En.Citatepedia^®.ro

Love-Despondency

Devyde my tymes and rate my wretched howres
From days to months, fro months to many yeers,
And than compare my sweetest to my sowres then
And see wich more in equall vewe appeares;
And judge that from my dayes and yeers of care
I have but howrs of comforte to compare.

Just and not muche it were, in thes extreams
To have a touche and torment of ye thought:
For any myghte that any ryght esteems
To yealde so small delyght so deerly bought;
But he that lyues unto his owne despyghte
Is not to fynde his fortune by his ryghte.

The lyfe that styll runs forth his weary wayes
With sowre to sawce the dayntyes of delyght,
And care to choak the pleasures of his dayes
And not regarde the many wronges to quyte;
No blame to houlde such ircksome tymes in hate,
As but to lose prolongs a wretched state.

And still I loathe eve to behoulde the lyghte
That shynes wthout all pleasure to myne eyes
Wth greedy wishe I wayte for wearye nyghte
Yet neither this I fynde that maye suffyse:
Not that I hould the daye for more delyghte
But that alyke I loathe both daye and nyghte.

The daye I se yeelds but increase of cares,
The nyght that should by nature serve for reste,
Agaynst his kynde denyes suche ease to spare
As pytty woulde afforde the soule opprest:
And broken sleeps oft tymes presents in syght
A dreaminge wishe beguylde with false delyghte.

This sleepe, or else what so for sweet appeers,
Is unto me but pleasures in despyghte.
The flower of age, the name of younger yeeres,
Do but usurpe the tytle of delyghte.
But careful thoughts, and Sorrowe sundry ways
Consumes my youthe before my agèd dayes.

The touch, the stynge, the torments of desyre,
To stryue beyond the compase of restraynte,
Kepte from the reache whereto it would aspyre
Geues cause (God knowes) too iust, to my coplainte:
Besydes the wronge wch worketh my distress
My meaninge is, with sylence to suppress.

Oft wth myselfe I enter in deuyse
To reconsylle these wearye thoughtes to peace;
I treate for truce, I flatter and entyce
My wranglynge wytts to work for theyr release;
But all in vayne I seek the means to fynde
That myght appease the discorde of my mynde.

For when I force a faynèd mirth to showe
And would forgett and so beguyll my greefe;
I cannot rydd my selfe of sorrowe so,
Althoughe I feed upon a false beleefe:
For inward touche of discontented mynde
Retournes my cares by course unto theyr kynde.

Wean'd from my will, and thus by tryall taughte
Howe farr to hould all fortune in regarde;
Though here I boaste of knowledge deerely boughte
Yet thys poore gayne I reape for my rewarde;
I knowe hereby to harde and prepare
A ready mynde for all assaults of care.

Whereto as one eve from the cradle borne
And not to look for better to ensue,
I yeald my selfe and wish these tymes outworne
That but remayne my torments to renewe:
And leaue to those these dayes of my despyghte
Whose better hap may lyue to more delyghte.

Finis.

poem by Sir Edward Dyer
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The Faire Amarillis

Amarillis was full fayre:
The goodlyest mayde was she
From the east unto the west
That heaven's eye could se.

To Diana at her birthe
Her parents did her geve,
All untouchte a mayden's lyfe
Durynge her dayes to lyue:

Whose beheste she constant kepte
And whollye was enclynde
To be free to get great prayse
And win eche worthye mynde.

As there was good cause enoughe
So was she honored most.
They that had her seene abroade
At home would make their boaste.

Twoe ther were that her behelde
Who woulde have done so ever,
Happye theye (ye happye thryse)
If they had done so never

Coridon and Caramell:
Who longe with deere accorde
Ledd their lyues, and neyther wisht
Of other to be lorde:

Good and sure their freendshipp was
Tyll Amarillis fyne
Had the powre, perhapps the will
The bande for to untwyne:

All the goods that eche possest
Of bodye, goodes, or mynde
Were employde to other's use
As eche by profe did fynde:

They had no cause to enuye ought
The auncyent worlde's prayse
Of Damo and of Pytheas
And others in those dayes:

But the boye, that blynded god
In great despights complaynde:
That one earthe alone they were
That his darte quyte disdaynde:

Whereupon his strongest bowe
And sharpest arrowes hente
And in Amarillis eyes
He lyghtely pighte his tente:

Where he lay, to watche both tyme
And place for his avayll:
For the wightes that wiste not yet
What foe should them assayll:

One of his two shafts was dipte
In bitter sauce as gaulle,
The other in a pleasant wyne
And poyson myxte withall

As the smacke of dyuers sauce,
So dyuerslye they wroughte:
By despayre the one to deathe
By vague hope the other broughte.

With the first was Coridon
Throughe piercèd to the herte;
Caramell wh' in his brest
Felte of the other's smarte.

Butt with gould both headed were
And both wth lyke desyre,
Faygne they would wth'in therre brest
Hyde cloase their kyndled fyre:

But wthout it must appeere
That burnte so hot wthin:
Harde it is the flame to hyde
That it no issue win.

And in tyme strange lookes began
That spronge of Jelosye;
Full of care, eche laye in wayghte
For his felowe to descrye:

In the end all freendly lookes
Betweene these freendes decayde;
Bothe were bente to please theselues
Theire freende's case nothynge wayde.

Amarillis' love was soughte
With all they could deuyse,
Yea wth all the power of man
And prayer to the skyes:

All she sawe, and herde theire moane
As Aspis dothe the charme;
By and by she bayed them both
As guyltye of theyre harme.

Now to the one she would give eare
Now put the other of,
Allurynge him by courteseye,
And tauntynge him by scoff.

But that trust by tryalls paste
Made them theire doome suspende;
And indeed she usèd there
Where passione did offend.

He had neede of store of tyme
That would his pen prepare,
To sett forth theire agonyes
Theire dredd hope and feare.

Butt in vayne they spente theire tyme,
Theire labor all was lost:
She was farthest from theire need
Where they foreweenèd most.

Coridon waxte pall and leane
His younger heares torned hore;
Feates of armes, the horse and hauke
He left and used no more.

He had founde that Amarill
Soughte glorye more than love;
That she forcèd not his harmes
Her bewtye's power to prove.

Yet he could not leave to love
Butt yeeldynge to despayre,
Rente his hearte, his corpes fell downe
His goaste fledd to the ayre:

Caramell, thoughte women kynde,
Was apte to change and bowe;
And beleeued, to please him selfe
What fancye did allowe.

Butt beleefe ne makes the cause
Nor weauynge, workes the webb;
In the tyde his trauayll came
He tornèd in the ebb:

Att the last his vayne hope, him
No longer coulde sustayne;
In his longynge he consumde,
Lyfe coulde not him attayne.

Amaryllis herde of this
And pyttye moude wth all,
Muche to rue so harde a happ
One such faythe should befall.

To Diana strayghte she hyghes
Whome wayted one she founde,
With a trayne of all the dames
Whose chaste names Fame did sounde:

Unto her in humble wyse
She sayde she came to sue
For that these to lyuyng thynges
Myghte be transformde a newe;

In her armes the goddess mylde
Her darlynge softe did strayne:
What is that that thou (qth she)
Of me mayste not obtayne?

There withall Sr Caramel
A yellow flowre became:
Sweete of sente and muche esteemde
And Harte's ease caulde by name.

Amarillis pluckte the flowre
And ware it in her heade:
Sometymes she layde it in her lapp,
Sometymes upone her bedd.

Caramell, O happye flowre!
O most unhappy man!
In thy lyfe thou hadst thy deathe,
In thy deathe thy lyfe began.

Coridon turnde to an owlle
Fledd to the wildernes:
Never flockes, butt leades his lyfe
In solytarynes:

Nor his eyes can yet behould
The deare lyghte of the sun:
Butt aloofe he stealles his flyghte
And in the darke dothe run.

Amaryllis to the woode
Att sometyme will repayre,
And delyghte to here the laye
And tune of his despayre.

Well I wot what here is ment
And thoughe a talle yt seeme,
Shadowes haue their substance bye
And so of this, esteeme.

Ye that chaunce this for to heer
And do not prayse their speede
Give them thankes, for you by them
Are warnde to take heede.

Finis.

poem by Sir Edward Dyer
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I would and I would not

I woulde it were not as it is
Or that I cared not yea or no;
I woulde I thoughte it not amiss,
Or that amiss mighte blamles goo;
I woulde I were, yet woulde I not,
I mighte be gladd yet coulde I not.

I coulde desire to know the meane
Or that the meane desyre soughte;
I woulde I coulde my fancye weane
From suche sweet joyes as Love hathe wroughte;
Onlye my wishe is leaste of all
A badge whereby to know a thrall.

O happy man whiche doste aspire
To that whiche semeleye thou dost crave!
Thrise happy man, if thy desyre
Maye winn with hope good happ to have;
But woe to me unhappy man
Whom hope nor happ acquiet cann.

The budds of hope are starvde with feare
And still his foe presents his face;
My state, if hope the palme shoulde beare
Unto my happ woulde be disgrace.
As diamond in woode were set
Or Irus raggs in goulde I frett.

For loe my tyrèd shoulders beare
Desyre's weery beatinge winges;
And at my feet a clogg I weare
Tyde one wth selfe disdayning stringes.
My wings to mounte aloft make hast.
My clog doth sinke me downe as faste.

This is our state, loe thus we stande
They ryse to fall that climbe to hye;
The boye that fled kynge Minos lande
Maye learne the wise more love to flye.
What gaynde his poynte agaynste the sonne
He drownde in seas himself, that wonne.

Yet Icarus more happy was,
By present deathe his cares to ende
Than I, pore mann, on whom alas
Tenn thousande deathes theire paynes do sende.
Now greife, now hope, now loue, now spyghte
Longe sorrows mixte withe shorte delyghte.

The pheere and fellowe of thy smarte
Prometheus I am indeede;
Upon whose ever livinge harte
The greedy gryphes do daylye feede;
But he that lyfts his harte so hye
Muste be contente to pine and dye.

Finis.

poem by Sir Edward Dyer
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The Not-Browne Mayd

'Be it ryght or wrong, these men among
On women do complayne;
Affyrmynge this, how that it is
A labour spent in vayne
To love them wele; for never a dele
They love a man agayne:
For late a man do what he can
Theyr favour to attayne,
Yet yf a newe do them persue,
Theyr furst true lover than
Laboureth for nought; for from her thought
He is a banyshed man.'

'I say nat nay, but that all day
It is bothe writ and sayd,
That woman's faith is as who sayth,
All utterly decayd;
But neverthelesse, ryght good wytnesse
In this case might be layd,
That they love true, and continue:
Recorde the Not-Brown Mayde;
Which, when her love came, her to prove,
To her to make his mone,
Wolde nat depart, for in her hart
She loved but hym alone.'

'Than betwaine us late us dyscus,
What was all the manere
Betwayne them two; we wyll also
Telle all the payne and fere
That she was in. Nowe I begyn,
So that ye me answere:
Wherefore all ye that present be,
I pray you gyve an eare.
I am the knyght, I come by nyght
As secret as I can,
Sayinge, 'Alas! thus standeth the case,
I am a banyshed man.''

She.

And I your wyll, for to fulfyll
In this wyll nat refuse,
Trustyng to shewe, in wordes fewe,
That men have an yll use,
(To theyr own shame) women to blame,
And causelesse them accuse:
Therfore to you I answere nowe,
All women to excuse, -
'Myn own hart dere, with you what chere?
I pray you telle anone;
For in my mynde, of al mankynde,
I love but you alone.'

He.

'It standeth so: a dede is do,
Whereof grete harme shall growe.
My destiny is for to dy
A shamefull deth, I trowe,
Or elles to fle: the one must be:
None other way I knowe,
But to withdrawe, as an outlawe,
And take me to my bowe.
Wherefore, adue, my owne hart true,
None other rede I can;
For I must to the grene wode go,
Alone, a banyshed man.'

She.

'O Lord, what is thys worldys blysse,
That changeth as the mone!
My somers day in lusty May
Is derked before the none.
I here you saye farewell: Nay, nay,
We depart nat so sone.
Why say ye so? wheder wyll ye go?
Alas, what have ye done?
All my welfare to sorrowe and care
Sholde chaunge, yf ye were gone:
For in my mynde, of all mankynde
I love but you alone.'

He.

'I can beleve it shall you greve,
And somewhat you dystrayne;
But aftyrwarde your paynes harde,
Within a day or twayne,
Shall sone aslake, and ye shall take
Comfort to you agayne.
Why sholde ye ought? for, to make thought
Your labur were in vayne:
And thus I do, and pray you to,
As hartely as I can:
For I must to the grene wode go,
Alone, a banyshed man.'

She.

'Now syth that ye have shewed to me
The secret of your mynde,
I shall be playne to you agayne,
Lyke as ye shall me fynde:
Syth it is so that ye wyll go,
I wolle not leve behynde;
Shall never be sayd the Not-browne Mayd
Was to her love unkynde.
Make you redy, for so am I,
Although it were anone;
For in my mynd, of all mankynde,
I love but you alone.'

He.

'Yet I you rede to take good hede
What men wyll thynke, and say;
Of yonge and olde it shall be tolde,
That ye be gone away
Your wanton wyll for to fulfill,
In grene wode you to play;
And that ye myght from your delyght
No lenger make delay.
Rather than ye sholde thus for me
Be called an yll woman,
Yet wolde I to the grene wode go,
Alone, a banyshed man.'

She.

'Though it be songe of olde and yonge
That I sholde be to blame,
Theyrs be the charge that speke so large
In hurtynge of my name.
For I wyll prove that faythfulle love
It is devoyd of shame,
In your dystresse and hevynesse,
To part with you the same;
And sure all tho that do not so,
True lovers are they none;
For in my mynde, of al mankynde
I love but you alone.'

He.

'I counceyle you remember howe
It is no maydens lawe,
Nothynge to dout, but to renne out
To wode with an outlawe.
For ye must there in your hand bere
A bowe, redy to drawe,
And as a thefe thus must ye lyve,
Ever in drede and awe;
Whereby to you grete harme myght growe;
Yet I had lever than
That I had to the grene wode go
Alone, a banyshed man.'

She.

'I thinke nat nay; but as ye say,
It is no maydens lore;
But love may make me for your sake,
To come on fote to hunt and shote,
To gete us mete in store;
For so that I your company
May have, I aske no more;
From which to part, it maketh my hart
As colde as ony stone:
For in my mynde, of all mankynde
I love but you alone.'

He.

'For an outlawe this is the lawe,
That men hym take and bynde,
Without pyte hanged to be,
And waver with the wynde.
If I had nede, (as God forbede!
What rescous could ye finde?
Forsoth, I trowe, ye and your bowe
For fere wolde drawe behynde:
And no merveyle; for lytel avayle
Were in your counceyle than;
Wherefore I wyll to the grene wode goe
Alone, a banyshed man.'

She.

'Ryght wele knowe ye that women be
But feble for to fyght;
No womanhede it is indede
To be bolde as a knyght.
Yet in suche fere yf that ye were,
With enemyes day and nyght,
I wolde withstande wyth bowe in hande,
To greve them as I myght;
And you to save, as women have,
From dethe 'men' many one:
For in my mynde, of al mankynde
I love but you alone.'

He.

'Yet take gude hede; for ever I drede
That ye coude nat sustayne
The thornie wayes, the depe valeies,
The snowe, the frost, the rayne,
The colde, the hete; for, dry or wete,
We must lodge on the playne;
And us above none other rofe
But a brake bush or twayne,
Which sone sholde greve you, I beleve;
And ye wolde gladly than
That I had to the grene wode goe
Alone, a banyshed man.'

She.

'Syth I have here bene partynere
With you of joy and blysse,
I must also parte of your wo
Endure, as reson is;
Yet am I sure of one pleasure,
And shortely, it is this:
That where ye be, me seemeth, parde,
I coude nat fare amysse.
Without more speche, I you beseche
That we were soon agone;
For in my mynde, of all mankynde
I love but you alone.'

He.

'If ye goo thyder, ye must consyder
When ye have lust to dyne,
There shal no mete be for you gete,
Nor drinke, bere, ale, ne wyne;
Ne shetes clene to lye betwene,
Made of threde and twyne;
None other house but leves and bowes
To cover your hed and myne.
O myne harte swete, this evyll dyete
Sholde make you pale and wan:
Wherefore I wyll to the grene wode go,
Alone, a banyshed man.'

She.

'Among the wylde dere, such an archere
As men say that ye be
Ne may nat fayle of good vitayle,
Where is so grete plente;
And water clere of the ryvere
Shall be full swete to me,
With which in hele I shall ryght wele
Endure, as ye shal see;
And or we go, a bedde or two
I can provyde anone;
For in my mynde, of all mankynde
I love but you alone.'

He.

'Lo, yet before, ye must do more
Yf ye wyll go with me,
As cut your here up by your ere,
Your kyrtel by the kne;
With bowe in hande, for to withstande
Your enemyes, yf nede be;
And this same nyght, before daylyght,
To wode-warde wyll I fle;
Yf ye wyll all this fulfill,
Do it shortely as ye can:
Els wyll I to the grene wode goe
Alone, a banyshed man.'

She.

'I shall as nowe do more for you
Than longeth to womanhede,
To shorte my here, a bow to bere,
To shote in tyme of nede.
O my sweet mother, before all other,
For you have I most drede!
But now, adue! I must ensue
Where Fortune doth me lede.
All this make ye; and let us fle;
The day cometh fast upon;
For in my mynde, of all mankynde
I love but you alone.'

He.

'Nay, nay, nat so: ye shall nat go;
And I shall tell ye why; --
Your appetyght is to be lyght
Of love, I wele espie:
For lyke as ye have sayed to me,
In lyke wyse, hardely,
Ye wolde answere, whosoever it were,
In way of company.
It is sayd of olde, Sone hote, sone colde,
And so is a woman;
Wherefore I to the wode wyll goe,
Alone, a banyshed man.'

She.

'Yf ye take hede, it is no nede
Such wordes to say be me;
For oft ye prayed, and longe assayed,
Or I you loved, parde;
And though that I of auncestry
A barons daughter be,
Yet have you proved howe I you loved,
A squyer of lowe degre;
And ever shall, whatso befall,
To dy therfore anone;
For in my mynde, of al mankynde
I love but you alone.'

He.

'A baron's chylde to be begyled,
It were a cursed dede!
To be felawe with an outlawe,
Almighty God forbede!
Yet beter were the pore squyere
Alone to forest yede,
Than ye sholde saye another day,
That by my cursed dede
Ye were betrayed; wherefore, good mayd,
The best rede that I can
Is that I to the grene wode go,
Alone, a banyshed man.'

She.

'Whatever befall, I never shall
Of this thyng you upbrayd;
But yf ye go, and leve me so,
Then have ye me betrayd.
Remember ye wele, howe that ye dele,
For yf ye, as ye sayd,
Be so unkynde to leve behynde
Your love, the Not-Browne Mayd,
Trust me truly, that I shall dy,
Some after ye be gone;
For in my mynde, of al mankynde
I love but you alone.'

He.

'Yf that ye went, ye sholde repent,
For in the forest nowe
I have purvayed me of a mayd,
Whom I love more than you:
Another fayrere than e'er ye were,
I dare it wele avowe;
And of you bothe eche sholde be worthe
With other, as I trowe.
It were myne ese to lyve in pese;
So wyll I, yf I can;
Wherefore I to the wode wyll go
Alone, a banyshed man.'

She.

'Though in the wode I undyrstode
Ye had a paramour,
All this may nought remove my thought,
But that I wyll be your;
And she shall fynde me soft and kynde,
And courteys every hour,
Glad to fulfyll all that she wylle
Commaunde me, to my power;
For had ye, lo, an hundred mo,
'Of them I wolde be one.'
For in my mynde, of all mankynde
I love but you alone.'

He.

'Myne own dere love, I see the prove
That ye be kynde and true;
Of mayde and wyfe, in all my lyfe
The best that ever I knewe.
Be mery and glad, be no more sad,
The case is chaunged newe;
For it were ruthe, that for your truthe
Ye sholde have cause to rewe.
Be nat dismayed: whatsoever I sayd
To you, whan I began,
I wyll nat to the grene wode goe;
I am no banishyd man.'

She.

'These tydings be more gladd to me
Than to be made a quene,
Yf I were sure they sholde endure;
But is often sene,
Whan men wyll breke promyse, they speke
The wordes on the splene.
Ye shape some wyle me to begyle,
And stele from me, I wene;
Than were the case worse than it was,
And I more wo-begone;
For in my mynde, of al mankynde
I love but you alone.'

He.

'Ye shal nat nede further to drede:
I wyll nat dysparage
You, (God defend!) syth ye descend
Of so grete a lynage.
Now undyrstande, to Westmarlande,
Which is myne herytage,
I wyll you brynge, and with a rynge,
By way of maryage,
I wyll you take, and lady make,
As shortely as I can:
Thus have you won an erlys son,
And not a banyshed man.'

Author.

Here may ye se, that women be
In love meke, kynde, and stable:
Late never man reprove them than,
Or call them variable;
But rather pray God that we may
To them be comfortable,
Which sometyme proveth such as he loveth,
Yf they be charytable.
For syth men wolde that women sholde
Be meke to them each one,
Moche more ought they to God obey,
And serve but hym alone.

poem by Anonymous Olde English
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The man of Woe

The mann whose thoughtes agaynste him do conspyre,
One whom Mishapp her storye dothe depaynt,
The mann of woe, the matter of desier,
Free of the dead, that lives in endles plaint,
His spirit am I, whiche in this deserte lye,
To rue his case, whose cause I cannot flye.

Despayre my name, whoe never findes releife,
Frended of none, but to my selfe a foe;
An idle care, mayntaynde by firme beleife
That prayse of faythe shall throughe my torments growe,
And counte those hopes, that others hartes do ease,
Butt base conceites the common sense to please.

For sure I am I never shall attayne
The happy good from whence my joys aryse;
Nor haue I powre my sorrows to refrayne
But wayle the wante, when noughte ellse maye suffyse;
Whereby my lyfe the shape of deathe muste beare,
That deathe which feeles the worst that lyfe doth feare.

But what auayles withe tragicall complaynte,
Not hopinge healpe, the Furyes to awake?
Or why shoulde I the happy mynds aquaynte
With doleful tunnes, theire settled peace to shake?
All ye that here behoulde Infortune's feare,
May judge noe woe may withe my gref compare.

Finis.

poem by Sir Edward Dyer
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Of Too Much Spekynge Or Bablynge

He that his tunge can temper and refrayne
And asswage the foly of hasty langage
Shall kepe his mynde from trouble, sadnes and payne,
And fynde therby great ease and avauntage;
Where as a hasty speker falleth in great domage
Peryll and losse, in lyke wyse as the pye
Betrays hir byrdes by hir chatrynge and crye....

Is it not better for one his tunge to kepe
Where as he myght (perchaunce) with honestee,
Than wordes to speke whiche make hym after wepe
For great losse folowynge wo and adversyte?
A worde ones spokyn revoked can not be,
Therfore thy fynger lay before thy types,
For a wyse mannys tunge without advysement trypes.

He that wyll answere of his owne folysshe brayne
Before that any requyreth his counsayle
Shewith him selfe and his hasty foly playne,
Wherby men knowe his wordes of none avayle.
Some have delyted in mad blaborynge and frayle
Whiche after have supped bytter punysshement
For their wordes spoken without advysement....

Many have ben whiche sholde have be counted wyse
Sad and discrete, and right well sene in scyence;
But all they have defyled with this one vyse
Of moche spekynge: o cursyd synne and offence
Ryte it is that so great inconvenience
So great shame, contempt rebuke and vylany
Sholde by one small member came to the hole body.

Let suche take example by the chatrynge pye,
Whiche doth hyr nest and byrdes also betraye
By hyr grete chatterynge, clamoure dyn and crye,
Ryght so these folys theyr owne foly bewraye.
But touchynge wymen of them I wyll nought say,
They can not speke, but ar as coy and styll
As the horle wynde or clapper of a mylle.

poem by Sebastian Brant
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On The Death Of Sir Tho: Peltham

Meerly for man's death to mourne
Were to repine that man was borne.
When weake old age doth fall asleepe
Twere foule ingratitude to weepe:
Those threads alone should pull out tears
Whose sodayne cracke breaks off some years.
Heere tis not so: full distance heere
Sunders the cradle from the beere.
A fellow-traveller he hath beene
So long with Time: so worne to skinne,
That were hee not just now bereft,
His Body first his soule had left,
Threescore and tenne is Nature's date,
Our journey when wee come in late.
Beyond that time the overplus
Was granted not to him, but us.
For his own sake the Sun nere stood,
But only for the peoples good.
Even so his breath held out by aire
Which poore men uttered in theyr prayer:
And as his goods were lent to give,
So were his dayes that they might live,
Soe ten years more to him were told
Enough to make another olde.
O that Death would still doe soe;
Or else on good men would bestow
That wast of years which unthrifts fling
Away by theyr distempering,
That some might thrive by this decay
As well as that of land and clay.
'Twas now well done: no cause to moane
On such a seasonable stone.
Where death is but an Host, we sinne
Not bidding welcome to his Inne.
Sleepe, sleepe, thy rest, good man, embrace;
Sleepe, sleepe, th' ast trode a weary race.

poem by William Strode
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The Universal Shyp

Come to, Companyons: ren: tyme it is to rowe:
Our Carake fletis: the se is large and wyde
And depe Inough: a pleasaunt wynde doth blowe.
Prolonge no tyme, our Carake doth you byde,
Our felawes tary for you on every syde.
Hast hyther, I say, ye folys naturall,
Howe oft shall I you unto my Navy call?

Ye have one confort, ye shall nat be alone:
Your company almoste is infynyte;
For nowe alyve ar men but fewe or none
That of my shyp can red hym selfe out quyte.
A fole in felawes hath pleasour and delyte.
Here can none want, for our proclamacion
Extendyth farre: and to many a straunge nacyon.

Both yonge and olde, pore man, and estate:
The folysshe moder: hir doughter by hir syde,
Ren to our Navy, ferynge to come too late.
No maner of degre is in the worlde wyde,
But that for all theyr statelynes and pryde
As many as from the way of wysdome tryp
Shall have a rowme and place within my shyp.

My folysshe felawes therfore I you exort
Hast to our Navy, for tyme it is to rowe:
Nowe must we leve eche sympyll haven and porte,
And sayle to that londe where folys abound and flow;
For whether we aryve at London or Bristowe,
Or any other Haven within this our londe,
We folys ynowe shall fynde alway at honde....

Our frayle bodyes wandreth in care and payne
And lyke to botes troubled with tempest sore
From rocke to rocke cast in this se mundayne,
Before our iyen beholde we ever more
The deth of them that passed are before.
Alas mysfortune us causeth oft to rue
Whan to vayne thoughtis our bodyes we subdue.

We wander in more dout than mortall man can thynke.
And oft by our foly and wylfull neglygence
Our shyp is in great peryll for to synke.
So sore ar we overcharged with offence
We see the daunger before our owne presence
Of straytis, rockis, and bankis of sonde full hye,
Yet we procede to wylfull jeopardye.

We dyvers Monsters within the se beholde
Redy to abuse or to devour mankynde,
As Dolphyns, whallys, and wonders many folde,
And oft the Marmaydes songe dullyth our mynde
That to all goodnes we ar made dull and blynde;
The wolves of these oft do us moche care,
Yet we of them can never well beware....

About we wander in tempest and Tourment;
What place is sure, where Foles may remayne
And fyx theyr dwellynge sure and parmanent?
None certainly: The cause thereof is playne.
We wander in the se for pleasour, bydynge payne,
And though the haven of helth be in our syght
Alas we fle from it with all our myght.

poem by Sebastian Brant
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When Christ Was Born Of Mary Fre

Christo paremus canticam,
In excelsis gloria.

When Cryst was born of Mary fre
In Bedlem in that fayre cyté,
Angellis songen with myrth and gle:
In excelsis gloria.

Herdmen beheld thes angellis bryght,
To hem apperyd wyth gret lyght,
And seyd: 'Goddys Sone is born this nyght;
In excelsis gloria.'

A king ys comyn to save kynde,
In the Scriptur as we fynde;
Therfore this song have we in mynde:
In excelsis gloria.

Then, Lord, for thy gret grace,
Graunt us in blys to se thy face,
Where we may syng to the solas:
In excelsis gloria.

poem by Anonymous Americas
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Washedaye's Metaphysikale. For Tara.

Myne mynde to me a tumbledryere ysse,
where muste I watche my scrumpled, worn-oute thoughtes
seeke their redemptione in Hys watere’s grace;
thynkes-bubbles that do forme and burste in ayre,
thysse mynde’s so constant turmoyle withouten cease;

O maye I humble sitte and contemplayte
the roundel windowe of drye thoughte contained
and I, the watchere of myne turbulence,
Thy watchere aye; ’til time and change begone.

poem by Michael Shepherd
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A Robyn, Jolly Robyn

A Robyn,
Jolly Robyn,
Tell me how thy leman doeth,
And thou shalt knowe of myn.

'My lady is unkynde, perde.'
Alack! why is she so?
'She loveth an other better than me;
And yet she will say no.'

I fynde no such doublenes;
I fynde women true;
My lady loveth me dowtles,
And will change for no newe.

'Thou art happy while that deeth last:
But I say, as I fynde,
That women's love is but a blast,
And torneth with the wynde.'

Suche folkes can take no harme by love,
That can abide their torn.
'But I alas can no way prove
In love, but lake and morne.'

But if thou wilt avoyde thy harme,
Lerne this lessen of me:
At others fieres thy selfe to warme,
And let them warme with the.

poem by Anonymous Olde English
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Sonnet LXXXIII

MY hungry eyes, through greedy couetize,
Still to behold the obiect of theyr payne:
with no contentment can themselues suffize,
but hauing pine, and hauing not complayne
For lacking it, they cannot lyfe sustayne,
and seeing it, they gaze on it the more:
in theyr amazement lyke Marcissus vayne
whose eyes him staru'd: so plenty makes me pore.
Yet are myne eyes so filled with the store
of that fayre sight, that nothing else they brooke:
but loath the things which they did like before,
and can no more endure on them to looke.
All this worlds glory seemeth vayne to me,
and all theyr shewes but shadowes sauing she.

poem by Edmund Spenser
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The Bowge of Courte

In Autumpne, whan the sonne in vyrgyne
By radyante hete enryped hath our corne,
Whan Luna, full of mutabylyte,
As Emperes the dyademe hath worne
Of our pole artyke, smylynge halfe in scorne
At our foly and our unstedfastnesse,
The tyme whan Mars to werre hym dyde dres,

pole artyke: Arcturus of the Corona Borealis
I, callynge to mynde the great auctoryte
Of poetes olde, whyche full craftely
Under as coverte termes as coude be,
Can touche a troughte and cloke it subtylly
Wyth fresshe utteraunce full sentencyonsly,
Dyverse in style, some spared not vyce to wrythe,
Some of moralyte nobly dyde endyte,

Wherby I rede theyr renome and theyr fame
Maye never dye bute evermore endure.
I was sore moved to a force the same,
But Ignoraunce full soone dyde me dyscure
And shewed that in this arte I was not sure,
For to illumyne she sayde I was to dulle,
Avysynge me my penne awaye to pulle

And not to wrythe, for he so wyll atteyne,
Excedynge ferther than his connynge is,
His hede maye be harde, but feble is his brayne!
Yet have I knowen suche er this;
But of reproche surely he maye not mys
That clymmeth hyer than he may fotynge have;
What and he slyde downe, who shall hym save?

Thus up and down my mynde was drawen and cast
That I ne wyste what to do was beste;
Soo sore enwered that I was, at the laste,
Enforsed to slepe and for to take some reste,
And to lye downe as soone as I me dreste.
At Harwyche Porte, slumbrynge as I laye
In myne hostes house, called Powers Keye,

Me thoughte I sawe a shyppe, goodly of sayle,
Come saylyng forth into that haven brood,
Her takelynge ryche and of hye apparayle;
She kyste an anker and there she laye at rode.
Marchauntes her borded to see what she had lode.
Therein they founde Royall marchaundyse,
Fraghted with plesure of what ye coude devyse.

But than I thoughte I wolde not dwell behynde,
Amonge all other I put myselfe in prece.
Than there coude I none aquentaunce fynde;
There was moche noyse, anone one cryed, cese!
Sharpely commaundynge eche man holde hys pece.
Maysters, he sayde, the shyp that ye here see,
The Bowge of Courte it hyghte for certeynte;

The awnner thereof is lady of estate,
Whoos name to tell is Dame Saunce Pere.
Her marchaundyse is ryche and fortunate,
But who wyll have it muste paye therfore dere;
This royall chaffre that is shypped here
Is called favore-to-stonde-in-her-good-grace.
Than sholde ye see there pressynge in a pace

Of one and other that wolde this lady see,
Whiche sat behynde a traves of sylke fyne,
Of golde of tessew the fynest that myghte be,
In a trone whiche fer clerer dyde shyne
Than Phebus in his spere celestyne,
Whoos beaute, honoure, goodly porte,
I have to lytyll connynge to reporte.

