for to countrefete Hys gaye style but it wyll not be The welle is drye wyth the lycoure swete ▪ Both of Clye and of Caliope And fyrst of all I woll excuse me To her that is grounde of goodlyhede And thus I saye vntyll her womanhede ¶ Balade symple WYth all my myght and my beste entente Wyth all the fayth that myghtye god of kynde Me yaue syth he me soule knowynge sent I chese and to thys bonde euer I me bynde To loue you best whyle I haue lyfe mynd Thus herde I foules in the daunynge Vpon the daye of saynt Valentyne synge Yet chese I at the begynnyng in thys entent To loue you though I no mercy fynde And yf you lyste I dyed I wolde assent As euer twynne I quycke out of thys lyne Suffyseth me to sene your fethers ynde Thus herde I soules in the mornynge Vpon the daye of saynt Valentyne synge And ouer thys myne hertes luste to bente In honour onely of the wodde bynde Holy I yeue neuer to repente In ioye or wo where so that I wynde To sore Cupide wyth hys eyen blynde The foules all when Tytan dyd sprynge wyth deuout hert me thought I herd synge ¶ Lenuoye ¶ Pryncesse of beauty to you I represent Thys symple dyte rude as in makynge Of herte and wyll faythfull in myne entent Lyke as thys daye foules herde I synge ¶ Here endeth the Floure of Curtesy and here after foloweth howe pyte is deed and buryed in a gentle herte PYte y t I haue sought so yore ago wyth herte sore and full of besy payne y t in this world was neuer wyght so wo wythout deth and yf I shall not fayne ▪ My purpose was pyte to complayne Vpon teh crueltye and tyraunye Of loue that for my trouth doth me dye And that I by length of certayne yeres Had euer in one sought a tyme to speke To Pyte ran I all by spreynt wyth teeres To prayen her on Cruelte me awreke But or I myght wyth any worde out breke Or tell her any of my paynes smerte I founde her deed and buryed in an herte Adowne I fell when I sawe the herse Deed as a stone whyle y t the sowne me laste But vp I rose wyth colour full dyuerse And pytously on her myne eyen I caste And nerer the corse I gan preasen faste And for the soule I shope me for to pray I was but lorne there was no more to say Thus am I slayne syth that Pyte is deed Alas that daye that euer it shulde fall what maner man dare now hold vp his heed To whome shal nowe any sorowful hert cal Nowe Cruelte hath caste to stee vs all In ydle hope folke redelesse of payne Syth she is deed to whom shal we cōplayne But yet encreaseth me thys wonder newe That no wyght wote that she is deed but I So many men as in her tyme her knewe And yet she deyde so sodeynly For I haue sought her euer full besely Syth I had fyrst wytte or mynde But she was deed er I coude her fynde Aboute her herse there stoden lustely wythouten any mo as thought me Bountie perfytly well armed and rychely And freshe Beaute Lust and Iolyte Assured maner youthe and Honeste wysedome Estate Drede Gouernaunce Confedred both by bonde and alyaunce A complaynt had I wrytten in my honde To haue put to Pyte as a byll But I there all thys company fonde That rather wolde all my cause spyll Then do me helpe I helde my playnt styll For to those folke wythouten fayle wythout pyte there maye no byll auayle Then leaue all vertues saue onely pyte Kepynge the corse as ye haue herde me sayne Confedred by bonde vnto Cruelte And be assented when I shal be slayne And I haue put my complaynte vp agayne For to my foes my byll I dare not shewe The effecte whych sayeth thus in wordes fewe ¶ Humblest of herte hyest of reuerence Benigne sloure crowne of vertues all Sheweth vnto your royall excellence Your seruaunt yf I durst me so call Hys mortall harme in whych he is yfall And nought all onely for hys wofull fare But for your renome as he shall declare It stōdeth thus that your cōtrary cruelte Alyed is ayenst your regalye Vnder colour of womanly beaute For men shulde not knowe her tyrannye wyth bountie Gentyllesse and Curtesye And hath depryued you of your place That is hygh beaute apertenaunt to youre grace For kyndly by your heritage ryght Ye be annexed euer vnto bounte And verely ye ought do your myght To helpe trouth in hys aduersite Ye be also the corowne of beaute And certes yf ye wante in these twayne The world is lore there is no more to sayne Eke what auayleth maner gentyllesse wythout you benigne creature Shall cruelte be your gouerneresse Alas what herte may it longe endure wherfore but ye rather take cure To breke that peryllous alyaunce Ye fleen hem that ben in your obeysaunce And further yf ye suffre thus Your renome is fordo in a throwe There shall no man wete what pyte is Alas that euer your renome is fall so lowe Ye be also fro your herytage ythrowe By cruelte that occupyeth your place And we dyspayred that seken your grace Haue mercy on me thou Herenus quene That you haue sought so tenderly and sore Let some streme of lyght on me be sene That loue and drede you euer lenger y e more For sothly to sayne I beare so sore And though I be not connyng for to playne For goddes loue haue mercy on my payne My payne is thys that what so I desyre That haue I not ne nothynge lyke therto And euer setteth desyre myne herte on fyre Eke on that other syde where that I go what maner thyng that may encrease my wo That haue I redy vnsought euery where Me lacketh but my dethe and then my bete what nedeth to shewe percell of my payne Syth euery wo that herte may bethynke I suffre and yet I dare not to you playne For well I wote though I wake or wynke Ye recke not whether I flete or synke And nathelesse yet my trouth I shall sustene Vnto my death and that shall well be sene Thys is to sayne I wyll be yours euer Though ye me slee by cruelte your fo Algate my spirite shall neuer dysceuer Fro your seruyce for any payne or wo Syth ye be yet deed alas that it is so Thus for your death I may wepe playne wyth herte sore and full of besy payne ¶ Explicit ¶ La belle dame sans mercy HAlfe in a dreame not fully well awaked The goldē slepe me wrapped vnder hys wyng Yet nat for thy I rose and well nygh naked All sodaynlye my selfe remembryng Of a mater leuynge all other thynge Whyche I muste do wythouten more delay For hem whiche I durst nat dysobey My charge was this to translate by and by All thynge forgyue as parte of my penaunce A boke called La belle dame
lyfe Vomyte vpwarde ne downwarde laxatyfe All is to bruste thylke regyon Nature hath no domynacyon And certainly ther as nature wâ—l nat wirche Farwel phisyke go beare the corse to chirche Thys is al some that Arcyte muste dye For whiche he sendeth after Emelye And Palamon hys cosyn dere Than sayd he thus as ye shall after here ¶ Nought may my woful spyrit in my herte Declare a poynte of al my sorowes smerte To you my lady that I loue moste But I bequethe the seruyce of my goste To you abouen any creature Syn that my lyfe may no lenger dure Alas the wo alas my paynes stronge That I for you haue suffred and so longe Alas the dethe alas myn Emely Alas the partyng of our company Alas myn hertes quene alas my lyues wyfe Myn hertes lady ender of my lyfe What is the worlde what asken meÌ„ to haue Nowe with his loue now in his colde graue Alone withouten any company Farwel my swete foe myn Emely And softe take me in your armes twey For the loue of god herkeneth what I sey ¶ I haue here with my cosyn Palamon Had stryfe and rancour many a day agon For loue of you and for my ielousye And Iupiter so wyssely my soule gye To speken of a seruaunt properly with cyrcumstaunces al trewly That is to say trouth honour knyghthede wysedom humblesse estate and hye kynrede Fredom and all that longeth to that arte So Iupiter haue of my soule parte As in this worlde ryght now knowe I non So worthy to be loued as Palamon That serueth you and woll don all hys lyfe And yf that ye shall euer ben a wyfe For yet not Palamon the gentyll man And with that worde his speche fayle begaÌ„ For from hys fete vnto hys brest was come The colde of dethe that had hym nome And yet more ouer for in hys armes two The vytal strength is loste and al ago Saue onely the intellecte without more That dwelled in his herte sycke and sore Gan faylen whan the herte felte dethe Dusked hys eyen two and fayled brethe But on hys lady yet caste he hys eye Hys laste worde was mercy Emelye Hys spyrit chaunged and out went there whytherwarde I can not tel ne where Therfore I stynte I am no diuynystre Of soules fynde I not in this regystre Ne me lyst not thylke opinyon to tell Of hem though they writen wher they dwel Arcyte is colde that Mars hys soule gye Nowe woll I speke forthe of Emelye ¶ Shright Emely and howlen Palamon And Theseus his suster vp toke anon Swounyng bare her fro hys corse away what helpeth it to tarry forthe the day To tellen how she wept bothe eueÌ„ morowe For in suche case women haue suche sorowe whan that her husbande 's ben fro hem go That for the more parte they sorowen so Or els fallen in suche maladye That at the laste certaynly they dye Infinyte ben the sorowes and the teres Of olde folke and folke of tender yeres In al the towne for dethe of this Theban For hym there wepeth bothe chylde and maÌ„ So great wepyng was there not certayne whan Hector was brought al freshe islayn To Troy alas the pyte that was there Cratchyng of chekes rentyng eke of here why woldest thou be deed thus women crye And haddest golde ynoughe and Emelye No man myght glade Theseus Sauyng hys olde father Egeus That knewe thys worldes transmutacion As he had sene it bothe vp and doun Ioye after wo and wo after gladnesse And shewed hym ensamples and lyknesse Ryght as there dyed neuer man ê™ he That he ne lyued in erthe in some degre Ryght so there lyued neuer man he sayde In al thys world that somtyme he ne deyde Thys world is but a thorowfare full of wo And we ben pylgrymes passyng to and fro Deth is an ende of euery worldes sore And ouer al thys yet sayd he moch more To thys effecte ful wysely to exhorte The people that they shulde hem recomfort Duke Theseus with al hys busy cure Casteth nowe where that the sepulture Of good Arcyte shall best ymaked be And eke moste honorable of degre And at the laste he toke conclusyon That there as Arcyte and Palamon Had for loue the batayle hem bytwene That in the same selue groue swete grene There as he had his amerous desyres Hys complaynte for loue hys hotte fyres He wolde make a fyre in whiche the offys Funeral he myght hem al accomplys He hath anon coÌ„maunded to hacke and hewe The okes olde and lay hem al on arewe In culpons wel arayed for to brenne His offycers with swyfte foote they renne And ryght anon at hys commaundement And after Theseus hath ysente After a beere and it all ouer spradde Wyth clothe of golde the rychest that he had And of the same sute he clothed Arcyte Vpon hys handes hys gloues whyte Eke on hys heed a crowne of laurer grene And in his hande a sworde ful bright kene He loyde hym bare the visage on the bere Therwith he wepte that pyte was to here And for the people shulde sene hym all Whan it was day he brought hym to y e hall That roreth of the cry of the sorowes soun Tho gan this woful theban Palamon with glytering berde ruddy shynyng heres In clothes blacke dropped al wyth teres And passyng other of wepyng Emely The rufullest of all the company And in as moche as the seruyce shulde be The more noble and ryche in hys degre Duke Theseus let forthe the stedes bryng That trapped were in stele all gleteryng And couered with the armes of dan Arcyte Vpon these stedes great and whyte Ther saten folke of which one bare his sheld Another hys speare in hys hande helde The thyrde bare with him a bowe turkes Of brent golde was the case eke the harnes And ryden forthe a pace with sory chere Towarde the groue as ye shal after here ¶ The noblest of the grekes that there were Vpon her shuldres caryed the bere With slacke pace and eyen reed and wete Throughout the cyte by the mayster strete That sprad was al w t blak that woÌ„der hye Ryght of the same is the strete ywrye Vpon the ryght hande wente Egeus And on the other syde duke Theseus With vessels in her hande of golde full fyne Al ful of hony mylke bloode and wyne Eke Palamon with full great company And after that came wofull Emely With fyre in hande as was y t tyme the gyse To don the offyce of funeral seruyse Hye labour and ful great apparaylyng Was at seruyce and at fyre makyng That with his grene toppe the heueÌ„ raught And twenty fadome of brede armes straught This is to sayn the bowes were so brode Of strawe first ther was layde many a lode But how the fyre was maked vp on height And eke the names howe the trees heyght As oke firre beche aspe elder elme popelere Wyllo holm plane boxe
and hys hallowes bryght So wylly on my soule haue mercy That of your harme as gyltlesse am I As is Maurice my sonne so lyke your face Els the fende me fetch out of thys place Longe was y e sobbyng the bytter payne Or that her woful herte myght cese Great was the pyte to here hem complayne Thrugh which plaintes gan her wo encrese I pray you al my laboure to relese I may not tel her wo tyl to morowe I am so wery to speake of her sorowe But fynally when that y e soth is wyste That Alla gyltlesse was of her wo I trowe an hundred tymes ben they kyste And such a blysse is there bytwyxt hem two That saue the ioye that lasteth euermo There is no lyke that any creature Hath seyen or shal whyle y e world may dure Tho prayed she her husbande mekely In relesynge of her pytous payne That he wolde praye her father specially That of hys maiesty he wolde enclyne To vouchsafe somdaye wyth hym to dyne She prayed hym eke he shulde by no waye Vnto her father no worde of her to saye Some meÌ„ wold say y t the chyld Maurice Doth thys message vntyl thys Emperour But as I gesse Alla was not so nyse To hym that was of so soueraygne honour As he that is of christen folke the flour Sent any chylde but it is bette to deme He went hym selfe and so it may wel seme Thys Emperour graunted gentelly To come to dyner as he hym bysought That al was redy he loked besely Vpon this chyld an his doughter thought Alla goeth to hys ynne and as hym ought Arrayde for thys feest in euery wyse As farforth as hys connynge may suffyce The morow came Alla gan hym dresse And eke his wyfe the Emperour for to mete And forth they ryde in ioye and in gladnesse And when she sawe her father in the strete She lyght a downe and falleth hym to fete Father ê™ she your yonge chylde Custaunce Is nowe ful clene out of your remembrauÌ„ce I am your doughter Custaunce ê™ she That whylom ye han sent into Surrye It am I father that in the salte see was put alone and dampned for to dye Nowe good father I you mercy crye Sende me no more into hethennesse But thanken my lorde here of hys kyndnesse who can the pytous ioye tellen al Bytwyxt hem three syn they beÌ„ thus ymette But of my tale make an ende I shal The day goth fast I wol no longer lette Thys glad folke to dyner ben sette