|
Hyd, Absolon, thy gilte tresses clere;
|
250 |
Ester, ley thou thy meknesse al a-doun;
|
|
Hyd, Ionathas, al thy frendly manere;
|
|
Penalopee, and Marcia Catoun,
|
|
Mak of your wyfhod no comparisoun;
|
|
Hyde ye your beautes, Isoude and Eleyne,
|
|
My lady cometh, that al this may disteyne.
|
|
|
Thy faire body, lat hit nat appere,
|
|
Lavyne; and thou, Lucresse of Rome toun,
|
|
And Polixene, that boghten love so dere,
|
|
And Cleopatre, with al thy passioun,
|
260 |
Hyde ye your trouthe of love and your renoun;
|
|
And thou, Tisbe, that hast of love swich peyne;
|
|
My lady cometh, that al this may disteyne.
|
|
|
Herro, Dido, Laudomia, alle y-fere,
|
|
And Phyllis, hanging for thy Demophon,
|
|
And Canace, espyed by thy chere,
|
|
Ysiphile, betrayed with Jasoun,
|
|
Maketh of your trouthe neyther boost ne soun;
|
|
Nor Ypermistre or Adriane, ye tweyne;
|
|
My lady cometh, that al this may disteyne.
|
|
270 |
This balade may ful wel y-songen be,
|
|
As I have seyd erst, by my lady free;
|
|
For certeynly, alle these now nat suffyse
|
|
To apperen with my lady in no wyse.
|
|
For as the sonne wol the fyr disteyne,
|
|
So passeth al my lady sovereyne,
|
|
That is so good, so fair, so debonaire;
|
|
I prey to god that ever falle hir faire!
|
|
For, nadde comfort been of hir presence,
|
|
I had ben deed, withouten any defence,
|
280 |
For drede of Loves wordes and his chere;
|
|
As, when tyme is, her-after ye shal here.
|
|
|
Behind this god of love, upon the grene,
|
|
I saugh cominge of ladyes nyntene
|
|
In real habit, a ful esy paas;
|
|
And after hem com of women swich a traas,
|
|
That, sin that god Adam had mad of erthe,
|
|
The thridde part of mankynd, or the ferthe,
|
|
Ne wende I nat by possibilitee,
|
|
Had ever in this wyde worlde y-be;
|
290 |
And trewe of love thise women were echoon.
|
|
|
Now whether was that a wonder thing or noon,
|
|
That, right anoon as that they gonne espye
|
|
This flour, which that I clepe the dayesye,
|
|
Ful sodeinly they stinten alle at ones,
|
|
And kneled doun, as it were for the nones,
|
|
And songen with o vois, "hele and honour
|
|
To trouthe of womanhede, and to this flour
|
|
That berth our alder prys in figuringe!
|
|
Hir whyte coroun berth the witnessinge!"
|
|
300 |
And with that word, a compas enviroun,
|
|
They setten hem ful softly adoun.
|
|
First sat the god of love, and sith his quene
|
|
With the whyte coroun, clad in grene;
|
|
And sithen al the remenant by and by,
|
|
As they were of estaat, ful curteisly;
|
|
Ne nat a word was spoken in the place
|
|
The mountance of a furlong-wey of space.
|
|
|
I kneling by this flour, in good entente
|
|
Abood, to knowen what this peple mente,
|
310 |
As stille as any stoon; til at the laste,
|
|
This god of love on me his eyen caste,
|
|
And seyde, "who kneleth ther?" and I answerde
|
|
Unto his asking, whan that I hit herde,
|
|
And seyde, "sir, hit am I"; and com him neer,
|
|
And salued him. Quod he, "what dostow heer
|
|
So nigh myn owne flour, so boldely?
|
|
For it were better worthy, trewely,
|
|
A worm to neghen neer my flour than thou."
|
|
"And why, sir," quod I, "and hit lyke yow?"
|
320 |
"For thou," quod he, "art ther-to nothing able.
|
|
Hit is my relik, digne and delytable,
|
|
And thou my fo, and al my folk werreyest,
|
|
And of myn olde servaunts thou misseyest,
|
|
And hindrest hem, with thy translacioun,
|
|
And lettest folk from hir devocioun
|
|
To serve me, and holdest hit folye
|
|
To serve Love. Thou mayest hit nat denye;
|
|
For in pleyn text, with-outen nede of glose,
|
|
Thou hast translated the Romaunce of the Rose,
|
330 |
That is an heresye ageyns my lawe,
|
|
And makest wyse folk fro me withdrawe.
