FROM THE COMPLAINT TO PITY.
HOW PITY IS DEAD, AND BURIED IN A GENTLE HEART,
Pity, that I have sought so yore1 ago With heartè sore and full of busy pain, That in this world was never wight so wo Withoute death: and, if I shall not feign, My purpose was to Pity to complain Upon the cruelty and tyranny
Of Love, that for my trowth doth me to die.
And when that I, by length of certain years, Had ever in one a timè sought to speak, To Pity ran I, all besprent2 with tears, To prayen her on Cruelty me awreak :3 But, ere I might with any word out-break, Or tellen any of my painès smart,
I found her dead, and buried in an heart.
Adown I fellè when I saw the herse,*
Dead as a stone while that the swoon me last : But up I rose with colour full diverse, And piteously on her my eyn I cast;
And near the corpse I came to pressen fast; And for the soul I shope me for to pray.
I was but lorn :6 there was no more to say.
Thus am I slain sith that Pity is dead; Alas, that day that ever it should fall! What manner man dare now hold up his head? To whom shall any sorrowful heart call? Now Cruelty hath cast to slee us all; In idle hope we live, redeless of pain,
Sith she is dead to whom we should us plain.
But yet encreaseth me this wonder new, That no wight wot that she is dead but I, So many men as in her time her knew ; And yet she died not so suddenly : For I have sought her ever full busily Sith first I haddè wit or mannès mind; But she was dead ere that I could her find.
2 Besprinkled. 5 Set myself.
About her herse there stooden lustily, Withouten making dule1 as thoughte me, Bounty, perfite well 2 armed and richèly, And fresshè Beauty, Lust, and Jollity, Assured Manner, Youth, and Honesty, Wisdom, Estate, Dredè, and Governance, Confedred3 both by bond and alliance.
A Complaint had I written in mine hond, For to have put to Pity, as a bill;
But, when I all this company there fond,— That rather wolden all my causè spill 4 Than do me help,-I held my complaint still : For to that folk, withouten any fail, Without Pity, there may no bill avail.
And herewithal there came anon Another huge company
Of good folk and gan to cry:- "Lady, grant us now good fame, And let our workès have that name, Now in honour of gentilness, And also God your soulè bless! For we have well deservèd it; Therefore is right that we be quit." “As thrive I,” quoth she, “ye shall fail; Good workès shall you not avail To have of me good fame as now. But wot ye what I graunt to you :- That ye shall have a shrewed" name, And wicked los6 and worse fame, Though ye good los have well deserved. Now goeth your way, for you been served: And thou, dans Eolus," quoth she, "Take forth thy tromp anon, let see, That is y-clepèd Slander light; And blow their los, that every wight
1 Lamentation. 2 Completely. 5 Wicked. 6 Praise.
Speak of them harm and shrewedness, Instead of good and worthiness.
For thou shalt tromp all the contrair Of that they have done well and fair." Alas, thought I, what aventures Have these sorry creatures, That they among all the press1 Should thus be shamèd, guilteless? But what must, it needès be. What did this Eolus, but he Took out his blackè tromp of brass That fouler than the Devil was, And gan this trompè for to blow As all the world should overthrow. Throughout every regioun Went this foulè trompès soun, As swift as pellet out of gun When fire is in the powder run; And such a smokè gan outwend Out of the foulè trompès end, Black, blue, greenish, swartish, red, As doth where that men melt lead, Lo, all on high from the tuwell.2 And thereto one thing saw I well— That the further that it ran The greater waxen it began, As doth the river from a well; And it stank as the pit of Hell. Alas, thus was their shame y-rung, And guilteless, on every tongue.
Then came the thirdè company, And gan up to the dais to hie; And down on knees they fell anon, And saiden, "We been every one Folk that have full truely Deservèd famè rightfully,
And prayed you it might be know Right as it is, and forthe blow."
I grant," quoth she; "for now me list3 That your good workès shall be wist ;4 And yet ye shall have better los,5 Right in despite of all your foes, Than worthy is, and that anon.
2 Funnel: French tuyau, nozzle. 5 Praise.
1 Praise. 3 Ceased. 8 Bow.
Let now," quoth she, "thy trompè gone, Thou Eolus, that is so black; And out thine other trompè take, That hight Laud,1 and blow it so That through the world' their fame go, All easily and not too fast,
That it be knowen at the last."
"Full gladly, lady mine," he said; And out his trump of gold he brayed Anon, and set it to his mouth, And blew it east, and west, and south, And north, as loud as any thunder, That every wight hath of it wonder : So broad it ran or that it stent.3 And, certes, all the breath that went Out of his trumpès mouth y-smelled1 As men a pot full of balm held Among a basket full of roses : This favour did he to their loses.5 And right with this I gan espy There came the fouerth 2 company,- But certain they were wonder few,- And gon to standen on a rew, And saiden," Certes, lady bright, We have done well with all our might, But we ne keepè to have fame ; Hide our workès and our name, For Goddès love; for, certes, we Have surely done it for bounty, And for no manner other thing."
"I grant you all your asking," Quoth she; "let your works be dead." With that, about I turned my head, And saw anon the fiftè rout, That to this ladye gan lout,
And down on knees anon to fall; And to her they besoughten all To hiden their good workès eke ;9 And said they given not a leek For no fame ne such renown; For they for contemplation
And Goddès love had it y-wrought, Ne of famè would they nought.
2 The word world was pronounced sometimes as a dissyllable. 7 Look.
"What!" quoth she, "and ye be wood?1 And ween ye for to doen good
And for to have of that no fame? Have ye despite to have my name? Nay, ye shall lien2 every one. Blow thy trump, and that anon,' Quoth she, "thou Eolus, I hote; 3 And ring these folkès works by note, That all the world may of it hear!" And he gan blow their los so clear In his golden clarioun ;
Through the world went the soun All so kindly and eke so soft That their fame was blown aloft.... With that I gan about to wend; For one that stood right at my back, Me thought, full goodly to me spake, And saidè, "Friend, what is thy name? Art thou come hither to have fame?" "Nay, forsoothe, friend," quoth I; "I come not hither, graunt mercy, For no such causè, by my head. Sufficeth me, as I were dead,
That no wight have my name in hond. I wot myself best how I stond; For what I dree6 or what I think
I woll myselfè all it drink, Certain for the more part,
As far-forth as I can mine art.
Fly fro the press and dwell with soothfastness ;" Suffice unto thy good though it be small; For hoard hath hate and climbing tickleness, Press hath envy, and weal is blent over-all : Savour9 no more than thee behovè 10 shall; Rede11 well thyself that other folk canst rede; And Truth thee shall deliver, it is no drede."
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