But of eche thynge there as I take hede,
Among all other was wrytten in her trone
In golde letters, this worde, whiche I dyde rede:
Garder le fortune que est mauelz et bone.
And as I stode redynge this verse myselfe allone,
Her chyef gentylwoman, daunger by her name,
Gave me a taunte, and sayde I was to blame

To he so perte to prese so proudly uppe.
She sayde she trowed that I had eten sause;
She asked yf ever I dranke of saucys cuppe.
And I than softly answered to that clause,
That, so to saye, I had gyven her no cause.
Than asked she me, Syr, so God the spede,
What is thy name? and I sayde it was Drede.

What movyd the, quod she, hydder to come?
Forsoth, quod I, to bye some of youre ware.
And with that worde on me she gave a glome
With browes bente and gan on me to stare
Full daynnously, and fro me she dyde fare,
Levynge me stondynge as a mased man,
To whome there came another gentylwoman.

Desyre her name was, and so she me tolde,
Sayenge to me, Broder, be of good chere,
Abasshe you not, but hardely be bolde,
Avaunce your selfe to aproche and come nere.
What though our chaffer he never so dere,
Yet I avyse you to speke for ony drede;
Who spareth to speke, in fayth, he spareth to spede.

Maystres, quod I, I have none aquentaunce
That wyll for me be medyatoure and mene;
And this an other, I have but smale substaunce.
Pece, quod Desyre, ye speke not worth a bene!
Yf ye have not, in fayth, I wyll you lene
A precyous jewell, no rycher in this londe:
Bone aventure have here now in your honde.

Shyfte now therwith, let see, as ye can,
In Bowge of Courte chevysaunce to make;
For I dare saye that there nys erthly man
But, and he can Bone aventure take,
There can no favour nor frendshyp hym forsake.
Bone aventure may brynge you in suche case
That ye shall stonde in favoure and in grace.

But of one thynge I werne you er I goo:
She that styreth the shyp, make her your frende.
Maystres, quod I, I praye you tell me why soo,
And how I maye that waye and meanes fynde.
Forsothe, quod she, how ever blowe the wynde,
Fortune gydeth and ruleth all oure shyppe.
Whome she hateth shall over the see boorde skyp.

Whome she loveth, of all plesyre is ryche
Whyles she laugheth and hath luste for to playe,
Whome she hateth she casteth in the dyche,
For whan she fronneth, she thynketh to make a fray;
She cheryssheth him, and hym she casseth awaye.
Alas, quod I, how myghte I have her sure?
In fayth, quod she, by bone aventure.

Thus in a rowe of martchauntes a grete route
Suwed to Fortune that she would be theyre frynde.
They thronge in fast and flocked her aboute,
And I with them prayed her to have in mynde.
She promysed to us all she wolde be kynde;
Of Bowge of Court she asketh what we wold have,
And we asked favoure, and favour she us gave. 120

Thus endeth the prologue; and begynneth
the Bowge of Courte brevely compyled.

DREDE

THE sayle is up, Fortune ruleth our helme,
We wante no wynde to passe now over all;
Favoure we have toughther than ony elme,
That wyll abyde and never frome us fall.
But under hony ofte tyme lyeth bytter gall,
For as me thoughte in our shyppe I dyde see
Full subtyll persones in nombre foure and thre.

The fyrste was Favell, full of flatery,
Wyth fables false, that well coude fayne a tale;
The seconde was Suspecte whiche that dayly
Mysdempte eche man, with face deedly and pale;
And Harvy Hafter, that well coude picke a male;
With other foure of theyr affynyte:
Dysdayne, Ryotte, Dyssymuler, Subtylte.

Fortune theyr frende with whome oft she dyde daunce:
They coude not faile, thei thought, they were so sure.
And oftentymes I wolde myselfe avaunce
With them to make solace and pleasure;
But my dysporte they coude not well endure;
They sayde they hated for to dele with Drede.
Than Favell gan wyth fayre speche me to fede.

FAVELL

Noo thynge erthely that I wonder so sore
As of your connynge that is so excellent;
Deynte to have with us suche one in store,
So vertuously that hath his dayes spente.
Fortune to you gyftes of grace hath lente:
Loo, what it is a man to have connynge!
All erthly tresoure it is surmountynge.

Ye be an apte man, as ony can be founde,
To dwell with us and serve my ladyes grace.
Ye be to her, yea, worth a thousande pounde;
I herde her speke of you within shorte space,
Whan there were dyverse that sore dyde you manace.
And though I say it I was myselfe your frende,
For here be dyverse to you that be unkynde.
But this one thynge ye maye be sure of me,
For by that lorde that bought dere all mankynde,
I can not flater, I muste be playne to the.
And ye nede ought, man, shewe to me your mynde,
For ye have me whome faythfull ye shall fynde;
Whyles I have ought, by God, thou shalt not lacke,
And yf nede be, a bolde worde I dare cracke.

Nay, naye, be sure, whyles I am on your syde
Ye maye not fall, truste me, ye maye not fayle.
Ye stonde in favoure and Fortune is your gyde,
And as she wyll so shall our grete shyppe sayle.
Thyse lewde cok wattes shall nevermore prevayle
Ageynste you hardely; therefore be not afrayde,
Farewell tyll soone, but no worde that I sayde.

DREDE

Than thanked I hym for his grete gentylnes,
But as me thoughte he ware on hym a cloke
That lyned was with doubtfuIl doublenes.
Me thoughte of wordes that he had full a poke,
His stomak stuffed ofte tymes dyde reboke.
Suspycyon, me thoughte, mette hym at a brayde,
And I drewe nere to herke what they two sayde.

In fayth, quod Suspecte, spake Drede no worde of me?
Why, what than? wylte thou lete men to speke?
He sayth he can not well accorde with the.
Twyst, quod Suspecte, goo playe, hym I ne reke!
By Cryste, quod Favell, Drede is soleyne freke.
What, lete us holde him up, man, for a whyle.
Ye, soo, quod Suspecte, he maye us bothe begyle.

And whan he came walkynge soberly,
Wyth 'Whom' and 'Ha' and with a croked loke,
Me thoughte his hede was full of gelousy,
His eyen rollynge, his hondes faste they quoke;
And to mewarde the strayte waye he toke.
God spede, broder, to me quod he than,
And thus to talke with me he began:

Ye remembre the gentylman ryghte nowe
That commaunde with you, me thought, a praty space?
Beware of him, for I make God avowe,
He wyll begyle you and speke fayre to your face.
Ye never dwelte in suche an other place,
For here is none that dare well other truste;
But I wolde telle you a thynge, and I durste.

Spake he, a fayth, no worde to you of me?
I wote and he dyde ye wolde me telle.
I have a favoure to you, wherof it be
That I muste shewe you moche of my counselle;
But I wonder what the devyll of helle
He sayde of me, whan he with you dyde talke;
By myne avyse use not with him to walke.

The soveraynst thynge that ony man maye have
Is lytyll to saye and moche to here and see;
For but I trusted you so God me save,
I wolde noo thynge so playne be.
To you oonly, me thynke, I durste shryve me,
For now am I plenarely dysposed
To shewe you thynges that may not be disclosed.

DREDE

Than I assured hym my fydelyte,
His counseyle secrete never to dyscure,
Yf he coude fynde in herte to truste me.
Els I prayed hym with all my besy cure
To kepe it hymselfe, for than he myghte be sure
That noo man erthly coude hym bewreye.
Whyles of his mynde it were lockte with the keye.

By God, quod he, this and thus it is,
And of his mynde he shewed me all and some.
Fare well, quod he, we wyll talke more of this.
Soo he departed there he wolde be come.
I dare not speke, I promysed to be dome.
But as I stode musynge in my mynde,
Harvy Hafter came lepynge, lyghte as lynde.

Upon his breste he bare a versynge boxe;
His throte was clere and lustely coude fayne;
Me thoughte his gowne was all furred wyth foxe;
And ever he sange, Sythe I am no thynge playne.
To kepe him frome pykynge, it was a grete payne;
He gased on me with his gotyshe berde;
Whan I loked on hym, my purse was half aferde.

HERVY HAFTER

Syr, God you save, why loke you so sadde?
VVhat thynge is that I maye do for you?
A wonder thynge that ye waxe not madde.
For and I studye sholde as ye doo nowe,
My wytte wolde waste, I make God avowe.
Tell me your mynde, me thynke ye make a verse,
I coude it skan and ye wolde it reherse.

But to the poynte shortely to procede,
Where hathe your dwellynge ben, er ye cam here?
For as I trowe, I have sene you in dede
Er this, whan that ye made me royall chere.
Holde up the helme, loke up and lete God stere:
I wolde be mery that wynde that ever blowe,
Heve and how, rombelow, Row the bote, Norman, rowe!

Prynces of youghte can ye synge by rote?
Or Shall I sayle wyth you a felashyp assaye?
For on the booke I can not synge a note,
Wolde to God it wolde please you some daye
A balade boke before me for to laye,
And leme me to synge Re my fa sol!
And whan I fayle bobbe me on the noll.

Loo, what is to you a pleasure grete
To have that connynge and wayes that ye have;
By Goddis soule, I wonder how ye gete
Soo greate pleasyre or who to you it gave.
Syr, pardone me, I am an homely knave
To be with you thus perte and thus bolde;
But ye be welcome to our housholde.

And I dare saye there is no man hereinne
But wolde be glad of your company:
I wyste never man that so soone coude wynne
The favoure that ye have with my lady.
I praye to God that it maye never dy;
It is your fortune for to have that grace,
As I be saved, it is a wonder case.

For as for me, I served here many a daye,
And yet unneth I can have my lyvynge—
But I requyre you no worde that I saye.
For, and I knowe ony erthly thynge
That is agayne you, ye shall have wetynge;
And ye be welcome, syr, so God me save,
I hope here after a frende of you to have.

DREDE

Wyth that, as he departed soo fro me,
Anone ther mette with him, as me thoughte,
A man, but wonderly besene was he:
He loked hawte, he sette eche man at noughte,
His gawdy garment with scornnys was all wrought;
With Indygnacyon lyned was his hode;
He frowned as he wolde swere by Cockes blode.

He bote the lyppe, he loked passynge coye,
His face was belymmed as byes had him stounge;
It was no tyme with him to jape nor toye.
Envye hathe wasted his lyver and his lounge,
Hatred by the herte so had hym wrounge
That he loked pale as asshes to my syghte;
Dysdayne, I wene, this comerous carkes hyghte.

To Hervy Hafter than he spake of me,
And I drewe nere to harke what they two sayde.
Now, quod Dysdayne, as I shall saved be,
I have grete scorne and am ryghte evyll apayed.
Than, quod Hervy, why arte thou so dysmayde?
By Cryste, quod he, for it is shame to saye,
To see Johan Dawes that came but yesterdaye

How he is now taken in conceyte,
This Doctour Dawcocke, Drede, I wene he hyghte.
By Goddis bones, but yf we have som sleyte,
It is lyke he wyll stonde in our lyghte.
By God, quod Hervy, and it so happen myghte.
Lete us therfore shortely at a worde
Fynde some mene to caste him over the borde.

By him that me boughte, than quod Dysdayne,
I wonder sore he is in suche cenceyte.
Turde, quod Hafter, I wyll the nothynge fayne,
There muste for hym be layde some prety beyte.
We tweyne, I trowe, be not withoute dysceyte:
Fyrste pycke a quarell and fall oute with hym then,
And soo outface hym with a carde of ten.

Forthwith he made on me a prowde assawte,
With scornfull loke meuyd all in moode.
He wente aboute to take me in a fawte;
He frounde, he stared, he stampped where he stoode.
I loked on hym, I wende he had be woode.
He set the arme proudly under the syde,
And in this wyse he gan with me to chyde.

DISDAYNE

Remembrest thou what thou sayd yesternyght?
Wylt thou abyde by the wordes agayne?
By God, I have of the now grete dyspyte;
I shall the angre ones in every vayne.
It is greate scorne to see suche an hayne
As thou arte, one that cam but yesterdaye,
With us olde servauntes such maysters to playe.

I tell the I am of countenaunce;
What weneste I were? I trowe thou knowe not me.
By Goddis woundes but for dysplesaunce
Of my querell soone wolde I venged be.
But, no force, I shall ones mete with the;
Come whan it wyll, oppose the I shall,
Whatsomever aventure therof fall.

Trowest thou, drevyll, I saye, thou gawdy knave,
That I have deynte to see the cherysshed thus?
By Goddis syde, my sworde thy berde shall shave!
Well, ones thou shalte be chermed, I wus.
Naye, strawe for tales, thou shalte not rule us,
We be thy betters and so thou shalte us take,
Or we shall the oute of thy clothes shake!

DREDE

Wyth that came Ryotte russhynge all at ones,
A rusty gallande, to ragged and to rente,
And on the borde he whyrled a payre of bones;
Quater treye dews, he clatered as he wente:
Now have at all, by Saynte Thomas of Kente.
And ever he threwe, and kyst I wote nere what,
His here was growen thorowe oute his hat.

cast I never knew what
Thenne I behelde how he dysgysed was,
His hede was hevy for watchynge overnyghte,
His eyen blereed, his face shone lyke a glas,
His gowne so shorte that it ne cover myghte
His rumpe, he wente so all for somer lyghte;
His hose was garded wyth a lyste of grene,
Yet at the knee they were broken, I wene.

somer lyghte: dressed for summer. lyste: strip
His cote was checked with patches rede and blewe,
Of Kyrkeby Kendall was his shorte demye;
And ay he sange, In fayth, Decon, thou crewe.
His elbowe bare, he ware his gere so nye,
His nose a.droppynge, his lyppes were full drye,
And by his syde his whynarde and his pouche,
The Devyll myghte daunce therin for ony crowche.

Counter he coude (O lux) upon a potte,
An eestryche fedder of a capons tayle
He set up fresshely upon his hat alofte;
What, revell route, quod he, and gan to rayle
How ofte he hadde hit Jenet on the tayle,
Of Felyce fetewse and lytell prety Cate,
How ofte he knocked at her klycked gate.

What sholde I tell more of his rebaudrye?
I was ashamed so to here hym prate,
He had no pleasure but in harlotrye.
Ay, quod he, in the devylles date,
What arte thou? I sawe the nowe but late.
Forsothe, quod I, in this courte I dwell nowe.
Welcome, quod Ryote, I make God avowe.

RYOTE

And, syr, in fayth, why comste not us amonge
To make the mery, as other felowes done?
Thou muste swere and stare, man, aldaye longe,
And wake all nyghte and slepe tyll it be none;
Thou mayste not studye or muse on the mone.
This worlde is nothynge but ete, drynke and slepe,
And thus with us good company to kepe.

Plucke up thyne herte upon a mery pyne,
And lete us laugh a placke or tweyne at nale;
What the devyll, man, myrthe was never one.
What, loo, man, see here of dyce a bale;
A brydelynge caste for that is in thy male!
Now have at all that lyeth upon the burde,
Fye on this dyce, they be not worth a turde!

Have at the hasarde or at the dosen browne,
Or els I pas a peny to a pounde;
Now wolde to God thou wolde leye money downe!
Lorde, how that I wolde caste it full rounde!
Ay, in my pouche a buckell I have founde,
The armes of Calyce, I have no coyne nor crosse,
I am not happy, I renne ay on the losse!

Now renne muste I to the stewys syde,
To wete yf Malkyn, my lemman, have gete oughte:
I lete her to hyre that men maye on her ryde,
Her harnes easy ferre and nere is soughte.
By Goddis sydes, syns I her thyder broughte,
She hath gote me more money with her tayle
Than hath some shyppe that into Bordews sayle.

Had I as good an hors as she is a mare,
I durste aventure to journey thorugh Fraunce;
Who rydeth on her, he nedeth not to care,
For she is trussed for to breke a launce.
It is a curtel that well can wynche and praunce;
To her wyll I nowe all my poverte lege.
And tyll I come have, here is myne hat to plege.

DREDE

Gone is this knave, this rybaude foule and leude;
He ran as fast as ever that he myghte.
Unthryftynes in hym may well be shewed,
For whome Tyborne groneth both daye and nyghte.
And as I stode and kyste asyde my syghte,
Dysdayne I sawe with Dyssymulacyon,
Standynge in sadde communicacion.

But there was poyntynge and noddynge with the hede,
And many wordes sayde in secrete wyse;
They wandred ay and stode styll in no stede.
Me thoughte, alwaye Dyscymular dyde devyse;
Me, passynge sore, myne herte than gan aryse,
I dempte and drede theyr talkynge was not good.
Anone Dyscymular came where I stode.

Than in his hode I sawe there faces tweyne,
That one was lene and lyke a pyned goost,
That other loked as he wolde me have slayne.
And to mewarde as he gan for to coost,
Whan that he was even at me almoost,
I sawe a knyfe hyd in his one sIeve,
Wheron was wryten this worde, myscheve.

And in his other sleve, me thought I sawe
A spone of golde, full of hony swete,
To fede a fole, and for to preye a dawe.
And on that sleve these wordes were wrete,
A false abstracte cometh from a fals concrete.
His hode was syde, his cope was roset graye,
Thyse were the wordes he to me dyde saye:

DYSSYMULATION

How do ye, mayster? Ye loke so soberly,
As I be saved at the dredefull daye,
It is a perylous vyce, this envy.
Alas, a connynge man ne dwelle maye
In no place well, but foles with hym fraye.
But as for that, connynge hath no foo
Save hym that nought can: scrypture sayth soo.

I knowe your vertu and your lytterkture
By that lytel connynge that I have;
Ye be malygned sore, I you ensure
But ye have crafte your selfe alwaye to save.
It is grete scorne to se a mysproude knave
With a clerke that connynge is to prate:
Lete theym go lowse theym, in the devylles date.

For allbeit that this longe not to me,
Yet on my backe I bere suche lewde delynge;
Ryghte now I spake with one, I trowe, I see—
But, what, a strawe! I maye not tell all thynge.
By God, I saye, there is grete herte brennynge
Betwene the persone ye wote of, you—
Alas, I coude not dele so with a Jew!

is not my business
I wolde eche man were as playne as I,
It is a worlde, I saye, to here of some;
I hate this faynynge, fye upon it, fye!
A man can not wote where to become;
Iwys I coude tell—but humlery, home,
I dare not speke, we be so layde awayte,
For all our courte is full of dysceyte.

Now, by Saynte Fraunceys, that holy man and frer
I hate this wayes agayne you that they take!
Were I as you, I wolde ryde them full nere,
And by my trouthe but yf an ende they make,
Yet wyll I saye some wordes for your sake
That shall them angre, I holde thereon a grote,
For some shall wene be hanged by the throte.

I bet money on it
I have a stoppyng oyster in my poke,
Truste me and yf it come to a nede;
But I am lothe for to reyse a smoke,
Yf ye coude be otherwyse agrede;
And so I wolde it were, so God me spede,
For this maye brede to a confusyon,
Withoute God make a good conclusyon.

Naye, see where yonder stondeth the teder man,
A flaterynge knave and false he is, God wote;
The drevyll stondeth to herken and he can.
It were more thryft he boughte him a newe cote;
It wyll not be, his purse is not on flote.
All that he wereth it is borowed ware,
His wytte is thynne, his hode is threde-bare.

More coude I saye, but what this is ynowe;
Adewe tyll soone, we shall speke more of this.
Ye muste be ruled as I shall tell you howe,
Amendis maye be of that is now amys.
And I am your, syr, so have I blys,
In every poynte that I can do or saye.
Gyve me your honde, fare well and have good daye.

DREDE

Sodaynly, as he departed me fro,
Came pressynge in one in a wonder araye;
Er I was ware, behynde me he sayde Bo!
Thenne I, astonyed of that sodeyne fraye,
Sterte all at ones. I lyked no thynge his playe,
For yf I had not quyckely fledde the touche,
He had plucte oute the nobles of my pouche.

He was trussed in a garmente strayte
(I have not sene suche anothers page)
For he coude well upon a casket wayte,
His hode all pounsed and garded lyke a cage.
Lyghte lyme fynger, he toke none other wage.
Harken, quod he, loo here myne honde in thyne,
To us welcome thou arte, by Saynte Quyntyne.

DISCEYTE

But by that Lorde that is one, two and thre,
I have an errande to rounde in your ere.
He tolde me so, by God, ye maye truste me.
Parde, remembre whan ye were there,
There I wynked on you, wote ye not where?
In (A) loco, I mene juxta (B),
Woo is hym that is blynde and maye not see!

But to here the subtylte and the crafte,
As I shall tell you, yf ye wyll harke agayne:
And whan I sawe the horsons wolde you hafte,
To holde myne honde, by God, I had grete payne;
For forthwyth there I had him slayne,
But that I drede mordre wolde come oute;
Who deleth with shrewes hath nede to loke aboute.

DREDE

And as he rounded thus in myne ere
Of false collusyon confetryd by assente,
Me thoughte I see lewde felawes here and there
Game for to slee me of mortall entente.
And as they came, the shyphorde faste I hente,
And thoughte to lepe, and even with that woke,
Caughte penne and ynke, and wroth this lytyll boke.

I wolde therwith no man were myscontente,
Besechynge you that shall it see or rede,
In every poynte to be indyfferente,
Syth all in substaunce of slumbrynge doth procede.
I wyll not saye it is mater in dede,
But yet oftyme suche dremes be founde trewe;
Now constrewe ye what is the resydewe.

poem by John Skelton
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Nut-Brown Maid. A Poem.

Written three hundred years since.

Be it right or wrong, these men among
On women do complayne;
Affyrmynge this, how that it is
A labour spent in vaine
To love them wele; for never a dele
They love a man againe:
For lete a man do what he can
Ther favour to attayne,
Yet yf a new do them pursue,
Ther furst trew lover than
Laboureth for nought; for from her thought
He is a banishyd man.
I say not nay, but that all day
It is bothe writ and sayde
That woman's fayth is as who saythe,
All utterly decayed.
But nevertheless right good witness
I' this case might be layde,
That they love trewe, and continew,
Record the Nut-brown Mayde;
Which from her love (whan her to prove
He came to make his mone)
Wold not depart, for in her herte
She lovyd but him alone.
Than betweene us lettens discusse,
What was all the maner
Between them two: we wyl also
Telle all the peyne and fere
That she was in. Now I begynne,
So that ye me answere.
Wherefore all ye that present be
I pray ye give an eare.

Man.
I am the knyght, I come by nyght
As secret as I can,
Saying, alas! thus standeth the case,
I am a banishyd man.

Woman.
And I your wylle, for to fulfylle
In this wyl not refuse,
Trusting to show, in wordis fewe,
That men have an ill use,
(To ther own shame) women to blame,
And causelese them accuse:
Therefore to you I answere now,
Alle women to excuse.
Myn own herte dere, with you what chere,
I pray you telle anone;
For in my mynde, of al mankynde,
I love but you alone.

Man.
It stondeth so; a dede is do,
Wherefore moche harm shall growe;
My desteny is for to-dey
A shameful deth I trowe;
Or ellis to flee: the one must be,
None other way I knowe,
But to withdrawe, as an outlawe,
And take me to my bowe.
Wherefore adew, my owne herte trewe,
None other red I can;
For I must to the grene wode goe,
Alone, a banishyd man.

Woman.
O Lord! what is this worldis blysse,
That chaungeth as the mone?
My somer's day, in lusty May,
Is derked before the none.
I here you saye farewell: nay, nay,
We departe not soo sone.
Why say ye so? wheder wyl ye goe?
Alas! what have ye done?
Alle my welfare to sorrow and care
Shulde chaung yf ye were gone;
For in my mynde, of al mankynde,
I love but you alone.

Man.
I can beleve it shall you greeve,
And shomwhat you distrayne,
But aftyrwarde your paynes harde,
Within a day or tweyne,
Shal sone aslake, and ye shal take
Comfort to you agayne.
Why shuld ye nought? for to make thought
Your labur were in vayne,
And thus I do, and pray you too,
As hertely as I can;
For I muste to the greene wode goe,
Alone, a banishyd man.

Woman.
Now sythe that ye have showed to me
The secret of your mynde,
I shal be plaine to you againe,
Lyke as ye shal me fynde.
Sythe it is so that ye wyl goe,
I wol not leve behynde:
Shal never be sayd the Nut-Brown Mayde
Was to her love unkynde.
Make you redy, for so am I,
Although it were agone;
For in my mynd, of all mankynde,
I love but you alone.

Man.
Yet I you rede to take good hede
What men wyl think and sey;
Of yonge and olde it shall be tolde
That ye be gone away;
Your wanton wylle for to fulfylle
In grene wode you to play;
And that ye myght from your delyte
Noo longer make delay.
Rather than ye shuld thus for me
Be called an ylle woman,
Yet wold I to the grene wode goe,
Alone, a banishyd man.

Woman.
Though it be songe of olde and yonge
That I shuld be to blame,
Thers be the charge that speke so large
In hurting of my name:
For I wyll prove that feythful love
It is devoyd of shame;
In your distress and hevyness
To parte wyth you the same.
And sure all thoo that doo not so
Trewe lovers are they none;
But in my mynde of al mankynde,
I love but you alone.

Man.
I counsel you, remember how
It is noo mayden's lawe
Nothing to dought, but to renne out
To wode with an outlawe:
For ye must there in your hand bere
O bowe redy to drawe;
And as a theef, thus must ye lyve,
Ever in drede and awe.
Whereby to you gret harme myght growe
Yet I had lever than
That I had to the grene wode goe,
Alone, a banishyd man.

Woman.
I think not nay; but as ye saye,
It is noo mayden's lore;
But love may make me for your sake,
To com on fote to hunte and shote,
To get us mete in store:
For so that I your company
May have, I ask noo more:
From whiche to parte, it makith myn herte
As colde as ony stone;
For in my mynde, of al mankynde,
I love but you alone.

Man.
For an outlawe, this is the lawe,
That men hym take and binde,
Wythout pytee, hanged to bee,
And waver with the wynde.
Yf I had neede, as God forbede,
What resons coude ye finde?
For sothe I trowe, ye and your bowe
Shuld drawe for fere behynde.
And noo merveyle; for lytel avayle
Were in your council than:
Wherefore I to the wode wyl goe,
Alone, a banishyd man.

Woman.
Full well knowe ye that women be
But febyl for to fyght:
Noo woman hede it is in deede
To be bold as a knyght:
Yet in suche fere yf that ye were
With enemys day and nyght,
I wolde withstonde wyth bowe in honde
To greve them as I myght;
And you to save as women have
From dethe many one;
For in my mynde, of al mankynde,
I love but you alone.

Man.
Yet take gude hede! for ever I drede
That ye coude not sustein
The thorney-weyes, the depe valeis,
The snowe, the frost, the reyn;
The cold, the hete: for drye, or wete,
We must lodge on the playn,
And us above noon other rofe,
But a brake, bush, or twaine,
Whiche sone shuld greve you, I beleve;
And ye wolde gladely than,
That I had to the grene wode goe,
Alone, a banishyd man.

Woman.
Sythe I have here been partynere
With you of joy and blysse,
I must also parte of your woo
Endure, as reson is:
Yet am I sure of one pleasure,
And, shortly, it is this,
That where ye bee, me seemeth, par-dy
I could not fare amyss.
Without more speche I you beseche
That we were soon a gone;
For in my mynde, of al mankynde,
I love but you alone.

Man.
Yf ye goo thedyr, ye must consyder,
Whan ye have lust to dyne,
Ther shal no mete be for to gete,
Nor drink, bere, ale, ne wine;
Ne shetis clean, to lye betwene,
Made of thred and twyne;
Noon other house but levys and bowes,
To kever your head and myn.
O myn herte swete, this ylle dyet
Shuld make you pale and wan;
Wherefore I to the wode wyl goe,
Alone, a banishyd man.

Woman.
Among the wylde dere, such an archier,
As men say that ye bee,
We may not fayle of good vitayle,
Where is so grete plente:
And watir cleere of the ryvere
Shal be full swete to me,
With whiche in hele, I shal right wele
Endure, as ye shal see.
And er we goe, a bed or two
I can provide anone;
For in my mynde, of al mankynde,
I love but you alone.

Man.
Loo! yet before, ye must do more
Yf ye wyl go with me;
As cute your here up by your ere,
Your curtel by the kneel:
Wyth bowe in honde, for to wythstonde
Your enemys yf nede be;
And this same nyght, before daylyght,
To wode-ward wyl I flee.
And yf ye wylle al this fulfylle,
Do it shortly as ye can;
Ellis wyl I to the grene wode goe,
Alone, a banishyd man.

Woman.
I shall as now do more for you
Than longeth to womanhede;
To short my here, a bow to bere,
To shote in tyme of nede.
O my sweet moder, before al other,
For you have I most drede;
But now adew, I must ensue
Where Fortune duth me lede.
All this make ye, and lete us flee,
The day run fast upon;
For in my mynde, of al mankynde,
I love but you alone.

Man.
Nay, nay, not so: ye shal not goe,
And I shal telle ye why;
Your appetyte is to be light
Of love I wele espie;
For right as ye have sayde to me
In lykewise hardely
Ye wolde answere, whosoever it were,
In way of company.
It is sayd of olde, Sone hote, sone colde,
And so is a woman;
Wherefore I to the wode wyl goe,
Alone, a banishyd man.

Woman.
Yf ye take hede yt is noo nede
Such wordis to say bee me;
For ofte ye prey'd, and longe assay'd,
Er I you lovid, par-dy;
And though that I of auncestry
A baron's daughter bee,
Yet have you proved how I you loved,
A squyer of low degree;
And ever shal, what so befalle,
To dey therefore anone:
For in my mynde, of al mankynde,
I love but you alone.

Man.
A baron's childe to be begyled,
It were a cursed dede:
To be felawe with an outlawe
Almighty God forbede!
Yt bettyr were the pore squyer
Alone to forrest spede,
Than ye shal saye another daye,
That by that wycked dede
Ye were betrayed. Wherefore good mayde,
The best rede that I can,
Is that I to the grene wode goe,
Alone, a banishyd man.

Woman.
Whatsoever befalle, I never shale
Of this thing you upbraid;
But yf ye go and leve me so,
Then have ye me betraid.
Remember ye wele how that ye dele;
For yf ye, as ye sayde,
Be so unkynde to leve behynde
Your love, the Nut-brown Mayde,
Trust me truely, that I shal dey
Some after ye be gone;
For in my mynde, of al mankynde,
I love but you alone.

Man.
Yf that ye went ye shulde repent;
For in the forrest now
I have purveid me of a mayde,
Whom I love more than you.
Another fayrer than e'er ye were,
I dare it well avowe;
And of you bothe eche shude be worthe
Wyth other, as I trowe,
It were myn ese to live in pese,
So wyl I yf I can;
Wherefore I to the wode wyl goe,
Alone, a banishyd man.

Woman.
Though in the wode I understode
Ye had a paramour,
All this may nought remove my thought,
But that I will be your:
And she shall fynde me soft and kynde,
And curteis every hour,
Glad to fulfylle all that she wylle
Commaunde me to my power.
For had ye loo an hundred moo,
Yet wolde I be that one;
For in my mynde, of al mankynde,
I love but you alone.

Man.
Myne own dere love, I see the prove,
That ye be kynde and trewe;
Of mayde and wyfe, in al my lyfe,
The best that ever I knewe.
Be merey and glad, be no more sad,
The case is chaunged newe;
For it were ruthe, that for your trouth,
Ye shulde have cause to rewe.
Be not dismay'd whatsoever I sayd
To you whan I began:
I wyl not to the grene wode goe,
I am no banishyd man.

Woman.
Theis tydingis be more glad to me
Than to be made a quene,
Yf I were sure they shulde endure;
But it is often seene,
When men wyle breke promyse, they speke
The wordis on the splene.
Ye shape some wyle, me to begyle,
And stele fro me, I wene.
Then were the case wurs than it was,
And I more woo begone;
For in my mynde, of al mankynde,
I love but you alone.

Man.
Ye shal not nede further to drede;
I wyl not disparage
You. God defend, syth you descend
Of so grete a lynage.
Now understonde, to Westmerlande,
Which is my herytage
I wyl you bringe, and with a rynge,
By way of maryage,
I wyl you take, and lady make,
As shortly as I can.
Thus have ye wone an erlie's sone,
And not a banishyd man.

poem by Matthew Prior
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Pastime of Pleasure : The First Part.

Here begynneth the passe tyme of pleasure.