|
|
And of Criseyde thou hast seyd as thee liste,
|
|
That maketh men to wommen lasse triste,
|
|
That ben as trewe as ever was any steel.
|
|
Of thyn answere avyse thee right weel;
|
|
For, thogh that thou reneyed hast my lay,
|
|
As other wrecches han doon many a day,
|
|
By seynt Venus, that my moder is,
|
|
If that thou live, thou shalt repenten this
|
340 |
So cruelly, that hit shal wel be sene!"
|
|
|
Tho spak this lady, clothed al in grene,
|
|
And seyde, "god, right of your curtesye,
|
|
Ye moten herknen if he can replye
|
|
Agayns al this that ye han to him meved;
|
|
A god ne sholde nat be thus agreved,
|
|
But of his deitee he shal be stable,
|
|
And therto gracious and merciable.
|
|
And if ye nere a god, that knowen al,
|
|
Than mighte hit be, as I yow tellen shal;
|
350 |
This man to you may falsly been accused,
|
|
Ther as by right him oghte been excused.
|
|
For in your court is many a losengeour,
|
|
And many a queynte totelere accusour,
|
|
That tabouren in your eres many a soun,
|
|
Right after hir imaginacioun,
|
|
To have your daliance, and for envye;
|
|
These been the causes, and I shall nat lye.
|
|
Envye is lavender of the court alway;
|
|
For she ne parteth, neither night ne day,
|
360 |
Out of the hous of Cesar; thus seith Dante;
|
|
Who-so that goth, algate she wol nat wante.
|
|
And eek, paraunter, for this man is nyce,
|
|
He mighte doon hit, gessing no malyce,
|
|
But for he useth thinges for to make;
|
|
Him rekketh noght of what matere he take;
|
|
|
Or him was boden maken thilke tweye
|
|
Of som persone, and durste hit nat with-seye;
|
|
Or him repenteth utterly of this.
|
|
He ne hath nat doon so grevously amis
|
370 |
To translaten that olde clerkes wryten,
|
|
As thogh that he of malice wolde endyten
|
|
Despyt of love, and had him-self hit wroght.
|
|
This shulde a rightwys lord have in his thoght,
|
|
And nat be lyk tiraunts of Lumbardye,
|
|
That han no reward but at tirannye.
|
|
For he that king or lord is naturel,
|
|
Him oghte nat be tiraunt ne cruel,
|
|
As is a fermour, to doon the harm he can.
|
|
He moste thinke hit is his lige man,
|
380 |
And is his tresour, and his gold in cofre.
|
|
This is the sentence of the philosophre:
|
|
A king to kepe his liges in Iustyce;
|
|
With-outen doute, that is his offyce.
|
|
Al wole he kepe his lordes hir degree,
|
|
As hit is right and skilful that they be
|
|
Enhaunced and honoured, and most dere --
|
|
For they ben half-goddes in this world here --
|
|
Yit mot he doon bothe right, to pore and riche,
|
|
Al be that hir estat be nay y-liche,
|
390 |
And han of pore folk compassioun,
|
|
For lo, the gentil kynd of the leoun!
|
|
For whan a flye offendeth him or byteth,
|
|
He with his tayl awey the flye smyteth
|
|
Al esily; for, of his genterye,
|
|
Him deyneth nat to wreke him on a flye,
|
|
As doth a curre or elles another beste.
|
|
In noble corage oghte been areste,
|
|
And weyen every thing by equitee,
|
|
And ever han reward to his owen degree.
|
400 |
For, sir, hit is no maystrie for a lord
|
|
To dampne a man with-oute answere of word;
|
|
And, for a lord, that is ful foul to use.
|
|
And if so be he may him nat excuse,
|
|
But asketh mercy with a dredful herte,
|
|
And profreth him, right in his bare sherte,
|
|
To been right at your owne Iugement,
|
|
Than oghte a god, by short avysement,
|
|
Considre his owne honour and his trespas.
|
|
For sith no cause of deeth lyth in his cas,
|
410 |
Yow oghte been the lighter merciable;
|
|
Leteth your yre, and beth somwhat tretable!
|
|
The man hath served yow of his conning,
|
|
And forthred wel your lawe in his making.
|
|
|
"Al be hit that he can nat wel endyte,
|
|
Yet hath he maked lewed folk delyte
|
|
To serve you, in preysing of your name.
