sins, that they ne woll not deliver hemself: For soothly, No wight that excuseth himself wilfully of his sinne, may not be deliuered of his sin, till that he meekly beknoweth his sin. After this then commeth swearing, that is expresse ayenste the commandment of God: & this befalleth often of Anger & of Ire. God sayeth: * Thou shalt not take the name of thy Lord God in vaine or in idle. Also our Lord Iesu Christ sayeth by the word of Saint Mathew: Ne shal ye not swere in all manner, nether by heauen, for it is Gods trone: ne by yearth, for it is the bence of his feet: ne by Hierusalem, for it is y• city of a great King: ne by thine head, for thou mayest not make an hayre neyther white ne black: but say by your word, yea, yea, nay, nay: and what that is more, it is of euil. Thus sayeth Christ. For Christs sake sweare not so sinnefully in dismembring of Christ, By soul, heart, bones, and body: for certes it seemeth, that ye thinke that the cursed Iewes ne dismembred not ynough y• precious person of Christ, but ye dismember him more. And if so be that the law compell you to swear, then ruleth you after y• law of god in your swearing, as sayeth Ieremie. iiii. cap. * Thou shalt keep three conditions, Thou shalt swear in trouth, in doome, and in rightwisenes: this is to say, thou shalt swear sooth. For euery lesing is ayenst Christ, for Christ is very trouth. * And think well this, That euery great swearer, not compelled lawfully to swear, y• plague shal not depart fro his hous, while he useth such unleful swearing. Thou shalt swear also in dome, when thou art constrained by thy doms man to witnes trouth: Also thou shalt not swear for enuie, neyther for fauour, neither for mede or reward, but only for rightwisenesse, & for declaring of it to the honour and worship of God, & to the ayding & help of thine euin Christen. And therefore euery man that taketh Gods name in idle, or falsely sweareth with his mouth, or els taketh on him the name of Christ, to be called a Christen man, & liueth ayenst Christs liuing and his teaching: all they take Gods name in idle. Look also what sayth saint Peter: Actuum iiii. capitu. Non est aliud nomen sub coelo, &c. There is none other name (sayth saint Peter) under heauen yeue to men, in which they may be saued, that is to say, but the name of Iesu Christ. Take heed eke how precious is the name of Iesu Christ, as sayth S. Poule, ad Philipenses. ii. In nomine Jesu, &c. * That in the name of Iesu euery knee of heauenly creatures, earthly, & of hell, should bow: for it is so high and so worshipful, that the cursed fiend in hell should tremble to hear it named. Then seemeth it, that men that swear so horribly by his blessed name, that they despise it more boldly than the cursed Iews, or els the diuel, that trembleth when he heareth his name.

Now certes, sith y• swearing (but if it be lawfully done) is so highly defended: much more is forswearing falsely, and yet needlesse.

What say we also of hem that delight hem in swearing, and hold it a gentery or a manly deed to swear great othes? And what of hem that of very usage ne cease not to swear great othes, all be the cause not worth a straw? Certes, this is horrible sin. Swearing suddainly is also a great sin. But let us go now to that horrible sin, swearing of adiuration and conjuration, as done these false Enchauntours or Nigromanters in Basins full of water, or in a bright swerd, in a Circle, in a fire, or in the shoulder bone of a sheep? I cannot say, but that they doe cursedly and damnably ayenst Christ, and all the faith of holy church.

What say we of hem that beleeue on Deuinales, as by flight or by noise of birds or of beasts, or by sorte, by Geomancie, by dreams, by chirking of dores, or cracking of houses, by gnawing of rats, & such manner wretchednesse? Certes, all these things been defended by God and holy church, for which they been accursed, till they come to amendment, that on such filth set her beleeue. Charms for wounds, or maladie of men, or of beasts, if they take any effect, it may be peraduenture y• God suffereth it, for folk should yeue the more faith & reuerence to his name.

Now woll I speak of leasings, which generally is false signifiaunce of word in entent, to deceiue his euin Christien. Some leasing is, of which there commeth none aduantage to no wight: and some leasing turneth to the profite and ease of a man, and to the dammage of another man. Another leasing is, for to saue his life or his cattel, which commeth of delight for to lie, in which delight, they woll forge a long tale, and paint it with all circumstances, where all the tale of the ground is false. Some leasing commeth, for he woll sustain his words: Some leasing commeth of retchlesnesse without auisement, and semblable things.

Let us now touch the vice of Flatterie, which ne cometh not gladly, but for dread, or for couetise. Flatterie is generally wrongful praising. Flatterers been the deuils nourices, [Page] that nourish his children with milk of losengerie: forsooth Salomon sayth, That Flatterie is worse than detraction: for sometime detraction maketh an hautein man be the more humble, for he dreadeth detraction, but certes flattery maketh a man to enhaunce his heart and his countenaunce. Flatterers be the Deuils enchauntours, for they make a man to wene himself be like that he is not like. Those be like to Iudas, that betray a man, to sell him to his Enemy. Flatterers been the deuils Chapleins, that ever sing Placebo. I reckon flattery in the vices of ire: for oft time if a man be wroth with another, then woll he flatter some wight, to sustain him in his quarrel.

Speak we now of such cursing as cometh of irous hart. Malison generally may be said, euery manner power of harm: such cursing bereaueth man fro the reign of God, as sayth S. Poule. And oft time such cursing wrongfully, returneth ayen to him that curseth, as a bird that turneth again to his own neast. * And ouer all thing, men ought eschew to curse her children, & yeue to the deuil her engendrure, as ferre forth as in hem is: certes, it is great peril & great sin.

Let us then speak of Chiding & Reproch, which beene full great woundes in mannes heart, for they unsow the seams of friendship in mans heart: For certes, Vnneth may a man plainly be accorded with him, that him openly hath reuiled and repreued, & disclaundred: This is a full ghostly sin, as Christ sayth in the Gospel. And take heed now, that he that repreueth his neighbour, either he repreueth him by some harm of pain, that hee hath upon his bodie, as Mesell, crooked, harlot, or by some sin that he doth. Now if yee repreue him by harm of pain, then turneth the repreue to Iesu Christ: for pain is send by the rightwise sond of God, & by his sufferaunce, be it meselrie, maim, or maladie: & if he repreue him uncharitably of sinne, as thou holour, thou dronkelewe harlot, & so foorth: then pertaineth that to the reioycing of the deuil, which euer hath ioy that men doen sin. And certes, chiding may not come but of villanous heart, for after the haboundance of the heart speaketh the mouth full oft. And ye shall understond, that look by any way, when any man shall chastise or correct another, that he beware from chiding or repreuing: for truly but he beware, he may ful lightly quicken the fire of anger & of wrath, which he should quench: and peraduenture, slaeth him, which he might chastise with benignity. For as saith Salomon: * The amiable tong is the tree of life, y• is to say, of life spirituel. And soothly, a dissolute tong slaeth the spirits of him that repreueth, and also of him which is repreued. Lo, what sayeth saint Augustine: * There is nothing so like the deuiis child, as he which oft chideth. A seruant of God behoueth not to chide. And though that chiding be a villanous thing betwixt all maner folk, yet it is certes most uncouenable between a man and his wife, for there is neuer rest. And therefore saieth Salomon: * An house that is uncouered & drooping, and a chiding wife, ben alike.

A man, which is in a dropping hous in many places, though he eschew the dropping in o place, it droppeth on him in another place: So fareth it by a chiding wife, if she chide him not in one place, she wol chide him in another: And therefore. * Better & greatly more pleasant is a morsel or little gobbet of bread with ioy, than an house silled full of delices with chiding and gnerring, sayeth Salomon. Saint Poule sayth: O ye women, beth ye subiect to your husbands, as you behoueth and ought in God. And ye men loue your wiues. Ad Colonicences. iii.

Afterward speak we of Scorning, which is a wicked sin, and namely, when he scorneth a man for his good werks: For certes, such scorners fare like the foul tode, that may not endure to smell the sweet sauour of the vine, when it flourisheth. These scorners been parting fellows with the deuil, for they haue ioy when the deuil winneth, and sorrow if he leseth. They been aduersaries of Iesu Christ, for they hate that he loueth, that is to say, saluation of soul.

Speak we now of wicked counsail, the which is a Traitour, for he deceiueth him that trusteth in him: Vt Achitophel ad Salomonem. But nathelesse, yet is his wicked counsail first ayenst himself: for as sayth the wise man: * Euery false liuing hath this property in himselfe, that he y• woll annoy another man, he annoyeth first himself. And men shall understond, that man shall not take his counsail of false folk, ne of angry folk, or greuous folk, ne of folk that loue specially too much worldly folk, namely, in counsailing of Souls.

Now commeth the sin of hem that sow and make discord among folk, which is a sin that Christ hateth utterly, & no wonder is: for he died for to make concord. And more shame do they to Christ, than did they that him crucified: * For God loueth better, that friendship be amongs folk, than he did his own body, which that he gaue for vnitie. Therefore ben they likened to the deuil, that euer be about to make discord. Now cometh the sin of Double tongue, such as speake fair before folk, and wickedly behind: or else they make semblaunt, as though they spake of good entention, or els in game and play, and yet they speak of wicked entent.

Now commeth bewraying of counsayle, through which a man is defamed: certes unneth may he restore the dammage. Now commeth menace, y• is an open folly: for he that oft menaceth, he threateth more than he may perform full oft time. Now commeth idle words, that is, without profite of him that [Page] speaketh the words, & also of him that hearkeneth the words: Or els idle wordes been those that been needlesse, or without entent of natural profite. And albeit that idle words be sometime venial sinne, yet should menne doubt hem, for we shall yeue reckoning of hem before God. Now cometh iangling, that may not be without sinne: & as sayth Salomon, It is a sign of apert folly. And therefore a Philosopher saied, when men asked him how that he should please the people, he answered: * Do many good werkes, and speak few vanities. After this cometh the sin of yaperies, that been the deuils Apes, for they make folk to laugh at her yaperie, as folk do at the gaudes of an Ape: which yapes defendeth saint Poule. Look how that vertuous words and holy, comfort hem that trauail in the seruice of Christ, right so comforteth the villainous words and knacks of yapers, hem that trauail in the seruice of the deuil. These ben the sins of the tongue, that come of ire, and of other sins.

¶The remedie ayenst Ire.

THe remedy ayenst Ire, is a vertue that men call mansuetude, that is, Debonairtie: and also another vertue, that men clepe patience or sufferaunce.

Debonairtie withdraweth and refraineth the stirrings and moouings of mans courage in heart, in such manner, that they ne skip not out by Anger ne Ire. Sufferaunce, suffereth sweetly all the annoyances and wronges that menne done to man outward. Saint Ierome sayeth this of debonairte, That it dooth no harme to no wight, ne sayeth: ne for no harme that men doe ne say, he ne chafeth ayenst reason. This vertue sometime commeth of nature: for as sayeth the Philosopher: A manne is a quicke thinge by nature, debonaire, and treatable to goodnesse: but when debonairty is enformed of grace, then it is the more worth.

Patience is another remedy ayenst ire, & is a vertue y• suffereth sweetly euery mans goodnesse, and is not wroth for no harm that is done to him. The Philosopher sayth, That patience is the vertue that suffreth debonairly, all the outrages of aduersity, and euery wicked word. This vertue maketh a man like to God, and maketh him Gods owne childe: as sayeth Christ. This vertue discomfiteth thine enemies. And therefore sayeth the Wise man: If thou would vanquish thine enemie, learn to suffer. And thou shalt understond, that a man suffereth four manner of greeuances in outward things, ayenst the which four, he must haue four manner of patiences.

The first greeuaunce is of wicked words, which suffereth Iesus Christ, without grutching, full patiently, when the Iews despised him full oft. Suffet thou therefore patiently, for the Wiseman sayth: * If thou striue with a foole, though the fool be wroth, or though he laugh, alway thou shalt haue no reste.

That other greeuaunce outward, is to haue dommage of thy cattel: There ayenst suffered Christ full patiently, when he was despoyled of all that he had in this life, and that was but his clothes. The third greeuaunce, is a man to haue harme in his body: that suffred Christ full patiently in all his passion. The fourth greeuaunce, is in outragious labour in werks: wherefore I say, that folk that make her seruaunts to trauaile too greeuously, or out of time, as in holy days, soothly they doe great sinne. Here ayenst suffred Christ full patiently, & taught us patience, when he bare upon his blessed shoulders the crosse, upon which he should suffer despitous death. Here may men learn to be patient, for certes, not only Christen be patient for loue of Iesu Christ, and for reward of the blessed life that is perdurable, but certes the old Painems, that neuer were Christened, commended and used the vertue of patience.

* A Phylosopher upon a time, that would haue beate his disciple for his great trespace, for which he was moued, and brought a rod to beat the childe, and when this child sawe the rod, he sayd to his mayster: what think ye to do? I woll beat thee sayed the mayster for thy correction: Forsooth, sayed the child, ye ought first correct your selfe, that haue lost all your patience, for the offence of a child. Forsooth sayd the mayster all weeping, thou sayest sooth: haue thou the rodde my deare child, and correct me for mine impatience. Of patience commeth obedience, through which a man is obedient to Christ, and to all hem to which he ought be obedient in Christ. And understand well, that obedience is perfite, when that a man dooth gladly and hastely, with good heart entirely, all that he should doe. Obedience generally, is to perform the doctrine of God, and of his soueraignes, to which him ought to be obeysaunt in all rightwisenesse.

¶De Accidia.

AFter the sinnes of Enuy and Ire, now woll I speake of the sinne of Accidie: tor Enuy blindeth the heart of a man, and Ire troubleth a man, & Accidie maketh him heauy, thoughtful, and pensife. Enuy & Ire maken bitternesse in heart, which birternesse is mother of Accidie, and taketh fro him the loue of all goodnes, then is accidie the anguish of trouble of heart. And S. Augustine sayth: It is annoy of goodnesse & annoy of harme. Certes this is a damnable sinne, for it dooth wrong to Iesu Christ, in as much as it benummeth the seruice y• men ought to do to [Page] Christ, as sayth Salomon: but Accidie doth no such diligence. He doth all thing with annoy, and with wrawnesse, slacknesse, and excusation, with idlenesse & unlust. For which the book sayth: * Accursed be he that doth the seruice of God negligently. Then is Accidie enemy to euery estate of man. For certes the estate of man is in three manners: Either it is in the estate of innocency, as was the estate of Adam, before that he fell into sin, in which estate he was hold to work, as in praising and lauding God. Another estate is the estate of sinful men: in which estate men ben holden to labour in praying to God for amendment of her sins, & that he would grant hem to rise out of her sins.

Another estate is the estate of grace, in which estate he is holden to works of penitence: and certes, to all these thinges is accidie contrary, for he loueth no businesse at all. Now certes, this foul sin accidie, is also a full great enemy to the liuelode of the body: * For it ne hath no purueiaunce ayenst temporel necessity, for it forsloweth, forslogeth, and destroieth all goods temporel by retchlesnesse.

The fourth thing is, that Accidie is like hem that been in the paine of hell, because of her sloth and heauines: for they that be damned, ben so bound, that they may neyther well doe ne think. Of accidie cometh first, that a man is annoied and encombred to do any goodnes, and maketh that God hath abhomination of such accidie, as sayth Saint Iohn.

Now commeth Sloth, that woll not suffer no hardnesse ne pennance: for soothly, s [...]oth is so tender and so delicate, as sayeth Salomon, that he woll suffer no hardnesse ne pennaunce, and therefore he marreth all that he doth. Ayenst this rotten sin of accidie and sloth, should men exercise hemselfe, and use hem to do good workes: and manly and vertuously catch courage to do, thinking that our Lord Iesu Christ quiteth euery good deed, be it neuer so lite. Vsage of labour is a great thing. For it maketh, as sayeth S. Bernard, the labourer to haue strong armes and hard senewes: and sloth maketh heeuy, feeble, and tender. Then commeth dread to beginne to worke any good workes. For certes, * He that enclineth to sin, him thinketh it is so great an emprise for to undertake the works of goodnesse, and casteth in his heart, that the circumstances of goodnesse been so greeuous and weighty for to suffer, that he dare not undertake to doe workes of goodnesse, as sayeth Saint Gregorie.

Now commeth wanhope, y• is, dispair of the mercy of God, y• commeth sometime of too much outragious sorow, & sometime of too much dread, imagining that he hath doe so much sinne, that it woll not auayle him, tho he woud repent him, and forsake sinne: through which despair or dread, he abandonneth all his heart to euery manner sinne, as sayth Saint Augustine. Which dampnable sinne, if it continue unto his end, it is called sinning in the holy ghost. This horrible sin is so perillous, that he yt is despaired, there nis no fellonie, ne no sinne, that he doubteth for to do, as sheweth well by Iudas. Certes, aboue all sinnes then is this sinne most displeasaunt to Christ, and most aduersarie.

Sothly, he yt dispaireth him, is like to the coward champion recreaunt, that flieth without need. Alas, alas, needlesse is he recreant, & needlesse despaired. Certes. * The mercy of God is euer ready to y• penitent person, & is aboue all his werks. Alas, cannot a man bethink him on y• Gospel of S. Luke .xv. Whereas Christ sayeth, * That as well shall there be ioy in heauen upon a sinful manne that doeth penitence, as upon xcix. rightful men that need no penitence. Look further in the same Gospel, the ioy & the feast of the good man that had lost his sonne, when his sonne was retourned with repentaunce to his father. Can they not remember hem also, that (as sayth Saint Luke, Chapi. xx.) How that the theefe that was hanged beside Iesu Christ, sayd: Lord remember me, when thou commest into thy reign. Forsooth said Christ, I say to thee, To day shalt thou be with me in Paradise. Certes, there is none so horrible sinne in manne, that ne may in his life be destroyed by penitence, through vertue of the passion and of the death of Christ. Alas, what need men then to be despaired, sith that his mercy is so ready and large? Ask and haue.

Then cometh Sompnolence, that is sluggie, slumbring, which maketh a man heauie, and dull in body and in soul, and this sinne commeth of sloth: And certes, the time that by way of reason man should not sleep, is by the morrow, but if there were cause reasonable. For soothly, the morrow tide is most couenable, a man to say his prayers, and for to thank God, and to honour God, and to yeue almose to the poor that commeth first in the name of Iesu Christ.

Lo, what sayeth Salomon? Who so woll by the morow awake to seek me, he shall find me. Then commeth negligence or retchlesnes that recketh of nothing. And though y• ignorance be mother of all harms, certes, negligence is the norice. Negligence ne doth no force, when he shall do a thing, whether he do it well or euil.

The remedie of these two sinnes is, as sayth the Wise man: * That he that dreadeth God, spareth not to do that he ought to do: and he that loueth God, he woll doe dilligence to please God by his werkes, and abandon himselfe, with all his might, well for to doe. Then cometh idlenesse, that is the yate of all harms. An idle manne is [Page] like to a place that hath no wals, the deuil may enter on euery side, or shoot at him that is discouerte, by temptation on euery side. This idlenesse is the thorruke of all wicked and villainous thoughts, and of all ordure. Certes, the heauen is yeue to hem that will labour, and not to idle folk. Also Dauid sayeth, * That they ne be not in the labour of men, ne they shall not be whipped with men, that is to say, in Purgatorie. Certes, then seemeth it they shall be tormented with the deuils in hell, but if they do pennaunce.

Then commeth the sinne that men call Tarditas, as when a man is so latered, or tarrying or he woll tourn to God: and certes, that is a great folly. He is like him that falleth in the ditch, and woll not arise. And this vice commeth of false hope, that he thinketh he shall liue long, but that hope fayleth full oft.

Then commeth Lochesse, that is, he that when he beginneth any good work, anone he woll leaue and stint it, as done they that haue any person to gouern, and ne take of him no more heed, anon as they find any contrary or any annoy. These ben the new sheepheards, that let their sheepe wittingly goe ren to the Wolfe, that is in the breres, or do not force of her own gouernaunce. Of this commeth pouerte and destruction, both of spirituel and temporel things. Then commeth a manner coldnesse, that freeseth the hart of man. Then commeth undeuotion, through which a man is so blont, and as sayeth S. Bernard, hath such langour in his soul, that he may neyther read ne sing in holy church, ne hear ne think of no deuotion, ne trauail with his honds in no good work, that it nis to him unsauory and all apalled. Then wexeth the slow and slombry, and soon woll be wroth, and soon is enclined to hate and enuy. Then commeth the sinne of worldly sorrow, such as is called Tristitia, that staeth a man, as sayth Saint Poule. For certes, such sorrow worketh the death of the soul and body also, for thereof commeth, that a man is annoyed of his own life. Wherefore such sorrow shorteth full oft the life of man, ere that his time is come, by way of kind.

Remedium contra peccatum Accidiae.

AYenst this horrible sinne of Accidie, and the braunches of the same, there is a vertue yt is called Fortitudo, or strength, through which a man despiseth annoyous things: this vertue is so mightie and so rigorous, that it dare withstond mightily, and wisely keep himselfe fro perils that been wicked, and wrastle ayenst the assaults of the deuill, for it enchaunceth and enforceth the soule, right as Accidie abateth & maketh it feeble: for this fortitude may endure by long sufferaunce the trauails that ben couenable.

This vertue hath many speces, the first is called Magnanimitie, that is to say, great courage. For certes, there behoueth great courage ayenst Accidie, least that it ne swallow the soule by the sin of sorrow, or destroy it by wanhope. Certes, this vertue maketh folke undertake hard and greeuous thinges by her own will, wisely and reasonably. And for as much as the deuill fighteth ayenst a manne more by subtilty and sleight than by strength, therefore shall a man withstand him by wit, reason and discretion. Then are there the vertues of fayth, and hope in God and in his saints, to follow and accomplish the good workes, in the which he purposeth fermely to continue. Then commeth suretie or sikernesse, and that is when a manne ne doubteth no trauail in time comming, of the good workes that he hath begun. Then commeth Magnificence, that is to say, when a man doeth and performeth great works of goodnesse, that he hath begun, and that is the end why that menne should doe good workes. For in the accomplishing of good workes, lyeth the great guerdon. Then is there Constaunce, that is stablenes of courage, and this should be in heart by stedfast faith, and in mouth, in bearing, in chere, and in deed. And there been mo speciall remedies ayenst Accidie, in diuers works: as in consideration of the paines of hell, the ioyes of heauen, and in trust of the grace of the holy ghost, that will yeue him might to performe his good entent.

¶De Avaricia.

AFter Accidie woll I speak of Auarice, and of Couetise. Of which sin Saint Poule sayth: * The root of all harmes is Couetise. Ad Timoth .vi. For soothly, when the heart of man is confounded in it self and troubled, and that the soul hath lost the comfort of God, then seketh he an sole sollace of worldly things.

Auarice, after the description of S. Augustine, is a licorousnesse in heart to haue earthly things. Some other folke say, that Auarice is for to purchase many yearthly things, and nothing to yeue to hem that haue need. And understand, that auarice standeth not only in land ne cattel, but sometime in science and glory, and in euery manner of outragious things, is Auarice. And Couetise is this:

Couetise, is for to couet such things that thou hast not. And Auarice is, to withhold and keep such things as thou hast, without right. Soothly, this auarice is a sin that is full dampnable, for all holy writ curseth it, and speaketh ayenst yt vice, for it doth wrong [Page] to Iesu Christ: for it taketh fro him, the loue that men to him owe, and tourneth it backward ayenst all reason, & maketh that the auaricious man hath more hope in his cattel than in Iesu Christ, and doth more obseruaunce in keeping of his treasour, than he doth in the seruice of Iesu Christ. And therefore sayeth Saint Poule. Ad Ephesios quinto: * That an auaricious man is the thraldom of Idolatrie.

What difference is there betwixt an Idolater and an auaricious man? But that an Idolaster, peraduenture ne hath not but a Maumet, or two, and the auaricious man hath many: For certes, euery Florein in his cofer, is his Maumet. And certes, the sin of Maumetrie, is the first that God defended, as in the x. commaundment it beareth witnesse, in Exodi. Capi. xx. Thou shalt haue no false goddes before me, ne thou shalt make to thee no grauen thing. Thus is an auaricious man that loueth his treasure before God, an Idolaster. And through this cursed sin of auarice and couetise, commeth these hard Lordships, through which they ben strained by tallages, customs, and cariages, more than her dutie or reason is: or else take they of her bondmen amerciaments, which might more reasonably be called extortions, than merciamentes. Of which amerciaments, or raunsoming of bondmen, some Lords stewards say, that it is rightful, for as much as a churl hath no temporel thing, that it ne is his Lords, as they say. But certes, these Lordships do wrong, that bereaue their bondmen things that they neuer yaue hem. Augustinus de Ciuitate dei. Libro .ix. Sooth is, * That the condition of thraldom, and the first cause of thraldom was for sin.

Thus may ye see, that the offence deserued thraldome, but not nature. Wherefore these Lords ne should not much glorifie hem in her Lordships, sith that they by natural condition, been not Lords ouer thrals, but for that thraldome came first by the desert of sin. And more ouer, there as the Law sayth, That temporal goods of bondfolk been the goods of her Lord: yea, that is for to understond, the goods of the Emperour, to defend hem in her right, but not to rob hem ne reue hem. Therefore sayeth Seneca: * Thy prudence should liue benignely with the thrals. Those that thou callest thy thrals, been Gods people: and for humble people been Christs friends, they been contubernial with the Lords.

* Think also, that of such seed as churls spring, of such seed spring Lords: As well may y• churl be saued, as the Lord. The same death that taketh the churl, such death taketh the Lord. Wherefore I rede, do right so with the churle, as thou wouldst yt thy Lord did with thee, if thou were in his plight. * Euery sinful man is a churl to sin: I rede the Lord certes, yt thou werk in such wise with thy churls, that they rather loue thee than dread thee. I wote well, that there is degree aboue degree, as reason is, and skill is, that men do her deuoir, there as it is due. But certes, extortions, and despight of your underlings, is damnable.

And furthermore understand well, that these Conquerors or Tyrants make full oft thrals of hem that been born of as royal blood as been they that hem conquere. This name of Thraldome was neuer erst know, till that Noe saied, that his son Cham should be thral to his brethren for his sin. What say we then of hem that pill and doe extortions to holy Church: Certes, the swerd that men yeue first to a knight when he is new dubbed, signifieth, that he should defend holy Church, and not robbe and pill it: and who so doeth, is traitour to Christ. And as saith S. Augustine, * They been the deuils Wolues, that strangle the sheepe of Iesu Christ, and done worse than Wolues: for soothly, when the Wolfe hath full his womb, he stinteth to strangle sheep: But soothly, the pillours and destroyers of holy Church goods, ne doe not so, for they ne stint neuer to pill. Now as I haue saied, sith so is, that sin was first cause of thraldome, then is it thus, that at the time that all this world was in sin, then was all this world in thraldome, and in subjection: but certes, sith the time of grace came, God ordained, that some folk should be more high in estate and in degree, and some folk more low, and that ech should be serued in his estate.

And therefore in some countries there they be thrals, when they haue tourned hem to their fayth, they make her thrals free out of the thraldome: & therefore, certes the Lord oweth to his man, that the man oweth to the Lord. The Pope calleth himself seruaunt to the seruants of God, but for, as the estate of holy Church ne might not haue been, ne the common profite might not haue be kept, ne peace ne rest in earth, but if God had ordained, that some man haue higher degre, & some men lower: therefore was soueraignty ordained to keep, maintain, and defend her underlings and her subiects in reason, as fer forth as it lyeth in her power, and not to destroy ne confound hem. Wherefore I say, that those lords that been like wolues, that deuoure the possessions or the cattel of poor folks wrongfully, without mercy or measure, they shall receiue by the same measure that they haue measured to poor folk, y• measure of Iesu Christ, but it be amended. Now commeth deceit betwixt marchaunt and marchaunt. And thou shalt understond, yt marchaundise is in two manners, that one is bodily, & that other is ghostly: that one is honest and leful, & that other is dishonest and unleful. The bodily marchaundise that is leful and honest, is this: that there as God [Page] hath ordained, that a reigne or a countrey is suffisaunt to himselfe, then it is honest and lefull, that of haboundance of this countrey menne helpe another countrey that is needy: And therefore there must be marchaunts to bring fro one countrey to that other, her marchaundise. That other marchaundise that menne haunten with fraude, and trecherie, and deceit, with leasinges and false othes, is right cursed and dampnable. Espirituell Marchaundise is properly Simonie, that is, ententiue desire to buy any thing espirituell, that is, a thing which appertayneth to the sanctuarie of God, and to cure of the soule. This desire, if so be that a manne do his diligence to perfourme it, all be it that his desire ne take none effect, yet it is to him a deadly sin: & if he be ordered, he is irregular. Certes Simonie is called of Simon magus, that would haue bought for temporel cattel the yest that God had yeue by the Holy-ghost to Saint Peter, and to the Apostles: And therefore vnderstond, that he that selleth and he that buyeth things espirituell, ben called Simoniackes, be it by cattell, be it by procuring, or by fleshly praier of his frends, fleshly frends, or espirituell frends, fleshly in two manners, as by kinred or other frends: Soothly, if they pray for him that is not worthy and able, it is Simonie, if he take the benefice: and if he be worthy and able, there is none. That other manner is, when man or woman prayeth for folke to auaunce hem only, for wicked fleshly affection which they haue vnto the persons, and that is foul Simonie. But certes, in seruice, for which menne yeuen things espirituell vnto her seruaunts, it must be vnderstond, that y• seruice must be honest, or els not, & also, that it be without bargaining, and that the person be able. For (as saith Saint Damasen:) * All the sinnes of the world, at regard of this sinne, are as thing of nought, for it is the greatest sinne that may be after the sin of Lucifer and of Antichrist: For by this sinne God forleseth the Church and the Soule, which hee bought with his precious blood, by hem yt yeue Churches to hem that been not worthy, for they are put in theeues honds, that steale the soules of Iesu Christ, and destroy his patrimonie. By such vnworthy Priests and Curates, haue leaud menne lesse reuerence of the Sacraments of holy Church: & such yeuers of Churches put the children of Christ out, & put in y• Church the Diuels owne sonnes: they sell the soules that Lambs should keep, to the Wolf, which strangleth hem: and therfore shall they neuer haue part of the pasture of Lambes, that is, the blisse of Heauen. Now cometh hasardry, with his apertenaunces, at tables and rafles, of which cometh deceit, false oths, chidings, and all rauenous blasphemings, & renyings of God, and hate of his neyghbours, wast of goods, mispending of time, and sometime manslaughter. Certes, hasardours ne mow not bee without greate sinne. Of Auarice commeth also leasinges, theft, false witnesse, and false othes: and ye shall vnderstond, that these bee great sinnes, and expresse ayenst the commaundements of God, as I haue sayd. False witnesse is in word, and also in deede: In worde, as for to bereaue thy neighbours good name by thy false witnesse, or bereaue him his cattell or his heritage, by thy false witnessing, when thou for ire, or for meede, or for enuie, bearest false witnesse, or accusest him, or excuseth thy self falsely. Ware ye questmongers and notaries: certes, for false witnessing, was Susan in full great sorrowe and paine, and many another mo. The sinne of theft is also expresse ayenst Gods hest, and in two manners (corporell, and spirituell) the temporell theft is: As, for to take thy neighbours cattell ayenst his will, be it by force or by sleight, be it by mette or by measure: by stealing also of false enditements vpon him, and in borrowing of thy neighbours cattell, in entent neuer to pay it ayen, and semblable things. Espirituell theft is sacrilege, that is to say, hurting of holy things sacred to Christ in two manners, by reason of the holy place, as Churches or Churchyards: For which euery villainous sinne that men done in such places, may be called sacrilege, or euery violence in the semblable places. Also they that withdrawe falsely the rightes that long to holy Church and pleasing. And generally sacriledge is to reue holy thing fro holy place, or vnholy thing, out of holy place, or holy thing out of vnholy place.

Revelatio contra peccatum Avaritiae.

NOw shall ye vnderstond, that releeuing of Auarice, is misericorde and pitty largely taken. And men might aske, why that misericorde and pitty are releeuing of Auarice: Certes, the auaricious man sheweth no pitty ne misericorde to the needfull man.

For he delighteth him in the keping of his treasure, & not in the rescuing ne releeuing of his euin Christen. And therefore speake I first of misericorde. Then is misericorde (as saith the Phylosopher) a vertue, by which the courage of man is stirred by the misease of him that is diseased. Vpon which misericorde followeth pity, in performing and fulfiling of charitable workes of mercie, helping & comforting him that is miseased. And certes, these things moue and stir a man to misericorde of Iesu Christ, that he yaue himselfe for our offence, and suffered death for misericorde, and foryaue vs our original sins, and thereby released vs fro the pains of hell, and minished y• pains of purgatory by penitence, and yeueth grace well to do, and at last, the blisse of heauen. The speces of misericorde ben for to lene, and also for to yeue, for to foryeue and release, and for to haue pity in heart, and [Page] compassion of the mischeef of his euin Christen, and also to chastise there as need is. Another manner of remedy ayenst Auarice, is reasonable largesse: but soothly, here behooueth the consideration of that grace of Iesu Christ, and of the temporell goodes, and also of the goodes perdurable that Iesu Christ yaue to vs, and to haue remembrance of the death which he shall receiue, he knoweth not when, where, ne who: and also that he shall forgo all that he hath, saue onely that which he hath expended in good werkes.

But for as much as some folk ben vnmeasurable, men ought for to auoyd and eschewe foolish largesse, the whiche some people call waste.

Certes, he that is foole large, yeueth not his cattell, but he leseth his cattell. Soothly, what thing that he yeueth for vaine-glory, as to minstrels, and to folke that beare his renome in the world, he hath sinne thereof, and none almesse: certes, * He leseth foule his good, that he ne seeketh with the yeft of his good nothing but sinne. He is like to an horse that seeketh rather to drink drouy or troubled water, than for to drink water of the cleare well. To hem appertainen the said cursing that Christ shall yeue at the day of doome to hem that shall be damned.

¶Sequitur de Gula.

AFter Auarice cometh Glotenie, which is expresse ayenst the commandement of God. Glotenie, is vnmeasurable appetite to eate or to drinke, or els to do ynough to the vnmeasurable appetite and disordained couetise to eat or to drink. This sinne corrupteth all this world, as is well shewed in the sinne of Adam and of Eue. Looke also what saith saint Poul of glotenie. * Many (saith he) gone, of which I haue often said to you, and now I say it weeping, that been the enemies of the crosse of Christ, of which the end is death, and of which her womb is her God and her glory, in confusion of hem that so deuour earthly thinges.

He that is vsed to this sin of Glotenie, he ne may no sin withstond, he must be in seruage of all vices, for it is the Deuils hourd, there he hideth and resteth him. This sinne hath many speces: The first is dronkennesse, * That is the horrible sepulture of mans reason: and therefore when a manne is dronke, he hath lost his reason: And this is deadly sinne. But soothly, when that a man is not wont to strong drinke, and peraduenture ne knoweth not the strength of the drinke, or hath feeblesse in his head, or hath trauayled, through which he drinketh the more, all be he suddainely caught with drinke, it is no deadly sinne, but veniall. The second spece of glotenie is, that the spirit of a manne wexeth all troubled, for dronkennesse bireaueth him the discretion of his wit.

The third manner spece of Glotonie, is when a man deuoureth his meat, and hath not rightfull manner of eating. The fourth is, when through the great abundance of his meat, the humours in his body been distempered. The fifth is, foryetfulnesse by too much drinking, for which sometime a man forgetteth ere the morning what he did on the euening before.

In other manner been distinct the speces of glotonie, after S. Gregorie. The first is, for to eat before time to eat. The second is, when a man giueth him to delicate meat or drink. The third is, when men take too much ouer measure. The fourth is, curiositie, with great entent to make and appareill his meat. The fift is, for to eat too greedily.

These ben the fiue fingers of the deuils hond, by which he draweth folke to sinne.

¶The Remedie ayenst Glotenie.

AYenst Glotenie, the remedie is abstinence, as saith Galiene: but that I hold not meritorious, if he do it for the heale of his body. Saint Augustine woll that abstinence be done for vertue, and with patience. Abstinence (saith he) is little worth, but if a man haue good will thereto, and but if he be enforced by patience and charitie, and that men do it for Gods sake, and in hope to haue blisse in heauen.

The fellowes of abstinence bee attemperaunce, that holdeth the meane in all things. Also Shame, that escheweth all dishonestie. Suffisaunce, that seeketh no rich meates ne drinkes, ne doth not force of outragious appaireling of meat. Measure also, that restraineth by reason the vnmeasurable appetite of eating. Sobernesse also, that restrayneth the outrage of drinke. Sparing also, that restrayneth the delicate ease, to sit long at meat, wherefore some folke standen of her owne will when they eate, because they woll eate at lesse leasure.

¶De Luxutia.

AFter Glotenie commeth Letcherie, for these two sins been so nigh cousins, that oft time they woll not depart. God wot this sin is full displeasant to God, he forsaid himselfe: Do no letcherie. And therefore he putteth great paines ayenst this sin.

For in the old law, if a woman thrall were take in this sin, she should be beat with staues to death. And if she were a gentlewoman, she should be slaine with stones. And if she were a bishops doughter, she should be brent by Gods commaundement.

Moreouer, by the sin of Lechery God drowned all the world, and after that he brent fiue cities with thunder and lightning, and sanke hem into hell.

[Page] Now let vs speak then of the said stinking sin of Lecherie, that men call auoutrie of wedded folk, that is to say, if that one of hem ben wedded, or els both. Saint Iohn saith, That auouterers shall be in hell in a stacke bre [...]ning of fire and of brimstone, for the stenche of her ordure: certes, the breaking of this sacrament is an horrible thing: it was made of God himself in Paradise, and confirmed by Iesus Christ, as witnesseth Saint Mathew in the Gospell: * A man shall leue father and mother, and take him to his wife, and they shall be two in one flesh.

This Sacrament betokeneth the knitting together of Christ and holye Church. And not onely that God forbade auoutrie indeede, but also he commaunded, That thou shouldest not couet thy neighbours wife.

In this heste (saith Saint Augustine) is forbode all manner couetise to do Letcherie. Lo, what saith Saint Mathew in the Gospell, * That who so seeth a woman, to couetise of his lust, he hath done Lecherie with her in his heart. Here may ye see, that not onely the deed of this sinne is forboden, but also the desire to that sin. This cursed sin annoyeth greeuously hem that it haunt: and first to her soule, for he obligeth it to sin, and to pain of death, which is perdurable: then of the body annoyeth it greeuously also, for it drieth him and wasteth, and shenteth him, and of his blood he maketh sacrifice to the fiend of hell: It wasteth his cattell and his substaunce. And certes, if it be a foule thing, a man to waste his cattell on women: yet it is a fouler thing, when that for such ordure, women dispend vpon men her cattell and her substaunce. * This sin, as saith the Prophet, taketh from man and woman her good fame and her honour, and it is full delectable and pleasant to the deuill: for thereby winneth he the more part of this wretched world. And right as a Marchant delighteth him most in that chaffare which he hath most aduauntage and profite of, right so delighteth the fiend in this ordure.

This is that other hond of the deuil, with fiue fingers, to catch the people to his villanie. The first is the foolish looking of the foolish woman and of the foolish man, that s [...]aeth right as the Basilicocke or Cocatrice steeth folke by venim of his sight: for the couetise of y• eyen followeth the couetise of the heart. The second finger is the villainous touching in wicked manner. And therefore saith Salomon: * That who so toucheth & handleth a woman, he fareth as the man that handeleth the Scorpion, which stingeth and sodenly sleeth through his enueniming, or as who so that toucheth warme pitch blemisheth his fingers. The third is foule words, which fareth like fire, which right anone brenneth the heart. The fourth finger is the kissing: And truely he were a great foole that would kisse the mouthe of a brenning ouen or of a fournace. And more fooles ben they that kisse in villainy, for that mouth is the mouth of hell, and namely these old dotardes holours, which woll kisse and flicker, and busie hemselfe tho they may nought do. Certes they been like to hounds: For an hound when he cometh nye to the roser, or by other benches, thoughe so bee that he maye not pisse, yet woll he heaue vp his leg and make a countenaunce to pisse. And for that manie man weeneth that hee maye not sinne for no licorousnesse that he doth with his wife, truely that opinion is false: * God wote a man maye slee himselfe with his owne knife, and make himselfe drunke with his owne tunne. Certes be it wife, be it childe, or any worldly thing yt he loueth before God, it is his maumette, and he is an idolaster. * A man should loue his wife by discretion, patiently and attemperately, and then is shee as though it were his suster. The fifth finger of ye Diuels hond, is the stinking deed of lecherie. Truly the fiue fingers of gluttonie the Diuel putteth into the womb of a man: And with his fiue fingers of lecherie hee grypeth him by the reins, for to throw him into the furnace of Hell, there as they shall haue the fire and the wormes that euer shall last, and weping and wayling, and sharpe hunger and thurst, grimnesse of Diuels, which shall all to tread hem withouten end. Of lechery, as I sayd, sourdeth and springeth diuers speces: as fornication, that is between man and woman which bee not married, and is deadly sinne, and ayenst nature. All that is enemie and distruction to nature, is ayenst nature. Perfay the reason of a man telleth him well also that it is deadly sinne, for as much as God forbad lecherie. And Saint Paule yeueth hem the reigne that nis dewe to no wight but to hem that done deadly sinne. Another sinne of lecherie is, to bereaue a maids maidenhead, for he y• so doth, certes he casteth a mayden out of y• highest degre that is in this present life, and bereaueth her that precious fruicte that the boke calleth the hundreth fruits, I ne can saye it none otherwise in English, but in Latine it hight (Centesimus fructus:) Certes he that so doth, is y• cause of many damages and villanies, mo than any man can recken: right as he is cause of many damages sometime that beastes do in the field, that breake the hedge or ye closure, through which he destroyeth that may not be restored: For certes no more may maydenhead be restored, than an arme that is smitte fro the bodie, may returne ayen and waxe: She may haue mercy, this wote I well, if that she haue will to do penitence, but neuer shall it be that she nas corrupt. And all be it so that I haue spoke somewhat of auoutrie, also it is good to shew the perilles that long to auoutrie, for to eschew that foul sinne. Auoutrie in latine, is for to say, approaching of another mannes [Page] bedde, through whiche those that sometime were one flesh, abandone her bodies to other persons. Of this sinne, as sayeth the wise man, follow many harmes: First breaking of fayth, and certes in fayth is the key of christendome: and when that fayth is broke and lost, soothly christendom stont veine and without fruit. This sinne also is theft, for theft generally is to reaue a wight his things ayenst his will. * Certes, this is the foulest theft that may be, when that a woman stealeth her body from her husbond, and yeueth it to her holour to defoyle her: and stealeth her soule fro Christ, and yeueth it to the Deuill: This is a fouler thefte than for to breake a Church and steal away the chalice, for these auouterers break the temple of God spiritually, and steal the vessell of grace, that is the bodie and the soule: For which Christe shall destroy hem, as saith saint Poule. Sothly of this theft doubted greatly Ioseph, when that his Lordes wife prayed him of villainy, when he sayde: Lo my Lady, how my Lord hath take to me vnder my warde, all that he hath in this world, ne nothing of his things is out of my power, but onely ye that be his wife: and how should I then doe this wickednesse, and sin so horrible ayenst God, and ayenst my Lord, God it forbede. Alas, all too little is suche trouth nowe found. The third harm is the silth, through which they breake the commaundement of God, and defoyle the auter of matrimonie, that is Christ. For certes, in so much as the Sacrament of marriage is so noble & so digne, so much is it greater sin for to break it: For God made mariage in Paradise in the estate of innocencie, to multiplie mankinde in the seruice of God, and therefore is the breaking therof the more greeuous, of which breaking come false heirs oft time, that wrongfully occupie folks heritages: and therefore woll Christ put hem out of the reign of heauen, that is heritage to good folk. Of this breaking commeth also oft time, that folk vnware wed or sinne with her own kinrede: and namely these harlots, that haunt brodels of these foul women, that may be likened to a commune gong, whereas men purge her ordure. What say we also of putours, that liue by the horrible sinne of putrie, and constrain women to yeue to hem a certain rent of her bodely puterie, yea, sometime of his own wife or his childe, as done these bauds: Certes, these been cursed sins. Vnderstond also, that aduoutrie is set gladly in the ten commaundements between theft and manslaughter, for it is the greatest theft that may be, for it is theft of body & of soul, and it is like an homicide, for it kerueth atwo and breaketh atwo hem that first were made of one flesh. And therefore by the old law of God they should be slaine, but nathelesse, by the law of Iesu Christ, that is, law of pity, when he said to the woman that was found in auoutrie, and should haue bee slayne with stones, after the will of the Iewes, as was her law: Go, said Iesu Christ, and haue no more will to do sin. Soothly, the vengeance of auoutrie is awarded to the pains of Hell, but if so be that it be disturbed by penitence. Yet been there mo speces of this cursed sin, as when that one of hem is religious, or els both, or of folk that ben entred into order, as sub-Deacon, Deacon, or Priest, or Hospitaliers: & euer the higher that he is in order, the greater is the sin. The things that greatly agredge her sin, is the breaking of her auow of chastity, when they receiued the order. And moreouer, sooth is that holy order is cheefe of all the treasorie of God, and his especiall sign and mark of chastity, to shew that they beene joyned to chastity, which is the most precious life that is: and these ordered folk ben specially titled to God, and of the special meine of God: for which when they done deadly sinne, they been the traitors of God and of his people, for they liue of the people. Priestes been Angels, as by the dignitie of her mysterie: but forsooth Saint Poul saith, That Sathanas transfourmeth him in an Angell of light. Soothly, the Priest that haunteth deadly sinne, he may be likened to the Angel of darkenesse, transformed into the Angell of light. He seemeth Angell of light, but forsooth he is Angel of darknesse. Such Priests be the sonnes of Hely, as sheweth in the book of Kings, that they were the sons of Beliall, that is, the Diuell. Beliall is to say, without judge, and so fare they, hem thinketh they be free, and haue no judge, no more than hath a free Bull, yt taketh which Cow that him liketh in the town. So fare they by women, for right as one free Bull is ynough for all a town, right so is a wicked Priest corruption ynough for all a parish, or for all a countrey: These Priests, as sayth the booke, ne cannot minister the mystery of Priesthood to the people, ne they knowe not God, they ne held hem not apayed, as saith the book, of sodden flesh that was to hem offered, but they took by force y• flesh that was raw. Certes, so these shrews ne held hem not apayed of rosted and sodde flesh, with which the people fedde hem in great reuerence, but they woll haue raw flesh of folkes wiues and her doughters: and certes, these women that consent to her harlottrie, done great wrong to Christ and to holy Church, all Hallowes, and all Soules, for they bireaue all these, hem that should worship Christe and holye Church, and pray for Christian Souls: and therefore haue such Priests, & her lemmans also that consent to her lecherie, the cursing of all the court Christian, till they come to amendment. The third spece of auoutrie, is sometime betwixt a manne and his wife, and that is, when they take no regard in her assembling, but onely to her fleshly delight, as saith Saint Ierom, and ne reckon of nothing but that they ben assembled because they ben [Page] married, all is good ynough, as they thinke: but in such folke hath the Diuell power, as said the Angel Raphael to Tobie, for in her assembling, they put Iesu Christ out of her heart, and yeue hemselfe to all ordure. The fourth spece is, the assembly of hem that ben of one affinity, or else of hem with which her fathers or her kinred have dealed in the sin of lechery: This sinne maketh hem like to houndes, that take no kepe to kinrede. And certes, parentele is in two manners: either ghostly or fleshly: ghostly, as for to deal with his godsib, for right so as he that engendreth a child, is his fleshly father, right so is his Godfather his father espirituell: for which a woman may in no lesse sinne assemble with her Godsib, than with her owne fleshly father. The fifth spece is, that abhominable sinne, of which abhominable sinne no man vnneth ought speake ne write, nathelesse it is openly rehearsed in holy writ. This cursed sin doen men and women in diverse entent and in divers manner: But though that holy writ speake of horrible sinne, certes, holy writ may not be defoyled, no more than the sunne that shineth on the dunghill. Another sinne appertaineth to lechery, that commeth sleeping, and this sin commeth often to hem that been maidens, and also to hem that be corrupt, and this sinne men call Pollution, that commeth of three manners: Sometime of languishing of body, for the humours been too rank and habundant in the body of man, sometime of infirmity, for feblenes of ye vertue retentife, as physicke maketh mention: Sometime for surfet of meat and drink, and sometime of villainous thoughts that been enclosed in mannes mind when he goeth to sleepe, which may not be without sinne, for whiche men must keepe hem wisely, or else may men sin full greevously.

¶Remedium contra peccatum Luxuriae.

NOw cometh the remedy ayenst lechery, and that is, general chastite and continence, that restrain all disordinate mevings that come of fleshly talents. And euer the greater merite shall he have that most restraineth the wicked chausinges of the ordour of this sin, and this is in two manners: That is to say, chastite in mariage, & chastite in widdowhood. Now shalt thou vnderstonde that matrimony is leful assembling of man and woman that receiuen by vertue of this Sacrament the bonde through whiche they may not be departed in all her life, yt is to say, while that they live both. This, as saith the book, is a full great sacrament, God made it (as I have said) in paradise, & wold himselfe be borne in mariage: and for to hallow mariage, he was at a wedding, whereas he tourned water into wine, which was the first miracle that he wrought in earth before his disciples. True effecte of marriage clenseth fornication, and replenisheth holy Church of good linage, for that is the end of mariage, and chaungeth deadly sin into veniall sin between hem that been wedded, and maketh the hearts as one of hem that been wedded, as well as the bodies.

Very mariage was established by God, ere that sinne began, when natural lawe was in his right point in Paradice. And it was ordained, that o man should haue but o woman, and o woman but o man, as sayeth saint Augustine, by many reasons.

First, for mariage is figured betwixt Christ and holy Church.

Another is, for a man is head of a woman, alway by ordinaunce it should be so. For if a woman had moe men than one, then should she haue moe heads than one, and that were a right horrible sinne before God, and also a woman mighte not please so many folke at ones: and also there should neuer be rest ne quiet among hem, for each of hem would aske her owne right. And furthermore, no manne should know his own engendrure, ne who should haue his heritage, and the woman should be the lesse beloued.

Now cometh how that a man should bere him with his wife, and namely in two things, that is to say, in sufferaunce and reuerence, as shewed Christ when he first made woman. For he ne made her of the head of Adam, for she should not claim to great lordshippe, * For there as the woman hath the maistry, she maketh too much variaunce: there need no mo ensamples of this, the experience all day ought inough suffice.

Also certes, God ne made not woman of the foot of Adam, for she should not be hold too lowe, for she cannot patiently suffer: but God made woman of the rib of Adam, for woman should be fellow unto man.

Man should bear him to his wife in faith, in trouth, and in loue, (as sayth saint Poul) that a man shold loue his wife, as Christ loveth holy Church, that loued it so wel that he dyed for it: so should a man for his wife, if it were neede.

Now how that a woman should be subiect to her husband: that telleth saint Peter, first in obedience. And also as sayth the Decree: * A woman that is a wife, as long as she is a wife, she hath none authority to swear ne bear witnesse, without leaue of her husband, that is her Lord, alway he should be so by reason. She should also serue him in all honestie, and be attemperate of her array.

I woll well that they should set her entent to please her husbonds, but not by queintise of her array. Saint Ierom sayth: Wiues that be apparelled in like and precious purple, ne mow not cloth hem in Iesu Christ. S. Gregorie sayth also: yt no wight seeketh precious aray, but only for vainglory to be honoured the more of the people. It is a great folly, a woman to haue great aray outward, and in her self be foul inward. A wife should also be measurable in looking, in bearing, and in laughing, and discreet in all her wordes [Page] and her deeds, and above all worldly things she should loue her husbonde with all her heart, and to him be true of her body: so should an husbond be to his wife: For sith that all the body is the husbonds, so should her heart be, or els there is betwixt hem two, as in that, no perfit mariage. Then shall men understond, that for three things a man and his wife fleshly may assemble. The first is, for the entent of engendrure of children, to the service of God, for certes, that is the cause final of matrimony. Another cause is, to yeeld each of hem to other the debts of her bodies; for neither of hem hath power over her owne bodies. The third is, for to eschew lechery and villany. The fourth is for sooth deadly sinne. As to the first, is meritorie: the second also, for as saith the Decree, That she hath merit of chastitie, that yeeldeth to her husbond the debt of her body, yea though it be ayenst her liking, & the lust of her heart. The third manner is venial sin, & truly, scarcely may any of these be without venial sin, for the corruption and for y• delight. The fourth maner is for to understond, if they assemble onely for amorous love, & for none of the foresaid causes, but for to accomplish their brenning delight, they recke not how oft, soothly it is deadly sin: & that with sorrow, some folke woll paine hem more to do than to her appetite suffiseth.

The second manner of chastity is, for to be a clean widow, & eschew the embracings of a man, & desire the embracing of Iesu Christ. These ben those that have ben wives, & have forgot her husbonds, & also women yt have done lechery, & been received by penitence. And certes, if that a wife could kepe her all chast, by licence of her husband, so y• she yeve never none occasion yt he offend, it were to her a great merit. This manner of women, that observeth chastity in clothing & in countenance, abstinent in eating and drinking, in speaking, and in dead, she is the vessel or the bore of the blessed Magdelain, yt fulfilleth holy Church of good odour. The third maner of chastitie is virginity, & it behooveth that she be holy in heart, & clean of body, then is she spouse of Iesu Christ, & she is the life of Angels: she is the praising of this world, and she is as these martyrs in egallity: she hath in her that tongue may not tell, ne heart think. Virginity bare our Lord Iesu Christ, and virgin was himselfe.

Another remedy against lechery is, specially to withdraw such things as yeve occasion to that villany: as ease, eating, and drinking: for certes, when the pot boyleth strongly, the best remedy is to withdraw the fire. Sleping long in great quiet, is also a great nourice to Lechery.

Another remedy ayenst lechery is, That a man or a woman eschew the company of hem by which he doubteth to be tempted: For al be it so, that the deed is withstond, yet is there great temptation. Soothly, a white wall, although it ne bren not fully, by sticking of the candle, yet is the wall black of the flame. Full oft time I rede, that no man trust in his own perfection, but he be stronger than Sampson, or holier than Daniel, or wiser than Salomon.

Now after that I have declared you as I can, the seven deadly sinnes, and some of her braunches, with her remedies. Soothly, if I could, I would tell you the ten commaundements, but so high doctrine I put to Divines. Nathelesse, I hope to God they ben touched in this treatise each of hem.

¶Sequitur secunda pars Poenitentiae.

NOw for as much as the second part of penitence stont in confession of mouth, as I began in the first chap. I say S. Augustine saith: Sin is every word and every deed, and all that men conject against the law of Iesu Christ, and this is for to sinne in heart, in mouth, and in deed, by the fiue wits, which ben sight, hearing, smelling, tasting or savour, and feeling. Now is it good to vnderstand, that that agregeth much every sinne. Thou shalt consider what thou art that doest the sinne, whether thou be male or female, young or old, gentle or thrall, free or seruaunt, whole or sick, wedded or single, ordred or vnordred, wise or foole, clerke or seculer, if she be of thy kindred bodily or ghostly or no, if any of thy kindred have sinned with her or no, and many mo things.

Another circumstaunce is this, Whether it be doen in fornication, or in advoutry, or no, in manner of homicide or no, horrible great sinnes, or small, and how long thou hast continued in sinne. The third circumstaunce is, the place there thou hast done sin, whether in other mennes houses, or in thine own, in field, in church, or in churchyard, in church dedicate, or no. For if the church be hallowed, and man or woman spili his kinde within that place, by way of sinne or wicked temptation, the church is enterdicted, and the Priest that did such a villany, the tearme of all his life he should no more sing Masse: and if he did, he should do deadly sin, at every time that he so sung Masse. The fourth circumstaunce is, by whiche mediatours or by which messengers, or for enticement, or for consentment, to beare companie with fellowshippe. * For many a wretch for to bear companie, woll goe to the Diuel of hell. Wherefore, they that egge or consent to the sin, ben partners of the sinne, and of the temptation of the sinner. The fifth circumstaunce is, how many times that he hath sinned, if it be in his minde, and how oft he hath fallen. For hee that oft falleth in sin, he dispiseth the mercy of God, and encreaseth his sin, and is unkind to Christe, and hee waxeth the more feeble to withstand sin, and sinneth the more lightly, [Page] and the latter riseth, & is more slow to shriue him, and namely to him that is his confessor. For which that folke when they fall ayen to her old follies, either they leaue their old confessor, or else they depart her shrift in diuers partes: But soothly suche departed shrift deserueth no mercie of God for her sins. The sixt circumstance is, why that a man sinneth as by temptation: and of himselfe procure that temptation, or by the exciting of other folk, or if he sinne with a woman by force or by her assent, or if the woman, maugre her head, haue be aforced or none. This shall she tell, wheder it were for couetise of pouerty, or if it were by her procurement or no, & such other things. The seventh circumstance is, in what manner he hath doe his sinne, or how that she hath suffered that folke have doe to her. And the same shall the man tell plainly, with all the circumstaunces, and wheder he hath sinned with common bordell women or non, or doen his sin in holy times or non, in fasting time or non, or before his shrift, or after his latter shrift, and hath peradventure broke thereby his penance enjoyned, by whose helpe or whose counsaile, by sorcery or craft, all must be told, and all these things after as they be great or smale, and grudge y• conscience of man or woman. And eke the Priest that is thy judge, may the better be advised of his judgement in yeuing of penaunce, and that is after thy contrition. For understond well that after time that a man hath defoyled his baptime by sinne, if he woll come to saluation there is none other way but by pennaunce, shrifte, & satisfaction, and namely by they two, if there be a confessour to whom he may shriue him, and the third if he have life to performe it. Then shall a man loke and consider, that if he woll make a true and a profitable confession, there must be four conditions. First it must be in sorrowfulnesse of hert, as saith the King Ezechiell to God, * I woll remember me all the years of my life in bitternesse of my heart. This condition of bitternesse hath fiue signes: The first is, that confession must be shamefast, not for to cover ne hide her sinne, for he hath offended his Lord God and defoyled his soule. And hereof saith S. Augustin: * The heart travaileth for shame of his sinne, and for he hath great shamefastnesse he is worthy to haue great mercy of God: which was the confession of the Publican, that would not heave up his eyen to heaven for he had offended God of heaven: for which shamefastnesse he had anon the mercy of God. And thereof saith saint Augustine: That such shamefull folk be next foryeuenesse and mercy.

Another signe is, humility in confession: of which sayth saint Peter, * Humbleth you vnder the might of GOD: the hond of God is strong inconfession, for therby God foryeueth thee thy sinnes, for he alone hath the power. And this humility shall be in hert, and in outward signes: For right as he hath humility to God in his hert, right so should he humble his body outward to the priest, that sitteth in Gods stead. For which in no manner, sith that Christ is soueraigne, and the priest mean and mediatour betwixt Christ & the sinner, and the sinner is lost by way of reason, then should not the sinner sitte as hye as his confessour, but kneel before him or at his feet, but if sicknesse cause it: For he shall not take heed who sitteth there, but in whose place he sitteth. A manne that hath trespassed to a Lord, and commeth to ask mercy and make his accord, and sitteth him down by him, men would hould him outragious, and not worthy so soone for to have remission of his trespasse.

The third signe is, how thy shrifte should be full of teares if thou may, and if thou may not weepe with thy bodily eyen, then weepe in thine heart, which was the confession of saint Peter. For after that he had forsake Iesus Christ, he went out and wept full bitterly.

The fourth signe is, that thou ne lette not for shame to shew thy confession: Such was the confession of Magdalein, that ne spared for no shame of hein that were at the feast, to go to our Lord Iesu Christ & beknow to him her sinnes. The fifth signe is, that a manne or a woman be obeysaunt to receive the pennaunce yt hem is injoyned. For certes Iesu Christ, for the offences of man, was obedient to death. The second condition of very confession is, that it be hastily done. For certes, if a man had a deadly wound, euer the lenger that he taryeth to heale himself, the more would it corrupt and haste him to his death, and also the wound would be y• worse for to hele. And right so fareth sinne, that longe time is in a man unshewed. Certes a man ought hastely shew his sins for manie causes, as for dread of death, that commeth oft sodainely, and no certain what time it shall be, ne in what place, and also the drenching of o sinne draweth in another: and also the lenger that he tarrieth, the farther is he fro Christ. And if he abide to his last day, scarcely may he shriue him or remember him of his sins, or repent for the greeuous maladie of his death. * And for as much as he ne hath in his life hearkened Iesu Christ when he hath spoken, he shall crie to Iesus Christ at his last daie, and scarcely woll he hearken him. And understonde that this condition muste haue foure thinges.

Thy shrift must be prouided before, and aduised, for wicked hast doth not profit, if a man shrive him of his sins: be it of Pride, or enuye, and so forth with the speces and circumstaunces of sin. And that hee haue comprehended in his minde the number and greatnesse of his sins, and how long he hath lyen in sinne. And also that he hath be contrite for his sins, and in stedfast purpose (by the [Page] grace of God) neuer ayen to fall to sin. And also that he dread and counterfaite himself that he fly the occasion of sinne, to whiche he is inclined. Also thou shalt shriue thee of all thy sinnes to o manne, and not part to o manne, and part to another: That is to vnderstond, in entent to depart thy confession for shame or dread, for it is but strangling of thy soul. * For certes, Iesus Christ is entierly all good, in him is none imperfection, and therefore either he foryeueth all perfectly, or els neuer a deal. I say not that if you be assigned to thy penitencer for certain sin, that thou art bounde to shewe him all the remenaunt of thy sinnes, of which thou haste be shriuen of thy curat, but if it like to thee of thy humility, this is no part of thy shrift. Ne I say not, there as I speak of division of confession, that if thou haue licence to shriue thee liketh, and by licence of thy Curate, that thou ne maist well shriue thee to him of all thy sins. Let no sin be vntold as ferre as thou hast remembraunce. And when thou shalt be shriuen to thy Curat, tell him all thy sinnes that thou hast do sith thou were last shriuen. This is no wicked entent of diuision of shrift.

Also the very shrift asketh certaine conditions. First that thou shriue thee by thy free will, not constrained for shame of folke, sicknesse, ne such other things: For it is reason that he that trespasseth by his free will, that by his free will he confesse his trespasse, and that none other man tell his sin but himself: ne he shall not nay, ne deny his sin, ne wrath him ayenst the Priest for admonishing him to leaue his sin. The second condition is, that thy shrift be lawfull, that is to say, that thou shriuest thee. And also the Priest that heareth thy confession be verely in the fayth of holy Church, and that a man ne be not dispeired of the mercie of Iesu Christ, as Cain or Iudas. And also a man must accuse himself of his own trespasse & not another, but he shall blame and wite himselfe and his owne malice of his sinne, and none other: But nathelesse, if that another man be occasion or enticer of his sinne, or the estate of a person be such by which his sin is agredged, or else that he may not plainly shriue him, but he tell the person with which he hath sined, then may he tell, so that his entent ne be not to backbite the person, but onely to declare his confession.

Thou ne shalt not also make no leasinges in thy confession for humilitie, peraduenture, to say that thou hast committed & done such sinnes, as of which that thou ne were neuer giltie. For saint Augustine saith, if that thou because of thine humilitie, makest lesings on thy self, though thou were not in sin before, yet art thou then in sinne through thy leasing. Thou must also shew thy sinne, by thine own proper mouth, but thou be dombe, and not by no Letter: sor thou that hast done the sinne, shalt haue the shame therefore. Thou shalt not eke paint thy confession with fayr subtill wordes, to couer the more thy sinne: for then begilest thou thy self, & not the priest: thou must tell it plain, be it neuer so foul ne horrible. Thou shalt also shriue thee to a priest that is discreet to counsail thee: and also thou shalt not shriue thee for vaine glorie, ne for ypocrisie, ne for no cause, but only for the loue & fear of Iesus Christ, and heal of thy soul. Thou shalt not also ren to the priest sodainly, to tell him lightly thy sin, as who saith, to tell a yape or a tale, but auisedly and with good deuotion: and generally shriue thee oft: if thou oft fall, oft arise by confession. And though thou shriue the ofter than ones of the sin which thou hast be shriuen of, it is the more merite: And as saith saint Augustine, Thou shalt haue the more lightly foryeuenesse and grace of God, both of sinne and pain. And certes ones a yere at least it is lawfull to be houseled, for surely ones a year all things renouellen.

Now haue I told you of very confession, that is the second part of penitence.

Explicit secunda pars penitentiae: Et sequitur tertia pars.

3

THe third part of penitence is Satisfaction, and that stont most generally in almose deed and holy pain. Now been there three manner of almose. Contrition of heart, where a man offreth himself to God: Another is, to haue pitie of defaute of his neighbour: And the third is, in giuing of good counsell, ghostly and bodily, where as men haue need, and namely in sustenaunce of mans foode. And take kepe that a man hath need of these things generally, he hath need of food, of clothing, and of herborow, he hath need of charitable counsail, visiting in prison, in sicknesse, and sepulture of his body. And if thou maist not visit the needfull in prison in thy person, visit hem with thy message and yefts. These ben generally the almose and workes of charitie, of hem that haue temporell riches, or discretion in counsailing. Of these workes shalt thou hear at the day of dome.

These almose shalt thou do of thine own proper things, and hastely and priuely if thou maist: but nathelesse, if thou maist not do it priuily, thou shalt not forbear to do almose, though men see it, so that it be not to doe for thank of the world, but only for thank of Iesu Christ. For as witnesseth faint Mathew Capi. v. A Citie may not be hid that is set on a mountain, ne men light not a lantern, to put it vnder a bushell, but set it vpon a candlestick, to yeue light to menne in the house: * Right so shull your light, light before menne, that they may see your good works, and glorifie our Father that is in heauen.

[Page] Now as to speak of bodyly pain, it stont in praiers, waking, fasting, vertuous teaching of orisons. And ye shall understond, y• orisons or prayers, is to say, a pitous will of heart, that setteth it in God, & expresseth by word outward to remeeue harms, and haue things spirituel and perdurable, and sometime temporel things. Of which Orisons, certes in the orison of the Paternoster, hath Iesus Christ enclosed most things. Certes it is priuiledged of three things in this dignity, for which it is more digne than any other prayer, For that Iesu Christ himselfe made it, and it is short, for it shold be learned the more lightly, and to hold it the more easie in heart, and help himselfe the ofter in this Orison: and for a man should be the lesse weary to say it, and not excuse him to learn it, it is so short and easie: and for it comprehendeth in it selfe, all good prayers. The exposition of this holie prayer, that is so excellent and digne, I referre to the Maister of Theologie, saue thus much woll I say, * That when thou prayest that God should foryeue thee thine offences as thou foryeuest hem that haue offended thee, be well ware that thou be not out of charitie. This holy Orison aminisheth also venial sin, and therefore it apperteineth specially to penitence.

This prayer must be truely sayed, and in perfect fayth, and that men pray to God ordinately, discreetly, and deuoutly: and alway a manne shall put his will, to be subiect to the will of God. This Orison must also be sayd with great humblenesse, and ful pure and honestly, and not to the annoyaunce of any man or woman. It must also be continued with the works of charitie. It auaileth also ayenst the vices of the soul: for as sayth S. Irom, * By fasting been saued the vices of the flesh, and by prayer the vices of the soule.

After this thou shalt understond, that bodyly prayer stont in waking. For Iesu Christ sayeth: wake ye and pray, that ye ne enter into wicked temptaion. Ye shull understond also, that fasting stont in three things: in forbearing of bodyly meat and drink, in forbearing of worldly iollitye, and in forbearing of deadly sinne: this is to saye, that a man shall keep him fro deadly sinne with all his might.

And thou shalt understond also, that God ordayned fasting, and to fasting partayneth foure thinges. Largenesse to poore folke: gladnesse of heart spirituel: not to be angrie ne annoyed, ne grutch for he fasteth: and also reasonable hour to eate by measure, that is to saye, a man shall not eat in untime, ne sit the longer at the table, for he fasteth.

Then shalt thou understond, that bodyly pain stont in discipline, or teaching by word or writing, or by ensample. Also in wearing of heer or stamin, or of harbergeons on her naked flesh for Christes sake, and that such maner penaunces, ne make not thine heart bitter or angrie, ne annoyed of thy selfe, for better is to cast away thine heer, than to cast away the sweetnesse of Iesus Christ. And therefore sayeth saint Poule: clothe you, as they that been chosen of God in heart, of misericorde, debonairte, suffraunce, and such manner of clothing, of whiche Iesu Christ is more pleased than with the heers or herbergeons.

Then is discipline also, in knocking of thy breast, in scourging with roddes, in kneeling, in tribulation, in suffring patiently wrongs that been doen to thee, and also in patient suffring of sicknesse, or lesing of worldly goodes, or cattel, or wife, child, or other frends.

Then shalt thou nnderstond, which things disturbe pennaunce, and that is in foure manners, drrade, shame, hope, and wanhope, that is, desperation. And for to speak first of dreade, for which he weneth that he may suffer no penaunce. There ayenst is remedie, for to think that bodyly penaunce, is but short and little at regard of the pain of hell, that is so cruel and so long, that it lasteth without end.

Now ayenst the shame that a man hath to shriue him, and namely these Ipocrites, that would be hold so perfect, that they haue no need to shriue hem: Ayenst that shame would a man think, that by way of reason, that he that hath not be ashamed to do foul things, certes him ought not be ashamed, for to doe faire thinges, and that is confessions. A man should also think, that God seeth and knoweth al his thoughts, and all his werks: to him maie nothing be hid ne couered. Men should also remember hem of the shame that is to come at the daye of dome, to hem that be not penitent, and shriuen in this present life: for all the creatures in yearth and in hell shall see apertly, all that they hidde in this world.

Now for to speak of the hope of hem, that been so negligent and slowe to shriue hem: that stondeth in two manners. That one is, that he hopeth for to liue long, and for to purchase much riches for his delight, and then he woll shriue him: And as he sayeth, him semeth then timely ynough to come to shrift: * Another is, of surquidrie that he hath in Christes mercie. Ayenst the first vice, he shall thenk that our life is in no sikernesse, and also that all the riches in this worlde been in aduenture, and passe as a shadow on the wall. And as sayeth saint Gregorie, That it appartayneth to the great righteousnes of God, that neuer shall the paine stinte of hem, that neuer would withdrewe hem from sinne her thankes, but euer continued in sinne: for that perpetual will to do sinne, shall they haue perpetual pain. [Page] Wanhope, is in two manners. The first wanhope is in the mercie of God: That other is, that they think that they ne might not long perseuer in goodnes.

The first wanhope commeth of that, he demeth that he hath sinned so greatly and so oft, and so long lyen in sinne, that he shall not be saued. * Certes ayenst that cursed wanhope should he thinke, that the Passion of Iesu Christ is more stronge for to unbinde, than sinne is strong for to binde. Ayenst the second wanhope he shall thinke, * That as often as he falleth, he may rise againe by penitence: and though he neuer so longe hath lyen in sinne, the mercie of Christ is alway ready to receiue him to mercie. Ayenst the Wanhope that he deemeth he should not longe perseuer in goodnesse, he shall think, * That the feeblenesse of the deuil, maye nothing doe, but if men woll suffer him: and also he shall haue strength of the help of Iesu Christ, and of all holy Church, and the protection of Angels, if him list.

Then shall men understonde, what is the fruite of penaunce, and after the wordes of Iesu Christ, It is an endlesse blisse of heauen: There ioye hath neuer ende, no contrarie of woe ne greuaunce: there all harms ben passed of this present life, there as is the sikernesse fro the pain of hell, there as is the blisful companie, that rejoyce hem euermo, euerich of others ioye: there as the body of man that sometime was foule and darke, is more clere than the Sunne: there as the body that sometime was sicke, freile, and feble, and mortal, is immortall, and so strong and hole, that there ne may nothing appeire it: there as is neither hunger, thurste, ne colde, but euery soule replenished with the sight of the perfite knowing of God. This blisfull raigne may men purchase by pouertie espirituel, and the glorie by lowlines, the plentie of ioy by hunger and thurst, and the rest by trauaile, and the life by death and mortification of sinne: to which life he us bring, that bought us with his precious blood. Amen.

¶Here endeth the Parsons tale. ¶Thus endeth the Booke of Canterbury tales.

THE Romaunt of the Rose. THis Book was begun in French Verse by William de Lorris, and finished forty years after by John Clopinell, alias John Moone, born at Mewen upon the River of Loyer, not far from Paris, as appeareth by Molinet, the French Author of the Morality upon the Romaunt; and afterward translated for the most part into English Metre by Geffrey Chaucer, but not finished. It is entituled, The Romaunt of the Rose; or, The Art of Love: wherein is shewed the helps and furtherances, as also the lets and impediments that Lovers have in their Suits. In this Book the Authour hath many glaunces at the Hypocrisie of the Clergy: whereby he got himself such hatred amongst them, that Gerson, Chancellour of Paris, writeth thus of him: saith he, There was one called Johannes Meldinensis, who wrote a Book called, The Romaunt of the Rose; which Book if I only had, and that there were no more in the World, if I might have five hundred pound for the same, I would rather burn it than take the Money. He sayeth more, That if he thought the Authour thereof did not repent him for that Book before he dyed, he would vouchsafe to pray for him no more than he would for Judas that betrayed Christ.

THE Romaunt of the Rose.
THis Book was begun in French Verse by William de Lorris, and finished forty years after by John Clopinell, alias John Moone, born at Mewen upon the River of Loyer, not far from Paris, as appeareth by Molinet, the French Author of the Morality upon the Romaunt; and afterward translated for the most part into English Metre by Geffrey Chaucer, but not finished. It is entituled, The Romaunt of the Rose; or, The Art of Love: wherein is shewed the helps and furtherances, as also the lets and impediments that Lovers have in their Suits. In this Book the Authour hath many glaunces at the Hypocrisie of the Clergy: whereby he got himself such hatred amongst them, that Gerson, Chancellour of Paris, writeth thus of him: saith he, There was one called Johannes Meldinensis, who wrote a Book called, The Romaunt of the Rose; which Book if I only had, and that there were no more in the World, if I might have five hundred pound for the same, I would rather burn it than take the Money. He sayeth more, That if he thought the Authour thereof did not repent him for that Book before he dyed, he would vouchsafe to pray for him no more than he would for Judas that betrayed Christ.

[Page]

MAny men sain that in sweueninges,

There nis but fables and lesinges:

But men may some sweuen seene,

Which hardely that false ne been,

But afterward ben apparaunt:

This may I draw to warraunt.

An authour that hight Macrobes,

That halt not dreames false ne lees,

But undoth us the auisioun,

That whilom mette king Cipioun.

And who so sayth, or weneth it be

A yape, or else nicete

To wene that dreames after fall,

Let who so liste a foole me call.

For this trow I, and say for me,

That dreames signifiaunce be

Of good and harme to many wightes,

That dreamen in her sleep a nightes

Full many thinges couertly,

That fallen after all openly.

Within my twentie yeere of age,

When that loue taketh his courage

Of young folke, I went soone

To bed, as I was wont to doone:

And fast I slept, and in sleeping,

Me mette such a sweuening,

That liked me wondrous wele,

But in that sweuen is neuer a dele

That it nis afterward befall,

Right as this dreame woll tell us all.

Now this dreame woll I rime a right,

To make your hearts gay and light:

For loue it prayeth, and also

Commaundeth me that it be so,

And if there any aske me,

Whether that it be he or she,

How this Booke which is here

Shall hight, that I rede you here:

It is the Romaunt of the Rose,

In which all the art of loue I close.

The matter faire is of to make,

God graunt me in gree that she it take

For whom that it begonnen is,

And that is she, that hath Iwis

So mokel prise, and thereto she

So worthie is beloued to be,

That she well ought of prise and right,

Be cleped Rose of euerie wight.

That it was Mey me thought tho

It is fiue yere or more ago,

That it was Mey, thus dreamed me,

In time of loue and iolitie,

That all thing ginneth waxen gay:

For there is neither buske nor hay

In Mey, that it nill shrouded bene,

And it with new leues wrene:

These woodes eke recoueren grene,

That drie in winter ben to sene,

And the earth waxeth proud withall,

For swote dewes that on it fall,

And the poore estate forget,

In which that winter had it set:

And then become the ground so proude,

That it woll haue a newe shroude,

And maketh so queint his robe and faire,

That it had hewes an hundred paire,

Of grasse and floures, Inde and Pers,

And many hewes full diuers:

That is the robe I mean iwis,

Through which the ground to praisen is.

The birdes that han left her song,

While they han suffred cold full strong,

In wethers grille, and derke to sight,

Ben in Mey, for the sunne bright,

So glad, that they shew in singing,

That in her heart is such liking,

That they mote singen and ben light:

Then doth the Nightingale her might,

To maken noyse, and singen blith:

Then is blisfull many a sith,

The chelaundre, and the popingaye,

Then young folke entenden aye,

For to ben gay and amorous,

The time is then so sauorous.

Hard is his heart that loueth nought

In Mey, when all this mirth is wrought,

When he may on these braunches here

The small birdes singen clere

[Page] Her blisfull sweete song piteous,

And in this season delitous:

When loue affirmeth all thing,

Me thought one night, in my sleeping,

Right in my bed full readyly,

That it was by the morrow early,

And up I rose, and gan me cloth,

Anone I wish mine hondes both,

A siluer needle forth I drow,

Out of an aguiler queint inow,

And gan this needle thread anone,

For out of toune me list to gone,

The sound of birdes for to heare

That on the buskes singen cleare,

That in the sweete season that lefe is,

With a thred basting my sleuis,

Alone I went in my playing,

The small foules song hearkening,

That payned hem full many a paire,

To sing on bowes blossomed faire,

Iolife and gay, full of gladnesse,

Toward a Riuer gan I me dresse,

That I heard ren fast by,

For fairer playen none saw I:

Then playen me by that Riuere

For from an hill that stood there nere,

Come doune the stream full stiffe and bold,

Clere was the water, and as cold

As any Well is, sooth to saine,

And somedele lasse it was than Saine,

But it was straiter, weleaway,

And neuer saw I er that day,

The water that so wele liked me,

And wonder glad was I to se

That lusty place, and that Riuere:

And with that water that ran so clere,

My face I wish, tho saw I wele,

The bottome ypaued eueridele

With grauel, full of stones shene,

The meadowes soft, sote, and grene,

Beet right on the water side,

Full clere was than the morowe tide,

And full attempre out of drede,

Tho gan I walken thorow the Mede,

Dounward aye in my playing,

The Riuers side coasting.

And when I had a while igone,

I saw a garden right anone,

Full long and broad, and eueridele

Enclosed was, and walled wele,

With high walles enbatailed,

Portrayed without, and well entayled

With many rich portraitures,

And both yet Images and peintures,

Gan I beholde besely,

And I woll tell you readyly,

Of thilke Images the semblaunce,

As farre as I haue remembraunce.

Amidde saw I Hate stonde,

That for her wrath and yre and onde,

Seemed to be a mynoresse,

An angry wight a childeresse,

And full of gile, and fell courage:

By semblaunt was that like Image,

And she was nothing wele araide,

But like a wode woman afraide,

Ifrounced foule was her visage,

And grinning for dispitous rage,

Her nose snorted up for tene,

Full hidous was she for to sene,

Full foule and rustie was she this,

Her head iwrithen was iwis

Full grimly with a great towaile.

An image of another entaile,

A lifte halfe was her fast by,

Her name aboue her head saw I,

And she was called Felony.

Another Image, that Villany

Icleped was, saw I and fonde

Vpon the wall on her right honde.

Villany was like somedele

That other Image, and trusteth wele

She seemed a wicked creature,

By countenaunce in portreiture,

She seemed be full despitous,

And eke full proude and outragious.

Well coud he paint I undertake,

That such an image coud make:

Full foule and churlish seemed she,

And eke villainous for to be,

And little coulde of nurture,

To worship any creature.

And next was painted Couetise,

That eggeth folke in many a gise,

To take and yeue right nought againe,

And great treasours up to laine.

And that is she, that for usure

Leneth to many a creature,

The lasse for the more winning,

So couetous is her brenning,

And that is she for pennies fele,

That teacheth for to robbe and stele

These theeues, and these smale harlotes,

And that is routh, for by her throtes,

Full many one hongeth at the last:

She maketh folke compasse and cast

To taken other folkes thing,

Through robberie, or miscoueting.

And that is she that maketh treachours,

And she maketh false pleadours,

That with her termes and her domes,

Done maidens, children, and eke gromes,

Her heritage to forgo:

Full crooked were her honds two,

* For Couetise is euer wood,

To gripen other folkes good.

Couetise, for her winning,

Full lefe hath other mennes thing.

Another Image set saw I,

Next Couetise fast by,

And she was cleped Auarice,

Full foule in painting was that vice,

Full sad and caitife was she eke,

And also grene as any leke,

So euil hewed was her colour,

Her seemed to haue liued in langour,

She was like thing for hunger dead,

That lad her life onely by bread

Kneden with eisell strong and egre,

And thereto she was lene and megre,

And she was clad full poorely,

All in an old torne courtpy,

[Page] As she were all with dogges torne,

And both behind and eke beforne

Clouted was the beggerly.

A mantle honge her faste by,

Vpon a bench weake and small,

A burnette cote hong there withall,

Furred with no mineuere,

But with a furre rough of heere,

Of lambe skinnes heauy and blacke,

It was so old I vndertake.

For Auarice to cloath her wele,

Ne hasteth her neuer a dele,

For certainly it were her loth

To wearen of that ilke cloth,

And if it were forweared, she

Would haue full great nicete

Of clothing, er she bought her newe,

All were it bad of woll and hewe.

This Auarice held in her hand,

A purse that hong by a band,

And that the hid and bond so strong,

Men must abide wonder long,

Out of the purse er there come ought,

For that ne commeth in her thought,

It was not certaine her entent,

That fro that purse a peny went.

And by that Image nigh inough,

Was painted Enuie, that neuer lough

Nor neuer well in her heart feard,

But if she either saw or heard

Some great mischaunce, or great disease,

Nothing may so much her please

As mischeife and misauenture,

Or when she seeth discomfiture

Vpon any worthy man fall,

Then liketh her well withall.

She is full glad in her courage,

If she see any great linage

Be brought to naught in shamefull wife:

And if a man in honour rise,

Or by his wit, or by his prowesse,

Of that hath she great heauinesse

For trusteth well she goeth nie wood,

When any chaunce happeth good.

* Enuy is of such cruelte,

That fayth ne trouth holdeth she,

To friend ne fellow, bad or good.

Ne she hath kinne none of her blood

That she nis full her enemie,

She nolde, I dare saine hardely

Her owne father fared wele,

And sore abieth she euerie dele

Her malice, and her male talent:

For she is in so great turment

And hate such, when folke doth good,

That nye she melteth for pure wood,

Her heart kerueth and so breaketh

That God the people well awreaketh,

* Enuy iwis shall neuer let,

Some blame vpon the folke to set.

I trow that if Enuie iwis,

Knew the best man that is,

On this side or beyond the see,

Yet somewhat lacken him would she:

And if he were so hende and wise,

That she ne might all abate his prise,

Yet would she blame his worthinesse,

Or by her wordes make it lesse.

I saw Envy in that painting,

Had a wonderfull looking,

For she ne looked but awrie,

Or overwhart, all baggingly.

And she had a foule usage,

She might looke in no visage

Of man ne woman, forth right plaine,

But shette her one eye for disdaine,

So for Envie brenned shee

When she might any man see

That faire, or worthy were, or wise,

Or else stood in folkes prise.

Sorow was painted next Envie

Vpon that wall of masonrie:

But well was seene in her colour

That she had lived in languour:

Her seemed to have the jaundice,

Not halfe so pale was Avarice,

Ne nothing like of leannesse

For sorowe, thought, and great distresse

That she had suffred daie and night

Made her yellow, and nothing bright:

Full sad, pale, and megre also,

Was never wight yet halfe so wo

As that her seemed for to be

Nor so fulfilled with yre as she,

I trow that no wight might her please

Nor doe that thing that might her ease,

Nor she ne would her sorow stake

Nor comfort none unto her take,

So depe was her wo begonne

And eke her heart in anger ronne,

A sorowfull thing well seemed she:

Nor she had nothing slow be

For to scratchen all her face

And for to rent in many place

Her clothes, and for to teare her swire

As she that was fulfilled of yre

And all to torne lay eke her heere

About her shoulders, here and there,

As she that had it all to rent

For anger and for male talent.

And eke I tell you certainly

How that she wept full tenderly:

In world nis wight so hard of heart

That had seene her sorowes smart

That nolde have had of her pite

So wo begon a thing was she.

She all to dasht her selfe for wo

And smote togider her hands two

To sorrow was she full ententife

That wofull retchelesse caitife

Her wrought little of playing

Or of clipping or kissing.

* For who so sorrowfull is in heart

Him lust not to play ne start,

Nor for to dauncen, ne to sing,

Ne may his heart in temper bring

To make joy on even or morrow,

For joy is contrarie unto sorrow.

Elde was painted after this,

That shorter was a foot iwis

Than she was wont in her yonghede

[...]nneth her selfe she might fede,

[Page] So feeble and eke so old was she

That faded was all her beaute.

Full salow was waxen her colour,

Her head for hore was white as flour,

Iwis great qua [...]me ne were it none,

Ne sinne, although her life were gone.

All woxen was her body vnwelde

And drie and dwined all for elde,

A foule forw [...]lked thing was she

That whilom round and soft had be,

Her heeres shoken fast withall

As from her head they would fall:

Her face frounced and forpined

And both her honds lorne fordwined

So old she was that she ne went

A foot, but it were by potent.

The time that passed night and daye

And restlesse trauayleth aye

And stealeth from vs so priuyly

That to vs seemeth sikerly

That it in one point dwelleth euer

And certes it ne resteth neuer

But goeth so fast, and passeth aye

That there nis man that thinke maye

What time that now present is

Asketh at these Cleres this,

For men thinke it readily

Three times been passed by

The time that may not soiourne

But goth, and may neuer retourne

As water that doun runneth aye

But neuer droppe returne may:

There may nothing as time endure

Metall, nor yearthly creature.

For all thing is frette and shall

The time eke that chaungeth all

And all doth waxe, and fostred be

And all thing destroyeth he.

The time that eldeth our Auncestours

And eldeth Kinges and Emperours

And that vs all shall ouercommen

Er that death vs shall haue nommen,

The time that hath all in welde

To elden folke, had made her elde

So inly, that to my weting

She might helpe her selfe nothing

But tourned ayen vnto childhede

She had nothing her selfe to lede

Ne wit ne pith in her hold

More than a childe of two yere old.

But nathelesse I trow that she

Was faire sometime, and fresh to se,

When she was in her rightfull age:

But she was past all that passage

And was a doted thing becommen

A furred cappe on had she nommen

Well had she clad her selfe and warme

For cold might els doen her harme,

These old folke haue alway cold,

* Her kind is such, when they been old.

Another thing was doen their write,

That seemed like an Ipocrite,

And it was cleped Pope Holy,

That ilke is she, that priuily

Ne spared never a wr [...]ked deed,

When men of her taken none heed

And maketh her outward precious,

With pale visage and piteous,

And seemeth a simple creature,

But there nis no misaduenture,

That she ne thinketh in courage,

Full like to her was thilke Image:

That maked was like her semblaunce,

She was full simple of countenaunce.

And she was clothed and eke shod,

As she were of the loue of God

Yolden to Religion,

Soch seemed her deuotion.

A Psalter held she fast in hond,

And busily she gan to fond:

To make many a faint prayere,

To God, and to his Saints dere,

Ne she was gay, fresh, ne iolife,

But seemed to be full ententife:

To good works, and to faire,

And thereto she had on an haire.

Ne certes she was fatte nothing

But seemed wearie for fasting,

Of colour pale and dead was she,

From her the gates aie warned be

Of Paradise that blisfull place,

For such folke maken leane her grace:

As Christ sayth in his Euangile,

To get hem prise in toune a while,

And for a little glorie vaine,

They lesen God and eke his raigne.

And alderlast of euerichone,

Was painted Pouert all alone,

That not a peny had in hold,

Although she her clothes sold,

And though she should an honged be,

For naked as a worme was she,

And if the weather stormie were,

For cold she should haue died there.

She ne had on but a straite old sacke,

And many a cloute on it there stacke,

This was her cote, and her mantele,

No more was there neuer a dele,

To cloath her with, I vndertake,

Great leaser had she to quake:

And she was put, that I of talke,

Ferre fro these other, vp in an halke,

There lurked and there coured she,

For poore thing where so it be,

Is shamefast, and dispised aie,

Accursed may well be that daie,

That poore man conceiued is,

For God wote all to seld iwis,

Is any poore man well ifed,

Or well arrayed or icled,

Or well beloued, in such wise,

In honour, that he may arise.

All these things well auised,

As I haue you er this deuised,

With gold and azure ouer all,

Depainted were vpon the wall.

Square was the wall, and high somde [...]e:

Enclosed, and ibarred wele,

In stead of hedge, was that gardin,

Come neuer shepheard therein,

Into that gardin, well wrought.

Who so that me coud haue brought,

[Page] By ladders or else by degree,

It would well haue liked mee,

For such solace, such joy, and pleie,

I trow that neuer man ne seie,

As was in that place delicious:

The gardin was not daungerous,

To herborow birdes many one,

So rich a yere was neuer none

Of birdes song, and braunches grene,

Therein were birdes mo I wene,

Than been in all the Realme of Fraunce:

Full blisfull was the accordaunce,

Of sweet pitous song they made,

For all this world it ought glade.

And I my selfe so merry feard,

When I her blisfull songes heard,

That for an hundred pound would I,

If that the passage openly

Had be vnto me free

That I nolde entren for to see

Thassemble (God keepe it fro care)

Of birdes, which therein ware,

That songen through her merry throtes,

Daunces of loue, and merry notes.

When I thus heard foules sing,

I fell fast in a waymenting,

By which art, or by what engin,

I might come into that gardin,

But way I couth finde none,

Into that gardin for to gone,

Ne nought wist I if that there were

Either hole or place where,

By which I might haue entre,

Ne there was none to teach me,

For I was all alone iwis,

For woe and anguish of this,

Till at last bethought I mee,

That by no way ne might it bee,

That there nas ladder ne way to pace,

Or hole, into so faire a place.

Tho gan I go a full great paas,

Enuiron, euen in compas,

The closing of the square wall,

Till that I found a wicket small

To shette, that I ne might in gone,

And other entre was there none.

Vpon this doore I gan to smite

That was fetis, and so lite:

For other waye coud I not seke

Full longe I shote, and knocked eke.

And stode full long all herkening

If that I heard any wight comming:

Till that the doore of thilke entre

A maiden curteis opened me:

Her haire was as yellowe of hewe

As any bason scoured newe,

Her flesh tender as is a chicke

With bent browes, smooth and slicke,

And by measure large were

The opening of her eyen clere:

Her nose of good proportion,

Her eyen graie, as is a faucon,

With sweete breath and well fauoured,

Her face white and well coloured,

With little mouth, and round to see:

A cloue chinne eke had she,

Her necke was of good fashion

In length and greatnesse by reason

Without bleine, scabbe, or roine,

Fro Ierusalem vnto Burgoine

There nis a fairer necke iwis

To fele how smooth and soft it is.

Her throte also white of hewe,

As Snowe on braunce snowed newe.

Of bodie full well wrought was she,

Men neden not in no countre

A fairer bodie for to seke:

And of fine Orfrais had she eke

A chapelet, so semely on,

Ne neuer wered maide vpon

And faire aboue that chapelet

A rose garlond had she set

She had a gay mirrour

And with a rich gold treasour,

Her head was tressed queintly

Her sleeues sewed fetously.

And for to keepe her hondes faire

Of gloues white she had a paire:

And she had on a coate of grene

Of cloth of Gaunt, withouten wene:

Well seemed by her apparaile

She was not wont to great trauaile.

For when shee kempt was feteously

And well araied and richly,

Then had she doen all her iournee,

For merrye and well begon was she.

She led a lustie life in May,

She had no thought, by night ne day

Of nothing, but if it were onely

To grayeth her well and vncouthly.

When that this dore had opened me

This May, seemely for to see,

I thonked her as I best might,

And asked her how that she hight:

And what she was, I asked eke,

And she to me was nought vnmeke

Ne of her answeare daungerous.

But faire answerde, and sayed thus:

Lo sir, my name is Idlenesse,

So clepe men me, more and lesse:

Full mightie and full rich am I,

And that of one thinge namely,

For I entende to nothing

But to my joye, and my playing,

And for to kembe and tresse me:

Acquainted am I and priue

With Mirthe, Lord of this gardin

That fro the londe of Alexandrin

Made the trees hither be fet,

That in this gardin been iset:

And when the trees were woxen an hight,

This wall that stant here in thy sight,

Did Mirth enclosen all about,

And these Images all without

He did hem both entaile and paint,

That neither been jolife ne quaint,

But they been full of sorowe and wo

As thou hast see ne a while ago.

AND oft time him to solace

Sir Mirth commeth into this place,

And eke with him commeth his meine.

That liuen in lust and iolite:

[Page] And now is Mirth therein, to here

The birdes how they singen clere

The Mauis and the Nightingale,

And other jolly birdes smale:

And thus he walked to solace

Him and his folke, for sweeter place

To playen in, he may not finde,

Although he sought one in till Inde.

The alther fairest folke to see

That in this world may found bee

Hath Mirth with him in his rout

That followen him alwaies about,

When Idlenesse had told all this,

And I had herkened well ywis,

Then saied I to dame Idlenesse,

Now also wisely God me blesse,

Sith Mirth, that is so faire and fre

Is in this yerd with his meine,

Fro thilke assemble, if I may,

Shall no man werne me to day,

That I this night ne mote it see,

For well wene I there with him bee

A faire and jolly companie

Fulfilled of all courtesie:

And forth with out words mo

In at the wicked went I tho,

That Idlenesse had opened mee,

Into that garden faire to see.

And when I was in ywis,

Mine heart was full glad of this.

For well wend I full sikerly

Haue been in Paradice earthly,

So faire it was, that trusteth well,

It seemed a place espirituell.

For certes at my deuise,

There is no place in Paradice,

So good in for to dwell or be,

As in that garden thought me.

For there was many a bird singing,

Throughout the yerde all thringing,

In many places were Nightingales,

Alpes, Finches, and Wodwales,

That in her sweet song delighten

In thilke places as they habiten.

There might men see many flockes

Of Turtles and Lauerockes,

Chalaundres fele saw I there,

That very nigh forsongen were.

And Thrustles, Terins, and Mauise,

That songen for to win hem prise,

And eke to sermount in her song

That other birds hem emong

By note made faire seruise:

These birdes, that I you deuise,

They song her song as faire and well,

As Angels done espirituell,

And trusteth me, when I hem heard,

Full lustie and well I feard:

For neuer yet such melodie

Was heard of man that might die.

Such sweet song was hem emong,

That me thought it no birds song,

But it was wonder like to bee

Song of Meremaidens of the see,

That for her singing is so clere:

Though we Meremaidens clepe hem here

In English, as is our vsaunce,

Men clepe hem Sereins in Fraunce.

ENtentiue weren for to sing

These birds, that not vnkonning

Were of her craft, and a prentise,

But of song subtill and wise:

And certes, when I heard her song,

And saw the green place emong,

In heart I wext so wonder gay,

That I was neuer erst, ere that day

So iolife, nor so well bigo,

Ne merry in heart, as I was tho:

And then wist I, and saw full well,

That Idlenesse me serued well,

That me put in such iolite,

Her friend well ought I for to be,

Sith she the dore of that gardin

Had opened, and me let in.

From henceforth, how that I wrought

I shall you tell, as me thought:

First whereof Mirth serued there,

And eke what folke there with him were,

Without fable I woll discriue.

And that garden eke as bliue:

I woll you tellen after this

The faire fashion all ywis.

That well wrought was for the nones,

I may not tell you all atones,

But as I may and can, I shall

By order tellen you it all.

Full faire seruice, and eke full swete

These birds maden as they sete:

Laies of loue, ful well souning

They songen in her iargoning,

Some high, and some eke low song

Vpon the braunches greene isprong:

The sweetnesse of her melodie

Made all mine heart in reuelrie.

And when that I heard I trowe

These birds singing on a rowe,

Then might I not withhold mee

That I ne went in for to see

Sir Mirth, for my desiring

Was him to seene ouer all thing,

His countenaunce and his manere:

That sight was to me full dere.

THo went I forth on my right hond

Downe by a little path I fond

Of Mints full, and Fennell greene

As fast by without wene,

Sir Mirth I found, and right anone

Vnto Sir Mirth gan I gone,

There as he was him to solace,

And with him in that lustie place,

So faire folke and so fresh had he,

That when I saw, I wondred me

Fro whence such folke might come,

So faire they weren all and some:

For they weren like, as to my sight,

To Angels, that ben fethered bright.

These folke, of which I tell you so,

Vpon a karole wenten tho:

A Ladie karoled hem, that hight

Gladnesse, blisfull, and light,

[Page] Well could she sing and lustely

None halfe so well and seemely:

And coth make in song such refraining,

It sate her wonder well to sing.

Her voice full clere was and full swete,

She was not rude ne unmete,

But couth ynough for such doing

As longeth unto karolling:

For she was wont in every place

To singen first, folke to sol [...]ace,

For singing most she gave her to,

No craft had she so lefe to do.

THO mightest thou karols seene,

And folke daunce and merry beene,

And made many a faire tourning

Vpon the greene grasse springing.

There mightest thou see these Flutours,

Minstrals, and eke joglours,

That well to sing did her paine:

Some song songs of Loraine,

For in Loraine her notes be

Full sweeter than in this countre.

There was many a Timbestere,

And saliours, that I dare well swere

Couth her craft full perfitly:

The Timbres up full subtelly

They cast, and hent full oft

Vpon a finger faire and soft,

That they failed never mo.

Full fetis damosels two,

Right yong, and full of semelyhede

In kirtles, and none other wede,

And faire tressed every tresse

Had Mirth doen for his noblesse

Amid the carole for to daunce,

But hereof lieth no remembraunce,

How that they daunced queintly:

That one would come all prively

Ayen that other, and when they were

Togither almost, they threw ifere

Her mouthes so, that through her play

It seemed as they kist alway:

To dauncen well couth they the guise.

What should I more to you devise?

Ne bode I never thence go,

Whiles that I saw hem daunce so

Vpon the caroll wonder fast,

I gan behold, till at last

A Ladie gan me for to espie,

And she was cleped Courtesie,

The worshipfull, the debonaire,

I pray to God ever fall her faire:

Full courtessy she called me,

What doe ye there Beau sire (qd. she)

Come, and if it like you

To daunce, daunceth with us now:

And I without tarrying

Went into the carolling,

I was abashed never adele,

But it to me liked right wele,

That Courtesie me cleped so,

And bade me on the daunce go.

For if I had durst certaine,

I would have carolled right faine

As man that was to daunce right blithe:

Then gan I looken oft sithe

The shape, the bodies, and the cheres,

The countenaunce and the maneres

Of all the folke that daunced there,

And I shall tell what they were.

Full faire was Mirth, full long and high,

A fairer man I never sigh:

As round as apple was his face,

Full roddie and white in every place:

Fetis he was and well besey,

With meetly mouth and eyen gray,

His nose by measure wrought full right,

Crispe was his haire, and eke full bright:

His shoulders of large brede,

And smallish in the girdle stede:

He seemed like a purtreiture,

So noble he was of his stature,

So faire, so jolly, and so fetise,

With lims wrought at point devise

Deliver, smert, and of great might:

Ne saw thou never man so light.

Of berd unneth had he nothing,

For it was in the first spring,

Full yong he was, and merry of thought

And in samette, with birds wrought,

And with gold beaten full fetous [...]y,

His bodie was clad full richely:

Wrought was his robe in straunge egise,

And all to slittered for queintise

In many a place, low and hie,

And shode he was with great maistrie,

With shoone decoped, and with lace,

By drurie, and by solace,

His leefe a rosen chapelet

Had made, and on his head it set.

And wete ye who was his lefe,

Dame Gladnesse there was him so lefe,

That singeth so well with glad courage,

That from she was twelve yeare of age,

She of her love graunt him made

Sir Mirth her by the finger hade

Dauncing, and she him also,

Great love was atwixt hem two:

Both were they faire and bright of hew,

She seemed like a rose new

Of colours, and her flesh so tender,

That with a brere small and tender,

Men might it cleve, I dare well say:

Her forhead frounceles all play,

Bent were her browes two,

Her eyen gray, and glad also,

That laughden aye in her semblaunt,

First or the mouth by covenaunt.

I wot not what of her nose I shall discrive,

So faire hath no woman alive:

Her haire was yellow, and clere shining,

I wote no lady so liking.

Of Orfraies fresh was her garland,

I which seene have a thousand

Saw never ywis no garland yet,

So well wrought of silke as it.

And in an over gilt samite

Clad she was, by great delite,

Of which her leefe a robe werde

The merrier she in her heart ferde.

And next her went, on her other side,

The God of Love, that can divide

[Page] Love, and as him liketh it be

But he can cherles daunten, he,

And many folkes pride fallen,

And he can well these Lords thrallen,

And Ladies put at low degree

When he may hem too proud see.

This God of Love of his fashion

Was like no knave, ne quistron:

His beautie greatly was to prise,

But of his robe to devise

I dreade encombred for to be,

For not yelad in silke was he,

But all in floures and flourettes,

I painted all with amorettes,

And with losenges and scochons,

With Birds, Liberdes, and Lions,

And other beasts wrought full wele:

His garment was every dele

I purtraied and ywrought with flours,

By divers medling of colours:

Floures ther were of many gise

Iset by compasse in a sise,

There lacked no floure to my dome,

Ne not so much as floure of Brome,

Ne violet, ne eke peruinke,

Ne floure none, that men can on thinke:

And many a rose lefe full long

Was entermedled there emong:

And also on his head was set

Of roses redde a chapelet.

But Nightingales a full great rout

That flien over his head about,

The leaves felden as they flien,

And he was all with birds wrien,

With Popinjay, with Nightingale,

With Chalaundre, and with wodewale.

With finch, with larke, & with archangell,

He seemed as he were an angell,

That down were comen fro heaven clere.

Love had with him a bachelere,

That he made alwayes with him be,

Sweet looking cleped was he:

This batcheler stood beholding

The daunce, and in his hond holding

Turke bows two, full well devised had hee,

That one of hem was of a tree

That beareth a fruit of savour wicke,

Full crooked was that foule sticke,

And knottie here and there also

And blacke as berrie, or any slo.

That other bow was of a plant

Without wemme, I dare warrant,

Full even and by proportion,

Trectes and long, of full good fashion,

And it was painted well and thwitten,

And over all diapred and written

With ladies and with bacheleres,

Full lightsome and glad of cheres:

These bowes two held Sweet looking,

That seemed like no gadling:

And ten brode arrowes held he there,

Of which sive in his hond were,

But they were shaven well and dight,

Nocked and feathered aright:

And all they were with gold begon,

And strong pointed everichon,

And sharpe for to kerven wele,

But yron was there none ne stele:

For all was gold, men might see,

Out take the feathers and the tree.

THe swiftest of these arrowes five

Out of a bow for to drive,

And best feathered for to flie,

And fairest eke, was cleped Beautie:

That other arrow that hurteth lesse,

Was cleped (as I trow) Simplesse:

The third cleped was Fraunchise,

That feathered was in noble wise

With valour and with courtesie?

The fourth was cleped Companie,

That heavie for to shooten is,

But who so shooteth right ywis,

May therewith doen great harme and wo:

The fift of these, and last also,

Faire Semblaunt men that arrow call,

The least greevous of hem all,

Yet can it make a full great wound,

But he may hope his sores sound

That hurt is with that arrowe ywis,

His wo the bette bestowed is:

For he may sooner have gladnesse,

His langour ought be the lesse.

FIve arrowes were of other gise,

That been full foule to devise:

For shaft and end sooth for to tell.

Were also blacke as fiend in hell

The first of hem is called Pride,

That other arrow next him beside,

It was cleped Villanie,

That arrow was, as with fellonie

Envenimed, and with spitous blame:

The third of hem was cleped Shame.

The fourth, Wanhope cleped is,

The fift, the New thought ywis.

These arrowes that I speake of here,

Were all five on one mannere,

And all were they resemblable

To hem was well sitting and able,

The foule crooked bow hidous,

That knottie was, and all roinous,

That bow seemed well to shete

The arrowes five, that been unmete

And contrary to that other five:

But though I tell not as blive

Of her power, ne of her might,

Hereafter shall I tellen right

The sooth, and eke signifiaunce

As ferre as I have remembraunce:

All shall be saied I undertake,

Ere of this booke an end I make.

Now come I to my tale againe:

But aldersirst, I woll you saine

The fashion and the countenaunces

Of all the folke that on the daunce is.

The God of Love jolife and light,

Led on his hond a Ladie bright

Of high prise, and of great degre,

This Ladie called was beaute,

And an arrow, of which I told:

Full well thewed was she hold,

[Page] Ne she was derke ne browne, but bright,

And cleare as the Moone light:

Againe whom all the Starres semen

But small candles, as we demen:

Her flesh was tender as dewe of floure,

Her cheare was simple as bird in boure,

As white as Lilly or Rose in rise.

Her face gentle and treatise:

Fetis she was, and small to see,

No wintred browes had shee,

Ne popped here, for it needed nought

To winder her, or to paint her ought:

Her tresses yellow, and long straughten,

Vnto her heeles downe they raughten,

Her nose, her mouth, and eye and cheke

Well wrought, and all the remnaunt eke.

A full great sauour and a swote,

Me thought in mine heart rote:

As helpe me God, when I remember,

Of the fashion of euery member,

In world is none so faire a wight:

For young she was, and hewed bright

Sore pleasant, and fetis with all,

Gent, and in her middle small.

Beside beauty yede Richesse,

An high Ladie of great noblesse,

And great of price in euery place:

But who so durst to her trespace

Or till her folke, in werke or dede,

He were full hardie out of drede:

For both she helpe and hinder may,

And that is not of yesterday

That rich folke haue full great might

To helpe, and eke to greue a wight.

The best and greatest of valour

Didden Richesse full great honour,

And busie weren her to serue,

For that they would her loue deserue,

They cleped her Ladie, great and small,

This wide world her dredeth all:

This world is all in her daungere,

Her court hath many a losengere,

And many a traitour enuious,

That ben full busie and curious

For to dispraise, and to blame

That best deseruen loue and name,

To forne the folke hem to begilen,

These losenge ours hem preise and smilen.

And thus the world with word annointen,

But afterward they prill and pointen

The folke, right to the bare bone,

Behind her backe when they ben gone,

And foule abaten folkes prise.

Full many a worthy man and wise

Han hindred, and idoen to die

These losengeours with her flatterie,

And maketh folke full straunge be,

There as hem ought ben priue:

Well euill mote they thriue and thee,

And euill ariued mote they bee

These losengeours full of enuie.

No good man loueth her companie.

Richesse a robe of purple on had,

Ne trow not that I lie or mad:

For in this world is none it liche,

Ne by a thousand deale so riche,

Ne none so faire, for it full wele,

With Orfreis laied was euery dele,

And purtraid in the ribanings

Of Dukes stories, and of Kings,

And with a bend of gold tassiled,

And knops fine of gold amiled:

About her necke of gentle entaile

Was shet the rich Cheuesaile,

In which there was full great plente

Of stones clere, and faire to se.

Richesse a girdle had vpon

The bokell of it was of ston:

Of vertue great, and mokell of might:

For who so bare the stone so bright,

Of venim durst him nothing doubt

While he the stone had him about:

That stone was greatly for to loue,

And till a rich mans behoue,

Worth all the gold in Rome and Frise:

The Mourdant wrought in noble gise

Was of a stone full precious,

That was so fine and vertuous,

That whole a man it couth make

Of palsie, and of toothake,

And yet the stone had such a grace,

That he was seker in euery place

All thilke day not blind to beene,

That fasting might that stone seene:

The barres were of gold full fine,

Vpon a tissue of Sattine

Full heauie, great, and nothing light,

In eueriche was a besaunt wight.

Vpon the tresses of Richesse

Was set a circle of noblesse

Of brend gold, that full light shone,

So faire trow I was neuer none:

But he were cunning for the nones,

That could deuise all the stones

That in that circle shewen clere,

It is a wonder thing to here:

For no man could preise or gesse

Of hem the value or richesse,

Rubies there were, Saphirs, Ragounces,

And Emeraudes, more than two vnces.

But all before full subtilly

A fine Carbuncle set saw I,

The stone so cleare was and so bright,

That all so soone as it was night,

Men might seene to go for nede

A mile or two, in length and brede.

Such light sprang out of the stone,

That Richesse wonder bright shone

Both her head, and all her face,

And eke about her all the place.

Dame Richesse on her hond gan lede

A yong man full of semely hede,

That she best loued of any thing,

His lust was much in housholding:

In clothing was he full fetise,

And loued well to haue hors of prise,

He wend to haue reproued be

Of theft or murder, if that he

Had in his stable an hacknay,

And therefore he desired aye

To been acquainted with Richesse,

For all his purpose as I gesse,

[Page] Was for to make great dispence,

Withouten warning or defence:

And Richesse might it well sustaine,

And her dispences wele maintaine,

And him alway such plentie send

Of gold and siluer for to spend

Without lacking or daungere,

As it were pourde in a garnere.

And after on the daunce went

Largesse, that set all her entent

For to ben honorable and free,

Of Alexanders kinne was shee:

Her most joy was ywis,

When that she yafe: and saied, haue this.

Not Auarice the foule caitife

Was halfe to gripe so ententife

As Largesse, is, to yeue and spend,

And God alway ynowe her send,

So that the more she yaue away,

The more iwis she had alway.

Great loos hath Largesse, and great prise,

For both wise folke and vnwise

Were wholly to her bandon brought,

So well with yefts hath she wrought.

And if she had an enemy,

I trowe that she couth craftely

Make him full soone her friend to be

So large of yefts, and wise was she,

Therefore she stood in loue and grace

Of rich and poore in euery place.

* A full great foole he is ywis,

That both rich and poore, and niggard is.

A Lord may haue no manner vice,

* That greeueth more than Auarice.

For niggard neuer with strength of hand

May win him great lordship or land:

For friends all too few hath he

To doen his will performed be:

* And who so woll have friends here,

He may not hold his treasure dere.

For by ensample tell I this,

Right as an Adamant ywis

Can drawen to him subtelly

The yron that is laied thereby,

So draweth folkes hearts ywis

Siluer and gold that yeuen is.

Largesse had on a robe fresh

Of rich purpure Sarlinish:

Well formed was her face and clere,

And opened had she her colere,

For she right there had in present

Vnto a Lady made present

Of a gold brooch, full well wrought,

And certes it missate her nought:

For through her smocke wrought with silke,

The flesh was seene as white as milke:

Largesse, that worthy was and wise,

Held by the hond a knight of prise,

Was sibbe to Arthour of Breteigne,

And that was he that bare the enseigne

Of worship, and the Gousfaucoun:

And yet he is of such renoun,

That men of him say faire things

Before Barons, Earles, and Rings.

This knight was commen all newly

Fro tourneying fast by,

There had he done great chiualrie

Through his vertue and his maisirie,

And for the loue of his lemman

He cast doune many a doughty man.

And next him daunced dame Fraunchise,

Arrayed in full noble gise:

She has not broune ne dunne of hew,

But white as snow ifallen new:

Her nose was wrought at point deuise,

For it was gentle and tretise,

With eyen glad, and browes bent,

Her haire downe to her heels went,

And she was simple as doue on tree,

Full debonaire of hert was shee.

She durst neither say ne do,

But that, that her longeth to:

And if a man were in distresse,

And for her loue in heauinesse,

Her heart would have full great pitee

She was so amiable and free:

For were a man for her bestad.

She would ben right sore adrad,

That she did ouergreat outrage,

But she him holpe his harme taswage,

Her thought it all a villany,

And she had on a suckeny,

That not of hempe herdes was,

So faire was none in all Arras,

Lord it was riddled fetisly,

There nas not a point truly

That it nas in his right assise

Full well yclothed was Fraunchise,

For there nis no cloth sitteth bette

On damosell, than doth rokette:

A woman well more fetise is

In rokette, than in cote ywis,

The white rokette riddeled faire,

Betokeneth, that full debonaire

And sweet was she that it bere.

By her daunced a Bachelere,

I cannot tellen you what he hight,

But faire he was, and of good height,

All had he ben, I say no more,

The lords sonne of Windsore.

And next that daunced Courtesie,

That preised was of low and hie,

For neither proud ne foole was she:

She for to daunce called me,

I pray God giue her good grace,

For when I came first into the place,

She nas not nice, ne outrageous,

But wise and ware, and vertuous,

Of faire speech, and faire answer,

Was neuer wight missaid of her:

She bare no rancour to no wight,

Clere broune she was, and thereto bright

Of face and body auenaunt

I wote no lady so pleasaunt,

She were worthy for to bene

An Empresse or crowned Quene.

And by her went a knight dauncing

That worthy was and well speaking,

And full well coud he done honour:

The knight was faire and stiffe in stour,

And in armure a seemely man,

And well beloued of his lemman,

[Page] Faire Idlenesse then saw I,

That alway was me fast by,

Of her haue I without faile

Cold you the shape and apparaile:

For (as I said) Lo, that was she

That did to me so great bounte.

She the gate of that gardin

Vndid, and let me passen in,

And after daunced as I gesse.

And she fulfilled of lustinesse,

That nas not yet xii yeare of age,

With heart wild, and thought volage.

Nice she was, but she ne ment

None harme ne sleight in her entent,

But onely lust and iolite,

* For yong folke, well weten ye,

Haue little thought but on her play.

Her lemman was beside alway,

In such a gise, that he her kist

At all times that him list,

That all the daunce might it see,

They make no force of priuetee:

For who so spake of hem euill or wele,

They were ashamed neuer adele,

But men might seene hem kisse there,

As it two yong doues were,

For yong was thilke Bachelere,

Of beauty wot I non his pere,

And he was right of such an age,

As Youth his lefe, and such courage.

The lusty folke that daunced there,

And also other that with him were

That weren all of her meinee

Full hend folke, wise, and free,

And folke of faire port truly,

There were all comenly.

When I had seene the countenaunces

Of hem that ladden thus these daunces,

Then had I will to goe and see

The garden that so liked mee,

And looken on these faire Laureres,

On Pine trees, Cedrres, and Olmeres,

The daunces then ended were,

For many of hem that daunced there,

Were with her loues went away

Vnder the trees to haue her play.

A Lord they liued lustely,

A great foole were he sikerly,

That nold his thankes such life lede:

For this dare I saine out of drede,

That who so might so well fare,

For better life durst him not care,

For there nis so good paradise,

As to haue a loue at his deuise:

Out of that place went I tho,

And in that garden gan I go,

Playing along full merely.

The God of Loue full hastely

Vnto him Sweet Looking clept,

No lenger would he that she kept

His how of gold, that shone so bright.

He had him bent anon right,

And he full soone set an end,

And at a braide he gan it bend,

And tooke him of his arrowes fiue,

Full sharpe and ready for to driue.

Now God that sitteth in maieste

Fro deadly wounds he keepe me,

If so be that he had me shete,

For if I with his arrow mete,

It had me greeued sore ywis,

But I that nothing wist of this,

Went vp and downe full many a way,

And he me followed fast alway,

But no where would I rest me,

Till I had in all the garden be.

THe Garden was by measuring

Right euen and square in compassing,

It as long was as it was large,

Of fruit had euery tree his charge,

But it were any hidous tree

Of which there were two or three.

There were, and that wote I full wele,

Of Pomgranettes a full great dele,

That is a fruit full well to like,

Namely to folke when they ben sike:

And trees there were great foison,

That baren nuts in her season,

Such as men nutmegs call,

That swote of savour been withall,

And Almandres great plentee,

Figges, and many a Date tree

There weren, if men had nede,

Through the Gardin in length and brede.

There was eke wexing many a spice,

As Clowe, Gilofre, and Licorice,

Gingere, and Grein de Paris,

Canell, and Setewale of pris,

And many a spice delitable,

To eaten when men rise fro table.

And many homely trees there were,

That Peaches, Coines, and Apples bere,

Medlers, Plommes, Peeres, Thesteinis,

Cherise, of which many one faine is,

Nuts, Aleis, and Bolas,

That for to seene it was solas,

With many high Laurer and Pine,

Was renged clene all that gardine,

With Cipres, and with Oliueris,

Of which that nigh no plenty here is.

There were Elmes great and strong,

Maples, Ashe, Oke, Alpes, Planes long,

Fine Ewe, Popler, and Lindes faire,

And other trees full many a paire.

What should I tell you more of it?

There were so many trees yet,

That I should all encombred bee,

Cre I had reckoned euery tree.

These trees were set that I deuise,

One from another in assise

Fiue fadome or sixe, I trow so,

But they were high and great also:

And for to keepe out well the Sunne,

The croppes were so thicke irunne,

And euery braunch in other knitte,

And full of greene leaues sitte,

That Sunne might there none descend,

Least the tender grasses shend.

There might men Does and Roes isee,

And of Squirrels full great plentee,

From bough to bough alway leping,

Connis there were also playing,

[Page] That comen out of her clapers

Of sundry colours and maners,

And maden many a tourneying

Vpon the fresh grasie springing.

In places saw I wels there,

In which there no frogs were,

And faire in shaddow was euery well

But I ne can the number tell

Of stremis small, that by deuise

Mirth had done come through condise,

Of which the water in renning

Gan make a noise full liking.

About the brinkes of these wels,

And by the streames ouer all els

Sprang vp the grasse, as thicke iset

And soft as any veluet,

On which men might his lemman ley,

As on a featherbed to pley,

For the earth was full soft and swete:

Through moisture of the well wete

Sprong vp the sote greene gras,

As faire, as thicke, as mister was.

But much amended it the place,

That therth was of such a grace

That it of floures hath plente,

That both in summer and winter be.

There sprang the violet all new,

And fresh peruinke rich of hew,

And floures yellow, white, and rede,

Such plenty grew there neuer in mede:

Full gay was all the ground and queint,

And poudred, as men had it peint,

With many a fresh and sundry flour,

That casten vp full good sauour.

I woll not long hold you in fable

Of all this garden dilectable,

I mote my tongue stinten nede,

For I ne may withouten drede

Naught tellen you the beautie all,

Ne halfe the bountie therewithall.

I went on right hond and on left

About the place, it was not left

Till I had all the garden beene

In the esters that men might seene.

And thus while I went in my playe,

The God of Loue me followed aye,

Right as an Hunter can abide

The beast, till he seeth his tide

To shooten at goodnesse to the deere,

When that him needeth go no neere.

And so befell, I rested mee

Besides a well vnder a tree,

Which tree in Fraunce men call a Pine,

But sith the time of king Pepine

Ne grew there tree in mans sight

So faire, ne so well woxe in hight,

In all that yard so high was none.

And springing in a marble stone

Had nature set, the sooth to tell,

Vnder that Pine tree a well,

And on the border all without

Was written in the stone about

Letters small, that saiden thus,

Here starfe the faire Narcissus.

Narcissus was a bachelere,

That loue had caught in his daungere,

And in his nette gan him so straine,

And did him so to weepe and plaine,

That need him must his life forgo:

For a faire lady that hight Echo,

Him loued ouer any creature,

And gan for him such paine endure,

That on a time she him tolde,

That if he her louen nolde,

That her behoued needs die,

There lay none other remedie.

But nathelesse, for his beaute

So fierce and daungerous was he

That he nolde graunten her asking,

For weeping, ne for faire praying.

And when she heard him werne her so,

She had in heart so great wo,

And tooke it in so great despite,

That she without more respite

Was dead anon: but ere she deide,

Full pitously to God she preide,

That proud hearted Narcissus,

That was in loue so daungerous,

Might on a day ben hampered so

For loue, and ben so hote for wo,

That neuer he might to joy attaine:

Then should he fele in very vaine

What sorrow true louers maken,

That ben so villainously forsaken.

THis prayer was but reasonable,

Therefore God held it ferme and stable:

For Narcissus shortly to tell,

By auenture came to that well

To rest him in the shaddowing

A day, when he came from hunting.

This Narcissus had suffred paines

For renning all day in the plaines,

And was for thurst in great distresse

Of heart, and of his wearinesse,

That had his breath almost benomen.

When he was to that well icomen,

That shaddowed was with braunches grene,

He thought of thilke water shene

To drinke and fresh him wele withall,

And downe on knees he gan to fall,

And forth his necke and head outstraught

To drinke of that well a draught:

And in the water anon was sene

His nose, his mouth, his even shene,

And he thereof was all abashed,

His owne shaddow had him betrashed,

For well wend he the forme see

Of a child of great beautee,

Well couth loue him wreke tho

Of daungere and of pride also

That Narcissus sometime him bere,

He quite him well his guerdon there,

For he mused so in the well

That shortly the sooth to tell,

He loued his owne shaddow so,

That at last he starfe for wo:

For when he saw that he his will

Might in no manner way fulfill,

And that he was so fast caught

That he him couth comfort naught,

He lost his wit right in that place

And deid within a little space,

[Page] And thus his warison he tooke

For the lady that he forsooke.

Ladies I praye ensample taketh,

Ye that ayenst your loue mistaketh:

For if of her death be you to wite,

God can full well your wile quite.

When that this letter of which I tell,

Had taught me that it was the well

Of Narcissus in his beaute,

I gan anon withdraw me,

When it fell in my remembraunce,

That him betide such mischaunce:

But at the last then thought I,

That scathlesse, full sikerly,

I might vnto the well go,

Whereof shull I abashen so.

Vnto the well then went I mee,

And downe I louted for to see

The clere water in the stone,

And eke the grauell, which that shone

Downe in the bottome, as siluer fine:

For of the well, this is the fine,

In world is none so clere of hew,

The water is euer fresh and new

That welmeth vp with waues bright

The mountenaunce of two finger hight:

About it is grasse springing,

For moist so thicke and well liking,

That it ne may in winter die,

No more than may the see be drie.

DOwne at the bottome set saw I

Two christall stones craftely

In thilke fresh and faire well:

But o thing soothly dare I tell,

That ye woll hold a great meruaile

When it is told withouten faile:

For when the sunne clere in sight

Cast in that well his beames bright,

And that the heat descended is,

Then taketh the Christall stone iwis,

Againe the sunne an hundred hewis,

Blew, yellow, and red, that fresh & new is:

Yet hath the meruailous Christall

Such strength, that the place ouer all,

Both foule and tree, and leaues greene,

And all the yerd in it is see ne:

And for to done you to vnderstond,

To make ensample woll I fond:

Right as a mirrour openly

Sheweth all thing that stondeth thereby,

As well the colour as the figure,

Withouten any couerture:

Right so the Christall stone shining,

Withouten any deceiuing,

The entrees of the yerd accuseth

To him that in the water museth:

For euer in which halfe that ye bee,

Ye may well halfe the garden see:

And if he turne, he may right wele

Seene the remnaunt euery dele:

For there is none so little thing

So hid ne closed with shitting,

That it ne is seene, as though it were

Painted is the Christall there.

This is the mirrour perillus,

In which the proud Narcissus

Sey all his faire face bright,

That made him sith to lie vpright:

For who so looke in that mirrour,

There may nothing ben his succour

That he ne shall there see something

That shall him lede into laughing:

Full many a worthy man hath it

Yblent, for folke of greatest wit

Ben soone caught here and waited,

Withouten respite ben they baited:

Here commeth to folke of new rage,

Here chaungeth many wight courage

Here lithe no rede ne with thereto,

For Venus sonne, dan Cupido,

Hath sowen there of loue the sede,

That helpe ne lithe there none, ne rede,

So cercleth it the well about:

His ginnes hath he set without

Right for to catch in his panters

These Damosels and Bachelers.

Loue will none other bird catch,

Though he set either nette or latch:

And for the seed that here was sowen,

This well is cleped, as well is knowen,

The well of Loue, of very right,

Of which there hath full many wight

Spoken in bookes diuersly:

But they shull neuer so verily

Description of the well here,

Ne eke the sooth of this matere,

As ye shull, when I haue vndo

The craft that her belongeth to.

ALway me liked for to dwell,

To seene the Christall in the well,

That shewed me full openly

A thousand things fast by,

But I may say in sorry houre

Stode I to looken or to poure:

For sithen I sore sighed,

That Mirrour hath me now entriked:

But had I first knowen in my wit

The vertue and strengthes of it,

I nolde not haue mused there,

Me had bette ben elswhere,

For in the snare I fell anone,

That had bitreshed many one.

In thilke Mirrour saw I tho,

Among a thousand things mo,

A roser charged full of rosis,

That with an hedge about enclosis,

Tho had I such lust and enuie,

That for Paris ne for Pauie,

Nolde I haue left to gone and see,

There greatest heape of Roses bee.

When I was with that rage hent,

That caught hath many a man and shent,

Toward the Roser gan I go,

And when I was not ferre therefro,

The sauer of the roses swote

Me mote right to the heart rote,

As I had all enbaumed me:

And if I ne had endouted me

To haue ben hated or assailed,

My thankes woll I not have failed

[Page] To pull a rose of all that rout

To beare in mine hond about,

And smellen to it where I went,

But ever I drede me to repent,

And least it greved or forthought

The lord that thilke gardin wrought

Of roses there were great wone,

So faire were never in Rone:

Of knops close, some saw I there,

And some well better woxen were,

And some there been of other moison,

That drowe nigh to her season,

And sped hem fast for to spred,

I love well such roses red:

For brode roses, and open also,

Ben passed in a day or two,

But knoppes will fresh bee

Two dayes at least, or els three.

The knoppes greatly liked mee,

For fairer may there no man see:

Who so might have one of all,

It ought him been full lefe withall:

Might I garlond of hem getten,

For no richesse I would it letten.

Amongs the knoppes I chese one

So faire, that of the remnaunt none

Ne preise I halfe so well as it,

When I avise in my wit,

For it so well was enlumined

With colour red, as well fined

As nature couth it make faire,

And it hath leaves well foure paire,

That kind hath set through his knowing

About the red roses springing,

The stalke was as rishe right,

And thereon stood the knoppe upright,

That it ne bowed upon no side,

The swore smell sprung so wide,

That it died all the place about.

When I had smelled the savour swote,

No will had I fro thence yet go,

But somedele nere it went I tho

To take it, but mine hond for drede

Ne durst I to the Rose bede,

For thistles sharpe of many manners,

Nettles, thornes, and hooked briers,

For much they distourbled me,

For sore I drad to harmed be.

THe God of Love, with bow bent,

That all day set had his talent

To pursue and to spien mee,

Was stonding by a figge tree,

And when he saw how that I

Had chosen so ententisely

The bothum more unto me pey,

Than any other that I sey:

He tooke an arrow full sharpely whet,

And in his bowe when it was set,

He streight up to his eare drough

The strong bowe, that was so tough,

And shot at me so wonder smert,

That through mine eye unto mine hert

The takell sinote, and deepe it went:

And therewithall such cold me hent,

That under clothes warme and soft,

Sithen that day I have chivered oft.

When I was hurt thus in stound,

I fell down plat unto the ground,

Mine heart failed and fainted aye,

And long time in swoune I lay:

But when I came out of swouning,

And had my wit, and my feeling.

I was all mate, and wend full wele

Of blood, have lorne a full great dele,

But certes the arrow that in me stood,

Of me ne drew no drop of blood,

For why, I found my wounds all drey.

Then tooke I with mine honds twey

The arrow, and full fast it out plight,

And in the pulling sore I sight,

So at the last the shaft of tree

I drough out, with the feathers three,

But yet the hooked head ywis,

The which Beauty called is,

Gan so deepe in mine heart pace,

That I it might not arace,

But in mine heart still it stood,

All bled I not a drop of blood:

I was both anguishous and trouble,

For the perill that I saw double,

I nist what to say or do,

Ne get a leach my wounds to,

For neither through grasse ne rote,

Ne had I helpe of hope ne bote.

But to the bothum evermo

Mine hert drew, for all my wo,

My thought was in none other thing,

For had it been in my keeping,

It would have brought my life againe,

For certes evenly, I dare well same,

The sight only, and the savour,

Alegged much of my langour.

Then gan I for to draw mee

Toward the bothum faire to see,

And love had gette him in his throwe

Another arrowe into his bowe,

And for to shoot gan him dresse,

The arrowes name was Simplesse,

And when that Love gan nigh me nere,

He drowe it up withouten were,

And shot at me with all his might,

So that this arrow anon right

Throughout eigh as it was found,

Into mine heart hath made a wound.

Then I anon did all my craft

For to drawen out the shaft,

And therewithall I sighed eft,

But in mine heart the head was left,

Which aye increased my desire,

Vnto the bothum drow I nere,

And evermo that me was wo

The more desire had I to go

Vnto the Roser, where that grew

The fresh bothum, so bright of hew,

Better me were to have letten be,

But it behoved need me

To doen right as mine heart bad:

* For ever the body must be lad

After the heart, in wele and wo,

Of force together they must go.

But never this archer would fine

To shoot at me with all his pine,

[Page] And for to make me to him mete.

The third arrow he gan to shete,

When best his time he might espie,

The which was named Courtesie,

Into mine heart he did avale,

A swoune I fell, both dead and pale,

Long time I lay, and stirred nought,

Till I abraied out of my thought.

And fast then I avised mee

To draw out the shaft of tree,

But ever the head was lest behind

For ought I couth pull or wind,

So sore it sticked when I was hit,

That by no craft I might it flit,

But anguishous and full of thought,

I felt such wo, my wound aye wrought,

That summoned me alway to go

Toward the Rose, that pleased me so,

But I ne durst in no manere

Because the archer was so nere.

For evermore gladly as I rede

* Brent child of fire hath much drede.

And certes yet for all my pein,

Though that I sigh, yet arrowes rein,

And ground quarels, sharpe of stele,

Ne for no paine that I might fele,

Yet might I not my selfe withhold

The faire Roser to behold,

For Love me yave such hardement

For to fulfill his commaundement,

Vpon my feet I rose up than

Feeble, as a forwounded man:

And forth to gone might I set,

And for the Archer nold I let,

Toward the Roser fast I drow

But thornes sharpe, mo than ynow

There were, and also thistles thicke,

And breres brimme for to pricke,

That I ne might get grace

The rough thornes for to pace

To seene the Roses fresh of hew,

I must abide, though it me rew,

The hedge about so thicke was,

That closed the Roses in compas.

But o thing liked me right wele,

I was so nigh, I might fele

Of the bothum the swote odour,

And also see the fresh colour,

And that right greatly liked mee,

That I so nere might it see,

Such joy anon thereof had I,

That I forgat my malady,

To seene I had such delite,

Of sorrow and anger I was all quite,

And of my wounds that I had thore,

For nothing liken me might more,

Than dwellen by the Roser aye,

And thence never to passe awaye:

But when a while I had be thare,

The God of Love, which all to share

Mine heart with his arrowes kene,

Casteth him to yeve me wounds grene,

He shot at me full hastely

An arrow named Company,

The which takell is full able

To make these Ladies merciable,

Then I anone gan chaungen hew

For greevaunce of my wound new,

That I againe fell in swouning,

And sighed sore in complaining.

Sore I complained that my sore

On me gan greven more and more,

I had none hope of Allegiaunce,

So nigh I drow to disperaunce,

I rought of death, ne of life,

Whether that love would me drife,

If me a martir would he make,

I might his power not forsake:

And while for anger thus I woke,

The God of Love an arrow toke,

Full sharpe it was and pugnaunt,

And it was called Faire semblaunt,

The which in no wise would consent,

That any lover him repent

To serve his love with heart and all,

For any perill that may befall.

But thought his arrow was kene ground,

As any rasour that is found,

To cut and kerve at the point,

The God of Love it had annoint

With a precious oyntment,

Somedele to yeve allegement

Vpon the wounds that he hade

Through the body in my heart made

To helpe her sores, and to cure,

And that they may the bette endure:

But yet this arrow, without more,

Made in mine heart a large sore,

That in full greate paine I abode,

But aye the ointment went abrode

Throughout my wounds large and wide,

It sprede about in every side:

Through whose vertue and whose might,

Mine heart joyfull was and light.

I had ben dead and all to shent

But for the precious ointment:

The shaft I drow out of the arrow,

Looking for wo right wonder narrow

But the head, which made me smart,

Left behind in mine heart

With other fower, I dare well say,

That never woll be take away,

But the ointment halpe me wele,

And yet such sorrow did I fele,

That all day I chaunged hew

Of my wounds fresh and new,

As men might see in my visage,

The arrowes were so full of rage,

So variaunt of diversitee,

That men in everiche might see

Both great annoy and eke sweetnesse,

And joy meint with bitternesse:

Now were they easie, now were they wood,

In hem I felt both harme and good,

Now sore without alleggement,

Now softing with ointment,

It softened here, and pricked there,

Thus ease and anger together were.

THe God of Love deliverly

Come lepande to me hastely,

And saied to me in great yape,

Yeeld thee, for thou may not escape,

[Page] May no defence availe thee here:

Therefore I rede make no daungere.

If thou wolt yeeld thee hastely,

Thou shalt rather have mercy:

* He is a foole in sikernesse,

That with daunger or stoutnesse

Rebelleth there that he should please,

In such folly is little ease.

Be meeke, where thou must needs bowe,

To strive ayen is not thy prowe:

Come at ones, and have ido,

For I woll that it be so,

Then yeeld thee here debonairly.

And I answered full humbly,

Gladly sit, at your bidding,

I woll me yeeld in all thing:

To your service I woll me take,

For God defend that I should make

Ayen your bidding resistence.

I woll not doen so great offence,

For if I did, it were no skill,

Ye may doe with me what ye will,

Save or spill, and also slo,

Fro you in no wise may I go,

My life, my death, is in your hond,

I may not last out of your bond,

Plaine at your list I yeeld me,

Hoping in heart, that sometime ye

Comfort and ease shull me send:

Or els shortly, this is the end,

Withouten health I mote aye dure,

But if ye take me to your cure:

Comfort or health, how should I have,

Sithe ye me hurt, but ye me save?

The health of Love mote be found,

Whereas they tooken first her wound:

And if ye list of me to make

Your prisoner, I woll it take

Of heart and will fully at gree,

Holy and plaine I yeeld mee

Without feining or feintise,

To be governed by your emprise:

Of you I heare so much prise,

I woll been whole at your devise

For to fulfill your liking

And repent for nothing,

Hoping to have yet in some tide

Mercy, of that I abide:

And with that covenaunt yeeld I mee,

Anon downe kneeling upon my knee,

Profering for to kisse his fete,

But for nothing he would me lete.

And said, I love thee both and preise,

Sens that thine answere doth me ese:

For thou answered so curtesly,

For now I wote well utterly,

That thou art gentle by thy speech:

For thou a man ferre would seech,

He should not finden in certaine,

No such answere of no villaine:

For such a word ne might nought

Issue out of a villaines thought.

Thou shalt not lesen of thy speche,

For thy helping woll I eche,

And eke encreasen that I may:

But first I woll that thou obay

Fully for thine avauntage

Anone to doe me here homage:

And sithe kisse thou shalt my mouth,

Which to no villaine was never couth

For to approch it, ne for to touch,

For saufe of cherles I ne vouch

That they shall never neigh it nere

For curteis, and of faire manere,

Well taught, and full of gentlenesse

He must be, that shall me kisse,

And also of full high Fraunchise,

That shall attaine to that emprise.

And first of o thing warne I thee,

That paine and great adversitee

He mote endure, and eke travaile

That shall me serve, without faile,

But there against thee to comfort,

And with thy service to disport,

Thou maiest full glad and joyfull bee,

So good a maister to have as mee,

And Lord of so high renoune,

I beare of love the Gonfenoune,

Of Curtesie the banere,

For I am of the selfe manere,

Gentle, courteous, meeke and free,

That who ever ententive bee,

Me to honour, dout, and serve:

And also that he him observe

Fro trespasse and fro villanie,

And him governe in courtesie,

With will and entention,

For when he first in my prison

Is caught, then must he utterly,

Fro thenceforth full busily,

Cast him gentle for to be,

If he desire helpe of me.

Anon without more delay,

Withouten daunger or affray,

I become his man anone,

And gave him thankes many a one,

And kneled doune with honds joint,

And made it in my port full queint:

The joy went to my heart rote,

When I had kissed his mouth so swote,

I had such mixth and such liking,

It cured me of languishing.

He asked of me then hostages,

I have he sayd taken fele homages

Of one and other, where I have bene,

Distreined oft, withouten wene,

These felons full of falsite,

Have many sithes beguiled me,

And through her falshed her lust atchieved,

Whereof I repent, and am agreeved,

And I hem get in my daungere,

Her falshed shall they bie full dere,

But for I love thee, I say thee plaine,

I woll of thee be more certaine,

For thee sore I woll now binde,

That thou away ne shalt not winde,

For to denien thy covenaunt,

Or done that is not avenaunt,

That thou were false, it were great ruth,

Sith thou seemest so full of truth.

Sir, if thee list to understand,

I marvaile thee asking this demaund,

[Page] For why or wherefore should ye,

Hostages or borowes aske of me,

Or any other sikernesse,

Sith ye wote in sothfastnesse,

That ye me have surprised so,

And hole mine heart, taken me fro,

That it woll doe for me nothing,

But if it be at your bidding,

Mine heart is yours, & mine right nought

As it behoveth, in deede and thought,

Ready in all to worke your will,

Whether so tourne to good or ill,

So sore it lusteth you to please,

No man thereof may you disease,

Ye have thereon set such justice,

That it is werried in many wise,

And if ye doubt it nolde obaie,

Ye may thereof doe make a kaie,

And hold it with you for hostage.

Now certes this is none outrage,

(Quoth Love) and fully accord,

For of the bodie he is full Lord

That hath the heart in his treasore,

Outrage it were to asken more.

THen of his aumener he drough,

A little keie fetise inough,

Which was of gold polished clere

And sayed to me, with this keye here,

Thine heart to me now woll I shet,

For all my joyfull looke and knet,

I binde under this little kay,

That no wight may carie away.

This keye is full of great poste,

With which anone he touched me,

Vnder the side full softely,

That he mine heart sodainely,

Without any had speered,

That yet right nought it hath me deered.

When he had doen his will all out,

And I had put him out of doubt,

Sir I sayd, I have right great will,

Your lust and pleasure to fulfill,

Looke ye my service take at gree,

By thilke fayth ye owe to me,

I say nought for recreaundise,

For I nought doubt of your service.

* But the servaunt travaileth in vaine,

That for to serven doeth his paine

Vnto that Lord, which in no wise,

Conne him no thanke for his service.

LOve sayd, dismay thee nought,

Sith thou for succour hast me sought,

In thanke thy service woll I take,

And high of degree I woll thee make,

If wickednesse ne hinder thee,

But (as I hope) it shall nouht bee,

* To worship no wight by aventure,

May come, but he paine endure.

Abide and suffer thy distresse,

That hurteth now, it shall be lesse.

I wote my selfe what may thee save,

What medicine thou wouldest have.

And if thy truth to me thou keepe,

I shall unto thine helping eke,

To cure thy woundes and make hem clene,

Where so they be old or grene,

Thou shalt be holpen at wordes few,

For certainly thou shalt well shew,

Where that thou servest with good will,

For to accomplishen and fulfill

My commaundements day and night,

Which I to lovers yeve of right.

AH sir, for Gods love (sayd I)

Er ye passe hence enterntifely,

Your commaundements to me ye say,

And I shall keepe hem if I may,

For hem to keepen is all my thought:

And if so be I wote hem nought,

Then may I unwittingly,

Wherefore I pray you entierly,

With all mine heart, me to lere,

That I trespace in no manere.

The God of Love then charged me

Anon, as ye shall here and see,

Word by word, by right emprise,

So as the Romaunt shall devise.

The maister leseth his time to lere,

When the Disciple woll not here,

* It is but vaine on him to swinke,

That on his learning woll not thinke,

Who so lust love, let him entend,

For now the Romance beginneth to amend.

Now is good to heare in fay,

If any be that can it say,

And point it as the reason is

Set for other gate iwis,

It shall nat well in all thing,

Be brought to good understanding,

* For a Reader that pointeth ill,

A good sentence may oft spill:

The booke is good at the ending,

Made of newe and lustie thing:

For who so woll the ending here,

The craft of love he shall now lere,

If that he woll so long abide,

Till I this Romance maie unhide,

And undoe the signifiaunce

Of this dreame, into Romaunce,

The soothfastnesse that now is hid,

Without coverture shall be kid,

When I undoen haue this dreaming,

Wherein no word is of leasing.

VIllanie at the beginning,

I woll say love over all thing

Thou leave, if thou wolt be

False, and trespace ayenst me,

I curse and blame generally

All them that loven villany,

* For villanie maketh villeine

* And by his deeds a chorle is seine.

These villaines ar ne without pitie,

Friendship, love, and all bountie.

I nill receive unto my servise

Hem that been villaines of emprise.

But understond in thine entent,

That this is not mine entendement,

To clepe no wight in no ages

Onely gentle for his linages:

[Page] * But who so is vertuous,

And in his port not outrageous,

When such one thou seest thee beforne,

Though he be not gentle borne,

Thou maiest well seine this in sooth,

That he is gentle, because he doth

As longeth to a gentleman:

Of hem none other deme I can,

* For certainly withouten dreede,

A churle is demed by his deede,

Of hye or lowe, as ye may see,

Or of what kinred that he bee.

Ne say nought for none euill will,

Thing that is to holden still,

It is no worship to missaie,

Thou mayest ensample take of Kaie,

That was sometime for missayeng,

Hated both of old and yeng,

As ferre as Gawein the worthie,

Was praysed for his courtesie,

Kaie was hated, for he was fell,

Of word dispitous and cruell,

Wherefore be wise and acqueintable,

Goodly of word, and reasonable:

Both to lesse and eke to mare,

And when thou commest there men are,

Looke that thou haue in custome ay,

First to salue hem if thou may:

And if it fall, that of hem somme

Salue the first, be not domme,

But quite him courtesly anone

Without abiding, ere they gone.

* For nothing eke thy tongue applie,

To speake words of ribauldrie,

To villaine speech in no degree,

Let neuer thy lippe unbounden bee:

* For I nought hold him in good faith

Curteis, that foule words saith:

And all women serue and preise,

And to thy power her honour reise:

And if that any missayere,

Despise women, that thou maist here,

Blame him, and bid him hold him still,

And set thy might and all thy will

Women and ladies for to please,

And to doe thing that may hem ease,

That they euer speake good of thee,

For so thou maiest best praised bee.

Looke fro pride thou keepe thee wele,

For thou maiest both perceiue and feele,

* That pride is both folly and sin,

And he that pride hath him within,

Ne may his heart in no wise,

Meken ne souplen to seruice:

For pride is found in euerie part,

Contrarie vnto Loues art:

And he that loueth truely,

Should him conteine iollily,

Without pride in sundrie wise,

And him disguisen in queintise,

For queint array, without drede,

Is nothing proude, who taketh hede,

* For fresh array, as men may see,

Without pride may oft bee.

* Maintaine thy selfe after thy rent,

Of robe and eke of garment,

For many sith faire clothing,

A man amendeth in much thing.

And looke alway that they be shape,

(What garment that thou shalt make)

Of him that can best do,

With all that partaineth thereto,

Pointes and sleeues be well sittand,

Right and streight on the hand,

Of shone and bootes, new and faire,

Looke at the least you haue a paire,

And that they sit so fetously,

That these rude may vtterly

Maruaile, sith that they sit so plaine,

How they come on or off againe.

Weare streight gloues with aumere

Of silke: and alway with good chere

Thou yeue, if thou haue richesse,

And if thou haue nought, spend the lesse.

* Alway be merry, if thou may,

But wast not thy good alway,

Haue hatte of floures fresh as May,

Chapelet of Roses of Witsunday:

For such arrie ne costneth but lite,

Thine hondes wash, thy teeth make white,

And let no filth upon thee bee,

Thy nayles blacke, if thou maiest see,

Voide it awaie deliuerly,

And kembe thine head right iollily:

Farce not thy visage in no wise,

For that of loue is nat themprise,

* For loue doth haten, as I finde,

A beautie that commeth not of kinde,

Alway in heart I read thee,

Glad and merry for to be,

* And be as ioyfull as thou can,

Loue hath no ioy of sorrowfull man,

That euill is full of curtesie,

That knoweth in his maladie,

* For euer of loue the sicknesse

Is meint with sweete and bitternesse,

The sore of loue is maruailous,

For now the louer is ioyous,

Now can he plaine, now can he grone,

Now can he singen, now maken mone,

To day he plaineth for heauinesse,

To morow he plaineth for iolynesse,

The life of loue is full contrarie,

Which stoundemeale can oft varie,

But if thou canst mirthes make,

That men in gre woll gladly take,

Doe it goodly I command thee,

* For men should wheresoeuer they be,

Doe thing that hem fitting is,

For thereof commeth good loos and pris.

Whereof that thou be vertuous,

Ne be nat straunge ne daungerous:

For if that thou good rider be,

Pricke gladly that men may see,

An armes also if thou conne,

Pursue till thou a name hast wonne:

And if thy voice be faire and clere,

Thou shalt maken no great daungere.

When to sing they goodly pray,

It is thy worship for to obay:

Also to you it longeth aye,

To Harpe and Gitterne, daunce and playe,

[Page] For if he can well foot and daunce,

It may him greatly doe auaunce,

Emong eke for thy Lady sake,

Songes and complaintes that thou make,

For that woll meuen in her hart,

When they readen of thy smart.

Looke that no man for scarce thee hold,

For that may greeue thee manifold:

* Reason woll that a louer be,

In his yeftes more large and free

Than churles that been not of louing,

For who thereof can any thing,

He shall be lefe aie for to yeue,

In londes lore who so woll leue,

For he that through a sodain sight,

Or for a kissing anon right,

Yaue hole his heart, in will and thought,

And to himselfe keepeth right nought,

After this swift, it is good reason,

He yeue his good in abandon.

NOw woll I shortly here reherse,

Of that I haue sayd in verse,

All the sentence by and by,

In wordes fewe compendiously,

That thou the better mayest on hem thinke,

Whether so it be thou wake or winke,

* For the wordes little greeue,

A man to keepe, when it is breeue.

* Who so with Loue woll gone or ride

He mote be courteous, and voide of pride,

Merry and full of jollite,

And of Largesse a losed be.

First I joyne thee here in penaunce,

That euer without repentaunce,

Thou set thy thought in thy louing

To last without repenting,

And thinke vpon thy mirthes sweet

That shall follow after when ye meet.

And for thou true to Love shalt be,

I will and commaund thee,

That in one place thou set all hole

Thine heart, without halfen dole,

For trecherie and sikernesse,

For I loued neuer doublenesse:

* To many his heart that woll depart,

Euerich shall haue but little part,

But of hem drede I me right nought,

That in one place setteth his thought:

Therefore in o place it set,

And let it neuer thence flet:

For if thou yeuest it in lening,

I hold it but wretched thing:

Therefore yeue it whole and quite,

And thou shalt haue the more merite.

If it be lent then after sone,

The bountie and the thankes is done,

* But in Love, free yeuen thing

Requireth a great guerdoning.

Yeue it in yeft all quite fully,

And make thy gift devonairly:

* For men that yeft hold more dere

That yeuen is with gladsome chere.

* That gift nought to praysen is

That man yeueth maugre his:

When thou hast yeuen thine heart (as I

Haue sayd) thee here openly:

Then aduentures shull thee fall,

Which hard and heauie been withall:

For oft when thou bethinkest thee

Of thy louing, where so thou be,

Fro folke thou must depart in hie,

That none perceiue thy maladie,

But hide thine harme thou must alone,

And go forth sole, and make thy mone:

Thou shalt no while be in o state,

But whilom cold and whilom hate,

Now redde as Rose, now yellow and fade,

Such sorow I trow thou neuer hade:

Cotidien, ne quarteine,

It is not so full of peine,

For often times it shall fall,

In loue among thy paines all,

That thou thy selfe all holy,

For yetten shalt so vtterly,

That many times thou shalt bee,

Still as an Image of tree,

Domme as a stone, without stirring

Of foote or honde, without speaking.

Then soone after all thy paine,

To memorie shalt thou come againe,

A man abashed wonder sore,

And after sighen more and more:

For wit thou wele withouten wene,

In such a state full oft haue bene,

That haue the euill of loue assaide,

Where through thou art so dismaide.

AFter a thought shall take thee so,

That thy loue is too ferre the fro:

Thou shalt say (God) what may this be,

That I ne may my Ladie see?

Mine heart alone is to her goe,

And I abide all sole in woe,

Departed fro mine owne thought,

And with mine eien se right nought.

Alas mine eyen sene I ne may,

My carefull heart to conuay,

Mine hearts guide, but they be,

I praise nothing what euer they se:

Shull they abide then, nay,

But gone and visiten without delay

That mine heart desireth so

For certainly, but if they go.

A foole my selfe I may well hold,

When I ne se what mine hart wold,

Wherefore I woll gone her to sene,

Or eased shall I neuer bene,

But I have so tokenning.

Then goest thou forth without dwelling,

But oft thou faylest of thy desire,

Er thou mayest come her any nere,

And wastest in vaine thy passage:

Then fallest thou in a new rage,

For want of sight thou ginnest murne,

And homeward pensiue thou doest returne:

In great mischiefe then shalt thou bee,

For then againe shall come to thee

Sighes and plaintes with new wo,

That no itching pricketh so:

Who wote it nought, he may goe lere,

Of hem that buyen loue so dere.

Nothing thine heart appeasen may,

That oft thou wolt gone and assay,

[Page] If thou maiest seene by adventure

Thy lives joy, thine hearts cure,

So that by grace, if thou might

Attaine of her to have a sight,

Then shalt thou done none other deed,

But with that sight thine eyen feed:

That faire fresh when thou mayst see,

Thine heart shall so ravished bee,

That never thou wouldest thy thankes lete

Ne remove, for to see that swete:

The more thou seest in sooth fastnesse,

The more thou covetest of that sweetnesse:

The more thine heart brenneth in fire,

The more thine heart is in desire.

For who considreth euerie dele,

It may be likened wonder wele,

The paine of love unto a fere,

For evermore thou neighest nere,

Thought, or who so that it be,

For verie sooth I tell it thee,

The hotter ever shalt thou brenne,

As experience shall thee kenne,

Where so commest in any cost,

* Who is next fire he brenneth most,

And yet forsooth for all thine heat,

Though thou for love swelt and sweat,

Ne for no thing thou felen may,

Thou shalt not willen to passe away,

And though thou goe, yet must thou nede,

Thinke all day on her faire hede,

Whome thou be held with so good will,

And hold thy selfe beguiled ill,

That thou ne hadst ne hardiment,

To shew her ought of thine entent,

Thine heart full sore thou wolt dispise,

And eke repreue of cowardise,

That thou so dull in every thing,

Were domme for drede, without speaking.

Thou shalt eke thinke thou didst folly,

That thou were here so fast by,

And durst not aventure thee to say

Some thing er thou came away,

For thou hadst no more wonne,

To speake of her when thou begonne:

But yet she would for thy sake,

In armes goodly thee haue take,

It should haue be more worth to thee,

Than of treasour great plente.

Thus shalt thou mourne & eke complain,

And yet encheson to gone again,

Vnto thy walke, or to thy place,

Where thou beheld her fleshly face,

And never for false suspection,

Thou wouldest finde occasion,

For to gone unto her house,

So art thou then desirouse,

A sight of her for to have,

If thou thine honour mightest save,

Or any errand mightest make

Thider, for thy loves sake:

Full faine thou woulde, but for dreede

Thou goest not, least that men take heede,

Wherefore I read in in thy going,

And also in thine againe comming,

Thou be well ware that men ne wit,

Feine thee other cause than it,

To goe that way, or fast bie,

* To heale well is no follie:

And if so be it happe thee,

That thou thy Love there mayst see,

In siker wise thou her salewe,

Wherewith thy colour woll transmewe,

And eke thy bloud shall all to quake,

Thy hewe eke chaungen for her sake,

But word and wit, with chere full pale

Shull want for to tell thy tale,

And if thou mayest so ferre forth winne,

That thou reason durst beginne,

And wouldest saine three things or mo,

Thou shalt full scarcely saine the two,

Though thou bethinke thee never so wele,

Thou shalt foryete yet somedele.

BVt if thou deale with trechery,

For false Lovers mowe all fouly

Sain what hem lust withouten dred,

They be so double in her falshed,

For they in heart can thinke o thing

And saine another, in her speaking,

And when thy speech is ended all,

Right thus to thee it shall befall:

If any word then come to minde,

That thou to say hast left behinde,

Then thou shalt brenne in great martire,

For thou shalt brenne as any fire,

This is the strife and eke the affraie,

And the battaile that lasteth aie:

This bargaine, end may never take,

But if that she thy peace will make.

And when the night is commen anon,

A thousand angres shall come upon,

To bed as fast thou wolt thee dight.

There thou shalt have but small delight,

For when thou wenest for to sleepe,

So full of paine shalt thou creepe,

Stert in thy bed about full wide,

And turne full oft on everie side:

Now downeward groffe, and now upright,

And wallow in woe the long night,

Thine armes shalt thou sprede a brede,

As man in warre were forwerede.

Then shall thee come a remembraunce

Of her shape and her semblaunce,

Where to none other may be pere,

And wete thou well without were,

That thee shall see sometime that night,

That thou hast her, that is so bright,

Naked betweene thine armes there,

All sooth fastnesse as though it were,

* Thou shalt make Castles then in Spaine,

And dreame of joy, all but in vaine,

And thee delighten of right nought.

While thou so siumbrest in that thought,

That is so sweete and delitable,

The which in sooth nis but a fable,

For it ne shall no while last,

Then shalt thou sigh and weepe fast,

And say deere God, what thing is this,

My dreame is turned all amis,

Which was full sweet and apparent:

But now I wake it is all shent,

Now yede this merry thought away,

Twentie times upon a day,

[Page] I would this thought would come againe,

For it alleggeth well my paine,

It maketh me full of joyfull thought,

It sleeth me that it lasteth nought,

Ah Lord, why nill ye me succour?

The joy I trow that I langour,

The death I would me should sio,

While I lye in her armes two,

Mine harme is hard withouten wene,

My great unease full oft I mene.

BVt would Love do so I might

Have fully joy of her so bright,

My paine were quit me richly,

Alas too great a thing aske I:

It is but folly, and wrong wening,

To aske so outragious a thing,

* And who so asketh follily,

He mote be warned hastely,

And I ne wote what I may say,

I am so ferre out of the way,

For I would have full great liking,

And full great joy of lasse thing,

For would she of her gentlenesse,

Withouten more, me ones kesse,

It were to me a great guerdon,

Release of all my passion:

But it is hard to come thereto,

All is but folly that I do,

So high I have mine heart set,

Where I may no comfort get,

I wote not where I say well or nought,

But this I wote well in my thought,

That it were bette of her alone

For to slint my woe and mone,

A looke on her I cast goodly,

That for to have all utterly,

Of another all hole the play,

Ah Lord, where I shall bide the day

That ever she shall my Ladie be,

He is full cured, that may her see.

A God, when shall the dauning spring,

To leggen thus as an angrie thing,

I have no joy thus here to ly,

When that my love is not me by,

* I man to lyen hath great disease,

Which may not sleepe ne rest in ease,

I would it dawed, and were now day,

And that the night were went away,

For were it day, I would up rise,

Ah slow sunne, shew thine enprise,

Speede thee to spread thy beames bright,

And chase the darknesse of the night,

To put away the stoundes strong,

Which in me lasten all too long.

The night shalt thou continue so,

Without rest, in paine and wo,

If ever thou knew of love distresse,

Thou shalt mowe learne in that sicknesse,

And thus enduring shalt thou lye

And rise on morow up earlye,

Out of thy bed, and harneis thee

Er ever dawning thou maiest see:

All privily then shalt thou gone,

What whider it be thy selfe alone,

For raine, or haile, for snow, for slete,

Theder she dwelleth that is so swete,

The which may fall a sleepe bee,

And thinketh but little upon thee.

Then shalt thou goe, full foule aferde,

Looke if the gate be unsperde,

And waite without in woe and paine,

Full evill a cold in wind and raine:

Then shalt thou goe the dore before,

If thou mayest finde any shore,

Or hole, or reft, what ever it were,

Then shalt thou stoupe, and lay to eare

If they within a sleepe be,

I meane all save thy Ladie free,

Whom waking if thou mayest aspie,

Goe put thy selfe in jeopardie,

To aske grace, and thee bimene,

That she may wete without wene,

That thou night no rest hast had,

So sore for her thou were bestad.

* Women well ought pitie to take

Of hem that sorrowen for her sake.

And looke for love of that relike,

That thou thinke none other like,

For when thou hast so great anney,

Shall kisse thee er thou goe awey,

And hold that in full great deinte,

And for that no man shall thee see

Before the house, ne in the way,

Looke thou be gon againe er day.

Such comming, and such going,

Such heavinesse, and such walking,

Maketh lovers withouten wene,

Vnder her clothes pale and lene,

* For Love leaveth colour ne clearnesse,

Who loveth trew hath no fatnesse,

Thou shalt well by thy selfe see

That thou must needs assaied bee:

For men that shape hem other way

Falsely her ladies for to betray,

It is no wonder though they be fatte,

With false othes her loves they gatte,

For oft I see such loengeours

Fatter than Abbots or Priours.

Yet with o thing I thee charge,

That is to say, that thou be large

Vnto the maid, that her doth serve,

So best her thanke thou shalt deserve.

Yeue her giftes, and get her grace,

For so thou may thanke purchace,

That she thee worthy hold and free,

Thy Ladie, and all that may thee see.

Also her servaunts worship aie,

And please as much as thou maie,

Great good through hem may come to thee,

Because with her they been prive:

They shall her tell how they thee fand

Curteous and wise, and well do and,

And she shall preise well thee more.

Looke out of lond thou be not fore,

And if such cause thou have, that thee

Behoveth to gone out of countree,

Leave hole thine heart in hostage,

Till thou againe make thy passage,

Thinke long to see the sweet thing

That hath thine heart in her keeping.

Now have I told thee, in what wise

A Lover shall doe me servise,

[Page] Do it then, if thou wolt haue

The mede that thou after craue.

WHen Loue all this had boden me,

I said him: sir how may it be

That Louers may in such manere,

Endure the paine ye haue sayd here?

I maruaile me wonder fast,

How any man may liue or last

In such paine, and such brenning,

In sorrow and thought, and such sighing,

Aie vnreleased woe to make,

Whether so it be they sleepe or wake,

In such annoy continually,

As helpe me God this maruaile I

How man, but he were made of steele,

Might liue a moneth, such pains to feele.

THe God of Loue then sayd me,

Friend, bye the faith I owe to thee,

* May no man haue good, but he it buy:

A man loueth more tenderly

The thing that he hath bought most dere.

For were thou well without were,

* In thanke that thing is taken more,

For which a man hath suffred sore:

Certes no woe ne may attaine,

Vnto the sore of Loues paine,

None euill thereto ne may amount,

No more than a man count

The drops that of the water bee:

* For drie as well the great see

Thou mightest, as the harmes tell

Of hem that with loue dwell

In seruice, for paine hem sleeth,

And that each would flee the death

And trow they should neuer escape,

Nere that hope couth hem make,

Glad as man in prison sete,

And may not getten for to ete.

But Barly bread, and water pure,

And lyeth in vermin and in ordure,

With all this yet can he liue,

Good hope such comfort hath him yeue,

Which maketh wene that he shall be

Deliuered and come to libertie,

In fortune is full trust,

Though he lye in straw or dust,

In hope is all his sustaining:

And so faire Louers in her wening,

Which Loue hath set in his prison

Good hope is her saluation:

Good hope (how sore that they smart)

Yeueth hem both will and hart

To profer her body to martire,

For Hope so sore doth hem desire

To suffer each harme that men deuise,

For joy that afterward shall arise.

* HOpe in desire catch victorie,

In hope of Loue is all the glorie,

* For hope is all that Loue may yeue,

Nere hope, there should no lenger liue.

Blessed be hope, which with desire,

Auaunceth Louers in such manire.

Good hope is curteis for to please,

To keepe Louers from all disease.

* Hope keepeth his lond, and woll abide,

For any perill that may betide,

For hope to louers, as most chiefe,

Doth hem endure all mischiefe,

Hope is her helpe when mister is.

And I shall yeue thee eke iwis,

Three other thinges, that great sollace

Doth to hem that be in my lace.

The first good that may be found,

To hem that in my lace be bound,

Is Sweet thought, for to record

Thing wherewith thou canst accord

Best in thine heart, where she be,

Thinking in absence is good to thee,

When any louer doth complaine,

And liueth in distresse and in paine

Then Sweet thought shall come as bliue,

Away his anger for to driue,

It maketh Louers to haue remembraunce

Of comfort, and of high pleasaunce,

That Hope hath hight him for to winne,

For Thought anone then shall beginne,

As farre God wote as he can finde,

To make a mirrour of his minde,

For to behold he woll not let,

Her person he shall afore him set,

Her laughing eyen persaunt and clere,

Her shape, her form, her goodly chere,

Her mouth that is so gracious,

So sweete, and eke so sauourous,

Of all her feiters he shall take heed,

His eyen with all her limmes feed.

Thus Sweet thinking shall aswage

The paine of Louers, and her rage,

Thy joy shall double without gesse

When thou thinkest on her seemelinesse,

Or of her laughing, or of her chere

That to thee made thy Lady dere,

This comfort woll I that thou take,

And if the next thou wolt forsake

Which is not lesse sauerous,

Thou shouldest not ben too daungerous.

THe second shall be Sweet speech,

That hath to many one be leech,

To bring hem out of woe and were,

And helpe many a bachelere,

And many a Ladie sent succour,

That haue loued Paramour,

Through speaking, when they might heare

Of her Louers to hem so deare:

To me it voideth all her smart,

The which is closed in her hart.

In heart it maketh hem glad and light,

Speech, when they mowe have sight.

And therefore now it commeth to mind,

In old dawes as I find,

That Clerkes written that her knew,

There was a Ladie fresh of hew,

Which of her Love made a song,

On him for to remember among,

In which she sayd, when that I heare

Speaken of him that is so deare,

To me it voideth all smart,

Iwis he sitteth so nere mine hart,

To speake of him at eve or morrow,

It cureth me of all my sorrow,

[Page] To me is none so high pleasaunce

As of his person daliaunce:

She wist full well that Sweet speaking

Comforteth in full much thing,

Her she had full well assaide,

Of him she was full well apaide,

To speake of him her joy was set.

Therefore I read thee that thou get,

A fellow that can well counsele,

And keepe thy counsaile, and welhele

To whom goe shew wholly thine hart

Both well and woe, joy and smart:

To get comfort to him thou go,

And priuely between you two,

Ye shall speake of that goodly thing,

That hath thine heart in her keeping,

Of her beaute and her semblaunce,

And of her goodly countenaunce,

Of all thy state, thou shalt him say,

And aske him counsaile how thou may,

Do any thing that may her please,

For it to thee shall doe great ease,

That he may wete thou trust him so,

Both of thy wele and of thy wo.

And if his heart to loue be set,

His companie is much the bet,

For Reason woll he shew to thee

All vtterly his priuite,

And what she is he loueth so

To thee plainly he shall vndo,

Without drede of any shame,

Both tell her renome and her name.

Then shall he further farre and nere,

And namely to thy Ladie dere

In siker wise, ye euery other,

Shall helpen as his owne brother,

In trouth without doublenesse,

And keepen close in sikernesse:

* For it is noble thing in fay,

To haue a man thou darst say,

Thy priuie counsaile euerie dele,

For that woll comfort thee right wele,

And thou shalt hold thee well apaide,

When such a friend thou hast assaide.

THe third good of great comfort

That yeueth to Louers most disport,

Commeth of sight and beholding,

The cleped is Sweet looking,

The which may none ease do,

When thou art ferre thy Ladie fro,

Wherefore thou prese alway to be

In place, where thou mayest her see:

For it is thing most amerous

Most delectable and fauerous.

For to asswage a mannes sorrow

To seen his Ladie by the morrow,

For it is a full noble thing

When thine eyen have meeting,

With that relike precious,

Whereof they be so desirous.

But all day after sooth it is,

They have no drede to faren amis,

They dreden neither winde ne raine,

Ne none other manner paine:

For when thine eyen were thus in blisse,

Yet of her courtesie iwisse,

Alone they cannot haue her joy,

But to the heart they conuoy

Part of her blisse to him thou send,

Of all this harme to make and end.

* The eye is a good messenger,

Which can to the heart in such manner

Tidings send, that hath sene

To voide him of his paines clene:

Whereof the heart rejoyseth so

That a great partie of his wo

Is voided, and put away to flight.

Right as the darkenesse of the night

Is chased with clerenesse of the moone,

Right so is all his woe full soone

Deuoided cleane, when that the sight

Beholden may that fresh wight

That the heart desireth so,

That all his darknesse is ago,

* For then the heart is all at ease,

When they seen that may hem please.

Now haue I declared thee all out,

Of that thou were in dread and dout,

For I haue told thee faithfully,

What thee may curen vtterly,

And all Louers that woll be

Faithfull, and full of stabilite.

Good hope alway keepe by thy side,

And sweet thought make eke abide,

Sweet looking and sweet spech

Of all thine harmes they shall he lech,

Of euerie thou shalt haue great pleasaunce,

If thou canst bide in suffraunce,

And serue well without fantise,

Thou shalt be quite of thine emprise

With more guerdoun, if that thou liue,

But all this time this I thee yeue.

THe God of Loue, when all the day

Had taught me, as ye haue heard say,

And enformed compendously,

He vanished away all sodainly,

And I alone left all soole,

So full of complaint and of doole,

For I saw no man there me by.

My woundes me greeued wondersly,

Me for to curen nothing I knewe,

Saue the bothum bright of hewe,

Whereon was sette holly my thought,

Of other comfort knew I nought,

But it were through the God of Loue,

I knew nat else to my behoue

That might me ease or comfort gette,

But if he would him entermette.

The Roser was withouten dout

Closed with an hedge without,

As ye toforne haue heard me saine,

And fast I besied, and would faine

Haue passed the haie, if I might

Haue getten in by any sleight

Vnto the bothum so faire to see,

But euer I dradde blamed to bee,

If men would haue suspection

That I would of entention

Haue stole the Roses that there were,

Therefore to enter I was in fere.

But at the last, as I bethought

Whether I should passe or nought,

[Page] I sawe come with a glad chere

To me, a lustly Bachelere,

Of good slature and of good height,

And Bialacoil forsooth he height:

Sonne he was to Curtesie,

And he me graunted full gladly,

The passage of the vtter hay,

And sayd: sir, how that you may

Passe, if your will bee

The fresh Roser for to see:

And ye the sweet savour fele,

Your warrans may right wele,

So thou thee keepe fro folly,

Shall no man doe thee villany,

If I may helpe you in ought,

I shall not faine, dredeth nought,

For I am bound to your seruise,

Fully deuoid of feintise.

Then vnto Bialacoil sayd I,

I thanke you sir full hartely,

And your behest take at gree,

That ye so goodly profer mee,

To you it commeth of great fraunchise,

That ye me profer your seruise.

Then after full deliuerly,

Through the breres anon went I,

Whereof encombred was the haie,

I was well pleased, the soth to saie,

To se the bothum faire and swote,

So fresh sprong out of the rote.

ANd Bialacoil me serued wele,

When I so nigh me might fele

Of the bothum the sweet odour,

And so lusty hewed of colour:

But then a churle, foule him betide,

Beside the Roses gan him hide,

To keepe the Roses of that Rosere,

Of whom the name was Daungere:

This churle was hid there in the greues,

Couered with grasse and with leues,

To spie and take whom that he fond

Vnto that Roser put an hond.

He was not soole, for there was mo,

For with him were other two

Of wicked manners, and euill fame,

That one was cleped by his name,

Wicked tongue, God yeve him sorrow,

For neither at eue ne at morrow,

He can of no man good speake,

On many a iust man doth he wreake.

There was a woman that eke hight

Shame, that who can reckon right,

Trespasse was her fathers name,

Her mother Reason, and thus was Shame

Brought of these like two:

And yet had Trespasse neuer ado

With Reason, ne neuer leie her by,

He was hidous and so vgly,

I meane this that Trespasse hight,

But Reason conceiueth of a sight,

Shame of that I spake aforne.

And when that Shame was thus borne,

It was ordained, that Chastite,

Should of the Roser Ladie be:

Which of the bothums more and las,

With sundrie folkes assailed was,

That she ne wist what to do,

For Venus her assaileth so,

That night and day for her she stall

Bothoms and Roses our all.

To Reason then prayeth Chastite,

Whom Venus hath flemed ouer the see,

That she her daughter would her lene,

To keepe the Roser fresh and grene.

Anon Reason to Chastite,

Is fully assented that it be,

And graunted her at her request,

That Shame, because she is honest,

Shall keeper of the Roser be:

And thus to keepe it, there were three,

That none should hardy be ne bold,

(Were he young or were he old)

Againe her will away to bere

Bothoms ne Roses, that there were▪

I had well sped, had I not been

Awaited with these three, and seen:

For Bialacoil, that was so faire,

So gracious and debonaire,

Quitte him to me full courteously,

And me to please bad that I,

Should draw to the bothom nere,

Prease in to touch the Rosere

Which bare the Roses, he yave me leue,

This graunt ne might but little greue:

And for he saw it liked me,

Right nigh the bothom pulled he

A leafe all grene, and yaue me that

T [...] which full nigh the bothom sat.

I [...]ade of that leafe full queint,

And when I felt I was acqueint

With Bialacoil, and so priue,

I wende all my will had be.

Then wext I hardy for to tell

To Bialacoil how me befell,

Of Loue, that tooke and wounded me,

And sayd: sir so mote I thee,

I may no joy haue in no wise,

Vpon no side, but it arise,

For sith (if I shall not faine)

In heart I haue had so great paine,

So great annoy, and such affraie,

That I ne wotte what I shall saie,

I drede your wroth to deserue,

Leuer me were, that kniues kerue

My bodie should in peces small,

Than in any wise it should fall,

That ye wrothed should been with me.

Say boldly thy will (quoth he)

I nill be wroth if that I may,

For nought that thou shalt to me say.

THen sayd I sir, not you displease,

To knowen of my great unease,

In which only Loue hath me brought,

For paines great, disease and thought,

Fro day to day it doth me drie,

Supposeth not sir, that I lie,

In me fiue woundes did he make,

The sore of which shall neuer slake,

But ye the bothom graunt me,

Which is most passaunt of beaute,

My life, my death, and my martire,

And treasour that I most desire.

[Page] Then Bialacoil affraied all

Sayd sir, it may not fall,

That ye desire it may not arise,

What would ye shend me in this wise?

A mokell foole then I were,

If I suffred you away to beare

The fresh bothom, so faire of sight,

For it were neither skill ne right,

Of the Roser ye broke the rinde,

Or take the Rose aforne his kinde,

Ye are not courteous to aske it,

Let it still on the Roser sit,

And let it grow till it amended be,

And perfectly come to beaute,

I nolde not that it pulled were,

Fro the Roser that it bere,

To me it is so lefe and dere.

With that anon start out Daungere,

Out of the place where he was hidde,

His malice in his chere was kidde:

Full great he was and blacke of hewe,

Sturdy, and hidous, who so him knewe,

Like sharpe vrchons his haire was grow,

His eyes red sparkling as the fire glow,

His nose frounced full kirked stood,

He come criand as he were wood,

And sayd, Bialacoil tell me why

Thou bringest hider so boldly

Him that so nigh the Rosere,

Thou worchest in a wrong manere,

He thinketh to dishonour thee,

Thou art well worthy to haue maugre,

To let him of the Rosere witte,

* Who serueth a Felon is euill quitte.

Thou wouldest haue done great bounte,

And he with shame would quite thee,

Flye hence fellow, I rede thee go,

It wanteth little he woll thee slo,

For Bialacoil ne knew thee nought,

When thee to serue he set his thought,

For thou wolt shame him if thou might,

Both againe reason and right,

I woll no more in thee affie,

That commest so slightly for tespie:

For it prooueth wonder wele,

Thy sleight and treason euerie dele.

I durst no more make there abode,

For the churle he was so wode,

So gan he threat and manace,

And throught the haie he did me chace,

For feare of him I trembled and quoke,

So churlish his head he shoke,

And sayd, if eft he might me take,

I should not from his hands scape.

Then Bialacoil is fled and mate,

And I all soole and disconsolate,

Was left alone in paine and thought,

Fro shame to death I was nigh brought

Then thought on my high folly,

How that my bodie vtterly,

Was yeue to paine and martire,

And thereto had I so great desire,

That I ne durst the haies passe,

There was no hope, there was no grace,

* I trow neuer man wist of paine,

But he were laced in Loues chaine,

Ne no man, and sooth it is,

But if he loue, what anger is.

Loue holdeth his hest to me right wele,

When paine (he sayd) I should fele,

No heart may thinke, no tongue saine,

A quarter of my woe and paine,

I might not with the anger last,

Mine heart in point was for to brast,

When I thought on the Rose, that so,

Was through daunger cast me fro,

A long while stoode I in that state,

Till that me sawe so madde and mate,

The Ladie of the high ward,

Which from her tower looked thiderward.

Reason, men clepe that Lady,

Which from her tower deliuerly,

Come downe to me without more,

But she was neither young, ne hore,

Ne high ne low, ne fat ne leane,

But best, as it were in a meane,

Her eyen two were clere and light

As any candle that brenneth bright,

And on her head she had a croune,

Her see mede well an high persoune:

For round enuiron her crounet

Was full of rich stones fret.

Her goodly semblaunt by deuise,

I trow was made in Paradise,

For nature had neuer such a grace,

To forge a worke of such compace:

For certain, but if the letter lye,

God himselfe that is so hye

Made her after his image,

And yafe her sith such auantage,

That she hath might and seignory

To keepe men from all folly,

Who so woll trowe her lore,

Ne may offenden neuermore.

And while I stoode this darke and pale,

Reason began to me her tale,

She saied: alhaile my sweete frend,

Folly and childhood woll thee shend,

Which thee haue put in great affraie

Thou hast bought dere time of Maie,

That made thine heart merrie to be,

In euill time thou wentest to see

The gardin, whereof Idlenesse

Bare the key and was maistresse

When thou yedest in the daunce

With her, and had acquaintaunce:

Her acquaintance is perillous,

First soft, and after noyous,

She hath thee trashed without wene,

The God of Loue had thee not sene,

Ne had Idlenesse thee conuaid

In the verge where Mirth him pleid,

If Folly haue surprised thee,

Do so that it recouered be,

* And be well ware to take no more

Counsaile, that greeueth after sore:

He is wise, that woll himselfe chastise.

* And though a young man in any wise

Trespasse emong, and do Follie,

Let him not tarie, but hastelie

Let him amend what so be mis.

And eke I counsaile thee iwis,

[Page] The God of Love holly foryete,

That hath thee in such paine sete,

And thee in heart tormenteth so,

I cannot seen how thou maist go

Other waies thee to garisoun,

For daunger, that is so feloun,

Fellie purposeth thee to werreie,

Which is full cruell the sooth to seie.

AND yet of Daunger cometh no blame,

In reward of my daughter shame,

Which hath the Roses in her ward,

As she that may be no musard,

And wicked tongue is with these two,

That suffreth no man thider goe

For er a thing be doe he shall,

Where that he commeth over all,

In fortie places, if it be sought,

Saie thing that never was done ne wrought,

So much treason is in his male,

Of falsenesse for to faine a tale,

Thou dealest with angrie folke iwis,

Wherefore to thee better is,

From these folke away to fare,

For they woll make thee live in care,

This is the evill that love they call,

Wherein there is but folly all,

For love is folly everie dell

Who loveth, in no wise may do well

Ne set his thought on no good werke,

His schoole he leseth, if he be a Clerke,

Or other Craft eke, if that he be,

He shall not thrive therein, for he

In love shall have more passioun,

Than Monke, Hermite, or Chanoun:

This paine is heard out of measure,

The joy may eke no while endure,

And in the possession,

Is much tribulation,

The joy it is so short and lasting,

And but in hap is the getting,

For I see there many in travaile,

That at last foule faile,

I was nothing thy counsailer,

When thou were made the homager

Of God of love so hastely:

Where was no wisedome but folly,

Thine heart was jolly, but not sage,

When thou were brought in such a rage,

To yeeld thee so readyly,

And to Love of his great maistrie.

I Rede thee Love away to drive,

That maketh the retch not of thy live,

* The folly more fro day to day

Shall growe, but thou it put away,

Take with thy teeth the bridle fast,

To daunt thy heart, and eke the cast

If that thou mayest, to get the defence

For to redresse thy first offence.

* Who so his heart alway woll leve,

Shall finde emong that shall him greve.

When I her heard thus me chastise,

I answeard in full angrie wife,

I prayed her cesse of her speach,

Either to chastise me or teach,

To bidde me my thought refrein,

Which Love hath caught in his demein:

What wene ye Love woll consent,

(That me assaieth with bowe bent)

To draw mine heart out of his hond,

Which is so quickly in his bond?

That ye counsaile, may never bee,

For when he first arested mee,

He tooke mine heart so sore him till,

That it is nothing at my will,

He tought it so him for to obey,

That he it sparred with a key.

I pray you let me be all still,

For ye may well, if that ye will,

Your wordes wast in idlenesse,

For utterly withouten gesse,

All that ye saine is but in vaine,

Me were lever die in the paine,

That love to me ward should arette,

Falshed or treason on me sette,

I woll me get pris or blame,

And Love true to save my name,

Who that me chastiseth, I him hate.

With that word, Reason went her gate,

When she saw for no sermoning

She might me fro my folly bring.

Then dismayed I left all soole,

Forwearie, forwandred as a foole,

For I ne knew ne cherisaunce.

Then fell into my remembraunce,

How love bad me to purvey

A fellow, to whome I might sey

My counsaile and my privite,

For that should much auaile me.

With that bethought I me, that I

Had a fellow fast by,

True and siker, courteous, and hend,

And he called was by name a Frend,

A true fellow was no where none,

In hast to him I went anone,

And to him all my woe I told,

Fro him right nought I would withhold,

I told him all without were,

And made my complaint on Daungere,

How for to sey he was hidous,

And to me ward contrarious,

The which through his cruelte,

Was in point to have meimed me,

With Bialacoil, when he me sey

Within the gardin walke and pley,

Fro me he made him for to goe,

And I be left alone in woe:

I durst no longer with him speake,

For Daunger sayd he would be wreake,

When that he saw how I went,

The fresh bothum for to hent,

If I were hardie to come nere,

Betweene the haie and the Rosere,

This Friend when he wist of thought,

He discomforted me right nought,

But saied fellow, be nat so madde,

Ne so abashed nor bestadde,

My selfe I know full well Daungere,

And how he is fierce of chere,

At prime temps, Love to manace,

Full oft I have beene in his case,

[Page] A felon first though that he be,

After thou shalt him souple see,

Of long passed I knew him wele,

Vngodly first though men him fele,

He woll meeke after in his bearing

Been, for seruice and obeissing,

I shall thee tell what thou shalt do:

Meekely I rede thou go him to,

Of heart pray him specially

Of thy trespace to haue mercy,

And hote him well here to please,

That thou shalt neuer more him displease,

* Who can best serue of flattery,

Shall please Daunger most vtterly.

My Friend hath saied to me so wele,

That he me easeli hath somedele,

And eke allegged of my tourment,

For through him had I hardement

Againe to Daunger for to go,

To preue if I might meeke him so.

TO Daunger came I all ashamed,

The which aforne me had blamed,

Desiring for to pease my wo,

But ouer hedge durst I not go:

For he forbode me the passage,

I found him cruell in his rage,

And in his hond a great bourdoun,

To him I kneeled low adoun,

Full meeke of port, and simple of chere,

And saied, sir, I am comen here

Onely to aske of you mercy,

It greeueth me full greatly

That euer my life I wrathed you,

But for to amend I am come now,

With all my might, both loud and still,

To doen right at your owne will,

For Loue made me for to do

That I haue trespassed hiderto,

Fro whom I ne may withdraw mine hart,

Yet shall I neuer for ioy ne smart

(What so befall good or ill)

Offend more againe your will,

Leuer I haue endure disease,

Than doe that should you displease.

IYou require, and pray that ye

Of me haue mercy and pite,

To stint your ire that greueth so,

That I woll sweare for euermo

To be redressed at your liking

If I trespace in any thing,

Saue that (I pray thee) graunt me

A thing, that may nat warned be,

That I may loue all onely,

None other thing of you aske I:

I shall doen all ywis,

If of your grace ye graunt me this,

And ye may not letten mee,

For well wote ye that loue is free:

And I shall louen such that I will,

Who euer like it well or ill:

And yet ne would I not for all Fraunce

Doe thing to doe you displeasaunce.

Then Daunger fell in his entent

For to foryeue his male talent,

But all his wrath yet at last

He hath released, I praide so fast:

Shortly (he saied) thy request

Is not too mockell dishonest,

Ne I woll not werne it thee,

For yet nothing engreeueth mee:

For though thou loue thus euermore,

To me is neither soft ne sore:

Loue where that thee list, what retcheth me,

So ferre fro my Roses be:

Trust not on me for none assaie,

In any time to passe the haie.

Thus hath he graunted my prayere,

Then went I forth withouten were

Vnto my friend, and told him all,

Which was right ioyfull of my tale,

(He saied) now goeth well thine affaire,

He shall to thee be debonaire,

Though he aforne was dispitous,

He shall hereafter be gracious:

If he were touched on some good veine,

He should yet rewen on thy peine,

Suffer I rede, and no boast make,

Till thou at good mes maist him take.

* By suffraunce, and by words soft,

A man may ouercome oft

Him that aforne he had in drede,

In bookes soothly as I rede.

Thus hath my friend with great comfort

Auaunced me with high disport,

Which would me good, as much as I:

And then anon full sodainely

I tooke my leave, and streight I went

Vnto the hay, for great talent

I had to seene the fresh bothom,

Wherein lay my saluation,

And Daunger tooke keepe, if that I

Keepe him couenaunt truely,

So sore I drede his manasing,

I durst not breake his bidding,

For least that I were of him shent,

I brake not his commaundement,

For to purchase his good will,

It was for to come there till,

His mercy was too ferre behind

I kept, for I ne might it find.

I complained and sighed sore,

And languished euermore,

For I durst nat ouergo,

Vnto the Rose I loued so,

Throughout my deming vtterly,

That he had knowledge certainly:

Then Loue me ladde in such wise,

That in me there was no feintise,

Falshood, ne no trecherie:

And yet he full of villanie,

Of disdaine, and crueltie,

On me ne would haue pitie

His cruell will for to refraine,

Tho I wept alway, and me complaine.

ANd while I was in this turment,

Were come of grace, by God sent,

Fraunchise, and with her Pity,

Fulfilde the bothum of bounty,

They go to Daunger anon right

To ferther me with all her might,

[Page] And helpe in word and in deed,

For well they saw that it was need.

First of her grace dame Fraunchise

Hath taken of this emprise:

She saied, Daunger great wrong ye do

To worche this man so much wo,

Or pinen him so angerly,

It is to you great villauy:

I cannot see why ne how

That he hath trespassed againe you,

Saue that he loveth, wherefore ye shold

The more in charitie of him hold:

The force of love maketh him do this,

Who would him blame he did amis,

He leueth more than he may do,

His paine is hard, ye may see lo:

And Love in no wise would consent

That ye have power to repent,

For though that quicke ye would him slo,

Fro Love his heart may nat go.

Now sweet sir, it is your ease

Him for to anger or disease.

Alas, what may it you auaunce

To doen to him so great greauaunce,

What worship is it againe him take,

Or on your man a werre make,

Sith he so lowly euery wise

Is ready, as ye lust deuise.

If Love have caught him in his laas,

You for to beie in euery caas,

And been your subject at your will,

Should ye therefore willen him ill,

Ye should him spare more all out,

Than him that is both proud and stout:

Courtesie would that ye succoure

Hem that been meeke vnder your cure,

* His hart is hard that woll not meeke,

When men of meekenesse him beseeke.

THis is certaine, saied Pitie,

* We see oft that Humilitie,

Both ire, and also felonie

Venquisheth, and also malanchollie,

To stond forth in such duresse

This crueltie and wickednesse:

Wherefore I pray you sir Daungere

For to maintaine no lenger here

Such cruell warre againe your man,

As wholly yours as euer he can,

Nor that ye worchen no more wo

Vpon this caitife that languisheth so,

Which woll no more to you trespace,

But put him wholly in your grace,

His offence ne was but lite,

The God of Love it was to wite,

That he your thrall so greatly is,

And if ye harme him ye doen amis,

For he hath had full hard pennaunce,

Sith that ye reft him thaquaintaunce

Of Bialacoil, his most joy,

Which all his paines might acoy:

He was before annoyed sore,

But then ye doubled him well more,

For he of blisse hath been full bare,

Sith Bialacoil was fro him fare,

Love hath to him great distresse,

He hath no need of more duresse:

Voided from him your ire I rede,

Ye may not winnen in this dede,

Maketh Bialacoil repaire againe,

And haveth pitie vpon his paine,

For Fraunchise woll, and I Pite,

That mercifull to him ye be,

And sith that she and I accorde,

Have vpon him misericorde,

For I you pray, and eke moneste,

Nought to refusen our requeste:

For he is hard and fell of thought,

That for vs two woll doe right nought.

Daunger ne might no more endure,

He meeked him vnto measure.

I woll in no wise, saieth Daungere,

Denie that ye have asked here:

It were too great vncourtesie,

I woll ye have the companie

Of Bialacoil, as ye deuise,

I woll him let in no wise.

To Bialacoil then went in hie,

Fraunchise, and saied full curteslie:

Ye have too long be deignous

Vnto this lover, and daungerous

For him to withdraw your presence,

Which hath do to him great offence,

That ye not would vpon him see,

Wherefore a sorrowfull man is hee:

Shape ye to pay him, and to please,

Of my love if ye woll have ease,

Fulfill his will, sith that ye know

Daunger is daunted and brought low

Through helpe of me and of Pite

You dare no more afterde be.

I shall doe right as ye will

Saieth Bialacoil, for it is skill,

Sith Daunger woll that it so be,

Then Fraunchise hath him sent to me.

BIalacoil at the beginning

Salued me in his comming,

No straungenesse was in him seene,

No more than he ne had wrathed been,

As faire semblaunt then shewed he me,

And goodly, as aforne did he,

And by the hond without dout,

Within the haie right all about,

He lad me with right good chere,

All enuiron the vergere,

That Daungere had me chased fro:

Now have I leave ouer all to go,

Now am I raised at my deuise,

Fro hell vnto Paradise.

Thus Bialacoil of gentlenesse

With all his paine and businesse,

Hath shewed me onely of grace

The efters of the swote place.

I saw the Rose when I was nigh,

Was greater woxen, and more high,

Fresh, roddy, and faire of hew,

Of colour euer iliche new:

And when I had it long seene,

I saw that through the leaues greene

The Rose spread to spannishing,

To seene it was a goodly thing,

But it ne was so sprede on brede,

That men within might know the sede,

[Page] For it couert was and close

Both with the leaves and with the Rose,

The stalke was euen and grene vpright,

It was thereon a goodly sight,

And well the better without wene

For the seed was not sene,

Full faire it sprad the God of blesse,

For such another, as I gesse,

Aforne ne was ne more vermaile,

I was abawed for maruaile,

For euer the fairer that it was,

The more I am bounden in loues laas.

Long I abode there sooth to say,

Till Bialacoil I gan to pray,

When that I saw him in no wise

To me warnen his seruise,

That he me would graunt a thing,

Which to remember is well sitting:

This is to saine, that of his grace

He would me yeue leisure and space

To me that was so desirous

To haue a kissing precious

Of the goodly fresh Rose,

That so sweetly smelleth in my nose,

For if it you displeased nought,

I woll gladly, as I haue sought,

Haue a kisse thereof freely

Of your yeft, for certainely

I woll none haue but by your leue;

So loth me were you for to greue.

HE saied, friend so God me spede,

Of Chastitie I haue such drede,

Thou shouldest not warned be for me,

But I dare not for Chastite:

Againe her dare I not mis do,

For alway biddeth she me so

To yeue no louer leaue to kisse,

For who thereto may winnen iwisse,

He of the surplus of the praie

May liue in hope to get some day,

For who so kissing may attaine,

Of Loues paine hath (sooth to saine)

The best and most auenaunt,

And earnest of the remenaunt.

OF his answere I sighed sore,

I durst assay him tho no more,

I had such drede to greve him aye,

* A man should not too much assaye

To chafe his friend out of measure,

Nor put his life in auenture,

For no man at the first stroke

Ne may not fell downe an Oke,

Nor of the reisins haue the wine,

Till grapes be ripe and well a fine,

Before empressed, I you ensure,

And drawen out of the pressure:

But I forpeined wonder strong,

Though that I abode right long

And after the kisse, in paine and wo,

Sith I to kisse desired so:

Till that renning on my distresse,

There come Venus the goddesse

(Which aye werrieth Chastite)

Came of her grace to succour me,

Whose might is know ferre and wide,

For she is mother of Cupide.

THe God of Loue, blind as stone,

That helpeth louers many one.

This lady brought in her right hond

Of brenning fire a blasing brond,

Whereof the flame and hote fire

Hath many a Lady in desire

Of Loue brought, and sore hette,

And in her seruice her heart is sette.

This Lady was of good entaile,

Right wonderfull of apparaile,

By her attire so bright and shene,

Men might perceiue well and sene,

She was not of Religioun:

Nor I nill make mentioun

Nor of robe, nor of treasour,

Of broche, neither of her rich attour,

Ne of her girdle about her side,

For that I nill not long abide,

But knoweth well, that certainely

She was arraied richely,

Deuoid of pride certaine she was,

To Bialacoil she went apaas,

And to him shortely in a clause

She said: sir, what is the cause

Ye ben of port so daungerous

Vnto this louer, and dainous,

To graunt him nothing but a kisse

To warne it him ye done amisse,

Sith well ye wot, how that hee

Is Loues seruaunt, as ye may see,

And hath beautie, where through is

Worthy of Loue to haue the blis:

How he is seemely behold and see,

How he is faire, how he is free,

How he is swote and debonaire,

Of age young, lusty, and faire,

There is no Lady so hautaine,

Duchesse, Countesse, ne Chastelaine,

That I nolde hold her vngodly,

For to refuse him vtterly.

His breath is also good and swete,

And eke his lips roddy and mete,

Onely to plaine, and to kisse,

Graunt him a kisse of gentlenisse.

His teeth arne also white and clene,

Me thinketh wrong withouten wene,

If ye now warne him, trusteth me,

To graunt that a kisse haue he,

The lasse ye helpe him that ye hast,

And the more time shull ye wast.

When the flame of the very brond

That Venus brought in her right hond,

Had Bialacoil with his hete smete,

Anone he had me withouten lete,

Graunt to me the Rose kisse,

Then of my paine I gan to lisse,

And to the Rose anon went I,

And kissed it full faithfully:

There need no man aske if I was blith,

When the sauour soft and lith

Stroke to mine heart without more,

And me allegged of my sore,

So was I full of joy and blisse,

It is faire such a floure to kisse,

[Page] It was so swote and sauerous,

I might not be so anguishous,

That I mote glad and jolly be,

When that I remembre me,

Yet euer among soothly to saine,

I suffer noie and much paine.

THe see may neuer be so still,

That with a little wind at will

Ouer whelme and tourne also,

As it were wood in wawes go,

After the calme the trouble soone

Mote follow, and chaunge as the moone.

Right so fareth Love, that selde in one

Holdeth his anker, for right anone

When they in ease wene best to live,

They ben with tempest all fordriue:

Who serueth Loue, can tell of wo,

The stoundmele joy mote ouergo,

Now he hurteth, and now he cureth,

* For selde in o point Love endureth.

Now is it right me to proceed,

How Shame gan meddle and take heed,

Through whom fell angers I have hade,

And how the strong wall was made,

And the Castle of brede and length,

That God of Love wan with his strength,

All this Romance will I set,

And for no thing ne will I let,

So that it liking to her be,

That is the floure of beaute,

For she may best my labour quite,

That I for her Love shall endite.

Wicked tongue, that the couine

Of euery Lover can deuine

Worst, and addeth more somdele

* (For wicked tongue saith neuer wele)

To me ward bare he right great hate,

Espying me early and late,

Till he hath seene the great chere

Of Bialacoil and me ifere:

He might not his tongue withstond

Worse to report than he fond,

He was so full of cursed rage,

It sat him wele of his linage,

For him an irous woman bare,

His tongue was filed sharpe and square,

Poiguaunt and right keruing,

And wonder bitter in speaking,

For when that he me gan espy,

He swore (affirming sikerly)

Betweene Bialacoil and me

Was euill acquaintaunce and priue,

He spake thereof so folilie,

That he awaked Ielousie,

Which all afraied in his rising,

When that he heard iangling,

He ran anon as he were wood

To Bialacoil there that he stood,

Which had leuer in this caas

Haue ben at Reines or Amias,

For fote hote in his fellonie,

To him thus said Ielousie:

Why hast thou ben so negligent,

To keepen, when I was absent,

This verger here left in thy ward?

To me thou haddest no regard,

To trust (to thy confusion)

Him thus, to whom suspection

I haue right great, for it is nede,

It is well shewed by the dede.

Great fault in thee now have I found,

By God anon thou shalt be bound,

And fast locken in a Toure,

Without refuite or succoure.

FOr Shame too long hath be thee fro,

Ouersoone she was ago,

When thou hast lost both drede and fere,

It seemed well she was not here,

She was busie in no wise,

To keepe thee and chastise,

And for to helpen Chastite

To keepe the Roser, as thinketh me,

For then this boy knaue so boldly,

Ne should not have be hardy

In this verge and such game,

Which now me turneth to great shame.

BIalacoil nist what to say,

Full faine he would have fled away,

For feare have hid, nere that he

All suddainly tooke him with me:

And when I saw he had so,

This Ielousie take vs two,

I was astonied, and knew no rede,

But fied away for very drede.

Then Shame came forth full simply,

She wend have trespaced full greatly,

Humble of her port, and made it simple,

Wearing a vaile in stede of wimple.

As Nonnes done in her Abbey,

Because her heart was in affray,

She gan to speake within a throw

To Ielousie, right wonder low.

First of the grace she besought,

And said: sir, ne leueth nought

Wicked tongue, that false espie,

Which is so glad to faine and lie,

He hath you made, through flattering,

On Bialacoil a false leasing:

His falsenesse is not now anew,

It is too long that he him knew:

This is not the first daie,

For Wicked tongue hath custome aie,

Young folkes to bewrie,

And false lesings on hem lie.

Yet neuerthelesse I see among,

That the soigne it is so long

Of Bialacoil, hearts to lure,

In Loves seruice for to endure,

Drawing such folke him to,

That he hath nothing with to do,

But in foothnesse I trow nought,

That Bialacoil had euer in thought

To do trespace or villanie,

But for his mother Curtesie

Hath taught him euer to be

Good of acquaintaunce and priue,

For he loveth none heauinesse,

But mirth and play, and all gladnesse,

He hateth all trechous,

Soleine folke and enuious:

[Page] For ye weten how that he

Woll euer glad and joyfull be

Honestly with folke to pley,

I have be negligent in good fey

To chastise him, therefore now I

Of heart I crie you here mercy,

That I haue ben so recheles

To tamen him withouten lees,

Of my folly I me repent,

Now woll I hole set mine entent

To keepe both low and still

Bialacoil to do your will.

Shame, Shame (said Ielousy)

To be bitrashed great drede haue I.

Lecherie hath clombe so hie,

That almost bleared is mine eie,

No wonder is, if that drede haue I,

* Ouer all reigneth Lechery,

Whose might groweth night and dey,

Both in Cloyster and in Abbey,

Chastitie is werried ouer all,

Therefore I woll with siker wall

Close both Roses and Rosere,

I have too long in this manere

Left hem vnclosed wilfully:

Wherefore I am right inwardly

Sorrowfull, and repent me,

But now they shall no lenger be

Vnclosed, and yet I drede sore,

I shall repent ferthermore,

For the game goeth all amis,

Counsaile I must new ywis,

I haue too long trusted thee,

But now it shall no lenger bee:

* For he may best in euery cost

Deceiue, that men tresten most:

I see well that I am nigh shent,

But if I set my full entent

Remedy to puruey:

Wherefore close I shall the wey

From hem that woll the Rose espie,

And come to wait me villonie,

For in good faith and in trouth

I woll not let for no slouth

To liue the more in sikernesse,

Do make anon a fortresse.

Then close the Roses of good sauour,

In middes shall I make a tour,

To put Bialacoil in prison,

Forever I drede me of treason,

I trow I shall him keepe so,

That he shall have no might to go

About to make companie

To hem that thinke of villanie,

Ne to no such as hath ben here

Aforne, and found in him good chere,

Which han assailed him to shend,

And with her trowandise to blend,

* A foole is eith to beguile,

But may I liue a little while,

He shall forthinke his faire semblaunt.

And with that word came Drede auaunt,

Which was abashed, and in great fere,

When he wist Ielousie was there,

He was for drede in such affray,

That not a word durst he say,

But quaking stood full still alone

(Till Ielousie his way was gone)

Saue Shame, that him not forsoke,

Both Drede and she full sore quoke,

That at last Drede abraide,

And to his cousin Shame saide.

Shame (he said) in soothfastnesse,

To me it is great heauinesse,

That the noise so ferre is go,

And the slaunder of vs two:

But sith that it is befall,

We may it not againe call,

When once sprung is a fame:

For many a yeare withouten blame

We haue ben, and many a day,

For many an Aprill and many a May

We han passed, not ashamed,

Till Ielousie hath vs blamed

Of mistrust and suspection

Causelesse, without encheson:

Go we to Daunger hastely,

And let vs shew him openly,

That he hath not aright wrought,

When that he set not his thought

To keepe better the purprise,

In his doing he is not wise.

He hath to vs do great wrong,

That hath suffred now so long

Bialacoil to have his will

All his lustes to fulfill:

He must amend it vtterly,

Or els shall he villanously

Exiled be out of this lond:

For he the warre may not withstond

Of Ielousie, nor the greefe,

Sith Bialacoil is at mischeefe.

TO Daunger Shame and Drede anon

The right way ben gon:

The chorle they found hem aforne

Ligging vnder an hawthorne.

Vnder his head no pillow was,

But in the stede a trusse of gras:

He slombred, and a nappe he toke,

Till Shame pitously him shoke,

And great manace on him gan make.

Why sleepest thou when thou should wake

(Qd. Shame) thou dost vs villanie,

Who trusteth thee, he doth follie,

To keepe roses or bothums

When they be faire in her seasons,

Thou art woxe too familiere

Where thou should be straunge of chere,

Stout of thy port, ready to greue,

Thou doest great folly for to leue

Bialacoil here in to call

The yonger man to shenden vs all,

Though that thou sleepe, we may here

Of Ielousie great noise here,

Art thou now late, rise vp an hye,

And stop soone and deliuerlye

All the gaps of the hay,

Do no fauour I thee pray,

It falleth nothing to thy name,

To make fair semblant, were thou maist blame.

[Page]

IF Bialacoil he sweet and free,

Dogged and fell thou shouldest bee,

Froward and outragious iwis,

* A chorle chaungeth that curteis is:

This haue I heard oft in saying,

* That man may for no daunting

Make a sperhauke of a bosarde,

All men hold thee for musarde,

That debonaire haue founden thee,

It sitteth thee nought curteis to bee,

To doe men pleasaunce or seruise,

In thee it is recreaundise:

Let thy werkes ferre and nere

Be like thy name, which is Daungere.

Then all akashed in shewing,

Anon spake Drede, right thus saying,

And said, Daunger I drede me,

That thou ne wolt besie be

To keepe that thou hast to keepe,

When thou shouldest wake, thou art asleepe:

Thou shalt be greeued certainely,

If thee aspie Ielousy,

Or if he find thee in blame.

He hath to do assailed Shame,

And chased away with great manace

Bialacoil out of this place,

And sweareth shortly that he shall

Enclose him in a sturdy wall,

And all is for thy wickednesse,

For that thee faileth straungenesse,

Thine heart I trow he failed all,

Thou shalt repent in speciall,

If Ielousie the sooth knew,

Thou shalt forthinke, and sore rew.

With that the chorle his clubbe gan shake,

Frouning his eyen gan to make,

And hidous chere, as man in rage,

For ire he brent in his visage,

When that he heard him blamed so,

He said, out of my witte I go,

To be discomfite I haue great wrong,

Certes, I haue now liued too long,

Sith I may not this closer keepe,

All quicke I would be doluen deepe,

If any man shall more repaire

Into this garden for foule or faire,

Mine heart for ire gothe afere,

That I let any entre here,

I haue doe folly now I see,

But now it shall amended be,

Who setteth foot here any more,

Truly he shall repent it sore,

For no man more into this place

Of me to enter shall haue grace.

Lever I had with swerds twaine,

Throughout mine heart, in every vaine

Perced to be, with many a wound,

Than slouth should in me he sound:

From henceforth by night or day,

I shall defend it if I may

Withouten any exception

Of each manner condition,

And if I it any man graunt,

Holdeth me for recreaunt.

THen Daunger on his feet gan stond,

And hent a burdon in his hond,

Wroth in his ire ne left he nought,

But through the verger he hath sought,

If he might find hole or trace,

Where through that me mote forth by pace,

Or any gappe, he did it close,

That no man might touch a Rose

Of the Roser all about,

He shetteth euery man without.

Thus day by day Daunger is wers,

More wonderfull and more diuers,

And feller eke than euer he was,

For him full oft I sing alas,

For I ne may nought, through his ire

Recouer that I most desire,

Mine heart alas woil brest a two,

For Bialacoil I wrathed so:

For certainly in euery member

I quake, when I me remember

Of the bothum, which I would

Full oft a day seene and behold,

And when I thinke vpon the kisse,

And how much ioy and blisse,

I had through the sauour swete,

For want of it I grone and grete,

Me thinketh I fele yet in my nose

The sweet sauour of the Rose,

And now I wote that I mote go

So ferre the fresh floures fro,

To me full welcome were the death,

Absence thereof (alas) me sleath,

For whylome with this Rose, alas,

I touched nose, mouth, and face,

But now the death I must abide,

But Loue consent another tide,

That ones I touch may and kisse,

I trow my paine shall neuer lisse,

Thereon is all my couetise,

Which brent my heart in many wise.

Now shall repaire againe sighing,

Long watch on nights, and no sleeping,

Thought in wishing, turment, and wo,

With many a turning to and fro,

That halfe my paine I cannot tell,

For I am fallen into hell,

From paradise and wealth, the more

My turment greueth more and more,

Annoyeth now the bitternesse,

That I toforne haue felt sweetnesse,

And Wicked tongue, through his falshede,

Causeth all my wo and drede,

On me he lieth a pitous charge,

Because his tongue was too large.

Now it is time shortly that I

Tell you something of Ielousie,

That was in great suspection,

About him left he no mason,

That stone could lay, ne querrour,

He hired hem to make a tour:

And first the Roses for to keepe,

About hem made he a ditch deepe,

Right wonder large, and also brode,

Vpon the which also stode

Of squared stone a sturdy wall,

Which on a cragge was founded all,

And right great thicknesse eke it bare,

About it was founded square

[Page] An hundred fadome on euery side,

It was all liche long and wide,

Least any time it were assailed,

Full well about it was battailed,

And round enuiron eke were set

Full many a rich and faire tournet,

At euery corner of this wall

Was set a tour full principall,

And eueriche had without fable

A portcullise defensable

To keepe off enemies, and to greue,

That there her force would preue.

And eke amidde this purprise

Was made a tour of great maistrise,

A fairer saugh no man with sight,

Large and wide, and of great might,

They dradde none assaut,

Of ginne, gonne, nor skaffaut,

The temprure of the mortere

Was made of liquour wonder dere,

Of quicke lime persaunt and egre,

The which was tempred with vinegre.

The stone was hard of Adamaunt,

Whereof they made the foundemaunt,

The toure was round made in compas,

In all this world no richer was,

Ne better ordained therewithall,

About the tour was made a wall,

So that betwixt that and the tour,

Roses were set of sweet sauour,

With many Roses that they bere,

And eke within the castle were

Springolds, Gonnes, Bowes, and Archers;

And eke about at corners

Men seine ouer the wall stond

Great engins, who were nere hond,

And in the kernels here and there,

Of arblasters great plentie were.

None armour might her stroke withstond,

It were folly to prease to hond,

Without the ditch were listes made,

With wall battaited large and brade,

For men and horse should not attaine

Too nigh the ditche ouer the plaine,

Thus Ielousie hath enuiron,

Sette about his garnison

With wals round, and diche deepe,

Onely the Roser for to keepe,

And Daunger early and late

The keyes kept of the vtter gate,

The which opened toward the east,

And he had with him at least

Thirtie seruaunts echone by name.

That other gate kept Shame,

Which opened, as it was couth,

Toward the part of the South,

Sergeaunts assigned were her to

Full many, her will for to do.

Then Drede had in her Baillie

The keeping of the constablerie,

Toward the North I vnderstond,

That opened vpon the left hond,

The which for nothing may be sure,

But if she doe busie cure

Early on morrow and also late,

Strongly to shette and barre the gate:

Of euery thing that she may see,

Drede is aferde, where so she bee,

For with a puffe of little wind,

Drede is astonied in her mind,

Therefore for stealing of the Rose,

I rede her nat the yate vnclose,

A foules flight would make her flee,

And eke a shaddow if she it see.

THen Wicked tongue full of enuie,

With souldiers of Normandie,

As he that causeth all debate,

Was keeper of the fourth gate,

And also to the tother three,

He went full oft for to see,

When his lotte was to walke a night,

His instruments would he dight,

For to blow and make soune,

Ofter than he hath enchesoune,

And walken oft vpon the wall,

Corners and wickettes ouer all,

Full narrow searchen and espie,

Though he nought fond, yet would he lie

Discordaunt euer fro armonie,

And dissoned from melodie,

Controue he would, and foule faile,

With hornepipes of Cornewaile.

In floites made he discordaunce,

And in his musicke with mischaunce,

He would seine with notes new,

* That he fond no woman trew,

Ne that he saw neuer in his life,

Vnto her husbond a trew wife:

Ne none so full of honeste,

That she nill laugh and merry be,

When that she heareth or may espie

A man speaken of Lecherie.

Eueriche of hem hath some vice,

One is dishonest, another is nice,

If one be full of villanie,

Another hath a licorous eie,

If one be full of wantonnesse,

Another is a chideresse.

Thus Wicked tong, God yeue him shame,

Can put hem euerichone in blame,

Without desert and causelesse,

He lieth, though they ben guiltlesse,

I have pity to seene the sorrow,

That waketh both euen and morrow,

To innocents doth such greuaunce,

I pray God yeue him euill chaunce,

That he euer so busie is,

Of any woman to seine amis.

Eke Ielousie God confound,

That hath made a toure so round,

And made about a garison,

To sette Bialacoil in prison,

The which is shette there in the tour,

Full long to hold there soiour,

There for liue in pennaunce,

And for to do him more greuaunce,

Which hath ordained Ielousie,

And old vecke for to spie

The manner of his gouernaunce,

The which Deuill in her enfaunce

Had learned of Loues art,

And of his plais tooke her part,

[Page] She was except in his seruise,

She knew each wrenche and euery gise

Of Loue, and euery wile,

It was hard her to beguile.

Of Bialacoil she tooke aye hede,

That euer he liueth in wo and drede,

He kept him coy and eke priue,

Least in him she had see

Any folly countenance,

For she knew all the old daunce.

And after this, when Ielousie

Had Bialacoil in his Baillie,

And shette him vp that was so free,

For sure of him he would bee:

He trusteth sore in his castell,

The strong werke him liketh well,

He dradde nat that no glotons

Should steale his Roses or bothoms,

The Roses weren assured all

Defenced with the strong wall,

Now Iealousie full well may be

Of drede deuoid in liberte,

Whether that he sleepe or wake,

For of his Roses may none be take.

BVt I (alas) now mourne shall,

Because I was without the wall,

Full much dole and mone I made,

Who had wist what wo I hade,

I trow he would haue had pite,

Loue too deare had sold me

The good that of his loue had I,

I went about it all queintly,

But now through doubling of my paine

I see he woll it sell againe,

And me a new bargaine lere,

The which all out the more is dere,

For the sollace that I haue lorne,

Than I had it neuer aforne,

* Certaine I am full like indeed

To him that cast in earth his seed,

And hath ioy of the new springing,

When it greeneth in the ginning,

And is also faire and fresh of flour,

Lustie to seene, swote of odour,

But ere he it in his sheues shere,

May fall a weather that shall it dere,

And make it to fade and fall,

The stalke, the greine, and floures all,

That to the tillers is fordone,

The hope that he had too soone:

I drede certaine that so fare I,

For hope and trauaile sikerly

Ben me beraft all with a storme,

The floure nill seden of my corne,

For Loue hath so auaunced me,

When I began my priuite,

To Bialacoil all for to tell,

Whom I ne found froward ne fell,

But tooke agree all whole my play,

But Loue is of so hard assay,

That all at ones he reued me,

When I weent best abouen to haue be.

* It is of Loue, as of Fortune,

That chaungeth oft, and nill contune,

Which whylome woll of folke smile,

And glombe on hem another while,

* Now friend, now foe, shalt her feele,

For a twinckling tourneth her wheele.

* She can writhe her head away,

This is the concourse of her play,

She can areise that doeth mourne,

And whirle adoune, and ouertourne

Who sitteth highest, but as her lust,

A foole is he that woll her trust,

For it is I that am come doun

Through charge and reuolutioun,

Sith Bialacoil mote fro me twin,

Shette in her prison yonde within,

His absence at mine heart I fele,

For all my ioy and all mine hele

Was in him, and in the Rose,

That but you will, which him doeth close,

Open, that I may him see,

Loue woll not that I cured bee

Of the paines that I endure,

Nor of my cruell auenture.

AH, Bialacoil mine owne dere,

Though thou be now a prisonere,

Keepe at least thine heart to me,

And suffer not that it daunted be,

Ne let not iealousie in his rage,

Putten thine heart in no seruage,

Although he chastice thee without,

And make thy bodie vnto him lout

Haue heart as hard as Diamaunt,

Stedfast, and naught pliaunt:

* In prison though thy bodie bee

At large keepe thine heart free,

A true heart will not plie

For no mannace that it may drie.

If Ielousie doeth thee paine,

Quite him his while thus againe,

To venge thee at least in thought,

If other way thou maiest nought.

And in this wise subtelly

Worch, and winne the maistrie.

But yet I am in great affray,

Least thou doe nat as I say,

I drede thou canst me great maugre,

That thou emprisoned art for me,

But that nat for my trespas,

For through me neuer discouered was

Yet thing that ought be secre:

Well more annoy is in me,

Than is in thee of this mischaunce,

For I endure more hard pennaunce

Than any can saine or thinke,

That for the sorrow almost I sinke,

When I remember me of my wo,

Full nigh out of my witte I go.

Inward mine heart I feele blede,

For comfortlesse the death I drede,

Owe I nat well to haue distresse,

When false, through her wickednesse,

And traitours, that arne enviours,

To noien me be so coragious.

Ah, Bialacoil full well I see,

That they hem shape to deceiue thee,

To make thee buxum to her law,

And with her cord thee to draw

Where so hem lust, right at her will,

I drede they haue thee brought theretill:

[Page] Without comfort, thought me sleath,

This game would bring me to my death,

For if your good will I lese,

I mote be dead, I may not chese,

And if that thou foryete me,

Mine heart shall neuer in liking be,

Nor elswhere find sollace,

If I be put out of your grace,

As it shall neuer ben I hope,

Then should I fall in wanhope.

Alas, in wanhope, nay parde,

For I woll neuer dispaired be,

If hope me faile, then am I

Vngracious and vnworthy,

In hope I woll comforted be,

For Loue, when he betaught her me,

Saied, that Hope where so I go,

Should aye be relees to my wo.

But what and she my bales bete,

And be to me curteis and swete,

She is in nothing full certaine,

Louers she put in full great paine,

And maketh hem with wo to dele,

Her faire beheste deceiueth fele,

For she woll behote sikerly,

And failen after vtterly.

Ah, that is a full noyous thing,

For many a louer in louing

Hangeth upon her, and trusteth fast,

Which lese her trauaile at the last.

Of thing to commen she wot right nought,

Therefore if it be wisely sought,

Her counsaile follie is to take,

For many times, when she woll make

A full good sillogisme, I drede,

That afterward there shall indede

Follow an euill conclusion,

This put me in confusion,

* For many times I haue it seene,

That many haue beguiled beene,

For trust that they haue set in Hope,

Which fell hem afterward a slope.

BVt nathelesse yet gladly she would,

That he that woll him with her hold,

Had all times her purpose clere,

Without deceit any where,

That she desireth sikerly,

When I her blamed, I did folly,

But what auaileth her good will,

When she ne may staunch my stound ill,

That helpeth little that she may do,

Or take behest vnto my wo:

* And heste certaine in no wise,

Without ifete is not to preise.

* When heste and deed asunder vary,

They doen a great contrary:

Thus am I posted vp and doun

With dole, thought, and confusioun,

Of my disease there is no number,

Daunger and Shame me encumber,

Drede also, and Ielousie,

And wicked Tongue full of enuie,

Of which the sharpe and cruell ire

Full oft me put in great martire,

They haue my ioy fully let,

Sith Bialacoil they haue beshet

Fro me in prison wickedly,

Whom I loue so entierly,

That it woll my bane bee,

But I the sooner may him see.

And yet moreouer worst of all,

There is set to keepe, foule her befall,

A Rimpled vecke ferre ronne in rage,

Frouning and yellow in her visage,

Which in await lieth day and night,

That none of him may haue a sight.

NOw mote my sorrow enforced be,

Full sooth it is, that Loue yafe me

Three wonder yefts of his grace,

Which I haue lorne now in this place,

Sith they ne may without drede

Helpen but little, who taketh hede:

For here auaileth no Sweet thought,

And Sweet speech helpeth right nought,

The third was called Sweet Looking,

That now is lorne without lesing.

Yefts were faire, but nat for thy

They helpe me but simply,

But Bialacoil loosed bee

To gone at large and to be free,

For him my life lieth all in dout,

But if he come the rather out.

Alas I trow it woll nat beene,

For how should I euermore him seene?

He may nat out, and that is wrong,

Because the toure is so strong,

How should he out, or by whose prowesse

Of so strong a forteresse?

By me certaine it nill be do,

God wote I haue no with thereto,

But well I wote I was in rage,

When I to Loue did homage,

Who was the cause (in soothfastnesse)

But her selfe dame Idlenesse?

Which me conueide through faire praiers

To enter into that faire vergere:

She was to blame me to leue,

The which now doeth me sore greue,

* A fooles word is nought to trow,

Ne worth an apple for to low,

Men should hem snibbe bitterly,

At prime temps of his folly:

I was a foole, and she me leued,

Through whom I am right nought releued,

She accomplished all my will,

That now me greueth wonder ill.

REason me saied what should fall,

A foole my selfe I may well call,

That loue aside I had not laied,

And trowed that dame Reason saied.

Reason had both skill and right,

When she me blamed with all her might

To meddle of Loue, that hath me shent,

But certaine now I woll repent.

ANd should I repent? Nay parde,

A false traitour then should I be,

[Page] The deuils engins would me take,

If I love would forsake,

Or Bialacoil falsly betray,

Should I at mischeefe hate him? nay,

Sith he now for his courtesie

Is in prison of Ielousie,

Courtesie certaine did he me,

So much, that it may not yolden be,

When he the haie passen me lete,

To kisse the Rose, faire and swete,

Should I therefore conne him maugre,

Nay certainely, it shall nat be,

For Love shall neuer (yeue God will)

Here of me, through word or will,

Offence or complaint more or lesse,

Neither of Hope nor Idlenesse:

For certes, it were wrong that I

Hated hem for her courtesie.

There is not els, but suffer and thinke,

And waken when I should winke,

Abide in hope, till loue through chaunce

Send me succour or allegeaunce,

Expectaunt aye till I may mete,

To getten mercie of that swete.

Whilome I thinke how Love to mee

Saied he would take at gree

My seruice, if vnpatience

Caused me to doen offence:

He saied, in thanke I shall it take,

And high maister eke thee make,

If wickednesse ne reue it thee,

But soone I trow that shall nat bee.

These were his words by and by,

It seemed he loved me truely.

Now is there not but serue him wele,

If that I thinke his thanke to fele,

My good, mine harme, lithe hole in me,

In Love may no defaut be,

For true Love ne failed neuer man:

Soothly the faute mote needs than

As God forbide, be found in me,

And how it commeth, I cannot see.

Now let it gone as it may go,

Whether Love woll succour me or slo,

He may do hole on me his will,

I am so sore bound him till,

From his seruice I may not flene,

For life and death withouten wene

Is in his hand, I may nat chese,

He may me doe both winne and lese,

And sith so sore he doth me greue,

Yet if my lust he would acheue,

To Bialacoil goodly to be,

I yeue no force what fell on me:

For though I die, as I mote nede,

I pray Love of his goodlyhede,

To Bialacoil doe gentlenesse,

For whom I liue in such distresse,

That I mote dien for penaunce,

But first, without repentaunce,

I woll me confesse in good entent,

And make in hast my Testament,

As louers doen that feelen smart:

To Bialacoil leaue I mine heart

All hole, without departing,

Or doublenesse of repenting.

¶Coment Raison vient a Lamant.

THus as I made my passage

In complaint, and in cruell rage,

And I not where to finde a leche,

That couth vnto mine helping eche

Suddainely againe comen doun,

Out of her toure I saw Reasoun,

Discreet and wise, and full pleasaunt,

And of her port full auenaunt,

The right way she tooke to me,

Which stood in great perplexite

That was poshed in euery side,

That I nist where I might abide,

Till she demurely sad of chere

Saied to me as she came nere.

Mine owne friend, art thou greued,

How is this quarrell yet atcheued

Of loves side? Anone me tell,

Hast thou not yet of Love thy fill?

Art thou nat wearie of thy seruice?

That thee hath in such wise.

What joy hast thou in thy louing?

Is it sweet or bitter thing,

Canst thou yet chese, let me see

What best thy succour might bee.

Thou seruest a full noble Lord,

That maketh thee thrall for thy reward,

Which aye reneweth thy tourment,

With folly so he hath thee blent,

Thou fell in mischeefe thilke day,

When thou diddest the sooth to say

Obeisaunce and eke homage

Thou wroughtest nothing as the sage,

When thou became his liege man,

Thou diddest a great follie than,

Thou wistest nat what fell thereto,

With what Lord thou haddest to do,

If thou haddest him well know

Thou haddest nought be brought so low,

For if thou wist what it were,

Thou noldest serue him halfe a yere,

Nat a weeke, nor halfe a day,

Ne yet an houre without delay,

Ne neuer iloved paramours,

His Lordship is so full of shours,

Knowest him ought?

Lamaunt. Ye dame parde.

Raisoun. Nay, nay. Lamaunt. Yes I.

Raisoun. Wherefore let see.

Lamaunt. Of that he saied I should be

Glad to haue such Lord as (he)

And maister of such seignorie.

Raisoun. Knowest him no more?

Lamaunt. Nay certes, I

Saue that he yafe me rules there,

And went his way I nist where,

And I abode bound in ballaunce,

Lo there a noble cognisaunce.

¶Raisoun.

BVt I woll that thou know him now

Ginning and end, sith that thou

[Page] Art so anguishous and mate,

Disfigured out of astate,

There may no wreche haue more of wo,

Ne caitife none enduren so,

It were to euery man sitting,

Of his Lord haue knowledging:

For if thou knew him out of dout,

Lightly thou shouldest scapen out

Of thy prison that marreth thee.

¶Lamaunt.

YEa dame sith my Lord is hee,

And I his man made with mine hond,

I would right faine vnderstond

To know of what kind he be,

If any would enforme me.

¶Raisoun.

I Would (saied Reason) thee lere,

Sith thou to learne hast such desire,

And shew thee withouten fable

A thing that is not demonstrable,

Thou shalt withouten science,

And know withouten experience

The thing that may not knowen bee,

Ne wist ne shewed in no degree,

Thou maiest the sooth of it not witten,

Though in thee it were written,

Thou shalt not know thereof more,

While thou art ruled by his lore,

But vnto him that loue woll flie,

The knotte may vnlosed be,

Which hath to thee, as it is found,

So long to knitte and not unbound,

Now set well thine entention,

To heare of Loue the description.

LOue it is an hatefull pees,

A free acquitaunce without relees,

And through the fret full of falshede,

A sikernesse all set in drede,

In heart is a despairing hope,

And full of hope it is wanhope,

Wise Woodnesse, and void Reasoun,

A Sweet perill in to droun,

An heauie burthen light to beare,

A wicked wawe away to weare.

It is Caribdes perillous,

Disagreeable and gracious,

It is discordaunce that can accord,

And accordaunce to discord,

It is conning without science,

Wisedome without sapience,

Witte without discretion,

Hauoire without possession,

It is like heale and hole sickenesse,

A trust drowned and dronkennesse,

And health full of maladie,

And Charitie full of enuie,

And anger full of aboundance,

And a greedie suffisaunce,

Delight right full of heauinesse,

And dreried full of gladnesse,

Bitter sweetnesse and sweet errour,

Right euill sauoured good sauour,

Sin that pardon hath within,

And pardon spotted without sin,

A palne also it is ioyous,

And fellonie right pitous,

Also play that selde is stable,

And stedfast right meuable,

A strength weiked to stond vpright,

And feeblenesse full of might,

Witte unauised, sage follie,

And ioy full of tourmentrie,

A laughter it is weeping aie,

Rest that trauaileth night and daie,

Also a sweete hell it is,

And a sorrowfull Paradis,

A pleasaunt gaile and easie prisoun,

And full of Frost Summer seasoun,

Prime temps full of Frostes white,

And Maie deuoid of all delite,

With seer braunches, blossoms vngrene,

And new fruit filled with Winter tene,

It is a slowe may nat forbeare,

Ragges ribaned with gold to weare:

* For also well woll loue be sette

Vnder ragges as rich rotchette,

And eke as well by amorettes

In mourning blacke, as bright burnettes,

For none is of so mokell prise,

Ne no man founden so wise,

Ne none so high of parage,

Ne no manne found of witte so sage,

No man so hardie ne so wight,

Ne no man of so mokell might,

None so fulfilled of bounte,

That he with Loue may daunted be,

All the world holdeth this way,

Loue maketh all to gone misway,

But it be they of euill life,

Whom Genius cursed man and wife,

That wrongly werke againe nature,

None such I loue, ne haue no cure

Of such as loues seruaunts beene,

And woll nat by my counsaile fleene,

For I ne preise that louing,

Wherethrough man at the last ending

Shall call hem wretches full of wo,

Loue greueth hem and shendeth so,

But if thou wolt well loue eschew,

For to escape out of his mew,

And make all whole the sorrow to slake

No better counsaile maiest thou take,

Than thinke to fleen well iwis,

May nought helpe els: for wit thou this,

* If thou flye it, it shall flye thee,

Follow it, and followen shall it thee.

¶Lamaunt.

WHen I had heard Reason sain,

Which had spilt her speech in vain:

Dame (sayd I) I dare well say

Of this auaunt me well I may

That from your schoole so deuiaunt

I am, that neuer the more auaunt.

Right nought am I through your doctrine,

I dull vnder your discipline,

I wote no more than wist euer

To me so contrarie and so fer

[Page] Is euerie thing that ye me lere,

And yet I can it all by partuere:

Mine heart foyeteth thereof right nought,

It is so writen in my thought,

And deepe grauen it is so tender

That all by heart I can it render,

And rede it ouer communely,

But to my selfe lewdest am I.

BVt sith ye Love discriuen so

And lacke and preise it both two

Defineth it into this Letter,

That I may thinke on it the better:

For I heard neuer defined here,

And wilfully I would it lere.

* If Love be searched well and sought

It is a sickenesse of the thought

Annexed and knedde betwixt tweine,

With male and female with o cheine,

So freely that bindeth, y• they nill twinne,

Wheder so thereof they lese or winne,

The roote springeth through hot brenning

Into disordinate desiring,

For to kissen and embrace,

And at her lust them to solace,

Of other thing love retcheth nought

But setteth her heart and all her thought,

More for delectatioun

Than any procreatioun

Of other fruit by engendrure:

Which love, to God is not pleasure,

For of her body fruit to get

They yeue no force, they are so set

Vpon delight to play in fere.

And some have also this manere,

To fainen hem for Love seke,

Such love I preise not at a leke,

* For Paramours they doe but faine,

To love truely they disdaine,

They falsen Ladies traitorously,

And swerne hem othes vtterly,

With many a leasing, and many a fable,

And all the finden deceiuable.

And when they han her lust getten

The hote ernes they all foryetten,

Women the harme buyen full sore:

But men thus thinke [...] euermore,

* The lasse harme is, so mote I thee,

Deceiue them, than deceiued be.

And namely where they ne may

Find none other meane way.

For I wote well in soothfastnesse,

That who doeth now his businesse

With any woman for to dele,

For any lust that he may fele,

But if it be for engendru [...]e,

He doth trespasse I you ensure:

For he should setten all his will

To getten a likely thing him till,

And to sustaine, if he might,

And keepe forth by kindes right

His owne likenesse and semblable:

For because all is corrumpable

And faile should succession

Ne were there generation,

Our sectes sterne for to saue,

When father or mother arne in graue,

Her children should, when they been dead,

Full diligent been in her stead

To vse that worke on such a wise,

That one may through another rise.

Therefore set kinde therein delight,

For men therein should hem delight,

And of that deed be not erke,

But oft sithes haunt that werke:

For none would draw thereof a draught

Ne were delight, which hath hem caught,

This had subtill dame Nature:

For none goeth right I thee ensure

Ne hath entent hoole ne perfite,

For her desire is for delite,

The which fortened crease and eke

The play of Love, for oft seeke

And thrall hem selfe they be so nice

Vnto the Prince of euerie vice:

* For of each sinne it is the roote

Vnlefull lust, though it be soote,

And of all euill the racine,

As Tullius can determine,

Which in his time was full sage,

In a booke he made of age,

Where that more he praiseth Elde

Though he be crooked and vnwelde,

And more of commendatioun:

Then youth in his discriptioun:

For Youth set both man and wife

In all perill of soule and life.

And perill is, but men have grace,

The perill of Youth for to pace,

Without any death or distresse,

It is so full of wildnesse

So oft it doeth shame and domage

To him or to his linage,

It leadeth man, now vp now doun

In mokell dissolutioun,

And maketh him love euill companie,

And lead his life disrulilie,

And halt him payd with none estate

Within himselfe is such debate,

He chaungeth purpose and entent,

And yalt into some couent,

To liuen after her emprise,

And leeseth freedome and fraunchise,

That nature in him had set,

The which againe he may not get,

If he there make his mansion,

For to abide profession,

Though for a time his heart absent

It may not faile, he shall repent,

And eke abide thilke day,

To leaue his abite, and gone his way,

And leaseth his worship and his name,

And dare not come againe for shame,

But all his life he doth so mourne,

Because he dare not home retourne,

Freedome of kinde so lost hath he

That neuer may recured be,

But that if God him graunt grace

That he may, er he hence pace,

Conteine vnder obedience

Through the vertue of patience.

For Youth set man in all follie,

In vnthrift and in ribaudrie,

[Page] In lecherie, and in outrage,

So oft it chaungeth of courage.

Youth ginneth oft such bargaine,

That may not end without paine.

In great perill is set Youth hede

Delight so doeth his bridell lede,

Delight this hangeth, drede thee nought,

Both mannes bodie and his thought,

Onely through Youthes chambere,

That to doen evill is customere,

And of naught else taketh hede,

But onely follies for to lede

Into disport and wildenesse,

So is froward from sadnesse,

But Elde draweth hem therefro,

Who wote it not, he may well go,

And mo of them, that now arne old,

That whilom Youth had in hold,

Which yet remembreth of tender age

How it him brought in many a rage,

And many a follie therein wrought:

But now y• Elde hath him through sought

They repent hem of her follie,

That Youth hem put in jeopardie,

In perill and in much woe,

And made hem oft amisse to doe,

And sewen evill companie

Riot and advoutrie.

BVt Elde gan againe restraine

From such follie, and refraine

And set men by her ordinaunce

In good rule and governaunce,

But evil she spendeth her servise,

For no man woll her love, neither preise,

She is hated, this wote I wele,

Her acquaintance would no man fele,

Ne han of Elde companie,

Men hate to be of her alie,

For no man would becommen old,

Ne die, when he is young and bold,

And Elde maruaileth right greatly,

When they remember hem inwardly

Of many a perillous emprise

Which that they wrought in sundry wise,

However they might without blame

Escape away without shame,

In youth without domage

Or reprefe of her linage,

Losse of member, shedding of blood,

Perill of death, or losse of good,

Wost thou nat where youth abit,

That men so preisen in her wit?

With Delight she halt sojour,

For both they dwellen in o tour,

As long as youth is in season,

They dwellen in one mansion:

Delight, of Youth woll have servise

To doe what so he woll devise,

And Youth is readie evermore

For to obey, for smert or sore,

Vnto Delight, and him to yeve

Her servise, while that she may live.

Where Elde abitte, I woll thee tell

Shortly, and no while dwell,

For thider behoveth thee to go

If death in youth thee not slo:

Of this journey thou mayst not faile,

With her labour and trauaile,

Lodged keen with sorrow and wo,

That never out of her Court go:

Paine and distresse, sickenesse, and ire,

And melancholly that angrie sire,

Ben of her pale is senatours,

Groning and grutching, her herbegeours,

The day and night her to tourment

With cruell death they her present,

And tellen her erltch and late

That death stondeth armed at her gate:

Then bring they to her remembraunce

The folly deedes of her enfaunce,

Which causen her to mourne in wo

That youth hath her beguiled so

Which sodainly away is ha [...]ted,

She weeped the time that she hath wasted,

Complaining of the preteritte,

And the present, that nat abitte,

And of her old vanitee

That but aforne her she may see,

In the future some succour,

To leggen her of her dolour

To graunt her time of repentaunce,

For her sinnes to doe penaunce,

And at the last so her gouerne

To winne the joy that is eterne,

Fro which goe backeward youth he made

In vanitie to drowne and wade,

* For present time abideth nought,

It is more swift than any thought,

So little while it doth endure

That there nis compt ne measure.

But how that ever the game go

Who list to love joy and mirth also

Of love, be it he or she,

Hie or low who it be,

In fruite they should hem delite,

Her part they may not else quite,

To save hem selfe in honeste,

And yet full many one I see

Of women, soothly for to saine,

That desire and would faine

The play of Love, they be so wilde

And not covet to go with childe:

And if with childe they be perchaunce

They woll it hold a great mischaunce,

But whatsoever woe they fele,

They woll not plaine, but concele,

But if it be any foole or nice,

In whome that shame hath no justice,

For to Delight eachone they draw,

That haunt this worke both hie and law,

Save such that arne worth right nought,

That for money woll be bought,

* Such love I preise in no wise,

When it is given for covetise

* I praise no woman, though she be wood

That yeveth her selfe for any good:

For little should a man tell

Of her, that will her bodie sell,

Be she maid, be she wife,

That quicke woll sell her by her life,

[Page] How faire chere that ever she make,

He is a wretch I undertake

That loved such one, for sweete or soure,

Though she him called her Paramoure,

And laugheth on him, & maketh him feast,

For certainly no such beast

To be loved is not worthy

Or beare the name of Drury,

None should her please, but he wer wood,

That woll dispoile him of his good:

Yet nathelesse I woll not say

That she for solace and for play,

May a Iewell or other thing

Take of her Loves free yeving:

But that she aske in no wise,

For drede of shame, or covetise.

And she of hers may him certaine

Without slaunder yeven againe,

And joyne her hearts togither so

In Love, and take and yeve also.

Trow not that I will hem twinne,

When in her love there is no sinne,

I woll that they together go,

And done all that they han ado,

As curtes should and debonaire,

And in her love beren hem faire,

Without vice, both he and she,

So that alway in honeste,

Fro folly love to keepe hem clere

That brenneth herts with his fere,

And that her love in any wise,

Be devoide of Covetise.

* Good love should engendred be

Of true heart, just, and secree,

And not of such as set her thought

To have her lust, and else nought:

So are they caught in Loves lace,

Truly for bodily solace,

Fleshly delight is so present

With thee, that set all thine entent,

Without more, what should I glose,

For to get and have the Rose,

Which maketh thee so mate and wood

That thou desirest none other good,

But thou art not an inch the nerre,

But ever abidest in sorrow and werre,

As in thy face it is seene,

It maketh thee both pale and leene,

Thy might, thy vertue goeth away:

* A sorry guest (in good fay)

Thou harbourest in thine Inne

The God of Love when thou let inne:

Wherefore I read thou shette him out,

Or he shall greve thee out of dout,

For to thy profite it woll tourne,

If he no more with thee sojourne.

In great mischiefe and sorrow sonken,

Ben hearts, that of Love arne dronken,

As thou peraventure knowen shall,

When thou hast lost the time all,

And spent thy thought in idlenesse,

In wast, and wofull lustinesse:

If thou maiest live the time to see

Of love for to delivered bee,

Thy time thou shalt beweepe sore

The which never thou mayest restore:

* For time lost, as men may see,

For nothing may recovered bee,

And if thou scape, yet at last,

Fro love that hath thee so fast

Knitte and bounden in his lace,

Certaine I hold it but a grace,

For many one as it is seine

Have lost, and spent also in veine

In his servise without succour

Bodie and soule, good, and treasour,

Wit, and strength, and eke richesse,

Of which they had never redresse.

¶Lamant.

THus taught and preached hath Reason,

But Love spilt her Sermon,

That was so imped in my thought,

That her doctrine I set at nought,

And yet ne sayd she never a dele,

That I ne understood it wele,

Word by word the matter all,

But unto Love I was so thrall,

Which calleth over all his praie,

He chaseth so my thought aie,

And holdeth mine heart under his sele,

As trustie and true as any stele:

So that no devotion

Ne had I in the Sermon

Of dame Reason, ne of her rede

I tooke no soiour in mine hede.

For all yede out at one ere

That in that other she did lere,

Fully on me she lost her lore

Her speech me greeved wonder sore.

THat unto her for ire I said

For anger, as I did abraid:

Dame, and is it your will algate,

That I not Love, but that I hate

All men, as ye me teach,

For if I doe after your speach,

Sith that you seine Love is not good,

Then must I needs say with mood

If I it leve, in hatred aie

Liven, and void love awaie,

From me a sinfull wretch,

Hated of all that tetch,

I may not go none other gate,

For either must I love or hate,

And if I hate men of new,

More than Love it woll me rew

As by your preching seemeth mee

For Love nothing ne praiseth thee

Ye yeve good counsaile sikerly

That precheth me all day, that I

Should not loues lore alowe,

He were a foole woulde you not trowe?

In Speech also ye han me taught,

Another Love that knowne is naught

Which I have heard you not repreve,

To love each other by your leve,

If ye would diffine it mee,

I would gladly here to see,

At the least if I may lere

Of sundrie Love the manere.

[Page]

¶Raison.

CErtes friend, a foole art thou

When that thou nothing wilt allow

That I for thy profite say:

Yet woll I say thee more in fay,

For I am readie at the leest,

To accomplish thy request,

But I not where it woll auaile,

In vaine perauenture I shall trauaile:

Loue there is in sundrie wise,

As I shall thee here deuise.

For some Loue lefull is and good,

I meane not that which maketh thee wood,

And bringeth thee in many a fitte,

And rauisheth fro thee all thy witte,

It is so maruailous and queint,

With such loue be no more aquaint.

¶Comment Raison diffinist Aunsete.

LOue of frendship also there is

Which maketh no man done amis,

Of will knitte betwixt two,

That woll not breake for wele ne wo,

Which long is likely to continue,

When will and goods been in commune,

Grounded by Gods ordinaunce,

Hoole without discordaunce,

With hem holding commaunce

Of all her good in charite,

That there be none exceptioun,

Through chaunging of ententioun,

That each helpe other at her need,

And wisely hele both word and dede,

True of meaning, deuoide of Slouth,

* For wit is nought without Trouth:

So that the tone dare all his thought

Saine to his friend, and spare nought,

As to himselfe without dreding,

To be discouered by wreiyng,

* For glad is that coniunction,

When there is none suspection,

Whom they would proue

That true and perfite weren in Loue.

* For no man may be amiable:

But if he be so firme and stable,

That fortune change him not ne blinde,

But that his friend alway him finde,

Both poore and rich in o state:

For if his friend through any gate,

W [...]ll complaine of his pouerte,

He should not bide so long, till he

Of his helping him require,

* For good deed done through praiere

Is sold and bought too deere iwis

To heart that of great valour is.

* For heart fulfilled of gentlenesse,

Can euill demeane his distresse.

* And man that worthy is of name,

To asken often hath great shame.

* A good man brenneth in his thought,

For shame when he asketh ought,

He hath great thought, and dredeth aie

For his disease when he shall praie

His friend, least that he warned be

Till that he preue his stabilitie:

But when that he hath founden one

That trustie is and true and stone,

And assayed him at all,

And found him stedfast as a wall,

And of his frendship be certaine,

He shall him shew both ioy and paine,

And all that dare thinke or say,

Without shame, as he may,

For how should he ashamed be,

Of such one as I told thee?

For when he wote his secret thought,

The third shall know thereof right nought,

* For twey in number is [...]et than three,

In euerie counsaile and secree:

Repreue he dredeth neuer a dele,

Who that beset his wordes wele,

For euerie wise man out of drede,

Can keepe his tongue till he see nede.

* And fooles cannot hold her tongue,

A fooles bell is soone ronge,

Yet shall a true friend doe more

To helpe his fellow of his sore,

And succour him when he hath need

In all that he may done indeed,

And gladder that he him pleaseth

Than his fellow that he easeth,

And if he doe not his request,

He shall as much him molest

As his fellow, for that he

Maie no fulfill his volunte

Fully, as he hath required,

If both the hearts loue hath fired

Ioy and woe they shall depart,

And take euenly each his part,

Halfe his annoy he shall haue aie,

And comfort what that he may,

And of this blisse part shall he,

If Loue woll departed be.

ANd whilom of this vnitie

Spake Tullius in a ditie,

And should maken his request

Vnto his friend, that is honest,

And he goodly should it fulfill,

But it the more were out of skill,

And otherwise not graunt thereto,

Except onely in causes two.

* If men his friend to death would driue

Let him be busie to saue his liue.

* Also if men wollen hem assaile,

Of his worship to make him faile

And hindren him of his renoun

Let him with full ententioun,

His deuer done in each degree

That his friend ne shamed be.

In this two case with his might,

Taking no keepe to skill nor right,

As farre as Loue may him excuse,

This ought no man to refuse.

This Loue that I haue told to thee

Is nothing contrarie to mee,

This woll I that thou follow wele,

And leaue the other euerie dele,

This Loue to vertue all attendeth,

The tother fooles blent and shendeth.

[Page] Another Love also there is,

That is contrarie vnto this,

Which desire is so constrained

That is but will fained

Away fro trouth it doth so varie

That to good Love it is contrarie,

For it maymeth in any wise

Sicke hearts with couetise,

All in winning and in profite,

Such love setteth his delite:

This love so hangeth in balaunce

That if it lese his hope perchaunce,

Of lucre, that he is set vpon,

It woll falle, and quench anon,

* For no man may be amorous,

Ne in his liuing vertuous,

But he love more in mood

Men for hem selfe than for her good:

For Loue that profite doth abide,

Is false, and bideth not in no tide.

Love commeth of dame Fortune,

That little while woll contune,

For it shall chaungen wonders soone,

And take Eclips as the Moone

When he is from vs let

Through earth, that betwixt is set

The sunne and her, as it may fall,

Be it in partie, or in all,

The shadow maketh her beames merke,

And her hornes to shew derke,

That part where she hath lost her light

Of Phebus fully, and the sight,

Till when the shadow is ouerpast,

She is enlumined againe as fast,

Through the brightnesse of the sun beames

That yeueth to hem againe her leames:

That Love is right of such nature,

Now is faire, and now obscure,

Now bright, now Clipsy of manere,

And whilom dimme, and whilom clere,

Assoone as pouerte ginneth take,

With mantell and weedes blake

Hideth of Love the light away,

That into night it tourneth day,

It may not see richesse shine,

Till the blacke shadowes fine,

* For when richesse shineth bright

Love recouereth ayen his light,

And when it faileth, he woll flit,

And as she greeueth, so greeueth it.

Of this Love heare what I saie,

The rich men are loved aie:

And namely tho that sparand beene,

That woll not wash her hearts cleene

Of the filth, nor of [...] [...]ice

Of greedy brenning Auarice.

* The rich man full fond is iwis,

That weneth that he loved is,

If that his heart it vnderstood,

It is not he, it is his good,

He may well weten in his thought,

His good is loved, and he right nought:

For if he be a Niggard eke,

Men would not set by him a leke,

But haten him, this is the sooth,

Lo what profite his cattell dooth,

Of euerie man that may him see,

It getteth him nought but enmitee:

But he amend himselfe of that vice,

And know himselfe, he is not wise.

Certes he should aye friendly be,

To get him love also been free,

Or else he is not wise ne sage

No more than is a gote ramage

That he not loueth, his deede proueth,

When he his richesse so well loueth,

That he woll hide it aie and spare,

His poore friends seene forfare

To keepen aie his purpose

Till for drede his eyen close,

And till a wicked death him take

Him had leuer asunder shake,

And let all his limmes asunder riue,

Than leaue his richesse in his liue,

He thinketh to part it with no man,

Certaine no love is in him than:

How should love with him be,

When in his heart is no pite,

That he trespasseth well I wate,

For each man knoweth his estate,

For well him ought to be reproued

That loveth nought, ne is not loved.

But sith we arne to fortune comen,

And hath our Sermon of her nomen,

A wonder will I tell thee now,

Thou hardest neuer such one I trow,

I not where thou me leuen shall

Though soothfastnesse it be all

As it is written, and is sooth

That vnto men more profite dooth

The froward fortune and contraire,

Than the swote and debonaire:

And if they thinke it is doutable,

It is through argument prouable

For the debonaire and soft,

Falseth and beguileth oft,

For lich a mother she can cherish

And milken as doth a norice,

And of her good to him deles

And yeueth him part iweles,

With great riches and dignitie,

And hem she hoteth stabilitie,

In state that is not stable,

But changing aie and variable,

And feedeth him with glorie vaine,

And worldly blisse none certaine,

When she him setteth on her whele,

Then wene they to be right wele,

And in so stable state withall

That neuer they wene for to fall,

And when they set so high to be,

They wene to have in certainte

Of heartly friends to great numbre,

That nothing might her state encombre,

They trust hem so on euerie side,

Wening with hem they would abide,

In euerie perill and mischaunce

Without chaunge or variaunce,

Both of cattell and of good,

And also for to spend her blood,

And all her members for to spill

Onely to fulfill her will,

[Page] They maken it whole in many wise

And hoten hem her full servise

How sore that it doe hem smert,

Into her very naked shert,

Heart and also hole they yeve,

For the time that they may live

So that with her flatterie,

They maken fooles glorifie

Of her wordes speaking,

And han there of a rejoysing,

And trow hem as the Evangile

And it is all falshede and gile,

As they shall afterward see,

* When they arne full in poverte

And ben of good and cattell bare

Then should they seene who friends ware,

For of an hundred certainly,

Nor of a thousand full scarcely,

Ne shall they finde unnethes one,

When povertie is commen upon.

For thus Fortune that I of tell,

With men when her lust to dwell,

Maketh hem to lese her conisaunce,

And nourisheth hem in ignoraunce.

But froward Fortune and perverse,

When high estates she doth reverse,

And maketh hem to tumble doune

Off her whele with sodaine tourne,

And from her richesse doth hem flie,

And plungeth hem in povertie,

As a stepmother envious,

And layeth a plaister dolorous,

Vnto her hearts wounded egre,

Which is not tempered with vinegre,

But with povertie and indigence,

For to shew by experience,

That she is Fortune verilie

In whome no man should affie,

Nor in her yeftes have fiaunce,

She is so full of variaunce.

Thus can she maken hye and lowe,

When they from richesse arne throwe

Fully to knowen without were

Friend of effect, and friend of chere,

And which in love weren true and stable,

And which also weren variable,

After Fortune her Goddesse,

In povertie, either in richesse,

For all that yeveth here out of drede,

Vnhappe beareth it indeede,

For infortune let not one

Of friends, when Fortune is gone,

I meane tho friends that woll fle

Anone as entreth Poverte,

And yet they woll not leave hem so,

But in each place where they go

They call hem wretch, scorne and blame,

And of her mishappe hem diffame,

And namely such as in richesse,

Pretendeth most of stablenesse

When that they saw him set on loft,

And weren of hem succoured oft,

And most iholpe in all her need:

But now they take no maner heed,

But saine in voice of flatterie,

That now appeareth her follie,

Over all where so they fare.

And sing, go farewell felde fare.

All such friends I beshrew,

For of true there be too few,

But soothfast friends, what so betide

In every fortune wollen abide,

They han her hearts in such no blesse

That they nill love for no richesse,

Nor for that fortune may hem send,

They wollen hem succour and defend,

And chaunge for soft ne for sore,

* For who his friend loveth evermore

Though men draw sword him to slo,

He may not hew her love a two:

But in case that I shall say,

For pride and ire lese it he may,

And for reproove by nicete,

And discovering of privite,

With tongue wounding, as felon,

Through venemous detraction.

Friend in this case will gone his way,

For nothing grieve him more ne may,

And for nought else woll he fle,

If that he love in stabilitie.

And certaine he is well begone

Among a thousand that findeth one:

For there may be no richesse,

Ayenst friendship of worthinesse,

For it ne may so high attaine,

As may the valour, sooth to saine,

Of him that loveth true and well.

Friendship is more than is cattell

* For friend in Court aie better is

Than penny in purse certis.

And fortune mishaping,

When upon men she is fabling,

Through misturning of her chaunce,

And cast hem out of balaunce.

* She maketh through her adversite,

Men full clerely for to see

Him that is friend in existence

From him that is by appearence:

For infortune maketh anone,

To know thy friends fro thy fone,

By experience, right as it is,

The which is more to praise iwis,

Than in much richesse and treasour,

For more deepe profite and valour,

Povertie, and such adversitie

Before, than doth prosperitie

For that one yeveth conisaunce,

And the tother ignoraunce.

And thus in povertie is indeed,

Trouth declared fro falshede,

For faint friends it woll declare,

And true also, what way they fare,

For when he was in his richesse,

These friends full of doublenesse,

Offred him in many wise,

Heart and body, and service,

What wold he then have you to have bought,

To knowen openly her thought,

That he now hath so clerely seen.

The lasse beguiled he should have been,

And he had then perceived it,

But Richesse nolde not let him wit,

[Page] Well more avauntage doeth him than,

Sith that it maketh him a wise man,

The great mischiefe that he perceiveth

Than doeth Richesse that him deceiveth,

Richesse rich ne maketh nought

Him that on treasour set his thought:

* For richesse stont in suffisaunce,

And nothing in aboundaunce:

For suffisaunce all onely

Maketh men to live richly.

FOr he that hath mitches tweine,

Ne value in his demeine,

Liveth more at ease, and more is rich,

Than doeth he that is chich,

And in his barne hath sooth to saine,

An hundred mavis of wheat graine,

Though he be chapman or marchaunt,

And have of Gold many besaunt:

* For in getting he hath such wo,

And in the keeping drede also,

And set evermore his businesse

For to encrease, and not to lesse,

For to augment and multiply,

And though on heapes that lye him by,

Yet never shall make his richesse,

Asseth unto his greedinesse:

But the poore that retcheth nought,

Save of his livelode in his thought,

Which that he getteth with his travaile,

He dredeth nought that it shall faile,

Though he have little worldes good,

Meate and drinke, and easie food,

Vpon his travaile and living,

And also suffisaunt clothing,

Or if in sickenesse that he fall,

And loath meat and drinke withall,

Though he have not his meat to buy

He shall bethinke him hastely,

To put him out of daungere,

That he of meat hath no mistere,

Or that he may with little eke

Be founden, while that he is seke,

Or that men shull him berne in hast,

To live till his sickenesse be past,

To some Maisondewe beside,

He cast nought what shall him betide,

He thinketh nought that ever he shall

Into any sickenesse fall,

ANd though it fall, as it may be,

That all be time spare shall he

As mokell as shall to him suffice,

While he is sicke in any wise,

He doeth for that he woll be

Content with his poverte

Without neede of any man,

So much in little have he can,

He is apaide with his fortune,

And for he nill be importune

Vnto no wight, ne onerous,

Nor of her goodnesse covetous:

Therefore he spareth, it may well been,

His poore estate for to susteen.

OR if him lust not for to spare,

But suffereth forth, as not yet were,

At last it happeneth, as it may

Right unto his last day,

And take the world as it would be:

For ever in heart thinketh he

The sooner that death him slo,

To Paradise the sooner go

He shall, there for to live in blisse

Where that he shall no good misse

Thider he hopeth God shall him send

After this wretched liues end,

Pythagoras himselfe rehearses

In a Booke that the gold verses

Is cleped, for the Nobilite

Of the honourable dite.

* Then when thou goest thy body fro,

Free in the ayre thou shalt up go

And leaven all humanitie,

And purely live in deitie,

He is a foole withouten were

That troweth have his countrey here.

In yearth is not our Countrey,

That may these Clarkes seine and sey,

In Boece of consolation

Where it is maked mention

Of our Countrey plaine at the eie,

By teaching of Philosophie,

Where lewd men might lere wit

Who so that would translaten it,

If he be such that can well live

After his rent, may him yeve,

And not desireth more to have,

Than may fro povertie him save.

* A wise man saied, as we may seen,

Is no man wretched, but he it ween,

Be he king, knight, or ribaude,

And many a Ribaud is merrie and baude,

That swinketh, & beareth both day & night,

Many a burthen of great might,

The which doeth him lasse offence,

For he suffreth in patience,

They laugh and daunce, trippe and sing,

And lay nought up for her living,

But in the Taverne all dispendeth

The winning that God hem sendeth,

Then goeth he fardels for to beare,

With as good chere as he did eare

To swinke and travaile he not faineth,

For to robben he disdaineth

But right anon, after his swinke,

He goeth to Taverne for to drinke,

All these are rich in aboundance,

That can thus have suffisance,

Well more than can an usurere

As God well knoweth, without were.

* For an usurer, so God me see

Shall never for richesse rich hee,

But evermore poore and indigent,

Scarce, and greedy in his entent.

For sooth it is, whom it displease

There may no marchaunt live at ease,

His heart in such a where is set

That it quicke brenneth to get

Ne never shall, though he hath getten

Though he have gould in garners yeten,

For to be needy he dredeth sore:

Wherefore to getten more and more

[Page] He set his heart and his desire,

So hote he brenneth in the fire

Of covetise, that maketh him wood

To purchase other mens good,

He vnderfongeth a great paine,

That vndertaketh to drinke vp Saine:

For the more he drinketh aie

The more he leaveth, the sooth to say:

Thus is thurst of false getting,

That last ever in coveting,

And the anguish and distresse

With the fire of greedinesse,

She fighteth with him aie, and striveth

That his heart asunder riveth,

Such greedinesse him assaileth,

That when he most hath, most he faileth.

Phisitions and Advocates

* Gone right by the same yates,

They sell her science for winning,

And haunt her craft for great getting:

Her winning is of such sweetnesse,

That if a man fall in sicknesse,

They are full glad, for her encrease:

For by her will, without lease,

Everich man should beseeke,

And though they die, they set not a Leeke,

After when they the gould have take,

Full little care of hem they make,

They would that fortie were sicke at ones,

Yea two hundred, in flesh and bones,

And yet two Thousand, as I gesse,

For to encreasen her richesse.

They woll not worchen in no wise,

But for lucre and couetise,

For Phisicke ginneth first by (Phi)

The Phisition also soothly,

And sithen it goeth fro fie to fie,

To trust on hem it is follie,

For they nill in no manner gree,

Doe right nought for charitee,

Eke in the same sect are set,

All tho that preachen for to get

Worships, honour, and richesse.

Her hearts arne in great distresse,

That folke live not holyly,

But aboven all specially,

Such as preachen vaine glorie

And toward God have no memorie,

But forth as Ipocrites trace,

And to her soules death purchace

And outward shewing holynesse,

Though they be full of cursednesse,

Not lich to the Apostles twelve,

They deceiue other and hem selve:

* Beguilded is the guiler than,

For preaching of a cursed man

Though to other may profite

Himself it availeth not a mite:

* For oft good predicatioun

Commeth of evil ententioun,

To him not vaileth his preaching

All helpe he other with his teaching

For where they good example take,

There is he with vaine glory shake.

But let us leaven these preachours,

And speake of hem which in her tours

Heape vp her gould, and fast shet,

And sore thereon their heart set,

They neither love God ne drede,

They keepe more than it is nede,

And in her bagges sore it bind

Out of the Sunne, and of the wind,

They put vp more than need ware,

When they seen poore folke forfare

For hunger die, and for cold quake,

God can wel vengeance therof take,

The great mischiefes hem assaileth,

And thus in gadering ay travaileth,

With much paine they winne richesse,

And Drede hem holdeth in distresse,

To keepe that they gather fast,

With sorrow they leave it at the last:

* With sorrow they both die and live,

That unto richesse her hearts yeve.

And in defaute of Love it is

As it sheweth full well iwis:

For if these greedy, the sooth to saine,

Loveden, and were loved againe,

And good Love raigned over all,

Such wickednesse ne should fall,

* But he should yeve, that most good had

To hem that weren in neede bestad,

And live without false vsure,

For charitie, full cleane and pure,

If they hem yeve to goodnesse

Defending hem from idlenesse,

In all this world then poore none

We should finde, I trow not one:

But chaunged is this world vnstable,

For Love is over all vendable.

* We see that no man loveth now

But for winning and for prow,

And love is thralled in servage

When it is sold for advantage,

Yet women woll her bodies sell,

Such soules goeth to the Divell of hell.

When Love had told hem his entent,

The baronage to counsaile went,

In many sentences they fill,

And diversly they said her will:

But after discord they accorded,

And her accord to Love recorded:

Sir sayden they, we been at one,

By even accord of everichone,

Out take richesse all onely

That sworne hath full hauteinly,

That she the Castle nill not assaile

Ne smite a stroke in this battaile,

With dart, ne mace, speare, ne knife,

For man that speaketh and beareth the life.

And blameth your emprise iwis,

And from our host departed is,

At least waie, as in this plite

So hath she this man in dispite:

For she sayth he ne loved her never,

And therefore she woll hate him ever,

For he woll gather no treasore,

He hath her wrathe for evermore,

He agilte her never in other caas,

Lo here all holly his trespas.

She sayeth well, that this other day

He asked her leave to gone the way

[Page] That is cleped Too much yeving,

And spake full faire in his praying:

But when he prayed her, poore was he,

Therefore she warned him the entre,

Ne yet is he not thriven so

Thar he hath getten a pennie or two,

That quietly is his owne in hold,

Thus hath Richesse us ali told:

And when Richesse us this recorded,

Withouten her we been accorded,

And we finde in our accordaunce,

That false Semblaunt and Abstinaunce,

With all the folke of her battaile

Shull at the hinder gate assaile,

That Wicked tongue hath in keeping,

With his Normans full of jangling,

And with hem courtesie and Largesse,

That shull shew her hardynesse,

To the old wife that kept so hard

Faire welcomming within her ward:

Then shall Delight and well Heling,

Fond, Shame adoune to bring,

With all her host early and late,

They shull assaylen that like gate,

Against Drede shall Hardynesse

Assaile, and also Sikernesse,

With all the folke of her leading

That never wist what was staying.

FRaunchise shall fight and eke Pite,

With Daunger full of cruelte,

Thus is your host ordained weale

Downe shall the Castle every d [...]le,

If everiche doe his entent,

So that Venus be present,

Your mother full of vesselage

That can inough of such usage,

Withouten her may no wight speed

This worke, neither for word ne deed:

Therefore is good ye for her send,

For through her may this worke amend.

LOrdinges my mother the Gooddes,

That is my Ladie, and my Mistres,

Nis nat all at my willing,

Ne doth all my desiring.

Yet can she sometime doen labour,

When that her lust, in my succour.

As my neede is for to atchieve:

But now I thinke her not to grieve,

My mother is she, and of childhede,

I both worship her, and eke drede,

* For who that dredeth sire ne dame,

Shall it abie in bodie or name.

And nathelesse, yet can we

Send after her if need be,

And were she nigh, she commen would,

I trow that nothing might her hold.

My mother is of great prowesse,

She hath tane many a forteresse,

That cost hath many a pound er this,

There I nas not present iwis,

And yet men sayd it was my deede,

But I come never in that steede,

Ne me ne liketh so mote I thee,

That such towers been take with mee,

For why? Me thinketh that in no wise,

It may be cleped but marchaundise.

GO by a courser blacke or white,

And pay therefore, then art thou quite,

The Marchaunt oweth thee right nought,

Ne thou him when thou it bought.

* I woll not selling clepe yeving,

For selling asketh no guerdoning,

Here lithe no thanke, ne no merite,

That one goeth from that other all quite,

But this selling is not semblable:

For when his horse is in the stable

He may it sell againe parde,

And winnen on it, such happe may be,

All may the manne not lese iwis,

For at the least the skinne is his.

Or else, if it so betide

That he woll keepe his horse to ride,

Yet is he Lord aie of his horse:

* But thilke chafare is well worse,

There Venus entermeteth ought,

For who so such chaffare hath bought,

He shall not worchen so wisely,

That he ne shall lese utterly

Both his monney and his chaffare:

But the seller of the ware,

The prise and profite have shall,

Certaine the buyer shall lese all,

For he ne can so dere it buy

To have lordship and full maistry,

Ne have power to make letting,

Neither for yeft ne for preaching,

That of his chaffare maugre his,

Another shall have as much iwis,

If he woll yeve as much as he,

Of what countrey so that he be,

Or for right nought so happe may,

If he can flatter her to her pay.

Been then such marchaunts wise?

No, but fooles in everie wise,

When they buy such thing wilfully,

There as they lese her good follily.

But nathelesse, this dare I say,

My mother is not wont to pay,

For she is neither so foole ne nice,

To entremete her of such vice,

But trust well, he shall pay all,

That repent of his bargaine shall,

When poverte put him in distresse,

All were he schooller to richesse,

That is for me in great yerning,

VVhen she assenteth to my willing.

BVt my mother saint Venus,

And by her father Saturnus,

That her engendred by his life,

But nat upon his wedded wife,

Yet woll I more unto you swere,

To make this thing the surere.

Now by that faith, and that beautee

That I owe to all my brethren free,

Of which there nis wight under hevin,

That can her fathers names nevin,

[Page] So divers and so many there be,

That with my mother have be prive,

Yet woll I sweare for sikernesse,

The Pole of hell to my witnesse,

Now drinke I not this yeare clarre,

If that I lye, or forsworne be,

For of the Goddes the usage is,

That who so him forsweareth amis,

Shall that yeere drinke no clarre.

Now have I sworne inough parde,

If I forsweare me then am I lorne,

But I woll never be forsworne:

Sith richesse hath me failed here,

She shall abie that trespasse full dere,

At least way but her harme

With sweard, or sparth, or gisarme.

For certes sith she loveth not me,

Fro thilke time that she may see

The Castle and the Tower to shake,

In sorrie time she shall awake,

If I may gripe a rich man

I shall so pull him, if I can,

That he shall in a fewe stoundes,

Lese all his markes, and his poundes.

I shall him make his pence out sting,

But they in his garner spring,

Our maidens shall eke plucke him so,

That him shall needen feathers mo,

And make him sell his lond to spend,

But he the bet can him defend.

POore men han made her Lord of me,

Although they not so mightie be,

That they may feede me in delite,

I woll not have them in dispite:

No good man hateth hem, as I gesse,

For chinch and feloun is Richesse,

That so can chase hem and dispise,

And hem defoule in sundrie wise,

They loven full bette, so God me spede

Than doeth the rich chinchy grede,

And been (in good faith) more stable

And truer, and more serviable:

And therefore it suffiseth me

Her good heart, and her beaute,

They han on me set all their thought,

And therefore I foryete hem nought.

I woll hem bring in great noblesse,

If that I were God of Richesse,

If that I were God of Love soothly,

Such ruth upon her plaint have I:

Therefore I must his succour be,

That paineth him to serven me,

For if he dyed for love of this,

Then seemeth in me no love there is.

Sir sayd they, sooth is everie dele

That ye rehearse, and we wote wele

Thilke oath to hold is reasonable,

For it is good and covenable,

That ye on rich men han sworne:

For sir, this wote we well beforne

If rich men doen you homage,

That is as fooles doen outrage,

But ye shull not forsworne be,

Ne let therefore to drinke clarre,

Or piment maked fresh and new,

Ladies shull hem such pepir brew,

If that he fall into her laas,

That they for woe mow saine alas,

Ladies shullen ever so courteous be,

That they shall quite your oath all free,

Ne seeketh never other vicaire,

For they shall speake with him so faire

That ye shall hold you payd full well,

Though ye you meddle never a deale,

Let Ladies worch with her thinges,

They shall hem tell so fele tidinges,

And moove hem eke so many requestes

By flatterie, that not honest is,

And thereto yeve hem such thankinges,

What with kissing, and with talkinges:

That certes if they trowed be,

Shall never leave hem lond ne fee

That it nill as the moeble fare,

Of which they first delivered are:

Now may you tell us all your will,

And we your hestes shall fulfill.

BVt false Semblaunt dare not for drede

Of you sir, meddle him of this dede,

For he sayth that ye been his foe,

He not, if ye will worch him woe:

Wherefore we pray you all beau sire,

That ye foryeve him now your ire,

And that he may dwell as your man

With Abstinence his deere lemman,

This our accord and our will now.

Parfey sayd Love, I graunt it you,

I woll well hold him for my man,

Now let him come, and he forth ran.

False Semblant (qd. Love) in this wise,

I take thee here to my service,

That thou our friends helpe alwaie,

And hindreth hem neither night ne daie,

But doe thy might hem to relieve,

And eke our enemies that thou grieve,

Thine be this might, I graunt it thee,

My king of harlotes shalt thou bee:

We woll that thou have such honour,

Certaine thou art a false traitour,

And eke a theefe, sith thou were borne,

A thousand times thou art forsworne:

But nathelesse in our hearing,

To put our folke out of doubting,

I bidde thee teach hem, wost thou how▪

By some generall signe now,

In what place thou shalt founden be,

If that men had mister of thee,

And how men shall thee best espie,

For thee to know is great maistrie,

Tell in what place is thine haunting.

Sir I have full divers wonning,

That I keepe not rehearsed be,

So that ye would respiten me,

For if that I tell you the sooth,

I may have harme and shame both,

If that my fellowes wisten it,

My tales shoulden me be quit,

For certaine they would hate me,

If ever I knew her cruelte,

For they would over all hold hem still

Of troth, that is againe her will,

[Page] Such tales keepen they not here,

I might eftsoone buy it full dere,

If I saied of hem any thing,

That ought displeaseth to her hearing,

For what word that hem pricketh or biteth,

In that word none of hem deliteth,

All were it Gospell the Euangile,

That would reproue hem of her guile,

For they are cruell and hautain,

And this thing wote I well certain,

If I speake ought to paire or loos,

Your court shall not so well be cloos,

That they ne shall wite it at last,

Of good men am I nought agast,

For they woll taken on hem nothing,

When that they know all my meaning,

But he that woll it on him take,

He woll himselfe suspecious make,

That he his life let couertly,

In guile and in hypocrisie,

That me engendred and yave fostring.

They made a full good engendring

(Qd. Love) for who so soothly tell,

They engendred the diuell of hell.

But needely, howsoeuer it bee

(Qd. Love) I will and charge thee,

To tell anon thy wonning placis,

Hearing each wight that in this place is:

And what life thou livest also,

Hide it no lenger now, whereto?

Thou must discouer all thy worching,

How thou seruest, and of what thing,

Though that thou shouldest for thy sothsaw,

Ben all to beaten and to draw,

And yet art thou not wont parde,

But nathelesse, though thou beaten be,

Thou shalt not be the first, that so

Hath for soothsaw suffred wo.

Sir, sith that it may liken you,

Though that I should be slaine right now,

I shall doen your commaundement,

For thereto have I great talent.

Withouten words mo, right than

False Semblaunt his sermon began,

And saied hem thus in audience,

Barons, take heed of my sentence,

That wight that list to have knowing

Of false Semblant full of flattering,

He must in worldly folke him seke,

And certes in the Cloysters eke,

I won no where, but in hem tway,

But not like euen, sooth to say,

Shortly I woll herborow me,

There I hope best to hulstred be,

* And certainely, sikerest hiding,

Is vnderneath humblest clothing.

Religious folke ben full couert,

Seculer folke ben more apert:

But nathelesse, I woll not blame

Religious folke, ne hem diffame,

In what habite that euer they go:

Religion humble, and true also,

Woll I not blame, ne dispise,

But I nill love it in no wise,

I meane of false religious,

That dout been, and malicious,

That wollen in her habite go,

And setten not her heart thereto.

REligious folke been all pitous,

Thou shalt not seene one dispitous,

They loven no pride, ne no strife,

But humbly they woll lede her life,

With which folke woll I neuer be,

And if I dwell, I faine me

I may well in her habite go,

But me were leuer my necke atwo,

Than let a purpose that I take,

What couenaunt that euer I make.

I dwell with hem that proud be,

And full of wiles and subtelte,

That worship of this world coueiten,

And great nede connen expleiten,

And gone and gadren great pitaunces,

And purchase hem the acquaintaunces

Of men that mightie life may leden,

And faine hem poore, and himselfe feden

With good morsels delicious,

And drinken good wine precious,

And preach vs pouert and distresse,

And fishen hemselfe great richesse,

With wily nettes that they cast,

It woll come foule out at the last.

They ben fro cleane religion went,

They make the world an argument,

That hath a foule conclusion.

I have a robe of religion,

Then am I all religious,

This argument is all roignous,

It is not worth a crooked Brere,

* Habite ne maketh neither Monke ne Frere,

But cleane life and deuotion,

Maketh men of good religion.

Nathelesse, there can none answere,

How high that euer his head he [...]here,

With rasour whetted neuer so kene,

That guile in braunches cutte thurtene,

There can no wight distinct it so,

That he dare say a word thereto.

But what herborow that euer I take,

Or what semblaunt that euer I make,

I meane but guile, and follow that,

For right no more than Gibbe our Cat,

(That awaiteth Mice and Rattes to killen)

Ne entend I but to beguilen,

Ne no wight may, by my clothing

Wete with what folke is my dwelling,

Ne by my words yet parde,

So soft and so pleasaunt they be.

Behold the deeds that I do,

But thou be blind thou oughtest so,

For varie her words fro her deed,

They thinke on guile withouten dreed,

What manner clothing that they were,

Or what estate that euer they bere,

Lered or leud Lord or Ladie,

Knight, Squire, Burgeis, or Bailie.

Right thus while fals Semblant sermoneth,

Eftsoones Love him aresoneth,

[Page] And brake his tale in his speaking

As though he had him told leasing,

And saied: what deuill is that I heare?

What folke hast thou vs nempned here:

May men find religioun

In worldly habitatioun?

* Yea sir, it followeth nat that they

Should lead a wicked life parfey,

Ne not therefore her soules lese,

That hem to worldly clothes chese,

For certes it were great pitee,

Men may in secular clothes see,

Florishen holy religiouns

Full many a saint in field and toun,

With many a virgine glorious,

Deuout, and full religious,

Han died, that common cloth aye beren,

Yet saintes neuerthelesse they weren.

I could recken you may a ten.

Yea welnigh all these holy women

That men in churches herry and seke,

Both maidens, and these wiues eke,

That baren full many a faire child here,

Weared alway clothes seculere,

And in the same diden they

That saints weren, and ben alway.

The ix. thousand maidens dere,

That beren in heauen her cierges clere,

Of which men rede in church and sing,

Were take in secular clothing,

When they receiued martirdome,

And wonnen heauen vnto her home.

* Good heart maketh the good thought,

The clothing yeueth ne reueth nought:

The good thought and the worching,

That maketh the religion flouring,

There lieth the good religioun,

After the right ententioun.

* Who so tooke a weathers skin,

And wrapped a greedy wolfe therein,

For he should go with lambes white,

Wenest thou not he would hem bite?

Yes: Neuerthelesse as he were wood

He would hem wirry, and drinke the blood,

And well the rather hem deceiue,

For sith they coud nat perceiue

His tregette, and his crueltie,

They would him follow, altho he flie.

IF there be wolues of such hew,

Amongs these Apostles new

Thou holy church thou maist be wailed,

Sith that thy citie is assailed

Through knights of thine owne table,

God wot thy lordship is doutable,

If they enforce it to win:

That should defend it fro within:

Who might defence ayenst hem make,

Without stroke it mote be take,

Of trepeget or mangonell,

Without displaying of pensell,

And if God nill done it succour,

But let renne in this colour,

Thou must thy hestes letten bee,

Then is there nought, but yeeld thee,

Or yeue him tribute doutles,

And hold it of hem to have pees,

But greater harme betide thee,

That they all maister of it bee,

Well con they scorne thee withall,

By day stuffen they the wall,

And all the night they minen there,

Nay, thou planten must els where

Thine impes, if thou wolt fruit have,

Abide not there thy selfe to save.

BVt now peace, here I turne againe,

I woll no more of this thing faine,

If I might maken you weary,

But I woll heten you alway;

To helpe your friends what I may;

So they wollen my company,

For they been shent all vtterly,

But if so fall, that I be

Oft with hem, and they with me,

And eke my lemman mote they serue,

Or they shull not my love deserue,

Forsooth I am a false traitour,

God iudged me for a theefe trechour,

Forsworne I am, but well nigh none

Wote of my guile, till it be done.

Through me hath many one deth receiued,

That my treget neuer aperceiued,

And yet receiueth, and shall receiue,

That my falsenesse shall neuer apperceiue:

But who so doth, if he wise be,

Him is right good beware of me.

But so sligh is the aperceiuing

That all to late commeth knowing,

For Protheus that coud him chaunge,

In euery shape homely and straunge,

Coud neuer such guile ne treasoun

As I, for I come neuer in toun

There as I might knowen be,

Though men me both might here and see.

Full well I can my clothes chaunge,

Take one, and make another straunge.

Now am I Knight, now Chastelaine,

Now Prelate, and now Chaplaine,

Now Priest, now Clerke, now Fostere,

Now am I Maister, now Schollere

Now Monke, now Chanon, now Baily,

What euer mister man am I.

Now am I Prince, now am I Page,

And can by heart euery language,

Sometime am I hoore and old,

Now am I young, stout, and bold,

Now am I Robert, now Robin,

Now Frere Minor, now Iacobin,

And with me followeth my loteby,

To done me sollace and company,

That hight dame Abstinence, and raigned

In many a queint array faigned,

Right as it commeth to her liking,

I fulfill all her desiring.

Sometime a womans cloth take I,

Now am I a Maid, now Lady.

Sometime I am religious,

Now like an Anker in an hous.

Sometime am I Prioresse,

And now a Nonne, and now Abbesse,

[Page] And go through all regiouns,

Seeking all religiouns.

But to what order that I am sworne,

I take the straw and beat the corne,

To jolly folke I enhabite,

I aske no more but her habite.

What woll ye more in every wise,

Right as me list I me disguise?

Well can I beare me under wede,

Vnlike is my word to my dede,

Thus make I into my trappes fall

The people, through my priviledges all,

That ben in Christendome alive.

I may assoile, and I may shrive,

That no Prelate may let me

All folke, where ever they found be,

I not no Prelate may done so,

But it the Pope be, and no mo,

That made thilke establishing,

Now is not this a proper thing?

But were my sleights apperceiued

As I was wont, and woll thou why?

For I did hem a tregetry,

But there of yeue I a little tale,

I have the siluer and the male,

So have I preached and eke shriuen,

So have I take, so have I yeuen,

Through her folly, husbond and wife,

That I lede right a jolly life,

Through simplesse of the Prelacie,

They know not all my tregettrie.

BVt for as much as man and wife

Should shew her parish Priest her life

Ones a yeare, as sayth the Booke,

Ere any wight his housel tooke:

Then have I priviledges large,

That may of much thing discharge,

For he may say right thus pardee:

Sir Priest, in shrift I tell it thee,

That he to whom that I am shriven,

Hath me assoyled, and me yeven

Pennaunce soothly for my sin,

Which that I found me guilty in,

Ne I ne haue never entencion

To make double confession,

Ne rehearse eft my shrift to thee,

O shrift is right ynough to mee,

This ought thee suffice wele,

Ne be not rebell never adele,

For certes, though thou haddest it sworne,

I wote no Priest ne Prelate borne,

That may to shrift eft me constraine,

And if they done I woll me plaine,

For I wote where to plaine wele,

Thou shalt not strein me adele,

Ne enforce me ne not me trouble,

To make my confession double,

Ne I have none affection

To have double absolution:

The first is right ynough to mee,

This latter assoyling quite I thee,

I am unbound, what maist thou find

More of my sinnes me to unbind?

For he that might hath in his hond,

Of all my sinnes me unbond,

And if thou wolt me thus constraine

That me mote needs on thee plaine,

There shall no judge imperiall,

Ne bishop, ne officiall,

Done judgment on me, for I

Shall gone and plaine me openly

Vnto my shriftfather new,

That hight Frere Wolfe untrew,

And he shall chuse him for mee,

For I trow he can hamper thee,

But lord he would be wroth withall,

If men would him Frere Wolfe call,

For he would have no patience,

But done all cruell vengience,

He would his might done at the leest,

Nothing spare for Gods heest,

And God so wise be my succour,

But thou yeve me my saviour

At Easter, when it liketh mee,

Without preasing more on thee,

I woll forth, and to him gone,

And he shall housell me anone,

For I am out of thy grutching,

I keepe not deale with thee nothing.

Thus may he shrive him, that forsaketh

His parish priest, and to me taketh,

And if the priest woll him refuse,

I am full ready him to accuse,

And him punish and hamper so,

That he his church shall forgo.

But who so hath in his feeling

The consequence of such shriving,

Shall seene, yt priest may never have might

To know the conscience aright

Of him that is under his cure:

And this is ayenst holy scripture,

That biddeth every herde honest,

Have very knowing of his beest.

But poore folke that gone by strete,

That have no gold, ne sums grete,

Hem would I let to her Prelates,

Or let her Priests know her states,

For to me right nought yeve they,

And why it is, for they ne may.

They ben so bare, I take no keepe,

But I woll have the fat sheepe,

Let parish Priests have the lene,

I yeve not of her harme a bene,

And if that Prelates grutch it,

That oughten wroth be in her wit,

To lese her fat beasts so,

I shall yeve hem a stroke or two,

That they shall lesen with force,

Yea, both her Mitre and her Croce.

Thus yape I hem, and have do long,

My priviledges ben so strong.

False Semblant would have s [...]inted here,

But Love ne made him no such chere,

That he was weary of his saw,

But for to make him glad and faw,

He said, tell on more specially,

How that thou servest untruly.

Tell forth, and shame thee never adele,

For as thine habit sheweth wele,

Thou servest an holy Hermite.

Sooth is, but I am but an hypocrite,

[Page] Thou goest and preachest poverte?

Yea sir, but richesse hath poste,

Thou preachest abstinence also?

Sir, I woll fillen so mote I go

My paunch, of good meat and wine,

As should a maister of divine,

For how that I me poore faine,

Yet all poore folke I disdaine.

I Love better the acquaintaunce

Ten times of the king of Fraunce,

Than of a poore man of mild mood,

Though that his soule be also good.

For when I see beggers quaking,

Naked on mixins all stinking,

For hunger crie, and eke for care,

I entremet not of her fare,

They ben so poore, and full of pine,

They might not ones yeve me a dine,

For they have nothing but her life,

* What should he yeve yt licketh his knife?

It is but folly to entremete

Te seeke in hounds nest fat mete:

Let beare him to the spittle anone,

But for me, comfort get they none,

But a rich sicke usurere

Would I visite and draw nere,

Him would I comfort and rehete,

For I hope of his gold to gete,

And if that wicked death him have,

I woll go with him in his grave,

And there any reprove me,

Why that I let the poore be,

Wost thou how I not ascape,

I say and sweare him full rape,

That rich men han more tetches

Of sinne, than han poore wretches,

And han of counsaile more mistere,

And therefore I would draw hem nere,

But as great hurt, it may so be,

Hath a soule in right great poverte,

As soule in great richesse forsooth,

Albeit that they hurten both,

* For richesse and mendicities

Ben cleped two extreamities,

The meane is cleped Suffisaunce,

There lieth of vertue the aboundaunce.

For Salomon full well I wote,

In his Parables us wrote,

As it is knowen of many a wight,

In his thirteene chapiter right,

God thou me keepe for thy poste,

* Fro richesse and mendicite,

For if a rich man him dresse,

To thinke too much on richesse,

His heart on that so ferre is sette,

That he his creator doth foryette,

And him that beggeth, woll aye greve,

How should I by his word him leve,

Vnneth that he nis a micher,

Forsworne, or els Gods lier,

Thus sayth Salomon sawes.

Ne we find written in no lawes,

And namely in our Christen lay,

(Who saith ye, I dare say nay)

That Christ, ne his Apostles dere,

While that they walked in earth here,

Were never seene herbred begging,

For they nolden beggen for nothing.

And right thus were men wont to teach,

And in this wise would it preach,

The maisters of divinitie

Sometime in Paris the citie.

ANd if men would there gaine appose

The naked text, and let the glose,

It might soone assoiled bee,

For men may well the sooth see,

That parde they might aske a thing

Plainely forth without begging,

For they weren Gods heerdes dere,

And cure of soules hadden here,

They nolde nothing begge her food,

For after Christ was done on rood,

With their proper honds they wrought,

And with travaile, and els nought,

They wonnen all her sustenaunce,

And liueden forth in her pennaunce,

And the remenaunt yafe away

To other poore folkes alway.

They neither builden toure ne halle,

But they in houses small with alle.

A mighty man that can and may,

Should with his hond and body alway,

Winne him his food in labouring,

If he ne have rent or such a thing,

Although he be religious,

And God to serven curious,

Thus mote he done, or do trespaas,

But if it be in certaine caas,

That I can rehearse, if mister bee,

Right well, when the time I see.

Seeke the booke of saint Augustine,

Be it in paper or perchemene,

There as he writte of these worchings,

Thou shalt seene that none excusings

A perfit man ne should seeke

By words, ne by deeds eke,

Although he be religious,

And God to serven curious,

That he ne shall, so mote I go,

With proper honds and body also

Get his food in labouring,

If he ne have properte of thing,

Yet should he sell all his substaunce,

And with his swinke have sustenaunce,

If he be perfite in bounte,

Thus han the bookes told me:

* For he that woll gone idelly,

And useth it aye busily

To haunten other mens table,

He is a trechour full of fable,

Ne he ne may by good reason

Excuse him by his orison,

For men behoveth in some gise,

Ben sometime in Gods service,

To gone and purchasen her nede.

Men mote eaten, that is no drede,

And sleepe, and eke do other thing,

So long may they leave praying.

So may they eke her prayer blinne,

While that they werke her meat to winne,

[Page] Saint Austine woll thereto accord,

In thilke booke that I record.

