Of a Cronique in daies gon,
The which is cleped Pantheon,
In loves cause I rede thus,
Hou that the grete Antiochus,
Of whom that Antioche tok
His ferste name, as seith the bok,
Was coupled to a noble queene,
And hadde a dowhter hem betwene:
Bot such fortune cam to honde,
That deth, which no king mai withstonde,
Bot every lif it mote obeie,
This worthi queene tok aweie.
The king, which made mochel mone,
Tho stod, as who seith, al him one
Withoute wif, bot natheles
His doghter, which was piereles
Of beaute, duelte aboute him stille.
Bot whanne a man hath welthe at wille,
The fleissh is frele and falleth ofte,
And that this maide tendre and softe,
Which in hire fadres chambres duelte,
Withinne a time wiste and felte:
For likinge and concupiscence
Withoute insihte of conscience
The fader so with lustes blente,
That he caste al his hole entente
His oghne doghter forto spille.
This king hath leisir at his wille
With strengthe, and whanne he time sih,
This yonge maiden he forlih:
And sche was tendre and full of drede,
Sche couthe noght hir Maidenhede
Defende, and thus sche hath forlore
The flour which she hath longe bore.
It helpeth noght althogh sche wepe,
For thei that scholde hir bodi kepe
Of wommen were absent as thanne;
And thus this maiden goth to manne,
The wylde fader thus devoureth
His oghne fleissh, which non socoureth,
And that was cause of mochel care.
Bot after this unkinde fare
Out of the chambre goth the king,
And sche lay stille, and of this thing,
Withinne hirself such sorghe made,
Ther was no wiht that mihte hir glade,
For feere of thilke horrible vice.
With that cam inne the Norrice
Which fro childhode hire hadde kept,
And axeth if sche hadde slept,
And why hire chiere was unglad.
Bot sche, which hath ben overlad
Of that sche myhte noght be wreke,
For schame couthe unethes speke;
And natheles mercy sche preide
With wepende yhe and thus sche seide:
"Helas, mi Soster, waileway,
That evere I sih this ilke day!
Thing which mi bodi ferst begat
Into this world, onliche that
Mi worldes worschipe hath bereft."
With that sche swouneth now and eft,
And evere wissheth after deth,
So that welnyh hire lacketh breth.
That other, which hire wordes herde,
In confortinge of hire ansuerde,
To lette hire fadres fol desir
Sche wiste no recoverir:
Whan thing is do, ther is no bote,
So suffren thei that suffre mote;
Ther was non other which it wiste.
Thus hath this king al that him liste
Of his likinge and his plesance,
And laste in such continuance,
And such delit he tok therinne,
Him thoghte that it was no Sinne;
And sche dorste him nothing withseie.
Bot fame, which goth every weie,
To sondry regnes al aboute
The grete beaute telleth oute
Of such a maide of hih parage:
So that for love of mariage
The worthi Princes come and sende,
As thei the whiche al honour wende,
And knewe nothing hou it stod.
The fader, whanne he understod,
That thei his dowhter thus besoghte,
With al his wit he caste and thoghte
Hou that he myhte finde a lette;
And such a Statut thanne he sette,
And in this wise his lawe he taxeth,
That what man that his doghter axeth,
Bot if he couthe his question
Assoile upon suggestion
Of certein thinges that befelle,
The whiche he wolde unto him telle,
He scholde in certein lese his hed.
And thus ther weren manye ded,
Here hevedes stondende on the gate,
Till ate laste longe and late,
For lacke of ansuere in the wise,
The remenant that weren wise
Eschuieden to make assay.
Til it befell upon a day
Appolinus the Prince of Tyr,
Which hath to love a gret desir,
As he which in his hihe mod
Was likende of his hote blod,
A yong, a freissh, a lusti knyht,
As he lai musende on a nyht
Of the tidinges whiche he herde,
He thoghte assaie hou that it ferde.
He was with worthi compainie
Arraied, and with good navie
To schipe he goth, the wynd him dryveth,
And seileth, til that he arryveth:
Sauf in the port of Antioche
He londeth, and goth to aproche
The kinges Court and his presence.
Of every naturel science,
Which eny clerk him couthe teche,
He couthe ynowh, and in his speche
Of wordes he was eloquent;
And whanne he sih the king present,
He preith he moste his dowhter have.
The king ayein began to crave,
And tolde him the condicion,
Hou ferst unto his question
He mote ansuere and faile noght,
Or with his heved it schal be boght:
And he him axeth what it was.
The king declareth him the cas
With sturne lok and sturdi chiere,
To him and seide in this manere:
"With felonie I am upbore,
I ete and have it noght forbore
Mi modres fleissh, whos housebonde
Mi fader forto seche I fonde,
Which is the Sone ek of my wif.
Hierof I am inquisitif;
And who that can mi tale save,
Al quyt he schal my doghter have;
Of his ansuere and if he faile,
He schal be ded withoute faile.
Forthi my Sone," quod the king,
"Be wel avised of this thing,
Which hath thi lif in jeupartie."
Appolinus for his partie,
Whan he this question hath herd,
Unto the king he hath ansuerd
And hath rehersed on and on
The pointz, and seide therupon:
"The question which thou hast spoke,
If thou wolt that it be unloke,
It toucheth al the privete
Betwen thin oghne child and thee,
And stant al hol upon you tuo."
The king was wonder sory tho,
And thoghte, if that he seide it oute,
Than were he schamed al aboute.
With slihe wordes and with felle
He seith, "Mi Sone, I schal thee telle,
Though that thou be of litel wit,
It is no gret merveile as yit,
Thin age mai it noght suffise:
Bot loke wel thou noght despise
Thin oghne lif, for of my grace
Of thretty daies fulle a space
I grante thee, to ben avised."
And thus with leve and time assised
This yonge Prince forth he wente,
And understod wel what it mente,
Withinne his herte as he was lered,
That forto maken him afered
The king his time hath so deslaied.
Wherof he dradde and was esmaied,
Of treson that he deie scholde,
For he the king his sothe tolde;
And sodeinly the nyhtes tyde,
That more wolde he noght abide,
Al prively his barge he hente
And hom ayein to Tyr he wente:
And in his oghne wit he seide
For drede, if he the king bewreide,
He knew so wel the kinges herte,
That deth ne scholde he noght asterte,
The king him wolde so poursuie.
Bot he, that wolde his deth eschuie,
And knew al this tofor the hond,
Forsake he thoghte his oghne lond,
That there wolde he noght abyde;
For wel he knew that on som syde
This tirant of his felonie
Be som manere of tricherie
To grieve his bodi wol noght leve.
Forthi withoute take leve,
Als priveliche as evere he myhte,
He goth him to the See be nyhte
In Schipes that be whete laden:
Here takel redy tho thei maden
And hale up Seil and forth thei fare.
Bot forto tellen of the care
That thei of Tyr begonne tho,
Whan that thei wiste he was ago,
It is a Pite forto hiere.
They losten lust, they losten chiere,
Thei toke upon hem such penaunce,
Ther was no song, ther was no daunce,
Bot every merthe and melodie
To hem was thanne a maladie;
For unlust of that aventure
Ther was noman which tok tonsure,
In doelful clothes thei hem clothe,
The bathes and the Stwes bothe
Thei schetten in be every weie;
There was no lif which leste pleie
Ne take of eny joie kepe,
Bot for here liege lord to wepe;
And every wyht seide as he couthe,
"Helas, the lusti flour of youthe,
Our Prince, oure heved, our governour,
Thurgh whom we stoden in honour,
Withoute the comun assent
Thus sodeinliche is fro ous went!"
Such was the clamour of hem alle.
Bot se we now what is befalle
Upon the ferste tale plein,
And torne we therto ayein.
Antiochus the grete Sire,
Which full of rancour and of ire
His herte berth, so as ye herde,
Of that this Prince of Tyr ansuerde,
He hadde a feloun bacheler,
Which was his prive consailer,
And Taliart be name he hihte:
The king a strong puison him dihte
Withinne a buiste and gold therto,
In alle haste and bad him go
Strawht unto Tyr, and for no cost
Ne spare he, til he hadde lost
The Prince which he wolde spille.
And whan the king hath seid his wille,
This Taliart in a Galeie
With alle haste he tok his weie:
The wynd was good, he saileth blyve,
Til he tok lond upon the ryve
Of Tyr, and forth with al anon
Into the Burgh he gan to gon,
And tok his In and bod a throwe.
Bot for he wolde noght be knowe,
Desguised thanne he goth him oute;
He sih the wepinge al aboute,
And axeth what the cause was,
And thei him tolden al the cas,
How sodeinli the Prince is go.
And whan he sih that it was so,
And that his labour was in vein,
Anon he torneth hom ayein,
And to the king, whan he cam nyh,
He tolde of that he herde and syh,
Hou that the Prince of Tyr is fled,
So was he come ayein unsped.
The king was sori for a while,
Bot whan he sih that with no wyle
He myhte achieve his crualte,
He stinte his wraththe and let him be.
Bot over this now forto telle
Of aventures that befelle
Unto this Prince of whom I tolde,
He hath his rihte cours forth holde
Be Ston and nedle, til he cam
To Tharse, and there his lond he nam.
A Burgeis riche of gold and fee
Was thilke time in that cite,
Which cleped was Strangulio,
His wif was Dionise also:
This yonge Prince, as seith the bok,
With hem his herbergage tok;
And it befell that Cite so
Before time and thanne also,
Thurgh strong famyne which hem ladde
Was non that eny whete hadde.
Appolinus, whan that he herde
The meschief, hou the cite ferde,
Al freliche of his oghne yifte
His whete, among hem forto schifte,
The which be Schipe he hadde broght,
He yaf, and tok of hem riht noght.
Bot sithen ferst this world began,
Was nevere yit to such a man
Mor joie mad than thei him made:
For thei were alle of him so glade,
That thei for evere in remembrance
Made a figure in resemblance
Of him, and in the comun place
Thei sette him up, so that his face
Mihte every maner man beholde,
So as the cite was beholde;
It was of latoun overgilt:
Thus hath he noght his yifte spilt.
Upon a time with his route
This lord to pleie goth him oute,
And in his weie of Tyr he mette
A man, the which on knees him grette,
And Hellican be name he hihte,
Which preide his lord to have insihte
Upon himself, and seide him thus,
Hou that the grete Antiochus
Awaiteth if he mihte him spille.
That other thoghte and hield him stille,
And thonked him of his warnynge,
And bad him telle no tidinge,
Whan he to Tyr cam hom ayein,
That he in Tharse him hadde sein.
Fortune hath evere be muable
And mai no while stonde stable:
For now it hiheth, now it loweth,
Now stant upriht, now overthroweth,
Now full of blisse and now of bale,
As in the tellinge of mi tale
Hierafterward a man mai liere,
Which is gret routhe forto hiere.
This lord, which wolde don his beste,
Withinne himself hath litel reste,
And thoghte he wolde his place change
And seche a contre more strange.
Of Tharsiens his leve anon
He tok, and is to Schipe gon:
His cours he nam with Seil updrawe,
Where as fortune doth the lawe,
And scheweth, as I schal reherse,
How sche was to this lord diverse,
The which upon the See sche ferketh.
The wynd aros, the weder derketh,
It blew and made such tempeste,
Non ancher mai the schip areste,
Which hath tobroken al his gere;
The Schipmen stode in such a feere,
Was non that myhte himself bestere,
Bot evere awaite upon the lere,
Whan that thei scholde drenche at ones.
Ther was ynowh withinne wones
Of wepinge and of sorghe tho;
This yonge king makth mochel wo
So forto se the Schip travaile:
Bot al that myhte him noght availe;
The mast tobrak, the Seil torof,
The Schip upon the wawes drof,
Til that thei sihe a londes cooste.
Tho made avou the leste and moste,
Be so thei myhten come alonde;
Bot he which hath the See on honde,
Neptunus, wolde noght acorde,
Bot altobroke cable and corde,
Er thei to londe myhte aproche,
The Schip toclef upon a roche,
And al goth doun into the depe.
Bot he that alle thing mai kepe
Unto this lord was merciable,
And broghte him sauf upon a table,
Which to the lond him hath upbore;
The remenant was al forlore,
Wherof he made mochel mone.
Thus was this yonge lord him one,
Al naked in a povere plit:
His colour, which whilom was whyt,
Was thanne of water fade and pale,
And ek he was so sore acale
That he wiste of himself no bote,
It halp him nothing forto mote
To gete ayein that he hath lore.
Bot sche which hath his deth forbore,
Fortune, thogh sche wol noght yelpe,
Al sodeinly hath sent him helpe,
Whanne him thoghte alle grace aweie;
Ther cam a Fisshere in the weie,
And sih a man ther naked stonde,
And whan that he hath understonde
The cause, he hath of him gret routhe,
And onliche of his povere trouthe
Of suche clothes as he hadde
With gret Pite this lord he cladde.
And he him thonketh as he scholde,
And seith him that it schal be yolde,
If evere he gete his stat ayein,
And preide that he wolde him sein
If nyh were eny toun for him.
He seide, "Yee, Pentapolim,
Wher bothe king and queene duellen."
Whanne he this tale herde tellen,
He gladeth him and gan beseche
That he the weie him wolde teche:
And he him taghte; and forth he wente
And preide god with good entente
To sende him joie after his sorwe.
It was noght passed yit Midmorwe,
Whan thiderward his weie he nam,
Wher sone upon the Non he cam.
He eet such as he myhte gete,
And forth anon, whan he hadde ete,
He goth to se the toun aboute,
And cam ther as he fond a route
Of yonge lusti men withalle;
And as it scholde tho befalle,
That day was set of such assisse,
That thei scholde in the londes guise,
As he herde of the poeple seie,
Here comun game thanne pleie;
And crid was that thei scholden come
Unto the gamen alle and some
Of hem that ben delivere and wyhte,
To do such maistrie as thei myhte.
Thei made hem naked as thei scholde,
For so that ilke game wolde,
As it was tho custume and us,
Amonges hem was no refus:
The flour of al the toun was there
And of the court also ther were,
And that was in a large place
Riht evene afore the kinges face,
Which Artestrathes thanne hihte.
The pley was pleid riht in his sihte,
And who most worthi was of dede
Receive he scholde a certein mede
And in the cite bere a pris.
Appolinus, which war and wys
Of every game couthe an ende,
He thoghte assaie, hou so it wende,
And fell among hem into game:
And there he wan him such a name,
So as the king himself acompteth
That he alle othre men surmonteth,
And bar the pris above hem alle.
The king bad that into his halle
At Souper time he schal be broght;
And he cam thanne and lefte it noght,
Withoute compaignie al one:
Was non so semlich of persone,
Of visage and of limes bothe,
If that he hadde what to clothe.
At Soupertime natheles
The king amiddes al the pres
Let clepe him up among hem alle,
And bad his Mareschall of halle
To setten him in such degre
That he upon him myhte se.
The king was sone set and served,
And he, which hath his pris deserved
After the kinges oghne word,
Was mad beginne a Middel bord,
That bothe king and queene him sihe.
He sat and caste aboute his yhe
And sih the lordes in astat,
And with himself wax in debat
Thenkende what he hadde lore,
And such a sorwe he tok therfore,
That he sat evere stille and thoghte,
As he which of no mete roghte.
The king behield his hevynesse,
And of his grete gentillesse
His doghter, which was fair and good
And ate bord before him stod,
As it was thilke time usage,
He bad to gon on his message
And fonde forto make him glad.
And sche dede as hire fader bad,
And goth to him the softe pas
And axeth whenne and what he was,
And preith he scholde his thoghtes leve.
He seith, "Ma Dame, be your leve
Mi name is hote Appolinus,
And of mi richesse it is thus,
Upon the See I have it lore.
The contre wher as I was bore,
Wher that my lond is and mi rente,
I lefte at Tyr, whan that I wente:
The worschipe of this worldes aghte,
Unto the god ther I betaghte."
And thus togedre as thei tuo speeke,
The teres runne be his cheeke.
The king, which therof tok good kepe,
Hath gret Pite to sen him wepe,
And for his doghter sende ayein,
And preide hir faire and gan to sein
That sche no lengere wolde drecche,
Bot that sche wolde anon forth fecche
Hire harpe and don al that sche can
To glade with that sory man.
And sche to don hir fader heste
Hir harpe fette, and in the feste
Upon a Chaier which thei fette
Hirself next to this man sche sette:
With harpe bothe and ek with mouthe
To him sche dede al that sche couthe
To make him chiere, and evere he siketh,
And sche him axeth hou him liketh.
"Ma dame, certes wel," he seide,
"Bot if ye the mesure pleide
Which, if you list, I schal you liere,
It were a glad thing forto hiere."
"Ha, lieve sire," tho quod sche,
"Now tak the harpe and let me se
Of what mesure that ye mene."
Tho preith the king, tho preith the queene,
Forth with the lordes alle arewe,
That he som merthe wolde schewe;
He takth the Harpe and in his wise
He tempreth, and of such assise
Singende he harpeth forth withal,
That as a vois celestial
Hem thoghte it souneth in here Ere,
As thogh that he an Angel were.
Thei gladen of his melodie,
Bot most of alle the compainie
The kinges doghter, which it herde,
And thoghte ek hou that he ansuerde,
Whan that he was of hire opposed,
Withinne hir herte hath wel supposed
That he is of gret gentilesse.
Hise dedes ben therof witnesse
Forth with the wisdom of his lore;
It nedeth noght to seche more,
He myhte noght have such manere,
Of gentil blod bot if he were.
Whanne he hath harped al his fille,
The kinges heste to fulfille,
Awey goth dissh, awey goth cuppe,
Doun goth the bord, the cloth was uppe,
Thei risen and gon out of halle.
The king his chamberlein let calle,
And bad that he be alle weie
A chambre for this man pourveie,
Which nyh his oghne chambre be.
"It schal be do, mi lord," quod he.
Appolinus of whom I mene
Tho tok his leve of king and queene
And of the worthi Maide also,
Which preide unto hir fader tho,
That sche myhte of that yonge man
Of tho sciences whiche he can
His lore have; and in this wise
The king hir granteth his aprise,
So that himself therto assente.
Thus was acorded er thei wente,
That he with al that evere he may
This yonge faire freisshe May
Of that he couthe scholde enforme;
And full assented in this forme
Thei token leve as for that nyht.
And whanne it was amorwe lyht,
Unto this yonge man of Tyr
Of clothes and of good atir
With gold and Selver to despende
This worthi yonge lady sende:
And thus sche made him wel at ese,
And he with al that he can plese
Hire serveth wel and faire ayein.
He tawhte hir til sche was certein
Of Harpe, of Citole and of Rote,
With many a tun and many a note
Upon Musique, upon mesure,
And of hire Harpe the temprure
He tawhte hire ek, as he wel couthe.
Bot as men sein that frele is youthe,
With leisir and continuance
This Mayde fell upon a chance,
That love hath mad him a querele
Ayein hire youthe freissh and frele,
That malgre wher sche wole or noght,
Sche mot with al hire hertes thoght
To love and to his lawe obeie;
And that sche schal ful sore abeie.
For sche wot nevere what it is,
Bot evere among sche fieleth this:
Thenkende upon this man of Tyr,
Hire herte is hot as eny fyr,
And otherwhile it is acale;
Now is sche red, nou is sche pale
Riht after the condicion
Of hire ymaginacion;
Bot evere among hire thoghtes alle,
Sche thoghte, what so mai befalle,
Or that sche lawhe, or that sche wepe,
Sche wolde hire goode name kepe
For feere of wommanysshe schame.
Bot what in ernest and in game,
Sche stant for love in such a plit,
That sche hath lost al appetit
Of mete, of drinke, of nyhtes reste,
As sche that not what is the beste;
Bot forto thenken al hir fille
Sche hield hire ofte times stille
Withinne hir chambre, and goth noght oute:
The king was of hire lif in doute,
Which wiste nothing what it mente.
Bot fell a time, as he out wente
To walke, of Princes Sones thre
Ther come and felle to his kne;
And ech of hem in sondri wise
Besoghte and profreth his servise,
So that he myhte his doghter have.
The king, which wolde his honour save,
Seith sche is siek, and of that speche
Tho was no time to beseche;
Bot ech of hem do make a bille
He bad, and wryte his oghne wille,
His name, his fader and his good;
And whan sche wiste hou that it stod,
And hadde here billes oversein,
Thei scholden have ansuere ayein.
Of this conseil thei weren glad,
And writen as the king hem bad,
And every man his oghne bok
Into the kinges hond betok,
And he it to his dowhter sende,
And preide hir forto make an ende
And wryte ayein hire oghne hond,
Riht as sche in hire herte fond.
The billes weren wel received,
Bot sche hath alle here loves weyved,
And thoghte tho was time and space
To put hire in hir fader grace,
And wrot ayein and thus sche saide:
"The schame which is in a Maide
With speche dar noght ben unloke,
Bot in writinge it mai be spoke;
So wryte I to you, fader, thus:
Bot if I have Appolinus,
Of al this world, what so betyde,
I wol non other man abide.
And certes if I of him faile,
I wot riht wel withoute faile
Ye schull for me be dowhterles."
This lettre cam, and ther was press
Tofore the king, ther as he stod;
And whan that he it understod,
He yaf hem ansuer by and by,
Bot that was do so prively,
That non of othres conseil wiste.
Thei toke her leve, and wher hem liste
Thei wente forth upon here weie.
The king ne wolde noght bewreie
The conseil for no maner hihe,
Bot soffreth til he time sihe:
And whan that he to chambre is come,
He hath unto his conseil nome
This man of Tyr, and let him se
The lettre and al the privete,
The which his dowhter to him sente:
And he his kne to grounde bente
And thonketh him and hire also,
And er thei wenten thanne atuo,
With good herte and with good corage
Of full Love and full mariage
The king and he ben hol acorded.
And after, whanne it was recorded
Unto the dowhter hou it stod,
The yifte of al this worldes good
Ne scholde have mad hir half so blythe:
And forth withal the king als swithe,
For he wol have hire good assent,
Hath for the queene hir moder sent.
The queene is come, and whan sche herde
Of this matiere hou that it ferde,
Sche syh debat, sche syh desese,
Bot if sche wolde hir dowhter plese,
And is therto assented full.
Which is a dede wonderfull,
For noman knew the sothe cas
Bot he himself, what man he was;
And natheles, so as hem thoghte,
Hise dedes to the sothe wroghte
That he was come of gentil blod:
Him lacketh noght bot worldes good,
And as therof is no despeir,
For sche schal ben hire fader heir,
And he was able to governe.