In ioye and blysse at meate I let hem dwell A thousande folde welmore then I can tel This chyld Mauris was sythin emperour Made by the pope and lyued christenly To Christes churche he dyd great honour But I let al thys story passen by Of Custaunce is my tale specially In olde Romayne iestes men may fynde Maurys lyfe I beare it not in mynde This kynge Alla when he hys tyme sey wyth thys CustauÌ„ce his holy wyfe so swete To Englande ben they come the ryght wey where as they lyue in ioye and in quyete But lytel whyle it lasteth I you hete Ioye of this worlde for tyme wol not abyde Fro daye to nyght it chaungeth as the tyde Who lyued euer in such delyte a daye That he ne meued eyther in conscience Or yre or tallent of some kyn affraye Enuye or pryde or passion or offence I ne saye but for thys ende thys sentence That lytel whyle in ioye or in pleasaunce Lasteth the blysse of Alla wyth Custaunce For deth y t taketh of hye lowe his rente when passed was a yere euen as I gesse Out of thys worlde kynge Alla he hente For whom CustauÌ„ce hath ful gret heuynesse Nowe let vs prayen god hys soule blesse And dame Custaunce fynally to say Towarde y e towne of Rome goeth her way To Rome is come thys holy creature And fyndeth her father hole and sounde Nowe is she skaped al her auenture And when that she her father hath yfounde Downe on her knees goeth she to grounde wepynge for tendernesse in herte blythe She heryeth god an huÌ„dred thousand sythe In vertue and holy almesdede They lyuen al and neuer a sonder wende Tyl death departen hem thys lyfe they lede And fareth nowe wel my tale is at an ende Now Iesu christ y t of his myght may sende Ioye after wo gouerne vs in hys grace And kepe vs al that ben in thys place ¶ Thus endeth the man of lawes tale and here foloweth the Squyers prologue OVr hoost on hys styroppes stode anone And sayd good men herkeneth euerychone Thys was a thryfty tale for the nones Syr parysh preest ê™ he for goddes bones Tel vs a tale as was thy forwarde yore I se wel that ye lerned men in lore Can moche good by goddes dignite The parson hym answerde benedicite what cyleth the man so synfully to swere ¶ Our host answerd O Ienkyn be ye there Now good meÌ„ ê™ our host herkeneth to me I smel a loller in the wynde ê™ he Abydeth for goddes dygne passion For we shall haue a predication Thys loller here wol prechen vs somwhat ¶ Nay by my fathers soule that shal he nat Sayd the Squyer here shal he not preche Here shal he no gospel glose ne teche we leueth al in the great god quod he He wolde sowen some dyffyculte Or sprynge cockel in our clene corne And therfore hoost I warne the byforne My lolly body shal a tale tel And I shal ryngen you so mery a bel That I shal waken al thys companye But it shal not ben of philosofye Ne phisyke ne termes queynte of lawe There is but lytel laten in my mawe ¶ Here endeth the Squyers prologue and hereafter foloweth hys tale AT Sarra in the laÌ„de of Tartary There dwelt a kynge that warred Surry Thrugh which ther died many a douÈty maÌ„ Thys noble kynge was called CambuscaÌ„ Whych in hys tyme was of so great renoun That there nas no where in no regioun So excellent a lorde in al thynge Hym lacked naught that longed to a kynge As of the secte of whych he was borne He kept hys laye to whych he was sworne And therto he was hardy wyse and ryche And pytous and iuste alwaye ylyche Trewe of his worde benygne honorable Of hys corage as any centre stable Yonge freshe stronge in armes desyrous As any bacheler of al hys hous A fayre person he was and fortunate And kept alwaye so royal astate That there nas no where such another man This noble kyng this tartre this CaÌ„buscaÌ„ Had two sonnes by Eltheta hys wyfe Of whych the eldest hyght Algarsyfe That other was cleped Camballo ¶ A doughter had thys worthy kynge also That yongest was and hyght Canace But for to tel you al her beaute It lyeth not in my tonge ne in my connynge I dare not vndertake so hye a thynge Myne Englyshe eke is vnsufficient It muste be a rethor
eyen twayne withouten varyaunce Shall neuer cease I promyse faithfully There to wepe wyth great abundaunce Bytter teares rennyng incessauntly The whiche teares medled ful pitously wyth the very blode euer shall renne also Expressyng in myne herte the greuous wo worldly fode and sustenaunce I desyre none Suche lyueng as I fynde such woll I take Rotes that growen on the craggy stone Shall me suffyse wyth water of the lake Than thus may I say for my lordes sake Fuerunt mihi lachrime mee In deserto panes die ac nocte My body to clothe it maketh no force A mournyng mantell shal be suffycient The greuous woundes of hys pytous corse Shal be to me a full royall garnement He departed thus I am best content His crosse with nayles and scourges withal Shal be my thought and payne speciall Thus woll I lyue as I haue here tolde Yf I may any longe tyme endure But I feare dethe is ouer me so bolde That of my purpose I can nat be sure My paynes encrease wythout measure For of longe lyfe who can lay any reason All thyng is mortall and hath but a season I syghe full sore and it is ferre yfet Myne herte I fele nowe bledeth inwardly The blody teares I may in no wyse let Sythe of my payne I fynde no remedy I thanke god of all yf I nowe dye His wyl perfourmed I holde me content My soule let hym take that hath it me lent For lenger to endure it is intollerable My wofull herte is enflamed so huge That no sorowe to myne is comparable Sythe of my mynde I fynde no refuge Yet I hym requyre as ryghtfull iuge To deuoyde fro me the inwarde sorowe Lest I lyue nat to the nexte morowe wythin myne herte is impressed full sore His royall forme his shappe his semelynesse His porte his chere his goodnesse euermore Hys noble persone wyth all gentylnesse He is the welle of all parfytnesse The very redemer of all mankynde Him loue I best with hert soule and mynde In his absence my paynes full bytter be Rightwell I maye it fele nowe inwardly No wonder is though they hurte or slee me They cause me to crye so rewefully Myne herte oppressed is so wonderfully Onely for hym whiche is so bright of blee Alas I trowe I shall hym neuer se My ioye is traslate full farre in exile My myrthe is chaunged in to paynes colde My lyfe I thynke endureth but a whyle Anguyshe and payne is that I beholde wherfore my handes thus I wrynge folde In to this graue I loke I call I pray Dethe remayneth and lyfe is borne away Nowe must I walke wander here there God wote to what partes I shall me dresse wyth quakyng herte wepyng many a tere To seke out my loue and all my swetnesse I wolde he wyst what mortall heuynesse About myne herte reneweth more and more Than wolde he nat kepe pyte long in store wythout hym I may nat long endure Hys loue so sore worketh wythin my brest And euer I wepe before thys sepulture Sighyng ful sore as myne hert shulde brest Duryng my lyfe I shall optayne no rest But mourne wepe where that euer I go Makyng complaynt of all my mortall wo Fast I crye but there is no audyence My commyng hider was him for to please My soule opprest is here with his absence Alas he lyst nat to sette myne hert in ease wherfore to payne my selfe withall disease I shall nat spare tyll he take me to grace Or els shall I sterue here in this place Ones yf I myght wyth him speke It were all my ioye with parfyte plesaunce So that I myght to him myne hert breke I shulde anone deuoyde all my greuaunce For he is the blysse of very recreaunce But nowe alas I can nothyng do so For in stede of ioye naught haue I but wo His noble corse within myne herfes rote Depe is graued whiche shall neuer slake Nowe is he gone to what place I ne wote I mourne I wepe and all is for his sake Sythe he is paste here a vowe I make wyth hertely promyse therto I me bynde Neuer to cease tyll I may hym fynde Vnto hys mother I thynke for to go Of her haply some comforte may I take But one thyng yet me feareth and no mo Yf I any mention of hym make Of my wordes she wold trymble and quake And who coude her blame she hauiÌ„g but one The son borne away the mother woll mone Sorowes many hath she suffred trewly Syth that she fyrst conceyued hym and bare And seuyn thynges there be most specially That drowneth her hert in sorowe and care Yet lo in no wyse may they compare wyth this one nowe the which yf she knewe She wolde her paynes euerichone renewe Great was her sorowe by mennes sayeng When in the temple Symeon Iustus Shewyng to her these wordes prophesieng Cuam anumam pertransidit glaoius Also whan Herode that tyrant â—urious Her chylde pursued in euery place For his lyfe went neyther mercy ne grace She mourned whan she knewe hym gone Ful long she sought or she him founde ayene whan he went to dethe hys crosse him vpon It was to her syght a rewefull payne whaÌ„ he hong theron betwene theues twayn And the speare vnto his hert thrust ryght She swouned to the grounde there pight Whan deed and blody in her lappe lay Hys blessed body both handes fete all tore She cryed out and sayd nowe welaway Thus arayde was neuer man before whan haste was made his body to be bore Vnto hys sepulture here to remayne Vnnethes for wo she coude her sustayne These sorowes seuyn lyke swerds eueryone Hys mothers hert wounded fro syde to syde But yf she knewe her sonne thus gone Out of this worlde she shuld with deth ryde For care she coude no lenger here abyde Hauyng no more ioye nor consolatioun Than I here standyng in this statioun Wherfore her to se I dare nat presume Fro her presence I woll my selfe refrayne Yet had I leuer to dye and consume ThaÌ„ his mother shuld haue any more payne Neuerthelesse her sonne wold I se ful fayne His presence was very ioye and swetnesse Hys absence is but sorowe and heuynesse There is no more syth I may him nat mete whom I desyre aboue all other thyng Nedes I must take the soure with the swete For of hys noble corse I here no tydyng Full ofte I crye and my handes wryng Myne herte alas relenteth all in payne whyche wol brast bothe senewe and vayne Alas howe vnhappy was this wofull houre wherin is thus myspended my seruyce For myne entente and eke my trewe labour To none effecte may come in any wyse Alas I thynke yf he do me dyspise And lyst nat to take my symple obseruaunce There is no more but deth is my fynaunce I haue him called Sed non respondit mihi wherfore my myrth is tourned to mourning O dere lorde Quid mali feci tibi That
as fast as he maye glyde Into her next paleys to abyde walkyng his course tyl she had hym atake And he prayed her to haste her for his sake Than sayd he thus my hertes lady swete Ye knowe wel my myschefe in that place For sykerly tyl that I with you mete My lyfe stant there in auenture and grace But whan I se the beautye of your face There is no drede of deth may do me smerte For all your lust is ease to myne hert She hath so great coÌ„passyon of her knyght That dwelleth in solytude tyl she come For it stode so that thylke tyme no wyght Counsayled hym ne sayd to hym welcome That nygh her wyt for sorowe was ouercoÌ„ wherfore she sped as fast in her way Almost in one day as he dyd in twaye The great ioye that was betwyxt hem wo whan they be met there may no tonge â—ell There is nomore but vnto bed they go And thus in ioye and blysse I let hem dwel This worthy Mars y t is of knyghthod wel The flour of fairnesse happeth in his armes And venus kysseth Mars y e god of armes Soiorned hath this Mars of which I rede In chambre amydde the palays priuely A certayne tyme tyl hym fel a drede Through Phebus that was comen hastely within the palays yates sturdely with torch in hand of which y e stremes briÈt On venus chambre knockeden ful lyght The chambre there as lay this fresshe quene Depaynted was with whyte boles grete And by y e lyght she knewe that shon so shene That Phebus came to bren hem w t his hete This selly Venus me dreynt in teares wete Embraceth Mars and sayd alas I dye The torch is com y t al this world wyl wrye Vp stert Mars hym lyst not to slepe whan he his lady herde so complayne But for his nature was not for to wepe In stede of teares from his eyen twayne The fyry sparcles sprongen out for payne And hent his hauberke y t lay hym besyde Flye wold he nouÈt ne might him self hyde He throweth on his helme of huge weyght And gyrt hym w t his swerde in his hond His mighty spere as he was woÌ„t to fyght He shaketh so that it almost to wonde Full heuy was he to walken ouer loude He may not holde with Venus company But bad her flyen lest Phebus her espye O woful Mars alas what mayst y u sayne That in the palays of thy disturbaunce Art left behynde in peryl to be slayne And yet therto is double thy penaunce For she y t hath thyne hert in gouernaunce Is passed halfe the stremes of thyne eyen That y u nere swyft wel mayest thou wepâ— crâ—en Now flyeth Venus into Ciclinius tour with voyde corse for feare of Phebus lyght Alas and there hath she no socour For she ne fouÌ„de ne sey no maner wyght And eke as there she had but lytle myght wherfore her seluen for to hyde and saue within the gate she fled into a caue Darke was this caue and smokiÌ„g as y e hell Nat but two paas within the yate it stode A naturel day in darke I let her dwell Now wol I speke of mars furious wode For sorow he wolde haue sene his hert blod Syth y t he might haue done her no coÌ„panye He ne rought not a myte for to dye So feble he wert for hete and for his wo That nigh he swelt he might vneth endure He passeth but a ster in dayes two But neuerthelesse for al his heuy armure He foloweth her that is his lyues cure For whose departyng he toke greater yre Than for all his brennyng in the fyre After he walketh softely apace Complaynyng that it pytie was to here He sayd O lady bryght Venus alas That euer so wyde a coÌ„pas is my sphere Alas whan shall I mete you hert dere This twelue dayes of Apryll I endure Through ielous Phebus this mysaueÌ„ture Now god helpe sely Venus alone But as god wolde it happed for to be That whil y e weping venus made her mone Câ—elimus rydyng in his chyuauche Fro Venus Valanus might his paleys se And venus he salueth and maketh chere And her receyueth as his frende ful dere Mars dwelleth forth in his aduersitie Complaynyng euer in her departyng And what his coÌ„playnt was remeÌ„breth me And therfore in this lusty morownyng As I best can I wol it sayne and synge And after that I woll my leaue take And god yeue euery wyght ioy of his make ¶ The complaynt of Mars THe ordre of complaynt requyreth skylfully That yf a wyght shall playne pytouslye There mote be cause wherfore y t meÌ„ playne Or men may deme he playneth folyly And causeles alas that am not I wherfore y e grounde cause of al my payne So as my troubled wyt may it attayne I wol reherse not for to haue redresse But to declare my grounde of heuynesse The fyrst tyme alas that I was wrought And for certayne effectes hyder brought By hym that lordeth eche intelligence I yaue my true seruyce and my thought For euermo how dere I haue it bought To her that is of so great excellence That what wight y t sheweth first her offeÌ„ce whan she is wroth taketh of him no cure He may not longe in ioye of loue endure This is no fayned mater that I tell My lady is the very sours and well Of beautie lust fredome and gentyllesse Of ryche araye how dere men it sell Of all disport in which men frely dwel Of loue and play and of benigne huÌ„blesse Of sowne of instrumentes of al swetnesse And therto so well fortuned and thewed y t through y e worlde her goodnes is shewed what wonder is than though that I beset My seruyce on such one that may me kâ—et To wele or wo sith it lyth in her myght Therfore myne hert for euer I vnto her het Ne truly for my deth shal I not let To ben her truest seruaunt her knyght I flatter not that may wete euery wyght For this day in her seruyce shall I dye But grace be I se her neuer with eye To whom shal I playne of my distresse who may me help who may my hert redres Shall I complayne vnto my lady free Nay certes for she hath suche heuynesse For feare and eke for wo that as I gesse In lytle tyme it wolde her bane be But were she safe it were no force of me Alas that euer louers mote endure For loue so many perylous auenture For though so be that louers be as trewe As any metall that is forged newe In many a case hem tydeth oft sorowe Somtyme her ladyes wol not on hem rew Somtyme yf that ielousye it knewe They myght lyghtly lay her heed to borow Somtyme enuyous folke w t tanges horow Deprauen hem alas whom may they plese But he be false no louer hath his ease But what auayleth suche a longe sermoun Of auentures
