| |
A thousand tymes have I herd men telle,
|
| |
That ther is Ioye in heven, and peyne in helle;
|
| |
And I acorde wel that hit is so;
|
| |
But natheles, yit wot I wel also,
|
| |
That ther nis noon dwelling in this contree,
|
| |
That either hath in heven or helle y-be,
|
| |
Ne may of hit non other weyes witen,
|
| |
But as he hath herd seyd, or founde hit writen;
|
| |
For by assay ther may no man hit preve.
|
| 10 |
But god forbede but men should leve
|
| |
Wel more thing then men han seen with ye!
|
| |
Men shal nat wenen every-thing a lye
|
| |
But-if him-self hit seeth, or elles dooth;
|
| |
For, god wot, thing is never the lasse sooth,
|
| |
Thogh every wight ne may hit nat y-see.
|
| |
Bernard the monk ne saugh nat al, parde!
|
|
|
| |
Than mote we to bokes that we finde,
|
| |
Through which that olde thinges been in minde.
|
| |
And to the doctrine of these olde wyse,
|
| 20 |
Yeve credence, in every skilful wyse,
|
| |
That tellen of these olde appreved stories,
|
| |
Of holinesse, or regnes, of victories,
|
| |
Of love, of hate, of other sundry thinges,
|
| |
Of whiche I may not maken rehersinges.
|
| |
And if that olde bokes were a-weye,
|
| |
Y-loren were of remembraunce the keye.
|
| |
Wel oghte us than honouren and beleve
|
| |
These bokes, ther we han non other preve.
|
|
|
| |
And as for me, thogh that I can but lyte,
|
| 30 |
On bokes for to rede I me delyte,
|
| |
And to hem yeve I feyth and ful credence,
|
| |
And in myn herte have hem in reverence
|
| |
So hertely, that ther is game noon
|
| |
That fro my bokes maketh me to goon,
|
| |
But hit be seldom, on the holyday;
|
| |
Save, certeynly, whan that the month of May
|
| |
Is comen, and that I here the foules singe,
|
| |
And that the floures ginnen for to springe,
|
| |
Farwel my book and my devocioun!
|
|
|
| 40 |
Now have I than swich a condicioun,
|
| |
That, of alle the floures in the mede,
|
| |
Than love I most these floures whyte and rede,
|
| |
Swiche as men callen daysies in our toun.
|
| |
To hem have I so great affeccioun,
|
| |
As I seyde erst, whan comen is the May,
|
| |
That in my bed ther daweth me no day
|
| |
That I nam up, and walking in the mede
|
| |
To seen this flour agein the sonne sprede,
|
| |
Whan hit upryseth erly by the morwe;
|
| 50 |
That blisful sighte softneth al my sorwe,
|
| |
So glad am I whan that I have presence
|
| |
Of hit, to doon al maner reverence,
|
| |
As she, that is of alle floures flour,
|
| |
Fulfilled of al vertu and honour,
|
| |
And ever y-lyke fair, and fresh of hewe;
|
| |
And I love hit, and ever y-lyke newe,
|
| |
And ever shal, til that myn herte dye;
|
| |
Al swete I nat, of this I wol nat lye,
|
| |
Ther loved no wight hotter in his lyve.
|
|
|
| 60 |
And whan that hit is eve, I renne blyve,
|
| |
As sone as ever the sonne ginneth weste,
|
| |
To seen this flour, how it wol go to reste,
|
| |
For fere of night, so hateth she derknesse!
|
| |
Hir chere is pleynly sprad in the brightnesse
|
| |
Of the sonne, for ther hit wol unclose.
|
| |
Allas! that I ne had English, ryme or prose,
|
| |
Suffisant this flour to preyse aright!
|
| |
But helpeth, ye that han conning and might,
|
| |
Ye lovers, that can make of sentement;
|
| 70 |
In this cas oghte ye be diligent
|
| |
To forthren me somwhat in my labour,
|
| |
Whether ye ben with the leef or with the flour.
|
| |
For wel I wot, that ye han her-biforn
|
| |
Of making ropen, and lad awey the corn;
|
| |
And I come after, glening here and there,
|
| |
And am ful glad if I may finde an ere
|
| |
Of any goodly word that ye han left.
|
| |
And thogh it happen me rehercen eft
|
| |
That ye han in your fresshe songes sayd,
|
| 80 |
For-bereth me, and beth nat evel apayd,
|
| |
Sin that ye see I do hit in the honour
|
| |
Of love, and eek in service of the flour,
|
| |
Whom that I serve as I have wit or might.