Thus wol thei noght the love werne
Of him and hire in none wise,
Bot ther acorded thei divise
The day and time of Mariage.
Wher love is lord of the corage,
Him thenketh longe er that he spede;
Bot ate laste unto the dede
The time is come, and in her wise
With gret offrende and sacrifise
Thei wedde and make a riche feste,
And every thing which was honeste
Withinnen house and ek withoute
It was so don, that al aboute
Of gret worschipe, of gret noblesse
Ther cride many a man largesse
Unto the lordes hihe and loude;
The knyhtes that ben yonge and proude,
Thei jouste ferst and after daunce.
The day is go, the nyhtes chaunce
Hath derked al the bryhte Sonne;
This lord, which hath his love wonne,
Is go to bedde with his wif,
Wher as thei ladde a lusti lif,
And that was after somdel sene,
For as thei pleiden hem betwene,
Thei gete a child betwen hem tuo,
To whom fell after mochel wo.
Now have I told of the spousailes.
Bot forto speke of the mervailes
Whiche afterward to hem befelle,
It is a wonder forto telle.
It fell adai thei riden oute,
The king and queene and al the route,
To pleien hem upon the stronde,
Wher as thei sen toward the londe
A Schip sailende of gret array.
To knowe what it mene may,
Til it be come thei abide;
Than sen thei stonde on every side,
Endlong the schipes bord to schewe,
Of Penonceals a riche rewe.
Thei axen when the ship is come:
Fro Tyr, anon ansuerde some,
And over this thei seiden more
The cause why thei comen fore
Was forto seche and forto finde
Appolinus, which was of kinde
Her liege lord: and he appiereth,
And of the tale which he hiereth
He was riht glad; for thei him tolde,
That for vengance, as god it wolde,
Antiochus, as men mai wite,
With thondre and lyhthnynge is forsmite;
His doghter hath the same chaunce,
So be thei bothe in o balance.
"Forthi, oure liege lord, we seie
In name of al the lond, and preie,
That left al other thing to done,
It like you to come sone
And se youre oghne liege men
With othre that ben of youre ken,
That live in longinge and desir
Til ye be come ayein to Tyr."
This tale after the king it hadde
Pentapolim al overspradde,
Ther was no joie forto seche;
For every man it hadde in speche
And seiden alle of on acord,
"A worthi king schal ben oure lord:
That thoghte ous ferst an hevinesse
Is schape ous now to gret gladnesse."
Thus goth the tidinge overal.
Bot nede he mot, that nede schal:
Appolinus his leve tok,
To god and al the lond betok
With al the poeple long and brod,
That he no lenger there abod.
The king and queene sorwe made,
Bot yit somdiel thei weren glade
Of such thing as thei herden tho:
And thus betwen the wel and wo
To schip he goth, his wif with childe,
The which was evere meke and mylde
And wolde noght departe him fro,
Such love was betwen hem tuo.
Lichorida for hire office
Was take, which was a Norrice,
To wende with this yonge wif,
To whom was schape a woful lif.
Withinne a time, as it betidde,
Whan thei were in the See amidde,
Out of the North they sihe a cloude;
The storm aros, the wyndes loude
Thei blewen many a dredful blast,
The welkne was al overcast,
The derke nyht the Sonne hath under,
Ther was a gret tempeste of thunder:
The Mone and ek the Sterres bothe
In blake cloudes thei hem clothe,
Wherof here brihte lok thei hyde.
This yonge ladi wepte and cride,
To whom no confort myhte availe;
Of childe sche began travaile,
Wher sche lay in a Caban clos:
Hire woful lord fro hire aros,
And that was longe er eny morwe,
So that in anguisse and in sorwe
Sche was delivered al be nyhte
And ded in every mannes syhte;
Bot natheles for al this wo
A maide child was bore tho.
Appolinus whan he this knew,
For sorwe a swoune he overthrew,
That noman wiste in him no lif.
And whanne he wok, he seide, "Ha, wif,
Mi lust, mi joie, my desir,
Mi welthe and my recoverir,
Why schal I live, and thou schalt dye?
Ha, thou fortune, I thee deffie,
Nou hast thou do to me thi werste.
Ha, herte, why ne wolt thou berste,
That forth with hire I myhte passe?
Mi peines weren wel the lasse."
In such wepinge and in such cry
His dede wif, which lay him by,
A thousend sithes he hire kiste;
Was nevere man that sih ne wiste
A sorwe unto his sorwe lich;
For evere among upon the lich
He fell swounende, as he that soghte
His oghne deth, which he besoghte
Unto the goddes alle above
With many a pitous word of love;
Bot suche wordes as tho were
Yit herde nevere mannes Ere,
Bot only thilke whiche he seide.
The Maister Schipman cam and preide
With othre suche as be therinne,
And sein that he mai nothing winne
Ayein the deth, bot thei him rede,
He be wel war and tak hiede,
The See be weie of his nature
Receive mai no creature
Withinne himself as forto holde,
The which is ded: forthi thei wolde,
As thei conseilen al aboute,
The dede body casten oute.
For betre it is, thei seiden alle,
That it of hire so befalle,
Than if thei scholden alle spille.
The king, which understod here wille
And knew here conseil that was trewe,
Began ayein his sorwe newe
With pitous herte, and thus to seie:
"It is al reson that ye preie.
I am," quod he, "bot on al one,
So wolde I noght for mi persone
Ther felle such adversite.
Bot whan it mai no betre be,
Doth thanne thus upon my word,
Let make a cofre strong of bord,
That it be ferm with led and pich."
Anon was mad a cofre sich,
Al redy broght unto his hond;
And whanne he sih and redy fond
This cofre mad and wel enclowed,
The dede bodi was besowed
In cloth of gold and leid therinne.
And for he wolde unto hire winne
Upon som cooste a Sepulture,
Under hire heved in aventure
Of gold he leide Sommes grete
And of jeueals a strong beyete
Forth with a lettre, and seide thus:
"I, king of Tyr Appollinus,
Do alle maner men to wite,
That hiere and se this lettre write,
That helpeles withoute red
Hier lith a kinges doghter ded:
And who that happeth hir to finde,
For charite tak in his mynde,
And do so that sche be begrave
With this tresor, which he schal have."
Thus whan the lettre was full spoke,
Thei haue anon the cofre stoke,
And bounden it with yren faste,
That it may with the wawes laste,
And stoppen it be such a weie,
That it schal be withinne dreie,
So that no water myhte it grieve.
And thus in hope and good believe
Of that the corps schal wel aryve,
Thei caste it over bord als blyve.
The Schip forth on the wawes wente;
The prince hath changed his entente,
And seith he wol noght come at Tyr
As thanne, bot al his desir
Is ferst to seilen unto Tharse.
The wyndy Storm began to skarse,
The Sonne arist, the weder cliereth,
The Schipman which behinde stiereth,
Whan that he sih the wyndes saghte,
Towardes Tharse his cours he straghte.
Bot now to mi matiere ayein,
To telle as olde bokes sein,
This dede corps of which ye knowe
With wynd and water was forthrowe
Now hier, now ther, til ate laste
At Ephesim the See upcaste
The cofre and al that was therinne.
Of gret merveile now beginne
Mai hiere who that sitteth stille;
That god wol save mai noght spille.
Riht as the corps was throwe alonde,
Ther cam walkende upon the stronde
A worthi clerc, a Surgien,
And ek a gret Phisicien,
Of al that lond the wisest on,
Which hihte Maister Cerymon;
Ther were of his disciples some.
This Maister to the Cofre is come,
He peiseth ther was somwhat in,
And bad hem bere it to his In,
And goth himselve forth withal.
Al that schal falle, falle schal;
Thei comen hom and tarie noght;
This Cofre is into chambre broght,
Which that thei finde faste stoke,
Bot thei with craft it have unloke.
Thei loken in, where as thei founde
A bodi ded, which was bewounde
In cloth of gold, as I seide er,
The tresor ek thei founden ther
Forth with the lettre, which thei rede.
And tho thei token betre hiede;
Unsowed was the bodi sone,
And he, which knew what is to done,
This noble clerk, with alle haste
Began the veines forto taste,
And sih hire Age was of youthe,
And with the craftes whiche he couthe
He soghte and fond a signe of lif.
With that this worthi kinges wif
Honestely thei token oute,
And maden fyres al aboute;
Thei leide hire on a couche softe,
And with a scheete warmed ofte
Hire colde brest began to hete,
Hire herte also to flacke and bete.
This Maister hath hire every joignt
With certein oile and balsme enoignt,
And putte a liquour in hire mouth,
Which is to fewe clerkes couth,
So that sche coevereth ate laste;
And ferst hire yhen up sche caste,
And whan sche more of strengthe cawhte,
Hire Armes bothe forth sche strawhte,
Hield up hire hond and pitously
Sche spak and seide, "Ha, wher am I?
Where is my lord, what world is this?"
As sche that wot noght hou it is.
Bot Cerymon the worthi leche
Ansuerde anon upon hire speche
And seith, "Ma dame, yee ben hiere,
Where yee be sauf, as yee schal hiere
Hierafterward; forthi as nou
Mi conseil is, conforteth you:
For trusteth wel withoute faile,
Ther is nothing which schal you faile,
That oghte of reson to be do."
Thus passen thei a day or tuo;
Thei speke of noght as for an ende,
Til sche began somdiel amende,
And wiste hireselven what sche mente.
Tho forto knowe hire hol entente,
This Maister axeth al the cas,
Hou sche cam there and what sche was.
"Hou I cam hiere wot I noght,"
Quod sche, "bot wel I am bethoght
Of othre thinges al aboute":
Fro point to point and tolde him oute
Als ferforthli as sche it wiste.
And he hire tolde hou in a kiste
The See hire threw upon the lond,
And what tresor with hire he fond,
Which was al redy at hire wille,
As he that schop him to fulfille
With al his myht what thing he scholde.
Sche thonketh him that he so wolde,
And al hire herte sche discloseth,
And seith him wel that sche supposeth
Hire lord be dreint, hir child also;
So sih sche noght bot alle wo.
Wherof as to the world nomore
Ne wol sche torne, and preith therfore
That in som temple of the Cite,
To kepe and holde hir chastete,
Sche mihte among the wommen duelle.
Whan he this tale hir herde telle,
He was riht glad, and made hire knowen
That he a dowhter of his owen
Hath, which he wol unto hir yive
To serve, whil thei bothe live,
In stede of that which sche hath lost;
Al only at his oghne cost
Sche schal be rendred forth with hire.
She seith, "Grant mercy, lieve sire,
God quite it you, ther I ne may."
And thus thei drive forth the day,
Til time com that sche was hol;
And tho thei take her conseil hol,
To schape upon good ordinance
And make a worthi pourveance
Ayein the day whan thei be veiled.
And thus, whan that thei be conseiled,
In blake clothes thei hem clothe,
This lady and the dowhter bothe,
And yolde hem to religion.
The feste and the profession
After the reule of that degre
Was mad with gret solempnete,
Where as Diane is seintefied;
Thus stant this lady justefied
In ordre wher sche thenkth to duelle.
Bot now ayeinward forto telle
In what plit that hire lord stod inne:
He seileth, til that he may winne
The havene of Tharse, as I seide er;
And whanne he was aryved ther,
And it was thurgh the Cite knowe,
Men myhte se withinne a throwe,
As who seith, al the toun at ones,
That come ayein him for the nones,
To yiven him the reverence,
So glad thei were of his presence:
And thogh he were in his corage
Desesed, yit with glad visage
He made hem chiere, and to his In,
Wher he whilom sojourned in,
He goth him straght and was resceived.
And whan the presse of poeple is weived,
He takth his hoste unto him tho,
And seith, "Mi frend Strangulio,
Lo, thus and thus it is befalle,
And thou thiself art on of alle,
Forth with thi wif, whiche I most triste.
Forthi, if it you bothe liste,
My doghter Thaise be youre leve
I thenke schal with you beleve
As for a time; and thus I preie,
That sche be kept be alle weie,
And whan sche hath of age more,
That sche be set to bokes lore.
And this avou to god I make,
That I schal nevere for hir sake
Mi berd for no likinge schave,
Til it befalle that I have
In covenable time of age
Beset hire unto mariage."
Thus thei acorde, and al is wel,
And forto resten him somdel,
As for a while he ther sojorneth,
And thanne he takth his leve and torneth
To Schipe, and goth him hom to Tyr,
Wher every man with gret desir
Awaiteth upon his comynge.
Bot whan the Schip com in seilinge,
And thei perceiven it is he,
Was nevere yit in no cite
Such joie mad as thei tho made;
His herte also began to glade
Of that he sih the poeple glad.
Lo, thus fortune his hap hath lad;
In sondri wise he was travailed,
Bot hou so evere he be assailed,
His latere ende schal be good.
And forto speke hou that it stod
Of Thaise his doghter, wher sche duelleth,
In Tharse, as the Cronique telleth,
Sche was wel kept, sche was wel loked,
Sche was wel tawht, sche was wel boked,
So wel sche spedde hir in hire youthe
That sche of every wisdom couthe,
That forto seche in every lond
So wys an other noman fond,
Ne so wel tawht at mannes yhe.
Bot wo worthe evere fals envie!
For it befell that time so,
A dowhter hath Strangulio,
The which was cleped Philotenne:
Bot fame, which wole evere renne,
Cam al day to hir moder Ere,
And seith, wher evere hir doghter were
With Thayse set in eny place,
The comun vois, the comun grace
Was al upon that other Maide,
And of hir doghter noman saide.
Who wroth but Dionise thanne?
Hire thoghte a thousend yer til whanne
Sche myhte ben of Thaise wreke
Of that sche herde folk so speke.
And fell that ilke same tyde,
That ded was trewe Lychoride,
Which hadde be servant to Thaise,
So that sche was the worse at aise,
For sche hath thanne no servise
Bot only thurgh this Dionise,
Which was hire dedlich Anemie
Thurgh pure treson and envie.
Sche, that of alle sorwe can,
Tho spak unto hire bondeman,
Which cleped was Theophilus,
And made him swere in conseil thus,
That he such time as sche him sette
Schal come Thaise forto fette,
And lede hire oute of alle sihte,
Wher as noman hire helpe myhte,
Upon the Stronde nyh the See,
And there he schal this maiden sle.
This cherles herte is in a traunce,
As he which drad him of vengance
Whan time comth an other day;
Bot yit dorste he noght seie nay,
Bot swor and seide he schal fulfille
Hire hestes at hire oghne wille.
The treson and the time is schape,
So fell it that this cherles knape
Hath lad this maiden ther he wolde
Upon the Stronde, and what sche scholde
Sche was adrad; and he out breide
A rusti swerd and to hir seide,
"Thou schalt be ded." "Helas!" quod sche,
"Why schal I so?" "Lo thus," quod he,
"Mi ladi Dionise hath bede,
Thou schalt be moerdred in this stede."
This Maiden tho for feere schryhte,
And for the love of god almyhte
Sche preith that for a litel stounde
Sche myhte knele upon the grounde,
Toward the hevene forto crave,
Hire wofull Soule if sche mai save:
And with this noise and with this cry,
Out of a barge faste by,
Which hidd was ther on Scomerfare,
Men sterten out and weren ware
Of this feloun,and he to go,
And sche began to crie tho,
"Ha, mercy, help for goddes sake!
Into the barge thei hire take,
As thieves scholde, and forth thei wente.
Upon the See the wynd hem hente,
And malgre wher thei wolde or non,
Tofor the weder forth thei gon,
Ther halp no Seil, ther halp non Ore,
Forstormed and forblowen sore
In gret peril so forth thei dryve,
Til ate laste thei aryve
At Mitelene the Cite.
In havene sauf and whan thei be,
The Maister Schipman made him boun,
And goth him out into the toun,
And profreth Thaise forto selle.
On Leonin it herde telle,
Which Maister of the bordel was,
And bad him gon a redy pas
To fetten hire, and forth he wente,
And Thaise out of his barge he hente,
And to this bordeller hir solde.
And he, that be hire body wolde
Take avantage, let do crye,
That what man wolde his lecherie
Attempte upon hire maidenhede,
Lei doun the gold and he schal spede.
And thus whan he hath crid it oute
In syhte of al the poeple aboute,
He ladde hire to the bordel tho.
No wonder is thogh sche be wo:
Clos in a chambre be hireselve,
Ech after other ten or tuelve
Of yonge men to hire in wente;
Bot such a grace god hire sente,
That for the sorwe which sche made
Was non of hem which pouer hade
To don hire eny vileinie.
This Leonin let evere aspie,
And waiteth after gret beyete;
Bot al for noght, sche was forlete,
That mo men wolde ther noght come.
Whan he therof hath hiede nome,
And knew that sche was yit a maide,
Unto his oghne man he saide,
That he with strengthe ayein hire leve
Tho scholde hir maidenhod bereve.
This man goth in, bot so it ferde,
Whan he hire wofull pleintes herde
And he therof hath take kepe,
Him liste betre forto wepe
Than don oght elles to the game.
And thus sche kepte hirself fro schame,
And kneleth doun to therthe and preide
Unto this man, and thus sche seide:
"If so be that thi maister wolde
That I his gold encresce scholde,
It mai noght falle be this weie:
Bot soffre me to go mi weie
Out of this hous wher I am inne,
And I schal make him forto winne
In som place elles of the toun,
Be so it be religioun,
Wher that honeste wommen duelle.
And thus thou myht thi maister telle,
That whanne I have a chambre there,
Let him do crie ay wyde where,
What lord that hath his doghter diere,
And is in will that sche schal liere
Of such a Scole that is trewe,
I schal hire teche of thinges newe,
Which as non other womman can
In al this lond." And tho this man
Hire tale hath herd, he goth ayein,
And tolde unto his maister plein
That sche hath seid; and therupon,
Whan than he sih beyete non
At the bordel be cause of hire,
He bad his man to gon and spire
A place wher sche myhte abyde,
That he mai winne upon som side
Be that sche can: bot ate leste
Thus was sche sauf fro this tempeste.
He hath hire fro the bordel take,
Bot that was noght for goddes sake,
Bot for the lucre, as sche him tolde.
Now comen tho that comen wolde
Of wommen in her lusty youthe,
To hiere and se what thing sche couthe:
Sche can the wisdom of a clerk,
Sche can of every lusti werk
Which to a gentil womman longeth,
And some of hem sche underfongeth
To the Citole and to the Harpe,
And whom it liketh forto carpe
Proverbes and demandes slyhe,
An other such thei nevere syhe,
Which that science so wel tawhte:
Wherof sche grete yiftes cawhte,
That sche to Leonin hath wonne;
And thus hire name is so begonne
Of sondri thinges that sche techeth,
That al the lond unto hir secheth
Of yonge wommen forto liere.
Nou lete we this maiden hiere,
And speke of Dionise ayein
And of Theophile the vilein,
Of whiche I spak of nou tofore.
Whan Thaise scholde have be forlore,
This false cherl to his lady
Whan he cam hom, al prively
He seith, "Ma Dame, slain I have
This maide Thaise, and is begrave
In prive place, as ye me biede.
Forthi, ma dame, taketh hiede
And kep conseil, hou so it stonde."
This fend, which this hath understonde,
Was glad, and weneth it be soth:
Now herkne, hierafter hou sche doth.
Sche wepth, sche sorweth, sche compleigneth,
And of sieknesse which sche feigneth
Sche seith that Taise sodeinly
Be nyhte is ded, "as sche and I
Togedre lyhen nyh my lord."
Sche was a womman of record,
And al is lieved that sche seith;
And forto yive a more feith,
Hire housebonde and ek sche bothe
In blake clothes thei hem clothe,
And made a gret enterrement;
And for the poeple schal be blent,
Of Thaise as for the remembrance,
After the real olde usance
A tumbe of latoun noble and riche
With an ymage unto hir liche
Liggende above therupon
Thei made and sette it up anon.
Hire Epitaffe of good assisse
Was write aboute, and in this wise
It spak: "O yee that this beholde,
Lo, hier lith sche, the which was holde
The faireste and the flour of alle,
Whos name Thaisis men calle.
The king of Tyr Appolinus
Hire fader was: now lith sche thus.
Fourtiene yer sche was of Age,
Whan deth hir tok to his viage."
Thus was this false treson hidd,
Which afterward was wyde kidd,
As be the tale a man schal hiere.
Bot forto clare mi matiere,
To Tyr I thenke torne ayein,
And telle as the Croniqes sein.
Whan that the king was comen hom,
And hath left in the salte fom
His wif, which he mai noght foryete,
For he som confort wolde gete,
He let somoune a parlement,
To which the lordes were asent;
And of the time he hath ben oute,
He seth the thinges al aboute,
And told hem ek hou he hath fare,
Whil he was out of londe fare;
And preide hem alle to abyde,
For he wolde at the same tyde
Do schape for his wyves mynde,
As he that wol noght ben unkinde.
Solempne was that ilke office,
And riche was the sacrifice,
The feste reali was holde:
And therto was he wel beholde;
For such a wif as he hadde on
In thilke daies was ther non.
Whan this was do, thanne he him thoghte
Upon his doghter, and besoghte
Suche of his lordes as he wolde,
That thei with him to Tharse scholde,
To fette his doghter Taise there:
And thei anon al redy were,
To schip they gon and forth thei wente,
Til thei the havene of Tharse hente.
They londe and faile of that thei seche
Be coverture and sleyhte of speche:
This false man Strangulio,
And Dionise his wif also,
That he the betre trowe myhte,
Thei ladden him to have a sihte
Wher that hir tombe was arraied.
The lasse yit he was mispaied,
And natheles, so as he dorste,
He curseth and seith al the worste
Unto fortune, as to the blinde,
Which can no seker weie finde;
For sche him neweth evere among,
And medleth sorwe with his song.
Bot sithe it mai no betre be,
He thonketh god and forth goth he
Seilende toward Tyr ayein.
Bot sodeinly the wynd and reyn
Begonne upon the See debate,
So that he soffre mot algate
The lawe which Neptune ordeigneth;
Wherof fulofte time he pleigneth,
And hield him wel the more esmaied
Of that he hath tofore assaied.
So that for pure sorwe and care,
Of that he seth his world so fare,
The reste he lefte of his Caban,
That for the conseil of noman
Ayein therinne he nolde come,
Bot hath benethe his place nome,
Wher he wepende al one lay,
Ther as he sih no lyht of day.
And thus tofor the wynd thei dryve,
Til longe and late thei aryve
With gret distresce, as it was sene,
Upon this toun of Mitelene,
Which was a noble cite tho.