Iustinian eke, that made lawes,

Hath thus forboden by old sawes:

No man, vp paine to be dead,

Mighty of body, to beg his bread,

If he may swinke it for to gete,

Men should him rather maine or bete,

Or done of him aperte iustice,

Than suffren him in such mallice.

They done not well so mote I go,

That taken such almesse so,

But if they have some priviledge,

That of the paine hem woll alledge.

But how that is, can I not see,

But if the prince deceived bee,

Ne I ne wene not sikerly,

That they may have it rightfully.

But I woll not determine

Of princes power, ne define,

Ne by my word comprehend ywis,

If it so ferre may stretch in this,

I woll not entremete a dele,

But I trow that the booke sayth wele,

Who that taketh almesses, that bee

Dew to folke that men may see

Lame, feeble, weary, and bare,

Poore, or in such manner care,

That con winne hem nevermo,

For they have no power thereto:

He eateth his owne dampning,

But if he lie that made all thing.

And if ye such a truant find,

Chastise him well, if ye be kind,

But they would hate you parcaas,

If ye fillen in her laas.

They would eftsoones do you scathe,

If that they might, late or rathe,

For they be not full patient,

That han the world thus foule blent,

* And weteth well, that God bad

The good man sell all that he had,

And follow him, and to poore it yeve,

He would not therefore that he live,

To serven him in mendience,

For it was never his sentence,

But he bad werken when that need is,

And follow him in good deedis.

* Saint Poule that loved all holy church,

He bade the Apostles for to wurch,

And winnen her live lode in that wise,

And hem defended truandise,

And said, werketh with your honden,

Thus should the thing be vnderstonden.

He nolde iwis have bid hem begging,

Ne sellen Gospell, ne preaching,

Least they beraft, with her asking,

Folke of her cattell or of her thing.

For in this world is many a man

That yeveth his good, for he ne can

Werne it for shame, or els he

Would of the asker delivered be,

And for he him encombreth so,

He yeveth him good to let him go:

But it can him nothing profite,

They lese the yest and the merite.

The good folke that Poule to preached,

Profred him oft, when he hem teached,

Some of her good in charite,

But thereof right nothing tooke he,

But of his hond would he gette

Clothes to wrine him, and his mete.

TEll me then how a man may liven,

That all his good to poore hath yeven,

And woll but onely bidde his bedes,

And never with honds labour his nedes.

May he do so? Yea sir: And how?

Sir I woll gladly tell you:

Saint Austen faith, a man may be

In houses that han properte,

As templers and hospitelers,

And as these Chanons regulers,

Or white Monkes, or these blake,

I woll no mo ensamples make,

And take thereof his susteining,

For therein lithe no begging,

But otherwaies not iwis,

Yet Austen gabbeth not of this,

And yet full many a Monke laboureth,

That God in holy Church honoureth:

For when her swinking is agone,

They rede and sing in Church anone.

And for there hath ben great discord,

As many a wight may beare record,

Vpon the estate of mendicience,

I woll shortely in your presence,

Tell how a man may begge at need,

That hath not wherewith him to feed,

Maugre his fellowes ianglings,

For soothfastnesse woll none hidings,

And yet percase I may abey,

That I to you soothly thus sey.

LO here the case especiall,

If a man be so bestiall,

That he of no craft hath science,

And nought desireth ignorence,

Then may he go a begging yerne,

Till he some other craft can lerne,

Through which without truanding,

He may in trouth have his living.

Or if he may done no labour,

For elde, or sicknesse, or langour,

Or for his tender age also,

Then may he yet a begging go.

Or if he have peraventure,

Through vsage of his noriture,

Lived over deliciously,

Then oughten good folke comenly,

Han of his mischeefe some pite,

And suffren him also, that he

May gone about and begge his bread,

That he be not for honger dead,

Or if he have of craft conning,

And strength also, and desiring

To worchen, as he had what,

But he find neither this ne that,

Then may he begge till that he

Have getten his necessite.

Or if his winning be so lite,

That his labour woll not aquite

[Page] Sufficiauntly all his living,

Yet may he go his brede begging

Fro dore to dore, he may go trace,

Till he the remnaunt may purchase.

Or if a man would vndertake

Any emprise for to make,

In the rescous of our lay,

And it defenden as he may,

Be it with armes or lettrure,

Or other convenable cure,

If it be so he poore be,

Then may he begge, till that he

May find in trouth for to swinke,

And get him cloth, meat, and drinke,

Swinke he with his honds corporell,

And not with hondes espirituell.

IN all this case, and in semblables,

If that there ben mo reasonables,

He may begge, as I tell you here,

And els not in no manere,

As William saint Amour would preach,

And oft would dispute and teach

Of this matter all openly

At Paris full solemnely,

And also God my soule blesse,

As he had in this stedfastnesse,

The accord of the vniversite

And of the people, as seemeth me.

No good man ought it to refuse,

Ne ought him thereof to excuse,

Be wrothe or blithe, who so be,

For I woll speake, and tell it thee,

All should I die, and be put doun,

As was saint Poule in derke prisoun,

Or be exiled in this caas

With wrong, as maister William was,

That my mother Hypocrisie

Banished for her great envie.

My mother flemed him saint Amour,

This noble did such labour

To sustaine ever the loyalte,

That hee too much agilte me,

He made a booke, and let it write,

Wherein his life he did all write,

And would eche remed begging,

And live by my travelling,

If I ne had rent ne other good,

What weneth he that I were wood?

For labour might me never please,

I have more will to ben at ease,

And have well lever, sooth to say,

Before the people patter and pray,

And wrie me in my foxerie

Vnder a cope of papelardie.

(Qd. Love) what divell is this that I here,

What words tellest thou me here,

What sir Falsenesse that apert is,

Then dredest thou not God? No certes:

For selde in great thing shall he spede

In this world, that God woll drede,

For folke that hem to vertue yeven,

And truely on her owne liven,

And hem in goodnesse aye content,

On hem is little thrift isent,

Such folke drinken great misease,

That life may me never please.

But see what gold han vserers,

And silver eke in garners,

Tailagiers, and these moniours,

Bailiffes, Beadles, Provost, Countours,

These liven well nigh by ravine,

The small people hem mote encline,

Aud they as wolves woll hem eten:

Vpon the poore folke they geten

Full much of that they spend or kepe,

Nis none of hem that he nill strepe,

And wrine hem selfe well at full

Without scalding they hem pull.

* The strong the feeble overgothe,

But I that weare my simple clothe,

Robbe both robbed, and robbours,

And guile guiling, and guilours:

By my treget, I gather and threste

The great treasour into my cheste,

That lieth with me so fast bound,

Mine high paleis doe I found,

And my delights I fulfill,

With wine at feastes at my will,

And tables full of entremees,

I woll no life, but ease and pees,

And winne gold to spend also,

For when the great bagge is go,

It commeth right with my yapes,

Make I not well tomble mine apes,

To winnen is alway mine entent,

My purchase is better than my rent,

For though I should beaten be,

Over all I entremete me,

Without me may no wight dure,

I walke soules for to cure,

Of all the world cure have I

In brede and length boldly,

I woll both preach and eke counsailen,

With honds woll I not travailen,

For of the Pope I have the bull,

I ne hold not my wittes dull,

I woll not stinten in my live

These Emperours for to shrive,

Of Kings, Dukes, and Lords grete:

But poore folke all quite I lete,

I love no such shriving parde,

But it for other cause be:

I recke not of poore men,

Her estate is not worth an ben.

Where findest thou a swinker of labour

Have me to his confessour?

But Empresses, and Duchesses,

These Queenes, and eke Countesses,

These Abbesses, and eke Bigins,

These great Ladies palasins,

These iolly Knights, and Bailives,

These Nonnes, and these Burgeis wives

That rich been, and eke pleasing,

And these Maidens welfaring,

Where so they clad or naked be,

Vncounsailed goeth there none fro me,

And for her soules safete,

At Lord and Lady, and her meine,

I aske, when they hem to me shrive

The propertie of all her live,

[Page] And make hem trow both most and least

Her parish Priest is but a beast

Ayenst me and my company,

That shrewes been as great (as I)

For which I woll not hide in hold,

No privete that me is told,

That I by word or signe iwis,

Ne woll make hem know what it is,

And they wollen also tellen me,

They hele fro me no privite.

And for to make you hem perceiven,

That vsen folke thus to deceiven,

I woll you saine withouten drede,

What men may in the Gospell rede,

Of saint Mathew the Gospellere,

That saieth, as I shall you say here.

VPon the chaire of Moses

Thus it is glosed doubtles,

(That is the old Testament,

For thereby is the chaire ment)

Sitte Scribes and Pharisen,

That is to saine, the cursed men,

Which that we, Ipocrites call:

Doeth that they preach I rede you all,

But doeth not as they doen adele,

That been not weary to say wele,

But to doe well, no will have they,

And they would bind on folke alway,

(That been to be beguiled able)

Burdons that been importable,

On folkes shoulders things they couchen,

That they nill with their fingers touchen.

And why woll they not touch it, why?

For hem ne list nat sikerly,

For sadde burdons that men taken,

Make folkes shoulders aken.

And if they do ought that good bee,

That is for folke it should see,

Her burdons larger maken they,

And maken her hemmes wide alwey,

And loven seates at the table

The first and most honourable,

And for to han the first chairis,

In Synagogues, to hem full dere is,

And willen that folke hem lout and grete,

When that they passen through the strete,

And wollen be cleped maister also:

But they ne should not willen so,

The Gospell is there ayenst I gesse,

That sheweth well her wickednesse.

ANother custome vse we

Of hem that woll ayenst vs be,

We hate hem deadly everychone,

And we woll werrey him, as one,

Him that one hateth, hate we all,

And coniect, how to doen him fall:

And if we seene him winne honour,

Richesse or preise, through his valour,

Provende, rent, or dignite,

Full fast iwis compassen we,

By what ladder he is clomben so,

And for to maken him downe to go,

With treason we woll him defame,

And doen him lese his good name.

Thus from his ladder we him take,

And thus his frends foes we make,

But word ne wete shall he none,

Till all his friendes been his fone,

For if we did it openly,

We might have blame readily,

For had he wist of our mallice,

He had him kept, but he were nice.

Another is this, that if so fall,

That there be one among vs all,

That doeth a good tourne, out of drede,

We saine it is our alder dede,

Yea sikerly, though he it fained,

Or that him list, or that him dained

A man through him avaunced be,

Thereof all parteners be we,

And tellen folke where so we go,

That man through vs is sprongen so.

And for to have of men praising,

We purchase through our flattering

Of rich men of great poste

Letters, to witnesse our bounte,

So that man weeneth that may vs see,

That all vertue in vs bee.

And alway poore we vs faine,

But how so that we begge or plaine,

We ben the folke without leasing,

That all thing have without having.

Thus be dradde of the people iwis,

And gladly my purpose is this.

I deale with no wight, but he

Have gold and treasour great plente,

Her acquaintaunce well love I,

This much my desire shortly,

I entremete me of brocages,

I make peace and mariages,

I am gladly executour,

And many times a procuratour,

I am sometime messangere,

That falleth not to my mistere.

And many times I make enquest,

For me that office is nat honest,

To deale with other mens thing,

That is to me a great liking:

And if that ye have ought to do

In place that I repaire to,

I shall it speden through my wit,

As soone as ye have told me it,

So that ye serve me to pay,

My service shall be yours alway.

But who so woll chastice me,

Anone my love lost hath he,

For I love no man in no gise,

That woll me reprove or chastise,

But I woll all folke vndertake,

And of no wight no teaching take,

For I that other folke chastie,

Woll not be taught fro my follie.

I Love none Hermitage more,

All deserts and holtes hoore,

And great woods everychon,

I let hem to the Baptist Iohn,

I queth him quite, and him relesse

Of Egipt all the wildernesse,

[Page] Too ferre were all my mansiouns

Fro all cities and good touns.

My paleis and mine house make I

There men may renne in openly,

And say that I the world forsake,

But all amidde I build and make

My house, and swim and play therein

Bette than a fish doeth with his sinne.

OF Antichristes men am I,

Of which that Christ sayeth openly,

They have habite of holinesse,

And liven in such wickednesse:

To the copie, if him talent tooke

Of the Evangelistes booke,

There might he see by great traisoun

Full many a false comparisoun.

As much as through his great might,

Be it of heat or of light,

The Sunne surmounteth the Moone,

That troubler is, and chaungeth soone,

And the nutte kernell the shell,

I scorne nat that I you tell.

Right so withouten any gile

Surmounteth this noble Evangile,

The word of any Evangelist,

And to her title they tooken Christ,

And many such comparisoun,

Of which I make no mentioun,

Might men in that booke find,

Who so could of hem have mind.

The vniversitie that tho was asleepe,

Gan for to braied, and taken keepe,

And at the noise, the head vp cast,

Ne never sithen slept it fast,

But vp it stert, and armes tooke

Ayenst this false horrible booke,

All ready battaile for to make,

And to the Iudge the booke they take.

But they that broughten the booke there,

Hent it anone away for feare,

They nolde shew it no more adele,

But then it kept, and keepen wele,

Till such a time that they may see,

That they so strong woxen bee,

That no wight may hem well withstond,

For by that booke they durst not stond,

Away they gonne it for to here,

For they ne durst not answere

By exposition no glose

To that that clerkes woll appose,

Ayenst the cursednesse iwis

That in that booke written is.

Now wote I nat, ne I can nat see

What manner end that there shall bee

Of all this that they hide,

But yet algate they shall abide,

Till that they may it bette defend,

This trow I best woll be her end.

Thus Antechrist abiden we,

For we been all of his meine,

And what man that woll not be so,

Right soone he shall his life forgo.

Outward Lamben seemen we,

Full of goodnesse and of pite,

And inward we withouten fable

Been greedy Wolves ravisable.

We enviroun both lond and see,

With all the world werrien wee,

We woll ordaine of all thing

Of folkes good, and her living.

If there be castell or cite

Within that any bougerons be,

Although that they of Millaine were,

For thereof been they blamed there.

Or of a wight out of measure,

Would lene her gold, and take vsure,

For that he is so covetous,

Or if he be too lecherous,

Or these that haunten Simonie,

Or Provost full of trecherie,

Or Prelate living iollily,

Or Priest that halt his quein him by,

Or old hoores hostillers,

Or other baudes or bordellers,

Or els blamed of any vice,

Of which men shoulden doen iustice.

By all the saints that we prey,

But they defend them with lamprey,

With luce, with elis, with samons,

With tender geese, and with capons,

With tartes, or with cheffes fat,

With daintie flaunes, brode and flat,

With caleweis, or with pullaile,

With coninges, or with fine vitaile,

That we vnder our clothes wide,

Maken through our gollet glide,

Or but he woll doe come in hast,

Rae venison bake in past,

Whether to that loure or groine,

He shall have of a corde a loigne,

With which men shall him bind and lede,

To brenne him for his sinfull dede,

That men shull heare him crie and rore

A mile way about and more,

Or els he shall in prison die,

But if he woll his friendship buy,

Or smerten that, that he hath do,

More than his guilt amounteth to.

But and he couth through his sleight

Doe maken vp a toure of height,

Nought rought I whether of stone or tree,

Or yearth, or turves though it be,

Though it were of no vounde stone,

Wrought with squier and scantilone,

So that the toure were stuffed well

With all riches temporell.

And then that he would vp dresse

Engines, both more and lesse,

To cast at vs by every side,

To beare his good name wide.

Such sleights I shall you yeven

Barrels of wine, by sixe or seven,

Or gold in sackes great plente,

He should soone delivered be,

And if he have no such pitences,

Let him studie in equipolences,

And let lies and fallaces,

If that he would deserve our graces,

Or we shall beare him such witnesse

Of sinne, and of his wretchednesse,

[Page] And doen his lose so wide renne,

That all quicke we should him brenne,

Or els yeve him soch pennaunce,

That is well worse than the pitaunce.

* For thou shalt never for nothing

Con knowen aright by her clothing,

The traitours full of trecherie,

But thou her werkes can espie.

And ne had the good keeping be

Whylome of the vniversite,

That keepeth the key of Christendome,

We had been tourmented all and some.

Such been the stinking Prophetis,

Nis none of hem, that good Prophet is,

For they through wicked entention,

The yeare of the incarnation

A thousand and two hundred yere,

Five and fiftie ferther ne nere,

Broughten a booke with sorrie grace,

To yeven ensample in common place,

That saied thus, though it were fable,

This is the Gospell perdurable,

That fro the holy ghost is sent.

Well were it worth to be brent.

Entitled was in such manere

This booke, of which I tell here,

There nas no wight in all Paris,

Beforne our Ladie at parvis,

That they ne might the booke by,

The sentence pleased hem well truely.

But I woll stint of this matere,

For it is wonder long to here,

But had that ilke booke endured,

Of better estate I were ensured,

And friends have I yet pardee,

That han me set in great degree.

OF all this world is Emperour,

Guile my father, the trechour,

And Empresse my mother is,

Maugre the holy ghost iwis,

Our mightie linage and our rout

Reigneth in every reigne about,

And well is worthy we ministers be,

For all this world governe we,

And can the folke so well deceive,

That none our guile can perceive,

And though they doen, they dare not say,

The sooth dare no wight bewray.

But he in Christes wrath him leadeth,

That more than Christ my brethren dredeth,

He nis no full good champion,

That dreadeth such similation,

Nor that for paine woll refusen,

Vs to correct and accusen.

He woll not entremete by right,

Ne have God in his eyesight,

And therefore God shall him punice,

But me ne recketh of no vice,

Sithen men vs loven communably,

And holden vs for so worthy,

That we may folke repreve echone,

And we nill have reprefe of none,

Whom shoulden folke worshippen so,

But vs that stinten never mo

To patren while that folke may vs see,

Though it not so behind hem be.

ANd where is more wood follie,

Than to enhaunce chivalrie,

And love noble men and gay,

That iolly clothes wearen alway,

If they be such folke as they seemen,

So cleane, as men her clothes demen,

And that her wordes follow her dede,

It is great pitie out of drede,

For they woll be none Hypocritis,

Of hem me thinketh great spight is,

I cannot love hem on no side.

But beggers with these hoods wide,

With sleigh and pale faces leane,

And gray clothes nat full cleane,

But fretted full of tatarwagges,

And high shoes knopped with dagges,

That frouncen like a quale pipe,

Or bootes riveling as a gipe.

To such folke as I you devise,

Should princes and these lords wise,

Take all her lands and her things,

Both warre and peace in governings,

To such folke should a prince him yeve,

That would his life in honour live.

And if they be nat as they seme,

They serven thus the world to queme,

There would I dwell to deceive

The folke, for they shall nat perceive.

But I ne speake in no such wise,

That men should humble habite dispise,

So that no pride there vnder be,

No man should hate, as thinketh me,

The poore man in such clothing,

But God ne preiseth him nothing,

That saieth he hath the world forsake,

And hath to worldly glory him take,

And woll of such delices vse,

Who may that begger well excuse?

That papelarde, that him yeeldeth so,

And woll to worldly ease go,

And saieth that he the world hath left,

And greedily it gripeth eft,

He is the hound, shame is to saine,

That to his casting goeth againe.

BVt vnto you dare I not lie,

But might I feelen or espie,

That ye perceived it nothing,

Ye should have a starke leasing,

Right in your hond thus to beginne,

I nolde it let for no sinne.

The God lough at the wonder tho,

And every wight gan lough also,

And saied: lo here a man right,

For to be trustie to every wight.

FAlse Semblant (qd. Love) say to mee,

Sith I thus have avaunced thee,

That in my court is thy dwelling,

And of ribaudes shalt be my king,

Wolt thou well holden my forwardes?

Yea sir, from hence forwardes,

[Page] We woll a people vpon him areise,

And through our guile doen him ceise,

And him on sharpe speares riue,

Or other waies bring him fro liue,

But if that he woll follow ywis,

That in our booke written is.

THus much woll our booke signifie,

That while Peter had maistrie

May never Iohn shew well his might.

Now have I you declared right,

The meaning of the barke and rinde,

That maketh the entencions blinde,

But now at erst I woll begin,

To expoune you the pith within,

And the seculers comprehend,

That Christs law woll defend,

And should it kepen and maintainen

Ayenst hem that all sustenen,

And falsly to the people teachen,

That Iohn betokeneth hem to preachen,

That there nis law couenable,

But thilke Gospell perdurable,

That fro the holy ghost was sent.

To turne folke that ben miswent.

The strength of Iohn they vnderstond,

The grace in which they say they stond,

That doeth the sinfull folke conuert,

And hem to Iesu Christ reuert,

Full many another horriblee,

May men in that booke see,

That been commaunded doubtlesse

Ayenst the law of Rome expresse,

And all with Antichrist they holden,

As men may in the booke beholden.

And then commaunden they to sleen,

All tho that with Peter been,

But they shall never have that might,

And God toforne, for strife to fight,

That they ne shall ynough find,

That Peters law shall have in mind,

And euer hold, and so mainteen,

That at the last it shall be seen,

That they shall all come thereto,

For aught that they can speake or do.

And thilke law shall not stond,

That they by Iohn have vnderstond,

But maugre hem, it shall adoun,

And been brought to confusioun,

Had never your father here beforne,

Seruaunt so true, sith he was borne,

That is ayenst all nature.

Sir, put you in that auenture,

For though ye borowes take of me,

The sikerer shall ye never be

For hostages, ne sikernesse,

Or chartres, for to beare witnesse,

I take your selfe to record here,

That men ne may in no manere

Tearen the Wolfe out of his hide,

Till he be slaine backe and side,

Though men him beat and all defile,

What wene ye that I woll beguile?

For I am clothed meekely,

There vnder is all my trechery,

Mine heart chaungeth never the mo

For none habite, in which I go,

Though I have chere of simplenesse,

I am not wearie of shreudnesse

My lemman, strained Abstenaunce,

Hath mister of my purueiaunce,

She had full long ago be ded,

Nere my counsaile and my red,

Let her alone, and you and mee.

And Love answerd, I trust thee

Without borow, for I woll none.

And false Semblant the theefe anone,

Right in that ilke same place,

That had of treason all his face,

Right blacke within, and white without,

Thanking him, gan on his knees lout.

Then was there nought, but euery man

Now to assaute, that sailen can

(Qd. Love) and that full hardely:

Then armed they hem comenly

Of such armour as to hem fell.

When they were armed fiers and fell,

They went hem forth all in a rout,

And set the castle all about,

They will not away for no dread,

Till it so be that they ben dead,

Or till they have the castle take,

And foure battels they gan make,

And patted hem in foure anone,

And tooke her way, and forth they gone,

The foure gates for to assaile,

Of which the keepers woll not faile,

For they ben neither sicke ne dede,

But hardie folke, and strong in dede.

Now woll I saine the countenaunce

Of false Semblant, and Abstinaunce,

That ben to Wicked tongue went,

But first they held her parliament,

Whether it to doen were,

To maken hem be knowen there,

Or els walken forth disguised:

But at the last they deuised,

That they would gone in tapinage,

As it were in a pilgrimage,

Like good and holy folke vnfeined:

And dame Abstinence streined

Tooke on a robe of Cameline,

And gan her gratche as a bigine.

A large couerchief of thread,

She wrapped all about her head,

But she forgate not her Psaltere.

A paire of beads eke she bere

Vpon a lace, all of white thread,

On which that she her beads bede,

But she ne bought hem never adele,

For they were given her, I wote wele

God wote of a full holy Frere,

That saied he was her father dere,

To whom she had after went,

Than any Frere of his couent.

And he visited her also,

And many a sermon saied her to,

He nolde let for men on liue,

That he ne would her oft shriue,

[Page] And with so great deuotion

They made her confession,

* That they had oft for the nones

Two heads in one hood at ones.

Of faire shape I deuised her thee,

But pale of face sometime was shee,

That false tratouresse vntrew,

Was like that sallow horse of hew,

That in the Apocalips is shewed,

That signifieth tho folke beshrewed,

That been all full of trecherie,

And pale, through hypocrisie,

For on that horse no colour is,

But onely dead and pale iwis,

Of such a colour enlangoured,

Was Abstinence iwis coloured,

Of her estate she her repented,

As her visage represented.

She had a burdoune all of theft,

That Guile had yeue her of his yeft,

And a scrippe of faint distresse,

That full was of elengenesse,

And forth she walked soberlie,

And false Semblant saint, ievous die,

And as it were for such mistere,

Doen on the cope of a Frere,

With cheare simple, and full pitous,

His looking was not disdeinous,

Ne proud, but meeke and full peasible.

About his necke he bare a Bible,

And Squierly for gan he gon,

And for to rest his limmes vpon,

He had of treason a potent,

As he were feeble, his way he went.

But in his sleue he gan to thring

A rasour sharpe, and well biting,

That was forged in a forge,

Which that men clepen Coupe gorge.

So long forth her way they nomen,

Till they to Wicked Tongue comen,

That at his gate was sitting,

And saw folke in the way passing.

The pilgrimes saw he fast by,

That bearen hem full meekely,

And humbly they with hem mette,

Dame Abstinence first him grette,

And sith him False Semblant salued,

And he hem, but he not remeued,

For he ne drede him not adele:

For when he saw her faces wele,

Alway in heart him thought so,

He should know hem both two,

For well he knew dame Abstinaunce,

But he ne knew not Constrainaunce,

He knew nat that she was constrained,

Ne of her theeues life fained,

But wend she come of will all free,

But she come in another degree,

And if of good will she began,

That will was failed her than.

ANd false Semblant had he seine alse,

But he knew nat that he was faise,

Yet false was he, but his falsenesse

Ne coud he not espie, nor gesse,

For Semblant was so slie wrought,

That Falsenesse he ne espyed nought,

But haddest thou knowen him beforne,

Thou wouldest on a booke have sworne,

When thou him saw in thilke arraie

That he, that whilom was so gaie,

And of the daunce Iolly Robin

Was tho become a Iacobin:

But soothly what so men him call

Frere Preachours been good men all,

Her order wickedly they bearen

Such minstrels, if they wearen.

So been Augustins, and Cordileers,

And Carmes, and eke sacked Freers,

And all Freers shode and bare,

Though some of hem ben great and square,

Full holy men, as I hem deme,

Everich of hem would good man seme:

* But shalt thou neuer of apparence

Seene conclude good consequence

In none argument iwis,

If existence all failed is:

For men may finde alway sopheme

The consequence to enueneme,

Who so that hath had the sobtiltee

The double sentence for to see.

When the Pilgrimes commen were

To wicked Tongue that dwelled there,

Her harneis nigh hem was algate,

By wicked Tongue adoune they sate,

That had hem nere him for to come,

And of tidinges tell him some,

And sayd hem: what case maketh you

To come into this place now?

SIr sayd strained Abstinance,

We for to drie our penance,

With hearts pitous and deuout

Are commen, as Pilgrimes gone about,

Well nigh on foote alway we go

Full doughtie been our heeles two,

And thus both we be sent

Throughout the world that is miswent,

To yeve ensample, and preach also,

To fishen sinfull men we go,

For other fishing, ne fish we,

And sir, for that charite,

As we be wont, herborow we craue,

Your life to amenne Christ it saue,

And so it should you not displease,

We woulden, if it were your ease,

A short Sermon vnto you sain,

And wicked Tongue answered again.

The house (qd. he) such (as ye see)

Shall not be warned you for me,

Saie what you list, and I woll heare,

Graunt mercie sweet sir deare.

(Qd. alderfirst) dame Abstinence,

And thus began she her sentence.

* Sir, the first vertue certaine,

The greatest, and most soueraigne

That may be found in any man,

For having, or for wit he can,

That is his Tongue to refraine,

Thereto ought euerie wight him paine:

* For it is better still be,

Than for to speaken harme parde,

[Page] And he that hearkeneth it gladly,

He is no good man sikerly.

And sir, abouen all other sinne,

In that art thou most guiltie ninne:

Thou speake a yape, not long agoe.

And sir, that was right euill doe

Of a young man, that here repaired,

And never yet this place repaired:

Thou saidest he awaited nothing,

But to deceiue Faire Welcomming

Ye sayd nothing sooth of that,

But sir, ye lye I tell ye plat,

He ne commeth no more, ne goeth parde,

I trow ye shall him never see,

Faire Welcomming in prison is,

That oft hath played with you er this,

The fairest games that he coude.

Without filth still or loude,

Now dare she not her selfe solace,

Ye han also the man doe chase,

That he dare neither come ne go,

What mooveth you to hate him so?

But properly your wicked thought,

That many a false lesing hath thought,

That mooveth your foule eloquence,

That iangleth ever in audience,

And on the folke ariseth blame,

And doth hem dishonour and shame,

For thing that may have no preuing,

But likelinesse, and contriuing.

* For I dare saine, that Reason deemeth,

It is not all sooth thing that seemeth,

And it is sinne to controue

Thing that is to reproue,

This wote ye wele, and sir, therefore

Ye arne to blame the more,

And nathelesse, he recketh lite

He yeueth not now thereof a mite,

For if he thought harme parfaie,

He would come and gone all daie,

He coud himselfe not absteine,

Now commeth he not, and that is sene,

For he ne taketh of it no cure,

But if it be through aventure,

And lasse than other folke algate,

And thou her watchest at the gate,

With speare in thine arest alwaie,

There muse musard all the daie,

Thou wakest night and day for thought,

Iwis thy trauaile is for nought,

And Iealousie withouten faile,

Shall never quite thee thy trauaile,

And skath is, that faire Welcoming,

Without any trespassing,

Shall wrongfully in prison be,

There weepeth and languisheth he,

And though thou never yet iwis,

A giltest man no more but this,

Take not a greefe it were worthy

To put thee out of this Baily,

And afterward in prison lie

And fettred thee till that thou die,

For thou shalt for this sinne dwell

Right in the Diuels arse of Hell,

But if that thou repent thee.

Maifaie, thou lyest falsely (qd. he:)

What, welcome with mischaunce now,

Have I therefore herboured you

To say me shame, and eke reproue,

With sorrie happe to your behoue,

Am I to day your herbegere

Go herber you elsewhere than here,

That han a lyer called me,

Two tregetours art thou and he,

That in mine house doe me this shame,

And for my soothsaw ye me blame.

Is this the Sermon that ye make?

To all the Diuels I me take,

Or else God thou me confound,

But er men didden this Castle found,

It passeth not ten dayes or twelue,

But it was told right to my selue,

And as they sayd, right so told I,

He kist the Rose priuily:

Thus sayd I now, and have sayd yore,

I not where he did any more.

Why should men say me such a thing,

If it had been gabbing,

Right so saide I, and woll say yet,

I trow I lyed not of it,

And with my bemes I woll blow

To all neighbours arrow,

How he hath both commen and gone.

Tho spake false Semblant right anone,

* All is not Gospell out of dout,

That men saine in the towne about,

Lay no defe eare to my speaking,

I swere you sir, it is gabbing,

I trow you wote well certainly,

That no man loveth him tenderly,

That sayth him harme, if he wote it,

All be he never so poore of wit,

And sooth is also sikerly,

This know ye sir, as well as I,

That Lovers gladly woll visiten

The places there her loves habiten,

This man you loveth and eke honoureth,

This man to serve you laboureth,

And clepeth you his freind so deere,

And this man maketh you good cheere,

And euerie man that you meeteth,

He you saleweth, and he you greeteth,

He preseth not so oft, that ye

Ought of his comming encombred be:

There presen other folke on you,

Full ofter than he doeth now,

And if his heart him strained so

Vnto the Rose for to go,

Ye should him seene so oft need,

That ye should take him with the deed,

He coud his comming not forbeare,

Though ye him thrilled with a speare,

It nere not then as it is now,

But trusteth well, I sweare it you,

That it is cleane out of his thought.

Sir, certes he ne thinketh it nought,

No more ne doth Faire Welcomming,

That sore abieth all this thing,

And if they were of one assent,

Full soone were the Rose hent,

The maugre yours would be.

And sir, of o thing hearkeneth me,

[Page] Sith ye this man, that loveth you,

Han sayd such harme and shame, now

Witteth well, if he gessed it,

Ye may well demen in your wit,

He nolde nothing love you so

Ne callen you his friend also,

But night and day he woll wake,

The Castle to destroy and take,

If it were sooth, as ye de vise,

Or some man in some manner wise

Might it warne him everidele,

Or by himselfe perceive wele,

For sith he might not come and gone

As he was whilom wont to done,

He might it soone wite and see,

But now all otherwise wote hee.

Then have we sir, all vtterly

Deserved Hell, and iollyly

The death of Hell doubtlesse

That thrallen folke so guiltlesse.

False Semblant so prooveth this thing,

That he can none answering,

And seeth alwaie such apparaunce,

That nigh he fell in repentaunce,

And sayd him, sir, it may well be,

Semblant, a good man seemen ye,

And Abstinence, full wise ye seeme,

Of a talent you both I deeme,

What counsaile woll ye to me yeven?

Right here anon thou shalt be shriven

And say thy sinne, without more

Of this shalt thou repent sore,

For I am Priest, and have poste,

To shrive folke of most dignite

That ben as wide as world may dure,

Of all this world I have the cure,

And that had yet never persoun,

Ne vicarie of no manner toun.

And God wote I have of thee,

A thousand times more pitee,

Than hath thy Priest parochiall

Though he thy friend be speciall.

I have avauntage, in o wife,

That your Priests be not so wise

Ne halfe so lettred (as am I)

I am licensed boldly,

In Divinitie for to read,

And to confessen out of dread.

If ye woll you now confesse,

And leave your sinnes more and lesse,

Without abode, kneele doune anon,

And you shall have absolution.

¶Here after followeth the Booke of Troilus and Creseide.

Troilus and Criseyde

Troilus and Criseyde

In this excellent Book is shewed the fervent love of Troylus to Creiseid, whom he enjoyed for a time: and her great untruth to him again in giving herself to Diomedes, who in the end did so cast her off, that she came to great misery. In which discourse Chaucer liberally treateth of the divine purveyance.

THE double sorrow of Troilus to

tellen,

That was Kinge Priamus Sonne of Troy,

In loving, how his aventures fellen

From woe to wele, and after out of ioy,

My purpose is, er that I part froy.

Thou Thesiphone, thou helpe me for tendite

These wofull verses, that wepen as I write.

To thee I clepe, thou Goddesse of tourment

Thou cruell furie, sorrowing ever in paine,

Helpe me that am the sorrowfull instrument,

That helpeth Lovers, as I can complaine:

* For well sit it, the sooth for to saine,

A wofull wight to have a drery feare,

And to a sorrowfull tale a sorie cheare.

For I that God of Loves servaunts serve,

Ne dare to Love (for mine vnlikelynesse)

Prayen for speed, all should I therefore sterve,

So farre am I fro his helpe in derkenesse.

But nathelesse, if this may done gladnesse

To any Lover, and his cause availe,

Have he my thanke, and mine be the travaile.

But ye Lovers that bathen in gladnesse,

If any droppe of pite in you be,

Remembreth you of passed heavinesse

That ye have felt, and on the adversite

Of other folke, and thinketh how that ye

Han felt, that love durst you to displease,

Else ye han won him with too great an ease.

And prayeth for hem that been in the case

Of Troilus, as ye may after heare:

That he hem bring in heaven to solace.

And eke for me prayeth to God so deare,

That I have might to shew in some manere,

Such paine and woe, as loves folke endure,

In Troilus vnsely aventure.

And biddeth eke for hem that ben dispeired

In Love, that never will recovered be:

And eke for hem that falsely ben apeired,

Through wicked tongues, be it he or she:

Thus biddeth God for his benignite,

So grant hem sone out of this world to pace

That ben dispaired out of Loves grace.

And biddeth eke for hem that ben at ease,

That God hem graunt aie good perseverance,

And send hem grace her loves for to please,

That it to love be worship and pleasance:

For so hope I my selfe best to avance

To pray for hem, that loves servaunts be,

And write her woe, and live in charite.

And for to have of hem compassioun,

As though I were her owne brother dere,

Now hearkeneth with a good ententioun,

For now woll I go straight to my matere:

[Page] In which ye may the double sorrowes here

Of Troilus, in loving of Creseide,

And how she forsoke him er that she deide.

IT is well wist, how that y• greekes strong

In armes all with a thousand ships went

To Troie wardes, and the Citie long

Besiegeden, nigh ten yeres ere they stent,

And in divers wise, and one entent,

The ravishing to wreake of Queene Heleine,

By Paris don, they wroughten all her peine.

Now fell it so, y• in the toune there was

Dwelling a Lord of great authorite

A great divine, that cleped was Calcas,

That in that science so expert was, that he

Knew well, that Troie should destroyed be,

By answeare of his God, that hight thus,

Dan Phebus, or Apollo Delphicus.

So when this Calcus knew by calculing,

And eke by y• answeare of this God Apollo,

That the greekes should such a people bring,

Thorow which that Troy must be fordo,

He cast anone out of the toune to goe:

For well he wist by sort, that Troie sholde

Destroyed be, ye would who so or nolde.

Wherefore he to departen softly,

Tooke purpose full, this forknowing wise,

And to the Greekes host full prively

He stale anone, and they in courteous wise

Did to him both worship and servise,

In trust that he hath cunning hem to rede

In every perill, which that was to dread.

Great rumour rose, when it was first espied,

In all the toune, and openly was spoken,

That Calcus traitour fled was and alied

To hem of Grece: & cast was to be wroken

On him, that falsely hath his faith broken,

And sayd: he and all his kinne atones,

* Were worthy to be brent, both fell & bones.

Now had Calcas left in this mischaunce,

Vnwist of this false and wicked dede,

A daughter, which was in great penaunce,

And of her life she was full sore in drede,

And wist never what best was to rede:

And as a widdow was she, and all alone,

And nist to whome she might make her mone.

Creseide was this Ladies name aright,

As to my dome, in all Troies Citie

Most fairest Ladie, far passing every wight

So angellike shone her native beaute,

That no mortall thing seemed she:

And therewith was she so perfect a creature,

As she had be made in scorning of nature.

This Ladie, that all day heard at eare

Her Fathers shame, falshede, and treasoun,

(Full nigh out of her wit for sorrow & feare,

In widdowes habite large of samite broun)

Before Hector on knees she fell adoun,

And his mercy bad, her selfe excusing,

With pitous voice, and tenderly weeping.

Now was this Hector pitous of nature,

And saw that she was sorrowfull begone,

And that she was so faire a creature,

Of his goodnesse he gladed her anone,

And said: let your fathers traison gone

Forth with mischance, & ye your selfe in joy,

Dwelleth with us while you list in Troy.

And all y• honour that men may do ye have,

As ferforth as though your father dwelt here,

Ye shull haue, and your body shull men save,

As ferre as I may ought enquire and here:

And she him thanked with full good chere,

And ofter would, and it had been his will.

She took her leve, went home, & held her still.

And in her house she abode with such meine,

As till her honour need was to hold,

And while she was dwelling in that cite,

She kept her estate, and of yong and old

Full well beloved, & men well of her told:

But whether that she children had or none,

I rede it nat, therefore I let it gone.

The things fellen as they don of werre,

Betwixen hem of Troy and Greekes oft,

For sometime boughten they of Troy it derre,

And este the Greekes founden nothing soft

The folke of Troy: and thus fortune aloft,

And under efte gan hem to whelmen both,

After her course, aie while yt they were wroth.

But how this toune came to destruction,

Ne falleth not to purpose me to tell,

For it were a long digression

Fro my matter, and you too long to dwell,

But the Troyan iestes all as they fell,

In Omer, or in Dares, or in Dite,

Who so yt can, may reden hem as they write.

But thogh the Greekes hem of Troy in shetten,

And her citie besieged all about,

Her old usages nolde they not letten,

As to honouren her gods full devout,

But aldermost in honour out of dout,

They had a relike hight Palladion,

That was her trust aboven everychon.

And so befell, when comen was the time

Of Aprill, when clothed is the mede,

With new grene, of lustie veer the prime,

And with sweet smelling floures white & rede

In sundrie wise shewed as I rede:

The folke of Troie, their observances old,

Palladions feast went for to hold.

Vnto the Temple in all their best wise,

Generally there went many a wight,

To hearken of Palladions servise,

And namely many a lustie knight,

And many a Lady fresh, and maiden bright,

Full well arraied both most and least,

Both for the season and the high feast.

Among these other folke was Creseida,

In widdowes habite blacke: but natheles

[Page] Right as our first letter is now an a

In beautie first, so stood she makeles,

Her goodly looking gladed all the prees,

Nas neuer seene thing to be praised so derre

N [...]r under cloude blacke so bright a sterre,

As was Creseide, they sayden everichone,

That her behelden in her blacke wede,

And yet she stood full lowe and still alone,

Behinde other folke in little bread,

And nie the dore under shames dread,

Simple of attire, and debonaire of chere,

With full assured looking and manere.

This Troilus as he was wont to guide

His yong knights, he lad hem up and doune,

In thilke large Temple on every side,

Beholding aie the Ladies of the toune,

Now here now there, for no devotioune,

Had he to none, to reven him his rest,

But gan to praise and lacke whome he lest.

And in his walk full fast he gan to waiten,

If knight or squier of his companie,

Gan for to sike, or let his eyen baiten

On any woman, that he coud espie,

He would smile, and hold it a follie,

* And say hem thus: O Lord she sleepeth soft

For love of thee, when thou turnest full oft.

I have heard tell pardieux of your living

Ye Lovers, & eke your lewd observaunces,

And which a labour folke have in winning,

Of love, and in keeping such doutaunces,

And when your pray is lost, wo & penaunces:

O, very fooles, blinde and nice be ye,

There is not one can ware by another be.

And with y• word he gan cast up the brow,

Ascaunces lo, is this not well ispoken,

At which the God of Love gan looken low,

Right for dispite, & shope him to be wroken.

He kidde anone his bow was not broken:

For sodainly he hitte him at the full,

* And yet as proude a peacocke gan he pull.

O blinde world, o blind entention,

How often falleth all the effect contraire

Of sequedrie and foule presumption,

* For caught is proud, & caught is debonaire:

This Troilus is clomben on the staire,

And little weneth that he mote descenden,

* But all day it faileth that fooles wenden.

* As proud bayard beginneth for to skippe

Out of the way, so pricketh him his corne,

Till he a lash have of the long whippe,

Then thinketh he, tho I praunce all beforn

First in the traise, full fat and new ishorne,

Yet am I but an horse, and horses law

I must endure, and with my feeres draw.

So fared it by this fiers and proud knight,

Though he a worthy kinges sonne were,

And wend nothing had had such might,

Ayenst his will, that should his heart stere,

Yet with a looke his heart woxe on fire,

That he that now was most in pride above,

Woxe sodainly most subject unto Love.

For thy ensample taketh of this man,

Ye wise, proud, and worthy folkes all,

To scornen love, which that so soone can

The freedome of your hearts to him thrast,

For ever it was, and ever it be shall,

* That love is he that all thing may bind,

For no man may fordo the law of kind.

That this be sooth, hath preved & doth yet

For this (I trow) ye know all and some

Men reden not that folke han greater wit

Than they y• han ben most with love inome,

And strengest folk been therewith overcome,

The worthyest and greatest of degree,

This was and is, and yet man shall it see.

And trueliche that sitte well to be so,

For alderwisest han therewith ben pleased,

And they that han ben aldermost in wo,

With love, han ben comforted & most eased,

And oft it hath the cruell heart appeased,

And worthy folke made worthier of name,

And causeth most to dreden vice and shame.

Now sith it may nat goodly be withstond,

And is a thing so vertuous and kind,

Refuseth nought to love, ne to ben bond,

Sith as him selven list he may you bind,

* The yerde is bette that bowen woll & wind

Than that that brest, & therefore I you rede,

Now followeth him, yt so well can you lede.

But for to tellen forth in speciall,

As of this kings sonne, of which I told,

And leven other thing collaterall,

Of him thinke I my tale forth to hold,

Both of his joy, and of his cares cold,

And his werke, as touching this matere,

For I it gan, I woll thereto refere.

Within ye temple he went him forth playing

This Trouilus, of every wight about,

Now on this Lady, & now on that looking,

Where so she were of toune, or of without:

And upon case befell, that through a rout

His eye peirced, and so deepe it went

Till on Creseide it smote, and there it stent.

And sodainly for wonder wext astoned,

And gan her bet behold in thrifty wise:

O very God thouȝt he wher hast thou woned,

That art so faire and goodly to devise,

Therewith his heart gan to spread and rise,

And soft sighed, least men might him here,

And caught ayen his first playing chere.

She nas nat with the most of her stature,

But all her limmes so well answearing

Weren to womanhood, that creature

Was never lasse mannish in seeming.

And eke the pure wise of her meaning

Shewed well, that men might in her gesse

Honour, estate, and womanly noblesse.

[Page]

Tho Troilus, right wonder well withall

Gan for to like her meaning and her chere,

Which somdele deignous was, for she let fall

Her looke a little aside, in such manere

Ascaunces, what may I not stonden here,

And after that her looking gan she light,

That never thought him seen so good a sight.

And of her looke in him there gan to quicken

So great desire, and such affection,

That in his hearts bottome gan to sticken

Of her sixe, and deepe impression:

And though he earst had pored vp and doun,

* Then was he glad his hornes in to shrinke,

Vnnethes wist he how to looke or winke.

Lo, he that lete him selven so cunning,

And scorned hem that loves paines drien,

Was full vnware that love had his dwelling

Within the subtill streames of her eyen,

That sodainely him thought he felt dyen,

Right with her looke, the spirite in his heart,

Blessed be love, that thus can folke convert.

She thus in blacke, liking to Troilus,

Over all thing he stood for to behold:

But his desire, ne wherefore he stood thus,

He neither chere made, ne word thereof told,

But from a ferre, his manner for to hold,

On other thing sometime his looke he cast,

And eft on her, while that the service last:

And after this, nat fullish all awhaped,

Out of the Temple eselich he went,

Repenting him that ever he had iaped

Of loves folke, least fully the discent

Of scorne fill on himselfe, but what he ment,

Least it were wist on any manner side,

His woe he gan dissimulen and hide.

When he was fro yt Temple thus departed,

He straight anone unto his Pallaice turneth,

Right with her loke through shotten & darted

All faineth he in lust that he soiourneth

And all his chere and speech also he burneth,

And aie of Loves servaunts every while

Him selfe to wrie, at hem he gan to smile,

And sayd Lord, so they live all in lust

Ye Lovers, for the cunningest of you,

That servest most ententifelich and best

Him tite as often harme thereof as prow,

Your hire is quit ayen, ye God wote how,

Not well for well, but scorne for good servise,

In faith your order is ruled in good wise.

In no certaine been your observaunces,

But it onely a sely few points be,

Ne nothing asketh so great attendaunces,

As doth your laie, and that know all ye,

But that is not the worst, as mote I thee:

But told I you the worst point, I leve,

All sayd I sooth, ye woulden at me greve.

But take this: that ye Lovers oft eschew,

Or else done of good entention:

Full oft thy Ladie woll it misse constrew,

And deeme it harme in her opinion,

And yet if she for other encheson,

Be wroth, then shalt thou have a groin anon

Lord, well is him that may been of you one.

But for all this, when yt he seeth his time

He held his peace, none other bote him gained,

For Love began his feathers so to lime,

That well vnneth vnto his folke he fained,

That other busie needs him distrained,

So woe was him, that what to done he nist,

But had his folke to gon where as hem list.

And when that he in chamber was alone,

He doune vpon his beds feet him set,

And first he gan to sike, and eft to grone,

And thought aie on her so withouten let,

That as he sate and woke, his spirit met

That he her saw and temple, and all the wise

Right of her looke, and gan it new avise.

Thus gan he make a mirrour of his mind,

In which he saw all wholy her figure,

And that he well coud in his heart find

It was to him a right good aventure

To love such one, and if he did his cure

To serven her, yet might he fall in grace,

Or else, for one of her servants pace.

Imagining, that travaile nor grame

Ne might, for so goodly one be lorne

As she, ne him for his desire no shame

All were it wist, but in prise and vp borne

Of all Lovers, well more than beforne

Thus argumented he, in his ginning,

Full vnavised of his wo comming.

Thus took he purpose loves craft to sewe

And thought he would worken privily

First for to hide his desire in mewe

From everie wight iborne, all overly,

But he might ought recovered been thereby

* Remembring him, y• love too wide iblowe

Yelt bitter fruite, though sweet seed be sowe.

And over all this, full mokell more he thought

What for to speake, and what to holden inne

And what to arten, er to love he sought,

And on a song anone right to beginne.

And gan loude on his sorrow for to winne

For with good hope, he gan fully assent,

Creseide for to love, and nought repent.

And of his song not onely his sentence,

As write mine Authour called Lolius,

But plainely save our tongues difference,

I dare well say, in all that Troilus

Sayed in his song, lo every word right thus,

As I shall saine, and who so list it heare

Lo this next verse, he may it finde there.

¶The song of Troilus.

If no love is, O God what feele I so?

And if Love is, what thing and which is he?

If love be good, from whence cometh my wo?

[Page] If it be wicke, a wonder thinketh me,

When every torment and adversite

That cometh of him, may to me savery think:

* Foraie thurst I the more that iche it drinke.

And if that at mine owne lust I brenne,

From whence cometh my wailing & my plaint:

If harme agree me, whereto plaine I thenne,

I not, ne why, unwery that I feint,

O quicke death, o sweet harme so queint,

How may of thee in me be such quantite,

But if that I consent that it so be?

And if that I consent, I wrongfully

Comylaine iwis, thus possed to and fro,

All sterelesse within a bote am I

Amidde the sea, atwixen windes two,

That in contrary stonden ever mo,

Alas, what is this wonder maladie?

* For heat of cold, for cold of heat I die.

And to the God of love thus sayd he

With pitous voice, O Lord now yours is

My spirite, which that oughten yours to be,

You thank I Lord, yt han me brought to this:

But whether goddesse or woman iwis

She be, I not, which that ye do me serve,

But as her man I woll aie live and sterve.

Ye stonden in her eyen mightily,

As in a place to your vertue digne:

Wherefore Lord, if my servise or I

May liken you, so beth to me benigne,

For mine estate royall here I resigne

Into her honde, and with full humble chere

Become her man, as to my Lady dere.

In him ne deigned to sparen blood royall

The fire of love, wherefro God me blesse,

Ne him forbare in no degree, for all

His vertue, or his excellent prowesse,

But held him as his thrall lowe in distresse,

And brend him so in sundry wise aie newe,

That sixty times a day he lost his hewe.

So muchell day fro day his own thought

For lust to her, gan quicken and encrease,

That everiche other charge he set at nought,

For thy full oft, his hot fire to cease,

To seen her goodly looke he gan to prease,

For thereby to ben eased well he wend,

And aie the nere he was, the more he brend.

* For aie the nere the fire the hotter is,

This (trow I) knoweth all this companie:

But were he ferre or nere, I dare say this,

By night or day, for wisedome or follie,

His heart, which that is his brestes eie,

Was aie on her, that fairer was to seene

Than ever was Helein, or Polixene.

Eke of the day there passed not an hour,

Than to himselfe a thousand times he sayd,

God goodly, to whome I serve and labour

As I best can, now would to God Creseide

Ye woulden on me rue, er that I deide:

My dere heart alas, mine hele and my hew,

And life is lost, but ye woll on me rew.

All other dredes weren from him fled,

Both of thassiege, and his salvation,

Ne in desire none other founes bred,

But arguments to his conclusion,

That she on him would have compassion

And he to ben her man, while he may dure,

Lo here his life, and from his death his cure.

The sharpe showers fell of armes preve

That Hector or his other brethren didden

Ne made him onely therefore ones meve,

And yet was he, where so men went or ridden,

Found one the best, and lengest time abiden

There perill was, and eke did such travaile

In armes, that to thinke it was a marvaile.

But for none hate he to the Greekes had,

Ne also for the rescous of the toun,

Ne made him thus in armes for to mad,

But onely lo, for this conclusioun

To liken her the bet for his renoun,

Fro day to day in armes so he sped,

That all the Greekes as y• death him dred.

And fro this forth tho rest him love his slepe

And made his meate his foe, & eke his sorrow

Gan multiply, that who so tooke keepe,

It shewed in his hew both even and morow:

Therefore a title he gan him for to borow

Of other sickenesse, least men of him wend

That the hot fire of love him brend.

And sayd he had a fever, and fared amis,

But were it certaine I cannot sey

If that his Lady understood not this

Or fained her she nist, one of the twey:

But well rede I, that by no manner wey

Ne seemed it that she on him rought,

Or of his paine, what so ever he thought.

But then felt this Troilus such wo

That he was welnigh wood, for aie his drede

Was this, that she some wight loved so,

That never of him she would han take heed:

For which him thought he felt his hart bleed,

Ne of his woe ne durst he nought begin

To tellen her, for all this world to win.

But when he had a space left from his care,

Thus to himselfe full oft he gan to plaine:

He sayd, o foole now art thou in the snare,

That whilom yapedest at lovers pain:

* Now art thou hent, now gnaw thine own chain

Thou wert aie woned ech lover reprehend

Of thing fro wch thou canst not thee defend.

What woll now every lover saine of thee,

If this be wist? But ever in thine absence

Laughen in scorn, and saine, lo there goeth he

That is the man of great sapience,

That held us lovers least in reverence:

* Now thanked be God, he may gon on that daunce

Of hem that love lift feebly avaunce.

But o, thou wofull Troilus, God would,

(Sith thou must loven, through thy destine)

[Page] That thou beset wer of soch one, that should

Know all thy wo, all lacked her pitee:

But all too cold in love towards thee

Thy ladie is, as frost in Winter Moone,

And thou fordo, as Snow in fire is soone.

God would I were arrived in the port

Of death, to which my sorow woll me lede:

Ah Lord, to me it were a great comfort,

Then were I quite of languishing in drede:

For by my hidde sorow iblowe in brede,

I shall beiaped been a thousand time,

More than that foole, of whose folly men rime.

But now help God, & ye my sweet, for whom

I plaine, icought ye never wight so fast:

O mercie deare hart, and helpe me from

The death, for I, while that my life may last,

More than my selfe woll love you to my last,

And with some frendly look gladeth me swete,

Though nevermore thing ye to me behete.

These words, and full many another mo

He spake, and called ever in his compleint

Her name, for to tellen her his wo,

Till nigh that he in salt teares was dreint,

All was for nought, she heard nat his pleint:

And when that he bethought on that follie,

A thousand fold his woe gan multiplie.

Bewailing in his chamber thus alone,

A friend of his, that called his Pandare,

Came ones in vnware, and heard him grone,

And saw his friend in such distresse and care:

Alas (qd. he) who causeth all this fare?

O mercy God, what vnhappe may this mene?

Han now thus sone y• Greeks made you lene?

Or hast thou some remorse of conscience?

And art now fall in some devotion,

And wailest for thy sinne and thine offence,

And hast for ferde cought contrition?

God save hem, that besieged han our toun,

That so can laie our iollitie on presse,

And bring our lustie folke to holynesse.

These words said he for y• nones all,

That with such thing he might him angry maken

And with his anger done his sorrow fall,

As for a time, and his courage awaken:

But well wist he, as far as tongues speaken,

There nas a man of greater hardinesse

Than he, ne more desired worthinesse.

What cas (qd. Troilus) or what aventure

Hath guided thee to seen me languishing,

That am refuse of everie creature?

But for the love of God, at me praying

Goe hence away, for certes my dying,

Woll thee disease, and I mote needs deie,

Therefore goe way, there nis no more to seie.

But if thou wene, I be thus sick for drede,

It is not so, and therefore scorne nought:

There is an other thing I take of hede,

Wel more than ought y• grekes han yet wrouȝt

Which cause is of my deth for sorow & thouȝt:

But though that I now tell it thee ne lest,

Be thou not wroth, I hide it for the best.

This Pandare, yt nigh malt for wo & routh

Full often sayed alas, what may this be?

Now friend (qd. he) if ever love or trouth

Hath been er this betwiren thee and me,

Ne doe thou never such a cruelte,

To hiden fro thy friend so great a care,

Wost thou not well that I am Pandare?

I woll parten with thee all thy paine,

If it so be I doe thee no comfort

* As it is friends right, sooth for to saine,

To enterparten woe, as glad disport

I have and shall, for true or false report

In wrong and right loved thee all my live,

Hide not thy woe fro me, but tell it blive.

Then gan this sorrowfull Troilus to sike,

And layd him thus, God leve it be my best

To tellen thee, for sith it may thee like,

Yet woll I tell it, though my heart brest,

And well wote I, thou maiest do me no rest,

But least thou deeme I trust not to thee

Now heark friend, for thus it stant with me.

Love, ayenst the which who so defendeth

Him selven most, him alder lest availeth,

With dispaire so sorrowfully me offendeth

That straight vnto yt death my hart faileth:

Thereto desire, so b [...]enningly me assaileth,

That to been slaine, it were a greater ioy

To me, than King of Grece be and of Troy.

Suffiseth this, my full friend Pandare,

That I have said, for now wotest thou my wo:

And for the love of God my cold care

So hide it well, I told it never to mo:

For harmes mighten followen mo than two

If it were wist, but be thou in gladnesse,

And let me sterve unknowne of my distresse.

How hast thou thus vnkindly and long

Hid this fro me, thou fool? (qd. Pandarus)

Peraventure thou maist after such one long,

That mine a vise anone may helpen vs:

This were a wonder thing (qd. Troilus)

Thou couldest never in love thy selfen wisse,

How divell maiest thou bringen me to blisse.

Ye Troilus, now hearken (qd. Pandare)

Though I be nice, it happeth often so,

That one that of ares doeth full evil fare,

By good counsail can keep his frend therfro:

I have my selfe seen a blinde man go

There as he fell, that could looken wide,

* A foole may eke a wise man oft guide.

* A whetstone is no carving instrument,

But yet it maketh sharpe kerving tolis,

And after thou wost yt I have aught miswent,

Eschue thou that, for such thing to schole is,

* Thus often wise men bewaren by foolis:

If thou so doe, thy wit is well bewared,

* By his contrarie is everie thing declared.

[Page] For how might ever sweetnesse have be know

To him, that never tasted bitternesse?

No man wot what gladnesse is I trow,

That never was in sorrow, or some distresse:

Eke white by blacke, by shame eke worthines

Each set by other, more for other seemeth,

As men may seen, & so the wise it deemeth.

Sith thus of two contraries is o lore,

* I that have in Love so oft assayed,

Greuaunces, ought connen well the more

Counsailen thee, of that thou art dismayed,

And eke the ne ought not been euill apaied,

Though I desire with thee for to beare

Thine heauie charge, it shall thee lasse deare.

I wote well that it fared thus by me,

As to thy brother Paris, an hierdesse,

Which that icleped was Oenone,

Wrote in a complaint of her heauinesse:

Ye saw the letter that she wrote I gesse:

Nay never yet iwis (qd. Troilus)

Now (qd. Pandare) hearkeneth it was thus.

Phebus, that first found art of medicine,

(Qd. she) and coud in euerie wightes care

Remedie and rede, by herbes he knew fine,

Yet to himselfe his cunning was full bare,

For love had him so bounden in a snare,

All for the daughter of king Admete,

That all his craft ne coud his sorrow bete.

Right so fare I, vnhappie for me,

I love one best, and that me smerteth sore:

And yet peraventure I can reden thee

And nat my selfe: repreue me no more,

I have no cause I wote well for to sore,

As doeth an hauke, that listeth for to play,

But to thine helpe, yet somewhat can I say.

And of o thing, right siker mayest thou be,

That certaine, for to dyen in the paine

That I shall never mo discover thee,

Ne by my trouth, I keepe nat to restraine

Thee fro thy love, although it were Helleine,

That is thy brothers wife, if iche it wist,

Be what she be, and love her as thee list.

Therefore as friendfullich in me assure,

And tell me platte, what is thine encheson,

And finall cause of woe, that ye endure:

For doubteth nothing, mine entention

Nas not to you of reprehension

* To speake, as now, for no wight may bereue

A man to love, till that him list to leue.

And weteth well, that both two been vicis,

Mistrusten all, or else all beleue:

But well I wote, the meane of it no vice is,

As for to trusten some wight is a preue

Of trouth, & for thy, would I faine remeue

Thy wrong conceit, & do the some wight trust

Thy woe to tell: and tell me if thou lust.

The wise eke sayth, woe him y• is alone,

For and he fall, he hath [...]one helpe to rise:

And sith thou hast a fellow, tell thy mone,

For this nis nought certaine the next wise

To winnen love, as teachen vs the wise,

To wallow and weep, as Niobe ye Queene,

Whose teares yet in marble been iseene.

Let be thy weeping, and thy drerinesse,

And let vs lesen woe, with other speech,

So may thy wofull time seeme the lesse,

Delight nought in woe, thy woe to seech,

As doen these fooles, that her sorrowes eche

With sorrowe, when they han misaventure,

And lusten nought to sechen other cure.

* Men saine, to wretch is consolation

To have another fellow in his paine,

That ought well been our opinion,

For both thou and I of love doe plaine,

So full of sorrow am I, sooth to saine,

That certainly, as now no more hard grace

May sit on me, for why there is no space.

If God woll, thou art nought agast of me,

Least I would of thy Ladie thee beguile:

Thou wost thy selfe, whom that I love parde

As I best can, gone sithen long while,

And sithen thou wost, I doe it for no wile,

And sith I am he, that thou trusteth most,

Tell me somwhat, since all my woe thou wost.

Yet Troilus, for all this no word said,

But long he lay still, as he dead were,

And after this, with siking he abraid,

And to Pandarus voice he lent his eare,

And vp his eyen cast he: and then in feare

Was Pandarus least that in frenseye,

He should either fall or else soone deye.

And sayd awake, full wonderlich & sharpe.

What slumbrest thou, as in a litergie?

Or art thou like an Asse to the harpe,

That heareth sound, when men y• strings ply?

But in his mind, of that no melodie

May sinke him to gladen, for that he

So dull is, in his beastialite.

And with this Pandare of his words stent:

But Troilus to him nothing answerde,

For why, to tell was nought his entent

Never to no man, for whome yt he so ferde:

* For it is sayd, men maken oft a yerde

With which the maker is himselfe ibeten

In sundrie manner, as these wise men treten.

And nameliche in his counsaile telling,

That toucheth Love, that ought been secre:

For of himselfe it woll inough out spring

But if that it the bet gouerned be.

* Eke sometime it is craft to seeme flee

Fro thing which in effect men hunten fast:

All this gan Troilus in his heart cast.

But natheles, when he had heard him crie,

Awake he gan, and sike wonder sore:

And sayd my friend, though that I still lie,

I am not deefe, now peace & crie no more:

For I have heard thy wordes and thy lore,

[Page] But suffer me my Fortune to bewailen,

For thy proverbs may nought me availen.

Nor other cure canst thou none for me

Eke I nill not been cured, I woll die:

What know I of the Queene Niobe?

Let be thine old ensamples, I thee prey.

No friend (qd. Pandarus) therfore I sey,

* Such is delight of fooles to beweepe

Her woe, but to seeken bote they ne keepe.

Now know I that reason in thee faileth:

But tell me, if I wist what she were

For whome that thee all misaventure aileth,

Durst thou that I told it in her eare

Thy woe, sith thou darst not thy self for fear,

And her besought on thee to han some routh?

Why nay (qd. he) by God and by my trouth.

What, not as busily (qd. Pandarus)

As though mine owne life lay in this need:

Why no parde sir (qd. this Troilus)

And why? for that thou shouldest never speed:

Wost thou that well? ye that is out of dreed,

(Qd. Troilus) for all that ever ye conne,

She woll to no such wretch as I be wonne.

(Qd. Pandarus) alas what may this be,

That thou dispaired art, thus causelesse,

What, liveth nat thy Ladie, benedicite?

How wost thou so, that thou art gracelesse,

Such evill is not alway botelesse:

Why put not impossible thus thy cure,

* Sith thing to come is oft in aventure.

I graunt well that thou endurest wo,

As sharpe as doth he Tesiphus in hell,

Whose stomacke foules tiren evermo,

That highten vultures, as bookes tell:

But I may not endure that thou dwell

In so unskilfull an opinion,

That of thy woe nis no curation.

But ones nill thou, for thy coward heart,

And for thine yre, and foolish wilfulnesse,

For wantrust tellen of thy sorrowes smert,

Ne to thine owne helpe do businesse,

As much as speake a word, yea more or lesse,

But lyest as he that of life nothing retch,

What woman living coud love such a wretch?

What may she demen other of thy death,

If thou thus die, and she not why it is,

But that for feare, is yolden vp thy breath,

For Greekes han besieged vs iwis:

Lord which a thank shalt thou have than of this

Thus woll she saine, and all the toun atones,

The wretch is deed, the divel have his bones.

Thou mayest alone here weep, cry, & knele,

* And love a woman yt she wote it nought,

And she will quite it that thou shalt not feel:

* Vnknow vnkist, and lost that is vnsought.

What, many a man hath love full dere ibouȝt

Twentie winter that his Ladie ne wist,

That never yet his Ladies mouth he kist.

What, should he therfore fallen in dispair?

Or he receaunt for his owne tene,

Or slaine himselfe, all be his Ladie faire?

Nay nay: but ever in one be fresh and green,

To serve and love his dere hearts queen,

And thinke it is a guerdone her to serve

A thousand part more than he can deserve.

And of that word tooke heede Troilus,

And thought anon, what folly he was in,

And how that sooth him sayd Pandarus,

That for to-slaien himselfe might he not win,

But both doen vnmanhood and a sinne

And of his death his Ladie nought to wite,

For of his woe, God wote she knew full lite.

And with that thought, he gan full sore sike,

And sayd, alas, what is me best to doe?

To whome Pandare sayed, if thee it like,

The best is, that thou tell me thy woe,

And have my trouth, but if thou finde it so

I be thy boote, or it been full long,

To peeces doe me drawe, and sithen hong.

Yea, so sayest thou (qd. Troilus) alas,

But God wote it is nought the rather so:

Full hard it were to helpen in this caas,

For well finde I, that fortune is my fo:

Ne all the men that ride con or go,

May of her cruell whele the harme withstond

For as her list, she playeth with free and bond.

(Qd. Pandarus) then blamest thou fortune,

For thou art wroth, ye now at earst I see

Wost thou not well y• Fortune is commune

To everie manner wight, in some degree?

And yet thou hast this comfort, lo parde,

That as her ioyes moten overgone,

So mote her sorrowes passen everichone.

For if her whele stint, any thing to tourne,

Then cesseth she fortune anone to be:

Now sith her whele by no way may soiourn,

What wost thou of her mutabilitie.

Whether as thy self lust she woll don by thee

Or that she be nought ferre fro thine helping:

Peraventure thou hast cause for to sing.

And therfore wost thou what, I thee beseech,

Let be thy woe, and tourning to the ground:

* For who so list have healing of his leech,

To him behooveth first vnwrie his wound:

To Cerberus in hell aie be I bound,

Wer it for my suster all thy sorrow,

By my will she should be thine to morrow.

Looke vp I say, and tell me what she is

Anone, that I may gone about thy need:

Know ich her aught, for my love tell me this,

Then would I hope rather for to speed:

Tho gan the veine of Troilus to bleed,

For he was hit, and woxe all redde for shame,

Aha (qd. Pandara) here beginneth game.

And with that word, he gan him for to shake,

And sayd him thus, thou shalt her name tell:

[Page] But tho gan sely Troilus for to quake,

As though men should han had him into hell,

And sayed alas, of all my woe the well,

Than is my sweet foe called Creseide,

And well nigh with y• word for feare he deide.

And when y• Pandare herd her name neven

Lord he was glad, and saied, friend so deere,

Now fare a right, for Ioves name in heaven,

Love hath beset thee well, be of good cheere,

For of good name, and wisdome, and manere

She hath inough, and eke of gentlenesse,

If she be faire, thou wost thy selfe, I gesse.

Ne never seie I a more bounteous

Of her estate, ne a gladder: ne of speech

A friendlyer, ne more gracious

For to doe well, ne lasse had ned to seech

What for to doen, and all this bet to ech

In honour, to as farre as she may stretch

* A kinges heart seemeth by hers a wretch.

And for thy, look of good comfort thou be:

For certainely the first point is this

Of noble courage, and well ordaine the

A man to have peace within himselfe iwis:

So oughtest thou, for nought but good it is,

* To loven well, and in a worthy place,

Thee ought not clepe it happe, but grace.

And also thinke, and therewith glad thee,

That sith the Ladie vertuous is all

So followeth it, that there is some pitee

Amonges all these other in generall,

And for they see that thou in speciall

Require nought, that is ayen her name,

* For vertue stretcheth not himself to shame.

But well is me, that ever I was born,

That thou beset art in so good a place:

For by my trouth in love I durst have sworn,

Thee should never have tidde so fair a grace,

And wost thou why? for thou were wont to chace

At love in scorne, & for dispite him call

* Saint Idiote, lord of these fooles all.

How often hast thou made thy nice yapes,

And saied, that loves servaunts overichone

* Of nicete, ben verie Goddes Apes,

And some would monche her meat all alone,

Ligging a bed, and make hem for to grone,

And some thou saidest had a blaunch fevere,

And praidest God, they should never kevere.

And some of hem, took on hem for the cold,

More than inough, so saydest thou full oft:

And some han fained oft time and told,

How that they waken, when they sleepe soft,

And thus they would have set hem self a loft,

And nathelesse were vnder at the last,

Thus saydest thou, and yapedest full fast.

Yet saydest thou, that for the more part,

These Lovers would speake in generall,

And thoughten it was a siker art,

For sailing, for to assayen over all:

Now may I yape of thee, if that I shall.

But nathelesse, though that I should deie,

Thou art none of tho, I dare well seie.

Now bete thy brest, & say to God of love,

Thy grace Lord, for now I me repent

If I misspake, for now my selfe, I love:

Thus say with all thine heart, in good entent,

(Qd. Troilus) ah Lord, I me consent,

And pray to thee, my yapes thou foryeve,

And I shall never more while I live.

Thou sayst wel (qd. Pandare) & now I hope

That thou y• goddes wrath hast all appeased:

And sith thou hast wepten many a drop,

And said such thing wherwith thy God is plesed,

Now would never God, but thou were eased:

* And think well she, of whom rest all thy wo,

Here after may thy comfort been also.

* For thilk ground, y• beareth y• wedes wick

Beareth eke these holsome herbs, as full oft:

Next the foule nettle, rough and thick,

The Rose wexeth, soote, smooth, and soft,

* And next the valey is the hill a loft,

And next the derke night the glad morowe,

And also ioy is next the fine of sorrow.

Now looke that attempre be thy bridell,

And for the best aie suffer to the tide,

Or else all our labour is on idell,

* He hasteth well, that wisely can abide:

Be diligent and true, and aie well hide,

Be lustie, free, persever in thy servise,

And all is well, if thou worke in this wise.

* But he that departed is in everie place

Is no where hole, as writen Clerkes wise:

What wonder is, if such one have no grace?

Eke wost thou how it fareth of some service,

* As plant a tree or herbe, in sondrie wise,

And on the morrow pull it vp as blive,

No wonder is, though it may never thrive.

And sith y• God of love hath thee bestowed

In place digne vnto thy worthinesse,

* Stond fast, for to good port hast thou rowed,

And of thy selfe, for any heavinesse,

Hope alwaie well, for but if drerinesse.

Or over hast both our labour shend,

I hope of this to maken a good end.

And wost thou why, I am the lasse afered

Of this matter, with my nece to trete?

For this have I heard say of wise lered,

Was never man or woman yet beyete,

That was vnapt to suffer loves hete

Celestiall, or els love of kind:

For thy, some grace I hope in her to find.

And for to speake of her in speciall,

Her beautie to bethinken, and her youth,

It sit her nought, to been celestiall

As yet, though that her list both and kouth:

And truely it sit her well right nouth,

A worthy knight to loven and cherice,

And but she doe, I hold it for a vice.

Wherefore I am, and woll be aye ready

To paine me to doe you this service:

[Page] For both you to please, this hope I

Here after, for that ye been both wise,

And con counsaile keepe in such a wise,

That no man shall the wiser of it bee,

And so we may ben gladded all three.

And by my trouth I have right now of thee

A good conceit, in my wit as I gesse:

And what it is, I woll now that thou see,

I thinke that sith Love of his goodnesse,

Hath thee conuerted out of wickednesse,

That thou shalt been the best post, I leue,

Of all his lay, and most his foes greue.

Ensample why, see now these great clerkes,

That erren aldermost ayen a law,

And ben conuerted from her wicked werkes

Throgh grace of god, y• lest hem to withdraw:

They arne the folke y• han god most in aw,

And strengest faithed been I vnderstond,

And con an errour alder best withstond.

When Troilus had herd Pandare assented

To ben his helpe in loving of Creseide,

He wext of his wo, as who saith vnturmented,

But hotter wext his love, and then he said

With sober chere, as though his hart plaid:

Now blisfull Venus helpe, ere that I sterue,

Of thee Pandare I mow some thank deserue.

But dere friend, how shall my wo be lesse,

Till this be done? & good eke tell me this,

How wilt thou saine of me and my distresse,

Least she be wroth, this drede I most iwis,

Or woll not heren all, how it is,

All this drede I, and eke for the manere

Of thee her Eme, she nill no such thing here.

(Qd. Pandarus) thou hast a full great care,

* Lest the chorle may fall out of the moone:

Why lord? I hate of thee the nice fare.

Why entremete of that thou hast to doone

For Gods love, I bid thee a boone:

So let me alone, and it shall be thy best.

Why frend (qd. he) then done right as thee lest.

But herke Pandare o word, for I nolde,

That thou in me wendest so great follie,

That to my lady I desiren should,

That toucheth harme, or any villanie:

For dredelesse me were leuer to die,

Than she of me ought els vnderstood,

But that, that might sownen into good.

Tho lough this Pandarus & anon answerd:

And I thy borow, fie no wight doth but so,

I raught not though she stood and herd,

How that thou saiest, but farwell I woll go:

Adieu, be glad, God speed vs both two,

Yeue me this labour and this businesse,

And of my speed be thine all the sweetnesse.

Tho Troilus gan doune on knees to fall,

And Pandare in his armes hent fast,

And said, now fie on the Greekes all:

Yet parde, God shall helpen at last,

And dredelesse, if that my life may last,

And God toforne, lo some of hem shall smerte,

And yet me a thinketh yt this auaunt masterte.

And now Pandare, I can no more say,

Thou wise, thou wost, thou maist, thou art all:

My life, my death, hole in thine hond I say,

Help me now (qd. he.) Yes by my trouth I shal:

God yeeld thee friend, and this in speciall

(Qd. Troilus) that thou me recommaund

To her that may me to y• death commaund.

This Pandarus tho, desirous to serve

His full friend, he said in this manere:

Farwell, & think I wol thy thanke deserve.

Have here my trouth, & that thou shalt here,

And went his way, thinking on this matere,

And how he best might beseechen her of grace,

And find a time thereto and a place.

* For every wight yt hath a house to found,

He renneth nat the werke for to begin,

With rakel hond, but he woll biden stound,

And send his hearts line out fro within,

Alder first his purpose for to win:

All thus Pandare in his heart thought,

And cast his werke full wisely ere he wrought.

But Troilus lay tho no lenger doun,

But anone gat vpon his stede baie,

And in the field he played the Lioun,

Wo was ye Greek, that with him met y• daye:

And in the toune, his manner tho forth aye

So goodly was, and gat him so in grace,

That eche him loved that looked in his face.

For he became the friendliest wight,

The gentilest, and eke the most free,

The thriftiest, and one the best knight

That in his time was, or els might be:

Dead were his yapes and his cruelte,

His high port and his manner straunge,

And each of hem gan for a vertue chaunge.

Now let vs stint of Troilus a stound,

That fareth like a man that hurt is sore,

And is some dele of a king of his wound

Ylessed well, but healed no dele more:

And as an easie patient the lore

Abite of him that goeth about his cure,

And thus he driueth forth his aventure.

Explicit liber primus.

2

§

OVt of these black wawes let vs for to sail,

O wind, now the weather ginneth clere:

For in the sea the boate hath such trauaile

Of my conning, that vnneth I it stere:

This sea clepe I the tempestous matere

Of deepe dispaire, that Troilus was in:

But now of hope the kalends begin.

O lady mine, that called art Cleo,

Thou be my spede fro this forth, & my muse

To rime well this booke till I have do,

Me needeth here none other art to vse:

For why to every lover I me excuse,

[Page] That of no sentement I this endite,

But out of latine in my tongue it write.

Wherefore I nil have neither thank ne blame

Of all this worke: but pray you mekely,

Disblameth me, if any word be lame,

For as mine authour said, so say I:

Eke though I speake of love vnfeelingly,

No wonder is, for it nothing of new is,

* A blind man cannot judgen well in hewis.

I know, y• in forme of speech is change

Within a thousand yere, and words tho

That hadden prise, now wonder nice & strange

Thinketh hem, and yet they spake hem so,

And spedde as well in love, as men now do:

* Eke for to winnen love, in sundry ages,

In sundry londs sundry ben vsages.

And for thy, if it happe in any wise,

That here be any lover in this place,

That herkeneth, as the story woll devise,

How Troilus came to his ladies grace,

And thinketh, so nolde I not love purchase,

Or wondreth on his speech or his doing,

I not, but it is to me no wondring:

* For every wight, which y• to Rome went,

Halt nat o pathe, ne alway o manere:

Eke in some lond were all the gamen shent,

If that men farde in love, as men done here,

As thus, in open doing or in chere,

In visiting, in forme, or said our saws,

* For thy men sain, ech country hath his laws.

Eke scarsely ben there in this place three,

That have in love said like, and done in all:

For to this purpose this may liken thee,

And thee right nought, yet all is done or shall:

* Eke some men graue intre, som in stone wall,

As it betide, but sith I have begonne,

Mine authour shall I follow, as I konne.

Explicit Prohemium.

§

IN May, y• mother is of moneths glade,

That y• fresh floures, both blew, white, & rede

Ben quick ayen, that winter dead made,

And full of baume is fleting every mede,

When Phebus doth her bright beams spred,

Right in the white Bole, it so betidde,

As I shall sing, on Maies day the thridde,

That Pandarus for all his wise speach,

Felt eke his part of loves shottes kene,

That coud he never so well of loving preach,

It made his hew a day full oft grene:

So shope it, that him fill that day a tene

In love, for which in wo to bed he went,

And made ere it were day full many a went.

The swallow Progne, with a sorowfull lay

When morow come, gan make hir waimenting

Why she forshapen was: and ever lay

Pandare a bed, halfe in a slombering,

Till she so nigh him made her waimenting,

How Tereus gan forth her suster take,

That with the noise of her he gan awake,

And to call, and dresse him vp to rise,

Remembring him his arrand was to done

From Troilus, and eke his great emprise,

And cast, & knew in good plite was y• moone

To done voiage, and tooke his way full soone

Vnto his neces paleis there beside:

Now Ianus God of entre, thou him guide.

When he was come vnto his neces place,

Where is my lady, to her folke (qd. he)

And they him told, and he forth in gan pace,

And found two other ladies sit and shee,

Within a paued parlour, and they three

Herden a maiden hem reden the geste

Of the siege of Thebes, while hem leste:

(Qd. Pandarus) madame God you see

With your booke, and all the companie:

Eigh vncle mine, welcome iwis (qd. shee)

And vp she rose, and by the hond in hie,

She tooke him fast, and said, this night thrie,

To good mote it turne, of you I met,

And with ye word, she downe on bench him set.

Yea nece, ye shull faren well the bet,

If God woll, all this yeare (qd. Pandarus)

But I am sorry that I have you let

To hearken of your booke, ye praisen thus:

For Gods love what saith it, tell it vs,

Is it of love, or some good ye me lere?

Vncle (qd. she) your maistresse is nat here.

With yt they gonnen laugh, & tho she seide,

This romaunce is of Thebes, that we rede,

And we have heard how y• king Laius deide:

Through Edippus his sonne, & al the dede:

And here we stinten, at these letters rede,

How the bishop, as the booke can tell,

Amphiorax, fell through the ground to hell.

(Qd. Pandarus) all this know I my selue,

And all thassiege of Thebes, and the care,

For hereof ben there maked bookes twelue:

But let be this, and tell me how ye fare,

Do way your barbe, & shew your face bare,

Do way your book, rise vp and let vs daunce,

And let vs to done to May some obseruaunce.

Eighe, God forbid (qd. she) be ye mad?

Is that a widdowes life, so God you save?

By God ye maken me right sore adrad,

Ye ben so wild, it seemeth as ye raue,

* It sat me well bet aye in a caue

To bide, and rede on holy saints liues:

Let maidens gon to daunce, & yong wiues.

As ever thriue I (qd. this Pandarus)

Yet could I tell o thing, to done you play:

Now vncle dere (qd. she) tell it vs

For Gods love, is then thassiege awey?

I am of Greekes ferde, so that I dey:

Nay, nay (qd. he) as ever mote I thriue,

It is a thing well bet than such fiue.

[Page]

Ye holy God (qd. she) what thing is that,

What bet than such five? eighe nay iwis,

For all this world ne can I reden what

It should ben some iape I trow it is,

And but your selven tell us what it is,

My wit is for to arede it all to leane:

As helpe me God, I not what that ye meane:

And I your borow, ne never shall (qd. he)

This thing be told to you, as mote I thrive:

And why uncle mine, why so (qd. she)

By God (qd. he) that woll I tell as blive,

For prouder woman is there none on live,

And ye it wist, in all the toune of Troy:

I iape nat, so ever have I joy.

Tho gan she wondren more than before,

A thousand fold, and downe her eyen cast:

For never sith the time that she was bore,

To knowen thing desired she so fast,

And with a sike, she said him at the last,

Now uncle mine, I nill you not displease,

Nor asken more, that may do you disease.

So after this, with many words glade,

And friendly tales, and with merry chere,

Of this & that they speake, and gonnen wade

In many an unkouth glad & deepe matere,

As friends done, when they bethe ifere,

Till she gan asken him how Hector ferde,

That was the tounes wall, & Greekes yerde.

Full wel I thanke it God, said Pandarus,

Save in his arme he hath a little wound,

And eke his fresh brother Troilus,

The wise worthy Hector the secound,

In whom that every vertue list habound,

And first all trouth, and all gentlenesse,

Wisedom, honour, freedom, and worthinesse.

In good faith eme (qd. she) that liketh me,

They faren well, God save hem both two:

* For trewliche, I hold it great deintie,

A kinges sonne in armes well to do,

And be of good conditions thereto.

* For great power, and morall vertue here

Is selde iseene in one persone ifere.

In good faith that is sooth (qd. Pandarus)

But by my trouth ye king hath sonnes twey,

That is to meane, Hector and Troilus,

That certainly though that I should dey,

They ben as void of vices, dare I sey,

As any men that liven under sunne,

Her might is wide iknow, & what they conne.

Of Hector needeth it no more for to tell,

In all this world, there nis a better knight,

Than he that is of worthinesse the well,

And he well more vertue hath than might,

This knoweth many a wise & worthy knight:

And the same prise of Troilus I sey,

God helpe me so, I know not such twey.

By God (qd. she) of Hector that is sooth,

And of Troilus the same thing trow I:

For dredelesse, men telleth that he dooth

In armes day by day, so worthely,

And beareth him here at home so gently

To every wight, that all prise hath he,

Of hem that me were levest praised be.

Ye say right sooth iwis (qd. Pandarus)

For yesterday, who so had with him been,

Mighten have wondred upon Troilus,

For never yet so thicke a swarme of been,

Ne flew, as Greekes from him gan fleen,

And through the field in every wights eare,

There was no crie, but Troilus is there.

Now here, now there, he hunted hem so fast,

There nas but Greekes blood, and Troilus,

Now him he hurt, and him all doun he cast,

Aye where he went it was arraied thus:

He was her death, and shield and life for us,

That as yt day ther durst him none withstond,

While yt he held his bloody swerd in hond:

Thereto he is the friendliest man

Of great estate, that ever I saw my live:

And where him list, best fellowship can

To such as him thinketh able for to thrive,

And with that word, tho Pandarus as blive

He tooke his leave, and said I woll gon hen:

Nay, blame have I uncle (qd. she then.)

What eileth you to be weary thus soone,

And nameliche of women, woll ye so?

Nay sitteth doune, by God I haue to done

With you, to speake of wisedom er ye go,

And every wight that was about hem tho,

That heard that, gan ferre away to stond,

While they two had all yt hem list in hond.

When yt her tale all brought was to an end

Of her estate, and of her governaunce,

(Qd. Pandarus) now time is that I wend,

But yet I say, ariseth let us daunce,

And cast your widdows habit to mischaunce:

What list you thus your selfe to disfigure,

Sith you is tidde so glad an aventure:

But well bethought: for love of God (qd. she)

Shal I not weten what ye meane of this?

No, this thing asketh leaser tho (qd. he)

And eke me would full much greve iwis:

If I it told, and ye it tooke amis:

Yet were it bette my tongue to hold still,

Than say a sooth, that were ayenst your will.

For nece mine, by the goddesse Minerve,

And Iupiter, that maketh the thunderring,

And the blisfull Venus, that I serve,

Ye ben the woman in this world living

Withouten paramours, to my weting,

That I best love, and lothest am to greve,

And that ye weten well your selfe, I leve.

Iwis mine uncle (qd. she) graunt mercy,

Your friendship have I founden ever yet,

I am to no man beholden truely

So much as you, and have so little quit:

And with the grace of God, emforth my wit

[Page] As in my guilt, I shall you never offend,

And if I have ere this, I woll amend.

But for the love of God I you beseech

As ye be he that I love most and trist,

Let be to me your fremed manner speech,

And say to me your nece what you list:

And with that word her uncle anon her kist,

And said, gladly my leve nece so dere,

Take it for good that I shall say you here.

With that she gan her eien doune to cast,

And Pandarus to cough gan a lite,

And said: Nece alway lo, to the last

How so it be, that some men hem delite

With subtle art her tales for tendite,

Yet for all that in her entention,

Her tale is all for some conclusion.

And sith the end is every tales strength,

And this matter is so behovely,

What should I paint it or drawen it on length

To you, that ben my friend so faithfully:

And with that word he gan right inwardly

Beholden her, and looken in her face,

And said, on such a mirrour much good grace.

Then thought he thus, if I my tale endite

Ought hard, or make a processe any while,

She shall no savour have therein but lite,

And trow I would her in my will beguile:

* For tender wittes wenen all be wile,

Whereas they con nat plainliche understond:

For thy her wit to serven woll I fond.

And looked on her in a busie wise,

And she was ware that he beheld her so:

Ah lord (qd. she) so fast ye me avise,

Saw ye me never ere now, what say ye no?

Yes, yes (qd. he) and bet woll ere I go:

But by my trouth I thought now, if ye

Be fortunate: for now men shall it see.

* For every wight some goodly aventure,

Sometime is shape, if he it can receiven:

But if he nill take of it no cure

When that it cometh, but wilfully it weiven:

Lo, neither case nor fortune him deceiven,

But right his own slouth & wretchednesse:

And such a wight is for to blame, I gesse.

Good aventure, O belie nece, have ye

Full lightly founden, and ye conne it take:

And for the love of God, and eke of me

Catch it anone, least aventure slake:

What should I lenger processe of it make,

Yeve me your hond, for in this world is non,

If that you list, a wight so well begon.

And sith I speake of good ententioun,

As I to you have told well here beforne

And love as well your honour and renoun,

As any creature in all the world iborne:

By all the othes that I have you sworne,

And ye be wroth therefore or wene I lie,

Ne shall I never seene you eft with eie.

Beth nat agast, ne quaketh nat, whereto?

Ne chaunge nat for fere so your hew,

For hardely the worst of this is do:

And though my tale as now be to you new,

Yet trust alway: ye shall me find true,

And were it thing that me thought unfitting,

To you would I no such tales bring.

Now my good Eme, for Gods love I prey,

(Qd. she) come off and tell me what it is:

For both I am agast what ye woll say,

And eke me longeth it to wit iwis:

For whether it be well, or be amis,

Say on let me not in this feare dwell.

So woll I done, now hearkeneth I shall tell:

Now nece mine, ye kings own dere sonne,

The good, wise, worthy, fresh, and free,

Which alway for to done well is his wonne,

The noble Troilus so loveth thee,

That but ye helpe, it woll his bane be,

Lo here is all, what should I more sey,

Doth what you list, to make him live or dey.

But if ye let him die, I woll sterven,

Have here my trouth, nece I nill not lien,

All should I with this knife my throte kerven:

With that the teares burst out of his eien,

And said, if that ye done us both dien

Thus guiltlesse, then have ye fished faire:

What mend ye, though yt we both apaire?

Alas, he which that is my lord so dere,

That trew man, that noble gentle knight,

That nought desireth but your frendly chere,

I see him dien, there he goeth upright:

And hasteth him with all his full might

For to ben slaine, if his fortune assent,

Alas that God you such a beautie sent.

If it be so that ye so cruell be,

That of his death you listeth nought to retch,

That is so trew and worthy as we see,

No more than of a yaper or a wretch,

If ye be such, your beaute may nat stretch,

To make amends of so cruell a dede:

* Avisement is good before the nede.

* Wo worth the faire gemme vertulesse,

Wo worth that hearbe also yt doth no bote,

Wo worth the beauty that is routhlesse,

Wo worth that wight y• trede ech under fote:

And ye that ben of beautie croppe and rote,

If therewithall in you ne be no routh,

Then is it harme ye liven by my trouth.

And also thinke well, that this is no gaud,

For me were lever, thou, I, and he

Were honged, than I should ben his baud,

As high as men might on us all isee:

I am thine Eme, the shame were to mee,

As well as thee, if that I should assent

Through mine abet, yt he thine honour shent.

Now understond, for I you nought requere

To bind you to him, through no behest,

[Page] Save onely that ye make him better chere

Than ye han done ere this, and more feast,

So that his life be saved at the least:

This is all and some, and plainly our entent,

God help me so, I never other ment.

Lo, this request is nought but skill iwis,

Ne doubt of reason parde is there none:

I set the worst, that ye dreden this,

Men would wonder to seen him come & gone:

There ayenst answere I thus anone,

That every wight, but he be foole of kind,

Woll deeme it love of frendship in his mind.

* What, who woll demen tho he see a man

To temple gone, that he the images eateth:

Thinke eke, how well and wisely that he can

Govern himselfe, that he nothing foryetteth,

That wher he cometh, he pris & thonk him geteth,

And eke thereto he shal come here so seld,

What force were it, thogh all y• toun beheld.

Such love of frends reigneth thorow al this toun:

And wrie you in that mantle ever mo,

And God so wis be my salvatioun

As I have sayd, your best is to do so:

But good nece, alway to stint his wo,

* So let your daunger sugred ben alite,

That of his death ye be not all to wite.

Creseide, which that herd him in this wise,

Thought, I shall felen wt he meaneth iwis:

Now Eme (qd. she) what would ye devise?

What is your rede, I should done of this?

That is well said (qd. he) certaine best is,

That ye him love ayen for his loving,

* As love for love is skilfull guerdoning.

Thinke eke how elde wasteth every hour

In each of you a part of beaute,

And therefore, ere that age thee devour,

Go love, for old there woll no wight of thee:

Let this proverbe, a lore unto you bee,

* Too late iware (qd. beaute) when it past,

And elde daunteth daunger, at the last.

The kings foole is wont to cry aloud,

When yt he thinketh a woman bereth her hie,

* So long mote ye liven, and all proud,

Till Crowes feet growen under your eie,

And send you then a mirrour in to prie,

In which that ye may see your face a morow,

Nece, I bid him wish you no more sorow.

With this he stint, and cast down y• head,

And she began to brest and wepe anone,

And said, alas for wo, why nere I dead,

For of this world the faith is all agone:

Alas, what shoulden straunge unto me done,

When he that for my best friend I wend,

Rate me to love, and should it me defend.

Alas, I would have trusted doubtles,

That if that I, through my disaventure

Had loved either him or Achilles,

Hector, or any other creature,

Ye nolde have had mercy ne measure

On me, but alway had me in repreve:

This false world alas, who may it leve.

What? is this all y• joy and all the feast?

Is this your rede? is this my blisfull caas?

Is this the very mede of your behest?

Is all this painted processe said (alas)

Right for this fine, O lady mine Pallas,

Thou in this dredefull case for me purvey,

For so astonied am I, that I dey.

With that she gan full sorrowfully to sike,

Ne may it be no bet (qd. Pandarus)

By God I shall no more come here this weke,

And God toforne, yt am mistrusted thus:

I see well now ye setten light of us,

Or of our death alas, I wofull wretch,

Might he yet live, of me were nought to retch.

O cruell God, O dispitous Marte,

O furies three of Hell, on you I crie,

So let me never out of this house depart,

If that I meant harme or villanie:

But sith I see my Lord mote needs die,

And I with him, here I me shrive and sey,

That wickedly ye done us both dey.

But sith it liketh you, that I be dead,

By Neptunus, that God is of the see,

Fro this forth shall I never eaten bread,

Till that I mine owne heart blood may see:

For certaine I woll die as soone as hee,

And up he stert, and on his way he raught,

Till she againe him by the lappe caught.

Creseide, which y• well nigh starf for feare,

So as she was the fearfullest wight

That might be, and heard eke with her eare,

And saw the sorowfull earnest of the knight,

And in his praier saw eke none unright,

And for the harme eke that might fall more,

She gan to rew and dread her wonder sore.

And thought thus, unhaps do fallen thicke

Alday for Love, and in such manner caas,

As men ben cruell in hemselfe and wicke:

And if this man slee here himselfe, alas,

In my presence, it nill be no sollas,

What men would of it deme I can nat say,

It needeth me full slighly for to play.

And with a sorowfull sigh, she said thrie,

Ah lord, what me is tidde a sorry chaunce,

For mine estate lieth in jeopardie,

And eke mine emes life lieth in ballaunce:

But nathelesse, with Gods governaunce

I shall so done, mine honour shall I keepe,

And eke his life, and stint for to weepe.

* Of harmes two, the lesse is for to chese,

Yet had I lever maken him good chere

In honour, than my emes life to lese.

Ye saine, ye nothing els me requere.

No wis (qd. he) mine owne nece so dere.

Now well (qd. she) and I woll done my paine,

I shall mine heart ayen my lust constraine.

[Page]

But that I nill nat holden him in hond,

Ne love a man, that can I naught ne may

Ayenst my will, but els woll I fonde,

Mine honour save, plesen him fro day to day,

Thereto nolde I not ones have said nay,

But that I dredde, as in my fantasie:

* But cesse cause, aie cesseth maladie.

But here I make a protestacion

That in this processe if ye deper go,

That certainly, for no salvacion

Of you, though that ye sterven both two,

Though all the world on o day be my fo,

Ne shall I never on him have other routhe:

I graunt wel (qd. Pandare) by my trouthe.

But may I trust well to you (qd. he)

That of this thing yt ye han hight me here

Ye woll it holde truely unto me:

Ye doubtlesse (qd. she) mine uncle dere,

Ne that I shall have cause in this matere

(Qd. he) to plain, or ofter you to preach:

Why no parde, what nedeth more speach.

Tho fill they in other tales glade

Till at the last, O good Eme (qd. she tho)

For love of God which that us both made,

Tell me how first ye wisten of his wo,

Wot none of it but ye? he said no:

Can he well speake of love (qd. she) I preie?

Tell me, for I the bet shall me purveie.

Tho Pandarus a litel gan to smile

And saied: By my trouth I shall now tell,

This other daie, nat gon full long while,

Within the paleis gardin by a well

Gan he and I, well halfe a day to dwell,

Right for to speaken of an ordinaunce,

How we the Grekes mighten disavaunce.

Sone after that we gone for to lepe,

And casten with our dartes to and fro:

Till at the last, he saied, he would slepe,

And on the grasse adoune he laied him tho,

And I after gan to romen to and fro,

Till that I heard, as I walked alone,

How he began full wofully to grone.

Tho gan I stalke him softly behind,

And sikerly the sothe for to saine,

As I can clepe ayen now to my mind,

Right thus to love he gan him for to plain,

He saied: Lorde, have routh vpon my pain,

All have I been rebell in mine entent,

Now (Mea culpa) Lord I me repent.

O God, that at thy disposicion

Ledest the [...]ine, by just purveiaunce

Of every wight, my lowe confession

Accept in gree, and sende me soche penaunce

As liketh thee, put from me disperaunce,

That may my ghost departe alway fro the,

Thou be my shilde for thy benignite.

For certes lord, so sore hath she me wounded,

That stode in blacke, with loking of her iyen,

That to mine hartes botome it is ifounded,

Through which I wot, yt I must nedes dien:

This is the worst, I dare me nouȝt bewrien.

* And well the hoter beene the gledes rede

That men wrien, with ashen pale & dede.

With that he smote his hede adoune anone,

And gan to muttre, I nat what truely:

And I with that gan still a waie to gone,

And lete thereof, as nothing wist had I,

And come again anon, and stode him by,

And saied awake, ye slepen all to long,

It semeth me nought yt love doth you wrong

That stepen so, yt no man may you wake:

Who seie ever er this so dull a man.

Ye frende (qd. he) doe ye your heddes ake

For love, and let me liven as I can:

But lorde that he for wo was pale and wan,

Yet made he tho as freshe a countenaunce,

As though he should have led ye newe daunce.

This passed forth, till now this other daie,

It fell that I come roming all alone

Into his chambre, & found how that he laie

Vpon his bedde: but man so sore grone

Ne heard I never, and what was his mone

Ne wist I nought, for as I was comming

All sodainly, he left his complaining.

Of which I toke somwhat suspection

And nere I come, and found him wepe sore,

And God so wise be my saluacion,

As never of thing had I no routh more:

For neither with engine, ne with no lore,

Vnnethes might I fro the death him kepe,

That yet fele I mine harte for him wepe.

And God wote never sith that I was borne

Was I so busie no man for to preach,

Ne never was to wight so depe sworne,

Er he me told who might be his leach:

But not to you rehearsen all his speach,

Or all his wofull wordes for to sowne,

Ne bid me nought, but ye woll se me swone.

But for to save his life, and els nought,

And to non harme of you, thus am I driven:

And for the love of God that vs hath wrouȝt,

Soche chere him doth, that he & I may liven.

Now have I plat to you mine hart shriven,

And sith ye wote that mine entent is cleane

Take heede thereof, for none evill I meane.

And right good thrift, I pray to God have ye,

That han soch one icaught withouten net:

And be ye wise, as ye be faire to se,

Well in the ring then is the Rubie set,

There were never two so well imet,

Whan ye been his all hole, as he is your,

The mighty God yet grant vs se that hour.

Nay thereof spake I not: A ha (qd. she)

As helpe me God, ye shenden every dele:

A mercy dere nece, anon (qd. he)

What [...]o I spake, I ment nought but wele

By Mars the God, that helmed is of stele:

[Page] Now beth not wroth, my blood, my nece dere.

Now well (qd. she) foryeven be it here.

With this he toke his leave, & home he went,

Ye Lord how he was glad, and well bigon:

Creseide arose, no lenger she ne stent,

But streight into her closet went anon,

And set her doune, as still as any stone,

And every worde gan vp and doune to wind,

That he had saied, as it came her to mind.

And woxe somdele astonied in her thought,

Right for the new case, but whan that she

Was full avised, tho found she right nought,

Of perill, why that she ought aferde be:

* For man may love of possibilite

A woman so, his harte may to brest,

And she nat love ayen, but if her lest.

But as she sat alone, and thought thus,

Thascrie arose at skarmoch all without,

And men cried in the strete, se Troilus

Hath right now put to flight y• Grekes rout.

With that gonne all her meine for to shout:

A, go we se, cast vp the gates wide,

For throuȝ this strete he mote to paleis ride.

For other waie is fro the yates none,

Of Dardanus, there open is the cheine:

With that come he, and all his folke anone

An easie pace riding, in routes tweine,

Right as his happy day was sothe to seine:

* For which men saith, may not distourbed be

That shall betiden of necessite.

This Troilus sat on his baie stede

All armed save his hedde, full richely,

And wounded was his horse, & gan to blede,

On which he rode a pace full softly:

But soch a knightly sight truely

As was on him, was nat withouten faile,

To loke on Mars, that God is of battaile.

So like a man of armes, and a knight

He was to seen, fulfilled of high prowesse,

For both he had a body, and might

To doen that thing, as well as hardinesse,

And eke to seen him in his geare dresse

* So freshe, so yong, so weldy semed he,

It was an heaven vpon him for to se.

His helme to hewen was in twenty places,

That by a tissue hong, his backe behind,

His shelde to dashed with swerds & with maces,

In which men might many an arowe find,

That thirled had both horn, nerf, and rind:

And aie y• people cried, here cometh our ioie,

And next his brother, holder vp of Troie.

For which he wext a little redde for shame

When he so heard ye people vpon him crien,

That to behold it was noble game,

How soberliche he cast adoune his iyen:

Creseide anon gan all his chere espien,

And let it so soft in her hart sinke.

That to her self she said, who yave me drinke?

For of her own thought, she woxe all redde,

Remembring her right thus, Lo this is he,

Which that mine vncle swereth he mote he dedde,

But I on him have mercy and pite:

And with that thought, for pure ashamed [...]

Gan in her hedde to pull, and that as fast,

While he and all the people forth by past.

And gan to cast, and rollen vp and doun

Within her thought his excellent prowesse,

And his estate, and also his renoun,

His witte, his shape, and eke his gentilnesse,

But most her favour was: for his distresse

Was all for her, and thought it were a routh,

To slaen soch one, if that he ment trouth.

Now might some envious iangle thus,

This was a sodain love, how might it be,

That she so lightly loved Troilous?

Right for the first sight: ye parde?

Now whoso saied so, mote he never thee:

For every thing a ginning hath it nede

* Er all be wrought, withouten any drede.

For I saie nat that she so sodainly

Yafe him her love, but that she gan encline

To liken him tho, and I have told you why:

And after that, his manhode and his pine,

Made that love within her gan to mine:

For which by processe, and by good service

He wanne her love, and in no sodain wise.

And all so blisfull Venus wele araied

Satte in her seventh house of heven tho,

Disposed wele, and with aspectes payed,

To helpe sely Troilus of his wo:

And sothe to sayne, she nas nat all a foe

To Troilus, in his nativite,

God wote, that wele the sooner sped he.

Now let vs stente of Troilus a throw,

That rideth forth, and let vs tourne fast

Vnto Creseide, that heng her hedde full low,

There as she satte alone, and gan to cast

Whereon she would appoint her at the last,

If it so were her Eme ne would cesse,

For Troilus vpon her for to presse.

And lorde so she gan in her thought argue

In this matter, of which I have you told,

And what to doen best were, and what eschue,

That plited she full oft in many fold:

Now was her hart warme, now was it cold,

And what she thought, somwhat shall I write,

As mine authour listeth for tendite.

She thought first, that Troilus person

She knewe by sight, and eke his gentelnesse:

And thus she said, all were it nought to doen

To graunt him love, yet for his worthinesse,

It were honor with plaie, and with gladnesse,

In honeste with soch a Lorde to deale,

For mine estate, and also for his heale.

Eke well wote I, my kinges sonne is he,

And sith he hath to see me soch delite,

[Page] If I would vtterliche his sight flie,

Paraventure he might have me in dispite,

Through which I might stond in wors plite:

Now, were I wise, me hate to purchase

Without nede, there I may stande in grace?

* In every thing, I wot there lieth measure:

For though a man forbid dronkennesse,

He nought forbiddeth that every creature

Be drinkelesse for alway as I gesse:

Eke, sithe I wot for me is his distresse,

I ne ought not for that thing him dispise,

Sith it is so, he meaneth in good wise.

And eke I know, of long time agone

His thewes good, and that he nis not nice,

No vauntour saine men, certain he is none,

To wise is he to doen so great a vice:

Ne als I nill him never so cherice,

That he shall make avaunt by iust cause:

He shall me never binde in soche a clause.

Now set I case, the hardest is iwis,

Men might demen that he loveth me:

What dishonour were it vnto me this?

Maie iche him let of that? why naie parde:

I know also, and alway heare and se,

Men loven women all this toune about,

Be they the wers? Why naie withouten dout?

I thinke eke how, he worthie is to have

Of all this noble toune the thriftiest,

That woman is, if she her honour save:

For out and out he is the worthiest,

Save onely Hector, which that is the best,

And yet his life lieth all now in my cure,

But soche is love, and eke mine aventure.

Ne me to love, a wonder is it nought:

For well wote I my self, so God me spede,

All woll I that no man wist of this thought,

I am one the fairest out of drede

And goodliest, who so that taketh hede:

And so men saine in all the toune of Troie,

What wonder is though he of me have ioie?

I am mine owne woman well at ease,

I thanke it God, as after mine estate,

Right yong, and stond vntied in lustie lease,

Withouten ielousie, and such debate:

Shall no husbonde saine to me checke mate,

* For either they be full of ielousie,

Or maisterfull, or loven novelrie.

What shal I doen? to what fine live I thus?

Shall I not love, in case if that me lest?

What pardieux I am not religious:

And though that I mine harte set at rest

Vpon this knight, that is the worthiest,

And kepe alway mine honor, and my name,

By all right it may doe me no shame.

But right as whan the sun shineth brigh [...]

In March, that chaungeth oft time his face,

And that a cloud is put with winde to flight,

Which oversprat the Sunne, as for a space,

A cloudy thought gan through her soul pace,

That overspradde her bright thoughts all,

So that for feare almost she gan to fall.

That thouȝt was this: alas sith I am free,

Should I now love, and put in ieopardie

My sikernesse, and thrallen libertie?

Alas, how durst I thinken that folie?

May I not well in other folke aspie

Her dredfull ioie, her constreint, and her pain:

* Ther loveth none, yt she ne hath why to plain.

For love is yet the moste stormie life,

Right of himself, that ever was begonne:

For ever some mistrust, or nice strife,

There is in love, some cloud over the Sunne:

Thereto we wretched women nothing conne

Whan vs is wo, but wepe and sit and thinke,

* Our wretch is this, our own wo to drinke.

Also wicked tongues been ay so prest

To speake vs harme: eke men ben so vntrue,

That right anon as cessed is her lest,

So cesseth love, and forth to love a newe:

But harm idoe is doen, who so it rue:

For thouȝ these men for love hem first to rende,

* Full sharp beginning breaketh oft at ende.

How oft time maie men both rede & seen,

The treason, that to women hath be doe

To what fine is soche love, I can not seen

Or where becometh it, whan it is go?

There is no wight that wote, I trowe so,

Wher it becometh, lo, no wight on it sporneth

* That erst was nothing, into naught turneth.

How busie (if I love) eke must I be

To pleasen hem, that iangle of love, & demen,

And coyen hem, that thei saie no harm of me:

For though there be no cause, yet hem semen

Al be for harm, that folk her frendes quemen

* And who maie stoppen every wicked tong?

Or soune of belles, while that they been rong?

And after that her thought gan for to clere

And saied, he which that nothing vndertaketh

Nothing acheveth, be him loth or dere

And with an other thought her hart quaketh

Then slepeth hope, and after drede awaketh,

Now hote, now cold, but thus bitwixen twey

She rist her vp, and went her for to pley.

Adoune the staire anon right tho she went

Into her gardine, with her neces three,

And vp and doun, they maden many a went

Flexippe and she, Tarbe, and Antigone,

To plaien, that it ioie was to see

And other of her women a great rout

Her folowed in the gardine all about.

This yerde was large, & railed al the alies

And shadowed wel, with blosomy bows grene

And benched newe, and sonded all the waies

In which she walketh arme in arme betwene,

Till at the last Antigone the shene

Gan on a Troian song to singen clere,

That it an heven was, her voier to here.

[Page]

She saied, O love, to whom I have, & shall

Been humble subiect, true in mine entent

As I best can, to you lorde yeve iche all

For euermore mine hartes lust to rent:

For never yet thy grace to no wight sent

So blisfull cause as me, my life to lede

In all ioie and suretie, out of drede.

The blisfull God, hath me so well beset

In love iwis, that all that beareth life

Imaginen ne could how to be bet,

For Lorde withouten jelousie or strife

I love one, which that moste is ententife

To serven well, vnwerily or vnfained

That ever was, & lest with harme distained.

As he that is the well of worthinesse,

Of trouth ground, mirrour of goodlihedde,

Of wit Apollo, stone of sikernesse,

Of vertue roote, of lustie finder and hedde,

Through whiche is all sorrowe fro me dedde:

Iwis I love him best, so doeth he me,

Now good thrift have he, where so ever he be.

Whom should Ithanken but you God of love,

Of all this blisse, in which to bath I ginne,

And thanked be ye Lorde, for that I love,

This is the right life that I am inne,

To flemen all maner vice and sinne:

This doeth me so to vertue for to entende

That daie by daie I in my will amende.

And who so yt saieth that for to love is vice,

Or thraldome, though he fele in it distresse,

He either is enuious, or right nice,

Or is vnmightie for his shreudnesse,

To loven, for soch maner folke I gesse

Diffamen love, as nothing of him know,

* They speaken, but they bent never his bowe.

What is ye Sunne worse of his kind right?

Though that a man, for feblenesse of his iyen

Maie not endure on it to se for bright,

Or love the worst, that wretches on it crien:

* No wele is worth, yt may no sorowe drien:

And for thy, who that hath an hedde of verre

Fro cast of stones ware him in the werre.

But I with all mine harte & all my might,

As I have saied, woll love vnto my last

My owne dere harte & all mine owne knight,

In whiche mine harte growen is so fast

And is in me, that it shall ever last:

All dredde I first love him to begin:

Now wote I well there is no perill in.

And of her song right with y• word she stent,

And therewithall, now nece (qd. Creseide)

Who made this song now with so good entent

Antigone answerde anon and saide,

Madame iwis the goodliest maide

Of great estate in all the toune of Troie

And led her life in moste honour and ioie.

Forsothe so semeth it by her song

Qd. tho Creseide, & gan therewith to sike,

And saied: Lorde, is there soche blisse emong

These lovers, as they can faire endite:

Ye wisse qd. freshe Antigone the white,

* For all the folke that have or been on live

Ne con well the blisse of love discrive.

But wene ye that every wretche wote

The parfite blisse of love, why naie iwis

They wenen all be love, if one be hote,

Do waie do waie, they wote nothing of this.

* Men mote asken of sainctes, if it is

Ought faire in heven, & why? for they can tell,

And aske fendes, if it be foule in hell.

Creseide vnto y• purpose naught answerde,

But saied, iwis it woll be night as fast,

But every worde, which yt she of her herde,

She gan to printen in her harte fast,

And aie gan love her lasse for to agast

Than it did erst, and sinken in her harte,

That she waxe somewhat able to conuarte.

The daies honour, and the heavens iye,

The nights foe, all this clepe I thee sonne,

Gan westren fast, and dounward for to wrie,

As he that had his daies course ironne,

And white things woxen al dimme and donne

For lacke of light, and sterres for to apere,

That she and all her folke in went ifere.

So when it liked her to gon to rest,

And voided weren they that voiden ought,

She saied, that to slepen well her leste:

Her women sone till her hedde her brought

Whan al was hust, then lay she still & thought

Of all this thing the maner and the wise,

Rehearce it needeth not, for ye been wise.

A Nightingale vpon a Cedre grene

Vnder the chamber wall, there as she laie,

Full loude song ayen the Mone shene

Paraventure in his birdes wise a laie,

Of love, that made her harte freshe & gaie,

That herkened she so long in good entent,

Till at the last the dedde sleepe her hent.

And as she slept, anon right tho her met,

How that an Egle fethered white as bone,

Vnder her brest his long clawes iset,

And out her harte he rent, and that anon,

And did his harte into her brest to gon,

Of which she nouȝt agrose, ne nothing smart,

And forth he flieth, with hart left for hart.

Now let her slepe, and we our tales holde

Of Troilus, that is to Paleis ridden,

Fro the scarmishe of which I of tolde,

And in his chamber sate, and hath abidden,

Till two or thre of his messengers yeden

For Pandarus, and soughten him full fast,

Til they him found, & brought him at ye last.

This Pandarus came leaping in at ones,

And saied thus, who hath been well ibete

To day with swerdes, and slong stones,

But Troilus, that hath caught him an hete,

And gan to yape, and saied, Lord ye swete,

[Page] But rise and let vs soupe, and go to reste,

And he answerde him, do we as thee leste.

With all the hast goodly as they might,

They sped hem fro the souper, and to bedde,

And every wight out at the doore him dight,

And whider him list, vpon his waie him sped:

But Troilus thought that his harte bledde

For wo, till that he heard some tiding,

And saied frende, shall I now wepe or sing.

(Qd. Pandarus) be still and let me slepe,

And doe on thy hoode, thine nedes spedde be,

And chose if thou wolt sing, daunce, or lepe,

At short wordes thou shalt trowe all by me,

Sir, my nece woll doen well by thee,

And love thee best, by God and by trothe,

But lacke of pursute marre it in thy slothe.

For thus ferforth I have thy werk begon,

Fro daie to daie, till this daie by the morow,

Her love of frendship have I to thee won,

And therfore hath she laid her faith to borow,

Algate a foote is hameled of thy sorow:

What should I lenger sermon of it holde,

As ye have heard before, all he him tolde.

But right as flours through ye cold of night

Iclosed, stoupen in her stalkes lowe,

Redressen hem ayen the Sunne bright,

And spreden in her kinde course by rowe,

Right so gan tho his iyen vp to throwe

This Troilus, and said: O Venus dere,

Thy might, thy grace, iheried be it here.

And to Pandarus he held vp both his honds,

And said, Lorde all thine be that I have,

For I am hole, and broken been my bonds,

A thousande Troies, who so that me yave

Eche after other, God so wis me save,

Ne might me so gladen, lo mine harte

It spredeth so for ioye it woll to starte.

But lord how shal I doen? how shal I liven,

When shall I next my dere harte se?

How shall this long time away he driven?

Till that thou be ayen at her fro me,

* Thou maiest answere, abide abide: but he

That hangeth by the necke, sothe to saine,

In great disease abideth for the paine.

All easily now, for the love of Marte

(Qd. Pandarus) for every thing hath time,

So long abide, till that the night departe,

For also siker as thou liest here by me,

And God toforne, I woll be there at prime,

And for thy werke somewhat, as I shall say,

Or on some other wight this charge lay.

For parde, God wot, I have ever yet

Ben ready thee to serve, and this night

Have I not fained, but emforthe my wit

Doen all thy lust, and shal with al my might:

Doe now as I shall saine, and fare aright:

And if thou nilte, wite all thy selfe the care,

On me is nought along thine evill fare.

I wote well, that thou wiser art than I

A thousand fold: but if I were as thou,

God helpe me so, as I would vtterly

Right of mine owne hond write her now

A letter, in which I would her tellen how

I farde amisse, and her beseech of routh:

Now help thy self, and leave it for no slouth.

And I my selfe shall therewith to her gone,

And when thou wost that I am with her there

Worthe thou vpon a courser right anone,

Ye hardely, and that right in thy best gere,

And ride forth by y• place, as naught ne were,

And thou shalt find vs (if I may) sitting

At some window, into the street looking.

And if thee list, then mayest thou vs salve,

And vpon me make thou thy countenaunce,

But by thy life beware, and fast eschue

To tarien ought, God shild vs fro mischaunce

Ride forth thy way, & hold thy governaunce,

And we shall speake of thee somewhat I trow

When thou art gone, to doe thine ears glow.

Touching thy letter, thou art wise inough,

I wot thou nilte it deigneliche endite,

As make it with these arguments tough,

Ne scriveinishe or craftely thou it write,

Beblotte it with thy teares eke alite,

* And if thou write a goodly word all soft,

Though it be good, rehearse it not too oft.

* For though the best Harpour vpon live

Would on the best souned iolly Harpe

That ever was, with all his fingers five

Touch aye o strong, or aye o warble Harpe,

Were his nailes pointed never so sharpe,

It should make every wight to dull,

To heare his glee, and of his strokes full.

Ne iombre eke no discordaunt thing ifere,

As thus, to vsen tearmes of Phisicke,

In loves tearmes hold of thy matere

The forme alway, and doe that it be like,

* For if a painter would paint a pike

With Asses feet, and headed as an Ape,

It cordeth not, so were it but a yape.

This counsaile liked well vnto Troilus,

But as a dredefull lover he saied this:

Alas my dere brother Pandarus,

I am ashamed for to write amis,

Least of mine innocence I saied amis,

Or that she nolde it for dispite receive,

Then were I dead, there might it nothing weive.

To that Pandare answerde, if thee lest,

Do that I say, and let me therewith gone,

For by that Lord that formed East and West,

I hope of it to bring answere anone

Right of her hond, & if that thou nilte none,

Let be, and sorrie mote he been his live,

Ayenst thy lust, that helpeth thee to thrive.

(Qd. Troilus) depardieux iche assent,

Sith that thee list, I woll arise and write,

[Page] And blisfull God pray iche with good entent

The voiage and the letter I shall endite,

So speed it, and thou Minerva the white,

Yeve thou me witte, my letter to devise:

And set him doun, & wrote right in this wise.

First he gan her his right Ladie call,

His hearts life, his lust, his sorowes leche,

His blisse, and eche these other tearmes all,

That in such case ye lovers all seche,

And in full humble wise, as in his speche,

He gan him recommaund vnto her grace,

To tell all how, it asketh mokell space.

And after this full lowly he her praied

To be nought wroth, though he of his follie

So hardie was to her to write, and saied

That love it made, or els must he die,

And pitously gan mercie for to crie:

And after that he saied, and lied full loud,

Himselfe was little worth, and lasse he coud.

And yt she would have his conning excused,

That little was, and eke he dradde her so,

And his vnworthinesse aye he accused:

And after that then gan he tell his wo,

But that was endlesse withouten ho:

And said, he would in trouth alway him hold,

And redde it over, and gan the letter fold.

And with his salt teares gan he bathe

The rubie in his signet, and it sette

Vpon the wexe deliverliche and rathe,

Therewith a thousand times, er he lette

He kist tho the letter that he shette,

And sayd, letter a blisfull destine

Thee shapen is, my Ladie shall thee see.

This Pandare tooke the letter, and betime

A morrow to his neecis pallaice stert,

And fast he swore, that it was passed prime:

And gan to yape, and sayd iwis my hert

So fresh it is, although it sore smert,

I may not sleepe never a Mayes morrow,

I have a iollie woe, a lustie sorrow.

Creseide when that she her Vncle heard,

With dreadfull heart, and desirous to heare

The cause of his comming, thus answeard,

Now by your faith mine vncle (qd. she) deare,

What manner winds guideth you now here?

Tell vs your iolly woe, and your penaunce,

How farre forth be ye put in loves daunce.

By God (qd. he) I hop alway behinde,

And to laugh, it thought her heart brest,

* (Qd. Pandarus) Looke alway that ye finde

Game in mine hood: but herkeneth if you lest,

There is right now come into y• toun a gest,

A Greeke [...]spie, and telleth new thinges,

For which I come to tell you new tidinges.

Into the garden go we, and ye shall heare

All privily of this a long sermoun:

With that they wenten arm in arm ifere,

Into the gardin fro the chamber doun.

And when he was so farre, that the soun

Of that he spake, no man heren might,

He sayd her thus, and out the letter plight.

Lo, he that is all holly yours free,

Him recommaundeth lowly to your grace,

And sent you this letter here by me,

Aviseth you on it, when ye han space,

And of some goodly answeare you purchace,

Or helpe me God so, plainely for to saine,

He may not long liven for his paine.

Full dredefully tho gan she stonde still,

And tooke it not, but all her humble chere

Gan for to chaunge, and sayd, scripe nor bill

For love of God, that toucheth such matere

Ne bring me none: and also vncle dere

To mine estate have more regard I pray

Than to his lust, what should I more say.

And looketh now if this be reasonable,

And letteth not for favour ne for slouth

To sain a sooth, now is it covenable

To mine estate, by God and by my trouth

To take it, or to have of him routh,

In harming of my selfe or in repreve:

Beare it ayen, for him that ye on leve.

This Pandarus gan on her for to stare,

And sayd, now is this the greatest wonder

That ever I saw, let be this nice fare,

To death mote I smiten be with thunder,

If for the Citie which that stondeth yonder,

Would I a letter vnto you bring or take,

To harm of you: what list you thus it make.

* But thus ye faren well nigh all & some,

That he that most desireth you to serve,

Of him ye retch least where he become,

And whether that he live, or else sterve:

But for all that, that ever I may deserve,

Refuse it not (qd. he) and hent her fast,

And in her bosome the letter doune he thrast.

And said her, now cast it away anon

That folk may seen, and gauren on vs twey,

(Qd. she) I can abide till they be gon

And gan to smile, and said him, eme I pray

Such answere as you list your selfe purvey:

For truely I woll no letter write:

No, then woll I (qd. he) so ye endite.

Therewith she lough, and said go we dine,

And he gan at himselfe yapen fast,

And sayd Nece, I have so great a pine

For love, that everich other day I fast,

And gan his best yapes forth to cast,

And made her so to laugh at his follie,

That she for laughter weent for to die.

And when that she was comen into y• hall,

Now eme (qd. she) we woll go dine anon,

And gan some of her women to her call,

And streight into her chamber gan she gone,

But of her businesse this was one,

Amongs other things, out of drede,

Full prively this letter for to rede.

[Page]

Avised word by word in every line,

* And found no lacke, she thoght he coud his good,

And vp it put, and went her in to dine,

And Pandarus, that in a studie stood,

Ere he was ware, she tooke him by the hood,

And said ye were caught ere that ye wist,

I vouchsafe (qd. he) do what you list.

Tho weshen they, and set him doun & ete,

And after noone fall slighly Pandarus

Gan draw him to the window nye the strete,

And said, nece, who hath araied thus

The yonder house, that stant aforeyene vs?

Which house (qd. she) and gan for to behold,

And knew it well, & whose it was him told.

And fellen forth in speech of things smale,

And saten in the window both twey:

When Pandarus saw time vnto his tale,

And saw well that her folke were all awey:

Now nece mine, tell on (qd. he) I prey,

How liketh you the letter that ye wot,

Can he thereon, for by my trouth I not.

Therewith all rosy hewed tho woxe she,

And gan to hum, and said, so I trow,

Aquite him well for Gods love (qd. he)

My selfe to medes woll the letter sow,

And held his honds vp, and sat on know,

Now good nece, be it never so lite,

Yeue me the labour, it to sow and plite.

Ye, for I can so writen (qd. she) tho,

And eke I not what I should to him say:

Nay nece (qd. Pandare) say not so,

Yet at the least, thonketh him I pray

Of his good will: O, doth him not to dey,

Now for the love of me my nece dere,

Refuseth not at this time my praiere.

Depardieux (qd. she) God leve all be wele,

God helpe me so, this is the first letter

That ever I wrote, ye all or any dele,

And into a closet for to avise her better,

She went alone, and gan her heart vnfetter

Out of disdaines prison, but a lite,

And set her doune, and gan a letter write.

Of which to tell in short is mine entent

Theffect, as ferre as I can vnderstond:

She thonked him, of all that he well ment

Towards her, but holden him in hond

She nolde not, ne make her seluen bond

In love, but as his suster him to please,

She would aye faine to done his hart an ease.

She shette it, and to Pandare into gone

There as he sat, and looked into strete,

And doune she set her by him on a stone

Of iasper, vpon a quisshen of gold ibete,

And said, as wisely helpe me God the grete,

I never did a thing with more paine,

Than write this, to which ye me restraine,

And tooke it him: he thonked her, & seide,

* God wot of thing full often lothe begonne,

Commeth end good: & nece mine Creseide.

That ye to him of hard now ben iwonne,

Ought he be glad, by God & yonder sonne:

* For why, men saith impressions light

Full lightly ben aye readie to the flight.

But ye han plaied the tiraunt all too long,

And hard was it your hart for to grave,

Now stint, that ye no lenger on it hong,

All woulden ye the forme of daunger save,

But hasteth you to done him joy have:

* For trusteth well, too long idone hardnesse

Causeth dispite full often for distresse.

And right as they declared this matere,

Lo Troilus, right at the stretes end

Came riding with his tenth somme ifere

All softely, and thiderward gan bend

There as they sate, as was his way to wend

To paleis ward, and Pandare him aspide,

And said, nece, isee who commeth here ride.

O flie not in, he seeth vs I suppose,

Least he may thinken that ye him eschue.

Nay, nay (qd. she) & woxe as red as rose,

With that he gan her humbly salue

With dredefull chere, & oft his hewes mue,

And vp his looke debonairely he cast,

And becked on Pandare, and forth by past.

God wot if he sat on his horse aright,

Or goodly was beseene that like day,

God wot where he were like a manly knight,

What should I dretche, or tell of his array:

Creseide, which that all these things sey,

To tell in short, her liked all ifere

His person, his aray, his looke, his chere,

His goodly manner, and gentillesse,

So well, that never sith that she was borne,

Ne had she such routh of his distresse,

And how so, she hath hard ben here beforne,

* To God hope I, she hath now caught a thorn,

She shall nat pull it out this next wike,

God send her mo such thornes on to pike.

Pandare, which that stood her fast by,

* Felt iron hot, and he began to smite,

And said, nece, I pray you heartely,

Tell me that I shall asken you alite,

A woman that were of his death to wite

Withouten his gilt, but for her lack of routh,

Were it well done (qd. she) nay by my trouth.

God helpe me so (qd. he) ye say me sooth,

Ye feelen well your selfe that I nought lie,

Lo, yonde he rideth (qd. she) ye so he dooth:

Well (qd. Pandare) as I have told you thrie,

Let be your nice shame, and your follie,

And speake with him in easing of his hert,

Let nicete nat do you both smert.

But theron was to heauen and to done,

Considering all thing, it may nat be,

And why? for shame, & it were eke too soone

To graunten him so great a liberte:

For plainly her entent, as (said she)

[Page] Was for to love him vnwist, if she might,

And guerdon himwith nothing but with sight.

But Pandare thought, it shall nat be so

If that I may, this nice opinion

Shall nat ben holden fully yeares two.

What should I make of this a long sermon?

He must assent on that conclusion,

As for the time, and when that it was eve,

And all was well, he rose and tooke his leve.

And on his way fast homeward he spedde,

And right for ioy he felt his heart daunce,

And Troilus he found alone abedde,

That lay, as done these lovers in a traunce,

Betwixen hope and derke desperaunce,

But Pandare, right at his in comming,

He song, as who saith, lo, somewhat I bring.

And said, who is in his bedde so soone

Yburied thus? it am I friend (qd. he)

Who, Troilus? nay, help me so the moone

(Q. d. Pandarus) thou shalt vp rise and see

A charme that was sent right now to thee,

The which can healen thee of thine accesse,

If thou do forthwith all thy businesse.

Ye through the might of God (qd. Troilus)

And Pandarus gan him the letter take,

And said, parde God hath holpen vs,

Have here a light, and look on all these blake,

But often gan the heart glad and quake

Of Troilus, while he it gan to rede,

So as the words yave him hope or drede.

But finally he tooke all for the best

That she him wrote, for somewhat he beheld,

On which he thought he might his heart rest,

All covered she the words vnder sheld,

Thus to the more worthy part he held,

That what for hope, and Pandarus behest,

His great wo foryede he at the lest.

But as we may all day our selven see,

* Through wood or cole kindleth the more fire,

Right so encrease of hope, of what it be,

Therewith full oft encreaseth eke desire,

Or as an oke commeth of a little spire,

So through this letter, which y• she him sent,

Encreasen gan desire of which he brent.

Wherfore I say alway, that day and night

This Troilus gan to desiren more

Than he did erst through hope, and did his might

To presen on, as by Pandarus lore,

And writen to her of his sorowes sore

Fro day to day, he let it nought refreide,

That by Pandare he somewhat wrot or seide.

And did also his other observaunces,

That till a lover longeth in this caas,

And after as his dice turned on chaunces,

So was he either glad, or said alas,

And held after his gestes aye his paas,

And after such answers as he had,

So were his daies sorry either glad.

But to Pandare alway was his recours,

And pitously gan aye on him to plaine,

And him besought of rede, and some socours,

And Pandarus, that saw his wood paine,

Wext well nigh dead for routh sooth to saine,

And busily with all his heart cast,

Some of his wo to sleen, and that as fast.

And said, Lord and friend, and brother dere,

God wot that thy disease doth me wo,

But wolt thou stinten all this wofull chere,

And by my trouth, ere it be daies two,

And God toforne, yet shall I shape it so,

That thou shalt come into a certaine place,

There as thou maist thy self praien her of grace,

And certainly I not if thou it wost,

But they that ben expert in love, it say,

* It is one of these things forthereth most,

A man to have a le [...]ser for to pray,

And siker place, his wo for to bewray,

* For in good heart it mote some routh impresse

To heare and see the guiltlesse in distresse.

Peraventure thinkest thou, though it be so,

That kind would her done for to begin,

To have a manner routh vpon my wo,

Saith daunger nay, thou shalt me never win,

So ruleth her hearts ghost within,

* That though she bend, yet she stont on rote,

What in effect is this vnto my hote.

* Think here ayen, when that y• sturdy oke,

On which men hacketh oft for the nones,

Received hath the happy falling stroke,

The great sweight doth it come all at ones,

As done these great rocks or these miln stones

* For swifter course cometh thing y• is of wight

When it discendeth, than done things light.

But rede that boweth doun for every blast

Full lightly cesse wind, it woll arise,

But so nill not an oke, when it is cast,

It needeth me nought long thee forvise,

* Men shall reioysen of a great emprise,

Atchieved well, and stant withouten dout,

All have men ben the lenger thereabout.

But Troilus, now tell me if thee lest

A thing, which that I shall asken thee,

Which is thy brother, that thou lovest best?

As in thy very hearts privite?

Iwis my brother Deiphebus tho (qd. he.)

Now (qd. Pandare) ere houres twise twelve,

He shall the ease, vnwist of it himselve.

Now let me alone, and worken as I may

(Qd. he) and to Deiphebus went he tho,

Which had his lord, and great friend ben aye,

Save Troilus no man he loved so,

To tell in sort withouten words mo

(Qd. Pandarus) I pray you that ye be

Friend to a cause, which that toucheth me.

Yes parde (qd. Deiphebus) welthou wotest

All that ever I may, and God tofore,

[Page] All nere it but for the man I love most,

My brother Troilus, but say wherefore

It is, for sith the day that I was bore,

I nas, ne never mo to ben I thinke,

Ayenst a thing that might thee forthinke.

Pandare gan him thank, & to him seide,

Lo sir, I have a Lady in this toun

That is my nece, and called is Creseide,

Which some men would done oppressioun,

And wrongfully have her possessioun,

Wherefore I of your lordship you beseech

To ben our friend, withouten more speech.

Deiphebus him answerd: O, is nat this

That thou speakest of to me thus straungly,

Creseide my friend? He said him yes.

Then needeth (qd. Deiphebus) hardely

No more of this to speke, for trusteth well y• I

Woll be her Champion with spore and yerde,

I ne raught nat though all her foes it herde.

But tel me how, for thou wost this matere,

I might best availen, now lette see?

(Qd. Pandarus) if ye my lord so dere

Woulden as now do this honour to me,

To praien her to morrow, lo that she

Came unto you, her plaints to devise,

Her adversaries would of it agrise.

And if I more durst praien as now,

And chargen you to have so great travaile,

To have some of your brethren here with you,

That mighten to her cause bet availe,

Then wore I well she might never faile

For to ben holpen, what at your instaunce,

What with her other friends governaunce.

Deiphebus, which y• comen was of kind

To all honour and bounty to consent,

Answerd, it shall be done: and I can find

Yet greater helpe to this mine entent,

What woldest thou saine, if for Heleine I sent

To speake of this, I trow it be the best,

For she may leden Paris as her lest.

Of Hector, which y• is my Lord my brother,

It needeth nat to praien him friend to be,

For I have heard him o time and eke other

Speaken of Creseide such honour, that he

May saine no bet, such hap to him hath she,

It needeth nat his helpes more to crave,

He shall be such, right as we woll him have.

Speake thou thy selfe also to Troilus

On my behalfe, and pray him with us dine.

Sit, all this shall be done (qd. Pandarus)

And tooke his leave, and never gan to fine,

But to his neces house as streight as line

He came, and found her fro the meat arise,

And set him doun, & spake right in this wise:

He said, O very God, so have I ronne,

Lo nece mine, see ye nat how I swete,

I not whete ye the more thanke me conne,

Be ye not ware how false Poliphete

Is now about eftsoones for to plete,

And bring on you advocacies new?

I, no (qd. she) and chaunged all her hew.

What, is he more about me to dretche

And done me wrong, what shall I done, alas,

Yet of himselfe nothing would I retche,

Nere it for Antenor and Eneas,

That ben his friends in such manner caas:

But for the love of God mine uncle dere,

No force of that, let him have all ifere,

Withouten that, I have ynough for us.

Nay (qd. Pandare) it shall nothing be so,

For I have ben right now at Deiphebus,

At Hector, and mine other lords mo,

And shortly maked each of hem his fo,

That by my thrift he shall it never win,

For aught he can, when so that he begin.

And as they casten what was best to done,

Deiphebus of his owne courtesie

Came her to pray, in his proper persone,

To hold him on the morrow companie

At dinner, which she nolde not denie,

But goodly gan to his prayer obey,

He thonked her, and went upon his wey.

When this was done, this Pandare anone

To tell in short forth he gan to wend

To Troilus, as still as any stone,

And all this thing he told him word and end,

And how that he Deiphebus gan to blend,

And said him, now is time of that ye conne

To bere thee well to morow, & all is wonne.

Now speke, now pray, now pitously complain,

Let nat for nice shame, for drede or slouth,

* Sometime a man mote tell his owne pain,

Beleeve it, and she woll have on thee routh,

Thou shalt ben saved by thy faith in trouth,

But well wot I, thou now art in a drede,

And what it is, I lay that I can arede.

Thou thinkest now, how should I don all this,

For by my cheres mosten folke espie,

That for her love is that I fare amis,

Yet had I lever unwist for sorrow die:

Now thinke nat so, for thou dost great follie,

For I right now have founden a manere

Of sleight, for to coveren all thy chere.

Thou shalt gone overnight, & that blive,

Vnto Deiphebus house, as thee to play,

Thy maladie away the bet to drive,

For which thou seemeth sicke, sooth to say,

Soone after that, in thy bed thee lay,

And say thou maist no lenger up endure,

And lie right there, and bide thine aventure.

Say that thy fever is wont thee for to take

The same time, and last till a morow,

And let see now how well thou canst it make:

* For parde sicke is he that is in sorrow.

Go now farwell, and Venus here to borow,

I hope and thou this purpose hold ferme,

Thy grace she shall fully there conferme.

[Page]

(Qd. Troilus) iwis thou all needlesse

Counsailest me, that sickeliche I me faine,

For I am sicke in earnest doubtlesse,

So that well nigh I sterve for the paine:

(Qd. Pandarus) thou shalt the better plaine,

And hast the lesse need to counterfete,

* For him demeth men hot, yt seeth him swete.

Lo, hold thee at thy triste close, and I

* Shall well the deere vnto the bow drive:

Therewith he tooke his leave all softly,

And Troilus to his paleis went blive,

So glad ne was he never in all his live,

And to Pandarus rede gan all assent,

And to Deiphebus house at night he went.

What nedeth it you to tellen all the chere

That Deiphebus vnto his brother made,

Or his axis, or his sickeliche manere,

How men gone him with clothes for to lade,

When he was laid, & how men would him glade:

But all for nought, he held forth aye the wise,

That ye han heard Pandare ere this devise.

But certaine is, ere Troilus him leide,

Deiphebus had praied him over night

To ben a friend, and helping to Creseide:

God wot that he graunted anon right,

To ben her full friend with all his might:

* But such a need was it to praien him thenne,

As for to bidden a wood man to renne.

The morow came, & nighen gan the time

Of mealtide, that the faire queene Heleine

Shope her to ben an houre after the prime

With Deiphebus, to whom she nolde faine,

But as his suster, homely sooth to saine

She came to dinner in her plaine entent,

But God & Pandare wist all what this ment.

Came eke Creseide all innocent of this,

Antigone her nece, and Tarbe also,

But flie we now prolixitie best is,

For love of God, and let vs fast go

Right to theffect, withouten tales mo,

Why all this folke assembled in this place,

And let vs of all her salvings pace.

Great honour did hem Deiphebus certaine,

And fedde hem well, with all that might like,

But evermo alas, was his refraine:

My good brother Troilus the sike

Lithe yet, and therewithall he gan to sike,

And after that he pained him to glade

Hem as he might, and chere good he made.

Complained eke Heleine of his sicknesse

So faithfully, that it pitie was to here,

And every wight gan wexen for axes

A leche anon, and said in this manere

Men curen folke, this charme I wol thee lere,

But there sate one, all list her nat to teche,

That thought, yet best could I ben his leche.

After complaint him gonnen they to preise,

As folk don yet when some wight hath begon

To preise a man, and with preise him reise

A thousand fold yet higher than the sonne,

He is, he can, that few other Lords conne,

And Pandarus of that they would afferme,

He nought forgate her praising to conferme.

Herd all this thing fair Creseid well inough,

And every word gan for to notifie,

For which with sober chere her heart lough,

For who is that ne would her glorifie,

To mowen such a knight done live or die,

But all passe I, least ye too long idwell,

But for o fine is all that ever I tell.

The time came, fro dinner for to rise,

And as hem ought, arisen everychone,

And gane a while of this and that devise,

But Pandarus brake all this speech anone,

And said to Deiphebus, woll ye gone,

If your will be, as erst I you preide,

To speaken of the nedes of Creseide.

Heleine, which that by the hond her held,

Tooke first the tale, and said, go we blive,

And goodly on Creseide she beheld,

And said, Ioves let him never thrive

That doth you harm, & reve him sone of live,

And yeve me sorrow, but he shall it rue,

If that I may, and all folke be true.

Tell thou thy nices case (qd. Deiphebus

To Pandarus) for thou canst best it tell.

My Lords and my Ladies, it stant thus,

What should I lenger (qd. he) do you dwell,

* He rong hem out a proces like a bell

Vpon her foe, that hight Poliphete,

So hainous, that men might on it spete.

Answerd of this ech worse of hem than other,

And Poliphete they gonnen thus to warien,

And honged be such one, were he my brother,

And so he shall, for it ne may nought varien,

What should I lenger in this tale tarien,

Plaineliche all at ones they her highten

To ben her frend in all yt ever they mighten.

Spake then Heleine, and said Pandarus,

Wot aught my lord my brother of this mater,

I meane Hector, or wote it Troilus.

He said ye, but woll ye me now here,

Me thinketh thus, sith that Troilus is here,

It were good, if that ye would assent,

She told him her selfe all this ere she went.

For he wol have y• more her grefe at hart,

Because lo, that she a Lady is,

And by your will, I woll but in right start,

And do you wete, and that anone iwis,

If that he sleepe, or woll aught here of this,

And in he lept, and said him in his ere,

* God have thy soul, for brought have I thy bere.

To smilen of this gan tho Troilus,

And Pandarus without reckoning,

Out went anon to Heleine and Deiphebus,

And said hem, so there be no tarying

Ne more prease, he woll well that ye bring

[Page] Creseide my Lady, that is now here,

And as he may enduren, he woll her here.

But well ye wote, the chamber is but lite,

And few folke may lightly make it warme,

Now looketh ye, for I woll have no wite

To bring in prease, y• might done him harme,

Or him diseasen, for my better arme:

Yet were it bette she bid till oft soonis,

Now looke ye that knowen what to donis.

I say for me best is, as I can know,

That no wight in ne wend, but ye twey,

But it were I, for I cannot in a throw

Rehearse her case, vnlike that she can sey,

And after this she may him ones prey

To ben good Lord in short, and take her leve,

This may not mokell of his ease him reve.

And eke for she is straunge, he woll forbere

His ease, which that him dare nat for you,

Eke other thing that toucheth nat to her,

He woll it tell, I wote it well right now,

That secret is, and for the townes prow,

And they that knew nothing of his entent,

Without more, to Croilus in they went.

Heleine in all her goodly soft wise

Gan him salve, and womanly to play,

And saied iwis, ye mote algate arise:

Now faire brother be all hole I pray,

And gan her arme right over his shoulder lay,

And him with all her wit to recomfort,

As she best could, she gan him to disport.

So after this (qd. she) we you beseke

My dere brother Deiphebus and I,

For love of God, and so doeth Pandare eke,

To been good lord and friend right hartely

Vnto Creseide, which that certainly

Received wrong, as wot well here Pandare,

That can her case well bet than I declare.

This Pandarus gan new his tong affile,

And all her case rehearse, and that anone,

When it was saied, soone after in a while,

(Qd. Troilus) as soone as I may gone,

I wol right faint with all my might ben one,

Have God my trouth, her cause to sustene.

Now good thrift have ye (qd. Helein ye quene.)

(Qd. Pandarus) and it your will be,

That she may take her leave ere that she go.

O els God forbid it tho (qd. he)

If that she vouchsafe for to do so:

And with that word (qd. Troilus) ye two

Deiphebus, and my suster lefe and dere,

To you have I to speake of a matere.

To been avised by your rede the better,

And found (as hap was) at his beds hedde

The copie of a treatise, and a letter

That Hector had him sent, to asken rede

If such a man was worthy to ben dede,

Wote I naught who, but in a grisly wise

He praied hem anone on it avise.

Deiphebus gan this letter for to vnfold

In earnest great, so did Heleine the queene,

And roming outward, fast it gonne behold

Dounward a steire, into an herbor greene:

This ilke thing they redden hem betwene,

And largely the mountenaunce of an houre

They goone on it to reden and to poure.

Now let hem rede, and tourne we anone

To Pandarus, that gan full soft prie,

That all was well, and out he gan to gone

Into the great chamber, and that in hie,

And saied, God save all this companie:

Come nece mine, my lady Queene Heleine

Abideth you, and eke my Lords tweine.

Rise, take with you your nece Antigone,

Or whom you list, or no force hardely,

The lasse prease the bet, come forth with me,

And looke that ye thonken humbly

Hem all three, and when ye may goodly

Your time isee, taketh of hem your leave,

Least we too long his restes him bireave.

All innocent of Pandarus entent

(Qd. tho Creseide) go we vncle dere,

And arme in arme, inward with him she went,

Avising well her words and her chere,

And Pandarus in earnestfull manere,

Saied, all folke for Gods love I pray,

Stinteth right here, and softly you play.

Aviseth you what folke ben here within,

And in what plite one is, God him amend,

And inward thus full softely begin,

Nece I coniure, and highly you defend

On his halfe, which that soule vs all send,

And in the vertue of corounes twaine

Slea nat this man, yt hath for you this paine.

Fie on the deuill, thinke which on he is,

And in what plite he lieth, come off anone,

* Think all such taried tide but lost it nis,

That woll ye both saine, when ye been one:

Secondly, there yet deuineth none

Vpon you two, come off now if ye conne,

* While folke is blent, lo, all y• time is wonne.

* In titering and pursute, and delaies

The folke devine, at wegging of a stre,

And though ye would han after merry daies,

Then dare ye nat, and why? For she and she

Spake such a word, thus looked he and he:

Least time be lost, I dare nat with you deale,

Come off therfore, and bringeth him to heale.

But now to you, ye lovers that ben here,

Was Troilus nat in a cankedort,

That lay, and might the wispring of hem here

And thoght O lord, right now renneth my sort

Fully to die, or have anone comforte,

And was the first time he should her pray

Of love, O mightie God, what shall he say.

Explicit Liber Secundus.

3

§

O Blisfull light, of which the bemes clere

Adorneth all the third heaven faire

O sonnes lefe, O Ioues doughter dere,

[Page] Pleasaunce of love, O goodly debonaire,

In gentle hearts aye ready to repaire,

O very cause of heale and of gladnesse,

Iheried be thy might and thy goodnesse.

In heaven and hell, in earth, and salt see,

Is felt thy might, if that I well discerne,

As man▪ and beast, fish, herbe, & grene tree,

They fele in times with vapour eterne,

God loveth, and to love woll naught werne,

* And in this world no lives creature,

Withouten love is worth, or may endure.

Ye Ioues first, to thilke affects glade

Through which that things liven all & be,

Commenden, and amorous hem made

On mortall thing, and as you list aye ye

Yeve hem in love, ease, or aduersite:

And in a thousand formes doune hem sent

For love in yearth, & whom you list he hent.

Ye fiers Mars appeasen of his ire,

And as you list, ye maken hearts digne:

Algates hem that ye woll set a fire,

They dreden shame, and vices they resigne,

Ye doen him curteis be, fresh, and benigne,

And high or low, after a wight entendeth

The ioies yt he hath, your might it sendeth.

Ye holden reigne and house in vnitie;

Ye soothfast cause of friendship ben also,

Ye knowen all thilke couered qualitie

Of things, which that folke wondren at so,

When they can nat construe how it may go,

She loveth him, or why he loveth here,

* As why this fish, & nat y• commeth to were.

Ye folke a law have set in vniuerse,

And this know I by hem that lovers be,

* That who so striveth with you hath y• werse:

Now Ladie bright, for thy benignite,

At reuerence of hem that serven thee,

Whose clerke I am, so teacheth me devise,

Some joy of that is felt in thy servise.

Yea, in my naked heart sentement

In hilde, and do me shew of thy sweetnesse

Caliope, thy voice be now present,

For now is need, seest thou nat my distresse,

How I mote tell anon right the gladnesse

Of Troilus, to Venus herying,

To the which who nede hath, God him bring.

Incipit Liber Tertius.

LAy all this meane while this Troilus

Recording his lesson in this manere,

Mafey thought he, thus woll I say, & thus,

Thus woll I plaine vnto my Lady dere,

That word is good, & this shall be my chere

This nill I nat foryetten in no wise,

God leve him werken as he can devise.

And Lord so that his hart gan to quappe,

Hearing her come, and short for to sike,

And Pandarus that ledde her by the lappe,

Came nere, and gan in at the curtein pike,

And saied, God doe bote on all that are sike,

See who is here you comen to visite,

Lo, here is she that is your death to wite.

Therewith it seemed as he wept almost,

A, a (qd. Troilus) so routhfully,

Whether me be wo, O mighty god thou wost,

Who is all there, I see nat truely:

Sir (qd. Creseide) it is Pandare and I,

Ye sweet hart alas, I may nat rise

To kneele, and do you honour in some wise.

And dressed him vpward, and she right tho

Gan both her honds soft vpon him ley,

O for the love of God doe ye not so

To me (qd. she) eye what is this to sey,

Sir comen am I to you for causes twey,

First you to thonke, and of your Lordship eke

Continuaunce I would you beseke.

This Troilus that heard his Ladie pray

Of Lordship, him wox neither quick ne dedde,

Ne might o word for shame to it say,

Although men shoulden smiten off his hedde,

But Lord so he wox sodaineliche redde:

And sir, his lesson that he wende conne

To praien her, is through his wit ironne.

Creseide all this aspied well ynough,

For she was wise, & loved him never ye lasse,

* All nere he in all apert, or made it tough,

Or was too bold to sing a foole a Masse,

But when his shame gan somwhat to passe

His reasons, as I may my rimes hold,

I woll you tell, as teachen bookes old.

In chaunged voice, right for his very drede,

Which voice eke quoke, & thereto his manere

Goodly abasht, and now his hewes rede,

Now pale, vnto Creseide his ladie dere,

With looke doun cast, & humble iyolden chere,

Lo, the alder first word that him astart,

Was twice, mercy, mercy, O my sweet hart.

And stint a while, & when he might out bring,

The next word was, God wote for I have

As faithfully as I have had konning,

Ben yours all, God so my soule do save,

And shall, till that I wofull wight be grave,

And though I dare ne can vnto you plaine,

I wis I suffer not the lasse paine.

Thus much as now, ah, womanliche wife

I may out bring, and if this you displease,

That shall I wreke vpon mine owne life

Right soone I trow, and do your hart an ease,

If with my death your heart may appease:

But sens y• ye han heard me somewhat sey,

Now retch I never how soone that I dey.

Therewith his manly sorrow to behold,

It might have made an hart of stone to rew,

* And Pandare wept as he to water would,

And poked ever his nece new and new,

And saied, wo begon been hearts true,

[Page] For love of God, make of this thing an end,

Or slea us both at ones, ere that ye wend.

I, what (qd. she) by God and by my trouth

I not nat what ye wilne that I sey:

Eye, what (qd. he) yt ye have on him routh

For Gods love, and doeth him nat to dey:

Now then thus (qd. she) I woll him prey,

To tell me the fine of his entent,

Yet wist I never well what that he ment.

What that I mean, O my sweet hart dere

(Qd. Troilus) O goodly fresh and free,

That with the streames of your eyen so clere

Ye shoulden sometime friendly on me see,

And then agreen that I may ben hee

Withouten braunch of vice, on any wise,

In trouth alway to do you my servise.

As to my lady right, and cheefe resort,

With all my witte and all my diligence,

And to have right as you list comfort,

Vnder your yerde egall to mine offence,

As death, if that I breake your defence,

And that ye digne me so much honour,

Me to commaunden aught in any hour.

And I to ben your very humble, true,

Secret, and in my paines patient,

And ever to desiren freshly new

To serven, and to ben aye like diligent,

And with good heart all holly your talent

Receiven well, how sore that me smart,

Lo this meane I, O mine owne sweet hart.

(Qd. Pandarus) lo here an hard request,

And reasonable, a Lady for to werne:

Now nece mine, by Natall Ioves feest,

Were I a God, ye should sterve as yerne,

That heren wel this man wol nothing yerne,

But your honour, & seene him almost sterve,

And ben so loth to suffer him you to serve.

With that she gan her eyen on him cast

Full easily, and full debonairely

Avising her, and hied not too fast,

With never a word, but saied him softely,

Mine honour safe, I woll well truely,

And in such forme, as I can now devise,

Receiven him fully to my servise.

Beseeching him for Gods love, that he

Would in honour of trouth and gentillesse,

As I well meane, eke meanen well to me:

And mine honour with wit and businesse

Aye kepe, and if I may doen him gladnesse

From henceforth iwis I nill not faine:

Now beth all hole, no lenger ye ne plaine.

But nathelesse, this warne I you (qd. she)

A kings sonne although ye be iwis,

Ye shall no more have soverainte

Of me in love, than right in that case is,

Ne nill forbeare, if that ye doen amis

To wrath you, and while that ye me serve,

Cherishen you, right after that ye deserve.

And shortly, dere hart and all my knight,

Beth glad, and draweth you to lustinesse,

And I shall truely, withall my full might

Your bitter tournen all to sweetnesse,

If I be she that may doe you gladnesse,

* For every wo ye shall recover a blisse,

And him in armes tooke, and gan him kisse.

Fell Pandarus on knees, and up his eyen

To heaven threw, and held his honds hie:

Immortall God (qd. he) that maiest not dien,

Cupide I meane, of this maiest glorifie,

And Venus, thou maiest maken melodie

* Withouten hond, me seemeth yt in toune,

For this miracle iche here eche bell soune.

But ho, no more now of this mattere,

For why? This folke woll comen up anone,

That have the letter redde, lo I hem here,

But I conjure thee Creseide, and one

And two, thou Troilus when thou maist gone

That at mine house ye ben at my warning,

For I full well shall shapen your comming.

And easeth there your harts right ynough,

And let see which of you shall beare the bell

To speak of love aright, & therwith he lough,

For there have I a leiser for to tell:

(Qd. Troilus) how long shall I here dwell

Ere this be doen? qd. he, when thou maiest rise

This thing shall be right as you list devise.

With that Heleine and also Deiphebus

Tho comen upward right at y• staires end,

And Lord so tho gan gronen Troilus,

His brother and his suffer for to blend:

(Qd. Pandarus) it time is that we wend,

Take nece mine your leave at hem all three,

And let hem speak, & commeth forth with me.

She tooke her leave at hem full thriftely,

As she well could, and they her reverence

Vnto the full didden hartely,

And wonder well speaken in her absence

Of her, in praising of her excellence,

Her governaunce, her wit, and her manere

Commendeden, that it joy was to here.

Now let her wend unto her owne place,

And tourne we unto Troilus againe,

That gan full lightly of the letter pace,

That Deiphebus had in the garden seine,

And of Heleine and him he would feine

Delivered ben, and saied, that him lest

To slepe, and after tales have a rest.

Heleine him kist, and tooke her leave blive,

Deiphebus eke, and home went every wight,

And Pandarus as fast as he may drive

To Troilus tho came, as any line right,

And on a paillet, all that glad night

By Troilus he lay, with merry chere

To tale, and well was hem they were ifere.

When every wight was voided but they two,

And all the dores weren fast ishet,

[Page] To tell in short, withouten words mo,

This Pandarus, without any let

Vp rose, and on his beddes side him set,

And gan to speaken in a sober wise

To Troilus, as I shall you devise.

Mine alderlevest Lord, and brother dere,

God wot, and thou, that it sate me so sore,

When I thee saw so languishing to here,

For love of which thy wo woxe alway more,

That I with all my might, and all my lore,

Have ever sithen doen my businesse

To bring thee to joy out of distresse.

And have it brought to such plite as thou wost

So y• through me thou stondest now in way

To faren well, I say it for no bost,

And wost thou why, but shame it is to say,

For thee have I begon a gamen play,

Which that I never doen shall eft for other,

All tho he were a thousand fold my brother.

That is to say, for thee am I becomen,

Betwixen game and earnest such a meane,

As maken women unto men to comen,

All say I nat, thou wost well what I meane,

For thee have I my nece, of vices cleane,

So fully made thy gentillesse trist,

That all shall ben right as thy selfe list.

But God, y• all woteth, take I to witnesse,

That never I this for covetise wrought,

But only for to abredge that distresse,

For wch welnie thou didest, as me thought:

But good brother do now as thee ought,

For Gods love, and kepe her out of blame,

Sins thou art wise, & save alway her name.

For well thou wost, the name as yet of her

Emongs y• people as (who saith) halowed is,

For that man is unbore I dare well swere,

That ever wist that she did amis,

But wo is me, that I that cause all this,

May thinken that she is my nece dere,

And I her eme, and traitour eke ifere.

And wer it wist, yt I through mine engine

Had in mine nece iput this fantasie

To doen thy lust, and holly to be thine:

Why all the world would upon it crie,

And say, that I the worst trecherie

Did in this case, that ever was begon,

And she fordone, and thou right nought iwon.

Wherfore ere I woll further gone or paas,

Yet eft I thee beseech, and fully say,

That privete go with us in this caas,

That is to saine, that thou us never wray,

And be not wroth, though I thee oft pray,

To holden secre such an high mattere,

For skilfull is, thou wost well, my praiere.

And thinke wt wo there hath betid ere this

For making of avauntes, as men rede,

And what mischaunce in this world yet is

Fro day to day, right for that wicked dede,

For which these wise clerkes that ben dede

Have ever this proverbed to us young,

* That the first vertue is to kepe the toung.

And nere it that I wilne as now abredge

Diffusion of speech, I could almost

A thousand old stories thee alledge

Of women lost, through false and fooles bost,

Proverbes canst thy selfe inow, and wost

Ayenst that vice for to been a blabbe,

All saied men sooth, as often as they gabbe.

O tongue alas, so often here beforne

Hast thou made many a lady bright of hew,

Saied welaway the day that I was borne,

And many a maidens sorrow for to new,

* And for the more part all is untrew

That men of yelpe, & it were brought to preve,

Of kind, none avauntour is to leve.

Avauntour and a lier, all is one,

As thus: I pose a woman graunt me

Her love, & saieth that other woll she none,

And I am sworne to holden it secree,

And after I tell it two or three,

Iwis I am a vauntour at the lest,

And lier eke, for I breake my behest.

Now looke then if they be not to blame,

Such maner folk, wt shall I clepe hem, what,

That hem avaunt of women, and by name,

That yet behight hem never this ne that,

Ne know hem no more than mine old hat,

* No wonder is, so God me send hele,

Though women dreden with us men to dele.

I say not this for no mistrust of you,

Ne for no wise men, but for fooles nice,

And for the harme that in the world is now,

As well for follie oft, as for mallice,

For well wote I, in wise folke that vice

No woman dredeth, if she be well avised,

* For wise been by fooles harme chastised.

But now to purpose leve brother dere

Have all this thing that I have saied in mind,

And keep thee close, & be now of good chere

For all thy daies thou shalt me true find,

I shall thy processe set in such a kind,

And God toforne, that it shall thee suffise,

For it shall be right as thou wolt devise.

For well I wote, thou meanest well parde,

Therefore I dare this fully undertake,

Thou wost eke what thy lady graunted thee,

And day is set the charters to make,

Have now good night, I may no lenger wake

And bid for me, sith thou art now in blisse,

That God me send death, or some lisse.

Who might tellen halfe the joy or feste

Which that the soule of Troilus tho felt,

Hearing theffect of Pandarus beheste:

His old wo, that made his heart to swelt,

Gan tho for joy wasten, and to melt,

And all the richesse of his sighes sore

At ones fled, he felt of hem no more.

[Page] But right so as these holts & these hayis

That han in Winter dead ben and dry,

Revesten hem in grene, when that May is,

When every lusty listeth to pley,

Right in that selfe wise, sooth for to sey,

Woxe suddainly his heart full of joy,

That gladder was there never man in Troy.

And gan his looke on Pandarus up cast

Full soberly, and friendly on to see,

And saied, friend, in Aprill the last,

As well thou wost, if it remember thee,

How nigh the death for wo thou found me,

And how thou diddest all thy businesse

To know of me the cause of my distresse.

Thou wost how long I it forbare to say

To thee, that art the man that I best trist,

And perill none was it to thee to bewray,

That wist I well: but tell me if thee list,

Sith I so loth was that thy selfe it wist,

How durst I mo tellen of this matere?

That quake now, & no wight may us here.

But nathelesse, by that God I thee swere,

That as him list may all the world governe,

And if I lye, Achilles with his spere

Mine heart cleave, all were my life eterne,

As I am mortall, if I late or yerne

Would it bewray, or durst or should conne,

For all the good that God made under sonne.

That rather die I would, and determine

As thinketh me now, stocked in prison,

In wretchednesse, in filth, and in vermine,

Captive to cruell king Agamenmon,

And this in all the temples of this toun,

Vpon the Gods all, I woll thee swere

To morow day, if that thee liketh here.

And that thou hast so much idoen for me,

That I ne may it nevermore deserve,

This know I well, all might I now for thee

A thousand times on a morow sterve,

I can no more, but that I woll thee serve

Right as thy slave, whether so thou wend,

For evermore, unto my lives end.

But here with all mine hart I thee beseech,

That never in me thou deme such folly

As I shall saine: me thought by thy speech,

That this which thou me dost for companie,

I should wenen it were a baudrie,

* I am not wood, all if I leud be,

It is not so, that wote I well parde.

But he that goeth for gold, or for richesse,

On such messages, call him what ye list,

And this that thou dost, call it gentlenesse,

Compassion, and fellowship, and trist,

Depart it so, For wide where is wist

* How that there is diversitie required

Betwixen things like, as I have lered.

And that thou know I thinke not ne wene,

That this service a shame be or iape,

I have my faire sister Polexene,

Cassandre, Helein, or any of the frape,

Be she never so faire, or well ishape,

Tell me which thou wilt of everychone

To have for thine, and let me then alone.

But sith yt thou hast done me this service,

My life to save, and for none hope of mede:

So for the love of God, this great emprise

Performe it out, now is the most nede

For high and low, withouten any drede,

I woll alway thine hestes all kepe,

Have now good night, & let us both slepe.

Thus held hem ech of other well apaied,

That all the world ne might it bet amend,

And on the morrow when they were araied,

Ech to his owne needs gan to entend:

But Troilus, though as the fire he brend,

For sharpe desire of hope, and of pleasaunce,

He not forgate his good governaunce.

But in himself, with manhood gan restrain

Ech rakell deed, and ech unbridled chere,

That all that liven sooth for to saine,

Ne should have wist by word or by manere

What yt he ment, as touching this matere,

From every wight, as ferre as is the cloud,

He was so wise, and well dissimulen coud.

And all the while which that I now devise,

This was his life, with all his full might:

By day he was in Martes high servise,

That is to saine, in armes as a knight,

And for the more part all the long night,

He lay and thought how that he might serve

His lady best, her thanke for to deserve.

Nill I not sweare, although he lay soft,

That in his thought nas somwhat diseased,

Ne that he tourned on his pillowes oft,

And would of that him missed have ben eased,

But in such case men be nat alway pleased,

For naught I wote: no more then was he,

That can I deeme of possibilite.

But certaine is, to purpose for to go,

That in this while, as written is in geste,

He saw his lady sometime, and also

She with him spake, when yt she durst & leste,

And by her both avise, as was the best,

Appointeden full warely in this need,

So as they durst, how they would proceed.

But it was spoken in so short a wise,

In such awaite alway, and in such feare,

Least any wight divinen or devise

Would of hem two, or to it lay an eare,

That all this world so lefe to hem ne were,

As that Cupide would hem his grace send,

To maken of her speech right an end.

But thilke little yt they spake or wrought,

His wise ghost tooke aye of all such hede,

It seemed her he wist what she thought,

Withouten word, so that it was no nede

To bid him aught to doen, or aught forbede,

[Page] For which she thought yt love, all come it late,

Of all joy had opened her the yate.

And shortly of this processe for to pace,

So well his werke and words he beset,

That he so full stood in his ladies grace,

That twenty thousand times ere she let,

She thonked God she ever with him met,

So could he him governe in such servise,

That all the world ne might it bet devise.

For she found him so discreet in all,

So secret, and of such obeisaunce,

That well she felt he was to her a wall

Of steel, and shield of every displeasaunce,

That to been in his good governaunce,

So wise he was, she was no more afered,

I meane as ferre as aught ben requered.

And Pandarus to quicke alway the fire,

Was ever ilike prest and diligent,

To ease his friend was set all his desire,

He shone aye on, he to and fro was sent,

He letters bare, when Troilus was absent,

That never man, as in his friendes nede,

Ne bare him bet than he, withouten drede.

But now peraventure some man waiten would

That every word, or sond, looke, or chere

Of Troilus, that I rehearcen should

In all this while, unto his lady dere,

I trow it were a long thing for to here,

Or of what wight that stant in such disjoint

His words all, or every looke to point.

Forsooth I have not herd it done ere this,

In story none, ne no man here I wene,

And though I would, I could not iwis,

For there was some epistle hem betwene,

That would (as saith mine autor) wel contene

Ny half this boke, of which him list not write,

How should I then a line of it endite?

But to the great effect, then say I thus,

That stonden in concord and in quiete

This ilke two, Creseide and Troilus,

As I have told, and in this time swete,

Save onely often might they not mete,

Ne leisure have, her speeches to fulfell,

That it befell right as I shall you tell,

That Pandarus, that ever did his might,

Right for the fine that I shall speake of here,

As for to bringen to his house some night

His faire nece, and Troilus ifere,

Where as at leiser all this high matere

Touching her love were at y• full up bound,

Had out of doubt a time to it found.

For he with great deliberation

Had every thing that thereto might availe

Forne cast, and put in execution,

And nether left for cost ne for travaile,

Come if hem list, hem should nothing faile,

And for to ben in aught aspied there,

That wist he well in impossible were.

Dredelesse it clere was in the wind

Of every pie, and every let game,

Now all is well, for all the world is blind

In this matter, both fremed and tame,

* This timber is all ready up to frame,

Vs lacketh naught, but yt we weten wouldd▪

A certaine houre, in which she comen shoul

And Troilus, that all this purveyaunce

Knew at the full, and waited on it aye,

And hereupon eke made great ordinaunce,

And found his cause, & therwith his arraye,

If that he were missed night or day,

They thought there while he was about this servise,

That he was gone to done his sacrifice.

And must at soch a temple alone wake,

Answered of Apollo for to be,

And first to sene the holy laurer quake:

Er that Apollo spake out of the tree,

To tellen him next whan Greeks should flie,

And for thy let him no man, God forbede

But pray Apollo helpe in this nede.

Now is there litell more for to done,

But Pandare up, and shortly for to saine,

Right sone upon the chaunging of ye Mone,

Whan lightlesse is ye world a night or twaine,

And that the welken shope him for to raine,

He streight a morow unto his nece went,

Ye have well herde the fine of his entent.

When he was comen, he gan anon to play,

As he was wont, and of himselfe to yape,

And finally he swore, and gan her say,

By this and that, she should him not escape,

No lenger done him after her to gape:

But certainly, she must by her leve,

Come soupen in his house with him at eve.

At which she lough, & gan her first excuse,

And said: it raineth: lo, how should I gone,

Let be (qd. he) ne stonde not thus to muse,

This mote be don, ye shal come there anone,

So at the last, hereof they fell at one:

Or els fast he swore her in her eere,

He nolde never comen there she were.

Sone after this, she to him gan rowne,

And asked him if Troilus were there,

He swore her nay, for he was out of towne:

And said, nece, I suppose that he were there,

You durst never thereof have the more fere,

For rather than men might him there aspie,

Me were lever a thousand folde to die.

Naught list mine auctour fully to declare,

What that she thought, whan as he said so,

That Troilus was out of towne ifare,

And if he said thereof soth or no,

But that withouten awaite with him to go,

She graunted him, sith he her that besought,

And as his nece obeyed as her ought.

But nathelesse, yet gan she him besech,

(Although with him to gone it was no fere)

[Page] For to beware of gofisshe peoples spech,

That dremen things, which that never were,

And wel avise him whom he brought there:

And said him eme, sens I must on you trist,

Loke al be wel, and do now as you list.

He swore her this, by stockes and by stones,

And by the Goddes that in heven dwell,

Or els were him leaver soule and bones,

With Pluto king, as depe ben in Hell

As Tantalus, what should I more tell:

Whan al was wel, he rose and toke his leve,

And she to souper came whan it was eve.

With a certaine number of her own men,

And with her faire nece Antigone,

And other of her women nine or ten,

But who was glad now, who as trowe yee?

But Troilus, that stode and might it see

Throughout a litel window in a stewe,

Ther he beshet, sith midnight, was in mewe,

Vnwist of every wight, but of Pandare.

But to the point, now when yt she was come,

With al ioy, and al her frendes in fare,

Here Eme anon in armes hath her nome,

And then to the souper al and some,

Whan as time was, full softe they hem set,

God wot there was no deinte ferre to fet.

And after souper gonnen they to rise,

At ease well, with hart full fresh and glade,

And wel was him that coude best devise

To liken her, or that her laughen made,

He songe, she plaide, he told a tale of Wade:

But at the last, as every thing hath end,

She toke her leave, and neds would thence wend.

But O fortune, executrice of wierdes,

O influences of these hevens hie,

Soth is, that vnder God ben our hierdes,

Though to vs beestes ben the causes wrie,

This mene I now, for she gan homward hie:

But execute was all beside her leve,

At the goddes wil, for which she must bleve.

The bente Mone with her hornes all pale,

Saturnus & Iove, in Cancro ioyned were,

That such a raine from heven gan availe,

That every maner woman that was there,

Had of that smoky raine a very feere:

At which Pandare tho lough, & said thenne,

Now were it time a Lady to go henne.

But good nece, if I might ever please

You any thing, then pray I you (qd. he)

To don mine hart as now so great an ease,

As for to dwell here al this night with me,

For why? this is your owne house parde:

For by my trouth, I say it nat in game,

To wende as now, it were to me a shame.

* Creseide, which yt could as much good

As halfe a world, toke hede of his praire,

And sens it rained, and al was in a flode,

* She thouȝt, as good chepe may I dwel here

* And graunt it gladly with a frendes chere,

And have a thonk, as grutch and then abide,

For home to go it may nat well betide.

I wol (qd. she) mine vncle liefe and dere,

Sens that you list, it skill is to be so,

I am right glad with you to dwellen here,

I said but againe that I would go,

Iwis graunt mercy nece (qd. he) tho:

Were it agame or no, sothe to tell,

Now am I glad, sens that you list to dwel.

Thus al is wel, but tho began aright

The new ioy, and al the fest againe,

But Pandarus, if goodly had he might,

He would have hied her to bedde full faine,

And said, O Lord this is an huge raine,

This were a wether for to sleepen in,

And that I rede vs soone to begin.

And nece, wote ye where I woll you lay,

For that we shul not liggen ferre a sonder,

And for ye neither shullen, dare I say,

Here noise of raine, ne yet of thonder,

By God right in my closet yonder,

And I wol in that vtter house alone,

Ben wardain of your women everichone.

And in this middle chambre that ye se,

Shal your women slepen, wel and soft,

And there I said, shal your selven be:

And if ye liggen wel to night, come oft,

And careth not what wether is aloft.

The wine anone, and when so you lest,

Go we to slepe, I trowe it be the best.

There nis no more, but hereafter sone

They voide, dronke, & travers draw anone,

Gan every wight that hath nought to done

More in the place, out of the chambre gone,

And ever more so stereliche it rone,

And blewe therwith so wonderliche loude,

That wel nigh no man heren other coude.

Tho Pandarus her Eme, right as him ought

With women, such as were her most about,

Ful glad vnto her beddes side her brought,

And toke his leave, and gan ful lowe lout,

And said, here at this closet dore without,

Right overtwhart, your women liggen all,

That whom ye list of hem, ye may sone call.

Lo when that she was in the closet laid,

And al her women forth by ordinaunce,

A bedde weren, there as I have said,

There nas no more to skippen nor to praunce,

But boden go to bedde with mischaunce,

If any wight stering were any where,

And let hem slepen, that abedde were.

* But Pandarus, yt wel couth eche adele,

The old daunce, and every point therin,

When that he saw that all thing was wele,

He thought he wold vpon his werke begin:

And gan the stewe dore al soft vnpin,

As still as a stone, without lenger let,

By Troilus adoun right he him set.

[Page] And shortly to the point right for to gone,

Of al this werke he told him worde and end,

And said, make thee redy right anone,

For thou shalt into heven blisse wend.

Now blisfull Venus, thou me grace send

(Qd. Troilus) for never yet no dede,

Had I er now, ne halfendele the drede.

(Qd. Pandarus) ne drede thee never a dele,

For it shal be right as thou wolt desire,

So thriue I, this night shall I make it we [...]e,

* Or casten in all the gruel in the fire,

Yet blisful Venus this night thou me enspire

(Qd. Troilus) as wis as I the serve,

And ever bet and bet shall till I sterve.

And if I had, O Venus ful of mirth,

Aspectes badde of Mars, or of Saturne,

Or thou combuste, or let were in my birth,

Thy father pray, al thilke harme disturne,

Of grace, and that I glad ayen may turne:

For love of him thou lovedst in the shawe,

I mean Adon, that with y• bore was slawe.

Iove eke, for the love of faire Europe,

The which in forme of a bulle away thou fet,

Now help, O Mars, thou with thy blody cope

For love of Cipria, thou me naught ne let,

O Phebus, think when Daphne herselven shet

Vnder ye barke, and Laurer woxe for drede,

Yet for her love, O help now at this nede.

Mercurie, for the love of her eke,

For which Pallas was with Aglauros wroth

Now helpe and eke Diane I the beseke,

That this viage be nat to the loth:

O fatall sustren, which or any cloth

Me shapen was, my destine me sponne,

So helpeth to this werke that is begonne.

(Qd. Pandarus) thou wretched mouces hert,

Art thou agast so that she will the bite,

Why do on this furred cloke on thy sherte,

And folow me, for I wol have the wite:

But bide, and let me gon before alite,

And with that he gan vndone a trappe,

And Troilus he brought in by the lappe.

The sterne winde so loude gan for to rout

That no wight other noise might here,

And they that laien at the dore without,

Ful sikerly they slepten al ifere:

And Pandarus, with ful sobre chere,

Goth to the dore anon withouten lette,

There as they lay, and softly it shette.

And as he came ayen prively

His nece awoke, & asketh, who goeth there?

My owne dere nece (qd. he) it am I,

Ne wondreth not, ne have of it no fere,

And nere he came, and said her in her eere:

No worde for love of God I you besech,

Let no wight arise, and here of our spech.

What, which way be ye comen? benedicite,

(Qd. she) and how vnwiste of hem all.

Here at this secrete trap dore (qd. he)

(Qd. Tho Creseide) let me some wight call:

Eigh, God forbid that it should so fall,

(Qd. Pandarus) that ye such foly wrought,

They might dementhing they never erthoust.

* It is nat good a sleping hound to wake,

Ne yeve a wight a cause for to devine,

Your women slepen al, I vndertake,

So that for hem the house men might mine,

And slepen wollen till the sunne shine,

And when my tale is brought to an end,

Vnwist right as I came, so wol I wende.

Now nece mine, ye shul well vnderstonde,

(Qd. he) so as ye women demen all,

* That for to hold in love a man in honde,

And him her lefe and dere hart to call,

And maken him an howne above to call:

I mene, as love an other in this mene while,

She doth her selfe a shame, and him a gile.

Now wherby that I tel you al this,

Ye wote your selfe, as wel as any wight,

How that your love al fully graunted is

To Troilus, the worthiest wight

One of the world, and thereto trouth iplight,

That but it were on him alone, ye nold

Him never falsen, while ye liven should.

Now stonte it thus, yt sith I fro you went

This Troilus, right platly for to seine

Is through a gutter by a privy went,

Into my chambre come in al this reine:

Vnwist of every maner wight certaine,

Save of my selfe, as wisely have I joy,

And by the faith I owe to Priam of Troy.

And he is come in such paine and distresse,

That but if he be al fully wood by this,

He sodainly mote fal into woodnesse,

But if God helpe: and cause why is this,

He saith him tolde is of a frende of his,

How yt ye should loven one, that hight Horast,

For sorow of which this night shal be his last.

Creseide, which that al this wonder herde

Gan sodainly about her hart cold,

And with a sighe she sorowfully answerd,

Alas, I wende who so ever tales told,

My dere hart woulden me nat have hold

So lightly faulse, alas conceites wrong,

What harm they done, for now live I to long.

Horaste alas, and falsen Troilus,

I know him not, God helpe me so (qd. she)

Alas, what wicked spirite told him thus,

Now certes eme, to morow and I him se,

I shal therof as full excusen me,

As ever did woman, if him like,

And with that word she gan ful sore sike.

* O God (qd. she) so worldy selinesse

Which clerkes callen false felicite,

Ymedled is with many bitternesse,

Ful anguishous, then is God wote (qd. she)

[Page] Condicion of veine prosperite,

* For either joyes comen nat ifere,

Or els no wight hath hem alway here.

O brotil wele of mannes joy vnstable,

With wt wight so thou be, or thou who play

Either he wote, that thou joy art mutable,

Or wote it nat, it mote ben one of tway:

Now if he wot it nat, how may he say,

That he hath very joy and silinesse,

That is of ignorance aie in derkenesse.

* Now if he wote that ioy is transitory,

As every joy of worldly thing mote flee,

Then every time he that hath in memory,

The drede of lesing, maketh him that he

May in no parfite sikernesse be:

And if to lese his joy, he set a mite,

Then semeth it, that joy is worth ful lite.

Wherefore I wol define in this matere,

That truely for aught I can espie,

There is no very wele in this world here.

But O thou wicked serpent Ialousie,

Thou misbeleved, and enuious folie,

Why hast thou Troilus made to me vntrist,

That never yet agilte, that I wist?

(Qd. Pandarus) thus fallen is this caas,

Why vncle mine (qd. she) who told him this,

And why doth my dere herte thus, alas?

Ye wote, ye nece mine (qd. he) what it is,

I hope al shal be wel, that is amis,

For ye may quenche al this, if that you lest,

And doeth right so, I hold it for the best.

So shal I do to morow, iwis (qd. she)

And God toforne, so that it shall suffice:

To morow alas, that were faire (qd. he)

Nay nay, it may nat stonden in this wise:

For nece mine, this writen clerkes wise,

That peril is with dretching in drawe,

Nay soche abodes ben nat worth an hawe.

* Nece, all thing hath time I dare avow,

For when a chambre a fire is or an hall,

Well more nede is, it sodainly rescow,

Then to disputen and aske amongs all,

How the candle in the strawe is fall:

Ah benedicite, for al among that fare,

* The harme is done, and farwel feldefare.

And nece mine, ne take it nat a grefe,

If that ye suffre him al night in this wo,

God helpe me so, ye had him never lefe,

That date I sain, now there is but we two,

But wel I wote that ye wol nat so do,

Ye ben to wise to done so great folie,

To put his life al night in jeopardie.

Had I him never lefe? By God I wene,

Ye had never thing so lefe, (qd. she)

Now by my thrifte (qd. he) that shall be sene,

For sith ye make this ensample of me,

If iche al night would him in sorow se,

For al the treasour in the tonne of Troie,

I bidde God, I never mote have joie,

Now loke then, if ye that ben his love,

Should put his life al night in jeopardie,

For thing of nought, now by y• God above

Nat onely this delay cometh of folie,

But of malice, if that I should nat lie,

What, platly and ye suffre him in distresse,

Ye neither bounte done ne gentilnesse.

(Qd. tho Creseide) wol ye done a thing,

And ye therwith shal stinte al his disease,

Have here and bere to him this blew ring,

For there is nothing might him better plese,

Save I my selfe, ne more his hart apese,

And say my dere harte, that his sorow,

Is causelesse, that shal he sene to morow.

* A ring (qd. he) ye hasel wodes shaken,

Ye nece mine, that ring must have a stone,

That might deed men a live all maken,

And such a ring trowe I that yee have none:

Discrecion out of your heed is gone,

That fele I now (qd. he) and that is routh,

* O time ilost, wel maist thou cursen slouth.

Wote ye not wel that noble and hie corage,

Ne soroweth nat, ne stinteth eke for lite,

But if a foole were in a jalous rage,

I nolde setten at his sorow a mite,

But fesse him with a fewe wordes all white,

Another day, when that I might him find,

But this thing stant al in another kind.

This is so gentle and so tender of hart,

That with his death he wol his sorows wreke

For trust it well, how sore that him smart,

He woll to you no jealous wordes speke,

And for thy nece, er that his hart breke,

So speke your selfe to him of this matere,

For with a worde ye may his hart stere.

Now have I told what peril he is in,

And his coming vnwist is to every wight,

Ne parde harme may there be none, ne sin,

I wol my self be with you all this night,

Ye know eke how it is your owne knight,

And that by right, ye must vpon him triste,

And I al prest to fetch him when you liste.

This accident so pitous was to here,

And eke so like a sothe, at prime face,

And Troilus her knight, to her so dere,

His priue comming, and the liker place,

That though she did him as then a grace,

Considred all things as they now stood,

No wonder is, sens he did al for good.

Creseide answerde, as wisely God at rest

My soule bring, as me is for him wo,

And eme iwis, faine would I don the best,

If that I grace had for to do so,

But whether that ye dwell, or for him go,

I am, till God me better minde send,

* At Dulcarnon, right at my wittes end.

(Qd. Pandarus) ye nece wol ye here,

Dulcarnon is called fleming of wretches,

[Page] It semeth herd, for wretches wol nought lere,

For very slouth, or other wilfull [...]etches,

This is said by hem y• be not worth two fetches,

But ye ben wise, & y• ye han on hond,

Nis neither harde, ne skilfull to withstond.

Then eme (qd. she) doeth here as you list,

But ere he come, I wol vp first arise,

And for the love of God, sens all my trist

Is on you two, and ye beth bothe wise,

So werketh now, in so discrete a wise,

That I honour may have, and he plesaunce,

For I am here, al in your gouernaunce.

That is wel said (qd. he) my nece dere,

There good thrifte on that wise gentill hart,

But liggeth still, and taketh him right here,

It nedeth nat no ferther for him start,

And eche of you easeth other sorowes smart,

For love of God, and Venus I the herie,

For sone hope I, that we shall ben merie.

This Troilus full sone on knees him sette,

Ful sobrely, right by her beddes heed,

And in his beste wise his Lady grette,

But Lord so she woxe sodainliche reed:

Ne though men should smiten of her heed,

She could not o word a right out bring,

So sodainly for his sodaine coming.

But Pandarus, that so wel could fele

In every thing, to play anon began,

And said, nece se how this Lord gan knele:

Now for your trouth: se this gentil man,

And with that worde, he for a quishen ran,

And saied kneleth now while that thou lest.

There as God your harts bring sone at rest.

Can I naught sain, forshe bad him nat rise,

If sorow it put out of her remembraunce,

Or els that she toke it in the wise

Of duetie, as for his observaunce,

But well find I, she did him this pleasaunce,

That she him kist, although she siked sore,

And bad him sit adoun withouten more.

(Qd. Pandarus) now wol ye well begin,

Now doth him sitte downe, good nece dere

Vpon your beddes side, al there within,

That ech of you the bet may other here,

And with that worde he drew him to ye fiere,

And toke a light, & founde his countenaunce,

As for to loke vpon an olde romaunce.

Creseide that was Troilus lady right,

And clere stode in a ground of sikernesse,

All thought she her seruaunt and her knight,

Ne should none vntrouth in her gesse:

That nathelesse, considred his distresse,

And that love is in cause of such folie,

Thus to him spake she of his jalousie.

Lo hert mine, as would the excellence,

Of love, ayenst the which that no man may,

Ne ought eke goodly maken resistence,

And eke bicause I felte wel and say,

Your great trouth, and service every day:

And yt your hart al mine was, soth to saine,

This droue me for to rewe vpon your paine,

And your goodnes have I founden alway yet,

Of which may dere hert, and al my knight,

I thanke it you, as ferre as I have wit,

Al can I nat as much as it were right,

And I emforth my conning and my might

Have, and aie shal, how sore that ye smert,

Ben to you trew and hole with all mine hert.

And dredelesse yt shal be founden at preue,

But hert mine, what al this is to sain,

Shall well be told, so yt he nouȝt you greue

Though I to you right on your self complain,

For there with meane I finally the pain,

That halte your harte & mine in heauinesse,

Fully to slaine, and every wrong redresse.

My good mine, not I, for why ne how

That jelousie alas, that wicked wivere,

Thus causelesse is cropen into you:

The harme of which I would faine delivere,

Alas, that he all hole or of him some slivere,

Should have his refute in so digne a place,

That Iove, him sone out of your hart race.

But O thou, O auctour of nature,

Is this an honour to thy dignite,

That folke vngilty suffren here iniure,

And who that gilty is, al quite goeth he:

O were it lefull for to plaine of the,

That vndeserved sufferest jalousie,

O, that I would vpon thee plaine and crie.

Eke al my wo is this, that folke now vsen

* To saine right thus: ye jalousie is love,

And would a bushel of venim al excusen,

For that a grane of love is on it shove,

But that wote high Iove that sit above,

If it be liker love, hate, or grame,

And after that it ought beare his name.

But certaine is, some maner jalousie

Is excusable, more than some iwis,

As whan cause is, and some such fantasie

With pite so well expressed is,

That it vnneth doeth or saith amis,

But goodly drinketh vp al his distresse,

And that excuse I for the gentilnesse.

And some so full of fury is, and despite,

That it surmounteth his repression,

But hart mine, ye be not in that plite,

That thonke I God, for which your passion,

I will nat call it but illusion

Of haboundance of love, and beste cure,

That doth your hart this disease endure.

Of which I am sory, but not wrothe,

But for my deuoir and your harts rest,

When so you list, by ordal or by othe,

By sorte, or in what wise so you lest,

For love of God, set preue it for the best,

And if that I be gilty, do me die,

Alas, what might I more done or seie.

[Page]

With that a few bright teeres new,

Out of her eien fel, and thus she seid,

Now God thou wost, in thought ne dede untrew,

To Troilus was never yet Creseid,

With that her heed doun in the bed she leid,

And with the shete it wrigh, and sighed sore,

And held her pece, nat a word spake she more.

But now help God, to quench al this sorow,

So hope I that he shall, for he best may,

* For I have sene of a ful misty morow,

Folowen ful oft a mery somers day,

And after winter foloweth grene May,

Men sene all day, and reden eke in stories,

That after sharpe shoures ben victories.

This Troilus, when he her wordes herde,

Have ye no care, him list nat to slepe,

For it thought him no strokes of a yerde

To here or see Creseide his lady wepe,

But well he felt about his harte crepe,

For every teare which that Creseide astert,

The crampe of death, to straine him by ye hert,

And in his minde he gan the time accurse

That he came there, & that he was borne,

For now is wicke tourned into worse,

And all that labour he hath doen beforne,

He wendeit lost, he thought he nas but lorne,

O Pandarus thought he, alas thy wile,

Serveth of nought, so welaway the while.

And therwithall he hing adoun his hedde,

And fell on knees, and sorowfully he sight,

What might he sain? he felt he nas but dedde,

For wroth was she yt should his sorows light:

But nathelesse, when that he speaken might,

Then said he thus, God wote yt of this game,

When all is wist, then am I not to blame.

Therwith the sorow of his hart shet,

That from his iyen fell there nat a tere,

And every spirite his vigour in knet,

So they astonied or oppressed were:

The feling of sorow, or of his fere,

Or of aught els, fledde were out of toune,

A doune he fell all sodainly in swoune.

This was no little sorow for to se,

But all was husht, and Pandare up as fast,

O nece peace, or we be lost (qd. he)

Bethe nat agast, but certain at last,

For this or that, he into bedde him cast,

And saied, O thefe, is this a mans herte?

And off he rent all to his bare sherte.

And saied nece, but and ye helpe us now,

Alas your owne Troilus is forlorne.

Iwis so would I, and I wist how

Full fain (qd. she) alas that I was borne.

* Ye nece, woll ye pullen out the thorne

That sticketh in his hart (qd. Pandare)

Say all foryeve, and stint is all this fare.

Ye that to me (qd. she) full lever were

Than all the good the Sunne about goeth,

And therwithall she swore him in his eare,

Iwis my dere hart I am not wrothe,

Have here my trouth, & many other othe,

Now speake to me, for it am I Creseide,

But all for naught, yet might he nat abreide.

Therwith his poulce, & paums of his hondes

They gan to frote, & wete his temples twain,

And to deliver him fro bitter bondes,

She oft him kist, and shortly for to sain,

Him to rewaken she did all her pain,

And at the last he gan his breath to drawe,

And of his swough sone after that adawe.

And gan bet minde, & reason to him take,

But wonder sore he was abashed iwis,

And with a sigh when he gan bet awake

He said, O mercy God, what thing is this?

Why do ye with your selven thus amis?

(Qd. tho Creseide) is this a mans game,

What Troilus, woll ye do thus for shame?

And therwithal her arm over him she laied,

And all foryave, and oftime him kest,

He thonked her, and to her spake and saied

As fill to purpose, for his hartes rest,

And she to that answerde him as her lest,

And with her goodly wordes him disport

She gan, and oft his sorowes to comfort.

(Qd. Pandarus) for ought I can aspies,

This light nor I ne se [...]ven here of naught,

Light is nat good for sike folkes iyes,

But for y• love of God, sens ye been brought

In this good plite, let now none hevy thought

Been hanged in the hartes of you twey,

And bare the candle to the chimney.

Soone after this, though it no nede were,

When she soche othes as her list devise

Had of hem take, her thought tho no fere,

Ne cause eke none, to bid him thens rise:

Yet lesse thing than othes may suffice,

* In many a case, for every wight I gesse,

That loveth well, meaneth but gentilnesse.

But in effect she would wete anon,

Of what man, and eke where, and also why

He jalous was, sens there was cause non:

And eke the signe that he toke it by,

She bade him that to tell her busily,

Or els certain she bare him on honde,

That this was doen of malice her to fonde.

Withouten more, shortly for to sain

He must obey unto his ladies hest,

And for ye lasse harme he must somwhat fain,

He saied her, whan she was at soche a fest,

She might on him have loked at the lest,

Not I nat what, all dere inough a rishe,

As he that nedes must a cause out fish.

And she answerde, swete, all were it so

What harme was yt, sens I non evill meane,

For by that God that bought us both two,

In all maner thing is mine entent cleane:

Soch arguments ne be nat worth a beane,

[Page] Woll ye the childish ialous counterfete,

Now were it worthy that ye were ibete.

Tho Troilus gan sorowfully to sike

Lest she be wroth, him thouȝt his hart deide,

And saied, alas, upon my sorowes sike,

Have mercy, O swete hart mine Creseide:

And if that in tho wordes that I seide,

Be any wrong, I woll no more trespace,

Doeth what you list, I am all in your grace.

And she answerde, of gilt misericorde

That is to saine, that I foryeve all this,

And evermore on this night you recorde,

And bethe well ware ye do no more amis:

Nay dere harte mine no more (qd. he) iwis,

And now (qd. she) that I have you do smart,

Foryeve it to me, mine owne swete hart.

This Troilus with blisse of that surprised,

Put all in Goddes hand, as he that ment

Nothing but well, and sodainly avised

He her in his armes fast to him hent:

And Pandarus, with a full good entent,

Laied him to slepe, and saied, if ye be wise,

Sweveneth not now, lest more folke arise.

What might or may the sely Larke say,

When yt the sparhauke hath him in his fote,

I can no more, but of these ilke tway,

(To whom this tale sugre be or sote)

Though I tary a yeere, sometime I mote,

After mine aucthour tellen her gladnesse,

As well as I have tolde her hevinesse.

Creseide, which that felt her thus itake,

(As writen clerkes in her bokes old)

Right as an aspen lefe she gan to quake,

Whan she him felt her in his armes fold:

But Troilus all hole of cares cold,

Gan thanken tho y• blisfull Goddes seven,

Through sondry pains to bring folk to heven.

This Troilus in armes gan her straine,

And saied swete, as ever mote I gone,

Now be ye caught, here is but we twaine,

Now yeldeth you, for other boote is none:

To that Creseide answerde thus anone,

Ne had I er now, my swete harte dere,

Been yolde iwis, I were now not here.

* O soth is saied, that healed for to be

As of a fever, or other great sicknesse,

Men must drinken, as we often se,

Full bitter drinke: & for to have gladnesse,

Men drinken oft pain, and great distresse,

I meane it here by, as for this aventure,

That through a pain hath founden al his cure.

* And now swetnesse semeth far more swete,

That bitternesse assaied was biforne,

For out of wo in blisse now they flete,

Non soch they felten seus they were borne:

Now is this bet, than bothe two be lorne,

For love of God, take every woman hede,

To werken thus, if it come to the nede.

Creseide all quite from every drede & tene,

As she that just cause had him to trist,

Made him soche feast, it joy was to sene,

When she his trouth and cleane entent wist:

And as about a tree with many a twist,

Bitrent and writhe the swete Wodbinde,

Can eche of hem in armes other winde.

And as the newe abashed Nightingale,

That stinteth first, whan she beginneth sing,

When that she heareth any heerdes tale,

Or in the hedges any wight stearing,

And after siker doeth her voice out ring:

Right so Creseide, whan that her drede stent,

Opened her hart, and told him her entent.

And right as he yt seeth his death ishapen,

And dien mote, in aught that he may gesse,

And sodainly rescous doeth hem escapen,

And from his death is brought in sikernesse:

For all this world, in soche present gladnesse,

Was Troilus, and hath his lady swete:

With worse hap God let us never mete.

Her armes smal, her streight backe & soft,

Her sides long, fleshy, smooth, and white,

He gan to stroke, and good thrift bad full oft,

Her snowisse throte, her brests round & lite:

Thus in this heaven he gan him to delite,

And therwithall a thousand times her kist,

That what to doen for ioy unneth he wist.

Then saied he thus, O Love, O Charite,

Thy mother eke, Citheria the swete,

That after thy selfe, next heried be she

Venus I meane, the well willy planete:

And next that, Imeneus I thee grete,

For never man was to you Goddes hold,

As I, which ye have brought fro cares cold.

Benigne Love, thou holy bond of thingen,

Who so woll grace, and list thee honouren,

Lo, his desire woll fly withouten wingen,

For noldest thou of bounte hem socouren

That serven best, and most alway labouren,

Yet were all lost, y• dare I well sain certes,

But if thy grace passed our desertes.

And for thou me, y• lest thonke coud deserve

Of them that nombred been unto thy grace,

Hast holpen, there I likely was to sterve,

And me bestowed in so high a place,

That thilke bounds may no blisse surpace,

I can no more, but la [...]de and reverence

Be to thy bounte and thine excellence.

And therwithall Creseide anon he kist,

Of which certain she felt no disease,

And thus saied he, now would God I wist,

Mine hart swete, how I you best might please:

What man (qd. he) was ever thus at ease,

As I? On which the fairest, and the best

That ever I sey, deineth her to rest.

Here may men seen y• mercy passeth right,

The experience of that is felt in me,

[Page] That am unworthy to so swete a wight,

But harte mine, of your benignite

So thinke, that though I unworthy be,

Yet mote I nede amenden in some wise,

Right through the vertue of your hie service.

And for the love of God my lady dere,

Sith he hath wrouȝt me for I shal you serve,

As thus I meane: woll ye be my fere,

To doe me live, if that you list or sterve:

So teacheth me, how that I may deserve:

Your thonk, so y• I through mine ignoraunce,

Ne doe nothing that you be displeasaunce.

For certes freshe and womanliche wife,

This dare I say, that trouth and diligence,

That shall ye finden in me all my life,

Ne I woll not certain breaken your defence,

And if I doe, present or in absence,

For love of God, let slea me with the dede,

If that it like unto your womanhede.

Iwis (qd. she) mine owne hartes lust,

My ground of ease, and al mine harte dere,

Graunt mercy, for on that is all my trust:

But let us fall away fro this matere,

For it suffiseth, this that said is here,

And at o worde, without repentaunce,

Welcome my kniȝt, my peace, my suffisaunce.

Of her delite or ioies, one of the least,

Were impossible to my wit to say,

But judgeth ye that have been at the feast,

Of soche gladnesse, if that him list play:

I can no more, but thus these ilke tway,

That night, betwixen drede and sikernesse,

Felten in love the great worthinesse.

O blisfull night, of hem so long isought

How blithe unto hem bothe two thou were?

Why ne had I soch feast with my soule ibouȝt?

Ye, or but the least joy that was there,

Away thou foule daunger and thou fere,

And let him in this heaven blisse dwell,

That is so high, that all ne can I tell.

But sothe is, though I can not tellen all,

As can mine aucthour of his excellence,

Yet have I saied, and God toforne shall,

In every thing all holly his sentence:

And if that I, at loves reverence,

Have any worde in eched for the best,

Doeth therwithall right as your selven lest.

For my words here, and every part,

I speake hem all under correction,

Of you that feling have in loves art,

And put it all in your discrecion,

To encrease or make diminicion

Of my language, and that I you beseech,

But now to purpose of my rather speech.

These ilke two that been in armes laft,

So lothe to hem a sonder gon it were,

That eche from other wenden been biraft,

Or els lo, this was her most fere,

That all this thing but nice dreames were,

For which ful oft ech of hem said, O swete,

Clippe I you thus, or els doe I it mete.

And Lord so he gan goodly on her se,

That never his loke ne blent from her face,

And saied, O my dere harte may it be

That it be soth, that ye beene in this place:

Ye harte mine, God thanke I of his grace,

(Qd. tho Creseide) & therwithall him kist,

That where her spirite was, for joy she nist.

This Troilus full often her iyen two

Gan for to kisse, and saied: O iyen clere,

It weren ye that wrought me soche wo,

Ye humble nettes of my lady dere:

* Tho there be mercy written in your chere,

God wote the text full harde is for to find,

How coud ye, withouten bonde me bind?

Therwith he gan her fast in armes take,

And well an hundred times gan he sike,

Not such sorrowfull sighes as men make

For wo, or els when that folke be sike:

But easie sighes, soche as been to like,

That shewed his affection within,

Of soche maner sighes could he not blin.

Sone after this, they spake of sondry things

As fill to purpose of this aventure,

And plaiyng enterchaungeden her rings,

Of which I can not tellen no scripture,

But well I wot, a broche of gold and azure,

In which a Rubbie set was like an herte,

Creseide him yave, & stacke it on his sherte.

Lord trowe ye that a coveitous wretch,

That blameth love, and halte of it dispite,

Of tho pens that he can muckre and ketch

Ever yet yave to him soche delite,

As in love, in o poinct in some plite:

Nay doubtelesse, for al so God me save

* So parfite joy may no nigard have.

They woll say yes, but Lord so they lie,

Tho busie wretches full of wo and drede,

That callen love a woodnesse of follie,

But it shall fall hem, as I shall you rede:

They shal forgon y• white and eke the rede,

And live in wo ther god yeve hem mischaunce,

And every lover in his trouth avaunce.

As would God tho wretches, that dispise

Service of love, had eares also long

As had Mida, full of covetise,

And thereto dronken had as hotte and strong

As Cresus did, for his affectes wrong

To teachen hem, that they been in the vice,

And lovers not, although they hold hem nice.

These ilke two, of whom that I you say,

Whan that her hartes well assured were,

Tho gonnen they to speake and to play,

And eke rehearcen how, when, and where

They knew first, and every wo or fere

That passed was, but all such heavinesse.

I thonke it God, was tourned to gladnesse.

[Page]

And evermore, when yt hem fell to speake,

Of any thing of soche a time agone,

With kissing all that tale should breake,

And fallen into a new ioy anone,

And didden all her might, sens they were one

For to recoveren blisse, and been at ease,

And paised wo with ioyes counterpaise.

Reason woll not that I speake of slepe,

For it accordeth not to my mattere,

God wote they toke of it full little kepe,

But lest this night that was to hem so dere

Ne should in vaine escape in no manere,

It was biset in ioy and businesse,

Of al that souneth vnto gentilnesse.

But when the cock, commune Astrologer,

Gan on his brest to heate, and after crowe,

And Lucifer, the daies messanger,

Gan to rise, and out her beames throwe,

And Estward rose, to him that could it know,

Fortuna maior, that anone Creseide

With harte sore, to Troilus thus seide:

Mine harts life, my trust, all my pleasaunce

That I was borne alas, that me is wo,

That day of vs mote make disceveraunce,

For time it is to rise, and hence go,

Or els I am lost for ever mo:

O night alas, why nilt thou over vs hove,

As long as when Alcmena lay by Iove.

O blacke night, as folke in boke rede,

That shapen art by God, this world to hide

At certain times, with thy derke wede,

That vnder that men might in rest abide,

Wel oughten beasts to plain, & folk to chide

That there as day with labor would vs brest

That thou thus fliest, and deinest vs not rest.

Thou doest alas, to shortly thine office,

Tho rakle night, there God maker of kinde,

Thee for thine hast, and thine vnkind vice,

So fast a [...]e to our hemisperie binde,

That nevermore vnder ye ground thou wind,

For now for thou so highest out of Troie,

Have I forgone thus hastely my ioie.

This Troilus, that with tho wordes felt

As thought him tho, for pitous distresse,

The bloodie teares from his harte melt,

As he that yet never soche hevinesse,

Assaied had, out of so great gladnesse:

Gan therewithall Creseide his lady dere,

In armes strain, and hold in lovely manere.

O cruell day, accuser of the ioy

That night and love have stole, & fast iwrien,

Accursed be thy comming into Troie,

For every bowre hath one of thy bright iyen:

Envious day, what list thee so to spien,

What hast thou lost, why seekest thou this place?

There God thy light so quench for his grace.

Alas, what have these lovers thee agilt?

Dispitous day, thine be the paine of hell,

For many a lover hast thou slain, and wilt,

Thy poring in woll no where let hem dwell:

What profrest thou thy light here for to sell?

Go sell it hem that smale seales grave,

We woll thee not, vs nedeth no day have.

And eke the sonne Titan gan he chide,

And said, O foole, well may men thee dispise,

That hast all night the dauning by thy side,

And suffrest her so sone vp fro thee rise:

For to disease vs lovers in this wise,

What hold your bed, there thou & thy morow,

I did God so yeve you both sorow.

Therwith ful sore he sighed, & thus he seide

My lady right, and of my weale or wo

The well and roote, O goodly mine Creseide,

And shall I rise alas, and shall I so?

Now fele I that mine harte mote a two,

And how should I my life an houre save,

Sens that with you is all the life I have?

What shall I doen? For certes I not how

Ne when alas, I shall the time see

That in this plite I may been eft with you,

And of my life God wote how shall that be,

Sens that desire right now so biteth me,

That I am dedde anon, but I retourne,

How should I long alas, fro you soiourne?

But nathelesse, mine owne lady bright,

Were it so that I wist vtterly,

That your humble servaunt, & your knight

Were in your harte iset so fermely,

As ye in mine: the which truely

Me leaver were than these worlds twaine,

Yet should I bet enduren all my paine.

To that Creseide answerde right anon,

And with a sigh she saied, O harte dere,

The game iwis so ferforth now is gon,

That first shall Phebus fallen from the sphere,

* And everiche Egle been the Douues fere,

And every rocke out of his place sterte,

Er Troilus go out of Creseides herte.

Ye been so depe within mine hart grave,

That tho I would it turn out of my thought,

As wisely very God my soule save,

To dien in the pain, I could nought:

And for the love of God, y• vs hath wrought,

Let in your brain none other fantasie

So crepen, that it cause me to die.

And that ye mewould have as fast in mind,

As I have you, that would I you beseche:

And if I wist forhly that to find

God nught not apoint my ioies to ech.

But harte mine, withouten more spech,

Bethe to me true, or els were it routh,

For I am thine, by God and by my trouth.

Bethe glad for thy, and live in sikernesse,

Thus saied I never er this, ne shall to mo,

And if to you it were a great gladnesse,

To tourne ayen sone after that ye ga,

As faine would I as ye, it were so,

[Page] As wisely God mine harte bring to reste,

And him in armes toke, and oft keste.

Ayenst his will, sithe it mote nedes bee,

This Troilus vp rose and fast him cled,

And in his armes toke his ladie free,

An hundred times, and on his way him sped,

And with soche wordes, as his harte bled,

He saied: fare well my dere harte swece,

That God vs graunt sound and sone to mete.

To which no word for sorow she answerd,

So sore gan his parting her distrain,

And Troilus vnto his Paleis ferd,

As wo bigon as she was, sothe to sain,

So hard him wrong of sharp desire the pain,

For to been efte there he was in pleasaunce,

That it may never out of his remembraunce.

Retourned to his roiall paleis sone,

He soft vnto his bedde gan for to sinke,

To slepe long, as he was wont to doen,

But all for nauȝt, he may well ligge & winke,

But slepe may there none in his harte sinke,

Thinking how she, for whom desire him brend,

A M. folde was worth more than he wend.

And in his thought, gan vp & doun to wind

Her wordes all, and every countenaunce,

And fermely impressen in his mind

The lest pointe that to him was pleasaunce,

And verely of thilke remembraunce,

Desire al newe him brende, and lust to brede,

Gan more than erst, and yet toke he non hede.

Creseide also, right in the same wise,

Of Troilus gan in her harte shet

His worthinesse, his lust, his dedes wise,

His gentilnesse, and how she with him met:

Thonking love, he so well her beset,

Desiring oft to have her harte dere,

In soche a place as she durst make him chere.

Pandare a morow, which y• commen was

Vnto his nece, gan her faire to grete,

And saied, all this night so rained it alas,

That all my drede is, that ye nece swete,

Have little leiser had to slepe and mete,

Al this night (qd. he) hath rain so do me wake,

That some of vs I trowe her heddes ake.

And nere he came & said, how stant it now

This merie morow, nece how can ye fare?

Creseide answerde, never the bet for you,

Foxe that ye been, God yeve your hart care,

God helpe me so, ye caused all this fare,

Trowe I (qd. she) for all your wordes white,

O who so seeth you, knoweth you full lite.

With that she gan her face for to wrie,

With the shete and woxe for shame all redde,

And Pandarus gan vnder for to prie,

And saied nece, if that I shall been dedde,

Have here a sword, and smiteth of my hedde,

With that his arme, all sodainly he thrist,

Vnder her necke and at the last her kist.

I passe all yt, which chargeth naught to say,

What, God foryave his death, and she also

Foryave: and with her vncle gan to play,

For other cause was there none than so,

But of this thing right to theffect to go,

When time was, home to her house she went,

And Pandarus hath fully his entent.

Now tourne we ayen to Troilus,

That restlesse full long a bedde lay,

And prively sent after Pandarus,

To him to come in all the has [...] he may,

He come anon, not ones saied he nay,

And Troilus full soberly he grete,

And doune vpon the beddes sides him sete.

This Troilus with all thaffectioun

Of friendly love, that harte may devise,

To Pandarus on knees fill adoun:

And er that he would of the place arise,

He gan him thanken on his best wise,

An hundred time he gan the time blesse,

That he was born, to bring him fro distresse.

He said, O frend of frendes, the alderbest

That ever was, the sothe for to tell,

Thou hast in heaven i brought my soul at rest,

Fro Phlegeton the firie flood of hell,

That though I might a thousand times sell

Vpon a day my life in thy service,

It might not a mote in that suffice.

The sonne, which y• all the world may se

Sawe never yet, my life that dare I lete,

So ioily, faire, and goodly, as is she

Whose I am all, and shall till that I deie,

And that I thus am hers, dare I seie,

That thanked be the high worthinesse

Of love, and eke thy kinde businesse.

Thus hast thou me no little thing iyeve,

For why to thee obliged be for aie,

My life, & why? for through thine help I live,

Or els dedde had I been ago many a day,

And with that worde doun in his bed he lay,

And Pandarus full soberly him herde,

Till all was said, and then he him answerde.

My dere frende, if I have doen for thee,

In any case, God wote it is me lefe,

And am as glad as man may of it be,

God helpe me so, but take now not agrife,

That I shall saine, beware of this mischiefe,

That ther as now thou broght art to thy blis,

That thou thy selfe ne cause it not to mis.

For of Fortunes sharpe adversite,

The worst kind of infortune is this,

* A man that hath been in prosperite,

And it remember, when it passed is.

Thou art wise inough, for thy, doe not amis,

* Be not to rakell, though thou sit warme,

For if thou be, certain it woll thee harme.

Thou art at ease, & hold thee well therin,

For al so sure as redde is every fire,

[Page] As great a crafte is to kepe well as win,

Bridle alway well thy speach and thy desire,

For worldly ioy holdeth not by a wire,

That preveth well, it brest alday so ofte,

For thy neede is to werken with it softe.

(Qd. Troilus) I hope, and God to forne,

My dere frende, that I shall so me bere,

That in my gilt ther shall nothing been lorne,

Ne I nill not rakle, as for to greven here,

It nedeth not this matter often tere,

For wistest thou mine harte wel Pandare,

God wote of this thou wouldest lite care.

Tho gan he tell him of his glad night,

And whereof first his hart dradde, and how,

And saied frende, as I am true knight,

And by that faith I owe to God and you,

I had it never halfe so hote as now,

And aie the more that desire me biteth

To love her best, the more it me deliteth.

I not my selfe not wisely, what it is,

But now I feele a newe qualite,

Ye all another than I did er this:

Pandare answerd and saied thus, that he

That ones may in heaven blisse be,

He feeleth other waies dare I lay,

Than thilke time he first heard of it say.

This is a worde for all, that Troilus

Was never ful to speke of this matere,

And for to praisen vnto Pandarus,

The bounte of his right lady dere,

And Pandarus to thanke, and maken chere,

This tale was aie span newe to begin,

Til that the night departed hem a twinne.

Soone after this, for that fortune it would,

Icomen was the blisfull time swete,

That Troilus was warned, that he should

There he was erst, Creseide his lady mete:

For which he felt his herte in ioy flete,

And faithfully gan all the goddes hery,

And let see now, if that he can be mery.

And holden was the forme, and al the gise

Of her comming, and of his also,

As it was erst, which nedeth nought devise,

But plainly to theffect right for to go:

In ioy and surete Pandarus hem two

Abedde brought, when hem both lest,

And thus they ben in quiet and in rest.

Naught nedeth it to you sith they ben met

To aske at me, if that they blithe were,

For if it erst was well, tho was it bet

A thousand folde, this nedeth not enquere:

A go was every sorow and every fere,

And both iwis they had, and so they wend,

As much ioy as harte may comprehend.

This nis no litel thing of for to sey,

This passeth every wit for to devise,

For eche of hem gan others lust obey,

Felicite, which that these clerkes wise

Commenden so, ne may not here suffise,

This ioy ne may not iwritten be with inke,

This passeth al that hart may bethinke.

But cruel day, so welaway the stound,

Gan for to aproche, as they by signes knew,

For which hem thought felen dethes wound,

So wo was hem, that chaungen gan her hew

And day they gonnen to dispise al new,

Calling it traitour, envious and worse,

And bitterly the daies light they corse.

(Qd. Troilus) alas, now am I ware

That Pirous, and tho swifte stedes thre,

Which that drawen forth the sunnes chare,

Han gon some by pathe in dispite of me,

And maketh it so sone day to be,

And for the sunne him hasten thus to rise,

Ne shall I never don him sacrifice.

But nedes day departe hem must fone,

And whan her speech done was, & her chere,

They twin anon, as they were wont to done,

And setten time of meting eft ifere:

And many a niȝt they wroght in this manere:

And thus fortune a time ladde in ioie,

Creseide, and eke this kinges son of Troie.

In suffisaunce, in blisse, and in singings,

This Troilus gan all his life to lede,

He spendeth, justeth, and maketh feestings,

He geveth frely oft, and chaungeth wede,

He helde about him alway out of drede,

A world of folke, as come him well of kind,

The freshest and the best he coulde find.

That such a voice was of him, and a steven,

Throughout the world, of honour & largesse,

That it vp ronge vnto the yate of Heven;

And as in love he was in such gladnesse,

That in his hart he demed, as I gesse,

That there nis lover in this world at ease,

So wel as he, and thus gan love him please.

The goodlihede or beaute, which the kind,

In any other lady had isette,

Can not y• mountenaunce of a gnat vnbind,

About his hert, of al Creseides nette,

He was so narowe imasked, and iknette:

That is vndon in any maner side,

That nil nat ben, for aught that may betide

And by the honde ful ofte he would take

This Pandarus, and into gardin lede,

And such a feest, and such a processe make

Him of Creseide, and of her womanhede,

And of her beaute, that withouten drede,

It was an heven his wordes for to here,

And then he would sing in this manere:

Love, that of erth & sea hath governaunce,

Love, that his heestes hath in heven hie,

Love, that with an holsome aliaunce

Halte people ioyned, as him list hem gie,

Love, that knitteth lawe and companie,

And couples doth in vertue for to dwell,

Binde this accord, that I have told and tell.

[Page]

That, y• the world with faith, which yt is stable

Diverseth so his stoundes according,

That elements that be the discordable,

Holden a bonde, perpetually during,

That Phebus mote his rosy day forth bring,

And y• the mone hath lordship over y• nights,

Al this doeth love, aie heried be his mights.

That, that the sea, yt greedy is to flowen,

Constraineth to a certaine ende so

His floods, that so fiercely they ne growen

To drenchen earth and all for evermo,

And if that love aught let his bridle go,

All that now loveth asunder should lepe,

And lost were all, that love halt now to hepe.

So would to God, that authour is of kind,

That with his bond, love of his vertue list

To searchen hearts all, and fast bind,

That from his bond no wight y• wey out wist,

And hearts cold hem, would I that hem twist,

To maken hem love, & that list hem aie rew

On hearts sore, and keep hem that ben trew.

In all needs for the townes werre

He was, and aye the first in armes dight:

And certainely, but if that bookes erre,

Save Hector, most idradde of any wight,

And this encrease of hardinesse and might

Come him of love, his ladies thanke to win,

That altered his spirit so within.

In time of truce on hauking would he ride,

Or els hunt Bore, Beare, or Lioun,

The small beasts let he gon beside,

And when y• he come riding into the toun,

Full oft his lady from her window doun,

As fresh as faucon, comen out of mue,

Full redely was him goodly to salue.

And most of love & vertue was his speech,

And in dispite had all wretchednesse,

And doubtlesse no need was him beseech

To honouren hem, that had worthinesse,

And easen hem that weren in distresse,

And glad was he, if any wight well ferde

That lover was, when he it wist or herde.

For sooth to saine, he lost held every wight,

But if he were in loves high servise,

I meane folke that aught it ben of right,

And over all this, so well could he devise

Of sentement, and in so vncouth wise

All his array, that every lover thought,

That al was wel, what so he said or wrought.

And though that he be come of blood roiall,

Him list of pride at no wight for to chace,

Benigne he was to ech in generall,

For which he gate him thank in every place:

Thus wolde love iheried by his grace,

That Pride, and Ire, Envie, and Avarice,

He gan to flie, and every other vice.

Thou lady bright, the doughter of Diane,

Thy blind and winged son eke dan Cupide,

Ye sustren nine eke, that by Helicone

In hill Pernaso, listen for to abide,

That ye thus ferre han deined me to gide,

I can no more, but sens that ye woll wend,

Ye heried ben for aye withouten end.

Through you have I said fully in my song

Theffect and ioy of Troilus servise,

All be that there was some disease among,

As mine authour listeth to devise,

My third booke now end I in this wise,

And Trolius in lust and in quiete,

Is with Creseide his owne heart swete.

Explicit liber tertius.

4

§

BVt all too little, welaway the while

Lasteth such ioy, ithonked bee fortune,

That seemeth truest, when she woll begile,

And can to fooles her song entune,

That she hem hent, y• blent traitor commune:

* And when a wight is from her whele ithrow,

Then laugheth she, & maketh him the mowe.

From Troilus she gan her bright face

Away to writhe, and tooke of him none hede,

And cast him clene out of his ladies grace,

And on her whele she set vp Diomede,

For wch mine hert right now ginneth blede,

And now my pen alas, with which I write,

Quaketh for drede of that I must endite.

For how Creseide Troilus forsooke,

Or at the least, how that she was vnkind,

Mote henceforth ben matter of my booke,

As writen folk, through which it is in mind

Alas, that they should ever cause find

To speake her harme, and if they on her lie,

Iwis hemselfe should have the villanie.

O ye Herines nightes doughters three,

That endlesse complaine ever in paine,

Megera, Alecto, and eke Tesiphonee,

Thou cruell Mars eke, father of Quirine,

This ilke fourth booke helpe me to fine,

So that the loos, and love, and life ifere

Of Troilus be fully shewed here.

Incipit liber quartus.

LIgging in host, as I have said ere this,

The Greekes strong, about Troy toun,

Befell, that when that Phebus shining is

Vpon the breast of Hercules Lion,

That Hector, with many a bold Baron

Cast on a day with Greekes for to fight,

As he was wont, to greve hem what he miȝt.

Not I how long or short it was bitwene

This purpose, & that day they fighten ment,

But on a day well armed bright and shene,

Hector and many a worthy knight out went

With speare in hond, and big bowes bent,

And in the berde withouten lenger lette,

Her fomen in the field anone hem mette.

[Page]

The long day with speares sharpe iground

With arrows, darts, swerds, and maces fell,

They fight, & bringen horse & man to ground,

And with her axes out the braines quell,

But in the last shoure, sooth to tell,

The folke of Troy hem selven so misleden,

That with y• worse at night home they fleden.

At which day was taken Anthenor,

Maugre Polimidas, or Monesteo,

Xantippe, Sarpedon, Palestinor,

Polite, or eke the Troyan dan Rupheo,

And other lasse folke, as Phebuseo,

So that for harm that day the folk of Troy

Dreden to lese a great part of her ioy.

Of Priamus was yeve at Grekes request

A time of truce, and tho they gonnen trete

Her prisoners to chaungen most and lest,

And for the surplus yeven sommes grete,

This thing anon was couth in every strete,

Both in thassiege, in toune, and every where,

And with the first it came to Calcas ere.

When Calcas knew this tretise should hold

In consistorie among the Greekes soone

He gan in thringe, forth with lords old,

And set him there as he was wont to done,

And with a chaunged face hem bade a boone

For love of God, to done that reverence,

To stinten noise, and yeve him audience.

Then said he thus, lo lords mine I was

Troyan, as it is knowen out of drede,

And if that you remember, I am Calcas,

That alderfirst yave comfort to your nede,

And told well how that you should spede,

For dredelesse through you shall in a stound

Ben Troy ibrent, & beaten doun to ground.

And in what forme, or in wt manner wise

This toun to shend, and all your lust atcheve,

Ye have ere this well herde me devise:

This know ye my lordes, as I leve,

And for the Greekes weren me so leve,

I came my selfe in my proper persone

To reach in this how you was best to done.

Having vnto my treasour, ne my rent,

Right no regard in respect of your ease,

Thus all my good I left, and to you went,

Wening in this you lordes for to please,

But all that losse ne doth me no disease,

I vouchsafe, as wisely have I ioy,

For you to lese all that I have in Troy.

Save of a doughter that I left, alas,

Sleeping at home, when out of Troy I stert,

O sterne, O cruell father that I was,

How might I have in that so hard an hert?

Alas that I ne had brought her in my shert,

For sorow of which I wol nat live to morow,

But if ye lordes rew vpon my sorow.

For because that I saw no time ere now

Her to deliver, iche holden have my pees,

But now or never, if that it like you,

I may her have right now doubtlees

O helpe and grace, among all this prees

Rew on this old caitife in distresse,

Sith I through you have all this hevinesse.

Ye have now caught, and fettred in prison

Troyans inow, and if your willes be,

My child with one may have redemption,

Now for the love of God, and of bounte,

One of so fele alas, so yefe him me,

What need were it this praier for to werne,

Sith ye shull have both folk & toun as yerne.

On perill of my life I shall nat lie,

Apollo hath me told full faithfully,

I have eke found by astronomie,

By sort, and by augurie truely,

And dare well say the time is fast by,

That fire & flambe on all the toun shall sprede,

And thus shall Troy turne to ashen dede.

For certaine, Phebus and Neptunus both

That makeden the walles of the toun,

Ben with the folke of Troy alway so wroth,

That they woll bring it to confusioun

Right in despite of king Laomedoun,

Because he nolde paien hem her hire,

The toune of Troy shall ben set on fire.

Telling his tale alway this old grey,

Humble in his speech and looking eke,

The salt teares from his eyen twey

Full fast ronnen doune by either cheke,

So long he gan of succour hem beseke,

That for to heale him of his sorowes sore,

They gave him Antenor withouten more.

But who was glad inough, but Calcas tho,

And of this thing full soone his nedes leide

On hem that shoulden for the treatise go

And hem for Antenor full ofte preide,

To bringen home king Thoas and Creseide,

And when Priam his safegard sent,

Thembassadours to Troy streight they went.

The cause ytold of her comming, the old

Priam the king, full soone in generall,

Let here vpon his parliment hold,

Of which theffect rehearsen you I shall,

Thembassadours ben answerde for finall,

The eschaunge of prisoners, and all this nede

Hem liketh well, and forth in they procede.

This Troilus was present in the place,

When asked was for Antenor Creseide,

For which full sone chaungen gan his face,

As he that with tho wordes well nigh deide,

But nathelesse he no word to it seide,

Lest men should his affection espie,

With mannes hert he gan his sorowes drie.

And full of anguish and of gresly drede,

Abode what other lords would to it sey,

And if they would graunt, as God forbede,

Theschange of her, then thought he thing twey:

First, how to save her honour, & wt wey

[Page] He might best theschaunge of her with stond,

Full fast he cast how all this might stond.

Love him made all prest to done her bide,

And rather dien than she should go,

But Reason said him on that other side,

Withouten assent of her do nat so,

Lest for thy werke she would be thy so,

And saine, y• through thy medling is yblow

Your brother love, there it was noterst know.

For which he gan deliberen for the best,

And though the lords would that she went,

He would let hem graunt what hem lest,

And tell his lady first what that they ment,

And when that she had said him her entent,

Thereafter would he worken also blive,

Tho all the world ayen it wolde strive.

Hector, which that well the Greekes herd,

For Antenor how they would have Creseide,

Gan it withstond, and soberly answerd:

Sirs, she nis no prisoner (he seide)

I not on you who that this charge leide,

But on my part, ye may estsoones hem tell,

We useli here no women for to sell.

The noise of people up siert then at [...]nes,

As brimme as blase of straw iset on fire,

For infortune it would for the nones,

They shoulden her confusion desire:

Hector (qd. they) wt ghost may you enspire

This women thus in shild, and done us [...]ese

Dan Antenore, a wrong way now ye chese.

That is so wise, and eke so bold baroun,

And we have need of folke, as men may see,

He is one of the greatest of this toun:

O Hector, lette thy fantasies bee,

O king Priam (qd. they) thus segge wee,

That all our voice is to forgone Creseide,

And to delive Antenor they preide.

O Iuvenall lord, true is thy sentence,

That little wenen folke what is to yerue,

That they ne finden in her desire offence,

For cloud of errour ne lette hem discerne

What best is, & lo, here ensample as yerne:

These folke desiren now deliverance

Of Antenor, y• brought hem to mischaunce.

For he was after traitour to the toun

Of Troy alas, they quitte him out to rathe,

O nice world, lo thy discretioun,

Creseide, which that never did hem scathe,

Shall now no lenger in her blisse bathe,

But Antenor, he shall come home to toun,

And she shall out, thus said heere and houn.

For which delibered was by parliment,

For Antenor to yeelden out Creseide,

And it pronounced by the president,

Though that Hector nay full oft praid,

And finally, what wight that it withsaid,

It was for naught, it must ben, and should,

For substaunce of the Parliment it would.

Departed out of the parliment echone,

This Troilus, without words mo,

Vnto his chamber spedde him fast alone,

But if it were a man of his or two,

The which he bad out faste for to go,

Because he would slepen, as he said,

And hastely upon his bedde him laid.

And as in Winter, leaves ben birast

Ech after other, till trees he hare,

So that there nis but barke & branch ilast,

Lithe Troilus, biraft of ech welfare,

Ibounden in the blacke barke of care,

Disposed wode out of his witte to breide,

So sore him sate the chaunging of Creseide.

He rist him up, and every dore he shette,

And window eke, & tho this sorowfull man

Vpon his beddes side doune him sette

Full like a dead image, pale and wan,

And in his breast the heaped wo began

Out brust, and he to worken in this wise

In his woodnesse, as I shall you devise.

Right as the wild Bull beginneth spring

Now here, now there, idarted to the hert,

And of his death roreth, in complaining,

Right so gan he about the chamber stert,

Smiring his breast aye with his fistes smert,

His head to the wall, his body to y• ground,

Foll oft he swapt, himselven to confound.

His eyen two for pity of his hert,

Out stremeden as swift as welles twey,

The high sobs of his sorrowes smert

His speech him reft, unnethes might he sey,

O death alas, why nilt thou do me dey?

Accursed by that day which that nature

Shope me to ben a lives creature.

But after when the fury and all the rage

Which that his heart twist, and fast threst,

By length of time somewhat gan assuage,

Vpon his bed he laid him doun to rest,

But tho begon his teares more out to brest,

That wonder is the body may suffise

To halfe this wo, which that I you devise.

Then said he thus: Fortune alas y• while

What have I done? what have I thee agilt?

How mightest thou for routhe me begile?

Is there no grace? and shall I thus be spilt?

Shall thus Creseide away for y• thou wilt?

Alas, how mightest thou in thine hart find

To ben to me thus cruell and unkind?

Have I thee nat honoured all my live

As thou well wotest, above the Gods all?

Why wilt thou me fro ioy thus deprive?

O Troilus, what may men now thee call,

But wretch of wretches, out of honour fall

Into misery, in which I woll bewaile

Creseide alas, till that the breath me faile.

Alas Fortune, if that my life in joy

Displeased had unto thy foule Envie,

[Page] Why ne haddest thou my father king of Troy

Biraft the life, or done my brethren die,

Or slaine my selfe, y• thus complaine & crie,

I combre world, that may of nothing serve,

But ever dye, and never fully sterve.

If that Creseide alone were me laft,

Naughtrauȝt I whider thou woldst me stere,

And her alas, then hast thou me byraft:

But evermore, lo this is thy manere,

To reve a wight that most is to him dere,

To preve in that thy gierfull violence,

Thus am I lost, there helpeth no defence.

O very Lord, O love, O God alas,

That knowest best mine hert & al my thought,

What shal my sorowfull life done in this caas,

If I to go that I so dere have bought,

Sens ye Creseide & me have fully brought

Into your grace, and both our hearts sealed,

How may ye suffer alas it be repealed.

What I may done, I shal while I may dure

On live, in turment and in cruell paine,

This infortune, or this disaventure,

Alone as I was borne I woll complaine,

Ne never woll I seene it shine or raine,

But end I woll as Edippe in derkenesse

My sorrowfull life, and dien in distresse.

O wery ghost, that errest to and fro,

Why [...] thou flien out of the wofullest

Body, that ever might on ground go?

O soule, lurking in this wofull neste,

Fly forthout mine hart, and let it breste,

And follow alway Creseide thy lady dere,

Thy right place is now no lenger here.

O wofull eien two, sens your disport

Was all to seene Creseides eyen bright,

What shall ye done, but for my discomfort

Stoden for naught, & wepen out your sight,

Sens she is queint, y• wont was you to light,

* In veine from this forth have I eyen twey

I formed, sens your vertue is awey.

O my Creseide, O lady soveraine,

Of this wofull soule that thus crieth,

Who shall now yeven comfort to thy paine,

Alas, no wight, but when mine hert dieth,

My spirit, which that so unto you hieth,

Recei [...]e in gree, for that shall aye you serve,

For thy no force is, though the body sterve.

O ye lovers, that high upon the whele

Ben sette of Fortune in good aventure,

God lene that ye finden aye love of stele,

And long more your life in joy endure,

But when ye comen by my sepulture,

Remembreth that your fellow resteth there,

For I loved eke, though I unworthy were.

O old unholsome and mislived man,

Calcas I meane, alas what eiled thee

To [...] a Greek, sens thou art borne Trojan?

O Calcas, which that wolt my bane be,

In cursed time was thou borne for me,

As would blisfull Iove for his joy,

That I thee had where I would in Troy.

A thousand sighes hotter than the glede,

Out of his breast, each after other went,

Medled with plaint new, his wo to fede,

For which his wofull teares never stent,

And shortly so his sorowes him to rent,

And wore so mate, that joy or pennaunce

He feeleth none, but heth in a traunce.

Panoare, which that in the parliment

Had heatd wt every Lord and burgeis seid,

And how full graunted was by one assent,

For Antenor to yelden o [...]t Creseid:

Gan well nigh wood out of his wit to breid,

So that for wo he niste what he ment,

But in a [...] went.

A certaine knight, that for the [...]

The chamber dore, undid it him anone,

And Pandare, that full tenderly wept,

Into the derke chamber as still as stone,

Toward the bedde gan softly to goue,

So confuse, that he [...]st what to say,

For very wo, his wit was nigh away.

And with chere and leeking all to torne,

For sorow of this, & with his armes folden,

He stood this wofull Troilus beforne,

And on his pitous face he gan beholden,

But so oft gan his heart colden,

Seeing his friend in wo, whose heavinesse

His heart slough, as thought him for distresse.

This wofull wight, this Troilus y• felt

His friend Pandare icomen him to see,

Gan as the snow ayenst the sunne melt,

For which this wofull Pandare of pite

Gan for to weepe as tenderly as he:

And speechlesse thus ben these ilke twey,

That neither might for sorow o word sey.

But at the last, this wofull Troilus,

Nigh dead for smert, gan bresten out to rore,

And with a sorowfull noise he said thus

Among his sobs and his sighes sore,

Lo Pandare I am dead withouten more,

Hast thou nat heard at parliment he seide,

For Antenor how lost is my Creseide.

This Pandare full dead and pale of hew,

Full pitously answerde, and said yes,

As wisely were it false as it is trew,

That I have heard, and wote all how it is,

O mercy God, who would have trowed this,

Who would have wend, y• in so little a throw

Fortune our joy would overthrow.

For in this world there is no creature,

As to my dome, that ever saw ruine

Stranger than this through case or aventure,

But who may all eschue or all devine,

Such is this world, for thy I thus define:

* Ne trust no wight to find in Fortune

Aye property, her yeftes ben commune.

[Page]

But tell me this, why thou art now so mad

To sorrowen thus, why list thou in this wise,

Sens thy desire all holly hast thou had,

So that by right it ought inough suffise,

But I that never felt in my servise

A friendly chere or looking of an eie,

Let me thus wepe and wailen till I die.

And over al this, as thou wel wost thy selve,

This toune is full of ladies all about,

And to my dome, falcer than such twelve

As ever she was, shal I finden in some rout,

Ye one or twey, withouten any dout:

For thy be glade mine owne dere brother,

If she be lost, we shall recover another.

* What God forbid alway y• ech pleasaunce

In a thing were, and in none other wight,

If one can sing, another can well daunce,

If this be goodly, she is glad and light,

And this is faire, and that can good aright,

Ech for his vertue holden is for dere,

Both herones and faucon for rivere.

And eke as writ Zansis, that was full wise,

* The new love out chaseth oft the old:

And vpon new case lieth new avise,

Thinke eke thy selfe to saven art thou hold,

Such fire by processe shall of kind cold,

For sens it is but casuell pleasaunce,

Some case shall put it out of remembraunce.

* For also sure as day commeth after night,

The new love, labour or other wo,

Or els selde seeing of a wight,

Done old affections all overgo,

And for thy part, thou shalt haue one of tho

To abredgs with thy bitter pains smart,

Absence of her shall driue her out of hart.

These words saied he for the nones all

To helpe his friend, least he for sorow deide,

For doubtlesse to doen his wo to fall,

He raught nat what vnthrift that he seide:

But Troilus that nigh for sorow deide,

Tooke little hede of all that ever he ment,

One eare it heard, at the other out it went.

But at y• last he answerd, and said friend,

This lechcraft, or dealed thus to be,

Were well fitting, if that I were a fiend,

To traien a wight, that true is vnto me,

I pray God let this counsaile never ithee

But doe me rather sterue anon right here,

Ere thus I doen, as thou me wouldest lere.

She that I serue iwis, what so thou sey,

To whom mine hart enhabite is by right,

Shall have me holly hers, till that I dey,

For Pandarus, sens I have trouth her hight,

I woll nat ben vntrue for no wight,

But as her man I woll aye live and sterve,

And never none other creature serve.

And there thou saiest thou shalt as fair find

As she, let be, make no comparison,

To creature iformed here by kind,

O leve Pandare, in conclusion,

I woll nat been of thine opinion

Touching all this, for which I thee beseech,

So hold thy peace, thou slaest me with thy speech.

Thou biddest me I should love another

All freshly new, and let Creseide go,

It lithe nat in my power leve brother,

And though I might, yet would I nat do so,

* But canst thou plaien raket to and fro,

* Nettle in dock out, now this, now y• Pandare,

Now foule fall her for thy wo, y• care.

Thou farest eke by me Pandarus,

As he, that when a wight is wo bigon,

He commeth to him apace, & saith right thus,

Thinke not on smart, & thou shalt feele none,

Thou maiest me first transmewen in a stone,

And reve me my passions all,

Or thou so lightly doe my wo to fall.

The death may well out of my brest depart

The life, so long may this sorow mine:

But fro my soule shall Creseides dart

Out nevermore, but doune with Proserpine

When I am dead, I woll won in pine,

And there I woll eternally complain

My wo, and how that twinned be we twain.

Thou hast here made an argument full fine,

How that it should lasse paine be

Creseide to forgone, for she was mine,

And lived in ease and in felicite:

Why gabbest thou, that saidest vnto me,

* That him is wors that is fro wele ithrow,

Than he had erst none of that wele know.

But tel me now, sen y• thee thinketh so light

To chaungen so in love aye to and fro,

Why hast thou nat doen busily thy might

To chaungen her, y• doth thee all thy wo?

Why nilt thou let her fro thine heart go?

Why nilt thou love another lady swete,

That may thine heart setten in quiete?

If thou hast had in love aye yet mischance,

And canst it not out of thine hart drive,

I that lived in lust and in pleasance

With her, as much as creature on live,

How would I that foryet, and that so blive,

O where hast thou ben hid so long in mew,

Thou canst so well and formeliche agrew.

Nay God wot, naught worth is al thy rede,

For which, for what that ever may befall,

Withouten words mo I woll ben dede,

O death, that ender art of sorrowes all,

Come now, sens I so oft after thee call,

* For sely is that death, sooth sor to saine,

That oft icleped, commeth & endeth paine.

Well wote I, while my life was in quiete,

Ere thou me slue, I would have yeven hire,

But now thy comming is to me so swete,

That in this world I nothing so desire,

O death, sens with this sorow I am a fire,

[Page] Thou either do me anon in teares drench,

Or with thy cold stroke mine heart quench.

Sens y• thou slaest so fele in sundry wise

Ayenst her will, vnpraied day and night,

Doe me at my request this servise,

Deliver now the world, so doest thou right,

Of me that am the wofullest wight

That ever was, for time is that I sterve,

Sens in this world of right nauȝt do I serve.

This Troilus in teares gan distill

As licour out of Allambike full fast,

And Pandarus gan hold his tongue still,

And to the ground his eyen downe he cast,

But nathelesse, thus thought he at last,

What parde, rather than my fellow dey,

Yet shall I somewhat more vnto him sey.

And said friend, sens thou hast such distresse,

And sens thee list mine argumentes blame,

Why nilt thy selven helpe doen redresse,

And with thy manhood letten all this game,

To rauish her, ne caust thou not for shame?

And either let her out of toune fare,

Or hold her still, and leave thy nice fare.

Art thou in Troy, and hast non hardiment

To take a wight, which that loveth thee,

And would her selven been of thine assent,

Now is nat this a nice vanite,

Rise vp anon, and let this weeping be,

And sith thou art a man, for in this hour

I woll been dead, or she shall ben our.

To this answerde him Troilus full soft,

And saied, iwis my leve brother dere,

All this have I my selfe yet thought full oft,

And more thing than thou devisest here,

But why this thing is laft, thou shalt wel here

And when thou hast me yeven audience,

Thereafter mayst thou tell all thy sentence.

First, sin thou wost this toun hath al this werre

For ravishing of women so by might,

It should not been suffced me to erre,

As it stont now, ne done so great vnright,

I should have also blame of every wight,

My fathers graunt if that I so withstood,

Sens she is chaunged for the tounes good.

I have eke thought, so it were her assent,

To aske her of my father of his grace,

Then thinke I, this were her accusement,

Sens well I wot I may her nat purchace,

For sens my father in so high a place

As Parliment, hath her eschaunge ensealed,

He nill for me his letter be repealed.

Yet drede I most her heart to perturbe

With violence, if I doe such a game,

For if I would it openly disturbe,

It must be disclaunder to her name,

And me were lever die than her diffame,

As nolde God, but I should have

Her honour, lever than my life to save.

Thus am I lost, for aught that I can see,

For certaine is that I am her knight,

I must her honour lever have than me

In every case, as lover ought of right,

Thus am I with desire and reason twight:

Desire for to disturben her me redeth,

And Reason nill not, so mine heart dredeth.

Thus weeping, that he could never cease,

He said alas, how shall I wretche fare,

For well fele I alway my love encrease,

And hope is lasse and lasse Pandare,

Encreasen eke the causes of my care,

So welaway, why nill mine hart brest,

For as in love there is but little rest.

Pandare answerde, friend thou mayst for me

Done as thee list, but had I it so hote,

And thine estate, she should go with me,

Tho all this toun cried on this thing by note,

I nolde set at all that noise a grote,

* For when men have cried, then wol they roun,

Eke wonder last but ix. deies never in toun.

Devine not in reason aye so deepe,

Ne curtesly, but helpe thy selfe anone,

Bet is that other than thy selven wepe,

And namely, sens ye two ben al one,

Rise vp, for by mine head she shall not gone,

And rather ben in blame a little ifound,

Than sterve here as a gnat withouten wound.

It is no shame vnto you, ne no vice,

Her to withholden, that ye loveth most,

Peraventure she might hold thee for nice,

To letten her go thus vnto the Grekes hoste,

* Think eke fortune, as well thy selven woste,

Helpeth hardie man vnto his emprise,

And weiueth wretches for her cowardise.

And though thy lady would alite her greve,

Thou shalt thy self thy peace hereafter make,

But as to me certaine I cannot leve,

That she would it as now for evill take,

Why should then for feare thine hart quake,

Thinke how Paris hath, y• is thy brother,

A love, & why shal thou not have another?

And Troilus, o thing I dare thee swere,

That if Creseide, which that is thy lefe,

Now loveth thee, as well as thou dost here,

God helpe me so, she nill not take a grefe,

Though thou do bote anon in this mischefe,

And if she wilneth fro thee for to passe,

Then is she false, so love her well the lasse.

For thy, take hart, & think right as a knight,

Through love is broken alday every law,

Kith now somwhat thy courage & thy might,

Have mercie on thy selfe for any awe,

Let not this wretched wo thine hart gnawe,

* But manly set the world on sixe and seven,

And if thou die a martir, go to heaven.

I woll my selfe ben with thee at this dede,

Though I and all my kin vpon a stound,

[Page] Should in a strete, as dogs, liggen dede,

Through girt with many a bloodie wound,

In every case I woll a friend be found,

And if thee listeth here sterven as a wretch,

Adieu, the devill speede him that retch.

This Troilus gan with the words quicken;

And saied, friend, graunt mercie, I assent,

But certainly, thou mayst nat so me pricken,

Ne paine none ne may me so torment,

That for no case it is not mine entent,

At shorte wordes, though I dien should,

To ravishen her, but if her selfe it would.

Why, so mean I (qd. Pandarus) al this day,

But tell me then, hast thou her well assaid,

That sorowest thus? & he answerde him nay.

Wherofart thou (qd. Pandare) then dismaid,

That noste not that she woll ben evill apaid

To ravishen her, sens thou hast not ben there,

But if that Iove told it in thine eare.

For thy, rise vp as naught ne were, anone,

And wash thy face, & to the king thou wend,

Or he may wondren whider thou art gone,

Thou must with wisdome him and other blend,

Or vpon case he may after thee send,

Or thou beware, and shortly brother dere

Be glad, and let me werke in this mattere.

For I shall shape it so, that sikerly

Thou shalt this niȝt somtime in some manere

Come speaken with thy Ladie prively,

And by her wordes eke, as by her chere,

Thou shalt full soone aperceive and well here

Of her entent, and in this case the best,

And fare now well, for in this point I rest.

The swifte fame, which that fals things

Equall reporteth, like the things true,

Was throghout Troy ifled, with prest wings,

Fro man to man, and made his tale all new,

How Calcas doughter with her bright hew,

At Parliment without words more,

I graunted was in chaunge of Antenore.

The which tale anon right as Creseide

Had heard, she which y• of her father rought

(As in this case) right naught, ne when he deide

Full busily to Iupiter besought

Yeve him mischance, that this tretis brought:

But shortly, least these tales sooth were,

She durst at no wight asken it for fere.

As she that had her hart and all her mind

On Troylus yset so wonder fast,

That al this world ne might her love vnbind,

Ne Troylus out of her heart cast,

She would been his while y• her life may last,

And she thus brenneth both in love and drede,

So that she nist what was best to rede.

But as men seene in toune, and all about,

That women vsen her friends to visite,

So to Creseide of women came a rout,

For pitous ioy, and wenden her delite,

And with her tales dere ynough a mite,

These women, which that in the citie dwell,

They set hem doune, and sayd as I shall tell.

(Qd. first that one) I am glad truely,

Because of you, that shall your father see,

Another sayd, iwis, so am not I,

For all too little hath she with vs be:

(Qd. tho the third) I hope iwis that she

Shall bringen vs the peace on every side,

That when she goth, almighty God her gide.

Tho wordes and tho womannish thinges

She herd hem right as thogh she thencewere:

For God it wote, her hart on other thing is,

Although the body sat emong hem there,

Her advertence is alway els where,

For Troilus full fast her soule sought,

Withouten word, on him alway she thought.

These women y• thus wenden her to please,

About naught gan all her tales spend,

Such vanitie ne can done her none ease,

As she that all this meane while brend

Of other passion than they wend,

So that she felt almost her heart die

For wo, and werie of that companie.

For which might she no lenger restraine

Her teares, they gan so vp to well,

That gave signes of her bitter paine,

In which her spirit was, and must dwell

Remembering her from heaven vnto which hell

She fallen was, sens she forgo the sight

Of Troilus, and sorrowfully she sight.

And thilke fooles, sitting her about,

Wende that she wept and sighed sore,

Because that she should out of the rout

Departen, and never play with hem more,

And they that had knowen her of yore,

See her so wepe, and thought it was kindnesse,

And ech of hem wept eke for her distresse.

And bustly they gonnen her to comforten

On thing God wot, on which she little thought,

And with her tales wenden her disporten,

And to be glad they ofte her besought,

But such an ease therwith they her wrought,

* Right as a man is eased for to fele,

For ache of head, to clawen him on his hele.

But after all this nice vanitie,

They took her leve, & home they wenten all,

Creseide full of sorrowfull pitie,

Into her chamber vp went out of the hall,

And on her bedde she gan for dead to fall,

In purpose never thence for to rise,

And thus she wrought, as I shall you devise.

Her ownded hair, that sonnish was of hew,

She rent, and eke her fingers long and smale

She wrong full oft, and bad God on her rew,

And with the death to do bote on her bale,

Her hewe whylom bright, that tho was pale,

Bare witnesse of her wo, and her constreint,

And thus she spake, sobbing in her compleint.

[Page]

Alas (qd. she) out of this religioun,

I wofull wretch and infortuned wight,

And borne in cursed constellatioun,

Mote gon, & thus departen fro my knight,

Wo worth alas, that ilke daies light,

On which I saw him first with eyen twaine,

That causeth me, and I him all this paine.

Therewith the teares from her eyen two

Doune fell, as shoure in Aprill swithe,

Her white breast she bet, and for the wo,

After the death she cried a thousand sithe,

Sens he that wont her wo was for to lithe,

She mote forgone, for which disaventure

She held her selfe a forlost creature.

She said, how shall he done and I also

How should I live, if that I from him twin,

O dere heart eke that I love so,

Who shall that sorow slaen, that ye ben in?

O Calcas, father, thine be all this sin:

O mother mine, that cleped wert Argive,

Wo worth that day yt thou me bare on live.

To wt fine should I live & sorowen thus,

* How should a fish withouten water dure?

What is Creseide worth from Troilus?

How should a plant or lives creatur [...]

Live withouten his kind noriture,

For which full oft a by word here I sey,

* That rootlesse mote greene soone dey,

I shal done thus, sens neither sword ne dart,

Dare I none handle, for the cruelte,

That like day that I fro you depart,

If sorow of that nill nat my bane be,

Then shall no meat ne drinke come in me,

Till I my soule out of my brest vnsheath,

And thus my selven woll I done to death.

And Troilus, my clothes everychone

Shull blacke ben, in tokening hart swete,

That I am as out of this world agone,

That wont was you to set in quiete,

And of mine order aye till death me mete,

The observaunce ever in your absence,

Shall sorrow ben complaint and abstinence.

Mine hart and eke the woful ghost therein

Bequeath I with your spirit to complaine

Eternally, for they shall never twin,

For though in yearth twinned be we twaine,

Yet in the field of pitie, out of paine,

That hight Elisos, shall we ben ifere,

As Orpheus and Erudice his fere.

Thus heart mine, for Antenor alas

I soone shall be chaunged, as I wene,

But how shull ye done in this sorowfull caas,

How shall your tender hart this sustene?

But hart mine, foryet this sorow and tene,

And me also, for soothly for to sey,

So ye well fare, I retche not to dey.

How might it ever redde ben or isong

The plaint that she made in her distresse,

I not, but as for me my little tong

If I discriven would her heavinesse,

It should make her sorrow seeme lesse

Than that it was, and childishly deface

Her high complaint, and therefore I it pace.

Pandare, which that sent from Troilus

Was vnto Creseide, as ye have heard devise,

That for the best it was recorded thus,

And he full glad to done him that servise,

Vnto Creseide in a full secret wise,

There as she lay in tourment and in rage,

Came her to tell all holly his message.

And fond that she her selven gan to grete

Full pitously, for with her salte teres,

Her breast and face ibathed was full wete,

Her mightie tresses of her sonnish heres

Vnbroiden, hangen all about her eares,

Which yave him very signe of mattire

Of death, which that her hart gan desire.

When she him saw, she gan for sorrow anon

Her tearie face atwixt her armes hide,

For which this Pandare is so wo bigon,

That in the hous he might vnneth abide,

As he that felt sorrow on every side,

For if Creseide had erst complained sore,

Tho gan she plaine a thousand times more.

And in her aspre plaint, thus she seide:

Pandare, first of joies more than two

Was cause, causing vnto me Creseide,

That now transmued ben in cruell wo,

Whether shall I say to you welcome or no?

That alderfirst me brought vnto servise

Of love alas, that endeth in such wise.

* Endeth then love in wo? Ye or men lieth,

And all worldly blisse, as thinketh me,

The end of blisse aye sorrow it occupieth,

And who troweth not that it so be,

Let him vpon me wofull wretche see,

That my selfe hate, and aye my birth curse,

Feeling alway, fro wicke I go to worse.

Who so me seeth, he seeth sorow all atonis,

Paine, tourment, plaint, wo and distresse,

Out of my wofull body harme there none is,

As langour, anguish, cruell bitternesse,

Annoy, smart, drede, furie, and eke sicknesse,

I trow iwis from heaven teares raine,

For pitie of my aspre and cruell paine.

And thou my suster, full of discomfort,

(Qd. Pandarus) what thinkest thou to do?

Why ne hast thou to thy selven some resport?

Why wilt thou thus thy selfe alas fordo?

Leave all this werke, and take now heed to

That I shall saine, & herken of good entent

This message, y• by me Troilus you sent.

Tourned her tho Creseide a wo making,

So great, that it a death was for to see,

Alas (qd. she) what wordes may ye bring,

What woll my dere hert saine to mee,

Which that I drede nevermore to see,

[Page] Woll he have plaint or teares ere I wend,

I have ynough, if he thereafter send.

She was right such to seene in her visage,

As is that wight that men on beare bind,

Her face like of Paradis the image,

Was all ichaunged in another kind,

The play, y• laughter men were wont to find

On her, and eke her joyes everichone

Ben fled, and thus lieth Creseide alone.

About her eyen two, a purpre ring

Bitrent, in soothfast tokening of her paine,

That to behold it was a deadly thing,

For which Pandare might nat restraine

The teares from his eyen for to raine,

But nathelesse as he best might he seide

From Troilus these wordes to Creseide.

Lo nece, I trow ye han heard all how

The king with other Lordes for the best,

Hath made eschaunge of Antenor and you,

That cause is of this sorow and this vnrest,

But how this case doth Troilus molest,

This may none yearthly mans tongue say,

For very wo, his wit is all away.

For which we have so sorowed, he and I,

That into little it had vs both slaw,

But through my counsaile this day finally,

He somewhat is fro weeping withdraw,

And seemeth me that he desireth faw

With you to ben all might for to devise

Remedie of this, if there were any wise.

This short & plain, theffect of my message,

As ferforth as my wit can comprehend,

For ye that ben of tourment in such rage,

May to no long prologue as now entend.

And herevpon ye may answere him send,

And for the love of God my nece dere,

So leave this wo or Troilus be here.

Great is my wo (qd. she) and sighed sore,

As she that feeleth deadly sharpe distresse,

But yet to me his sorrow is mokell more,

That love him bet than he himselfe I gesse,

Alas, for me hath he such hevinesse,

Can he for me so pitously complaine,

Iwis this sorow doubleth all my paine.

Greuous to me God wot is for to twin

(Qd. she) but yet it harder is to me,

To seene that sorrow which that he is in,

For well wot I, it woll my bane be,

And die I woll in certaine tho (qd. she)

But bid him come, er deth y• thus me threteth,

Drive out y• ghost which in mine hart beteth.

These wordes said, she on her armes two

Fill gruffe, and gan to weepen pitously:

(Qd. Pandarus) alas, why doe ye so,

Sens ye well wote the time is fast by

That he shall come, arise vp hastely,

That he you nat biwopen thus ne find,

But ye woll have him wode out of his mind.

For wist he that ye farde in this manere;

He would himselfe slea: and if I wend

To have this fare, he should not come here;

For all the good that Priam may dispend:

For to what fine he would anon pretend:

That know I well, and for thy yet I sey,

So leave this sorow, or plainly he woll dey.

And shapeth you his sorow for to abredge,

And nat encrease, lefe nece swete,

* Bethrather to him cause of plat than edge,

And with some wisdome ye his sorrowes bete,

What helpeth it to weepen full a strete,

Or though ye both in salt teares dreint,

* Bet is a time of cure aye than of pleint.

I meane thus, when I him hither bring,

Sens ye be wise, and both of one assent,

So shapeth how to distour be your going,

Or come ayen soone after ye be went,

Women been wise, in short avisement,

And let seene how your wit shall availe,

And what that I may helpe, it shall nat faile.

Go (qd. Creseide) and vncle truely.

I shall done all my might me to restraine

From weeping in his sight, and busily

Him fo [...] to glad, I shall done all my paine,

And in my herte seeken every vaine,

If to his sore there may ben founden salve,

It shall nat lacke certaine on mine halve.

Goth Pandarus, and Troilus he sought,

Till in a temple he found him all alone,

As he that of his life no lenger rought,

But to the pitous goddes everichone,

Full tenderly he praid, and made his mone,

To done him soone out of the world to pace,

For wel he thought there was none other grace.

And shortly all the soothe for to sey,

He was so fallen in dispaire that day,

That vtterly he shope him for to dey,

For right thus was his argument alway,

He saied he nas but lorne, welaway,

* For all yt commeth, commeth by necessitie,

Thus to ben lorne, it is my destinie.

For certainly, this wote I well he said,

That foresight of devine purveiaunce

Had seen alway me to forgone Creseide,

* Sens God see the very thing out of doutance

And hem disposeth through his ordinance,

In his merites soothly for to be,

As they shull comen by predestine.

But nathelesse alas, whom shall I leve,

For there ben great clerkes many one,

That destinie, through argumentes preve,

And some saine, that nedely there is none,

But that free choice is yeven vs everychone,

* O welaway, so sigh arne clerkes old,

That I not whose opinion I may hold.

* For some men sain, yt God seeth all biforne,

Ne God may nat deceived ben parde,

Then mote it fallen, though men had it sworn,

That purveiaunce hath seene beforne to be,

[Page] Wherefore I say, that from eterne if he

Hath wist beforn our thought eke as our dede,

* We have no free choice, as these clerks rede.

For other thought, nor other deed also,

Might never been, but such as purueyaunce,

Which may nat been deceived never mo,

Hath feled biforne, withouten ignoraunce,

* For if there might ben a variaunce

To writhen out fro Gods purveying,

There nere no prescience of thing comming.

But it were rather an opinion

Vncertaine, and no stedfast foreseeing,

* And certes that were an abusion,

That God should have no perfite clere weting

More than we men yt have doutous wening,

But such an errour vpon God to gesse.

Were false, & foule, and wicked cursednesse.

Eke this is an opinion of some,

That have her top ful high and smooth ishore,

* They saine right thus, yt thing is nat to come,

For that the prescience hath seene before

That it shall come, but they sain yt therfore

That it shall come, therefore ye purveyaunce

Wote it beforne withouten ignoraunce.

And in this manner this necessite

Retourneth in his part contrary againe,

For needfully behoueth it nat to be,

That thilke things fallen in certaine

* That ben purveied, but needfully as they saine

Behoueth it that thinges which that fall,

That they in certaine ben purveyed all.

I meane as though I laboured me in this,

To inquire wch thing cause of wch thing be,

* As whether that the prescience of God is

The certaine cause of the necessite

Of things that to comen be parde,

Or if necessitie of thing comming,

Because certaine of the purveying.

But now ne enforce I me not in shewing,

How ye order of ye causes stant, but well wot I

That it behoueth, that the befalling

Of things wist before certainly,

Be necessarie, all seeme it not thereby,

That prescience put falling necessaire

To thing to come, all fall it foule or faire.

For if there sit a man yond on a see,

That by necessitie behoueth it,

That certes thine opinion sooth be,

That wenest or conjectest that he sit,

And further over, now ayenward yet,

Lo right so is it on the part contrarie,

As thus, now hearken, for I woll nat tarie.

I say, that if the opinion of thee

Be sooth for that he sit, then say I this,

That he mote sitten by necessitee,

And thus necessitie in either is,

For in him nede of sitting is iwis,

And in the nede of sooth, and thus forsoth

There mote necessitie ben in you both.

But thou maist saine yt man sit nat therfore,

That thine opinion of his sitting sooth is,

But rather for the man sate there before,

Therefore is thine opinion sooth iwis,

And I say though the cause of sooth of this

Commeth of his sitting, yet necessitee

As enterchaunged both in him and in thee.

Thus in the same wise out of doutaunce,

I may well maken, as it seemeth me,

My reasoning of Goddes purveyaunce,

And of the thinges that to comen be,

By whiche reason men may well isee,

That thilke thinges that in earth yfall,

That by necessitie they comen all.

For although that forthing shall come iwis

Therefore is it purveyed certainely,

Nat that it comnieth, for it purveyed is,

Yet nathelesse behoueth it needfully,

That thing to come be purveyed truly,

Or els things that purveyed be,

That they betiden by necessite.

And this suffiseth right ynough certaine,

For to destroy our free choise everydell,

But now is this abusion to saine,

That falling of the thinges temporell,

Is cause of the gods prescience eternell.

Now truely that is a false sentence,

That thing to com shuld cause his prescience.

What might I wene, & I had such a thought?

But that God purveieth thing yt is to come,

For that it is to come, and els nought:

So might I wene, that things all & some,

That whylome ben befall and overcome,

Ben cause of thilke soveraine purveyaunce,

That forwote all, withouten ignoraunce.

And over all this, yet say I more thereto,

That right as when I wote there is a thing,

Iwis that thing mote needfully be so,

Eke right so, when I wot a thing comming,

So mote it come, and thus they befalling

Of things that ben wist before the tide,

They mowe not ben eschewed on no side.

Then said he thus, almighty Iove in trone,

That wotest of all this thing ye soothfastnesse,

Rew on my sorrow and do me dien sone,

Or bring Creseide and me fro this distresse.

And while he was in all this heavinesse,

Disputing with himselfe in this matere,

Came Pandare in, and said as ye may here.

O mighty God (qd. Pandarus) in trone,

Eigh, who saw ever a wise man faren so?

Why Troilus, what thinkest thou to done?

Hast thou such lust to ben thine owne fo?

What parde, yet is nat Creseide ago,

Why list theé so thy selfe fordone for drede,

That in thine head thine eyen semen dede.

Hast thou nat lived many a yere beforne

Withouten her, and farde full well at ease?

[Page] Art thou for her and for none other borne,

Hath kind thee wrought al only her to please?

Let be and thinke right thus in thy disease,

* That in y• dice right as ther fallen chaunces,

Right so in love there come & gon plesaunces.

And yet this is a wonder most of all,

Why thou thus sorowest, sith thou wost nat yet

Touching her going, how that it shall fall,

Ne if she can her selfe distourben it,

Thou hast nat yet assaied all her wit,

* A man may all betime his necke bede

When it shall off, and sorowen at the nede.

For thy, take hede of all that I shall say,

I have with her ispoke, and long ibe,

So as accorded was betwixe vs twey,

And evermore me thinketh thus, that she

Hath somewhat in her hearts privite,

Wherewith she can, if I shall aright rede,

Disturbe all this, of which thou art in drede.

For which my counsell is, when it is night,

Thou to her go, and make of this an end,

And blisfull Iuno, through her great might,

Shall (as I hope) her grace vnto vs send,

Mine hart seith certaine she shall nat wend,

And for thy, put thine heart a while in rest,

And hold thy purpose, for it is the best.

This Troilus answerde, and sighed sore,

Thou saist right well, and I will do right so,

And what him list, he said vnto him more,

And when that it was time for to go,

Full prively himselfe withouten mo

Vnto her came, as he was wont to done,

And how they wrought, I shall you tell soone.

Sooth is, that when they gon first to mete,

So gan the paine her hearts for to twist,

That neither of hem other might grete,

But hem in armes tooke, and after kist,

The lasse wofull of hem both nist

Where y• he was, ne might o word outbring,

As I said erst, for wo and for sobbing.

The wofull teares that they leten fall,

As bitter weren out of teares kind

For paine, as is ligne aloes, or gall,

So bitter teares wept not as I find

The wofull Mirra, through the barke & rind,

That in this world there nis so hard an hart,

That nolde have rewed on her paines smart.

But when her wofull wery ghosts twaine

Returned ben, there as hem ought to dwell,

And that somewhat to weken gan the paine

By length of plaint, and ebben gan the well

Of her teares, and the heart vnswell,

With broken voice, al horse for shright, Creseid

To Troilus these ilke words seid.

O Iove I die, and mercy thee besech,

Helpe Troilus: and therewithal her face

Vpon his brest she laid, and lost her speech,

Her wofull spirite from his proper place

Right with the worde, away in point to pace,

And thus she lith, with hewes pale & grene,

That whilom fresh and fairest was to sene.

This Troilus that on her gan behold,

Cleping her name, and she lay as for deed,

Withouten answere, & felt her simmes cold,

Her eien throwen vpward to her heed:

This sorowful man, can now non other rede

But oft time her colde mouth he kist,

Where him was wo, God and himself it wist.

He riseth him vp, & long straite he her leide,

For signe of life, for aught he can or may,

Can he none finde, in nothing of Creseide,

For which his song full oft is welaway:

But when he saw that spechlesse she lay,

With sorowful voice, & hart of blisse al bare,

He said, how she was fro this world ifare.

So after that he long had her complained,

His hondes wrong, and said that was to sey,

And with his teeres salt her brest berained,

He gan tho teeres wipen off full drey,

And pitously gan for the soule prey,

And said, Lord that set art in thy trone,

Rewe eke on me, for I shall folow her sone.

She cold was, and without sentement,

For ought he wote, for brethe felt he none,

And this was him a preignant argument,

That she was forth out of this world agone:

And when he saw there was non other wonne,

He gan her limmes dresse, in such manere,

As men don hem that shall ben laide on bere.

And after this, with sterne and cruel hart,

His swerde anon out of his sheth he twight,

Him selfe to sleen, how sore that him smart,

So that his soule, her soule folowen might,

There as y• dome of Minos would it dight,

Sith love and cruel fortune it ne would,

That in this world he lenger liven should.

Then said he thus, fulfilde of high disdaine,

O cruel Iove, and thou fortune adverse,

This is all and some, that falsly have ye slaine

Creseide, and sith ye may do me ne werse,

Fie on your might and werkes so diverse,

Thus cowardly ye shull me never winne,

There shall no deth me fro my lady twinne.

For I this world, sith ye have slain her thus

Woll let, and folow her spirite low or hie,

Shal never lover saine that Troilus,

Dare nat for feare with his lady die,

For certaine I woll beare her companie,

But sithe ye wol nat suffre vs liven here,

Yet suffreth that our soules ben ifere.

And thou Citie in which I live in wo,

And thou Priam, and brethren al ifere,

And thou my mother, farewell for I go,

And Attropose make redy thou my bere:

And thou Creseide, O swete hart dere,

Receive now my spirite, would he sey

With swerde at hart, all redy for to dey.

[Page]

But as God would, of swough she abraide,

And gan to sighe, and Troilus she cride,

And he answerde, lady mine Creseide,

Live ye yet? and let his swerde doun glide:

Ye hart mine, that thanked be Cupide,

(Qd. she) and therewithal she sore sight,

And he began to glade her as he might.

Toke her in armes two and kist her oft,

And her to glad, he did al his entent,

For which her gost, that flikered aie a loft,

Into her wofull hart ayen it went:

But at the last, as that her eye glent

Aside, anon she gan his sworde aspie,

As it lay bare, and gan for feare crie.

And asked him why he had it out draw,

And Troilus anon the cause her told,

And how himself therwith he wold have slaw,

For which Creseide vpon him gan behold,

And gan him in her armes fast fold,

And said, O mercy God, lo which a dede

Alas, how nigh we weren both dede.

Then if I nadde spoken, as grace was,

Ye would have slain your selfe anon (qd. she)

Ye doutlesse: and she answerde alas,

For by that ilke lorde that made me,

I nolde a forlong way on live have be,

After your deth, to have ben crouned Quene

Of al the londe the sunne on shineth shene.

But with this selve sword, which yt here is

My selfe I would have slain (qd. she) tho:

But ho, for we have right inough of this,

And let vs rise and straite to bedde go:

And there let vs speken of our wo,

For by that morter, which that I see brenne,

Know I ful well, that day is nat farre henne.

When they wer in her bed in armes fold,

Naught was it like tho nights here beforne,

For petously ech other gan behold,

As they that hadden al her blisse ilorne,

Bewailing aie the day that they were borne,

Til at the last, this sorowful wight Creseide,

To Troilus these ilke words seide.

Lo hart mine, wel wote ye this (qd. she)

* That if a wight alway his wo complaine,

And seketh nat how holpen for to be,

It nis but folie, and encreace of paine:

And sens that here assembled be we twaine,

To find bote of wo that we ben in,

It were time al sone to begin.

I am a woman, as ful wel ye wotte,

And as I am avised sodainly,

So wol I tel you, while it is hotte,

Me thinketh thus, that neyther ye nor I,

Ought halfe this wo to maken skilfully,

For there is art inough for to redresse,

That yet is misse, and sleen this hevinesse.

Soth is, the wo the which we ben inne,

For aught I wote, for nothing els is,

But for the cause that we should twinne,

Considred al, there nis no more amis:

And what is then a remedy vnto this?

But that we shape vs sone for to mete,

This al and some, my dere hart swete.

Now that I shall wel bringen it about

To comen ayen, sone after that I go,

Thereof am I no maner thing in dout,

For dredelesse, within a weke or two

I shal ben here: and that it may be so,

By all right, and in words few,

I shal you wel an heape of waies shew.

For which I woll nat maken long sermon,

* For time ilost may not recovered be,

But I will go to my conclusion,

And to the best, in aught that I can see:

And for the love of God foryeve it me,

If I speake aught ayenst your harts rest,

For trewly I speake it for the best.

Making alway a protestacion,

That now these words which I shal say,

Nis but to shew you my mocion,

To find vnto our helpe the best way,

And take it no otherwise I pray,

For in effect, what so ye me commaund,

That wol I done, for that is no demaund.

Now herkeneth this, ye have wel vnderstond

My going graunted is by parliment,

So ferforth that it may not ben withstond,

For al this world, as by my judgement:

And sithe there helpeth none avisement,

To letten it, lette it passe out of mind,

And let vs shape a better way to find.

The sothe is, the twinning of vs twaine,

Wol vs disease, and cruelly anoie:

* But him behoveth sometime have a paine,

That serveth love, if that he woll have joie:

And sith I shall no farther out of Troie

Than I may ride ayen on halfe a morow,

It ought lasse causen vs for to sorow.

So as I shal nat so ben hid in mew,

That day by day, mine owne hart dere,

Sens well ye wote that it is now a trew,

Ye shal ful wel al mine estate here:

Aud er that truce is done, I shal ben here,

Than have ye both Antenor iwonne,

And me also, bethe glad now if ye conne.

And think right thus, Creseid is now agon,

But what, she shal come hastely ayen,

And when alas? by God, lo right anon

Er daies ten, this dare I safely saine,

And then at erst, shal we be so faine,

So as we shal togithers ever dwell,

That al this world ne might our blisse tell.

I see that oft time, there as we ben now

That for the best, our counsaile for to hide,

Ye speke nat with me, nor I with you

In fourtenight, ne see you go ne ride:

May ye nat ten daies then abide,

[Page] For mine honour, in such aventure?

Iwis ye mowe, or els lite endure.

Ye know eke how that all my kin is here,

But if that onely it my father be,

And eke mine other thinges al ifere,

And namely my dere herte ye,

Whom that I nolde leaven for to see,

For al this world, as wide as it hath space,

Or els see I never Ioves face.

Why trowe ye my father in this wise,

Coveiteth so to see me, but for drede,

Lest in this toune that folkes me dispise,

Bicause of him, for his vnhappy dede?

What wote my father what life that I lede,

For if he wist in Troie how wel I fare,

Vs neded for my wending nat to care.

Ye, that every day eke more and more,

Men treate of peace, and it supposed is,

That men the quene Heleine shall restore,

And Grekes vs restore that is mis:

Though there nere comfort none but this,

That men purposen peace on every side,

Ye may the better at ease of hart abide,

For if that it be peace, mine hart dere,

The nature of the peace mote nedes drive,

That men must entrecomune ifere,

And to and fro eke ride and gone as blive,

Al day as thicke as Been flien from an hive,

And every wight have liberty to bleve

Where as him list, the bet withouten leve.

And tho so be yt peace ther may bene none,

Yet hither, though ther never peace ne were,

I must come, for whider should I gone,

Or how mischaunce should I dwell there

Among tho men of armes ever in fere,

For which, as wisely God my soule rede,

I can nat sene wherof ye should drede.

Have here another way, if it so be

That al this thing ne may you not suffice,

My father as ye knowen well parde,

Is olde, and eke full of covetise,

And I right now have founden al the gise,

Withouten nette, wherwith I shal him hent,

And herkeneth now, if that ye woll assent.

Lo Troilus, men saine, That ful hard it is

* The wolfe ful, and the wedder hole to have,

This is to saine, that men full oft iwis,

Mote spenden parte, the remnant for to save:

For aie with Gold, men may the harte grave,

Of him that set is vpon covetise,

And how I meane, I shal it you devise.

The moveable, which yt I have in this toun

Vnto my father shal I take, and say,

That right for trust, and for salvatioun,

It sent is from a frende of his or tway,

The which frendes fervently him pray,

To sende after more, and that in hie,

While that this toun stant thus in ieopardie.

And that shal be of gold an huge quantite,

Thus shal I sain, but lest folke it aspide,

This may be sent by no wight but by me:

I shal eke shewen him, if peace betide

What frends that I have on every side,

Toward the court, to don the wrath pace,

Of Priamus, and do him stonde in grace.

So what for o thing and for other, swete,

I shal him so enchaunten with my sawes,

That right in heven his soule is, shal he mete,

For all Apollo, or his clerkes lawes,

Or calculing, availeth not three hawes:

Desire of Gold shall so his soule blend,

That as me list, I shall wel make an end.

And if he would aught by his sort it preve,

If that I lie, in certaine I shall fond

To disturben him, & plucke him by the sleve,

Making his sort, and bearen him on hond,

He hath nat well the goddes vnderstond,

* For goddes speke in amphibologies,

And for o sothe, they tellen twenty lies.

* Eke drede fond first goddes, I suppose,

Thus shall I saine, & that his coward hert,

Made him amis the goddes text to glose,

When he for ferde out of Delphos stert:

And but I make him sone to convert,

And done my rede, within a day or twey,

I wol to you oblige me to dey.

And trewly, as written wel I find,

That al this thing was said of good entent,

And that her hart trewe was and kind

Towardes him, and spake right as she ment,

And that she starfe for wo nigh when she went,

And was in purpose ever to be trewe,

Thus writen they, that of her werkes knew.

This Troilus, with hart and eeres sprad

Herde al this thing devised to and fro,

And verily it seemed that he had

The selve witte, but yet to let her go

His hart misyave him evermo,

But finally he gan his herte wrest,

To trusten her, and toke it for the best.

For which the great fury of his penaunce,

Was queint with hope, & therewith hem betwene

Began for joy the amorous daunce,

And as the birdes, when the sunne shene,

Deliten in her songe, in leves greene,

Right so the wordes, that they spake ifere,

Deliten hem, and made her hertes chere.

But nathelesse, the wending of Creseide,

For al this world may nat out of his mind,

For which ful oft he pitously her preide,

That of her heste he might her trewe find:

And said her, certes if ye be kind,

And but ye come at day set, in Troie,

Ne shal I never have heale, honor, ne joie.

For also sothe as sunne vprist to morow,

And God so wisely thou me woful wretch

[Page] To rest bring, out of this cruel sorow,

I wol my selven slee, if that ye dretch:

But of my death though little be to retch,

Yet er that ye me causen so to smart,

Dwel rather here my owne swete hart.

For trewly mine owne lady dere,

The sleights yet, that I have herd you stere,

Ful shapely ben to fallen all ifere,

* For thus men saith, yt one thinketh the bere,

But al another thinketh the ledere,

Your sire is wise, and said is out of drede,

* Men may the wise out renne, & not out rede.

* It is full harde to halten vnespied

Before a crepil, for he can the craft,

Your father is in sleight as Argus eied,

For al be it that his movable is him biraft,

His old sleight is yet so with him laft,

Ye shal nat blende him for your womanhede

Ne faine aright, and that is all my drede.

I not if peace shal evermo betide,

But peace or no, for ernest ne for game,

I wote sith Calcas on the Grekes side,

Hath ones ben, and lost so foule his name,

He dare no more come here ayen for shame,

For which that we, for ought I can espie,

To trusten on, nis but a fantasie.

Ye shal eke seen your father shall you glose,

To ben a wife, and as he can well prech,

He shal some Greke so preise and wel alose,

That ravishen he shal you with his spech:

Or do you done by force, as he shall tech,

And Troilus on whom ye nil have routh,

Shall causelesse so sterven in his trouth.

And over al this your father shall dispise

Vs al, and saine this cite is but lorne,

And that thassege never shall arise,

For why the Grekes have it al sworne,

Til we ben slaine, and doun our walles torne,

And thus he shal you with his words fere,

That aie drede I, that ye wol bleven there.

Ye shall eke sene so many a lusty knight,

Among the Grekes ful of worthinesse,

And ech of hem, with hart, wit, and might

To pleasen you, done al his businesse,

That ye shull dullen of the rudenesse

Of lely Troians, but if routhe

Remorde you, or vertue of your trouthe.

And this to me so grevouse is to thinke,

That fro my brest it wol my soule rende,

Ne dredelesse, in me there may nat sinke

O good opinion, if that ye wende,

For why, your fathers sleight woll vs shende,

And if ye gone, as I have tolde you yore,

So thinke I nam but deed, withouten more.

For which with humble, true & pitous hart

A thousand times mercy I you pray,

So reweth on mine aspre paines smart,

And doth somwhat, as that I shall you say:

And let vs steale away betwixt vs tway,

And thinke yt foly is, when a man may chese

For accident, his substaunce for to lese.

I meane thus, that sens we mowe or day

Wel steale away, and ben togither so,

What wit were it to putten in assay,

(In case ye shoulden to your father go)

If that ye mighten come ayen or no:

Thus meane I, that were a great follie

To put that sikernesse in jeopardie.

And vulgarly to speken of substaunce,

Of treasour may we both with vs lede,

Ynough to live in honour and pleasaunce,

Til vnto time that we shall ben dede:

And thus we may eschewen all this drede,

For every other waie ye can record,

Mine hart iwis may therewith nat acord.

And hardely ne dredeth no poverte,

For I have kin and frendes els where,

That though we comen in our bare sherte,

Vs should never lacke Golde ne geere,

But ben honoured while we dwelten there,

And go we anone, for as in mine entent,

This is the best, if that ye woll assent.

Creseide with a sigh, right in this wise

Answerde, iwis my dere hart trew,

We may well steale away, as ye devise,

And finden such vnthrifty waies new:

But afterward full sore it woll vs rew,

And helpe me God so at my most nede,

As causelesse ye suffren al this drede.

For thilke day that I for cherishing,

Of drede of father, or for any other wight,

Or for estate, delite, or for wedding,

Be false to you, my Troilus my knight,

Saturnus doughter Iuno, through her miȝt

As wood as Achamante do me dwell

Eternally with Stix in the pit of Hell.

And this, on every God celestiall

I swere it you, and eke on eche Goddesse,

On every nimphe, and deite infernall,

On Satiry and fauny more and lesse,

That halve goddes ben of wildernesse,

And Attropos my threde of life to brest,

If I be false, now trowe me if you lest.

And thou Simois, that, as an arowe, clere

Throgh Troy rennest, aie dounward to y• see,

Be witnesse of this word, that said is here,

That thilke day that I vntrewe be

To Troilus, mine owne hart fre,

That thou return backwarde to thy well,

And I with body and soule sinke to hell.

But that ye speake away thus for to go,

And letten all your frendes, God forbede,

For any woman that ye shoulden so,

And namely, sens Troy hath now such nede

Of helpe, and eke of o thing taketh hede,

If this were wist, my life lay in ballaunce,

And your honor, God shild vs fro mischaunce.

[Page]

And if so be that peace hereafter be take,

* As all day happeth after anger game,

Why lord the sorow & wo ye wolden make,

That ye ne durst come ayen for shame,

And ere that ye ieoparden so your name,

* Beth nat too hasty in this hotte fare,

For hasty man ne wanteth never care.

What trowe ye the people eke all about

Would of it say? it is full light to arede,

They woulden say, and swere it out of dout,

That love ne drave you nat to done this dede

But lust voluptuous, and coward drede,

Thus were all lost iwis mine herte dere

Your honour, whiche that now shineth clere.

And also thinketh on mine honeste,

That floureth yet, how foul I should it shend,

And with what filth it spotted shulde be,

If in this forme I should with you wend,

Ne though I lived unto the worlds end,

My name should I never ayenward win,

Thus were I lost, and that were routh & sin.

And for thy, slee with reason all this hete,

Men sain, the suffraunt overcommeth parde,

Eke whoso woll have lefe, he lefe mote lete,

Thus maketh vertue of necessite

By patience, and thinke that lord is he

Of fortune aye, that naught woll of her retch,

And she ne daunteth no wight but a wretch.

And trusteth this, that certes herte swete,

Or Phebus suster, Lucina the shene,

The Lion passe out of this Arite,

I woll been here, withouten any wene,

I meane, as help me Iuno heavens Quene,

The tenth day, but if that death m [...]assaile,

I woll you seene, withouten any faile.

And now so this be sooth (qd. Troilus)

I shall well suffer unto the tenth day,

Sens that I see that nede it mote ben thus,

But for the love of God, if be it may,

So let us stealen prively away,

For ever in one, as for to live in rest,

Mine hert saieth that it woll be the best.

O mercy God, what life is this (qd. she)

Alas, ye slea me thus for very tene,

I see well now that ye mistrusten me,

For by your wordes it is well isene,

Now for the love of Scinthia the shene,

Mistrust me nat thus causelesse for routh,

Sens to be true I have you plight my trouth

And thinketh well, that sometime it is wit

To spend a time, a time for to win,

Ne parde lorne am I nat fro you yet,

Though that we ben a day or two atwin,

Drive out tho fantasies you within,

And trusteth me, and leaveth eke your sorow,

Or here my trouth, I wol nat live til morow.

For if ye wist how sore it doth me smart,

Ye would cesse of this, for God thou wost

The pure spirit weepeth in mine hart

To seen you weepen, which that I love most,

And that I mote gone unto the Greekes host,

Ye, nere it that I wist a remedy

To come ayen, right here I wolde dy.

But certes I am not so nice a wight,

That I ne can imaginen a way

To come ayen that day that I have hight,

For who may holden a thing that woll away,

My father naught, for all his queint play,

And by my thrift, my wending out of Troy

Another day shall tourne us all to joy.

For thy, with all mine heart I you beseke,

If that you list done aught for my prayere,

And for the love which that I love you eke,

That ere I departe fro you here,

That of so good a comfort and a chere

I may you seen, that ye may bring at rest

My hart, which is at point to brest.

And over all this I pray you (qd. she) tho,

My own herts soothfast suffisaunce,

Sith I am thine all hole withouten mo,

That while that I am absent, no pleasaunce

Of other, do me fro your remembraunce:

For I am ever agast, for why men rede,

* That love is thing aye full of busie drede.

For in this world there liveth lady none,

If that ye were vntrue, as God defend,

That so betrayed were, or wo begon,

As I, that all trouth in you entend:

And doubtlesse, if that iche other wend,

I nere but dead, and ere ye cause find,

For Goddes love, so beth ye nat unkind.

To this answered Troilus, and seide,

Now God, to whom there nis no cause iwrie,

Me glad, as wis I never unto Creseide,

Sith thilke day I saw her first with eye,

Was false, ne never shall till that I die,

At short wordes, well ye may me leue,

I can no more, it shall be found at preue.

Graunt mercy good hert mine iwis (qd. she)

And blisful Venus let me never sterve,

Er I may stonde of pleasaunce in degre,

To quite him well, that so well can deserve:

And while that God my wit will me conserve

I shall so done, so true I have you found,

That aie honour to me ward shall rebound.

For trusteth well, that your estate royall,

Ne vaine delite, nor onely worthinesse

Of you in werre or turnay marciall,

Ne pompe, array, nobley, or eke richesse:

Ne made me to rue on your distresse,

But moral vertue, grounded upon trouth,

That was the cause I first had on you routh.

Eke gentle hart, and manhood that ye had,

And that ye had (as me thought) in dispite

Every thing that sowned in to bad,

As rudenesse, and peoplish appetite

[Page] And that your reason bridled your delite,

This made aboven every creature,

That I was yours, & shall while I may dure.

And this may length of yeres itat fordoe,

Ne remuablest fortune deface,

But Iupiter, that of his might may doe

The sorowfull to be glad, so yeve vs grace

Er nights tenne, to meten in this place,

So that it may your harte and mine suffise,

And fareth now well, for time is that ye rise.

And after that they long yplained had,

And oft ikist, and straite in armes fold,

The day gan rise, and Troilus him clad,

And rufully his Lady gan behold:

As he that felt deaths cares cold,

And to her grace he gan him recommaund,

Where he was wo, this hold I no demaund.

For mans hedde imaginen ne can,

Ne entendement consider, ne tongue tell

The cruell paines of this sorowfull man,

That passen every torment doune in hell:

For when he saw that she ne might dwell,

Which that his soule out of his hart rent,

Withouten more, out of ye chamber he went.

Incipit Liber Quintus.

A Prochen gan the fatall destine,

That Ioves hath in disposicioun,

And to you angry Parcas sustren thre,

Committeth to done execucioun,

For which Creseide must out of the toun,

And Troilus shall dwell forth in pine,

Till Lachesis his threde no lenger twine.

The golden tressed Phebus high on loft,

Thrise had all with his beames clere

The Snowes molte, and Zephirus as oft

I brought ayen the tender leaves grene:

Sens that the sonne of Eccuba the Quene,

Began to love her first, for whom his sorow

Was all, that she depart should a morow.

Full redy was at prime Diomede,

Creseide vnto the Grekes hoste to lede,

For sorow of which, she felt her hart blede,

As she that nist what was best to rede:

And truely, as men in bokes rede,

Men wist never woman have the care,

Ne was so lothe out of a toune to fare.

This Troilus withouten rede or lore,

As man that hath his joies eke forlore,

Was waiting on his lady evermore,

As she that was sothfast croppe and more,

Of all his lust or joyes here tofore:

But Troilus now farwell all thy joie,

For shalt thou never seen her eft in Troie.

Soth is, that while he bode in this manere,

He gan his wofull manly for to hide,

That well vnneth it seen was in his chere,

But at the yate there she should out ride,

With certain folke he hoved her to abide,

So wo bigon, all would he not him plain,

That on his horse vnneth he sate for pain.

For ire he quoke, so gan his hart gnaw,

When Diomede on horse gan him dight,

And sayd vnto himselfe this ilke saw,

Alas (qd. he) thus foule a wretchednesse

Why suffre I it? Why nill I it redresse?

Were it nat bet at ones for to die,

Than evermore in langour thus to crie?

Why nill I make at ones rich and poore,

To have inough to done er that she go?

Why nill I bring all Troie vpon a roore?

Why nill I slaen this Diomede also?

Why nill I rather with a man or two,

Steale her away? Why woll I this endure?

Why nill I helpen to mine owne cure?

But why he nolde done so fell a deede,

That shall I sain, and why him list it spare,

He had in hart alway a maner drede,

Lest that Creseide, in rumour of this fare

Should have ben slain, lo this was al his care,

And els certain, as I sayd yore,

He had it done withouten wordes more.

Creseide when she redy was to ride,

Full sorowfully she sighed, and sayd alas,

But forth she mote, for aught y• may betide,

And forth she rideth full sorowfully apaas:

There is no other remedy in this caas,

What wonder is, though that her sore smart

When she forgoeth her owne swete hart?

This Troilus in gise of curtesie,

With hauke on hond, and with an huge rout

Of knights, rode and did her companie,

Passing all the valey ferre without,

And ferther would have ridden out of doubt,

Full faine, and wo was him to gone so sone,

But tourne he must, and it was eke to done.

