And young men fele1 came forth with lusty pace,
And aged eke, their homage to dispose ;
But what they were I could not well disclose.2.
Yet near and near forth-in I gan me dress,
Into an hall of noble apparail,3
With arras spread and cloth of gold, I guess,
And other silk of easier avail.4
Under the cloth of their estate,5 sans fail,
The King and Queen there sat, as I beheld :
It passed joy of Elysie the field. . .
And, as I stood perceiving her apart,
And eke the beamès shining of her eyne,
Methought they weren shapen like a dart,
Sharp and piercing, and small and straight of line;
And all her hair it shone as gold so fine,
Dishivil crisp, down hanging at her back
A yard in length. And soothly then I spake ;—
"O bright Regina, who made thee so fair?
Who made thy colour vermelet and white?
Where wonneth' that god, how far above the air?
Great was his craft and great was his delight.
Now marvel I nothing that ye do hight
The Queen of Love, and occupy the place
Of Citharee. Now, sweet lady, thy grace!"
FROM THE LEGEND OF GOOD WOMEN (Prologue)
And, as for me, though that I can but lite,9
On bookès for to read I me delight;
And to them give I faith and full credence,
And in mine heart have them in reverence,
So heartily that there is gamè none
That fro my bookès maketh me to gone,
But 10 it be seldom on the holy-day :
Save, certainly, when that the month of May
Is comen, and that I hear the fowlès sing,
1 Many. 5 Canopied chair. 6 Elysium.
4 Less worth. 7 Dwelleth. 8 That you are called.
And that the flowers ginnen1 for to spring,-
Farewell my book and my devotion !
Now have I then eke this condition,
As that, of all the flowers in the mead,
Then love I most these flowers white and red,
Such that men callen daisies in our town.
To them I have so great affection,
As I said erst,2 when comen is the May,
That in my bed there daweth3 me no day
That I n'am up and walking in the mead,
To seen this flower against the sunnè sprede.
When it up-riseth early by the morrow,
That blissful sight softeneth all my sorrow;
So glad am I, when that I have presence
Of it, to done it allè reverence,
As she that is of all flowers the flower,
Fulfilled of all virtue and honour,
And ever alike fair and fresh of hue;
And ever I love it and ever alike new,
And ever shall till that mine heartè die.
My busy ghost, that thirsteth alway new
To seen this flower so young, so fresh of hue,
Constrained me with so greedy desire
That in my heart I feele yet the fire
That made me for to rise ere it were day,—
And this was now the first morrow" of May,-
With dreadful heart and glad devotion
For to been at the resurrection
Of this flower, when that it should unclose
Again' the sun that rose as red as rose
That in the breast was of the beast that day
That Angenore's daughter led away.
And down on knees, anon, right I me set;
And as I could this fresh flower I gret,8
Kneeling alway, till it unclosed was,
Upon the smallè softè sweetè grass,
That was with flowers sweet embroided all.
FROM THE COMPLAINT TO PITY.
HOW PITY IS DEAD, AND BURIED IN A GENTLE HEART.
Pity, that I have sought so yore1 ago
With heartè sore and full of busy pain,
That in this world was never wight so wo
Withoute death: and, if I shall not feign,
My purpose was to Pity to complain
Upon the cruelty and tyranny
Of Love, that for my trowth doth me to die.
And when that I, by length of certain years,
Had ever in one a timè sought to speak,
To Pity ran I, all besprent2 with tears,
To prayen her on Cruelty me awreak :3
But, ere I might with any word out-break,
Or tellen any of my painès smart,
I found her dead, and buried in an heart.
Adown I fellè when I saw the herse,1
Dead as a stone while that the swoon me last:
But up I rose with colour full diverse,
And piteously on her my eyn I cast;
And near the corpse I came to pressen fast;
And for the soul I shope me for to pray.
I was but lorn :6 there was no more to say.
Thus am I slain sith that Pity is dead;
Alas, that day that ever it should fall!
What manner man dare now hold up his head?
To whom shall any sorrowful heart call?
Now Cruelty hath cast to slee us all;
In idle hope we live, redeless' of pain,
Sith she is dead to whom we should us plain.
But yet encreaseth me this wonder new,
That no wight wot that she is dead but I,
So many men as in her time her knew ;
And yet she died not so suddenly :
For I have sought her ever full busily
Sith first I haddè wit or mannès mind;
But she was dead ere that I could her find.
About her herse there stooden lustily,
Withouten making dule1 as thoughte me,
Bounty, perfite well 2 armed and richèly,
And fresshè Beauty, Lust, and Jollity,
Assured Manner, Youth, and Honesty,
Wisdom, Estate, Dredè, and Governance,
Confedred 3 both by bond and alliance.
A Complaint had I written in mine hond,
For to have put to Pity, as a bill;
But, when I all this company there fond,—
That rather wolden all my causè spill 4
Than do me help,-I held my complaint still:
For to that folk, withouten any fail,
Without Pity, there may no bill avail.
And herewithal there came anon
Another huge company
Of good folk and gan to cry:—
Lady, grant us now good fame,
And let our workès have that name,
Now in honour of gentilness,
And also God your soulè bless!
For we have well deservèd it;
Therefore is right that we be quit.”
As thrive I," quoth she, "ye shall fail;
Good workès shall you not avail
To have of me good fame as now.
But wot ye what I graunt to you :-
That ye shall have a shrewed name,
And wicked los and worse fame,
Though ye good los have well deserved.
Now goeth' your way, for you been served:
And thou, dans Eolus," quoth she,
"Take forth thy tromp anon, let see,
That is y-clepèd Slander light;
And blow their los, that every wight
Speak of them harm and shrewedness,
Instead of good and worthiness.
For thou shalt tromp all the contrair
Of that they have done well and fair."
Alas, thought I, what aventures
Have these sorry creatures,
That they among all the press1
Should thus be shamèd, guilteless?
But what must, it needès be.
What did this Eolus, but he
Took out his blackè tromp of brass
That fouler than the Devil was,
And gan this trompè for to blow
As all the world should overthrow.
Throughout every regioun
Went this foulè trompès soun,
As swift as pellet out of gun
When fire is in the powder run;
And such a smokè gan outwend
Out of the foulè trompès end,
Black, blue, greenish, swartish, red,
As doth where that men melt lead,
Lo, all on high from the tuwell.2
And thereto one thing saw I well-
That the further that it ran
The greater waxen it began,
As doth the river from a well;
And it stank as the pit of Hell.
Alas, thus was their shame y-rung,
And guilteless, on every tongue.
Then came the thirdè company,
And gan up to the dais to hie;
And down on knees they fell anon,
And saiden, "We been every one
Folk that have full truely
Deservèd famè rightfully,
And prayed you it might be know
Right as it is, and forthè blow."
'I grant," quoth she; "for now me list3
That your good workès shall be wist ;4
And yet ye shall have better los,5
Right in despite of all your foes,
Than worthy is, and that anon.
2 Funnel: French tuyau, nozzle.
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