And hapneth thilke time so,
The lordes bothe and the comune
The hihe festes of Neptune
Upon the stronde at the rivage,
As it was custumme and usage,
Sollempneliche thei besihe.
Whan thei this strange vessel syhe
Come in, and hath his Seil avaled,
The toun therof hath spoke and taled.
The lord which of the cite was,
Whos name is Athenagoras,
Was there, and seide he wolde se
What Schip it is, and who thei be
That ben therinne: and after sone,
Whan that he sih it was to done,
His barge was for him arraied,
And he goth forth and hath assaied.
He fond the Schip of gret Array,
Bot what thing it amonte may,
He seth thei maden hevy chiere,
Bot wel him thenkth be the manere
That thei be worthi men of blod,
And axeth of hem hou it stod;
And thei him tellen al the cas,
Hou that here lord fordrive was,
And what a sorwe that he made,
Of which ther mai noman him glade.
He preith that he here lord mai se,
Bot thei him tolde it mai noght be,
For he lith in so derk a place,
That ther may no wiht sen his face:
Bot for al that, thogh hem be loth,
He fond the ladre and doun he goth,
And to him spak, bot non ansuere
Ayein of him ne mihte he bere
For oght that he can don or sein;
And thus he goth him up ayein.
Tho was ther spoke in many wise
Amonges hem that weren wise,
Now this, now that, bot ate laste
The wisdom of the toun this caste,
That yonge Taise were asent.
For if ther be amendement
To glade with this woful king,
Sche can so moche of every thing,
That sche schal gladen him anon.
A Messager for hire is gon,
And sche cam with hire Harpe on honde,
And seide hem that sche wolde fonde
Be alle weies that sche can,
To glade with this sory man.
Bot what he was sche wiste noght,
Bot al the Schip hire hath besoght
That sche hire wit on him despende,
In aunter if he myhte amende,
And sein it schal be wel aquit.
Whan sche hath understonden it,
Sche goth hir doun, ther as he lay,
Wher that sche harpeth many a lay
And lich an Angel sang withal;
Bot he nomore than the wal
Tok hiede of eny thing he herde.
And whan sche sih that he so ferde,
Sche falleth with him into wordes,
And telleth him of sondri bordes,
And axeth him demandes strange,
Wherof sche made his herte change,
And to hire speche his Ere he leide
And hath merveile of that sche seide.
For in proverbe and in probleme
Sche spak, and bad he scholde deme
In many soubtil question:
Bot he for no suggestioun
Which toward him sche couthe stere,
He wolde noght o word ansuere,
Bot as a madd man ate laste
His heved wepende awey he caste,
And half in wraththe he bad hire go.
Bot yit sche wolde noght do so,
And in the derke forth sche goth,
Til sche him toucheth, and he wroth,
And after hire with his hond
He smot: and thus whan sche him fond
Desesed, courtaisly sche saide,
"Avoi, mi lord, I am a Maide;
And if ye wiste what I am,
And out of what lignage I cam,
Ye wolde noght be so salvage."
With that he sobreth his corage
And put awey his hevy chiere.
Bot of hem tuo a man mai liere
What is to be so sibb of blod:
Non wiste of other hou it stod,
And yit the fader ate laste
His herte upon this maide caste,
That he hire loveth kindely,
And yit he wiste nevere why.
Bot al was knowe er that thei wente;
For god, which wot here hol entente,
Here hertes bothe anon descloseth.
This king unto this maide opposeth,
And axeth ferst what was hire name,
And wher sche lerned al this game,
And of what ken that sche was come.
And sche, that hath hise wordes nome,
Ansuerth and seith, "My name is Thaise,
That was som time wel at aise:
In Tharse I was forthdrawe and fed,
Ther lerned I, til I was sped,
Of that I can. Mi fader eke
I not wher that I scholde him seke;
He was a king, men tolde me:
Mi Moder dreint was in the See."
Fro point to point al sche him tolde,
That sche hath longe in herte holde,
And nevere dorste make hir mone
Bot only to this lord al one,
To whom hire herte can noght hele,
Torne it to wo, torne it to wele,
Torne it to good, torne it to harm.
And he tho toke hire in his arm,
Bot such a joie as he tho made
Was nevere sen; thus be thei glade,
That sory hadden be toforn.
Fro this day forth fortune hath sworn
To sette him upward on the whiel;
So goth the world, now wo, now wel:
This king hath founde newe grace,
So that out of his derke place
He goth him up into the liht,
And with him cam that swete wiht,
His doghter Thaise, and forth anon
Thei bothe into the Caban gon
Which was ordeigned for the king,
And ther he dede of al his thing,
And was arraied realy.
And out he cam al openly,
Wher Athenagoras he fond,
The which was lord of al the lond:
He preith the king to come and se
His castell bothe and his cite,
And thus thei gon forth alle in fiere,
This king, this lord, this maiden diere.
This lord tho made hem riche feste
With every thing which was honeste,
To plese with this worthi king,
Ther lacketh him no maner thing:
Bot yit for al his noble array
Wifles he was into that day,
As he that yit was of yong Age;
So fell ther into his corage
The lusti wo, the glade peine
Of love, which noman restreigne
Yit nevere myhte as nou tofore.
This lord thenkth al his world forlore,
Bot if the king wol don him grace;
He waiteth time, he waiteth place,
Him thoghte his herte wol tobreke,
Til he mai to this maide speke
And to hir fader ek also
For mariage: and it fell so,
That al was do riht as he thoghte,
His pourpos to an ende he broghte,
Sche weddeth him as for hire lord;
Thus be thei alle of on acord.
Whan al was do riht as thei wolde,
The king unto his Sone tolde
Of Tharse thilke traiterie,
And seide hou in his compaignie
His doghter and himselven eke
Schull go vengance forto seke.
The Schipes were redy sone,
And whan thei sihe it was to done,
Withoute lette of eny wente
With Seil updrawe forth thei wente
Towardes Tharse upon the tyde.
Bot he that wot what schal betide,
The hihe god, which wolde him kepe,
Whan that this king was faste aslepe,
Be nyhtes time he hath him bede
To seile into an other stede:
To Ephesim he bad him drawe,
And as it was that time lawe,
He schal do there his sacrifise;
And ek he bad in alle wise
That in the temple amonges alle
His fortune, as it is befalle,
Touchende his doghter and his wif
He schal beknowe upon his lif.
The king of this Avisioun
Hath gret ymaginacioun,
What thing it signefie may;
And natheles, whan it was day,
He bad caste Ancher and abod;
And whil that he on Ancher rod,
The wynd, which was tofore strange,
Upon the point began to change,
And torneth thider as it scholde.
Tho knew he wel that god it wolde,
And bad the Maister make him yare,
Tofor the wynd for he wol fare
To Ephesim, and so he dede.
And whanne he cam unto the stede
Where as he scholde londe, he londeth
With al the haste he may, and fondeth
To schapen him be such a wise,
That he may be the morwe arise
And don after the mandement
Of him which hath him thider sent.
And in the wise that he thoghte,
Upon the morwe so he wroghte;
His doghter and his Sone he nom,
And forth unto the temple he com
With a gret route in compaignie,
Hise yiftes forto sacrifie.
The citezeins tho herden seie
Of such a king that cam to preie
Unto Diane the godesse,
And left al other besinesse,
Thei comen thider forto se
The king and the solempnete.
With worthi knyhtes environed
The king himself hath abandoned
Into the temple in good entente.
The dore is up, and he in wente,
Wher as with gret devocioun
Of holi contemplacioun
Withinne his herte he made his schrifte;
And after that a riche yifte
He offreth with gret reverence,
And there in open Audience
Of hem that stoden thanne aboute,
He tolde hem and declareth oute
His hap, such as him is befalle,
Ther was nothing foryete of alle.
His wif, as it was goddes grace,
Which was professed in the place,
As sche that was Abbesse there,
Unto his tale hath leid hire Ere:
Sche knew the vois and the visage,
For pure joie as in a rage
Sche strawhte unto him al at ones,
And fell aswoune upon the stones,
Wherof the temple flor was paved.
Sche was anon with water laved,
Til sche cam to hirself ayein,
And thanne sche began to sein:
"Ha, blessed be the hihe sonde,
That I mai se myn housebonde,
That whilom he and I were on!"
The king with that knew hire anon,
And tok hire in his Arm and kiste;
And al the toun thus sone it wiste.
Tho was ther joie manyfold,
For every man this tale hath told
As for miracle, and were glade,
Bot nevere man such joie made
As doth the king, which hath his wif.
And whan men herde hou that hir lif
Was saved, and be whom it was,
Thei wondren alle of such a cas:
Thurgh al the Lond aros the speche
Of Maister Cerymon the leche
And of the cure which he dede.
The king himself tho hath him bede,
And ek this queene forth with him,
That he the toun of Ephesim
Wol leve and go wher as thei be,
For nevere man of his degre
Hath do to hem so mochel good;
And he his profit understod,
And granteth with hem forto wende.
And thus thei maden there an ende,
And token leve and gon to Schipe
With al the hole felaschipe.
This king, which nou hath his desir,
Seith he wol holde his cours to Tyr.
Thei hadden wynd at wille tho,
With topseilcole and forth they go,
And striken nevere, til thei come
To Tyr, where as thei havene nome,
And londen hem with mochel blisse.
Tho was ther many a mowth to kisse,
Echon welcometh other hom,
Bot whan the queen to londe com,
And Thaise hir doghter be hir side,
The joie which was thilke tyde
Ther mai no mannes tunge telle:
Thei seiden alle, "Hier comth the welle
Of alle wommannysshe grace."
The king hath take his real place,
The queene is into chambre go:
Ther was gret feste arraied tho;
Whan time was, thei gon to mete,
Alle olde sorwes ben foryete,
And gladen hem with joies newe:
The descoloured pale hewe
Is now become a rody cheke,
Ther was no merthe forto seke,
Bot every man hath that he wolde.
The king, as he wel couthe and scholde,
Makth to his poeple riht good chiere;
And after sone, as thou schalt hiere,
A parlement he hath sommoned,
Wher he his doghter hath coroned
Forth with the lord of Mitelene,
That on is king, that other queene:
And thus the fadres ordinance
This lond hath set in governance,
And seide thanne he wolde wende
To Tharse, forto make an ende
Of that his doghter was betraied.
Therof were alle men wel paied,
And seide hou it was forto done:
The Schipes weren redi sone,
And strong pouer with him he tok;
Up to the Sky he caste his lok,
And syh the wynd was covenable.
Thei hale up Ancher with the cable,
The Seil on hih, the Stiere in honde,
And seilen, til thei come alonde
At Tharse nyh to the cite;
And whan thei wisten it was he,
The toun hath don him reverence.
He telleth hem the violence,
Which the tretour Strangulio
And Dionise him hadde do
Touchende his dowhter, as yee herde;
And whan thei wiste hou that it ferde,
As he which pes and love soghte,
Unto the toun this he besoghte,
To don him riht in juggement.
Anon thei were bothe asent
With strengthe of men, and comen sone,
And as hem thoghte it was to done,
Atteint thei were be the lawe
And diemed forto honge and drawe,
And brent and with the wynd toblowe,
That al the world it myhte knowe:
And upon this condicion
The dom in execucion
Was put anon withoute faile.
And every man hath gret mervaile,
Which herde tellen of this chance,
And thonketh goddes pourveance,
Which doth mercy forth with justice.
Slain is the moerdrer and moerdrice
Thurgh verray trowthe of rihtwisnesse,
And thurgh mercy sauf is simplesse
Of hire whom mercy preserveth;
Thus hath he wel that wel deserveth.
Whan al this thing is don and ended,
This king, which loved was and frended,
A lettre hath, which cam to him
Be Schipe fro Pentapolim,
Be which the lond hath to him write,
That he wolde understonde and wite
Hou in good mynde and in good pes
Ded is the king Artestrates,
Wherof thei alle of on acord
Him preiden, as here liege lord,
That he the lettre wel conceive
And come his regne to receive,
Which god hath yove him and fortune;
And thus besoghte the commune
Forth with the grete lordes alle.
This king sih how it was befalle,
Fro Tharse and in prosperite
He tok his leve of that Cite
And goth him into Schipe ayein:
The wynd was good, the See was plein,
Hem nedeth noght a Riff to slake,
Til thei Pentapolim have take.
The lond, which herde of that tidinge,
Was wonder glad of his cominge;
He resteth him a day or tuo
And tok his conseil to him tho,
And sette a time of Parlement,
Wher al the lond of on assent
Forth with his wif hath him corouned,
Wher alle goode him was fuisouned.
Lo, what it is to be wel grounded:
For he hath ferst his love founded
Honesteliche as forto wedde,
Honesteliche his love he spedde
And hadde children with his wif,
And as him liste he ladde his lif;
And in ensample his lif was write,
That alle lovers myhten wite
How ate laste it schal be sene
Of love what thei wolden mene.
For se now on that other side,
Antiochus with al his Pride,
Which sette his love unkindely,
His ende he hadde al sodeinly,
Set ayein kinde upon vengance,
And for his lust hath his penance. |
A chronicle of days long gone,
From Godfrey's pen, The Pantheon,
A tale of love relates to us
Of how the great Antiochus,
Whose name from Antioch he took
To be his own, so says the book,
Unto a noble queen was wed
With whom a baby girl was bred.
But by a luckless turn of fate
Death came, which kings may not abate,
But every person must obey,
And took his worthy queen away.
The king did mourn, for he was left
Alone, of his dear wife bereft.
However his young daughter fair,
Whose beauty was without compare,
Dwelt with him in the castle still.
But when a man has wealth at will,
The flesh is frail and prone to lust;
This maiden soft and full of trust,
Within her father's chambers dwelt;
In time he feelings for her felt.
Filled with concupiscent desire
His sense of conscience did retire.
This father was with lust so blind
That he bethought with all his mind
That his own daughter he would spoil.
This king had leisure free from toil;
With strength he, when the time was right,
Did with this maiden spend the night.
So young, she thought: "How could this be?"
She could not her virginity
Defend. She had to sacrifice
The flower of her youth to vice.
It did not help for her to weep,
For all the women who should keep
Her body safe were absent then;
And thus this maiden learned of men.
The father his own flesh devoured,
Who all alone in sorrow cowered,
And this weighed heavy on her mind.
But after this deed most unkind,
Out of the chamber went the king,
And she lay still, and of this thing
Within herself she was so sad,
There was no one to make her glad,
So feared was this most awful sin.
Her babysitter did come in
Who had her from her childhood kept,
And asked of her if she had slept,
And why her cheer from her had strayed.
But she which had just then been laid
And vengeance could not hope to wreak,
Was shamed so she could barely speak.;
For mercy weeping she did pray;
Eyes filled with tears she thus did say:
"Alas, my sister, never may
I have to live through such a day!
He that my body did beget
Has given cause to make me fret;
My worldly honor now is gone."
With that she moaned all night till dawn,
And ever wished that she could die,
So that her breath almost ran dry.
Her lady, which did hear her cry,
To comfort answered: "Let it lie.
Your father's foolish wish to thwart
Knows no recovering - play it smart.
The deed once done, there is no cure.
Those suff'ring simply must endure."
Of this there's no one else aware
The king may have her whensoe'er
He fancies for his pleasure's fare;
So long to do this he did dare,
And took so much delight therein,
That he did think it was no sin;
And she dared not from him to hide.
But fame, which travels far and wide,
To sundry regions round about
The great attractiveness to tout
Of such a maid of breeding high;
In marriage for her hand to try
Do worthy princes come, for they
Think all is honorable; nay,
Of how it was, they had no clue.
The king, her father, when he knew
His daughter they had come to woo,
With all his wit, and cunning too,
A clever hindrance he did frame,
A law to trap whoever came,
A statute which required of such
As for his daughter asked, this much:
That if a certain riddle he
The right solution failed to see
When certain things were hinted at
Which would be told, be certain that
He to his head should say: "Good-bye!"
And in this way did many die;
Their heads adorned the castle gate,
Till at long last none came to mate,
For lack of answer which the prize
Would win, the remnant that were wise
Eschewed the riddle to assay.
Until it happened one fine day
That Appolinus, Prince of Tyre,
Who had for love a great desire,
Since he was in an active state,
Hot-blooded, looking for a mate;
A young, a fresh, a lusty knight,
Lay musing on his bed one night
Upon the tidings he'd been told;
He thought to try it he'd be bold.
With worthy company he stood
Surrounded with a navy good.
A ship he boards, the wind him drives;
Away he sails, till he arrives.
Safe in the port of Antioch
He lands, and straightway goes, to talk,
Unto the presence of the king.
Of science and of ev'ry thing
Which any cleric could him teach
He well did know, and, in his speech,
For eloquence he had great fame,
And when unto the king he came,
He prayed to have his daughter's hand.
The jealous king did then demand,
According to his law of lust,
That he unto his question must
Correctly answer, failing not,
Or with his head it shall be bought.
So for the riddle he did ask.
The king declared beneath a mask
Of visage that was stern and grim,
And in this manner said to him:
"With felony I have grown up,
And I have not declined to sup
Upon my mother's flesh, whose man,
My father, overstepped the ban.
And so to see if you will live,
Hereof I am inquisitive,
He who can solve my little tale,
Shall have my daughter without fail.
But should his answer wrong be found,
He shall end up beneath the ground.
For you my son," so said the king,
"Be well advised about this thing,
Which has thy life in danger placed."
And so this prince no time did waste;
When he this question hard did hear,
The king he answers with no fear:
All points he covers, missing none,
Till with the story he is done.
“If you this question that you pose
Do really want me to expose,
It touches things, most privately,
With thine own daughter, and with thee,
And sends all hell upon you two.”
The king regretted that he knew,
And worried that if it got out
It would disgrace him all about.
With words both sly and angry too
He says: “My son, I say to you,
Though you are young and ill-advised,
Be careful, and don’t be surprised
If tender years do not suffice;
But look ye well to my advice;
To spare thee it doth please my grace
To give thee thirty days of space.
My warning you’d be well to heed.”
This time established, he was freed.
This youthful prince, as forth he went
Did understand well what was meant;
That which he’d learned, within his mind
Made him to doubt the king was kind
To give him time so much delayed;
In dread he was, and most dismayed
That he for treason might well die,
Since to the king he would not lie.
Then when the night’s tide did avail
He did decide ‘twas time to sail.
So for his crew he quickly sent
And home again to Tyre he went.
He dreaded what it might portend
If he that monarch did offend;
He knew full well the great king’s will:
He’d send assassins him to kill.
The king would see his life destroyed,
But he, that would his death avoid,
Thought he had best precaution take;
That his own land he should forsake.
He must no longer there abide,
For he knew well that on some side
This tyrant, guilty of one crime,
Aggrieved, might well another time
Some kind of treachery employ.
Forthwith, with no Good-bye’s, ahoy,
As secretly as e’er he might,
He launches out to sea by night.
In ships all loaded down with wheat:
Their tackle ready, now the fleet
Does haul up sail, and forth they go.
But oh, to tell of all the woe
That they of Tyre did suffer through
When that he’d gone from them, they knew!
It is a pity them to hear.
They lost all lustfulness, all cheer;
All of their faces were so long;
There was no dance, there was no song;
But ev’ry mirth and melody
To them was then a malady;
For that adventure none did care;
There was no man who cut his hair;
In doleful clothes they all were dressed,
As one and all their grief confessed;
They shut themselves in everywhere;
No playful life could any bear;
No joyfulness could any keep,
But for their lord and liege they weep.
All said with countenances dour:
“Alas, that lusty, youthful flower,
Our prince, our governor, our head,
Who us in honor ever led,
Without the general assent,
So suddenly away he went.”
Such was the clamor of them all.
But let us see what did befall
Those in the tale we first did tell,
On which we now return to dwell.
Antiochus, the ruling sire,
Was full of rancor and of ire.
His heart did burn down deep inside
From what this prince of Tyre replied.
He had a wicked bachelor
Who was his private counselor,
And Thaliart, they called this knave.
The king strong poison to him gave
Within a box, along with gold;
To go with all haste, he was told,
Straight unto Tyre, no cost to spare
Until he reached that city, where
He would be able to destroy
That prince who did the king annoy.
So in a galley Thaliart,
Without delaying, did depart.
A wind most favorable bore
His vessel, till upon the shore
Of Tyre he landed, then he went
Unto the city, there to rent
A room in which his time to bide,
To keep from being known, and hide.
Then in disguise he does go out
And sees the weeping all about.
He asked why all seemed so forlorn,
And he was told: the people mourn,
For suddenly their prince did go.
And when he saw that it was so,
And that his labor was in vain,
He did return to home again,
And to the king, when he came near,
He told what he did see and hear:
How that the Prince of Tyre had fled,
So he returned without him dead.
The king was upset for a while,
But when he saw that with no wile
Could he achieve his cruelty,
He ceased his wrath and let him be.
Enough of this, and now to tell
Of the adventures that befell
This prince of whom I spoke to you:
He did hid his course hold, right and true,
By sailor’s compass, till he came
To Tharse, as was this country’s name.
A merchant rich in fees and gold
From all the merchandise he sold,
Strangulio, in his estate
There dwelt with Dionise, his mate.
So this young prince, so says the book,
With him and her, his lodging took.
That city, sometime in the past,
A famine had, which still did last;
And it was so severe that they
Had neither wheat, nor corn, nor whey.
When Appolinus of this learned:
How badly had their fortunes turned,
He took his wheat and, since he cared,
Of his own gift he freely shared,
Which with him in his ships he brought;
He gave, and of them took he naught.
Oh never, since the world began
Did ever come to such a man
More joy than he by them was caused,
As him to homage pay they paused.
So they would never him forget,
A statue of him they did set
Out in the city’s central square,
So every person passing there
Could look upon his honored face,
So very thankful was this place.
With shiny copper it was faced,
And thus his gift he did not waste.
One time while he was on the run,
He disembarked to have some fun,
And in his way a man he sees
Who fell to greet him on his knees,
And prayed his lord might listen well
To certain things which he would tell.
This man, called Helican, said thus:
How that the great Antiochus
His blood to spill did lie in wait.
Upon this he did contemplate;
And for this warning he did state
That he was grateful. “Don’t relate,”
He asked, “When you to Tyre go home,
That you in Tharse did see me roam.”
Now fortune never stays the same;
E’er mutable be wealth and fame.
What it will be we cannot know;
Sometimes it’s high, and sometimes low;
Now full of bliss, now full of woe,
The telling of my tale will show.
A man may act deceitfully,
Which causes great distress to see.
This lord, who tried to do his best,
Within himself had little rest,
And thought that he his place would change,
And find another land more strange.
