Thus may I seene and plaine, alas
My woful houre, and my disauenture,
That dulfully stond in the same caas,
So ferre behind from all health and cure,
My wound abideth like a sursanure,
For me fortune so felly list dispose,
My harm is hid, that I dare not disclose.

For I my herte have set in such a place,
Where I am neuer likely for to spede,
So farre I am hindred from her grace,
That saue danger, I haue none other mede:
And thus alas, I not who shall me rede,
Ne for mine helpe shape remedy,
For male bouche, and for false envy.

The which twaine aye stondeth in my wey
Maliciously, and false suspection
Is very cause also that I dey,
Ginning and root of my destruction,
So that I fele in conclusion,

With her traines that they woll me shend,
Of my labour that death mote make an end.

Yet or I die, with herte, will, and thought,
To god of loue this auow I make.
As I best can, how dere that it be bought,
Where so it be that I sleepe or wake,
While Boreas doth the leaves shake,
As I have bight, plainly till I sterue,
For wele or wo, that I shall her serve,

And for her sake now this holy time,
Saint Valentine, somewhat shall I write,
Although so be that I can nat rime,
Nor curiously by no craft endite,
Yet leuer I haue, that she put the wite
In vnconning, than in negligence,
Whatever I say of her excellence.

Whatever I say is of dutee
In soothfastnesse, and no presumption,
This I ensure to you that shall it see,
That it is all vnder correction,
What I rehearse in commendation
Of her, that I shall to you as blive,
So as I can, her vertues here discrive.

Right by example, as the summer Sunne
Passeth the sterre, with his beames shene,
And Lucifer among the skies dunne
A morrow sheweth, to void nights tene,
So verily, withouten any wene,
My lady passeth, who so taketh hede,
All tho alive, to speake of womanhede,

And as the ruby hath the soveraignty
Of rich stones, and the regaly,
And the rose of sweetnesse and beauty
Of fresh floures, without any lye,
Right so in sooth, with her goodly eye,
She passeth all in bounty and fairenesse,
Of manner eke, and of gentilnesse.

For she is both the fairest and the best,
To reken all, in very soothfastnesse,
For every vertue is in her at rest:

And furthermore, to speake of stedfastnesse,
She is the root, and of seemelinesse
The very mirrour, and of governaunce,
To all example, withouten variaunce.

Of port benigne, and wonder glad of chere,
Hauing evermore her trew advertence
Alway to reason, so that her desire
Is brideled aye by wit and providence,
Thereto of wit, and of high prudence,
She is the well, aye devoid of pride,
That vnto vertue her selven is the guide.

And over this, in her dalliaunce,
Lowly she is, discreet, and wise,
And goodly glad, by attemperaunce,
That every wight, of high and low degree,
Are glad in herte with her for to be,
So that shortly, if I shall not lye,
She named is, the Floure of Courtesie.

And there to speake of feminity,
The least mannish in comparison,
Goodly abashed, having aye pity
Of hem that ben in tribulation,
For she alone is consolation
To all that arne in mischeefe and in nede,
To comfort hem of her womanhede.

And aye in vertue is her busie charge,
Sad and demure, and but of words few,
Dredefull also of tongues that ben large,
Eschowing aye hem, that listen to hew
Above her head, her wordes for to shew,
Dishonestly to speake of any wight

She deadly hateth, of hem to have a sight.

The herte of whom so honest is and cleane,
And her entent so faithfull and entere,
That she ne may for all the world sustene,
To suffer her eares any word to here
Of friend nor foe, neither ferre ne nere,
Amisse resowning that hinder should his name,
And if she do, she wexeth red for shame.

So truly in meaning she is set
Without chaunging, or any doublenesse,
For bounty and beauty are together knet
In her person, under faithfulnesse.
For voide she is of newfanglenesse,
In herte aye one, for ever to persever
There she is set and never to dissever.

I am too rude, her vertues everychone
Cunningly to discrive and write,
For well ye wote colour have I none,
Like her discretion, craftely to endite,
For what I say, all it is too lite,
Wherefore to you, thus I me excuse,
That I acquainted am not with no muse.