Ryyght myghty prynce / & redoubted souerayne
Saylynge forthe well / in the shyppe of grace
Ouer the wawes / of this lyfe vncertayne
Ryght towarde heuen / to haue dwellynge place
Grace dothe you guyde / in euery doubtfull cace
Your gouernaunce / dothe euermore eschewe
The synne of slouthe / enemy to vertewe
Grace stereth well / the grace of god is grete
Whiche you hathe brought / to your ryall se
And in your ryght / it hath you surely sette
Aboue vs all / to haue the soueraynte
Whose worthy power / and regall dygnyte
All our rancour / and our debate and ceace
Hath to vs brought / bothe welthe reste and peace
Frome whome dyscendeth / by the ryghtfull lyne
Noble pryuce Henry / to succede the crowne
That in his youthe / dothe so clerely shyne
In euery vertu / castynge the vyce adowne
He shall of fame / attayne the hye renowne
No doubte but grace / shall hym well enclose
Whiche by trewe ryght / sprange of the reed rose
Your noble grace / and excellent hyenes
For to accepte / I beseche ryght humbly
This lytell boke / opprest with rudenes
Without rethorycke / or colour crafty
Nothynge I am / experte in poetry
As the monke of Bury / floure of eloquence
Whiche was in tyme / of grete excellence
Of your predecessour / the .v. kynge henry
Vnto whose grace / he dyde present
Ryght famous bokes / of parfyte memory
Of his faynynge with termes eloquent
Whose fatall fyccyons / are yet permanent
Grounded on reason / with clowdy fygures
He cloked the trouthe / of all his scryptures
The lyght of trouthe / I lacke connynge to cloke
To drawe a curtayne / I dare not to presume
Nor hyde my mater / with a mysty smoke
My rudenes connynge / dothe so sore cōsume
Yet as I maye / I shall blowe out a fume
To hyde my mynde / vnderneth a fable
By conuert colour / well and probable
Besechynge your grace / to pardon myne ignoraunce
Whiche this fayned fable / to eschewe ydlenesse
Hane so compyled / now without doubtaunce
For to present / to your hye worthynesse
To folowe the trace / and all the parfytenesse
Of my mayster Lydgate / with due exercyse
Suche fayned tales / I do fynde and deuyse
For vnder a colour / a truthe maye aryse
As was the guyse / in olde antyquyte
Of the poetes olde / a tale to surmyse
To cloke the trouthe / of theyr infyrmyte
Or yet on Ioye / to haue moralyte
I me excuse / yf by neclygence
That I do offende / for lacke of scyence

How graunde Amoure walked in a medowe & met with fame enuyronned with tongues of fyre. ca. i.

Whan Phebus entred was / in Gemyny
Shynynge aboue / in his fayre golden spere
And horned Dyane / than but one degre
In the Crabbe hadde entred / fayre and clere
Whan that Aurora / dyde well appere
In the depured ayre / and cruddy fyrmament
Forthe than I walked / without impedyment
In to a medowe / bothe gaye and gloryous
Whiche Flora depaynted with many a colour
Lyke a place of pleasure / most solacyous
Encensynge out / the aromatyke odoure
Of zepherus brethe / whiche that euery floure
Throughe his fume / dothe alwaye engendre
So as I went / amonge the floures tendre
By sodayne chaunce / a fayre pathe I founde
On whiche I loked / and ryght ofte I mused
And than all aboute / I behelde the grounde
With the fayre pathe / whiche I sawe so vsed
My chaunce or fortune / I nothynge refused
But in the pathe / forthe I went a pace
To knowe whyther / and vnto what place
It wolde me brynge / by ony symylytude
So forthe I wente / were it ryght or wronge
Tyll that I sawe / of ryall pulcrytude
Before my face / an ymage fayre and stronge
With two fayre handes / stretched out alonge
Vnto two hye wayes / there in pertycyon
And in the ryght hande / was this dyscrypcyon
This is the streyght waye / of contemplacyon
Vnto the Ioyfull toure pedurable
Who that wyll walke / vnto that mancyon
He must forsake / all thynges varyable
With the vayneglory / somoche deceyuable
And thoughe the waye / be harde and daungerous
The laste ende therof / shall be ryght precyous
And in the other hande / ryght fayre wryten was
This is the waye / of worldly dygnyte
Of the actyfe lyfe / who wyll in it passe
Vnto the toure / of fayre dame beaute
Fame shall tell hym / of the waye in certaynte
Vnto labell pucell / the fayre lady excellent
Aboue all other / in clere beaute splendent
I behelde ryght well / bothe the wayes twayne
And mused oft / whiche was best to take
The one was sharpe / the other was more playne
And vnto my selfe / I began to make
A sodayne argument / for I myght not slake
Of my grete musynge / of this ryall ymage
And of these two wayes / somoche in vsage
For this goodly pycture / was in altytude
Nyne fote and more / of fayre marble stone
Ryght well fauoured / and of grete fortytude
Thoughe it were made / full many yeres agone
Thus stode I musynge / my selfe all alone
By ryhgt longe tyme / but at the last I went
The actyfe waye / with all my hole entent
Thus all alone / I began to trauayle
Forthe on my waye / by longe contynuaunce
But often tymes / I hadde grete meruayle
Of the bypathes / so full of pleasaunce
Whiche for to take / I hadde grete doubtaunce
But euermore / as nere as I myght
I toke the waye / whiche went before me ryght
And at the last / whan Phebus in the west
Gan to auayle / with all his beames mery
Whan clere Dyana / in the fayre southest
Gan for to ryse / lyghtynge our emyspery
With cloudes clere / without the stormy pery
Me thought a fer / I hadde a vysyon
Of a pycture / of meruoylous facyon
To whiche I went / without lenger delaye
Beholdynge well / the ryght fayre purtrayture
Made of fyne copre / shynynge fayre and gaye
Full well truely / accordynge to mesure
And as I thought .ix. fote of stature
Yet in the breste / with lettres fayre ande blewe
Was wryten / a sentence olde and trewe
This is the waye / and the sytuacyon
Vnto the toure / of famous doctryne
Who that wyll lerne / must be ruled by reason
And with all his dylygence / he must enclyne
Slouthe to eschewe / and for to determyne
And set his hert / to be intellygyble
To a wyllynge herte / is nought Impossyble
Besyde the ymage / I adowne me sette
After my laboure / myselfe to repose
Tyll at the last / with a gaspynge nette
Slouthe my heed caught / with his hole purpose
It vayled not / the body for to dyspose
Agaynst the heed / whan it is applyed
The heed must rule / it can not be denyed
Thus as I satte / in a deedly slombre
Of a grete horne / I herde a ryall blast
With whiche I awoke / and hadde a grete wondre
From whens it came / it made me sore agast
I loked aboute / the nyght was well nere paste
And fayre golden Phebus / in the morowe graye
With cloude reed began / to breke the daye
I sawe come rydynge / in a valaye ferre
A goodly lady / enuyronned aboute
With tongues of fyre / as bryght as ony sterre
That fyry flambes / ensensed alwaye out
Whiche I behelde / and was in grete doubt
Her palfraye swyfte / rennynge as the wynde
With two whyte grehoundes / that were not behynde
Whan that these grehoundes / had me so espyed
With faunynge chere / of grete humylyte
In goodly hast / they fast vnto me hyed
I mused why / and wherfore it shoulde be
But I welcomed them / in euery degre
They leped ofte / and were of me ryght fayne
I suffred them / and cherysshed them agayne
Theyr colers were of golde / and of tyssue fyne
Wherin theyr names / appered by scypture
Of Dyamondes / that clerely do shyne
The lettres were grauen fayre and pure
To rede rheyr names / I dyde my besy cure
The one was gouernaunce / the other named grace
Than was I gladde / of all this sodayne cace
And than the lady / with fyry flame
Of brennynge tongues / was in my presence
Vpon her palfraye / whiche hadde vnto name
Pegase the swyfte / so fayre in excellence
Whiche somtyme longed / with his premynence
To kynge Percyus / the sone of Iubyter
On whome he rode / by the worlde so fer
To me she sayde / she meruayled moche why
That her grehounde / shewed me that fauour
What was my name / she axed me treuly
To whome I sayde / it was la graunde Amour
Besechynge you / to be to me socour
To the toure of doctryne / and also me tell
Your propre name / and where you do dwell
My name quod she / in all the worlde is knowen
Yclypped Fame / in euery regyon
For I my horne / in sondry wyse haue blowen
After the dethe / of many a champyon
And with my tonges / haue made aye mencyon
Of theyr grete actes / agayne to reuyue
In flammynge tongues / for to abyde on lyue
It was the custome / in olde antyquyte
Whan the golden worlde / hadde domynacyon
And nature hygh / in her auctoryte
More stronger hadde / her operacyon
Than she hath nowe / in her dygressyon
The people than dyde / all theyr besy payne
After theyr dethe / in fame to lyue agayne
Recorde of Satourne / the fyrste kynge of Creete
Whiche in his youthe / throughe his dylygence
Founde fyrst plowynge / of the landes swete
And after this / by his grete sapyence
For the comyn profyte / and beneuolence
Of all metalles / he made deuysyon
One frome an other / by good prousyyon
And than also / as some poetes fayne
He founde shotynge / and drawenge of the bowe
Yet as of that / I am nothynge certayne
But for his connynge / of hye degre and lowe
He was well beloued / as I do well knowe
Throughe whose labour / and aye besy cure
His fame shall lyue / and shall ryght longe endure
In whose tyme reygned / also in Thessayle
A parte of Grece / the kynge Melyzyus
That was ryght stronge / and fyerce in batayle
By whose labour / as the story sheweth vs
He brake fyrst horses wylde and rygoryous
Techynge his men / on them ryght well to ryde
And he hymselfe / dyde fyrst the horse bestryde
Also Mynerue / the ryght hardy goddes
In the same tyme / of so hyghe renowne
Vaynquysshed Pallas / by her grete worthynesse
And fyrste made harneys / to leye his pryde adowne
Whose grete defence / in euery realme and towne
Was spredde aboute / for her hye chyualry
Whiche by her harneys / wanne the vyctory
Doth not remayne / yet in remembraunce
The famous actes / of the noble hercules
That so many monstres / put to vtteraunce
By his grete wysdome / and hye prowes
As the recule of Troye / bereth good wytnes
That in his tyme / he wolde no batayle take
But for the welthe / of the comyns sake
Thus the hole myndes / were euer fyxte and set
Of noble men / in olde tyme to deuyse
Suche thynges as were / to the comyn proffet
For in that tyme / suche was theyr goodly guyse
That after dethe theyr fame shoulde aryse
For to endure / and abyde in mynde
As yet in bokes / we maye them wryten fynde
O ye estates / surmountynge in nobesse
Remembre well the noble payyms all
How by theyr laboure / they wanne the hyenesse
Of worthy fame / to reygne memoryall
And them applyed / euer in specyall
Thynges to practyse / whiche shoulde prouffyte be
To the comyn welthe / and theyr heyres in fee

Of the swete reporte of Fame of the fayre lady la bel pucell in the toure of musyke. ca. ii.

And after this / fame gan to expresse
Of Ieoperdous waye / to the toure peryllous
And of the beaute / and the semelynesse
Of la bell pucell / so gaye and gloryons
That dwelled in the toure so meruaylous
Vnto whiche myght come / no maner of creature
But by grete laboure / and harde aduenture
For by the waye / there ly in wayte
Gyauntes grete dysfygured of nature
That all deuoureth / by theyr yll conceyte
Ageynst whose strength / there maye no man endure
They are so huge / and stronge out of mesure
With many serpentes / soule and odyous
In sundry lykenesse / blacke and tydeus
But behonde them / a grate see there is
Beyonde whiche see / there is a goodly lande
Moost full of fruyte / replete with Ioye and blysse
Of ryght fyne golde / appereth all the sande
In this fayre realme / where the toure dothe stande
Made all of golde / enameled aboute
With noble storyes / whiche do appere without
In whiche dwelleth / by grete auctoryte
Of la bell pucell / whiche is so fayre and bryght
To whome in beaute / no pere I can se
For lyke as Phebus / aboue all sterres in lyght
Whan that he is / in his spere aryght
Dothe excede / wieh his beames clere
So dothe her beaute / aboue other appeere
She is bothe good / aye wyse and vertuous
And also dyscended / of a noble lyne
Ryche / comly / ryght meke / and bounteous
All maner vertues / in her clerely shyne
No vyce of her / maye ryght longe domyne
And I dame fame / in euery nacyon
Of her do make / the same relacyon
Her swete reporte / so my herte set on fyre
With brennynge loue / moost hote and feruent
That her to se / I hadde grete desyre
Sayenge to fame / o lady excellent
I haue determyned / in my Iugement
For la bell pucell / the most fayre lady
To passe the waye / of so grete Ieopardy
You shall quod fame / atayne the vyctory
Yf you wyll do / as I shall to you saye
And all my lesson / retayne in memory
To the toure of doctryne / ye shall take your waye
You are now within / a dayes Iourneye
Bothe these grehounde / shall kepe you company
Loke that you cherysshe them full gentely
Ind countenaunce / the goodly portres
Shall let you in / full well and nobly
And also shewe you / of the parfytenes
Of all the seuen scyences / ryght notably
There in your mynde / you maye ententyfly
Vnto dame doctryne / gyue parfyte audyence
Whiche shall enfourme you / in euery scyence
Fare well she sayde / I maye not now abyde
Walke on your waye / with all your hole delyght
To the toure of doctryne / at this morow tyde
Ye shall to morowe / of it haue a syght
Kepe on your waye / now before you ryght
For I must hens / to specyfy the dedes
Of theyr wortynesse / accordynge to theyr medes
And with that she dyde / fro me departe
Vpon her stede / swyfter than the wynde
Whan she was gone / full wofull was my herte
With inwarde trouble / oppressed was my mynde
Yet were the grehoundes / lefte with me behynde
Whiche dyde me comforte / in my grete vyage
To the toure of doctryne / with theyr fawn&ybar;ge courage
So forthe I went / tossynge on my brayne
Gretely musynge / ouer hyll and vale
The waye was troublous / and ey nothynge playne
Tyll at the laste / I came to a dale
Beholdynge Phebus / declynynge lowe and pale
With my grehoundes / in the fayre twy lyght
I sate me downe / for to rest me all nyght
Slouthe vpon me / so fast began to crepe
That of fyne force / I downe me layde
Vpon an hyll / with my greyhoundes to slepe
Whan I was downe / I thought me well apayde
And to my selfe / these wordes than I sayde
Who wyll attayne / soone to his Iournays ende
To nourysshe slouthe / he may not condyscende

Now fame departed frome graunde amoure and lefte with hym gouernaunce and grace / and howe he wente to the toure of doctryne. Ca. .iii.

Thus than I slepte / tyll y&supert; Auroras beames
Gan for to sprede / aboute the fyrmament
And y&supere; clere sonne / with his golden streames
Began for to ryse / fayre in the oryent
Without Saturnus / blacke encombrement
And the lytell byrdes / makynge melodye
Dyde me awake / with theyr swete armonye
I loked aboute / and sawe a craggy roche
Ferre in the west / nere to the element
And as I dyde than / vnto it approche
Vpon the toppe / I sawe refulgent
The ryall toure / of morall document
Made of fyne coper / with turrettes fayre and hye
Whiche agaynst Phebus / shone so meruaylously
That for the veray perfyte bryghtnes
What of the toure / and of the clere sonne
I coude nothynge / beholde the goodlynes
Of that palays / where as doctryne dyde wonne
Tyll at the last / with mysty wyndes donne
The radyant bryghtnes / of golden Phebus
Auster gan couer / with cloudes tenebrus
Than to the toure / I drewe nere and nere
And often mused / of the grete hyghnes
Of the craggy rocke / whiche quadrant dyde appere
But the fayre toure / so moche of rychesse
Was all about / sexangled doubtles
Gargeylde with grehoundes / & with many lyons
Made of fyne golde / with dyuers sundry dragons
The lytell turrets / with ymages of golde
Aboute was set / wiche with the wynde aye moued
With propre vyces / that I dyde well beholde
Aboute the toures / in sondry wyse they houed
With goodly pypes / in theyr mouthes Ituned
That with the wynde / they pyped a daunce
Yclyped amour de la hault pleasaunce

Now he was lette in by Countenannce the porteres and of the meruaylous buyldynge of the same toure. Capitulo. iiii.

The toure was grete / & of meruaylous wydnes
To whiche there was / no way to passe but one
In to the toure / for to haue an intres
A grece there was / ychefyled all of stone
Out of the rocke / on whiche men dyde gone
Vp to the toure / and in lykewyse dyde I
With bothe the grehonndes in my company
Tyll that I came / to a ryall gate
Where I sawe stondynge / the goodly portres
Whiche axed me / from whens I came a late
To whome I gan / in euery thynge expresse
All myne aduenture / chaunce and busynesse
And eke my name / I tolde her euery dell
Whan she herde this / she lyked me ryght well
Her name she sayde / was called countenaunce
In to the besy courte / she dyde me than lede
Where was a fountauyne / depured of pleasaunce
A noble sprynge / a ryall conduyte hede
Made of syue golde / enameled with reed
And on the toppe / foure dragons blewe and stonte
This doulcet water / in foure partyes dyde spoute
Of whiche there flowed / foure ryuers ryght clere
Sweter than Nysus / or Ganges was theyr odoure
Tygrys or Eufrates / vnto them no pere
I dyde than tast / the aromatyke lycoure
Fragraunt of fume / swete as ony floure
And in my mouthe / it hadde a meruaylous cent
Of dyuers spyces / I knewe not what it ment
And after this / ferder forthe me brought
Dame countenaunce / in to a goodly hall
Of Iasper stones / it was wonderly wrought
The wyndowes clere / depured all of crystall
And in the rose / on hye ouer all
Of golde was made / a ryght crafty vyne
In stede of grapes / the rubyes there dyde shyne
The flore was paued / with berall claryfyed
With pyllours made / of stones precyous
Lyke a place of pleasure / so gayly gloryfyed
It myght be called / a palays gloryous
Somoche delectable / and solacyous
The hall was hanged / hye and cyrculer
With clothe of aras / in the rychest maner
That treted well / of a full noble story
Of the doughty waye / to the toure peryllous
How a noble knyght / shoulde wynne the vyctory
Of many a serpent / foule and odyous
And the fyrste mater / than appered thus
How at a venture / and by sodayne chaunce
He met with fame / by fortunes purueyaunce
Whiche dyde hym shewe / of the famous pulcrytude
Of la bell pucell / so clere in beaute
Excellynge all other / in euery symplytude
Nature her fauoured / so moche in degre
Whan he herde this / with feruent amyte
Accompaned with grace and gouernaunce
He toke his waye / without encombraunce
Vnto the ryght famous toure of lernynge
And so frome thens / vnto the toure of clyualry
Where he was made knyght / the noble kynge
Called Melyzyus / well and worthely
And ferthermore / it shewed full notably
Vpon the aras / ybrobred all of blewe
What was his name / with lettres all of grewe
Thus with his varlet / he toke on his waye
To the peryllous toure / and sytuacyon
Metynge foly / as he rode on his Iournaye
Rydynge on a mare / by grete yllusyon
After whome / ensued fast correccyon
And in her hande / a stronge knotted whyppe
At euery Iarte / she made hym for to skyppe
And than correccyon / brought la graunde amoure
Vnto the toure / where as he myght well se
Dyuers men / makynge ryght grete doloure
That defrauded women / by theyr duplycyte
Yet before this / in perfyte certaynte
As the aras / well dyde make relacyon
In Venus temple / he made his oblacyon
After whiche / he mette an hydeous gyaunt
Hauynge thre hedes of meruaylous kynde
With his grete strokes / he dyde hym daunt
Castynge hym downe / vnder the lynde
With force and myght / he dyde hym bynde
Strykynge of his hedes than euerychone
That of all thre hedes / he left not one
This terryble gyaunt / yet hadde a broder
Whiche graunde amoure / destryed also
Hauynge foure heedes / more than the oder
That vnto hym / wrought mykell wo
But he slewe soone / his mortall fo
Whiche was a grete gyaunt / with hedes seuen
To meruaylous / now for me to nenen
Yet more ouer / he put to vtteraunce
A venymous beest / of sundry lykenes
Of dyuers beestes / of ryght grete myschaunce
Wherof the pycture / bare good wytnes
For by his power / and his hye worthynesse
He dyde scomfyte / the wonderous serpent
Of the sceun metalles / made by enchauntement
And eke the clothe / made demonstracyon
How he weded / the grete lady beauteous
La bell pucell / in her owne domynacyon
After his labour / and passage daungerous
With solempne Ioye / and myrthe melodyous
This famous story / well pyctured was
In the fayre hall / vpon the aras
The marshall / yclyped was dame reason
And the yewres / also obseruaunce
The panter pleasaunce / at euery season
The good butler / curteys contynuaunce
And the chefe coke / was called temperaunce
The lady chambrelayne / named fydelyte
And the hygh stuarde lyberalyte
There sate dame doctryne / that lady gent
Whiche called me / vnto her presence
For to knowe / all the hole entent
Of my comynge / vnto her excellence
Madame I sayde / to lerne your scyence
I am comen / now me to apply
With all my cure / in perfyte study
And yet also / I vnto her than shewed
My name and purpose / without doublenes
For very grete Ioye / than were endued
Her crystall eyes / full of lowlenes
Whan that she knewe / for veray sykernesse
That I was he / that shoulde so attayue
La bell pucell / with my busy payne
And after this / I hadde ryght good chere
Of mete and drynke / there was grete pleynte
Nothynge I wanted / were it chepe or dere
Thus was I serued / with delycate dysshes daynte
And after this / with all humylyte
I went to doctryne / prayenge her good grace
For to assygne me / my fyrst lernynge place
Seuen doughters / moost experte iu connynge
Withouten foly / she hadde well engendred
As the seuen scyences / in vertue so shynynge
At whose encreace / there is grete thankes rendred
Vnto the moder / as nothynge surrendred
Her good name / and her dulcet sounde
Whiche dyde engendre / theyr orygynall grounde
And fyrst to gramer / she forthe me sent
To whose request / I dyde well obay
With dylygence / forth on my waye I went
Vp to a chambre / depaynted fayre and gay
And at the chambre / in ryght ryche araye
We were let in / by hygh auctoryte
Of the ryght noble / dame congruyte

How Scyence / sent hym fyrste / to gramer where he was receyued by dame Congruyte. ca. v.

The lady Gramer / in all humbly wyse
Dyde me receyue / in to her goodly scole
To whose doctryne / I dyde me aduertyse
For to attayne / in her artyke poole
Her gylted dewe / for to oppresse my doole
To whome I sayde / that I wolde gladly lerne
Her noble connynge / so that I myght decerne
What that it is / and why that it was made
To whiche she answered / than in specyall
Bycause that connynge / shoulde not pale ne fade
Of euery scyence / it is orygynall
Whiche dothe vs teche / euer in generall
In all good ordre / to speke dyrectly
And for to wryte / by true artogrofy
Somtyme in Egypte / reygned a noble kynge
Yclyped Euander / whiche dyde well abounde
In many vertues / especyally in lernynge
Whiche hadde a doughter / that by her study founde
To wryte true latyn / the fyrst parfyte grounde
Whose goodly name / as her story sayes
Was called Carmentis / in her lyuynge dayes
Thus in the tyme / of olde antyquyte
The noble phylozophres / with theyr hole delyght
For the comyn prouffyte / of all humanyte
Of the seuen scyences / for to knowe the ryght
They studyed / many a longe wynters nyght
Eche after other / theyr partes to expresse
This was theyr guyse / to eschewe ydlenesse
The pomped carkes / with fode delycyous
They dyde not fede / but to theyr sustynaunce
The folowed not / theyr flesshe so vycyous
But ruled it / by prudent gouernaunce
They were content / alwaye with suffysaunce
They coueyted not / no worldly treasure
For they knewe / that it myght not endure
But now a dayes / the contrary is vsed
To wynne the money / theyr studyes be all sette
The comyn prouffyte / is often refused
For well is he / that maye the money gette
Frome his neyghboure / without ony lette
They thynke nothynge / they shall from it pas
Whan all that is / shall be tourned to was
The brytell flesshe / nouryssher of vyces
Vnder the shadowe / of euyll slogardy
Must nede haunt / the carnall delyces
Whan that the brayne / by corrupte glotony
Vp so downe / is tourued than contrary
Frayle is the body / to grete vnhappynes
Whan that the heed / is full of dronkenes
So do they now / for they nothynge prepence
How cruell dethe / dothe them sore ensue
They are so blynded / in wordly neclygence
That to theyr meryte / they wyll nothynge renewe
The seuen scyences / theyr slouthe to eschewe
To an oders profyte / they take now no kepe
But to theyr owne / for to ete drynke and slepe
And all this dame gramer / tolde me euery dele
To whome I herkened / with all my dylygence
And after this / she taught me ryght well
Fyrst my donet / and than my accydence
I sette my mynde / with percynge influence
To lerne her scyence / the fyrst famous arte
Eschewynge ydlenes / and layenge all aparte
Madame quod I / for as moche as there be
Viii. partes of speche / I wolde knowe ryght fayne
What a nowne substantyue / is in his degre
And wherfore it is / so called certayne
To whome she answered / ryght gentely agayne
Sayenge alwaye / that a nowne substantyue
Mygh stande / without helpe of an adiectyue
The latyn worde / whiche that is referred
Vnto a thynge / whiche is substancyall
For a nowne substantyue / is well auerred
And with a gendre / is declynall
So all the eyght partes in generall
Are laten wordes / annexed properly
To euery speche / for to speke formally
And gramer is / the fyrste foundement
Of euery scyence / to haue construccyon
Who knewe gramer / without impedyment
Soulde perfytely haue intelleccyon
Of a lytterall cense / and moralyzacyon
To construe euery thynge ententyfly
The worde is gramer / well and ordynatly
By worde the worlde / was made orygynally
The hye kynge sayde / it was made incontynent
He dyde commaunde / all was made shortly
To the worlde / the worde is sentencyous Iugement
I marked well / dame gramers sentement
And of her than / I dyde take my lycence
Goynge to Logyke / with all my dylygence

How he was receyued / of Logyke. ca. vi.
So vp I went / vnto a chambre bryght
Where was wonte / to be a ryght fayre lady
Before whome than / it was my hole delyght
I kneled adowne / full well and mekely
Besechynge her / to enstructe me shortely
In her noble scyence / whiche is experyent
For man to knowe / in many an argument
You shall quod she / my scyence well lerne
In tyme and space / to your grete vtylyte
So that in my lokynge / you shall than decerne
A frende from fo / and good from inyquyte
Ryght from wronge / ye shall knowe in certaynte
My scyence is / all the yll to eschewe
And for to knowe / the false from the trewe
Who wyll take payne / to folowe the trace
In this wretched worlde / of trouthe & ryghtwysenes
In heuen aboue / he shall haue dwellynge place
And who that walbeth / the waye of derkenes
Spendynge his tyme / in worldly wretchednes
Amyddes the erth / in hell most horryble
He shall haue payne / nothynge extynguyssyble
So by logyke / is good perceyueraunce
To deuyde the good / and the euyll a sondre
It is alway / at mannes pleasaunce
To take the good / and cast the euyll vnder
Yf god made hell / it is therof no wonder
For to punysshe man / that hadde intellygence
To knowe good from yll / by trewe experyence
Logyke alwaye / doth make probacyon
Prouynge the pro / well from the contrary
In sundry wyse / by argumentacyon
Grounded on reason / well and wonderly
Who vnderstode / all logyke treuly
Nothynge by reason / myght be in pledynge
But he the trouthe / shoulde haue in knowlegynge
Her wyse doctryne / I marked in memory
And toke my leue / of her hye personne
Bycause that I myght no lenger tary
The yere was spente / and so ferre than goone
And of my lady / yet syght hadde I none
Whiche was abydynge / in the toure of musyke
Wherfore anone / I went to Rethoryke

How he was receyued of Rethoryke / and what Rethoryke is. ca. vii.

Than aboue Logyke / vp we went a stayre
In to a chambre / gayly gloryfyed
Strowed with floures / of all goodly ayre
Where sate a lady / gretely magnyfyed
And her trewe vesture / clerely puryfyed
And ouer her heed / that was bryght and shene,
She hadde a garlande / of the laurell grene
Her goodly chambre / was set all about
With depured myrrours / of speculacyon
The fragraunt fumes / dyde well encense out
All mysty vapours / of perturbacyon
More lyker was / her habytacyon
Vnto a place / whiche is celestyall
Than to a terrayne / mancyon fatall
Before whome / than I dyde knele a downe
Sayenge o sterre / of famous eloquence
O gylted goddesse / of the hygh renowne
Enspyred / with the heuenly influence
Of the doulcet well / of complacence
Vpon my mynde / with dewe aromatyke
Dystyll adowne / thy lusty Rethoryke
And depaynt my tonge / with thy ryall floures
Of delycate odoures / that I maye ensue
In my purpose / to glade myne audytoures
And with thy power / that thou me endue
To moralyse / thy lytterall censes trewe
And clense awaye / the myst of ygnoraunce
With depured beames / of goodly ordynaunce
With humble eeres / of parfyte audyence
To my request / she dyde than enclyne
Sayenge she wolde / in her goodly scyence
In short space / me so well indoctryne
That my dull mynde / it shoulde enlumyne
With golden beames / for euer to oppresse
My rude langage / and all my symplenesse
I thanked her / of her grete gentylnes
And axed her / after this questyon
Madame I sayde / I welde knowe doubtles
What rethoryke is / without abusyon
Rethoryke she sayde / was founde by reason
Man for to gouerne / well and prudently
His wordes to ordre / his speche to puryfy
Fyue partes hath rethoryke / for to werke trewe
Without whiche fyue / there can be no sentence
For these fyue / do well euermore renue
The mater parfyte / with good intellygence
Who that wyll se them / with all his dylygence
Here folowenge / I shall them specyfy
Accordynge well / all vnto myne ordynary

Of the fyrste called inuencyon. And a commendacyon of poetes. Ca. viii.