wisedome maÌ„hed Assemble al the folke of our kynred And make warre so sharpe in thys countre That by some auenture or by some treate Thou mayst haue her to lady and to wyfe For whom I must nedes lese my lyfe For as by waye of possibilite Syth thou arte at thy large of prison fre And arte a lorde great is thyne auauntage More then is myne that sterue here in a cage For I maye wepe and wayle whyles y t I lyue wyth all the wo that prison maye me yeue And eke wyth payne that loue yeueth me also That doubleth al my tourment and my wo Therwyth the fyre of ielousy vp stert wythin hys brest and hent hym by the hert So woodly that he lykely was to beholde The boxe tree or the ashen deed and colde Then sayd he O cruell goddes that gouerne Thys worlde wyth your worde eterne And wrytten in the table of Athamant Your parliament and eterne graunt what is mankynde more vnto you yholde Then is the shepe that rouketh in the folde For slayne is man ryght as another beest And dwelleth eke in prison and in arrest And hath sycknesse and great aduersite And ofte tyme gyltlesse parde What gouernaunce is in thys prescience That gyltlesse turmenteth innocence And encreaseth thus all my penaunce That man is bounden to hys obseruaunce For goddes sake to letten of hys wyll There as a beest maye all hys lustes fulfyll And when a beest is deed he hath no payne But after hys death maÌ„ mote wepe and playne Though in thys worlde he haue care and wo wythout doute it maye standen so The answere of thys lete I to diuines But well I wote in thys worlde great pyne is Alas I se a serpent or a thefe That many a true man hath do myschefe Gone at hys large where hym lyst may turne But I mote bene in prison through Saturne And eke through Iuno ielous and eke wood That hath stroyed well nye all the blood Of Thebes wyth hys wast walles wyde And Venus sleeth me on that other syde For ielousye and feare of hym Arcite Nowe wyll I slynte of Palamon a lyte And let hym in hys pryson styll dwell And of Arcite forth woll I you tell The sommer passeth and the nyghtes longe Encreaseth double wyse the paynes stronge Both of the louer and of the prisoner I not whych hath the wofuller myster For shortly to saye thys Palamon Perpetuall is dampned to prison In â—haynes and feters to the deed And Arcite is exiled on hys heed For euermore as out of that countre Or neuer more shall hys lady se You louers aske I now thys question Who hath the woâ—se Arcite or Palamon That one maye se hys lady daye by daye But in prison mote he dwell alwaye That other where hym lyst maye ryde or go But sene hys lady shall he neuer mo Nowe demeth as ye lyst ye that can For I woll tell forth my tale as I began ¶ When that Arcite to Thebes comen was Full ofte a daye he swelte and sayd alas For sene hys lady shall he neuer mo And shortly to conclude all hys wo So mykell sorowe made neuer creature That is or shal be whyle the worlde maye dure Hys slepe hys meate hys drynke is hym byraft That leane he wareth and drye as a shaft Hys eyen holowe and grysly to beholde Hys hewe pale and falowe as asshen colde And solitary he was and euer alone And waylynge all the nyght makynge mone And yf he herde songe or instrument Then wolde he wepe he myght not stent So feble were hys spirites and so lowe And chauÌ„ged so y t no man coude hym knowe Hys speche ne hys voyce though men it herde As in hys gyre for all the worlde it ferde Nought comly lyke to louers maladye Of Hereos but rather lyke manye Engendred of Humours melancolyke Beforne hys fell fantastyke And shortly was turned all vp so doun Both habyte and dysposicion Of hym thys wofull louer Arcyte what shulde I all daye of hys wo endyte When he endured had a yere or two Thys cruell torment and thys payne and wo At Thebes in hys countre as I sayd Vpon a nyght in slepe as he hym layde Hym thought howe that the wynged Mercury Beforne hym stode and bad hym to be mery Hys slepy yerde in hande he bare vpryght An harte he wered vpon hys heares bryght Arayed was thys god as he toke kepe As he was when Argus toke hys slepe And said him thus to Athenes shalt thou wend There is the shapen of thy wo an end And wyth that worde Arcite awoke and stert Nowe truly howe sore that me smert Quoth he to Athenes ryght nowe wyll I fare Ne for no drede of death shall I spare To se my lady that I loue and serue In her presence recke I not to sterue And with that word he caught a great myrrour And sawe that changed was al hys colour And sawe hys vysage all in another kynde And ryght anone it ran hym in hys mynde That syth hys face was so dysfygured Of maladye the whych he had endured He myght well yf that he bare hym lowe Lyue in Athenes euermore vnknowe And sene hys ladye well nyghe daye by daye And ryght anone he chaunged hys araye And clad hym as a poore labourer And all alone saue only a squyer That knewe hys priuitie and all hys caas whych was dysgysed poorely as he was To Athenes is he gone the nexte waye And to the courte he wente vpon a daye And at the gate he profered hys seruyce To druge and drawe what so men wold deuyse And shortely of thys mater for to sayne He fell in offyce with a chamberlayne The whiche was dwellyng with Emelye For he was wyse and sone couth espye Of euery seruaunt whiche that serued here Well couthe he hewen wodde water bere For he was yong and myghty for the nones And therto he was strong bygge of bones To done that any wyght can him deuyse A yere or two he was in thys seruyse Page of the chambre of Emely the bright And Phylostrate he sayd that he hyght But halfe so well beloued man as he Ne was there none in court of hys degre He was so gentyll of condicyon That through all the court was hys renoun They sayd that it were a charyte That Theseus wolde enhauncen hys degre And put hym in a worshyp full seruyse There as he myght hys vertue exercyse And thus wtin a whyle hys name is spronge Bothe of hys dedes and of hys good tonge That Theseus had taken hym so nere That of hys chambre he made hym squyere And yafe hym golde to maynteyn hys degre And eke men brought hym out of hys coutre Fro yere to yere full priuely hys rent But honestly and slyly he it spent That no man wondred howe he it had And thre yere in thys wyse hys lyfe he ladde And bare hym so in peace and eke in werre Ther was no man
day Donegylde answerde as at thys tyme nay But here I wol al nyght thou take thy reste To morowe wol I say the what my leste This messaÌ„ger droÌ„ke sadly both ale wyne And stolen were hys letters priuely Out of hys bore whyle he slepte as a swyne And counterfeted was ful subtelly Another letter wrought ful synfully Vnto the kynge dyrecte of thys matere Fro hys constable as ye shal after here The letter spâ—ke the quene delyuered was Of so horrible a fendlyche creature That in the castel none so hardy was That any whyle durst therin endure The mother was an else by auenture I come by charmes or by sorcery And euery wyght hateth her company wo was this kyng wheÌ„ he y t letter had seyn But to no wyght he tolde hys sorowes sore But wyth hys owne honde he wrote ageyn welcome the sonde of Christ for euermore To me that am newe lerned in hys lore Lorde welcome be thy lust thy pleasaunce My iust I put al in thyne ordynaunce Kepeth this childe al be it foule or fayre And eke my wyfe vnto myne home coÌ„myng Christ when him lyst may sende me an heyre More agreable then thys to my lykynge Thys letter he sealeth priuely wepynge whych to the messangere was taken sone And forth he goth ther nys no more to done O messanger fulfylled of dronkennesse StroÌ„ge is thy breth thy lymmes faltreÌ„ aye And thou bewrayest al secretnesse Thy mynde is lorne thou ianglyst as a iaye Thy face is turned in a newe araye There dronkennesse reyneth in any route There nys no couÌ„sayle hyd wythouteÌ„ doute O Donegild I ne haue no englysh digne Vnto thy malyce and thy tyrannye And therfore to the fende I the resygne Let hym endyte of thy traytrye Fye mannyshe fye O nay by god I lye Fye fendyshe spiritâ— for I dare wel tel Though thou here walke thy spirit is in hel This messaÌ„ger cometh fro y e kynge agayne And at the kynges mothers house he lyght And she was of thys messanger ful fayne And pleased hym in al that euer she myght He dronke and wel hys gyrdel vnder pyght He slepeth and he snorteth in hys gyse Al nyght tyl the sonne gan aryse Efte were hys letters stolen euerychon And counterfeted letters in thys wyse The kynge coÌ„maundeth hys constable anon Vp payne of hongyng on an hye iewyse That he ne shulde sustren in no wyse Custaunce wythin hys realme for to abyde Thre dayes and a quarter of a tyde But in the same shyppe as he her fonde Her and her yonge sonne and al her gere He shulde croude and put fro the londe And charge her that she neueâ— eft come there O Custaunce wel may thy goste haue fere And slepynge in thy dreame ben in penauÌ„ce when Donegylde cast al thys ordynaunce This messaÌ„ger on y e morow when he woke Vnto the castel halte the nexte way And to the Constable he the letter toke And when that he thys pytous letter sey Ful ofte he sayd alas and welaway Lord Christ ê™ he how may this world endure So ful of synne is many a creature O myghty god yf that it be thy wyl Syn thou art ryghtful iuge how may it be That thou wylt suffer innocence to spyl And wycked folke to raygne in prosperite O good custaunce alas so wo is me That I mote be thy tourmeÌ„tour or els dey On shames death ther nys none other wey Wepen both yonge olde in that place when that the kynge thys cursed letter sent And Custaunce wyth a deadly pale face The fourth day towarde her shyp she went But nathelesse she taketh in good entent The wyl of Christ knelyng in the stronde She sayd Lorde aye welcome be thy sonde He that me kepte fro that false blame whyles I was on the lande amonge you He can me kepe fro harme eke fro shame In the salte see al though I se not howe As stronge as euer he was he is nowe In hym truste I and in hys mother dere That is to me my sayle and eke my stere Her lytel chylde lay wepynge in her arme And knelynge pytously to hym she sayde Peace lytel sonne I wol do the none harme wyth that her kercher of her heed she brayde And ouer hys lytel eyen she it layde And in her arme she lulleth it ful faste And into heuen her eyen vp she caste Mother quod she mayde bright Mary Soth is that through womans eggement Mankinde was lorne dampned aye to dye For whych thy chylde was on crosse yrent Thy blysful eyen sawe al hys turment Then is there no comparison bytwene Thy wo and any wo that man may sustene Thou se thy chylde yslayne byfore thyn eyen And yet now lyueth my lytel chylde parsaye Nowe lady bryght to whom al woful cryen Thou glory of womanheed thou fayre may Thou hauen of refute bryght sterre of day Rewe on my chylde of thy gentylnesse That rewest on euery ruful in dystresse O lytel chelde alas what is thy gylte That neuer wroughtest synne as yet parde why wol thyne hard father haue the spylte O mercy dere constable quod she As let me lytel chylde dwel here wyth the And yf thou darst not sauen hym fro blame So kysse hym ones in hys fathers name Therwyth she loketh backward to y e loÌ„de And sayd farewel husbande routhlesse And vp she ryst walked downe the stronde Toward the shyp her foloweth al the prees euer she prayeth her child to holdeÌ„ his pees And taketh her leue and with an holy entent She blesseth her and into y e shyppe she went Vitayled was the shippe it is no drede Habundantly sor her full long space And other necessaries that shulde nede She had inowe heried be goddes grace For wynde weder almighty god purchace And bringe her home I can no better say But in the see she driueth forthe her way Alla the kyng cometh home sone after this Vnto hys castel of whyche I tolde And asketh where his wyfe hys chylde is The constable gan aboute hys herte to colde And playnly al the maner hym tolde As ye han herde I can tel it no better And sheweth the king his seale and his letter And sayd lorde as ye commaunded me Vp payne of dethe so haue I done certayne This messanger turmented was tyl he Must beknowen and tel plat and playne Fro night to night in what place he had lain And thus by wytte and subtel enqueryng ymagened was by whoÌ„ this harm gaÌ„ spring The honde was knoweÌ„ y t the letter wrote And al the venym of this cursed dede But in what wyse certaynly I note The effecte is this that Alla out of drede His mother slow that may men playnly rede For that she traytoure was to her alegaunce Thus endeth old Douegild with mischauÌ„ce The sorowe that this Alla nyght day Maketh for hys childe and for hys wyfe also There is no tonge that it tel may But