By rhetoricke my stile to gouerue,
In her preise and commendation,
I am too blind so highly to discerne,
Of her goodnesse to make description
Save thus I say in conclusion,
If that I shall shortly commend,
In her is naught that nature can amend.

For good she is, like to Polixene,
And in fairenesse to the queene Helaine,
Stedfast of herte, as was Dorigene,
And wifely trouth, if I shall nat faine,
In constaunce eke and faith she may attaine
To Cleopatra, and thereto as setrone,
As was of Troy the white Antigone.

This is too meane, bounty goth afore,
Lad by prudence, and hath the soverainte,
And beauty followeth, ruled by her lore,
That she ne fende her in no degree,
So that in one, this goodly fresh free
Surmounting all, withouten any were,
Is good and faire in one persone yfere.

And though that I for very ignoraunce
Ne may discrive her vertues by and by,
Yet on this day for a remembraunce,
Onely supported under her mercy,
With quaking hond I shall full humbly
To her highnesse, my rudenesse for to quite,
A little ballade here beneath endite.

Ever as I can surprise in mine herte
Alway with feare, betwixt drede and shame,
Least out of lose any word astert
In this mytre, to make it seeme lame,
Chaucer is dead that had such a name
Of faire making, that without wene
Fairest in our tongue, as the laurer grene.

We may assay for to countrefete
His gay stile, but it woll not be,

The well is drie, with the licour swete,
Both of Clye, and of Caliope,
And first of all I woll excuse me
To her that is ground of goodlihede,
And thus I say vntill her womanhede.

BALLADE SIMPLE.

WITH all my might, and my best entent,
With all the faith that mighty God of kind
Me yave, sith hee mee soule and knowing sent,
I chese, and to this bond ever I me bind
To love you best, while I have life and mind,
Thus heard I foules in the dawning,
Upon the day of saint Ualentine sing.

Yet chese I at the beginning, in this entent
To love you, though I no mercy find,
And if you list I died, I would assent,
As ever twinne I quicke of this line,
Suffiseth me to seene your feathers ynde,

Thus heard I foules in the morning Upon the day of saint Ualentine sing.

And over this, mine hertes lust to bent

In honour onely of the wood bind,
Holly I yeve, never to repent,
In joy or wo, where so that I wind,
Tofore Cupide, with his eyen blind,
The foules all whan Titan did spring,
With devout herte me thought I heard sing.

LENUOYE.

Princesse of beauty, to you I represent
This simple dity, rude as in making,
Of herte and will, faithfull in mine entent,
Like as this day foules heard I sing.

[Here endeth the Floure of Courtesie, and hereafter followeth, how Pity is dead, and buried in a gentle herte.]

PITY that I have sought so yore ago,
With herte sore, and full of busie paine,
That in this worlde was never wight so wo
Without death, and if I shall nat faine.
My purpose was, to Pity to complaine
Upon the cruelty and tyranny

Of Love, that for my trouth doth me dye.

And that I by length of certaine yeres Had ever in one sought a time to speake, To Pity ran I, all bispreint with teares, To prayen her on Cruelty me awreake, But or I might with any word out breake, Or tell her any of my paines smert,

I found her dead, and buried in an herte.

Adowne I fell, whan I saw the herse,
Dead as a stone, while that swoone me last,
But vp
I rose with colour full diverse,
And pitously on her mine eyen I cast,
And neerer the corse I gan preasen fast,
And for the soule I shope me for to pray,
I was but lorne, there was no more to say.

Thus am I slaine, sith that Pity is dead,
Alas that day that ever it should fall,
What maner man dare now hold vp his head
To whom shall now any sorrowfull herte call,
Now Cruelty bath cast to slee vs all

In idle hope, folke redelesse of paine,
Sith she is dead, to whom shal we complain.

But yet encreaseth me this wonder new,
That no wight wote that she is dead but I,
So many men as in her time her knew,
And yet she died so suddainly,
For I have sought her ever full busily,
Sith I had first wit or mind,

But she was dead, ere I coud her find.

