And why for me ye should be so dismayde? As of your lyfe ye nede not to be afrayde. For ye of me now have no greater awe, 90 But whan ye lyst ye may your love wythdraw.

Amoure

Than stode I up, and right so did she,
Alas! I sayd than, my heart is so set,
That it is yours, it may none other be;
Your selfe hath caught it in so sure a net,
That if that I may not your favour get,
No doubt it is, the great payne of love
May not aswage tyl death it remove.
Pucell

Truely, quod she, I am obedient
Unto my frendes whych do me so guyde;
They shal me rule as is convenient,
In the snare of love I wyl nothyng slyde,
My chaunce or fortune I wyll yet abide.
I thanke you for your love right humbly,
But I your cause can nothing remedy.

Amoure

ΤΟΙ

My good dere herte ! it is no mervayle why; Your beaute cleare and lovely lokes swete My herte dyde perce with love so sodayuly At the fyrste tyme that I dyde you mete; In the olde temple whan I dyde you grete, Your beaute my herte so surely assayde, 139 That syth that tyme it hath to you obayde.

(From Cap. xix. How La Bell Pucell Graunted Graund Amoure Love, and of her Dispiteous Departage.1)

Your wo and payne, and all your languishynge,

Continually ye shall not spende in vayne, Sythen I am cause of your great mornynge, Nothynge exyle you shall I by dysdavne; Youre hert and myne shall never parte in twayne:

Though at the fyrste I wolde not condescende,

It was for fere ye dyde some yll entende.

For fyrst, good hope his legge harneys sholde be;

His habergion of perfyte ryght wysenes;

bote!

His riche placarde should be good besi

(From Cap. xxix. Howe he departed from Kynge Melyzyus, with his Grayhoundes and Attendaunce, his Varlet, and met with false reporte, that chaunged his name to Godfrey Gobilyve.")

And so forth we rode, tyll we sawe aferre
To us came rydyng, on a lytell nagge,
A folysshe dwarfe, nothynge for the warre,
With a hood, a bell, a foxtayle, and a
bagge;

In a pyed cote he rode brygge a bragge;
And whan that he unto us drewe nye,
I behelde his body and his visnamy.1

His head was greate, beteled was his browes,
Hys eyes holow, and his nose croked;
His bryes1 brystled truely lyke a sowes; 10
His chekes here,2 and God wote he loked
Full lyke an ape; here and there he toted
With a pyed berde and hangyng lyppes
grete,

And every tothe as blacke as ony gete.1

His necke shorte, his sholders stode awry,
His breste fatte, and bolne 5 in the wast:
His armes great, with fyngers crokedly;
His legges kewed; he rode to me fast,
Full lyke a patron" to be shaped in hast.
'Good even,' he sayd, 'and have good day, 20
If that it lyke you for to ryde merely.'

He wedde a wyfe that was called Maude.' 'I trowe,' quod I, 'she was a gorgious baude.' 'Thou lyest,' quod he, 'she was gentyl and good,

She gave her husbande many a furde hode, And at his melys, without any mys,

9

She wolde him serve in clenly wyse ywys. God love her soule as she loved clennes, And kepe her dysshes from al foulnes. Whan she lacketh cloutes, without any fayle

She wyped her disshes wyth her dogges tayle.

And they had yssue Sym Sadle-gander, 40 That for a wyfe in all the worlde did wander,

Tyll at the last, in the wynters nyght,
By Temmes he sayled, aryved by ryght,
Amonge the nunnes of the grene cote.10
He wente to land out of his prety bote,
1 eyebrows. 2 hairy. 3 peered.
swollen, i.e., he was pot-bellied.

4 jet.

6 meaning uncertain, perhaps askew, bowed. 7 pattern. 8 I am. This is Kentish dialect. furred hood, i.e., hoodwinked him. 10 courtesans.

sonne,

50

Whiche was my father, that in Kente did wonne.12

His name was Davy Dronken-nole;
He never dranke but in a fayre blacke
boule.

He toke a wyfe that was very fayre,
And gate me on her for to be his ayre.
Her name was Alyson, she loved nought
elles

But ever more to rynge her blacke belles. 13 Now are they deade all, so mote I well thryve,

Excepte my selfe Godfray Gobelive,
Whiche rode aboute, a wyfe me to seke, 60
But I can finde none that is good and
meke;

For all are shrewes in the world aboute,
I coude never mete with none other route;
For some develles wyll their husbandes
bete,

And tho that can not, they wyll never let

Their tongues cease, but gyve thre wordes for one,

Fy on them all! I wyll of them have

none:

Who loveth any for to make hym sadde,
I wene that he become worse than madde.
They are not stedfast nothying in their

mynde,

70

But alway tornyng lyke a blaste of wynde.
For let a man love them never so wele,
They will hym love agayne never a dele.
For though a man all his lyfe certayne
Unto her sue to have release of payne,
And at the last she on hym do rewe,
If by fortune there come another newe,
The first shall be clene out of her favoure.
Recorde of Creseyd and of Troylus the
doloure.

They are so subtyll and so false of kynde, 80
There can no man wade beyonde their

mynde.

11 common enough. 12 dwell. 18 Meaning doubtful,

(From Cap. xlii. Graund Amours Epitaph)

O mortall folke! you may beholde and se Howe I lye here, sometime a myghty knyght;

The end of joye and all prosperite

Is death at last, through his course and myght;

After the day there cometh the derke night;

For though the day be never so longe,
At last the belles ringeth to evensonge.

And my selfe called La Graunde Amoure,
Seking adventure in the worldly glory,
For to attayne the riches and honour,
Did thinke full lytle that I should here
lye,

Tyll deth dyde marke me full ryght pryvely.

Lo what I am! and whereto you must!
Lyke as I am so shall you be all dust.

Than in your mynde inwardly despyse
The bryttle worlde, so full of doublenes,
With the vyle flesshe, and ryght sone aryse
Out of your slepe of mortall hevynes;
Subdue the devill with grace and meke-
nes,

That after your lyfe frayle and transitory, 20
You may then live in joye perdurably.

THE EXCUSATION OF THE AUCTOUR

UNTO all Poetes I do me excuse,

If that I offende for lacke of science;
This lyttle boke yet do ye not refuse,
Though it be devoyde of famous eloquence;
Adde or detra1 by your hye sapience;
And pardon me of my hye enterpryse,
Whiche of late this fable dyd fayne and
devise.

10

Go, little boke! I praye God the save
From misse-metrying by wrong impression;
And who that ever list the for to have,
That he perceyve well thyne intencion,
For to be grounded without presumption,
As for to eschue the synne of ydlenes;
To make suche bokes I apply my busines.

Besechyng God for to geve me grace
Bokes to compyle of moral vertue;
Of my maister Lidgate to folowe the trace,
His noble fame for laude and renue,2
Whiche in his lyfe the slouthe did eschue;
Makyng great bokes to be in memory,
On whose soule I pray God have mercy.

Finis

20

I take away. 2 The line appears corrupt. One might supply to before laude.