THE LADY BLANCHE.1
I saw her dance so comelily, Carol and sing so sweetèly, Laugh and play so womanly, And look so debonairely,
So goodly speak and so friendly, That, certes, I trow that nevermore N'as seen so blissful a tresore. For every hair on her head Sooth to say, it was not red, Ne neither yellow, ne brown it was ; Me thought most like gold it was... I have no wit that can suffice To comprehende her beauty; But this much dare I sayn, that she Was ruddy, fresh, and lovely hued, And every day her beauty newed. And nigh her face was alder best ;2 For, certes, Nature had such lest3 To make that fair, that truly she Was her chief pattern of beauty, And chief ensample of all her work And monstre : for, be it never so derk,5 Methinketh I see her evermo.
And yet, moreover, though all tho That ever lived were now alive, Ne wold have found they to descrive In all her face a wicked sign, For it was sad, simple, and benign. And such a goodly softè speech Had that sweet, my lifè's leech,8 So friendly, and so well y-grounded Upon all reason, so well y-founded, And so tretable9 to all good, That I dare swear well by the rood1o Of eloquence was never found So sweet a souning facound,11 Ne truer tongued, ne scornèd less, . Ne less flattering in her word; That purely her simple record
1 This was the wife of John of Gaunt, who died 1369, after ten years of marriage. The husband is here supposed to be lamenting her loss and recounting
4 Marvel. 7 Descry. 8 Physician. 11 Eloquent (Lat. facundus).
Was found as true as any bond Or troth of any mannes hond... Her throat, as I have now memoire, Seemed as a round tower of ivoire, Of good greatness, and not too great ;1 And goodè fairè White' she hete." That was my Lady's namè right : She was thereto fair and bright; She had not her namè wrong.
When I first my lady sey I was right young, sooth to say ; And full great need I had to learn, When heartè wolde yearn To love, it was a great emprise.5 But, as my wit wold best suffise, After my young childly wit, Without drede" I be-set" it. To love her in my best wise, To do her worship and servise, That I could tho,8 by my troth, Without feigning either sloth. For wonder fain10 I wold her see: So mickle11 it amended me
That, when I saw her first a-morrow, I was warshed13 of all my sorrow;
Of all day after till it were eve
Me thought nothing might me grieve...
With sorrowful heart and woundès dead,1 Soft and quaking for pure dread And shame, and stinting in my tale For-feared, and my hue all pale, Full oft I waxt both pale and red; Bowing to her I heng' the head; I durst not onès look her on, For wit, manner, and all was gone ; said "Mercy!" and no more. It n'as no game, it sate me sore ! So, at the laste, sooth to sayn, When that mine heart was come again, To tellè shortly all my speech, With whole heart I gan her beseech That she wold be my lady sweet... And, when I had my tale y-do,9 God wot, she accounted not a stree10 Of all my tale, so thoughtè me. To tell shortly right as it is, Truly her answer it was this: I cannot now well counterfeit Her wordès, but this was the gretell Of her answer ;-she said "Nay," All utterly. Alas that day!
The sorrow I suffered and the woe, That truly Cassandra, that so Bewailed the destruction
Of Troye and of Ilion,
2 Ne wot. 6 Terrified.
10 Straw.
3 To that degree dismal. 7 Hung.
11 Substance.
Had never such sorrow as I tho.1 I durst no more say thereto For pure fear, but stole away. And thus I lived full many a day, That truely I had no need Further than my beddès head Never a day to seeke sorrow; I found it ready every morrow ... So it befell another year I thought onès2 I woldè fond3 To do1 her know and understond My woe. And she well understood That I ne wilned thing but good, And worship, and to keep her name Over all things, and dread her shame, And was so busy her to serve, And pity were that I should sterve," Sith that I willed none harm, I wiss.7 So, when my lady knew all this, My lady gave me all wholly The noble gift of her mercy.
FROM TROILUS AND CRESEIDE.
But, as she sat alone and thoughtè thus, The ascry arose at skarmochR all without; And men cried in the street, "See, Troilus Hath right now put to flight the Greekès' rout!" With that gan all her meinie9 for to shout “Ah, go we see ! Cast up the gatès wide; For through this street he mote10 to palace ride!
"For other way is fro the gatès none. Of Dardanus there open is the chain." With that come he, and all his folk anon, An easy pace riding in routes11 twain ; Right as his happy day was, sooth to sayn; For that, men saith, may not disturbed be That shall betidè of necessity.
This Troilus sat on his bayè steed,
All armed save his head full richely;
And wounded was his horse, and gan to bleed,
4 Make. 5 Desired. 9 All Creseide's household. 10 Must.
On which he rode apace full softely. But such a knightly sightè, truely, As was on him it was withouten fail To look on Mars that god is of batail.
So like a man of armes and a knight He was to seen; fulfilled of high prowess; For both he had a body and a might To done that thing, as well as hardiness. And eke to seen him in his geare1 dress, So fresh, so young, so wieldy seemed he, It was an heaven upon him for to see.2
His helm to-hewen3 was in twenty places, That by a tissue hong his back behind;
His shield to-dashed with swordès and with maces, In which men mighte many an arrow find That thirled had both horn, and nerf,5 and rind. And aye the people cried, “Here cometh our joy, And, next his brother, holder up of Troy !"
For which he waxt a little red for shame When he so heard the people upon him crien; That to behold it was a noble game How soberly he cast adown his eyen. Creseid anon gan all his chere espien, And let it so soft in her heartè sink
That to herself she said, "Who gave me drink?”
For all her ownè thought she wox all red, Remembering her right thus, "Lo! this is he Which that mine uncle sweareth he mote dead" But I on him have mercy and pity." And with that thought for purè shame she Gan in her head to pull, and that as fast, While he and all the people forth-by passed.
THE PARTING OF TROILUS AND CRESEIDE.
Approachen gan9 the fatal destiny That Jove hath in disposition,
And to you, angry Parcas,10 sistren11 three, Committeth to done12 execution:
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