The fyrste of them / is called inuencyon
Whiche fourdeth / of the most noble werke
Of .v. inwarde wyttes / with hole affeccyon
As wryteth ryght many a noble clerke
With mysty colour / of cloudes derke
How comyn wytte / dooth full well electe
What it sholde take / and what it shall abiecte
And secondly / by ymagynacyon
To drawe a mater / full facundyous
Full meruaylous / is the operacyon
To make of nought / reason sentencyous
Clokynge a trouthe / with colour tenebrous
For often vnder a fayre fayned fable
A trouthe appereth gretely profytable
It was the guyse in olde antyquyte
Of famous poetes / ryght ymagynatyfe
Fables to fayne / by good auctoryte
They were so wyse / and so inuentyfe
Theyr obscure reason / fayre and sugratyfe
Pronounced trouthe / vnder cloudy fygures
By the inuencyon / of theyr fatall scryptures
And thyrdly they hadde suche a fantasy
In this hygh arte / to be intellygyble
Theyr same encreasynge / euermore truely
To slouth euer / they were inuyncyble
To theyr wofull hertes / was nought impossyble
With brennynge loue / of insacyate fyre
Newe thynges to fynde / they set theyr desyre
For though a man / of his propre mynde
Be inuentyf / and he do not apply
His fantasye / vnto the besy kynde
Of his connynge / it maye not ratyfye
For fantasye / must nedes exemplyfy
His newe inuencyon / and cause hym to entende
With hole desyre / to brynge it to an ende
And fourtely / by good estymacyon
He must nombre all the hole cyrcumstaunce
Of this mater / with breuyacyon
That he walke not / by longe contynuaunce
The perambulat waye / full of all varyaunce
By estymacyon / is made annuncyate
Whether the mater be longe or breuyate
For to inuencyon / it is equypolent
The mater founde / ryght well to comprehende
In suche a space / as it is conuenyent
For properly / it doth euer pretende
Of all the purpose / the length to extende
So estymacyon / maye ryght well conclude
The parfyte nombre / of euery symylytude
And yet than / the retentyfe memory
Whiche is the fyfte / must euer agregate
All maters thought / to retayne inwardly
Tyll reason therof / hath made a brobate
And by scrypture / wyll make demonstrate
Outwardly / accordynge to the thought
To proue a reason / vpon a thynge of nought
Thus whan the fourth / hath wrought full wonderly
Than must the mynde / werke vpon them all
By cours ingenyous / to rynne dyrectly
After theyr thoughtes / than in generall
The mynde must cause them to be memoryall
As after this / shall appere more openly
All hole exprest / by dame phylosophy
O thrust of vertue / and of ryall pleasure
Of famous poetes / many yeres ago
O insacyate couetyse / of the specyall treasure
Of newe inuencyon / to ydlenes the fo
We maye you laude / and often prayse also
And specyally / for worthy causes thre
Whiche to this daye / we maye bothe here and se
As to the fyrste / your hole desyre was set
Fables to fayne / to eschewe ydlenes
With amplyacyon / more connynge to get
By the labour / of inuentyfe besynes
Touchynge the trouthe / by couert lykenes
To dysnull vyce / and the vycyous to blame
Your dedes therto / exemplyfyde the same
And secondly / ryght well you dyde endyte
Of the worthy actes / of many a conqueroure
Throughe whiche laboure / that you dyde so wryte
Vnto this daye reygneth the honoure
Of euery noble / and myghty warryoure
And for youe labour / and your besy payne
Youre fame yet lyueth / and shall endure certayne
And eke to prayse you / we are gretely bounde
Bycause our connynge / frome you so procedeth
For you therof / were fyrst orygynall grounde
And vpon youre scryptue / our scyence ensueth
Your splendent verses / our lyghtnes renueth
And so we ought to laude and magnyfy
Your excellent sprynges / of famous poetry

A replycacyon agaynst ignoraunt persones. Ca. ix.792 But rude people / opprest with blyndnes
Agaynst your fables / wyll often solysgyse
Suche is theyr mynde / suche is theyr folysshnes
For they byleue / in no maner of wyse
That vnder a colour / a trouthe may aryse
For folysshe people / blynded in a mater
Wyll often erre / whan they of it do clatter
O all ye cursed / and suche euyll fooles
Whose syghttes be blynded / ouer all with foly
Open your eyes / in the pleasaunt scoles
Of parfyte connynge / or that you reply
Agaynst fables / for to be contrary
For lacke of connyge / no meruayle thoughe you erre
In suche scyence / whiche is frome you so ferre
For now the people / whiche is dull and rude
Yf that they do rede / a fatall scrypture
And can not moralyse / the semelytude
Whiche to theyr wyttes / is so harde and obscure
Than wyll they saye / that it is sene in vre
That nought do poetes / but depaynt and lye
Deceyuynge them / by tongues of flatery
But what for that / they can not defame
The poetes actes / whiche are in effecte
Vnto themselfe / remayneth the shame
To dysprayse that / whiche they can not correcte
And yf that they / hadde in it inspecte
That they wolde it prayse / and often eleuate
For it shoulde be / to them so delycate.

poem by Stephen Hawes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Sonnet LXXXVII

SInce I did leaue the presence of my loue,
Many long weary dayes I haue outworne:
and many nights, that slowly seemd to moue,
theyr sad protract from euening vntill morne.
For when as day the heauen doth adorne,
I wish that night the noyous day would end:
and when as night hath vs of light forlorne,
I wish that day would shortly reascend.
Thus I the time with expectation spend,
and faine my griefe with chaunges to beguile,
that further seemes his terme still to extend,
and maketh euery minute seeme a myle.
So sorrow still doth seeme too long to last,
but ioyous houres doo fly away too fast.

poem by Edmund Spenser
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The Fyftene Loyes Of Maryage

Somer passed/and wynter well begone
The dayes shorte/the darke nyghtes longe
Haue taken season/and brynghtnes of the sonne
Is lytell sene/and small byrdes songe
Seldon is herde/in feldes or wodes ronge
All strength and ventue/of trees and herbes sote
Dyscendynge be/from croppe in to the rote

And euery creature by course of kynde
For socoure draweth to that countre and place
Where for a tyme/they may purchace and fynde
Conforte and rest/abydynge after grace
That clere Appolo with bryghtnes of his face
Wyll sende/whan lusty ver shall come to towne
And gyue the grounde/of grene a goodly gowne

And Flora goddesse bothe of whyte and grene
Her mantell large/ouer all the erthe shall sprede
Shewynge her selfe/apparayled lyke a quene
As well in feldes/wodes/as in mede
Hauynge so ryche a croune vpon her hede
The whiche of floures/shall be so fayre and bryght
That all the worlde/shall take therof a lyght

So now it is/of late I was desyred
Out of the trenche to drawe a lytell boke
Of .xv. Ioyes/of whiche though I were hyred
I can not tell/and yet I vndertoke
This entrepryse/with a full pyteous loke
Remembrynge well/the case that stode in
Lyuynge in hope/this wynter to begyn

Some Ioyes to fynde that be in maryage
For in my youth/yet neuer acquayntaunce
Had of them but now in myn olde aege
I trust my selfe/to forther and auaunce
If that in me/there lacke no suffysaunce
Whiche may dyspleasyr/clerely set a parte
I wante but all/that longeth to that arte

yet wyll I speke/though I may do no more
Fully purposynge/in all these Ioyes to trete
Accordynge to my purpose made to fore
All be it so/I can not well forgete
The payne/trauayle/besynes and hete
That some men haue after they wedded be
Because theyr wyues/want humylyte

Who shall I pray/to helpe me to endyte
Cupyde or Uenus/whiche haue me in dysdayne
And for my feblenes/in grete dyspyte
For yeres passed/may not retorne agayne
Now may I speke/and shewe in wordes playne
Whan youth is gone/and comen is stoupynge age
Then worldly Ioyes/must go on pylgrymage

If I sholde praye/vnto ymeneus
The god of weddynge/to helpe me in this charge
Then wyll he bydde me go to Morpleus
The god of slepe/for he hath wayes large
Whiche with his rodde of leed dooth stere his barge
To brynge forthe age/vnto his slepy caue
Pray hym of rest/and nothynge elles craue

I knowe ryght well/it is but vanyte
All worldly Ioye/medled with bytternes
Therfore these fayned goddes I lete them be
And me betake to god/whose stedfastnes
May neuer fayle/neyther his sothfastnes
Besechynge hym/that for his moders sake
He wyll me teche his lytell boke to make

And with good wyll I shall me soone apply
This treatyse out of frenche to translate
Of .xv. Ioyes/and yf I myght therby
Purchace but one/my selfe though it be late
I wolde be gladde/for olde paynes I hate
Trustyge to Ioye/now somwhat in myn aege
As dooth a byrde that syngeth in a cage

Now to the effecte of this translacyon
With grete desyre shortly well I procede
But speke I must/by protestacyon
Touchynge this mater/or elles gode forbede
Whome I beseche lowely to be my spede
Praynge also/eche other maner wyght
Take no dyspleasure with my wordes lyght

Here endeth the prologue of the translatoure.

And the prohemye of the auctour begynneth.
Myn auctour wryteth in this prohemye
That many men/haue trauayled here tofore
To shewe by reason and auctoryte
That it is grete wytte/and wysdome more
For euery maner wyght/of woman bore
To lyue in fraunchyse/at his lyberte
Than seruaunt to hym selfe/and thrall to be

Without constraynt/but of his neclygence
His wyll to folowe/and his vnclene delyte
As lusty folke in theyr adolescence
Haue suche desyre/and so grete appetyte
On Uenus brydle/for to champe and byte
Tyll they with loue be stryken to the herte
Wherby full/oft they suffre paynes smerte

Unto whose reason/and opynyon
It may be sayd/and answered thus agayne
Man hath no good wytte ne entencyon
In his yonge tyme/whan nature dooth constrayne
Sauynge in Ioyes/and delytes vayne
Of this frayle worlde vnsure and transytory
None other thynge is in his memory

As thus whan men in youth couragyous
With frewyll endewed and lustynes
Of theyr desyre/and mynde outragyous
Withouten nede/but of theyr folysshenes
Frome wele to wo/frome Ioye to heuynes
Conuey them selfe/from all theyr lyberte
Nothynge content with theyr felycyte

For where as they may frely ryde or go
And at theyr choyse/dysporte them ouer all
I you ensure these yonge men wyll not so
Whan they leest wene/than sodanly they fall
And vnconstrayned make theyr bodyes thrall
Lyke to a wyght that in to pryson depe
Without cause/all hastely dooth crepe

So do they oft for lacke of kyndely wytte
And whan they be within this pryson strayte
The gayler cometh and fast the dore dooth shytte
Whiche is of yren stronge/and in a wayte
Helyeth oft/for drede that thrugh desayte
By nyght or day some sholde escape out
Ryght besyly he pryeth all about

He barreth dores/and maketh sure all the lockes
The stronge boltes/the fettres and the chayne
He sercheth well/the holes and the stockes
That wo be they/that lyeth in the payne
And out therof/they shall not go agayne
But euer endure/in wepynge care and sorowe
For good ne prayer/shall them neuer borowe

And specyally men may call hym assoted
Ferre frome reason/of wysdome desolate
That thus his tyme mysse vsed hath and doted
Whan he had herde/suche prysoners but late
Wepynge waylynge/and with them selfe debate
Lyenge in pryson/as he hath passed by
And put hym selfe therin so folysshely

This auctour sayth/by cause mankynde delyteth
Alway to haue fraunchyse and lyberte
Without the whiche/nature of man dyspyteth
Ryght thus in playne wordes speketh he
That many lordes grete/the whiche haue be
And lordshyppes haue be loste and ouerthrowe
For takynge fredomes frome theyr subgets lowe

He sheweth eke in maner semblable
That grete cytees/with many an other toune
And comyn people of mynde vnreasonable
Haue ben dystroyed/and sodaynly cast doune
Agaynst theyr prynces/takynge opynyon
Desyrynge fredomes/mo than here tofore
Theyr elders had/and thus they haue be lore

By reason wherof/batayles grete and werre
Haue ben/and many folkes also slayne
Syth Ihesus deyed/was neuer thynge bought derre
Whan poore subgettes on foly wyll pretayne
Agaynst theyr prynce/or elles theyr souerayne
To moue maters/not beynge obedynge
Suche by the lawe ben execute and shent

Somtyme the noble realme and men of Fraunce
Exempte were/and vtterly made fre
By theyr grete/prowes and valyaunce
Of the emperours/of Rome the cyte
As of trybutes/for whiche batayles haue be
Betwene them/and the Romayns longe ago
In whiche dayes I fynde it happed so

Upon a tyme/for cause that they ne were
Of fraunce in puyssaunce/able to withstonde
The grete army and the myghty powere
Of an emperour entred in theyr londe
But for as moche/as they ne wolde be bonde
Them were leuer go from that regyon
Than to remayne vnder subgeccyon

Seruynge this emperour/and trybute pay
So of hygh courage/and theyr grete nobles
All sodaynly/these nobles wente away
Conquerynge coutrees/suche was theyr worthynes
And afterwarde retorned neuertheles
Home to theyr lande/in grete prosperyte
Whiche they tyll now haue holde in lyberte

Unto theyr owne vse/prouffyte and auayle
Wherfore folkes of many a nacyon
Lyuynge in seruage/constreyned with trauayle
Desyred to haue theyr habytacyon
In fraunce/and there vnder domynacyon
To lyue in wele/lyberte/and rest
Wherby it grewe/somtyme the noblest

Realme of the worlde/that knowen were or founde.
Moost fayre in buyldynge/and inhabyte best
The whiche in treasure/and scyence dyde habounde
Then for asmoche/as they be fre at leest
Prudent in fayth/in lyuynge holyest
They sholde theyr subgets/in frauchyse kepe & vse
After theyr lawe/and neuer to refuse

Ageynst all trouthe/and inconuenyent
It is certayne/and nothynge charytable
God knoweth well/the lorde omnypotent
A man to haue/a custome reasonable
Onely for hym selfe/ryght prouffytable
And for his neyghboure/vse it other wyse
Suche vsage sholde/all well dysposed men dyspyse

Herof it groweth that lyberte is lost
In people voyde/of reason and scyence
And thus vyces and synnes reygneth most
Some gyue to vertues lytell reuerence
Wherin to god/do they ryght grete offence
The comyn wele/in generalyte
All men sholde loue of perfyte charyte

Why it is thus/a man may reason make
Who loueth not his wele pertyculerly
Hath but a lytell wytte I vndertake
Whan he may haue a prouffyte syngulerly
Hurtynge none other creature therby
And wyll not helpe hym selfe whan he so may
But wylfully dooth cast his grace away

A fole is he/that wyttynge wyll go
Into a caue/a dyche/or elles a pytte
Whiche is aboue/bothe narowe and strayte also
And all within/full wyde and depe is it
So that whan he therin/is fall and shytte
Out may he not/for there he must abyde
As wylde bestes do in forestes syde

Trapped and taken/ryght so this crature
In lyke wyse/thrugh his owne neclygence
Is in the dyche/where as he must endure
Lyke as these bestes/whiche gladly wolde go thens
Sekynge the wayes with all theyr delygence
Out to auoyde/but so it wyll not be
Tyme is not then/forth of the dyche to fle

Thus one may say/and therupon conclude
By suche as in to maryage be brought
And herupon to make a symylytude
Unto the fysshe whiche hath his pasture sought
And in a lepe/that is of twygges wrought
Is take/and out can not escape ne twynne
But euer dwell/and tary styll therinne

The fysshe that swymmeth in the ryuer clere
As it shall fall hym ofte by aduenture
To rayle aboute/in places here and there
Fyndeth this lepe/the whiche withoute mesure
Beholdeth he with all his besy cure
And he therin/the fysshes and the bayte
Dooth se/supposynge well in his consayte

They be in Ioye and pleasure at theyr lust
And all aboute the lepe he gooth rounde
With grete desyre/hauynge a veray trust
To come to them/and whan that he hath founde
The entre/in he gooth gladde and Iocounde
And to the shynynge bayte/he hyeth faste
Wherof anone/he taketh his repaste

To go agayne/he thynketh but a Iape
Forthe of the lepe/assaynge besyly
A way to fynde/how he therout may scape
And thens departe/to other company
He boreth with his byll all hastely
His besynes/and laboure is in waste
Abyde a whyle/he shall for all his haste

Therin to dwell in wo and heuynes
And where as he hath demed certaynly
Afore to haue had Ioye/and lustynes
There shall he passe his tyme ryght heuely
By men it falleth thus moost comenly
That put them in to maryage all day
Experyence wyll wytnesse as I say

Though it so be/that folkes se before
These wedded men/within the lepe enclosed
In poynt to droune & drenche/yet not therfore
Wyll they forbere/ne tyll they be innosed
As houndes be of bones/it is supposed
There is not one/by other can be ware
Tyll they be take/and holden in the snare

Thus what by foly/fortune or destene
A man may se the people euery day
Demeane themselfe/forsakynge lyberte
And shortely after that repenteth they
Desyrynge it to haue/but they ne may
At ony tyme/vnto suche grace attayne
And all to late/for them is to complayne

Moche more herof/myn auctoure dooth declare
In his prologue/or that he wyll begyn
To shewe these .xv. Ioyes/but I must spare
By losse of tyme/there is nothynge to wynne
But pouerte/vnthryftynes/and synne
Wherfore in wordes rude to make an ende
And of these Ioyes to wryte now I entende

Some men do call these Ioyes sorowes grete
But yet they take them well in pacyence
For of necessyte they must forgete
The care/trouble/sorowe/payne and offence
The whiche they suffre at the reuerence
Of theyr wyues/whiche they may not forsake
And though they oft/mysse vse theyr eloquence
Lytell regarde therto a man sholde take

Here endeth the proheme of the auctour.

And here begynneth the fyrst Ioye of maryage
The fyrst Ioy of maryage is this
As whan a man of tender yeres is
Flourynge in youth/pleasaunt fresshe and gay
Then in this worlde/nothynge may hym dysmay.
Ne other mynde/desyre nor appetyte
Conforte/lykynge/pleasure/Ioye/ne delyte
Hath he except/how he may tye his poyntes
To cause his hose/to syt well on his Ioyntes
And make his vysage/and his lymmes fayre
He brussheth oft his goune/and other gayre
His hede he combeth smothe ryght as hym lyketh
Wherof the heres/pruneth he and pyketh
And maketh hym as clenly as he can
That folke may say/there gooth a goodly man
So wyll he synge/daunce/and balades make
And vpon hym/mo entrepryses take
That he can do/or may atchyeue perchaunce
Thynkynge therby/hym selfe so to enhaunce
The fayrest creature that he can espye
He wyll beholde/with ryght a lusty eye
As vysynge well/where he suche one may fynde
A Iolynet accordynge to his mynde
And whan he hath her fast in his demayne
Ioyous he is/ryght mery/gladde and fayne
For paraduenture so the case may stande
That by his faders/or his moders lande
Or by theyr other goodes he may mayntene
His Iolynets/and go ryght well besene
Lyuynge in rest and ease habundauntly
Beholdynge other folkes certaynly
In to the bonde of maryage ybrought
Than in his mynde he casteth and his thought
Lyke as the fysshe behelde the lepe/so he
Demeth/these wedded men in blysse be
Hauynge the bayte/and pasture at theyr wyll
Wherof they may/theyr appetyte fulfyll
Ryght well he seeth the beatute of theyr wyues
Supposynge that they haue so mery lyues
With them so well appoynted and arayed
For whiche the sely husbande hath not payed
It may so be percase/at many season
Some folke wyll say/and shewe this man by reason
That so her owne fader/or her moder
Her hath arayed/and demeth he none oder
And so this yonge man/torneth hym aboute
The lepe/wherin of wedded a route
Enclosed be/and thenne he dooth enquere
Of maryage/a lytell here and there
Soone here vpon/aryseth suche a wynde
And smoke/that he therof is made so blynde
That he vnware/in to the lepe is cast
Wherin he shall be kepte and holden fast
And where as he was wonte in tyme afore
To synge and daunce/that may well be forbore
Of poyntes byenge/purses/or thynges lyke
Herof shall he not nede/whyles he may pyke
Upon the bayte/tyll he therof be full
His besynes may cause hym to be dull
Now Ioyeth he a whyle/and hym delyteth
To do pleasaunce/ryght well he hym acquyteth
Newly so entred/in to the foresayd gin
And for a tyme nothynge dysmayed therin
Supposynge out to go/but there yet styll
He must abyde/and dwell maugre his wyll
And to repent/there is no tyme ne houre
For with the swete mete/the sauces soure
Contynuaunce wyll cause hym to assay
Syth he can not escape by ony way
And for to put his wyfe in suche degre
As appertayneth of necessyte
It hym behoueth honeste to saue
And so may be/his wyfe an herte may haue
Ryght good/desyrynge to be fresshe and gay
For peraduenture/she this other day
Was at a feest/where she dyde well aduyse
Women of her degre/all other wyse
Than she/appoynted/clothed/and arayde
Within her mynde/than to her selfe she sayde
That by her byrthe/she ought as well as they
To be apparayled and in as good arey
So she compaceth/castynge in her mynde
The day and houre/out craftely to fynde
To her good man/this mater to declare
But her entent to shewe/yet wyll she spare
Tyll she with hym/at nyght be gone to bedde
For there these wyues trust well to be spedde
Of suche petycyons/as they requyre
Accordynge to theyr wylles and desyre
Whan that this wyfe/in bedde is layde thus
Sadly she sayth/for loue of cryst Ihesus
Syr lete me be in rest/for euyll at ease
I am/and he whiche gladly wolde her please
Answereth and sayth/tell me wherfore it is
That greueth you/she sayth grete cause ywys
Haue I/for ye care nothynge what I saye
Or shewe to you/in ernest or in playe
He sayeth than/why speke ye in suche a wyse
By god and all his sayntes in paradyse
She sayth/no myster it is that ye it knewe
For whan I speke to you but wordes fewe
Lytell accompt therof or rekenynge
ye make certayne/demynge for other thynge
Suche wordes I haue/and yet it is not so
Whiche causeth me/oft tymes to be wo
Truly sayth he ye shall tell your dysease
Than answereth she/syr syth it may you please
Forsothe I shall you tell/this is the cas
This other daye at suche a feest I was
The whiche in trouth/me plased nothynge wele
And wherfore I shall tell you euery dele
Whan I there was/I thynke it veryly
There was no wyfe arayed soo symply
Though she were neuer of soo lowe degre
As I was than/ye may byleue well me
How be it syr/surely I saye not this
For praysynge of my selfe/but soo it is
I thaynke god of his mercy and grace
That I am comen/of as good a place
As ony gentyl woman that was there
I me reporte/to suche as knowen where
My lygnage and myn ancestres but late
Abydynge were/and for myn owne estate
This saye I not/sauynge I am ashamed
That ye or elles/my kynne shall be defamed
Nothynge care I/of clothynge what I haue
So that alwaye/your honour ye may saue
And than sayth he/in what estate were they
At thylke feest/now tell me I you praye
Now by my trouth/syth ye wyll knowe algate
She sayth/there was not one in her estate
Egall to me/but she a newe gowne had
And was than better besene and clad
Of what clothe were/these gownes sayth he
Of scarlet fyne/of grene or perce sayth she
Furred ryght wele/with menyuer or gray
With traynes longe/and sleues large/so they
Had eke of rede/or grene/all gyrdelles good
Hangynge vnto the grounde/and by the rode
Theyr gownes were made of the newest gyse
And of the best maner/one coude deuyse
But there had I vpon my weddynge gowne
Well ouer worne/and of the olde facyon
Whiche ouer lytell/and to shorte for me
Is waxen as ye may perceyue and se
For I am growen more/syth it was made
Than at my maryage/whan I it hade
For whan I gyuen was to you alone
I was but yonge and lytell of persone
And so moche wasted am I now for payne
Whiche I of late haue had/that in certayne
I seme now wele a moder for to be
To her that myght be moder vnto me
And in good sayth so sore asshamed was I
Whan that I was amonge this company
That I ne coude ne durste make countenaunce
And yet had I more payne and dyspleasaunce
Whan that a lady there/of suche a place
Afore them all wolde saye vnto my face
Grete shame it was my clothes were so bad
And wondred why that I no better had
For whiche they toke to me but lytell hede
Unneth they turne them wolde/so god me spede
Towarde me/saue of theyr gentylnesse
Of very pyte and of lowelynesse
The good man than her husbande answered tho
ye knowe ryght wele that we haue moche to do
Wherfore my loue now herken what I saye
Remembre ye the same tyme and the daye
Whan in to maryage we entred were
Plente of money/plate or other gere
We had but small/ryght wele herof ye knowe
For whiche your selfe ye may suppose and trowe
That it hehoueth vs now for to bye
Beddes and other thynges hastelye
And at this tyme syluer ne golde in store
Lytell haue we how be it ferthermore
yet must we bye/for wynnynge and encres
Kyne and other catelles neuertheles
In suche a place/for our prouysyon
Also this other daye there fell adown
The pygnon of our hous/for couerture
It lacketh/wherfore dame I you assure
Made must it be in haast of very nede
And also other maters for to spede
I haue/for whiche grete money shall I spende
Or I may brynge my werkes to an ende
And ouer this certes within shorte space
Unto thassyse holden at suche a place
For me to go it is well necessary
Bycause of suche a plee I may not tarye
That for your londe I haue to pursue there
Of whiche as yet I may saye this and swere
I haue had lytell prouffyte or auayle
But spende my goodes/laboure and trauayle
A syr she sayd/now wote I well that ye
None other wyse can speke but repreue me
Of my landes/this may I not abyde
And in her bedde/vnto that other syde
All hastely she turneth with a grone
Sayenge/for goddes loue let me alone
For neuer shall I speke to you agayne
What deuyll sayth this man why do ye playne
And are so wroth/without cause resonable
I am not syr/she sayth/ne yet culpable
Though ye but lytell had/whan ye me toke
For dyuers to me spake/that I forsoke
Of .xx. places/whiche wolde noo good craue
So that they myght onely my body haue
In maryage withouten golde or rente
My person was to them suffycyente
But so it was/that ye ofte came and wente
And many a messenger vnto me sente
By suche subtyll maner crafte and mene
So that all other I refused clene
And had noo wyll/ony to haue but yow
For whiche grete blame & maulgre haue I now
Bothe of my lorde/my fader be ye sure
And of my moder/out of all mesures
Wherof I may haue hate and grete dysdayne
And syr this questyon I aske agayne
If ony woman/at this sayd feest there
In suche a wyse cladde or arayed were
As I beynge to me/in lyke estate
Nay syr not one/I was infortunate
Thyder to come/for by saynt Iohan I saye
The symplest gownes/that they gaue awaye
Unto theyr chamberers/were better cloth
Than is the gowne/whiche on my body goth
On sondayes/or on the holy daye
So wote I not herof/what is to saye
Moche people good out of this worlde departe
Wherof grete domage is/but for my parte
I saye/yf god were pleased I sholde decesse
To you it wolde be lytell heuynesse
For noo dyspleasure/wolde ye for me take
But hastely gete you an other make
By god sayth he/that is nothynge well sayd
Suche symple wordes/myght aparte be layd
For there is nothynge that I for you do
But wele ye ought to take regarde therto
Turne you to me/& what thynge ye lyke best
I shall perfourme/for goddes sake let me rest
Sayth she/now sothly nothynge alyeth me
And wolde our lorde/that in lyke caas were ye
But neuer shall ye touche me after this
No shall sayth he/no syr she sayth ywys
To make all wele/than thynketh he and sayth
If I were deed I knowe it by my fayth
Unto an other/soone wolde ye maryed be
Nay syr by hym that dyed on a tree
Touchynge suche pleasure/as I vnto this daye
Haue had in maryage/I swere and saye
Durynge my lyfe/that neuer mouth of man
Shall touche to myn/and she to wepe began
Sayenge these wordes/to god I make auow
If that I knewe to lyue here after yow
I sholde so deale/that I afore wolde go
The teeres fell downe fro her eyen two
Thus he demaundeth her with wordes fayre
All be it soo/she thynketh the contrayre
The good man demeth than/he is all eased
But yet agayne/in mynde is he dyspleased
Supposynge/that of nature she is colde
Of body chast/& deale with no man wolde
Also he troweth that she hym loueth wele
Thus he in herte is eased euery dele
Bycause he seeth her som what wepe afore
He trusteth that she loueth hym the more
Wherof he hath a pyteous herte and mynde
And can not be in rest tyll that he fynde
The wayes how he may her content & ease
All that he can/he dooth her for to please
In dyuers wyse/with laboure and trauayle
But all for nought/it may nothynge auayle
For she alwaye awayteth for to pyke
Upon the stroke that she afore dyde stryke
That is to saye/a newe gowne wolde she haue
The whiche for cruell stomocke nolde she craue
She passeth tyme/and no good wyll she do
But at suche houre as she was not wonte to
Upryseth she/and after all that daye
A cursed angry chere maketh she alwaye
And not one fayre worde than wyll she speke
So in her breste the malyce dooth she steke
Soone after this cometh the seconde nyght
That she to bedde must go as is it ryght
With her good man/& whan that she is layde
In bedde/than he whiche is not wele apayde
Beholdeth wele loketh and taketh kepe
On her to knowe/whether that she wake or slepe
He well aduyseth yf her armes bothe
Be couered wele and surely with the clothe
And heleth them yf nede or mayster be
Wherwith anone suche countenaunce maketh she
As thoughe she were out of her slepe awaked
Slepe ye sayth he/I thought ye had ben naked
Nay syr she sayd/what be ye not appeased
Sayth he/no syr myn herte is lytell eased
Syghynge sayth she I thanke god of his sounde
I haue ynoughe to lyue vpon the grounde
By god sayth he/dame we shall haue ynowe
Of worldly goodes/and nere to her he drowe
Sayenge I haue bethought me of a thynge
ye shall be at my cosynnes weddynge
And ye shall haue ordeyned as goodly gere
For you as ony gentyl woman there
Certes she sayth/all thoughe ye saye the best
Of all this yere/I wyll go to no feest
Now by my fayth he sayth but yet ye shall
And what ye wyll demaunde haue gowne & all
What I demaunde she sayth/that is ryght nought
For syr so god me helpe that all hath wrought
I aske not to be Ioly for enuy
Gladde wolde I be forsothe yf neuer I
Out of your hous but vnto chyrche sholde passe
Matyns to here euensonge and masse
I saye it not ne yet no wayes seche
Sauynge onely for suche vngoodly speche
As was amonges other whiche I knewe
By my gossyp/whome I fynde euer trewe
For she the wordes harde all openly
The whiche she shewed me full secretely
Than thynketh moche this poore newe wedded man
And in his mynde to compace he began
Consyderynge in what caas that he stode
A newe husholde hauynge lytell gode
And moche to do he had by many a waye
Not purueyed wele grete sommes to paye
And fyfty scutes or syxty for this gowne
He must bestowe/and shortly laye it downe
And in his thought/cast a cheuysaunce
For there may be none other waye ne chaunce
But that this gowne nedely must be had
Wherwith and other gere she shall be clad
For he perceyued hath/by his aduyse
His wyfe a woman is/bothe good and wyse
He thanketh god/the lorde of heuen blysse
So fayre a Iuell/to gyue hym as she is
From one syde to an other/he turneth ofte
In bedde he slepeth not though he lye softe
And it may happen soo/his Wyfe this seeth
Whiche subtyll is/and she within her teeth
Wyll laughe/whan that she knoweth his conceyte
Whome she hath ouercome/with her deceyte
After this nyght/whan comen is the morowe
Aryseth vp this good man full of sorowe
All ouercome with syghes/that he hath take
The nyght afore/for his good wyues sake
And in auenture to the market gothe
With pawne or credence/for to by the clothe
And straytly vnto marchauntes he hym byndeth
Or elles to them suche Iuelles as he fyndeth
Whether they be of syluer/or of golde
Whiche he somtyme had/of his fader olde
Then sellteh he/or elles .x. pounde or more
Of rente in mortgage layeth he therfore
Shortly this man/dooth so his maters spede
That he hath all suche thynges as in that nede
Wherwith he cometh home all spedyly
And to haue thanke he demeth veryly
She syenge this/made semblaunt hym before
As though suche cost myght well haue ben forbore
And that nothynge/she sette by gowne ne gayre
That he home brought with hym for her repayre
Cursynge all them with tonge/& not with thought
That fyrst so grete estate and porte vp brought
And whan she knewe that thynge was sure she sayd
To her good man and hym besought and prayed
He neuer sholde reproue her of the daye
That she had made hym spende for her araye
His money or his goodes/and neuermore
Her to rebuke/or elles vmbrayde therfore
For by the gowne set I nothynge she sayth
So that I may me kepe frome colde in fayth
And alway haue one peny in my purse
Whiche wyll suffyse to me though it were worse
Anone was made this gowne/and eke an hood
Also a gyrdell whiche was ryche and good
And now are comen the termes & the houres
Whan that he must content his credytoures
And this poore man not able is to paye
Bycause his golde and syluer ben awaye
And lenger wyll they not forbere this man
But execute in all the haast they can
They curse on hym/& she the same perceyueth
And therof all the circumstaunce conceyueth
And perauenture afore this curse procede
Or elles after the lawe dooth hym forbede
In chyrche to be/wherfore his company
Men wyll eschewe and grudge all vtterly
Hauynge dysdayne with hym to drynke & ete
And he but lytell hath and none can gete
Of money out of daunger hym to brynge
God wote what Ioye he hath in his lyuynge
His wyfe goth cryenge in the hous aboute
Wherwith a noyse she maketh and a showte
And thus she sayth/ha cursed be the houre
That I was euer in my moders boure
Forth brought or borne/alas it had not happed
That in the cloth/wherin I was fyrst lapped
I had be buryed/for neuer so grete shame
Betydde to ony woman ne dyffame
As to me and my kynne/now shall be layd
Alas I laboure sore/and fast she sayd
And all the laboure besynesse and cost
That I haue done of many a daye is lost
In twenty places or moo I had be maryed
If I so wolde/but lyke a fole I taryed
For where I myght grete honour & auayle
Haue had/and rychesse/therof now I fayle
I knowe how that theyr wyues be bysene
That wolde haue maryed me/whiche doth me
And therfore haue I heuynesse and wo
That deth the lyfe nyll take my body fro
Thus she complayneth her withouten care
Of her husbande/or how the good man fare
For hooly she hath sette her mynde vpon
Her owne estate/and shortely she is gon
Unto this maryage/and where she sholde
Haue thought vpon her husbande she ne wolde
But to this poore man putteth all the wyte
Lyke as an hors that can bothe playne & byte
This woman dooth/and she is cause of all
For she this man hath made so bestyall
Somwhat for sorowe/or elles wyse by playe
That well nygh wasted is his wytte a waye
So that he wyll not vnderstonde ne knowe
That she is in defaute/wyll he not trowe
And though he se the maters euydent
yet of necessytee he is content
But of the thought & sorowes to enquere
It is but waast/syth ye the causes here
Of this man whiche can neyther rest ne slepe
That thynketh euery houre and taketh kepe
How that he may in ease this woman sette
And fynde some remedy to paye his dette
But yet is he more angry for his wyfe
Whiche curseth hym/than all that other stryfe
Thus soroweth he/in pouertee downe fall
And frome that payne recouer neuer shall
Prycked he is/but smarte can he none fele
That all is Ioye/to hym it semeth wele
Thus is this man within the lepe yclosed
And parauenture so he is dysposed
That he nothynge therof dooth hym repent
For yf that he out of the same were hent
Soone wolde he go agayne in to that gynne
And all his payne and woo newly begynne
yet sholde he neuer be in soo good cas
As he hath ben afore he maryed was
And there this poore man shall vse his lyfe
Endynge his dayes in wretchednes & stryfe

Thus endeth the fyrst Ioye of maryage.