And right with that was Antenor icome,

Out of the Grekes hoste, and every wight

Was of him glad, and sayd he was welcome,

And Troilus, al nere his harte light,

He pained him, with all his full might

Him to with hold of weping at least,

And Antenor he kist, and made feast.

And therewithal he must his leave take,

And cast his iye upon her pitously,

And nere he rode, his cause for to make,

To take her by the honde al soberly:

And Lorde so she gan wepen tenderly,

And he full soft and slighly gan her sele,

Now hold your day, and doe me not to deie.

With that his courser tourned he about,

With face pale, and vnto Diomede

No worde he spake, ne none of all his rout,

Of which the sonne of Tideus toke hede,

As he that kouthe more than the crede,

In soche a craft, and by the rain her hent,

And Troilus to Troie homewards went.

[Page]

This Diomede, that lad her by ye bridell,

Whan that he saw the folke of Troy away,

Thought, all my labor shall not been on idell,

If that I may, for somewhat shall I say:

For at the worst, it short may our way,

* I have heard say eke, times twise twelve,

He is a foole that woll foryete him selve.

But nathelesse, this thought he well inough

That certainly I am about naught,

If that I speake of love, or make it to tought,

For doubtlesse, if she have in her thought,

Him that I gesse, he may not been ibrought

So sone away, but I shall find a meane,

That she nat yet wete shall what I meane.

This Diomede, as he y• could his good,

When this was done, gan fallen forth in spech

Of this and that, and aske why she stood

In soth disease, and gan her eke besech

That if that he encreasen might or ech,

With any thing her ease, that she should

Commaunde it him, & said he done it would.

For truely he swore her as a knight,

That ther nas thing, with wch he might her plese

That he nolde done his pain, & al his might

To done it, for to done her hart an ease:

And prayed her she would her sorow appease,

And sayd, iwis we Greekes can have joy

To honouren you, as well as folke of Troy.

He said eke thus, I wot you thinketh strange,

No wonder is, for it is to you new,

Thacquaintance of these Trojans to change

For folke of Grece, that ye never knew:

But would never God, but if as true

A Greeke ye should emong us all find,

As any Trojan is, and eke as kind.

And bicause I swore you right now,

To ben your frende, and helply to my might,

And for that more acquaintaunce eke of you

Have I had, than an other straunger wight:

So fro this forth, I pray you day and night,

Commaundeth me, how sore that me smart,

To done all that may like unto your hart.

And that ye me wold, as your brother treat,

And taketh not my frendship in dispite,

And thouȝ your sorowes been for things gret,

Not I nat why, but out of more respite,

Mine hart hath for to amend it great delite,

And if I may your harmes nat redresse,

I am right sory for your heavinesse.

For though ye Trojans, with us Geeekes wroth

Have many a day been, alway yet parde,

O God of Love, in sothe we serven bothe:

And for the love of God my lady free,

Whom so ye hate, as beth not wroth with me,

For truely there can no wight you serve,

That half so loth your wrath would deserve.

And nere it that we been so nere the tent

Of Calcas, which that seen us both may,

I would of this you tell all mine entent,

But this ensealed till an other day,

Yeve me your honde, I am and shall be aie,

God helpe me so, while y• my life may dure,

Your owne, aboven every creature.

Thus said I never e [...] now to woman borne,

For God mine hert as wisely glad so,

I loved never woman here beforne,

As paramours, ne never shall no mo:

And for the love of God be not my so,

All can I not to my Lady dere

Complain a right, for I am yet to lere.

And wondreth nought mine owne Lady bright,

Though y• I speake of love to you thus blive,

For I have heard or this of many a wight,

Hath loved thing he never saw his live:

Eke I am not of power for to strive

Ayenst the God of Love, but him obay

I woll alway, and mercy I you pray.

There beeth so worthy knights in this place,

And ye so faire, that everiche of hem all

Woll pain him to stonden in your grace,

But might me so faire a grace fall

That ye me for your servant would call,

So lowly, ne so truely you serve,

Nill none of hem, as I shall till I sterve.

Creseide unto that purpose lite answerde,

As she that was with sorow oppressed so,

That in effect she naught his tales herde,

But here and there, now here a word or two:

Her thought her sorowfull hart brest a two,

For when she gan her father ferre espie,

Well nigh doune of her hors she gan to sle.

But nathelesse she thonketh Diomede,

Of all his travaile and his good chere,

And that him list his frendship to her bede,

And she accepteth it in good manere,

And woll do fain that is him lefe and dere,

And trusten him she would, & well she might,

As saied she, and from her hors she alight.

Her father hath her in his armes nome,

And twenty times he kist his doughter swete,

And saied: O dere doughter mine welcome,

She said eke, she was fain with him to mete:

And stode forth muet, milde, and mansuete,

But here I leave her with her father dwell,

And forth I woll of Troilus you tell.

To Troy is come this wofull Troilus,

In sorow above all sorowes smert,

With felon loke, and face dispitous,

Tho sodainly doune from his hors he stert,

And through his paleis with swolne hert,

To chamber he went, of nothing toke he bede

Ne none to him dare speke o worde for drede.

And there his sorowes that he spared had,

He yave an issue large, and death he cride,

And in his throwes, frenetike and mad

He curseth Iuno, Apollo, and eke Cupide,

[Page] He curseth Bachus, Ceres, and Cipride,

His birth, himselfe, his fate, and eke nature,

And save his Ladie, every creature.

To bed he goth, & welleth there & turneth,

In furie, as doeth he Ixion in hell,

And in this wise he nigh till day sojourneth,

But tho began his hart alite vnswell,

Through teares, which y• gonnen vp to wel

And pitiously he cried vpon Creseide,

And to him self right thus he spake and seide.

Where is mine owne lady lefe and dere?

Where is her white brest, where is it where?

Where been her armes, and her iyen clere

That yesterday this time with me were?

Now may I wepe alone many a teare,

And graspe about I may, but in this place

Save a pilow, I find naught to embrace.

How shal I doen, when shal she come again?

I not alas, why let I her go?

As would God I had as tho be slain,

O hart mine Creseide, O swete fo,

O Lady mine, that I love and no mo,

To whom for ever more mine hart I vowe,

See how I die, ye nill me not rescowe.

Who seeth you now, my right lodesterre?

Who sitteth right now in your presence?

Who can comforten now your hartes werre?

Now I am gon, whom yeve ye audience?

Who speaketh for me riȝt now in your absence,

Alas no wight, & that is all my care,

For well wote I, as evill as I ye fare.

How should I thus ten daies full endure,

Whan I the first night have all this tene,

How shall she eke sorowfull creature,

For tendernesse, how shall she this sustene:

Soche wo for me, o pitous, pale, and grene,

Shall been your freshe womanly face,

For langour er ye tourne vnto this place.

And whan he fill in any slombrings,

Anon begin he should for to grone,

And dreamen of the dreadfullest things

That might been: as mete he were alone

In place horrible, making aie his mone,

Or meten that he was emonges all

His enemies, and in her hondes fall.

And therewithall his body should start,

And with the start all sodainly awake,

And soche a tremour fele about his hart,

That of the feare his body should quake:

And therwithall he should a noise make,

And seme as though he should fall depe,

From high alofe, and then he would wepe.

And rewen on himselfe so pitously,

That wonder was to here his fantasie,

An other time he should mightely

Comfort himselfe, and sain it was folie,

So causelesse, soche drede for to drie,

And eft begin his aspre sorowes new,

That every man might on his paines rew.

Who could tell all, or fully discrive

His wo, his plaint, his langour, and his pine?

Nat all the men that han or been on live,

Thou reader mayst thy self full well devine,

That soche a wo my wit can not define,

Vnidell for to write it should I swinke,

When that my wit is werie it to thinke.

On heaven yet the sterres weren seen

Although full pale iwoxen was the Mone,

And whiten gan the Orisont shene,

All Eastward, as it was wont to done,

And Phebus with his rosie carte sone,

Gan after that to dresse him vp to fare,

When Troilus sent after Pandare.

This Pandare, that of all the day beforne

Ne might him comen this Troilus to se,

Although he on his hedde it had sworne,

For with the king Priam alday was he,

So that it lay nat in his liberte,

No where to gon, but on the morow he went

To Troilus, when that he for him sent.

For in his hart he could well devine,

That Troilus al night for sorow woke,

And that he would tell him of his pine,

This knew he well inough without boke:

For which to chamber streight ye way he toke,

And Troilus tho soberly he grette,

And on the bedde full sone he gan him sette.

My Pandarus (qd. Troilus) the sorow

Which that I drie, I may not long endure,

I trowe I shall not liven till to morow,

For which I would alwaies on aventure

To thee devisen of my sepoulture

The forme, and of my movable thou dispoen

Right as thee semeth best is for to doen.

But of the fire and flambe funerall,

In which my body brennen shall to glede,

And of the feast and plaies palestrall,

At my vigile, I pray thee take good hede

That that be well: and offer Mars my stede,

My sword, mine helme: & leve brother dere,

My shelde to Pallas yeve, that shineth clere.

The poudre in wch min hart ibrend shal turn

That pray I thee thou take, and it conserve

In a vessell that men clepeth an vrne

Of Gold, and to my lady that I serve,

For love of whom thus pitously I sterve,

So yeve it her, and doe me this pleasaunce,

To praien her to kepe it for a remembraunce.

For well I fele by my maladie,

And by my dreames, now and yore ago,

All certainly, that I mote nedes die:

The oule eke, which that hight Ascaphilo,

Hath after me shright, all these nights two,

And God Mercurie, now of me wofull wretch

The soule guide, and when thee list it fetch.

Pandare answerde and saied, Troilus

My dere frende, as I have told thee yore,

[Page] That it is follie for to sorowen thus,

And causelesse, for which I can no more:

But who so woll not trowen rede ne lore,

I can not seen in him no remedie,

But let him worchen with his fantasie.

But Troilus I pray thee tell me now,

If that thou trowe er this that any wight,

Hath loved paramours as well as thou,

Ye God wot, & fro many a worthy knight

Hath his Ladie gon a fourtenight,

And he nat yet made halvendele the fare,

What nede is the to maken all this care?

Sens day by day thou maist thy selven see

That from his love, or els from his wife

A man mote twinnen of necessitie,

Ye though he love her as his owne life:

Yet nill he with himself thus maken strife,

* For well thou wost my leve brother dere,

That alway frendes may not been ifere.

How done this folke, yt seen her loves wedded

By frendes might? as it betideth full oft,

And seen hem in her spouses bedde ibedded,

God wote they take it wisely faire and soft:

For why, good hope halt vp her hert aloft,

And for they can a time of sorow endure,

* As time hem hurteth, a time doth hem cure.

So shouldest thou endure, and letten slide

The time, and fonde to been glad and light,

Ten dayes nis not so long to abide,

And sens she to comen thee hath behight,

She nill her hest breaken for no wight,

For drede thee not, that she nill finde way

To come ayen, my life that durst I lay.

Thy sweuenes eke, and all soch fantasie

Drive out, and let hem faren to mischaunce,

For they procede of thy melancolie,

That doth thee fele in slepe all this penaunce:

A straw for all sweuenes signifiaunce,

* God helpe me so, I caunt hem not a Bean,

There wot no man aright wt dremes mean.

For priestes of the temple tellen this,

That dreames been the reuelacions

Of Goddes, and als well they tel iwis,

That they been infernalles illusions

And Leches saine, that of complections

Proceden they of fast, or glotonie,

Who wot in sothe thus what they signifie?

Eke other saine, that through impressions,

As if a wight hath fast a thing in mind,

That thereof cometh soche avisions:

And other sain, as they in bokes find,

That after times of the yere by kind,

Men dreme, & that theffect goth by ye mone,

But leve no dreme, for it is nat to done.

Wel worth of dreams aie these old wives,

And truly eke, augurie of these foules,

For feare of which, men wenen lese her lives,

As ravens qualm, or schriching of these oules:

To trowen on it, bothe false and foule is,

Alas alas, that so noble a creature

As is a man, should drede such ordure.

For which with al mine hart I thee beseche,

Vnto thy self, that all this thou foryeve,

And rise now vp, withouten more speche,

And let vs cast how forth may best be driven

The time, and eke how freshly we may liven,

When she cometh, ye which shall be right sone,

God helpe me so, the best is thus to done.

Rise, let vs speake of lustie life in Troy

That we have lad, and forth the time drive,

And eke of time coming vs rejoy,

That bringen shall our blisse now so blive,

And langour of these twise daies five,

We shall therewith so foryet or oppresse,

That well vnneth it done shall vs duresse.

This toune is full of lordes al about,

And truce lasten all this meane while,

Go we plaien vs in some lustie rout,

To Sarpedon, not hens but a mile,

And thus thou shalt the time well beguile,

And drive it forth vnto that blisfull morow,

That thou her see, that cause is of thy sorow.

Now rise my dere brother Troilus,

For certes it non honour is to thee

To wepe, and in thy bedde to rouken thus,

For truely of o thing trust to me,

If thou thus ligge, a day two or three,

The folke woll wene, yt thou for cowardise,

Thee fainest sick, and that thou darst not rise.

This Troilus answerde: O brother dere

This folke know that have isuffred pain,

That though he wepe, & make sorowful chere

That feeleth harme & smart in every vain:

No wonder is, and though I ever plain

Or alway wepe, I am nothing to blame,

Sens yt I have lost ye cause of all my game.

But sens of fine force I mote arise,

I shall arise, as sone as ever I may,

And God, to whom mine hert I sacrifice,

So send vs hastely the tenthe day:

For was there never foule so faine of May

As I shall ben, when yt she cometh in Troie,

That cause is of my tourment and my joie.

But whider is thy rede (qd. Troilus)

That we may play vs best in all this toun?

By God my counsaile is (qd. Pandarus)

To ride and play vs with king Sarpedoun.

So long of this they speaken vp and doun,

Till Troilus gan at the last assent

To rise, and forth to Sarpedon they went.

This Sarpedon, as he that honourable

Was ever his live, and full of hie prowesse,

With all that might iserved been on table,

That deintie was, all coste it great richesse,

He fedde hem day by day, that such noblesse

As saiden both the most and eke the least,

Was never er that day wiste at any feast.

[Page] Nor in this world there is none instrument,

Delicious, through winde or touche on corde,

As ferre as any wight hath ever iwent,

That tonge tell, or harte may recorde,

But at yt feast, it was well heard recorde:

Ne of Ladies eke so faire a companie,

On daunce er tho, was never iseen with eye.

But what availeth this to Troilus,

That for his sorrow, nothing of it rought,

But ever in one, as hert pitous,

Full busily Creseide his Lady sought:

On her was ever al that his hert thought,

Now this now that, so fast imagining,

That glad iwis can him no feasting.

These Ladies eke, that at this feast been,

Sens that he saw his Lady was away,

It was his sorow upon hem for to seen,

Or for to heare on instrumentes play:

For she that of his hert hath the kay,

Was absent, lo this was his fantasie

That no wight shulde maken melodie.

Nor there nas houre in al the day or night,

When he was ther as no man might him here,

That he ne sayd, O lovesome Lady bright,

How have ye faren sins that ye were there:

Welcome iwis mine owne Lady dere,

But welaway, all this nas but a mase,

Fortune his hove entended bet to glase.

The letters eke, that she of olde time

Had him isent, he would alone rede

An hundred sith, atwixt noone and prime,

Refiguring her shape, and her womanhede,

Within his hert, and every worde and dede

That passed was, & thus he drove to an end,

The fourth day, and saied he wol wend.

And said leve brother Pandarus,

Intendest thou that we shall here bleve,

Til Sarpedon woll forth conveyen us,

Yet were it fairer that we toke our leve:

For Goddes love, let us now sone at eve

Our leave take, & homeward let us turne,

For trewely I nill nat thus sojourne.

Pandare answerde, be we comen hither

To fetchen fire, and rennen home againe,

God helpe me so, I can nat tellen whither

We might gone, if I shall sothly saine:

There any wight is of us more faine

Than Sarpedon, and if we hence hie

Thus sodainly, I hold it vilanie.

When that we saiden we would bleve

With him a weke, and now thus sodainly

The fourth day to take of him our leve,

He would wondren on it trewly:

Let us holden forth our purpose fermely,

And sens that ye behighten him to abide,

Hold forward now, and after let us ride.

This Pandarus, with all pine and wo

Made him to dwell, and at the wekes end,

Of Sarpedon they toke her leave tho,

And on her way they speden hem to wend:

(Qd. Troilus) now Lorde me grace send,

That I may find at mine home comming,

Creseide comen, and therwith gan he sing.

Ye haselwode thought this Pandare,

And to himselfe ful softly he seide,

God wotte refroiden may this hotte fare,

Er Calcas sende Troilus Creseide:

But nathelesse he yaped thus and seide,

And swore iwis, his hert him wel behight,

She wolde come as sone as ever she might.

When they unto the paleis were ycomen,

Of Troilus, they doun of horse alight,

And to ye chambre her way have they nomen,

And unto time that it gan to night,

They speken of Creseide the lady bright,

And after this, when hem both lest,

They spede hem fro the supper unto rest.

On morow as sone as day began to clere,

This Troilus gan of his slepe to abreide,

And to Pandarus, his own brother dere

For loue of God, full pitously he seide:

As go we seene the paleis of Creseide,

For sens we yet may have no more feest,

So let us seine her paleis at the leest.

And therewithall his meine for to blende,

A cause he fonde in toune for to go,

And to Creseides house they gan wende,

But lorde this sely Troilus was wo,

Him thought his sorowful hart brast atwo,

For when he saw her doores sparred all,

Well nigh for sorow adoun he gan to fall.

Therwith when he was ware, & gan behold

How shet was every window of the place,

As frost him thought his hert gan to cold,

For which with chaunged deedly pale face,

Withouten worde, he forth by gan to pace,

And as god would, he gan so faste ride,

That no wight of his countenance aspide.

Then said he thus: O paleis desolate,

O house of houses, whilom best ihight,

O paleis empty and disconsolate,

O thou lanterne, of which queint is the light,

O paleis whilom day, that now art night,

Wel oughtest thou to fall, and I to die,

Sens she is went, that wont was us to gie.

O paleis whilom crowne of houses all,

Enlumined with sunne of all blisse,

O ring, of which the rubie is out fall,

O cause of wo, that cause hast ben of blisse:

Yet sens I may no bet, fain would I kisse

Thy colde doores, durst I for this rout,

* And farewel shrine of which the saint is out.

Therwith he cast on Pandarus his eie,

With changed face, and pitous to behold,

And when he might his time aright aspie,

Aie as he rode, to Pandarus he told

His new sorow, and eke his joyes old.

So petously, and with so deed an hew,

That every wight might on his sorow rew.

[Page]

Fro thence forth he rideth vp and doune

And every thing came him to remembraunce,

As he rode forth by the places of the toune,

In which he whilom had all his pleasaunce:

Lo, yonder saw I mine owne Lady daunce,

And in that temple with her eien clere,

Me caught first my right Lady dere.

And yonder have I herde full lustely

My dere hart laugh, and yonder play

Saw I her ones eke ful blisfully,

And yonder ones to me gan she say

Now good sweete, love me well I pray,

And yonde so goodly gan she me behold,

That to the death mine hart is to her hold.

And at the corner in the yonder house,

Herde I mine alderlevest lady dere,

So womanly, with voice melodiouse,

Singen so wel, so goodly and so clere,

That in my soule yet me thinketh I here

The blisfull sowne, and in that yonder place

My lady first me toke vnto her grace.

Then thouȝt he thus, O blisful lord Cupide

When I the processe have in memory,

How thou me hast weried on every side,

Men might a booke make of it like a story:

What nede is thee to seeke on me victory,

Sens I am thine, and holly at thy will,

What joy hast thou thine owne folke to spill?

Wel hast thou Lord iwroke on me thine ire,

Thou mighty God, and dredful for to greve,

Now mercy Lord, thou wost wel I desire

Thy grace most, of all lustes leve,

And live and die I wol in thy beleve,

For which I ne aske in guerdon but a bone,

That thou Creseide ayen me send sone.

Distraine her hart as fast to returne,

As thou doest mine to longen her to see,

Then wote I wel that she nil nat sojourne,

Now blisful Lord, so cruel thou ne be

Vnto the blood of Troy, I pray thee,

As Iuno was vnto the blode Thebane,

For which ye folke of Thebes cauȝt her bane.

And after this he to the yates went,

There as Creseide out rode, a full good paas,

And vp & doun there made he many a went,

And to him selfe ful oft he said alas:

Fro hence rode my blisse and my solas,

As would blisful God now for his joie,

I might her sene ayen come to Troie.

And to the yonder hil I gan her guide,

Alas, and there I toke of her my leve,

And yonde I saw her to her father ride,

For sorow of which mine hart shal to cleve:

And hither home I come when it was eve,

And here I dwell, out cast from all joie,

And shal, til I may sene her eft in Troie.

And of him selfe imagined he oft,

To ben defaited, pale, and woxen lesse

Than he was wont, and that men saiden soft,

What may it be? who can the sothe gesse,

Why Troilus hath al this hevinesse?

And al this nas but his melancolie,

That he had of him selfe such fantasie.

Another time imaginen he would,

That every wight that went by the wey,

Had of him routh, and that they saine should,

I am right sory, Troilus wol dey:

And thus he drove a day yet forth or twey,

As ye have herde, such life gan he lede,

As he that stode betwixen hope and drede.

For which him liked in his songes shewe

Thencheson of his wo, as he best might,

And made a songe, of wordes but a fewe,

Somwhat his wofull hart for to light:

And when he was from every mans sight,

With softe voice, he of his Lady dere,

That absent was, gan sing as ye may here.

O sterre, of which I lost have all the light,

With hart sore, wel ought I to bewaile,

That ever derke in turment, night by night

Toward my deth, with winde I stere & saile:

For which the tenth night, if that I faile,

The guiding of thy bemes bright an houre,

My ship and me Caribdes woll devoure.

This song when he thus songen had sone,

He fel ayen into his sighes old,

And every night, as was he wont to done,

He stode the bright moone to behold:

And al his sorow he to the moone told,

And said, iwis whan thou art horned new,

I shal be glad, if al the world be trew.

I saw thine hornes old eke by that morow,

Whan hence rode my right lady dere,

That cause is of my turment and my sorow,

For which, O bright Lucina the clere,

For love of God ren fast about thy sphere,

For whan thine hornes new ginnen spring,

Then shall she come that may my blisse bring.

The day is more, and lenger every night

Than they ben wont to be, him thought tho,

And that the sunne went his course vnright,

By lenger way than it was wont to go,

And said, iwis, I drede me evermo

The sunnes sonne Pheton be on live,

And that his fathers cart amisse he drive.

Vpon the wals fast eke would he walke,

And on the Greekes host he would see,

And to himselfe right thus he would talke:

Lo, yonder is mine owne lady free,

Or else yonder, there the tents bee,

And thence commeth this aire that is so soote,

That in my soule I fele it doth me boote.

And hardly, this wind that more and more

Thus stoundmeale encreaseth in my face,

Is of my ladies deepe sighes sore,

I preve it thus, for in none other space

[Page] Of all this toune, save only in this place,

Feele I no wind, that souneth so like paine,

It saith alas, why twined be we twaine.

This long time he driveth forth right thus,

Till fully passed was the ninth night,

And aye beside him was this Pandarus,

That busily did all his full might

Him to comfort, and make his hart light,

Yeving him hope alway the tenth morow,

That she shal comen, & stinten all his sorow.

Vpon that other side eke was Creseide

With women few among y• Grekes strong,

For which full oft a day, alas she seide

That I was borne, well may mine hart long

After my death, for now live I too long

Alas, and I ne may it not amend,

For now is worse than ever yet I wend.

My father nill for nothing doe me grace

To gone ayen, for aught I can him queme,

And if so be that I my terme pace,

My Troilus shall in his heart deme

That I am false, and so it may well seme,

Thus shall I have vnthonke on every side,

That I was borne so welaway the tide.

And if that I me put in jeopardie,

To steale away by night, and it befall

That I be caught, I shall be hold aspie,

Or els lo, this drede I most of all,

If in the honds of some wretch I fall,

I nam but lost, all be mine heart trew,

Now mightie God, thou on my sorow rew.

Full pale iwoxen was her bright face,

Her limmes leane, as she that all the day,

Stode when she durst, & loked on the place

There she was borne, and dwelt had aye,

And all the night weeping alas she lay,

And thus dispeired out of all cure

She lad her life, this wofull creature.

Full oft a day she sighed eke for distresse,

And in her selfe she wene aye purtraying

Of Troilus the great worthinesse,

And all his goodly words recording,

Sens first that day her love began to spring,

And thus she set her wofull hart afire,

Through remembrance of y• she gan desire.

In all this world there nis so cruell hart,

That her had heard complainen in her sorow,

That nold have wepten for her pains smart,

So tenderly she wept, both eve and morow,

Her needed no teares, for to borow,

And this was yet the worst of all her paine,

Ther was no wight, to whom she durst plain.

Full rewfully she looked vpon Troy,

Beheld the Toures high, and eke y• Hallis,

Alas (qd. she) the pleasaunce and the joy,

The which that now all turned into gall is,

Have I had oft within yonder wallis,

O Troilus, what doest thou now she [...]ide,

Lord, whether thou yet thinke vpon Creseide.

Alas that I ne had itrowed on your lore,

And went with you, as ye me redde ere this,

Then had I now not sighed halfe so sore,

Who might have said, that I had done amis

To steale away with such one as he is,

* But all too late commeth the lectuarie,

When men the corse vnto the graue carie.

Too late is now to speke of that matere,

Prudence, alas, one of thine eyen three

Me lacked alway, ere that I came here:

For on time passed well remembred mee,

And present time eke would I well see,

But future time, ere I was in the snare,

Could I not seene, that causeth now my care.

But nathelesse, betide what betide,

I shal to morow at night, by east or west,

Out of this hoast steale, on some side,

And gone with Troilus, where as him lest,

This purpose woll I hold, and this is ye best,

* No force of wicked tongues [...]onglerie,

For ever on love have wretches had Endie.

* For who so woll of every word take hede,

Or rule hem by every wights wit,

Ne shall he never thriven out of drede,

For that that some men blamen ever yet,

Lo, other manner folke commenden it,

And as for me, for all such variaunce,

Felicitie clepe I my suff [...]aunce.

For which withouten any words mo,

To Troy I woll, as for conclusioun,

But God it wote, ere fully moneths two,

She was full ferre fro that ententioun,

For both Troilus and Troy toun

Shall knotlesse throughout her hart slide,

For she woll take a purpose for to abide.

This Diomede, of whom I you tell gan,

Goth now within himselfe aye arguing,

With all the sleight and all that ever he can,

How he may best with shortest tarying,

Into his nerre Creseides heart bring,

To this entent he couth never fine,

To fishen her, he laid out booke and line.

But nathelesse, well in his hart he thought,

That she nas nat without a love in Troy,

For never sithen he her thence brought,

Ne couth he seene her laugh, or maken joy,

He nist how best her hart for taco [...]e,

But for tassey, he said nought it ne greveth,

* For he y• naught assaieth, naught atcheveth.

Yet said he to himselfe vpon a night,

Now am I nat a foole, that wote well how

Her wo is, for love of another wight,

And hereupon to gone assay her now,

I may well wete, it nill nat ben my prow.

* For wise folke in bookes it expresse,

Men shall nat wo a wight in hevinesse.

But who so might winnen such a floure

Fro him, for whom she mourneth night & day,

[Page]

[...]

[Page]

[...]

[Page] He might saine he were a conquerour:

And right anone, as he that bold was aye,

Thought in his hart, hap how hap may,

All should I dye, I woll her heart seech,

I shall no more lesen but my speech.

This Diomede, as bookes us declare,

Was in his nedes prest and courageous,

With stern voice, & mighty limmes square,

Hardy, testife, strong, and chevalrous

Of deedes like his father Tideus,

And some men saine he was of tonge large,

And heire he was of Calcidony and Arge.

Creseide meane was of her stature,

Thereto of shape, of face, and eke of chere,

There might ben no fairer creature,

And oft time this was her manere,

To gone itressed with her haires clere

Downe by her colere, at her backe behind,

Which with a thred of gold she would bind.

And save her browes joyneden ifere,

There nas no lacke, in aught I can espien,

But for to speaken of her eyen clere,

Lo, truly they written that her seien,

That Paradis stood formed in her eien,

And with her rich beauty evermore

Strove love in her, aie wch of hem was more.

She sobre was eke, simple, & wise withall,

The best inorished eke that might bee,

And goodly of her speech in generall,

Charitable, estately, lusty, and free,

Ne nevermore ne lacked her pitee,

Tender hearted, sliding of corage,

But truly I cannat tell her age.

And Troilus well woxen was in hight,

And complete formed by proportioun,

So well, y• kind it naught amenden might,

Young, fresh, strong, and hardy as Lioun,

Trew as steele, in ech conditioun,

One of the best entetched creature,

That is or shall, while yt the world may dure.

And certainely, in story as it is fond,

That Troilus was never unto no wight

As in his time, in no degree second,

In daring do that longeth to a knight,

All might a Giaunt passen him of might,

His hart aye with ye first and with the best,

Stood peregall to dare done what him lest.

But for to tellen forth of Diomede,

It fill, that after on the tenthe day,

Sens that Creseide out of the city yede,

This Diomede, as fresh as braunch in May,

Came to the tent there as Calcas lay,

And fained him with Calcas have to done,

But what he ment, I shall you tellen sone.

Creseide at short wordes for to tell,

Welcommed him, & downe him by her sette,

And he was ethe ynough to maken dwell,

And after this, withouten long lette,

The spices and the wine men forth hem fette,

And forth they speke of this and that ifere,

As friends done, of which some shall ye here.

He gan first fallen of the warre in speech

Betwixen hem and the folke of Troy toun,

And of thassiege he gan eke her beseech,

To tellen him what was her opinioun:

Fro that demaund he so discendeth doun,

To asken her, if that her straunge thought

The Greeks gise, & werkes yt they wrought.

And why her father tarieth so long

To wedden her unto some worthy wight?

Creseide that was in her paines strong,

For love of Troilus her owne knight,

So ferforth as she cunning had or might,

Answerde him tho, but as of his entent,

It seemed nat she wiste what he ment.

But nathelesse, this ilke Diomede

Gan on himselfe assure, and thus he seide:

If I aright have taken on you hede,

Methinketh thus, O lady mine Creseide,

That sens I first hond on your bridle leide,

When I out came of Troy by the morrow,

Ne might I never seene you but in sorrow.

I can nat saine what may the cause be,

But if for love of some Trojan it were,

The which right sore would a thinken me,

That ye for any wight that dwelleth there,

Shoulden spill a quarter of a tere,

Or pitously your selven so begile,

For dredelesse it is nat worth the while.

The folke of Troy, as who saith all & some,

In prison ben, as ye your selven see,

Fro thence shall nat one on live come,

For all the gold at wixen sunne and see,

Trusteth well, and understondeth mee,

There shall nat one to mercy gone on live,

All were he lord of worldes twise five.

Such wrech on hem for fetching of Heleine

There shall be take, ere that we hence wend,

That Maunes, which yt Goddes ben of peine,

Shall ben agast that Grekes wol hem shend,

And men shall drede unto the worlds end

From henceforth to ravishen any Queene,

So cruell shall our wreche on hem be seene.

And but if Calcas lede us with ambages,

That is to saine, with double wordes slie,

Such as men clepen a word with two visages,

Ye shall well knowen that I nat ne lie,

And all this thing right sene it with your eie,

And that anon, ye nill nat trow how soone,

Now taketh hede, for it is for to doone.

What wene ye your wise father would

Have yeven Antenor for you anone,

If he ne wist that the city should

Destroied ben? why nay so mote I gone,

He knew full well there shall nat scapen one

That Troian is, and for the great fere

He durst nat that ye dwelt lenger there.

[Page]

What woll ye more, O lovesome lady dere,

Let Troy and Troians fro your heart passe,

Drive out y• bitter hope, & make good chere,

And clepe ayen the beautie of your face,

That ye with salt teares so deface,

For Troy is brought in such a ieopardie,

That it to save is now no remedie.

And thinketh well, ye shall in Grekes find

A more perfite love, ere it be night,

That any Troian is, and more kind,

And bet to serven you woll done his might,

And if ye vouchsafe my lady bright,

I woll ben he, to serven you my selve,

Ye lever than be lord of Greces twelve.

And with that word he gan to waxen reed,

And in his speech a little while he quoke,

And cast aside a little with his heed,

And stint a while, and afterward he woke,

And soberly on her he threw his loke,

And said I am, albeit to you my joy,

As gentill a man as any wight in Troy.

For if my father Tideus (he seide)

I lived had, I had been ere this,

Of Calcidonie and Arge a king, Creseide,

And so hope I that I shall be iwis:

But he was slaine alas, the more harme is,

Vnhappily at Thebes all to rathe,

Polimite, and many a man to scathe.

But hart mine, sithe that I am your man,

And ben the first, of whom I feche grace,

To serve you as heartely as I can,

And ever shall, while I to live have space,

So that, ere I depart out of this place,

Ye woll me graunte, that I may to morow

At better laiser tell you of my sorow.

What shuld I tell his wordes that he seide?

He spake ynough for o day at the mest,

It preveth well he spake so, that Creseide

Graunted on the morrow at his request

For to speake with him at the least,

So that he nolde speake of such matere,

And thus she to him said, as ye mowe here.

As she that had her hart on Troilus

So fast, that there may it none arace,

And straungely she spake, and saied thus:

O Diomede, I love that ilke place

There was I borne, and Ioves of thy grace

Deliver it soone of all that doth it care,

God for thy might so leve it well to fare.

That Grekes wold her wrath on Troy wreke

If that they might, I know it well iwis,

But it shall naught befallen as ye speke,

And God toforne, and farther over this,

I wote my father wise and ready is,

And that he me hath bought, as ye me told,

So dere am I the more vnto him hold.

That Grekes ben of high conditioun,

I wote eke well, but certaine men shall find

As worthie folke within Troy toun,

As conning, as persite, and as kinde,

As ben betwixte Orcades and Inde,

And that ye could well your lady serve

I trow eke well, her thonke for to deserve.

But as to speake of loue, iwis (she seide)

I had a lord, to whom I wedded was,

His whole mine hart was all till he deide,

And other love, as helpe me now Pallas,

There in mine hart nis, ne never was,

And that ye ben of noble and high kinrede,

I have well herde it tellen out of drede.

And y• doth me to have so great a wonder,

That ye woll scornen any woman so,

Eke God wote, love and I ben fer asonder,

I am disposed bet, so mote I go,

Vnto my death plaine and make wo,

What I shall after done, I can not say,

But truely as yet me list nat play.

Mine hart is now in tribulatioun,

And ye in armes busie day by day,

Hereafter when ye wonnen have the toun,

Paraventure then, so it happen may,

That when I see that I never ere sey,

Then woll I werke yt I never ere wrought,

This word to you ynough suffisen ought.

To morow eke wol I speken with you faine,

So that ye touchen naught of this matere,

And when you list, ye may come here againe,

And ere ye gone, thus much I say you here,

As helpe me Pallas, with her haires clere,

If that I should of any Greeke have routh,

It shulde be your selven by my trouth.

I say nat therefore that I woll you love,

Ne say nat nay, but in conclusioun,

I meane well by God that sit above:

And therewithall she cast her eien doun,

And gan to sigh, & said, Troilus & Troy toun

Yet bidde I God, in quiet and in rest

I may you seene, or do mine hart brest.

But in effect, and shortly for to say,

This Diomede all freshly new againe

Gan preasen on, and fast her mercy pray,

And after this, the soothe for to saine,

Her gloue he toke, of which he was full faine,

And finally, when it was woxen eve,

And all was well, he rose and tooke his leve.

The bright Venus folowed and aie taught

The way there brode Phebus doune alight,

And Cithera her chare horse over taught,

To whirle out of the Lion, if she might,

And Signifer his candles sheweth bright,

When that Creseide vnto her bed went,

Within her fathers faire bright tent.

Retourning in her soule aye vp and doun

The wordes of this suddaine Diomede,

His great estate, and perill of the toun,

And that she was alone, and had nede

Of friendes help, and thus began to brede

[Page] The cause why, the soothe for to tell,

She tooke fully purpose for to dwell.

The morow came, and ghostly for to speke,

This Diomede is come vnto Creseide,

And shortly, least that ye my tale breke,

So well he for himselfe spake and seide,

That all her sighes sore doune he leide,

And finally, the soothe for to saine,

He rest her the great of all her paine.

And after this, the story telleth vs,

That she him yave the faire bay stede,

The which she ones wan of Troilus,

And eke a brooch (and that was little nede)

That Troilus was, she yave this Diomede,

And eke the bet from sorow him to releve,

She made him weare a pencell of her sleve.

I find eke in stories elsewhere,

When through the body hurt was Diomede

Of Troilus, tho wept she many a tere,

When that she saw his wide wounds blede,

And that she tooke to kepen him good hede,

And for to healen him of his smart,

Men saine, I not, that she yave him her hart.

But truely the storie telleth vs,

There made never woman more wo

Than she, when that she falsed Troilus,

She said alas, for now is clene ago

My name in trouth of love for evermo,

For I have falsed one the gentillest

That ever was, and one the worthiest.

Alas, of me vnto the worldes end

Shall neither ben iwritten or isong

No good word, for these bokes woll me shend:

Irolled shall I been on many a [...]ong,

Throughout the world my bell shall be rong,

And women most woll hate me of all,

Alas, that such a caas me should fall.

They woll saine, in as much as in me is,

I have hem done dishonour welaway,

* All be I not the first that did amis,

What helpeth that, to done my blame away,

But sens I see there is no better way,

And that too late is now for me to rue,

To Diomede I woll algate be true.

But Troilus, sens I no better may,

And sens that thus departen ye and I,

Yet pray I God so yeve you right good day,

As for the gentillest knight truely

That ever I saw, to serven faithfully,

And best can aye his ladies honour kepe,

And with that word she brast anon to wepe.

And certes, you ne haten shall I never,

And friendes love, that shall ye have of me,

And my good word, all should I liven ever,

And truly I would right sorrie be,

For to seene you in adversite,

And guiltlesse I wot well I you leave,

And all shall passe, and thus take I my leave.

But truly how long it was bitwene,

That she forsoke him for this Diomede,

There is none authour telleth it I wene,

Take every man now to his bookes hede,

He shall no terme finden, out of drede,

For though that he began to woe her sone,

Ere he her wan, yet was there more to done.

Ne me ne list this sillie woman chide,

Ferther than the storie woll de vise,

Her name alas is published so wide,

That for her gilt it ought ynough suffise,

And if I might excuse her in any wise,

For she so sorrie was for her vntrouth,

Iwis I would excuse her yet for routh.

This Troilus, as I before have told,

Thus driveth forth, as wel as he hath might,

But oft was his heart hote and cold,

And namely that ilke ninth night,

Which on the morrow she had him behight

To come ayen, God wote full little rest

Had he that night, nothing to slepe him lest.

The laurer crowned Phebus, with his heat

Gan in his course aie vpward as he went,

To warmen of the East sea the waves wete,

And Circes doughter song, with fresh entent,

When Troilus his Pandare after sent,

And on the wals of the towne they pleide,

To looke, if they can seene aught of Creseide.

Till it was noone, they stooden for to see

Who that there came, & every maner wight

That came fro ferre, they saiden it was shee,

Till that they coulden knowen him aright,

Now was his heart dull, now was it light,

And thus beyaped stooden for to stare

About naught, this Troilus and Pandare.

To Pandarus this Troilus tho seide

For aught I wot, before noone sikerly,

Into this toune ne cometh not here Creseide,

She hath ynough to done hardely

To winnen from her father, so trow I,

Her old father woll yet make her dine

Ere that she go, God yeve his hart pine.

Pandarus answerd, it may well been certain

And for thy let vs dine, I thee beseech,

And after noone then maist thou come again,

And home they go, without more speech,

And comen ayen, but long may they seech,

Ere that they find that they after gape,

Fortune hem both thinketh for to yape.

(Qd. Troilus) I see well now that she

Is taried with her old father so,

That ere she come, it woll nigh even be,

Come forth, I woll vnto the yate go,

These porters ben vnkonning [...]vermo,

And I woll done hem holden vp the yate,

As naught ne were, although she come late.

The day goth fast, and after that came eve,

And yet came nat to Troilus Creseide,

[Page] He looketh forth by hedge, by tree, by greve,

And ferre his head over the wall he leide,

And at the last he tourned him, and seide,

By God I wote her meaning now Pandare,

Almost iwis all new was my care.

Now doubtlesse this Lady can her good,

I wote she commeth riding prively,

I commend her wisedome by mine hood,

She woll nat maken people nicely

Gaure on her when y• she commeth, but softely

By night into the toune she thinketh ride,

And dere brother, thinke nat long to abide.

We have naught els for to done iwis,

And Pandarus, now wilt thou trowen me,

Have here my trouth, I see her, yond she is,

Heave up thine eyen man, mayst thou nat see:

Pandare answerde, nay, so mote I thee,

Al wrong by God, wt saist thou man, wher art,

That I see yonde afarre, nis but a cart.

Alas thou sayst right sooth (qd. Troilus)

But hardely it is not all for nought,

That in mine hart I now rejoyce thus,

It is ayenst some good, I have a thought,

Not I nat how, but sens yt was wrought,

Ne felt I such a comfort dare I say,

She cometh to night, my life yt durst I lay.

Pandarus answerde, it may be well inough,

And held with him of all that ever he saied,

But in his hart he thought, and soft lough,

And to himselfe full soberly he saied,

* From hasell wood, there jolly Robin plaied,

Shall come all that thou abidest here,

Ye, farwell all the snow of ferne yere.

The Wardein of the yates gan to call

The folk, which yt without the yates were,

And bad hem driven in her beasts all,

Or all the night they must bleven there,

And ferre within the night, with many a tere,

This Troilus gan homeward for to ride,

For well he seeth it helpeth nat to abide.

But nathelesse, he gladded him in this,

He thought he misacompted had his day,

And saied, I understand have all amis,

For thilke night I last Creseide sey,

She sayd I shall ben here, if that I may,

Ere that the Moone, O dere hart swete,

The Lion passe out of this Ariete.

For which she may yet hold all her behest,

And on the morrow unto the yate he went,

And up and doune, by West & eke by East

Vpon the walls made he many a went,

But all for naught, his hope alway him blent,

For which at night, in sorow & sighes sore,

He went him home, withouten any more.

This hope all cleane out of his hart fled,

He ne hath whereon now lenger for to hong,

But for y• paine him thought his hart bled,

So were his throws sharp, & wonder strong,

For when he saw that she abode so long,

He nist what he judgen of it might,

Sens she hath broken yt she him behight.

The third, fourth, fift, and sixt day

After tho dayes tenne, of which I told,

Betwixen hope and drede his hart say,

Yet somewhat trusting on her hestes old,

But when he saw she nolde her terme hold,

He can now seene none other remedie,

But for to shape him soone for to die.

Therwith the wicked spirit, God us blesse,

Which that men clepen wood jealousie,

Gan in him crepe, in all this hevinesse,

For which because he would soone die,

He ne eat ne dronke for his melancholie,

And eke from every company he fled,

This was the life that all this time he led.

He so defaite was, that no manner man,

Vnneth he might knowen there he went,

So was he leane, and thereto pale and wan,

And feeble, that he walketh by potent,

And with his ire he thus himselfe shent:

But who so asked him whereof him smart,

He sayd, his harme was all about his hart.

Priam full oft, and eke his mother dere,

His bretherne and his sustren gan him frain

Why he so sorrowfull was in all his chere,

And what thing was ye cause of all his pain?

But all for naught, he nolde his cause plain,

But sayd, he felt a grievous maladie

About his hart, and faine he would die.

So on a day he laid him down to slepe,

And so befell, that in slepe him thought,

That in a forrest fast he walked to wepe

For love of her ye him these paines wrought,

And up & doune as he that forrest sought,

He met he saw a Bore, with tuskes great,

That slept ayenst the bright Sunnes heat.

And by this Bore, fast in her armes fold

Lay kissing aye his lady bright Creseide,

For sorrow of which, when he it gan behold,

And for dispite, out of his slepe he breide,

And loude he cried on Pandarus, and seide,

O Pandarus, now know I crop and root,

I nam but dead, there nis none other boot.

My lady bright Creseide hath me betraied,

In whom I trusted most of any wight,

She elsewhere hath now her hart apaied,

The blisfull Gods, through her great might,

Have in my dreame ishewed it full right,

Thus in my dreame Creseide have I behold,

And all this thing to Pandarus he told.

O my Creseide, alas, what subtelte?

What new lust? What beauty? What science?

What wrath of just cause have ye to me?

What guilt of me? What fell experience

Hath me rafte alas thine advertence?

O trust, O faith, O depe assuraunce,

Who hath me raft Creseide all my pieasaunce?

[Page] Alas, why let I you from hence go?

For which well nigh out of my wit I breide,

Who shall now trow on any othes mo?

God wote I wend, O lady bright Creseide,

That every word was Gospell that ye seide,

* But who may bet beguile, if him list,

Than he on whom men wenen best to trist.

What shall I done, my Pandarus, alas?

I fele now so sharpe a new paine,

Sens that there is no remedy in this caas,

That bet were it I with mine honds twaine

My selven slow than alway thus to plaine,

For through ye death my wo shuld have an end,

There every day with life my self I shend.

Pandare answerde and said, alas y• while

That I was borne, have I nat saied er this,

That dreames many a manner man beguile:

And why? For folke expounden hem amis,

How darst thou saine that false thy lady is,

For any dreame, right for thine own drede,

Let be this thought, thou canst no dreams rede.

Peraventure there thou dremest of this bore,

It may so be that it may signifie

Her father, which that old is and eke hore,

Ayen the sunne lieth on point to die,

And she for sorow ginneth wepe and crie,

And kisseth him, there he lieth on the ground,

Thus shuldest thou thy dreme aright expound

How might I then doen (qd. Troilus)

To know of this, yea were neuer so lite:

Now sayst thou wisely (qd. this Pandarus)

My rede is this, sens thou canst well endite,

That hastily a letter thou her write,

Through wch thou shalt well bringen about

To know a sooth of that thou art in dout.

And see now why? for this dare I well sain,

That if so is, that she untrue be,

I cannot trowen that she woll write again,

And if she write, thou shalt full sone isee,

As whether she hath any liberte

To come ayen, or els in some clause

If she be let, she woll assigne a cause.

Thou hast not written to her sens she went,

Nor she to thee, and this I durst lay,

There may such cause ben in her entent,

That hardely thou wolt thy selven say,

That her abode the best is for you tway,

Now write her then, & thou shalt fele sone

A sooth of all, there is no more to done.

Accorded ben to this conclusioun,

And that anon, these like lords two,

And hastely sate Troilus adoun,

And rolleth in his hart too and fro,

How he may best descriven her his wo,

And to Creseide his owne lady dere,

He wrote right thus, & said as ye may here.

¶The copy of the Letter.

Right fresh flour, whose I have ben & shall,

Withouten part of elsewhere servise,

With hart, body, life, lust, thought, and all,

I wofull wight in every humble wise

That tong can tell, or hart may devise,

As oft as matter occupieth place,

Me recommaund unto your noble grace.

Liketh it you to weten sweete hart,

As ye well know, how long time agon

That ye me left in aspre paines smart,

When that ye went, of which yet bote non

Have I non had, but ever worse bigon,

Fro day to day am I, and so mote dwell,

While it you list, of wele and wo my well.

For which to you, with dredefull hart trew,

I write (as he that sorow driveth to write)

My wo, that every houre encreaseth new,

Complaining as I dare, or can endite,

And that defaced is, that may ye wite,

The teares, wch that from mine eyen rain,

That wulden speke, if that they durst, & plain.

You first beseech I, that your eyen clere

To looke on this defouled nat hold:

And over all this, that ye my lady dere

Woll vouchsafe this letter to behold,

And by the cause eke of my cares cold,

That slaeth my wit, if aught amis me start,

Foryeve it me mine owne sweet hart.

If any seruaunt durst or ought of right

Vpon his lady pitously complaine,

Then wene I that I ought be that wight,

Considred this, that ye these moneths twaine

Have raried, there ye saiden sooth to saine,

But tenne daies ye nolde in hoste soiourne,

But in two moneths yet ye not retourne.

But for as much as me mote nedes like

All that you list, I dare nat plaine more,

But humbly, with sorowfull sighes sike,

You right I mine vnrestie sorowes sore,

Fro day to day, desiring evermore

To knowen fully, if your will it were,

How ye have fared & don while ye be there.

Whose welfare & heale eke God encrease

In honour such, that vpward in degree

It grow alway, so that it never cease,

Right as your hart aye can my lady free

Devise, I pray to God so mote it be,

And graunt it, that you soone vpon me rew,

As wisely as inall I am to you trew.

And if you liketh knowen of the fare

Of me, whose wo ther may no wight discrive,

I can no more, but chest of every care,

At writing of this letter I was on live,

All redy out my wofull ghost to drive,

Which I delay, and hold him yet in hond,

Vpon the sight of matter of your sond.

Mine eyen two, in vaine with which I see,

Of sorowfull teres salt arne woxen wellis,

My song in plaint of mine adversite,

My good in harm, mine ease eke woxen hell is,

[Page] My joy in wo, I can sey now nought ellis,

But tourned is, for which my life I warie

Every joy or ease in his contrarie.

Wch with your coming home ayen to Troy

Ye may redresse, and more a thousand sithe,

Than ever I had encreasen in me joy,

For was there never hart yet so blithe

To save his life, as I shall ben as swithe

As I you see, and though no manner routh

Can meuen you, yet thinketh on your trouth.

And if so be my gilt hath death deserved,

Or if you list no more vpon me see,

In guerdon yet of that I have you served,

Beseeeh I you, mine owne lady free,

That herevpon ye woulden write me

For love of God, my right lodesterre,

That death may make an end of al my werre.

If other cause aught doth you for to dwell,

That with your letter ye may me recomfort,

For though to me your absence is an hell,

With patience I woll my wo comfort,

And with your letter of hope I woll disport,

Now writeth swete, & let me thus nat plaine

With hope or death, delivereth me fro paine.

Iwis mine owne dere hert trew,

I wote that when ye next vpon me see

So lost have I mine heale & eke mine hew,

Creseide shall not conne knowen me,

Iwis mine herts day, my lady free,

So thursteth aye mine hert to behold.

Your beautie, that vnneth my life I hold.

I say no more, all have I for to sey

To you well more than I tell may,

But whether that ye do me live or dey,

Yet pray I God, so yeve you right good day,

And fareth well goodly faire fresh May,

As ye that life or death me may commaund,

And to your trouth aye I me recomaund.

With heale such, that but ye yeven me

The same heale, I shall none heale have,

In you lieth, when you list that it so be,

The day in which me clothen shall my grave,

And in you my life, in you might for to save

Me fro disease of all my paines smart,

And fare now well mine owne sweet hart.

La vostre T.

This letter forth was sent vnto Creseide,

Of which her answere in effect was this,

Full pitously she wrote ayen, and seide,

That all so soone as she might iwis,

She would come, & amend all that was amis

And finally, she wrote and saied then,

She would come, ye, but she nist when.

But in her letter made she such feasts,

That wonder was, and swore she loved him best,

Of which he found but bottomlesse bihests,

But Troilus thou mayst now East & West

* Pipe in an Iuie leafe, if yt thee lest,

Thus goth the world, god shild vs fro mischaunce,

And every wight yt meaneth trouth avaunce.

Encreasen gan the wo fro day to night

Of Troilus, for tarying of Creseide,

And lessen gan his hope and eke his might,

For which all doun he in his bedde him leide,

He ne eat, dronke, ne slept, ne word seide,

Imagining aye that she was vnkind,

For which wel nigh he wext out of his mind.

This dreme, of wch I told have eke beforne,

May never come out of his remembraunce,

He thought aye well he had his lady lorne,

And that Ioves, of his purveyaunce,

Him shewed had in sleepe the signifiaunce

Of her vntrouth, and his disaventure,

And that the bore was shewed him in figure.

For which he for Sibille his suffer sent,

That called was Cassandre eke all about,

And all his dreame he told her ere he stent,

And her be sought assoilen him the dout,

Of the strong Bore, with tuskes stout,

And finally, within a little stound,

Cassandre him gan thus his dreme expound.

She gan first smile, & said, O brother dere,

If thou a sooth of this desirest to know,

Thou must a few of old stories here,

To purpose how that fortune overthrow

Hath lords old, through which within a throw

Thou shalt this Bore know, & of what kind

He comen is, as men in bookes find.

Diane, which that wroth was and in ire,

For Greekes nolde done her Sacrifice,

Ne incens vpon her Alter set on fire,

She for that Greekes gon her so dispise,

Wrake her in a wonder cruell wise,

For with a Bore as great as oxe in stall,

She made vp frete her corne and vines all.

To slea yt Bore was all the country raised,

Emong which there came this Bore to

A maid one of this world the best ipraised

And Meleager, lord of that countre,

He loved so this fresh maiden free,

That with his manhood, ere he would stent,

This Bore he slough, & her the hed he sent.

Of which, as old bookes tellen vs,

There rose a conteke and great envie,

And of this lord discended Tideus

By line, or els old bookes lie:

But how this Meleager gan to die

Through his mother, woll I you not tell,

For all too long it were for to dwell.

She told eke how Tideus, ere she stent,

Vnto the strong citie of Thebes

(To claimen kingdome of the citie) went

For his fellawe dan Polimites,

Of which the brother dan Ethiocles

Full wrongfully or Thebes held yt strength,

This told she by proesse all by length.

She told eke how Hemonides affart,

When Tideus stough fiftie knightes stout,

[Page] She told eke all the Prophesies by hart,

And how that seven kings with her rout

Besiegeden the citie all about,

And of the holy Serpent, and the well,

And of the furies all she gan him tell.

Associat profugus Tideus primo Polynicem

Tidea ligatum docet insidiasque secundo,

Tertius Harmoniam canit, & vatem latitantem

Quartus habet reges ineuntes praelia septem

Lemniadum furiae quinto narrantur & anguis

Archemori bustum: sexto ludique seguuntur.

Dat Thebis vatem Graiorum septimus umbris

Octavo cecidit Tideus spes vita Pelasgum

Hippomedon nono moritur cum Parthenopeo

Fulmine percussus decimo Capaneus superatur

Undecimo perimunt sese per vulnera fratres

Argivum flentem, narrat duodenus & ignem.

Of Archinories burying, and the plaies,

And how Amphiorax fill through the ground,

How Tideus was slaine, lord of Argeis,

And how Hippomedon in a little stound

Was dreint, & dead Parthenope of wound,

And also how Campaneus the proud

With thunder dint was slaine, y• cried loud.

She gan eke tell him how y• either brother

Ethiocles and Polimites also

At a scarmishe eche of hem slough other,

And of Argiues weeping and her mo,

And how the toun was brent she told eke tho,

And tho discended doun from lestes old

To Diomede, and thus she spake and told.

This like Bore betokeneth Diomede,

Tideus son, that doun descended is

Fro Meleager, that made the Bore to blede,

And thy Lady, where so she be iwis,

This Diomede her hert hath, and she is his,

Weep if thou wolt, or leave, for out of dout

This Diomede is in, and thou art out.

Thou sayst not sooth (qd. he) thou sorceresse,

With all thy false ghost of Prophecie,

Thou wenest been a great devineresse,

Now seest thou nat this foole of fantasie,

Painen her on ladies for to lie,

Away (qd. he) there Ioves yeve the sorow,

That shalt be fals peraventure yet to morow.

As well thou mightest lien on good Alceste,

That was of creatures (but men lie)

That ever weren, kindest, and the best,

For when her husbond was in ieopardie

To die himselfe, but if she would die,

She chese for him to die, and to hell,

And starfe anon, as vs the bookes tell.

Cassandre goeth, and he with cruell hart

Foryate his wo, for anger of her speech,

And fro his bedde all suddainly he start,

As though all hole him had I made a seech,

And day by day he gan require and seech

A sooth of this, with all his full cure,

And thus he driveth forth his aventure.

Fortune which that permutation

Of all things hath, as it is her committed,

Through purveyaunce and disposition

Of high Iove, as reignes shall ben flitted

Fro folk to folk, or when they shal ben smitted,

Gan pull away the feathers bright of Troy

Fro day to day till they ben bare of joy.

Emong all this, the fine of the ieopardie

Of Hector gan approchen wonder blive,

The fate would his soule should vnbodie,

And shapen had a meane it out to drive,

Ayenst which fate him helpeth not to strive,

But on a day to fighten gan he wend,

At which alas, he caught his lives end.

For wch me thinketh every manner wight

That haunteth armes, ought to bewaile

The death of him yt was so noble a knight:

For as he drough a king by thauentaile

Vnware of this, Achilles through y• maile

And through the bodie gan him for to rive,

And thus the worthy knight was reft of live.

For whom, as old bookes tellen us,

Was made such wo, yt tong it may nat tell,

And namely, the sorow of Troilus,

That next him was of worthinesse ye well,

And in this wo gan Troilus to dwell,

That what for sorow, love, and for unrest,

Full oft a day he had his heart brest.

But nathelesse, tho he gon him dispaire,

And drede aye that his lady was untrue,

Yet aye on her his hart gan repaire,

And as these lovers done, he sought aye new

To get ayen Creseide bright of hew,

And in his hart he went her excusing,

That Calcas caused all her tarying.

And oft time he was in purpose great,

Himselven like a pilgrime to disguise,

To seene her, but he may not counterfeat,

To ben unknowen of folke that weren wise,

He find excuse aright that may suffise,

If he among the Grekes knowen were,

For which he wept full oft many a tere.

To her he wrote yet oft time all new,

Full pitously, he left it nat for slouth,

Beseeching her, sens that he was true,

That she wol come ayen, & shold her trouth,

For which Creseide upon a day for routh,

I take it so, touching all this matere,

Wrote him ayen, and said as ye may here.

Cupides sonne, ensample of goodlihede,

O swerde of knighthood, sours of gentilnesse,

How might a wight in turment & in drede,

And healelesse you send, as yet gladnesse,

I heartlesse, I sicke, I in distresse,

Sens ye with me, nor I with you may deale,

You neither send I hart may nor heale.

Your letters full the paper all iplainted,

Conceived hath mine hearts pite,

[Page] I have eke seene with teares all depainted,

Your letter, and how that ye requiren me

To come ayen, which yet ne may not be,

But why, least yt this letter founden were,

No mention ne make I now for fere.

Grevous to me (God wote) is your unrest,

Your hast, and that the Goddes ordinaunce

It seemeth nat ye take it for the best,

Nor other thing nis in your remembraunce,

As thinketh me, but only your pleasaunce,

But beth not wroth, & that I you beseech,

For that I tary is all for wicked speech.

For I have heard well more than I wend

Touching us two, how thinges have istond,

Which I shall with dissimusing amend,

And beth nat wroth, I have eke understond,

How yene do but holden me in hond,

But now no force, I can nat in you gesse,

But all trouth and all gentilnesse.

Come I woll, but yet in such disjoint

I stond as now, that wt yere, or what day

That this shall be, that can I nat appoint,

But in effect I pray you as I may

Of your good word, & of your friendship aye,

For truly while that my life may dure,

As for a friend ye may in me assure.

Yet pray I you, no evill ye ne take

That it is short which that I to you write,

I dare nat there I am well letters make,

Ne never yet ne could I well endite,

* Eke great effect, men write in place lite,

Thentent is all, and nat the letters space,

And fareth well, God have you in his grace.

La vostre C.

This Troilus thought this letter all straunge

When he it saw, & sorowfully he sight

Him thought it like a kalends of eschaunge,

But finally he full ne trowen might,

That she ne would him holden yt she hight,

For with ful evell will list him to leve,

That loveth well in such case, though him greve.

But nathelesse, men saine that at the last,

For any thing, men shall the soothe see,

And such a case betide, and that as fast,

That Troilus well understood that she

Nas nat so kind as that her ought be,

And finally, he wote now out of dout,

That all is lost that he hath ben about.

Stood on a day in his melancholy

This Troilus, and in suspectioun

Of her, for whom he wend to dye,

And so befell, that throughout Troy toun

As was yt guise, iborne was up and doun

A manner cote armoure, as saith the story,

Beforne Deiphebe, insigne of his victory.

The which cote, as telleth Lollius,

Deiphebe it had rent fro Diomede

The same day,and when this Troilus

It saw, he gan to taken of it hede,

A vising of the length and of the brede,

And all the werke, but as he gan behold,

Full sodainly his heart gan to cold.

As he that on the coler found within

A brooch, that he Creseide yave at morow

That she from Troy must nedes twin,

In remembraunce of him, and of his sorow,

And she him laid ayen her faith to borow,

To keepe it aye: but now full well he wist,

His lady nas no longer on to trift.

He goth him home, & gan full soone send

For Pandarus, and all this newe chaunce,

And of this broch, he told him word & end,

Complaining of her hartes variaunce,

His long love, his trouth, & his pennaunce,

And after death without words more,

Full fast he cried, his rest him to restore.

Then spake he thus, O lady mine Creseide,

Where is your faith, & where is your behest?

Where is your love, where is your trouth he seide,

Of Diomede have ye now all the fest?

Alas, I would have trowed at the least,

That sens ye nolde in trouthe to me stond,

That ye thus nolde have holden me in hond.

Who shall now trowen on any othes mo?

Alas I never would have wend ere this,

That ye Creseide could have chaunged so,

Ne but I had agilt, and done amis,

So cruell wend I nat your hart iwis,

To slea me thus, alas your name of trouth

Is now fordone, and that is all my routh.

Was there none other broche you list lete,

To feast with your new love (qd. he)

But thilke broche that I with teres wete

You yave, as for a remembraunce of me,

None other cause alas, ne had ye,

But for dispite, and eke for that ye ment

All utterly to shewen your entent.

Through wch I see, y• clene out of your mind

Ye have me cast, and I ne can nor may

For all this world within mine hart find,

To unloven you a quarter of a day:

In cursed time I borne was, welaway,

That you that done me all this wo endure,

Yet love I best of any creature.

Now God (qd. he) me send yet the grace,

That I may meten with this Diomede,

And truely, if I have might and space,

Yet shall I make I hope his sides blede:

Now God (qd. he) that aughtest taken hede

To forthren trouth, and wronges to punice,

Why nilt thou don a vengeance of this vice.

O Pandarus, that in dremes for to trift

Me blamed hast, and wont art oft upbreide,

Now mayst thou seen thy self, if yt thee list,

How trew is now thy niece bright Creseide:

In sundry formes (God it wote) he seide,

[Page] The gods shewen both joy and tene

In slepe, and by my dreme it is now sene.

And certainely, withouten more speech,

From henceforth, as ferforth as I may,

Mine owne death in armes woll I seech,

I retch nat how soone be the day,

But truly Creseide, sweet maie,

Whom I have with all my might iserved,

That ye thus done, I have it nat deserved.

This Pandarus, that all these things herd,

And wist well he said a sooth of this,

He nat a word ayen to him answerd,

For sorrie of his friends sorrow he is,

And shamed for his nece hath done amis,

And stant astonied of these causes twey,

As still as stone, o word ne could he sey.

But at the last, thus he spake and seide,

My brother dere, I may do thee no more,

What should I saine, I hate iwis Creseide,

And God it wote, I woll hate her evermore:

And that thou me besoughtest done of yore,

Having vnto mine honour ne my rest

Right no regard, I did all that thee lest.

If I did aught that might liken thee,

It is me lefe, and of this treason now,

God wote that it a sorrow is to me,

And dredelesse, for hearts ease of you,

Right faine I would amend it, wist I how:

And fro this world, almighty God I pray

Deliver her soone, I can no more say.

Great was the sorow & plaint of Troilus,

But forth her course fortune aye gan hold,

Creseide loveth the sonne of Tideus,

And Troilus mote wepe in cares cold,

Such is this world, who so it can behold,

* In eche estate is little harts rest,

God leve vs to take it for the best.

In many cruell battaile out of drede,

Of Troilus, this ilke noble knight,

(As men may in these old bookes rede)

Was seen his knighthood & his great might,

And dredelesse his ire day and night

Full cruelly the Grekes aye abought,

And alway most this Diomede he sought.

And oft time (I find) that they mette

With bloody strokes, and with words great,

Assaying how her speares were whette,

And God it wote, with many a cruell heat

Gan Troilus vpon his helme to beat,

But nathelesse, fortune it naught ne would

Of others hond that either dien should.

And if I had itaken for to write

The armes of this ilke worthy man,

Then would I of his battailes endite,

And for that I to writen first began

Of his love, I have said as I can

His worthy deeds, who so list hem here,

Rede Dares, he can tell hem all ifere.

Beseeching every lady bright of hew,

And every gentill woman, what she be,

Albeit that Creseide was vntrew,

That for that gilt ye be nat wroth with me,

Ye may her gilt in other bookes see,

And gladder I would write, if you lest,

Penelopes trouth, and good Alceste.

Ne say I nat this all onely for these men,

But most for women that betraied be

Throgh fals folk, God yeve hem sorow, amen,

That with her great wit and subtilte

Betraien you: and this meveth me

To speake, and in effect you all I pray

Beth ware of men, and herkeneth what I say.

Go little booke, go my little tregedie,

There God my maker yet ere that I die,

So send me might to make some comedie:

But little booke, make thou none envie,

But subject ben vnto all poesie,

And kisse the steps whereas thou seest pace

Of Vergil, Ovid, Homer, Lucan, and Stace.

* And for there is so great diversite

In English, and in writing of our tong,

So pray I to God, that none miswrite thee,

Ne thee misse metre, for defaut of tong:

And redde where so thou be, or els song,

That thou be vnderstond, God I beseech,

But yet to purpose of my rather speech.

The wrath (as I began you for to sey)

Of Troilus, the Greekes boughten dere,

For thousands his honds maden dey,

As he that was withouten any pere,

Save in his time Hector, as I can here,

But welaway, save onely Goddes will,

Dispitously him slough the fierce Achill.

And when that he was slain in this manere,

His light ghost full blisfully is went

Vp to the hollownesse of the seventh sphere,

In his place leting everiche element,

And there he saw with full avisement

The erratike sterres, herkening armonie,

With sownes full of heavens melodie.

And doun from thence, fast he gan avise

This little spot of earth, that with the see

Enbraced is, and fully gan despise

This wretched world, and held all vanite

To respect of the plaine felicite

That is in heaven above: and at the last,

There he was slaine, his looking doun he cast.

And in himselfe he lough, right at the wo

Of hem that wepten for his death so fast,

And damned all our werkes that followeth so

The blind lust, which that may nat last,

And shoulden all our hart on heaven cast,

And forth he went, shortly for to tell,

There as Mercurie sorted him to dwell.

Such fine hath lo this Troilus for love,

Such fine hath all his great worthinesse,

[Page] Such fine hath his estate royall above,

Such fine his lust, such fine hath his noblesse,

Such fine hath false worldes brotelnesse,

And thus began his loving of Creseide,

As I have told, and in this wise he deide.

O young fresh folkes, he or she,

In which yt love vp groweth with your age,

Repaireth home from worldly vanite,

And of your herts vp casteth the visage

To thilke God, that after his image

You made, and thinketh all nis but a faire,

This world that passeth sone, as floures faire.

And loveth him, the which y• right for love,

Vpon a crosse our soules for to bey,

First starfe and rose, and sit in heven above,

For he nill falsen no wight dare I sey,

That woll his hert all wholly on him ley,

And sens he best to love is, and most meeke,

What needeth fained loves for to seeke.

* Lo here of painems cursed old rites,

Lo here what all her goddes may availe,

Lo here this wretched worldes appetites,

Lo here the fine and guerdon for travaile,

Of Iove, Apollo, of Mars, and such raskaile,

Lo here the forme of old clerkes speech

In poetrie, if ye her bookes seech.

O morall Gower, this booke I direct

To thee, and to the Philosophicall Strode,

To vouchsafe there need is, to correct,

Of your benignities and zeales good,

And to the soothfast Christ that starfe on rood,

With all mine heart of mercy ever I pray,

And to the Lord aright, thus I speake & say,

Thou one, two, and three, eterne on live,

That raignest aie in thre, two, and one,

Vncircumscript, and all maist circumscrive,

Vs from visible and invisible fone

Defend, and to thy mercy everichone,

So make vs Iesus to thy mercy digne,

For love of maide, and mother thine benigne.

¶Thus endeth the fifth and last Booke of Troilus.

The Testament of Creseide.

A Doly season till a carefull dite,

Should corespond, and be equivolent,

Right so it was when I began to write

This tragedy, the weder right fervent,

When Aries in middes of the Lent,

Showres of haile can fro the North discend,

That scantly fro the cold I might me defend.

Yet neverthelesse within mine orature

I stode, when Titan had his beames bright

Withdrawen doun, and scyled vnder cure,

And faire Venus the beaute of the night,

Vpraise, and sette vnto the Weste ful right,

Her golden face in oppositioun,

Of God Phebus directe discending doun.

Throughout y• glasse her beames brast so faire,

That I might see on every side me by,

The northren winde had purified the aire,

And shedde his misty cloudes fro the skie:

The froste fresed, the blastes bitterly,

Fro pole Artike come whisking loud & shrill,

And caused me remove ayenst my will.

For I trusted that Venus, loves Quene,

To whom somtime I hight obedience,

My faded hert, of love she would make grene,

And ther vpon with humble reverence,

I thought to pray her high magnificence,

But for great colde as then I letted was,

And in my chambre to the fire can pas.

Though love be hote, yet in a man of age,

It kindleth nat so soone as in youtheed,

Of whom the blood is flowing in a rage,

And in the old, the corage dull and deed,

Of which the fire outward is best remeed,

To help by Phisike where that nature failed,

I am expert, for both I have assailed.

I made the fire, and beaked me aboute,

Then tooke I drinke my spirites to comfort,

And armed me wel fro the colde theroute,

To cutte the winter night & make it short

I toke a queare, and left all other sport,

Writen by worthy Chaucer glorious,

Of faire Creseide, and lusty Troilus.

And there I found, after that Dioniede

Received had that lady bright of hewe,

How Troilus nere out of his witte abrede,

And wepte sore, with visage pale of hewe:

For which wanhope his teares gan renewe,

While Esperus rejoysed him againe:

Thus while in joy he lived, & while in paine.

Of her behest he had great comforting,

Trusting to Troy that she wold make retour

Which he desired most of al earthly thing,

For why she was his onely paramour:

But when he saw passed both day and hour

Of her gainecome, in sorow can oppresse

His wofull hart, in care and hevinesse.

Of his distresse me needeth nat reherse,

For worthy Chaucer in that same booke,

In goodly termes, and in joly verse,

Compiled hath his cares, who wil looke:

To breke my sleepe another queare I tooke,

In which I founde the fatal desteny

Of faire Creseide, which ended wretchedly.

Who wote if al y• Chaucer wrate, was trew?

Nor I wote nat if this narracion

Be authorised, or forged of the newe,

Of some Poete by his invencion,

Made to report the lamentacion,

And wofull end of this lusty Creseide,

And what distresse she was in or she deide.

When Diomede had al his appetite,

And more fulfilled of this faire lady,

[Page] Vpon another sette was all his delite,

And send to her a libel repudy,

And her excluded fro his company:

Then desolate she walked up and downe,

As some men saine, in the court as commune.

O fair Creseide, the floure and a per se

Of Troy & Grece, how were thou fortunate,

To chaunge in filth all thy feminite,

And be with fleshly lust so maculate,

And go among the Grekes early and late,

So giglotlike, taking thy foul pleasaunce?

I have pite thee should fall such mischaunce.

Yet neverthelesse, wt ever men deme or say

In scornfull language of thy brutelnesse,

I shal excuse, as ferforth as I may,

Thy womanhed, thy wisedome and fairnesse:

The which fortune hath put to such distresse,

As her pleased, & nothing through the gilt

Of thee, through wicked langage to be spilt.

This faire lady on this wise destitute

Of al comfort and consolatioun,

Right prively without felowship or refute,

Disheuelde, passed out of the toun

A mile or two vnto a mansioun,

Bilded full gaie, wher her father Calcas

Which then among y• Grekes dwelling was.

When her he saw, the cause he gan enquire

Of her comming: she said sighing full sore,

Fro Diomede had gotten his desire,

He woxe wery and would of me no more.

qd. Calcas, Doughter weep thou nat therfore

Paraventure al cometh for the best,

Welcome to me thou art full dere a gest.

This old Calcas, after the law was tho

Was keper of the temple as a preest,

In which Venus and her sonne Cupido

Were honoured, and this chambre was nest,

To which Creseide with bale enewed in brest,

Vsed to passe, her praiers for to say,

While at the last vpon a solemne day,

As custome was, the people ferre and nere

Before the noone vnto the temple went,

With sacrifice devout in their manere,

But still Creseide heuie in her entent,

Into the Church would nat her selfe present,

For giving as of the people any deeming,

Of her expulse fro Diomede the King.

But passed into a secrete oratore,

Where she might wepe her wofull destinie,

Behind her backe she closed fast the dore,

And on her knees bare fel doune in hie,

Vpon Venus and Cupide angerly,

She cried out, and saied in this wise,

Alas that ever I made you sacrifice.

Ye gave me ones a divine responsaile,

That I should be the floure of love in Troy,

Now am I made an vnworthy outwaile,

And al in care translated is my joy:

Who shal me gide, who shal me now conuoie,

Sith I fro Diomede, and noble Troilus

Am clene excluded, as abiect odious?

O false Cupide, none is to wite but thou

And the mother of love, that blind goddace,

Ye caused me vnderstand alway and trow

The seede of love was sowen on my face,

And aie grew grene through your sople grace

But now alas, that seede with frost is slaine,

And I fro lovers left and all forlaine.

When was this said, doun in an extasie

Rauished in spirite, in a dreame she fell,

And by apparaunce herde where she did lie,

Cupide the King tinging a siluer bell,

Which men might here fro heven into hell:

At whose sound before Cupide aperes,

The seven planets discending fro their speres.

Which hath power of al thing generable,

To rule and stere by their great influence,

Weder and winde, and course variable:

And first of all Saturne gave his sentence,

Which gave to Cupide litel reverence,

But as a boistous chorle in his manere,

Came crabbedly with austrine loke & chere.

His face frounsed, his lere was like ye lede,

His teeth chattered, & sheuered with y• chin,

His eien drouped hole sonken in his heed,

Out at his nose the mildrop fast gan rin,

With lippes blo, and chekes leane and thin,

The Iseickeles that fro his heer doun hong,

Was wonder great, and as a speare as long.

Attour his belte his liart lockes laie,

Feltred vnfaire, over fret with frostes hoore,

His garment and his gate ful gay of graie,

His widdred wede fro him y• wind out wore,

A boistous bowe within his honde he bore,

Vnder his girdle a fashe of felone flains,

Feddred with ise, and heeded with holstains.

Then Iupiter right faire and amiable,

God of the sterres in the firmament,

And norice to all thing generable,

Fro his father Saturne farre different,

With burly face, & browes bright and brent,

Vpon his heed a garlond wonders gaie,

Of flours faire, as it had been in Maie.

His voice was clere, as cristal was his eien,

As golden wier so glittering was his heare,

His garment and his gite ful gaie of grene,

With golden listes gilte on every geare,

A burly brande about his middle he beare,

And in his right hand he had a grounden spere,

Of his father, y• wrothe fro vs to bere.

Next after him came Mars y• God ofrei,

Of strife, debate, and all discensioun,

To chide and fight, as fierse as any fire,

In harde harnesse hewmonde & habergioun,

And on his haunch a rusty fel fauchoun,

And in his hand he had a rusty sword,

Writhing his face, with many angry word.

[Page]

Shaking his brande, before Cupide he come

With reed visage, and grisly glowing eien,

And at his mouth a blubber stode of fome,

Like to a Bore, whetting his tuskes kene,

Right tulsure like, but temperaunce in tene,

An horne blewe with many boustous bragge,

Which al this world with war hath made to wagge.

Then fair Phebus, lanterne & lampe of light,

Of man and beast, both fruit and florishing,

Tender norice, and banisher of night,

And of the world, causing by his moving

And influence, life in al earthly thing,

Without comfort of whom of force to nought,

Must go die, yt all this worlde hath wrought.

As king royall, he rode vpon a chare,

The which Phiton somtime gided vnright,

The brightnesse of his face when it was bare,

Non might behold, for persing of his sight:

This golden carte with firy beames bright,

Foure yoked stedes full different of hewe,

Bout bait or tiring through y• spheres drewe.

The first was sord, with mane as reed as rose

Called Eoye into the Orient,

The second stede to name, hight Ethiose,

Whitely and pale, and somdele ascendent,

The third Perose, right hote & eke fervent,

The fourth was blacke, called Phlegone,

Which rolleth Phebus doun into the see.

Venus was there present, that goddes gay

Her sonnes quarrel to defend and make

His owne complaint, cladde in a nice aray

The one half greene, thother half sable blake

White heer as Gold, kembet and shede abake,

But in her face seemed great variaunce,

While parfite truth, & whiles inconstaunce.

Vnder smiling she was dissimulate,

Provocative with blinkes amorous,

And sodainly chaunged and alterate,

Angry, as any ferpent venomous:

Right pungitive with wordes odious,

Thus variaunt she was who liste take kepe,

* With one eie laugh, & with the other wepe.

In tokening that all fleshly paramour,

Which Venus hath in rule and governaunce,

Is somtime swete, somtime bitter and sour,

Right vnstable and ful of variaunce:

Minged with careful joy & false pleasaunce,

Now hote, now cold, now blith, now ful of wo,

Now grene as lefe, now widred and ago.

With boke in hand, then come Mercurious

Right eloquent and ful of rethorie,

With polite termes and delicious,

With penne and inke to report al redie,

Setting songes, and singing merely,

His hode was reed hecled attour his croun,

Like til a Poete of the old fasioun.

Boxes he bare with fine electuares,

And sugred siropes for digestion,

Spices belonging to the potiquares,

With many holsome swete confection:

Doctor in phisike cledde in a scarlet goun,

And furred well as such one ought to be,

Honest and good, and nat a worde couth lie.

Next after him come lady Sinthia,

The last of all, and swiftest in her sphere,

Of colour blake, busked with hornes twa,

And in the night she listeth best tapere,

Hawe as the leed, of colour nothing clere,

For al the light she boroweth at her brother

Titan, for of her self she hath none other.

Her gite was gray and ful of spottes blake,

And on her brest a chorle painted full even,

Bearing a bushe of thornes on his bake,

Which for his theft miȝt clime no ner y• heven:

Thus when they gadred were y• goddes seven,

Mercurius they chosed with one assent,

To be forespeker in the Parliment.

Who had ben there and liking for to here

His faconde tonge and termes exquisite,

Of rethorike the practike he might lere,

In brefe sermon, a preignant sentence write:

Before Cupide valing his cappe a lite,

Sper is the cause of that vocacioun,

And he anon shewde his entencioun.

Lo (qd. Cupide) who wol blaspheme y• name

Of his owne God, either in word or dede,

To all goddes he doeth both losse and shame

And should have bitter paines to his mede:

I say this by yonder wretch Creseide,

The which through me was somtime flour of love

Me & my mother she stately can reprove.

Saying of her great infelicite

I was the cause, and my mother Venus

She called a blinde goddes & might nat se,

With sclaunder and defame injurious,

Thus her living vncleane and lecherous,

She would retorte in me and my mother,

To whom I shewde my grace above al other.

And sithe ye are al seven deficate,

Perticipant of divine sapience,

This great injury don to our hie estate,

Me think with pain we should make recompence

Was never to goddes done such violence,

As wel for you as for my selfe I say,

Therfore go helpe to revenge I you pray.

Mercurius to Cupide gave answere

And said, sir king, my counsaile is that ye

Referre you to the hiest planet here,

And take to him the lowest of degree,

The paine of Creseide for to modifie,

As God Saturne with him take Sinthia,

I am content (qd. he) to take they twa.

Then thus proceded Saturne & the Mone,

When they the mater ripely had degest,

For the dispite to Cupide that she had done,

And to Venus open and manifest,

[Page] In all her lyfe with payne to be oprest,

And turment sore, with sickenesse incurable,

And to all lovers be abhominable.

This doleful sentence Saturn toke in hand,

And passed doun where careful Creseide lay,

And on her heed he laide a frosty wande,

Then lawfully on this wise gan he say,

Thy great fairenesse, and al thy beauty gay,

Thy wanton blood, and eke thy golden heere,

Here I exclude fro thee for evermeere.

I chaunge thy mirthe into melancoly,

Which is the mother of all pensivenesse,

Thy moyster & thy hete, into colde and dry,

Thine insolence, thy play, & thy wantonnesse

To great disease, thy pompe and thy richesse,

Into mortall nede and great penurie,

Thou suffre shalt, and as a begger die.

O cruel Saturne, froward and angry,

Harde is thy dome, and too malicious,

Of faire Creseide why hast thou no mercy,

Which was so swete, gentill and amorous,

Withdraw thy sentence and be gracious,

As thou were never, so sheweth through thy dede,

A wrekeful sentence given on Creseide.

Then Sinthia, when Saturne past away,

Out of her seate, discended doun blive,

And reed a bill on Creseide where she lay,

Containing this sentence diffinitive:

Fro heale of body here I thee deprive,

And to thy sicknesse shal be no recure,

But in dolour thy dayes to endure.

Thy christal iyen menged with blood I make,

Thy voice so clere, vnpleasant heer and hace,

Thy lusty lere overspred with spots blake,

And lumps hawe appering in thy face,

Where thou comest eche man shall flie the place,

Thus shalt thou go begging fro hous to hous

With cuppe and clapper like a Lazarous.

This doolie dreame, this vgly visioun

Brought till an end, Creseide fro it awoke,

And all that court and convocatioun,

Vanished away: then rose she vp and toke

A polished glasse, and her shadow couth loke,

And when she saw her visage so deformate,

If she in hart were wo, I ne wite God wate.

Weping full sore, lo what it is (qd. she)

With froward langage to move and stere

Our crabbed Goddes, and so is seen on me,

My blaspheming now have I bought ful dere,

All yearthly joy and mirthe I set arere,

Alas this day, alas this wofull tide,

When I began with my Goddes to chide.

Be this was sayd, a child came fro the hall

To warne Creseide the supper was redie,

First knocked at the doore, and eft couth cal,

Madame, your father biddeth you cum in hie

He hath marveile so long on grofe ye lie,

And saith your beades bethe to long somdele,

The Goddes wote all your entent full wele.

(Qd. she) faire child, go to my father dere

And pray him come to speake with me anon,

And so he did, and sayd daughter what chere,

Alas (qd. she) father, my mirth is gon,

How so (qd. he) and she can all expon,

As I have told, the vengeaunce, & the wrake,

For her trespas, Cupide on her couth take.

He looked on her vgly Lepers face,

The which before was white as Lely floure,

Wringing his hands, oft times sayd alace

That he had lived to see that wofull houre:

For he knew well that there was no socour

To her sicknesse, and that doubled his pain,

Thus was ther care inow betwixt hem twain.

When they togider mourned had ful lang,

(Qd. Creseide) father, I would nat be kend,

Therfore in secrete wise ye let me gang

To yon Hospitall at the tounes end:

And thider some meate for charite me send,

To live vpon, for all mirthe in this yearth

Is fro me gone, such is my wicked wearth.

When in a mantill, and a Bever hat,

With cuppe and clapper wonder prively,

He opened a secrete gate and out thereat

Conveied her, that no man should espie,

There to a village halfe a mile thereby,

Delivered her in at the Spittell hous,

And daily sent her part of his almous.

Sum knew her well, & sum had no knowlege

Of her, bicause she was so deformate,

With biles blake overspred in her visage,

And her fayre colour faded and alterate:

Yet they presumed for her hie regrate,

And stil mourning, she was of noble kin,

With bitter will there they tooke her in.

The day passed, and Phebus went to rest,

The cloudes blake overwheled all the Skie,

God wote if Creseide were a sorowfull gest,

Seing that vncouth fare and herborie:

But meate or drinke, she dressed her to lie

In a darke corner of the hous alone,

And on this wise weping she made her mone.

The Complaint of Creseide.

O Soppe of sorowe sonken into care,

O caitife Creseide now and evermare,

Gon is thy joy and all thy mirth in yearth,

Of all blithnesse now art thou blake and bare

There is no salve may helpe thy sare,

Fell is thy fortune, wicked is thy werth

Thy blisse is vanished and thy bale vnberde,

Vnder y• great God if I graven ware,

Where men of Grece ne yet of Troie miȝt herd.

Where is thy chamber wantonly beseen,

With burly bedde and bankers brouded been,

Spices and wine to thy colatioun,

The cuppes all of gold and silver shene,

Thy swete meates served in plates clene,

With savery sauce of a good fashioun,

[Page] Thy gay garments with many goodly goun,

Thy plesaunt saune pinned with golden pene,

All is arere thy great royall renoun.

Where is thy gardien with thy greces gay

And freshe floures, which the quene Floray

Had painted pleasauntly in every way,

Where thou were wont full merily in May

To walke, & take the dewe by it was day,

And heare the Merle & Mavile many one,

With Ladies faire in carrolling to gone,

And see the royall renkes in their ray.

This leper loge take for thy goodly boure,

And for thy bed, take now a bounche of stro,

For wailed wine and meates thou had tho,

Take mouled bread, pirate, and sider soure

But cuppe and clapper is all now ago.

My clere voice and my courtly carrolling,

Is ranke as roke, full hidous heer and hace

Deformed is the figure of my face,

To loke on it no people hath liking,

So sped in sight, I say with sore sighing

Lying emong the leper folke alas.

O Ladies faire of Troy and Grece attend

My freile fortune, mine infelicite,

My great mischief which no man can amend,

And in your mind a mirrour make of me:

As I am now paraventure that ye,

For all your might may come to y• same end,

Or else worse, if any worse may be,

Beware therefore approches nere your end.

* Nought is your fairnesse but a fading floure,

Nought is your famous laude & hie honour,

But winde inflate in other mens eares,

Your rosing redde to rotting shall retoure,

Exemple make of me in your memore:

Which of such things, wofull witnes beares,

* Al welth in yearth, as wind away it weares,

Beware therfore approches nere your hour.

Thus chiding with her drery disteny,

Weping, she woke the Night fro end to end,

But all in vaine her dole, her carefull cry

Might not remedy, ne yet her mourning mend,

A leper Lady rose, & to her wend,

And sayd, Why spurnes thou again y• wall,

To slea thy self, and mende nothing at all?

Sith y• thy weping but doubleth thy wo,

* I counsaile thee make vertue of a nede,

Go learne to clappe thy clapper to and fro,

And learne after ye lawe of lepers lede.

There was no bote but forthwith then she yede

Fro place to place, while cold & hunger sore

Compelled her to be a ranke beggore.

That same time of Troy the garnisoun,

Which had the chieftain worthy Troilus

Throuȝ jeopardy of warre had striken doun,

Knights of Grece in nomber marveilous,

With great triumph, and laude victorious,

Again to Troy right royally they rode,

The way where Creseide with y• leper stode.

Seing that company come, al with o stevin

They gave a cry, & shoke cupps good spede

Worthy lordes, for Goddes love of hevin,

To us seper, part of your almose dede:

Then to her cry noble Troilus toke hede,

Having pite, nere by the place gan pas,

Wher Creseide sat, nat weting wt she was.

Then vpon him she kest vp both her iyen,

And with a blinke it come in til his thought,

That he sometime her face before had sein,

But she was in soch plite he knew her nought,

Yet then her loke into his minde he brought,

The swete visage, and amorous blenking,

Offaire Creseid, sometime his owne derling,

No wonder was, suppose in mind that he

Toke her figure so sone, and lo now why,

* The Idoll of a thing in case may be

So depe enprinted in the fantasie,

That it deludeth the wittes outwardly,

And so apereth in forme and like estate,

Within the minde, as it was figurate.

A sparke of love then til his hartcouth spring,

And kindeled his body in a fire,

With hote feuer, in swette, and trembling

Him tooke, while he was readie to exspire,

To heare his shield his brest began to tire,

Within a while he chaunged many a hewe,

And nevertheles nat one an other knew.

For knightly pite and memoriell

Of faire Creseide, a girdel gan he take,

A purse of gold and many a gaie iewell,

And in the skirt of Creseide doun gan shake:

Then rode away, and nat a word he spake,

Pensife in hart while he came to the toune,

And for great care oft sith almost fell doune.

The lepre folke to Creseide then couth draw,

To see the equall distributioun

Of the almose, but when the gold they saw,

Ech one to other priuely can roun,

And saied, yon lord hath more affectioun,

How ever it be, vnto yon Lazarous

Than to vs al, we know by his almous.

What lord is yon (qd. she) have ye no fele,

That doeth to vs so great humanite?

Yes qd. a lepre man, I know him wele

Sir Troilus it is, a knight gentle and free.

When Creseide vnderstood that it was hee,

Stiffer than stele there sterte a bitter stound,

Throughout her hert, & fill doun to y• ground.

When she over come with sighing sore & sad,

With many a carefull crie and cold atone,

Now is my brest with stormy stoundes stad,

Wrapped in wo wretchfull will of one,

Then fell in swoun ful oft or she would fone,

And ever in her swouning cried she thus,

O false Creseide, and true knight Troilus.

Thy love, thy laude, & all thy gentlenesse,

I counted small in my prosperite,

[Page] So effated I was in wantonnesse,

And clambe vpon the fickell whele so hie,

All faith and love I promitted to thee,

Was in thy selfe fekell and furious,

O false Creseide, and true knight Troilus.

For love of me thou kept countenaunce,

Honest and chast in conuersacion,

Of all women protectour and defence

Thou were, and helped their opinion:

My minde and fleshly foule affection

Was enclined to lustes lecherous,

Fie false Creseide, O true knight Troilus.

Lovers beware, and take good hede about

Whom that ye love, for when ye suffre pain,

I let you wit there is right few throughout,

Whom ye may trust to have true love again,

Proue when ye woll your labour is in vain,

Therefore I rede ye take them as ye find,

For they are sad as Wedercocke in wind.

Bicause I know the great vnstablenesse,

Brittle as glasse, vnto my self I say,

Trusting in other as great brutelnesse,

As inconstaunt, and as vntrue of fay:

Though some be true, I wot riȝt few ar they,

Who findeth truth, let him his lady ruse,

None but my self as now I woll accuse.

When this was said, with paper she sat doun

And in this maner made her testament:

Here I bequethe my corse and carioun,

With wormes and with Toodes to be rent,

My cuppe, my clapper, and mine ornament,

And all my gold, these lepre folke shall have,

When I am dedde, to bury me in grave.

This roiall ring set with this Rubie redde,

Which Troilus in dowrie to me send,

To him again I leaue it when I am dedde,

To make my careful death vnto him kend:

Thus I conclude shortly and make an end,

My spirit I leave to Diane where she dwels,

To walke with her in wast wodes & welles.

O Diomede thou hast both broche & belt,

Which Troilus gaue me, in tokening

Of his true love, & with that worde she swelt,

And soone a leaper man toke off the ring,

Then buried her withouten tarying,

To Troilus forthwith the ring he bare,

And of Creseide the death he gan declare.

When he had heard her great infirmite,

Her legacie, and lamentacioun,

And how she ended in such poverte,

He swelt for wo and fell doune in a swoun,

For sorow his hart to brast was boun,

Sighing full sadly sayd, I can no more,

She was vntrue, and wo is me therefore.

Some saith he made a tombe of marble gray,

And wrote her name & superscripcioun,

And layd it on her graue whereas she lay,

In golden letters, conteining this reasoun:

Lo faire Fadies, Creseide of Troie toun,

Somtime counted the floure of womanhed,

Vnder this stone, late leper lieth dedde.

Now worthy women in this balade short,

Made for your worship and instruction,

Of charite I monish and exhort,

Minge nat your love with false discepcion:

Beare in your mind this sore conclusion

Of faire Creseide, as I have sayd before,

Sith she is dedde, I speake of her no more.

The Legend of good Women.
For that some Ladies in the Court took offence at Chaucers large speeches against the untruth of Women, the Queen enjoyned him to compile this Book in the commendation of sundry Maidens and Wives, who shewed themselves faithful to faithless men.

§

A Thousand times I have heard men tell,

That there is joy in heaven, & pain in hell,

And I accord it wele that it is so,

But nathelesse yet wote I wele also,

That there nis non dwelling in this countre,

That either hath in heaven or in hell ibe,

Ne may of it none other waies witten,

But as he heard sayd, or found it written,

For by assay there may no man it preve.

But God forbede but men should leve

Wel more thing than they have seen with iye,

Men shall nat we [...]en every thing a lie

But if himself it seeth, or els it dooth,

For God wote thing is never the lesse soth,

Though every wight ne may it not isee.

Bernarde the Monke ne saugh all parde,

Then mote we to bookes that we find,

(Through which y• old things ben in mind)

And to the doctrine of the old wise,

Yeve credence, in every skilful wise,

That tellen of the old appreued stories,

Of holines, of reignes, of victories,

Of love, of hate, and other sundry things,

Of which I may not make rehearsings:

* And if that old bookes were away,

Ilorne were of all remembraunce the kay.

Well ought vs then, honouren & beleve

These bookes, there we han none other preve.

And as for me, though that I can but lite,

On bookes for to rede I me delite,

And to hem yeve I faith and full credence,

And in mine herte have hem in reverence

So hertely, that there is game none,

That fro my bookes maketh me to gone,

But it be seldome on the holy daie,

Save certainly, when yt the month of May

Is comen, and that I heare the foules sing,

And that the floures ginnen for to spring,

Farwell my booke, and my deuocion,

Now have I then eke this condicion,

That of all the floures in the Mede,

Then love I most these floures white & rede,

[Page] Soch that men callen Daisies in our toun,

To hem I have so great affectioun,

As I sayd erst, when comen is the Maie,

That in my bedde there daweth me no daie,

That I nam vp and walking in the Mede,

To seen this floure ayenst the Sunne sprede,

When it vp riseth early by the morrow,

That blisfull sight softeneth all my sorow,

So glad am I, when that I have presence

Of it, to done it all reverence,

As she that is of all flours floure,

Fulfilled of all vertue and honoure,

And every ilike faire, and fresh of hewe

And ever I love it, and ever ilike newe,

And ever shall, till that mine harte die,

All sweare I not, of this I woll not lie.

There loved no wight hotter in his life,

And when that it is eve I renne blithe,

As sone as ever the Sunne ginneth West,

To seen this floure, how it woll go to rest,

For feare of night, so hateth she derkenesse,

Her chere is plainly spred in the brightnesse

Of the Sunne, for there it woll vnclose:

Alas that I ne had English rime, or prose

Suffisaunt, this floure to praise aright,

But helpeth ye, y• han conning and might,

Ye lovers that can make of sentement,

In this case ought ye be diligent,

To forthren me somewhat in my labour,

Whether ye been with ye lefe or with ye flour,

For well I wote, that ye han here beforne

Of making, ropen, and had alway the corne,

And I come after, glening here and there,

And am full glad, if I may find an eare,

Of any goodly worde that ye han left,

And though it happen me to rehearsen eft,

That ye han in your freshe songes sayd,

Forbeareth me, and beth not euill apayd,

Sith that ye se, I doe it in the honour

Of love, and eke of service of the flour,

Whom that I serve, as I have wit or might,

She is the clerenesse and the very light,

That in this derke world me wint and ledeth

The hart within my sorowfull brest you dredeth,

And loveth so sore, that ye ben verily

The maistres of my wit, and nothing I,

My word, my workes, is knit so in your bonde

That as an harpe obeieth to the honde,

And make it soune after his fingering,

Right so mowe ye out of mine hart bring,

Soch voice, right as you list, to laugh or pain,

Be ye my guide, and Lady souerain,

As to mine yearthly God, to you I call,

Both in this werke, and my sorowes all,

But wherefore that I spake to yeve credence

To old stories, and done hem reverence,

And that men musten more thing bileve

That men may seen at iye or els preve,

That shall I sein, when that I see my time,

I may nat all atones speake in rime,

My busie ghost, that thursteth alway new,

To seen this flour so yong, so fresh of hew,

Constrained me, with so gredy desire,

That in my harte I fele yet the fire,

That made me rise ere it were day,

And this was now the first morow of Maie,

With dreadfull harte, and glad deuocion

For to been at the resurrection

Of this floure, when that it should vnclose,

Again the Sunne, that rose as redde as rose,

That in the brest was of the beast that day,

That Angenores doughter ladde away:

And doune on knees anon right I me sette,

And as I could, this fresh floure I grette:

Kneeling alway, till it vnclosed was,

Vpon the small, soft, swete gras,

That was with floures swete embrouded all,

Of such swetenesse, and soch odour over all,

That for to speake of gomme, herbe, or tree,

Comparison may not imaked be,

For it surmounteth plainly all odoures,

And of riche beaute of floures,

Forgotten had the yearth his poore estate

Of Winter, that him naked made & mate,

And with his sword of cloud so sore greved,

Now hath the attempre sunne al that releved

That naked was, and clad it new again,

The small foules of the season fain,

That of the panter and the net been scaped,

Vpon the fouler, that hem made awhaped

In Winter, and destroied had her brood,

In his dispite hem thought it did hem good

To sing of him, and in her song dispise

The foule chorle, that for his couetise,

Had him betraied, with his Sophistrie,

This was her song, The fouler we defie,

And all his craft: and some songen clere,

Laies of Love, that joy it was to here,

In worshipping and praysing of her make,

And for the new blisfull Somers sake,

Vpon the braunches full of blosmes soft,

In her dilite, they tourned hem ful oft,

And songen, blissed be sainct Valentine,

For on his day I chese you to be mine,

Withouten repenting mine harte swete,

And therewithall her bekes gonnen mete,

Yelding honour, and humble obeisaunce

To love and didden her other observaunce

That longeth vnto love, and vnto nature,

Constre we that as you list, I do no cure:

And tho that had done vnkindnesse,

As doeth the Tidife, for new fanglenesse,

Besought mercy of her trespasing,

And humbly song her repenting,

And sworen on the blosmes to be true,

So that her makes would vpon hem rue,

And at the last maden her acorde,

All found they Daunger for the time a lord,

Yet Pite, through his strong gentill might,

Foryave, and made Mercy passen right

Through Innocence, and ruled Curtesie:

But I ne cleape it nat Innocence folie,

Ne false pite, for vertue is the meane,

As Eticke sayth, in soch maner I meane.

And thus these foule, voide of all malice,

Acordeden to Love, and laften vice

Of hate, and song all of one acorde,

Welcome Sommer, our governour & lorde.

And Zephirus, and Flora gentelly,

Yave to the floures soft and tenderly,

Her swote breth, and made hem for to sprede,

As God and Goddesse of the flourie Mede,

[Page] In which me thoughte I might day by daie,

Dwellen alway, the joly month of Maie,

Withouten slepe, withouten meat or drinke,

Adowne full softly I gan to sinke,

And leaning on my elbow and my side,

The long day I shope me for to abide,

For nothing els, and I shall nat lie,

But for to looke vpon the Daisie,

That well by reason men it call may

The Daisie, or els the iye of the day,

The emprise, and floure of floures all,

I pray to God that faire mote she fall,

And all that loven floures, for her sake,

But nathelesse, ne wene nat that I make

In praising of the floure againe the lefe,

No more than of the corne againe the shefe:

For as to me nis lever none ne other,

I nam withholden yet with never nother,

Ne I not who serveth lefe, ne who the floure,

Well brouken they her service or laboure,

For this thing is all of another tonne,

Of old storie, er soch thing was begonne,

When yt the sunne out the South gan West,

And that this floure gan close, and gan to rest,

For derknes of the night, the which she dred,

Home to mine house full swiftly I me sped

To gone to rest, and earely for to rise,

To seene this floure to sprede, as I devise,

And in a little herber that I have,

That benched was on turves fresh igrave,

I bad men shoulde me my couche make,

For deintie of the newe Sommers sake,

I bad hem strawen floures on my bedde,

When I was laid, and had mine iyen hedde,

I fell a slepe, and slept an houre or two,

Me met how I lay in the Medow tho,

To seen this floure, that I love so and drede,

And from a ferre came walking in the Mede

The God of Love, and in his hand a Quene,

And she was clad in royall habite grene,

A fret of golde she had next her heere,

And vpon that a white croune she beare,

With flourouns small, and I shall not lie,

For all the world right as a Daisie

Icrouned is, with white leaves lite,

So were the florouns of her croune white,

For of o perle fine orientall,

Her white croune was imaked all,

For which the white croune, above the grene,

Made her like a Daisie for to seme,

Considred eke her fret of gold above:

Iclothed was this mighty God of Love

In silke embroided, full of grene greves,

In which a fret of redde rose leves,

The freshest sens the world was first begon,

His gilt heere was crouned with a son,

In stede of gold, for hevinesse and weight,

Therwith me thouȝt his face shone so bright

That well vnnethes might I him behold,

And in his hand, me thought I saw him hold

Two firie dartes, as the gledes rede,

And Angelike his winges saw I sprede:

And all be that men sain, that blind is he,

Algate me thought that he might se,

For sternely on me he gan behold,

So that his loking doeth mine hart cold,

And by the hand he held this noble Queene,

Crouned with white, & clothed al in greene,

So womanly, so benigne, and so meke,

That in this worlde though yt men wold seke,

Halfe her beaute should they not finde

In creature that formed is by kinde,

And therfore may I sain as thinketh me,

This song in praising of this Lady fre.

Hide Absolon thy gilte tresses clere,

Hester lay thou thy mekenesse all adoun,

Hide Ionathas all thy frendly manere,

Penelopee, and Marcia Catoun,

Make of your wifehode no comparisoun,

Hide your beauties, Isoude and Helein,

My Lady cometh, that all this may distain.

Thy faire body let it not appere,

Lavine, and thou Lucrece of Rome toun,

And Polixene, that boughten love so dere,

And Cleopatras, with all thy passioun,

Hide your trouthe of love, and your renoun,

And thou Tisbe, that hast of love soch pain,

My Lady cometh, that all this may distain.

Hero, Dido, Laodomia, al ifere,

And Phillis, hanging for Demophoun,

And Canace, espied by thy chere,

Hipsiphile betrayed with Iasoun:

Maketh of your trouth neither boste ne soun,

Nor Hipermistre, or Ariadne, ye twain,

My Lady cometh, that all this may distain.

This balade may full well isongen be,

As I have sayd erst, by my Lady fre,

For certainly, all these mowe not suffice,

To apperen with my Lady in no wise,

For as the Sunne woll the fire distain,

So passeth all my lady soverain,

That is so good, so faire, so debonaire,

I pray to God that ever fall her faire,

For nad comforte ben of her presence,

I had ben dead, withouten any defence,

For drede of Loves wordes, and his chere,

As when time is, hereafter ye shall here.

Behind this God of Love vpon the grene,

I saw coming of Ladies ninetene,

In roiall habit, a full easie pace,

And after hem came of women soch a trace,

That sens y• God, Adam had made of yerth,

The third part of mankinde, or the ferth,

Ne wende I nat by possibilite,

Had ever in this wide world ibe,

And true of love, these women were echon,

Now whether was yt a wonder thing or non,

That right anon, as that they gonne espie

This floure, which that I clepe the Daisie,

Full sodainly they stinten all at ones,

And kneled doune, as it were for the nones,

And songen with o voice, heale and honour

To trouth of womanhede, and to this flour,

That beareth our alderprise in figuring,

Her white croune beareth the witnessing,

And with that word, a compas enviroun,

They sitten hem ful softely adoun:

First sat the god of Love, and sith his quene,

With the white croune, clad all in grene,

[Page] And sithen al the remnaunt by and by,

As they were of estate, full curtesly,

Ne nat a worde was spoken in the place,

The mountenance of a furlong way of space.

I kneling by this floure, in good entent

Abode to knowen what this people ment,

As still as any stone, till at the last

This God of Love, on me his iyen cast,

And said, who kneleth there? and I answerde

Vnto his asking, when that I it herde,

And sayd, sir it am I, and come him nere,

And salued him: (qd. he) what doest thou here,

So nigh mine owne floure, so boldly?

It were better worthy truely,

A worme to nighen nere my floure than thou.

And why sir (qd. I) and it like you?

For thou (qd. he) art therto nothing able,

It is my relike, digne and delitable,

And thou my fo, and all my folke werriest,

And of mine old servaunts thou missaiest,

And hindrest hem, with thy translacion,

And lettest folke from her devocion,

To serve me, and holdest it folie

To serve Love, thou mayst it nat denie,

For in plain text, withouten nede of glose,

Thou hast translated the Romaunt of y• rose,

That is an heresie ayenst my law,

And makest wise folke fro me withdraw;

And of Creseide, thou hast said as the list,

That maketh men to women lesse trist,

That ben as trewe as ever was any stele:

Of thine answere avise thee right wele,

For though thou renied hast my lay,

As other wretches have done many a day,

By seint Venus, that my mother is,

If that thou live, thou shalt repenten this,

So cruelly, that it shall well be sene.

Tho spake this lady, clothed all in greene

And saied, God right of your curtesie,

Ye mote herken if he can replie

Ayenst all this that ye have to him meved,

A God ne shulde nat be thus agreved,

But of his deite he shal be stable,

And thereto gracious and merciable:

And if ye nere a God that knowen all,

Then might it be as I you tellen shall,

This man to you may falsely ben accused,

That as by right, him ought ben excused,

For in your court is many a losengeour,

And many a queinte totoler accusour,

That tabouren in your eares many a soun,

Right after her imaginacioun,

To have your daliaunce, and for envie,

These ben the causes, and I shall nat lie,

Envie is lavender of the court alway,

For she ne parteth neither night ne day,

Out of the house of Cesar, thus saith Dant,

Who so that goeth algate she wol nat want.

And eke peraunter for this man is nice,

He might done it, gessing no malice,

But for he vseth thinges for to make,

Him recketh nought of what mater he take,

Or him was boden make thilke twey,

Of some persone, and durst it nat withsey:

Or him repenteth vtterly of this,

He ne hath nat done so grevously amis,

To translaten that old clerkes writen,

As though that he of malice would enditen,

Dispite of love, and had himselfe it wrought,

This shold a riȝtwise lord have in his thouȝt,

And nat be like tiraunts of Lombardie,

That han no reward but at tyrannie,

* For he that king or lorde is naturell,

Him ought nat be tiraunt ne cruell,

As is a fermour, to done the harme he can,

He must thinke it is his liege man,

And is his tresour, and his gold in cofer:

This is the sentence of the Philosopher,

A king to kepe his lieges in Iustice,

Withouten doute that is his office,

All woll he kepe his lordes in her degree,

As it is right and skil, that they bee

Enhaunsed and honoured, and most dere,

For they ben halfe goddes in this world here,

Yet mote he done both right to poore & riche,

All be that her estate be nat both iliche,

And have of poore folke compassion,

For lo, the gentill kinde of the lion,

For when a flie offendeth him or biteth,

He with his taile away the flie smiteth,

Al easily, for of his gentrie,

Him deineth nat to wreke him on a flie,

As doeth a curre, or els another beest,

* In noble corage ought ben areest,

And waien every thing by equite,

And ever have regard vnto his owne degre:

For sir, it is no maistrie for a lord

To dampne a man, without answere of word,

And for a lorde, that is full foule to vse

And it so be, he may him nat excuse,

But asketh mercy with a dreadfull hert,

And profereth him, right in his bare sherte

To ben right at your owne judgement.

Then ought a God by short avisement,

Consider his owne honour, and his trespace,

For sith no cause of death lieth in this case,

You ought to ben the lightlier merciable,

Letteth your ire, & bethe somewhat tretable:

The man hath served you of his conninges,

And forthred well your law in his makinges,

All be it that he can nat well endite,

Yet hath he made leude folke delite

To serve you, in preising of your name,

He made the boke, yt hight, The house of fame,

And eke the death of Blaunche the Duchesse,

And the Parliament of Foules, as I gesse,

And al the love of Palamon and Arcite

Of Thebes, though the storie is knowen li [...]e,

And many an Himpne, for your holy daies,

That highten balades, rondels, virelaies:

And for to speake of other holinesse,

He hath in prose translated Boece,

And made the life also of saint Cecile:

He made also, gone is a great while,

Origenes vpon the Maudelaine:

Him ought now to have the lesse paine,

He hath made many a ley, and many a thing.

Now as ye be a God, and eke a king,

I your Alceste, whilom quene of Trace,

I aske you this man right of your grace,

That ye him never hurt in al his live,

And he shal swearen to you, and that blive,

[Page] He shal never more agilten in this wise,

But shal maken as ye woll devise,

Of women trewe in loving al her life,

Where so ye woll, of maiden or of wife,

And forthren you as much as he misseide,

Or in the Rose, or els in Creseide.

The God of Love answerde her thus anon,

Madame (qd. he) it is so long agon,

That I you knew, so charitable and trewe,

That never yet, sens the world was newe,

To me ne found I better none than ye,

If that I woll save my degree:

I may nor woll nat werne your request,

Al lieth in you, doth with him as you lest.

I al foryeve withouten lenger space,

* For who so yeveth a yefte or doth a grace,

Do it betime, his thanke shall be the more,

And demeth ye what ye shal do therfore.

Go thanke now my lady here (qd. he)

I rose, and doun I set me on my knee,

And said thus: Madame, the God above

For yelde you that the God of Love

Have maked me his wrath to foryeve,

And grace so long for to live,

That I may know sothely what ye be,

That have me holpen, and put in this degre,

But trewly I wende, as in this caas

Nought have a gilte, ne done to love trespas,

* For why a trewe man withouten drede,

Hath nat to parten with a theves dede.

Ne a trewe lover ought me nat to blame,

Though y• I speke a false lover some shame:

They ought rather with me for to hold,

For that I of Creseide wrote or told,

Or of the Rose, what so mine author ment,

Algate God wotte it was mine entent

To forthren trouth in love, and it cherice

And to ben ware fro falsenesse and fro vice,

By which ensample, this was my mening.

And she answerde, let be thine arguing,

For love ne wol not counterpleted be,

In right ne wrong, and lerne that of me:

Thou hast thy grace, & hold the right thereto

Now woll I saine wt penance thou shalt do

For thy trespace, vnderstand it here,

Thou shalt while yt thou livest yere by yere,

The most partie of thy time spende,

In making of a glorious legende,

Of good women, maidens, and wives,

That weren trewe in loving all her lives,

And tell of false men that hem betraien,

That al her life ne do nat but assaien

How many women they may done a shame,

For in your world that is now hold a game:

And though thee like nat a lover be,

Speke wel of love, this penance yeve I thee,

And to the God of love I shal so pray,

That he shal charge his servants by any way,

To forthren thee, and wel thy labour quite,

Go now thy waie, this penaunce is but lite:

And when this boke is made, yeve it y• quene

On my behalfe, at Eltham, or at Shene.

The God of love gan smile, and then he said:

Wost thou (qd. he) where this be wife or maid,

Or queene, or countesse, or of what degree,

That hath so littell penaunce yeven thee,

That hast deserved sore for to smart,

* But pite renneth soone in gentle hart:

That maist thou sene, she kitheth what she is?

And I answerde, naie sir so have I blis,

No more, but that I see well she is good.

That is a trewe tale by mine hood,

(Qd. Love) and thou knowest wel parde,

If it be so that thou avise the,

Hast thou nat in a booke in thy cheste,

The great goodnesse of the quene Alceste,

That turned was into a Daiesie,

She that for her husband chese to die,

And eke to gone to hell, rather than he,

And Hercules rescued her parde,

And brought her out of hel againe to blis?

And I answerde againe, and said yes,

Now know I her, And is this good Alceste,

The Daiesie, and mine owne herts reste?

Now fele I well the goodnesse of this wife,

That both after her death, and in her life,

Her great bounte doubleth her renoun,

Wel hath she quit me mine affectioun,

That I have to her floure the daiesie,

No wonder is though Iove her stellifie,

As telleth Agaton, for her great goodnesse,

Her white corowne beareth of it witnesse:

For all so many vertues had she,

As smal florounes in her corowne be,

In remembraunce of her, and in honour,

Cibilla made the daiesie and the floure,

I crowned al with white, as men may se,

And Mars yave to her a corowne reed parde,

In stede of Rubies set among y• white,

Therewith this quene woxe reed for shame alite.

When she was praysed so in her presence,

Then said Love, a full great negligence

Was it to thee, that ilke time thou made,

(Hide Absolon thy tresses) in balade,

That thou forget in thy songe to sette,

Sith that thou art so greatly in her dette,

And wost well that kalender is she

To any woman, that woll lover be:

For she taught all the craft of trewe loving,

And namely of wifehode the living,

And all the bondes that she ought keepe,

Thy litel witte was thilke time a sleepe:

But now I charge thee vpon thy life,

That in thy legende make of this wife,

When thou hast other smale imade before,

And fare now well I charge thee no more,

But er I go, thus much I will the tell,

* Ne shal no trewe lover come in hell.

These other ladies sitting here a rowe,

Ben in my balade, if thou const hem know,

And in thy bokes, al thou shalt hem find,

Have hem now in thy legende al in mind,

I meane of hem that ben in thy knowing,

For here ben twenty thousand mo sitting

Than thou knowest, good women all,

And trewe of love, for ought that may befall:

Make the metres of hem as the lest,

I mote gone home, the sunne draweth west,

To paradis, with all this companie,

And serve alway the fresh Daiesie.

At Cleopatras I woll that thou begin,

And so forth, and my love so shalt thou win,

[Page] For let see now what man that lover be,

Wol done so strong a paine for love as she,

I wote well that thou maist nat all it rime,

That suche lovers did in her time:

It were too long to reden and to here,

Suffiseth me thou make in this manere,

That thou reherce of al her life the great,

After these old authours listen for to treat,

For who so shall so many a story tell,

Sey shortly or he shall to long dwell:

And with that worde my bookes gan I take,

And right thus on my legende gan I make.

¶Thus endeth the Prologue.

¶Here beginneth the legende of Cleopatras Queene of Egipt.

AFter ye death of Ptholome the King,

That all Egipt had in his governing,

Reigned his Queene Cleopatras,

Till on a time bifel there such a caas,

That out of Rome was sent a senatour,

For to conqueren realmes and honour,

Vnto the toune of Rome, as was vsaunce,

To have the world at her obeisaunce,

And soth to say, Antonius was his name,

So fil it, as fortune him ought a shame,

When he was fallen in prosperite,

Rebel vnto the toune of Rome is he,

And over al this, the suster of Cesare

He left her falsely, er that she was ware,

And would algates han another wife,

For which he toke with Rome, & Cesar strife.

Nathelesse, forsoth this ilke Senatour,

Was a full worthy gentill werriour,

And of his deth it was ful great damage,

But love had brought this man in such a rage

And him so narow bounden in his laas,

And all for the love of Cleopatras,

That al the world he set at no value,

Him thouȝt there was nothing to him so due,

As Cleopatras, for to love and serve,

Him thought that in armes for to sterve

In the defence of her, and of her right.

This noble quene, eke loved so this knight,

Through his desert, and for his chevalrie,

As certainly, but if that bokes lie,

He was of person, and of gentilnesse,

And of discretion, and of hardinesse,

Worthy to any wight that liven may,

And she was faire, as is the rose in Maie:

And for to maken shorte is the best,

She woxe his wife, and had him as her lest.

The wedding and the feast to devise,

To me that have itake such emprise,

And so many a storie for to make,

It were to long, lest that I should slake

Of thing that beareth more effect & charge,

For men may overlade a ship or barge,

And for thy, to effect then woll I skippe,

And al the remnaunt I woll let it slippe.

Octavian, that wood was of this dede,

Shope him an hooste on Antony to lede,

Al vtterly for his distruction,

With stoute Romaines, cruell as Lion

To ship they went, and thus I let hem faile.

Antonius was ware, and woll nat faile

To meten with these Romaines, if he may,

Toke eke his rede, and both vpon a day

His wife and he, and all his host forth went

To ship anone, no lenger they ne stent,

And in the see it happed hem to mete,

Vp goeth the trumpe, & for to shoute & shete

And painen hem to set on with the sunne,

With grisly sown out goeth the great gunne,

And hertely they hurtlen in all at ones,

And fro the top doune cometh y• great stones,

In goeth the grapenel so full of crokes,

Among the ropes ran the shering hokes,

In with the polaxe preaseth he and he,

Behind the maste beginneth he to flee,

And out againe, and driveth him over borde,

He sticketh him vpon his speares orde,

He rent the saile with hookes like a sith,

He bringeth the cup, and biddeth hem be blith,

He poureth peesen vpon the hatches slider,

With pots full of lime, they gone togider,

And thus the long day in fight they spend,

Till at the last, as every thing hath end,

Antony is shent, and put him to the flight,

And all his folke to go, that best go might,

Fleeth eke y• quene, with all her purple saile,

For strokes which y• went as thicke as haile,

No wonder was, he might it nat endure:

And when that Antony saw that aventure,

Alas (qd. he) the day that I was borne,

My worship in this day thus have I lorne,

And for dispaire out of his wit he start,

And rofe himselfe anon throughout the hart,

Ere that he ferther went out of the place:

His wife, that could of Cesar have no grace,

To Egipt is fled, for drede and for distresse,

But herkeneth ye that speken of kindnesse.

Ye men that falsely swearen many an oth,

That ye woll die, if that your love be wroth,

Here may ye seene of women such a trouth.

This woful Cleopatra had made such routh,

That there nis tong none that may it tell,

But on the morow she woll no lenger dwell,

But made her subtill werkmen make a shrine

Of all the rubies and the stones fine

In all Egipt, that she could espie,

And put full the shrine of spicerie,

And let the corse enbaume, and forth she fette

This dead corse, and in the shrine it shette,

And next the shrine a pit than doth she grave,

And all the serpentes that she might have,

She put hem in that grave, & thus she seid:

Now love, to whom my sorowfull hert obeid,

So ferforthly, that fro that blisfull hour

That I you swore to ben all freely your,

I meane you, Antonius my knight,

That never waking in the day or night,

Ye nere out of mine herts remembraunce,

For wele or wo, for carole, or for daunce,

And in my selfe this covenaunt made I tho,

That right such as ye felten wele or wo,

As ferforth as it in my power lay,

Vnreprovable vnto my wifehood aye,

The same would I felen, life or death,

And thilke covenaunt while me lasteth breath

[Page] I woll fulfill, and that shall well be seene,

Was never vnto her love a truer queene:

And with y• word, naked with full good hart,

Among the serpents in the pit she start,

And there she chese to have her burying.

Anone the neders gonne her for to sting,

And she her death receiueth with good chere,

For love of Antony that was her so dere.

And this is storiall, sooth it is no fable,

Now ere I find a man thus true and stable,

And woll for love his death so freely take,

I pray God let our hedes never ake.

¶The Legend of Tisbe of Babilon.

AT Babiloine whylome fill it thus,

The which toun y• queen Simiramus

Let dichen about, and wals make

Full hie, of harde tiles well ibake:

There were dwelling in this noble toun,

Two lords, which y• were of great renoun,

And woneden so nigh vpon a grene,

That ther nas but a stone wal hem between,

As oft in great tounes is the wonne:

And sothe to saine, that one man had a sonne,

Of all that lond one of the lustiest,

That other had a doughter, the fairest

That estward in y• world was tho dwelling,

The name of everiche, gan to other spring,

By women that were neighbours aboute,

For in that countre yet withouten doute,

Maidens ben ikept for ielousie,

Ful straite, lest they didden some folie.

This yong man was cleped Piramus,

Thisbe hight the maide (Naso saith thus)

And thus by report, was her name ishove,

That as they woxe in age, so woxe her love:

And certaine, as by reason of her age,

Ther might have ben betwixt hem mariage,

But that her fathers [...]olde it nat assent,

And bothe in love ilike sore they brent,

That none of all her friendes might it lette,

But prively sometime yet they mette

By sleight, and spaken some of her desire,

As wrie the glede and hotter is the fire,

Forbid a love, and it is ten times so wode.

This wal, which y• bitwixt hem both stode,

Was cloven atwo, right fro the top adoun,

Of old time, of his foundatioun,

But yet this clift was so narrow and lite

It was nat seene, dere inough a mite,

But what is that, that love cannot espie?

Ye lovers two, if that I shall not lie,

Ye founden first this little narrow clift,

And with a sound, as soft as any shrift,

They let her words through the clift pace,

And tolden, while that they stoden in y• place,

All her complaint of love, and all her wo,

At every time when they durst so.

On that one side of the wall stood he,

And on that other side stood Tisbe,

The sweet soune of other to receive,

And thus her wardeins would they disceive,

And every day this wall they would threte,

And wish to God that it were doun ibete,

Thus wold they sain, alas thou wicked wall▪

Through thine enuie, thou vs lettest all,

Why nilt thou cleave, or fallen all atwo,

Or at the least, but thou wouldest so,

Yet wouldest thou but ones let vs mete,

Or ones that we might kissen swete,

Then were we cured of our cares cold,

But nathelesse, yet be we to thee hold,

In as much as thou suffrest for to gone,

Our words through thy lime & eke thy stone,

Yet ought we with thee ben well apaid.

And when these idle wordes weren said,

The cold wall they woulden kisse of stone,

And take her leave, & forth they wolden gone,

And this was gladly in the eventide,

Or wonder erly, least men it espide.

And long time they wrought in this manere,

Till on a day, when Phebus gan to clere,

Aurora with the stremes of her hete

Had dried vp the dew of herbes wete,

Vnto this clift, as it was wont to be,

Come Piramus, and after come Tisbe,

And plighten trouthe fully in her faie,

That ilke same night to steale awaie,

And to beguile her wardeins everychone,

And forth out of the Citie for to gone,

And for the fieldes ben so brode and wide,

For to mete in o place at o tide:

They set markes, her meetings should be

There king Ninus was grauen, vnder a tree,

For old painems, that idolles heried,

Vseden tho in fields to ben buried,

And fast by his grave was a well,

And shortely of this tale for to tell,

This couenaunt was affirmed wonder fast,

And long hem thought that the sunne last,

That it nere gone vnder the see adoun.

This Tisbe hath so great affectioun,

And so great liking Piramus to see,

That when she saw her time might be,

At night she stale away full prively,

With her face iwimpled subtelly,

For all her friends (for to save her trouth)

She hath forsake alas, and that is routh,

That ever woman woulde be so trew,

To trusten man, but she the bet him knew:

And to the tree she goeth a full good pace,

For love made her so hardy in this case,

And by the well adoun she gan her dresse,

Alas, then commeth a wild Lionesse

Out of the wood, withouten more arrest,

With bloody mouth, strangling of a beast,

To drinken of the well there as she sat,

And when that Tisbe had espied that,

She rist her vp, with a full drery hart,

And in a caue, with dreadfull foot she start,

For by the Moone she saw it well withall,

And as she ran, her wimple let she fall,

And toke none hede, so sore she was a whaped,

And eke so glad that she was escaped,

And thus she sat, and lurketh wonder still:

When that this Lionesse hath dronke her fill,

About the well gan she for to wind,

And right anon the wimple gan she find,

And with her bloody mouth it all to rent,

When this was done, no lenger she ne stent,

[Page] But to y• wood her way then hath she nome.

And at the last this Piramus is come,

But all too long (alas) at home was hee,

The Moone shone, men might well isee,

And in his way, as that he come full fast,

His eyen to the ground adoun he cast,

And in the sonde, as he beheld adoun,

He saw the steppes brode of a Lioun,

And in his hart he suddainly agrose,

And pale he wext, therwith his hart arose,

And here he came, & found the wimple torne,

Alas (qd. he) the day that I was borne,

This o night woll both vs lovers slee,

How should I asken mercy of Tisbee,

When I am he that have you slaine, alas,

My bidding hath you slaine in this caas,

Alas, to bidde a woman gone by night

In place thereas perill fallen might,

And I so slow, alas I ne had be

Here in this place, a furlong way ere ye,

Now what Lion that is in this forest,

My body mote he rente, or what beast

That wild is, gnawen mote he mine hart,

And with that word he to the wimple start,

And kist it oft, and wept on it full sore,

And said wimple alas, there nis no more,

But thou shalt feele as well the blood of me,

As thou hast felt the bleeding of Tisbe:

And with that word he smote him to y• hart,

The blood out of the wound as broad start,

As water, when the conduit broken is.

Now Tisbe, which that wist nat this,

But sitting in her drede, she thought thus,

If it so fall out that my Piramus

Be comen hither, and may me nat ifind,

He may me holden false, and eke vnkind,

And out she commeth, & after him gan espien,

Both with her hart, and with her eien,

And thought, I woll him tellen of my drede,

Both of the Lionesse and of my dede.

And at the last her love then hath she found,

Beating with his heeles on the ground,

All bloody, and therewithall abacke she start,

And like the wawes, quappe gan her hart,

And pale as boxe she woxe, and in a throw

Avised her, and gan him well to know,

That it was Piramus her hart dere.

Who could write whiche a deadly chere

Hath Tisbe now, and how her haire she rent,

And how she gan her selfe to turment,

And how she lieth & swouneth on the ground,

And how she wept of teares full his wound,

How medleth she his blood with her complaint,

How with her blood her selven gan she paint,

How clippeth she the red corse, alas,

How doth this wofull Tisbe in this caas,

How kisseth she his frosty mouth so cold:

Who hath don this? & who hath ben so bold

To sleen my lefe? o speake Piramus,

I am thy Tisbe, that thee calleth thus,

And therwithall she lifteth vp his head.

This wofull man that was nat fully dead,

When that he herd y• name of Tisbe crien,

On her he cast his heavy deadly eyen,

And doun againe, and yeeldeth vp the ghost.

Tisbe rist vp, without noise or bost,

And saw her wimple and his empty sheath,

And eke his swerd, yt him hath done to death,

Then spake she thus, thy woful hand (qd. she)

Is strong ynough in such a werke to me,

For love shall yeve me strength & hardinesse,

To make my wound large ynough I gesse,

I woll thee followen dead, and I woll be

Felaw, and cause eke of thy death (qd. she)

And though that nothing save y• death only,

Might thee fro me depart trewly,

Thou shalt no more departe now fro me

Than fro the death, for I woll go with thee.

And now ye wretched jelous fathers our,

We that weren whylome children your,

We praien you, withouten more enuie,

That in o grave we moten lie,

Sens love hath brought vs this pitous end,

And right wise God, to every lover send,

That loveth trewly, more prosperite

Than ever had Piramus and Tisbe,

And let no gentill woman her assure,

To putten her in such an aventure,

* But God forbid but that a woman can

Ben as true and loving as a man,

And for my part I shall anon it kithe:

And with y• word, his swerde she tooke switche,

That warme was of her loves blood, & hote,

And to the hart she her selven smote.

And thus are Tisbe and Piramus ago,

Of true men I find but few mo

In all my bookes, save this Piramus,

And therefore have I spoken of him thus;

For it is deintie to vs men to find

A man that can in love be true and kind.

Here may ye seene, what lover so he be,

A woman dare, and can as well as he.

¶The Legend of Dido, Queene of Cartage.

GLory and honour, Virgile Mantuan,

Be to thy name, and I shall as I can

Follow thy lanterne, as thou goest beforne,

How Eneas to Dido was forsworne,

In thine Eneide, and Naso woll I take

The tenour and the great effects make,

When Troy brought was to destruction

By Grekes sleight, and namely by Sinon,

Faining the horse offred vnto Minerue,

Thrugh which yt many a Troian must sterve,

And Hector had after his death apered,

And fire so wood, it might nat ben stered,

In all the noble toure of Ilion,

That of the citie was the cheefe dungeon,

And all the country was so low ybrought,

And Priamus the king fordone and nought,

And Eneas was charged by Venus

To flien away, he tooke Ascanius

That was his son, in his right hand & fled,

And on his backe he bare and with him led

His old father, cleped Anchises,

And by the way his wife Creusa he lees,

And mokell sorrow had he in his mind,

Ere that he coulde his fellawship find:

But at the last, when he had hem found,

He made him redy in a certaine stound,

[Page] And to the sea full fast he gan him hie,

And saileth forth with all his companie

Towards Itaile, as would destinee:

But of his aventures in the see,

Nis nat to purpose for to speke of here,

For it accordeth nat to my matere,

But as I said, of him and of Dido

Shall be my tale, till that I have do.

So long he sailed in the salt see,

Till in Libie vnneth arriued he,

So was he with the tempest all to shake,

And when that he the haven had itake,

He had a knight was called Achatees,

And him of all his fellowship he chees,

To gone with him, the country for tespie,

He tooke with him no more companie,

But forth they gon, and left his ships ride,

His feere and he, withouten any guide.

So long he walketh in this wildernesse,

Till at the last he met an hunteresse,

A bow in hond, and arrowes had she,

Her clothes cutted were vnto the knee,

But she was yet the fairest creature

That ever was iformed by nature,

And Eneas and Achates she gret,

And thus she to hem spake, when she hem met.

Saw ye (qd. she) as ye han walked wide,

Any of my sustren walke you beside,

With any wild Bore or other beast,

That they have hunted into this forrest,

I tucked vp with arrowes in her caas?

Nay sothly Lady (qd. this Eneas)

But by thy beautie, as it thinketh me,

Thou mightest never yearthly woman be,

But Phebus suster art thou, as I gesse,

And if so be that thou be a goddesse,

Have mercy on our labour and our wo.

I nam no goddesse soothly (qd. she) tho,

For maidens walken in this country here,

With arrows & with bow, in this manere:

This is the realme of Libie there ye been,

Sf which that Dido lady is and queen,

And shortly told all the occasion

Why Dido came into that region,

Of which as now me lifteth nat to rime,

It nedeth nat, it nere but losse of time,

For this is all and some, it was Venus

His owne mother, that spake with him thus,

And to Cartage she bade he should him dight,

And vanished anon out of his sight.

I could follow word for word Vergile,

But it would lasten all to long while.

This noble queen, that cleped was Dido,

That whylom was the wife of Sicheo,

That fairer was than the bright sunne,

This noble toun of Carthage hath begunne,

In which she reigneth in so great honour,

That she was hold of all Quenes flour,

Of gentillesse, of freedome, and of beaute,

That well was him that might her ones se,

Of Kings and Lordes so desired,

That all the world her beautie had ifired,

She stood so well in every wights grace.

When Eneas was come vnto the place,

Vnto the maister temple of all the toun,

There Dido was in her deuotioun,

Full priuely his way then hath he nome:

When he was in the large temple come,

I cannot saine, if that it be possible,

But Venus had him maked invisible,

Thus sayth the booke, withouten any lees.

And when this Eneas and Achates

Hadden in this temple ben over all,

Then found they depainted on a wall,

How Troy and all the land destroyed was,

Alas that I was borne (qd. Eneas)

Through the world our shame is kid so wide,

Now it is painted vpon every side:

We that weren in prosperite,

Ben now disclaundred, and in such degre,

No lenger for to liven I ne kepe,

And with that word he brast out for to wepe

So tenderly that routh it was to seene.

This fresh Lady, of the citie Queen,

Stood in the temple, in her estate roiall,

So richely, and eke so faire withall,

So yong, so lustie, with her eyen glade,

That if that God yt heaven & yearth made,

Would have a love, for beauty & goodnesse,

And womanhede, trouth, and semelinesse,

Whom should he loven but this lady swete?

There nis no woman to him halfe so mete:

Fortune, that hath y• world in governaunce,

Hath sodainly brought in so new a chaunce,

That never was there yet so frened a caas,

For all the company of Eneas,

Which that we wend have lorne in the see,

Arrived is nought ferre fro that citee,

For which the greatest of his lords, some

By aventure ben to the citie come

Vnto that same temple for to seke

The Queene, and of her socour her beseke,

Such renome was ther sprong of her goodnes.

And when they had tolde all her distresse,

And all her tempest and all her hard caas,

Vnto the Queene appeared Eneas,

And openly beknew that it was he,

Who had joy then, but his meine,

That hadden found her lord, her governour.

The Quene saw they did him such honour,

And had heard of Eneas, ere tho,

And in her hart had routh and wo,

That ever such a noble man as he

Shall ben disherited in such degre,

And saw the man, that he was like a knight,

And suffisaunt of person and of might,

And like to ben a very gentilman,

And well his words he beset can,

And had a noble visage for the nones,

And formed well of brawne and of bones,

And after Venus had such fairenesse,

That no man might be halfe so faire I gesse,

And well a lord him semed for to be,

And for he was a straunger, somewhat she

Liked him the bet, as God doe bote,

To some folke often new thing is sote,

Anon her hart hath pitee of his wo,

And with pitie, Love came also,

And thus for pitie and for gentilnesse,

Refreshed must he ben of his distresse.

She said, certes, that she sorry was,

That he hath had such perill and such caas,

[Page] And in her friendly speech, in this manere

She to him spake, and sayd as ye may here.

Be ye nat Venus sonne and Anchises,

In good faith, all the worship and encrees

That I may goodly done you, ye shall have,

Your ships and your meine shall I save,

And many a gentle word she spake him to,

And commaunded her messengers to go

The same day withouten any faile

His ships for to seeke and hem vitaile,

Full many a beast she to the ships sent,

And with the wine she gan hem to present,

And to her roiall paleis she her sped,

And Eneas she alway with her led.

What nedeth you the feastes to discrive,

He never better at ease was in live,

Full was the feast of deinties and richesse,

Of instruments, of song, and of gladnesse,

And many an amorous looking and devise.

This Eneas is come to Paradise

Out of the swolowe of hell and thus in joy

Remembreth him of his estate in Troy,

To dauncing chambers full of paraments,

Of rich beds, and of pavements,

This Eneas in ledde after the meat,

And with the queene when that he had seat,

And spices parted, and the wine agon,

Vnto his chamber was he lad anon

To take his ease, and for to have his rest

With all his folke, to done what so him lest,

There nas courser well ibridled none,

Ne stede for the Iusting well to gone,

Ne large palfrey, easie for the nones,

Ne iewell fret full of rich stones

Ne sackes full of gold, of large wight,

Ne Rubie none that shineth by night,

Ne gentill hauten faukon hereonere,

Ne hound for Hart, wild Bore, or Dere,

Ne cup of gold, with floreins new ibette,

That in the lond of Libie may ben gette,

That Dido ne hath Eneas it isent,

And all is payed, what that he hath spent.

Thus can this honorable quene her gests call,

As she that can in freedome passen all.

Eneas soothly eke, without lees,

Hath sent to his shippe by Achates

After his sonne, and after rich things,

Both scepter, clothes, broches, & eke rings,

Some for to weare, and some to present

To her, that all these noble things him sent,

And bad his sonne how that he should make

The presenting, and to the quene it take.

Repaired is this Achates againe,

And Eneas full blisfull is and faine,

To seene his yong sonne Ascanius,

For to him it was reported thus,

That Cupido, that is the god of Love,

At prayer of his mother high above,

Had the likenesse of the child itake,

This noble queene enamoured for to make

On Eneas: but of that scripture

Be as be may, I make of it no cure,

But soth is this, y• queen hath made such chere

Vnto this child, that wonder was to here,

And of the present that his father sent,

She thanked him oft in good entent.

Thus is this queen in pleasaunce and joy,

With all these new lustie folke of Troy,

And of the deeds hath she more enquired

Of Eneas, and all the story lered

Of Troy, and all the long day they tway

Entendeden for to speake and for to play,

Of which there gan to breden such a fire,

That silly Dido hath now such desire

With Eneas her new guest to deale,

That she lost her hew and eke her heale.

Now to theffect, now to the fruit of all,

Why I have told this story, and tellen shall.

Thus I begin, it fell vpon a night,

When that the Mone vpreised had her light,

This noble Queene vnto her rest went,

She sighed sore, and gon her felfe tourment,

She walketh, waloweth, & made many brayd,

As done these lovers, as I have heard sayd,

And at the last, vnto her suster Anne

She made her mone, & riȝt thus spake she than.

Now dere suster mine, what may it be

That me agasteth in my dreme (qd. she)

This ilke new Troian is so in my thought,

For that me thinketh he is so weil iwrought.

And eke so likely to ben a man,

And therwith so mikell good he can,

That all my love and life lieth in his cure,

Have ye nat heard him tell his aventure?

Now certes Anne, if that ye rede me,

I woll faine to him iwedded be,

This is the effect, what should I more seine,

In him lieth all, to do me live or deine.

Her suster Anne, as she yt coud her good,

Said as her thought, & somdele it withstood,

But hereof was so long a sermoning:

It were to long to make rehearsing:

But finally, it may not be withstonde,

* Love woll love, for no wight woll it wonde,

The dawning vp rist out of the see,

This amorous Quene chargeth her meine,

The nettes dresse, and speres brode and kene,

An hunting woll this lustie fresh Quene,

So pricketh her this new jolly wo,

To horse is all her lustie folke igo,

Vnto the court the houndes ben ibrought,

And vp on courser swift as any thought,

Her yong knights heven all about,

And of her women eke an huge rout,

Vpon a thicke palfray, paper white,

With saddle redde, enbrouded with delite,

Of gold the barres, vp enbossed high,

Sate Dido, all in gold and perrey wrigh,

And she is faire as is the bright morrow,

That healeth sicke folkes of nights sorrow:

Vpon a courser, startling as the fire,

Men might tourne him with a little wire.

But Eneas, like Phebus to devise,

So was he fresh arrayed in his wise,

The fomie bridle, with the bitte of gold,

Governeth he right as himselfe hath would,

And forth this noble Queene, this lady ride

On hunting, with this Troian by her side,

The herd of Hartes founden is anon,

With hey gobet, pricke thou, let gon, let gon,

Why nill the Lion comen or the Beare,

That Imiȝt him ones meten with this spear,

[Page] Thus saine this yong folke, and vp they kill

The wild Hartes, and have hem at her will.

Emong all this, to romblen gan y• heven,

The thunder rored with a grisly steven,

Doune come ye rain, with haile & sleet so fast,

With heavens fire, that made so sore agast

This noble Queene, and also her meine,

That ech of hem was glad away to flie,

And shortly, fro y• tempest her to save,

She fled her selfe into a little cave,

And with her went this Eneas also,

I not with hem if there went any mo,

The authour maketh of it no mention:

And here began the deepe affection

Betwixt hem two, this was ye first morrow

Of her gladnesse, and ginning of her sorrow,

For there hath Eneas ikneled so,

And told her all his hurt and all his wo,

And sworne so deepe to her to be true,

For wele or wo, and chaunge for no new,

And as a false lover, so well can plaine,

That silly Dido rewed on his paine,

And toke him for husbond, & became his wife

For evermore, while that hem last life,

And after this, when that the tempest stent,

With mirth out as they came, home they went.

The wicked fame vp rose, & y• anon,

How Eneas hath with the Queene igon

Into the cave, and demed as hem list:

And when y• king (that Yarbas hight) it wist,

As he that had her loved ever his life,

And woed her to have her to his wife,

Such sorrow as he hath maked, & such chere,

It is a routh and pitie for to here,

* But as in love, alday it happeth so,

That one shall laughen at anothers wo.

Now laugheth Eneas, and is in joy,

And more richesse than ever was in Troy.

O silly woman, full of innocence,

Full of pitie, of truth, and continence,

What maked you to men to trusten so?

Have ye such routh vpon her fained wo,

And have such old ensamples you beforne?

See ye nat all how they ben forsworne,

Where see ye one, y• he ne hath laft his lefe,

Or ben vnkind, or done her some mischefe,

Or pilled her or bosted of his dede,

Ye may as well it seene, as ye may rede.

Take hede now of this great gentilman,

This Troian, that so well her please can,

That faineth him so true and obeising,

So gentill, and so privie of his doing,

And can so well done all his obeysaunce

To her, at feasts and at daunce,

And when she goeth to temple, & home again,

And fasten till he hath his lady sein,

And bearen in his devises for her sake,

Not I nat what, & songs would he make,

Iusten, and done of armes many things,

Send her letters, tokens, brooches, & rings.

Now herkneth how he shal his lady serve:

There as he was in perill for to sterve

For hunger and for mischefe in the see,

And desolate, and fled fro his countree,

And all his folke with tempest all to driven,

She hath her body and eke her realme yeven

Into his hond, there she might have been

Of other land than of Cartage a Queen,

And lived in joy inough, wt would ye more.

This Eneas, that hath thus deepe iswore,

Is wearie of his craft within a throw,

The hote earnest is all overblow,

And prively he doeth his ships dight,

And shapeth him to steale away by night.

This Dido hath suspection of this,

And thought well that it was al amis,

For in his bed he lieth a night and siketh,

She asketh him anon, what him misliketh,

My dere hart, which that I love most.

Certes (qd. he) this night my fathers ghost

Hath in my slepe me so sore tourmented,

And eke Mercury his message hath presented,

That needes to the conquest of Itaile

My destinie is soone for to saile,

For which me thinketh, brosten is mine hart:

Therwith his false teares out they start,

And taketh her within his armes two.

Is that in earnest (qd. she) woll ye so,

Have ye nat sworne, to wife me to take,

Alas, what woman woll ye of me make?

I am a Gentlewoman, and a Queen,

Ye woll not fro your wife thus foule fleen,

That I was borne alas, what shall I do?

To tellen in short, this noble Queen Dido

She seeketh hallowes, and doth Sacrifise,

She kneeleth, crieth, that routh is to devise,

Coniureth him, and profereth him to be

His thrall, his servaunt, in the best degre,

She falleth him to foot, and sowneth there,

Discheuile with her bright gilt heere,

And sayth, have mercy, let me with you ride,

These lordes, which that wonnen me beside,

Woll me destroyen only for your sake:

And ye woll me now to wife take,

As ye have sworne, then woll I yeve you leve

To slaen me with your swerd now sone at eve,

For then yet shall I dien as your wife,

I am with child, and yeve my child his life,

Mercy lord, have pitie in your thought.

But all this thing a vaileth her right nought,

And as a traitour forthe gan to saile

Toward the large countrey of Itaile,

And thus hath he laft Dido in wo and pine,

And wedded there a ladie hight Lavine,

A cloth he laft, and eke his sword standing,

When he fro Dido stale in her sleeping,

Right at her beds head, so gan he hie,

When that he stale away to his nauie.

Which cloth, when sillie Dido gan awake,

She hath it kist full oft for his sake,

And said, O sweet cloth, while Iupiter it lest,

Take my soule, vnbind me of this vnrest,

I have fulfilled of fortune all the course,

And thus alas, withouten his socourse,

Twentie time iswouned hath she than,

And when that she vnto her suster Anne

Complained had, of which I may not write,

So great routh I have it for to endite,

And bad her norice and her sustren gone

To fetchen fire, and other things anone,

And sayd that she would sacrifie,

And when she might her time well aspie,

[Page] Vpon the fire of Sacrifice she start,

And with his sword she rofe her to the hart:

But as mine authour saith, yet this she seide,

Or she was hurt, beforne or she deide,

She wrote a letter anon, and thus began.

Right so (qd. she) as the white Swan

Ayenst his death beginneth for to sing,

Right so to you I make my complaining,

Not that I trow to getten you againe,

For well I wote it is all in vaine,

Sens that the gods ben contrarious to me,

But sin my name is lost through you (qd. she)

I may well lese a word on you or letter,

Albeit I shall be never the better,

For thilke wind that blew your ship away,

The same wind hath blow away your fay,

But who so woll all this letter have in mind,

Rede Ovide, and in him he shall it find.

¶The Legend of Hipsiphile and Medea.

THou root of false lovers, Duke Iason,

Thou sleer, devourer, and confusion

Of gentlewomen, gentle creatures,

Thou madest thy reclaiming and thy lures

To Ladies of thy scathliche apparaunce,

And of thy words farsed with pleasaunce,

And of thy fained trouth, and thy manere,

With thine obeisaunce and humble chere,

And with thine counterfeited paine and wo,

There other fallen one, thou falsed two,

O oft swore thou that thou wouldest die

For love, when thou ne feltest maladie,

Save foule delite, which thou callest love,

If that I live, thy name shall be shove

In English, that thy deceit shall be know,

Have at thee Iason, now thine honor is blow,

But certes, it is both routh and wo,

That Love with false lovers werketh so,

For they shall have well better love & chere,

Than he that hath bought love full dere,

Or had in armes many a bloodie boxe,

* For ever as tender a Capon eateth ye Foxe,

Though he be fals, & hath the foule betraied,

As shall the good man that therefore paied,

Although he have to the Capon skill & right,

The false Foxe woll have his part at night.

On Iason this ensample is well iseene,

By Hipsiphile and Medea the Queene.

In Thessalie, as Ovide telleth vs,

There was a knight, that hight Peleus,

That had a brother, which that hight Eson,

And when for age he might vnnethes gon,

He yave to Peleus the governing

Of al his reign, and made him lord and king,

Of which Eson, this Iason getten was,

That in his time in all that land there nas

Nat such a famous knight of gentillesse,

Of freedome, of strength, and of lustinesse,

After his fathers death he bare him so,

That there nas none that list ben his fo,

But did him all honour and companie,

Of which this Peleus hath great envie,

Imagining, that Iason might be

Enhaunsed so, and put in such degre,

With love of lordes of his regioun,

That from his reigne he may be put adoun.

And in his wit a night compassed he

How Iason might best destroyed be,

Withouten slaunder of his compasment:

And at the last he tooke avisement,

That to send him into some ferre countre,

There as this Iason may destroyed be,

This was his wit, all made he to Iason

Great chere of looke, and of affection,

For drede least his lords it espide,

So fell it, as fame ronneth wide,

There was such tiding over all, and such loos,

That in an Isle, that called was Colcos,

Beyond Troy Eastward in the see,

That there was a Ram, that men might see,

That had a flees of gold, that shone so bright,

That no where was there such another sight,

But it was kept alway with a Dragoun,

And many other marvailes vp and doun,

And with two Buls, maked all of Bras,

That spitten fire, and much thing there was,

But this was eke the tale nathelees,

That who so would winnen thilke Flees,

He must both, or he it winnen might,

With the Buls and the Dragon fight.

And king Otes lord was of that Ile,

This Peleus bethought vpon this while,

That he his nephew Iason would exhort,

To sailen to that lond, him to disport,

And sayd, nephew, if it might bee,

That such worship might fall thee,

That thou this famous treasure might win,

And bring it my region within,

It were to me great pleasaunce and honour,

Then were I hold to quite thy labour,

And all thy costes I woll my selfe make,

And chose wt folke thou wolt with thee take,

Let see now, darste thou taken this voyage.

Iason was yong, and lustie of corage,

And vndertooke to done this like emprise,

Anon Argus his ships gan devise.

With Iason went the strong Hercules,

And many another, that he with him ches,

But who so asketh, who is with him gon,

Let him rede Argonauticon,

For he woll tell a tale long ynough.

Philoctetes anon the saile vp drough,

When the wind was good, and gan him hie

Out of his countrey, called Thessalie,

So long they sayled in the salt see,

Till in the Isle of Lemnon arrived hee,

All be this nat rehearsed of Guido,

Yet saieth Ovide in his Epistles so,

And of this Isle lady was and Quene,

The faire yong Hipsiphile the shene,

That whylom Thoas doughter was y• king.

Hipsiphile was gone in her playing,

And roming on the clevis by the see,

Vnder a banke anone esped she

Where lay the ship, that Iason gan arrive:

Of her goodnesse adoune she sendeth blive,

To weten, if that any straunge wight

With tempest thider were iblow anight,

To done him succour, as was her vsaunce,

To further en every wight, & done pleasaunc [...]

[Page] Of very bountie, and of courtesie.

This messenger adoune him gan to hie,

And found Iason and Hercules also,

That in a cogge to lond were igo,

Hem to refreshen, and to take the aire.

The morning attempre was and faire,

And in her way this messenger hem mette,

Full cunningly these lordes two he grette,

And did his message, asking hem anon

If y• they were broken, or ought wo begon,

Or had need of lodesmen or vitaile,

For succour they should nothing faile,

For it was vtterly the Queenes will.

Iason answerde meekely and still:

My lady (qd. he) thanke I hartely

Of her goodnesse, vs needeth truly

Nothing as now, but that we weary be,

And come for to play out of the see,

Till that the wind be better in our way.

This lady rometh by the cliffe to play

With her meine, endlong the strond,

And findeth this Iason and this other stond

In speaking of this thing, as I you told.

This Hercules and Iason gan behold

How that the queen it was, & faire her grete,

Anone right as they with this lady mete,

And she tooke heed, and knew by her manere,

By her array, by wordes, and by chere,

That it were gentill men of great degree,

And to the castle with her leadeth she

These strange folk, & doth hem great honour,

And asketh hem of travaile and of labour

That they have suffred in the salt see,

So that within a day two or three

She knew by the folke that in his ships be,

That it was Iason full of renomee,

And Hercules, that had the great loos,

That soughten the aventures of Colcos,

And did hem honour more than before,

And with hem dealed ever longer the more,

For they ben worthy folke withouten lees,

And namely most she spake with Hercules,

To him her hart bare, he should be

Sadde, wise, and true, of words avisee,

Withouten any other affection

Of love, or any other imagination.

This Hercules hath this Iason praised,

That to the Sunne he hath it vp raised,

That halfe so true a man there nas of love

Vnder the cope of heaven, that is above,

And he was wise, hardie, secret, and riche,

Of these iii. points, there nas none him liche,

Of freedome passed he, and lustie head,

All tho that liven, or ben dead,

Thereto so great a gentill man was he,

And of Thessalie likely king to be,

There nas no lacke, but that he was agast

To love, and for to speake shamefast,

Him had lever himselfe to murder and die,

Than that men should a lover him espie,

As would God that I had iyeve

My blood and flesh, so that I might live

With the bones, y• he had aught where a wife

For his estate, for such a lustie life

She shoulden lede with this lustie knight.

And all this was compassed on the night

Betwixt him Iason, and this Hercules,

Of these two here was a shreud lees,

To come to house vpon an innocent,

For to bedote this Queene was her entent:

And Iason is as coy as is a maid,

He looketh pitously, but naught he sayd

But freely yave he to her counsailers

Yefts great, and to her officers,

As would God that I leaser had and time,

By processe, all his wrong for to rime:

But in this house, if any false lover be,

Right as himselfe now doth, right so did he,

With faining, and with every subtill dede,

Ye get no more of me, but ye woll rede

Thoriginall, that telleth all the caas,

The sooth is this, that Iason wedded was

Vnto this queene, & tooke of her substaunce

What so him list, vnto his purveyaunce,

And vpon her begate children two,

And drough his faile, and saw her never mo:

A letter sent she him certaine,

Which were too long to writen and to saine,

And him reproveth of his great vntrouth,

And praieth him on her to have some routh,

And on his children two, she sayd him this,

That they be like of all thing iwis

To Iason, save they couth nat beguile,

And prayd God, or it were long while,

That she that had his hart ireft her fro,

Must [...]nden him vntrue also:

And that she must both her children spill,

And all tho that suffreth him his will:

And true to Iason was she all her life,

And ever kept her chast, as for his wife,

Ne never had she joy at her hart,

But died for his love of sorrowes smart.

To Colcos come is this duke Iason,

That is of love devourer and dragon,

As Matire appeteth forme alway,

And from forme to forme it passen may,

Or as a well that were bottomles,

Right so can Iason have no pees,

For to desiren through his appetite,

To done with gentlewomen his delite,

This is his lust, and his felicite,

Iason is romed forth to the citie,

That whylome cleped was Iasonicos,

That was the master toune of all Colcos,

And hath itold the cause of his comming

Vnto Otes, of that countrey king,

Praying him that he must done his assay

To get the Fleece of gold, if that he may,

Of which the king assenteth to his boone,

And doth him honour, as it is doone,

So ferforth, that his doughter and his heire,

Medea, which that was so wise and faire,

That fairer saw there never man with eie,

He made her done to Iason companie

At meat, and sitte by him in the hall.

Now was Iason a seemely man withall,

And like a Lord, and had a great renoun,

And of his looke as royall as a Lioun,

And godly of his speech, and famil lere,

And coud of love all the craft and art plenere

Withouten booke, with everiche observaunce,

And as fortune her ought a foule mischaunce,

[Page] She woxe enamoured vpon this man.

Iason (qd. she) for ought I see or can,

As of this thing, the which ye ben about,

Ye and your selfe ye put in much dout,

For who so woll this aventure atcheve,

He may nat wele asterten as I leve,

Withouten death, but I his helpe be,

But nathelesse, it is my will (qd. she)

To forthren you, so that ye shall nat die,

But turnen sound home to your Thessalie.

My right lady (qd. this Iason) tho,

That ye have of my death or my wo

Any regard, and done me this honour,

I wot well, that my might, ne my labour,

May nat deserve it my lives day,

God thanke you, there I ne can ne may,

Your man am I, and lowely you beseech

To ben my helpe, withouten more speech,

But certes for my death shall I not spare.

Tho gan this Medea to him declare

The perill of this case, fro point to point

Of his batayle, and in what desioint

He mote stonde, of which no creature

Save only she, ne might his life assure:

And shortly, right to the point for to go,

They ben accorded fully betwixt hem two,

That Iason shall her wedde, as true knight,

And terme yset to come soone at night

Vnto her chambre, and make there his othe

Vpon the goddes, that he for lefe or lothe

Ne shulde her never falsen night ne day,

To ben her husband whyle he live may,

As she that from his deth him saved here,

And her vpon at night they mete yfere,

And doth his othe, & gothe with her to bedde,

And on the morow vpward he him spedde,

For she hath taught him how he shall nat faile

The flees to winne, & stinten his bataile,

And saved him his life, and his honour,

And gate him a name, as a conquerour,

Right through ye sleight of her enchantment,

Now hath Iason the flese, & home is went

With Medea, & treasours fell great wonne,

But vnwist of her father she is gonne

To Thessalie, with duke Iason her lefe,

That afterward hath broght her to mischeife,

For as a traytour he is from her go,

And with her left yong children two,

And falsely hath betraied her, alas,

And ever in love a chefe traytour he was,

And wedded yet the thirde wife anon,

That was the doughter of king Creon,

This is the meede of loving and guerdon,

That Medea received of duke Iason

Right for her trouth, and for her kindnesse,

That loved him better than her selfe I gesse,

And left her father, and her heritage,

And of Iason this is the vassalage,

That in his dayes nas never none yfound

So salse a lover, going on the ground,

And therfore in her letter thus she said,

First when she of his falsenesse him vpbraid:

Why liked the my yellow haire to see,

More than the bounds of mine honestie?

Why liked me my youth and thy fairenesse,

And of thy tong the infinite graciousnesse?

O haddest thou in thy conquest dead ybe,

Ful mikel vntrouth had there diede with thee,

Well can Ovide her letter in verse endite.

Which were as now too long for to write.

¶The Legende of Lucrece of Rome.

NOw mote I saine thexiling of kings

Of Rome, for her horrible doings

Of the last king Tarquinius,

As saith Ovid, and Titus Liuivs,

But for that cause tell I nat this storie,

But for to praysen, and drawen in memorie

The very wife, the very Lucresse,

That for her wifehood, and her stedfastnesse,

Nat only that the painems her commend,

But that cleped is in our Legend

The great Austyn, that hath compassioun

Of this Lucrece that starfe in Rome toun,

And in what wise I woll but shortly treat,

And of this thing I touch but the great.

When Ardea besieged was about

With Romanes, yt full sterne were & stout,

Full long lay the siege, and little wroughten,

So yt they were halfe idle, as hem thoughten,

And in his play Tarquinius the yong,

Gan for to yape, for he was light of tong,

And said, that it was an idle life,

No man did there no more than his wife,

And let vs speke of wives that is best,

Praise every man his owne as him lest,

And with our speech let vs ease our hert.

A knight (that hight Collatin) vp stert,

And sayd thus, nay sir it is no nede

To trowen on the word, but on the dede:

I have a wife (qd. he) that as I trow

Is holden good of all that ever her know,

Go we to Rome to night, and we shull see.

Tarquinius answerde, that liketh mee.

To Rome they be comen, & fast hem dight

To Colatins house, and downe they light,

Tarquinius, and eke this Colatine,

The husbond knew the efters well and fine,

And full prively into the house they gone.

Nor at the gate porter was there none,

And at the chamber dore they abide:

This noble wife sate by her beds side

Discheueled, for no mallice she ne thought,

And soft wooll sayth Liuie that she wrought,

To kepe her from slouth and idlenesse,

And bad her servaunts done her businesse,

And asketh hem, what tidings heren ye?

How sayth men of the siege, how shall it be?

God would the wals were fallen adoun,

Mine husbond is too long out of this toun,

For which drede doth me sore to smert,

Right as a sword it stingeth to mine hert,

When I thinke on this or of that place,

God save my lord, I pray him for his grace:

And therwithall so tenderly she gan weepe,

And of her werke she tooke no more keepe,

But meekely she let her eyen fall,

And thilke semblant sate her well withall,

And eke her teares full of heavinesse,

Embesessed her wifely chastnesse,

Her countenaunce is to her hert digne,

For they acordeden in deed and signe,

[Page] And with that word her husbond Collatin,

Or she of him was ware, came stertling in,

And said, drede thee nat, for I am here,

And she anone vp rose, with blisfull chere,

And kissed him, as of wives is the wonne.

Tarquinius, this proud kings sonne

Conceived hath her beautie and her chere,

Her yellow haire, her bountie, & her manere,

Her hew, her words, y• she hath complained,

And by no craft her beautie was nat fained,

And caught to this lady such desire,

That in his hert he brent as any fire,

So woodly, that his wit was all forgotten,

For well thought he she should nat be gotten,

And aye the more he was in dispaire,

The more coveiteth, and thought her faire,

His blind lust was all his coveiring.

On morrow, when the bird began to sing,

Vnto the siege he commeth full prively,

And by himselfe he walketh soberly,

The image of her recording alway new,

Thus lay her hair, & thus fresh was her hew,

Thus sate, thus span, this was her chere,

Thus fair she was, and this was her manere:

All this conceit his heart hath new itake,

And as the see, with tempest all to shake,

That after when the storme is all ago,

Yet woll the water quappe a day or two,

Right so, though that her forme were absent,

The pleasaunce of her forme was present,

But nathelesse, nat pleasaunce, but delite,

Or an vnrightfull talent with dispite,

For maugre her, she shall my lemman be:

* Hap helpeth hardy man alway (qd. he)

What end that I make, it shall be so,

And girt him with his sword, and gan to go,

And he forthright, till to Rome he come,

And all alone his way that he hath nome,

Vnto the house of Colatin full right,

Doun was y• sunne, & day hath lost his light,

And in he come, vnto a privie halke,

And in the night full theefely gan he stalke,

When every wight was to his rest brought,

Ne no wight had of treason such a thought,

Whether by window, or by other gin,

With swerd ydraw, shortly he commeth in

There as she lay, this noble wife Lucresse,

And as she woke, her bedde she felt presse:

What beast is that (qd. she) that wayeth thus?

I am the kings sonne Tarquinius

(Qd. he) but and thou crie, or any noise make,

Or if thou any creature awake,

By thilke God, that formed man of live,

This swerd through thine hert shall I rive,

And therwithall vnto her throte he stert,

And set the swerd all sharpe on her hert:

No word she spake she hath no might therto,

What shall she saine, her wit is all ago,

Right as when a wolfe findeth a lamb alone,

To whom shall she complaine or make mone:

What, shall she fight with an hardy knight,

Well wote men a woman hath no might:

What, shall she crie, or how shall she astert?

That hath her by ye throte, with swerd at hert,

She asketh grace, and said all that she can.

No wolt thou nat (qd. this cruell man)

As wisely Iupiter my soule save,

I shall in thy stable slea thy knave,

And lay him in thy bed, and loud crie,

That I thee find in such avoutrie,

And thus thou shalt be dead, and also lese

Thy name, for thou shalt nat chese.

This Romans wives loveden so her name

At thilke time, and dreden so the shame,

That wt for fere of slander, & drede of death

She lost both at ones wit and breath,

And in a swough she lay, and woxe so dead,

Men mighten smite off her arme or head,

She feleth nothing, neither foule ne faire.

Tarquinius, that art a kings heire,

And shouldest as by linage and by right

Done as a lord, and a very knight,

Why hast thou done dispite to chivalrie?

Why hast thou done thy lady villanie?

Alas, of thee this was a villanous dede,

But now to the purpose, in the story I rede,

When he was gon, & this mischaunce is fall,

This lady sent after her friendes all,

Father, mother, and husbond, all ifere,

And discheveled with her haire clere,

In habite such as women vsed tho

Vnto the burying of her friends go,

She sate in hall, with a sorowfull sight,

Her friends asken what her aylen might,

And who was dead, and she sate aye weeping,

A word for shame ne may she forth out bring,

Ne vpon hem she durst nat behold,

But at the last of Tarquiny she hem told

This rufull case, and all this thing horrible,

The wo to tell were impossible

That she and all her friends make at ones,

All had folkes herts ben of stones,

It might have maked hem vpon her rew,

Her hert was so wifely and so trew,

She said, that for her gilt ne for her blame

Her husbond should nat have ye foule name,

That would she nat suffren by no way:

And they answerde all vnto her fay,

That they foryave it her, for it was right,

It was no gilt, it lay nat in her might,

And saiden her ensamples many one,

But all for naught, for thus she said anone:

Be as be may (qd. she) of forgiving,

I will nat have no forgift for nothing,

But prively she cought forth a knife,

And therwithall she raft her selfe her life,

And as she fell adowne she cast her looke,

And of her clothes yet heed she tooke,

For in her falling yet she had a care,

Least that her feet or such things lay bare,

So well she loved cleannesse, and eke trouth,

Of her had all the towne of Rome routh,

And Brutus hath by her chast blood swore,

That Tarquin should ybanished be therfore,

And all his kinne, and let the people call,

And openly the tale he told hem all,

And openly let carry her on a bere

Through all y• town, that men may see & here

The horrible deed of her oppressioun,

Ne never was there king in Rome toun

Sens thilke day, and she was holden there

A saint, and ever her day yhallowed dere,

[Page] As in her law: and thus endeth Lucresse

The noble wife, Titus beareth witnesse:

I tell it, for she was of love so trew,

Ne in her will she chaunged for no new,

And in her stable hert, sadde and kind,

That in these women men may all day find

There as they cast her hert, there it dwelleth,

For well I wote, that Christ himselfe telleth,

That in Israel, as wide as is the lond,

That so great faith in all the lond he ne fond,

As in a woman, and this is no lie,

And as for men, looke ye such tyrannie

They doen all day, assay hem who so list,

* The truest is full brothell for to trist.

¶The Legend of Ariadne of Athens.

JVdge infernall Minos, of Crete king,

Now commeth thy lot, thou commest on

the ring,

Nat for thy sake only written is this storie,

But for to clepe ayen vnto memorie,

Of Theseus the great vntrouth of love,

For which the gods of heaven above

Ben wroth, & wrath have take for thy sinne,

Be red for shame, now I thy life beginne.

Minos, that was y• mighty king of Crete,

That had an hundred cities strong and grete,

To schoole hath sent his sonne Androgeus

To Athens, of the which it happed thus,

That he was slaine, learning Phylosophie,

Right in that citie, nat but for envie.

The great Minos, of the which I speke,

His sonnes death is come for to wreke,

Alcathoe he besieged hard and long,

But nathelesse, the walles be so strong,

And Nisus, that was king of that cite,

So chivalrous, that little dredeth he,

Of Minos or his hoast tooke he no cure,

Till on a day befell an aventure,

That Nisus doughter stood vpon the wall,

And of the siege saw the manner all:

So happed it, that at scarmishing,

She cast her hert vpon Minos the king,

For his beautie, and his chevalrie,

So sore, that she wende for to die.

And shortly of this processe for to pace,

She made Minos winnen thilke place,

So that the citie was all at his will,

To saven whom him list, or els spill,

But wickedly he quit her kindnesse,

And let her drench in sorrow and distresse,

Nere that the gods had of her pite,

But that tale were too long as now for me,

Athenes wan this king Minos also,

As Alcathoe, and other townes mo,

And this the effect, that Minos hath so driven

Hem of Athenes, that they mote him yeven

Fro yere to yere her owne children dere

For to be slaine, as ye shall after here.

This Minos hath a monster, a wicked best,

That was so cruell, that without areest,

When y• a man was brought into his presence,

He would him eat, there helpeth no defence:

And every third yeare withouten dout,

They casten lotte, as it came about,

On rich and poore, he must his sonne take,

And of his childe he must present make

To Minos, to save him or to spill,

Or let his beast devour him at his will.

And this hath Minos done right in dispite,

To wreke his sonne was set all his delite,

And make hem of Athenes his thrall

Fro yere to yere, while he liven shall.

And home he saileth when this toun is won,

This wicked custome is so long yron,

Till of Athenes king Egeus

Mote senden his owne sonne Theseus,

Sens that the lotte is fallen him vpon

To ben devoured, for grace is there non.

And forth is ladde this wofull yong knight

Vnto ye country of king Minos full of might,

And in a prison fettred fast is he,

Till the time he should yfreten be.

Well maist thou wepe, O wofull Theseus,

That art a kings sonne, and damned thus,

Me thinketh this, that thou art depe yhold

To whom that saved thee fro cares cold,

And now if any woman helpe thee,

Well oughtest thou her servaunt for to bee,

And ben her true lover yere by yere,

But now to come ayen to my matere.

The toure, there this Theseus is throw,

Down in the bottome derk, and wonder low,

Was joyning to the wall of a foreine,

Longing vnto the doughtren tweine

Of Minos that in her chambers grete

Dwelten above the maister strete

Of the towne, in joy and in sollas:

Not I nat how it happed percaas,

As Theseus complained him by night,

The kings doughter, that Ariadne hight,

And eke her suster Phedra, herden all

His complaint, as they stood on the wall,

And looked vpon the bright moone,

Hem list nat to go to bed so soone:

And of his wo they had compassion,

A kings sonne to be in such prison,

And ben devoured, thought hem great pite:

Then Ariadne spake to her suster free,

And said: Phedra lefe suster dere,

This wofull lords sonne may ye nat here,

How pitously he complaineth his kin,

And eke his poore estate that he is in?

And guiltlesse, certes now it is routh,

And if ye woll assent, by my trouth,

He shall ben holpen, how so that we do.

Phedra answerde, iwis me is as wo

For him, as ever I was for any man,

And to his helpe the best rede I can,

Is, that we done the gailer prively

To come and speke with vs hastely,

And done this wofull man with him to come,

For if he may this monster overcome,

Then were he quit, there is none other boot,

Let vs well tast him at his hart root,

That if so be that he a weapon have,

Where that he his life dare kepe or save,

Fighten with this fiend, and him defend,

For in the prison, here as he shall discend,

Ye wote well, that the beast is in a place

That is not derke, & hath roume & eke space

[Page] To welde an axe, or swerde, staffe, or knife,

So that me thinketh he should save his life,

If that he be a man, he shall do so:

And we shall make him balles eke also

Of were and towe, that when he gapeth fast,

Into the beestes throte he shall hem cast,

To sleke his honger, and encomber his teeth,

And right anon when that Theseus seeth

The beest acheked, he shall on him leepe

To sleen him, or they comen more to heepe:

This we apen shal the gailer, or that tide,

Full prively within the prison hide:

And for the house is crencled to and fro,

And hath so queint waies for to go,

For it is shapen as the mase is wrought,

Thereto have I a remedy in my thought,

That by a clewe of twine, as he hath gon,

The same way he may returne anon,

Folowing alway the threde, as he hath come,

And when this beest is overcome,

Then may he flien away out of this stede,

And eke the gailer may he with him lede,

And him avaunce at home in his countre,

Sens that so great a Lords sonne is he.

This is my rede, if that ye dare it take.

What shold I lenger sermon of it make,

The gailer cometh, and with him Theseus,

When these things ben accorded thus.

Downe sate Theseus vpon his knee,

The right lady of my life (qd. he)

I sorowfull man, ydamned to the deth:

Fro you, whiles that me lasteth breth,

I wol nat twinne, after this aventure,

But in your service, thus I woll endure,

That as a wretch vnknow, I woll you serve

Forevermore, till that mine hert sterve,

Forsake I woll at home mine heritage,

And as I said, ben of your court a page,

If that ye vouchsafe that in this place,

Ye graunt me to have soche a grace,

That I may have nat but my meate & drinke,

And for my sustinaunce yet woll I swinke,

Right as you list, that Minos ne no wight.

Sens that he saw me never with eyen sight,

Ne no man els shall me espie,

So slily, and so well I shal me gie,

And me so wel disfigure, and so low,

That in this world there shall no man me know,

To have my life, and to have presence

Of you, that done to me this excellence,

And to my father shall I sende here,

This worthy man, that is your gaylere,

And him so guerdon, that he shall well be

One of the greatest men of my countre,

And if I durst saine, my lady bright,

I am a kings sonne and eke a knight

As wold God, if that it might be,

Ye weren in my countrey all thre,

And I with you, to beare you companie,

Then shuld ye sene if that I thereof lie,

And if that I profer you in lowe manere,

To ben your page, and serven you right here,

But I you serve as lowly in that place,

I pray to Mars to yeve me soch grace,

That shames death on me there mote fall,

And death and poverte to my frends all,

And that my sprite by night mote go,

After my death, and walke to and fro,

That I mote of traitour have a name,

For which my sprit mote go, to do me shame,

And if I clayme ever other degree,

But ye vouchsafe to yeve it mee,

As I have said, of shames death I dey,

And mercy Lady, I can naught els sey.

A semely knight was this Theseus to see,

And yonge, but of twenty yere and three,

But who so had ysene his countenance,

He wold have wept, for routh of his penance:

For which this Ariadne in this manere,

Answerde to his profre and to his chere.

A kings sonne, and eke a knight (qd. she)

Go ben my servaunt in so lowe degree,

God shilde it, for the shame of women all,

And lene me never soch a case befall,

And sende you grace, and sleight of hert also

You to defend, & knightly to sleen your foe,

And lene hereafter I may you find

To me, and to my suster here so kind,

That I ne repent nat to yeve you life,

Yet were it better I were your wife,

Sith ye ben as gentill borne as I,

And have a realme nat but fast by,

Than that I suffred your gentillesse to sterve,

Or that I let you as a page serve,

It is no profite, as vnto your kinrede,

But what is that, y• man woll nat do for dred,

And to my suster sith that it is so,

That she mote gone with me, if that I go,

Or els suffre death as wel as I,

That ye vnto your sonne as trewly,

Done her be wedded, at your home coming,

This is the finall end of all this thing,

Ye swere it here, vpon all that may be sworne?

Ye Lady mine (qd. he) or els to torne

Mote I be with the Minotaure or to morow,

And haveth here of mine hert blood to borow,

If that ye woll, if I had knife or speare,

I would it letten out, and thereon sweare,

For then at erste, I wot ye would me leve,

By Mars, that is chiefe of my beleve,

So that I might liven, and nat faile

To morow for to taken my bataile,

I nolde never fro this place flie,

Till that ye should the very profe se,

For now, if that the soth I shall you say,

I have loved you full many a day,

Though ye ne wist nat, in my countre,

And aldermost desired you to see,

Of any earthly living creature,

Vpon my truth I sweare and you assure,

This seven yere I have your servaunt be,

Now have I you, and also have ye me,

My dere hert, of Athenes duchesse.

This Lady smileth at his stedfastnesse,

And at his hartely wordes, and at his chere,

And to her luster said in this manere:

And sothly suster mine (qd. she)

Now be we duchesses both I and ye,

And sikerde to the regals of Athenes,

And both hereafter likely to be Queenes,

And saved fro his death a kings sonne,

As ever of gentill women is the wonne,

[Page] To save a gentil man, enforth her might,

In honest cause, and namely in his right,

Me thinketh no wight ought vs her of blame,

Ne bearen vs therefore an yvel name,

And shortly of this mater for to make,

This Theseus of her hath leave ytake,

And every point was performed in dede,

As ye have in this covenaunt herde me rede,

His wepen, his clewe, his thing yt I have said,

Was by the gailer in the house ylaid,

There as the Minotaure hath his dwelling,

Right fast by the dore, at his entring,

And Theseus is lad vnto his dethe,

And forth vnto this Minotaure he gethe,

And by the teaching of this Adriane,

He overcame this beest, and was his bane,

And out he cometh by the clewe againe

Ful prively, when he this beest hath slaine,

And the gailer gotten hath a barge,

And of his wives treasure gan it charge

And toke his wife, and eke her suster free,

And by the gailer, and with hem al three

Is stole away out of the lond by night,

And to the countre of Enupie him dight,

There as he had a frende of his knowing,

There feesten they, there daunsen they & sing,

And in his armes hath this Adriane,

That of the beest hath kept him fro his bane,

And get him there a noble barge anone,

And of his countrey folke a ful great wone,

And taketh his leave, & homeward saileth hee,

And in an yle, amidde the wilde see,

There as there dwelt creature none,

Save wild beestes, and that full many one,

He made his shippe a londe for to sette,

And in that yle halfe a day he lett e.

And said, that on the londe he must him rest,

His mariners have done right as him lest.

And for to tell shortly in this caas,

When Ariadne his wife a slepe was,

For that her suster fayrer was than she,

He taketh her in his honde, & forth goeth he

To ship, and as a traitour stale away,

While that this Ariadne a slepe lay,

And to his countrey warde he sailed blive,

A twenty divel way, the winde him drive.

And found his father drenched in the see,

Me liste no more to speke of him parde,

These false lovers, poison be her bane.

But I wol turne againe to Adriane,

That is with slepe for werinesse ytake,

Ful sorowfully her hert may awake.

Alas, for thee mine herte hath pite,

Right in the dawning awaketh she,

And gropeth in the bed, & fond right nought:

Alas (qd. she) that ever I was wrought,

I am betrayed, and her heere to rent,

And to the stronde barefote fast she went,

And cried: Theseus mine hert swete,

Where he ye, that I may nat with you mete?

And might thus with beestes ben yslaine.

The halow rockes answerde her againe,

No man she saw, and yet shone the moone,

And hie vpon a rocke she went soone,

And sawe his barge sayling in the see,

Cold woxe her hert, and right thus said she:

Meker then ye find I the beestes wilde,

Hath he nat sinne, that he her thus begilde,

She cried, O turne againe for routhe & sinne,

Thy barge hath nat all his meine in,

Her kerchefe on a pole sticked she,

Ascaunce he should it well yse,

And him remembre that she was behind,

And turne againe, & on the stronde her find.

But all for naught, his way he is gone,

And downe she fel a swowne on a stone,

And vp she riste, and kissed in all her care

The steppes of his feete, there he hath fare,

And to her bed right thus she speketh tho:

Thou bed (qd. she) that hast received two,

Thou shalt answere of two, and not of one,

Where is the greater parte, away gone.

Alas, wher shal I wretched wight become?

For though so be that bote none here come,

Home to my countrey dare I nat for drede,

I can my selfe in this case nat rede.

What should I tell more her complaining,

It is so long, it were an heavy thing?

In her epistle, Naso telleth all,

But shortly to the end tell I shall,

The goddes have her holpen for pite,

And in the signe of Taurus men may see,

The stones of her crowne shine clere,

I will no more speake of this matere,

But thus this false lover can begile

His trew love, the divel quite him his wile.

¶The Legende of Philomene.

THou yever of ye formes yt hast wrought

The fayre world, & bare it in thy thought

Eternally, er thou thy werke began,

Why madest thou vnto the slaunder of man,

Or all be that it was not thy doing,

As for that end to make soch a thing,

Why suffredest thou that Tereus was bore,

That is in love so false and so forswore,

That fro this world vp to the first heven,

Corrumpeth, when yt folke his name neven?

And as to me, so grisly was his dede,

That when that I this foule storie rede,

Mine iyen wexen foule, and sore also,

Yet lasteth the venime of so longe ago,

That enfecteth him that wolde behold

The storie of Tereus, of which I told,

Of Trace was he lord, and kin to Marte

The cruel God that stante with blody darte,

And wedded had he with blisfull chere

King Pandionis faire doughter dere,

That hight Progne, floure of her countre,

Though Iuno list not at the feast be,

Ne Himeneus, that god of Wedding is,

But at the feast ready ben iwis,

The furies three, with all her mortall bronde,

The Oule all night above the balkes wonde,

That Prophete is of wo, and of mischaunce.

This revell, full of song, and full of daunce,

Last a fourtenight, or little lasse,

But shortly of this storie for to passe,

(For I am weary of him for to tell)

Five yere his wife and he togither dwell,

[Page] Till on a day she gan so sore long

To seene her suster, that she saw not long,

That for desire she nist what to say,

But to her husbond gan she for to pray

For Gods love, that she mote ones gone

Her suster for to seene, and come ayen anone,

Or els but she mote to her wend,

She praied him that he would after her send:

And this was day by day all her prayere,

With al himblesse of wifehood, word & chere.

This Tereus let make his ships yare,

And into Grece himselfe is forth ifare,

Vnto his father in law gan he pray,

To vouchsafe, that for a moneth or tway,

That Philomene his wives suster might

On Progne his wife but ones have a sight,

And she shall come to you again anon

My selfe with her, I will both come and gon,

And as my herts life I will her kepe.

This old Pandion, this king gan wepe

For tendernesse of hert, for to leve

His doughter gon, and for to yeve her leve,

Of all this world he loved nothing so,

But at the last, leave hath she to go,

For Philomene with salt teares eke

Gan of her father grace to beseke,

To seene her suster, that her longeth so,

And him enbraceth, with her armes two,

And there also yong and faire was she,

That when that Tereus saw her beaute,

And of array, that there was none her liche,

And yet of beautie was she to so riche,

He cast his fierie hert vpon her so,

That he woll have her, how so that it go,

And with his wiles kneled, and so praied,

Till at the last Pandion thus saied.

Now sonne (qd. he) that art to me so dere,

I thee betake my yong doughter dere,

That beareth the key of all mine herts life,

And grete well my doughter, and thy wife,

And yeve her leave sometime for to pley,

That she may seen me ones or I deie.

And sothly he hath made him riche feast,

And to his folke, the most and eke the least,

That with him came: & yave him yefts great,

And him conveieth through the master streat

Of Athenes, and to the sea him brought,

And tourneth home, no malice he ne thought.

The Ores pulleth forth the vessell fast,

And into Trace arriveth at the last,

And vp in to a Forest he her led,

And to a cave prively he him sped,

And in this darke cave, if her lest

Or list nought, he bad her for to rest,

Of which her herte agrose, and saied thus:

Where is my suster, brother Tereus?

And therewithall she wept tenderly,

And quoke for feare, pale and pitiously,

Right as y• lambe, that of y• Wolfe is bitten,

Or as y• Culver, that of the Egle is smitten,

And is out of his claves forth escaped,

Yet it is aferde, and a waped,

Lest it be hent eftsones: so sate sehe,

But vtterly it may none other be,

By force hath this traitour done a deede,

That he hath reft her of her maidenhede,

Maugre her head, by strength & by his might.

Lo here a deede of men, and that aright.

She crieth suster, with full loude steven,

And father dere helpe me God in heven:

All helpeth not, and yet this false thefe,

Hath done this Lady yet a more mischefe,

For feare lest she should his shame crie,

And done him openly a villanie,

And with his sweard her tong of kerfe he,

And in a Castell made her for to be,

Full prively in prison evermore,

And kept her to her vsage and to his store,

So that she ne might never more astarte.

O sely Philomene, wo is in thine hart,

Huge been thy sorowes, and wonder smart,

God wreke thee, and sende thee thy bone,

Now is time I make an end sone.

This Tereus is to his wife icome,

And in his armes hath his wife inome,

And pitiously he wept, and shoke his hedde,

And swore her, that he found her suster dedde,

For which this selie Progne hath soch wo,

That nigh her sorowfull hert brake a two.

And thus in teares let I Progne dwell,

And of her suster forth I woll you tell.

This wofull Lady ilearned had in youth,

So that she worken and enbrauden couth,

And weaven in stole the rade vore,

As it of women hath be woved yore,

And sothly for to saine, she hath her fill

Of meate and drinke, of clothing at her will,

And couthe eke rede well inough and endite,

But with a penne she could not write,

But letters can she weave to and fro,

So that by the yere was all ago,

She had woven in a stames large,

How she was brought fro Athens in a barge,

And in a cave how that she was brought,

And all the thing that Tereus wrought,

She wave it wel, and wrote the storie above,

How she was served for her susters love,

And to a man a ring she yave anon,

And praied him by signes for to gon

Vnto the queene, and bearen her that clothe,

And by signe swore many an othe,

She should him yeve what she getten might.

This man anon vnto the quene him dight,

And toke it her, and all the maner told,

And when y• Progne hath this thing behold,

No worde she spake, for sorow & eke for rage,

But fained her to gon on pilgrimage

To Baccus remple, and in a little stound

Her dombe suster sitting hath she found

Weeping in the castell her selfe alone,

Alas the wo, constraint, and the mone

That Progne vpon her dombe suster maketh,

In armes everich of hem other taketh,

And thus I let hem in her sorow dwell,

The remnaunt is no charge to tell,

For this is all and some, thus was she served

That never agilt, ne deserved

Vnto this cruell man, that she of wist

Ye may beware of men if that you list,

* For all be that he woll not for shame

Doen as Tereus, to lese his name,

[Page] Ne serve you as a murtherer or a knave,

Full little while shull ye trewe him have,

That wol I sain, al were he now my brother,

But it so be that he may have another.

¶The Legende of Phillis.

BY prove, as wel as by aucthorite,

That wicked fruicte commeth of a wicked tree,

That may ye find, if that it liketh you,

But for this end, I speake this as now,

To tell you of false Demophon,

In love a falser heard I never non,

But it were his father Theseus,

God for his grace fro soch one kepe vs,

Thus these women praied, that it here,

Now to the effect tourne I of my matere.

Destroied is of Troie the Citee,

This Demopon came sayling in the see

Toward Athenes, to his paleis large,

With him came many a ship, & many a barge

Full of folke, of which full many one

Is wounded sore, and sicke, and wo begone,

And they have at the siege long ilaine,

Behind him came a winde, and eke a raine,

That shofe so sore, his saile might not stonde,

Him were lever than all the world a londe,

So hunteth him the tempest to and fro,

So darke it was, he could no where go,

And with a wave brusten was his stere,

His ship was rent so lowe, in such manere,

That Carpenter could it not amende,

The see by night as any Torche brende,

For wood, and posseth him vp and doun,

Till Neptune hath of him compassioun,

And Thetis, Chorus, Triton, and they all,

And maden him vp a londe to fall,

Wherof that Phillis Lady was and Queene,

Lycurgus doughter, fairer vnto seene

Than is the floure again the bright Sonne,

Vnneth is Demophon to londe iwonne,

Weake and eke werie, and his folke forpined

Of werinesse, and also enfamined,

And to the death he was almost idriven,

His wise folke counsaile have him yeven,

To seken helpe and succour of the Queene,

And loken what his grace might bene,

And maken in that lande some chevesaunce,

And kepen him fro wo, and fro mischaunce,

For sicke he was, and almost at the death,

Vnneth might he speake, or draw breath,

And lieth in Rhodopeia him for to rest,

When he may walk, him thought it was best

Vnto the countrey to seeken for succour,

Men knew him wele, and did him honour,

For at Athenes Duke and Lord was he,

As Theseus his father hath ibe,

That in his time was great of renoun,

No man so great in all his regioun,

And like his father of face and of stature,

And false of love, it came him of nature,

As doth the Foxe Renarde, the Foxes sonne,

Of kind he could his old father wonne

Without lore, as can a Drake swimme

When it is caught, and caried to the brimme:

This honorable queen Phillis doth him chere,

Her liketh well his sporte and his manere,

But I am agroted here beforne,

To write of hem that in love been forsworne,

And eke to haste me in my Legende,

Which to performe, God me grace sende,

Therfore I passe shortly in this wise,

Ye have well heard of Theseus the gise,

In the betraiyng of faire Adriane,

That of her pite kept him fro his bane,

At short wordes, right so Demophon,

The same way, and the same pathe hath gon

That did his false father Theseus,

For vnto Phillis hath he sworne thus,

To wedden her, and her his trouth plight,

And piked of her all the good he might,

When he was hole & sound, and had his rest,

And doth with Phillis what so that him lest,

As well I could, if that me list so,

Tellen all his doing to and fro.

He sayd to his countrey mote him saile,

For there he would her wedding apparaile,

As fill to her honour, and his also,

And openly he tooke his leave tho,

And to her swore he would not sojourne,

But in a month again he would retourne,

And in that londe let make his ordinaunce,

As very Lorde, and tooke the obeisaunce,

Well and humbly, and his shippes dight,

And home he goeth the next way he might,

For vnto Phillis yet came he nought,

And that hath she so harde and sore ibought,

Alas, as the storie doth vs record,

She was her owne death with a corde,

When that she saw y• Demophon her traied.

But first wrote she to him, & fast him praied

He would come, and deliver her of pain,

As I rehearse shall a worde or twain,

Me liste not vouchsafe on him to swinke,

Dispenden on him a penne full of ynke,

For false in love was he, right as his sire,

The Devill set her soules both on a fire,

But of the letter of Phillis woll I write,

A worde or twain, although it be but lite.

Thine hostesse (qd. she) O Demophon,

Thy Phillis, which that is so wo begon,

Of Rhodopeie, vpon you mote complain,

Over the terme set betwixt vs twain,

That ye ne holden forward, as ye sayd:

Your ancre, which ye in our haven layd,

Hight vs, that ye would comen out of doubt,

Or that the Moone ones went about,

But times fower, y• Moone hath hid her face

Sens thilke day ye went fro this place,

And fower times light the world again,

But for all that, yet shall I sothly sain,

Yet hath the streme of Scython not brought

From Athens the ship, yet came it nought,

And if that ye the terme reken would,

As I or other true lovers doe should,

I plain not (God wot) before my day.

But al her letter writen I ne may,

By order, for it were to me a charge,

Her letter was right long, and therto large,

But here and there, in rime I have it layd

There as me thought that she hath wel sayd.

[Page] She sayd, the sailes cometh not again,

Ne to the worde, there nis no [...]ey certain,

But I wot why ye come not (qd. she)

For I was of my love to you so fre,

And of the Goddes that ye have swore,

That her vengeaunce fall on you therfore,

Ye be not suffisaunt to beare the pain,

To moche trusted I, well may I sain,

Vpon your linage, and your faire tong,

And on your teares falsly out wrong,

How coud ye wepe so by craft? qd. she)

May there soche teares fained be?

Now certes, if ye would have in memory,

It ought be to you but little glory,

To have a selie maide thus betrayed,

To God (qd. she) pray I, and oft have prayed,

That it be now the greatest price of all,

And most honour, that ever you shall befall,

And when thine old aunceters painted bee,

In which men may her worthinesse see,

Then pray I God, thou painted be also,

That folke may reden, forth by as they go.

Lo this is he, that with his flattery

Betraied hath, and done her villany,

That was his true love, in thought & dede.

But sothly of o point yet may they rede,

That ye been like your father, as in this,

For he begiled Ariadne iwis,

With such an arte, and such subtelte,

As thou thy selves hast begiled me:

As in that poinct, although it be not feire

Thou folowest certain, and art his heire.

But sens thus sinfully ye me begile,

My body mote ye sene, within a while

Right in the haven of Athenes fleeting,

Withouten Sepulture and buriyng,

Though ye been harder then is any stone.

And when this letter was forth sent anone,

And knew how brotell and how fals he was,

She for dispaire fordid her selfe, alas,

Such sorow hath she, for she beset her so.

Beware ye women of your subtill fo,

Sens yet this day men may ensample se,

And trusteth now in love no man but me.

¶The Legende of Hypermestre.

IN Grecen whilom were brethren two,

Of which that one was called Danao,

That many a son hath of his body wonne,

As soch false lovers ofte conne.

Emong his sonnes all there was one,

That aldermost he loved of everychone,

And when this child was borne, this Danao

Shope him a name, and called him Lino,

That other brother called was Egiste,

That was of love as false as ever him liste,

And many a daughter gate he in his life,

Of which he gate vpon his right wife,

A doughter dere, and did her for to call,

Hypermestra, yongest of hem all,

The which child of her nativite,

To all good thewes borne was she,

As liked to the Goddes or she was borne,

That of the shefe she should be the corne,

The werdes that we clepen destine,

Hath shapen her, that she must needes be

Pitous, sad, wise, true as stele,

And to this woman it accordeth wele,

For though y• Venus yave her great beaute,

With Iupiter compowned so was she,

That conscience, trouth, and drede of shame,

And of her wifehode for to kepe her name,

This thought her was felicite as here,

And reed Mars, was that time of the yere

So feble, that his malice is him raft,

Repressed hath Venus his cruell craft,

And what with Venus, and other oppression

Of houses, Mars his venime is a don,

That Hypermestre dare not handle a knife,

In malice, though she should lese her life,

But nathelesse, as heaven gan tho turne,

Two bad aspectes hath she of Saturne,

That made her to die in prison,

And I shall after make mencion,

Of Danao and Cgistes also,

And though so be y• they were brethren two,

For thilke tyme nas spared no linage,

It liked hem to maken mariage

Betwixt Hypermestre, and him Lino,

And casten soch a day it shall be so,

And full accorded was it vtterly,

The aray is wrought, the tyme is fast by,

And thus Lino hath of his fathers brother,

The doughter wedded, and ech of hem hath other,

The torches brennen, & ye lamps bright

The Sacrifice been full ready dight,

Thensence out of the fire reketh soote,

The floure, the leefe, is rent vp by the roote,

To maken garlandes and crounes hie,

Full is the place of sound of Minstralcie,

Of songes amourous of mariage,

As thilke tyme was the plain vsage,

And this was in the paleis of Egiste,

That in his hous was lord, right as him liste

And thus that day they driven to an end,

The frendes taken leve, & home they wend,

The night is come, the bride shall go to bed,

Egiste to his chamber fast him sped,

And prively let his doughter call,

When that the house voided was of hem all,

He looketh on his doughter with glad chere,

And to her spake, as ye shall after here.

My right doughter, tresour of mine hert,

Sens first that day, y• shapen was my shert,

Or by the fatall suster had my dome,

So nie mine hert never thing ne come,

As thou Hypermestre, doughter dere,

Take hede what thy father sayth thee here,

* And werke after thy wiser ever mo,

For alderfirst doughter I love thee so,

That all the world to me nis halfe so lefe,

Ne nolde rede thee to thy mischefe,

For all the good vnder the cold Mone,

And what I meane, it shall be said right sone,

With protestacion, as saine these wise,

That but thou doe, as I shall thee devise,

Thou shalt be ded by him y• al hath wrought,

At short wordes thou ne scapest nought

Out of my paleis, or that thou be deed,

But thou consent, and werke after my reed,

[Page] Take this to the fearfull conclusioun.

This Hypermestre cast her iyen doun,

And quoke as doth the leefe of ashe grene,

Deed wext her hew, and like ashen to sene,

And sayd: Lord and father all your will,

After my might, God wote I will fulfill,

So it be to me no confusion.

I nill (qd. he) have none excepcion,

And out he caught a knife, as rasour kene,

Hide this (qd. he) that it be not isene,

And when thine housbond is to bed go,

While that he slepeth cut his throte atwo,

For in my dreme it is warned me,

How that my nevewe shall my bane be,

But which I not, wherfore I woll be siker,

If thou say nay, we two shall have a biker,

As I have sayd, by him that I have sworn.

This Hipermestre hath nigh her wit forlorn,

And for to passen harmelesse out of that place,

She graunted him, ther was none other grace:

And withall a costrell taketh he tho

And sayd, hereof a draught or two,

Yeve him drinke, when he goeth to rest,

And he shal slepe as long as ever thee lest,

The narcotikes and apies been so strong,

And go thy way, lest that him thinke to long.

Out cometh the bride, & with full sobre chere,

As is of maidens oft the manere,

To chamber brought, with revel & with song,

And shortly, leste this tale be to long,

This Lino and she beth brought to bed,

And every wight out at the doore him sped,

The night is wasted, and he fell aslepe,

Full tenderly beginneth she to weepe,

She rist her vp, and dredfully she quaketh,

As doth the braunch, that Zephirus shaketh,

And husht were all in Aragone that citee,

As colde as any Frost now wexeth shee,

For pite by the herte strained her so,

And drede of death doth her so moche wo,

That thrise doune she fill, in soche a were,

She riste her vp, & stakereth here and there,

And on her hands fast looketh she,

Alas, shall mine hands bloudie be,

I am maide, and as by my nature,

And by my semblaunt, and by my vesture,

Mine hands been not shapen for a knife,

As for to reve no man fro his life,

What Devill have I with the knife to do?

And shall I have my throte corve a two?

Then shall I blede alas, and be shende,

And nedes this thing mote have an ende,

Or he or I mote nedes lese our life,

Now certes (qd. she) sens I am his wife,

And hath my faith, yet is it bette for me

For to be dedde, in wifely honeste,

Than be a traitour, living in my shame,

Be as be may, for earnest or for game,

He shall awake, and rise and go his way

Out at this gutter er that it be day:

And wept full tenderly vpon his face,

And in her armes gan him to embrace,

And him she joggeth, and awaketh soft,

And at the window lepe he fro the loft,

When she hath warned him, & done him bote

This Lino swift was, and light of foote,

And from her ran, a full good paas.

This selie woman is so weake, alas

And helplesse, so that er she ferre went,

Her cruell father did her for to hent,

Alas Lino, why art thou so vnkind,

Why ne hast thou remembred in thy mind,

And taken her, and led her forth with thee,

For when she saw that gone away was hee,

And that she might not so fast go,

Ne folowen him, she sate doune right tho,

Vntill she was caught, and fettred in prison

This tale is sayd for this conclusion.

¶Here endeth the Legende of good Women.

¶A goodly Ballade of Chaucer.

MOther of norture, best beloved of all,

And freshe floure, to whom good thrift God sende,

Your childe, if it luste you me so to call,

All be I vnable my selfe so to pretende,

To your discrecion I recommende

Mine herte and al, with every circumstaunce,

All wholly to be vnder your governaunce.

Most desire I, and have, and ever shal,

Thing, which might your herts ease amend:

Have me excused, my power is but small,

Nathelesse of right ye ought to commend

My good will, which faine would entend

To do you service, for all my suffisaunce

Is holly to be vnder your governaunce.

Meulx vn, in hert, which never shall apall,

Aie freshe and new, and right glad to dispend

My time in your service, what so befall,

Beseching your excellence to defend

My simplenesse, if ignoraunce offend

In any wise, sith that mine affiaunce,

Is holly to been vnder your governaunce.

Daisie of light, very ground of comfort,

The Sunnes doughter (ye hight) as I rede,

For when he Westreth, farwell your disport,

By your nature anone right for pure drede,

Of the rude night, yt with his boistous wede

Of darkenesse, shadoweth our emispere,

Then closen ye, my lives Ladie dere.

Dauning the day, to his kind resort

And Phebus your Father, with his streames rede,

Adorneth the morrow, consuming the sort

Of mistie cloudes, that woulden overlede

True humble herts, with her mistie hede,

Nere comfort a daies, when iyen clere,

Disclose and sprede my lives Ladie dere.

* Ie vouldray: but great God disposeth

And maketh casuel by his providence,

Soch thing, as mans frele wit purposeth,

All for the best, if that your conscience

Not grutche it, but in humble pacience

* It receive: for God saith without fable,

A faithful hert ever is acceptable.

[Page]

Cautels who so vseth gladly, gloseth,

To eschewe soch it is right high prudence,

What ye sayd ones, mine hart opposeth,

That my writing yapes in your absence,

Pleased you moch better than my presence:

Yet can I more, ye be not excusable,

A faithfull harte ever is acceptable.

Quaketh my penne, my spirit supposeth,

That in my writing ye find woll some offence,

Min hert welkneth thus sone, anon it riseth,

Now hotte, now colde, and eft in feruence:

That misse is, is caused of negligence,

And not of malice, therefore beth merciable,

A faithfull harte ever is acceptable.

¶Lenuoye.

Forth complaint, forth lacking eloquence,

Forth little letter of enditing lame,

I have besought my ladies Sapience,

Of thy behalfe, to accept in game,

Thine inabilitie, doe thou the same:

Abide, have more yet: Ie serve Iouesse,

Now forth, I close thee in holy Venus name,

Thee shall vnclose my harts governeresse.

Boecius de Consolatione Philosophiae.
In this Book are handled high and hard obscure Points, viz. The purveyance of God; The force of Destiny; The freedom of our Wills; and the infallible Prescience of the Almighty; and that the Contemplation of God himself is our Summum bonunt.

Carmina qui quondam studio florenti peregi Flebilis heu moestos coger inire modos.

ALas, I weeping am constrained to begin verse of sorrowful matter, y• whilom in florishing studie made delitable ditees. For lo, rending Muses of Poets, enditen to me things to be written, and drerie teates. At laste no drede ne might overcome tho muses, that they ne werren fellowes, and folowden my way, that is to say: when I was exiled, they that weren of my youth, whilom weelful and grene, comforten now sorowful wierdes of me old man: for elde is commen unwarely vpon me, hasted by the harmes that I have, and sorrow hath commaunded his age to be in me. Heeres hore aren shad overtimeliche vpon my head: and the stacke skinne trembleth of mine empted body. Thilke death of menne is weleful, y• ne commeth not in yeres that be swet, but commeth to wretches often y [...]leped: Alas, alas, with how deafe an eare death cruell turneth away from wretches, and [...]aieth for to close weepying iyen. While Fortune vnfaithfull, fauoured me with light goodes, the sorowful houre, that is to say, y• death, had almost dreint mine hedde: but now for Fortune cloudie, hath chaunged her deceiueable chere to meward, mine vnpitous life draweth along vngreable dwellings. O ye my frends, what, or whereto auaunted ye me to been wilfull? For he that hath fallen, stode in no stedfast degree.

Haec dum mecum tacitus ipse reputarem, querimoniamque lacrimabilem stili Officio designarem; astitisse mihi supra verticem visa est mulie [...] reverendi admodum vultus, oculis ardentibus, & ultra communem, &c.

IN the mean while, that I stil recorded these thynges with my self, and marked my wepely complainte, with office of poinctell: I saugh stondyng abouen the hight of mine hed a woman of full great reuerence, by semblant. Her iyen brennyng & clere, seyng ouer y• common might of men, with a liuely colour, & with soch vigour & strength y• it ne might not been nempned, all were it so y• she were full of so great age, that menne woulden not trowen in no manere that she were of our elde.

The stature of her was of doutous iudgement for sometime she constrained & shronke her seluen, like to y• common measure of men: And sometime it seemed, that she touched y• heaven, with ye hight of her hedde. And when she houe her hedde higher, she perced ye selfe heauen so that the sight of men looking was in idell: her clothes were maked of right delie thredes, & subtell craft of per durable mattier. The which clothes shee had wouen with her owne honds, as I knew well after, by her selfe declaring, & shewing to me the beauty: The which clothes a darkenesse of a forleten and dispised elde had dusked and darked, as it is wonte to darke by smoked Images.

In the netherest hemme or border of these clothes, men redde iwouen therein, a Grekish A. that signifieth the life Actiue: & aboue that letter, in y• hiest bordure, a Grekish C. y• signifieth the lyfe Contemplatife. And betwene these two letters, there were seen degrees nobly wrought in maner of ladders, by which degrees men might climben from the netherest letter to ye vpperest: nathelesse, handes of some men hadden kerue that cloth by violence or by strength, & eueriche man of hem had borne away such peces as he might getten. And forsothe this foresaid woman bare small bookes in her right hand, & in her left hand she bare a Scepter. And when she sawe these Poeticall Muses approching about my bed, and endityng wordes to my wepinges, she was a little amoued, & glowe o with cruell iyen. Who (qd. she) hath suffred approchen to this sicke man, these commen strompets, of which is the place that men callen Theatre, the which onely ne asswagen not his sorrowes [Page] with remedies, but they would feden and norish him with swete venime? Forsoth, that been tho that with thornes, & prickings of talentes of affections, which that been nothing fructuous nor profitable, distroyen the Come, plentuous of fruictes of reason. For they holden hartes of men in vsage, but they ne deliuer no folke fro malady. But if y• Muses had withdrawen fro me with your flatteries, any an vnconnyng & vnprofitable man, as been wont to finde commenly among y• people, I would well suffre the lasse greuously. For why, in soche an vnprofitable man, myne ententes were nothyng endammaged. But ye withdrowen fro me this man, that hath been norished in my studies or scoles of Eleaticis, & of Achademicis in Grece. But goeth now rather away yee Metmaydens, which that been swete, till it be at the last, & suffreth this man to be cured and healed by my Muses, yt is to say, by my notefull Sciences. And thus this company of muses iblamed, casten wrothly their chere douneward to the yearth, and shewing by rednesse her shame, they passeden sorowfully the threshold. And I of whom the sight plounged in teares was darked, so that I ne might not know what that woman was, of so Imperiall aucthoritie, I wo [...]e all abashed and astonied, & cast my sight doune to the yearth and began still for to abide what she would doen afterward. Then came she nere, & set her doune vpon the vtterest corner of my bed, & she beholding my chere, that was cast to the yearth, heauy & greuous of weeping, complained with these wordes (that I shall [...]aine) the perturbation of my thought.

Heu quam praecipiti mersa profundo. Mens habet, & propria luce relicta. Tendit ad externas ire tenebras. Terrenis quoties flatibus acta. Crescit in immensum noxia cura. Hic quondam coelo liber aperto, &c.

ALas, how the thought of this manne, dreinte in ouerthrowing depenesse, dulleth & foreleteth his proper cleerenesse, mintyng to gone into forayne darknesse, as oft as his anoious besinesse wexeth without measure, yt is driuen with worldly Windes. This manne that whilome was free, to whome the heauen was open and knowen, and was wont to gone in heauenly pathes, & sawe the lightnesse of the redde Sunne, and beheld ye Sterres of the cold Moone, & which Sterre in heauen vseth wandring recourses y [...]lit by diuers spheres. This man ouercomer had comprehended al this thing, by nomber of accompting in Astronomie. And ouer this, hee was wont to seken the causes, whence ye sowning windes mouen, and besien the smothe water of the Sea. And what Spirite tourneth the stable heauen, And why the Sterre riseth out of the red East, to fallen in y• westren waues. And what attempreth the lustie houres of ye first Sommer season, and highteth and apparayleth the yearth with rosie floures. And who maketh the plumtuous Autumpne, in full yeres fleeten with heauie Grapes. And eke this manne was wont to tell the diuers causes of nature that were hidde. Alas, how lightly is empted the light of his thought, & his necke is pressed with heauy chaines, and beareth his chere enclined adoune for ye great weight, & is constrained to looken on the foolish yearth.

Sed magis medicinae (inquit) tempus est quam querelae. Boe. Tum vero totis in me intenta luminibus. Philo. Tu ne ille es (ait) qui nostro quondam lacte nutritus, nostris educatus alimentis, in virilis animi robur evaseras, &c.

BUt time is now of Medicine (qd. she) more than complaint. Forsooth then shee entending to mewarde, with all ye lookyng of her iyen, saied. Art nat thou he (qd. she) yt whilom I nourished with my milke, and fostred with my meats, were escaped & commen to y• courage of a parfite man? Certes, I yaue thee soche armours, that if thou thy self ne haddest first cast hem away, they shoulden haue defended thee in sikernesse, that may not be ouercomen. Knowest thou not me? Why art thou stil? Is it for shame, or for astoniyng? It were me leuer it were for shame, but it seemeth me that astoniyng hath oppressed thee. And when she sawe me not onely still, but rather without office of tongue, and all dombe, she layed her hand softely on my breast, and saied: Here is no perill (qd. she) he is fallen into a litarge, which that is a common sicknesse to hartes that been deceiued. He hath a little foryeten himselfe. But certes, he shall lightly remembren himself, if so be that he hath knowen me er now. And that he may doen so, I will wipe his iyen a little, that be darked by the cloud of mortall things. These wordes saied she, and with the lappe of her garment, iplited in a frounce, she dried mine iyen, that weren full of the waues of my weepings.

Tunc me discussa liquerunt nocte tenebre, Luminibusque prior redit vigor. Ut cum praecipiti glomerantur sidera choro. Nimbosisque polus stetit imbribus. Sol later, ac nondum coelo venientibus astris, &c.

THus when that night was discussed away, Darknesse forlette me, and to my iyen repaired againe her first strength. And right as by ensample, as ye Sunne is hidde when the Sterres been couered with clouds, by a swift wind that hight Chorus, and the Firmament stant derked by were plungy clouds: And that the Sterres not apperen vpon ye heauen, so that the night semed sprad vpon the yearth. If then the wind that hight Boreas, isent out of the Caue of the Country of Trace, beateth this night, that is to saine, chaseth it away, & discouereth y• closed day, then shineth Phebus, ishaked with sodaine light, and smiteth with his beams in marueyling iyen.

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Haud aliter tristitiae nebulis dissolutis, hausi coelum, & ad cognoscendam medicantis faciem, mentem recepi. Itaque ubi in eam deduxi oculos, intuitum (que) defixi, respicio nutricem meam, in cujus ab adolescentia, &c.

RIght so and none otherwise, the Cloudes of sorrowe dissolued, and doen awaie, I tooke heauen, and receyued mynd to knowen the face of my Phisicien: so that I sette myne iyen vpon her, and fastened my looking. I beheld my Nourice Philosophie, in whose house I had conuersed fro my youth, and I saied thus. O thou Maistresse of all vertues, discended from the soueraine seate, why art thou commen into this solitarie place of myne exile? Art thou commen, for thou art made coulpable with me of false blames. O (qd. she) my nourice, should I forsake thee now, and should I not parten with thee by commen trauayle, the charge that thou haste suffered for enuie of my name? Certes it were not lefull ne fitting to Philosophie, to leten without companie, the way of him that is innocent: Shold I then redout my blame, and agrise though there were befallen a new thing? For trowest thou that Philosophie, be now alderfirst assayled in perilles, by folke of wicked maner? Have I not striuen with full grate strife, in old time, before the age of my Plato, ayenst the foolehardinesse of foly? And eke the same Plato liuyng, his Maister Socrates, deserued victorie of vnrightfull death in my presence. The heritage of the which Socrates, the heritage, is to saine the Doctrine, of the which Socrates, in his opinion of felicite, yt I cleape welefulness: when that the people of Epicuriens and Stoiciens, and many other, enforced them to go ravish, every many for his parte, that is to saine, ye everich of hem would drawen, to the defence of his opinion, the wordes of Socrates. They as in partie of their praie, to droune me, criyng and debating there ayenst, and coruen & renten my clothes, that I had wouen with mine owne handes. And with tho clothes that they had araced out of my clothes, they wenten away, wening that I had gone with hem euery dele. In which Epicuriens & Stoiciens, for as moch as there semed some traces & steppes of my habite. The folie of wenyng tho Epicuriens & Stoiciens, my familiers, peruerted some, through ye errour of the wicked multitude of hem: This is to sain, for they semed Philosophers they weren pursued to the death and slaine. So if thou haste not knowen the exiling of Anaxagoras, ne the enpoysoning of Socrates, ne the tourments of Zeno, for they weren straungers, yet mightest thou haue knowen the Senecas, the Canios, and the Soranos: Of which folke, the renome is neither ouer olde ne vnsolempne. The whiche men nothing els ne brought to the death, but onely for they were enformed of my maners, and semeden most vnlike to the studies of wicked folk. And for thy, thou oughtest not to wondren, though that I in the bitter Sea, be driuen with tempests blowing about. In the whiche this is my moste purpose, that is to saine, to displeasen wicked men. Of whiche shrewes, all be the hoste neuer so great, it is to dispise, for it is not governed with no leader of reason, but it is rauished onely by fletyng errour, folily aud lightly. And if they sometyme make an hooste ayenst vs, assaile vs as strenger: our leader draweth together his richesses into his Toure, & they been ententife, about sarpleris or sachelles, vnprofitable for to taken. But we then been high abouen, siker from all tumulte and woode noyse, warenestored and enclosed in soche a Paleis, whither as the clatering or anoiyng folie may not attaine, we scorne soch raveners, and henters of foulest things.

Quisquis composito serenus evo, Fatum sub pedibus egit superbum: Fortunam (que) tuens utram (que) rectus, Invictum potuit tenere vultum, &c.

* WHo so it be that clear of vertue, sad, and well ordinate of living, that hath put vnder foote the proude wierdes, and looketh vpright vpon eyther Fortune, hee may holden his chere vndiscomfited.

The rages ne the manaces of the sea, commoving and chasing vnware, heate from the bottome, ne shall not move that man, ne the vnstable Mountaigne that hight Vesenus, that writheth out through his broken Chimeneis, smoking Fires, ne the way of Thonder leites that is wonte to smiten high Coures, ne shall not move that man. Whereto then wretches drede ye Tyrants, that been wood, & felonnous with any strength? * Hope after nothing, ne drede thou not: and so shalt thou disarmen ye ire of thilke vnmighty Tiraunt. But who that quaking dredeth, or desireth thing that is not stable of his right, that man that so doeth, hath cast away his shilde, and is remoued fro his place, & enlaseth him in the chaine, with the which he may be drawen.

Sentis ne (inquit) haec? Atque animo illabuntur tuo? Expers ne es lyrae? Quid fles? Quid lachrimis manas? Si operam medicantis expectas, oportet ut vulnus detegas tuum, &c.

FElest thou (qd. shee) these things? And entren they aught in thy courage? Art thou like an Asse to the Harp? Why wepest thou? Why spillest thou teares? * If thou abidest after helpe of the Leche, thee behoveth discover thy wound? Tho I had gathered strength in my courage, and aunswered and sayd: And needeth it (qd. I) of rehearsing, or of amonicion, & sheweth it not inough by himselfe, the sharpenes that wexeth woode against mee. Ne moueth it not thee to see the face, or the maner of this place? Is this the Librarie that thou haddest chosen for a right certaine liege, to thee in mine hous there as thou disputest oft with me of the Science of things, touching diuinite, and touching mankinde? [Page] Was then mine habite soche as it is now? was my face or chere, soche as it is now, when I sought with the secretes of nature, when thou enformedest my maners, & the reason of al my lyfe, to thensample of thorder of heauen: Is not this the guerdon that I referre to thee, to whom I have be obeysaunt? Certes, thou enformedest by ye Mouth of Plato this sentence, that is to saine: That comen things or communalties weren blisful, if they that had studied all fully to wisedome, gouerneden thilke thinges: or els it so befell, yt the gouernours of communalties, studien to get wisedome. Thou saidest eke by ye mouth of the sayd Plato, that it was a necessarie cause, wisemen to taken & desiren the gouernaunce of comen thinges, for that ye governaunce of Citees, ileft in the handes of felonous tourmentors, citizeins ne shoulden not bringen in pestilence and distruction to good folke. And therefore I followyng thilke authours, desired to put foorth in execucion & in act, of commen administracion thilke things, yt I had learned of thee emong my secrete vesting whiles, thou & GOD, y• put in the thoughts of wise folke, been knowen with me, that nothing ne brought me to mastrie or dignitie, but the common studie of all goodness. And therefore commeth it, that between wicked folke & me haue been greuous discordes, that ne mighten not bee released by Prayers: for this libertie hath the freedome of conscience, that ye wrathe of more mighty folke, hath alway been dispised of me, for sauacion of right. How oft have I resisted and withstand ye man y• hight Canigast y• made alway thassaut ayenst ye prosper fortunes of poore feoble folke? How oft eke have I put of or cast out him Triguill, Prouost of ye Kings hous, bothe of the wrongs that he had begon to doen, and eke fully performed. How often haue I couered and defended by the aucthoritie of me, put ayenst perils, yt is to saine, put myne aucthoritie in perill, for the wretched poore folke, y• the couetise of straungers vnpunished, turmenteden alway with miseases, and greuaunces out of number? Neuer man yet drowe me fro right to wrong. When I sawe the Fortunes and the richesses of the people of the Prouinces been harmed and amenused, eyther by priuy rauenes, or by commen tributes or cariages, as sory was I as they that suffreden the harme. Glose. When Theoderike King of Gothes in a dedde year had his garners full of Corn, & commaunded y• no man should buye no corne, till his corne were sold, and at a greuous dear price: Beoce withstood ye ordinaunce, & ouercame it, knowing al this ye king Theodorike himselfe. Coempcion is to say, commen achate or buiyng together, yt were established vpon the people, by soch a maner of imposicion, as who so bought a bushel of Corne, he must yeuen the king ye fiueth parte. Cextus. When it was in ye sore hongry time, there was established greuous & vnprofitable coempcion, that men seen well, it should greatly tourmenten & endomagen all the Prouince of Campaine. I tooke strise ayenst ye Prouost of the Pretorie, for ye common profite. And ye knowyng of it, I ouercame it, so that the coempcion was not asked, ne tooke effect.

Pauline a Counsailour of Roome, the richesses of the whiche Pauline, the hondes of the Paleis, that is to say, the officers woulden haue deuoured by hope and couetise: yet drowe I out of the jowes of hem that gapeden. And for as much as the payne of ye accusacion adiudged beforne, ne should not sodainly henten, ne punishen wrongfully Albine a Counsailour of Roome, I putte me ayenst the hates and indignacions of the accusour, Cyprian. Is it not then inough sens that I haue purchased great discords ayenst my self? But I ought be more assured ayenst other folke, that for ye loue of right wisenesse I neuer reserued nothing to my self, to hemward of the kings hall, by which I were the more siker. But through tho same accusours accusing, I am condempned. Of the nomber of which accusours, one Basilius that whilome was chased out of the Kings seruice, is now compelled in accusing of my name, for need of foraine money.

Also, Opilion and Gaudencius, haue accused mee: All be it so that the Iustice Regall had whilome deemed theim bothe to gon into exile, for her tretcheries and fraudes without number. To which judgement they nolden not obey, but defended hem by the sikernesse of holy houses, that is to sain, fledden into Seintewarie: And then when this was apperceyued by ye King, he commaunded, but if they auoyded the Citee of Rauenne, by certayne day assigned, that men should marken hem on the forehedde with an hote yron, and chasen hem out of the toun. Now what thing seemeth might be likened to this cruelty, for certes, this same day was receyued, the accusing of my name by thilke same accusoures? What may be saied hereto? Hath my studie and my coning deserued thus, or els the foresaied dampnacion of me, made them rightful accusours or no? Was not Fortune ashamed of this? Certes, all had not Fortune ben ashamed, that innocence was accused, yet ought she haue had shame of the filth of mine accusours. But aske thou in some, of what gilte I am accused. Men saine that I would sauen the company of ye Senatours. And desirest thou to heren in what maner I am accused, y• I should have distourbed ye accusour to bearen Letters, by which hee should haue made the Senatours giltie, ayenst the Kings royall Majestie. O Maistresse, what demest thou of this? Shal I forsake this blame that I ne no shame to thee? Certes, I haue would it (y• is to say) the sauacion of ye Senate, ne I shall neuer let to wilne it, & that I confesse & am know, but the entente of the accusour to been distourbed, shall cease. Shall I clepe that a felony or a sinne, that I [Page] haue desired the sanacion of the order of the Senate. And certes, had thilk same Senate doen through her decretes & her judgments, as though it were a sinne & a felony, that is to wilne the sauacion of them. But folie that lieth alway to himself, may not chaunge the merite of things, ne I trow not by the judgement of Socrates, that it were lefull to me to hide the sooth, ne assent to leasings: but certes, howsoeuer it be of this, I putte it to gessen or prisen, of the judgement of thee, & of wise folke, of which thing all ye ordinaunce and the sooth (for as much as folk that ben to comen after our days, shall knowenit) I haue putte it in Scripture, and in remembraunce. For touchyng the Letters falsely made, by which Letters I am accused to haue hoped the freedome of Rome, wt appertaineth me to speaken thereof. Of which Letters, y• fraud had been shewed apertly, if I had had libertie for to haue vsed & been at confession of mine accusours, the which thing in all needs hath great strength. For what other freedom may men hopen? Certes, I would that some other freedom might be hoped, I would then haue answered by the words of a man that hight Camus: for when he was accused of Canius, Cesar Germanes sonne, that he was knowing and consenting of a coniuration made ayenst him: This Canius aunswered thus: If I had wist it, thou haddest not wist it. In which thing sorrow hath not so dulled my witte, that I plaine onely, that shreud folke apparailen Fellonies against vertue, but I wonder greatly, how that they may perform thyngs that they haue hoped for to doen, for why ne will ne shreudnesse that commeth perauenture of our defaut. But it is like a Monster and a maruail, how that in ye present sight of God may been atcheued & performed such thyngs, as euery fellonous manne hath conceyued in his thought against innocents. For which thing, one of thy familiers, not vnskilfully, asked thus: If God is, whence commen wicked things. But al had it been leful, that fellonous folk, that now desiren the blood and the death of all good men, and eke of the Senate, haue wilned to gone destroyen me, whom they haue seen alway batailen and defenden good men, and eke all the Senate, that had not deserued of the fathers (that is to sain, of the Senatours) that they shoulden will my destruction. Thou remembrest wel as I gesse, that when I would doen or sain any thing, thou thy selfe alway present ruledest me.

At the citie of Verone, when that the king, gredie of common slaughter, cast him to transporten vpon all the order of the Senate the guilt of his royal Maiestie, of the which gilt that Albin was accused: with how great sikernesse of peril to me, defended I all the Senate: Thou wotest well that I say sooth, ne I ne auaunted me neuer in praysing of my self: For alway, when any wight receiueth precious renome in auaunting of himself or his werkes, he amenuseth the secree of his conscience.

But now thou mayest well seene to what end I am comen for mine innocencie, I receiue paine of false Fellonie, for guerdoun of very vertue. And what open confession of fellome had euer Iudges so accordaunt in crueltie, that is to sain, as mine accusing hath, that eyther errour of mans wit, or els condition of Fortune, that is vncertain unto all mortal folke, ne submitted some of hem, that is to say, that it ne enclined some Iudge to haue pitie or compassion. For although I had been accused, that I would brenne holy houses, and strangle Priests with wicked swearde, or that I had greithed death to all good men, algates the sentence should have punished me present, confessed and conuict.

But now I am remoued from ye Citie of Rome almost fiue hundred thousand paas, I am without defence dampned to proscription & to death, for the studies & bounties that I haue doen to the Senate. But o well been they worthy of merite: as who sayeth, nay, there might yet neuer none of hem be conuict of such a blame as mine is, of which trespace, mine accusours seen full well ye dignitie, for they would darken it with medling of some fellonie. They baren me on hond, and sayd, that I had pollute & defouled my conscience with Sacriledge, for couetise of dignitie: & certes, thou thy self that art planted in me, chasedest out of the siege of my courage all couetise of mortal things, ne Sacriledge ne had no leaue to haue a place in me before thine eyen. For thou droppedest euery day in mine ears, & in my thought, thilke commandment of Pythagoras, y• is to say: * Menne shall seruen to God, & not to goddes. Ne it was not conuenient, ne none need to taken help of the foulest spirits. I that thou hast ordained, and set in such excellence, that thou madest me like to God, & ouer this, the right clean secret chamber of mine house, that is to say, my wife, & the companie of mine honest friends, & my wiues father, as well holy as worthy to be reuerenced for his deeds, defenden me from al suspection of such blame. But oh malice. For they that accusen me, taken of y• Philosophy faith of so great blame, for they trowen, that I haue had affinitie to malefice or enchauntment, because that I am replenished and fulfilled with thy teachings, and enformed of thy maners. And thus it sufficeth not only, that thy reuerence ne auail me naught, but if thou of thy free will rather he blemished with mine oftencion. But certes, to y• harms y• I haue, there betideth yet this encrease of harm, that the guessing and the iudgement of much folke, ne looken nothing to ye deserts of things, but only to y• auenture of fortune, & iudgen that only such things ben purueyed of God, which y• temporal wilfulnesse commaundeth. Glosa. As thus, that if a wight haue prosperity, he is a good man, and worthy to haue that prosperitie: & who [Page] so hath aduersitie, he is a wicked man, and God hath forsake him, and he is worthy to haue that aduersitie. This is the opinion of some folke, and thereof commeth that good gessing, first of all thing forsaked wretches. Certes, it greeueth me to think right now, in diuers sentences that the people sayth of me: and thus much I say, * That the last charge of contrarious Fortune, is this, that when any blame is laied upon a caitife, men wenen that he hath deserued that he suffereth. And I that am put away from good men, and dispoyled of dignities, and defouled of my name by gessing, haue suffred turments for my good deeds. Certes, me seemeth, that I see the felonous couines of wicked men habounden in ioy and gladnesse, and I see, that euery lorell shapeth him to find new fraudes for to accuse good folk, and I see that good folk be ouerthrown for drede of my peril, and euery luxurious tourmentour dare doen all fellonie unpunished, & be excited there to by yefts, & innocents be not only dispoiled of sikernesse, but of defence, & therto me list to crien to God in this manner.

O stelliferi Conditor Orbis, Qui perpetuo nixus solio, Rapido Coelum turbine versas, Legemque pati sidera cogis, ut nunc pleno lucida cornu. Totis fratris obvia flammis. Condat stellas Luna minores: Nunc obscuro pallida cornu Phoebo proprior lumina perdat, &c.

THou maker of the wheele that beareth the sterres, which that art fastened to thy perdurable chaire, and turnest the heauen with a rauishing sweigh, and constrainest the sterres to suffer thy Law: so that the Moon sometime shining with her ful horns, meeting with all the beames of the Sun her brother, hideth the sterres that been lesse. And sometime, when the Moon pale, with her dark horns, approcheth the Sun, leseth her lights: and that the euin sterre Hesperus, which that in the first time of the night, bringeth first her cold arising, cometh eft ayen her used course, and is pale by ye morrow at rising of the Sun, and is then icleped Lucifer. Thou restrainest the day by shorter dwelling, in the time of the cold Winter, that maketh the leaues fall. Thou diuidest the swift tides of the night, when the hote Summer is commen. Thy might attempreth the variaunt seasons of the yeare, so that Zepherus, the debonaire wind, bringeth ayen in the first Summer season the leaues that the wind that hight Boreas hath rest away in Autumne, that is to say, the last end of Summer: and the seeds that the sterre that hight Arcturus sew, be woxen high corns, when the sterre Sirius enchaseth hem. There is nothing unbounden from this old Law, ne forletteth the werk of his proper estate.

O thou gouernour, gouerning all things by certain end, why refulest thou only to gouern the werks of men by due manner: Why suffrest thou, y• sliding fortune turneth so great enterchaunges of things, so that annoyous paine that should duly punish Felons, punisheth Innocents: And folk of wicked manners sitten in high chaires, and annoying folke, treden (and that unrightfully) on the necks of holy men. And vertue clere and shining naturally, is hid in derk derknesses, and the rightfull man beareth the paine and the blame of the fellons. Ne the forswearing, ne the fraud couerd and kempt with a false colour, ne annoieth not to shrewdnesse, the which shrewdnesse, when hem list usen her strength, they reioycen hem to put under hem the soueraigne kings, which that the people without number dreden. O thou, whatsoeuer thou be that knittest all bonds of things, look on these wretched earths, we men that been not a foule partie, but a faire part of so great a werke, we been tourmented in this see of fortune. Thou gouernor, withdraw and restraine the rauishing floods, and fasten and ferme these earths stable, with thilke bond, with which thou gouernest heauen, that is so large.

Haec ubi continuato dolore delatravi: illa vultu placido, nihilque meis questubus mota. Phi. Cum te (inquit) moestum, lachrymantemque vidissem: illico miserum exulemque cognovi. Sed quam id longinquum esser exilium.

WHen I had with a continual sorrowe sobbed, or broken out these thinges, she with her chere pesible and nothing amoved with my complaints, said thus. When I saw thee (qd. she) sorrowful and weeping, I wist anon that thou were a wretch & exiled: But I wist neuer how ferre thine exile was, if thy tale ne had yshewed it me. But certes, all be thou ferre fro thy countrey, thou nart not putte out of it, but thou hast fayled of thy way, and gone amisse. And if thou hast leuer for to wene that thou be put out of thy country, then hast thou put out thy selfe, rather than any other wight hath: for no wight (but thou thy selfe) ne might neuer haue done that to thee. For if thou remember thee of what countrey thou art borne, it nis not gouerned by Emperours, ne by gouernment of multitude, as weren ye countries of hem of Athens: but one Lord, & one King, and that is God, that is Lord of thy country, which y• reioyseth him of the dwelling of his citizens, and not for to put hem in exile. Of ye which Lord, it is a feeedome to be gouerned by y• bridle of him, & obey to his iustice. Hast thou forgotten thilke old law of thy citie, in the which citie it is ordained and established, That what wight hath leuer found therin his [...]eat or his house, than els where, he may nat be exiled by no right from that place? For who so that is contained within the paleis of thilk city, there is no drede that he may deserue to be exiled. But who that letteth the will tenhabit there, he forletteth also to deserue to be a citezein of [Page] thilke citie. So yt I say, that the face of this place ne moueth me not so mikell, as thine owne face. Ne I ne aske not rather ye wals of thy librarie, apparailed and wrought with yuorie and with glasse, than after the seat of thy thoght, in which I put nat whilom books, but I put that that maketh bookes worthy of price, or precious, yt is to say, sentence of my bookes. And certainly, of thy deserts bestowed in common good, thou hast said sooth, but after ye multitude of thy good deeds, thou hast said few. And of ye honestie or of ye falsenesse of things that ben opposed against thee, thou hast remembred things that be knowne to all folke. And of the felonies and frauds of thine accusours, it seemeth thee to haue touched it, forsooth rightfully and shortly, all mighten tho same things better and more plenteously been couth in the mouth of the people, that knoweth all this. Thou haste eke blamed greatly & complained of the wrongfull deed of the Senate. And thou hast sorrowed for my blame, & thou hast wopen for the dommage of thy renoun that is apaired, and thy last sorrow enchased ayen fortune, complaynest the guerdons, ne be not euenly yolden to the deserts of folke. And in thy latter end of thy wood muse, thou prayedst that thilke peace yt governeth the heauen, should governe the earth. But for that many tribulations of affections have assailed thee, & sorrow, and ire, and weping, to draw thee diversly, as thou art now feeble of thought, mightier remedies ne shullen not yet touchen thee, for wch we willen somdele usen lighter medecines, so so that thilke passions that be waxen hard in swelling, by perturbations flowing into thy thoght, mowen waxe easie & soft, to receiue ye strength of a more mightie & more eagre medicine, by an easier touching.

Cum Phoebi radiis grave Cancri sidus inaestuat, Tum qui largo negantibus, Sulcis semina credidit, Elusus Cereris fide, Quarnas pergat ad arbores. Nunquam purpureum nemus lecturus violas petas, &c.

WHen that the heauie sterre of the Cancre enchaseth by the beams of Phebus, that is to sayne, When that Phebus ye sunne is in the signe of Cancre, who so yeueth then largely his seeds to the fields that refusen to receiue hem, let him gone beguiled of trust that he had to his corne, to Achornes of Okes. If thou wilt gather Violets, ne goe thou nat to ye purple wood, when the field chirkinge, agriseth of colde, by the felenesse of the winde, that hight Aquilone. If thou desire or wilt vsen grapes, ne seek thou nat a gluttons honde to strayne and presse the stalkes of the vine in the first Summer season. For Bacchus the god of wine, hath rather yeuen his yeftes to Autumne, the latter ende of summer. * God tokeneth and assygneth the times, abling hem to her proper offices, ne he suffereth not the stounds, which that himselfe hath deuided and constrayned to beene imedled togider: and for thy, he that forletteth certaine ordinaunce of doing by ouerthrowing way, he ne hath no glad issue or ende of his werkes.

Primum igitur, pateris ne me pauculis rogationibus statum tuae mentis attingere, atque tentare? ut quis modus sit tuae curationis intelligam, &c.

FIrst wouldest thou suffer mee to touch and assay the estate of thought by a few demaunds, so yt I may understond by the maner of thy curacion? Aske me (qd. I) at thy will, that thou wolt, & I shall answer. Tho sayd she thus: Whether wenest thou (qd. she) that this world be gouerned foolishly by haps & fortunes, or els wenest thou that there be in it any gouernement of reason? B. Certes (qd. I) I ne trowe nat in no manner, yt so certain things should bee mooued by Fortunous fortune. But I wote well, that God, maker & maister, is gouernour of his werk, ne was neuer yet day that might put me out of the soothnesse of that sentence. P. So is it (qd. shee) for ye same thing sang thou a little here beforne, and bewailedest and weptest, that onely men were put out of the cure of God, for of all other things thou ne doubtest nat, that they nere gouerued by reason. But ough, I wonder certes greatly why yt thou art sicke, sens that thou art put in so holsome a sentence: But let vs seeken deeper, I conjecte, that there lacketh I not what. But say me this. Sens that thou ne doubtest not yt this world be gouerned by God, with which gouernaile takest thou heed that it is gouerned? Vnneth (qd. I) know I ye sentence of thy question, so that I ne may not yet answeren to thy demands. I was not deceiued (qd. she) yt there ne failed somewhat, by which ye maladie of perturbation is crept into thy thought, so as the strength of thy paleis shining is open: but say me this. Remembrest thou wt is ye end of things, & whider the entention of all kind tendeth? I haue heard told it some time (qd. I) but drerinesse hath dulled my memorie. Certes (qd. she) thou wotest well whence all things be comen, & proceden. I wote well (qd. I) & aunswerde, that God is beginning of all. And how may this be (qd. she) ye sens thou knowest the beginning of thinges, yt thou knowest nat what is ye end of thinges, but suche beene ye customes of perturbation, and this power they han, yt they may moue a man from his place, that is to say, from y• stablenesse and perfection of his knowing: but certes, they may nat al arace him, ne alien him in all: but I would yt thou woldest answere to this. Remembrest thou yt thou art a man? B. Why should I not remember yt (qd. I.) Phi. Mayst thou not tell me then (qd. she) what thing is a man? Asketh thou not me (qd. I) whether yt I be a reasonable mortall [Page] beast, I wote well and confesse that I am it. Wilt thou neuer yet that thou were any other thing (qd. she.) No (qd. I.) Now well know I (qd. she) other cause of thy malady, and that right great: Thou hast left for to knowen thy selfe what thou art, through which I haue plainly founden the cause of thy malady, or els the entre of recouering of thy heale. For why? For thou art confounded with foryeting of thy selfe: For thou sorowdest that thou art exiled of thy proper goods. And for thou ne wist what is the end of things, for thy, demest thou that fellonous and wicked men be mightie and welefull: and for thou hast foryetten by which gouernments the world is gouerned, for thy, wenest thou that these mutations of fortune fleten without gouernour. These ben the causes not only to malady, but certes gret causes to death: But I thanke the actour and the maker of heale, that nature hath not all forleten thee. I haue great norishing of thine heale, and that is the sooth sentence of gouernaunce of the world, that thou beleeuest, that the gouerning of it is not subiect ne underput to the folly of these haps auenturous, but to the reason of God: and therfore doubt thee nothing, for of this little sparke thine heat of life shall shine. But for as much as it is not time yet of faster remedies, and the nature is of thoughts thus deceiued, that as oft as they cast away sooth opinions, they clothen hem in false opinions. Of the which false opinions, the derkenesse of perturbation wexeth up, that confoundeth the very insight. And that darknesse shall I somewhat assay to maken thinne and weak, by light and meaneliche remedies, so that after that the darkenesse of deceyuing things be done away, thou may know the shining of very light.

Nubibus atris condita nullum fundere possunt sidera lumen. Si mare voluens turbidus auster misceat estum: Vitrea dudum, Parque serenis, &c.

THe sterres couered with black clouds ne mow yeten adowne no light, if the troubled wind that hight Auster, turning and wallowing the sea, medeleth the heat, that is to saine, the boyling up from the botome. The waues that were whylome clear as glasse, and like to the faire bright dayes, withstand anon the sights of men, by the filth and ordure that is resolued. And the fleeting stream that reileth doun diuersly from high mountaignes, is arrested and resisted oft time by the encounteriog of a stone, that is departed and fallen from some roch. And for thy, if thou wilt looken and deeme sooth with cleare light, and holden the way with a right path, weiue thou ioy, driue fro drede, fleme thou hope, ne let no sorow approch, that is to saine, Let none of these foure passions ouercome or blend thee. For cloudie & derke is thilke thought, & bound with bridles, where as these things reignen.

Explicit Liber primus.

Post haec paulisper obticuit, atque ubi attentionem meam modesta taciturnitate collegit, sic exhorsa est. Si poeuitus egritudinis tuae causas, habitumque, &c.

AFter this she slint a little, and after that she had gadered by a temper stylnesse mine attencion, as who so might saine thus: After these thynges shee slint a little, and when she apperceiued by a temper stilnesse, that I was ententiue to hearen her, she began to speake in this wise. If I (qd. she) haue understonden and knowen utterly the causes and the habite of thy maladye, thou languishest, and art defected for desire and talent of thy rather fortune. She that ilke Fortune onely, that is chaunged as thou fainest to thee ward, hath peruerted the clerenesse and the estate of thy courage. I understonding the felle or manyfold colours and deceits of thilke maruailous monster Fortune, and how she useth full flattering familiaritie with hem that she enforceth to beguile, so long, till that she confound with unsufferable sorrow hem that she hath left in despaire, unpurueyed. And if thou remembrest well the kind, the manners, and the desert of thilke Fortune, thou shalt well knowe, that as in her thou neuer ne haddest ne haste yloste anie fayre thing: But (as I trowe) I shall not greatly trauailen to done thee remembren on these thinges. For thou were wont to hurtelen and despisen her with manly wordes, when she was blandishing and present, and pursudest her with sentences that weren drawen out of mine entre, that is to say, of mine enformacion: but no suddaine mutacion ne betideth not without a manner chaunging of courages. And so it is befall, that thou art a little departed fro y• peace of thy thought, but now is time yt thou drinke & atast some soft and delitable things, so that when they be entered within thee, it mowen make way to strenger drinkes of medecines. Come now forth therefore the suasion of sweetnesse rethorien, which that goeth onely the right way, while she forsaketh not mine estatutes. And with Rhetorike, come forth Musicke, a damosel of our house, that singeth now lighter moods or prolacions, and now heauier. What eyleth thee man? What is it that hath cast thee into mourning & into weeping? I trow that thou hast seen some new thing and uncouth? Thou wenest that fortune be chaunged ayen me, but thou wenest wrong, if that thou wene alway tho been her manners. She hath rather kept as to thee ward her proper stablenesse in the changing of her selfe: right such was she, when she flattered thee and deceiued thee with unleful likings aud false wilfulnesse. Thou hast now knowen and atteint the doubtous or double visage of thilke blind goddesse Fortune. She that yet couereth and wimpleth her to other folke, hath shewed her selfe euery dele to thee: [Page] If thou approuest her, & thinkest, that she is good, use her manners, & plain thee nat, and if thou agrisest her false trecherie, despise and cast away her y• plaieth so harmfully, for she that is now cause of so much sorrow to thee, shuld be to thee cause of peace & of ioy. She hath forsaken thee forsooth, y• which that neuer man may be siker, y• she ne shall forsaken him. Glose. But nathelesse, some books haue the text thus. For sooth she hath forsaken thee, ne there nis no man siker, y• she ne hath not forsaken. Holdest thou then thilk welefulnesse precious to thee that shall passen? and is present fortune dere worth to thee, which yt nis not faithfull for to dwell, and when she goeth away, that she bringeth a wight in sorow? For sens she may not bee withholden at a mans will, she maketh him a wretch when she departeth fro him. What other thing is fleeting fortune, but a manner shewing of wretchednesse that is to come. Ne it suffiseth not only to looken on thing that is present before the eyen of a man, but wisdom looketh and measureth the end of things, and the same changing from one to another, that is to sain, from aduersitie into prosperitie, maketh that the menaces of fortune ne been not for to dreden, ne the flattering to be desired. Thus at last it be hooueth the [...] to suffren with euell will in pacience, all that is done within the floore of fortune, that is to lay, in this world, sith thou half ones put thy neck vnder y• yoke of her. For if thou wolt writen a law of wending and of dwelling to Fortune, which that thou hast chosen freely to ben thy lady: Art thou nat wrongful in that, and makest Fortune wroth and asper by thine impacience, and yet thou mayest nat chaungen her?

If thou committest and betakest thy fails to the wind, thou shalt be shouen, nat thider that thou wouldest, but whider that the wind shoueth thee. If thou castest thy seeds in the fields, thou shouldest haue in mind, that the yeares been amongs other while plentuous, and other whiie barrein. Thou hast betaken thy self to the gouernaunce of Fortune, and for thy, it behooueth thee to been obeysant to the maners of thy lady. Enforcest thou thee to arresten or withholden the swiftnesse & the sweigh of her tourning wheel? O thou fool of all mortal fools, if Fortune began to dwell stable, she ceased then to ben Fortune.

Haec cum superba verterit vices dextra, Ex aestuantis more fertur Euripi. Dudum tremen dos seva proterit reges, Humilemque victi sublevat fallax vultum. Non illa dura miseros audit, haud curat flerus, &c.

WHen Fortune with a proud right hand withtourned her chaunging stounds, she fareth like the manners of the boiling Euripe.

Glosa. Euripe is an arme of the sea, that ebbeth and floweth, and somtime the streme is on o side, and somtime on that other.

Text. She cruell Fortune casseth adown kings, that whylome weren ydrade, and she deceiuable, enhaunseth vp the humble there of him that is discomfited: ne she neither heareth ne recketh of wretched weepings. And she is so hard, that she laugheth and scorneth the weeping of hem, the which she hath maked to weep with her free will. Thus she playeth & thus she proueth her strengths, and sheweth a great wonder to all her seruants, if that a wight is seen welefull, and ouerthrowne in an houre.

Vellem autem pauca tecum, Fortunae ipsius verbis agitare. Tu igitur an jus postulet animadverte. P. Quid tu ô homo ream me agis quotidianis querelis, &c.

CErtes, I would pleaden with thee a few things, vsing the words of Fortune: take heed nowe thy self, if that she ask right. O thou man, wherefore makest thou me giltie by thine euery dayes plainings?

What wrong haue I done thee? wt goods haue I beraft thee, that were thine? Striue or plete with me before what judge that thou wilt, of the possession, of richesses, or of dignities, and if thou maiest shewen me, that euer any mortall manne hath receyued any of tho things, to ben his in proper, then will I grant freely, yt thilk things were thine, which that thou askest. When that nature brought thee forth out of thy mothers womb, I receiued thee naked and needie of all things, and I nourished thee with all my richesses, & was ready and ententife through my fauour to sustain thee: and that maketh thee now impacient ayenst me. And I enuironned thee with all haboundance and shining of all goods, that been in my right: now it liketh me to withdraw mine hond. Thou hast had grace as he that hath vsed forraign goods. Thou hast no right to plain thee, as though thou haddest vtterly forlorn all thy things. Why plainest thou then? I haue done to thee no wrong: richesses, honours, and such other things ben of my right: my seruants known me for her lady: they come with me, and departen when I wend. I dare well affirm hardly, that if tho things, of which thou plainest that thou hast forlorn, had been thine, thou ne hadst not forlorn hem. Shall I then be defended only to vse my right? Certes, it is lefull to the heauen to make clear days, and after that, to ouercome tho same days with derk nights. The year hath eke leaue to apparaile the visage of the earth, now with floures, and now with fruit, and to confound hem sometime with rains and with cold.

The see hath eke his right, to ben somtime caulm and blandishing, with smooth water, and sometime to be horrible, with waues and with tempests. But couetise of men, yt may not be stanched, shal it bind me to be stedfast, sithen yt stedfastnesse is vncouth to my manners. [Page] Such is my strength, and such play I play commonly. I turn the whirling wheele with the turning circle, I am glad to changen the lowest to the highest, & the highest to the lowest. Worth up if thou wolt, so it be by this law, yt thou ne hold nat that I do thee wrong, though thou discend adown, when ye reason of my play asketh it. Wost thou not how Cresus, king of Lidians, of which king Cyrus was ful sore agast, a little beforne that this Cresus was caught of Cyrus, & ledde to the fire to be brend, but that a rain discended from heauen, that rescowed him? And it is out of mind, how that Paulus, Consul of Rome, when he had taken the king of Perciens, weped pitously for the captivitie of ye self king? What other thing bewaylen the cryings of tragedies, but only the deeds of fortune, yt with an aukward stroke ouertourneth the realmes of great nobley. Glose. Tragedie is to saine, a ditee of a prosperitie for a time, that endeth in wretchednesse. Lernedest not thou in Grece when thou were young, that in the entre or in the seller of Iupiter, ther ben couched two tonnes, that one is full of good, that other is full of harme? What right hast thou to plaine, if thou hast taken more plentuously of the good side, that is to sain, of richesse, & prosperite? And what eke if I be not all departed fro thee? What eke if my mutabilitie yeueth thee rightful cause of hope to haue yet better things? nathelesse, dismay thee not in thy thought. And thou yt art put in the commune realm of all, ne desire not to liuen by thine own proper right.

Si quantas rapidis flatibus incitus Pontus versat arenas. Aut quot stellifei is edita noctibus Coelo Sidera fulgent: Tantas fundat opes, nec retrahat manum pleno copia cornu: Humanum miseras haud ideo genus cesset flere querelas, &c.

THough plentie, goddesse of riches, hylde a downe with a full horne, and withdrawe not her hand, as many richesse as the see tourneth upward sands, when it is moued with rauishing blasts, or els, as many richesses as there shinen bright sters in the heauen on the sterrie nights: yet for all that, mankinde nolde not cease to weepe wretched plaints. And all be it so, that God receyued her prayers, and yeueth hem as full large much gold, and apparaileth couetous folke with noble or clere honors: yet seemeth him haue gotten nothing. But alway cruel rauine deuouring all that they haue gotten, sheweth other gapings, that is to say, gapen and desiren yet after mo richesses. What bridles might withholden to any certaine end the disordinant couetie of men, when euer the rather that it fleteth in large yefts, the more brenneth in hem the lust of hauing? Certes, * He that quaking and dredefull weneth himselfe needy, he ne liueth neuermore rich.

His igitur, si pro se tecum, verbis fortuna loqueretur, quid profecto contrahisceres, non haberes. At si quid est, quo querelam tuam jure tuearis, proferas oportet.

THerefore if that fortune speak with thee for her self in this manner, forsooth thou ne hadst nat what thou mightest answere. And if thou hast any thing wherewith thou mayest rightfully defenden thy complaint, it behooueth thee to shewen, and I woll yeuen to thee space to tellen it. Boecius. Certainely (qd. I then) these been faire thinges, and annoynted with honey, sweetnesse of Rhethorike and Musick, and only while they been heard and sowne in eares, they been delicious. But to wretches it is a deeper felyng of harme, this is to sayne, that wretches feelen the harmes that they suffer more greeuously, than the remedies or the delights of these words may gladden or conforten hem: So that when these thinges stinten for to sown in eares, that sorrow that is inset, greueth ye thought. P. Right so it doth (qd. she.) For these ne been yet no remedies of the maladie, but they been a manner nourishing of thy sorrowes, that rebell ayenst thy curacion. For when time is, I shall moue and ajust such things that peircen hem full deep. But nathelesse that thou shalt not wilne to leten thy self a wretch. Hast thou foryeten the number and the manner of thy welefulnesse, I speak not how that the soueraign men of the Citie tooke thee in cure and keeping, when. thou were orphelyn of father and of mother, and were chosen in affinitie of princes of the citie, And thou beganne rather to be lefe & deare, than for to be a neyghbour, the which thyng is the most precious kind of any propinquitie or alliaunce that may been. Who is it that ne sayed tho, that thou ne were right welefull, with so great nobley as thy fathers in law, and with the chastitie of thy wife, and with the opportunity and noblesse of thy masculine children, that is to sayne, thy sonnes? And ouer all this (me list to passen of common things) how thou haddest in thy youth dignities, that were warned to old men: but it deliteth me now to commen to the singular up-heaping of thy welefulnesse. If any fruite or mortal thynges may haue any wight or price of welefulnesse, mightest thou euer foryeten for any charge of harme whiche might befall, the remembraunce of thilke day, that thou saw thy two sons made counsailours, and ladde together from thy house under so great assemble of Senatours, and under the blithnesse of the people? And when thou saw hem set in the court in high chaires of dignities. Thou Rhetorien or pronouncer of kings praisings, deseruedest glory of wit and of eloquence, when thou sitting between thy two sons, counsaylours, in the place that hight Circo, and fulfille dest the bidding of the multitude of people that was spradde about thee [Page] with so large praysing and laud, as men sing in victories. Tho yaue thou to Fortune, as I trowe, that is to say, tho feoffedest thou Fortune with glorious words, & deceiue dest her when she acoyed and nourished thee as her own delices. Thou bare away of Fortune a yest, y• is to say, such guerdon that she neuer yaue to private man. Wilt thou therefore lay a reckning with Fortune? She hath now first twidckled vpon thee with a wicked eye. If thou consider the number and the manner of thy blisses and of thy sorows, thou mayest nat forsaken, that nart yet blisful. For if therfore thou wenest thy self not welefull for tho things that seemeden joyfull, ben passed, there nis not why thou shouldest seem thy self a wretch, for things that semed now sorry, passen also. Art thou now commen a suddain ghest into the shaddow or tabernacle of this life? or trowest thou that any stedfastnesse be in mans things? When oft a swift hour dissolueth the same man, that is to say, when the soul departed from the body. For although, that selde is there any faith that fortunous things would dwellen: yet nathelesse, the last day of a mans life is a manner death to Fortune, and also to thike that hath dwelt. And therefore what wenest thou doth recke, if thou forlet her in dying, or els that she Fortune forlete thee in flyen away.

Cum polo Phebus, roseis quadrigis Lucem spergere caeperit, Pallet albentes hebetara vultus Flammis stella permentibus, &c.

WHen Phebus the Sunne beginneth to spreade his clearenesse with Rosen charriots, then the sterre dimmed, paleth her white cheres by the flames of the sunne that ouer commeth the sterre light: that is to sayne, when the sunne is risen, the day-sterre wexeth pale, and leseth her light. For the great lightnesse of the sunne, when the wood wexeth rodie of rosen flours in ye first Summer season, through the breath of the winde Zepherus, that wexeth warme: if the cloudie winde Auster blowe fell liche, then goeth away fairenesse of thornes. Oft the see is clere and caulme with mouing floodes, and oft the horrible wind Aquilon moueth boyling tempest, and ouer whelueth the sea. If the forme of this worlde is so selde stable, and if it turneth by so many enterchaunges, wilt thou then trusten in the tumblynge fortunes of men? Wilt thou trowen on fleeting goods? It is certaine, and established by law perdurable, that nothing that is engendred, is stedfast ne stable.

Tum ego, vera inquam, commemoras ô virtutum omnium nutrix: nec inficiati possum prosperitatis meae velocissimum cursum. Sed hoc est, quid, &c.

THen saied I thus: O nourice of all vertues, thou sayest full sooth, ne I may not forsake the right swifte course of my prosperitye, that is to saine, that the prosperitye ne be commen to me woonder swiftly and soone. But this is a thing that greatly smarteth me, when it remembreth me: For in all aduersities of Fortune, the most vnselie kind of contrarious Fortune, is to haue been welefull. Phi. But that thou abiest thus (qd. she) yt tourment of thy false opinion, that maist thou not rightfully blamen, ne aretten to things, as who sayeth, that thou hast yet many haboundances of things. Textus. For all be it so, that the idle name of aduenturous welefulnesse moueth thee now, it is lefull, that thou recken with me of how many thynges thou hast yet plentie. And therfore, if yt thilk thing that thou haddest for more precious, in all thy richesse of Fortune, be kept to thee, yet by the grace of God, vnwemmed & vndefouled: mayest thou then plaine rightfully vpon the mischeefe of Fortune, sithen thou hast yet thy best thinges? Certes, yet liueth in good point thilke precious honor of mankind, Symachus thy wives father, which yt is a man made of all Sapience and Vertue, the which man thou wouldst buy with the price of thine owne life, he bewayleth the wrongs that men doen to thee, & not for himself: For he liueth in sikernesse of any Sentence put ayenst him. And yet liueth thy wife, that is attempre of wit, & passing other women in cleanenesse of chastitie: and for I would close. [...] shortly her hounties, she is like her father: I tell thee yt she liueth, loth of this life, and keepeth to thee only her ghost, and is all mate and ouercome by weeping and sorrow, for desire of thee. In the which thing only, I mote graunten thee, yt thy welefulnesse is amenused. What shall I saine eke of thy two sons, counsaylours, of which, as of children of her age, there shineth the likenesse of the wit of her father, and of her elde father? And sithen the souerain cure of all mortall folk, is to sauen her own liues, if thou know thy self, thy goods make thee more welefull. For yet ben there things dwelled to thee ward, that no man doubteth, that they ne been more deereworth to thee, than thine own life. And for thy, drie tears, for yet is not euery Fortune hatefull to thee ward: ne ouergreat tempest ne hath not yet fallen vpon thee, when thine ankers cleven fast, that neither woll sufferen ye comfort of this time present, ne the hope of time coming, to passen ne to failen. Bo. And I pray (qd. I) that fast mote they holden: for ye whiles that they holden, howsoeuer that things been, I shall well fleten forth and escapen. But thou maist well seen, how great apparailes and array that me lacked, that be passed away fro me. Phi. I haue somewhat aduanced & furthered thee (qd. she) if yt thou annoy not, or forthink not of all thy fortune, as who saith, I haue somewhat comforted thee, so yt thou tempest not thee thus with all thy fortune, sithen thou hast yet thy best thyngs. But I may not fuffren thy delices, y• plainest so weeping & anguishous, for that there lacketh somewhat to [Page] thy welefulnesse. For what man is he that is so sad, or of great perfite welefulnesse, that he ne striueth and playneth on some half ayen the qualitie of his estate?* For why, full anguishous thing is ye condicion of mans goods. For eyther it commeth not all together to a wight, or els it ne lasteth not perpetuell. For some man hath great richesse, but he is ashamed of his vngentill linage. And some man is renomed of noblesse of kinrede, but he is inclosed in so great anguish of need of things, yt him were leuer that he were vnknow. And some man haboundeth both in richesse and noblesse, but yet he bewayleth his chast life, for he ne hath no wife. And some man is, & selily maried, but he hath no children, & nourisheth his richesses to straunge folk. And some man is gladded with children, but he weepeth full sore for the trespace of his son, [...]or of his doughter. And for this there ne accordeth no wight lightly to yt condicion of his fortune. For alway, to euery man there is in somwhat that vnassayed, he ne wote nought, or els he dreadeth that he hath assayed. And add this also, that euery welefull man hath a full delicate feeling: so that but if all things befallen at his own will, he is impacient, or is not vsed to haue none aduersitie, anon he is throwen adown for euery little thing: and full little things been tho, that withdrawn the summe or the perfection of blisfulnesse, fro hem that been most fortunate. How many men trowest thou, would deemen hemselfe to ben almost in heauen, if they mighten attain to the least partie of the remenaunt of thy fortune? This same place, that thou cleapest exile, is countrey to them that enhabiten here. And for thy, nothing wretched, but when thou wenest it: as who saith, thou thy self, ne no wight els nis a wretch, but when he weneth himself he is a wretch, by reputation of his courage. And ayenward, all fortune is blisful to a man, by the agreeabilitie or by the egalitie of him that suffereth it. What man is that, that is so weleful, that nold changen his estate when he hath lost his pacience? The sweetnesse of mans welefulnesse, is sprant with many bitternesses. The which welefulnesse, although it seem sweet and joyful to him that vseth it, yet may it not been withholden, that it ne goeth away when it woll. Then it is well seen, how wretched is the blisfulnesse of mortal things, that neither it dureth perpetuel with hem, that euery fortune receiuen agreeably or egally, ne it deliteth not in all to hem that ben anguishous. O ye mortal folk, what seek ye then blisfulnesse out of your own self, which is put in your self? Errour and folly confoundeth you. I shall shew thee shortly the point of soueraign blisfulnesse.

Is there any thing to thee more precious than thy life? Thou wilt aunswere, nay. Then, if it so be, that thou art mightie ouer thy self, that is to sain, by tranquilitie of thy soul, then hast thou thing in thy power, that thou noldest neuer lesen: Ne Fortune may not bynemme it thee. And that thou maist know that blisfulnesse ne may not stand in thyngs that been fortunous and temporell, nowe vnderstande and gather it together thus. If blisfulnesse be the soueraign good of nature, that liueth by reason: ne thilke thing is not soueraign good, that may be taken away in any wise.

For more worthie thing is, and more dign thilke thing, that may not be taken away. Then sheweth it well, that the vnstablenesse of Fortune may nat attayne to receyue very blisfulnesse. And yet moreouer, what manne that this tumbling welefulnesse leadeth, eyther he wote that it is changeable, or els he wote it not? And if he wote it not, what blisful fortune may there been in the blindnesse of ignoraunce? And if he wote that it is chaungeable, he mote alway ben adrad, that he ne lese that thing, that he ne doubteth not but that he may lesen it. As who fayth, he mote alway be agast, least he lese that, that he woteth right well he may lese. For which, the continuall dread that he hath, ne suffereth him not to be welefull. Or els if he lese it, he weneth to be dispised and foreleten. Certes, eke that is a full little good, that is born with euen hart, when it is lost, that is to sain, that men do no more force of the losse, than of the hauing. And for as much as thou thy self art he, to whom it hath be shewed, & preued by full many demonstrations, as I wote well, that the souls of men ne mowen not dien in no wise. And eke sens it is cleare and certain, yt fortunous welefulnesse endeth by the death of the body: it may not be doubted, that if death may take away blisfulnesse, that all y• kind of mortal thing ne descendeth into wretchednesse, by the end of death. And sithen we know well, that many a man hath sought the fruit of blisfulnesse, not only with suffering of death, but eke with suffering of pains and tourments: how might then this present life make men blisfull, sens that thilk self life ended, it ne maketh folk no wretches.

Quisquis volet perennem

Cautus ponere sedem.

Stabilisque nec sonori

Sterni flatibus Euri,

Et fluctibus minantem.

Curat spernere pontum

Montis cacumen alti,

Bibulas vitet arenas, &c.

WHat manner of folk, ware and stable, that woll founden hem a perdurable seat, and ne will not be cast down with the lowde blasts of the wind Eurus, and will despise the Sea, menasing with floudes: let him eschew to builden on the coppe of the Mountain, or in the moist Sands. For if the fell wind Auster tormenteth the coppe of the Mountains with all her strengths, and the lose sands refusen to bear the heauy weights. And for thy, if thou wolt flien the perillous [Page] aduenture, that is to say, of the world, haue mind certainly to set thine house of a merrie seat in a low stone. For although the wind troubling the sea, thunder with ouerthrowing, thou that art put in quiet, and welefull, by strength of thy palleis, shalt lead a clear age, scorning the woodnesse and the ires of the aire.

Sed quoniam rationum jam in te mearum fomenta discendunt, paulo validioribus utendum puto. Age enim. Si jam caduca ac momentaria fortunae, &c.

BVt for as much as the nourishings of my reason discenden now into thee, I trow it were time to vsen a little stronger medicines. Now vnderstand here, all were it so, that the yefts of Fortune ne were not brittle, ne transitorie, what is there in hem that may be thyne in any time? Or els, that it ne is foul, if that it be looked and considered perfitly. Richesses, been they precious by the nature of hemself, or els by the nature of thee? What is most worth of richesse? Is it not gold, or might of money assembled? Tertes, that gold and that money shineth, and yeueth better renome to them that dispenden it, than to thilk folk that muckeren it: for auarice maketh alway muckerers to ben hated, and largesse maketh folk clere of renome. For sith that such things as ben transferred from one man to another, ne may not dwell with no man: Certes, then is that money precious, when it is translated into other folk, & stinten to be had by vsage of large yeuing, of him that hath yeuen it. And also, if all the money that is ouer all, in all the world, were gadered toward one man, it should make all other men to be needie, as of that. And certes, a voice all hole, yt is to sain, without amenusing, fulfilleth together the hearing of much folk. And when they ben apassed, needs they maken hem poor, that forgone tho richesses.

O, strait and needy clepe I these richesses, sens yt many folk ne may not haue it all, ne all ne may it not commen to one man, without pouertie of all other folk. And the shining of gems, that I call precious stones, draweth it not the eyen of folk to hemward, that is to sain, for the beautie? But certes, if there were beautie or bountie in shining of stones, thilk clearnesse is of the stones hemself, and not of men. For which I wonder greatly, that men maruailen on such things. For why, what thing is it, that if it wanteth moouing, and joyncture of soule and bodye, that by right might seemen a fair creature to him that hath a soul of reason. For all be it so, yt gems drawn to hemself a little of the last beautie of the world, through thentent of her creator and y• distinction of hemself: yet for as mikel as they ben put vnder your excellence, they ne haue not deserued by no way, that ye should maruailen on hem. And the beautie of fields, delighteth it not mikell vnto you?

B. Why should it not delighten vs, sith that it is a right fayre porcion of the right fayre werke, that is to sayne, of this world? And right so been we gladded sometime of y• face of the sea, when it is clear: And also maruailen we on the Heauen, and on the Starres, and on the Sunne, and on the Moone. Phi. Appertaineth (qd. she) any of thilk things to thee? Why darest thou glorifie thee in the shining of anye such thyngs? Art thou distingued and embelised by the springing floures of the first Summer season? Or swelleth thy plentie in fruits of Summer? Why art thou rauished with idle joys? Why embracest thou strange goods, as they were thine? Fortune ne shall neuer make, that such things been thine, that nature of things hath maked forrain fro thee. Sooth it is, that withouten doubt the fruits of the yearth owen to be to the nourishing of beasts. And if thou wolt fulfill thy need, after that it suffiseth to nature, then is it no need yt thou seek after the superfluitie of fortune. * For with full few things and with full little things, nature hath her apaid. And if thou wolt achoken yt fulfilling of nature with superfluities, certes, thilke things yt thou wolt thresten or pouren into nature, shullen ben unjoyful to thee, or els annoyous. Wenest thou eke, yt it be a fair thing, to shine with diuers clothings? Of which clothing, if yt beauty be agreeable to looken vpon, I woll maruailen on ye nature of the matter of thilk clothes, or els on the workman that wrought hem. Doth also a long rout of meine make thee a blisfull man? The which seruants, if they ben vicious of condicions, it is a great charge, & destruction to the hous, and a great enemie to ye sord himself: And if they ben good men, how shall strange and forrain goodnesse be put in the number of thy richesses? So that by all these foresaid things it is clearly shewed, that neuer one of thilk things, yt thou accomptedest for thy goods, nas not thy good. In which things, if there be no beautie to be desired, why shouldest thou be sorrie to lese them? Or why shouldest thou rejoyce thee to hold hem? For if they been fair of their own kind, wt appertaineth yt to thee? For also wel shoulden they haue ben fair by himself, though they were departed from thy richesses. For why, fair ne precious were they not, for that they commen among thy richesses: but for they seemed fair & precious, therfore thou hadst leuer recken hem among thy richesses. But what desirest thou of Fortune, with so great afare? I trow thou sekest to driue away need, with abundance of things: but certes, it turneth you all into the contrarie. For why, certes it needeth full many helpings to keepen ye diuersitie of precious hostile ments. And sooth it is, * That of many things they haue need, yt many things haue: And ayenward, of little thing needeth him that measureth his fill after the need of kind, & not after outrage of couetise. It is so then, that ye menne haue no proper good set in you, [Page] for such ye moten seek outward, in forraine and subject things. So is then the condicion of things tourned vp so doun, that a man yt is a diuine creature, by merit of his reason, thinketh that himselfe nis neither faire ne noble, but if it be through possession of hostiliments, that ne han no life: and certes al other things ben apaied of her own beauties: but ye men that be semblable to God by your reasonable thought, desiren to apparailen your excellent kinde with the lowest things. Ne ye vnderstanden not howe great a wrong is done to your creatour. For he would that mankinde were most worthy and noble of any yearthly thing: and ye thresten down your dignities beneathen the lowest things. For if that all the good of every thing be more precious than is thilke thing, whose that the good is, sith ye deemen, that the foulest thyngs been your goods, then submitten ye, and put your selven vnder the foulest things by your estimation. And certes, this betideth not without your desert. For certes, such is the condition of all mankinde, that onely when he hath knowing of it selfe, then passeth it in noblesse all other things. And when it forletteth the knowing of it self, then it is brought beneathen all beasts. For why, all other liuing creatures han of kind to knowen not himself. But when that men letten the knowing of hemselfe, it commeth hem of vice. But how brode sheweth the errour & the folly of you men, yt wenen that any thing may ben apparailed with straunge apparailements? But forsooth that may not be done. For if a wight shineth with thyngs that been put to him, as thus: If thilke things shinen with which a manne is apparailed, certes, thilke thinges been commended and praised, with which he is apparailed; but natheles, the thing that is covered and wrapped vnder that, dwelleth in his filthe. And I deny that thilk thing be good, yt anoyeth him yt hath it. Gabbe I of this? Thou wolt say nay. Certes, richesses haue annoyed full oft hem that han had tho richesse: Sith y• every wicked shrew for his wickednesse is ye more greedy after other folkes richesses. Whersoever it be in any place, be it gold or precious stones; he weneth him only most worthy that hath hem. Thou then yt so busie dredest now the swerd and the spear, if thou haddest entred in the path of this life, annoyen wayfaring men, then wouldest thou sing before the theef, as who saith, * A poore man that beareth no richesse on him by ye way, may boldly sing beforne theeves, for he hath not whereof to be robbed. O precious and right clear is the blisfulness of mortal richesse, that when thou hast gotten it, then hast thou lorne thy sikernesse.

Foelix nimium prior aetas, Contenta fidelibus arvis. Nec inerti perdita luxu. Facilique sera solebat Jejunia solvere glande. Nec bacchia munera norat liquido confundere melle. Nec lucida vellera serum, &c.

BLisful was the first age of men, they held hem apayed with the meats that the true fields broughten forth: they ne destroyed nor deceived not hemselfe with outrage: they weren woont lightly to slaken her hunger at even with Achornes of Okes: they ne coude not medell the yefte of Bacchus to the cleare honey, that is to sain, they could make ne piemente or clarre: Ne they could not medell the bright fleeces of the Countrey of Syrians with the venime of Tirie: this is to saine, they coude not dyen white fleeces of Syrian countrey, with the blood of a manner Shell-fish that men finden in Tyrie, with which blood men dyen Purple.

They slepten holsome sleeps vpon ye grasse, and dronken of the renning waters, & lien vnder ye shadows of ye high Pine trees. Ne no gheste or straunger ne carfe yet ye high sea with oares or with shippes: ne they ne hadden seine yet no new stronds to leaden Marchandise into divers Countreys. Tho weren the cruell clarions full hust, and full still. Ne blood y [...]ad by eagre hate, ne had dyed yet armures. For whereto would woodnesse of enemies first mouen armes, when they sawen cruel wounds, ne none meedes be of blood yshad? I would that our times should tourne ayen to the old manners. But the anguishous loue of having, in folke, burneth more cruelly than the mountain of Ethna, that aye brenneth. Alas, what was he that first dalfe up the gobbets or the weights of gold, couered under earth, and the precious stones that woulden haue be hid? * He dalfe up precious perils, that is to sain, that he hem first up dalfe, he dalfe up a precious peril, for why, for the preciousnesse of such thing hath many man ben in peril.

Quid autem de dignitatibus, potentiaque disseram, quas vos, vere dignitatis, ac potestatis inscii, Coelo exaequatis? Quae si in improbissimum quemque ceciderint, &c.

BVt what shall I say of dignities and powers, the which yee men, that neyther knowen very dignitie ne very power, areisen as high as the heauen? The whiche dignities & powers, if they commen to any wicked man, they doen as great dammages and destructions, as doth the flame of ye mountaine Ethna, when ye flame walloweth up, ne no deluvy ne doth so cruel harms. Certes, ye remember well (as I trow) yt thilke dignitie, ye men cleape the Imperie of counsaylours, the which whylome was beginning of freedome, your elders coueited to haue doen away, for the pride of the counsailours. And right for that same, your elders before that time had done away out of the Citie of Rome the Kings name, that is to sain, they nolde haue no lenger no King. But now, if so be yt dignities & powers ben yeuen to good men, the which thing is ful seld, what agreable things [Page] is there in tho dignities & powers, but onely the goodnesse of folke that vsen hem? And therefore is it thus, yt honour commeth not to vertue, because of dignitie: but ayenward, honour commeth to dignitie for cause of vertue. But whiche is thilke your deere-worth power, that is so cleare, and so requirable? O yee yearthly creatures, consider yee not ouer which thing it seemeth that ye haue power? Now, if thou saw a mouse emong other mice, that challenged to himselfeward right and power ouer all other Mice, how great scorne wouldest thou haue of it? Glosa. So fareth it by men, the body hath power ouer ye body: for if thou look well vpon the body of a wight, what thyng shalt thou find more frayle than is mankinde? The which menne full oft bee slain by biting of Flies, or els with entring or creeping wormes into the priuities of mans bodie. But where shall men finden any man y• may exercisen or haunten any right vpon another man, but only on his body or els vpon thyngs that beene lower than the bodye, the whiche I cleape Fortunes possessions? Mayest thou haue euer any commaundement ouer a free courage? Maiest thou remeue fro the state of his proper rest a thought yt is cleauing together in himselfe by stedfast reason? As whylome a tyraunt wened to confound a free man of courage, & wend to constrayne him by tourments, to maken him discoueren and accusen folke that wislen of coniuracion, which I clepe confederacie, yt was cast ayen this tyraunt: but this freeman hote off his owne tongue, and cast it in the visage of thilke wood Tyraunt. So that the torments that this wood Tyraunt wend to haue made matter of crueltie, this wise man made matter of vertue. But wt thing is it that a man may doe to another man yt he ne may receiuen the same thing of other folke in himselfe? or thus: What may a man doen to folke, yt folke ne may doen to him the same? I haue heard tolde of Busiride, that was woont to slean his ghestes that harbouren in his house: and he was slaine himselfe by Hercules, that was his ghest.

Regulus had taken in battaile many men of Affrick, & cast hem into fetters: but soone after he must yeuen his handes to bee bound with the cheines of hem that he had whylome ouercommen. Wenest thou then, that he be mightie, that hath power to doen that y• other ne may doen in him, that he can doe to other? And yet moreouer, if so were, yt these dignities of powers hadden any proper or naturall goodnesse in hem, neuer nold they commen to shrewes. For contrarious thinges ne been woont to been ifellowshipped togethers. Nature refuseth yt contrarious things ben joyned. And so as I am in certaine that wicked folke haue dignities oft time, then sheweth it well, that dignities & powers ne been not good of her owne kind, sens that they sufferen hemself to cleauen or joynen hemself to shrewes. And certaine the same thing may I most dignely judgen, and saine of all ye yefts of Fortune, yt most plenteously commen to shrewes, of which yefts I trowe, it ought bee considred, that no man doubteth that hee is strong, in whom he seeth strength: & in whom swiftnesse is, sooth it is that he is swift.

Also Musick maketh Musiciens, and Phisicke maketh Physiciens, & Rhetoricke eke Rhetoriciens. For why, the nature of euerie thing maketh his property, ne it is not entermedled with yt effect of contrarious thyngs. But certes, richesses may not restraine auarice vnstaunched. * Ne power ne maketh not a man mightie ouer himself, which yt vicious lusts holden distrained with chains, that ne mowen not be vnbounden. And dignities, that be yeuen to shreud folke, not onely ne maketh hem not digne, but sheweth rather all openly that they been vnworthy and indigne. And it is thus. For certes, yee haue joy to clepe things with false names, that bearen hem in all the contrary, the which names ben full oft reprooued by the effect of the same thinges. So that these ilke richesses ne oughten not by right to bee cleped richesses, ne such power ne ought not to be cleped power, ne such dignitie ne ought not to be cleaped dignitie. And at last I may conclude y• same thing of all the yefts of fortune: In which there nis nothing to bee desired, ne yt hath in himselfe naturall bountie, as it is well iseene, for neither they ioynen hem not alway to good men, ne maken hem alway good, to whom they been joyned.

Novimus, quantas dederit ruinas. Urbe flammata, patribusque caesis. Fratre qui quondam ferus interempto, matris effuso maduit cruore. Corpus & visu gelidum pererrans, ora non tinxit lachrimis: sed esse, Censor extincti potuit decoris, &c.

WE have well known, how many great harmes and distructions were doen by the Emperour Nero. He let brennen the Citee of Rome, and made slea the Senatours, and he cruell whilome slough his brother: and he was made moiste with the blood of his mother, that is to say, he let sleen and slitten ye wombe of his mother, to seen where he was conceyued, & he loked on euery halue of her dedde cold bodie, ne no teare wette his face, but he was so hard harted, yt he might be domes man, or Iudge of her dedde beautie. And nathelesse, yet gouerned this Nero by scepter, all the people that Phebus may seen comming, from his vtterest arising, till he hid his beams vnder the wawes: yt is to saine, he gouerned all ye peoples, by Septre Imperiall, that the Sunne goeth about fro East to west. And eke this Nero gouerned by Septre, all the peoples that be vnder ye cold sterres, that highten the Septentrions, that is to sain, he gouerned all the peoples yt be vnder ye party of the North. And eke Nero gouerned all the peoples that ye violent winde Nothus skorclith, and baketh the brenning [Page] sandes, by his drie heate, that is to say, all ye peoples in the South. But yet ne might not all his power tourne the woodnesse of this wicked Nero. * Alas it is a greuous Fortune as oft as a wicked sweard is joyned to cruell venime, that is to say, venemous crueltie to Lordship.

Tunc ego. Scis (inquam) ipsa, minimam nobis ambitionem mortalium rerum fuisse dominatam. Sed materiam gerendis rebus optavimus, quo ne virtus cacita consenesceret. P. Et illa. Atqui hoc unum est, &c.

THen said I thus: Thou wotest well thy selfe, that the couetise of mortall thinges, ne hadden neuer Lordship in me. But I haue well desired matter of thinges to doen, as who saith, I desire to haue matter of gouernaunces ouer comminalties, for vertue still should not elden: that is to saine, lest er that he wext old his vertue that lay now still ne should not perishe vnexercised in gouernance of commune, for which men might speaken or writen of his good gouernement. Phi. Forsooth (qd. she) & that is a thing that may drawen to gouernaunce soche hartes as been worthy and noble of her nature: but nathelesse it may not drawen or tellen such hartes as been ybrought to the full perfection of vertue, that is to sain, couetise of glorie & renome, to haue well administred ye common things, or doen good desertes, to profite of ye common. For see now and consider, how little & how void of all price is thilke glory, certaine thing is as thou hast learned by ye demonstracion of Astronomy, that al ye enuironning of ye yearth about, ne halt but the reason of a pricke, at ye regard of the greatnesse of ye heauen, that is to sain, y• if there were maked comparison of the yearth to ye greatnesse of heauen, men would judgen in all that ne held no space. Of ye which little region of this world, the fourth part of the yearth is inhabited with liuing beasts that we knowen, as thou hast thy selfe ilearned by Ptholome that proueth it. And if thou haddest withdrawen and abated in thy thought for thilke fourth part, as moch space as the see & the maries conteynen and ouergone: as moch space as ye region of drought ouer stretcheth, that is to saine, sands & desertes, wel vnneth shuld there dwellen a right strait place to the habitacion of men. And ye, that he enuironed & closed with the lest pricke of thilke pricke, thinken ye manifesten or publishen your renome and done your name for to ben borne forth. But your glory, yt is so narow & so straight throngen into so litel bounds, how mikell conteyneth it in larges & in great doing. And also set thereto, yt many a nacion, diuers of tongue and of maners, & eke of reason of her liuing, inhabite in the close of thilke habitacle: to ye which nacions, what for difficultie of wayes, and what for diuersitie of language, and what for defaulte of vnusage, & entrecomming of Marchandise, not onely ye names of singuler men ne may not stretchen, but eke ye fame of Cities may not stretchen. At the laste, certes in the time of Marcus Tullius, as him selfe writeth in his boke, that renome of ye commonwelth of Rome, ne had not yet passed ne clomben ouer the mountaine yt hight Caucasus: & yet was Rome well waxen, being redoubted of ye Parthes, & eke of other folk enhabiting about. Seest thou not then how straite and how compressed is thilke glory that yee trauailen about to shewen and to multiply? May then the glory of a singuler Romane stretchen thider as the fame of the name of Rome may not climben ne passen? And eke seest thou not yt the maners of diuers folke & her lawes been discordant amonges hemlelf, so yt thilke thing yt som men judge worthy of praising, other folke judgen that that is worthy of tourment? And hereof commeth it, yt though a man deliteth him in praysing of his renome, he may not in no wise bringen forth ne spreden his name to many maner peoples: & therefore euery man ought to be apaid of his glory, ye is published among his owne neighbours, and thilke noble renome shall be restrayned within the bounds of tho maner folke. But how many a man, yt was full noble in his tyme, hath the wretches & nedy foryeting of writers put out of mind & don away: al be it so yt certes thilke things profiten litell, the which things and writings long & derke elde do away both hem & eke her auctours. But ye men semen to getten you a perdurabilitie, when ye thinken in time comming your fame shall lasten. But nathelesse if thou wilt make comparison to the endlesse spaces of eternite, wt thing hast thou, by which thou maist rejoycen thee of long lasting of thy name? For if there were made comparison of ye abiding of a moment to ten thousand winter, for as moch as both tho spaces ben ended, yet hath the moment some porcion of it although it be litell. But nathelesse thilke selfe nombre of yeres, & eke as many yeres as thereto may be multiplied, ne may not certes be comparisoned to ye perdurabilite yt is endlesse. * For of things which yt have ende may be made comparison, but of thinges which that been withouten ende, to things that haue end, may be maked no comparison. And for thy is it, that although renome of as long time as euer thee list to thinken, were compared to the regard of ye eternitie, that is vnstaunchable and infinite, it ne should not onely seem littell, but plainly right nought. But yee semen certes ye can do nothing a right, but if it be for ye audience of the people, & for ydle rumours. And ye forsaken the great worthinesse of conscience & of vertue, & ye seken your guerdons of the small words of strange folke. Haue now here and vnderstand in the lightnesse of soche pride & veine glory, how a man skorned festinally & merily soche vanite. Whilom there was a [Page] man, yt had assaied with striuing words another manne, the which not for usage of very vertue, but for proude vaine glory, had taken upon him falsly y• name of a Philosophre. This rather man that I speak of, thought he wold assay, wheder he thilke were a Philosophre or no, that is to say: if yt he would haue suffred lightly in pacience the wrongs y• were done to him: this fained philosophre toke pacience a litel while, and when he had receiued words of outrage, he as in striuing ayen & reioysing of him self, said at last thus: Vnderstandest thou not that I am a philosophre? That other man answerde again bitingly and said: I had well understand it, if thou haddest holden thy tonge still. But wt is it to these noble worthy men (for certes of such folk speak I, that seken glory with vertue?) What is it (qd. she) what atteyneth fame to soche folke, when the body is resolued by deth at the last? for if so be that men dien in all, that is to say body & soul, the which thing our reason defendeth us to beleue, then is there no glory in no wise: for wt should thilke glory be, when he, of whom thilke glory is said to be, nis right naught in no wise? And if ye soul, which that hath in it self science of good werkes, unbounden from the prison of ye yerth, wendeth freely to the heauen, dispiseth it not then all erthly occupacion, and being in heauen reioyseth that it is exempt from all erthly things? as who faith, then recketh the soul neuer of no glory of renome of this world.

Quicunque solam mente praecipiti petit, summumque credit gloriam, Lace patentes aetheris cernat plagas, Artumque terrarum situm, Brevem replere non valentis ambitum, &c.

WHo so that with ouerthrowing thought onely seeketh glory of fame, and weneth that it be soueraine good, let him loken upon the brode shewing countreys of the heauen, and upon the straite seate of this earth, and he shall be ashamed of thencrease of his name, that may not fulfill the littel compas of the earth. O what coueyten proude folk to liften up her neckes in idle, in the deadly yoke of this world? For although that renome ysprad passing toforn peoples, goth by diuers tonges, and although great houses of kindreds shinen by clere titles of honours, yet nathelesse death dispiseth all high glory of fame, and death wrappeth togithers the high heads and the lowe, and maketh equal and euen the hiest with the lowest.

Where wonen now the bones of trew Fabricius? What is now Brutus, or sterne Caton? The thynne fame yet lastyng of her ydle names, is marked with a few letters. But although that we haue knowen the fair words of the fame of hem, it is not yeuen to know hem that he deed & consumpt. Liggeth then still all utterly unknowable, ne fame ne maketh you not know. And if ye wene to liue ye lenger for wind of your mortal name, when one cruel day shall take away this also, then shall ye die the second death. The first death he clepeth here the departing of the body, and the second death here the stinting of the renome of fame.

Sed ne me inexorabile contra fortunam gerere Bellum putes, est aliquando, cum de hominibus fallax illa non nihil bene mereatur: tum scilicet cum se aperit, &c.

BVt for as moch as thou shalt not wenen (qd. she) that I beare an untreatable batayle ayenst Fortune, yet sometimes it be falleth that she, nothing disceiuable, deserueth to haue right good thanke of men: and that is when she her selfe openeth, and when she discouereth her front, and sheweth her manners. Perauenture yet understandest thou not that I shall say. It is a wondre that I desire to tell, and therefore vnneth may I unpliten my sentence with words. For I deme yt contrarious fortune profiteth more to men, than fortune debonayre. For alway when fortune semeth debonayre, then she lieth falsly, biheting the hope of welefulnesse. But contrarious fortune is alway sothfaste, when she sheweth her selfe unstable through her chaungyng. * The amiable fortune disceiueth folk: yt contrary fortune teacheth. The amiable fortune blindeth with the beautie of her false goodes the harts of folks that usen hem: the contrary Fortune unbindeth hem with the knowing of frele welefulnesse. Thamyable fortune maiest thou sene alway windy & flowing, & euer misknowing of her self: The contrary fortune is attempre & restrained and wise, thorow exercise of her aduersite. At the last, amiable Fortune with her flaterings draweth miswandring men fro the soueraine good: the contrarious fortune leadeth oft folk ayen to sothfast goods, & halteth hem ayen as with an hoke. Wenest thou then that thou oughtest to leten this a litell thing, that this aspre & horrible Fortune hath discouered to thee the thoughts of thy trew frendes? For why, this ilke Fortune hath departed & uncouered to thee both the certain visages, & eke the doutous visages of thy felawes. When the departed away fro thee, she took away her frends & laft thee thy frendes. Now when thou were rich and welefull, as thee semed, with how mykell woldest thou haue bought the full knowing of this, that is to sain, the knowing of thy very frends? Now plain thee not then of richesse lorne, sith thou haste found the most precious kind of richesse, that is to saine, thy very frendes.

Quod mundus stabili fide, concordes variat vices, quod pugnantia semina, Faedus perpetuum tenet, &c.

THat the world with stable faith varieth accordable chaungings: that the contrarious qualitees of Elements holden among hem self alyaunce perdurable: that [Page] Phebus the sonne with his golden chariot bringeth forth the rosie day: that the moon hathe commaundement ouer the nightes, which nightes Esperus the euen sterre hath brought: that the sea, gredy to flowen, constraineth with a certain end his floods, so that it is not lefull to stretch his brode terms or bounds upon the yearth: all this ordinaunce of things is bounden with loue, that gouerneth earth and sea, and also hath commaundement to the heauen. And if this loue slaked the bridles, all thinges that now louen togithers wolden make bataile continuelly, and striuen to fordone the facion of this world, the which they now leden in accordable faith by faire mouings. This loue holdeth togider people ioyned with an holy bond, and knitteth sacrament of mariage of chaste loues. And loue endeth lawes to true felawes. O welefull were mankinde if thilke loue that gouerneth the Heauen gouerned your courages.

¶Here endeth the second boke.

Jam cantum illa finierat, cum me audiendi avidum, stupentemque arrectis adhuc auribus carminis dulcedo defixerat. Itaque paulo post, O inquam summum lassorum solamen animorum, quantum me, &c.

