And peynest the to preyse hys art,
Although thou haddest never part;
Wherfore, al-so God me blesse,
Jovës halt1 hyt gret humblesse,
And vertu eke, that thou wolt make
A nyght ful ofte thyn hede to ake,
In thy studyë so thou writest,
And evermo of love enditest,
In honour of hym and preysynges,
And in his folkës furtherynges,
And in hir matere al devisest,
And noght hym nor his folk dispisest,
Although thou maist goo in the daunce
Of hem that hym lyst not avaunce.
Wherfore, as I seyde, ywys,
Jupiter considereth this;
And also, beausir, other thynges;
That is, that thou hast no tydynges
Of Lovës folke, yf they be glade,
Ne of noght ellës that God made;
And noght oonly fro fer contree,
That ther no tydyng cometh to thee,
Not of thy verray neyghëbores,
That dwellen almost at thy dores,
Thou herest neyther that nor this,
For when thy labour doon al ys,
And hast made al thy rekënynges,
Instede of reste and newë thynges,
Thou goost home to thy house anoon,
And, also domb as any stoon,
Thou sittest at another booke,
Tyl fully dasewyd ys thy looke,
And lyvest thus as an heremyte,
Although thyn abstynence ys lyte.
And therfore Jovës, through hys grace,
Wol that I bere thee to a place,
Which that hight the Hous of Fame,
To do thee som disport and game,
In som recompensacioun
Of labour and devocioun
That thou hast had, loo! causëles,
To Cupido the rechchëles.
PROLOGUE TO THE LEGENDE OF GOODE WOMEN.
[The poet loves books, but loves the daisy more.]
And as for me, though than I kon but lyte',
On bokës for to rede I me delyte,
And to hem yive I feyth and ful credence,
And in myn herte have hem in reverence
So hertely, that ther is gamë noon
That fro my bokës maketh me to goon,
But yt be seldom on the holy day,
Save, certeynly, when that the moneth of May
Is comen, and that I here the foulës synge,
And that the flourës gynnen for to sprynge,
Farewel my boke, and my devocioun !
Now have I than suche a condicioun,
That of alle the flourës in the mede,
Than love I most thise flourës white and rede,
Suche as men callen daysyes in her toun.
To hem have I so gret affeccioun,
As I seyde erst, whan comen is the May,
That, in my bed ther daweth me no day,
That I nam up and walkyng in the mede,
To seen this floure ayein the sonnë sprede,
Whan it up ryseth erly by the morwe;
That blisful sight softeneth al my sorwe,
So glad am I, whan that I have presence
Of it, to doon it allë reverence,
As she that is of allë flourës flour,
Fulfilled of al vertue and honour,
And ever ilike1 faire, and fressh of hewe.
And I love it, and ever ylike newe,
And ever shal, til that myn hertë dye;
Al swere I nat, of this I wol nat lye,
Ther lovede no wight hotter in his lyve.
And, whan that hit ys eve, I renne blyve1,
As sone as ever the sonnë gynneth weste,
To seen this flour, how it wol go to reste,
For fere of nyght, so hateth she derknesse!
Hire chere is pleynly sprad in the brightnesse
Of the sonne, for ther yt wol unclose.
Allas, that I ne had Englyssh, ryme, or prose,
Suffisant this flour to preyse aryght!
But helpeth, ye that han konnyng and myght,
Ye lovers, that kan make of sentëment;
In this case oghten ye be diligent,
To forthren me somwhat in my labour,
Whethir ye ben with the leef or with the flour,
For wel I wot, that ye han herbiforn
Of makynge ropen, and lad awey the corn;
And I come after, glenyng here and there,
And am ful glad yf I may fynde an ere
Of any goodly word that ye han left.
And thogh it happen me rehercen eft
That ye han in your fresshë songës sayd,
Forbereth me, and beth not evil apayd",
Syn that ye see I do yt in the honour
Of love, and eke in service of the flour,
Whom that I serve as I have wit or myght.
She is the clerenesse and the verray lyght,
That in this derke worlde me wynt and ledyth,
The hert in-with my sorwful brest yow dredith,
And loveth so sore, that ye ben verrayly
The maistresse of my wit, and nothing I.
My word, my werkes, ys knyt so in your bond
That, as an harpe obeieth to the hond
See the introduction to the poem of that name, p. 84. reaped the fruit of poetry. 5 be not ill pleased.
That maketh it soune after his fyngerynge,
Ryght so mowe1 ye oute of myn hertë bringe
Swich vois, ryght as yow lyst, to laughe or pleyne;
Be ye myn gide, and lady sovereyne.
As to my erthely God, to yow I calle,
Bothe in this werke, and in my sorwes alle.
[He falls asleep, and dreams that he sees the God of Love leading in Queen Alcestis clad like the daisy.]
Whan that the sonne out of the south gan weste,
And that this flour gan close, and goon to reste,
For derknesse of the nyght, the which she dredde,
Home to myn house ful swiftly I me spedde
To goon to reste, and erly for to ryse,
To seen this flour sprede, as I devyse.
And in a litel herber that I have,
That benched was on turvës fresshe ygrave,
I bad men sholdë me my couchë make;
For deyntee of the newë someres sake 2,
I bad hem strawen flourës on my bed.
Whan I was leyd, and had myn eyen hed3,
I fel on slepe, in-with an houre or twoo,
Me mette how I lay in the medewe thoo 5,
To seen this flour that I love so and drede;
And from a-fer come walkyng in the mede
The God of Love, and in his hande a quene,
And she was clad in real habit grene;
A fret of gold she haddë next her heer,
And upon that a whit coroune she beer,
With flourouns smale, and [that] I shal nat lye,
For al the world ryght as a dayësye
Ycorouned ys with whitë levës lyte',
So were the flowrouns of hire coroune white;
For of oo perlë, fyne, oriental,
Hire white corounë was imaked al,
2 for the sake of the rarity of the new summer.
6 royal.
For which the white coroune above the grene
Made hirë lyke a dayesie for to sene,
Considered eke hir fret of golde above.
Yclothed was this myghty God of Love
In silke, enbrouded ful of grenë greves1,
In-with a fret of redë rose leves,
The fresshest syn the world was first begonne.
His giltë here was coroned with a sonne
In stede of gold, for hevynesse and wyghte';
Therwith me thoght his face shoon so brighte
That wel unnethës myghte I him beholde;
And in his hand me thoghte I saugh him holde
Twoo firy dartës, as the gledës rede,
And aungelyke hys wyngës saugh I sprede.
And, al be that men seyn that blynd ys he,
Algate me thoghtë that he myghtë se;
For sternëly on me he gan byholde,
So that his loking dooth myn hertë colde.
And by the hande he held this noble quene,
Coroned with white, and clothëd al in grene,
So womanly, so bénigne, and so meke,
That in this world, thogh that men wolde seke,
Half of hire beauté shuldë men nat fynde
In creäture that formed ys by kynde.
And therfore may I seyn, as thynketh me,
This song in preysyng of this lady fre.
Hyde, Absalon, thy giltë tresses clere ;
Ester, ley thou thy mekenesse al adown;
Hyde, Jonathas, al thy frendly manere;
Penelopee, and Marcia Catoun,
Make of your wifhode no comparysoun;
Hyde ye your beautes, Ysoude and Eleyne,
My lady comith, that al this may disteyne3.
1 groves: embroidered with green branches.' because gold would be heavy.
stain; make foul by comparison.
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