ilke night to lye ¶ O dere maister quod this syke man Howe haue ye faren sythen Marche began I sawe you not this fourtenight and more ¶ God wot ê™ he laboured haue I ful sore And specially for thy saluacion Haue I sayd many a preciouse orison And for our other frendes â–ª god hem blesse I haue this day ben at your churche at messe And sayd a sermon after my symple wytte Not al after the text of holy writte For it is harde to you as I suppose And therfore I wol teche you al the glose Glosyng is a glorious thyng certayne For letter sleeth as we clerkes sayne There haue I hem taught to ben charitable And spende her good there as it is resonable And there I sawe our dame a where is she ¶ Yonder in the yerde I trowe she be Sayd thys man and she wol come anon ¶ Eye mayster welcom ye be by saynt Iohn Sayd this wyfe howe fare ye hertely ¶ This frere aryseth vp ful curtessy And her enbraseth in his armes narowe And kysseth herswetely cherketh as a sparowe w t his lippes dame ê™ he right we le As he that is your seruaunt euery dele Thanked be god that you yaue soule lyfe Yet sawe I not this day so fayre a wife In al the churche so god saue me Ye god amende al fautes syr ê™ she Algates welcome ye be by my fay GrauÌ„t mercy dame y t haue I fouÌ„de alway But of your great goodnesse by your leue I wol pray you that ye not you greue I wol with Thomas speke a lytel throwe These curates ben ful neglygent slowe To gropen tenderly a mannes conscience In schrift in prechyng is my diligence And to studye on Peters wordes Poules I walke to fyshe christen mennes soules To yelde Iesu Christ his propre rent To sprede hys wordes is al myne entent ¶ Nowe by your leue dere mayster ê™ she Chydeth hym wel for saynt charite He is as angry as a pysse myre Though that he haue al that he can desyre Though I hiÌ„ wry anight make hiÌ„ warme And ouer hym lay my legge or myne arme He groneth lyke our bore y t lyeth in the stye Other dysporte of hym ryght none haue I I may not please hym in no maner caas O Thomas ie voê° die Thomas Thomas This maketh y e fende this must ben ameÌ„ded Ire is a thynge that god hyghly defended And therof wol I speake a worde or two ¶ Now mayster ê™ the wyfe er that I go what wol ye dyne I wol go ther aboute Now dame ê™ he iâ— vous die sans doute Haue I not of a capon but the lyuer And of your whyte breed but a shyuer And after that a rosted pygges heed But I nolde not for me no beest were deed Then had I ynowe for my suffysaunce I am a man of lytel sustinaunce My spirite hath hys fosteryng in the byble My body is aye so redy and so penyble To wake that my body is dystroyde I pray you dame be ye nought anoyde Though I so frendly you my couÌ„saile shewe By god I nolde haue tolde it but a fewe ¶ Nowe syr ê™ she but one worde er ye go My chylde is deed within these wekes two Sone after that ye wente out of thys toun Hys death sawe I by reuelacioun Sayd thys frere at home in our dortoure I dare wel sayne er that halfe an houre After hys death I sawe hym borne to blysse In myne auisioun god me so wysse So dyd our sexten and our fermerere That han ben true freres thys fyftye yere They may now god be thanked of hys lone Maken heâ— iubely and waâ—ken alone And vp I arose and al our couente eke wyth many a teere tryllynge on our cheke wythouten noyse or claterynge of belles Te deum was our songe and nothinge elles Saue that to Christ I sayd an orison Thankynge hym of my reuelacion For syr and dame trusteth me ryght wel Our orisons ben more effectuel And more we sene of Christes secret thinges TheÌ„ borel folke although they were kynges we lyue in pouerte and in abstinence And borel folke in rychesse and dyspence In meate drynke and in her foule delyte we han thys worldly luste al in dyspyte Lazar and Diues lyueden dyuersly And dyuers guerdons had they therby who so wol pray he muste faste be clene And fatte hys soule make hys body lene we fare as sayth the apostle cloth and foode Suffyseth vs though they be not ful goode The clennesse the fastynge of vs freres Maketh that Christ accepteth our prayeres ¶ Lo Moyses fourty dayes fourty nyght Fasted er that the hye god of hys myght Spake wyth hym in the mounte of Synay wyth empty wombe fastynge many a day Receyued he the lawe that was wrytten wyth goddes fynger Hely wel ye witten In mount Horeb er he had any speche wyth the hygh god that is our soules leche He fasted longe and was in contemplaunce ¶ Aaron y t had the temple in gouernaunce And eke the other prestes euerychone Into the temple when they shulde gone To prayen for the people and done seruyce They nolde drynke in no maner wyse No drynke that dronke myght hem make But there in abstinence praye and wake Lest that they deden take hede what I saye But they be sobre that for the people praye ware that I saye no more for it suffyseth Our lorde Iesu as holy wryte deuyseth Yaue vs ensample of fastynge and prayers Therfore we mendicantes we sely freres Ben wedded to pouerte and continence To charite humblenesse and abstinence To persecution for ryghtwysnesse To wepynge mysericorde and clennesse And therfore maye ye se that our prayeres I speke of vs mendicant we freres Ben to the hye god more acceptable Then yours wyth your feest at your table ¶ Fro Paradyse fyrst yf I shal not lye was man outchased for hys glotonye And chast was man in paradyse certayn But herken yow Thomas what I shal sayn I haue no texte therof as I suppose But I fynde it in maner of a glose That specially our swete lorde Iesus Spake thys by freres when he sayd thus Blessed be they that poore in spirite bene And so forth al the gospel maye ye sene whether it be lyker our perfection Or hers that swymmen in possession Fye on her pompe and on her glotonye And in her leudnesse I hem defye Me thynketh they be lyke Iouinian Fatte as a whale and walkynge as a swan As vinolent as botel in the spenâ—e Her prayers is of ful lytel reuerence when they for soules say y e psalme of Dauid Lo bouffe they sayn Cor meum eructauit who foloweth Christes gospel hys loâ—e But we that humble be chaste and poore werkers of goddes worde not auditours Therfore ryght as an hauke at a sours Vp spryngeth into the eyre so prayeres Of charitable and chast busy freres Maken her sours to
my conclusyon To clerkes let I al thys dysputacion And wolde God that al these rockes blake were sonken in to hel for hys sake These rockes slee myne herte for feare Thus wolde she say w t many a pytous teare Her frendes sawe it was for her no dysport To romen by the see but dyscomfort And shapen hem to playen somwhere elles They leden her by ryuers and by welles And eke in other places delytables They dauncen and they playen at the tables So on a daye ryght in the morowe tyde Vnto a gardeyne that was there besyde In which that they had made her ordinauÌ„ce Of vytayles and other purueyaunce They gone and playen hem al the longe day And thys was in the syxte morowe of May which May hath paited w t his softe shoures Thys gardayne ful of leues and of floures And crafte of mannes hande so curiously Arayed had thys garden truely That neuer nas there garden of such pryse But yf it were the very paradyse The odour of floures and the freshe syght wolde haue made any herte lyght That euer was borne but yf to gret sicknesse Or to great sorowe helde it in dystresse So was it ful of beautye wyth pleasaunce And after dyner gone they daunce And synge also saue Dorigene alone That yet vnto her selfe made her mone For she ne sey hym on the daunce go That was her husbande and her loue also But nathelasse she muste her tyme abyde And wyth good hope let her sorowe slyde ¶ Vpon thys daunce amonge other men Daunced a squyer before Dorigen That fresher was and iolyer of aray As to my dome then is the moneth of May He syngeth daunseth passynge euery man That is or was sythen the worlde began And therwythal men shulde hym dyscriue One of the best farynge men on lyue Yonge stronge vertuouse ryche and wyse And welbeloued and holden of great pryse And shortly yf I the soth tel shal Vnwetynge of thys Dorigene at al Thys lusty squyer seruaunt to Venus whych yclypped was Aurelius Had loued her beste of any creature Two yere and more as was hys auenture But neuer durst he tel her hys greuaunce wythouten cuppe he dronke al hys penaunce He was dyspayred nothynge durst he say Saue in hys soÌ„ges somwhat wold he wray Hys wo as in general complayninge He said he loued and was beloued nothinge Of whych matter made he many layes Songes complayntes roundels verilayes Howe that he durste not hys sorowe tel But languyshe as doth a fury in hel And dye he muste he sayd as dyd Ecco For Narcissus that durst not tel hys wo ¶ In other maner then ye herde me say Ne durst not he to her hys wo bewray Saue perauenture somtyme at daunces There yonge folke kepen her obseruaunces It maye wel be he loked on her face In suche a wyse as men that asken grace But nothynge wyst she of hys entent Nathelesse it happed er they thence went Bycause that he was her neyghbour And was a man of worshyppe and honour And had knowen hym of tymes yore They fel in speche so forth more more Vnto hys purpose then drowe Aurelius And when he sawe hys tyme he sayd thus ¶ Madame ê™ he by god y t this world made So y t I wyste y t I myght your herte glade I wolde that day that your Aruyragus went ouer the see that I Aurelius Had went ther y t I shuld neuer come agayne For wel I wote my seruyce is in vayne My guerdon nys but bresting of myne herte Madame rueth vpon my paynes smerte For with one worde ye may me slee or saue Here at your foote god wold y t I were graue I ne haue as nowe no leyser more to sey Haue mercy swete or ye wol do me dey ¶ She gan to loke vpon Aurelius Is thys your wyl ê™ she and saye ye thus Neuer erste ê™ she ne wyst I what ye mente But nowe I knowe Aurelius your entente By thylke god that yaue me soule and lyfe Ne shal I neuer be vntrewe wyfe In word ne iÌ„ wâ—rke as ferre as I haue wyt I wol be hys to whom I am knyt Take thys for a fynal answere of me But after thys in play thus sayd she ¶ Aurelius ê™ she by god aboue Yet wol I graunt you to ben your loue Sythen I se you so pytously complayne Loke what daye that endelonge Britayne Ye remeue al the rockes stone by stone That they ne let shyppe ne bote to gone I say wheÌ„ ye haue made these costes so clene Of rockes that there nys no stone ysene Then wol I loue you best of any man Herâ— haue my trouth in al that euer I can Is there none other grace in you ê™ he ¶ No by that lorde ê™ she that maked me For wel I wote that it shal neuer betyde Let suche foly out of your herte glyde what deyntye shulde a man haue in hys lyfe For to go loue another mannes wyfe That hath her body wheÌ„ so that hym lyketh ¶ Aurelius ful ofte sore syketh Wo was Aurely when he thys herde And w t a sorowful chere he thus answerde ¶ Madame ê™ he thys were impossible Then mote I dye on sodayne death horrible And wyth that worde he turned hym anone ¶ Tho come her other frendes euerychone And in the aleyes romeden vp and doun And nothynge wyst of thys conclusioun But sodeynly began to reuel newe Tyl that the bryght sonne loste hys hewe For the orizont hath reâ—te the sonne his light Thys is as much to saye as it was nyght And home they gone in ioye and in solas Saue onely wretched Aurelius alas He to hys house is gone with sorowful harte He sayd he myght not from hys death astarte Hym semed that he felte hys herte colde Vp to heuen hys handes gan he holde And on hys knees bare he set hym adoun And in hys rauynge sayd thys orisoun For very wo out of hys wytte he brayde He ne wyst what he spake but thus he sayde with pitous hert hath his coÌ„playnt begonne Vnto the goddes and fyrst vnto the sonne He sayd God Appollo and gouernour Of euery plante herbe tre and flour That yeuest after thy declinacion To ylke of hem hys tyme and ceson As thyne herberowe chaungeth lowe hye Lorde Phebus caste thy merciable eye On wretched Aurelius whych am but lorne Lo lorde my lady hath my death ysworne wythout gylte but thy benignite Vpon my deadly herte haue some pyte For wel I wote lorde Phebus yf ye leste Ye maye me helpe saue my lady beste Nowe vouche ye saue that I you deuyse Howe that I may be holpen in what wyse ¶ Your blysful suster Lucina the shene That of the see is goddesse and quene Though Neptunus hath deite in the see Yet empresse abouen hym is she Ye knowen wel lorde ryght as her desyre Is to be quyckened and lyghted of your fyre For whych that she foloweth you
be your wyll Lo thys was al the sentence of that byll ¶ Virginius gan vpon the clyent beholde But hastely er he hys tale tolde He wolde haue defeÌ„ded it as shulde a knight And by wytnesse of many a trewe wyght That al was false that sayd hys aduersarye Thys cursed iuge wolde no lenger tarye Ne here a worde more of Virginius But yaue hys iudgement and sayd thus ¶ I deme anone this client his seruauÌ„t haue Thou shalt no leÌ„ger her in thyne house saue Go brynge her forth put her in our warde This clieÌ„t shal haue his thral thus I award ¶ And wheÌ„ thys worthy knyght Virginius Through the assent of the iudge Appius Muste by force hys dere doughter yeuen Vnto the iudge in lechery to lyuen He goeth hym home and set hym in hys hall And let anone hys dere doughter call And wyth face deed as ashen colde Vpon her humble face he gan beholde with fathers pyte stickyng through his hert Al wolde he not from hys purpose conuert ¶ Doughter ê™ he Virginia by thy name There ben two wayes eyther deth or shame That thou muste suffre alas y t I was borne For neuer thou deseruedest wherforne To dyen wyth a sworde or wyth a knyfe Oh dere doughter comforte of my lyfe whych I haue fostred vp wyth such plesauÌ„ce That thou ne were out of my remembrauÌ„ce O doughter whych that arte my last wo And in my lyfe my last ioye also O iemme of chastite in pacience Take thou thy death thys is my sentence For loue and not for hate thou must be deed My pytous hande mote smyte of thyne heed Alas that euer Appius the sey Thus hath he falsly iudged the to dey And tolde her al the case as ye before Han herde it nedeth not to tel it more ¶ O mercy dere father ê™ thys mayde And wyth that worde both her armes layde About hys necke as she was wont to do The teeres braste out of her eyen two And sayd O good father shal I dye Is there no grace is there no remedye ¶ No certes dere doughter myne ê™ he Then yeue me leaue father myne ê™ she My death to complayne a lytel space For parde Iepte yaue hys doughter grace For to complayne er he her slough alas And god it wote nothynge was her trespas But that she ranne her father fyrst to se To welcome hym wyth great solempnyte And with that word she fel a swoune anone And after whon her swounynge was gone She ryseth vp and to her father sayd Blyssed be god that I shal dye a mayde Yeue me my death er that I haue a shame Doth w t your child your wil a goddes name And wyth y e worde she prayeth hym ful ofte That w t his swerd he should smitte her softe And with that word a swoune down she fel Her father wyth sorowfull herte and fell Her heed of smote and by the toppe it hente And to the iudge he it yaue in presente As he sate in dome in consystorye when the iudge it sawe as sayth the storye He bade take hym and hange hym also faste But ryght anone al the people in thrast To saue the knyght for routh and for pytie For knowen was the iudges iniquitie The people anone had suspect in this thing By maner of thys clyentes chalengynge That it was by the