He took his leave of Tharse, anon,
And to his waiting ship is gone.
His course he took, with updrawn sail;
At Fortune’s mercy blows the gale;
And shows, as I shall now rehearse,
How she was to this lord diverse,
As on the sea she made him go.
In weather dark the wind did blow,
A tempest strong arose with rain;
No anchor could the ship restrain.
So busted up was all its gear
That all the sailors stood in fear.
All paralyzed they were, aghast
They trembling stood beneath the mast.
And waited for the time when down
The ship would go, and they would drown.
Those in the hold confined did weep
To think of dying in the deep.
Distressed to see the ship’s travail,
The young king cried, to no avail;
The mast broke up, the sails were lost,
The ship upon the waves was tossed,
Until they saw a coast nearby.
A prayer they made, both low and high,
That they might live this land to reach;
But Neptune, rising near the beach,
Would not their wish accommodate:
All cables snapped, it was their fate
That they would never reach a dock.
The ship broke up upon a rock,
And all went to a wat’ry grave.
But He, that everything may save,
Was merciful unto this lord,
And brought him safe upon a board,
Which bore him up, unto the land,
While the remainder of his band
Were lost, which made him weep and moan.
Thus was this young lord all alone
And naked, in a sorry plight;
His color, usually white,
The water faded pale in tone,
For he was chilled clear to the bone.
He knew no cure for all his pain;
It didn’t help him, to complain,
What he had lost, now to regain.
But she, called Fortune, who would fain
Have rescued him, did send him aid,
No mighty miracle she made,
But when he thought all grace was gone,
A fisher unto him was drawn:
He neared, and there came into view
A naked man, and when he knew
The reason, he compassion had.
Out of pure goodness he was sad,
And of such clothing as he had,
With pity great, this lord he clad.
The prince said: “Thanks for saving me.
For you a nice reward there’ll be,
If I’m restored, I shall decree.
I pray, kind sir, could you please see
If any town for me is nigh?”
“Oh yes, Pentapolim’s nearby,”
He said, “where dwell a king and queen.”
When he did contemplate this scene,
He cheered up and desired to know
Of him, if he the way would show.
He said: “Why sure.” Then off they went.
He prayed to God with good intent:
“May joy my sorrow chase away.”
It was not yet the next mid-day,
When thitherward he took his way,
Where he soon ‘neath the burning ray
Of noonday sun at length arrived;
With food and drink he felt revived.
So after he consumed his lunch
He toured the town and found a bunch
Of young, athletic, lusty guys;
And shortly he did realize
That this day was a special one
When they, as in this land is done,
Should, as he heard the people say,
Come all unto the games to play.
So it was cried that they should come
Unto the commons all, where some
Who were more nimble and more sprite
Could show such mastery as they might.
They could with clothes not be attired,
For so that kind of game required;
By custom they all clothes must lose
And none amongst them may refuse.
The cream of all the town was there:
All of the court, and ladies fair;
Held in a place that was quite large,
Before the king, who was in charge,
And Artestrathes was his name.
In front of him they played the game.
Upon him who most skill did show
A nice reward they did bestow,
Who through he city bore his prize.
Now Appolinus, who was wise,
Of any game the goal could learn;
So when to try, it came his turn
He boldly went and jumped right in,
And for himself a name did win;
So that the king saw fairly fast
That all the others he surpassed;
He took the prize above them all.
The king bade that into his hall,
At suppertime he should be brought,
And that he should neglect it not,
Without companions, only him:
For no one was of face and limb
So pleasant. That he not be bare
Some clothes were found for him to wear.
So at this suppertime affair
The king, midst all assembled there,
Saluted him above them all,
And bade the Marshall of the hall
To set him up in such a place
That all might gaze upon his face.
The king sat down and soon was served,
And he, that had his prize deserved,
According to the king’s decree,
Began his meal where all could see,
Including both the king and queen.
He cast his eyes upon this scene
Of lords in regal robes bedecked.
Within himself he did reflect:
He thought of all that he had lost;
With sorrow did he count the cost.
He thought of how he had been spared;
In stillness; for no food he cared.
The king his heaviness did see,
And also his nobility.
His daughter, who was fair and good,
Before him at the table stood;
As on occasions like this one
The custom was, he bade her run
An errand, that his guest might have
Some cheer that might his sorrow salve.
And so she went, and him did ask
That he his mystery might unmask;
And prayed he should his thoughts reveal.
He said: “For you I will unseal
My thoughts, I Appolinus am.
As to my worldly fortune, Ma’m,
I’ve lost it underneath the sea.
The land of my nativity,
Where my estate I left.” he said,
“The city Tyre, from which I fled.
Of worshipping of worldly stuff,
Unto that god, I’d had enough.”
And as he thus unto her speaks
The tears run down on both his cheeks.
The king, who both of them espied,
Took pity, seeing that he cried.
He called his daughter to his side
And then her to persuade, he tried,
That she no longer would delay,
But go and fetch her harp to play;
And so to try in every way
To make this sad man bright and gay.
So at her fathers beck and call
She fetched her harp, and in the hall,
Upon a chair they did provide,
This sad young prince she sat beside.
She tried as hard as she could try
To sing and make his spirits high;
To cheer him up so he’d not cry.
“Did you enjoy the song that I
Did sing?” “Oh yes, it made my day!
But if a certain tune you’d play
Which I could show you, if I may,
It would all sorrow chase away.”
“I’d like that very much;” said she,
“Now take the harp and let me see
Just what this tune is that you’d sing.”
Thus prayed the queen, thus prayed the king,
With all the lords that pitied him,
That he would soon not be so grim.
He takes the harp and in his way
He tunes it and begins to play;
And singing with a style so rare,
A dulcet voice did fill the air,
Which seemed celestial sound to be,
Like some angelic melody.
They to his singing raised a toast,
But liked his company the most.
And when the princess heard him sing,
And she did think of everything
That to her query he’d replied,
She was convinced down deep inside,
That he was of nobility:
From his deeds this was clear to see.
Beyond the wisdom of his lore
There was no need to search for more,
For he could only show the same
If he of noble lineage came.
When he had tuned the Muses’ lyre
To satisfy the king’s desire,
Away goes dish and serving cup;
The tables down, the cloth picked up,
All rose and went out from the hall.
The king his chamberlain did call,
And bade him to prepare a bed
Where this man might lay down his head,
Which should near his own chambers be.
“It shall be done, my lord,” said he.
So Appolinus left, with him,
These rulers of Pentapolim;
And also left the worthy maid,
She which unto her father prayed,
That she might learn, from that young man,
All of the sciences he can
Explain to her. The king could not
Refuse; she his permission got.
So for the prince once more he sent;
It was, before to bed they went,
Agreed that to this maiden fair,
And young, and fresh, beyond compare,
Of all his learning he would teach.
When this agreement they did reach,
All separated for the night.
The morning next, when it grew light,
For this young man who came from Tyre,
Whom everyone did much admire,
That fair young lady did acquire
Fine clothes with which him to attire.
And thus she made him well at ease,
And he, in order her to please,
To teach her, labored every day,
Until she with great skill could play
Upon the harp, citole, and rote,
With many a tune and many a note.
Of theory he did teach enough,
Until she really knew her stuff.
Her skill did almost equal his,
But youth impressionable is;
With lots of time upon her hands
This maiden in a quand’ry lands.
Untamed, footloose, and fancy free,
She on the one hand wants to be,
But on the other love, despite
Her wishes, says her heart is right
To love and to obey him now;
To his law ardently she’ll bow.
She never knew just what it was
That made her feel this way, because
To think upon this man of Tyre,
Her heart makes hot as any fire,
But otherwise that heat is gone;
Sometimes she’s red, and sometimes wan.
When she imagines love, she’s hot;
But when she doesn’t, she is not.
No matter what her thoughts may be,
She prizes her virginity;
For she may laugh, or she may weep,
But ever her good name she’ll keep;
Her good repute to lose she fears.
Sometimes in mirth, sometimes in tears,
In love she is in such a plight,
That she has lost all appetite
For food and drink, and sleeping too;
Not being sure of what to do,
She oft sits by herself and pines
Within the lonely, small confines
Of her own room, and goes not out:
The king was of her life in doubt,
He knew not what this was about.
It happened once when he went out
To walk, three princes’ sons came nigh,
Fell on their knees, and each did try
And offer to of service be
To him, if only he’d agree
To let them have his daughter’s hand.
To save his honor in the land
He says: “She’s sick. The time’s not right
This matter to discuss tonight;
But each of you a bill can write,”
He bade, “wherein your troth you plight:
Your name, your parentage, and wealth,
And when she is in better health,
And has considered all your notes,
I shall advise you how she votes.”
This was the answer they desired,
So they wrote all the king required.
Each man his own petition penned,
Which he unto the king did send.
He to his daughter gave them all,
And prayed for her to make the call,
Then bade her a response to pen
On how she felt about these men.
These notices had no effect,
For all their loves she did reject.
She worried she was out of place,
And might fall from her father’s grace
If she had failed some hope of his:
“The shame which in a maiden is”
She wrote, “with speech I can’t unlock;
In writing only, not with talk;
So, father dear, my pen I’ll use:
If Appolinus I must lose,
Whatever else may be my fate,
None other will I tolerate.
If him I cannot have, I know
That I will not survive, and so
You will for me be daughterless.”
The letter came, a crowd did press
Around the king, her will to hear;
And when he understood her fear
He privately to every one
Delivered her response, so none
The other’s disposition knew.
They left, this disappointed crew,
And ventured forth upon their way.
The king would unto no one say
What confidence she had that day
Disclosed to him in writing; nay,
Until he saw the time was right,
And did this man of Tyre invite
Unto his chamber, where he shared
The note wherein his daughter bared
Her secret feelings; Whereon he
Unto the ground did bend his knee,
And to him did convey how great
His thanks. Ere they did separate,
With heart sincere and good faith too,
On marriage with devotion true,
He and the king did both agree.
And when the daughter found out, she
Such joy did feel, there was no gift
Of this world’s riches that could lift
Her soul to such a joyful height:
So then, as swiftly as he might,
For her consent he’d gain, he went
And for the queen, her mother, sent.
The queen arrived, and when she heard
Of all the things that just occurred,
Had no objection, showed no stress,
But shared her daughter’s happiness,
And gave her blessing to this bond,
For of her daughter she was fond.
For there was none but him who knew
Of his past, what was really true.
Still everyone was of the view,
The truth that his deeds pointed to
Was that he was of noble birth;
He only lacked the goods of earth.
But of that there is no despair,
For she shall be her father’s heir.
He could cause kingdoms to endure,
Thus none could say to him or her
Your love cannot permitted be.
So on a plan they did agree:
Their marriage date and time was fixed.
When hearts are ruled by love unmixed,
There is no need to be fast paced
And marriage consummate in haste.
But soon it’s time to throw the rice;
With offerings and sacrifice
They wed, and make a banquet rich
And all things honorable which
Are in the house or outside are
Prepared for nobles from afar
Who’ve come here their respects to pay,
And many a man cried out to say,
Unto the lords, a welcome loud.
So first the knights, both young and proud,
Do joust, and afterwards they dance,
For day is gone, away go lance,
And horse, and armor; now night’s chance
Has come, with moonlight for romance:
To bed this lord goes with his wife,
Where they enjoyed a lusty life.
Well, it was evident one day
That, as between them they did play,
A baby they begat, who’d know
Much grief, and misery, and woe.
I’ve told how they exchanged their rings,
But now to speak of wondrous things
Which to them happened later on:
For as one lovely day did dawn
Out from the palace they had gone,
The king and queen and all, to yon
Inviting sandy beach to play,
When by the sunlight’s morning ray,
They saw a ship come in the bay;
And wondered at its great display.
Till it came into dock, they stay,
Then standing round are heard to say:
“What signifies this rich array
Of brightly colored pennants, pray?”
They asked from whence the ship had hailed.
“From Tyre.” The answer came, “we sailed.”
“And what is more,” these sailors said,
“The reason we have here been led,
Is that we search throughout the earth
For Appolinus, who by birth
Our lord and liege is.” He appears,
And by the story which he hears
He was relieved, for him they told
God did his vengeance not withhold:
Antiochus, as was his luck,
Was by a bolt of lightning struck.
His daughter? The same fate for her:
The scales of justice evened were.
“Our liege and lord we speak, therefore,
And for our whole land we implore
That you all other things might drop:
Let coming home be at the top
Of your priorities; your own
Most loyal men and kin that moan,
All live in longing and desire
Till ye be home again to Tyre.”
This news first to the king’s ear goes,
But all Pentapolim soon knows.
Dejected were both old and young;
It was on everybody’s tongue,
And all did say, of one accord:
“A worthy king had been our lord,
Who seemed down in the dumps at first,
But now with sadness we are cursed!
Such was the people’s low morale.
But what he needs to do he shall:
So Appolinus leaves this land,
Commending into God’s just hand
All men and women, far and wide.
No longer would he there abide.
The king and queen were made to grieve.
Yet somehow they were glad he’d leave,
As they had heard the how’s and why’s.
And thus between their lows and highs
The ship he boards, his wife with child,
Who ever was both meek and mild,
Goes too; from him she’d never part,
So deep the love was in her heart.
Lichorida he took with them,
For as a nurse she was a gem,
To travel with his pregnant wife,
Whose fate would be a woeful life.
It happened then, quite suddenly,
When they were far out on the sea,
That from the north appears a cloud;
A storm arose, the winds were loud,
With many a cold and dreadful blast;
The heavens were all overcast.
It was like night, though ‘neath the sun;
It thundered like a roaring gun.
The moon and stars with all their light
Were clothed in clouds as black as night,
Which all their shining brightness hide.
So this young lady wept and cried;
All comfort did from her depart,
As into labor she did start,
Where in a cabin she did lay.
Her sad lord rose and went away.
This was long ere the next day’s dawn,
So that in anguish she upon
He bed travailed all night, then fell
And died, as near as all could tell.
But nonetheless of all this pain
A maid child came; ‘twas not in vain.
But Appolinus, when he knew,
For sorrow swooned, and fainted too.
In him could none see any life.
And when he woke, he said: “Ah, wife,
My lust, my happiness, and my
Great wealth, and my reviver, why?
Why shall I live, and thou shalt die?
Ah, fortune, thou shalt I defy,
Now thou has done to me the worst.
Ah, heart, I pray that thou wouldst burst,
That I along with her might die;
Then would my pains far from me fly.”
Thus he did weep, and wail, and cry.
His dead wife, which by him did lie,
He gave a thousand kisses to;
There never was a man who knew
Such pain. He knew not what to do.
Upon her corpse himself he threw,
And as upon her he did lay,
To end his own life he did pray
Unto all gods who dwell above,
With many piteous words of love.
Such words as he did utter here
Were never heard by any ear
Besides those who were there that day.
The master shipmate came to say,
Along with all the rest therein:
“It is in vain you seek to win
A war with death.” Him they advise
That he should be aware and wise,
That on a ship it’s not allowed
To keep a body ‘neath a shroud;
For giving passage to the dead
Will lead to bad luck, it is said.
Their counsel was: “It’s apropos
The body overboard to throw.”
For it was better, all agreed,
That they with her should thus proceed
Than that all perish in the sea.
The king, who fathomed their decree,
And knew that their advice was sound,
Began again his grief profound;
And thus he said, all sad and blue,
“What you advise is very true.
I’m only one.” He said, “but you
Are many, and it would not do
For me to bring adversity.
But I would beg this much of thee,
That you might do as I direct:
A coffin make, without defect,
All reinforced with lead and pitch.”
Anon was made that coffin which,
When ready, was to him revealed.
He saw that it was firmly sealed
With nails, and too with tar was pitched,
And that her body was all stitched
In cloth of gold, and gently lain
Therein, and so that she might gain
A sepulcher upon some coast,
Beneath her head he placed a most
Enormous sum of precious gold,
And all the jewels that it would hold.
And in a note, thus, his desire:
“I Appolinus, king of Tyre,
In order to all men apprise,
Do send this missive to advise
That for his daughter, some king cries,
Who herein dead and helpless lies;
May he that happens her to find
Be of a charitable mind,
And with this treasure her provide
Interment fitting for my bride.”
And when this note was placed inside,
The lid was nailed, and for her ride
With iron it was tightly tied;
Through rough waves it would smoothly glide.
And it was sealed in such a way,
That all dry inside it would stay,
So she might, free of water, lay.
They cast it overboard, and pray
That her dead body safely may
Arrive upon some shore one day.
The ship forth on the waves did go;
The prince his course did alter, though.
He said he would not come to Tyre
Just yet, for as was his desire,
He’d like first unto Tharse to sail.
Diminished was the windy gale;
The sun came out, the weather cleared,
Behind the wheel the pilot steered,
And when he saw the winds abate,
He unto Tharse his course set straight.
But let’s turn first to other things
Of which my ancient writing sings:
This corpse, from which all life seemed lost,
By wind upon the waves was tossed
Now here, now there, until at last
At Ephesim the sea upcast
The coffin and what was therein.
A miracle did now begin;
Sit still, and contemplate this thought:
What God would save will perish not.
Just as the corpse this shore did reach,
A man came walking on the beach;
A scholar and a surgeon who
Was a renowned physician too,
The wisest man who walked upon
That land, named Master Cerymon;
Of his disciples some stood by
As to the coffin he came nigh.
Inside he sensed there was a load;
He bade them bear to his abode
This heavy box, then forth went he,
And what did happen we shall see;
They came straight home, and tarried not;
The coffin to his chamber brought,
Which they did find securely shut,
But with their skill the seal they cut.
They looked inside, and there they found
A body dead, which was all wound
In gold cloth, as I said before,
The treasure also and, what’s more,
They found the letter, which they read.
And though loath to disturb the dead,
The body soon they did unsew,
And he who, what to do, did know,
This noble scholar, wise and sage,
Began to try her pulse to gauge,
And saw that she was young in age,
And with his knowledge to assuage
Affliction, found a sign of life.
With that this worthy monarch’s wife
And he, her carefully took out,
And fires ignited all about;
A sofa, soft and plush, she graced,
With oft-warmed blankets on her placed;
Her breast, all cold, began to heat,
Her heart did palpitate and beat.
This master did her every joint
With smooth, balsamic oil anoint,
And put a liquor in her mouth,
Which few do know, from north to south,
Until at last she did revive,
And realized she was alive.
When movement she again commands,
She stretches forth both of her hands.
And raising them unto the sky
She spoke and said: “Oh, where am I?
Where is my lord?” Thus she inquired,
As she knew not what had transpired.
And so the surgeon Cerymon
An answer to her gave, anon,
And said: “Don’t worry so, my dear,
You’re safe now; in due time you’ll hear
The whys and wherefores, but for now
Take comfort; I do tell thee thou
Canst be assured that everything
You need, unto you we will bring,
If that is possible to do.”
And thus they passed a day or two;
Of how all would be clarified
They spoke not, till she did decide
That her own purposes she knew.
Then, so she’d have a better view,
She asked that he to her relate
Just who she was, and of her fate.
“How did I come here, and from where?”
She asked, “You see, I’m well aware
Of other matters hereabout”:
Which she unto him pointed out
As truthfully as she knew how.
So of the chest he told her now,
Thrown by the sea up on the ground,
And of the treasure that he found;
The gold with which she was bedecked,
That he had promised to protect
With all the power that he had.
That he would do this, she was glad;
Her whole heart she to him disclosed;
She said to him that she supposed
Her husband and her daughter drowned;
So she herself in anguish found.
Wherefore unto the world no more
Would she return, and prays therefore,
That in some temple on their shore,
So that men she might see no more,
She might with only women stay.
And when he heard her talk this way,
He was delighted, and did say,
A daughter of his own, this day,
He would unto her gladly give
To serve her, while they both did live,
And fill the void, of what she’d lost;
All totally at his own cost
She shall for hire delivered be.
She said: “ May God grant unto thee
The recompense I never could.”
The days went by, till she felt good;
The time did come to say farewell;
And they had learned their lessons well,
To make appropriate attire
And all provisions they require
For that day when they would be veiled.
Their solemn rituals entailed
That this man’s daughter, and that she,
Both dressed in clothes of black should be,
That they religious vows might take,
And priestess a profession make,
In rites that are required to be
Conducted with solemnity,
For there Diane is sanctified;
That’s where this lady shall abide
And in a righteous order live.
But an account now let us give
Concerning her poor husband’s plight:
He set sail, hoping that he might
Of Tharse’s harbor come in sight;
When on that shore he did alight,
Throughout the city went the word;
As soon as all the people heard,
The whole town all at once came out,
And words of welcome all did shout,
To let him know he was revered,
And that to them he was endeared:
Though sadness did his heart encase,
Yet he put on a pleasant face
And made them cheer, then off he went
To that inn where he time oft spent;
There many pressed around at first,
But when the crowd was all dispersed,
With his host he some time does spend,
And says: “Strangulio, my friend,
Lo thus and such has been my lot,
But you of all are one I’ve got
Whom, with your wife, I most do trust.
To ask of you, therefore, I must,
If Thaise, my daughter, you both could
Allow to live, if that seems good,
With you a while, and thus I pray
That she be trained in every way,
And when she somewhat older grows,
May you her unto books expose.
And thus a vow to God I make,
That I shall never for her sake
My beard with any razor touch,
Until the time is seemly such
That being old enough to date,
She’s ready with a man to mate.”
Thus all is well, for they’re agreed;
Some rest, of which he is in need,
He takes, for soon he will sojourn,
Then to his ship he does return,
And sets his course straight home to Tyre,
Where every man with great desire
For him doth wait most eagerly.
So when his ship at last they see,
And they perceive that it is he,
Such happiness there was, and glee,
As never any city knew;
His heart was very happy too
To see them making such a fuss.
Lo, fortune hat determined thus:
Through many trials though he’d gone,
However he’d been set upon,
For him all things will turn out well.
Now let us speak of what befell
His daughter Thaise, where she did dwell,
In Tharse, as ancient sources tell.
She was well trained, she was well bred,
She was well into learning led.
So well, in fact, did she succeed
That in all things she took the lead.
In every land, search as one may,
So wise a student no man may
Discover, so well taught was she.
But where worth is, there envy be!
And now, as fate would have it, lo
A daughter had Strangulio;
Her name was Philotenne, who vied;
But fame, which travels far and wide,
Came to her mother’s ear all day;
And wheresoe’er her daughter may,
In any place, be seen with Thaise,
The common voice, the common praise
That other maiden all did take,
And of her daughter no man spake.