|
| |
She is the clerness and the verray light,
|
| |
That in this derke worlde me wynt and ledeth,
|
| |
The herte in-with my sorowful brest yow dredeth,
|
| |
And loveth so sore, that ye ben verrayly
|
| |
The maistresse of my wit, and nothing I.
|
| |
My word, my werk, is knit so in your bonde,
|
| 90 |
That, as an harpe obeyeth to the honde
|
| |
And maketh hit soune after his fingeringe,
|
| |
Right so mowe ye out of myn herte bringe
|
| |
Swich vois, right as yow list, to laughte or pleyne.
|
| |
Be ye my gyde and lady sovereyne;
|
| |
As to myn erthly god, to yow I calle,
|
| |
Bothe in this werke and in my sorwes alle.
|
|
|
| |
But wherfor that I spak, to give credence
|
| |
To olde stories, and doon hem reverence,
|
| |
And that men mosten more thing beleve
|
| 100 |
Then men may seen at eye or elles preve?
|
| |
That shal I seyn, whan that I see my tyme;
|
| |
I may not al at ones speke in ryme.
|
| |
My besy gost, that thrusteth alwey newe
|
| |
To seen this flour so yong, so fresh of hewe,
|
| |
Constreyned me with so gledy desyr,
|
| |
That in my herte I fele yit the fyr,
|
| |
That made me to ryse er hit wer day --
|
| |
And this was now the firste morwe of May --
|
| |
With dredful herte and glad devocioun,
|
| 110 |
For to ben at the resureccioun
|
| |
Of this flour, whan that it shuld unclose
|
| |
Agayn the sonne, that roos as rede as rose,
|
| |
That in the brest was of the beste that day,
|
| |
That Agenores doghter ladde away.
|
| |
And doun on knees anon-right I me sette,
|
| |
And, as I coude, this fresshe flour I grette;
|
| |
Kneling alwey, til hit unclosed was,
|
| |
Upon the smale softe swote gras,
|
| |
That was with floures swote enbrouded al,
|
| 120 |
Of swich swetnesse and swich odour over-al,
|
| |
That, for to speke of gomme, or herbe, or tree,
|
| |
Comparisoun may noon y-maked be;
|
| |
For hit surmounteth pleynly alle odoures,
|
| |
And eek of riche beautee alle floures.
|
| |
Forgeten had the erthe his pore estat
|
| |
Of winter, that him naked made and mat,
|
| |
And with his swerd of cold so sore greved;
|
| |
Now hath the atempre sonne al that releved
|
| |
That naked was, and clad hit new agayn.
|
| 130 |
The smale foules, of the seson fayn,
|
| |
That from the panter and the net ben scaped,
|
| |
Upon the fouler, that hem made a-whaped
|
| |
In winter, and distroyed had hir brood,
|
| |
In his despyt, hem thoughte hit did hem good
|
| |
To singe of him, and in hir song despyse
|
| |
The foule cherl that, for his covetyse,
|
| |
Had hem betrayed with his sophistrye.
|
| |
This was hir song -- "the fouler we defye,
|
| |
And al his craft!" And somme songen clere
|
| 140 |
Layes of love, and Ioye hit was to here,
|
| |
In worshipinge and preisinge of hir make.
|
| |
And, for the newe blisful somers sake,
|
| |
Upon the braunches ful of blosmes softe,
|
| |
In hir delyt, they turned hem ful ofte,
|
| |
And songen, "blessed be seynt Valentyn!
|
| |
For on his day I chees yow to be myn,
|
| |
Withouten repenting, myn herte swete!"
|
| |
And therwith-al hir bekes gonnen mete,
|
| |
Yelding honour and humble obeisaunces
|
| 150 |
love, and diden hir other observaunces
|
| |
That longeth unto love and to nature;
|
| |
Construeth that as yow list, I do no cure.
|
|
|
| |
And tho that hadde doon unkindenesse --
|
| |
As dooth the tydif, for new-fangelnesse --
|
| |
Besoghte mercy of hir trespassinge,
|
| |
And humblely songen hir repentinge,
|
| |
And sworen on the blosmes to be trewe,
|
| |
So that hir makes wolde upon hem rewe,
|
| |
And at the laste maden hir acord.
|
| 160 |
Al founde they Daunger for a tyme a lord,
|
| |
Yet Pitee, through his stronge gentil might,
|
| |
Forgaf, and made Mercy passen Right,
|
| |
Through innocence and ruled curtesye.
|
| |
But I ne clepe nat innocence folye,
|
| |
Ne fals pitee, for "vertu is the mene,"
|
| |
As Etik saith, in swich maner I mene.