Here begynnes the seconde Ioye of maryage.
As for the seconde Ioye of maryage
It is whan yt this wyfe of her courage
Feleth that she so rychely is arayed
In suche a wyse as here tofore is sayd
And knoweth well ynough yt she is fayre
Than wyll she go frome home to take the ayre
To many feestes and assembles eke
And also holy sayntes for to seke
On dyuers pylgrymages wyll she go
All though the husbande be not pleased so
Her Iourney enterpryseth she to ryde
With her cosyon and gossyppes at a tyde
And specyally for her kynnesmannes sake
Her pylgrymage deuoutly wyll she take
And perauenture yet it may soo be
That this man is as nyghe kynne vnto me
As vnto her/but soo hym for to call
Wonte and accustomed is she ouer all
It may be thought for some entent or cause
She calleth hym soo/but there I leue a clause
Her moder than seynge her besynesse
Cometh somtyme to this man I gesse
And as a woman can begynne to clatter
She sayth his herte to tycle and flatter
This foresayd man/her cosyn is of blode
For her to go with suche a company is good
And other whyle the husbande is lothe
That she sholde go/sayth sadly by his othe
How he none horses hath ne other thynge
Her to conuey to feest or gaderynge
Than shall the gossyp or her cosyn saye
I am ryght lothe by god and by this daye
To go/for myn hous so god me spede
Moche thynge haue I to do of very nede
And were it not honour to you and me
Speke wolde I not as now so mote I the
For syr soo god me helpe I knowe it wele
your wyfe to go is pleased neuer a dele
She is a woman leest that loueth waast
Of ony lyuynge/for euer she dooth haast
Home warde whan she at ony place is oute
For your expence & charge she hath suche doute
So this good man/whos wysdome is to seche
And sore abused with theyr flaterynge speche
Demaundeth who goth in this campany
Of men and other/and she sayth certaynly
My cosyon and my godfader also
My god moder/and many an other mo
your moder in lawe/whiche is your wyues moder
My good cosyn your wyfe/and dyuers other
Also the wyues of suche a place in dede
And your cosyn and hers haue ye no drede
Other there be mo/dwellynge in your strete
I dare well saye this company is mete
A kynges doughter for to be amonge
And be ye sure she wyll not tarye longe
Soo is this sely man on honoure sette
That in no wyse wyll he this vyage lette
And perauenture she that thus dooth speke
Shall haue a gowne or other thynges to breke
The mater that the persone may be playd
And thus it falleth ofte as it is sayd
He sayth this company is good and fayre
But she moche hath to do/and grete repayre
At home how be it/for to goo as than
She hath a lycence gyuen by this man
Whiche to her sayth/beware how by the dayes
ye be demeaned trauaylynge on your wayes
Also take hede at nyght ye lodge you sure
And god you kepe frome euyll auenture
The good wyfe than/whiche doth perceyue & here
That she hath leue/maketh coutenaunce & chere
At home for to abyde yet had she leuer
Than forth to ryde/& from her home dysseuer
She sayth my loue this tyme no cause haue I
Out for to goo with suche a company
I praye you that I may not goo this season
Her cosyn than was nyghe herynge that reason
Answered and sayd/what cosyn ye shall goo
your gentyll husband wyll that it be soo
The good man than a lytell abacke doth drawe
And thus he sayth vnto his moder in lawe
Ne were it for the trust I haue in yow
She sholde not go/this make I god auow
Ha my good sone she sayth by heuen kynge
That made this worlde/and euery other thynge
ye may as surely and withouten drede
Suffre her to go as for to saye your crede
Thus they departe and on theyr waye be gone
And as they go/these wordes than sayth one
Unto an other he hath some Ialousye
It semeth wele he dredeth Ieopardye
Thus is he mocked by these womens arte
For now come galauntes forth on euery parte
Whiche at the feest afore by auenture
This foresayd werke haue made and put in vre
And there awaytynge ben vpon theyr nede
For to conclude and so forth to procede
But how this wyfe now fested is & serued
For loue of her good man all vndeserued
And god wote how she doth herselfe applye
To reuell daunce/and for to synge on hye
Also she maketh good and mery chere
But god wote how she prayseth her bedfere
The husbande lefte at home whyle she is oute
And seeth herselfe so praysed amonge the route
Certes these galauntes than her do aduyse
And se she is apparaylled in suche wyse
Perceyuynge well her chere and countenaunce
Shortely to hex eche one hym doth auaunce
One profreth moche/an other offreth more
Harde is to me the cause to tell wherfore
The Ioly chere the praty trotte and pace
With the demeanynge of a womans face
Wyll gyue these louers cause & hardynesse
To sewe for grace vnto theyr worthynesse
One to her wordes gracyous dooth saye
And other cometh as nygh her as he may
And setteth his fote a lofte on hers playne
Eke by the honde quyckly he doth her strayne
Also an other his loke casteth a syde
Full pyteously and sharpely for a tyde
An other than vnto her dooth presente
A dyamonde ryght fayre and oryente
Or elles a ryche rubye with a rynge
Whiche she receyueth with some other thynge
By whiche thynges may she well vnderstande
Of theyr entent/and fele it with her hande
If she haue ony reason brayne or wyt
And other whyles by fortune happeth it
That frome her chayre alyght wyll she adown
To doo some werkes of deuocyon
Or vnto Uenus to doo sacrefyse
But how can I not saye ne in what wyse
This sely man at home in poore degree
Is made and brought vnto necessytee
For thylke estate that his wyfe doth pretende
The mater thus hath dryuen to an ende
And made her go to gaderynges and feestes
Amonge a wycked company of gestes
For vnto her they yolden be in trust
To haue theyr pleasures appetytes and lust
Upon none other thynge do they aweyte
But how they may doo this poore man deceyte
The stroke wherof he hath without escape
Whiche comynly is called but a Iape
So he is causer of his propre shame
None other wyght therof is for to blame
And thus it happeth by contynuaunce
That what by sygnes speche or countenaunce
Trouth of the thynge wherof he was in doute
All openly reported is aboute
Wherby he falleth Ialouse in a rage
Out of the whiche there is no wyght so sage
That hym can moue/for who that feruently
Of woman feleth the cruell malady
There is no medycyne that may hym cure
The sekenesse is so sharpe without mesure
Than wyll he bete her bytterly and curse
Wherby the werkes maketh he moche worse
For chastyce can he not by daye ne nyght
His wyfe but by his betynge maketh lyght
And hote the loue bytwne her & her frende
Thus dryueth he the mater to an ende
And soo he other whyles fortune may
One of her lymmes breke or kytte away
Wherby his castell or his pyle he loseth
Than as a mased beest he hym dysposyth
Withouten care and all he setteth at nought
Thus hath he founde ye payne whiche he hath sought
And neuer after wyll she loue hym more
Bycause that he hath beten her so sore
But for to passe the tyme and make a shewe
And of fayre wordes speketh she but fewe
There this poore man in turment payne & wo
Lyueth and yet he thynketh not so
And all these sorowes/he for Ioyes doth take
Soo in the lepe he is I vndertake
Enclosed depe/and yf he were withoute
yet shortely wolde he in withouten doute
There vseth he his lyfe in paynes alwayes
And wretchedly/thus endeth he his dayes

Thus endeth the seconde Ioye of maryage.

Here begynneth the thyrde Ioye of maryage.
Another Ioye whiche named is the thrydde
Of maryage in no wyse may be hydde
The whiche I purpose shortely to dclare
Accordynge to myn auctour and not spare
The whiche is whan man in youth doth wedde
A yonge mayde/and whan they bothe in bedde
Haue had theyr pleasures largely and desyre
And well aswaged is the brennynge fyre
The hoot heruest is well ouerblowe
As it with me and other is I trowe
Soone after this her bely doth aryse
And waxeth grete/as is the comyn gyse
Wherof the husbande alwaye hath the name
And perauenture he nothynge to blame
Is of the dede/for so it happeth ofte
As some men saye in preuy counseyll softe
And therat meryly wyll laughe or hum
But this is de secretes mulierum
The husbande than in to suche thought doth fall
And turmentes that he ronne and trotte shall
To gete the wyfe all she shall nede
Forth on his Iourney swyftely doth he spede
And yf he tryppe or stomble by the waye
He may fall in the myre by nyght or daye
And grete auenture shall be yf he brynge
Uytaylles that may be good to her lykynge
All thoughe he hath done neuer so grete payne
Whyles he was out/tyll he came home agayne
And ofte it happeth so that for suche mete
As comynly she vsed hath to ete
Bothe lust and appetyte from her do pas
Bycause her stomacke is not as it was
Than she desyreth to haue thynges straunge
And noueltees her dyerte for to chaunge
For whiche this poore man must trotte on fote
Or elles ryde there is none other bote
Bothe nyght & daye/to gete where he may fynde
Suche delycates as may content her mynde
And in this turment seuen yeres and more
Is this good man/and yet she euermore
Nothynge wyll do but playe the wanton so
That therof pyte hath this husbande tho
Whiche of the hous alwaye the charge doth bere
And se all thynges well ordred euery where
Erly to ryse/and late to goo to bedde
He must and se all maters be well spede
And on his husholde/after suche estate
As he is of remembreth he algate
Now dooth the tyme approche of trauaylynge
And she a chylde into the worlde shall brynge
God faders than in haast/god moders eke
As she wyll ordre/besyly to seke
He hath grete thought and out goth in an hete
The nourysses and gossyppes for to gete
Whiche must her kepe of chylde whyle she lyeth in
What tyme his double sorowe dooth begyn
For so they drynke the wyne in euery houre
As in to olde botes one dyde it poure
Now lyenge in her trauayle payne and wo
This wyfe auoweth twenty waye and mo
On pylgrymage to go for her good spede
To be put out of her grete payne and drede
This poore man auoweth eke for to ryde
Unto all halowes/and now on euery syde
The gossyppes come/and this good man must gete
Suche vytayles as they may well drynke and ete
So that they may in suche a wyse be eased
As they shall holde them well content & pleased
This done/the wyfe and gossyppes talke togyder
And fast they carye in for drede of weder
All be it soo/this good man hath the payne
That trauayle must in wynde snowe hayle or rayne
And whan he is forth passed on his waye
One of the gossyppes wyll these wordes saye
Alas my gossyp whiche now is withoute
An harde fytte hath/that am I out of doute
A foule and euyll weder now it is
No force an other sayth so haue I blysse
He is ryght wele at ease/and so be we
But yf it fortune soo/somtyme that he
Fayle of suche thynge as were vnto theyr paye
One of the gossyppes to the wyfe shall saye
Gossyp I meruayle moche/and so dooth all
This felawshyp/that it so is befall
And we haue wonder what it may amount
That your husbande doth make so lytell count
Of you or of your yonge chylde here in trouthe
A gentyll herte wolde pyte haue and routhe
Beholde it wele/conceyue what he wolde do
yf ye had chyldren fyue or syxe yet mo
It doth appere he leuoth you but lyte
Wherof bothe ye and we may haue dyspyte
Consydred where ye lust hym for to take
He hath more honoure truely for your sake
Than euer ony of his lygnage bore
Haue had in dayes passed here tofore
By god I saye/that is our lorde Ihesus
Rather than my husbande serued me thus
I had well leuer/eyther he were deed
Or elles that he none eye had in his heed
Than sayth an other/gossyp fynde some bote
Let not this man thus cast you vnderfote
For he shall doo to you whan ye be layde
As moche agayne or more/now haue I sayde
An other sayth/my cosyon I meruayle
ye take no more regarde to your auayle
Consydred/ye be wyse of good lygnage
And he not lyke to you/though maryage
Hath coupled you and all men hygh & lowe
How ye hym suffre vnderstonde and knowe
And he doth you so grete domage alwaye
Than doth the wyfe answere agayne and saye
Truely my dere gossyppes what is the best
To do as in this caas so haue I rest
Nothynge knowe I ne wayes fynde I can
To helpe my selfe he is so euyll man
An euyll man he is/one of them sayth
But I shall tell you truely by my fayth
My gossyppes that be here/they knowe well whan
I was fyrst maryed to myn husbande than
Men sayd he was so dyuers of his wyll
That it was wonder but he wolde me kyll
By god my gossyp though he so were named
I thanke our lorde he is now ryght wele tamed
For he had leuer fall and breke his arme
Than me to do dyspleasure hurte or harme
But fyrst whan we togyder maryed were
To speke than he began with angry chere
And for to stryke as dooth a carlysshe mon
But by the sacrament of god anon
Fast with my tethe I toke the brydell so
That he me bette no more but tymes two
Wherin he played the very fole and more
For after was I moche wors than before
And he hath tolde my gossyp sykerly
That he in me coude put no remedy
Now may I speke and do all that I wyll
And be it ryght or wronge vntrouth or skyll
Alwaye with me the last worde shall remayne
So whan he speketh I chekke hym vp agayne
There is no game lyke it/whiche is to playe
With players and put besynesse a waye
For gossyp neuer man yet was so harde
I you ensure but yf he be answarde
Well by his wyfe she shall soone make hym fre
And debonarye/yf that she wytty be
An other sayth/my cosyn be well ware
ye speke to hym/and for no drede ye spare
Whan he cometh home/and saye the best ye can
And in this wyse/gouerned is this man
Than drynke they fast & saye saynt Iohn to borowe
And take theyr leue vnto the nexte morowe
What tyme agayne they wyll retourne to se
The maner all/how she shall gouerned be
But whan this poore man cometh home agayne
With vytaylles and with other thynge certayne
And seeth there is grete waast made in his hous
Of goddes and he is inly couetous
Than falleth he heuynesse and payne
For thought that hym doth by the herte constrayne
An houre or two by nyght he doth aryue
For he hath comen ferre to se his wyue
And for to vnderstonde yet ferthermore
How that she dooth/he coueyteth ryght sore
Whether she be hole/or how it with her is
In ony wyse to knowe wyll he not mys
One nyght frome home he dare not lodge withoute
Of his expence he hath suche fere and doute
Into his hous with Ioye entred is he
And all his seruauntes there in theyr degre
Instructed be and taught in suche a wyse
Lyke as the good wyfe lyst afore deuyse
For elles though neuer so good & true were thay
They sholde not tarye there well halfe a daye
Now he demaundeth how the good wyfe doth
And therof wyll he vnderstonde the soth
Than sayth her chamberer whiche dooth her kepe
Syr she is very seke and may not slepe
Syth ye departed hens ete myght she not
But lytell she amended is god wot
Than is this man all sorowfull and sadde
Whiche hath ben wette wt reyne & harde bestadde
For oftentyme by hym and other moo
Parauenture it may well happen soo
That he is faynte and his hors at assaye
For he hath passed by an euyll waye
And they percas of all the daye afore
Haue neyther dronke ne eten lasse ne more
And yet wyll not this poore man ete a bytte
Tyll tyme that he may vnderstonde & wytte
How his wyfe dooth/& than the chambrerere
Olde matrones/& the nouryse drawen nere
And seruauntes whiche enfourmed ben how they
After theyr charge shall them demeane alwey
They shewe theyr personages as they were wroth
Than wyll not he abyde/but vp he goth
Into the chambre/comynge her agayne
And at his entre/softely she dooth playne
Upon the bedde afore her leneth he
Sayenge my best byloued how do ye
Ryght seke she sayth my lorde/and than he there
Demaundeth how in what a wyse and where
My loue sayth she/ye knowe well that of late
I am made feble/and in poore estate
Than answereth he to her as in this wyse
Haue ye not ordeyned so that some colyse
Of a fatte capon for you may be made
Now syr so god me helpe/ryght so I hadde
She sayth of late/but they it can not make
In fayth quod he loue I shall vndertake
To make you one full well and holsomly
The whiche shall no man touche but ye and I
And ye shall ete it for the loue of me
She sayth my loue I wyll well it so be
This good man than goth to the coke in hast
He stampeth fast and ordeyned her repast
Fast chydeth he/and sayth they be but bestes
For they can dyght no metes at requestes
Than hastely he dooth this soupynge bere
Unto his wyfe/and whan he cometh there
With prayer he enforceth her to take
Somwhat therof and ere well for his sake
And so she dooth and sayth syr good it is
But so was not that they haue made or this
For it was nothynge worth a symple fle
And with that worde frome her departeth he
To souper/and adowne he dooth hym sette
And therupon the vytaylles be forth sette
None of the delycates that gossyppes ete
The daye afore/whiche were not for hym mete
Not perauenture of the messes chefe
He had but of the fragmentes and belefe
Wherof the olde wyues haue take theyr fyll
And god wote in what wyse they dranke theyr tyll
Thus was this wety man at souper fedde
Wherwith he is content and goth to bedde
All sobrely with heuynesse and sorowe
And whan that comen is the nexte morowe
Unto his wyfe he gooth and in this wyse
He sayth/my loue tyme is ye awake and ryse
And go to masse for we so moche do spende
That all our money nygh is at an ende
This cost is grete/we may not bere out it
And she answereth a syr it is not yet
No whyle syth I was layde/& so grete payne
I haue that yet I can not well sustayne
Myselfe/but now I wote it and byleue
ye thynge it longe/& sore it doth you greue
That I ne laboure in the hous agayne
In suche a wyse as though I sholde be slayne
I vnderstonde it is your mynde and wyll
That in this wyse I sholde my selfe do kyll
Alas I se in tyme to come that I
Ryght moche shall haue to suffre certaynly
If that I sholde haue .x. or .xii. yee mo
Chyldren/but god defende that it be so
For yf it myght hym please I wolde be gladde
That neuer one after this tyme I hadde
And please it to god that I more chylde haue neuer
But his comaundement be perfourmed euer
In me and all his wyll lowly obeyd
Ha sayd this man/alas what haue ye sayd
ye mone yourselfe without cause or encheson
For I dare saye and make it good by reoson
Was neuer poore man yet of myn estate
That suffre hath soo moche as I of late
Frome hensforth in it shall me lyke & please
That whan ye wyll ye aryse or take your ease
Than sayth she thus/my counseyll is that one
Go streyght vnto my gossyppes all anone
And saye to them they come no more to me
For I am euyll dysposed in certaynte
My loue sayth he they shall come and haue all
Suche thynges as may them please in specyall
Syr than sayth she/no more let me be styll
And do ye all thynges as it is your wyll
Than cometh a matrone with a wryngled face
An olde kepster with whome is lytell grace
And to the good man out her mynde doth breke
Pease syr she sayth/no mo suche wordes speke
For to a woman that is voyde of brayne
And feble/and so tender in certayne
Grete peryll is to speke so in her payne
And therwithall she draweth the courtayne
So doth this man lyue sorowfully alwayes
And wretchedly so shall he ende his dayes

Here endeth the thyrde Ioye of maryage.

Here begynneth the fourth Ioye of maryage.
The fourth Ioye of maryage to tell
Is as to go frome purgatorye to hell
For it is whan he whiche hath maryed be
Kepynge an housholde after his degre
Where he hath dwelled styll .viii. yeres euen
And hath of yonge chyldren fyre or seuen
Passynge full many an euyll nyght & daye
Unhappely as ye haue herde me saye
Wherof he hath had many an euyll ende
Thus is his youth gretely made colde & spende
And it were tyme for hym sore to repente
If that he coude/as synners sholde in lente
But of his hous whiche he must kepe algate
He is soo inly wery and soo mate
That what someuer the wyfe wyll speke or do
Nought careth he/ne taketh hede therto
For he as harde and dull is as an asse
Whiche for no prycke ne sporre wyll faster passe
This poore man doughters hath yet one or twayne
The whiche may fortune wolde be maryed fayne
They redy be and on the houre they tarye
Awaytynge fast who wyll come them to marye
They be in Ioye/and it may happen so
The man is poore/and lyueth in care & wo
Nygh moneyles/and hath no grete substaunce
For maryage to make his cheuysaunce
Also vnto his sones he must bye
His doughters & his other small meynye
Doublettes hosyn kyrtels and vytayle
And many an other thynge withouten fayle
His sayd doughters he must repayre and kepe
All honestely and gaye/elles wyll they wepe
And for thre thynges this nedely must be done
One is bycause they may be asked sone
Of dyuers galauntes dwellynge them aboute
An other is withouten ony doute
All were it so that this goodman ne wolde
yet so to be/for nothynge it ne sholde
For why the wyfe hath passed the same waye
And she ne wyll it suffre by this daye
Also there is an other reason why
Bycause they haue good myndes & hertes hye
And are accustomed to be fresshe & gay
For otherwyse wyll they not be ne may
And in auenture yf they otherwyse
Entred were/anone they wolde practyse
To haue theyr Iolynettes/for helpe and ease
But there an ende/of that I holde my pease
So is this man on euery parte dysmayd
These charges berynge/as afore is sayd
And perauenture soo he is bestadde
That symplely and poorely he is cladde
Of whiche araye yet careth he nothynge
So he may haue a passe tyme and lyuynge
And this suffyseth well to hym alwaye
As to the fysshe doth in the lepe to playe
Whyles he may haue a tyme and suffraunce
Therin to lyue and languysshe nt penaunce
And yet therby abbredged ben his dayes
So fareth it by suche a man alwayes
The whiche into the lepe of housholdynge
Is put where he shall suffre suche turmentynge
As I haue sayd/and other innumerable
And thus he seeth these thynges so chargeable
That all he sette at nought soo he lyue may
As doth an hors morfounded by the waye
Whiche none accompte doth set by sporre ne thynge
That may to hym be done in trauaylynge
This not withstondynge/wheder he wyll or not
Forth hym behoueth for to goo and trot
To gouerne londe and lyuelode whiche is his
Ryght after suche estate as he of is
And perauenture he hath horses twayne
The whiche be lene & poore for lacke of grayne
And it soo fortune may he hath but one
Or yet not one/but forth he gooth anone
And .xx. myle or fourty from his place
He trauaylleth/within a lytell space
Unto the parlyament/or to thassyse
Where he hath for to sewe in dyuers wyse
For suche a cause/as other thynges amonge
Hath ben dependant in the lawe there longe
A payre of botes well of thre yeres olde
Or foure he hath to kepe his legges frome colde
The whiche full ofte haue mended ben alowe
Ryght craftely for drede it sholde be knowe
So that parte whiche was somtyme on the kne
Amyddes the shynne must nedely vsed be
Full ofte they chaunged haue theyr former face
And that hath brought them from aboue so bace
A rustye payre of sporres he hath eke
Wherof one of the rowelles be to seke
Also of .x. yeres olde he hath a gowne
Not of the newest gyse ne facyowne
The whiche for drede that he sholde it appere
Excepte on hygh feestes he nolde it were
Or elles whan he frome home sholde go or ryde
All other tymes it was layde clene asyde
The cause why it was of so olde a shappe
May be for soo it fallen is by happe
That gownes be made all in a newe gyse
But this to hym dooth well ynoughe suffyse
And in his wayes yf that he se or here
Ony Instrumentes or playes ay they answere
As semeth hym by sowynge in his ere
Of his housholde bycause his mynde is there
He lyues harde and poorely by the wayes
So do his horses/and his page alwayes
Whiche page is all to ragged and to rent
As pluto was that rode to parlyament
Upon his syde a rustye sworde and bad
He ware the whiche his mayster goten had
In flaunders at a bataylle/also he
Those bowges caryed that were wonte to be
Ofte vsed to conueye bothe nygh and farre
His legge harneys alwayes in tyme of warre
Sortely to speke/he doth all that he may
With lytell cost to trauayle by the waye
For he at home ynough hath for to spende
Also these aduocates to hym offende
Sergeauntes gryffyers/and suche a companye
So largely take of hym that he doth hye
Home warde as fast as he his hors can dryue
And perauenture whan he cometh to his wyue
It is nygh the mornynge as the nyght
And whan he is at home he dooth alyght
Where he noo souper fynde can ne espye
Bycause his wyfe and other companye
Unto theyr beddes were gone somwhat afore
Or he came home/but he dare saye no more
But taketh all in pacyence and gree
For here vnto accustomed hath he be
And yf it happe that he come in good houre
Wery and sadde with trauayle and laboure
Pensyfe heuy/and of his charges greued
Supposynge to be welcomed and releued
How be it many tymes he hath had
And he doth thynke ryght euyll chere & bad
The good wyfe chydeth than & clappeth fast
As though a tempest were or thonder blast
Within the hous/and yf that this good man
Lyst to comaunde/or bydde his seruautes than
To gete hym ony thynge that he wolde haue
There is not in his hous so lewde a knaue
That maketh accompte therby ne wyll obey
So by theyr dame afore taught ben all they
Wherfore to speke he loseth tyme and payne
But she therwith be pleased in certayne
And yf his ladde in ony wyse demande
Mete for hym selfe/or for his hors prouande
He shall be checked and rebuked so
That he shall not dare speke suche wordes mo
Also this poore man that is soo sage
Wyll make no noyse for hym ne for his page
But taketh all in pacyence and sayth
Dame ye do well/and yours in good fayth
Therwith she answereth hym all hastely
ye haue more lost and spent now folyly
Than ye wyll wynne of all these yeres twaye
I tolde you late in twenty deuylles waye
ye sholde haue made our henhous close or now
A martron eten hath this tell I yow
Thre of myn olde hennes ye shall perceyue
What harme we haue therby/thus ye deceyue
By god I knowe yf ye may lyue your age
ye shall be poorest man of your lygnage
Fayre dame sayth he no mo suche wordes saye
I haue ynough/and so shall haue alway
Our lorde I thanke/and yf it do hym please
I am content/and thynke me well at ease
For of my kynred there ben full ryght good men
In your kynred/ha se now/sayth she then
By saynt Mary/I knowe not where they be
And at the leest I coude them neuer se
Dame by my/fayth he sayth/some be ryght gode
Of my lygnage/I wolde ye vnderstode
The whiche be worthe as moche or more than ye
What they/she sayth/be they lyke vnto me
ye dame sayth he/nay syr by god sayth she
I tell you well your dedes were but small
Without my frendes helpe in especyall
Now fayre dame/for goddes loue sayth he
Haue pacyence/and lete suche wordes be
Certes she sayth/yf that my frendes were here
And you suche/wordes had/they wolde answere
you well ynough/then he the mater feres
Leest it by her/sholde come vnto theyr eres
Wherfore to kepe all thynges in pacyence
No more sayth he/but resteth with sylence
And here with all/begynneth for to wepe
A lytell chylde/that can not go but crepe
And she anone/a rodde taketh in her hande
And in dyspyte/of this good poore husbande
More than for other cause or chastysynge
Upon the buttockes/she dooth it bete and dynge
This lytell babe/and than he sayth no more
Bete it fayre dame/and waxeth wrothe therfore
And she begynneth for to chyde and crye
In all the deuylles names of hell on hye
To gouerne them/she sayth ye haue no payne
They cost you nought/but I haue cause to playne
For alway vpon them I must attende
God gyue it shamefull deth/and euyll ende
Ha fayre dame sayth he/that is foule sayd
With that the nouryce shortely dooth out brayde
And sayth a syr/full lytell do ye knowe
The sorowe that here is amonge vs I trowe
And what payne that it were to you/yf ye
Sholde kepe and nourysshe them so as do we
Now by my trouth/than sayth the chamberere
It is grete shame to you syr/wyll ye here
For whan that you come home/we sholde be fayne
Of your comynge/but ye make noyse and playne
A

poem by Anonymous Olde English
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Bowge of Courte

In Autumpne whan the sonne in vyrgyne
By radyante hete enryped hath our corne
Whan luna full of mutabylyte
As Emperes the dyademe hath worne
Of our pole artyke smylynge halfe in scorne
At our foly and our vnstedfastnesse
The tyme whan Mars to werre hym dyd dres

I callynge to mynde the great auctoryte
Of poetes olde whyche full craftely
Under as couerte termes as coude be
Can touche a troughte and cloke it subtylly
Wyth fresshe vtteraunce full sentencyously
Dyuerse in style some spared not vyce to wrythe
Some of moralyte nobly dyde endyte

Wherby I rede theyr renome and theyr fame
Maye neuer dye bute euermore endure
I was sore moued to a force the same
But Ignoraunce full soone dyde me dyscure
And shewed that in this arte I was not sure
For to Illumyne she sayde I was to dulle
Auysynge me my penne awaye to pulle

And not to wrythe/ for he so wyll atteyne
Excedynge ferther than his connynge is
His hede maye be harde but feble is his brayne
Yet haue I knowen suche er this
But of reproche surely he maye not mys
That clymmeth hyer than he may fotynge haue
What and he slyde downe who shall hym saue

Thus vp & down my mynde was drawen & cast
That I ne wyste what to do was beste
Soo sore enwered that I was at the laste
Enforsed to slepe and for to take some reste
And to lye downe as soone as I me dreste
At harwyche porte slumbrynge as I laye
In myne hostes house called powers keye

Me thoughte I sawe a shyppe goodly of sayle
Come saylynge forth into that hauen brood
Her takelynge ryche and of hye apparayle
She kyste an anker and there she laye at rode
Marchauntes her borded to see what she had lode
Therein they founde Royall marchaundyse
Fraghted with plesure of what ye coude deuyse

But than I thoughte I wolde not dwell behynde
Amonge all other I put myselfe in prece
Than there coude I none aquentaunce fynde
There was moche noyse anone one cryed cese
Sharpely commaundynge eche man holde hys pece
Maysters he sayde the shyp that ye here see
The bowge of courte it hyghte for certeynte

The awnner therof is lady of estate
Whoos name to tell is dame saunce pere
Her marchaundyse is ryche and fortunate
But who wyll haue it muste paye therfore dere
This Royall chaffre that is shypped here
Is called fauore to stonde in her good grace
Than sholde ye see there pressynge in a pace

Of one and other that wolde this lady see
Whiche sat behynde a traues of sylke fyne
Of golde of tessew the fynest that myghte be
In a trone whiche fer clerer dyde shyne
Than Phebus in his spere celestyne
Whoos beaute honoure goodly porte
I haue to lytyll connynge to reporte

But of eche thynge there as I toke hede
Amonge all other was wrytten in her trone
In golde letters this worde whiche I dyde rede
Garder le fortune que est mauelz et bone
And as I stode redynge this verse myselfe allone
Her chyef gentylwoman daunger by her name
Gaue me a taunte and sayde I was to blame

To be so perte to prese so proudly vppe
She sayde she trowed that I had eten sause
She asked yf euer I dranke of saucys cuppe
And I than softly answered to that clause
That so to saye. I had gyuen her no cause
Than asked she me Syr so god the spede
What is thy name and I sayde it was drede

What mouyd the quod she hydder to come
Forsoth quod I to bye some of youre ware
And with that worde on me she gaue a glome
With browes bente and gan on me to stare
Full daynnously and fro me she dyde fare
Leuynge me stondynge as a mased man
To whome there came another gentylwoman

Desyre her name was and so she me tolde
Sayenge to me broder be of good chere
Abasshe you not but hardely be bolde
Auaunce yourselfe to aproche and come nere
What though our chaffer be neuer so dere
Yet I auyse you to speke for ony drede
Who spareth to speke in fayth he spareth to spede

Maystres quod I. I haue none aquentaunce
That wyll for me be medyatoure and mene
And this another I haue but smale substaunce
Pece quod Desyre ye speke not worth a bene
Yf ye haue not in fayth I wyll you lene
A precyous Iewell no rycher in this londe
Bone auenture haue here now in your honde

Shyfte now therwith let see as ye can
In bowge of courte cheuysaunce to make
For I dare saye that there nys erthly man
But an he can bone auenture take
There can no fauour nor frendshyp hym forsake
Bone auenture may brynge you in suche case
That ye shall stonde in fauoure and in grace

But of one thynge I werne you er I goo
She that styreth the shyp make her your frende
Maystres quod I. I praye you tell me why soo
And how I maye that waye & meanes fynde
Forsothe quod she howeuer blowe the wynde
Fortune gydeth and ruleth all oure shyppe
Whome she hateth shall ouer the seeboorde skyp

Whome she loueth of all plesyre is ryche
Whyles she laugheth and hath luste for to playe
Whome she hateth she casteth in the dyche
For whan she frouneth she thynketh to make a fray
She cheryssheth him and hym she casseth a waye
Alas quod I how myghte I haue her sure
In fayth quod she by bone auenture

Thus in a rowe of martchauntes a grete route
Suwed to fortune that she wold be theyre frynde
They thronge in fast and flocked her aboute
And I with them prayed her to haue in mynde
She promysed to vs all she wolde be kynde
Of bowge of court she asketh what we wold haue
And we asked fauoure/ and fauour she vs gaue

Thus endeth the prologue. And begynneth the bowge of Courte breuely compyled.

Drede

The sayle is vp fortune ruleth our helme
We wante no wynde to passe now ouerall
Fauoure we haue toughther than ony elme
That wyll abyde and neuer frome vs fall
But vnder hony oftetyme lyeth bytter gall
For as methoughte in our shyppe I dyde see
Full subtyll persones in nombre foure and thre

The fyrste was Fauell full of flatery
Wyth fables false that well coude fayne a tale
The seconde was Suspecte whiche that dayly
Mysdempte eche man with face deedly & pale
And Haruy hafter that well coude picke a male
With other foure of theyr affynyte
Dysdayne. Ryotte. Dyssymuler. Subtylte.