BY this she had ended her song, when the sweetnesse of her dytie had through perced mee, that was desirous of herkening. And I astonied had yet streight mine eares, yt is to saine, to herken the bet what she should say: so yt a litel after I said thus, O thou that art souerain comfort of corages anguishous, so thou hast remounted & nourished me with ye weight of thy sentences, & with delite of singing so that I trowe not that I be unperegall to y• strokes of Fortune: as who saith, I dare well now suffren all thassauts of Fortune, & well defend me from her. And tho remedies, which that thou saidest here beforne, yt weren right sharpe, not only y• I am not agrisen of hem now, but I desirous of hearing, ask greatly to hearen ye remedies. Then saied she thus: That feled I well (qd. she) when that thou ententife and still, rauishedest my words: and I abode till thou haddest soche habyte of thy thought, as thou hast now, or els till that I my self had maked it to the same habit, which is a more trew thing. And certes ye remnant of things that ben yet to say ben soch, yt first when men taste hem they bene biting: But when they bene receiued within a wight, then ben they swete. But for thou sayst that thou art so desirous to hearken hem, with how great brenning wouldest thou glowen, if thou wiltes whider I wold leden thee? B. Whider is that (qd. I) P. To thilke very blisfulnesse (qd. she) of which thine hart dremeth. But for as moch as thy sight is occupied and distourbed of earthly things, thou maiest not yet sene thilk self welefulnesse. B. Doe (qd. I) and shew me what thilke very welefulnes is, I pray thee without taryeng. P. That woll I gladly done (qd. she) for cause of thee. But I wol first marken by words, and I woll enforcen me to enforme thee thilk false cause of blisfulnesse, which that thou more knowest: so that when thou haste beholden thilke false goodes, and turned thine iyen so to that other side, thou may knowen the eleerenesse of very blisfulnesse.

Qui serere ingenuum volet agrum, liberat arva prius fruticibus, falce rubos, filicemque resecat, &c.

WHo so woll sowe a field plenteous, let him first deliueren it of thornes, and kerue asonder with his hoke the bushes and the ferne, so that the corne may commen heauie of eres and of greines. * Hony is the more swete if mouths haue first tasted sauors that he wycke. The Sterres shinen more agreably when the wind Nothus letteth his plungy blastes. And after that Lucifer the day sterre hath chased away the dark night, y• day the fairer ledeth the rosen horse of the sonne. * And right so thou, beholding first y• false goods, begin to withdraw thy neck fro yt yearthly affections, and afterwards the very goods shullen entren into thy corage.

Tum defixo paululum visu, & velut in angustam suae mentis sedem recepta: sic cepit. P. Omnis mortalium cura quam multiplicium studiorum labor exercet, &c.

THo fastened she a litel the sight of her eien, and she withdrew her right as it were into the strait seate of her thought, and began to speake right thus: All the cures (qd. she) of mortall folke, which that trauailen hem in many maner studies, gon certes by diuers wayes: but nathelesse they enforcen hem all to commen onely to thende of blisfulnes. And blisfulnes is soch a good, that who so hath gotten it, he ne may over that thing more desire. And this thing forsooth is so soueraine good, that it conteyneth in himself all manner of goodes, to the which good if there fayled any thing, it might not been soueraine good, for then were some good out of this soueraine good, that might be desired. Now it is clere and certaine that blisfulnesse is a parfite state, by ye congregacion of all goodes, ye which blisfulnesse (as I haue sayd) all mortal folke enforcen hem to get by diuers ways. For why, the couetise of euery good is naturelly planted in ye harts of men: but the miswandring errour misledeth hem into false goods. Of the which men, some of hem wenen that soueraine good be to liuen without need of any thing. And other men demen, that soueraine good to be right digne of reuerence, & enforcen hem to be reuerenced among her neighbours, by the honours [Page] that they haue gotten. And some folk there ben that holden, that right hie power be soueraine good, and enforcen hem for to reignen or els to ioynen hem to hem that reigne. And it seemeth to other folk, that noblesse of renome be the soueraine good, and hasten hem to getten hem glorious name by the artes of werre or of peace. And many folke measuren and gessen, that souerayne good be ioy and gladnesse, and wenen that it bee right blisful thing to plongen in voluptuous delites. And there ben some folke, that enterchaungen the causes and the ends of these foresaid goods: As they that desiren richesses to haue power and delights, or els they desire power for to haue money, or for cause of renome. In these things and soch other is turned all the entencion of desirings and werkes of menne, as thus: Noblesse and fauour of people, which that yeueth to all men, as it seemeth hem, a maner cleerenesse of renome: and wife and children, that men desiren, for cause of delite and merinesse. But forsoth frendes ne shullen not be rekened among the goodes of Fortune, but of vertue, for it is a full holy maner thing. All these other things forsoth be taken for cause of power, or els for cause of delite. Certes now I am ready to referren the goods of the body, to these foresaid things abouen: For it semeth that strength and greatnesse of body yeuen power and worthinesse, and that beaute and swiftnesse yeuen glory and renome: and health of body seemeth to yeuen delite. In all these things it seemeth onely that blisfulnesse is desired: for why, thilke thing that euery man desireth moste ouer all things, he deemeth that it be soueraine good. But I haue defined, that blisfulnesse is souerain good, for which euery wight deemeth that thilke estate that he desireth ouer all things, that it be blisfulnesse. Now hast thou then before thine eyen almost all the purposed forme of the welefulnesse of mankind that is to sain, richesse, honours, power, glory, and delites, the which delite onely considred Epicurus, aud iudged and established that delite is the soueraine good: for as moche as all other things, as him thought, byrest away ioy and myrthe from the hart. But I returne againe to the studies of men, of which men the corage alway reherseth and seeketh the soueraine good, all be it so that it be with a dyrked memory, but he not by which pathe, right as a dronken man, note nought by which path he may returne home to his house. Semeth it then that folke forleyen and erren to enforcen hem to haue need of nothing. Certes there is none other thing that may so moch performen blisfulnesse, as an estate plenteous of all goods, that ne hath neede of none other thing, but that is suffisaunt of himselfe unto himself. And folien soche folke then that wenen, that thilke thing that is right good, that it is eke right worthy of honor and of reuerence? certes nay. For that thing nys neither foule ne worthy to be dispised, that well nigh all the entencion of mortal folke travailen to get it. And power eke ought not to be rekened amongs goodes. What els? for it nis not to wene that thilke thing that is most worthy of all things, be feble and without strength. And clerenesse of renome, ought yt to ben despised? Certes there may no man forsake that all thing yt is right excellent and noble, that it ne semeth be right clere and renomed. For certes it needeth not to say, that blisfulnesse be anguishous ne drerie, ne subject to greuaunces ne sorowes, sens that in right littell things folke seken to haue and to usen that may delighten hem. Certes these ben the things that men willen and desiren to getten: and for this cause desiren they richesses, dignities, reignes, glorie and delites. For therby wened they to haue suffisaunce, honour, power, renome, and gladnes. Then is it good that men seken thus by so many diuers studies, in which desire, it may not lightly be shewed how great is the strength of nature. For how so men haue diuers sentences and discordings, algates men accorden all in louing the end of good.

Quantas rerum flectit habenas Natura potens, quibus immensum, Legibus orbem provida servet, stringatque ligans irresoluto. Singula nexu, placet arguto, fidelibus lentis promere cantu, &c.

IT lyketh me to shew by subtil song, with slack and delitable sowne of strings, how that nature mightely enclineth aud flitteth by the gouernment of things, and by soche lawe shee purueiable keepeth the great world, and how she binding restraineth all things by a bonde that may not be unbounden. All be it so that the Lions of the countrey of Pene beren the faire chaines and taken meates of the hands of folke that yeuen it hem, and dreden her sturdie maisters, of which they be wont to suffre beatings, if that her horrible mouthes been bledde, that is to sain, of beestes devoured: her corage of time passed that hath been idle and rested, repaireth ayen, and they roren greuously, and remembren on her nature, and staken her necks from her chaines unbound, and her maister first to torne with bloody teeth, assaieth the woode wrathes of hem, that is to sain, they fretten her maister. And the iangling bird that singeth on the hie braunches, that is to saine, in the woode, and after is enclosed in a straite cage, although the plyeng besinesse of men yeue hem honied drinkes, and large meates with swete study: yet natheles if thilke bird skipping out of her straite cage, seeth the agreeable shadowes of the woodes, she defouleth with her feet her meat ishad, and seeketh on morning onely the wood, and twireth desiring the woode with her swete voise. The yerde of a tree that is haled adown by mighty strength, boweth redily the croppe [Page] a downe: but if that the hand that is bent let it gone again, anon the croppe looketh vpright to the heauen. The sonne Phebus, that falleth at euen in the westren wawes, returneth ayen eftsones his carte by a priuy pathe there as it is wont arise. All things seken ayen to her proper course, and al things rejoysen on her returning againe to her nature: ne none ordinance is betaken to things, but that hath joyned the end to the beginning, and hath made the course it self stable, that it chaunge not fro his proper kind.

Vos quoque ô terrena animalia, tenui licet imagine, vestrum tamen principium somniatis. Verum (que) illum beatitudinis finem, licet minime perspicaci, &c.

CErtes also ye men that ben erthly creatures dreamen alway your beginning, although it be with a thin imaginacion, and by a maner thought, all be it nat clerely ne perfectly, ye loken from a ferre to thilke very fine of blisfulnesse. And therefore naturel entencion leadeth you to thilke very good, but many maner errours mistourneth you therefro. Consider now if that be thilke things, by which a man weneth to get him blisfulnesse, if that he may commen to thilke end that he weneth to come to by nature. For if that money, honors, or these other foresaid things bringen men to soch a thing that no good ne fail them ne semeth to fail, certes then wold I graunt that they be maked blisfull by things that they haue gotten. But if so be that thilke things ne mowen not performe that they byheten, and that there be defaut of many goodes, sheweth it not then clerely the false beautie of blisfulnesse is knowen and atteint in thilk things? First and forward thou thy self, that haddest aboundance of richesse nat long agon, I ask thee that in thaboundance of al thilk riches, if thou were neuer anguishous or sorrie in thy courage of any wrong or greuaunce that betide thee in any side. B. Certes (qd. I) it ne remembreth me not, that euer I was so free of my thought, that I ne was alway in anguish of somewhat. P. And was that not (qd. she) for that thee lacked somewhat that thou noldest not haue lacked? Or els thou haddest that thou noldest haue had? B. Right so it is (qd. I.) P. Then desirest thou the presence of the one, and thabsence of that other? B. I graunt well (qd. I.) P. Forsoth (qd. she) then nedeth there somewhat that euery man desireth. B. Ye there nedeth (qd. I.) P. Certes (qd. she) and he that hath lacke or neede of aught, nis not in euery way suffisant to himself. B. No (qd. I.) P. And thou (qd. she) in al the plentie of thy richesse haddest thilke lacke of suffisance? B. What els (qd. I.) P. Then may not riches maken that a man nis nedy, ne that he be sufficient to himself: and yet that was it that they beheten as it semed. And eke certes I trowe that this be greatly to consider, that money hath not in his owne kind, that it ne may been bynomen from hem that haue it, maugre hem. Bo. I know it well (qd. I.) P. Why shouldst thou not beknowen it (qd. she) when euery day the strenger folke benomen it from the feobler, maugre hem? From whens come els all these forain complaints, quarels, or pleadings, but for that men asken her money, that hath been binomed hem, by strength or by gyle, and alway maugre hem? Boec. Right so it is (qd. I.) Phi. Then hath a man need (qd. she) to seeken him forain help, by which he may defend his money. Boecius. Who may say nay (qd. I.) Phil. Certes (qd. she) and him needed no helpe, if he ne had no money that he might lese. Boecius. That is doubtles (qd. I.) Philosophie. Then is this thing tourned in to the contrary (qd. she:) for richesse, that men wenen should maken suffisaunce, they maken a man rather haue need of forain help. Which is the maner or the guise (qd. she) that richesse may driuen away need? Riche folke, may they neuer haue honger ne thurst? These rich men, may they fele no cold on their lims in Winter? But thou wilt aunswere, that rich men haue inough, wherewith they may staunchen her honger, and slaken her thurst, and doen away colde.

In this wise may need been comforted by richesse: but certes, need ne may not all vtterly be doen away. For if this need, that alway is gaping & greedy, be fulfilled with richesse, & any other thing, yet dwelleth then a need that mote be fulfilled. I hold me still, & tell not how that little thing sufiseth to nature: * but certes, to auarice suffiseth not inough of nothing. For since that riches ne may not doen away need, & they maken their own need, wt may it then be, that ye wenen that richesses mowen yeuen you suffisaunce?

Quamvis fluente dives auri gurgite. Non expleturas cogat avarus opes, &c.

AL were it so, that a noble couetous man had a riuer, or a gutter fleeting all of gold, yet should it neuer staunch his couetise: and although he had his neck charged with precious stones of the red Sea: And though he do ere his fields plenteous with an hundred oxen, neuer ne shal his biting businesse forleten him while he liueth: ne the light of richesses, ne shall not bearen him compaigny when he is dead.

Sed dignitatis honorabilem, reverendum (que) cui provenerint, reddunt. Num vis ea est magistratibus, ut utentium mentibus vi [...]tutes inserant, vicia depellant, &c.

BVT dignities, to whom they be commen, maken they them honourable and reverent? Have they not so great strength that they then may putten vertue [Page] in hertes of folkes that usen the lordship of hem, or els may they done away the vices? Certes they be not wont to don away wickednes, but they be wont rather to shew wickednesse: And thereof commeth it that I haue right great disdain that dignities been yeuen to wicked men. For which thing Catullus cleped a consull of Rome (that hight Nonius) postome or boche, as who saith, he cleped him a congregacion of vices in his brest, as a postome is full of corrupcion: All were Nonius set in a chaire of dignite. Seest thou not then, how great vilonies dignities done to wicked men? Certes unworthines of wicked men shuld be the lasse seen, if they nere renomed with none honour. Certes thou thy selfe ne mightest not bee brought with as many perils as thou mightest suffre, that thou woldest beare the Magistrate with Decorate: that is to saine, that for peril that might befall thee by offence of the king Theodorike, thou noldest not be felawe in gouernaunce with Decorate, when thou sawe that he had wicked corage of a licorous shrew and of an accusour. Ne I may not for soche honours iudgen hem worthy of reuerence, that I deeme and holde unworthy to haue thilke same honours. Now if thou saw a man that were fulfild of wisdome, certes, thou ne mightest not deme that he were unworthy to that honour, or els to the wisedome of whiche he is fulfilled. Boecius. No (qd. I) Philosophie. * Certes (qd. she) dignities appertainen properly to vertue, and vertue transporteth dignitie anon to thilke man to which she her selfe is conioyned. And for as moch as honours of people ne may not make folke digne of honour, it is well seen clerely, that they ne haue no proper beautie of dignitie. And yet men oughten take more heed in this: for if a wight be in so moch the more outcast, that he is despised of most folke, so as dignitie ne may not maken shrewes worthy of no reuerence, then maketh dignite shrewes rather dispised than praised, the which shrewes dignite sheweth to moche folke. And forsooth not unpunished, that is to saine, that shrewes reuengen hem ayenward upon dignities. For they yelden ayen to dignities as great guerdons, when they dispotten and defoulen dignities with her vilonie. And for as moch as thou now knowest, that thilke very reuerence ne may nat commen by these shadowy transitorie dignities, understonde now thus: that if a man had used and had many maner dignities of consuls, and were parauenture commen among straunge nacions, shuld thilke honour maken him worshipfull and redoubted of straunge folke? Certes if that honour of people were a naturel yefte to dignities, it ne might neuer cessen no where among no maner folke to done his office. Right as fyre in euery countrey ne stinteth not to enchaufen and maken hote. But for as moch as for to been honorable or reuerent, ne commeth not to folk of her proper strength of nature, but onely of the false opinion of folk, that is to saine, that wenen that dignities maken folke digne of honours: anone therefore when they commen there as folke ne knowen not thilke dignities, her honours vanishen away, and that anon: But that is among straunge folke mayst thou saine. Ne amongs hem there they were borne, ne dureth not thilke dignities alway. Certes the dignitie of the prouostry of Rome was whilom a great power: now it is nothing but an ydle name, and the rent of the Senatorie a great charge. And if a wight whilom had the office to taken hede to the vitailes of the people, as of corne and of other thinges, he was holden amongs hem great. But what thing is more now out caste than thilke prouostrie? As I haue said a little here beforne, that thilke thing that hath no proper beaute of it self, receiueth sometime price and shining, and sometime leseth it by thopinion of usaunces. Now if that dignities then ne mowe not make folke digne of reuerence, and if that dignities wexen foule of her wyll, by the silthe of shrewes. And if dignities lesen her shining by chaunging of tymes, and if they wexen foule by estimacion of people, what is it that they han in hem selfe of beaute, that ought to be desired? as who saith, none: then ne mowen they yeuen no beaute of dignite to none other.

Quamvis se Tyrio superbus ostro comeret & niveis lapillis, &c.

AL be it so, that the proude Nero with all his wode luxure, kembe him and apparelled him with faire purpure of Tirie, and with white peerles. Algates yet thereof hee hatefull to all folke, that is to say, that all was he behated of all folkes, yet this wicked Nero had great lordshippe. And yafe whilome to the reuerent Senatours the unworshipful seates of dignities. Vnworshipfull seates he clepeth here, for that Nero that was so wicked yafe the dignities.

Who would then reasonably wenen, that blisfulnesse were in soch honours, as been yeuen by vicious shrewes.

An vero regna, regnumque familiaritas efficere potentem valent? Quidni, &c.

BVt reignes and familiarities of kynges, may they maken a man to ben mighty? How els? when his blisfulnesse dureth perpetually. But certes, the olde age of time passed, and eke of present time now, is full of ensamples, how that Kings haue chaunged into wretchednesse, out of her welefulnes. O, a noble thing and a clere thing is power, that nis not founden mighty to keepe it selfe. And if that power of [Page] realmes be authour & maker of blisfulnesse, if thilk power lacketh on any side, amenuseth it nat thilke blisfulnesse, and bringeth in wretchednesse? But yet al be it so, yt the realmes of mankinde stretchen brode, yet mote there need ben moch folke, ouer which that euery King ne hath no lordship ne commaundement. And certes vpon thilk side that power falleth, which yt maketh folke blisfull, right on ye same side no powere entreth vnderneth that maketh hem wretches. In this maner then moten kings haue more porcion of wretchednesse than of welefulnesse.

A tyraunt that was king of Cecile, yt had assayed ye perill of his essate, shewed by similitude ye dredes of realmes by gastenesse of a swerde, that hong ouer the head of his familier. What thing is then this power, yt may not done away the bitings of businesse, ne eschew the prickes of drede?

And certes yet woulden they liuen in sikernesse, but they may nat. And yet they glorifyen hem in her power. Holdest thou then yt thilke man be mighty, yt thou seest that he would done yt he may not done? And holdest thou then him a mighty man, yt hath enuironned his sides with men of arms or sergeants, & dredeth more hem that he maketh agast, than they dreden him? and that is put in ye hands of his seruaunts, why hee should seeme mightie? But of familiers or seruaunts of kings, why should I tell thee any thing, sith that I my selfe haue shewed thee that realmes hemselfe ben ful of great feeblesse? The which familiers, certes, ye royall power of kinges in hole estate, & in estate abated, full oft throweth adowne.

Nero constrayned Senecke, his familier and his mayster, to chesen on what death he would die. Antonius commanded yt knights slowen with her swerds Papinian his familier, which Papinian had beene long time full mightie amonges hem of the court. And yet certes, they woulden both haue renounced her power. Of which two, Seneck enforced himselfe to yeuen to Nero his richesse, & also to haue gone into solitarie exile. But when ye great weight, that is to saine, of lords power, or of Fortune, draweth hem that shullen fall, neyther of hem ne might doe yt hee would. What thing is then thilk power that though men have it yet they ben agast, & when thou wouldest haue it, thou nart not siker? And if thou wouldest forleten it, thou maiest nat eschewen it. But wheder ben such men friends at need, as been counsayled by fortune, and not by vertue? certes such folk as weleful fortune maketh frendes, contrarious fortune maketh hem enemies. And what pestilence is more mighty for to annoy a wight, than a familiar enemy?

Qui se volet esse potentem, Animos domet ille feroces: Nec victa libidine colla, &c.

WHo so woll be mightie, he mote daunten his cruell courages, ne put nat his neck ouercommen, vnder ye foule raynes of lechery. For all be it so, that the lordship stretch so ferre, yt the country of Inde quaketh at thy commandments, or at thy laws, and at the last isle in yt see, that hight Tyle, be thrall to thee: yet if thou maiest nat putten away thy foule derke desires, and driuen out fro thee wretched complaints, certes, it nis no power that thou hast.

Gloria vero quam fallax saepe, quam turpis est; Unde non injuria tragicus exclamat. O gloria, gloria, millibus mortalium nihil aliud facta, nisi aurium inflatio magna, &c.

BUt glory, how deceiuable & how foule is it oft? For which thynge, not vnskilfully, a tragedian, yt is to saine, maker of dities, yt highten tragedies, cried and said: O glory, glory, qd. he, thou nart nothing els to thousands of folkes, but a sweller of eares. For many haue full great renome by the false opinion of the people.

And what thing may been thought fouler than suche praysing? For thilke folke that been praysed falsely, they moten needes haue shame of her praysing. And if that folke haue getten hem thank or praising by her deserts, what thing hath thilk prise eched or encreased to the conscience of wise folke, that measured her good, nat by the rumour of ye people, but by ye soothfastnesse of conscience? And if it seme a fair thing, a man to haue encreased & sprad his name, then followeth it, yt it is deemed to ben a foule thing, if it ne be ysprad and encreased. But as I said a little here before, yt sith there mote needes been many folkes, to which folke the renome of a man ne may nat commen, it befalleth, that he that thou wenest be glorious and renomed, semeth in the next part of the erthes to ben without glory and without renome. And certes amongs these things, I ne trow nat that the prise and the grace of the people nis neither worthy to ben remembred, ne commeth of wise judgement, ne is ferme perdurably. But now of this name of gentilesse: what man is it that ne may well seene how vaine and flitting it is? For if the name of gentilesse be referred to renome and clereness of linage, then is gentil name but a forain thing, that is to say, to hem that glorifien hem of her linage: For it semeth that gentilnes is a manner praising that commeth of the deserts of auncesters. And if praising maketh gentilnesse, then moten they needes been gentill that ben praised. For which thing it followeth, that if thou ne have no gentilnes of thy self, that is to sain, prise, that cometh of thy desert, forraine gentilnesse ne maketh thee nat gentill. But certes, if there be any good in gentilnesse, I trowe it be all onely this: that it semeth as that a manner necessite be imposed to gentilmen, for that they ne should nat outragen or forleauen fro the vertues of her noble kinred.

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Omne hominum genus in terris Simili surgit ab hortu. Unus enim rerum pater est. Unus cuncta ministrat, &c.

AL the linage of men, that been in earth, been semblable of birth. One alone is father of things: one alone ministreth all things: he yafe to the Sun his beames: he yafe to the Moone her hornes: he yafe to men the earth: he yafe the sterres to the heaven: he closed with membres the soules that camen from his hie seat: Then commen all mortal folke of noble seed. Why noisen or bosten ye of your elders? for if ye loke your beginning, and God your father authour and your maker, then nys there no foreliued wight or ungentill but if he nourishe his courage vnto vices, and forlete his proper birth.

Quid autem de corporis voluptatibus loquar, quarum appetentia quidem plena est anxietatis, &c.

BUt what shall I sain of delices of body, of whiche delices the desirings ben full of anguishes, and the fulfillings of hem ben full of penaunce? how great sicknesses and how great sorrows unsufferable, right as a maner fruit of wickednes, ben thilke delices wont to bringen to the bodies of folke yt usen hem? of which delices I not what joye may been had of her mouing. But this wote I well, * That who so euer woll remembren him of his luxures, he shall well understand, that the issues of delices ben sorowfull and sory. And if thilke delices mow make folke blisful, then by that same cause moten these beests ben cleped blisful. Of which beests all the entencion hasteth to fulfill her bodely jolitee. And the gladnesse of wife and children were an honest thing, but it hath been said that it is ouer mokell ayenst kind, that children have been founden tourmentours to her Fathers, I not how many. Of which children, how biting is euery condition, it needeth not to tellen it thee, that hast er this time assayed it, and art yet now anguishous. In this time approve I the sentence of my disciple Euripidis, that said, * That he that hath no children is welefull by infortune.

Habet hoc voluptas omnis stimulis agit fruentes: Apiumque par volantium ubi gratia mella sudit. Fugit & nimis tenaci ferit icta corda morsu, &c.

EVery delyte hath this, that it anguisheth hem with prickes that usen it. It ressembleth to these flyeng flyes that we clepen Bees, that after that he hath shedde his agreable honnyes, he flyeth away, and stingeth the hertes of hem that been smitten with biting ouerlong holden.

Nihil igitur dubium est, quin hae ad beatitudinem viae devia quaedam sint, nec perducere eo quenquam valeant, &c.

NOw it is no doubt then, that these ways ne been a maner mistidings to blisfulnesse: ne that they ne mowen not seden folk thider, as they beheten to leden hem. But with how great harms these forsaid ways ben enlaced, I shall shew you shortly. For why, if thou enforcest thee to assemble money, thou must byreuen him his money that hath it. And if thou will shinen with dignities, thou must besechen and supplien hem that yeuen tho dignities. And if thou coueitest by honour to gone beforne other folkes, thou shalt defoule thy self thorow humblesse of asking. If thou desirest power, thou shalt by awaits of thy subiects anoyouslie be cast under by many parils. Askest thou glory? thou shalt been so distract by aspre thinges, that thou shalt forgone sikernesse. And if thou woldest leden thy life in delites, euery wight shal dispisen thee & forleten thee, as thou that art thrall to thing, yt is right foule & britel, yt is to saine, seruaunt to thy bodie. Now is it wel yseen, how litel and how brytel possession they coueiten, that putten the goodes of the body aboue her owne reason. For mayst thou surmounten these Olifaunts in greatnesse or in weight of bodie? or mayst thou ben strenger than ye Bull? mayst thou be swifter than the Tygre? Behold the spaces and the stablenesse, and the swift course of Heauen, and stint somtime to wondren on foul things. The which heauen certes nys nat rather for these thinges to be wondren upon, than for the reason by which it is gouerned. But the shyning of thy forme, that is to sayne, the beaute of thy body, how swiftly passing is it, and how transitorie, certes, it is more flitting than the mutabilitie of floures of the sommer season. For so as Aristotel telleth, that if the men had eyen of a beeste that hight Lynx, so that the loking of folk might percen through tho thinges that withstond it: who so looked then in thentrailes of the body of Alcibiades, that was full fayre in the superficie without, it should seme right foule. And for thy, if thou seemest fayre, thy nature ne maketh nat that, but the disceiuaunce of feblenesse of the eyen that loken. But prayse the goods of the body as moch as euer thee list, so that thou know algates that what so it be, that is to saine, of the goodes of the body, which that thou wondrest upon, may been distroyed or els dissolued by the heet of a feuer of three days. Of which foresaid things I may reducen this shortly in a summe, that these worldly goods, which that ne mowen yeuen that they behighten, ne been not parfite by the congregacion of all goods, yt they ne ben not ways ne pathes that bringen men to blisfulnesse, ne maken men to be blisfull.

Heu heu quae miseros tramite devios abducit ignorantia, non aurum in viridi quaeritis, arbore, &c.

ALas, which foly, and which ignorance misleadeth wandring wretches fro the [Page] path of very good. Certes ye seken no golde in grene trees, ne ye gadren not precious stones in vines: ne hyden not your ginnes in hie mountains to catch fish, of the which ye may maken rich feests.

And if you like to hunte to Roes, ye ne goe nat to the fords of yt water that hight Thyrene. And ouer this, men know well the crekes and the cauernes of the see yhyd in the floodes, and knowen eke, which water is most plenteous of white perles, and knowen whiche water haboundeth most of reed purpure, yt is to saine, of a maner shelfish, with which men dien purpure: & knowen which strondes habounden most of tendre fishes, or of sharpe fishes, that hight Echines. But folkes suffren hemselfe to ben so blind yt hem ne retchen not to know where thilke goodes ben yhid, which that they coueiten, but plungen hem in yerth, & seken there thilke good that surmounteth the heuen, that beareth ye sterres. What prayer may I maken that be digne to the nice thoughtes of men? But I pray that they coueiten richesse & honours, so that when they haue gotten tho false goods with great trauaile, that therby they mowen knowen the very goodes.

Hactenus mendacis formam faelicitatis ostendisse sufficerit, quod si perspicaciter intuearis, ordo est deinceps, &c.

IT suffiseth that I haue said hyderto, the form of false welefulnesse: so yt if thou looke now clerely, ye order of mine entencion requires from hensforth, to she wen ye very welefulnes. B. Forsoth (qd. I) I see well now, the suffisance may not commen by richesse, ne power by realmes, ne reuerence by dignities, ne gentillesse by glory, ne joy by delices. P. And hast thou wel knowen ye causes (qd. she) why it is? B. Certes me semeth (qd. I) ye I see hem, right as though it were through a litel clifte: But me were leauer knowen hem more openly of thee. Phi. Certes (qd. she) ye reason is al redy. For thilke thinge that simply is one thing without any deuision, yt errour & folly of mankinde, devideth, & departeth it, & misledeth it, & transporteth from very & parfit good, to goodes that be false and vnparfit. But say me this: wenest thou that he that hath need of power, that him ne lacketh nothing? Boetius. Nay, qd. I. Philos. Certes (qd. she) thou sayest aright: for if so be yt there is a thing yt in any partie be febler of power, certes as in yt it mote needs be needy of foraine help. Boetius. Right so it is (qd. I.) Philos. Suffisaunce & power ben of one kind. Boet. So semeth qd. I.) Philosophie. And demest thou (qd. she) that a thing yt is of this maner, yt is to say, suffisaunt & mighty, ought ben dispised, or els that it be right digne of reuerence aboue all things? Boet. Certes (qd. I) it is no doubte that it is right worthy to be reuerenced. Phil. Let vs adden (qd. she) reuerence to suffisaunce & to power, so that we demen that these thre things be one thing. Boetius. Certes (qd. I) let vs adden it if we will graunt yt soth. P. What demest thou (qd. she) then is yt a derk thing & not noble, yt is suffisant, reuerent, and mighty? or els that it is right noble & right clere by celebrate of renome? Consider then (qd. she) as we haue graunted here byforne y• he that ne hath no need of nothing, and is most mighty and most digne of honour, if him needeth any clerenesse of renome, which clerenesse hee might not graunten of himselfe, so for lacke of thilke clerenesse he might semen the febler on any side, or the more outcast. Glose. That is to say, nay: For who so yt is suffisaunt, mighty, & reuerent, clerenesse of renome foloweth of the foresaid thinges: he hath it all ready of his suffisaunce. Boetius. I may not, qd. I, deny it, but I mote graunten as it is, that this thing is right celebrable by clerenesse of renome and noblesse. P. Then followeth, qd. she, that we adden clerenesse of renome to ye foresaid things, so that there be amongs hem no difference. B. This is a consequence, qd. I. P. This thing then, qd. she, that ne hath nede of no foraine thing, and that may do all things by his strengthes, & that is noble & honourable, is it not a mery thing and joyful? Boetius. But whence, qd. I, that any sorowe might come to this thing that is soche, certes I may not thinke. Philosophie. Then mote wee graunten, qd. shee, that this thing be ful of gladnesse, if the foresaid things be sothe. And certes, also mote we graunten, that suffisance, power, noblesse, reuerence, and gladnesse, be onely diuers by names, but her substaunce hath no diuersite. Boetius. It mote needly be so, qd. I. Philosoph. Thilke thing then, qd. she, that is one & simple in his nature, ye wickednesse of men departeth and deuideth it: And when they enforcen hem to getten partie of a thinge, that ne hath no part, they ne getten hem neyther thilke partie that nys none, ne the thing all whole y• they desire. Boetius. In which manere, qd. I. Philosophie. Thilke man, qd. she, that secheth richesse to flyen pouerty, he ne trauaileth him not for to get power, for he hath leauer be derke and vyle, and eke withdraweth from himselfe many naturell delytes, for hee nolde lese the money that he hath assembled. But certes in this maner he ne getteth him no suffisaunce, that power foreleteth, and that molestie pricketh, and that filthe maketh out-caste, and that derkenesse hideth. And certes he that desireth only power, wasteth and scattereth richesse, and despiseth delyces and eke honour that is without power, ne he ne prayseth glory nothing. Certes this seest thou well that many things faylen to him: For he hath sometime defaute of many necessitees, and many anguishes byten hym. And when he may not done tho defaltes away, he forletteth to be mighty, and that is the thyng that he most desyreth. And right thus may I make semblable [Page] reasons of honour, of glory, & of delices: For so euery of these foresaid things is the same y• these other things been, that is to saine, al one thing. Whosoeuer seketh to getten that one of these, and not yt other, he ne getteth not that he desireth. Boetius. What sayest thou then, if that a man coueite to getten all these things togider. Philoso. Certes (qd. she) I wold say yt he would get him souerain blisfulnes, but yt shall he not finde in tho things that I haue shewed, yt mowe not yeue that they beheten. Boetius. Certes no (qd. I.) Phi. Then (qd. she) ne shullen men not by no way seken blisfulnes in soch things, as men wenen that they ne mowe gyuen but one thyng singlerly of all that menne seken. Boetius. I graunt well (qd. I) ne non sother thing may be said. Philosoph. Now hast thou then (qd. she) the forme & the cause of false welefulnesse: Now turne and flitte againe to thy thought, for there shall thou seene anon thilke very blisfulnesse that I haue behight thee. B. Certes (qd. I) it is clere & open, thogh it were to a blind man: And yt shewdest thou me a litel here be forne, when thou enforcedest thee to shew me the causes of ye false welefulnesse. For (but if I be begiled) then is yt thilke very blisfulnesse and parfite, that parfitly maketh a man suffisaunt, mighty, honourable, noble and ful of gladnesse. And for thou shalt well knowe, that I haue well vnderstanden these things within my hart: I know well, that thilke blisfulnesse yt men verely yeuen one of ye foresaid things, sens they be all one: I know doubtlesse that thilke thing is full of blisfulnesse. Philosophie. O my norice (qd. she) by this opinion I say that thou art blisfull, if thou put this thereto that I shall sain. Boetius. What is that (qd. I.) Ph. Trowest thou yt there be any thing in this erthly mortall tombling things, yt may bringen this estate? Bo. Certes (qd. I) I trow it not: & thou hast shewed me wel, yt ouer thilk good there nis nothing more to ben desired. P. These things then (qd. she) yt is to saine, earthly suffisaunce and power, & soch things erthly, they semen likenesse of very good, or els it seemeth that they yeuen to mortall folke a maner of goodnesse, that ne be not parfite, but thilke good that is very and parfite, that may they not yeuen. Boe. I accord me well (qd. I.) Phil. Then (qd. she) for as moch as thou haste knowen which is thilke very blisfulnes, and eke which thilke things ben, yt lien falsely blisfulnesse, that is to say, yt they by deceite semen very goodes: Now behoueth thee to knowe whence & where thou mow seke thilke very blisfulnesse. B. Certes (qd. I) yt desire I greatly, & haue abyden longe tyme to herken it. P. But for as moch (qd. she) as it liketh to my disciple Plato in his book of Tymeo, that in right littell things men shoulden beseche ye help of God: What judgest thou yt be now to done, so that wee may deserue to find ye seat of thilke souerein God? B. Certes (qd. I) I denie yt we shullen cleape to the father of all goodes, for withouten him nys there nothing founded aright. P. Thou saiest aright (qd. she) & began anon to singen right thus.

O qui perpetua mundum ratione gubernas, Terrarum caelique sator, qui tempus ab aevo, Ire jubes, stabilis (que) manens dans cuncta moveri: Quem non externae pepulerunt fingere causae, &c.

O Thou father, soueraigne and creatour of heauen and of erthes, that gouernest this World by pardurable reason, that commandest the times to gone, sith that age had beginning. Thou that dwellest thy selfe aye stedfast and stable, and yeuest al other things to be meued, ne foryeue causes ne cesseden thee neuer to compoun werke of flattering mater, but onely the forme of souerain good yset, within thee without enuy, that meued thee frely. Thou that art alder fayrest, hearing the fayre world in thy thought, formedest this world to thy likenesse semblable, of that fayre world in thy thought. Thou drawest all thing on thy soueraine ensampler, and commaundest that this world perfetlich ymaked, haue freely & absolute his perfite parties. Thou bindest y• elements by nombres proporcionables, that the cold thinges mowen accorden with the hotte thinges, and the drie things with the moist: That the fire, that is purest, ne flie nat ouer hie, ne that the heauinesse ne draw nat adoun ouerlow the yerthes, yt be plonged in the waters. Thou knittest togider ye meane soul of treble kind mouing all things, & deuidest it by membres according. And when it is thus deuided, it hath assembled amouing in to roundes, it goeth to turne againe to himself, and enuironneth a full deepe thought, and turneth the heuen by a semblable image. Thou by euen lyke causes enhancest the soules and the lesse liues, and abling hem to height by light waines or cartes. Thou sowest hem in to heauen and in to yerth, and when they be conuerted to thee by thy benigne law, thou makest hem returne ayen to thee by ayen ledyng fyre. O father, yeue thou to yt thought to styen vp in to thy straite seate, & graunt hem to enuironne the wel of good. And ye light yfound, graunt him to sixen ye clere sights of his courage in thee, and scatter thou and to breake ye weyghts and the clouds of earthly heauinesse, & shine thou by thy brightnesse. For thou art clerenesse, thou art pesyble rest to debonayre folk, thou thy selfe art beginning, bearer, leder, path, & terme to look on thee that is our end.

Quoniam igitur, quae sit imperfecti, quae etiam perfecti boni forma vidisti, nunc demonstrandum reor, &c.

FOrasmoche then, as thou hast seen which is the forme of good that nys not parfite, and the forme of good which that is parfite. Now trow I yt it were good to shew in what [Page] this perfection of blisfulnes is set. And in this thing I trow that we shall first enquire for to weten, if that any soch maner good, as thilke good as thou hast diffinished a litell here beforne, that is to saine, soueraine good, may be found in the nature of things. For that vaine imagination of thought ne desceue vs not, and put vs out of the sothefastnesse of thylke thyng yt is submitted to vs. But it may not be denied that thilke ne is, and that is right as a well of all goodes. For all thing that is cleped imparfite is proued imparfite by ye amenusing of perfection of thinge that is parfite. And hereof commeth it that euery thing generall, if that men sene any thing that is imparfite, certes in thilke thinge is generall, there mote be some thing that is parfite. For if so be yt perfection is don away, men may not thinke ne say from whence thilke thing is, that is cleped imparfite. For the nature ne toke not her beginning of thinges amenused and imparfite, but it procedeth of thinges that been all hole absolute, & discendeth so down in to ye vttrest things, and into things empty and without fruite. But as I haue shewed a little here beforne, that if that there be a blisfulness that be freele, & vain, & imperfite, there may no man doubt that there nis some blisfulnesse that there is sad, stedfast and parfite. Boecius. This is concluded (qd. I) firmely & soothfastly. Phi. But consider also (qd. she) in whom this blisfulnesse inhabiteth. The commune accord and conceit of the courage of men proueth & graunteth, that God, prince of all things, is good. For so as nothing may be thought better than good, it may not be doubted then, than he yt nothing nys better than he, nys good. Certes, reason sheweth that God is so good, that it proveth by very force, that perfite good is in him. For if God nis such, he ne may not ben prince of al thing. For certes, some thing possessing in it self perfite good, should be more worthy than God: and it should seemen, that thilke thing were first and older than God. For we haue shewed apertly, that all things that ben parfite, been first, or things that ben imparfite. And for thy, forasmuch as that my reason, or my processe, ne go not a way without an end, we owen to granten, that the soueraigne good is right full of soueraign perfit good. And we have established, that the soueraign good is very blisfulnes: then mote it needs be, that very blisfulnes is set in soveraigne good. Boecius. This take I well (qd. I) ne this ne may not be withsaid in no manner. Philos. But I pray thee (qd. she) see now how thou mayest proven holily, and withouten corrupcion, this that we have sayd, that the soueraign God is full of right soueraigne good. Bo. In which manner (qd. I.) Phil. Wenest thou aught (qd. she) that the father of all things hath taken thilke soveraigne good any where out of himself? Of which soueraigne good, men proueth that he is full. Right as thou mightest thinken, that God, that hath blisfulnes in himself, and thilk blisfulnese that is in him were divers in substance. For if thou wene that God hath received thilke good out of himselfe, thou mayest wene, that he that yaue thilke good to God, be more worthy than God. But I am beknow and confesse, and that right dignely, that God is right worthy above all things: And if so be that this good be in him by nature, but that is diverse from him by wening reason, sens we speaken of God, prince of all things. Faine whoso faine may, who was he that conioined these things together. And eke at the last, see well, that a thing yt is divers fro any thing, that thilke thing nis not the same thing, for which it is vnderstanden to ben diuers. Then followeth it well, that thilke thing yt by his nature is divers from soueraigne good, that thing is not soueraigne good. But certes, it were a felonous cursednesse, to thinken that of him, that nothing nis more worth. For alway, of all things, the name of hem ne may not ben better than her beginner. For which I may concluden, by right very reason, that thilke that is beginning of all things, thilke same thing is soueraigne God in his substance. Bo. Thou hast said rightfully (qd I.) Pholos. But we have graunted (qd. she) that the soueraigne good is blisfulnesse. Bo. That is sooth (qd. I.) Philos. Then, qd. she, we mote needs graunten & confessen, that the ilke same soueraigne good be God. Boe. Certes, qd. I, I ne may not deny, ne withstande the reasons purposed, and I see well that it followeth by strength of the premisses. Philos. Look now, qd. she, if this be proved yet more firmely thus, that there ne mowen not been two soueraigne goods, that ben diverse among hemselfe. For certes, the goods that been diverse among hemselfe, that one is not that the other is. Then ne mowen neither of hem be perfite, so as either of hem lacketh to other, but that that nis not perfite, men may seene apertly that it nis not soveraigne. The things then yt be soveraignly good, ne mowen by no way be divers. But I have well concluded, that blisfulnesse and GOD been the soueraigne good, for which it mote needs been that soveraigne blisfulnesse is sovereign dignity. Boe. Nothing, qd. I, is more soothfast than this, ne more firme by reason, ne a more worthy thing than God, may not be concluded.

Philoso. Vpon these things then, qd. she, right as these Geometricians, when they have shewed their propositions, been wont to bringen in things, yt they clepen porrismes, or declarations of foresaid things: right so woll I yeue thee here, as a Corollary, or a mede of crowne. For why, for as much as by the getting of blisfulnesse men been maked blisful, and blisfulnesse is dignity: then it is manifest and open, that by the getting of dignity men ben maked blisful, right as by the getting of Iustice. And by yt getting of Sapience they be maked wise, right so, needs by the semblable reason, when they haue gotten [Page] diuinitie, they be made gods. Then is every man blisful a god. But certes by nature there nis but one God, but by the participation of the Diuinity, there ne letteth ne distourbeth nothing, that there ne be many gods. Bo. This is, qd. I, a fair thing and a precious. clepe it as thou wilt, be it Corollary, or Porrisme, or mede of Croune, or declaring. P. Certes (qd. she) nothing nis fairer than is the thing, that by reason shuld be added to these foresaid things. Bo. What thing, (qd. I.) Ph. So, qd. she, as it seemeth that blisfulnesse containeth many things, it were for to weten, whether that all these things maken or conioynen, as a manner body of blisfulnesse, by the diversity of parties of members, or else if any of all these things be such, that it accomplish by himselfe the substaunce of blisfulnesse. So all these other things been referred and brought to blisfulnesse, that is to say, as to the cheef of hem. Bo. I would, qd. I, that thou madest me clearly to understand what thou sayest, and with what thou recordest me the foresaid things. Phi. Have I not judged, qd. she, that blisfulnesse is good? Boe. Yes forsooth, qd. I, and that soueraigne good. Phi. Adde then, qd. she, thilke good that is made blisfulnesse to all the foresaid things: For thilke same blisfulnesse, that is deemed to be soueraign suffisaunce, thilke selfe is soueraigne power, soueraigne reuerence, soveraigne clearenesse or noblesse, and soueraigne delite.

What sayst thou then of all these things, that is to say, suffisaunce, power, and these other things? Been they then as members of blisfulnesse, or been they referred and brought to soueraigne good, right as all things that been brought to the cheef of hem? Bo. I understond well, qd. I, what thou purposest to seek: but I desire for to hearken, that thou shew it to me. Ph. Take now thus the discretion of this question, qd. she. If all these things, qd. she, weren members to felicitie, then weren they divers that one from that other: and such is the nature of parties or of members, that divers members compounen a body. Bo. Certes, qd. I, it hath well ben shewed here beforne, that all these things ben all one thing. Phi. Then been they no members, qd. she. For els it should seem, that blisfulnesse were comoyned all of o member alone, but that is a thing may not be done. Bo. This thing, qd. I, then nis not doubtous, but I abide to hearken the remenaunt of thy question. This is open and cleare, qd. she, that all other things ben referred and brought to good: For therefore is suffisaunce required, for it is deemed to be good: and for thy, is power required, for men trowen also that it be good. And this same thing mowen we thinken, and conjecten of reuerence, of noblesse, and of delite. Then is soueraigne good the summe and the cause of all that ought to been desired. For why, thilke thing that withholdeth no good in it self, ne semblaunce of good, it ne may not well in no manner be desired ne required. And the contrary: for though that things by her nature ne ben not good, algates if men wenen that they been good, yet ben they desired, as though they were verely good. And therefore it is said, that men ought to wene by right, that bounty be the soueraigne fine, and the cause of all the things that ben to requiren. But certes, thilke that is cause, for which men requiren any thing, it seemeth that thilke same thing be most desired, as thus: if that a wight would riden for cause of heale, he ne desireth not so much the mooving to riden, as the effect of his heale. Now then sens that all things ben required for the grace of good, they ne ben not desired of all folke, more than the same good. But we have graunted, that blisfulnesse is that same thing, for which that all these other things ben desired. Then is it thus, that certes onely blisfulnesse is required and desired. By which thing it sheweth clerely, that of good and blisfulnesse is all one and the same substance. Bo. I see not, qd. I, wherefore that men might discorden in this. Philos. And we have shewed, that God and very blisfulnesse is all one thing. Bo. That is sooth, qd. I. Phi. Then mow we conclude sikerly, that the substaunce of God is set in thilke same good, and in none other place.

Huc omnes pariter venite capti. Quos fallax ligat improbis catenis. Terrenas habitans libido mentes. Hic erit vobis requies laborum, &c.

COmmeth all together now ye that been ycaught and bound with wicked chains, by the delite of earthly things inhabiting in your thought. Here shall be the rest of your labour: here is the haven stable, in quiete pesible. This alone is the open refute to wretches, that is to sain, that ye that be combred and deceiued with worldly affections, commeth now to this soveraine good, that is, God, that is refute to hem that willen commen to him. All the things y• the river Tagus yeueth you, with his golden gravels: or els all the things that the river Hermus yeueth with his red brink: or that Indus yeueth, that is next the hote partie of the world, that medleth the green stones with the white: ne should not cleren the looking of your thouȝt, but hiden rather your blind corage within her derknes. All that liketh you here, and exciteth and moueth your thoughts, the earth hath nourished it within his low caues. But the shining, by which the heaven is governed, and whence that his strength, that escheweth the dark ouerthrowing of the soul, and whosoever may knowen thilke light of blisfulnesse, he will saine, that the white beams of the Sunne ne be not cleare.

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Assentior (inquam) cuncta enim firmissimis nexa rationibus constant. Tum illa, quanti, inquit, tu aestimabis, si bonum ipsum, quid sit, agnoveris, &c.

BOecius. I assent me, qd. I, for all things ben strongly bounden with right ferme reasons. Philosophie. How much wilt thou praisen it, qd. she, if that thou knowest what the like good is? Boecius. I woll praise it, qd. I, by price without end, if it shall betide me to know also togither God that is good. Philosophie. Certes, qd. she, that shall I doe thee by very reason, if that tho things, that I have concluded a little here beforne, dwellen onely in her graunting. Boecius. They dwellen graunted to thee, qd. I, that is to saine, as who saith, I graunt to thy foresaied conclusions. Philosophie. I haue shewed thee, qd. she, that the things that been required of many folke, ne been not very goods, ne perfite: for they ben diuers, that one from that other. And so as each of hem is lacking to other, they ne haue no power to bring a good, that is full and absolute. But then at erst been they very good, when they been gathered togider all into one forme, and into one werking: so that thilke thing that is suffisaunt, thilke same is power, and reuerence, noblesse, & mirth. And forsooth, but if all these things be al one same thing, they ne haue not whereby that they mowe be put in ye number of things that ought to be required and desired. Bo. It is shewen. qd. I, ne hereof may there no man doubten. Philosophie. The thynges then, qd. she, that ne been no goodes, when they ben diuers, and when they beginnen to be all one thing, then ben they goods, ne commeth it not then, by the getting of unitie, that they be maked goods? Boeci. So seemeth it, qd. I. Philoso. But all thyng that is good, qd. she, grauntest thou that it be good, by the participation of good or no? Boecius. I grant it, qd. I. Philoso. Then must thou graunten, qd. she, by semblable reason, that one and good be one same thing. For of things, of which the effect nis not naturally diuers, nedes her substaunce must be one same thing. Boecius. I ne may not denie it, qd. I. Philosophie. Hast thou not knowen wel, qd. she, that all things that is, hath so long his dwelling and his sustaunce, as long as it is one: but when it forletteth to been one, it must needs dien, and corrumpen together? Boecius. In which manner, qd. I. Philoso. Right as in beasts, qd. she, when the soule and the bodie been conioyned in one, and dwelling together, it is cleped a beast; and when her unitie is destroyed, by thy disceueraunce of that one from that other, then sheweth it well, that it is a dead thing, and it is no lenger no beast.

And the bodie of a wight, while it dwelleth in one forme, by coniunction of members, it is well seene, that it is a figure of mankind: And if the parties of the bodie be diuided and disceuered that one from that other, that they destroy the unitie, the bodie forletteth to be that it was beforne. And who so would ren in the same manner by all things, he should seen that without doubt euery thing is in his substance, as long as it is one: and when it forletteth to be one, it dieth and perisheth.

Bo. When I consider, qd. I, many things, I see none other. Philosophie. Is there any thing, qd. she, that in as much as it liueth naturally, that foreletteth that talent or appetite of his being, and desireth to come to death and to corrupcion? Boe. If I consider, qd. I, the beastes, that haue any manner nature of willing and of nilling, I ne find no beast, but if it be constrained fro withoutforth, that foreletteth or despiseth the entencion to liuen and to duren, or that will his thankes hasten him to dien.

For euery beast trauaileth him to desende and keep the saluacion of his life, & escheweth death and destruction. But certes, I doubt me of herbes and trees, that ne haue no feling Soules, ne no natural workings, seruing to appetites, as beasts haue, whether they haue appetite to dwellen and to duren.

Philosophie. Certes, qd. she, thereof dare thee not doubt. Now looke upon ye Hearbes and Trees, for they wexen first in such places as been conuenable to hem: in whiche places they mowe not dien ne drien, as long as her nature may defend hem. For some of hem wexen in Fields, and some wexen in Mountaines, & other wexe in Mareis, and other cleauen on rocks, & some wexen plenteous in sondes. And if any wight enforce him to bear hem into other places, they wexen drye. * For nature yeueth to euery thing that is conuenient to hem, and trauayleth that they ne die, as long as they haue power to dwellen & to liuen. What wilt thou sain of this, yt they drawen all her nouryshings by her roots, right as they hadden her mouths yplunged within the earthes, & shedden by her mareis her wood & her barke? And what wilt thou saine of this, that the ilke thing that is right soft, as the marie is, that is alway hid in the seat of all within, and that is defended from without, by the stedfastnesse of wood, and that the utterest Barks is put ayenst yt distemperaunce of the heauen, as a defendour, mightie to sufferen harme? And thus certes mayest thou well seene, how great is the diligence of nature: for all things renouelen and publishen hem with seed ymultiplied.

Ne there nis no man, that ne wote well, that they ne been right as a foundement & edifice, for to duren not onely for a time, but right as for to dure perdurably by generacion. And ye things eke yt men wenen ne haue no souls, ne desire they not by semblable reason to keep that is his, yt is to saine, yt is according to her nature, in conseruacion of her [Page] being and enduring? For wherefore els beareth lightnesse the flames vp, and the weight presseth the yearth adoun, but for as much as thilke place and thilke mouings be couenable to eueriche of hem. And forsooth, euery thing keepeth thilke that is according and proper to him, right as things that ben contrarious and enemies corrumpen hem. And yet the hard things (as stones) cleauen and holden her parties togither right fast and hard, and defenden hem in withstanding, that they ne departen lightly, and yeuen place to hem, that breaken or deuiden hem: but nathelesse, they retourne ayen soone into the same things from whence they be araced. But fire fleeth and refuseth all deuision. Ne I ne treat not now here of wilful moouings of the soule that is knowing, but of naturell entencion of things, as thus: right as we swallowen the meat that we receiuen, and ne think not on it, and as we draw our breath in sleeping, that we were not while we sleepen. For certes in the beasts, the loue of her liuings, ne of her beings, ne commeth not of the w [...]nings of the soule, but of the beginnings of nature. For certes, through constrayning causes, will desireth and embraceth full oft times the death, that nature dredeth, that is to saine, as thus: That a man may be constrayned so by some cause, that his will desireth, and taketh the death, which that nature hateth and dreadeth full sore. And sometime we seen the contrary, as thus: that the will of a wight disturbeth and constraineth that, that nature alway desireth and requireth, that is to say, the werkes of generacion, by the which generacion only dwelleth, and is sustayned the long durabilitie of mortal things, as thus: This charitie and this loue, that euery thing hath to himself, ne commeth not of the mouing of the soul, but of the entencion of nature. For the purueyaunce of God hath yeuen to things, that ben create of him this, that is a full great cause to liuen and to duren, for which they desiren naturelly her life, as long as euer they mowen: for which thou maist not dreaden by no manner, that all things that been any where, that they ne requiren naturally the firm stablenesse of perdurable dwelling, and eke the eschewing of destruction.

Boeci. I confesse (qd. I) that I see well now, and certainely, withouten doubt, the things that a while ago seemeden vncertain to me. Philos. But (qd. she) thilk thing that desireth to be and dwell perdurably, he desireth to been one: for if that one were destroyed, certes, being should there none dwellen to no wight. Boecius. That is sooth (qd. I.) Philosophie. Then (qd. she) desiren all things one. Boecius. I assent (qd. I) Philosophie. And I haue shewed (qd. she) that ilke same one is thilke that is good. Boecius. Ye forsooth (qd. I) Philosophie. All things then (qd. she) requiren good, and thilke maist thou discriuen thus: good is thilke thing that euery wight desireth. Boecius. There ne may be thought no more very thing (qd. I) for either all things be referred and brought to nought, and flotten without gouernour dispoiled of one, as of her proper head: or els if there be any thing, to which that all things tenden and hyen to, that thing must be the soueraign good of all goods. Philosophie. Then said she thus: O my nourice (qd. she) I haue great gladnesse of thee, for thou hast fixed in thy hart the middle soothfastnesse, that is to saine, the pricke: but this thing hath be discouered to thee, in that thou saidest, that thou wistest not a little here beforne. Boecius. What is that (qd. I) Philos. That thou ne wistest not (qd. she) which was the end of things, and certes, that is the thing that euery wight desireth. And for as much as we haue gathered and comprehended, that good is thilk thing that is desired of all, then mote we needs confesse, that good is the fine of all things.

Quisquis profunda mente vestigat verum. Cupitque nullis ille deviis falli, in se revolvat intimi lucem visus, &c.

WHo so seeketh sooth by a deep thought, and coueiteth to beene disceyued by no miswayes, let him rollen and treaten within himselfe, the light of his inward sight: and let him gatheren ayen, enclyning into a compace, the long moouinges of his thoughts. And let him teachen his courage, that hee hath enclosed and hidde in his treasours all that he hath compassed or sought from without: and then thilke thing, that the blacke cloudes of errour whylome had couered, shall light more clearely than Phebus himselfe ne shineth. Glosa. Who so woll seeke the deepe grounds of sooth in his thought, and woll not be deceyued by false proposicions that gone amisse from the troth, let him well examine and rolle within himselfe the nature and properties of the thing. And let him eftsoons examine and rollen his thoughts, by good deliberacion, or that he deme. And let him teachen his soul, that it hath by naturell principles kindliche thidde within it self all the trouth, ye which he imagineth to been in things without: & then all the darknesse of his misknowing shall seme more euidently to y• sight of his vnderstanding, than the Sun ne semeth to the sight withoutforth. For certes, the bodie bringing y• weight of foryeting, ne hath not chased out of your thought all y• clerenesse of your knowing: for certainly, the seed of sooth holdeth & cleaueth within your corage, and it is awaked and excited by the winds, and by the blasts of doctrine.

For wherefore els deemen ye of your own will ye rights, when ye be asked, but if so were that the nourishing of reason ne liued yplunged in the deep of your heart: that is to sain, how should men demen y• sooth of any thing [Page] that were asked, and if there nere a root of soothfastnesse, that were yplunged and hid in naturel principles, the which soothfastnesse liued within the deepnesse of the thought? And if it be so, that the muse and the doctrine of Plato singeth footh, all that euery wight learneth, he ne doeth nothing els then, but recordeth, as men recorden thyngs that ben foryetten.

Tum ego, Platoni (inquam) vehementer assentior. Nam me horum jam secundo commemoras. Primum quod memoriam corporea contagione, &c.

THen said I thus: I accord me greatly to Plato, for thou recordest and remembrest me these thyngs yet the second time, that is to say, when first I left my memory by the contrarious conjunction of the body with the soule: and eftsoones afterward, when I lost it, confounded by thy charge, and by the burden of my sorrow: and then sayed she thus. If thou look (qd. she) first the thyngs that thou hast graunted, it ne shall not been right ferre, that thou ne shalt remembren the ilke thing that thou saidest that thou nistest not. Bo. What thing (qd. I.) Philos. By which ye gouernment (qd. she) that this world is governed. Bo. I remember it well (qd. I) and I confesse well, that I ne wist it naught. But all be it so, that I see now from afarre what thou purposest, algates I desire yet to hearken it of thee more plainly. Phil. Thou ne wendest not (qd. she) a little here beforne ye men should dout, that this world is governed by God. Bo. Certes (qd. I) ne yet, ne dout I it not, ne I nill neuer wene that it were to dout: as who saith but I wot well that God gouerneth this world. And I shall answeren thee by what reasons I am brought to this. This world, qd. I, of so many divers and contrarious parties, ne might never have ben assembled in o forme, but if there were one, that conioyned so many divers things. And the same diversitie of her natures, that so discorden, that one fro that other must departen, and vnioynen the things y• been conioyned, if there ne were one that contained that he hath conioyned & ybound. Ne the certaine order of nature ne should not bring forth so ordeyne mouings, by places, by times, by dooings, by spaces, by qualities, if there ne were one that were aye stedfast dwelling, that ordained & disposed these diversities of moouings. And thilke thing, whatsoeuer it be, by which that all things be ymaked and ladde, I clepe him God, that is a word that is used to all folks. Phil. Then said she: Sith thou felest thus these things, I trow that I have little more to doen, that thou, mighty of welefulnesse, hole and sound, ne see eftsoones thy country. But let us looken these things that we have purposed here beforne. Have I not numbred and said (qd. she) that suffisaunce is in blisfulnesse. And we have accorded, that God is the ilke same blisfulnesse. Bo. Yes forsooth, (qd. I.) Philos. And that to gouern this world, qd. she, ne shall he neuer haue need of none help fro without. For els if he had need of any help, he ne should not have no full suffisaunce. Boet. Yes thus it mote needs be (qd. I.) Philos. Then ordeyned he by himselfe alone all things (qd. she.) Boet. That may not be denied, qd. I. Philos. And I haue shewed that God is the same good. Bo. It remembreth me well, qd. I. Philosoph. Then ordeyneth he all things by thilke good, qd. she, sith he which we han accorded to be good, gouerneth all things by himselfe. And he is a key and a steire, by which the edifice of this world is kept stable, and without corrumping. Bo. I accord me greatly, qd. I. And I haue apperceived a little here beforne, that thou wouldest say thus: all were it so that it were by a thinne suspection. Phi. I trow well, qd. she. For as I trow thou leadest now more ententifely thine eye to looken the very goods. But natheles, the thing that I shall tell thee, yet ne sheweth not lasse to token. Bo. What is that, qd. I. Phil. So as men trow, qd. she, and that rightfully, that God gouerneth all things by the key of his goodnesse. And all these same things that I haue taught thee, hasten hem by natural contencion to come to good, there may no man doubten, that they ne be gouerned voluntarily. And that they ne conuerten hem of her own good will to her ordeynour. As that they ben according, and enclining to her gouernour and to her king. Bo. It mote needs be so, qd. I, for the realme ne should not seme blisful, if there were a yoke of misdrawings in divers parties, ne the sauing of obedient things ne should not be then. Phi. Is there nothing, qd. she, that keepeth his nature, that enforceth him to gone ayenst God? Boet. No, qd. I. Philos. And if that any thing enforced him to withstande God, might it avaylen at last ayen him, that we haue graunted to be Almighty by the right of blisfulnesse? Certes, qd. I, all utterly it ne might not auayle him. Philos. Then is there nothing, qd. she, that either may or will withstand to his Soveraigne God. Bo. I trow not, qd. I. Philos. Then, qd. she, is thilke the Soueraigne GOD, that all things gouerneth strongly, and ordayneth hem softely. Boetius. Then said I thus, I delite me, qd. I, not onely in the ends, or in the summe of the reasons, that thou hast concluded and proued, but thilke words that thou usest deliten me much more, so that at last, fooles, that sometime renden great thyngs, oughten been ashamed of hemselfe, that is to sain, that we fooles that reprehenden wickedly the thinges that touchen Gods gouernaunce, we oughten been ashamed of our selfe. As I, that sayed, that God refuseth onely the werkes of men, and ne entermeteth not of it. Phi. Thou hast well heard, qd. she, the fables of the Poets, how the Gyaunts [Page] assaileden heauen with the gods: but forsooth the debonaire force of God disposed hem as it was worthy, that is to sain, destroyed the Gyaunts as it was worthy. But wilt thou that we rejoynen together thilk same reasons? For perauenture of such conjunctions may sterten vp some fair spark of sooth. Boecius. Do (qd. I) as thee list. Philosophy. Wenest thou (qd. she) that God ne be almighty? Boecius. No man is in doubt of it certes (qd. I.) Philosophy. No wight ne doubteth it, if he be in his mind (qd. she.) But he that is almighty, there nis nothing that he ne may. Boecius. That is sooth (qd. I.) Philosophy. May God do euil (qd. she?) Boe. Nay forsoth (qd. I.) Phi. Then is euil nothing (qd. she) sith that he may doen none euil, that may doen all things. Boecius. Scornest thou me (qd. I) or els playest thou, or deceiuest thou me, that hast so wonnen with thy reasons, the house of Dedalus so enterlacing, that it is vnable to be vnlaced, that thou otherwhile enterest there thou issuest, and otherwhile issuest there thou enterest. Ne foldest thou not togither, by replicacion of words, a manner wonderful circle, or enuironning of the simplicity diuine. For certes, a little here beforne, when thou began at blisfulnesse, thou saidest that it is a souerain good, and y• God is the blisfulnesse, for which thou yaue me as a couenable yeft, that is to sain, that no wight nis blisful, but if he be God also therewith. And saidest eke, that the form of good is the substance of God and of blisfulnesse. And saidest, y• thilke one is thilk same good, that is required and desired of all the kind of things. And thou prouedst in disputing, that God gouerneth all the things of the world by the gouernance of bounty, and saidest that all things would obeyen to him, and saidest that y• nature of euil is nothing. And these things shewedst thou not with no reasons taken fro without, but by prooues in cercles and homeliche knowing. The which prooues drawen to hemself her faith and her accord, eueriche of hem of other. Philosophy. Then said she thus: I ne scorn not, ne play, ne deceiue thee, but I haue shewed the thing that is greatest ouer all things, by y• yeft of God, that we whylom praiden. For this is the form of diuine substaunce, that is such, that it ne slideth not into vtterest forrain things, ne receyueth not no straunge things in him. But right as Permenides said in Greek of thilk diuine substaunce: He said thus, * That thilk diuine substaunce tourneth the world, and the moouable cercle of things, while the ilke diuine substaunce kepeth it self without moouings, that is to saine, that he mooueth neuer mo, and yet it moueth all other things. But nathelesse, if I haue styred reasons, that be not taken fro without the compasse of the thing of the which we treaten, but reasons that ben bestowed within compasse: there nis not why thou shouldest meruaylen, sith thou hast learned by the sentence of Plato, * That needes the wordes mote been cosins to the things of which they speaken.

Felix qui potuit boni, Fontem visere lucidum. Felix qui potuit gravis, &c.

BLessed is that man that may seene the clere well of good: Blisfull is he that may vnbinden him from the bounds of heauy earth. The Poet of Thrace, Orpheus, that whylom had right great sorrow for the death of his wife. After that he had maked and constrayned by his weepely songs the woods mouable to renne, and had maked the riuers to stonden still, and had maked the Harts and Hindes to joynen dredelesse her sides to cruell Lions, to hearken his song, and had maked that the Hare was not agast of the Hound, which was pleased by song: So when the most ardaunt loue of his wife brend the entrails of his breast, ne the songs that had ouercommen all things, ne mighten not assuagen her lord Orpheus. He plained him of the heauen gods, which that were cruel to him: he went him to the houses of the hell: And he tempered his blandishing songs, by resouning of strings, & spekest and song in weeping, all yt euer he had receiued, and laued out of ye noble wells of his mother Caliope y• goddes. And he sang with as much as he might of weeping, & with as much as loue, that doubled his sorow, might yeuen him and teach him, and commoued the hell, and required and besought by sweet praier y• lords of souls in hell of releasing, that is to say, to yeelden him his wife. Cerberus the porter of hell, with his three heads, was caught and all abashed of the new song. And the three goddesses, Furies and vengeresses of fellonies, that tormenten and agasten the souls, by annoy woxen sorrowfull and sorry, and teares wepten for pity. Tho was not y• head of Ixion tourmented by the ouerthrowing wheele. And Tantalus, yt was destroyed by the woodnesse of long thurst, dispised y• floods to drink. The foul, that hight Vultor, that eateth the stomack or the gisern of Tytius, is so fulfilled of his song, that it nill eaten ne tyren no more. At the last the lord and judg of souls was moued to misericordies, & cried, we been ouercommen (qd. he) yeue we to Orpheus his wife to beare him companie, he hath well ybought her by his songs and his dities: but we will putten a law in this, and couenant in the yeft, that is to sain, that till he be out of hell, if he look behind him, that his wife shall come again vnto vs. * But what is he that may yeue a law to louers? loue is a greater law, and stronger to himself than any law that men may yeuen. Alas, when Orpheus and his wife were almost at the terms of the night, that is to sain, at y• last bounds of hell, Orpheus looked backward on Euridice his wife, and lost her, and was dead. This fable appertaineth to you all, whosoeuer desireth or seeketh to lead his thought into the souerain [Page] day, that is to say, to clearnesse of soueraign good. For whosoeuer be so ouercommen, that he fixe his eyen into the pit of hell, that is to saine, who so euer set his thoughts in earthly thinges, all that euer he hath drawen of the noble good celestiall, he leseth it, when he looketh to the hells, that is to sain, into low things of the earth.

¶Thus endeth the third book of Boece. Now followeth the fourth.

Haec cum Philosophia dignitate vultus, & oris gravitate servata, leviter suaviterque cecinisset, Tum ego nondum penitus insiti maeroris oblitus, &c.

WHEN Philosophy had songen softly and delectably the foresaid thynges, keeping the dignitie of her chere, and the weight of her wordes. I then that ne had all utterly foryeten the weeping and the mourning that was set in mine hert, forbrake the entencion of her, that entended yet to sayne some other things.

O (qd. I) thou that art guideresse of very light, the things that thou hast said me hitherto, ben to me so clere, and shewing by the divine looking of hem, and by thy reasons, that they ne mowen ben ouercommen. And thilke thyngs that thou toldest me, all be it so, y• I had whylom foryeten hem, for the sorow of y• wrong that hath be done to me: yet neuerthelesse they ne weren not vtterly vnknowen to mee. But this same is namely a right great cause of my sorrow, so yt as the gouernour of thyngs is good, if that euils mowen been by any waies, or els if yt euils passen without punishing, the which thing only, how worthie is it to ben wondred vpon. Thou considrest it wel thy self certainely. But yet to this thing there is yet another thing ioyned more to be wondred vpon. For fellonie is Emperesse, and floureth full of richesse, and vertue nis not all onely without medes, but it is cast downe, and eke fortroden vnder y• feet of fellonous folke: and it abieth y• turments in steed of wicked fellons. Of all which things there is no wight may maruailen ynough ne complainen, yt such thynges be done in the reigne of God, that all thynges wote, and all things may, & ne will not only but good things. Then said she thus: Certes (qd. she) that were a great maruaile, & an abashing without end, and well more horrible than all the monsters, if it were as thou wenest, that is to saine, yt in the right ordained house of so much a father, & an ordaynour of meine, that the vessels that ben foule & vile, should ben honoured & heried, and the precious vessels that should ben defouled & vile. But it is not so, for if the thinges yt I haue concluded a little here beforn, ben kept whole and vnaraced, thou shalt wel know by the authoritie of God, (of y• whose reign speake) that certes the good folke be alway mightie and shrewes ben alway outcast and feeble. Ne the vices be neuermore without pain, ne the vertues ne bee not without mede. And that blisfulnesse commeth alway to good folke, & infortune cometh alway to wicked folk. And thou shalt well knowen many things of this kind that should ceasen thy plaints, & strengthen thee with stedfast sadnesse. And for thou hast seen the forme of very blisfulnesse by me, that haue whylome shewed it thee, & thou hast knowen in whom blisfulnesse is set: all thing treated, yt I trow be necessary to put forth, I shall shewen thee the way, that shal bringen thee ayen vnto thy house, and I shall fixe feathers in thy thought, by which it may arisen in height, so that all tribulacion ydone away, thou by my guiding, and by my path, & by my sledes, shalt mowen return hole & sound into thy countrie.

Sunt enim pennae volucres mihi, Quae celsa conscendunt poli, Quas sibi cum velox mens induit, &c.

THen for thy swift feathers yt surmounten the height of the heuen, when the swift thought hath clothed it in tho feathers, it despiseth ye hateful earths, and surmounteth the roundenesse of yt great aire, & it seeth y• cloudes behind his back, and passeth the height of the region of the fire, that enchaufeth by y• swift moouing of the firmament, till that he ariseth into the houses that bearen the sterres, and joyneth the way with the sunne Phebus, & fellawshippeth the way of the olde colde Saturnus, and be ymaked a knight of y• cleare sterre, y• is to saine, when yt thought is made Gods knight, by ye seeking of clere trouth to commen to the very knowledge of God. And thilke soule renneth by the circle of sterres, in all y• places there as yt shining night is ipainted, that is to sain, the night, yt is cloudlesse. For on nights yt be cloudlesse, it seemeth that y• heauen were painted with diuers images of sterres. And when he hath done there inough, he shall forleten ye last heauen, & he shall present and wenden on the back of the swift firmament, and he shall be maked perfit of y• worshipfull light of God. There holdeth the lord of things the sceptre of his might, & attempreth the gouernments of the world, and the shining judge of things stable in himselfe, gouerneth the swift cart or waine, that is to saine, the circular mouing of the sunne. And if thy way leadeth thee ayen, so yt thou be broght thider, then wilt thou say that is y• countrey that thou requirest, of which thou ne haddest no mind: But nowe it remembreth me well, here was I born, here wol I fasten my degree, here woll I dwell. But if thee liketh then to looken on the derkenesses of the yearth, that thou hast forleten, then shalt thou seene, that these fellonous tyraunts, that the wretched people dreadeth nowe, shullen be exiled from thilke faire countrey.

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Turn ego pape inquam, ut magna promittis. Nec dubito, quin possis efficere, tu modo quem excitaveris, ne moreris, &c.

THen said I thus. O I wonder me yt thou behetest me so great thyngs. Ne I ne doubt nor, that thou ne mayst well perfourm that thou behetest: But I pray thee this, that thou ne tarry not to tell me thilk things that thou hast moued. Phil. First (qd. she) thou must needs know, that good folke been alway strong and mightie, and the shrewes beene feeble and deserte, and naked of all strengths. And of these things certes euerich of hem is declared and shewed by other. For as good and euill been two contraries, if so be that good be stedfast, then sheweth the feeblesse all openly. And if thou know clerely y• freelenesse of euill, the stedfastnesse of good is knowen. But for as much as the fayth of my sentence shall be the more ferme and haboundaunt, I woll gone by that one way and by that other, and I woll confirme ye things that beene purposed nowe on this side, and now on yt side. * Two things there beene, in which the effect of all the deedes of mankind standeth: that is to sayne, will and power: and if that one of these two faileth, there nis nothing that may bee done. For if that will lacketh, there nis no wight that vndertaketh to do that he woll not done: And if power faileth, the wil nis but idle, & stant for naught. And thereof commeth it, yt if thou see a wight that would getten yt he may not getten, thou mayest not doubt yt power ne faileth him to hauen that he would. Boe. This is open & clere (qd. I) ne it ne may not been denyed in no manner. P. And if thou see a wight, qd. she, that hath done that he would done, thou nilt not doubt, that he ne hath had power to done it. Bo. No, qd. I. Phi. And in that that euery wight may, in that men holden hem mightie to don a thing: Insomuch, as a man is mighty to don a thing, insomuch, men hold him mighty: and in that that he ne may, in that men demen him to be feeble. Bo. I confesse it well, qd. I. P. Remember thee, qd. she, yt I haue gathered & shewed by yt foresaid reasons, yt all y• entencion of the wil of mankind, which y• is lad by diuers studies, hasteth to commen to blisfulnesse. Boet. It remembreth me well, qd. I, that it hath ben shewed. Philoso. And recordeth yt naught then, qd. she, that blisfulnesse is thilk same good that men requiren. so yt when blisfulnesse is required of all? Boetius. It recordeth me nat, qd. I. For I haue it alway in my memorie fixed. Philoso. All folke then, qd. she, good & eke bad, enforcen hem without difference of entencion to comen to good. Boetius. This is very consequence, qd. I. Philos. And certain is, qd. she, yt by getting of good be men maked good. Boeti. That is certaine, qd. I. Philos. Then getten good men yt they desiren. Boe. So it seemeth, qd. I. Philosophie. But wicked folke, qd. she, if they getten the good that they desiren, they ne mowen not be wicked. Bo. So it is, qd. I, Philos. Then so as that one and that other, qd. she, desiren the good, and the good folke getten the good, & not the wicked folk: then it is no doubt that the good folke ne be mightie, and wicked folke be feeble. Boeti. Who so yt euer douteth of this, he ne may not consider the nature of thinges, ne y• consequence of reasons. Philos. And ouer this, qd. she, if that there been two things yt haue one same purpose by kind, and that one of hem pursueth and performeth that same thing by naturall office, & that other ne may not don thilk office naturell, but followeth by other manner then is couenable to nature, him yt accomplisheth his purpose kindely, & yet he ne accomplisheth not his owne purpose: whether of these two demest thou for more mighty? B. If yt I conject, qd. I, yt thou woldest say, algates I desire yet to herken it more plainly of thee. Philosoph. Thou nilt not then denie, qd. she, that the moouement of goings nis in men by kind. Boeti. No forsooth, qd. I. Philosophy. Ne thou doubtest not, qd. she, yt thilk naturell office of going ne bee ye office of feet, Boe. I ne doubt it not, qd. I. Philos. Then, qd. she, if that a wight bee mightie to mooue, and goeth vpon his feet, & another to whom thilke naturell office of feet lacketh, enforceth him to go creeping on his hand, wch of these two ought to bee holden the more mightie by right? Boeti. Knit forth, qd. I, y• remnaunt, Philosophy. For no wight ne douteth, y• he that may gone by naturell office of feet, ne be more mightie than hee yt ne may not. But yt soueraigne good, qd. she, that is euen like purposed to the good and to the bad: y• good folke seeken it by naturell office of vertues, & shrewes enforcen hem to getten it by diuerse couetises of earthly things, which y• nis no naturell office to getten thilk soueraine good. Trowest thou that it be any otherwise? Bo. Nay, qd. I. For y• consequence is open, and shewing of things that I haue graunted, y• needs good folke moten ben mighty, & shrews moten ben feeble & vnmightie. Phil. Thou rennest aright beforne me, qd. she, and this is the judgment, yt is to sain, I judge of right, as these leeches beene woont to hopen of sicke folke, when they apperceiuen yt nature is redressed, & withstandeth to yt malady. But for I see thee now all ready to y• withstanding, I shall shew thee more thilke and continuell reasons. For looke how greatly sheweth the feeblenesse and infirmitie of wicked folke, y• ne mowen not commen to yt her naturel entencion leadeth hem: And yet almost thilk naturell entencion constraineth hem. And what were to demen then of shrewes, if thilk naturell helpe had forleten hem, y• which naturell helpe of entencion goth alway beforn hem, & is so great, yt vnneth it may be ouercommen? Consider then how great defaut of power, & howe great feeblesse there is in wicked fellonous folke: as who saieth, y• greater thyng yt is coueited, and the desire not accomplished, [Page] of yt lesse might is he that coueiteth it, and may not accomplish. And for thy, Philosophie saith thus by soueraine good. Ne shrews ne requiren not light medes ne vain games, which they ne may not followen ne holden, but they faylen of thilk summe of the height of things, that is to sain, soueraine good. Ne these wretches ne commen not to the effect of souerain good, the which they enforcen hem only to getten by nights and by days: in getting of which good, the strength of good folk is full well yseen. For right as thou mightest demen him mightie of going, that goeth on his feet till he might commen to thilk place, fro the which place there ne lay no way further to be gone: right so must thou needs demen him for right mighty, which that getteth and attayneth to the end of all things, which that been to desiren, beyond the which end there nis nothing to desire. Of the which power of good folk, men may conclude, that we wicked men seemen to be barrain and naked of all strength. For why forleten they vertues, and followen vices, nis it not for that they ne knowen not the goods? But what thing is more feble and more caitife, than is y• blindnes of ignorance? or els they knowen well which things they oughten followen, but lecherie & couetise ouerthroweth hem mistourned. And certes, so doth distemperance to feeble men, that mow not wrastlen ayen these vices. Ne know they not well, that they forleten the good wilfully, & tournen hem wilfully to vices. And in this wise they ne forleten not only to be mightie, but they forleten all vtterly in any wise for to been. For they yt forleten the commune fine of all things yt ben, they forleten also therewithal for to been. And perauenture, it should seemen to some folk, y• this were a meruaile to sain, that shrews, which that containen the more parts of men, ne been not, ne haue no being. But nathelesse it is so, and thus stant this thing: For they that be shrews, I denie not but y• they be shrews, but I denie simply & plainly, y• they ne be not, ne haue no being. For right as thou mightest sain of y• cerrain of a man, y• it were a dead man: so grant I wel forsooth, that vicious folk ben wicked, but I ne may not absolutely and simply grant that they ben. For thilk thing that withholdeth order, and keepeth nature, thilk thing is and hath being. But wt thing fayleth that, that is to say, he that forleteth natural order, he forleteth thilk being that is set in his nature? But thou wolt sain, the shrews mowen. Certes that ne denie I not: but certes, her power ne descendeth not of strength, but of feeblesse, for they mowen done wickednesse, the which they ne might not, if they mighten dwellen in the form and in y• doing of good people. And thilk power sheweth euidently, y• they mowen right naught. For so as I haue gadered and prooued a litel here beforn, that euill is not, and so as shrews may only but shrewdnes. This conclusion is all clere, that shrews ne mowen right naught, ne haue no power. And for as much as thou vnderstondest which is y• strength of this power, I haue definished a litel here beforn, that no thing nis so mighty as souerain good. B. That is sooth (qd. I) Phil. And thilk same souerain good may done none euil. Boe. Certes no (qd. I) Phil. Is there any wight then (qd. she) that weneth y• men mowen done all things. Boe. No man (qd. I) but if he be out of his wit. Phil. But certes shrews mowen done euils (qd. she.) Bo. Ye would God (qd. I) that they ne mighten done none. P. Then (qd. she) so as he that is mighty to done only good things, he may done all things, and they that ben mighty to done euill things, ne mowen not all things. Then is it open thing and manifest, y• they that mowen done euil, ben of lesse power. And yet to proue this conclusion, there helpeth me this, that I haue shewed here beforn, y• all power is to be numbred among things y• men oughten require. And I haue shewed, y• all things that oughten been desired, be referred to God, right as to a maner height of her nature: but for to mowen done euil & fellonie, ne may not ben referred to God. Then is not euil of the number of things, y• oughten to ben desired and required. Then is it open and clear, that the power ne the mouing of shrews nis no power. And of all these things it sheweth well, that the good folke ben certainly mighty, and the shrews doubtlesse vnmighty. And it is clere & open, that thilk sentence of Plato is very and soth, y• saith, That only wise men may done that they desiren, & shrews mowen haunten that hem liketh, but that they desiren, that is to sain, to come to souerain good, they ne haue no power to accomplish that: for shrews done what hem list, when by tho things in which they delighten, they wenen to attain to thilk good that they desiren, but they ne getten ne attayne not thereto, for vices ne commen not to blisfulnesse.

Quos vides sedere celsos, Solii culmine reges, Purpura claros nitente, &c.

WHo so that the couerture of her vain apparailes, might stripen of these prowd kings that thou seest sitten on high in her chairs, glittering in shining purpure, enuironned with sorrowfull armures, menasing with cruel mouth, blowing by woodnes of heart, he should seen, y• thilk lords heaten within her courages full strait chains: for lecherit tormenteth hem on y• one side with greedie venimes & troublable ire, that araiseth in hem the flood of troublings, tormenteth on that other side, her thought or sorrow halt hem werie & y [...]aught, or sliding and deceiuing hope tormenteth hem. And therfore sith thou seest one head, that is to sayn, one tyraunt bearen so many tyrannies, then ne doth thilk tyraunt not that he desireth, sith he is cast down with so many wicked lords, [Page] that is to sain, so many vices that haue so wickedly lordships ouer him.

Vides ne igitur quanto in coeno probra volvantur, qua probitas luce resplendeat? in quo perspicuum est nunquam bonis praemia, &c.

SEest thou not then, in how great filth these shrews been ywrapped, and with which clerenesse these good folk shinen. In this sheweth it well, that to good folk ne lacketh neuer mo her medes, ne shrews lacken neuer more tourments. For of all things that be done, thilk thing for which any thing is done, it seemeth, as by right, that thilk thing be the mede of that, as thus: If a man renneth in the stady or in the forlong for the crown, then lieth the mede in the crown, for which he renneth. And I haue shewed that blisfulnesse is thilk same good, for which that all things ben done. Then is thilk same good purposed to the werks of mankind, right as a commune mede, which mede ne may not be disceuered from good folk: For no wight, as by right, from thenceforth that him lacketh goodnesse, ne shall be cleaped good: for which thing folk of good maners her medes ne forsaken hem neuer mo. For all be it so, that shrewes waxen as wood as hem list against good folk, yet neuerthelesse, the crown of wise men ne shall not fallen ne faden fro forrain shreudnesse, ne benimmen not fro the courage of good people her proper honour. But if any wight rejoyced him of goodnesse, that he had taken fro without, as who saith: if a man had his goodnesse of any other man, than of himself, certes, he that yaue him thilke goodnesse, or els some other wight, might bynome it him. But for as much as to euery wight his proper bounty yeueth him his mede, then at erst shall he faylen of mede, when he forleteth to be good. And at the last, so as all medes been required, for men wenen that they be good, who is he that nolde deme, that he that is right mighty of good, were part lesse of mede? And of what mede shall he be reguerdoned? Certes, of right fair mede and right great abouen all medes. Remember thee of thilk noble corallary that I yaue thee a little here beforne, and gather it together in this manner. So as God himself is blisfulnesse, then is it clere and certain, that all good people been maked blisful, for they been good: and thilk people that ben blisful, it accordeth and is conuenable to be Gods. Then is the mede of people such, that no day ne shall empairen it, ne no wickednesse shall drinken it, ne power of no wight ne shall not amenuse it, that is to sain, that ben maked goods. And sith it is thus, that good men ne faylen neuer more of her mede, certes, no man ne may doubt of the vndepartable pain of shrews, that is to sain, that the pain of shrewes departeth not from hemself neuer mo. For so as good and euil, and pain and medes, be contrary: it mote needs be, that right as we see betiden in guerdon of good, that also mote the pain of the euil aunswer by the contrary parts to shrews. Now then, so as bounty and prowesse ben mede to good folk, also is shrewdnesse it self tourment to shrews. Then whosoeuer is entetched and defouled with payne, he ne doubteth not, that he is entetched and defouled with euil. If shrews then wollen praysen hemself, may it seemen to hem that they been withouten party of tourment, sith they been such, that the vttrest wickednesse, that is to say, wicked thewes, which is the vttrest and worst kind of shreudnesse, ne defouleth ne entetcheth not hem only, but enfecteth and enuenimeth greatly. And also look on shrews, that ben the contrary party of good men, how great pain fellowshippeth and fouleth hem: for thou hast learned a little here beforn, that all thing that is and hath being, is one, and thilk same one is good: then is this the consequence, that it seemeth well, that all thing that is and hath being, is good, that is to sain, as who saith, that being, vnity, and goodnesse, is all one. And in this manner it followeth then, that all thing that faileth to be good, it stinteth for to be, and for to haue any manner being: wherefore it is, that shrewes stinten for to be that they weren. But thilk other form of mankind, that is to sain, the form of the body without, sheweth that these shrews weren whilom men, wherefore when they been peruerted and tourned into malice, certes then they haue forlorn the nature of mankind: but so, as only bounty and prowesse may enhauncen euery man ouer men: then mote it needs be, that shrews, which that shrewdnesse hath cast out of the condicion of mankind, been put vnder the merit and desert of men. Then betideth it, that if thou seest a wight, which that is transformed into vices, thou maist not wene that he be a man: For if he be ardant in auarice, and that he be a rauenour by violence of forrain richesse, thou shalt sain that he is like a wolf. And if he be fellonous, and withouten rest, and exercise his tongue to chidings, thou shalt liken him to the hound. And if he be a priuy awaytour hidde, and rejoyceth him to rauish by wiles, thou shalt sain him like to the fox whelps. And if he be distempred and quaketh for ire, men shall wenen that he deareth the corage of a Lion. And if he be dredefull and flying, and dredeth things which that ne oughten not to be dread, men shall hold him like to the Hart. And if he be slow, and astonied and lache, men shall hold him like to an Asse. And if he be light and vnstedfast of courage, and changeth aye his studies, men shall hold him like to the birds. And if he be piunged in foul and vnclene luxuries, he is withholden in the foul delices of the foul sow: then followeth it, that he that forleteth bounty and prowesse, he forleteth to be a man, sith he ne may not passen in the condicion of God, he is turned into a beast.

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Vela Naricii ducis, & vagas pelago rates, Eurus appulit insulae, pulchra qua residens dea, Solis edita semine, &c.

EUrus the wind, arriued the sailes of Vlixes, duke of the countrey of Narice, and his wandering ships by the see, into the Isle, there as Circes the faire goddesse, doughter of the sun, dwelleth, that meddleth to her new ghests drinks that been touched and maked with enchauntments. And after that her hand, mighty ouer the herbs, had chaunged her ghests into diuers manners, that one of hem is couered his face with form of a Bore, that other is chaunged into a Lyon of the countrey of Marmorike, and his nayls and his teeth wexen. That other of hem is newlych changed into a wolf, and howlyth when he would weep: that other goeth debonairly in the house as a Tygre of Inde. But all be it so, that the godhead of Mercury, that is cleped the bird of Archadia, hath had mercy of the Duke Vlyxes, besieged with diuerse euils, and hath vnbounden him fro the pestilence of his hostesse, algates the rowers and the marriners hadden by this ydrawen into her mouthes, and dronken the wicked drinks. They that weren woxen swine, hadden by this ychaunged her meat of bread, for to eaten Acorn of Okes. None of her limmes ne dwelleth with hem whole, but they haue lost the voyce and the bodye, only her thought dwelleth with hem stable, that weepeth and bewayleth the monstrous changing that they sufferen. O ouer light hand, as who sayth, feeble and light is the hand of Circes the enchaunteresse, that chaungeth the bodies of folk into beasts, to regard and to comparison of mutacion, that is maked by vices: ne the herbs of Circes ne be not mighty, for all be it so that they may chaungen the limmes of the body, algate yet they may not change the hearts, for within is yhid the strength and vigor of men in the secretor of her hearts, that is to sain, the strength of reason: but thilk venimes of vices, do drawen a man to hem more mightily than the venime of Circes, for vices ben so cruel, that they piercen and thorow passen the courage within, and though they ne annoy not the body, yet vices wooden to destroyen men by wound of thought.

Tu ego fateor, inquam, nec injuria dici video vitiosos, tam & si humani corporis speciem servent, &c.

THen said I thus: I confesse and am aknow it (qd. I) ne I ne see not that men may say, as by right, that shrews been chaunged into beasts by the quality of her souls, all be it so, that they keepen yet the form of the bodye of mankinde: but I would not of shrews, of which, the thought cruel and wood, woodeth alway to the destruction of good men, that it were leful to hem to done that.

Certes (qd. she) ne it is not leful to hem as I shall well shew the incouenable place: but nathelesse, if so were, that thilk that men wene been leful to shrews, were bynommed hem, so that they ne might not annoien or done harm to good men, certes, a great party of the pain to shrews should ben alledged and releued. For all be it so, that it ne seem credible thing, peraduenture to some folk, that it mote needs be, that the shrews been more wretches and silly, when they may full done and perform that they coueyten, than if they might not accomplish that they coueyten. For if so be, that it be wretchednesse to wilnen to done euil, then is it more wretchednesse to mowen done euil, without which mowing, the wretched will should languish without effect. Then sith euery of these things hath his wretchednesse, that is to sain, will to done euil, and mowing to done euil, it mote needs be, that they shrews be constrained by her vnselinesses, that wollen and mowen, and performen fellonies and shreudnesses. Boet. I accord me (qd. I) but I desire greatly, that shrews losten soon thilk vnselinesse, that is to sain, that shrews weren dispoyled of mowing to done euil.

Philosophy. So shullen they (qd. she) soner paraduenture then thou woldest, or soner than they hemself wene: for there nis nothing so late in so short bonds of this life, that is long to abide, namely to a courage immortel. Of which shrews, the great hope and the hie compassings of shreudnesse, is oft destroyed by a sodein end, or they be ware. And that thing establisheth to shrews the end of her shrewdnesse: for if that shrewdnesse maketh wretches, then must he needs be most wretch that longest is a shrew: the which wicked shrews wold I demin aldermost caytifes and vnsely, if her shrewdnesse ne were finished at least way by vtterest death, for if I haue concluded sooth of the vnselinesse of shrewdnesse, then sheweth it plainly, that thilk wretchednesse is withouten end, the which is certain to be pardurable. Bo. Certes (qd. I) this conclusion is hard and wonderful to grant. But I know well that it accordeth moch to things that I haue granted here beforne. Phil. Thou hast (qd. she) right estimacion of this. But who so euer wene that it be a hard thing, to accord him to a conclusion, it is right that he shew that some of the premisses ben false, or els he mote shew that the collacion of propoficions nis not spedeful to a necessary conclusion. And if it ne be not so, but that the premisses been igraunted, there nis not why he should blame the argument. For this thing that I shall tell thee now, ne shall not seme lasse wonderful, but of the things that bene taken. Also it is necessary, as who faith, it followeth of that which that is purposed beforne. Boec. What is that (qd. I) Phil. Certes (qd. she) that is, that these wicked shrews be more blisful, or els lasse wretches that abien the tourments [Page] that they haue deserued, than if no payne of justice ne chastised hem. Ne this ne say I not now, for y• any man might think that the maners of shrewes been coriged and chastised by vengeance, and that they be brought to the right way by the drede of tourment, ne for that they yeuen to other folkes ensample to flyen fro vices.

But I vnderstand yet in another maner, y• shrewes been more vnsely when they ne be not punished, al be it so that there ne be had no reason or law of correction, ne none ensample of looking. Boet. And what maner shall y• been, qd. I, other than hath be tolde here beforn? Ph. Haue we not graunted then, qd. she, that good folke ben blisfull, & shrewes ben wretches? Boet. Yes, qd. I. Philosoph. Then, qd. she, If that any good were added to y• wretchednesse of any wight, nys he not more weleful than he y• ne hath no medling of good in his solitary wretchednes. Bo. So seemeth it (qd. I.) Phil. And what sayst thou then, qd. she, of thilke wretch that lacketh all goods, so that no good nys medled with his wretchednesse, and yet ouer all his wickednesse for which he is a wretch, that there be yet another yuel annexed and knit to him, shall not men demen him more unsely than thilke wretche, of which the vnselines is releued by the participation of some good. Boet. Why should he not, qd. I. Ph. Then certes, qd. she, han shrewes when they been punished, somewhat of good annexed to hir shrewdnesse, that is to saine, the same paine that they suffren, which that is good, by the reason of Iustice. And when thilke same shrewes escapen without tourment, then haue they somwhat more of yuel yet, ouer the wickednes that they han done, that is to saine, default of pains, which default of payne thou hast graunted is yuel, for the desert of felony. Boet. I ne may not deny it, qd. I. Philos. * Moch more then, qd. she, been shrewes vnsely, when they been wrongfully deliuered fro payne, then when they been punished by rightfull vengeaunce. But this is open thing and clere, y• it is right that shrewes been punished, & it is wickednesse and wrong that they escapen vnpunished. Boetius. Who might deny it, qd. I. Philosop. But, qd. she, may any man deny y• al that is right, ne is good? and also the contrary, y• all y• is wrong ne is wicked? Boet. Certes, qd. I, these things been cleere ynough, and that wee haue concluded a litell here beforn. But I pray thee y• thou tel me, if thou accordest to letten no tourment to y• soules, after y• the body is ended by y• death, that is to saine: vnderstandest thou aught, that soules haue any tourment after y• deth of y• body? Philos. Certes, qd. she, yea, and that right great, of which soules, qd. she, I trowe y• some been tourmented by asprenesse of payne, and some soules I trow been exercised by a purging mekenesse, but my counsaile nys nat to determine of this paynes. But I haue trauayled and tolde yet hyderto, for thou shouldest know y• the mowing of shrews, which mowing thee semeth to be vnworthy, nys no mowyng, & eke of shrewes, of which thou playnedest yt they ne were not punished, yt thou woldest see that they ne weren neuer mo withouten the tourments of her wickednesse. And of the lycence of the mowing to doen euill, that thou praydest that it might sone be ended, and that thou wouldest fayne lernen that it ne shoulde not longe endure. And that shrewes been more vnsely if they were of lenger duringe, and moste vnsely if they weren perdurable. And after this I haue shewed thee that more vnsely ben shrewes, when they escapen without her rightfull payne, than when they ben punished by rightfull vengeaunce. And of this sentence foloweth it, y• then been shrewes constrayued at the last with most greeuous tourment, when men wene that they ne be not punished. Boetius. When I consider thy reasons, qd. I, I ne trow nat y• men saine any thing more verely. And if I tourne ayen to the studies of men, who is he to whome it shoulde seeme, yt he ne should nat onely leuen these things, but eke gladly herken hem. Philoso. Certes, qd. she, so it is, but men may nat, for they haue their eyen so wont to the derkenesse of earthly thinges, that they ne may nat lift hem vp to the light of cleare soothfastnesse. But they been like to birdes, of which the night lightneth her lookings, as the day blindeth hem. For when men looken not the ordre of thinges, but her lustes and talents, they wene that eyther the leue or the mowyng to doen wickednes, or els the scaping without payne, be welefull. But consider the judgement of the perdurable law, for if thou confirme thy courage to the best things, thou ne hast no need of no judge, to yeuen thee price or mede, for thou hast joyned thy selfe to y• most excellent thinges. And if thou haue enclined thy studies to y• wicked things, ne seke no foraine wrekerie out of thy selfe, for thou thy selfe hast thriste thy selfe into wicked things, right as thou mightest looken by diuers times, the foule yearth & the heauen, and yt all other things stinten fro without, so y• thou were in neither, ne see nothing more. Then shuld it seemen to thee, as by only reason of loking, y• thou were now in the Sterres, & now in the earth, but y• people loketh not on these things. What then, shal we then approch vs to hem that I haue shewed that been like to beasts? And what wouldest thou sain of this, if y• a man had all forlorne his sight, and had foryeten y• he euer saw, & wened that nothing fayled him of perfection of mankind? Now we which mighten seene the same things, would we not saine, y• he were blind, ne also ne accordeth not ye people to yt I shall saine, the which thing is susteyned, by as strong foundements of reason, yt is to saine, * That more vnselie been they yt done wrongs to other folke, than they yt the wrong suffren. Boet. I would hearen thilke same reasons, qd. I. Philos. Deniest thou, [Page] (qd. she) that all shrewes ne been worthie to haue tourment? Boetius. Nay (qd. I.) Phil. But (qd. she) I am certain by many reasons, that shrewes been vnsely. Boetius. It accordeth (qd. I.) Phil. Then ne doubtest thou not (qd. she) that thilke folke, that been worthy of tourment, yt they ne be wretches. Boetius. It accordeth well (qd. I.) Phil. If thou were then set a Iudg, or a knower of things, whither trowest thou that men should tourmenten hem yt hath done wrong, or els hem that suffered the wrong? Boetius. I doubte not (qd. I) that I nolde doe sufficient satisfaction to hem that haue suffered wrong, by the sorrow of hem that hath done wrong. Phil. Then semeth it (qd. she) that the dooer of wrong is more wretch than he that suffred wrong. Boetius. That followeth well (qd. I.) Phil. Then (qd. she) by these causes, and by other causes, that been enforced by the same roote, that filth or sinne, by the proper nature of it, maketh men wretches: & it sheweth well, that the wrongs that men done, nis not the wretchednesse of him that receiueth the wrong, but the wretchednesse of him that doeth the wrong. But certes (qd. she) these Orators or Aduocates done all the contrary, for they enforcen hem to commoue the Iudges to haue pitie of hem that done the greevaunces and the wrongs, the which shrews, it were a more couenable thing, that ye accusours or aduocates, not wroth, but piteous & debonaire, ledden tho shrews that haue done wrongs, to the judgment, right as men leden sicke folke to the Leche, for that they shoulden seeken out the maladies of sin, by tourment. And by this couenant, either the entent of advocates, should cessen in all, or els thoffice of the aduocates would better profiten to men: it should be tourned into the habite of accusacion, that is to saine, they shoulden accuse shrews, hemself, if it were leful to hem, to seen at any clift the vertue that they haue forletten, & sawen that they should putten adoune the filthes of her vices, by the tourments of paines: they ne oughten not, right for that recompensacion, for to getten hem bountie and prowesse, which that they have loste, demen and holde that the ilke paynes weren tourments to hem, & eke they woulden refuse the attendaunce of her aduocates, & taken hemselfe to her Iudges, and to her accusours: for the which it betideth, that as to y• wise folks there nis no place iletten to hate, that is to saine, that hate ne hath no place among wise men. For no wight nill haten good men, but if he were ouermoch a foole: and for to haten shrews, it nis no reason, for right as languishing is maladie of body, right so been vices & sin malady of courage, and so as we ne deme not that they which that been sick of her bodie been worthy to been hated, but rather worthy of pitie. Well more worthy not to been hated, but for to been had in pitie been they, of which the thoughts been constrained by felonous wickednesse, that is more cruell than any languishing of body.

Quid tantos juvat excitare motus. Et propria fatum sollicitate manu? Si mortem petitis, propinquat ipsa sponte sua, volucres nec remoratur equos, &c.

WHat deliteth you to exciten so great mouing of Hatredes, and to hasten and busien the fatal disposicion of your death, with your proper hands, that is to saine, by battailes or conteke? For if yee asken the death, it hasteth him of his owne will, ne death ne tarieth not his swift horse. And the men that the Serpents, and the Lion, and the Tigre, and the Bere, and the Bore, seken to slean with their teeth, yet thilke same men seken to slean euerich of hem other with sweard. Lo, for her maners been diuers and discordaunt, they mouen vnrightful hostes, and cruel battayles, and wilnen to perish by enterchaungyng of dartes, but the reason of crueltie, nys not inough rightful. Wilt thou then yelden a couenable guerdon to the deserts of men? Loue rightfully good folkes, and haue pitie on shrewes.

Hinc ego video inquam, quae sit vel felicitas vel miseria in ipsis proborum at (que) improborum meritis constituta. Sed in hac ipsa fortuna populari, &c.

THis I see (qd. I) eyther what blisfulnesse, or els what vnselinesse is established in the deserts of good men, and of shrewes. But in this ilke Fortune of the people, I see somewhat of good, and some what of euil. For no wise man had not leauer be exiled poore and needie, and namelesse, than for to dwellen in his Citee, and flouren of richesse, and be redoubtable of honour, and strong of power. For in this wise more clearly and witnesfully is the office of wise men treated, then the blisfulnesse of power, and gouernors, is as it were shad amongs the people, that be neighbours and subjects, sith that namely prison, law, and these other torments of lawful pains, be rather owed to felonous citizens: for the which selonous citizens, the pains be established, more then for good people. Boet. Then I maruaile greatly (qd. I) why that the thyngs be so misse enterchaunged, that torments of felonies pressen & confounden good people, and shrewes rauishen medes of vertue, and been in honors, & great estates. And I desire eke for to weten of thee, what semeth thee to be the reason of this so wrongfull a conclusion? For I would wonder well the lasse, if that I trowed that all things were medled with fortunous hap. But now crepeth & encreaseth mine astoniyngs, God gouernour of things, that so as God yeveth oft times to good men, goods & mirths, and to shrews, euill and aspre things: And yeueth ayen to good folke hardnesse, and to shrews he graunteth hem her will, and that [Page] they desiren. What difference may there be, betweene that that God doeth, and hap of fortune, if men know not the cause why it is. Philosophie. Ne it is no marueile, qd. she, though that men wenen, that there be somewhat foolish and confuse, when the reason of the order is unknowen: but although that thou ne know not the cause of so great a disposicion. Nathelesse, for as much as God the good gouernour attempreth and gouerneth the world, ne doubt thee not, but all things been doen a right.

Si quis Arcturi sidera nescit. Mergatque seras aequore flammas. Propinqua summo cardine labi. Cum nimis sceleris explicet ortus. Cur legat tardus plaustra Bootes, &c.

WHo so that know not the Sterres Arcture, tourned to the soueraine centure or poinct, that is to saine, tourned nigh to the Soueraine Pole of y• firmament, and wote not why y• sterre Bootes passeth, or gathereth his waines, and drencheth his late flambes in the sea, and why that Bootes the Sterre vnfoldeth his ouerswift arisings, then shall he wondren of the Lawe of y• high aire. And eke, if that he ne knowe not why y• the hornes of the full Moone waxen pale and infect by the boundes of the darke night, and how the Moone darke & confuse, discouereth the Sterres, that she had couered by her clere visage.

The common errour moueth folkes, and maketh wearie her basins of Brasse by thilke strokes, that is to say, that there is a maner people, that hight Coribantes, that wenen that when the Moone is in the Eclipse that it be enchaunted, and therfore for to rescue y• Moone, they beaten her basins with the ilke strokes. Ne no man ne wondreth when the blastes of the wind Chorus, beaten y• stronds of the Sea, by quaking floodes. Ne no man ne wondreth, when the weight of the Snow, harded by the cold, is resolued by the brenning heat of Phebus the Sunne, for here seen men readily the causes. But the causes ihid, that is to saine in heauen, troublen ye brestes of men. The mouable people is astonied of all things that commen selde and sodainly in our age, but the troubly errour of our ignoraunce, departeth fro vs, so yt if they wisten the cause, why that soche thinges betiden, certes they shoulden cease to seme wonders.

Ita est inquam. Sed cum tui muneris sit latentium rerum causas evolvere, velatas (que) caligine explicare rationes: quaeso uti hinc decernas, &c.

THus it is (qd. I) but so as thou haste yeuen or beheight me, to vnwrappe ye hidde causes of things, and to discouer me the reasons couered with darknesse, I pray thee, that thou deuise and judge me of this matter, and that thou do me to vnderstand it, for this miracle of this wonder troubleth me right greatly. And then she a little what smiling said. Thou clepest me (qd. she) to tell yt is greatest of al thinges y• mowen been asked, and to the which question, vnneth there aught inough to leauen it, as who saieth, vnneth is there any thing to aunswere perfitly to thy question: for ye matter of it is soch, that when o doubte is determined and cut away, there waxen other doubts without number, right as the heddes of Idre the Serpent waxen, the which Serpent Hercules slough: ne there ne were no manere, ne none end, but if a wight constrained the doubts, by a right liuely & quicke fire of thought, that is to saine, by vigour and strength of wit. For in this matter men weren wonte to maken questions, of ye simplicitie of the purueighaunce of GOD, & of y• order of Destinie, and of sodayne happe, & of knowing of predestinacion diuine, and of the libertie of Freewill: the which thinges, thou thy selfe apperceiuedest well of what weight they been. But for as moch as the knowings of these things, is a manner porcion or Medicine to thee, all be it so, that I haue little tyme to doen it, yet neuerthelesse I would enforcen me to shewen somewhat of it: But although the nourishings of ditee of Musike deliteth thee, thou must suffren & forbearen a little of the ilke delite, while that I wene to the reasons knit by order. Boetius. As it liketh to thee (qd. I) so doe. Philosophie. Tho spake shee right, as by an other beginning, and sayed right thus: The engendering of all thinges (qd. she) and all the progressions of moueable Nature, & all that moueth in any maner, taketh his causes, his order, & his formes, of y• stablenesse of Diuine thought: And the ilke Diuine thought, that is set and put in the Towre, yt is to saine, in the height of the simplicitie of God, establisheth many maner gises to y• things that been to doen, the which maner, when the men looken it, in the pure cleanesse of the Diuine intelligence, is cleaped purueighaunce.

But when the ilke maner is referred by men, to thinges that it moueth or disponeth, then of old men it was cleaped Destenie, y• which things, if that any wight looketh well in his thought, the strength of that one, & of that other, he shall lightly mowe seene, that these two things be diuers. For purueighaunce is the ilke Diuine reason that is established in the Soueraine Prince of thinges, y• which pueueighaunce disponeth al things. But certes, Destinie is the disposicion & the ordinaunce, cleauing to moueable thinges, by the which disposicion, ye purueighaunce knitteth all things in her order: For purueighaunce embraseth al things to heap, although they be diuers, and although they be infinite, but destinie certaine departeth & ordaineth all things singulerly, & deuideth in mouing, in places, in formes, and in tymes, as thus: Let the vnfolding of temporall ordinaunce, [Page] assembled and oned in ye loking of the Diuine thought, be cleaped purueighaunce, & thilke same assembling and oning deuided and vnfolden, let that be called Destine. And all beit so, that these thinges been diuers, yet neuerthelesse, hanged yt one on that other, for why, the order destinably proceedeth of the simplicitie of purueighaunce.

For right as a werkman perceiueth in his thought the forme of thing yt he wol make, and moueth the effect of the werke, and leadeth y• he had looked beforne in his thought, simply and presently by corporall ordinance: certes, right so God in his purueighaunce, disponeth singulerly and stably the things yt be to doen, but he administreth in maners, & in diuers time by Destinie, the ilke same thinges that he hath disponed: then whether Destinie be exercised eyther by some Diuine spirits, seruaunts to the Diuine purueighaunce, or els by some soul, or els by all nature seruing God, or els by the celestiall mouings of Sterres, or els by the vertue of Angels, or els by diuers subtelty of Diuels, or els by any of hem, or els by hem all, the destinable ordinaunce is wouen and accomplished. Certes, it is open thing, yt the purueighaunce is an vnmouable & simple form of things to doen, and the moueable bond, and the temporel ordinaunce of thinges, which that the Diuine simplicity of purueyaunce hath ordayned to doen, that is destinie. For which it is yt all things that been put vnder destiny, been certes subjects vnto purueiaunce, to which purueyaunce destiny it selfe is subject and vnder: but some things been put vnder purueiaunce, y• surmounten the ordinaunce of destiny: and tho been thilke that stably been fixed nigh to the first godhed, they surmounten ye order of destinable mouabilitee. For right as circles turnen about a same centre, or about a poinct, thilke cercle that is innerest or most within, he joyneth to the simplesse of the middle, & is as it were a centre or a poinct to that other cercles that turnen about him: and thilk y• is vtterest, compassed by larger enuironning, is vnfolde by larger spaces, in so moch as it is fertherest fro the middelest simplicitie of the poinct. And if there be any thyng that knitteth & felowshippeth himself to thilke middle poinct, it is constrayned into simplicity, yt is to say, into vnmouability, & it ceaseth to ben shad, and flit diuersly. Right so by semblable reason, thilke thing y• departeth furtherest fro y• first thought of God, it is vnfolden, and also submitted to greater bondes of destinie, and in so moch is ye thing more free & loce fro destinie, as it asketh & holdeth nere to thilke centre of things, that is to saine, to God. And if the thing cleaueth to the stedfastnesse of y• thought of God, & be without mouyng, certes it surmounteth the necessitie of destinie. Then soche comparison as is skilling to vnderstanding, & of thing yt was engendred, to thing that is of time to eternity, & of the cercle to the centre, right so is y• order of mouable distinie, to yt stable simplicity of purueighaunce. Thilke ordinaunce moueth y• heauen and the sterres, and attempreth y• elementes togither among hem selfe, and transformeth hem by enterchaungeable mutacion. And thilke same order neweth ayen all things growing and falling adoune, by semblable progressions of seedes and of sexes, that is to saine, male & female: & this ilke order constraineth y• fortunes and the dedes of men by a bonde of causes not able to be vnbounden: the which destinable causes, when they passen out fro the beginnynges of vnmovable purueyaunce, it mote needs be yt they ne be not mutable, as thus: be y• things well gouerned, if that the simplicitie dwelling in y• Diuine thought, sheweth forthe the order of causes vnable to be bowed: And this order constrayneth by the proper stabilitie y• mouable thinges, or els they shoulden flete folilie. For which it is that things semen confuse, & troubly to vs men, for we ne mowen not consider thilke ordinaunce. Neuerthelesse, y• proper maner of euery thyng dressyng hym to good, disponeth hem all, for there nis nothing dooen for euill, for thilke thing that is doen by wicked folke nis not done for euill. The which shrewes, as I haue shewed plenteously, seke good, but wicked errour misturneth hem, ne y• order coming fro y• poinct of Soueraine good, ne enclineth not fro his beginning. But thou maiest say, wt vnrest may been a worse confusion, than that good men haue sometime aduersitie, and sometime prosperitie: and shrewes haue now also things that they desiren, and now things yt they haten. Whether men liue now in soch holinesse of thoght, as who saith be men now so wise, that soch folke as they demen to be good folke or shrewes, that it mote needes be, that folke be soch as they wenen. But in this maner domes of men discorden, that thilk men yt some folke deme hem worthy of mede, other folke deme hem worthy of turment, but let vs graunt: I suppose yt some man may well deeme or know y• good people & the bad, may he then know and see thilke innerest attemperaunce of courage, as it hath be wont to be sayd of bodies, as who saith: may a man speaken of complexions, & attemperaunce of bodies, ne it ne is not, as who saith, but it is like a meruaile or a miracle to hem yt ne know it not, why yt swete things be couenable to som bodies y• been hole, and to som people bitter things be couenable: & also why some people been holpen with light medicines, & some people ben holpen with bitter medicines but nathelesse tho yt knowen the maner, & y• temperaunce of heale and of malady ne marueyleth it nothing. But what other thing seemeth health of courages but bountie, & wt other thing seemeth malady of courage but vices? * Who is els keper of good, and driuer away of euill, but God y• gouernour and leader of thoughts: y• which God, when he hath beholden from yt high toure of his purveiaunce, [Page] hee knoweth what is conuenable to any wight, and leaneth hem that he wot well yt is conuenable to hem. Lo hereof commeth & herof is done this myracle or thorder destinable, when God that all knoweth, doth soch thing, of which thing vnknowyng folke been astonied, but for to constrayne, as who saieth, but for to comprehend and tell a fewe thinges of the deuine deepenesse, the which that mans reason may vnderstand. Thilke manne that thou wenest to been right just, & right keeping of equitie, the contrarie of yt seemeth to the Diuine purueighaunce that all wote. And Lucan my familier telleth, yt the victorious cause lyked to the Goddes, & the causes ouercome, liketh to Caton. Then what so euer thou mayest seene, yt is done in this world unhoped or els vnknowen, certes, it is y• right order of things, but as to thy wicked opinion, it is a confusion. But I suppose yt some man be so wel thewed, that the Diuine judgement, & the judgement of mankind accorden hem togider of him: but he is so vnstedfast of courage, yt if any aduersitie come to him, he woll forleten parauenture to continue innocencie, by the which he ne may not withholden fortune: then y• wise dispensacion of GOD spareth him, which man aduersitie might enpairen, for y• God wil not him to trauaile, to whom y• trauail nis not [...] conuenable. Another man is parfite in all vertues, & is an holy man, & nigh to GOD, so that the purueighaunce of God would deme, that it were a felony, that hee were touched with any aduersities, so yt he would not suffre, that soch a man be with any bodily malady moued. But so, as said the Philosopher, the more excellent is by me sayd in great, that vertues haue edified the body of the holy man. And oft time it betideth, yt the summe of thinges that been to done is taken to gouerne to good folke, for yt the malice habundant of shrewes should ben abated. And God yeueth and departeth to other folke prosperities and aduersities, medled to heap after the quality of her courages, and remordeth some folke by adversities, for they ne shuld not waxen proude by long welefulnesse. And other folke he suffereth to be travayled with harde thyngs, for that they should confermen the vertues of courage by the exercitation of vsage of patience. And other folke dreden more than they oughten, the which they mighten well bearen, & some dispise that they mowe not bear, & thilk folk God leadeth into experience of hemselfe, by aspre and sorrowful things. And many folke haue bought honourable renome of this world by the price of glorious death.

And some men that ne mowe not been ouercomen by tourment, haue yeuen ensample to other folke, yt vertue may not been ouercommen by adversities. And of all these things there nys no doubt, that they ne been done rightfully and ordeinly, to the parfite good of hem to whom we seen these things betiden. For certes, that adversities cometh somtime to shrewes, and sometime that they desiren, it cometh of these foresaid causes. And of sorrowful things that betiden to shrews, certes, no man ne wondreth, for all men wene that they haue deserued it, and that they ben of wicked merite. Of which shrewes, the tourmente agasteth sometyme other to doen felonies: And sometyme it amendeth hem that suffereth the tourments. And the prosperitie yt is yeuen to shrewes, sheweth a great argument to good people, what thing they should demen of thilke welefulnesse, whiche prosperitie men seen ofte serue to shrewes: In which thing, I trowe that GOD dispenseth, for parauenture, y• nature of some man is so ouerthrowyng to euill, and so vncouenable, that ye needy pouertie of his houshold might rather agreue him to done felonies, and to the maladie of him, GOD putteth remedie, to yeuen him richesse. And some other man beholdeth his conscience defouled with sinnes and maketh comparison of this Fortune, and of himselfe: & dredeth paraduenture, that the blisfulnesse, of which the vsage is joyfull to him, that the lesing of thilke blisfulnesse ne bee not sorowfull to him, and therefore he would chaunge his maners: & for hee dredeth to lese his Fortune, he forleteth his wickednesse. To other folkes welefulnesse is yeuen vnworthily, the which ouerthroweth hem into destruction that they han deserued, and to some other folke is yeuen power to punishen, for that it shall be cause of continuacion, and exercising to good folks, and cause of tourment to shrewes.

For so as there nis none aliaunce betweene good folkes and shrewes, ne shrewes ne mowen not accorden among hemselfe: and why not? For that shrewes discorden of hemselfe by her vices, the which vices all to renden her consciences, and doen oft tyme thinges, the which things, when they haue done hem, they deme that tho thinges ne should not haue be doen, for which thing y• soverain purueiance hath maked oft tyme myracle: So that shrewes haue maked shrewes to been good men. For when that some shrewes seene, that they suffre wrongfully felonies of other shrewes, they waxen eschaufed into hate of hem that anoied hem, and retournen to the fruict of vertue. Then they studien to be vnlike to hem that they haue hated. Certes only is this the diuine might, to y• which might yuels been then good, when it vseth ye yuels couenably, and draweth out the effect of any good, as who saieth, yt yuel is good onely to y• might of God, for y• might of God ordeyneth thilke euill to be good: for one order embraceth all things, so that what wight departeth from ye reason of thilke order yt is assigned to him, algates yet he slideth into another order, so yt nothing is lefull to foly, in the realme of diuine purueiaunce, as who sayeth, nothing is without ordinance in the realme of diuine purueiaunce, sith that [Page] the right strong God gouerneth all things in this world, for it is not lefull for men to comprehende by wit, ne vnfolden by worde, all the subtell ordinaunce, and the disposicion of the diuine entent, for onely it ought to suffice, to haue looked that God himselfe, maker of all natures, ordaineth all things to good, while that he hasteth to withhold the thinges that he hath maked into his semblance, that is to say, for to withholden the things into good, for he himselfe is good. He chaseth out all iuels fro the bond of his comminalties, by thorder of the necessitie destinable: for which it followeth, that if thou loke the purueiaunce, ordeyning the thinges that men wenen be outragious or haboundant in yerthes, thou shalt not seen in no place nothyng of iuell. But I see now that thou art charged with the weight of the question, and weary with length of my reason, and that thou abidest some sweetnesse of song, take then this draught, and when thou art well refreshed and refect, thou shalt be more stedfast to fly into higher questions or things.

Si vis oelsi jura tonantis. Plura solers cernere mente. Aspice summi culmina coeli.

IF thou wise wolt demen in thy pure thought, the rights or the lawes of the hie thonder, that is to sain, of God, looke thou and beholde the heightes of the soueraine heauen: There kepen the Sterres, by rightfull aliaunce of thyngs her old peace: The Sunne imoued by his roddie fire, ne distourbeth not the colde cercle of the Mone, ne the sterre icleped the Bere, that enclineth his rauishing courses, abouten the soueraine height of this worlde: Ne the same sterre Vrsa, nis neuer mo washen in the deepe Westren sea, ne coueteth not to dien his [...]ames in the sea of the Occian, although it see other Sterres iplonged in the Sea: And Hesperus the Sterre boodeth and telleth alway the late nights: And Lucifer the Sterre bringeth ayen the cleare day.

And thus maketh loue enterchaungeable, the perdurable courses, and thus is discordable battayle yput out of the countrey of the sterres. This accordaunce attempreth by euenlike maners the Elements, that the moyst things striuing with the drie things, yeuen place by stoundes: And that the colde thinges joynen hem by fayth to the hote thinges, and that the light fire ariseth in to height, and the heauy yearths auayleth by her weights: by the same causes the flourie yeere yeldeth swete smels: in the first Sommer season warming, and the hote Sommer dryeth the Cornes, and Autumpne commeth ayen of heauy Appels, and the fleeting rayne be deweth the Winter, this attempraunce nourisheth and bryngeth forth all things that beareth life in this worlde, and thilke same attempraunce rauishing, hideth, benimeth, and drencheth vnder the last death all things iborne.

Among these things sitteth the high maker, King and Lorde, weale and beginnyng, Lawe and wise Iudge, to doen equitee, and gouerneth and enclineth the bridels of things: And tho things that he sterreth to gone by mouing, he withdraweth and aresteth, and affirmeth the moueable or wandring things. For if that he ne called not ayen the right going of things, and if that he ne constrayned hem not efte sones into roundnesse enclined, the things that been now continued by stable ordinaunce, they should departen from her weale, that is to saine, from her beginning and fallen, that is to saine, tournen into nought. This is the common loue to all things: and all things asken to been holden by the fine of good, for elles ne mighten they not fasten, if they ne come not e [...]tsones ayen by loue, retourned to the cause that hath yeuen hem beyng, that is to saine, God.

Jam ne igitur vides quid haec omnia quae diximus consequantur. Quid nam inquit. Omnem inquit, &c.

SEest thou not then, what thing followeth all the things that I haue saied. Boetius. What thing (qd. I.) Philosophie. Certes (qd. she) all vtterly, that all fortune is good. Boetius. And how may that be (qd. I.) Philosophie. Now vnderstand (qd. she.) So as all fortune, wheder so it be joyfull fortune, or aspre fortune, is yeuen eyther bycause of guerdoning, or elles of exercising of good folkes, or elles bycause to punishen, or elles chastisen shrews: then is all fortune good, the which fortune is certaine, that it be eyther rightfull or elles profitable.

Boetius. Forsothe this is a full very reason (qd. I) and if I consider the purueighaunce and the destinie that thou oughtest me a little here beforne, this sentence is susteyned by stedfast reasons. But if it lyke vnto thee, let vs nombren hem emonges the ilke thinges, of which thou saidest a little here beforne, that they ne were not able to ben wened to the people. Philosophie. Why so (qd. she?) Boet. For that the common word of men (qd. I) misuseth this maner speech of fortune, and saine oft tymes, that the fortune of some wight is wicked. Philosophie. Wilt thou then (qd. she) that I approche a little to the words of the people, so that it seme not to hem, that I be ouermoch departed, as fro the vsage of mankinde. Boetius. As thou wolt (qd. I.) Philosophie. Wenest thou not (qd. she) that all thing that profiteth, is good? Boetius. Yes (qd. I.) Philosophie. Certes all thing that exerceth or corrigeth, it profiteth. Boetius. I confesse well (qd. I.) Philosophie. Then is it good (qd. she.) Boetius. Why not (qd. I.) Philosophie. But this is the [Page] fortune (qd. she) of hem that eyther be put in vertue, and battaylen agaynst aspre things, or els of hem that enclinen, and declinen fro vices, and taken the way of vertue. Boetius. This ne may I not deny (qd. I.) Philosophie. But what sayest thou of the merie fortune that is yeuen to good people in guerdon, demeth ofte the people that it be wicked? Boetius. Nay forsoth (qd. I) but they demen as it is soth, that it is right good. Philosophie. What saiest thou of the other fortune (qd. she) that although that it be aspre, and restraineth the shrews by rightfull tourment, weneth aught the people that it be good? Boet. Nay (qd. I.) but the people demeth that it is most wretched of all things that may be thought. Philosophie. Ware now, and looke well (qd. she) least wee in followyng the opinion of the people, haue confessed and concluded thing which that is vnable to been wened to the people. Boetius. What is that (qd. I.) Philosophie. Certes (qd. she) it followeth or commeth of things that been graunted, that all fortune what so euer it bee, of hem that been eyther in possession of vertue, or in thencrease of vertue, or els in the purchasing of vertue, that thilke Fortune is good, and that all Fortune is right wicked, to hem that dwellen in shreudnesse, as who saith, and thus weneth not the people. Boetius. That is soth (qd. I.) Albeit so that no man dare confesse it, ne know it. Philosophie. Why so (qd. she.) For right as the strong man, ne semeth not to abashen or disdaynen, as oft tyme as he heareth the noyse of the battail: ne also it seemeth not to the wiseman, to bearen it grieuously, as oft as he is ledde into strife of fortune. For bothe to that one man, and eke to that other, the ilke difficultie is the matter, to that one man of encrease of hys glorious renome, and to that other man, to conserue his sapience, that is to say, to the asprenesse of his estate. * For therefore is it called vertue, for that it susteyneth and enforceth by his strengthes, so that it is not ouercommen by aduersities. Ne certes, thou that arte putte in encrease, or in the height of vertue, ne hast not commen to fleten with delices, and for to walken in bodily lust. Thou sowest or plantest a full eigre battayle in thy courage ayenst euery Fortune: for that the sorrowfull fortune confounde thee not, ne that the merie Fortune ne corrumpe thee not, occupie the meane by stedfast strengthes. For all that euer is vnder the meane, or all that ouerpasseth the meane, dispiseth welefulnesse, as who sayeth, it is vicious, and ne hath no mede of his trauayle, for it is set in your hand, as who sayeth, it lieth in your power, what Fortune you is leuest, that is to say, good or iuel, for all fortune that semeth sharpe or aspre, if it ne exercise not the good folke, ne chastise the wicked folke, it punisheth.

Bella bis quinis operatus annis. Ultor Atrides phrygiae ruinis, &c.

THe werker Atrides, that is to sain, Agamemnon, that wrought and continued the battayles by ten yeere, recouered and purged in wreking by the distruction of Troie, the loste chambers of Mariage in his brother, that is to say, that Agamemnon wan ayen Heleine, that was Menelaus wife, his brother. In the meane while that thilke Agamemnon desired to yeuen sayles to the Grekes nauie, & brought ayen the windes by blood: He vnclothed him of pitee of father, and the sorie Priest yeueth in sacrifiyng, the wretched cuttyng of the throte of the doughter: that is to say, that Agamemnon let cut the throte of his doughter by the Priest, to maken aliaunce with his Goddes, and for to haue wind, with which he might wenden to Troy. Itacus, that is to say, Vlixes bewept his fellowes ylorne, the which fellowes, the fiers Poliphemus, liggyng in his great caue, had fretten and dreint in his emptie wombe: But natheles Poliphemus wood for his blind visage yeld to Vlixes joy, by his sorrowfull teares, that is to say, that Vlixes smote out the iye of Poliphemus, that stoode in the forehead, for which Vlixes had joy, when he saw Poliphemus wepyng and blind. Hercules is celebrable for his hard trauaile, he daunted the proude Centaurus, halfe horse, halfe man, and byraft the dispoiling fro the cruel Lion, that is to say, he slough the Lion, and birafte him his skin. He smote the birdes that hight Arpies, with certain arrowes. He rauished Apples fro the waking dragon: and his hand was the more heauy for the golden mettall. He drough Cerberus the hound of hell by the triple chaynes. He ouercomer, as it is saied, hath put an vnmeke lord fodder to his cruell horse, that is to say, Hercules slough Diomedes, and made his horse to fretten him: and he Hercules slough Idra the Serpent, and brent the venim. And Achileus the flood defouled in his forehedde, dreint his shamefast visage in his stroundes, that is to say, that Achileus could transfigure himselfe into diuers likenes, and as he fought with Hercules, at last he tourned him into a Bull, and Hercules brake one of his hornes: and he for shame hid hym in his Riuer. And ouer that, he Hercules, caste adoune Antheus the Giaunt in the strondes of Libie. And Cacus appeised the wrathes of Euander, that is to say, that Hercules slough the monster Cacus, and apeised with that death the wrath of Euander. And the bristled Bore, marked with vomes the shoulders of Hercules, the whiche sholders, the hie cercle of heauen should thrist. And the last of his labours was, that he susteined the heauen vpon his neck vnbowed, and he deserved eftsones the heauen to be y• last ende of trauayle. Goeth now yee strong men, there as the great ensample leadeth you. O nice [Page] men, why make ye your backs, as who sayeth: O ye slowe and delicate men, why see ye aduersities, and ne fight against hem by vertue, to winnen the mede of heauen: for the mede ouercommen, yeueth the Sterres, that is to saine, that when that yearthly lust is ouercommen, a man is maked worthy to the heauen.

¶Thus endeth the fourth Book of Boetius.

Dixerat, orationisque cursum ad alia quaedam tractanda atque expedienda vertebat. B. Tum ego, recta quidem inquam, &c.

SHe had said, and turned the course of her reason to some other things, to be treated and to be sped. Boetius. Then said I, certes rightfull is thine amonesting, and full digne by aucthoritie. But that thou saidest whilom, that the question of the Diuine purveiaunce, is enlaced with many other questions, I vnderstand well and proue it by the same thing. But I aske, if that thou wenest, that happe bee any thing, in any wayes? and if thou wenest that happe be any thing, what is it? Philosophie. Then (qd. she) I haste me to yelden and assoilen to the debte of my behest, and to shewen and open the way, by which way thou maiest come ayen to thy countrie: but albeit so that the thinges which that thou askest been right profitable to know, yet been they diuers, somewhat fro the path of my purpose, and it is to doubt, that thou ne be maked wearie by misse wayes, so that thou ne maiest not suffice to measure the right way. Boetius. Ne doubt thee thereof nothing (qd. I,) for to knowen thilke things togider, in the which things I delite me greatly, that shall been to me in steede of rest, sith it nis not to doubten of the thynges following, when euery thyng of thy disputacion, shall hauen ben stedfast to me, by vndoubtous faith. Philosophie. Then (said she) that manner woll I doen to thee: and beganne to speaken right thus. Certes (qd. she) if any wight definishe hap in this maner, that is to saine, that hap is betiding ibrought foorthe by foolishe mouing, and by no knitting of causes, I confirme that hap nys right naught in no wise, and I deeme all vtterly, that hap nys, ne dwelleth but a voyce, as who sayeth, but an idell woorde, without any significacion of thynge committed to that voyce. For what place might been lefte, or dwellyng in follie, and to disordenaunce, sithe that God leadeth and constrayneth all thynges by order: for this sentence is very sooth, that nothing hath hys beyng of naughte, to the whiche sentence, none of these olde folke ne withsayed neuer, all be it so, that they ne vnderstanden it not by God, Prince and beginner of workyng, but they easten, as a manner foundement of subject materiall, that is to saine, of the nature of all reason. And if that any thing is waxen or commen of no causes, then shall it seeme, that thilke thyng is commen or woxen of naught. But if this ne may not be done, then is it not possible that hap be any soche thing, as I haue definished a little here beforne. Boetius. How shall it then bee (qd. I) nis there then nothing, that by right may been cleaped, eyther happe, or els adventure, or fortune? Or is there ought, all be it so, that it is hidde fro the people, to which thing these words been couenable. Philosophie. Mine Aristotle (qd. she) in the booke of his Phisike, difinisheth this thing by short reason, and nigh to the sothe. Boetius. In which maner (qd. I?) Philosophie. As ofte (qd. she) as men done any thyng for grace of any other thyng, and another thyng than thilke thyng that menne entenden to doen betideth by some causes, it is icleaped happe: right as a man dalfe the yearth, bycause of tillyng of the field, and found there a gobet of golde bedoluen, then wenen folke, that it is befall by fortunous betidyng. But forsooth it nis not of naught, for it hath his proper causes, of which causes, the cours vnforeseen and vnware, seemeth to haue maked hap. For if the tiller of the field, ne dolue not in the yearth, and if the hider of the golde ne had hid the golde in that place, the golde ne had not been found. These been then the causes, of the abredgyng of fortuit hap, the which abredgyng of fortuit hap commeth of causes of encountryng, and flowyng togither to hemselfe, and not by thentencion of the doer. For neyther the hider of the golde, ne the deluer of the field, ne vnderstanden not that the golde should haue been found. But as I saied, it betide and ran togither, that he dalfe there as the other had hid the golde. Now may I thus definishe hap. * Hap is an vnware betidyng of causes, assembled in things that been doen for some other thyng. But thilke order, procedyng by an vneschuable betiding togither, which that discendeth from the well of purueighaunce, that ordeyneth all thyngs in her places, and in her times maketh, that the causes rennen and assemblen togither.

Rupis Achimeniae scopulis ubi versa sequentum. Pectoribus figit spicula, &c.

TIgris and Eufrates, resoluen and springen of o welle, in the cragges of the roche of the countrey of Achemenee, there as the fliyng battayles fixen her darts, retourning in the breasts of hem that folowen hem. And sone after the same riuers, Tigris and Eufrates, vnjoynen and departen her waters, and if they commen together, and been assembled, and cleaped together into o course, [Page] then moten thilke things fleten togider, which that the water of thenterchaunging flood bringeth. The shippes and the stockes araced with the flood moten assemblen, and the waters imedled, wrappeth or emplieth many fortunell happes or maners, the which wandring happes nathelesse, thilke declinyng lownesse of the yerth, and the flowyng order of the slidyng water gouerneth. Right so fortune, that seemeth as it suffreth with slaked or vngouerned bridles, it suffreth bridles, that is to saine, to been gouerned, and passeth by thilke lawe, that is to saine, by the diuine ordinaunce.

Animadverto inquam, idque uti tu dicis ita esse, consentio. Sed in hac haerentium, &c.

THis vnderstand I well (qd. I) and I accord me that it is right as thou sayest. But I aske if there be any liberty of Free-will, in this order of causes, that cleauen thus togither in hemself? or els I would weten if that the destinall cheyne, constrayneth the mouyng of the courages of men? Philosophie. Yes (qd. she) there is liberty of free-will, ne there ne was neuer no nature of reason, that it ne had liberty or free-will. * For euery thyng that may naturally vsen reason, it hath dome, by which it decerneth and deemeth euery thyng. Then knoweth it by it selfe, thyngs that been to flien, and thyngs that been to desiren, and the ilke thyng that any wight demeth to been desired, that asketh or desireth he, and flieth thilke thing, that he troweth be to flien. Wherefore in all thyngs that reason is, in him also is liberty of willyng and of nillyng, but I ne ordayne not, as who sayeth, I ne graunt not, that this liberty be euen like in all thyngs. For why, in the Soueraines devines substaunces, that is to sain, in spirites, judgement is more clere and will not corrumpen, and mighty ready to speden things that been desired. But the soules of men moten needes been more free, when they looken hem in the speculacion, or looking of the deuine thought, and lasse free when they sliden into the bodies, and yet lasse free when they ben gathered togither and comprehended in yearthly members, but the last servage is, when that they been yeuen to vices, and haue ifall from the possession of her proper reason. For after that they haue caste away her iyen, fro the light of the Soueraine sothfastnesse, to low things and darcke, anone they darcken by the cloude of ignoraunce, and be troubled by felonious talentes, to the which talentes, when they approchen and assenten, they heapen and encreasen the servage, which they haue joyned to hemselfe. And in this maner they been caytiues, fro her proper libertie, the which thyng nathelesse, the lookyng of the deuine purueiaunce seeth, that all thyngs beholdeth and seeth fro eterne, and ordeyneth hem euerich in her merites, as they been predestinate, and it is said in Greke, * That all thyngs he seeth, and all thyngs he heareth.

Puro clarum lumine Phoebum. Melliflui canit oris Homerus, &c.

HOmer with his hony mouth, that is to saine, Homer with the sweet ditees singeth, that the Sunne is cleare by pure light. Nathelesse, yet ne may it not by the infirme light of his beames, breaken or percen the inwarde entrailes of the yearth, or els of the Sea. So ne seeth not God maker of the greate worlde, to him that looketh all thyngs from on high, ne vnderstandeth no thyngs by heauinesse of the yearth, ne the night ne withstandeth not to him by the blacke cloudes. * Thilke God seeth in o stroke of thought, all thyngs that been, weren, or shull come: and thilke God, for he looketh and seeth all thyngs alone, thou mayst saine that he is the very sonne.

Tum ego: en inquam difficiliori rursus ambiguitate confundor, &c.

THen said I thus, now am I confounded, by a more hard doubt than I was. Philos. What doubt is that (qd. she) for certes, I conject nowe by soche thyngs, thou art troubled. B. It seemeth (qd. I) to repugnen and to contrary greatly, that God knoweth beforne all thyngs, and that there is any freedome or libertie, for if so be that God looketh all thyngs beforne, ne God ne may not been deceyued in no maner. Then mote it needs bee, that all thyngs the which that the purueiaunce of God, hath seene beforne to come, for which if that God knoweth toforne, not onely the werkes of men, but also her counsailes and her willes, then ne shall there be no libertie of arbitree, ne certes, there ne may be none other deede, ne no will, but the ilke which that the deuine purueiaunce (that ne may not been deceyved) hath feeled beforne: for if that they mighten wrythen away, in other maner than they been purueied, then ne should there be no stedfast prescience of thing to commen, but rather an vncertaine opinion, the which thing to trowen to God, I deme it felony and vnlefull. Ne I ne proue not the ilke same reason, as who sayeth, I ne alowe not, or I ne prayse not thilke same reason, by which that some men wenen, that they mowen assoilen and vnknitten the knot of this question. For certes they saine, that thing nis not commen, for that the purueiaunce of God hath seen beforne that it is to commen, but rather the contrary, and that is this, that for that the thyngs is to commen, that therefore ne may it not been hid fro the purueiaunce of God. And in this maner, this necessitie slideth ayen into the contrarie partie, ne it ne behoueth not needes, that [Page] things betiden that been ypurueighed, but it behoueth needs that things yt been to commen been ypurueighed, but as it were ytrauailed, as who saith, that thilke answere proceedeth right as though men trauaileden or weren busie to enquiren, the which thing is cause of the which things. As whether the prescience is cause of the necessitie of things to commen, or els yt the necessitie of thinges to commen is cause of the purueighaunce. But I ne enforce me not now to shewen it, that the betiding of thinges iwiste beforne is necessary, how so or in what maner, yt the order of causes hath it selfe, although yt it ne seeme not that the prescience bryng in necessitie of betiding, to things to commen. For c [...]tes, if that any wight sitteth, it behoueth by necessitie that the opinion be sooth of hym that coniecteth that he sitteth: and ayenwarde also is it of the contrary, for if y• opinion be soothe of any wight, for that he sitteth, it behoueth by necessitie that he sitte. Then is here necessitie in that one, and in that other: for in that one is necessity of sittyng, and certes in that other is necessity of soth. But therefore ne sitteth not a wight, for that the opinion of the sitting is soth, but the opinion is rather soth, for that a wight sitteth beforne. And thus although that the cause of soth commeth of that other side, as who sayeth, that although the cause of sothe commeth of the sitting, and not of the true opinion, algates yet is there a common necessity in that one, & in that other. Thus semeth it, y• I may make semblable skilles of the purueighaunce of God, & of things to commen. For although that for yt things been to commen, therefore been they purueighed, & not certes for they been purueighed, therfore ne betide they not, nathelesse it behoueth by necessity, that either the things to commen beene ypurueyed of God, or els yt y• things that been purueighed of God, betiden. And this things onely suffiseth inough to destroyen the freedome of our arbitty, yt is to saine, of our freewill. But certes, now sheweth it well how farre fro the sothe, & how vp so doune is this thing, y• we seen that the betidyng of temporall things is cause of the eterne prescience. But for to wenen y• God purueyeth y• things to commen, for they ben to commen, what other thing is it but for to wene, that thilke things that betide whilom, been causes of thilk souerain purueighaunce that is in God? And hereto adde I thinges, that right as when that I wote that a thing is, it behoueth by necessity that thilke selfe thyng be: and eke when I haue knowen that any thing shall betyden, so behoueth it by necessity, that thilke same thinges betyde. So followeth it then, that the betidyng of the things iwist beforne, ne may not be eschewed, and at y• last, if that any wight wene a thing to been otherwise than it is, it nis not onely vnscience, but it is deceiueable opinion, full diuers & farre fro the sothe of science. Wherfore, if any thyng he so to commen, that the betidyng of it ne be not certaine, ne necessary, who may weten beforne y• thilke thing is to commen. For right as science ne may not be medled with falsenesse, as who saieth, that if I wote a thing, it ne may not be false that I ne wote it, right of thilke thing that is conceiued by science, ne may not be none otherwise than as it is conceiued: for that is y• cause why that Science wanteth lesing, as who saieth, why that weting ne receyueth not lesing of that it wote, for it behoueth by necessity, y• euery thing be right, as Science comprehendeth it to be. What shall I then saine, in which maner knoweth God beforne all the thinges to commen, if they ne be not certain, for if that he deme that they been to commen vneschuably, and so may be that it is possible that they ne shullen not comen, God is deceiued, but not only to trowen that God is deceyued: but for to speake it with mouth, it is a felonous sin. But if that God wote, that right so as things been to commen, so shullen they commen, so that he wote egally, as who saith indifferently, that things may be done or els not ydone. What is thilk prescience, that ne comprehendeth no certayne thyng ne stable, or els what difference is there between y• prescience of thilke jape, worthy Deuining of Tiresie Deuinour, y• sayd: All that I say (qd. he) eyther it shall be, or els it ne shall not be, or els how moche is worth the Deuine prescience more than the opinion of mankind, if so be that it demeth y• things vncertain, as men done? Of y• which domes of men, the betiding nys not certain. But if so be, that none vncertaine things ne may been in him that is right certayne well of all things, then is the betidyng certaine of thilke things which that he hath wiste beforne, fermely to commen: for whiche it followeth, that the freedome of the counsailes, and of the werkes of mankind nis none, sith y• the thought of GOD that seeth all thyngs without errour of falsenesse, bindeth & constrayneth hem to a betidyng by necessity. And if this thing be ones igraunted and receiued, this is to saine, that there nis no freewill, then sheweth it well, how great destruction & how great domages there folowen of things of mankind, for in idell been there then purposed & behight medes to good folke, & pains to bad folke, sith that no mouyng of free courage voluntarie, ne hath not deserued hem, y• is to saine, neyther mede ne payne. And it should seeme then, that thilke thing is alderworst, which that is now demed for aldermost just, and most rightful. That is to sain, that shrewes ben punished, or els that good folk be iguerdonned, the which folkes, sen that her proper will ne sent hem to that one, ne to y• other, that is to sayne, neyther to good ne harm, but constraineth hem certain necessity of things to comen, then ne shullen ther neuer ben, ne neuer weren vice ne vertue, but it shullen rather be confusion of all deserts, medled [Page] without discrecion. And yet there followeth another inconuenience, of y• which there ne may be thought no more felonous ne more wicked, and y• is thus, That so as y• order of things commeth of the purueiaunce of God, ne that nothing nis leful to the counsailes of mankind, as who saieth, that men haue no power to doen nothing, ne will nothing, then followeth it that our vices been referred to the maker of al good, as who saith, then followeth it, that God ought to have the blame of our vices, sith he constraineth vs by necessitie to done vices: then nis there no reason to hopen in God, ne to prayen to God, for wt should any wight hopen to God, or why should he praien to God, sith yt the ordinaunce of destinie, which y• ne may not been enclined, knitteth & streyneth all things that men may desiren. Then should there be done away thilke only aliaunce betwene God & man, that is to saine, to hopen & to prayen. But by y• price of rightwisenesse, & of very mekenesse, we deserven y• guerdon of Diuine grace, which yt is inestimable, that is to say, that is so great y• it ne may not been full praised, and this is only the maner, that is to say, hope and praiers. For which it seemeth y• men woll speak with God, & by reason of supplicacion, ben conjoined to thilk clearnes, that nis not approched no rather than men seken it & impetren it. And if men ne wene not the hope ne prayers ne have no strengthes by y• necessitie of things to comen received, what thing is there then, by which we mowen be conjoyned, and cleuen to thilke soueraine Prince of things. For which it behoveth by necessitie, that the linage of mankind, as thou song a little here beforne, be departed & unjoyned from his wele, & failen of his beginning, that is to saine, God.

Quae nam discors federa rerum, Causa resolvit? Quis tanta deus, &c.

WHat discordable cause hath to rent and vnjoyned the binding or the aliaunce of things, that is to saine, the conjunctions of GOD, and of man? Which GOD hath established so great battaile betweene these two soothfaste or very things, that is to saine, betweene the purueyaunce of God, and free will, that been singular, and deuided, ne that they ne wollen not beene meddled, ne coupsed togeder? But there nis no discord to the very things, but they cleauen alway certaine to hemselfe. But the thought of man, confounded & overthrowne by y• darke members of y• body, ne may not by fire of his darked looking, that is to saine, by y• vigour of his insight, while the soule is in the body, knowen the thinne subtill knittings of things. But wherefore eschaufeth it so by so great loue, to finden thilke notes of sooth ycovered, y• is to saine, wherefore eschaufeth y• thought of man by so great desire, to know thilk notifications y• ben ihid vnder y• couertures of sooth? Wote it ought thilke things, that it anguishous desireth to knowe? As who sayth, nay. For no man ne trauayleth for to weten things that he wote. And therefore y• text sayth thus.

But who trauayleth to weten thinges yknowe? And if that he ne knoweth hem not, wt seeketh thilke blind thought? What is hee that hath desired any thynges, of which hee wote right naught? As who saith, who so desireth any things, needs somewhat he knoweth of it, or els he ne coud not desiren it. Or who may follow things that ne been not iwist, and though that he seeke the thyngs, where shall he find hem? What wight that is all vncunning and ignoraunt may knowe that forme that is ifound.

But when the soule beholdeth and seeth the high thought, y• is to sayne God, then knoweth it togither y• summe and singularities, that is to sayne, the principles, and eueriche of hem by himselfe. But now while the soule is hid in the cloud, and in y• darkenesse of the members of ye bodie, it ne hath not all foryeten it selfe, but it withholdeth y• summe of thynges, and leseth the singularities. Then who so that seeketh soothnesse, he nis in neyther nother habite, for he wote not all, ne hee ne hath not all foryeten, but yet him remembreth the summe of thynges y• hee withholdeth, and asketh counsayle, and retreateth deepliche thinges iseene beforne, that is to sayne, the great summe in his mind, so that he mowe adden the partes y• hee hath foryeten, to thilke parties that he hath withholden.

Tum illa. Vetus inquit, haec est de providentia querela: Marco Tullio, &c.

THen saied she, This is (qd. she) the old question of the purueyaunce of God. And Marcus Tullius, when he deuided the Deuinacions, that is to saine, in his bookes that hee wrote of deuinacions, he moued greatly this question, and thou thy selfe haste isought it much, & vtterly and long, but yet ne hath it not been determined, ne isped fermely & diligently of any of you, and the cause of this darknesse & of this difficulty is, for yt the mouing of ye reason of mankinde ne may not mouen to, yt is to sayne, applien or joynen to the simplicitie of the diuine prescience, the which simplicitie of ye diuine prescience if y• men mighten thinken it in any manner, yt is to sayne, yt if men mighten thinke and comprehenden the things yt God seeth himself, then there dwelled vtterly no doubt: the which reason and cause of difficulties, I shall assay at last to shew & to speeden, when I haue first ispended and answered to thy reasons, by which thou art moued, for I ask why thou wenest, y• thilke reasons of hem that assoilen this question, ne be not spedfull inough ne sufficient, y• which solucion, or y• which reason, for y• it deemeth, yt the prescience is not of necessity of things to come, as who saith any other way than thus, but yt thilke things [Page] that y• prescience wote beforn, ne may not vnbetiden, yt is to sayne, that they moten betide. But then, if that prescience ne putteth none necessitie to thinges to commen, as thou thy selfe hast confessed it, and beknow a litle here beforne, what cause, or what is it, as who saieth, there may no cause be, by which that the ends voluntarie of things, mighten be constrayned to certaine betiding. For by grace of posicion, so yt thou may the better vnderstand this y• followeth, I suppose yt there ne bee no prescience: then aske I (qd. she) in as much as appertayneth to that, shoulden then thinges yt commen of free will be constrained to betiding by necessitie? Boecius. Nay (qd. I.) Philoso. Then ayenward (qd. she) I suppose yt there be prescience, but that it ne putteth no necessitie to things, then trowe I that thilke same freedome of will shall dwellen all hole and absolute, & unbounden. But thou wilt sayne, that all be it so, that prescience nis not cause of y• necessity of betiding to things to commen, algates yet it is a signe that the thyngs been to betiden by necessitie. By this manner then, although y• prescience had neuer be, yet algates or at least way it is a certain thing, that ends of betidings of things to commen shoulden be necessary. For euery thing sheweth & signifieth onely what y• thing is, but it ne maketh not the thing that it signifieth. For which it behoueth, first to shew, that nothing ne betideth, that it ne betideth by necessitie: so that it may appear, that the prescience is signe of necessitie: or els, if there nere no necessitie, certes thilke prescience ne might not bee signe of thyng that nis not. But certes, it is nowe certaine, that ye prooue of this, ysusteined by stedfast reason, ne shall not ben lad ne prooued by signes ne by arguments taken fro without, but by causes covenable & necessarie. But thou mayst saine, how may it be, that the thyngs ne betiden not, that been purueyed to commen? But certes, right as we trowen, that the thyngs which that the purueyaunce wote beforne to commen, ne be not to betiden. But that ne should we not deemen, but rather, although they shall betiden, yet ne haue they no necessitie of her kind to betiden: and this mayest thou lightly apperceyuen by this yt I shall saine. For we seene many thynges, when they been beforne our eyen, right as men seene y• Carter worching in the tourning and in the attempring or addressing of his carts or chariots, & by this manner, as who sayth, maiest thou vnderstand of all other werkemen. Is there then any necessitie, as who saieth, in our looking, that constrayneth or compelleth any of thilke things to been done so? Boeci. Nay (qd. I) for in idle & in vain were all the effect of craft, if yt all thyngs weren moued by constrayning of our eyen, or of our sight. Philoso. The things then (qd. she) that when that men done hem, ne haue no necessitie y• men done hem, eke tho same things first or they be done, they been to commen without necessitie: for why, there ben some things to betiden, of which the ends & the betidings of hem been absolute and quit of all necessitie. For certes, I ne trowe not yt any man would sayne this, that the thyngs that men done now, that they ne were to betiden first, ere they were done. And thilk same things, although men hadden wist hem beforne, yet they haue free betidings. For right as science of things present, ne bringeth in no necessitie to things y• men done, right so to the prescience of things to commen, ne bringeth in none necessitie to thinges to betiden. But thou mayest sayne, that of thilke same it is doubted, as whether y• of thilke things, that ne haue none issues and betidings necessaries, if thereof may ben any prescience. For certes, they seemen to discorden, for thou wenest, that if that things been seene before, y• necessitie followeth hem, and if necessitie fayleth hem, they ne might not beene wist before, and y• nothing may be comprehended by science, but certaine. And if tho things ne haue no certain betidings, be purveighed as certayne, it should be darknesse of opinion, not soothfastnesse of science. And thou wenest that it be diuers fro the holinesse of science, that any man should deeme a thyng to bee otherwise than it is it selfe: and the cause of this errour is, y• of all the thyngs y• euery wight hath knowe, they wene y• tho thyngs been knowe onely by y• strength, and by the nature of the thynges y• been wist or knowe, and it is all y• contrarie: for all that euer is knowe, it is rather comprehended & know, not after his strength & his nature, but after yc facultie, yt is to sayne, the power and the nature of hem y• knowen. And for y• this thyng should now shewe by a short ensample the roundnesse of a bodie, otherwise than the sight of y• eye knoweth it, and otherwise than the touching. The looking, by casting of his beams, waiteth and seeth from afarre all y• bodie together, without mouing of it selfe, but the touching cleaueth to the round body, & moueth about y• enuironning, & comprehendeth the parties by roundnesse, & the man himselfe otherwise beholdeth him, and otherwaies imaginacion, and otherwise reason, and otherwise intelligence. For the wit comprehended without forth the figure of the bodie of man, that is vnstablished in the matter subject. But the imaginacion comprehendeth onely the figure without the matter. Reason surmounteth imaginacion, and comprehendeth by vniuersall looking the common speech, but y• eye of intelligence is higher, for it surmounteth y• enuironning of the vniuersitie, and looketh over that, by pure subtiltie of thought. The ilke same simple forme of man, that is perdurable in the deuine thought, in whyche this ought greatly to bee considered, y• the highest strengthe for to comprehenden thynges, embraceth and contayneth the lower strength, but the lower strength ne ariseth not in no manner to y• higher strength. For wit ne may [Page] [...] [Page] [...] [Page] comprehend nothyng out of matter, ne the imaginacion ne looketh not the vniuersall speces, ne reason ne taketh not the simple forme, so as intelligence taketh it. But intelligence, that looketh all abouen, when it hath comprehended the forme, it knoweth and deemeth all the thynges that beene vnder the forme, but she knoweth hem in thilke manner in which it comprehendeth thilke same simple forme, that ne may neuer bee knowen of none of the other, that is to say, to none of tho three foresayed strengthes of the soule, for it knoweth the vniuersitie of reason, and the figure of imaginacion, and the sensible materiall conceyued by wit, ne it ne vseth not ne of reason, ne of imaginacion, ne of wit withoutforth, but it beholdeth all thyngs, so as I shall say, by a stroke of thought fermely, without discourse of collacion. Certes, reason when it looketh any thing vniuersell, it ne vseth not of imaginacion ne wit, & algates yet it comprehendeth y• thynges imaginable & sensible, for reason is shee that definisheth y• vniuersall of her conceit, right thus. Man is a reasonable two-footed beast, and how so that this knowing is vniuersall, yet nis there no wight, that ne wote well, y• a man is a thyng imaginable and sensible, and this same considereth well reason, but that nis not by imaginacion, nor by wit, but it looketh it by reasonable concepcion. Also imaginacion, albeit so, that it taketh of wit the beginning, to seen and formen the figures, algates although y• wit ne were not present, yet it enuironneth and comprehendeth all things sensible, not by reason sensible of deeming, but by reason imaginatife. Seest thou not then, y• all the things in knowing, vsen more of her facultie, or of her power, than they done of the facultie or of power of things that ben to knowen: ne y• is no wrong, for so as euery judgement is, that deed or doing of him yt demeth, it behoueth that euery wight performe his werke, and his entencion, not of forraine power, but of his proper power.

Quondam porticus attulit, Obscuros nimium senes, &c.

THen the porch, that is to say, a gate of the towne of Athens, there as Philosopers hadden congregacion to dispute, thilk porch brought sometime olde men ful dark in her sentences, that is to say, Philosophers, that highten Stoiciens, that wende that Images and sensibilities, that is to say, sensible imaginacions, or els imaginacions of sensible things, were emprinted into soules fro bodies withoutfoorth: as who sayth, thilke Stoiciens wenden, that the soule had be naked of himself, as a mirrour, or a cleane perchemine, so that all figures musten first commen fro thyngs fro without into soules, and ben emprinted into soules, right as we ben wont sometime by a swift pointel, to fixen letters emprinted in y• smoothnesse, or in the plainenesse of the table of waxe, or in y• parchemine, that hath no figure ne note in it. Glose. But now argueth Boece agaynst y• opinion, and sayth thus. But if the thriuing soule ne vnpliteth nothing, that is to saine, ne doth thing by his proper mouing, but suffreth and lieth subject to the figures, & to y• notes of bodies without forth, and yeeldeth Images idle, euill and vaine, in the manner of a mirrour. Whence thriueth then, or whence commeth thilke knowing in our soule that discerneth and beholdeth all things, & whence is thilke strength, that beholdeth the singular things, or els whence is the strength, that deuideth things yknowe, and thilke strength that gathereth together thynges deuided, & strength that choseth y• enterchaunged way: for sometime it heaueth the head, yt is to say, yt it heaueth vp the entencion to right high things, and sometime it discendeth into right low thyngs, and when it returneth into himselfe it reproueth and destroieth y• false things by the true things.

Certes, this strength is cause more efficient & much more mightie, to seen & to known things, than thilke cause that suffreth & receiueth the notes and figures impressed in manner of matter. Algates the passion, yt is to say, the sufferaunce or the wit in y• quicke bodie, goeth before exciting, and mouing y• strengths of the thought, right so as when y• clearenesse smiteth the eyen, & moueth hem to seeene, or right so as voyce or soun hurleth to the eares, and commoueth hem to hearken, then is the strength of the thought moued & excited, cleapeth forth to semblable mouings the speces that it halt within it selfe, and addeth the speces to the notes, and to thynges withoutfoorth, and medleth the Images of things withoutforth, to thinges hid within himselfe.

Quod si in corporibus sentiendis quamvis efficiant Instrumenta sensuum, &c.

BVt what is that in bodies to be feeled, that is to say, in the taking: and in the knowing of bodily thinges. And albeit so yt the qualities of bodies yt be object fro withoutfoorth, mouen and entalenten the instruments of the wits, and all be it so, yt the passion of the bodie, that is to saine, the wit, or the sufferaunce, goeth beforne the strength, or the worching courage, y• which passion or sufferaunce clepeth foorth y• deede of the thought in it selfe, and moueth and exciteth in this meane while the formes y• resten withinforth, and in sensible bodies, as I haue said, our courages nis not taught oremprinted by passion to know these things, but demeth & knoweth of his owne strength the passion or sufferance subject to the body: much more then tho things been absolute, and quicke fro all talents or affections of bodies, as God or his Angels, ne followen not in discerning thinges object fro [Page] without forth, but they accomplishen and speden the deeds of her thought. By this reason then there commen many manner of knowings, to diuerse and to differing substaunces.

For the wit of the bodie, the which wit is naked, and dispoiled of all other knowing, thilke wit commen to beastes, the which ne mowen not mouen hemselfe here and there, as Disters and Muskles, and other such shell-fish of the sea, that cleauen and been nourished to rocks: but the imaginacion commeth of remouable beasts, that seemen to haue talent to flien, or to desiren any thing: But reason is all onely the linage of mankind, right as intelligence is all onely the diuine nature, of which it followeth, that thilke knowing is more worth than is either, sens it knoweth by his proper nature, not only his subject, as who saith, it ne knoweth not all only that appertaineth properly to his knowing, but it knoweth the subjects of all other knowings. But how shall it then be, if that wit and imaginacion striuen ayen reasoning, and sayne, that of thilke vniuersall thing that reason weneth to seene, that it nis right naught, for wit and imaginacion sayne, that that is sensible or imaginable, it ne may not been vniuersall.

Then is there either the judgement of reason sooth, ne that there nis nothing sensible, or els for that reason wote well, that many thyngs ben subject to wit, and to imaginacion: then is the concepcion of reason vain and false, which that looketh and comprehendeth that that is sensible and singular, as vniuersall. And if that the reason would aunswere ayenst these two, that is to say, to wit and imaginacion, and say that soothly she her self, that is to sayne, reason, looketh and comprehendeth by reason of vniuersalitie both that that is sensible, and that that is imaginable, and thilke two, that is to saine, wit and imaginacion, ne mowen not stretchen hemselfe to the knowing of vniuersalitie, for that the knowing of hem ne may not exceeden ne surmounten the bodily figures. Certes, of the knowing of thyngs, men oughten rather yeuen more credence to the more stedfast, and to the more perfite judgement, in this manner striuing, then we that haue strength of reasoning, and of imaginacion, and of wit, that is to say, by reason and by imaginacion, we should rather praise the cause of reason, as who sayeth, than the cause of wit and of imaginacion. Semblable thing is it, that the reason of mankind ne weneth not, that the diuine intelligence beholdeth or knoweth thyngs to come, but right as the reason of mankind knoweth hem: For thou arguest thus, that if that it ne seeme not to men, that some things haue certaine betidings, they ne may not be wist, before certainely they betiden, and then is there no prescience of thilke thyngs, and if we trow, that prescience be in these thyngs, then is there nothing that betideth by necessitie. But if we might haue the judgement of the diuine thought, as we been partners of reason, right so as we haue demed, that it behoueth by imaginacion and wit, and beneath reason, right so would we deemen, that it were rightfull thyng, that mans reason ought to submit it selfe to be beneath the diuine thought, for which if we may, as who sayth, that if we may, I counsail, that we enhaunce vs in the height of thilke soueraine intelligence, for there shall reason well seene that, that it ne may not behold in it selfe: and certes, that is thus, in what manner the prescience of God seeth all things, and definisheth, although they haue no certain betidings: ne this is none opinion, but rather the simplicitie of the souerain science that is not shet within no manner of bounds.

Quam variis terras animalia permeant figuris. Namque alia extento sunt corpore, &c.

THe beasts passen by the earths by full divers figures, for some of hem haue her bodies straught, and crepen in the dust, and drawn after hem a trace, or a forough continued, that is to say, as Neders and Snails: and other beastes, by the wandering lightnesse of her wings, beaten the windes, and ouerswimmen the spaces of the long aire, by most flying.

And other beasts gladden hemself to diggen her traces or her steppes in the earth with her going, or with her feet, and to gone either by the greene fieldes, or els to walken vnder the woods. And all be it so, that thou seest, that they discorden by diuers formes, algates her faces enclined, heauieth her dull wits, only the linage of man heaueth highest his high head, and standeth light with his vpright body, and beholdeth the earths vnder him. And but if thou earthly man waxest euill out of thy wit, this figure amonesteth thee, that askest the heuen with thy right visage, and hast areised thy forehead, to bearen vp on high thy courage, so that thy thought ne be not heauied, ne put lowe vnder foot, sith that thy body is so high areised.

Quoniam igitur uti paulo ante monstratum est, omne quod scitur, &c.

THerefore then, as I haue shewed a little here beforne, that all thyng that is wist, nis not known by his nature proper, but by the nature of hem that comprehenden it. Let vs looken now, in as much as it is lefull to vs, as who saieth, let vs looken now as we may, which that is the estate of the Diuine substaunce, so that we may well know eke wt his science is. The common judgement of all creatures reasonables then is, that God is eterne. Let vs consider then what [Page] is eternity, for certes, that shall shewen vs togider the diuine nature, and the diuine science. Eternitie then is perfit possession, and all together of life interminable, and that sheweth the more clearely by the comparison or collacion of temporall thyngs.

For all things that liueth in time, it is present, and proceedeth fro preterities into futures, that is to sain, from time passed into time comming: ne there nis nothing established in time that may embracen togither all the space of this life, for certes, yet ne hath it not taken the time of to morrow, and it hath lost that of yesterday. And certes, in the life of this day ye ne liuen no more, but right as in this moouable and transitorie moment. Then thilke thing that suffereth temporall condicion, although that it neuer began to be, ne though it neuer cease to be, (as Aristotle demed of the world) and although the life of it be stretched with infinite of time, yet algates nis it no such thing, as men might trowen by right that it is eterne. For although that it comprehend and embrace the space of the life infinite, yet algates ne embraceth it not the space of the life altogither, for it ne hath not the futures that be not yet: Ne it ne hath no lenger the preterities that ben done or passed. But thilke thing then, that hath and comprehendeth togider all the plenty of the life interminable, to whom there ne fayleth nought of the future, and to whom there nis nought of the preteritie escaped or passed, thilke same is ywitnessed and prooved by right to ben etern. And it behoueth by necessitie, that thilk thing be alway present to himselfe, and competent: as who sayth, alway present to himselfe, and so mightie, that all be right at his pleasaunce, and that he haue all present the infinite of the moouable time. Wherefore some men trowen wrongfully, that when they heren that it seemed to Plato, that this world had neuer beginning of time, that it neuer shall haue fayling: they wene in thilke manner, that this world be maked eterne, with his maker, as who saith, they wene that this world and God be maked together eterne. And that is a wrongfull wening, for other thing it is to be lad by the life interminable, as Plato graunted to the world, and other thing it is to embrace togither all the presence of the life that is interminable, which thing is clere and manifest to the diuine thought. Ne it ne should not seeme to vs, that God is elder than things that been maked by quantitie of time, but rather by the prosperitie of his simple nature. For this ilk infinite mouings of temporall things followeth this presentarie estate of this life immouable, and so, as it ne may not countrefeten ne faine it, ne be euenlike to it for the immobilitie, that is to say, that is in the eternitie of God, it faileth and faileth into moouing fro the simplicitie of the presence of God, and disincreaseth in the infinite quantity of future and preterity. And so as it may not haue togider all the plentie of the life, algates yet for as much as it ceaseth neuer for to ben in some manner, yet it seemeth somedele to vs, that it followeth and resembleth thilke thing, that it ne may not attaine to, ne fulfillen, and bindeth it selfe to some manner presence of this little moment: the which presence of this little and swift moment, for that it beareth a manner image of likenesse of the aye dwelling of God, it graunteth to such manner thyngs, as it betideth to, that it semeth hem, as these thyngs haue ben, and ben. And for that the presence of such little moment ne may not dwell, therefore it ravished and tooke the infinite way of time, that is to say, by succession, and by this manere it is done, for that it should continue the life in going, of the which life it ne might not enbrace the plentie of dwelling. And for thy, if we wollen put worthie names to thyngs that followen Plato, let vs say then soothly, that God is eterne, and that the world is perpetuell. Then sith euery judgement knoweth and comprehendeth by his own nature, thyngs that been subject vnto him, there is to God alwayes an eterne and a presentarie estate. And the science of him that ouerpasseth all temporall moment, dwelleth in simplicitie of his presence, and embraceth and considereth all the infinite spaces of times preterities, and of times futures. And looketh in his simple knowing all thyngs of preteritie, right as they weren ydone presently right now. If thou wolt then thinken and aduise the prescience, by whych it knoweth all thyngs, thou ne shalt not deemen it as prescience of thyngs to commen, but thou shalt deemen more rightfully that is science of presence or of instance, that neuer ne fayleth, for whych it nis not ycleped prouidence, but it should rather been cleped purueyaunce, which is established full ferre fro right low thyngs, and beholdeth from aferre all thyngs, right as it were fro the hie height of thyngs. Why askest thou then, or why disputest thou then, that thilke thyngs been done by necessitie, whych that been yseene and yknown by the diuine sight? sith that forsooth men ne maken nat thilke thyngs necessarie, whych that they seene been ydone in her sight, for addeth thy beholding any necessitie to thilke thyngs whych thou beholdest present? Bo. Nay (qd. I.) Phi. Certes (qd. she) then, if men mighten maken any digne comparison or collacion of the presence diuine, and of the presence of mankinde, right so as ye seene some thyngs in this temporall presence, right so seeth God all thyngs by his eterne presence. Wherefore this diuine prescience ne chaungeth not the nature of the propertie of thyngs, but beholdeth such thyngs present to him ward, as they shoulden betiden to you ward in time to commen. [Page] Ne it ne confoundeth not the judgement of thyngs, but by one sight of his thought, he knoweth the thyngs to commen, as well necessary as not necessary. Right so when ye seene together a man walke on the earth, and the sunne arisen in the heuen, all be it so, that ye seene all together that one and that other: yet neuerthelesse wee deemen and discernen, that that one is voluntary, and that other is necessary: Right so then the deuine looking, beholding all things vnder him, ne troubleth nat the qualitie of thyngs that been certainly present to him ward, but as to the condicion of time, forsooth they ben future, for which it followeth, that this nis none opinion, but rather a stedfast knowing ystrengthned by soothnesse, that when that God knoweth any thyng to he, he ne vnwote nat that thilk thyng wanteth necessitie to be, this is to sayne, that when that God knoweth any thing to betide, hee wote well that it ne hath no necessity to betide. And if thou seest here, that thilke thyng that God seeth to betide, it ne may nat vnbetide, as who sayeth it more betide, and thilke thyng that ne may nat vnbetide, it more betiden by necessity, and that thou strein me to this name of the necessity: Certes I will well confessen and beknowen a thing of full sad trouth, but vnneth shall there any wight now seene it, or come thereto, but if that he be beholder of the divine thought, for I will answere thee thus, * That thilke thyng that is future, when it is referred to the diuine knowing, then it is necessary. But certes, when it is vnderstanden in his owne kind, men seene it vtterly free and absolute fro all necessities. For certes there ben two manners of necessities, that one necessity is simple, that it behoueth by necessity, that all men be mortall or deadly: another necessity is condicionell, as thus, if thou wost that a man walketh, it behoueth by necessity that he walke, thilke thing then that any wight hath iknow to be, it ne may nat be none otherwise than he knoweth it to be. But this condicion ne draweth not with her thilke necessity simple, for certes, this necessity condicionell, the proper nature of it ne maketh it nat, but the adjection of the condicion maketh it. For no necessity ne constrayneth a man to gone, that goth by his proper will, all be it so, that when he goth, that is necessary that he goeth. Right on this same manner then, if that the purueyaunce of God seeth any thyng present, then mote thilk thing been by necessity, although that it ne haue no necessity of his owne nature. * But certes, the futures that betiden by freedome of arbitry, God seeth hem all togider present. These thyngs then if they been referred to the diuine sight, then been they maked necessary by the condicion of the diuine knowing. But certes, if thilke thyngs been considered by hemselfe, they been absolute of necessity, and ne for [...]eten not, ne ceasen not of the liberty of her owne nature. Then certes, without doubt, all the thyngs shulien been done, which that God wo [...]e beforne, that they ben to commen and betiden of free arbitry, or of free will, that all be it so that they betiden, yet algates ne lese they not her proper nature in being, by the which, first or they weren done, they hadden power not to haue betidde. Boetius. What is this to sayne then (qd. I) that thyngs ne be not necessary by her proper nature, so that they commen in all her manners in the likenesse of necessity, by condicion of the diuine science? Philosophy. This is the difference (qd. she) that tho thyngs, which that I purposed thee a little here beforn, that is to same, Sunne arising, and the man walking, that there whiles that thilke thyngs been done, they ne might not been vndone: Nathelesse, that one of hem or it was done, it behoueth by necessity that it was done, but not that other. Right so it is here, that the thyngs which that God hath present, withouten doubt they shullen been, but some of hem discendeth of the nature of thyngs, as the Sunne arising, and some discendeth of the power of the doers, as the man walking. Boetius. Then said I no wrong, that if these thynges bee referred to the diuine knowing, then been they necessary, and if they been considered by hemself, then been they absolute fro the bonde of necessity. Right so as all thyngs that appereth or sheweth to the wits, if thou referre hem to reason, it is vniuersall, and if thou looke it or referre it to it selfe, then is it singular. But now if thou saist thus, that if that it be in my power to chaungen my purpose, then shall I voiden the purueyaunce of God, when peraduenture I shall haue chaunged the thyngs which that he knoweth beforne. Philosophy. Then shall I answeren thee thus: Certes, thou maist well chaunge thy purpose, but for as much as the present soothnesse of the diuine purueyaunce beholdeth that thou maist chaunge thy purpose, and whether thou chaunge it or no, and whiderward that thou tourne it, thou ne maist not eschew the diuine prescience, right so thou ne maist not flid the sight of the present eye, although that thou tourne thy selfe by thy free will into diuers actions. But thou maist sayne ayen to this, thus: How shall it then be, shall not the diuine science ben chaunged by my disposicion, when that I will one thyng now, and now another thyng? And thilke prescience ne see meth it not to enterchaunge stounds of knowing, as who saith, ne shall it not seemen to vs, that the diuine prescience enterchaungeth his diuers stounds of knowing, so that it know sometime one thyng, and sometime it knoweth the contrary of that thing? Philosophy. No forsooth (qd. she) for the diuine sight renneth beforne and seeth all the futures, and [Page] clepeth hem ayen, and retourneth hem to the proper prescience of his proper knowing, ne he enterchaungeth not, so as thou wenest, the stounds of his foreknowing, as now this, now that: but he dwelling aye commeth beforn, and embraceth at o stroke all the mutacions. And this prescience to comprehenden and to seen all thyngs, God ne hath not taken it of the betidings of thyngs to commen, but of his proper simplicity. And hereby is assoiled thilke thyngs that thou puttest a little here beforne, that is to sayne, that it is vnworthy thyng to sayne, that our futures yeven cause of the prescience of God. For certes, strength of the diuine science, which that embraceth all thyngs by his presentary knowing, establisheth manner to all thyngs, and it ne oweth not to latter thyngs. And sith that these thyngs ben thus, that is to sain, that necessity is not in thyngs by the diuine prescience, then is there freedome of arbitry, that dwelleth hole and vnwemmed to mortal men, ne the laws ne purposen not wicked medes and pains to the willings of men, that ben vnbounden and quite of all necessity: * And God beholder and foreweter of all thyngs dwelleth aboue, and the present eternity of sight renneth alway with the diuers quality of our deeds, dispensing or ordeining medes to good men, and tourments to wicked men. Ne in idle ne in vain ne been there not put in God hope and prayers, that ne mowen not been vnspeedfull, ne without effect, when they ben rightfull.

* Withstand then and eschew thou vices, worship and love thou vertues, areise thy courage to rightfull hopes, yeeld thou humble prayers and high. Great necessity of prowesse and of vertue is encharged and commaunded to you, if ye nill not dissimulen, sith that ye worchen and done, that is to saine, your deeds and your werks beforne the eyen of the judge, that seeth and also that demeth all thyngs. Deo gratias.

¶Thus endeth the Book of Boetius, of the Consolation of Philosophy.

The Book commonly entituled, Chaucer's Dream.
By the Person of a mourning Knight sitting under an Oak, is meant John of Gaunt, Duke of Lancaster, greatly lamenting the death of one whom he entirely loved, supposed to be Blanch the Dutchess.

I Haue great woonder by this light,

How I liue, for day ne night

I may not sleepe welnigh nought,

I haue so many an idle thought,

Purely for default of sleepe,

That by my trouth I take no keepe

Of nothing, how it commeth or gothe,

To me nis nothing lefe nor lothe,

All is yliche good to me,

Ioy or sorrow, where so it be:

For I haue feeling in nothing,

But as it were a mased thing,

All day in point to fall adoun,

For sorrowfull imaginacioun

Is alway wholly in my mind.

And well ye wote, against kind

It were to liuen in this wise,

For nature would not suffise,

To none earthly creature,

Not long time to endure

Without sleepe, and be in sorrow:

And I ne may ne night ne morrow

Sleepe, and this melancolie

And drede I haue for to die,

Defaut of sleepe and heauinesse

Hath slaine my spirit of quickenesse,

That I haue lost all lustyhead,

Such fantasies ben in mine head,

So I not what is best to do:

But men might aske me why so

I may not sleepe, and what me is.

But nathelesse, who aske this,

Leseth his asking truly,

My seluen cannot tell why

The sooth, but truly as I gesse,

I hold it be a sickenesse

That I haue suffred this eight yere,

And yet my boot is neuer the nere:

For there is phisicien but one,

That may me heale, but that is done:

Passe we ouer vntill eft,

That will not be, mote needs be left,

Our first matter is good to keepe.

So when I saw I might not sleepe,

Now of late this other night

Vpon my bed I sate vpright,

And bade one reach me a booke,

A Romaunce, and he it me tooke

To rede, and drive the night away:

For me thought it better play,

Than either at Chesse or Tables.

And in this booke were written fables,

That Clerkes had in old time,

And other Poets put in rime,

To rede, and for to be in mind,

While men i [...]ued the law of kind.

This booke ne spake but of such things,

Of queenes liues, and of kings,

And many other things smale.

Among all this I found a tale,

That me thought a wonder thing.

This was the tale: There was a king

That hight Seys, and had a wife,

The best that might beare life,

And this queene hight Alcione.

So it befell, thereafter soone

This king woll wenden ouer see:

To tellen shortly, when that he

[Page] Was in the see, thus in this wise,

Such a tempest gan to rise,

That brake her mast, and made it fall,

And cleft her ship, and dreint hem all,

That neuer was found, as it tels,

Bord, ne man, ne nothing els.

Right thus this king Seys lost his life.

Now for to speake of Alcione his wife,

This lady that was left at home,

Hath wonder that the king ne come

Home, for it was a long terme:

Anon her hart began to yerne,

And for that her thought euermo

It was not wele, her thought so,

She longed so after the king,

That certes it were a pitous thing

To tell her heartely sorrowfull life,

That she had, this noble wife,

For him alas she loued alderbest,

Anon she sent both east and west

To seeke him, but they found him nought.

Alas (qd. she) that I was wrought,

Whether my lord my love be dead,

Certes I nill neuer eat bread,

I make a vow to my god here,

But I mowe of my lord here.

Such sorrow this lady to her tooke,

That truly I that made this booke,

Had such pitie and such routh

To rede her sorrow, that by my trouth

I farde the worse all the morrow

After, to thinken on her sorrow.

So when this lady coud here no word,

That no man might find her lord,

Full oft she swowned, and said alas,

For sorrow full nigh wood she was,

Ne she coud no rede but one,

But downe on knees she sate anone,

And wept, that pitie were to here.

A mercy sweet lady dere

(Qd. she) to Iuno her goddesse,

Helpe me out of this distresse,

And yeve me grace my lord to see

Soone, or wete where so he bee.

Or how he fareth, or in what wise,

And I shall make you sacrifice,

And holly yours become I shall,

With good will, body, hart, and all,

And but thou wolt this, lady swete,

Send me grace to slepe and mete

In my sleepe some certaine sweuen,

Where through that I may know euen

Whether my lord be quicke or dead.

With that word she hing downe the head,

And fell in a swowne, as cold as stone,

Her women caught her up anone,

And brought her in bed all naked,

And she forweped and forwaked,

Was weary, and thus the dead sleepe

Fell on her, or she tooke keepe,

Through Iuno, that had heard her boone,

That made her to sleepe soone,

For as she praide, right so was done

Indeed, for Iuno right anone

Called thus her messengere

To do her erraund, and he come nere,

When he was come, she had him thus.

Go bet (qd. Iuno) to Morpheus,

Thou knowest him well, the God of sleepe,

Now vnderstand well, and take keepe,

Say thus on my halfe, that hee

Go fast into the great see,

And bid him that on all thing

He take up Seis body the king,

That lieth full pale, and nothing rody,

Bid him creepe into the body,

And do it gone to Alcione

The queene, there she lieth alone,

And shew her shortly, it is no nay,

How it was dreint this other day,

And do the body speake right so,

Right as it was wonted to do,

The whiles that it was aliue,

Go now fast, and hye thee bliue.

This messenger tooke leue and went

Vpon his way, and neuer he stent

Till he came to the darke valley,

That stant betweene rockes twey,

There neuer yet grew corne ne gras,

Ne tree, ne naught that aught was,

Beast ne man, ne naught els,

Saue that there were a few wels

Came renning fro the cliffes adowne,

That made a deadly sleeping sowne,

And rennen downe right by a caue,

That was under a rocke ygraue,

Amid the valley wonder deepe,

There these goddes lay asleepe,

Morpheus aud Eclympasteire,

That was the god of sleepes heire,

That slept, and did none other werke.

This caue was also as derke

As hell pitte, ouer all about,

They had good leyser for to rout,

To vye who might sleepe best,

Some hing her chin vpon her brest,

And slept vpright her head yhed,

And some lay naked in her bed,

And slept whiles their daies last.

This messenger come renning fast,

And cried ho, ho, awake anone,

It was for naught, there heard him none,

Awake (qd. he) who lieth there,

And blew his horne right in her ear,

And cried awaketh wonder hye.

This god of sleepe, with his one eye

Cast vp, and asked who clepeth there,

It am I (qd. this messengere)

Iuno bade thou shouldest gone,

And told him what he should done,

As I have told you here before,

It is no need rehearse it more,

And went his way when he had saide:

Anone this god of slepe abraide

Out of his sleepe, and gan to go,

And did as he had bidde him do,

Tooke vp the dead body soone,

And bare it forth to Alcione

His wife the queene, there as she lay,

Right even a quarter before day,

And stood right at her beds fete,

And called her right as she hete

[Page] By name and said: My sweet wife

Awake, let be your sorrowfull life,

For in your sorrow there lyeth no rede,

For certes sweet love I am but dede,

Ye shall me never on live ysee.

But good sweet hart looke that yee

Bury my body, for such a tide

Ye mowe it find the see beside,

And farewell sweet, my worlds blisse,

I pray God your sorrow lisse,

Too little while our blisse lasteth.

With that her eyen vp she casteth,

And saw naught: alas (qd. she) for sorrow,

And vsed within the third morrow.

But what she said more in that swowe,

I may nat tell it you as now,

It were too long for to dwell,

My first matere I will you tell,

Wherefore I haue told this thing,

Of Alcione, and Seis the king.

For thus much dare I say wele,

I had be bolden every dele,

And dead, right through defaut of sleepe,

If I ne had red, and take kepe

Of this tale next before,

And I will tell you wherfore,

For I ne might for bote ne bale

Sleepe, or I had redde this tale

Of this dreint Seis the king,

And of the gods of sleeping.

When I had red this tale wele,

And overlooked it everydele,

Me thought wonder if it were so,

For I had never heard speake or tho

Of no gods, that coud make

Men to sleepe, ne for to wake,

For I ne knew never God but one,

And in my game I said anone,

And yet me lift right euill to pley,

Rather than that I should dey

Through defaut of sleeping thus,

I would giue thilke Morpheus,

Or that goddesse dame Iuno,

Or some wight els, I ne rought who,

To make me slepe, and haue some rest,

I will giue him the alther best

Yest, that ever he abode his liue,

And here onward, right now as blive,

If he woll make me sleepe alite,

Of downe of pure Doues white,

I woll yeve him a featherbed,

Raied with gold, and right well cled,

In fine blacke Sattin doutremere,

And many a pillow, and euery bere,

Of cloth of raines to slepe on soft,

Him there not need to turne oft,

And I woll yeve him all that fals

To his chamber and to his hals,

I woll do paint with pure gold,

And tapite hem full manyfold,

Of one sute this shall he haue,

If I wi [...]t where were his caue,

If he can make me sleepe soone,

As did the goddesse, queene Alcione,

And thus this like god Morpheus

May wil of me mo fees thus

Than ever he wan: and to Iuno,

That is his goddesse, I shall so do,

I trowe that she shall hold her paid.

I had vnneth that word ysaid,

Right thus as I haue told you,

That suddainly I nist how,

Such a lust anone me tooke

To sleepe, that right vpon my booke

I fell a sleepe, and therewith even

Me mette so inly such a sweven,

So wonderfull, that never yet

I trowe no man had the wit

To conne well my sweden rede.

No, not Ioseph without drede,

Of Egypt, he that rad so,

The kinges meting Pharao,

No more than coud the least of vs.

Ne nat scarcely Macrobeus,

He that wrote all the avision

That he met of king Scipion,

The noble man the Affrican,

Such meruailes fortuned than,

I trowe arede my dreames euen,

Lo thus it was, this was my sweven.

Me thought thus, that it was May,

And in the dawning there I lay,

Me met thus in my bed all naked,

And looked forth for I was waked,

With smale foules a great hepe,

That had afraied me out of my slepe,

Through noise and sweetnesse of her song,

And as me met, they sate among

Vpon my chamber roofe without

Vpon the tyles over all about,

And eueriche song in his wise

The most solemne seruise

By note, that ever man I trow

Had heard, for some of hem song low,

Some high, and all of one accord,

To tell shortly at o word,

Was never heard so sweet steven,

But it had be a thing of heven,

So merry a sowne, so sweet entunes,

That certes for the towne of Tewnes

I noide, but I had heard hem sing,

For all my chamber gan to ring,

Through singing of her ermony,

For instrument nor melody

Was no where heard, yet halfe so swete,

Nor of accord halfe so mete,

For there was none of hem that fained

To sing, for ech of hem him pained

To find out many crafty notes,

They ne spared nat her throtes,

And sooth to saine, my chamber was

Full well depainted, and with glas

Were all the windowes well yglased

Full clere, and nat an hole ycrased,

That to behold it was great joy,

For holly all the story of Troy

Was in the glaising ywrought thus,

Of Hector, and of King Priamus,

Of Achilles, and of king Laomedon,

And eke of Medea and of Iason,

Of Paris, Heleine, and of Lavine,

And all the wals with colours fine

[Page] Were paint, both text and glose,

And all the Romaunt of the Rose,

My windowes weren shit echone,

And through the glasse the sunne shone

Vpon my bed with bright bemes,

With many glad glidy stremes,

And eke the welkin was so faire,

Blew, bright, clere was the aire,

And full attempre, for sooth it was,

For neyther too cold ne hote it nas,

Ne in all the welkin was no cloud.

And as I lay thus wonder loud

Me thought I heard a hunt blow

Tassay his great horne, and for to know

Whether it was clere, or horse of sowne.

And I heard going both vp and downe

Men, horse, hounds, and other thing,

And all men speake of hunting,

How they would slee the hart with strength,

And how the hart had vpon length

So much enbosed, I not now what.

Anon right when I heard that,

How that they would on hunting gone,

I was right glad, and vp anone

Tooke my horse, and forth I went

Out of my chamber, I neuer stent

Till I come to the field without,

There ouertooke I a great rout

Of hunters and eke forresters,

And many relaies and limers,

And highed hem to the forrest fast,

And I with hem, so at the last

I asked one lad, a lymere

Say fellow, who shall hunt here

(Qd. I) and he answered ayen,

Sir, the Emperour Occtonyen

(Qd. he) and is here fast by.

A gods halfe, in good time (qd. I)

Go we fast, and gan to ride,

When we come to the forest side,

Euery man did right soone,

As to hunting fell to done.

The maister hunt, anone fote hote

With his horne blew three mote

At the vncoupling of his houndis,

Within a while the hart found is

I hallowed, and rechased fast

Long time, and so at the last

This hart rouzed and stale away

Fro all the hounds a preuie way.

The hounds had ouershot him all,

And were vpon a default yfall,

Therewith the hunt wonder fast

Blew a forloyn at the last,

I was go walked fro my tree,

And as I went, there came by me

A whelpe, that fawned me as I stood,

That had yfollowed, and coud no good,

It came and crept to me as low,

Right as it had me yknow,

Held downe his head, and joyned his eares,

And laid all smooth downe his heares.

I would haue caught it anone,

It fled, and was fro me gone,

As I him followed, and it forth went

Downe by a floury greene it went

Full thicke of grasse, full soft and sweet,

With floures fele faire vnder feet,

And little vsed, it seemed thus,

For both Flora, and Zepherus,

They two, that make floures grow,

Had made her dwelling there I trow,

For it was on to behold,

As though the earth enuy wold

To be gayer than the heuen,

To have mo floures such seuen,

As in the welkin sterres be,

It had forget the pouerte

That winter, through his cold morrowes

Had made it suffer, and his sorrowes

All was foryeten, and that was seene,

For all the wood was woxen greene,

Sweetnesse of dewe had made it waxe.

It is no need eke for to axe

Where there were many greene greues

Or thicke of trees, so full of leues,

And euery tree stood by himselue

Fro other, well tenne foot or twelue,

So great trees, so huge of strength,

Of fortie or fiftie fadome length,

Cleane without bowe or sticke,

With crops brode, and eke as thicke,

They were not an inch asunder,

That it was shadde over all vnder,

And many an hart and many an hind

Was both before me and behind,

Of fawnes, sowers, buckes, does,

Was full the wood, and many roes,

And many squirrels, that sete

Full high vpon the trees and ete,

And in her manner made feasts:

Shortly, it was so full of beasts,

That though Argus the noble countour

Sate to recken in his countour,

And recken with his figures ten,

For by tho figures newe all ken,

If they be craftie, recken and number,

And tell of euery thing the number,

Yet should he faile to recken even

The wonders me met in my sweven:

But forth I romed right wonder fast

Downe the wood, so at the last

I was ware of a man in blacke,

That sate, and had yturned his backe

To an Oke, an huge tree:

Lord thought I, who may that bee,

What eyleth him to sitten here,

Anon right I went nere,

Then found I sitte, even vpright,

A wonder welfaring knight,

By the manner me thought so,

Of good mokell, and right yong thereto,

Of the age of foure and twentie yere,

Vpon his beard but little heere,

And he was clothed all in blacke.

I stalked even vnto his backe,

And there I stood as still as ought,

The sooth to say, he saw me nought,

For why he hing his head adowne,

And with a deadly sorrowfull sowne,

He made of time ten verses or twelue,

Of a complaint to himselue,

[Page] The most pitie, the most routh

That ever I heard, for by my trouth

It was great wonder that nature

Might [...]uffer any creature

To have such sorrow, and he not ded:

Full pitous pale, and nothing red,

He said a lay, a manner song,

Without note, without song,

And was this, for full well I can

Rehearse it, right thus it began.

I have of sorrow so great wone,

That joy get I neuer none,

Now that I see my lady bright,

Which I haue loved with all my might,

Is fro me dead, and is agone,

And thus in sorrow left me alone,

Alas death, what eyleth thee,

That thou noldest have taken me,

When that thou tooke my lady swete,

Of all goodnesse she had none mete,

That was so faire, so fresh, so free,

So good, that men may well see.

When he had made thus his complaint,

His sorrowfull hart gan fast faint,

And his spirits wexen dead,

The blood was fled for pure dread

Down to his hert, to maken him warme,

For well it feeled the heart had harme,

To wete eke why it was adrad

By kind and for to make it glad,

For it is member principall

Of the body, and that made all

His hew chaunge, and wexe greene

And pale, for there no blood is seene

In no manner limme of his.

Anon therewith, when I saw this,

He farde thus euill there he sete,

I went and stood right at his fete,

And grette him but he spake nought,

But argued with his owne thought,

And in his wit disputed fast,

Why, and how his life might last,

Him thought his sorrowes were so smert,

And lay so cold vpon his heart.

So through his sorrow and holy thought,

Made him that he heard me nought,

For he had welnigh lost his mind,

Though Pan, that men clepeth god of kind,

Were for his sorrowes never so wroth.

But at the last, to saine right sooth,

He was ware of me, how I stood

Before him and did off my hood,

And had ygret him, as I best coud

Debonairly, and nothing loud,

He said, I pray thee be not wroth,

I heard thee not, to saine the sooth,

Ne I saw the not, sir truly.

Ah good sir, no force (qd. I)

I am right sorry, if I haue ought

Distroubled you out of your thought,

Foryeve me, if I haue misse take.

Yes, thamends is light to make

(Qd. he) for there lithe none thereto,

There is nothing missaide, nor do.

Lo how goodly spake this knight,

As it had be another wight,

And made it neyther tough ne queint,

And I saw that, and gan me acqueint

With him, and found him so tretable,

Right wonder skilfull and reasonable,

As me thought, for all his bale,

Anon right I gan find a tale

To him, to looke where I might ought

Haue more knowledging of his thought.

Sir (qd. I) this game is done,

I holde that this hart be gone,

These hunts can him no where see.

I do no force thereof (qd. he)

My thought is thereon neuer adele,

By our Lord (qd. I) I trow you wele,

Right so me thinketh by your chere,

But sir, o thing woll ye here,

Me thinketh in great sorrow I you see,

But certes sir, if that ye

Would aught discure me your wo,

I would, as wise God helpe me so,

Amend it, if I can or may,

Ye mowe prove it by assay,

For by my trouth, to make you hole,

I woll do all my power whole,

And telleth me of your sorrowes smart,

Paraunter it may ease your hart,

That semeth full sicke vnder your side.

With that he looked on me aside,

As who saith nay, that nill not be.

Graunt mercy good friend (qd. he)

I thanke thee, that thou wouldest so,

But it may neuer the rather be do,

No man may my sorrow glade,

That maketh my hew to fall and fade,

And hath mine vnderstanding lorne,

That me is wo that I was borne,

May nought make my sorrowes slide,

Not all the remedies of Ovide,

Ne Orpheus god of melodie,

Ne Dedalus, with his playes slie,

Ne heale me may no Phisicien,

Nought Ipocras, ne Galien,

Me is wo that I liue houres twelue,

But who so woll assay hemselue,

Whether his hert can haue pite

Of any sorrow let him see me,

I wretch that death hath made all naked

Of all the blisse that ever was maked,

Iwroth, werste of all wights,

That hate my dayes, and my nights,

My life▪ my lustes, be me loth.

For all fare and I be wroth,

The pure death is so full my fo,

That I would die, it will not so,

For when I follow it, it will flie,

I would have him, it nill not me,

This is pain without reed,

Alway dying, and be not deed,

That Tesiphus that lieth in hell,

May not of more sorrow tell,

And who so wist all, by my trouth,

My sorrow, but he had routh

And pitie of my sorrows smart,

That man hath a fiendly heart:

For whoso seeth me first on morrow,

May saine he hath met with sorrow,

[Page] For I am sorrow, and sorrow is I,

Alas, and I will tell thee why,

My sorrow is tourned to plaining,

And all my laughter to weeping,

My glad thoughts to heauinesse,

In trauaile is mine idlenesse,

And eke my rest, my wele is wo,

My good is harme, and euermo

In wrath is tourned my playing,

And my delite into sorrowing,

Mine heale is tourned into sicknesse,

In drede is all my sikernesse,

To derke is turned all my light,

My witte is foly, my day is night.

My loue is hate, my slepe wakyng,

My mirth and meales is fastyng,

My countenaunce is nicete,

And all abawed, where so I be,

My peace pleding, and in werre

Alas, how might I fare werre.

My boldnesse is turned to shame,

For false fortune hath played a game

At the cheffe with me, alas the while,

The trayteresse false and full of gyle,

That al behoteth, and nothing halte,

She gothe vpright, and yet she halte,

That baggeth foule, and loketh fayre,

The dispitous debonaire,

That scorneth many a creature,

An ydole of false purtraiture

Is she, for she woll sone wryen

She is the monstres heed ywryen,

As filth, ouer ystrowed with floures,

Her most worship and her floures

To lyen for that is her nature,

Without faith, lawe, or mesure

She false is, and euer laughing

With one eye, and that other weping,

That is brought vp, she set al downe:

I liken her to the Scorpiowne,

That is a false flattering beest,

For with his head he maketh feest,

But all amid his flattering,

With his taile he will sting

And enuenim, and so will she:

She is the enuious charite,

That is aye false, and semeth wele,

So turneth she her false whele

About, for it is nothing stable,

Now by the fire, now at table,

Full many one hath she thus yblent,

She is play of enchauntement,

That seemeth one, and is not so

The false these, what hath she do,

Trowest thou, by our Lord I will thee say,

At the Chesse with me she gan to play,

With her false draughtes full diuers

She stale on me, and toke my fers,

And when I sawe my fers away,

Alas I couth no lenger play,

But said, farewell sweet ywis,

And farewell all that euer there is:

Therewith fortune said, checke here,

And mate in the mid point of the checkere,

With a paune errant, alas,

Full craftier to play she was

Than Athalus, that made the game

First of the Chesse, so was his name:

But God wolde I had ones or twise,

Iconde, and know the jeoperdise,

That coude the Greke Pythagores,

I shulde haue plaide the bet at ches,

And kept my feers the bet thereby,

And though whereto, for trewly

I holde that wishe not worthe a fire,

It had be neuer the bet for me,

For fortune can so many a wyle,

There be but fewe can her begile,

And eke she is the lasse to blame,

My selfe I wolde haue do the same,

Before God, had I been as she,

She ought the more excused be,

For this I say yet more thereto,

Had I be God, and might haue do

My will, when she my feers caught,

I wolde haue drawe the same draught:

For also wise, God giue me reste,

I dare well swere, she toke the best,

But through that draught I haue sorne

My blisse, alas that I was borne,

For euermore I trowe trewly,

For all my will, my lust wholly

Is turned, but ye, what to done

By our Lorde it is to die sone:

For nothing I leaue it nought,

But liue and die, right in this thought.

For there nys planet in [...]irmament,

Ne in ayre ne in erth none element,

That they ne yeue me a yeft echone,

Of weping when I am alone:

For when that I aduise me wele,

And bethinke me euerydele,

How that there lieth in rekening,

In my sorrow for nothing,

And how there liueth no gladnesse

May glad me of my distresse,

And how I haue lost suffisaunce

And thereto I haue no pleasaunce:

Then may I say, I haue right nought,

And when al this falleth in my thought,

Alas, than am I ouercome,

For that is done, is not come

I haue more sorrow than Tantale.

And I herde him tell this tale

Thus pitously, as I you tell

Vnneth might I lenger dwell:

It did mine herte so much wo.

A good sir (qd. I) say nat so,

Haue some pite on your nature,

That fourmed you to creature,

Remembreth you of Socrates,

For he counted not three strees

Of nought that fortune coude do.

No (qd. I) I can not so,

Why good sir, yes parde (qd. I)

Ne say not so for truely,

Though ye had lost the feerses twelus

And ye for sorrow murdred your selue,

Ye should be dampned in this caas,

By as good right as Medea was,

That slough her children for Iason,

And Phillis also for Demophon

[Page] Hing her sefe, so welaway,

For he had broke his tearme day

To come to her: Another rage

Had Dido, the queene eke of Cartage,

That slough her selfe, for Eneas

Was false, which a foole she was:

And Ecquo died, for Narcissus

Nolde nat loue her, and right thus

Hath many another folly done,

And for Dalida died Sampsone,

That slough himselfe with a pillere,

But there is no man aliue here

Would for her feeres make this wo.

Why so (qd. he) it is not so,

Thou wotest full little what thou menest,

I haue lost more than thou wenest:

How may that be (qd. I)

Good sir, tell me all holly,

In what wise, how, why and wherefore,

That ye haue thus your blisse lore?

Blithely (qd. he) come sit doun,

I tell thee vpon a conditioun,

That thou shalt holly with all thy wit

Doe thine entent to hearken it.

Yes sir: Swere thy trouth thereto,

Gladly do then hold here to,

I shall right blithely, so God me saue,

Holly with all the wit I haue,

Here you as well as I can:

A goddes halfe (qd. he) and began.

Sir (qd. he) sith first I couth

Haue any manner wit fro youth,

Or kindely vnderstanding,

To comprehend in any thing

What loue was, in mine owne wit,

Dredelesse I haue euer yet

Be tributarie, and yeue rent

To loue holly, with good entent,

And through pleasaunce become his thrall,

With good will, body, hart, and all,

All this I put in his seruage,

As to my lord, and did homage,

And full deuoutly I praide him tho,

He should beset mine heart so,

That it pleasaunce to him were,

And worship to my lady dere.

And this was long, and many a yere

(Ere that mine hart was set o where)

That I did thus, and nist why,

I trowe it came me kindely,

Paraunter I was thereto most able,

As a white wall, or a table,

For it is ready to catch and take

All that men will therein make,

Whether so men will portrey or paint,

Be the werkes neuer so quaint.

And thilke time I fared right so,

I was able to haue learned tho,

And to haue conde as well or better

Paraunter either art or letter,

But for loue came first in my thought,

Therefore I forgate it naught,

I chees loue to my first craft,

Therefore it is with me laft,

For why, I tooke it of so yong age,

That mallice had my courage

Not that time turned to nothing,

Through too mokell knowledging,

For that time youth my maistresse

Gouerned me in idlenesse,

For it was in my first youth,

And tho full little good I couth,

For all my werkes were flitting

That time, and all my thought varying,

All were to me yliche good,

That knew I tho, but thus it stood.

It happed that I came on a dey

Into a place, there that I sey

Truly the fairest companie

Of ladies, that euer man with eie

Had seene togither in o place,

Shall I clepe it hap, either grace,

That brought me there, not but fortune,

That is to lien full commune,

The false traiteresse peruerse,

God would I could clepe her werse,

For now she worcheth me full wo,

And I woll tell soone why so.

Amongs these ladies thus echone,

Sooth to saine, I saw one

That was like none of the rout,

For I dare swere, without dout,

That as the summers sunne bright

Is fairer, clerer, and hath more light

Than any other plannet in heuen,

The moone, or the sterres seuen,

For all the world so had she

Surmounten hem all of beaute,

Of maner, and of comlinesse,

Of stature, and of well set gladnesse,

Of goodly heed, and so wel besey,

Shortly what shall I more sey,

By God and by his holowes twelue,

It was my swete, right all her selue,

She had so stedfast countenaunce,

So noble porte, and maintenaunce:

And Loue, that well harde my bone,

Had espied me thus sone,

That she full soone in my thought,

As helpe me God so was I cought

So sodainly, that I ne toke

No maner counsaile, but at her loke,

And at mine herte, for why her eyen

So gladly I trowe mine herte seyne,

That purely tho, mine owne thought,

Said, it were better serue her for nought,

Than with another to be wele,

And it was soth, for euery dele,

I will anone right tell thee why.

I sawe her daunce so comely,

Carol and sing so swetely,

Laugh, and play so womanly,

And looke so debonairly,

So goodly speke and so freendly:

That certes I trowe that euermore,

Nas sene so blisfull a tresore:

For euery heer on her heed,

Sothe to say it was not reed,

Ne neither yelowe ne browne it nas,

Me thought most like gold it was,

And which eyen my lady had,

Debonaire, good, glad, and sad,

[Page] Simple, of good mokel, not to wide,

Thereto her loke nas not aside,

Ne ouertwhart, but beset so wele,

It drewe and tooke vp euerydele

All that on her gan behold,

Her eyen semed anone she wold

Haue mercy, folly wenden so,

But it was neuer the rather do,

It nas no counterfeted thing,

It was her owne pure loking:

That the Goddesse dame Nature,

Had made hem open by measure,

And close, for were she neuer so glad,

Her loking was not folish sprad,

He wildely, though that she plaid,

But euer me thought her eyen said,

By God my wrath is al foryeue.

Therewith her list so well to liue,

That dulnesse was of her adrad,

She nas to sobre ne to glad,

In all things more measure,

Had neuer I trowe creature,

But many one with her loke she herte,

And that sate her full litel at herte:

For she knew nothing of her thought,

But whether she knew, or knew it nought,

Algate she ne rought of hem a stree,

To get her loue no nere nas he

That woned at home, than he in Inde,

The formest was alway behinde,

But good folke ouer all other,

She laued, as man may his brother,

Of which loue she was wonder large,

In skilfull places that bere charge,

But which a visage had she thereto,

Alas my herte is wonder wo,

That I ne can discriuen it,

Me lacketh both English and wit.

For to vndo it at the full,

And eke my spirites bene so dull

So great a thing for to deuise,

I haue not wit that can suffise

To comprehend her beaute,

But thus much I dare saine, that she

Was white, rody, fresh, and lifely hewed,

And euery daie her beaute newed,

And nigh her face was alderbest,

For certes nature had soch lest,

To make that faire, that truly she

Was her chiefe patron of beaute,

And chiefe ensample of all her werke:

And monstre, for be it neuer so verke,

Me thinketh I see her euer mo,

And yet more ouer, though all tho

That euer liued, were now a liue,

Ne would haue found to discriue

In al her face, a wicked signe,

For it was sad, simple, and benigne.

And soch a goodly swete spech,

Had that swete, my liues lech,

So frendely, and so well ygrounded

Vpon all reason, so well ifounded,

And so tretable to all good,

That I dare swere well by the [...]ood,

Of eloquence was neuer fonde

So swete a sowning faconde,

Ne trewer tonged, ne scorned lasse,

Ne bet coude heale, that by the masse,

I durst sweare though the Pope it songe,

That there was neuer yet through her tonge,

Man ne woman greatly harmid,

As for her, was all harme hid:

Ne lasse flattering in her worde,

That purely her simple recorde,

Was found as trewe as any bond,

Or trouth of any mans hond.

Ne chide she could neuer a dele,

That knoweth all the world ful wele.

But such a fairenesse of a necke,

Had that swete, that bone nor brecke

Nas there none seen, that misse satte,

It was white, smoth, streight, and pure flatte,

Without hole, or canel bone,

And by seming, she had none.

Her throte, as I haue now memoire,

Semed as a round toure of yuoire,

Of good greatnesse, and not to grete,

And faire white she hete,

That was my Ladies name right,

She was thereto faire and bright,

She had not her name wrong,

Right faire shoulders, and body long

She had, and armes euer lith

Fattish, fleshy, nat great therewith,

Right white hands, and nailes rede,

Round brestes, and of good brede,

Her lippes were a streight flatte backe,

I knew on her none other lacke,

That all her limmes nere pure sewing,

In as ferre as I had knowing,

Thereto she could so well play

What that her list, that I dare say

That was like to torch bright,

That euery man may take of light

Ynough, and it hath neuer the lesse

Of maner and of comelinesse.

Right so farde my lady dere,

For euery wight of her manere

Moght catche ynough, if that he wold

If he had eyen her to behold,

For I dare sweare well, if that she

Had among tenne thousand be,

She wolde haue be at the beste,

A chefe myrrour of all the feste,

Though they had stonde in a rowe,

To mens eyen, that could haue knowe,

For where so men had plaide or waked,

Me thought the felowship as naked

Without her, that I saw ones,

As a crowne without stones,

Trewly she was to mine eye,

The solein Fenix of Arabie,

For there liueth neuer but one,

Ne such as she, ne know I none:

To speake of goodnesse, trewly she

Had as moch debonairte,

As euer had Hester in the Bible,

And more, if more were possible,

And soth to sayne, therewithall

She had a witte so generall,

So whole enclined to all good,

That al her witte was sette by the rood,

[Page] Without malice, vpon gladnesse,

And thereto I sawe neuer yet a lesse

Harmefull, then she was in doyng,

I say not that she ne had knowyng

What harme was, or els she

Had could no good, so thinketh me,

And trewly, for to speake of trouth,

But she had had, it had be routh

Thereof she had so moch her dele,

And I dare saine, and swere it wele,

That trouth himselfe, ouer al and al,

Had chose his maner principall

In her, that was his resting place,

Thereto she had the most grace,

To haue stedfast perseueraunce,

And easy attempre, gouernaunce,

That euer I knew, or wist yet,

So pure suffraunt was her wit,

And reason gladly she vnderstood,

It folowed wel, she could good,

She vsed gladly to do wese,

These were her maners euery dele.

Therewith she loued so wel right,

She wrong do would to no wight,

No wight might do her no shame,

She loued so wel her owne name.

Her lust to hold no wight in hond,

Ne be thou siker, she wold not fond,

To holde no wight in balaunce,

By halfe worde, ne by countenaunce,

But if men wold vpon her lye,

Ne sende men into Walakie,

To Pruise, and to Tartarie,

To Allsaundrie, ne into Turkie,

And bidde him fast, anon that he

Go hoodlesse into the drie see,

And come home by the Carrenare.

And sir, be now right ware,

That I may of you here saine,

Worship, or that ye come againe.

She ne vsed no soch knackes smale,

But therfore that I tell my tale,

Right on this same I haue said,

Was wholly all my loue laid,

For certes she was that swete wife,

My suffisaunce, my lust, my life,

Mine hope, mine heale, and all blesse,

My worlds welfare, and my goddesse,

And I wholy hers, and euery dele.

By our Lorde (qd. I) I trowe you wele,

Hardly, your loue was wel beset,

I not how it might haue do bet.

Bet, ne not so wel (qd. he)

I trowe sir (qd. I) parde.

Nay leue it wel: Sir so do I,

I leue you wel, that trewly

You thought that she was the best,

And to behold, the alderfairest,

Who so had loked her with your eyen?

With mine, nay all that her seyen,

Said and swore it was so,

And though they ne had, I would tho

Haue loued best my lady free,

Though I had had al the beaute

That euer had Alcibiades,

And al the strength of Hercules,

And thereto had the worthinesse

Of Alisaunder, and al the richesse

That euer was in Babiloine,

In Cartage, or in Macedoine,

Or in Rome, or in Niniue,

And thereto also hardy be,

As was Hector, so haue I joy,

That Achilles slough at Troy,

And therefore was he slayne also

In a temple, for both two

Were slaine, he and Antilegius,

And so saith Dares Fregius,

For loue of Polixena,

Or ben as wise as Minerua,

I would euer, without drede

Haue loued her, for I must nede.

Nede? Nay trewly I gabbe now,

Nought nede, and I woll tellen how,

For of good will mine herte it wold,

And eke to loue her, I was holde,

As for the fayrest and the hest,

She was as good, so haue I rest,

As euer was Penelope of Grece,

Or as the noble wife Lucrece,

That was the best, he telleth thus

The Romane Titus Liuius,

She was as good, and nothing like,

Though her stories be autentike,

Algate she was as trewe as she.

But wherefore that I tell thee,

When I first my lady sey,

I was right yong, soth to sey,

And full great need I had to lerne,

When mine herte wolde yerne,

To loue it was a great emprise,

But as my wit wolde best suffise,

After my yong childely wit,

Without drede I beset it,

To loue her in my best wise

To do her wurship, and the seruise

That I coude tho, by my trouth

Without faining, eyther slouth,

For wonder faine I wolde her see,

So mokell it amended mee,

That when I sawe her amorowe,

I was warished of all my sorowe

Of all day after, till it were eue,

Me thought nothing might me greue,

Were my sorowes neuer so smert,

And yet she sit so in mine herte,

That by my trouth, I nold nought

For all this world, out of my thought

Leaue my Lady, no trewly.

Now by my trouth sir (qd. I)

Me thinketh ye haue such a chaunce,

As shrift, without repentaunce.

Repentaunce, nay fie (qd. he)

Shuld I now repent me

To loue, nay certes then were I well

Worse than was Achitofell,

Or Antenor, so haue I joy,

The traitour that betrayed Troy:

Or the false Ganelion,

He that purchased the traison

Of Rouland, and of Oliuere:

Nay, while I am a liue here,

[Page] I nil foryet her never mo.

Now good sir, (qd. I) tho,

Ye haue well told me here before,

It is no need to reherse it more,

How ye saw her first, and where,

But would ye tell me the manere,

To her which was your first speche,

Thereof I would you beseche,

And how she knew first your thought,

Whether ye loved her or nought,

And telleth me eke, what ye have lore,

I herde you tell here before,

Ye said, thou notest what thou meanest,

I have lost more than thou weenest

What losse is that (qd. I tho)

Nil she not love you, is it so?

Or have ye ought done amis,

That she hath lefte you, is it this.

For Goddes love tell me all.

Before God (qd. he) and I shall,

I say right as I have said,

On her was all my love laid,

And yet she nist it not never a dele,

Not longe time, leve it wele,

For by right siker, I durst nought

For all this world tell her my thought,

Ne I wolde have wrathed her trewly,

For wost thou why, she was lady

Of the body that had the herte.

And who so hath that may not asterte.

But for to keepe me fro ydlenesse,

Trewly I did my businesse

To make songes, as I best coude,

And oft time I song hem loude,

And made songes, this a great dele,

Although I coude nat make so wele

Songes, ne knew the arte al,

As coude Lamekes son, Tubal,

That found out first the arte of songe,

For as his brothers hamers ronge,

Vpon his anvelt vp and downe,

Thereof he toke the first sowne,

But Grekes saine of Pithagoras,

That he the first finder was

Of the art, Aurora telleth so,

But thereof no force of hem two,

Algates songes thus I made,

Of my feling, mine herte to glade:

And lo this was alther first,

I not where it were the werst.

Lord it maketh mine herte light,

When I thinke on that swere wight,

That is so semely one to se

And wish to God it might so be

That she wold hold me for her knight,

My Lady that is so fayre and bright.

Now have I told thee, soth to say,

My first song: vpon a day,

I bethought me what wo

And sorowe that I suffred tho,

For her, and yet she wist it nought,

Ne tell her durst I not my thought:

Alas thought I, I can no rede,

And but I tell her, I am but dede,

And if I tel her, to say right soth

I am a dradde she woll be wroth,

Alas, what shall I then do.

In this debate I was so wo,

Me thought mine hert brast a twain,

So at the last, sothe for to saine,

I bethought me that Nature,

Ne formed never in creature,

So much beauty trewly

And bounty, without mercy.

In hope of that, may tale I tolde,

With sorowe, as that I never sholde,

For nedes, and maugre mine heed

I must have tolde her, or be deed:

I not well how that I began,

Full yvell reherce it I can,

And eke as helpe me God withall,

I trow it was in the dismall,

That was the ten woundes of Egipt,

For many a word I overskipt

In my tale for pure fere,

Lest my wordes misse set were,

With sorowfull hert, and woundes dede,

Softe and quaking for pure drede,

And shame, and stinting in my tale,

For ferde, and mine hew al pale,

Full oft I wexte both pale and reed,

Bowing to her I hing the heed,

I durst not ones loke her on,

For wit, manner and all was gone,

I said: mercy and no more,

It nas no game, it sate me sore.

So at the the last soth to saine,

Whan that mine heart was com againe,

To tell shortly all my speech,

With hole harte I gan her beseech

That she wolde be my Lady swete

And swore, and hertely gan her hete,

Ever to be stedfast and trewe,

And love her alway freshly newe,

And never other Lady have,

And all her worship for to save,

As I best coude, I sware her this,

For yours is all that ever there is,

For evermore, mine hertswete,

And never to false you, but I mete

I nyl, as wise God helpe me so.

And when I had my tale ydo,

God wote she acompted not a stre

Of all my tale, so thought me,

To tell shortly right as it is

Trewly her answere it was this,

I can not now well countrefete

Her wordes, but this was the grete

Of her answere, she said nay

All vtterly, alas that day,

The sorow I suffered and the wo,

That trewly Caisandra that so

Bewayled the destruction

Of Troy, and of Illyon,

Had never soch sorow as I tho,

I durst no more say thereto,

For pure feare, but stale away,

And thus I lived full many a day,

That trewly I had no need,

Ferther than my beddes heed,

Never a day to seche sorrow,

I found it ready every morrow,

For why I loved in no gere.

So it befell another yere,

[Page] I thought ones I would fonde,

To doe her know, and vnderstonde

My wo, and she well vnderstood,

That I ne wilned thing but good,

And worship, and to keepe her name,

Over all things, and drede her shame,

And was so busie her to serve,

And pitie were that I should sterve,

Sith that I wilned no harme iwis.

So when my Lady knew all this,

My Lady yave me all holly,

The noble yeft of her mercy,

Saving her worship by all ways,

Dredelesse, I mene none other ways,

And therewith she yave me a ring,

I trowe it was the first thing,

But if mine harte was iwaxe

Glad, that it is no need to axe.

As helpe me God, I was as blive

Raised, as fro death to live,

Of all happes the alderbest,

The gladdest, and the most at rest,

For truely that swete wight,

When I had wrong, and she the right,

She would alway so goodly

Foryeve me so debonairly,

In all my youth, in all chaunce,

She tooke in her gouernaunce,

Therewith she was alway so true,

Our joy was ever iliche newe,

Our hertes were so even a paire,

That never nas that one contraire

To that other, for no wo

For sothe iliche they suffred tho.

O blisse, and eke o sorow bothe,

Ilich they were both glad and wrothe,

All was vs one, without were,

And thus we lived full many a yere,

So well, I can not tell how.

Sir (qd. I) where is she now?

Now (qd. he) and stinte anone,

Therewith he woxe as dedde as stone,

And saied, alas, that I was bore,

That was the losse, that here before

I tolde thee that I had lorne.

Bethinke thee how I said here beforne,

Thou woste full litle what thou menest,

I have loste more than thou wenest.

God wote alas, right that was she.

Alas sir how, what may that be?

She is dedde: Nay, Yes by my trouth,

Is that your losse, by God it is routhe.

And with that worde right anone,

They gan to strake forth, all was done

For that time, the Harte huntyng.

With that me thought that this kyng,

Gan homeward for to ride,

Vnto a place was there beside,

Which was from vs but a lite,

A long castell with walles white,

By sainct Iohan, on a rich hill,

As me mette, but thus it fill.

Right thus me mette, as I you tell,

That in the castell there was a bell,

As it had smitte houres twelue,

Therewith I awoke my selue,

And found me lying in my bedde,

And the booke that I had redde,

Of Alcione and Seis the kyng,

And of the Goddes of sleping,

I found it in mine hond full even,

Thought I, this is so queint a sweven,

That I would by processe of tyme,

Fond to put this sweven in ryme,

As I can best, and that anon,

This was my sweven, now it is done.

Explicit.

poem

poem

MY master, &c. When of Christ our king,

Was asked, what is troth or sothfastnesse,

He not a worde answerde to that asking,

As who saith, no man is all true, I gesse:

And therefore, though I hight to expresse

The sorow and wo that is in Mariage,

I dare not writen of it no wickednesse,

Lest I my selfe fall eft in soche dotage.

I woll not say how that it is the chaine

Of Sathanas, on which he knaweth ever,

But I dare saine were he out of his paine,

As by his will he would be bounden never:

But thilke doted foole, that eft hath lever

Ichayned be, than out of prison crepe,

God let him never fro his woe discever,

Ne no man hym bewayle, though he wepe.

But yet lest thou doe worse, take a wife,

* Bet is to wedde, than brenne in worse wise,

But thou shalt have sorow on thy flesh thy life,

And ben thy wives thrale, as sain these wise,

And if that holy writ may not suffice,

Experience shall thee teach, so may happe,

* Take the way leuer to be taken in Frise,

Than eft to fall of wedding in the trappe.

This little writte, Prouerbes or figures,

I sende you, take keepe of it I rede,

Vnwise is he, that can no wele endure,

* If thou be siker, put thee not in drede,

The wife of Bathe, I pray you that ye rede

Of this matter that we have on honde,

God graunt you your lyfe freely to lede

In fredome, for foule is to be bonde.

Explicit.

The Assembly of Fowls.
All Fowls are gathered before Nature on S. Valentines day, to chose their makes. A Formell Eagle, being belov'd of three Tercels, requireth a years respite to make her choice: upon this trial, Qui bien aime tard oublie. He that loveth well, is slow to forget.

THe Lyfe so short, the craft so long to lerne,

Thassay so hard, so sharpy ye conquering,

The dreadful joy, alway y• flit so yerne,

All this mean I by love yt my feeling

Astonieth with his wonderful werkyng▪

So sore I wis, that when I on him think,

Naught wete I wel, whether I flete or sink.

[Page]

For all be that I know not love in dede,

Ne wot how that he quiteth folke her hire,

Yet happeth me full oft in bookes rede

Of his myracles, and of his cruell ire,

There rede I well, he woll be lorde and sire:

I dare not say his strokes be sore,

But God save soch a lorde, I can no more.

Of vsage, what for lust and what for lore,

On bookes rede I of, as I you told,

But wherfore speake I all this? naught yore

Agon, it happed me to behold

Vpon a booke was iwritten with letters old,

And there vpon a certain thing to lerne,

The long day, full fast I radde and yerne.

* For out of the old fieldes, as men saith,

Commeth al this new corne fro yere to yere

And out of old bookes, in good faith,

Commeth all this new science that men lere,

But now to purpose, as of this mattere,

To rede forth it gan me so delite,

That all that day, me thought it but a lite.

This booke of which I make mencion,

Entitled was right thus, as I shall tell,

Tullius, of the dreame of Scipion:

Chapiters seven [...]t had, of heaven and hell,

And yearth, and soules that therein dwell,

Of which as shortly as I can it treate,

Of his sentence I woll you saine the greate.

First telleth it, when Scipion was come

In Affricke, how he meteth Massinisse,

That him for joy, in armes hath inome,

Then telleth he her speach and all the blisse,

That was betwixt hem til the day gan misse,

And how his auncester Affrikan so dere,

Gan in his slepe that night til him appere.

Then telleth it, that from a sterrie place,

How Affrikan hath him Cartage shewed,

And warned him before of all his grace,

And said him what man lered eyther leude,

That loveth common profite well itheude,

He should into a blisfull place wend,

There as the joy is without any end.

Then asked he, if folke that here been dede

Have life, and dwelling in another place?

And Affrikan said ye, without any drede,

And how our present lives space,

Ment but a maner death, wt way we trace,

And rightfull folke, shull gon after they die

To heaven, and shewed him the Galaxie.

Then shewed he him, ye little yerth yt here is

To regard of the heavens quantite,

And after shewed he hym the nine speris,

And after that the melodie heard he,

That commeth of thilke speres thrise three,

That welles of Musicke been, and melodie

In this world here, and cause of armonie.

Then said he him, sens earth was so lite,

And full of tourment, and of hard grace,

That he ne should him in this world delite:

Then told he him, in certain yeres space,

That every sterre should come into his place,

There it was first, & all should out of mind,

That in this world is done of all mankind.

Then prayed him Scipion, to tell him all

The way to come into that heaven blisse,

And he said: First know thy selfe immortall,

And loke aie busely, that thou werche & wisse,

To common profite, and thou shalt not misse

To come swiftly vnto that place dere,

That full of blisse is, and of soules clere.

And breakers of the law, soth to saine,

And likerous folke, after that they been dede,

Shall whirle about the world, alway in paine

Till many a world be passed out of drede,

And then foryeven all her wicked dede,

Then shullen they come to yt blisfull place,

To which to comen, God send thee grace.

The day gan failen, and the darke night,

That reveth beastes from her businesse,

Beraft me my booke for lacke of light,

And to my bedde I gan me for to dresse,

Fulfilled of thought and busie heauinesse,

For both I had thyng, which that I nold,

And eke I ne had that thing that I wold.

But finally my spirite at last,

For weary of my labour all that day,

Tooke rest, that made me to slepe fast,

And in my sleepe I met, as that I lay,

How Affrikan, right in the selfe aray

That Scipion him saw, before that tide

Was come, and stode right at my beds side.

The wearie hunter sleping in his bedde,

The wood ayen his mind goeth anone,

The Iudge dremeth, how his plees be spedde,

The Carter dremeth, how his cartes gone,

The rich of gold, yt knight fight with his fone,

The sicke mette he drinketh of the tonne,

The lover mette he hath his lady wonne.

Can I not saine, if that the cause were,

For I had radde of Affrikan beforne,

That made me to mete that he stood there,

But thus said he: thou hast thee so wel borne

In looking of mine old booke all to torne,

Of which Macrobie raught not a lite,

That some dele of thy labour would I quite.

Citherea, thou blisfull Lady swete,

That with thy fire brond, dauntest when the lest

That madest me this sweven for to mete,

Be thou my helpe in this, for thou maist best,

As wisely as I seigh the North Northwest,

When I began my sweven for to write,

So yeve me might to rime it and endite.

This aforesaid Affrikan me hent anone,

And forthwith him to a gate brought,

Right of a Parke, walled with grene stone,

And over ye gate, with letters large iwrought,

There were verse ywritten as me thought

[Page] On either halfe, of full great difference,

Of which I shall you say y• playne sentence:

Through me men gon into ye blisful place

Of harts heale and dedly wounds cure,

Through me men gon into ye well of grace,

There grene & lusty May shall ever endure,

This is the way to all good auenture,

Be glad thou reader, and thy sorow off cast,

All open am I, passe in and spede thee fast.

Through me men gon (then spake the other side

Vnto the mortall strokes of the speare,

Of which disdaine and danger is the gide,

There never tree shall fruit ne leaves beare,

This streme you ledeth to ye sorowful were,

There as the fish in pryson is all dry,

The eschewing is onely the remedy.

These verses of gold and Asure ywritten weare,

Of which I gan astonied to behold,

For with that one encreased all my feare,

And with that other gan my hart to bold,

That one me het, that other did me cold,

No wit had I for errour for to chese,

To enter or flie, or me to save or lese.

Right as betwene Adamants two,

Of even weight, a peece of yron set,

Ne hath no might to move to ne fro,

For what that one may hale that other let,

So fared I, that I nist where me was bet

To entre or leave, till Affrikan my gide,

Me hent and shove in at the gates wide.

And said, it standeth written in thy face,

Thine errour, though thou tell it not me,

But dread thee not to come into this place,

For this writing is nothing meant by thee,

Ne by none, but he Loves servaunt bee,

For thou of Love hast lost thy tast I gesse,

As sicke man hath, of swete and bitternesse.

But natheles, although thou be dull,

That thou canst not doe, yet mayst thou see,

For many a man that may not stand a pull,

Yet liketh it him at the wrestlyng for to be,

And demeth yet, whether he doe bet, or he,

And if thou haddest connyng for tendite,

I shall thee shew matter of to write.

And with yt my hand in his he toke anon,

Of which I comfort caught, and went in fast,

But Lord so I was glad, and well begon,

For ouer all, where I mine iyen cast,

Were trees clad with leaues, yt aie shal last

Eche in his kind, with colour fresh & grene,

As Emeraude, that joy it was to sene.

The bilder Oke, and eke the hardy Asshe,

The piller Elme, the coffer vnto caraine,

The Boxe pipe tree, Holme to whips lasshe,

The sailing Firre, y• Cipres death to plaine,

The shooter Ewe, the Aspe for shaftes plaine,

The Oliue of peace, & eke the dronken vine,

The victor Palme, the Laurer to diuine.

A gardein saw I, full of blosomed bowis,

Vpon a River, in a grene Mede,

There as sweetnesse euermore inough is,

With floures white, blewe, yelowe, & red,

And cold Welle streames, nothing dede,

That swommen full of smale fishes light,

With finnes rede, and scales silver bright.

On every bough the birdes heard I sing,

With voice of Angell, in her armonie,

That busied hem, her birdes forth to bring,

The little pretty Conies to her play gan hie,

And further all about I gan espie,

The dredful Roe, ye Buck, the Hart, & Hind,

Squirrels, and beasts small, of gentle kind.

Of instruments of stringes in accord,

Heard I so play, a ravishing swetnesse,

That God, that maker is of all and Lorde,

Ne heard never better, as I gesse,

Therewith a wind, unneth it might be lesse,

Made in the leaves grene a noise soft,

Accordant to the foules song on loft.

The aire of the place so attempre was,

That never was ther greuance of hot ne cold

There was eke every holsome spice & gras,

Ne no man may there waxe sicke ne old,

Yet was there more joy a thousand fold,

Than I can tell or ever could or might,

There is ever clere day, and never night.

Vnder a tree, beside a well I sey

Cupide our Lorde, his arrowes forge & file,

And at his feete his bowe already lay,

And well his doughter tempred all the while

The heddes in the well, with her wile

She couched hem after, as they should serve

Some to slea, and some to wound & carve.

Tho was I ware of pleasance anon right,

And of array, lust, beauty, and curtesie,

And of the craft, that can hath the might

To done by force, a wight to done folie:

Disfigured was she, I will not lie,

And by himselfe, vnder an Oke I gesse,

Sawe I delite, that stood with gentlenesse.

Then saw I beauty, with a nice attire,

And youth, full of game and jolitee,

Foole hardinesse, flatterie, and desire,

Messagerie, mede, and other three,

Her names shall not here be tolde for me,

And vpon pillers great of Jasper long,

I sawe a temple of Brasse ifounded strong.

And about the temple daunced alway

Women inow, of which some there were

Faire of hemself, and some of hem were gay,

In kirtils all disheueled went they there,

That was their office euer, fro yere to yere,

And on the temple, saw I white and faire,

Of Doves sitting many a thousand paire.

And before the temple doore full soberly,

Dame peace sat, a curtaine in her honde,

[Page] And her beside wonder discretly,

Dame Pacience, sitting there I fonde,

With face pale, vpon an hill of sonde,

And alther next, within and without,

Behest and Arte, and of her folke a rout.

Within the temple, of sighes hote as fire,

I heard a swough, that gan about ren,

Which sighes were engendred with desire,

That made euery harte for to bren

Of newe flambe, and well espied I then,

That all the cause of sorowes, that they drie,

Come of the bitter Goddess Ialousie.

The God Priapus, saw I as I went

Within the temple, in souerain place stond,

In soch array, as when the Asse him shent

With crie by night, and with sceptre in hond,

Full busilie men gan assay and fond,

Vpon his hedde to set of sondrie hewe,

Garlandes full of freshe floures newe.

And in a priuie corner, in disport

Found I Venus, and her porter Richesse,

That was full noble, and hauten of her port,

Darke was that place, but after lightnesse

I sawe a lite, vnnethes it might be lesse,

And on a bed of golde she lay to rest,

Till that the hote Sunne gan to West.

Her gilte heeres, with a gold threde

I bound were, vntressed as she lay,

And naked from the brest vnto the hede,

Men might her see, and sothly for to say,

The remnaunt, couered well to my pay,

Right with a little kerchefe of Valence,

There was no thicker clothe of defence.

The place gaue a thousand sauours soote,

And Bacchus God of Wine sate her beside,

And Ceres next, that doeth of hunger boote,

And as I said, a middes lay Cupide,

To whom on knees, the yong folkes cride

To be their helpe, but thus I let her lie,

And farther in the temple I gan espie.

That in dispite of Diane the chaste,

Full many a bowe ibroke hing on the wall,

Of maidens, soch as gone her times waste

In her seruice: and painted ouer all,

Of many a storie, of which I touch shall

A fewe, as of Calixte, and Athalant,

And many a maid, of which ye name I want.

Semyramus, Candace, and Hercules,

Biblis, Dido, Tis [...]e, and Piramus,

Tristram, I soude, Paris, and Achilles,

Helaine, Cleopatre, and Troilus,

Sylla, and eke the mother of Romulus,

All these were paynted on that other side,

And all her loue, and in what plite they dide.

When I was commen ayen into the place

That I of spake, that was so soote and grene,

Forth walked I tho, my seluen to solace,

Tho was I ware, where there sate a Quene,

That as of light, the Sommer sunne shene

Passeth the Sterre, right so ouer measure,

She fairer was than any creature.

And in a laund, vpon an hill of floures,

Was set this noble Goddesse Nature,

Of branches were her halles and her boures

I wrought, after her craft and her measure,

Ne there nas foul, yt cometh of engendure,

That there ne were prest, in her presence,

To take her dome, and yeue her audience.

For this was on sainct Valentines day,

When euery foul cometh to chese her make,

Of euery kind, that men thinke may,

And that so huge a noise gan they make,

That yearth, sea, and tree, and euery lake,

So full was, that vnneth there was space

For me to stand, to full was all the place.

And right as Alaine, in the plaint of kind,

Deuiseth Nature, of such araie and face,

In soche aray, men might her there find.

This noble Empresse full of all grace,

Bad euery foule take her owne place,

As they were wont alway, fro yere to yere,

On sainct Valentines day, standen there.

That is to say, the foules of rauine

Were highest set, and then the foules smale,

That eaten, as that Nature would encline,

As worme or thing, of which I tell no tale,

But water foule sat lowest in the dale,

And foules that liueth by seed sat on y• grene,

And that so many, that wonder was to sene.

There might men the royall Egle find,

That with his sharpe looke perseth the son,

And other Egles of a lower kind,

Of which that clerkes well deuisen con,

There was the tyrant with his fethers don,

And grene, I mean the goshauke yt doth pine

To birdes, for his outragious rauine.

The gentle faucon, yt with his fete distreineth

The kings hand, the hardy Sperhauke eke,

The Quales foe, the Merlion that peineth

Himself full oft the Larke for to seke,

There was the Doue, with her iyen meke,

The jelous Swan, ayenst his deth yt singeth,

The Oul eke, that of deth the bode bringeth.

The Crane, ye Geant, with his tromps soune,

The theif the Chough, and ye chattring Pie,

The scorning Iaie, the Eles foe the Heroune,

The false Lapwing, full of trecherie,

The Stare, that the counsaile can bewrie,

The tame Ruddocke, and the coward Kite,

The Cocke, that horiloge is of thropes lite.

The Sparow Venus son, & the Nightingale

That cleapeth forth the fresh leaues new,

The Swalow, murdrer of the Bees smale,

That maken honie of floures fresh of hew,

The wedded Turtell, with his harte true,

The Pecocke, with his angel fethers bright,

The Fesaunt, scorner of the Cocke by night.

[Page] The waker Gose, the Cuckowe euer vnkind,

The Popingeie, full of delicasie,

The Drake, stroier of his owne kind,

The Stroke, wreker of aduoutrie,

The hote Cormeraunt, ful of glotonie,

The Rauin and the Crowe, with her voyce of care,

The Trostell old, and the Frostie feldfare.

What should I say, of fouls of euery kind,

That in this world haue fethers and stature,

Men might in that place assembled find,

Before that noble Goddess of Nature,

And eche of them did his busie cure,

Benignely to chese, or for to take

By her accorde, his formell or his make.

But to the poinct, Nature held on her hond,

A formell Egle, of shape the gentillest,

That euer she among her workes fond,

The most benigne, and eke the goodliest,

In her was euery vertue, at his rest

So farforth, that Nature her selfe had blisse,

To looke on her, and oft her beeke to kisse.

Nature, the vicare of the almightie Lord,

That hote, colde, heuie, light, moist, and drie,

Hath knit, by euen nomber of accord,

In easie voice, began to speake and say,

Foules take hede of my sentence I pray,

And for your own ease, in fordring of your need,

As fast as I may speak, I will me speed.

Ye know wel, how on S. Valentines day,

By my statute, and through my gouernance,

Ye doe chese your makes, and after flie away

With hem, as I pricke you with pleasaunce,

But nathelesse, as by rightfull ordinaunce,

May I not let, for all this world to win,

But he that most worthiest is, shall begin.

The tercell Egle, as ye know full wele,

The foule royall, aboue you all in degre,

The wise & worthie, the secret true as stele,

The which I haue formed, as ye may see,

In euery parte, as it best liketh mee,

It nedeth not his shape you to deuise,

He shall first chese, and speaken in his gise.

And after him, by order shall ye chese,

After your kind, euerich as you liketh,

And as your hap is, shall ye win or lese,

But which of you, that loue most entriketh,

God sende him her, that sorest for him siketh:

And therewithall, the Tercell gan she call,

And said, my sonne the choise is to thee fall.

But nathelesse, in this condicion

Must be the choice, of eueriche that is here,

That she agree to his election,

Who so he be, that should been her fere,

This is our vsage alway, fro yere to yere,

And who so may at this time haue his grace,

Inblisfull time he came into this place.

With hed enclined, & with ful humble chere,

This roial Tercell spake, & taried nought,

Vnto my soueraine Lady, and not my fere,

I chose and chese, with will, hart, & thought,

The Formell on your hand, so wel iwrought,

Whose I am all, and euer will her serue,

Doe what her luste, to doe me liue or sterue.

Besechyng her of mercy, and of grace,

As she that is my Ladie souerain,

Or let me die here present in this place,

For certes long may I not liue in pain,

For in my harte is coruen euery vain,

Hauing regard onely to my trouth,

My dere harte, haue on my wo some routh.

And if I be found to her vntrue,

Disobeisaunt, or wilfull negligent,

Auauntour, or in processe loue a newe,

I pray to you this be my judgement,

That with these foules I be all to rent,

That ilke day that she me euer find

To her vntrue, or in my gilte vnkind.

And sith that none loueth her so well as I,

Although she neuer of loue me beher,

Then ought she be mine through her mercy,

For other bonde can I none on her knet:

For well nor wo neuer shall I let

To serue her, how farre so that she wende,

Say what you list my tale is at an ende.

Right as the fresh redde Rose newe,

Against the Sommer Sunne coloured is,

Right so for shame all waxen gan the hewe

Of this Formell, when she heard all this,

Neither she answerde well, ne said amis,

So sore abashed was she, till that Nature

Said, doughter drede you not, I you assure.

Another Tercell Egle spake anon,

Of lower kind, and said that should not be,

I loue her better than ye doe, by sainct Iohn,

Or at the least I loue her as well as ye,

And lenger haue serued her in my degree,

And if she should haue loued for long louing,

To me alone had be the guerdoning.

I dare eke say, if she me finde false,

Vnkind, jangler, or rebell in any wise,

Or jelous, doe me hang by the halfe,

And but I beare me in her seruise

As well as my wit can me suffise,

Fro poinct to poinct, her honour for to saue,

Take she my life, and all the good I haue.

The third Tercell Egle answerde tho,

Now sirs, ye see the little leaser here,

For euery foule crieth out to be ago

Forth with his make, or with his Lady dere▪

And eke nature her self ne will not here

For tarying her, not half that I would sey,

And but I speake, I must for sorrow dey.

Of long seruice auaunt I me nothing,

But as possible is me to die to day,

For wo, as he that hath be sanguishing

This twenty winter, and wel it happen may,

[Page] A man may serve better, and more to pay,

In half a year, although it were no more,

Than some man doth, that hath served full yore.

I ne say not this by me, for I ne can

Do no service that may my lady please,

But I dare say, I am her trewest man,

As to my dome, and fainest wold her please:

At short wordes, till that death me cease,

I will be hers, whether I wake or winke,

And trewe in all that hert may bethinke.

Of al my life sith that day I was borne,

So gentle plee in love or other thing,

Ne herde never no man me beforne,

Who so that had leiser and conning,

For to rehearse their chere, & their speaking,

And from the morrow gan this spech last,

Till downward went the sunne wonder fast.

The noyse of foules for to be deliverd,

So loude rang, Have don and let vs wend,

That well weend I, y• wood had al to shiverd:

Come off they cryd, alas, ye will us shend,

When shal your cursed pleding have an end,

* How should a Iudge either party leue,

For ye or nay, without any preue?

The goos, the duck, and the cuckow also,

Socried keke, keke, cuckow, queke queke hie,

Through mine eares the noise went tho.

The goos said then al this nys worth a flie,

But I can shape hereof a remedie,

And will say my verdite, faire and swithe,

For water foule, whoso be wroth or blithe.

And I for worm foule, said the fole cuckow now,

For I will of mine own authorite,

For common spede, take on me the charge

For to deliver us, it is great charite.

Ye may abide a while, yet perde,

(Qd. the turtel) if it be your will,

A wight may speak, it were as good be still.

I am a sede foule, one the vnworthiest,

That wore I well, and leest of comming,

But better is that a wights tonge rest,

Than entremete him of such doing

Of which he neither rede can nor sing,

And who so it doth, full foule himself acloyeth,

* For office vncommitted, oft annoyeth.

Nature, which that alway had an eare,

To murmure of the lewdenesse behind,

With facond voice said, hold your tongues there,

And I shall soone, I hope, a counsaile find,

You for to deliver, & fro this noyse vnbind:

I charge of euery flock ye shall one call,

To say the verdite of you foules all.

Assented were to this conclusion,

The birdes all: and foules of ravine

Have chosen first by plaine election,

The Tercelet, of the faucon to define

All her sencence, and as him lust to termine,

And to Nature him they did present,

And she accepteth him with glad enrent.

The tercelet said then in this manere,

Full hard it were to preve it by reason,

Who loueth best this gentle Formell here,

For everich hath such replicatioun,

That by skils may none be brought adoun,

I cannot see that arguments availe,

Then seemeth it there must be battasle.

All ready (qd. these Eagle tercels tho:)

Nay sirs (qd. he) if that I durst it say,

Ye do me wrong, my tale is not ydo:

For sirs, taketh nat a greefe I pray,

It may not be as ye would, in this way,

Ours is the voice, y• have the charge in hand,

And to the Iudges dome ye must stand.

And therefore peace I say, as to my wit,

Me would thinke, how that the worthiest

Of knighthood, and lengest had vsed it,

Most of estate, of blood the gentillest,

Were fitting for her, if that her lest,

And of these three, she wote her selfe I trow

Which that he be, for it is light to know.

The water foules have their heads laid

Togider, and of short avisement,

When everiche had his verdite said,

They said soothly all by one assent,

How that the goos, with the facond gent,

That so desireth to pronounce our nede,

Shal tel her tale, and praid to God her spede.

And for these water foules tho began

The Goose to speake, and in her cakeling,

She said, peace now, take keepe every man,

And herken which a reason I shall forth bring,

My witte is sharpe, I love no tarrying,

I say I rede him, tho he were my brother,

* But she will love him, let him love another.

Lo here a parfite reason of a goose

(Qd. the sperhauke) neuer mote she thee,

Lo such a thing it is to have a tongue lose:

Now parde foole, yet were it better for thee

Haue held thy peace, than shewd thy nicete,

It lieth nat in his wit, nor in his will,

* But sooth is said, a fool cannot be still.

The laughter arose of gentill foules all,

And right anone the seed foules chosen had

The turtle true, and gan her to hem call,

And prayed her to say the sooth sad

Of this matter, and asked what she rad?

And she answerd, that plainly her entent

She would shew, and soothly what she ment.

Nay, God forbede a lover should chaunge,

The Turtle said (and wext for shame all red)

Though that his lady evermore be straunge,

Yet let him serve her alway, till he be deed,

Forsooth, I praise not the gooses reed,

For tho she died, I would none other make,

I will be hers, till that the death me take.

[Page]

Well yhourded (qd. the duck) by my hat,

That men should love alway causelesse,

Who can a reason find, or wit in that,

Daunceth he merry that is mirthlesse,

Who should recke of that is retchlesse,

Ye queke yet, qd. the duck, full well and fair,

There be mo sterres in the skie than a pair.

Now fie churle, qd. the gentle Tercelet,

Out of the dunghill came that word aright,

Thou canst not see which thing is well beset,

Thou farest by love as Dwles do by light,

The day hem blindeth, full well they see by night,

Thy kind is of so low wretchedness,

That what love is, thou canst not se nor gess.

Tho gan y• cuckow put him forth in preace,

For foule that eateth worme, and said bliue:

So I, qd. he, may have my make in peace,

I retch not how long that ye strive,

Let ech of hem be soleine all her live,

This is my rede, sens they may nat accord,

This short sesson needeth not record.

Ye, have the glutton filde his paunch,

Then are we well, said the Emerlon,

Thou murdrer of y• heysugge on the braunch

That brought thee forth, thou ruful glutton,

Live thou solein, wormes corruption,

For no force is of lack of thy nature,

Go, leud be thou while the world may dure.

Now peace, qd. Nature, I commaund here,

For I have heard all your opinion,

And in effect yet be we neuer the nere,

But finally, this is my conclusion,

That she her selfe shall have her election

Of whom her list, who so be wrothe or blithe,

Him that she cheseth, he shall her haue as swithe.

For fith it may not here discussed be

Who loveth her best, as said the Tercelet,

Then woll I done this favour to her, that she

Shall have right him, on whom her hert is set,

And he her, y• his hert hath on her knet,

This iudge I nature, for I may not lie

To none estate, I have none other eye.

But as for counsaile, for to chuse a make,

If I were reason, then would I

Counsaile you, the royal Tercell take,

As said the Tercelet, full skilfully,

As for the gentillest, and most worthy,

Which I have wroght so wel to my plesaunce

That to you it ought ben a suffisaunce.

With dredeful voice y• Formel her answerd,

My rightful lady, goddess of Nature,

Sooth is, that I am ever under your yerd,

As is everich other creature,

And must be yours while my life may dure,

And therefore graunt me my first boone,

And mine entent, you woll I say right soone.

I graunt it you, qd. she, and right anone

This formel Eagle spake in this degree:

Almighty quene, unto this year be done

I aske respite for to avisen mee,

And after that to have my choice all free,

This all & some, that I would speak and sey,

Ye get no more, although ye do me dey.

I woll not seruen Venus ne Cupide,

Forsooth as yet, by no manner way.

Now sens it may none other ways betide

(Qd. Nature) here is no more to say,

Then would I that these foules were away,

Ech with his make, for tarying lenger here,

And said hem thus, as ye shall after here.

To you speke I, ye Tercelets (qd. Nature)

Beth of good hert, and serveth all three,

A yeare is not so long to endure,

And ech of you paine him in his degree,

For to do well, for God wote quit is she

Fro you this year, what after fo befall,

This entremes is dressed fro you all.

And when this werk brought was to an end,

To every foule Nature yave his make,

By even accord, and on her way they wend,

And lord the blisse and joy that they make,

For ech of hem gan other in his wings take,

And with her neckes ech gan other wind,

Thanking alway the noble goddess of kind.

But first were chosen foules for to sing,

As yere by yere was alway her vsaunce,

To sing a roundel at her departing,

To do Nature honour and pleasaunce,

The note I trow maked was in Fraunce,

The words were such, as ye may here find,

The next verse, as I now have in mind.

Qui bien ayme tard oublye.

Now welcome summer, with thy sunnes soft,

That hast this winter weathers overshake,

Saint Valentine, thou art full high on loft,

Which driuest away the long nights blake,

Thus singen smale foules for thy sake,

Well have they cause for to gladen oft,

Sens each of hem recovered hath his make,

Full blisful may they sing when they awake.

And with the shouting when her song was do,

That the foules made at her flight away,

I woke, and other bookes took me to

To rede upon, and yet I rede alway,

I hope ywis to rede so some day,

That I shall mete something for to fare

The bet, and thus to rede I nill not spare.

Explicit.

The Floure of Courtesie.

[Page]

Made by John Lidgate.

In this Book is set forth the rare vertues of a certain Lady. Made by John Lidgate, as some think, in the behalf of some Gentlewoman in the Court.

IN Feuerier, when the frosty Moone

Was horned, full of Phebus fiery light,

And y• she gan to reyse her streams soone,

Saint Valentine, upon the blisful night

Of duty, when glad is every wight,

And foules chese, to void her old sorrow,

Eueriche his make vpon the next morrow.

The same time I heard a larke sing

Full lustely, again the morrow gray,

Awake ye lovers out of your slumbring

This glad morrow, in all the haste ye may,

Some observaunce doth vnto this day,

Your choise ayen of heart to renew

In confirming for ever to be trew.

And ye that be of chosing at your large

This lusty day, by custom of nature,

Take vpon you the blisful holy charge,

To serve loue, while your life may dure,

With heart, body, and all your busie cure,

For euermore, as Venus and Cipride

For you disposeth, and the god Cupide.

For joy owe we plainly to obey

Vnto this lords mighty ordinaunce,

And mercilesse rather for to dey,

Than euer in you be founden variaunce,

And thogh your life be medled wth greuaunce

And at your heart closet be your wound,

Bethe alway one, there as ye are bound.

That when I had heard and listed long

With deuout heart the lusty melodie

Of this heavenly comfortable song,

So agreeable, as by ermonie,

I rose anone, and fast gan me hie

Toward a grove, and the way take,

Foules to seen, euerich choose his make.

And yet I was full thrusty in languishing,

Mine ague was so fervent in his hete,

When Aurora for drery complaining

Can distill her chrystal teares wete

Vpon the soyle, with silver dew so swete,

For she durst for shame not appeare

Vnder the light of Phebus beames clere.

And so for anguish of my paines kene,

And for constraint of my sighes sore,

I set me downe under a laurer grene

Full pitously, and alway more and more,

As I beheld into the holts hore,

I gan complain mine inward deadly smert,

That aye so sore crampish at mine hert.

And while that I in my drery paine

Sate, and beheld about on every tree,

The foules sit alway twaine and twaine,

Then thought I thus, alas what may this be,

That euery foule hath his liberte

Freely to chuse after his desire

Eueriche his make, thus fro yere to yere.

The sely Wren, the Tytemose also,

The little Redbrest have free election

To flyen yferre, and together go

Where as hem list, about enuiron,

As they of kind haue inclination,

And as Nature, empresse and guide

Of euery thing, list to prouide.

But man alone, alas the hard stound,

Full cruelly, by kinds of ordinaunce

Constrained is, and by statute bound

And debarred from all such pleasaunce.

What meneth this, what is this purveiaunce

Of God above, againe all right of kind,

Without cause so narrow man to bind.

Thus may I seene and plaine, alas

My woful houre, and my disauenture,

That dulfully stond in the same caas,

So ferre behind from all health and cure,

My wound abideth like a sursanure,

For me fortune so felly list dispose,

My harm is hid, that I dare not disclose.

For I my hert have set in such a place,

Where I am neuer likely for to spede,

So farre I am hindred from her grace,

That saue danger, I haue none other mede:

And thus alas, I not who shall me rede,

Ne for mine helpe shape remedy,

For male bouche, and for false envy.

The which twaine aye s [...]ondeth in my wey

Maliciously, and false suspection

Is very cause also that I dey,

Ginning and root of my destruction,

So that I fele in conclusion,

With her traines that they woll me shend,

Of my labour that death more make an end.

Yet or I die, with hert, will, and thought,

To god of loue this auow I make,

As I best can, how dere that it be bought,

Where so it be that I sleepe or wake,

While Boreas doth the leaves shake,

As I have hight, plainly till I sterue,

For wele or wo, that I shall her serve.

And for her sake now this holy time,

Saint Valentine, somewhat shall I write,

Although so be that I can nat rime,

Nor curiously by no craft endite,

Yet leuer I haue, that she put the wite

In vnconning, than in negligence,

Whatever I say of her excellence.

Whatever I say is of dutee

In soothfastnesse, and no presumption,

[Page] This I ensure to you that shall it see,

That it is all vnder correction,

What I rehearse in commendation

Of her, that I shall to you as blive,

So as I can, her vertues here discrive.

Right by example, as the summer sunne

Passeth the sterre, with his beames shene,

And Lucifer among the skies dunne

A morrow sheweth, to void nights tene,

So verily, withouten any wene,

My Lady passeth, who so taketh hede,

All tho alive, to speake of womanhede,

And as the Ruby hath the soveraignty

Of rich stones, and the regaly,

And the rose of sweetnesse and beauty

Of fresh floures, without any lye,

Right so in sooth, with her goodly eye,

She passeth all in bounty and fairenesse,

Of manner eke, and of gentlenesse.

For she is both the fairest and the best,

To reken all, in very soothfastnesse,

For every vertue is in her at rest:

And furthermore, to speake of stedfastnesse,

She is the root, and of seemelinesse

The very mirrour, and of governaunce,

To all example, withouten variaunce.

Of port benigne, and wonder glad of there,

Having evermore her trew advertence

Alway to reason, so that her desire

Is brideled aye by wit and providence,

Thereto of wit, and of high prudence,

She is the well, aye devoid of pride,

That vnto vertue her selven is the guide.

And over this, in her dalliaunce,

Lowly she is, discreet, and wise,

And goodly glad, by attemperaunce,

That every wight, of high and low degree,

Are glad in heart with her for to be,

So that shortly, if I shall not lye,

She named is, the Floure of Courtesie.

And there to speake of feminity,

The least mannish in comparison,

Goodly abashed, having aye pity

Of hem that ben in tribulation,

For she alone is consolation

To all that arne in mischeefe and in nede,

To comfort hem of her womanhede.

And aye in vertue is her busie charge,

Sad and demure, and but of words few,

Dredefull also of rongues that ben large,

Eschowing aye hem, that listen to hew

Above her head, her words for to shew,

Dishonestly to speake of any wight

She deadly hateth, of hem to have a sight.

The hert of whom so honest is ahd cleane,

And her entent so faithfull and entere,

That she ne may for all the world sustene,

To suffer her eares any word to here

Of friend nor foe, neither ferre ne nere,

Amisse resowning y• hinder should his name,

And if she do, she wexeth red for shame.

So truly in meaning she is set

Without chaunging, or any doublenesse,

For bounty and beauty are together knet

In her person, under faithfulnesse.

For void she is of newfanglenesse,

In heart aye one, for ever to persever

There she is sette, and never to dissever.

I am too rude, her vertues everychone

Cunningly to discrive and write,

For well ye wore colour have I none,

Like her discretion, craftely to endite,

For what I say, all it is too lite,

Wherefore to you, thus I me excuse,

That I acquainted am not with no muse.

By Rhetoricke my stile to gouerne,

In her preise and commendation,

I am too blind so highly to discerne,

Of her goodnesse to make description

Save thus I say in conclusion,

If that I shall shortly commend,

In her is naught that nature can amend.

For good she is, like to Polixene,

And in fairenesse to the queene Helaine,

Stedfast of heart, as was Dorigene,

And wifely trouth, if I shall nar faine,

In constaunce eke and faith she may attaine

To Cleopatra, and thereto as setrone,

As was of Troy the white Antigone.

As Hester meke, like Iudith of prudence,

Kind as Alceste, or Marcia Catoun,

And to Grisilde like in patience,

And Ariadne of discretioun,

And to Lucrece, that was of Rome toun,

She may be likened as for honeste,

And for her faith vnto Penelope,

To faire Phillis, and to Hipsiphile,

For innocence, and for womanhede,

For seemlinesse vnto Canace,

And over this, to speake of goodlyhede,

She passeth all that I can of rede,

For word and deed, that she naught ne fall,

Accord in vertue, and her werkes all.

For though that Dido, with wit sage,

Was in her time stedfast to Enee,

Of hastinesse yet she did outrage,

And so for Iason did also Medee,

But my Lady is so avisee,

That bounty & beauty both in her demaine,

She maketh bounty alway soveraine.

This is too meane, bounty goth afore,

Lad by prudence, and hath the soverainte,

And beauty followeth, ruled by her sore,

That she ne fende her in no degree,

So that in one, this goodly fresh free

Surmounting all, withouten any were,

Is good and faire in one persone yfere.

[Page]

And though that I for very ignoraunce

Ne may discrive her vertues by and by,

Yet on this day for a remembraunce,

Onely supported under her mercy,

With quaking hond I shall full humbly

To her highnesse, my rudenesse for to quite,

A little ballade here beneath endite.

Ever as I can surprise in mine hert

Alway with feare, betwixt drede and shame,

Least out of lose any word astert

In this mytre, to make it seeme lame,

Chaucer is dead, that had such a name

Of faire making, that without wene

Fairest in our tongue, as the Laurer grene.

We may assay for to countrefete

His gay stile, but it woll not be,

The well is drie, with the licour swete,

Both of Clye, and of Caliope,

And first of all I woll excuse me

To her that is ground of goodlihede,

And thus I say vntill her womanhede.

¶Ballade simple.

WIth all my might, and my bestentent,

With all y• faith yt mighty God of kind

Me yave, sith hee mee soule & knowing sent,

I chese, and to this bond ever I me bind

To love you best, while I have life & mind,

Thus heard I foules in the dawning,

Vpon the day of saint Valentine sing.

Yet chese I at ye beginning, in this entent

To love you, though I no mercy find,

And if you list I died, I would assent,

As ever twinne I quicke of this line,

Suffiseth me to seene your feathers ynde,

Thus heard I foules in the morning

Vpon the day of saint Valentine sing.

And over this, mine hearts lust to bent

In honour onely of the wood bind,

Holly I yeve, never to repent,

In joy or wo, where so that I wind,

Tofore Cupide, with his eyen blind,

The foules all when Titan did spring,

With devout heart me thought I heard sing.

¶Lenuoye.

Princesse of beauty, to you I represent

This simyle dity, rude as in making,

Of heart and will, faithfull in mine entent,

Like as this day foules heard I sing.

¶Here endeth the Floure of Courtesie, and hereafter followeth, How Pity is dead, and buried in a gentle heart.

Complaint to Pity

Complaint to Pity

PIty that I have sought so yore ago,

With hert sore, and full of busie paine,

That in this worlde was never wight so wo

Without death, and if I shall nat faine,

My purpose was, pity to complaine

Vpon the cruelty and tyranny

Of love, that for my trouth doth me dye.

And that I by length of certaine yeres

Had ever in one sought a time to speake,

To Pity ran I, all bispreint with teares,

To prayen her on Cruelty me awreake,

But or I might with any word out breake,

Or tell her any of my paines smert,

I found her dead, and buried in an hert.

Adowne I fell, when I saw the herse,

Dead as a stone, while that y• swoone me last,

But vp I rose with colour full diverse,

And pitously on her mine eyen I cast,

And neerer the corse I gan preasen fast,

And for the soule I shope me for to pray,

I was but lorne, there was no more to say.

Thus am I slaine, sith that Pity is dead,

Alas that day that ever it should fall,

What maner man dare now hold vp his head

To whom shall now any sorrowfull hert call,

Now Cruelty hath cast to slee vs all

In idle hope, folke redelesse of paine,

Sith she is dead, to whom shal we complain.

But yet encreaseth me this wonder new,

That no wight wore that she is dead but I,

So many men as in her time her knew,

And yet she died so suddainly,

For I have sought her ever full busily,

Sith I had first wit or mind,

But she was dead, ere I coud her find.

About her herse there slooden lustely,

Withouten any mo, as thought me,

Bounty, perfitely well armed and richely,

And fresh Beaute, Lust, and Iolite,

Assured manner, Youth and Honeste,

Wisedome, Estate, Drede, & Governaunce,

Confedred both by bond and alliaunce.

A complaint had I written in my hond,

To have put to Pity, as a bill,

But I there all this company fond,

That rather would all my cause spill,

Than doe me helpe: I held my plaint still,

For to those folke withouten faile,

Without pity, there may no bill availe.

Then leave all vertues, save onely pity,

Keeping the corse, as ye have heard me saine,

Confedred by hond vntill Cruelty,

And be assented when I shall be slaine,

And I have put my complaint vp againe,

For to my foes my bill I dare not shew

The effect, which saith thus in words few.

Humblest of heart, highest of reverence,

Benigne floure, croune of vertues all,

Sheweth vnto your royall excellence

Your seruaunt, if I durst me so call,

His mortall harme, in which he is ifall,

And nought all onely for his wofull fare,

But for your renome, as he shall declare.

[Page]

It standeth thus, y• your contrary crueltie

Allied is ayenst your regallie,

Vnder colour of womanly beautie,

(For men should not know her tyrannie)

With Bountie, Gentillesse, and Courtesie,

And hath depriued you of your place,

That is hie beautie, appertenaunt to your grace.

For kindly, by your heritage right,

Ye be annexed euer vnto bountie,

And verely ye ought to doe your might

To helpe trouth in his aduersitie:

Ye be also the croune of beautie,

And certes, if ye want in these twaine,

The world is lore, there is no more to saine.

Eke what auaileth manner and gentillesse

Without you, benigne creature?

Shall crueltie be your gouernesse,

Alas, what heart may it long endure?

Wherefore but ye rather take cure

To breake that perillous alliaunce,

Ye sleen hem that been in your obeysaunce.

And further, if ye suffer this,

Your renome is fordo in a throw,

There shall no man were what pitie is,

Alas, that euer your renome is fall so low,

Ye be also fro your heritage ithrow

By crueltie, that occupieth your place,

And we dispaired that seeken your grace.

Haue mercy on me thou Herenus, Queene,

That you haue sought so tenderly and sore,

Let some streame of light on me be seene,

That loue and drede you euer lenger y• more,

For soothly to saine, I beare so sore,

And though I be not conning for to plaine,

For Gods loue haue mercy on my paine.

My paine is this, that what so I desire,

That haue I not, ne nothing like thereto,

And euer setteth desire mine hart on fire,

Eke on that other side where that I go,

What maner thing y• may encrease my wo,

That haue I ready vnsought euery where,

Me lacketh but my death, and then my bere.

What needeth to shew percell of my paine,

Sith euery wo, that hart may bethinke,

I suffer, and yet I dare not to you plaine,

For well I wore, though I wake or winke,

Ye recke not whether I flete or sinke,

And nathelesse yet my trouth I shall susteine

Vnto my death, and that shall well be sene.

This is to saine, I will be yours euer,

Though ye me slea by crueltie your fo,

Algate my spirit shall neuer disceuer

Fro your seruice, for any paine or wo,

Sith ye be yet dead, alas that it is so,

Thus for your death I may wepe and plaine

With hart sore, and full of busie paine.

La belle Dame sans Mercie.
M. Aleyn, Secretary to the King of France, framed this Dialogue between a Gentleman and a Gentlewoman, who finding no mercy at her hand, dieth for sorrow.

HAlse in a dreame, not fully well awaked,

The golden sleep me wrapped vnder his wing,

Yet not for thy, I rose, and well nigh naked,

All suddainly my selfe remembring

Of a matter, leauing all other thing,

Which I must doe withouten more delay

For hem, which I durst not disobay.

My charge was this, to translate by & by,

(All thing forgiue, as part of my pennance)

A book, called La bel dame sans mercy,

Which Maister Aleine made of remembrance,

Cheefe secretarie with the king of France,

And hereupon a while I stood musing,

And in my selfe greatly imagining,

What wise I should perform the said processe,

Considering by good aduisement

My vnconning, and my great simplenesse,

And ayenward, the strait commaundement

Which that I had, and thus in mine entent

I was vexed and tourned vp and doun,

And yet at last, as in conclusioun,

I cast my clothes on, and went my way,

This forsaid charge hauing in remembrance,

Till I came to a lustie greene vallay

Full of floures, to see a great pleasaunce,

And so boldly, with their benigne suffraunce

Which rede this book, touching this matere,

Thus I began, if it please you to here.

NOt long agoe, riding an easie paas,

I fell in thought of joy full desperate,

With great disease and paine, so that I was

Of all louers the most vnfortunate,

Sith by his dart, most cruell full of hate,

The death hath take my Lady and maistresse,

And left me sole thus discomfite and mate,

Sore languishing, and in way of distresse.

Then said I thus, it falleth me to cesse,

Either to rime, or dities for to make,

And I surely to make a full promesse

To laugh no more, but wepe in clothes blake,

My joifull time (alas) now doeth it slake,

For in my selfe I feele no manner of ease,

Let it be written, such fortune (as I take)

Which neither me nor none other doth please

If it were so, my will or mine entent

Constrained were a joyfull thing to write,

My pen coud neuer know what it ment,

To speak thereof my tongue hath no delite,

[Page] Tho with my mouth I laugh much or lite,

Mine eien shuld make a countenance vntrue,

My heart also would haue thereof dispite,

The weeping teares haue so large issue.

These sick louers I leue that to hem longs,

Which lead their life in hope of allegeance,

That is to say, to make Ballades and songs,

Euery of hem as they feel their greuaunce,

For she that was my joy and my pleasaunce,

Whose soule I pray God of his mercy saue,

She hath my will, mine hearts ordinaunce,

Which sieth here within this tombe ygraue.

Fro this time forth, time is to hold my pees,

It wearieth me this matter for to trete,

Let other louers put hemselfe in prees,

Their season is, my time is now forgete,

Fortune by strength the forcer hath vnshete,

Wherein was sperde all my worldly richesse,

And all the goods which that I haue gete

In my best time of youth and lustinesse.

Loue hath me kept vnder his gouernance,

If I misdid, God graunt me forgiuenesse,

If I did well, yet felt I no pleasance,

It caused neither joy nor heauinesse,

For when she died, that was my maistresse,

My welfare then made the same purchase,

The death hath shet my bonds of witnesse,

Which for nothingmine hart shal neuer pase.

In this great thought, sore troubled in mind,

Alone thus rode I all the morrow tide,

Till at the last it happed me to find

The place, wherein I cast me to abide,

When that I had no further for to ride,

And as I went, my lodging to puruay,

Right soone I heard, a little me beside,

In a garden, where minstrels gan to play.

With that anon I went me backer more,

My selfe and I, me thought we were inow,

But twain, y• were my friends here before,

Had me espied, and yet I wore not how,

They came for me, awayward I me drow,

Somwhat by force, somwhat by her request,

That in no wise I could my selfe rescow,

But needs I must come in and see the feast.

At my comming, the Ladies euerychone

Bad me welcome God wore right gentilly,

And made me [...]here, euery one by one,

A great deale better than I was worthy,

And of their grace shewed me great courtesie,

With good disport, because I shold not mourn:

That day I bode still in their companie,

Which was to me a gracious sojourne.

The bords were spred in right little space,

The Ladies sat each as hem seemed best,

There were no deadly seruants in the place,

But chosen men, right of the goodliest,

And some there were, perauenture most freshest,

That saw their Iudges full demure,

Without semblaunt, either to most or lest,

Notwithstanding they had hem vnder cure.

Emong all other, one I gan espy,

Which in great thought ful often came and went,

As one that had ben rauished vtterly,

In his language not greatly dilligent,

His countenance he kept with great turment,

But his desire farre passed his reason,

For euer his eye went after his entent,

Full many a time, when it was no season.

To make chere, sore himselfe he pained,

And outwardly he fained great gladnesse,

To sing also, by force he was constrained,

For no pleasaunce, but very shamefastnesse,

For the complaint of his most heauinesse,

Came to his voice, alway without request,

Like as the soune of birdes doth expresse,

When they sing loud in frithe or in forrest.

Other there were, that serued in the hall,

But none like him, as after mine aduise,

For he was pale, and somwhat lean withall,

His speech also trembled in fearefull wise,

And euer alone, but when he did seruise,

All blacke he ware, and no deuise but plain,

Me thought by him, as my wit could suffise,

His heart was nothing in his own demain.

To feast hem all, he did his dilligence,

And well he coud, right as it seemed me,

But euermore, when he was in presence,

His chere was done, it nolde none other be,

His Schoolemaister had such authorite,

That all the while he bode still in the place,

Speake coud he not, but vpon her beaute

He looked still, with a right pitous face.

With that his head he tourned at the last

For to behold the Ladies euerichone,

But euer in one he set his eye stedfast

On her, which his thought was most vpon,

For of his eyen the shot I knew anone,

Which fearful was, with right humble requests,

Then to my self I said, by God alone,

Such one was I, or that I saw these jests.

Out of the prease he went full easely

To make stable his heauie countenance,

And wote ye well, he sighed wonderly

For his sorrowes and wofull remembrance,

Then in himselfe he made his ordinance,

And forthwithall came to bring in the messe,

But for to judge his most wofull penuance,

God wote it was a pitous entremesse.

After dinner anone they hem auanced

To daunce aboue the folke euerichone,

And forthwithall, this heauy man he danced,

Somtime with twain, & somtime with one,

Vnto hem all his chere was after one,

Now here, now there, as fell by auenture,

But euer among he drew to her alone

Which he most dread of liuing creature.

To mine aduise good was his purueiance,

When he her chose to his mai [...]resse alone,

If that her hart were set to his pleasance,

[Page] As much as was her beauteous person,

* For who so euer setteth his trust vpon

The report of the eyen, withouten more,

He might be dead, and grauen vnder stone,

Or euer he should his hearts ease restore.

In her failed nothing that I coud gesse,

One wise nor other, priuie nor apert,

A garrison she was of all goodlinesse,

To make a frontier for a iouers hert,

Right yong and fresh, a woman full couert,

Assured wele of port, and eke of chere,

Wele at her ease withouten wo or smert,

All vnderneath the standerd of dangere.

To see the feast, it wearied me full sore,

For heauy joy doth sore the heart trauaile:

Out of the prease I me withdrow therefore,

And set me downe alone behind a traile,

Full of leaues, to see a great meruaile,

With greene wreaths ybounden wonderly,

The leaues were so thicke withouten faile,

That throughout no man might me espy.

To this Lady he came full courtesly,

When he thought time to dance with her a trace,

Set in an herber, made full pleasantly,

They rested hem fro thens but a little space,

Nigh hem were none of a certain compace,

But onely they, as farre as I coud see,

Saue the traile, there I had chose my place,

There was no more between hem two & me.

I heard the louer sighing wonder sore,

For aye the more the sorer it him sought,

His inward paine he coud not keepe in store,

Nor for to speake, so hardie was he nought,

His leech was here, the greater was his

He mused sore to conquer his desire, thought,

* For no man may to more pennance be broght

Than in his heat to bring him to ye fire.

The hart began to swell within his chest,

So sore strained for anguish and for paine,

That all to peeces almost it to brest,

When both at ones so sore it did constraine,

Desire was bold, but shame it gan refraine,

That one was large, the other was full close,

No little charge was laid on him certaine,

To keepe such werre, and haue so many fose.

Full oftentimes to speak himself he pained,

But shamefastnesse and drede said euer nay,

Yet at the last, so sore he was constrained,

When he full long had put it in delay,

To his Lady, right thus then gan he say,

With dredeful voice, weeping, half in a rage,

For me was purueyed an vnhappy day,

When I first had a sight of your visage.

I suffer pain God wote, full hote brenning,

To cause my death, all for my true seruise,

And I see well ye recke thereof nothing,

Nor take no heed of it in no kind wise,

But when I speake after my best aduise,

Ye set it at nought, but make thereof a game,

And though I sewe, so great an enterprise,

It peireth not your worship nor your fame.

Alas, what should it be to you prejudice,

If that a man doe loue you faithfully

To your worship, eschewing euery vice,

So am I yours, and will be verely,

I challenge nought of right, and reason why,

For I am hole submit vnto your seruice,

Right as you list it be, right so will I,

To bind my self, where I was in fraunchise.

L'amant.

Though it be so, that I cannot deserue

To haue your grace, but alway liue in drede,

Yet suffer me you for to loue and serue,

Withouten maugre of your most goodlyhede,

Both faith & trouth I giue your womanhede,

And my seruice without any calling,

Loue hath me bound without wage or mede

To be your man, and leue all other thing.

La dame.

When this lady had heardall this language,

She gaue answere ful soft and demurely,

Without chaunging of colour or courage,

Nothing in hast, but measurably.

Me thinketh sir, your thoght is great folly,

Purpose ye nought your labour for to cease,

For thinketh not, whiles ye liue and I,

In this matter to set your heart in pease.

L'amant.

There may none make the peace, but only ye,

Which are the ground & cause of all this war,

For with your eyen the letters written be,

By which I am defied and put a farre,

Your pleasaunt looke, my very lodestarre,

Was made heraud of thilke same defiaunce,

Which vtterly behight me for to barre

My faithfull trust, and all mine affiaunce.

La dame.

* To liue in wo, he hath great fantasie,

And of his heart also slipper hold,

That onely for beholding of an eie,

Cannot abide in peace, as reason would:

Other or me, if ye list ye may behold,

Our eien are made to look, whyshold we spare,

I take no keepe neither of yong ne old,

* Who feeleth smart, I counsail him beware.

L'amant.

If it be so, one hurt another sore,

In his defaut that feleth the greuaunce,

Of very right, a man may doe no more,

Yet reason would it were in remembraunce,

And sith fortune onely by her chaunce

Hath caused me to suffer all this paine

By your beautie, with all the circumstaunce,

Why list ye haue me in so great disdaine.

La dame.

To your person ne haue I no disdaine,

Nor neuer had truly, ne nought will haue,

Nor right great loue, nor hatred in certaine,

Nor your counsail to know, so God me saue,

If such loue be in your mind igraue,

That little thing may doe you displesaunce

You to beguile, or make you for to raue,

I will not cause no such encombraunce.

[Page]L'amant.

What euer it be yt me hath thus purchased,

Wening hath not deceiued me certaine,

But feruent loue so sore hath me ichased,

That I vnware am casten in your chaine,

And sith so it is, as fortune lift ordaine,

All my welfare is in your hands fall

In eschewing of more mischeeuous paine,

* Who soonest dieth, his care is least of all.

La dame.

This sicknesse is right easie to endure,

But few people it causeth for to die,

But what they meane, I know it very sure,

Of more comfort, to draw the remedie,

Such be there now plaining full pitously,

That fele God wore not alther greatest pain,

And if so be loue hurt so greeuously,

* Leste harm it were one sorowful than twain.

L'amant.

Alas Madame, if that it might you please,

Much better it were by way of gentilnesse,

Of one sorrie, to make twaine well at ease,

Than him to destroy that liueth in distresse,

For my desire is neither more nor lesse,

But my seruice to doe for your pleasaunce,

In eschewing all manner doublenesse,

* To make two joys in steed of one greuance.

La dame.

Of loue I seek neither pleasaunce, nor ease,

Nor haue therein no great affiaunce,

Though ye be sick, it doth me nothing please,

Also I take no heed of your pleasaunce,

Chese who so will her herts to aduaunce,

Free am I now, and free will I endure,

To be ruled by mans gouernaunce

For earthly good, Nay, that I you ensure.

L'amant.

Loue, which that joy & sorrow doth depart,

Hath set the Ladies out of all seruage,

And largely doth graunt hem for her part,

Lordship and rule of euery manner of age,

The poor seruant nought hath of auauntage,

But what he may get onely by purchesse,

* And he that ones to loue doth his homage,

Full oftentimes, dere bought is the richesse.

La dame.

Ladies be not so simple, thus I meane,

So dull of wit, so sotted in folly,

That for words, which said be of the splene,

In faire language painted full pleasauntly,

Which ye and mo hold schooles of daily,

To make hem all great wonders to suppose,

But soone they can away their heads wrie,

And to faire speech lightly their eares close,

L'amant.

There is no man that jangleth busily,

And setteth his heart & all his mind therefore,

That by reason may plaine so pitously,

As he that hath much heauinesse in store:

Whose head is hole, and sayth that it is sore,

His fained chere is hard to keepe in mew,

But thought, which is vnfained euermore,

* The workes preueth as the words shew.

La dame.

Loue is subtill, and hath a great await,

Sharp in working, in gabbing great plesance,

And can him venge of such as by deceit

Would feele & know his secret gouernance,

And maketh hem to obey his ordinance,

By cherefull waies, as in hem is supposed,

But when they fall into repentance,

Then in a rage her counsaile is disclosed.

L'amant.

Sith for as much as God and eke nature

Hath auaunced loue to so high degree,

Much sharpe is the point, thus am I sure,

Yet greeueth more the faut where euer it be,

* Who hath no cold, of heat hath no deinte,

The one for that other, asked is expresse,

And of pleasaunce knoweth none certainete,

But it be one, in thought and heauinesse.

La dame.

As for pleasaunce, it is not alway one,

That you think swete, I think it bitter pain,

Ye may not me constrain, nor yet right none,

After your lust to loue, that is but vaine,

To challenge loue by right, was neuer seine,

But hert assent before bond and promise,

* For strength and force may not attaine

A will that standeth enfeoffed in franchise.

L'amant.

Right faire lady, God more I neuer please,

If I seeke other right in this case,

But for to shew you plainly my disease,

And your mercy to abide, & eke your grace,

If I purpose your honour to deface,

Or euer did, God and fortune me shend,

And that I neuer vnrightfully purchase

One onely joy vnto my liues end.

La dame.

Ye and other, that sweare such othes fast,

And so condemne, and cursen to an df ro,

Full sikerly ye wene your othes last

No lenger than the wordes ben ago,

And God and eke his saints laugh also,

In such swearing there is no stedfastnesse,

And these wretches y• haue full trust thereto,

After they weepe and wailen in distresse.

L'amant.

He hath no courage of a man truly,

That seecheth pleasaunce, worship to dispise,

Nor to be called forth, is not worthy

The yearth to touch, the aire in no kind wise,

A trusty hert, a mouth without feintise,

Thus by the strength of euery manner name,

And who that layeth his faith for little prise,

He leseth both his worship and his fame.

La dame.

A cursed hert, a mouth that is curteise,

Full well ye wote they be not according,

Yet fained chere right sone may hem apeise,

Where of mallice is set all her working,

Full false semblant they bere, & true seming,

Her name, her fame, her tongues but fained,

Worship in hem is put in forgetting,

Nought repented, nor in no wise complained.

L'amant.

Who thinketh ill, no good may him befall,

God of his grace grant each man his desart,

But for his loue, among your thoughts all,

As thinke vpon my wofull sorrowes smart,

For of my paine, whether your tender hart

[Page] Of sweet pitie be not therewith agreued,

And of your grace, to me were discouart,

That by your mean soon should I be releued.

La dame.

A lightsome hert, a follie of pleasance,

Are much better, the lesse while they abide,

They make you think, & bring you in a trance,

But that sickenesse will soone be remedide,

Respite your thought, and put all this aside,

Full good disport werieth me all day,

To helpe nor hurt, my will is not aplide,

Who troweth me not, I let him passe away.

L'amant.

Who hath a bird, a faucon, or a hound,

That followeth him for loue in euery place,

He cherisheth him, and kepeth him full so [...]nd,

Out of his sight he will not him enchace,

And I that set my wits in this cace

On you alone, withouten any chaunge,

Am put vnder, much farther out of grace,

And lesse set by, than other that be straunge.

La dame.

Thogh I make chere to euery man about,

For my worship, & for mine owne fraunchise,

To you I nill doe so withouten doubt,

In eschewing all manner prejudise,

For wote ye well, loue is so little wise,

And in bileue so lightly will be brought,

That he taketh all at his owne deuise,

Of thing God wote, yt serueth him of nought.

L'amant.

If I by loue and by my trew seruise

Lese y• good chere that strangers haue alway,

Whereof shall serue my trouth in any wise,

Lesse than to him y• commeth & goeth all day,

Which holdeth of you nothing, y• is no nay,

Also in you is lost, as to my seeming,

All courtesie, which of reason will say,

* That loue for loue were lawfull desiring.

La dame.

* Courtesie is alied wonder nere

To worship, which him loueth tenderly,

And he will not be bound for no praiere,

Nor for no gifts I say you verely,

But his good chere depart full largely,

Where him liketh, as his conceit will fall:

Guerdon constrained, a gift done thankfully,

These twain can neuer accord, nor neuer shall.

L'amant.

As for guerdon, I seeke none in this cace,

For that desert to me it is too hie,

Wherefore I ask your pardon & your grace,

Sith me behoueth death, or your mercy,

To giue the good where it wanteth truly,

That were reason, and a courteise manere,

And to your owne much better were worthy,

Than to strangers, to shew hem louely chere.

La dame.

What call ye good, faine would I y• I wist,

That pleaseth one, another smerteth sore,

But of his owne, too large is he that list

Giue much, and lese his good name therefore,

* One should not make a grant, little ne more,

But the request were right well according:

If worship be not kept and set before,

All that is left, is but a little thing.

L'amant.

Into this world was founden neuer none,

Nor vnder heauen creature ibore,

Nor neuer shall, saue onely your persone,

To whom your worship toucheth half so sore,

But me which haue no season lesse ne more

Of youth ne age, but still in your seruice,

I haue no eyen, no wit, nor mouth in store,

But all be giuen to the same office.

La dame.

A full great charge hath he withouten fail,

That his worship keepeth in sikernesse,

But in daunger he setteth his trauail,

That feffeth it with others businesse,

To him that longeth honour and noblesse,

Vpon none other should not be await,

* For of his owne so much hath he the lesse,

That of other much followeth the conceit.

L'amant.

Your eyen hath set the print, which y• I fele

Within my hert, that where so euer I go,

If I doe thing that souneth vnto wele,

Needs must it come from you, & fro no more,

Fortune will this, that I for wele or wo

My life endure, your mercy abiding,

And very right will, that I thinke also

Of your worship, aboue all other thing.

La dame.

To your worship see well, for that is nede,

That ye spend not your season all in vaine,

As touching mine, I rede you take no hede,

By your folly to put your selfe in paine,

To ouercome is good, and to restraine

An heart, which is deceiued follily,

* For worse it is to break than bow certaine,

Better bow, than to fall sodainly.

L'amant.

Now faire lady, thinke, sith it first began,

That loue hath set mine hart vnder his cure,

It neuer might, ne truly I ne can

None other serue, while I shall here endure,

In most free wise thereof I make you sure,

Which may not be withdraw, this is no nay,

I must abide all manner aduenture,

For I may neither put to nor take away.

La dame.

* I hold it for no gift in soothfastnesse,

That one offereth, where it is forsake,

For such a gift is abandoning expresse,

That with worship ayen may not be take,

He hath an hert full fell, that list to make

A gift lightly, that put is to refuse,

But he is wise, that such conceit will slake,

So that him need neither to study ne muse.

L'amant.

He should not muse, y• hath his seruice spent

On her which is a Lady honourable,

And if I spend my time to that entent,

Yet at the least, I am not reprouable

Of fained hert, to thinke I am vnable,

Or I mistooke, when I made this request,

By which loue hath of enterprise notable

So many herts gotten by conquest.

La dame.

If that ye list do after my counsaile,

Seeche a fairer, and of more higher fame,

[Page] Which in seruice of loue will you preuaile

After your thought, according to the same,

* He hurteth both his worship and his name,

That follily for twaine himself will trouble,

* And he also leseth his after game,

That surely cannot set his points double.

L'amant.

This your counsail, by ought that I can see,

Is better said than done, to mine aduise,

Though I beleeue it not, forgiue it me,

Mine hart is such, so hole without feintise,

That I ne may giue credence in no wise

To thing which is not souning vnto truth,

Other counsaile I see be but fantasise,

Save of your grace to shew pity and ruth.

La dame.

* I hold him wise that worketh no folly,

And when him list can leave & part therefro,

But in conning he is to learne truly,

That would himselfe conduit, and cannot so.

* And he that will not after counsaile do,

His sute he putteth into disperaunce,

And all the good that should fall him to,

Is lost & dead, cleane out of remembraunce.

L'amant.

Yet woll I shew this matter faithfully

Whiles I live, what ever be my chaunce,

And if it hap that in my truth I dye,

Then death shall do me no displeasaunce,

But when that I, by your hard suffraunce,

Shall dye so true, and with so great a paine,

Yet shall it do me much the lesse grevaunce,

Than for to live a false lover certaine.

La dame.

Of me get ye right nought, this is no fable,

I will to you be neither hard nor streit,

And right will not no man customable,

To thinke ye should be sure of my conceit,

Who seecheth sorrow, his be the receit,

Other counsaile can I not feele nor see,

Nor for to learne, I cast me not to await,

Who will thereof, let him assay for me.

L'amant.

Ones must it be assayed, that is no nay

With such as be of reputation,

And of true love the right honour to pay

Of free harts gotten by due raunsome,

For free will holdeth this opinion,

That it is great dutesse and discomfort,

To keepe a hert in so strait a prison,

That hath but one body for his disport.

La dame.

I know so many causes marvelous,

That I must need of reason thinke certaine,

That such aventure is wonder perillous,

And yet well more, y• comming back againe,

Good or worship, thereof is seldome seene,

Where I ne will make any such array,

* As for to find a pleasaunce, but barraine,

When it shall cost so dere the first assay.