This angered Dionise no end;
A thousand years she seemed to spend
Till she on Thaise could vengeance take
For what she heard, that people spake.
It was at that same time she cried,
For true Lichorida had died,
Who had been servant unto Thaise,
Which made much worse her grave malaise,
For now she had no other choice
But to hear Dionise’s voice,
Who was her deadly enemy.
Through envy, hate, and treachery.
She, feigning grief and great distress,
As being under some duress,
Unto her slave Theophilus
In confidence did counsel thus:
That on some designated day
He’d come and carry Thaise away,
And take her somewhere out of sight,
So that no man could see her plight,
Down by the sea upon the sand,
And slay here there with his own hand.
His heart is cheerless, he’s all dazed,
With retribution’s specter raised,
Which on him could come down some day;
And yet he dared not answer nay,
But swore and said he would fulfill
All things according to her will.
The day arrived when it was time
To carry out this heinous crime,
And so this churlish knave her led
Down to the shore, where she in dread
Watched on, and saw that he drew out
A rusty sword. Thus he did shout,
“Thou shalt be dead.” “Alas!” said she
“Why shall this be?” “Because,” said he
“So Dionise commanded me,
In this place thou shalt murdered be.”
She screamed with fear, her life at stake,
And said, “For God Almighty’s sake,
A little time allow me, please.”
Unto the ground upon her knees
She falls, and unto heav’n doth cry
To save her soul if she should die.
This noise that screeched unto the sky,
Heard on a barge that was near by,
A bunch of rowdy pirates there
Aroused, and soon they were aware
Of this Theophilus, who split.
But she her crying would not quit.
“For God’s sake, mercy have on me.”
So with them took they her to sea,
The thieves they were, and off they went.
Their boat upon the waves was sent
Oblivious to their intent,
Until the wind it’s fury spent;
All useless were there oars and sails,
Blown here and there by stormy gales
They’re driven forth in peril great,
Until the weather does abate,
And at the port of Mitelene
Their boat at harbor safe is seen.
Their leader does a plan concoct,
And disembarking when they’re docked,
He offers this fair Thaise to sell.
When Leonin of this heard tell,
Who a bordello owned, he sent
A messenger, who quickly went
To buy her. He who was in charge
Went, and Thaise brought out of his barge,
And sold her to this man who would
Exploit her body, if he could.
The cry went out that for a fee
A man who would his lechery
Attempt on her virginity
Would for some gold successful be.
And thus when he had cried this out
In sight of all the men about,
He led her to the brothel’s door.
No wonder worry on her wore:
For there, into her little den,
Came one by one a few young men;
At ten or twelve the number stood;
But unto her the Lord was good,
For since she was so very sad
There were none who the power had
To do her any villainy.
Some monetary gain to see
Leonin waited all in vain;
To violate her all disdain,
And no men unto her would go.
So when of this thing he did know,
That she was still a maiden pure,
His own man, of whom he was sure,
He told, “Do not let her escape
And take her, if needs be, by rape.”
The man went in to see this saint,
But when he heard her woeful plaint
He was so touched he could not keep
Himself from starting there to weep;
He could not play Leonin’s game,
And thus she kept herself from shame,
And kneeling down in her sweet way
Thus she unto this man did pray:
“If your employer wants to see
His gold increase because of me,
It may not happen in this way:
But suffer me to go, I pray,
Out of this house that I am in,
And I’ll make sure that he will win
In some place else, a lot of loot,
As long as it’s of good repute,
A place where honest women live.
This proposition to him give:
Let him for me a room provide,
And let him then cry far and wide,
To find a lord who’s great concern
Is that his daughter dear should learn.
Within a school where in her youth
I can instruct her in all truth,
As not another woman can
In all this land.” And when this man
Her offer heard, then back he ran
To tell his master of the plan
That she proposed, which sounded good,
For he perceived no profit would
For his bordello from her kind
Accrue. A place for her he’ll find;
Her body’s hopes he leaves behind,
That he might profit from her mind.
Her learning thus the path did pave
Her from this sorry life to save.
From the bordello he did run,
He sent her, but this was not done
For God’s sake, but on money’s ground.
So women came from all around,
Young ladies in life’s lusty time,
That she might them with learning prime:
She taught the wisdom of the wise,
And skills most valued in men’s eyes,
Refinements in a woman sought,
And some of them she also taught
To play upon the harp, and when
They did request it of her then
Proverbs and riddles and much more
She’d tell, which they’d not heard before.
These sciences so well she taught
That many great rewards she got,
Which she to Leonin returned;
So great the name was she had earned
For all the subjects which she taught,
That after her the whole land sought
When girls required a teacher near.
Now let us leave this maiden here,
And speak again of Dionise
And of Theophilus a piece,
Of whom I spake to you before.
As Thaise he should have, on the shore,
Despatched, this liar to her said
When he returned, “Madam, she’s dead,
For I this maiden Thaise have slain,
And in a secret grave have lain
Her body, just as I was bade.
So let us heed the pact we’ve made,
And keep it secret, come what may.”
This fiend who far from truth did stray,
Was glad this understanding they
Had reached; now she did act this way:
She wept, she grieved, and she complained,
And an affliction sore she feigned.
She said that Thaise died in the night
While they lay sleeping in the sight
Of her good lord who was near by.
Since people did esteem her high,
None thought that she would tell a lie;
But, just to make her story fly,
Her spouse in black was dressed with her
As they pretend her to inter;
And keep the people in the dark
By those remembrances that mark
The passing of a human soul.
And thus her virtue to extol,
A copper tomb they set in place.
A statue with her lovely face
Adorns the top of it with grace.
It occupies a royal place.
With the inscription: “Here lies Thaise,
The daughter of a noble race.”
Her epitaph: “Here lies entombed
The fairest flower that ever bloomed,
And with her beauteous visage blessed
This land, ere she was laid to rest.
King Appolinus sired this lass;
Now from this world her soul doth pass;
At fourteen years of age she went
Upon a journey, heavenward sent.”
Thus this false treason was concealed,
Which later widely was revealed,
As tales of her adventures spread.
But let us now pick up the thread
In Tyre, of our poor prince’s pain,
Which ancient chronicles contain.
When Appolinus did come home,
His wife left in the salty foam,
Who ever was upon his mind,
Attempting to some comfort find,
A parliament he did convene,
At which his lords would all be seen;
And of the time he had been gone
He told, of all that had gone on
When angry seas did seethe and boil,
And cast him up on foreign soil;
And then he tells them why they came:
To hear how he his dear wife’s name
Would honor, so that all will know
That he cared for and loved her so.
In ceremonies solemn they
Commemorated her that day.
That God would bless her soul, he knelt
To pray, as duty-bound he felt;
Because he, for a wife, had one
The likes of which on earth there’s none.
When this was finished, then he thought
About his daughter, and besought
All of his lords with willing heart,
That out with him to Tharse they’d start,
To fetch his daughter back to Tyre.
Soon everything that they require
Is ready, and their course they set
To Tharse’s harbor, Thaise to get.
They land, but find not what they seek
For with Strangulio they speak,
And with deception false replete,
And Dionise his wife’s deceit,
So he’d believe them, him they took
Unto that place, to have a look,
Wherein they said she was interred,
Whereat great sorrow in him stirred.
In rage he swore, in anger cursed,
And unto Fortune all the worst
He said; he railed, as to the blind,
Who for the lost no way can find;
For she is always changing things,
Infusing sorrow as he sings.
And so accepting Fate’s decree,
He thanks the Lord, and out to sea
He goes, and back toward Tyre returns.
But suddenly the ocean churns
With howling winds and pouring rains,
So that he suffers with the pains
That Neptune’s ordinance ordains;
Whereof he often times complains;
He was dismayed now all the more
Since he’d been through all this before.
So from unmitigated woe,
At seeing how his life did go,
He left his cabin all alone,
For no man’s counsel he’ll condone;
He will a song of grief intone;
Down in the hold he’ll weep and groan;
As on the floor he lays down prone,
Wherein the sunlight never shone.
And thus they’re driven by the gales,
Until at last their tattered sails,
A sign of great distress, are seen
Upon the shores of Mitelene,
A Lesban island city fair.
At that time it so happened there
The greatest lord down to the least,
For Neptune’s most important feast
Upon the beach this time of year
Had come, as was the custom here,
To celebrate a solemn rite.
On seeing this strange, startling sight,
A ship with sails not all upright,
The feeling that they felt was fright.
The mayor of this place who’s known
As Athenagoras, when shown
This thing, assured them he would go
And check out why the sails were low;
Who was inside he’d like to know,
And what had brought them here. And so
His barge was brought to him so he
Could go and solve this mystery.
The ship he found in disarray,
But what this meant he could not say.
He came across a crew depressed;
The manner of these men suggest
That they were born of blood the best.
He asked them why they were so glum;
They told of hardships that had come
To make their lord to grief succumb;
Such aching sadness filled his cup,
His best friend could not cheer him up.
He asked if their lord might be seen,
But to oblige they weren’t too keen,
For he was in so dark a place,
There’s none who could make out his face.
Despite the fact they all did frown,
He found a ladder and went down,
And called out, but heard no reply
No matter how loud he did cry.
Since of this lord he caught no sight,
He climbed back up into the light.
Those of the town considered wise
Conjectured this or that surmise;
A plan that garnered many 'Aye'’s
Was to involve the maiden Thaise.
If there was help for this malaise,
That could the king’s despair assuage,
Then she, despite her youthful age,
Because of her expansive wit,
Could cause his misery to quit.
A page is sent to fetch her, and
She comes back with him, harp in hand,
And promised that she’d try her best,
With every skill that she possessed,
To charm this man who’s so distressed.
Just who he was she did not know,
But all the crew implored her so
Her wit upon him to bestow,
In hopes that thus he might improve -
They said this would her well behoove.
When she had grasped all they did say,
She went down where this man did lay
And, harping where the light was dim,
She like an angel sang to him.
But to the wall she might as well
Have played, for all that she could tell.
And when she saw her music fail,
She thought that fables might prevail,
And so to him she tells some jests,
And makes some curious requests,
Whereon his mood, that was austere,
Began to change; He lent an ear -
She really got beneath his skin.
For many a riddle did she spin;
She spake, and bade him to decide
On subtle questions she supplied:
But no suggestions did provide
Which might for him have been a guide;
To answer he refused to try,
Till he into a fit did fly -
His weeping face away he turned,
And half in anger her he spurned.
Yet to give up she’s still not prone,
So she went where no sunlight shone,
Till him she touched, and he jumped back
And lashed out, trying her to smack:
And when she found him in this state
She courteously said, “Abate
Your anger, lord, I am a maid;
If my true nature you surveyed,
And saw my pedigree displayed,
I don’t think you would be so fierce.”
His heart her kindly words did pierce
And soothed his sour and surly mood.
From these two may a man conclude
How strong the bond of kinship is.
He did not know that she was his,
Yet in the end his heart was swayed
With kindly love for this young maid -
This father who had been afraid -
Though he knew not the reason why.
But he would find out by and by;
For God, who all their secrets knows,
Will soon enough their hearts disclose.
The king an interest in her shows,
And asks her by what name she goes,
And where she learned so many things,
And of what parentage she springs.
And when she sensed his kindly tone,
She said to him, “As Thaise I’m known;
I was well off ere I was grown.
In Tharse I was brought up and taught,
Until I’d really learned a lot.
But where on earth to find my dad
I know not, and that makes me sad;
Men say that he was royalty,
But that my mom was drowned at sea.”
She told him many things he guessed
Were long inside her heart suppressed;
Things no one ever heard about,
But to this lord she poured them out,
From whom her heart can nothing hide.
Both joys and griefs she did confide,
And told of happiness and harms.
And then he took her in his arms.
Such joy was his, who’d been so sad!
And now these two were very glad,
Who had both just been so forlorn.
From this day forth hath Fortune sworn
To set him high up on her wheel;
She’d only to him aces deal:
This king found new grace for his soul,
So that out of his dismal hole
He rises up unto the light,
Along with that sweet creature bright,
His daughter Thaise, and from below
They both up in the cabin go
Which was for royalty ordained,
And all his royal robes contained.
He dressed in regal garments there,
And came out in the open air,
Where Athenagoras he found,
The lord of all the land around.
“Please come and see,” he asked this pair,
“My castle and my city fair.”
Thus at the city gates appear
This king, this lord, this maiden dear;
This lord to honor well his guest,
Spares nothing, but brings on the best
Of entertainment and cuisine,
Well-suited for a king - or queen.
Though he of noble lineage came,
He had no wife to share his fame.
But age did not his passion quell,
So on his youthful heart there fell
The lusty woe, the happy pain
Of love, which no man can restrain,
More strongly than he’d ever felt.
His fragile joy away would melt
He thought, if this king showed not grace;
So for the proper time and place
He waits and feels his heart might burst.
For this maid’s love he so does thirst,
Her hand in marriage he would seek;
Unto her father he would speak.
All things turned out as he desired;
He took her hand, whom he admired.
They wedded, vowing ne’er to part,
And all were of one mind and heart.
When all the wedding rites were done,
The king told unto his new son
Of Tharse and all its treachery,
And said that he desired that he
His daughter and himself should go
To seek revenge on them, and so
He orders ready all the fleet,
And seeing that all is complete -
Not down to any plan he’s pinned -
With sails unfurled into the wind
Toward Tharse they sail, prepared for war.
But he who knows what is in store,
God, who him safe desires to keep,
When this king was all sound asleep,
With power all things to arrange,
His course to someplace else does change:
To Ephesus he has him drift,
Where it was time to give a gift
Unto the gods they worshipped there;
And in the shrines all those at prayer
God caused to listen to this king
As he related everything
About his daughter and his wife;
He swore ‘twas true upon his life.
So from this vision he’d just seen
This king in wonder tried to glean
Just what it might have signified;
When Sol’s first morning rays he spied,
With anchor cast he rides the waves,
Observing how the wind behaves.
Adversely had it blown before,
But now it turned, and towards the shore
His dream had prophesied it blew;
Then that God willed it well he knew.
The captain of the ship he bade
To catch the wind with anchors weighed;
To Ephesus they sailed apace.
And when he came unto the place
Where he should land, he moored his ship
At once, and hasted to equip
Himself with all things needful so
That he at dawn could rise, and go
Accomplish the divine intent
Of Him who had him hither sent.
Exactly as he had conceived,
Upon the morrow he achieved.
He took his son and daughter fair,
And came unto the temple there.
A Nobel entourage he brings
To sacrifice his offerings.
Word traveled quickly on this day
Of such a king that came to pray
Unto Diane, and homage pay.
The citizens their business dropped;
To come and see this thing they opt,
This king in solemn mien displayed.
With worthy knights around arrayed
The king with reverent manner goes
Into the temple to repose.
The door is raised and in he moves,
Where with devotion that behooves
A man who oaths religious takes
Confession in his heart he makes.
A costly gift from his estate
He offers up with reverence great,
And then proceeds to perorate
To all of those who stood about;
He tells them and declares straight out
All that which to him had occurred,
He left out not a single word.
His wife, by Diane's grace who there
Was praised with litany and prayer,
By her who was the abbess here,
Unto his tale had lent her ear.
She knew the visage and the voice,
As in a rage she did rejoice;
She ran her long lost man to meet,
And swooned and fell down at this feet.
On stones that paved the temple floor.
They did upon her water pour,
Till to herself again she came,
Then in this wise she did exclaim:
"Ah, blest be that decree divine,
That I may see this husband, mine
Who erstwhile was at one with me!"
The king knew her at once, with glee
He took her in a rapt embrace,
Which soon was known throughout this place.
Here did abundant joy abound,
For all men spread this tale around.
A miracle it was declared,
But no man's joy could be compared
To this king who his wife regained.
And when to folks it was explained
How and by whom she was sustained,
They wondered at this case amazed.
Through all the land were voices raised,
By deeds of Cerymon bedazed;
This great physician's cures were praised.
The king then summoned him to plead
(And this queen eagerly agreed)
That from this town with them he'd go
And in with them his lot he'd throw,
For ne'er a man of his great skill
Had shown to them so much good will;
He saw how he would benefit,
And so he did agree to it.
And thus they end their business there,
And leave and to their ship repair
With all those who their journeys share.
This king, with his desires all met,
Says he his course to Tyre will set.
The wind at once began to blow,
Their sails unfurled and forth they go,
And lowered not, until they make
The port of Tyre, and haven take,
And disembark with major bliss.
There was there many a mouth to kiss,
Each welcomed home their loved ones, and
The queen, when she set foot on land,
And loyal Thaise was by her side,
There was of joy so great a tide
No tongue could find the words to tell:
They all did say, "Here comes the well
Of each and every womanly grace."
The king assumes his royal place,
The queen into her chamber goes:
A great feast was prepared for those
Who had returned, and as they dined,
All old cares were left far behind,
New joys and gladness now prevail.
Their hue, discolored once and pale,
Into a ruddy cheek now turns,
For other mirth nobody yearns,
Content are all with what they've got.
The king, as well he can and ought,
Makes all his people happy be;
Soon after, by his own decree,
To make his daughter royalty,
A parliament he does convene;
She and the lord of Mitelene,
The one made king, the other queen.
And thus her father doth ordain
Who in the land should rule and reign,
And then he said that soon he goes
To Tharse, to make an end to those
By whom his daughter was betrayed.
For this all men their glee displayed,
And guessed at how it might be done.
The ships were readied, every one,
A mighty power he did raise;
Up to the sky he cast his gaze,
And an auspicious wind he saw.
The anchor cable up they draw,
With sails unfurled, and wheel in hand,
He sails, until they come to land
Near Tharse, the city by the sea;
And when they knew that it was he,
The town with reverence him did greet.
The harm, to them he did repeat,
Which to him who sought love and peace,
Was done by wicked Dionise
And by Strangulio, the knave,
Regarding his fair daughter brave.
And when they knew what had gone down,
This he besought unto the town,
To help him see some justice done.
And they agreed with him, each one;
They raised a posse large and strong
To punish those who had done wrong,
Convicted were they by one tongue
And sentenced to be drawn and hung,
And burned, by wind their ashes blown,
That by the world their crimes be known.
This judgment could not be appealed
And so their awful doom was sealed,
And without fail was carried out.
And every man who heard about
This thing had cause to marvel at,
And thank God for His mercy that
With justice doth combine to bless.
The murderer and murderess
Are slain through righteousness and truth
To save the innocence in youth
Of her who mercy hath preserved
Thus each gets that which is deserved.
When all this business was behind
This king, heroic, good, and kind,
Hath a communiqué which from
Pentapolim to him had come,
By which he understood and knew
That Artestrates to him true
And being of sound mind, in peace
Had from earth's cares obtained release,
Whereat of one accord they all
To him, their liege and lord, did call
That he would come to be their head
And reign in Artestrates' stead,
As God has chosen him. They pled,
The commoners, in unison;
With all the lords they spoke as one.
This king perceived the winds of fate,
And so with all his substance great
From Tharse he forthwith said: "Adieu!"
And to his ship went with his crew:
Calm was the sea, there were no gales,
There was no need to reef the sails,
Until Pentapolim he sights.
His coming all the land delights,
Where everyone great joy displays.
He rests himself for several days
And then to counsel heed he pays,
And does a Parliament convene,
Whereat his wife is made a queen
And on his head a crown is placed;
And with abundance great he's graced.
This is in virtue to be based:
When his heart his love's feelings stir
He'll honorably marry her,
And love with honor consummate,
Then they have children when they mate.
He lived his life in his own way,
As an example to portray
To lovers everywhere that they
Might know, if they do not ignore,
Of their love what could be in store.
For look how on the other side,
Antiochus with all his pride,
Was caught in hell's infernal claws;
His love directed wrongly was,
Which suddenly his end did cause,
For violating nature's laws, |
Lo thus, mi Sone, myht thou liere
What is to love in good manere,
And what to love in other wise:
The mede arist of the servise;
Fortune, thogh sche be noght stable,
Yit at som time is favorable
To hem that ben of love trewe.
Bot certes it is forto rewe
To se love ayein kinde falle,
For that makth sore a man to falle,
As thou myht of tofore rede.
Forthi, my Sone, I wolde rede
To lete al other love aweie,
Bot if it be thurgh such a weie
As love and reson wolde acorde.
For elles, if that thou descorde,
And take lust as doth a beste,
Thi love mai noght ben honeste;
For be no skile that I finde
Such lust is noght of loves kinde.
Mi fader, hou so that it stonde,
Youre tale is herd and understonde,
As thing which worthi is to hiere,
Of gret ensample and gret matiere,
Wherof, my fader, god you quyte.
Bot in this point miself aquite
I mai riht wel, that nevere yit
I was assoted in my wit,
Bot only in that worthi place
Wher alle lust and alle grace
Is set, if that danger ne were.
Bot that is al my moste fere:
I not what ye fortune acompte,
Bot what thing danger mai amonte
I wot wel, for I have assaied;
For whan myn herte is best arraied
And I have al my wit thurghsoght
Of love to beseche hire oght,
For al that evere I skile may,
I am concluded with a nay:
That o sillable hath overthrowe
A thousend wordes on a rowe
Of suche as I best speke can;
Thus am I bot a lewed man.
Bot, fader, for ye ben a clerk
Of love, and this matiere is derk,
And I can evere leng the lasse,
Bot yit I mai noght let it passe,
Youre hole conseil I beseche,
That ye me be som weie teche
What is my beste, as for an ende.
Mi Sone, unto the trouthe wende
Now wol I for the love of thee,
And lete alle othre truffles be.
The more that the nede is hyh,
The more it nedeth to be slyh
To him which hath the nede on honde.
I have wel herd and understonde,
Mi Sone, al that thou hast me seid,
And ek of that thou hast me preid,
Nou at this time that I schal
As for conclusioun final
Conseile upon thi nede sette:
So thenke I finaly to knette
This cause, where it is tobroke,
And make an ende of that is spoke.
For I behihte thee that yifte
Ferst whan thou come under my schrifte,
That thogh I toward Venus were,
Yit spak I suche wordes there,
That for the Presthod which I have,
Min ordre and min astat to save,
I seide I wolde of myn office
To vertu more than to vice
Encline, and teche thee mi lore.
Forthi to speken overmore
Of love, which thee mai availe,
Tak love where it mai noght faile:
For as of this which thou art inne,
Be that thou seist it is a Sinne,
And Sinne mai no pris deserve,
Withoute pris and who schal serve,
I not what profit myhte availe.