assent of Appius They wyste wel that he was lecherous For whych vnto Appius they gone And casten hym in prison ryght anone where as he slowe hym selfe and Claudius That seruaunt was vnto thys Appius was demed for to be hanged vpon a tre But Virginius of hys great pyte So prayed for hym that he was exiled And els certes he had ben begyled The remnaunt were hanged more and lesse That consented were to thys cursydnesse Here may men se how syn hath hys meryte Beware for no maÌ„ wot how god wyl smyte In no degre ne in no maner wyse The worme of conscience wol aryse Of wycked lyfe though it so priuy be That no man wote of it but god and he whether he be leude man or lered He not howe sone he may be affered Therfore I rede you thys counsayle take Forsake synne or synne you forsake ¶ Here endeth the doctour of Phisykes tale and foloweth the wordes of the hoost OVr hoste gan swere as he were woode Harowe ê™ he by nayles and by bloode Thys was a false thefe and a cursed iustyce As shameful death as herte may deuyse Come to the iustyce and her aduâ—cas Algate thys sely mayden is slayne alas Alas to dere bought she her beaute wherfore I saye that al men maye se That yeftes of fortune or of nature Ben cause of death of many a creature Her beaute was her death I dare wel sayne Alas so pytously as she was slayne But here of wol I not procede as nowe Men haue ful ofte more harme then prowe But truely myne owne mayster dere Thys is a pytous tale for to here But nathelesse passe ouer is no force I pray to god to saue thy gentel cors And thy vrinalles and thy iordanes Thyne ypocras and eke thy galyanes And euery boxe ful of letuarye God blesse hem and our lady saynt Marye So mote I the thou arte a propre man And ylyke a prelate by saynt Runian Saue that I can not speake wel in terme But wel I wote y u doest myn herte to yerne That I haue almost ycaught a cardyacle By corpus domini but I haue tryacle Or els a draught of moyste corny ale Or but I here anone an other mery tale My herte is loste for pyte of thys mayde Thou belamy thou Iohan pardoner he said Tel vs some mery tale or iape ryght anone It shal be done ê™ he by saynt Runyon But fyrst ê™ he here at thys ale stake I wol both drynke and eate of a cake But ryght anone these gentyls gan to crye Nay let hym tel vs of no rebaudrye Tel vs some moral thing that we mow lere Some wytte and than wol we gladly here I graunt ê™ he twys but I mote thynke On some honest thyng whyles y t I drynke ¶ Here ende the wordes of the host and here foloweth the prologue of the Pardoner LOrdynges ê™ he in chyrche whan I preche I payne me to haue an hauteyn speche And ring it out as rounde as dothe a bel For I can al be roote that I tel My teme is alwaye and euer was Radix omnium malorum est cupiditas Fyrst I pronounce fro whens I come And than my bylles I shewe al and some Our â—â—ege lorde seale on my patent That shewe I fyrst my body to warent That no man be so bolde preest ne clerke Mâ— to distourbe of Christes holy werke And after that tel I forthe my tales Bulles of Popes and of Cardynales Of Patriarkes and of Byshoppes I shewe And in latyn I speke wordes a fewe To sauer with my predication And for to steere men to deuotion
ne founde frowarde ne fell But toke agree all hole my playe But loue is of so harde assaye That all at ones he reued me when I wente best abouen to haue be It is of loue as of fortune That chaungeth ofte and nyll contune whych whylom woll on folke smyle And glombe on hem another whyle Nowe frende nowe foe shalt her fele For a twynclynge tourneth her whele She can wrythe her heed awaye Thys is the concourse of her playe She can areyst that doth mourne And whirle adowne and ouertourne who sytteth hyghest but as her lust A foole is he that woll her trust For it is I that am come downe Through charge and reuolutioun Syth Bialacoil more fro my twyne Shette in the prison yonde wythinne Hys absence at myne herte I fele For all my ioye and all myne hele was in hym and in the Rose That but you woll whych hym doth close Open that I maye hym se Loue woll not that I cured be Of the paynes that I endure Nor of my cruell auenture AH Bialacoil myne owne dere Though thou be nowe a prisonere Kepe at leest thyne herte to me And suffre not that it daunted be Ne let not Ielousye in hys rage Putten thyne herte in no seruage All though he chastyce the wythout And make thy body vnto hym lout Haue herte as harde as diamaunt Stedfast and naught plyaunt In prison though thy body be At large kepe thyne herte free A trewe herte woll not plye For no manace that it maye drye If Ielosye doth the payne Quyte hym hys whyle thus agayne To venge the at leest in thought Yf other waye thou mayst nought And in thys wyse subtelly worche and wynne the maystry But yet I am in great affraye Lest thou do not as I saye I drede thou canst me great maugre That thou enprysoned arte for me But that not for my trespas For through me neuer dyscouered was Yet thynge that ought by secret well more annoye is in me Then is in the of thys myschaunce For I endure more harde penaunce Then any can sayne or thynke That for the sorowe almost I synke when I remembre me of my wo Full nyghe out of my wytte I go Inwarde myne herte I fele blede For comfortlesse the death I drede Owe I not well to haue dystresse when false through her wyckednesse And traytours that arne enuyous To noyen me be so coragious Ah Bialacoil full well I se That they hem shape to dysceyue the To make the buxome to her lawe And wyth her corde the to drawe where so hem lust ryght at her wyll I drede they haue the brought there tyll wythout comforte thought me slethe Thys game woll brynge me to my dethe For yf I your good wyll lese I more be deed I maye not chese And yf that thou foryete me Myne herte shall neuer in lykynge be Nor elswhere fynde solace Yf I be put out of your grace As it shall neuer ben I hope Then shulde I fall in wanhope Alas in wanhope naye parde For I woll neuer dyspeyred be Yf hope me fayle then am I Vngratious and vnworthy In hope I woll conforted be For Loue when he betaught her me Sayd that hope where so I go Shulde aye be relees to my wo But what and she my bales bete And be to me curteys and swete She is in nothynge full certayne Louers she put in full great payne And maketh hem wyth wo to dele Her fayre behest dysceyueth fele For she woll behote sykerly And faylen after vtterly Ah that is a full noyous thynge For many a louer in louynge Hangeth vpon her and trusteth fast whych lese her trauayle at the last Of thyng to cōmen she wote ryght nought Therfore yf it be wysely sought Her counsayle foly is to take For many tymes when she woll make A full good sylogysme I drede That afterwarde there shall in dede Folowe an yuell conclusyoun This put me in confusioun For many tymes I haue it sene That many haue begyled bene For truste that they haue set in hope whych fell hem afterwarde a slope BVt nathelesse yet gladlye she wolde That he that woll hym wyth her holde Had altymes her purpose clere wythout dysceyte or any were That she desyreth sykerly when I her blamed I dyd foly But what auayleth her good wyll when she ne may staunche my stounde yll That helpeth lytell that she may do Outtake behest vnto my wo And heest certayne in no wyse wythout yefte is not to prayse WHen heest and dede a sondre vary They done a great contrary Thus am I possed vp and downe wyth doole thought and confusyoun Of my dysease there is no nombre Daungere and shame me encombre Drede also and Ielousye And wycked Tonge full of enuye Of whych the sharpe and cruel Ire Full ofte me put in great martyre They haue my ioye fully lette Syth Bialacoil they haue beshette Fro me in pryson wyckedly whome I loue so entierly That it woll my bane be But I the sooner maye hym se And yet more ouer worst of all There is set to kepe foule her befall A Rympled vecke ferre roune in rage Frownynge and yelowe in her vysage whych in awayte lyeth daye and nyght That none of hem maye haue a syght NOwe mote my sorow enforsed be Full soth it is that Loue yafe me Thre wonder yeftes of hys grace whych I haue lorne now in thys place Syth they ne may wythout drede Helpen but lytell who taketh hede For here auayleth no Swete thought And swete Speche helpeth ryght nought The thyrde was called Swete Lokynge That nowe is lorne wythout lesynge YEftes were fayre but not for thy They helpe me but symply But Bialacoil loosed be To gone at large and to be free For hym my lyfe lyeth all in doute But yf he come the rather oute Alas I trowe it woll not bene For howe shulde I euermore hym sene He maye not out and that is wronge Bycause the Toure is so stronge Howe shulde he out or by whose prowesse Of so stronge a forteresse By me certayne it nyll be do God wotte I haue no wytte therto But well I wote I was in rage when I to Loue dyd homage who was in cause in sothfastnesse But her selfe dame Idelnesse whych me conueyd through fayre prayere To entre in to that fayre vergere She was to blame me to leue The whych nowe doth me sore greue A fooles worde is nought to trowe Ne worthe an apple for to lowe Menne shulde hym snybbe bytterly At pryme temps of hys foly I was a foole and she me leued Through who I am ryght nought releued She accomplyshed all my wyll That nowe me greueth wonder yll REason me sayd what shulde fall A foole my selfe I maye well call That loue asyde I had not layde And trowed that dame Reason sayde Reason had both skyll and ryght when she me blamed wyth all her myght To medle of loue that hath me shent But certayne nowe I
ieopardye In paryll and in moche wo And made hem oft amysse to do And sewen euyll companye Ryot and auoutryce BVt elde can agayne restrayne From suche folly and refrayne And set men by her ordynaunce In good rule and in gouernaunce But euyll she spendeth her seruyse For noman woll her loue neyther preyse She is hated this wote I wele Her acquayntaunce wolde no man fele Ne han of elde company Men hate to be of her alye For no man wolde become olde Ne dye whan he is yonge and bolde And elde maruayleth ryght greatly whan they remembre hem inwardly Of many a peryllous empryse which that they wrought in sondry wyse How euer they myght without blame Escape awaye without shame In youth without domage Or reprefe of her lynage Losse of membre shedyng of bloude Parell of deth or losse of good wost thou not where youth abyt That men so preysen in her wyt with delyte she halte soiour For both they dwellen in o tour As longe as youth is in season They dwell in one mansyon Delyte of youth woll haue seruyce To do what so he woll deuyse And youth is redy euermore For to obeye for smerte of sore Vnto delyte and hym to yeue Her seruyce whyle that she maye lyue WHere elde habytte I wol the tell Shortly and no whyle dwel For thither behoueth y t to go Yf deth in youth the not slo Of this iourneye thou mayst not fayle with her labour and trauayle Lodged ben with sorowe and wo That neuer out of her courte go Payne and distresse syknesse and yre And melancoly that angry syre Bene of her paleys senatours Gronyng and grutchynge her harbegeours The daye and nyght her to tourment with cruell deth they her present And tellen her erlyche and late That deth standeth armed at her gate Than brynge they to her remembraunce The folly dedes of her enfaunce which causen her to mourne in wo That youth hath her begyled so which sodaynly away is hasted She wepeth the tyme that she hath wasted Complaynyng of the preterytte And the present that nat abytte And of her olde vanitie That but aforne her she maye se In the future some socour To leggen her of her dolour To graunt her tyme of repentaunce For her synnes to do penaunce And at the last so her gouerne To wynne the ioye that is eterne Fro which go bakwarde youth he made In vanitie to drowne and wade For present tyme abydeth nought It is more swyft than any thought So lytle whyle it doth endure That there nys compt ne measure But how that euer the game go who lyst to loue ioy and myrth also Of loue be it he or she Hye or lowe who it be In frute they shulde hem delyte Her parte they may not els quyte To saue hem selfe in honestie And yet full many one I se Of women sothly for to sayne That desyre and wolde fayne The playe of loue they be so wylde And not coueyte to go with chylde And yf with chylde they be perchaunce They wol it holde a great mischaunce But what so euer wo they fele They woll not playne but concele But yf it be any foole or nyce In whome that shame hath no iustyce For to delyte echone they drawe That haunt this worke both hye and lawe Saue suche that arne worth right nought That for moneye woll be bought Suche loue I prayse in no wyse whan it is gyuen for couetyse I preyse no woman though so be woode That yeueth her selfe for any good For lytle shulde a man tell Of her that wyl her body sell Be she mayde be she wyfe That quycke wyll sell her by her lyfe How fayre chere that euer she make He is a wretche I vndertake That loued suche one for swete or soure Though she hym called her paramoure And laugheth on him and maketh him feest For certaynly no suche beest To be loued is not worthy Or beare the name of drury Non shulde her please but he were woode That woll dispoyle hym of his good Yet nathelesse I woll not saye That she for solace and for playe Maye a iewell or other thyng Take of her louers free yeuyng But that she aske it in no wyse For drede of shame or couetyse And she of hers may hym certayne without slaunder yeuen agayne And ioyne her hertes togyther so In loue and take and yeue also Trowe not that I woll hem twynne whan in her loue there is no synne I woll that they togyther go And don all that they han ado As curteys shulde and debonayre And in her loue beren hem fayre without vyce both he and she So that alwaye in honestie Fro folly loue to kepe hem clere That brenneth hertes with his fere And that her loue in any wyse Be deuoyde of couetyse Good loue shulde engendred be Of true hert iust and secree And not of suche as set her thought To haue her lust or els nought So are they caught in loues lace Truly for bodily solace Fleshly delyte is so present with the that set all thyne entent without more what shuld I glose For to get and haue the rose which maketh the so mate and wood That thou desyrest none other good But thou art not an yuche the nerere But euer abydest in sorowe and werre As in thy face it is to sene It maketh the both pale and lene Thy myght thy vertue goth awaye A sory gest in good faye Thou harborest in thyne Inne The god of loue whan thou let in wherfore I rede thou shet hym out Or he shall greue the out of dout For to thy profyt it wyll turne Yf he nomore with the soiourne In great myschefe and sorowe sonken Ben hertes that of loue arne dronken As thou peraduenture knowen shall whan thou hast lost the tyme all And spent by thought in ydlenesse In waste and wofull lustynesse Yf thou mayst lyue the tyme to se Of loue for to delyuered be Thy tyme thou shalt bewepe sore The which neuer thou mayest restore For tyme lost as men may se For nothyng may recouered be And yf thou scape yet at last Fro loue that hath the so fast Knytte and bounden in his lace Certayne I holde it but a grace For many one as it is seyne Haue lost and spent also in veyne In his seruyce without socour Body and soule good and treasour wytte and strength and eke rychesse Of which they had neuer redresse ¶ Lamant THus taught and preached hath Reason But loue spylte her sermon That was so imped in my thought That her doctryne I set at nought And yet ne sayd she neuer a dele That I ne vnderstode it wele worde by worde the mater all But vnto loue I was so thral which calleth ouer all his praye He chaseth so my thought aye And holdeth myne hert vnder his seale As trusty and true as any stele So that no deuocion Ne had I in the sermon Of dame Reason ne of her rede