About her herse there stooden lustely,
Withouten any mo, as thought me,
Bounty, perfitely well armed and richely,
And fresh Beaute, Lust, and Tolite,
Assured Manner, Youth and Honeste,
Wisedome, Estate, Drede, and Governaunce,
Confedred both by bond and alliaunce.

A complaint had I written in my hond,
To have put to Pity, as a bill,
But I there all this company fond,
That rather would all my cause spill,

Than doe me helpé: I held my plaint still,
For to those folke withouten faile,
Without pity there may no bill availe.

Than leave all vertues, save onely Pity,
Keeping the corse, as ye have heard me saine,
Confedred by hond vntill Cruelty,
And be assented whan I shall be slaine,
And I have put my complaint vp againe,
For to my foes my bill I dare not shew
The effect, which saith thus in wordes few.

"Humblest of herte, highest of reverence,
Benigne floure, croune of vertues all,
Sheweth vnto your royall excellence
Your seruaunt, if I durst me so call,
His mortall harme, in which he is ifall
And naught all onely for his wofull fare,
But for your renome, as he shall declare.

"It standeth thus, that your contrary Crueltie Allied is ayenst your regallie,

Under colour of womanly beautie,
(For men should not know her tyrannie)
With Bountie, Gentillesse, and Courtesie,
Aud hath depriued you of your place,

That is hie beautie, appertenaunt to your grace.

"For kindly, by your heritage right,
Ye be annexed euer vnto Bountie,
And verely ye ought to doe your might
To helpe Trouth in his aduersitie:
Ye be also the croune of beautie,
And certes, if ye want in these twaine,
The world is lore, there is no more to saine.

"Eke what auaileth manner and gentillesse
Without you, benigne creature?
Shall Crueltie be your gouernesse,
Alas, what herte may it long endure?
Wherefore but ye rather take cure
To breake that perilous alliaunce,

Ye sleen hem that been in your obeysaunce.

"And further, if ye suffer this,
Your renome is fordo in a throw,
There shall no man wete what pitie is,
Alas, that euer your renome is fall so low,
Ye be also fro your heritage ithrow
By Crueltie, that occupieth your place,
And we dispaired that seeken your grace.
"Haue mercy on me thou Herenus, queene,
That you haue sought so tenderly and sore,
Let some streame of light on me be seene,
That loue and drede you euer lenger the more,
For soothly to saine, I beare so sore,

And though I be not conning for to plaine,
For Gods love haue mercy on my paine.

"My paine is this, that what so I desire,
That haue I not, ne nothing like thereto,
And euer setteth desire mine herte on fire,
Eke on that other side where that I go,
What maner thing that may encrease my wo,
That haue I ready vnsought euery where,
Me lacketh but my death, and than my bere.

"What needeth to shew percell of my paine,
Sith enery wo, that herte may bethinke,
I suffer, and yet I dare not to you plaine,
For well I wote, though I wake or winke,
Ye recke not whether I flete or sinke,
And nathelessé yet my trouth I shall susteine
Unto my death, and that shall well be sene.

"This is to saine, I will be yours euer,
Though ye me slea by crueltie your fo,
Algate my spirit shall neuer disceuer
Fro your seruice, fro any paine or wo,
Sith ye be yet dead, alas that it is so,
Thus for your death I maye wepe and plaine
With herte sore, and full of busie paine."

LA BELLE DAME SANS MERCIE.

M. Aleyn, secretary to the king of France, framed this dialogue between a gentleman and a gentlewoman, who finding no mercy at her hand, dieth for sorrow.

HALFE in a dreame not fully well awaked,
The golden sleep me wrapped vnder his wing,
Yet not for thy, I rose, and well nigh naked,
All suddainly my selfe remembring
Of a matter, leauing all other thing,
Which I must doe withouten more delay
For hem, which I durst not disobay.

