| |
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. |