|
|
He made of the book that hight the Hous of Fame,
|
|
And eek the Deeth of Blaunche the Duchesse,
|
|
And the Parlement of Foules, and I gesse,
|
420 |
And al the love of Palamon and Arcyte
|
|
Of Thebes, thogh the story is knowen lyte;
|
|
And many an ympne for your halydayes,
|
|
That highten Balades, Roundels, Virelayes;
|
|
And, for to speke of other holynesse,
|
|
He hath in prose translated Boece,
|
|
And mad the Lyf also of seynt Cecyle;
|
|
He made also, goon sithen a greet whyl,
|
|
Origenes upon the Maudeleyne;
|
|
Him oghte now to have the lesse peyne;
|
430 |
He hath mad many a lay and many a thing.
|
|
|
"Now as ye been a god, and eek a king,
|
|
I, your Alceste, whylom quene of Trace,
|
|
I aske yow this man, right of your grace,
|
|
That ye him never hurte in al his lyve;
|
|
And he shal sweren yow, and that as blyve,
|
|
He shal no more agilten in this wyse;
|
|
But he shal maken, as ye wil devyse,
|
|
Of wommen trewe in lovinge al hir lyve,
|
|
Wher-so ye wil, of maiden or of wyve,
|
440 |
And forthren yow, as muche as he misseyde
|
|
Or in the Rose or elles in Creseyde."
|
|
|
The god of love answerde hir thus anoon,
|
|
"Madame," quod he, "hit is so long agoon
|
|
That I yow knew so charitable and trewe,
|
|
That never yit, sith that the world was newe,
|
|
To me ne fond I better noon than ye.
|
|
If that I wolde save my degree,
|
|
I may ne wol nat werne your requeste;
|
|
Al lyth in yow, doth with him as yow leste.
|
450 |
I al foryeve, with-outen lenger space;
|
|
For who-so yeveth a yift, or doth a grace,
|
|
Do hit by tyme, his thank is wel the more;
|
|
And demeth ye what he shal do therfore.
|
|
Go thanke now my lady heer," quod he.
|
|
|
I roos, and doun I sette me on my knee,
|
|
And seyde thus: "madame, the god above
|
|
Foryelde yow, that ye the god of love
|
|
Han maked me his wrathe to foryive;
|
|
And yeve me grace so long for to live,
|
460 |
That I may knowe soothly what ye be
|
|
That han me holpe and put in this degree.
|
|
But truly I wende, as in this cas,
|
|
Naught have agilt, ne doon to love trespas.
|
|
Forwhy a trewe man, with-outen drede,
|
|
Hath not to parten with a theves dede;
|
|
Ne a trewe lover oghte me nat blame,
|
|
Thogh that I speke a fals lover som shame.
|
|
They oghte rather with me for to holde,
|
|
For that I of Creseyde wroot or tolde,
|
470 |
Or of the Rose; what-so myn auctour mente,
|
|
Algate, god wot, hit was myn entente
|
|
To forthren trouthe in love and hit cheryce;
|
|
And to be war fro falsnesse and fro vyce
|
|
By swich ensample; this was my meninge."
|
|
|
And she answerde, "lat be thyn arguinge;
|
|
For Love ne wol nat countrepleted be
|
|
In right ne wrong; and lerne that of me!
|
|
Thou hast thy grace, and hold thee right ther-to.
|
|
Now wol I seyn what penance thou shald do
|
480 |
For thy trespas, and understond hit here:
|
|
Thou shalt, whyl that thou livest, yeer by yere,
|
|
The moste party of thy tyme spende
|
|
In making of a glorious Legende
|
|
Of Gode Wommen, maidenes and wyves,
|
|
That weren trewe in lovinge al hir lyves;
|
|
And telle of false men that hem bitrayen,
|
|
That al hir lyf ne doon nat but assayen
|
|
How many wommen they may doon a shame;
|
|
For in your world that is now holde a game.
|
490 |
And thogh thee lyke nat a lover be,
|
|
Spek wel of love; this penance yive I thee.
|
|
And to the god of love I shal so preye,
|
|
That he shal charge his servants, by any weye,
|
|
To forthren thee, and wel thy labour quyte;
|
|
Go now thy wey, this penance is but lyte.
|
|
And whan this book is maad, yive hit the quene
|
|
On my behalfe, at Eltham, or at Shene."