Thus folweth it, if thou travaile,
Wher thou no profit hast ne pris,
Thou art toward thiself unwis:
And sett thou myhtest lust atteigne,
Of every lust thende is a peine,
And every peine is good to fle;
So it is wonder thing to se,
Why such a thing schal be desired.
The more that a Stock is fyred,
The rathere into Aisshe it torneth;
The fot which in the weie sporneth
Fulofte his heved hath overthrowe;
Thus love is blind and can noght knowe
Wher that he goth, til he be falle:
Forthi, bot if it so befalle
With good conseil that he be lad,
Him oghte forto ben adrad.
For conseil passeth alle thing
To him which thenkth to ben a king;
And every man for his partie
A kingdom hath to justefie,
That is to sein his oghne dom.
If he misreule that kingdom,
He lest himself, and that is more
Than if he loste Schip and Ore
And al the worldes good withal:
For what man that in special
Hath noght himself, he hath noght elles,
Nomor the perles than the schelles;
Al is to him of o value:
Thogh he hadde at his retenue
The wyde world ryht as he wolde,
Whan he his herte hath noght withholde
Toward himself, al is in vein.
And thus, my Sone, I wolde sein,
As I seide er, that thou aryse,
Er that thou falle in such a wise
That thou ne myht thiself rekevere;
For love, which that blind was evere,
Makth alle his servantz blinde also.
My Sone, and if thou have be so,
Yit is it time to withdrawe,
And set thin herte under that lawe,
The which of reson is governed
And noght of will. And to be lerned,
Ensamples thou hast many on
Of now and ek of time gon,
That every lust is bot a while;
And who that wole himself beguile,
He may the rathere be deceived.
Mi Sone, now thou hast conceived
Somwhat of that I wolde mene;
Hierafterward it schal be sene
If that thou lieve upon mi lore;
For I can do to thee nomore
Bot teche thee the rihte weie:
Now ches if thou wolt live or deie.
Mi fader, so as I have herd
Your tale, bot it were ansuerd,
I were mochel forto blame.
Mi wo to you is bot a game,
That fielen noght of that I fiele;
The fielinge of a mannes Hiele
Mai noght be likned to the Herte:
I mai noght, thogh I wolde, asterte,
And ye be fre from al the peine
Of love, wherof I me pleigne.
It is riht esi to comaunde;
The hert which fre goth on the launde
Not of an Oxe what him eileth;
It falleth ofte a man merveileth
Of that he seth an other fare,
Bot if he knewe himself the fare,
And felt it as it is in soth,
He scholde don riht as he doth,
Or elles werse in his degre:
For wel I wot, and so do ye,
That love hath evere yit ben used,
So mot I nedes ben excused.
Bot, fader, if ye wolde thus
Unto Cupide and to Venus
Be frendlich toward mi querele,
So that myn herte were in hele
Of love which is in mi briest,
I wot wel thanne a betre Prest
Was nevere mad to my behove.
Bot al the whiles that I hove
In noncertein betwen the tuo,
And not if I to wel or wo
Schal torne, that is al my drede,
So that I not what is to rede.
Bot for final conclusion
I thenke a Supplicacion
With pleine wordes and expresse
Wryte unto Venus the goddesse,
The which I preie you to bere
And bringe ayein a good ansuere.
Tho was betwen mi Prest and me
Debat and gret perplexete:
Mi resoun understod him wel,
And knew it was sothe everydel
That he hath seid, bot noght forthi
Mi will hath nothing set therby.
For techinge of so wis a port
Is unto love of no desport;
Yit myhte nevere man beholde
Reson, wher love was withholde,
Thei be noght of o governance.
And thus we fellen in distance,
Mi Prest and I, bot I spak faire,
And thurgh mi wordes debonaire
Thanne ate laste we acorden,
So that he seith he wol recorden
To speke and stonde upon mi syde
To Venus bothe and to Cupide;
And bad me wryte what I wolde,
And seith me trewly that he scholde
Mi lettre bere unto the queene.
And I sat doun upon the grene
Fulfilt of loves fantasie,
And with the teres of myn ije
In stede of enke I gan to wryte
The wordes whiche I wolde endite
Unto Cupide and to Venus,
And in mi lettre I seide thus.
The wofull peine of loves maladie,
Ayein the which mai no phisique availe,
Min herte hath so bewhaped with sotie,
That wher so that I reste or I travaile,
I finde it evere redy to assaile
Mi resoun, which that can him noght defende:
Thus seche I help, wherof I mihte amende.
Ferst to Nature if that I me compleigne,
Ther finde I hou that every creature
Som time ayer hath love in his demeine,
So that the litel wrenne in his mesure
Hath yit of kinde a love under his cure;
And I bot on desire, of which I misse:
And thus, bot I, hath every kinde his blisse.
The resoun of my wit it overpasseth,
Of that Nature techeth me the weie
To love, and yit no certein sche compasseth
Hou I schal spede, and thus betwen the tweie
I stonde, and not if I schal live or deie.
For thogh reson ayein my will debate,
I mai noght fle, that I ne love algate.
Upon miself is thilke tale come,
Hou whilom Pan, which is the god of kinde,
With love wrastlede and was overcome:
For evere I wrastle and evere I am behinde,
That I no strengthe in al min herte finde,
Wherof that I mai stonden eny throwe;
So fer mi wit with love is overthrowe.
Whom nedeth help, he mot his helpe crave,
Or helpeles he schal his nede spille:
Pleinly thurghsoght my wittes alle I have,
Bot non of hem can helpe after mi wille;
And als so wel I mihte sitte stille,
As preie unto mi lady eny helpe:
Thus wot I noght wherof miself to helpe.
Unto the grete Jove and if I bidde,
To do me grace of thilke swete tunne,
Which under keie in his celier amidde
Lith couched, that fortune is overrunne,
Bot of the bitter cuppe I have begunne,
I not hou ofte, and thus finde I no game;
For evere I axe and evere it is the same.
I se the world stonde evere upon eschange,
Nou wyndes loude, and nou the weder softe;
I mai sen ek the grete mone change,
And thing which nou is lowe is eft alofte;
The dredfull werres into pes fulofte
Thei torne; and evere is Danger in o place,
Which wol noght change his will to do me grace.
Bot upon this the grete clerc Ovide,
Of love whan he makth his remembrance,
He seith ther is the blinde god Cupide,
The which hath love under his governance,
And in his hond with many a fyri lance
He woundeth ofte, ther he wol noght hele;
And that somdiel is cause of mi querele.
Ovide ek seith that love to parforne
Stant in the hond of Venus the goddesse,
Bot whan sche takth hir conseil with Satorne,
Ther is no grace, and in that time, I gesse,
Began mi love, of which myn hevynesse
Is now and evere schal, bot if I spede:
So wot I noght miself what is to rede.
Forthi to you, Cupide and Venus bothe,
With al myn hertes obeissance I preie,
If ye were ate ferste time wrothe,
Whan I began to love, as I you seie,
Nou stynt, and do thilke infortune aweie,
So that Danger, which stant of retenue
With my ladi, his place mai remue.
O thou Cupide, god of loves lawe,
That with thi Dart brennende hast set afyre
Min herte, do that wounde be withdrawe,
Or yif me Salve such as I desire:
For Service in thi Court withouten hyre
To me, which evere yit have kept thin heste,
Mai nevere be to loves lawe honeste.
O thou, gentile Venus, loves queene,
Withoute gult thou dost on me thi wreche;
Thou wost my peine is evere aliche grene
For love, and yit I mai it noght areche:
This wold I for my laste word beseche,
That thou mi love aquite as I deserve,
Or elles do me pleinly forto sterve.
Whanne I this Supplicacioun
With good deliberacioun,
In such a wise as ye nou wite,
Hadde after min entente write
Unto Cupide and to Venus,
This Prest which hihte Genius
It tok on honde to presente,
On my message and forth he wente
To Venus, forto wite hire wille.
And I bod in the place stille,
And was there bot a litel while,
Noght full the montance of a Mile,
Whan I behield and sodeinly
I sih wher Venus stod me by.
So as I myhte, under a tre
To grounde I fell upon mi kne,
And preide hire forto do me grace:
Sche caste hire chiere upon mi face,
And as it were halvinge a game
Sche axeth me what is mi name.
"Ma dame," I seide, "John Gower."
"Now John," quod sche, "in my pouer
Thou most as of thi love stonde;
For I thi bille have understonde,
In which to Cupide and to me
Somdiel thou hast compleigned thee,
And somdiel to Nature also.
Bot that schal stonde among you tuo,
For therof have I noght to done;
For Nature is under the Mone
Maistresse of every lives kinde,
Bot if so be that sche mai finde
Som holy man that wol withdrawe
His kindly lust ayein hir lawe;
Bot sielde whanne it falleth so,
For fewe men ther ben of tho,
Bot of these othre ynowe be,
Whiche of here oghne nycete
Ayein Nature and hire office
Deliten hem in sondri vice,
Wherof that sche fulofte hath pleigned,
And ek my Court it hath desdeigned
And evere schal; for it receiveth
Non such that kinde so deceiveth.
For al onliche of gentil love
Mi court stant alle courtz above
And takth noght into retenue
Bot thing which is to kinde due,
For elles it schal be refused.
Wherof I holde thee excused,
For it is manye daies gon,
That thou amonges hem were on
Which of my court hast ben withholde;
So that the more I am beholde
Of thi desese to commune,
And to remue that fortune,
Which manye daies hath the grieved.
Bot if my conseil mai be lieved,
Thou schalt ben esed er thou go
Of thilke unsely jolif wo,
Wherof thou seist thin herte is fyred:
Bot as of that thou hast desired
After the sentence of thi bille,
Thou most therof don at my wille,
And I therof me wole avise.
For be thou hol, it schal suffise:
Mi medicine is noght to sieke
For thee and for suche olde sieke,
Noght al per chance as ye it wolden,
Bot so as ye be reson scholden,
Acordant unto loves kinde.
For in the plit which I thee finde,
So as mi court it hath awarded,
Thou schalt be duely rewarded;
And if thou woldest more crave,
It is no riht that thou it have."
Venus, which stant withoute lawe
In noncertein, bot as men drawe
Of Rageman upon the chance,
Sche leith no peis in the balance,
Bot as hir lyketh forto weie;
The trewe man fulofte aweie
Sche put, which hath hir grace bede,
And set an untrewe in his stede.
Lo, thus blindly the world sche diemeth
In loves cause, as tome siemeth:
I not what othre men wol sein,
Bot I algate am so besein,
And stonde as on amonges alle
Which am out of hir grace falle:
It nedeth take no witnesse,
For sche which seid is the goddesse,
To whether part of love it wende,
Hath sett me for a final ende
The point wherto that I schal holde.
For whan sche hath me wel beholde,
Halvynge of scorn, sche seide thus:
"Thou wost wel that I am Venus,
Which al only my lustes seche;
And wel I wot, thogh thou beseche
Mi love, lustes ben ther none,
Whiche I mai take in thi persone;
For loves lust and lockes hore
In chambre acorden neveremore,
And thogh thou feigne a yong corage,
It scheweth wel be the visage
That olde grisel is no fole:
There ben fulmanye yeres stole
With thee and with suche othre mo,
That outward feignen youthe so
And ben withinne of pore assay.
Min herte wolde and I ne may
Is noght beloved nou adayes;
Er thou make eny suche assaies
To love, and faile upon the fet,
Betre is to make a beau retret;
For thogh thou myhtest love atteigne,
Yit were it bot an ydel peine,
Whan that thou art noght sufficant
To holde love his covenant.
Forthi tak hom thin herte ayein,
That thou travaile noght in vein,
Wherof my Court may be deceived.
I wot and have it wel conceived,
Hou that thi will is good ynowh;
Bot mor behoveth to the plowh,
Wherof the lacketh, as I trowe:
So sitte it wel that thou beknowe
Thi fieble astat, er thou beginne
Thing wher thou miht non ende winne.
What bargain scholde a man assaie,
Whan that him lacketh forto paie?
Mi Sone, if thou be wel bethoght,
This toucheth thee; foryet it noght:
The thing is torned into was;
That which was whilom grene gras,
Is welked hey at time now.
Forthi mi conseil is that thou
Remembre wel hou thou art old."
Whan Venus hath hir tale told,
And I bethoght was al aboute,
Tho wiste I wel withoute doute,
That ther was no recoverir;
And as a man the blase of fyr
With water quencheth, so ferd I;
A cold me cawhte sodeinly,
For sorwe that myn herte made
Mi dedly face pale and fade
Becam, and swoune I fell to grounde.
And as I lay the same stounde,
Ne fully quik ne fully ded,
Me thoghte I sih tofor myn hed
Cupide with his bowe bent,
And lich unto a Parlement,
Which were ordeigned for the nones,
With him cam al the world at ones
Of gentil folk that whilom were
Lovers, I sih hem alle there
Forth with Cupide in sondri routes.
Min yhe and as I caste aboutes,
To knowe among hem who was who,
I sih wher lusty Youthe tho,
As he which was a Capitein,
Tofore alle othre upon the plein
Stod with his route wel begon,
Here hevedes kempt, and therupon
Garlandes noght of o colour,
Some of the lef, some of the flour,
And some of grete Perles were;
The newe guise of Beawme there,
With sondri thinges wel devised,
I sih, wherof thei ben queintised.
It was al lust that thei with ferde,
Ther was no song that I ne herde,
Which unto love was touchende;
Of Pan and al that was likende
As in Pipinge of melodie
Was herd in thilke compaignie
So lowde, that on every side
It thoghte as al the hevene cride
In such acord and such a soun
Of bombard and of clarion
With Cornemuse and Schallemele,
That it was half a mannes hele
So glad a noise forto hiere.
And as me thoghte, in this manere
Al freissh I syh hem springe and dance,
And do to love her entendance
After the lust of youthes heste.
Ther was ynowh of joie and feste,
For evere among thei laghe and pleie,
And putten care out of the weie,
That he with hem ne sat ne stod.
And overthis I understod,
So as myn Ere it myhte areche,
The moste matiere of her speche
Was al of knyhthod and of Armes,
And what it is to ligge in armes
With love, whanne it is achieved.
Ther was Tristram, which was believed
With bele Ysolde, and Lancelot
Stod with Gunnore, and Galahot
With his ladi, and as me thoghte,
I syh wher Jason with him broghte
His love, which that Creusa hihte,
And Hercules, which mochel myhte,
Was ther berende his grete Mace,
And most of alle in thilke place
He peyneth him to make chiere
With Eolen, which was him diere.
These s, thogh he were untrewe
To love, as alle wommen knewe,
Yit was he there natheles
With Phedra, whom to love he ches:
Of Grece ek ther was Thelamon,
Which fro the king Lamenedon
At Troie his doghter refte aweie,
Eseonen, as for his preie,
Which take was whan Jason cam
Fro Colchos, and the Cite nam
In vengance of the ferste hate;
That made hem after to debate,
Whan Priamus the newe toun
Hath mad. And in avisioun
Me thoghte that I sih also
Ector forth with his brethren tuo;
Himself stod with Pantaselee,
And next to him I myhte se,
Wher Paris stod with faire Eleine,
Which was his joie sovereine;
And Troilus stod with Criseide,
Bot evere among, althogh he pleide,
Be semblant he was hevy chiered,
For Diomede, as him was liered,
Cleymeth to ben his parconner.
And thus full many a bacheler,
A thousend mo than I can sein,
With Yowthe I sih ther wel besein
Forth with here loves glade and blithe.
And some I sih whiche ofte sithe
Compleignen hem in other wise;
Among the whiche I syh Narcise
And Piramus, that sory were.
The worthy Grek also was there,
Achilles, which for love deide:
Agamenon ek, as men seide,
And Menelay the king also
I syh, with many an other mo,
Which hadden be fortuned sore
In loves cause. And overmore
Of wommen in the same cas,
With hem I sih wher Dido was,
Forsake which was with Enee;
And Phillis ek I myhte see,
Whom Demephon deceived hadde;
And Adriagne hir sorwe ladde,
For These s hir Soster tok
And hire unkindely forsok.
I sih ther ek among the press
Compleignende upon Hercules
His ferste love Deyanire,
Which sette him afterward afyre:
Medea was there ek and pleigneth
Upon Jason, for that he feigneth,
Withoute cause and tok a newe;
Sche seide, "Fy on alle untrewe!"
I sih there ek Deijdamie,
Which hadde lost the compaignie
Of Achilles, whan Diomede
To Troie him fette upon the nede.
Among these othre upon the grene
I syh also the wofull queene
Cleopatras, which in a Cave
With Serpentz hath hirself begrave
Alquik, and so sche was totore,
For sorwe of that sche hadde lore
Antonye, which hir love hath be:
And forth with hire I sih Tisbee,
Which on the scharpe swerdes point
For love deide in sory point;
And as myn Ere it myhte knowe,
Sche seide, "Wo worthe alle slowe!"
The pleignte of Progne and Philomene
Ther herde I what it wolde mene,
How Tere s of his untrouthe
Undede hem bothe, and that was routhe;
And next to hem I sih Canace,
Which for Machaire hir fader grace
Hath lost, and deide in wofull plit.
And as I sih in my spirit,
Me thoghte amonges othre thus
The doghter of king Priamus,
Polixena, whom Pirrus slowh,
Was there and made sorwe ynowh,
As sche which deide gulteles
For love, and yit was loveles.
And forto take the desport,
I sih there some of other port,
And that was Circes and Calipse,
That cowthen do the Mone eclipse,
Of men and change the liknesses,
Of Artmagique Sorceresses;
Thei hielde in honde manyon,
To love wher thei wolde or non.
Bot above alle that ther were
Of wommen I sih foure there,
Whos name I herde most comended:
Be hem the Court stod al amended;
For wher thei comen in presence,
Men deden hem the reverence,
As thogh they hadden be goddesses,
Of al this world or Emperesses.
And as me thoghte, an Ere I leide,
And herde hou that these othre seide,
"Lo, these ben the foure wyves,
Whos feith was proeved in her lyves:
For in essample of alle goode
With Mariage so thei stode,
That fame, which no gret thing hydeth,
Yit in Cronique of hem abydeth."
Penolope that on was hote,
Whom many a knyht hath loved hote,
Whil that hire lord Ulixes lay
Full many a yer and many a day
Upon the grete Siege of Troie:
Bot sche, which hath no worldes joie
Bot only of hire housebonde,
Whil that hir lord was out of londe,
So wel hath kept hir wommanhiede,
That al the world therof tok hiede,
And nameliche of hem in Grece.
That other womman was Lucrece,
Wif to the Romain Collatin;
And sche constreigned of Tarquin
To thing which was ayein hir wille,
Sche wolde noght hirselven stille,
Bot deide only for drede of schame
In keping of hire goode name,
As sche which was on of the beste.
The thridde wif was hote Alceste,
Which whanne Ametus scholde dye
Upon his grete maladye,
Sche preide unto the goddes so,
That sche receyveth al the wo
And deide hirself to yive him lif:
Lo, if this were a noble wif.
The ferthe wif which I ther sih,
I herde of hem that were nyh
Hou sche was cleped Alcione,
Which to Seyix hir lord al one
And to nomo hire body kepte;
And whan sche sih him dreynt, sche lepte
Into the wawes where he swam,
And there a Sefoul sche becam,
And with hire wenges him bespradde
For love which to him sche hadde.
Lo, these foure were tho
Whiche I sih, as me thoghte tho,
Among the grete compaignie
Which Love hadde forto guye:
Bot Youthe, which in special
Of Loves Court was Mareschal,
So besy was upon his lay,
That he non hiede where I lay
Hath take. And thanne, as I behield,
Me thoghte I sih upon the field,
Where Elde cam a softe pas
Toward Venus, ther as sche was.
With him gret compaignie he ladde,
Bot noght so manye as Youthe hadde:
The moste part were of gret Age,
And that was sene in the visage,
And noght forthi, so as thei myhte,
Thei made hem yongly to the sihte:
Bot yit herde I no pipe there
To make noise in mannes Ere,
Bot the Musette I myhte knowe,
For olde men which souneth lowe,
With Harpe and Lute and with Citole.
The hovedance and the Carole,
In such a wise as love hath bede,
A softe pas thei dance and trede;
And with the wommen otherwhile
With sobre chier among thei smyle,
For laghtre was ther non on hyh.
And natheles full wel I syh
That thei the more queinte it made
For love, in whom thei weren glade.
And there me thoghte I myhte se
The king David with Bersabee,
And Salomon was noght withoute;
Passende an hundred on a route
Of wyves and of Concubines,
Juesses bothe and Sarazines,
To him I sih alle entendant:
I not if he was sufficant,
Bot natheles for al his wit
He was attached with that writ
Which love with his hond enseleth,
Fro whom non erthly man appeleth.
And overthis, as for a wonder,
With his leon which he put under,
With Dalida Sampson I knew,
Whos love his strengthe al overthrew.
I syh there Aristotle also,
Whom that the queene of Grece so
Hath bridled, that in thilke time
Sche made him such a Silogime,
That he foryat al his logique;
Ther was non art of his Practique,
Thurgh which it mihte ben excluded
That he ne was fully concluded
To love, and dede his obeissance.
And ek Virgile of aqueintance
I sih, wher he the Maiden preide,
Which was the doghter, as men seide,
Of themperour whilom of Rome;
Sortes and Plato with him come,
So dede Ovide the Poete.
I thoghte thanne how love is swete,
Which hath so wise men reclamed,
And was miself the lasse aschamed,
Or forto lese or forto winne
In the meschief that I was inne:
And thus I lay in hope of grace.
And whan thei comen to the place
Wher Venus stod and I was falle,
These olde men with o vois alle
To Venus preiden for my sake.
And sche, that myhte noght forsake
So gret a clamour as was there,
Let Pite come into hire Ere;
And forth withal unto Cupide
Sche preith that he upon his side
Me wolde thurgh his grace sende
Som confort, that I myhte amende,
Upon the cas which is befalle.
And thus for me thei preiden alle
Of hem that weren olde aboute,
And ek some of the yonge route,
Of gentilesse and pure trouthe
I herde hem telle it was gret routhe,
That I withouten help so ferde.
And thus me thoghte I lay and herde.
Cupido, which may hurte and hele
In loves cause, as for myn hele
Upon the point which him was preid
Cam with Venus, wher I was leid
Swounende upon the grene gras.
And, as me thoghte , anon ther was
On every side so gret presse,
That every lif began to presse,
I wot noght wel hou many score,
Suche as I spak of now tofore,
Lovers, that comen to beholde,
Bot most of hem that weren olde:
Thei stoden there at thilke tyde,
To se what ende schal betyde
Upon the cure of my sotie.