L'amant.

Ye have no cause to doubt of this matter,

Nor you to meue with no such fantasie,

To put me farre all out as a straunger,

For your goodnesse can thinke & well advise,

That I have made aprise in every wise,

By which my truth sheweth open evidence,

My long abiding, and my true service,

May well be knowen by plaine experience.

La dame.

Of very right he may be called true,

And so must he be take in every place,

That can discerne, and let as he ne knew,

And keepe the good, if he it may purchase:

* For who y• prayeth, or swereth in any cace,

Right well ye wote, in y• no trouth is preved,

Soch hath there ben, & are, that getten grace,

And lese it sone, when they have it acheved.

L'amant.

If truthe me cause, by vertue soverain,

To shewe good love, and alway find contrary,

And cherish y•, which steeth me with the pain,

This is to me a lovely adversary,

When yt pity, which long on sleep doth [...]ary,

Hath set the fine of all my hevinesse,

Yet her comfort to me most necessary,

Shall set my will more sure in stablenesse.

La dame.

The wofull wight, wt may he think or say,

The contrary of all joy & gladnesse,

A sicke body, his thought is alway

From him that felen no sore nor sicknesse,

Thus hurtes been of divers businesse,

Which love hath put to great hindraunce,

And truth also, put in forgetfulnesse,

When they full sore begin to sigh askaunce.

L'amant.

Now God defend, but he be harmelesse,

Of all worship or good that may befall,

That to werst tourneth by his leudnesse,

A gift of grace, or any thing at all,

That his Lady vouchsafe vpon him call,

Or cherisheth him in honourable wise,

In that defaute, what ever he be that fall,

Deserveth more than death to suffre twise.

La dame.

There is no judge yset on soch trespace,

By which of right love may recovered be,

One curseth fast, another doth manace,

Yet dyeth none, as farre as I can see,

But kepe her course alway in one degree,

And ever more her labour doth encrease,

To bring Ladies by their great subteltee,

For others gilte, in sorow and disease.

L'amant.

All be it so, one doth so great offence,

And is not dedde, nor put to no justice,

Right well I wote him gayneth no defence,

But he must end in full mischevous wise,

And all ever said, God will him dispise,

For falshed is full of cursednesse,

That his worship may never have enterprise

Where it reigneth, and hath the wilfulnesse.

La dame.

Of yt have they no great fere now adaise,

Soch as will say and maintain it thereto,

That stedfast truth is nothing for to praise,

In hem that kepe it long in wele or wo,

Their busie herts passen to and fro,

They be so well reclaimed to the lure,

So well learned hem to withhold also,

And al to chaunge, when love should best endure.

[Page]L'amant.

When one hath set his hert in stable wise,

In such a place, as is both good and true,

He should not flit, but doe forth his service,

Alway withouten chaunge of any newe,

As soone as love beginneth to remewe,

All pleasaunce gothe anone in little space,

As for my party that shall I eschue,

While the soule abideth in his place.

La dame.

To love truely, there as it ought of right,

Ye may not be mistaken doubtlesse,

But ye be foule disceived in your sight,

By light vnderstanding, as I gesse,

Yet may ye well repele your businesse,

And to reason have some attendaunce,

Moch better than to abide by folie simplenesse,

The feble soccour of disperaunce.

L'amant.

Reason, counsaile, wisedome & good advise,

Been vnder love arested everichone,

To which I can accorde in every wise,

For they been not rebell, but still as a stone,

Their will and mine be medled all in one,

And therwith bounden with so strong a chain,

That as in hem, departing shall be none,

But pity breake the mighty bonde atwaine.

La dame.

Ye love not your selfe, what ever ye bee,

That in love stand subject in every place,

And of your wo, if ye have no pitee,

Others pitee bileve you not to purchace,

But be fully assured, as in this cace,

I am alway vnder one ordinaunce,

To have better trust not after grace,

And all that leveth, take to your pleasaunce.

L'amant.

I have my hope so sure and so stedfast,

That such a Lady should not lacke pity,

But now alas, it is shyt vp so fast,

That daunger sheweth on me his cruelty,

And if she see the vertue fayle in me,

Of true service, though she doe faile also,

No wonder were, but this is my surete,

I must suffre, which way that ever it go.

La dame.

Leave this purpose, I rede you for y• best,

For the lenger ye kepe, it is in vaine,

The lesse ye get, as of your hertes rest,

And to rejoyce it shall you never attaine,

When ye abide good hope to make you faine,

Ye shall be found asotted in dotage,

And in the end, ye shall know for certaine,

Hope shall pay the wretches for her wage,

L'amant.

Ye say as falleth most for your pleasaunce,

And your power is great, all this I see,

But hope shall never out of my remembraunce

By which I fele so great adversitee,

* For when nature hath set in you plentee

Of all goodnesse, by vertue and by grace,

He never assembled hem, as seemed mee,

To put pity out of his dwellyng place.

La dame.

Pity of right ought to be reasonable,

And to no wight do no great disavauntage,

There as is nede, it should be profitable,

And to the pitous shewing no domage,

* If a Lady will doe so great outrage,

To shew pity and cause her owne debate,

Of soch pity commeth dispitous rage,

And of soch love, also right deadly hate.

L'amant.

To comfort hem that live all comfortlesse,

That is no harm, but comfort to your name,

But ye that have a hert of soch duresse,

And a faire Lady, I must affirme the same,

If I durst say, ye winne all this defame,

By cruelty, which sitteth you full ill,

But if pity, which may all this attain,

In your high herte may rest and tary still.

La dame.

What ever he be that saith he loveth me,

And paraventure I leve well it be so,

Ought he be wrothe, or should I blamed be,

Though I did not as he would have me do,

If I medled with soch or other moe,

It might be called pity mercilesse,

And afterward if I should live in woe.

Then to repent, it were to late I gesse.

L'amant.

O marble herte, and yet more hard parde,

Which mercy may not perce for no labour,

More strong to bowe than is a mighty tree,

What availeth you to shew so great rigour,

Pleaseth it you more to see me die this houre,

Before your iyen, for your disport and play,

Than for to shewe some comfort and soccour,

To respite death, which chaseth me alway.

La dame.

Of your disease, ye may have allegeaunce,

And as for mine, I let it over slake,

Also ye shall not dye for my pleasaunce,

Nor for your heale, I can no surety make,

I will not hurt my selfe for others sake,

Wepe they, laugh they, or sing they, I warrant,

For this matter, so will I vndertake,

That none of hem shall make therof avant.

L'amant.

I can not skill of love by God alone,

I have more cause to wepe in your presence,

And well ye wote, avauntour am I none,

For certainly, I love better silence,

One should not love by his hertes credence,

But he were sure to kepe it secretly

* For a vauntour is of no reverence,

When that his tongue is his most enemy.

La dame.

Male bouch in court, hath great commaundment,

Eche man studieth to say the worst he may,

These false lovers, in this time now present,

They serue best to jangle as a Iay,

The most secrete iwis, yet some men say,

How he mistrusted is in some partise,

Wherfore to ladies wt so men speake or say,

It should be bileved in no wise.

L'amant.

Of good and ill shall be, and is alway,

The world is soch, the yearth is not all plain,

They that he good, y• profe shewth every day

And otherwise great villony certain:

* It is no reason, though one his tong distain

[Page] With cursed speech, to do himself a shame,

That soch refuce should wrongfully remain

Vpon the good renomed in their fame.

La dame.

Soch as be nought, when they here tidings new,

That ech trespas shall lightly have pardon,

They that pursuen to be good and true,

Will not set by none ill disposition,

To continue in every good condicion,

They are the first that fallen in domage,

And full freely the hertes habandon,

To little faith, with soft and faire language.

L'amant.

Now know I well of very certaintee,

If one do truely, yet shall he be shent,

Sith all maner of Iustice and pitee

Is banished out of a Ladies entent,

I cannot see but all is at one stent,

The good, the ill, the vice, and eke the vertue,

Soch as be good, soch haue the punishment,

For the trespace of hem that liue untrue.

La dame.

I have no power you to do greuaunce,

Nor to punish none other creature,

But to eschew the more encombraunce,

To kepe us from you all, I hold it sure,

False semblaunce, hath a face full demure,

Lightly to catch these Ladies in a wait,

Wherefore we must, if we will here endure,

Make right good watch, lo this is my conceit.

L'amant.

Sith that of grace, a goodly word not one

May now be had, but alway kept in store,

I appeale to God, for he may hear my mone

Of the duresse, which greueth me so sore,

And of pitee, I complaine furthermore,

Which he forgate, in all his ordinaunce,

Or els my life to haue ended before,

Which so sone am put out of remembraunce.

La dame.

My hert nor I, haue done you no forfeit,

By which ye should complain in any kind,

Nothyng hurteth you, but your own conceit,

Be iudge your self, for so ye shall it find,

Thus alway let this sinke in your mind,

That your desire shall never recovered be,

Ye noye me sore, in wasting all this wind,

For I haue said ynough, as seemeth me.

L'amant.

This woful man rose vp in all his paine,

And so departed with weping countenaunce,

His woful herte almost to brast in twaine,

Full like to dye, walking forth in a traunce,

And sayed death come forth, thy self auaunce,

Or that mine hert forget his property,

And make shorter all this woful penaunce,

Of my poore lyfe full of aduersity.

Fro thens he went, but whither wist I nought,

Nor to what part he drew in soothfastnesse,

But he no more was in his Ladies thought,

For to the daunce anone she gan her dresse,

And afterward, one tolde me thus expresse,

He rent his heer, for anguish and for paine,

And in himself toke so great heauinesse,

That he was dedde within a day or twaine.

Lenuoy.

THe true louers thus I beseech you all,

Soch aduentures flye hem in euery wise,

And as people defamed ye hem call,

For they truely do you great prejudice,

His castels strong stuffed with ordinaunce,

For they have had long time by their office,

The whole countrey of loue in obeysaunce.

And ye Ladies, or what estate ye be,

Of whom worshyp hath choyse his dwellyng place,

For Goddes loue do no such cruelty,

Nor in no wise ne foule not the trace

Of her that here is named rightwisely,

Which by reason me seemeth in this cace,

May be called, La belle dame sans Mercy.

Go litle Book, God send thee good passage,

Chese well thy way, be simple of manere,

Looke thy clothing be like thy pilgremage,

And specially let this be thy prayere,

Vnto hem all that thee will rede or here,

Where thou art wrong, after her help to call,

Thee to correct in any part or all.

Pray hem also with thine humble seruice,

Thy boldnesse to pardon in this cace,

For els thou art not able in no wise

To make thy self appear in any place,

And furthermore beseech hem of her grace,

By her favour and supportacion,

To take in gree this rude translation.

The which God wote standeth ful destitute

Of eloquence, of metre, and colours,

Like as a beast naked without refute,

Vpon a plain to abide all manner showers,

I can no more but ask of hem socours,

At whose request thou were made in this wise

Commanding me with body and seruice.

Right thus I make an end of this prosses,

Besechyng him, that all hath in balaunce,

That no true man be vexed causelesse,

As this man was, wch is of remembraunce,

And all that done her faithful observaunce,

And in her trouth purpose him to endure,

I pray God send hem better auenture.

Explicit.

Of Queen Annelida and false Arcite.
Arcite a Theban Knight, forsaketh Queen Annelida, who loved him intirely, and taketh a new Lady: whereupon Annelida maketh this great complaint.

O Thou fiers God of armes Mars the rede,

That in thy Frosty Countrey called Thrace,

Within thy grisly Temples full of drede,

Honoured art as patrone of that place,

With the Bellona Pallas full of grace,

Be present, and my song continue and gie,

At my beginning thus to thee I cry.

[Page]

For it full depe is sonken in minde,

With pitous hert in English to endite,

This old story, in Latine which I finde,

Of Queene Annelida and false Arcite,

That elde, which all can frete and bite,

And it hath freten many a noble story,

Hath nigh devoured out of our memory.

Be favourable eke thou Polimnia

On Pernaso that hath thy sisters glade,

By Elicon, not far from Cirsa,

Singest with voice memorial in the shade,

Vnder the Laurer, which that may not fade,

And doe that I my ship to haven winne,

First follow I Stace, and after him Corinne.

Jamque domos patrias Cithiae-post aspera gentis,

Praelia laurigeo subeuntem Thesea curru,

Laetifici plausus missusque ad sidera vulgi, &c.

When Theseus with warres long & great,

The aspre folke of Cithe had ouercome,

The Laurer crowned in his chaire gold beat,

Home to his country houses is ycome,

For which the people blisful all and some,

So criden, that to the Sterres it went,

And him to honouren did all her entent.

Before this Duke in sign of victory,

The Trompes come, and in his baner large,

The Image of Mars, and in token of glory,

Men might see of treasure many a charge,

Many a bright helm, & many a spere & targe,

Many a fresh knight, & many a blisful rout,

On horse and on foot, in all the field about.

Ipolita his wife, the hardy Queene

Of Cithia, that he conquered had,

With Emely her young suster shene,

Faire in a chaire of gold he with him lad,

That all ye ground about her chair she sprad

With brightness of beauty in her face,

Fulfilled of largesse and of grace.

With his triumph & laurer crowned thus,

In all the floure of Fortunes yeuing,

Lete I this noble prince Theseus,

Toward Athenes in his way riding,

And fonde I woll in shortly to bring,

The slye way of that I gan to write,

Of Queene Annelida and false Arcite.

Mars that through his furious course of ire,

The old wrath of Iuno to fulfill,

Hath set the peoples hertes both on fire

Of Thebes and Grece, & euerich other to kill

With bloody speres, rested neuer still,

But throng now here now there among hem both,

That euerich other slue, so were they wroth.

For when Amphiorax and Tideus,

Ipomedon, and Partinope also

Were dedde, and slain proud Campaneus,

And when the wretched Thebans brethren two,

Were slain, & King Adrastus home ago,

So desolate stood Thebes and so bare,

That no wight could remedy his care.

And when the old Creon gan espy,

How yt the blood royal was brought adown,

He held the Citee by his tyranny,

And did the gentils of that regioun

To been his friends, and dwell in the toun,

So what for loue of him, and what for awe,

The noble folke were to the towne ydrawe.

Among all these, Annelida the queene

Of Ermony was in that towne dwelling,

That fairer was than the Sonne sheene,

Throughout ye world so gan her name spring,

That her to see had every wight liking,

For as of trouth is there none her liche,

Of all the women in this world riche.

Yong was this queene, of twenty yere old,

Of middle stature, and of soch fairnesse,

That nature had a ioy her to behold,

And for to speaken of her stedfastnesse,

She passed hath Penelope and Lucresse,

And shortly if she may ben comprehended,

In her might nothing been amended.

This Theban knight eke sothe to sain,

Was yong, & thereto withall a lusty knight,

But he was double in love, & nothing plain,

And subtill in that craft ouer any wight,

And with his conning wan this Lady bright:

For so ferforth he gan her trouth assure,

That she him trusteth ouer any creature.

What should I sain, she loueth Arcite so

That when that he was absent any throw,

Anone her thought her herte brast atwo,

For in her sight to her he bare him low,

So that she wende have all his hert yknow,

But he was false, it nas but fayned chere,

As nedeth not soche crafte men to lere.

But neuerthelesse full mikell businesse

Had he, er that he might his Lady winne,

And swore he would dien for distresse,

Or from his witte he said he would twinne:

Alas the while, for it was routh and sinne,

That she upon his sorrowes would rue,

* But nothing thinketh the false as doth the true.

Her fredome found Arcite in soch manere,

That all was his, that she hath, moch or lite,

Ne to no creature made she cheer,

Further than it liked to Arcite,

There was no lack, with which he might her wite,

She was so ferforth yeuen him to please,

That all that liked him did her ease.

There nas to her no maner letter sent,

That touched loue, from any maner wight,

That she ne shewed him, or it was brent,

So plain she was, and did her full might,

That she nyl hide nothing from her knight,

Lest he of any vntrouth her vpbreyde,

Without bode his herte she obeyd.

And eke he made him ialous ouer her,

That what that any man had to her sayd,

[Page] Anon he would praien her to swere

What was y• word, or make him yuell apaid,

Then wende she out of her witte have braid,

But all was but sleight and flatterie,

Without love he fained jelousie.

And all this tooke she so debonairly,

That al his will, her thought it skilful thing

And ever the lenger she loved him tenderly,

And did him honour as he were a king,

Her herte was to him wedded with a ring,

For so ferforth vpon trouth is her entent,

That where he goth, her herte with him went.

When she shal eat, on him is so her thought,

That well vnneth of meate toke she keepe,

And when she was to her rest brought,

On him she thought alway till that she slepe,

Whan he was absent, priuely doth she wepe,

Thus liueth faire Annelida the queene,

For false Arcite, that did her all this tene.

This false Arcite, of his newfanglenesse,

For she to him so lowly was and trewe,

Tooke lesse deintee for her stedfastnesse,

And saw another Lady proude and newe,

And right anon he clad him in her hewe,

Wote I not whether in white, reed, or grene,

And falsed faire Annelida the queene.

But neverthelesse, great wonder was it none

Though he were false, for it is y• kind of man,

Sith Lamech was, that is so long agone,

To be in love as false as euer he can,

He was the first father that began

To loven two, and was in bigamye.

And he found tents first, but if men lye.

This false Arcite, somewhat must he faine,

Whan he was false, to coueren his tratoury

Right as an horse, yt can both bite & plaine,

For he bare her in honde of treachery,

And swore he coude her doublenesse espye,

And all was falsenesse that she to him ment,

Thus swore this thefe, and forth his way he went.

Alas what herte might endure it,

For routhe or wo, her sorrow for to tell,

Or what man hath the conning or the wit,

Or wt man might within the chambre dwell,

If I to him rehersen shall the hell

That suffreth fayre Annelida the queene,

For false Arcite, that did all this tene.

She wepeth, waileth, & swouneth pitously,

To ground deed she falleth as a stone

Crampisheth her limmes crokedly,

She speketh as her witte were all agone,

Other colour than ashen hath she none,

Ne none other word speketh she moch or lite,

But mercy cruell herte mine Arcite.

And thus endureth, til that she was so mate

That she ne hath foot, on wch she may sustene,

But forth languishyng ever in this estate,

Of which Arcite hath neyther routh ne tene,

His hert was els where newe and grene,

That on her wo, ne deineth him not to think,

Him recketh never whether she flete or sinke.

* This new Lady holdeth him so narowe,

Vp by the bridel, at the staues end.

That every word he dred it as an arowe,

Her daunger made him bothe bowe & bend,

And as her luste, made him turne or wend,

For she ne graunted him in her liuing,

No grace, why that he hath to sing,

But droue him forth, vnneth list her know

That he was seruaunt vnto her Ladyship,

But lest he were proude, she helde him lowe,

Thus serueth he, without meate or sip,

She sent him now to land, and now to ship,

And for she yaue him daunger all his fill,

Therfore she had him at her owne will.

Ensample of this, ye thrifty women all,

Take hede of Annelida and false Arcite,

That for her list him her dere herte call,

And was so meke, therefore he loved her lite,

* The kinde of mans herte is to delite

On thing that straunge is, also God me save,

For what they may not get, y• wold they have.

Now turne we to Annelida ayen,

That pyneth day by day in languishing,

But when she saw that her ne gate no geyn,

Vpon a day sorowfully wepyng,

She cast her for to make a complainyng,

And with her owne hand she gan it write,

And sent it to her Theban knight Arcite.

The complaint of Annelida to false Arcite.

So thir led with ye point of remembraunce,

The swerde of sorowe, whette with false pleasaunce,

Mine herte bare of blisse, & black of hew

That turned is to quaking all my daunce,

My sewerty in a waped countenaunce,

Sens it avayleth nought to ben trew:

For who so trew is, it shall her rew,

That serueth love, and doth her observaunce

Alway to one, and chaungeth for no new.

I wote my selfe as well as any wight,

For I loved one, with all mine hert & might

More than my self an hundred thousand sith,

And called him my hertes lyfe, my knight,

And was all his, as ferre as it was right,

And when y• he was glad, than was I blithe,

And his disease was my death as swithe,

And he ayen, his trouth hath me plight,

For evermore hys Lady me to kithe.

Now is he false alas, and causeles,

And of my wo he is so routhles,

That with a worde him list not ones daine

To bring ayen my sorowfull herte in pees,

[Page] For he is caught vp in another lees,

Right as him list, he laugheth at my paine,

And I ne can mine hert not [...]estraine

For to loue him yet alway ueuertheles,

And of all this I not to whom to plaine.

And shuld I playne, alas the hard stound,

Vnto my foe, that yaue myne hert a wound,

And yet desireth that myne harme be more,

Now certes ferther woll I neuer found

None other helpe, my sores for to sound,

My desteny hath shaped so full yore,

I woll none other medecine ne lore,

I woll ben aye there I was ones bound,

That I haue said, be said for euermore.

Alas, where is become your gentilnesse,

Your words full of pleasance and humblesse,

Your obseruaunce in so lowe manere,

Your awayting, and your besinesse,

On me that ye called your maistresse,

Your soueraine lady in this world here?

Alas, is there neyther worde ne chere,

Ye vouchsafe vpon myne heuinesse?

Alas your loue, I bye it all to dere.

Now certes swete, though that ye

Thus causelesse the cause be,

Of my deedly aduersite,

Your manly reason ought it to respite,

To slee your frende, and namely me,

That neuer yet in no degre

Offended you, as wissy he

That all wote, of wo my soule quite.

But for I was so playne, Arcite,

In all my workes moch and lite,

And was so besie you to delite,

Myne honour saue, meke, kinde, and fre,

Therefore ye put in me this wite:

Alas, ye retche not a mite,

Though that the swerde of sorow bite

My wofull hert, through your cruelty.

My sweet so, why do ye so for shame,

And thinke ye that furthered be your name,

To loue a newe, and ben vntrewaye,

And put you in slander now and blame,

And do to me aduersitie and grame,

That loue you most, God thou wost alway,

Yet turne ayen, and yet be playne some day,

And than shall this y• now is mis, ben game,

And all foryeue, while I lyue may.

Lo hert myne, al this is for to saine,

As whether shall I pray or els playne,

Which is the way to done you to be trew,

For eyther mote I haue you in my chayne,

Or with the deth ye mote depart vs twayne,

There bethe none other meane wayes new,

For God so wisely on my soule rewe,

As verely ye slaine me with the payne,

That mowe ye see vnfained on mine hewe.

For thus ferforth haue I my deth sought,

My selfe I murder with my priuie thought,

For sorow and routh of your vnkindnesse,

I wepe, I wayle, I fast, all helpeth naught,

I voide joy that is to speake of aught,

I voide company, I flie gladnesse,

Who may auaunt her better of heuineffe,

Than I? & to this plite haue ye me brought,

Without gilte, me needeth no witnesse.

And should I pray, & weiuen womanhede,

Nay rather death, than do so foule a dede,

And aske mercy and giltlesse, what nede,

And if I plaine what lyfe I lede,

You recketh not, that know I out of drede,

And if I vnto you mine othes bede,

For mine excuse, a scorne shall be my mede,

* Your chere floureth, but it woll not sede,

Full long agon I might haue taken hede.

For though I had you to morow agayne,

* I might as well hold Aprill from rayne,

As holde you to maken stedfast,

Almighty God, of trouth the souerayn,

Where is ye trouth of man, who hath it slayn,

* She that hem loueth, shall hem find as fast,

As in a tempest is a rotten mast,

Is that a tame beest, that is aye fayne

To renne away, when he is lest agast.

Now mercy sweete, if I missay,

Haue I aught sayd out of the way,

I not, my witte is all away,

I fare as doth the songe of chantepleure,

For now I plaine, and now I pley,

I am so mased that I dey,

Arcite hath borne away the key

Of all my world, and my good auenture.

For in this world there is no creature,

Walking in more discomfiture,

Than I, ne more sorowe endure,

For if I sleepe a furlonge way or twey,

Then thinketh me that your figure

Before me stante clad in asure,

Efte to profre a newe assure,

For to ben trewe, and mercy me to prey.

The long night, this wonder sight ydrie,

That on the day for such affray I die,

And of all this right naught ywis ye retche,

Ne neuermore mine eyen to ben drye,

And to your routh, and to your trouth I crye,

But well away, to ferre been they to fetch,

Thus holdeth me my desteny a wretch,

But me to rede out of this drede or gye,

Ne may my wit (so weake is it) not stretch.

Then end I thus, sith I may do no more,

I yeue it vp for now and euermore,

For I shall neuer efte putten in balaunce

My sikernesse, ne lerne of loue the lore,

But as the swan, I haue herde say full yore,

Ayenst his deth woll sing in his penaunce,

So sing I here the destinie and chaunce,

How that Arcite, Annelida so sore

Hath thrilled with ye point of remembraunce.

[Page]

When that Annelida this wofull queene,

Hath of her hand written in this wise,

With face deed, betwixt pale and greene,

She fell a swoune, and sithe she gan to rise,

And vnto Mars au oweth sacrifise

Within the temple, with a sorowful chere,

That shapen was, as ye may plainly here.

Explicit.

The Assembly of Ladies.
A Gentlewoman dreameth that she seeth a great number of Ladies put up their Bills of Complaint before a Judge, who promiseth to relieve their Grievances.

IN Septembre at the falling of the lefe,

The fresh season was altogider done,

And of the corne was gathered the shefe,

In a gardine about twaine after noone,

There were ladies walking, as was her wone

Foure in nombre, as to my mind doth fall,

And I the fifth, the simplest of hem all.

Of gentilwomen fayre there were also,

Disporting hem, euerich after her gise,

In crosse alies walking by two and two,

And some alone, after her fantasie,

Thus occupied we were in diuerse wise,

And yet in trouth we were not all alone,

There were knights and squires many one.

Whereof I serued, one of hem asked me,

I said ayen, as it fell in my thought,

To walke about the mase in certainte,

As a woman that nothing rought,

He asked me ayen whom that I sought,

And of my colour, why I was so pale,

Forsoth (qd. I) and thereby lithe a tale.

That must me wete (qd. he) and that anone,

Tell on, let see, and make no tarying.

Abide (qd. I) ye ben a hastie one,

I let you wete it is no litel thing,

But for bicause ye haue a great longing,

In your desire, this processe for to here,

I shall you tell the plaine of this matere.

It happed thus, that in an after noone,

My felawship and I by one assent,

When all other besinesses were doone,

To passe our time, in to this mase we went,

And tooke our waies, eche after our entent,

Some went inward, & went they had gon out,

Some stood in the mid, and looked all about.

And soth to say, some were full ferre behind,

And right anon as ferforth as the best,

Other there were so mased in her mind,

Alwaies were good for hem host Eest & West,

Thus went they forth, and had but little rest,

And some her courage did hem sore assaile,

For very wrath, they did step ouer the raise.

And as they sought hem selfe to and fro,

I gate my selfe a little auantage,

All forweried, I might no further go,

Though I had won right gret for my viage,

So came I forth into a strait passage,

Which brought me to an herber fair & grene,

Made with benches full craftie and cleane.

That as me thought, there might no creature

Deuise a better, by dewe proporcioun,

Safe it was closed well I you ensure,

With masonry, of compace enuiroun,

Full secretly with staires going down,

In middes the place, with turning whele certaine,

And vpon that a pot of Margelaine.

With Margarets growing in ordinance,

To shew hem selfe, as folke went to and fro,

That to behold it was a great pleasance,

And how they were accompanied with mo,

Ne momblisnesse and sonenesse also,

The poure penses were not disloged there,

Ne God wote her place was euery where.

The flore & bench was paued fair & smoth,

With stones square, of many diuers hew,

So well joyned, that for to say the soth,

All semed one, that none other knew,

And vnderneth the stremes new and new,

As siluer bright, springing in such a wise,

That whence it came, ye coud it not deuise.

A little while was I all alone,

Beholding well this delectable place,

My felawship were comming euerychone,

So must we needs abide for a space,

Remembring of many diuers cace,

Of time passed, with sighes depe,

I set me downe, and there I fell aslepe.

And as I slept, me thought ther came to me,

A gentill woman, metely of stature,

Of great worship she seemed for to be,

Atyred well, not high but by measure,

Her countenaunce full sad and demure,

Her colours blewe, all that she had vpon,

There came no mo but her selfe alone.

Her gown wel was embraudred certainly,

With stones after her owne deuise,

In her purfill, her word by and by,

Bien & loyalement as I coud deuise.

Then praid I her in any maner wise,

That of her name I might haue remembrance,

She said she was called Perseuerance.

So furthermore to speake was I bold,

Where she dwelled, I prayed her for to say,

And she againe full curtessy me told,

My dwelling is, and hath be many a day,

With a lady: what lady I you pray?

Of great estate, thus warne I you (qd. she)

What call ye her? Her name is Loyalte.

In what office stand ye, or in what degree,

(Qd. I to her) that wold I wete right faine,

[Page] I am (qd. she) vnworthy though I bee,

Of her chambre her husher in certaine,

This rodde I beare, as for a token plaine,

Like as ye know the rule in soch seruice,

Apertaining is to the same office.

She charged me by her commandement,

To warn you, and your felawes euerichone,

That ye should come there as she is present,

For a counsaile, which shall be now anone,

Or seuen daies be commen and gone,

And furthermore, she bad that I should say,

Excuse there might be none, nor delay.

Another thing was not forget behind,

Which in no wise I wold but ye knew,

Remembre well, and beare it in your mind,

All your felawes and ye must come in blew,

Eueriliche able, your maters for to sew:

With more, which I pray you thinke vpon,

Your words on your selues euerychon.

And be not abashed in no maner wise,

As many ben, in soch an high presence,

Make your request, as ye can best deuise,

And she gladly woll yeue you audience,

There is no grefe, nor no maner offence,

Wherein ye fele that your hert is displeased,

But with her help, right sone ye shal be eased.

I am right glad (qd. I) ye tell me this,

But there is none of vs yt knoweth ye way,

As of your way (qd. she) you shall not mis,

Ye shall haue to gide you day by day,

Of my felawes, I cannot better say,

Soch one as shall tell you the way full right,

And Diligence this gentilwoman hight.

A woman of right famous gouernaunce,

And well cherished, I tell you in certaine,

Her felawship shall do you great pleasaunce,

Her porte is soch, her maners trew & plaine,

She with glad chere wold do her besie paine,

To bring you there, now farwel I haue done,

Abide said I, ye may not go so sone.

Why so (qd. she) and I haue ferre to go,

To yeue warning in many diuers place,

To your felawes, and so to other mo,

And well ye wote I haue but litell space.

Nowe? yet (qd. I) ye must tell me this cace,

If we shall any men vnto vs call?

Not one (qd. she) may come amongs you all.

Not one? then said I, eigh Benedicite,

What haue I done, I pray you tell me that,

Now by my life, I trowe but well (qd. she)

But euer I can bilieue there is somewhat,

And for to say you trouth more can I not,

In questions I may nothing be to large,

I meddle no further than my charge.

Then thus (qd. I) do me to vnderstand,

What place is there this lady is dwelling,

Forsoth (qd. she) and one sought all this land,

Fairer is none, though it were for a king,

Deuised well, and that in euery thing,

The toures hie full pleasaunt shall ye find,

With phanes fresh, turning with euery wind.

The chambres & parlers of a sort, (thought,

With baie windowes, goodly as may bee

As for daunsing, and other wise disport,

The galeries right well ywrought,

That well I wote, if ye were thider brought,

And take good hede thereof in euery wise,

Ye woll it thinke a very paradise.

What hight ye place (qd. I) now say me that?

Pleasaunt regard (qd. she) to tell you plain.

Of very trouth (qd. I) and wote ye what,

It may right well be called so certaine:

But furthermore this wold I wit right sain,

What I should do as soone as I come there,

And after whom I may best enquere?

A gentilwoman, a porter of the yate,

There shall ye find, her name is Countenance,

If ye so hap ye come early or late,

Of her wer good to haue some acquaintance,

She can you tell how ye shall you auance.

And how to come to her ladies presence,

To her words I rede ye geue credence.

Now it is time I parte you fro,

For in good faith I haue great businesse.

I wote right well (qd. I) that it is so,

And I thanke you of your great gentilnesse,

Your comfort hath yeuen me hardinesse,

That now I shall be bold withouten faile,

To do after your aduice and good counsaile.

Thus parted she, and I left all alone.

With that I saw (as I beheld aside)

A woman come, a very goodly one,

And forth withal as I had her aspide,

Me thought anone it should be the gide:

And of her name anone I did enquere,

Full womanly she yaue me this answere:

I am (qd. she) a simple creature,

Sent from the court, my name is Diligence,

As sone as I might come I you ensure,

I taried not after I had licence,

And now that I am come to your presence,

Looke what seruice I can do or may,

Commaund me, I can no further say.

I thanked her, & praied her to come nere,

Because I would see how she was araid,

Her gown was blew dressed in good manere,

With her deuise, her word also that said,

Tant que je puis and I was well apaid,

And then wist I withouten any more,

It was full true that I had herde before.

Though we toke now before a little space,

It were full good (qd. she) as I coud gesse,

How farre (qd. I) haue we vnto the place?

A daies journey (qd. she) but littel lesse,

Wherefore I rede that we outward dresse,

For I suppose our felawship is past,

And for nothing I wold not we were the last.

[Page]

Then departed we at ye springing of ye day,

And forth we went soft and easie pace,

Till at the last we were on our iourney,

So far outward, that we might see ye place,

Now let us rest, qd. I, a littel space,

And say we as devoutly as we can,

A Pater Noster for saint Iulian.

With al my herte I assent with good will,

Moch better shal we spede, when we have done,

Then taried we, & said it euery dyl,

And when the day was past farre after none

We saw a place, and thider came we sone,

Which round about was closed with a wall,

Seeming to me full like an hospital.

There found I one had brought al mine aray,

(A gentil woman of mine acquaintaunce)

I haue meruaile, qd. I, what maner way

Ye had knowlege of al this ordenaunce,

Yes yes, qd. she, I herde Perseueraunce,

How she warned her felawes euerichone,

And what aray ye shoulde haue upon.

Now for my loue, qd. I, this I you pray,

Sith ye haue take upon you all the paine,

That ye would help me on with mine aray,

For wit ye well, I wold be gone right faine.

All this praier needeth not certaine,

Qd. she, again, come off and hie you sone,

And ye shall see anone it shall be done.

But this I dout me greatly, wote ye what,

That my felawes be passed by and gone:

I warne you, qd. she, that are they nat,

For here they shall assemble euerichone,

Notwithstanding I counsaile you anone,

Make you redy, and tary you no more,

It is no harme though ye be there before.

So then I dressed me in mine aray,

And asked her whether it were well or no,

It is right well, qd. she, unto my pay,

Ye nede nat care to what place euer ye go.

And whiles that she and I debated so,

Came Diligence and saw me all in blew,

Sister, qd. she, right well broke ye your new.

Discrecion, Purueiour.

Then went we forth and met at auenture,

A yong woman, an officer seeming,

What is your name, qd. I, good creature,

Discrecion, qd. she, without lesing,

And where, qd. I, is your most abiding,

I haue, qd. she, this office of purchace,

Chiefe purueiour that longeth to this place.

Acquaintance, Herbyger.

Faire loue, qd. I, in all your ordenaunce,

What is her name that is the herbigere,

Forsoth, qd. she, her name is Acquaintaunce,

A woman of right gracious manere,

Then thus, qd. I, wt strangers haue ye here,

But few, qd. she, of high degree ne low,

Ye be the first, as ferforth as I know.

Countenaunce, Porter.

Thus with tales we came streight to ye yate,

This yong woman departed was & gone,

Came Diligence and knocked fast thereat,

Who is without, qd. Countenaunce, anone,

Truly, qd. I, faire sister here is one:

Which one, qd. she, & therewithal she lough,

I Diligence, ye know me wel inough.

Then opened she the gate, and in we go,

With wordes faire she said full gentilly,

Ye are welcome ywis, are ye no mo?

Nat one, qd. she, saue this woman and I,

Now then, qd. she, I pray you hertely,

Take my chambre for a while to rest,

Till your felawes come, I hold it best.

I thanked her, & forth we go euerichone,

Till her chambre without wordes mo,

Came Diligence and toke her leaue anone,

Where euer ye list, qd. I, now may ye go,

And I thanke you right hertely also,

Of your labour, for which God do you mede,

I can no more, but Iesu be your spede.

Then Countenaunce asked me anone,

Your felawship, where be they, qd. she,

Forsoth, qd. I, they be comming euerichone,

But where they are I know no certainte,

Without I may hem at this window se,

Here will I stand awaiting euer among,

For well I wote they will not be long.

Thus as I stode musing full busily,

I thought to take good hede of her aray,

Her gowne was blewe, this wote I verely,

Of good facion, and furred wel with gray,

Vpon her sleue her worde this is no nay,

Which said thus, as my penne can endite,

A moy, que je voy, written with letters white.

Then forth withal she came streight to me,

Your wordes, qd. she, fain would I yt I knew,

Forsoth, qd. I, ye shall well know and see,

And for my worde I haue none, this is trewe,

It is inough that my clothing be blew,

As here before I had commaundement,

And so to do, I am right well content.

Largesse, Steward.

But tell me this I pray you hertely,

The steward here, say me wt is her name?

She hight Largesse I say you surely,

A faire lady and of right noble fame,

Whan ye her see ye will reporte the same,

And under her to bid you welcome all,

There is Belchier, marshal of the hall.

Now all this while that ye here fary still,

Your own maters ye may wel haue in mind,

But tel me this, have ye brought any bill?

Ye ye, qd. I, and els I were behind,

Where is there one tell me that I may find,

[Page] To whom yt I may shew my maters plain?

Surely (qd. she) unto the chamberlain.

Remembraunce chamberlaine.

The chamberlaine (qd. I) say ye trewe,

Ye verely (said she) by mine advise,

Be nat aferde, unto her lowly sewe,

It shall be done (qd. I) as ye devise,

But ye must know her name in any wise,

Trewly (qd. she) to shew you in substaunce,

Withouten faining her name is Remembraunce.

The Secretary she may not yet be forget,

For she doth right moche in every thing,

Wherfore I rede, when ye have wtther ymet,

Your matere hole tell her without faining,

Ye shall her find full good and full loving,

Tell me her name (qd. I.) of gentlenesse,

By my good sothe (qd. she) Avisenesse.

That, qd. I, for her is passing good,

For every bill and sedule she must see,

Now good, qd. I, come stand there as I stood,

My felawes be comming yonder they be,

Is it a yape, or say ye soth, qd. she?

In yape, nay nay, I say you for certain,

Se how they come togither twain & twain.

Ye say ful sothe, qd. she, that is no nay,

I see comming a goodly company,

They ben soch folke, qd. I, dare I say,

That list to love think it verely,

And for my love I pray you faithfully,

At any time, when they upon me call,

That ye wol be good frende to hem all.

Of my frendship, qd. she, they shal not misse,

And for their ease to put thereto my paine.

God yeld it you, qd. I, but take you this,

How shal we know who is ye chamberlaine,

That shal ye wel know by her word certaine.

What is her worde sister, I pray you say,

(Plus ne pourroye) thus writeth she alway.

Thus as we stode togider she and I,

Euen at the yate my felawes were echone,

So met I hem (as me thought was goodly)

And badde hem welcome all by one & one,

Then came forth Countenaunce anone,

Full hertely, faire sisters all, qd. she,

Ye be right welcome into this countre.

I counsaile you to take a litel rest

In my chambre, if it be your pleasaunce,

When ye be there, me thinke it for the best,

That I go in, and cal Perseveraunce,

Bicause she is of your acquaintaunce,

And she also will tell you every thing,

How ye shal be ruled of your comming.

My felawes all and I, by one advise

Were wel agreed, to do like as she said,

Then we began to dresse us in our gise,

That folke should say we were nat unpurueid,

And good wagers among us there we laid,

Which of us was atired most goodlest,

And of us all which should be praised best,

The porter came & brought Perseverance,

She welcomed us in curteise manere,

Think ye not long, qd. she, of your attendance,

I will go speke unto the Herbigere,

That she purvey for your lodging here,

Then will I go unto the Chamberlain,

To speke for you, and come anone again.

And when she departed was and gone,

We saw folks comming without the wall,

So great people yt nombre coude we none,

Ladies they were, and gentelwomen all,

Clothed in blewe echone her worde withal,

But for to know her word or her devise,

They came so thick, yt I ne might in no wise.

With that anone came in Perseverance,

And where I stode, she came streight to me,

Ye ben, qd. she, of mine old acquaintance,

You to enquere the bolder would I bee,

What word they bere eche after her degree,

I you pray tell it me in secrete wise,

And I shall keepe it close on warrantise.

We ben five Ladies, qd. I, all in fere,

And gentlewomen foure in company,

When they begin to open her mattere,

Then shall ye know her wordes by and by,

But as for me I have none verely,

And so I tolde Countenaunce here before,

All mine array is blewe, what needeth more.

Now then, qd. she, I woll go againe,

That ye may have knowledge wt ye shuld do,

In soth, qd. I, if ye wold take the paine,

Ye did right moch for us, if ye do so

The rather speed, the soner may we go,

Great coste alway there is in tarying,

And long to sewe it is a wery thing.

Then parted she, & came again anone,

Ye must, qd. she, come to y• chamberlaine,

We be now redy, qd. I, everychone,

To folow you, whan euer ye list certaine,

We have none eloquence to tell you plaine,

Beseeching you we may be so excused,

Our trewe meaning, that it be not refused.

Then went we forth after Perseverance,

To see the prees it was a wonder cace,

There for to passe it was great combrance,

The people stode so thick in every place.

Now stand ye still, qd. she, a littel space,

And for your ease somewhat I shall assay,

If I can make you any better way.

And forth she goeth, among hem everychone

Making a way, yt we might thorough passe

More at our ease, and when she had so done,

She beckend us to come, where as she was,

So after her we folowed more and las,

She brought us streight unto ye chamberlain,

There left she us, and then she went again.

[Page]

We salued her as reason would it so,

Full humble beseching her great goodnesse,

In our matters that we had for to do,

That she would be good lady and maistresse.

Ye be welcome (qd. she) in sothfastnesse,

And see what I can do, you for to please,

I am redy, that may be to your ease.

We folowed her vnto the chamber dore,

Sisters (qd. she) come ye in after mee.

But wete ye well, there was a paued flore,

The goodliest, that any wight might see,

And furthermore about then loked wee,

On eche corner, and vpon euery wall,

Which was made of Burel and Cristall.

Wherein was grauen of stories many one,

First how Phillis, of womanly pite,

Died piteously for loue of Demophone,

Next after was the story of Tisbe,

How she slewe her self under a tree,

Yet saw I more, how in a right pitous caas,

For Antony was slaine Cleopatras.

That other side was Hawes the shene,

Full untrewly disceiued in her baine.

There was also Annelida the queene,

Vpon Arcite how sore she did complaine,

All these stories were graued there certaine,

And many mo than I reherse you here,

It were too long to tell you all in fere.

And bicause the walles shone so bright,

With fine umple they were al ouer sprad,

To the entent folke shuld not hurt her sight,

And through it the stories might be rad,

Then further more I went, as I was lad,

And there I sawe without any faile,

A chaire set, with full rich apparaile.

And fiue stages, it was set fro the ground,

Of Cassidony full curiously wrought,

With foure pomelles of gold, & very round,

Set with saphirs, as good as coude be thought

That wot ye what, if it were through sought,

As I suppose, fro this country to Inde,

Another soch it were right hard to finde.

For wete ye well, I was right nere that,

So as I durst, beholding by and by,

Aboue there was a rich cloth of estate,

Wrought with the needle ful straungely,

Her worde theron, and thus it said truely,

I endure to tell you in words few,

With great letters, the better I hem knew.

Thus as we stode, a dore opened anone,

A gentilwoman, semely of stature,

Bering a mace, came out her selfe alone,

Sothly me thought a goodly creature,

She speake nothing to lowde, I you ensure,

Nor hastely, but with goodly warning,

Make rome (qd. she) my lady is comming.

With that anone I saw Perseveraunce,

How she helde vp the tapet in her hand,

I saw also right in goodly ordinaunce,

This great Lady within the tapet stand,

Comming outward, I wol ye vnderstand,

And after her a noble company,

I coude not tell the nombre sikerly.

Of their names I wolde nothing enquere,

Further than soch as we wolde sewe vnto,

Save a Lady which was the chauncellere,

Attemperaunce sothly her name was so,

For vs nedeth with her have moche to do

In our matters, and alway more and more,

And so forth to tell you furthermore,

Of this Lady her beauty to discrive,

My conning is to simple verely,

For never yet the daies of my live

So inly faire I have seene none truly,

In her estate assured vtterly,

There wanted nought, I dare well assure,

That longed to a goodly creature.

And furthermore, to speake of her array,

I shall tell you the manner of her gowne,

Of cloth of gold, full rich it is no nay,

The colour blew, of right goodly fashioun,

In taberde wise, the sleves hanging adoun,

And what purfill▪ there was, & in what wise,

So as I can, I shall it you devise.

After a sort, the coller and the vent

Like as Armine is made in purfeling,

With great pearles full fine and orient,

They were couched all after one worching,

With diamonds in steed of powdering,

The sleeves and purfell of assise,

They were made like in every wise.

About her necke a sort of faire rubies

In white floures of right fine enamaile,

Vpon her head set in the fairest wise

A cercle of great balais of entaile,

That in earnest to speake without faile,

For young and old, and every manner age,

It was a world to looken on her visage.

Thus comming forth to sit in her estate,

In her presence we kneeled down everychone,

Presenting our billes, and ye wote what,

Full humbly she tooke hem by one and one,

When we had done, then came they all anone,

And did the same each after her manere,

Kneeling at ones, and rising all in fere.

And when this was don, & she set in her place,

The chamberlaine she did vnto her call,

And she goodly comming vnto her apace,

Of her entent knowing nothing at all,

Void backe the prease (qd. she) vp to the wall,

Make large roome, but looke ye do not tary,

And take these billes to the secretary.

The chamberlaine did her commaundment,

And came againe, as she was bid to do,

[Page] The secretary there being present,

The billes were delivered her also,

Not only ours, but many other mo,

Then the Lady with good advise againe,

Anone withall called her chamberlaine.

We woll (qd. she) the first thing that ye do,

The secretary ye do make come anone

With her billes, and thus we will also,

In our presence she rede hem everychone,

That we may take good advise theron

Of the Ladies that ben of onr counsaile,

Looke this be done withouten any faile.

When the chamberlain wist of her entent,

Anone she did the secretary call,

Let your billes (qd. she) be here present,

My Lady it will: Madame (qd. she) I shall,

And in presence she will ye hem call,

With good will I am ready (qd. she)

At her pleasure, when she commandeth me.

And vpon that was made an ordinaunce,

They that came first, her billes should be red,

Full gentilly then said Perseveraunce,

Reason it will they were soonest sped,

Anone withall, vpon a tapet spred

The secretary laid hem downe echone,

Our billes first she redde one by one.

The first Lady bearing in her devise,

Sans que jamays, thus wrote she on her bill,

Complaining sore, and in full pitous wise

Of promise made, with faithful hert and will,

And so broken ayenst all manner skill

Without desert, alwaies on her party

In this matter desiring a remedy.

Her next folowing, her word was in this wise

Un sans changer, and thus she did complaine,

Though she had guerdoned for her service,

Yet nothing like as she that tooke the paine,

Wherfore she coud in no wise her restraine,

But in this case sue vntill her presence,

As reason would, to have recompence.

So furthermore, to speake of other twaine,

One of hem wrote after her fantasie,

Onques puis leuer, and for to tell you plaine,

Her complaint was full pitous verely,

For as she said: there was great reason why,

As I can remember this matere,

I shall you tell the processe all in fere.

Her bill was made complaining in her gise,

That of her joy her comfort and gladnesse

Was no surety, for in no manner wise

She said therein no point of stablenesse,

Now ill, now wele, out of all sikernesse,

Full humbly desiring of her high grace,

Soone to shew her remedy in this case.

Her fellaw made her bill, and thus she said,

In plaining wise there as she loved best,

Whether she were wroth or wele apaid,

She might not see when she woll fainest,

And wroth she was in very earnest

To tell her word, as ferforth as I wote,

Entierement vostre, right thus she wrote,

And vpon that she made a great request,

With hert and will, & all that might be done,

As vntill her that might redresse it best,

For in her mind there might she find it soone

The remedy of that which was her boone,

Rehearsing that she had said before,

Beseeching her it might be so no more.

And in like wise as they had done before,

The gentlewomen of our company

Put her billes, and for to tell you more,

One of hem wrote (C'est sans dire) verely,

And her matere hole to specifie,

Within her bill she put it in writing,

And what it said, ye shall have knowing.

It said God wote, and that full pitously,

Like as she was disposed in her hert,

No misfortune that she tooke grevously,

All one to her was the joy and smert,

Sometime no thanke for all her good desert,

Other comfort she wanted none comming,

And so vsed, it greeued her nothing.

Desiring her, and lowly beseeching

That she would for seke a better way,

As she that had ben her daies living

Stedfast and trewe, and will be alway.

Of her felaw somewhat I shall you say,

Whose bill was red next forth withall,

And what it meant rehearsen you I shall.

En Dieu est, she wrote in her devise,

And thus she said withouten faile,

Her trouth might be take in no wise,

Like as she thouȝt, wherfore she had mervaile,

For trouth somtime was wont to take availe

In every matere, but all that is ago,

The more pity that it is suffred so.

Much more there was, wherof she shuld complain,

But she thoght it too great encombraunce,

So much to write, and therfore in certain,

In God and her she put all her affiaunce,

As in her word is made a remembraunce,

Beseeching her, that she would in this cace

Shew vnto her the favour of her grace.

The third she wrote, rehersing her grevaunce,

Ye, wote ye what, a pitous thing to here,

For as me thoght she felt great displesaunce,

One might right wel perceive it by her chere,

And no wonder, it sate her passing nere,

Yet loth she was to put it in writing,

But need woll have course in every thing.

Soyes ensure, this was her word certaine,

And thus she wrote in a little space,

There she loved, her labour was in vaine,

For he was set all in another place,

Full humbly desiring in that cace

Some good comfort her sorrow to appease,

That she might live more at hearts ease.

[Page]

The fourth surely me thought she liked wele,

As in her port, and in her behaving,

And bien moneste, as ferre as I coud fele,

That was her word till her well belonging,

Wherefore to her she prayed above all thing,

Full heartely to say you in substaunce,

That she would send her good continuaunce.

Ye have rehearsed me these billes all,

But now let see somwhat of your entent,

It may so hap, paraventure ye shall,

Now I pray you while I am here present,

Ye shall have knowledge parde what I ment,

But this I say in trouth, and make no fable,

The case it selfe is inly lamentable.

And well I wote ye woll think the same,

Like as I say, when ye have heard my bill,

Now good tel on, I here you by saint Iame,

Abide a while, it is not yet my will,

Yet must ye wete by reason and by skill,

Sith ye haue knowledg of yt was don before,

And thus it is said without words more.

Nothing so lefe as death to come to me,

For finall end of my sorrowes and paine,

What should I more desire as seeme ye,

And ye knew all aforne it for certaine,

I wote ye would, and for to tell you plaine

Without her help, that hath all thing in cure,

I cannat thinke that it may long endure.

As for my trouth, it hath be proued wele,

To say the sooth, I can say no more,

Of full long time, and suffered euerydele

In patience, and keepe it all in store

Of her goodnesse, beseeching her therefore,

That I might haue my thanke in such wise,

As my desert serueth of justise.

When these billes were rad euerychone,

The ladies tooke a good aduisement,

And hem to answere by one and one,

She thought it was too much, in her entent,

Wherefore she yaue hem commaundement,

In her presence to come both one and all,

To yeue hem her answere in generall.

What did she then, suppose ye verely?

She spake her self, and said in this manere:

We haue well seene your billes by and by,

And some of hem pitous for to here,

We woll therefore ye know all this in fere,

Within short time, our court of parliment

Here shall be hold in our pallais present.

And in all this, wherein you find you greued,

There shall ye find an open remedy,

In such wise as ye shall be releeued

Of all that ye rehearse here, throughly:

As for the date ye shall know verely,

That ye may haue a space in your comming,

For Diligence shall it tell you by writing.

We thanked her in our most humble wise,

Our felawship ech one by one assent

Submitting vs lowly till her seruise,

For as we thought, we had our trauail spent

In such wise as we held vs content,

Then each of vs tooke other by the sleue,

And forthwithall, as we should take our leue,

All suddainly the water sprang anone

In my visage, and therewithall I woke,

Where am I now, thought I, all this is gone,

All mased, and vp I gan to loke,

With that anon I went and made this boke,

Thus simply rehearsing the substance,

Because it shuld not be out of remembrance.

Now verely your dream is passing good,

And worthy to be had in remembraunce,

For though I stand here as long as I stood,

It should to me be none encombraunce,

I tooke therein so inly great pleasaunce.

But tell me now wt ye the book do call,

For I must wete: With right good will ye shall.

As for this booke, to say you very right,

Of the name to tell you in certainte,

L'assemble de dames, thus it hight,

How thinke ye, that name is good parde,

Now go farewell, for they call after me

My felawes all, and I must after sone,

Rede well my dreme, for now my tale is done.

The Conclusions of the Astrolabie.
This Book (written to his Son in the year of our Lord 1391, and in the 14th of King Richard 2.) standeth so good at this day, especially for the Horizon of Oxford, as in the opinion of the Learned, it cannot be amended.

§

LIttle Lowis my sonne, I perceiue well by certaine euidences, thine abilitie to learne sciences, touching numbers and proportions, and also well consider I thy busie prayer in especiall to learne the Treatise of the Astrolabie. Then for as much as a Philosopher saith, hee wrapeth him in his friend, that condiscendeth to the rightfull prayers of his friend: Therefore I haue giuen thee a sufficient Astrolabie for our orizont, compouned after the latitude of Oxenford: Vpon the which, by mediation of this little Treatise, I purpose to teach thee a certaine number of conclusions pertayning to this same instrument. I say a certaine of conclusions, for three causes, the first cause is this: Trust well, that all the conclusions that haue be founden, or els possibly might be found in so noble an instrument as is the Astrolabie, ben vnknowen perfitly to any mortall man in this region, as I suppose. Another cause is this, that [Page] soothly in any carts of the Astrolabie that I haue yseene, there ben some conclusions, that woll not in all thyngs perfourme her behests: and some of hem beene too hard to thy tender age of ten yeare to conceiue. This Treatise deuided in fiue parts, will I shewe the woonder light rules and naked words in English, for Latine ne canst thou nat yet but smale, my little sonne. But neuerthelesse, suffiseth to thee these true conclusions in English, as well as suffiseth to this noble clerkes, Greekes, these same conclusions in Greeke, and to the Arabines in Arabike, and to Iewes in Hebrewe, and to the Latin folk in Latine: which Latin folke had hem first out of other diuers languages, and writ hem in her owne tongue, that is to saine, in Latine.

And God wote that in all these languages, and in many mo, haue these conclusions been sufficiently learned and taught, and yet by diuers rules, * Right as diuers pathes leaden diuers folke the right way to Rome.

Now woll I pray meekely euery person discreet, that redeth or heareth this little Treatise, to haue my rude ententing excused, and my superfluitie of words, for two causes: The first cause is, for that curious enditing, and hard sentences, is full heauy at ones for such a child to learne: And the second cause is this, that sothly, me semeth better to writen vnto a child twice a good sentence, than he foryete it once. And Lowis, if it so be that I shew thee in my lith English, as true conclusions touching this matter, and not only as true, but as many and subtill conclusions, as ben yshewed in Latine, in any common Treatise of the Astrolabie, conne mee the more thanke, and pray God saue the king, that is lord of this language, and all that him faith beareth, and obeyeth, eueriche in his degree, the more and the lasse. But considereth well, that I ne vsurpe not to haue founden this werke of my labour or of mine engine: I nam but a leaud compilatour of the labour of olde Astrologiens, and haue it translated in mine English, only for thy doctrine: and with this swerde shall I sleen enuie.

§

The first Party.

THe first party of this Treatise shall rehearse the figures, and the members of thine Astrolabie, because that thou shalt haue the greater knowing of thine owne instrument.

The second Party.

THe second party shall teach thee to werken the very practike of the foresaid conclusions, as ferre forth, and also narrow, as may bee shewed in so small an instrument portatife about. For well wote euery Astrologien, that smallest fractions ne woll not bee shewed in so small an instrument, as in subtill tables, calculed for a cause.

The third Party.

THe third party shall contayne diuers tables of longitudes and latitudes of sterres, fixe in the Astrolabie. And tables of the declinations of the Sun, and tables of the longitude of citties and townes: and tables, as well for the gouernation of the clocke, as for to finde the altitude meridian, and many another notable conclusion, after the kalenders of the reuerent clerks, Frere Iohn Som, and Frere N. Lenne.

The fourth Party.

THe fourth party shall be a theorike, to declare the meaning of the celestiall bodies, with the causes, the which the fourth party in speciall shall shew in a table of the very meuing of the moone, from one to one, euery day and euery signe, after thine almanacke. Vpon the which table, there followeth a canon, sufficient to teach, as well in manner of working in the same conclusions, as to know in our Horizont, with which degree of Zodiake the moone ariseth in any latitude, and the arising in any plannet after his latitude fro the eclipticke line.

The fifth Party.

THe fift party shall been an introductorie, after the statutes of our doctors, on which, thou mayest learne a great part of the generall rules of theorike in Astrologie. In which fift party, thou shalt find tables of equacions of houses, after the latitude of Oxenford, and tables of dignities of plannets, and other notefull things, if God vouchsafe, and his mother the maiden, mo than I behete.

§

The Ring.

THy Astrolabie hath a ringe to putten on thy thombe, on thy right honde, in taking of the height of thynges. And take keepe, from hence forward I woll clepe the height of heauie thing that is take by the rule, the altitude, withouten mo words.

The Turet.

THis ring ronneth in a manner of a turet, fastened to the moder of thine Astrolabie, in a roume or space, that it distroubeleth not the instrument to hangen after his right centure. The moder of thine Astrolabie, is thickest by the brinkes, that is, the vtmost ring with degrees: and all the middle within the ring, shall bee thinner, to receiue the plates for diuers clymates, and also for the rethe, that is shape in manner of a net, or els after the webbe of a loppe.

The Moder.

THe moder of thine Astrolabie, is the thickest plate, pierced with a large hole, that receiueth in her wombe the thinne plates, compowned of diuers clymates, and thy rethe shapen in manner of a net, or of a webbe of a loppe.

[Page]

Of the four Lines.

THis moder is deuided on the backe halfe with a line, that commeth discending fro the ring downe to the netherest bordure, the which line, fro the foresaid ring vnto the centre of the large hole amidde, is cleaped the South line, or els the line Meridionall: and the remenaunt of this line, downe to the bordure, is cleaped the North line, or all the line of the Midnight.

Of four Lines, East, West, North, and South.

OVerthwart this foresaid long line, there crosseth him another line of the same length, fro East to West, of the which line, from a little crosse in the bordure, vnto the centure of the large hole, is cleaped the East line, or els the line Orientall: and the remenaunt of the line, fro the foresaid Orientall vnto the bordure, is ycleaped the West line, or the line Occidentall.

Now hast thou here the foure quarters of thine Astrolabie, deuided after the foure principall plages or quarters of the firmament.

Which is the right side, and which is the left.

THe East side of the Astrolabie is cleaped the right side, and the West side is cleaped the lefte side. Foryet not this little Lowis. Put the ringe of thine Astrolabie vpon the thombe of thy right hand, and then woll his right side be toward thy left side, and his left side woll be toward thy right side. Take this rule generall, as well on the backe, as on the wombe side. Vpon the ende of this East line (as I first said) is ymarked a little crosse, where as euermore generally is considered the entering of the East degree, in the which the Sunne ariseth.

The degrees fro the East line to the South.

FRo the little crosse, vp to the end of the Meridionall line, vnder the ring shalt thou finde the bordure, deuided with xc. degrees, and by that same proportion is euery quarter of thine Astrolabie deuided, ouer the which degrees, there beene numbers of Augrime, that deuiden thilke same degrees fro fiue to fiue, as sheweth by long strikes betweene, of the which, by long strikes, the space betweene conteineth a mile way, and euery degree of thilke bordure conteineth foure minutes, that is to say, foure minutes of an houre.

Of the twelve Signs, Aries, Taurus, Gemini, Cancer, and the others.

UNder the compasse of thilke degrees been written the names of the twelue signes, as Aries, Taurus, Gemini, Cancer, Leo, Virgo, Libra, Scorpio, Sagittarius, Capricornus, Aquarius, and Pisces. And the nombers of the degrees of the signes been written in Augrime aboue, and with long diuisions, from fiue to fiue, deuideth from the time that the signe entereth vnto the last end. But vnderstand well, that these degrees of signes been eueriche of hem considered of fortie minutes, and euery minute of fortie seconds, and so foorth into small fractions infinite, as saith Alcabucius. And therefore know well, that a degree of the bordure containeth foure minutes, and a degree of a signe containeth fortie minutes, and haue this in mind.

The Cercle of the Days.

NExt this followeth the cercle of the daies, that been figured in manner of the degrees, that conteinen in number three hundred threescore and fiue, deuided also with long strikes, from fiue to fiue, and the numbers of Augrime written vnder the cercle.

The Cercle of the twelve Months.

NExt the cercle of dayes, followeth the cercle of the twelue names of the months, that is to say, Ianuarius, Februarius, Marcius, Aprill, Maius, Iunius, Iulius, August, September, October, Nouember, December.

The names of these Months taken her names, some for properties, and some by statutes of Emperors, and some by other Lords of Rome. Eke of these Months, as liked to Iulius Cesar, and Cesar Augustus, some were ycompouned of diuers nombers of days, as Iulie and August. Then hath Ianuarius xxxi. days, Februarius xxviii. Marcius xxxi. Aprill xxx. Maius xxxi. Iunius xxx. Iulius xxxi. August xxxi. September xxx. October xxxi. Nouember xxx. December xxxi. Nathelesse, although that Iulius Cesar took two dayes out of Feuerere, and put hem in his Month of Iuly, and Augustus Cesar cleped the Month of August after his name, and ordained it of xxxi. days: yet trust well, that the Sunne dwelleth therefore neuer the more, ne the lasse, in one signe than in another.

The Names of the holy days.

THen followeth the names of the holye dayes in the Kalender, and next hem the letters, A. B. C. on which they fallen.

The Scale of the Astrolabie.

NExt the foresaid cercle of the A. B. C. vnder the crosse line is marked the scale, in manner of two squires, or els in manner of ledders, that serueth by his xxii. points, and his diuisions of full many a subtell conclusion of this foresaid scale: For the crosse line vnto the very angle, is cleaped Umbra recta, or els Umbra extensa, and the nether party Umbra versa.

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The Rule.

THen hast thou a broad rule, that hath on euery ende a square plate, parted with certaine holes, some more, and some lesse, to receiuen the stremes of the Sunne by day, and eke by mediation of thine eye, to know the altitude of the sterres by night.

The Pin, which is imagined to be Pole artike, and the Horse.

THen is there a large pin, in manner of an exiltre, that goeth through the hole that halt the tables of the climathes in the reeth, in the wombe of the moder, thorow which pin there goeth a little wedge, the which is cleped the Horse, that straineth all these parts together. This foresaid great pin, in manner of an exiltre, is imagined to be the Pole artike in thine Astrolabie.

For lines on the Womb side.

THe wombe side of thine Astrolabie is also diuided with a long crosse in foure quarters, from the Cast to West, and from the South to North, from right side to left side, as is the backside.

The degrees of the Womb side.

THe border of which wombe side is deuided fro the point of the East line vnto the point of the South line, vnder the ring, in 90 degrees, and by the same proportion is euery quarter diuided, as is the backeside, that amounteth to 360 degrees. And vnderstand well, that the degrees of this border, been aunswering and consenting to the degrees of Equinoctiall, that is deuided in the same number, as euery other cercle is in the high heauen.

This border is deuided also with 23 letters, and a small crosse aboue the South line, that sheweth the 24 houres equals of the clocke. And I haue said, fiue of these degrees maken a mile way, and three mile way maken an houre, and euery degree of this border containeth 4 minutes, and euery minute 40 seconds. Now haue I told thee twice, and for the more declaration.

Of the principal Cercles.

THe plate vnder the reete, is discriued with three Cercles, of which, the least is cleaped the Cercle of Cancer, because that the head of Cancer tourneth euermore concentrike vpon the same Cercle. In this half of Cancer is the greatest declination Northward of the Sunne, and therefore is he ycleped Solsticium of Summer, which declination, after the Ptholome, is 23 degrees, and 50 minutes, as well in Cancer, as in Capricorne. This signe of Cancer is cleped the Tropick of Summer, of Tropos, that is to saine, ayenward. The middle cercle in widenesse of this three, is cleaped the cercle Equinoctiall, vpon which tourneth euermore the heads of Aries and Libra. And vnderstande well, that euermore this cercle Equinoctiall tourneth justly fro very East to very West, as I haue shewed in the sphere solid. This same cercle is cleaped also the wayer of the day: For when the Sunne is in the head of Aries and Libra, then been days and nights like of length in all the world, and therefore been these two signes called Equinoctis. And all that mooueth within these heads of Aries and Libra, is ycalled Northward: and all that mooueth without these heads, his meuing is cleped Southward: as for the Equinoctiall, take kepe of the latitudes, North and South, and forget it not: by this cercle Equinoctiall, been considered the 24 hours of the clock. For euermore, the arising of 15 degrees of the Equinoctiall, maketh an hour equall of the clock. This Equinoctiall is cleped the mid way of the first meuing, or els of the Sunne. And note, that the first meuing is cleped meuing of the first mouable of the eighth Sphere, which meuing is fro East to West, and again into East. Also it is cleped girdle of the first meuing; For it departeth the first meuable, that is to sain, the sphere in two like parties, euen distant fro the Poles of this world. The widest of these three cercles principall, is cleped the cercle of Capricorn, and tourneth euermore concentrike vpon the same cercle. In the head of this foresaid Capricorn is the greatest declination Southward of the Sun: and therefore it is cleped Solsticium of Winter. This signe of Capricorn is also cleped the Tropick of Winter. For then beginneth the Sun to come again to vs ward.

Of the Almicanteras, the signet, and what is thine Orizont.

UPon this foresaid plate been compassed certain cercles, that highten almicanteras: of which some of hem seemen parfit cercles, and some seemen imparfit. The centure that standeth amidst the narrowest cercle, is cleped the signet. And the netherest cercle, that deuideth the two emisperies, that is the party of the heuen aboue the earth, and the party beneath. These almicanteras been compouned by two and two, all be it so, that on diuers Astrolabies, some almicanteras been deuided by one, and some by two, and some by three, after the quantity of the Astrolabie. This foresaid signet is imagined to be the very point ouer the croune of thy head, and also this signet is the very pole of the orizont in euery region.

What been thine Azimutes.

FRom this signet (as it seemeth) there commen crooked strikes, like to the clawes of a loppe, or els like to the werke of a womans calle, in keruing ouerthwart the almicanteras, and these same strikes or diuisions been cleped Azimutes, and they [Page] deuiden the Orizonts on thine Astrolaby in 24 diuisions. And these Azimutes serue to know the costes of the firmament, and to other conclusions, as for to know the signet of the Sunne, and of euery Sterre.

Of the Twelve Hours of the Planets.

NExt these Azimutes, vnder the cercle of Cancer, been the twelve divisions embolite, much like to the shape of the Azimutes, that shewen the spaces of the hours of Planets.

Thy Reete, or else thy Zodiake.

THy Reete of thine Astrolabye, which is thy Zodiake, shapen in manner of a nette, or of a lop webbe, after the old description, which thou mayest tourne up and doune as thy self liketh, containeth certaine number of Sterres fire, with her longitudes and latitudes determinate, if so be that the maker have not erred. The names of the Sterres ben written in the margine of thy Reete, there they sit, of the whych Sterres, the small point is cleaped the Centure. And vnderstande, that all the Sterres sitting within the Zodiake of thine Astrolaby, ben cleped Sterres of the North, for they arisen by the North-east line, and all the remenaunt fixed out of the Zodiake, ben ycleped Sterres of the South, but I say not that they arisen all by the South-east line, witnesse of Aldeberan, and also Algomisa.

Generally vnderstond this rule, that thilke sterres that ben cleaped sterres of the North, arisen rather than the degree of her longitude, and all the sterres of the South arisen after the degree of her longitude, that is to sayne, sterres in thine Astrolaby.

The measure of longitude of sterres, ytaken in the line ecliptick of heaven, vnder the which line, when the Sunne and the Moone been line right, els in the superficie of this line, then is the eclipse of the Sunne or of the Moone, as I shall declare, and eke the cause why: but soothly, the ecliptick line of the Zodiake, is the vtterest bordure of the Zodiake, there thy degrees ben marked. The Zodiake of thy Astrolabye is shapen as a Compasse, which that contayneth a large brede, as after the quantity of thy Astrolaby, in ensample, that the Zodiake of heauen is imagined to be a superficies, containing the latitude of twelue signes, whereas all the remenaunt of the cercles in heauen ben imagined very lines, without any latitude, amiddes the celestial Zodiake is imagined a line, whyche that is cleped the Eclipticke line, vnder the whych line is euermore the way of the Sunne. Thus ben there six degrees of the Zodiake on that one side of the line, and sixe degrees on that other. The Zodiake is deuided in twelve principal diuisions, that departen the twelue signes, and for the straitnesse of thine Astrolabye, then is every small division in a signe yparted by two degrees and two, I mean degrees containing sixty Minutes, and this foresayd heauenish Zodiake is cleaped the circle of the Signes, or the circle of beastes. For Zodiake in language of Greke, souneth beasts in Latine tongue, and in the Zodiake been the twelue Signes, that haue names of beasts, because when the Sunne entreth in any of the Signes, he taketh the property of such beasts, or else for that the sterres that been there, ben fixed, been disposed in signe of beasts, or shape like beasts, or else when Planets ben under the Signes, they transmue vs by her influence, operations and effects, like to operations of beasts. And understand also, that when any hote Planet cometh into an hote Signe, then entereth his heat, and if a Planet be cold, then amenuseth his coldnesse, because of the hote Signe. And by this conclusion mayest thou taken ensample in all Signes, be they moist or dry, moueable or fixe, reckening the quality of the Planets, as I first said. And euerich of these twelue Signes hath respect to a certain parcel of the Body of a man, and hath it in gouernaunce: as Aries hath thine head, and Taurus thy neck and thy throte, Gemini thine arm holes and thine arms, and so forth, as shall be shewed more plainly in the fift party of this Treatise. The Zodiake, the which is party of the eight Sphere, ouerkerueth the equinoctiall, and he ouerkerueth him again in euen parts, and that one half declineth Southward, and that other Northward, as plainely declareth the Treatise of the Sphere.

The Labell.

THen hast thou a Labell, that is shapen like a Rule, saue that it is strait, and hath no plates on either end, but with the small point of the foresaid labell shalt thou calcule the equacions in the bordure of thine Astrolaby, as by thine almury.

The Almury, the denticle of Capricorne, or else the calculere.

THine Almury is cleped the denticle of Capricorne, or else the calculere, this same almury set fixe in the head of Capricorne, and it serueth of many a necessary conclusion in equacion of things, as shall be shewed.

§

Here beginneth the Conclusions of thine Astrolaby, to find the degree in the which the Sun is day by day, after his course about.

REcken and know which is the day of the Moneth, and lay thy rule upon the same day, and then woll the very point of thy rule verely sitten on the bordure, upon the degree of the Sunne. Ensample as thus. In the yere of our Lord 1391, the twelfth day of March at midday, I would know the degree of the Sunne, I sought in [Page] the backe halfe of mine Astrolaby, and found the circle of the dayes, the whych I knew by the names of the Months, written vnder the same Circle: Tho laid I my Rule over the foresaid day, and found the point of my Rule in the border, vpon the first degree of Aries, a litle within the degree: and thus knew I this conclusion.

Another day I would knowe the degree of my Sunne, and this was at Midday in the xiii. day of December, I founde the day of the moneth in manner as I said: tho laid I my Rule vpon the foresaid xiii. day, and founde the poynt of my Rule vpon the first degree of Capricorne, a little within the degree, and then had I of this conclusion the very experience.

To know the altitude of the Sun, either of celestiall bodies.

PVT the ring of thyne Astrolabye vpon thy right thombe, and tourne thy left side againe the light of the Sunne, and remeve thy Rule vp and downe, till the streame of the Sunne shine through both holes of the Rule: looke then howe many degrees this Rule is areised fro the litle crosse vpon the East line, and take there the altitude of thy sunne: and in this same wise mayst thou knowe by night the altitude of the Moone, or of the bright sterres. This Chapiter is so generall ever in one, that there needeth no more declaration, but forget it not.

To know the degree of the Sun, and of thy Zodiake, by the days in the backside of thine Astrolabie.

THen if thou wilt wete the reckening, to know which is the day in thy Kalender of the month that thou art in, lay thine Astrolabie, that is to say, the allidatha, vpon the day in the Kalender of thine Astrolabie, and he shall shew thee thy degree of ye Sunne.

To know every time of the day, by light of the Sun, and every time of the night by the Stars fixe, and eke to know by night or by day the degree of the Sign that ascendeth on the East Orizont, which is cleped commonly ascendent.

TAke the altitude of the Sunne when thee list, as I have sayd, and set the degree of the Sunne (in [...]case that it be before the middle of the day) amonge thyne almicanteras, on the Easte-side of thine Astrolabie: and if it be after the middle of the day, set the degree of the Sun vpon the West-side. Take this manner of setting for a generall rule ones for ever.

And when thou hast yset the degree of the Sun vpon as many almicanteras of height, as was the Sunne, taken by thy rule, lay over thy Labell vpon the degree of the Sunne, & then woll the point of the Labell sitten in the bordure, vpon the very tide of the day. Ensample of this.

The yeare of our Lorde, a thousand three hundred ninety and one, the twelfth daye of March, I would know the tide of the day, I tooke y• altitude of my Sunne, and found that it was 25 degrees, and 30 Minutes of height of the bordure in the backside, tho tourned I mine Astrolabye, and because it was before midday, I tourned my reete, & set the degree of the Sunne, yt is to say, the first degree of Aries in the right side of mine Astrolabie, vpon the 25 degree, and 30 minutes of heyght, among my almicanteras: Tho laid I my Labell vpon the degree of my Sunne, and found the point of my Labell in the bordure, on the capitall letter, yt is cleped an X. Tho reckened I all the capitall letters, fro ye line of Midnight, vnto the foresaid letter X. and found it was nine of the Clocke of the day. Tho looked I over my East Orizont, and found there the twelue degree of Geminius ascending, which that I tooke for mine ascendent, and in this wise had I the experience for evermore in whych manner I should knowe the tide of the day, and eke myne ascendent. Tho would I wete that same night following the houre of the night, and wrought in this wise: among an heape of Sterres, it lyked me to take the altitude of the fayre white Sterre that is cleped the Alhabor, & found her sitting on the West-side of ye line of Midday, eighteene degrees of height, taken by my Rule on the backside. Tho set I y• Centure of this Alhabor vpon eighteene degrees, among my almicanteras, vpon the West-side, because that hee was found vpon the West-side: tho laid I my Labell over the degree of the Sun, that was discended vnder the West Orizont, and reckened all the letters capitals, fro the line of Midday vnto ye point of my Labell in the bordure, and found yt it was after noon, passed seven of the clocke, the space of eleven degrees. Tho looked I downe vpon my East Orizont, and found there twenty degrees of Libra ascending, whom I tooke for myne ascendent, and thus learned ones for ever to know in which manner I should come to the houre of the night, and to mine ascendent, as verely as may be taken by so smale an instrument. But nathelesse, this rule in generall wil I warne thee for ever: ne make thou never none ascendent at noone of the day. Take a just ascendent of thine Astrolabie, and have set justly a cloke, when any celestiall body, by the which thou wenest governe thilke thynges, been nigh the South line, for trust well, when the Sunne is neare ye Meridionall line, the degree of the Sunne remayneth so long concentrike vpon thine almicanteras that soothly thou shalt erre fro the just ascendent. The same conclusion say I, by my centure of my Sterre fix by the night: and moreover, by experience I wote well, that fro our Orizont, fro enleven of the clocke, vnto one, in taking of [Page] the just ascendent, in a portatife Astrolabie, it is too hard to know, I mean from eleuen of the clocke before noon, till one of the clocke next following: and for the more declaration, loe here thy figure next after this rule that followeth.

To know the degree of the Sun in thy Zodiake, by the days, in the backside of thine Astrolabie.

THen thou wolt weten, to recken & know which is the day of the month yt thou art in, and lay ye rule of thy Astrolabie, that is to say, the allidatha, vpon the day, in the Kalender of thine Astrolabie, and hee shall shewe thee thy degree of the Sunne.

Speciall declaration of the Ascendent.

THe ascendent soothly is as well in all nativities, as in questions, and as in elections of times is a thing whyche yt these Astrologians greatly observen, wherfore me seemeth convenient, sens I speake of the ascendent, to make of it a speciall declaration. The ascendent soothly, to take it at the largest, is thilke degree that ascendeth at any of these foresaid times, on the East Orizon: and therfore, if that any Planet ascend at thilke same time in ye foresaid same, gree of his longitude, men say that thilke Planet is in Horoscopo, but soothly, the house of that ascendent, that is to say, the first house, or y• East angle, is a thing more broad and large, for after the statutes of Astrologiens, what celestial body, that is five degrees aboue thilke degree that ascendeth on the Orizont, or within that number, that is to saine, nere the degree that ascendeth, yet reckon they thilke Planet in the ascendent, and what Planet that is under thilke degree, that ascendeth the space of fifteen degrees, yet sain they, that Planet is like to him, that is the hour of the ascendent. But soothly, if he passe the bounds of the foresaid spaces, aboue or beneath, they sayne, y• thilke Planet is falling fro the Ascendent, yet sayne these Astrologiens, that the Ascendent, and eke the Lord of the Ascendent, may be shapen for to be fortunate, or infortunate, as thus: A fortunate Asecendent clepen they, when that no wicked Planet of Saturne or Mars, or els the taile of the Dragon, is in the house of the Ascendent, ne that no wicked Plannet have no aspect of enmity vpon the Ascendent: But they woll cast, yt they have fortunate Planet in her Ascendent, and yet in his felicity, and then say they that it is well. Furthermore, they sayne, that Fortune of an Ascendent, is the contrary of these foresaid thyngs. The Lord of the Ascendent, sayne they, yt he is fortunate, when he is in good place for the Ascendent, and eke the Lord of the Ascendent is in an angle, or in a succedent, where he is in his dignity, and comforted with friendly aspectes receyued, and eke that he may seene y• Ascendent not retrograde, ne combust, ne joyned with no shrewe in the same signe, ne that he be not in his discention, ne reigned with no Planet in his discentious, ne have vpon him none aspect infortunate, and then they sayne that he is well.

Nathelesse, these been observaunces of judiciall matter, and rites of Painims, in which my spirit hath no fayth, ne knowinge of her Horoscopum, for they sayne, that every signe is departed in three even parts, by 10 degrees, and the ilke portion they cleapen a face. And although a Plannet have a latitude fro the Ecliptike, yet sain some folke, so that y• Planet arise in that same signe, with any degree of the foresaid face, in which his longitude is reckened. And yet is the Planet in Horoscopo, be in nativities or in election

To know the very equacion of the degrees of the Sun, if it so be that it fall betwixt two almicanteras.

FOr as much as the almicanteras of thine Astrolaby ben compowned by two and two, whereas some almicanteras in some Astrolabies be compouned by one, or else by two, it is necessary to thy learning, to teach thee first to know, and wriche with thine instrument: wherefore, when that the degree of the Sunne falleth between two almicanteras, or else, if thine almicanteras ben grauen with ouer great a point of a Compace, for both these things may cause errour, as well in knowing of the tide of the day, as of the very ascendent. Thou must werken in this wise: set the degree of the Sunne vpon the higher almicanteras, as of both. And wait wel where thy almury toucheth the bordure, & set there a pricke of ynke, set adoune again the degree of the Sunne vpon the nether almicanteras, or both, and set there another pricke: remeve then thy almury in y• bordure, even amiddes both prickes, and this woll leaden justly the degree of the Sunne, to sit betweene both ye almicanteras in his right place. Lay then the labell on the degree of the Sunne & find in the bordure the very tide of the day, or of the night. And also verely shalt thou find vpon thy East orizont thine ascendent.

To know the spring of the dawning, and the end of the evening, the which been cleaped the two coepusculis.

SEt the nadyre of thy Sunne vpon 18 degrees of height among thine almicanteras on the West-side, and lay thy labell on the degree of the Sunne, and then shall the point of the labell shew the spring of the day: also set the nadire of the Sunne vpon the 18 degrees of height among thine almicanteras on the East-side, and lay over thy labell vpon the degree of the Sunne and with the poynt of thy labell find in ye bordure the end of thine evening, that is very night. The nadire of ye Sonne is thilke degree that is opposite to y• degree of the Sunne in the 320. sign, as thus. [Page] Euery degree of Aries, by order, is nadire to euery degree of Libra by order, & Taurus to Scorpion, Gemini to Sagitarius, Cancer to Capricorne, Leo to Aquary, Virgo to Pisces. And if any degree in thy Zodiake be derke, his nadire shall declare him.

To know the Arch of the Day, that some folk callen the Day artificial, fro the Sun rising, till it go down.

SEtte the degree of the Sunne upon thine East orizont, and lay thy labell on the degree of the Sunne, and at the point of thy labell in the bordure set a pricke; turn then thy reete about, till the degree of the Sun sit upon the West orizont, and lay the labell upon the same degree of the Sunne, and at the point of the labell set another pricke. Recken then the quantitie of time in the bordure betwixt both prickes, and take there thine arche of the day: the remenaunt of the bordure under the orizont, is the arch of the night. Thus maist thou reckon both arches of euery portion where that thou likest, and by this manner of werkyng mayest thou see howe long that any sterre fixe dwelleth aboue the earth, fro the time that he riseth, till he go to rest. But the day naturel, that is to sayne, 24 houres, is the reuolution of the Equinoctial, with as much partye of the Zodiake, as the Sunne of his proper mouing passeth in the mean while.

To turn the hours inequals, and the hours equals.

TO know the number of the degrees in the hours inequals, and depart hem by 15, and take there thine houres equals.

To know the quantity of the day vulgare, that is to say, fro spring of the day unto the very Night.

KNow thy quantitie of thyne coepusculis, as I haue it taught in the chapiter before, and adde hem to the arche of the day artificial, and take there thy space of all the hole day vulgare unto the very night. In the same manner mayest thou werke to know the vulgare night.

To know the Hours inequals by Day.

UNderstand well, that these houres inequals ben cleaped houres of the planets: and understond well, that sometime been they longer by day than they be by night, and sometime contrary. But understand thou wel, that euermore generally the hours inequale of the daye, with the hours inequale of the night, conteyneth 30 degrees of the bordure, the which bordure is euermore answering to the degrees of the equinoctial, wherefore depart the arche of the day artificial in 12, and take there the quantity of the houre inequale by day and if thou abate the quantitie of the houre inequale by day, out of 360 degrees, thou shall the remenant that leaueth, performe the houre inequale by night.

To know the quantity of hours equales.

THe quantities of houres equales, that is to sayne, the houres of the clock ben departed by 15 degrees already in the bordure of thy Astrolabie, as well by night as by day, generally for euermore. What nedeth any more declaration: wherefore when thee lyst to know how many houres of the clock been passed, or any part of any of these houres ben to commen, fro such a time to such a time, by day or by night, knowe the degree of thy Sunne, and lay thy label on it: then turne thy reete about joyntly with thy label, and with the point of it recken in the border, fro the Sunne arysing, into the same place there thou desirest by day as by night. This conclusion woll I declare in the fourth party of the last chapiter of this treatise, so openly, that there shall lack no worde that needeth declaration.

Special declaration of the Hours of the Planets.

UNderstand well, that euermore, fro the arising of the Sunne, till it go to rest, the nadire of the Sunne shall shew the hour of the plannet, and fro that time forward, all the nyght, till the Sunne arise, then shal the very degree of the Sunne shew the hour of the planet. Ensample as thus. The 13. day of March fell upon a saturday parauenture, and at the arising of the Sunne I found the second degree of Aries sitting upon mine East orizont, all be it was but little. Then found I the second degree of Libra nadire of my Sunne, discending on my West orizont, upon which West orizont, euery day generally at the Sunne arising, entereth the houre of any plannet, under the foresaid West orizont, after the which planet, the day beareth his name, and endeth in the next strike of the planet, under the foresaid West orizont: and euer as the Sunne clymbeth upper and upper, so goeth his nadire downer and downer, and eching fro suche strikes the houres of plannets by order, as they sitten in heauen. The first houre inequale of euery saturday, is Saturne, and the second to Iupiter, the third to Mars, the fourth to the Sunne, the fift to Venus, the sixt to Mercurius, the seuenth to the Moone, and then ayen the eyght to Saturn, the ninth to Iupiter, the tenth to Mars, the eleueuth to the Sunne, the twelfth to Venus. And now is my Sunne gone to rest, as for that saturday, then sheweth the very degree of the Sunne the houre of Mercury, entring under my west orizont at euen. And next him succeedeth the Moone, and so forth by order, planet after planet, in houre after houre all the night long, till the Sun arise. Now riseth the Sunne the sunday by the morow, and the nadyre of the Sunne upon [Page] the West orizont, sheweth me the entering of the hour of the foresaid Sun. And in this manner succeedeth planet vnder planet, fro Saturn vnto the Moon, and fro the Moon vp again to Saturn, hour after hour generally, and thus know I this conclusion.

To know with which degree of the Zodiack any Star fix in thine Astrolabie, ariseth upon the East Orizont, although the Orizont be in another Sign.

SEt the centure of the sterre vpon the East orizont, and look what degree of any sign that sitteth vpon the same orizont at the same time: and vnderstand well, that with the same degree ariseth the same sterre. And this maruailous arising with a strong degree in another signe, is because that the latitude of the sterre fixe is either North or South fro the Equinoctiall. But soothly, the latitudes of planets been commonly yreckened fro the ecliptike, because that none of hem declineth but few degrees out fro the brede of the Zodiake. And take good keepe of this chapter of arising of celestiall bodies, for there trusteth well, that neither moone neither sterre in our ambolife orizont, that ariseth with the same degree of his longitude, saue in one case, and that is when they haue no longitude fro the eclipticke line. But neuerthelesse, sometime is euerich of these planets vnder the same line.

To know the declination of any Degree in the Zodiack, fro the equinoctiall Circle.

SEt the degree of any signe vpon the line Meridionall, and recken his altitude in the almicanteras, fro the East orizont vp to the same degree set in the foresaid line, and set there a pricke: Turne vp then thy reere, and set the head of Aries or Libra in the same Meridionall line, and set there another prick. And when that this is done, consider the altitudes of hem both: for soothly, the difference of thilke altitude, is the declination of thilke degree fro the Equinoctiall. And if it so be, that thilke degree be Northward fro the Equinoctiall, then is his declination North, and if it be Southward, then it is South.

To know for what latitude in any Region the Almicanteras in my Tables been compouned.

REcken how many degrees of almicanteras in the Meridionall line, be from the cercle equinoctiall, vnto the signet, or els from the Pole artike vnto the North orizont, and for so great a latitude, or so small a latitude, is the table compouned.

To know the latitude of the Sun, in the midst of the day, that is cleped the altitude Meridian.

SEt the degree of thy Sun upon the line Meridionall, and recken how many degrees of almicanteras been betwixe thine East orizont and the degree of thy Sun, and take there thine altitude meridian, that is to sayne, the highest degree of the Sun, as for that day. So maist thou know in the same line the highest line that any star fire climbeth by night, this is to sayne, that when any star fire is passed the line meridionall, then beginneth it to discend, and so doth the Sun.

To know the degree of the Sun, by the Reet, for a manner coryosyte.

SEek busily with thy rule the highest of the Sun in the midst of the day, tourne then thine Astrolabie, and with a pricke of ynke mark the number of the same altitude in the line meridionall. Tourne then thy reet about, till thou finde a degree of thy Zodiake according with the pricke, this is to sayne, sitting on the pricke, and in sooth thou shalt find but two degrees in all the Zodiake, of that condition. And yet thilke two degrees been in diuers signs. Then maist thou lightly, by the season of the year, know the sign in which is the Sun.

To know which day is like to other in length throughout the year.

LOok which degrees been ylike from the heeds of Cancer and Capricorn, and look when the Sun is in any of thilke degrees, then been the days like of length, that is to saine, that as long is that day in that month, as was soch a day in soch a month, there varieth but littell. Also if thou take two days naturelles in the year, ylike far from either points of the Equinoctial, in the opposite parties, then as long is the day artificial on that one day as on that other, and eke the contrary.

§

This Chapter is a manner declaration to Conclusions that followeth.

UNderstand well, that thy Zodiake is departed into half cercles, from the head of Capricorn vnto the head of Cancer, and ayenward from the head of Cancer vnto the head of Capricorn. The head of Capricorn is the lowest point, where as the Sun goeth in Winter, and the head of Cancer is the highest point, in which the Sun goeth in Sommer. And therefore vnderstand well, that any two degrees that been ylike far from any of these two heads, trust well that thilk two degrees been like declination, be it Southward or Northward, and the days of hem been like of length, and the nights also, and shadows ylike, and the altitudes ylike at midday for euer.

To know the very degree of any manner Star strange after his latitude, though he be indeterminate in thy Astrolabie, soothly to the truth thus he shall be known.

TAke the altitude of thy Sterre, when he is on the East side of the line meridional, as nigh as thou maist gesse, and take the ascendent anone right by some manner [Page] sterre fix, which thou knowest, and forget not the altitude of the first sterre ne thine ascendent. And when that this is done, aspie diligently when this same first sterre passeth any thing to the South westward, and catch him anone right in the same nombre of the altitude on the West side of this line meridional, as he was caught on the East side, and take a new ascendent anone right by some manner fixe, the which that thou knowest, and forget not this second ascendent. And when this is done, recken then how many degrees been betwixt the first ascendent, and the second ascendent, and recken well the middle degree betwixt both ascendents, and set thilk middle degree vpon thine East orizont, and then look what degree sit vpon the line meridional, and take there the very degree of the Ecliptike, in which the sterre standeth for the time. For in the Ecliptike is the longitude of a celestiall body, reckened euen fro the half of the head of Aries, vnto the end of Pisces, and his latitude is reckened after the quantite of his declination North or South, toward the poles of this werke. As thus, if it be of the Sun or any fix sterre, recken his latitude or his declinacion fro the equinoctial cercle, and if it be of a planet, recken then the quantite of his latitude from the ecliptike line, all be it so that from the equinoctial, may the declinacion or the latitude of any body celestiall be reckened, after the sight North or South, and after the quantite of his declinacion. And yet so may the latitude or the declinacion of any body celestiall, saue onely of the Sun, after his sight North or South. And after the quantite of his declinacion be reckened from the ecliptike line, fro which line all Planets sometime decline, North or South, saue onely the foresaid Sun.

To know the degrees of Longitudes of fixe Stars, after that they been determinate in thine Astrolabie, if it so be that they been truely set.

SEt the center of the sterre vpon the line meridional, and take keepe of thy Zodiake, and looke what degree of any signe sitte vpon the same line meridional at the same time, and there the degree in which the sterre standeth, and with the same degree commeth the same sterre vnto the same line from the orizont.

To know in special the Latitude of our Center, I mean after the altitude of Oxenford, and the heighth of our Pole.

UNderstand well, that as farre is the head of Aries or Libra in the equinoctial, from our orizont, as is the synet from the pole artike, and as hye as the pole artike from the orizont, as the equinoctiall is farre from the synet: I preue it thus by the latitude of Oxenford; vnderstand well that the height of our pole artike from our North orizont is 51 degrees, and 50 minutes, then is the synet from the pole artike 38 degrees, and 10 minutes, then is the equinoctiall from our synet 51 degrees, and 50 minutes, then is our South orizont from our equinoctiall 38 degrees, and 10 minutes. Vnderstand well this reckening also, forget not that the synet is 90 degrees of height from the orizont, and our equinoctiall is 90 degrees from our pole artike. Also this short rule is sothe, that the latitude of any planet in a region, is the distaunce from the synet vnto the equinoctiall.

To prove the Latitude of any place in a Region, by the proof of the heighth of the Pole artike in that same place.

IN some winters night, when the firmament is cleere and thicke sterred, wait a time till that euery sterre fix sit line right perpendiculer ouer the pole artike, and clepe that sterre A. and wait another sterre that sit line right vnder A. and vnder the pole, and clepe that sterre F. and vnderstand well that F. is not considred but onely to declare that A. that sit euer on the pole. Take then anone right the altitude of A. from the orizont, and forget it not, let A. and F. go farewel till against the dawning a great while, and come then again, and abide till that A. is euen vnder the pole vnder F. for sothely then will F. sit ouer the pole, take then eftsones the altitude of A. from the orizont, and note as well the second altitude as the first altitude. And when that this is done, recken how many degrees that the first altitude A. exceeded his altitude, and take half the ilke porcion that is exceeded, and adde it to his second altitude, and take there the eleuacion of the pole, and eke the altitude of thy region. For these two been of one nombre, that is to saine, as many degrees as thy pole is eleuat, so moch is the latitude of thy region. Ensample as thus, Parauenture the altitude of A. in the euening is 92 degrees of height, then will the second altitude or the dawning be 21. that is to saine, lesse than 92. that was his first altitude at euen. Take then the half of 92. and adde to it 21. that was his second altitude, and then hast thou the height of the pole and the latitude of thy region. But vnderstand well to preue this conclusion, and many another fayre conclusion, thou maist haue a plomet hanging on a line higher than thy head on a perche, and that line mote hang euen perpendiculer betwixt the pole and thine eye, and then shalt thou see if A. sit euen ouer the pole and ouer F. at euen. And also if F. sit euen ouer the pole and ouer A. at day.

Another Conclusion to prove the heighth of the Pole artike from the Orizont.

TAke any sterre fixe that euer descendeth vnder the orizont in thilke region, and consider his highest altitude and his lowest altitude from the orizont, and make a nombre of these altitudes: take then and abate [Page] half that nombre, and take there the eleuacion of the pole artike in that same region, and for the more declaracion, &c.
0 82. 51. 0. 20.

Another Conclusion to prove the Latitude of a Region that ye been in.

UNderstand well that the latitude of any place in a region, is verely the space betwixe the signe of hem that dwellen there, and the equinoctiall cercle, North or South, taking the measure in the meridionall line, as sheweth in the almicanteras of thine Astrolabie, and thilke space is as moch as the pole artike is hye in the same place from the orizont. And then is the depression of the pole artentike beneath the orizont, the same quantite of space, neither more ne lesse. Then if thou desire to know this latitude of the region, take the altitude of the Sun in the middle of the day, when the Sun is in the head of Aries or of Libra, for then moveth the Sun in the line equinoctiall, and abate the nombre of that same Suns altitude out of 90 degrees, and then is the remnaunt of the nombre that leueth the altitude of the region, as thus: I suppose that the Sun is thilke day at noone 38 degrees of height, abate then 38 degrees out of 90. so leueth there 52. then is 52 degrees the latitude: I say not this but for ensample, for well I wote the latitude of Oxenford is certaine minutes lesse. Now if it so be that thee thinketh too long a tarying to abide till that the Sun be in the head of Aries or of Libra, then wait when the Sun is in any other degree of the Zodiake, and consider the degree of this declinacion be Northward from the equinoctiall, abate then from the Suns altitude at noone the nombre of his declinacion, and then hast thou the highest of the heads of Aries and Libra, as thus: My Sun parauenture is in the 10. degree of Leo almost 56 of height at noone, and his declinacion is almost 18 degrees Northward from the equinoctiall, abate then thilke 18 degrees of declinacion out of the altitude at noone, then leueth 38 degrees, lo there the head of Aries or Libra, and thine equinoctial in that region. Also if it so be that the suns declinacion be Southward from the equinoctiall, adde then thilke declinacion to the altitude of the Sun at noone, and take there the heads of Aries and Libra and thine equinoctiall, abate then the height of the equinoctiall out of 90 degrees, and then leueth there 38 degrees, that is the distaunce of the region from the equinoctiall of any sterre fixe that thou knowest, and take the nether elongacion lengthing from the same equinoctial line, and werke after the manner aforesaid.

Declaration of the ascension of Signs, as well in the Circle direct, as in oblique.

THe excellency of the sphere solid amongs other noble conclusions, sheweth manifest the diuers ascencions of signs in diuers places, as well in right cercles as in embolyfe cercle. These auctours writen that thilke signe is cleped of right ascencion, with which the more part of the cercle equinoctiall and the lesse part of the Zodiake ascendeth, and thilke signe ascendeth embolyfe, with which the lesse of the Zodiake equinoctiall, and the more part of the Zodiake ascendeth, and euer mo the arche of the day and the arche of the night is there ylike long, and the Sun twise euery yeere passing through the signet of her head, and two sommers and two winters in a yeere haue these foresaid people, and the almicanteras in her Astrolabie been streight as a line, so hath shewed in this figure. The vtilities to know the ascencions of signes in the right cercle is this: Trust well that by mediacions of thilke ascencions, these Astrologiens by her tables and her instruments knowen verely the ascencion of euery degree and minute in all the Zodiake, in the embolyfe cercle, as shall be shewed. And note that this foresaid right orizont that is cleped orizont rectum, deuideth the equinoctiall into right angles, and embolyfe orizont, whereas the Pole is enhanced vpon the orizont, ouercommeth the equinoctiall embolyfe angles.

This is the Conclusion to know the ascensions of Signs in the right Circle, that is, Circulus directus.

SEt the head of what signe thee list to know the ascending on the right cercle, vpon the line meridionall, and wait where thine almury toucheth the bordure, and set there a pricke, tourne then thy reet westward till the end of the foresaid signe set vpon the meridionall line, and eftsones wait where thine almury toucheth the bordure, and set there another pricke. Recken then the nombers of degrees in the bordure betwixe both prickes, and take then the ascencion of the signe in the right cercle, and thus maist thou werke with euery porcion of the Zodiake.

To know the ascensions of Signs in the embolyfe Circle in every Region, I mean, in circulo obliquo.

SEt the head of the signes, which as thee list to know his ascencion vpon the East orizont, and wait where thine almury toucheth the bordure, and set there a pricke, tourn then thy reet vpward till the end of the same signe, set vpon the East orizont, and wait eftsones where as thine almury toucheth the bordure, and set there another pricke, recken then the number of the degrees in the bordure betwixe both prickes, and take there the ascencion of the signe in the embolyfe cercle. And vnderstand well that all the signes in the Zodiake, from the head of Aries vnto the end of Virgo, been cleped signes of the North from the equinoctiall, and these signes arisen betwixe the very East and the [Page] very North in our orizont generally for euer: and all the signs from the head of Libra vnto the end of Pisces, been cleped signs of the South fro the equinoctiall, and these signs arisen euermore betwixe the very East and the very South in our orizont, also euery sign betwixe the head of Capricorn vnto the end of Gemini, ariseth in our orizont in lesse than two hours equalls, and these same signs from the head of Capricorn vnto the end of Gemini, been called tortuous signs or crooked signs, for they risen embolyfe in our orizont, and these crooked signs been obedient to the signs that been of the right ascencion. These signs of right ascencion been fro the head of Cancer vnto the head of Sagitary, and these signs arisen more vpright than doth the other, and therefore they been called Soueraign signs, and euery of hem ariseth in more space than in two hours, of which signs Gemini obeyeth to Cancer, and Taurus to Leo, and Aries to Virgo, Pisces to Libra, Aquarius to Scorpio, and Capricorn to Sagitary, and thus euermore two signs that been like far from the head of Capricorn, obeyeth euerich of hem to other.

To know justly rhe four Quarters of the World, as East, West, South, and North.

TAke the altitude of thy Sun when thou list, and note well the quarter of the world in which the Sun is from the time by the asymutes, tourne then thine Astrolabie, and set the degree of the Sun in the almicanteras of his altitude, on thilke side that the Sun standeth, as is in manner of taking of hours, and lay thy labell on the degree of the Sun, and recken how many degrees of the Sun, been between the line meridionall and the point of thy labell, and note well the nombres. Tourn then again thine Astrolabie, and set the point of thy great rule there thou takest thine altitudes, vpon as many degrees in his bordure from his meridional, as was the point of thy labell from the line meridionall, on the womb side. Take then thine Astrolabie with both hands sadly and slyly, and let the Sun shine through both holes of thy rule, and slyly in thilke shining lay thine Astrolabie couch adown euen vpon a plain ground, and then will the meridionall line of thine Astrolabie be euen South, and the East line will lie euen East, and the West line West, and the North line North, so that thou werke softly and auisely in the couching, and thou hast thus the four quarters of the firmament, &c.

To know the altitude of Planets from the way of the Sun, whether they been North or South from the way aforesaid.

LOok when a Planet is on the line meridional, if that her altitude be of the same height, that is the degree of the Sun for that day, and then is the Planet in the very way of the Sun, and hath no latitude. And if the altitude of the Planet be higher than the degree of the Sun, then is the Planet North from the way of the sign South, a quantite of latitude as sheweth by thine almicanteras, and if the altitude be lesse than the degree of the Sun, then is the Planet South from the way of the Sun, soch a quantite of latitude as sheweth by thine almicanteras: This is to saine, from the way of the Sun in euery place of the Zodiake, for on the morow the Sun will be in another degree.

For to know the Signet for the arising of the Sun, this is to fain, the party of the Orizont in which the Sun ariseth.

THou must first consider that the Sun ariseth not in the very East signet, sometime by North East, and sometime by South East, sothly the Sun ariseth euermore in the very East in our orizont, but if he be in the head of Aries or Libra. Now is thine orizont departed into 24 parties of thy minutes, in significacion of 24 parts of the world, though it be so, that shipmen recken all that parties in 32. Then is there no more, but wait in the which minute that the Sun entreth at his arising, and take there the signet of the rising of the Sun.

The manner of division of thine Astrolabie, is thus enjoyned, as in this case.

FIrst, it is deuided in four places principally, with the line that commeth fro the East to the West, and then with another line, that goeth fro the South to the North: then is it deuided in small parties of minutes, as East and East by South, where that is the first minute aboue the East line, and so forth fro party to party, till that thou come again to the East line. Thus thou might vnderstand the signet of euery sterre, in which party he ariseth.

To know in which party of the Firmament is the Conjunction.

COnsider the time of the conjunction by the Kalender, as thus: how many hours that the conjunction is fro midday of the day before, as sheweth the Canon of the Kalender. Recken then that nomber in the bordure of thine Astrolabie, as thou were wont to do in knowing of the hours of the day, or of the night, and lay thy labell ouer the degree of the Sun, then will the point of the labell sit vpon the hour of the conjunction. Look then in which minute the degree of the Sun sitteth, and in that party of the firmament is the conjunction.

To know the Signet of the altitude of the Sun.

THis is no more to say, but any time of the day take the altitude of the Sun, and by the minutes in which hee ascendeth thou might see in which party of the Firmament hee is, and in the same wise might thou see by night of any sterre, wheder hee sit East, [Page] West, or South, or any part betwixe, after the name of the minutes in which the sterres standeth.

To know sothly the longitude of the Moon, or any Planet that hath no Latitude, from the time of the Ecliptike Line.

TAke the altitude of the Moone and reken thyne altitude vp, among thyne almicanteras, on which side that the moone standeth, & set there a pricke. Take then anone right upon the Moones side the altitude of euery sterre fixe that thou knowest, and set his cercle upon his altitude among thyne almicanteras there the Sterre is founden, waite then of which degree the zodiake is, to which the prick of the altitude of the Moon, and there take the degree in which the Moone standeth. This conclusion is very soth, of the Starres in thine Astrolaby, and standeth after the trouth. Some treatise of the Astrolaby maketh none excepcion, whether the Moone have altitude or none, nor whether side of the Moone the altitude of the Sterre be found. And note if the Moone shewe her selfe by day, then thou mayest woorche the same conclusion by the Sunne, as well as by the starre fixe.

This is the werching of the Conclusions to know whether any Planet be direct or retrograde.

TAke the altitude of any Sterre, that is cleped a Planete, and note it well, anone right take the altitude of some sterre fixe that thou knowest, and note it well also, and come again the third or the fourth night next folowyng, for then thou shalt perceyue well the meuyng of the Planete whether he meue forward or backward, and waite well then when the sterre fixe is in this same altitude that she was when thou tooke her first altitude of the foresaid Planet, and note it well, for trust well, if so be that the Planet be in the right side of the meridional line, so that his second altitude be lesse than the first altitude was, then is the Planet direct, and if he be in the West side in that condicion, then is he retrograde, and if so be that this Planet be in the East side, when his altitude is take, so that the second altitude be more than his first altitude, then is he retrograde, and if he be in the West side of the lyne meridional, then is he direct, but the contrary moving of these parties, is the cours of the Moone, for sothly the moone moveth the contrary fro either Planets, in her ecliptike line, but in none other maner.

The conclusion of equacions of Houses after the Astrolaby.

SEt the beginnyng of the degree that ascendeth upon the end of the viii. houre inequall, then will the lyne of the second house sit upon the line of midnight, remeue then the degree that ascendeth, and set him upon the end of the x. houre inequale, then will the beginning of the iii. house sitte upon the Midnight lyne, bryng up againe the same degree that ascendeth first, and set hym upon the East Orizont, and then will the beginning of the iiii. hous sit upon the Midnight lyne. Take then the nadere of the degree, that ascendeth first, and set hym vpon the end of the ii. houre inequale, and then will the beginnyng of the v. house sit upon the Midnight lyne. Take then the nadere of the ascendent, and set hym upon the end of the iiii. hour inequal, and then wil the beginning of the vi. house sit vpon the Midnight line. The beginning of the vii. house is nadere of the ascendent, and the beginning of the viii. house is nadere of the second, and the beginnyng of the ninth house is nadere of the third, and the beginnyng of the tenth house is nadere of the iiii. and the beginning of the eleuenth house is nadere of the fifth, and the beginning of the xii house is nadere of the sixt house.

Another maner of equacions of Houses, by the Astrolaby.

TAke thyne ascendent, and then thou hast the fower angles, for well thou wotest, that the opposite is of thine ascent, that is to say, the beginning of the seuenth house sit vpon the West Orizont, and the beginning of the tenth house vpon the lyne meridional, and his opposite vpon the line of Midnight, then lay thy labell upon the degree that ascendeth, and reken then fro the point of thy labell all the degrees in the bordure, till that thou come to the Meridional line, and departe all thilk degrees into three euen parts, and take there the euen porcions of three other houses, for to lay thy labell ouer euery of these three parties, and then thou might see by the labell in the zodiake the beginning of these three houses fro the ascendent, that is to say, the twelue next aboue the ascendent, and then the eleuenth house and the tenth house upon the Meridional line, as I first said, the same wise werche fro thy ascendent down to the line of Midnight, and thus thou hast three houses, that is to say, the beginning of the second, the third, and the fourth house: then is the nadire of these three houses, the beginning of these three houses that followeth.

To find the line Meridional, to dwell fix in any certain place.

TAke a round plate of metal, for warpyng the border the better, & make there upon a iuste compace a little within the bordure, and lay this round plate vpon an euen ground, or some euen stone, or on an euen stock fit in thy ground, & lay it euen by a rule in y• centre of y• compace, sticke an euen pinne or a wire upright, the smaller the better, & set thy pinne or thy wire, by a plomme rules end vpright even, & let this pinne be no lenger than a quarter of thy diameter of the compace fro ye line, and wait busily about tenne or eleuen of the clocke, when y• sunne sheweth, when the shadow [Page] of the pinne entereth any thing within the cercle of the compace one heere brede, & make there a prick with ynke: abide then still wayting on the sunne after one of the clock, til y• the shadow of the pinne or of the wire passe any thyng out of the cercle or compace, bee it never so little, and set there a pricke. Take then a compace and measure even the middle, betwixt both prickes, and set there a pricke: Take then a Rule and draw a strike even fro the pinne vnto the middle pricke, & take there the line Meridonall for evermore, as in y• same place. And if thou draw a crosse ouerthwarte the compace, justly over yc line Meridionall, then haste thou East and West, and perconsequens the oppositife, that is South and North.

Description of the Meridional line, and of the longitudes and latitudes of cities and towns, as well as of climates.

THis lyne Meridional, is but a manner discription of a lyne imagined, that passeth vpon the poles of ye world and by the signet of our hedde: and it is cleaped the signet, for in what place that any man is at any tyme of the yeere, when the Sunne by meuyng of the Firmament commeth to his Meridionall place, then is it the very Midday, that we cleape Noone: and therefore it is cleaped the lyne of Midday. Then take heed that evermore of two Citees, or of two Townes, of which the one approcheth nerer the East, than doth the other Towne, trust well that thilk two Tounes have divers Meridians. Take kepe also, that the arche of the Equinoctial, that is conteyned & bounded betwene the two Meridians, is cleaped the Longitude of the toune. And if it so be yt two Tounes have Meridian like, or one Meridian, then is the distaunce of hem bothe like farre: and in this maner they chaunge not her Meridian, but sothly they chaunge her Almicanteras, for the haunsing of the Pole, and the distaunce of the Sun. The Longitude of a climate may be cleaped the space of ye earth, fro the beginning of the first climate, unto the laste end of the same climate, even directe against the Pole artike, thus say some auctours. And some clerks say, that if men cleap the Latitude of a Center y• arch Meridian, yt is conteined or intercept, betwixe the signet and the Equinoctiall, then they say, that the distaunce fro the Equinoctiall unto the end of the climate, even ayenst the Pole artike, is the Longitude of the climate for South.

To know with what degree of the Zodiack, that any Planet ascendeth on the Orizont, where his Latitude be North or South.

KNow by thine Almanack the degree of the Ecliptike of any signe, in which that the Planet is rekened for to bee, and that is cleaped the degree of his Longitude. And knowe also the degree of his Latitude fro the ecliptike, North or South, and by these ensamples following in especiall, thou mayest wirche with every signe of the Zodiake. The Longitude peraventure of Venus, or of another Planet was of Capricorne, and the Latitude of hem Northward degrees fro the ecliptike line, then toke I a subtil compas, and cleaped the one point of my compace A. and that other F. then tooke I the point of A. and set it in the ecliptike line, and my Zodiake in the degree of the Longitude of heddes, that is to say, in the head of Capricorne, and then set I the point of F. upward in the same signe, because that the Altitude was North vpon y• Latitude of Venus, that is to say, in the degree fro the heed of Capricorne, and thus have I the degrees betwixe my two prickes: then laid I doune softly my compace, and set the degree of the Longitude upon the Orizont, then tooke I and waxed my labell, in maner of a pair of tables, to receive distinctly the pricke of my compace, then tooke I this forsaid labell, and layed it fix over the degree of my Longitude, then tooke I up my compace, and the point of A. in the waxe of my labell, as I coud gesse, over the ecliptike line, in the end of yc Longitude, I set the point over endlong on y• labell, vpon the space of the Latitude inward, and on the Zodiake, yt is to say, Northward fro the ecliptike: then laied I doune my compace, and looked well in the way upon the ecliptike of A. & F. then tourned I my reete, till that the pricke of F. sate vpon the Orizont, then saw I well, that the body of Venus in her Latitude of degrees septentrionals, ascendeth in the end of the degree fro yt heed of Capricorne. And note that in this maner thou mightest werch with any latitude septentrional in all signes: but sothly the latitude Meridional of a planet in Capricorne may not be take, because of the little space betwixe the ecliptike, and the bordure of y• Astrolabie, and sikerly in all other signes it may be take. Also the degree peraventure of Iupiter or of any other Planet was in the first degree of Pisces in longitude, & his latitude was degrees Meridionall. Then tooke I the point of A. & set it in y• first degree of Pisces on the ecliptike, then set I ye point dounward of F. in yt same sign, because that the latitude was South degrees, yt is to say, fro the heed of Pisces, & thus have I degrees betwixt both pricks. Then set I the degree of the longitude vpon the Orizont, then tooke I my labell, & laid him fixe vpon y• degree of longitude, then set I y• point of A. on my labell even over the ecliptike line, in y• end of the degree of y• longitude, and I sette y• point of F. endlong on my labell, the space of degrees of y• latitude outward fro the Zodiake, that is to say, Southward fro the Ecliptike toward the bordure, and then tourned I my reete till the point of F. sate vpon the Orizont, then saw I well yt the body of Iupiter, in his latitude of degrees Meridionall, ascendeth with the degree of Pisces in horescopo. And in this maner [Page] thou mayest wyrch with any Latitude, as I said first, saue in Capricorn. And thou wilt ply this craft with the arising of the Moone, looke thou reken well the course of houre by houre, for she dwelleth in a degree of her Longitude but a little while, as thou woste well: but neuerthelesse, if thou legen well her very meuing by the tables, or alter her course houre by houre, thou shalt do well ynough.

Vmbra recta.

IF thou wilt wirche with Vmbra recta, if thou might come to the base of the Toure, in this manner shalt thou wirche: take the altitude of the Toure with both holes, so that the rule lye even on a point. Ensample, as thus: I see him through the poynt of fower, then mete I the space betwixe me and the Toure, and I find it twenty foote, then behold I how fower is to twelue, and I find it is the third part of twelve, Right so the space betwixe thee and the Toure is the third part of the altitude of the Toure: then thrise twenty foot is the highest of the toure, with the addition of thine own body fro thine eye. If the Rule fall on fiue, then is fiue times twelue the highest of the toure.

Vmbra versae.

IF thou mayest not come to the base of the toure, and thou fixe him through the nomber of one, set there a pricke at thy foote, then go nere the Toure, and see him through at the point of two, and set there an other prick, and then behold how one hath him to twelve, and thou shalt find that he hath him twelve sithes, then behold how two have him to xii, and thou shalt find it sixe sithes, and therefore the space betwixe two prickes, is sixe times thine altitude. And note that at the first altitude of one, thou settest a pricke, and afterward when thou seest him through at two, there thou settest a prick, then thou findest betwene, 80 foot, then thou shalt find that tenne is the eight part of 80, then is a foote the altitude of the Toure, but if it fall upon another poynt, as thus: It falleth on sixe at the seconde takyng it, when it falleth on fower, then shalt thou find that sixe is the second part of twelve, and fower is the third part of twelve by the third part, that is to say, the space betwixe two prickes, twise the height of the Toure, and if the difference were three, then wold it be three times the height, Et sic de singulis. An other maner werchyng by Vmbra recta. If thou mayest not come by the base of the Toure, wirche in this wise: Sette thy rule upon one, till thou see the Altitude, and set at thy foote a pricke, and then set thy rule upon two, and so do in the same manner: then look what is the difference betwixe one and two, and thou shalt find that it is one: then measure the space betwixe the two prickes and that is the twelfth part of the altitude of the Toure, and so of all other.

Vmbra recta.

IF thy Rule fall vpon the eight point, on the right shadowe, then make the figure of eight, then looke how much space of yt feet is betwixe thee and the Tour, & multiply that by twelve, & when thou haste multiplied it by the same nomber, then devide it by the nomber of eight, and keepe the residue, and adde thereto thy height vnto thyne iye, to y• residue, and that shall be the very height of the Toure. And thus mayst thou worche on the same side, from one to twelve, &c.

Vmbra recta.

ANother maner of working vpon the same side. Looke vpon what point thy rule falleth, when thou seest the top of the Toure, through the two holes, and then mete the space from thy foote to the base of the Toure, and right as the nomber of the point, hath himself to twelve, right so ye mesure betwixt thee & the Toure, hath himself to ye height of the same Toure. Ensample as thus: I set case thy rule fall vpon eight then is eight two third partes of twelve, so is the space two third partes of the Toure.

Vmbra versa.

TO know the height by the points of Vmbra versa. If thy rule fall vpon 3. when thou seest the top of the Toure, set a prick there thy foote standeth, and go nere till thou mayst see the same toppe, at the point of iiii. and sette there another pricke: then mete how many foote is betwixe the two prickes, and the height vp to thine iye, and that shall be the height of the Toure. And note, that iii. is the fowerth part of xii. and iiii. is the third part of xii. Now passeth iiii. the nomber of iii. by distaunce of 1. therfore the same space with thy height to thyne eye, is the height of the Toure. And if it were so that there were two or three distaunce in the nombers, so should the measure betwixe the prickes be twise or thrise the height of the Toure.

Vmbra recta.

TO know y• height if thou maist not come to y• base of y• thing, set thy rule vpon wt point thou wilte, so y• thou mayst see y• toppe of ye thyng through the two holes, & make a marke there as thy foote standeth, & go nere or ferther, till thou mayst see it through another point, & make there another marke, & looke wt difference is betwixe the two points in the scale, and right as that difference hath him to xii. right so the spaces betwix y• two markes hath hym to the height of the thyng. Ensample. I set the case, that thou seest it through the point of iiii. and after at the point of iii. Now passeth the nomber of iiii. the nomber of iii. the distaunce of one, & right as this difference of one, hath himself to [Page] twelve, right so the measure betwixe bothe the markes, hath him to the height of the same thyng, putting thereto the height of thy selfe to thine eye. And thus maiest thou werke from one to twelve.

Vmbra versa.

FErthermore, if thou wilt know in Vmbra versa, by the crafte of Vmbra recta, I suppose to take thine altitude at the point of four, and makest a marke, and then thou goest nere, till thou haste it at the point of three, and makest there another marke, then must thou deuide 144 by four, the nomber yt cometh thereof shal be 36, & after deuide 144 by three, and the nomber yt cometh thereof is 48, then looke what difference is betwixe 36 and 48, and yt shalt thou find 12, and right as 12 hath him to 12, so the space betwixe ye two pricks hath him to the altitude of the thyng.

¶Here endeth the conclusions of the Astrolabie.

The Complaint of the Black Knight.
The heavy Complaint of a Knight, for that he cannot win his Ladies grace.

IN May, when Flora ye fresh lusty Quene,

The soyle hath cladde in grene, red, and whight,

And Phebus gan to shede his stremes shene,

Amidde the Bulle, with al y• beames bright,

And Lucifer, to chace away the night,

Ayen the morow our Orizont hath take,

To bid all lovers out of her slepe awake.

And hertes heavy for to recomfort,

From drerihed, of heavy night sorow,

Nature bad hem rise, and hem disport,

Ayen the goodly glad grey morow,

And hope also, with sainct Iohan to borow,

Bad in dispite of Daunger and Dispaire,

For to take the holsome lusty ayre.

And with a sigh I gan for to abreide

Out of my stomber, and sodainly vp starte,

As he (alas) that nigh for sorow deide,

My sicknesse sate aye so nye my hart,

But for to finde soccour of my smart,

Or at the least some release of my peine,

That me so sore halte in every veine.

I rose anone, and thought I would gone

Into the wodde, to heare the birdes sing,

When that the misty vapour was agone,

And cleare and faire was the morning,

The dewe also like silver in shining

Vpon the leaves, as any Baume swete,

Till firy Titan with his persant hete

Had dryed vp the lusty licour new,

Vpon the herbes in the grene mede,

And that the floures of many divers hew,

Vpon her stalkes gon for to sprede,

And for to splay out her leves in brede

Againe the Sunne, gold burned in his spere,

That doune to hem cast his beams clere.

And by a river forth I gan costey,

Of water clere, as birell or cristall,

Till at the last I found a little wey,

Toward a Parke, enclosed with a wall,

In compace rounde, and by a gate small,

Who so that would, frely might gone

Into this parke, walled with grene stone.

And in I went to heare the birdes song,

Which on the branches, both in plaine & vale,

So loud sang, that all the wood rong,

Like as it should shiver in peeces smale,

And as me thought, that the Nightingale

With so great might, her voice gan our wrest

Right as her hert for love would brest.

The soile was plaine, smoth, & wonder soft,

All oversprad with tapettes that Nature

Had made her selfe: covered eke aloft

With bowes greene, the floures for to cure,

That in her beauty they may long endure

From all assaut of Phebus fervent fere,

Which in his sphere so hote shone and clere.

The ayre attempre, and the smothe wind

Of Zepherus, among the blosomes white,

So holsome was, and so nourishing by kind,

That smale buddes, & round blosomes lite,

In maner gan of her brethe delite,

To yeve vs hope there fruite shall take

Ayenst Autumpne redy for to shake.

I saw the Daphene closed vnder rinde,

Greene Laurer, and the holsome Pine,

The Mirre also that wepeth ever of kinde,

The Cedres hye, vpright as a line,

The Filbert eke, that lowe doth encline

Her bowes grene, to the yearth adoun,

Vnto her knight called Demophoun.

There sawe I eke the fresh Hauthorne

In white Motley, that so swote doth smell,

Ashe, Firre, & Oke, with many a yong Acorn,

And many a tree mo than I can tell,

And me beforne I sawe a little well,

That had his course, as I gan beholde,

Vnder an hill, with quicke stremes colde.

The gravel gold, the water pure as glasse,

The bankes round, the well environyng,

And soft as Velvet the yong grasse

That therevpon lustely came springyng,

The sure of trees about compassyng,

Her shadow cast, closing the well round,

And all the herbes growing on the ground.

The water was holsome, and so vertuous,

Through might of herbes growyng beside,

Not like the welle where as Narcisus

I slaine was, through vengeaunce of Cupide,

[Page] Where so covertly he did hide

The graiue of death vpon eche brinke,

That death mote folow, who y• ever drinke.

Ne like the pitte of the Pegace,

Vnder Pernaso, where Poetes slept,

Nor like the welle of pure chastite,

Which that Diane with her Nimphes kept,

When she naked into the water lepte,

That slowe Acteon with her hondes fell,

Onely for he came so nigh the well.

But this welle that I here of rehearse,

So holsome was, that it would aswage,

Bollen hertes, and the venim pearce,

Of pensifehed, with all the cruell rage,

And over more refresh the visage

Of hem that were in any werinesse,

Of great labour, or fallen in distresse.

And I that had through daunger & disdain

So drye a thrust, thought I would assay

To taste a draught of this Welle or twain,

My bitter langour if it might alay,

And on the banke anone doune I lay,

And with mine hed vnto y• Welle I raught,

And of the water dranke I a good draught.

Wherof me thought I was refreshed wele,

Of the brennyng that sate so nigh my hart,

That verely anone I gan to fele

An huge parte released of my smart,

And therewithall anone vp I start,

And thought I would walke and see more,

Forth in the parke, and in the holtes hore.

And through a laund as I yede a pace,

And gan about fast to behold,

I found anone a delectable place,

That was belet with trees young and old,

Whoss names here for me shall not be told,

Amidde of which stood an herber greene,

That benched was, with colours new & clene.

This herber was full of floures gende,

Into the which, as I beholde gan,

Betwixt an Hulfeere and a Woodbende,

As I was ware, I saw where lay a man

In blacke, and white colour pale and wan,

And wonder deadly also of his hewe,

Of hurtes grene, and fresh woundes new.

And overmore distrayned with sicknesse

Beside all this he was full grevoussy,

For vpon him he had an hore accesse,

That day by day him shooke full pitously,

So that for constrayning of his malady,

And hertely wo, thus lying all alone,

It was a death for to hear him grone.

Wherof astonied, my fote I gan withdraw,

Greatly wondring what it might be,

That he so lay and had no felaw,

Ne that I coud no wight with him see,

Wherof I had routhe, and eke pite,

And gan anone, so softly as I coude,

Among the bushes prively me to shroude.

If that I might in any wise aspy,

What was the cause of his deedly wo,

Or why that he so pitously gan cry

On his fortune, and on vre also,

With all my might I layd an eare to,

Every word to marke what he said,

Out of his swough amonge as he abraid.

Bur first, if I should make mencion

Of his person, and plainely him discrive,

He was in sothe, without excepcion,

To speake of manhood, one the best on llve,

There may no man ayen trouth strive,

For of his tyme, and of his age also,

He proved was, there men shuld have ado.

For one of ye best therto of bread & length

So well ymade by good proporcion,

If he had be in his deliver strength,

But thought and sicknesse were occasion

That he thus lay in lamentacion,

Gruffe on the ground, in place desolate,

Sole by himselfe, awhaped and amate.

And for me seemeth that it is fitting

His wordes all to put in remembraunce,

To me that heard all his complayning,

And all the ground of his wofull chaunce,

If there withall I may you do pleasaunce,

I woll to you so as I can anone,

Lyke as he sayd, rehearce everichone.

But who shall helpe me now to complain,

Or who shall now my stile gy or lede,

O Niobe, let now thy teeres rain

In to my penne, and helpe eke in nede,

Thou wofull Myrre yt felest my hert blede

Of pitous wo, and mine hand eke quake,

When that I write, for this mannes sake.

* For vnto wo accordeth complayning,

And dolefull chere vnto heavinesse,

To sorow also, sighing and weping,

And pitous mourning vnto drerinesse,

* And who that shall write of distresse,

In party needeth to know feelingly,

Cause and roote of all soch malady.

But I alas, that am of witte but dull,

And have no knowing of soch matere,

For to discrive, and write at the full

The wofull complaint, which yt ye shall here,

But even like as doth a skriuenere,

That can no more what that he shall write,

But as his maister beside doth endite.

Right so fare I, that of no sentement,

Say right naught in conclusion,

But as I herde when I was present,

This man complaine, with a pitous soun,

For even like without addicioun,

Or disencrease, eyther more or lesse,

For to reherse anone I woll me dresse.

And if that any now be in this place,

That fele in love brenning of fervence,

[Page] Or hindred were to his ladies grace,

With false tonges, that with pestilence

Slea trewe men, that neuer did offence

In worde nor deed, ne in her entent,

If any soch be here now present,

Let him of routh lay to audience,

With doleful chere, and sobre countenaunce,

To here this man, by full hye sentence,

His mortall wo, and his perturbaunce,

Complayning, now lying in a traunce,

With lookes vpcast, and rufull chere,

Theffect of which was as ye shall here.

The thought oppressed with inward sighs sore,

The painful life, the body languishing,

The woful gost, the hert rent and tore,

The pitous chere pale in complayning,

The deedly face, like ashes in shining,

The salte teares that from mine eyen fall,

Percel declare ground of my paynes all.

Whose hert is ground to blede in heuinesse,

The thought receit of wo, and of complaint,

The brest is chest of dole and drerinesse,

The body eke so feeble and so faint,

With hote and colde mine axes is so maint,

That now I chiuer, for default of heat,

And hote as glede, now sodainly I sweat.

Now hote as fire, now colde as ashes deed,

Now hote for cold, now cold for heat againe,

Now colde as yse, now as coles reed

For heate I brenne, and thus betwixe twaine,

I possed am, and all forecast in paine,

So that my heate plainly as I fele,

Of greeuous colde is cause euery dele.

This is the colde of inward hie disdayn,

Colde of dispite, and colde of cruell hate,

This is the colde yt euer doth his besie payn,

Ayenst trouth to fight and debate,

This is the colde that the fire abate

Of trewe meaning, alas the harde while,

This is the colde that woll me begile.

For euer the better that in trouth I ment,

With all my might faithfully to serue,

With herte and all to be diligent,

The lesse thanke, alas I can deserue:

Thus for my trouth danger both me sterue,

For one that should my death of mercy let,

Hath made dispite new his swerde to whet

Against me, and his growes to file,

To take vengeaunce of wilfull cruelte,

And tonges false through her sleightly wile,

Han gon a werre that will not stinted be,

And false enuie, wrath and enuite,

Haue conspired against all right and law,

Of her malice, that trouth shall be slaw.

And male bouch, gan first the tale tell,

To sclaunder trouth of indignacion,

And false reporte so loude range the bell,

That misbeleefe and false suspecion

Haue trouth brought to his dampnacion,

So that alas, wrong fully he dieth,

And falsenesse now his place occupieth,

And entred is in to trouthes londe,

And hath thereof the full possession,

O rightfull God that first the trouth fonde,

How may thou suffre soch oppression,

That falsheed should haue jurisdiction

In trouthes right to slee him gyltles,

In his fraunchise he may not lyue in pees.

Falsly accused, and of his fone forjudged,

Without answere, while he was absent,

He damned was, and may not be excused,

For cruelte sate in judgement,

Of hastinesse without aduisement,

And badde Disdaine do execute anone,

His judgement in presence of his fone.

Attourney may none admitted been

To excuse trouth, ne a worde to speke,

To faith or othe the judge list not seen,

There is no gaine, but he will be wreke:

O Lord of trouth to thee I call and clepe,

How may thou see thus in thy presence,

Without mercy murdred innocence.

Now God that art of trouth soueraine,

And seest how I lie for trouth bound,

So sore knit in loues fyrie chaine,

Euen at y• death through gyrte with many a wound,

That likely are neuer for to sound,

And for my troutham dampned to the death,

And not abyde, but draw along the breath.

Consider and see in thine eternal right,

How that mine herte professed whilom was,

For to be trewe with all my full might,

Onely to one the which now alas,

Of volunte without any trespas,

My accusours hath taken vnto grace,

And cherisheth hem, my death to purchace.

What meaneth this? what is this wonder vre?

Of purueyaunce if I shall it call,

Of god of loue, that false hem so assure,

And trewe alas, downe of the whele ben fall,

And yet in sothe this is the worst of all,

That falshed wrongfully of troth hath y• name,

And trouth a yenward of falshed beareth the blame.

This blind chaunce, this stormy auenture,

In loue hath most his experience,

* For who y• doth with trouth most his cure,

Shall for his mede finde most offence,

That serueth loue with all his diligence:

* For who can fayne vnder lowlyhede,

Ne fayleth not to finde grace and spede.

For I loued one, full long sith agone,

With all mine herte, body and full might,

And to be deed my herte can not gone

From his heste, but hold that he hath hight,

Though I be banished out of her sight,

And by her mouth dampned that I shall dey,

Vnto my hest, yet I will euer obey.

[Page]

For euer sith that the world began,

Who so liste looke, and in story rede,

He shall aye find that the trewe man

Was put abacke, whereas the falshede

Yfurthered was: for loue taketh none hede

To slea the trew, and hath of hem no charge,

Where as the false goeth frely at her large.

I take record of Palamydes,

The trewe man, the noble worthy knight,

That euer loued, and of his payne no relees,

Notwithstanding his manhood & his might,

Loue vnto him did full great vnright,

For aye the bet he did in cheualrie,

The more he was hindred by enuie.

And aye the better he did in euery place,

Through his knighthood and busie payne,

The ferder was he from his ladies grace,

For to her mercy might he neuer attayne,

And to his death he coud it not refrayne,

For no daungere, but aye obey and serue,

As he best coude, plainly till he sterue.

What was the fine also of Hercules,

For all his conquest and his worthinesse,

That was of strength alone peerles,

For like as bookes of him list expresse,

He set pillers through his hye prowesse,

Away at Gades, for to signifie

That no man might him passe in cheualrie.

The which pillers ferre beyond Inde,

Be set of gold, for a remembraunce:

And for all that was he set behinde,

With hem that loue list feebly auaunce,

For him set last vpon a daunce,

Against whom helpe may no strife,

For all his trouth he lost his life.

Phebus also for all his pleasaunt light,

When that he went here in yearth lowe,

Vnto the hert with Venus sight,

Ywounded was, through Cupides bowe,

And yet his lady list him not to knowe,

Though for her loue his herte did blede,

She let him go, and toke of him no hede.

What shall I say of yonge Piramus?

Of trewe Tristram, for all his hye renowne,

Of Achilles, or of Antonius,

Of Arcite, or of him Palomoune,

What was the end of her passioune,

But after sorow death, and then her graue,

Lo here the guerdon that these louers haue.

But false Iason with his doublenesse,

That was vntrewe at Colkos to Medee,

And Theseus, roote of vnkindnesse,

And with these two eke the false Enee.

Lo thus the false aye in one degree,

Had in loue her lust and all her will,

And saue falshood, there was none other skill.

Of Thebes eke the false Arcite,

And Demophon eke for his slouth,

They had her lust and all that might delite,

For all her falshood and great vntrouth:

Thus euer loue alas, and that is routh,

His false lieges forthereth what he may,

And sleeth the trewe vngoodly day by day.

For trewe Adon was slaine with the bore,

Amidde the forest in the grene shade,

For Venus loue he felt all the sore,

But Vulcanus with her no mercy made,

The foule chorle had many nights glade,

Where Mars her knight and her man,

To find mercy comfort none he can.

Also the yonge freshe Ipomedes,

So lustly free as of his corage,

That for to serue with all his hert he ches,

Athalant so faire of her visage,

But loue alas quite him so his wage

With cruell daunger plainly at the last,

That with the death guerd [...]nlesse he past.

Lo here the fine of loues seruice,

Lo how that loue can his seruaunts quite,

Lo how he can his faithfull men dispise,

To slea the trewe men, and false to respite,

Lo how he doth the swerde of sorow bite

In herts, soch as most his lust obey,

To saue the false and do the trewe dey.

For faith nor othe, worde, ne assuraunce,

Trewe meaning, awaite, or businesse,

Still porte, ne faithfull attendaunce,

Manhood ne might in armes worthinesse,

Pursute of worship nor hie prowesse,

In straunge land riding ne trauaile,

Full litell or nought in loue doth auaile.

Perill of death, nor in see ne land,

Hunger ne thrust, sorow ne sicknesse,

Ne great emprises for to take in hand,

Sheding of blood, ne manfull hardinesse,

Ne oft wounding at sautes by distresse,

Nor in parting of life nor death also,

All is for nought, loue taketh no heed thereto

But lesings with her flatterie,

Through her falshede, & with her doublenesse,

With tales new, and many fained lie,

By false semblaunt & counterseit humblesse,

Vnder colour depaint with stedfastnesse,

With fraud couered vnder a pit [...]us face,

Accept be now rathest vnto grace.

And can himselfe now best magnifie

With fained port and presumption,

They haunce her cause with false surquidrie,

Vnder meaning of double entention,

To thinke one in her opinion,

And say another, to set himselfe aloft,

And hinder trouth, as it is scene full oft.

The which thing I buy now all too deare,

Thanked be Venus, and the god Enpide,

As it is seene by mine oppressed cheare,

And by his arrowes that sticken in my side,

[Page] That saue death I nothing abide

Fro day to day, alas the hard while,

When euer his dart that him list to file,

My wofull hert for to riue atwo,

For faut of mercy, and lacke of pite

Of her that causeth all my paine and wo,

And list not ones of grace for to see

Vnto my trouth through her cruelte,

And most of all I me complaine,

That she hath joy to laugh at my paine.

And wilfully hath my death sworne,

All guiltlesse, and wote no cause why,

Saue for the trouth that I had aforne

To her alone to serue faithfully,

O god of loue, vnto thee I cry,

And to thy blind double deite,

Of this great wrong I complaine me.

And vnto thy stormy wilfull variaunce,

Iment with change and great vnstablenesse,

Now vp, now down, so renning is thy chance,

That thee to trust may be no sikernesse,

I wite it nothing but thy doublenesse,

* And who that is an archer, and is blend,

Marketh nothing, but shooteth by wend.

And for that he hath no discretion,

Without aduise he let his arrow go,

For lacke of sight, and also of reason,

In his shooting it happeth oft so,

To hurt his friend rather than his fo,

So doth this god with his sharpe flone,

The trew sleeth, and letteth the false gone.

And of his wounding this is the worst of all,

When he hurt doeth to so cruell wretch,

And maketh the licke for to cry and call

Vnto his soe for to be his leche,

* And hard it is for a man to seche

Vpon the point of death in jeoperdie,

Vnto his foe to find a remedie.

Thus fareth it now euen by me,

That to my foe that gaue my hert a wound,

Mote aske grace, mercy, and pite,

And namely there where none may be found,

For now my sore my leche will confound,

And god of kind so hath set mine vre,

My liues foe to haue my wound in cure.

Alas the while now that I was borne,

Or that I euer saw the bright sonne,

For now I see that full long aforne,

Or I was borne, my desteny was sponne

By Parcas sisterne, to slea me if they conne,

For they my death shopen or my shert,

Only for trouth, I may it not astert.

The mighty goddesse also of Nature,

That vnder God hath the gouernaunce

Of worldly things committed to her cure,

Disposed haue through her wise purueiance,

To giue my lady so much suffisaunce

Of all vertues, and therewithall puruide,

To murder trouth, hath take danger to gide.

For bounte, beaute, shape, and seemelihede,

Prudence, wit, passingly fairenesse,

Benigne port, glad chere, with lowlihede,

Of womanhede right plenteous largenesse,

Nature did in her fully empresse,

When she her wrought, & alther last disdain,

To hinder trouth, she made her chamberlain.

When mistrust also, and false suspection,

With misbeleue she made for to be

Cheefe of counsaile to this conclusion,

For to exile trouth, and eke pite,

Out of her court to make mercy flee,

So that dispite now holdeth forth her rein,

Through hasty bileue of tales that men fein.

And thus I am for my trouth alas

Murdred & slain, with words sharp and kene,

Guiltlesse God wote of all trespas,

And lie and blede vpon this cold grene,

Now mercy swete, mercy my liues quene,

And to your grace of mercy yet I prey,

In your seruice that your man may dey.

But if so be that I shall die algate,

And that I shall none other mercy haue,

Yet of my death let this been the date,

That by your wil I was broght to my graue,

Or hastely, if that you list me saue,

My sharpe wounds that ake so and blede,

Of mercy charme, and also of womanhede.

For other charme plainly is there none,

But only mercy, to helpe in this case,

For though my wounds bleed euer in one,

My life, my death, standeth in your grace,

And though my guilt be nothing, alas,

I aske mercy in all my best entent,

Ready to die, if that ye assent.

For there against shall I neuer striue

In word ne werke, plainely I ne may,

For leuer I haue than to be aliue

To die soothly, and it be to her pay,

Ye though it be this same day,

Or when that euer her list to deuise,

Suffiseth me to die in your seruise.

And God, y• knowest y• thoght of euery wight

Right as it is, in euery thing thou maist see,

Yet ere I die, with all my full might,

Lowly I pray to graunt vnto mee,

That ye goodly, faire, fresh, and free,

Which onely slea me for defaut of routh,

Or that I die, ye may know my trouth.

For that in sooth sufficeth me,

And she it know in euery circumstaunce,

And after I am well paid that she

If that her list of death to do vengeaunce

Vnto me, that am vnder her lygeaunce,

It sit me not her doome to disobey,

But at her lust wilfully to dey,

Without grutching or rebellion

In will or word, holy I assent,

[Page] Or any manner contradiction,

Fully to be at her commaundement,

And if I die, in my testament

My herte I send, and my spirit also,

Whatsoeuer she list with hem to do.

And alderlast to her womanhede,

And to her mercy me I recommaund,

That lie now here betwixe hope and drede,

Abiding plainly what she list commaund,

For utterly this nis no demaund

Welcome to me while me lasteth breath,

Right at her choice, where it be life or death.

In this matter more what might I saine,

Sith in her hand, and in her will is all,

But life & death, my joy, and all my paine,

And finally my hest hold I shall,

Till my spirit by desteny fatall,

When that her list fro my body wend,

Haue here my trouth, & thus I make an end.

And with that word he gan sigh as sore,

Like as his hert riue would atwaine,

And held his peace, & spake no word more,

But for to see his wo and mortal paine,

The teares gonne fro mine eyen raine

Full pitously, for very inward roth,

That I him saw, so long wishing for troth.

And all this while my selfe I kepte close

Among the bowes, and my selfe gonne hide,

Till at the last the wofull man arose,

And to a lodge went there beside,

Where all the May his custome was tabide,

Sole to complaine of his paines kene,

From yere to yere, under the bowes grene.

And for bicause that it drew to the night,

And that the sunne his arke diurnal

Ypassed was, so that his persaunt light,

His bright beames and his streams all

VVere in the waues of the water fall,

Vnder the bordure of our occian,

His chaire of gold, his course so swiftly ran:

And while the twilight & the rowes rede

Of Phebus light were deaurat alite,

A penne I tooke, and gan me fast spede

The wofull plaint of this man to write,

Word by word, as he did endite,

Like as I heard, and coud hem tho report,

I haue here set, your hertes to disport.

If ought be misse, lay the wite on me,

For I am worthy for to beare the blame,

If any thing misse reported be,

To make this ditie for to seeme lame,

Through mine unconning, but for to sain y• same,

Like as this manne his complaint did expresse,

I aske mercy and forgiuenesse.

And as I wrote, me thought I saw aferre,

Ferre in the West lustely appere

Esperus the goodly bright sterre,

So glad, so faire, so persaunt eke of chere,

I mean Venus with her beames clere,

That heauy hertes only to releue,

Is wont of custome for to shew at eue.

And I as fast fell adown on my knee,

And euen thus to her gan I to prey:

O lady Venus so faire upon to see,

Let not this man for his trouth dey,

For that joy thou haddest when thou ley

VVith Mars thy knight, when Vulcanus fond,

And with a chaine unvisible you bond

Togider both tway in the same while,

That all the court aboue celestiall,

At your shame gan laugh and smile:

Ah, faire lady welly fond at all,

Comfort to carefull, O goddesse immartall,

Be helping now, and do thy diligence,

To let the streames of thine influence

Descend downe, in forthering of y• trouth,

Namely of hem that lie in sorrow bound,

Shew now thy miȝt, & on her wo haue routh,

Ere false daunger slea hem and confound:

And specially let thy might be found,

For to so couer what so that thou may

The true man that in the herber lay.

And all true forther for his sake,

O glad sterre, O lady Venus mine,

And cause his lady him to grace take,

Her herte of stele to mercy so encline,

Ere that thy bemes go vp to decline,

And ere that thou now go fro us adoun,

For that loue thou haddest to Adoun.

And when she was gone to her rest,

I rose anone, and home to bed went,

For weary, me thought it for the best,

Praying thus in all my best entent,

That all trew, that be with daunger shent,

With mercy may in release of her paine,

Recured be, ere May come este againe.

And for that I ne may no lenger wake,

Farewell ye louers all that be trew,

Praying to God, and thus my leue I take,

That ere the sunne to morrow be risen new,

And ere he haue ayen rosen hew,

That each of you may haue such a grace,

His owne lady in armes to embrace.

I meane thus, in all honesty,

Without more ye may togider speake

What so ye list at good liberty,

That each may to other her heart breke,

On Ielousies onely to be wreke,

That hath so long of his mallice and enuy

Werred Trouth with his tiranny.

¶Lenuoye.

Princesse, pleaseth it to your benignitie

This little ditie to haue in mind,

Of womanhede also for to see,

Your man may your mercy find,

[Page] And pity eke, that long hath be behind,

Let him againe be provoked to grace,

For by my trouth it is against kind,

False Daunger to occupy his place.

Go little quaire vnto my lives queene

And my very hearts soueraine,

And be right glad for she shall thee seene,

Such is thy grace, but I alas in paine

Am left behind, & not to whom to plaine,

For mercy, ruth, grace, and eke pite

Exiled be, that I may not attaine,

Recure to find of mine adversite.

Explicit.

A Praise of Women.

ALtho thee list of women evill to speak,

And sain of hem worse than they deserve,

I pray to God y• her neckes to break,

Or on som evil death mote tho janglers sterve

For every man were holden hem to serve,

And do hem worship, honour, and servise,

In every manner that they best coud devise.

For we ought first to think on wt manere

They bring vs forth, and wt pain they endure

First in our birth, and sith fro yere to yere

How busely they done their busie cure,

To keepe vs fro every misaventure

In our youth when we have no might

Our selfe to keepe, neither by day nor night.

Alas, how may we say on hem but wele,

Of whom we were fostred and ybore,

And ben all our succour, & ever true as stele,

And for our sake full oft they suffer sore,

* Without women were all our joy lore,

Wherfore we ought all women to obey

In all goodnesse, I can no more say.

This is wel knowne, and hath ben or this,

That women ben cause of all lightnesse,

Of knighthood, norture, eschuing all mallis,

Encrease of worship, and of all worthinesse,

Thereto curteis & meke, & ground of all goodnesse,

Glad and merry, & true in every wise

That any gentill hert can thinke or devise.

And though any would trust to your vntruth,

And to your faire words would aught assent,

In good faith me thinketh it wer great ruth,

That other women shuld for her gilt be shent,

That never knew, ne wist nouȝt of her entent,

Ne list not to heare the faire words ye write,

Which ye you paine fro day to day tendite.

But who may beware of your tales vntrue,

That ye so busily paint and endite,

For ye will swere that ye never knew,

Ne saw the woman, neither much ne lite,

Save only her, to whom ye had delite,

As for to serve of all that ever ye sey,

And for her love must ye needs dey.

Then will ye swere y• ye knew never before

What love was, ne his dredfull observaunce,

But now ye feele that he can wound sore,

Wherfore ye put you into her governaunce,

Whom love hath ordeind you to serve & do plesance

Wth al your miȝt your litle lives space

Which endeth soone, but if she do you grace.

And then to bed will he soone draw,

And soone sicke ye will you then faine,

And swere fast your Lady hath you slaw,

And brought you suddainly inso high a paine

yt fro your death may no man you restraine,

With a daungerous looke of her eyen two,

That to your death must ye needs go.

Thus will ye morne, thus will ye sigh sore,

As though your hert anon in two wold brest,

And swere fast that ye may live no more,

Mine owne Lady, that might if ye lest

Bring mine hert somedele into rest,

As if you list mercy on me to have,

Thus your vntrouth will ever mercy crave.

Thus woll ye plain, tho ye nothing smert,

These innocent creatures for to beguile,

And swere to hem, so wounded is your hert

For her love, that ye may live no while.

Scarsly so long as one might go a mile,

So hieth death to bring you to an end,

But if your soverain Lady list you to amend.

And if for routh she comfort you in any wise

For pity of your false othes sere,

So y• innocent weneth yt it be as you devise,

And weneth your heart be as she may here,

Thus for to comfort & somwhat do you chere.

Then woll these janglers deme of her full ill,

And saine that ye have her fully at your will.

Lo how ready her tonges been, and prest

To speake harme of women causelesse,

Alas, why might ye not as well say the best,

As for to deme hem thus guiltlesse,

In your hert iwis there is no gentilnesse,

That of your own gilt list thus women fame,

Now by my trouth, me think ye be too blame.

* For of women cometh this worldly wele,

Wherfore we ouȝt to worship hem evermore,

And though it mishap one, we ought for to hele,

For it is all through our false lore,

That day and night we paine vs evermore

With many an oth, these women to beguile

With false tales, and many a wicked wile.

* And if falshede should be reckened & told

In women, iwis full trouth were,

Not as in men, by a thousand fold,

Fro all vices iwis they stand cleare,

In any thing that I could of heare,

But if enticing of these men it make,

That hem to flatteren connen never slake.

* I would fain wete where euer ye coud here,

Without mens tising, wt women did amis,

[Page] Forther ye may get hem, ye lie fro yere to yere

And many a gabbing ye make to hem iwis,

For I could neuer heare, ne knowen ere this,

Where euer ye coud find-in any place,

That euer women besought you of grace.

There ye you pain, with all your ful might,

With all your heart, and all your businesse,

To pleasen hem both by day and night,

Praying hem of her grace and gentilnesse,

To haue pitie upon your great distresse,

And yt they wold on your paine haue routh,

And slea you not, sens ye meane but trouth.

Thus may ye see that they ben faultlesse,

And innocent to all your werkes slie,

And all your crafts that touch falsenesse,

They know hem not, ne may hem not espie,

So sweare ye, that ye must needs die,

But if they would of her womanhead

Vpon you rew, ere that ye be dead.

And then your lady, and your herts queene

Ye call hem, and therewith ye sighe sore,

And say, my lady I trow that it be seene

In what plite that I haue liued full yore,

But now I hope that ye woll no more

In these paines suffer me for to dwell,

For all goodnesse twis ye be the well.

Lo which a painted processe can ye make,

These harmlesse creatures for to beguile,

And when they slepe, ye paine you to wake,

And to bethinke you on many a wicked wile,

But ye shall see the day that ye shal curse the while

That ye so busily did your entent

Hem to beguile, that falshed neuer ment.

For this ye know wel, though I would lie,

In women is all trouth and stedfastnesse,

For in good faith I neuer of hem sie

But much worship, bountie, and gentilnesse,

Right comming, faire, & full of mekenesse,

Good and glad, and lowly I you ensure,

Is this goodly angellike creature.

And if it hap a man be in disease,

She doeth her businesse, and her full paine

With al her might, him to comfort & please

If fro his disease she might him restraine,

In word ne deed ywis she woll not faine,

But with all her might she doth her businesse

To bring him out of his heauinesse.

Lo what gentillesse these women haue,

If we could know it for our rudenesse,

How busie they be us to keepe and saue,

Both in heale, and also in sicknesse,

And alway right sorrie for our distresse,

In euery manner, thus shew they routh,

That in hem is all goodnesse and trouth.

And sith we find in hem gentilnesse & trouth,

Worship, bountie, and kindnesse euermore,

Let neuer this gentillesse through your slouth

In her kind trouth be aught forlore

That in women is, and hath ben full yore,

* For in reuerence of the heauens queene,

We ought to worship all women yt beene.

For of all creatures yt euer wer get & borne,

This wote ye well a woman was y• best,

By her was recouered y• blisse y• we had lorne,

And through y• woman shall we come to rest,

And ben ysaued, if that our selfe lest,

Wherefore me thinketh, if y• we had grace,

We oughten honour women in every place.

Therefore I rede, that to our liues end,

Fro this time forth, while yt we haue space,

That we haue trespaced, pursue to amend,

Praying our Ladie well of all grace

To bring us unto that blisful place,

There as she & good women shal be in fere

In heauen aboue, among the angels clere.

Explicit.

The House of Fame.

In this Book is shewed how the Deeds of all Men and Women, be they good or bad, and carried by Report to Posterity.

GOd tourne us euery dream to good,

For it is wonder thing by the Rood

To my wit, what causeth sweuens

On the morrow, or on euens,

And why the effect followeth of some,

And of some it shal neuer come,

Why that it is an auision,

And why this is a reuelation,

Why this a dreame, why that a sweuen,

And not to euery man liche euen,

Why this a fantome, why that Oracles,

I not: but who so of these miracles

The causes know bet than I,

Define he, for I certainely

Ne ran hem not, ne neuer thinke

To busie my wit for to swinke

To know of her significations

The gendres, ne distinctions

Of the times of hem, ne the causes,

Or why this is more than that is,

Or yeue folkes complexions,

Make hem dreame of reflections,

Or else thus, as other saine,

For the great feeblenesse of her brain,

By abstinence, or by sicknesse,

Prison, strife, or great distresse,

Or els by disordinaunce,

Or natural accustomaunce,

That some men be too curious

In studie, or Melancolius,

Or thus, so inly ful of drede,

That no man may him bote rede,

[Page] Or els that deuotion

Of some, and contemplation.

Causen such dreames oft,

Or that the cruell life vnsoft

Of hem that loues leden,

Oft hopen much or dreden,

That purely her impressions

Causen hem to haue visions,

Or if spirits han the might

To make folke to dreame on night,

Or if the soule of proper kind,

Be so perfite as men find,

That it wote what is to come,

And that he warneth all and some

Of eueriche of her auentures,

By auisions, or by figures,

But that our flesh hath no might

To vnderstand it aright,

For it is warned too derkely,

But why the cause is, not wote I,

Well worth of this thing clerkes,

That treaten of that, and of other werkes,

For I of none opinion

Nill as now make mention,

But only that the holy Rood

Tourne vs euery dreame to good,

For neuer sith I was borne,

Ne no man els me beforne,

Mette I trow stedfastly

So wonderfull a dreame as I.

The tenth day now of December,

The which, as I can remember,

I woll you tellen euerydele,

But at my beginning trusteth wele,

I woll make inuocation,

With a deuout speciall deuotion

Vnto the god of sleepe anone,

That dwelleth in a caue of stone,

Vpon a streame that commeth fro Lete,

That is a flood of hell vnswete,

Beside a Fulke, that men clepe Cimerie,

There sleepeth aye this God vnmerie,

With his slepie thousand sonnis,

That alway to sleepe her wonne is,

And to this God that I of rede,

Pray I, that he woll me spede,

My sweuen for to tell aright,

If euery dreame stand in his might,

And he that mouer is of all

That is and was, and euer shall,

So giue hem joy that it here,

Or all that they dreame to yere,

And for to stand all in grace

That hem were leuest for to stond,

And shield hem from pouertie and shond,

And from euery vnhappe and disease,

And send hem that may hem please,

That taketh well and scorneth nought,

Ne it misdeme in her thought,

Through malicious entention,

And who so through presumption,

Or hate, or scorne, or through enuie,

Dispite, or yape, or fellonie,

Misdeme it, pray I Iesus good,

Dreame he barefoot, or dreame he shood,

That euery harme that any man

Hath had sith the world began,

Befall him thereof, or he sterue,

And graunt that he may it deserue.

Lo, with right such a conclusion,

As had of his auision

Cresus, that was king of Lide,

That high vpon a gibbet dide,

This praier shall he haue of me,

I am not bette in charite.

NOw herken, as I haue you sayd,

What that I mette or I abrayd,

Of December the tenth day,

When it was night, to slepe I lay,

Right as I was wont to done,

And fell asleepe wonder sone,

As he that was weary forgo,

On pilgrimage miles two

To the corpes of saint Leonard,

To maken lithe, that erst was hard.

But as I slept, me mette I was

Within a temple ymade of glas,

In which there were mo Images

Of gold, standing in sundry stages,

In mo rich Tabernacles,

And with perre mo pinacles,

And mo curious portraitures,

And queint manner of figures

Of gold worke, then I saw euer.

But certainly I nist neuer

Where that it was, but well wist I,

It was of Venus redely

This temple, for in portreiture,

I saw a non right her figure

Naked fleeting in a see,

And also on her head parde,

Her rose garland white and red,

And her combe to kembe her hed,

Her doues, and Dan Cupido,

Her blind sonne, and Vulcano,

That in his face was full browne.

But as I romed vp and downe,

I found that on the wall there was

Thus written on a table of bras.

I woll now sing if that I can,

The armes, and also the man,

That first came through his destinie

Fugitife fro Troy the countrie,

Into Itaile, with full much pine,

Vnto the stronds of Lauine,

And tho began the story anone,

As I shall tellen you echone.

First saw I the destruction

Of Troy, through the Greeke Sinon,

With his false vntrue forswearings,

And with his chere and his lesings

Made a horse, brought into Troy,

By which Troyans lost all her joy.

And after this was graued, alas,

How Ilions castle assailed was

And won, and king Priamus slaine,

And Polites his sonne certaine,

Dispitously of Dan Pirrus.

And next that saw I how Venus

When that she saw the castle brend,

Downe from heauen she gan discend,

[Page] And bad her sonne Eneas to flee,

And how he fled, and how that he

Escaped was from all the prees,

And tooke his father, old Anchises,

And bare him on his backe away,

Crying alas and welaway,

The which Anchises in his hand

Bare tho the gods of the land,

Thilke that vnbrenned were.

Then saw I next all in fere,

How Crusa, Dan Eneas wife,

Whom that he loued all his life,

And her yong sonne Iulo,

And eke Ascanius also,

Fledden eke with drerie chere,

That it was pitie for to here,

And in a Forrest as they went,

At a tourning of a went,

How Crusa was ylost, alas,

That rede not I, how that it was,

How he her sought, and how her ghost

Bad him flie the Greekes host,

And said he must into Itaile,

As was his destinie, sauns faile,

That it was pitie for to heare,

When her spirit gan appeare

The words that she to him saied,

And for to keepe her sonne him praied.

There saw I grauen eke how he,

His father eke, and his meine,

With his ships gan to saile

Toward the countrey of Itaile,

As streight as they mighten go.

There saw I eke the cruell Iuno,

That art Dan Iupiters wife,

That hast yhated all thy life

All the Troyan blood,

Ren and cry as thou were wood

On Eolus, the god of Winds,

To blowen out of all kinds

So loud, that he should drench

Lord, Lady, groome, and wench

Of all the Troyans nation,

Without any of her saluation.

There saw I such tempest arise,

That euery hert might agrise,

To see it painted on the wall.

There saw I eke grauen withall

Venus, how ye my Lady dere,

Weeping with full wofull chere,

Praying Iupiter on hie

To saue and keepe that nauie

Of that Troyan Eneas,

Sith that he her sonne was.

There saw I Ioues Venus kisse,

And graunted was of the tempest lisse.

There saw I how the tempest stent,

And how with all pipe he went,

And p [...]iuely tooke a riuage

Into the countrey of Carthage,

And on the morrow how that he,

And a Knight that height Achate,

Metten with Venus that day,

Going in a queint array,

As she had be an hunter esse,

With wind blowing vpon her tresse,

And how Eneas began to plaine,

When he knew her, of his paine,

And how his Ships dreint were,

Or els ylost, he nist where,

How she gan him comfort tho,

And bad him to Cartage go,

And there he should his folke find,

That in the sea were left behind,

And shortly of this thing to pace,

She made Eneas so in grace

Of Dido, Queene of that countre,

That shortly for to tellen, she

Became his loue, and let him do

All that wedding longeth to,

What should I speake it more quaint,

Or paine me my words to paint,

To speake of loue, it woll not be,

I cannot of that faculte,

And eke to tellen of the manere

How they first acquainted were,

It were a long processe to tell,

And ouer long for you to dwell.

There saw I graue, how Eneas

Told to Dido euery caas,

That him was tidde vpon the see.

And est grauen was how that she

Made of him shortly at a word,

Her life, her loue, her lust, her lord,

And did to him all reuerence,

And laid on him all the dispence,

That any woman might do,

Wening it had all be so,

As he her swore, and hereby demed

That he was good, for he such seemed.

* Alas, what harme doth apparence,

When it is false in existence,

For he to her a traitour was,

Wherefore she slow her selfe alas.

* Lo, how a woman doth amis,

To loue him that vnknowen is,

For by Christ lo thus it fareth,

* It is not all gold that glareth,

For also brouke I well mine head,

There may be vnder goodlihead

Couered many a shreud vice,

Therefore be no wight so nice,

To take a loue onely for chere,

Or speech, or for friendly manere,

For this shall euery woman find,

That some man of his pure kind

Woll shewen outward the fairest,

Till he haue caught that what him lest,

And then woll he causes find,

And swere how she is vnkind,

Or false, or priuie, or double was,

All this say I by Eneas

And Dido, and her nice lest,

That loued all to soone a guest,

Wherefore I woll say o prouerbe,

* That he that fully knoweth the herbe,

May safely lay it to his eie,

Withouten drede this is no lie.

But let vs speake of Eneas,

How he betraied her, alas,

And left her full vnkindly.

So when she saw all vtterly,

[Page] That he would her of trouth faile,

And wenden from her into Itaile,

She gan to wring her handes two.

Alas (qd. she) that me is wo,

Alas, is euery man thus true,

That euery yere woll haue a new,

If it so long time endure,

Or els three parauenture,

And thus of one he woll haue fame

In magnifying of his owne name,

Another for friendship sayeth he,

And yet there shall the third be,

That is taken for delite,

Lo, or els for singular profite,

In such words gan complaine

Dido of her great paine,

As me mette dreaming readily,

None other authour alledge woll I.

Alas (qd. she) my sweet hart,

Haue pitie on my sorrowes smart,

And slea me not, go not away.

O wofull Dido, welaway

(Qd. she) vnto her selfe tho.

O Eneas what woll ye do,

O that your loue ne your bond,

That ye swore with your right hond,

Ne my cruell death (qd. she)

May hold you still here with me.

O, haue ye of my death no pite,

Iwis mine owne deare hert ye

Know full well that neuer yet,

As farre as euer I had wit,

Agilt you in thought ne in dede.

O, haue ye men such goodlihede

In speech, and neuer a dele of trouth,

Alas that euer had routh

Any woman on a false man.

Now I see well, and tell can,

We wretched women can no art,

For certaine, for the more part,

Thus we been serued euerichone,

How sore that ye men can grone,

Anon as we have you receiued,

Certainly we been deceiued,

For though your loue lest a season,

Wait vpon the conclusion,

And eke how ye determine,

And for the more part define,

O welaway that I was borne,

For through you my name is lorne,

And mine acts redde and song

Ouer all this land in euery tong.

O wicked fame, for there nis

Nothing so swift lo as she is,

O sooth is euery thing is wist,

Though it be couerde with the mist,

Eke though I might duren euer,

That I haue done recouer I neuer,

That it ne shall be said, alas,

I shamed was through Eneas,

And that I shall thus judged be.

Lo right as she hath done, now she

Woll done estsoones hardely,

Thus say the people priuely,

But that is done nis not to done,

But all her complaint ne her mone

Certaine auailed her not a stre,

And when she wist soothly he

Was forth into his ship agone,

She into chamber went anone,

And called on her suster Anne,

And gan her to complaine than,

And said, that she cause was,

That she first loued him alas,

And first counsailed her thereto,

But what, when this was said and do,

She roft her seluen to the hart,

And deide through the wounds smart,

But all the manner how she deide,

And all the words how she seide,

Who so to know it hath purpose,

Rede Virgile in Eneidos,

Or the Pistels of Ouide,

What that she wrote or that she dide,

And nere it too long to endite,

By God I would it here write,

But welaway, the harme and routh

That hath betide for such vntrouth,

As men may oft in bookes rede,

And all day seene it yet in dede,

That for to thinken it tene is.

Lo Demophon, Duke of Athenis,

How he forswore him falsely,

And traied Phillis wickedly,

That kings doughter was of Thrace,

And falsely gan his tearme pace,

And when she wist that he was false,

She hong her selfe right by the halfe,

For he had done her such vntrouth,

Lo, was not this a wo and routh.

Eke looke how false and recheles

Was to Briseida Achilles,

And Paris to Oenone,

And Iason to Hipsiphile,

And eft Iason to Medea,

And Hercules to Dianira,

For he left her for Iolee,

That made him take his death parde.

How false was eke Theseus,

That as the storie telleth vs,

How he betraied Adriane,

The deuill be his soules bane,

For had he laughed or yloured,

He must haue been all deuoured,

If Adriane ne had be,

And for she had of him pite,

She made him fro the death escape,

And he made her a full false jape,

For after this within a while,

He left her sleeping in an Isle,

Desart alone right in the see,

And stale away, and let her bee,

And tooke her suster Phedra tho

With him, and gan to ship go,

And yet he had sworne to here,

On all that euer he could swere,

That so she saued him his life,

He would taken her to his wife,

For she desired nothing els,

In certain, as the booke vs tels.

But for to excuse this Eneas

Fulliche of all his great trespas,

[Page] The booke saith sauns faile,

The gods bad him go to Itaile,

And leauen Affrickes regioun,

And faire Dido and her toun,

Tho saw I graue how to Itaile

Dan Eneas gan for to saile,

And how the tempest all began,

And how he lost his steresman,

Which that the sterne, or he tooke keepe,

Smote ouer the bord as he sleepe.

And also saugh I how Sibile

And Eneas beside an Isle,

To hell went for to see

His father Anchises the free,

And how he there found Palimurus,

And also Dido, and Deiphebus,

And eueriche tourment eke in hell

Saw he, which long is for to tell,

Which paines who so list to know,

He must rede many a row

In Vergile or in Claudian,

Or Daunt, that it tellen can.

Tho saw I eke all the ariuaile

That Eneas had made in Itaile,

And with king Latin his treate,

And all the battailes that he

Was at himselfe, and his knights,

Or he had all iwonne his rights,

And how he Turnus reft his life,

And wan Lauina to his wife,

And all the maruellous signals

Of the gods celestials,

How maugre Iuno, Eneas

For all her sleight and her compas

Acheued all his auenture,

For Iupiter tooke on him cure,

At the prayer of Venus,

Which I pray alway saue vs,

And vs aye of our sorrowes light.

When I had seene all this sight

In this noble temple thus,

Hey Lord, thought I, that madest vs,

Yet saw I neuer such noblesse

Of Images, nor such richesse,

As I see grauen in this church,

But nought wote I who did hem worch,

Ne where I am, ne in what countree,

But now will I out gone and see

Right at the wicket if I can

Seene ought where stering any man,

That may me tellen where I am.

When I out of the dore came,

I fast about me beheld,

Then saw I but a large field,

As farre as euer I might see,

Without toune, house, or tree,

Or bush, or grasse, or eared land,

For all the field was but of sand,

As small as men may see at eye

In the desart of Lybye,

Ne no manner creature,

That is yformed by nature,

Ne saw I, me to rede or wisse:

O Christ, thought I, that are in blisse,

From fanton and illusion

Me saue, and with deuotion

Mine eyen to the heauen I cast,

Tho was I ware lo at the last,

That fast by the sunne on hye,

As kenne might I with mine eye,

Me thought I saw an Egle sore,

But that it seemed much more,

Than I had any Egle yseine,

This is as sooth as death certaine,

It was of gold, and shone so bright,

That neuer saw men such a sight,

But if the heauen had ywonne

All new of God another sonne,

So shone the Egles fethers bright,

And somewhat downward gan it light.

Explicit liber primus.

2

NOw hearken euery manner man,

That English vnderstand can,

And listeth of my dreame to here,

For nowe at erst shall ye lere

So sely and so dredefull a vision,

That I say neither Scipion,

Ne king Nabugodonosore,

Pharao, Turnus, ne Alcanore,

Ne metten such a dreame as this,

Now faire blisfull, O Cipris,

So be my fauour at this time,

That ye me tendite and rime

Helpeth, that in Pernaso dwell,

Beside Elicon the clere well.

O thought, that wrote all that I met,

And in the tresorie it set

Of my braine, now shall men see

If any vertue in thee bee,

To tell all my dreame aright,

Now kithe thy engine and thy might.

This Egle of which I haue you told,

That with feathers shone all of gold,

Which that so high gan to sore,

I gan behold more and more,

To seene her beauty and the wonder,

But neuer was that dent of thunder,

Ne that thing that men call sendre,

That smite sometime a toure to poudre,

And in his swift comming brend,

That so swithe gan downward discend,

As this foule when it beheld,

That I a roume was in the field,

And with his grim pawes strong,

Within his sharpe nailes long,

Me fleyng at a swappe he hent,

And with his sours againe vp went,

Me carying in his clawes starke,

As lightly as I had ben a larke,

How high, I cannot tellen you,

For I came vp, I nist neuer how,

For so astonied and asweued

Was euery vertue in me heued,

What with his sours and my dread,

That all my feeling gan to dead,

For why, it was a great affray.

Thus I long in his clawes lay,

Till at last he to me spake

In mans voice, and said awake,

And be not agast so for shame,

And called me tho by my name,

[Page] And for I should better abraid,

Me to awake, thus he said,

Right in the same voice and steuin,

That useth one that I can neuin,

And with that voice, sooth to saine,

My mind came to me again,

For it was goodly said to me,

So nas it neuer wont to be,

And herewithal I gan to stere,

As he me in his feet bere,

Till that he felt that I had heat,

And felt eke tho mine hart beat,

And tho gan he me to disport,

And with gentle wordes me comfort,

And said twice, saint Mary,

Thou art a noyous thing to cary,

And nothing needeth it parde,

For also wise God helpe me,

As thou no harme shalt haue of this,

And this case that betiddeth thee is,

Is for thy lore and for thy prow,

Let see, darst thou looke yet now,

Be full ensured boldely,

I am thy friend, and therewith I

Gan for to wonder in my mind.

O God, qd. I, that madest all kind,

Shall I none otherwise die,

Whether Ioue will me stellifie,

Or what thing may this signifie,

I am neither Enocke, ne Helie,

Ne Romulus, ne Ganimede,

That were bore up as men rede,

To heauen with dan Iupiter,

And made the gods buteler,

Lo, this was tho my fantasie,

But he that bare gan aspie,

That I so thought and said this,

Thou deemest of thy selfe amis,

For Ioue is not thereabout,

I dare thee put full out of doubt

To make of thee yet a sterre,

But ere I beare thee much ferre,

I will the tell what I am,

Aud whider thou shalt, and why I came,

To do this, so that thou take

Good herte, and not for feare quake.

Gladly, qd. I, now well, qd. he:

First, I that in my feet haue the,

Of whom thou hast feare and wonder,

I am dwelling with the god of thonder,

Which men callen Iupiter,

That doth me flien full oft fer

To do all his commaundement,

And for this cause he hath me sent

To thee: Herke now by thy trouth,

Certaine he hath of thee routh,

That thou hast so truely

Long serued ententifely

His blind new Cupido,

And faire Venus also,

Without guerdon euer yet,

And nathelesse hast set thy wit,

Although in thy head full little is,

To make bookes, songs, and dities

In rime, or els in Cadence,

As thou best canst in reuerence

Of loue, and of his seruaunts eke,

That haue his seruice sought aad seke,

And painest thee to praise his art,

Although thou haddest neuer part,

Wherefore also God me blesse,

Iouis halt it great humblesse,

And vertue eke, that thou wilt make

A might full oft thine head to ake,

In thy study so thou writest,

And evermore of loue enditest,

In honour of him and praisings,

And in his folkes furtherings,

And in her matter all deuisest,

And not him ne his folke dispisest,

Although thou maist go in the daunce

Of hem, that him list not auaunce,

Wherefore as I said ywis,

Iupiter considreth well this,

And also beausire, of other things,

That is, thou haste no tidings

Of loues folke, if they be glade,

Ne of nothing els that God made,

And not onely fro ferre countree,

That no tidings commen to thee,

Not of thy very neighbours,

That dwellen almost at thy dores,

Thou hearest neither that ne this,

For when thy labour all done is,

And hast made all thy reckenings

In stead of rest and of new things,

Thou goest home to thine house anone,

And also dombe as a stone,

Thou sittest at another booke,

Till fully dased is thy looke,

And liuest thus as an Hermite,

Although thine abstinence is lite,

And therfore Iouis through his grace

Will that I beare thee to a place,

Which that hight the house of Fame,

And to do the sport and game

In some recompensation

Of thy labour and deuotion

That thou hast had, lo causelesse,

To god Cupido the rechelesse,

And thus this God through his merite

Will with some manner thing thee quite,

So that thou wilt be of good chere,

For trust well that thou shalt here,

When we ben commen there as I say,

Mo wonder things dare I lay,

And of loues folke mo tidings,

Both soothsawes and lesings,

And mo loues new begon,

And long serued till loue is won,

And mo louers casuelly,

That ben betide, no man wote why,

But as a blind man starteth an Hare,

And more jolite and welfare,

While they find loue of stele,

As thinke men, and ouer all wele,

Mo discords, and mo iealousies,

Mo murmures, and mo nouelries,

And also mo dissimulations,

And eke fained reparations,

And mo berdes in two hours

Without rasour or sisours

[Page] Ymade, than graines be of sands,

And eke mo holding in mo hands,

And also mo renouelaunces

Of old forseten aqueintaunces,

Mo loue daies, and mo accords

Than on instruments ben cords,

And eke of loue mo exchaunges,

Than euer corne were in graunges,

Vnneth maiest thou trowen this,

Qd. he, no so helpe me God as wis

Qd. I, Now why, qd. he, for it

Were impossible to my wit,

Though Fame had all the pries

In all a realme and all aspies,

How that yet he should heare all this,

Or they espien: O yes, yes,

Qd. he, to me, that can I preue

By reason, worthy for to leue,

So that thou giue thine aduertence

To understand my sentence.

First shalt thou here where she dwelleth,

Right so as thine owne booke telleth,

Her palais standeth as I shall say

Right euen amiddes of the way

Betweene heauen, earth, and see,

That whatsoeuer in all these three

Is spoken in priue or apert,

The way thereto is so ouert,

And stant eke in so just a place,

That euery sowne mote to it pace,

Or what so commeth from any tong,

Be rowned, red, or song,

Or spoken in suertie or drede,

Certaine it mote thider nede.

Now hearken well, for why I will

Tellen thee a proper skill,

And a worthy demonstration

In mine imagination.

Geffray, thou wotest well this,

That euery kindely thing that is,

Hath a kindely stede there he

May best in it conserued be,

Vnto which place euery thing,

Through his kindely enclining,

Meueth for to come to,

When that it is away therefro,

As thus. Lo how thou maist al day see,

Take any thing that heauie bee,

As stone or lead, or thing of weight,

And beare it neuer so hie on height,

Let go thine hand, it falleth downe,

Right so say. I by fire or sowne

Or smoke, or other things light,

Alway they seeke upward on height,

Light things up, and downward charge,

While euerich of hem be at large,

And for this cause thou maist well see,

That euery riuer unto the see

Enclined is to go by kind,

And by these skilles, as I find,

Haue fishes dwelling in flood and see,

And trees eke on the earth be,

Thus euery thing by his reason

Hath his own proper mansion,

To which he seeketh to repaire,

There as it should nat appaire.

Lo, this sentence is knowne couth

Of euery Philosophers mouth,

As Aristotle and dan Platone,

And other clerkes many one,

And to confirme my reasoun,

Thou wost well that speech is soun,

Or els no man might it here,

Now herke what I woll thee lere.

Sowne is not but eyre ybroken,

And euery speech that is spoken,

Loud or priue, foule or faire,

In his substaunce is but aire,

For as flame is but lighted smoke,

Right so is sowne eyre ybroke,

But this may be in many wise,

Of which I will thee devise,

As sowne commeth of pipe or harpe,

For when a pipe is blowen sharpe,

The eyre is twist with violence,

And rent: Lo, this is my sentence

Eke, when men harpe strings smite,

Wheder it be much or lite,

Lo, with the stroke the eyre it breketh,

And right so breaketh it when men speketh,

Thus wost thou well what thing is speach,

Now henceforth I will thee teach,

How euerich speech, voice, or soun,

Through his multiplicatioun,

Though it were piped of a mouse,

Mote needs come to Fames house,

I proue it thus, take heed now

By experience, for if that thou

Threw in a water now a stone,

Well wost thou it will make anone

A little roundell as a cercle,

Parauenture as broad as a couercle,

And right anone thou shalt see wele,

That whele cercle wil cause another whele,

And that the third, and so forth brother,

Euery cercle causing other,

Broader than himselfe was,

And thus from roundell to compas,

Ech about other going,

Causeth of others stering,

And multiplying euermo,

Till it be so farre go

That it at both brinkes bee,

Although thou may it not see

Aboue, yet gothe it alway under,

Though thou thinke it a great wonder,

And who so saith of trouth I vary,

Bid him proue the contrary,

And right thus euery word iwis,

That loud or priuie yspoken is,

Moueth first an eyre about,

And of his mouing out of dout

Another eyre anone is moued,

As I haue of the water proued,

That euery cercle causeth other,

Right so of eyre my leue brother,

Euerich eyre in other stereth

More and more, and speech vp beareth,

Or voice or noise, word or soun,

Aye through multiplicatioun,

Till it be at the house of Fame,

Take it in earnest or in game,

[Page] Now have I told, if thou haue mind,

How speech or sowne, of pure kind

Enclined is upward to meue,

This maiest thou fele well by preue,

And that same stede iwis,

That euery thing enclined to is,

Hath his kindliche stede,

That sheweth it without drede,

That kindely the mansioun

Of euerich speeche of euery soun,

Be it either foule or faire,

Hath his kind place in aire,

And sith that euery thing iwis

Out of his kind place iwis,

Moueth thider for to go,

If it away be therefro,

As I haue before proued thee,

It sheweth euery soune parde,

Moueth kindely to pace,

As up into his kind place,

And this place of which I tell,

There as Fame list to dwell,

Is sette amiddes of these three,

Heauen, earth, and eke the see,

As most conseruatife the soun,

Then is this the conclusion,

That euery speech of euery man,

As I thee tell first began,

Moueth vp on height to pace

Kindly to Fames place.

Tell me this now faithfully,

Haue I not proued thus simply,

Without any subtelte

Of speech, or great prolixite,

Of termes of Philosophy,

Of figures of Poetry,

Or colours of Rhetorike,

Perde it ought thee to like,

For hard language, and hard matere

Is incombrous for to here

At ones, wost thou not well this?

And I answered and said yes.

Ah ah, qd. he, lo so I can,

Leudly unto a leud man

Speke, and shew him such skilles,

That he may shake hem by the billes,

So palpable they shoulden be,

But tel me this now pray I thee,

How thinketh thee my conclusioun?

A good persuasion,

Qd. I, it is, and lyke to be,

Right so as thou hast proued me,

By God, qd. he, and as I leue,

Thou shalt haue it or it be eue,

Of euery word of this sentence,

A profe by experience,

And with thyne eares hearen well,

Toppe and tayle, and eueridell,

That euery word that spoken is,

Commeth into Fames house ywis,

As I haue said, what wilt thou more,

And with this word upper to sore,

He began and said by saint Iame,

Now will we speake all of game.

How farest thou now, qd. he, to me,

Well, qd. I, now see, qd. he,

By thy trouth yond adowne,

Where that thou knowest any towne,

Or house, or any other thing,

And when thou hast of ought knowing,

Looke that thou warne me,

And I anon shall tell thee,

How farre that thou art now therefro.

And I adowne gan to loken tho,

And beheld fields and plaines,

Now hils, and now mountaines,

Now valeis, and now forests,

And now unneth great beests,

Now riuers, now citees,

Now townes, now great trees,

Now shippes sayling in the see.

But thus soone in a while hee,

Was flowen fro the ground so hye,

That all the world as to mine eye,

No more semed than a pricke,

Or els was the eyre so thicke

That I might it not discerne:

With that he spake to me so yerne,

And said: Seest thou any token,

Or ought that in this world of spoken?

I said nay, no wonder is,

Qd. he, for neuer halfe so hye as this,

Nas Alexander of Macedon

King, Ne of Rome dan Scipion,

That saw in dreame at point deuise,

Heauen and earth, helf and paradise,

Ne eke the wretch Dedalus,

Ne his childe nice Icharus,

That flewe so hie, that the hete

His wyngs molte, and he fell wete

In midde the sea, and there he dreint,

For whom was made a great complaint.

Now tourne upward, qd. he, thy face,

And behold this large place,

This eyre, but looke that thou ne bee

Adrad of hem that thou shalt see,

For in this regioun certayne,

Dwelleth many a citezeine,

Of which speaketh dan Plato,

These ben the eyrishe beests lo,

And tho sawe I all the menie,

Both gone and also flie.

Lo, qd. he, cast up thyne eye,

See yonder lo, the Galaxie,

The which men clepe the milky way,

For it is white: And some parfay

Callen it watling streete,

That ones was brent with the hete,

When the Sunnes sonne the rede,

That hight Pheton, would lede

Algate his fathers cart, and gie.

The cart horse gan well aspie,

That he coud no gouernaunce,

And gan for to leape and praunce,

And beare him up, and now doun,

Till he saw the Scorpioun,

Which that in heauen a signe is yet,

And he for fere lost his wit

Of that, and let the reynes gone

Of his horse, and they anone

Soone up to mount, and downe discende

Till bothe eyre and earth brende,

[Page] Till Iupiter lo, at the last

Him slew, and fro the carte cast.

Lo, is it not a great mischaunce,

To let a foole haue gouernaunce

Of things that he can not demaine?

And with this word sothe for to saine,

He gan alway upper to sore,

And gladded me then more and more,

So faithfully to me spake he.

Tho gan I to looke under me,

And beheld the eyrish beests,

Cloudes, mistes, and tempests,

Snowes, hayles, raynes, and windes,

And thengendring in her kindes,

All the way through which I came;

O God, qd. I, that made Adame,

Moch is thy might and nobles.

And tho thought I upon Boece,

That writeth a thought may flie so hie,

With fethers of Philosophy

To passen euerich Element,

And when he hath so far ywent,

Then may be seen behind his backe,

Cloude, and earth, and all yt I of spake.

Tho gan I wexe in a were,

And said, I wote well I am here,

But whether in body or in goost,

I not ywis, but God thou woost,

For more clere entendement,

Nas me neuer yet ysent,

And then thought I on Marcian,

And eke of Anticlaudian,

That sothe was her descripcion

Of all the heauens region,

As far as that I saw the preve,

And therefore I can hem leue.

With that the Egle gan to cry,

Let be, qd. he, thy fantasie,

Wilt thou learne of sterres ought?

Nay certainly, qd. I, right nought.

And why, qd. he? for I am old:

Or els would I thee haue told,

Qd. he, the sterres names lo,

And all the heauens signs to,

And which they be. No force, qd. I.

Yes parde, qd. he, wost thou why,

For when thou redest poetry,

How the goddes can stellify

Birde, fishe, or him, or her,

As the Rauin and other,

Or Ariones harpe fine,

Cassor, Polexe, or Delphine,

Or Athalantes doughters seuen,

How all these are set in heuen,

For though thou haue hem ofte in hand,

Yet nost thou nat where they stand.

No force, qd. I, it is no need,

As well I leue so God me speed,

Hem that writen of this matere,

As though I knew her places here,

And eke they semen here so bright,

It should shenden all my sight,

To looke on hem: that may well be,

Qd. he, and so forth hare he me

A while, and tho he gan to cry,

(That neuer herde I thing so hie)

Hold up thine heed, for all is well,

Saint Iulian lo, bonue hostell,

See here the house of Fame lo,

Mayst thou not here that I do?

What, qd. I?, the great sowne

Qd. he, that rombleth up and downe

In Fames house full of tidings,

Both of fayre speech and chidings,

And of false and sothe compouned,

Herken well it is not rowned.

Herest thou not the great swough?

Yes perde, qd. I, wel ynough,

And what sowne is it like, qd. he?

Peter, lyke the beating of the see,

Qd. I, against the roches halow,

When tempests done her shippes swalow,

And that a man stand out of doute,

A myle thens, and here it route.

Or els lyke the humbling

After the clappe of a thuisoring,

When Iouis hath the eyre ybete,

But it doth me for feare swete,

Nay, drede thee not thereof, qd. he,

It is nothing that will byten thee,

Thou shalt haue no harme truely,

And with that worde both he and I

As nigh the place arrived were,

As men might cast with a spere,

I niste how, but in a strete

He set me faire on my feete,

And said, walke forth a pace

And tell thine aduenture and case,

That thou shalt finde in fames place.

Now, qd. I, while we haue space

To speake, or that I go fro thee,

For the loue of God tell me,

In sothe, that I will of thee lere,

If this noyse that I here

Be as I haue herde thee tell,

Of folke that done in earth dwell,

And commeth here in the same wise,

As I thee herd or this deuise,

And that here liues body nis

In all that house that yonder is,

That maketh all this loude fare.

No, qd. he, by saint Clare,

And also wisse God rede me,

But o thing I will warne thee,

Of the which thou wilt haue wonder.

Lo, to the house of Fame yonder,

Thou woste how commeth euery speach,

It needeth not the efte to reach,

But understand now right well this,

When any speach ycomen is,

Vp to the palais anone right,

It wexeth like the same wight,

Which that the worde in earth spake,

Be he clothed in reed or blake,

And hath so very his likenesse,

And spake the worde that thou wilt gesse,

That it the same body be,

Man or woman, he or she.

And is not this a wonder thing,

Yes, qd. I tho, by heauen king,

And with this worde farewell, qd. he,

And here will I abide thee,

[Page] And God of heauen send thee grace,

Some good to learne in this place,

And I of him tooke leaue anone,

And gan forth to the palays gone.

Explicit liber secundus.

3

GOd of Science and of light,

Apollo through thy great might,

This littell last booke now thou gie,

Now that I will for maistrie,

Here art potenciall be shewde,

But for the rime is light and lewde,

Yet make it somewhat agreable,

Though some verse fayle in a sillable,

And that I do no diligence,

To shewe craft, but sentence,

And if deuine vertue thou

Wilt helpe me to shewe now,

That in my heed ymarked is,

Lo, that is for to meanen this,

The house of Fame for to discriue,

Thou shalt see me go as bliue

Vnto the next laurer I see,

And kisse it, for it is thy tree,

Now entre in my brest anone.

When I was from the Egle gone,

I gan behold vpon this place,

And certaine or I further passe,

I woll you all the shappe deuise,

Of house and citee, and all the wise,

How I gan to this place approch,

That stood vpon so hie a roch,

Hyer standeth none in Spayne,

But vp I clambe with moch payne,

And though to climbe greued mee,

Yet I ententife was to see,

And for to poren wondre low,

If I coude any wise yknow

What maner stone this roche was,

For it was lyke a limed glas,

But that it shone full more clere,

But of what congeled matere

It was, I niste redely,

But at the last espied I,

And found that it was euerydele,

A roche of yse and not of stele,

Thought I by saint Thomas of Kent,

This were a feeble foundement,

To builden on a place hie,

He ought him little to glorifie,

That hereon bilte, God so me saue.

Tho sawe I all the hall ygraue

With famous folkes names fele,

That had been in moch wele,

And her fames wide yblow,

But well vnneth might I know

Any letters for to rede

Her names by, for out of drede,

They weren almost of thawed so,

That of the letters one or two

Were molte away of euery name,

So vnfamous was wexe her fame,

But men say, what may euer last.

Tho gan I in mine hert cast,

That they were molte away for heate,

And not away with stormes beate,

For on that other side I sey,

Of this hill, that Northward ley,

How it was written full of names,

Of folke that had afore great fames,

Of old time, and yet they were

As fresh as men had written hem there

The self day, or that houre

That I on hem gan to poure,

But well I wiste what it made,

It was conserued with the shade,

All the writing that I sie,

Of a Castell that so stoode on hie,

And stoode eke in so cold a place,

That heate might it not deface.

Tho gan I on this hill to gone,

And found on the coppe a wone,

That all the men that been on liue,

Ne han the conning to discriue

The beaute of that ilke place,

Ne coud caste no compace,

Soch another for to make,

That might of beauty be his make,

Ne so wonderly [...]rought,

That it astonieth yet my thought,

And maketh all my witte to swinke

On this Castell for to thinke,

So that the great beautie,

The caste, crafte, and curiositie,

Ne can I not to you deuise,

My witte ne may me not suffise,

But nathelesse all the substaunce

I haue yet in my remembraunce,

For why me thought by saint Gile,

All was of stone of Berile,

Both the Castell and the Toure,

And eke the hall, and euery boure,

Without peeces or joynings,

But many subtell compassings,

As babeuries and pinnacles,

Imageries and tabernacles,

I saw, and full eke of windowes,

As flakes fallen in great Snowes,

And eke in each of the pinnacles

Weren sundry habitacles,

In which stooden all withouten,

Full the castle all abouten,

Of all manner of Min [...]rales,

And Iestours, that tellen tales

Both of weeping and of game,

And of all that longeth vnto Fame,

There heard I play on an Harpe,

That souned both well and sharpe,

Him Orpheus full craftely,

And on this side fast by

Sat the Harper Orion,

And Gacides Chirion,

And other Harpers many one,

And the Briton Glaskirion,

And smale Harpers with her glees,

Sate vnder hem in diuers sees,

And gone on hem vpward to gape,

And counterfeited hem as an Ape,

Or as craft counterfeit kind.

Tho saw I standen hem behind,

A farre from hem, all by hemselue,

Many a thousand times twelue,

[Page] That made loud Minstralcies

In Cornmuse and Shalmies,

And many another pipe,

That craftely began to pipe,

Both in Douced and in Rede,

That ben at feasts with the brede,

And many a Floite and litling horne,

And pipes made of greene Corne,

As haue these little heard gromes,

That keepen beasts in the Bromes.

There saw I then dan Citherus,

And of Athenes dan Proserus,

And Mercia that lost her skinne,

Both in face, body, and chinne,

For that she would enuien lo,

To pipen bette than Apollo.

There saw I eke famous old and yong,

Pipers of all the Dutch tong,

To learne loue daunces, springs,

Reyes, and the straunge things.

Tho saw I in another place,

Standing in a large space

Of hem that maken bloody soun,

In trumpe beme, and Clarioun,

For in fight and bloodsheddings

Is vsed gladly clarionings.

There heard I trumpe, Messenus,

Of whom that speaketh Vergilius.

There heard I Ioab trumpe also,

Theodomas, and other mo,

And all that vsed clarion,

In Casteloigne and Aragon,

That in her times famous were,

To learnen saw I trumpen there.

There saw I sit in other sees,

Playing vpon other sundry glees,

Which that I cannot neuen,

Mo than Sterres ben in heuen,

Of which I nill as now not rime,

For ease of you, and losse of time:

* For time ylost, this know ye,

By no way may recouered be.

There saw I p [...]aying Iogelours,

Magiciens, and Tragetours,

And Phetonisses, Charmeresses,

Old Witches, Sorceresses,

That vsen Exorsisations,

And eke Subfumigations,

And clerkes eke, which conne well

All this Magicke naturell,

That craftely doe her entents,

To maken in certaine ascendents,

Images lo, through which Magike,

To maken a man ben hole or sike.

There saw I the queene Medea,

And Circes eke, and Caliophia.

There saw I Hermes Ballenus,

Limote, and eke Simon Magus.

There saw I, and knew by name,

That by such art done men haue fame.

There saw I Coll Tragetour

Vpon a table of Sicamour

Play an vncouth thing to tell,

I saw him carry a wind Mell

Vnder a Walnote shale.

What should I make lenger tale,

Of all the people that I sey,

I could not tell till Domisdey.

When I had all this folke behold,

And found me loose and not hold,

And I amused a long while

Vpon this wall of Berile,

That shone lighter than a glas,

And made well more than it was,

As kind thing of fame is,

And then anone after this,

I gan forth romen till I fond

The castell yate on my right hond,

Which so well coruen was,

That neuer such another nas,

And yet it was by auenture

Ywrought by great and subtill cure;

It needeth not you more to tellen,

To make you too long dwellen,

Of these yates florishings,

Ne of compaces, ne of karuings,

Ne how the hacking in Masonries,

As corbets, and Imageries,

But Lord so faire it was to shewe,

For it was all with gold behewe,

But in I went, and that anone

There met I crying many one,

A larges a larges, hold vp well

God saue the Lady of this pell,

Our owne gentill Lady Fame,

And hem that willen to haue a name

Of vs, thus heard I crien all,

And fast commen out of the hall,

And shoke nobles and starlings,

And crowned were as kings,

With crownes wrought full of Losinges,

And many ribans, and many fringes

Were on her clothes truely.

Tho at the last espied I,

That Purseuauntes and Heraudes,

That crien riche folkes laudes,

It weren, all and euery man

Of hem, as I you tell can

Had on him throwe a vesture,

Which men clepe a coate armure,

Embroudred wonderly riche,

As though they were not yliche,

But nought will I, so mote I thriue,

Be about to discriue

All these armes that there weren,

That they thus on her coates weren,

For to me were impossible,

Men might make of hem a bible,

Twenty foote thicke as I trowe,

For certain who so coud know,

Might there all the armes seen,

Of famous folke that had been

In Affrike, Europe, and Asie,

Sith first began cheualrie.

Lo, how should I now tell all this,

Ne of the hall eke what need is,

To tellen you that euery wall

Of it, and rofe and flore with all,

Was plated halfe a foote thicke

Of golde, and that nas not wicke,

But for to proue in all wise,

As fine as ducket in Venise,

[Page] Of which to lite all in my pouche is,

And they were set as thicke of ouches

Fine, of the finest stones fayre,

That men reden in the Lapidaire,

Or as Grasses growen in a Mede,

But it were all to long to rede

The names, and therefore I pace,

But in this lustie and riche place,

That Fames hall called was,

Full moch prees of folke there nas,

Ne crouding, for to moch prees,

But all on hie aboue a dees,

Satte in a see Imperiall,

That made was of Rubie royall,

Which that a Carbuncle is ycalled,

I sawe perpetually ystalled,

A feminine creature,

That neuer formed by nature

Was soch another thing I saie:

For alther first, soth to saie,

Me thought that she was so lite,

That the length of a cubite,

Was lenger than she seemed be,

But thus soone in a while she,

Her self tho wonderly streight,

That with her feet she therthe reight,

And with her hedde she touched heauen,

There as shineth the Sterres seuen,

And thereto yet, as to my wit,

I saw a great wonder yet,

Vpon her iyen to behold,

But certainly I hem neuer told,

For as fele iyen had she,

As fethers vpon foules be,

Or weren on the beasts foure,

That Goddes trone can honour,

As writeth Iohn in the Apocalips,

Her heer that was owndie and crips,

As burned gold it shone to see.

And sothe to tellen also shee,

Had also fele vp standing eares,

And tonges, as on beast been heares,

And on her feete woxen sawe I,

Partriche winges redily.

But Lord the perrie and the richesse,

I saw sitting on the Goddesse,

And the heauenly melodie,

Of songes full of armonie,

I heard about her trone ysong,

That all the palais wall rong,

So song the mighty Muse she,

That cleped is Caliope,

And her seuen sisterne eke,

That in her faces seemen meke,

And euermore eternally,

They song of Fame tho heard I,

Heried be thou and thy name,

Goddes of renoun and of Fame.

Tho was I ware at the last,

As I mine iyen gan vp cast,

That this ilke noble Queene,

On her shoulders gan sustene

Both the armes and the name

Of tho that had large Fame,

Alisander, and Hercules,

That with a sherte his life did lese,

And thus found I sitting this Goddesse,

In noble honour and richesse,

Of which I stinte a while now,

Other thing to tellen you.

Tho saw I stande on thother side,

Streight doune to the doores wide,

From the dees many a pillere

Of metall, that shone not full clere,

But though they were of no richesse,

Yet were they made for great noblesse,

And in hem great sentence,

And folke of hie and digne reuerence,

Of which to tell will I fonde.

Vpon a piller sawe I stonde,

Alder first there I sie,

Vpon a piller stonde on hie,

That was of Lede and of Iron fine,

Him of the secte Saturnine,

The Ebraike Iosephus the old,

That of Iewes gestes told,

And he bare on his shulders hie,

The fame vp of the Iurie,

And by him stoden other seuen,

Wise and worthy for to neuen,

To helpen him beare vp the charge,

It was so heauy and so large,

And for they written of battayles,

As well as of other maruayles,

Therefore was lo, this pillere,

Of which I you tell here,

Of Leade and Iron both iwis,

For Iron Martes metall is,

Which that God is of battayle,

And the Leade withouten fayle,

Is lo, the metall of Saturne,

That hath full large whele to turne,

To stand forth on either rowe

Of hem, which I could knowe,

Though I by order hem not tell,

To make you to long to dwell.

These, of which I gan rede,

There saw I stand out of drede,

Vpon an Iron piller strong,

That painted was all endlong,

With Tigres blood in euery place,

The Tholason that height Stace,

That bare of Thebes vp the name,

Vpon his shoulders, and the fame

Also of cruell Achilles,

And by him stode withouten lees,

Full wonder hie vpon a piller

Of Iron, he the great Omer,

And with him Dares and Titus

Before, and eke he Lollius,

And Guido eke the Colempnis,

And English Galfride eke iwis,

And ech of these as I haue joy,

Was busie to heare vp Troy,

So heavy thereof was the fame,

That for to beare it was no game,

But yet I gan full well espie,

Betwene hem was a little enuie,

One said that Omer made lies,

Feyning in his Poetries,

And was to the Greekes fauourable,

Therefore held he it but fable.

[Page] Tho saw I stand on a pillere,

That was of Tinned Iron clere,

The Latine Poete Virgile,

That hath bore vp a long while

The fame of Pius Eneas.

And next him on a piller was,

Of Copper, Venus clerke, Duide,

That hath sowen wondrous wide

The great god of loues fame,

And there he bare vp well his name,

Vpon this piller also hie,

As I might see it with mine iye:

For why this hall whereof I rede,

Was woxe on height, length, and brede,

Well more by a thousand deale,

Then it was erst, that saw I weale.

Tho saw I on a piller by,

Of Iron wrought full sternely,

The great Poet dan Lucan,

That on his shoulders bare vp than,

As hie as that I might see,

The fame of Iulius, and Pompee,

And by him stoden all these clerkes,

That write of Romes mighty werkes,

That if I would her names tell,

All to long must I dwell.

And next him on a piller stood,

Of Sulphure, liche as he were wood,

Dan Claudian, sothe for to tell,

That bare vp all the fame of hell,

Of Pluto, and of Proserpine,

That Queene is of the derke pine,

What should I more tell of this,

The hall was all full iwis,

Of hem that written old jestes,

As been on trees Rokes nestes,

But it a full confuse mattere

Were all these jestes for to here,

That they of write, and how they hight.

But while that I beheld this sight,

I herde a noise approchen bliue,

That fareth as Bees done in an hiue,

Ayenst her time of out flying,

Right soch a maner murmuring,

For all the world it seemed mee.

Tho gan I looke about and see,

That there come entring into the hall,

A right great company withall,

And that of sondry regions,

Of all kind of condicions,

That dwell in yearth vnder the Moone,

Poore and riche, and all so soone

As they were come into the hall,

They gan on knees doune to fall,

Before this ilke noble Queene,

And said, graunt vs Lady sheene,

Eche of vs of thy grace a bone,

And some of hem she graunted sone,

And some she warned well and faire,

And some she graunted the contraire

Of her asking vtterly:

But this I say you truely,

What her grace was, I nist,

For of these folke full well I wist,

They had good fame eche deserued,

Although they were diuersly serued,

Right as her sister dame Fortune

Is wont to serue in commune.

Now herken how she gan to pay

Hem that gan her of grace pray,

And yet lo, all this companie

Saiden soth, and not a lie.

Madame, said they, we bee

Folke that here besechen thee,

That thou graunt vs now good fame,

And let our workes haue good name,

In full recompensacioun

Of good worke, giue vs good renoun.

I warne it you (qd. she) anone,

Ye get of me good fame none,

By God, and therefore go your way.

Alas (qd. they) and welaway,

Tell vs what your cause may be.

For me list it not (qd. she)

No wight shall speake of you iwis,

Good ne harme, ne that ne this.

And with that worde she gan to call

Her messenger that was in hall,

And bad that he should faste gone,

Vpon paine to be blind anone,

For Eolus the god of Winde,

In Trace there ye shall him finde,

And bid him bring his clarioun,

That is full diuers of his soun,

And it is cleped cleare Laude,

With which he wont is to heraude

Hem that me list ypraised bee:

And also bid him how that hee

Bring eke his other clarioun,

That height Sclaunder in euery toun,

With which he wont is to diffame

Hem that me list, and doe hem shame.

This messenger gan fast to gone,

And found where in a caue of stone,

In a countree that height Trace,

This Eolus with harde grace,

Helde the Windes in distresse,

And gan hem vnder him to presse,

That they gone as the Beres rore,

He bound and pressed hem so sore.

This messenger gan fast crie,

Rise vp (qd. he) and fast thee hie,

Till thou at my Lady bee,

And take thy clarious eke with thee,

And speed thee fast: and he anone,

Tooke to one that hight Tritone,

His clarions to bearen tho,

And let a certaine winde go,

That blewe so hidously and hie,

That it ne left not a skie

In all the Welken long and brode.

This Eolus no where and brode,

Till he was come to Fames feete,

And eke the man that Triton heete,

And there he stode as still as stone,

And herewithall there came anone

Another huge companie

Of good folke and gan to crie,

Lady, graunt vs now good Fame,

And let our workes haue that name,

Now in honour of gentilnesse,

And also God your soule blesse,

[Page] For we han well deserued it,

Therefore is right that we be quit.

As thriue I (qd. she) ye shall fayle,

Good workes shall you not auayle,

To haue of me good Fame as now,

But wote ye what, I graunt you,

That ye shall haue a shrewd name,

And wicked loos and worse fame,

Though ye good loos haue well deserued,

Now goeth your way for you been serued:

And thou Dan Eolus (qd. she)

Take forth thy trumpe anone let see,

That is ycleped Sclaunder light,

And blow her loos, that euery wight

Speake of hem harme and shreudnesse,

In stede of good and worthinesse,

For thou shalt trumpe all the contraire,

Of that they haue done well and faire.

Alas thought I, what auentures

Haue these sory creatures,

That they among all the pres,

Should thus be shamed giltles?

But what, it must needes be.

What did this Eolus, but he

Tooke out his blacke trumpe of bras,

That fouler than the Deuill was,

And gan this trompe for to blow,

As all the world should ouerthrow,

Throughout euery regioun,

Went this foule trumpes soun,

As swifte as a pellet out of a gonne,

When fire is in the pouder ronne,

And soch a smoke gan out wende,

Out of the foule trumpes ende,

Blacke, blue, grenishe, swartish, rede,

As doth where that men melte lede,

Lo, all on hie from the tewell,

And thereto one thing saw I well,

That the ferther that it ranne,

The greater wexen it beganne,

As doth the riuer from a well,

And it stanke as the pitte of hell,

Alas, thus was her shame yrong,

And giltlesse on euery tong.

Tho came the third companie,

And gone vp to the dees to hie,

And doune on knees they fell anone,

And saiden, we been euerichone

Folke that han full truely

Deserued fame rightfully,

And prayed you it might be know,

Right as it is and forth blow.

I graunt (qd. she) for now me list

That your good workes shall be wist,

And yet ye shall haue better loos,

Right in dispite of all your foos,

Than worthy is, and that anone:

Let now (qd. she) thy trumpe gone,

Thou Eolus that is so blacke,

And out thine other trumpe take

That hight Laude, and blow it so

That through the world her fame go,

All easely and not too fast,

That it be knowen at the last.

Full gladly Lady mine he saied,

And out his trumpe of gold he braied

Anone, and set it to his mouth,

And blewe it East, West, and South,

And North, as loude as any thonder,

That euery wight hath of it wonder,

So brode it ran or that it stent,

And certes all the breath that went

Out of his trumpes mouth smelde,

As men a potte full of baume helde

Among a basket full of roses,

This fauour did he to her loses.

And right with this I gan espie,

There came the fowerth companie,

But certaine they were wonder fewe,

And gonne to standen on a rewe,

And saiden, certes Lady bright,

We haue done well with all our might,

But we ne keepe to haue fame,

Hide our workes and our name,

For Goddes loue, for certes wee

Haue surely done it for bountee,

And for no manner other thing.

I graunt you all your asking,

(Qd. she) let your workes be dedde.

With that about I tourned my hedde,

And sawe anone the fifth rout

That to this Lady gan lout,

And doune on knees anone to fall,

And to her tho besoughten all,

To hiden her good workes eke,

And said, they yeue not a leke

For no fame, ne soch renoun,

For they for contemplacioun,

And Goddes loue had it wrought,

Ne of fame would they nought.

What (qd. she) and be ye wood,

And wene ye for to do good,

And for to haue of that no fame,

Haue ye dispite to haue my name,

Nay ye shall lien euerichone:

Blowe thy trumpe and that anone,

(Qd. she) thou Eolus I hote,

And ring these folkes workes by note,

That all the world may of it heare:

And he gan blowe her loos so cleare,

In his golden clarioun,

Through the worlde went the soun,

Also kindly and eke so soft,

That their fame was blowe aloft.

Tho came the sixt companie,

And gan fast to Fame crie,

Right verely in this manere,

They saiden, mercy Lady dere,

To tell certain as it is,

We haue done neither that ne this,

But idell all our life hath be,

But nathelesse yet pray we,

That we may haue as good a fame,

And great renome and knowen name,

As they that haue do noble jestes,

And acheued all her questes,

As well of loue as other thing,

All was vs neuer broche ne ring,

Ne els what fro women sent,

Ne ones in her hert yment,

To maken vs onely frendly chere,

But mought temen vs on bere,

[Page] Yet let vs to the people seeme

Soch as the world may of vs deeme,

That women louen vs for wood,

It shall do us as moch good,

And to our harte as moch auaile,

The counterpeise, ease, and trauaile,

As we had won with labour,

For that is dere bought honour,

At regard of our great ease:

And yet ye must us more please,

Let us be hold eke therto,

Worthy, wise, and good also,

And rich, and happy vnto loue.

For Goddes loue that sitteth aboue,

Though we may not the body haue

Of women, yet so god me saue,

Let men glewe on vs the name,

Suffiseth that we have the fame.

I graunt (qd. she) by my trouth,

Now Eolius withouten slouth,

Take out thy trumpe of gold (qd. she)

And blowe as they haue asked me,

That euery man wene hem at ease,

Though they go in full badde lease,

This Eolus-gan it so blowe,

That through the world it was i know.

Tho came the seuenth route anone,

And fill on knees euerichone,

And sayed, Lady graunt vs soone,

The same thing, the same boone,

That this nexte folke haue done.

Fie on you (qd. she) euerichone,

Ye mastie swine, ye idle wretches,

Full of rotten slow tetches,

What false theeues where ye wold,

Been famed good, and nothing nold

Deserue why, ne neuer thought,

Men rather you to hangen ought,

* For ye be like the slepie Cat,

That would haue fish: but wost thou what?

He woll nothing weate his clawes,

Euil thrifte come to your iawes,

And on myne, if I it graunt,

Or do fauour you to auaunt.

Then Eolus, thou kyng of Thrace,

Go blowe this folke a sorie grace,

Qd. she, anone, and wost thou how,

As I shall tell thee right now,

Say these ben they that would honour

Haue, and do no kins labour,

Ne do no good, and yet haue laude,

And that men wende that belle I saude,

Ne coude hem not of loue werne,

And yet she that grint at querne,

Is all too good to ease her herte.

This Eolus anone vp sterte,

And with his blacke clarioun

He gan to blasen out a soun,

As loude as belleth winde in hell,

And eke therewith sothe to tell,

This sowne was so full of iapes,

As euer mowes were in apes,

And that went all the world about,

That euery wight gan on hem shout,

And for to laugh as they were wood,

Soch game found they in her hood.

Tho came another company,

That had ydone the trechery,

The harme and great wickednesse,

That any herte couden gesse,

And prayed her to haue good fame,

And that she nolde do hem no shame,

But giue hem loos and good renoun,

And do it blowe in clarioun.

Nay wis, qd. she, it were a vice,

Al b [...] there in me no iustice,

Me [...]st not to do it now,

Ne this I nill graunt it you.

Tho came there leaping in a rout,

And gan clappen all about,

Euery man vpon the crowne

That all the hall gan to sowne,

And said, lady lefe and dere,

We ben soch folkes as ye may here,

To tell all the tale aright,

We hen shrewes every wight,

And haue delite in wickednesse,

As good folke haue in goodnesse,

And ioy to been knowen shrewes,

And full vice and wicked thewes,

Wherefore we pray you on a rowe,

That our fame be soch yknow,

In all things right as it is.

I graunt it you, qd. she, ywis,

But what art thou that saiest this tale,

That wearest on thy hose a pale,

And on thy tippet soch a bell?

Madame, qd. he, sothe to tell,

I am that ilke shrewe iwis

That brent the temple of Isidis

In Athenes, lo that citee.

And wherefore diddest thou so, qd. she?

By my trouth, qd. he, madame,

I wolde faine haue had a name,

As other folke had in the towne,

Although they were of great renowne

For her vertue and her thewes,

Thought I, as great fame haue shrewes:

(Though it be nought) for shrewdnesse,

As good folke haue for goodnesse,

And sithen I may not haue that one,

That other nyll I not forgone,

As for to get a fame here,

The temple set I all on fire.

Now done our loos be blowe swithe,

As wisely be thou euer blithe.

Gladly, qd. she, thou Eolus,

Heress thou not what they prayen vs,

Madame yes, full well, qd. he,

And I will trumpen it parde:

And tooke his blacke trumpe fast,

And gan to puffen and to blast,

Till it was at the worlds end.

With that I gan about wend,

For one that stode right at my backe,

Me thought full goodly to me spake,

And said, frende what is thy name?

Arte thou come hider to haue fame?

Nay forsothe frende, qd. I,

I come not hither, graunt mercy,

For no soch cause by my heed,

Suffiseth me as I were deed,

[Page] That no wight haue my name in honde

I wot my selfe best how I stonde,

For what I drie or what I thinke,

I woll my selfe all it drinke,

Certaine for the more part,

As ferforth as I can mine art.

What dost thou here then (qd. he?)

(Qd. I) that woll I tell thee,

The cause why I stand here,

Some new tidings for to lere,

Some new thing, I not what,

Tidings eyther this or that,

Of loue, or such things glade,

For certainely he that me made

To come hyder, said to mee

I sholde bothe heare and see,

In this place wonde [...] things,

But these be no soch tidings

As I meant of: No (qd. he)

And I answerde no parde,

For well I wote euer yet,

Sith that first I had wit,

That some folke han desired fame,

Diuersly, and loos and name,

But certainly I nist how,

Ne where that fame dwelled or now,

Ne eke of her descripcion,

Ne also her condicion,

Ne the order of her dome,

Knew I not till I hider come.

Why then be lo these tidings,

That thou now hether brings,

That thou hast herde (qd. he) to mee,

But now no force for well I see

What thou desirest for to lere,

Come forth and stande no lenger here,

And I woll thee without drede,

Into soch another place lede,

There thou shalt here many one.

Tho gan I forth with him gone,

Out of the castell sothe to sey.

Tho sawe I stand in a valey,

Vnder the castell fast by,

An house, that domus Dedali,

That Laborintus ycleped is,

Nas made so wonderly ywis,

Ne halfe so queintly ywrought,

And euermo, as swift as thought,

This queint house about went,

That neuermo it still stent,

And there came out so great a noyse,

That had it stonde upon Dyse,

Men might haue heard it easily

To Rome, I trowe sikerly,

And the noise which that I herde,

For all the world right so it ferde,

As doth the routing of the stone,

That fro thengin is letyn gone.

And all this house of which I rede,

Was made of twigges, salow, rede,

And green eke, and some were white,

Such as men to the cages twhite,

Or maken of these paniers,

Or els hutches or dossers,

That for the swough and for the twigges,

This house was also full of gigges,

And also full eke of chickinges,

And of many other werkings,

And eke this house hath of entrees

As many as leues ben on trees,

In sommer when they been greene,

And on the rofe yet men may seene

A thousand holes, and wel mo,

To letten the sowne out go,

And by day in euery tide

Bene all the dores open wide,

And by night eche one unshet,

Ne porter is there none to let

No maner tidings in to pace,

Ne neuer rest is in that place,

That it nis filled full of tidings,

Eyther loude or of whisperings,

And euer all the houses angles,

Is ful of rownings and of iangles,

Of werres, of peace, of mariages,

Of restes, and of labour, of viages,

Of abode, of death, and of lyfe,

Of loue, of hate, accord, of strife,

Of losse, of lore, and of winnings,

Of heale, of sicknesse, or of lesings,

Of faire wether, and eke of tempests,

Of qualme, of folke, and of beests,

Of diuers transmutacions,

Of estates and eke of regions,

Of trust, of drede, of iasousie,

Of witte, of winning, of folie,

Of plenty, and of great famine,

Of chepe, derth, and of ruine,

Of good or misgouernement,

Of fire, and of diuers accident.

And lo, this house of which I write,

Syker be ye it nas not lite,

For it was sixtie myle of length,

Al was the tymber of no strength,

Yet it is founded to endure,

While that it lift to auenture,

That is the mother of tidings,

As the sea of welles and springs,

And it was shapen lyke a cage.

Certes (qd. I) in all mine age,

Ne saw I soch an house as this,

And as I wondred me ywis,

Vpon this house tho ware was I,

How mine Egle fast by,

Was perched hie upon a stone,

And I gan streight to him gone,

And said thus, I pray thee

That thou a while abide mee

For goddes loue, and let me seene

What wonders in that place bene,

For yet paraunter I may lere

Some good therein, or somewhat here,

That lefe me were, or that I went.

Peter that is now mine entent,

(Qd. he to me) therefore I dwell,

But certaine one thing I thee tell,

That but I bryng thee therin,

Ne shall thou neuer conne the gin,

To come into it out of doubt,

So faste it whirleth lo about,

But sith that Ioues of his grace,

As I haue said will the solace,

[Page] Finally with these things

Vncouth sighes and tidings,

To passe with thine euinesse,

Soch routh hath he of thy distresse,

That thou suffredest debonairly,

And woste they seluen vtterly,

Desperate of all blisse,

Sith that fortune hath made a misse,

The swete of all thine hertes rest,

Languish and eke in poynt to brest,

But he through his mighty melite,

Wil do thee ease, al be it lite,

And gaue in expresse commaundement,

To which I am obedient,

To fo [...]ther thee with all my might,

And wish and teach thee aright,

Where thou maist most tidings here,

Thou shalt here many one lere.

With this word he right anone,

Hent me up bytwene his tone,

And at a window in me brought,

That in this house was as me thought,

And therewithall me thought it stent,

And nothing it about went,

And me set in the floore adoun

But such a great congregacioun

Of folke as I sawe rome about,

Some within and some without,

Nas neuer seene, ne shall be efte

That certes in this world nis lefte,

So many formed by nature,

Ne need so many a creature,

That wel vnneth in that place

Had I a foote brede of space,

And euery wight that I sawe there,

Rowned euerich in others cere,

A new tiding priuely,

Or els he told it all openly

Right thus, and said: Nost nat thou

That is betidde, lo right now.

Not (qd. he) tell me what,

And then he told him this and that,

And swore thereto that it was soth,

Thus hath he said, and thus he doth,

And this shal be, and thus herde I say,

That shal be found that dare I lay:

That all the folke that is on liue,

Ne haue the conning to discriue,

Tho thinges that I herde there,

What a loude, and what in eere,

But all the wonder most was this,

When one had herd a thing ywis,

He came streight to another wight

And gan him tellen anon right,

The same that him was told

Or it a forlong way was old,

And gan somewhat for to eche

To this tiding in his speche,

More than euer it spoken was,

And nat so sone departed nas

Tho fro him that he ne mette

With the third, and erhe sette

Any stound he told hym alse,

Where the tidings sothe or false,

Yet wold he tell it natheles,

And euermore with mo encrees,

Then it was erst: thus north and south,

Went euery tiding fro mouth to mouth,

And that encreasing euermo,

As fire is wont to quicken and go

From a sparcle sprongen amis,

Till a citie brent vp is.

And when that was full vp sprong,

And waxen more on euery tonge

Than euer it was, and went anone

Vp to a window out to gone,

Or but it might out there passe,

It gan out crepe at some creuasse,

And flewe forth fast for the nones.

And sometime I saw there at ones,

A leasing and a sadde sothe sawe,

That gonnen of auenture drawe,

Out at a window for to pace,

And when they metten in that place,

They were achecked both two,

And neyther of them might out go,

For ech other they gonne so croude

Till ech of hem gan crien loude,

Let me gone first, nay but let mee,

And here I woll ensuren thee,

With vowes that thou wolt do so,

That I shall neuer fro thee go,

But be thine owne sworne brother,

We woll meddle vs eche in other,

That no man be he neuer so wrothe,

Shall haue one two, but bothe

At ones, as beside his leue,

Come we a morowe or on eue,

But we cryde or still yrowned:

Thus saw I salfe and soth compowned,

Togider flie for o tiding,

Thus out at holes gonne wring,

Euery ridyng streight to Fame,

And she gan yeue eche his name,

After her disposicion,

And yeue hem eke duracion,

Some to wexe and wane soone,

As doth the faire white moone,

And let hem gonne, there might I seen

Winged wonders fast flien,

Twenty thousand in a route,

As Eolus hem blewe aboute,

And lord this house in all times

Was full of shipmen and pilgrimes,

With scrippes brette full of leasings,

Entermelled with tidings,

And eke alone by hem selue.

O many thousand times twelue

Saw I eke of these paadoners,

Currours, and eke messaungers,

With boxes crommed full of lies

As euer vessell was with lies.

And as I alther fastest went

About, and did all mine entent,

Me for to playen and for to lere,

And eke a tiding for to here,

That I had herde of some countree

That shall not now be told for mee,

For it no need is redely

Folke can sing it bet than I,

For al mote out late or rathe,

All the sheues in the fathe.

[Page] I herde a great noise withall

In a corner of the hall,

There men of loue tidings told

And I gan thitherward behold,

For I saw renning euery wight,

As fast as that they hadden might,

And everich cride what thing is that,

And some said I not neuer what,

And when they were all on a hepe,

Tho behind gonne up lepe,

And clamben up on other faste

And up the noyse on highen caste,

And treden fast on others heles

And stampe as men done after eles.

At the last I saw a man,

Which that I nought ne can,

But he seemed for to be

A man of great auctorite.

And therewithall I abraide

Out of my slepe halfe afraide,

Remembring well what I had sene

And how hie and ferre I had bene

In my goost, and had great wonder

Of that the god of thonder

Had let me knowen, and began to write

Like as ye have herd me endite,

Wherefore to study and rede alway,

I purpose to do day by day.

Thus in dreaming and in game,

Endeth this litell booke of Fame.

¶Here endeth the booke of Fame.

Testament of Love

Testament of Love

The Prologue of the Testament of Love.

MAny men there been, that with eres openly sprad, so moch swalowen the deliciousnesse of iestes and of ryme, by queint knitting coloures, that of the goodnesse or of the badnesse of the sentence, take they litle hede or els none.

Sothely dull witte and a thoughtful soule so sore haue mined & graffed in my spirites, that soch craft of enditing woll nat been of my acquaintaunce. And for rude wordes & boistous percen the hart of the herer to the intest point, and planten there the sentence of thinges, so that with littel helpe it is able to spring. This booke that nothing hath of the great flood of witte, ne of semeliche colours, is doluen with rude wordes and boistous, and so drawe togider to maken the catchers therof ben the more ready to hent sentence.

Some men there been that painten with colours rich, & some with vers, as with red inke, & some with coles & chalke: And yet is there good matter to y• leude people of thilke chalkie purtreyture, as hem thinketh for the time, and afterward the sight of the better colours yeuen to hem more joye for the first leudnesse. So soothly this leude clowdy occupation is not to praise, but by the leud, for commenly leude leudnesse commendeth. Eke it shall yeue sight, that other precious things shall be the more in reuerence. In Latin and French hath many soueraine wits had great delite to endite, and haue many noble things fulfilde, but certes there been some that speaken their poisie mater in French, of which speche the French men haue as good a fantasie as we haue in hearing of French mens English. And many terms there ben in English, which unneth we English men connen declare the knowledging: How should then a french man borne such termes conne iumpere in his matter, but as the Iay chatereth English, right so truly the understanding of English men wol not stretch to the priuie termes in Frenche, what so euer we bosten of straunge langage. Let then Clerks enditen in Latin, for they haue the propertie of science, and the knowing in that facultie: and lette Frenchmen in their French also enditen their queint termes, for it is kindely to their mouthes, & let us shewe our fantasies in such wordes as we learneden of our dames tongue. And although this booke be little thanke worthy for the leudnesse in trauaile, yet such writings exciten men to thilk things that been necessary: for euery man thereby may as by a perpetual mirrour seene the vices or vertues of other, in which thing lightly may be conceiued to escheue perils, & necessaries to catch after, as auentures haue fallen to other people or persons. * Certes, the soueraignst thing of desire and most creature reasonable, haue or els should haue full appetite to their perfection: unreasonable beasts mowen not, sith reason hath in hem no working: Then reasonable that woll not, is comparisoned to unreasonable, and made like hem. Forsooth the most soueraigne and finall perfection of man, is in knowing of a sooth, withouten any entent deceiuable, and in loue of one very God, that is inchaungeable, that is, to know and loue his creator.

Nowe principally, the meane to bring in knowledging and louing his creatour, is y• consideration of things made by ye creatour, where through be thilke thynges that beene made, understanding here to our wits, arne the unseen priueties of God, made to us sightfull and knowing in our contemplation and understonding. These things then forsooth much bringen us to ye full knowledging sooth, and to yt parfite loue of the maker of heuenly things. Lo Dauid faith: thou hast delited me in making: as who saith, to haue delite in the tune how God hath lent me in consideration of thy making. Whereof Aristotle in the booke de Animalibus, sayth to naturel Philosophers: * It is a great liking in loue of knowing their creatour: & also in knowing of causes, in kindely things considered. Forsooth the formes of kindely thynges, & the shape, a great kindely loue me should haue to the werkemen that hem made. * The crafte of a werkeman is shewed in the werke. Herefore [Page] truely the Philosophers with a liuely studye many noble things, right precious & worthie to memorie written, and by a great swete and trauaile to us leften of causes the properties in natures of things, to which therefore Philosophers it was more joy, more lyking, more heartie lust in kindely vertues & matters of reason, the perfection by busie studie to know, than to haue had all the treasour, all the richesse, all the vaine-glory that the passed Emperours, Princes, or Kings hadden. Therfore the names of hem in the booke of perpetuall memorie, in vertue and peace arne written: and in ye contrary, that is to sayne, in Styxe, the foule pitte of hell, arne thilke pressed that such goodnesse hated. And because this booke shall be of loue, and the prime causes of stering in that doing with passions and diseases for wanting of desire, I will that this booke be cleaped the Testament of Loue.

But now thou Reader, who is thilke that will not in scorne laugh, to heare a dwarfe or els halfe a man, say he wil rend out the swerd of Hercules handes: And also hee should set Hercules gades a mile yet ferther, and over that hee had power and strength to pull up the speare that Alisander the noble might never wagge.

And that passing all thing to been mayster of Fraunce by might, there as ye noble gracious Edward the third for all his great prowesse in victories ne might all yet conquere.

Certes, I wote well there shall be made more scorne & iape of me, that I so unworthely clothed all togither in ye cloudie cloude of vnconning, will putten me in prees to speke of loue, or els of ye causes in yt matter, sithen all the greatest clerkes han had ynough to done, and as who laith, gathered up cleane toforne hem, and with their sharpe sithes of conning all mowen, and made there of great rekes and noble, full of all plenties to feed me and many another. * Enuy forsooth commendeth nought his reason, that he hath in haine, be it neuer so trustie. And although these noble reapers, as good workmen, & worthy their hire, han all draw and bound vp in y• sheues, and made many shockes, yet haue I ensample to gader the small crums, and fullin my wallet of tho that fallen from the bourde among the small hounds, notwithstanding the trauaile of the almoigner, yt hath drawe vp in y• cloth all ye remissailes, as trenchours, and the releefe to beare to the almesse. Yet also haue I leaue of yt noble husband Boece, although I be a stranger of conning to come after his doctrine, & these great worke men, and gleane my handfuls of y• shedding after their hands, & if me faile ought of my full, to encrease my portion with yt I shall draw by priuities out of shockes: a slye seruaunt in his owne helpe is often muche commended, knowyng of trouth in causes of thyngs, was more hardier in the first seechers, and so sayth Aristotle, and lighter in us that han followed after. For their passing study han freshed our wits, & our vnderstanding han excited, in consideration of trouth, by sharpnesse of their reasons. Vtterly these thynges be no dreames ne yapes, to throwe to hogges, it is lifelyche meate for children of trouth, and as they me betiden when I pilgrimaged out of my kithe in Winter, when y• weather out of measure was boistous, and the wylde winde Boreas, as his kinde asketh, with drying colds, maked y• wawes of the Decian sea so to arise vnkindely ouer y• commune bankes, that it was in point to spill all the earth.

¶Thus endeth the Prologue, and hereafter followeth the first booke of the Testament of Loue.

The Testament of Love.
This book is an Imitation of Boetius de Consolatione Philosophiae; in the first part whereof, Love (by way of Legacy) doth bequeath to all them which follow her lore, the knowledge of Truth from Errour, whereby they may rightly judge of the Causes of cross Fortune, and such Adversities as befall them, whether in their Suits of Love, or otherwise, and so in the end obtain their wished Desires. In this second part she reacheth the Knowledge of one very God our Creatour, as also the State of Grace, and the State of Glory; all the which good things are figured by a Margarite Pearl. Chaucer did compile this book as a Comfort to himself after great Griefs conceived for some rash Attempts of the Commons, with whom he had joyned, and thereby was in fear to lose the Favour of his best Friends; and also therein to set end to all his Writing, being commanded by Venus (as appeareth by Gower in the end of his eighth Book, entituled Confessio Amantis) so to do, as one that was Venus's Clerk, even as Gower had made his Confessio Amantis his last Work, and shrift of his former Offences.

ALas Fortune alas, I that sometyme in delicious houres was wont to enioy blisfull stoundes, am now driue by vnhappy heauinesse to bewaile my sundry euils in tene. Truly I leue, in mine herte is writte of perdurable letters all the ententions of lamentation that now been ynempned: for any manner disease outward in sobbyng manner, she weth sorowfull yexing from within. Thus from my comforte I ginne to spill, sith she that should me sollace, is ferre fro my presence. Certes, her absence is to me an hell, my steruyng death thus in wo it myneth, that endelesse care is throughout [Page] mine heart clenched, blisse of my ioy, that oft me murthed is tourned into gall, to thinke on thing that may not at my will in armes me hent. Mirth is chaunged into tene, when swinke is ther continually, that rest was wont to soiourne and haue dwelling place. Thus witlesse thoughtfull, sightlesse looking, I endure my pennaunce in this dark prison, caitisned fro friendship and acquaintaunce, and forsaken of all that any worde dare speake. Straunge hath by way of intrusion made his home there me should be, if reason were heard as he should. Neuer the later, yet heartely ladye, precyous Margarite, haue mind on thy seruaunt, & thinke on his disease, how lightlesse he liueth, sithe the beames brennende in loue of thyne eyen arne so bewet, that worldes and cloud atweene vs twey, wol not suffer my thoughts of hem to be enlumined. Thinke that one vertue of a Margarite precious is amongs many other the sorrowful to comfort yet will of that me sorrowful to comfort, is my luste to haue nought els at this time, deede ne death, ne no manner trauyle hath no power myne heart so much to fade, as should to heare of a twinckling in your disease. Ah, God forbede that, but yet let me dey, let me sterue withouten any measure of pennaunce, rather than myne hartely thinking comfort in ought were diseased. What may my seruice aueile in absence of her, that my seruice should accept? is this nat endlesse sorrow to thinke? Yes, yes, God wote, mine heart breaketh nigh asunder: howe should the ground without kindely noriture▪ bringen forth any fruits? Howe should a shippe withouten a sterne in the great sea be gouerned? How should I withouten my blisse, my heart, my desire, my ioy, my goodnesse endure in this contrarious prison, yt thinke euery houre in the day an hundred Winter? Well may now Eue sayne to me Adam, In sorrow fallen from wealth, driuen art thou out of Paradise, with sweate thy sustenaunce to beswinke. Deepe in this pining pitte, with wo I ligge ystocked, with chaynes linked of care and of tene. It is so high from thence I lie, & of the common yearth, there ne is cable in no land maked, that might stretch to me, to draw me into blisse, ne steyers to steye on is none, so yt without recouer endlesse, here to endure I wote well I purueide. O, where art thou now friendship, that sometime with laughande chere, madest both face and countenaunce to me wardes? Truely nowe art thou went out of towne, but euer me thinketh, he weareth his old clothes, and that the soule, in the which the life of friendship was in, is drawne out from his other Spirits. Now then farewell friendship, and farewell felawes, me thinketh ye all han taken your [...]eaue: no force of you all at ones.

But lady of loue, ye wote what I meane, yet thinke on thy seruaunt, that for thy loue spilleth, all thyngs haue I forsake, to follow, en thyne hestes: reward me wyth a thought, though ye doe naught els. Remembraunce of loue lithe so sore vnder my breast, yt other thought commeth not in my mynd, but gladnesse to thinke on your goodnesse, and your merry cheare, frendes and sorrow, to thinke on your wretch and your daunger, from whych Christ me saue. My great ioy it is to haue in meditations the bounties, the vertues, the nobley in you printed: sorrow and hell commen at ones, to suppose that I be veined. Thus with care, sorrow, and tene am I shapt, meyne end with death to make. Now good goodly thinke on this.

O wretched foole that I am fallen into so lowe, the heate of my brenning tene hathe me all defaced: how should ye Lady set prise on so foule filth? My conning is thin, my witte is exiled, like to a foole naturell am I comparisoned. Truely lady, but your mercie the more were, I wote well all my labour were in idle: your mercie then passeth right.

God graunt yt proposition to be verified in me, so y• by trust of good hope I mow come to the hauen of ease, and sith it is impossible, the colours of your qualities to chaunge: & forsooth I wote well, wemme ne spotte may not abide, there so noble vertue haboundeth, so that the defacing to you is verily imaginable, as countenance of goodnesse, with encresing vertue, is so in you knit to abide by necessary manner, yet if the riuers might fall, which is ayenst kind, I wote well mine herte, ne should therfore naught flit, by ye least point of Geometrie, so sadly is it fonded, yt away from your seruice in loue, may he not depart, O loue, when shall I been pleased? O charitie, when shall I been leased? O good goodly, when shall y• dice tourne? O full of vertue, doe y• chaunce of comfort vpward to fall. O loue, when wolt thou think on thy seruaunt? I can no more, but here outcast of al welfare, abide y• day of my death, or els to see y• sight that might all my welling sorrowes voide, and of y• flood make an ebb. These diseases mowen well by duresse of sorrow make my life to unbodie, and so for to die: but certes, ye Ladie in a full perfection of loue, been so knitte with my soule, that death maye not thilke knotte unbinde ne depart, so that ye and my saule together, as endelesse, in blisse should dwell, and there shall my soule at the full been eased, that he may haue your presence, to shew the entent of his desires: Ah dear God, that shall be a great joy. Nowe yearthly Goddesse, take regarde of thy seruaunt, though I be feeble, for thou art wont to prayse them better, that would conserue in loue, all be he full meaner than Kings or Princes, that woll not haue that vertue in mind. Now precious Margarite, that with thy noble vertue, hall drawne me into loue firste, me wenyng thereof to haue blisse, as Galle and Aloes are so muche sprong, that [Page] sauour of sweetnesse may I not atast. Alas that your benigne eyen, in which that mercie seemeth to haue all his noriture, nill by no way tourne the clearenesse of mercie to mee wards. Alas, that your brennande vertues, shinyng amonges all folke, and enluminyng all other people, by haboundance of encreasing, sheweth to me but smoake, and no light. These thynges to thinke in mine heart, maketh euerye daye weepyng in myne eyen to renne. These liggen on my backe so sore, that importable burden mee seemeth on me backe to be charged, it maketh mee backeward to meue, when my steps by common course euen foorth pretend: These thynges also on ryght side and left, haue mee so enuolued with care, that wanuehope of helpe is throughout mee ronne truely, and leue that gracelesse is my Fortune, whyche that euer sheweth it mee wards by a cloudye disease, all ready to make stormes of rene, and the blisfull side halt still awayward, and woll it not suffer to mee wards to turne: no force, yet woll I not beene conquered.

O, alas that your nobley, so muche among all other creatures, commended by flowyng streme, by all manner vertues, but there been woonderfull, I not whyche that let the flood to come into my soule, wherefore purely mated with sorrow through sought, my selfe I crie on your goodnesse, to haue pittie on this captife, that in the inrest degree of sorrowe and disease is left, and without your goodly will, from any helpe and recouery. These sorrowes may I not susteyne, but if my forrowe shoulde bee tolde, and to you wards shewed, although muche space is betweene vs twayne, yet me thynketh, that by suche joleinyng wordes, my disease ginneth ebbe. Truely me thynketh, that the sowne of my lamentations weepyng, is right nowe flow into youre presence, and there cryeth after mercye and grace, to whyche thynge mee seemeth, thee lift none answer to yeue, but with a deinous cheare ye commaunded it to auoyd, but God forbid that any woord should of you spring, to haue so little ruth. Parde, pitie and mercye in euery Margarite is closed by kinde, amongs many other vertues, by qualities of comfort, but comfort is to mee right naught worth, withouten mercye and pittie of you alone, which thynges hastely God me graunt for his mercye.

REhearsing these thynges and many other, without time or moment of rest, mee seemed for anguish of disease, that all togither I was rauished, I cannot tell how, but holly all my passions and feelings weten lost, as it seemed for the time, and suddainely a manner of drede light in mee all at ones, nought such feare as folke haue of an enemie, that were mightye, and would hem greue, or dooen hem disease: for I trowe this is well knowe to many persons, that otherwhile if a man be in his Soueraignes presence, a manner of feardnesse creepeth in his heart, not for harme, but of goodly subjection: namely, as menne readen that Aungels been aferde of our Sauiour in heauen. And parde, there ne is ne may no passion of disease be, but it is to meane, that Aungels been adradde, not by fiends of drede, sithen they been perfitely blissed, as affection of wonderfulnesse, and by service of obedience: such ferde also han these louers in presence of their loues, and subjects aforne their Soueraines: right so with ferdnesse mine hert was caught. And I suddainely astonied, there entered into the place there I was lodged, a lady, the seeme liche and most goodly to my sight that euer toforne appeared to any creature, and truly in the blustering of her look she yaue gladnesse & comfort suddainly to all my wits, and right so shee dooth to euery wight that commeth in her presence. And for she was so goodly (as me thought) mine hert began somdeale to be enbolded, and wext a little hardye to speake, but yet with a quaking-voice, as I durst, I salued her, and enquired what shee was, and why she so worthie to sight, dained to enter into so foul a dungeon, and namely a prison, without leaue of my keepers. For certes, although the vertue of deeds of mercy stretchen to visiten the poor prisoners, and hem after that faculties been had to comfort, me seemed that I was so ferre fallen into miserie and wretched hid caitifenesse, that mee should no precious thing neigh: and also tha [...] for my sorrow euery wight should beene heavie, and wish my recouerie. But when this lady had somedeale apperceiued, as well by my wordes, as by my chere, what thought busied me within, with a good womanly countenance she said these words: O my norie, we nest thou that my manner be to foryet my friends or my seruaunts? Nay (qd. she) it is my full entent to visite and comfort all my friendships and allies, as well in time of perturbation, as of most propertie of blisse, in mee shall vnkindenesse neuer bee founden. And also sithen I haue so few especiall true now in these days, wherefore I may well at more leisar come to hem that me deseruen, and if my comming may in any thing auail, wete well I woll come often.

Now good lady (qd. I) that art so faire on to looke, ryning honey be thy wordes, blisse of paradise arne thy lookings, joy and comfort are thy mouings, What is thy name? How is it that in you is so mokell werking vertues enpight, as me seemeth, & in none other creature, that euer saw I with mine eyen? My disciple (qd. she) me wondereth of thy words, and on thee, that for a little disease hast foryetten my name. Wost thou not well that I am Loue, that first thee brought to thy seruice? O good Lady (qd. I) is this worship to thee, or to [Page] thyne excellence, for to come into so foule a place? Parde sometime tho I was in prosperitie, and with forraine goods enuolued, I had mokell to doen to drawe thee to mine hostell, and yet many wernings thou madest, ere thou lift fully to graunt, thine home to make at my dwelling place: and now thou commest goodly by thine owne vise, to comfort me with wordes, and so there through I ginne remember on passed gladnesse. Truly lady, I ne wote whether I shall say welcome or none, sithen thy comming woll as much do mee tene and sorrow, as gladnesse and mirth: see why. For that me comforteth to thinke on passed gladnesse, that me anoyeth eft to be in doing: thus thy comming both gladdeth and teneth, and that is cause of much sorrow: lo lady, howe then I am comforted by your comming: and with that I gan in tears is distill, and tenderly weepe. Now certes (qd. Loue) I see well (and that me overthinketh) that wit in thee fayleth, and art in point to dote. Truly (qd. I) that have ye maked, and that ever will I rue. Wotest thou not wel (qd. she) that every sheepheard ought by reason to seeke his sperkeland sheepe that arne ron into wildernesse, among bushes and perils, and hem to their pasture ayen bryng, and take of hem privie busie cure and keepping? And tho the unconning Sheep scattered, would been lost, renning to wildernesse, and to deserts draw, or els woulden put himself to the swallowing Wolfe, yet shall the shepheard, by businesse and trauaile, so put him forth, that he shall not let him be lost by no way. * A good sheepheard putteth rather his life to be lost for his sheepe.

But for thou shalt not wene me, being of werse condicion, truly for everiche of my folk, and for all tho that to me ward be knit in any condicion, I woll rather die than suffer hem through errour to been spilt. For me list, and it me liketh, of all mine a Shepheardesse to be cleaped. Wost thou not well, I failed never wight, but he me refused, and would negligently go with unkindnesse? And yet parde, have I many such holpe and releved, and they have oft me beguiled, but ever at the end it discended in their own necks. Hast thou not radde how kind I was to Paris, Priamus son of Troy? How Iason me falsed for all his fals behest? How Sesars sonke, I left it for no tene, till he was troned in my blisse for his service. What (qd. she) most of all, maked I not a love day betweene God and mankinde, and chese a maid to be nompere to put the quarell at end? Lo, how I have travailed to haue thanke on all sides, and yet list me not to rest, and I might find on whom I should werche. But truly, mine own disciple, because I have thee found at all assayes in thy will to be ready mine hestes to have followed, and hast ben true to that Margarite Pearle that ones I thee shewed, and she alway ayenward hath made but daungerous chear, I am come in proper persone to put thee out of errours, and make thee glad by wayes of reason, so that sorrow ne disease shall no more hereafter thee amaistrie. Wherethrough I hope, thou shalt lightly come to the grace that thou long hast desired of thilke Iewel. Hast thou not heard many ensamples, how I have comforted and releeved the schollers of my lore? Who hath worthied Kings in the field? Who hath honoured Ladies in houre, by a perpetuall mirror of their truth in my service? Who hath caused worthy folke to void vice and shame? Who hath hold cities and realms in prosperity? If thee lift cleape ayen thine olde remembraunce, thou coudest every poynt of this declare in especiall, and say that I thy maistres have be cause, causing these things, and many mo other.

Now iwis madame (qd. I) all these thyngs I know well my selfe, and that thyne excellence passeth the understanding of us beasts, and that no mannes wit yearthly may comprehend thy vertues. Well then (qd. she) for I see thee in disease and sorrow, I wote well thou art one of mine nories, I may not suffer thee so to make sorrow, thine owne selfe to shend: but I my self come to be thy fere, thine heavy charge to make to seem the lesse, for wo is him that is alone: * And to the sorry to been moned by a sorrowful wight, it is great gladnesse. Right so with my sick friendes I am sick, and with sorry, I cannot els but sorrow make, till when I have hem releeved, in such wise, that gladnesse in a maner of counterpaising shall restore as mokell in joy, as the passed heavinesse beforn did in tene. And also qd. she) when any of my servaunts been alone in solitary place, I have yet ever busied me to be with hem, in comfort of their hearts, and taught hem to make songs of plaint and of blisse, and to enditen letters of Rhethorike in queint understandings, and to bethinke hem in what wise they might best their Ladies in good service please, and also to learn maner in countenaunce, in words, and in bearing, and to ben meek and lowly to every wight, his name and fame to encrease, and to yeue great yefts and large, that his renome may springen: but thee thereof have I excused, for thy losse and great costages, wherethrough thou art needy, arne nothing to me unknowen, but I hope to God somtime it shall been amended, as thus, as I saied. In norture have I taught all mine, and in courtesie made hem expert their Ladies hearts to winne, and if any would endeynous, or proud, or be envious, or of wretches acquaintaunce, hasteliche have such voided out of my schoole: for all vices truly I hate: vertues and worthinesse in all my power I auaunce.

Ah worthy creature (qd. I) and by juste cause, the name of goddesse dignely ye mowe beat: in thee lithe the grace through which any creature in this worlde hath any goodnesse, truly all manner of blisse and preciousnesse in vertue out of thee springen, and wellen, as brookes and rivers procceden from [Page] their springs: and like as all waters by kind drawen to the sea, so all kindly thinges threst [...], by full appetite of desire, to drawe after thy steppes, and to thy presence approch, as to their kindely perfection: howe dare then beasts in this world aught forfete ayenst thy Divine purueighaunce? Also lady ye knowen all the privy thoughtes, in heartes no counsayle may been hidde from your knowynge. Wherefore I wate well Lady, that ye knowe your selfe, that I in my conscience am, and have been willyng to your service, all coud I never doe as I should, yet forsooth fayned I never to love otherwise than was in myne heart: & if I coud have made cheare to one, and ythought another, as many other done all day afore mine eyen, I trowe it would not me have vailed. Certes (qd. she) haddest thou so done, I would not now have thee here visited. Ye wete well Lady eke (qd. I) that I have not plaid raket, Nettle in, Docke out, & with the Weathercocke waved, and truly there ye me set, by accord of my conscience I would not fly, till ye and reason by apert strength maden mine hert to tourne.

In good faith (qd. she) I have knowe thee ever of tho conditions, & sithen thou wouldest (in as much as in thee was) a made mee privy of thy counsaile, and judge of thy conscience, though I forsoke it in tho dayes, till I saw better my time, would never God yt I should now faile, but ever I woll be ready, witnessing thy sooth, in what place that ever I shall, ayenst all tho that woll the contrary susteine: and for as much as to me is naught vnknowen, ne hid of thy privy heart, but all hast thou tho thynges made to mee open at the full, that hath caused my comming into this prison, to void the webbes of thyne eyen, to make thee clearely to see the errours thou hast been in: & because that men been of divers conditions, some adradde to say a sooth, and some for a sooth anone ready to fight, & also y• I may nor my selfe beene in place, to withsay thilke men that of thee speaken otherwise than the sooth, I woll and charge thee, in vertue of obedience that thou to mee dwest, to writen me wordes, and set hem in writings, that they mowe as my witnessing beene noted among the people. For bookes written neither dreden ne shamen, ne strive conne, but onely shewen the entent of y• w [...] ter, and yeve remembraunce to the hearer: & if any woll in thy presence say any thing to tho writers, looke boldly trust on Mars to answere at the full. For certes, I shall him enforme of all the trouth in thy love, with thy conscience, so that of his helpe thou shalt not vary at thy neede. I trowe the strongest and the best y• may be found, woll not transvers thy words, whereof then wouldest thou dreade.

GReatly was I tho gladded of these words, and as who saith, wexen somedele light in hert, both for the authority of witnesse, and also for sikernesse of helpe of the foresayd beheste, and said: Truly Lady now am I well gladded through comfort of your wordes, be it nowe liking vnto your nobly, to shewe which folke diffame your servants, sith your service ought above all other thynges to beene commended. Yet (qd. she) I see well thy soule is not all out of the amased cloud: thee were better to heare thing, that thee might light out of thine heavy charge, and after knowing of thine owne helpe, then to stirre sweet wordes, and suche reasons to heare: for in a thoughtfull soule (& namely such one as thou art) wol not yet such things sinken. Come of therefore, & let me seene thy heavy charge, that I may the lightlier for thy comfort purveigh.

Now certes Lady (qd. I) y• most comfort I might haue, were vtterly to w [...]te me bee sure in heart of that Margarite I serve, & so I thinke to done with all mights, while my life dureth. Then (qd she) mayst thou thereafter, in such wise that mispleasaunce ne enter? In good fayth (qd. I) there shall no mispleasance be caused through trespace on my side. And I doe thee to weten (qd. she) I set never yet persone to serve in no place (but if hee caused y• contrary in defaults and trespaces) that hee ne sped of his service. Mine owne yearthly lady (quod I tho) and yet remember to your worthinesse, how long sithen, by many revolving of yeares, in time when October his leave ginneth take, and November sheweth him to sight, when Bernes been ful of goods, as is the Qutte on every halke, & then good lond tillers ginneth shape for y• yearth, with great travayle to bring forth more Corne to mannes sustenaunce ayenst the next yeares following. In such time of plenty, hee that hath an home, and is wise, list not to wander mar vailes to seech, but he bee constrayned or excited: of the lothe thyng is done by excitation of other mannes opinion, whiche woulden fayne have myne abiding, take in heart of lust to travayle, and see the windyng of the yearth, in that time of Winter, by woodes that large streetes weren in, by small pathes, that Swine and Hogges hadden made, as lanes with ladels, there maste to seech, I walked thinking alone, a wonder great whyle, and the great beastes that the wood haunten and adorneth all maner forrests, and heards gone too wisd: then ere I was ware, I neighed to a sea bank, and for ferde of the beasts, shipcraft I cride: for lady I trow ye wete well your self, nothing is werse than the beastes, that should [...]n beene tame, if they catche her wisdnesse; and ginne again waxe ramage: Thus forsooth was I aferde, and to Shippe me hied. Then were there ynow to lach mine handes, and drawe me to Shippe, of which many I kn [...]we well the names. Sight was the first, Lust was another, Thought was y• thirde, and Will eke was there a Mayster: these broughten mee wythin boorde of this Shippe of travaile. So when the sayle was [Page] sprad, and this Ship gan to mooue, the Wind and Water gan for to rise, and ouerthwartly to tourn the Welkin, the wawes seemden as they kist together, but often vnder colour of kissing, is mokell old hate priuely closed and kept. The storm so strangely, and in a deuouring manner, gan so fast vs assail, that I supposed the date of my death should haue made there his ginning, now up, now down, now vnder the wawe, and now abouen, was my Shippe a great while. And so by mokell duresse of weathers, and of stormes, and with great auowing pilgrimages, I was driuen to an Isle, where vtterly I wend first to haue be rescowed, but truly at the first beginning, it seemed me so perillous, the hauen to catch, that but through grace I had been comforted, of life I was full despaired. Truly Lady, if ye remember aright of all manner things, your self came hastely to seen vs sea driuen, and to weten what we weren: but first ye were deignous of cheare, after which ye gone better alight, and euer as me thought ye liued in great dreade of disease, it seemed so by your chear. And when I was certified of your name, y• lenger I looked on you, y• more I you goodly dradde, and euer mine hert on you opened the more, & so in a little time my Ship was out of minde. But Lady as ye me lad, I was ware both of beastes and of fishes, a great number thronging togider: among which a Muskle in a blew shell had enclosed a Margarite Pearle, the most precious and best that euer toforne came in my sight, & ye tolden your self, that ilke iewel in his kind was so good & so vertuous, that her better should I neuer finde, all sought I thereafter to the worldes ende, and with yt I helde my peace a great whyle: and euer sithen I haue me bethought on the man, that sought the precious Margarites, and when he had founden one to his liking, he sold all his good to buy that iewel: Iwis, thought I, and yet so I thinke, now haue I founden the iewel that mine herte desireth, whereto should I seeche further, truly nowe wol I stint, and on this Margarite I set mee for euer. Now than also, sithen I wist wel it was your will, that I should to such a seruice me take, and so to desire that thing of which I neuer haue blisse, there liueth none, but he hath disease: your might then, that brought me to such seruice, that to me is cause of sorrow and of ioy, I wonder of your word that ye saine, to bringen men into ioy, & parde ye wote well, that default ne trespace may not reasonable been put to me wards, as fer as my conscience knoweth: but of my disease me list now a while to speak, & to enform you in what manner of blisse ye haue me throng. For truly I wene, that all gladnesse, all ioy, and all mirth is beshet vnder lock, and the key throw in such place, thet it may not bee found: my brenning, who hath, altered al my hew. When I should sleep, I wallow and I thinke, and mee disport. Thus combred, I seeme that all folk had me mased. Also lady mine, desire hath long dured, some speaking to haue, or els at y• least, haue been enmoised with sight: & for wanting of these things, my mouth would, and he durst, plein right sore, sithen euils for my goodnesse arn manyfold to me holden. I wonder Lady truly, saue euermore your reuerence, how ye mow for shame such things suffer on your seruaunt, to be so multiplied: wherefore kneelyng with a low heart, I pray you to rue on his caytife, that of nothing now may serue. Good Lady, if you list now your help to me shew, that am of your pryuiest seruauntes, at all assays in this time, and vnder your wynges of protection. No help to me wards is shapen, how shall then straungers in any wyse after succour looke, when I that am so pryuie, yet of helpe I doe fayle? Further maye I not, but thus in this prisone abide: what bondes and chaynes me holden, Ladie ye see well your self? A reniant foriudged hath not half the care. But thus sighyng and sobbyng I waile here alone, and nere it for comfort of your presence, ryght here would I sterue. And yet a little am I gladded, that so goodly such grace, and none happe haue I hent, graciouslye to finde the precyous Margarite, that all other left, menne should buye, if they should therefore sell all her substaunce. Wo is me, that so many let games, and purpose breakers, beene maked wayters, such prysoners as I am, euermore to ouerlooke and to hinder, and for such lettours, it is hard any such iewell to winne. Is this lady an honour to thy deity? Me thynketh by ryght, suche people shoulde haue no maystry, ne been ouerlookers ouer none of thy seruauntes. * Truely were it leful unto you, to all the goddes would I playne, that ye rule your Diuine purueighaunce amonges your seruauntes, nothynge as yee shoulde. Also Ladye, my moeble is insuffisaunte to counteruayle the price of this iewell, or els to make the eschaunge: eke no wight is worthy such pearls to weare, but Kings or Princes, or els their peers: This iewell for vertue, woulde adorne and make fayre all a realme, the nobley of vertue is so much, that her goodnesse ouer all is commended. Who is it that would not waile, but he might such riches haue at his will, the vertue thereof out of this prison may me deliuer, & nought els. And if I be not therethorowe holpen, I see my self withouten recouery: although I might hence void, yet would I not, I would abide the day that desteny hath me ordeined, which I suppose is without amendment, so sore is mine heart bounden, that I may thinken none other. Thus straight (Lady hath sir Daunger laced me in stocks, I leue it be not your will: & for I see you taken so little heed, as me thinketh, and woll not maken by your might the vertue in mercy of the Margarite, on me for to stretch, so as ye mow well, in case that you list: my blisse & my mirth arn felde, [Page] sickenesse and sorrow been alway ready, the cope of tene is wound about all my body, that standing is mee best, vnneth may I ligge for pure miseasie sorrow, and yet all this is little ynough to be the earnest siluer in forward of this bargain, for treble fold, so mokell must I suffer, er time come of mine ease. * For he is worthie no wealth, that may no woe suffer. And certes, I am heauie to think on these things, but who shall yeue me water ynough to drink, least mine eyen drie for renning streames of teares? Who shall waylen with mee myne own happie heavinesse? Who shall counsayle mee now in my liking tene, and in my goodly harse? I not. For euer the more I brenne, the more I coveit: the more that I sorrow, the more thirst I in gladnesse. Who shall then yeue me a contrarious drink, to staunch the thurst of my blisfull bitternesse? Lo thus I bren and I drench, I shiuer and sweat, to this reuersed yuell was neuer yet ordained salue, forsoth all leches ben vnconning, saue the Margarite alone, any such remedy to puruey.

And with these words I brast out to weep, that euery tear of mine eyen for greatnesse semed they boren out the ball of my sight, and that all the water had been outronne. Then thought me, that loue gan a litle too heauy for miscomfort of my chear, and gan soberly and in easie manner speak, well auising what she said. * Commonly the wise speaken easily and soft for many skils: One is, their wordes are the better beleeued, and also in easie speaking, auisement men may catch, what to put forth, and what to holden in. And also the authoritie of easie wordes is the more, and eke they yeuen the more vnderstanding to other intention of the matter. Right so this Ladie easily and in a soft manere gan say these wordes.

Meruayle (qd. she) great it is, that by no manner of semblaunt, as ferre as I can espie, thou list not to haue any recour, but euer thou playnest and sorrowest, and ways of remedy for foolish wilfulnesse thee list not to seech: but enquire of thy next friends, that is thine inwit, and mee that haue ben thy maistresse, and the recour and fine of thy disease, for of disease is gladnesse and joy, with a full vessell so helded, that it quencheth the feeling of the first tenes. But thou that were wont not only these things remember in thine heart, but also fools thereof to enfourmen, in adnulling of their errours, and in destroying of their derk opinions, and in comfort of their sear thoughts: now canst thou not been comfort of thine own soul, in thinking of these things. O where hast thou be so long commensall, that hast so mikell eaten of the potages of foryetfulnesse, and dronken so of ignoraunce, that the old souking, which thou haddest of mee, arne a maistred and lorne fro all manner of knowing? O this is a worthy person to helpe other, that cannot counsaile himself. And with these wordes for pure and strong shame I wox all reed.

And she then seeing mee so astonied by divers stounds, suddainly (which thing kind hateth) gan deliciously me comfort with sugred words, putting me in full hope, that I should y• Margarite getten, if I followed her hests, and gan with a fair cloth to wipen the tears that hingen on my cheeks: and then said I in this wise. Now well of wisedom and of all welth, withouten thee may nothing ben learned, thou bearest the keys of all priuie things. In vain trauail men to catch any stedship, but if ye lady first the lock vnshet, ye lady learn vs the ways and the bypaths to heauen: ye lady maken all the heauenly bodies goodly and benignely to done her course, that gouernen vs beasts here on earth. Ye armen your seruaunts ayenst all debates, with imperciable harneis, ye setten in her herts insuperable blood of hardnesse, ye leaden hem to the parfit good. Yet all thing desireth, ye werne no man of help, that wele done your lore, grant me now a little of your grace, all my sorrows to cease. Mine own seruant (qd. she) truly thou sittest nie mine hert, and thy bad chere gan sorely me greue: but among thy plaining words, me thought thou alledgest things to be letting of thine helping, and thy grace to hinder, wherethrough me thinketh that wanhope is crope through thine hert: God forbid that nice vnthriftie thought should come in thy mind thy wits to trouble, sithen euery thing in coming is contingent, wherefore make no more thy proposition by an impossible. But now I pray thee rehearse me ayen tho things, that thy mistrust causen, and thilk things I think by reason to distroyen, and put full hope in thine hert. What vnderstandest thou there (qd. she) by that thou saidest, many let games are thine ouerlookers? And also by that thy moeble is insuffisaunt? I not what thou thereof meanest.

Truly (qd. I) by the first, I say that janglers euermore arn speaking rather of euil than of good, for euery age of man rather enclineth to wickednesse, than any goodnesse to advance. Also false words springen so wide, by the stering of false lying tongues, that fame als swiftly flieth to her ears, and faith many wicked tales, and as soon shall falsenesse ben leued, as trouth, for all his great sothnesse. Now by that other (qd. I) me thinketh thilk jewel so precious, that to no such wretch as I am, would vertue thereof extend, and also I am too feeble in worldly joys, any such jewel to countreuail. For such people that worldly joys han at her will, been set at the highest degree, and most in reuerence ben accepted, for false wening maketh felicity therein to be supposed: but such caitiues as I am euermore ben hindred. Certes (qd. she) take good heed, and I shall by reason to thee shewen, that all these things mow not let thy purpose, by the least point that any wight coude prick.

[Page] REmembrest nat (qd. she) ensample is one of the strongest maner, as for to preue a mannes purpose. Then if I nowe by ensample enduce thee to any proposition, is it nat proued by strength? Yes forsooth, qd. I. Well, qd. she, raddest thou neuer how Paris of Troy and Helaine loued togider, and yet had they not entrecommuned of speech? Also Acrisius shete Dane his doughter in a toure, for suertie that no wight should of her haue no maistrie in my service, and yet Iupiter by signes, without any speech, had all his purpose ayenst her fathers will. And many such mo haue been knitte in trouth, and yet spake they neuer togider, for that is a thyng enclosed vnder secretnesse of priuitie, why twey persons entremellen herts after a sight. The power in knowing of such things so preuen shall nat all vtterly be yeuen to you beasts, for many things in such precious matters, been reserued to iudgement of diuine purueyaunce, for among liuyng people, by mannes consideration mowen they not be determined. Wherefore I say, all the envye, all y• iangling, that welnie people vpon my seruaunts maken efte, is rather cause of esploite, than of any hindering. Why then qd. I, suffer ye such wrong, and moun when ye list, lightly all such yuels abate? me seeineth to you it is a great vnworship. O, qd. she, hold now thy peace, I haue founden too many that han been to me vnkind, y• truly I woll suffer euery wight in that wise to haue disease, & who that continue to the ende well and truly, hem woll I helpen, and as for one of myne into blisse to wend, as martial doing in Greece. Who was ycrowned, by GOD nat the strongest, but he that rathest come and lengest abode & continued in the iourney, and spared nat to trauayle as long as the play lest. But thilke persons that profered him nowe to my seruice therein, is a while, & anone voydeth, and ready to another, and of now one he thinketh, and nowe another, and into water entreth, and anone respireth, suche one liste mee nat into parfite blisse of my seruice bryng. * A tree oft set in diuers places, woll not by kinde endure to bring forth fruits. Looke nowe I pray thee, howe myne olde seruauntes of time passed continued in her seruice, and follow thou after their steppes, and then myght thou not fayle, in case thou worche in this wise. Certes, qd. I, it is nothing liche, this worlde to time passed, eke this country hath one manner, & another countrey hath another. And so maye nat a man alwaye put to his eye, the salue that hee healed with his heele: For this is sooth, betwyxe two thynges lyche, oft diuersitie is required. Now, qd. she, that is soothe, diuersitie of nation, diuersitie of lawe, as was maked by manye reasons, for that diuersitie commeth in by the contrarious malice of wicked people, that han envious heartes ayenst other. But truely my lawe to my seruauntes euer hath been in general, whiche may not fayle: for ryght as mannes lawe, that is ordeined by many determinations, may not be knowne for good or badde, till assay of the people han proued it, and to what end it draweth, and then it sheweth the necessitie thereof, or els the impossibilitie: right so ye law of my seruaunts so well hath been proued in general, that hitherto hath it not fayled. Wist thou not well, that all the lawe of kinde is my lawe, and by God ordayned & establyshed to dure by kynde reasoun: wherefore all lawe, by mannes wit purveied, ought to be vnderput to lawe of kinde, whych yet hath be commune to euerye kindely creature, that my statutes and my lawes that been kyndely, arne generall to all peoples. * Old doyngs, and by many turnings of years vsed, & with the peoples manner proued, mowen not so lightly been defaced, but new doings contrariaunts such old, often causen diseases, and breaken many purposes. Yet say I nat therefore, that ayen new mischeef, men should not ordaine a newe remedie, but alway looke it contrary not y• old, no ferther than the mallice stretcheth. Then followeth it, y• olde doings in loue han ben vniuersal, as for most exploit for thee vsed: Wherefore I wold not yet that of my lawes nothing be annulled.

But then to thy purpose, such iangelers and lookers, & wayters of games, if they think in ought they mowe dere, yet loue well alway, & set hem at nought, & let thy port been low in euery wights presence, & readie in thine heart to maintaine that thou hast begonne, & a little thee fayne with meeknesse in wordes, and thus with sleight shalt thou surmount & dequace the yuel in their herts. * And wisdome yet is to seme flie otherwhyle there a man woll fight. Thus with suche thyngs the tongues of euil shall been stilled: els fully to graunt thy full meaning, forsooth euer was & euer it shall be, that mine enemies been aferde to trust to any fighting: & therefore haue thou no cowards heart in my seruice, no more than sometime thou haddest in y• contrary, for if thou drede such ianglers thy voyage to make: vnderstand well, That he y• dreadeth any raine to sow his cornes, he shall haue thin bernes: also he that is afearde of his clothes, let him daunce naked: Who nothing vndertaketh, and namely in my seruice, nothing atcheueth: After great stormes y• weather is often merry & smooth. * After much clattering, there is mokell rowning: thus after iangling wordes commeth huisht, peace, and be still. O good lady, qd. I then, see now how seuen yeare passed, & more, haue I graffed & groubed a vine, and wyth all the ways that I could, I sought to a fede me of y• grape, but fruit haue I none found. Also I haue this seuen year serued Laban to a wedded Rachel his doughter, but blear eyed Lia is brought to my bed, which alway engendereth my tene, and is full of children in tribulation and in care: and although the [Page] clippynges and kissyngs of Rachell shoulde seeme to me sweet, yet is she so barraine, yt gladnesse ne ioy by no way wol spring, so yt I may weep with Rachell, I may not been counsayled with sollace, sithen issue of myne heartely desire is fayled. Now then I pray that to me sone freedom and grace in thys eight yeare, this eyghteth mow to me both by kynreste and masseday after these seauen werke daies of trauaile, to follow the christen lawe: and what euer ye doe els, that thilke Margarite be holden so lady in your pryuye chamber, that she in this case to none other person be committed. Look then, qd. she, in this case to none other person be committed: Look then, qd. she, thou perseuer in my seruice, in which I haue thee grounded, yt thilke scorne in thy enemies mowe thus on thy person be not soothed: lo this man began to edifie, but for his foundement is bad, to the end may he it nat bring. For meeknesse in countenaunce, with a manly heart in deeds & in long continuance, is the conisance of my livery, to all my retinue deliuered. What wenest thou yt me list aduaunce such persons as louen ye first sittings at feasts, ye highest stoles in churches, and in hall, loutings of peoples in markets and fairs, vnstedfast to bide in one place any while together, wening his own wit more excellent than other, scorning all manner device but his owne? Nay, nay, God wote, these shall nothing parten of my blysse. Truely my manner heretoforne hath beene, worship with my blisse, * Lions in the field, and Lambes in chamber, Eagles at assaute, and Maidens in hall, Foxes in counsaile, still in their deeds, and their protection is graunted ready to been a bridge, and their banner is ar [...]ered like Wolves in the field. Thus by these ways shull men been auaunced: ensample of David, yt from keeping of sheepe was drawn vp into the order of kingly gouernaunce, and Iupiter from a bulle to beene Europes fere, and Iulius Cesar from the lowest degree in Rome to be maister of all earthly princes, and Eneas from hell to be King of the countrey, there Rome is now stonding. And so to thee I say thy grace by bering thereafter, may set thee in such plight, that no iangling may greeue the leaste tucke of thy hems, that all their iangles is nought to counte at a cresse in thy disaduantage.

EVer, qd. she, hath the people in this worlde desired to haue had great name in worthinesse, and hated foule to beare any fame, and that is one of the obiections thou alledgest to be ayen thine hertely desire. Ye forsooth, qd. I, and that so commonly the people woll lie and bring about such enfame. Nowe, quod she, if men with leasinges put on the enfame, wenest thy selfe thereby been enpeired? y• wening is wrong, see why, for as much as they lyen thy Merite encreaseth, and make thee ben more worthy to hem that knowen of thee the sooth, by what thing thou art apeired, that in so mokell thou art encreased of thy beloued friends: & soothly, a wound of thy friend to the lasse harm, yea sir, and better than a false kissing in deceiuable glosing of thyne enemie, aboue that then to be well with thy friende, maketh such enfame, Ergo thou art encreased and nat apeired. Lady, qd. I, sometyme yet if a man be in disease, ye estimation of the enuious people ne looketh nothing to deserts of men, ne to ye merites of their doings, but only to the auenture of fortune, and thereafter they yeuen their sentence. And some looken the voluntary will in his heart, & therafter telleth his iudgement, not taking heed to reason ne to the qualitie of the doing, as thus: if a man be rich & fulfild with worldly welefulnesse, some commenden it, & saine it is so lent by iust cause, and he yt hath aduersitie, they saine he is weaked, & hath deserued thilke annoy. The contrary of these things some men holden also, and saine that to yt rich, prosperitie is purveied vnto his confusion: & vpon this matter, many authorities of many & great witted clearkes they allegen. And some mensayne, though all good estimation forsaken folke yt han aduersitye, yet is it merite and encrease of his blysse: so that these purposes arne so wonderful in vnderstanding, that truly for mine aduersitie, now I not how the sentence of ye indifferent people will iudgen my fame. Therefore, qd. she, if any wight should yeue a true sentence on such matters, ye cause of the disease mayst thou see well, vnderstand thereupon after what end it draweth, yt is to sayne, good or bad, so ought it to haue his fame, or by goodnesse enfame by badnesse: For euery reasonable persone, & namely of a wise man, his wit ought not without reason toforne heard, suddainly in a matter to iudge. After ye saws of the wise, thou shalt not iudge ne deme toforne thou know. Lady, qd. I, ye remember well, that in most laud & praising of certain saints in holy church, is to rehearsen their conuersation from bad into good, and that is so rehersed, as by a perpetual mirrour of remembraunce in worshipping of tho saintes, and good ensample to other misdoers in amendment. How turned the Roman Zedeories fro the Romans, to be with Hannibal ayenst his kind nation: And afterwards him seeming the Romaines to be at ye next degree of confusion, turned to his old allies, by whose wit after was Hannibal discomfited. Wherfore to enforme you lady, the manner, why I mean, see now now in my youth I was draw to be assentaunt, and in my mights helpyng to certaine coniurations, & other great matters of ruling of citezins, & thilke thynges beene my drawers in, and excitours to tho matters werne so painted & coloured, that at the prime face me seemed then noble and glorious to all ye people: I then wening mikell merite, haue deserued in furthering and maintenaunce of tho thyngs, busied and laboured [Page] with all my diligence, in werkyng of thilke matters to the end. And truly lady, to tell you ye sooth, me rought little of any hate of the mighty Senatours in thilke city, ne of communes mallice, for two skilles: One was, I had comfort to ben in such plite, that both profite were to me and to my friends: Another was, for common profit in communalty, is not but peace & tranquility, with just gouernaunce proceden from thilke profite, sithen by counsail of mine inwit, me thought the first paynted thynges, mallice and euill meanyng, withouten any good avaylyng to any people, and of tyranny purposed: and so for pure sorrow and of my meddling, and bad infame that I was in ronne, tho teares lashed out of mine eyen, were thus away washe, than the vnderhyd mallice and the rancour of purposing envy, fornecaste and ymagined, in destruction of mokel people shewed so openly, that had I been blind, with myne handes all the circumstaunce I might well have feeled.

Now then tho persones that such thinges have cast to redresse, for wrath of my firste meddling, shopen me to dwell in this pynande prison, till Lachases my threade no lenger would twyne. And ever I was sought, if me list to have grace of my life, and freenesse of that prison, I shoulde openly confesse howe peace might been enduced to enden all y• first rancours. It was fully supposed my knowing to be full in tho matters. Then Lady I thought that every man, that by any way of right, rightfully done, may helpe any commune helpe to been saved, which thynge to keepe above all thinges I am holde to maintaine, & namely in destroying of a wrong, al should I therethrough enpeach myne owne fere, if he were guilty, & to do misdeed assentaunt. And maister ne friend may nought avayle to the soule of hym that in falsenesse deyeth, and also that I nere desired wrath of the people, ne indignation of the worthy, for nothyng that ever I wrought or did, in any doings my selfe els, but in y• mayntenaunce of these foresayd errours, and in hidyng of the privities thereof. And that all the peoples hearts holdyng on the errours side, weren blind, and of elde so ferre forth beguiled, yt debate and strife they maintayned, and in distruction on that other side, by whyche cause, the peace, that most in communalties should be desired, was in point to bee broken and annulled. Also the city of London, that is to me so deare and sweet, in which I was forth growne, and more kindely love have I to y• place, than to any other in yearth, as every kindely creature hath full appetite to that place of his kindely engendrure, and to wilne reste and peace in that steede to abide: thilke peace should thus there have been broken, which of all wise is commended and desired. * For know thing it is, all men that desiren to commen to y• parfit peace everlasting, must y• peace by God commended, both maintain and keepe. This peace by angels voyce was confirmed, our God entring in this world: This, as for his testament, he left to all his friends, when he retourned to the place from whence he came: This his Apostle admonesteth to holden, without which man parfitely may have none insight. Also this God by his coming made not peace alone between heauenly and earthly bodies, but also among us on earth, so he peace confirmed, that in one heed of love one body we shoulde perfourm. Also I remember me well, how the name of Athens was rather after the GOD of peace than of battaile, shewing that peace most is necessary to Communalties and Cities. I then so stered by all these ways toforne nempned, declared certain points in this wise. First that thilke persons that hadden mee drawen to their purposes, and me not witting the privy entent of their meaning, drawen also the feeble witted people, that have none insight of gubernatife prudence, to clamure and to cry on matters that they stirred, & under points for commune auantage, they embolded the passife to take in the actives doing, and also stirred innocents of conning to cry after things, which (qd. they) may not stand but we ben executours of tho matters, & authority of execution by common election to us be delivered, & that must enter by strength of your maintenaunce, for we out of such degree put, oppression of these old hinderers shall agayn surmounten and putten you in such subjection, that in endlesse woe ye shull complain. The governments (qd. they) of your citie, left in the hands of torcencious citizens, shal bring in pestilence and distruction to you good men, and therefore let us have y• commune administration to abate such yuels. Also (qd. they) * It is worthy the good to commend, and thy guilty deserts to chastice. There been citizens many for ferd of execution that shall be done, for extortions by hem committed, been evermore ayenst these purposes, and all other good meanings. Never the latter, Lady, truly the meaning under these words, was fully to have appeached the mighty Senators which hadden heavy heart for the misgovernaunce that they seen. And so Lady, when it fell that free election, by great clamour of much people for great disease of misgovernaunce so fervently stooden in her election, yt they hem submitted to every manner face, rather than have suffred the manner & the rule of the hated governours, notwithstanding that in the contrary helden much commune meiny that have no consideration, but only to voluntary lusts withouten reason. But then thilke governour so forsaken, fayning to scorn his undoing, for misrule in his time, shope to have letted thilke election, and have made a newe himself to have been chosen, and under that mokell rore have arered. These things Lady knowen among the Princes, and made open to the people, draweth in amendment, that every degree shall ben ordained to stand there [Page] as he should, and that of errors coming hereafter, men may lightly toforn hand puruay remedy in this wise, peace and rest to be furthered and hold. Of the which things Lady, thilk persons broughten in answere toforne their most soueraigne judge, not coarted by paining dures openly knowledgeden, and asked thereof grace, so that apertly it preveth my wordes been sooth, without forging of leasings.

But now it greueth me to remember these diuers sentences, in jangling of these sheepie people: certes, me thinketh they oughten to maken joy that a sooth may be knowe. For my trouth and my conscience been witnesse to me both, that this knowing soothe haue I said, for no harm ne malice of tho persons, but only for trouth of my sacrament in my liegeaunce, by which I was charged on my Kings behalf. But see ye not now Lady, how the fellonous thoughts of this people, and couins of wicked men, conspiren ayen my soothfast trouth. See ye not euery wight that to these erronious opinions were assentaunt, and helps to the noise, and knewen all these things better than I my seluen, apparailen to finden new friends, and cleapen me false, and studien how they mowen in her mouthes werse plite nempne? O God, what may this be, that thilk folk which that in time of my maintenance, & when my might auayleth to stretch to the foresaid matters, tho me commended, and yaue me name of trouth, in so manifold maners, that it was nigh in euery wights ear, there as any of thilk people weren: and on the other side, thilk company sometime passed, yeuing me name of bad loos. Now both tho peoples turned the good into bad, and bad into good, which thing is wonder, that they knowing me saying but soth, arn now tempted to reply her old praisings, and knowen me well in all doings to ben trew, and sain openly that I false haue said many things. And they alleaged nothing me to been false or vntrew, saue thilk mater knowledged by the parties hemself: and God wot other mater is none. Ye also Lady know these things for trew, I auaunt not in praysing of my self, thereby should I lese the precious secre of my conscience. But ye see well that false opinion of the people for my trouth, in telling out of false conspired maters, and after the judgment of these Clerks I should not hide the sooth of no maner person, maister ne other, wherefore I would not drede, were it put in the consideracion of trew and of wise. And for comers hereafter shullen fully out of denwere, all the soth know of these things in act, but as they wern, I haue put it in Scripture, in perpetuell remembrance of true meaning. For truly Lady me seemeth that I ought to bear the name of trouth, that for the loue of rightwisenesse haue thus me submitten: But now then the false fame which that Clerks sain flieth as fast as doth the fame of trouth, shall so wide sprede, till it be brought to the jewell that I of mean, and so shall I been hindred withouten any measure of trouth.

THen gan Loue sadly me behold, and said in a chaunged voice, lower than she had spoken in a time. Fain would I (qd. she) that thou were holpen, but hast thou said any thing, which thou might not prouen? Pardee (qd. I) the persons euery thing as I haue said, han knowleged hemself. Yea (qd. she) but what if they hadden naied, how wouldest thou haue mainteined it? Soothly (qd. I) it is well wist both amongst the greatest, and other of the Realm, that I profered my body so largely in to prouing of tho things, that Mars should haue judged thend: but for sothnesse of my words they durst not to thilk judg trust. Now certes (qd. she) aboue all fames in this world, the name of marciall doings most pleasen to Ladies of my lore, but sithen thou were ready, and thine aduersaries in thy presence refused thilk doing, thy fame ought to be so born, as if in deed it had take to the end. And therefore euery wight that any drop of reason hath, and heareth of the infame, for these things hath this answer to say: trewly thou saidest, for thine aduersaries thy words affirmed. And if thou haddest lied, yet are they discomfited, the prise leaned on thy side, so that fame shall hold down infame, he shall bring vpon none half. What greueth thee thine enemy to sain their own shame, as thus: We arn discomfited and yet our quarell is trew. Shall not the loos of thy frends, ayenward dequace thilk enfame, and say they graunted a sooth without a stroke or fighting. Many men in battell been discomfited and ouercome in a rightfull quarrel, that is goddes priuy judgement in heauen: but yet although the party be yolden, he may with words say his quarrell is trew, and to yeeld him in the contrary for dread of death, he is compelled, and he that graunted and no stroke hath feled, he may not creep away in this wise by none excusacion. Indifferent folk will say, ye who is trew, who is false himself knowledgeth tho things. Thus in euery side fame sheweth to thee good and no bad. But yet (qd. I) some will say I ne should for no deth haue discouered my maistresse, and so by vnkindnesse they woll knet infame to pursue me about: thus enemies of will in manifold maner woll sech priuy serpentines queintises, to quench & distroy by venime of many businesses, the light of trouth, to make herts to murmour ayenst my person, to haue me in hain, withouten any cause. Now (qd. she) hear me a few words, and thou shalt fully been aunswered, I trow. Me thinketh (qd. she) right now by thy words that Sacrament of swearing, that is to say, charging by Othe, was one of the causes to make thee discouer the malicious imaginacions tofore nempned: euery othe by knitting [Page] of copulation, must haue these lawes, that is, trewe iudgment and rightwisenesse, in which thyng, if any of these lacke, the oth is iturned into the name of periury: then to make a true serment, must needs these things follow, for ofte tymes a man to say soothe, but iudgement and iustice folow, he is forsworne: ensample of Herodes for holding of his serment, was dampned.

Also to say trouth rightfullithe, but in judgment, other whyle is forboden, by that all sothes be not to saine. Therefore in judgement in trouth and rightwisenesses, is euery creature bounden vpon payne of periury full knowing to make, though it were of his own person, for dread of sinne, after that word better is it to die than liue false: and al would peruerted people, false report make in vnkindnes, in y• entent thy fame to reise, when light of truth in these matters is forth sprongen, and openly published among commons, then shall not soch dark enfame dare appear for pure shame of his falsnesse, as some men there been that their own enfame, can none otherwise void or els excuse, but by hindring of other mens fame, which that by none other cause cleapen other mens false, but for with their own falsnesse, mowen they not been avaunsed: or els by false sclaundring words, other men shendin their own true sclaunder, to make seem the lasse, for if soch men woulden their iyen of their conscience reuoluen, shoulden seen the same sentence they legen on other, spring out of their sides, with so many branches, it were impossible to number: to which therefore may it be said in that thing, this man thou demest, therein thy self thou condempnest. But (qd. she) vnderstand not by these words, that thou wene me say thee, to be worthy sclander, for any matter tofore written, truly I would witnesse the contrary, but I say that the beames of sclaundring words may not been done away, till the day of dome. For how should it not yet amongs so great plenty of people, been many shrews, sithen when no mo but eight persons, in Noes ship were closed, yet one was a shrew, and scorned his father. These things (qd. she) I trow, shewen that false fame is not to drede, ne of wise persons to accept, and namely not of thy Margarite, whose wisedom hereafter I think to declare, wherefore I wote well soch thing shall not her astert, then of vnkindnesse, thine othe hath thee excused at the full. But now if thou wouldst not greue, me list a few things to shew. Say on (qd. I) what ye wol, I trow ye mean but trouth, and my profit in time coming. Truly (qd. she) that is soth, so thou con well keep these words, and in the inrest secret chamber of thine hert, so fast hem close, that they neuer flitt, then shalt thou find hem auailing. Look now what people hast thou serued, which of hem all in time of thine exile euer thee refreshed, by the value of the least coigned plate that walketh in money. Who was sory, or made any ruth for thy disease? If they hadden getten their purpose of thy mi [...]aventure, set they not an haw. Lo when thou were enprisoned, how fast they hied in help of thy deliueraunce. I wene of thy death, they yeue but lite: They looked after no thing, but after their own lusts. And if thou list say the sothe, all that meinie that in this brigge thee broughten, lokeden rather after thine helps, than thee to haue releued.

Owen not yet some of hem money for his commons? Paidest not thou for some of her dispences, till they were tourned out of Seland? Who yaue thee euer ought, for any riding thou madest? Yet pardie, some of hem tooken money for thy Chamber, and put tho pens in his pourse, vnweting of the renter.

Lo, for which a company thou medlest, that neither thee, ne them self mighten help of vnkindnesse, now they bear the name, that thou supposest of hem for to haue. What might thou more haue done, than thou diddest, but if thou wouldest in a false quarell, haue been a stinking martire? I wene thou fleddest as long as thou might, their priuitie to conceal, which thing thou helest lenger then thou shouldest. And thilk that ought thee money, no pennie would pay, they wend thy return had been an impossible. How might thou better haue hem proued, but thus in thy needy diseases? Now hast thou ensample, for whom thou shalt meddle: truly this lore is worth many goodes.

OFt gan loue to stern me these words, think on my speach, for truely hereafter, * it woll do thee liking, and how so euer thou see fortune shape her whele to turne, this meditacion by no way reuolue. For certes, Fortune sheweth her fayrest, when she thinketh to beguile. And as me thought here toforne, thou saidest thy loos in loue, for thy rightwisenesse ought to be raysed, should be allowed in time coming: thou might in loue so thee haue, that loos and fame shull so been raysed, that to thy freends comfort, and sorow to thine enemies, endlesse shull endure.

But if thou were that one Sheep amongs the hundred, were lost in desert, and out of the way had erred, and now to the flock art restored, the Shepeheard hath in thee no joy, and thou ayen to the Forrest tourn. But that right as the sorrow and anguish was great, in time of thine out way going, right so joy and gladnesse shall be doubled, to seen thee conuerted, and not as Lothes wife ayen looking, but hoole counsail with the Sheep folowing, and with them grasse and hearbs gader. Neuer the later (qd. she) I say not these things for no wantrust that I haue, in supposing of thee otherwise than I should: for truely I wote well, that now thou art sette in soche a purpose, out of which thee list not to part: But I say it, for many men there ben that to knowing of other mens doings setten all their cure, and lightly desiren [Page] the bad to clatter, rather than the good, and haue no will their owne manner to amende. They also hate of old rancour lightly hauen, and there that soch thing abideth, sodainly in their mouths proceedeth the haboundance of the herte, and words as stones, stones out throw. Wherfore my counsaile is euermore, openly and apertly, in what place thou sitte, counterplete therrours and meanings, in as far as thou hem wistest false, and leaue for no wight, to make hem be know in euery bodies eare: & be alway patient, and vse Iacobs words, what so euer men of thee clappen, I shall sustain my Ladies wrath, which I haue deserued, so long as my Margarite hath rightwised my cause. And certes (qd. she) I witnesse my self, if thou thus conuerted, sorrowest in good meaning in thine herte, wolt from all vanity parfitely depart, in consolacion of al good pleasaunce of that Margarite, which that thou desirest after will of thyne herte, in a manner of a mothers pity, shul fully accept thee into grace. For right as thou rentest clothes in open sight, so openly to sow hem at his worshyp, withouten reproofe commended: Also, right as thou were ensample of moch fold error, right so thou must be ensample of manifold correction, so good fauour to forgoing all error destroying, causeth diligent loue with many plaited praysings to follow, and then shall all the first errours make the following worships to seeme hugely encreased, black and white set togider, euery for other more seemeth, and so dothe euery things contrary in kind. But infame that goeth alway tofore, and praysing worship by any cause following after, maketh to rise thilk honour, in double of wealth, and that quencheth the spot of the first enfame. Why wenest I say these things, in hindering of thy name? Nay nay God wot, but for pure encreasing worship, thy rightwisenesse to commend, and thy trouth to seem the more. Woste not well thy selfe, that thou inform of making, passeth not Adam that eate of the apple. Thou passeth not the stedfastnesse of Noe, y• eating of the grape became dronke. Thou passeth not the chastity of Lothe, that lay by his doughter. Eke the nobly of Abraham, whom God reproued by his pryde. Also Dauids meeknesse, which for a woman made Vry be slaw. What also Hector of Troy, in whom no defaut might be found: yet is he reproued that he ne had with manhood not suffred the warre begon, ne Paris to haue went into Grece, by whom gan all the sorow: for * truly him lacketh no venime of priuy consenting, which y• openly leaueth a wrong to withsay. Lo eke an old prouerbe, among many other. * He that is still, seemeth as he graunted.