|
| |
And thus thise foules, voide of al malyce,
|
| |
Acordeden to love, and laften vyce
|
| |
Of hate, and songen alle of oon acord,
|
| 170 |
"Welcome, somer, our governour and lord!"
|
|
|
| |
And Zephirus and Flora gentilly
|
| |
Yaf to the floures, softe and tenderly,
|
| |
Hir swote breth, and made hem for to sprede,
|
| |
As god and goddesse of the floury mede;
|
| |
In which me thoghte I mighte, day by day,
|
| |
Dwellen alwey, the Ioly month of May,
|
| |
Withouten sleep, withouten mete or drinke.
|
| |
A-doun ful softely I gan to sinke;
|
| |
And, leninge on myn elbowe and my syde,
|
| 180 |
The longe day I shoop me for to abyde
|
| |
For nothing elles, and I shal nat lye,
|
| |
But for to loke upon the dayesye,
|
| |
That wel by reson men hit calle may
|
| |
The "dayesye" or elles the "ye of day",
|
| |
The emperice and flour of floures alle.
|
| |
I pray to god that faire mot she falle,
|
| |
And alle that loven floures, for hir sake!
|
| |
But natheles, ne wene nat that I make
|
| |
In preysing of the flour agayn the leef,
|
| 190 |
No more than of the corn agayn the sheef:
|
| |
For, as to me, nis lever noon ne lother;
|
| |
I nam with-holden yit with never nother.
|
| |
Ne I not who serveth leef, ne who the flour;
|
| |
Wel brouken they hir service or labour;
|
| |
For this thing is al of anther tonne,
|
| |
Of olde story, er swich thing was be-gonne.
|
|
|
| |
Whan that the sonne out of the south gan weste,
|
| |
And that this flour gan close and goon to reste
|
| |
For derknesse of the night, the which she dredde,
|
| 200 |
Hoom to myn hous ful swiftly I me spedde
|
| |
To goon to reste, and erly for to ryse,
|
| |
To seen this flour to sprede, as I devyse.
|
| |
And, in a litel herber that I have,
|
| |
That benched was on turves fresshe y-grave,
|
| |
I bad men sholde me my couche make;
|
| |
For deyntee of the newe someres sake,
|
| |
I bad hem strawen floures on my bed.
|
| |
Whan I was leyd, and had myn eyen hed,
|
| |
I fel on slepe in-with an houre or two;
|
| 210 |
Me mette how I lay in the medew tho,
|
| |
To seen this flour that I love so drede.
|
| |
And from a-fer com walking in the mede
|
| |
The god of love, and in his hande a quene;
|
| |
And she was clad in real habit grene.
|
| |
A fret of gold she hadde next hir heer,
|
| |
And upon that a whyt coroun she beer
|
| |
With florouns smale, and I shal nat lye;
|
| |
For al the world, ryght as a dayesye
|
| |
Y-corouned is with whyte leves lyte,
|
| 220 |
So were the florouns of hir coroun whyte;
|
| |
For of a perle fyne, oriental,
|
| |
Hir whyte coroun was y-maked al;
|
| |
For which the whyte coroun, above the grene,
|
| |
Made hir lyk a daysie for to sene,
|
| |
Considered eek hir feet of gold above.
|
|
|
| |
Y-clothed was this mighty god of love
|
| |
In silke, enbrouded ful of grene greves,
|
| |
In-with a fret of rede rose-leves,
|
| |
The fresshest sin the world was first bigonne.
|
| 230 |
His gilte heer was corouned with a sonne,
|
| |
In-stede of gold, for hevinesse and wighte;
|
| |
Therwith me thoughte his face shoon so brighte
|
| |
That wel unnethes mighte I him beholde;
|
| |
And in his hande me thoughte I saugh him holde
|
| |
Two fyry dartes, as the gledes rede;
|
| |
And aungellyke his winges suagh I sprede.
|
| |
And al be that men seyn that blind is he,
|
| |
Al-gate me thoughte that he mighte see;
|
| |
For sternly on me he gan biholde,
|
| 240 |
So that his loking doth myn herte colde.
|
| |
And by the hande he held this noble quene,
|
| |
Corouned with whyte, and clothed al in grene,
|
| |
So womanly, so benigne, and so meke,
|
| |
That in this world, thogh that men wolde seke,
|
| |
Half hir beautee shulde men nat finde
|
| |
In creature that formed is by kinde.
|
| |
And therfor may I seyn, as thinketh me,
|
| |
This song, in preysing of this lady fre.
|