My charge was this, to trauslate by and by,
(All thing forgiue, as part of my pennance)
A book, called La bel Dame sans Mercy,
Which maister Aleine made of remembrance,
Cheefe secretarie with the king of France,
And hereupon a while I stood musing,
And in my selfe greatly imagining,

What wise I should perform the said processe,
Considering by good aduisement

My vnconning, and my great simplenesse,
And ayenward, the strait commaundement
Which that I had, and thus in mine entent
I was vexed and tourned vp and doun,
And yet at last as in conclusioun,

I cast my clothes on and went my way,
This forsaid charge hauing in remembrance,
Till I came to a lustie greene vallay
Full of floures, to see a great pleasaunce,
And so boldly, with their benigne suffraunce
Which rede this book, touching this matere,
Thus I began, if it please you to here.

Not long agoe, riding an easie paas,
I fell in thought of joy full desperate,
With great disease and paine, so that I was
Of all louers the most vnfortunate,
Sith by his dart, most cruell full of hate,
The Death hath take my lady and maistresse,
And lefte me sole thus discomfite and mate,
Sore languishing, and in waie of distresse.

Than said I thus, "It falleth me to cesse,
Either to rime, or dities for to make,
And I surely to make a full promesse
To laugh no more, but wepe in clothes blake,
My joyfult time (alas) now doeth it slake,
For in my selfe I feele no manner of ease,
Let it be written, such fortune (as I take)
Which neither me nor none other doth please.
"If it were so, my will or mine entent
Constrained were a joyfull thing to write,
My pen coud neuer know what it ment,
To speak thereof my tongue hath no delite,
Tho with my mouth I laugh much or lite,
Mine eien shuld make a countenance vntrue,
My herte also would haue thereof dispite,
The weeping teares haue so large issue.

"These sick louers I leue that to bem longs,
Which lead their life in hope of allegeance,
That is to say to make ballades and songs,
Euery of hem as they feel their greuaunce,
For she that was my joy and my pleasaunce,
Whose soule I pray God of his mercy saue,
She hath my will, mine hertes ordinaunce,
Which lieth here within this tombe ygraue.

"Fro this time forth, time is to hold my pees,
It wearieth me this matter for to trete,
Let other louers put himselfe in prees,
Their season is, my time is now forgete,
Fortune by strength the forcer hath vnshete,
Wherein was sperde all my worldly richesse,
And all the goods which that I baue gete
In my best time of youth and lustinesse.

"Loue hath me kept vuder his gouernance,
If I misdid, God graunt me forgiuenesse,
If I did well, yet felt I no pleasance,
It causeth neither joy nor beauinesse,
For whan she died, that was my maistresse,
My welfare than made the same purchase,
The death hath shet my bonds of witnesse,
Which for nothing mine herte shal neuer pase."

In this great thought, sore troubled in mind,
Alone thus rode I all the morrow tide,
Till at the last it happed me to find
The place, wherein I cast me to abide,
Whan that I had no further for to ride,
And as I went, my lodging to puruay,
Right soone I heard, a little me beside,
In a garden, where minstrels gan to play.

With that anon I went me backer more,
My selfe and I, me thought we were inow,
But twain that were my friends here before,
Had me espied, and yet I wote not bow,
They came for me, awayward I me drow,
Somwhat by force, somwhat by her request,
That in no wise I coud ny selfe rescow,
But needs I must come in and see the feast.

At my comming, the ladies euery chone
Bad me welcome God wote right gentilly,
And made me chere, euery one by one,
A great deale better than I was worthy,.
And of their grace shewed me great courtesie,
With good disport, because I shold not mourn:
That daie I bode still in their companie,
Which was to me a gracious sojourne.

The bordes were spred in right little space,
The ladies sat each as hem seemed best,
There were no deadly seruants in the place,
But chosen men, right of the goodliest,
And some there were, perauenture most freshest,
That saw their judges full demure,
Without semblaunt, either to most or lest,
Notwithstanding they had hem vnder cure.

Emong all other, one I gan espy,

Which in great thought ful often came and went,
As one that had been rauished vtterly,
In his language not greatly dilligent,
His countenance he kept with great turment,
But his desire farre passed his reason,
For euer his eye went after his entent,
Full many a time, whan it was no season.

To make chere, sore himselfe he pained,
And outwardly he fained great gladnesse,
To sing also, by force he was constrained,
For no pleasaunce, but very shamefastnesse,
For the complaint of his most beauinesse,
Came to his voice, alway without request,
Like as the soune of birdes doth expresse,
Whan they sing loud in frithe or in forrest.