ye lyuen by my trouth And also thynke wel that this is no gaude For me were leuer thou I and he wer haÌ„ged than I shuld be his baude As hygh as men myght on vs all yse I am thyne Eme the shame were to me As well as the yf that I shulde assent Thrugh myne abet that he thyne honoure shent Now vnderstoÌ„d for I you nought requyre To bynde you to hym through no behest Saue only that ye make hym better chere Than ye han done er this more feest So that his lyfe saued at the leest This all and some and playnly our entent God helpe me so I neuer other ment Lo this request is nought but skyll iwys Ne dout of reson parde is there none I set the worst that ye dreden this Men wold woÌ„dre to sene hym come gone Therayenst answer I this anon That euery wight but he be foole of kynde wol deme it loue of freÌ„dship in his mynde what who woll demen though he se a man To temple gon that he the ymages eeteth Thynke eke howe wel and wysely y t he can Gouerne hym selfe y t he nothinge foryeteth That where he coÌ„meth he pris thoÌ„k hiÌ„ getteth And eke therto he shal com here so seld what force were it though all the towne be helde Such loue of frendes reigneth al this toun And wrye you in that mantell euermo And god so wys be my sauacion As I haue sayd your best is to do so But good nece alway to stynt his wo So let your daunger sugred ben alyte That of his death ye be nat all to wyte ¶ Creseyde which y t herd hym in this wyse Thought I shal feleÌ„ what he meneth iwis Now Eme ê™ she what wolde ye deuyse what is your rede I shulde done of this That is well sayd ê™ he certayne best is That ye hym loue ayen for his louyng As loue for loue is skylfull guerdonynge Thynke eke how elde wasteth euery houre In eche of you a parte of beautye And therfore er that age the deuoure Go loue for olde there woll no wyght of y e Let this prouerbe a lore vnto you be To late yware ê™ bautie whan it past And elde counteth daunger at the last The kynges foole is wont to crye loude whaÌ„ y t him thinketh a womaÌ„ bereth her hye So longe mote ye loue and all proude Tyll crowes feet growe vnder your eye And send you than a myrrour in to prye In which y t ye maye se your face a morowe Nece I byd wysh you nomore sorowe with this he stynt and cast downe the heed And she began to brest a wepe anon And sayd alas for wo why nere I deed For of this worlde the fayth is all agone Alas what shulden straunge to me done whan he that for my best frende I wende Rate me to laue and shulde it me defende Alas I wolde haue trusted doutlesse That yf that I thrugh my disaduenture Had loued eyther hym or Achilles Hector or any maner creature Ye nolde haue had no mercy ne measure On me but alwaye had me in repreue This false worlde alas who may it leue what is this all the ioye and all the feest Is this your rede is this my blysful caas Is this the very mede of your behest Is all this paynted processe sayd alas Ryght for this fyne O lady myne Pallas Thou in this dredefull case for me purueye For so astonyed am I that I dye with that she gan full sorowfully to syke Ne may it be no bet quod Pandarus By god I shal nomore come here this weke And god toforne that am mystrusted thus I se well nowe ye setten lyght of vs Or of our death alas I wofull wretche Myght he yet lyue of me were nought to retche O cruell god O dispytous Marte O suries thre of hell on you I crye So let me neuer out of this house departe Yf that I ment harme or vyllanye But syth I se my lorde mote nedes dye And I with hym here I me shryue and sey That wyckedly ye done vs both dey But syth it lyketh you that I be deed By Neptunus that god is of the see Fro this forth shall I neuer eten breed Tyll I myne owne hert bloude maye se For certayne I woll dye as sone as he And vp he stert on his waye he raught Tyll she agayne hym by the lappe caught Creseyde which y e welnygh starfe for feare So as she was the fearfullest wyght That might be and herde eke with her care And sawe the sorowful ernest of the knight And in his prayer sawe eke none vnryght And for the harme eke that might fall more She gan to rewe dred her wonder sore And thought this vnhappes fallen thycke All day for loue and in suche maner caas As men ben cruell in hem selfe and wicke And yf this man slee here hym selfe alaas In my presence it nyl be no solace what men wolde of it deme I can nat saye It nedeth me ful slyghly for to playe And with a sorowfull sygh she sayd thrye Ah lorde what me is tyd a sory chaunce For myne astate lyeth in a ieopardye And eke myne emes lyfe lyeth in balaunce But nathelesse with gods gouernaunce I shall so done myne honour shal I kepe And eke his lyfe and stynt for to wepe Of harmes two the lesse is for to chese Yet had I leuer maken hym good chere In honour than myne emes lyfe to lese Ye sayne ye nothyng els me requere No wys ê™ he myne owne nece dere Now wel ê™ she I wyll do my payne I shal myne hert ayen my lust constrayne But y t I nyll nat holden hym in honde Ne loue a man that can I nought ne maye Ayenst my wyll but els wol I fonde Myn honor saue pleseÌ„ him from day today Therto nolde I nat ones haue sayde naye But that I dred as in my fantasye But cesse cause aye cesseth maladye But here I make a protestation That in his processe yf ye deper go That certaynly for no sauacion Of you though that ye steruen both two Though all the worlde on a day be my so Ne shall I neuer on hym haue other routh I grauÌ„t wel ê™ Pandare by my trouth But maye I trust wel to you quod he That of this thyng y t ye han hyght me here Ye woll it holde truly vnto me yea doutlesse quod she myne vncle dere Ne that I shal haue cause in this matere Quod he to playne or ofter you to preche why no parde what nedeth more speche Tho fyll they in other tales glade Tyll at the last O good eme quod she tho For loue of god which that vs both made Tell me how fyrst ye wysten of his wo wot none of it but ye he sayd no Can he wel speke of loue ê™ she I prey Tel me for I the bet me shal puruey Tho Pandarus a lyte gan to smyle And sayd
brende Of other passyon then they wende So that she felte almoste her herte dye Fo wo and wery of that companye For whych myght she no lenger restrayne Her teryes they gan so vp to well That gaue sygnes of her bytter payne In whych her spirite was and must dwell RemeÌ„brynge her froÌ„ heuen vnto whych hell She fallen was sens she forgo the syght Of Troylus and sorowfully she syght And thylke fooles syttynge her aboute wende that she wepte and syghed sore Bycause that she shulde out of the route Departen and neuer playe wyth hem more And they that had knowen her of yore Se her so wepe thought it was kyndnesse And eche of hem wepte eke for her dystresse And besely they gonnen her to comforten One thiÌ„g god wot on which she lytel thouÈt And wyth her tales wenden her dysporten And to be glad they oft her besought But such an ease therwith they her wrought Ryght as a man is eased for to fele For ache of heed to clawen hym on hys hele But after all thys nyce vanyte They toke her leue and home they wenteÌ„ all Creseyde full of sorowfull pyte Into her chambre vp wente out of the hall And on her bedde she gan for deed to fall In purpose neuer thence for to ryse And thus she wrought as I shal you deuyse Her ownded heer y t sonnyshe was of hewe She rent eke her fyngers longe and smale She wronge ful ofte bad god on her rewe And wyth the death to do bote on her bale Her hewe whylom bright that tho was pale Bare wytnesse of her wo her constraynte And thus she spake sobbyng in her coÌ„playnt ¶ Alas quod she out of thys regioun I wofull wretch and infortuned wyght And borne in cursed constellatioun Mote gone thus departen fro my knyght wo worth alas that ylke dayes lyght On which I sawe him fyrst w t eyen twayne That causeth me and I hym all thys payne Therwyth the teeres from her eyen two Downe fell as shoure in Apryll swythe Her whyte brest she bette and for the wo After the death she cryed a thousande syth Sens he that wonte her wo was for to lyth She mote forgone for whych dysauenture She helde her selfe a forloft creature She sayd howe shall he done and I also Howe shuld I lyue yf y t I from him twynne O dere herte eke that I loue so who shall y e sorowe slene that ye ben inne O Calkas father thyne be all thys synne O mother myne that cleaped were Argyue wo worth y t daye that thou me bare on lyue To what fyne shuld I lyue sorowen thus Howe shuld a fyshe wythouten water dure what is Creseyde worth from Troylus Howe shulde a plante or lyues creature Lyue wythouten hys kynde noriture For whych full ofte a by worde here I sey That rotelesse mote grene sone dey I shal don thus sens neither sword ne darte Dare I none handle for the cruelte That ylke daye that I fro you departe yf sorowe of that nyl not my bane be Then shall no meate ne drynke come in me Tyll I my soule out of my brest vnshethe And thus my seluen woll I done to dethe And Troylus my clothes euerychone Shul blacke ben in tokenynge herte swete That I am as out of thys worlde agone That wonte was you to set in quyete And of myne ordre aye tyll death me mete The obseruaunce euer in your absence Shal sorowe ben complaynt abstynence Myne herte eke the wofull gost therin Byqueth I wyth your spirite to complayne Eternally for they shall neuer twyn For though in erth twynned be we twayne Yet in the felde of Pyte out of payne That hyght Elysos shall we ben yfere As Orpheus and Erudice hys fere Thus herte myne for Antenor alas I sone shal be chaunged as I wene But howe shull ye done in thys sorowful cas Howe shall your tendre herte thys sustene But herte myne foryet thys sorowe and tene And me also for sothly for to sey So ye welfare I retche not to dey Howe myght it euer redde ben or ysonge The playnt that she made in her dystresse I not but as for me my lytell tonge Yf I dyscryuen wolde her heuynesse It shulde make her sorowe seme lesse Then that it was and chyldyshly deface Her hye complaynt and therfore I it pace Pandare whych that sent from Troylus was vnto Creseyde as ye haue herde deuyse That for the best it was acorded thus And he full glad to done hym that seruyse Vnto Creseyde in a full secrete wyse There as she lay in turment and in rage Came her to tell al holy hys massage And fonde that she her seluen gan to trete Full petously for wyth her salte teeres Her brest and face ybathed was full wete Her myghty tresses of her sonnysh heere 's Vnbroyden hangen all aboute her eeres whych yaue hym very sygne of matere Of death whych that her herte gan desyre when she hym sawe she gan for sorowe anon Her tery face atwyxte her armes hyde For whych thys Pandare is so wo bygon That in the house he myght vnneth abyde As he that felte sorowe on euery syde For yf Creseyde had erst complayned sore Tho gan she playne a thousand tymes more And in her aspre playnte thus she seyde Pandare fyrst of ioyes mo then two was causynge vnto me Creseyde That nowe transmued ben in cruell wo whether shall I saye to you welcome or no That alderfyrst me brought vnto seruyse Of loue alas that endeth in suche wyse Endeth then loue in wo ye or men lyeth And all worldly blysse as thynketh me The ende of blysse aye sorowe it occupyeth And who troweth not that it so be Let hym vpon me wofull wretch se That my selfe hate and aye my byrth curse Felynge alwaye fro wycke I go to worse who some seeth he seeth sorowe al atonis Payne turment playnte wo and dystresse Out of my wofull body harme there none is As langour anguyshe cruell bytternesse Annoye smerte drede furye eke sycknesse I trowe ywys from heuen teeres rayne For pyte of my aspre and cruell payne And thou my syster full of dyscomforte Quod PaÌ„darus what thinkest thou to do why ne hast thou to thy seluen some resport why wylt thou thus alas thy selfe fordo Leaue al thys werke and take nowe hede to That I shall sayne herken of good entent This message y t by me Troylus you sente Turned her tho Creseyde a wo makynge So great that it a death was for to se Alas ê™ she what wordes maye ye brynge what woll my dere herte sayne to me whych that I drede neuer more to se woll he haue playnte or teeres er I wende I haue ynough yf he therafter sende She was ryght such to sene in her visage As is that wyght that men on bere bynde Her face lyke of paradys the ymage was all ychaunged in another kynde