Tho myhte I hiere gret partie
Spekende, and ech his oghne avis
Hath told, on that, an other this:
Bot among alle this I herde,
Thei weren wo that I so ferde,
And seiden that for no riote
An old man scholde noght assote;
For as thei tolden redely,
Ther is in him no cause why,
Bot if he wolde himself benyce;
So were he wel the more nyce.
And thus desputen some of tho,
And some seiden nothing so,
Bot that the wylde loves rage
In mannes lif forberth non Age;
Whil ther is oyle forto fyre,
The lampe is lyhtly set afyre,
And is fulhard er it be queynt,
Bot only if it be som seint,
Which god preserveth of his grace.
And thus me thoghte, in sondri place
Of hem that walken up and doun
Ther was diverse opinioun:
And for a while so it laste,
Til that Cupide to the laste,
Forth with his moder full avised,
Hath determined and devised
Unto what point he wol descende.
And al this time I was liggende
Upon the ground tofore his yhen,
And thei that my desese syhen
Supposen noght I scholde live;
Bot he, which wolde thanne yive
His grace, so as it mai be,
This blinde god which mai noght se,
Hath groped til that he me fond;
And as he pitte forth his hond
Upon my body, wher I lay,
Me thoghte a fyri Lancegay,
Which whilom thurgh myn herte he caste,
He pulleth oute, and also faste
As this was do, Cupide nam
His weie, I not where he becam,
And so dede al the remenant
Which unto him was entendant,
Of hem that in Avision
I hadde a revelacion,
So as I tolde now tofore.
Bot Venus wente noght therfore,
Ne Genius, whiche thilke time
Abiden bothe faste byme.
And sche which mai the hertes bynde
In loves cause and ek unbinde,
Er I out of mi trance aros,
Venus, which hield a boiste clos,
And wolde noght I scholde deie,
Tok out mor cold than eny keie
An oignement, and in such point
Sche hath my wounded herte enoignt,
My temples and my Reins also.
And forth withal sche tok me tho
A wonder Mirour forto holde,
In which sche bad me to beholde
And taken hiede of that I syhe;
Wherinne anon myn hertes yhe
I caste, and sih my colour fade,
Myn yhen dymme and al unglade,
Mi chiekes thinne, and al my face
With Elde I myhte se deface,
So riveled and so wo besein,
That ther was nothing full ne plein,
I syh also myn heres hore.
Mi will was tho to se nomore
Outwith, for ther was no plesance;
And thanne into my remembrance
I drowh myn olde daies passed,
And as reson it hath compassed,
I made a liknesse of miselve
Unto the sondri Monthes twelve,
Wherof the yeer in his astat
Is mad, and stant upon debat,
That lich til other non acordeth.
For who the times wel recordeth,
And thanne at Marche if he beginne,
Whan that the lusti yeer comth inne,
Til Augst be passed and Septembre,
The myhty youthe he may remembre
In which the yeer hath his deduit
Of gras, of lef, of flour, of fruit,
Of corn and of the wyny grape.
And afterward the time is schape
To frost, to Snow, to Wind, to Rein,
Til eft that Mars be come ayein:
The Wynter wol no Somer knowe,
The grene lef is overthrowe,
The clothed erthe is thanne bare,
Despuiled is the Somerfare,
That erst was hete is thanne chele.
And thus thenkende thoghtes fele,
I was out of mi swoune affraied,
Wherof I sih my wittes straied,
And gan to clepe hem hom ayein.
And whan Resoun it herde sein
That loves rage was aweie,
He cam to me the rihte weie,
And hath remued the sotie
Of thilke unwise fantasie,
Wherof that I was wont to pleigne,
So that of thilke fyri peine
I was mad sobre and hol ynowh.
Venus behield me than and lowh,
And axeth, as it were in game,
What love was. And I for schame
Ne wiste what I scholde ansuere;
And natheles I gan to swere
That be my trouthe I knew him noght;
So ferr it was out of mi thoght,
Riht as it hadde nevere be.
"Mi goode Sone," tho quod sche,
"Now at this time I lieve it wel,
So goth the fortune of my whiel;
Forthi mi conseil is thou leve."
"Ma dame," I seide, "be your leve,
Ye witen wel, and so wot I,
That I am unbehovely
Your Court fro this day forth to serve:
And for I may no thonk deserve,
And also for I am refused,
I preie you to ben excused.
And natheles as for the laste,
Whil that my wittes with me laste,
Touchende mi confession
I axe an absolucion
Of Genius, er that I go."
The Prest anon was redy tho,
And seide, "Sone, as of thi schrifte
Thou hast ful pardoun and foryifte;
Foryet it thou, and so wol I."
"Min holi fader, grant mercy,"
Quod I to him, and to the queene
I fell on knes upon the grene,
And tok my leve forto wende.
Bot sche, that wolde make an ende,
As therto which I was most able,
A Peire of Bedes blak as Sable
Sche tok and heng my necke aboute;
Upon the gaudes al withoute
Was write of gold, Por reposer.
"Lo," thus sche seide, "John Gower,
Now thou art ate laste cast,
This have I for thin ese cast,
That thou nomore of love sieche.
Bot my will is that thou besieche
And preie hierafter for the pes,
And that thou make a plein reles
To love, which takth litel hiede
Of olde men upon the nede,
Whan that the lustes ben aweie:
Forthi to thee nys bot o weie,
In which let reson be thi guide;
For he may sone himself misguide,
That seth noght the peril tofore.
Mi Sone, be wel war therfore,
And kep the sentence of my lore
And tarie thou mi Court nomore,
Bot go ther vertu moral duelleth,
Wher ben thi bokes, as men telleth,
Whiche of long time thou hast write.
For this I do thee wel to wite,
If thou thin hele wolt pourchace,
Thou miht noght make suite and chace,
Wher that the game is nought pernable;
It were a thing unresonable,
A man to be so overseie.
Forthi tak hiede of that I seie;
For in the lawe of my comune
We be noght schape to comune,
Thiself and I, nevere after this.
Now have y seid al that ther is
Of love as for thi final ende:
Adieu, for y mot fro the wende."
And with that word al sodeinly,
Enclosid in a sterred sky,
Venus, which is the qweene of love,
Was take in to hire place above,
More wiste y nought wher sche becam.
And thus my leve of hire y nam,
And forth with al the same tide
Hire prest, which wolde nought abide,
Or be me lief or be me loth,
Out of my sighte forth he goth,
And y was left with outen helpe.
So wiste I nought wher of to yelpe,
Bot only that y hadde lore
My time, and was sori ther fore.
And thus bewhapid in my thought,
Whan al was turnyd in to nought,
I stod amasid for a while,
And in my self y gan to smyle
Thenkende uppon the bedis blake,
And how they weren me betake,
For that y schulde bidde and preie.
And whanne y sigh non othre weie
Bot only that y was refusid,
Unto the lif which y hadde usid
I thoughte nevere torne ayein:
And in this wise, soth to seyn,
Homward a softe pas y wente,
Wher that with al myn hol entente
Uppon the point that y am schryve
I thenke bidde whil y live.
He which withinne daies sevene
This large world forth with the hevene
Of his eternal providence
Hath mad, and thilke intelligence
In mannys soule resonable
Hath schape to be perdurable,
Wherof the man of his feture
Above alle erthli creature
Aftir the soule is immortal,
To thilke lord in special,
As he which is of alle thinges
The creatour, and of the kynges
Hath the fortunes uppon honde,
His grace and mercy forto fonde
Uppon my bare knes y preie,
That he this lond in siker weie
Wol sette uppon good governance.
For if men takyn remembrance
What is to live in unite,
Ther ys no staat in his degree
That noughte to desire pes,
With outen which, it is no les,
To seche and loke in to the laste,
Ther may no worldes joye laste.
Ferst forto loke the Clergie,
Hem oughte wel to justefie
Thing which belongith to here cure,
As forto praie and to procure
Oure pes toward the hevene above,
And ek to sette reste and love
Among ous on this erthe hiere.
For if they wroughte in this manere
Aftir the reule of charite,
I hope that men schuldyn se
This lond amende. And ovyr this,
To seche and loke how that it is
Touchende of the chevalerie,
Which forto loke, in som partie
Is worthi forto be comendid,
And in som part to ben amendid,
That of here large retenue
The lond is ful of maintenue,
Which causith that the comune right
In fewe contrees stant upright.
Extorcioun, contekt, ravine
Withholde ben of that covyne,
Aldai men hierin gret compleignte
Of the desease, of the constreignte,
Wher of the poeple is sore oppressid:
God graunte it mote be redressid.
For of knyghthode thordre wolde
That thei defende and kepe scholde
The comun right and the fraunchise
Of holy cherche in alle wise,
So that no wikke man it dere,
And ther fore servith scheld and spere:
Bot for it goth now other weie,
Oure grace goth the more aweie.
And forto lokyn ovyrmore,
Wher of the poeple pleigneth sore,
Toward the lawis of oure lond,
Men sein that trouthe hath broke his bond
And with brocage is goon aweie,
So that no man can se the weie
Wher forto fynde rightwisnesse.
And if men sechin sikernesse
Uppon the lucre of marchandie,
Compassement and tricherie
Of singuler profit to wynne,
Men seyn, is cause of mochil synne,
And namely of divisioun,
Which many a noble worthi toun
Fro welthe and fro prosperite
Hath brought to gret adversite.
So were it good to ben al on,
For mechil grace ther uppon
Unto the Citees schulde falle,
Which myghte availle to ous alle,
If these astatz amendid were,
So that the vertus stodyn there
And that the vices were aweie:
Me thenkth y dorste thanne seie,
This londis grace schulde arise.
Bot yit to loke in othre wise,
Ther is a stat, as ye schul hiere,
Above alle othre on erthe hiere,
Which hath the lond in his balance:
To him belongith the leiance
Of Clerk, of knyght, of man of lawe;
Undir his hond al is forth drawe
The marchant and the laborer;
So stant it al in his power
Or forto spille or forto save.
Bot though that he such power have,
And that his myghtes ben so large,
He hath hem nought withouten charge,
To which that every kyng ys swore:
So were it good that he ther fore
First un to rightwisnesse entende,
Wherof that he hym self amende
Toward his god and leve vice,
Which is the chief of his office;
And aftir al the remenant
He schal uppon his covenant
Governe and lede in such a wise,
So that ther be no tirandise,
Wherof that he his poeple grieve,
Or ellis may he nought achieve
That longith to his regalie.
For if a kyng wol justifie
His lond and hem that beth withynne,
First at hym self he mot begynne,
To kepe and reule his owne astat,
That in hym self be no debat
Toward his god: for othre wise
Ther may non erthly kyng suffise
Of his kyngdom the folk to lede,
Bot he the kyng of hevene drede.
For what kyng sett hym uppon pride
And takth his lust on every side
And wil nought go the righte weie,
Though god his grace caste aweie
No wondir is, for ate laste
He schal wel wite it mai nought laste,
The pompe which he secheth here.
Bot what kyng that with humble chere
Aftir the lawe of god eschuieth
The vices, and the vertus suieth,
His grace schal be suffisant
To governe al the remenant
Which longith to his duite;
So that in his prosperite
The poeple schal nought ben oppressid,
Wherof his name schal be blessid,
For evere and be memorial.
And now to speke as in final,
Touchende that y undirtok
In englesch forto make a book
Which stant betwene ernest and game,
I have it maad as thilke same
Which axe forto ben excusid,
And that my bok be nought refusid
Of lered men, whan thei it se,
For lak of curiosite:
For thilke scole of eloquence
Belongith nought to my science,
Uppon the forme of rethoriqe
My wordis forto peinte and pike,
As Tullius som tyme wrot.
Bot this y knowe and this y wot,
That y have do my trewe peyne
With rude wordis and with pleyne,
In al that evere y couthe and myghte,
This bok to write as y behighte,
So as siknesse it soffre wolde;
And also for my daies olde,
That y am feble and impotent,
I wot nought how the world ys went.
So preye y to my lordis alle
Now in myn age, how so befalle,
That y mot stonden in here grace:
For though me lacke to purchace
Here worthi thonk as by decerte,
Yit the symplesse of my poverte
Desireth forto do plesance
To hem undir whos governance
I hope siker to abide.
But now uppon my laste tide
That y this book have maad and write,
My muse doth me forto wite,
And seith it schal be for my beste
Fro this day forth to take reste,
That y nomore of love make,
Which many an herte hath overtake,
And ovyrturnyd as the blynde
Fro reson in to lawe of kynde;
Wher as the wisdom goth aweie
And can nought se the ryhte weie
How to governe his oghne estat,
Bot everydai stant in debat
Withinne him self, and can nought leve.
And thus forthy my final leve
I take now for evere more,
Withoute makynge any more,
Of love and of his dedly hele,
Which no phisicien can hele.
For his nature is so divers,
That it hath evere som travers
Or of to moche or of to lite,
That pleinly mai noman delite,
Bot if him faile or that or this.
Bot thilke love which that is
Withinne a mannes herte affermed,
And stant of charite confermed,
Such love is goodly forto have,
Such love mai the bodi save,
Such love mai the soule amende,
The hyhe god such love ous sende
Forthwith the remenant of grace;
So that above in thilke place
Wher resteth love and alle pes,
Oure joie mai ben endeles. |
So learn, my son, the meaning of
A virtuous and proper love,
And how love can corrupted be.
Rewards do actions guarantee;
For although fortune fluctuates,
Yet on occasion smile the Fates
Upon those who in love are true.
But sad it is for that soul who
In love doth nature go against,
To such are penalties dispensed,
Which should to you be no surprise.
For you, as follows I'd advise:
To put away all love is wise
Except the kind that doth arise
As truth and reason would direct.
For if your passion is unchecked,
And like a beast you relish lust,
Desire will lead down to disgust;
No reason can this justify
Such lust as this will love deny.
My father, I would have you know,
Your tale I've listened to, and lo
It is of utmost worth to see
The lessons it contains for me;
May God's reward on you devolve.
But if of guilt I may absolve
Myself, that it has been my luck
Not by love's longing to be struck
Except in that pure place divine
Where passions with all grace combine,
At least if one is not turned down.
But it's that fear that makes me frown.
I know not which way Fate will go,
But what rejection is I know;
Yes, I have felt its chilling blow;
For when my heart's been all aglow,
And I've exhausted all my wit
To beg her my love to permit,
I make my argument and it
Is all refuted with a "No!"
One syllable will overthrow
A thousand words strung in a row
With all the speaking skill I can;
And thus I'm but a foolish man.
But father since you Venus serve
And I, the longer I observe
These mysteries the less I know,
Still I would wisdom not forgo,
And so your counsel I beseech,
And trust that somehow you will teach
What is the proper path for me.
Take heed, my son, this is the key,
That in truth's way you'll always be,
And from all other trifles flee.
The more imperative desire,
The greater skill it doth require
Of him who has the urgent need.
I've heard and understood indeed
My son, those things that make you fret,
And too the counsel you would get
From me, so at this time I will
Once and for all your need fulfill
For help that will your cause befit.
And so I think I'll finally knit
This cause, where it has come unsewn,
Then be no more to speaking prone.
This gift I promised you could claim
When you first under my care came.
Since toward Venusian lust I leaned,
I spake, and thus myself demeaned
With words fit for a priest like me,
So I'd not be in jeopardy.
But I resolved that I'd be more
Inclined to virtue, vice ignore,
And thee instruct in all my lore.
Henceforth of love I'll only talk,
It's mysteries for you unlock,
That love unfailing you might find.
For this within which you're entwined,
You surely must see is a sin,
Sin that rewards will never win;
For with no prize that has been earned
There is no profit - you've been spurned.
And thus I hope that you have learned
That where no profit is, nor prize,
You've been toward yourself unwise.
Let's say that you your lust attain,
The end of every lust is pain;
And from all such must one refrain;
So it is hard to comprehend
Why toward such things a man would tend.
The more a stick ignited burns,
The more it into ashes turns;
If one's foot trips up in the road
The mud will be his head's abode.
A lover's blind and cannot know.
Until he falls, where he doth go.
Therefore, if it should be the case
That he good counsel should embrace,
He hath no cause to live in fear.
For counsel is the thing most dear
To him who'd have a king's career;
And every man within his sphere
Must try to justify his reign,
That is to say his own domain.
And if he reigns in ways perverse,
He'll lose himself, and that is worse
Than if he lost both ship and oars
And all the things this world adores:
To that man who himself has lost,
All other things away are tossed,
Then pearls no more than shells are worth;
All things becoming like base earth.
Though he had at his beck and call
The whole wide world, both great and small,
When his heart ceases to sustain
And bless himself, all is in vain.
And so, my son, I would advise,
As ere I have, that you arise,
Before you get in such a state
That you might get your head on straight;
For love, to sightlessness inclined,
Makes all his servants also blind.
My son, if you've been in this state,
It's high time that you extricate
Yourself, and let your heart be ruled
By reason, that ye be not fooled
By wanton will. The truth behold,
You have examples manifold
From present time and in the past.
That fleeting lust will never last;
And whoso by his lust is led,
Does on deception's thin ice tread.
My son, now you have had a taste
Of that on which my counsel's based.
Hereafterwards it shall be seen
If from it you will wisdom glean;
For I can do no more than show
To you the proper way to go:
Now choose if you'll have joy or woe.
My father, I have heard your tale,
And if applied to me, I'd fail;
Much blame would unto me accrue.
My woe is but a game to you;
Of my heart's ache you have no clue.
The feelings in a man's big toe
Are not those of the heart - Hello!
I would escape; I cannot, though.
While you are free from all the pain
Of love, about which I complain.
It's easy to command the heart
Which freely here and there may dart;
A beast knows not what gives him grief;
But oft a man in disbelief
Will see another's circumstance,
But if the same he knew, by chance,
And felt those feelings of romance,
He would the selfsame path traverse,
And maybe end up doing worse;
For well I know, as ye have mused,
That love has ever been abused,
So maybe I can be excused.
But father, please this one thing do,
Cupid entreat and Venus too
My state with kindness to regard,
So that my love will not be marred
By a discordant, wayward heart
No priest I've ever had so smart
That could to my distress relate.
But all the while I vacillate
Uncertainly twixt two intents,
And know not if I to laments
Or joy will turn, that's what I fear,
What I should do remains unclear.
To wrap things up I would propose
That an entreaty I'd compose
With questions to the point and clear
And let the goddess Venus hear,
This favor I would pray you'll do
And bring me back an answer true.
There was between my priest and me
Debate and great perplexity:
My reason understood and knew,
That every single word was true
That he had said, but nonetheless
My will resisted saying: "Yes!"
For teachings so abstract and staid
In love's disporting tend to fade;
For reason never looms too large
When love's wild passions are in charge
They are not by the same laws ruled.
And thus our genial feeling cooled.
But I spoke not with disrespect,
My words with care I did select
And finally amends we make,
So he agreed my case to take,
And for some good instruction sue
From Cupid and from Venus too;
And bade me write as I desired,
And said he'd do as I required,
On to the queen my poem he'd pass.
So I sat down upon the grass.
With fantasies of love o'erfilled,
And eyes that drops of tears distilled,
I not with ink but with those tears
Set down my hopes and dreams and fears
For deities of love to read.
Thus in my letter did I plead:
Love's malady, with all its woeful pain
That no prescription can alleviate,
Hath overwhelmed my heart, so I complain
That whether I'm at labor or sedate,
I find it ever ready to negate
My reason, which is helpless to resist.
And thus I seek your succor to enlist.
First as to Nature, if I may opine,
There find I every creature now and then
Upon some feast of love is blessed to dine,
So even in his life the little wren
Knows love, though limited compared to men;
I have but one desire, but think on this:
Except for me, all species have their bliss.
It's quite is beyond my wit to comprehend
How Nature teaches us the way we ought
To love, and yet she will not condescend
To show me how to prosper, thus I'm caught
Twixt two conflicting forces, and know not
If I shall live or die. My reason fights
Against my will and hinders love's delights.
In many ways my life is like the tale
Of Pan, the god of pleasure, who did spar
With love but who, alas, did not prevail:
For ever I contend but end up far
Behind, for my heart's course it seems that's par.
From disappointments I cannot recover;
Wit spoliates my chance to be a lover.
Whoever needs help must for help implore,
Or without help his need shall go to waste:
My wit with thoroughness has searched love's lore
But reason has not yet my will erased;
I might as well remain immobilely chaste,
As from my lady to expect concern:
Thus I do not know where for help to turn.
If unto Jove the prince of gods I pray,
To let me of that tun of wine partake,
Which in his cellar lodges locked away
My fortunes would a turn for better take,
But of the bitter cup my thirst I slake,
How oft I know not, thus I find no sport;
I always try, but never may cavort.
I look around me, change is everywhere,
The weather's calm, then winds the welkin churn;
I see the great moon different faces wear,
Things rise aloft then back to earth return;
Assembled armies oft to peace adjourn;
Yet cold Rejection constant e'er remains,
Ne'er condescending to relieve my pains.
But thus taught Ovid, bard of great acclaim,
When rhyming on the subject of romance,
A child blindfolded, Cupid is his name,
Can make both men and gods fall in love's trance,
For in his hand he holds a fiery lance
And with it wounds inflicts that will not heal;
Which is the cause of all the pain I feel.
And Ovid says, love's consummation comes
When Venus goddess of it's joy decrees;
But when with Saturn downward go her thumbs,
I guess in that time love my heart did seize,
My grief this ill conjunction guarantees
Forever melancholy I'll remain,
Not knowing how my love's regard to gain.
And so to Cupid and to Venus too,
With my heart's homage and respect I pray,
If, when I first felt ardor stirring, you
Looked down upon me with disfavor, may
You with that dislike deign to do away,
So that Indifference, by my lady's side,
May find some other with whom to abide.
Cupid, thou god of love, who with thy dart
Hast kindled passion in me with its fire,
Do thou withdraw it from my wounded heart,
Or with a salve assuage my hot desire.
For service in thy court did I require
A price? Nay, from thy laws I've never swerved,
And so this torture I have not deserved.
Venus, thou gentle queen of love, who sends
On me thy vengeance guiltless though I be;
Thou knowest that my anguish never ends
For love that always is eluding me:
These are my final words, this is my plea,
That love which I deserve to me supply,
Or else allow me to completely die.
When to this supplication I'd
Much thoughtful diligence applied,
To which I'm sure now you'll assent,
And written, as was my intent,
To Cupid and to Venus too,
Then in his hands this Genius who
Her priest was took it and agreed
That he'd deliver it with speed
To Venus, that we'd know her mind.