Now by these ensamples, thou might fully vnderstand, that these things been writ to your learning, & in rightwisenes of tho persones, as thus: To euery wight his default committed, made goodnesse afterwards done be the more in reuerence, and in open shewing, for ensample is it not songe in holy church? Lo how necessary was Adams sin, Dauid the king gat Salomon the king, of her that was Vries wife. Truly for reproof is none of these things writte: Right so tho I rehearse thy before deed, I repreue thee neuer the more, ne for no villany of thee are they rehearsed, but for worship, so thou continue well hereafter: and for profite of thy self, I rede thou on hem thinke.

Then saied I right thus: Lady of unity and accorde, enuy & wrath lurken there thou commest in place, ye weten well your selue & so done many other, y• while I administred the office of common doing, as in ruling of y• establishments amongs y• people, I defouled neuer my conscience for no maner deede, but euer by wit & by counsaile of the wisest, the matters weren drawen to their right endes. And thus truly for you Lady, I haue desired soch cure, & certes in your seruice was I not idle, as far as soch doing of my cure stretcheth. That is a thing (qd. she) yt may draw many hertes of noble, & voice of common into glory, and fame is not but wretched and fickle.

Alas, that mankind coueteth in so leud a wise, to be rewarded of any good deed, sith glory of Fame in this world, is not but hindering of glory in time comming. And certes, qd. she, yet at y• hardest such fame into heauen is not the yearth but a centre to the cercle of heuen. A pricke is wonderful little in respect of all the cercle, & yet in all this prick may no name be born in manner of persing, for many obstacles, as waters and wildernesse, and straunge languages, & not onely names of men ben stilled & holden out of knowledging by these obstacles, but also cities and realms of prosperity ben letted to be know, and their reason hindred, so that they mowe not ben perfitely in mens proper vnderstanding. How should then the name of a singuler Londenoys passe the glorious name of London, which by many it is commended, and by many it is lacked, and in many mo places in earth not knowen, then knowen: for in many countrees little is London in knowing, or in speach, and yet among one manner of people may not soch fame in goodnesse come, for as many as praisen commonly as many lacken. Fie then on soch maner fame, sleep and suffre him that knoweth priuity of hertes, to deale soch fame in thilke place, there nothing ayenst a soth shall neither speake, ne dare appere, by atturney, ne by other maner. How many great named, & many great in worthinesse losed, han be tofore this time, yt now out of memory are slidden, & cleanly forgetten, for defaute of writings, & yet scriptures for great elde so been defased, that no perpetualty may in hem been judged. But if thou wolt make comparison to euer, wt joy mayst thou haue in yearthly name it is a fair likenesse, a pees or one grain of Wheat, to a thousand ships full of corne charged. What nomber is between [Page] the one and the other, and yet mowe both they be nombred, and end in recknyng haue. But truely all that may be nombred, is nothing to recken, as to thilke that may not be nombred, for oft things ended is made comparison, as one little, an other great, but in things to haue an end, and an other no end, soch comparisoun may not be founden. Wherefore in heauen to been losed, with God hath none end, but endles endureth, and thou canst nothing doen aright, but thou desire the rumour thereof be healed, and in euery wightes eare, and that dureth but a prick, in respect of the other. And so thou seekest reward of folks, small words, and of vain praysings. Truly therein thou lesest the guerdon of vertue, and lesest the greatest valour of conscience, and unhap thy renome euerlasting. * Therefore boldly renome of fame of the yearth should be hated, & fame after death should be desired, of werks of vertue asketh guerdoning, and the soul causeth all vertue. Then y• soul deliuered out of prison of yearth, is most worthy soch guerdone among to haue in the euerlasting fame, and not the bodye, that causeth all mannes yuils.

OF tway things art thou answered, as me thinketh (qd. Loue) and if any thing be in doubt in thy soul, shew it forth thine ignoraunce to clear, and leaue it for no shame. Certes (qd. I) there ne is no body in this world, that aught could say by reason, ayenst any of your skils, as I leue: and by my wit now fele I well that euil speakers, or bearers of enfame, may little greue or let my purpose, but rather by soche thing my quarel to be forthered. Yea (qd. she) and it is proued also, that the like jewel in my keeping shall not there through be stered, of the lest moment that might be imagined. That is soth (qd. I.) Well (qd. she) then leueth there, to declare that thy insuffisaunce is no manner letting, as thus: for that she is so worthy, thou shouldest not climbe so high, for thy moebles and thine estate arne voided, thou thinkest fallen in soch misery, that gladnesse of thy pursute woll not on thee discend. Certes (qd. I) that is soth: right soch thought is in mine herte, for commonly it is spoken, and for an old Prouerb it is ledged: * He that heweth to hie, with chips he may lese his sight. Wherefore I haue been about in all that euer I might, to study ways of remedy, by one side or by an other. Now (qd. she) God forbede, ere thou seek any other doings but soch as I haue learned thee in our resting whiles, and such hearbes as been planted in our Gardens. Thou shalt well vnderstand, that aboue man, is but one God alone. How (qd. I) han men to forne this time, trusted in writs and chauntements, and in helps of Spirites, that dwellen in the air, and thereby they han getten their desires, where as first for all his manly power he daunced behind.

O (qd. she) fie on soch matters, for truely that is sacrilege, and that shall haue no sort with any of my seruants, in mine eyen shall soch thing not be looked after. How often is it commanded by these passed wise, yt to one God shall men serue, & not two Gods. And who that list to haue mine helps, shall aske none help of foul Spirits. Alas, is not man maked semblable to God? Woste thou not well, that all vertue of liueliche werking by Gods purueighance, is vnderput to reasonable creature in yerth, is not euery thing a thishalf God? made buxom to mans contemplacion, vnderstanding in heauen & in earth, and in hell. Hath not man being with stones, soul of wexing with trees and herbs.

Hath he not soul of feling with beasts, fishes, and fouls, and he hath soule of reason and vnderstonding with Angels, so yt in him is knit all maner of liuings, by a reasonable proporcion. Also man is made of all y• fower Elements. All uniuersity is rekened in him alone: he hath under god principality aboue al things. Now is his soul here, now a thousand mile hence, now farre, now nigh, now high, now low, as farre in a moment, as in mountenance of ten Winter, & al this is in mans gouernance & disposicion. Then sheweth it, that men been lich vnto gods, & children of most height. * But now sithen al things vnderput to y• will of reasonable creatures, God forbid any man to win that Lordship, & ask help of any thing lower than himselfe, and then namely of foule things innominable.

Now then, why shouldest thou wene to loue to high, sithen nothing is thee aboue, but God alone. Truly I wote wel, that the ilk jewel is in a manner, euen in line of degree, there thou art thy selue, & nought aboue, saue thus: Angel vpon Angel, Man vpon Man, & Deuil vpon Deuil, han a maner of Souerainty, & that shal cease at y• day of Dome: & so I say, though thou be put to serue thilk jewel during thy life, yet is that no seruage of vnderputting, but a maner of travailing pleasance, to conquere and get that thou hast not.

I set now the hardest in my seruice now thou deydest for sorrow of wanting in thy desires: Truly all heauenly bodies, with one voice shul come & make melody in thy comming, & say welcome our fere, and worthy to enter into Iupiters joy, for thou with might hast ouercome death, thou wouldest neuer flit out of thy seruice, & we all shul now pray to the gods, row by row, to make thilke Margarite, that no routh had in this person, but vnkindly without comfort let thee dye, shall beset her self in soch wise, that in yearth for part of vengeaunce, shall she no joy haue in loues seruice: and when she is dedde, then shall her soul been brought vp into thy presence, and whider thou wilt chese, thilke soule shall been committed. Or els after thy death, anone all the foresaid heauenly bodies by one accorde, shall be nommen from thilke perle, all the vertues that firste her were taken, [Page] for she hath hem forfeyted, by y• on thee my seruaunt, in thy liue she would not suffer to worche all vertues, withdrawen by might of the high bodies: Why then shouldest thou wene so any more. And if thee liste to looke vpon the law of kind, and with order, which to me was ordayned, soothly none age, none ouertourning time, but hitherto had no time ne power, to chaunge the wedding, ne that knotte to vnbinde of two hertes, through one assent in my presence, togither accorden to enduren till death hem depart. What trowest thou euery ideot wot the meaning & the priuy entent of these things? They wene forsoth that soche accorde may not be, but y• Rose of maidenhede be plucked, do way do way, they know nothing of this: * For consente of two hertes alone, maketh the fastning of ye knot, neither law of kind, ne mans Low determineth, neither y• age, ne the quality of persons, but onely accord between thilke tway. And truely, after time that such accorde, by their consent in herte, is ensealed & put in my tresory, amongs my priuy things, then ginneth the name of spousaile: and although they breken forward bothe, yet soch matter ensealed, is kept in remembrance for euer. And see now that spouses haue the name anon after accord, though the Rose be not take. The Aungell bad Ioseph take Mary his spouse, and to Egypt wend: Lo she was cleped spouse, and yet toforne ne after, neither of hem both meant, no fleshly lust know, wherfore y• words of trouth accorden, y• my seruants shoulden forsake both father and mother, & be adherand to his spouse, and they two in unity of one flesh, shoulden accorde, And this wise two that werne first, in a little manner disaccordaunt, higher that one, and lower that other, been made euenliche in gree to stonde.

But now to enforme thee, y• ye been liche Goddes, these Clerkes sain, and in determinacion shewen, that three things hauen the names of Goddes been cleped, y• is to saine, Man, Deuil, and Images, but yet is there but one God, of whom all goodnesse, all grace, and all vertue commeth, & he is louing and true, and euerlasting, & prime cause of al being things: but men been goddes, louing & true, but not euerlasting, & that this by adoption, of the euerlasting God. Deuils been goddes, stirring by a manner of liuing, but neither been they true, ne euerlasting, & their name of godlihed, they han by vsurpacion, as the Prophet saieth: Al Goddes of Gentiles, that is to say, Painims, are Diuels. But Images been Goddes by nuncupacion, & they been neither liuing, ne true, ne euerlasting: After these words they clepen Gods, Images, wrought with mens hands.

But now reasonable creature, that by adoption alone, art to y• great god euerlasting, & therby thou art good cleped: let thy fathers maners so entre thy wits, yt thou might follow, in as much as longeth to thee, thy fathers worship, so that in nothing, thy kind from his will decline, ne from his nobley pouerty. In thus wise if thou werche, thou art aboue all other things, saue Ood alone, and to say no more thine herte, to serue in too hie a place.

FVlly haue I now declared, thine estate to be good, so thou follow thereafter, and that the objection first by thee alleged, in worthinesse of thy Margarite, shall not thee let, as it shall further thee, and increase thee: it is now to declare, the last objection in nothing may greue. Yes certes (qd. I) both greue, and let must it needs, the contrary may not beene proued, and see nowe why. While I was glorious in worldly welfulnesse, and had soch goodes in wealth, as maken men riche, tho was I draw into compaignies that loos, prise, and name yeuen: Tho loureden blasours, tho curreiden glosours, tho welcomeden flatteres, tho worshipped thilke, that now deinen not to looke. Euery wight in soch yearthly weale habundaunt, is hold noble, precious, benigne, & wise, to do wt he shall, in any degree that menne him set, all be it that the soth be in yt contrary of all tho thinges: But he that can, ne neuer so well in him behaue, and hath vertue habundant, in manifold maners, and be not wealthed with soch yearthly goodes, is hold for a fool, and said his wit is but sotted. Lo how false for euer is hold true. Lo how trew is cleaped false, for wanting of goodes. Also Lady, dignitees of office maken men mikell commended, as thus: he is so good, were he out, his pere should men not find. Truely I trowe of some soche that are so praised, were they out ones, an other should make him so be know, he should of no wise no more been looked after: but onely fools wel I wot, desiren soch new things. Wherefore I wonder that thilke gouernour, out of whom alone the causes proceden, that gouerneth all things, which that hath ordeined this world, in werkes of the kindly bodies so be gouerned, not with vnstedfast or happious thing, but with rules of reason, which shewen the course of certain things: why suffreth he such sliding chaunges, that misturnen soch noble things as been we men, that arne a faire persel of the yearth, & holden the vpperest degree vnder GOD, of benigne things, as ye saiden right now your selfe, shoulde neuer man haue been set in so worthy a place, but if his degree were ordained noble. Alas, thou that knittest the purueighaunce of all things, why lookest thou not to amenden these defaults: I see shrewes that han wicked maners, siten in chairs of domes, Lambes to punishen, there Woolues should been punished. Lo, vertue shined naturelly, for pouerty lurketh, & is hid vnder cloude: but the Moon false forsworn, as I know my self, for auer and yeftes hath vsurped, to shine by day light, with peynture of other mens praysings: & truly thilke forged light foully should fade, were the trouth away of colours feyned. Thus is night tourned into day, [Page] and day into night, Winter into Sommer, & Sommer into Winter, not in deed but in miscleapyng of foolish people.

Now (qd. she) what wenest thou of these things? How felest thou in thine hert, by what governaunce that this commeth about?

Certes (qd. I) that wote I never, but if it be, that Fortune hath graunt from abode to lede the end of men as her liketh. Ah now I see (qd. she) the entent of thy meaning: Lo, bycause thy worldly goods, been fullich dispent, thou berafte out of dignity of office, in which thou madest thy gathering of thilke goodes, and yet diddest in that office, by counsayle of wise, any thyng were ended: and true were unto hem, whose profite thou shouldest looke, and seest now many, that in the ilke Heruest made of thee mokell, and now for glosing of other, deyneth thee nought to forther, but enhaunsen fals shrewes, by witnessing of truth: These thinges greeveth thine herte, to seene thy self thus abated, and then frailty of mankind ne setteth but litle, by the lesers of soch rechesse, have he never so moche vertue, and so thou wenest of thy Iewell, to renne in dispite, and not been accepted into grace: All this shall thee nothing hinder. Now (qd. she) first thou woste well, thou lostest nothing that ever mightest thou challenge for thyne own: When nature brought thee forth, come thou not naked out of thy mothers womb? Thou haddest no richesse, and when thou shalte enter into the ende of every fleshly body, what shalt thou have with thee then? So every richesse thou haste in time of thy living nis but leant, thou might therein chalenge no property. And see now, every thing that is a mans own, he may do therewith what him liketh, to yeue or to keep: but richesse thou playnest from thee lost, if thy might had stretched so ferforth, faine thou wouldes have hem kept, multiplied with mo other: & so ayenst thy will been they departed from thee, wherefore they were never thine. And if thou laudest and joyest any wight, for he is stuffed with soche maner richesse, thou art in that beleeve beguiled, for thou wenest thilk joy to be selinesse, or els ease, and he that hath lost soche haps, to been unseily. Ye forsoth (qd. I.) Well (qd. she) then woll I prove that unsely, in that wise is to praise, and so the tother is the contrary to be lacked. How so (qd. I?) For unsely (qd. she) begileth not, but sheweth the entent of her working. Et è contra. Selinesse begileth, for in prosperity, shee maketh a jape in blindnesse, that is, she windeth him to make sorow when she withdraweth. Wolte thou not (qd. she) praise him better, that sheweth to thee his hert, tho it be with bitande words, and dispitous than him that gloseth, and thinketh in their absence, to do thee many harmes. Certes (qd. I) the one is to commend, & the other to lack and dispise. A ha (qd. she) right so ease while he lasteth, gloseth & flattereth, & lightly voideth when she most pleasantly sheweth, and ever in her absence, she is about to dothee tene and sorow in hert: But unsely all be it with betande chere, sheweth what she is, and so doth not that other, wherefore unsely doth not beguile. Selinesse disceiveth: unsely put away doubt. That one maketh men blind, that other openeth their iyen, in shewyng of wretchednesse. The one is ful of drede, to lese that is not his owne: That other is sober, and maketh men discharged of mokel heavinesse in burthen: The one draweth a man from very good, the other haleth him to vertue, by the hookes of thoughts. And wenest thou not, that thy disease hath done thee mokell more to winne, than ever yet thou lostest, & more than ever the contrary made thee winne? Is not a great good to thy thinking, for to know y• hearts of thy soothfast freends? Parde they been proved to the full, and the true have discevered from the false. Truely at the goyng of thilke brotell joye, there yede no more away, than the ilke that was not thyne proper: He was never from y• lightly departed, thine owne good therfore leaveth it still with thee. Now good (qd. she) for how moch wouldest thou sometime have bought, this very knowyng of thy frende, from the flattering flies that they glosed, when thou thought thy selfe sely? But thou y• plainest of losse in richesse, haste founden y• most dere worthy thing: that thou cleapest vnsely, hath made the moche thing to winnen. And also for conclusioun of all, * He is frende that nowe leaveth not his heart from thine helps. And if that Margarite denieth now not to suffre her vertues shine to thee wardes, with spreading beams, as farre or farther than if thou were sely in worldly joy: Trewly I say not els but she is some deale to blame.

Ah, peace (qd. I) and speak no more of this, mine heart breaketh now thou touchest any soche wordes. A well (qd. she) then let vs singen, thou herest no more of these things at this tyme.

¶Thus endeth the first booke of the Testament of Love, and hereafter foloweth the second.

2

VEry wealth may not be founden in all this world, and that is well seene: Lo how in my moste comforte, as I wende and moste supposed to have had full aunswere of my contrary thoughtes, suddainly it was vanished. And all the workes of man faren in the same wise, when folke wenen best her entent for to have, and willes to perfourme, anon chaunging of the lift side to the right halve, torneth it so cleane into another kind, that never shall it come to the first plite in doing.

O this wrongfull steering so soone, otherwised out of knowing but for my purpose was at my beginning, & so dureth yet, if God of his grace tyme woll me graunt, I think to perfourme this worke, as I have begone in love, after as my thinne witte, with inspiracicion [Page] of him that hildeth all grace woll suffre. Grecuously God wotte haue I suffred a great throw, that the Romayn Emperour, which in vnity of loue should accord and euery with other, in cause of other to auance, and namely sith this Empire to be corrected of so many sects in heresie, of faith, of seruice, of rule in loues religion. Trewly all were it but to shend erronious opinions, I may it no lenger suffre: For many men there been that sain loue to been in grauell and sand, that with Sea ebbing and flowing woweth, as riches that sodainly wanisheth. And some sain that loue should be in windy blasts, that stoundmele tournerh as a phane, and glory of renome, which after lusts of the variant people is areysed or stilled. Many also we [...]en that in the Sun and the Moon, and other Sters, loue should been founden, for among all other Planets most souerainly they shinen, as dignities in reuerence of estates rather than good han, and occupien. Full many also there been that in okes and in huge posts supposen loue to been grounded, as in strength and in might, which mowen not helpen their own wretchednesse, when they gin to fall. But soch diuersity of sects ayenst the rightful bileue of loue, these errors [...]een forth spred, that loues seruants in the trew rule and stedfast faith, in no place darn appear: Thus irrecuparable joy is went, and annoy endlesse is entred. For no man aright deproueth soch errors, but comfirmen their words, and sain that bad is noble good, and goodnes is bad, to which folk the Prophet biddeth, wo without end.

Also many tongues of great false teachings in guiling maner, principally in my times, not only with words, but also with armes, loues seruaunts and professe in his religion of trew rule, pursewen to confounden and to distroien. And for as much as holy Fathers, that our Christen faith aproued and strengthed to the Iews, as to men reasonable, and of diuinity learned, proued thilk faith with reasons, and with aucthoritees of the old Testament, and of the new, her pertinacy to distroy: But to Paynims, that for beests and hounds were hold, to put hem out of their error, was miracles of God shewed. These things were figured by coming of thangell to the sheepherds, and by the sterre to Painims kings, as who saith: Angel reasonable, to reasonable creature, and sterre of myracle to people bestiall not learned, wern sent to enform. But I louers clerk in all my conning and with all my mights, trewly I haue no soch grace in vertue of myracles, ne for no discomfite falsehedes suffiseth not auctorities alone, sithen that such heretikes and maintainors of falsities. Wherefore I wot well sithen that they been men, and reason is approued in hem, the clowd of error hath her reason bewond probable reasons, which that catchend wit rightfully may not with sitte. But my trauayling study. I haue ordeined hem, with that auctority misglosed by mans reason, to graunt shall be enduced.

Now ginneth my pen to quake, to thinken on the sentences of the enuious people, which alway been ready, both rider and goer to skorn and to jape this leud book and me for rancor and hate in their hearts they shullen so dispise, that although my book be leud, yet shall it been more leud holden, and by wicked wordes in many maner apaired. Certes me thinketh the sown of their bad speach, right now is full both mine eares. O good precious Margarite, mine heart should weep, if I wist ye token hede of soch maner speach, but trewly I wote well in that your wisedom shall not astert. For of God maker of kind witnesse I took, that for none enuy ne iuell haue I draw this matter togider, but only for goodnes to maintain, and errors in falsetes to distroy. Wherfore (as I said) with reason I think, thilke foresaid errors to distroy and dequace. These reasons and soch other, if they enduce men in loues seruice, trew to beleeue of parfite blisse, yet to full faith in credence of desert, fully mow they not suffise, sithen faith hath no merit of mede, when mans reason sheweth experience in doing. For vtterly no reason the parfite blisse of loue by no way may make to be comprehended. Lo what is a persell of louers joy, parfite science in good service, of their desire to comprehend in bodely doing, the liking of the soul, nat as by a glasse to haue contemplacion of time comming, but thilk first imagined and thought, after face to face in beholding: what heart, what reason, what vnderstanding can make his heauen to be feeled and know without assay of doing? Certes none. Sithen then of loue commeth soch fruit in blisse, and loue in himself is the most among other vertues, as Clerks sain: The seed of soch springing in all places, in all countreis, in all worlds should been sowe.

But o wel away, thilk seed is forsake, and mowen not been suffred the lond tillers to set a werk, without meddling of cockle, bad wedes which sometime stonken hath caught the name of loue among ydiotes and bad meaning people. Neuer the latter, yet how so it be that men cleap thilk King preciousest in kind, with many eke names, that other things, that the foule yeuen the ilke noble name, it sheweth well that in a maner men haue greate liking in wurshipping thilke name, wherefore this work haue I writ, and to the titled of loues name, I haue it auowed in a maner of sacrifice, that where euer it be rad, it mow in merit by the excellence of thilk name the more wex in authority and wurship of taking in hede, and to what entent it was ordained, the in feeres mowen been moued. Euerything to whom is ow and occasion done as for his end. Aristotle supposeth that the acts of euery thing been in a maner his finall cause. A finall cause is nobler, [Page] or els euen as noble as thilk thing that is finally to thilk end, wherefore accion of thing euerlasting is deemed to be eternall, and not temporal, sithen it is his final cause: Right so the acts of my book loue, and loue is noble, wherefore though my book be leud, the cause with which I am stered, and for whom I ought it done, noble forsooth been both. But bicause that in conning I am yong, and can yet but creep, this leud A, b, c, haue I set into learning, for I can not passen the telling of three as yet: and if God will in short time, I shall amend this leudnesse in joyning of syllables, which thing for dulnesse of wit I may not in three letters declare. For trewly I say the goodnesse of my Margarite pearle would yeue matter enditing to many Clerks: Certes her mercy is more to me swetter than any liuings, wherefore my lips mowen not suffice in speaking of her full laud and worship as they shuld. But who is that in knowing of the orders of Heauen, and putteth his reasons in the earth: I forsooth may not with blere eyen, the shining Sun of vertue in bright whele of this Margarite behold, therefore as yet I may her not discriue in vertue as I would. In time coming in another treatise thorow goddes grace, this Sunne, cleerenesse of vertue to be know, and how she enlumineth all this day, I think to declare.

IN this meane while this comfortable lady gan sing a wounder mater of enditing in Latine, but trewly the noble colours in Rhetorike, wise knit were so craftely, that my conning woll not stretche to remembre, but the sentence I trowe somedele haue I in minde. Certes they were wonder sweete of sowne, and they were touched all in lamentacion wise, and by no werbelles of mirth: Lo thus gan she sing in Latine, as I may constrew it in our English tongue.

Alas that these heuenly bodies their light and course shewen, as nature yaue hem in commaundement at the ginning of the first age, but these things in free choise of reason han none vnderstanding: but man that ought to passe all thing of doing, of right course in kind, ouerwhelmed soothnesse by wrongfull title, and hath drawen the Sterre of enuie to gone by his side, that the ciypes of me that should be his shinand Sun, so oft is sey, that it wened thilk error thorow hem come in, should been mine own default. Trewely therefore I haue me withdraw, and made my dwelling out of land in an yle by my self, in the Occian closed, and yet sayn there many they haue me harberowed, but God wote they faylen. These things me greuen to think, and namely on paised gladnesse, that in this world was wont me disport of high and low, and now it is failed: they that wolden maistries me haue in thilk stounds, in heauen on high aboue Saturns sphere, in seasonable time were they lodged, but now come queint counsailours that in no house woll suffre me sojourn, whereof is pitee: And yet sain some that they me haue in celler with wine shet, in garnere there corne is laid, couered with wheat, in sack sowed with woll, in purse with money fast knit, among pans mouled in a wiche, in presse among clothes laid, with rich pelure araied, in stable among horse and other beasts, as hogs, sheep, and nete, and in other maner wise. But thou maker of light (in winking of thine eye the sun is queint) wost right well that I in true name was never thus herberowed. Sometime toforn the sun in the seuenth party was smiten, I bare both crosse & mitre, to yeue it where I would. With me the Pope went a foot, & I tho was worshipped of al holy church, kings baden me their crowns holden. * The law was set as it shuld: to fore the judg as wel the poor durst shew his grefe as the rich, for all his money. I defended tho tailages, & was ready for the poor to pay. I made great feasts in my time, and noble songs, & maried damosels of gentill feture, withouten gold or other richesse. Poor Clerks for wit of school, I set in churches, and made soch persons to preach: and tho was seruice in holy churches honest and deuout, in pleasaunce both of God and of the people. But now the leud for simony is auaunted, & shendeth all holy church.* Now is steward for his achates, now is courtior for his debates, now is eschetour for his wrongs, now is losel for his songs, personer and prouendre alone, with which many thrifty should encrease. And yet is this shrew bebind, * Free hert is forsake, and losengeour is take. Lo it accordeth, for such there been that voluntary lusts haunten in court with ribaudry, That till midnight and more woll play and wake, but in the Church at matins he is behind, for euill disposicion of his stomake: therefore he shuld eat bean bred, and so did his sire, his estate therewith to strengthen. His alter is broke, and low lithe in point to gone to y• yearth, but his horse must been easie and hie to hear him ouer great waters. His chalice poor, but he hath rich cups. No towayl but a sheet, there God shall been handled: and on his meat borde there shall been borde clothes and towelles many pair. At masse serueth but a clergion: fiue squiers in hall. Poor chauncel, open holes in euery side: beds of silk with tapites going all about his chambre. Poor masse book & leud chapelain, and broken Surplice with many an hole: good hounds and many, to hunt after Hart and Hare, to feed in their feests. Of poor men haue they great care, for they euer craue, and nothing offren, they wolden haue hem doluen. But among legystres there dare I not come, my doing they sain maken hem needy, they ne wold for nothing haue me in town, for then were tort and forth naught worth an haw about, and pleasen no men, but thilk greeuous and torcious been in might [Page] and in doing: these things toforn said mow well if men list ryme, trewly they accord nothing. And for as moch as all things by me shulden of right ben gouerned, I am sory to see y• gouernance faileth, as thus: To seen smal and low gouern the hie, & bodies aboue. Certes that polisie is nought, it is forbode by them that of gouernance treaten and enformen. * And right as beastly wit should been subject to reason, so earthly power in it self, the lower should been subject to the hier.

What is worth thy body but it be gouerned with thy soul? right so litel or nought is worth earthly power, but if regnatife prudence in heeds gouern the smal, to which heeds the smal owen to obey, and suffre in their gouernance. But soueraignesse ayenward should think in this wise; I am seruant of these creatures to me deliuered: not Lord, but defendor: not Maister, but enformer: not possessor, but in possession, and to hem lich a tree, in which sparows shullen stelen, her birdes to nourish and foorth bring vnder suerty ayenst all reueinous fouls and beasts, and not to be tyrant themself. And then the smal in rest and quiet, by the heeds well disposed, owen for their souerains health and prosperite to pray, and in other doings, in maintenance thereof perform, withouten other administracion in rule of any manner gouernance. And they wit haue in hem, and grace to come to soch things, yet should they cease till their heeds them cleaped, although profit and pleasance should follow. But trewly other gouernance ne other medling ought they not to claim, ne the heeds on hem to put. Trewly amongs cosinage dare I not come, but if richesse be my mean, soothly she & other bodily goods maketh nigh cosinage, there neuer propinquite ne aliance in liue was, ne should haue be, nere it for her medling maners, wherefore kindly am I not there leged. Pouert of kinred is behind, richesse suffreth him to passe: truly he saith he come never of Iaphets children: whereof I am sory that Iaphets children for pouert, in no linage ben rekened, & Cains children for riches be maked Iaphets heirs. Alas this is a wonder change bitween tho two Noes children, sithen that of Iaphets offspring comden knights, and of Cain discended the line of seruage to his brothers children. Lo how gentilesse and seruage, as cosins, both discended out of two brethern of one body:* Wherfore I say in soothnes, that gentilesse in kinrede maken not gentil linage in succession, without desert of a mans own self. Where is now the line of Alisaundrie the noble, or els of Hector of Troy? Who is discended of right blood of line fro king Artour? Parde sir Perdicas, whom that king Alisandre made to been his heir in Greece, was of no kings blood, his dame was a tombistere: of what kinred been the Gentils in our days:* I trow therfore if any good be in gentilesse, it is only that it seemeth a maner of necessite be input to gentilmen, that they shoulden not varien fro y• vertues of their ancesters. Certes all maner linage of men ben euen lich in birth, for one father, maker of all goodnes, enformed hem all, and all mortal folk of one seed are greyned. Wherto auant men of her linage, in cosinage, or in eld fathers. Loke now the ginning, & to God maker of mans person, there is no clerk ne no worthy in gentilesse: & he that norisheth his corare with vices and vnresonable lusts, and leaueth the kind course, to which end him brought forth his birth, trewly he is vngentil, and among clerks may not been nempned. And therfore he y• woll been gentil, he mote daunten his flesh fro vices y• causen vngentilnes, and leaue also reigns of wicked lusts, * and draw to him vertue, that in all places gentilnes gentilmen maketh. And so speak I in feminine gendre in general, of tho persons at the reuerence of one, whom euery wight honoureth, for her bounty and her noblenes ymade her to God so dere, that his moder she became, and she me hath had so great in worship, y• I nill for nothing in open declare that in any thing ayenst her sect may so wene: for all vertue and all worthines of plesaunce in hem haboundeth. And although I would any thing speak, truly I can not, I may find in yuell of hem no maner mater.

RIght with these words she stint of that lamentable melody, and I gan with a liuely heart to pray, if that it were liking vnto her noble grace, she would her deyn to declare me the mater that firste was begonne, in which she lefte, and stinte to speake beforne she ganne to singe.

O (qd. she) this is no newe thing to me to seene you men desiren after mater, which your selfe caused to void.

Ah good Lady (qd. I) in whom victory of strength is proued aboue all other thing, after the judgement of Esdram, whose lordship all lignes: Who is that right as Emperour hem commaundeth, whether thilke been not women, in whose likenesse to me ye aperen. For right as man halte the principalite of all thing vnder his being, in the masculine gender, and no more genders been there but masculine, and feminine, all the remnant been no genders but of grace, in faculty of Grammer. Right so in the feminine, the women holden the vpperest degree of all things, vnder thilk gender contained. Who bringeth forth kings, which that been lords of see and of yearth, and all peoples of women been born: they nourish hem that raffen vines, they maken men comfort in their glad cheres. Her sorrow is death to mans heart. * Without women the being of men were impossible. They con with their sweetnesse the cruel hert rauish, and make it meek, buxome, and benigne, without violence meuing. In beauty of their eyen, or els of other manere fetures is all mens desires, ye more than in Gold, Precious [Page] stones, either any richesse. And in this degree Lady your self many hearts of men haue so bounden, that parfit blisse in womankind to been men wenen, and in nothing els. Also Lady, the goodnesse, the vertue of women, by property of discretion, is so well knowen, by littelnesse of malice, that desire to a good asker by no way con they warn: and ye then that woll not passe the kind werching of your sects by general discrecion, I wot well ys woll so encline to my prayer, that grace of my request shall fully been granted. Certes (qd. she) thus for the more part fareth all mankind to pray, and to cry after womans grace, and fain many fantasies to make herts to encline to your desires: and when these sely women freely of their kind beleuen your words, and wenen all be Gospell the promise of your behests, then grant they to you their herts, and full fillen your lusts, where through their liberty in maistership that they toforn had, is thralled, and so maked Soueraine and to be praid, that first was seruant, and voice of prayer vsed. Anon as filled is your lust, many of you be so trewe, that littel hede take ye of soch kindnesse, but with traisoun anon ye think hem beguile, and set light of that thing which first ye maked to you wonders dere: so what thing to women it is to loue any wight ere she him well know, and haue him proued in many half, for euery glittering thing is not gold, and vnder colour of fair speach many vices may be hid and concealed. Therefore I rede no wight to trust on you too rathe, mens chere & her speach right guileful is ful oft, wherefore without good assay it is not worth on many on you to trust: truly it is right kindly to euery man y• thinketh women betray, and shewen outward all goodnesse, till he haue his will performed. Lo the bird is beguiled with y• mery voice of the foulers whistell. When a woman is closed in your net, then woll ye causes finden, and bear vnkindnesse her on hand, or falsety vpon her put, your own malicious traison with soch thing to excuse. Lo then han women none other wreche in vengeance, but blober and wepe till hem list stint, and sorily her mishap complain, & is put into wening y• all men been so vntrew. How often haue men changed her loues in a litel while, or els for failing their wil in their places hem set? for frendship shal be one, and fame with another him list for to haue, & a third for delite, or els were he lost both in pack & in clothes: is this fair? nay God wot. I may nat tel by thousand parts, y• wrongs in trechery of soch false people, for make they neuer so good a bond, all set ye at a mite when your hert tourneth: and they that wenen for sorrow of you dey, y• pite of your false hert is flow out of town. * Alas therefore, y• euer any woman wold take any wight in her grace, till she know at y• full on whom she might at all assays trust. Women con no more craft in queint knowing, to vnderstand y• false disceiuable conjectments of mans beguilings. Lo how it fareth, though ye men gronen & crien, certes it is but disceit, & y• preueth well by thends in your werking. How many women haue been lorn, and with shame foul shent by long lasting time, which thorow mens gile haue been disceiued? euer their fame shall dure, & their deeds rad and song in many londs, that they han done recoueren shall they neuer, but alway been deemed lightly, in such plite ayen should they fall, of which slanders & tenes ye false men & wicked been the very causes, on you by right ought these shames and these reproues all holy discend. Thus arn ye all nigh vntrew, for all your fair speche your hert is ful fickel. What cause han ye women to dispise? better fruit than they been, ne sweter spices to your behoue, mow ye not find, as far as worldly bodies stretchen. Loke to their forming at the making of their persons by God in joy of Paradice, for goodnesse of mans propre body were they maked, after the saws of the Bible, rehearsing Gods words in this wise: It is good to mankind that we make to him an helper. Lo in paradise for your help was this tree graffed, out of which all linage of man discendeth: if a man be noble fruit, of noble fruit it is sprongen: the blisse of Paradise to mens sory herts, yet in this tree abideth. O noble helps been these trees, and gentil jewel to ben worshipped of euery good creature: * He that hem anoieth, doth his own shame, it is a comfortable perl ayenst al tenes. Euery company is mirthed by their present being. Truly I wist neuer vertue, but a woman were therof y• root. What is heauen y• worse, tho Sarazins on it lien? Is your faith vntrue, tho renogates maken theron leasings. If y• fire doth any wight bren, blame his own wit that put himself so far in y• heat. Is not fire gentillest, & most element comfortable amongs all other? fire is cheef werker in forthering sustenance to mankind, shall fire been blamed, for it brend a fool naturally, by his own stultie wit in stering? Ah wicked fools, for your proper mallice, and shrewdnesse of your self, ye blame and dispise the precious thing of your kind, and which things among other most ye desiren. Trewly Nero and his children been shrews, y• dispisen so their dames. The wickednesse and giling of men, in disclaundring of thilke that most hath hem gladded & pleased, were impossible to write or to nempne. Neuer the later yet I say, he that knoweth a way, may it lightly passe: eke an hearb proued may safely to smertande sores be laid: so I say in him that is proued is nothing soch euils to gesse. But these things haue I rehersed to warne you women all at ones, that to lightly without good assay ye assenten not to mans speach. The Sun in the day light, is to knowen from the Moon that shineth in y• night. Now to thee thy self (qd. she) as I haue oft said, I know well thine hert, thou art none of all the tofore nempned [Page] people, for I know well the continuance of thy seruice, y• neuer sithen I set thee a werk, might thy Margarite for pleasance, freendship, ne fairehede of none other be in point moued from thine hert, wherefore into mine houshold hastely I woll that thou entre, and all the parfite priuite of my werking make it be know in thy vnderstanding, as one of my priuy familiers. Thou desirest (qd. she) fain to hear of tho things there I left. Ye forsooth (qd. I) that were to me a great blisse. Now (qd. she) for thou shalt not wene that womans condicions for fair spech, such thing belongeth.

THou shalt (qd. she) vnderstand first among all other things, that all the cure of my seruice, to me in the parfite blisse in doing, is desired in euery mans herte, be he neuer so moche a wretche, but euery man trauaileth by diuers study, and seeke thilke blisse by diuers ways, but all the endes are knitte in selinesse of desire in the parfite blisse, that is soch joy, when men it haue gotten, there liueth no thing more to been coueited: But how y• desire of soch perfection in my seruice be kindly set in louers herts, yet her erronious opinions misturn it by falsenesse of wening. And although mens vnderstanding be misturned, to know which shoulde beene the way vnto my person, and whither it abideth: yet wote they there is a loue in euery wight, weneth by that thing that he coueiteth most, he should come to thilk loue, and that is parfite blisse of my seruants, but then full blisse may not be, and there lack any thing of that blisse in any side. Eke it followeth then, that he that must haue full blisse, lack no blisse in loue on no side.

Therefore Lady (qd. I tho) thilk blisse I haue desired, and sothe to forne this my self by ways of riches, of dignite, of power, and of renome, wening me in tho thrages had ben thilk blisse, but ayenst the heer it tourneth. When I supposed best thilke blisse haue get and come to the full purpose of your seruice, sodainly was I hindred, and throwen so fer abacke, that me thinketh an impossible to come there I left. I woll well (qd. she) & therefore hast thou failed, for thou wentest not by the hie way, a littel misgoing in the ginning, causeth mikell errour in the end, wherefore of thilk blisse thou failedst, for hauing of richesse, ne none of thother things thou nempnedst, mowen not make soch parfite blisse in loue, as I shall shew. Therefore they be not worthy to thilke blisse, and yet somewhat must been cause and way to thilk blisse: Ergo, there is some soch thing, and some way, but it is littel in vsage, and that is not openly iknow. But what felest in thine hert of the seruice, in which by me thou art entred: wenest aught thy self, yet be in the hie way to my blisse? I shall so shew it to thee, thou shalt not con say the contrary.

Good Lady (qd. I) altho I suppose it in my hert, yet would I hear thine words, how ye meanen in this matter? (qd. she) that I shall with my good will. The ilke blisse desired, somedeal ye knowen, altho it be not perfitely, for kindly entencion leadeth you thereto, but in three maner liuings, is all such ways shewed. Euery wight in this world to haue this blisse, one of the ilk three ways of liues must proceede, which after opinions of great Clerks, arn by names cleaped, beastiallich, reasonablich, in vertuous: Manlich is worldlich, beastialich is lusts and delitable, nothing restrained by bridle of reason: all that joyeth and yeueth gladnesse to the hert, and it be ayenst reason, is likened to bestiall liuing, which thing followeth lusts and delites, wherfore in such thing may not that precious bliss, that is maister of all vertues, abide. Your fathers toforne you haue cleaped such lusty liuings, after the flesh, passions of desire, which are innominable tofore God and man both. Then after determination of such wise, we accorden, that such passions of desire shull not ben nempned, but holden for absolute from all other liuings and prouings, and so liueth into liuings, manlich and reasonable, to declare the matters begon. But to make thee fully haue vnderstanding in manlich liuings, which is holden worldlich in these things, so that ignorance be made no letter. I woll (qd. she) nempn these foresaid ways by names and conclusions.

First riches, dignity, renome, and power, shull in this work be cleaped bodily goodes, for in hem hath been a great throw, mans trust of silliness in loue, as in riches suffisance to haue maintained y• was begon by worldly cattell in dignity, honour, and reuerence of hem that wern vnderput, by maistry thereby to obey. In renome glory of peoples praising, after lusts in their heart without heed taking to quality and manner of doing, and in power, by trouth of Lordships mainteinance, thing to proceed forth in doing. In all which things a long time, mans couetise in commune hath ben greatly grounded, to come to y• bliss of my seruice, but truly they were beguiled, and for the principall must needs fail, and in helping mowe not auail. See why for holdest him not poor that is needy? Yes parde (qd. I.) And him for dishonoured, that much folk dein not to reuerence. That is sooth (qd. I.) And what him that his mights failen, and mow not helpen. Certes (qd. I) me seemeth of all men he should be holden a wretch. And wenest not (qd she) that he that is little in renome, but rather is out of the praisings, of mo men than a few be not in shame? Forsooth (qd. I) it is shame and villany to him that coueiteth renome, that more folke not praise in name, than praise. Sooth (qd. she) thou saist sooth, but all these things are followed of such manner doing, and wenden in riches suffisaunce, in power might, in dignity worship, and in renome glory, [Page] wherefore they discended into deceiuable wening, and in that seruice deceit is followed. And thus in generall, thou and all such other that so worchen, failen of my blisse, that ye long han desired, wherefore truly in life of reason is the high way to this blisse, as I think more openly to declare hereafter. Neuer the latter, yet in a little to comfort thy heart, in shewing of wt way thou art entred thy self, and that thy Margarite may know thee set in the high way, I woll enform thee in this wise. Thou hast failed of thy first purpose, because thou wentest wrong, and leftest the high way on thy right side, as thus, thou lookedst on worldly liuing, and that thing thee beguiled, and lightly therefore as a little assay thou songedst, but when I turned thy purpose, and shewed thee a part of the high way, tho thou abode therin, & no death ne ferdnesse of none enemy might thee out of thilke way reue, but euer one in thine heart, to come to thilk blisse, when thou were arrested, and first time emprisoned, thou wer loth to change thy way, for in thy heart thou wendest to haue been there thou shouldest, & for I had ruth to seen thee miscaried, & wist well thine ablenes my seruice to further & encrease, I come my self without other mean to visit thy person, in comfort of thy hert: and parde in my coming thou were greatly gladded, after which time, no disease, no care, no tene might moue me out of thy hert. And yet I am glad & greatly enpited, How continually thou haddest me in mind, with good auisement of thy conscience, when thy king & his princes, by huge words & great, looked after variance in thy speech, and euer thou were ready for my sake, in pleasaunce of that Margarite pearl, and many mo other, thy body to oblige into Marces doing, if any contraried thy saws, stedfast way maketh stedfast heart, with good hope in the end. Truly I woll that thou it well know, for I see thee so set, and not changing heart haddest in my seruice, and I made thou haddest grace of thy king, in foryeuenesse of mikell misdeed: to the gracious king art thou mikell holden, of whose grace and goodnesse, sometime hereafter I think to enform, when I shew the ground, where as moral vertue groweth. Who brought thee to werk? Who brought this grace about? Who made thy heart hardy? Truly it was I, for haddest thou of me failed, then of this purpose had neuer taken in this wise. And therefore I say, thou might well trust to come to thy blisse, sithen thy ginning hath been heard, but euer graciously after thy hearts desire hath proceeded. Siluer fined with many heats, men known for true, and safely men may trust in thee alway in werking. This diseases hath proued, what way hence forward thou thinkest to hold. Now in good faith Lady (qd. I tho) I am now in, me seemeth it is the high way and the right. Yea forsooth (qd. she) and now I woll disproue thy first ways, by which many men wenen to get thilk blisse. But for as much as euery heart yt hath caught full loue, is tyed with queint knittings, thou shalt vnderstand, that loue, and thilke foresaid blisse, toforn declared, in this proouings, shall hote the knot in the heart. Well (qd. I) this impossession I woll well vnderstand. Now also (qd. she) for the knot in the heart must ben from one to another, and I know thy desire: I woll thou vnderstand these matters, to been said of thy self, in disproouing of thy first seruice, and in strengthening of thilk that thou hast vndertake to thy Margarite pearl. A Godds half (qd. I) right well I feel, that all this case is possible and true, and therefore I admitted all togither. Vnderstanden well (qd. she) these terms, and look no contradiction thou graunt. If God woll (qd. I) of all these things woll I not fail, and if I graunt contradiction, I should graunt an impossible, and that were a foul inconuenience, fro which things Lady iwis hereafter I think me to keep.

WEll (qd. she) thou knowest that euery thing is a cause, wherethrough any thing hath being, that is cleaped caused: then if riches causen knotte in heart, thilke riches arne cause of the ilke precious thing being: But after the sentence of Aristotle, * Euery cause is more in dignity, than his thing caused, wherethrough it followeth, riches to ben more in dignity than thilke knot, but richesse arn kindly naughty, bad, and needy, and the ilke knot is thing kindly, good, most praised, and desired: Ergo thing naughty, badde, and needy, in kindly vnderstanding, is more worthy, than thing kindly, good, most desired and praised: The consequence is false, needs the antecedent mote been of the same condition. But that richesses been badde, naughty, and needy, that woll I proue, wherefore they mowe cause no such thing, that is so glorious & good: * The more richesse thou hast, the more need hast thou of help, hem to keep. Ergo thou needest in richesse, which need thou shouldest not haue, if thou hem wantest. Then must riches been needy, that in their hauing maken thee needy to helps, in surety thy richesse to keepen, wherethrough followeth richesse to been needy. Euery thing causing euils, is bad and naughty: but riches in one causen misease, in another they mowen not euenly stretchen all about. Whereof commeth plee, debate, theft, begilings, but riches to win, which things been bad, and by richesse arn caused: ergo the ilk richesse been badde, which badnesse & need been knit into riches, by a manner of kindly property, and euery cause, and caused accorden: so that it followeth the ilk richesse, to haue the same accordaunce, with badnesse & nede, that their cause asketh. Also euery thing hath his beeing by his cause, then if the cause be destroyed, y• being of caused is vanished: And so if richesse causen loue, and richesse weren destroyed, the loue should [Page] vanish, but the ilke knot and it be true, may not vanish for no going of no richesse: Ergo richesse is no cause of the knot. And many men, as I said, setten the cause of the knot in richesse, the ilke knitten the richesse, and nothing the euill: the ilke persons, what euer they been, wenen that richesse is most woorthy to be had, and that make they the cause▪ and so wene they thilke riches be better than the persone. Commonly suche asken rather after the quantity, than after the quality, and such wenen as well by hemselfe, as by other, that conjunction of his life and of his soul is no more precious, but in as mikell as he hath of richesse. Alas, how may he holden such things precious or noble, that neither han life ne soul, ne ordinaunce of werching limmes: such richesse been more woorthy, when they been in gathering, in departing ginneth his loue of other mennes praysing. And auarice gathering, maketh be hated, and needy to many out helps: and when leueth the possession of such goods, and they ginne vanish, then entereth sorrow and tene in their herts. O bad and strait been thilke, that at their departing maketh men tenefull and sorry, and in the gathering of hem make menne needy: Much folk at ones mowen not togither much therof haue.* A good guest gladdeth his host, and all his meiny, but he is a bad guest, that maketh his host needy, and to be afeard of his [...]uests going. Certes (qd. I) me wondereth therefore, that the common opinion is thus: he is worth no more, than that he hath in ca [...]tell. O (qd. she) look thou be not of that opinion, for if gold or money, or other manner of riches shinen in thy sight, whose is that? Not thine: and tho they haue a little beauty, they be nothing in comparison of our kind, and therefore ye should not set your woorthinesse in thing lower than your self: for the richesse, the fairenesse, the woorthinesse of thilke goods, if there be any such preciousnesse in hem, are not thine, thou madest hem so neuer, from other they come to thee, & to other they shull from thee: wherefore embracest thou other wights goods, as tho they were thine? Kind hath draw hem by hemself. It is sooth the goods of the yearth been ordained in your food and nourishing, but if thou wolt hold thee apayed with that sufficeth to thy kind, thou shalt not be in danger of no such riches. * To kind sufficeth little thing, who that taketh heed.* And if thou wolt algates with superfluity of riches be athroted, thou shalt hastelich be annoyed, or els euil at ease. And fairnesse of fields, ne of habitations, ne multitude of meiny may not be rekened as riches, that are thine own, for if they be bad, it is great sclaunder and villany to the occupier, and if they be good or fair, the matter of the workman that hem made, is to praise. How should otherwise bounty be counted for thine, the ilke goodnesse and fairnesse be proper to tho things hemself, then if they be not thine, sorrow not when they wend, ne glad thee not in pompe and in pride, when thou hem hast, for their bounty and their beauties, cometh out of their own kind, and not of thine own person: as fair been they in their not hauing, as when thou hast hem, they be not fair, for thou hast hem, but thou hast getten hem for the fairnesse of themself. And there the valance of men is deemed in riches outforth, wenen me to haue no proper good in themself, but seech it in strange things. Truly the condition of good wening is in thee mistourned, to wene your noblenesse be not in your self, but in the goods and beauty of other things. Parde the beasts that han but feeling souls, haue suffisaunce in their own self: and ye that been like to God, seken encrease of suffisance, from so excellent a kind, of so low things, ye do great wrong to him, yt you made sords ouer all yearthly things, & ye put your worthinesse vnder the number of the feet, of lower things and foul, when ye judge thilke riches to be your worthinesse, then put ye your self by estimation, vnder thilk foul things, and then leue ye the knowing of your self▪ so be ye viler than any domb beast, that commeth of shreud vice. Right so thilk persons that louen none euill, for dear worthinesse of the person, but for straunge goods, and saith the adornment in the knot lieth in such thing, his errour is perillous and shreud, and he wrieth much venime, with much wealth, and that knot may not be good, when he hath it getten. Certes, thus hath riches with flickering light annoied many: and often when there is a throw out shrew, he cometh all the gold, all the precious stones that mowen be founden to haue in his bandon, he weneth no wight be worthy to haue such things but he alone. How many hast thou know now in late time, that in their riches, supposed suffisance haue followed, and now it is all failed. Ye lady qd. I that is for misse meddling, and other wise gouerned thilk riches, than they should. Yea (qd. she tho) had not the flood greatly areised, & throw to hemward both grauell and sand, he had made no meddling. And right as sea yeueth flood, so draweth sea ebbe, and pulleth ayen vnder wawe, all the first out throw, but if good piles of noble gouernance in Loue, in well meaning manner, been sadly grounded, to which hold thilk grauel, as for a while, that ayen lightly mowe not it tourn: and if the piles ben true, the grauel and sand wol abide. And certes, full warning in loue shalt thou neuer through hem get ne couer, that lightly with an ebbe ere thou beware, it will ayen meue.

* In riches many men have had tenes & diseases, wch they should not haue had, if therof they had failed. Through which now declared, partly it is shewed, that for riches should the knot in heart, neither been caused in one, ne in other: truly knot may been knit, and I trow more stedfast in loue, though richesse failed, and els in richesse is the knot, and not in heart. And then such a knot is false, when [Page] the sea ebbeth and withdraweth the grauell, that suche richesse voydeth, thilke knotte woll vnknit. Wherefore no trust, no waye, no cause, no parfite beeing is in richesse, of no suche knotte, therefore another way must wee haue.

HOnour in dignity is wened to yeuen [...] full knotte. Ye certes (qd. I) and of that opinion ben many, for they sayne, dignity, with honour, and reuerence, causen herts to encheinen, and so abled to knit togither, for the excellence in souerainty of such degrees.

Now (qd. she) if dignity, honour, and reuerence, causen thilke knot in heart, this knot is good & profitable. For euery cause of a cause, is cause of thing caused: Then thus, good things & profitable, ben by dignity, honour, and reuerence caused. Ergo they accorden, & dignities been good with reuerences and honour, but contraries mowen not accorden: wherefore by reason there should no dignity, no reuerence, none honor accord with shrews, but that is false: They haue beene cause to shrewes, in many shreuduesse, for wyth hem they accorden. Ergo from beginning, to argue ayenward, till it come to the last conclusion, they are not cause of the knot. Lo all day at eie arne shrewes not in reuerence, in honour, & in dignity? Yes forsooth, rather than the good. Then followeth it, y• shrewes rather than good, shul ben cause of this knot. But of thys contrary, of all louers is beleeue, & for a soth openly determined to hold.

Now (qd. I) faine would I heare, how such dignities accorden with shrewes.

O (qd. she) that woll I shewe in manyfolde wise. Ye wene (qd. she) that dignities of office here in your City, is as the Sunne, it shineth bright withouten any cloud: whyche thyng, when they commen in y• hands of malicious tyraunts, there commeth muche harme, and more greuaunce thereof, than of y• wild fire, though it brende all a streete. Certes, in dignity of office, y• werks of y• occupier shewen the mallice and the badnesse in the persone, with shrewes they maken manifolde harmes, and muche people shamen. How often han rancours, for mallice of y• gouernour shoulde been maintained? Hath not then such dignities caused debate, rumours, & euils? Yes God wote, by such thynges haue been trusted to, make mennes vnderstandyng encline to many queint thyngs. Thou wotest wel what I meane. Ye (qd. I) therefore as dignity such thyng in tene ywrought, so ayenwarde the substaunce in dignity chaunged, relyed to bryng ayen good plite in doyng. Do waye, do waye (qd. she) if it so betide, but y• is selde y• such dignity is betake in a good mannes gouernaunce. What thing is to recken in y• dignities goodnesse? Parde the bounty and goodnesse is hers, that vsen it in good gouernaunce, & therefore commeth it, that honour and reuerence should been doen into dignity, because of encreasing vertue in y• occupyer, and not to the ruler, because of soueraignety in dignity. Sithen dignity may no vertue cause, who is worthy worship for such goodnesse? Not dignity, but persone, that maketh goodnesse in dignity to shine. This is woonder thing (qd. I) for me thinketh, as the persone in dignity is worthye honour for goodnesse, so tho a persone for hadnesse, maugre hath deserued, yet the dignity le [...]eth to be commended. Let be (qd. she) thou errest ryght foule, dignity with hadnesse, is helper to performe the fello [...] us doyng: parde were it kindely good, or any property of kindely vertue, hadden in hemselfe, shrewes should hem neuer haue, with hem should they neuer accord. Water & fire that been contrarious, mowen not togider been assembled, kind woll not suffer such contraries to ioyne. And sithen at eye by experience in doing, we seen y• shrewes haue hem more often than good men, siker mayest thou be, that kindely good in such things is not appropred. Parde were they kindly good, as well one as other shoulden euenlich in vertue of gouernaunce ben worth: but one faileth in goodnesse, another doth the contrary, and so it sheweth kindely goodnesse, in dignity not be grounded. And this same reason (qd. she) may be made in generall, on all y• bodily goods, for they commen oft to throw out shrewes. After this he is strong, y• hath might to haue great burthens, & he is light and swift, that hath soueraignty in ronning to passe other: right so he is a shrew, on whom shreude thinges and bad han most werching. And right as Phylosophy maketh Philosophiers, and my seruice maketh louers: ryght so if dignities weren good or vertuous, they should maken shrewes good, and tourne her mallice, and make hem be vertuous, but that doe they not, as it is prooued, but causen rancour and debate: Ergo they be not good, but vtterly bad. Had Nero neuer been Emperor, should neuer his dame haue be slaine, to maken open the priuity of his engendrure. Herodes for his dignity slewe manye children. The dignity of king Iohn would haue destroyed all England. Therefore mokell wisedome & goodnesse both needeth in a person, the mallice in dignity, s [...]ily to bridle, and with a good bitte of areste to withdraw, in case it would praunce otherwise than it should: truly yee yeue to dignities wrongfull names in your cleping. They should hete not dignity, but monster of badnesse, and mainteiner of shrewes. Parde, shine the Sunne neuer so bright, and it bring forth no heat, ne seasonably the hearbes out bring of the yearth, but suffer frosts and cold, and thearth barraine to ligge, by time of his compasse in circuit about, ye would wonder and dispreise that Sunne. It the Moon be at full, and sheweth no light, but darke & dimme to your sight appereth, and make destruction of the waters, woll ye not suppose it be vnder cloud, or in clips? And that some priuy thing, vnknown to your [Page] wits, is cause of such contrarious doing? Then if clerks, y• han full insight & knowing of such impediments, enform you of the sooth, very ideots ye been, but if ye yeuen credence to thilk clerks words. And yet it dooth me te [...]e, to seen many wretches rejoycen in such many Planets. Truly little con they on Philosophy, or els on my lore, that any desire haven such lighting Planets, in that wise any more to shew. Good Lady, (qd. I) tell ye me how ye mean in these things. Lo (qd. she) the dignities of your citty, Sunne and Moone, nothing in kind shew their shining as they should. For the Sunne made no brenning heat in loue, but fresed enuy in mens hearts, for feeblenes of shining heat: and the Moone was about vnder an old cloud, the liuings by waters to destroy. Lady (qd I) it is supposed they had shined as they should. Ye (qd. she) but now it is prooued at the full, their beauty in kindly shining failed: wherefore dignity of himseluen, hath no beauty in fairenesse, ne driueth not away vices, but encreaseth, and so be they no cause of the knot. Now see in good truth, hold ye not such sonnes woorthy of no reuerence and dignities, woorthy of no worship, that maketh men to do the more harms? I not (qd I.) No (qd. she) and thou see a wise good man, for his goodnesse and wisenesse wolt thou not do him worship? Thereof he is worthy. That is good skill (qd. I) it is due to such, both reuerence and worship to haue. Then (qd. she) a shrew for his shreudnesse, altho he be put forth toforne other for ferde, yet is he worthy for shreudnesse to be vnworshipped: of reuerence no part is he worthy to haue, to contrarious doing belongeth, and that is good skill. For right as he besmiteth the dignities, thilk same thing ayenward him smiteth, or els should smite. And ouer this thou wost well (qd. she) that fire in euery place heateth where it be, and water maketh wet: Why? For kindly werking is so yput in hem to do such things: for euery kindly in werking sheweth his kind. But though a wight had been Maior of your city many Winter together, & come in a strange place, there he were not known, he should for his dignity haue no reuerence. Then neither worship ne reuerence is kindly proper in no dignity, sithen they shoulden done their kind in such doing, if any were. And if reuerence ne worship kindly be not sette in dignities, and they more therein been shewed than goodnesse, for that in dignity is shewed, but it prooueth, that goodnesse kindly in hem is not grounded. Iwis neither worship ne reuerence, ne goodnesse in dignity, done none office of kind, for they haue none such property in nature of doing, but by false opinion of the people. Lo, how sometime, thilk that in your City wern in dignity noble, if thou list hem nempne, they been now ouertourned, both in worship, in name, and in reuerence, wherefore such dignities haue no kindely [...]er [...]hing of worship, and of reuerence, he that hath no worthynesse on it self. Now it riseth, and now it vanisheth, after the variaunt opinion in false heartes of vnstable people.

Wherfore, if thou desire y• knot of this jewel, or els if thou wouldest suppose she should set the knot on thee for such manner of dignity, then thou wenest beauty or goodnesse of the ilk somewhat encreaseth the goodnesse or vertue in the body: but dignity of hemself ben not good, ne yeuen reuerence ne worship by their own kind, how should they then yeue to any other a thing that by no way mowe they haue hemself? It is seen in dignity of the Emperor, and of many mo other, that they mowe not of hemselue keep their worship, ne their reuerence, that in a little while it is now vp, and now down, by vnstedfast hearts of the people. What bounty mow they yeue, that with cloud lightly leaueth his shining? Certes, to the occupier is mokell apeired, sithen such doing doth villany to him that may it not maintain, wherefore thilk way to the knot is crooked: and if any desire to come to the knot, he must leaue this way on his left side, or els shall he neuer come there.

AVaileth aught (qd. she) power of might, in maintenaunce of woorthy, to come to this knot. Parde (qd. I) ye, for herts ben rauished from such manner things. Certes (qd. she) though a fooles hearte is with thing rauished, yet therefore is no generall cause of the powers, ne of a siker parfite heart, to be looked after. Was not Nero the most shrew, one of thilk that men rede, and yet had he power to make Senators, Iustices, and Princes of many lands? Was not that great power? Yes certes (qd. I.) Well (qd. she) yet might he not help himself out of disease, when he gan fall. How many ensamples canst thou remember of kings, great and noble, and huge power holden, and yet they might not keep hemselue from wretchednesse. How wretched was king Henry Curtmantill ere he died? He had not so much as to couer with his members: and yet was he one of the greatest kings of all the Normands offspring, and most possession had. O, a noble thing and clear is power, that is not founden mighty to keep himself.

Now truly, a great fool is he, that for such thing would set the knot in thine heart. Also power of realms is not thilk greatest power, amongs the worldly powers reckened? And if such powers han wretchednesse in hemself, it followeth other powers of feebler condition to been wretched, and then that wretchednesse should ben cause of such a knot. But euery wight that hath reason, wote well that wretchednesse by no way may been cause of none such knot, wherefore such power is no cause. That powers haue wretchednesse in hemself, may right lightly been preued.

[Page] If power lacke on any side, on that side is no power, but no power is wretchednesse: for all be it so, y• power of emperors or kings, or els of their realms (which is the power of the Prince) stretchen wide & broad, yet besides is there mokel folke, of which he hath no commandement ne lordship, and there as lacketh his power, his nonpower entreth, where vnder springeth y• maketh hem wretches. No power is wretchednesse, and nothing els: but in this maner hath kings more portion of wretchednesse, than of power. Truly such powers been vnmighty, foreuer they ben in drede, how thilke power from lesing may be keeped of sorrow, so drede sorrily pricks euer in their herts: Little is that power, whych careth and feardeth it selfe to maintaine. Vnmighty is y• wretchednesse, which is entered by y• feardfull wening of the wretch himself: and knot ymaked by wretchednesse, is betweene wretches, & wretches all thynge bewaylen: wherefore the knotte should be bewayled, and there is no such parfite blisse that we supposed at the ginning. Ergo power in nothyng, should cause such knottes. Wretchednesse is a kyndely property in such power, as by way of drede, which they mowe not eschew, ne by no way liue in sikernesse. For thou wost well (qd. she) hee is nought mightye, that woulde done that hee may not done ne perfourme. Therefore (qd. I) these kings and lords that han suffisaunte at the full, of men and other things, mowen well ben holden nughty: their commaundements been done, it is neuer more denied. Fool (qd. she) or he wot himself mighty, or wote it not: * For he is nought mighty, yt is blind of his might, & wote it not. That is footh (qd. I) Then if he wote it, he must needs been adradde to lesen it. He that wote of his might, is in doubt that hee mote needes lese, & so leadeth him dreade to been vnmighty. And if he retch not to le [...]e, little is y• worth, that of the lesing reason retcheth nothing: and if it were mighty in power or in strength, the leasing should ben withset, & when it commeth to y• leasing, he may it not withsitte. Ergo thilke might is leud & naughty. Such mights arne ylike to posts and pillars that vpright stonden, and great might han to beare many charges, and if they croke on any side, little thyng maketh hem ouerthrow. This is a good ensample (qd. I) to pillers and postes y• I haue seen ouerthrowed my selfe, and hadden they ben vnderput with any helpes, they had not so lightly fall. Then holdest thou him mighty, that hath many men armed, & many seruaunts, and euer he is adradde of hem in his heart, & for he gasteth hem sometime, he mote the more feare haue. * Commonly he that other agasteth, other in him ayenward werchen the same: & thus warnished mote he be, and of warnish y• houre drede: Little is that might, and right leaude, who so taketh heed. Then seemeth it (qd. I) that such famulers about kinges and great lords, shul great might haue. Although a sipher in augrim haue no might in signification of it selue, yet he yeueth power in signification to other, & these clepe I the helpes to a post, to keep him from falling. Certes (qd. she) thilke skils been [...]eaud. Why? but if the shores been well grounded, the helpes shullen sliden and suffer the charge to fall, her myght little auayleth. And so me thinketh (qd. I) y• a poste alone stondyng vpright vpon a basse, may lenger in great burthen endure, than croked pillers for all their helpes, and her ground he not siker. That is sooth (qd. she) for as y• blinde in bearing of the lame ginne stomble, both should fall, right so such pillers so enuironned with helpes in fayling of y• ground, fayleth all togider: howe oft then such famulers in their most pride of prosperity ben suddainly [...]uerthrown? Thou hast know many in a moment so ferre ouerthrow, that recouer might they neuer, when y• heauinesse of such falling cometh by case of fortune, they mow it not eschew: and might and power, if there were any, should of strength such things void and weiue, and so it is not. Lo then whyche things is this power, y• tho men han it they ben agast, & in no time of full hauing be they siker: and if they would weyue drede, as they mowe not, little is in worthinesse. Fie therefore on so noughty thyng any knot to cause. Lo in aduersity, thilke been his foes that glosed and seemed friends in wealth, thus arne his familiers his foes & his enemies: * And nothyng is werse ne more mighty for to annoy, than is a familier enemy, & these things may they not weiue, so truely their might is not worth a cresse. And ouer all thing, he that may not withdrawe the bridle of his fleshlye lustes and his wretched complaintes (nowe thinke on thy selfe) truly he is not mighty: I can seen no way that lithe to the knot. Thilke people then y• setten their hearts vpon such mights & powers, often ben beguiled. Parde he is not mighty, y• may doe any thing, that another may done him the selue, & that men haue as reat power ouer hym, as he ouer other. A justice y• deemeth men, ayenward hath ben often deemed. Buserus slewe his guests, & he was slayne of Hercules his guest. Hugest betraished many menne, and of Collo was be betrayed. * He y• with swerd smiteth, with swerd shall be smitten. Then gan I to studien a while on these thyngs, and made a countenaunce with my hand in manner to been huisht. Now let seene (qd. she) me thinketh somewhat there is within thy soule, that troubleth thy vnderstanding, say on what it is. (Qd. I tho) me thinketh that although a man by power haue such might ouer mee, as I haue ouer other, that disprooueth no might in my persone, but yet may I haue power and might neuer the later. See nowe (qd. she) thine own leaudnesse: He is mighty that may without wretchednesse, and hee is vnmighty that may it not withsitte: but then he that might ouer thee, and he woll put on the wretchednesse, thou might it not withsitte. [Page] Ergo thou seest thy selfe what followeth. But now (qd. she) wouldest thou not scorn and thou see a flye han power to done harme to another fly, and thilke haue no might ne ayenturning himselfe to defend. Yes certes (qd. I) Who is a frayler thyng (qd. she) than the fleshly body of a man, ouer whych haue oftentime flyes, and yet lasse thyng than a flye mokell myght in greuaunce and annoying, withouten any withsitting, for all thi [...]e mannes mights. And sithen thou seest thine fleshly body in kindely power fayle, howe should then the accident of a thyng been in more surety of being then substantiall: wherfore thilke things that we cleape power, is but accident to the fleshly body, and so they may not haue that surety in might, whych wanteth in the substantiall body. Why there is no waye to the knot, that looketh aright after the high waye as he should.

VErely it is prooued, that richesse, dignity, and power, been not trew way to the knot, but as rathe by such things the knot to be vnbound: Wherefore on these things I rede no wight trust, to get any good knot. But what should we say of renome in the peoples mouths, shuld that beene any cause, what supposest thou in thine heart?

Certes (qd. I) yes I trow, for your slye reasons I dare not safely it say. Then (qd. she) woll I proue, that shrewes as rathe shull ben in the knot as the good, and that were ayenst kind. Fayne (qd. I) would I that hear, me thinketh wonder how renome should as well knit a shrewe as a good persone: renome in euery degree hath auaunced, yet wist I neuer the contrary: should then renoume accorde with a shrewe? It may not sinke in my stomacke till I heare more. Now (qd. she) haue I nat said always, that shrewes shull not haue the knot. What needeth (qd. I) to reherse that any more, I wote well euery wight by kindely reason, shrewes in knitting woll eschewe. Then (qd. she) the good ought thilke knot to haue. How els (qd. I.) It were great harme (qd. she) that the good were weiued and put out of espoire of the knot, if he it desired. O (qd. I) alas, on such thing to thinke, I wene that heauen weepeth to see such wrongs here beene suffered on yearth: the good ought it to haue, and no wight els. The goodnesse (qd. she) of a person may not been know outfoorth, but by renome of the knowers, wherefore he must be renomed of goodnesse to come to the knot. So must it be (qd. I) or els all lost that we carpen. Soothly (qd. she) that were great harme, but if a good man might haue his desires in seruice of thilke knot, and a shrewe to be weined, and they been not knowen in generall but by lacking and praysing and in renome, and so by the consequence it followeth, a shrew been praysed and knit, and a good to be forsake and vnknit. Ah (qd. I tho) haue ye lady ben here abouten, yet wold I see by grace of our arguments better declared, how good and bad do accorden by lacking and praysing, me thinketh it ayenst kind. Nay (qd. she) & that shalte thou see as yerne: these elements han contrarious qualities in kinde, by whych they mow not accord no more than good and bad: and in qualities they accorde, * So that contraries by quality accorden by quality. Is not yearth dry, and water that is next & between the earth, is wete, dry & wete ben contrary, and mowen not accorde, and yet this discordaunce is bounde to accorde by clouds, for both elements ben cold. Right so the eyre that is next the water, is wete, and eke it is hote. This eyre by his heat contrarieth water that is cold, but thilke contrariously is oned by moysture, for both bee they moist. Also the fire that is next the yearth, and it encloseth all about, is dry, wherethrough it contrarieth eyre that is wete: and in he [...]e they accord, for both they been hote. Thus by these accordaunces, discordaunts been joyned, and in a manner of accordaunce they accorden by connection, that is knitting togider: of that accord commeth a manner of melody, that is right noble. Right so good and bad arne contrary in doings, by lacking and praysing: good is both lacked and praysed of some, and badde is both lacked and praysed of some: wherefore they contrariously accorde both by lacking and praysing. Then followeth it, though good be neuer so mokell praysed, oweth more to ben knit than the bad: or els bad for the renome that he hath, must be taken as well as the good, and that oweth not. No forsooth (qd. I.) Well (qd. she) then is renome no way to y• knot: lo foole (qd. she) how clerkes writen of such glory of renoume. * O glory, glory, thou art none other thing to thousands of folke, but a great sweller of eares. Many one hath had full great renome by false opinion of variaunt people: And what is fouler than folke wrongfully to beene praysed, or by mallice of y• people guiltlesse lacked? Needes shame followeth thereof to hem y• with wrong prayseth, & also to the deserts praised, and villany and reproofe of him that disclaundreth.

Good child (qd. she) what echeth such renome to the conscience of a wise man, y• looketh & measureth his goodnes, not by sleuelesse words of the people, but by soothfastnesse of conscience: by God nothing. And if it be faire a mans name be eched by much folkes praysing, & fouler thing y• mo folke not praysen. I said to thee a little here beforn, that no folke in straunge countries nought praysen, suche renoume maye not commen to their eares, because of vnknowing, & other obstacles, as I sayed: Wherefore more folke not praysen, and that is right foule to him y• renome desireth, to wete lesse folk praysen, than renome enhaunce. * I trow the thank of a people is naught worth, in remembraunce to take, ne it proceedeth of no wise judgement, neuer is it stedfast perdurable: It is veine & [Page] sleyng, with winde wasteth and encreaseth. Truly such glory ought to be hated. If gentillesse be a cleare thyng, renome & glorye to enhaunce, as in reckening of thy linage, than is gentillesse of thy kinne, for why it seemeth that gentillesse of thy kinne, is but praysing & renome yt come of thyne auncestres deserts, & if so be that praysing & renome of their deserts, make their clear gentilesse, then mote they needs been gentil for their gentle deeds, & not thou: for of thy self commeth not such manner gentillesse, praysing of thy deserts. * Then gentillesse of thyne auncesters, that forrain is to thee, maketh thee not gentle, but vngentle and reprooued, & if thou continuest not their gentillesse. * And therefore a wise man ones said: Better is it thy kin to ben by thee gentled, than thou to glorifie of thy kins gentillesse, & hast no desert thereof thy self.

How passing is ye beauty of fleshly bodies? More flittyng than mouable flours of Summer. And if thine eyen weren as good as the Linx, yt may seen thorow many stone wals, and both faire & foule in their entrailes, of no manner hewe should appear to thy sight, yt were a foule sight. Then is fairnesse by feeblesse of eyen, but of no kind, wherefore thilke should be no way to the knot: When thilke is went, the knot wendeth after. Lo now at all prooues, none of all these thyngs mowe parfitly ben in vnderstanding, to beene way to the duryng blisse of the knot. But now to conclusion of these matters, herkeneth these words. Very summer is know from ye winter: in shorter course draweth the dayes of December, than in ye moneth of Iune: The springs of May faden & followen in October. These thynges be not vnbounden from their old kind, they haue not lost her work of their proper estate. Men of voluntarious will withsit yt heuens gouerneth. Other things suffren thinges patiently to werche: * Man in wt estate he be, yet would he ben chaunged. Thus by queint thyngs blisse is desired, and the fruit that commeth of these springs, nis but anguis and bitter, although it be a whyle sweet, it may not be withhold, hastely they depart: * Thus all day fayleth things yt fooles wend. Right thus hast thou fayled in thy first wening. He yt thinketh to sayle, & draw after the course of that starre, de Polo Antartico, shall he neuer come Northward to ye contrary sterre of Polus Articus: of whyche things if thou take keepe, thy first outwaye going, prison and exile may be cleaped. The ground falsed vnderneath, and so haste thou fayled. No wight I wene blameth hym that stinteth in misgoyng, and seecheth ready way of his blisse. Now me thinketh (qd. she) that it sufficeth in my shewing the wayes: by dignity, richesse, renome, and power, if thou looke clearely, arne no wayes to the knot.

EVery argument lady (qd. I tho) that ye han maked in these fore nempned matters, mee thinketh hem in my full witte conceiued, shall I no more, if God wil, in the contrary be beguyled: But fayne would I, and it were your will, blisse of the knot to me were declared, I might feele the better howe my hearte myght assent to pursue the end in seruice, as he hath begon. O (qd. she) there is a melody in heuen, whych clerks cleapen armony, but that is not in breaking of voyce, but it is a manner sweet thyng of kindly werching, that causeth ioy out of nomber to recken, and that is joined by reason and by wisedome, in a quantity of proportion of knitting. God made all thyng in reason & in witte of proportion of melody, we mow not suffice to shew. It is written by great clerks & wise, yt in earthly things lightly by study & by trauayle, yt knowing may be getten: but of such heauenly melody, mokell trauayle woll bring out in knowing right little. Sweetnesse of this paradice hath you ravished, it seemeth ye slepten, rested from all other diseases, so kindly is your heartes therein ygrounded. * Blysse of two hearts in full loue knitte, may not aright been imagined: euer is their contemplation in ful of thoughty study to pleasaunce, matter in brynging comforte eueriche to other. And therefore of earthly thyngs, mokell matter lightly commeth in your learning. Knowledge of vnderstanding that is nigh after yee, but not so nigh ye couetise of knitting in your hearts: * More soueraign desire hath euery wight in little hearing of heauenly conning, than of mokell materiall purposes in yearth. Right so it is in property of my seruaunts, yt they ben more affyched in stering of little thing in his desire, than of mokell other matter, lasse in his conscience. This blisse is a manner of sowne delicious, in a queint voice touched, & no dinne of notes: there is none impression of breaking labour. I can it not otherwise nempne, for wanting of priuy words, but paradise terrestre, full of delicious melody, withouten trauayle in sown perpetuel seruice in full joy coveited to endure. Only kind maketh hearts in vnderstanding so to sleep, that otherwise maye it not been nempned, ne in other manere names for likyng sweetnesse can I nat it declare, all sugar & honey, all minstralcy & melody been but soot & gall in comparison, by no manner proportion to recken, in respect of this blisful joy. This armony, this melody, this perdurable joy may nat be in doing, but between heauens & elements, or twey kindly hearts, full knit in trouth of naturell vnderstanding, withouten wening and deceite, as heauens and planets, whych things continually for kindly accordaunces, foryeteth al contrarious meuings, that into passyue diseases may sowne, euermore it thristeth after more werking. These thyngs in proportion be so well joyned, that it vndoeth all thyng, which into badnesse by any way may be accompted. Certes (qd. I) this is a thyng precious & noble. Alas, that falsenesse euer or wantrust should euer be mainteined, this joy [Page] to void. Alas y• euer any wretch should thorow wrath or enuy, jangling dare make, to shoue this melody so far aback, y• openly dare it not been vsed: truely wretches been fulfilled with enuy & wrath, & no wyght els. Flebring and tales in such wretches dare appear openly in euery wights eare, with full mouth so charged, mokell mallice moued many innocents to shend, God would their soul therewith were strangeled. Lo, trouth in this blisse is hid, & ouer al vnder couert hym hideth: He dare nat come a place for waiting of shrewes. Commonly badness, goodness amaistereth with my self & my soul this joy would I buy, if y• goodness were as much as y• nobly in melody. O (qd. she) wt goodness may be accompted more in this material world, truly none, y• shalt thou vnderstand. Is not euery thing good y• is contrariaunt and destroying euill? How els (qd. I.) Enuy, wrath, and falsenesse been generall (qd. she) and yt wote euery man being in his right mynd, y• knot y• whych we haue in this blesse, is contrariaunt, & distroyeth such manner euils. * Ergo it is good, wt hath caused any wight to do any good dede? Find me any good, but if this knot be the cheefe cause: Needes mote it be good, that causeth so many good deeds. * Euery cause is more, and worthier than thing caused, & in that mores possession, all things lesse been compted. As the king is more than his people, & hath in possession all his realme after: Right so y• knot is more than all other goods, thou might recken all things lasse, & that to him longeth oweth into his mores causes of worship and of will do tourne, it is els rebell, and out of his mores defendyng to voyde. Right so of euery goodnesse into the knot & into the cause of his worship oweth to tourne. And truely, euery thyng y• hath being, profitably is good, but nothyng hath to been more profitably than this knot: Kings it maintayneth, & hem theyr powers to maintayne: It maketh misse to been amended, with good gouernaunce in doing: It closeth herts so togider, y• rancour is outthresten: Who yt it lengest keepeth, lengest is gladded. I trow (qd. I) heretikes, and misse meaning people hence forward woll maintain this knotte, for therethrough shull they been maintayned, & vtterly woll tourne, & leaue their old euill vnderstanding, and knit this goodness, & profer so fer in seruice yt name of seruaunts might they haue. Their jangles shall cease, me thinketh hem lacketh matter now to alledge. Certes (qd. Loue) if they of good will thus tourned as thou sayest wollen truly perform, yet shull they be abled party of this blisse to haue: and they wol not, yet shull my servaunts that werr wel susteyne in mine help of maintenaunce to the end. And they for their good trauaile shullen in reward so been meded, y• endless joy, body & soul togider, in this shullen abiden, there is euer action of blisse withouten possible corruption, there is action perpetuell in werke without trauayle, there is euerlasting passyfe withouten any of labour: continuell plite without ceasing coveited to endure. No toung may tell, ne heart may think the least poynt of this blisse. God bring me thider (qd. I then.) Continueth well (qd. she) to the end, and thou myght not fail then, for though thou speed not here, yet shall the passion of thy martired life been written, & radde toforne the great Iupiter, yt God is of routh, an high in the hollownesse of heauen, there he sit in his trone, and euer thou shalt forward been holden among all these heuins for a knight, that mightest with no pennaunce been discomfited. He is a very martir, that liuingly going, is gnawn to the bones. Certes (qd. I) these been good words of comfort, a little mine heart is rejoyced in a merry wise. Ye (qd. she) and he y• is in heauen feeleth more joy, than when he first heard thereof speak. So it is (qd. I) but wist I the sooth, that after disease comfort would follow with bliss, so as ye haue often declared, I would well suffer this passion with y• better cheare, but my thoughtful sorrow is endless, to think how I am cast out of a welfare, & yet daineth not this euill none heart none heed to meward throw, which things would greatly me by wayes of comfort disport, to weten in my selfe a little with other me been ymoned: and my sorrows peisen not in her ballaunce ye weight of a pease: Slinges of her daunger so heauily peisen, they drawe my causes so high, yt in her eyen they semen but lite and right little.

O, for (qd. she) heauen with skies, that foul clouds maken, and dark wethers, with great tempests and huge, maketh the merry dayes with soft shining sonnes. Also the year withdraweth floures, and beauty of hearbes & of yearth. The same years maketh springes & jolity in Vere so to renouel with painted colours, that earth seemed as gay as heauen. Sees that blasteth, & with wawes throweth shippes of which y• liuing creatures for great perill of hem dreden: right so the same sees maketh smooth waters and golden sayling, and comforteth hem, with noble hauen that first were so ferde. Hast thou not (qd. she) learned in thy youth, * That Iupiter hath in his wardrobe both garments of joy & of sorrow? What wost thou how soon he woll turne of thee that garment of care, and clothe thee in bliss? Parde it is not ferre fro thee. Lo an old prouerb alleadged by many wise: * When bale is greatest, then is bote a nie bore. * Wherof wilt thou dismay? Hope well, & serue well, and that shall thee saue, with thy good bileue. Ye, ye (qd. I) yet see I not by reason how this bliss is comming, I wote it is contingent, it may fall another. O (qd. she) I haue mokell to done to clear thine vnderstanding, & void these errours out of thy mind, I woll proue it by reason thy wo may not alway enduren. Euery thing kindly (qd she) is gouerned & ruled by ye heuenly bodies, which hauen full werching here on earth, and after [Page] course of these bodies, all course of your doings here been gouerned and ruled by kind. Thou wost well by course of planets all your dayes proceeden, & to euerich of singular houres be enterchaunged stoundmele about, by submitted worching naturally to suffer, of whyche chaunges cometh these transitory times, that maketh reuoluing of your yeares thus stoundmele, euery hath full might of worching, till all seuen han had her course about. Of which worchings and possession of hours, ye days of y• week haue take her names, after denomination in these seuen planets. Lo your sunday ginneth at y• first hour after noon on y• saturday, in which hour is then the sunne in ful might of worching, of whom sunday taketh his name. Next him followeth Venus, & after Mercurius, & then the Moon, so then Saturnus, after whom Iouis, & then Mars, and ayen then the Sunne, and so forth be xxiiii. houres togider, in which hour, ginning in the ii. day stant the Moone, as maister for y• time to rule, of whom Munday taketh his name, & this course followeth of all other days generally in doing. This course of nature of these bodies changing, stinten at a certain term, limitted by their first kind, and of hem all gouernments in this elemented world proceden, as in springs, constellations, engendrures, & all y• followen kind & reason, wherefore the course that followeth sorrowe and joye, kindely moten enterchaungen their times, so that alway one wele as alway one wo may not endure. Thus seest thou apertly thy sorow into wele mote been changed, wherfore in such case to better side euermore encline thou shouldest. * Truly next the end of sorrow anone entreth joy, by manner of necessity, it woll ne may none other betide, & so thy contigence is disproued: if thou hold this opinion any more, thy wit is right leud. Wherefore in full conclusion of al this, thilk Margarit thou desirest, hath ben to thee dere in thy hert, & for her hast thou suffered many thoughtfull diseases, hereafter shall be cause of mokell mirth and joy, and look how glad canst thou beene, and cease all thy passed heavinesse with manifold joyes: & then woll I as blithely here thee speaken thy mirths in joy, as I now haue yheard thy sorowes & thy complaints. And if I mowe in aught thy joy encrease, by my trouth on my side shall nat be leaued for no manner trauaile, y• I with all my mights right blithely woll helpe, & euer been ready you both to please. And then thanked I that lady with all goodly manner yt I worthely coud, and truly I was greatly rejoiced in mine heart of her faire behests, and profered me to be slaw in all yt she me would ordain while my life lested.

ME thinketh (qd. I) that ye haue right well declared, that way to the knot should not beene in none of these disproovyng things, and now order of our purpose this asketh, that ye should me shew if any way be thither, and which thilke way should been, so that openly may be sey the very high way in full confusion of these other things.

Thou shalt (qd she) vnderstand, that one of three liues (as I first said) euery creature of mankind is sprongen, & so forth proceedeth. These liues been thorow names departed in threee manner of kinds, as bestiallich, manlich, & reasonabliche, of which two been vsed by fleshly body, & the third by his soul. Bestial among reasonables is forboden in euery law and euery seet, both in Christen and other, for euery wight dispiseth hem y• liueth by lusts & delites, as him that is thrall and bounden servaunt to thynges ryght foule, such beene compted werse than men, he shall nat in their degree been reckened, ne for such one allowed. Heriticks saine they chosen life bestiall, that voluptuously liuen, so that (as I first said to thee) in manly and reasonable liuyngs, our matter was to declare but manlye life in lyving after flesh, or els fleshly wayes to chese, may nat blisse in this knot be conquered, as by reason it is proved. Wherefore by reasonable life he must needs it haue sith a way is to this knot, but nat by the first tway liues, wherefore needs mote it been to the third: and for to liue in flesh, but nat after flesh, is more reasonablich than manlych rekened by clerkes. Therefore how this way commeth in, I woll it blithly declare.

See now (qd. she) that these bodily goods of manlich liuings, yeelden sorrowfully stounds and smertand hours. Who so well remember him to their ends, in their worchings they ben thoughtfull and sorry. Right as a bee y• hath had his honey, anone at his flight beginneth to sting: So thilke bodily goods at the last mote away, and then sting they at her going, wherethrough entreth and clean voideth all blisse of this knot.

Forsooth (qd. I.) me thinketh I am well served, in shewing of these words. Although I had little in respect among other great and worthy, yet had I a fair parcel, as me thoght for y• time, in forthering of my sustenaunce, which while it dured, I thought me hauyng mokell honey to mine estate. I had richesse sufficiauntly to weiue neede, I had dignity to be reuerenced in worship. Power me thought that I had to keep fro mine enemies, and me seemed to shine in glory of renome, as manhood asketh in mean, for no wight in mine administration, coud none euils ne trechery by soth cause on me put. Lady, your selue weten well, y• of tho confederacies, maked by my soveraigns, I nas but a seruaunt, & yet mokell meane folke woll fullye ayenst reason thilke matters mainteine, in which maintenaunce glorien themself, and as often ye hauen said, thereof ought nothing in euill to be laid to me wards, sithen as repentant I am tourned, & no more I think, neither tho things ne none such other to sustene, but vtterly destroy without meddling maner, in all my mights. How [Page] am I now cast out of all sweetnesse of blysse, and mischeeuously stongen my passed joye? Sorrowfully must I bewayle, and liue as a wretch. Euery of tho joyes is turned into his contrary: for richesse, now haue I pouertye, for dignity now am I enprisoned, in steede of power, wretchednesse I suffer, & for glory of renome I am now dispised, & foulich hated: thus hath farne fortune, that suddainly am I ouerthrowen, & out of all wealth dispoyled. Truly me thinketh this way in entree is right hard, God graunt me better grace ere it be all passed, y• other way lady, me thought right sweet. Now certes (qd. Loue) me list for to chide. What aileth thy dark dulnesse? Woll it not in clerenesse been sharped. Haue I not by many reasons to thee shewed, such bodily goods failen to yeue blesse, their might so ferre fo [...]th woll not stretch? Shame (qd. she it is to say) thou liest in thy words. Thou ne hast wist but right few, that these bodily goods had all at ones, commonly they dwellen not togither. * He that plenty hath in riches, of his kin is ashamed: another of linage ryght noble and well know, but pouerty him handeleth, he were leuer vnknowe. Another hath these, but renome of peoples praysing may he not haue, ouer all he is hated, & defamed of things right foule. Another is faire and semely, but dignity him faileth: and he yt hath dignity, is crooked or lame, or els mishapen, and fouly dispised. Thus partable these goods dwellen, commonly in one houshold been they but [...]ilde. Lo how wretched is your trust, on thing y• woll not accord. Me thinketh thou clepest thilke plite thou were in, selinesse of fortune, & thou sayest for that y• silinesse is departed, thou art a wretch. Then followeth this vpon thy words, euery soul reasonable of man way not dye, and if death endeth selinesse, & maketh wretches, as needes of fortune maketh it an end. Then soules after death of the body, in wretchednesse should lyuen. But we know many that han getten the blisse of heauen after their death. How then may this life maken men blisful, y• when it passeth, it yeueth no wretchednes, & many times blisse, if in this life he con liue as he should. And wolt thou accompt with Fortune, that now at the first she hath done thee tene and sorrow: if thou looke to the maner of all glad things and sorrowful, thou maist not nay it, that yet, & namely now, thou standest in noble plite in a good ginning, with good forth going hereafter. And if thou wene to be a wretch, for such wealth is passed, why then art thou not well fortunate, for badde thinges & anguis wretchednes ben passed? Art thou now come first into the hostry of this life, or els y• both of this world, art thou now a suddaine guest into this wretched exile? Wenest there be any thyng in this yearth stable? Is not thy first arrest passed, yt brought thee in mortal sorrow? Ben these not mortal things agone, with ignoraunce of beastiall wit, and haste receiued reason in knowing of vertue? What comfort is in thy hert? The knowyng sikerly in my seruice be grounded. And wost thou not well, as I said, that death maketh end of all fortune? What then, standest thou in noble plite, litle heed or recking to take, if thou let fortune passe ding, or els that she flie when she list, now by thy liue. Parde a man hath nothing so lefe as his life, & for to hold that, he doth all his cure & dilligent trauaile. Then say I thou art blisful and fortunate selie, if thou know thy goods, yt thou hast yet be loued, whych nothing may doubt, yt they ne ben more worthy than thy life? What is that (qd. I) Good contemplation (qd. she) of well doing in vertue, in time comming, both in plesaunce of me, & of thy Margarite pearle: hastely thyne heart in full blisse, with her shall be eased. Therefore dismay thee not, fortune in hate greeuously ayenst thy bodily person, ne yet to great tempest hath she not sent to thee, sithen the holding cables and ankers of thy life holden by knitting so fast, yt thou discomfort thee nought of time that is now, ne dispair thee not of time to come, but yeuen thee comfort in hope of well doyng, & of getting again the double of thy lesing, with encreasing loue of thy Margarite pearle thereto. For this hiderto thou hast had all her full danger, & so thou might amend all yt is misse, and all defaultes yt sometime thou diddest, & that now in all thy time, to y• ilke Margarite in full seruice of my lore, thine heart hath continued, wherefore she ought much y• rather encline fro her daungerous seat. These things ben yet knit, by y• holding anker in thy liue, & holden mote they: To God I pray all these things at full been performed. For while this anker holdeth, I hope thou shalt safely escape, and while thy true meaning seruice about bring, in dispite of all false meaners, y• thee of new haten, for this true seruice, thou art now entered.

CErtes (qd. I) among things I asked a question, whych was the way to the knot. Truely lady, how so it be, I tempt you with questions and answeres, in speaking of my first seruice, I am now in full purpose in the pricke of the hert, that thilk seruice was an enprisonment, & alway bad & naughty, in no manner to be desired. Ne y• in getting of y• knot may it nothing availe. A wise gentill heart looketh after vertue, & none other bodily joyes alone. And because toforne this, in tho wayes I was set, I wot well my selfe I haue erred, & of the blisse failed, & so out of my way hugely haue I ron. Certes (qd. she) yt is sooth, & there thou hast miswent, eschew yt path from hence forward I rede. Wonder I truely, why the mortall folke of this world seech these ways outforth, and it is priued in your self. Lo how ye ben confounded with errour and folly. The knowing of very cause and way, is goodness and vertue. Is there any thing to thee more precious than thy self? Thou shalt haue in thy [Page] power, y• thou wouldest neuer lese, and that in no way may be taken fro thee, and thilke thing is y• is cause of this knot. And if deth mowe it not reue, more than an yearthly creture, thilk thing then abideth with thy self soul. And so our conclusion, to make such a knot thus getten, abideth with this thing, & with the soul, as long as they last. * A soul dieth neuer, vertue and goodnesse euermore with the soule endureth, and this knot is perfite blisse. Then this soule in this blisse, endlesse shall enduren. Thus shull herts of a true knot been eased: thus shull their soules been pleased: thus perpetually in joy shul they sing. In good truth (qd. I) here is a good beginning, yeue vs more of this way. (Qd. she) I sayd to thee not long sithen, that reasonable life was one of three things, & it was prooued to the soule. Euery soul of reason, hath two things of steryng life, one in vertue, & another in y• bodily workyng: * And when the soule is the maister ouer the body, then is a manne maister of himselfe: and a man to be a maister ouer himself, liueth in vertue, & in goodnesse, and as reason of vertue teacheth. So the soule and the body worching vertue togider, liuen reasonable life, whiche clearkes clepen felicity in liuing, and therein is y• hie way to this knot. These old Philosophers, that hadden no knowyng of Diuine grace of kindely reason alone, wenden that of pure nature, without any helpe of grace, me might haue ishoned the other liuings, reasonably haue I liued: and for I thinke hereafter, if GOD woll (and I haue space) thilke grace after my leude knowyng declare: I leaue it as at this tyme. But (as I said) he that out foorth looketh after the wayes of this knot, conning with which he should know the way in foorth, sleepeth for the time, wherefore he that woll this way know, must leaue the looking after false waies out foorth, and open the iyen of his conscience, and vnclose his hearte. Seest not he y• hath trust in y• bodily life, is so busie bodily woundes to annoint, in keeping from smert (for all out may they not be healed) yt of woundes in his true vnderstanding, he taketh no heed, the knowing euen foorth sleepeth so hard, but anone as in knowing awake, then ginneth the priuy medicines, for healing of his true entent, inwards lightly healeth conscience, if it be well handled. Then must needs these wayes come out of y• soule by steryng lyfe of the body, and els may no man come to perfite blisse of this knot: and thus by this way he shall come to the knot, and to the perfite silinesse y• he wende haue had in bodily goods outfoorth? Ye (qd. I) shall he haue both knot, riches, power, dignity, and renome in this manner way? Ye (qd. she) yt shall I shew thee. * Is he no riche yt hath suffisance, and hath the power that no man may amaistrien? Is not greate dignity to haue worshippe and reuerence? And hath he not glory of renome, whose name perpetuall is duryng, & out of nomber in comparacion? These be things that men wenen to getten out foorth (qd. I.) Ye (qd. she) they that loken after a thing y• naught is, thereof in all ne in party, longe mowe they gapen after: that is soth (qd. I) therfore (qd. she) they yt sechen gold in greene trees, and wene to gader precious stones emong vines, & laine her nettes in mountaynes to fishe, & thinken to hunt in deepe Seas after Harte & Hinde, and sechen in yearth thilke things that surmounteth Heauen. What may I of hem say? But foolish ignoraunce, misledeth wandryng wretches by vncouth wayes, that shullen be forleten, and maketh hem blinde fro the right pathe of true way, yt should been vsed. Therefore in generall errour in mankinde, departeth thilke goodes by misse seching, which he should haue hole, and he sought by reason. Thus goeth he beguiled of that he sought, in his hode men haue blowe a iape. Now (qd. I) if a man be vertuous, and all in vertue liueth, how hath he all these things? That shall I prouen (qd. she) What power hath any man, to let an other of liuing in vertue? For prisonment or any other disease, he take it paciently, discomfiteth he not, the tiraunt ouer his soule, no power may haue? then hath yt man so tourmented soche power, yt he nill be discomfite, ne ouercome may he not been, sithen pacience in his soule ouercometh, and as not ouercommen. Soch thing that may not be a maistred, he hath neede to nothyng, for he hath suffisaunce inow to helpe himself. And thilke thing that thus hath power and suffisaunce, and no tiraunt may it reue, and hath dignity to sette at naught all thynges, here it is a great dignity that death may a maistry. Wherefore thilke power suffisaunce so enclosed with dignity, by all reason renome must haue. This is thilk riches with suffisaunce ye should look after: this is thilke worshipfull dignity ye should coueit: this is thilke power of might, in which yee shuld trust: this is thilke renome of glory, y• endlesse endureth, & all nis but substaunce in vertuous liuing. Certes (qd. I) all this is sothe, and so I see well y• vertue with full gripe, encloseth all these things. Wherefore in sooth I may say, by my trouth vertue of my Margarite, brought me first into your seruice, to haue knitting with that jewell, not sodaine longynges ne folkes small wordes, but onely our conuersacion togider: and then I seeyng thentent of her true meanyng, with flourishing vertue of Pacience, yt she vsed nothing in euill, to quite y• wicked leasings, that false tongues oft in her haue laid. I haue sey it my selfe, goodly foryeuenesse hath sprong out of her hert, vnity and accorde aboue all other things, she desireth in a good meeke maner, & suffreth many wicked tales.

TRuely Lady, to you it were a great worship, that soch things by due chastisement were amended. Ye (qd. she) I haue thee excused, all soch things as [Page] yet mow not be redressed: thy Margarites vertue I commend well the more, that paciently soche annoies suffreth. Dauid king was meeke, and suffred mokell hate, and many euill speaches: no dispite ne shame that his enemies him deden, might not moue pacience out of his hert, but euer in one plite mercy he vsed. Wherefore GOD himself toke reward to the things, and thereon soch punishment let fall. Truly by reason it ought be ensample of drede, to all manner peoples mirth. A man vengeable in wrath, no gouernance in punishment ought to haue. * Plato had a cause his seruaunt to scourge, and yet cleped he his neighbour, to perform the doing himself would not, least wrath had him a maistred, and so might he haue laid on to moch: euermore grounded vertue sheweth the entent fro within. And truly I wot well for her goodnesse and vertue, thou hast desired my seruice, to her pleasaunt well the more, and thy selfe thereto fully hast profered. Good Lady (qd. I) is vertue the hie way to this knot, that long we haue ihandled? Ye forsooth (qd. she) and without vertue, goodly this knot may not be gotten. Ah now I see (qd. I) how vertue in me faileth, and I as a sere tree, without burioning or fruit alway welk, and so I stond in dispair of this noble knot, for vertue in me hath no manner working. A wide where about haue I traveiled. Peace (qd. she) of thy first way thy trauail is in idel, and as touching the second way, I see well thy meaning. Thou wouldest conclude me if thou coudest, bicause I brought thee to seruice, and euery of my servants I help to come to this bliss, as I said here beforn: and thou saidest thy self, thou mightest not be holpen as thou wenest, bicause y• vertue in thee faileth. And this bliss perfitly without vertue, may not be gotten, thou wenest of these words, contradiccion to follow. Parde at the hardest I haue no servant, but he be vertuous in deed & thought, I brought thee in my seruice, yet art thou not my seruant: but I say, thou might so werch in vertue hereafter, that then shalt thou be my seruant, and as for my seruant accompted. * For habit maketh no Monke, ne wearing of guilt spurs, maketh no Knight. Neuer the later, in comfort of thine hert, yet woll I otherwise answer. Certes Lady (qd. I tho) so ye must needs, or els I had nigh caught soch a cordiacle for sorrow, I wot it well I should it neuer haue recouered. And therefore now I pray to enform me in this, or els I hold me without recouery. I may not long eudure, till this lesson be learned, and of this mischief the remedy knowen. Now (qd. she) be not wrothe, * For there is no man on liue, that may come to a precious thing, long coveited, but he sometime suffre tenefull diseases, and wenest thy self to been vnlich to all other? That may not been: * And with the more sorrow that a thing is getten, the more he hath joy, the ilk thing afterwards to kepe, as it fareth by children in Schole, that for learning arn beaten, when their lesson they foryetten, commonly after a good disciplining with a yerde, they keep right well doctrine of their Schole.

RIght with these woords, on this Lady I threw vp mine iyen, to see her countenaunce and her cheare, and she apperceiuing this fantasie in mine hert, gan her semblaunt goodly on me cast, and said in this wise.

It is well know, both to Reason and Experience in doing, euery actiue woorcheth on his passiue, and when they been togither, actiue and passiue, been icleaped by these Philosophers, if fire be in place, chafing thing able to be chafed or heat, and the ilk things been sette in soche a distaunce, that the one may werche, the other shall suffre. The ilk Margarite thou desirest, is full of vertue, and able to be actiue in goodnesse: But euery hearb sheweth his vertue, outfoorth from within, the Sunne yeueth light, that things may be sey.

Euery fire heateth the like thing that it neighed, & it be able to be heat, vertue of this Margarit outforth wrethe, & nothing is more able to suffer woorching, or woorke catche of the actife, but passife of the same actife, and no passife to vertues of this Margarite, but thee in all my donet can I find, so that her vertue must needs on thee werche, in what place euer thou be, within distaunce of her woorthinesse, as her very passife thou art closed: but vertue may thee nothing profit, but thy desire be perfourmed, and all thy sorrows ceased. Ergo through werching of her vertue, thou shalt easely been holpen, and driven out of all care, and welcome to this long by thee desired.

Lady (qd. I) this is a good lesson, in ginning of my joy: But wete ye well forsooth, though I suppose she haue moch vertue, I would my spousale were prooued, and then may I liue out of doubt, & rejoyce me greatly, in thinking of tho vertues so shewed. I hearde thee say (qd. she) at my beginning, when I receiued thee first for to ferue, yt thy jewell, thilk Margarite thou desirest, was closed in a musk, with a blew shell. Ye forsoth (qd. I) so I said, & so it is Wel (qd. she) euery thing kindly, sheweth it self, this jewell closed in a blew shell, excellence of colours, sheweth vertue from within, * and so euery wight should rather look to the proper vertue of things, than to his forrain goods. If a thing be engendered of good matter, commonly, and for the more part it followeth, after the congelement vertue of the first matter, and it be not corrupt with vices, to proceede with encrease of good vertues: Eke right so it fareth of bad. * Truly great excellence in vertue of linage, for the more part discendeth by kind to the succession in vertues to follow. Wherfore I say, the colours of [Page] euery Margarite, sheweth from within the finenesse in vertue.

Kindely heauen, when mery weather is a lofte, appeareth in mans iye of colour in Blewe, stedfastnesse in peace, betokening within and without: Margarite is engendred by heauenly Dewe, and sheweth in it self, by finenesse of colour, whether the engendrure, were maked on morrow or on eue: thus saith kind of this perle. This precious Margarite that thou seruest, sheweth it self discended by nobley of vertue, from this heauenlich dew, nourished and congeled in meeknesse, that mother is of all vertues, and by werks that men seen withouten the signification of the colours, been shewed mercy and pitty in the hert, with peace to all other, and all this is iclosed in a Muskle, who so readily these vertues loken. All thing that hath soule, is reduced into good by meane things, as thus: Into GOD manne is reduced by soules reasonable, and so foorth beasts, or bodies that mow not mouen, after place been reduced into man, by beasts meue that mouen from place to place: so that thilke bodies that han feeling soules, and moue not from places, holden the lowest degree of soling thinges in feeling, and soche been reduced into man by means. So it followeth, the Muskle as mother of all vertues, halt the place of meeknesse, to his lowest degree discendeth doun of heauen, and there by a manner of virgin engendrure, arn these Margarites engendred, and afterward congeled. Made not meekenesse so low the hie heauen, to enclose and catch out therof so noble a dew, that after congelement a Margarite, with endlesse vertue and euerlasting joy, was with full vessell of grace yeuen to euery creature, that goodly would it receiue. Certes (qd. I) these things been right noble, I haue ere this heard the same saws. Then (qd. she) thou wost well these things been sothe? Ye foresothe (qd. I) at the full. Now (qd. she) that this Margarite is ful of vertue, it is well proued, wherefore some grace, some mercy emong other vertues, I wot right well on thee shall discend? Ye (qd. I) yet would I haue better declared vertues in this Margarite, kindly to been grounded. That shall I shew thee (qd. she) (& thou wouldest it learn? Learne, qd. I, what needeth soche wordes: were ye not well Lady your self, that all my cure, all my diligence, and all my might, haue tourned by your counsail, in pleasaunce of that perle, all my thought and all my study, with your help desireth, in worship thilke Iewell, to encrease all my trauail, and all my businesse in your seruice, this Margarite to glad in somhalue: me were leuer her honour, her pleasaunce, and her good chear, thorow me for to be maintained and kept, and I of soch thing in her liking to be cause, than all the wealth of bodily goods ye could reeken. And would neuer GOD, but I put my self in great jeopardy of all that I would, that is now no more but my life alone, rather then I should suffer thilk jewell in any poinct been blemished, as far as I may suffre, and with my might stretch. Soch thing (qd. she) may mokell further thy grace, and thee in my service auance. But now (qd. Loue) wilt thou graunt me thilke Margarite to been good? O good good (qd. I) why tempt ye me and tene with soch maner speach: I would grant that, though I should anon die, and by my trouth fight in the quarel, if any wight would counterplead. It is so moch the lighter (qd. Loue) to proue our entent. Ye (qd. I) but yet would I hear, how ye would proue, that she were good by reasonable skill, that it mowe not been denied, for although I know, and so doth many other, manifold goodnesse and vertue in this Margarite been Printed, yet some men there been, that no goodnesse speaken: and where euer your words been heard, and your reasons been shewed, soch euil speakers Lady, by aucthority of your excellence, shullen been stopped and ashamed. And more, they that han none acquaintance in her person, yet mowe they know her vertues, and been the more enformed in what wise they mow set their herts, when hem list into your seruice any entree make, for truly all this to begin, I wote well my self, that thilk jewell is so precious a pearl as a womanly woman in her kind, in whom of goodnesse, of vertue, and also of answering, shape of limmes, and fetures so well in all poincts according, nothing faileth: I leue that kinde her made with great study, for kind in her person nothing hath foryet, & yt is well seen. In euery good wights herte, she hath grace of commending, and of vertuous praising. Alas that euer kind made her deadly, saue onely in that I wot well, that Nature in forming of her, in nothing hath erred.

CErtes (qd. Loue) thou hast well begonne, and I ask thee this question: Is not in generall euery thing good? I not (qd. I) No (qd. she) saue not GOD euery thing that he made, and wern right good. Then is wonder (qd. I) how euill things commen a place, sithen that all things weren right good. Thus (qd. she) I woll declare: eueriche quality, and euery accion, and euery thing that hath any manner of being, it is of GOD, and GOD it made, of whom is all goodnesse, and all being, of him is no badnesse: * Badde to be is naught: Good to be is somewhat, and therefore good and being, is one in vnderstanding. How may this be (qd. I) for often han shrews me assailed, and mokell badnesse therein haue I founden, and so me seemeth bad, to be somewhat in kind. Thou shalt (qd. she) vnderstand that soch maner of badnesse, which is vsed to purifie wrong doers is somewhat, and GOD it made, and being hath, and that is good: * Other badnesse no being hath vtterly, [Page] it is in the negatiue of somewhat, and that is naught, and nothing being. The parties essenciall of being, arne said in double wise, as that it is, and these parties ben found in euery creature, for all thing a this half the first being, is being through participation, taking party of being, so that euery creature is difference, between being, and of him through whom it is and his own being: right as euery good is a maner of being, so is it good through being, for it is naught other to be: and euery thing though it be good, it is not of himself good, but it is good by that, it is ordinable to the great goodnesse. This duality after Clerks determission, is founden in euery creature, be it neuer so single of onhed. Ye (qd. I) but there as it is isaid, that God saw euery thing of his making, and were right good, as your self said to me, not long time sithen: I ask whether euery creature is isaid good, through goodnes vnformed, either els formed, and afterward if it be accept vtterly good? I shall say thee (qd. she) these great passed Clerks, han deuided good, into good being alone, and that is nothing but good, for nothing is good in that wise, but God: Also in good by participacion, and that is icleaped good, for farre fette, and representatiue of goodly goodnesse. * And after this manifold good is said, that is to say, good in kind, and good in gendre, and good of grace, and good of joy.

Of good in kind, Augustine saith, all that been, been good: but peraunter thou wouldst wete, whether of hemself it bee good, or els of an others goodnesse, for naturell goodnesse of euery substaunce, is nothing els than his substaunciall being, which is icleaped goodnes, after comparison that he hath to his first goodnesse, so as it is inductatife, by meanes into the first goodnesse. Boece sheweth this thing at the full, that this name good, is in generall name in kind, as it is comparisoned generally to his principal end, which is God, knot of all goodnesse. Euery creature crieth GOD vs made, and so they han full appetite to thilk God by affection, soch as to him belongeth: and in this wise all things been good, of the great God, which is good alone. This wonder thing (qd. I) how ye haue by many reasons proued, my first way to be error and misgoing, & cause of badnesse and feeble meaning, in y• ground ye alledged to be rooted: whence is it, that soch badnesse hath springes, sithen all things thus in generall been good, and badnesse hath no being, as ye haue declared: I wene if all things been good, I might then with the first way, in that good haue ended, and so by goodnesse haue commen to blisse in your seruice desired. All thing (qd. she) is good by being in participacion, out of the first goodnesse, which goodnesse is corrupt by badnesse, and bad meaning maners: GOD hath in good things, that they been good by being, & not in euell, for there is absence of rightful Loue, for badnesse is nothing onely but euill will of the vser, and through guilts of y• doer, wherfore at the ginning of the world, euery thing by himself was good, & in vniuersall they wern right good. An iye or a hand is fairer & better in a body, sette in his kindly place, than from y• body disceuered. Euery thing in his kindly place being kindly, good doth werch, and out of y• place voided, it dissolueth and is defouled him selue. Our noble GOD in gliterand wise by armony this world ordeined, as in purtreitures, storied with colours medled, in which blacke and other dark colours, commenden the golden, and the Assured painture, euery put in kindly place, one beside an other, more for other glittereth: right so little fair, maketh right fair, more glorious: and right so of goodnesse, and of other things in vertue. Wherfore other bad, and not so good pearls as this Margarite, that we han of this matter, yeuen by the air little goodnesse, and little vertue, right mokell goodnesse, and vertue in thy Margarite to been prooued, in shining wise to be found & shewed. How shold euer goodness of peace haue been know, but if vnpeace sometime reign, and mokell euill wroth? How should mercy been proued, and no trespass were, by due justification to be punished? Therefore grace and goodness of a wight is found, the sorrowful herts in good meaning to endure, been comforted, vnite, and accord between herts knit in joy to abide.

What wenest thou I rejoyce, or els accompt him emong my seruants, that pleaseth Pallas, in vndoing of Mercury, all be it that to Pallas he be knitte by title of Law, not according to the reasonable conscience: and Mercury in doing, haue grace to been suffered: or els him that weneth the Moon, for fairness of the eue Sterre. Lo, otherwhile by nights light of the Moon, greatly comforteth in darke thoughts and blinde. Vnderstanding of loue, yeueth great gladness: Who so list no bileue, when a sooth tale is shewed, adew and adew bliss, his name is entred. Wise folk and worthy in gentillesse, both of vertue and of liuing, yeuen full credence in soothnesse of loue with a good herte, there as good euidence or experience in doing, sheweth not the contrary. Thus mightst thou haue full prefe in thy Margarites goodnesse, by commendment of other jewels badnesse, and iuelnesse in doing. Stoundmele diseases yeueth seueral hours in joy.

Now by my trouth (qd. I) this is well declared, that my Margarite is good, for sithen other been good, and she passeth many other in goodnes and vertue, wherethrough by maner necessary she must be good: and goodnes of this Margarite is nothing els but vertue, wherefore she is vertuous, and if there failed any vertue in any side, there were lack of vertue: bad nothing els is ne may be, but lack and want of good and goodnes, & so should she haue that same lack, that is to sain bad, and that may not be, for she is good, and that [Page] is good me thinketh all good: and so by consequence me seemeth vertuous, & no lack of vertue to haue. But the Sun is not know but he shine, ne vertues herbes but they haue her kinde werchyng, ne vertue but it stretch in goodnes or profite to another, is no vertue. Then by all wayes of reason, sithen mercy & pity ben most commended among other vertues, and they might neuer been shewed refreshment of helpe and of comforte, but now at my most need, & that is the kind werking of these vertues: trewly I wene I shall not vary from these helpes.

Fyre, and if he yeue none heat, for fire is not deemed. The Sunne but he shyne, for sunne is not accompted. Water, but it wete, y• name shal been chaunged. Vertue but it werch, of goodnes doth it fail, & in to his contrary ye name shall be reversed, & these been impossible: wherefore the contradictory that is necessary, needs must I leue. Certes (qd. she) in thy person and out of thy mouth these words lien well to been said, and in thine vnderstanding to be leued, as in entent of this Margarite alone: and here now my spech in conclusion of these words.

IN these thynges (qd. she) that me list now to shewe openly, shall be founde the matter of thy sicknesse, and what shall been the medecine that may he thy sorrowes, liste and comforte, as well thee as all other that amisse have erred, and out of the way walked, so that any droppe of good will in amendement been dwelled in theyr heartes. Prouerbes of Salomon openly teacheth, how sometime an innocent walked by the way in blindnesse of a darke night, whome mette a woman (if it be lefelly to say) as a strumpet arayed, redily purueyed in turning of thoughts with vein janglings, and of rest impacient by dissimulacion of my terms, saying in this wise: come and be we dronken of our sweet pappes, vse we coueitous collinges. And thus drawen was this innocent, as an Oxe to the larder. Lady (qd. I) to me this is a queint thing to vnderstand: I pray you of this parable declare me the entent. This innocente (qd. she) is a scholer learning of my lore, in seching of my blisse, in which thing the day of his thought turning enclineth in to eue, and the Sonne of very light fayling, maketh darke night in his conning. Thus in darknesse of many douts he walketh, and for blindenes of vnderstandyng, he ne wote in wt way he is in: forsoth soch one may lightly been begiled. To whom came loue fained, not clothed of my liuery, but vnlefull lusty habite, with softe spech and mery, and with faire honied words heretikes and mis meaning people, skleren and wimplen their errours. Austen witnesseth of an heretike that in his first beginning, he was a man right expert in reasons, and sweet in his words, and y• werkes miscorden. Thus fareth fayned loue in her first werchinges: thou knowest these things for trew, thou hast hem proued by experience. Sometime in doyng to thine own person, in which thing thou hast found matter of mokell disease. Was not fained loue redily purueyed, thy wittes to catch & tourne thy good thoughts? trewly she hath wounded the conscience of many, with florishing of mokell jangling words: and good worthe thanked I it for no glose, I am glad of my Prudence thou hast so manly her veined. To me art thou moche holden, y• in thy kind course of good meaning I returne thy minde: I trow ne had I shewed thee thy Margarite, thou haddest neuer returned. Of first in good parfite joy was euer fayned loue impacient, as the water of Syloe, whiche euermore floweth with stilness & priuy noyse till it come nygh the brink, & then ginneth it so out of measure to bolne, with nouelleries of chaungyng storms, that in course of euery rennyng, it is in point to spill all his circuit of banks. Thus fayned loue priuely at the fullest of his flowyng, new storms debate to arayse. And all be it y• Mercurius often with hole vnderstandyng, knowen soch perillous matters, yet Veneriens so lusty been and so leude in theyr wits, y• in soch things right litell or naught done they fele, & wryten and cryen to their fellows: here is blisse, here is joy, & thus in to one same errour, mokel folk they drawen. Come they sayne, and be we dronken of our pappes, y• been fallas & lying glose of which mowe they not souke milke of health, but deadly venym & poyson, corruption of sorrow. * Mylke of fallas, is venym of disceite: Milke of lying glose is venym of corrupcion. Lo what thing commeth out of these pappes: vse we coueited collinges, desire we & meddle we false wordes with sote, & sote with false, truely this is y• sorinesse of fayned loue, needs of these surfets, sicknesse must follow. * Thus as an Ox to thy langoryng death wert thou drawn, y• sote of the smoke hath thee all defased. Euer ye deeper thou sometime wadest, y• sooner thou it found: if it had thee killed it had be littell wonder. But on y• other side, my trew seruants not faynen ne disceyue conne, soothly their doyng is open, my foundement endureth, be ye burthen neuer so great, euer in one it lasteth: it yeueth lyfe and blisfull goodnesse in the laste ends, though the ginnings been sharp. Thus of two contraries, contrary ben the effects. And so thilke Margarite thou seruest, shall seen thee by her seruice, out of perillous tribulacion delyuered, bycause of her seruice in to new disease fallen, by hope of amendment in the last end, with joy to be gladded, wherefore of kinde pure, her mercy with grace of good helpe, shall she graunt, and els I shall her so straine, that with pity shall she ben amaistred. Remembre in thine heart how horrible sometime to thyne Margarite thou trespassest, & in a great wyse ayenst her thou forfeitest: cleape ayen thy mind, and know thyne owne guiltes. What goodnesse, what [Page] thyne own guiltes. What goodnesse, what bounty, with mokell followyng pity found thou in that time? Wert thou not goodly accepted in to grace? By my plucking, was she to foryeuenesse enclined. And after I her stired to draw thee to house, and yet wendest thou vtterly for euer haue ben refused. But well thou woste, sithen yt I in soche sharp disease might so greatly auayle, wt thinkest in thy witte? How ferre may my wit stretch? And thou lach not on thy side I woll make the knotte: Certes in thy good bering I woll accorde with the Psauter. I haue found David in my seruice true, and with holy oyle of peace and of rest long by him desired, vtterly he shall be annointed. Trust well to me, and I woll thee not fayle. The lening of the first way with good hert of continuaunce, yt I see in the grounded, this purpose to parfourme, draweth my by maner of constrayning, that needes must I been thine helper: although mirthe a while be taried, it shal come at soch season, that thy thought shall been joyed: & would neuer GOD, sithen thyne hert to my reasons arne assented, and openly haste confessed thine amisse going, and now criest after mercy, but if mercy followed: thy blisse shall been ready ywis, thou ne wost how sone.

Now be a good childe I rede. The kind of vertues in thy Margarite rehearsed, by strength of me in thy person shull werch. Comfort thee in this, for thou maist not miscary. And these words said, she streight her on length and rested a while.

¶Thus endeth the second book, and hereafter followeth the third booke.

3

OF nombre sain these clerks that it is naturell some of discrete thinges, as in telling one, two, three, and so forth: but among all nombres three is determined for most certaine. Wherfore in nombre certain this werke of my besie leudenes, I think to end and parfourme.

Ensample by this worlde in three times is deuided: Of which y• first is cleped Dematian, that is to say, going out of true way: & all that tho dieden, in hell were thy punished for a mans sinne, till grace and mercy fet hem thence, & there ended the first time. The second time lasteth from the coming of merciable grace, vntill the end of transitory time, in which is shewed y• true way in fordoing of y• badde, and that is ycleped time of grace: & that thing is not yeuen by desert of yelding, one benefite for another, but onely through goodnesse of ye yeuer of grace in thilke tyme. Who so can well vnderstand, is shapen to be saued in souled blisse. The third time shal gin when transitory things of worldes han made their end, and that shall been in joy, glory, and red both body and soule, that well han deserued in the tyme of grace. And thus in y• heauen togither shull they dwell perpetuelly, without any ymaginatife yuel in any halue. These times are figured by tho three dayes that our God was closed in yearth, and in the third arose, shewyng our resurrection to joy & blisse, of tho yt it deseruen, by his merciable grace. So this leude booke in three matters accordaunt to tho times, lightely by a good inseer may been vnderstande, as in y• first errour of misse goyng is shewed with sorrowful pine, punished is cried after mercy. In the second is grace in good way proued, which is fayling without desert, thilk first misse amending in correction of tho errours and euen way to bryng with comforte of welfare, in to amendement wexing. And in the third joye and blisse, graunted to him that well can deserue it, and hath sauour of vnderstandyng in the tyme of grace. Thus in joye of my third booke shall the matter be till it end. But speciall cause I haue in my heart to make this processe of a Margarit pearl, that is so precious a gem, with cleere and littell of which stones or Iewel, the tongues of vs English people tourneth the right names, and clepeth hem Margery pearles: thus varieth our speech from many other langages. For trewly Latine, French, and many mo other langages clepeth hem Margery peerles, the name Margarites or Margarit perls: wherefore in that denominacion I woll me accord to other mens tonges, in that name cleping. These clerkes that treaten of kindes, & studien out the property there of things, sayne the Margarit is a littel white pearle, throughout holow and rounde, and vertuous, and on the sea sides in the more Britaine, in muskle shels, of y• heavenly dewe ye best been engendred: in which by experience ben found three fayre vertues. One is, it yeueth comforte to the feling spirits in bodily persones of reason. Another is good, it is profitable health ayenst passions of sory mens hearts. And the third it is needfull and noble in staunching of blood, there els too much would out ren. To which perle and vertues me list to liken at this time Philosophy, with her three speces, that is, naturel, and moral, and reasonable: of which things heareth what saine these great Clerks. Philosophy is knowing of deuinely and manly things joyned with study of good liuyng, and this stante in two things, that is, conning and opinion: conning, is when a thing by certaine reason is conceiued: but wretches, and fooles, and lewd men, many will conceyue a thyng & maintaine it as for a sothe, though reason be in the contrary, wherefore conning is a straunger. Opinion is while a thyng [...] in non certayne, and hidde from mens very knowledging, and by no parfite reason fully declared, as thus: if the sonne be so mokel as men wenen, or els if it be more then ye earth. For in soothnesse y• certaine quantity of that Planet is vnknowen to erthly dwellers, & yet by opinion of some men, it is holden for more than middle erth. The first spece of Philosophy is naturel, which in kindely things treaten, [Page] & sheweth causes of heauen, & strength of kindly course: as by Arsmetrike, Geometry, Musike, & by Astronomy, techeth ways and course of Heauens, of Planetes, and of Sterres about Heauen & Earth, & other Elements. The second spece is morall, which in order of liuing maners techeth, & by reason proueth vertues of soule most worthy in our liuyng, which been Prudence, Iustice, Temperaunce, & Strength. Prudence is goodly wisedome in knowyng of thynges: Strength voideth all aduersities aliche euen. Temperaunce distroyeth bestiall liuing with easie bearyng. And Iustice rightfully judgeth, and judging, departeth to euery wight that is his own. The third spece tourneth in to reason of vnderstanding, al things to be said sothe & discussed, and that in two things is deuided: one is Art, another is Rhetorique, in which two all lawes of mans reason been grounded or elles maintayned. And for this book is all of Loue, & thereafter beareth his name, and Philosophy and law must hereto accorden by their clergial discripcions: as Philosophy for loue of wisedom is declared: Law for maintaynaunce of peace is holden: and these with loue must needs accorden, therefore of hem in this place haue I touched. Order of homely things and honest manner of lyuing in vertue, with rightful judgement in causes, & profitable administracion in communalties of Realms & Cities, by euenhede profitably to rayne, nat by singuler auantage, ne by priuy enuy, ne by solein purpose in couetise of worship or of goods, ben disposed in open rule shewed, by Loue, Philosophy, & law, and yet loue toforne all other. Wherfore as susterne in vnity they accorden & one end y• is peace & rest, they causen nourishyng, & in the joy mainteynen to endure. Now then, as I haue declared, my boke accordeth with discripcion of three things, and the Margarite in vertue is likened to Philosophy, with y• three speces. In which matters euer twey been accordant with bodily reason, & the third with the soule: But in conclusion of my book and of this Margarit pearle, in knittyng togider law by three sondry manners shal be lykened, yt is to say, Law, Right, & Custom, which I woll declare: all that is law, commeth of Gods ordinaunce by kindely worchyng: & thilke things ordayned by mans wittes arne icleped right, which is ordayned by many maners and in constitution written: But custome is a thing y• is a [...]cepted for right or for law, there as law & right faylen, and there is no difference, whether it come of Scripture or of reason. Wherefore it sheweth that law is kindly governaunce: right commeth out of mannes probable reason: and custome is of commen vsage by length of time vsed, and custom nat write is vsage, and if it be writte constitution it is iwritten and ycleped: But law of kinde is commen to euery nation, as conjunction of man & woman in loue, succession of children in heritaunce, restitucion of thing by strength taken or leant, & this lawe among all other halte the soueraynest gree in wurship, which lawe beganne at y• beginnyng of reasonable creature, it varied yet neuer for no chaunging of time: cause forsooth in ordainyng of Law, was to constrain mens hardines in to peace, & withdrawing his yuell will, & turning malice into goodnesse, and y• innocence sikerly withouten teneful anoy among shrews, safely might inhabite by protection of safe conduct, so that shrewes harm for harm by brydle of feardenesse shoulden restrayn. But forsothe in kindely lawe nothing is commended, but soche as Gods will hath confirmed, ne nothing denied but contraryoustie of Gods will in Heauen: eke then all lawes or custome, or els constitution by vsage, or writing, yt contrarien law of kinde, vtterly been repugnant & aduersary to our gods will of Heauen. Trewly lawe of kinde for goddes own lusty will is verily to mayntaine, vnder which law (and vnworthy) both professe and reguler arn obediencer and bounden to this Margarit pearl, as by knot of loues statutes & stablishment in kind, which y• goodly may not ben withsetten. Lo vnder this bonde am I constrained to abide, & man vnder liuyng lawe ruled, by yt law oweth after desertes to been rewarded by paine or by mede, but if mercy weiue the pain: so than be parte, reasonfully may be sey, that mercy both right & lawe passeth, thentent of all these matters, is the lest cleere vnderstanding, to weten at the end of this third boke ful knowyng thorow Gods grace, I thinke to make neuerthelater, yet if these things han a good and a sleght inseer which that can souke hony of the hard stone, oyle of y• dry rock, may lightly feele nobly of matter in my leude imaginacion closed.

But for my booke shal be of joy (as I said) and I so ferre set fro thilke place, fro whens gladness should come, my corde is to short to let my boket ought to catch of y• water, and few men be abouten my corde to ech, & many in full purpose been ready it shorter to make, & to enclose thenter, y• my boket of joy nothing should catch, but empty returne, my carefull sorrowes to encrease, & if I die for payne, y• were gladnesse at their hearts. Good Lord send me water in to the cop of these Mountains, & I shall drink thereof my thrustes to stanch: and sey these be comfortable welles in to health of goodnes of my sauiour am I holpen. And yet I say more, the house of joy to me is not opened. How dare my sorrowful goost then in any matter of gladness thynken to trete? for euer sobbings & complaints be ready refrete in his meditacions, as werbles in manyfold stoundes comming about I not than. And therefore what maner of joy coude endite, but yet at dore shall I knock, if y• key of Dauid would ye lock unshyt and he bring me in, which that childrens tonges both openeth and closeth. Whose [Page] spirite, where he well worcheth, departing goodly as him liketh. Now to Gods laude & reuerence, profite of ye readers, amendment of maners of ye herers, encreasing of worship among loues seruaunts, releuing of my hert in to grace of my jewel, & frendship pleasance of this pearle, I am stered in this making, & for nothing els: & if any good thing to mens likyng in this scripture be found, thanketh ye maister of grace which y• of that good and all other is authour, & principal doer. And if any thing be insufficient or els mislikyng, with y• that y• lewdness of mine vnable conning, for body in disease annoyeth the vnderstanding in soule. A disesely habitation leteth the wits many thinges, and namely in sorow. The custome neuer the later of loue, be long tyme of seruice in termes I thinke to pursue, which beene liuely to yeue vnderstanding in other thinges. But nowe to enforme thee of this Margarites goodness, I may her not halfe prayse. Wherefore not she for my book, but this book for her is worthy to be commended, tho my book be leude: right as thinges nat for places, but places for things ought to be desired and praysed.

NOw (qd. Loue) truely thy words I haue well vnderstond. Certes me thinketh hem right good, and me wondreth why thou so lightly passest in the law. Sothly (qd. I) my wit is leude and I am right blind and that mater deepe, how shuld I then haue waded, lightly might I haue drenched and spilt there my self. Yea (qd. she) I shal help thee to swim. * For right as law punisheth brekers of precepts, and the contrary doers of ye writen constitucions: right so ayenward, law rewardeth and yeueth mede to hem that law strengthen. By one law this rebel is punished, & this innocent is mede, ye shrew is emprisoned, & this rightful is corowned. The same law that joyneth by wedlock without forsaking, y• same law yeueth libel of departicion bycause of deuorse, both deemed & declared. Ye ye (qd. I) I find in no law to mede & reward in goodnes, the gilty of deserts. Fool (qd. she) gilty conuerted in your law, mykel merite deserueth. Also Pauly of Rome was corowned, yt by him y• mainteiners of Pompeus weren known & distroyed: & yet toforn was this Paulin chiefe of Pompeus counsaile. This law in Rome hath yet his name of mesuring in mede, ye bewraying of y• conspiracy, ordained by tho senatours ye death. Iulius Cesar is accompted into Catons rightwisnesse, for euer in trouth florisheth his name among ye knowers of reason. Perdicas was crowned in y• heritage of Alexander the great, for telling of a priuy hate y• king Porrus to Alexander had. Wherefore euery wight by reason of law after his rightwisenes apertly his mede may chalenge: & so thou y• maintainest law of kind, & therefore disease hast suffred in y• law, reward is worthy to be rewarded and ordayned, & apertly thy mede might thou chalenge. Certes (qd. I) this haue I well lerned, & euer henceforward I shal draw me thereafter in one hed of will to abide this law, both maintain & kepe, and so hope I best entre in to your grace, well deseruing in o worship of a wight, without needful compulsion ought medefully to be rewarded. Truly (qd. Loue) that is soth, & tho by constitucion good seruice in to profite & auauntage stretch, vtterly many men it demen to haue more desert of mede, then good wil nat compelled. Se now (qd. I) how may men holden of this the contrary. And wt is good seruice? Of you wold I here this question declared. I shall say thee (qd. she) in a few words, resonable workings in plesaunce & profite of thy soueraine. How shuld I this perform (qd. I.) Right wel (qd. she) & here me now a litell. It is hardly (qd. she) to vnderstand, that right as mater by due ouerchaungings followeth his perfection & his form: right so euery man by rightfull werkings ought to follow y• lefull desires in his heart, & see toforne to wt end he deserueth, for many times he y• loketh not after thendes, but vtterly thereof is vnknown, befalleth often many yuels to done, wherethrough er he be ware shamefully he is confounded, thende thereof neden to be before looked to euery desire of such foresight, in good seruice three things specially needeth to be rulers in his works. First y• he do good, next yt he do by his election in his own hert, & the third, that he do godly withouten any surquedry in thoughts. That your werkes shulden be good in seruice, or in any other acts, authorites many may be alledged, neuer the latter, by reason thus may it be shewed. All your works be cleped second & mouen in vertue of ye first wercher, which in good works wrought you to proceed, & right so your werks mouen in to vertue of y• last end, & right in y• first working were nat, no man should in y• second werch. Right so but ye feled to wt end, and sen their goodnesse closed, ye should no more retch wt ye wrought but ye ginning gan with good, and there shall it ceafe in the last end, if it be well considred. Wherfore y• midle, if other ways it draw then accordaunt to thends, there stinteth the course of good, and another manner course entreth, & so it is a party by him selue, & euery part be not accordaunt to his all, is foule & ought to be eschewed, wherefore euery thing y• is wrought & be nat good, is nat accordaunt to thendes of his all hole, it is foul, and ought to be withdraw. * Thus the persons that neither done good ne harme, shamen foule their making: Wherefore without working of good acts in good seruice, may no man bene accepted. * Trewlye thlike that han might to do good, and done it not, the crown of worship shal be take from hem, and with shame shul they be anulled. And so to make one werke accordaunt with his endes, euery good seruaunt by reason of consequence must do good needs. Certes it suffiseth not alone to do good [Page] but goodly withal follows, y• thank of goodnes els in nought he deserueth: For right as all your beyng, come from the greatest good, in whom all goodness is closed. Right so your ends been direct to y• same good. * Aristotel determineth y• end & good been one, & conuertible in vnderstanding, & he y• in wil doth away good, & he y• loketh not to thend loketh not to good, but he y• doth good and doth not goodly, draweth away thy direction of the end, not goodly, must needs be bad. Lo bad is nothing els, but absence or negatiue of good, as darknesse is absence or negatiue of light. Then he that doth goodly directeth thilke good into thend of badde. So must thing not good follow, eke badnes to such folk oft followeth. Thus contrariaunt workers of thend that is good, been worthy y• contrary of thend that is good to haue. How (qd. I) may any good deed be done, but if goodly it helpe. Yes (qd. Loue) the Deuill doth many good deeds, but goodly he leueth behind, for euen badly & in desceiuable wise he worketh. Wherefore y• contrary of thend him followeth. And do he never so many good dedes, bycause goodly is away, his goodnes is not rekened. Lo then tho a man do good, but he do good, but he do goodly thend in goodnesse wol not folow, and thus in good seruice both good deed and goodly done, musten joyne togider, and that it be done with free choyse in heart: and els deserueth he nat the merite in goodes, that woll I proue. For if thou do any thing good by chaunce or by hap, in what thing art thou thereof worthy to be commended? for nothing by reason of that, turneth in to thy praising ne lacking. Lo thilke thing done by hap by thy will is nat caused, and thereby should I thanke or lack deserue: and sithen y• faileth, thend which y• wel should reward, must needs faile. Clerkes saine, no man but willing is blessed, a good deed y• he hath done is not done of free choyse willing, without which blissednes may nat follow. Ergo nether thanke of goodnesse ne seruice in that is contrary of y• good end, so then to good seruice longeth good deed goodly done, thorow free choise in heart. Truely (qd. I) this haue I well vnderstand. Well (qd. she) euery thing thus done sufficient by lawe that is cleped Iustice, after reward claime. For law & Iustice was ordained in this wise, soch deserts in goodnes after quantite in doing, by mede to reward, and of necessite of soch Iustice, y• is to say, rightwisenes was free choise in deseruing of well or of euil graunted to reasonable creatures. Euery man hath free arbitrement to chose good or iuell to perform. Now (qd. I) tho if I by my good will deserue this Margarit pearle, & am thereto compelled, & haue free choise to do wt me liketh: She is then holden as me thinketh to reward thentent of my good will. Goddes forbode els (qd. Loue) no wight meneth otherwise I trow, free will of good hert after mede deserueth. Hath euery man (qd. I) fre choice by necessary maner of will in euery of his doings, y• him liketh by Gods proper purueyaunce, I wold see yt well declared to my leud vnderstanding, for necessary & necessite ben words of mokel intencion, closing (as to say) so mote it be needs, & otherwise may it nat betide. This shalt thou learn (qd. she) so thou take hede in my spech. If it were nat in mans own liberte of free will to do good or bad, but to y• one tied by bond of Gods preordinaunce: Then do he neuer so well it were by needful compulcion of thilk bond & not by free choise, whereby nothing he desireth, & do he neuer so yuell it were not man for to wite, but onelich to him that soch thing ordained hem to don. Wherfore he ne ought for bad be punished, ne for no good deed be rewarded, but of necessite of rightwisnes was therefore free choice of arbitrement, put in mans proper disposition: truely if it were otherwise, it contraried Gods charity, y• badness & goodness, rewardeth after desert of paine, or of mede. Me thinketh this wonder (qd. I) for God by necessity forwote all things comming, & so mote it needs be: and thilk things yt ben done, be our free choice comen nothing of necessity, but onely by wil: how may this stand togider? and so me thinketh truely, y• free choice fully repugneth Gods forweting. Truely lady, me seemeth they mowe not stand together.

THen gan loue nigh me neere, & with a noble countenance of visage & limmes, dressed her nighe my sittyng place. Take forth (qd. she) thy penne, and redily write these words, for if God woll, I shal hem so enforme to thee, that thy leudness, which I haue vnderstand in y• matter, shall openly be clered, & thy sight in full loking therein amended. First, if thou think y• Gods prescience, repugne liberty of arbetrie of arbitrement, it is impossible y• they should accord in onehed of soth to vnderstanding. Ye (qd. I) forsoth so I it conceiue. Well (qd. she) if thilke impossible were away, the repugnaunce that seemeth to be therein, were vtterly remoued. Shew me thabsence of yt impossibility (qd. I.) So (qd. she) I shall. Now I suppose that they mowe stande togyther, prescience of God, whom followeth necessity of things coming, & liberty of arbitrement, through which thou beleeuest many thyngs, to be without necessity. Both these proporcions be soothe (qd. I) and well mow stand togider, wherefore this case as possible I admit. Truely (qd. she) and this case is impossible. How so (qd. I.) For hereof (qd. she) followeth and wexeth an other impossible. Proue me that (qd. I.) That I shall (qd. she) for something is comming without necessity, and God wote that toforne, for all thyng commyng he before wote, and that he beforne wot of necessity is commyng: as he beforne wot, be the case by necessary maner then, or els thorowe necessity, is something to be without necessity, and whiderto euery wight that hath good vnderstandyng, is seene these things to be repugnaunt. [Page] Prescience of GOD, which that followeth necessity, and liberty of arbitrement, fro which is remoued necessity, for truly it is necessary, that God haue forweting of thing, withouten any necessity comming. Ye (qd. I) but yet remeue ye not away fro mine vnderstanding, the necessity following Gods before weting, as thus. GOD beforn wote me in seruice of Loue, to be bounden to this Margarite pearl, and therefore by necessity, thus to loue am I bound, & if I not had loved, through necessity had I been kept from all loue deeds. Certes (qd. Loue) bicause this matter is good & necessary to declare, I think herein well to abide, and not lightly to pass. Thou shalt not (qd. she) say all only God beforn wote me to be a louer, or no louer, but thus: GOD beforn wote me to be a louer, without necessity. And so it followeth, whither thou loue, or not loue, euery of hem is & shal be. But now thou seest the impossibility of y• case, and the possibility of thilk that thou wendest had been impossible, wherfore the repugnance is adnulled. Ye (qd. I) and yet do ye not away the strength of necessity, when it is said, though necessity it is me in loue to abide, or not to loue without necessity, for God beforn wote it. This maner of necessity forsoth, seemeth to some men into coaccion, that is to sain, constraining, or els prohibicion that is defending, wherfore necessity is me to loue of will. I vnderstand me to be constrained, by some priuy strength, to ye will of louing, and if no loue to be defended from the will of loving, and so through necessity me seemeth to loue, for I loue, or els not to loue, if I not loue, wherethrough neither thanke ne maugre, in tho things may I deserue.

Now (qd. she) thou shalt well vnderstand that often we sain thing, through necessity, to be that by no strength, to be neither is coacted, ne constrained, and thorow necessity not to be, that with no defending is removed, for we sain, it is thorow necessity, GOD to be immortal nought dedlich, and it is necessity, GOD to be rightful, but not that any strength of violent manner constraineth him to be immortal, or defendeth him to be vnrightful, for nothing may make him dedly or vnrightful. Right so if I say, through necessity is thee to be a louer or els none, only thorow will, as GOD beforn wete: it is not to vnderstand, that any thing defendeth or forbit thee thy will, which shall not be, or els constraineth it to be, which shall be: that same thing forsooth God before wot, which he beforne seeth, any thing commend of onely will, that will neither is constrained ne defended through any other thinge. And so through liberty of arbitrement it is do, that is done of will. And truly my good child, if these things be well vnderstand, I wene that none inconuenient shalt thou find, between Goddes forweting, and liberty of arbitrement, wherefore, I wote well they may stand togider. Also farthermore, who that vnderstanding of Prescience, properlich considereth, through the same wise, that any thing be afore wist, is said for to be comming, it is pronounced, there is nothing toforne wist, but thing comming, fore wetting is but of trouth, doubt may not be wist: wherefore, when I sey, that God toforn wot any thing, through necessity is thilke thing to be comming, all is one if I sey, if it shall be, but this necessity neither constraineth, ne defendeth any thing to be, or not to be. Therefore soothly if loue is put to be, it is said of necessity to be, or els for it is put not to be, it is affirmed not to be of necessity: not for that necessity constraineth or defendeth, loue to be, or not to be. For when I say, if loue shal be of necessity, it shall be, here followeth necessity. The thing toforn put, it is as much to say, as if it were thus pronounced: yt thing shall be: none other thing signifieth this necessity, but onely thus, that shall be, may not togider be, and not be. Euenlich also it is sooth, loue was, and is, and shall be, not of necessity, and need is to haue be all that was, and needfull is to be all that is, and coming to all that shall be: and it is not y• same to say, loue to be passed, and loue passed to be passed, or loue present to be present, and loue to be present; or els loue to be comming, and loue comming to be comming: * diuersity in setting of words, maketh diuersity in vnderstanding, altho in the same sentence they accorden of signification, right as it is not all one: loue sweet to be sweet, and loue to be sweet: for much loue is bitter, and sorrowfull ere hearts been eased, and yet it gladdeth thilke sorrowfull hert on soch loue to think. Forsooth (qd. I) otherwhile I haue had mokell blisse in hert of loue, that stoundmele hath me sorily annoied: and certes lady for I see my self thus knit, with this Margarite pearl, as by bond of your seruice, and of no liberty of will, my heart will now not accord this seruice to loue: I can deemin in my self none otherwise, but through necessity am I constrained in this seruice to abide. But alas then, if I through needfull compulsion, maugre me be withhold, little thank for all my great trauail haue I then deserued. Now (qd. this lady) I say as I said: Me liketh this matter to declare at the full, and why: For many men haue had diuers fantasies and reasons, both on one side thereof, & in the other. Of which right soon I trow, if thou wilt vnderstand, thou shalt con yeue the sentence, to the party more probable by reason, and in sooth knowing, by that I haue of this matter maked an end. Certes (qd. I) of these things, long haue I had great lust to be learned, for yet I wene, Gods will and his prescience accordeth with my seruice, in louing of this precious Margarite pearl. After whom euer in my heart, with thursting desire wete I doe bren, vnwasting I langour and fade, and the day of my desteny, in death or in joy I vnbide, but yet in the end I am comforted be my supposail in blisse, and in joy to determine [Page] after my desires. That thing (qd. Loue) hastely to thee neigh, God grant of his grace and mercy, and this shall be my prayer, till thou be likened in heart at thine own will. But now to enform thee in this matter (qd. this Lady) thou wost where I left, that was loue to be sweet, and loue sweet to be sweet, is not all one for to say: For a tree is not alway by necessity white, sometime ere it were white it might haue be not white: & after time it is white, it may be not white: but a white tree euermore needful is to be white: for neither toforn ne after it was white, might it be togider white & not white. Also loue by necessity is not present, as now in thee, for ere it were present, it might haue be, that it should now not haue be, & yet it may be, y• it shall not be present: but thy loue present, which to her Margarite thee hath bound, needfull is to be present. Truly some doing of action, not by necessity, is comming far toforn it be, it may be that it shall not be coming: thing forsooth coming, needful is to be coming, for it may not be that comming shall not be comming. And right as I haue said of present and of future times, the same sentence in soothnesse is of the preterit, that is to say, time passed, for thing passed, must needs be passed, and ere it were it might haue not be, wherfore it should not haue passed. Right so when loue coming is said of loue that is to come, needful is to be that is said, for thing coming neuer, is not coming, and so oft the same thing, we sain of the same, as when we sain euery man is a man, or euery louer is a louer, so must it be needs, in no way may he be man, and no man togither. And if it be not by necessity, that is to say, needfull all thing coming to be coming, then some thing coming is not coming, and that is impossible, right as these terms needfull, necessity and necessary, betoken and signifying needs to be, and it may not otherwise be. Right these terms impossible signifieth, that thing is not, & by no way may it be then throgh pert necessity, al thing coming is coming, but that is by necessity, followeth with nothing to be constrained. Lo when that coming is said of thing, not alway thing through necessity is, altho it be coming. For if I say to morrow, loue is coming in this Margarites heart, not therfore through necessity shall thilk loue be, yet it may be yt it shall not be, altho it were coming. Neuer the later, sometime it is sooth, that some thing be of necessity, that is said to come: and if I say to morrow by coming the rising of y• Sun. If therefore with necessity I pronounce coming of thing to come, in this maner loue to morn coming in thine Margarite, to thee ward by necessity is comming, or els the risinge of the Sunne to morne comming through necessity, is comming. Loue soothly, which may not be of necessity alone following, through necessity coming it is made certain. For future of future is said, that is to saine, coming of coming is said: as if to morrow coming, is through necessity coming it is. Arising of the Sun through two necessities in coming, it is to vnderstand, that one is to forgoing necessity, which maketh thing to be, therefore it shall be, for needful is that it be. Another is following necessity, which nothing constraineth to be, and so by necessity it is to come, why: for it is to come.

Now then, when we saine, that God beforne wote thing coming needfull, is to be coming, yet therefore make we not in certain, euermore thing to be through necessity comming. Soothly thing comming may not be, not coming by no way, for it is the same sentence of vnderstanding: as if we say thus, If God beforn wote any thing, needfull is that to be coming. But yet therefore followeth not the prescience of God, thing through necessity to be comming: for altho God toforn wote all things coming, yet not therefore he beforn wote euery thing coming thorow necessity. Some things he beforne wote, coming of free will, out of reasonable creature. Certes (qd. I) these terms, need and necessity, haue a queint manner of vnderstanding, they woulden dullen many mens wits. Therefore (qd. she) I woll hem openly declare, and more clearly than I haue toforne, ere I depart hence. Here of this matter (qd. she) thou shalt vnderstand, that right as it is not needful God to wiln y• he will, no more in many things is not needful a man to wiln that he woll. And euer right as needful is to be, what that God woll, right so to be it is needful, that man woll in tho things which that God hath put into mans subjection of willing: as if a man woll loue, that he loue: and if he ne woll loue, that he loue not: & of such other things in mans disposition. For why: now then, that God woll, may not be, when he woll the will of man thorow no necessity to be constrained, or els defended for to wiln, and he woll the effect to follow the will, then is it needful will of man to be free, & also to be y• he woll. In this maner it is sooth, that thorow necessity is mans werke in louing, that he woll do, altho he woll it not with necessity. (Qd. I then) how stant it in loue of thilk will, sithen men louen willing of free choise in heart. Wherefore if it be thorow necessity, I pray you Lady of an answer this question to assoil. I woll (qd. she) answer thee bliuely: right as men will not thorow necessity, right so is not loue of will thorow necessity, ne thorow necessity wrought thilk same will, for if he would it not with good will, it should not haue been wrought, altho y• he doth it is needful to be done. But if a man do sin, it is nothing els but to will, yt he should not: right so sin of will is not to be manner necssary done, no more than will is necessary. Neuer y• later, this is sooth, if a man woll sin, it is necessary him to sin, but though thilk necessity, nothing is constrained ne defended in the will, right so thilk thing that free will [Page] woll and may, and not may, not wiln, & needfull is that to wilne he may not wilne, but thilke to wilne needfull is, for impossible to him it is one thing, and the same to wiln, he may not wiln, but thilk to wiln needful is: for impossible to him it is one thing and the same to wiln, and not to wiln.

The werke forsooth of will, to whom it is yeue, that it be that he hath in will, and that he woll not, voluntary of spontany it is, for by spontany will it is do, that is to say, with good will, not constrained: then by will not constrained, it is constrained to be, and that is it may not together be. If this necessity maketh liberty of will, which that aforn they weren, they might haue been eschued and shunned: God then, which that knoweth all truth, and nothing but truth, all these things, as they arn spontany, or necessary sight, and as he seeth, so they ben: and so with these things well considered, it is open at the full, that without all manner repugnance, God beforn wote all manner things ben done by free will, which aforn they weren, might haue been neuer they should be, and yet been they thorow a manner necessity, from free will discendeth.

Hereby may (qd. she) lightly ben know, that not all things to be is of necessity, though God haue hem in his prescience, for some things to be, is of liberty of will: and to make thee to haue full knowing of Gods beforne weting, hear me (qd. she) what I shall say. Blithly lady (qd. I) me list this matter entirely to vnderstand. Thou shalt (qd. she) vnderstand, yt in heauen is Gods being, although he be ouer all by power, yet there is abiding of diuine person, in which heauen is euerlasting presence, withouten any mouable time there, fool haue I not said toforn this, as time hurteth, right so ayenward, time healeth and rewardeth: * and a tree oft failed, is hold more in deinty, when it fruit forth bringeth.

A Marchaunt that for ones lesing in the Sea, no more to auenture thinketh, he shall neuer with auenture come to richess: so oft must men on the Oke smite, till the happy dent haue entred, which with the Okes own sway maketh it to come all at ones. So oft falleth the lethy water on the hard rock, till it haue through pierced it. The euen draught of the Wier drawer maketh the wier to ben euen, & supple werching, and if he stinted in his draught, the wier breaketh asunder. Euery tree well springeth, when it is wel grounded, and not often remoued. What shall this fruit be (qd. I) now it ginneth ripe? Grace (qd. she) in parfite joy to endure, and therewith thou begon. Grace (qd. I) me thinketh, I should haue a reward for my long trauail? I shall tell thee (qd. she) retribution of thy good wils, to haue of thy Margarite pearl, it beareth not the name of mede, but only of good grace, and that cometh not of thy desert, but of thy Margarites goodness and vertue alone. (Quod I) should all my long trauail haue no reward, but through grace, & sometime your seluen said, rightwiseness euenlich rewardeth to quite one benefit for another. That is sooth (qd. Loue) euer as I said, as to him that doth good, which to done, he were neither holden, ne yet constrained. That is sooth (qd. I.) Truly (qd. she) all that euer thou dost, thine Margarite pearl, of will, of loue, and of reason, thou owest to done it, yet is it nothing els but yeelding of thy debt, in quiting of thy grace, which she thee lent, when ye first met. I wene (qd. I) right little grace to me she deliuered. Certes it was hard grace, it hath nigh me astrangled. That it was good grace, I wote well thou wilt it graunt, ere thou depart hence. If any man yeue to another wight, to whom that he ought not, & which that of himself nothing may haue, a garment or a coat, tho he wear the coat, or els thilk clothing, it is not to put to him that was naked, the cause of his clothing, but only to him that was yeuer of the garment. Wherfore I say, thou y• were naked of loue, and of thy self none haue mightst, it is not to put to thine own person, sithen thy loue came through thy Margarite pearle, Ergo she was yeuer of the loue, although thou it vse, and there sent she thee grace, thy seruice to begin. She is worthy the thank of this grace, for she was the yeuer.

All the thoughts, busie doings, and pleasaunce in thy might, and in thy words, that thou canst deuise, been but right little, in quiting of thy debt: had she not been, such thing had not been studied. So all these matters kindly drawn homeward to this Margarite pearl, for from thence were they borrowed, all is holly hers, to wit, the loue that thou hauest, and thus quitest thou thy debt, in that thou stedfastly seruest. And keep well that loue, I thee rede, that of her thou hast borrowed, and vse it in her seruice, thy debt to quite, and then art thou able right soon to haue grace, wherefore after mede, in none halue maist thou look.

Thus thy ginning and ending is but grace alone, and in thy good deseruing, thy debt thou acquitest: without grace is nothing worth, whatsoeuer thou werch. Thank thy Margarite of her great grace, that hitherto thee hath guided, and pray her of continuance forth in thy werks hereafter, and that for no mishap thy grace ouerthwartly tourn. Grace, glory, and joy, is comming through good folks deserts, and by getting of grace, therein shullen end. And what is more glory, or more joy than wisedom, and loue in parfite charity, which God hath graunted to all tho that well can deserue. And with that, this Lady all at ones start into mine heart: here woll I onbide (qd. she) for euer, and neuer woll I gone hence, and I woll keep thee from medling, while me list here onbide: thine entremeting manners into stedfastnesse shullen be chaunged.

[Page] SOberliche tho threwe I vp mine eyen, and hugely tho was I astonied of this suddain aduenture, and faine would I haue learned howe vertues shoulden been known, in which thinges I hope to God hereafter she shall me enformen, and namely sithen her resting place is now so nigh at my will: and anone all these thinges that this lady said, I remembred me by my self, and reuolued the liues of mine vnderstanding wits.

Tho found I fully all these matters perfitely there written, how misse rule by fained loue both realms and citties hath gouerned a great throw. How lightly me might the faults espy, how rules in loue should been vsed, how sometime with fained loue foul I was beguiled, how I should loue haue know, and how I shall in loue with my seruice proceed.

Also furthermore, I found of perdurable letters, wonderly there grauen, these matters, which I shall nempne. Certes, none age, ne other thing in yearth, may the least sillable of this is no point deface, but clerely as the sun in mine vnderstanding soul they shinen. This may neuer out of my mind, how I may not my loue keep, but through willing in heart: wiln to loue may I not, but I louing haue. Loue haue I none, but through grace of this Margarite perl. It is no manner doubt, that will woll not loue, but for it is louing, as will woll not rightfully, but for it is rightfull it selue. Also will is not louing, for he woll loue, but he woll loue, for he is louing: it is all one to will to be louing, and louings in possession to haue. Right so will woll not loue, for of loue hath he no party, and yet I deny not louing, will wiln more loue to haue, which that he hath not, when he would more than he hath, but I say he may no loue wiln, if he no loue haue, through which thilk loue he shuld wiln: but to haue this louing will, may no man of himself, but onely through grace toforn going: right so may no man it keep, but by grace following. Consider now euery man aright, and let sen if that any wight of himself mowe this louing well get, and he thereof first nothing haue: for if it should of himself spring, either it must be willing or not willing. Willing by himself may he it not haue, sithen him faileth y• matter that should it forth bring, the matter him faileth: why? He may thereof haue no knowing, till when grace put it in his heart. Thus willing by himself, may he it not haue, and not willing may he it not haue. Parde euery conceit of euery reasonable creature, otherwise will not grant: will in affirmatife with not willing by no way mow accord. And although this louing woll come in mine hert by freenesse of arbitrement, as in this book fully is shewed, yet owe I not therfore as much allow my free will, as grace of that Margarite, to me leaned, for neither might I without grace toforn going, and afterward following, thilk grace get ne keep, & lese shall I it neuer, but if free will it make, as in willing otherwise than grace hath me granted. For right as when any person taketh, willing to be sober, and throweth that away, willing to be dronk, or els taketh will of drinking out of measure: which thing anone, as it is done, maketh through his own guilt by free will, y• leseth his grace. In which thing therefore, vpon the nobley of grace I mote trusten, and my busie cure set thilke grace to keep, that my free will otherwise than by reason it should werch, cause not my grace to void: for thus must I both look to free will and to grace. For right as naturel vsage in engendering of children may not ben without father, ne also but with the mother, for neither father ne mother in begetting may it lack: right so grace and free will accorden, and without hem both maye not louing, will in no party been getten. But yet is not free will, in getting of that thing, so mokell thank worthy as is grace, ne in the keeping therof so much thank deserueth, and yet in getting and keeping both done they accord. Truly oftentime grace, free will helpeth in fordoing of contrary things, y• to willing loue not accorden, and strength will aduersities to withsit, wherfore all together to grace oweth to been accepted, that my willing deserueth: Free will to louing in this wise is accorded. I remember me well, how all this booke (who so heed taketh) considereth all things, to werchings of mankind euenly accordeth, as in tourning of this word loue into trouth, or els rightwisenesse, whether y• it like. For what thing that falleth to man, in helping of free arbitrement, thilk rightwisenesse to take, or els to keep, through which a man shall be saued, of which thing all this booke mention hath maked, in euery point thereof, grace oweth to be thanked.

Wherefore I say, euery wight hauing this rightwisenesse, rightfull is, and yet therefore I feel not in my conscience, that to all rightful is behoten y• blisse euerlasting, but to hem that been rightful, withouten any vnrightfulnesse. Some man after some degree may rightfully ben accompted, as chast men in living, and yet been they janglers, and full of enuy pressed: to hem shall this blisse neuer ben deliuered. For right as very blisse is without all maner need, right so to no man shall it be yeuen, but to the rightful, void from all maner vnrightfulnesse found, so no man to her blisse shall been followed, but he be rightful, and with vnrightfulnesse not bound, and in that degree fully be know. This rightfulnesse in as much as in himself is, of none euil it is cause, and of all manner goodnesse truly it is mother. This helpeth the spirit to withsit the leude lusts of fleshly liking: this strengtheth and mainteineth ye law of kind, and if that otherwhile me weneth harm of this precious thing to follow, ther through is nothing the cause, of somewhat els commeth it about, who so taketh heed. By rightfulnesse forsooth [Page] werne many holye Saintes, good sauour in sweetnesse to God almighty, but that to some folks they weren sauour of death, into deadly end, that come not of the saints rightwisenesse, but of other wicked mens badnesse hath proceeded. Truly thilke will, which that the Lady of Loue me learned, affection of will to nempne, which is in willing of profitable things, euill is not, but when to fleshly lusts it consenteth, ayenst reason of soule: but that this thing more clearely be vnderstand, it is for to know whence and how thilke will is so vicious and so readye euill deeds to performe.

Grace at the ginning ordained thilke will in goodnesse, euer to haue endured, and neuer to badnesse haue assented: men should not beleeue, that God thilk will maked to be vicious. Our first father, as Adam and Eue, for vicious appetites, and vicious will to such appetites consenting, been not one thing in kind, other thing is done for the other. And how this will first into man first assented, I hold it profitable to shew: but if the first condition of reasonable creature woll be considered and apertly looked, lightly the cause of such will may been shewed. Intention of God was, that rightfully and blessed should reasonable nature ben maked, himself for to keep, but neither blisfull ne rightfull might it not be, withouten will in them both. Will of rightfulnesse is thilk same rightfulnesse, as heretoforn is shewed: but will of blisse is not thilk blisse, for euery manne hath not thilke bliss, in whom the will thereof is abiding. In this bliss, after euery vnderstanding, is suffisaunce of couenable commodities, without any manner need, whether it be bliss of Angels, or els thilk, that grace first in Paradice suffered Adam to haue. For although Angels bliss be more than Adams was in Paradice, yet may it not be denied, that Adam in Paradice ne had suffisaunce of bliss: for right as great heart is without all manner of coldness, and yet may another hearte more heat haue, right so nothing defended Adam in Paradice to been blissed, without all manner need.

Although Angels bliss be much more, forsooth it followeth not, lass than another to haue therefore him needeth, but for to want a thing, which that behoueth to been had, that may need been cleaped, and that was not in Adam, at the first ginning: God and the Margarite weten what I mean. Forsooth where as is need, there is wretchedness: God without cause toforn going, made not reasonable creature wretched, for him to vnderstand and loue, had he first maked. God made therefore man blissed, without all manner indigence, togither and at ones tooke reasonable creatures bliss, and of will of blissedness, and will of rightfulness, which is rightfulness it selue, and liberty of arbitrement, that is free will, with which thilke rightfulness may he keep and lese. So and in that wise ordained thilke two, that will, which that instrument is cleaped, as heretoforn mention is maked, should vse thilk rightfulnesse, by teaching of his soul to good manner of gouernaunce, in thought and in words, and that it should vse the blisse in obedient manner, withouten any incommodity. Blisse forsooth into mans profit, and rightwisenesse into his worship, God deliuered at ones: but rightfulnes so was yeven, that man might it lese, which if he not lost had not, but continuelly haue it kept, he should haue deserued the aduancement into the fellowship of Angels, in which thing, if he that lost, neuer by himself forward should he it mow ayenward recouer: and as well the blisse that he was in, as Angels blisse, that to himwards was comming, should be nome at ones, and he depriued of them both. And thus fill man vnto likenesse of vnreasonable beasts, and with hem to corruption and vnlusts appetites was he vnder throwen, but yet will of blisse dwelleth, that by indigence of good, which that he lost through great wretchednes, by right should he ben punished. And thus for he weiued rightfulnes, lost hath he his blisse: but fail of his desire in his own commodity may he not, and were commodities to his reasonable nature, which he hath lost may he not haue. To false lusts, which been bestial appetites, he is tourned: folly of vnconning hath him beguiled, in wening that thilk been the commodities that owen to ben desired. This affection of will by liberty of arbitrement, is enduced to wiln thus thing that he should not, and so is will not maked evil, but vnrightful, by absence of rightfulnes, which thing by reason euer should he haue. And freenes of arbitrement may he not wiln, when he it not haueth, for while he it had, thilke help it not to keepe: so that without grace may it not ben recouered. Will of commodity, in as much as vnrightfull it is maked, by willing of euil lusts, willing of goodnesse may he not wiln, for will of instrument to affection of will, is thralled, sithen that other thing may not it wiln, for will of instrument to affection desireth, and yet been both they will cleaped: for that instrument woll, through affection it wilneth, and affection desireth thilk thing, whereto instrument him leadeth. And so free will to vnlusty affection full seruant is maked, for vnrightfulnes may he not releeue, and without rightfulnes full freedom may it neuer haue. For kindly liberty of arbitrement without it, vein and idle is forsooth. Wherefore yet I say, as often haue I said y• same, * When instrument of will lost hath rightfulnes, in no manner but by grace may he ayen retourn rightfulnesse to wiln. For sithen nothing but rightfulnesse alone should he wiln, what y• euer he wilneth without rightfulnesse, vnrightfully he it wilneth. These then vnrightful appetites and vnthrifty lusts which the flies desireth, in as mokel as they ben in kind, ben they not bad, but they ben [...]nrightf [...]l and bad, for they ben in reasonable [Page] creature, where as they being in no way should been suffred. In vnreasonable beasts neither ben they euil, ne vnrightfull, for there is their kind being.

KNowne may it well ben now, of these thinges toforne declared, that man hath not alway thilke rightfulnesse, which by duty of right euermore hauen he should, and by no waye by himselfe may he it get ne keepe, and after he it hath, if he it lese, recouer shall he it neuer, without especiall grace: wherefore the commune sentence of the people in opinion, that euery thing after destiny is ruled, false & wicked is to beleue: For tho predestination be as well of good as of bad, sithen that it is said God hadnest made, which he neuer ne wrought, but for he suffereth hem to be maked, as that he hardeth when he nought missayeth, or led into temptation, when he not deliuereth, wherfore it is none inconuenient, if in that maner be said, God toforn haue destenied both bad, and her bad werks, when hem ne their euil deeds neither amendeth, ne thereto hem grace leveth. But speciallich predestination of goodnesse, alone is said by these great clerks, for in him God doth that they been, and that is goodnesse they werchen. But the negatife hereof in badnesse is holden, as y• lady of loue hath me learned, who so aright in this book looketh. And vtterly it is to weren, that predestination properly in God may not been demed, no more than befornweting. For in the chapitre of Gods befornweting, as loue me rehearsed, all these matters apertly may been founden. * All things to God ben now togither and in presence during. Truly presence and predestination in nothing disaccorden, wherefore as I was learned, how Gods before weting and free choice of will mowe stonden together, me thinketh the same reason me leadeth, that destiny and free will accorden, so that neither of hem both to other in nothing contrarieth. And reasonablich may it not been deemed, as often as any thing falleth free will werching, as if a man another man wrongfully annoyeth, wherefore he him sleeth, that it be constrained to that end, as mokel folk crieth and saith: Lo, as it was destenied of God toforn know, so it is thorow necessity fall, and otherwise might it not betide. Truely neither he that the wrong wrought, ne he that himself venged, none of thilk things through necessity wrought: for if that with free will there had it not willed, neither had wrought that he perfourmed: and so vtterly grace that free will in goodnes bringeth and keepet [...] and fro badnes it tourneth, in all thinge most thanke deserueth. This grace maketh sentence in vertue to abide, wherfore in body and in soul of full plenty of conning, after their good deseruing in the euerlasting joy, after y• day of dome shull they endlesse dwell, & they shull ben learned, that in kingdom with so mokell affect of loue and of grace, y• the least joy shall of the greatest in glory rejoyce & been gladded, as if he the same joy had. What wonder sith God is the greatest loue, and thee ne ought to look things with reasoning to proue, and so is instrument of will, will: and yet varieth he from effect and vsing both. Affection of will also for will is cleaped, but it varieth from instrument in this manner wise, by that name, lich when it commeth into mind, anon right it is in willing desired, & the negatife thereof with willing may not accord: this is closed in hert, though vsage & instrument slepe. This sleepeth, when instrument and vs waken: and of such manner affection truly, some man hath more, and some man lesse. Certes, trew louers wenen euer thereof too little to haue. False louers in little wenen haue right mokel. Lo instrument of will in false & true both euenlich is proportioned, but affection is more in some place than in some, because of goodnesse that followeth, and that I think hereafter to declare. Vse of this instrument is will, but it taketh his name, when wilned thing is in doing. But vtterly grace to catch in thy blisse, desired to been rewarded. Thou must haue then affection of will at y• full, and vse when his time asketh, wisely to been governed. Soothly my disciple, without feruent affection of wil may no man been saued: this affection of good seruice in good loue, may not been grounded, without feruent desire to the thing in will coueited. But he that neuer retcheth to haue, or not to haue, affection of will in that hath no resting place. Why? for when thing cometh to mind, and it be not taken in heed to commin or not come, therfore in that place affection faileth: & for thilk affection is so little, thorow which in goodnes he should come to his grace, the littlenes wil it not suffer to a [...]ail by no way into his helps: Certes grace & reason thilk affection followeth. This affection with reason knit, dureth in euerich true heart, and euermore is encreasing, no feardnesse, no strength may it remoue, while truth in heart abideth. Soothly when falshede ginneth entre, truth draweth away grace and joy both, but then thilk falshed that truth hath thus voided, hath vnknit the bond of vnder standing reason, between will & the hert. And who so that bond vndoth, & vnknitteth will to be in other purpose than to the first accord, knitteth him with contrary of reason, and that is vnreason. Lo then, will and vnreason bringeth a man from the blisse of grace, which thing of pure kind, euery man ought to shun and to eschew, and to the knot of will and reason confirm. Me thinketh (qd. she) by thy studient looks, thou wenest in these words me to contrarien from other sayings heretoforn in other place, as when thou were sometime in affection of will, to things that now han brought thee in disease, which I haue thee counsailed to void, & thine hert discouer, and there I made thy wil to ben changed, which now thou wenest I argue to withhold [Page] & to keepe. Shortly I say, that reuers in these words may not ben found: for though dronkennes be forboden, men shul not alway ben drinkelesse. I trow right for thou thy will out of reason should not tourn, thy will in one reason should not vnbind, I say thy will in thy first purpose with unreason was closed: Construe forth of the remnaunt what thee good liketh. Truly that will and reason should bee knit together, was free will of reason, after time thine hearte is assentaunt to them both, thou might not chaunge, but if thou from rule of reason vary, in whych variaunce to come to thilke blisse desired, contrariously thou werchest: and nothing may know will and reason but loue alone. Then if thou void loue, then weuest the bond that knitteth, and so needs or els right lightly, that other gonne a sondry, wherefore thou seest apertly, yt loue holdeth this knot, & amaistreth hem to be bound. These things, as a ring, in circuit of wreth ben knit in thy soule without departing. Ah let be, let be (qd. I) it needeth not of this no rehersail to make, my soul is yet in parfit blyss, in thinking of yt knot.

NOw truly lady, I haue my ground well vnderstonde, but what thing is thilke spire yt into a tree shuld wexe: Expoune me yt thyng, what ye thereof mean. That shall I (qd. she) blithly, & take good heed to ye words I thee rede. Continuaunce in thy good service, by long processe of time in full hope abiding, without any change to wilne in thine heart: this is ye spire, whych if it be well kept and gouerned, shal so hugely spring, till the fruit of grace is plenteously out sprongen: For although thy will be good, yet may not therfore thilk blisse desired, hastely on thee discenden, it must abide his sesonable time. And so by processe of growing, with thy good travail, it shall into more and more wex, till it be found so mighty, that winds of euil speech, ne scornes of enuy make nat the trauail ouerthrow, ne frosts of mistrust, ne hailes of jelousie right little might haue in harming of such springs. Euery yong setling lightly with smal storms is apeired, but when it is woxen somdele in greatnesse, then han great blastes and weathers but little might, any disauantage to hem for to werch. Mine owne soueraigne lady (qd. I) & welth of mine hert, & it were liking vnto your noble grace, therethrough nat to be displeased, I suppose ye erren, now ye maken jelousie envy, & distourbour to hem yt ben your seruaunts. I haue learned oft toforn this time, yt in euery louers hert great plenty of jelousies greeues ben sow, wherefore me thinketh ye ne ought in no manner accompt thilk thing among these other welked winers & venomous serpents, as enuy, mistrust, & euil speech. O fool (qd. she) mistrust with foly, with euil wil medled, engendreth ye welked padde. Truly if they were destroyed, jelousie vndone were for euer, & yet some manner of jelousie I wot well is euer redy in all the hearts of my trew seruaunts, as thus: to be jealous ouer himself, least he be cause of his own disease. This jealousie in full thought euer should be kept for ferdnesse to lese his loue by miskeping thorow his own doing in leudnes, or els thus: Least she that thou seruest so feruently, is beset there her better liketh, yt of all thy good seruice she counteth nat a cresse. These jealousies in heart for acceptable qualities ben deemed: these oughten euery true louer by kindly euermore hauen in his mind, till fully yt grace and blisse of my seruice be on him discended at will. And he yt then jelousie catcheth, or els by wening of his own foolish wilfulness mistrusteth, truly with fantasie of venime he is foule beguiled. Euil wil hath grounded thilk matter of sorrow in his leud soul, & yet nat for then to euery wight shuld me not trust, ne euery wight should me not trust, ne euery wightfully misbeleeue ye mean of these things owen to be vsed. * Soothly, withouten causeful euidence, mistrust in jealousie should not be wened in no wise person commonly, such leud wickednes should me nat find. * He yt is wise, & with euil will nat be acomered, can abide wel his time, til grace & bliss of his seruice following haue him so mokel eased, as his abiding tofore hand hath him diseased. Certes lady (qd. I tho) of nothing me wondreth, sithen thilk bliss so precious is & kindly good & well is, and worthy in kind, when it is medled with loue & reason, as ye toforn haue declared. Why, anon as hie one is sprong, why springeth not ye tother? & anone as ye one commeth, why receiueth not ye other? For euery thing yt is out of his kindly place, by full appetite, euer commeth thiderward kindly to draw, & his kindly being thereto him constraineth. And ye kindly stede of this bliss, is in such will medled to vnbide, & needs in yt it should haue his kindely being. Wherfore me thinketh anon as yt wil to be shewed, & kind him profereth, thilk bliss shuld him hie thilk will to receiue, or els kind of goodnes worchen not in hem as they shuld. Lo, be the sun neuer so ferre, euer it hath his kind werching in earth: great weight on hye on loft caried, stinteth neuer till it come to this resting place. Waters to ye seaward euer ben they drawing: thing yt is light, blithely will not sink, but euer ascendeth, and upward draweth. Thus kind in euery thing his kindly course & his being place sheweth: Wherfore be kind on this good will, anone as it were sprong, this blisse should thereon discend, her kind would they dwelleden togider, & so haue ye said your self. Certes (qd. she) thine heart sitteth wonder sore this bliss for to haue, thine heart is sore agreeued yt it tarrieth so long, and if thou durstest, as me thinketh by thine words, this blisse wouldest thou blame. But yet I say, thilke blisse is kindly good, and his kindly place in ye will to vnbide. Neuer ye later, there comming togider after kinds ordinaunce nat sodainly may betide, it must abide time, as kind yeueth him leue, for if a man, as [Page] this will medled gon him shew, and thilke blisse in hast folowed, so lightly coming should lightly cause going, long time of thrusting causeth drink to be the more delicious when it is atasted. How is it (qd. I then) that so many blisses see I all day at mine eye, in the first moment of a sight with such will accord. Yea, and yet other while with will assenteth, singularly by himself there reason faileth, trauail was none, seruice had no time. This is a queint manner thing, how such doing commeth about. O (qd. she) that is thus, the earth kindely after seasons and times of the year, bringeth forth innumerable herbs and trees both profitable and other, but such as men might leaue tho they were nought in nourishing to mans kind seruen, or els such as tournen soone vnto mens confusion, in ease that thereof they atast, commen foorth out of the earth by their own kind, withouten any mans cure or any businesse in traueil: & thilk herbs y• to mens liuelode necessarily seruen without, which goodly in this life creatures mowen not enduren, & most ben nourishen to mankind, without great trauail, great tilth, and long abiding time, commen not out of the earth, and it with seed toforn ordained such herbs to make spring & forth grow. Right so the parfit blisse, y• we haue in meaning of during time to abide, may nat come so lightly, but with great traueile and right busie tilth, and yet good seed to be sow, for oft the crop faileth of bad seed, be it neuer so well traueiled. And thilk blisse thou spoke of so lightly in comming, truly is nat necessary ne abiding: and but it the better be stamped, and the venomous jeuse out wrongen, it is likely to enpoysonen all tho that thereof tasten. Certes, right bitter been the herbs that shewen first the year of her own kind. Well the more is the haruest, that yeeldest many grains, tho long and sore it hath been trauailed. What woldest thou demen, if a man wold yeue three quarters of nobles of gold, that were a precious gift? Ye certes (qd. I.) And what (qd. she) three quarters full of pearls? Certes (qd. I) that were a rich gift. And what (qd. she) of as mokell azure? (Qd. I) a precious gift at full. Were not (qd. she) a noble gift of all these at ones? In good faith (qd. I) for wanting of English, naming of so noble a word, I cannot for preciousnesse yeue it a name: Rightfully (qd. she) hast thou deemed, & yet loue knit in vertue, passeth al y• gold in this earth. Good will accordant to reason, with no manner property may be counteruailed, all the azure in the world is not to account in respect of reason, loue that with good wil and reason accordeth, with none earthly riches may not ben amended. This yeft hast thou yeuen I know it my self, and thy Margarite thilke gift hath receiued, in which thing to reward she hath her self bound. But thy gift, as I said, by no maner riches may be amended, wherefore with thing that may nat be amended, thou shalt of thy Margarites rightwisenesse be rewarded. Right suffred yet neuer, but euery good deed sometime to be yold. All would thy Margarite with no reward thee quite. Right that neuer more dieth, thy mede in merite woll puruey. Certes, such suddain blisse as thou first nempnest, right will hem reward, as the well is worthy, and tho at thine eye it seemeth the reward the desert to passe, right can after send such bitternesse euenly it to reward: so the suddain blisse by always of reson in great goodnesse may not be accompted, but blisse long, both long it abideth, and endlesse it woll last. See why thy wil is endles, for if thou lovedst euer, thy will is euer there tabide, and neuer more to change: euen head of reward must ben done by right: then must needs thy grace and this blisse endlesse in joy to vnbide. Euenlich disease asketh euenlich joy, which hastly thou shalt haue. A (qd. I) it sufficeth not then alone good will, be it neuer so well with reason medled, but if it be in good seruice long trauailed. And so through seruice should men come to the joy, and this me thinketh should be the wexing tree, of which ye first meued.

VEry trouth (qd. she) hast thou now conceiued of these things in thine heart, hastely shalt thou bee able verye joye and parfite blisse to receiue. And now I wote well thou desirest to knowe the manner of braunches, that out of the tree should spring. Thereof lady (qd. I) heartely I you pray: For then leue I woll, that right soone after I shall ataste of the fruite that I so longe haue desired. Thou haste hearde (qd. she) in wt wise this tree toforn this haue I declared, as in ground & in stock of wexing. First ye ground should be thy free will full in thine heart, and the stock (as I said) should be continuance in good seruice, by long time in trauail, till it were in greatnesse right well woxen. And when this tree such greatnesse hath caught, as I haue rehersed, y• branches then yt ye fruit should foorth bring, speech must they be needs in voice of prayer, in complaining wise vsed. Out alas (qd. I tha) he is sorrowfully wounded, that hideth his speech, and spareth his complaints to make, what shall I speke that care: but pain euen like to hell, sore hath me assailed, and so ferforth in pain me throng, that I leue my tree is ser, & neuer shall it fruit forth bring.* Certes, he is greatly eased, that dare his preuy mone discouer to a true fellow, that conning hath and might, wherethrough his pleint in any thing may be amended. And mokel more is he joied, y• with heart of hardines dare complain to his lady, what cares that he suffreth, by hope of mercy with grace to be auanced. Truly I say for me, sith I came this Margarite to serue, durst I neuer me discouer of no manner disease, & well the later hath mine heart hardied such things to done, for the great bounties & worthy refreshments that she of her grace goodly, without any desert on my halue oft hath me rekened, and nere her goodnesse the more with [Page] grace and with mercy medled, which passen all deserts, trauels, & seruings, that I in any degree might endite, I would wene I should be without recouer in getting of this blisse for euer. Thus haue I stilled my disease, thus haue I couered my care, y• I bren in sorrowfull annoy, as gledes and coals wasten a fire vnder dead ashen. Well the hoter is the fire, that with ashen is ouerlein: right long this wo haue I suffred. Lo (qd. Loue) how thou farest: me thinketh the palsie euil hath acomered thy wits, as fast as thou highest forward, anon suddainly backward thou mouest. Shal nat yet all thy leaudnesse out of thy brains? Dull ben thy skilful vnderstandings, thy wil hath thy wit so amaistred. Wost thou not well (qd. she) but euery tree in his seasonable time of bourioning, shew his blomes fro within, in sign of wt fruit should out of him spring, els ye fruit for yt year men halt deliuered, be ye ground neuer so good. And tho the stock be mighty at ye full, & the branches seer, & no burions shew, & Farewel the gardiner, he may pipe with an yuy leaf, his fruit is failed. Wherfore thy branches must burionen in presence of thy lady, if thou desire any fruit of thy ladies grace, but beware of thy life, that thou no wo delay vse, as in asking of things y• stretchen into shame, for then might thou not speed by no way y• I can espy. * Vertue woll not suffer villanye out of himselfe to spring. Thy words may not be queint, ne of subtel manner vnderstanding. Freel witted people supposen in such poesies to be beguiled, in open vnderstanding must euery word be vsed. * Voice wthout clere vnderstanding of sentence, saith Aristotle, right nought printeth in hert. Thy words then to abide in hert, & cleane in full sentence of true mening, platly must thou shew, & euer be obedient her hests & her wils to perform, & be thou set in such a wit to wete by a look euermore wt she meaneth. And he y• list nat to speak, but stilly his disease suffer, wt wonder is it tho he neuer come to his blisse? * Who y• trauaileth vnwist, and coueiteth thing vnknow, vnweting he shall be quited, and with vnknow thing rewarded. Good lady (qd. I then) it hath oft be seen, that weathers and storms so hugely haue fall in burioning time, & by pert duresse han beaten off the springs so clean, wherethrough y• fruit of thilk year hath failed. It is a great grace when burions han good wethers, their fruits foorth to bring. Alas then after such storms how hard is it to auoid, till eft wedring and years han maked her circuit cours all about, ere any fruit be able to be tasted, he is shent for shame, y• foul is rebuked of his speech. He that is in fire brenning, sore smarteth for disease, Him thinketh full long er y• water come y• should y• fire quench. * While men gon after a leche, the body is buried. Lo how seemly this fruit wexeth, me thinketh y• of tho fruits may no man atast, for pure bitternesse in favor. In this wise both fruit & y• tree wasten away togider, tho mokell busie occupation haue be spent to bring it so fer forth y• it was able to spring. A litle speech hath maked, that all this labour is in idle. I not (qd. she) wherof it serueth thy question to assoil, me thinketh thee now duller in wits, than when I with thee first met, although a man be leaud, commonly for a fool he is not demed, but if he no good woll learn: sots and fools let lightly out of mind the good that men teacheth hem. I said therfore thy stock must be strong, and in greatnes well herted, the tree is full feble, that at the first dent faileth: and although fruit faileth one yere or two, yet shall such a season come one time or other, that shall bring out fruit that is nothing preterit, ne passed there is nothing future ne coming, but all things togider in yt place been present euerlasting without any meuing, wherefore to God all thing is as now: and though a thing be nat in kindly nature of things as yet, and if it should be hereafter, yet euermore we shull say God it maketh be time present, & now for no future ne preterit in him may be found. Wherefore his weting & his before weting, is all one in vnderstanding. Then if weting & before weting of God putteth in necessity to all things which he wote or before wote ne thing after eternity, or els after any time he woll or doth of liberty, but all of necessity, which thing if thou wene it be ayenst reason, nat thorow necessity, to be or nat to be, all thing y• God wote or before wote, to be or nat to be, & yet nothing defendeth any thing to be wist, or to be before wist of him in our wils or our doings to be done, or els coming to be for free arbitrement. When thou hast these declarations well vnderstand, then shalt thou find it reasonable at proue, & yt many things be nat thorow necessity, but thorow liberty of will, saue necessity of free will, as I tofore said: & as me thinketh all vtterly declared. Me thinketh lady (qd. I) so I should you nat displease, & euermore your reuerence to keep, yt these things contrarien in any vnderstanding, for ye sain sometime is thorow liberty of will, & also thorow necessity: of this haue I yet no sauour, without better declaration. What wonder (qd. she) is there in these things, sithen all day thou shalt see at thine eye, in many things receiuen in hemself reuers, thorow diuers reasons, as thus. I pray thee qd. she) which things ben more reuers than commen & gone: For if I bid thee come to me, & thou come, after when I bid thee go, and thou go, thou reuersest fro thy first coming. That is soth (qd. I:) And yet (qd. she) in thy first alone by diuers reason was full reuersing to vnderstand. As how (qd. I) That shall I shew thee (qd. she) by ensample of things yt haue kindly mouing. Is there any thing yt meueth more kindly than doth y• heuens eie, which I clepe the Sun. Soothly (qd. I) me semeth it most kindly to moue. Thou saist soth (qd. she.) Then if thou look to the Sun, in what part he be vnder heauen, euermore be heigheth him in mouing fro thilk place, and heigheth meuing [Page] toward thilk same place, to thilk place from which he goth, he heigheth comming, & without any ceasing to y• place he heigheth, from which he is chaunged and withdraw. But now in these things, after diuersity of reason, reuers in one thing may be sey without repugnaunce. Wherfore in ye same wise, without any repugnaunce by my reasons tofore maked, all is one to beleeue, somethyng to be thorow necessity comming, for it is comming, & yet with no necessity constrayned to be comming, but with necessity y• commeth out of free will, as I haue said. Tho list me a little to speak, & gan stint my pen of my writing, & said in this wise. Truly lady, as me thinketh, I can alleadge authorities great y• contrarien your sayings. Iob sayeth of mans person, Thou hast put his tearm, which thou might nat passe. Then say I ye no man may short ne length y• day, ordayned of his doyng, altho somtime to vs it semeth some man to do a thyng of free will, wherethrough his death he henteth. Nay forsooth (qd. she) it is nothing ayenst my saying, for God is nat beguiled, ne he seeth nothing wheder it shal come of liberty or els of necessity, yet it is said to be ordained at God immouable, which at man, or it be done, may be chaunged. Such thing also is, y• Poul ye Apostle sayeth of hem y• toforne werne purposed to be Saints, as thus, whych that God before wist, & hath predestined, conformes of images of his son that he should been y• first begeten, y• is to say, here amongs many brethren, & whom he hath predestined, him he hath cleaped, & whom he hath cleaped, hem he hath justified, & whom he hath justified, hem he hath magnified. This purpose, after which they been cleped Saints, or holy in y• euerlasting present, where is neither time passed, ne time commyng, but euer it is onely present, and now as mokell a moment, as seuen thousand Winter, & so ayenward, withouten any meuing, is nothing liche temporel presence, for thing y• there is euer present. Yet emongs you men, ere it be in your presence, it is moouable through liberty of arbitrement. And right as in y• euerlasting present, no manner thyng was, ne shal be, but only is, and now here in your temporell tyme somethyng was, & is, & shall be, but mouing stounds, & in this is no maner repugnaunce. Right so in the euerlasting presence, nothing may be chaunged: and in your temporell time, otherwhile it is prooued mouable by liberty of will, or it be do, withouten any inconuenience thereof to follow. In your temporell time is no such presence, as in y• other, for your present is done, when passed & to come ginnen entre, which times here amongs you, euerich easily followeth other, but y• present euerlasting dureth in one head, withouten any imaginable changing, and euer is present & now. Truly the course of y• planets, and ouerwhelmings of y• Sun in dayes and nights, with a new ginning of his circuit after it is ended, yt is to sayn, one yere to follow another. These maken your transitory times, with chaunging of liues, & mutation of people. But right as your temporell presence coueiteth euery place, & all things in euery of your times be contained, & as now both sey & wist to Gods very knowing. Then (qd. I) me wondreth why Poule spake these words, by voice of signification in time passed, that God his saints before wist, hath predestined, hath cleaped, hath justified, & hath magnified: me thinketh he should haue said tho words in time present, & that had been more accordaunt to ye euerlasting present, than to haue spoke in preterit voice of passed vnderstanding. O (qd. Loue) by these words I see well thou hast little vnderstanding of y• euerlasting presence, or els of my before spoken words, for neuer a thing of tho thou hast nempned, was tofore other, or after other, but all at ons euenlich, at ye God ben, & all togider in the euerlasting present, be now to vnderstanding, the eternal presence, as I said, hath inclose togider in one, all times, in whyche close & one all things, y• been in diuers times, & in diuers places temporell, without posteriority or priority, been closed therein perpetuell now, and maked to dwell in present sight. But there thou saiest yt Poule should haue spoke thilke foresaid sentence be time present, and y• most shuld haue ben accordant to ye euerlasting presence, why gabbest thee to thy words? Soothly I say Poule mooued y• words, by signification of time passed, to shew fully y• thilke words were not put for temporell signification, for all thilk time were not thilke Saints temporallich borne, which that Poule pronounced, GOD haue tofore know, and haue cleaped them magnified, wherthrough it may well be know, y• Poul vsed tho words of passed signification, for need & lack of a word in mans bodily speech, betokening the euerlasting presence. And therefore word is most semelich in likenes to euerlasting presence, he took his sentence for things, yt here beforne ben passed, vtterly be immouable, ilike to y• euerlasting presence. As thilke that been, there neuer mowe not been present, so things of time passed, ne mowe in no wise not been passed: but all things in you temporall, presence y• passen in a little while, shullen been not present. So then in that it is more similitude to the euerlasting presence, signification of time passed, than of time temporall present, and so more in accordaunce. In this maner what thing of these that ben doen through free arbitrement, or els as necessary, holy writ pronounceth, after eternity he speaketh, in which presence is euerlasting sooth, & nothyng but soth immouable, that after time, in whych naught alway been your wils & your acts, & right as while they be not, it is not needful hem to be: so oft it is not needful, y• somtime they should be. As how (qd. I) for yet must I be lerned by some ensample. Of loue (qd. she) woll I now ensample make, sithen I know the head knot in y• yelke. Lo, somtime thou [Page] writest no art, ne art then in no will to write, and right as while thou writest not, or els wolt not write, it is not needful thee to write, or els wilne to write.

And for to make thee know vtterly, that things been otherwise in the euerlasting presence, than in temporal time: see now my good child, for something is in the euerlasting presence, than in temporall time, it was not in eternite time, in eterne presence shal it not be. Then no reason defendeth, y• something ne may be in time temporel mouing, that in etern is immouable. Forsoth it is no more contrary ne reuers, for to be mouable in time temporell, & mouable in eternity, than not to be in any time, & to be alway in eternity, and haue to be, or els to come in time temporell, and not haue be, ne nought comming to be in eternity. Yet neuer the latter, I say not same thyng to be neuer in tyme temporell, y• euer is eternity, but all onely in some time not to be. For I say not thy loue to morne in no time to be, but to day alone I deny ne it to be, and yet neuer the later, it is alway in eternity.

Also (qd. I) it seemeth to me, y• commyng thyng, or els passed, here in your temporall time to be, in eternity euer now, and present oweth not to be demed, & yet followeth not thilke thyng, that was, or els shall be, in no manner thereto been passed, or els comming: then vtterly shull we deny, for there without reasing, it is in his present manner. O (qd. she) mine own disciple, now ginnest thou able to haue the name of my seruaunt, Thy wit is clered, away is now errour of cloud in vnconning, away is blindnesse of loue, away is thoughtfull study of medling manners, hastly shalt thou entre into the joy of me, that am thine own maistres.

Thou hast (qd. she) in a few words well and clerely concluded mokell of my matter. And right as there is no reuers, ne contrariousty in tho things, right so withouten any repugnance it is said some thing to be mouable in time temporell, and for it be, that in eternity dwelleth immouable, not afore it be, or after y• it is, but without cessing, for right naught is there after time, y• same is there euerlasting, y• temporallich sometime nis, & toforne it be, it may not be, as I haue said. Now sothly (qd. I) this haue I well vnderstand, so y• now me thinketh, that prescience of God, and free arbitrement, withouten any repugnaunce accorden, and that maketh the strength of eternity, which encloseth by presence, during all times, and all things that been, han been, and shull been in any time.

I would now (qd. I) a little vnderstand, sithen y• all thing thus beforne wote, whether thilke weting bee of tho things, or els thilke things to been of Gods weting, & so of God nothing is: and if euery thing be through Gods weting, and therof take his being, then should GOD be maker and authour of bad werks, and so he should not rightfully punish euill doings of mankind. (Qd. Loue) I shall tell thee this lesson to learne, mine own true seruaunt, the noble Phylosophical Poete, in English, which euermore him busieth and trauaileth right sore, my name to encrease, wherfore all that willen me good, owe to doe hym worship and reuerence both, truely his better ne his pere, in schoole of my rules coud I neuer find: He (qd. she) in a treatise that he made of my seruant Troylus, hath this matter touched, & at the full this question assoiled. Certainly his noble sayings can I not amend: in goodnesse of gentle manliche speech, wythout any manner of nicety of flarieres imagination, in wit & in good reason of sentence, he passeth all other makers. In the book of Troylus, the answer to thy question mayst thou learne, neuer y• later, yet may lightly thyne vnderstanding somedele been learned, if thou haue knowyng of these toforne said thynges, with that thou haue vnderstandyng, of two the last chapiters of this second book, that is to say, good to be some thing, & bad to want all manner being, for bad is nothyng els, but absence of good, and y• God in good maketh that good deeds been good, in euill he maketh that they ben but naught, y• they been bad: for to nothyng is badnesse to be. I haue (qd. I tho) ynough knowing therein, me needeth of other things to hear, that is to say, how I shal come to my blisse so long desired.

IN this matter toforne declared (qd. Loue) I haue well shewed, that euery man hath free arbitrement of thynges in his power to do or undo what him liketh. Out of this ground must come the Spire, that by processe of time shall in greatnesse sprede to haue braunches and blossomes, of waxing fruit in grace, of whych the taste and the sauour is endlesse blisse in joy euer to onbide.

Now Lady (qd. I) that tree to sette, faine would I learn. So thou shalt (qd. she) ere thou depart hence. The first thyng, thou must set thy werke on ground siker and good, accordaunt to thy springs. For if thou desire grapes, thou goest not to the Hasell, ne for to tetchen Roses, thou sekest not on Okes: and if thou shalt haue Honey soukles, thou leauest the fruit of y• soure Dock. Wherfore if thou desire this blyss in parfite joy, thou must set thy purpose there vertue followeth, & not to look after the bodily goods, as I sayed when thou were writyng in thy second book. And for thou hast set thy self in so noble a place, & vtterly lowed in thyne heart the misgoyng of thy first purpose, this setteles is y• easier to spryng, & the more lighter thy soul in grace to be lissed. And truely, thy desire, that is to say, thy will, algates mote ben stedfast in this matter, without any chaungyng, for if it be stedfast, no man may it void. Yes parde (qd. I) my will may been tourned by friends, and disease of manace, and threatening in lesing of my life, and of my limmes, and in many [Page] other wise, that now commeth not to mynd. * And also it mote oft been out of thought: For no remembraunce may hold one thyng continuelly in heart, be it neuer so lusty desired. Now see (qd. she) thou thy will shall follow, thy free will to be grounded, continuelly to abide: It is thy free will y• thou louest & hast loued, & yet shalt louen this Margarite pearle, and in thy will thou thinkest to hold it. Then is thy will knitte in loue, not to chaunge for no new lust beside: This wyll teacheth thine hert from all manner varying. But then, although thou be threatened in death, or els in other wise, yet is it in thyne arbitrement to chuse, thy loue to voyd, or els to hold: & thilk arbitrement is in a maner a judgement, between desire and thy heart. And if thou deeme to loue, thy good will fayleth, then art thou worthy no blisse, that good will should deserue: & if thou chuse continuance in thy good seruice, then thy good will abideth, needs blisse following of thy good wil, must come by strength of thilke judgement: for thy first will, that taught thyne heart to abide, and halt it from the eschange, with thy reason is accorded. Truly this maner of will thus shall abide, impossible it were to tourne, if thy heart be true, and if euery man dilligently the meanyngs of his will consider, he shall well vnderstande, that good will knitte with reason, but in a false heart neuer is voided: for power & might of keepyng this good will, is through liberty of arbitrement in heart, but good will to keep may nat fayle. Eke then if it fail, it sheweth it selfe, that good will in keeping is not there. And thus false will, that putteth out the good, anone constraineth the heart to accord in louing of thy good will, & this accordaunce between false will and thyne heart, in falsity been likened togither. Yet a little woll I say thee in good wil, thy good wils to raise & strength. Take heed to me (qd. she) how thy willes thou shalt vnderstand. Right as ye han in your body diuers members, and fiue sundry wittes, euerich apart to his owne doing, which things as instruments ye vsen, as your hands apart to handle, feet to go, tongue to speak, eye to see: right so the soule hath in hym certayne steryngs and strengths, whyche he vseth as instruments to his certain doyngs. Reason is in the soule, whych he vseth thynges to know and to proue, and will, whych he vseth to wilne: And yet is neyther will ne reason all the soule, but eueryche of hem is a thyng by himself in the soul. And right as euerich hath thus singular instruments by hemselfe, they han as well diuers aptes, and diuers manner vsings, and thilke aptes mowen in will been cleaped affections. Affection is an instrument of willing in his appetites. Wherfore mokell folke saine, if a reasonable creatures soul any thing feruently wilneth, affectuously he wilneth, and thus may will by tearm of equiuocas, in three wayes been vnderstand: one is instrument of wylling, another is affection of this instrument, and the third is vse, that setteth it a werke. Instrument of willyng is the ilke strength of the soul, which thee constraineth to wilne, right as reason is instrument of reasons, which ye vsen when ye looken. Affection of this instrument is a thyng, by which ye be draw desirously any thyng to wilne in coueitous manner, all be it for y• time out of your mind: as if it come in your thought thilke thing to remember, anon ye ben willing thilke to done, or els to haue. And thus is instrument will, and affection is will also, to wilne thing as I said? as for to wilne health, when will nothyng thereon thinketh: for anone as it commeth to memory, it is in will, and so is affection to wilne sleepe, when it is out of mynde, but anone as it is remembred, will wilneth sleep, when his time commeth of the doyng. For affection of will neuer accordeth to sickness, ne alway to wake. Right so in a true louers affection of willing instrument, is to wiln truth in his seruice, & this affection alway abideth, although he be sleping, or threatned, or els not thereon thinkyng, but anone as it commeth to mind, anone he is stedfast in y• will to abide. Vse of this instrument forsooth is another thing by himself, & that haue ye not, but when ye be doing, in willed thing by affect or instrument of will, purposed or desired, & this manner of vsage in my seruice, wisely needeth to be ruled, from waiters with enuye closed, from speakers full of jangeling wordes, from proud folke and hautaine that lambes & innocents both scornen & dispisen. Thus in doing varieth the acts of willing euerich from other, & yet ben they cleped will, & the name of will vtterly owen they to have, as instrument of will is will, when ye turn into purpose of any thing to done, be it to sit or to stand, or any such thing els. This instrument may been had, although affect & vsage be left out of doing, right as ye haue sight & reason, and yet alway vse yee greatest wisedome, in hem shall he be, and they in GOD. Now then, when all false folke be ashamed, whych wenen all bestialty & yerthly thing be sweeter and better to the body, than heuenly is to the soul: this is the grace and y• fruit y• I long haue desired, it dooth me good the sauour to smell. Christ now to thee I cry of mercy and of grace, and graunt of thy goodness to euery maner reader, ful vnderstanding in this leud pamphlet to haue, and let no man wene other cause in this werke, than is verily y• sooth: for enuy is euer ready all innocents to shend, wherfore I would y• good speech enuy euermore hinder. But no man wene this werke be sufficiently maked, for Gods werke passeth mans, no mans wit to parfite werke may by no way puruay the end: how should I then, so leaude, aught wene of perfection any end to get? Neuer the later, grace, glory, and laude, I yeelde and put with worshipfull reuerence, to the soothfast God in three, with vnitye closed, which that the heauy langour [Page] of my sicknesse hath tourned into myrthe of health to recover: for right as I was sorrowed, through the glotton cloude of manyfolde sickly sorow, so mirth ayen commyng, health hath me gladded & greatly comforted. I beseech and pray therefore, and I crie on Gods great pite, and on his mokell mercye, that this present scourges of my flesh mow make medicine and leech craft of my inner mans health, so that my passed trespas and tenes through weepyng of myne eyes been washe, and I voided from all manner disease, & no more to weep hereafter, I now be kept thorow Gods grace: so that Gods hand, which merciablye mee hath scourged, hereafter in good plite from thence merciably mee keepe and defend. In this booke be many priuye things wimpled and fold, vnneth shul leaud men the plites vnwinde, wherefore I praye to the Holy ghoste, he lene of his oyntmentes mens wittes to cleere: and for Gods loue no man wonder, why or how this question cum to my minde, for my grate lustie desire was of this ladie to been enformed, my lewdnesse to amende. Certes I know not other mens wittes, what I should aske, or in aunswere what I shuld say, I am so leude my self, that mokell more learnyng yet mee behoueth. I haue made therefore as I could, but not sufficiently as I would, & as matter yaue me sentence, for my dull witte is hindred, by stepmother of foryetyng, and with cloude of vnconnyng, that stoppeth the light of my Margarite pearle, wherefore it may not shine on me as it should. I desire not only a good reader, but also I coueite and pray a good booke amender, in correction of words and of sentence: and only this mede I coueit for my trauayle, that euery inseer and hearer of this leud fautasie, deuout horisons and prayers, to God the dread iudge yelden, and praien for me, in that wise that in his dome, my sins mow been released & foryeuen: he that praieth for other, for himselfe trauayleth. Also I pray that euery man parfitely mow knowe, through what intencion of hert this treatise haue I draw. How was it the sightful Manna in desert, to children of Israel was spirituel meate: bodily also it was, for mens bodies it nourished: And yet neuer the later, Christ it signified. Right so a iewell betokeneth a gemine: and that is a stone vertuous or els a pearle. Margarite a woman betokeneth grace, learning, or wisedome of God, or els holy Church. If bread through vertue is made holy flesh, what is that our God saith? * It is the spirite that yeueth life, the flesh of nothyng it profiteth. Flesh is fleshly vnderstanding: Flesh without grace and loue, naught is worth. * The letter sleeth, the spirite yeueth lifelich vnderstanding. Charitie is loue, and loue is charity, God graunt vs all therein to be frended. And thus the Testament of Loue is ended.

¶Here endeth the Testament of Loue.

§

§

The Lamentation of Mary Magdalen.

This Treatise is taken out of S. Origen, wherein Mary Magdalen lamenteth the Cruel Death of her Saviour Christ.

PLonged in the wawe of mortal distresse,

Alas for wo, to whom shall I complain,

Or who shal deuoid this great heuinesse,

Fro me woful Mary, woful Magdalen,

My lord is gon, alas who wrought this tein

This sodain chance perseth my hert so depe,

That nothing can I do, but waile & wepe.

My lord is gone y• here in graue was laied,

After his great passion and death cruell,

Who hath him thus again betraied?

Or what man here about can me tell

Where he is become, the Prince of Israel,

Iesus of Nazareth, my ghostly succour,

My parfite love and hope of all honour.

What creature hath him hence caried?

Or how might this so sodainly befall?

I would I had here with him taried,

And so should I haue had my purpose all,

I bought ointments full precious and royal,

Wherewith I hoped his corps to anointed,

But he thus gone, my mind is dispointed.

While I therefore aduertise and behold,

This pitous chaunce here in my presence,

Full little maruaile though my hert be cold,

Considring lo, my Lordes absence

Alas that I so full of negligence

Sould be found, because I come so late,

All men may say I am infortunate.

Cause of my sorow you may vnderstand

(Quia tulerunt Dominum meum)

An other is, that I ne may fonde,

I wote nere, Ubi posuerunt eum,

Thus I must bewayle, Dolorem meum,

With hartie weping, I can no better deserue

Till death approch my hert for to kerue.

My hert opprest with sodaine auenture,

By feruent anguish is be wrapped so,

That long this lyfe I may not endure,

Soch is my paine, soch is my mortall wo,

Neuerthelesse to what party shall I go,

In hope to find myne owne Turtill true,

My liues ioy, my souerain Lorde Iesu.

Sith all my ioy that I call his presence,

Is thus remoued, now I am full of mone,

Alas the while I made no prouidence,

For this mishap, wherefore I sigh and grone,

[Page] Succour to find to what place might I gon,

Fain I would to some man my hert breake,

I not to whom I may complaine or speake.

Alone here I stand, full sory and full sad,

Which hoped to haue seen my lord and king,

Small cause haue I to be merie or glad,

Remembryng his bitterfull departing,

In this world is no creature liuing

That was to me so good and gracious,

His loue also than gold more precious.

Full sore I sigh, without comfort again,

There is no cure to my saluacion,

His brenning loue my hert so doth constrain,

Alas here is a wofull permutacion,

Whereof I find no joy nor consolacion,

Therefore my payne all onely to confesse,

With death I feare woll end my heauinesse.

This wo and anguish is intollerable,

If I bide here life can I not sustaine,

If I go hence my paines be vncurable,

Where him to find, I know no place certain,

And thus I not of these things twaine,

Which I may take and which I may refuse,

My hert is wounded hereon to think or muse.

A while I shall stand in this mournyng,

In hope if any vision would appere,

That of my loue might tell some good tidyng,

Which into joy might chaunge my wepyng chere,

I trust in his grace & his mercy dere,

But at the least though I therewith me kill,

I shall not spare to waile and wepe my fill.

And if that I die in soch auenture,

I can no more but welcome as my chaunce,

My bones shall rest here in this sepulture,

My lyfe, my death, is at his ordinaunce,

It shal be told in euerlastyng remembraunce,

Thus to departe is to me no shame,

And also thereof I am nothyng to blame.

Hope against me hath her course ytake,

There is no more, but thus shall I die,

I see right well my Lorde hath me forsake,

But in my conceipt, cause know I none why,

Though he be farre hence and nothyng nye,

Yet my wofull hert after hym doth seeke,

And causeth teares to ren doun my cheeke.

Thinkyng alas I haue lost his presence,

Which in this world was all my sustenance,

I cry and call with herty diligence,

But there is no wight giueth attendance,

Me to certifie of myne enquirance,

Wherefore I will to all this world be wray

How that my Lord is slaine and borne away.

Though I mourne it is no great wonder,

Sithe he is all my joy in speciall,

And now I thinke we be so farre asonder,

That him to see I feare neuer I shall,

It helpeth no more after him to call,

Ne after him to enquire in any coste,

Alas how is he thus gone and loste?

The Iewes I thinke full of misery,

Set in malice, by their busie cure,

With force and might with gileful trechery,

Hath entermined my Lordes sepulture,

And borne away that precious figure,

Leauing of it nothing, if they haue done so,

Marred I am, alas what shall I do.

With their vengeaunce insaciable,

Now haue they him entreated so,

That to reporte it is to lamentable,

They beate his body from toppe to the toe,

Neuer man was borne that felt soch woe,

They wounded him alas with all greuance,

The blood doun reiled in most habundance.

The bloody rowes stremed doune ouer all,

They him assayled so maliciously

With their scourges and strokes bestiall,

They spared not but smote incessantly,

To satisfie their malice, they were full busie,

They spit in his face they smote here & there,

He groned full sore, and sweate many a tere.

They crouned him with thorns sharp & kene,

The veines rent, the blood ran doun apace,

With blood ouercome with both his iyen,

And bolne with strokes was his blessed face,

They him entreated as men without grace,

They kneeled to him, & made many a scorne,

Like hell-hounds they haue him all to torne.

Vpon a mighty crosse in length and brede,

These turmentors shewed their cursednesse,

They nailed him without pitie or drede,

His precious blood brast out in largenesse,

They strained him along as men mercilesse,

The very jointes all, to mine apparence,

Riued asonder for their great violence.

All this I beholding with mine iyen twain,

Stode there beside with rufull attendaunce,

And euer me thought he being in that pain,

Loked on me with deadly countenaunce,

As he had said in his speciall remembraunce,

Farwel Magdalen depart must I needs hens,

My hert is Tanquam cera liquescens.

Which rufull sight when I gan behold,

Out of my witte I almost destraught,

Tare my heere, my hands wrang and fold,

And of y• sight my hert drank soch a draught,

That many a fall swouning there I caught,

I brused my body falling on the ground,

Whereof I fele many a greuous wound.

Then these wretches ful of al frowardnesse,

Gaue him to drinke Eisel tempred with gall,

Alas, that poison full of bitternesse,

My loues chere caused then to appall,

And yet thereof might he not drinke at all,

But spake these wordes as him thought best,

Father of heauen, Consummatum est.

Then kneeled I doune in paines outrage,

Clipping y• crosse within mine armes twain,

His blood distilled doune on my visage,

[Page] My clothes eke the droppes did distain,

To haue died for him I would full fain,

But what should it auayle if I did so,

Sith he is, Suspensus in patibulo.

Thus my Lord full dere was all disguised

With blood, pain, and wounds many one,

His veines brast, his joynts all to riued,

Partyng asonder the flesh fro the bone,

But I saw he hing not there alone,

For Cum inquis deputatus est,

Not like a man, but like a leprous beest.

A blind knight men called Longias,

With a speare aproched vnto my souerain,

Launsing his side full pitously alas,

That his precious hert he claue in twain,

The purple blood eke fro the herts vain,

Doune railed right fast in most rufull wise,

With christal water brought out of Paradise.

When I beheld this wofull passion,

I wote not how by sodain auenture,

My hert was peersed with very compassion,

That in me remayned no life of nature,

Strokes of death I felt without measure,

My deaths wound I caught with wo opprest,

And brought to point as my hert shuld brest.

The wound, hert, and blood of my darling,

Shall neuer slide fro my memoriall,

The bitter paines also of tourmenting,

Within my soule be grauen principall,

The speare alas that was so sharpe withall,

So thrilled my hert as to my felyng,

That body and soule were at departyng.

As soone as I might I releued vp againe,

My breth I coude not very well restore,

Felyng my selfe drowned in so great paine,

Both body & soul me thought were al to tore,

Violent falles greeued me right sore,

I wept, I bledde, and with my selfe I fared,

As one that for his life nothing had cared.

I lokyng vp to that rufull Roode,

Saw first the visage pale of that figure,

But so pitous a sight spotted with bloode,

Saw neuer yet no liuyng creature,

So it exceeded the bounds of measure,

That mans mind with all his wits fiue,

Is nothing able that paine for to discriue.

Then gan I there mine armes to vnbrace,

Vp liftyng my handes full mourningly,

I sighed and sore sobbed in that place,

Both heuen & earth might haue herd me cry,

Weping, and said alas incessauntly,

Ah my sweet hert, my ghostly paramour,

Alas I may nat thy body socour.

O blessed lord, how fierse and how cruell

These cursed wights now hath thee slaine,

Keruing alas thy body eueridell,

Wound within wound, full bitter is thy pain,

Now wold that I might to thee attaine,

To nayle my body fast vnto thy tree,

So that of this payne thou might go free.

I can not report ne make no rehersaile

Of my demening with the circumstaunce,

But well I wote the speare with euery naile

Thirled my soule by inward resemblaunce,

Which neuer shall out of my remembraunce,

During my lyfe it woll cause me to waile

As oft as I remembre that bataile.

Ah ye Iewes, worse than dogges rabiate,

What m [...]ued you thus cruelly him to aray,

He neuer displeased you nor caused debate,

Your loue and true herts he coueyted aye,

He preched, he teched, he shewed y• right way,

Wherefore ye like tyrants wood & wayward,

Now haue him thus slaine for his reward.

Ye ought to haue remembred one thing special,

His fauour, his grace, and his magnificence,

He was your prince borne and Lord ouer all,

How be it ye toke him in small reuerence,

He was full meke in suffring your offence,

Neuertheles ye deuoured him with one assent,

As hungry wolfs doth y• lamb innocent.

Where was your pite, o people mercilesse,

Arming your self with falsheed and treason,

On my lord ye haue shewed your woodnesse,

Like no men, but beestes without reason,

Your malice he suffred all for the season,

Your payn woll come thinke it not to slack,

* Man without mercy of mercy shall lack.

O ye traitours & maintainers of madnesse,

Vnto your folly I ascribe all my paine,

Ye haue me depriued of joy and gladnesse,

So dealing with my Lord and soueraine,

Nothing shuld I need thus to complaine,

If he had liued in peace and tranquillite,

Whom ye haue slaine through your iniquite.

Farewel your noblenesse y• somtime did rain,

Farewel your worship, glory, and fame,

Hereafter to liue in hate and disdaine,

Maruaile ye not for your trespace & blame,

Vnto shame is tourned all your good name,

Vpon you now woll wonder euery nation,

As people of most vile reputation.

These wicked wretches, these hounds of hell,

As I haue told playne here in this sentence,

Were not content my dere loue thus to quel,

But yet they must embesile his presence,

As I perceyue by couert violence

They haue him conueyed to my displeasure,

For here is lafte but naked sepulture.

Wherefore of trouth & rightful judgment,

That their malice againe may be acquited,

After my verdite and auisement,

Of false murdre they shall be endited,

Of theft also which shall not be respited,

And in all hast they shall be hanged and draw,

I woll my selfe plede this cause in the law.

[Page]

Alas if I with trewe attendaunce,

Had still abidden with my lordes corse,

And kept it still with trewe perseueraunce,

Then had not befal this wofull deuorse,

But as for my paine welcome and no force,

This shal be my songe where so euer I go,

* Departing is ground of all my wo.

I see right well now in my paines smart,

There is no wound of so greuous dolour,

As is the wound of my carefull hart,

Sith I haue lost thus my paramour,

All sweetnesse is tourned into sour,

Mirth to my heart nothing may conuey,

But he that beareth thereof both loke & key.

The ioy excellent of blissed paradise,

May me alas in no wise comforte,

Song of angel nothing may me suffise,

As in min harte now to make disporte,

Al I refuse but that I might resorte

Vnto my loue the well of goodliheed,

For whose longing I trowe I shal be deed.

Of painful labour and tourment corporal,

I make thereof none exception,

Paines of hell I wol passe ouer all,

My loue to find in mine affection,

So great to him is my delectacion,

A thousand times martred would I bee,

His blessed body ones if I might see.

About this world so large in all compasse,

I shal not spare to renne my life during,

My feet also shall not rest in one place,

Til of my loue I may heare some tiding,

For whose absence my hands now I wring,

To thinke on him cease shall neuer my mind,

O gentil Iesu where shall I thee find.

Ierusalem I wol serch place fro place,

Sion, the vale of Iosaphat also,

And if I find him not in all this space,

By mount Oliuet to Bethany wol I go,

These wayes wol I wander and many mo,

Nazareth, Bethleem, Mountana, Iude,

No trauaile shall me paine him for to see.

His blessed face if I might see and finde,

Serch I would euery coste and countrey,

The fardest part of Egipt or hote Inde,

Shulde be to me but a little iourney,

How is he thus gone or taken away,

If I knew the full trouth and certente,

Yet from this care released might I be.

Into wildernesse I thinke best to go,

Sith I can no more tydings of him here,

There may I my life lede to and fro,

There may I dwel, and to no man apere,

To towne ne village woll I come nere,

Alone in woods, in rockes, and in caues deep,

I may at mine own wil both waile and weep.

Mine eyen twaine withouten variaunce

Shall neuer cease, I promise faithfully

There to weepe with great aboundaunce,

Bitter teares renning incessauntly,

The which teares medled full petously,

With the very blood euer shall renne also,

Expressing in mine hart the greeuous wo.

Worldly fode & sustenaunce I desire none,

Such liuing as I find soch woll I take,

Rootes that growen on the craggy stone,

Shall me suffice with water of the lake,

Then thus may I say for my lords sake,

Fuerunt mihi lachrymae meae

In Deserto Panes, Die ac Nocte.

My body to clothe it maketh no force,

A mourning mantel shal be sufficient,

The greuous woundes of his pirous corse,

Shal be to me a full royal garnement,

He departed thus I am best content,

His crosse with nailes and scourges withall,

Shal be my thought and paine speciall.

Thus wol I liue as I haue here told,

If I may any long tyme endure,

But I fere death is ouer me so bold,

That of my purpose I can not be sure,

My paynes encrease without measure,

* For of long lyfe who can lay any reason,

All thing is mortal and hath but a season.

I sigh full sore and it is ferre yfet,

Mine herte I feele now bledeth inwardly,

The blody teares I may in no wise let,

Sith of my paine I find no remedie,

I thanke God of all if I now die,

His will perfourmed I hold me content,

My soule let him haue that hath it me lent.

For lenger to endure it is intollerable,

My woful harte is inflamed so huge,

That no sorow to myne is comparable,

Sith of my mind I finde no refuge,

Yet I him require as rightful iudge,

To deuoide fro me the inwarde sorow,

Lest I liue not to the next morow.

Within mine hart is impressed full sore,

His royal forme, his shape, his semelines,

His porte, his chere, his goodnes euermore,

His noble persone with all gentilnes,

He is the well of all part fitnes,

The very redemer of all mankind,

Him loue I best with hart, soule, and mind.

In his absence my paynes full bitter be,

Right well I may it fele now inwardly,

No wonder is though they hurte or slee me,

They cause me to crie so rufully,

Mine hart oppressed is so wonderfully,

Onely for him which so is bright of blee,

Alas I trowe I shall him neuer see.

My ioy is translate full farre in exile,

My mirth is chaunged into paynes cold,

My lyfe I thinke endureth but a while,

Anguish and payne is that I behold,

[Page] Wherfore my hands thus I wring & fold,

Into his graue I loke, I call, I pray,

Death remaineth, and life is borne away.

Now must I walke & wander here & there,

God wot to what partes I shall me dresse,

With quaking hart, weepyng many a tere,

To seek out my loue & all my sweetnes,

I wolde he wist what mortall heuines

About mine hart reneweth more and more,

Then wold he nat keepe pite long in store.

Without him I may not long endure,

His loue so sore worketh within my brest,

And euer I wepe before this sepulture,

Sighing full sore as mine harte should brest,

During my lyfe I shall obtayne no rest,

But mourne & wepe where that euer I go,

Making complaint of al my mortall wo.

Fast I crie but there is no audience,

My comming hider was him for to please,

My soule opprest is here with his absence,

Alas he list not to set mine harte in ease,

Wherefore to payne my self with al disease,

I shal not spare till he take me to grace,

Or els I shall sterue here in this place.

Ones if I might with him speake,

It were al my ioy, with parfite pleasaunce,

So that I might to him my herte breake,

I shuld anone deuoid al my greuaunce,

For he is the blisse of very recreaunce,

But now alas I can nothing do so,

For in steed of ioy naught haue I but wo.

His noble corse within mine harts rote,

Deep is graued which shall neuer slake,

Now is he gone to what place I ne wote,

I mourne, I wepe, and al is for his sake,

Sith he is past, here a vowe I make,

With hartely promise, & thereto I me bind,

Neuer to cease till I may him find.

Vnto his mother I thinke for to go,

Of her haply some comfort may I take,

But one thing yet me feareth and no mo,

If I any mencion of him make,

Of my wordes she wold trimble and quake,

And who coud her blame she hauing but one,

* The son borne away, y• mother wol mone.

Sorowes many hath she suffred trewly,

Sith that she first conceiued him and bare,

And seuen things there be most specially,

That drowneth her hert in sorrow & care,

Yet lo, in no wise may they compare,

With this one now, the which if she knew,

She wold her paines euerichone renew.

Great was her sorrow by mennes saying,

Whan in the temple Simeon Iustus,

Shewing to her, these words prophesiyng,

Tuam Animam pertransibit Gladius,

Also when Herode that tyrant furious,

Her childe pursued in euery place,

For his life went neither mercy ne grace.

She mourned when she knew him gone,

Full long she sought or she him found ayen,

Whan he went to death his crosse him vpon,

It was to her sight a rewful paine,

Whan he hong thereon, between theues twaine

And the speare vnto his herte thrust right,

She swouned, & to the ground there pight.

Whan deed and bloody in her lappe lay

His blessed body, both hands & fete all tore,

She cried out and said, now wel away,

Thus araide was neuer man before,

Whan hast was made his body to be bore

Vnto his sepulture, here to remaine,

Vnnethes for wo she coude her sustaine.

These sorowes seuen, like swerds euery one,

His mothers herte wounded fro syde to syde,

But if she knew her sonne thus gone,

Out of this world she shuld with death ride,

For care she coude no lenger here abide,

Hauing no more joy nor consolacioun,

Than I here standing in this stacioun.

Wherefore her to see I dare nat presume,

Fro her presence I wol my selfe refraine,

Yet had I leuer to die and consume,

Than his mother should haue any more pain,

Neuertheles her sonne I would see ful fain,

His presence was very ioy and sweetnes,

His absence is but sorrow and heauines.

There is no more, sith I may him nat mete,

Whom I desire aboue all other thing,

Nede I must take the sour with the swete,

For of his noble corse I here no tiding,

Full oft I cry, and my hands wring,

Myne herte alas relenteth all in paine,

Which will brast both senew and vaine.

* Alas how vnhappie was this woful hour,

Wherein is thus mispended my seruice,

For mine intent and eke my true labour,

To none effect may come in any wise,

Alas I thinke if he doe me dispise,

And list not take my simple obseruaunce,

There is no more, but death is my finaunce.

I haue him called, Sed non respondet mihi,

Wherfore my mirth is tourned to mourning

O dere Lord Quid mali feci tibi,

That me to comfort I find no erthly thing,

Alas, haue compassion of my crying,

Yf fro me, Faciem tuam abscondis,

There is no more, but Consumere me vis.

Within myne herte is grounded thy figure,

That all this worlds horrible tourment,

May it not aswage, it is so without measure,

It is so brenning, it is so feruent,

Remember Lord I haue bin diligent,

Euer thee to please onely and no mo,

Myne herte is with thee where so euer I go.

Therefore my dere darling, Trahe me post te,

And let me not stand thus desolate,

Quia non est, qui consoletur me,

[Page] Myne herte for thee is disconsolate,

My paines also nothing me moderate,

Now if it list thee to speake with me aliue,

Come in hast, for my herte asonder will riue.

To thee I profer lo my poore seruice,

Thee for to please after mine owne entent,

I offer here, as in deuout sacrifice,

My boxe replete with pretious oyntment,

Myne eyen twaine, weeping sufficient,

Myne herte with anguish fulfilled is alas,

My soule eke redy for loue about to pas.

Naught els haue I thee to please or pay,

For if mine herte were gold or pretious stone,

It should be thine without any delay,

With hertely chere thou shuld haue it anone,

Why suffrest thou me then to stand alone,

Thou hast I trow my weeping in disdaine,

Or els thou knowest nat what is my paine.

If thou withdraw thy noble daliaunce,

For ought that euer I displeased thee,

Thou knowest right wel it is but ignorance,

And of no knowledge for certainte,

If I haue offended Lord forgiue it me,

Glad I am for to make full repentaunce,

Of all thing that hath bin to thy greuaunce:

Myne herte alas swelleth within my brest

So sore opprest with anguish & with paine,

That all to peeces forsooth it woll brest,

But if I see thy blessed corse againe,

For life ne death I can nat me refraine,

If thou make delay thou maist be sure

Myne hert woll leape into this sepulture.

Alas my lord, why farest thou thus with me,

My tribulation yet haue in mind,

Where is thy mercy? where is thy pite?

Which euer I trusted in thee to find,

Sometime thou were to me both good & kind,

Let it please thee my prayer to accept,

Which with teares I haue here bewept.

On me thou oughtest to haue very routh,

Sith for thee is all this mourning,

For sith I to thee yplighted first my trouth,

I neuer varied with discording,

That knowest thou best, my owne darling,

Why constrainest thou me thus to waile?

My wo forsooth can thee nothing availe.

I haue endured without variaunce,

Right as thou knowest, thy louer iust & trew,

With hert & thought aye at thine ordinance,

Like to the saphire alway in one hew,

I neuer chaunged thee for no new,

Why withdrawest thou my presence,

Sith all my thought is for thine absence,

With hert intier, sweet Lord I crie to thee,

Encline thine ears to my petition,

And come, Voliciter exaudi me,

Remember mine herts dispositioun,

It may not endure in this conditioun,

Therefore out of these paines, Libera me,

And where thou art, Pone me juxta te.

Let me behold, O Iesu thy blissed face,

Thy faire glorious angellike visage,

Bow thine eares to my complaint, alas,

For to conuey me out of this rage,

Alas my lord, take fro me this dommage,

And to my desire for mercy condiscend,

For none but thou may my greuance amend.

Now yet good Lord, I thee beseech & pray,

As thou raised my brother Lazarous

From death to life, the fourth day

Came ayen in body and soule precious:

As great a thing maist thou shew vnto vs,

Of thy selfe, by power of thy godhead,

As thou did of him, lying in graue dead.

Mine hert is wounded with thy charite,

It brenneth, it flameth incessauntly,

Come my dear Lord, Ad adjuvandum me,

Now be not long, my paine to multiplie,

Least in the mean time I depart and die:

In thy grace I put both hope & confidence,

To do as it pleaseth thy high magnificence.

Floods of death, and tribulatioun,

Into my soule I feele entred full deepe,

Alas that here is no consolatioun,

Euer I waile, euer I mourne and weepe,

And sorowhath wounded mine hert ful deepe,

O deare loue, no maruaile though I die,

Sagittae tuae infixae sunt mihi.

Wandring in this place, as in wildernesse,

No comfort haue I, ne yet assuraunce,

Desolate of ioy, replete with faintnesse,

No answere receiuing of mine enquiraunce,

Mine herte also greued with displeasaunce,

Wherefore I may say, O Deus, Deus,

Non est dolor sicut dolor meus.

Mine herte expresseth, Quod dilexi multum,

I may not endure though I would faine,

For now Solum superest Sepulchrum,

I know it right well by my huge paine,

Thus for loue I may not life sustaine,

But O God, I muse what ayleth thee,

Quod sic repente praecipitas me.

Alas, I see it wol none otherwise be,

Now must I take my leaue for euermore,

This bitter paine hath almost discomfite me,

My loues corse I can in no wise restore,

Alas to this wo that euer I was bore,

Here at this tombe now must I die & starue,

Death is about my heart for to carue.

My testament I woll begin to make,

To God the father my soule I commend,

To Iesu my loue, that died for my sake,

My heart and all both I giue and send,

In whose loue my life maketh end,

My body also, to this monument,

I here bequeath both boxe and ointment.

[Page]

Of all my wills, lo now I make the last,

Right in this place, within this sepulture.

I woll be buried when I am dead and past,

And vpon my graue I woll haue this scripture:

Here within resteth a ghostly creature,

Christs true louer, Mary Magdalaine,

Whose hart for loue brake in peeces twaine.

Ye vertuous women, tender of nature,

Full of pitie and of compassion,

Resort I pray you vnto my sepulture,

To sing my dirige with great deuotion,

Shew your charitie in this condition,

Sing with pitie, and let your herts weepe,

Remembring I am dead and layd to sleepe.

Then when ye begin to part me fro,

And ended haue your mourning obseruance,

Remember wheresoeuer that ye go,

Alway to search & make due enqueraunce

After my loue, mine herts sustenaunce,

In euery towne and in euery village,

If ye may here of this noble image.

And if it happe by any grace at last,

That ye my true loue find in any cost,

Say that his Magdaleine is dead and past,

For his pure loue hath yeelded vp the ghost,

Say that of all thing I loued him most,

And that I might not this death eschew,

May paines so sore did euer renew,

And in token of loue perpetual,

When I am buried in this place present

Take out mine hert, the very root and al,

And close it within this boxe of ointment,

To my deare loue make thereof a present,

Kneeling downe with words lamentable,

Do your message, speake faire and tretable.

Say that to him my selfe I commend

A thousand times, with herte so free,

This poore token say to him I send,

Pleaseth his goodnesse to take it in gree,

It is his own of right, it is his fee

Which he asked, when he said long before,

* Giue me thy heart, and I desire no more.

Adue my Lord, my loue so faire of face,

Adue my turtle doue, so fresh of hew,

Adue my mirth, adue all my sollace,

Adue alas my sauiour Lord Iesu,

Adue the gentillest that euer I knew.

Adue my most excellent paramour,

Fairer than rose, sweeter than lilly flour.

Adue my hope of all pleasure eternall,

My life, my wealth, and my prosperitie,

Mine heart of gold, my perle orientall,

Mine adamant of perfite charitie,

My cheefe refuge, and my felicitie,

My comfort, and all my recreatioun,

Farewell my perpetuall saluatioun.

Farewell mine Emperour Celestiall,

Most beautifull prince of all mankind,

Adue my lord, of heart most liberall,

Farewell my sweetest, both soule and mind,

So louing a spouse shall I neuer find,

Adue my soueraine, and very gentilman,

Farewell dere heart, as hertely as I can.

Thy words eloquent flowing in sweetnesse,

Shal no more alas my mind recomfort,

Wherfore my life must end in bitternesse,

For in this world shall I neuer resort

To thee, which was mine heauenly disport,

I see alas it woll none other be,

Now farewell the ground of all dignitie.

Adue the fairest that euer was bore,

Alas I may not see your blessed face,

Now welaway that I shall see no more

Thy blessed visage, so replete with grace,

Wherein is printed my perfite sollace,

Adue mine hertes root and all for euer,

Now farewell, I must from thee disceuer.

My soule for anguish is now full thursty,

I faint right sore for heauinesse,

My lord, my spouse, Cur me dereliquisti?

Sith I for thee suffer all this distresse,

What causeth thee to seeme thus mercilesse,

Sith it thee pleaseth of me to make an end,

(In Manus tuas) my spirit I commend.

¶Finis.

§

The Prologue to the Remedy of LOVE.

SEeing the manifolde inconuenience

Falling by vnbrideled prosperitie,

Which is not tempred with mortal prudence,

Nothing more wealthy than youths freeltie,

Moued I am, both of right and equitie,

To youths wele somewhat to write

Whereby he may himselfe safecondite.

First I note, as thing most noyous

Vnto youth a greeuous maladie,

Among us called loue encombrous,

Vexing yong people straungelie,

Oft by force causeth hem to die,

Age is eke turmented by loue,

Bineath the girdle, and not aboue.

Wherfore this werk, which is right laborous

For age me need nat in hond to take,

To youth me oweth to be obsequious,

Now I begin thus to worke for his sake,

Which may the feruence of loue aslake

To the louer, as a mitigatiue,

To him that is none a preseruatiue.

That mighty lord which me gouerneth,

Youth I meane, measure if I pace

In euery matter which him concerneth,

First, as is behouefull, I woll aske grace,

[Page] And forthwithall in this same place,

Ere I begin, I woll kneel and sa

These few words, and him of helpe pray.

Flouring youth, which hast auauntage

In strength of body, in lust and beaute,

Also a precelling hast aboue age

In many a singular commodite,

Howbeit, one thing he hath beyond thee,

To thy most profite & greatest auaile,

Which shuld the conduit, I mean sad counsaile.

And yet good lord, of a presumption,

I nill depraue thy might and deitie,

I liue but vnder thy protection,

I am thy subiect, I weare thy liuerie,

For thou art ground of my prosperitie,

And freshest floure of all my garland,

My singular aid, as I well vnderstand.

But as he that oweth his lord best seruise,

And entire faith, his honour to support,

Right so I speake, and in none other wise,

I knowledge my selfe one of the least sort

Of thy seruannts, to our elders comfort,

Draw sad counsaile to thee if thou list,

Thee and thy power, who may then resist.

Fie on age, vnder words few,

And his erronious opinion,

What spekest of him, which saith most vntrue,

All youth to be of ill dispositioun,

Dampneth vs all without exceptioun,

And for a colerable auauntage,

He saith in him resteth counsaile sage.

Well may sad counsaile in him rest,

But yet his deeds ben ferre therefro,

He may say with our parish priest,

* Do as I say, but not as I do,

For I my selfe know one or two,

Well striken in age, for neighbourhed

Woll to their neighbours wiues bed.

He will in presence of the young man

Her clippe and kisse, ye and doune lay,

To bleare his eye, thus he saieth than,

* O suffer ye old Morel to play,

Now haue I doen that I can or may,

Thus he saieth her husband to queme,

That he nor no man should not misdeme.

In word nor deed nedeth him not be coy,

It is impossible that he doe amisse,

If the yong man speake, anone he saith boy,

To rebuke age, beseemeth thee not iwis,

Thus his old face aye his warrant is,

All is in him sleight and subtiltee,

And ferre from reason I tell thee.

And shortly age is not aboue me,

Age is impotent, and of no resistence,

Age vnweldie may not fight nor flee,

What were age, without my defence

(Sad counsaile saist thou giueth him assistence)

Reason is freshest where that I am,

Wherefore in thy saying thou art to blame.

Sith reason to me is rather accompanied

Than vnto age, whith is the opinion

Of euery wise man not to be denied,

And sith sad counsaile proceedeth of reason,

Sad counsaile in me hath his cheef mansion,

This is no nay, but what is the end

Of this thy suasion, what doest entend.

Age to compare vnto thine excellence,

I nill presume him so to dignifie,

Ye be not egall, howbeit experience

Him auauntageth, for she most certainly,

Him teacheth what thing to him is contrary,

And oft to foresee it, and warely eschew

Which thou neuer assaidest yet nor knew.

* Experience maketh a man most certaine

Of any thing yearthly, and of necessite,

Sad counsaile requireth certaintie plaine,

So ferre to moue thus whereto need we

But to my purpose, as thou commandest me,

Shortly mine entent is thus, & none other,

Vnder thy license to counsaile my brother.

How shuldest thou giue any counsail so yong.

Lacking experience vnto thine owne speach,

I report me, I wote well as for thy tong

Wil serue thee right wel, but then for to teach,

I doubt me lest that thy wit woll not reach,

Youth & experience thou saist be not conuert,

How shouldest thou then teach well vnexpert.

* Scripture witnesseth, yt God will oft shitte

Fro the hie witted man, & shew it to y• child,

To him I meane that of his own witte

Presumeth not, but is debonaire and mild,

By counsaile I entend vertue for to bild,

Which of mine elders part haue I borowed,

And part of Experience, wch I haue sorowed.

Wel then, if it be as thou lettest fare,

Shew forth thy doctrine, be not agast,

I woll thee support, looke thou not spare,

Maugre age, though he frete or gnast,

To aske age counsaile herein, were but wast,

Boldely begin, go forth to the processe,

Feare not sith thou art of such surenesse.

Graunt mercie lord, sith it thee doeth like

To license me, now I woll dare boldly

Assail my purpose, with scriptures autentike,

My werke woll I ground, vnderset, & fortefie,

Aspire my beginning, O thou wood furie,

Alecto, with thy susters, and in especiall

To the mother of ielousie Iuno I call.

Explicit Prologus.

[Page]

The Remedy of Love.

This Book, drawn for the most part out of the Proverbs of Solomon, is a warning to take heed of the deceitful company of Women.

THis werke who so shall see or rede,

Of any incongruitie do me not impeche,

Ordinately behoueth me first to procede

In deduction thereof, in manner as the leche

His patients siknesse oweth first for to seche,

The which known, medicin he should applie,

And shortly as he can, then shape a remedie.

Right so by counsaile, willing thee to exhort,

O yong man prosperous, which doth abound

In thy floures of lust belongeth on thee sort,

Me first to consider what is root and ground

Of thy mischeefe, which is plainly found,

Woman farced with fraud and deceit,

To thy confusion most allectiue bait.

Fly the miswoman, least she thee deceiue,

Thus saith Salomon, which tauȝt was fully

The falshed of women in his days to conceiue,

The lips of a strumpet ben sweeter than hony,

Her throte he saith soupled with oil of flatery,

Howbeit, the end and effect of all

Bitterer is than any wormwood or gall.

Fly the miswoman, louing thy life,

Ware the straungers bland eloquence,

Straunge I call her that is not thy wife,

Of her beauty haue no concupiscence,

Her countenaunce pretending beneuolence,

* Beware her signes, and eye so amiable,

Hold is for ferme, they ben deceiuable.

Lo an ensample what women be

In their signes and countenaunce shortly,

I woll shew thee how louers three

Loued one woman right entirely,

Ech of them knew others maladie,

Wherefore was all their daily labour,

Who coud approch next in her fauour.

At sundry seasons, as fortune requireth,

Seuerally they came to see her welfare,

But ones it happened, loue them so fireth,

To see their Lady they all would not spare,

Of others coming none of them were ware,

Till all they mette, whereas they in place

Of her Lady saw the desired face.

To supper set, full smally they eat,

Full sober and demure in countenaunce,

For there taried none of hem for any meat,

But on his Lady to giue attendaunce,

And in secret wise some signifiaunce

Of loue to haue, which perceiuing she,

Fetely executed thus her properte.

In due season, as she alway espied

Euery thing to execute conueniently,

Her one louer first friendly she eied,

The second she offred the cup courtesly,

The third she gaue token secretly,

Vnderneath the bord she trade on his foot,

Through his entrailes tikled the hert root.

By your leaue, might I here ask a question

Of you my maisters, that selve loues trace,

To you likely belongeth the solution,

Which of these three stood now in grace?

Clerely to answere ye would ask long space,

The matter is doubtfull and opinable,

To acertaine you I woll my selfe enable.

Of the foresaid three my selfe was one,

No man can answere it better than I,

Hertely of vs beloued was there none,

* But Wattes packe we bare all by and by,

Which at last I my selfe gan aspie,

In time as me thought then I left y• daunce,

O thoughtfull hert, great is thy greuaunce.

Hence fro me hence, that me for to endite

Halpe aye here afore, O ye muses nine,

Whilom ye were wont to be mine a [...]d & light,

My penne to direct, my braine to illumine,

No lenger alas may I sewe your doctrine,

The fresh lustie metres, that I wont to make

Haue been here afore, I vtterly forsake.

Come hither thou Hermes, & ye furies all,

Which fer ben vnder vs, nigh y• nether pole,

Where Pluto reigneth, O king infernall,

Send out thine arpies, send anguish & dole,

Miserie and wo, leaue ye me not sole,

Of right be present must pain & eke turment,

The pale death beseemeth not to be absent.

To me now I call all this lothsome sort,

My pains tencrease, my sorows to augment,

For worthie I am to be bare of all comfort,

Thus sith I haue consumed and mispent

Not only my days, but my 5 fold talent,

That my lord committed me, I can't recompence

I may not too derely abie my negligence.

By the path of penaunce yet woll I reuert

To the well of grace, mercy there to fetch,

* Despisest not God the meeke contrite hert

Of the cock crow, alas y• I would not retch,

And yet it is not late in the second wetch,

Mercy shall I purchase by incessaunt crying,

The mercies of our lord euer shall I sing.

But well maist thou wail wicked woman,

That thou shuldest deceiue thus any innocent

And in recompence of my sinne, so as I can,

To al men wol I make & leue this monument,

In shewing part of thy falshed is mine entent,

For all were too much, I cannot well I wote,

The cause sheweth plainly he yt thus wrote.

* If all ye yearth were parchment scribable,

Speedie for the hand, and all manner wood

Were hewed and proportioned to pens able,

All water inke, in damme or in flood,

Euery man being a parfit Scribe and good,

[Page] The cursednesse yet and deceit of women

Coud not he shewed by the meane of pen.

I flie all odious resemblaunces,

The deuils brond call women I might,

Whereby man is encensed to mischaunces,

Or a stinking rose that faire is in sight,

Or deadly empoyson, like y• sugar white,

* Which by his sweetnesse causeth man to tast,

And sodainly sleeth & bringeth him to his last.

It is not my manner to vse such language,

But this my doctrine, as I may lawfully,

I woll holly ground with authoritie sage,

Willing both wisedome, and vertue edifie,

* Wine and women into apostasie,

Cause wisemen to fall, what is that to say,

Of wisedome cause them to forget the way.

Wherefore the wiseman doth thee aduise,

In whose words can be found no leasing,

With the straunger to sit in no wise,

Which is not thy wife, fall not in clipping

With her, but beware eke of her kissing,

Keep with her in wine no altercation,

Least that thine hert fall by inclination.

May a man thinkest hide and safe lay

Fire in his bosome, without empairement,

And brenning of his clothes? or whider he may

Walke on hote coles, his feet not brent?

As who saith nay, and whereby is ment

This foresaid prouerbe and similitude,

But that thou ridde thee plainly to denude.

From the flatterers forgetting her gide,

The gide of her youth, I mean shamefastnes,

Which shuld cause her maidenhead to abide,

Her gods behest eke she full recheles,

Not retching, committeth it to forgetfulnes,

* Neither God ne shame in her hauing place,

Needs must such a woman lacke grace.

And all that neigh her in way of sinne

To tourne, of grace shall lacke the influence,

The pathes of life no more to come in,

Wherefore first friend thee with Sapience,

Remembring God, and after with Prudence,

To thine owne weale that they thee keepe,

Vnto thine hert least her words creepe.

In his book where I take my most ground,

And in his prouerbes, sage Salomon

Telleth a tale, which is plainly found

In the fifth chapiter, whider in deed don,

Or meekely feined to our instruction,

Let clerkes determine, but this am I sure,

Much like thing I haue had in vre.

At my window saith he I looked out,

Fair yong people, where I saw many,

Among hem all, as I looked about,

To a yong man fortuned I lent mine eye,

Estraunged from his mind it was likely,

By the street at a corner nigh his own hous,

He went about with eye right curious.

When that the day his light gan withdraw,

And the night approched in the twilight,

How a woman came and met him I saw,

Talking with him vnder shade of the night,

Now blessed be God (qd. she) of his might,

Which hath fulfilled mine hearts desire,

Assaked my paines, which were hote as fire.

And yet mine authour, as it is skill,

To follow, I must tell her arrayment,

She was full nice, soules like to spill,

As nice in countenaunce yet as in garment,

For jangling she was of rest impatient,

Wandring still, in no place she stode,

But restlesse now, and now out she yode.

Now in the house, now in the strete,

Now at a corner she standeth in await,

Incessauntly busie her pray for to gete,

To bring to the lure whom she doth lait.

Now where I left, vnto my matter strait

I woll tourne againe, how she him mette,

Sweetly kissed, and friendly hem grette.

With words of curtesie many and diuerse,

Right as in part I haue before told,

Now as I can, I purpose to reherse,

How she flattering said with visage bold,

I haue made vowes and offerings manifold

For thy sake, O mine hert, O my loue dere,

This day I thanke God all performed were.

Therefore I came out, & made thus astart,

Very desirous your welfare to see,

Now I haue seene you, pleased is mine hert,

In faith shall none haue my loue but ye,

As true as I am to you, be to me,

I pray you hertely dere hert come home,

No man should be to me so welcome.

And in good faith, the sooth for to say,

Your comming to me ran in my thought,

Herke in your eare, my bed fresh and gay,

I haue behanged with tapettes new bought,

From Egipt, & from far countries brought,

Steined with many a lustie fresh hue,

Exceeding gold or Iasper in value.

My chamber is strowed with mirre & insence,

With sote sauoring aloes, & with sinamome,

Breathing an Aromatike redolence,

Surmounting Olibane, in any mans dome,

Ye shall betweene my breasts rest if ye come,

Let vs haue our desired halsing,

For we may safe be till in the morning.

Mine husband is not at home, he is went

Forth in his journey, a farre way hence,

A bagge with money he hath with him hent,

As him thought needfull for his expence,

Vnto my word giue faith and credence,

Now is the Moone yong, and of light dull,

Ere he come home, it woll be at the full.

Thus craftely hath she him besette

With her lime roddes, panter, and snare,

[Page] The selie soule caught in her nette,

Of her sugred mouth alas nothing ware,

Thus is he left gracelesse and bare

Of helpe, comfort, and ghostly succour,

And furthermore, as saith mine authour.

As a beast led to his death, doth pant,

This yong man followeth her in that stound,

And as a wanton Lambe full ignorant,

How he is pulled and drawen to be bound,

Vnto the time he hath his deaths wound,

And like a bird that hasteth to the grin,

Not knowing the perill of his life therein.

Now gentle sonne, saith Salomon, take hede

My words in thy breast keepe and make fast,

Let her not thy mind in her waies mislede,

Be not deceiued, lese not thy tast,

Many hath she wounded, many doune cast,

Many strong by her hath lost their breath,

Her waies, waies of hell leading to death.

And in this little narration precedent,

The womans manifold gilt I attend,

The yong man alas how she hath shent,

Deceiued her husband, her own next friend,

In these both, her God she doth offend,

To break her spousail, to her is of no weight,

Furdermore to shew womans craft & sleight.

A woman at her dore sate on a stall,

To see folke passe by streets of the cite,

With eye and countenance eke she gan call,

If there be any prety one come nere to me,

Come hither ye piggesnye, ye little babe,

At last she said to a yong man hartlesse,

Of her deceit vnware and defencelesse:

* Much sweeter she saith, & more acceptable

Is drinke, when it is stollen priuely,

Tha when it is taken in forme auowable:

Bread hid and gotten jeoperdously,

Must needs be sweet, and semblably,

* Venison stolne is aye the sweeter,

The ferther the narrower fet the better.

And whom this woman (saith Salom.) festes,

The yong man woteth not whom she doth fede,

Of the dark deepnesse of hell ben her ghests,

Beware yong man therefore I thee rede,

And how be it cheefly for thy good spede,

This werk to compile I haue take in charge,

I must of pity my charity enlarge.

With the selie man which is thus begiled,

Her husband I mean, I woll wepe and waile

His painfull infortune, whereby reuiled

Causelesse he is, neuer to conuaile,

Euery man yong and old woll him assaile

With words of occasion, with the loth name,

And alas good soule, he nothing to blame.

But she that coud so ill do and wold,

Hers be the blame for her demerite,

And leaue that opprobrous name cokold,

To aproper to him as in dispite,

Ransake yet we would if we might,

Of this worde the true Ortographie,

The very discent and Ethimologie.

The well and ground of the first inuencion,

To know the ortographie we must deriue,

Which is coke and cold, in composicion,

By reason, as nigh as I can contriue,

Then how it is written we know beliue,

But yet lo, by what reason and ground,

Was it of these two wordes compound.

As of one cause to giue very judgement,

Themilogie let vs first behold:

Eche letter an hole word doth represent,

As C, put for colde, and O, for old,

K, is for knaue, thus diuers men hold,

The first parte of this name we haue found,

Let vs ethimologise the second.

As the first finder ment I am sure,

C, for calot, for of, we haue O,

L, for leude, O, for demeanure,

The craft of the enuentour ye may see lo,

How one name signifieth persones two,

A colde old knaue, cokold himselfe wening,

And eke a calot of leude demeaning.

The second cause of thimposicion,

Of this foresaid name of jealousie,

To be jelouse is greatest occasion

To be cokold, that men can aspie,

And though the passion be very firie,

And of continuell feruence and heete,

The pacient aye suffreth cold on his feete.

And who that is jelous, and aye in a drede,

Is full of Melancolie and gallie ire,

His wiues nose (if she misse trede,)

He woll cut off, ye and conspire

His death who that woll her desire:

Which she perceiuing brasteth his gall,

And anone his great woodnesse doth fall.

As soone as she hath knit him that knot,

Now is he tame that was so ramagious,

Mekely sitteth he doune and taketh his lot,

Layed been now his lookes so furious,

And he but late as a cocke bataylous,

Hote in his quarell, to auenge him bold,

Now is he called both coke and cold.

This saying, to all curtesie dissonant,

Which seemeth that it of malice grewe,

In this rude treatise I woll not plant,

As parcell thereof, but onely to shewe,

The opinion of the talcatife shrewe,

* Which in ill saying is euer merie,

No man as I thereof so werie.

But I as parcell of this my booke,

Woll graffe in some sad counsaile whereby,

The wedded man, if he daigne to looke

In it, the better shall mowe him gie,

And prouide for his said infortunie,

Which as I haue said, with him complaine

I woll, as partener of his great paine.

[Page]

As most expedient to his weale,

I would all jelousie were abject,

If he be jelous, that he it conceale,

And in his labour be circumspect,

To know her wayes if they seeme suspect,

* And not for to breake, for one word broken,

She woll not misse but she woll be wroken.

* Forbid her not, that thou noldest haue don,

For looke what thing she is forbod,

To that of all things she is most prone,

Namely if it be ill and no good,

Till it be executed she is nigh wood,

Soch is a woman, and soch is her feat,

* Her craft by craft, labour to defeat.

If thou hereafter, now a single man,

Shouldest be jelous if thou haddest a wife,

Wedde not but if thou can trust woman,

For els shouldest lede a carefull life,

That thou most lothest should be full rife,

Yet I nill gainesay Matrimonie,

* But Melius est nubere quam uri.

That is to say, better is in Wedlocke,

A wife to take, as the church doth kenne,

Than to been vnder the fleshes yoke,

In fleshly lust alway for to brenne.

But as I said, for all jelous menne,

* So they liue chaste, I hold it lasse ill,

That they wedde not, than them self spill.

The single man which is yet to wedde,

And not the wedded man, thus I rede,

To warne him now he is too farre spedde,

It is too late him to forbedde,

But let him take as for his owne need,

Soch counsaile as is him before told,

These words folowing eke to behold.

Thy water to keep the wiseman doth teach,

That thou in no wise let it haue issue,

At a narow rifte, way it woll seach,

And semblably the woman vntrue,

To giue her free walke in al wise eschue,

* If she at large, not at thine hand walke,

She woll thee shame, thou shalt it not balke.

Wedded or single, thus saith the wiseman,

* Her that both day and night euermore,

Lithe in thy bosome, wife or yet lemman,

Loue not to hote, least thou repent sore,

Least she thee bring into some ill lore,

Thy wife not to loue yet I nill support,

But that thou dote not, thus I thee exhort.

Lo if thou loue her, loue eke thine honestie,

Be she not idell, for what woll betide,

* If she sit idell, of very necessitie,

Her mind woll search ferre and eke wide,

Namely if she be not accompanide,

How accompanied, not with yong men,

But with maidens I meane or women.

Maiden seruants be right conuenient,

In house to helpe to doe her seruice,

In whom she may vse her commaundement,

In the season at her owne deuice:

To teach hem good, yeue her thine aduice,

To make them huswiues, thus businesse

May yet refraine her from idlenesse.

But bide not her that thou wolt haue do,

Of thine entent that might be letting,

But craftely encourage her thereto

By other meanes, as by commending,

And not too moch, but duely menging

Both praise and blame, and in thy reason

First praise wisely the place and season.

Of faithfull will, and hert full tender,

One thing I call into remembraunce

Again which, though my wit be slender,

After my power and suffisaunce,

I purpose to make a purueyaunce,

Sith women of nature been vnchaungeable,

Freale, not ware, also disceiuable.

Be it that thy wife be excellently good,

That none be better of disposicion,

In processe of time she might turn her mood,

By some misse liuers instigacion,

* Diuers men to thilke occupacion,

Aplien daily, minde and eke hert,

From her goodnesse women to peruert.

If thou aspie any suspect person,

Draw to thy wife, beware in all wise

To him nor her of thy suspeccion

Breake not one worde, though thine herte agrise,

* Kindle no fire, no smoke woll arise,

Though he be of a corrupt entent,

She perauenture is not of assent.

Explicit.

The Complaint of Mars and Venus.

GLadeth ye louers in the morowe graie,

Lo Venus risen among you Rows rede,

And floures freshe honour ye this daie,

For when y• sun vprist then wold they sprede,

But ye louers that lie in any drede,

Flieth least wicked tongues you aspie,

Lo yonde the Sun, the candell of jelousie.

With tears blew, & with a wounded hert

Taketh your leue, & with saint Iohn to borow

Apeseth somewhat of your paines smert,

Time cometh eft, yt cessen shall your sorow,

* The glad night is worth an heauy morow,

Saint Valentine, a foule thus heard I sing,

Vpon thy day, or Sun gan vp spring.

Yet sang this foule, I rede you all awake,

And ye that haue not chosen in humble wise,

Without repenting cheseth your make,

Yet at the least, renoueleth your seruice:

And ye that haue full chosen as I deuise,

[Page] Confermeth it perpetually to dure,

And paciently taketh your auenture.

And for the worship of this high feast,

Yet woll I my briddes wise sing,

The sentence of the complaint at the least,

That wofull Mars made at the departing

Fro fresh Venus in a morowning,

When Phebus with his firie torches rede,

Ransaked hath euery louer in his drede.

Whilome the three heauens lorde aboue,

As well by heauenlich reuolucion,

As by desert hath wonne Venus his loue,

And she hath take him in subiection,

And as a maistresse taught him his lesson,

Commaunding him neuer in her seruice,

He were so bold no louer to dispise.

For she forbade him iealousie at all,

And cruelty, and boste, and tyranny,

She made him at her lust so humble & tall,

That when she dained to cast on him her iye,

He tooke in patience to liue or die,

And thus she bridleth him in her maner,

With nothing, but with scorning of her chere.

Who reigneth now in blisse but Venus,

That hath this worthy knight in gouernance

Who singeth now but Mars y• serueth thus,

The faire Venus, causer of pleasaunce,

He bint him to perpetuel obeysaunce,

And she binte her to loue him for euer,

But so be that his trespace it disceuer.

Thus be they kint, & reignen as in heuen,

By loking most, as it fell on a tide,

That by her both assent was set a steuen,

That Mars shall entre as fast as he may glide,

In to her next palais to abide,

Walking his course till she had him ytake,

And he prayed her to hast her for his sake.

Then said he thus, mine herts lady sweete,

Ye know well my mischief in that place,

For sikerly till that I with you meete,

My life stante there in auenture and grace,

But when I see the beaute of your face,

There is no drede of death may do me smert,

For all your lusts is ease to mine hert,

She hath so great compassion of her knight,

That dwelleth in solitude till she come,

For it stode so, that ilke time no wight,

Counsailed him, ne said to him welcome,

That nigh her wit for sorow was ouercome

Wherfore she spedded as fast in her way,

Almost in one day as he did in tway.

The great ioy that was betwix hem two,

When they be mette, there may no tong tel,

There is no more but unto bedde they go,

And thus in ioy and blisse I let hem dwell,

This worthy Mars yt is of knighthood well,

The floure of fairnesse happeth in his arms,

And Venus kisseth Mars the God of arms.

Soiourned hath this Mars, of which I rede

In chambre amidde the palais priuely,

A certaine time, till him fell a drede,

Through Phebus yt was commen hastely,

Within the palais yates sturdely,

With torch in hond, of which yt stremes bright

On Venus chambre, knockeden ful light.

The chambre there as lay this fresh queene,

Depainted was with white boles grete,

And by the light she knew that shon so shene,

That Phebus cam to bren hem with his hete

This silly Venus ny dreint in teares wete,

Enbraseth Mars, and said alas I die,

The torch is come, y• al this world wol wrie.

Vp sterte Mars, him list not to sleepe,

When he his lady herde so complaine,

But for his nature was not for to weepe,

Instede of teares from his eyen twaine,

The firy sparcles sprongen out for paine,

And hente his hauberke that lay him beside,

Flie wold he nought, ne might himself hide.

He throweth on his helme of huge weight,

And girt him with his swerde, & in his honde

His mighty speare, as he was wont to feight,

He shoketh so, that it almost to wonde,

Full heuy was he to walken ouer londe,

He may not hold with Venus company,

But had her flie least Phebus her espy.

O woful Mars alas, what maist thou sain

That in the palais of thy disturbaunce,

Art left behind in peril to be slain,

And yet there to is double thy penaunce,

For she that hath thine hert in gouernance,

Is passed halfe the stremes of thine eyen,

That thou nere swift, wel maist thou wepe and crien.

Now flieth Nenus in to Ciclinius tour,

With void corse, for fear of Phebus light,

Alas and there hath she no socour,

For she ne found ne sey no maner wight,

And eke as there she had but littel might,

Wherefore her selven for to hide and saue,

Within the gate she fledde in to a caue.

Darke was this caue, & smoking as the hell

Nat but two paas within the yate it stood,

A naturel day in darke I let her dwell,

Now wol I speake of Mars furious & wood,

For sorow he wold haue seene his hert blood,

Sith yt he might haue done her no company,

He ne rought not a mite for to die.

So feble he wext for hete and for his wo,

That nigh he swelt, he might vnneth endure

He passeth but a sterre in daies two,

But neuertheles, for al his hevy armure,

He foloweth her that is his liues cure,

For whose departing he tooke greater yre,

Than for all his brenning in the fire.

After he walketh softly a paas,

Complayning that it pitie was to here,

[Page] He saide, O lady bright Venus alas,

That euer so wide a compas is my sphere,

Alas, when shall I mete you hert dere,

This twelve dayes of April I endure,

Through ielous Phebus this misauenture.

Now God helpe sely Venus alone,

But as God wold it happed for to be,

That while y• weping Venus made her mone

Ciclinius riding in his chyuanche,

Fro Venus Valanus might this palais see,

And Venus he salueth, and maketh chere,

And her receiueth as his frende full dere,

Mars dwelleth forth in his aduersite,

Complayning ever in her departing,

And wt his complaint was remembreth me,

And therefore in this lusty morowning,

As I best can, I wol it saine and sing,

And after that I woll my leaue take,

And God yeue euery wight ioy of his make.

The Complaint of Mars.

THe order of complaint requireth skilfully,

That if a wight shal plain pitously,

There mote be cause wherfore yt men plain,

Or men may deme he plaineth folily,

And causeles, alas that am not I,

Wherfore the ground & cause of al my pain,

So as my troubled witte may it attain,

I wol reherse, not for to haue redresse,

But to declare my ground of heuinesse.

The first time alas, that I was wrought,

And for certain effects hider brought,

By him that lorded each intelligence,

I yaue my trew seruice and my thought,

For euermo, how dere I haue it bought,

To her that is of so great excellence,

That what wight yt sheweth first her offence,

When she is wroth & taketh of him no cure,

He may not long in ioy of love endure.

This is no fained mater that I tell,

My lady is the very sours and well

Of beaute, luste, fredome, and gentilnesse,

Of rich array, how dere men it sell,

Of all disport in which me frendly dwell,

Of loue and play, and of benigne humblesse,

Of sowne of instruments of al sweetnesse,

And thereto so well fortuned and thewed,

That through yeworld her goodnes is shewed.

What wonder is then though that I be set

My seruice on soch one that may me knet

To wele or wo, sith it lithe in her might,

Therfore myne hert for euer I to her hette,

Ne trewly for my death shall I not lette,

To ben her trewest seruaunt & her knight,

I flatter nat, that may wete euery wight,

For this day in her seruice shall I dye,

But grace be, I see her neuer with eye.

To whom shall I plaine of my distresse,

Who may me help, who may my hert redresse?

Shall I complaine vnto my lady free,

Nay certes, for she hath soch heauinesse,

For feare and eke for wo, that as I gesse,

In littel time it would her bane bee,

But were she safe, it were no force of mee,

Alas that euer louers more endure,

For loue so many perilous auenture.

For though so be that louers be as trewe,

As any metal that is forged newe,

In many a case hem tideth oft sorowe,

Somtime her ladies woll nat on hem rewe,

Somtime if that ielousie it knewe,

They might lightly lay her heed to borow,

Somtime enuious folk with tongs horow,

Deprauen hem alas, whom may they please,

But he befalse, no louer hath his ease.

But what auaileth soch a long sermonun,

Of auentures of loue vp and doun,

I wol retourne and speaken of my paine,

The point is this of my distructioun,

My right lady, my saluacioun,

Is in affray, and not to whom to plaine,

O herte sweete, O lady soueraine,

For your disease I ought wel swoun & swelt,

Though I none other harme ne drede felt.

To what fine made the God that sit so hie,

Beneth him loue other companie,

And straineth folke to loue mauger her heed,

And then her ioy for aught I can espie,

Ne lasteth not the twinckling of an eye,

And some haue neuer ioy till they be deed,

What meaneth this, what is this mistiheed,

Wherto constraineth he his folke so fast,

Thing to desire but it should last.

And though he made a louer loue a thing,

And maketh it seem stedfast and during,

Yet putteth he in it soch misauenture,

That rest nis there in his yeuing.

And that is wonder that so iust a king,

Doth such hardnesse to his creature,

Thus whether loue breake or els dure,

Algates he that hath with loue to done,

Hath after wo, then chaunged is the Moone.

It seemeth he hath to louers enmite,

And like a fisher, as men may all day se,

Baited his angle hoke with some pleasance,

Til many a fish is wood till that he be

Ceased therwith, and then at erst hath he

All his desire, and therwith all mischaunce,

And though the line breke he hath penance,

For with that hoke he wounded is so sore,

That he his wages hath for euermore.

The broche of Thebes was of soch kinde,

So full of rubies and of stones of Inde,

That euery wight that set on it an eye,

He wende anone to worth out of his mind,

So sore the beaute wold his hert bind,

Till he it had, him thought he must die,

[Page] And when that it was his then should he dry,

Soch wo for drede aye while that he it had,

That welnigh for the feare he should mad.

And when it was fro his possession,

Then had he double wo and passion,

That he so faire a jewell hath forgo,

But yet this broche, as in conclusion,

Was not the cause of his confusion,

But he that wrought it enfortuned it so,

That euery wight that had it shold haue wo,

And therfore in the worcher was the vice,

And in the coueitour that was so nice.

So fareth it by louers, and by me,

For though my lady haue so great beaute,

That I was mad till I had gette her grace,

She was not cause of mine aduersite,

But he that wrought her, as mote I thee,

That put soch a beaute in her face,

That made me coueiten and purchase

Mine owne death, him wite I, that I die,

And mine vnwit that ever I clambe so hie,

But to you hardy knights of renowne,

Sith that ye be of my devistowne,

Al be I not worthy to so great a name,

Yet saine these clerkes I am your patrone,

Therfore ye ought haue some compassion

Of my disease, and take it nat a game,

The proudest of you may be made ful tame,

Wherfore I pray you of your gentilesse,

That ye complaine for mine heauinesse.

And ye my ladies that be true and stable,

By way of kind ye ought to ben able,

To haue pite of folke that been in paine,

Now haue ye cause to cloth you in sable,

Sith that your empres the honorable,

Is desolate, wel ought you to plaine,

Now should your holy teares fall and raine,

Alas your honour and your emprice,

Nigh deed for drede, ne can her not cheuice.

Complaineth eke ye louers all in fere,

For her that with unfained humble chere,

Was euer redy to do you socour,

Complaineth her yt euer hath be you dere,

Complaineth beaute, freedome, & manere,

Complaineth her that endeth your labour,

Complaineth thilke ensample of al honour,

That neuer did but gentilnesse,

Kytheth therfore in her some kindnesse.

The Complaint of Venus.

THere nis so high comfort to my pleasance,

When that I am in any heauinesse,

As to haue [...]ayser of remembraunce,

Vpon the manhood and the worthinesse,

Vpon the trouth, and on the stedfastnesse,

Of him whose I am al while I may dure,

There ought to blame me no creature,

For euery wight praiseth his gentillesse.

In him is bounte, wisdome, & gouernaunce,

Wel more than any mans witte can gesse,

For grace hath wolde so ferforth him auance,

That of knighthood he his parsite richesse,

Honour honoureth him for his noblesse,

Thereto so well hath fourmed him nature,

That I am his foreuer I him ensure,

For euery wight praiseth his gentillesse.

And nat withstanding all his suffisaunce,

His gentil herte is of so great humblesse,

To me in word, in werke, & in countenance,

And me to serue is all his besinesse,

That I am sette in very sikernesse,

Thus ought I blisse well mine auentour,

Sith that him list me sernen and honour,

For euery wight praiseth his gentillesse.

Now certes, loue, it is right couenable

That men ful dere abie thy noble things,

As wake a bedde, and fasten at the table,

Weping to laugh & sing in complainings,

And downe to cast visage and lookings,

Often to chaunge visage and countenaunce,

Play in sleeping, and dremen at the daunce,

All the reuers of any glad feeling.

Ielousie he hanged by a cable,

She wold al know through her espying,

There doth no wight nothing so reasonable,

That al nis harme in her imagining,

Thus dere about is loue in yeuing,

Which oft he yeueth without ordinaunce,

As sorow ynough, and little of plesaunce,

All the reuers of any glad feeling.

A little time his yeft is greable,

But full accombrous is the vsing,

For subtel ielousie the disceiuable,

Full often time causeth distourbing,

Thus ben we euer in drede and suffring,

In no certaine, we languishen in penaunce,

And haue wel oft many an hard mischance,

All the reuers of any glad feling.

But certes loue, I say not in soch wise,

That for to scape out of your [...]ace I ment,

For I so long haue been in your seruice,

That for to lete of will I neuer assent,

No force though ielousie me tourment,

Suffiseth me to see him when I may,

And therfore certes to my ending day,

To loue him best, shal me neuer repent.

And certes loue, when I me well aduise,

Of any estate yt man may represent,

Then haue ye made me through your franchise

Thefe the best that euer in earth went,

Now loue well hert, & look thou neuer stent,

And lette the iealous put it in assay,

That for no paine woll I not say nay,

To loue him best, shall I neuer repent.

Herte to thee it ought ynough suffice,

That loue so high a grace to you sent,

To chose the worthies in all wi [...]e,

[Page] And most agreable vnto mine entent,

Seek no ferther, neither way ne went,

Sith ye haue suffisaunce vnto my pay,

Thus wol I end this complaining or this lay,

To loue him best shall I neuer repent.

¶Lenuoy.

Princes receiueth this complaining in gree,

Vnto your excellent benignite,

Direct after my litel suffisaunce,

For elde, that in my spirite dulleth mee,

Hath of enditing all the subtelte

Welnigh berafte out of my remembraunce:

And eke to me it is a great penaunce,

Sith rime in English hath soch scarcite,

To folow word by word the curiosite

Of Gransonflour, of hem y• make in Fraunce.

Explicit.

The Letter of Cupid.

This Letter was made by Thomas Occleve of the Office of the privy Seale, Chaucers Scholar; and was by him termed, A Treatise of the Conversation of Men and Women in the little Island of Albion; which got him such hatred among the Gentlewomen of the Court, that he was inforced to recant in that Book of his, called Planctas proprius.

CVpid, vnto whose commaundement,

The gentill kinrede of goddes on hie,

And people infernal been obedient,

And all mortall folke seruen busely,

Of the goddesse sonne Cythera onely,

To all tho that to our deite,

Been subjects, hertely greeting send we.

In general we woll that ye know,

That ladies of honour and of reuerence,

And other gentilwomen hauen sowe

Soch seed of complaint in our audience,

Of men that do hem outrage and offence,

That it our eares grieueth for to here,

So pitous is theffect of this matere,

Passing all londes, on the litell yle

That cleped is Albion, they most complaine,

They say that there is crop and rote of guile,

So con tho men dissimule and faine,

With standing dropes in her eyen twaine,

When that hertes feeleth no distresse,

To blinden women with her doublenesse,

Her words spoken be so sighingly,

With so pitous chere and countenaunce,

That euery wight that meaneth trewly,

Deemeth they in herte haue such greuaunce,

They say so importable is her penaunce,

That but her lady lust to shew hem grace,

They right anone must steruen in the place.

Ah lady mine, they say, I you ensure,

As doth me grace, and I shall euer be

(While that my life may last and endure)

To you as humble and low in ech degre,

As possible is, and keep all things as secre,

Right as your selfe list that I do,

And els mine herte mote brast in two.

* Ful hard it is to know a mans herte,

For outward may no man the trouth deme,

When word out of mouth may none sterte,

But it by reson semed euery wight to queme,

So it is said of herte as it would seme,

O faithful woman full of innocence,

Thou art disceiued by false apparence.

By processe moueth oft womans pite,

Wening all thing were as these men sey,

They graunt hem grace of her benignite,

For that men should not for her sake dey,

And with good hert sette hem in the wey

Of blisfull loue, keepe it if they conne,

And thus otherwhile women bethe ywonne.

And when this man y• pan hath by y• stele,

And fully is in his possessioun,

With y• woman keepeth he no more to dele,

After if he may finde in the toun

Any woman his blind affectioun

Vnto bestow, yuel mote he preue,

A man for all his othes is hard to beleeue.

* And for that euery false man hath a make,

As unto euery wight is light to know,

When this traitour this woman hath forsake,

He fast spedeth him unto his felow,

Til he be there his herte is on a low,

His false disceit may him not suffise,

But of his traison telleth all the wise.

Is this a faire auaunt, is this honour,

A man himself accuse thus and diffame,

Is it good to confesse himself a traitour?

And bring a woman to sclandrous name,

And tell how he her body hath do shame?

No worship may he thus to him conquer,

But great disclaunder vnto him and her.

To her nay, yet was it no reprefe,

For all for vertue was that she wrought,

But he that brewed hath all this mischefe,

That spake so faire, & fas [...]y inward thought,

His be the sclaunder, as it by reson ought,

And vnto her thanke perpetuell,

That in soch a need help can so well.

Although through mens sleight & subtilty,

A sely simple and innocent woman

Betraied is, no wonder sith the city

Of Troy, as the s [...]orie tell can,

Betrayed was through the disceit of man,

And set on fyre, & all downe ouerthrowe,

And finally destroied as men knowe.

Betray nat men cities great, and kings,

What wight is it that can shape remedy

[Page] Ayenst these falsely purposed things,

Who can by crafte soch craftes espy

But man, whose witt is ever redy taply

To thing that sowning is to falshede?

Women bethe ware of false men I rede.

And farthermore have these men in vsage,

That where they nat likely been to speed,

Soch as they ben, with a double visage,

They procuren for to pursewe her need,

He prayeth him in his cause to proceed,

And largely guerdoneth he his travaile,

Litel wote women how men hem assaile.

Another wretch vnto his felow saith,

Thou fishest faire, she that thee hath fired

Is false inconstaunt, and hath no faith,

She for the rode of folke is so desired,

And as an horse fro day to day she is hired,

That when thou twinnest fro her company,

Commeth another, and blered is thine eye.

Now pricke on fast, and ride thy journey

While thou art there, for she behind thy back

So liberall is, she woll nothing withsey,

But smattly of another take a smack,

Thus fare these women all the pack,

* Who so hem trusteth hanged mote he bee,

Ever they desire chaunge and nolveltee.

Whereof proceedeth this, but of envy?

For he himselfe her ne winne may,

He speaketh her reprefe and villany,

As mans blabbing tonge is wont alway,

Thus divers men full oft make assay

For to distourbe folke in sondry wise,

For they may not obtaine her emprise.

Many one eke would for no good,

That hath in love his time spent and vsed,

Men wish that his lady his asking withstood,

Ere that he were of her plainly refused,

Or waste and vaine all that he had mused,

Wherefore he can none other remedy,

But on his lady shaperh him to ly.

Cvery woman he saith is light to gete,

Can none say nay, if she be well ysought,

Who so may leiser have with her to trete,

Of his purpose shall he fayle nought,

But he on madnesse be so depe brought,

That he shende all with open homelynesse,

That loven women, they doten as I gesse.

To slaunder women thus what may profite,

To gentillesse namely, that hem arme should

In defence of women, and hem delite,

As that the ordre of gentillesse wold,

If that a man list gentill to be hold,

* He must all eschewe y• thereto is contrary,

A sclaundrous tonge is his great adversary.

A foule vice is, of tonge to be light,

For who so moch clappeth gabbeth oft,

The tonge of man so swift is and so wight,

That when it is reised vp on loft,

Reason is shewed so slowly and soft

That it him never ouertake may,

Lord so these men been trusty in assay.

Albeit that men find one woman nice,

Inconstaunt, rechlesse, and variable,

Deignous, proude, fulfilled of mallice,

Without faith, or love, and disceivable,

Sly, queint, false, in all vntrust coulpable,

Wicked, feirse, or full of cruelte,

Yet followeth it not that soch all women be.

When y• high God aungels fourmed had,

Among hem all were there none

That founden was malicious and bad?

Yet all men wote there were many one

That for her pride fill fro heven anone,

Shuld men for thy yeve al angels proud name

Nay, he that thee susteineth is to blame.

Of twelve Apostles, one a traitour was,

The remnant yet good were and trew:

So if it hap men find percaas,

O woman false, soch, good is to eschew,

And deme not yt they all therfore be vntrewe,

* I see well mens owne falsenesse,

Hem causeth women to trust the lesse.

O every man ought have an herte tendre

Vnto a woman, and deeme her honorable,

Where his shape be thicke or slendre,

Or he be good or badde, it is no fable:

Every wight wote, that wit hath resonable,

That of a woman he discended is,

Then is it shame of her to speake amisse.

A wicked tree good fruite may none forth bring,

For soch the fruite is as is the tree,

Take heed of whom thou toke thy beginning,

Let thy mother be mirrour vnto thee,

Honour her, if thou wolte honoured bee,

Dispise her then not in no manere,

Lest that thereby thy wickednesse appere.

An old proverbe sayd is in English,

* That bird or foule is full dishonest,

What that he be, and hold full churlish,

That vseth to defoule his owne nest:

Men to say well of women it is the best,

And naught to dispise hem ne depraue,

If they woll her honour keep or saue.

The ladies ever complain hem on clerks,

That they have made bookes of her diffame,

In which they dispise women & her werks,

And speak of hem great reprofe and shame,

And causelesse yeve hem a wicked name,

Thus they dispised be on every side,

Disclaundred and blowen on full wide.

Tho sory bookes maken mencion

How women betraide in especiall,

Adam, David, Sampson, and Salomon,

And many one mo, who may reherse hem all,

The treason that they have do and shall,

The world her malice may not comprehend,

As clerkes saine, for it hath none end.

[Page]

Ouide in his boke called Remedy

Of loue, great reprofe of women writeth,

Wherein I trowe he did great foly,

And euery wight yt in soch case him deliteth,

A clerkes custome is when he enditeth,

Of women, be it prose, time, or vers,

Say they be wicked, all know he the reuers.

And y• boke scholers lerned in her childhede,

For they of women beware should in age,

And to loue hem euer be in drede,

Sith to disceiue is set all her corage,

They say, of perel men should cast thauauntage,

Namely of soch as men haue in bewrapped,

For many a man by women hath mishapped.

No charge is what so these clerkes saine,

Of all her writing I doe no cure,

All her labour and trauayle is in vaine,

For betweene me and my lady nature,

Shall not be suffred, while y• world may dure

Thus these clerkes by her cruell tyranny,

On selie women kithen her maistry.

Whilom for many of hem were in my cheine

Tied, and now for vnwedly age,

And vnlust, may not to loue atteine,

And saine now that loue is but very dotage,

Thus for they hemselfe lacken courage,

They folke excite by her wicked sawes,

For to rebell ayenst me, and my lawes.

But mauger hem that blame women most

Such is the force of mine impression,

That sodainly I can fell her boste,

And all her wrong imagination,

It shall not be in her election,

The foulest [...]lutte in all the toune to refuse,

If that me lust, for all that they con muse.

But her in herte as brenningly desire,

As though she were a duchesse or a queene,

So can I folkes hertes set on sire,

And as me list send hem joy or teene,

They that to women be whet so kene,

My sharpe persing strokes how they smite,

Shul fele and know, how they kerue & bite.

Parde this clerke, this subtill Ouide,

And many another disceiued haue be,

Of women, as it is know full wide,

What no men more, & that is great deinty,

So excellent a clerke as was he,

And other mo that couden full well preach,

Betrapped were, for aught yt they coud teach.

And trusteth well that it is no maruaile,

For women knowen plainly her entent,

They wist how softly they coud assaile

Hem, and what falshede they in hert mente,

And thus they clerkes in her daunger hente,

* With o venime another is destroied,

And thus these clerkes oft were anoied.

These ladies, ne these gentiles neuerthelesse,

Were none of tho that wrought in this wise,

But soch as were vertulesse,

They quitten thus these old clerkes wise,

To clerkes lesse ought suffise,

Then to dispraue women generally,

For worship shull they none gette thereby.

If that these men, that louers hem pretend,

To women were faithfull, good, and true,

And dredde hem to disceiue, or to offend,

Women to loue hem would not eschue,

* But euery day hath man an herte newe,

It on one abide can no while,

What forse is it such a wight to beguile.

Men beare eke women vpon hond,

That lightly and without any paine

They wonen be, they can no wight withstond,

That his disease list to hem complaine,

They be so freele, they may hem not refraine,

But who so liketh hem, may lightly haue,

So be her hertes easie into graue.

To maister Iohan de Moone, as I suppose

Then it was a leude occupacioun,

In making of the Romante of the rose,

So many a sigh imaginacioun,

And perilies for to rollen vp and doun,

The long processe, so many a slight cautell,

For to disceiue a sely damosell.

Nought can I say, ne my wit comprehend,

That art pain, and subtilty should saile,

For to conquere, and sone make an end,

When men a feble place shall assaile,

And sone also to vanquish a battaile,

Of which no wight may make resistence,

Ne herte hath none to make any defence.

Then mote follow of necessitee,

Sith art asketh so great engine and paine,

A woman to disceiue what so she bee,

Of constaunce be they not so baraine,

As that some of these clarkes saine,

But they be as women ought to bee,

Sadde, constant, and fulfilled of pitee.

How frendly was Medea to Iason,

In conquering of the Flece of gold,

How falsly quit he her true affection,

By whom victory he gate as he wold,

How may this man for shame be so bold

To falsen her, that fro his death and shame

Him kept, and gate him so great prise & name.

Of Troy also the traitour Eneas,

The faithlesse wretch, how he him forswore

To Dido, that queene of Cartage was,

That him releued of his smertes sore,

What gentillesse might she haue do more,

Then she with herte vnfained to him kidde,

And what mischief to her therof after betidde.

In my legend of natures may men find,

Who so liketh therein for to rede,

That othe ne behest may man bind,

Of reprouable shame haue they no drede,

[Page] In mannes herte trouth hath no stede,

The soil is naught, there may no trouth grow,

To women namely it is not vnknow.

Clerkes saine also there is no malice,

Vnto womans wicked crabbidnesse,

O woman, how shalt thou thy self cheuice,

Sith men of thee soch harme witnesse,

Beth ware women of her sikelnesse,

Kepe thine owne, what men clappe or crake,

And some of hem shall smart I vndertake.

Malice of women what is it to drede,

They slea no man, destroy no citees,

Ne oppresse folke, ne ouerlede,

Betray Empires, Realmes, or Duchees,

Ne bireuen men her lands ne her mees,

Enpoison folke, ne houses set on fire,

Ne false contracts make for no hire.

Trust, parfite loue, entire charitee,

Feruent will, and entalented corage,

All thewes good, as sitteth well to bee,

Haue women euer of custome and vsage,

And well they conne mans ire asswage,

With soft words, discrete & benigne,

What they be inward, they shew outward by signe.

Womans herte vnto no cruelty

Enclined is, but they be charitable,

Pitous, deuoute, full of humility,

Shame fast, debonaire, and amiable,

Dredefull, and of wordes measurable,

What women these haue not parauenture,

Followeth not the way of her nature.

Men saine our first mother nathelesse

Made all mankind lese his libertee,

And naked it of joy doubtlesse,

For Goddes heste disobeyed she,

When she presumed to taste of the tree

That God forbad that she eate therof should,

And ne had the deuill be, no more she would.

The enuious swelling, that y• fend our foe,

Had vnto man in herte for his wealth,

Sent a serpent, and made her for to goe

To disceiue Eue: & thus was mans wealth

Birafte him by the fende in a stealth,

The woman not knowing of that disceipt,

God wote full ferre was it from her conceipt.

Wherfore I say, this good woman Eue,

Our father Adam disceiued nought,

There may no man for disceipt it preue,

Properly, but that she in herte and thought,

Had it compassed first or she it wrought,

And for soch was not her impression,

Men may it call no disceipt of her, by reason.

Ne no wight disceiueth, but he purpose

The fend this disceipt cast, and nothing she:

Then is it wrong to deeme or suppose,

That of his harme she should the cause be,

Wyte the fende, and his be the maugre,

And excused haue her innocence,

Saue onely that she brake obedience.

And touching this, full fewe men there be,

Vnnethes any dare I safely say,

Fro day to day, as men may all day see,

But that the heste of God they disobay,

Haue this in mind sirs I you pray,

If that ye be discrete and reasonable,

Ye woll her hold the more excusable.

And where men say, in man is stedfastnesse,

And woman is of her courage vnstable:

Who may of Adam beare soch a witnesse?

Telleth me this, was he not chaungeable?

They both weren in o case semblable,

Saue willing the fende disceiued Eue,

And so did she not Adam, by your leue.

Yet was this sinne happy to mankind,

The fende disceiued was for all his sleight,

For aught he coud him in his sleights wind:

For his trespace, came fro heauen on height

God, to discharge man of his weight,

Flesh and blood tooke of a virgine,

And suffred death, him to deliuer of pine.

And God, to whom there may nothing hid be,

If he in woman knowen had soch malice,

As men recorde of hem in generalte,

Of our Lady of life reperatrice,

Nolde haue be borne, but that she of vice

Was voide, and full of vertue well he wist,

Endowed, of her to be borne him list.

Her heaped vertue hath soch excellence,

That all to leane is mans faculte

To declare it, and therefore in suspence,

Her due praysing put needs must be,

But thus I say, verely that she

Next God, best frend is that to man longeth,

The key of mercy by her girdle hongeth.

And of mercy hath euery man soch need,

That resing that, farewell the joy of man,

And of her power now taketh right good heed

She mercy may well, and purchase can,

Displeaseth her not, honoureth that woman,

And other women all for her sake,

And but ye doe, your sorow shall awake.

In any booke also where can ye find,

That of the werkes of death or of life

Of Iesu, spelleth or maketh any mind,

That women him forsoke, for wo or strife?

Where was there any wight so ententife

About him, as woman? proued none,

The Apostles him forsoken euerichone.

Women forsoke him not, for all the fayth

Of holy church in woman left onely,

This is no lees, for thus holy writ sayth,

Looke and ye shall so finde it hardely:

And therefore I may well preue thereby,

* That in woman reigneth stable constaunce,

And in men is the chaunge of variaunce.

Thou precious gem of martirs, Margarite,

That of thy blood dredest none effusion,

Thou louer true, thou maiden mansuete,

[Page] Thou constant woman in thy passion,

Ouercame the fendes temptacion,

And many a wight converted thy doctrine

Vnto the faith of holy God thou virgine.

But vnderstandeth this, I onely commend her nought

By encheson of her virginity,

Trusteth it came never in my thought,

For ever werre I ayenst chastity,

And ever shall, but lo this meveth me,

Her loving herte, and constant to her lay,

Drive out of remembraunce I ne may.

Now holdeth this for ferme, and for no ly,

That this true and just commendacion

Of women, tel I for no flattery,

Ne bicause of pride or elacion,

But onely lo, for this entencion,

To yeve hem courage of perse veraunce

In vertue, and her honour to avaunce.

* The more vertue, the lasse is the pride,

Vertue so digne is and so noble in kind,

That vice and he woll not in fere abide,

He putteth vices cleane out of his mind,

He flieth fro hem, he leaveth hem behind,

O woman that of vertue art hostresse,

Great is thy honour and thy worthinesse.

Then woll I thus conclude and define,

We you commaund our ministers echone,

That ready ye be our hestes to encline,

That of these false men our rebell fone,

Ye do punishment and that anone,

Voide hem our court, & banish hem for ever,

So that therein more come they never.

Fulfilled be it, ceasing all delay,

Looke there be none excusacion,

Written in the lusty moneth of May,

In our paleis where many a million

Of lovers true have habitation,

The yere of grace joyfull and jocond,

A thousand foure hundred and second.