take And of hys chylde he must present make To Mynos to saue hym or to spyll Or let his beeste deuoure him at his wyll And this hath mynos done right in dispyte To wreke his sonne was set al hys delyte And make hem of Athenes hys thral Fro yere to yere whyle he lyuen shal and whoÌ„ he sayleth whan this toun is won This wycked custome is so longe yronne Tyl of Athenes kyng Egeus Mote senden hys owne sonne Theseus Sens that the lotte is fallen him vpon To ben deuoured for grace is there non and forth is ladde this woful yonge knight vnto the couÌ„tre of king Mynos ful of might And in a prison fettred fast is he Tyl the tyme he shulde yfreten be wel maist thou wepe O woful Theseus That art a kynges sonne dampned thus Me thynketh this that thou art depe yhold To whom that saued the fro cares colde And nowe yf any woman helpe the wel oughtest thou her seruaunt for to be And ben her trewe louer yere by yere But nowe to come ayen to my matere The toure there this Theseus is throwe Downe in the bottome derke wonder low was ioynyng to the wal of a foreyne Longyng vnto the doughtren tweyne Of Mynos that in her chambres grete Dwelten aboue the maystre strete Of the towne in ioye and in solas Not I nat howe it happed par caas As Theseus complayned hym by nyght The kynges doughter that Ariadne hyght And eke her suster Phedra herden al Hys complaynte as they stode on the wal And loked vpon the bryght moone Hem lyste not to go to bedde so soone And of hys wo they had compassion A kynges sonne to be in such prison And ben deuoured thought hem great pyte Than Ariadne spake to her suster fre And sayd Phedra leue suster dere This woful lordes sonne may ye not here How pitously he complayneth hys kynne And eke hys poore estate that he is inne And gyltlesse certayne nowe it is routh And yf ye wol assent by my trouth He shal ben holpen howe so that we do Phedra answerde ywys me is as wo For hym as euer I was for any man And to hys helpe the beste rede that I can Is that we done the gayler priuely To come and speake wyth vs hastely And don thys woful maÌ„ wyth hym to come For yf he may this monster ouercome ThaÌ„ were he quyte ther is non other boote Let vs wel taste hym at hys herte roote That yf it so be that he a weapen haue where that he is lyfe dare kepe or saue Fyghten wyth thys fende and hym defende For in the prison there as he shal discende Ye wote wel that the beest is in a place That is not derke hath roÌ„me eke space To welde an axe or swerde staffe or knyfe So that me thynketh he shulde saue his life If that he be a man he shal do so And we shal make hym balles eke also Of wexe towe that whan he gapeth faste Into the beestes throte he shal hem caste To sleke his honger and encomber his teth And ryght anon whan that Theseus seth The beest acheked he shall on hym leepe To sleen him or they comen more to heepe Thys weapen shal the gayler or that tyde Ful priuely within the prison hyde And for the house is crencled to and fro And hath so queynte wayes for to go For it is shapen as the mase is wrought Therto haue I a remedye in my thought That by a clewe of twyne as he hath gone The same way he may returne anone Folowyng alway y e threde as he hath come And whan thys beest is ouercome Than may he flyen away out of this stede And eke the gayler may he wyth him lede And hym auaunce at home in hys countre Sens that so great a lordes sonne is he Thys is my rede yf that ye dare it take what shulde I lenger sermon of it make The gayler cometh and with him Theseus whan these thynges ben accorded thus Downe sate Theseus vpon hys kne The ryght lady of my lyfe ê™ he I sorouful man ydampned to the deth Fro you whyles that me lasteth breth I wol not twynne after thys auenture But in your seruyce thus I wol endure that as a wretch vnknow I woll you serue For euermore tyl that myne herte sterue Forsake I wol at home myne heritage And as I sayd bene of your courte a page If that ye vouchsafe that in thys place Ye graunt me to haue such a grace that I may haue nat but my meate drinke And for my sustynaunce yet wol I swinke Right as you lyste y t Mynos ne no wyght Sens that he saw me neuer with euen sight Ne no man els shal me espye So slyly and so wel I shal me gye And me so wel disfygure so lowe That in this worlde there shal no man me know To haue my lyfe and to haue presence Of you that none to me thys excellence And to my father shal I sende here Thys worthy man that is your gaylere And hym so guerdon that he shal wel be One of the greatest men of my countre And yf I durst sayne my lady bryght I am a kynges sonne and eke a knyght As wolde god yf that it myght be Ye weren in my countre al thre And I wyth you to beare you companye Than shulde ye sene yf that I therof lye And yf that I profer you in lowe manere To ben your page seruen you ryght here But I you serue as lowly in that place I praye to Mars to yeue me such grace That shames deth on me there mote fal And dethe and pouerte to my frendes al And that my spirite by nyght mote go After my deth and walke to and fro That I mote of traytoure haue a name For which my spirite mote go to do me shame And yf I clayme euer other degre But ye vouchsafe to yeue it me As I haue sayde of shames death I dey And mercy lady I can naught els sey A semly knyght was thys Theseus to se And yonge but of twenty yere and thre But who so had ysene hys countenaunce he wold haue wept for routh of his penauÌ„ce For which this Ariadne in thys manere Answerde to hys profer and to hys chere A kynges sonne eke a knyght ê™ she To bene my seruaunt in so lowe degree God shylde it for the shame of women al And lene me neuer such a case befal And sende you grace sleyght of herte also You to defende knyghtly to sleen your foe And leene here after I may you fynde To me and to my suster here so kynde That I ne repente nat to yeue you lyfe Yet were it better I were your wyfe Syth ye ben as gentyl borne as I And haue a realme nat but faste by Than y t I suffred youre gentyllesse to sterue Or that I let you as a page sterue It
so me thynketh by your chere But syr o thynge woll ye here Me thynketh in great sorowe I you se But certes syr yf that ye wolde ought dyscure me your wo I wolde as wyse god helpe me so Amende it yf I can or may Ye mowe proue it by assay For by my trouth to make you hole I woll do all my power hole And telleth me of your sorowes smerte Parauenter it maye ease your herte That semeth full sycke vnder your syde wyth that he loked on me a syde As who sayeth nay that wyll not be Graunt mercy good frende quod he I thanke the that thou woldest so But it maye neuer the rather be do No man may my sorowe glade That maketh my hewe to fall and fade And hath myne vnderstandynge lorne That me is wo that I was borne May nought make my sorowes slyde Not all the remedyes of Ouide Ne Orpheus god of melodye Ne Dedalus wyth hys playes slye Ne heale me may no phisicien Naught Ipocras ne Galien Me is wo that I lyue houres twelue But who so woll assaye hym selue whether hys herte can haue pyte Of any sorowe let hym se me I wretch that death hath made all naked Of all the blysse that euer was maked I wroth werste of all wyghtes That hate my dayes and my nyghtes My lyfe my lustes be me lothe For all fare and I be wrothe The pure death is so full my so That I wolde dye it wyll not so For when I folowe it it wyll flye I wolde haue hym it nyl nat me Thys is payne wythout reed Alwaye dyenge and be not deed That Tesyphus that lyeth in hell Maye not of more sorowe tell And who so wyste all by my trouthe My sorowe but he had routhe And pyte of my sorowes smerte That man hath a fendly herte For who so seeth me fyrst on morowe Maye sayne he hath mette wyth sorowe For I am sorowe and sorowe is I Alas and I wyll tell the why My sorowe is turned to playnynge And all my laughter to wepynge My glad thoughtes to heuynesse In trauayle is myne ydlenesse And eke my reste my wele is wo My good is harme and euer wo In wrath is turned my playnyng And my delyte in to sorowyng Myne heale is turned in to sicknesse In drede is al my sykernesse To derke is turned al my lyght My witte is foly my day is nyght My loue is hate my slepe wakyng My myrthe and melis is fastyng My countenaunce is nycete And al abawed where so I be My peace pleadynge and in werre Alas howe myght I fare werre My boldnesse is turned to shame For false fortune hath played a game At the Chesse wyth me alas the whyle The trayteresse falfe and full of gyle That all behoteth and nothynge halte She goeth vpryght and yet she halte That baggeth foule and loketh fayre The dyspytous debonayre That scorneth many a creature An ydole of false purtrayture Is she for she woll sone wryen She is the monstres heed ywryen As fylthe ouer ystrowed wyth floures Her moste worshyp and her floures To lyen for that is her nature wythout fayth lawe or mesure She false is and euer laughynge wyth one eye and that other wepynge That is brought vp she set all downe I lyken her to the Scorpiowne That is a false flatterynge beest For wyth hys heed be maketh feest But all amyd hys flaterynge wyth hys tayle he wyll stynge And enuenym and so wyll she ⧠She is the enuyous charite That is aye false and semeth wele So turneth she her false whele Aboute for it is nothynge stable Nowe by the fyre nowe at table Ful many one hath she thus yblent She is playe of enchauntement That semeth one and is not so The false thefe what hath she do Trowest thou by our lorde I wyll the say At the Chesse wyth me she gan to play wyth her false draughtes full dyuers She stale on me and toke my feers And when I sawe my feers away Alas I couth no lenger play But sayd farewell swete ywys And farewell all that euer there is Therwyth fortune sayd checke here And mate in the mydde poynt of the checkere wyth a paune errant aâ—s Full craftyer to playe she was Then Athalus that made the game Fyrst of the Chesse so was hys name But god wolde I had ons or twyse Iconde and knowe the ieoperdyse That coude the Greke Pithagores I shulde haue playde the bet at ches And kepte my feers the bet therby And though wherto for truely I holde that wyshe not worth a stre It had be neuer the bet for me For fortune can so many a wyle There be but fewe can her begyle And eke she is the lasse to blame My selfe I wolde haue do the same Before god had I ben as she She ought the more excused be For thys I say yet more therto Had I be god and myght haue do My wyll when she me feers caught I wolde haue drawe the same draught For also wyse god yeue me rest I dare well swere she toke the best But through that draught I haue lorne My blysse alas that I was borne For euermore I trowe truely For all my wyll my lust holy Is tourned but ye what to done By our lorde it is to dye sone For nothynge I leaue it nought But lyue and dye ryght in thys thought For there nys planet in fyrmament Ne in ayre ne in earth none element That they ne yeue me a yefte echone Of wepynge when I am alone For when that I aduyse me wele And bethynke me euery dele Howe that there lyeth in rekenynge In my sorowe for nothynge And howe there lyueth no gladnesse May glad me of my dystresse And howe I haue lost suffysaunce And therto I haue no pleasaunce Then maye I saye I haue ryght nought And when all thys falleth in my thought Alas then am I ouercome For that is done is not to come I haue more sorowe then Tantale And when I herde hym tell thys tale Thus pytously as I you tell Vnneth myght I lenger dwell It dyd myne herte so moche wo A good syr quod I say not so Haue some pyte on your nature That formed you to creature Remembreth you of Socrates For he ne counteth not thre strees Of nought that fortune coude do No quod he I can not so why so good syr yes perde quod I Ne saye not so for truly Though ye had lost the feerses twelue And ye for sorowe murdred your selue Ye shulde be dampned in thys ease By as good ryght as Medea was That slough her chyldren for Iason And Phyllis also for Demophon Hynge her selfe so welaway For he had broke hys terme day To come to her Another rage Had Dido the quene eke of Cartage That slough her selfe for Eneas was false whych a foole she was And Ecquo dyed for Narcisus Nolde not loue her and ryght thus Hath many another foly done And for Dalida dyed Sampson That
hede what shall I saye of yonge Piramus Of trewe Tristram for al hys hye renowne Of Achylles or of Antonius Of Arcite or of hym Palamowne what was the ende of her passyoune But after sorowe deth and then her graue Lo here the guerdon that these louers haue But false Iason wyth hys doublenesse That was vntrewe at Calkos to Medee And Theseus rote of vnkyndnesse And wyth these two eke the false Enâ—e Lo thus the false aye in one degre Had in loue her lust and all her wyll And saue fashode there was none other skyll Of Thebes eke the false Arcyte And Demephoon eke for his slouthe They had her lust al that myght delyte For al her falshode and great vntrouthe Thus euer loue alas and that is routhe His false lieges forthereth what he may And sleeth the trewe vngoodly day by day For trewe Adon was slayne with the bore Amydde the forest in the grene shade For Venus loue he felte al the sore But Vulcanus wiht her no mercy made The foule chorle had many nyghtes glade where Mars her knyght and her man To fynde mercy comforte none he can Also the yonge fresshe vpomedes So lusty fre as of his courage That for to serue with al his herte he ches Athalans so fayre of her vysage But loue alas quitte hym so his wage with cruell daungere playnly at the last That wyth the deth guerdonlesse he past Lo here the fyne of loues seruyse Lo how that loue can hys seruauntes quyte Lo howe he can hys faythfull men dyspyse To slee the trewe men and false to respyte Lo howe he doth the swerde of sorowe byte In hertes such as moost hys lust obey To saue the false and do the trewe dey For fayth nor othe worde ne assuraunce Trewe meanynge awayte or busynesse Styll porte ne faythfull attendaunce Manhode ne myght in armes worthynesse Pursute of worshyp nor hye prowesse In straunge lande rydynge ne trauayle Ful lytell or nought in loue doth auayle Peryll of deth nor in see ne lande Hunger ne thurste sorowe ne syckenesse Ne great empryses for to take on hande Shedynge of bloode ne manfull hardynesse Ne ofte woundynge at sautes by dystresse Nor in partynge of lyfe nor deth also Al is for nought loue taketh no hede therto But lesynges wyth her flaterye Through her falshed with her doublenesse wyth tales newe and many fayned lye By false semblaunt and couÌ„trefete huÌ„blesse Vnder colour depaynte wyth stedfastnesse wyth fraude couered vnder a pytous face Accepte be nowe rathest vnto grace And can hym selfe nowe best magnifye wyth fayned porte and presumpcion They haunte her cause wyth false surquidre Vnder meanynge of double entencion To thynke one in her opinion And saye another to set hym selfe alofte And hynder trouth as it is sene full ofte The which thynge I bye nowe al to dere Thanked be Venus and the God Cupide As it is sene by myne oppressed chere And by hys arowes that stycken in my syde That saue deth I nothynge abyde Fro daye to daye alas the harde whyle when euer his darte that hym lyst to fyle My wofull herte for to ryue a two For taute of mercy and lacke of pyte Of her that causeth all my payne and wo And lyst not ones of grace for to se Vnto my trouth through her cruelte And moste of al I me complayne That she hath ioye to laugh at my payne And wylfully hath my deth sworne All gyltlesse and wote no cause why Saue for the trouth that I had aforne To her alone to serue faythfully O god of loue vnto the I cry And to thy blende double deyte Of thys great wronge I complayne me And vnto thy stormy wylfull variaunce Yment wyth chauÌ„ge and great vnstablenesse Now vp now down so reÌ„nyng is thy chauÌ„ce That the to trust may be no sekernesse I wyte it nothynge but thy doublenesse And who that is an archer and is blynde Marketh nothynge but shoteth by wynde And for that he hath no dyscrecion wythout aduyse he let hys arowe go For lacke of syght and also of reason In hys shotynge it happeth ofte so To hurte hys frende rather then hys fo So doth thys god wyth hys sharpe flone The trewe sleeth and letteth the false gone And of hys woundyng thys y u worst of al when he hurteth doth to so cruell wreche And maketh the sycke for to crye and call Vnto hys foe for to be hys leche And harde it is for a man to seche Vpon the poynte of dethe in ieopardye Vnto hys foe to fynde remedye Thus fareth it nowe euen by me That to my foe y t gaue myne herte a wouÌ„de Mote aske grace mercy and pyte And namely there where none may be fouÌ„de For nowe my sore my leche wyll confounde And god of kynde so hath set myne vre My lyues foe to haue my wounde in cure Alas the whyle now that I was borne Or that I euer sawe the bryght sonne For nowe I se that full longe aforne Or I was borne my desteny was sponne By Parcas systerne to slee me yf they conne For they my dethe shopen or my sherte Onely for trouth I may it not asterte The myghty goddesse also of nature That vnder god hath the gouernaunce Of worldly thynges coÌ„mytted to her cure Dysposed haue throgh her wyse purueiauÌ„ce To gyue my lady so moche suffysaunce Of all vertues and therwythall puruyde To murdre trouth hath take dauÌ„ger to gyde For bounte beaute shappe and semelyhed Prudence wyt passyngly fayrnesse Benygne porte glad chere wyth lowlyhed Of womanhede ryght plenteous largenesse Nature dyd in her fully impresse when she her wrought alther last disdayne To hinder trouth she made her chaÌ„berlayne when mystrust also and false suspection wyth mysbyleue she made for to be Chefe of counsayle to thys conclusyon For to exyle trouth and eke pyte Out of her court to make mercy flee So y t dyspyte nowe holdeth forth her reyne Through hasty byleue of tales y t men feyne And thus I am for my trouth alas Murdred slayne w t wordes sharpe kene Gyltlesse god wote of all trespas And lye and blede vpon this colde grene Nowe mercy swete mercy my lyues quene And to your grace of mercy yet I preye In your seruyce that your man maye deye But yf so be that I shall dye algate And that I shall none other mercy haue Yet of my deth let thys ben the date that by your wyl I was brouÈt to my graue Or hastely yf that you lyst me saue My sharpe woundes that ake so and blede Of mercy charme and also of womanhede For other charme playnly is there none But onely mercy to helpe in thys case For though my woundes blede euer in one My lyfe my deth standeth in your grace And though my gylte be nothynge alas I aske mercy in all my best entente Redy to dye yf that ye assente For there agaynst shall I neuer stryue In worde ne werke