Fortune theyr frende with whome oft she dyde daunce
They coude not faile thei thought they were so sure
And oftentymes I wolde myselfe auaunce
With them to make solace and pleasure
But my dysporte they coude not well endure
They sayde they hated for to dele with Drede
Than Fauell gan wyth fayre speche me to fede

Fauell.

Noothynge erthely that I wonder so sore
As of your connynge that is so excellent
Deynte to haue with vs suche one in store
So vertuously that hath his dayes spente
Fortune to you gyftes of grace hath lente
Loo what it is a man to haue connynge
All erthly tresoure it is surmountynge

Ye be an apte man as ony can be founde
To dwell with vs & serue my ladyes grace
Ye be to her yea worth a thousande pounde
I herde her speke of you within shorte space
Whan there were dyuerse that sore dyde you manace
And though I say it I was myselfe your frende
For here be dyuerse to you that be vnkynde

But this one thynge ye maye be sure of me
For by that lorde that bought dere all mankynde
I can not flater I muste be playne to the
And ye nede ought man shewe to me your mynde
For ye haue me whome faythfull ye shall fynde
Whyles I haue ought by god thou shalt not lacke
And yf nede be a bolde worde I dare cracke

Nay naye be sure whyles I am on your syde
Ye maye not fall truste me ye maye not fayle
Ye stonde in fauoure and fortune is your gyde
And as she wyll so shall our grete shyppe sayle
Thyse lewde cokwattes shall neuermore preuayle
Ageynste you hardely therfore be not afrayde
Farewell tyll soone but no worde that I sayde

Drede.

Than thanked I hym for his grete gentylnes
But as methoughte he ware on hym a cloke
That lyned was with doubtfull doublenes
Methoughte of wordes that he had full a poke
His stomak stuffed oftetymes dyde reboke
Suspycyon methoughte mette hym at a brayde
And I drewe nere to herke what they two sayde

In fayth quod suspecte) spake drede no worde of me
Why what than wylte thou lete men to speke
He sayth he can not well accorde with the
Twyst quod suspecte) goo playe hym I ne reke
By cryste quod fauell drede is soleyne freke
What lete vs holde him vp man for a whyle
Ye soo quod suspecte) he maye vs bothe begyle

And whan he came walkynge soberly
Wyth whom/ and /ha/ and with a croked loke
Methoughte his hede was full of gelousy
His eyen rollynge his hondes faste they quoke
And to me warde the strayte waye he toke
God spede broder to me quod he than
And thus to talke with me he began

Suspycyon

Ye remembre the gentylman ryghte nowe
That commaunde with you methought a praty space
Beware of him for I make god auowe
He wyll begyle you and speke fayre to your face
Ye neuer dwelte in suche another place
For here is none that dare well other truste
But I wolde telle you a thynge and I durste

Spake he a fayth no worde to you of me
I wote and he dyde ye wolde me telle
I haue a fauoure to you wherof it be
That I muste shewe you moche of my counselle
But I wonder what the deuyll of helle
He sayde of me whan he with you dyde talke
By myne auyse vse not with him to walke

The soueraynst thynge that ony man maye haue
Is lytyll to saye/ and moche to here and see
For but I trusted you so god me saue
I wolde noothynge so playne be
To you oonly methynke I durste shryue me
For now am I plenarely dysposed
To shewe you thynges that may not be disclosed

Drede

Than I assured hym my fydelyte
His counseyle secrete neuer to dyscure
Yf he coude fynde in herte to truste me
Els I prayed hym with all my besy cure
To kepe it hymselfe for than he myghte be sure
That noo man erthly coude hym bewreye
Whyles of his mynde it were lockte with the keye

By god quod he this and thus it is
And of his mynde he shewed me all and some
Farewell quod he we wyll talke more of this
Soo he departed there he wolde be come
I dare not speke I promysed to be dome
But as I stode musynge in my mynde
Haruy hafter came lepynge lyghte as lynde

Upon his breste he bare a versyngeboxe
His throte was clere and lustely coude fayne
Methoughte his gowne was all furred wyth foxe
And euer he sange/ sythe I am nothynge playne
To kepe him frome pykynge it was a grete payne
He gased on me with his gotyshe berde
Whan I loked on hym my purse was half aferde

Heruy hafter.

Syr god you saue why loke ye so sadde
What thynge is that I maye do for you
A wonder thynge that ye waxe not madde
For and I studye sholde as ye doo nowe
My wytte wolde waste I make god auowe
Tell me your mynde methynke ye make a verse
I coude it skan and ye wolde it reherse

But to the poynte shortely to procede
Where hathe your dwellynge ben er ye cam here
For as I trowe I haue sene you indede
Er this whan that ye made me Royall chere
Holde vp the helme loke vp & lete god stere
I wolde be mery what wynde that euer blowe
Heue & how rombelow row the bote norman rowe

Prynces of youghte can ye synge by rote
Or shall I sayle wyth you a felashyp assaye
For on the booke I can not synge a note
Wolde to god it wolde please you some daye
A baladeboke before me for to laye
And lerne me to synge Re my fa sol
And whan I fayle bobbe me on the noll

Loo what is to you a pleasure grete
To haue that connynge & wayes that ye haue
By goddis soule I wonder how ye gete
Soo greate pleasyre or who to you it gaue
Syr pardone me I am an homely knaue
To be with you thus perte and thus bolde
But ye be welcome to our housholde

And I dare saye there is no man hereInne
But wolde be glad of your company
I wyste neuer man that so soone coude wynne
The fauoure that ye haue with my lady
I praye to god that it maye neuer dy
It is your fortune for to haue that grace
As I be saued it is a wonder case

For as for me I serued here many a daye
And yet vnneth I can haue my lyuynge
But I requyre you no worde that I saye
For and I knowe ony erthly thynge
That is agayne you ye shall haue wetynge
And ye be welcome syr so god me saue
I hope hereafter a frende of you to haue

Drede.

Wyth that as he departed soo fro me
Anone ther mette with him as methoughte
A man/ but wonderly besene was he
He loked hawte he sette eche man at noughte
His gawdy garment with scornnys was all wrought
With Indygnacyon lyned was his hode
He frowned as he wolde swere by cockes blode

He bote the lyppe he loked passynge coye
His face was belymmed as byes had him stounge
It was no tyme with him to Iape nor toye
Enuye hathe wasted hys lyuer and his lounge
Hatred by the herte so had hym wrounge
That he loked pale as asshes to my syghte
Dysdayne I wene this comerous carkes hyghte

To heruy hafter than he spake of me
And I drewe nere to harke what they two sayde
Now quod Dysdayne as I shall saued be
I haue grete scorne & am ryghte euyll apayed
Than quod Heruy why arte thou so dysmayde
By cryste quod he for it is shame to saye
To see Iohan dawes that came but yesterdaye

How he is now taken in conceyte
This doctour dawcocke Drede I wene he hyghte
By goddis bones but yf we haue som sleyte
It is lyke he wyll stonde in our lyghte
By god quod Heruy & it so happen myghte
Lete vs therfore shortely at a worde
Fynde some mene to caste him ouer the borde

By him that me boughte than quod Dysdayne
I wonder sore he is in such conceyte
Turde quod Hafter I wyll the nothynge layne
There muste for hym be layde some prety beyte
We tweyne I trowe be not withoute dysceyte
Fyrste pycke a quarell & fall oute with hym then
And soo outface hym with a carde of ten

Forthwith he made on me a prowde assawte
With scornfull loke meuyd all in moode
He wente aboute to take me in a fawte
He frounde he stared he stampped where he stoode
I loked on hym I wende he had be woode
He set the arme proudly vnder the syde
And in this wyse he gan with me to chyde

Disdayne.

Remembrest thou what thou sayd yesternyght
Wylt thou abyde by the wordes agayne
By god I haue of the now grete dyspyte
I shall the angre ones in euery vayne
It is greate scorne to see suche an hayne
As thou arte one that cam but yesterdaye
With vs olde seruauntes such maysters to playe

I tell the I am of countenaunce
What weneste I were. I trowe thou knowe not me
By goddis woundes but for dysplesaunce
Of my querell soone wolde I venged be
But no force I shall ones mete with the
Come whan it wyll oppose the I shall
Whatsomeuer auenture therof fall

Trowest thou dreuyll I saye thou gawdy knaue
That I haue deynte to see the cherysshed thus
By goddis syde my sworde thy berde shall shaue
Well ones thou shalte be chermed I wus
Naye strawe for tales thou shalte not rule vs
We be thy betters and so thou shalte vs take
Or we shall the oute of thy clothes shake

Drede.

Wyth that came Ryotte russhynge all atones
A rusty gallande to ragged and to rente
And on the borde he whyrled a payre of bones
Quater treye dews he clatered as he wente
Nowe haue at all by saynte Thomas of kente
And euer he threwe & kyst I wote nere what
His here was growen thoroweoute his hat

Thenne I behelde how he dysgysed was
His hede was heuy for watchynge ouernyghte
His eyen blereed his face shone lyke a glas
His gowne so shorte that it ne couer myghte
His rumpe he wente so all for somer lyghte
His hose was garded wyth a lyste of grene
Yet at the knee they were broken I wene

His cote was checked with patches rede & blewe
Of kyrkeby kendall was his shorte demye
And ay he sange in fayth decon thou crewe
His elbowe bare he ware his gere so nye
His nose a droppynge his lyppes were full drye
And by his syde his whynarde & his pouche
The deuyll myghte daunce therin for ony crowche

Counter he coude (O lux) vpon a potte
An eestrychefedder of a capons tayle
He set vp fresshely vpon his hat a lofte
What reuellroute quod he and gan to rayle
How ofte he hadde hit Ienet on the tayle
Of felyce fetewse and lytell prety cate
How ofte he knocked at her klyckedgate

What sholde I tell more of his rebaudrye
I was ashamed so to here hym prate
He had no pleasure but in harlotrye
Ay quod he in the deuylles date
What arte thou I sawe the nowe but late
Forsothe quod I in this courte I dwell nowe
Welcome quod Ryote I make god auowe

Ryote.

And syr in fayth why comste not vs amonge
To make the mery as other felowes done
Thou muste swere and stare man aldaye longe
And wake all nyghte and slepe tyll it be none
Thou mayste not studye or muse on the mone
This worlde is nothynge but ete drynke & slepe
And thus with vs good company to kepe

Plucke vp thyne herte vpon a mery pyne
And lete us laugh a placke or tweyne at nale
What the deuyll man myrthe was neuer one
What loo man see here of dyce a bale
A brydelyngecaste for that is in thy male
Now haue at all that lyeth vpon the burde
Fye on this dyce they be not worth a turde

Haue at the hasarde or at the dosen browne
Or els I pas a peny to a pounde
Now wolde to god thou wolde leye money downe
Lorde how that I wolde caste it full rounde
Ay in my pouche a buckell I haue founde
The armes of calyce I haue no coyne nor crosse
I am not happy I renne ay on the losse

Now renne muste I to the stewys syde
To wete yf malkyn my lemman haue gete oughte
I lete her to hyre that men maye on her ryde
Her harnes easy ferre and nere is soughte
By goddis sydes syns I her thyder broughte
She hath gote me more money with her tayle
Than hath some shyppe that into bordews sayle

Had I as good an hors as she is a mare
I durste auenture to Iourney thorugh Fraunce
Who rydeth on her he nedeth not to care
For she is trussed for to breke a launce
It is a curtel that well can wynche & praunce
To her wyll I nowe all my pouerte lege
And tyll I come haue here is myne hat to plege

Drede

Gone is this knaue this rybaude foule & leude
He ran as fast as euer that he myghte
Unthryftynes in hym may well be shewed
For whome tyborne groneth both daye and nyghte
And as I stode and kyste asyde my syghte
Dysdayne I sawe with Dyssymulacyon
Standynge in sadde communicacion

But there was poyntynge & noddynge with his hede
And many wordes sayde in secrete wyse
They wandred ay and stode styll in no stede
Methoughte alwaye Dyscymular dyde deuyse
Me passynge sore myne herte than gan aryse
I dempte & drede theyr talkynge was not good
Anone dyscymular came where I stode

Than in his hode I sawe there faces tweyne
That one was lene & lyke a pyned goost
That other loked as he wolde me haue slayne
And to mewarde as he gan for to coost
Whan that he was euen at me almoost
I sawe a knyfe hyd in his one sleue
Wheron was wryten this worde myscheue

And in his other sleue methought I sawe
A spone of golde full of hony swete
To fede a fole and for to preye a dawe
And on that sleue these wordes were wrete
A false abstracte cometh from a fals concrete
His hode was syde his cope was roset graye
Thyse were the wordes he to me dyde saye

Dyssymulation

How do ye mayster ye loke so soberly
As I be saued at the dredefull daye
It is a perylous vyce this enuy
Alas a connynge man ne dwelle maye
In no place well but foles with hym fraye
But as for that connynge hath no foo
Saue hym that nought can/ scrypture sayth soo.

I knowe your vertu and your lytterkture
By that lytel connynge that I haue
Ye be malygned sore I you ensure
But ye haue crafte yourselfe alwaye to saue
It is grete scorne to se a mysproude knaue
With a clerke that connynge is to prate
Lete theym go lowse theym in the deuylles date

For allbeit that this longe not to me
Yet on my backe I bere suche lewde delynge
Ryghte now I spake with one I trowe I see
But what a strawe I maye not tell allthynge
By god I saye there is a grete hertebrennynge
Betwene the persone ye wote of you
Alas I coude not dele so with a Iew

I wolde eche man were as playne as I
It is a worlde I saye to here of some
I hate this faynynge fye vpon it fye
A man can not wote where to become
I wys I coude tell but humlery home
I dare not speke we be so layde awayte
For all our courte is full of dysceyte

Now by saynte fraunceys that holy man & frere
I hate this wayes agayne you that they take
Were I as you I wolde ryde them full nere
And by my trouthe but yf an ende they make
Yet wyll I saye some wordes for your sake
That shall them angre I holde thereon a grote
For some shall wene be hanged by the throte

I haue a stoppyngeoyster in my poke
Truste me and yf it come to a nede
But I am lothe for to reyse a smoke
Yf ye coude be otherwyse agrede
And so I wolde it were so god me spede
For this maye brede to a confusyon
Withoute god make a good conclusyon

Naye see where yonder stondeth the teder man
A flaterynge knaue & false he is god wote
The dreuyll stondeth to herken and he can
It were more thryft he boughte him a newe cote
It wyll not be/ his purse is not on flote
All that he wereth it is borowed ware
His wytte is thynne his hode is thredebare

More coude I saye but what this is ynowe
Adewe tyll soone we shall speke more of this
Ye muste be ruled as I shall tell you howe
Amendis maye be of that is now a mys
And I am your syr so haue I blys
In euery poynte that I can do or saye
Gyue me your honde farewell & haue good daye

Drede

Sodaynly as he departed me fro
Came pressynge in one in a wonder araye
Er I was ware behynde me he sayde bo
Thenne I astonyed of that sodeyne fraye
Sterte all at ones I lyked nothynge his playe
For yf I had not quyckely fledde the touche
He had plucte oute the nobles of my pouche

He was trussed in a garmente strayte
I haue not sene suche anothers page
For he coude well vpon a casket wayte
His hode all pounsed and garded lyke a cage
Lyghte lymefynger he toke none other wage
Harken quod he loo here myne honde in thyne
To vs welcome thou arte by saynte Quyntyne

Disceyte.

But by that lorde that is one two and thre
I haue an errande to rounde in your ere
He tolde me so by god ye maye truste me
Parde remembre whan ye were there
There I wynked on you/ wote ye not where
In (A) loco I mene iuxta (B)
Woo is hym that is blynde and maye not see

But to here the subtylte and the crafte
As I shall tell you yf ye wyll harke agayne
And whan I sawe the horsons wolde you hafte
To holde myne honde by god I had grete payne
For forthwyth there I had him slayne
But that I drede mordre wolde come oute
Who deleth with shrewes hath nede to loke aboute

Drede.

And as he rounded thus in myne ere
Of false collusyon confetryd by assente
Methoughte I see lewde felawes here and there
Came for to slee me of mortall entente
And as they came the shypborde faste I hente
And thoughte to lepe/ and euen with that woke
Caughte penne and ynke & wroth this lytyll boke

I wolde therwith no man were myscontente
Besechynge you that shall it see or rede
In euery poynte to be indyfferente
Syth all in substaunce of slumbrynge doth procede
I wyll not saye it is mater indede
But yet oftyme suche dremes be founde trewe
Now constrewe ye what is the resydewe

poem by John Skelton
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Storie Of William Canynge

ANENT a brooklette as I laie reclynd,
Listeynge to heare the water glyde alonge,
Myndeynge how thorowe the grene mees yt twynd,
Awhilst the cavys respons'd yts mottring songe,
At dystaunt rysyng Avonne to he sped,
Amenged wyth rysyng hylles dyd shewe yts head;
Engarlanded wyth crownes of osyer weedes
And wraytes of alders of a bercie scent,
And stickeynge out wyth clowde agested reedes,
The hoarie Avonne show'd dyre semblamente,
Whylest blataunt Severne, from Sabryna clepde,
Rores flemie o'er the sandes that she hepde.
These eynegears swythyn bringethe to mie thowghte
Of hardie champyons knowen to the floude,
How onne the bankes thereof brave Ælle fought;
Ælle descended from Merce kynglie bloude,
Warden of Brystowe towne and castel stede,
Who ever and anon made Danes to blede.
Methoughte such doughtie menn must have a sprighte
Dote yn the armour brace that Mychael bore,
Whan he wyth Satan kynge of helle dyd fyghte,
And earthe was drented yn a mere of gore;
Orr, soone as theie dyd see the worldis lyghte,
Fate had wrott downe, thys mann ys borne to fyghte.
Ælle, I sayd, or els my mynde dyd saie,
Whie ys thy actyons left so spare yn storie?
Were I toe dispone, there should lyvven aie
In erthe and hevenis rolles thie tale of glorie
Thie actes soe doughtie should for aie abyde,
And bie theyre teste all after actes be tryde.
Next holie Wareburghus fylld mie mynde,
As fayre a sayncte as anie towne can boaste,
Or bee the erthe wyth lyghte or merke ywrynde,
I see hys ymage waulkeyng throwe the coaste.
Fitz Hardynge, Bithrickus, and twentie moe
Ynn visyonn fore mie phantasie dyd goe.
Thus all mie wandrynge faytour thynkeynge strayde
And eche dygne buylder dequac'd onn mie mynde,
Whan from the distaunt streeme arose a mayde,
Whose gentle tresses mov'd not to the wynde;
Lyche to the sylver moone yn frostie neete,
The damoiselle dyd come soe blythe and sweete.
Ne browded mantell of a scarlette hue,
Ne shoone pykes plaited o'er wyth ribbande geere,
Ne costlie paraments of woden blue,
Noughte of a dresse, but bewtie dyd shee weere;
Naked shee was, and loked swete of youthe,
All dyd bewryen that her name was Trouthe.
The ethie ringletts of her notte-browne hayre
What ne a manne should see dyd swotelie hyde,
Whych on her milk-white bodykin so fayre
Dyd showe lyke browne streemes sowlyng the white tyde,
Or veynes of brown hue yn a marble cuarr,
Whyche by the traveller ys kenn'd from farr.
Astounded mickle there I sylente laie,
Still scauncing wondrous at the walkynge syghte;
Mie senses forgarde ne coulde reyn awaie;
But was ne forstraughte whan shee dyd alyghte
Anie to mee, dreste up yn naked viewe,
Whych mote yn some ewbrycious thoughtes abrewe.
But I ne dyd once thynke of wanton thoughte;
For well I mynded what bie vowe I hete,
And yn mie pockate han a crouchee brought;
Whych yn the blosom woulde such sins anete;
I lok'd wyth eyne as pure as angelles doe,
And dyd the everie thoughte of foule eschewe.
Wyth sweet semblate and an angel's grace
Shee 'gan to lecture from her gentle breste;
For Trouthis wordes ys her myndes face,
False oratoryes she dyd aie deteste.
Sweetnesse was yn eche worde she dyd ywreene,
Tho shee strove not to make that sweetnesse sheene.
Shee sayd; mie manner of appereynge here
Mie name and sleyghted myndbruch maie thee telle;
I'm Trouthe, that dyd descende fromm heavenwere,
Goulers and courtiers doe not kenne mee welle;
Thie inmoste thoughtes, thie labrynge brayne I sawe,
And from thie gentle dreeme will thee adawe.
Full manie champyons and menne of lore,
Payncters and carvellers have gaind good name,
But there's a Canynge, to encrease the store,
A Canynge, who sall buie uppe all theyre fame.
Take thou mie power, and see yn chylde and manne
What troulie noblenesse yn Canynge ranne.
As when a bordelier onn ethie bedde,
Tyr'd wyth the laboures maynt of sweltrie daie,
Yn slepeis bosom laieth hys deft headde,
So, senses sonke to reste, mie boddie laie;
Eftsoons mie sprighte, from erthlie bandes untyde,
Immengde yn flanched ayre wyth Trouthe asyde.
Strayte was I carryd back to tymes of yore,
Whylst Canynge swathed yet yn fleshlie bedde,
And saw all actyons whych han been before,
And all the scroll of Fate unravelled;
And when the fate-mark'd babe acome to syghte,
I saw hym eager gaspynge after lyghte.
In all hys shepen gambols and chyldes plaie,
In everie merriemakeyng, fayre or wake,
I kenn'd a perpled lyghte of Wysdom's raie;
He eate downe learnynge wyth the wastle cake.
As wise as anie of the eldermenne,
He'd wytte enowe toe make a mayre at tenne.
As the dulce downie barbe beganne to gre,
So was the well thyghte texture of hys lore;
Eche daie enhedeynge mockler for to bee,
Greete yn hys councel for the daies he bore.
All tongues, all carrols dyd unto hym synge,
Wondryng at one soe wyse, and yet soe yinge.
Encreaseynge yn the yeares of mortal lyfe,
And hasteynge to hys journie ynto heaven,
Hee thoughte ytt proper for to cheese a wyse,
And use the sexes for the purpose gevene.
Hee then was yothe of cornelie semelikeede,
And hee had made a mayden's herte to blede.
He had a fader, (Jesus rest hys soule!)
Who loved money, as hys charie joie;
slee had a broder (happie manne be's dole!)
Yn mynde and boddie, hys owne fadre's boie;
What then could Canynge wissen as a parte
To gyve to her whoe had made chop of hearte?
But landes and castle tenures, golde and bighes,
And hoardes of sylver rousted yn the ent,
Canynge and hys fayre sweete dyd that despyse,
To change of troulie love was theyr content;
Theie lyv'd togeder yn a house adygne,
Of goode sendaument commilie and fyne.
But soone hys broder and hys syre dyd die,
And lefte to Willyam states and renteynge rolles,
And at hys wyll hys broder Johne supplie.
Hee gave a chauntrie to redeeme theyre soules;
And put hys broder ynto syke a trade,
That he lorde mayor of Londonne towne was made.
Eftsoons hys mornynge tournd to gloomie nyghte;
Hys dame, hys seconde selfe, gyve upp her brethe,
Seekeynge for eterne lyfe and endless lyghte,
And sleed good Canynge; sad mystake of dethe
Soe have I seen a flower ynn Sommer tyme
Trodde downe and broke and widder ynn ytts pryme.
Next Radcleeve chyrche (oh worke of hande of heav'n,
Whare Canynge sheweth as an instrumente,)
Was to my bismarde eyne-syghte newlie giv'n;
'Tis past to blazonne ytt to good contente.
You that woulde faygn the fetyve buyldynge see
Repayre to Radcleve, and contented bee.
I sawe the myndbruch of hys nobille soule
Whan Edwarde meniced a seconde wyfe;
I saw what Pheryons yn hys mynde dyd rolle;
Nowe fyx'd fromm seconde dames a preeste for lyfe.
Thys ys the manne of menne, the vision spoke;
Then belle for even-songe mie senses woke.

poem by Thomas Chatterton
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Cōforte of Louers

The prohemye.

The gentyll poetes/vnder cloudy fygures
Do touche a trouth/and clokeit subtylly
Harde is to cōstrue poetycall scryptures
They are so fayned/& made sētēcyously
For som do wryte of loue by fables pryuely
Some do endyte/vpon good moralyte
Of chyualrous actes/done in antyquyte
Whose fables and storyes ben pastymes pleasaunt
To lordes and ladyes/as is theyr lykynge
Dyuers to moralyte/ben oft attendaunt
And many delyte to rede of louynge
Youth loueth aduenture/pleasure and lykynge
Aege foloweth polycy/sadnesse and prudence
Thus they do dyffre/eche in experyence
I lytell or nought/experte in this scyence
Compyle suche bokes/to deuoyde ydlenes
Besechynge the reders/with all my delygence
Where as I offende/for to correct doubtles
Submyttynge me to theyr grete gentylnes
As none hystoryagraffe/nor poete laureate
But gladly wolde folowe/the makynge of Lydgate
Fyrst noble Gower/moralytees dyde endyte
And after hym Cauncers/grete bokes delectable
Lyke a good phylozophre/meruaylously dyde wryte
After them Lydgate/the monke commendable
Made many wonderfull bokes moche profytable
But syth the are deed/& theyr bodyes layde in chest
I pray to god to gyue theyr soules good rest

Finis prohemii.