Explicit.

A Ballade in Commendation of our Lady.

A Thousand stories coud I mo rehearce

Of old Poetes, touching this matere

How that Cupide the hertes gan so pearce,

Of his servauntes setting hem in fere,

Lo here the fyne of therrour and the fere,

Lo here of love the guerdon and greuaunce,

That ever wth wo her seruaunts do auaunce.

Wherfore now plainly I wol my stile dresse

Of one to speake, at need that woll not faile,

Alas for dole I ne can ne may expresse

Her passing prise, and that is no mervaile,

O winde of grace, now blowe unto my saile,

O auriate licour of Cleo for to write,

My penne euspire of that I woll endite.

Alas, unworthy I am and unable

To love soch one, all women surmounting,

But she be benigne to me and merciable,

That is of pity the well and eke the spring,

Wherefore of her in laude and in praising,

So as I can, supported by her grace,

Right thus I say, kneeling tofore her face.

O sterre of sterres with thy streames clere,

Sterre of the sea, to shipmen light and gide,

O lusty living most pleasaunt to appere,

Whose bright beams y• cloudes may not hide,

O way of life to them that go or ride,

Hauen after tempest surest vp to riue,

On me haue mercy for thy joyes fiue.

O rightful rule, O bote of holinesse,

And lightsome line of pity for to plain,

Original beginning of grace & all goodnesse,

And cleanest conduit of vertue most souerain

Mother of Mercy, our trouble to restrain,

Chamber and closet clennest of chastity,

And named her brough of the deity.

O closet garden all void of weedes wicke,

Cristallin welle, of clerenesse clere consigned,

Fructified oliue of oiles, faire and thick,

And redolent Cedre most dere worthy digned

Remember on sinners yt to thee be assigned,

Or wicked fendes her wrath on hem wreche,

Lanterne of light thou her liues leche.

Paradise of pleasaunce, gladsome to al good,

Benigne braunchelet of the Pine tree,

Vinary enuermailed, refresher of our blood,

Licour ayen al langour, y• palled may not be,

Blisful blomy blosome, biding in bountee,

Thy mantel of mercy on our misery sprede,

And er wo awake wrap vs vnder thy wede.

O rody rosier, flouring without spine,

Fountain all filthlesse, as byrel currant clere,

Som drop of thy graceful dew to vs propine,

O light without nebule, shining in thy sphere,

Medicine to mischeues, pucel without pere,

Flame doun y• doleful light of thine influence,

Remembring thy seruants for thy magnificence.

Of all christen protectrice and tutele,

Retourne of exiled put in the proscripcion,

To hem yt erren in the pathe of her sequele,

To wery forwandred, tent and pauilion,

To faint and to fresh the pausacion,

Vnto vnresty, both rest and remedy,

Fruitful to all tho that in her affie.

To hem that rennen thou art itenerary,

O blisfull brauy to knights of thy warre,

To wery werkmen she is diourne denary,

Mede vnto mariners that haue sailed farre,

Laureate croune streming as a starre,

To hem yt put hem in palastre for thy sake,

Cours of her conquest, thou white as any lake.

O mirth of martyrs, sweter than Sitole,

Of Confessours also richest donatife,

[Page] Vnto virgines eternal Lauriole,

Afore all women hauing prerogarife,

Mother and maide, both widow and wife,

Of all the world is none but thou alone,

Now sith thou may, be succour to my mone.

O trustie turtle truefastest of all true,

O curteyse columbe, replete of all mekenesse,

O Nightingale with thy notes newe,

O Popiniay pured with all clennesse,

O laueroke of loue, singing with sweetnesse,

Phebus awaiting till on thy brest he light,

Vnder thy wing at domesday vs dight.

O ruby rubified in the passion

Of thy sonne, vs haue among in mind,

O stedfast diametre of duracion,

That few feres any time might thou find,

For none to his was founden half so kind,

O hardy herte, O louing creature,

What was it but loue y• made thee so endure.

Semely saphre, depe loupe & blew ewage,

Stable as the loupe ewage of pitee,

This is to say the freshest of visage,

Thou louest unchaunged hem y• seruen thee,

And if offence or varying in hem bee,

Thou art ay redy vpon her wo to rue,

And hem receiuest with herte full true.

O goodly gladded when that Gabriell

With joy thee grette, y• may not be nombred,

Or half the blisse who coude write or tell,

When the holy ghost to thee was obumbred,

Wherthrough fends were biterly encombred,

O wemlesse maide embelished in his birth,

That man & angell thereof hadden mirth.

Lo here the blosme & the budde of glory,

Of which the prophet so long spake beforne,

Lo here the fame that was in memory

Of Esay, so long or she was borne,

Lo here of Dauid the delicious corne,

Lo here the ground of life in to builde,

Becomming man our ransome for to yelde.

O glorious viole and vite inuiolate,

O firy Titan, persing with thy bemes,

Whose vertuous briȝtnes was in brest vibrat

That al the world embelished with y• leams,

Conseruatrice of kings, dukes, and realms,

Of Isaies seede sweet Sunamite,

Mesure my mourning mine own Margarite.

O soueraignest sought out of Sion,

Cockle with gold dewe from aboue berained,

Dew bush vnbrent firelesse fire set on,

Flaming with feruence not with heat pained,

During daisie that no weather stained,

Fleece vndefouled of Gentilest Gedion,

And fructifying fairest the yerd of Aaron.

The mighty arch, probatise pis [...]ine,

Laughing aurore, and of peace oliue,

Columpne and base, vp bearing from abym,

Why nere I conning here to discriue,

Chosen of Ioseph, whom he took to wiue,

Vnknowing him, childing by miracle,

And of our manly figure the tabernacle.

I haue none English conuenient & digne,

Mine hearts heale lady thee with to honour,

Iuory clean, therefore I will resigne

Into thine hand, till thou list soccour,

To helpe my making both florish and flour,

Then should I shew in loue how I brend.

In songs making, thy name to commend.

For if I coud before thine excellence

Singen in loue I would what I fele,

And euer standen Lady in thy presence,

To shew in open how I loue you wele,

And sith although your hert be made of stele,

To you withouten any disceueraunce,

J'ay on vous toute ma fiance.

Where might I loue euer better beset,

Than in this Lilly liking to behold

That lace of loue, the bond so well thou knit,

That I may see thee or mine hert cold,

And or I passe out of my daies old,

Tofore singing euermore vtterly,

Your eyen two wol slea me sodainly.

For loue I langour, blissed be soch sicknes,

Sith it is for you my hertily suffisaunce,

I can not els say in my distresse,

So faire one hath mine herte in gouernance,

And after that I begin on esperaunce,

With feble entune, though it thine hert perce,

Yet for thy sake this letter I do reherce.

God wote on musike I can not, but I gesse

Alas why so, that I might say or sing,

So loue I you mine own souerain maistresse,

And euer shall without departing,

Mirrour of beauty, for you out should I ring

In remembraunce eke of your eyen clere,

Thus fer from you my souerain Lady dere.

So would God your loue would me s [...]o,

Sith for your sake I sing day by day,

Herte why nilt thou breake atwo,

Sith with my lady dwell I ne may,

Thus many a roundell & many a virelay,

In fresh English, when I me laiser find,

I do record, on you to haue mind.

Now lady mine, sith I you loue & drede,

And you vnchaunged euer find in o degree,

Whose grace ne may fly fro your womanhede,

Disdaineth not for to remember on me,

Mine herte bleedeth for I may not you see,

And sith ye wote my meaning desirous,

Plores pour moy s'il vous plaist amoureus.

What maruaile is though I in pain be,

I am departed from you my soueraine,

Fortune alas, dont vient la destenie,

That in no wise I can ne may attaine

To see the beauty of your eyen twain,

Wherefore I say, for tristesse doth me grame,

Tant me fait mal departir de ma dame.

[Page]

Why nere my wissing brought to such esploit,

That I might say for joy of your presence,

Or a mon coeur ce quae voulloit,

Or a mon coeur, the highest excellence

That euer had wight, & sith mine aduertence

Is in you, reweth on my paines smert,

I am so sore wounded to the herte.

To liue well merry two louers were yfere,

So may I say withouten any blame,

If any man too wild were,

I coud him teach for to be tame,

Let him go loue, and see where it be game,

For I am bridled vnto sobernesse,

For her that is of women cheef princesse.

But euer when thought my hert shuld enbrace,

Then vnto me is best remedy,

When I look on your goodly fresh face,

So merry a mirrour coud I neuer espy,

And if I coud, I would it magnifie,

For neuer none was so faire ifound,

To reken hem all, and also Rosamound.

And finally, with mouth and will present

Of double eye without repentaunce,

Mine hert I yeue you Lady in this entent,

That ye shall holly therof haue gouernaunce,

Taking my leaue with herts obeysaunce,

(Salve regina) singing last of all,

To be our helpe when we to thee call.

All our loue is but idlenesse,

Saue your loue alone, who might thereto attaine,

Who so woll haue a name of gentillesse,

I coun [...]le him in loue that he not faine,

Thou sweet Lady, refute in euery paine,

Whose mercy most to me auaileth,

To gie by grace, when that fortune faileth.

Nought may be told withouten any fable,

Your high renome, your womanly beaute,

Your gouernaunce to all worship able,

Putteth euery herte in ease in his degree,

O violet, O floure desiree,

Sith I am for you so amerous,

Estreignes moy de coeur joyeus.

With feruent herte my brest hath brost on fire,

L'ardant espoer en mon coeur point est mort,

D'auoir l'amour de celle que je desire,

I meane you sweet most pleasaunt of port,

Et je say bien que ce n'est pas mon tort,

That for you sing, so as I may for mone

For your departing, alone I liue alone.

Though I might, I would none other chese,

In your seruice I would been founden sadde,

Therefore I loue no labour that ye lese,

When in longing forest ye be stadde,

Look vp you louers, and be right gladde

Ayenst saint Valentines day,

For I haue chese that neuer forsake I may.

Explicit.

John Gower unto the Noble King Henry the Fourth.

O Noble worthy King Henry the ferthe,

In whom the gladde fortune is befall,

The people to gouern here vpon earthe,

God hath thee chosen in comfort of vs all,

The worship of this land, which was doun fall,

Now stant vpright through grace of thy goodnesse,

Which euery man is holde for to blesse.

The high God of his justice alone,

The right which longeth to thy regaly,

Declared hath to stand in thy persone,

* And more than God may no man justifie,

Thy title is know vpon thine auncestrie,

The lands folke hath eke thy right affirmed,

So stant thy reign, of God & man confirmed.

There is no man may say in otherwise,

That God himself ne hath y• right declared,

Whereof the land is bound to thy seruice,

Which for defaut of helpe hath long cared,

But now there is no mans hert spared,

To loue & serue, and worch thy pleasaunce,

And all this is through Gods purueiaunce.

* In all thing which is of God begonne,

There followeth grace, if it be well gouerned,

Thus tellen they which old books conne,

Wherof my lord I wote well thou art lerned,

* Ask of thy God, so shalt thou not be warned

Of no request, which is reasonable,

For God vnto the good is fauourable.

King Salomon, which had at his asking,

Of God what thing him was leuest craue,

He chase wisdome vnto gouerning

Of Gods folke, the which he would saue,

And as he chase, it fill him for to haue,

For through his wit while yt his reign last,

He gate him peace and rest into his last.

But Alexander, as telleth his story,

Vnto the God besought in other way,

Of all the world to win the victory,

So that vnder his swerd it might obay,

In warre he had all that he would pray,

The mighty God behight him that behest

The world wanne, and had it of conquest.

But though it fill at thilke time so

That Alexander his asking hath atcheued,

This sinful worlde was all Painem tho,

Was none which hath y• high God beleued,

* No wonder was though thilk world was greued,

Though a tirant his purpose might win,

All was vengeaunce and infortune of sin.

But now the faith of Christ is come a place

Among the princes in this yearth here,

It sitte hem well to do pity and grace,

But yet it must be tempored in manere,

For they finden cause in the mattere

[Page] Vpon the point, what afterward betide,

The law of right shall not be laid aside.

So may a king of warre the voyage

Ordaine and take, as he thereto is hold,

To claime and ask his rightful heritage

In all places where it is withhold,

But otherwise if God himself wold,

Affirme loue & peace between the kings,

* Peace is y• best aboue all earthly things.

* Good is to eschew war, and nathelees,

A king may make war vpon his right,

For of battaile the final end is pees,

Thus stant the law, that a worthy knight

Vpon his trouth may go to the fight,

But if so were that he might chese,

Better is y• peace, of which may no man lese.

To stere peace ought euerich on liue,

First for to sette his leige lord in rest,

And eke these other men that they ne striue,

For so this land may stand at best,

* What king that would be the worthiest,

The more he might our deadly war cease,

The more he should his worthinesse increase.

* Peace is the chiefe of all the worlds welth,

And to the heauen it leadeth eke the way,

Peace is of soul and life the mannes health,

Of pestilence, and doth the war away,

My liege lord take heed of that I say,

If war may be left, take peace on hand,

Which may not be without goddes sand.

With peace stant euery creature in rest,

Without peace there may no life be glad,

Aboue all other good peace is the best,

Peace hath himself when werre is al bestad,

The peace is safe, the warre is euer drad,

Peace is of all charity the kay,

Which hath the life and soule for to way.

My liege lord, if that thee list to seech

The soth ensamples wt the war hath wrought

Thou shalt well here of wise mennes speech,

That deadly warre turneth into nought,

For if these old books be well ysought,

There miȝt thou se what thing y• war hath do,

Both of conquest and conquerour also.

For vain honour, or for the worlds good,

They that whilome the strong wars made,

Wher be they now, bethink well in thy mood,

* The day is gone, the night is derke & fade,

Her cruelty which made hem then glade,

They sorrowen now, & yet haue nauȝt y• more

The blood is shad, which no man mayrestore.

The warre is mother of the wrongs all,

It sleeth the priest in holy church at masse,

Forlith the maid, and doth her flour to fall,

The warre maketh the great city lasse,

And doth the law his rules ouerpasse,

Ther is nothing wherof mischeef may grow,

Which is not caused of the warre I trow.

* The war bringeth in pouerty at his heels,

Whereof the commen people is sore greued,

The war hath set his cart on thilk wheles,

Where that fortune may nat be beleued:

For when men wene best to haue atcheued,

Full oft it is all new to begin,

The warre hath nothing siker, tho he win.

For thy, my worthy prince in Christs halue,

As for a part, whose faith thou hast be guide,

Ley to this old sore a new saue,

And do the warre away, what so betide,

Purchase peace and set it by thy side,

And suffer nat thy people be deuoured,

So shal thy name euer after stand honoured.

If any man be now, or euer was,

Ayen the peace thy preuy counsailour,

Let God be of thy counsaile in this caas,

And put away the cruel warriour,

* For God which is of man the creatour,

He would not men slough his creature,

Without cause of deadly forfaiture.

* Where needeth most, behoueth most to looke,

My lord, how so thy wars be without,

Of time passed, who that heed tooke,

Good were at home to see right well about,

* For euermore, the worst is for to dout,

But if thou mightest parfite peace attaine,

There should be no cause for to plaine.

About a king good counsaile is to preise,

Aboue all other things most vailable,

But yet a king within himself shall peise,

And seene the things that be reasonable,

And there upon he shall his wits stable,

Among the men to set peace in euin,

For loue of him which is y• king of heuin.

* A, well is him that shed neuer blood,

But if it were in cause of rightwisenesse,

For if a king the peril vnderstood,

What is to slee the people, then I gesse,

The deadly warres and the heauinesse,

Whereof peace distourbed is full oft,

Should at some time cease and were soft.

O king, fulfilled of grace and knighthode,

Remember vpon this point for Christs sake,

If peace be profered vnto thy manhode,

Thine honour saue, let it not be forsake,

Though thou y• wars darst well vndertake,

After reason yet temper thy courage,

For like to peace there is none auauntage.

My worthy lord, think well how so befall

Of thilke lore, as holy books saine,

* Christ is the head, and we be members all,

As well the subject as the soueraigne,

So sitte it well, that charity be plaine,

Which vnto God himself most accordeth,

So as the lore of Christs word recordeth.

In the old law or Christ himselfe was bore,

Among the ten commaundements I rede,

[Page] How that manslaughter should be forbore,

Such was the wil that time of the godhede,

But afterward when Christ toke his manhede

Peace was y• first thing he let do cry

Ayenst the worlds rancour and enuy.

And or Christ went out of this earth here,

And stighed to heuin, he made his testament,

Where he bequeath to his disciples there,

And yaue his peace, which is y• foundement

Of charity, without whose assent

The worlds peace may neuer well be tried,

Ne loue kept, ne law iustified.

The Iews with y• painims hadden werre,

But they among hemself stode euer in peace,

Why should then our peace stand out of erre,

Which Christ hath chose vnto his own encrese,

For Christ is more than was Moyses,

And Christ hath set the parfite of the law,

The which should in no wise be withdraw.

* To yeue vs peace, was cause why Christ dide,

Without peace, may nothing stond auailed,

But now a man may see on euery side

How Christs faith is euery day assailed,

With painims destroyed and so batailed,

That for defaut of helpe and of defence,

Vnneth hath Christ his due reuerence.

The right faith to keepe of holy church,

The first point is named of knighthode,

And euery man is hold for to worch

Vpon the point that stant to his manhode:

But now alas, the fame is spred so brode,

That euery man this thing complaineth,

And yet is there no man that helpe ordaineth.

The worlds cause is waited ouer all,

There be the warres ready to the full,

But Christs own cause in speciall,

There ben the swerds and the speares dull,

And with the sentence of the Popes bull,

As for to done the folke paine obay,

The church is tourned all another way.

It is wonder aboue any mans wit,

Without war how Christs faith was won,

And we that be vpon this earth yet,

Ne keepe it nat as it was first begon,

To euery creature vnder the sonne

Christ bad himselfe that we should preach,

And to the folke his Euangely teach.

* More light it is to keep than to make,

But that we founden made tofore hond,

We keepe not, but let it lightly slake,

The peace of Christ hath al to broke his bond,

We rest our selfe, and suffren euery lond

To slee each other, as thing vndefended,

So stant the war, and peace is not amended.

But though the head of holy church aboue

Ne do not all his hole businesse,

Among the people to set peace & loue,

These kings oughten of her rightwisenesse

Her owne cause among hemselfe redresse,

* Tho Peters ship as now hath lost his stere,

It lithe in hem the barge for to stere.

If holy church after the duty

Of Christs word ne be nat all auised

To make peace, accord, and vnity

Among the kings that be now deuised,

Yet natheles the law stant assised

Of mans wit to be so reasonable,

Without that to stand himselfe stable.

Of holy church we ben children all,

And euery child is hold for to bow

Vnto the mother, how that ever it fall,

Or els he must reason disallow,

And for that cause a knight shall first auow

The right of holy church to defend,

That no man shall the priuiledge offend.

Thus were it good to set all in euin

The worlds princes and the prelates both,

For loue of him which is the king of heuin,

And if men should algate wexen wroth,

The sarazins, which vnto Christ ben loth,

Let men be armed ayenst hem to fight,

So may the knight his deed of armes right.

Vpon iii. points stant Christs peace oppressed,

First holy church in her selfe deuided,

Which ought of reason first to be redressed,

But yet so high a cause is not decided,

And thus when humble patience is prided,

The remenaunt which that they should rule,

No wonder is though it stand out of rule.

* Of that the head is sicke, the limmes aken,

These reigns that to Christs peace belongen,

For worlds good these deadly wars maken,

Which helpelesse, as in balaunce hongen,

The head aboue hem hath nat vnderfongen

To set peace, but euery man sleeth other,

And in this wise hath charity no brother.

The two defauts that bringen in the third,

Of miscreants that seene how we debate,

Between the two, they fallen in amid,

Where now all day they find an open gate,

Lo, thus the deadly warre stant algate,

But euer I hope of king Henries grace,

That he it is which shall the peace embrace.

My worthy noble prince and king annoint,

Whom God hath of his grace so preserued,

Behold and see the world vpon this point,

As for thy part, that Christs peace be serued,

So shall thy high mede be deserued,

To him which all shall quite at last,

* For this life here may no while last.

See Alexander, Hector, and Iulius,

See Machabeus, Dauid, and Iosue,

See Charlemaiue, Godefray, and Arthus,

Fulfilled of warre and of mortality,

Her fame abitte, but all is vanity,

For death, which hath the warres vnder foot,

Hath made an end, of which there is no boot.

[Page]

So many a man the soth wete and know,

That peace is good for euery king to haue,

* The fortune of the warre is euer vnknow,

But where peace is, there is y• marches saue,

That now is vp, to morrow is vnder graue,

* The mighty God hath all grace in hand,

Without him men may not long stand.

At the tennes to win or lese a chase,

May no life wete or that the ball be ronne,

* Al stant in God, wt thing men shal purchase,

The end is in him or that it be begonne,

* Men saine the woll when it is well sponne,

Doth that the cloth is strong and profitable,

And els it may neuer be durable.

The worlds chaunces vpon auenture

Ben euer set, but thilke chaunce of pees

Is so behouely to the creature,

That is aboue all other peerlees,

But it may not beget nathelees

Among the men to last any while,

But where the hert is plaine without guile.

The peace is as it were a sacrament

Tofore the God, and shall with words plaine,

Without any double entendement

Be treated, for the trouth cannot faine,

* But if the men within himselfe ben vaine,

The substaunce of the peace may not be trew,

But euery day it chaungeth vpon new.

But who that is of charity parfite,

He voideth all sleights ferre away,

And set his word vpon the same plite,

Where that his hert hath found a siker way,

And thus when conscience is truly way,

And that these ben handled with the wise,

It shall abide, and stand in all wise.

The Apostle saith, * Ther may no life be good

Which is not grounded vpon charity,

For charity ne shed neuer blood,

So hath the warre as there no property,

For thilke vertue which is said pity,

With charity so ferforth is acquainted,

That in her may no false semblant be painted.

Cassodore, whose writing is authorised,

Saith: * Where that pity reigneth, is grace,

Through which y• peace hath al his welth assised,

So that of warre he dredeth no manace,

Where pity dwelleth in the same place,

There may no deadly cruelty sojourne,

Wherof that mercy should his way tourne.

To see what pity forthwith mercy doth,

The cronique is at Rome in thilke empire

Of Constantine, which is a tale sooth,

When him was leuer his owne death desire,

Than do the yong children to martire,

Of cruelty he left the quarele,

Pity he wrought, and pity was his hele.

For thilke mans pity which he dede,

God was pitous, and made him hole at all,

Siluester came, and in the same stede

Yaue him baptisme first in speciall,

Which did away the sinne originall,

And all his lepre it hath so purified,

That his pity for euer is magnified.

Pity was cause why this Emperour

Was hole in body and in soule both,

And Rome also was set in thilke honour

Of Christs faith, so that they leue or loth,

Which hadden be with Christ tofore wroth,

Receiued were vnto Christs lore,

Thus shall pity be praised euermore.

My worthy liege lord, Henry by name,

Which England hast to gouerne and right,

Men ought well thy pity to proclaime,

Which openliche in all the worlds sight

Is shewed, with the helpe of God almight,

To yeue vs peace, which long hath be debated,

Whereof thy prise shall neuer be abated.

My lord, in whome hath euer yet be found

Pity, without spot of violence,

Keepe thilke peace alway within bound,

Which God hath planted in thy conscience,

So shall the cronique of thy patience

Among the saints be taken into memory

To the legend of perdurable glory.

And to thine earthly prise, so as I can,

Which euery man is hold to commend,

I Gower, which am all thy liege man,

This letter vnto thine excellence I send,

As I which euer vnto my liues end

Woll pray for the state of thy persone,

In worship of thy scepter and thy throne.

Not onely to my king, of peace I write,

But to these other princes Christen all,

That ech of hem his owne hert endite,

And sease the warre or more mischeefe fall,

Set eke the rightfull Pope vpon his stall,

Keepe charity, and draw pity to hand,

Maintaine law, and so the peace shall stand.

Explicit carmen de pacis commendatione, quod ad laudem & memoriam seremssimi principis domini regis Henrici Quarti, suus humilis orator Johannes Gower composuit.

§

Electus Christi, pie rex Henrici fuisti

Qui bene venisti, cum propria regna petisti

Tu mala vicistique bonis bona restituisti

Et populo tristi, nova gaudia contribuisti

Est mihi spes lata, quod adhuc per te renovata

Succedent fata, veteri probitare beata

Est tibi nam grata, gratia sponte data.

Henrici quarti, primus regni fuit annus

Quo mihi defecit visus ad acta mea,

Omnia tempus habent finem natura ministrat

Quem virtute sua frangere nemo potest,

Ultra posse nihil quamvis mihi velle remansit

Amplius ut scribam non mihi posse manet,

Dum potui scripsi, sed nunc quia curva senectus,

Turbavit sensus scripta relinquo scholis,

[Page] Scribat qui veniet post me discretior alter.

Ammodo namque manus & mea penna silent,

Hoc tamen in fine verborum queso meorum,

Prospera quod statuat regna futura Deus.

Explicit.

¶A Saying of Dan Iohn.

THere be foure thinges that maketh man foole,

Honour first putteth him in outrage,

And alder next, solitary and soole,

The second is unweldy crooked age,

Women also bring men in dotage,

And mighty wine in many diuers wise

Distempren folke which been holden wise.

¶Yet of the same.

THere ben four things causing great foly,

Honour first, and vnwildy age,

Women and wine I dare eke specifie,

Make wise men fallen in dotage,

Wherfore by counsail of Philosophers sage,

In great honour learne this of me,

With thine estate have humilite.

Balade de bon consail.

IF it befall that God thee list visite

With any tourment or adversite,

Thanke firste the lord, and thy selfe to quite,

Vpon suffraunce and humilite

Found thou thy quarell, what ever that it be:

Make thy defence, & thou shalt have no losse,

The remembrance of Christ and of his crosse.

Explicit.

Of the Cuckow and the Nightingale.

Chaucer dreameth that he heareth the Cuckow and the Nightingale contend for excellency in singing.

* THE God of love and benedicite,

How mighty & howe great a lord is he,

For he can make of low herts hy,

And of high low, and like for to dy,

And hard herts he can maken free.

He can make within a little stound

Of sicke folke hole, fresh, and sound,

And of hole he can make seeke,

He can bind and vnbinden eke

That he woll have bounden or vnbound.

To tell his might my wit may not suffice,

For he can make of wise folke full nice,

For he may do all that he woll device,

And lithy folke to destroyen vice,

And proud herts he can make agrise.

Shortly all that ever he woll he may,

Against him dare no wight say nay,

For he can glad and greve whom him liketh,

And who that he woll, he lougheth or siketh,

And most his might he shedeth ever in May.

For every true gentle heart free,

That with him is or thinketh for to be,

Againe May now shall have some stering,

Or to joy or els to some mourning,

In no season so much, as thinketh me.

For when they may here the birds sing,

And see the floures and the leaves spring,

That bringeth into her remembraunce

A manner ease, medled with grevaunce,

And lustie thoughts full of great longing.

And of that longing commeth hevinesse,

And thereof groweth of great sicknesse,

And for lacke of that that they desire,

And thus in May ben herts set on fire,

So that they brennen forth in great distresse.

I speake this of feeling truly,

If I be old and vnlusty,

Yet I have felt of the sicknesse through May

Both hote and cold, and axes every day,

How sore ywis there wote no wight but I.

I am so shaken with the fevers white,

Of all this May sleepe I but a lite,

And also it is not like to me,

That any heart should sleepy be,

In whom that love his firy dart woll smite.

But as I lay this other night waking,

I thought how lovers had a tokening,

And among hem it was a commune tale,

That it were good to here the Nightingale,

Rather than the leud Cuckow sing.

And then I thought anon as it was day,

I would go some where to assay

If that I might a Nightingale here,

For yet had I none heard of all that yere,

And it was tho the third night of May.

And anone as I the day aspide,

No lenger would I in my bed abide,

But vnto a wood that was fast by,

I went forth alone boldely,

And held the way downe by a brooke side.

Till I came to a laund of white and green,

So faire one had I never in been,

The ground was green, ypoudred with daisie

The floures and the greues like hy,

All greene and white, was nothing els seene.

There sate I downe among y• faire flours,

And saw the birds trip out of her bours,

There as they rested hem all the night,

They were so joyfull of the dayes light,

They began of May for to done hours.

[Page]

They coud that seruice all by rote,

There was many a louely note,

Some song loud as they had plained,

And some in other manner voice yfained,

And some all out with the full throte.

They proyned hem, & made hem right gay,

And daunceden and lepten on the spray,

And euermore two and two in fere,

Right so as they had chosen hem to yere

In Feuerere vpon saint Valentines day.

And the riuer that I sate vpon,

It made such a noise as it ron,

Accordaunt with the birds armony,

Me thought it was the best melody

That might ben yheard of any mon.

And for delite, I wote neuer how

I fell in such a slomber and a swow,

Nat all asleepe, ne fully waking,

And in that swow me thought I heard sing

The sorry bird the leaud cuckow.

And that was on a tree right fast by,

But who was then euill apaid but I:

Now God (qd. I) that died on the crois,

Yeue sorrow on thee, and on thy leaud vois,

Full little joy haue I now of thy cry.

And as I with the cuckow thus gan chide,

I heard in the next bush beside

A nightingale so lustely sing,

That with her clere voice she made ring

Through all the greene wood wide.

Ah, good nightingale (qd. I then)

A little hast thou ben too song hen,

For here hath ben the leaud cuckow,

And songen songs rather than hast thou,

I pray to God euill fire her bren.

But now I woll you tell a wonder thing,

As long as I lay in that swouning,

Me thought I wist what the birds ment,

And what they said, & what was her entent,

And of her speech I had good knowing.

There heard I the nightingale say,

Now good cuckow go somewhere away,

And let vs that can singen dwellen here,

For euery wight escheueth thee to here,

Thy songs be so elenge in good fay.

What (qd. she) what may thee aylen now,

It thinketh me, I sing as well as thou,

For my song is both true and plaine,

And though I cannot crakell so in vaine,

As thou dost in thy throte, I wot neuer how.

And euery wight may vnderstand mee,

But nightingale so may they not done thee,

For thou hast many a nice queint cry,

I haue thee heard saine, ocy, ocy,

How might I know what that should be?

Ah foole (qd. she) wost thou not what it is,

When that I say, ocy, ocy, ywis,

Then meane I that I would wonder faine,

That all they were shamefully yslaine,

That meanen ought againe loue amis.

And also I would that all tho were dede,

That thinke not in loue her life to lede,

For who so y• wol not the God of loue serue,

I dare well say he is worthy to sterue,

And for that skill, ocy, ocy, I grede.

Eye (qd. the cuckow) this is a queint law,

That euery wight shall loue or be to draw,

But I forsake all such companie,

For mine entent is not for to die,

Ne neuer while I liue on loues yoke to draw.

* For louers ben the folke that ben on liue,

That most disease haue, and most vnthriue,

And most endure sorrow, wo, and care,

And least feelen of welfare,

What needeth it ayenst trouth to striue.

What (qd. she) thou art out of thy mind,

How might thou in thy churlenesse find

To speake of loues seruaunts in this wise,

For in this world is none so good seruise

To euery wight that gentle is of kind.

For thereof truly commeth all goodnesse,

All honour, and all gentlenesse,

Worship, ease, and all hearts lust,

Parfite joy, and full assured trust,

Iolitie, pleasaunce, and freshnesse,

Lowlyhead, largesse, and curtesie,

Semelyhead, and true companie,

Drede of shame for to done amis:

* For he that truly loues seruaunt is,

Were lother be shamed than to die.

And that this is sooth that I sey,

In that beleeue I will liue and dey,

And cuckow so I rede that thou do ywis:

Then (qd. he) let me neuer haue blisse,

If euer I vnto that counsaile obey.

Nightingale thou speakest wonder faire,

But for all that is the sooth contraire,

* For loue is in yong folke but rage,

And in old folke a great dotage,

Who most it vseth, most shall enpaire.

* For thereof cometh disease & heuinesse,

So sorow & care, and many a great sicknesse,

Despite, debate, anger, and enuie,

Deprauing, shame, vntrust, and jelousie,

Pride, mischeefe, pouerty, and woodnesse.

* Louing is an office of despaire,

And one thing is therein that is not faire,

For who that getteth of loue a little blisse,

But if he be alway therewith ywis,

He may full soone of age haue his haire.

[Page]

And Nightingale therefore hold thee ny,

For leue me well, for all thy queint cry,

If thou be ferre or long fro thy make,

Thou shalt be as other that been forsake,

And then thou shalt hoten as doe I.

Fie (qd. she) on thy name and on thee,

The god of Loue ne let thee neuer ythee,

For thou art worse a thousandfold than wood,

* For many one is full worthy and full good,

That had be naught ne had loue ybee.

* For euermore loue his seruants amendeth,

And from all euill taches hem defendeth,

And maketh hem to brenne right in a fire,

In trouth and in worshipfull desire,

And when him liketh, joy inough hem sendeth.

Thou Nightingale he said, be still,

* For loue hath no reason, but it is will,

For oft time vntrue folke he easeth,

And true folke so bitterly he displeaseth,

That for defaut of courage he let hem spill.

Then tooke I of the Nightingale keepe,

How she cast a sigh out of her deepe,

And said, alas that euer I was bore,

I can for tene not say one word more,

And right with y• word she brast out to weepe.

Alas (qd. she) my hert woll to breake,

To hearen thus this leaud bird speake

Of loue, and of his worshipfull seruise,

Now God of loue thou help me in some wise,

That I may on this Cuckow been awreake.

Me thought then he stert vp anone,

And glad was I that he was agone,

And euermore the Cuckow as he flay,

Said farewell, farewell Popingay,

As though he had scorned me alone.

And then came the Nightingale to mee,

And said, friend forsooth I thanke thee,

That thou hast liked me to rescow,

And one auow to loue make I now,

That all this May I woll thy singer be.

I thanked her, and was right well apaied:

Ye (qd. she) and be thou not dismaied,

Tho thou haue herd y• Cuckow erst than me,

For if I liue, it shall amended be

The next May, if I be not affraied.

And one thing I woll rede thee also,

Ne leue thou not y• Cuckow, ne his loues so,

For all that he hath said is strong leasing:

Nay (qd. I) thereto shall nothing me bring,

For loue and it hath doe me much wo.

Ye, vse (qd. she) this medicine

Euery day this May or thou dine,

Go looke vpon the fresh Daisie,

And though thou be for wo in point to die,

That shall full greatly [...]essen thee of thy pine.

And looke alway that thou be good and trew,

And I woll sing one of the songs new

For loue of thee, as loud as I may crie:

And then she began this song full hie,

I shrew all hem that been of loue vntrue.

And when she had song it to the end,

Now farewell (qd. she) for I mote wend,

And god of loue, that can right well, & may,

As much joy send thee this day,

As any yet louer he euer send.

Thus taketh y• Nightingale her leaue of me,

I pray to God alway with her be,

And joy of loue he send her euermore,

And shilde vs fro the Cuckow and his lore,

For there is not so false a bird as he.

Forth she flew the gentle Nightingale

To all the birds that were in that dale,

And gate hem all into a place in fere,

And besoughten hem that they would here

Her disease, and thus began her tale.

The Cuckow, well it is not for to hide

How the Cuckow and I fast haue chide,

Euer sithen it was day light,

I pray you all that ye doe me right

On that foule false vnkind bridde.

Then spake o bird for all, by one assent,

This matter asketh good auisement,

For we been birdes here in fere,

And sooth it is, the Cuckow is not here,

And therefore we woll haue a parliment.

And thereat shall the Egle be our Lord,

And other peres that been of record,

And the Cuckow shall be after sent,

There shall be yeue the judgement,

Or els we shall finally make accord.

And this shall be without nay

The morrow after saint Valentines day,

Vnder a Maple that is faire and grene,

Before the chamber window of the quene,

At Woodstocke vpon the grene lay.

She thanked hem, & then her leaue toke,

And into an Hauthorne by that broke,

And there she sate and song vpon that tree,

Terme of life loue hath withhold me,

So loud that I with that song awoke.

Explicit.

§

O Leud book with thy foule rudenesse,

Sith thou haste neither beauty ne eloquence,

Who hath thee caused or yeue thee hardinesse

For to appeare in my Ladies presence,

I am full siker thou knowest her beneuolence,

Full agreeable to all her abying,

For of all good she is the best liuing.

Alas that thou ne haddest worthinesse,

To shew to her some pleasaunt sentence,

[Page] Sith that she hath through her gentillesse

Accepted the seruant to her digne reuerence,

O, me repenteth that I ne had science

And leiser als, to make thee more florishing,

For of all good she is the best liuing.

Beseech her meekely with all lowlinesse,

Though I be ferre from her in absence,

To think on my trouth to her & stedfastnesse,

And to abridge of my sorrowes the violence,

Which caused is, wherof knoweth your sapience,

She like among to notifie me her liking

For of all good she is the best liuing.

Lenuoye.

A Vrore of gladnesse, and day of lustinesse,

Lucern a night with heauenly influence

Illumined, root of beauty and goodnesse,

Suspires which I effunde in silence,

Of grace I beseech alledge let your writing,

Now of all good, sith ye be best liuing.

Explicit.

Scogan unto the Lords and Gentlemen of the Kings House.

In the written Copies the Title hereof is thus: Here followeth a moral Ballad to the Prince, the Duke of Clarence, the Duke of Bedford, the Duke of Gloucester, the Kings Sons; by Henry Scogan, at a Supper among the Merchants in the Vintry at London, in the House of Lewis John.

MY noble sonnes and eke my lords dere,

I your father called vnworthely,

Send vnto you this little Treatise here,

Written with mine owne hand full rudely,

Although it be that I not reuerently

Haue written to your estates, I you pray

Mine vnconning taketh benignely

For Gods sake, and herken what I say.

I complain me sore when I remember me

The suddaine age that is vpon me fall,

But more I complain my mispent juuentute

The which is impossible ayen for to call,

But certainly the most complaint of all,

Is to thinke, that I haue be so nice,

That I ne would vertues to me call

In all my youth, but vices aye cherice.

Of which I aske mercy of the Lord,

That art almighty God in majesty,

Beseking to make so euen accord

Betwixt thee and my soule, that vanity,

Worldly lust, ne blind prosperity,

Haue no lordship ouer my flesh so frele,

Thou Lord of rest and parfite vnity,

Put fro me vice, and kepe my soule hele.

And yeue me might while I haue life & space,

Me to confirme fully to thy pleasaunce,

Shew to me the abundaunce of thy grace,

And in good werks grant me perseueraunce,

Of all my youth forget the ignoraunce,

Yeue me good will to serue thee ay to queme,

Set all my life after thine ordinaunce,

And able me to mercy or thou deme.

My lords dere, why I this complaint write

To you, whom I loue most entirely,

Is for to warne you as I can endite,

* That time lost in youth folily,

Greueth a wight bodily and ghostly,

I meane him that to lust and vice entend,

Wherefore lords I pray you specially,

Your youth in vertue shapeth to dispend.

* Plant the root of youth in such a wise,

That in vertue your growing be alway,

Looke alway goodnesse be in your exercise,

That shall you mighty make at each assay,

The fiend to withstand at each affray,

Passeth wisely this perillous pilgrimage,

Think on this word, and werke it euery day,

That shall you yeue a parfite floured age.

Taketh also hede how y• these noble clerkes

Writen in her bookes of great saprence,

Saying that faith is ded withouten werkes,

And right so is estate with negligence

Of vertue, and therefore with diligence

* Shapeth of vertue so to plant the root,

That ye thereof haue full experience

To worship of your life and soules boot.

* Taketh also hede, that lordship ne estate

Without vertue may not long endure,

Thinketh eke how vices & vertue at debate

Haue ben and shall while the world may dure,

And euer the vicious by auenture

Is ouerthrow, and thinketh euermore

That God is Lord of all vertue, and figure

Of all goodnesse, and therfore follow his lore.

My maister Chaucer, God his soule saue,

That in his language was so curious,

He said that ye father which is dead & graue,

Biqueth nothing his vertue with his hous

Vnto his children, and therefore labourous

Ought ye be, beseeking God of grace

To yeue you might for to be vertuous,

Through whichye miȝt haue part of his place.

* Here may ye see that vertuous noblesse

Commeth not to you by way of auncestry,

But it commeth by lefull businesse

Of honest life, and not by slogardry,

Wherefore in youth I rede you edisie

The house of vertue in such a manere,

That in your age may you keepe and gie

Fro the tempest of worlds wawes here.

* Thinketh how betwixe vertue and estate

There is a parfite blessed Mariage,

Vertue is cause of peace, vice of debate

In mans soule, the which be full of courage,

Cherisheth then vertue, vices to outrage,

Driueth hem away, let hem haue no wonning

[Page] In your soules, leseth not the heritage

Which God hath yeue to vertuous liuing.

* Take heed also how men of poore degree

Through vertue haue beset in great honour,

And euer haue liued in great prosperity

Through cherishing of vertuous labour,

Thinketh also how many a gouernour

Called to estate, hath be set full low

Through misusing of right and of errour,

And therefore I cousaile you vertue to know

Thus by your ancesters ye may nothing claim,

As that my maister Chaucer saith expresse,

But temporal thing, that men may hurt or maime,

Then is God stocke of vertuous noblesse,

And sith that he is lord of blessednesse,

And made us all, and for us all deide,

Followeth him in vertue with full businesse,

And of this thing herke how my maister seide.

The first stocke, father of gentilnesse,

What man that claimeth gentill for to be,

Must follow his trace, and all his wits dresse,

Vertue to looke, and vices for to fly,

For unto vertue longeth dignity,

And not the reuers safely dare I deme,

All weare the mitre, corowne, or Diademe.

The first stocke was full of rightwisenesse,

True of his word, sobre, pitous, and free,

Cleane of his ghost, and loued businesse

Ayenst the vice of sloth in honesty,

And but his heire loue vertue, as did he,

He is not gentill though he rich seme,

All weare he mitre, croune, or Diademe.

Vice may be an heire to old richesse,

* But there may no man, all men may see,

Biqueth his heire his vertuous noblesse,

That is appropried vnto no degree,

But to the first father of Majesty,

That maketh his heires hem that can him queme,

All weare he mitre, croune, or Diademe.

Lo, heare this noble Poete of Brittaine

How lightly in vertuous sentence

The losse on youth of vertue can complaine,

Therefore I pray you with your diligence,

For your profite and Gods reuerence,

Tempereth fully vertue in your mind,

That when ye come to your judges presence,

Ye be not vertulesse then behind.

Many lords haue a manner now adayes,

Though one shew him a vertuous mattere,

Her feruent youth is of so false alayes,

That of that art they haue no joy to here,

But as a ship that is without a stere,

Driueth vp and doun without gouernaunce,

Wening that calme would last yere by yere,

Right so fare they for very ignoraunce.

* For very shame know they not by reason,

That after an ebb ther cometh a flood ful rage,

In ye same wise when youth passeth his season

Commeth crooked and unweldy palied age,

And sone after comen the Kalends of dotage,

And if y• her youth haue no vertue provided,

All men woll say fie on her vassalage,

Thus hath her sloth fro worship hem deuided.

Boecius the clerk, as men may rede and see,

Saith in his booke of Consolation,

What man des [...]reth of Vine or tree,

Plenteous fruit in reaping season,

Must euer eschue to doe oppression

Vnto the root, while it is yong and grene,

Thus may ye see well by that inclusion,

* That youth vertulesse doeth much tene.

* Now seeth there ayenst how vertuous noblenesse,

Rooted in youth with good perseueraunce,

Driueth away all vices and wretchednesse,

As slogardry, riot, and distaunce,

Seeth eke how vertue causeth suffisaunce,

Seeth eke how vertue voideth all vice,

And who so hath vertue, hath all habundaunce

Of wele, as farre as reason can deuise.

Take heed of Tullius Hostilius,

That fro pouert came to high degree

Through vertue, redeth eke of Iulius

The conquerour, how poore a man was he,

Yet through his vertue and humility,

Of many countrey had he in gouernaunce,

Thus vertue bringeth a man to great degree,

Eche wight that lust to do him entendaunce.

Rede here ayenst now of Nero vertulees,

Taketh heed also of proud Balthasare,

They hated vertue, equity, and pees,

And looke how Antiochus fill fro his chare,

That he his skin and bones all to tare,

Look what mischance they had for her vices,

Who so woll not by these signes beware,

I dare well say infortunate and nice is.

I can no more now say, but hereby may ye see,

How vertue causeth parfite sikernesse,

And vices exilen all prosperity,

The best is ech man to chose as I gesse,

Doeth as you list, I me excuse expresse,

I would be right sorry if that ye mischese,

God confirme you in vertuous noblesse,

So that through negligence ye not it lese.

Explicit.

§

* SOmetime the world so stedfast was and stable,

That mans word was an obligatioun,

And now it is so false and deceivable,

That word and deed as in conclusioun

Is nothing like, for tourned is vp so doun

All the world, through mede and fikelnesse,

That all is lost for lack of stedfastnesse.

What maketh the world to be so variable

But lust, that men haue in dissension,

* For among vs a man is hold vnable,

But if he can by some collusion

[Page] Doe his neighbour wrong and oppression:

What causeth this but wilfull wretchednesse,

That all is lost for lack of stedfastnesse.

* Trouth is put downe, reason is hold fable,

Vertue hath now no domination,

Pity is exiled, no man is merciable,

Through couetise is blent discretion,

The world hath made a permutation,

Fro right to wrong, fro trouth to fikelnesse,

That all is lost for lacke of stedfastnesse.

Lenvoye.

Prince desire to be honourable,

Cherish thy folke, and hate extortion,

Suffer nothing that may be reprouable

To thine estate, done in thy region,

Shew forth the yerd of castigation,

Drede God, do law, loue trouth & worthinesse,

And wed thy folke ayen to stedfastnesse.

Explicit.

Good Counsail of Chaucer.

FLY fro the prease, & dwell with soothfastnesse,

* Suffise vnto thy good though it be small,

* For horde hath hate, and climbing tikelnesse,

Prease hath enuy, and wele is blent ouer all,

* Sauour no more than thee behoue shall,

Rede well thy selfe y• other folke canst rede,

And trouth thee shall deliuer, it is no drede.

* Paine thee not ech crooked to redresse

In trust of her that tourneth as a ball,

* Great rest standeth in little businesse,

Beware also to spurn againe a nall,

Striue not as doth a crocke with a wall,

* Deme thy selfe that demest others dede,

And trouth thee shall deliuer it is no drede.

* That thee is sent receiue in buxomnesse,

The wrastling of this world asketh a fall,

Here is no home, here is but wildernesse,

Forth pilgrime, forth beast out of thy stall,

* Looke vp on high, and thanke God of all,

* Weiue thy lusts, and let thy ghost thee lede,

And trouth thee shall deliuer, it is no drede.

Explicit.

A Ballade of the Village without Painting.

Plaintife to Fortune.

THis wretched worldes transmutation,

As wele and wo, now poor, & now honour,

Without order or due discretion,

Gouerned is by Fortunes errour,

But nathelesse the lacke of her fauour

Ne may not doe me sing, though that I die,

L'ay tout pardu, mon temps & labour.

For finally fortune I defie.

Yet is me left the sight of my reasoun,

To know friend fro foe in thy mirrour,

So much hath yet thy tourning vp & doun

Ytaught me to knowen in an hou [...]r,

But truly no force of thy reddour

To him that ouer himselfe hath maistre,

* My suffisaunce shall be my succour,

For finally fortune I defie.

O Socrates thou stedfast champion,

She might neuer be thy turmentour,

Thou neuer dredest her oppression,

Ne in her chere found thou no fauour,

Thou knew the deceit of her colour,

And that her most worship is for to lie,

I know her eke a false dissimulour,

For finally fortune I defie.

The answer of Fortune.

* No man is wretched, but himselfe it wene,

Ne that hath in himselfe suffisaunce,

Why saist thou then I am to thee so kene,

That hast thy selfe out of my gouernance?

Say thus, graunt mercy of thine habundance

that thou hast lent or this, thou shalt not striue,

What wost thou yet how I thee woll auance,

And eke thou hast thy best friend aliue.

I haue thee taught deuision betweene

Friend of effect, and friend of countenaunce,

Thee needeth not the gall of an Hine,

That cureth eyen darke for her pennaunce

Now seest thou clere that were in ignoraunce,

* Yet holt thine anker, & yet thou maistarriue

There bounty beareth y• key of my substance,

And eke thou hast thy best friend aliue.

How many haue I refused to sustene,

Sith I haue thee fostred in thy pleasaunce,

Wolt thou then make a statute on thy quene,

That I shall be aye at thine ordinaunce,

Thou born art in my reigne of variaunce,

About the whele with other must thou driue,

My lore is bet, then wicke is thy greuaunce,

And eke thou hast thy best friend aliue.

The answer to Fortune.

Thy lore I dampne, it is aduersity,

My frend maist thou not reue blind goddesse,

That I thy friends know, I thanke it thee,

* Take hem againe, let hem go lie a presse,

The niggardes in keeping her richesse,

Pronoslike is, thou wolt her toure assaile,

* Wicke appetite commeth aye before sicknesse,

In general this rule may not faile.

Fortune.

Thou pinchest at my mutability,

For I thee lent a droppe of my richesse,

And now me liketh to withdraw me,

[Page] Why shouldest thou my royalty oppresse,

The sea may ebbe and flow more and lesse,

The welken hath might to shine, rain, & hail,

Right so must I kithe my brotilnesse,

In generall this rule may not fail.

The Plaintife.

Lo, the execution of the majesty,

That all purueigheth of his rightwisenesse,

That same thing fortune clepen ye,

Ye blind beasts full of leaudnesse,

* The heauen hath property of sikernesse,

This world hath euer restlesse trauaile,

The last day is end of mine entresse,

In generall this rule may not faile.

Thenuoye of Fortune.

Princes I pray you of your gentilnesse

Let not this man and me thus cry and plain,

And I shall quite you this businesse,

And if ye liste releue him of his pain,

Pray ye his best frende of his noblesse,

That to some better state he may attain.

Lenuoy.

TO broken been the statutes hie in heauen,

That create were eternally tendure,

Sithe that I see the bright Goddes seuen,

Mowe wepe and waile, and passion endure,

As may in yearth a mortall creature:

Alas, fro whens may this thing procede,

Of which errour I die almost for drede.

By word eterne whilom was it shape,

That fro the fifth cercle in no manere,

Ne might of teares doune escape,

But now so weepeth Venus in her sphere,

That with her teares she wol drench vs here,

Alas Scogan this is for thine offence,

Thou causest this deluge of pestilence.

Hast thou not said in blaspheme of y• goddis,

Through pride, or through thy gret rekelnes,

Such things as in the law of loue forbode is,

That for thy lady saw not thy distresse,

Therfore thou yaue her vp at Mighelmesse?

Alas Scogan of olde folke ne yong,

Was neuer erst Scogan blamed for his tong.

Thou drew in scorne Cupide eke to record,

Of thilke rebell word that thou hast spoken,

For which he woll no lenger be thy Lord,

And Scogan, though his bow be not broken,

He woll not with his arowes be ywroken

On thee ne me, ne none of our figure,

We shall of him haue neither hurte ne cure.

Now certes frend I drede of thine vnhape,

Lest for thy gilte the wreche of loue procede

On all hem that been hore & round of shape,

That be so likely folke to spede,

Then we shall of our labour haue our mede,

But well I wot thou wolt answere and say,

* Lo old Grisell list to renne and play.

Nay Scogan say not so, for I me excuse,

God helpe me so, in no rime doubtles,

Ne thinke I neuer of sleepe wake my muse,

That rusteth in my sheath still in pees,

While I was yong I put her forth in prees,

But all shall passe that men prose or time,

Take euery man his tourne as for his time.

* Scogan thou knelest at ye stremes hedde

Of grace, of all honour, and of worthiness,

In thende of which I am dull as dedde,

Forgotten in solitary wildernesse,

Yet Scogan thinke on Tullius kindness,

Mind thy frende there it may fructifie,

Farewel, and looke thou neuer eft loue defie.

Explicit.

§

* GO forth King, rule thee by Sapience,

Bishop be able to minister doctrine,

Lorde to true counsaile yeue audience,

Womanhode to chastity euer encline,

Knight let thy deedes worship determine,

Be righteous Iudge in sauing thy name,

Rich do almose, lest thou lese bliss with shame.

* People obey your king and the law,

Age be ruled by good religion,

True seruant be dredful & kepe thee vnder aw,

And thou poore, fie on presumpcion,

Inobedience to youth is vtter destruction,

Remember you how God hath set you lo,

And doe your part as ye be ordeined to.

Th. Occleve to his empty Purse.

TO you my purse and to none other wight

Complaine I, for ye be my Lady dere,

I am sorry now that ye be light,

For certes ye now make me heauy chere,

Me were as lefe laid vpon a bere,

For which vnto your mercy thus I crie,

Be heauy againe or els mote I die.

Now vouchsafe this day or it be night,

That I of you the blissful sowne may here,

Or see your colour like the sunne bright,

That of yelowness had neuer pere,

Ye be my life, ye be my hertes stere,

Queene of comfort and of good companie,

Be heauy againe, or els mote I die.

Now purse that art to me my liues light,

And sauiour, as downe in this world here,

Out of this towne helpe me by your might,

Sith that you woll not be my treasure,

* For I am shaue as nere as any frere,

But I pray vnto your curtesie,

Be heauy againe, or els mote I die.

Explicit.

Occleve unto the King.

O Conquerour of Brutes Albion,

Which that by line and free election

Been very king, this to you I send,

And ye that may all harmes amend,

Haue minde vpon my supplicacion.

Explicit.

[Page]

A Ballad of good counsail, translated out of Latin verses into English by Dan John Lidgate, cleped the Monk of Bury.

COnsider well every circumstaunce,

Of what estate ever thou bee,

Riche, strong, or mighty of puissance,

Prudent or wise, discrete or besie,

The dome of folkes in soch thou may not fly,

* What ever thou doest trust well this,

A wicked tonge woll alway deme amis.

For in thy porte or in apparaile,

If thou be cladde and honestly be saine,

Anone the people of malice woll not faile,

Without advice or reason for to sain,

That thine array is made or wrought in vain.

Suffer hem speake, and trust right wel this,

A wicked tonge wol alway deme amis.

Thou will to kings be equipolent,

With great lordes evin and peregall,

And if thou be torne, all to rent,

Then woll they say, and jangle over all,

Thou art a slougarde that never thrive shall,

Suffre hem speke, and trust right well this,

A wicked tonge woll alway deme amis.

* If it befall that thou take a wife,

They woll falsly say in their entent,

Thou art likely ever to live in strife,

Voide of all rest, without aledgment,

Wifes ben maistres, this is their judgment,

Suffren all their spech, & trust right well this,

A wicked tonge woll alway deme amis.

* If thou be faire and excellent of beaute,

Yet woll they say that thou art amourous,

If thou be foule and vgly on to see,

They woll affirme that thou art vicious,

The people of language is so dispitous,

Suffre all their spech, & trust right well this,

A wicked tonge woll alway deme amis.

If so be that of parfitenesse,

Thou hast vowed to live in chastitee,

Then woll folke, of thy person expresse,

Thou art impotent tengendre in thy degree,

And thus where thou be chaste or des [...]avy,

Suffre hem speake, and trust right well this,

A wicked tonge woll alway deme amis.

If thou be fatte other corpolent,

Then wol they sain thou art a great gloton,

A devourer, or els vinolent,

If thou be leane or megre of fashion,

Call thee a nigard in their opinion,

Suffre them speake, and trust right wel this,

A wicked tonge woll alway deme amis.

If thou be rich, some woll yeve thee laude,

And say it commeth of prudent governaunce,

And some wol saine it commeth of fraude,

Other by sleight, or false chevisaunce,

To sain the worst, folke have so great pleasaunce,

What suffre hem say, & trust right wei this,

A wicked tonge woll alway deme amis.

If thou be sadde or sobre of countenaunce,

Men woll sain thou thinkest some treason,

And if thou be glad of daliaunce,

Men woll deme it desolution,

And call faire speach adulacion,

Yet let hem speake, and trust right well this,

A wicked tonge wol alway deme amis.

Who that is holy by perfection,

Men of malice woll clip him ypocrite,

And who is mery of clene entention,

Men sain in riot he doth him delite,

Some mourn in blacke, some love in clothes white,

Suffre men speake, and trust right well this,

A wicked tonge woll alway deme amis.

Honest aray men deme it pompe and pride,

And who goeth poore, men call him a waster,

And who goeth still men mark him on ye side,

Seine that he is a spy or agiler:

Who wasteth not, men sain he hath treasour,

Whereof conclude and trust right well this,

A wicked tonge will alway deme amis.

Who speketh moch men clepeth him prudent,

Who that debateth, men saine yt he is hardy,

And who saith litel with great sentement,

Some folke yet wol wite him of foly,

Trouth is put down, and vp goth flattery,

And who yt list plainly know the cause of this,

A wicked tonge woll alway deme amis.

For though a man were as pacient,

As was David throw his humilite,

Or with Salomon in wisedome as prudent,

Or in knighthode egall with Iosue,

Or manly proved, as Iudas Machabe,

Yet for al that, trust right well this,

A wicked tonge woll alway deme amis.

And though a man had the prowesse

Of worthy Hector, Troys Champioun,

The love of Troylus, or the kindnesse,

Or of Cesar the famous high renoun,

With all Alexaunders dominacioun,

Yet for all that trust right well this,

A wicked tonge woll alway deme amis.

Or though a man of high or low degree,

Of Tullius had the sugred eloquence,

Or of Seneca the moralitee,

Or of Caton forsight and providence,

The conquest of Charles, Artures magnificence,

Yet for all that trust right well this,

A wicked tonge woll alway deme amis.

Touching of women, ye parfit Innocence

Though that they had, of Hester ye noblenesse,

Or of Gresilde, the humble pacience,

Or of Iudith, the preuid stablenesse,

Or Polixcenes virginall clennesse,

[Page] Yet dare I seiue, and trust right wel this,

* Some wicked tong would deme of them amis.

The wifely trouth of Penelope

Though they it had in her possession,

Helenes beauty, the kindnesse of Medee,

The loue vnfayned of Martia Caton,

Or Alcestes trewe affection,

Yet dare I saine and trust right well this,

A wicked tonge wol alway deme amis.

Than sooth it is that no man may eschew

The swerd of tonges, but it will kerve & bite,

Full hard it is a man for to remew,

Out of their daunger him for to aquite,

* Wo to the tonges that hemselfe delite,

To hinder or slaunder, & set their study in this,

And their pleasaunces to deme alway amis.

Most noble princes, cherishers of vertue,

Remembreth you of high discretion,

* The first vertue most pleasing to Iesu,

(By the writing and sentence of Caton)

Is a good tonge in his opinion,

Chastise the reverse of wisedome do this,

Voideth your hearing from al y• deme amis.

A Ballad in the Praise and Commendation of Master Geffery Chaucer, for his golden Eloquence.

Maister Geffray Chaucer, that now lithe in grave,

The noble Rhetoricion, and Poet of great Britaine,

That worthy was y• laurer of Poetry to have

For this his labour, and the palme to attain,

Which first made to distil, and rein,

The gold dewe dropes, of spech & eloquence,

Into English tonge, through his excellence.

Explicit.

Here followeth certain Works of Geffrey Chaucer, annexed to the Impressions printed in the Years 1561, and 1602. All collected and adjoyned to his former Works by John Stowe.

§

A Ballad made by Chaucer, teaching what is gentilness, or whom is worthy to be called gentill.

THE first stocke Father of gentilnes,

What man desireth gentil for to bee,

Must followe his trace, and all his wittes dreis,

Vertue to love, and vices for to flee,

For vnto vertue longeth dignitee,

And not the revers falsly dare I deme,

All weare he miter, crowne or diademe.

This first stocke was full of rightwisnes,

Trew of his worde, sober, pitous and free,

Clene of his goste and loved besineffe,

Against the vice of slouth in honeste,

* And but his eyre love vertue as did he,

He is not gentill though he rich seme,

All weare he miter, crowne or diademe.

* Vicesse may well be heir to old richesse,

But there may no man, as men may wel see,

Byquethe his eyre his vertues noblenesse,

That is appropried vnto no degree,

But to the first father in majestee,

That maketh his eyres them that him queme

All weare he miter, crowne or diademe.

Explicit.

A Proverb against Covetise and Negligence.

WHat shall these clothes manifold

Lo this hote somers day,

* After great heat commeth cold,

No man cast his pilch away,

Of all this world the large compasse

It will not in mine armes twaine,

Who so mokel woll enbrace,

Litel thereof he shall distraine.

Explicit.

A Ballad which Chaucer made against Women unconstant.

MAdame, for your new fangleness,

Many a servaunt have you put out of your grace,

I take my leave of your unstedfastness,

For well I wote, while ye to live haue space,

Ye cannot love full half yere in a place,

* To new things your lust is ever kene,

In stede of blew, thus may ye wear all grene.

Right as a mirrour y• nothing may enpresse,

But lightly as it cometh, so mote it passe,

So fares your love, your works bear witnes

There is no faith may your hert enbrace,

But as a wedercocke, that turneth his face

With euery wind, ye fare, and that is seene,

In stede of blew, thus may ye weare all grene.

Ye might be shrined, for your brothilnes,

Better then Dalyda, Cresseide, or Candace,

For ever in changing stondeth your sikernes,

That catche may no wight, from your hert a race,

If ye lose one, ye can wel twein purchace

* Al light for somar, ye wot well wt I meene,

In stede of blew, thus may ye weare all grene.

Explicit.

Here followeth a Ballad which Chaucer made in the Praise, or rather Dispraise, of Women, for their Doubleness.

THis world is full of variaunce,

In euery thing who taketh hede

[Page] That faith and trust, and all constance,

Exiled been this is no drede,

And saue onely in womanhede,

I can see no sekerness,

But for all that, yet as I rede,

Beware alway of doubleness.

* Also that freshe somer floures,

White and rede, blewe and greene,

Been sodenly, with winter shoures,

Made feinte and fade, without wene:

That trust is none as ye may seene,

In no thing, nor no stedfastness,

Except in women, thus I meene,

Yet aye beware of doubleness.

The croked Mone, this is no tale,

Some while yshene and bright of hewe,

And after that full derke and pale,

And euery moneth chaungeth newe,

That who the veray soth knewe,

* All things is bilt on brotleness,

Saue that women aye be trewe,

Yet aye beware of doubleness.

The lusty freshe sommers day,

And Phebus with his beames clere,

Towards night they drawe away

And none lenger list appere,

* That in this present life now here,

Nothing abideth in his faireness,

Saue women aye be found intere,

And deuoide of doubleness.

The sea eke, with his sterne wawes,

Eche day floweth new againe,

And by concours of his lawes

The ebbe floweth in certaine:

* After grete drought, there cometh a raine,

That farewel here all stabelness,

Saue that women be hole and plaine,

Yet aye beware of doubleness.

* Fortunes whele goeth round about,

A thousand times, day and night,

Whose course standeth euer in doubt,

For to transmew, she is so light,

For which aduerteth in your sight,

The vntrust of worldy fikelness,

Saue women, which of kindly right,

Ne hath no teche of doubleness.

What man may the wind restraine,

Or hold a snake by the taile,

Or a slipper ele constraine,

That it will voide, without faile,

Or who can driue so a naile,

To make sure new fongleness,

* Saue women that can gie their saile,

To row their boote with doubleness.

At euery hauen they can ariue,

Where as they wote is good passage,

Of innocence they can not striue,

With wawes nor no rockes rage,

So happy is their lodemanage,

With needle and stone their course to dress,

* That Salomon was not so sage,

To find in them no doubleness.

Therefore who so them accuse,

Of any double entencion,

To speake, rowne, other to muse,

To pinch at their condicion,

All is but false collusion,

I dare rightwell the sothe express,

They haue no better protection,

But shrowd them vnder doubleness.

* So well fortuned is their chaunce,

The dice to turne vp so doune,

With sise and sincke they can auaunce,

And then by reuolucion,

They set a fell conclusion,

Of [...]ombes, as in soothfastness,

Though clerkes make mencion,

Their kinde is fret with doubleness.

Sampson had experience,

That women were full trew yfound,

When Dalyda of innocence,

With sheeres gan his heere to round,

To speake also of Rosamound,

And Cleopatris faithfulness,

The stories plainly will confound,

Men that apeche their doubleness.

Single thing ne is not praised,

Nor of old is of no renoun,

In balaunce when they be peised,

For lacke of waight they be bore doun,

And for this cause of just reason.

These women all of rightwiseness,

Of choise and free election,

Moste loue eschaunge and doubleness.

Lenuoye.

O Ye women which been enclined,

By influence of your nature,

To been as pure as gold yfined,

In your truth for to endure,

Arme your selfe in strong armure,

Least men assaile your sikerness,

Set on your brest your selfe to assure,

A mighty shield of doubleness.

Explicit.

This Work following was compiled by Chaucer, and it is called the Craft of Lovers.

MOral is a similitude who liste their balades sewe,

The craft of Loues curious arguments,

For some been false and some been founden trewe,

And some been double of entendements,

Thus louers with their morall documents,

And eloquent langage they can examplifie,

The craft of loue what it doth signifie.

[Page] Who list vnto this balades have inspection,

Thinke that loves lordships excellent,

Is remedy for disease and correction,

To wofull herte and body impotent,

Suppose the maker that he be negligent

In his compilyng hold him excusable,

Because his spirites be sory and lamentable.

Most soverain lady surmounting your noblenes,

O intenuate Ienipre & daisie delicious

My trust, mine helth, my cordiall foundres,

O Medicine sanatife to sores langorous,

O comfortable creature of lovers amorous,

O excellent herber of lovely countenaunce,

Ye regester my love in your remembraunce.

Certes sir your painted eloquence,

So gay, so fresh and eke so talcatife,

It doth transcend the wit of dame Prudence,

For to declare your thought or to discrive,

So gloriously glad langage ye contrive,

Of your conceit, your thought, & your entent,

I will beware for drede or I be stent.

O rubicunde Rose, and white as the lilly,

O clarified Christal of worldly portraiture,

O Courfin figure resplendent with glory,

O Gem of beaute, o Carboncle shining pure,

Your fairnes excedeth y• craft of dame nature

Most womanly behaving your lovely countenauuce,

Ye regester my love in your remembraunce.

What availeth sir your proclamacion,

Of curious talking, not touching to sadnes,

It is but winde, flattering, and adulacion,

Imesurable thought of worldly wildnes,

Which is cheife cause of ghostly feblenes,

Your wil, your thought, your double entendement,

* I wil beware of drede, or I be shent.

My wit, my thought, and mine invencion,

Is for to please you my lady soverain,

And for your love throw many a region

I would be exiled, so that ye wold not disdain

To have pity on me when I complain,

In wele and wo to suffre perturbaunce,

So that ye woll have me in remembraunce.

What is your will plainly ye do expresse,

That maketh this curious supplicacion,

Say on sir on hertly tendernesse,

Beth well advised of vaine delectacion,

* At your beginning thinke on y• terminacion,

Pass not your boundes be not too negligent,

And ever beware for drede or ye be shent.

Your goodly behaving your beaute & countenaunce

Maketh me incline to do you reverence,

Your lovely loking your glorious governance

Overcometh my spirits my wit & my prudence

Some drop of grace, of your magnificence,

Vnto your servaunt ye shew attendaunce,

And regester my love in your remembraunce.

O comberous thought of mans fragility,

O fervent will of lustes furious,

O cruel corage causing adversity,

Of womens corrupcion & eke contrarious,

* Remember man that chaunge is perilous,

To breke ye virginity of virgines innocent,

Wherfore beware wankind or thou be shent.

My peine is preuy, impossible to deserne

My lamentable thoughts by casting mourning,

O general Iudge Iesu sitting superne,

Graciously convert ye loue of my swete thing,

O amiable lady gracious and beninge,

I put me wholy in your gouernaunce,

Exile me not out of your remembraunce.

Me semeth by langage ye be some protestate

Or else some curious gloser disceuable,

What is your name mekely I make regrate,

Or of what science or craft commendable,

I am a lady excellent, and honorable,

* He must be gay y• should be to mine entent,

Wherefore I will be ware or I be shent.

Lord God this is a sharpe examinacion,

Of her that is most in my memory,

Vnto you lady I make certificacion,

My name is trew loue of carnal desidery,

Of mans copulacion the very exemplary,

Which am one of your seruaunts of pleasaunce,

I must be cheefe called to remembraunce.

I haue sought true loue of yeres great proces,

Yet found I neuer loue but for a season,

* Some men be diuerse & know no gentilnes,

And some lacke both wisedome and reason,

In some men is trust, in some men is treason,

Wherfore I will conclude my auisement,

And ever beware for drede that I be shent.

The rectour Tullius so gay of eloquence,

And Ovide yt sheweth the craft of loue expres,

With habundaunce of Salomons prudence,

And pulcritude of Absalons fairenesse,

And I were possessed with Iobs great richesse

Manly as Sampson my person to auance,

Yet shuld I submit me in your remembrance.

Now sir if that it pleaseth your noblenesse

To give aduertence to my question,

What thing is pleasure of sweetnesse,

And is most bitter in final successon?

Or what thing giveth man occasion

In tender age for to be concupiscent?

Resolue this question or drede sir ye be shent.

My soueraigne lady, Ouide in his writing

* Saith that desire of worldly concupiscence

As for a time is sweete in his worching,

And in his end he causeth great offence:

Notwithstanding my lady dame Prudence,

Green flowring age, a manly countenaunce

Causeth ladies to haue it in remembraunce.

Your goodly answer so notable in substaunce,

Wold cause the hert of womanhede conuert

Vnto delite of natural pleasaunce:

But of one thing I wold faine be expert,

[Page] Why mens langage wol procure & transuert

The will of women and virgines innocent?

Wherefore I am aferd or I be shent.

Let neuer the loue of true loue be losed,

(My soueraine lady) in no maner wise,

In your confidence my wordes I haue closed,

My amiable loue to you I do promise,

* So that ye knit the knot of exercise,

Both lock and key ye haue in gouernance,

Emprint my loue in your remembrance.

O very trust and I were certefied,

The plain entention of your hertes cordiall,

Me seemeth in blisse then were I glorified,

Vnto your pleasure I would be at your call,

But euer I feare of chaunces casuall,

Of fraude, disceipt, and langage insolent,

Then were I sure maidenhed should be shent.

Ther was neuer tresour of terrestrial riches,

Nor precious stones rekened innumerable,

To be of comparison vnto your high goodnes,

Aboue all creatures to me most amiable,

Trust not ye contrary I was neuer disceuable,

* Keep well true loue, forge no dissemblance,

And graciously take me to your remembrance.

Me semeth by feiture of womanly properte,

Ye shuld be trusty and trewe of promis,

I finde in you no false duplicite,

Wherefore true loue ye haue my here I wis,

And euermore shall endure so haue I blis,

The federasie made with good auisement,

God graunt grace that nether of vs be shent.

When Phebus fresh was in chare splendent,

In the moneth of May erly in a morning,

I hard two louers profer this argument,

In the yeere of our Lord a M. by rekening,

CCCXL. and VIII. yeere following,

O potent princesse conserue true louers all,

And grant them thy region & blisse celestiall.

Explicit the craft of louers.

A Ballad.

OF their nature they greatly them delite,

With holy face feined for the nones,

* In saintwary their frends to visite,

More for reliques than for saincts bones,

Though they be closed vnder precious stones,

To gete them pardon like their old vsages,

* To kisse no shrines but lusty quike Images.

When maidens are wedded & houshold haue take,

All their humility is exiled away,

And the cruel hertes beginneth to awake,

They do all the besie cure yt they can or may,

To vexe their houshold maisters y• soth for to say

Wherfore ye yong men I rede you for thy,

* Beware alway, the blind eats many a fly.

Of this mater I dare make no lenger relacion,

For in default of slepe my spirits wexen faint

In my study I haue had so long an habitacion

That my body & my gost are greuously attaint

And therfore of this proces I make no lenger

But whether y• blind eat flesh or fish complaint

* I pray God keepe the fly out of my dish.

Now I make an end, & lay me doun to rest,

For I know by experience verament,

If maidens and wiues knew and wist,

Who made the matter he should be shent,

Wherefore I pray God omnipotent,

Him saue and keepe both night and day,

Written in the lusty season of May.

Explicit.

The Ten Commandments of Love.

CErtes ferre extendeth yet my reason,

This matter as it should be, to discriue,

But I trust your grace will in this season,

Consider how with conning that I striue,

For in his fauour coud I neuer arriue,

Eloquence this Ballad hath in great despite,

The maker lacketh maner to endite.

Of Loues commandments x. is the number,

As afterward shall rudely be rehearsed,

And louers in no wise depart asunder,

Where as they be obserued and redressed,

Daunger and vnkindnesse been oppressed,

And that is commaunded this to make,

Is your owne all other to forsake.

Faith.

Faith is the first and principally to tell,

Very loue requireth soch credence,

That eche beleue other as true as y• Gospel,

Without adulacion or flattering audience,

In true meaning and trusty confidence,

* Paint not your conning with colour ne fable,

For then your loue must needs be vnstable.

Entencion.

In the second to treate of Entencion,

Your louer to please do your busie cure,

For as min author Romance maketh mencion,

Without entent your loue may not endure,

* As women will thereof I am right sure,

Endeuour with herte, will, and thought,

To please him onely y• her loue hath sought.

Discrecion.

* In your dealing euer be discrete,

Set not your loue there as it shall be losed,

Aduertise in your mind whether he be mete,

That vnto him your hert may be disclosed,

And after as you find him then disposed,

Point by discretion your hour, time, & place,

Conueniently meting with arms to embrace.

Pacience.

Of these commandments, the iv. is pacience,

* Tho by irous corage your louer be meued,

With soft wordes and humble obedience,

His wrath may sone be swaged and releued,

And thus his loue obteined and acheued,

[Page] Will in you roote with greater diligence,

Bicause of your meke & womanly pacience.

Secretnesse.

Secretly behaue you in your werks,

In shewing countenance or meuing of your iye,

Though soch behauor to some folk be derke,

He that hath loued will it soone aspie,

Thus your selfe your counsaile may descrie,

* Make priuy to your deling as few as ye may

For iii. may keep a counsel if twain be away.

Prudence.

* Let prudence be gouernor of your bridel reine,

Set not your loue in so feruent wise,

But that in goodly hast ye may refreine,

If your louer list you to dispise,

* Romaunce mine auctour wold you this aduise,

To slacke your loue, for if ye do not so,

That wanton lust will tourne you into wo.

Perseueraunce.

* Stablish your loue in so stedfast wise,

If that ye thinke your louer will be trew,

As entirely as you can deuise,

Loue him onely and refuse all new,

Then shall not your worship change his hew,

For certes masteres then is he to blame,

But if that he will quite you with the same.

Pity.

* Be piteous to him as womanhod requireth

That for your loue endureth paines smart,

Whom so sore your pleasaunt looke enfireth,

That printed is your beauty in his hart,

And wounded lieth without knife or dart,

There let your pity spred without restraint,

For lacke of pity, let not your seruaunt faint.

Measure.

Take mesure in your talking, be not outrage

For this rehearseth Romance de la Rose,

* A man endued with plenteous langage,

Oft time is denied his purpose,

Take measure in langage, wisedom in grose,

* For mesure as right well proued is by reason

Things vnseasonable setteth in season.

Mercy.

Soch daunger exile him vtterly,

Ouer all mercy to occupy his place,

To piteous complaints your eares apply,

And receiue your seruaunt in grace,

To him that bound is in loues lace,

Shew fauour lady and be not merciless,

Least ye be called a common murderess.

Lenuoye.

When ye vnto this balade haue inspection,

In my making holde me excusable,

It is submitted vnto your correction,

Consider that my conning is disable,

To write to you the figure vniable,

All deuoide of conning and experience,

Maner of inditing, reason and eloquence.

Trust it well the maker your owne,

You to obey while his life may endure,

To do you seruice as a man vnknowne,

No guerdone desiring of yearthly treasure,

But if it might accord with your pleasure,

For true seruice him to auaunce,

And call him into your remembraunce.

Explicit the Ten Commaundements of Love.

The Nine Ladies worthy.

Queene Sinope.

PRofulgent in preciousnesse, O Sinope queen,

Of all feminine bearing the scepter and regaly,

Subduing the large country of Armenia as it was sene,

Maugre their mights thou brought them to apply,

Thine honour to encrease, thy power to magnify,

O renomed Hercules with all thy pompous boste,

This Princes tooke the prisoner and put to flight thine hoste.

Lady Ipolite.

Yet Hercules wexed red for shame, when I spake of Ipolite,

Chief patrons & captain of ye people of sinope,

Which with amorous ther & coragious miȝt,

Smote thee to ground for all thy cruelty,

Wherfore ye dukeship of Diomedes & dignity,

Vnto her great land and glory perpetuall,

Attributed is with triumph Laureall.

Lady Deifile.

The noble triumphe of this Lady Deifile,

In releue & succor of ye great duke of Athenes,

She chastised & brought into perpetual exile,

The aureat citezeins of mighty Thebes,

The strong brasen pillers there had no reles,

But she with her sister Argia them did doun cast,

And with furious fire y• citee brent at last

Lady Teuca.

O pulchrior sole in beauty full lucident,

Of all femine most formous flour,

In Italy reigning with great cheualry right feruent,

Chastised ye Romains as maieres & conqueror

O lady Teuca moch was thy glory & honor,

Yet moch more was to comend thy benignite

In thy parfite liuing and virginall chastitie.

Queene Pantasile.

Oye Trogeans for this noblequene Pantasile

Sorow her mortality with dolorous compassion

Her loue was to you so pregnant & fertile,

That against ye proud Grekes made defension

With her victorious handwas al her affection

To lash y• Greks to ground was her herts joy,

To reuenge y• coward death of Hector of Troy

[Page]

Queene Thamiris.

O thou rigorous quene Thamiris inuincible,

Vpon y• strong & hideous people of citees reining,

Which by thy power & wits sensible

Thou tokest in battail Cyrus the great king

Of Perce & Mede, his head of in blood lying,

Thou badest him drink y• blood had thursted,

And xxii. M. of his host there were distressed.

Lady Lampedo.

The famous trump of gold forged so bright,

Hath blowen so vp the fame & glory enuiron,

Of this lady Lampedo with her sister Marthesi

That al ye land of Feminie, Europe, & Epheson

Be yelden & applied lowly to her subjection,

Many an high toure she raised, & built toures long

perpetuelly to last with huge wals strong.

Queene Semiramys.

Lo here Semiramys quene of great Babilon,

Most generous gem & floure of louely fauor,

Whose excellent power fro Mede vnto septentrion

Florished in her regallyas a mighty conqueror

Subdued al Barbary: & zorast y• king of honor

she slue in Ethiop, & conquerd Armony in Inde

In which non entred but Alexander & she as I finde.

Lady Menalip.

Also the lady Menalip thy sister dere,

Whose marcial power no man coud withstand,

Through the worlde was not found her pere,

The famous duke Thesus she had in hand,

She chastised him and all his land,

The proude Greekes mightely she did assaile,

Ouer came and vanquished them in battaile.

Explicit the Ballades of the nine Worthies of Ladies.

§

ALone walking

In thought plaining

And sore sighing

All desolate.

Me remembring

Of my liuing

My death wishing

Both early and late.

Infortunate

Is so my fate

That wote ye what

Out of measure

My life I hate:

Thus desperate

In such poore estate

Doe I endure.

Of other cure

Am I not sure,

Thus to endure

Is hard certain.

Suche is my vre

I you ensure,

What creature

May haue more pain.

My truth so plaine

Is take in vaine

And great disdaine

In remembraunce.

Yet I full faine

Would me complaine

Me to abstaine

From this penance.

But in substaunce

None allegeaunce

Of my greuaunce

Can I not finde.

Right so my chaunce

With displesaunce

Doth me auaunce.

And thus an end.

Explicit.

A Ballad.

IN the season of Feuerere when it was full cold,

Frost, & Snow, Hail, Rain, hath dominacion,

With changeable elements, and winds manifold,

Which hath ground, flour, and herb, vnder jurisdiction,

For a time to dispose after their correction,

And yet Aprill with his pleasaunt shours,

Dissolueth y• snow, & bringeth forth his flours.

Of whose inuencion ye louers may be glad,

For they bring in the Kalends of May,

And ye with countenaunce demure, meke & sad,

Owe for to worship, the lusty floures alway,

And in especiall one is called see of the day,

The Daisee, a floure white and rede,

And in French called La bele Margarete.

O commendable floure and most in mind,

O floure so gracious of excellence,

O amiable Margarite exalted of natife kind,

Vnto whom I must resort with all my diligence

With hert, wil, & thouȝt, with most lowly obedience

Ey to be your seruant, & ye my regent,

For life ne death neuer to repent.

Of this processe now forth will I proceed,

Which happeth me with great disdaine,

As for the time thereof I take lest heed,

For vnto me was brought the sore pain,

Therfore my cause was the more to complain,

Yet vnto me my greuaunce was the lesse,

That I was so nigh my lady and maistresse.

There where she was present in this place,

I hauing in herte great aduersitee,

Except onely the fortune and good grace

Of her, whose I am, the which releeued mee,

And my great dures vnlased hath shee,

And brought me out of the fearful greuance,

If it were her ease, it were to me pleasance.

As for the wo which I did endure,

It was to me a very pleasaunt pain,

Seing it was for that faire creature,

Which is my Lady and souerain,

In whose presence to rest I would be fain,

So that I wist it were her pleasure,

For she is from all distaunce my protectour.

[Page] Though vnto me dredful were the chance,

No maner of gentilnes oweth me to blame:

For I had leuer suffer of death the penance,

Than sheshuld for me haue dishonor or shame,

Or in any wise lose a drop of her good name,

So wisely God for his endlesse mercy,

Grant euery true loue, to haue joy of his lady.

Explicit.

A Ballad.

O Mercifull and O merciable,

King of Kinges, and father of pitee,

Whose might and mercy is incomperable,

O Prince eterne, O mighty Lord say we,

To whom mercy is giuen of property,

On thy seruaunt that lieth in prison bound,

Haue thou mercy or that his hert be wound.

And y• thou wilt graunt to him thy prisoner,

Free liberty, and lose him out of pain,

All his desires and all his heauy chere,

To all gladnesse they were restored again,

Thy high vengeance, why shold thou not refrain

And shew mercy, sith he is penitent,

Now helpe him lord, & let him not be shent.

But sith it is so, there is a trespasse done,

Vnto Mercy let yeeld the trespassour,

It is her office to redresse it sone,

For trespasse to mercy is a mirrour,

And like as the swete, hath the price by [...]our,

* So by trespasse, mercy hath all her might,

Without trespasse, mercy hath lacke of light.

* What shold Phisike do but if sikenes were,

What nedeth salue, but if there were sore,

What nedeth drink, wher thirst hath no power

What should mercy do, but trespas go afore,

But trespas be, mercy woll be little store,

Without trespas neuer execucion,

May mercy haue ne chiefe perfection.

The cause at this time of my writing,

And touching mercy to whom I make mone,

Is for feare lest my soueraigne and sweting,

I meane her that louerlier is none,

With me is displeased for causes more then one,

What causes they be y• knoweth God & she,

But so do not I alas it forthinketh me.

What see she in me, what defaut or offence,

What haue I do that she on me disdain,

How might I doe come to her presence,

To tell my complaint whereof I were fain,

I drede to looke, to speake, or to complain,

To her that hath my herte euery deale,

So help me God I wold al thing wer weale.

For in this case came I neuer or now,

* In loues daunce so farre to hold the trace,

For with mine ease, scape I ne mow

Out of this daunger except her good grace,

For though my countenaunce be mery in her face,

As semeth to her by word or by chere,

Yet her good grace sitteth mine hert ful nere.

And if y• my soueraine haue any meruaile,

Why I to her now and afore haue wrote,

She may well thinke it is no great trauaile

To him that is in loue brought so hote:

It is a simple tree yt falleth with one stroke,

That mean I, though y• my souerain toforn,

Me hath denied, yet grace may come to morn.

But maistres for the good will that I haue you ought,

And euermore shal as long as my life dureth,

Pity your seruant & keep him in your thouȝt

And giue him som comfort or medicin, & cureth

His feruent ague, that encreaseth y• renueth,

So greuous ben his pains & his sighs sore,

That without your mercy, his dayes be all forlore.

Go little bill, go forth and hie thee fast,

And recommand me, & excuse me as thou can,

For very feeblenesse thus am I at the last,

My pen is woren, my hew is pale and wan,

My iyen been sonken, disfigured like no man,

Till death his dart, that causeth for to smart,

My corps haue consumed, then farwel sweet hart.

O doughter of Phebus in vertuous apparence,

My loue elect in my remembrance,

My careful hert distreined cause of absence,

Till ye my Emprise me release my greuance,

Vpon you is set my life & mine attendance,

Without recure I wis vntill

Ye graunt true herte to haue his will.

Thus my dere sweting in a traunce I do lie,

And shal til sum drops of pity from you spring,

I meane your mercy that lieth my hert me,

That me may rejoyce, & cause me for to sing

These terms of loue, lo I haue won the ring,

My goodly mastres. Thus of his good grace

God grant her blis in heauen to haue a place.

Explicit.

Here followeth how Mercury with Pallas, Venus, and Minerva, appeared to Paris of Troy, he sleeping by a Fountain.

Pallas loquitur ad Parisum de Troiae.

SOnne of Priamus gentil Paris of Troie,

Wake of thy sleep, behold vs Godds three,

We haue brought to thee encrease of joye,

To thy discrecion reporting our beauty,

Take here this Apple and well deuise thee,

Which of vs is fairest in thy sight,

And giue thou it, we pray thee gentil knight.

Pallas loquitur primo.

If so be thou giue it vnto me Parise,

This shall I giue vnto thy worthinesse,

Honour, conquest, nobley, lose and prise,

Victory, courage, force, and hardinesse,

Good auenture, and famous manlinesse,

For that Apple all this giue I to thee,

Consider this Parise, and giue it vnto mee.

[Page]

Venus loquitur ad Parisum.

Nay giue it me and this shall I you giue,

Glad aspect with fauour and fairenesse,

And loue of ladies also while that ye liue,

Famous stature, and Princely seemelinesse,

According to your natife gentilnesse,

Vnderstande this gift well I you aduise,

And giue it me hardly Parise.

Minerva loquitur ad Parisum.

Ye ye Paris take heed vnto me,

Thou art a Prince borne by discent,

And for to rule thy royall dignity,

I shall thee giue first intendement,

Discretion, prudence in right judgement,

Which in a Prince, is thing most couenable,

Giue it me I am to haue it able.

Explicit.

A Ballad pleasant.

I Haue a Lady where so she bee,

That seldome is she soueraine of my thought,

On whose beauty when I behold and see,

Remembring me how well she is wrought,

I thank fortune y• to her grace me brought,

So faire is she but nothing angelike,

Her beauty is to none other like.

For hardly and she were made of brasse,

Face and all, she hath enough fairenesse,

Her eyen been holow & greene as any grasse,

And Rauinish yelow is her sounitresse,

Thereto she hath of euery comelinesse

Such quantity giuen her by nature,

That with the least she is of her stature.

And as a bolt her browes been ybent,

And betill browed she is also withall,

And of her wit as simple and innocent,

As is a child that can no good at all,

She is not thicke, her stature is but small,

Her fingers been little, and nothing long,

Her skin is smooth as any Oxes tong.

Thereto she is so wise in daliaunce,

And beset her words so womanly,

That her to heare it doth me displeasaunce,

For that she saith, is said so conningly,

That when there be no mo than she and I,

I had leuer she were of talking still,

Then that she should so goodly speach spill.

And sloth none shall ye haue in her entresse,

So diligent is she and vertulesse,

And so busie aye all good to vndresse,

That as a she Ape she is harmelesse,

And as an Harnet meke and pitilesse,

With that she is so wise and circumspect,

That prudence none her folly can infect.

Is it not joy that such one of her age,

Within the bounds of so great tendernesse,

Should in her werke be so sadde and sage,

That of the wedding sawe all the noblesse

Of queene Iane, and was tho as I gesse,

But of the age of yeeres ten and fiue,

I trowe there are not many such aliue.

For as Iesu my sinfull soule saue,

There nis creature in all this world liuing,

Like vnto her that I would gladly haue,

So pleaseth mine hert yt goodly swete thing,

Whose soule in hast vnto his blisse bring,

That first her formed to be a creature,

For were she well, of me I did no cure.

Explicit the discriuing of a faire Lady.

Another Ballad.

O Mossie Quince hanging by your stalke,

The whiche no man dare plucke away nor take,

Of all the folke that passe forth by or walke,

Your floures fresh be fallen away and shake:

I am right sorry maistresse for your sake,

Ye seem a thing that all men haue forgotten,

Ye be so ripe, ye wa [...]e almost rotten.

Your vgly cheare deinous and froward,

Your greene eyen frowning, and not glad,

Your chekes enbolned like a mellow C [...]stard,

Colour of Orenge, your brestes Satournad,

Gilt vpon warrantise, the colour wil not fade,

Bawsin buttocked, bellied like a tonn,

* Men cry S. Barbary at the losing of your gonn.

My louely leud maistres take consideration,

I am so sorrowfull there as ye be absent,

The flour of ye barkfat, y• foulest of all y• nation,

To loue you but a little is mine entent,

The swert hath yswent you, y• smoke hath you shent,

I trow ye haue ben laid vpon some kell to dry,

You do me so much worship there as ye be present,

Of all women I loue you best a m. times fie.

Explicit.

A Ballad, warning men to beware of deceitful women.

* LOoke well about yee that louers bee,

Let not your lusts lead you to do [...]age,

* Be not enamoured on all things that ye see,

Sampson the fort, and Salomon the sage

Deceiued were for all their great courage,

Men deme it right that they see with e [...]e,

* Beware therfore, ye blind eateth many a flie.

I mean of women for all their cheres queint,

Trust them not too much, their truth is but geason,

The fairest outward well can they paint,

Their stedfastnesse endureth but a season,

For they fain frendlines, & worchen treason,

And for they are chaungeable naturally,

Beware therfore, the blind eateth many a flie.

[Page] What wight on liue trusseth on their cheres,

Shal haue at last his guerdon and his mede,

For women can shaue neerer than rasors or sheres,

* Al is not gold y• shineth, men take hede

Their gall is hid vnder a sugred wede,

It is full queint their fantasie to aspie,

Beware therfore, the blind eateth many a flie.

Though all the world doe his busie cure

To make women stand in stablenesse,

It would not be, it is against nature,

The world is do when they lack doublenes,

For they can laugh & loue not, this is expres,

To trust on them it is but fantasie,

Beware therfore, the blind eateth many a flie.

Women of kind hath conditions three,

The first is, they be full of disceit,

To spinne also is their property,

And women haue a wonder full conceit,

For they can weepe oft, and all is a sleit,

And euer when they list, the tear is in the eie,

Beware therfore, the blind eateth many a flie.

* In sooth to say, though all the erth so wanne

Were parchment smooth, white, & scribabell,

And the great sea, that called is the Ociane,

Were tourned into ink blacker than Sabell,

Euery stick a pen, each man a scriuener abell,

Not coud they write womans trechery,

Beware therfore, the blind eateth many a flie.

Explicit.

These Verses next following were compiled by Geffrey Chaucer, and in the written Copies follow at the end of the Complaint of Pity.

THe long nights, when euery creature

Should haue their rest in somewhat as by kind,

Or els ne may their life not long endure:

It falleth most into my wofull mind,

How I so farre haue brought my self behind,

That safe the deth ther may nothing me lisse,

So dispaired I am from all kin blisse.

This same thought me lasteth till y• morow,

And from the morow forth till it be eue,

There needeth me no care for to borrow,

For both I haue good laiser and good leue,

There is no wight that will my wo bireue,

To weepe ynough, and wailen all my fill:

The sore spark of my pein now doth me spill.

Tis loue that hath me set in such a place,

That my desier will neuer fulfill:

For neither Pity, Mercy, neither Grace

Can I not find, yet from my sorrowful hart,

For to be dede, I can it not arace,

The more I loue, the more she doth me smart,

Thorow which I see without remedy,

That from the death I may no wise astart.

Now sothly what she hight I woll reherse,

Her name is Bounty, set in womanhede,

Sadnes in youth, and Beauty pridelesse,

And Plesaunce, vnder Gouernance & Drede:

Her surname is eke faire Ruthelesse,

The Wise eknit vnto good Auenture,

That for I loue her, she sleeth me guiltlesse,

Her loue I best, and shall while I may dure.

Bet then my self a hundred thousand dele,

Than all this worlds riches or creature:

Now hath not loue me bestowed wele,

To loue there I neuer shal haue part,

Alas right thus, is turned me the wheele:

Thus am I slaine with loues furious dart,

I can but loue her best my swetest so,

Loue hath me taught no more of all his art,

But serue alway, and stinten for no wo.

In my true carefull hert there is

So much wo and so little blisse,

That wo is me that euer I was bore,

For all that thing which I desire, I misse,

And all that euer I would not I wisse,

That find I ready to me euermore:

And of all this I not to whom me plaine,

For she that might me out of this bring,

Ne recheth nought whether I weep or sing,

So little ruth hath she vpon my paine.

Alas, when sleeping time is, lo then I wake,

When I should daunce, for fere lo then I quake:

This heauy life I lede lo for your sake,

Though ye thereof in no wise heed do take,

Mine herts lady, and hole my liues quene,

For truly durst I say, as that I fele,

Me seemeth that your sweet heart of stele

Is whetted now against me to kene.

My dere hert, and best beloued fo,

Why liketh you to do me all this wo,

What haue I done, that greueth you, or said,

But for I serue and loue you and no mo,

And whilest I liue I will euer do so:

And therefore swete, ne bethe not euill apaid,

For so good and so faire as ye be,

It were right great wonder but if ye had

Of all seruaunts both of good and bad,

And best worthy of all them I am he.

But neuerthelesse, my right lady swete,

Though that I be vnkonning and vnmete

To serue as I coud best aye your highness,

Yet is there none fairer, that would I hete,

Than I, to do you ease or else bete,

What so I wist that were to your highness,

And had I might as good as I haue will,

Then should ye fele where it were so or none:

For in this world liuing then is there none

That fainer would your herts will fulfill.

For both I loue and eke drede you so sore,

And algates mote & haue done you full yore,

That better loued is none ne neuer shall:

And yet I would beseech you of no more,

But leueth well, and be not wroth therefore,

[Page] And let me serue you forth, lo this is all,

For I am nought so hardy ne so wood,

For to desire that ye should louen me,

For well I wote alas that may not be,

I am so little worthy and ye so good,

For ye be one the worthiest on liue,

And I the most vnlikely for to thriue.

Yet for all this, weteth ye right well,

That ye ne should me from your seruice driue,

That I ne will aye with all my wits fiue

Serue you truly, what wo so that I fele,

For I am set so hic upon your wheele,

That though ye neuer will upon me rew,

I must you loue, and been euer as trew,

As any man can or may on liue.

But the more that I love you goodly free,

The lasse find I that ye loue me,

Alas when shall that hard wit amend,

Where is now all your womanly pite,

Your gentlenesse and your debonairte,

Will ye nothing thereof upon me spend,

And so hole sweet as I am yours all,

And so great will as I haue you to serue,

Now certes, and ye let me thus sterue,

Yet haue ye wonne thereon but small.

For at my knowing I do nought why,

And thus I will beseech you heartely,

That euer ye find whiles ye liue

A truer seruant to you than am I,

Leueth then, and sleeth me hardely,

And I my death to you will all forgiue,

And if ye find no truer verely,

Woll ye suffer then that I thus spill,

And for no manner gilt but my good will,

As good were then vntrue as true to be.

Explicit.

A Ballad, declaring that Womens chastity Doth much excell all treasure worldly.

IN womanhede as auctours do all write,

Most thing commended is their honesty,

Thing most slaunderous their nobles to atwite,

As when women of hasty fraelty,

Ex [...]eeden the bonds, of wifely chastity,

For what auaileth linage or royall blood,

When of their liuing the report is not good.

The holy bed defoyled of marriage,

For ones defoiled may not recouered be,

The vice goeth forth, & the froward language

By many a realme, and many a great cite,

* Sclaunder hath a custome, & that is great

True or fals, by a contrarious soune,

Ones areised it goeth not lightly downe.

For when a lechour by force or by maistry,

Defouled hath of virgines the cleanesse,

Widdowes oppressed, and lie in aduoutry,

Assailed wiues that stood in stablenesse,

Who may then their slaundrous harme redresse,

When their good name is hurt by such report,

* For fame lost ones, can neuer haue his resort.

A thefe may rob a man of his richesse,

And by some meane make restitucion,

And some man may disherite and oppresse

A poore man from his possession,

And after make againe satisfaction,

* But no man may restore in no degree,

A maid robbed of her virginite.

A man may also beat a castell doun,

And built it after more fresh to the sight,

Exile a man out of his regioun,

And him reuoke whether it be wrong or right,

* But no man hath the power ne the might

For to restore the palais virginall

Of chastity when broken is the wall.

Men may also putten out of seruice,

And officers remeue out of their place,

And at a day when fortune list deuise,

They may again restored be to grace,

* But there nis time, nother set down, ne space,

Nor neuer in story, neither rad ne saine,

That maidenhed lost, recouered was againe.

For which all men should haue a conscience

To rewen in their heart, and repent sore,

And have remorse of such a great offence,

To rauish thing, which they may not restore:

For it is said, and hath be said full yore,

* The emeraud greene, of parfite chastite,

Stole ones away, may not recouered be.

And hard it is to rauish a treasour,

Which of nature is not recuparable:

Lordship may not, of King nor Emperour,

Reforme a thing which is nat reformable:

* Rust of defame is inseperable,

* And maidenhede once lost of new or yore,

No man of liue may it againe restore.

The Romanes old thorough their patience

Suffered tyraunts in their tyrannies

On their cities to do great violence,

The people to oppresse, with their robberies:

But to do punish, they set great espies,

On false auouterers; as it is well couth,

Which widowes rauish, and maidens in their youth.

Explicit.

The Court of Love.
This Book is an imitation of the Romaunt of the Rose, shewing that all are subject to love, what impediments soever to the contrary: containing also those twenty Statutes which are to be observed in the Court of Love.

WIth timerous heart, and trembling hand of drede,

Of cunning naked, bare of eloquence,

Vnto the floure of porte in womanhede

I write, as he that none intelligence

Of metres hath, ne floures of sentence:

Saufe that me list my writing to conuey,

In that I can to please her high nobley.

[Page] The blosomes fresh of Tullius gardein soot

Present they not, my matter for to born:

Poemes of Virgil taken here no root,

Ne craft of Galfride, may not here sojourn:

Why nam I cunning? O well may I mourn

For lacke of science, that I cannat write

Vnto the princes of my life aright.

No tearmes digne vnto her excellence,

So is she sprong of noble stirpe and high:

A world of honour and of reuerence

There is in her, this will I testifie,

Caliope thou suster wise and slie,

And thou Minerua, guide me with thy grace,

That language rude, my matter not deface.

Thy suger dropes sweet of Helicon

Distill in me, thou gentle muse I pray,

And thee Melpomene I call anone,

Of ignoraunce the mist to chase away:

And giue me grace so for to write and say,

That she my lady of her worthinesse

Accept in gree this little short treatesse,

That is entituled thus, The Court of Loue:

And ye that ben Metriciens me excuse,

I you beseech for Venus sake aboue,

For what I mean in this, ye need not muse:

And if so be my lady it refuse

For lacke of ornate speech, I would be wo,

That I presume to her to writen so.

But my entent and all my busie cure

Is for to write this treatesse, as I can,

Vnto my lady, stable, true, and sure,

Faithfull and kind, sith first that she began

Me to accept in seruice as her man:

To her be all the pleasure of this book,

That when her like she may it rede and look.

WHen I was young, at eighteene yeare of age,

Lusty and light, desirous of pleasaunce,

Approching on full sadde and ripe courage,

Loue arted me to do my obseruaunce

To his estate, and done him obeisaunce,

Commaunding me y• Court of Loue to see,

Alite beside the mount of Citharee.

There Citherea goddesse was and quene:

Honoured highly for her majeste,

And eke her sonne, the mighty God I wene,

Cupide the blind, that for his dignite

A M. louers worship on their kne,

There was I bid in paine of death to pere,

By Mercury the winged messengere.

So then I went by strange & fer countrees,

Enquiring aye what coast had to it drew

The Court of Loue: & thiderward as bees,

At last I see the people gan pursue:

And me thoght some wight was there yt knew

Where that y• court was holden ferre or nie,

And after them full fast I gan me hie.

Anone as I them ouertooke, I said:

Heile friends, whither purpose ye to wend?

Forsooth (qd. ofte) that answered liche a maid,

To Loues Court now go we gentle friend.

Where is that place (qd. I) my fellow hend?

At Citheron, sir said he, without dout,

The king of Loue and all his noble rout

Dwelleth within a castle rially.

So then apace I journed forth among,

And as he said, so fond I there truly:

For I beheld the toures high and strong,

And high pinacles, large of hight and long,

With plate of gold bespred on euery side,

And precious stones, y• stone werke for to hide.

No Saphire in Inde, no Rube rich of price,

There lacked then, nor Emeraud so grene,

Bales Turkes, ne thing to my deuice,

That may the castle maken for to shene:

All was as bright as sterres in Winter bene,

And Phebus shone to make his peace ageine,

For trespas done to high estates tweine.

Venus and Mars, the god & goddesse clere,

When he them found in armes cheined fast,

Venus was then full sad of hert and chere:

But Phebus beams streight as is the mast,

Vpon the castle ginneth he to cast,

To please the lady, princes of that place,

In signe he looketh after loues grace.

For there nis God in heauen or hell ywis,

But he hath ben right soget vnto loue:

Ioue, Pluto, or whatsoeuer he is,

Ne creature in yearth, or yet aboue,

Of these the reuers may no wight approue:

But furthermore, the castle to descrie,

Yet saw I neuer none so large and hie.

For vnto heauen it stretcheth, I suppose,

Within and out depeinted wonderly,

With many a thousand daisie rede as rose,

And white also, this saw I verely:

But who tho daisies might do signifie,

Can I not tell, safe that the quenes floure,

Alceste it was that kept there her sojoure:

Which vnder Venus lady was and quene,

And Admete king & soueraine of that place,

To whom obeied the ladies good ninetene,

With many a thousand other bright of face:

And yong men fele came forth with lusty pace,

And aged eke, their homage to dispose,

But what they were, I coud not well disclose.

Yet nere and nere forth in I gan me dress

Into an hall of noble apparaile,

With arras spred, and cloth of gold I gesse,

And other silke of esyer auaile:

Vnder the cloth of their estate sauns faile

The king and quene there sat as I beheld:

It passed joy of Helise the field.

There saints haue their comming & resort,

To seene the king so rially beseine

In purple clad, and eke the quene in sort,

And on their heads saw I crownes tweine,

With stones fret, so that it was no paine,

[Page] Withouten meat and drink to stand & see

The kings honour and the rialtee.

And for to treat of states with the king,

That ben of councel cheef, & with the quene:

The king had Danger nere to him standing,

The quene of loue, Disdain, & that was sene:

For by the faith I shall to God, I wene

Was neuer straunger none in her degree,

Than was the quene in casting of her eye.

And as I stood perceiuing her apart,

And eke the beames shining of her eyen,

Me thought they weren shapen lich a dart,

Sharp & persing, & smal and streight of line:

And all her haire it shone as gold so fine,

Dishiuil crispe, down hanging at her backe

A yard in length: and soothly then I spake.

O bright regina, who made thee so faire?

Who made thy colour vermelet and white?

Wher wonneth y• God, how far aboue ye aire?

Great was his craft, & great was his delite.

Now maruell I nothing that ye do hight

The quene of loue, and occupie the place

Of Cithare: now sweet lady thy grace.

In mewet spake I so, that nought astart

By no condition word, that might be hard:

But in my inward thought I gan aduert,

And oft I said my wit is dull and hard:

For with her beauty, thus God wot I ferde,

As doth the man yrauished with sight,

When I beheld her cristall eyen so bright:

No respect hauing what was best to done,

Till right anone beholding here and there,

I spied a friend of mine, and that full sone,

A gentlewoman was the chamberere

Vnto the quene, that hote as ye shall here,

Philobone, that loued all her life:

When she me sey, she led me forth as blife:

And me demanded how and in what wise

I thither come, and what my errand was?

To seen the Court (qd. I) and all the guise,

And eke to sue for pardon and for grace,

And mercy aske for all my great trespas,

That I none erst come to the court of loue:

Foryeue me this, ye gods all aboue.

That is well said (qd. Philobone) indede:

But were ye not assomoned to appere

By Mercurius, for that is all my drede:

Yes gentill feire (qd. I) now am I here,

Ye yet what tho though that be true my dere:

Of your free will ye should haue come vnsent,

For ye did not, I deme ye will be shent.

For ye that reigne in youth and lustinesse,

Pampired with ease, and jalous in your age,

Your duty is, as farre as I can gesse,

To loues court to dressen your viage,

As soone as nature maketh you so sage,

* That ye may know a woman from a swan,

Or when your foot is growen halfe a span.

But sith that ye by wilfull negligence

This xviii. year hath kept your self at large,

The greater is your trespas and offence,

And in your neck you mote bere all y• charge:

For better were ye ben withouten barge

Amidde the sea in tempest and in raine,

Then biden here, receiuing wo and paine

That ordained is for such as them absent

Fro loues court by yeres long and fele.

I ley my life ye shall full soone repent,

For loue will r [...]iue your colour, lust, and hele:

Eke ye must bait on many an heauy mele:

No force ywis: I stirred you long agone

To draw to court (qd. little) Philobone.

Ye shall well see how rough and angry face

The king of Loue will shew, when ye him se:

By mine aduise kneel down & ask him grace,

Eschewing perill and aduersite,

For well I wote it woll none other be,

Comfort is none, ne counsell to your ease,

Why will ye then the king of Loue displease?

O mercy God (qd. iche) I me repent,

Caitife & wretch in hert, in will and thought,

And after this shall be mine hole entent

To serue & please, how dere yt loue be bought:

Yet sith I haue mine own pennance ysought,

With humble sprite shall I it receiue,

Though that ye king of Loue my life bereiue.

And though that feruent loues qualite

In me did neuer wortch truly: yet I

With all obeisaunce and humilite,

And benigne hert shall serue him till I die:

And he that lord of might is great and hie,

Right as him list me chastice and correct,

And punish me with trespace thus infect.

These words said, she caught me by the lap,

And led me forth in till a temple round,

Both large and wide: and as my blessed hap

And good auenture was, right soone I found

A tabernacle reised from the ground,

Where Venus sat, and Cupide by her side,

Yet halfe for drede I can my visage hide.

And eft againe I looked and beheld,

Seeing full sundry people in the place,

And mister folk, & some that might not weld

Their lims wele, me thought a wonder case,

The temple shone with windows all of glass,

Bright as the day, with many a fair image,

And there I see the fresh queene of Cartage

Dido, that brent her beauty for the loue

Of false Eneas, and the weimenting

Of her Annelida, true as Turtle doue,

To Arcite fals: and there was in peinting

Of many a prince, and many a doughty king,

Whose martirdom was shewed about y• wals

And how that fele for loue had suffred fals.

But sore I was abashed and astonied

Of all tho folke that there were in that tide,

[Page] And then I asked where they had wonned:

In diuers courts (qd. she) here beside,

In sundry clothing mantill wise full wide

They were arraied, and did their sacrifise

Vnto the God, and goddesse in their guise.

Lo yonder folk (qd. she) y• kneele in blew,

They weare the colour aye and euer shall,

In signe they were and euer will be trew

Withouten chaunge: and soothly yonder all

That ben in black, and mourning cry and call

Vnto the gods, for their loues bene,

Som sick, some dede, som all to sharp & kene.

Yea then (qd. I) wt done these priests here,

Nonnes and Hermites, Freres, and all tho,

That sit in white, in russet, and in grene:

Forsooth (qd. she) they waylen of their wo.

O mercy Lord, may they so come and go

Freely to court, and haue such liberty?

Yea men of each condition and degre,

And women eke: For truly there is none

Exception made, ne neuer was ne may:

This court is ope and free for euerichone,

The king of loue he will not say them nay:

He taketh all in poore or rich array,

That meekely sew vnto his excellence

With all their hert and all their reuerence.

And walking thus about with Philobone

I see where come a messengere in hie

Streight from the king, which let command anone,

Throughout the court to make an ho & cry:

All new come folke abide, and wote ye why,

The kings lust is for to seene you sone:

Come nere let see, his will mote need be done.

Then gan I me present tofore the king,

Trembling for fere with visage pale of hew,

And many a louer with me was kneeling,

Abashed sore, till vnto the time they knew

The sentence yeue of his entent full trew:

And at the last the king hath me behold

With sterne visage, & seid, what doth this old

Thus ferre ystope in yeres, come so late

Vnto the court? forsooth, my liege (qd. I)

An hundred time I haue ben at the gate

Afore this time, yet coud I neuer espie

Of mine acqueintaunce any in mine eie:

And shame fastnesse away me gan to chace,

But now I me submit vnto your grace.

Well, all is pardoned with condition

That thou be true from henceforth to thy might

And seruen loue in thine entention,

Sweare this, & then as ferre as it is right,

thou shalt haue grace here in thy quenes sight.

Yes by y• faith I owe to your croun, I swere,

Though death therefore me thir [...]th with his spere.

And when y• king hod seene vs euerychone,

He let commaund an Officer in hie

To take our faith, and shew vs one by one

The statutes of the court full busily:

Anon the booke was leid before their eie,

To rede and see what thing we must obserue

In Loues Court, till that we die and sterue.

ANd for that I was lettred, there I red

The statutes hole of Loues Court & hall:

The first statute that on the booke was spred,

Was to be true in thought and deeds all

Vnto the king of Loue the lord ryall,

And to the quene as faithfull and as kind,

As I coud thinke with hert, will and mind.

The Second statute secretly to kepe

Councell of loue, not blowing euery where

All that I know, and let it sinke and flete,

It may not sowne in euery wights ere:

Exiling slaunder aye for drede and fere,

And to my lady which I loue and serue,

Be true and kind her grace for to deserue.

The Third statute was clerely writ also,

Withouten chaunge to liue & die the same,

None other loue to take for wele ne wo,

For blind delite, for ernest nor for game:

Without repent for laughing or for grame,

To biden still in full perseueraunce,

All this was hole the kings ordinaunce.

The Fourth statute to purchase ever to here,

And stirren folke to loue, and beten fire

On Venus auter, here about and there,

And preach to them of loue and hote desire,

And tell how loue will quiten well their hire:

This must be kept, and loth me to displease:

If loue be wroth, passe: for there by is ease.

The Fift statute, not to be daungerous,

If that a thought would reue me of my slepe:

Nor of a sight to be ouer squemous,

And so verely this statute was to kepe,

To turne and wallow in my bed and wepe,

When that my lady of her cruelty

Would from her heart exilen all pity.

The Sixt statute, it was for me to vse,

Alone to wander, void of company,

And on my ladies beauty for to muse,

And to thinke it no force to liue or die,

And eft againe to thinke the remedie,

How to her grace I might anone attaine,

And tell my wo vnto my soueraine.

The Seuenth statute, was to be patient,

Whether my lady joyfull were or wroth,

For words glad or heauy, diligent,

Wheder that she me helden lefe or loth:

And hereupon I put was to mine oth,

Her for to serue, and lowly to obey,

In shewing her my chere ye xx. sith aday.

The Eight statute to my remembraunce,

Was to speaken and pray my lady dere,

With hourely labour & great entendaunce,

Me for to loue with all her hert entere,

And me desire and make me joyfull chere,

Right as she is surmouning euery faire,

Of beauty well and gentle debonaire.

[Page]

The Ninth statute, with letters writ of gold,

This was the sentence how that I and all,

Should euer dread to be to ouerbold

Her to displease, and truely so I shall,

But ben content for thing that may fall,

And meekely take her chastisement, and yerd,

And to offend her euer ben aferd.

The Tenth statute, was egally to discerne,

Betwene the lady and thine ability,

And thinke thy selfe art neuer like to yerne,

By right her mercy nor her equity,

But of her grace and womanly pity:

For though thy selfe be noble in thy strene,

A thousand fold more noble is thy quene.

Thy liues lady, and thy soueraine,

That hath thine hert al hole in gouernaunce,

Thou mayest no wise it taken to disdaine,

To put thee humbly at her ordinaunce,

And giue her free the reine of her Plesaunce,

* For liberty is thyng that women looke,

And truly els the matter is a crooke.

The xi. statute, thy signes for to know

With eye and finger, and with smiles soft,

And low to couch, and alway for to show,

For drede of spies, for to winken oft:

And secretly to bring up a sigh aloft,

* But still beware of ouermuch resort,

For that parauenture spilleth all thy sport.

The xii. statute remember to obserue:

For all the paine thou hast for loue and wo,

All is too lite her mercy to deserue,

Thou musten think, whereuer thou ride or go:

And mortall wounds suffer thou also,

All for her sake, and thinke it well besette

Vpon thy loue, for it may not be bette.

The xiii. statute, whylome is to thinke,

What thing may best thy lady like & please,

And in thine herts bottome let it sinke:

Some thing deuise, & take for it thine ease,

And send it her, that may her hert appease:

Some hert, or ring, or letter, or deuice,

Or precious stone, but spare not for no price.

The xiiii. statute eke thou shalt assay,

Formely to keepe the most part of thy life:

Wish yt thy Lady in thine armes lay,

And nightly dreme, thou hast thy nights herts wife,

Sweetly in armes, strayning her as blife:

And when thou seest it is but fantasie,

See that thou sing not ouer merely.

* For too much joy hath oft a wofull end,

It longeth eke this statute for to hold,

To deme thy lady euermore thy friend,

And thinke thy selfe in no wise a cokold.

In euery thing she doth but as she should:

* Construe the best, beleeue no tales new,

For many a lye is told, y• seemeth full trew.

But think that she, so bounteous & faire,

Coud not be false: imagine this algate,

And think y• tonges wicked would her appair,

Sclandering her name & worshipfull estate,

And louers true to setten at debate:

And though thou seest a faut right at thine eye,

Excuse it bliue, and glose it pretily.

The xv. statute, vse to swere and stare,

And counterfeit a lesing hardely,

To saue thy ladies honour euery where,

And put thy selfe for her to fight boldely:

Say she is good, vertuous, and ghostly,

Clere of entent, & heart, yea, thought & will,

And argue not for reason ne for skill.

Againe thy ladies pleasure ne entent:

For loue will not be countrepleted indede:

* Say as she saith, then shalt thou not be shent,

The Crow is white, ye truly so I rede:

And aye wt thing that she thee will forbede,

Eschew all that, and giue her soueraintee,

Her appetite follow in all degree.

The xvi. statute keepe it if thou may,

* Seuen sith at night thy lady for to please,

And seuen at midnight, seuen at morrow day,

And drinke a caudle earely for thine ease.

Do this, and keep thine head from all disease,

And win the garland here of louers all,

That euer came in court, or euer shall.

Full few, think I, this statute hold & keep:

But truely this my reason giueth me fele,

That some louers should rather fall asleepe,

Than take on hand to please so oft and wele.

There lay none oth to this statute adele,

But keep who might, as gaue him his corage

Now get this garland lusty folke of age:

Now win who may ye lusty folke of youth,

This garland fresh, of floures red and white,

Purple and blew, and colours fell vncouth,

And I shall croune him king of all delite,

In all the court there was not to my sight

A louer true, that he ne was adrede,

When he expresse hath heard the statute rede.

The xvii. statute, when age approcheth on,

And lust is laied, and all the fire is queint,

As freshly then thou shalt begin to fonne

And dote in loue, and all her image paint

In thy remembraunce, till thou begin to faint,

As in the first season thine hert began:

And her desire, though thou ne may ne can.

Performe thy liuing actuell, and lust,

Regester this in thine remembraunce: rust,

Eke when thou maist not keep thy thing from

Yet speake and talke of pleasaunt daliaunce,

For yt shall make thine hert rejoice & daunce,

* And when thou maist no more y• game assay,

The statute bid thee pray for them that may.

The xviii. statute, holy to commend,

To please thy lady, is that thou eschew

With sluttishnesse thy selfe for to offend,

Be jollife, fresh, and fete, with things new,

[Page] Courtly with manner, this is all thy due,

* Gentill of port, and louing cleanlinesse,

This is the thing, that liketh thy maistresse.

And not to wander liche a dulled Asse,

Ragged and torne, disguised in array,

Ribaud in speech, or out of measure passe,

Thy bound exceeding, thinke on this alway:

* For women been of tender hearts aye,

And lightly set their pleasure in a place,

When they misthinke, they lightly let it passe.

The xix. statute, meat and drinke forgete:

Ech other day, see that thou fast for loue,

* For in the court, they liue withouten mete,

Saue such as cometh from Venus all aboue,

They take none hede, in pain of great reproue

Of meat and drinke, for that is all in vaine,

Onely they liue by sight of their soueraine.

The xx. statute, last of euerychone,

Enroll it in thyne herts priuitee:

To wring & waile, to turne, & sigh & grone,

When that thy lady absent is from thee,

And eke renew the words all that she

Between you twain hath said, & all the chere

That thee hath made, thy liues lady dere.

And see thine hert in quiet, ne in rest

Sojourne, till time thou seene thy Lady eft,

But where she won, by south, or east, or west,

With all thy force, now see it be not left:

Be diligent, till time thy life be reft,

In that thou mayest, thy lady for to see,

This statute was of old antiquitee.

An officer of high authority,

Cleped Rigour, made vs to swere anone:

He nas corrupt with partiality,

Fauour, prayer, ne gold that clerely shone:

Ye shall (qd. he) now sweren here echone,

Yong and old, to kepe in that they may

The statutes truly, all after this day.

O God thought I, hard is to make this oth:

But to my power shall I them obserue,

In all this world nas matter halfe so loth

To sweare for all: for though my body sterue,

I have no might them hole to obserue.

But herken now, the case how it befell,

After my oth was made, the troth to tell,

I tourned leaues, looking on this booke,

Where other statutes were of women shene,

And right forthwith Rigour on me gan looke

Full angerly, and sayed vnto the queene

I traitour was, and charged me let been,

There may no man (qd. he) the starute know,

That long to women, hie degree ne low.

In secret wise they kepten been full close,

They soune echone to liberty, my friend,

Pleasaunt they be, & to their owne purpose,

There wote no wight of them, but God and fiend,

Ne naught shall wit, vnto the worlds end.

The queen hath yeue me charge in pain to die

Neuer to rede ne seene them with myne eie.

* For men shall not so nere of counsaile bene

With womanhood, ne knowen of her guise,

Ne wt they think, ne of their wit then giue,

I me report to Salomon the wise,

And mighty Sampson, which beguiled thrise

With Dalida was, he wote that in a throw,

There may no man statute of women know.

* For it perauenture may right so befall,

That they be bound by nature to deceiue,

And spinne, & weep, and sugre strew on gall,

The hert of man to rauish and to reiue,

And whet their tongue as sharp as swerde or gleue,

It may betide, this is their ordinance,

So must they lowly doen their obseruaunce,

And keepe the statute yeuen them of kind,

Of such as loue hath yeue hem in their life.

* Men may not wete why turneth euery wind,

Nor waxen wise, nor been inquisitife

To know secret of maid, widow, or wife,

For theytheir statutes haue to them reserued,

And neuer man to know them hath deserued.

Now dresse you forth, the God of loue you guide

(Qd. Rigour then) & seek the temple bright

Of Cithera, goddesse here beside,

Beseech her by influence and might

Of all her vertue, you to teach aright,

How for to serue your ladies, and to please

Ye that been sped, and set your hert in ease.

And ye that ben vnpurueyed, pray her eke

Comfort you soone with grace and destiny,

That ye may set your hert there ye may like,

In such a place, that it to loue may be

Honour and worship, and felicity

To you for aye, now goeth by one assent.

Graunt mercy sir (qd. we) and forth we went,

Deuoutly soft and easie pace to see

Venus the goddesse Image all of gold:

And there we found a thousand on their knee,

Some fresh and faire, some deadly to behold,

In sundry Mantils new, and some were old,

Some painted were with flames red as fire,

Outward to shew their inward hote desire.

With dolefull chere, ful fell in their complaint,

Cried Lady Venus, rew vpon our sore,

Receiue our bils, with teares all bedreint,

We may not weepe, there is no more in store

But wo and pain, vs fretteth more and more:

Thou blisseful Planet, louers sterre so shene,

Haue routh on vs, that sigh & carefull bene.

And punish Lady, greuously we pray,

The false vntrue, with counterfeit pleasaunce:

That made their oth, be true to liue or dey,

With chere assured, & with countenaunce:

And falsely now they footen loues daunce,

[Page] Barraine of routh, vntrue of that they saied,

Now that their lust and pleasure is alaied.

Yet eft againe a thousand million

Rejoycing loue, leading their life in blisse,

They sayd Venus, redresse of all diuision,

Goddesse eternell, thy name Ihired is:

By loues bond is knit all thing iwis,

Beast vnto beast, the yearth to water wan,

Bird vnto bird, and woman vnto man.

This is the life of joy that we been in,

Resembling life of heauenly paradise,

* Loue is exiler aye of vice and sinne,

Loue maketh herts lusty to deuise,

Honour and grace, haue they in euery wise,

That been to loues law obedient,

Loue maketh folke benigne and diligent,

* Aye stering them to drede vice and shame:

In their degree, it maketh them honourable,

And sweet it is of loue to beare the name,

So that his loue be faithfull, true, and stable:

Loue pruneth him, to semen amiable,

Loue hath no faut, there it is erercised,

But sole with them yt have all loue dispised.

Honour to thee celestiall and clere

Goddesse of Loue, and to thy celsitude,

That yeuest vs light so fer doun from thy spere,

Piercing our hearts with thy pulcritude,

Comparison none of similitude

May to thy grace be made in no degree,

That hast vs set with Loue in vnitie.

Great cause haue we to praise thy name & thee,

For thorough thee we liue in joy and blisse.

Blessed be thou, most soueraine to see,

Thy holy court of gladnesse may not misse:

* A thousand sith we may rejoyce in this,

That we ben thine with hert and all yfere,

Enflamed with thy grace, and heauenly fere.

Musing of tho that spaken in this wise,

I me bethought in my remembraunce

Mine orizon right goodly to deuise,

And pleasauntly with herts obeisaunce,

Beseech the goddesse voiden my greuaunce,

For I loued eke, saufe yt I wist not where,

Yet downe I set and sayd as ye shall here.

Fairest of all, that euer were or bee,

Licour and light, to pensife creature,

Mine hole affiaunce, and my lady free,

My goddesse bright, my fortune and my vre,

I yeue and yeeld my hert to thee full sure,

Humbly beseeching lady of thy grace

Me to bestow now in some blessed place.

And here I vow me, faithful, true, and kind,

Without offence of mutabilitie,

Humbly to serue, while I haue wit and mind,

Mine hole affiaunce, and my lady free,

In thilke place, there ye me signe to be:

And sith this thing of new is yeue me aye

To loue and serue, needly must I obey.

Be merciable with thy fire of grace,

And fix mine hert, there beauty is and routh:

For hote I loue, determine in no place,

Saufe onely this, by God and by my trouth

Troubled I was, with slumber, slepe, & slouth

This other night, and in a visioun

I see a woman romen vp and doun,

Of meane stature, and semely to behold,

Lustie and fresh, demure of countenaunce,

Yong & well shape, with hair shone as gold,

With eyen as cristal, ferced with pleasaunce,

And she gan stirre mine hert a lite to daunce:

But suddainly she vanish gan right there,

Thus I may say, I loue and wote not where.

For what she is, ne her dwelling I not,

And yet I fele that loue distreineth me:

Might iche her know, her would I faine God wot

Serue and obey with all benignitie,

And if that other be my destinie,

So that no wise I shall her neuer see,

Then graunt me her that best may liken me.

With glad rejoyce to liue in parfite hele,

Deuoid of wrath, repent or variaunce:

And able me to doe that may be wele

Vnto my lady, with herts hie pleasaunce:

And mighty goddes through thy purueiaunce

My wit, my thoght, my lust & loue so guide,

That to thine honor I may me prouide

To set mine hert in place there I may like,

And gladly serue with all affection,

Great is the paine, which at mine heart doth sticke,

Till I be sped by thine election:

Helpe Lady goddesse, that possession

I might of her haue, that in all my life

I clepen shall my quene, and hearts wife.

And in the court of Loue to dwell for aye

My will it is, and done thee Sacrifice:

Daily with Diane eke to fight and fraye,

And holden werre, as might will me suffice:

That goddesse chast, I keepen in no wise

To serue, a Figge for all her chastity,

Her law is for Religiousity.

And thus gan finish prayer, laud, & preice,

Which that I youe to Venus on my knee,

And in mine hert to ponder and to peice,

I gan anone her Image fresh beautie:

Heile to that figure sweet, and heile to thee

Cupide (qd. I) and rose and yede my wey,

And in the temple as I yede, I sey

A shrine surmounting, all in stones rich,

Of which y• force was pleasaunce to mine ey,

With Diamond or Saphire, neuer liche

I haue none seene, ne wrought so wonderly:

So when I met with Philobone in hie,

I gan demaund, who is this sepulture,

Forsooth (qd. she) a tender creature

Is shrined there, and Pity is her name,

She saw an Egle wreke him on a flie,

[Page] And pluck his wing, & eke him in his game,

And tender hert of that hath made her die:

Eke she would weep & mourn right pitously

To seene a louer si [...]ffer great distresse,

In all the court nas none, as I do gesse,

That coud a louer halfe so well auaile,

Ne of his wo the torment or the rage

Asken, for he was sure withouten faile,

That of his greef she coud the heat assuage.

In steed of Pity, speedeth hote courage

The matters all of court, now she is dead,

I me report in this to womanhead.

For weil and weep, and cry, & speak, & pray,

Women would not haue pity on thy plaint,

Ne by that mean, to ease thine hert conuay,

But thee receiuen for their owne talent:

And say that Pity causeth thee in consent

Of reuth to take thy seruice and thy paine,

In that thou maist, to please thy soueraine.

But this is counsaile, keepe it secretly,

(Qd. she) I nolde for all the world about,

The queene of Loue it wist, and wite ye why,

For if by me this matter springen out,

In court no lenger should I out of dout

Dwellen, but shame in all my life endry,

Now keepe it close (qd. she) this hardely.

Well, all is well, now shall ye seen she said

The fairest lady vnder Sunne that is:

Come on with me, demean you lich a maid,

With shamefast drede, for ye shall speak ywis

With her that is the mirrour joy and blisse:

But somewhat strange & sad of her demean

She is, beware your countenaunce be seen

Nor ouer light, ne rechelesse, ne too bold,

Ne malapert, ne renning with your tong,

For she will you obeisen and behold,

And you demand why ye were hence so long

Out of this court, without resort among:

And Rosiall her name is hote aright,

Whose heart as yet is yeuen to no wight.

And ye also been, as I vnderstond,

With loue but light auanced, by your word,

Might ye by hap your freedom maken bond,

And fall in grace with her, and wele accord,

Well might ye thank ye God of Loue & lord,

For she that ye saw in your dreame appere,

To loue such one, what are they then the nere.

Yet wote ye what, as my remembraunce

Me yeueth now, ye faine where that ye say,

That ye with loue had neuer acquaintaunce,

Saue in your dream riȝt late this other day:

Why yes parde, my life that durst I lay,

That ye were caught vpon an heath, when I

Saw you complain, and sigh full pitously.

Within an herber, and a gardein faire

Where flowers grow, and herbes vertuous,

Of which the sauour swete was and the aire,

There were your self full hote and amorous:

Iwis ye been too nice and daungerous,

I would ye now repent, and loue some new,

Nay by my troth, I said I neuer knew

The goodly wight, whose I shal be for aye:

Guide me the lord, that loue hath made & me.

But forth we went into a chamber gay,

There was Rosiall, womanly to see,

Whose streames, sotell piercing of her eye,

Mine hert gan thrill for beauty in the stound,

Alas (qd. I) who hath me yeue this wound.

And then I drede to speake, till at the last

I grete the lady reuerently and wele,

When that my sigh was gone and ouerpast,

Then doun on keens ful humbly gan I knele,

Beseeching her my feruent wo to kele,

For there I tooke full purpose in my mind

Vnto her grace, my painfull hert to bind.

For if I shall all fully her discriue,

Her head was round, by compasse of nature,

Her haire as gold, she passed all on liue,

And Lilly forehed had this creature,

With liueliche browes, flawe of colour pure,

Betwene ye which was meane disceueraunce

From euery brow, to shew a due distaunce.

Her nose directed streight, and euen as line,

With forme and shape thereto conuenient,

In which the goddes milk white path doth shine,

And eke her eyen ben bright & orient,

As is the Smaragde, vnto my judgement,

Or yet these sterres heauenly small & bright,

Her visage is of louely rede and white.

Her mouth is short, and shit in little space,

Flaming somedeale, not ouer redde I mean,

With pregnant lips, & thick to kisse percace,

* For lippes thinne not fat, but euer lene,

They serue of nauȝt, they be not worth a bean,

For if the basse been full, there is delite,

Maximian truly thus doth he write.

But to my purpose, I say white as snow

Been all her teeth, and in order they stond

Of one stature, and eke her breath I trow

Surmounteth all odours that euer I found

In sweetnesse, and her body, face, and hond

Been sharpely slender, so that from the head

Vnto the foot, all is but womanhead.

I hold my peace, of other things hidde,

Here shall my soule, and not my tong bewray,

But how she was arraied, if ye me bidde,

That shall I well discouer you and say,

A bend of gold and silke, full fresh and gay,

With her intresse, broudered full wele,

Right smoothly kept, and shining euerydele.

About her necke a flower of fresh deuise,

With Rubies set, that lusty were to sene,

And she in goun was light and summer wise,

Shapen full wele, the colour was of grene,

With aureat sent about her sides clene,

[Page] With diuers stones, precious and rich,

Thus was she rayed, yet saw I neuer her lich.

For if that Ioue had but this lady seine,

Tho Calixto ne yet Alemenia,

They neuer hadden in his armes leine,

Ne he had loued the faire Eurosa,

Ye ne yet Dane ne Antiopa,

For all their beauty stood in Rosiall,

She seemed lich a thing celestiall.

In bounty, fauour, port, and seemelinesse,

Pleasaunt of figure, mirrour of delite,

Gracious to seene, and root of all gentilnesse,

With angell visage, iusty redde and white:

There was not lack, saufe daunger had alite

This goodly fresh in rule and gouernaunce,

And somdele strange she was for her pleasaunce.

And truly sone I took my leaue and went,

When she had me enquired what I was,

For more and more impressen gan the dent

Of loues dart, while I beheld her face,

And eft againe I come to seeken grace,

And vp I put my bill, with sentence clere,

That followeth after, rede and ye shall here.

O ye fresh, of beauty the root,

That nature hath formed so wele and made

Princes and quene, and ye yt may do boot

Of all my langour with your words glad,

Ye wounded me, ye made me wo bestad,

Of grace redresse my mortall greefe, as ye

Of all my harme the very causer be.

Now am I caught, and vnware suddainly

With persaunt streames of your eye so clere,

Subject to been, and seruen you mekely,

And all your man, iwis my lady dere,

Abiding grace, of which I you require,

That mercilesse ye cause me not to sterue,

But guerdon me, liche as I may deserue.

For by my troth, all the days of my breath

I am and will be your in will and hert,

Patient and meeke, for you to suffer death

If it require, now rue vpon my smart,

And this I swere, I neuer shall out start

From loues court for none aduersitie,

So ye would rue on my distresse and me.

My desteny, my fate, and houre I blisse,

That haue me set to been obedient

Onely to you, the floure of all iwis,

I trust to Venus neuer to repent,

For euer redy, glad, and diligent,

Ye shall me find in seruice to your grace,

Till death my life out of my body race.

Humble vnto your excellence so digne,

Enforcing aye my wits and delite

To serue and please with glad hert and benigne,

And been as Troylus Troyes knight,

Or Antonie for Cleopatre bright,

And neuer you me thinkes to renay,

This shall I keepe vnto mine ending day.

Enprint my speech in your memoriall

Sadly my princes, salue of all my sore,

And think, y• for I would becommen thrall,

And been your owne, as I haue sayd before,

Ye must of pity cherish more and more

Your man, and tender after his desert,

And giue him courage for to been expert.

For where y• one hath set his hert on fire,

And findeth neither refute ne pleasaunce,

Ne word of comfort, death will quite his hire,

Alas that there is none allegeaunce

* Of all their wo, alas the great greuaunce

To loue vnloued, but ye my lady dere,

In other wise may gouerne this matere.

Truly gramercy friend of your good will,

And of your profer in your humble wise,

But for your seruice, take and keep it still,

And where ye say, I ought you well to cherise,

And of your greefe the remedy deuise,

I know not why: I nam acquainted well

With you, ne wot not sothly where ye dwell.

In art of loue I write, and songs make,

That may be song in honour of the king

And quene of Loue, and then I vndertake,

He that is sadde, shall then tull merry sing,

And daungerous not ben in euery thing

Beseech I you, but seene my will and rede,

And let your answere put me out of drede.

What is your name, rehearse it here I pray,

Of whence and where, of what condition

That ye been of, let see come off and say,

Faine would I know your disposition

Ye haue put on your old entention,

But what ye meane, to serue me I ne wote,

Saufe that ye say ye loue me wonder hote.

My name, alas, my hert why makes thou straunge,

Philogenet I calld am fer & nere,

Of Cambrige clerk, y• neuer think to chaunge

Fro you y• with your heuenly stremes clere

Rauish mine hert and ghost, and all infere,

Since at the first I write my bill for grace,

Me thinke I see some mercy in your face.

And wt I mene, by gods y• al hath wrought,

My bill now maketh small mention,

That ye been lady in mine inward thought

Of all mine hert withouten offencion,

That I best loue, and sith I begon

To draw to court, lo then what might I say,

I yeeld me here vnto your nobley.

And if that I offend, or wilfully

By pompe of hert your precept disobay,

Or done againe your will unskilfully,

Or greuen you for earnest or for play,

Correct ye me right sharply then I pray,

As it is seene vnto your womanhede,

And rew on me, or els I nam but dede.

Nay God forbede to fesse you so with grace,

And for a word of sugred eloquence,

[Page] To haue compassion in so little space,

Then were it time yt some of vs were hens,

Ye shall not find in me such insolence:

* Eye what is this, may ye not suffre sight,

How may ye looke vpon the candle light?

That clerer is and hotter than mine eie,

And yet ye sayd the beames perse and frete,

How shall ye then the candle light endrie,

For well wote ye, that hath the sharper hete,

And there ye bid me, you correct and bete,

If ye offend, nay that may not be done,

There come but few, yt speden here so sone.

* Withdraw your eie, withdraw from presens eke:

Hurt not your selfe, through foly with a look,

I would be sorry so to make you sicke,

A woman should beware eke whom she took:

Ye beth a clerke, go serchen well my book,

If any women ben so light to winne,

Nay bide a while, tho ye were all my kinne.

So sone ye may not win mine hert in truth,

The guise of court will seen your stedfastnesse:

And as you done to haue vpon you reuth,

Your owne desert, and lowly gentilnesse,

That will reward you joy for heauinesse,

And tho ye waxen pale, and grene and dede,

Ye must it vse a while withouten drede,

And it accept and grutchen in no wise,

But where as ye me heartely desire

To lene to loue, me thinke ye be not wise,

Cease of your language, cease I you require,

For he that hath this twenty yeare ben here,

May not obtaine, then maruaile I that ye

Be now so bold of loue to treat with me.

Ah mercy hert, my lady and my loue,

My rightwise princesse and my liues guide,

Now may I plain to Venus all aboue,

That ruthlesse ye me gaue this wound so wide:

What haue I done, why may it not betide,

That for my trouth I may receiued be?

Alas then, your daunger and your cruelte.

* In wofull houre I got was, welaway,

In wofull houre fostred and ifedde,

In wofull houre iborne, that I ne may

My supplication sweetly haue I spedde,

The frosty graue and cold must be my bedde,

Without ye list your grace & mercy shewe,

Death with his axe so fast on me doth hewe.

So great disease and in so littell while,

So littel joy that felte I neuer yet,

And at my wo Fortune ginneth to smile,

That neuer earst I felt so harde a fit:

Confounden ben my spirites and my wit,

Till that my lady take me to her cure,

Which I loue beste of erthly creature.

But that I like, that may I not come by,

Of that I plain, that haue I habondaunce,

Sorrow & thought they sit me wonder nie,

Me is withhold that might be my pleasance:

Yet turne againe my worldly suffisaunce,

O lady bright, and saufe your faithfull true,

And or I die yet ones vpon me rewe.

With that I fell in sound & dede as stone,

With colour slaine and wanne as asshe pale,

And by the hand she caught me vp anon.

* Arise (qd. she) what haue ye dronken dwale,

Why slepen ye it is no nitertale:

Now mercy sweete (qd. I) iwis affraied:

What thing (qd. she) hath made you so dismaied.

Now wote I well that ye a louer be,

Your hew is witnesse in this thing, she said:

If ye were secret, ye might know (qd. she)

Curteise and kind, all this shuld be alaid:

And now mine hert, al that I haue missaid,

I shall amend and set your hert in ease.

That word it is (qd. I) that doth me please.

But this I charge, yt ye the stents keepe,

And breke them not for slouth nor ignoraunce.

With that she gan to smile & laughen depe,

Iwis (qd. I) I will do your pleasaunce:

The xvi. statute doth me great greuaunce,

But ye must that releasse or modifie.

I graunt (qd. she) and so I will truly.

And softly then her colour gan appere,

As Rose so red throughout her visage all,

Wherefore me thinke it is accordyng here,

That she of right be cleped Rosiall:

Thus haue I won with words great and small

Some goodly worde of her, that I loue best,

And trust she shall yet sette mine hert in rest.

GOth on, she said to Philobone, and take

This man with you, & lede him all about

Within the court, and shewe him for my sake

What louers dwell within, and all the rout

Of officers him shew, for he is out of dout

A straunger yet: come on (qd. Philobone)

Philogenet with me now must ye gon.

And stalkyng soft with easie pace, I saw,

About the kyng stonden all enuiron,

Attendaunce, Diligence, and their felow

Fortherer, Asperaunce, and many one,

Dred to offend, there stood, and not alone,

For there was eke the cruell aduersair,

The louers foe that cleped is Dispair.

Which vnto me spake angrely and fell,

And said, my lady me disseiue ne shall:

Trowest thou (qd. she) that all yt she did tell,

Is true, nay nay, but vnder hony gall,

Thy birth and hers they be nothing egall:

Cast of thine hert, for all her words white,

For in good faith she loueth thee but alite.

And eke remembre thine habilite,

May not compare with her, this well thou wot:

Ye then came Hope & said, my frend let be,

Beleue him not: Dispaire he ginneth dote,

Alas (qd. I) here is both cold and hote:

[Page] The one me biddeth loue, the toder nay,

Thus wote I not what me is best to say.

But well wote I, my lady graunted me,

Truly to be my woundes remedie,

Her gentilnesse may not infected be

With doublenesse, thus trust I till I die,

So cast I to voide dispaires company,

And taken hope to councel and to friend.

Yea keep that well (qd. Philobone) in mind.

And there beside within a bay window,

Stod one in grene ful large of bread & length,

His beard as black as fethers of the Crow,

His name was lust of wonder might & strength,

And with Delite to argue there he think'th,

For this was all his opinion,

That loue was sinne: and so he hath begon

To reason fast, and ledge auctoritie:

* Nay (qd. Delite) loue is a vertue clere,

And from the soule his progresse holdeth he:

Blind apetite of lust doth often stere,

And y• is sinne: for reason lacketh there,

* For thou dost think thy neighbours wife to win:

Yet thinke it well that loue may not be sinne.

For God, and seint, they loue right verely,

Void of all sinne and vise this know I well,

* Affection of flesh is sinne truly,

But verray loue is vertue as I fele,

For loue may thy freill desire ackele:

For verray loue is loue, withouten sinne:

Now stint (qd. Lust) thou spekest not worth a pinne.

And there I left them in their arguing,

Roming ferther in the castell wide,

And in a corner Lier stode talking,

Of lesings fast, with Flatery there beside,

* He said that woman weare attire of pride,

And men were found of nature variaunt,

And could be false & shewen beaw semblaunt.

Than flatery bespake and said, ywis

See so she goth on patens faire and fete,

It doth right well: what prety man is this,

That rometh here, now truly drink ne mete

Nede I not haue, mine hert for joy doth bete

Him to behold, so is he goodly fresh:

It semeth for loue his hert is tender & nesh.

This is the court of lusty folke and glad,

And well becommeth their abite and array,

O why be some so sory and so sad,

Complaining thus in blacke & white & gray,

Freres they ben, and Monkes in good fay:

Alas for routh great dole it is to seene,

To see them thus bewaile and sory been.

See how they cry & wring their hands white,

For they so sone went to religion,

And eke the Nonnes with vayle and wimple plight,

Their thought is, they ben in confusion:

Alas they sain we fain perfection,

In clothes wide and lacke our libertie,

But all the sinne mote on our frends be.

For Venus wote, we wold as faine as ye,

That bene attyred here and welbesene,

Desiren man and soue in our degre,

Ferm and faithful right as wold the quene:

Our frends wick in tender youth and grene,

Ayenst our will made vs religious,

That is the cause we mourn & wa [...]len thus.

Then said the Monk and Freres in the tide,

Wel may we curse our Abbes and our place,

Our statutes sharpe to sing in copes wide,

Chastely to keepe vs out of loues grace,

And neuer to fele comfort ne solace:

Yet suffre we the heate of loues fire,

And after that some other haply we desire.

O Fortune cursed, why now & wherefore

Hast thou, they said, berafte vs libertie,

Sithe nature yaue vs instrument in store,

And appetite to loue and louers be?

Why mote we suffer soch aduersite,

Diane to serue, and Venus to refuse,

Ful often sithe this matters doth vs muse?

We serue and honour sore ayenst our will,

Of chastite the goddes and the queene,

Vs leefer were with Venus biden still,

And haue reward for loue and soget bene

Vnto these women courtly, fresh, and shene,

Fortune we curse thy wheele of variance,

There we were well thou reuist our plesance.

Thus leaue I them with voice of plaint and care,

In raging wo crying full petously,

And as I yede full naked and full bare,

Some I behold looking dispitously,

On pouerty that dedly cast their eye,

And welaway they cried, and were not faine,

For they ne might their glad desire attaine.

For lacke of richesse worldly and good,

They banne and curse, and weep, & sain alas,

That pouerty hath vs hent yt whilom stood

At herts ease, and free and in good case,

But now we dare not shew our self in place,

Ne vs embold to dwell in company,

There as our hert wold loue right faithfully.

And yet againward shriked euery Nonne,

The pange of loue so straineth them to crie:

Now wo the time (qd. they) that we be boun

This hatefull ordre nise will done vs die,

We sighe and sobbe, and bleden inwardly,

Freting our self wth thoght & hard complaint,

That nie for loue we waxen wood and faint.

And as I stood beholding here and there,

I was ware of a sort full languishing,

Sauage and wild, of loking and of chere,

Their mantelles and their clothes ey tering,

And oft they were of nature complaining,

For they their members lacked, foo [...] & hand,

With visage wry, and blind I vnderstand.

They lacked shape, and beauty to preferre

Themself in loue: and said that God & kind,

[Page] Hath forged them to worshippen the sterre,

Venus the bright, and leften all behind,

His other werkes clene and out of mind:

For other have their full shape and beauty,

And we (qd. they) been in deformity.

And nie to them there was a company,

That haue the susters waried and missaide,

I meane the three of fatal destiny,

That be our workers: sodenly abraide

Out gan they cry as they had been affraide,

We curse (qd. they) that euer hath nature,

Iformed vs this wofull life to endure.

And there eke was contrite and gan repent,

Confessing hole the wound that Cithere

Hath with the darte of hote desire him sent,

And how that he to loue must subject be,

Then held he all his skornes vanity,

And said that louers held a blisful life,

Yong men & old, and widow, maid & wife.

Bereue me goddesse (qd. he) of thy might

My skornes all and skoffes, that I haue

No power for to moken any wight,

That in thy seruice dwell: for I did raue:

This know I well right now so god me saue,

And I shal be the chief post of thy faith,

And loue uphold, the reuers who so saith.

Dissemble stode not ferre from him in troth,

With party mantil party hode and hose,

And said he had vpon his lady routh,

Aud thus he wound him in, & gan to glose

Of his entent ful double I suppose,

In all the world he said he loued her wele,

But ay me thought he loued her nere a dele.

Eke shamfastnesse was there as I tooke hede,

That blushed rede, and durst nat ben aknow

She louer was, for thereof had she drede,

She stode and hing her visage downe alow,

But such a sight it was to seene I trow,

As of these roses rody on their stalke,

There coud no wight her spy to speak or talk.

In loues art so gan she to abashe,

Ne durst not vtter al her preuity:

Many a stripe and many a greuous lashe

She gauen to them that wolden louers be,

And hindered sore the simple cominalty,

That in no wise durst grace & mercy craue,

For were not she they need but ask & haue.

Where if they now aprochein for to speke,

Then shamefastnesse returneth them again:

They thinke, if we our secrets counsel breke,

Our ladies wil haue scorn on vs certein,

And perauenture thinken great disdein:

Thus shame fastnesse may bringe [...] in dispeire,

When she is dede the toder will be heire.

Come forth a Vaunter, now I ring thy bel,

I spied him sone, to God I make a vowe,

He loked blacke as fendes doth in hell,

The first (qd. he) that euer I did wowe,

Within a worde she come, I wotte not how,

So that in armes was my lady free,

And so hath ben a thousand mo than she.

In England, Britain, Spain, & Picardy,

Artois, and Fraunce, and vp in hie Holand,

In Burgoine, Naples, and Italy,

Nauerne, and Grece, and vp in Hethen lond

Was neuer woman yet that wold withstond,

To ben at commaundement when I wold,

I lacked neyther siluer, coigne, ne gold.

And there I met with this estate and that,

And here I broched her, and her I trow:

Lo there goeth one of mine, & wotte ye what?

You fresh attired haue I laid full lowe,

And soch one yonder eke right well I know:

I kept the statute when we lay ifere,

And yet yon same hath made me right good chere.

Thus hath a Vaunter blowen euery where,

Al that he knoweth, and more a thousand fold

His auncestry of kinne was to lier,

For first he maketh promise for to hold

His ladies councel, and it not vnfold,

* Wherfore y• secret when he doth vnshitte,

Then lieth he, that all the world may witte.

For falsing so his promise and behest,

I wounder sore he hath such fantasie,

He lacketh wit I trow or is a beast,

That can no bet himself with reason gie,

By mine aduise, loue shall be contrary

To his auaile, and him eke dishonour,

So that in court he shall no more sojour.

Take heed (qd. she) this little Philobone,

Where enuy rocketh in the corner yond,

And sitteth dirke, and ye shall see anone

His leane body, fading both face and hond,

Himselfe he fretteth, as I vnderstond,

Witnesse of Ouid Methamorphosose,

The louers fo he is, I will not glose.

* For where a louer thinketh him promote,

Enuy will grutch, repining at his wele,

It swelleth sore about his herts rote,

That in no wise he cannot liue in hele,

And if the faithful to his lady stele,

* Enuy will noise and ring it round about,

And sey much worse than done is out of dout.

And priuy thought rejoysing of himselfe,

Stood not ferre thence in abite maruellous,

Yon is (thought I) some spirit or some elfe,

His subtill Image is so curious:

How is (qd. I) that he is shaded thus

With yonder cloth, I not of what colour?

And nere I went and gan to lere and pore.

And framed him a question full hard,

What is (qd. I) the thing thou louest best,

Or what is bote vnto thy paines hard,

Me thinke thou liuest here in great vnrest,

Thou wandrest aye from south to east & west,

[Page] And east to north as ferre as I can see,

There is no place in Court may holden thee.

Whom followest thou where is thy hertiset,

But my demaund asoile I thee require,

Me thought (qd. he) no creature may let

Me to ben here, and where as I desire:

For where as absence hath done out y• fire,

My mery thought it kindeleth yet againe,

That bodely me thinke with my soueraine.

I stand & speake, & laugh, & kisse, and halse:

So that my thought comforteth me ful oft,

I think god wote, though al y• world be false,

I will be true, I thinke also how soft

My lady is in speach, and this on loft

Bringeth min hert with joy & great gladnes,

This priuy thought alayeth mine heauines.

And wt I thinke or where to be, no man

In all this earth can tell Iwis but I:

And eke there nis no swalow swift, ne swan

So wight of wing, ne half so yerne can flie,

For I can bene and that right sodenly,

In heuen, in hell, in Paradise, and here,

And with my lady when I will desire.

I am of counsell, ferre and wide I wote,

With lorde and lady, and theyr preuitie

I wotte it all, and be it colde or hote,

They shall not speake without licence of me,

I mine in soch as seasonable be,

For first the thing is thought within yt hart,

Er any word out from the mouth astart.

And with y• word Thought bad farewel and yede:

Eke forth went I to seene the courts guise,

And at the doore came in so God me spede,

Twenty courteours of age and of assise,

Liche high, and brode, and as I me aduise,

The golden loue, and leden loue they hight,

The tone was sad, the toder glad and light.

Yes draw your heart with all your force & might,

To lustinesse and benas ye haue seid,

And thinke that I no drope of fauour hight,

Ne neuer had vnto your desire obeid,

Till sodenly me thought me was affraied,

To seene you ware so dede of countenaunce,

And pite bade me done you some pleasaunce.

Out of her shrine she rose from death to liue,

And in mine care full priuely she spake,

Doth not your seruaunt hens away to driue,

Rosial (qd. she) and then mine hert it drake,

For tenderich: & where I found moch lacke,

In your person, then I my selfe bethought,

And saide, this is the man myne hearte hath sought.

Gramercy Pity, might I but suffise,

To yeue due laude vnto thy shrine of gold,

God wotte I would: for sith y• thou did rise

From death to liue for me, I am behold,

To thanken you a thousand times told,

And eke my lady Rosial the shene,

Which hath in comfort set mine hert iwene.

And here I make mine protestacion,

And depely swere as mine power to bene

Faithful, deuoide of variacion,

And her forbeare in anger or in tene,

And seruiceable to my worldes quene,

With al my reason and intelligence,

To done her honour high and reuerence.

I had not spoke so sone the worde, but she,

My souerain, did thanke me hertely,

And said abide ye shall dwell still with me,

Till season come of May, for then truly,

The king of loue and all his company,

Shall hold his feste full rially and well,

And there I bode till that the season fell.

ON May day when y• larke began to rise,

To Matens went the lusty Nightingale,

Within a temple shapen Hauthorn wise,

He might not slepe in all the nightertale,

But Domine labia gan he cry and gale,

My lippes open lord of loue I cry,

And let my mouth thy preising now bewry.

The Egle sang Venite bodies all,

And let vs joy to loue that is our health,

And to the deske anon they gan to fall,

And who came late he preced in by stealth:

Then sayd ye Faucon our own herts wealth,

Domine Dominus noster I wote,

Ye be the God y• done vs brenne thus hote.

Coeli enarrant said the Popingay,

Your might is told in heauen & firmament,

And then came in y• gold finch freshe and gay,

And said this Psalme with hertily glad intent

Domini est terra, This laten intent,

The God of loue hath yerth in gouernaunce:

And then ye Wren gan scippen & to daunce.

Jube Domino O Lord of loue, I pray

Commaund me well this lesson for to rede,

This legende is of all that woulden dey

Marters for loue, God yet the souls spede:

And to thee Venus sing we out of drede,

By influence of all thy vertue great,

Besechyng thee to keepe vs in our heat.

The second lesson Robin Redebrest sang,

Haile to the god and goddes of our lay,

And to the lectorn amorously he sprong,

Haile now (qd. eke) O fresh season of May,

Our moneth glad that singen on the spray,

Haile to the floures, rede, and white, & blewe,

Which by their vertue maketh our lust new.

The third lesson the Turtil doue toke up,

And thereat lough the Mauis in a scorne,

He said, O God, as mote I dine or suppe,

This folish Doue will giue us al an horne,

There ben right here a M. better borne,

To rede this lesson, which as well as he,

And eke as hote, can loue in all degree.

The Turtil doue said, welcom, welcom May,

Gladsom and light to louers that ben trew:

[Page] I thanke thee lord of loue that doth puruey,

For me to rede this lesson al of dewe,

For in good soth of corage I pursue,

To serue my make till death vs must depart,

And then Tu autem sang he all apart.

Te deum amoris sang the Thrustel cocke,

Tuball himselfe the first Musician,

With key of armony coude not on locke,

So swete tewne as that the Thrustel can:

The lorde of loue we praysen (qd. he) than,

And so done al the foules great and lite,

Honour we May, in fals louers dispite.

Dominus regnauit said the Pecocke there,

The lord of loue that mighty prince iwis,

He is receyued here and euery where:

Now Iubilate sing: what meaneth this

Said then the Linet? welcome lord of blisse:

Out stert the Owle with Benedicite,

What meaneth all this mery fare (qd. he.)

Laudate sang the Larke with voice ful shril,

And eke the Kight O admirabile,

This quere wil thorow mine ears pers and thril,

But what, welcome this May season (qd. he)

And honour to the lord of loue mote be,

That hath this feste so solempne and so hie,

Amen said al, and so said eke the Pie.

And forth the Cockow gan procede anon,

With Benedictus thanking God in hast,

That in this May would visite them echon,

And gladden them all while the feast shal last:

And therewithal a laughter out he brast,

I thanke it God that I shuld end the song,

And all the Seruice which hath ben so long.

Thus sang they all the seruice of the fest,

And that was done right erly to my dome,

And forth goth all y• court both most & lest,

To fetch y• floures fresh, & braunch & blome,

And namely Hauthorn brought both page & grome

Wth fresh garlants party blew & white,

And then rejoysen in their great delite.

Eke ech at other threw the floures bright,

The Primerose, the Violete, & the gold,

So then as I beheld the royall fight,

My lady gan me sodenly behold,

And with a trewe loue plited many a fold:

She smote me through y• very heart as bliue,

And Venus yet I thanke I am aliue.

Explicit.

Chaucer's DREAM, never Printed before the Year 1597. That which heretofore hath gone under the name of his Dream, is the Book of the Dutchess: or the Death of Blanch, Dutchess of Lancaster.
This Dream, devised by Chaucer, seemeth to be a covert report of the Marriage of John of Gaunt the King's Son, with Blanch the Daughter of Henry Duke of Lancaster, who, after long love, (during the time whereof the Poet feigneth them to be dead) were in the end by consent of Friends happily Married: figured by a Bird bringing in her Bill an Herb which restored them to life again. Here also is shewed Chaucer's match with a certain Gentlewoman, who, although she was a Stranger, was notwithstanding so well liked and loved of the Lady Blanch and her Lord, as Chaucer himself also was, that gladly they concluded a Marriage between them.

WHen Flora the queen of pleasaunce,

Had whole achieued thobeysaunce

Of the fresh and new season,

Thorow out euery region,

And with her mantle whole couert

That winter made had discouert,

Of auenture without light,

In May I lay vpon a night

Alone, and on my lady thought,

And how the Lord that her wrought,

Couth well entayle in Imagery

And shewed had great maistry,

When he in so little space

Made such a body and a face,

So great beauty with swich features

More than in other creatures.

And in my thoughts as I lay

In a lodge out of the way,

Beside a well in a forest,

Where after hunting I tooke rest,

Nature and kind so in me wrought,

That halfe on sleepe they me brought,

And gan to dreame to my thinking,

With mind of knowliche like making,

For what I dreamed as me thought

I saw it, and I slept nought,

Wherefore is yet my full beleeue,

That some good spirit that eue,

By meane of some curious port,

Bare me, where I saw payne and sport,

But whether it were I woke or slept,

Well wot I of, I lough and wept,

Wherefore I woll in remembraunce,

Put whole the payne, and the pleasaunce,

Which was to me axen and hele,

Would God ye wist it euery dele,

Or at the least, ye might o night

Of such another haue a sight,

Although it were to you a payne,

Yet on the morow ye would be fayne,

And wish it might long dure,

Then might ye say ye had good cure,

For he that dreames, and wenes he see,

Much the better yet may hee

Wit what, and of whom, and where,

And eke the lasse it woll hindere,

To thinke I see this with mine eene,

Iwis this may not dreame kene,

[Page] But signe or signifiaunce,

Of hasty thing souning pleasaunce,

For on this wise vpon a night,

As ye haue heard without light,

Not all wakyng, ne full on sleepe

About such houre as louers weepe.

And cry after their ladies grace,

Befell me this wonder cace,

Which ye shall heare and all the wise,

So wholly as I can deuise,

In playne English euill written,

For sleepe writer well ye witten,

Excused is, though he do mis,

More than one that waking is,

Wherefore here of your gentilnesse,

I you requyre my boistousnesse

Ye let passe, as thing rude

And heareth what I woll conclude,

And of the endityng taketh no heed,

Ne of the tearmes so God you speed,

But let all passe as nothing were,

For thus befell, as you shall here.

Within an yle me thought I was,

Where wall, and yate was all of glasse,

And so was closed round about,

That leauelesse none come in ne out,

Vncouth and straunge to behold,

For euery yate of fine gold,

A thousand fanes, aie turning,

Entuned had, and briddes singing,

Diuers, and on each fane a paire,

With open mouth again thaire,

And of a sute were all the toures,

Subtily coruen after floures,

Of vncouth colours during aye,

That neuer been none seene in May,

With many a small turret hie,

But man on liue could I non sie,

Ne creatures, saue ladies play,

Which were such of theyr array,

That as me thought of goodlihead,

They passeden all, and womanhead,

For to behold them daunce and sing,

It seemed like none earthly thing,

Such was their vncouth countinaunce,

In euery play of right vsaunce,

And of one age euerichone,

They seemed all saue onely one,

VVhich had of yeeres suffisaunce,

For she might neyther sing ne daunce,

But yet her countenaunce was so glad,

As she so fewe yeeres had had,

As any lady that was there

And as little it did her dere,

Of lustines to laugh and tale

As she had full stuffed a male

Of disports and new playes:

Fayre had she been in her daies,

And maistresse seemed well to be,

Of all that lusty companie,

And so she might I you ensure

For one the conningest creature

She was, and so said euerichone,

That euer her knew, there fayled none,

For she was sober, and well auised,

And from euery fault disguised,

And nothing vsed but faith and truth,

That she nas young it was great ruth,

For euery where and in ech place,

She gouerned her, that in grace

She stode alway with poore and riche,

That at a word was none her liche,

Ne halfe so able maistres to be,

To such a lusty companie.

Befell me so, when I auised

Had, the yle that me suffised,

And whole the state euery where,

That in that lusty yle was there,

Which was more wonder to deuise,

Than the Ioieux paradise,

I dare well say, for floure ne tree,

Ne thing wherein pleasaunce might bee,

There fayled none, for euery wight,

Had they desired, day and night,

Riches, heale, beauty, and ease,

With euery thing that them might please,

Thinke and haue, it cost no more,

In such a country there before,

Had I not bene ne heard tell,

That lives creature might dwell.

And when I had thus all about,

The yle auised throughout,

The state, and how they were arayed,

In my heart I wexe well payed,

And in my selfe I me assured,

That in my body I was well vred,

Sith I might haue such a grace,

To see the ladies and the place,

Which were so faire I you ensure,

That to my dome though that nature,

Would euer striue and do her paine,

She should not con ne mowattaine,

The least feature to amend,

Though she would all her conning spend,

That to beauty might auaile,

It were but paine and lost trauaile,

Such part in their natiuity,

Was them alarged of beauty,

And eke they had a thing notable,

Vnto their death, ay durable,

And was, that their beauty should dure,

Which was neuer seene in creature,

Saue onely there (as I trow)

It hath not be wist ne know,

Wherefore I praise with their conning,

That during beauty, rich thing,

Had they been of their liues certaine,

They had been quite of euery paine,

And when I wend thus all haue seene,

The state, the riches, that might beene,

That me thought impossible were,

To see one thing more than was there,

That to beauty or glad conning,

Serue or auaile might any thing.

All sodainly as I there stood,

This lady that couth so much good,

Vnto me came with smiling chere,

And said Benedicite, this yere

Saw I neuer man here but you,

Tell me how ye come hider now?

[Page] And your name, and where ye dwell?

And whom ye seeke eke mote ye tell,

And how ye come be to this place,

The soth well told may cause you grace,

And els ye mote prisoner be,

Vnto the ladies here, and me,

That haue the gouernaunce of this yle:

And with that word she gan to smile,

And so did all the lusty rout

Of ladies that stood her about.

Madame (qd. I) this night past,

Lodged I was and slept fast,

In a forest beside a well,

And now am here, how should I tell,

VVot I not, by whose ordinance,

But onely fortunes purueiance,

VVhich puts many as I gesse,

To trauaile, paine, and businesse,

And lettes nothing for their truth,

But some sleeth eke, and that is ruth,

Wherefore I doubt her brittilnes,

Her variance and vnsteadfastnes,

So that I am as yet afraid,

And of my beyng here amaid,

For wonder thing seemeth me,

Thus many fresh ladies to see,

So faire, so cunning, and so yong,

And no man dwelling them among:

Not I not how I hider come,

Madame (qd. I) this all and some,

What should I faine a long processe

To you that seeme such a princesse,

What please you commaund or say,

Here I am you to obay,

To my power, and all fulfill,

And prisoner bide at your will,

Till you duly enformed be,

Of euery thing ye aske me.

This lady there right well apaid,

Me by the hand tooke, and said,

Welcome prisoner aduenturus,

Right glad am I ye haue said thus,

And for ye doubt me to displease,

I will assay to do you ease:

And with that word, ye anon,

She, and the ladies euerichon

Assembled, and to counsaile went,

And after that soone for me sent,

And to me said on this manere,

Word for word, as ye shall here.

To see you here vs thinke maruaile,

And how without bote or saile,

By any subtilty or wyle,

Ye get haue entre in this yle,

But not for that, yet shall ye see,

That we gentill women bee,

Loth to displease any wight,

Notwithstanding our great right,

And for ye shall well vnderstond

The old custome of this lond,

Which hath continued many yere,

Ye shall well wete that with vs here

Ye may not bide, for causes twaine,

Which we be purposed you to saine.

Thone is this, our ordinance,

Which is of long continuance,

Woll not, sothly we you tell,

That no man here among vs dwell,

Wherefore ye mote needs retourne,

In no wise may you here sojourne.

Thother is eke, that our Queene

Out of the Realme, as ye may seene,

Is, and may be to vs a charge,

If we let you goe here at large,

For which cause the more we doubt,

To doe a fault while she is out,

Or suffer that may be noysaunce,

Againe our old accustomaunce.

And when I had these causes twaine

Heard, O God what a paine

All sodainly about mine hart,

There came at ones and how smart,

In creeping soft as who should steale,

Or doe me robbe of all mine heale,

And made me in my thought so fraid,

That in courage I stode dismaid.

And standing thus, as was my grace,

A Lady came more than apace,

With huge prease her about,

And told how the Queene without

Was ariued and would come in,

Well were they that thider might twin,

They hied so they would not abide,

The bridling their horse to ride,

By fiue, by sixe, by two, by three,

There was not one abode with me,

The queene to meet euerichone,

They went, and bode with me not one,

And I after a soft pase,

Imagining how to purchase

Grace of the Queene, there to bide,

Till good fortune some happy guide

Me send might, that would me bring

Where I was borne to my wonning,

For way ne foot knew I none,

Ne witherward I nist to gone,

For all was sea about the yle,

No wonder though me list not smile,

Seeing the case vncouth and straunge,

And so in like a perilous chaunge,

Imagining thus walking alone,

I saw the Ladies euerichone,

So that I might somwhat offer,

Sone after that I drew me nere,

And tho I was ware of the Queene,

And how the Ladies on their kneene,

With joyous words, gladly aduised,

Her welcomed so that it suffised,

Though she princes hole had be,

Of all enuironed is with see:

And thus auising, with chere sad,

All sodainly I was glad,

That greater joy as mote I thriue,

I trow had neuer man on liue,

Than I tho, ne heart more light,

When of my Lady I had sight,

Which with the queene come was there,

And in one clothing both they were,

A knight also there well beseene,

I saw that come was with the queene,

[Page] Of whome the Ladies of that yle

Had huge wonder long while,

Till at the last right soberly,

The queene her selfe full cunningly,

With soft words in good wise,

Said to the Ladies young and nise,

My sisters how it hath befall,

I trow ye know it one and all,

That of long time here haue I beene,

Within this yle biding as queene,

Liuing at ease, that neuer wight

More parfit joy haue ne might,

And to you been of gouernance,

Such as you found in whole pleasance,

In euery thing as ye know,

After our custome and our low,

Which how they first found were,

I trow ye wote all the manere,

And who queene is of this yle,

As I haue been long while,

Ech seuen yeeres not of vsage,

Visit the heauenly armitage,

Which on a rocke so high stonds,

In strange sea out from all londs,

That to make the pilgrimage

Is called a long perillous viage,

For if the wind be not good frend,

The journey dures to the end

Of him that it vndertakes,

Of twenty thousand one not scapes,

Vpon which Rock growth a tree,

That certaine yeeres beares apples three,

VVhich three apples who may haue,

Been from all displeasaunce saue,

That in the seuen yeere may fall,

This wote you well one and all,

For the first apple and the bext,

Which growth vnto you next,

Hath three vertues notable,

And keepeth youth aie durable,

Beauty and looke, euer in one,

And is the best in euerichone.

The second apple red and grene,

Onely with lookes of your yene,

You nourishes in pleasaunce,

Better than Partidge or Fesaunce,

And feeds euery liues wight

Pleasantly with the sight.

The third apple of the three,

Which groweth lowest on the tree,

Who it beares may not faile

That to his pleasaunce may auaile,

So your pleasure and beauty rich,

Your during youth euer liche,

Your truth, your cunning, and your weale,

Hath aye floured, and your good heale,

Without sicknes or displeasaunce,

Or thing that to you was noysaunce,

So that you haue as goddesses,

Liued aboue all princesses:

Now is befall as ye may see,

To gather these said apples three,

I haue not failed againe the day,

Thitherward to take the way,

Wening to speed as I had oft,

But when I come, I find aloft

My sister which that here stands,

Hauing those apples in her hands,

Auising them and nothing said,

But looked as she were well paid:

And as I stood her to behold,

Thinking how my joyes were cold,

Sith I those apples haue ne might,

Euen with that so came this knight,

And in his armes of me aware,

Me tooke, and to his ship me bare,

And said, though him I neuer had seen,

Yet had I long his lady been,

VVherefore I should with him wend,

And he would to his liues end

My seruant be, and gan to sing

As one that had wonne a rich thing,

Tho were my spirits fro me gone,

So sodainly euerichone,

That in me appeared but death,

For I felt neither life ne breath,

Ne good ne harme none I knew,

The sodaine paine me was so new,

That had not the hasty grace be

Of this lady, that fro the tree

Of her gentilnesse so hied

Me to comfort, I had died,

And of her three apples, one

In mine hand there put anone,

VVhich brought againe mind and breath,

And me recouered from the death,

VVherefore to her so am I hold,

That for her all things do I wold,

For she was lech of all my smart,

And from great paine so quite mine hart,

And as God wote, Right as ye heare,

Me to comfort with friendly cheare,

She did her prowesse and her might,

And truly eke so did this knight,

In that he couth, and oft said,

That of my wo he was ill paid,

And cursed the ship that them there brought,

The mast, the master that it wrought,

And as ech thing mote haue an end,

My sister here your brother frend,

Con with her words so womanly

This knight entreat, and conningly,

For mine honour and his also,

And said that with her we should go

Both in her ship, where she was brought,

VVhich was so wonderfully wrought,

So cleane, so rich, and so araid,

That we were both content and paid,

And me to comfort and to please,

And mine heart to put at ease,

She toke great paine in little while,

And thus hath brought vs to this yle,

As ye may see, wherfore echone,

I pray you thanke her one and one,

As heartily as ye can deuise,

Or imagine in any wise,

At once there tho men might seen

A world of Ladies fall on kneen

Before my Lady that there about

VVas left none standing in the rout,

But altogither they went at ones

To kneele, they spared not for the stones,

[Page] Ne for estate, ne for their blood,

Well shewed there they couth much good,

For to my Lady they made such feast,

With such words, that the least,

So friendly and so faithfully

Said was, and so cunningly,

That wonder was seing their youth,

To here the language they couth,

And wholly how they gouerned were,

In thanking of my Lady there,

And said by will and maundement,

They were at her commaundement,

Which was to me as great a joy,

As winning of the towne of Troy

Was to the hardy Greekes strong,

When they it wan with slege long,

To see my Lady in such a place,

So receiued as she was,

And when they talked had a while

Of this and that, and of the yle,

My lady, and the ladies there,

Altogither as they were,

The Queene her selfe began to play,

And to the aged lady say:

Now seemeth you not good it were,

Sith we be altogither here,

To ordaine and deuise the best,

To set this knight and me at rest,

For woman is a feble wight,

To rere a warre against a knight,

And sith he here is in this place,

At my lift, danger, or grace,

It were to me great vi [...]any,

To d [...] him any tiranny,

But faine I would, now will ye here,

In his owne country that he were,

And I in peace, and he at ease,

This were a way vs both to please,

If it might be, I you beseech,

With him hereof you fall in speech.

This lady tho began to smile,

Auising her a little while,

And with glad chere she said anone,

Madam I will vnto him gone,

And with him speake, and of him fele

What he desires euery dele:

And soberly this lady tho,

Her selfe and other ladies two

She tooke with her, and with sad chere,

Said to the knight on this manere,

Sir, the princes of this yle,

Whom for your pleasance many mile,

Ye sought haue, as I vnderstond,

Till at the last ye haue her fond,

Me sent hath here, and ladies twaine,

To heare all thing that ye saine,

And for what cause ye haue her sought,

Faine would she wote, & whol your thouȝt,

And why you do her all this wo,

And for what cause you be her so,

And why of euery wight vnware,

By force ye to your ship her bare,

That she so nigh was agone,

That mind ne speech had she none,

But as a painfull creature,

Dying, abode her aduenture,

That her to see indure that paine,

Here weell say vnto you plaine,

Right on your selfe ye did amisse,

Seing how she a princes is.

This knight the which cowth his good,

Right of his truth meued his blood,

That pale he woxe as any lead,

And lookt as he would be dead,

Blood was there none in nother cheke,

Worldlesse he was and semed sicke,

And so it proued well he was,

For without mouing any paas,

All sodainely as thing dying,

He fell at once downe sowning,

That for his wo, this lady fraid,

Vnto the queene her hyed and said,

Cometh on anon as haue you blisse,

But ye be wise, thing is amisse,

This knight is dead or will be soone,

Lo where he lyeth in a swoone,

Without word, or answering

To that I haue said, any thing:

Wherefore I doubt, that the blame,

Might be hindering to your name,

Which floured hath so many yere,

So long, that for nothing here,

I would in no wise he dyed,

Wherefore good were that ye hyed,

His life to saue at the least,

And after that his wo be ceast,

Commaund him void, or dwell,

For in no wise dare I more mell

Of thing wherein such perill is,

As like is now to fall of this.

This queene right tho full of great feare,

With all the ladies present there,

Vnto the knight came where he lay,

And made a Lady to him say:

Lo here the queene, awake for shame,

What will you doe, is this good game?

Why lye you here, what is your mind?

Now is well seene your wit is blind,

To see so many Ladies here,

And ye to make none other chere,

But as ye set them all at nought,

Arise, for his loue that you bought:

But what she said, a word not one

He spake, ne answere gaue her none.

The Queene of very pitty tho,

Her worship, and his like also,

To saue there she did her paine,

And quoke for feare, and gan to saine:

For woe alas what shall I doe,

What shall I say this man vnto,

If he die here, lost is my name,

Now shal I play this perillous game?

If any thing be here amisse,

It shall be said, it rigour is,

Whereby my name impayre might,

And like to die eke is this knight:

And with that word her band she laid

Vpon his brest, and to him said,

Awake my knight, lo it am I

That to you speake, now tell me why

Ye fare thus, and this paine endure,

Seing ye be in country sure,

[Page] Among such friends that would you heale,

Your hearts ease eke and your weale,

And if I wist what you might ease,

Or know the thing that you might please,

I you ensure it should not faile,

That to your heale you might auaile:

Wherefore with all my heart I pray

Ye rise, and let vs talke and play,

And see how many Ladies here,

Be comen for to make good chere.

All was for nought, for still as stone

He lay, and word spoke none,

Long while was or he might braid,

And of all that the Queene had said,

He wist no word but at the last,

Mercy twise he cried fast,

That pitty was his voice to heare,

Or to behold his painefull cheare,

Which was not fained well was to sein,

Both by his visage and his eyn,

Which on the queene at once he cast,

And sighed as he would to brast,

And after that he shright so,

That wonder was to see his wo,

For sith that paine was first named,

Was neuer more wofull paine attained,

For with voice dead he gan to plaine,

And to himselfe these words saine,

I wofull wight full of malure,

Am worse than dead, and yet dure,

Maugre any paine or death,

Against my will I fell my breath:

Why nam I dead sith I ne serue,

And sith my Lady will me sterue,

Where art thou death art thou agast,

Well shall we meete yet at the last,

Though thou thee hide it is for nought,

For where thou dwelst thou shalt be sought,

Maugre thy subtill double face,

Here will I die right in this place,

To thy dishonour and mine ease,

Thy manner is no wight to please,

What needs thee sith I thee seche,

So thee to hide my paine to eche,

And well wost thou I will not liue,

Who would me all this world here giue,

For I haue with my cowardise,

Lost joy, and heale, and my seruise,

And made my soueraigne Lady so,

That while she liues I trow my fo

She will be euer to her end,

Thus haue I neither joy ne frend,

Wote I not whether hast or sloth,

Hath caused this now by my troth,

For at the hermitage full hie,

When I her saw first with mine iye,

I hied till I was aloft,

And made my pace small and soft,

Till in mine armes I had her fast,

And to my ship bare at the last,

Whereof she was displeased so,

That endlesse there seemed her wo,

And I thereof had so great fere,

That me repent that I come there,

Which hast I trow gan her displease,

And is the cause of my disease:

And with that word he gan to cry,

Now death, death, twy or thry,

And motred wot I not what of slouth.

And euen with that the Queene of routh,

Him in her armes tooke and said,

Now mine owne knight be not euill apaid,

That I a lady to you sent,

To haue knowledge of your entent,

For in good faith I meant but well,

And would ye wist it euery dele,

Nor will not do to you ywis,

And with that word she gan him kisse,

And prayed him rise, and said she would

His welfare by her truth, and told

Him how she was for his disease

Right sory, and faine would him please,

His life to saue: these words tho,

She said to him and many mo,

In comforting for from the paine,

She would he were deliuered faine,

The knight tho vp cast his een,

And when he saw it was the queen,

That to him had these words said,

Right in his wo he gan to braid,

And him vp dresses for to knele,

The queene aussing wonder wele:

But as he rose he ouerthrew,

Wherefore the queene, yet eft anew

Him in her armes anon tooke,

And pitiously gan on him looke,

But for all that nothing she said,

Ne spake not like she were well paid,

Ne no chere made, nor sad, ne light,

But all in one to euery wight,

There was seene, conning, with estate,

In her without noise or debate,

For saue onely a looke piteous,

Of womanhead vndispiteous,

That she showed in countenance,

For seemed her heart from obeisance,

And not for that she did her reine,

Him to recure from the peine,

And his heart to put at large,

For her entent was to his barge

Him to bring against the eue,

With certaine ladies and take leue,

And pray him of his gentilnesse,

To suffer her thenceforth in peace,

As other Princes had before,

And from thence forth for euermore,

She would him worship in all wise,

That gentilnesse might deuise,

And paine her wholly to fulfill,

In honour, his pleasure and will.

And during thus this knights wo,

Present the queene and other mo,

My lady and many another wight,

Ten thousand ships at a sight,

I saw come ouer the wawy flood,

With saile and ore, that as I s [...]ood

Them to behold, I gan maruaile,

From whom might come so many a saile,

For sith the time that I was bore,

Such a nauy there before,

Had I not seene, ne so arayed,

That for the sight my heart played

[Page] To and fro within my brest,

For joy, long was or it would rest,

For there was sailes full of floures,

After castels with huge toures,

Seeming full of armes bright,

That wonder lusty was the sight,

With large toppes, and mastes long,

Richly depeint and rear among,

At certaine times gan repaire

Small birds downe from thaire,

And on the ships bounds about,

Sate and song with voice full out,

Ballades and Layes right joyously,

As they cowth in their harmony,

That you to write that I there see,

Mine excuse is it may not be,

For why, the matter were to long

To name the birds and write their song,

Whereof anon the ridings there

Vnto the queene soone brought were,

With many alas, and many a doubt,

Shewing the ships there without,

Tho gan the aged lady weepe,

And said alas our joy on sleepe

Soone shall be brought, ye long or night,

For we discried been by this knight,

For certes it may none other be,

But he is of yond companie,

And they be come him here to seche,

And with that word her failed speche,

VVithout remedy we be destroid,

Full oft said all, and gan conclude,

Holy at once at the last,

That best was, shit their yates fast,

And arme them all in good langage,

As they had done of old vsage,

And of fayre wordes make their shot,

This was their counsaile and the knot,

And other purpose tooke they none,

But armed thus forth they gone

Toward the walles of the yle,

But or they come there long while,

They met the great lord of boue,

That called is the god of Loue,

That them auised with such chere,

Right as he with them angry were,

Auailed them not their walls of glasse,

This mighty lord let not to passe,

The shutting of their yates fast,

All they had ordained was but wast,

For when his ships had found land,

This lord anon with bow in hand,

Into this yle with huge prease,

Hied fast and would not cease,

Till he came there the knight lay,

Of Queene ne lady by the way,

Tooke he no heed but forth past,

And yet all followed at the last,

And when he came where lay the knight,

Well shewed he, he had great might,

And forth the Queene called anone,

And all the ladies euerichone,

And to them said, is not thus routh,

To see my seruaunt for his trouth,

Thus leane, thus sicke, and in this paine,

And wot not vnto whom to plaine,

Saue onely one without mo,

Which might him heale and is his fo,

And with that word, his heauy brow

He shewed the Queene and looked row,

This mighty lord forth tho anone,

With o looke her faults echone

He can her shew in little speech,

Commaunding her to be his leech,

Withouten more shortly to say

He thought the Queene soone should obay,

And in his hond he shoke his bow,

And said right soone he would be know,

And for she had so long refused

His seruice, and his lawes not vsed,

He let her wit that he was wroth,

And bent his bow and forth he goth

A pace or two, and euen there

A large draught, vp to his eare

He drew, and with an arrow ground

Sharpe and new, the Queene a wound

He gaue, that piersed vnto the hart,

Which afterward full sore gan smart,

And was not whole of many yeare,

And euen with that be of good cheare,

My knight, qd. he, I will thee hele,

And thee restore to parfite wele,

And for each paine thou hast endured,

To haue two joys thou art cured,

And forth he past by the rout,

With sober cheare walking about,

And what he said I thought to heare,

Well wist he which his seruaunts were,

And as he passed anon he fond

My lady and her tooke by the hond,

And made her chere as a Goddes,

And of beaute called her princes,

Of bounty eke gaue her the name,

And said there was nothing blame

In her, but she was vertuous,

Sauing she would no pity vse,

Which was the cause that he her sought,

To put that far out of her thought,

And sith she had whole richesse

Of womanhead, and friendlinesse,

He said it was nothing fitting,

To void pity his owne legging,

And gan her preach and with her play,

And of her beauty told her aie,

And said she was a creature,

Of whom the name should endure,

And in bookes full of pleasaunce

Be put for euer in remembraunce,

And as me thought more friendly

Vnto my lady, and goodlely

He spake, than any that was there,

And for the appuls, I trow it were,

That she had in possession,

Wherefore long in procession,

Many a pace arme vnder other,

He welke, and so did with none other,

But what he would commaund or say,

Forthwith needs all must obay,

And what he desired at the lest,

Of my lady, was by request,

And when they long together had beene,

He brought my lady to the Queene,

[Page] And to her said, so God you speed,

Shew grace, consent, that is need,

My lady tho full conningly,

Right well auised, and womanly

Downe gan to kneele vpon the floures,

VVhich Aprill nourished had with shoures,

And to this mighty lord gan say,

That pleaseth you, I woll obay,

And me restraine from other thought,

As ye woll all thyng shall be wrought,

And with that word kneeling she quoke,

That mighty lord in armes her tooke,

And said you haue a seruaunt one,

That truer liuing is there none,

VVherefore good were, seeing his trouth,

That on his paines ye had routh,

And purpose you to heare his speech,

Fully auised him to leech,

For of one thyng ye may be sure,

He will be yours, while he may dure,

And with that word right on his game

Me thought he lough, and told my name,

VVhich was to me maruaile, and fere,

That what to do I nist there,

Ne whether was me bet or none,

There to abide, or thus to gone,

For well wend I my lady wold

Imagen, or deme, that I had told

My counsaile whole, or made complaint

Vnto that lord, that mighty saint,

So verily, each thyng vnsought,

He said as he had knowne my thought,

And told my trouth and mine vnease,

Bet than I couth haue for mine ease,

Though I had studied all a weke,

Well wist that lord that I was seke,

And would be leched wonder faine,

No man me blame, mine was the paine:

And when this lord had all said,

And long with my lady plaid,

She gan to smile with spirit glade,

This was the answere that she made,

Which put me there in double peine,

That what to do, ne what to seine

Wist I not, ne what was the best,

Ferre was my heart then fro his rest,

For as I thought, that smiling signe

Was token, that the heart encline

Would to requests reasonable,

Because smiling is fauorable

To euery thing that shall thriue,

So thought I tho anon bliue,

That wordlesse answere in no toun

Was tane for obligatioun,

Ne called surety in no wise,

Amongst them that called been wise.

Thus was I in a joyous dout,

Sure and vnsurest of that rout,

Right as mine heart thought it were,

So more or lesse wexe my fere,

That if one thought made it wele,

Another shent it euery dele,

Till at the last I couth no more,

But purposed as I did before,

To serue truly my liues space,

Awaiting euer the yeare of grace,

VVhich may fall yet or I sterue,

If it please her that I serue,

And serued haue, and woll do euer,

For thyng is none, that me is leuer,

Than her seruice, whose presence

Mine heauen is whole, and her absence

An hell, full of diuers paines,

VVhych to the death full oft me straines,

Thus in my thoughts, as I stood,

That vnneth felt I harme ne good,

I saw the Queene a little paas

Come where this mighty lord was,

And kneeled downe in presence there

Of all the ladies that there were,

VVith sober countenaunce auised,

In few words that well suffised,

And to this lord anon present

A bill, wherein whole her entent

VVas written, and how she besought,

As he knew euery will and thought,

That of his godhead and his grace

He would forgyue all old trespace,

And vndispleased be of time past,

For she would euer be stedfast,

And in his seruice to the death

Vse euery thought while she had breath,

And sight and wept, and said no more,

VVithin was written all the sore:

At whych bill the lord gan smyle,

And said he would within that yle

Be lord and syre, both east and west,

And cald it there his new conquest,

And in great councell tooke the Queene,

Long were the tales them betweene,

And ouer her bill he read thrise,

And wonder gladly gan deuise

Her features faire, and her visage,

And bad good thrift on that Image,

And sayd he trowed her compleint

Should after cause her be corseint,

And in his sleeue he put the bill,

Was there none that knew his will,

And forth he walke apace about,

Beholding all the lusty rout,

Halfe in a thought with smiling chere,

Till at the last, as ye shall here,

He turned vnto the Queene ageine,

And said to morne, here in this pleine,

I woll ye be, and all yours,

That purposed ben to weare flours,

Or of my lusty colour vse,

It may not be to you excuse,

Ne none of yours in no wise,

That able be to my seruise,

For as I said haue here before,

I will be lord for euermore

Of you, and of this yle, and all,

And of all yours, that haue shall

Ioy, peace, ease, or in pleasaunce

Your liues vse without noysaunce;

Here will I in state be seene,

And turned his visage to the Queene,

And you giue knowledge of my will,

And a full answere of your bill,

Was there no nay, ne words none,

But very obeisaunt seemed echone,

[Page] Queene and other that were there,

VVell seemed it they had great fere,

And there tooke lodging euery night,

VVas none departed of that night,

And some to read old Romances,

Them occupied for their pleasances,

Some to make verelaies, and laies,

And some to other diuerse plaies:

And I to me a Romance tooke,

And as I reading was the booke,

Me thought the sphere had so run,

That it was rising of the Sun,

And such a prees into the piaine

Assemble gone, that with great paine

One might for other go ne stand,

Ne none take other by the hand,

VVithouten they distourbed were,

So huge and great the prees was there.

And after that within two houres,

This mighty lord all in floures

Of diuers colours many a paire,

In his estate vp in the aire,

VVell two fathom, as his hight,

He set him there in all their sight,

And for the Queene and for the Knight,

And for my lady, and euery wight,

In hast he sent, so that neuer one

VVas there absent, but come echone:

And when they thus assembled were,

As ye haue heard me say you here,

VVithout more tarrying on hight,

There to be seene of euery wight,

Vp stood among the prees aboue

A counsayler, seruaunt of loue,

VVhich seemed well, of great estate,

And shewed there, how no debate

Owe ne goodly might be vsed

In gentilnesse, and be excused,

VVherefore he said, his lords will,

VVas euery wight there should be still,

And in pees, and one accord,

And thus commaunded at a word,

And can his tongue to swiche language

Turne, that yet in all mine age

Heard I neuer so conningly

Man speake, ne halfe so faithfully,

For euery thing he said there,

Seemed as it insealed were,

Or approued for very trew:

Swiche was his cunning language new,

And well according to his chere,

That where I be, me thinke I here

Him yet alway, when I mine one

In any place may be alone:

First con he of the lusty yle

All thastate in little while

Rehearse, and wholly euery thing,

That caused there his lords comming,

And euery wele and euery wo,

And for what cause ech thing was so,

VVell shewed he there in easie speech,

And how the sicke had need of leech:

And that whole was, and in grace,

He told plainly why each thing was,

And at the last he con conclude,

Voided euery language rude,

And said, that prince, that mighty lord,

Or his departing, would accord

All the parties there present,

And was the fine of his entent,

VVitnesse his presence in your sight,

VVhich sits among you in his might:

And kneeled downe withouten more,

And not o word spake he more.

Tho gan this mighty lord him dresse,

VVith cheare auised, to do largesse,

And said vnto this knight and me,

Ye shall to joy restored be,

And for ye haue ben true ye twaine,

I graunt you here for euery paine

A thousand joys euery weeke,

And looke ye be no lenger seeke,

And both your ladies, lo hem here,

Take ech his own, beeth of good chere,

Your happy day is new begun,

Sith it was rising of the sun,

And to all other in this place,

I graunt wholly to stand in grace,

That serueth truely, without slouth,

And to auaunced be by trouth.

Tho can this knight, and I downe kneele,

VVening to doe wonder wele,

Seeing O Lord your great mrrcy,

Vs hath enriched, so openly,

That we deserue may neuer more,

The least part, but euermore

VVith soule and body truely serue

You and yours till we sterue.

And to their Ladies there they stood,

This knight that couth so mikel good,

VVent in hast, and I also,

Ioyous, and glad were we tho,

And also rich in euery thought,

As he that all hath and ought nought,

And them besought in humble wise,

Vs taccept to their seruice,

And shew vs of their friendly cheares,

VVhich in their treasure many yeares

They kept had, vs to great paine,

And told how their seruants twaine,

VVere and would be, and so had euer,

And to the death chaunge would we neuer,

Ne doe offence, ne thinke like ill,

But fill their ordinance and will:

And made our othes fresh new,

Our old seruice to renew,

And wholly theirs for euermore,

VVe there become, what might we more,

And well awaiting, that in slouth,

VVe made ne fault, ne in our trouth,

Ne thought not do, I you ensure,

VVith our will, where we may dure.

This season past, againe an eue,

This Lord of the Queene tooke leue,

And said he would hastely returne,

And at good leisure there sojourne,

Both for his honour, and for his ease,

Commaunding fast, the knight to please,

And gaue his statutes in papers,

And ordent diuers officers,

[Page] And forth to ship the same night

He went, and soone was out of sight.

And on the morrow when the aire

Attempred was, and wonder faire,

Early at rising of the sun,

After the night away was run,

Playing vs on the riuage,

My Lady spake of her voyage,

And said she made small journies,

And held her in straunge countries,

And forthwith to the Queene went,

And shewed her wholly her entent,

And tooke her leaue with cheare weeping,

That pitty was to see that parting:

For to the Queene it was a paine,

As to a Martyr new yssaine,

That for her woe, and she so tender,

Yet I weepe oft when I remember,

She offerd there to resigne,

To my Lady eight times or nine,

Thastate, the yle, shortly to tell,

If it might please her there to dwell,

And said, for euer her linage,

Should to my Lady doe homage,

And hers be hole withouten more,

Ye, and all theirs for euermore:

Nay God forbid, my Lady oft,

With many conning word and soft,

Said, that euer such thing should beene,

That I consent should, that a Queene

Of your estate, and so well named,

In any wise should be attamed:

But would be faine with all my hert,

What so befell, or how me smert,

To doe thing that you might please,

In any wise, or be your ease,

And kissed there, and bad good night,

For which leue wept many a wight,

There might men here my Lady praised,

And such a name of her araised,

What of cunning and friendlinesse,

What of beauty with gentilnesse,

What of glad and friendly cheare [...],

That she vsed in all her yeares,

That wonder was here euery wight

To say well, how they did their might,

And with a prees vpon the morrow,

To ship her brought, and what a sorrow

They made, when she should vnder saile,

That and ye wist, ye would meruaile.

Forth goeth the ship, out goeth the fond,

And I as wood man vnbond,

For doubt to be behind there,

Into the sea withouten fere,

Anon I ran, till with a waw,

All sodenly I was ouerthraw,

And with the water to and fro,

Backward and forward trauailed so,

That mind and breath, nigh was gone,

For good ne harme knew I none,

Til at the last with hookes tweine,

Men of the ship with mikel peine,

To saue my life, did such trauaile,

That and ye wist ye would meruaile,

And in the ship me drew on hie,

And saiden all that I would die,

And laid me long downe by the mast,

And of their clothes on me cast,

And there I made my testament,

And wist my selfe not what I ment,

But when I said had what I would,

And to the mast my wo all told,

And tane my leaue of euery wight,

And closed mine eyen, and lost my sight,

Auised to die, without more speech,

Or any remedy to seech

Of grace new, as was great need:

My lady of my paine tooke heed;

And her bethought how that for trouth

To see me die it were great routh,

And to me came in sober wise,

And softly said, I pray you rise,

Come on with me, let be this fare,

All shall be wel, haue ye no care,

I will obey ye and fulfill

Holy in all that lords will,

That you and me not long ago,

After his list commaunded so,

That there againe no resistence

May be without great offence,

And therefore now what I say,

I am and will be friendly aye,

Rise vp behold this auauntage,

I graunt you inheritage,

Peaceably without striue,

During the daies of your liue,

And of her apples in my sleue

One she put, and took her leue

In words few and said good hele,

He that all made you send and wele,

Wherewith my paines all at ones

Tooke such leaue, that all my bones,

For the new durense pleasaunce,

So as they couth, desired to daunce,

And I as whole as any wight,

Vp rose with joyous heart and light,

Hole and vnsicke, right wele at ease,

And all forget had my disease,

And to my lady where she plaid,

I went anone, and to her said:

He that all joies persons to please

First ordained with parfite ease,

And euery pleasure can depart,

Send you madame, as large a part,

And of his goods such plenty,

As he has done you of beauty,

With hele and all that may be thought;

He send you all as he all wrought:

Madame (quoth I) your seruaunt trew,

Haue I ben long, and yet will new,

Without chaunge or repentaunce,

In any wise or variaunce,

And so will do as thriue I euer,

For thing is none that me is leuer

Than you to please, how euer I fare,

Mine hearts lady and my welfare,

My life, mine hele, my lech also,

Of euery thing that doth me wo,

My helpe at need, and my surete

Of euery joy that longs to me,

My succours whole in all wise,

That may be thought or man deuise,

[Page] Your grace Madame such haue I found,

Now in my need that I am bound

To you for euer so Christ me saue,

For heale and liue of you I haue,

Wherefore is reasoun I you serue,

With due obeisaunce till I sterue,

And dead and quicke be euer yours,

Late, early, and at all hours,

Tho came my lady small alite,

And in plaine english con consite

In words few, whole her entent

She shewed me there, and how she ment

To meward in euery wise,

Wholly she came at their deuise,

Without processe or long trauell,

Charging me to keepe counsell,

As I would to her grace attaine,

Of which commaundement I was faine.

Wherefore I passe ouer at this time,

For counsell cords not well in rime,

And eke the oth that I haue swore,

To breake, me were better vnbore,

Why for untrue for euermore

I should be hold, that neuermore

Of me in place should be report

Thing that auaile might, or comfort

To mewards in any wise,

Andech wight would me dispise

In that they couth, and me repreeue,

Which were a thing sore for to greeue,

Wherefore hereof more mencion

Make I not now ne long sermon,

But shortly thus I me excuse,

To rime a councell I refuse.

Sailing thus two dayes or three,

My lady towards her countrie,

Ouer the waues high and greene,

Which were large and deepe betweene,

Vpon a time me called and said,

That of my hele she was well paid,

And of the Queene and of the yle,

She talked with me long while,

And of all that she there had seene,

And of the state, and of the queene,

And of the ladies name by name,

Two houres or mo, this was her game,

Till at the last the wind gan rise,

And blew so fast, and in such wise,

The ship that euery wight can say,

Madame er eue he of this day,

And God tofore, ye shall be there,

As ye would fainest that ye were,

And doubt not within sixe hours,

Ye shall be there, as all is yours,

At which words she gan to smile,

And said that was no long while,

That they her set and vp she rose,

And all about the ship she gose,

And made good cheare to euery wight,

Till of the land she had a sight,

Of which sight glad God it wot,

She was abashed and aboot,

Aud forth goeth shortly you to tell,

Where she accustomed was to dwell,

And receiued was as good right,

With joyous cheere and hearts light,

And as a glad new auenture,

Pleasaunt to euery creature,

With which landing tho I woke,

And found my chamber full of smoke,

My cheekes eke vnto the eares,

And all my body weat with teares,

And all so feeble and in such wise,

I was, that vnneth might I rise,

So fare trauailed and so faint,

That neither knew I kirke ne saint,

Ne what was what, ne who was who,

Ne auised, what way I would go,

But by a venturous grace,

I rise and walkt, sought pace and pace,

Till I a winding staire found,

And held the vice aye in my hond,

And vpward softly so gan creepe,

Till I came where I thought to sleepe

More at mine ease, and out of preace,

At my good leisure, and in peace,

Till somewhat I recomfort were

Of the trauell and great feare

That I endured had before,

This was my thought without more,

And as a wight witlesse and faint,

Without more, in a chamber paint

Full of stories old and diuers,

More than I can now rehearse,

Vnto a bed full soberly,

So as I might full sothly,

Pace after other, and nothing said,

Till at the last downe I me laid,

And as my mind would giue me leue,

All that I dreamed had that eue,

Before all I can rehearse,

Right as a child at schoole his verse

Doth after that he thinketh to thriue,

Right so did I for all my liue,

I thought to haue in remembraunce,

Both the paine and the pleasaunce,

The dreame whole, as it me befell,

Which was as ye here me tell,

Thus in my thoughts as I lay,

That happy or unhappy day,

Wot I not so haue I blame,

Of the two, which is the name:

Befell me so, that there a thought,

By processe new on sleepe me brought,

And me gouerned so in a while,

That againe within the yle,

Me thought I was, whereof the knight,

And of the ladies I had a sight,

And were assembled on a greene,

Knight and lady, with the queene,

At which assembly there was said,

How they all content and paid,

Were wholly as in that thing,

That the knight there should be king,

And they would all for sure witnesse

Wedded be both more and lesse,

In remembraunce without more,

Thus they consent for euermore,

And was concluded that the knight

Depart should the same night,

And forthwith there tooke his voiage,

To journey for his marriage,

[Page] And returne with such an host,

That wedded might be least and most,

This was concluded, written and sealed,

That it might not be repealed

In no wise but aie be firme,

And all should be within a tearme,

Without more excusation,

Both feast and coronation,

This knight which had thereof the charge,

Anon into a little barge,

Brought was late against an eue,

Where of all he tooke his leaue,

Which barge was as a mans thought,

After his pleasure to him brought,

The Queene her selfe accustomed aye

In the same barge to play,

It needeth neither mast ne rother,

I haue not heard of such another,

No maister for the gouernaunce,

Hie sayled by thought and pleasaunce,

VVithout labour East and VVest,

All was one, calme, or tempest,

And I went with at his request,

And was the first prayed to the fest.

VVhen he came in his countree,

And passed had the wauy see,

In an hauen deepe and large

He left his rich and noble barge,

And to the court shortly to tell,

He went, where he wont was to dwell,

And was receiued as good right,

As heire, and for a worthy knight,

VVith all the states of the lond,

VVhich came anon at his first sond,

VVith glad spirits full of trouth,

Loth to do fault or with a slouth,

Attaint be in any wise,

Their riches was their old seruise,

VVhich euer trew had be fond,

Sith first inhabit was the lond,

And so receiued there her King,

That forgotten was no thing,

That owe to be done ne might please,

Ne their soueraine Lord do ease,

And with them so shortly to say,

As they of custome had done aye,

For seuen yere past was and more,

The father, the old wise and hore

King of the land tooke his leue

Of all his barons on an eue,

And told them how his dayes past

VVere all, and comen was the last,

And hertily prayed hem to remember

His sonne, which yong was and tender,

That borne was their prince to be,

If he returne to that countree

Might, by aduenture or grace,

VVithin any time or space,

And to be true and friendly aye,

As they to him had bene alway:

Thus he them prayd, without more,

And tooke his leaue for euermore.

Knowen was, how tender in age,

This young prince a great viage

Vncouth and straung, honours to seche,

Tooke in hond with little speeche,

VVhich was to seeke a princes,

That he desired more than riches,

For her great name that floured so,

That in that time there was no mo

Of her estate, ne so well named,

For borne was none that euer her blamed:

Of which princes somewhat before,

Here haue I spoke, and some will more.

So thus befell as ye shall heare,

Vnto their lord they made such cheare,

That joy was there to be present

To see their troth and how they ment,

So very glad they were ech one,

That them among there was no one,

That desired more riches,

Than for their Lord such a princes,

That they might please, and that were faire,

For fast desired they an heire,

And said great surety were ywis.

And as they were speaking of this,

The prince himselfe him auised,

And in plaine English vndisguised,

Them shewed hole his journey,

And of their counsell gan them prey,

And told how he ensured was,

And how his day he might not passe,

VVithout diffame and great blame,

And to him for euer shame,

And of their counsell and auise,

There he prayth them once or twise,

And that they would, within ten daies,

Auise and ordaine him such waies,

So that it were no displeasaunce,

Ne to this Realme ouer great grieuaunce,

And that he haue might to his feast,

Sixty thousand at the least,

For his intent within short while

Was to returne vnto his yle

That he came fro, and kepe his day,

For nothing would he be away.

To counsaile tho the Lords anon,

Into a chamber euerychone,

Togither went, them to deuise,

How they might best and in what wise,

Puruey for their Lords pleasaunce,

And the Realmes continuaunce

Of honor, which in it before

Had continued euermore,

So at the last they found the waies,

How within the next ten daies,

All might with paine and diligence

Be done, and cast what the dispence

Might draw, and in conclusion,

Made for ech thing prouision.

When this was done, wholly tofore

The prince, the lords all before

Come, and shewed what they had done,

And how they couth by no reason

Find, that within the ten daies

He might depart by no waies,

But would be fifteene at the least,

Or he returne might to his feast:

And shewed him euery reason why

It might not be so hastily,

As he desired, ne his day

He might not keepe by no way,

[Page] For diuers causes wonder great:

VVhich when he heard, in such an heat

He fell, for sorow and was seke,

Still in his bed whole that weke,

And nigh the tother for the shame,

And for the doubt, and for the blame

That might on him be aret,

And oft vpon his brest he her,

And said alas, mine honour for aye,

Haue I here lost cleane this day,

Dead would I be, alas my name

Shall aye he more henceforth in shame,

And I dishonoured and repreued,

And neuer more shall be beleeued:

And made swich sorow, that in trouth,

Him to behold it was great routh:

And so endured the dayes fiftene,

Till that the Lords on an euen

Him come, and told they ready were,

And shewed in few words there,

How and what wise they had purueyd

For his estate, and to him said,

That twenty thousand knights of name,

And fourty thousand without blame,

All come of noble ligine,

Togider in a compane,

VVere lodged on a riuers side,

Him and his pleasure there tabide,

The prince tho for joy vp rose,

And where they lodged were, he goes

VVithout more that same night,

And these his supper made to right,

And with them bode till it was dey,

And forthwith to take his journey,

Leuing the streight, holding the large,

Till he came to his noble barge,

And when this prince, this lusty knight

VVith his people in armes bright,

VVas comen where he thought to pas,

And knew well none abiding was

Behind, but all were there present,

Forthwith anon all his intent

He told them there, and made his cries

Through his ofte that day twise,

Commaunding euery liues wight,

There being present in his sight,

To be the morow on the riuage,

VVhere he begin would his viage.

The morrow come, the cry was kept,

Few was there that night that slept,

But trussed and purueied for the morrow,

For fault of ships was all their sorrow,

For saue the barge, and other two,

Of ships there saw I no mo:

Thus in their douths as they stood,

Waxing the sea, comming the flood,

Was cried to ship goe euery wight,

Then was but hie, that hie might,

And to the barge me thought echone

They went, without was left not one,

Horse, male, trusse, ne bagage,

Salad, speare, gard brace, ne page,

But was lodged and roome ynough,

At which shipping me thought I lough,

And gan to maruaile in my thought,

How euer such a ship was wrought,

For what people that can encrease,

Ne neuer so thicke might be the prease,

But all had roome at their will,

There was not one was lodged ill,

For as I trow, my selfe the last

Was one, and lodged by the mast,

And where I looked I saw such rome,

As all were lodged in a towne.

Forth goth the ship, said was the creed,

And on their knees for their good speed,

Downe kneeled euery wight a while,

And praied fast that to the yle

They might come in safety,

The prince and all the company,

With worship and without blame,

Or disclaunder of his name,

Of the promise he should retourne,

Within the time he did sojourne,

In his lond biding his host,

This was their prayer least and most,

To keepe the day it might not been,

That he appointed had with the queen,

To returne without slouth,

And so assured had his trouth,

For which fault this prince, this knight,

During the time slept not a night,

Such was his wo and his disease,

For doubt he should the queene displease,

Forth goeth the ship with such speed,

Right as the prince for his great need

Desire would after his thought,

Till it vnto the yle him brought,

Where in hast vpon the sand,

He and his people tooke the land,

With herts glad, and chere light,

Weening to be in heauen that night:

But or they passed a while,

Entring in toward that yle,

All clad in blacke with chere piteous,

A lady which neuer dispiteous

Had be in all her life tofore,

With sory chere, and hert to tore,

Vnto this prince where he gan ride,

Come and said, abide, abide,

And haue no hast, but fast retourne,

No reason is ye here sojourne,

For your vntruth hath vs discried,

VVo worth the time we vs allied

VVith you, that are so soone vntrew,

Alas the day that we you knew,

Alas the time that ye were bore,

For all this lond by you is lore,

Accursed be he you hider brought,

For all your joy is turnd to nought,

Your acquaintance we may complaine,

VVhich is the cause of all our paine.

Alas madame quoth tho this knight,

And with that from his horse he light,

VVith colour pale, and cheekes lene,

Alas what is this for to mene,

VVhat haue ye said, why be ye wroth,

You to displease I would be loth,

Know ye not well the promesse

I made haue to your princesse,

VVhich to perfourme is mine intent,

So mote I speed as I haue ment,

[Page] And as I am her very trew,

Without change or thought new,

And also fully her seruand,

As creature or man liuand

May be to lady or princesse,

For she mine heauen, and whole richesse

Is, and the lady of mine heale,

My worlds joy and all my weale,

What may this be, whence coms this speech,

Tell me Madame I you beseech,

For fith the first of my liuing,

Was I so fearfull of nothing,

As I am now to heare you speake,

For doubt I feele mine heart breake:

Say on madame, tell me your will,

The remnaunt is it good or ill,

Alas (qd. she) that ye were bore,

For, for your loue this land is lore,

The queene is dead and that is ruth,

For sorrow of your great vntruth,

Of two partes of the lusty rout,

Of ladies that were there about,

That wont were to talke and play,

Now are dead and cleane away,

And vnder earth tane lodging new,

Alas that euer ye were vntrew,

For when the time ye set was past,

The queene to counsaile sone in hast,

What was to doe, and said great blame,

Your acquaintaunce cause would and shame,

And the ladies of their auise

Prayed, for need was to be wise,

In eschewing tales and songs,

That by them make would ill tongs,

And sey they were lightly conquest,

And prayed to a poore feast,

And foule had their worship weiued,

When so vnwisely they conceiued,

Their rich treasour, and their heale,

Their famous name, and their weale,

To put in such an auenture,

Of which the sclaunder euer dure

Was like, without helpe of appele,

Wherefore they need had of counsele,

For euery wight of them would say,

Their closed yle an open way

Was become to euery wight,

And well appreued by a knight,

Which he alas without paysaunce,

Had soone acheued thobeisaunce:

All this was moued at counsell thrise,

And concluded daily twise,

That bet was die without blame,

Than lose the riches of their name,

Wherefore the deaths acquaintaunce

They chese, and left haue their pleasaunce,

For doubt to liue as repreued,

In that they you so soone beleeued,

And made their othes with one accord,

That eat, ne drinke, ne speake word,

They should neuer, but euer weping

Bide in a place without parting,

And vse their dayes in penaunce,

Without desire of allegeaunce,

Of which the truth anon con preue,

For why the queen forth with her leue

Toke at them all that were present,

Of her defauts fully repent,

And died there withouten more,

Thus are we lost for euermore,

What should I more hereof reherse,

Comen within come see her herse,

Where ye shall see the piteous sight,

That euer yet was shewen to knight,

For ye shall see ladies stond,

Ech with a great rod in bond,

Clad in black with visage white,

Ready each other for to smite,

If any be that will not wepe,

Or who that makes countenaunce to slepe,

They be so bet, that all so blew

They be as cloth that died is new,

Such is their parfite repentance,

And thus they keepe their ordinance,

And will do euer to the death▪

While them endures any breath.

This knight tho in armes twaine,

This lady tooke and gan her saine,

Alas my birth, wo worth my life,

And euen with that he drew a knife,

And through gowne, doublet, and shert,

He made the blood come from his hert,

And set him downe vpon the greene,

And full repent closed his eene,

And saue that ones he drew his breath,

VVithout more thus he tooke his death,

For which cause the lusty hoast,

VVhich in a battaile on the coast,

At once for sorrow such a cry

Gan rere, thorow the company,

That to the heauen heard was the sowne,

And vnder therth als fer adowne,

That wild beasts for the feare,

So sodainly afrayed were,

That for the doubt, while they might dure,

They ran as of their liues vnsure,

From the woods vnto the plaine,

And from the valleys the high mountaine

They sought, and ran as beasts blind,

That cleane forgotten had their kind.

This wo not ceased, to counsaile went

These Lords, and for that lady sent,

And of auise what was to done,

They her besought she say would sone,

VVeeping full sore all clad in blake,

This lady softly to them spake,

And said, my lords by my trouth,

This mischiefe it is of your flouth,

And if ye had that judge would right,

A prince that were a very knight,

Ye that ben of astate echone,

Die for his fault should one and one,

And if he hold had the promesse,

And done that longs to gentilnesse,

And fulfilled the princes behest,

This hasty farme had bene a feast,

And now is vnrecouerable,

And vs a slaunder aye durable,

VVherefore I say as of counsaile,

In me is none that may auaile,

[Page] But if ye list for remembraunce,

Puruey and make such ordinaunce,

That the queene that was so meke,

With all her women dede or seke,

Might in your land a chappell haue,

With some remembraunce of her graue,

Shewing her end with the pity,

In some notable old city,

Nigh unto an high way,

Where euery wight might for her pray,

And for all hers that haue ben trew,

And euen with that she changed hew,

And twise wished, after the death,

And sight, and thus passed her breath.

Then said the Lords of the host,

And so conclude least and most,

That they would euer in houses of thacke,

Their liues lead, and weare but blacke,

And forsake all their pleasaunces,

And turn all joy to penaunces,

And beare the dead prince to the barge,

And named them should haue the charge,

And to the hearse where lay the queen,

The remnaunt went and down on kneen,

Holding their honds on high gon crie,

Mercy, mercy, euerish thrie,

And cursed the time that euer slouth

Should haue such masterdome of trouth,

And to the barge a long mile,

They hare her forth, and in a while

All the Ladies one and one,

By companies were brought echone,

And past the sea and tooke the land,

And in new herses on a sand,

Put and brought were all anon,

Vnto a City closed with stone,

Where it had been vsed aye

The kings of the land to lay,

After they raigned in honours,

And writ was which were conquerours,

In an abbey of Nunnes which were blake,

Which accustomed were to wake,

And of vsage rise ech a night,

To pray for euery liues wight,

And so befell as in the guise,

Ordeint and said was the seruise,

Of the prince and of the queen,

So deuoutly as might been,

And after that about the herses,

Many orisons and verses,

Without note full softely,

Said were and that full heartily,

That all the night till it was day

The people in the Church con pray,

Vnto the holy Trinity,

Of those soules to haue pity.

And when the night past and ronne

Was, and the new day begonne,

The yong morrow with rayes red,

Which from the Sunne ouer all con spred,

Atempered clere was and faire,

And made a time of wholsome aire,

Befell a wonder case and strange,

Among the people and gan change

Soone the word and euery woo,

Vnto a joy, and some to two:

A bird all fedred blew and greene,

With bright rayes like gold betweene,

As small thred ouer euery joynt,

All full of colour strange and coint,

Vncouth, and wonderfull to sight,

Vpon the queens herse con light,

And song full low and softely,

Three songs in her harmony,

Vnletted of euery wight,

Till at the last an aged knight,

Which seemed a man in great thought,

Like as he set all thing at nought,

With visage and ein all forwept,

And pale, as man long vnslept,

By the herses as he stood,

With hasty hondling of his hood,

Vnto a prince that by him past,

Made the bridde somewhat agast,

Wherefore she rose and left her song,

And depart from us among,

And spread her wings for to passe

By the place he entred was,

And in his hast shortly to tell,

Him hurt, that backeward downe he fell,

From a window richly peint,

With liues of many diuers seint,

And bet his wings and bled fast,

And of the hurt thus died and past,

And lay there well an houre and more,

Till at the last of briddes a score,

Come and sembled at the place

Where the window broken was,

And made swiche wamentacioun,

That pity was to heare the soun,

And the warbles of their throtes,

And the complaint of their notes,

Which from joy cleane was reuersed,

And of them one the glas soone persed,

And in his beke of colours nine,

An herbe he brought flourelesse all grene,

Full of small leaues and plaine,

Swart and long with many a vaine,

And where his fellow lay thus dede,

This hearbe down laid by his hede,

And dressed it full softily,

And hong his head and stood thereby,

Which hearb in lesse than halfe an houre,

Gan ouer all knit, and after floure

Full out and wexe ripe the seed,

And right as one another feed

Would, in his beake he tooke the graine,

And in his fellowes beake certaine

It put, and thus within the third

Vp stood, and pruned him the bird,

Which dead had be in all our sight,

And both togither forth their flight

Tooke, singing from vs, and their leue,

Was none disturb hem would ne greue,

And when they parted were, and gone

Thabbesse the seeds soone echone

Gadred had, and in her hand

The herb she tooke, well auisand

The leafe, the seed, the stalke, the floure,

And said it had a good sauour,

[Page] And was no common herb to find,

And well approued of vncouth kind,

And than other more vertuouse,

VVho so haue it might for to vse

In his need, flowre, leafe, or graine,

Of their heale might be certaine:

And laid it downe vpon the herse

VVhere lay the queene, and gan reherse,

Echone to other that they had seene,

And taling thus the sede wex greene,

And on the dry herse gan spring,

VVhich me thought a wondrous thing,

And after that floure and new seed,

Of which the people all tooke heed,

And said, it was some great miracle,

Or medicine fine more than triacle,

And were well done there to assay,

If it might ease in any way,

The corses, which with torch light,

They waked had there all that night,

Soone did the lords there consent,

And all the people thereto content,

With easie words and little fare,

And made the queenes visage bare,

Which shewed was to all about,

Wherefore in swoone fell whole the rout,

And were so sorry most and least,

That long of weping they not ceast,

For of their lord the remembraunce,

Vnto them was such displeasaunce,

That for to liue they called a paine,

So were they very true and plaine,

And after this the good abbesse,

Of the graine gan these and dresse,

Three, with her fingers cleane and small,

And in the queenes mouth by tale,

One after other full easily,

She put and full conningly,

Which shewed soone such vertue,

That preued was the medicine true,

For with a smiling countenaunce

The Queene vprose, and of vsaunce,

As she was wont to euery wight,

She made good cheere, for which sight,

The people kneeling on the stones,

Thought they in heauen were soule & bones:

And to the prince where he lay,

They went to make the same assay,

And when the Queene it vnderstood,

And how the medicine was good,

She prayed she might haue the graines,

To releue him from the paines

Which she and he had both endured,

And to him went and so him cured,

That within a little space,

Lusty and fresh on liue he was,

And in good hele, and hole of speech,

And lough, and said gramercy leech,

For which the joy throughout the town,

So great was that the bels sown

Afraied the people, a journay,

About the city euery way,

And come and asked cause and why

They rongen were so stately?

And after that the queene, thabbesse

Made diligence or they would cesse,

Such, that of ladies soone a rout,

Sewing the queene was all about,

And called by name echone and told,

Was none forgetten young ne old,

There might men see joyes new,

When the medicine fine and trew,

Thus restored had euery wight,

So well the queene as the knight,

Vnto perfit joy and hele,

That fleting they were in such wele

As folke that would in no wise,

Desire more perfit paradise.

And thus when passed was the sorrow,

With mikle joy soone on the morrow,

The king, the queene, and euery lord,

With all the Ladies by one accord,

A generall assembly

Great cry through the country,

The which after as their intent

Was turned to a Parliament,

Where was ordained and auised,

Euery thing and deuised,

That please might, to most and least,

And there concluded was the feast,

Within the yle to be hold

With full consent of young and old,

In the same wise as before,

As thing should be withouten more,

And shipped and thither went

And into straunge Realmes sent,

To kings, queenes, and duchesses,

To diuers princes and princesses,

Of their linage and can pray,

That it might like them at that day

Of mariage, for their sport,

Come see the yle, and them disport,

Where should be jousts and turnaies,

And armes done in other waies,

Signifying ouer all the day

After Aprill within May,

And was auised that ladies tweine,

Of good estate and well beseine,

With certaine knights and squiers,

And of the queenes officers,

In manner of an embassade,

With certain letters closed and made,

Should take the barge and depart,

And seeke my lady euery part,

Till they her found for any thing,

Both charged haue queene and king,

And as their lady and maistres,

Her to beseke of gentilnes,

At the day there for to been,

And oft her recommaund the queen,

And prayes for all loues to hast,

For but she come all woll be wast,

And the feast, a businesse

Without joy or lustinesse:

And tooke them tokens and good speed

Praid God send, after their need.

Forth went the ladies and the knights,

And were out fourteene daies and nights,

And brought my lady in their barge,

And had well sped and done their charge:

Whereof the queene so hartily glad

Was, that in soth such joy she had,

[Page] When the ship approched lond,

That she my lady on the sond

Met, and in armes so constraine,

That wonder was behold them twaine,

Which to my dome during twelue houres,

Neither for heat ne watry shoures,

Departed not no company,

Sauing themselfe but none them by,

But gaue them laysour at their ease,

To rehearse joy and disease,

After the pleasure and courages,

Of their young and tender ages:

And after, with many a knight,

Brought were, where as for that night

They parted not, for to pleasaunce,

Content, was hert and countenaunce,

Both of the queene, and my maistresse,

This was that night their businesse:

And on the morrow with huge rout,

This prince of lords him about,

Come and to my Lady said,

That of her comming glad and well apaid

He was, and full commingly

Her thanked and full heartily,

And lough and smiled, and said ywis,

That was in doubt, in safety is:

And commaunded do diligence,

And spare for neither gold ne spence,

But make ready, for on the morow,

Wedded with saint Iohn to borow,

He would be, withouten more,

And let them wite this lese and more.

The morow come, and the seruice

Of mariage in such a wise

Said was, that with more honour,

Was neuer prince ne conquerour

Wedde, ne with such company,

Of gentilnesse in chiualry,

Ne of Ladies so great routs

Ne so beseen as all abouts

They were there, I certifie

You on my life withouten lie.

And the feast hold was in tentis,

As to tell you mine entent is,

In a rome a large plaine

Vnder a wood in a champaine,

Betwixt a riuer and a well,

Where neuer had abbay, ne sell

Ben, ne kirke, house, ne village,

In time of any mans age:

And dured three months the feast,

In one estate and neuer ceast,

From early the rising of the sonne,

Till the day spent was and yronne,

In justing, dauncing, and lustinesse,

And all that sowned to gentilnesse.

And as me thought the second morrow,

When ended was all old sorrow,

And in surety euery wight

Had with his lady slept a night,

The Prince, the Queene, and all the rest,

Vnto my lady made request,

And her besought oft and praied,

To mewards to be well apaied,

And consider mine old trouth,

And on my paines haue routh,

And me accept to her seruise,

In such forme and in such wise,

That we both might be as one,

Thus prayed the Queene, and euerichone:

And for there should be no nay,

They stint justing all a day,

To pray my lady and requere,

Be content and out of fere,

And with good heart make friendly cheare,

And said it was a happy yeare:

At which she smiled and said ywis,

I trow well he my seruaunt is,

And would my welfare as I trist,

So would I his, and would he wist

How and I knew that his trouth

Continue would without slouth,

And be such as ye here report,

Restraining both courage and sport,

I couth consent at your request,

To be named of your fest,

And do after your vsaunce,

In obeying your pleasaunce,

At your request this I consent,

To please you in your entent,

And eke the soueraine aboue,

Commanded hath me for to loue,

And before other him prefer,

Against which Prince may be no wer,

For his power ouer all raigneth,

That other would for nought him paineth,

And sith his will and yours is one,

Contrary in me shall be none,

Tho (as me thought) the promise

Of marriage before the mese,

Desired was of euery wight,

To be made the same night,

To put away all maner douts

Of euery wight thereabouts,

And so was do, and on the morrow,

When euery thought and euery sorrow

Dislodged was out of mine hert,

With euery wo and euery smert,

Vnto a tent Prince and Princes,

Me thought, brought me and my maistres,

And said we were at full age

There to conclude our marriage,

With ladies, knights, and squiers,

And a great host of ministers,

With instruments and sounes diuerse,

That long were here to rehearse,

Which tent was church perochiall,

Ordaint was in especiall,

For the feast and for the sacre,

Where archbishop, and archdiacre

Song full out the seruise,

After the custome and the guise,

And the churches ordinaunce,

And after that to dine and daunce

Brought were we, and to diuers playes,

And for our speed ech with prayes,

And merry was most and least,

And said amended was the feast,

And were right glad lady and lord,

Of the marriage and thaccord,

[Page] And wished vs hearts pleasaunce,

Ioy, hele, and continuaunce,

And to the minstrils made request,

That in encreasing of the fest,

They would touch their cords,

And with some new joyeux accords,

Mooue the people to gladnesse,

And praiden of all gentilnesse,

Ech to paine them for the day,

To shew his cunning and his play,

Tho began sownes meruelous,

Entuned with accords joyous,

Round about all the tents,

VVith thousands of instruments,

That euery wight to daunce them pained,

To be merry was none that fained,

VVhich sowne me troubled in my sleepe,

That fro my bed forth I lepe,

VVening to be at the feast,

But when I woke all was seast,

For there nas lady ne creature,

Saue on the wals old portraiture

Of horsmen, haukes, and hounds,

And hurt deere full of wounds,

Some like bitten, some hurt with shot,

And as my dreame seemed that was not,

And when I wake, and knew the trouth,

And ye had seen of very routh,

I trow ye would haue wept a weke,

For neuer man yet halfe so seke,

I went escaped with the life,

And was for fault that sword ne knife

I find ne might my life tabridge,

De thing that kerued, ne had edge,

VVherewith I might my wofull pains

Haue voided with bleeding of my vains,

Lo here my blisse, lo here my paine,

VVhich to my lady I do complaine,

And grace and mercy her require,

To end my wo and busie feare,

And me accept to her seruise,

After her seruice in such auise,

That of my dreame the substaunce

Might turne once to cognisaunce,

And cognisaunce to very preue,

By full consent, and good leue,

Or els without more I pray,

That this night, or it be day,

I mote vnto my dreame returne,

And sleeping so forth aie sojourne

About the yle of pleasaunce,

Vnder my ladies obeisaunce,

In her seruice, and in such wise,

As it please her may to deuise,

And grace ones to be accept,

Like as I dreamed when I slept,

And dure a thousand yeare and ten,

In her good will, Amen, Amen.

Fairest of faire, and goodliest on liue,

All my secret to you I plaine, and shriue,

Requiring grace and of complaint,

To be healed or martyred as a saint,

For by my trouth I sweare, & by this booke,

Ye may both heale, and slea me with a looke.

Go forth mine owne true hert innocent,

And with humblesse, do thine obseruaunce,

And to thy lady on thy knees present

Thy seruice new, & think how great pleasance

It is to liue vnder thobeisance

Of her that may with her looks soft

Giue thee the blisse that thou desirest oft.

Be diligent, awake, obey, and drede,

And not too wild of thy countenaunce,

But meeke and glad, and thy nature feed,

To do each thing yt may her pleasance,

VVhen thou shalt sleep, haue aie in remembrance

Thimage of her which may with lookes soft

Giue thee the blisse that thou desirest oft.

And if so be that thou her name find

Written in booke, or els vpon wall,

Looke that thou as seruaunt true and kind,

Thine obeisaunce as she were therewithall,

Faining in loue is breeding of a fall

From the grace of her, whose lookes soft

May giue the blisse that thou desirest oft.

Ye that this Ballade read shall,

I pray you keepe you from the fall.

The Flower and the Leaf.
A Gentlewoman out of an Arbor in a Grove, seeth a great company of Knights and Ladies in a Dance upon the green Grass: the which being ended, they all kneel down, and do honour to the Daisie, some to the Flower, and some to the Leaf. Afterward this Gentlewoman learneth by one of these Ladies the meaning hereof, which is this: They which honour the Flower, a thing fading with every blast, are such as look after Beauty and worldly Pleasure. But they that honour the Leaf, which abideth with the Root, notwithstanding the Frosts and Winter storms, are they which follow Vertue and during Qualities, without regard of worldly Respects.

WHen that Phebus his chaire of gold so hie

Had whirled vp the sterry sky aloft,

And in the Boole was entred certainely,

When shoures sweet of raine discended oft,

Causing the ground fele times and oft,

Vp for to giue many an wholesome aire,

And euery plaine was clothed faire

With new green, & maketh small floures

To springen here & there in field & in mede,

So very good and wholesom be the shoures,

That it renueth that was old and dede,

In winter time, and out of euery sede

Springeth the hearbe, so that euery wight

Of this season wexeth glad and light.

And I so glad of the season swete,

Was happed thus vpon a certaine night,

As I lay in my bed, sleepe full vnmete

Was vnto me, but why that I ne might

Rest, I ne wist, for there nas earthly wight

[Page] As I suppose had more hearts ease

Than I, for I nad sicknesse nor disease.

Wherefore I meruail greatly of my selfe,

That I so long withouten sleepe lay,

And vp I rose three houres after twelfe,

About the springing of the day,

And on I put my geare and mine array,

And to a pleasaunt groue I gan passe,

Long or the bright sonne vp risen was.

In which were Okes great, streight as a line,

Vnder the which the grasse so fresh of hew,

Was newly sprong, and an eight foot or nine

Euery tree well fro his fellow grew,

With branches brode, lade with leues new,

That sprongen out ayen the sunne shene,

Some very red, and some a glad light grene.

Which as me thought was right a pleasant sight,

And eke the briddes song for to here,

Would haue rejoyced any earthly wight,

And I that couth not yet in no manere

Heare the Nightingale of all the yeare,

Ful busily herkened with hert and with eare,

If I her voice perceiue coud any where.

And at the last a path of little bread

I found, that greatly had not vsed be,

For it forgrowne was with grasse and weed,

That well vnneth a wight might it se:

Thoght I this path some whider goth parde,

And so I followed, till it me brought

To right a pleasaunt herber well ywrought,

That benched was, and with turfes new

Freshly turued, whereof the grene gras,

So small, so thicke, so short, so fresh of hew,

That most like vnto green well wot I it was,

The hegge also that yede in compas,

And closed in all the greene herbere,

With sicamour was set and eglatere.

Wrethen in fere so well and cunningly,

That euery branch and leaf grew by mesure,

Plaine as a bord, of an height by and by,

I see neuer thing I you ensure,

So well done, for he that tooke the cure

It to make ytrow, did all his peine

To make it passe all tho that men haue seine.

And shapen was this herber roofe and all

As a prety parlour, and also

The hegge as thicke as a castle wall,

That who that list without to stond or go,

Though he would all day prien to and fro,

He should not see if there were any wight

Within or no, but one within well might

Perceiue all tho that yeden there without

In the field that was on euery side

Couered with corn and grasse, y• out of doubt,

Though one would seeke all the world wide,

So rich a field coud not be espide

On no coast, as of the quantity,

For of all good thing there was plenty.

And I that all this pleasaunt sight sie,

Thought sodainly I felt so sweet an aire

Of the eglentere, that certainely

There is no heart I deme in such dispaire,

Ne with thoughts froward and contraire,

So ouerlaid, but it should soone haue bote,

If it had ones felt this sauour sote.

And as I stood and cast aside mine eie,

I was ware of the fairest Medle tree

That euer yet in all my life I sie,

As full of blossomes as it might be,

Therein a goldfinch leaping pretile

Fro bough to bough, and as him list he eet

Here and there of buds and floures sweet.

And to the herber side was joyning

This faire tree, of which I haue you told,

And at the last the brid began to sing,

When he had eaten what he eat wold,

So passing sweetly, that by manifold

It was more pleasaunt than I coud deuise,

And when his song was ended in this wise,

The Nightingale with so merry a note

Answered him, that all the wood rong

So sodainly, that as it were a sote,

I stood astonied, so was I with the song

Thorow rauished, that till late and long,

I ne wist in what place I was, ne where,

And ayen me thought she song euen by mine ere.

Wherefore I waited about busily

On euery side, if I her might see,

And at the last I gan full well aspie

Where she sat in a fresh grene laurer tree,

On the further side euen right by me,

That gaue so passing a delicious smell,

According to the eglentere full well.

Whereof I had so inly great pleasure,

That as me thought I surely rauished was

Into Paradice, where my desire

Was for to be, and no ferther passe

As for that day, and on the sote grasse

I sat me downe, for as for mine entent,

The birds song was more conuenient,

And more pleasaunt to me by manifold,

Than meat or drinke, or any other thing,

Thereto the herber was so fresh and cold,

The wholesome fauours eke so comforting,

That as I demed, sith the beginning

Of the world was neuer seene or than

So pleasaunt a ground of none earthly man.

And as I sat the birds harkening thus,

Me thought that I heard voices sodainly,

The most sweetest and most delicious

That euer any wight I trow truly

Heard in their life, for the armony

And sweet accord was in so good musike,

That the voice to Angels most was like.

At the last out of a groue euen by,

That was right goodly and pleasant to sight,

[Page] I sie where there came singing lustily

A world of ladies, but to tell aright

Their great beauty, it lieth not in my might,

Ne their array, neuerthelesse I shall

Tell you a part, though I speake not of all.

The surcotes white of veluet wele sitting,

They were in clad, and the semes echone,

As it were a manner garnishing,

Was set with Emerauds one and one,

By and by, but many a rich stone

Was set on the purfles out of dout

Of colors, sleues, and traines round about.

As great pearles round and orient,

Diamonds fine and rubies red,

And many another stone, of which I went

The names now, and euerich on her head

A rich fret of gold, which without dread

Was full of stately rich stones set,

And euery lady had a chapelet

On her head of fresh and greene,

So wele wrought, and so meruellously,

That it was a noble sight to seene,

Some of laurer, and some full pleasantly

Had chapelets of woodbind, and sadly

Some of Agnus castus were also

Chapelets fresh, but there were many of tho

That daunced and eke song full soberly,

But all they yede in manner of compace,

But one there yede in mid the company,

Soole by her selfe, but all followed the pace

That she kept, whose heauenly figured face

So pleasant was, and her wele shape person,

That of beauty she past hem euerichone.

And more richly beseene by manifold

She was also in euery manner thing,

On her head full pleasaunt to behold,

A crowne of gold rich for any King,

A braunch of Agnus castus eke bearing

In her hand, and to my sight truly,

She lady was of the company.

And she began a roundell lustely,

That Suse le foyle, de vert moy, men call,

Seen & mon ioly cuer en dormy,

And then the company answered all,

With voice sweet entuned, and so small,

That me thought it the sweetest melody

That euer I heard in my life soothly.

And thus they came dauncing and singing

Into the middest of the mede echone,

Before the herber where I was sitting,

And God wot me thought I was wel bigone,

For then I might auise hem one by one,

Who fairest was, who coud best dance or sing,

Or who most womanly was in all thing.

They had not daunced but a little throw,

When that I heard not ferre off sodainly,

So great a noise of thundring trumps blow,

As though it should haue departed the skie,

And after that within a while I sie,

From ye same groue where ye ladies come out,

Of men of armes comming such a rout,

As all the men on earth had ben assembled

In that place, wele horsed for the nones,

Stering so fast, that all the earth trembled:

But for to speake of riches and stones,

And men and horse I trow the large wones,

Of Pretir Iohn ne all his tresory,

Might not vnneth haue boght ye tenth party.

Of their array who so list heare more,

I shall rehearse so as I can alite:

Out of the groue that I spake of before,

I sie come first all in their clokes white,

A company that ware for their delite,

Chapelets fresh of okes seriall,

Newly sprong, and trumpets they were all.

On euery trumpe hanging a broad banere

Of fine Tartarium were full richely bete,

Euery trumpet his lords armes here

About their neckes with great pearles sete,

Collers brode for cost they would not lete,

As it would seem for their schochones echone,

Were set about with many a precious stone.

Their horse harneis was all white also,

And after them next in one company,

Came kings of armes and no mo

In clokes of white cloth of gold richly,

Chapelets of greene on their heads on hie,

The crowns yt they on their scochones bere,

Were set with pearle, ruby, and saphere.

And eke great Diamonds many one,

But all their horse harneis and other geare

Was in a sute according euerychone,

As ye haue heard ye foresaid trumpets were,

And by seeming they were nothing to lere,

And there guiding, they did so manerly,

And after hem came a great company

Of herauds and purseuaunts eke,

Arrayed in clothes of white veluet,

And hardily they were no thing to seke,

How they on hem should the harneis set,

And euery man had on a chapelet

Scochones and eke horse harneis indede,

They had in sute of hem that before hem yede.

Next after hem came in armour bright

All saue their heads, seemely knights nine,

And euery claspe and naile as to my sight

Of their harneis, were of red gold fine,

With cloth of gold, and furred with ermine

Were the trappors of their stedes strong,

Wide & large, that to the ground did hong.

And euery bosse of bridle and paitrell

That they had, was worth as I would wene,

A thousand pound, and on their heads well

Dressed were crownes of laurer grene,

The best made that euer I had sene,

And euery knight had after him riding

Three henshmen on him awaiting.

[Page] Of which euery on a short tron [...]houn

His lords helme bare, so richly dight,

That the worst was worth the ransoun

Of a king, the second a shield bright

Bare at his necke, the thred bare vpright

A mighty spere, full sharpe ground and kene,

And euery child ware of leaues grene

A fresh chapelet vpon his haires bright,

And clokes white of fine veluet they were,

Their steeds trapped and raied right

Without difference as their lords were,

And after hem on many a fresh corsere,

There came of armed knights such a rout,

That they besprad the large field about.

And all they ware after their degrees

Chaplets new made of laurer grene,

Some of oke, and some of other trees,

Some in their honds bare boughs shene,

Some of laurer, and some of okes kene,

Some of hauthorne, and some of woodbind,

And many mo which I had not in mind.

And so they came their horses freshly stering

With bloody sownes of her trompes loud,

There sie I many an vncouth disguising

In the array of these knights proud,

And at the last as euenly as they coud,

They took their places in middes of the mede,

And euery knight turned his horse hede

To his fellow, and lightly laid a spere

In the rest, and so justes began

On euery part about here and there,

Some brake his spere, some drew down hors & man,

About the field astray the steeds ran,

And to behold their rule and gouernaunce,

I you ensure it was a great pleasaunce.

And so the justs last an houre and more,

But tho that crowned were in laurer grene,

Wan the prise, their dints were so sore,

That there was none ayenst hem might sustene,

And the justing all was left off clene,

And fro their horse the ninth alight anone,

And so did all the remnant euerichone.

And forth they yede togider twain & twain,

That to behold it was a worthy sight

Toward the ladies on the greene plaine,

That song & daunced as I said now right:

The ladies as soone as they goodly might,

They brake of both the song and dance,

And yede to meet hem with ful glad semblance.

And euery lady tooke full womanly

By the hond a knight, and forth they yede

Vnto a faire laurer that stood fast by,

With leues lade the boughes of great brede,

And to my dome there neuer was indede

Man, that had seene halfe so faire a tree,

For vnderneath there might it well haue be

An hundred persons at their owne plesance

Shadowed fro the heat of Phebus bright,

So that they should haue felt no greuance

Of raine ne haile that hem hurt might,

The sauour eke rejoice would any wight,

That had be sicke or melancolius,

It was so very good and vertuous.

And with great reuerence they enclining low

To the tree so soot and faire of hew,

And after that within a little throw

They began to sing and daunce of new,

Some song of loue, some plaining of vntrew,

Enuironning the tree that stood vpright,

And euer yede a lady and a knight.

And at the last I cast mine eye aside,

And was waxe of a lusty company

That came roming out of the field wide,

Hond in hond a knight and a lady,

The ladies all in surcotes, that richely

Purfiled were with many a rich stone,

And euery knight of green ware mantles on.

Embrouded well so as the surcotes were,

And euerich had a chapelet on her hed,

Which did right well vpon the shining here,

Made of goodly floures white and red,

The knights eke that they in hond led

In sute of hem ware chapelets euerychone,

And before hem went minstrels many one.

As Harpes, Pipes, Lutes, and Sautry

All in greene, and on their heads bare

Of diuers floures made full craftely

All in a sute goodly chapelets they ware,

And so dauncing into the mede they fare,

In mid the which they found a tuft that was

All ouersprad with floures in compas.

Whereto they enclined euerychone

With great reuerence, and that full humbly,

And at the last there began anone

A lady for to sing right womanly

A Bargaret in praising the daisie,

For as me thought among her notes swete,

She said Si douset & la Margarete.

Then they all answered her in fere,

So passingly well, and so pleasauntly,

That it was a blisful noise to here,

But I not it happed suddainly,

As about noone the sonne so feruently

Waxe hote, that the prety tender floures

Had lost the beauty of her fresh colours.

For shronke with heat, the ladies eke to brent,

yt they ne wist where they hem might bestow,

The knights swelt for lack of shade nie shent,

And after that within a little throw,

The wind began so sturdily to blow,

That down goeth all the floures euerichone,

So that in all the mede there laft not one, leues,

Save such as succoured were among the

Fro euery storme that might hem assaile,

Growing vnder hedges and thicke greues,

And after that there came a storme of haile,

And raine in fere, so that withouten faile,

[Page] The ladies ne the knights nade o threed

Drie on them, so dropping was her weed.

And when ye storm was cleane passed away,

Tho in white that stood vnder the tree,

They felt nothing of the great affray,

That they in greene without had in ybe,

To them they yede for routh and pite,

Them to comfort after their great disease,

So faine they were the helplesse for to ease.

Then I was ware how one of hem in grene

Had on a crowne rich and well sitting,

Wherefore I demed well she was a Quene,

And tho in greene on her were awaiting,

The ladies then in white that were comming

Toward them, and the knights in fere

Began to comfort hem, and make hem chere.

The Queen in white, that was of great beauty,

Took by the hond the queen yt was in grene,

And said, suster, I haue right great pitie

Of your annoy, and of the troublous tene,

Wherein ye and your company haue bene

So long alas, and if that it you please

To go with me, I shall do you the ease,

In all the pleasure that I can or may,

Whereof the tother humbly as she might,

Thanked her, for in right ill array

She was with storm and heat I you behight,

And euery lady then anone right

That were in white, one of them took in grene

By the hond, which when ye knights had sene,

In likewise ech of them tooke a knight

Clad in greene, & forth with hem they fare,

To an hegge, where they anon right

To make their justs they would not spare

Boughes to hew down, & eke trees square,

Wherwith they made hem stately fires great,

To dry their clothes y• were wringing weat.

And after that of hearbs that there grew,

They made for blisters of ye sunne brenning,

Very good and wholesome ointments new,

Where yt they yede the sick fast anointing,

And after that they yede about gadering

Pleasaunt salades which they made hem eat,

For to refresh their great vnkindly heat.

The lady of the Leafe then began to pray

Her of the Floure (for so to my seeming

They should be as by their array)

To soupe with her, and eke for any thing,

That she should with her all her people bring:

And she ayen in right goodly manere,

Thanketh her of her most friendly cheare,

Saying plainely that she would obay

With all her hert all her commaundement,

And then anon without lenger delay

The lady of the Leafe hath one ysent

For a palfray, after her intent,

Arrayed well and faire in harneis of gold,

For nothing lacked, that to him long shold.

And after that to all her company

She made to puruey horse and euery thing

That they needed, and then full lustily,

Euen by the herber where I was sitting

They passed all so pleasantly s [...]nging,

That it would haue comforted any wight,

But then I sie a passing wonder sight.

For then the nightingale, that all the day

Had in the laurer sete, and did her might

The whole seruice to sing longing to May,

All sodainly gan to take her flight,

And to the lady of the Leafe forthright

She flew, and set her on her hond softly,

Which was a thing I marueled of greatly.

The goldfinch eke, that fro the medle tree

Was fled for heat into the bushes cold,

Vnto the Lady of the Flower gan flee,

And on her hond he set him as he wold,

And pleasauntly his wings gan to fold,

And for to sing they pained hem both as sore,

As they had do of all the day before.

And so these ladies rode forth a great pace,

And all the rout of knights eke in fere,

And I that had seen all this wonder case,

Thought I would assay in some manere,

To know fully the trouth of this matere,

And what they were that rode so pleasantly,

And when they were the herber passed by,

I drest me forth, and happed to mete anone

Right a faire Lady I you ensure,

And she come riding by her self alone,

All in white, with semblance ful demure:

I saluted her, and bad her good auenture

Might her befall, as I coud most humbly,

And she answered, my doughter gramercy.

Madame (qd. I) if that I durst enquere

Of you I would faine of that company

Wit what they be that past by this arbere,

And she ayen answered right friendly:

My faire doughter, all tho y• passed here by

In white clothing, be seruaunts euerichone

Vnto the Leafe, and I my selfe am one.

See ye not her that crowned is (qd. she)

All in white? Madame (qd. I) yes:

That is Diane, goddesse of chastite,

And for because that she a maiden is,

In her hond the braunch she beareth this,

That Agnus castus men call properly,

And all the ladies in her company

Which ye se of that hearb chaplets weare,

Be such as han kept alway her maidenheed:

And all they that of laurer chaplets beare,

Be such as hardy were and manly indeed,

Victorious name which neuer may be dede,

And all they were so worthy of their hond,

In her time that none might hem withstond.

And tho that weare chaplets on their hede

Of fresh woodbind, be such as neuer were

[Page] To loue vntrue in word, thought, ne dede,

But aye stedfast, ne for pleasance ne fere,

Thogh that they shuld their herts all to tere,

Would neuer flit but euer were stedfast,

Till that their liues there asunder brast.

Now faire madame (qd. I) yet I would pray,

Your ladiship if that it might be,

That I might know by some maner way,

Sith that it hath liked your beaute,

The trouth of these Ladies for to tell me,

What that these knights be in rich armour,

And what tho be in grene & weare the flour?

And why that some did reuerence to ye tre,

And some vnto the plot of floures faire:

With right good will my fair doghter (qd. she)

Sith your desire is good and debonaire,

Tho nine crowned be very exemplaire,

Of all honour longing to chiualry,

And those certaine be called the nine worthy.

Which ye may see riding all before,

That in her time did many a noble dede,

And for their worthinesse full oft haue bore

The crowne of Laurer leaues on their hede,

As ye may in your old bookes rede,

And how that he that was a conquerour,

Had by laurer alway his most honour.

And tho that beare bowes in their hond

Of the precious laurer so notable,

Be such as were I woll ye vnderstond,

Noble knights of the round table,

And eke the douseperis honourable,

Which they beare in signe of victory,

It is witnesse of their deeds mightily.

Eke there be knights old of the Garter,

That in her time did right worthily,

And the honour they did to the laurer,

Is for by they haue their laud wholly,

Their triumph eke, and marshall glory,

Which vnto them is more parfit richesse,

Than any wight imagine can or gesse.

For one leafe giuen of that noble tree

To any wight that hath done worthily,

And it be done so as it ought to be,

Is more honour than any thing earthly,

Witnesse of Rome that founder was truly

Of all knighthood and deeds maruelous,

Record I take of Titus Liuius.

And as for her that crowned is in greene,

It is Flora, of these floures goddesse,

And all that here on her awaiting beene,

It are such that loued idlenesse,

And not delite of no businesse,

But for to hunt & hauke, and pley in medes,

And many other such idle dedes.

And for the great delite and pleasaunce

They haue to the Floure, and so reuerently

They vnto it do such obeisaunce,

As ye may see, now faire Madame (qd. I)

If I durst aske what is the cause and why,

That knights haue the signe of honour,

Rather by the Leafe than the Flour.

Soothly doughter (qd. she) this is the trouth,

For knights euer should be perseuering,

To seeke honour without feintise or slouth,

Fro wele to better in all manner thing,

In signe of which with leaues aye lasting,

They be rewarded after their degree,

Whose lusty green May, may not appaired be.

But aie keping their beautie fresh & greene,

For there nis storme that may hem deface,

Haile nor snow, wind nor frosts kene,

Wherfore they haue this property & grace,

And for the Floure within a little space

Woll be lost, so simple of nature

They be, that they no greeuance may endure.

And euery storme will blow them soone away,

Ne they last not but for a season,

That is the cause, the very trouth to say,

That they may not by no way of reason

Be put to no such occupation,

Madame (qd. I) with all mine whole seruise,

I thanke you now in my most humble wise.

For now I am acertained throughly

Of euery thing I desired to know,

I am right glad that I haue said soothly

Ought to your pleasure if ye will me trow.

(Qd. she ayen) but to whom do ye owe

Your seruice, and which will ye honour,

Tel me I pray, this yere, ye Leafe or ye Flour.

Madame (qd. I) though I least worthy,

Vnto the Leafe I owe mine obseruaunce:

That is (qd. she) right well done certainly,

And I pray God to honour you auaunce,

And kepe you fro the wicked remembraunce

Of male bouch, and all his crueltie,

And all that good and well conditioned be.

For here may I no lenger now abide,

I must follow the great company

That ye may see yonder before you ride,

And forth as I couth most humbly,

I tooke my leue of her as she gan hie,

After them as fast as euer she might,

And I drow homeward, for it was nigh night

And put all that I had seene in writing

Vnder support of them that lust it to rede.

O little booke, thou art so vnconning,

How darst thou put thy self in prees for drede,

It is wonder that thou wexest not rede,

Sith yt thou wost full lite who shall behold

Thy rude language, full boistously vnfold.

Explicit.

[Page]

Chaucers A. B. C. called La Priere de nostre Dame.
Chaucer's A. B. C. called La Priere de nostre Dame: made, as some say, at the request of Blanch, Dutchess of Lancaster, as a Prayer for her private use, being a Woman in her Religion very devout.

A

ALmighty and all merciable Queene,

To whom all this world fleeth for succour,

To haue release of sinne, of sorrow, of tene,

Glorious Virgine of all flouris flour,

To thee I flee confounded in errour,

Helpe and releeue almighty debonaire,

Haue mercy of mine perillous langour,

Venquist me hath my cruell aduersaire.

B

Bounty so fixe hath in my heart his tent,

That well I wote thou will my succour be,

Thou canst not warn that with good entent,

Axith thine helpe, thine heart is aye so free:

Thou art largesse of plaine felicite,

Hauen and refute of quiete and of rest,

Lo how that Theuis seuen chasen me,

Helpe Lady bright, or that mine ship to brest.

C

Comfort is none, but in you Lady dere,

For lo mine sinne and mine confusioun,

Wch ought not in thine presence for to apere,

Han taken on me a greeuous actioun,

Of veray right and disperatioun,

And as by right they mighten well sustene,

That I were worthy mine damnatioun,

Nere mercy of you blisful Quene.

D

Dout is there none, Queen of misericord,

That thou nart cause of grace & mercy here,

God vouchedsafe through thee with vs to accord:

For certis, Christ is blisful modir dere,

Were now the bow bent in swiche manere,

As it was first of justice and of ire,

The rightfull God would of no mercy here:

But through thee han we grace as we desire.

E

Euer hath mine hope of refute in thee be:

For here beforne full oft in many a wise,

Vnto mercy hast thou receiued me,

But mercy Lady at the great assise,

When we shall come before the high Iustise,

So little freut shall then in me ben found,

That but thou or that day correct me,

Of very right mine werk will me confound.

F

Flying, I flee for succour to thine tent,

Me for to hide fro tempest full of drede,

Beseking you, that ye you not absent,

Though I be wick: O help yet at this nede,

All haue I been a beast in wit and dede,

Yet Lady thou mee close in with thine own grace,

Thine enemy & mine, lady take hede,

Vnto mine death in point is me to chase.

G

Gracious maid & modir, which that neuer

Were bitter nor in earth nor in see,

But full of sweetnesse and of mercy euer,

Help that mine fader be not wroth with me:

Speake thou, for I ne dare him not see,

So haue I done in earth, alas the while,

That certes but if thou mine succour be,

To sinke eterne he will mine ghost exile.

H

He vouchedefafe, tell him, as was his will,

Become a man as for our alliaunce,

And with his blood he wrote that blisfull bill

Vpon the crosse as generall acquetaunce,

To euery penitent in full criaunce:

And therefore Lady bright, thou for vs prey,

Then shalt thou stent all his greeuaunce,

And maken our foe to failen of his prey.

I

I wote well thou wilt been our succour,

Thou art so full of bounty in certaine,

For when a soule falleth in errour,

Thine pity goeth, and haleth him againe,

Then makest thou his peace wch his souerain,

And bringest him out of the crooked strete:

Who so thee loueth, shall not loue in vaine,

That shall he find, as he the life shall lete.

K

Kalenderis enlumined been they,

That in this world been lighted with thine name,

And who so goith with thee the right wey,

Him that not drede in soule to been lame,

Now Queen of comfort, sith thou art ye same,

To whom I seech for my medicine:

Let not mine fo no more mine woundentame,

Mine hele into thine hond all I resine.

L

Lady, thine sorrow can I not portrey

Vnder y• crosse, ne his greeuous pennaunce:

But for your bothis peine, I you prey,

Let not our alder fo make his bostaunce,

That he hath in his lestis with mischaunce,

Conuict that, ye both han bought so dere:

As I said erst, thou ground of substaunce,

Continue on vs thine pitous eyen clere.

M

Moyses that saw the bosh of flambis rede

Brenning, of which then neuer a sticke-brend,

Was sign of thine vnwemmed maidenhede,

Thou art the bosh, on which there can descend

The Holyghost, which that Moyses weend

Had been on fire: and this was in figure.

Now Lady from the fire vs defend,

Which that in hell eternally shall dure.

N

Noble princesse, that neuer haddest pere,

Certes if any comfort in vs bee,

That commeth of thee, Christis moder dere,

We han none other melody ne glee,

Vs to rejoyce in our aduersite,

Ne aduocat none, that will and dare so prey

For vs, and that for as little hire as ye,

That helpen for an Auemary or twey.

O

O very light of eyen tho been blind,

O very lust of labour and distresse,

O treasorere of bounty to mankind,

The whom God chese to moder for humblesse,

From his ancelle he made thee maistresse

Of heauen and earth, our bill vp to bede,

[Page] This world awaiteth euer on thine goodnes,

For thou ne failedest neuer wight at nede.

P

Purpose I haue sometime for to enquere,

Wherefore & why the holy ghost thee sought,

When Gabrielis voice come to thine ere,

He not to werre vs swich a wonder wrought,

But for to save vs, that sithen bought:

Then needeth vs no weapon vs to saue,

But onely there we did not as vs ought,

Do penitence, and mercy aske and haue.

Q

Queen of comfort, right when I me bethink,

That I agilt haue both him and thee,

And that mine soule is worthy for to sinke:

Alas I caitife, wheder shall I flee,

VVho shall vnto thine sonne mine mean be?

VVho but thine selfe, that art of pity well,

Thou hast more routh on our aduersitie,

Than in this world might any tongue tell.

R

Redresse me moder, and eke me chastise,

For certainly my faders chastising

Ne dare I not abiden in no wise,

So hideous is his full reckening,

Moder of whom our joy gan to spring,

Be ye mine judge, and eke my soules leech,

For euer in you is pity abounding,

To each that of pity will you beseech.

S

Sooth is, he ne graunteth no pity

VVithout thee: for God of his goodnesse

Forgiueth none, but it like vnto thee:

He hath thee made [...]icaire and maistresse

Of all this world, and eke gouerneresse

Of heauen: and represseth his justise

After thine will: and therefore in witnesse

He hath thee crowned in so royal wise.

T

Temple deuout, ther God chese his wonning,

For which these misbeleeued depriued been,

To you mine soule penitent I bring,

Receiue me, for I can no ferther fleen.

With thornis venemous, heauen Queen,

For which the erth accursed was ful sore,

I am so wounded, as ye may well seene,

That I am lost almost, it smert so sore.

V

Virgine that art so noble of apparaile,

That leadest vs into the high toure

Of Paradise, thou me wish and counsaile,

How I may haue thy grace and thy succour:

All haue I been in filth and in errour,

Lady on that countrey thou me adjourne,

That cleaped is thine bench of fresh flour,

There as that mercy euer shall sojourne.

X

Xpen thine sonne that in this world alight

Vpon a crosse to suffer his passioun,

And suffred eke that Longeus his hart pight,

And made his heart blood renne adoun,

And all this was for my saluatioun:

And I to him am fals and eke unkind,

And yet he will not mine dompnatioun:

This thanke I you, succour of all mankind.

Y

Ysaac was figure of his death certaine,

That so ferre forth his fader would obey,

That him ne rought nothing for to be slain:

Right so thy sonne list a lambe to dey:

Now Lady full of mercy I you prey,

Sith he his mercy sured me so large,

Be ye not scant, for all we sing or say,

That ye been fro vengeaunce aye our targe.

Z

Zacharie you clepith the open well,

That wisht sinfull soule out of his guilt,

Therefore this lesson out I will to tell,

That nere thine tender heart, we were spilt.

Now Lady bright, sith thou canst and wilt

Been to the seed of Adam merciable,

Bring vs to that paleis that is built

To penitentis, that ben to mercie able.

Explicit.

Jack Upland.
In this Treatise is set forth the blind ignorance and variable Discord of the Church [...]men, how rude and unskilful they were in Matters and Principles of our Christian Institution. This is thought to be that Crede which the Pellican speaketh of in the Plowmans Tale, in these Words:

Of Freers I haue told before,

In a making of a Crede,

And yet I could tell worse and more,

But men would werrien it to rede.

IAck Vpland make my mone to very God, and to all true in Christ, that antichrist and his disciples (by colour of holines) walking and deceiuing Christs Church by many false figures, wherethrough (by antichrist and his) many vertues been transposed to vices.

But the felliest folke that euer Antichrist found, been last brought into the church, and in a wonder wise, for they been of diuerse sects of antichrist, sown of diuerse countries & kindredes. And all men knowne well, that they be not obedient to bishops, ne legemen to kings: neither they tellen, ne sowen, weden, ne reapen wood, corn, ne grasse, neither nothing that man should helpe; but only themselues their liues to sustein. And these men han all manner power of God, as they sein, in heauen and in yearth, to sell heauen and hell to whom that hem liketh, and these wretches weet neuer where to been themselues.

And therefore (freer) if thine order and rules been grounded on Goddis law, tell thou me Iack Vpland, that I aske of thee, and if thou be or thinkest to be on Christes side, keepe thy paciens.

SAnt Paule teacheth, That all our deedes should be do in charitie, & els it is nought worth, but displeasing to God and harme to [Page] our own souls. And for that freers challenge to be greatest clerkes of the church, and next following Christ in liuing: men should for charitie aske them some questions, and pray them to ground their answeres in reason and holy writ, for else their answer would nought be woorth, be it flourished neuer so faire, and as me thinke men might skilfully aske thus of a freer.

1 Freer, how many orders be in earth, and which is the perfectest order? Of what order art thou? Who made thine order? What is thy rule? Is there any perfecter rule than Christ himself made? If Christs rule be most perfect, why rulest thou thee not thereafter? Without more, why shall a freer be more punished if he break the rule that his patron made, than if he break the hests that God himself made?

2 Approoueth Christ any more religions than one, That S. Iames speaketh of? If he approueth no more, why hast thou left his rule, and takest another? Why is a freer apostata that leueth his order, and taketh another sect, sith there is but one religion of Christ?

3 Why be ye wedded faster to your habits than a man is to his wife? For a man may leaue his wife for a year or two, as many men done: and if you leaue your habit a quarter of a year, ye should be holden apostataes.

4 Maketh your habit you men of religion or no? If it doe, then euer as it weareth, your religion weareth, and after that your habit is better, your religion is better, and when ye haue liggen it beside, then lig ye your religion beside you, and been apostataes: why buy ye you so precious clothes, sith no man seeketh such, but for vaine glory, as S. Gregorie sayth.

What betokeneth your great hood, your scaplerie, your knotted girdle, and your wide cope?

5 Why use ye all one colour, more than other christian men do? What betokeneth that ye been clothed all in one manner clothing?

If ye say it betokeneth loue and charitie, certes then ye be oft hypocrites, when any of you hateth another, and in that that ye wol be said holy by your clothing.

Why may not a freer weare clothing of another sect of freers, sith holinesse stondeth not in the cloths?

6 Why hold ye silence in one house more than another, sith men ought ouer all to speake the good and leaue the euil?

Why eat you flesh in one house more than in another, if your rule and your order be perfect, and the patron that made it?

7 Why get ye your dispensations to haue it more easie? Certes, either it seemeth that ye be vnperfect, or he that made it, so hard, that ye may not hold it. And siker, if ye hold not the rule of your patrons, ye be not then her freers, and so ye lie vpon your selues.

8 Why make you as dede men, when yee be professed, and yet ye be not dede, but more quicke beggars than you were before? and it seemeth euil a dede man to go about and beg.

9 Why will ye not suffer your nouises hear your councels in your chapter house, ere that they haue ben professed, if your councels been true, and after Gods law?

10 Why make yee you so costly houses to dwell in? sith Christ did not so, and dede men should haue but graues, as falleth it to dede men, and yet ye haue more courts than many lords of England: for ye now wenden through the realme, and ech night will lig in your own courts, and so mow but right few lords doe.

11 Why heire you to ferme your limitors, giuing therefore each yeare a certain rent, and will not suffer one in anothers limitation, right as yee were your selues lords of countries?

Why be ye not vnder your bishops visitations, and seegemen to our king?

Why aske ye no letters of bretherheads of other mens praiers, as ye desire that other men should aske letters of you?

If your letters be good, why grant ye them not generally to all manner of men for the more charitie?

12 Mowe ye make any man more perfect brether for your prayers, than God hath by our beleeue? by our baptisme and his owne grant? if ye mow, certes then ye be aboue God.

Why make ye men beleeue that your golden trentall sung of you, to take therefore ten shillings, or at least fiue shillings, woll bring souls out of hell, or out of purgatorie? if this be sooth, certes ye might bring all souls out of paine, and that woll ye nought, and then ye be out of charitie.

13 Why make ye men beleeue, that he that is buried in your habit, shall neuer come in hell, and ye weet not of your selfe whether ye shall to hell or no? and if this were sooth, ye should sell your high houses to make many habites for to saue many mens soules.

14 Why steal ye mens children for to make hem of your sect, sith that theft is against Gods hests, and sith your sect is not perfect? yee know not whether the rule that ye bind him to, be best for him or worst.

15 Why vnderneme ye not your brethren for their trespasse after the law of the Gospel, sith that vnderneming is the best that may be? but ye put them in prison oft, when they do after Gods law, and by S. Augustines rule: If any doe amisse, and would not amend him, ye should put him from you.

16 Why coueit ye shrift, and burying of other mens parishens, and none other sacrament that falleth to christian folke?

[Page] Why busie ye not to heare to shrift of poor folke, as well as of rich lords and ladies, sith they mow haue more plenty of shrift fathers than poor folke mow?

Why say ye not the gospel in houses of bedred men, as ye do in rich mens, that mow goe to church and heare the gospell?

Why couet you not to bury poor folk among you? sith that they been most holy, (as ye saine that ye been for your pouerty?)

17 Why will ye not be at her diriges as ye haue been at rich mens? sith God praiseth hem more than he doth other men.

What is thy prayer worth? sith thou wilt take therefore, for all chapmen yee need to bee most wise for dread of simony.

What cause hast thou, that thou wilt not preach the gospel, as God saith that thou shouldst? sith it is the best lore and also our beleeue.

VVhy be ye euill apaid that secular priestes should preach the gospell? sith God himselfe hath bodden hem.

18 VVhy hate ye the gospell to be preached, sith ye be so much hold therto? for ye win more by yeare with In principio, than with all the rules that euer your patrones made, and in this minstrels been better than ye, for they contrarien not to the mirths that they maken, but ye contrarien the gospell both in word and deed.

19 Freer, when thou receiuest a peny for to say a masse, whether sellest thou Gods body for that peny, or thy prayer, or els thy travell? if thou saist thou wolt not trauell for to say the masse, but for the peny, that certes if this be sooth, then thou louest too little meed for thy soule: and if thou sellest Gods body, other thy prayer, then it is very simony, and art become a chapman worse than Iudas, that sold it for thirty pence.

20 VVhy writest thou hir names in thy tables that yeueth thee mony? sith God knoweth all thing: for it semeth by thy writing, that God would not reward him, but thou writest in thy tables, God would els forgotten it.

VVhy bearest thou God in hand and slanderest him that he begged for his meat? sith he was Lord ouer all, for then had he been vnwise to haue begged, and haue no need thereto.

Freer, after what lawe rulest thou thee? where findest thou in Gods lawe that thou shouldest thus beg?

21 VVhat maner men needeth for to beg?

For whom oweth such men to beg?

VVhy beggest thou so for thy brethren?

If thou saist, for they haue need, then thou dost it for the more perfection, or els for the least, or els for the meane. If it be the most perfection of all, then should all thy brethren do so, and then no man needed to beg but for himself, for so should no man beg but him needed. And if it be the least perfection, why louest thou then other men more than thy selfe? For so thou art not well in charity, sith thou shouldest seek the more perfection after thy power, liuing thy self most after God. And thus leauing that imperfection, thou shouldst not so beg for them. And if it is a good mean thus to beg as thou dost, then should no man do so, but they been in this good mean, and yet such a mean granted to you may neuer be grounded on Gods law, for then both lerid and leaud that been in mean degree of this world, should go about and beg as ye do. And if all should do so, certes well nigh all the world should go about and beg as ye done, and so should there be ten beggers against one yeuer.

VVhy procurest thou men to yeue thee their almes, and saist it is so needful, and thou wilt not thy selfe win thee that meed?

22 VVhy wilt thou not beg for poor bedred men, that been poorer than any of your sect, that liggen and mow not go about to help himselfes, sith we be all brethren in God, and that bretherhed passeth any other that ye or any man could make, and where most need were, there were most perfection, either els ye hold them not your pure brethren, but worse, but then ye be vnperfect in your begging?

VVhy make ye so many maisters among you, sith it is against the teaching of Christ and his Apostles?

23 VVhose been all your rich courts that ye han, and all your rich jewels? sith ye seen that ye han nought ne in proper ne in common. If ye saine they been the Popes, why gather ye then of poore men and lords so much out of the kings hand to make your pope rich? And sith ye sain that it is great perfection to haue nought in proper be in common, why be ye so fast about to make the pope, that is your father, rich, and put on him imperfection? sithen ye saine that your goods been all his, and he should by reason be the most perfect man, it semeth openlich that ye been cursed children so to slander your father, and make him imperfect. And if ye saine that the goods be yours, then do ye ayenst your rule; and if it be not ayenst your rule, then might ye haue both plough and cart, and labour as other good men done, and not so to beg by losengery, and idle as ye done. If ye say that it is more perfection to beg, than to trauell or to worch with your hand, why preach ye not openly, and teach all men to do so? sith it is the best and most perfect life to ye help of their souls, as ye make children to beg ye might haue been rich heirs.

Why make ye not your feasts to poor men, and yeueth hem yefts, as ye done to the rich? sith poor men han more need than the rich?

What betokeneth that ye goe tweine and tweine togither? if ye be out of charity, ye accord not in soule.

Why beg ye and take salaries therto more than other priests? sith he that most taketh, most charge hath.

[Page] 24 Why hold ye not S. Francis rule and his testament? sith Francis saith, that God shewed him this liuing and this rule: and certes if it were Gods will, the Pope might not fordo it: or els Francis was a lier, that saied in this wise. And but this testament that he made, accord with Gods will, or els erred: he is a lier that were out of charitie: and as the law saith, he is accursed that letteth the rightful last wil of a dead man. And this testament is the last will of Francis that is a dead man, it seemeth therefore that all his freers been cursed.

25 Why will ye not touch no coined money with the crosse, ne with the kings head, as ye done other jewels both of gold and siluer? certes if ye despise the crosse or the kings head, then ye be worthy to be despised of God and the king: and sith ye will receiue mony in your hearts, and not with your hands, and it seemeth that yee hold more holinesse in your hands than in your hearts, and then be false to God.

26 Why haue ye exempt you from our kings laws, and visiting of our bishops more than other christen men that liuen in this realm, if ye be not guiltie of traitorie to our realme, or trespassers to your bishops? But ye will have the kings laws for the trespasse doe to you, and ye will haue power of other bishops more than other priests, and also haue leaue to prison your brethren as lords in your courts more than other folks han that ben the kings leegemen.

27 Why shall some sect of you freers pay eche a yere a certaine to her generall prouincial or minister, or els to her souereines: but if he steale a certaine number of children (as some men saine) and certes if this ben sooth, then yee be constreined upon certein pain to do theft against Gods commaundement, Non furtum facies.

28 Why be ye so hardie to grant by letters of fraternitie to men and women, that they shall haue part and merite of all your good deeds, and ye weten neuer whether God be apayed with your deeds because of your sin? Also yee witten neuer whether that man or woman be in state to be saved or damned, then shall he haue no merit in heauen for his owne deeds ne for none other mans. And all were it so, that he shold haue part of your good deeds: yet should he haue no more than God would giue him after that he were worthie, and so much shall each man haue of Gods yeft without your limitation. But if ye will say that ye been Gods fellowes, and that he may not doe without your assent, then be ye blasphemers to God.

29 What betokeneth that yee haue ordeined, that when such one as ye haue made your brother or sister, and hath a letter of your seale, that letter mought bee brought in your holy chapter, and there be rad, or els yee will not pray for him. And but ye willen pray especially for all other that were not made your brethren or sistren, then were ye not in right charitie, for that ought to be commen, and namely in ghostly things.

30 Freer, what charity is this, to ouercharge the people by mightie begging, vnder colour of preaching or praying, or masses singing? Sith holy write biddeth not thus, but euen the contrary: for all such ghostly deeds should be done freely, as God yeueth them freely?

31 Freer, what charitie is this, to beguile children or they commen to discretion, and bind hem to your orders, ye ben not grounded in Gods law, against her friends will? Sithen by this follie been many apostataes, both in will and deed, and many beene apostataes in her will during all her life, that would gladly be discharged, if they wist how, and so many ben apostataes, that shoulden in other states haue been true men.

32 Freer, what charitie is this, to make so many freers in euery country to the charge of the people? sith parsons and vicars alone, ye secular priests alone, ye monkes and cannons alone, with bishops aboue them, were ynough to the church to doe ye priests office. And to adde more than ynough, is a foule errour, and great charge to the people, and this openly against Gods will, that ordained all thyngs to be done in weight, number, and measure. And Christ himselfe was apaied with twelve apostles and a few disciples, to preach and doe priests office to all the whole world, then was it better doe than is now at this time by a thousand dele. And right so as foure fingers with a thombe in a mans hand, helpeth a man to worch, and double number of fingers in one hand should let him more, and so the more number that there were passing the measure of Gods ordinaunce, the more were a man letted to worch: right so (as it seemeth) it is of these new orders that ben added to the church, without ground of holy write and Gods ordinance.

33 Freer, what charity is this, to the people to lie, and say that ye follow Christ in pouertie more than other men done? and yet in curious and costly housing, and fine and precious clothing, and delicious and liking feeding, and in treasure and jewels, and rich ornaments, freers passen lords and other rich worldly men, and soonest they should bring her cause about (be it neuer so costly) though Gods law be put aback.

34 Freer, what charitie is this, to gather vp the books of holy write, and put hem in tresorie, and so emprison them from secular priests and curats, and by this cautel let hem to preach the gospel freely to the people without worldly meed, and also to defame good priests of heresie, and lien on hem openly for to let hem to shew Gods law by the holy gospel to the christian people?

[Page] 35 Freer, what charity is this, to faine so much holines in your bodily clothing (that ye clepe your habit) that many blind fools desiren to die therein more than in another? and also that a freer that leueth his habit late founden of men, may not be assoiled till he take againe, but is apostata as ye saine, and cursed of God and man both? The freer beleeueth truth, and patience, chastity, meeknesse and sobriety, yet for the more part of his life he may soon be assoiled of his prior, and if he bring home to his house much good by the yeare (bee it neuer so falsely begged and pilled of the poore and needy people in countries about) he shall behold a noble freer, O Lord whether this be charity?

36 Freer, what charity is this, to prease vpon a rich man, and to intice him to bee buried among you from his parish church, and to such rich men giue letters of fraternity confirmed by your generall seale, and therby to bear him in hand that he shal haue part of all your masses, mattens, preachings, fastings, wakings, and all other good deeds done by your brethren of your order (both whilest he liueth, and after that he is dead) and yet he witten neuer whether your deeds be acceptable to God, ne whether that man that hath that letter be able by good liuing to receiue any part of your deeds, and yet a poore man (that ye wite well or supposen in certen to haue no good of) ye ne giuen to such letters, though he be a better man to God than such a rich man: neuerthelesse, this poore man doth not retch therof. For as men supposen, such letters and many other that freers behoten to men, be full false deceits of freers, out of all reason, and Gods law and Christian mens faith.

37 Freer, what charity is this, to be confessors of lords and ladies, and to other mighty men, and not amend hem in her living? but rather as it seemeth, to be the bolder to pill hir poore tenants and to liue in lechery, and there to dwell in your office of confessor for winning of worldly goods, and to be hold great by colour of such ghostly offices? this seemeth rather pride of freeres, than charity of God.

38 Freer, what charity is this, to sain that who so liueth after your order, liueth most perfectly, and next followeth the state of Apostles in pouerty and penance, and yet the wisest and greatest clerks of you wend or send, or procure to the court of Rome to be made cardinals or bishops of the popes chaplens, and to be assoiled of the vow of pouerty and obedience to your ministers, in the which (as ye sain) standeth most perfection and merit of your orders, and thus ye faren as Pharisees that sain one and do an other to the contrary.

Why name ye more the patron of your order in your Confiteor when ye begin masse, than other Saints, Apostles, or Martyrs, that holy church hold more glorious than hem, and clepe hem your patrons and your auowries?

Freer, whether was S. Francis in making of his rule that he set thine order in, a foole and a liar, or else wise and true? If ye sain that he was not a foole, but wise: ne a liar, but true: why shew you contrary by your doing, when by your suggestion to the Pope ye said, that your rule that Francis made was so hard, that ye mow not liue to hold it without declaration and dispensation of the pope, and so by your deed? Ne let your patron a foole that made a rule so hard that no man may well keepe, and eke your deed prooueth him a liar, where he saith in his rule, that he tooke and learned it of the Holy Ghost. For how might ye for shame pray the pope vndo that the holy Ghost bit, as when ye prayed him to dispense with the hardnesse of your order?

Freer, which of the foure orders of friers is best to a man that knoweth not which is the best, but would faine enter into the best, and none other? If thou saiest that thine is the best, then saiest thou that none of the other is as good as thine, and in this ech freer in the three other orders wooll say that thou liest, for in the self-same maner ech other freer wooll say that his order is best. And thus to ech of the foure orders bin the other three contrary in this point: in the which if any say sooth, that is one alone, for there may but one be the best of foure. So followeth it, that if ech of these orders answered to this question as thou doest, three were false, and but one true, and yet no man should wite who that were. And thus it seemeth, that the most part of freers bin or should be liars in this point, and they should answere thereto. If you say that another order of the freers is better than thine, or as good; why tooke ye not rather thereto as to the better, when thou mightst haue chose at the beginning? And eke why shouldst thou be an apostata to leaue thine order and take thee to that is better, and so why goest thou not from thine order into that?

Freer, is there any perfecter rule of religion than Christ Godds sonne gaue in his gospel to his brethren? Or than that religion that S. Iames in his epistle maketh mention of? If you say yes, then puttest thou on Christ (that is the wisedome of God the father) vnkunning, vnpower, or euill will: for then he could not make his rule so good as an other did his. And so he had be vnkunning, that he might not so make his rule so good as an other man might, and so were he vnmighty, and not God, as he would not make his rule so perfect as an other did his, and so he had bin euill willed, namely to himselfe.

[Page] For if he might and could, and would haue made a rule perfect without default, and did not, he was not Gods sonne almighty. For if any other rule be perfecter, than Christes, then must Christes rule lacke of that perfection by as much as the other weren more perfecter, and so were default, and Christ had failed in making of his rule: but to put any default or failing in God, is blasphemie. If thou say that Christes rule, and that religion which S. Iames maketh mention of, is perfectest; why holdest thou not thilke rule without more? And why clepest thou the rather of S. Francis or S. Dominiks rule or religion or order, than of Christes rule or Christes order?

Freer, canst thou any default or assigne in Christes rule of the gospell (with the which he taught all men likerly to be saued) if they kept it to her ending? If thou say it was too hard, then saiest thou Christ lied; for he said of his rule: My yoke is soft, and my burden light. If thou say Christes rule was too light, that may be assigned for no default, for the better it may be kept. If thou saist that there is no default in Christes rule of the Gospell, sith Christ himself saith it is light and easie: what need was it to patrons of freers to adde more thereto? and so to make an harder religion to saue freers, than was the religion of Christes apostles and his disciples helden and were saued by. But if they woulden that her freers saten aboue the apostles in heauen for the harder religion that they keepen here, so would they sitten in heauen aboue Christ himselfe, for their more and strict obseruations, then so should they be better than Christ himself with mischance.

Go now foorth and fraine your clerks, and ground ye you in Gods law, and gif Iacke an answer, and when ye han assoiled me that I haue said sadly in truth, I shall soile thee of thine orders, and saue thee to heauen.

If freers kun not or mow not excuse hem of these questions asked of hem, it seemeth that they be horrible gilty against God, and hir euen christian; for which gilts and defaults it were worthy that the order that they call their order were fordone. And it is woonder that men susteine hem or suffer hir liue in such maner. For holy write biddeth that thou do well to the meeke, and giue not to the wicked, but forbed to giue hem bread, least they be made thereby mightier through you.

Chaucer's Words unto his own Scrivener.

ADam Scriuener if euer it thee befall,

Boece or Troiles for to write new,

Vnder thy long locks thou maist haue the scall,

But after my making thou write more trew,

So oft a day I mote thy werke renew,

It to correct and eke to rubbe and scrape,

And all is thorow thy negligence and rape.

Et sic est finis.

Thus Endeth the Works of Geffrey Chaucer.

THE Story of THEBES, Compiled by John Lidgate, Monk of Bury.

[Page]

The Prologue to the Story of THEBES.

WHen bright Phebus passed was the Ram

Midde of Aprill, and into the Bull came,

And Saturne old, with his frosty face,

In Virgine taken had his place,

Melancolike, and slough of motion,

And was also in the opposition

Of Lucina the Moone, moist and pale,

That many shoure fro heauen made auaile,

When Aurora was in the morrow redde,

And Iupiter in the Crabs hedde

Hath take his paleis and his mansion,

The lusty time, and joly fresh season,

When that Flora the noble mighty queene

The so [...]le hath clad in new tender greene,

With her floures craftely meint,

Braunch & bough with red & white depeint,

Fleeting the Baume on hils and on vales,

The time in sooth, when Canterbury tales,

Complet and told at many a sundry stage

Of estates in the pilgrimage,

Eueriche man like to his degree,

Some of disport, some of moralitie,

Some of knighthood, loue, and gentillesse,

And some also of parfite holinesse,

And some also, in sooth of ribaudry,

To make laughter in the company,

Ech admitted, for none would other greue,

Like as the Cooke, the Miller, and the Reue,

Aquite hemselfe, shortly to conclude

Boistously in her tearmes rude,

When they hadden well dronken of the boll,

And eke also with his pilled noll,

The Pardoner beardlesse all his chin,

Glasie eyes, and face of Cherubin,

Telling a tale, to anger with the Frere,

As openly the story can you lere

Word by word, with euery circumstance,

Echone ywrit, and put in remembrance,

By him that was, if I shall not faine,

Floure of Poetes, throughout all Bretaine,

Which soothly had most of excellence

In Rhetorike, and in eloquence,

Rede his making, who list the trouth find,

Which neuer shall appallen in my mind,

But alway fresh been in mine memory,

To whom be youe prise, honour, and glory

Of well seeing, first in our language,

Cheef Registrer in this pilgrimage,

All that was told, foryeting nought at all,

Feined tales, nor thing historiall,

With many Prouerbes diuers and vncouth,

By rehearsaile of his sugred mouth,

Of ech thing keeping in substaunce

The sentence hole, without variaunce,

Voiding the chaffe, soothly for to saine,

Enlumining the true piked greine,

By crafty writing of his sawes swete,

Fro the time that they did mete.

First the Pilgrimes soothly euerychone,

At Tabarde assembled one by one,

And fro Southwerke, soothly for to sey,

To Canterbury riding on her wey,

Telling a tale, as I rehearse can,

Liche as the host assigned euery man,

None so hardy, his bidding disobey,

And thus while that the pilgrimes ley

At Canterbury, well lodged one and all,

I not in sooth what I may it call,

Hap or Fortune, in conclusioun,

That me befell, to enter into the toun,

The holy saint plainely to visite,

After my sickenesse vowes to acquite,

In a Cope of blacke, and not of grene,

On a palfray, slender, long, and lene,

With rusty bridle, made not for the sale,

My man toforne, with a void male,

That of Fortune tooke mine Inne anone,

Where y• pilgrims were lodged euerychone,

The same time her gouernour the host,

Stonding in hall, full of wind and bost,

Liche to a man wonder sterne and fers,

Which spake to me, & saied anon dan Pers,

Dan Dominike, dan Godfray, or Clement,

Ye be welcome newly into Kent,

Thogh your bridle haue nother boos ne bell,

Beseeching you, that ye will tell

First of your name, and what countre,

Without more, shortly that ye be,

That looke so pale, all deuoid of blood,

Vpon your head a wonder thredbare hood,

Well arrayed for to ride late?

I answered, my name was Lidgate,

Monke of Bury, nie fifty yeare of age,

Come to this toune to doe my pilgrimage,

As I haue hight, I haue thereof no shame.

Dan Iohn (qd. he well brouke ye your name,

Thogh ye be sole, beeth right glad and light,

Praying you to soupe with vs this night,

And ye shall haue made at your deuis

A great pudding, or a round hagis,

A franche moile, a tanse, or a froise,

To been a Monke, slender is your coise,

[Page] Ye haue been sicke, I dare mine head assure,

Or let feed in a faint pasture,

Lift vp your head, be glad, take no sorrow,

And ye should home ride with vs to morrow,

I say, when ye rested haue your fill,

After supper sleepe will done none ill,

Wrap well your head clothes round about,

Strong nottie ale will make you to rout,

Take a pillow, that ye lie not low,

If need be, spare not to blow,

To hold wind, by mine opinion,

Will engender Colles passion,

And make men to greuen on her rops,

When they haue filled her maws & her crops,

But toward night eat some Fennell rede,

Annis, Commin, or Coriander sede,

And like as I power haue and might,

I charge you rise not at midnight,

Though it so be the Moone shine clere,

I will my selfe be your Orlogere

To morrow earely when I see my time,

For we will forth parcell afore prime,

Accompany parde shall doe you good,

What looke vp Monke, for by Cockes blood

Thou shalt be merry, who so that say nay,

For to morrow anone as it is day,

And that it ginne in the East to daw,

Thou shalt be bound to a new law,

At going out of Canterbury toun,

And lien aside thy professioun,

Thou shalt not chese, nor thy selfe withdraw,

If any mirth be found in thy maw,

Like the custome of this company,

For none so proud, that dare me deny,

Knight nor knaue, Chanon, Priest, ne Nonne

To tell a tale plainely as they conne,

When I assigne, and see time oportune,

And for that we our purpose woll contune,

We will homeward the same custome vse,

And thou shalt not plainely thee excuse:

Be now well ware, study well to night,

But for all this, be of heart light,

Thy wit shall be the sharper and the bet.

And we anon were to supper set,

And serued well vnto our pleasance,

And soone after by good gouernance,

Vnto bed goeth euery manner wight,

And toward morrow, as soon as it was light,

Euery pilgrime, both bet and wors,

As bad our host, tooke anone his hors,

When the Sunne rose in the East full clere,

Fully in purpose to come to dinere

Vnto Ospring, and breake there our fast.

And when we werne fro Canterbury past,

Nought the space of a bowe draught,

Our host in hast hath my bridle raught,

And to me saied, as it were in game,

Come forth dan Iohn, by your christen name,

And let vs make some manner mirth or play,

* Shete your ports a twenty deuill way,

Is no disport so to patere and say,

It woll make your lips wonder dray,

Tell some tale, and make thereof a jape,

For by my Rouncie thou shalt it not escape,

But preach not of none holinesse,

Ginne some tale of mirth or of gladnesse,

And nodde not with thine heauy becke,

Tell vs some thing that draweth to effect,

Onely of joy make no lenger let.

And when I saw it would be no bet,

I obeyed vnto his bidding,

So as the law me bound in all thing,

And as I coud, with a pale cheare,

My tale I gan anone, as ye shall heare.