|
|
|
The god of love gan smyle, and than he seyde,
|
|
"Wostow," quod he, "wher this be wyf or mayde,
|
500 |
Or quene, or countesse, or of what degree,
|
|
That hath so litel penance yiven thee,
|
|
That hast deserved sorer for to smerte?
|
|
But pitee renneth sone in gentil herte;
|
|
That maystow seen, she kytheth what she is."
|
|
And I answerde, "nay, sir, so have I blis,
|
|
No more but that I see wel she is good."
|
|
|
"That is a trewe tale, by myn hood,"
|
|
Quod Love, "and that thou knowest wel, pardee,
|
|
If hit be so that thou avyse thee.
|
510 |
Hastow nat in a book, lyth in thy cheste,
|
|
The grete goodnesse of the quene Alceste,
|
|
That turned was into a dayesye:
|
|
She that for hir husbande chees to dye,
|
|
And eek to goon to helle, rather than he,
|
|
And Ercules rescowed hir, pardee,
|
|
And broghte hir out of helle agayn to blis?"
|
|
|
"And I answerde ageyn, and seyde, "yis,
|
|
Now knowe I hir! And is this good Alceste,
|
|
The dayesye, and myn owne hertes reste?
|
520 |
Now fele I wel the goodnesse of this wyf,
|
|
That bothe after hir deeth, and in hir lyf,
|
|
Hir grete bountee doubleth hir renoun!
|
|
Wel hath she quit me myn affeccioun
|
|
That I have to hir flour, the dayesye!
|
|
No wonder is thogh Iove hir stellifye,
|
|
As telleth Agaton, for hir goodnesse!
|
|
Hir whyte coroun berth of hit witnesse;
|
|
For also many vertues hadde she,
|
|
As smale floures in hir coroun be.
|
530 |
In remembraunce of hir and in honour,
|
|
Cibella made the dayesy and the flour
|
|
Y-coroned al with whyt, as men may see;
|
|
And Mars yaf to hir coroun reed, pardee,
|
|
In stede of rubies, set among the whyte."
|
|
|
Therwith this quene wex reed for shame a lyte,
|
|
Whan she was preysed so in hir presence.
|
|
Than seyde Love, "a ful gret negligence
|
|
Was hit to thee, that ilke tyme thou made
|
|
`Hyd, Absolon, thy tresses,' in balade,
|
540 |
That thou forgete hir in thy song to sette,
|
|
Sin that thou art so gretly in hir dette,
|
|
And wost so wel, that kalender is she
|
|
To any woman that wol lover be.
|
|
For she taughte al the craft of fyn lovinge,
|
|
And namely of wyfhood the livinge,
|
|
And alle the boundes that she oghte kepe;
|
|
Thy litel wit was thilke tyme a-slepe.
|
|
But now I charge thee, upon thy lyf,
|
|
That in thy Legend thou make of this wyf,
|
550 |
Whan thou hast other smale y-maad before;
|
|
And fare now wel, I charge thee no more.
|
|
|
"But er I go, thus muche I wol thee telle,
|
|
Ne shal no trewe lover come in helle.
|
|
Thise other ladies sittinge here arowe
|
|
Ben in thy balade, if thou canst hem knowe,
|
|
And in thy bokes alle thou shalt hem finde;
|
|
Have hem now in thy Legend alle in minde,
|
|
I mene of hem that been in thy knowinge.
|
|
For heer ben twenty thousand mo sittinge
|
560 |
That thou knowest, that been good wommen alle
|
|
And trewe of love, for aught that may befalle;
|
|
Make the metres of hem as thee leste.
|
|
I mot gon hoom, the sonne draweth weste,
|
|
To Paradys, with al this companye;
|
|
And serve alwey the fresshe dayesye.
|
|
|
"At Cleopatre I wol that thou beginne;
|
|
And so forth; and my love so shalt thou winne.
|
|
For lat see now what man that lover be,
|
|
Wol doon so strong a peyne for love as she.
|
570 |
I wot wel that thou mayest nat al hit ryme,
|
|
That swiche lovers diden in hir tyme;
|
|
It were so long to reden and to here;
|
|
Suffyceth me, thou make in this manere,
|
|
That thou reherce of al hir lyf the grete,
|
|
After thise olde auctours listen to trete.
|
|
For who-so shal so many a storie telle,
|
|
Sey shortly, or he shal to longe dwelle."
|
|
And with that word my bokes gan I take,
|
|
And right thus on my Legend gan I make.
|