Whan fayre was phebus/w&supere; his bemes bryght
Amyddes of gemyny/aloft the fyrmament
Without blacke cloudes/castynge his pured lyght
With sorowe opprest/and grete incombrement
Remembrynge well/my lady excellent
Saynge o fortune helpe me to preuayle
For thou knowest all my paynfull trauayle
I went than musynge/in a medowe grene
Myselfe alone/amonge the floures in dede
With god aboue/the futertens is sene
To god I sayd/thou mayst my mater spede
And me rewarde/accordynge to my mede
Thou knowest the trouthe/I am to the true
Whan that thou lyst/thou mayst them all subdue
Who dyde preserue the yonge edyppus
Whiche sholde haue be slayne by calculacyon
To deuoyde grete thynges/the story sheweth vs
That were to come/by true reuelacyon
Takynge after theyr hole operacyon
In this edyppus/accordynge to affecte
Theyr cursed calkynge/holly to abiecte
Who dyde preserue/Ionas and moyses
Who dyde preserue yet many other mo
As the byble maketh mencyon doubles
Who dyde kepe Charles frome his euyll fo
Who was he/that euer coude do so
But god alone/than in lykewyse maye he
Kepe me full sure/frome all inyquyte
Thus as I called to my remembraunce
Suche trewe examples/I tenderly dyde wepe
Remembrynge well/goddes hyghe ordynaūce
Syghynge full oft/with inwarde teres depe
Tyll at the last/I fell in to a slepe
And in this slepe/me thought I dyde repayre
My selfe alone/in to a garden fayre
This goodly gardyn/I dyde well beholde
Where I sawe a place/ryght gaye and gloryous
With golden turrettes/paynted many afolde
Lyke a place of pleasure moste solacyous
The wyndowes glased/with crystall precyous
The golden fanes/with wynde and melody
By dulcet sounde/and meruaylous armony
The knottes flagraunt/with aromatyke odoure
With goodly sprynges/of meruaylous mountaynes
I dyde than tast/the redolent lycoure
Moost clere and swete/of the goodly vaynes
Whiche dyde me ease/somwhat of my paynes
Tyll to me came/a lady of goodly age
Apareyled sadly/and demure of vysage
To me she sayd/me thynke ye are not well
Ye haue caught colde/and do lyue in care
Tell me your mynde/now shortly euerydeie
To layne the trouthe/I charge you to beware
I shall for you/a remedy prepare
Dyspeyre you not/for no thynge that is past
Tell me your mynde/and be nought agast
Al as madame/vnto her than I sayd
It is no wonder/of myne inwarde payne
Yf that my herte be meruayllously dysmayde
My trouthe and loue/therof is cause certayne
Dyuers yeres ago/I dyde in mynde retayne
A lady yonge/a lady fayre of syght
Good//wyse/and goodly/an holsome sterre of lyght
I durst not speke vnto her of my loue
Yet vnder coloure I dyuers bokes dyde make
Full pryuely/to come to my aboue
Thus many nyghtes/I watched for her sake
To her and to hers/my trouthe well to take
Without ony spotte/of ony maner yll
God knoweth all myn herte/my mynde & my wyll
The hygh dame nature/by her grete myght & power
Man/beest/and foule/in euery degre
Fro whens they came at euery maner houre
Dooth trye the trouthe/without duplycyte
For euery thynge must shewe the properte
Gentyll vngentyll/dame nature so well tryet
That all persones it openly espyeth
The lorde and knyght/delyteth for to here
Cronycles and storyes/of noble chyualry
The gentyll man gentylnes/for his passe tyme clere
The man of lawe/to here lawe truely
The yeman delyteth to talke of yomanry
The ploman his londe for to ere and sowe
Thus nature werketh/in hye degre and lowe
For yf there were one of the gentyll blode
Conuayde to yomanry for nourysshement
Dyscrecyon comen he sholde chaunge his mode
Though he knewe not/his parentes verament
Yet nature wolde werke/so by entendyment
That he sholde folowe/the condycyons doubtles
Of his true blode/by outwarde gentylnes
In all this worlde/ben but thynges twayne
As loue and hate/the trouth for to tell
And yf I sholde hate my lady certayne
Than worthy I were/to dye of deth cruell
Seynge all ladyes/that she doth excell
In beaute/grace/prudence and mekenes
What man on lyue/can more in one expres
Yf she with me sholde take dyspleasure
Whiche loueth her by honoures desyre
What sholde she do/with suceh a creature
That hateth her/by inwarde fraude and yre
I yet a louer/do not so atyre
My fayth and hope/I put in her grace
Releace to graunt me/by good tyme and space
Thretened with sorowe/of may paynes grete
Thre yeres ago my ryght hande I dyde bynde
Fro my browes for fere/y&supere; dropes doune dyde sweet
God knoweth all it was nothynge my mynde
Unto no persone/I durst my her to vntwynde
Yet the trouthe knowynge/the good gretest P
Maye me releace/of all my/p/p/p/thre
Now ryght fayre lady/so sadde and demure
My mynde ye knowe/in euery maner thynge
I trust for trouthe/ye wyll not me dyscure
Sythes I haue shewed you without lesynge
At your request/the cause of my mournynge
Whiche abyde in sorowe/in my remembraunce
Without good conforte/saufe of esperaunce
Fayre sone sayd she/sythens I knowe your thought
Your worde and dede/and here to be one
Dyspayre you not/for it auayleth nought
Ioye cometh after/whan the payne is gone
Conforte yourselfe/and muse not so alone
Doubt ye no thynge/but god wyll so agre
That at the last/ye shall your lady se
Be alwaye meke/let wysdome be your guyde
Aduenture for honoure/and put your selfe in preace
Clymbe not to fast/lest sodenly ye slyde
Lets god werke styll/he wyll your mynde encrece
Begynne no warre/be gladde to kepe the peace
Prepence no thynge/agaynst the honoure
Of ony lady/by fraudolent fauoure
Alas madame/vnto her than sayd I
Aboue .xx. woulues/dyde me touse and rent
Not longe agone/delynge moost shamefully
That by theyr tuggynge/my lyfe was nere spent
I dyde perceyue/somwhat of theyr entente
As the trouthe is knowen/vnto god aboue
My ladyes fader they dyde lytell loue
Seynge theyr falshode/and theyr subtylte
For fere of deth/where as I loued best
I dyde dysprayse/to knowe theyr cruelte
Somwhat to wysdome/accordynge to behest
Though that my body had but lytell rest
My herte was trewe vnto my ladyes blood
For all theyr dedes I thought no thynge but good
Some had wende the hous for to swepe
Nought was theyr besom/I holde it set on fyre
The inwarde wo in to my herte dyde crepe
To god aboue/I made my hole desyre
Saynge o good lorde of heuenly empyre
Let the mouut with all braunches swete
Entyerly growe/god gyue vs grace to mete
Soma had wened for to haue made an ende
Of my bokes/before he hadde begynnynge
But all vayne they dyde so comprehende
Whan they of them lacke vnderstandynge
Uaynfull was & is theyr mysse contryuynge
Who lyst the trouthe of them for to enfuse
For the reed and whyte they wryte full true
Well sayd this lady I haue perceueraunce
Of our bokes/whiche that ye endyte
So as ye saye is all the cyrcumstaunce
Unto the hyghe pleasure of the reed and the whyte
Which hath your trouth/and wyll you acquyte
Doubte ye no thynge/but at the last ye maye
Of your true mynde yet fynde a Ioyfull daye
Forsothe I sayd/dysdayne and straungenesse
I fere them sore/and fals reporte
I wolde they were/in warde all doutles
Lyke as I was/without conforte
Than wolde I thynke/my lady wolde resorte
Unto dame mercy/my payne to consyder
God knoweth all/I wolde we were togyder
Though in meane season/of grene grasse I fede
It wolde not greue me/yf she knewe my heuynesse
My trauayle is grete/I praye god be my spede
To resyste the myght/of myn enmyes subtylnesse
Whiche awayte to take/me by theyr doublenesse
My wysdome is lytel/yet god may graunt me grace
Them to defende/in euery maner of cace
Lerne this she sayd/yf that you can by wytte
Of foes make frendes/they wyll be to you sure
Yf that theyr frendshyp/be vnto yon knytte
It is oft stedfast/and wyll longe endure
Yf alwaye malyce/they wyll put in vre
No doubte it is/than god so hyght and stronge
Ful meruaylously/wyl soone reuenge theyr wronge
And now she sayd come on your waye with me
Unto a goodly toure whiche is solacyous
Beholde it yonder/full of felycyte
Quadrant it was/me thought full meruaylous
With golden turrettes/gaye and gloryous
Gargayled with greyhoūdes/and with many lyons
Made of fyne golde/with dyuers sondry dragons
The wyndowes byrall/without resplendysshaunt
The fayre yuery/coloured with grene
And all aboute there was dependaunt
Grete gargeyles of golde/full meruaylously besene
Neuer was made/a fayrer place I wene
The ryght excellent lady toke her intresse
Ryght so dyde I/by meruaylous swetnesse
Whan we came in/I dyde aboute beholde
The goodly temple/with pynacles vp sette
Wherin were ymages/of kynges all of golde
With dyuers scryptures/without ony lette
Aloft the roofe/were emeraudes full grette
Set in fyne golde/with amyable rudyes
Endented with dyamondes/and mayn turkyes
The wyndowes hystoried/with many noble kynges
The pyllers Iasper/dyuersed with asure
By pendaunt penacles/of many noble rynges
The pauement calcedony/beynge fayre and sure
The aras golde/with the story pure
Of the syche of thebes/with actes auenturous
Of ryght noble knyghees/hardy and chyualrous
Than sayd this lady/I must now go hence
Passe ye tyme here/accordynge to your lykynge
It maye fortune/your lady of excellence
Wyll passe her tyme here/soone by walkynge
Than maye she se/your dolefull mournynge
And fare ye well/I maye no lenger tary
Marke well my lesson/and from it do not vary
Whan she was gone/the temple all alonge
I went my selfe/with syghtes grete and feruent
Alas I sayd/with inwarde paynes stronge
My herte doth blede/now all to torne and rent
For lacke of conforte/my herte is almost spent
O meruelo&us; fortune/whiche hast ī loue me brought
Where is my conforte/that I so longe haue sought
O wonderfull loue/whiche fell vnto my lotte
O loue ryght clene/without ony thought vntrue
Syth thy fyrst louynge/not blemyssed with spotte
But euermore/the falseshede to extue
O dolorous payne/whiche doste renue
O pyteous herte/where is the helthe and boote
Of thy lady/that perst the at the roote
What thynge is loue/that causeth suche turment
From whens cometh it/me thynke it is good questyō
Yf it be nature/from nature it is sent
Loue maye come of kynde by true affeccyon
Loue may appetyte/by natururall eleccyon
Than must loue nedes be/I perceyue it in mynde
A thynge fyrst gyuen/by the god of kynde
Alas o nature/why mayst not thou truely
Cause my lady loue/as thou hast me constrayned
Hath she power to domyne the vtterly
Why mayst not thou/cause her be somwhat payned
With natures moeuynge/for loue is not fayned
Alas for sorowe/why madest thou her so fayre
Without to loue/that she lyst soone repayre
Two thynges me conforte/euer in pryncypall
The fyrst be bokes/made in antyquyte
By Gower and Chauncers/poetes rethorycall
And Lydgate eke/by good auctoryte
Makynge mencyon/of the felycyte
Of my lady and me/by dame fortunes chaunce
To mete togyders/by wonderull ordynaunce
The seconde is/where fortune dooth me brynge
In many placys/I se by prophecy
As in the storyes/of the olde buyldynge
Letters for my lady/depeynted wonderly
And letters for me/besyde her meruayllously
Agreynge well/vnto my bokes all
In dyuers placys/I se it in generall
O loue moost dere/o loue nere to my harte
O gentyll floure/I wolde you knewe my wo
How that your beaute/perst me with the darte
With your vertue/and your mekenes also
Sythens ye so dyde/it is ryght longe ago
My herte doth se you/it is for you bebledde
Myne eyen with teeres/ben often made full redde
Where are ye now/the floure of Ioye and grace
Whiche myght me conforte/in this inwarde sorowe
Myne excellent lady/it is a ryght pyteous case
Good be my guyde/aud saynt George vnto borowe
O clere Aurora/the sterre of the morowe
Whiche many yeres/with thy bemes mery
Hath me awaked/to se thyne emyspery
Thus as I mourned/I sawe than appere
Thre goodly myrours dependaunt on the wall
Set in fyne golde bordred with stones clere
The glasses pure/they were of crystall
Made longe ago to be memoryall
And vnder the fyrst glasse ryght fayre wryten was
Beholde thy selfe/and thy fautes or thou passe
By a sylken threde/small as ony heere
Ouer I sawe hange/a swerde full ponderous
Without a scauberde/full sharpe for to fere
The poynt dounwarde/ryght harde and asperous
All this I sawe/with hert full dolorous
Yet at auenture/to se the mystery
In the myroure/I loked than full sodenly
In this glasse I sawe/how I had ledde my lyfe
Sythens the tyme of my dyscrecyon
As vnto wyldnesse/alwaye affyrmatyfe
Folowynge the pleasure/of wylfull amonycyon
Not vnto vertue, hauynge intencyon
Ihesu sayd I/thou hast me well preserued
From this swerdes fall/whiche I haue oft deserued
O ye estates/aloft on fortunes whele
Remembre this swerde/whiche ouer you dependeth
Beware the fall/before that ye it fele
Se your one euyll/se what vengeaunce ensueth
Correcte none other/whan that your fautes renueth
Calke not not goddes power/bryef not y&supere; tens future
Beholde this glasse/se how he may endure
Many one wanteth the nature sens to brefe
By calculacyon goddes power to withstande
Bathynge theyr swerdes/in blode by myschefe
Tyll at the last as I do vnderstande
This swerde doth fal by the myght of goddes hande
Upon them all/whiche wolde his power abate
Than they repent but than it is to late
This goodly myrour/I ryght well behelde
Remembrynge well/my dedes done in tymes past
I toke forwytte/than for to be my shelde
By grace well armed/not to be agast
Thus as I stode/I dyde se at the last
The seconde myrour/as bryght as phebus
Set rounde about/with stones precyous
Ouer whiche dyde hāge/a floure of golde ryght fyne
Wherin was set/an emeraude full bryght
Ryght large and grete/whiche wōderfull dyde shyne
That me thought it was/grete conforte to my syght
Bordred dyamondes/castybarge a meruaylous; lyght
This floure dyde hange/by a ryght subtyll gynne
With a chayne of yron/and many a pryue pynne
Besyde whiche there was/a table of golde
With a goodly scrypture/enameled of grene
The sentence wherof/I dyde well beholde
The whiche sayd thus/it is openly sene
That many a one/full pryuely dooth wene
To blynde an other/by crafte and subtylnes
That ofte blyndeth hym/for all his doublenes
In this myrour whiche is here besyde
Thou shalt well lerne/thy selfe for to knowe
Passe forth no ferder/but loke and abyde
Se what shall come/lest that thou ouer throwe
A sodayne rysynge dooth oft fall alowe
Without the grounde/beryghe sure and perfyte
Beholde well this glasse/& take thy respyte
Whan thou hast so done/to this floure resorte
Laboure to gete it/from this harde yren chayne
Unto the gynnes/vnto thy grete conforte
Yf that thou canst/and take it for thy payne
To be thy helpe/in thy Journaye certayne
Lo here the vertues vnder wryten be
Of this ryall floure in euery degre
This ryche emeraude/who so dooth it bere
From his fyrst werynge/his syght shal not mynysshe
Payne of the heed he nedeth not to fere
By dynt of swerde/he shall neuer perysshe
Ne no thynge begyn/but he shall well fynysshe
Yf it be ryghtfull aftyr a true entent
Without resystence of grete impedyment
Of all nygromancy/and fals enchauntement
Agaynst hym wrought/he shall knowe the effecte
They can not blynde hym by cursed sentement
But he theyr werkes may ryght soone abiecte
No maner poyson he nedeth to susspecte
Neyther in mete not yet in ale ne wyne
Yf it beset well besyde a serpentyne
Yf he vntrue be vnto his gentyll lady
It wyll breke asondre/or crase than doubtlesse
It kepeth close/neuet the auoutry
This gentyll emeraude/this stone of rychesse
Hath many mo vertues/whiche I do not expresse
As saynt Iohan euangelyst doeth shewe openly
Who of his makynge lyst se the lapydary
Whan I had aduerted/in my remembraunce
All the maters/vnto the glasse I wente
Beholdynge it/by a longe cyrcumstaunce
Where as I dyde perceyue well verament
How preuy malyce/his messengers had sent
With subtyll engynes/to lye in a wayte
Yf that they coude take me with a bayte
I sawe there trappes/I sawe theyr gynnes all
I thanked god than/the swete holy goost
Whiche brought me hyder so well in specyall
Without whiche myrour/I had ben but loost
In god aboue/the lorde of myghtes moost
I put my trust/for to withstande theyr euyll
Whiche dayly wrought/by the myght of the deuyll
I sawe theyr maysters blacke and tydyous
Made by the craft of many a nacyon
For to dystroye me/with strokes peryllous
To lette my Iournaye/as I make relacyon
Peryllous was the waye/and the cytuacyon
Full gladde was I of the vertu of this glasse
Whiche shewed me/what daungers I sholde passe
O all ye estates/of the hygh renowne
Beware these gynnes/beware theyr subtylte
The deuyll is grete/and redy to cast downe
By calculacyon/of the cursed cruelte
Of the subtyll beestes/full of inyquyte
In the olde tyme what snares were there sette
By fals calkynge/to dystroye lordes grete
Than after this to the yron gynne
I wente anone my wyte for to proue
By lytell and lytell/to vndo euery pynne
Thus in and out/I dyde the chayne ofte moue
Yet coude I not come/vnto myne aboue
Tyll at the last/I dyde the crafte espy
Undoynge the pynnes/& chayne full meruaylously
Full gladde was I than/whan I had this floure
I kyst it oft/I behelde the coloure grene
It swaged ryght well/myn inwarde doloure
Myn eyes conforted/with the bryghtnes I wene
This ryall floure/this emeraude so shene
Whan I had goten it by my prudence
Ryght gladde I was/of fortunes premynence
O fortune sayd I/thou arte ryght fauorable
For many a one/hath ben by symylytude
To wynne this floure/full gretely tendable
But they the subtylnes/myght nothynge exclude
Sythen by wysdome/I dyde this fraude conclude
This floure/I sette nere my harte
For perfyte loue/of my fayre ladyes darte
So this accomplysshed/than incontynent
To the thyrde myrour I went dyrectly
Beholdynge aboute by good auysement
Seynge an ymage madefull wonderly
Of the holy goost with flambes ardauntly
Under whiche I sawe with letters fayre and pure
In golde well grauen this meruaylous scrypture
Frome the fader and the sone my power procedynge
And of my selfe I god do ryght ofte inspyre
Dyuers creatures with spyrytuall knowynge
Inuysyble by dyuyne flambynge fyre
The eyes I entre not it is not my desyre
I am not coloured of the terrestryall grounde
Nor entre the eres for I do not sounde
Nor by the nose for I am not myxte
With ony maner of the ayry influence
Nor by the mouthe for I am not fyxte
For to be swalowed by erthly experyence
Nor yet by felynge or touchynge exystence
My power dyuyne can not be palpable
For I myselfe am no thynge manyable
Yet vysyble I may be by good apparaunce
As in the lykenesse of a doue vnto chryste Ihesu
At his baptysme I dyde it with good countenaunce
To shewe our godhed to be hygh and true
And at his transfyguracyon our power to ensue
In a fayre cloude with clere rayes radyaunt
Ouer hym that I was well apparaunt
Also truely yet at the feest of pentycoste
To the sones moder and the apostelles all
In tonges of fyre as god of myghtes moost
I dyde appere shewynge my power spyrytuall
Enflambynge theyr hertes by vertues supernall
Whiche after that by languages well
In euery regyon coude pronounce the gospell
And where I lyst by power dyuyne
I do enspyre oft causynge grete prophecy
Whiche is mysconstrued whan some do enclyne
Thynkynge by theyr wytte to perceyue it lyghtly
Or elles calke with deuylles the trouth to sertyfy
Whiche contrary be to all true saynge
For deuylles be subtyll and alwaye lyenge
Whan I had aduerted with my dylygence
All the scrypture I sawe me besyde
Hāge a fayre swerde & shelde of meruailous excellēce
Whiche to beholde I dyde than abyde
To blase the armes I dyde well prouyde
The felde was syluer/and in it a medowe grene
With an olyue trefull meruaylously besene
Two lyons of asure vpon euery syde
Couchande were truely besyde this olyue tree
A hande of stele wherin was wryten pryde
Dyde holde this ryall swerde in certaynte
A scrypture there was whiche sayd by subtylte
Of a grete lady hondred yeres ago
In the hande of stele this swerde was closed so
No maner persone/may withstande this swerde
But one persone/chosen by god in dede
Of this ladyes kynred/not to be aferde
To touche this hande/his mater for to spede
And to vndo it/and take it for his mede
But yf that he/be not of the lygnage
The hande wyll sle hym/after olde vsage
This ryall swerde/that called is preprudence
Who can it gette/it hath these vertues thre
Fyrst to wynne ryght/without longe resystence
Secondly encreaseth/all trouth and amyte
Thyrdly of the berer through duplycyte
Be pryuely fals/to the ordre of chyualry
The swerdes crosse wyll crase/and shewe it openly
This shelde also/who so dooth it bere
Whiche of olde tyme/was called perceueraunce
Hath thre vertues/fyrst he nedeth not fere
Ony grete blodeshede/by wronge incombraunce
Secondly/it wolde make good apparaunce
By hete vnto hym/to gyue hym warnynge
To be redy/agayst his enmyes comynge
The thyrde is this/yf this calenge be ryghtfull
Neuer no swerde/shall through his harneys perce
Nor make hym blody/with woundes rufull
For he there steength/may ryghtfully reuerce
Yet moreouer/as I do well reherce
This ryall shelde/in what place it be borne
Shall soone be wonne/and shall not be forlorne
These thynges sene/to the thyrde myroure clere
I went anone/and in it loked ryght ofte
Where in my fyght/dyde wonderly appere
The fyrmament/with the sonne all alofte
The wynde not grete/but blowynge fayre and softe
And besyde the sonne/I sawe a meruaylous sterre
With beames twayne/the whiche were cast aferre
The one turnynge towarde the sterre agayne
The other stretched ryght towarde Phebus
To beholde this sterre/I was somwhat fayne
But than I mused with herte full dolorous
Whyder it sygnyfyed thynges good or peryllous
Thus longe I studyed/tyll at the last I thought
What it sholde meane/as in my herte I sought
This sterre it sygnyfyeth the resynge of a knyght
The bowynge beame agayne so tournynge
Betokened rattonnes of them whiche by myght
Wolde hym resyst by theyr wronge resystynge
The beame towarde Phebus clerely shynynge
Betokened many meruaylous fyres grete
On them to lyght that wolde his purpose lete
In the fyre clerest of euery element
God hath appered vnto many a one
Inspyrynge them/with grete wytte refulgent
Who lyst to rede many dayes agone
Many one wryteth trouthe/yet cōforte hath he none
Wherfore I fere me/lyke a swarme of bees
Wylde fyre wyll lyght amonge a thousande pees

Sepe expugnauerunt me a inuentute mea:etenim non potuerunt michi.
As the cantycles maketh good mencyon
They haue oft expugned me/syth my yonge age
Yet coude they haue me/in theyr domynyon
Though many a one/vnhappely do rage
They shall haue sorowe that shytte me in a cage
In a grte dyspyte of the holy goost
He maye them brenne/theyr calkynge is but loost

Supra dorsum meū fabricauerūt peccatores: prolongauersit iniquitatē suā.
Upon my backe synners hath fabrysed
They haue prolonged theyr grete inyquyte
From daye to daye it is not mynysshed
Wherfore for vengeaunce by grete extremyte
It cryeth aboue/now vnto the deyte
Whiche that his mynysters haue suffred so longe
To lyue in synne and euyll wayes wronge
Whan I had perceyued euery maner thynge
Of this ryall myrour/accordynge to effecte
Remembrynge the verses/of the olde saynge
Whiche in my mynde I dyde well coniecte
Than to the swerde/I thought to haue respecte
Ryght so I went/than at all auenture
Unto the hande/that helde the swerde so sure
I felte the hande/of the stell so fyne
Me thought it quaked/the fyngers gan to stretche
I thought by that/I came than of the lyne
Of the grete lady/that fyrst the swerde dyde fetche
The swerdes pomell/I began to ketche
The hande swerued/but yet neuer the lesse
I helde them bothe/by excellent prowes
And at the last/I felte the hande departe
The swerde I toke/with all my besynesse
So I subdued/all the magykes arte
And founde the scauberde/of meruaylous rychesse
After that I toke the shelde doune doubtlesse
Kyssynge the swerde/and the shelde ofte I wys
Thankynge god/the whiche was cause of this
Gladde was I than/of my ryall floure
Of my swerde and shelde/I reioyced also
It pacyfyed well/myn inwarde doloure
But fro my ladyes beaute/my mynde myght not go
I loued her surely/for I loued no mo
Thus my fayre floure/and my swerde and shelde
With eyen ryght meke/full often I behelde
Than sayd I (well) this is an happy chaunce
I trust now shortly/my lady for to se
O fortune sayd I/whiche brought me on the daūce
Fyrst to beholde her ryght excellent beaute
And so by chaunce/hast hyder conueyde me
Getynge me also/my floure my shelde and swerde
I nought mystrust the/why sholde I be aferde
O ryght fayre lady/as the bryght daye sterre
Shyneth before the rysynge of the sonne
Castynge her beames/all aboute aferre
Exylynge grete wyndes/and the mystes donne
So ryght fayre lady/where as thou doost wonne
Thy beautefull bryghtnes/thy vertue and thy grace
Dooth clere Illumyne/all thy boure and place
The gentyll heren is plonged in dystresse
Dooth walowe and tomble in somers nyght
Replete with wo/and mortall heuynesse
Tyll that aurora/with her beames bryght
Aboute the fyrmament/castynge her pured lyght
Ageynst the rysynge/of refulgent tytan
Whan that declyneth/the fayre dame dyan
Than dooth the louer/out of this bedde aryse
With wofull mynde/beholdynge than the ayre
Alas he sayth/what nedeth to deuyse
Ony suche pastyme/here for to repayre
Where is my conforte/where is my lady fayre
Where is my Ioye/where is now all my boote
Where is she nowe/that persed my herte rote
This maye I saye/vnto my owne dere loue
My goodly lady/fayrest and moost swete
In all my bokes/fayre fortune doth moue
For a place of grace/where that we sholde mete
Also my bokes full pryuely you grete
The effectes therof/dooth well dayly ensue
By meruelous thynges/to proue them to be true
The more my payne/the more my loue encreaseth
The more my Ieopardy/the truer is my harte
The more I suffre/the lesse the fyre releasheth
The more I complayne the more is my smarte
The more I se her/the sharper is the darte
The more I wryte/the more my teeres dystyll
The more I loue/the hotter is my wyll
O moost fayre lady/yonge/good/and vertuous
I knewe full well/neuer your countenaunce
Shewed me ony token/to make me amerous
But what for that/your prudent gouernaunce
Hath enrached my herte/for to gyue attendaunce
Your excellent beaute/you coude no thynge lette
To cause my herte vpon you to be sette
My ryght fayre lady/yf at the chesse I drawe
My selfe I knowe not/as a cheke frome a mate
But god aboue the whiche sholde haue in awe
By drede truely euery true estate
He maye take vengeaunce/though he tary late
He knoweth my mynde/he knoweth my remedy
He maye reuenge me/he knoweth my Ieoperdy
O thou fayre fortune/torne not fro me thy face
Remembre my sorowe/for my goodly lady
My tendre herte/she dooth full oft enbrace
And as of that it is no wonder why
For vpon her is all my desteny
Submyttynge me/vnto her gracyous wyll
Me for to saue or sodaynly to spyll
O ryght fayre lady of grene flourynge age
You can not do but as your frendes agre
Your wyte is grete/you mekenes/dooth not swage
Exyle dysdayne/and be ruled by pety
The frenshe man sayth/that shall be shall be
Yf that I dye louer was neuer none
Deyed in this worlde/for a fayrer persone
Your beaute causeth all my amyte
Why sholde your beaute/to my dethe condyscende
Your vertue and mekenes/dyde so arest me
Why sholde ye than to dame dysdayne intende
Your prudence your goodnes/dooth mercy extende
Why sholde ye than enclyne to cruelte
Your grace I trust wyll non extremyte
A dere herte I maye complayne ryght longe
You here me not/nor se me not arayed
Nor causes my paynes for to be stronge
It was myn eyes/that made me fyrst dysmayde
With stroke of loue/that coude not me delaye
My ryght fayre lady/my herte is colde and faynt
Wolde now to god/that you knewe my complaynte
Thus as I mourned I herde a lady speke
I loked asyde I sawe my lady gracyous
My herte than fared/as it sholde breke
For perfyte Ioye whiche was solacyous
Before her grace/ryght swete and precyous
I kneled doune/saynge with all mekenesse
Please it your grace/& excellent noblenes
No dyspleasure to take for my beynge here
For fortune me brought/to this place ryall
Where I haue wonne this floure so vertuous & dere
This swerde and shelde/also not peregall
Towadre hym aduenture to be tryumphall
And now by fortunes desteny and fate
Do here my duety vnto your hygh estate
Ihesu sayd she than/who hadde wende to fynde
Your selfe walkynge/in this place all alone
Full lytell thought I/ye were not in my mynde
What is the cause/that ye make suche mone
I thynke some thynge/be from you past and gone
But I wonder/how that ye dyde attayne
This floure/this swerde/the shelde also certayne
For by a lady in the antyquyte
They were made to a meruaylous entente
That none sholde get them/but by auctoryte
Whiche onely by fortune/sholde hyder be sent
Full many knyghtes by entendement
Hath them aduentred/to haue them in dede
But all was vayne/for they myght neuer spede
Wherfore surely/ye are moche fortunate
Them for to wynne by your aduenture
But it was no thynge to you ordynate
And you dyde well/to put your selfe in vre
To proue the Ieoperdy/whiche hath made you sure
Leue all your mournynge/for there is no wyght
Hath greter cause/for to be gladde and lyght
I behelde well her demure countenaunce
Unto her swete wordes/gyuynge good audyence
And than I marked in my remembraunce
Her pleasaunt apparayle/with all my dylygence
Whiche was full ryche of meruaylous excellence
Fyrst alofte her forheed/full properly was dressed
Under her orellettes/her golden heere well tressed
About her necke whyte as ony lyly
A prety chayne of the fynest golde
Some lynkes with grene enameled truely
And some were blacke/the whiche I dyde beholde
The vaynes blewe/in her fayre necke well tolde
With her swete vysage tydynges to my herte
That sodynly my thoughtes were asterte
Her gowne was golde/of the clothe of tyssewe
With armyns poudred/and wyde sleues pendaunt
Her kyrtell grene of the fyne satyn newe
To bere her longe trayne/was well attendaunt
Gentyll dame dylygence/neuer varyaunt
Than as touchynge her noble stature
I thynke there can be/no goodlyer creature
As of her aege/so tendre and grene
Fayre/gracyous/prudent/and louynge humylyte
Her vertue shyneth/beynge bryght and shene
In her is nether pryde ne sybtylte
Her gentyll herte/enclyneth to bounte
Thus beaute/godlynesse/vertue/grace/and wytte
With bounte and mekenesse/in this lady is knytte

Amour.
Thus whan my eyes hadde beholde her wele
Madame I sayd how may I now be gladde
But sygh and sorowe with herte euery dele
Longe haue I loued/and lytell conforte hadde
Wherfore no wonder though that I be sadde
Your tendre age/full lytell knoweth ywys
To loue vnloued/what wofull payne it is

Pucell.
Thoghe that I be yonge/yet I haue perceueraūce
That ther is no lady/yf that she gentyll be
But ye haue with her ony acquayntaunce
And after cast/to her your amyte
Grounded on honoure/without duplycyte
I wolde thynke in mynde/she wolde condescende
To graunt your fauoure/yf ye none yll intende

Amour.
A fayre lady I haue vnto her spoken
That I loue best/and she dooth not it knowe
Though vnto her/I haue my mynde broken
Her beuaet clere/dooth my herte ouerthrowe
Whan I do se her/my herte booth sobbe I trowe
Wherfore fayre lady/all dysparate of contorte
I speke vnknowen/I must to wo resorte

Pucell.
Me thynke ye speke/now vnder parable
Do ye se her here/whiche is cause of your grefe
Yf ye so dyde/than sholde I be able
As in this cause/te be to your relefe
Ryght lothe I were to se your myschefe
For ye knowe well/what case that I am yn
Peryllous it wolde be/or that ye coude me wyne

Amour.
Madame sayd I/thoughe myn eyes se her not
Made dymme w&supert; wepynde/& with grete wo togyder
Yet dooth myn herte/at this tyme I wote
Her excellent beaute/ryght inwardly concyder
Good fortune I trust/hach now brought me hyder
To se your mekenes/whiche doth her repayre
Whose swete conforte/dooth kepe me fro dyspayre

Pucell.
Of late I sawe aboke of your makynge
Called the pastyme of pleasure/whiche is wōdrous
For I thynge and you had not ben in louynge
Ye coude neuer haue made it so sentencyous
I redde there all your passage daungerous
Wherfore I wene for the fayre ladyes sake
That ye dyd loue/ye dyde that boke so make

Amour.
Forsothe madame/I dyde compyle that boke
As the holy goost/I call vnto wytnes
But ygnorauntly/who so lyst to loke
Many meruelous thynges in it/I do expresse
My lyue and loue/to enserche well doublesse
Many a one doth wryte/I knowe not what in dede
Yet the effecte dooth folowe/the trouthe for to spede

Pucell.
I graunt you well/all that whiche you saye
But tell me who it is/that ye loue so sure
I promyse you that I wyll not bewraye
Her name truely to ony creature
Pyte it is/you sholde suche wo endure
I do perceyue/she is not ryght ferre hence
Whiche that ye loue/wihtouten neclygence

Amour.
Surely madame/syth it pleaseth your hyghnesse
And your honour to speke so nobly
It is your grace/that hath the intresse
In my true herte/with loue so feruently
Ryght longe ago/your beaute sodanly
Entred my mynde/and hath not syth dekayde
With feruent loue/moost wofully arayde

Pucell.
And is it I/that is cause of your loue
Yf it so be I can not helpe your payne
It sholde be harde/to gete to your aboue
Me for to loue/I dyde not you constrayne
Ye knowe what I am/I knowe not you certayne
I am as past your loue to specyfy
Why wyll ye loue where is no remedy

Amour.
A madame you are cause of my languysshe
Ye maye me helpe/yf that it to you please
To haue my purpose/my herte dooth not menysshe
Thoughe I was seke/ye knewe not my dysease
I am not hole/your mercy maye me ease
To proue what I am/the holy goost werke styll
My lyfe and deth/I yelde nowe to your wyll

Pucell.
Fortune me thynke/is meruaylous fauorable
To you by getynge/of this ryall floure
Hauynge this swerde/and shelde so profytable
In mortall daungers/to be your socoure
But as touchynge your loue and fauoure
I can not graunt/neyther fyrst ne last
Ye knowe what I am/ye knowe my loue is past

Amour.
Madame the floure/the swerde and shelde also
Whiche fortune gate me/are not halfe so dere
As your persone the cause of my wo
Whose grace and beaute/shyneth so ryght clere
That in my herte your beaute doth appere
Nothynge is past/but that fortunes pleasure
May call it agayne/in the tyme futrure

Pucell.
I denye not but that your dedes do shewe
By meruaylous prowes/truely your gentylnesse
To make you a carter/there were not afewe
But tho by crafte/whiche thought you to oppresse
To accombre them selfe applye the besynesse
Yet thynke not you/so soone to se a cradle
I graunt you loue/whan ye were golden sadle

Amour.
Madame truely/it is oft dayly sene
Many a one dooth trust/his fortune to take
From an other man/to make hym blynde I wene
Whiche blyndeth hym/and dooth his pompe aslake
Often some hye/do fall alowe and quake
Ryght so maye they/whiche dyde fyrst prepence
My wo and payne for all theyr yll scyence

Pucell.
To loue me so/whiche knoweth my persone
And my frendes eke/me thynke ye are not wyse
As now of me conforte haue ye none
Wherfore this answere/maye to you suffyse
I can not do/but as my frendes deuyse
I can no thynge do/but as they accorde
They haue me promest/to a myghty lorde

Amour.
Madame in this worlde ben but thynges twayne
As loue and hate/ye knowe your selfe the trouthe
Yf I sholde hate you/deth I were worthy playne
Than had you cause/with me to be wrothe
To deserue dyspleasure/my herte wolde be lothe
Wherfore fayre lady/I yelde at this hower
To your mekenes/my herte my loue and power

Pucell.
Thynke you past all chyldy ygnoraunce
That gladde I am/yf prudence be your guyde
Grace cometh often after gouernaunce
Beware of foly/beware of inwarde pryde
Clymbe not to fast/but yet fortune abyde
For your loue I thanke you/yf trouthe haue it fyxte
As with yll thought/neuer for to be myxte

Amour.
Surely my mynde/nor yet my purpose
In ony cause by foly dyde vary
Neuer doynge thynke open ne close
That to your honour sholde be contrary
As yet for grace I am content to tary
For myn enmyes fraude and subtylnes
Whiche pryuely begyne theyr owne vnhapynesse

Pucell.
Now of trouthe/I do vnto you tell
The thynge y&supere; to your enmyes is moost dyspleasure
Is for to gouerne you by wysdome ryght well
That causeth enuy in theyr hertes to endure
But be ye pacyent and ye shall be sure
Suche thynges as they ordayne vnto your gref
Wyll lyght on them fo theyr owne myschefe

Amour.
Surely I thynke/I suffred well the phyppe
The nette also dydde teche me on the waye
But me to bere I trowe they lost a lyppe
For the lyfte hande extendyd my Iournaye
And not to call me for my sporte and playe
Wherfore by foly yf that they do synne
The holy goost maye well the batayle wynne

Pucell.
Yf fortune wolde/for the payne ye haue taken
I wolde graūt you loue/but it may noth&ybar;ge al
My loue is past/it can not be forsaken
Therfore I praye you leue your trauayle
Full lothe I were/your deth to bewayle
There is no nette/nor no tempted snare
But ye them knowe/wherfore ye maye beware

Amour.
The snares and nettes/set in sondrye maner
Doone in tyme past/made many abyrde a dawe
The tempted gynnes/were sette so cyrculer
But euermore it is an olde sayd sawe
Examples past dooth theche one to withdrawe
Frome all suche perylles/wherfore than maye I
By grace of god/beware full parfytly

Pucell.
Ye saye the trouthe/and I do not submytte
My wyll and thought to the lady Uenus
As she is goddesse/and doth true loue knytte
Ryght so to determyne/the mater betwene vs
With assent of fortune/so good gracyous
Besechynge you now for to holde you styll
For these two ladyes/maye your mynde fulfyll

Amour.
My ryght dere lady/I do therto consente
Swete are your wordes they confort my thought
Of Uenus and fortune/I abyde the Iugement
But ryght dere lady/whome I longe haue sought
Forgete me not/remembre loue dere bought
Of my herte/I wolde ye knewe the preuyte
Than as I thynke ye wolde remembre me
That came ladyes [illeg.]
The our talkynge/y&supere; tyme dyde surrendre
Dame/ye do well here repayre
Ly temple/for to take the ayre
With that sodaynly/I truely awoke
Takynge pen and ynke to make this lytell boke
Go lytell treaty se submyte the humbly
To euery lady/excusynge thy neclygence
Besechynge them/to remembre truely
How thou doost purpose to do thy dylygence
To make suche bokes by true experyence
From daye to daye theyr pastyme to attende
Rather to dye/thon thau wolde them offend.

poem by Stephen Hawes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Here Begynneth A Lyttell Treatyse Cleped La Conusaunce Damours

Forth gone the virgyns euerychone
Replet with ioye/and eke felicite
To gether floures. And some vnto one
Haue more fantasy/whan they it se
Than to all that in the medowes be
Another shall incontrary wyse
Gether other after theyr deuyse.