Finitur Prologus de Thebes. Et sequitur quoque pars prima libri.

Here beginneth the History of the Destruction of the City of THEBES.

SIrs (qd. I) sith of your courtesie

I entred am into your companie,

And admitted a tale for to tell,

By him that hath power to compell,

I meane our host, gouernour and guide

Of you echone riding here beside:

Though that my wit barrain be and dull,

I will rehearse a story wonderfull,

Touching the siege and destruction

Of worthy Thebes, the mighty royal toun,

Built and begonne of old antiquitie,

Vpon the time of worthy Iosue,

By diligence of king Amphion,

Cheefe cause first of his foundation,

For which his fame, which neuer shall away,

In honour floureth yet vnto this day,

And in story remembred is and preised,

But how the wals were on height reised,

It is wonder and marueile for to here,

But if you list, I shall you platly lere

The manner hole, platly in sentence,

Vnder support of your patience,

As write mine author, and Bochas both two,

Rede her bookes, and ye shall find it so,

How this king, this prudent Amphion,

With his sweetnesse and melodious soun,

The city built, that whylome was so strong,

By Armonie of his sweet song,

And vertue onely of the werbles sharpe

That he made in Mercuries Harpe,

Of which the strengs were not touched soft,

Whereby the wals reised were aloft,

Without craft of any mans hand,

Full yore ago, midde of Greekes land,

Which is a thing of Poets told,

Neuer yseine nother of yong nor old,

But as Bocchas list to specifie,

Cleare expouning this darke Poesie,

Sith Mercury, god of eloquence,

Yafe by the might of heauenly influence,

[Page] Vnto this King, at his Nativite,

Through glad aspects, that he should be

Most excellent, by craft of Rhetorike,

That in this world was none to him like,

Which signifieth, to hem that ben prudent,

The Musical, the lusty instrument,

I mean the harpe most melodious,

Yove to this King by Mercurious,

And his song, this author can you teach,

Was nothing but the crafty speech

Of this King, ycalled Amphion,

Whereby he made the Countries environ

To have such lust in his words sweet,

That were so pleasant, favourable, & meet

In her eares, that shortly there was none

Disobeisaunt with the King to gone,

Wheresoeuer that him list to assigne:

His chere, his port was eft so benigne,

That through his stering and exhortatioun

With him they went first to build this toun,

And forsooke ech man his country,

By one assent to make this city

Royall and rich, that liche was none,

And thus the wals, made of lime and stone,

Were reised first by singing of this king,

Liche as Poetes feine in her writing,

Passing rich, and royall of entaile,

Here may ye see how much may availe

The goodlihede, and the lowlinesse of a king,

And specially in cheare and in speaking

To his lieges, and to bearen him faire

In his apport, and shew him debonaire,

And not to been to strange ne solein,

In countenaunce outward, ne disdein,

Which causeth oft, who that can advert,

Great hatred in the peoples hert,

And therevpon prively woll rowne,

When a Prince doth vpon hem frowne,

Shortly deme for all his excellence,

Emong hemselfe out of his presence,

Everiche conclude liche his fantasie,

And thus full oft gendred is enuy

In folkes heartes, of soleinte and pride,

For such as list not ones to looke aside,

To reward hem when they low loute,

* And againe kind it is out of doute,

That any head, by record of the wise,

Should the foot of disdaine despise,

Which beareth him vp, who so can take heed,

And susteineth in his most need,

As his piller, and his supportaile:

* For finally, ne were the pooraile

Her bearer vp, and supportation,

Farewell Lordship and domination,

Throughout the Land, of every high estate:

Wherefore me seemeth, more is fortunate

Of Mercury, the soote sugred Harpe,

Than Mars swerd whetted kene & sharpe,

More accepted, with aspects good,

Than is this God, with his lookes wood:

What the goodlihead of a Prince availeth, to win the hearts of his People.

* For humble speech, with glad countenance

May a Prince soothly aduance,

Emong his people hearts for to win

Of inward love, which will not twin,

Than gold, richesse, pride, or tyranny,

Other disdaine, daunger, or surquedy,

For of lords, clerkes can report,

But that loue her crowne doe support,

The fine is not, in conclusion,

I take record of King Amphion,

Example good of King Amphion.

That built Thebes, by his eloquence,

More than of pride, or of violence,

Noble and rich, that like was no where none,

And thus the wals made of lime and stone,

Were reised first by singing of this king,

Like as Poets feinen in her writing.

How, after the opinion of some Authours, King Cadmus built first the city of Thebes.

But soothly yet, some expositours

Grounding hem upon old authours,

Saine, that Cadmus, the famous old man,

Full long afore the city first began,

And the ground of building sette,

And the bounds by compasse out mette,

With thongs out kerue of a Buls side,

Which enuiron, stretch might wide,

To get in land a full large space,

VVhereupon to build a dwelling place

How the Country of Boece took first its name of a Bulls skin, and after called Thebes. And how King Cadmus was exiled out of Thebes, by Prowess of King Amphion.

And called was the soile thus getten in,

VVhylome Boece, of the Buls skin,

The name after into Thebes tourned:

But Cadmus hath not there long sojourned,

Like in story as it is compiled,

For shortly, he fro thence was exiled,

Never after for to dwell in the toun,

By the knighthood of this Amphioun,

VVhich vp perfourmeth, rich for the nones,

The city Thebes, of mighty square stones,

As I you told a lite heretoforne,

And Cadmus thus his kingdome hath lorne,

Scepter and crowne, and his power roiall,

Now have I told vnto you ground of all,

That ye well know by information

Clerely the pith and the exposition

Of this matter, as clerkes can you tell,

It were but vaine lenger for to dwell,

To tarry you on this mattere,

Sith my tale, which that ye shall here

Vpon our way, will last a long while;

The space in sooth as I suppose of vii. mile:

And now ye know first how Amphion

Built and began this city and this toun,

Reigning there long after, as I rede.

Of him no more, for I will procede

To my purpose, that I first began,

Not telling here how the line ran

[Page]

How the Line of Amphion by descent was conveyed to King Laius.

Fro king to king, by succession,

Conveying downe by the stock of Amphion

Seriously by line all the discent:

But leaue all this, plainly of intent

To tell forth, in bookes as I rede,

How Laius by processe gan succede

Here beginneth the Story of King Laius, and Iocasta his Wife.

TO beare ye Crowne in this mighty land,

Holding the scepter of Thebes in his hand,

Manly and wise during all his life,

And Iocasta called was his wife:

Full womanly the story saith certaine

For a time, though she were barraine,

Till Laius in full humble wise,

To have a child, did sacrifice

First to Apollo in his chaire so bright,

And Iupiter, that hath so great a might,

Beseeching hem with devout reuerence,

To graunt only through her influence,

That his request executed may be,

And specially to goddesses three,

He besought Pallas, and Iuno,

And Diane, for to help also,

That he be not defrauded of his boon:

And his prayer accepted was full soone,

That finally through his rites old,

Even like as his heart would,

The Queen Iocasta hath anone conceived,

Which when the King fully hath perceived,

He made in haste, him list not to abide,

Through his kingdome Messengers ride

Fro coast to coast, the story can deuise,

For Divinours and Philosophers wise,

For such as were famous Phisiciens,

And well expert Astronomiens,

To come in hast vnto his presence,

To find out shortly in sentence

By craft onely of calculation,

The childs fate and disposition,

How the Astronomiens and Philosophers of Thebes calcled out the fate of Edippus.

And thereupon to yeue a iudgement,

The root I take, at the ascendent

Truly sought out by minute and degre,

The selfe houre of his natiuite

Not foryet, the heauenly mansions,

Clearely searched by smale fractions,

First by seconds, terces, and eke quartes,

On Augrime stones, and on white cartes

Ipriued out by diligent labour,

In tables correct, deuoid of all errour,

Iustly sought, and found out of both two,

The yeares collect, and expanse also,

Considred eke by good inspection,

Euery houre, and constellation,

And each aspect and looke eke diuers,

Which were good, and which also peruers,

Where they were toward, or at debate,

Happy, wilfull, or iufortunate:

The cursed Constellation and Disposition of the Heaven at the Nativity of Edippus.

And finally, in conclusion

They found Saturne in the Scorpion,

Heauie chered melancolike and loth,

And wood Mars furious and wroth,

Holding his sceptre in the Capricorne,

The same houre when this child was borne,

Venus direct, and contrarious,

And depressed in Mercurious hous,

That the dome and judgement finall

Of these clerkes to speake in speciall

By fatall sort, that may not be withdraw

That with his swerd his father shall be slaw,

How the fate of Edippus disposed, that he should slea his own Father.

There may no man helpe it ne excuse,

On which thing the king gan sore muse,

And cast he would on that other side

Againe her dome for himselfe prouide

Shape away, and remedy toforne,

Bidding the quene, when the child wer borne,

Without mercy or moderly pite

That he be dead it may none other be,

And in all hast, like as he hath sent,

She obeied his commaundement

With wofull heart, and pitous looke,

And face pale, her yong sonne she tooke,

Tender and grene both of flesh and bones,

To certaine men ordained for the nones,

Fro point to point in all manner thing,

To execute the bidding of the king,

They durst not delay it, nor abide,

But to a forest that stood there beside,

They tooken her way, and fast gan him speed,

The kings will to performe indeed,

Hauing thereof passing heauinesse?

But when that they beheld the fairenesse

Of the child, and excellent beautie,

In her heart they had great pitie,

And plainly cast, emong hem was no strife,

That the child should haue his life,

And anone high upon a tree,

In place that no man might it see,

They heng him vp, the story can reherce,

But first his feet they gan through perce,

And on bowes tender, tough, and smale,

They knitte him vp shortly this is no tale,

Him to preserue from beasts wild and rage,

And after that they tooken her voyage

Toward Thebes, in all the hast they may:

But of fortune, thilke same day

With her hounds searching vp and doun,

The hunts went of king Polibon

Through the forrest, gan for to find

Some aforne, and some come behind,

And gan search and seeke wonder sore

Emong the hills, and the holts hore,

And as they rengen the trenches by and by,

They heard a noise, and a pitous cry

[Page]

How the hunts of King Polibon found the child in the forrest, and presented him unto the King.

Of this child, honging on a tree:

And all at ones drough hem for to see,

And left not, till they haue him found,

And tooke him doune, and his feet vnbound,

And bare him home vnto Polibon,

King of Archadie the famous region:

And when that he the child first can see,

Of his wounds he had great pitee

To behold his tender feet so blede,

And called him Edippus, as I rede,

Which is to saine platly, this is no fage,

Bored the feet, as in that language.

And first the king in his royall hall

Made his men a norice for to call,

This young child to foster and to keepe

With her milke, that he mought ne weepe,

And his Leeches he charged eke also,

Till he were whole, her deuoir for to do,

Fully in purpose, for this child was feire,

After his day to maken him his heire,

For cause onely, who so taketh heed,

Sonne had he none, by line to succeed,

And that he had a wife or none,

I find it not, and therefore I let it gone,

But by processe of daies and of yeres,

This Edippus, emong his playing feares,

Was in port passing full of pride,

That none with him might in peace abide,

In heart he was so inly surquidous,

Melancolike and contrarious,

Full of despite, and of high disdaine,

That no wight durst shortly him withsaine,

Till on a day, he gan with one debate,

To whom he had specially great hate,

Which of rancour, and of hasty tene,

As he that might his pride not sustene,

Gan vpon him cruelly to braid,

And vnto him felly thus he said:

Whereto (qd. he) art thou so proud of port,

Contraire also euer in any disport,

Froward and fell, lasting euer in one,

As thou were lord of vs euerichone,

And presumest fully in werking,

Like as thou were sonne vnto the King,

And descended of his royall blood?

But whether so thou be wroth or wood,

Thou art nothing, if thee list take hede,

Appertaining vnto his kinrede,

But in a forrest founden and vnknow

When thou wer yong, therfore bear thee low,

And vtterly remember thee if thee list,

Thy birth and blood are both two vntwist,

This is the fine shortly of my tale,

Wherewith Edippus gan to wexe pale,

And chaunge also cheare and countenaunce,

And gan apeint in his remembraunce

Word by word, and forgat right nought,

And felly mused on this, and aboue thought,

And cast he would, without more tarrying,

The trouth enquire of Polibon the King:

And when he saw oportune space,

And the King in a secret place,

He him be sought lowly on his knee,

To his request benignely to see.

The request of Edippus unto the King Polibon.

And that he would plainly, and not spare,

Of his birth the true ground declare,

And make him sure of this thing anone,

If he were his very sonne or none?

And Polibon onely of gentillesse,

When he beheld the great heauinesse

Of Edippus, and the wofull paine,

He gan dissimule, and in a manner faine,

Liche as he had ben verely his heire:

But more and more he falleth in dispeire,

And downe ayen on knees gan fall,

Him conjuring by the Gods all,

To tell trouth and nothing to hide,

Affirming eke, he will not abide

Lenger with him, but riden and enquere,

Till time he may the very sooth lere

In any part of hap or of fortune,

And for that he was so importune

In his desire, the King without abode

Curiously told him how it stode.

The Answer of the King unto Edippus.

In a forrest first how he was found

Vpon a tree, by the feet ybound,

And how he cast in conclusion

To make him King of that region

After his day, shortly for to tell,

But Edippus would no lenger dwell,

But tooke leaue, and in hast gan ride

To a temple fast there beside

Of Apollo, in story as is told,

Whose statute stood in a chaire of gold

On wheeles foure, burned bright and shene,

And within a spirit full vncleane

By fraud onely, and fals illusion,

Answere yafe to euery question,

Bringing the people in full great errour,

Such as to him did false honour,

By rites vsed in the old dawes,

After the custome of Paganims lawes,

And Edippus with full humble chiere

To Apollo made his priere,

Beseeching him on his knees low

By some signe, that he might know

Through euidence, shortly comprehended

Of what kinred that he was discended?

And when Edippus by great deuotion

Finished had fully his orison,

The fiend anon, within inuisible,

With a voice dredefull and horrible,

Bad him in hast take his voyage

Toward Thebes, where of his linage

He hearen shall, and he certified:

And on his way anone he hath him hied

By hasty journey, so is his horse constrained

Day by day, till he hath attained

Vnto a castle, Pilotes ycalled,

Rich and strong, and wele aboue ywalled,

Adjacent by site of the country

And apertinent to Thebes the city,

King Laius being there present,

For to hold a manner of turnement,

[Page] With his knights yong and couragious,

And other folke, that were desirous

To preue hemselfe, shortly for to tell,

Who that by force other might excell,

Or get a name, through his prowesse,

Euerich of hem did his businesse

On horsebacke, and eke on foot,

All be that some found it full vnsoot,

Rather a play of warre than of peace:

VVhere Edippus put himselfe in preace,

As he that was aie ready to debate,

Enforcing him to enter in at gate,

Maugre all tho that him would let,

And in the preace, of auenture, he met

How Edippus slough his Father by ignorance, at the Castle of Pilotes.

King Laius, and cruelly him slough,

Though the story telleth not hough,

Ne no wight can of all the company,

By no signe, it verily aspy

By whose hond the King was slaw,

For Edippus gan him in hast withdraw,

And kept him coy of entencioun,

Great was the noise and pitous soun

In the castell, for slaughter of the king,

Dole and complaint, sorrow, and weeping.

* But for they saw that heauines & thought,

Ayenst death auaileth lite or nought,

They ordaine with rites full royall,

For the feast called Funerall,

And eke the custome of the days old,

The corps they brent into ashes cold,

And in a vessell round made as a ball,

They closed him in gold and metall,

And after that did her busie cure,

In Thebes to make a Sepulture,

And richly, hem list no lenger let,

The ashes they did enclose and shet,

Of this matter there is no more to sayen,

But to Edippus I will retourne ayen,

Which him enhasteth aie from day to day,

Toward Thebes, in all that euer he may,

Brenning in hert as whote as any fire,

The fine to know of his fatall desire,

But for that he failed of a guide,

Out of his way went fer aside,

Through a wild and a wast countree,

By a mountaine that stood vpon the see.

How Edippus passed by the hill where the Monster lay, that was called Sphinx.

Where that Monsters, of many diuers kind

Were conuersant, in story as I find,

Among which soothly there was one,

So inly cruell that no man durst gone,

For dread of death forth by that passage,

This Monster was so mortall in his rage,

Which had also by discripcion,

Body and foot, of a fierce Lion,

And like a maid, in soth, was head and face,

The destruction of the foul Monster.

Fell of his looke and cruell to manace,

And odious of countenaunce and sight,

And as I rede Sphinx that Monster hight,

Worse than Tigre, Dragon, or Serpent,

And I suppose by Enchauntement,

He was ordained on the hill tabide,

To slea all tho that passeden beside,

And specially, all that did faile

To expoune his misty deuinaile,

His probleme eke, in words plaine and bare,

Without auise fully to declare:

Or with the life he might not escape,

This is very sooth plainly and no jape:

And if that he by declaration,

Yaue thereupon cleare exposicion,

He should in hast, there was none other mene,

Slaen this Monster for all his cruell tene,

There may of mercy be none other graunt.

But of all this Edippus ignoraunt,

This dreadful hill, stonding on a roch,

Or he was ware, ful nigh gan approch,

More perillous platly than he wend:

And sodainly the Monster gan descend,

To stoppen his way and letten his passage,

Thus abreding with a fell courage

The words of the foul Monster.

Said, I haue in hert inly great disport,

That fortune hath brought thee to my fort,

To make a preefe if thou may endure

The fatall end of this auenture,

Set at a fine, soothly, by days old:

And by and by all the case him told,

Charging him to be well ware and wise,

Get the palme and beare away the prise,

Touching this thing set atweene vs tweine,

Of life or death, which we shall dreine,

And this Monster, with a dispitous cheare,

His probleme gan thus as ye shull heare.

The Probleme that Sphinx put to Edippus.

There is a beast merueilous to see,

The which in sooth at his natiuitee

Is of his might so tender and so grene,

That he may himselfe not sustene

Vpon his feet, though he had it sworne,

But if that he be of his moder borne,

And afterward by processe of age,

On foure feet he maketh his passage,

And then vpon three if I shall not faine,

And alder last he goeth vpright on twaine,

Diuers of port and wonderfull of cheares,

Till by length of many sondry yeares,

Naturally he goeth ayen on three,

And sithen on foure, it may none other bee,

And finally this is the trouth plein,

He recouereth kindly ayein,

To the matter which that he came fro,

Lo here my probleme is all ido,

Muse hereupon without warre or strife,

It to declare, or els lese thy life.

And when Edippus can this thing aduert,

VVell assured in his manly hert,

Gan in his herte, serch vp and doun,

And of prudence cast in his reasoun

By great auise, what thing this may bee,

Seing also, that he may not flee,

[Page] And how there was counsaile non ne rede,

To tell trouth or els to be dede,

And by full good deliberacion,

Thus he answered, in conclusion:

Thou Sphinx (qd. he) false and fraudolent,

Thou foul Monstre, thou dragon, thou serpent,

That on this hill like as I conceiue,

Liest in waite folkes to deceiue,

But trust well for all thy sleghty witt,

Thy false fraude shall anon be quitt,

Me liste not to whispre neither roune,

But thy probleme I shall anon expoune,

So openly, thou shalt not go therefro,

Lo this it is take good heed thereto:

How Edippus expounded the Probleme that Sphinx put to him.

Thilke beast thou spake of here toforne,

Is euery man in this world iborne,

Which may not go his limmes be so soft,

But as his moder beareth him aloft

In her armes, when he doeth crie, or weepe:

And after that he ginneth for to creepe

On fower feet, in his tender youth,

By experience as it is ofte couth,

Aforne irekened his hands both two:

And by processe thou maiest consider also,

With his two feete for all thy fell tene,

He hath a staffe himselfe to susteine,

And then he goeth shortly vpon three,

And alderlast, as it must needs bee,

Voidyng his staffe he walketh vpon tweine,

Till it so be through age he attaine

That luste of youth wasted be and spent,

Then in his hand he taketh a potent,

And on three feete thus he goeth ayen,

I dare affirme thou mayst it not withsein.

And sone after through his vnweldy might,

By influence of natures right,

And by experience as euery man may know,

Like a child on fower he crepeth low,

* And for he may here no while sojourne,

To yearth ayen he must in hast retourne,

Which he came fro, he may it not remew,

For in this world no man may eschew,

This very sothe shortly and no doubt,

When the whele of kind cometh about,

And naturally hath his cours ironne,

By circuite as doeth the shere sonne,

That man, and child, of high and low estate,

It gaineth not to make more debate,

His time isette that he must fine,

When Atropos, of malice doeth vntwine

His liues thred, by Cloto first compouned.

Lo here thy probleme is expouned,

Af euery metyng as I toke on honde,

To the law that thou must needs stonde,

And in all haste of mine honds deie,

For of reason thou canst it not withseie.

And this Sphinx awaped and amate,

Stood all dismayed and disconsolate,

With chere doun cast heauy as any ledde,

And Edippus anone smote of the hedde

Of this fende stinking and vnswete,

And the countree set holly in quiete,

Whereby he hath soch a price wonne,

That his fame in euery coast is ronne,

Through al y• lond y• this monstre was slaw:

And line right to Thebes he gan draw,

Well receiued for his worthinesse,

For his manhood and his prowesse,

And for they seigh he was a seemely knight,

Well fauoured in euery mans sight,

And saw also Thebes, the mighty toun,

Not onely they but all the regioun

Were destitute of a gouernour,

Ayen her foon hauing no succour,

Hem to defend, but the Queene alone,

Emong hemselfe making full great mone,

For there was none as bookes specifie,

The Sceptre and croune to occupie,

For which the Lordes all by one assent,

Within the toune set a parlement,

Shortly concluding if it might been,

Prudently to treate with the Queen,

Namely they that held hem selfe most sage,

To condescend by way of mariage,

She to be joyned to this manly knight,

Passing prudent and famous eke of might,

Most holle man, as they can discerne,

The worthy citee to keepe and gouerne:

And through counsail of the lords all,

To their desire plainly she is fall,

And accorded without more tarying,

That of Thebes, Edippus shall be king,

By full assent was none that sayed nay,

And time set, ayein a certain day,

Emong hem selfe, and finally deuised,

The wedding was in Thebes solempnized,

Full rially, that needs must vnthriue,

Onely for he, his moder tooke to wiue,

Vnwist of both he was of her blood,

And ignoraunt shortly how it stood,

That he toforne had his father slaw,

For which this wedding was against the law,

* And tofore God is neither faire ne good,

Nor acceptable blood to touch blood,

Which cause hath be of great confusion

In many a lond, and many a region,

Ground and root of vnhap and mischaunce,

The fine concluding alway with vengeaunce,

As men haue sein by clere experience,

And holy writ recordeth in sentence,

How Herode falsly in his life,

By violence tooke his brothers wife,

For she was fayre, and pleasaunt to his sight,

And kept her still by force through his might,

Although to her title had he non,

And for her sake the holy man sainct Iohn

For his trouth in prison lost his hedde,

Wherefore I rede euery man take hede,

VVhether so he be Lord, Prince, or King,

That he beware to eschue soch wedding,

Ere y• the swerde of vengeance him manace,

Lest he lese hap, fortune, and grace,

Taking ensample in all maner thing,

Of Edippus, in Thebes crouned king,

All be that he wrought of ignoraunce,

Full derke and blind of his wofull chaunce,

And if vnwist, that he of innocence,

As ye haue herde fell in soch offence,

[Page] For which he was punished & brought low,

What are they worthy that her errour know,

And from the knot list not to absteine,

Of such spousaile to God and man vnclene,

I can not sem ne more thereof deuise,

Demeth your self that prudent been, & wise,

And eke Edippus, haueth emong in mind,

Of whom the wedding like as ye may find,

Vnhappy was and passing odious,

Infortunate, and eke vngracious,

I am werie more thereof to write,

The hatefull processe also to endite,

I passe ouer fully of entent,

For Imeneus was not there present,

Nor Lucina list not there to shine,

Ne there was none of the Muses nine,

But one accord to maken melody,

For there song not by heauenly armony,

Neyther Clio, nor Caliope,

None of the sustren in nomber thrise three,

As they did when Philolaie,

Ascended vp high aboue the skie,

To be wedded, this Lady vertuous,

Vnto her Lord the God Mercurius,

And as Matrician, inamed de Copelle,

In his booke of wedding can you tell,

There concluding in his marriage,

The Poete, that whilom was so sage,

That this Lady called Sapience,

Iwedded was vnto Eloquence,

As it sat well by heauenly purueiaunce,

Hem to be joyned by knot of alliaunce,

But both two soothly of entent,

At wedding in Thebes were absent,

That caused after great aduersity,

For finall end of that solempnity,

Was sorrow and wo, and destruction,

Vtter ruine of this roiall toun,

There may no man helpe it ne succour,

For a time in joy though they floure.

The Names of the People, being at the Wedding of the King Edippus, and of Jocasta the Queen.

But at his wedding plainly for to tell,

Was Cerberus, chief porter of hell,

And Herebus, fader to Hatred,

Was there present with his holle kinred,

His wife also with her browes blacke,

And her doughters, sorow for to make,

Hidously chered and vgly for to see,

Megera, and Thesiphonee,

Alecto eke, with Labour and Enuie,

Drede, Fraude, and false Tretcherie,

Treason, Pouert, Indigence and Nede,

And cruell death in his rent wede,

Wretchednesse, Compleint, and eke Rage,

Fearfull, Pale, Dronkenesse, croked Age,

Cruell Mars, and many a Tigre wood,

Brenning Ire, and vnkind blood,

Fraternall hate deepe set in the roote,

Saufe onely Death, that there nas no boote,

Assured othes at fine Vntrew,

All these folke were at weddyng new,

To make the toune desolate and bare,

As the story after shall declare:

But aie in Thebes, with his walles strong,

Edippus reigneth many a day and long,

And as mine aucthor write in words plain,

By Iocasta he had sonnes twain,

Ethiocles, and also Polimite,

And in bookes as sondry clerkes write,

Doughters two, full goodly on to see,

Of which that one hight Antigonee,

And that other called was Imein,

Of her beauty, inly souerein.

Edippus aie deuoid of warre and strife,

With Iocasta ledde a mery life,

Till fortune of her iniquity

Had enuy of his prosperity,

For when he shone most rich in his renoun,

From her whele she plunged him adoun,

Out of his joy into sodein wo,

As she is wont frowardly to do,

And namely hem that setten her affiaunce

Of hartely trust in her variaunce:

For when the king passing of great might,

Sat with the quene vpon a certain night,

Casuelly, when his folke echone,

Out of chamber sodeinly were gone,

Ere he was ware Iocasta gan behold

The carectes of his wounds old,

Vpon his feet, emprented wonder depe,

Tournyng her face brest out for to wepe,

So secrely, he might it not espie,

And she anon fell into a fantasie,

Aie on this thing musing more and more,

And in her bedde gan to sighen sore,

And when the king conceiueth her distresse,

He gan enquere of her heauinesse,

Fully the cause and thoccasion,

For he will wite in conclusion

What her eileth, and why she fared so.

My Lord (qd. she) without wordes mo,

Percell cause of this sodein rage,

Is for that I in my tender age,

Had a Lord inamed Laius,

King of this toune, a man right vertuous,

By whom I had a sonne right wonder feire,

Likely to been his successour and heire,

But bicause his Diuinours told

At his birth sothly that he should,

If he had life, by fatall destinee,

Slaen his fader it might none other be:

For which the king his fate to eschue,

Bad men in hast as him thought due,

To slea the child, and haue thereof no roth,

And I anon bad without sloth,

To certain men vp pein of judgement,

To execute the commaundement

Of the king as I yaue hem in charge,

And forth they gone to a forest large,

Adjacent vnto this countree,

Persing his feet, and heng him on a tree,

Not performyng thexecution,

On him they had such compassion,

Left him there, and resorted home ayen,

Beyng in doubt and vncertein,

At their repeire as they tolden all,

Of this child what afterward is befall,

Saufe they said huntes had him found,

Which ladden him forth & his feet vnbound,

[Page] But to what coast they coud not declare:

Which percel is of mine euil fare,

Ground and cause of mine heauy chere,

Considered eke the woundes that appere

Vpon your feet, and wot not what they mene:

And o thing aie is at mine hart greene,

My Lord alas but of new date,

King Laius slaine was but late,

At a Castell nigh this countree,

Vpon your comming into this citee,

All this yweied and rekened into one,

Maketh mine hart as heauie as a stone,

So that I can counsell none ne red,

And with that word the king lift vp his hed,

And abreid with sharpe sighes smert,

And all this thing by order can aduert,

Curiously by good auisement,

And by signes clere and euident,

Conceiueth well and sore gan repent,

It was himself that Iocasta ment:

And when the king sigh in maners pleine,

By her Goddes she gan him constreine

To shew out the cause of his affray

And it expoune and make no delay,

Croppe and roote shortly why that he

Entred first into that countre,

From whens he came, and from what region,

But he her put in delusion,

As he had doen it for the nones,

Till at last he brast out at ones,

Vnto the Queene, and gan a processe make,

First how he was in the forest take,

Wounded the feet, and so forth euery thing,

Of his cherishing with Polibon the king,

And holle the cause why he him forsooke,

And in what wise he the way tooke

Toward Thebes as Apollo bad,

And of fortune how that he was lad

Where that Sphinx kept the Mounteine,

And how that he also slowe in certeine

King Laius at Castell gate,

Toward night when it was full late,

And how to Thebes that he gan him spede,

To find out the stocke of his kinrede,

Which vnto him gan wexe couth,

For by processe of his greene youth,

He found out wele by rekening of his life,

That she was both his moder, and his wife:

So that all night and suyng on the morow,

Betweene hem two began a new sorrow,

Which vnto me were pitous for to tell,

For thereupon yif I should dwell,

A long space it would you occupy,

But ye may read in a Tragedy

Tragediae Senecae de Egypto Reg. Thebax.

Of Morall Senek fully his ending,

His dooll, his mischief, and his compleining,

How with sorrow, and vnweldie age,

This Edippus fell in dotage,

Lost his witte and his worldly delite,

And how his sonnes had him in despite,

And of disdaine tooke of him no keepe,

And eke bookes saine, his iyen out he wepe,

And as mine aucthour liketh to deuise,

As his sonnes rebuke him and despise,

Vpon a day in a certaine place,

Out of his hedde, his iyen he gan race,

And cast at hem, he can no other boote,

And of malice they trade him vnder foote,

Fully deuoid both of loue and dread,

And when Edippus for mischief was thus ded

Within a pitt made in the earth low,

Of cruelty his sonnes gan him throw,

Worse then Serpent, or any Tigre wood,

* But of cursed stock commeth vnkind blood,

As in storie ye may rede heretoforne,

Although the Rose grow out of the thorne.

Thus of Edippus when he was blind & old,

The wretched end I haue you plainly told.

* For which shortly to man and child I rede,

To be wele ware and take hede,

Of kindly right and of conscience,

To doe honour and due renerence

How every Man ought of Duty, to do Reverence to his Father and Mother, or else there will fall Vengeance.

To father and moder of what estate they bee,

Or certaine els they shull neuer thee:

For who that is not to hem debonaire,

In speach, in porte, for to treat hem faire,

Hem to obey, in honesty and drede,

And hem to cherish of what they have nede,

I dare affirme excepting none estate,

That he shall first be infortunate

In all his werke both on Sea and lond,

And of what thing that he take in hond,

For the time froward to him and contraire,

Wast of his goods plainly and appaire,

Finde plenty of conteke, warre, and strife,

Vnhappy end and shortnesse of life,

And gracelesse of what he hath to do,

Hatred of God, and man also:

Therefore no man be thereof recheles,

But make your mirrour of Ethiocles,

And his brother called Polimite,

Which in soch things greatly were to wite,

As ye shall here of hem how it fill,

And when we been descended doun this hill,

As I passed here the lowe vaile,

I shall begin the remnaunt of my tale.

Explicit prima pars istius Codialli.

Immediate sequitur secunda pars ejusdem.

PAssed y• Thrope of Broughton on the blee,

By my Kalender I gan anon to see,

Through the Sunne, that full clere gan shine,

Of the clocke that it drew to nine,

And sawe also as siluer dropes shene,

Of the dewe like perles on the grene,

Vapoured vp into the aire aloft,

When Zepherus with his blowing soft,

The weder made lustie, smooth, and faire,

And right attempre was the holsome aire:

The same houre all the holle route

Of the pilgrimes riding round aboute,

In my tale when I gan procede,

Rehearsing forth as it was in dede,

When Edippus buried was and graue,

How his sonnes the kingdome for to haue,

[Page]

How the Sons of Edippus, debated for the Crown.

Emong hemselfe by full mortall hate,

For the croune, gonne for to debate,

Which of hem justly shall succede,

And the Scepter of the toune possede,

Auerting nought, neither to right ne wrong,

But eche of hem to make his partie strong,

And his querele proudly to susteine,

From whose herts was deuoided clene,

Of brotherhood the faithfull aliaunce,

False couetise so made hem at distaunce,

Fully werching into destruction,

And ruine of this noble toun,

So hote brent of hatred and enuy,

Of both two through pompous surquedy,

That neither would pleinly in a poinct,

Other forbeare, they stode in soch disjoinct,

Like as they had of birth been foreins:

Till of the toune the noble citezeins,

Knights, Barons, with many a worthy lord,

Shope a way to make hem of accord,

And to set hem in quiete and in pees:

But for his part this Ethiocles,

Alledge gan, that he was first borne,

For which he ought of reason go toforne

In the citee, to be crouned king,

Sith by law there was no letting,

For vnto him longeth the heritage

By discent, and by title of age.

The controversie of the two Brethren.

But Polimite of full high disdaine,

All openly gan reply againe,

And for his part said in especiall,

Reason was none that he should haue all,

Both Regaly and dominatioun,

And the lordship wholly of the toun,

And he right nought out of the city,

But liue in sile and in pouerty,

Concluding without fere or drede,

Rather than it suffer, he would be dede,

And thus alas, through her enuious strife,

At ende euerich lost his life,

At great mischief as ye shall after here,

But thilke time the Lords all in fere,

Full besily did her diligence,

By great auise, and full high prudence,

To set hem in quiet and in rest,

Counsailyng hem plainly for the best,

To leue her strife, of wisedome and of reason,

And condescend to some conclusion,

Which to both might most auaile.

And finally through her gouernaile

The common Union between these two Brethren.

The Lordes all, tho being present,

Haue hem brought to been of one assent,

Of one hert, as brother vnto brother,

Euerich of hem to reigne after other,

Yeere by yeere as it commeth about,

So that the toun shall absent him out,

Fully that yeere and himself gie,

By his manhood and his chiualrie,

Haunt himself, in deeds Marciall,

While his brother in his See riall,

Holdeth his Sceptre the citee to gouerne:

And when the yeere his cours hath run yerne,

And is come out, he shall haue repeire,

To reigne in Thebes like as Lord and heire,

There to receiue fully his dignitee,

While that other voideth the citee,

Paciently taking his auenture,

Till he ayen his honour may recure,

Thus enterchange, euery yeere they shall,

That one ascendeth that other hath a fall,

They must obey of hert and take it well,

Like as that one resorteth of the wele,

For this was holle the composicion

Betwene the brethren, and conuencion

Fully knit vp by great auisement,

Tofore the Goddes by othe of Sacrament,

Neuer after to grutche ne to varie,

But accomplish shortly, and not tarie,

Like as thaccord, enrolled in the toun,

From poinct to poinct, made mencioun.

But alder first by reason of his age,

Ethiocles had the auantage,

To reigne aforne, and weare the croune,

Polimite him hasting out of toune,

During that yere it may none other be,

Whiles his brother satte in his rialte,

Full richely vpon Fortunes whele.

And rode him forth armed bright in stele.

This Polimite sothly as I rede,

Himselfe alone on a riall stede,

Without guide all the long day,

Being aferde to keepe the high way,

In his hert hauing suspecion,

To his brother, of malice and treason,

Lest he pursue through fals & vnkind blood,

To haue him dedde for couetise of good,

That he alone might haue possessioun,

During his life fully of the toune:

For which in hast, hauing no felaw,

Polimite aside gan him withdraw,

By a forest joyning to the See,

Knowing right nought the site of y• countre,

Full of hilles and of high Mounteines,

Craggie Roches, and but few pleines,

Wondre dreadfull and lothsome of passage,

And therewithall full of beasts rage,

Holding his way of hert nothing light,

Mate and wery, till it draweth to night,

And all the day beholding enuiron,

He neither saw Castel, Toure, ne Toun,

The which thing greueth him ful sore,

And sodenly the see began to rore,

Winde and tempest hidiously tarise,

The raine doun bete in full grisly wise,

That many a beast therof was adrad,

And nigh for fere gan to wexe madd,

As it sempte by the wofull sownes

Of Tigres, Beres, Bores, and Liones,

Which for refute, hem selfe for to saue,

Euerich in hast, draweth vnto his Caue,

But Polymite, in this tempest huge,

Alas the while, findeth no refuge,

Ne him to shrowde saw nowhere no succour,

Till it was passed almost midnight hour

[Page] A large space, that the sterres clere,

The cloudes voided, in heauen did appere,

So that this knight out of the Forest large,

Gan approch, into the londe of Arge.

How Polimite first came into the Lond of Arge.

Seing a palaice mighty of building,

Of which Adrastus, called was the king,

A lusty man, rich, and wondre sage,

And yronne was somdel into age,

Borne of the Isle that called is Chifon,

And somtime Sonne of the king Cholon,

And for his witte in story as is couth,

He chosen was in his tendre youth,

Of Arge to be crouned king,

Thiefe of all Greece, be record of writing,

Not by descente nor succession,

And but alonely of free election,

He held of Arge, the Sceptre in his hand,

As most worthy of all Greekes land,

Loued and drade, for wisdome and Iustice:

And as the story plainly can deuise,

This worthy king had doughters two,

Passing faire, and right good also,

It were to long, her beaute to descriue.

Argiue and Deiphile, the doughters tweine of King Adrastus.

And the eldest called was Argiue,

Deiphile ynamed the second:

And Adrastus, like as it is found,

This worthy king had sonne none,

To succede after he be gone,

For which he was during all his life

Triste in hert add passingly pensife,

But holy his trust and his hope stood,

By alliance of some worthy blood,

Brought in by mene of his doughters twein,

That he shal be relessed of his peine,

Through recomfort of some high Mariage,

And sothly yet full oft in his courage,

He troubled was by occasion

Of a sweuene and of a vision,

The Dream of King Adrastus of a wild Boar and a fers Lion.

Shewed to him vpon a certein night,

For as him thought, his inward sight,

While he slept, by clere inspection,

A wild Boore and a fers Lion,

Possede shul, these bestes in her rage,

His doughters two by bond of Mariage,

In short time within a certein day:

Which brought his hert in full great affray.

* But thing in soth that destine hath shape,

Here in this world ful hard it is tescape,

And marueilous a man to eschue his fate.

And Polimite of whom I spake late,

With the tempest bete, and all bereined,

By grate onely the Citie hath atteined,

Where Adrastus full stately of degree,

Thilke time held his roiall see,

The troubled might, merke and obscure,

Hath brought this knight only by auenture

Through the Citie enclosed with a wall,

Vnto the palaice chief and principall,

Where as the king in his chambre aloft,

Lay in his bed and slept wonder soft,

Eke al his folke had her chambres take,

Like as Fortune parauenture had shape,

The selfe time because it was so late,

And casuely the porter at the gate,

As it had by right for the nones,

And in a porch built of square stones,

Full mightely enarched enuiroun,

Where the domes and ples of the toun

Were executed, and lawes of the king,

And there this knight without more tarying,

Wery and mate, from his stede alight,

Hanging the reine in all the hast he might,

Vpon his arme, sure him for to keepe,

And leid him doun and gan anon to slepe,

As him semed that time for the best:

And while that he lay thus for to rest,

Of auenture there came a knight riding,

One of the worthiest of the world liuing,

Curteis, lowly, and right vertuous,

As saith mine Auctour, called Tideus,

Virous in armes and manly in werking,

Of his birth Sonne vnto the king

Of Callidoine, a lond of great renoun,

As he alas, out of that regioun

Exiled was, for he his brother slow,

As the stage of Thebes writ the manere how,

Al be that he to him no malice ment:

For on a day as they on hunting went,

In a forest for harte and for hind,

So as he stood under a great lind,

And casuely lete his Arow slippe,

He slough his brother called Menelippe,

Through mortall sort his hand was begiled,

For which he was banished and exiled,

As the law narow sette his charge:

As for this caas he came first to Arge,

Into the porch where Polimite did slepe,

Of auenture ere he toke any kepe,

The same night hidously besein,

With the tempest of thondre and of rein,

And felt also anoy and great damage,

Through the forest holding his passage,

As Polimite had do toforne,

In perrell oft likely to be lorne,

With bestes rage set on euery side,

Till of grace without any guide,

He rode through Arge the great mighty toun,

Streght vnto the palaice, & to the chief dongeon,

Like as I told, where Polimite lay,

And at his comming made a great affray,

For he was blind through derkenesse of the night,

And him to guie he ne fond no light,

VVhen he came in, of priket ne of torche,

Till he vnwarely entred in to the porche,

And would haue take there his herbergage:

But Polimite sterte vp in a rage,

Sodenly awaked as I rede,

With the nying of his proud stede,

And first of all when that he beheld,

A knight armed, and on his brest a sheld,

And gan the manere of this ray aduerte,

Of veray ire vpon his horse he sterte,

And cruelly gan Tideus enquere,

Whens he come, and what he did there,

[Page] And bad in hast his answere to deuise.

And Tideus in full humble wise,

Answered ayen of verray gentillesse,

And said, in soth of high distresse

Of the tempest and the derke night,

He driuen was, like an errant knight,

Of need onely and great necessity,

And him constrained of great aduersity,

To take lodging where so that he might,

And in that Court therfore he alight,

Without more thinking none outrage,

Ne to no wight meaning no damage.

Then Polimite of malice, and of pride,

Told him shortly he should not abide,

Ne lodge there, though he had it sworne,

For I (qd. he) toke it vp beforne,

And will it keepe during al this night,

I sey thee platly maugre all thy might.

(Qd. Tideus) then, it is no curtesie,

Me to deuoid but rather villenie,

Yef ye take hede that seeme a gentil knight,

And as I suppose ye haue no title of right,

To this lodging by way of heritage,

More than haue I, for all your fell rage,

And parde yet it shal be no disease,

Till to morow though ye do me ease,

Of gentillesse onely with your leue,

To suffre me it shall but litel greue,

But aye the more Tideus spake faire,

Polimite was froward and contraire,

And shortly saith, it geineth not to striue,

That of force he shall deuoid bliue,

Or vtterly atwene hem both two,

This thing to try he must haue do.

And Tideus seing no better mene,

Ful like a knight in stele armed clene,

Without abode fast gan him spede,

Wondre liuely for to stride his stede,

And thus these knights pompous and elate,

For litel cause fellen at debate.

How Tideus and Polimite striuen for her Lodging.

And as they ronne togider on horsebacke,

Either on other first his spere brake,

And after that full surquedous of pride,

With sharpe swerdes they togider ride,

Full irously these mighty Champions,

In her fury, like Tygres or Lions,

As they hurtel, that al the palaice shooke,

And king Adrastus out of his sleepe wooke,

And made in hast his Chambreleins call,

And through y• Court his worthy knights al,

Commaunding hem to descend and see,

And report what it might bee,

This wonderful noice in his Court by night,

And when he seigh two strang knights fight,

In plates thicke, and bright maile,

Without Iudge, they had great meruaile,

And were dismaied of this vncouth thing,

And as they found told to the king,

And Adrastus for darknesse of the night,

From his chambre with many torches light,

Into the Court is descended downe,

All his meine stonding enuiron,

Of these knights hauing great wondre,

And of manhode he put hem first asondre,

Hem commanding like a gentill king,

To leuen her strife and cessen off fighting,

And entred in with a knightly looke,

And first from hem her swerdes both he tooke,

Affirming eke as to his fantasie,

It was a rage and a great folie,

So wilfully her liues jeopart,

Withouten Iudge her quarel to depart,

And specially in the derke night,

When neither might of other haue sight,

Charging hem vp peine of her life,

To disseuere and stinten of her strife.

And tho Tideus in all the hast he might,

Full humbly from his steed alight,

And right mekely with chere & countenance,

Put him holly in the gouernance

Of Adrastus, in all manere thing,

And Polimite eke made no tarying,

To high him also, and would not withsey

The kings bidding, lowly to obey,

So as him ought with due reuerence:

And as they stood both in his presence,

He gan enquere first of her estate,

The cause also why they were at debate,

Of her Countrees sothly, and her age,

And asked hem eke touching her linage,

By descent of what stocke they were born?

And Tideus, his answere yaue beforn,

Told plainly and made no lesing,

How he was sonne vnto the King,

Of Calcidoine, and rightfull heire thereto,

And of his exile the cause he told also,

As ye haue herd in the story rad.

And Polimite with chere and face sad,

Vnto the king touching his Countree,

Said he was borne in Thebes the Citee,

And Iocaste the great famous queene,

His moder was without any wene,

But of his father whilom king and lord,

For very shame he spake neuer a word,

Onely, for yif I shall not feine,

His fader was, and brother, both tweine,

The which in soth he was full loth to tell,

And eke the king would him not compell,

Of gentillesse, but bad without blame,

Of his birth for to haue no shame,

For holly the caas he knew euery dele,

Touching his kin he knew y• ground fulwele,

Like as it was by full cleere report:

Enforcing him for to do comfort,

With all his might, and all besie peine,

This manly king, to these knights tweine,

And to hem said, before him as they stood,

He wist well that of full woorthy blood

They were descended, touching her kinred,

And made in hast his officers lede,

The straunge knights being at debate,

Through his palaice, to chambre of estate,

Ech by himself for to take his ease,

And euery thing in soth y• might hem please,

Was offred hem like her estates,

And when they were disarmed of her plates,

Cushens, Greues, and her Sabatons,

Her Harneis voided, and her Habergeons,

[Page] Two mantels vnto hem were brought,

Frette with perle, and rich stones wrought,

Of cloth of gold and Violet crimsin,

Full richely [...]urred with Ermin,

To lap hem in ayens the cold morrow,

After the rage of her nights sorrow,

To take her rest till the sonne arise,

And when the king in full prudent wise,

First of al he was not rekeles,

The knights herts for to sette in pees,

That euer after I dare [...] it wele,

Ech was to other trew as any stele,

During her life both in word and dede,

Vndre a knotte bound of brotherhede.

And Adrastus the worthy king famous,

A feast made rich and plenteous,

To these knights, himselfe thereat present,

And after mete full goodly he hath sent,

This noble king, for his doughters dere,

Of gentillesse for to make chere,

To the knights come fro so ferre:

And like in soth as Lucifer the sterre,

Gladeth the morrow at his vprising,

So the ladies at her in comming,

With the stremes of her eyen clere,

Goodly apport and womanly manere,

Countenances, and excellent fairenesse,

To all the Court broughten in gladnesse,

For the freshnesse of her heauenly cheres,

So agreable was vnto the straungeres,

At her entree, that in especial,

Hem thought it like a thing celestial,

Enhasting hem in full knightly wise,

Ayenst hem goodly to arise,

And as they met with humble countenaunce,

Ful conningly did her obseruaunce,

Hem conueying in to her sitting place,

But sothely I haue leiser none ne space,

To reherse and put in remembraunce,

Holly the manere of her daliaunce,

It were to long for you to abide,

But well I wot that the god Cupide,

By influence of his mighty hond,

And the feruence of his firy brond,

Her meeting first fortuned hath so wele,

That his arowes of gold, and not of stele,

Yperced han the knights herts tweine,

Through the brest with such a lusty peine,

That ther abode sharpe, as spere, or launce,

Depe yficched the point of remembraunce,

Which may not lightly rased be away,

And thus in joy they driue forth the day,

In pley and reuel for the knights sake,

And toward night they her chambre take,

At [...]ue time as her fader bad,

And on her weie the knights hem lad,

Reuerently vp by many a staire,

Taking leue gan anon repaire

To her lodging in ful stately a Toure,

Assigned to hem by the herbeiour,

And after ipices plenty, and the wine

In cuppes great, wrought of gold full fine,

Without tarying, to bedde straight they gon,

Touching her rest wheder they sleepe or non,

Demeth ye louers, that in such maner thing,

By experience haue fully knowledging,

For it is not declared in my booke,

But as I find, the king all night wooke,

Thoughtfull in hert the story specifies,

Musing sore and full of fantasies,

First aduerting the great worthinesse

Of these knights and the semelinesse,

Her lusty youth, her force, and her manhode,

And how they were come of roial blode,

And this he gan to reuolue about,

And in his hert hauing a maner of doubt,

Atwene two hanging in a balance,

Wheder he should make an aliance

Atween his doughters & the knights tweine,

For one thing ay his heart gan constreine,

The remembraunce of his auision,

Of which aforne made is amencion,

Touching the Lion, and the wild Bore,

It nedeth not to reherse it no more,

Casting alway in his fantasie,

What it might clerely signifie,

This darke dreame, that was hid and close.

But on the morow Adrastus vp arose,

And to the Temple the right way he tooke,

And gan pray deuoutly on his booke,

To the goddes of his dreme to specifie,

And they him bede homward for to hie,

And to behold in the knights sheeldes,

The fell beasts painted in the fields,

Which shall to him be cleere inspection,

Full plainly making declaracion

Of his dreme which he had on the night:

And Adrastus enhasted him full right,

In her sheelds wisely to behold,

Where that he saw, as the goddes told,

In the sheelds hanging vpon hookes,

The beasts rage with her mortall crookes,

And to purpos like as write Bochas,

Polimite ful streite enbraced was,

In the hide of a fierce Lioun,

And Tideus aboue his Habergeoun,

A gipoun had, hidous sharpe and hoor,

Wrought of the bristels of a wild Boore,

The which beasts as the story leres,

Were wrought and bete vpon her baneres,

Displaide brode whan they should fight,

Wherefore the king whan he had a sight,

At his repayre in hert was full glad,

And with a face full demure and sad,

With his lords that he about him had,

To the temple he the knights lad,

And whan they had with all circumstaunces,

Of Rites old done her obseruaunces,

Home to the Court they retourne ayein,

And in hall, rich, and well besein,

This worthy king of hert liberall,

Made a feast, solempne and riall,

Which in deintees surely did excell,

But it were vein euery cours to tell,

Her straunge sewes and other soteltees,

Ne how they sat like her degrees,

For lacke of time I let ouerslide.

And after meate, Adrastus took aside

The knights two, and like a prudent man,

In secree wise thus his tale he gan.

[Page]

How Adrastus spake to the Knights in secret touching the marriage of his Daughters.

Sirs (qd. he) I ne doubt it nought,

That it is fresh & grene ay in your thought,

How that first by goddes ordinaunce,

And after next through fates purueiance,

And by werking of fortunes hond,

How ye were brought in to this lond,

Both tweine, but now this last night,

Of whos comming I am full glad and light,

First in my selfe shortly to expresse,

When I consider and see the likelinesse

Of your persons with the circumstaunces,

And holle the maner of your gouernaunces,

Seing full well whereto should I feigne,

Yee been likely hereafter to atteigne

To great estate and habundance of good,

Through your birth and your rial blood,

Ye may not faile but ye haue wrong,

For ye are both manly and right strong:

And for to set your hertes more at rest,

My purpose is I hope for the best,

So that in you be no variance,

To make a knot as be alliance,

Atwene you and my doughters two,

Yf your herts accord wele thereto,

And for I am fully in despeire,

To succede for to haue an heire,

Therefore ye shall haue possession,

During my life of halfe my region,

Forth with in hond, and all after my day,

There is no man that thereto shal say nay,

And sothly after when that I am graue,

Ech of you shall his part haue

Of this kingdome as I haue prouided,

This is to say, it shall be diuided

Atwene you two euerich to be crouned,

Your properties be equite compouned,

So egaly, in euery mans sight,

That ech of you enjoy shall his right,

And in your witte ye shall the lond amend,

And of manhood knightly it defend,

Ayens our enemies and our mortall foon,

And for the dayes passed been and goon,

Of my desires and my lusty youth,

I am full set for to make it couth,

That ye shall haue like mine opinioun,

The gouernaunce of all this Regioun.

To this entent me seemeth for the best,

Ye to gouerne and I to liue in rest,

Fully to follow the lust of my desires,

Hunte, and hauke, in woods and riuers,

When so euer I haue thereto pleasance,

And for to haue none other attendance

Vnto nothing but to mine ease,

For which shortly yif it agree and please,

That I haue said to you that ben so wise,

And be according vnto your auise,

Delayeth not but in wordes plein,

That you seemeth yeue answere ayen.

And when Adrastus had his tale fined,

Tideus with hed full low enclined,

As he that was a veray gentill knight,

With his power and his full might,

Full humbly thanked the king,

Touching his profre and so high a thing,

And for his party said he would assent,

Fully of hert neuer to repent,

To all that euer the king hath said:

And Polimite was also appaid,

In the story as it is comprehended,

On euery part fully is holle descended,

The kings will to fulfill in dede,

From point to point & there vpon procede,

Whether so that euer they winne or lese,

And Tideus made his brother chese,

Of gentilnesse and of curtesie,

Which that was most to his fantasie,

Of the Sisters for to haue to wiue,

And he in soth chosen hath Argiue,

Which eldest was full womanly to se,

And Tideus tooke Deiphile,

Of her beaute most souereigne excellent.

Adrastus throughout his lond hath sent,

For his lords, and his Baronage,

To be present at the mariage

Of the knights, and make no letting,

And they ech one come at his bidding,

In goodly wise, meke and full benigne,

Ayein the day that he did assigne,

And thidre come full many a lusty knight,

Full wele besein, and many a lady bright,

From euery coste and many a fresh squier,

The story seith and many a communer,

To behold the great rialte,

And the manere of this solempnite,

But to tell all the circumstaunces

Of just, reuel, and the diuers daunces,

The feasts riche, and the yeftes great,

The peinfull sighes and the feruent heat

Of loues folke, brenning as the glede,

And deuise of many a solein wede,

The touches stole, and the amorous lokes,

By sotell craft leide out lines and hokes,

The Ielous folke to traien and begile,

In their awaites with many a sondry wile,

All this in soth descriuen I ne can,

But wele I, the newe fame ranne

This meane while with some swift passage,

Vnto the Thebes, of this marriage,

And be report trew and not fained,

Tho when thereof the eares hath attained,

Mine Auctour writ of Ethiocles,

Touching the honour, and the great encres

Of Polimite highly magnified,

And that he newly was allied

With Adrastus in the lond of Arge,

The which thing he greatly gan to charge,

Dreading inly, that this Marriage

Shall after time turne to his dammage,

Sore musing, and casting vp and doun

The great power and the high renoun

Of Adrastus, the which of Greeks lond

Had all the power soget to his hond,

Least that he for Polimites sake,

Would vpon him a new warre make,

But if that he like the conuentioun,

At time set deliuer vp the toun

To his brother, by bond of oth sworne,

And by couenaunt assured here toforne,

[Page] If ye remember, late as I you told,

Which he was in purpose for to hold,

But for his best, cast him for to vary,

And thereupon list no lenger tary,

Liche his desires to shape remedies,

And first he sent for his next allies,

In whom he had his most affiaunce,

For his lords that had gouernaunce

Of his kingdome, to come to him anon,

And when they weren present euerichon,

He said plainly wening for the best,

That his hert shall neuer be in rest,

But in sorrow and in a maner of dread,

Till his brother vtterly be dead,

That he in Thebes in his roiall sete

Might alone reigne in quiete,

He meant himselfe, shortly and none other,

Vnpertourbed of Polimite his brother,

And at his counsell diuerse of entent,

I find written thre folkes were present,

Some in soth that faithfull were and trew,

And some also that can change of new,

And other eke that betwene tweine,

Couertly could vndre colour feine.

Commendation of Trouth.

* THE first seid, aboue all thing,

Trouth should long vnto a king,

Of his worde not be variable,

But plein and hool, as a contre stable.

How Trouth is preferred in the Book of Esdre aforne Kings, Women, and Wine.

For trouth first without any wene,

Is chief piller that may a king susteine

In joy and honour for to lede his life,

For trouth sometime had a prerogatife,

As of Esdre, the booke can specifie,

Record I take of prudent Neemie,

That worthy kings for all her great pride,

Wine, and women, been eke set aside,

With all power and dominacion,

Hauing reward in comparison

To trouths might, and trouths worthinesse,

For as Esdre pleinly both expresse,

Who so taketh hede in the same place,

The influence sothly and the grace,

Of trouth alone this old Neemie

Gat him licence to reedifie

The walles new of Hierusalem,

Which is treasure chief of euery Realme,

* For Salomon write, how y• things tweine,

Trouth, and mercy, linked in a cheine

Trouth and Mercy preserven a King from all Adversity.

Preserue a king, like to his decree,

From al mischiefe and al aduersitee:

Alas therefore that any doublenesse,

Variaunce, or elles vnsikernesse,

Chaunge nor doubleness should not be in a King.

Change of word or mutabilite,

Fraud or disceite, or instabilite,

Should in a king haue domination,

To causen after his destruction.

Of kings redeth the story doun by rowe,

And seeth how many haue ben ouertrowe

Through her falshod, from fortunes whele,

For vnto God, it pleaseth neuer adele

A king to be double of entent,

For it may happe that the world is went,

Ful oft sith, by sleight of her werking,

But thus the truth God seeth in euery thing,

Right as it is, for there may be no cloude

Toforne his sight, trouth for to shroude,

It may be clipsed and derked by deceipt,

By false engine ligging in aweite,

As a serpent for to vndermine,

But at last it will cleerly shine,

Who y• saith nay, & shew his bright beames,

For it in soth of kingdomes and of realmes,

Is bearer vp and conservatrice,

From al mischief and sothfast mediatrice,

To God aboue who so list to se,

To keepe a king in prosperite,

On euery side as I afferme dar,

For which ye kings & lords beeth wele war,

Your behests justly for to hold,

And thinketh how Thebes, with his walles old,

Destroied was platly this is no les,

For the doublenesse of Ethiocles,

That with his people sore after bought,

Onely for that he nat by conseil wrought,

Of hem that were both trew and wise,

Him list not werke by her auise,

But left trouth, and set his fantasie

To be gouerned by false flatterie,

The Counsell of false Flatterers.

That bad him thinke how he was a knight,

And to hold of force more than of right,

During his life the lordship of the toun,

And not to lese his possession,

For no bonde nor hestes made toforn,

* But let his brother blowe in an horne

Where that him list, or pipe in a rede:

This was the counseil platly and the rede

Of soch as list not to say the soth,

But falsly flatre, with her words smoth.

And whan they hadde holle her tale fined,

Ethiocles fully is enclined,

Whosoeuer therat laugh or weepe,

Like her counseil, possession to keepe,

Who that saith nay, or grutcheth there ayein,

Him to contraire, him thought was but vein.

How the year was come out that Ethiocles reigned in Thebes.

But in this while that the sheene sonne,

The xii. signes round about had ronne,

Sith Ethiocles by just rekening,

In Thebes was crouned lord and king,

Holding the Sceptre and the Diademe,

That by reason as it would seeme,

The time was full complete and the space

Of couenant he should void his place,

And Polimite eke his journey make

Toward Thebes possession to take,

Of due title but he had wrong,

Which thought in soth, the yere was wondre long:

[Page] Of his exile or that it come about

And for he had in hert a maner of doubt,

Least in his brother were falsehed found,

To acquite himselfe like as he was bound,

To Adrastus he gan declare his herte,

Beseching him this matter to aduert,

And therevpon to yeue counsell sone,

Touching his right what was best to done,

Whether it were best to go or to abide,

Or like a knight, manly to ride

Himself alone and make no message,

For to chalenge his rightfull heritage,

Within Thebes either by pees or strife,

And thereupon to jeoperd his life,

Thus was he set, for all his fers brother:

But Adrastus sothly thought another

Bet was to send, than himself to gone,

Lest he were trapped among his mortal fone,

Hauing his brother suspect in this caas,

That by fraude or by some fallas,

He would werke his destructioun,

If he were hardy to entre into the toun,

For which he had him prudently take heed,

Fully concluding how it were more speed

That some other be to Thebes sent,

To perceiue fully thentent

Of Ethiocles inward by some signe,

And if that he his crowne will resigne,

For thilke yeere like as he made his oth,

And whan he knew how his purpose goth,

Thereupon to werken and procede,

And thus Adrastus wisely gan him rede.

How Tideus took upon him to do the message of Polimite his Brother.

And while they treat vpon this mattere,

Tideus with a manly chere,

Said vtterly for his brothers sake,

This message he would vndertake,

With whole themprise of thenbassiate,

Were it welefull or infortunate,

He will not spare whatsoeuer betide.

But Adrastus, on that other side,

And Polimite in conclusion,

Were contraire to that opinion,

And said soothly as hem thought right,

Sith that he was so well a proued knight,

And discended of so worthy blood,

That they nold for none yearthly good,

For all Thebes with the regalty,

Put his body in such jeopardy:

But al this thing auaileth him right nought,

For he wil forth, how deare that it be bought,

Taking leaue first of all the estates,

And armed him in maile, and sure plates,

And shope him forth vpon his journie,

Who made then sorrow, but Deiphile.

The sorrow of Deiphile, when Tideus went toward Thebes the City.

With bitter teares dewed all her face,

Full oft sithes, swouning in the place,

Trist and mourning in her blacke wede:

And when she saw that he tooke his stede,

So inwardly encreased gan her mone,

Seeing her lord so riding forth alone

Vpon his way, this worthy Tideus:

And in all hast, the story telleth vs,

He speedeth him so, making no delaies,

That in the space of few daies

The high toures of Thebes he gan see,

And entred is into that citee,

Wisely enquiring where the pallaice stode,

And like a knight thider streight he rode,

Marked full well in many a mans sight,

Like Mars himselfe, in stele armed bright,

Till he attained hath the cheefe dongeon,

Where as the king held his mansion,

And throgh the palaice with a knightly looke,

Into the hall the right way he tooke,

From his stede, when he light adoun,

Not aferde, but hardy as Lioun,

Where as the king, with lords a great rout,

In the hall sitting round about,

He entred in, most manfull of courage,

To execute the fine of his message,

And as him thought, conuenient and due,

Full cunningly he gan the king salue,

Requiring him of kingly excellence,

In goodly wise to yeue him audience,

And not disdaine, neither in port ne chere,

Sith he was come as a messangere

From Polimite his owne brother dere,

Ginning his tale thus as ye shall here.

How wisely and how knightly Tideus did his message.

QVod he, vnto your worthinesse

My purpose is breefly to expresse

The effect holly, as in sentement,

Of the message, why that I am sent,

It were long processe to make,

But of my mattere the very ground to take,

In eschuing of prolixity,

And void away all superfluity,

Sith your selfe best ought to vnderstond

The cause fully, that we haue on hond,

And eke conceiue the entent of my meaning,

Of rightwisenesse longing to a king:

First considered, if that ye take hede,

When Edippus the old king was dede,

How that your selfe, and your brother bliue,

For the crowne contagiously gan striue,

As mortall foen, by full great hatrede,

Which of you two should first succede,

Till that ye were by meanes reconciled,

Ye to reigne, and he to been exiled

Out of this toune for a yeares space,

And then ayeine resort into his place,

To reigne as king, and ye to voiden out,

So as your tourn by processe cometh about,

Eueriche of you patiently tendure

Thentrechaunging of his auenture,

Who were put out, or stood in his estate,

Thereupon to make no debate,

Liche the couenaunt and conuentioun,

Enrolled vp by lords of the toun,

Which of reason may not be denied,

Sithen ye haue a yeare occupied:

[Page]

The request that Tideus made in the name of Polimite, under the title of Convention.

Polimite requireth you of right,

To acquite you as a true knight,

In eschuing of mortall warre and strife,

Sith ye had a prerogatife,

As eldest brother, for to reigne aforne,

And thinketh how that ye arne sworne

Your oth to keepe, and make no tarrying,

Holly aduerting, liche a prudent king,

* That trouth is more in comparison,

Than all the treasour of your region,

More acceptable vnto God and man,

Than all the richesse that ye reken can,

Wherefore in hast, and let there be no slouth,

Quiteth your selfe justely in your trouth

Vnto your brother, auoiding this citee,

And let him reigne in his royall see,

The crowne of Thebes a yeare to occupie,

Then will all Greece praise and magnifie

Your high renoun, and may say none other,

But ye acquite you justly to your brother:

This whole theffect of all that I will sain,

Answer expectant what ye will send ayain.

Whan Tideus had told his tale,

Ethiocles triste and wonder pale,

His conceit first in maner hath refreined,

Dissimuling vnder colour feined,

Shewing a chere in maner debonaire,

To his intent wonderly contraire,

Inward in hert wood and furious,

Tourning his face towards Tideus,

He gan abreid and at last out spake,

And euen thus vnto him he spake.

The Answer of King Ethiocles.

I haue great marueile (qd. he) in my thought,

Of the message which that thou hast brought,

That my brother, as thou hast expouned,

Desireth so in Thebes to be crowned,

Hauing regard to the abundaunce,

The great plenty, and the suffisaunce,

That he hath now with the king of Arge,

That me seemeth he should little charge

To haue Lordship or dominioun

In the bounds of this little toun,

Sith he reigneth so freshly in his flours,

Surmounting all his predecessours,

By new encrease, through fortunes might:

Wherfore in heart I am right glad & light,

Fully trusting, if I had nede,

To his helpe, that without drede,

Like a brother, that I should him find

To me ward faithfull, true, and kind,

Supposing plainely euermore,

Of this reigne he set but little store,

Nor casteth him not for so short a while,

As for a yeare his brother to exile,

To liue in pouerry, and in great distresse,

He will not suffer it of his high noblesse,

It were no token of no brother hede,

But a signe rather of hatrede,

To interrupt my possession

Of this little poore Region.

All that he spake, who so coud aduert,

Of very scorne rooted in his hert,

As hem seempt, the story can you teach,

By the surplus soothly of his speach,

He might no lenger him restreine,

But plainely said, as betwene vs tweine,

I meane thus, Polimite and me,

There is no bond nor surete,

Ne faith ymade, that may him auaile,

As he claimeth, to yeue the gouernaile

Of this city, neither yeare ne day,

For I shall let him, soothly if I may,

That he shall not by title of his bond,

Enjoy in Thebes halfe a foot of lond,

Let him keepe that he hath wonne,

For I purpose, as I haue begonne,

To reigne in Thebes henceforth all my liue,

Maugre all hem that thereayen striue,

And in despite of his friends all,

Or the counsaile that him list to call,

Let him be sure, and know this right wele,

His manacing I drede neuer a dele,

And sikerly, as to my deuise,

It sheweth well that thou art not wise,

But suppressed with a manere of rage,

To take on thee this surquedous message,

And presumest to doe so high offence,

So boldely to speake in my presence,

But all in fere, auaile shall right nought,

For the tithings that thou hast brought

Shall vnto him be disencreace,

He better were to haue been in peace,

Than of folly and presumption,

Ayenst me to seech occasion,

For I liue, and thereto here mine hond,

As I said erst, he winneth here no lond,

While the wall of this toune may stond,

For plainely I doe thee to vnderstond,

That they shull first be beat down full low,

And all the toures to the earth ythrow,

Ere he in Thebes haue any thing ado,

Lo here is all, retourne and say him so.

When Tideus saw the feruent ire

Of the king, with anger set on fire,

Full of despite, and of Melancolie,

Conceiuing eke the great fellonie

In his apport, like as he were wood,

This worthy knight a little while stood

Sad and demure, ere he would ought seine,

But at last thus he said ayeine.

The knightly Answer that Tideus yaue ayeine to the King.

Certes (qd. he) I conceiue of new,

About thee thy counsaile is vntrew,

I dare it saine, and vow it at best,

Ne thou art not faithfull of thy behest,

Stable of thy word yt thou hast said toforne,

But deceiuable, and falsely eke forsworne,

And eke perjurate of thine assured oth:

But whether so be that thou be lefe or wroth,

I say thee shortly, hold it for no fage,

All this shall tourne vnto thy damage,

Trist it well, and in full cruell wise

All Greekes lond shall vpon thee arise,

[Page] To be auenged, and manly to redresse

The great vntrouth and the high falsenesse

Which y• thou hast ayen thy brother wrought,

It shall full deare after this be bought,

And verily indeed, as thou shalt lere,

King Adrastus will meddle in this matere,

And all the Lords about him enuiron,

That bounden be to his subjection,

Princes, Dukes, and many a noble Knight,

In susteining of thy brothers right,

Shall on a day with spere and with shield

Ayenst thee be gadred in a field,

Knightly to preue all by one assent,

That thou art fals, and double of entent,

Of thy promise atteint, and eke outrayed,

And leue me well, it shall not be delayed,

But in all hast execute in deede:

* Like thy desert, thou shalt haue thy meede,

For God aboue, and his rightwisenesse,

Such open wrong shall in hast redresse,

And of his might all such collusion

Reforme ayeine, and all extortion,

* For this the fine, Falshood shall not vaile,

Ayenst trouth in field to holden battaile,

Wrong is crooked, both halt and lame,

And here anone in my brothers name,

As I that am his next allie,

At his querele, shortly I defie,

Fully auised, with all mine hole entent,

And ye Lords, that been here present,

I you require of your worthinesse,

To say trouth, and beare witnesse

When time commeth, and justly to record,

How your king falsely gan discord

From his hest, of false variaunce,

And thinke on, how ye of faith and ligeaunce

Are bound echone, ye may not go therefro,

For to obey and serue both two

This next yeare, now anon following,

As to your lord, and to your true king

Polimite, though he be now absent,

By just accord made in Parliament,

At your deuise, which sitten here a row,

Engrossed was vp, as it is well know,

And enrolled onely for witnesse

In your Registers to void all falsenesse,

That none of you vary may of new

From that I say, but if he be vnt [...]ew,

For which I rede your selfe to acquite,

Let no time lenger lie in respite,

But at ones, without more tarrying,

Of manly force fet home your king,

Maugre your fone, like as ye are bound,

And let in you no slouth be found

To put him justly in possession,

This is my counsaile in conclusion.

How manly Tideus departed from the King.

When Tideus had his message saied,

Like to the charge that was on him saied,

As he that list no lenger there sojourne,

Fro the king he gan his face tourne,

Not astonied, nor in his heart aferde,

But full proudely layed hond on his swerde,

And in dispite, who was lefe or loth,

A sterne pace through the hall he goth

Through the court, and manly toke his stede,

And out of Thebes fast gan him spede,

Enhasting him, till he was at large,

And sped him forth toward the lond of Arge.

Thus leaue I him riding forth a while,

Whiles that I retourne ayeine my stile

Vnto the king, which in the hall stood

Emong his lords, furious and wood,

And his heart wroth, and euill apaied

Of the words that Tideus had saied,

Specially hauing remembrance

On the proud dispitous defiance,

Whiles that he fat in his royall See,

Vpon which he would auenged bee

Full cruelly, what that euer befall,

And in his ire he gan to him call

Cheefe Constable of his Chiualrie,

Charging him fast for to hie,

With all the worthy chose of his houshold,

Such as he knew most manfull and bold,

In all hast Tideus for to sue,

Tofore or he out of his lond remue,

Vp peine of life, and lesing of her head,

Without mercy anon that he be dead.

How falsely Ethiocles laid an Ambushment in the way to have slain Tideus in his repair.

And of knights fifty were in number,

Mine author saith, vnwarely him to comber,

Armed echone in maile and thicke stele,

And therewithall yhorsed wonder wele,

At o posterne forth they gonne to ride,

By a gein path, that lay out aside,

Secretly, that no man hem aspy,

Onely of treason, and of fellony,

They hast hem forth all the long day

Of cruell mallice, for to stop his way,

Through a forest, all of one assent,

Full couertly for tolay a bushment

Vnder an hill at a strait passage,

To fallen on him at more auauntage,

The same way that Tideus gan draw,

At thilke mount where y• Sphinx was slaw,

He nothing ware in his opinion,

Of the compassed conspiration,

But innocent, like a gentle knight,

Rode aye forth, till it drow to night,

Sole by himself without companie,

Hauing no man him to wise or gie,

But at last, lifting vp his hede,

Toward eue he gan to take hede,

Mid of his way, right as any line,

Thought he saw ayenst the Moone shine

Shields fresh, and plates burned bright,

The which enuiron, cast a great light,

Imagining in his fantasie,

There was treason or conspiracie

Wrought by y• king, his journey for to lette,

And of all that he nothing sette,

But well assured in his manly hert,

List not ones aside to diuert,

But kept his way, his shield vpon his brest,

And cast his spere manly in the rest:

[Page]

How worthy Tideus outrayed fifty Knights, lying in await for to slaen him.

And the first platly that he mette,

Through the body proudly he him smette,

That he fell dead, cheefe maister of hem all,

And then at ones they vpon him fall,

On euery paas, by compasse enuiron,

But Tideus through his high renoun,

His bloody swerde let about him glide,

He sleeth and killeth vpon euery side,

In his ire and his mortall tene,

That meruell it was how he might so sustene

Ayenst hem all, on euery halfe beset,

But his swerde was so sharpe whet,

That his fomen found it full vnsoot,

But he alas was made light on foot,

By force grounded in full great distresse,

But of knighthood and of high prowesse

Vp he rose, maugre all his fone,

And as they came, he slough hem one by one,

Like a Lion rampant in his rage,

And on this hill he found a narrow passage,

Which that he tooke, of full high prudence,

And liche a Bore stonding at his defence,

As his fomen proudely him assaile,

Vpon the plein her blood he made to raile,

All enuiron, that the soile waxe redde,

Now here, now there, as they fellen dedde,

That here lay one, and there lay two or three,

So mercilesse in his crueltee

Thilke day he was vpon hem found,

And at ones his enemy did confound,

Where as he stood, this mighty champion,

Beside he saw with water tourned doun,

An huge stone, large, round and square,

And sodainly ere that they were ware,

As it had lien there for the nones,

Vpon his foen he rolled it at ones,

That ten of hem wenten vnto wracke,

And the remenaunt amased, drew abacke,

For one by one they went to mischaunce:

Thus finally he brought to outrance

Hem euerychone, Tideus as bliue,

That none but one left of hem aliue,

Himselfe yhurt and ywounded kene,

Through his harneis bleeding on the grene,

The Theban knights in compas round about,

In the valley slaine all the whole rout,

Which pitously againe the Moone gape,

For none of hem shortly might escape,

But dead echone, as they haue deserued,

Saue one except, the which was reserued

By Tideus, of this entention

To the king to make relation,

How his knights haue on her journey sped,

Euerich of hem his life left for a wed,

And at meeting how they haue hem borne,

To tellen all, he assured was and sworne

To Tideus, full lowly on his knee,

By which ensample openly ye may see,

How Truth with little Multitude hath ever in the fine, Victory of Falshood.

Ayens trouth falshood hath no might,

Figh on querels, not grounded vpon right,

Without which may be no victory,

For euery man haue this in memory,

That great power shortly to conclude,

Plenty of good, or great multitude,

Sleight or engine, force or fellony,

Arne too feeble to hold a champarty

Ayenst trouth, who that list take heed,

For at end falshood may not speed

Tendure long, ye shall find it thus,

Record I take of worthy Tideus,

That arted his hond throgh troths excellence,

Fifty knights slough in his defence,

But one except, as I late told,

Sworne and assured, with his hand vphold,

The king tenforme how they were atteint:

And Tideus of bleeding was wonder feint,

Mate and weary, and in great distresse,

And ouerlayd of very feeblenesse,

But as he might tho himselfe sustene,

He tooke his horse stonding on the grene,

Worthed vp, and forth he gan to ride

An easie paas, with his wounds wide,

And soothly yet, in his opinion,

He was alway aferde of treason,

But anguishous, and full of busie peine,

He rode him forth, till he did atteine

Into the bounds of Ligurgus lond,

A worthy king, and manly of his hond,

How Tideus all to wounded, came into Ligurgus lond.

And he full pale onely for lacke of blood,

Tideus saw where a Castle stood,

Strong and mighty, built vpon a roche,

Toward which fast he gan approche,

Conueighed thider by clearenesse of the stone,

That by night, ayens the Moone shone,

On high toures, with crestes Marciall,

And joyning almost to the wall,

Was a gardein, little out beside,

Into which Tideus gan to ride

Of aduenture, by a gate small,

And there he found, for to reken all,

A lusty Erber, vnto his deuise,

Sweet and fresh, like a Paradise,

Very heauenly of inspectioun,

And first of all he alight adoun,

The goodly place when that he beheld,

And from his necke he voided hath his sheld,

Drew the bridle from his horse hede,

Let him go, and tooke no manner hede,

Through the garden that enclosed was,

Him to pasture on the soot gras,

And Tideus more heauy than is Ledde,

Vpon the hearbes greene, white, and redde,

As him thought that time for the best,

He layd him downe for to take his rest,

Of wearinesse, desirous to sleepe,

And none await his body for to keepe,

And with dreames grudged euer emong,

There he lay till the Larke song

With notes new, high vp in the aire,

The glad morrow rody and right faire,

Phebus also casting vp his beames,

The high hils gilt with his streames,

[Page] The siluer dew vpon the hearbes round,

There Tideus lay vpon the cold ground,

At vprist of the shene Sunne,

And stoundmeale his greene wounds runne

Round about, that the soile depeint

Was of the greene with the red meint.

How Ligurgus Doughter found Tideus sleeping in the Herber, all forwounded.

And euery morrow, for holesomnes of aire,

Ligurgus doughter did make her repaire

Of custome aye emong the floures new

In the garden, of many a diuers hew,

Such joy had she for to take hede,

On her stalkes for to seene hem sprede,

In the alures walking to and fro:

And when she had a little while go,

Her selfe alone casting vp her sight,

She beheld where an armed knight

Lay to rest him on the hearbes cold,

And him beside she gan eke behold

His mighty stede walking here and there,

And she anon fell in a manner fere,

Specially when she saw the blood

Sprad on the greene, about there she stood,

But at last she caught hardinesse,

And womanly gan her for to dresse

Toward the knight, hauing a manner drede,

And great doubt least that he were dede:

And of her will soothly this was chiefe,

That she thought for to make a priefe,

How that it stood of this man full oft,

And forth she goeth, and toucheth him soft,

Where as he lay, with her honds smale:

And with a face deadly bleike and pale,

Liche as a man adawed in a swough,

He vp stert, and his swerde drought,

Not fully out, but put it vp ayeine,

Anone as he hath the Lady seine,

Beseeching her onely of her grace,

To haue pity on his trespace,

And rew on him of her womanhede,

For of a fray he was fall in drede,

Least he had been assayled of new

Of the Thebanes, preued full vntrue,

For drede of which he was so rechlees,

Full humbly him yeelding to the pees,

Trist in himselfe, y• he passed had his bounds.

And when that she saw his mortall wounds,

She had routh, of very gentillesse,

Of his disease and his distresse,

And had he should be nothing dismaied,

Nor in heart sorrifull nor affraied,

Discomfort him in no manner thing,

For I (qd. she) am doughter to the king

Called Ligurge, which greatly me delite

Euery morrow this garden to visite,

It is to me so passingly disport,

Wherefore (qd. she) beth of good comfort:

How womanly the Lady acquit her to Tideus in his Disease.

For no wight here touching your voyage,

Shall hinder you, ne doe you no damage,

And if ye list of all your auenture

The plaine trouth vnto me discure,

I will in sooth doe my businesse,

To reforme your greeuous heauinesse

With all my might, and whole my diligence,

That I hope of your great offence,

Ye shall haue helpe in your aduersite,

And as ferreforth as it lieth in me,

Trusteth right well, ye shall no faut find:

And when he saw that she was so kind,

So womanly, so goodly and benigne

In all her port by many a diuers signe,

He vnto her by order will not spare,

His auentures fully to declare

In Thebes first touching his message,

And at hill of the woody rage,

Of his wounds and of his hurts sore,

It were but vaine to rehearse it more,

By and by he told it euerydele,

The which in sooth she liked neuer adele,

But had routh and compassion

Of his mischeefe, wrought by false treason,

Riding in hast, that he should her sue,

And womanly, as her thought due,

To a chamber she led him vp aloft,

Full well beseine, there in a bed right soft,

Richly abouten apparrailed,

With cloth of gold all the floure irailed

Of the same, both in length and brede,

And first this Lady, of her womanhede,

Her women did bid, as goodly as they can,

To be attendant vnto this wounded man,

And when he was vnarmed to his shert,

She made first wash his wounds smert,

How Tideus was refreshed in the Castle of the Lady.

And serch hem well with diuers instruments,

And made fette sundry ointments,

And Leeches eke, the best she coud find,

Full craftely to staunch him and to bind:

And euery thing that may done him ease,

To suage his peine, or his wo tapease,

Was in the Court and in the Castle sought,

And by her bidding to her chamber wrought,

And for his sake, she hath after sent

For such deinties as were conuenient,

Most nutritife by Phisickes lore,

Hem that were seke or wounded, to restore,

Making her women eke to taken keepe,

And await on him on nights when he sleepe,

And be well ware that nothing astart,

That was or might be lusty to his hart.

And with all this, she prayed him abide,

Till he were strong and mighty for to ride,

In the Castle to play him and disport,

And at leiser home ayeine resort,

When he might by welde him at his large,

But all for nought he will home to Arge,

Tooke his leaue on the next day,

Without abode to hast him on his way,

Lowly thanking vnto her goodnesse,

Of her freedome and bounteous largesse,

So womanly, that her list take heed,

Him to refresh in his great need,

[Page] Behoting her with all his full might,

He would be her seruant and her true knight

While he liueth, of what she will him charge,

And forth he rode till he come to Arge,

How Tideus repeired is home to Arge.

In full great hast, & would no where dwell,

But what should I rehearse, either tell

Of his repaire, the coasts or the pleines,

The great roches, or the high mounteines,

Or all the manere of his home comming,

Of the meeting, nor the welcomming,

Nor the joy that Adrastus made,

Nor how his suster or his wife were glade,

Nor how that they, whereto should I write,

Enbraced him in her armes white,

Nor the gadering about him, or the prees,

Nor the sorrow that Polimites

Made in himselfe, to see him sore wounded,

His greeuous hurts, his sores eke vnsounded,

His deadly looke, and his face pale,

Of all this to ginne a new tale,

It were in sooth a manner idlenesse,

Nor how himselfe in order did expresse,

First how that he in Thebes hath him borne,

Ne how the king falsely was forsworne,

Nor of thawait nor treason that he sette,

When fifty knights on the way him mette,

As ye haue heard all the manere how,

Without which my tale is long ynow:

But Adrastus made men to seach

In euery coast for many a diuers Leach,

To come in hast, and make no tarrying

Vpon a peine, by bidding of the king

To done her craft, that he were recured,

And of his force in euery part assured.

And they echone so her cunning shew,

That in space of a dayes few

He was all whole made of his sicknesse,

There was tho joy, & then was ther gladnesse,

Throughout the court, & through al y• toun,

For euery man hath such opinioun

In Tideus, for his gentillesse,

For his manhood, and his lowlinesse,

That he was hold the most famous knight,

And best beloued in euery mannes sight,

Throughout Greece in euery region.

But now must I make a digression,

To tell shortly, as in sentement,

Of thilke knight that Tideus hath sent

Into Thebes, onely to declare

Of the great mischeefe and the euill fare,

Vnto the king, how it is befall,

The open trouth of his knights all,

How Tideus hath slaine hem euerychone,

That saue himselfe, there escaped none,

Which was reserued from sheding of his blood,

The king to tell plainely how it stood:

And when he had rehearsed euery poynt,

Ethiocles stood in such disjoynt,

How Ethiocles sore was astonied, when he heard the death of his Knights.

Of hatefull ire he wext nigh wood,

And in his teene and in his fell mood,

Of cruell mallice to the knight he spake,

And felly seid, that it was for lacke

Only of manhode, & through her cowardise,

That they were flaine in so mortall wise,

And hanged be he high by the neck,

That of your death or of your slaughter reck,

Or you compleine, eyther one or all,

Of the mischeefe that is you befall,

I doe no force that none of you astert,

But sigh vpon your false coward hert,

That o knight hath through his renoun

Brought you all to confusioun,

Full gracelesse and full vnhappy to:

Nay (qd. this knight) it is nothing so.

It is thine vnhap plainly, and not ours,

That so many worthy warriours,

Which all her life neuer had shame,

Except this querele, taken in thy name,

That grounded was, & rooted on falsenesse,

This was cause in very soothnesse,

Of our vnhap, I wot wele, and none other,

With thine vntrouth done vnto thy brother,

And that thou were so openly forsworne,

And percell cause, why that we were lorne,

Was fals breaking of thine assured oth.

And tho the king, mad almost for wroth,

In purpose was for to slea this knight,

Onely for he said, vnto him right,

The which alas, both at eue and morrow,

Suppressed was with a deadly sorrow,

Renning aye in his remembraunce,

With the pitous and vnhappy chaunce

Of the great mischeefe and misauenture,

Touching the death and discomfiture

Of his fieres, and of himselfe also,

That the shamefast importable wo

So was on him, with such a mortall strife,

That he was weary of his owne life,

Hent he hath a swerd, and aside stert,

And roue himself euen to the hert,

The king himselfe being tho present:

And the rumour and the noise is went

Through Thebes, of the wood rage,

By such as weren joyned by linage

To the knights, slaine at hill,

That all at ones of one heart and will,

They wold haue arisen throughout y• Citie,

Vpon the king auenged for to be,

Which of her death was cheefe occasioun:

But the Barons and Lords of the toun

Ful busie were this rumour and disease,

Of high prudence, to stint and appease,

In quiete euery thing to sette:

And after that, the bodies home they fette

Of the knights, like as ye haue herd

Afore yslaine, with the bloody swerd

Of Tideus, full sharpe whet and ground,

And in the field, so as they hem found,

Onely of loue, and of affectioun,

Solemnely they brought hem to the toun,

And like the manere of the rites old,

They were first brent into ashes cold,

And each one yburied, like to his degre,

Lo here the kalends of aduersite,

Sorrow vpon sorrow, and destruction,

First of the king, and all the region,

[Page] For lacke onely, like as I you told,

That behests truly were not hold:

The first ground and root of this ruine,

As the story clearely shall determine,

And my tale hereafter shall you lere,

If that you list the remnaunt for to here.

Finitur Pars secunda, sequitur Pars tertia.

O Cruell Mars, full of Melancoly,

And of thy kind, hote, combust, and dry,

As the sparkles shewen from so ferre,

By the streames of the red sterre,

In thy Sphere as it about goth,

What was cause that thou were so wroth

Wth hem of Thebes, throgh whos feruent ire

The City brent, and was set on fire,

As bookes old well rehearse conne,

Of cruell hate, rooted and begonne,

And engendred, the story maketh mind,

Onely of blood corrupt and vnkind,

By infection, called originall,

Causing a strife dredefull and mortall,

Of which the mischeef through al Grece ran,

And King Adrastus alderfirst began,

Which hath him cast a conquest for to make

Vpon Thebes, for Polimites sake,

In knightly wise there to preue his might,

Of full entent to recure his right.

And first of all he sette a Parlement,

And hath his letters and messengers sent

Through Greece, to many sundry Kings,

Hem to enhast, and make no lettings,

And round about, as made is mention,

He sent also to many a region

For Princes, Dukes, Earles, and Barons,

To taken vp in cities and in tounes,

And to chesen out the most likeliest,

And such as weren preued for the best,

As of manhood, and send hem vp ech one,

And in her hond receiue her pay anone,

With Adrastus to Thebes for to ride,

And tho lords that with him abide

The great purveyaunce of King Adrastus toward the City of Thebes.

In houshold still, haue her leaue take

To riden home, her retourne to make

In her countries, as they were of degre,

To sustene hem, to take vp meine,

And to make hem strong with knights and squeres,

With speres, bows, and arbalasteres,

In all the hast possible that they may,

And to returne in her best array,

At tearme set, full manly to be seine

Toforne Arge moustren in a pleine:

The Kings and Princes that come to Adrastus.

And as I rede full worthy of degre,

Thider come first Prothonolope,

The which was by record of writing,

Of Archade, sonne vnto the king,

And full prudent found in warre and pees:

There came also the king Gilmichenes,

As I find, full famous of renoun,

Thider come eke the king Ipomedoun:

And passing all of knighthood and of name,

And excelling by worthinesse of fame

The noble king, called Campaneus,

Came eke to Arge, the story telleth thus,

Proued full wele, and had riden fer:

And thider come the king Meleager,

King Genor eke, that held his royall see,

Mine author saith, in the lond of Greece:

King Locris, and king Pirrus,

And eke the king called Tortolonus,

And renouned in many a region,

There come the king called Palenon,

Oft assayed, and found a manly knight,

That with him broght in stele armed bright,

Full many worthy out of his countre,

And Tideus most knightly for to see,

That noble man, that worthy werriour,

As he that was of worthinesse the flour,

Master and Mirrour by prowes of his hond,

Hath sent also into the mighty lond

Of Calcedoine, of which he was heire,

That is his kingdome, both rich and feire,

Charging his counsaile and officers also,

In all the hast that it may be do,

To seeken out the best werriours

Of famous knights and proued souldeours

Through al ye lond, & leid on hem this charge

Without abode for to come to Arge:

And they obey full lowly his bidding,

Enhasting hem, and made no letting,

But sped hem fast vpon her journy.

And from Thebes the mighty strong city,

Came doun knights, wth many another man,

Maugre the king, to helpe what they can,

Considred first his falshood and treason,

Ymeued onely of trouth and of reason,

Polimites, as they were sworne of yore,

To his Crowne justly him restore:

And when they were at large out of the toun,

Vnto Arge they be descended doun,

And like her oth, and her assurance,

As they were bound only of ligeance,

To him they come in full lowly wise,

Lowly to done what him list deuise.

And when he had her trouth full conceiued,

He hath to grace goodly hem receiued,

Assigning hem her place amid the hoast,

Assembled there, from many a diuerse coast:

That finally, in this company

Ygadred was the floure of Cheualry,

Ychosen out of all Greekes lond,

The most knightly and manfull of her hond,

That as I trow, sith the world began,

There was not seene so many a manly man,

So wele horsed with spere and with shield,

Togider sembled soothly in a field:

There men might see many strange guises

Of arming new, and vncouth deuises,

Euery man after his fantasie,

That if I should in order specifie,

Euery peece longing to armure,

And thereupon doe my busie cure,

It were in sooth almost a dayes werke,

And the tearmes also been so derke,

[Page] To rehearse hem clearely, and to rime,

I passe ouer for lacke of time,

And tell I will forth of her lodging,

How Adrastus the noble worthy king,

Hath euery lord like to his degree,

Receiued wele within the citee,

And there they had like to her pleasaunce,

Of what needeth fulsome habundance,

For men and horse plenty of vitaile,

Commaunding that nothing ne faile,

That all these noble worthy werriours,

Both high and low and poore souldiours,

Yserued were of what they haue need,

For Adrastus presently tooke heed,

That it availeth a King to pay his People truely her fond.

Full lich a King, touching her tearme day,

That they toforne were serued to her pay,

He was so free he list nothing restraine,

And no man had cause to complaine

For hunger, thrust, ne for indigence,

But all thing ready was vnto her presence:

And in a Prince it is ful great repriefe,

To suffer his people liue at mischiefe,

It is ful heauy and greuous in her thought,

If he habound and they haue right nought,

He may not both possede body and hart,

He to be rich and seene his people smart,

He may the body, of power wel constraine,

But her heart hath a full long raine,

Maugre his might, to louen at her large,

* There may no King, on hearts set a charge,

Ne hem coarten from her libertee,

Men saine ful often how that thought is free,

For which ech prince, Lord and gouernour,

And specially ech conquerour,

Let him beware for all his high noblesse,

That bounty, free dome, plenty, and largesse,

By one accord, that they his bridle lede,

Least of his people, when he hath most nede,

He be defrauded, when he is but alone,

Then is too late for to make his mone,

But in his Court let him first deuise

To exile Scarcehead and Couetise,

Then is likely with freedome if he ginne

Loue of his people euermore to winne,

To reigne long in honour and contune,

Aye to encrease by fauour of Fortune,

And his enemies manly to oppresse,

* For loue is more than great richesse.

How love availeth more to a King, than Gold or Riches.

Gold faileth oft, but loue will abide,

For life or death by a lords side,

And the treasour shortly of a king

Stondeth in loue aboue all thing,

Farewell lordship both morrow and eue,

Specially when loue taketh his leue,

And who so list it Mirrour for to make

Of knightly freedome, let him ensample take

Of Adrastus, the manly king famous,

So liberall and so bounteous

Vnto his people at all times found,

Which made him strong, his fomen to confound,

And loue only, his enemies to werrey,

All Greece made his bidding to obey,

Of one accord to knightly by his side,

All at ones to Thebes for to ride,

For tauenge, sith they were so strong,

The great injury and importable wrong

Vnto his sonne, and to his next allie,

As ye to forne haue heard me specifie.

But whiles Greekes rest a time in pees,

I will resort vnto Ethiocles,

Which in Thebes warely hath espied,

By his friends as he was certified

Of the Greekes wholly the ordinaunce,

Her purpose eke, and her purueyaunce,

And thereof had in heart a manner drede,

And first he tooke his counsaile and his rede

How Ethiocles made him strong ayenst the coming of the Greeks.

Of the Lords and Barons of the toun,

And of the wisest of his regioun,

How he might maken resistence,

Manly to stonden at defence,

To be so strong that there were no dout:

And in the countries adjacent about,

And eke also in forreine regions

He hath withhold all the champions,

And thereupon he sent out his espies,

And his friends, and his next allies,

And all the worthy dwelling enuiroun,

Young, fresh, and lusty, he gadred to the toun,

Maskewed his wals and his toures,

And stuffed hem with manly souldeours,

Round about he set many gonnes,

Great and small, and some large as tonnes,

In his hasty passing feruent heat,

He spent his treasour, and yaue yefts great

Vnto knights, and worthy men of name,

* And euermore to encrease his fame,

He yaue to lords jewels manyfold,

Clothes of Veluet, Damaske, and of gold,

To get him hearts, soothly as I rede,

To helpe him now in his great nede,

And prudently purueyed him toforne

Of flesh, of fish, of wine, and of corne,

Set his Captaines early and late

With full great stuff stonding at euery gate,

And made also by werkemen that were trew,

Barbicans and Bulwerkes strong and new,

Barreres, cheines & ditches wonder deepe,

Making his auow the city for to keepe,

While he liueth, despite of all his fone,

And by his gods of mettall and of stone,

Full oft he swore both of hert and thought,

That it shall first full deare ben ybought,

And many a man, with polax, swerd, & knife,

Before this towne shall first lese his life,

And there shall eke many sides blede,

Ere that his brother possibly possede

The toun in pees, like as Greekes wene:

But at end the trouth it shall be sene,

Let him beware, and wele toforne prouide

For Adrastus on that other side

[Page] For his party was not negligent,

But on a day held his parlement,

All his lords sitting enuiron,

To driue shorteley a pleine conclusion,

And vp tapoint the fine of her entent,

But some thought it full expedient,

Ere they procede, to werke by thauise

Of one that was full prudent and wise,

And circumspect in his werkes all,

A worthy Bishop into age fall,

And called was soothly by his name

Amphiorax, of whom the great fame,

How the Bishop Amphiorax was sent for to come unto the Greeks.

Throgh all the lands, both East and South,

Among the Greekes passingly was couth,

A man in sooth of old antiquity,

And most accept of authority,

First by reason of his high estate,

And eke he was so fortunate,

And in his werkes was also secre

With the gods, knowing her priuite,

By graunt of whom, as bookes specifie,

He had a spirit of trew prophecie,

And coud aforne full openly diuine

Things begon, how they should fine,

And eke by craft of calculation

Yeue a doome of euery question,

And had in Magike great experience,

And find coud by heauenly influence,

And by meuing of the high sterres,

A finall doome of conteke and of werres.

The Prophecy of Amphiorax the Bishop.

And wist well, as his gods told,

That if Greekes forth her journey hold,

It tourne shall platly, this is no fage,

To great mischeefe and great damage

Of hem echone, and in especiall,

The most blood, right of the blood royall

Through all Greece, it may not be withdraw

In this voyage shortly shall be slaw,

And of him, why the Greekes wente,

Who that euer wept him or bemente,

This is the fine, and may not be succoured,

Of the earth he should be deuoured

Quicke as he was, he knew it in certaine,

And for he saw there nas none other gaine

To saue his life, nor no bette defence,

Than vtterly to withdraw his presence,

Praying his wife for him to prouide,

If he were sought, that she should him hide,

And womanly for to keepe him close,

And of trouth conceiling his purpose,

For all his trust, touching his greuaunce,

Was full set in her purueyaunce,

I hope to God, that he there not drede

Of no deceit, in her womanhede,

She was so true, as women been echone,

And also close and muet as a stone,

That she ne would, as the mill stood,

Discuren him for no worlds good.

But finally, the Greekes of entent,

In all his drede haue for this Bishop sent,

How the Wife of Amphiorax, of conscience to save her Oath, discured her Husband.

And soughten so long, ere they might him find,

For cause his wife was to him so kind,

That so surely hath locked vp his corps,

But for she had a manner remors

In her selfe, greuing her conscience,

Dreding to fall in great offence,

Least her soule were in perill lorne,

When she by oth compelled was and sworne,

They requiring, if she coud tell

Where her lord the Bishop should dwell,

Which to discure, her heart was full loth,

Till time she gan remember on her oth,

And coud a trouth of custome not denie,

And had also great conscience to lie,

Wonder heauy, with a sorrifull face,

Maugre her lust, taught hem to the place

Where as he was shitte vp in a toure,

All alone, hauing no succour,

They fell on him, ere that he was ware,

And set him vp in a full rich chare.

* A foole he was to jeoparde his life,

For to discure his counsaile to his wife,

And yet she was full sorry for his sake,

And specially when she saw him take:

* But I hope that her heauinesse

Gan tassuage full soone by processe

In short time, when that he was gone,

* There is no tempest may lest euer in one:

But this Bishop by very force and might

Vnto Greekes conueyed was full right,

This hore grey in his chaire sitting,

And they full glad weren of his comming,

Hauing a trist and full opinion,

Through the cause and occasion

Of his wisdome and his sapience,

And by vertue of his high prescience,

They should eschue all aduersity

Possible to fall as in her journy,

And as the story fully hath deuised,

Full circumspect, and right wele auised,

He hath pronounced in the parlement,

Tofore the Lords, and the President,

His cleare conceit in very sikernesse,

Not entriked with no doublenesse,

Her dismall dayes, and her fatall houres,

Her auentures, and her sharpe shoures,

The froward sort, and vnhappy stounds,

The complaint of her deadly wounds,

The wofull wrath and the contrariosty

Of fell Mars, and his cruelty,

And how by meane of his grey mood

There shall be shed all the worthy blood

Of the Greekes, it may not been eschued,

If her purpose be execute and sued,

There is no more, this shall be the fine,

The high noblesse shall draw to decline

Of Grekes blood, in mischeefe, sorrow, & wo,

And with all this, I my selfe also,

As my fate hath before disposed,

Deepe in the ground I shall be enclosed

And locked vp in the derke vale

Of cruell death: lo this was the tale

[Page] That the Bishop to Adrastus told,

Him counsailing his purpose to withhold,

In escheuing of more mischeefe and sorrow,

For all his gods he tooke to borrow,

If the Thebans and the Greekes meet,

The fine thereof shall be so vnsweet,

That all Greece after shall it rew,

Warning hem, if they the mischeefe knew

That shall follow, which no man may lette,

They would abstaine a siege for to sette

Vnto Thebes, and her purpose leue.

With whose words y• lords gan hem greue,

And therein had but full small delite,

And euerich of heartely high despite,

They abreide, and se [...]d he was vntrew,

And a contreuer of prophecies new,

And eke also, for all his long berd,

An old dotard, a coward, and aferd,

And of rancour gonne to defie

Both his calcling and his Astronomie,

And shortely said, they took therof none hede,

Ne will no thing gouerne hem by his rede.

This was the clamour & noise in euery coast

Of high and low, throughout all the hoast,

And specially of the poore souldiours,

And of lordes reigning in her flours,

And of the estates effectuelly I mene,

Which of age were but tender and grene,

That haue not had of Marces influence

Of the werre great experience.

* Here if ye list ye may consider and see,

Of coueiting, great aduersitee,

How that youth no perill cast aforne,

Till he in mischeefe suddainly be lorne,

There as age prouideth euery thing,

Ere he begin to casten the ending.

How Age and Youth been of diverse Opinions.

* Youth is gouerned by a large reine,

To stert forth, and can him not refreine,

But of head set on all at ones,

As he that hurteleth ayenst hard stones,

Broseth himselfe, and vnwarely perbraketh:

But Age expert, nothing vndertaketh,

But he toforne by good discretion

Make a due examination

How it will tourne either to bad or good:

But youth, as fast as stirred is the blood,

Taketh emprises of hasty wilfulnesse,

Ioy at ginning, the end is wretchednesse.

The old prudent in all his gouernaunce,

Full long aforne maketh purueyaunce:

But youth alas by counseil will not werke,

For which full oft he stumbleth in the derke.

Thus selde is seene, the trouth to termine,

That age and youth draw by o line,

And where that folly hath domination,

Wisdome is put in subjection:

How that Wisdom without Supportation availeth little or nought.

Like as this bishop with al his high prudence,

For cause he might haue none audience,

All his wisedome and his prophecy

Of the Greekes was holden but folly,

For though Plato, and wise Socrates,

Morall Seneke, and Diogenes,

Albumaser, and prudent Theolonee,

And Tullius, that had soueraintee

Whylome in Rome, as of eloquence,

Though all these, shortly in sentence,

Were aliue, most cunning and expert,

And no man list her counsaile to aduert,

Nor of her sawes for to taken heed,

What might auaile, and it come to need:

* For where as prudence can find no succour,

And prouidence hath no fauour,

Farewell wisedome, and farewell discretion,

For lacke onely of supportation.

For vnsupported with his lockes hore,

Amphiorax sighen gan full sore,

With hed enclined, & many an heuy thought,

When y• he saw his counsail s [...]ood for nought:

For vtterly, the Greekes, as I told,

Haue fully cast her journey for to yhold,

Made hem ready, and gonne for to hostey

Toward Thebes, the city for to werrey,

And in Greece will no lenger tarry,

And forth with hem Amphiorax they carry,

Set in his chaire with a dolefull hert,

When he wist he might not astert

Of his fate the disposition,

And hosteying into the region

Of Ligurge, Greekes can approche

A sundry lond, with many a craggy roche,

But all the way soothly that they gone,

For horse ne man water was there none,

So dry were the valleyes and the pleines,

For all that yeare they had had no reines,

But full great drought, as made is mention,

And all the lond searching enuiron,

The great Mischief that the Greeks had for default of Water.

They nother found Well ne Riuere,

Hem to refresh, nor water that was clere,

That they alas no refute ne conne,

So importable was the shene Sonne,

So hote on hem, in foulds where they ley,

That for mischeefe men and horse they dey,

Gaping full dry vpward into the South,

And some putten her swerdes in her mouth,

And speare heads, in story as it is told,

Tassuage her thurst with the yron cold,

And of his life full many one despeired,

In this mischeefe is home ageine repeired:

Till on a day worthy Tideus,

And with him eke the king Campaneus

Of purpose rode throughout the countree,

If they might any water see,

From coast to coast, both ferre and nere,

Till of fortune they entred an herbere,

With trees shadowed fro the sunne shene,

Full of floures, and of hearbes grene,

Wonder holesome of sight and aire,

Therein a lady, that passingly was faire,

Sitting as tho vnder a Laurer tree,

And in her armes a little child had she,

Full gracious of looke and of visage,

And was also wonder tender of age,

[Page] Sonne of the king, borne to succede,

Called Ligurgus, in story as we rede,

Whose hearts joy, and worldly eke disport,

All his mirth eke, pleasance, and comfort,

Was in this child of excellent fairenesse:

And this lady, mirrour of semelinesse,

All sodainly, as she cast vp her sight,

Vpon his stede saw an armed knight,

Greatly abashed, gan her anon remue,

But Tideus gan after fast to sue:

How Tideus complained to the Lady in the Herber for Water.

And said suster, beth nothing dismaied

In your selfe, displeased, nor affraied,

For we are come onely to this place,

You to beseech of mercy and of grace,

Vs to succour in our great need,

Declaring you how it stand indeed:

Here fast by, almost at hond,

The worthiest of all Greeks lond,

Kings, Princes, be lodged in the field,

And many other with polax and with shield,

Which in mischeef, perill, and great drede,

For want of water, are likely to be dede,

For there was none of high ne low degree,

In all our hoast, now passed dayes three,

That dranke alas, I except none estate,

Our fate is so infortunate,

Praying you of womanly pitee,

Benignely and graciously to see,

How of Greece all the cheualry

Of her liues stonds in ieopardy,

That ye would of womanhood tell,

If ye know any riuer, spring, or well,

Specially now in our care,

Of gentillesse vnto vs declare,

Lo here is all, if ye lust to heare,

That I will seine, mine own suster deare.

And when this lady, inly vertuous,

The complaint heard of worthy Tideus,

Of very pity chaungeth chere and hew,

And in her heart vpon his wo gan rew,

And full goodly, seeing his distresse,

Said vnto him in all his heauinesse.

How the Lady courteously taught Tideus to the Well.

Certes (qd. she) if I were at large,

Touching this child, which I haue in charge,

I should in hast of all that doth you greue,

To my power helpe you and releue,

Onely of routh, and of compassion,

And leue all other occupation,

Conuey you, and be your true guide,

To a riuer, but little here beside,

But I dare not so much me assure,

This little child to put in aduenture,

I am so fearefull from it to depart,

But for your sake yet I shall doe part

My life, my death, of true affection,

To prouide for your saluation:

Tooke the child, and leid it in her lap,

And richely in clothes gan it wrap,

And couched it among the herbes sote,

And leid about many an holesome rote,

And floures eke, both blew and rede,

And supprised with a manere of drede,

With Tideus forth anon she went,

As she in trouth, that no treason ment,

And on her wey would neuer dwell,

Till she him brought to a right faire well,

And to a riuer of water full habound,

But who was glad, and who was tho jocound

But Tideus, seeing the riuer,

Which in all hast sent his messanger

To Adrastus, and had him not abide,

But downe descend to the riuer side,

With all his hoast, licour for to haue

At this riuer, her liues for to saue.

And they enhasted hem, making none abode,

All at ones to the Riuer rode,

For to drinke, they had so great lust

Of appetite, for to staunch her thurst,

And some dranke, and found it did hem good,

And some were so feruent and so wood

Vpon the water, that in sikernesse,

Through vndiscreet and hasty greedinesse,

Out of measure the water so they drinke,

That they fell dead euen vpon the brinke,

And some naked into the Riuer runne,

Only for heat of the Summer Sunne,

To bathen hem, the water was so cold,

And some also, as I haue you told,

I meane tho that prudent were and wise,

The water dranke in measurable wise,

That of the thurst they haue before endured,

They were refreshed fully, and recured:

And Greekes then, of high and low degree,

For her profite, and her commoditee,

Compasse the riuer, Christalin of sight,

Of one accord they her tents pight,

To rest hem there in reles of here peine,

Onely the space of a day or tweine.

And whiles Grekes vpon the riuer lay,

This Tideus vpon the same day,

Full knightly hath done his diligence,

This yong lady with great reuerence,

To Adrastus goodly to present,

At whose comming the king himselfe went,

Again her, she falling doun on knees,

All thestates tho present and degrees,

Of Grekes lond absent was not one,

And in his armes tooke her vp anon,

Thanking her of her besinesse,

Of her labour, and her kindnesse,

Behoting her like as he was hold,

If any thing pleinly that she wold,

That he may don she should it redy find,

And also Greekes all, the story maketh mind,

Of thestates being tho present,

Thanked her with all her holle entent,

For the freshing done to many a Greke,

And for her part they behight her eke,

With her bodies and goods both two,

What her list commaund hem for to do,

To be redy partly and not faile.

And here my Auctour maketh rehersaile,

That this lady so faire vpon to se,

Of whom the name was Isiphile,

To Adrastus told as ye may rede,

Lineally, the stocke of her kinrede,

[Page] Sometime how she a kings doughter was,

Rehersing to him all the hal [...]e caas,

First how that she out of her countree went,

Shortly for she wol nat assent,

To execute a conspiracion,

Made by the woman of that region,

A thing contrary agein all right,

That ech of hem vpon a certein night,

By one accord shall warely take kepe,

Fader, brother, and husbands in her slepe,

With kniues sharp, and rasours kene,

Kitte her thortes in that mortall rene:

Vnto this fi [...]e [...]s Bochas tell can,

In all that land be not found a man,

But slaine echoue, to this conclusion,

That women might haue dominacion,

In that kingdome, and reigne at liberte,

And on no parties interrupted be.

But for this lady passing debonaire,

To this matere was froward and contraire,

Kept her fader that he was not slawe,

But from the death preserued & withdraw,

For which alas she fled Countree,

And of a Pirat taken in the See,

To king Ligurgus brought in all her dred,

And for her trouth and her womanhed,

To her be tooke his yong child to keepe,

Which in the herber she left alone to slepe,

When Tideus she brought to the well.

And by [...]ason, some bookes tell,

That this lady had sonnes two,

When that he, and Hercules also,

Toward Colchos, by her countree came,

For raccomplish the conquest of the Kam,

But who that list by and by to see,

The story holle of Isophilee,

Her fadres name of which also I write,

Though some sein, he named was Thorite,

And some bookes Vermos eke him call,

But to know the auentures all,

Of this lady Isophile the faire,

So faithfull aye and inly debonaire,

Loke on the boke that Iohn Bachas made,

Whilom of women with Rhetoriques glade,

And direct by full souereigne stile,

To faire Iane, the Queene of Cesile,

Rede there the R [...]brike of Isophile,

Of her trouth and of her bounte,

Full craftly compiled for her sake.

And when that she her leue hath take

Of Adrastus, homeward in her wey,

Tideus gan her to conuey,

To the Gardein till she is repeyred.

But now alas my matere is despeired,

Of all joy, and of all wilfulnesse,

And destitute of all mirth and gladnesse,

For now of w [...] begin the sharpe houres,

For this lady hath found among the floures,

How the Child was slain of a foul Serpent in the Herber.

Her litel Childe turned vp the face,

Slain of a Serpent in the selfe place,

Her taile hurled with scales siluer shene,

The venim was so persing and so kene,

So mortall eke the perilous violence,

Caused alas through her long absence,

She was to slow homeward for to hie:

But now can she, but wepe, waile, and crie,

Now can she nought but sigh & compleine,

And wofully wring her honds tweine,

Dedly of looke, pale of face and chere,

And gan to rende her gilt tresses clere,

And oft sithe gan to say alas,

I wofull wretch vnhappy in this caas,

What shall I do or whider shall I tourne,

For this the fine if I here sojourne,

I wote right well, I may it not escape,

The piteous fa [...]e that is for me shape,

Soccour is there none, ne none other rede,

Liche to my desert but that I mote be dede,

For through my slouth and my negligence,

I haue alas done to great offence,

That my guilte, I may it not excuse,

Shal to the king of treason me accuse,

Through my offence and slouth both two,

His sonne is ded and his heire also,

Which he loued more than al his good,

For treasour none so nigh his hert stood,

Nor was so depe graue in his courage,

That he is likely to fallen in a rage,

When it is so mine odious offence,

Reported be vnto his audience,

So importable shall be his heauinesse,

And well wot I in verray sothfastneise,

That when y• queen hath this thing aspied,

To mine excute it may not be denied,

I doubt it nat there geineth no pite,

Without respite she will auenged be,

On me alas as I haue deserued,

That from the death I may not be preserued,

Nother by bill nor by supplication,

For the rage of my transgression,

Requireth death, and none other mede.

And thus alas she quaking in her drede,

None other helpe ne remedy can,

But dreint in sorow to the Grekes she ran,

Of hertely woo, face, and chere distreined,

And her cheekes with weping albereined,

In hie affray distraught and furious,

Tofore al thoste she came to Tideus,

Fell on knees and gan her compleint make,

And told pleinly that for the Grekes sake,

She must be ded, and shortly in substaunce,

Rehersing him, y• ground of her greuaunce,

First how by traines of a false serpent,

The child was flaine when she was absent:

And when that he her mischief vnderstood,

In what disjoint and perill that she stood,

Vnto her full knightly he behight,

To helpe and further all that euer he might,

Her pitious woo to stinten and appease.

And for to find vnto her disease,

Hasty comfort, he went a full great paas

To Adrastus and told him all the caas,

Of this vnhappy wofull auenture,

Beseeching him to doon his besy cure,

As he was bound of equite and right,

And eke aduertise and to haue a sight

How she quitte her to Grekes here toforne,

That they were likely to haue ben lorne,

[Page] The succour void of her womanhede,

For which he must of knighthood take hede,

To remedien this vnhappy thing.

And Adrastus like a worthy king,

Taquite himselfe, the story maketh mind,

To this lady will not be found vnkind,

Neither for coste ne for no trauaile,

But besy was in all that might auaile,

To her succour considred all things,

And by thauife of al the worthy kings,

Of Grekes lond they ben accorded thus,

Princes, Dukes, and with hem Tideus,

To hold her way, and all at ones ride,

To Ligurgus dwelling there beside,

Of one entent if they may purchace,

In any wise for to get grace,

For this lady called Isophilee,

They would assay if it might be.

And to his palaice full roially built of stone,

The worthy Grekes came riding euerichone,

Euery lord full freshly on his stede,

And Ligurgus example of manlyhede,

Anon as he knew of her comming,

Tacquite himselfe like a gentill king,

Agein hem went to mete hem on the way,

Ful wel besein and in good aray,

Receiuing hem with a full knightly chere,

And to Adrastus, said as ye shall here:

Cosin (qd. he) and gan him to embrace,

Ye be welcome to your owne place,

Thanking hertely to your high noblesse,

That so goodly of your gentillesse,

Towards me ye list you to acquite,

Your selfe this day your Cosin to visite,

In this castell to take your lodging,

That neuer yet I was so glad of thing,

In all my life, and thereto here my trouth,

And euermore there shall be no slouth,

That the chambres and the large toures,

Shall be deliuered to your herberioures,

That euery lord as he is of degree,

Vnto his lodging assigned shall bee,

Your officers let hem selfe deuise,

Yf the housing largely may suffise,

To you and yours, stretchen and atteine,

That none estate haue cause to compleine,

And all your host lodged here beside,

Which ententifely vpon you abide,

Let hem fet by my auctority,

Vitaile inough here in my city,

And al that may hem succour or saue,

And at o word al that euer I haue

Is full and holle at your commaundement.

How Adrastus and all the states of Grekes preiden Ligurgus for the life of Isophile.

(Qd. Adrastus) that is not our entent,

Nor no part cause of our comming,

For we be come all for another thing,

A certein gift of you to requere,

Benignely if ye list to here,

Which may Grekes passingly auaile,

Of our request if we do not faile,

Which we dare not openly expresse,

Withouten that ye will of your gentillesse,

Your graunt affirme, conferme, and ratifie,

Then were we bold it to specifie.

(qd. Ligurgus) what thing euer it be,

Not excepted but onely things three,

The first is this, it touche not my life,

My yong sonne pleinly, nor my wife,

Take all my good and what ye list pro [...]ide,

Of my treasour, and set these thing aside,

All the surplus I compt nat a mite.

Then Adrastus astomed was a lite,

When Ligurgus in conclusion,

Of his sonne made exception.

And whiles they treat thus in fere,

There came forth one with a wofull chere,

Of face and looke, pale, and nothing red,

And loud crieth, the kings sonne is ded,

Alas the while that whilom was so feire,

After Ligurgus borne to ben his heire,

The which alas hath yolden vp the breath

Of a Serpent stong vnto the death,

And with his wound new fresh and greene,

In the herber lieth that pity is to seene,

And hath so lien almost all this day.

But when Ligurgus heard this affray,

And wist his child was dead and had no mo,

Little wonder though that he was wo,

For sodainly the importable smart

Ran anon and hent him by the hart,

The sorow that King Ligurgus made for the death of his Child, and the lamentation of the Queen.

That for constreint of his deadly peine,

Throughout he felt coruen euery veine,

The rage gan mine on him so depe,

That he could not but sobbe, sigh, and wepe,

And with the noise and lamentacioun,

The Quene distraught is descended doun,

And when she knew the ground of all this sorrow,

It needed her no teares for to borow,

But twenty time vpon a row,

Aswound she fell to the earth low,

And stoundmell for this mischaunce,

Still as a stone she lieth in a traunce,

But when the child into court was brought

Tofore Ligurgus, alas I wite him nought,

Vpon the corps with a mortall face

He fell atones, and gan it to embrace,

Sore to grispe, and agein vp sert:

Then when Adrastus this thing can aduert,

Of kingly routh and compassioun,

From his eyen the teares fell adoun,

Eke Kings, Dukes, that about stood,

Onely of pity that is in gentill blood,

No power had the teares to restreine,

That on her cheekes doune began to reine:

But all a day would not suffise,

All her sorowes in order to deuise,

First of the king, and the queene also,

To tellen al I should neuer haue do,

Not in the space almost of an houre.

But when the stormes and the teary shoure

Of her weping was somewhat ouergone,

The litel Corps was grauen vnder stone,

And Adrastus in the same tide,

Ligurgus toke a litel out a side,

[Page] And full wisely with his prudent spech,

The Queene present, gan him for to tech,

That so to sorow, auaile may right nought,

To murdre himself with his owne thought,

* Ayeinst death may be no recure,

Though in wo perpetually endure,

Al helpeth not when the soule is go,

And our life here, thus taketh heed thereto,

Is but an exile and a pilgrimage,

Ful of turment and of bitter rage,

Liche See renning to and fro,

Suing an Ebbe when the flood is do,

Litel space abiding at full,

Of whose sojourne the Pope yeueth no bull,

For king is none, Duke, ne Emperour,

That may him shroud ayenst his fatal shour,

Of cruel death when him list manace,

To marke a man with his mortall mace,

Then geineth not to his saluation,

Neither franchise, ne protection,

And littel or nought may helpen in this caas,

Sauf [...]ondir eyther supersedeas,

For in this world who so loketh aright,

Is none so great of power nor of might,

None so rich, shortly nor so bold,

That he must die either yong or old,

And who in youth passeth his passage,

He escaped is all the wood rage,

All sorrow, all trouble of this present life,

Replenished with conteke warre and strife,

Which selde or neuer stondeth in surete:

Wherefore best is, as it seemeth me,

No man grutch, but of high prudence,

The sonde of God he taketh in patience,

And ye that been so wise and manly to,

Your selfe to drowne in torment and in wo,

For losse of thing, and ye list to see,

That in no wise may recured bee,

Is great folly and vndiscretioun.

And thus Adrastus hath conueyed doun

The substance whole of that he would say,

Till that he found a ti [...] for to pray

Conuement for Isophilee,

Beseching him for to haue pite,

Of that she hath offended his highnesse,

Not wilfully but of reckelesnesse,

First that he would his domes so diuide,

Mercy preferre and set right aside,

At request and prayer of hem all,

Of this vnhap and mischeefe that is fall,

By hasty rigour not to doe vengeaunce,

But thinke aforne in his purueyaunce,

* Who to wretches doth mercy in her drede,

Shall mercy find when he hath most nede:

And sith he hath power might and space,

Let him take this lady into his grace,

For lacke of routh that she nat thus die.

But tho the Quene gan again replie,

How the Queen will algate have the Serpent dead.

And platly said as in this matere:

Auaileth neither request, nor prayere,

Pite, mercy, nor remission,

But if it be by this condicion,

That the Serpent, cause of all sorow,

Through his labour lay his hed to borow:

This is finall and vtter recompence,

To find grace for her great offence,

Or elles shortly, shede blood for blood.

And when Greekes her answere vnderstood,

Of one actord in her best wise,

Toke on hem this auenturous emprise,

For loue onely of Isophile,

And gon to ride enuiron the contre,

By hilles, valeis, roches, and caues,

In diches darke, and in old graues,

By euery cost serching vp and doun,

Till at last full famous of renoun,

The worthy knight Parthonolope,

Was the first that happed for to se

This hidous Serpent by a Riuer side,

Great and horrible, sterne and full of pride,

Vnder a Roch by a banke lowe,

And in all hast he bent a sturdy bowe,

And therein set an Arowe filed kene,

And through the body spotted blew & grene,

How Parthonolope slew the Serpent.

Full mightely he made it for to glide,

And hent out a swerde hanging by his side,

Smote of his hed and anon it hent,

And therwithal gan the Queene present,

Wherethrough parcel she gan tasswage:

And thus of prowesse and of high corage,

This manly man, this Parthonolope,

Hath reconciled faire Isophile,

Vnto grace fully of the Queene,

Her Ire voided and her old tene,

And by Adrastus mediacion,

King Ligurgus graunted a pardon

To this lady, from all daunger fre,

She was restored to her liberte,

In his palaice al her life to dwell,

Though Iohn Bochas the contrary tell:

For this auctour affirmeth out of drede,

That when the child was by y• serpent dede,

She durst not for her great offence,

Neuer after come in presence

Of Ligurgus, but of entention,

Fled anon out of that region,

At hert she tooke the childes death so sore:

What felle of her, find I can no more,

Than ye haue herde aforne me specifie.

And the kingdome, but if bookes lie,

Nota, de Ligurgo Rege Traceae.

Of Licurgus, called was Trace.

And as I rede, in an other place,

He was the same mighty Champion,

To Athenes that came with Palamon

Ayenst his Brother that called was Arcite,

Yled in his chaire with iiii. Bolles white,

Vpon his hed a wreth of gold full fine.

And I find eke how Bachus god of wine,

Baccus, Deus Vini.

With this king was whilom at debate,

Onely for he, pompous and elate,

Destruction did to his vines,

And for he first set alay on wines,

[Page] Meint with water, when they were too strong:

And this Bacchus for the great wrong,

Brake his lims, and dreint him in the see:

Of Ligurgus, ye get no more of me,

But the trouth if ye list verifie,

Rede of goddes the Genealogie.

Nota, de duodecim arboribus in libra Bochacii de genealogia Deorum.

Lineally her kinred by degrees,

Ybranched out vpon xii. trees,

Made by Bocchas, Decertaldo called,

Among poetes in Itaile stalled,

Next Fraunceis Petrarke suing in certein.

Now vnto Grekes I will retourne agein,

To tell forth shortly if I con,

Of her journey, that they haue begon.

Here Adrastus hath his leaue take

Of Ligurgus with his browes blake,

And departing with seint Ihon to borow,

Made his wardes on the next morow

So wel besein, so mighty and so strong,

Wondre early when the larke song,

With a trompet warned euery man,

To be ready in all the hast they can,

For to remue and no letting make:

And so they haue the right wey take

Toward Thebes the Grekes euerichone,

That such a nombre gadred into one,

Of worthy knights, neuer aforn was sein,

When they in feere were moustred in a plein,

And they ne stint by none occasioun,

Till they be comen euen afore the toun,

And pight her tents prowdely as I rede,

Vnder the walles in a grene Mede,

And when the Thebans were besette about,

The manly knights would haue priked out,

And haue scarmished in her hasty pride,

With her fomen ou that other side,

But by bidding of Ethiocles,

All thilke night they kept hemselfe in pees,

Because onely that it was so late,

With great wait set at euery gate,

Men of armes all the night walking

On the walles, by bidding of the king,

Lest there were traine, or treason,

And on the toures, and in the chief dongeon,

He set men to make mortall sownes,

With brasen hornes, and loud Clariounes,

Of full entent the watches for to kepe,

In his warde that no man ne slepe.

And Grekes proudly all the long night,

Kindled fires and made full great light,

Set vp lodging vpon euery side,

Like as they should euer there abide,

Compas the toun, there was no voide space,

But all be set her fomen to manace,

And whiles they tofore the cite ley,

On euery coast they sent out to forreie,

The Forrey that the Greeks made in the Countrey about Thebes.

Bren townes, Thropes, and vilages,

With great rauing, making her pilages,

Spoile & robbe, and brought home vitaile,

And all manere sortes of bestaile,

Shepe and Nete, in her cruell rage,

With houndes slaine all that was sauage,

Herte and Hind, both Bucke and Do,

The blacke Bere, and the wild Ro,

The fat Swine, and the tusky Bore,

Carrying all home for the Grekes store,

Wheate and wine, for her auantage,

Hay, and Otes, foddre and forage.

With the Kalendes, as hem thought due,

The Grekes gan the Thebans salue,

Ministring hem occasions fell,

The siege set, shortly for to tell,

Of full entent in her hateful pride,

For life or death thereupon tabide,

Who so euer thereat be agreued,

Till they fully her purpos haue acheued,

There may thereof be made no reles.

And of all this ful ware Ethiocles,

Gan in party greatly to merueile,

When he saw the great apparaile

Of the Grekes the Citee round about,

And in himselfe had a manner dout,

Now at point, what was best to do,

For thilke time it stode with him so,

That to some abiding in the toun,

He had in hert a great suspecion,

Lest toward him that they were vnstable,

And to his Brother in party fauorable.

The variaunce in Thebes among hemselfe.

For in the cite there was variaunce,

That vnto him was a great mischance:

For in his nede shortly he ne wist

Vpon whom that he might trist,

For they were nat all of one entent,

Wherfore he hath for his counseil sent,

All his lords, and the old Queene,

Soch as he dempte that were pure & clene,

Holle of one heart and not variable,

Of old expert and alwey found stable,

Requering hem because they were wise,

All openly to tellen her auise,

Where it were better pleinly in her sight,

With his brother to treaten, or to fight?

And some gaue a full blunt sentence,

Which had of werre none experience,

Said it was best and not ben aferde,

To try his right manly with the swerde:

And some also that were more prudent,

Spake vnto him by good auisement,

And list not spare but her conceite told,

How it was best his couenant to hold,

And to perfourme his hest made toforn

To his Brother, lich as he was sworn,

So y• his word, the wors make him to spede,

* Be not found variant from the dede,

For none hatred rancour ne pride:

And tho the Queene toke him out aside,

The words of the worthy Queen Jocasta unto Ethiocles.

Told him pleinly, it was full vnfitting,

Soch doublenesse to finden in a king:

[Page] And said him eke, although he were strong,

Vnto his Brother he did wrong,

As all the towne will record in dede,

And bere witnesse if it come to nede:

Wherefore let vs shape an other mene,

In this mattere while that it is grene,

Ere this querele, thus gon of volunte,

Turne in the fine to more aduersite,

For if it be darreyned by battaile,

Who trusteth most may full lightly faile,

* And it is folie by short auisement,

To put a strife in Martes judgement:

For hard it is when a judge is wood,

To treate aforne him without losse of blood:

And if we put our mater holle in Marte,

Which with his swerd his laws doth coarte,

Then may it hap, where ye be glad or wroth,

Thou and thy Brother shull repent both,

And many another that is here present,

Of your trespas that ben very innocent,

And many a thousand percas shall complein,

For the debate onely of you tweine,

And for your strife shall find full vnswote,

And for thou art ginner, ground and rote

Of this injury and this great vnright,

To the goddes, that hereof han a sight,

Thou shall accompts and a rekning make,

For all tho that perishen for thy sake.

And now the cause driuen is so ferre,

Sodeinly pees either hasty werre,

Mot folow anon for the fatall chaunce,

Of life and death dependeth in balaunce,

And thou ne maist by no craft restreine,

That vpon one, platly of you tweine,

The sort mote fall ilke as it doth tourn,

Who so euer thereat either laugh or mourn,

And thou art driuen so narow to the stake,

That thou maist not mo delaies make,

But fight or treat this is the vtter fine,

By none engin thou canst it not decline,

* An hasty caas, as folke sain that ben wise,

Redresse requereth by full short auise,

For to trete long now auaileth nought,

For to the point sothly thou art brought,

Either to keepe thy possessioun,

Or in all hast deuoid out of this toun,

Wher thou therwith be wroth or wel appaid,

Now note well all that I haue said,

And by my counsell wisely condescend,

Wrong wrought of old newly to amend,

The time is come it may be none other,

Wherefore in hast treate with thy brother,

And again him make no resistence,

But to thy lordes fully yeue credence,

By whose Counseill [...]ithe they be so sage,

Let Polimite enjoy his heritage,

And that shall tourne most to thine auaill,

Loo here is holle the fine of our Counsail.

The Treaty that Ethiocles sent unto his Brother.

And shortly tho for ire wroth,

Though he hereto froward was and loth,

According is, hearing all the prees,

If he algate shall treate for a pees,

It must be by this condicion,

That he will haue the dominacion,

First in chiefe to himselfe reserued,

As him thought he had it well deserued,

And saue to him holle the souereintee,

And vnder him in Thebes the citee,

He to graunt with a right good chere,

Polimite the reigne for a yeere,

Then tauoide and not resort agein,

For more to claime was all but in vein,

This would he done onely for her sake,

And otherwise he will none end make

With Greekes, what fortune euer befall.

And finally emong his lords all,

There nas not one of high or low estate,

That would gone on this Ambassiat,

Out of the towne ne for bet ne wors,

Till Iocasta made sadle her hors,

And cast her self to gon on this treate,

To make an end if it would be:

And this was done the morow right by time,

Vpon the howre when it drew to prime,

And with her went, here yonge doughters tweine,

Antigone, and the faire Imeine,

Of her meine full many one about,

At gate she was conueied out,

And of purpose she made first her went,

On horsebacke to King Adrastus tent,

He and his lords being all in fere,

And they receiue her with a right glad chere,

Shewing her, like to her degree,

On euery halfe full great humanite,

Polimitie rising from his place,

And humbly his moder gan embraee,

Kissed her, and then Antigone,

And eke Imeine, excellent of beaute,

And for that they passingly were faire,

Great was the pres, concours, and repaire

Of the ladies for to haue a sight:

And Iocasta proceedeth anon right,

To Adrastus the matere to propose,

And gan to him openly to disclose

The entent and will of Ethiocles,

And by what meane he desireth pees,

To him reserue, as she gan specifie,

The honour whole, and the regalie,

With sceptre & crown, from him not diuided,

But whole to him, as he hath prouided,

And Polimite by this conditioun,

Vnder him to reigne in the toun,

As a soget by suffrance of his Brother.

But the Grekes thoughten all another,

The knightly Answer of worthy Tideus.

And specially worthy Tideus,

Pleiuly affirming it should nat be thus,

For he will haue no conditions,

But set aside all excepcions,

Nothing reserue as in speciall,

But hole the lordship regally and all,

Be Polimites it fully to possede,

In Thebes crouned verely in dede,

And rightfull king put in possession,

Like the couenaunts and convencion,

Ymade of old assured and ensealed,

That shall not now, of new be repealed,

But stable and holle in his strength stond,

And let him platly so vnderstond,

[Page] And first that he deuoid him out of toune,

And deliuere the Sceptre and the croune

To his Brother, and make therof no more,

And shortly elles it shall be bought full sore,

Or this matere brought be to an end,

For Greekes be there none, that shul hens wend,

Er that our right that is vs denied,

With life and death, darreined be and tried,

We will not erst from this toun remewe,

And if him list all this thing eschue,

And all mischiefe stinten and appese,

To either part he may do great ese,

Thus I meane for his auauntage,

Deliuer vp hool the trew heritage,

To his brother for heire to endure,

And Greekes shall fully him assure,

By what bond that him list deuise,

The yere complete in our best wise,

To him deliuer ayen possession,

Without strife or contradicion,

And to this fine justly hold vs to,

And if it fall that he will not so,

Let him not wait but onely after werre,

The houre is come we will it not deferre,

Lo here is all, and thus ye may report

To him ayein when that ye resort,

From which appointment we cast vs nat to vary,

And yet to him Amphiorax y• contrary

Full pleinly said in conclusion,

This fine shall cause a destruction,

Of hem echone if it forth procede,

To be performed and execute in dede:

But thilke time for all his eloquence,

He had in soth but litell audience,

For whether so he ment good or ill,

King Adrastus bad him to be still.

And tho Iocasta, as wisedome did her tech,

Humble of her port with full soft spech,

Gan sech meanes in her fantasie,

If she might the ire modifie

Of the Greekes, to make hem to encline,

In any wise her rancour for to fine,

She did her deuour, and her besie cure,

But then befell a wonder auenture,

Cause and ground of great confusioun,

Greekes perturbing and eke the toun,

And it to tell I may not assert,

For which a while my stile I mote aduert,

Of a tame Tygre dwelling in Thebes.

And shortly tell by descriptioun

Of a Tygre, dwelling in the toun,

Which from a kingdome, besiden adjacent,

Out of Egipt was to Thebes sent,

Which beast, by record of scripture,

Is most swift as of his nature,

And of kind also most sauage,

And most cruell when he is in his rage,

And as clerkes maken mention,

He of body resembleth the Lion,

And like a greyhound the mosell and the hed,

And of eyen as any fire red,

Eke of his skin, written as I finde,

Like a Panther, conuersant in Inde,

With all manner hues and colours,

And is ful ofte deceiued with Mirrours,

By fraude of huntes and false apparance,

Shewed in glas withouten existence,

When his kindeles are by sleights take,

And he destreined, may no rescus make:

And like a lambe was this Tigre tame,

Ayenst kind, mine Auctour writ the same,

And this beast merueilous to see,

Was sent to Imeine and Antigone,

That vnto hem did great comfort,

And coud pley and make good disport,

Like a whelpe that is but yong of age,

And to no wight did no damage,

No more in soth than doth a litell hound,

And it was worth many an hundred pound,

Vnto the king for ay in his greuaunce,

Ther was nothing y• did him more plesaunce

That for no tresour it might not be bought,

For when that he was pensife or in thought,

It put him out of his heauinesse:

And thilke time the story doth expresse,

That Iocaste treated for a pees,

This tame Tigre in party rekeles,

Out at gates in sight of many a man,

In to the field wildly out ran,

And casuelly renning to and fro,

In and out as doth the tame Ro,

Greekes weening that were yong of age,

That this Tigre had be sauage,

And cruelly besetting all the place,

Round about gan him to enchace,

Till he was ded and slaine in the field:

The slaughter of whom when y• they beheld,

The proud Thebans which on y• wals stood,

They ran doun furious and wood,

Wening he be slaine of despite,

Taking her hors without more respite,

Fully purposed with Greekes for to fight,

The Tigres death tauenge if they might,

And forth they rode without gouernaile,

And full proudly Greekes gon assaile,

And of hatred and full high desdain,

Fellen on hem that han the Tigre slein,

And cruelly quitten hem her mede,

That many a Greeke in the grene mede,

By the force and the great might,

Of her fomen, lay slain in this fight,

The Tigres death so sore they abought,

So mortally Thebans on hem wrought,

That all the host in the field ligging,

Was astonied of this sodein thing.

And in this wise of rancour rekeles,

Out of Thebes rode Ethiocles,

And with him eke the worthy king Tremour,

Of his hond a noble werriour,

That made Grekes to forsake her place,

And to her tents gan hem to enchace,

And midde the field as they togider mette,

On horsebacke, with speres sharply whette,

Of very hate and enuious pride,

Full many one was dead on either side:

The which thing when Tideus espieth,

Wood as a Lion to horsebacke he hieth,

As he that was neuer a deal aferd,

But ran an hem and met [...]e hem in the berd,

And maugre hem in his cruelty,

He made hem flee home to her city,

[Page] Hem pursuing of full deadly hate,

That many one lay slain at gate,

Gaping vpright with her wounds wide,

That vtterly they durst not abide,

Tofore the swerd of Tideus,

He was on hem so passing furious,

So many Thebans he rofe to the hert,

That when Iocasta the slaughter can aduert,

Polimite she prey gan full faire,

To make Greekes home again repaire,

And that they woulden stint to assaile,

For thilke time, and ceassen her battaile.

At whos request plainly and preire,

And at reuerence of his moder dere,

Polimite her hert to comfort,

Greekes made home ayein resort,

And Tideus to stinten of his chace,

And they of Thebes hasting a great pace,

Ful trist & heauy ben entred in to the toun:

And for the Tigre in conclusioun,

As ye haue herd, first began the strife,

But many a Theban that day lost his life,

And recureles hath yeuen vp the breath,

Of thauenging of the Tigers death.

And al this while duely as she ought,

The Queen Iocasta humbly besought,

King Adrastus holly of his grace,

Some meane wey wisely to purchase,

To make a pees betwene the brethren twein,

And the tretee so prudently ordein,

On either part that no blood be shad:

And thus Adrastus auised and right sad,

For Grekes party answere yaue anon,

That other end shortly gate she non,

Lich as the lordes fully ben auised,

Than Tideus to forn hath deuised.

And when she saw it may none other be,

She leue toke and home to the cite

She is repaired, hauing to her guide,

Polimite riding by her side,

And Tideus led Antigone,

And of Archade, Protonolope

The worthy king, did his belie peine

To be attendant vpon faire Imeine,

Whos hert she hath to her seruice lured,

And he ayein hath portreied and figured

Mid of his brest, which lightly may not passe,

Holly the fetures of her treshly face,

Him thought she was so faire a creature,

And though that he durst him not discure,

Yet in his hert as ferforth as he can,

He hath aluowed to be her true man,

Vnwist to her plainly and vnknow

How he was marked with Cupides bow,

With his arrow sodainly werreied,

And to the yares the Ladies conueied,

Been entred in, for it drew to eue,

Grekes of hem taking tho her leue,

Though some of hem were loth to depart,

Yet of wisedome they durst not [...]

Vnder a conduct to enter into the toun,

Lest it tourned to her confusioun,

Though some bookes the contraire sain,

But mine aucthour is plaine there again,

And affermeth in this opinion,

That Tideus of high discrecion,

Of wilfulnesse nor of no foly,

Ne would as tho put in jeopardy,

Neither himself ne none of his feres,

And the Ladies with her heauenly cheres,

Angelike of looke and countenaunce,

Liche as it is put in remembraunce,

At her entring from Grekes into the toun,

Polimite of great affectioun,

The queene besought, yt thilke night not fine

For tassay if she might encline

Ethiocles of conscience and right,

To kepe couenaunt, as he hath behight

Full yore agone, with surplusage,

Lest the contraire come to damage,

First of himself and many another mo,

And thus from Thebes the Greeks ben ago

To her Tents and rest hem all that night,

And Lucina the Moone shone full bright

Within Thebes on the depe dongeon,

When Iocasta made relacion

Vnto the king and told him all the gise,

How that Greekes vtterly despise

His profer made by false conclusion,

Onely except the conuencion,

Of old engrossed by great purueiance,

Which is enrolled and put in remembrance,

Vpon which they finally will rest,

Him counsailing her thought for the best,

To conforme him to that he was bound,

Lest in the fine falsnesse him confound,

But all her counsaile he set it at no price,

He dempt himself, so prudent and so wise,

For he was wilfull, and he was indurate,

And in his hert of malice obstinate,

And vtterly auised in his thought,

Within Thebes his brother get right noght.

And in his errour thus I let him dwell,

And of the Greekes forth I will you tell,

Which all that night kept hem self close,

And on the morow when Titan vp arose,

They armed hem, and gan hem redy make,

And of assent haue the felde itake,

With the Thebans, y• day without doubt

For to fighten if they issue out,

And Adrastus in full thrifty wise,

In the field his wardes can deuise,

As he that was of all deceipts ware,

And richly armed in his chaire,

Amphiorax, came with his meinee,

Full renoumed of antiquitee,

And well expert bicause he was old.

And while that Greekes, as I haue you told,

Were besiest her wardes to ordeine,

Mid of the feld befell a case sodeine,

Full vnhappy, lothsome and odible,

For lich a thing that were inuisible,

This old bishop with horse and chare certein,

Disapered and no more was sein,

Onely of fate which no man can repell,

The yearth opened and he fell doune to hell.

How the Bishop Amphiorax fell down into Hell.

With all his folke that vpon him abode,

And sodainly the ground that he on rode,

[Page] Clased ayein and gidre shette,

That neuer after the Grekes with him met,

And thus the Deuill for his old outrages,

Liche his desert payed him his wages,

For he full lowe is descended doun

Into the derke and blacke regioun,

Where that Pluto is crouned and istalled,

With his queene Proserpine icalled,

With whom this bishop hath made his mansion

Perpetuelly as for his guerdon,

* Lo here the meede of Idolatry,

Of rites old and false Maumetry,

Lo what availen incantacions,

Of exorcismes and conjurisons,

What stoode in stede his Nigromancy,

Calculation or Astronomy,

What vailed him the heauenly mansions,

Diuerse aspects or constellacions,

* The end is not but sorrow and mischance,

Of hem that setten her vtter affiance

In soch werkes supersticious,

Or trist on hem he is vngracious,

Record I take shortly for to tell,

Of this bishop sonken doune to hell:

Whose wofull end, doun in euery cost,

Such a rumour hath made in the host,

That the noise of this vncouth thing,

Is ironne and come vnto the king,

How this vengeance is vnwarely fall,

And he anon made a Trompet call,

All his people out of the field again,

And euerichone assembled vpon a plain,

For the king and also round him about,

Euerich man of his life in doubt,

Full pitiously gan to sorrow and loure,

Least that y• ground hem al would deuoure,

And swelwen hem in his derke caue,

And they ne conne no recure hem to saue,

For neither force nor manhood doth auaile

In such mischeefe the value of a maile,

For he that wisest and could most,

To search and seeke throughout the host,

Amphiorax, when he least wend,

To hell is sonken, and coud him not defend,

To him the time vnknowne and vnwist,

In whom whylome was all the Greeks trist,

Her whole comfort, and whole affiaunce,

But all at ones for this suddaine chaunce,

And this mischeefe, they gan hem to dispeire,

Home to Greece that they will repeire.

This was the purpose of hem euerichone,

And on the walles of Thebes lay her fone,

Rejoysing hem, of this vnhappy vre,

Sowning thereby greatly to recure:

And on her toures as they loken out,

They on Greeks enuiously gan to shout,

And of despite and great enmitee,

Bad hem fooles gone home to her countree,

Sith they han lost her comfort and succour,

Her false Prophete and her Diuinour,

Wherthrough her party greatly is empeired

And in this wise the Grekes despeired,

Dempte plainly by tokens euident,

This case was fall by some Enchantment,

By Witchcraft, and by Sorcery,

Again which may be no remedy,

Trusty defence helpe ne succour.

And when Adrastus herd this clamour,

He besie was againe this perturbance,

To prouide some manere cheuisance,

And to him calleth soch counsail as he wist,

For life or death that he might trist,

Requiring hem but in words fewe,

In this mischief her motion to shewe,

And declare by good auisement,

What to Grekes were most expedient,

To remedien and make no delay,

The vncouth noise, and the great affray,

That Grekes made with clamor importune,

And now, and now, euer in one contune,

And they that were most manly and wise,

Shortly saied it were a cowardise,

The high emprise that they haue vndertake,

For dred of death so sodainly to forsake,

It were to hem perpetuelly a shame,

And after hindring to the Grekes name,

And better it were to euery warreour,

Manly to die with worship and honour,

Than like a coward with the life endure:

* For ones shamed, hard is to recure

His name ayein, of what estate he bee,

And sith that Grekes of old antiquitee,

As of knighthood who so list take heed,

Been so famous and so worthy of deed,

If now of new the shining of her fame,

Eclipsed were with any spot of blame,

It were a thing vncouth for to here,

Of whose renoun the beames yet been clere,

Through all the world where that they haue pased,

And be not yet derked ne defaced,

By no report, neither on sea nor lond,

Thing to forsake that they tooke on hond,

And by ensample of onr progenitours,

That sometime were so manly conquerours,

Tofore that we into Grece wende:

Of thing begonne let us make an end,

And part not nor seuere from this toun,

Till it be brought to destruction,

Walles, toures, and crestes enbattailed,

And for warre strongly apparailed,

Be first doune beate, that nothing be sein,

But all togider with the yearth plein,

Below laied er that we resort,

That afterward men may of us report,

That we began, we knightly haue acheued,

Vpon our fone, with worship vnrepreued.

This was the counsail shortly and thauise,

Of the Grekes that manly were and wise,

That neuer afore marked were with blame,

And specially such as dred shame,

And fully cast, what fortune euer ride,

On her purpose to the end abide,

That on no part her honour not appall:

And to this counsail, Grekes one and all,

Be condescended and after best redde,

In stede of him that was so late dedde,

Amphiorax, buried deepe in hell,

That coud whilom to the Grekes tell

Of things hid, how it should fine aforne,

In steed of whom now they haue him lorne,

They casten hem wisely to purchace

Some prudent man to occupy his place,

[Page] That in soch thing might hem most auaile,

Through mistery of his diuinaile,

By craft of sorte, or of Prophecie,

If any such they couden out espie:

Emong hem all her purpose to attaine,

As I find they haue chosen twaine,

How the Greeks chosen a new Divinour in steed of Amphiorax.

Most renowned of hem euerichone,

And Menalippus called was that one,

And Tredimus eke that other hight,

And for he had most fauour in her sight,

This Tredimus was chosen and preferred,

And in her choice Greekes haue not erred,

For whilome he learned his emprise

Of his Maister, Amphiorax the wise,

And was disciple vnder his doctrine,

And of entent that he shall termine

Vnto Greekes things that shall fall,

As a Bishop mitred in his stall,

They done for him many an vncouth wise

In the temple, to Gods Sacrifice:

And thus confirmed and stabled in his See,

A few daies stood in his degree,

After her Maister, with full great honour,

Of Greekes chose to be successour.

And all this time in story as it is told,

Full great mischief, of hunger, thurst, & cold,

And of Thebans as they issue out,

Lay many one slaine in the rout,

On either part of fortune as they mette,

Her mortall swerds, were so sharpe whette,

And Tideus emong hem of the toun,

From day to day plaieth the Lion,

So cruelly, where so that he rode,

That Theban non aforne his face abode,

He made of hem through his high renoun,

So great slaughter and occisioun,

That as the death from his swerd they fled,

For who came next laid his life to wedde,

He quit himself so like a manly knight,

That where he went he put hem to the flight,

And maugre hem, in his crueltee,

He droue hem home into her citee,

Hem pursuing proudly to the gate,

That vnto him they beare so dedly hate,

That they hem cast by sleight or some engine,

To bring him vnwarely vnto his fine,

And lay awaite for him day and night:

But alas this noble manly knight,

How pitiously this worthy Tideus was slain with a quarrel.

Vpon a day as he gan hem chace,

And mortally made hem lese her place,

And sued hem almost to the toun,

That cause was of his destructioun:

For one alas that on the walles stood,

Which all that day vpon him abode,

With a quarel sharpe heded for his sake,

Marked him with a bow of brake,

So cruelly making none a rest,

Till it was passed both backe and brest,

Wher through alas ther was none other rede

Ne Lechcraft that he mote be dede,

There may thereof be maked no delaies,

And yet he was holden in his dayes,

The best knight and most manly man,

As mine aucthour well rehearse can,

But for all that was there no defence,

Ayenst the stroke of deaths violence.

But Bocchas write ere he were fully dedde,

He was by Greekes presented with the hedde

Of him that yaue his last fatall wound,

And he was called like as it is found,

Menalippus, I can none other tell,

But thilke day Thebans waxe so fell,

Vpon Greekes, that vnder her citee,

The manly king Parthonope,

Yslaine was euene afore the gates,

And there also armed bright in plates,

The famous king called Ipomedon,

The same day as made is mencion,

On horsebacke manly as he faught,

At bridge, euen vpon the draught,

Beset with preace, casuelly was drouned:

And thus fortune hath on Greekes frowned,

On euery side thilke vnhappy day,

But all the manere tellen I ne may,

Of her fighting nor her slaughter in soth,

More to declare than mine aucthour doth.

But thilke day, I find as ye may sene,

When Phebus was passed Meridene,

And from y• South, Westward can him draw,

His guilt tresses to bathen in the wawe,

The Thebanking fell Ethiocles,

Roote and vnrest and causer of vnpees,

The slaughter of Grekes, when y• he beheld,

Armed in stele he came out into the feld,

Full desirous in that sodain heate,

Polimite in the field to mete,

Singulerly with him to haue a do,

For in this world he hated no man so,

He sat so nigh printed in his herte,

Whose coming out his brother gan aduerte,

Vpon his steed in the opposite,

And had againward also great delite

To meten him if fortune will assent,

Thenuious fire so her herts brent,

Which hate was cancred of vnkind blood,

And like two Tigres in her rage wood,

With speres sharp ground for the nones,

So as they ran and met both at ones,

Polimite through plate, maile, and shield,

Rofe him throghout & smote him into y• field,

But when he saw the stremes of his blood,

Raile about in manere of a flood,

All sodainly of compassioun,

From his coursour he light adoune.

How each of the Theban Brethren slough other, even tofore the Citee.

And brotherly with a pitous face,

To saue his life gan him to vnbrace,

And from his wound of new affection,

Full besie was to pull out the trunchon,

Of loue onely handling him right soft:

But out alas, while he lay aloft,

Full iriously Ethiocles the fell,

Of all this sorow very cours and well,

[Page] With a dagger, in all his peines smart,

His brother rofe vnwarely to the hart,

Which all her life had be so wroth,

And thus the Thebans were islaw both,

At entree euen afore the toun

But Grekes tho been availed doun,

In the field the worthy knights all,

In Thebes land as such thing shall,

The cry arose when her king was dedde,

And to the gates, armed foot and hedde,

Out of ye toun came many a proude Theban,

And some of hem upon the walles ran,

And gan to shoute that pitee was to here,

And they without of her life in werre,

Without comfort or consolatioun,

Dispeired ronne home to the toun,

And Grekes followen after at backe,

That many one, that day goeth to wracke,

And as her fomen proudly hem assaile,

Ful many Grekes, both throgh plate & maile,

Was shette throughout, preasing at wals,

And beaten off with great round bals,

That here lay one, and another yonder,

And the noise more hideous than thonder,

Of gunneshot, and of Arblates eke,

So loud out rong, y• many a worthy Greke

There lost his life, they were on hem so fell,

And at gates shortly for to tell,

As Grekes preasen to enter the city,

They of Thebes in her cruelty

With hem mette, full furious and wood,

And mortally, as they againe hem stood,

Men might see speres shiver asonder,

That to behold it was a very wonder,

How they foine with daggers & with swerds,

Through the viser ayming at berds,

Persing also through the round mailes,

Rent out peeces of her auentailes,

That nought auaileth, the mighty Gesseran,

Through neck and breast, that the speres ran,

Her weapons were so sharpe ground & whet

In their armour, that they were not let,

For there lay one troden under foot,

And yonder one perced to the heart root,

Here lieth one dead, and there another lame,

This was the play and the mortall game

Atweene Thebans and the Grekes proud,

That the swoughs and the cries loud

Of hem that lay and yolden vp the ghost,

Was heard full ferre about in many a cost.

How all the royal blood both of Grekes side, and on the City side, islain were upon o day.

And at gates and saillyng of the wall

Is [...]aine was all the blood royall,

Both of the toune, and of the Grekes land,

And all the worthy knights of her hand,

And of Lords, if I shall not feine,

On Grekes side aliue were but tweine,

King Adrastus, and Campaneus,

That day to hem was so vngracious.

And for Titan Westred was so low,

That no man might vnneths other know,

Of the towne they shitte her gates fast,

With barrers round ymade for to last,

In which no wight kerue may ne hew,

And Adrastus with a Grekes few

Repeired is home to his tent,

And all that night he wasted hath and spent

For his vnhap in sorrow complayning,

And they in Thebes the next day suing

Her deuoire did, and her busie cure,

To ordeine and make a sepulture

For her King, yssaine in the field,

And offer vp his banner and his shield,

His helme, his swerde, and also his penon,

Therein of gold ybeaten a Dragon,

High in the temple, that men might seene,

And Iocasta the infortunate Queene

Her sonnes death sore gan complaine:

And also eke her young doughters tweine,

Both Imeine and Antigoine

Crien and weepe, that pity was to see,

But to her sorrowes there was no refute,

And thus the city bare and destitute,

Hauing no wight to gouerne hem ne guy,

For dead and slaine was all her cheualry,

And no wight left almost in the toun,

To reigne on hem by successioun:

But for they saw, and tooken hede,

Without this, that they had an head,

In the city they may not dure long:

* For though it so be, y• commons be strong

With multitude, and haue no gouernaile

Of an head, ful lite it may auaile,

Therefore they haue vnto her succour

Ichosen hem a new gouernour,

How Creon the old tyrant ychosen was to be King of Thebes.

An old tyrant, that called was Creon,

Full acceptable to hem euerychone,

And crowned him, without more letting,

To reigne in Thebes, and to been her king,

Although he had no title by descent,

But by free choice made in Parlement,

And thereto him like, as it is found,

By her ligeaunce of new they were bound

For to be true while the city stood

To him only, with body and with good,

Thus they were sworn, & sured euerichone,

And he againward to save hem fro her fone,

And hem defend with all his full might,

And mainteine hem in all manner right:

This was the accord, as in sentement.

And in this while hath Adrastus sent

From the siege of Thebes the city

A wounded knight home to his country,

Through all Grece plainly to declare

All the slaughter and the euil fare

Of which Grekes, right as it is fall,

And how that he hath lost his Lords all,

At more mischeefe than any man can mouth:

And when this thing was in Grece couth,

First to Argiue, and to Deiphile,

And to the Ladies eke in the countre,

And of Prouinces abouten adjacent,

They came downe all by one assent,

Worthy Quenes, and with hem Duchesses,

And other eke, that called were Countesses.

[Page]

How all the Ladies of Graece arrayed hem toward Thebes.

And all the ladies and women of degree

Been assembled in Arge the citee,

Like as I rede, and all in clothes blake,

That to behold the sorrow that they make

It were a death to any man aliue:

And if I should by and by discriue

Her tender weeping, and her woful souns,

Her complaints and lamentatiouns,

Her oft swouning, with faces dead and pale,

Thereof I might make a new tale,

Almost a day you to occupie,

And as mine authour doth clerely certifie,

Throughout all Grece, from all regiouns,

Out of cities and royal touns

Came all the ladies and women of estate,

Full heauy cheared, and disconsolate

To this assembly, toforne as I you told,

In purpose fully her journey for to hold

Toward Thebes, they sorrowfull creatures,

There to bewaile her wofull auentures,

Tacquite hemselfe of trouth & womanhead

To her Lords, which in field lay dead,

And as the story liketh to declare,

All this journey they went on foot bare,

Like as they had gone on pilgrimage,

In token of mourning, barbed the visage,

Wimpled echone in burnet weeds,

Not in chaires, drawne forth with steeds,

Nor on palfreies, blacke neither white,

Like as mine author liketh to endite,

To holden her way, but barefoot foorth they went,

So faithfully euerychone they ment,

Through heauinesse, defaced of her hue,

And as I find, they weren all true,

Now was not that a wonder for to see

So many true out of o countree,

At ones gadered in a companie,

And faithfull all, bookes cannot lie,

Both in her port, and inward in mening,

Vnto my dome it was an vncouth thing,

Emong a thousand women, or tweine,

Not to find one that coud in heart feine,

It was a maruaile, not oft seene toforne,

* For selde in fields groweth any corne,

But if some weed spring vp there emong,

Men allay Wines when they be too strong,

But her trouth was meint with none allaies,

They were so true found at all assaies,

And they ne stint upon her journey,

Till that they come there they would be,

Where Adraitus, written as I finde,

Lay in his tent, all of colour Inde,

And greatly meruailed, when that he beheld

The number of hem, spred throgh al y• field,

Clad all in blacke, and barefoot euerychone,

Out of his tent he dressed him anone,

Vpon his hand the King Campaneus,

Full trist in heart, and face right pitous,

Againe the women forth they went in fere,

And to behold the wofull heavy chere,

The dolefull cries also when they met,

The sorrowful sighes in her breasts shet,

The teares new distilling on her faces,

And so swouning in many sundry places,

When they her Lords aliue not ne found,

But in y• field, throgh girt with many a wound

Lay straught vpright, plainely to endite,

With deadly eyen tourned vp the white,

Who made sorrow, or felt her heart riue

For her Lord, but the faire Argiue,

Who can now weepe, but Deiphilee,

Tideus for she ne might see,

Whose constreints were so fell and kene,

That Adrastus might not susteine,

To behold the Ladies so compleine,

Wishing his heart coruen were in tweine.

How the old cursed Creon will not suffer the bodies neither to be brent nor buried.

And yet alas both euen and morow,

O thing there was that doubled all her sorow

That old Creon fader of fellony,

Ne would suffer through his tiranny,

The dead bodies be buried neither brent,

But with beasts and hounds to be rent,

He made hem all upon an heape be laid,

Whereof the women thrist and euil apaid,

For very dole as it was no wonder,

Her herts felt almost riue asunder,

And as my master Chaucer list to endite,

All clad in blacke with her wimples white,

With great honour, and due reuerence,

In the Temple of the goddesse Clemence,

They bode the space of a fourthnight,

Till Theseus the noble worthy knight,

Duke of Athenes, with his cheualry,

Repaired home out of Feminy,

And with him led, full faire vpon to seene,

Through his manhood Ipolita the Queene,

And her sister called Emely:

And when these women first gan espy

The worthy Duke, as he came riding,

King Adrastus hem all conueying,

The women brought vnto his presence,

Which him besought to yeue hem audience,

And all at ones swouning in the place,

Full humbly besoughten him of grace,

To rew on hem, her harmes to redresse:

But if ye list to see the gentillesse

Of Theseus, and how he hath him borne,

If ye remember, as ye haue heard toforne

Well rehearsed, at Depford in the vale,

In the beginning of the knights tale.

How the final destruction of Thebes is compendiously rehearsed in the Knights tale.

First how that he when he herd hem speke,

For very routh he felt his heart breke,

And her sorrowes when he gan aduart,

From his courser downe anone he start,

Hem comforting in full good entent,

And in his armes he hem all vp hent,

The Knights tale rehearsen euerydele,

From point to point, if ye looke it wele,

And how this Duke, without more abode,

The same day toward Thebes rode,

Full like in sooth a worthy conquerour,

And in his coast of cheualry the flour:

[Page] And finally to speaken of this thing,

With old Creon, that was of Thebes king,

How y• he faught, & slough him like a knight,

And all his hoast put vnto the flight,

Yet as some authors make mentioun,

Or Theseus entred into the toun,

The women first with pekois & with malles,

With great labour beat downe the walles,

And in her writing, also as they saine,

Campaneus was in the wals slaine,

With cast of stones he was so ouerlade,

For whom Adrastus such a sorrow made,

That no man may release him of his paine,

And Iocasta, with her doughters twaine,

Full wilfully oppressed of her cheres,

To Athenes were sent as prisoners,

What fell of hem, more can I not saine,

But Theseus, mine author write certaine,

Out of the field, ere he from Thebes went,

He beat it downe, and the houses brent,

The people slough, for all her crying loud,

He made her wals and her toures proud,

Round about, euen vpon a row,

With the soile to be saied full low,

That nought was left but the soile bare,

And to the women, in release of her care,

How that Duke Theseus delivered to the Ladies the Bodies of their Lords.

The bodies of her Lords that were slaine,

This worthy Duke restored hath againe,

But what should I any lenger dwell,

The old rites by and by to tell,

Nor the obsequies in order to deuise,

Nor declare the manner and the guise,

How the bodies were to ashes brent,

Nor of the gommes in the flaume spent,

To make the aire sweeter of reles,

Of Frankencence, Mirre, and Aloes,

Nor how the women round about stood,

Some with milke, and some also with blood,

And some of hem with vrnes made of gold,

When the ashes fully were made cold,

To enclose hem of great affection,

And beare hem home vnto her region,

And how that other, full deadly of her looke,

For loue onely, of the bones tooke,

Hem to keepe for a remembraunce,

That to rehearse euery obseruaunce

That was doen in the fires bright,

The wake plaies during all the night,

Nor of the wrastling, telling point by point,

Of hem that were naked and annoint,

How eueriche other lugge can and shake,

Ne how the women haue her leaue take

Of Theseus, with full great humblesse,

Thanking him of his high worthinesse,

That him list vpon her wo to rew,

And how that he, his freedome to renew,

With the women of his high largesse

Iparted hath eke, of his richesse,

And how this Duke Theseus hem forsooke,

And to Athenes the right way tooke,

With Laurer crowned in signe of victory,

And the palme of conquest and of glory,

Did his honour duly vnto Marte,

And how the women wept when they parte

How King Adrastus, with the Ladies, repaired home ayen to Arge.

With King Adrastus, home ayein to Arge,

To tellen all, it were too great a charge:

And eke also, as ye shall vnderstand,

At ginning I tooke no more on hand,

By my promise, in conclusion,

But to rehearse the destruction

Of mighty Thebes, and no more,

And thus Adrastus with his lockes hore,

Still abode in Arge his citee

Vnto his end, ye get no more of me,

Sauf as mine authour liketh to compile,

After that he liued but a while,

For he was old ere the siege began,

And thought and sorrow so vpon him ran,

The which in sooth shorted hath his daies,

And time set, Death maketh no delaies,

And all his joy passed was and gone,

For of his lords aliue was not one,

But slaine at Thebes, ye known all the caas,

And when this King in Arge buried was

Full royally with great solemnitee,

It was accounted in bookes ye may see,

Four hundred year tofore the foundation of Rome was the City of Thebes destroyed.

CCCC. yeare, as made is mention,

Tofore the building and foundation

Of great Rome, so royal and so large,

When the Ladies departed from Arge

To her countries, full trist and desolate,

Lo here the fine of conteke and debate,

Lo here the might of Mars y• froward sterre,

Lo what it is to beginne a werre,

How it concludeth, ensample ye may see,

First of y• Grekes, & sith of the Thebans cite,

For eyther part hath matter to complaine,

And in her strife ye may see things twaine.

How all the worthy Blood of Greece destroyed was at siege, and the City brought to nought, to final loss of both parties.

The worthy blood of all Greece spilt,

And Thebes eke of Amphion first built,

Without recure brought to ruine,

And with the soile made plaine as any line,

To wildernesse tourned, and deserte,

And Grekes eke fall into pouerte,

Both of her men, and also of her good,

For finally all the gentill blood

Was shed out there, her wounds wer so wide,

To losse finall vnto either side,

For in the warre is none exception

Of high estate, ne low condition,

But as fate and fortune both in fere,

List to dispose with her double chere,

Bellona goddesse is of battaile.

And Bellona y• goddesse in her chare

* Aforn prouideth: Wherfore euery man beware

[Page] Vnauised warre to beginne,

For no man wote who shall lese or winne,

And hard it is when either part leseth,

And doubtlesse neither of hem cheseth,

That they must in all such mortall rage,

Maugre her lust, feelen great damage,

It may not be by mannes might restreined,

And warre in sooth was neuer ordeined

But for sinfull folkes to chastise,

And as the Bible truly can deuise,

How that War first began in Heaven, by the high Pride and Surquedy of Lucifer.

High in heauen, of pride and surquedy,

Lucifer fader of Enuy,

The old Serpent the Leuiathan,

Was the first that euer warre began,

When Michael, the heauenly champion,

With his feres venquished the Dragon,

And to hell cast him downe full low,

The which Serpent hath the Coccle sow,

Through all earth, of enuy and debate,

* That vnneths is there none estate,

Without strife can liue in charitee,

For euery man of high and low degree,

Enuieth now that other should thriue:

And ground & cause, why that men so striue,

Is couetise, and false Ambition,

That eueriche would haue domination

Ouer other, and trede him vnderfoot,

Which of all sorrow ginning is and root,

And Christ recordeth, rede, looke, & ye may se,

For lacke of loue wt mischeef there shall be:

Surget gens contra gentem. Luc. xxi.

For o people, as he doth deuise,

Ayenst another of hate shall arise:

And after telleth what diuisions

There shall be betweene regions,

Eueriche busie other to oppresse,

And all such strife, as he beareth witnesse,

Kalends been, I take his word to borrow,

And a ginning of mischeefe and of sorrow,

Men haue it found by experience:

But the venim and the violence

Of strife, of warre, of conteke and of debate,

That maketh londs bare and desolate,

Shall be proscript, and voided out of place,

And Martes swerdes shall no more manace,

Nor his spere, greeuous to sustene,

Shall now no more whetted be so kene,

For he no more shall his hauberke shake,

But loue and peace shall in hearts awake,

And Charity, both in length and bread,

Of new shall her bright beames spread

Through grace onely in diuers nations,

For to reforme atweene Regions

Peace and quiet, concord, and vnitee,

And that is both one, two, and three,

Eke three in one, and soueraine lord of pees,

Which in this exile, for our sake chees

For loue onely our troubles to termine,

For to be borne of a pure virgine,

And let vs pray to him that is most good,

That for mankind shadde his heart blood,

Through beseeching of that heauenly quene,

Wife and moder, and maiden clene,

To send vs peace in this life here present,

And of our sinnes perfite amendement,

And joy eternall, when we hence wend,

And of my tale thus I make an end.

Here now endeth, as ye may see, The Destruction of Thebes the Citee.

The Old and Obscure Words in Chaucer explained,

[Page]

whereof either by Nature or Derivation,

Some are Arabick, Noted with a.

Some Greek, Noted with g.

Some Latine, Noted with l.

Some Italian, Noted with i.

Some French, Noted with f.

Some Dutch, Noted with d.

Some Dialects within this our Country of Britain are many of them derived from the Saxon Tongue, Noted with b.

The rest are explained by way of Analogy.

Annotations also upon several Words and Places.

ABandon, f. liberty.

abandon, f. give over.

abandoning, f. rejectment.

abawed, b. daunted, abashed.

abet, b. setting on.

abedge, b. abye.

abying, b. state.

abit, b. abideth, dwelleth.

abidst, b. suffred.

abode, received.

abode, b. tarrying.

abrayde, b. arose, recovered.

abrayde, b. brake off, up-start.

abreding, upbraiding.

ablusions, l. cleansings.

abyme, l. from below.

acale, d. cold.

accesse, b. ague.

accidie, l. wanhope.

accoy, f. asswage.

acoyed, f. pampered, made quiet.

achecked, b. stayed.

acheked, b. choked.

ackele, b. cool.

acloyeth, b. overchargeth.

acroke, b. awry.

acquite, f. match, to dispatch.

adassed, b. abashed.

adawed, b. awaked.

adiacent, l. adjoyning.

aduertence, l. audience: also mind, or thought.

aduert, l. mark.

adventaile, f. coat of Armour.

afare, f. a noise, a business.

afyne, f. fined.

affi, f. have trust.

affray, b. feare, stirre, assault.

affrey, f. sturdinesse, also feare.

agasteth, b. skarreth.

agiler, f. a marker of men.

agilted, b. offended.

agilt, b. committed, offended.

agre, to please, to content.

agredge, f. aggravate, to gather together.

agrise, b. afraid.

agrisen, b. afeard.

agrise, b. faint, terrifie, greeve.

agriseth, b. beginneth to quake.

agramed, d. greeved.

agrose, b. was greeved, daunted.

agroted, d. cloyed, made big, swelled.

agrutched, abridged.

aiust, b. remove.

alayes, b. wayes; also temperance.

* Alnath. Alnath is a fixed Star in the horns of. Aries, from whence the first mansion of the Moon taketh his name, and is called Alnath.

alledgement, i. ease.

alledged, i. diminished.

Alderan, a. a Star in the Neck of the Lion.

algate, b. notwithstanding, ever, forsooth, even now, altogether.

alcali, a. Nightshade, salt wort.

* Algezer, Algezira, a City in Spain, near the streights of Gibralter.

als, d. also: as well.

alestake, d. Maypole.

Almagist, a. a work of Astronomie, written by Ptolomie.

alembic, a. a stillitorie.

alures, f. walkes, alleyes.

algomisa, a. (Canis minor) the less dog starre.

alder, b. all alone, onely, chief.

alhabor, a. (Canis major) the greater dog starre.

alswa, d. also.

ally, f. b. kin.

alien, f, allie.

Alisandre, Alexandria in Egypt, now called Scanderia.

almurie, a. the denticle of Capricorne.

algrim, a. (algebra.) The art of figurate numbers.

alterate, l. chaunged.

Almicanteras, a. the name of the Circles, which are imagined to pass thorow every degree of the Meridian parallei to the Horizon, up to the Zenith.

alose, l. commend.

aldebaran, a. (oculus Tauri) the Bulls eye.

aledge, i. ease.

almanake, a. g. a Month, a Kalendar.

all a boone, b. made request.

allegeance, i. ease.

Allidatha, a. the Index of the Astrolabe.

allaundes, f. greyhounds.

Amadriades, g. Nymphs, that live and dye with the Trees.

Amalgamyng, using a mixture of quick-silver and metals.

amate, d. daunted.

ametised, f. quenched.

amenused, f. diminished.

amorets, lovers favours.

amortised, l. killed.

Amphibologies, g. forms of speaking, wherein one Sentence hath contrary sences.

ancelle, l. an handmaid.

anigate, occasion.

anhowve, b. hoover.

Anelace, (Prolog.) a falchion or wood-knife. Which I gather out of Matthew Paris, page 535, where he writeth thus; Quorum unus videns occiduam partem dorsi (of Richard Earl Marshal, then fighting for his life in Ireland) minus armis communitam, peroussit eum in posteriora (loricam sublevando) cum quodam genere cul [...]elli, quod vulgariter Anelacitus nuncupatur, & laetaliter vulnerabat eum cultellum usque ad manubrium immergendo; which Annelace was worn about the girdlesteed of the Body, as was the pouch or purse: For thus, pag. 542. writeth the same Matthew Paris; Inter quos Petrus de Rivalis primus in causam[Page]vocatus apparuit coram rege in habitu clericali, cum [...]onsura, & lata corona, analaceo tamen alumbali dependentè, &c.

anney, b. annoy.

annueller, f. secular.

anoy, forethink.

antiphoner, g. a certain service book.

anhowue, to hover.

anticlaudianus, a certain book written by one Alanus de Insulis.

antem, g. a song.

appale, b. decay.

appayre, b. decay.

apparell, f. prepare.

apaled, unpleasant.

appeteth, l. desireth.

append, l. belong.

apoplexie, g. dead palsie.

apposen, i. demand, object.

aprentise, f. skill.

aprise, b. adventure, or shew.

aquiler, f. needle-case.

arace, f. to deface.

arblasters, f. Cross-bows.

arrest, f. durance, quietness, stay, an assault, also he that tarieth still.

aretteth, aret, impute, layeth blame.

areest, f. quietness.

arrest, f. standers, remainers.

aretted, b. accounted.

arere, f. behind.

Argonauticon, g. A book written by Apollonius Rhodius Alexandrinus, wherein he speaketh of Jason, and of them which went with him to Colchos to fetch the golden Fleece.

argoile, f. clay.

arret, i. to charge.

ariet, the sign Aries.

arite, arest, stay.

arist, b. arose.

arke diurne, l. day.

arke, f. compasse, bow.

armipotent, l. mighty in arms.

armonie, g. musick.

arsnecke, i. Zanderacha, Orpin made of red Ceruse burned.

arten, l. restrain.

arted, l. forced.

arted, l. constrained.

ascaunces, as who should say, as though.

asterte, let pass.

assise, f. order.

askes, d. ashes.

astert, b. scaped, passed.

aspect, l. face, or look.

Asterlagour, g. an Astrolabe.

* Astronomie, He that will be a Physician according to Homers Prescription, [...], that is, equivalent to any, ought to be skilful in Astronomy, and Magick natural. For if by Astronomy he be not able to judge in what state the Heavens stood, and what their Aspects were, when his patient sickened: and by Magick natural to calculate his Nativity, thereby to know which of the heavenly bodies ruled most in his birth, he shall hardly, or but by chance, conjecture to what end his Sickness will sort.

aswith, b. forthwith.

asure, f. blew.

asckance, b. as if, aside.

ashate, f. buying.

assised, sure,

asseth, assent.

asweued, b. amased.

asterten, b. escape.

assoile, b. answer, declare.

as, how.

as wis, b. as verily.

attaint, f. tried.

atamed, b. set on brooch.

atterly, b. earnestly.

attoure, b. towards, also attire.

attoure, f. attire for women.

at erst, b. in earnest.

* Athalanta, was daughter to Gaeneus, who contending in running with them which did woe her, was at the last overcome hy Hippomenes, who cast three golden Apples in her way, which stayed her in taking of them up, and so she was overcome.

athroted, d. choked.

atwin, b. asunder.

attempre, f. moderate.

attenes, b. at ones.

attwite, b. to make blame worthy, to upbraid.

* Athalus, That Athalus Asiaticus was the first Inventor of the Chess, Johannes Sarisburiensis in his Policraticon, lib. 1. chap. 5. doth witness, from whence (no doubt) Chaucer had it, as he had many things else, being a work full of variety and skill, and therefore justly commended by J. Lipsius. There it may appear, that Athalus invented the game called Abacus, the which word, as it hath divers significations, so it is taken for Latrunculorum lusus, that is, the Chess play, as out of Macrobius and others may be proved.

aureat, l. golden.

aumener, b. cubbard.

aurore, l. morning.

augrim stones, a. pibbles to cast account withal.

auntreth, b. maketh adventure.

austrine, l. froward.

autentike, f. of authority.

aumer, Amber.

autremite, f. another attire.

auale, f. go down.

auailed, assaulted.

auaile, f. send down.

auaunt, f. a brag, forward, apace, set forward.

auaunt, f. forward, apace.

auenant, f. agreeable, comely.

auer, i. bribery, richess.

awayte, watch, circumspection.

awayte, d. watch by way:

awayts, (insidiae) b. ambushments.

awayte, b. tarrying, watching, pending, secrecy.

awarde, b. judgement:

awhaped, b. amased, daunted.

awhere, desire.

awrecketh, b. revengeth.

axes, b. the ague.

ay, egg.

ayle, b. ever.

Azimutes, a. great circles meeting in the Zenith, and passing all the degrees of the Horison.

B.

Bandon, d. company, sect, custody.

bargenet, A song or sonnet.

bargaret, A kind of dance.

barme, b. lappe.

bawsin, big, some say it is a Badger or Gray.

baggingly, (tumide) disdainfully.

baronage, f. lords.

base, g. the foundation or ground of any thing.

balais of entayle, f. precious stones engraved.

baudrie, b. bravery.

barmecloth, (limas) b. an Apron or safegard.

bath, b. both.

bale, b. sorrow.

barbicans, b. watch Tours, in the Saxon Tongue, borough kennings.

baudricke, f. furniture, a sword girdle.

barkefat, b. Tanners tub.

baselards, (si [...]ae) swords, daggers.

balke, d. scape, fault.

baude, d. brave, bold, lusty.

barbe, f. a maske or visard.

[Page] battelled, made with battlements.

bay, b. stake.

balefull, b. sorrowful.

babeuries, f. Antiquets.

bane, b. destruction.

bandon, i. company, sect.

baggingli, (tumidae) b. swellingly, disdainfully.

bailli, f. government.

baggeth, disdaineth.

bayne, f. a bath.

beausir, f. fair sir.

belchier, f. good countenance.

beed, continued.

bearing, b. behaviour.

bemes, Trumpets.

bete, b. make, also abate, placed, also to help.

beten, b. made.

bedeth, b. offereth.

behote, b. promise.

beshet, d. shut up.

benimmeth, d. bereaveth.

beknew, learned out.

behight, b. promised.

belchose, f. fair choice.

berne, b. bear, convey.

bede, b. put, offer.

bessegeden, d. besieged.

bete, b. help.

behoteth, promiseth.

bede, dwelled, continued.

bewared, b. spent.

bewrien, b. to bewray.

belle, f. good.

beest, f. a beast.

bell Isaude, f. well spoken.

behete, behight, b. promised.

benison, f. b. blessing.

bendes, f. bands.

bey, b. obey.

bent, b. a steep place.

betressed, deceived.

bewrowned, b. spoken in the ear.

besien, b. trouble.

bewri, b. declare.

bend, b. a muffler or cale.

beten, f. to make a band, to kindle.

beliue, b. anon.

besey, b. become.

bereth, b. behaveth.

belomie, f. fair or good friend.

bey, b. buy.

behete, b. promise.

Belmari, Taken to be that Country in Barbary, called by Vassens, Benamarin.

Besant, g. A Greekish Coin called Bizantium, as William Malmesbury saith, because it was the Coin of Constantinople, sometime called Bizantium.

berne, b. to carry.

beset, set packing.

bewrecke, b. revenged.

behew, b. guilded.

becke, f. b. bill, beak.

belt, b. girdle.

betren, b. sprinckled; also winding about.

betrassed, b. deceived, betrayed.

bete, abate.

bette, d. better, quickly.

benes, b. bones.

bemeint, b. lamented, bemoned.

beyet, b. begotten.

bismar, f. (bizarre) fantastical strangeness.

birell, i. fine glass, also a kind of precious stone.

Bialacoile, f. fair welcoming.

bid, d. pray.

bit, b. bad, commanded.

bineme, d. bereave.

bint, b. bound.

bigin, bigot, f. superstitious hypocrite, or hypocritical woman.

bittor, b. a certain water-foul.

bidding, abiding.

biker, b. a fray.

bigami, g. twise married.

blankemanger, f. custard.

blew Euage, (cyanaeus) of blew colour.

blith, d. merry.

bliue, b. quickly, gladly.

blin, b. cease.

blasons, f. praises.

blanch, f. white.

blandish, l. sooth up.

blande, l. flattering.

blankers, f. white.

blacke buried, Hell.

bleine, b. a bile.

blent, d. stayed, turned back, also blind.

blee, b. sight, hew, favour, look.

blend, b. blind, to make blind.

bleue, dleuen, tarry, abide.

blinke, b. looking aside.

blo, b. blew.

blondren, d. toil, bluster.

bode, b. message or news.

bode, d. tidings; also, could, was able.

bodeth, b. sheweth.

boistous, f. halting; also plain, rude, great.

bountie, f. goodness.

bosche, l. a bush.

boure, b. house.

boune, f. b. good.

borne, to burnish.

bolne, b. to swell.

bottome, f. bud.

boun, b. ready.

boote, b. help.

bourd, d. a trencher, b. a table.

bordels, f. brothelhouses.

boote of bale, b. ease of sorrow.

bord, bourd, b. jest.

borace, i. soldar.

bowne, b. ready.

bolne, b. swelled.

bole, a Bull.

borrow, a pledg, a surety.

borrell, d. plain, rude.

bout, b. without.

bote, b. did bite.

borrell, f. attire on the head.

bowke, b. the body, or belly, or the Stomack.

bone, b. request.

* Bourd begon, Prologues. This Knight being often among the Knights of the Dutch Order, called Ordo Teutonicus, in Prussia, was for his Worthiness placed by them at the Table, before any of what Nation soever. If any desire to know the Profession of these Knights called Teutonici, it was thus: They having their dwelling at Jerusalem, were bound to entertain Pilgrims, and at Occasions to serve in War against the Saracens. They were apparelled in white, and upon their uppermost Garment did wear a black Cross. And for that this Order was first begun by a certain rich Almaigne, none were received into the same, save only Gentlemen of the Dutch Nation. After Jerusalem was last taken by the Saracens, Anno 1184. these Knights retired to Tolemaida; and that being taken, into Germany, their own Country. And when as there also the People of Prussia used Incu [...]sions upon their Confines, they went unto Frederick the Second, then Emperour, Anno 1220. who granted them leave to make Wars upon them, and to turn the spoil to the maintenance of their Order. After this Conquest of Prussia, these Knights grew rich, and builded there many Temples and Places of Residence for Bishops, who also were enjoyned to wear the Habite of the Order. Chaucer will have his Knight of such Fame, that he was both known and honoured of this Order.

[Page] braudri, b. graven work.

braying, f. b. sounding.

brawnes, b. sinews, muskles.

brake, steel.

braket, b. a drink made of water and honey.

braui, l. reward.

brat b. a rag.

braide, b. arose, awaked, took, brake out.

brast, b. break.

brayde, b. a burnt, strange fare.

brede, b. breadth.

brede, a bride.

bredgen, b. abridge.

bren, b. branne.

brede, abroad.

brecke, (ruptura) d. a bruse, a breach.

breme, b. (ferociter) fiercely.

bretfull, b. top full.

brige, breach.

brike, b. astrait, or narrow.

bronde, d. fury, fire.

broke, b. enjoy, to like.

broken, b. brook.

brocking, b. throbbing.

brotell, b. brickle.

brocage, b. means, spokesmen.

browded, b. embroidred.

browke, b. to enjoy.

burnets, f. hoods, attire for the head.

bugle, b. black horn.

bumbeth, b. soundeth.

but, except.

burled, armed.

burdon, b. a deep base.

burned, b. brightly filed, burnished.

burell, f. fine glass, a precious stone.

burdon, f. a staff.

burly brand, b. a great sword.

burned, burnished.

burnet, f. wollen.

buxioning, f. budding.

buxum, b. dutiful.

buxumnesse, b. lowliness.

byddeth, d. prayeth.

byg, b. build.

by rew, b. in order.

bywoxen, b. made senceless, overwept.

C.

* Caere Inda, Some think it should be Caere Lud, that is, the City of Lud, called London.

caleweyes, Calure, as Salmon, or other red Fish.

canceline, f. chamlet.

camysed, f. flat nosed.

cankedore, i. woful case.

call, d. (pulchrum) bravery.

callot, b. a leud woman.

canell, d. a Sinnamon tree.

carects, g. marks, prints.

cardiacle, g. wringing at the heart.

canon, g. a rule.

caitisned, l. chained.

cadence, l. proof.

cassidoni, g. a stone growing in Aethiopia, which shineth like Fire. Ex Lib. de Natura Rerum.

capell, b. an horse.

caroll, f. a song or dance.

calsening, f. bringing any mettal into powder.

catapuce, g. spurge.

cameline, f. chamlet.

calked, l. cast.

* Ceruse, White Lead, the Composition whereof is thus: Fossa fiat in Terra: claudatur circumquaque muro paruo: demum accipiantur laminae plumbeae oblongae formae quadrangulae, & projiciantur ex circumfuso super foveam: postmodum projiciatur in fovea acetum forte, bullietque projectum super superficiem terrae, & vapor inde resolutus inficiet plumbum: post spacium vero vinus diei vel amplius rade ab illis laminis, quod illis adhaeret, & illud desicca ad Solem, & erit Cerusa.

certres, i. undoubtful signs:

centure, g. the point in the midst of a circle.

censing, b. casting the smoak, Frankincense.

celerer, d. butler.

cell, d. a study.

chasteleine, f. a gentlewoman of a great house.

chaunters, f. singers.

chaffer, d. goods, wares.

chauntepleure, f. that weepeth and singeth together.

chapelet, f. a garland.

charters, f. writings.

chaffare, d. buying and selling.

chalons, f. blankets, coverings.

champartie, f. maintaining a quarrel.

chapiter, b. chief Rulers in Abbies.

charge, hurt, harm.

chekelaton, b. a stuff of Checker-work, made of Cloth of Gold.

cheuisance, f. merchandise, devise, a bargain.

chees, b. chuse.

chevice, f. redeem; also to effect.

cheorte, f. love, jealousie, pity.

chest, (subjectum) receptable.

cheue, d. thrive.

chest, (opprobrium) slaunder.

cheuesayle, f. a gorget.

chert, f. love.

cherisaunce, b. comfort.

cherts, f. merry folks.

cheuesayle, f. a gorget.

chike, a chekin.

chincheri, f. nigardliness.

chiuer, b. to shake.

Christopher, l. a picture of a Man, carrying a Child on his shoulders over a River.

chinch, f. nigardly.

chirking, b. a noise, making a noise.

chirking, (stridens) crashing.

chite, b. chiteth.

chilandri, f. a goldfinch.

chiuancie, f. chivalry, riding.

churliche, b. plain, homely.

churle, b. slave.

church Reues, b. Church-wardens.

chymbe, d. the uttermost part of a barrel.

citrination, perfect digestion, or the colour proving the Philosophers stone.

citrine, f. yellow.

citriall, i. a gitterne, or dulcimer, called Sambuca.

cierges, f. Wax Candles, Lamps.

clarions, d. trumpets.

cleape, b. call.

clare, clari, b. wine and hony mingled (Vinum rubedum) d. red wine.

clepen, b. call.

clergion, g. a clark.

clenched, b. fastned.

cleuis, b. clifts, rocks.

clergicall, g. learned.

climbe, b. found.

clip, clippeth, d. embraceth, kisseth.

climate, g. a portion of the Firmament between South and North, varying in one day half an hours space.

clicket, b. an Instrument of Iron to lift up a latch.

clotlefe, (personata) b. the great Burleaf.

clomben, d. ascended.

clum, a note of silence.

cockney, b. a wisard, disard, fool.

controue, f. devise.

[Page] controuer, f. deviser.

* Constellation, the motion or inward working of the stars or heavenly elements, upon our earthly bodies.

couercle, f. a cover, a lid.

contemplance, l. private study.

* Collect, Expans, years, and Roots, are terms belonging to the Tolitane Tables, and so be his Centres, his Arguments, Proportionels, &c. Face and Tearme be dignities belonging to the Planets.

costei, d. to walk.

convaile, recover.

compere, f. d. gossip.

commensall, f. a table companion.

convention, l. a bargain.

corare, f. overcome.

costrell, b. a wine-pot.

controuer, f. deviser.

courtepie, d. a short gawberdine, or upper Garment.

corrumpeth, i. stinketh, putrifieth.

couth, b. known perfectly.

cogge, a cogbote.

columbine, l. dove-like.

cordewane, f. dry leather.

conteke, f. strife.

costage, d. charge, cost.

corigeth, l. correcteth.

corven, d. taken, carved.

couched, f. interlaied, underlaied.

couent, b. a number of thirteen Friars.

con, d. know, be able.

coitu, l. copulation.

confecture, l. a medicine.

coy, coyen, f. to quiet, to flatter, also secret, dainty, nice.

cop, d. f. top.

conisance, f. knowledge.

covine, b. deceit.

connen, d. can.

coagulate, l. curdled, joyned.

colfox, b. a black or fearful Fox.

corare, i. overcome.

controue, f. to faine, to devise.

combust, l. burnt, scorched.

coines, f. quinches.

coynt, f. strange.

counterpleted, b. controuled.

corosiue, l. eating, wasting.

commoning, l. part taking.

coupe gorge, f. cut throat.

corbets, f. d. places in wals, where Images stand.

cornmuse, l. Musick on Cornets.

couenable, f. convenient.

coulpe, l. fault.

coure, b. kneel, stoop.

commaunce, f. community.

coilons, f. stones.

coyse, b. joliness, niceness.

coart, l. enforce.

courfine, f. fine heart.

compinable, f. fit for company.

cope, f. a cloak.

crampisheth, crampesh, d. gnaweth.

crallit, b. engraven.

creanseth, f. dealeth on credit.

creance, f. faith or trust.

crepusculis, l. crepuscles, or dawning.

cresse, f. a rush.

crispe, l. curled.

Croiseri, b. they for whom Christ suffered upon the Cross.

crocke, crucke, f. d. a cup, or stean, an earthen pot.

crouched, b. blessed.

crone, b. an old prating Woman.

crop, f. top.

crouch, i. cross, bless.

crowdest, d. thrustest.

crosselet, f. a melting pot.

crockes, d. locks of hair.

croupe, f. buttock.

crull, d. curled.

curreidew, b. curry favour.

cure bulli, f. tanned leather:

eucurbite, l. a kind of long necked Glass.

* Curfew, William the Conquerour in the first year of his reign, commanded, That in every Town and Village a Bell should be rung every night at eight of the Clock, and that all People should then put forth their Fire and Candle, and go to Bed. The ringing of this Bell was called in the French Tongue Curfew, that is, Cover Fire.

culpons, parts, or streiks; heaps.

culleth, b. pulleth, enforceth.

D.

* Dan Burnell, Nigellus Wireker, Monk of Canterbury, a Man of great Reading and Judgment, as Leland writeth of him, was not affraid to write of the faults of Curates, & the mis-spending of Church Goods; even to William Longshampe, Bishop of Ely, and Lord Chancellor of England, a Man of all Men under the Sun most malicious. He did write in Verse to the foresaid William, a Book, under the Title of Brunellus, called Speculum stultorum; And this is it which Chaucer calleth here, Burnell the Ass. He lived, Anno 1200. in the Days of King John.

dawes, b. days, time.

daweth, b. springeth, beginneth.

daren, darreigne, b. attempt, challenge.

daw, b. wax day.

dare, b. stare.

daffe, b. dasterd.

dagges, (fractura) latchets cut of leather.

dagon, (fractura) a piece or remnant.

dagged, b. slitted.

dates, b. accounts.

dayned, f. vouchsafed.

defayted, decayed, senceless.

dere, b. hurt, grieve.

deluge, l. a flood.

deviant, l. far off, wandering.

definished, l. proved.

desiderie, l. lust.

debonairely, f. meekly.

deis, b. a seat.

debonaire, f. gentle, humble.

deaurat, l. shining.

denwere, b. doubt.

destrer, f. horse of Arms.

de pardeux, f. by God.

debate, f. to fight.

derne, (dirus) earnest, careful, secret.

deintie, desire.

decoped, d. peaked.

demeane, f. behave.

deficate, l. deified.

deiden, died.

deme, condemn.

depe lowpe, (transparens) giving thorough light.

deslaui, d. lecherous, servile, beastly.

dey, dead; also [...], a dairy woman.

demaine, f. toll, custom, possession, also to rule.

demoniake, g. possessed of a Devil.

demin, b. Judge.

dely, b. small.

deuoire, f. labour, endeavour, duty.

dent, b. stroke.

demeane, f. complain, behave.

delue, d. digg, ditch.

deignous, f. disdainful.

deuinals, l. wisards.

defended, d. forbad, forbidden.

dequace, b. dash.

[Page] dexe, a desk.

defouled, shamed.

defence, f. charge, forbidding.

determinate, l. limited.

dispaired, b. discouraged.

dissentori, a kind of still.

digne, l. worthy, mete; also lyth, gentle, yielding, also to vouchsafe.

diuinistre, l. a divine.

dike, b. ditch.

diapred, f. diversified.

diuinaile, (Aenigma) g. a riddle.

dight, b. made ready, handled, used; also to cover.

distance, l. discord, danger.

dispended, l. wasted.

dim, b. obscure.

disheuild, f. barehairred.

dite, b. a treatise.

disconsolate, l. without comfort.

dismal, l. (dies malus) unluckey.

dispone, l. dispose.

disparage, f. disgrace.

distreineth, effecteth.

disceuer, spend.

distraineth, vexeth.

diameter, g. a line dividing any figure into two equal parts.

disease, b. vexation.

disapered, l. vanished.

discure, b. shew.

diuerseth, l. turneth.

disioint, b. jeopardy.

dissoned, l. dissonant.

docked, b. cut off.

done houres, b. do servise to God.

doleth, l. grieveth.

douced, a pipe made of box, sounding most sweetly.

domesman, b. Jugde.

doughtie, b. stout.

dortoure, f. dormitorium, a sleeping place.

domed, b. judged.

dormant, l. unremoved.

doced, f. a sweet Instrument.

dole, b. sorrow.

doluen, d. buried.

donet, l. a book so called.

dowtremere, f. fair wearing.

dowle, b. deal.

dow, b. give.

dretching, delay.

dreri, b. heavy, sorrowful.

dretch, to stay, to hinder, to tarry, to dream.

draftie, d. irksom, filthy.

drerines, b. sorrow.

drenched, b. overcome, drowned.

drerinesse, b. heart-grief.

dreint, b. drowned.

dray, drey, dry.

dri, drien, b. to suffer.

droui, d. filthy.

drugge, b. toyl.

drurie, modesty, sobriety, comliness.

drough, b. drew.

drenching, taking in.

drunkelew, d. given to drink, drunken.

* Dulcarnon, is a proportion in Euclid, lib. 1. Theorem. 33. propos. 47. which was found out by Pythagoras after an whole years study, and much beating of his Brain: In thankfulness whereof, he sacrificed an Ox to the Gods; which Sacrifice he called Dulcarnon. Alexander Neckam an ancient Writer, in his Book De Naturis Rerum, compoundeth this word of Dulia, and Caro, and will have Dulcarnon to be quasi sacrificium Carnis. Chaucer aptly applyeth it to Creseide in this place; shewing that she was as much amazed how to answer Troilus, as Pythagoras was wearied to bring his desire to effect.

duresse, f. hardness.

dwale, (solanum soporiferum) d. nightshade, provoking sleep.

dwined, d. dried, consumed.

E.

Ebracke, Hebrew.

ebracke, Jews.

ecclesiast, g. a churchman.

ecliptike line, g. the circumference of the circle, wherein the Sun finisheth his yearly motion.

echen, eche, b. increase, draw out.

echeth, b. helpeth.

eft, b. again, soon.

effunde, l. utter.

effated, f. sorted, defaced.

eftris, efters, entries, ways, galleries.

egment, b. procurement.

eigteth mow, d. may grant.

elate, l. stout.

elenge, b. strange.

ele, help.

eldeth, b. maketh old.

elth, eld, old age.

eluish, b. wicked, froward.

empaired, much grieved.

emplede, f. sue.

embolfe cercle, g. the oblique circle.

embosed, hanged out his tongue with weariness.

emforth, after, according.

emispere, g. half the compass of the visible heaven.

emplaster, f. set out, paint.

emprise, f. enterprise; also fashion, order.

enbolned, b. swelled.

enchafeth, (flagrat) burneth.

Eneidos, g. a work written by Virgil, of the travels of Aeneas.

endry, b. endure.

engined, d. racked.

enhansed, f. exalted.

enhauncen, lift up, raise.

engine, f. wit, devise.

engluting, f. stopping.

enbibing, l. sucking.

enewed, renewed.

enmoised, f. comforted.

encontrewayle, f. prevent, to meet.

encheson, f. cause, occasion.

enchafed, f. heated.

enpited, delited.

enlangored, f. languishing.

ensise, b. quality, fashion, order.

entreteden, d. handle.

entalenten, f. move, stir up.

entaile, f. graved work.

entremete, f. deal, meddle.

entermined, l. undermined.

entred, l. buried.

entalented, f. ingrafted.

enteched, f. defiled.

entetched, f. qualified, spotted.

entame, touch, handle.

entailed, f. carved.

entriketh, b. entrappeth.

entriked, deceived; also mingled.

enteched, f. qualified, or spotted.

entremes, f. intermingled.

enuelopt, f. wrapped.

enuiron, f. round, round about.

equinoctial, l. when the nights and days be all of one length.

ernes, b. promise.

erke, b. weary, loathing.

erne, greatly.

ernefull, b. sorrowful.

* Eros, g. Whereas some Copies have Hereos, some Hernes, and some such like counterfeit word, whereof can be given no reason; I have set down Eros, i. Cupid: as most agreeing in my Opinion with the matter; which I gather thus: Lucian, in his second Dialogue bringeth in Cupid teaching Jupiter how to becomeamiable, and in him, how lovers may be made acceptable to their ladies; not by weeping, watching, and fasting, nor by furious melancholick fits, but by comly behaviour. The words in the Greek, are thus much in Latin: Si voles amabilis esse ne (que) concutias Aegida,[Page]neque fulmen geras: sed suavissimum teipsum exhibe: & vestem sume purpuream, crepidas subliga auratas: ad tibiam & ad Timpana composito gressu incede, & videbis quod plures te sequentur, quam Bacchum Maenades. So that the lovers of Eros, that is, Cupids Servants, do carry themselves comely in all their Passions, and their Maladies are such as shew no open distemperature of body or mind. which mediocrity this Arcite was far from keeping. And whereas some will have us read Heroes, i. Noble-men; I cannot dislike their Opinion, for it may fitly stand with the sense of the place.

erre, f. way.

erst, b. earnest.

escrite, f. a writing.

esperance, f. hope.

esploit, perfection.

espiritueles, l. heavenly.

essoine, f. delay.

eth, b. easie.

etymologise, g. to shew the true interpretation of a word.

euin, b. equal.

euin, b. upright.

exiteth, l. moveth.

exorcismes, g. adjurations.

expleiten, f. make shew, counterfeit.

eyth, b. easle.

ey, an egg.

F.

Fast, wedded.

fare, f. gone.

falding, a kind of course cloth.

fare, faire.

fay, f. truth.

fast frets, full fraughteth.

farce, f. paint.

fage, a fable.

fare, b. chear.

farden, b. fared.

famulers, l. helpers.

falsed, l. deceived.

fallas, l. deceit.

fame, defame, slander.

fassed, l. stuffed.

faitors, i. deceivers, flatterers.

fay, l. truly, also fidelity.

fairy, b. a goodly sight, the place where Hobgolins and Fairies dwell.

fantom, f. fancy, vain vision.

falke, b. people, folk.

faw, b. glad, joyful.

fare, f. to go, also a stir.

faunes, g. rustical gods.

falsen, f. deceive.

fantom, f. vain vision.

facond, i. speech.

fendli, b. ugly.

ferne yeare, February.

fetise, b. handsom.

ferthing, b. a thin scale.

fermerere, an overseer of cattel.

fele, many, also feling.

ferd, b. fared.

fermases, g. medicines.

* Fenne, Avicen divideth his Canons into partitions, which he calleth Fens.

ferth, b. the fourth.

fermentation, l. giving Life to the Philosophers stone.

feled, known.

fers, the queen in Chess-play.

feture, f. handsomness.

fend, b. devil.

ferne, b. long time.

feestlych, d. pleasant.

fendish, b. divelish.

ferly, b. strange.

ferd, b. fared.

felloun, f. deadly, cruel.

fele, b. knowledge.

fethered, b. shaked his wings.

fesse, b. indue.

feele, find.

fele homages, f. faithful subjection.

fell, b. the skin.

feest, b. mirth, joy.

fere, b. a companion.

ferth, b. the fourth.

fete, b. fine.

fine, l. cease.

finance, f. end.

flaming, red.

flash of flames, sheaf of Arrows.

flaw, yellow.

flay, did fly.

flebring, b. flattering, slaunder.

fleten, b. abound.

flemer, b. expeller.

flone, an arrow.

flemed, b. daunted.

fleming, conquest.

flid, b. flie.

flite, flight, b. chide.

* Floreine, A Coin of the value of 3 s. 4 d. or thereabouts, and such were called Florenes de Scuto. Others there were called Florenes Regales, contained within the price of 2 s. 10 d. q.

flo, an arrow.

flode, abounded,

floreth, l. florisheth.

floiting, f. d. whistling.

fonden, labour.

fonde, make, contend, to labour; also to make a fool.

fonge, b. take.

fonne, b. fool: also to be foolish.

fonnes, devises.

fone, fine, l. make an end.

fother, b. a Wain-load of twenty hundred weight.

forstraught, b. daseled.

fore, gone.

forfraught, beset.

forrei, f. to provide horse meat.

forrage, f. fodder, course meat.

forcer, f. copher or chest.

forward, course, condition, promise.

forwined, d. dried up.

fordo, overthrown.

for thy, b. therefore.

forpined, consumed.

forleten, forlete, forsake, broken off.

forloine, rechase, terms of hunting.

forleien, d. wander.

fordo, b. kill.

forleten, foryetten, let pass, neglected, forlorne.

fortuna maior, l. Jupiter.

forgist, forgiving.

forth, theft.

forwelked, (marcidus) d. dryed up.

forlaine, forsaken.

fort, l. strong.

forleteth, giveth over.

forlyth, spoileth.

forsongen, b. weary with singing.

forge, f. work.

foreyne, b. a Jaques.

formel, his make.

forfare, b. forlorne.

fore, fared, gone.

foredid, killed.

foryede, b. overwent.

fordo, undone, lost.

fone, b. enemies.

foison, f. plenty.

foiterers, f. vagabonds.

foothot, b. forthwith.

fowlefaile, b. err greatly.

folili, f. rashly.

fomen, b. enemies.

fongeth, taketh use.

fownd, framed.

foiles, f. leaves.

frape, b. a company, a rabble.

frained, restrained, also asked.

fret, b. a circle.

freneth, maketh strange noise.

fret, f. fraught.

frend, fremd, b. strange.

freelti, b. frail.

froy, from you.

franks, f. french crowns.

freten, b. devour.

franchise, f. freedom.

[Page] freel, b. frail.

freteth, f. rubbeth, chafeth.

fret, f. turn, fraught.

frouncen, d. f. wrinckling.

fremed, b. wild, strange.

fret full, set full.

frened, b. strange.

frounce, f. a wrincle.

froise, (frixura) f. a Pancake, or Tansey.

frounklesse, f. plain.

fryth, b. a wood.

fullich, fully.

fulke, an hollow place.

furiall, f. cruel.

fusible, l. that may be molten.

fuir, i. fury.

fye, defie.

fined, l. ended.

fish, the sign Pisces.

fire leuin, b. lightning.

G.

Gabbing, b. lying.

gadling, b. stragling.

garnison, f. preparation.

Garnade, Garnata in Spain.

garison, f. a defence.

gable, the fore front of an House.

galoch, f. a kind of shoe.

gaytere berries, (virga sanguinea) prickwood.

gastnes, b. terror.

gargoning, f. strange speaking.

gab, b. prate or lye.

* Ganilion, which betrayed the Army of the Christians, under Charlemain, to the Saracens, and was therefore torn in pieces with four Horses.

galaxi, (lactea via) g. a tract of [...]stars called Watling-street.

gale, b. yawle.

gale, b. flout, also cha [...]e.

galpeth, b. belcheth.

gallard, f. lusty, frollick.

garison, f. to defend.

* Gawyn, This Gawyn was Sisters Son to Arthur the great, King of the Britains, a most famous man in War, and in all manner of Civility; As in the Acts of the Brittains we may read. In the year 1082. in a Province of Wales, called Rose, was his Scpulchre found, and his Body, affirmed by many, to have been of the length of fourteen foot.

galliens, Galens works.

gate, occasion.

gaudi, b. brave.

gawreth, b. stareth.

gawre, b. stare.

gawde, b. a trifle.

geri, gerifull, mutable, also cruel.

gend, f. seemly.

gere, b. jest, frensie.

gergon, b. chattering, prating.

geomancie, g. conjuration by circles in the earth.

gent, f. d. comely, proper.

gesseran, a brestplate.

giplere, f. a bag or pouch.

gippon, a doublet, or light coat.

gigges, b. drabs.

girde, b. strike.

gigging, sounding.

gigges, (garrulitas) babling.

gite, a gown.

gisarme, gasa, a certain weapon.

gipe, a coat full of pleits.

gigges, bablings.

giglotlyke, b. strumper like.

gladly, commonly.

glapeth, b. glistereth.

glede, b. fire, embers, flame, sparkles, ashes.

gle, b. melody.

glent, b. glanced, cast.

gleire, b. white.

glase, b. to glose.

gleden, d. gon, slidden.

gledes, imbers, also flames.

gleue, b. a spear.

glitteren, b. glister, shine.

glitering, b. shining.

glode, b. ascended.

glowed, b. stared.

glombe, b. frown.

gloten, covering.

glose, perswade.

glose, b. flatter, also the exposition of a dark speech.

glede, b. puttock.

glowden, d. shined.

glittren, b. shine.

gnarre, b. an hard knot, as in wood; a short thick grub.

gnast, gnash.

gnew, b. gnawed.

gnosse, i. fool, chuffe, miser.

gods sonn, b. that God sendeth.

gods half, b. on Gods side.

gorget, f. a throat.

gore, (lacinia) a pleat or fold.

golyerdies, f. ravenously mouthed.

gowreth, b. stareth.

gonfennon, f. a little flag.

gonge, b. Jaques.

gossomor, b. things that flye in the Air in Summer time like Copwebs.

Goodmes, f. good time, or mood.

gourde, b. a bottel, made of a gourd.

golit, d. throat.

gotysh, i. sottish.

gore, an arbor under a gourd.

goodlihead, gay shew.

grame, i. sorrow, mishap, d. anger.

graythed, devised.

grapenel, an Instrument with many hooks.

graspeth, b. catcheth fast.

gratch, b. apparel.

grauen, d. buried.

grant mercy, f. I thank you.

graue, bury.

graieth, b. to make trim.

great see (Mar maggiore) anciently Pontus Euxinus.

grece, f. gray, gray amise of Russie Squirrels.

greith, b. remove.

grete, b. wepe.

grenehed, rashness.

gre, f. good part.

grith, b. agreement.

greues, b. trees, boughs, leaves, grass.

gret, b. saluted.

greyned, made.

grede, b. cried.

grint, b. grinded.

grispe, d. gripe.

grisely, b. abhominably, gastly, fearfully.

grill, b. could.

grofly, b. flat on the ground.

groine, b. a froward look.

growbed, b. digged.

gruffe, groufe, b. groveling:

gruell, b. pottage.

guerdon, f. reward.

guerdonlesse, f. unrewarded.

guerring, i. brawling.

gullet, d. a throat.

gye, b. guide.

gyre, b. trance.

H

* Harrolds, whereas in some books it is, my King of Harrolds shalt thou be; it is now corrected thus (my King of Harlots shalt thou be.) For so it is in the French Moralization of Molinet, 149. where he is called Roi des Ribaulds, which is the King of Harlots, or wicked Persons: an Office of great account in times past, and yet used in the Court of France. Of this office speaketh Johannes Tillius in his second book De rebus Gallicis, under the title De Praefecto praetorio Regis. But more hereof when time shall serve in M. F. Thin [...] Comment.

halse, d. a neck.

[Page] hasard, d. dising.

haw, a yard, black, have.

halse, b. charge.

haire, hair-cloth.

hayes, f. hedges.

haketon, f. a Jacket without sleves.

hawberke, f. a gorget.

halpe, b. helped.

halke, (angulus) b. corner,

herne, valley.

haubergion, (lorica) f. a coat of male.

hate, b. benamed.

habite, l. plite.

harlotrise, b. bawdry.

halt, b. held purpose.

hauten, comely.

haried, b. pulled.

hayne, f. hatred.

hafe, lifted.

hace, b. hath.

han, b. have.

hawbacke, b. return.

hardely, b. stoutly, also verily.

hackeney, d. a trotting horse.

hameled, d. cut off, abated.

halow, hollow.

halsing, b. embrasing.

harrow, (apagesis) away, away, fie, fie.

happeth, b. covereth embraseth.

hauselines, (faemoralia) breches.

hat, b. was called.

hallowes, b. Saint.

haulues, d. parts.

hawtently, b. solemnly.

halt, held, holdeth, judgeth.

haunten, b. use.

haunce, set out.

hanceled, cut off.

halt, b. performeth, holdeth.

halteth, (trahit) draweth.

hauoire, f. possession.

henten, hent, b. catch.

hele, heyle, b. health.

hethen, b. mockery.

hewen, hewed, b. coloured.

hecled, wrapped.

herbigage, f. lodging.

held, accompt, accompted.

hereid, b. praised, honoured.

hewed, b. coloured.

hew, hewis, b. colours, welfare, beauty.

hestes, b. wills, promise, commandements.

heyne, b. to labourer, drudge,

heauen, b. to shove, to lift.

hewmond, new made.

healed, b. covered, heard.

heroner, a special long winged Hawk.

hent, b. catched.

herborow, d. lodging.

heriyng, b. praise.

herawdes, b. furious parts in a play.

here and houne, hare and hound.

helmed, b. defended.

heale, hele, b. hold, cover.

here and hace, b. hoarse and harsh.

healed, heard.

helded, b. holden down.

herieth, b. praiseth.

helest, did hold.

hend, b. gentle.

hernia, g. the disease called bursting.

hote, hete, heten, d. vow, promise.

* Heisugge, The Heisugge, called Curruca, is a little Bird in whose nest the Cuckow laieth her-Eggs, and when they be hatched, and grown to some bigness, they eat the Bird that bred them.

hew, welfare.

herden, did hear.

heuen, b. rise up.

hem, them.

heth, b. brabes or such like.

her, their.

hete, d. was named.

henters, b. catchers.

height, b. were named.

heepe, b. help.

heraud, d. proclaim, set forth.

hew, to hover.

henten, b. to catch.

hemisphere, g. half the compass of the visible Heaven.

highest, maketh hast.

hight, b. promised.

hierdesse, b. herdwoman.

hith, b. make hast.

highten, b. promise.

hip, b. the red berry on the brier.

hidous, f. b. great.

hite, hete, hote, d. is called.

hild, b. powred.

hidiously, b. fiercely, fearfully.

holt, holden.

hoten, b. called.

horologe, g. a clock.

hote the knot, make fast.

hoppen, d. leap.

howten, b. hallow.

howgates, how.

hore, b. white.

holoure, b. horemonger.

hostei, to lay siege.

homicide, g. murderer.

hoten, b. make an unpleasant noise.

hopesteres, (gubernaculum tenentes) pilots.

horde, b. heap.

howselin, b. receive the Sacrament.

homager, f. subject.

howuer, an hoverer.

hold, with-held.

houed, b. taried.

hoker, b. stoutness, frowardness.

horrow, (squalidus) beastly, base, slanderous.

houe, b. lifted up, to hover, also a shew.

horoscope, g. the ascendent of ones Nativity.

hough, how.

hostell, f. a town house.

hote, b. promise, bid.

hostilements, necessaries.

hold, beholden.

holtes hore, b. woods white.

holt, d. a grove.

hoting, d. promising.

hurleth, f. falleth, maketh a noise.

* Hugh of Lincolne, In the 20th year of Henry the Third, eighteen Jews were brought to London from Lincolne, and hanged for crucifying a Child of eight years old; which was this Hugh, whereof Chaucer speaketh, as may be proved out of Matthew Paris, and Walsingham.

hurleth, (obstrepit) f. maketh a noise.

hurtell, skirmish:

hurtlest, carrieth, throweth.

hurtlen, b. thrust.

hulstred, b. hidden.

hurtelen, b. provoke.

humling, b. sounding.

hyldeth, yieldeth.

hyne, b. a hiend or husbandman.

hyerd, heardman, Governour.

hyerds, b. guides.

I.

Iape, Jest, a Word by abuse grown odious, and therefore by a certain curious Gentle-woman scraped out in her Chaucer; whereupon her serving man writeth thus:

My Mistress cannot be content,

To take a Jest as Chaucer ment,

But using still a Womans fashion,

Allows it in the last Translation:

She cannot with a word dispence,

Although I know she loves the sence.

For such an use the World hath got

That words are sins, but deeds are not.

iambeux, f. armour for the legs.

iane, half pence of Janua, or Galy half pence.

iapedst, b. jested.

iangleresses, b. brablers.

ibet, stamped.

ibete, set forth.

[Page] icond, b. learned.

ich, b. my self.

ido, b. undone, spoiled.

idolaster, g. idolatour.

iet, b. devise.

iewry, the Jews street or sinagogue.

iewise, reward by revenge, also a gibber.

ifete, b. effect.

ifere, b. together.

ificched, f. fixed.

ifounded, b. sunk.

ifretten, d. devoured.

igourd, fly.

igrauen, d. buried.

ihight, b. called, accompted.

ihired, honoured.

ikend, b. known.

ilimed, taken.

ilke, b. same.

illusion, l. deceipt.

imasked, f. covered.

imeint, b. mingled.

imped, b. grafted.

impetren, l. intreat.

incantations, i. charms.

in a threw, b. quickly.

innerest, f. inward.

indulgence, l. pardon.

ingot, the mass or wedge of gold after it is molten, as also the trough wherein it is molten.

intermete, f. medle.

incubus, l. the night mare.

indigence, l. want.

intremes, f. middle servise, intermingled.

intresse, lining.

i not, I know not.

intermeting, changing.

inome, d. taken.

interual, l. distance of time.

iniquitance, l. disquiet.

induration, l. making hard.

inde, f. azure colour.

in hie, in hast.

ithe, b. thrive.

itwight, b. drawn.

ineched, put in.

inomen, d. obtained.

inhild, b. infuse.

iombre, b. joyn, jumble.

ionglerie, d. jugling.

iordans, b. double urinals.

ioleming, d. joyful.

iossa, turn.

ioyeux, f. joyful.

ipriued, searched.

ipulled, smoothed.

irayled, covered, spred.

ise, beheld.

isped, (expeditus) dispatched.

ishad, b. scattered.

isperi, g. Orizon.

ishet, b. shut.

ispended, l. considered.

ishone, set forth.

iswent, b. swinged.

* Iustinian, In the eleventh Book of the Code, De mendicantibus validis; where it is enacted, that if any shall beg, having no cause either by need, or maim, the same shall be examined and searched; and who so shall find him to counterfeit, and proveth the same, Dominium ejus consequetur: and saith Bartoll. He shall be punished, Ad arbitrium Judicis.

iuuentute, l. youth.

iupart, b. adventure.

iubeli, l. joy, gladness for freedom.

iub, b. bottel.

iudicum, l. book of Judges.

iwri, iwrien, hidden.

iwri, covered, hanged.

iwimpled, d. mufled, hooded.

K.

Kalender, chief, first.

kalends, preamble.

keiked, kiken, b. stared.

keinard, micher, hedg-creeper.

kepe, b. care.

* Kenelme, This Kenelmus king of the Mercians was innocently slain by his Sister Quendrida, whereby he obtained his Name of a Martyr. In the same place, for Mereturick we now read Mercenrick, which is the Kingdom of Mercia, as the Etymology of the word doth teach. For Rik in the Saxon Tongue signifieth a Kingdom, and Mercen, the marches or bounds of a country. So that Mercenrick is regnum Mercia, whereof both Kenulph and Kenelme were Kings.

kele, b. to coole.

kest, b. cast.

kepen, b. to care.

kembe, d. deck.

kemeling, a Brewers vessel.

kernels, holes or corners in battelments.

kerueth, greveth.

ken, d. teach, know.

kers, (nasturtium) d. waterdresses.

keuer, b. recover.

kene, b. sharp.

kend, b. made me know.

* Kichell, A Cake which Horrace calleth Libum: Vt (que) sacerdotis fugitibus liba recuso: and with us it is called a Gods Kichell, because Godfathers and Godmothers used commonly to give one of them to their Godchildren, when they asked blessing.

kith, b. acquaintance.

kinrest, quiet rest.

kithen, b. shew.

kinds, kindels, (faetus) b. young ones.

kirked, b. turned upward.

kith, b. make known, shew, acknowledge.

kid, b. known, made known.

kitheth, b. sheweth.

kin, b. kind.

knarri, b. stubby.

kned, knit.

knittest, setlest.

knockeden, d. did knock.

knopped, d. tied, laced.

kon, b. can.

koueren, f. to hide.

L.

Lake, fine cloth like lawn.

largesse, i. liberality.

lachesse, f. leysines.

latered, l. laysie, loitring.

laas, (laqueus) d. net or gin [...]

laude, l. praise.

langorous, f. pining:

lacke, dispraise.

laft, lest off, enclosed.

lacke, d. offence: also lie, to dispraise.

lay, a song.

lauen, b. draw empty.

laudes, i. morning servise.

languerth, i. languisheth.

latonne, f. copper.

lacert, i. sinew.

layuers, (corrigiae) thongs.

lay, b. law.

laund, b. a plain between trees.

lauender, i. f. laundress.

laued, b. drew.

lath, b. a barn.

laften, forsook.

lasse, less.

lach, f. lasie.

larson, f. robbery.

lacking, dispraising.

lacken, extenuate, dispraise.

Lettow, Lituania, part of Sarmatia, joyning to Polonia.

Leyes, taken to be Levissa, upon the Continent not far from Rhodes.

lestis, temptations, lusts, pleasures.

ley, a song.

lees, leasing, also lost, release.

lewde, b. ignorant.

leue, beleve, live, releeve, grant, dear.

[Page] iet, lete, b. leave forsake,

leden, language.

lene, b. lend.

leueth, beareth.

leuer, better.

lech, b. a surgeon.

leue, b. dear.

lete, b. left off, to leave.

lends, (lumbi) d. loins.

lettrure, f. book learning.

ledge, d. lay.

lessel, (umbraculum) bush or hovel.

lele, right, lawful.

leite, light.

legends, l. tales.

lere, d. to teach.

leuer, lefe, d. wont. dear, willing, rather.

leueth, remaineth.

legisters, i. lawyers.

leged, resident.

lete, b. deemed, made shew, shewed.

lease, praise.

letting, leaving.

leueth, relieveth, also taketh leave.

lemes, b. flames, light.

lectorne, a desk.

legging, d. lodging.

letest fare, b. makest shew.

leuesell, a bush.

lere, complexion, colour, skin.

letargi, g. a drousie disease causing forgetfulness.

lest, lust.

* Litarge, f. white lead; The Composition whereof, as I find it in an old written book, is thus: Accipiter plumbum, & funditur in olla, & projiciuntur interius testae alterius ollae, & postea moveatur olla fortiori manu, quous (que) commisceantur testae & plumbum, praeterea projiciatur illud totum, & illud est litargirum: hoc modo preparatur plumbum ad plumbaciones ollarum.

ligne aloes, a bitter kind of wood out of India and Arabia.

licand, b. in good plite.

limitation, i. circuit.

liard, b. nimble.

lich, lech, b. like.

limaile, i. dust that cometh of filing.

light, to make light.

lith, lieth.

lisse, f. end, limit, border.

lisse, lees, release.

lisse, b. ease.

ligne, f. line.

lith, (membrum) a lim.

lifthalfe, b. left side.

lith, lieth, also plain.

liege, lege, f. lawful, true.

lignes, liketh, yieldeth.

litherly, b. slothful.

liggen, b. lie.

liart, b. gentle, lithe, smooth.

liuen, b. beleeve.

lithi, lethy, b. soft gentle.

lissed, f. bounded.

lisse, to have less, to wax less.

lieges, f. subjects.

lithe, b. to ease.

lorrell, (lurco) devourer.

lombes, lambs.

loos, lose, f. praise, also order.

lossell, d. crafty fellow.

louedaies, arbitrements.

loppe, b. a spider.

lodemanage, skill of Navigation by stone and needle.

lollar, b. a breaker of fasting days.

louke, a fellow receiver.

lorco, a devourer, a gulligut.

Loi, Dunstan, Iulian, Runian, and what they were, may be known in the Legend, Festival, and Votaries.

louting, b. kneeling, honouring.

longen, belong.

lore, b. learning, knowledge.

lorne, b. lost.

losenger, f. flatterer or lier.

londles, b. runnagates.

loute, b. to bow or bend.

lozenge, f. square.

losengeri, f. flattery.

loteby, companion, or love.

loth, b. lothed.

losenges, f. square figures.

lore, b. lost.

loode, led.

losenge, f. square.

lostheld, accompted lost.

lodesmen, b. guides.

lore, (ratio) regard, doctrine.

low, fire, flame: also to allow, or like.

lordeth, ruleth.

lucerne, l. candel.

lugge, b. pull.

lushbrough, a base Coin in the days of Edward the Third.

M.

* Magicke, He meaneth this Physician was skilful in Astrology, and could make his election of fortunate hours, wherein to minister his Potions to his Patient; and likewise that he was practised in Magick natural, as in making of Sigils or Characters stamped in Metal in their due times, fitted to that sign that governed that part of the Body, wherein the Malady was; as the stamp of Aries for the disease in the Head, and of Leo for the Reins, &c. Hereof he speaketh in the third Book of Fame.

And Clerkes eke which conne well

All this Magick naturell,

That craftely doe her entents,

To maken in certaine ascendents

Images lo, through which Magicke

They make a man be whole and sicke.

* Martes marke, A Skar or Cut which the Children born in his Regiment have, and that in some part of their face: but this good Wife of Bath will needs have two; one for the Character of her principal Planet, and the other, &c.

maintenance, threatning.

masteling, shining.

mazeline, a mazer.

manace, f. threaten.

maladie, desease.

make his beard, deceive him.

malles, b. hammers, betils.

maumetri, b. worship of false Gods.

martirdom, torment.

maskewed, fensed, fortified.

makeles, b. matchless.

mate, d. daunted, tame, mad, pined, consumed.

maugre, f. despite.

martereth, i. dieth.

marke of Adam, mankind.

malison, b. a curse.

malleable, b. abiding the hammer.

marris, b. a fen.

mailes, d. round rings.

magonell, an instrument to cast stones.

malt, b. melted.

mansuete, l. gentle.

maumet, mahumet, b. a toyl, bable, idol.

mannish, (virago) b. stout.

mauis, f. a bushel.

make it, hinder it.

maint, mingled.

malt, melted.

matire, f. matter.

mani, g. madness.

masday, b. holy day:

maysondew, f. an hospital.

malure, f. mischance.

malebouch, f. wicked mouth.

* Mercury crude, l. Quick-silver; for the killing whereof I read thus; Argentum vivum extinguitur cum forti admixtione salivae hominis, donec dispereat, & dico, quod si projeceris super ipsum aquam fluentem, si redierit ad primam dispositionem,[Page]non est extinctum: cum vere non redierit, bene est extinctum. Ipsum autem argentum vivum terra est.

* Meritot, b. A sport used by Children by swinging themselves in bell-ropes, or such like, till they be giddy. In Latin it is called Oscillum, and is thus described by an old Writer: Oscillum est genus ludi, scilicet cum funis dependitur de trabe, in quo pueri & puellae sedentes impelluntur huc & illuc.

metamorphoseos, g. a work written by Ovid of the Transmutation of things.

merke, b. dark.

meke, b. be gentle.

mete, mote, b. must, might.

medes, b. to boot.

mede, b. reward, help.

mesell, f. leper or lazerman.

meint, b. mingled.

met, dreamed.

meridionall, l. of the South.

mede, (hydromeli) d. honey and water sodden together.

messagri, f. diligence in doing a message.

mendicants, l. Beggars.

mees, b. Meddows.

mew, secret.

mest, b. most.

mete, deal, yield.

methe, a kind of sweet drink.

metten, dream.

melite, power.

megre, f. b. lean.

* Minoresse, the right reading is moueresse, as we have now printed it; that is, a stirrer of debate: for so it is in the French Verses in the oldest written Copies. Sembla byen estre moueresse.

ministralcie, any instrument of Musick, or Musick it self.

miscreants, f. Infidels.

misqueame, b. displease.

missat, b. became not.

mistaken, misused.

misfill, miscarried.

mirror, f. a glass.

mistere, f. occupation, manner, fashion, service, strange thing: also need.

mineth, l. threatneth.

mistihede, darkness, mystery.

mitches, f. manchets.

misericorde, l. compassion.

minge, b. mingle.

mine, b. to entend: also to dig.

misbode, wrong.

minotaure, g. a monster, half a bull, and half a man.

* Moses and King Salomon, Out of Josephus and Petrus Comestor magister historiarum, qui claruit, Anno 1260.

moyson, f. ripeness.

monest, l. admonish.

mouch, b. to take up all.

mourdant, i. the tongue of a buckle.

mokell, mikell, b. much.

mortresse, a meat made of boiled hens, crummed bread, yolks of eggs, and saffron, all boiled together.

mokell, d. stature, making, bigness.

modefie, l. moderate.

mountaunce, quantity.

mollock, b. earth, dung.

mowen, (posse) be able.

mormall, a canker:

moniours, f. coiners.

moeble, f. housholdstuff.

mow, mon, b. might.

mosell, mouth, snout.

mowlen, b. wax mould.

moten, d. must do.

moile, a dish made of marrow and grated bread.

morter, f. a lampe.

mote, d. must go.

molles, kistrels.

momblishnes, d. talk.

mue, moved.

muet, f. silent.

muckre, b. hoard up.

musard, f. lingerer.

mynting, labouring.

N.

Nadir, a. the point opposite to Zenith, or the point under the Horizon right under our feet.

nakoners, i. (crotalum) cimbals.

nas, was not.

nart, art not.

nad, had not.

nale, b. the ale-house.

narcotise, d. stupefactive, making senseless.

nat wilne, not desire.

nam, am not.

name, d. took.

nere, were not.

nede, nedes, b. business.

neighen, neigh, b. touch, to draw near.

nest, b. next.

neuen, neuin, b. name, named.

nerfe, i. sinew, gristle.

nedely, of necessity.

nesh, b. tender.

nere, untill, were it not.

nempt, b. named, name, tell.

nede, needed.

nerthes, herdmen.

nedes cost, of necessity.

neders, adders.

nice, nise, b. foolish.

nicete, folly, curiosity.

niterall, saltpeter.

nigh, b. almost.

nighen, draw near.

nist, knew not.

nil, will not.

nigon, nigeon, f. dolt, niggard.

nigges, b. niggards.

nigh, near, to draw near.

nightspell, b. a prayer against the night mare.

nightertale, by night.

nimphes, g. maidens of the sea.

nowell, signifieth Deus nobiscum: and is taken for Christmas, & 20. or 30. days next before.

nortelri, nurture.

nore, f. comfort, nourishing.

note, a Saint called Neotes.

nones, b. condition, purpose.

nori, i. nurse.

nost, knowest.

nome, taken, nummed.

nowth, now.

note, business.

O.

Obay, abide.

obseruaunce, l. honour.

obstacles, l. letts.

occision, l. murther.

occisier, l. murderer.

octogami, g. eight times married.

odible, l. hateful.

offitorie, l. a song or lesson in the time of offring.

oftsithes, b. sundry times.

of plat then edge, of ease then grief.

offrend, f. d. offring.

onde, (halitus) b. breath: also fury.

on hie, apace.

oned, united.

onis, once.

on knew, d. one knee.

on presse, adowne.

openheed, bare-headed.

orde, l. point.

ordainor, d. governour.

oratorie, l. a Temple, a Chappel.

orisons, f. d. Prayers.

* Ordall, Ordalia is a tryal of chastity, and other things by going over hot burning cultures of iron bare-footed, as did Emma, and Gunegond the Wife of Henry the fifteenth, Emperour of Romans, as writeth Cra [...]tius in his Chronicles of Almaine. This Ordall was used among the Saxons, and since the Conquest among the Normans: but in the time of King John it was taken away by the Court of Rome: [Page] And afterward in England by the authority of Henry the third.

ordred, b. having taken orders of priesthood.

(Orders fower.) The four orders of Friars were these:

1 Friars Minors or gray friers, Franciscans.

2 Friars preachers or blackfriars, Dominicanes.

3 Friars Carmelites, or white friars.

4 Friars Augustines.

* Orfrayes, Aurifrisium, frisled cloth of gold, made and used in England both before and since the Conquest, worn both by the Clergy, and the Kings themselves, as may appear out of Matthew Paris, where he speaketh of the Ornaments sent by the Abbots of England to the Pope: And also by a Record in the Tower, where the King commandeth the Templers to deliver such Jewels, garments, and ornaments as they had of the Kings in keeping. Among the which he nameth Dalmaticum velatum de Orefreis: that is, a Damask garment garded with Orfrayes.

orisont, g. the part of the firmament to us seen.

orientall, bright, beautiful.

orientall, i. bright.

orpiment, the herb Orpin.

orloge, f. g. a diall.

ouch, b. a boss or button of gold: also a wedge of gold.

ouerfret, spred.

ouerthrowing, hast.

outraie, depart, run.

outrance, destruction.

out take, except.

owhere, any where.

ownding, f. garding like waves.

owndy, f. waving.

owles, b. hooks, pinsars.

P.

* Palmers, A Pilgrim and a Palmer did differ thus: The Pilgrim had some dwelling place, the Palmer had none: the Pilgrim travelled to some certain place, the Palmer to all and not to any one: the Pilgrim might go at his own charge, the Palmer must profess wilful poverty: the Pilgrim might give over his profession, the Palmer must be constant until he had obtained the Palm; that is, victory over his ghostly enemies, and life by death.

* Pasiphae, wife of Minos king of Creet, who having kept company with a bull, but rather as Festus saith, with a man called Taurus, brought forth Minotaurus, who was half a man and half a bull.

palladium, g. the image of Pallas in Troy.

pale, f. a spangle: also a robe of state.

palastere, g. a combate.

paie, b. robe.

paine mane, f. white bread.

paling, cutting in pains.

pace, b. appease.

(Palathi) Palathia in Anatolia.

papelard, f. hypocrite.

pankers, f. toyls to take deer.

parage, f. parentage.

patere, b. prate.

partner, by parts.

pan, b. brain.

panter, f. a pitfall.

pad, b. a bundel.

parfay, f. verily.

paynem, b. heathenish.

paramors, f. lovers, pleasures.

pardieux, f. verily.

paplardi, f. hypocrisie.

paraments, Robes of state, or the place where they are kept.

par, for.

pauade (pugio) a dagger or baslard.

penon, f. a long streamer.

perse, f. sky colour.

pennes fele, many pence.

pensell, d. a peece.

perionet, a young pear tree.

perry, f. precious stones, bravery with precious stones.

pekois, a pickaxe.

perturben, f. disturb.

perriwrigh, embroidered with pearl.

permagall, equal.

peregrine, f. strange.

peri, d. a pear tree.

perpendicular, l. down right.

* Peruise, f. A bar: and here it is understood of the conference called the Peruis amongst the young Counsellors, Pleaders, Attorneys, or Students of the Law, such as at this day might resemble the course in the houses of Court, or Chancery called mootes, and bolts: wherein the form of pleading and arguing a case is exercised: For so doth Fortescue in his 51. chapter of his Book, commending those laws, prove, when he saith: that after the Judges were risen at 11 of the clock from hearing of causes at Westminster, Placitantes tunc se divertunt ad pervisum, & alibi consulentes cum servientibus ad legem & aliis conciliariis suis.

percell, f. partly.

pert, l. manifest.

perre, f. a monument erected for remembrance.

peraunter, b. perchance.

peregall, equal.

pepire, (philtrum) i. Pharmacum amatorium, a drink causing love.

pel, d. house, cell.

pease, stay.

pensell, d. banner.

penible, f. painful.

physiologus, g. any writer of natural Philosophy.

pine, d. pity, sorrow, desire, pain, toyl: also a pit.

pight, b. cast.

pine, to rack, to pain:

pinent, a pined creature:

pined, pained.

piment, (pigmentum) a drink of wine and hony.

pilloure, f. a pillar, (columna.)

pike, b. peep.

pight, b. propped, struck, settled.

pirate, a drink made of pears.

pithonesse, g. a witch.

plumtuous, fruitful.

plumage, f. feathers.

plat, b. flat.

plagues, l. parts.

plaine, b. to play, or sport.

plenere, l. fully.

plat then edge, ease then sorrow.

platly, f. plainly.

plight, f. turned, catched.

pounced, cut: also pressed.

porpheri, f. a marble mingled with red.

possed, b. tossed.

potent, f. a staff.

portray, f. draw.

popere, a bodkin.

possede, l. succede.

poste, i. power.

pomell, f. round.

poliue, f. a pulley:

posteme, (struma) f. botch or wenn.

porthose, a service book so called.

pointell, f. a writing pin.

powre, b. stare, look.

powre, d. poor estate.

powdred, embroidered.

powder merchant, Alephanginae species: powders whereof ginger bread is made.

[Page] poked, b. jogged.

pole artike, g. a star called the North-pole.

poinant, f. sharp.

popelot, d. puppet or youngwench.

porraile, base, beggarly.

pomely grise, f. dapple-gray.

polite, l. [...]loquent.

pose, suppose.

preueth, reproveth.

pregnant, i. full, thick.

prime, l. nine of the clock.

pretious, i. fine, curious, of account.

preuid, f. hardy.

presse, d. subjection.

prefect, l. a magistrate.

prefer, l. excell.

preue, a proof.

presen, tread on.

prill and poiten, goore and strike.

prickesoure, a rank rider.

pray, request.

pry, f. pray.

priket, a small wax-candle.

prien, b. look.

probatine pistant, l. g. the sheeps pool.

processions, l. perambulations about the fields in the gang week.

pronosticke, g. foretelling.

predication, l. preaching.

probleme, g. an hard question or riddle.

prow, f. profit, power, honour.

propheme, g. a preface.

Pruce, Prussi [...], a Country by Almaine and Russie.

pruce, of Prussia.

Puella & Rubeus, The names of two figures in Geomancy, representing two Constellations in heaven. Puella signifieth Mars retrograde, and R [...] beus Mars direct.

pugnant, l. pricking.

purveiance, f. providence.

purfled, garded, fringed.

pullayle, f. wild-fowl, poultry.

purfill, gard, or fringe.

puruay, f. provide.

purprise, f. enclosure, device.

pusell, f. [...]amfel.

pulchrit [...]de, l. beauty.

putre, [...] whoredom.

Q.

Quacke, b. daunt.

quappe, b. quail, shake, stir.

quaint gyres, b. strange fits.

qualme, b. calmness.

qualme, b. grief.

quad, d bad.

quarrels, arrow-heads.

queem, quemen, b. please.

quent, b. quenched, strange.

querele, i. quarrel, complaint.

quell, d. destroy, dash.

quentise, curiosity.

querror, f. stone-digger.

quinible, a treble.

quistron, f. beggar.

R.

Raa, b. a Roe.

takestele, b. the rake-handle.

tabiat, i. mad.

rade vore, tapestry, loomework.

rackell, d. hasty, to be hasty.

racine, f. root.

ranke, b. hoarse.

rath, b. quickly.

raught, went, reached.

rauished, f. taken, overcome, carried.

raffles, f. rifling.

rathest, b. soonest.

rape, d. hast.

ramagious, f. wild.

rape, l. quickly; also haste.

ramage, f. wild.

rauishing, f. a swift sway.

raft, b. rent.

ragounces,, a kind of pretious stone.

raskayle, b. trash.

rauish, f. to rob.

rauenish, black.

rayled, b. ran.

rayes, songs, rondels.

recreant, f. out of hope, untrusty.

redowbting, praising, setting forth.

renomie, f. good name, fame.

rest, rose.

reight, b. reached.

retrograde, l. that goeth backward.

renouelences, f. renewings.

reniant, f. revolter.

redeth, b. adviseth.

red, b. the meaning.

reuesten, f. to apparel.

remuable, f. mutable, ready.

reue, f. spoil, rob.

renegate, a Christian turned Turk.

renkes, b. ranks.

resagor, ratsbane.

rekelnesse, d. rashness.

reines, fine cloth, of the place where it is made.

redelesse, b. helpless.

renouell, f. renew.

rehete, b. promise.

recketh, b. careth.

refreide, f. refrain:

renable, (mobilis) b. ready quick.

rescous of our lay, defence of our Law.

reare, (rarus) divided.

regrate, f. lamentation, sorrowful sute.

rew, b. take pity.

rebecke, an old trot.

reme, take away, deny.

rethe, l. a net.

rede, b. to advise.

replication, l. reply, gainsaying.

renouelen, f. newly return.

reue, b. pull away.

reuell, b. sport.

recke, b. d. care.

reuerse, f. contrary.

refrete, f. full.

redouting, setting forth.

reioice, enjoy.

renged, f. compassed.

recreance, i. comfort.

regali, i. princely power.

repaire, issue, consequent.

recure, b. recover.

refraine, a stop.

raigne, i. kingdom.

remord, f. give remorse.

rede, d. help, advise, speech, art▪ also to advise.

refrroiden, f. cool, cease.

releyes and lymers, f. standers at advantage with darts to kill the deer.

realte, i. royalty.

recreandise, f. infidelity, wanhope.

ren, b. pull, get.

recreance, f. beyond credit.

refuit, i. help.

reigne, l. kingdom.

remew, f. remove.

redowre, f. turning, doubling.

reketh, b. smoaketh.

retch, b. care.

reuerberation, l. a striking back.

ribaude, (leno) i. a bawd.

ribyb, f. an old bawd.

ribands, d. borders.

ribaned, garded.

rife, d. rifel.

riddeled, checkred.

ribibble, rebeck, f. a gittern, or fiddle.

rining, b. dropping.

rimpled, (rugatus) d. wrinkled.

rise, f. beauty.

riue, b. rend.

riuen, d. thrust.

riueling, turning in and out.

reignous, f. ruinous.

roket, a linnen garment.

romer, b. wider.

romed, b. walked.

rone, b. rained.

ronn, cease.

roch, f. a rock.

roile, b. d. range.

romant, a brief history.

* Rosamond. This Rosamond the fair Daughter of Walter [Page] Lord Clifford, was forced to be Concubine unto Henry the Second, who builded for her at Woodstock an house with a Labyrinth under the ground, much whereof at this day is to be seen: as also a goodly Bath or Well, called to this day Rosamonds Well. In the end she was poysoned by Queen Elianor, some write, and being dead, was buried at Godstow in an House of Nuns besides Oxford. Not long since, her Grave was digged, where some of her bones were found, and her teeth so white, (as the dwellers there report) that the Beholders did much wonder at them.

rosary, a book so called.

rosere, f. a roseplat.

routhlesse, b. pitiless.

row, b. angerly.

roue, b. did rend.

roune, b. to tell in the ear, to whisper.

rowme, b. walking.

roine, f. a skar.

rosial, l. red.

rowned, b. d. spoken softly.

rowes, b. streiks.

roundell, d. a kind of song.

roggeth, joggeth.

ronges, d. the sides of a ladder.

rouken, d. lie snort.

rowning, b. talking secretly, silence.

roth, ruth, b. pity.

row, d. rough.

rowketh, b. lieth.

rought, b. cared.

rote, d. course.

row, d. ugly, bloodily.

rote, an instrument of Musick usual in Wales.

rownsy, rownceuall, f. a great Jade.

* Rubrick, In the Canon-Law the Arguments of every Chapter was written with red Letters, which was called the Rubrick, and the Text with black.

rubicunde, l. red.

rubifying, d. making red.

rucking, d. lying snorting.

rud, b. complexion.

ruell bone, f. of the French word Riole, that is, diversly coloured: an Antistaecon in many words derived from another Language; as, in Law from Loy; and Roy from Rex.

ru, b. lament.

ruse, b. praise.

S.

Sarge, f. saycloth.

salew, f. honour.

sand, sending.

saylors, f. dancers.

sat me sore, touched me near.

saturnade, swart, black.

saw, b. speech.

sat, became.

salow, b. white.

sawsefleame, red faced.

sare, b. sore.

sarlinish, a kind of Silk like Sarcenet.

sawes, b. sayings, words.

(Satali) A City in Anatolia, called sometime Atalia.

sanguine, i. red.

saleweth, f. saluteth.

samet, f. Sattin.

sabatons, souldiers boots.

sance, f. without.

saue, d. sage.

sautri, b. an instrument like to an harp, but far more pleasant.

sarpiesis, sachels, packs, or fardels.

S. Iohn to borrow, with good speed.

saine alse, seen also.

sanatine, l. healing.

saut, b. assault.

sange, d. a song.

saintwarie, (Asylum) a Priviledge-place.

* Scholars hall, or University-Hall, founded by the Chancellor and Masters of the University, Anno 1326. but since united to the foundation of the Lady Elizabeth de Burgo, Countess of Clare, and called Clare-hall.

schall, shall.

scathlike, b. harmful.

scrippe, a wallet.

schoolelay, exhibition.

scriuenish, subtilly.

scantilone, a measure.

scarceheed want.

sciled, closed.

scorning, changing.

sees, b. seats.

settels, grafts.

setrone, bright, clear.

sey, saw, seen.

sewis, b. follow.

seculer, l. a lay-man, worldly.

senge, d. burn.

seker, d. in like sort.

secre, f. secret.

seld, b. seldome.

seinde, b. scorch.

sele, f. seal.

sey, seen.

septentrion, l. the North.

segge, d. say.

semicope, l. a short cloak.

sere, b. divers.

septentrional, l. belonging to the North.

seignory, f. power.

senten, seut.

sendall, a thin stuff like cypress.

selinesse, felicity.

sew, sown.

sempt, b. seemed.

seint, f. a girdle.

semblable, b. like.

sewing, placed.

serment, f. an oath.

sewen, sow.

sentement, f. l. ones own device: also sense, feeling.

set, f. becometh.

sew, b. follow.

sequedri, i. presumption.

senged, b. scorched.

sementing, fastening together.

semed, thought.

sewes, b. broths.

sete, did sit.

sered, pockets, burned clouts.

sely, happy, also wonderful.

seker, verily.

sey, seen, saw.

* Shildes, Shields, in French called Escus, are French crowns, wherein this Merchant did deal by return.

shene, shining bright.

shullen, b. shall.

shenden, d. blame, to spoil, to marr.

shede, depart.

shewres, b. brunts.

sherife, Reve, or Governour of the Shire.

shendeth, b. hurteth.

shaw, a shadow, a tuft of trees.

shepen, b. simple, fearful.

shetten, b. closed.

shond, b. harm.

shild, b. defend.

shode, d. head, bush of hair.

shoder, d. shoulder.

shemering, d. glimmering.

shoue, put.

shete, b. shoot.

shepens, sheep-coots.

shore, d. a cleft.

shift, bestow.

shad, fell.

shent, d. harmed, troubled.

shright, b. crying out.

shent, b. d. infected.

showfe, b. put off.

sib, b. d. a kin.

sith, b. by and by; also, time.

sitole, the sweet musick of the Dulcimer, called Sambuca.

* Sign of the Lion, For then is Saturn in his Detriment, [Page] and in opposition to his own house.

sie, sighe, seigh, b. saw.

sike, sigh, also sick.

sie, b. to see, to fall sideling.

sigh, saugh, b. faw.

sikerer, b. certainer, truer.

sitwell, is meet.

sithnesse, seeing that.

simphony, g. musick.

sikerly, b. truly.

sider, a drink made of apples.

sike, a sigh.

signals, l. tokens.

sile, banishment.

sin, b. since.

siker, d. sure I.

sit, b. fitteth.

sith, after.

sithen, b. after.

skaffant, an engine of war.

skinketh, powreth out.

skils, expositions.

skath, b. harm.

skilfull, reasonable.

skleren, cover.

skale, b. scab.

skorchlith, scorcheth.

skarmoch, d. skirmish.

skere, b. fray.

sleite, b. sleight, craft.

slough, b. ditch.

slittered, b. cut.

slider, (labilis) d. slippery.

sliding, faint.

sleueles, b. vain.

sli, b. a subtil fellow, wise.

slough, forslow.

slow, b. a sluggard.

sliuer, b. a parcell.

sio, b. kill.

slough, b. killed.

slite, b. rent, tere.

sligh, b. coming.

slew, slew.

slaked, d. persed, loosed.

slouthlich, slovenish.

smart, quick.

smert, grieved.

smete, b. smitten.

smoterlich, d. snoutfair, or painted.

snewed, did snow.

sownen, b. sound.

soken, b. trade, dealing.

sourd, f. rise, spring.

sowned, b. ordained.

sowke, b. spend, draw out.

sowled, b. inspired.

solein, l. only.

sonnish, bright.

souple, f. gentle, pliable.

sotell, d. subtile.

soigne, f. care, diligence.

soother, b. truer.

sophismes, g. subtilties.

sonne or wete, dry or wet.

sooth, b. truth.

sond, sand.

soote, d. sweet.

solstitium, l. the stay of the sun, when he cannot go either higher or lower.

sory, d. easie, soi [...], feeble.

sours, f. spring.

soft, quietly.

sowne, b. speech, sound.

soiour, f. dwelling, settling.

soiourne, a journey, a tarrying, also to tarry.

sowth sawes, b. true speeches.

sowpen, b. sup.

sowgh, b. sound.

sonenesse, f. noise.

sound, to heal, to be healed.

soukle, d. wretched, poor.

sow and plite, b. seal and fould.

soget, subget, subject.

sonitresse, hair shining as the sun.

sond, b. will, mind, pleasure, commandment.

sort, l. chance.

spinge, i. sprinkle, intrude.

splendent, l. bright.

spray, sprig, or bow.

speris, b. asketh.

sperme, g. seed.

sped, handled; also hasted.

speces, l. parts.

spiritueles, l. heavenly graces.

spedefull, (efficax) earnest.

spannew, b. very new.

sperid, b. asked.

sperd, b. shut up.

splay, to spread.

springowlds, b. young-men.

sperkell, wandring.

sparch, (bipennis) d. a double axe.

spell, b. a tale, word.

sphere, g. a figure in all parts equally round.

spanishing, d. full breadth.

spense, d. a buttery.

sparth, a spear.

squames, i. stales.

squire, a carpenters rule.

squireth, waiteth.

Storke, This bird breedeth in the chimney tops of houses, and, as it is written of him, if the man or the wife commit adultery, he presently forsaketh the place. And as Aristotle saith, If his female play false, he will, if he can, kill her; or else utterly forsake her. Therefore Chaucer calleth him the wreker of adultery.

stopen, stowped.

stripe, strene, l. kindred.

sterelich, d. earnestly.

stondmeale, a little after, small, little.

stad, b. combred.

steds, d. places.

stownd, b. suddenly.

stole, i. a tipper.

stenten, b. way.

statu, i. picture.

stout, d. stood.

stound, b. d. time, course, moment.

sterne, b. stiff, stout.

stot, a young horse.

stoure, b. skirmish.

stith, b. an anvil.

stere, b. make a motion.

stele, d. an handle.

stedship, d. staiedness.

stremeden, d. gushed out.

starke stoures, b. sharp assaults.

stede, b. a gelding.

stere, stern.

sire, b. a straw.

stamin, l. hemp.

stered, b. dealt withal.

stere, to make.

stighed, d. ascended.

strond, (tractus) d. banke, a coast, or region.

staulketh, b. walketh, strideth.

steuen, b. sound, time, meeting.

stew, b. a small pond for fish.

steuen, b. sound, also time.

stall, d. set.

stede, d. place.

strake, b. to pass, to stride.

stemed, b. gave out hear, or redness.

sterne, to lay down.

strepe, rob, strip.

stownd ill, bad case.

stownds, b. sorrows, dumps: also courses.

steire, a sterne.

starke, b. stiff.

stereles, b. without sterne.

straught, (extentus) b. stretched.

sturte, strangle, scuffle.

stames, (subergmen) l. warpe.

subalter, and sept, the Streits betwen Spain and Barbary.

sued, f. followed.

surplus, d. remnant.

surquidri, f. presumption.

surpires, l. sighs, sobs.

suckney, a white attire like a Rocher.

superne, l. above.

suspires, l. sighs.

subliming, l. ascending.

supprised, f. overcome.

surquidous, l. presumptuous.

surcote, a Gown with a Hood of the same.

sursanure, (quasi súr sum sanatum) a sore festred inward, and whole without.

sublimatory, a kind of still.

superficie, l. the overmost part of any thing.

[Page] supplien, f. make entreaty.

supporaile, upholder.

superlatife, l. highest.

swyre, b. neck.

swich, b. such.

sweuen, a dream.

swinker, a labourer.

sawtry, f. dancing, instrumental musick, or the instrument.

swilke, b. such.

swolow, b. gulf.

switch, b. quickly.

swaine, b. a servant.

swow, a sleep.

swelt, b. sowned.

swert, d. sun-burned, black.

swough, b. sound.

swith, b. swift, swiftly.

swa, b. also, so.

swelwen, b. devour.

swonken, b. laboured.

swoll, b. swelled.

swegh (impetus) b. force.

swelt, b. die.

sykes, sighs.

syker, b. assurance, steddy.

sykerd, d. allied.

sye, b. to fall.

syth, b. afterward, times.

T.

Tabard, d. A Jacket or sleeveless Coat, worn in times past by Noblemen in the Wars, but now only by Heralds, and is called their Coat of Arms in service. It was the sign of an Inn in Southwark by London, within the which was the Lodging of the Abbot of Hyde by Winchester. This was the Hostelry where Chaucer and the other Pilgrims met together, and with Henry Baily their Host, accorded about the manner of their Journey to Canterbury. And whereas through time it had been much decaied, it was then by Mr. J. Preston, with the Abbots house thereto adjoyned, newly repaired, and with convenient Rooms much encreased, for the Receipt of many Guests. It is now the Sign of the Talbot.

tapinage, f. secresie, slilyness.

tailages,, toll, customs.

tapes, b. strings.

Taurs, & Mars therein, Taurus being properly Venus house, under the which Sign this woman was born, Mars then ruling in the same, prognosticateth great Incontinency.

tackle, b. feather, arrow.

taas, f. d. an heap.

taboure, a drum.

talages, payments.

talagiers, tole-gatherers.

tapite, d. tapestry.

taling, d. telling tales.

tacoy, to pluck to, or draw.

tabouren, d. sound.

targe, l. a target.

tatch, tetch, b. craft.

tatterwags, b. raggs, jaggs.

tale, rayl.

tane, b. take.

talent, f. i. desire.

tassed, b. tasselled.

tassey, to aslay.

testes, certain devices to try gold and silver.

testeres, f. skulls, sallets.

tene, b. sorrow.

testifie, f. wild brained.

teme, an Ingot of metal.

teme, g. a text.

termine, l. to end.

terrestre, f. l. earthly.

temen, lay, or bind.

temps, f. l. time.

tell no store, take no regard.

tetch, b. a trick, a stain, frowardness.

tenhaunce, set out.

tewell, b. chimney.

tercelet, d. Falco masculus.

textuele, textele, l. skillful in the text.

thrages, busie matters.

Theophrast, In his Book De Frugalitate, else in his Treatise De Loquacitate mulierum.

therout, without.

threke, thrust.

thirled, pierced.

thence, catch, find, yet.

thanks, acts, enterprises, labour, reward.

thewes, qualities.

thenne, thence.

thilke, same.

threpe, b. affirm.

thare, there: also needeth.

thirled, (jugulavit) strangled.

thacked, b. beat, smote.

thringing, thrusting, clustering together.

throw, a short time.

thriueth, b. springeth.

tho, those, although.

thascry, outcry.

thorruke, an heap.

thrilled, killed.

thrope, d. a village.

thankheeld, thank-worthy.

theke, such.

throw, anger, haste.

threst, oppress.

thre mot, the blast of an horn.

then, although.

thonke held, d. bestow labour or liking.

thopposite, l. overagainst.

tholed, b. suffred.

thauentaile, coat of male.

thringe, d. thrust.

thedom, b. thriving.

theich, plain, smooth.

thore, before.

threte, curse, threaten.

timbesters, plaiers on sounding Instruments.

tid, b. hapned, befallen.

tiflers, triflers.

tite, b. befalleth.

tilleth, b. ploweth.

tiren, tear, rent,

tides, b. hapneth.

tissu, f. a lace.

told, took care, made accompt.

tout, b. hole.

* Tortuous, Tortuous the signs are, which are called Obliquae ascendentia: that is, all from Capricorn to Cancer. So he calleth the Ascendent unfortunate, because it is one of those signs, and had at the same time the Lord of that sign in his fall, which is in the Sign contrary to his exaltation.

toteth, b. looketh:

tone, b. claws.

* Tolitane tables, Alphonsus tables to calculate the motion of the Planets for the meridian of Taledo.

towell, tayle.

torcencions, using extortion.

toder, b. the other.

tomblesters, tumblers.

told no tale, took no care.

tole, f. clout, toy.

tournet, f. a tower.

tort, i. extortion.

torrets, rings, or the fastning of dogs Collars.

totti, b. dizzie.

totoler, prater.

Tramissene, a City in Barbary, in the Province sometime called Mauritania Tingitana, or Caesariensis, as hath Melanghton.

traue, b. a trevis to snoo a wild horse in.

trate, trot, old drab.

transcend, l. pass, exceed.

trepeget, an Instrument to cast stones.

trowen, to trust.

trice, pull.

trist, (meta) a mark.

tressed, broided up.

trentall, thirty masses.

[Page] tresse, (funiculus) d. the broiding up of the hair.

tretis, streight.

trauers, f. overthwart, a curtain.

trip, b. a piece.

trew, truce.

trausmew, i. change.

trill, b. d. to turn, to drop.

trenchant, f. bending: also sharp.

trayle, f. an arbour.

trist, l. b. sad: also to believe.

trai [...]rie, f. treason.

tregetor, a iugler.

troce, d. wreath or wyth.

tresses, hair, braids of hair.

truandise, d. idleness.

trete, handle.

trects, streight.

treget, deceit.

trophe, i. victory.

tulsurelike, f. tilekill-like.

tull, lure, allure.

twittel, b. a knife.

twin, b. depart; also separate.

twiereth, singeth.

twy, d. two.

twynned, b. parted.

twight, b. pulled.

twyn, to take away, to depart, to turn.

twifold, d. double.

twitten, b. carved out.

twist, (ramus) b. a bow.

twist, b. pinch, hold.

twy, t [...]y, d. two.

V.

Valerie and Theophrast, Some will have us read Valery and his Paraphrast. This Valery wrote a Book De non ducenda uxore, with a Paraphrase upon it, which I have seen in the Study of Mr. Allen of Oxford, (a man of as rare Learning, as he is stored with rare Books.) His Name was Gualterus Maape, Arch-deacon of Oxford, in the days of King Henry the Second, but changed his Name, because he would not have the Author known, and termed it Valerius ad Rusinum. But yet there was one called Valerius, who wrote a Book of the same Argument, printed among St. Jerome's Works. And likewise one called Theophrastus Eresius, who among many things did write a Book, wherein he reasoneth, whether it be convenient for a wise man to marry. Johannes Sarisburiensis, in his Policraticon hath translated some things in this Book out of Greek and Latin, as may appear, lib. 8. cap. 11. De molestiis & oneribus Conjugiorum: out of which Chapter, Cha [...]cer hath taken much for this Argument, as may be seen in the Merchants Tale: but more in the Wife of Bath's Prologue, where between 30 and 40 Verses are translated from thence. And if the whole Work at this day were by some sufficient Scholar translated, it would deserve as much commendation as many Books, which learned men, not without great commendation, have heretofore translated.

valence, i. cloth of Valencia in Spain.

vapoured, l. ascended.

vasselage, f. service, subjection.

van, f. a fan.

vauesoure, f. a Lord.

Vernacle, a cloth or napkin, wherein was the figure of Christ's Face.

vernage, i. sweet wine to be drank in Winter.

vent, fore-part.

verge, f. a garden.

vermell, vermayle, f. red.

ventosing, f. cupping.

veiued, weved, put away.

verre, f. glass.

vechons, Hedghogs.

vecke, i. an old woman.

veneri, l. hunting.

Vigils. It was the manner in times past, upon festival Evens, called Vigiliae, for Parishioners to meet in their Church-houses, or Church-yards, and there to have a drinking fit for the time. Here they used to end many quarrels between Neighbour and Neighbour. Hither came the Wives in comely manner, and they which were of the better sort had their Mantles carried with them, as well for shew, as to keep them from cold at the Table. These Mantles also many did use in the Church at morrow masses and other times.

via Appia, l. an High-way or Causey from Rome to Campaigne.

vinari enuermayled, f. vineyard made red.

virelay, a kind of song.

vite, l. a vine.

vinolent, l. drunk, smelling of wine.

visage it, f. face it out.

viended, f. having plenty of flesh meat.

vmple, b. fine lawn.

vncouth, b. strange.

vnselines, misfortune.

vnderneme, excommunicate.

vnpliten, b. make plain.

vnwrie, uncover.

vnderne, b. afternoon.

vnneth, b. scarce.

unberd, laid open.

vnwist, b. unknown.

vnyolden, b. not yielding.

vndernome, felt.

underspore, b. put under.

vnset steuen, b. unappointed time.

vnsounded, unhealen.

vndermeles, b. afternoons.

vnsely, unhappy.

vnderfonge, take in hand.

vnsperd, b. unlocked.

vomes, f. foming.

volunde, i. will.

voluper, a kercher.

volage, f. unconstant.

voundstone, free stone.

volatili, i. wild fowl.

volage, l. pleasure.

vpswale, (intumescebat) started, swelled up.

vpplight, b. taken up.

vphap, b. overcover.

vrne, l. an earthen pot.

vre, b. hap, chance, use.

vrnes, l. pitchers.

vttrance, f. extremity.

W.

Wastel bread, (libellus) fine Cymnel.

wangs, b. (molares) great teeth.

waltring, b. wallowing.

waymenting, b. lamenting.

waren, d. afflict.

waget, warchet colour.

warri, d. to make war.

warne, assure.

waiue, b. to turn fro.

waite, b. mark.

wardcorse, an overseer.

wones, d. dwellings.

waiued, removed.

wanger, d. a male, or bouget.

warren, d. grant, defend.

Wades bote. Concerning Wade and his Boat, called Guingelot; as also his strange Exploits in the same. Because the matter is long and fabulous, I pass it over.

Warriangles, be a kind of birds full of noise, and very ravenous, preying upon others, which when they have taken, [Page] they use to hang upon a thorn or prick, and tear them in pieces, and devour them. And the common Opinion is, That the thorn whereupon they thus fasten them and eat them, is afterward poisonsome. In Staffordshire and Shropshire the Name is common.

warned, denied.

wawes, b. waves.

wate, b. know.

warbles, werbles, notes of musick.

walthsome, d. loathsome.

waped, daunted.

warenstored, defended.

warnestore, fortifie.

wantrust, b. mistrust.

warish, save, deliver.

warished, eased, delivered.

ware, b. mark thou.

wayled, b. changed, old.

warison, reward.

way, to guide.

werds, guides.

well, to spring.

wenen wisely, b. thinketh verily.

welken, b. the sky.

wexen, wish.

welden, to move.

were, b. a doubt, a mase, also a place where Fishers lay their nets to take fish.

wetten, b. know.

werch, b. work.

werkes, b. acheth.

wenden, b. think.

weldy, b. nimble.

wene, a doubt, also wened.

westerne, to draw west.

werre, werry, b. curse, also destroy.

werne, deny.

wex, encrease.

wend, b. thought, think, by guess,

werried, d. banished, confounded.

werth, deserving.

wilnest, art willing.

wene, b. thought, doubt.

wemlesse, b. blameless.

welmeth, d. riseth.

went, (via) a way, a walk, a doubt.

west, set at west.

welkneth, d. dryeth, fainteth.

wede, b. apparel.

welt, b. ruled.

welked, d. withered.

wed, d. pledge, gage.

westreth, setteth at west.

werriest, b. curfest.

wendest, b. goest.

wete, b. knoweth.

weld, b. hold, govern.

weiue, b. forsake, reject.

welked wyners, d. withered vine branches.

wenden, b. think, knew.

werne, b. forbid, put aside.

wernings, denials.

welde, b. to rule, also to find.

welked, d. withered.

welefull, b. wealthy.

whilke, b. which.

whele, round.

Wine Ape, Vinum Apianum: that maketh one in such taking, that he cannot with a straw hit a broad fanne: the cause is, for that after the drinking thereof unmeasurably, one thing seemeth two to the eyes, as saith Juvenal: Geminis exurgit mensa lucernis. And Horace, Saltat Milonius, ut semel icto accessit fervor capiti, numerusque lucernis.

wist, b. known.

wisse, b. shew, make known: also wish, d. direct in truth.

wisse, know, instruct.

wile, b. deceit.

witest, b. blamest.

wis, b. verily.

werred, oppressed.

wight, b. weight; also swift.

wisshe, d. washed.

wisse, wise, to advise; also to wish.

wight, b. swift, strong.

wight, d. weight.

wilneth, desireth.

wissy, verily.

wicke, bad, stinking, noysome; also counterfeit.

wiche, an ark or chest.

winsing, b. stirring.

wisse, save themselves.

wit, b. know.

wite, d. white.

wlate, d. loath, hate.

woneden, d. dwell.

wost, d. knowest.

woned, b. wont, used; also dwelled.

woddeth, b. waxeth mad.

wone, won, store, plenty, remedy.

wonning, d. dwelling.

worth up, ascend.

wone, store.

wodshaw, woodside or shadow.

wond, turn back.

wonnen, b. conquered.

wood, b. mad.

wonneth, d. dwelleth.

werker, wreker, d. (ultor) revenger.

wonne, remedy, also wont.

wound, bended together.

worth, b. mounted.

wrien, covered, change.

wrath him, anger him.

writheth, casteth off.

wrenches, b. traps.

wryeth, getteth.

wrathed, moved to anger.

wroth, sorrowful.

wrale, b. bestow in brawling.

wrecke, shipwrack.

wro, grief, anger.

wreken, d. revenge.

wrekery, d. revenge.

wroth, disagreeing.

wrawnes, b. frowardness.

wrigh, covered.

wreme, to compass about.

wrake, b. revenge.

wright, b. a carpenter.

wrech, d. revenge, wrath.

wrene, wrine, cover.

wry, to cover, to stir.

wyerds, destinies.

wyuer, a kind of serpent much like to a dragon.

wythsit, withstand.

wyshen, wash.

wymple, d. a kercher.

wythsay, b. deny.

wynt, windeth, draweth.

wynder, d. to cover, or trim.

wyte, b. blame.

wyntred, wringled.

wynde, go.

wynne, d. to complain.

Y.

Yalt, b. goeth.

yare, b. ready.

yate, b. gate.

yaue, regarded.

ybet, b. made.

ycast, left.

yclenched, cross-barred, covered.

ycoruen, cut.

ycrased, broken.

ydo, stayed.

Yee knowe what I mean. An Aposiopesis often used by Chaucer; as that which he is said to have written with his Diamond sometime in glass-windows, expounded by his man Wat; which was thus:

A married man, and yet, qd. Chaucer.

A merry man, qd. Wa [...].

He is a knave that wrote me that, qd. Chaucer.

yerne, b. quickly; also loud, earnestly.

yede, yeden, b. went.

yfrounced, f. frowning.

yfretten, devoured.

[Page] yfere, b. together.

yeats, b. gates.

yelpe, b. prate, talk.

yedding, (jurgandi) of brawling, (some say) of gadding up and down (others) of loud singing.

yerning, b. profite.

yerd, b. rod, or plague: also government.

yerne, b. to desire, also to take grief, to deserve.

yellow goulds, marigolds.

yetten, lay up, gotten.

yexing, b. sobbing.

yfter this, even as.

yhed, on hie.

yhold, accounted.

yif, and if.

yle, (inanis) d. empty.

ymeint, b. mingled.

ynde, black.

youe, gave, given.

yode, b. went.

yolden, b. yielded.

yore, b. before, long, long ago.

ypocras, Hipocrates Works.

yqueint, b. quenched.

yreken, b. raked.

yren, displeasure, destrustion.

ysaine, seen.

ythee, b. thrive.

ywrien, b. covered.

Z.

Zenith, a. the point of the Firmament, directly over ones Head, wheresoever he be.

Zephirus, g. the West wind.

Zodiake, g. a Circle in Heaven, wherein are the twelve signs.

So much of the Latin in Chaucer translated, as is not by himself Englished

AMOR vincit omnia, Love conquereth all things.

A questio Juris, A question of the Law.

Alma redemptoris Mater, O Mother of our Saviour.

Ad adjuvandum me, To help me.

Associat profugum Tideus, &c. The Arguments of the twelve Books of Statius.

The first doth shew, that Tideus and Polimite are combined in Friendship.

In the second Tideus's Message is taught, and the Treacheries disclosed.

The third doth speak of Harmonia, and of Amphiaraus, who hid himself.

The fourth setteth out the Battels of the seven Kings.

The fifth noteth out the outrage of the Women of Lemnos, toucheth the Adder, and the Death of Archemorus.

In the sixth, the games are declared.

In the seventh, Amphiaraus the wise man is no more seen.

In the eighth, Tideus, the stay of the Greeks, is slain.

In the ninth, Hippomedon and Parthenope die.

In the tenth Capan [...]us in scaling the Walls is slain.

In the eleventh, Etteocles and Polynice kill one another.

The twelfth setteth out, Adrastus their hard case bewailing, and Thebes burning.

Benedicite, Praise ye.

Benedictus, Blessed.

Cor meum eructavit, My heart hath belched out.

Consummatum est, It is finished.

Cum iniquis deputatus est, He was reckoned among the wicked.

Consumere me vis? Wilt thou destroy me?

Cur me dereliquisti? Why hast thou forsaken me?

Coeli enarram, The Heavens declare.

Corpus Domini, The Lords Body.

De septem peccatis mortalibus, Of the seven deadly Sins.

De Invidia, Of Envy.

De Ira, Of Anger.

De Accidia, Of Accidy.

De Avaritia, Of Covetousness.

De Luxuria, Of Letchery.

Dolorum meum, My Grief.

Domine Laba, &c. O Lord open my Lips.

Domine Dominus noster, O Lord our God.

Domine est Terra, The Earth is the Lords.

Dominus regnavit, The Lord is King.

Explicit secunda pars poenitentiae, & sequitur pars tertia.
Here endeth the second part of Repentance, and here followeth the third

Fuerunt mihi Lachrimae me in Desert [...] Panes Die ac nocte, My Tears were my Bread in the Wilderness Day and Night.

Faciem tuam abscondis, Dost thou hide thy Face.

Jesus Nazarenus, Jesus of Nazareth.

Iras [...]imini &: nolite peccare, Be angry, but sin not.

In nomine Jesu, In the Name of Jesus.

In manus [...]uas, Into thy hands.

Jube Domine, Command Lord.

Jubilate, Rejoyce.

Ignotum per ignotius, One Obscurity, by a more Obscurity.

Libera me, Save me.

Laudate, Praise ye.

Mulier est Hominis Confusio, A Woman is Mans Destruction.

Non est Dolor sicut Dolor meus, There is no Grief like to mine.

Non est aliud Nomen sub Coelo, &c. There is no other Name under Heaven.

O admirabile, O wonderful.

O Deus, Deus meus, O God, my God.

Pone me juxta te, Set me by thee.

Qui Gladio percutit, He that striketh with the Sword.

[Page] Quia tulerunt Dominum meum, Because they have taken away my Lord.

Quid mali feci tibi? What harm have I done thee?

Quia non est, qui consoletur me, Because there is none to comfort me.

Quod dilexi multum, Because I love much.

Quod sic repente praecipitas me, That thou doest so suddenly cast me down.

Radix omnium malorum est Cupiditas, Covetousness is the root of all evil.

Remedium contra Peccatum acidiae, An help against the sin of wanhope.

Remedium contra Peccatum Avaritiae, An help against the Sin of Covetousness.

Remedium contra Peccatum Luxuriae, An help against the Sin of Lechery.

Sanctus Deus, Holy God.

Sanctissimus, Most holy.

Sequitur de Gula, Concerning Gluttony.

Sequitur secunda pars Poenitentiae, Here followeth the second part of Repentance.

Suspensus in Patibulo, Hung upon the Cross.

Sed non respondes mihi, But thou dost not answer me.

Sagittae tuae infixae sunt mihi, Thy Arrows have pierced me sore.

Solum superest Sepulchrum, There only remaineth a Grave.

Tanquam Cera liquescens, Like melting Wax.

Tuam animam pertransibit Gladius, The Sword shall pierce thy Soul.

Trahe me post te, Draw me after thee.

Tu autem, And thou.

Te Deum amoris, Thee the God of Love.

Turpe lucrum, Filthy Gain:

Vbi posuerunt eum? Where have they laid him?

Velociter exaudi me, Speedily hear me.

Venite, Come ye.

The French in Chaucer translated.

A Moi, qui voy, To me which see.

Bien moneste, Well admonished.

Bien & loialement, Well and dutifully.

C'est sans dire, &c. It is without saying, &c.

Don vient la destinie, From whom cometh destiny.

En diu est, In God is.

Entierement vostre, Yours wholly.

Estreignes moy de coeur joyeux, Strain me with a joyful heart.

Et je scay bien, que ce n'est pas mon tort, And I know well that it is not my hurt.

Jay tout perdu mon temps, & mon labeur, I have altogether lost my Time and Labour.

Jay en vous toute ma fiance, I repose all my trust in you.

Je vouldray, I will.

Je vous dy, I say to you.

Je vous dy sans doute, I say to you without doubt.

La belle dame sans mercy, The fair Lady without mercy.

L'ardant espoir en mon coeur point est mort, d'avoir l'amour de celle, que je desire, The earnest hope within my heart is not dead, to have the love of her whom I desire.

Meulx un, One best in heart.

Onques puis leuer, I can never rise.

Or à mon coeur, Now to my Heart.

Or à mon coeur ce qui vouloy, Now to my Heart that which I would.

Pleures pour moy, s'il vou plaist amoreux, Weep for me if you please, lovely Lady.

Plus ne pourroy, I can do no more.

Qui est la, Who is there?

Qui bien aime, tard oublie, He that loveth well is slow to forget.

Sans ose je dire, Without, shall I be bold to say.

Sans que jamais, &c. Without ever, &c.

Sans ose je, ou diray? But dare I, or shall I say?

Si douce est la marguerite, So sweet is the daisie.

son & mon joly coeur endormi, Her lively Heart and mine fallen asleep.

Soyes asseurè, Be ye assured.

S [...]s la feville devers moy, Upon the Leaf towards me.

Tant que je puis, As much as I can.

Tant me fait mal departir de ma dame, It grieveth me so much to depart from my Lady.

Vn sans changer, One without changing.

The Authors cited by G. Chaucer in his Works, by Name declared.

ALhazen, an Arabian, wrote seven Books of Perspectives.

Arnoldus de nova villa, did write the Book called Rosarium Philosophorum.

Anselmus, Bishop of Canterbury, a great Writer in Divinity, 1061.

Agathon, a Philosopher of Samos, did write Histories.

Augustine, that famous Doctor and Bishop, wrote more Books than ever did any in the Church of the Latines.

Avicen, a Physician of Sevil, wrote a multitude of Books.

Averroys, a Physician of Corduba, floruit, 1149.

Albumasar, alias Japhar, a great Astrologian, wrote of sundry things in that Art.

[...][Page] Aesopus, a Philosopher born in Phrygia in the days of Croesus, King of Lydia, to whom he dedicated the Fables which he wrote.

Aristotle, a famous Philosopher, Scholar to Plato, and Master to King Alexander. He was 345 years before Christ.

Ambrose, the worthy Bishop of Millain, in the year of our Lord, 373.

Alcabutius, a Writer in Astronomy; as of the Conjunction of the Planets, &c.

Alanus, among other things wrote a Book De Planctu Naturae.

B.

Bocatius, born at Florence in Italy, set out many things in his own Tongue, claruit, 1375.

Bernardus de Gordonio, a Frenchman born, Reader of Physick at Mount Pelier.

Bernardus Abbas Clarevallensis, a Burgonian, and a singular Divine, set forth many things, 1140.

Basilius Magnus, Bishop of Caesarea, 367.

C.

Cato, a learned man among the Romans, before the Incarnation, 182.

Corinna, a Theban Woman, and a Lyrike Poet; she wrote 50 Books and Epigrams; as Suidas and Pausanias report.

Claudianus, born in Alexandria in Egypt, among many things wrote a Book of the stealing away of Proserpina.

Crisippus did write a Book against the pleasure of the Body.

Constantine the Monk did translate and write many things in Physick, and among other, Lib. de coitu, quibus modis augeatur & diminuatur.

D.

Dantes Aligeras, an Italian, and born in Florence, lived, 1341.

Dares Phrigius did write the Trojan War in Greek, where he himself was a Souldier.

Ditis Historicus did write a Book of the Trojan War, found in a certain Sepulchre.

Damascenus Presbiter did write many things in the Greek Tongue.

Dioscorides, a worshipful Knight of Egypt, wrote in Greek, of the natures of divers Herbs: He lived under Cleopatra and Antonius.

E.

Aesculapius did write a Book of the original, cause, and descriptions of Diseases.

F.

Franciscus Petrarcha, an Italian born, did write when Chaucer was a young man, floruit, 1374.

G.

Gatisden and Gilbertin, Englishmen born, and writers in Physick.

Guido de Columna, a Sicilian, did write of the Trojan War, 1287.

Galfride Vinesause, was a Norman by his Parents, but born in England: he did write in his Book entituled de artificio loquendi, by way of Example of Mourning, under the Rhetorical figure of Apostrophe, a complaint for the Death of Richard the First, who was slain with an Arrow at the Siege of the Castle of Chalne in Normandy, and lived in the time of King John, An. Dom. 1210

Galenus, a most singular Physician, did write a multitude of Books, 160.

Gregorius Magnus did write much in Divinity, claruit, An. 369.

Galfridus Monumethensis, an Englishman born, translated into our Tongue the History of England, floruit, 1152.

H.

Homerus, the chiefest of all Poets, wrote in the Greek Tongue two works, the one called his Ilias, and the other his Odyssea.

Helowis, Maximinian, Livian, Aurora, Zansis, and divers others alledged by Chaucer, have none or few of their works extant.

Haly wrote a Book of the Compositions of Medicines.

Hieronimus Stridonensis did write among other things, a defence of Virginity, in two Books, against Jovinian.

Hippocrates Cous, a most ancient Physician, and Prince of all others, lived in the days of Artaxerxes.

Hermes, an Egyptian, Disciple to Plato, did write of many strange things.

I.

Josephus wrote in Greek the Battel and Destruction of the Jews. He was after the Incarnation seventy six years.

Johannes Damascenus, a Writer in Physick, 1158.

Innocentius Papa, born in Company, wrote a Book of the happy state of Mankind.

Juvenalis, a Poet, which wrote Satyrs.

Justinian, an Emperour of Rome, who caused to be written the Books of the Laws, called the Digests, Institutions, and the Code, containing the Decrees of the Emperours. He was after the Incarnation five hundred and seventy years.

L.

Lollius, an Italian Historiographer, born in the City of Vrbine.

Lucanus, a famous Poet, that wrote the Battel between Caesar and Pompey.

M.

Macrobius Aurellius wrote a Commentary on Scipio's Dream.

Marcus Aurelius Cassiodorus, a Monk, among many things wrote of the state of the Soul.

[Page] Marcianus Capella did write of the Liberal Sciences: and also of the marriage of Philologi and Mercury.

O.

Ovidius, a famous Latin Poet and Orator, advanced to be Senator of Rome: He lived when Christ was conversant on Earth.

P.

Petrus Alfonsus, a Jew, turned to the Faith, before called Moses, was baptised by King Alphonsus, and bare his Name: he did write many Books, 1100.

Pamphilus Presbiter, Kinsman to Eusebius, after much pains in writing, suffered Martyrdom in Caesaria, under the Persecution of Maximinus.

Papinius Statius, a Neapolitan, wrote of the Destruction of Thebes. He lived under Domitian.

Ptolemeus lived in the Time of Anthony the Emperour: he wrote divers works, and restored out of Darkness the Mathematical Sciences.

Pithagoras, an excellent Philosopher of Samos, at whose Wisdom Plato did wonder. He was before the Incarnation 522 years.

Petrus Cassiodorus, an Italian, a Noble man, and learned, did write to the Church of England, and perswaded them to cast off their Obedience to the Roman Bishops, and to beware of their Tyranny, 1302.

R.

Rasis, an Arabian Physician.

Rufus, a Physician of Ephesus in the time of Trajan the Emperour.

S.

Statius, a noble Poet, which wrote twelve Books of the Theban War.

Senior Zadith did write a Book of Alchimy, Gesner.

Seneca, a Spaniard, born in Corduba, a singular Philosopher, did write many things; he lived in the time of Nero, by whom he was put to Death.

Serapion, an Arabian, did write of the Composition of Medicines.

Suetonius wrote the Lives of the Roman Emperours.

Strode, a man of great Learning, Fellow of Merton Colledge in Oxford, 1380.

T.

Tertullian did write a Book of the attire of Women.

Titus Livius, the most excellent Writer of the Romans History.

Tho. Bradwarden was Bishop of Canterbury, who did write a Book De causa Dei, contra Pelagianos, and dedicated it to the Society of Merton Colledge in Oxford. He did write many other Books, one of the Trinity, one of Predestination, one of all Sciences, one of the Principles of Geometry; also a book of the Reward of them which shall be saved, and another called the Sum of Divinity. He flourished in the year of Grace, 1270.

Trotula set forth a book of the cure of Diseases in and after Childbirth.

Theophrastus Eresius, Disciple to Aristotle, writing a great number of Books, hath one De frugalitate.

Tullius, a Senator of Rome, Father of Eloquence, and pure Fountain of the Latin Tongue. He flourished about forty years before Christs Incarnation.

V.

Valerius Maximus, wrote to Tiberius Caesar a Book of the memorable deeds and sayings of worthy Men.

Virgilius, the most famous Poet of Mantua, whose Life Petrus Crinitus hath set down at large in Lib. 3. de Poetis Latinis.

Vitellio did write ten books of Perspectives.

W.

William S. Aymour, a Frenchman, did write a Commentary on the Apocalipse, much inveighing against the Pope: and was therefore banished, and his Books burned.

ADVERTISEMENT.

[Page]

WHilst this Work was just finishing, we hapned to meet with a Manuscript, wherein we found the Conclusion of the Cook's Tale, and also of the Squires Tale, (which in the Printed Books are said to be lost, or never finish'd by the Author,) but coming so late to our hands, they could not be inserted in their proper places, therefore the Reader is desir'd to add them, as here directed.

Immediately after what you find of the Cooks Tale, add this:

What thorow himself & his felaw y• fought,

Vnto a mischief both they were brought,

The tone ydamned to prison perpetually,

The tother to deth, for he couth not of clergy,

And therefore yong men learne while ye may,

That with many divers thoughts beth pricked all the day,

Remembre you what mischief cometh of misgovernaunce,

Thus mowe ye learn worschip and come to substaunce:

Think how grace and governaunce hath brought aboune

Many a poore man'ys Son chefe state of the Town.

Euer rule thee after the best man of name,

And God may grace thee to come to y• same.

Immediately after these words, at the end of the Squires Tale,

Apollo whirleth up his chare so hie,

Vntill the God Mercurius house he flie.

Let this be added,

But I here now maken a knotte,

To the time it come next to my lotte,

For here ben felawes behind, an hepe truly,

That wolden talk full besily,

And have here sport as well as I,

And the day passeth certainly,

So on this mattere I may no lenger dwell,

But stint my clack, and let the other tell,

Therefore oft taketh now good hede

Who shall next tell, and late him spede.

FINIS.

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Information about this book

Title statement

The works of our ancient, learned, & excellent English poet, Jeffrey Chaucer as they have lately been compar'd with the best manuscripts, and several things added, never before in print : to which is adjoyn'd The story of the siege of Thebes, by John Lidgate ... : together with The life of Chaucer, shewing his countrey, parentage, education, marriage, children, revenues, service, reward, friends, books, death : also a table, wherein the old and obscure words in Chaucer are explained, and such words ... that either are, by nature or derivation, Arabick, Greek, Latine, Italian, French, Dutch, or Saxon, mark'd with particular notes for the better understanding of their original.Works. 1687

Chaucer, Geoffrey, d. 1400.

Edition statement

1687

Publication

Publisher

Text Creation Partnership,

Place of publication

Ann Arbor, MI ; Oxford (UK) :

Date

2006-02 (EEBO-TCP Phase 1).

ID [DLPS]

A32749

ID [STC]

Wing C3736

ID [STC]

ESTC R3920

ID [EEBO-CITATION]

11953993

ID [OCLC]

ocm 11953993

ID [VID]

51487

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Series

Early English books online.

Notes

(EEBO-TCP ; phase 1, no. A32749)

Transcribed from: (Early English Books Online ; image set 51487)

Images scanned from microfilm: (Early English books, 1641-1700 ; 59:1)

Source

— The works of our ancient, learned, & excellent English poet, Jeffrey Chaucer as they have lately been compar'd with the best manuscripts, and several things added, never before in print : to which is adjoyn'd The story of the siege of Thebes, by John Lidgate ... : together with The life of Chaucer, shewing his countrey, parentage, education, marriage, children, revenues, service, reward, friends, books, death : also a table, wherein the old and obscure words in Chaucer are explained, and such words ... that either are, by nature or derivation, Arabick, Greek, Latine, Italian, French, Dutch, or Saxon, mark'd with particular notes for the better understanding of their original., Works. 1687, Chaucer, Geoffrey, d. 1400., Speght, Thomas, fl. 1600., Lydgate, John, 1370?-1451? Siege of Thebes..

Extent

[35], 660, [32] p.

[s.n.],. London :: 1687.. (Editor's dedication to Sir Robert Cecil signed: Tho. Speght.) (Frontispiece has engraved border giving his "progenie," with coats of arms, etc.) (Advertisements: p. [26] at beginning, and p. [28] at end.) (Reproduction of original in British Library.) ("The story of Thebes": p. 622-660.)

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