thy lyfe All the Troyan bloode Ren and crye as thou were woode On Eolus the god of wyndes To blowen out of all kyndes So loude that he shulde drenche Lorde lady grome and wenche Of all the Troyans nacyon wythout any of her sauacion There sawe I suche tempest aryst That euery herte myght agryse To se it paynted on the wall There sawe I eke grauen wyth all Venus howe ye my lady dere wepynge wyth full wofull chere Prayenge Iupyter on hye To saue and kepe that nauye Of that Trogian Eneas Sythe that he her sonne was There sawe I Ioues Venus kysse And graunted was of the tempest lysse There sawe I howe the tempest stente And howe wyth all pyne he wente And pryuely toke a ryuage In to the countre of Cartage And on the morowe howe that he And a knyght that hyght Achate Metten wyth Venus that day Goyng in a queynte aray As she had be an hunteresse wyth wynde blowyng vpon her tresse And howe Eneas began to playne whan he knewe her of hys payne And howe hys shyppes dreynt were Or els ylost he nyst where Howe she gan hym comforte tho And bade hym to Cartage go And there he shulde hys folke fynde That in the see were lefte behynde And shortly of thys thyng to pace She made Eneas so in grace Of Dydo quene of that countre That shortly for to tellen she Became hys loue and let hym do All that weddyng longeth to what shulde I speke it more quaynte Or payne me my wordes to paynte To speke of loue it well nat be I can nat of that faculte And eke to tellen of the manere Howe they fyrst acquaynted were It were a longe processe to tell And ouer longe for you to dwell There sawe I graue howe Eneas Tolde to Dydo euery caas That hym was tyde vpon the see And efte grauen was howe that she Made of hym shortly at a worde Her lyfe her loue her lust her lorde And dyd to hym all reuerence And layde on hym all the dispence That any woman myght do wenyng it had all be so As he her swore and hereby demed That he was good for he suche semed Alas what harme dothe apparence whan it is false in existence For he to her a traytour was wherfore she slowe her selfe alas Lo howe a woman dothe amys To loue hym that vnknowen is For by Christ lo thus it fareth It is nat all golde that glareth For also brouke I well myne heed There may be vnder goodlyheed Couered many a shreude vyce Therfore be no wyght so nyce To take a loue onely for chere Or speche or for frendly manere For this shall euery woman fynde That some man of his pure kynde wol shewen outwarde the fayrest Tyl he haue caught that what him lest And than woll he causes fynde And swere howe she is vnkynde Or false or priuy or double was Al thys saye I by Eneas And Dydo and her nyce lest That loued al to soone a gest wherfore I wol saye o prouerbe That he that fully knoweth the herbe Maye safely laye it to hys eye wythoutyn drede thys is no lye But let vs speke of Eneas Nowe he betrayed her alas And lefte her full vnkyndely So whan she sawe al vtterly That he wolde her of Trouth fayle And wenden from her into Itayle She gan to wrynge her handes two Alas quod she that me is wo Alas is euery man thus trewe That euery yere wol haue a newe If it so longe tyme endure Or els that parauenture And thus of one he woll haue fame In magnifyeng of hys owne name Another for frenshyp sayth he And yet there shal the thyrde be That is taken for delyte Lo or els for synguler profyte In such wordes gan complayne Dydo of her great payne As me mette dremyng redyly None other authour allege wol I Alas quod she my swete herte Haue pyte on my sorowes smerte And slee me not go not away O woful Dydo welaway Quod she vnto her selfe tho O Eneas what wol ye do O that your loue ne your bonde That ye swore with your ryght honde Ne my cruel deth quod she Maye holde you styl here wyth me O haue ye of my deth no pite Iwys myne owne dere herte ye Knowe full wel that neuer yet As farre as euer I had wyt Agylte you in thought ne in dede O haue ye men such goodlyhede In speche and neuer a dele of trouth Alas that euer had routh Any woman on a false man Nowe I se wel and tel can we wretched women can no arte For certayne for the more parte Thus we bene serued euerychone Howe sore that ye men can grone Anone as we haue you receyued Certaynly we bene disceyued For though your loue lest a season wayte vpon the conclusyon And eke howe ye determyne And for the more parte defyne O welawaye that I was borne For through you my name is lorne And myne actes redde and songe Ouer al thys lande in euery tonge O wycked fame for there nys Nothynge so swyfte lo as she is O soth is euery thynge is wyst Though it be couerde with the myst Eke though I myght duren euer That I haue done recouer I neuer That it ne shall be sayd alas I shamed was through Eneas And that I shal thus iuged be Lo ryght as she hath done nowe she wol done eftesones hardely Thus saye the people priuely But that is done nys not to done But all her complaynt ne her mone Certayne auayled her not a stre And whan she wyst sothly he was forth into his shyp agone She into chambre went anone And called on her suster Anue And gan her to complayne thanne And sayde that she cause was That she fyrst loued him alas And fyrst counsayled her therto But what whan thys was sayd and do She rofte her seluen to the herte And dyed through the woundes smerte But al the maner howe she deyde And al the wordes howe she seyde who so to knowe it hath purpose Rede Virgyle in Eneydos Or the pystles of Ouyde what that she wrote or that she dyde And nere it to longe to endyte By god I wolde it here wryte But welawaye the harme and routh That hath betydde for such vntrouth As men maye ofte in bokes rede And aldaye sene it yet in dede That for to thynken it tene is Lo Demophon duke of Athenys Howe he forswore him falsely And trayed Phyllis wyckedly That kynges doughter was of Thrace And falsely gan his terme pace And whan she wyst that he was false She honge her selfe ryght by the halfe For he had done her suche vntrouth Lo was not thys a wo and routh Eke loke howe false and recheles was to Briseyda Achilles And Parys to Oenone And Iason to Hipsyphile And efte Iason to Medea And Hercules to Dyanira For he lefte her for Iolee That made him take his deth parde Howe false was eke Theseus That as the storye telleth vs Howe
but wast Boldely begyn go forth to thy processe Feare not syth thou arte of such surenesse Graunt mercy lorde syth it the doth lyke To licence me nowe I wol and dare boldly Assayle my purpose w t scriptures autentike My werke wol I grouÌ„d vnderset fortify Aspire my begynnyng O thou woode fury Allecto wyth thy susters and in espicial To the mother of ielousye Iuno I call ¶ Explicit prologus THis werke who so shall se or rede Of any incongruite do me not impeche Ordinatly behoueth me fyrst to procede In deduction thereof in maner as the leche His pacieÌ„tes syckenes oweth first for to sech The which knoweÌ„ medicyne he shulde aply And shortly as he can than shape a remedy Ryght so by couÌ„sayle wyllyng the to exhort O yong maÌ„ prosperous which doth abouÌ„de In thy floures of lust belongeth on the sorte Me fyrst to coÌ„sider what is roote grounde Of thy mischefe whiche is playnly founde woman farced wyth fraude and disceyte To thy confusyon moost allectyue bayte Flye the miswoman lest she the disceyue thus sayth SalomoÌ„ which tauÈt was fully the falsheed of womeÌ„ in his daies to coÌ„ceyue The lippes of a struÌ„pet ben sweter thaÌ„ hony Her throte he saith suppled w t oyle of flatery Howe be it the ende and effecte of al Byttrer is than any wormwode or gall Flye the miswoman louyng thy lyfe ware the straungers blande eloquence Straunge I cal her that is not thy wyfe Of her beautie haue me no concupiscence Her countenaunce pretendyng beneuolence Beware her signes and eye so amiable Holde it for ferme they bene disceyuable Lo an ensample what women be In theyr signes and countenaunce shortly I wol shewe the howe louers thre Loued one woman ryght entierly Eche of them knewe others malady wherfore was al theyr dayly labour who coude appproche next in her fauour At sondrye seasons as fortune requyreth Seuerally they came to se her welfare But ones it hapened loue them so fyreth To se theyr lady they al wolde not spare Of others comyng none of them were ware Tyl al they mette where as they in place Of her lady sawe the desyred face To supper sette ful smally they ete Full sobre and demure in countenaunce For there taryed none of hem for any mete But on hys lady to gyue attendaunce And in secrete wyse some signifyaunce Of loue to haue whych parceyuyng she Fetely executed thus her properte In due season as she alway espyed Euery thyng to execute conueniently Her owne louer fyrst frendly she eyed The seconde she offred the cuppe curtesly The thyrde she gaue token secretly Vnderneth the borde she trade on hys fote Through his entrayles tikled the herte rote By your leue myght I here aske a question Of you my maystres that fewe louers trace To you lykely belongeth the solucion whych of these thre stode nowe in grace Clerely to answere ye wold aske long space The mater is doutful and opinable To acertayne you I woll my selfe enable Of the foresayd thre my selfe was one No man can answere it better than I Hertely of vs beloued was there none But wattes packe we bare al by and by whych at the last I my selfe gan aspye And time as me thouÈt thaÌ„ I left the dauÌ„ce O thoughtful hert great is thy greuaunce Hence fro me hence that me for to endyte Halpe aye here afore O ye muses nyne whyloÌ„ ye were wont to be mine ayde light My penne to directe my brayne to illumyne No lenger alas may I sewe your doctrine The freshe lusty meters y t I wont to make Haue bene here afore I vtterly forsake Come hyther thou Hermes and ye furies al which fer ben vnder vs nigh the nether pole where Pluto reigneth O kyng infernal Send out thine arpies send anguysh dole Misery and wo leaue ye me not sole Of right be present must paine eke turmeÌ„t The pale deth besemeth not to be absent To me nowe I cal al thys lothsome sorte my paines tencrese my sorowes to augmeÌ„t For worthy I am to be bare of al comforte Thus syth I haue consumed and mispent Not only my daies but my fiuefolde talent y t my lorde coÌ„mitted me I can not recoÌ„pence I may not to derely abye my negligence By the path of penaunce yet wol I reuert To the welle of grace mercy there to fetche Dispisest not god the meke contrite hert Of the cocke crow alas y t I wolde not retch And yet it is not late in the seconde wetche Mercy shal I purchace by incessaunt crieng The mercyes of our lorde euer shal I syng But well mayst thou wayle wicked woman that thou shuldest disceyue thus any innoceÌ„t And in recompence of my synne so as I can To al meÌ„ wol I make leue this monumeÌ„t in shewing part of thy falsheed is myn enteÌ„t For al were to much I can not wel I wote The cause sheweth playnly he y t thus wrote If al the erth were parchement scribable Spedy for the hande and al maner wode were hewed proporcioned to pennes able Al water ynke in damme or in flode Euery man beyng a perfyte scribe good The cursednesse yet and disceyte of women Coude not be shewed by the meane of penne I flye at odyous resemblaunces The dyuels bronde cal women I myght wherby man is encensed to mischaunce Or a stynkyng rose that fayre is in syght Or deedly empoyson lyke the suger whyte whych by hys swetnesse causeth man to tast and sodaynly sleeth briÌ„geth him to his last It is not my maner to vse such langage But thys my doctrine as I may laufully I wol holy grounde wyth auctoritie sage wyllynge both wysdom and vertue edify wyne and women in to apostasy Cause wyse men to fall what is that to say Of wysdome cause them to forget the way wherfore the wyse man dothe the aduyse In whose wordes can be founde no leasyng wyth the straunger to sytte in no wyse which is not thy wyfe fal not in clyppyng wyth her but beware eke of her kyssyng kepe wyth her in wyne no altercacion Lest that thyne hert fal by enclination May a man thynkest hyde and safe lay Fyre in his bosom wythout enpayrement breÌ„nynge of his clothes or wheder he may walke on hotte coles his fete not brent As who sayth nay and wherby is ment Thys foresayd prouerbe and similitude But that thou rydde the playnly to denude From the flatterers forgettynge her gyde The gyde of her youth I meane shaÌ„fastnes which shulde cause her maydenheed to abide Her goddes behest eke she ful rechelesse Not retchyng coÌ„mitteth it to forgetfulnesse Neyther god ne shame in her hauynge place Nedes must such a woman lacke grace And al that neygh her in way of syn To turne of grace shal lacke the influence The pathes of lyfe no more to come in wherfore fyrst frende the wyth sapience Remembring god and after with prudence To thyne owne wele that