Other there were, that serued in the hall,
But none like him, as after mine aduise,
For he was pale, and somwhat lean withall,
His speech also trembled in fearfull wise,
And euer alone, but whan he did seruise,
All blacke he ware, and no deuise but plain,
Me thought by him, as my wit could suffise,
His herte was nothing in his own demain.
To feast hem all, he did his dilligence,
And well he coud, right as it seemed me,
But euermore, whan he was in presence,
His chere was done, it nolde none other be,
His schoolemaister had such aucthorite,
That all the while he bode still in the place,
Speake coud he not, but upon her beautie
He looked still, with a right pitous face.
With that his head he tourned at the last
For to behold the ladies euerichone,
But euer in one he set his eye stedfast
On her, which his thought was most vpon,
For of his eyen the shot I knew anone,
Which fearful was, with right humble requests,
Than to my self I said, by God alone,
Such one was I, or that I saw these jests.

Out of the prease he went full easely
To make stable his heauie countenance,
And wote ye well, he sighed wonderly
For his sorrowes and wofull remembrance,
Than in himselfe he made his ordinance,
And forthwithall came to bring in the messe,
But for to judge his most wofull pennance,
God wote it was a pitous entremesse.

After dinner anon they hem auanced ·
To daunce aboue the folke euerichone,
And forthwithall, this heauy man he danced,
Somtime with twain, and somtime with one,
Unto hem all his chere was after one,
Now here, now there, as fell by auenture,
But euer among he drew to her alone
Which he most dread of liuing creature,

To mine aduise good was his purueiance,
Whan he her chose to his maistresse alone,
If that her herte were set to his pleasance,
As much as was her beauteous person,
For who so euer setteth bis trust vpon,
The report of the eyen, withouten more,
He might be dead, and grauen vnder stone,
Or euer he should his hertes ease restore.

In her failed nothing that I coud gesse,
One wise nor other, priuie nor apert,
A garrison she was of all goodlinesse,
To make a frontier for a louers herte,
Right yong and fresh, a woman full couert,
Assured wele of port, and eke of chere,
Wele at her ease withouten wo or smert,
All vnderneath the standerd of dangere.

To see the feast, it wearied me full sore,
For heauy joy doth sore the herte trauaile:
Out of the prease I me withdrow therefore,
And set me downe alone behind a traile,
Full of leaues, to see a great meruaile,
With greene wreaths ybounden wonderly,
The Jeaues were so thicke withouten faile,
That throughout no man might me espy.

To this lady he came full courtesly,
Whan he thought time to dance with her a trace,
Set in an herber, made full pleasantly,
They rested hem fro thens but a little space,
Nigh hem were none of a certain compace,
But onely they, as farre as I coud see,
Saue the traile, there I had chose my place,
There was no more between hem two and me..

.

I heard the louer sighing wonder sore, For aye the more the sorer it him sought,. His inward paine he coud not Reepe in store, Nor for to speake, so hardie was he nought, His leech was nere, the greater was his thoght, • He mused sore to conquer his desire,

For no man may to more pennance be broght Than in his heat to bring him to the fire.

The berte began to swell within his chest, So sore strained for anguish and for paine, That all to peeces almost it to brest, Whan both at ones so sore it did constraine, Desire was bold, but shame it gan refraine, That one was large, the other was full close, No little charge was laid on him certaine, To keepe such werre, and haue so many fose. Full oftentimes to speak himself he pained, But shamefastnesse and drede said euer nay, Yet at the last, so sore he was constrained, Whan he full long had put it in delay, To his lady, right thus than gan he say, With dredeful voice, weeping, half in a rage, "For me was purueyed an vnhappy day, Whan I first had a sight of your visage.

"I suffer pain God wote, full hote brenning,
To cause my death, all for my true seruice,
And I see well ye recke thereof nothing,
Nor take no heed of it in no kind wise,
But whan I speake after my best aduise,
Ye set it at nought, but make thereof a game,
And though I sewe, so great an enterprise,
It peireth not your worship nor your fame.

L'AMANT.

DA DAME.