So done clerkes/of great grauite
Chose maters/wheron they lyst to wryte
But I that am of small capacite
Toke on me this treatyse to endyte
Tauoyde ydelnesse/more than for delyte
And most parte therof/tolde was to me
As here after/ye may rede and se.

Thus endeth the prologue.

The thyrde idus/in the moneth of July
Phebus his beames/lustryng euery way
Gladdynge the hartes/of all our Hemyspery
And mouynge many/vnto sporte and playe
So dyd it me/the treuthe for to saye
To walke forth/I had great inclination
Per chaunce some where/to fynde recreation

And as I walked/ever I dyd beholde
Goodly yonge people/that them encouraged
In suche maner wyse/as though they wolde
Ryght gladly have songe or daunsed
Or els some other gorgious thynge deuysed
Whose demeanynge/made me ryght ioyous
For to beholde/theyr dedes amorous.

To wryte all thynges of plesure/that I se
In euery place/where I passed by
In all a day recunted it can nat be
Who coude discryue the fresshe beauty
Of dames and pusels/attyred gorgiously
So swete of loke/so amiable of face
Smilyng doulcely/on suche as stande in grace

Certaynly theyr boute/and curtesy
Ofte moueth me/for to do my payne
Some thynge to wryte/them to magnifye
Aboue the sterres. But ay I may complayne
Ignoraunce/gouerneth so my brayne
That I ne dare/for nothynge presume
Out of my mouthe/to blowe suche a fume

It is a laboure/great and hyedous
Requirynge study/and moche experience
For my shulders/it is to ponderous
Whiche am priuate/of suche condigne science
It is for a man/of hygh eloquence
And worthynes/fame and memorie
So noble a thynge/to laude and magnifie.

But nowe to purpose/where I began
Walkyng abrode/wandryng to and fro
Beynge alone/with me was no man
Sodaynly/came in my mynde to go
Se. A faire pusell/and two or thre mo
Of her companions. This was myn entent
And by and by/forth thetherwarde I went.

Whan I came there/I founde at the dore
A dammusell/standyng all alone
Who I dyd salute/and ferthermore
Of her demaunded I/curtesly anone
Gentyll mayde where is your companion?
Syr she sayd (her hart on a mery pyn)
ye be welcome. she is nat nowe within

But by her faire/and swete countenance
I perceyued lyghtly/what she ment
Dame daunger moued her to that daliaunce
But Desyre bad me go. and in I went
And sodaynly/by the hand me hent
This most curtes mayde/who I went to se
Sayenge welcome/most derely vnto me.

And by the hande/than as she me had
In we went/talkynge joyously
Into a goodly parler/she me lad
And caused me to sytte/curtesly
Than vnto vs/came shortly by and by
Another/that me swetely dyd welcome
Bryngyng fresshe floures/and gave me some.

Than we began/to talke and deuyse
Of one and other/of olde acqueyntaunce
For comonly/of maydens is the gyse
Somtyme to demaunde for pastaunce
If that a man be in loues daunce
Or stande in grace/of any dammusell
Under suche maner/in talkynge we fell

We spake of loue/yet none of vs all
Knoweth perfectly/what loue shulde be
The one affyrmed/people veneriall
Folowynge the course/of their natiuite
Endure great sorowe/and moche aduersite
And many suffre/suche peyne and turment
That as mad folke/them selfe all to rent

Thus sayd one/and vp helde it styffely
That loue was of suche maner nature
That it myght rather be called a mad fury
Than any maner thynge of pleasure
To whiche wordes/thother mayden demure
Replyed. Prayeng vs/to gyue her licence
In this matter/to shewe forth her sentence

Gladly (we sayd (therto we assent
In this to here/your opinion
Forsoth (sayd she) ye shall nat be myscontent
All though therin/I make obiection
Where as nowe/ye haue made conclusion
Sayeng loue was a fury or a madnesse
Without all grauite/measure/or sadnesse

Nay surely/your reason is defectyue
For this ye knowe very perfectly
That they that loue/and hate for to stryue
Lyue a thousande tymes more quietly
Than they/that hate eche other mortally
For where as is no loue/nor tranquillite
There is myschef/langour/and all aduersite.

Loue is the very true manocorde
That euery wyght shulde harpe vpon
Louyng well eche other by very concorde
To this reason/byndeth vs euerychone
And this maner loue/is nat in vs alone
For bestes that haue/sence and vnderstandynge
By companies go/to gether right louynge

Whiche doyng I repute very perfect loue
Whan by no crafte/nor male engyn
From their amite/wyll nat remoue
The one to socour other shall neuer blyn
Who can depart true louyng folkes at wyn?
Father/children/and frendes of aliaunce/
And good neyghbours helpe other i eche chauce.

This maner frendshyp/very loue I call
Other than this/or lyke no man can fynde
Abyde (sayd the other) I thynke ye shall
Here my reason/contrary to your mynde
I trowe none hence to the lande of Inde
Can be founde. Whiche hath nat tasted
Other loue/than ye haue nowe rehersed

Harde you neuer tell/of yonge Pyramus/
And his swete loue/called fayre Thysby:
In all Babylon/the moost swete and gracious
Bothe shynyng/full of fresshe beauty
Dwellynge also/togyder very nye
Wherby the more/as I haue herde tell
Fro day to day/in feruent loue they fell

They wold both/ryght fayne haue bespoused
After suche lawe/as in that tyme they vse
But by theyr parentes/they were alway letted
Who of theyr myschief/I may well accuse
Neuer wolde one/the other of them refuse
The strayter they were kept/and inclosed
The more feruently/in loue they burned

And whan they coude nat to gyther speke
They made signes/tokyn and lokynge
By suche meanes/theyr myndz wolde they breke
That one of other had perfect vnderstandynge
Nowe it happed/as loue is euer sekynge
To fynde remedye/what therof befall
So at last they founde/a chenke in a wall

At whiche place/oft these louers two
Mette and talked/of their wo and payne
Many tymes/theder wolde they go
And on the wall/piteously complayne
That he stode/betwene them louers twayne
Nat openyng to them so moche space
To come to gether/eche other to enbrace

These and like wordes/ofte wolde they say
O enuious wall certes thou doest amysse
If thou wylt nat suffre/that we may
Ioyne our bodies/suffre vs to kysse
Agaynst the/we neuer dyd amysse
Wherfore be nat thou/to vs vnkynde
Opyn thy selfe/and obey to our mynde.

And whan they shulde part eche other fro
They toke leaue/and that ryght curtesly
yet alway/before or they wolde go
On eche syde/they kyst the wall swetely
Syghyng a lytell/very amorously
So wolde they stande/all many a longe nyght
Tyll Aurora/exild them with her lyght

And whan Phebus gan/his bemes downespred
Dryeng vp the dewes/in the medowes grene
Than wolde they stele priuely to bed
That they shulde/of no persone be sene
Where most of all/theyr sorowe sharpe and kene
At the hart/gan to prycke a pace
That they ne coude/rest in any place.

Nowe languysshe they/with syghes profoude
Nowe sorowe they/nowe they turne and wynde
Nowe fresshely bledeth/their incurable woude
Nowe cast they/right busely in mynde
Nowe they may/some crafte and maner fynde
Theyr kepers to deceyue/by some wyle
And to stele out/in the nyght by gyle.

After they had/fixed theyr myndes heron
They agreed/at theyr metyng place
That they wolde/into the feldes gon
The next nyght/and mete at a certayn place
And which, of them two/were first per case
Theder come/shulde no ferther go
Tyll the other/were ycome also.

Their metyng place/I vnderstande shulde be
At the supulchre/or tombe of kyng Ninus
(Kyng of Assiriens) vnder a goodly hye tre
Bearyng white aples/the tre cleped Morus
Growyng fast by/a fountayne delicious
In the sayd place/couenaunted to mete
yonge Pyram/and gracious Thysby swete.

Whan the longe day/was gone and past
And nyght come/every thynge at rest
The tendre mayde/hyed her ryght fast
To the dore she goth/redely and prest
And put therto/her doulce and softe brest
Openynge itso/for feare lest it shulde crake
And therwith/some of her kepars wake.

So out at the dore/gote preuely is she
And through the towne/alone is went
Into the fyldes/towarde the foresayd tre
O swete Thysbe/howe true was your entent
Howe curtesly your hart dyd assent
For the loue of gentyll Pyramus
To enterprise/a thynge so perillous.

Myghty loues power/here may we beholde
Proued on this goodly damosell
What but loue coude make her so bolde?
She feared nat/the sauage beestes fell
Wherto shulde I any longer dwell?
Upon her way she went styll apace
Castyng euer/towarde the appointed place.

One myght demaunde/who was her gyde
Bycause it was in the quyet nyght
I answere none/but the hygh lorde Cupide
Whose souerayne puysaunce/and great myght
Turneth obscure darkenesse/vnto lyght
He leadeth folkes/that way as he wyll
In great parilles/redy for to spyll.

So this lorde/of his myght and grace
Conduced Thysbe/in the wylde felde
Tyll she came vnto the foresayd place
Where she sate downe/vnder Morus selde
And as she sate/a ferre of she behelde
Towarde the wode/by lyght of the mone
A lyonesse/whiche towarde her dyd come.

This lyones/in the wode had slayne
A beest before/and deuoured hym also
And came to drynke/at the sayd fountayne
Where Thysbe sate alone with her no mo
For feare wherof/lyghtly she to go
Into a denne/that was there besyde
Swete Thysbe ran/her for to hyde.

(In moche perill/and great ieopardye
Thysbe was brought/by this sodayne fraye
For in that denne/wylde beestes vsed to lye)
For hast she fell/her kerchefe by the way
Whiche the lyones (as I haue harde say)
Founde. And in her blody mouthe toke
Rent/tore/and out agayne it shoke.

Than forthwith she ran into the wode
And as soone as euer she was gone
Pyram came/and founde the cloth all blode
His hart gan to be/as colde as any stone
Sayeng these wordes/with most pitous mone
O nyght thou losest/and art distruction
Of two yonge louers of Babylon.

Of whiche two/she that most worthy was
For to haue lyued/is deed fyrst of all
I am the cause/swete Thysbe (her alas)
That you ben slayne/of this beest truculentall
If I had come fyrst/than had it nat befall
O wretche that I am/to suffre swete Thysbe
To come alone/and here for to dye.

O ye moost cruell/and rabbysshe lions fell
Come nowe and teare/the corps of Pyramus
ye sauage beestes/that in these rockes dwell
If blode to you be so delicious
Come and gnawe/my wretched body dolorous
And on the kerchef/with face pale and tryst
He loked ofte/and it right swetely kyst.

With deedly syghes/his swerde out he drewe
Under the vmbre/of the forsayd tre
Wherwith shortly/hym owne selfe he slewe
Sayeng/take drynke nowe the blode of me
With whiche stroke/the blode (as it had be
Water spoutynge/out of a condite heed)
Spouted vp/whan he fell downe deed.

And with the blode/in suche wyse sprynklyng
The frute of the tre/whiche that before
Was white. Turned as blacke as any thynge
And the blode/that sanke to the more
Depeinted it/a fayre purple colore
Whiche vnto this day/so remayne
But nowe to Thysby/turne I wyll agayne.

All though her feare were neuer the las
yet bycause she wolde nat breke promesse
She came softly/towarde thappoynted place
Bothe mynde and eye/lokyng without cesse
For yonge Pyram/the floure of gentylnesse
She loked euer/her swete hart to se
Tyll she approched/and came vnder the tre.

Whan she behelde/the transformacion
Of the tre. She was right sore abasshed
And bycause it was in suche condicion
She thought it was nat/the place appoynted
But at last/as she more nerer loked
She sawe a corps/vpon the grounde lye
Newly slayne/tremblyng and all blody.

Wherwith she gan/to be as pale as leed
And stepped backe/a lyttell sodaynly
Incontinent she perceyued the corps deed
Was her owne swete hart/the noble Pyramy
O howe she gan moost piteously to crye
Her handes strayne/and her fyngers wrynge
Enragiously/her armes out castynge.

She rent and tore/her goodly youlowe heare
And toke the corps/in her armes twayne
Desperously/wepynge many a teare
Amonge the blode/of her louer slayne
Her bytter teares/lay as thycke as rayne
And ofte she kyssed/his deedly colde visage
Styll cryeng/as though she wolde enrage.

O swete Pyram/who hath taken you me fro?
O curtesse Pyram/speke nowe vnto me
I am thyn owne Thysby/full of wo
Here thy dere loue/that speketh vnto the
Lyfte ones vp thyn eyes Pyram me to se
And as she lay/this tomblyng on the grounde
At longe her kerchefe/in the blode she founde

Than she knewe/howe he deceyued was
By the kerchefe/and the lyonesse
Agayne she cryed/o Pyram her alas
For my loue/doure of gentylnesse
Haue slayne your selfe/in peinfull distresse
O swete Pyram/syth it is for my sake
Of my dolorous lyfe/suche ende shall I make.

Of ioye with you/parttaker haue I be
What tyme ye lyued/most curtes Pyramus
Shulde deth thau departe you and me?
With you to dye/I am ryght desyrous
O parentz parentz/of our deth reous
To you our bodyes/I bequeth and take
To bury togyther/for neuer we shall forsake.

O miserable tre/with thy bowes longe
Coueryng nowe/lyeng deed on the grounde
The noble Pyram/that whilom was so strouge
Thou shalt anone/of suche another wounde
Couer my corps. And in a littell stounde
She pulled the swerde out of Pyramy
And therwith slewe herselfe pyteously.

Thautor.

Than the damosell/that the storie tolde
Sygheh softe/and loked me vpon
Wherwith ye teares/downe on her chekes rolde
She had of theyr deth/so great compassion
That she was stryken in cogitacion
And stode a whyle/as one had ben dismayde
And these wordes/after to vs she sayd

The damosell.

O curtes Pyram/and swete Thysbe also
Herde was your fortune and destanye
your pitous deth/maketh myn hert wo
yet me thynke/I se your bodies lye
The tre and fountayne/ryght sorowfully
Unto this day/wepe and complayne
The lamentable dethe/of you louers twayne.

Here was true loue/who can it deny?
Here were the burnyng sparcles of Cupyde
Here were two hertes/closed in one truly
Here were two louers/nat swaruyng asyde
O cursed lyonesse/wo mote the betyde
Thou were the cause/that these louers twayne
Were so soone/thus miserably slayne.

O ye parentes/of these louers two
Why suffred you them/so for to spyll?
ye caused them/thether for to go
Wherof succeded/all their myschiefe and yll
ye myght haue had your goodly children styll
If ye had done/as reason doth require
To marry them/after theyr desyre.

These gentyls dyd/as christens nowe a day
Moost comonly/vse for to do
Whiche no doubt is/a moche cursed way
And causer of many yuels also
They marry/without consent of the two
Whiche mariage is nat worth an hawe
Damnable/and eke ayenst the lawe.

For to receyue this hygh sacrament
Is required moche solemnite
But one moost speciall/that is fre assent
Of both persones/of hye and lowe degre
Without whiche/mariage can nat be
Perfectly allowed/before the glorious face
Of the hygh god/in the celestiall place.

Whan two maried/ayenst their myndes be
What is the very true consequens?
Contynuall discorde/moost comenly wese
Braulyng/chidyng/and other inconuenience
And another/moost poysonfull pestilence
For therof right ofte/aduoutry doth succede
Murdre/and many a myscheuous dede.

We se oft tymes/whan two to gether come
By great loue/and longe continuaunce
yet of suche/there haue ben founde some
Whiche dayly haue ben at distaunce
To them selfe/and other great noyaunce
And coude by no meanes/togyther agre
And by deuorse/departed haue they be.

Than moche sooner/suche as by compulsion
Ben spoused/agaynst theyr owne fre wyll
Shulde nat do well. But to make relacion
Particlerly/of all and euery yll
That clamdestinat mariage doth fulfyll
I shulde than/to longe tary you twayne
Where I was/turne I shall agayne

Before this tyme/you bothe haue harde tell
Of the trojan knyght/called Troylus
And of Creseide/the goodly damosell
On whom he was so depely amorous
For whom he was/so heuy and dolorous
That had nat ben Pandare/his trusty frende
Of his lyfe/he had lyghtly made an ende.

For one syght he had/of that fresshe may
As he walked within the temple wyde
He loked as his hart/had ben pulde away
And coude nat moche longer there abyde
The fyrie dart/of the hygh lorde Cupyde
Had made in hym/so great and large a wounde
That lytell lacked/he fell nat to the grounde.

There was none so expert phisician
That coude cure or helpe his maladye
To serche the wounde/myght no surgian
It was impossible/to come therby
None coude cure/saue the faire lady
Creseide. On whom he loked oft
Syghyng depe/and gronyng lowe and softe.

What shulde I herof/longer processe make
Theyr great loue is wrytten all at longe
And howe he dyed onely for her sake
Out ornate Chaucer/other bokes amonge
In his lyfe dayes/dyd vnderfonge
To translate:and that most plesantly
Touchyng the mater/of the sayd story.

Of Cannace/somwhat wyll I tell
And of her brother/cleped Machareus
Howe Aeolous/her father ryght cruell
Made her dye a deth full pitous
But first she wrote/a pistoll dolorous
To her brother/of her wofull chaunce
These were her wordes to my remembraunce.

Cannace doughter/of Aeolous the kynge
Greteth Machare/her owne brother dere
In owne hande/a naked swerde holdynge
With the other writyng/as doth appere
In this epistoll that she sendeth here
Howe by naught els saue deth she can fynde
To content her fathers cruell mynde.

O my father most innaturall
This swerde to me his daughter hath he sende
With whiche swerde/shortly anone I shall
Of my lyfe and sorowe make an ende
To other pite/he wyll nat condiscende
Wherfore his fierce mynde to content
To slee my selfe I must nedes assent.

Thautor.

Than spake I/and wolde suffre her no more
Of this wofull mater/forther for to tell
Suche lamentable louers/greueth my hart sore
And also we coude nat moche longer dwell
Ryght glad was I/that it so happy fell
To here the hole of wofull Pyramus
Of her tolde/with gesture dolorous.

She wolde haue tolde/of many other mo
The great loue/and fatall destenye
Howe Phillis desolate/ofte alone wolde go
By hylles and dales/mornyng tenderly
For Demophon/and howe she dyd dye
But styll I prayed her to kepe silence
And leaue of her tragicall sentence.

A man that sweteth/and is very hote
Brought to the fyre/is nat well content
What I meane/euery man doth wote
yet for this/I wolde nothyng assent
That she had declared/appert and euydent
To our fyrst purpose/what loue shulde be
And wherupon/we gan to argue all thre.

The fyrst damosell/proued loue by reason
The other spake all by auctorite
Declaryng olde stories/of antique season
But to neyther of them wolde I agre
Without experience/proued can nat be
What is the myghty power of Cupyde
Whiche regneth through the great worlde wyde

Experience (sayd they) we desyre to here
What therby to proue/you entende
Than loked I on them/with sad chere
Castyng howe for to make an ende
Of our argument/and nat offende
Nother of them/through my negligence
For one of them/was myn experience.

Forsoth (I sayd) I nat howe it may be
But ones I behelde/with great affection
A fayre pusell/whiche happed yll for me
For neuer syth/by no compulsion
I coude nat put her in obliuion
Nor my mynde pulle from her away
Nor neuer shall/to myn endyng day.

With her regarde/and swete countenaunce
She gave me a great mortall wounde
Through whiche deth/dayly both auaunce
Towarde me/onely to confounde
My wretched corps:whiche in the grounde
Must of foule wormes be eate and gnawe
So condemned/by cruell loues lawe.

This lorde Cupide/lyst of his cruelte
Without reason/my body to turment
To mount an hylle/he constrayneth me
With his arowes/sharpe and violent
And me burnyng/with his brande ardent
yet vp the hyll/no way can be sought
To geat alone:so lowe am I brought.

O Hyppomenes/howe happy thou were?
What tyme thou wast so moche amorous
On Atalanta/that curtes damosell dere
For whose loue/ne had nat ben Venus
Thou shuldest haue dyed a deth ryght greuous
But by.iii.balles (that she the gaue) of golde
Thou gotest thy loue of truthe/as it is tolde

Clas suche socour/no where fynde I may
That me wyll helpe in myn heuynesse
And more encreaseth my sorowe day by day
Cruell thought on me doth neuer cesse
With feare and drede/my body to manesse
And with Dispeare/I haue so great stryfe
That gladly I wolde be reft of my lyfe

And than call I vnto the systers thre
To come out of their furious selle
And from my peyne to delyuer me
I care nat/though I with them shulde dwell
Or rauenyng wolues/hungry/fierse/and felle
My body gnawe/and to peces rent
To be losed/of my great turment.

O Pole wheron the great worlde rounde
Turneth about/by cours naturall
If a place may/vnder the be founde
I wolde gladly/therin that I shulde fall
O ye dogges/whiche to peces small
Tare Acreon/for Diana sake
I pray you of me an ende to make.

O crowes/rauons/and foules euerychone
What tyme my lyfe ended thus shalbe
Come than and take eche of you abone
And do beare them into what countre
Pleaseth you/for all is one to me
So I be out of this greuous payne
For any longer/I can it nat sustayne.

Wherwith dame Reason cometh vnto me
Very swetely lokynge in my face
With whom cometh other two or thre
Good Esperaunce/and the lady Grace
And reason begynneth for to chace
The lordens away/whiche before
Turmented my wretched body sore

Fyrst Reason to Disperaunce doth speke
Hym banysshyng out of our company
On hym she wolde gladly her angre wreke
But lady pacience standyng by
Sayeth to her very curtesly
ye must swetely shewe your selfe vntyll
This pacient here redy for to spyll.

Than by the hande Reason doth me take
Sayeng/what though the gentyle Hypsiphyle
Distroyed her selfe for prue Jasons sake
That ayenst his promes/dyd her begyle
Leape nat thou/tyll thou come to the style
For thou hast here nowe before thy face
(Whiche she lacked) the goodly lady Grace.

Reason.

Thou knowest after our hygh religion
Who that slee them selfe wylfully
By iuste sentence/of lastyng damnacion
Of helle. Be in great ieopardye
Wherfore I aduise the/loke theron wysely
Take nat example of/Dido and Myrra.
Nor yet of Phillis/Scylla/and Phedra.

I say to the as I sayd before
They lacked Grace/ye and me also
Whiche thou hast/and shalt haue euer more
In case that thou gladly woldest do
As we shall shewe the or that we go
Principally beware of Dispayre
In no wyse abyde that sower ayre.

Another/thou shalt kepe moderacion
In all thynges/that thou gost about
Both in gladnesse/and lamentacion
Beware of thought/the villayn bolde and stout
Of heuynesse/with theyr cruell route
Feare/drede/discomfort/and mystrust
Incline the neuer after their peruers lust.

What foly is it for a womans sake
Nat knowyng your corage nor entent
Suche lamentacion/and sorowe for to make
Perauenture her swete hart wolde assent
In all honour be at your comaundement
Wherfore fyrst/ye shulde by my counsell
Knowe the pleasure of the damosell.

Thautor.

To whiche counsell/accorden an agre
Desyre/and the curtes esperaunce
They two promesse/for to go with me
Dame fauour sayth she wyll so auaunce
With the helpe of prudent Gouernaunce
To solicite my mater in best wyse
And dame Discrecion shall it deuyse.

The good holsome lady Remembraunce
Sayth recorde/was nat worthy Theseus
The hye conquerour/delyuered fro myschaunce
By socour of two ladyes gratious
For hym they were so moche pitous
That they put them selfe/in dauger of moche yll
Hym for to saue/that he shulde nat spyll.

For he had ben put to the Minataurus
Without prouise/of these ladies twayne
Within the mase/made by Dedalus
All though he had/the hidous monstre slayne
yet coude he neuer come out therof agayne
But by the ladies subttle inuencion
He slewe the beest/and came out anone.

Thou hast redde/ryght many an history
Of ladies and damosels great bounte
And howe soone they ben inclyned to mercy
As was the curtes lady/Hypermestre
For nothyng perswaded wolde she be
For all her father myght do or say
She conueyed her loue and lorde away.

And bycause this lady wolde nat do
Scelerously/as dyd her systers all
Afterwarde she suffred moche wo
But no punyisshement/to her myght fall
That she ne thought the peyne very small
Suche ioye she had/of her spouse delyueraunce
That all her payne/to her was no greuaunce

Thus tender pite/in the hart feminall
Ronneth alway/vnto mannes defence
Theyr gentyll hertes/swete and liberall
Be lyghely turned/with great diligence
To mannes socour/and beneuolence
They speke/they praye/they labour and they go
Ryght tenderly/mannes profite for to do.

Thautor.

So these ladies/debated with me styll
In whole company I was ryght ioyous
And at last/they sayd me all vntyll
Be mery and glad thou louer dolorous
For thy loue is so moche gracious
That we thynke vnto thy desyre
She wyll obey/as thou wylt requyre.

Thautor.

Than call I/vnto my remembraunce
The great promesses/that Paris of Troye
Made to Heleyn/yet scant it was his chaunce
Her loue to gette/or her to enioye
All that he sayd was of perfect foye
He was a prince/and a kynges son also
yet longe it was/or she wolde with hym go.

Whan I mynde Echates/ye woman beautious
All my sorowe begynneth to renewe
She and the fayre yonge man/called Hyrus
Betoken howe my loue shall neuer rewe
Nor pite me. yet as Acontius vntrue
To her wyll I vse neyther fraude ne wyle
Lyke as he dyd Cydippes begyle.

Thus thought and feare/all the longe day
Turment me/tyll Phebus the hemyspery
Hath fally ronne/so that we may
Perceyue the blacke nyght aprochyng nye
To bedde I go/lasshe and eke wery
In hope some repose for to take
And by that meane/my payne for to slake.

Sone after/that I am downe layde
Morpheus/softely cometh to me
Who at the fyrst/maketh me afrayde
Tyll I knowe/what man he shulde be
He leadeth me where as I may se
My swete loue/vnto whom I wolde
Desyrously/ryght oft my mynde haue tolde.

And whan I haue ben about to speke
Cruell drede/hath stepped me before
He and feare/alway my purpose breke
yet her swete visage sheweth euermore
That of dame Pite/she knoweth well the lore
It can nat be/that her great beauty
Shulde be voyde/and without mercy.

Thus I stande debatyng a longe space
Than Morpheus/bryngeth me agayne
And whan I fynde me in the same place
Where I lay downe/with myn handes twayne
I graspe and fele/I sygh and complayne
And fynde it colde about me euery where
And perceyue that she was nat there.

O howe thought taketh me by the hert
And heuynesse/falleth me vpon
Those two from me wyll neuer departe
Tyll they make my body as colde as stone
They say to me/remedy is none
In this behalfe ferther to pursewe
For on me/my loue shall neuer rewe.

Thought and heuynesse.

Thou mayst here lye/sygh/sorowe and wayte
And on thy miserable state complayne
For her beautye/frendes/and apparayle
Causeth her to haue the in disdayne
She forceth nat/of thy wo and payne
She is a fresshe yonge swete creature
Well bequeynted/with the lady pleasure.

So stode the heuyns/whan thou were bore
And suche is thy fatall destenye
To loue one/whiche setteth lytell store
By the that art oppressed with mysery
What careth she/though thou for sorowe dye?
Or all thy lyfe/morne without a make
In wyldernesse/wandryng for her sake.

We haue tolde the ofte/and longe agone
That thy swete loue/fresshe and gorgious
Loketh to stande in grace of suche one
That may stipate/her port sumptuous
To sayle forth/with fame glorious
Lackyng nothyng/that dame Volunte
Wyll demaunde/longyng to Leberte.

For all thy lorde/who thou seruest so true
Whiche is the very blynde god Cupyde
Bearyng his signe/a face pale of hewe
As any ashes/wherto thou doest abyde
Vpholdyng it/with syghes large and wyde
yet we two shall do so moche our payne
Of Acrapos/shortly thou shalt be slayne.

Thautor.

Thus many a nyght/ofte I dryue away
Whiche me thynke longer than a yere
And whan I se the spryngynge of the day
yet somwhat gladed is my chere
For busynesse to me doth appere
Byddyng me to ryse and come lyghtly
Fye he sayth/vpon all sluggardy.

Than I ryse/and my clothes take
As preuely and soft as it may be
Wherwith diligence begynneth to awake
Whiche ones vp/a newe wyll turment me
And whan I can no other way se
With them I go/where they wyll me leade
For as than/I can no better reade.

Where euer I go/thought is neuer behynde
Nor heuynesse/they be alway present
To leaue them/I can no crafte fynde
For I beyng neuer so diligent
With busynesse/bothe mynde and eke entent
yet those two euer styll apeace
Come on me/my body to disease.

These two ofte/handle me so harde
That I am made lyke vnto a stone
To busynesse/hauyng no regarde
I leaue hym/and forth with anone
To some secrete place must I gone
A lytell whyle/my sorowe to complayne
From company/I do my selfe restrayne.

Than I begyn in this maner wyse
Lowe and softe/that none shulde here me
O Venus Venus/is this your cruell gyse?
Styll to turment vnto the extremite
My pore body/whiche as you may se
Is brought into so great miserye
That for loue/shortly must I dye.

The burnyng fyre of loue/doth me assayle
In suche wyse/that remedy is none
To quenche it/no water can auayle
Nor yet versus of cantacion
Of Pean/the artes euerychone
Nor of Mede/be nat worth a flye
I am condemned/and nedes must I dye.

Of all vnlucky/I most infortunate
Most sorowfull/most heuy and lamentable
What is my wretched body/lyfe/and state?
Nought els/but a thynge miserable
Replenisshed with paynes intollerable
To syghe/to sorowe/and morne tenderly
And by loue/condemned for to dye.

Of all louers/none can be founde
Whose case may well compared be
Vnto myn : through all the worlde rounde
Were out sought/yet shulde ye nat se
But that they had some felicite
But nought haue I/but all miserye
And by loue/condemned to dye.

Troylous/of whom men so moche tell
That he so great a louer was
Vnto hym/the case ryght happy fell
For in his armes ofte he dyd enbrace
His swete loue/and stode so in her grace
That nothyng to hym wolde she denye
But by loue/condemned I am to dye.

Many a nyght with his loue he lay
And in his armes/swetely can her holde
Of nothynge to hym sayd she nay
That he of her/aske or desyre wolde
His great ioy forsoth can nat be tolde
He had souerayne blysse/and I miserye
And by loue condemned for to dye.

What ioy had Paris we Heleyn ye fresshe quene?
Deyanira/with fierce Hercules
Briseis/the lady bryght and shene
With her lorde/the hardy Achilles
And Penelope/with her spouse Ulixes
Great gladnesse they had/with som miserye
I haue no ioy: and am condemned to dye.

Many a nyght/the friscant Leander
Lay also slept with his loue Herus
To passe Hellespont/she was his lode stere
And in all thynges to hym gracious
O these louers/fresshe and amorous
Ofte passed the tyme to gether ioyously
But by loue/condemned I am to dye.

Fayre Phillis/and eke Demophon
Had togyther ryght great felicite
So had the lady Sapho with Phaon
So had Machare/with his syster Canace
Dido with Aene/what ioy had she?
Ryght longe hym reteynyng curtesly
No ioy haue I/and am condemned to dye.

Myrra that loued her owne father dere
Wyckedly/by loue abhominable
Dyd so moche/that they lay both infere
All a nyght. doyng the dede damnable
Se howe Cupyde was fauorable
To her stynkyng loue/and transgression
And wyll me slee/for loyall affeccion.

Wherby I se/it is predestinate
Vnto me : most wretched creature
For to haue this miserable state
And infinite sorowe to endure
Or bate of all ioy/and eke pleasure
Full of luctuous syghes and misery
And vtterly condemned for to dye.

Wherfore adieu/all worldly vanite
Adieu frayle pleasure/rollynge lyke a ball
Adieu brytell trustes/that in this worlde be
Adieu I say/disceytes great and small
Adieu slipernesse styll redy for to fall
Lastly adieu/swete hert without mercye
For whose sake/I am condemned to dye.

Thautor to the two damosels.

Lo nowe you two/haue herde to the ende
What is loue/by suche experience
As I haue had. And nowe I you comende
Unto god/for I must depart hence
I thanke you hertely of your pacience
your curtesy/and eke your louyng chere
Of gentylnesse/that you haue made me here.

your chere here (they sayd) is but small
We wolde it were moche better for your sake
Our tanglynge/that to vs nowe hath fall
Wolde suffre vs/no chere for to make
And so theyr leaue/swetely of me they take
At the port or gate/and in they go
And I went strayght to my home also.

poem by Anonymous Olde English
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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