As off he went I stayed behind,
And it was in about the space
Of time it takes a mile to pace,
That I was quite amazed to see
The lovely Venus next to me.
I took a breath, and 'neath a tree
To earth I fell upon my knee,
And prayed that she would do me grace:
Kindly she looked upon my face,
And as if it were half in jest
To know my name she did request.
I am John Gower, Ma'am, I said,
Now John, she answered, I
have read
Your letter which I've understood;
For your love I could do some good.
To Cupid and to me, all pained
With love's afflictions, you've complained,
And unto Nature cried as well.
But that's between you two; I've said
On such terrain I shall not tread,
(For Nature by the moon is led,
Mistress of every kind of life)
Unless she finds a man who's rife
With holiness, who will withdraw
His lust which violates her law;
That happens very seldom though,
For few, like you, their lusts forego.
But you know who these others are,
Who out of wantonness will spar
With Nature and her proper course,
They wed vice, virtue they divorce,
Whereof she often has complained;
This my court also has disdained,
Its welcome it will not extend
To those who nature so offend.
For all exemplary in love
Of all courts mine stands far above
And welcomes only one whose mind
With Nature's true way is aligned,
All others will rejected be
But I'll excuse this fault in thee,
For many times I've seen Earth spin
Since thou involved in vice hast been;
Though I abhor men caught in sin
Yet all the more obliged I feel
To sympathize with your ordeal,
And see your fortunes ill relieved
For which these many days you've grieved.
And if my word may be believed,
Eased you'll be ere your leave you take
Of thy accursed erotic ache,
Of which you say your heart doth break.
But as to what you've hungered for
As in your letter you implore,
You must do my as my will directs,
As on your case my mind reflects.
All will be well if you are chaste.
My remedy may not be based,
For ailing old men such as you,
On just what you might think you're due,
But rather on what would agree
With reason's view of love for thee.
For your plight, in which you I see,
According to my court's decree,
A suitable reward there'll be;
And if for something more you'd long,
To give it to you would be wrong.
Venus, capricious, without rules
Observes while men complain like fools
And of their lots in love they rail,
And only lays weight in the scale
To make what she prefers prevail.
A true man oft she puts away,
One who for grace from her did pray,
And in his stead an untrue sets.
The world thus her blind justice gets
In love's cause - at least it seems so:
What other men say I don't know,
But as for me it's sure the case
That I am standing in the place
Of those who've fallen from her grace,
No witnesses I need to call:
For me she who's in charge of all
Pertaining to love's random flux,
From Fate's supply of options plucks
A destiny that really sucks.
For when she did my plight survey,
She half in scorn these words did say:
That I am Venus well you know;
To my lusts I allegiance owe
And well know, though my love you court,
That as to lusts you come up short,
With you I'd have but little sport;
For love's desire and locks of gray
In bed will make for paltry play.
And though a youthful heart you feign,
It is from your grooved visage plain
That an old gray nag's not a foal:
Many pretentious years you stole,
And in this you are not alone,
Outwardly feigning a youth outgrown,
Inwardly failing to make the grade.
'I'm willing, but can't, I'm afraid'
Won't cut it nowadays, I fear;
Don't try again lest you appear
Foolish and impotent to be,
It's best you exit gracefully;
For even if you love attain,
It will but be an idle pain,
If you don't have what it would take
Your lover satisfied to make.
So with your heart now go back home,
In vain no more for love to roam,
And thus attempt my court to fool.
I know you can your passions rule,
For you've a will that is robust;
Those with the proper tools may lust;
That you are lacking such, I trust:
So let this sink in well: your in
A feeble state - ere you begin
To run a race you might not win.
Should one seek for a bargain, though
To pay for it one has no dough?
You would be well advised, my son,
To learn, not from this truth to run:
Some things are best left in the past;
What once was green grass does not last,
But into sun-dried hay will turn.
For you my counsel is to learn
That you're too old for love to yearn.
When Venus with her speech was through,
I ask myself if it was true,
And then I realized full well,
That I was doomed to lovers’ hell;
Like blazing fire extinguished by
A water bucket, so fared I;
Quite suddenly I felt a chill,
Sorrow engulfed my heart and made
The color in my face to fade;
I swooned and to the ground I fell.
And as I lay there in a spell,
That must have seemed like I had died,
I thought before my face I spied
Mischievous Cupid, bow all bent,
And like some royal Parliament,
Who were for this occasion meant,
In company with him came all
The lovers in this world we call
The gentle folk; I notice there
With Cupid, those whom he did snare.
As all around my eyes I cast,
To see who’s in this body vast,
I see where lusty youth are found,
As, on a forward spot of ground,
A captain stands upon the field
Whose men the better weapons wield,
Their hair luxurious, on which
Variegated garlands rich
Were worn, some green, some lavender,
And some in beauty matchless were;
Bohemian they were arrayed,
Much fine apparel was displayed,
With what they were adorned I viewed.
All for the pleasure they pursued,
Of every kind of song the strains
I heard, which unto love pertains;
Of Pan and all who like him play
Upon the pipe as purely, they
Were heard in this assemblage gay
So loud, that on all sides it seemed
All heavenly eyes with teardrops teemed
Such was the harmony of sound;
On trumpet and bassoon they blew
With bagpipe and with oboe too,
That it could almost heal a man
To hear this joyful noise of Pan.
And as this lusty troupe I scan
All joyous do they sing and dance,
Transfused with rapturous romance
As in a youthful lusty trance.
Of celebration there was much,
Without restraint they laugh and touch,
And put all worldly cares away;
None stood nor sat, but all did play.
And through all this commotion I
To listen carefully did try;
I learned their talk was mostly of
Brave knights, their exploits, and above
All things the ladies that they love
At night when they lay down their arms.
Tristan who knew Isolde’s charms
Was one, and Lancelot who’s mad
With Guinevere’s love, Galahad
With his Amide, and as I mused
I saw how Jason was enthused
With Creon’s daughter his delight,
And Hercules, who with his might
Was wielding his enormous mace,
While pillars two he put in place
He only on Iola dwells,
For whom his heart with rapture swells.
Theseus, though in love untrue
As faithful Ariadne knew,
Was nonetheless for Phaedra there,
The youth for whom he chose to care.
From Greece was also Telamon,
Who from Troy’s king Laomedon
His daughter fair Hesione
Did take at Hercules’ decree,
Which happened when from Colchis came,
The city Ilium to claim,
The Argonauts by Jason led,
Who claimed that her he should have wed,
When Priam built the town anew.
And in a vision, to my view
Appears courageous Hector, who
Midst brethren stands; and too I see
Beside him fair Andromache,
And next to him another pair,
Brave Paris stood with Helen fair,
Who’s beauteous face him joyful made;
And Troilus stood beside Criseyde,
But though among them all he played,
That he was troubled one could see,
For Diomedes claimed to be,
Along with him, in love with her.
And so full many a bachelor,
A thousand more than I can tell,
Which are with youth endowed quite well
Are carefree and in spirits high.
And some I see who often sigh,
For in a different mood, they cry;
I saw Narcissus full of woe
And Pyramus, sad Thisbe’s beau.
That worthy Greek I also spied,
Achilles, who for loving died.
Great Agamemnon also cried
And Menelaus, teary-eyed,
I saw, along with many more
Who had endured ill-fortune for
The cause of love.
Of women in the same sad state,
Dido I saw whose faithless mate
Aeneas sealed her awful fate;
Phyllis who could not bear to wait
For Demophon, who came home late;
And Ariadne a lady spurned
By Theseus whose attention turned
To Phaedra, her own sister fair.
I saw midst those assembled there
Hercules’ wife who did despair,
Deianira his first desire,
Who set him afterwards afire.
Medea with great sorrow moaned
For faithless Jason her disowned,
And then Creusa did pursue;
She said “To hell with men untrue!”
Deidamia I also see
Who from Achilles far must be
When for him Diomedes sends
To come to Troy where death attends.
Among the others on the grass
I saw a woeful queen, alas
‘Twas Cleopatra, who entombed
Herself with snakes, when all consumed
With grief was she, and torn apart
From all the loss that rent her heart
For Antony, who took his life.
With her I see another wife,
Thisbe on her own sword impaled,
Thinking Pyramus her had failed;
She said, so I her grief might know,
“The price of tardiness is woe!”
Procne and Philomel’s complaint
I heard, which almost made me faint!
How Tereus who his son did eat
Destroyed them both with his deceit;
And next to them I see Canace
Who for Machaire her father’s grace
Had lost, who’s eyes in anguish closed.
To my mind’s eye as I supposed,
Among the others did appear
King Priam’s daughter, to him dear,
Polixena, whom Paris slew,
And who great grief and sorrow knew,
As she for love did guiltless die,
Yet ne’er did with Achilles lie.
And on the lighter side I spy
In spirits sportier, these two
Both Circe and Calypso, who
Obscure the Moon’s bright light from view,
And herds of swine make men into,
With magic charms and sorcery;
And in their hands was held the key
To what the course of love would be.
But far above all others there
I recognized four ladies fair,
Who highly honored are by men:
The court is elevated when
They make their entrance there, for then
All men to reverence incline,
As though these women were divine,
Or were all empresses premier.
And as I thought, I lent an ear
What other people said, to hear,
“Lo, this quadrumvirate of wives,
Whose faith in virtue ruled their lives,
Have such a good example set
Of marriage, that to this day yet
Their fame is known, by nothing stained;
Their sterling stories have remained.”
The first Penelope was called;
By her was many a knight enthralled
While many a year and many a day
Her lord Ulysses was away
In combat at the siege Troy.
But she, who had no worldly joy
Besides her husband, true remained
While he was in the war detained;
To keep her chastity she spun
A web that that wasn’t ever done;
This all of those in Greece admired.
Lucrece, the second one, desired
Her husband Collatine alone;
But base Tarquinius, who’s prone
To lust, her lawlessly did rape;
She could not from her grief escape
And died for fear that her good name
She’d lose, and live her life in shame,
This woman noble all acclaim.
The third was as Alcestis known,
Who when Admetus ill did groan
With torment at death’s very door,
The gods above she did implore
To let her suffer for him, for
She wished to die and give him life:
Now, was this not a noble wife?
As to the fourth whom there I saw,
I heard from those who near did draw
That she was called Alcione,
Who unto Ceyx, her lord, would be
Forever faithful. But to sea
One day he went, and drowned; then she
Leaped in herself, with sorrow numb,
And there a bird she did become,
And with her wings embraced him there
For all the love these two did share.
Lo these four wives I had beheld,
On whose deserving lives I dwelled,
Were those among this lusty throng
To lead away from doing wrong.
But Youth, which had an office high
Within the court of Venus, I
Saw in his duties so engrossed
That he took little heed of most
Of what I said. And then I thought
I saw where Age had gently sought
At Venus there to make a pass
Where she reclined upon the grass.
A regiment quite large he leads,
Though Youth’s brigade his far exceeds:
They mostly were well on in years,
Which in the visage clear appears,
To the extent they could they took
Some pains that youthful they might look:
Yet no loud trumpet here one hears
To make a noise in people’s ears,
I recognized the soft musette,
For old men dance the minuet,
To harp and dulcimer and lute,
The round dance too, to music mute;
In ways congenial to romance,
More slowly do they step and dance;
With women they exhibit tact,
With bearing dignified they act;
Avoiding laughter loud, they smile,
For they have manners, class, and style
And when a woman’s love they crave,
More graciously do they behave.
I thought I saw Bathsheba fair
Along with David dancing there;
And let’s not Solomon forget,
Who with a hundred wives I met
And concubines for whom he yens,
Both Jewesses and Saracens,
Who all their love for him declared.
I don’t know if he was prepared
To satisfy them all, but still
He was compelled, despite his will,
By that decree which Love’s hand seals,
From whom no mortal man appeals.
I saw the mighty Samson who
The honeyed lion ripped in two,
Delilah’s friendship false I knew,
Whose love his power overthrew.
Old Aristotle too was there,
Him did the queen of Greece ensnare;
Since reason was to him the key,
In loving’s logic shrewdly she
A certain syllogism framed;
Though his acumen was acclaimed,
He could not show the reason why
That to him it did not apply,
So in her thesis he concurred.
And Virgil of whom all have heard
I saw, as he a maiden’s love
Did seek, who was the daughter of
The emperor of Rome; and these:
Wise Plato, also Socrates,
And Ovid serve this quest of his.
I thought then: “Love! How sweet it is!”
If wise men like these it can bless,
Then I might get relief, I guess,
So if I stumble or succeed
Where no success is guaranteed:
At least I have some hope of grace.
And when they finally reached the place
Where I had fallen at the feet
Of Venus, these old men entreat
This goddess my poor needs to meet.
And she, who did not dare ignore
These who so loudly her implore,
Some pity for me finally felt;
Since her heart did with mercy melt,
She unto Cupid prayed that he
Would kindly, through his grace, to me
Some comfort send, that I might see
Change that would for the better be.
And thus for me prayed all those who
Were getting on in years, and too
Some who were not quite as mature,
With kindness and devotion pure;
How sad it seemed, they all declared,
That I in love so hapless fared.
That’s what I heard as there I lay.
Cupid, who love’s pain can allay,
Solicitous of my success
On being importuned to bless,
With Venus came, the saint to play,
Where on the green grass faint I lay.
While thinking on this I did see
A host on every side of me
So great that all the crush did feel;
How large this crowd that did congeal
I know not, of which I just told,
Lovers who came here to behold,
Some young, but most of whom were old.
They stood there, these who did attend
To see how I would, in the end,
Be of my foolish love relieved.
There a great party I perceived
Who spoke, none of advice were shy,
One this, another that: But I
Among all this acutely heard
Those who did think my plight absurd,
An old man should not make a pass
And thus make of himself an ass;
As these were all quick to declaim,
He only has himself to blame
Who on himself brings foolish shame,
For then he is a fool indeed.
With this assessment some agreed,
While some said nothing of the sort,
But that love’s rapturous disport
Is not confined to youth’s desire;
While there is oil to light the fire
With ease the lamp is set ablaze,
To die out though, it long delays
Excepting only in the case
Of some saint saved by Heaven’s grace.
This made me think that in this place
There were with those who milled around
Many diverse opinions found;
And for a time like this it went,
Till Cupid finally did consent,
Not by his mother unadvised,
As they’d determined and devised,
Down to a certain point to come.
And all the while I lay there glum
Upon the ground before his eyes,
And they that see my state surmise
That I’d of my affliction die;
But he, who’d not his grace deny
To one in such a sorry plight,
This blinded god bereft of sight,
Upon the grass did grope around
Until his hand my body found,
And as he touched me, where I lay,
I thought a dart that he one day
Had thrown and pierced my poor heart through,
He pulled out, and away he flew;
So fast he disappeared from view
That I knew not which way he went,
And in a flash this vast extent
Of folks whom with him I had seen,
Did vanish too, those in between
Reality and fantasy,
That I did in a vision see.
But with them Venus did not leave,
Nor Genius, both I did perceive
Did at this juncture with me stay.
And she who love’s pain can allay
Or make sure it won’t go away,
As from my trance I did arise,
Produced a box to my surprise,
And wishing not to see me stained
Took out the ointment it contained
And as where Christ was pierced applied
It’s cold balm to my wounded side,
My temples and my kidneys too
She did anoint, then out she drew
A mirror marvelous to hold
In which she bade me to behold
And take heed well what therein I
Should see; at once with my heart’s eye
I looked, and lo, my color paled,
And slowly my poor eyesight failed,
With age I saw my cheeks grow thin,
Upon my face I saw the skin
So sagging, shriveled up, and dull,
That there was nothing smooth nor full,
I also saw my hair turn white.
So sickened was I by this sight
That more to see I could not stand;
Then all my yesterdays I scanned
In memory, old days long gone,
And realized there could be drawn
Some parallels by reason here
To those twelve months of which a year
Is into seasons organized;
To how life thus is symbolized
No other calendar compares
That chronicles this world’s affairs.
And so at March let us begin,
For that’s when hope awakens in
The year to come, then on to Fall
When youth can wistfully recall
The Springtime of the year, when all
The flowers bloomed, green was the grass,
And grapes gave wine to fill one’s glass.
Then comes, as time doth further pass,
The frost, the snow, the wind, the sleet,
Till finally Mars again we greet:
Winter from Summer is estranged,
The green leaf into brown is changed,
The world once gay turns splendorless
Despoiled is all the Summer’s dress,
When heat turns into frostiness.
Thus overwhelmed with thoughts austere,
I woke from fainting filled with fear;
I saw my wits had taken wing,
And so I tried them home to bring.
So when it did on Reason dawn
That love’s excitement now was gone,
I did unto my senses come,
No more in folly to succumb
To my fool fantasy, about
Which I would often grieve and pout;
Thus was I of this fiery pain
Relieved and did forgiveness gain.
Venus observed my humbled fate,
And as a challenge bid me state
What love was. And embarrassed I
Did not know how I should reply;
But nonetheless to her I swore:
That’s something I’ve no answer for;
It is so distant from my mind,
It’s to oblivion consigned.
My worthy son, she said to me,
I know now what is best for thee,
Of Fortune’s wheel I have inquired;
My counsel? You should be retired.
With your permission, Ma’am, I said,
Since you know well my looks have fled,
And thus unsuitable am I
To serve you, I shall say good-bye.
Since I may not deserve regard,
And from your court of love I’m barred,
I pray that you’ll excuse me now.
But ere I take my final bow,
While I‘m still of my wits possessed,
That through confession I’ll be blessed
An absolution I’d receive
Of Genius, ere I take my leave.
Thus to him said this faithful priest,
For this confession, you’re released,
My son, with sin you need not die;
You can forget it, as will I.
My holy father, grant me grace,
I said, and to the queen my face
I turned, and fell down on my knee,
And said, I’ll now depart from thee.
But she, who did an end desire,
When I still had romantic fire,
Some beads held, black as ebony
And two of them she gave to me;
All of these gaudy globes contain
In golden words “From love refrain.”
And thus she said: John Gower, lo,
Considering how old you grow,
This I’ve ordained to ease your lot,
You’ll no more in love’s lair be caught.
My will is rather that you pray
For peace, that you may find the way
Henceforth away from love to stay;
For love takes very little heed
Of old men who may feel the need,
But from whom passion’s fire departs:
Thus Fate for thee but one course charts,
Let reason be your only guide;
For whoso looks from side to side,
Sees not the peril straight ahead.
Think well, my son, on what I’ve said,
The letter of my law observe
No longer in my court to serve,
But to where virtue dwells withdraw,
Where lie your books, as all men saw,
Which you for so long labored o’er.
This wisdom you should not ignore:
If health is what you would obtain
Then from the chase you should refrain
Where it’s not right the game to claim;
It is a foolish thing, a shame,
For men to act in such a way.
And so take heed of what I say;
For in my fellowship shall we
No longer fit to parley be,
From now through all eternity.
Now I’ve said all there is to say
Concerning your love’s final day.
Adieu, I must now take my leave.
And with that word I did perceive,
Enclosed within a starry eve,
Up to her residence above
Was taken Venus, queen of love,
Here whereabouts no more I knew.
That’s how from her I said, “Adieu,”
And bid good-bye to her priest, too,
Who from my company withdrew,
For whether I agreed or not,
For him to stay was not my lot,
As helpless was I diagnosed.
So I knew not whereof to boast.
Except to say that I my time
Had wasted, and that was a crime.
I was in thought thus occupied,
Thinking how all my hopes had died,
And stood amazed for quite a while,
Then in myself began to smile;
I contemplated those black beads,
How they should bud like little seeds
That into supplication sprout.
From this fate I saw no way out,
And feared that I would be estopped
From living life as I would opt,
A way which never would return:
And in this state of sad concern,
Dejectedly back home I paced,
Where I resignedly embraced
My fate - for penance I would pray
As long as on this earth I'd stay.
He who in less than seven days
This earth, and heaven all ablaze
With stars, in his auspicious ways
Did make, and reason’s faculty
In many a soul whose will is free
Implanted for eternity,
In which respect the man excels
All other creatures, in him dwells
A soul that cannot ever die;
Unto this lord enthroned on high,
Who did all things on earth supply,
He who does cause the kings to reign
And makes their fortunes wax and wane,
To seek his grace and mercy I
In prayer on my bare knees did cry,
That he this land in every way
Would guide in governance this day.
If men would just recall to mind
A life in unity aligned,
There’d be no nation that would cease
To take delight in seeking peace,
Without which, no one can dispute
Nor find a reason to refute,
The world no lasting joy may know.
First should the clergy seek to show
More thought for what is apropos
To things which to their realm pertain,
Namely to pray and to obtain
Some peace for us from heaven above,
And too tranquility and love
Establish here on earth for us.
If they intently labored thus,
The rule of charity their guide,
I’d hope that men would see with pride
This land improve. Beyond this though,
Concerning knighthood we all know
If we objectively assess,
Some parties qualities posses
That are quite worthy of our praise,
While others should reform their ways;
Their numbers large, and far from home
So many private armies roam
That common folks are victimized,
Their rights are in few countries prized.
Extortion, plunder, robbery
With those cabals keep company,
All day is heard a loud lament
About all the affliction sent
Upon the people sore oppressed:
God grant that it might be redressed.
For it’s the office of all knights
That they keep ever in their sights
The people’s liberty and rights;
The church is also in their care,
That none to do it evil dare,
With shield and spear they goodness spare.
Since now the other way it goes,
Our grace now more diminished grows.
And to go on in this same vein,
The people sorely too complain
About the laws that have been made;
They see there is no trust in trade
And shady dealing is the rule,
So honest men are played the fool
For moral rectitude is rare.
And if men in the worldly snare
Of commerce certain safety chase,
With schemes and tricks to win the race
For profits that are paramount,
We’ll see for sin this does account;
To strife and dissonance it leads
From which a peaceful town proceeds
From wealth and from prosperity
To conflict and adversity.
It’s good as one all to agree,
For greater grace in harmony
The cities round about would see,
Which to all would a blessing be;
If sundry statutes were improved
So that all vice would be removed
And virtues only did remain,
I think I safely could maintain,
That grace throughout the land would reign.
However, looking elsewhere we
Will quite another office see,
Above all others in this land,
Which holds all power in his hand.
To him is all allegiance due
From clerics, knights, and lawyers too;
His hand can prosper or undo
Both merchants and the working man;
His power is so great, he can
To ruin bring or save from harm.
But though such strength is in his arm,
And though his might is so immense,
Still justice must this king dispense,
As every decent sovereign should.
And so it’s seemly if he would
To upright acts foremost incline,
And thus approval gain divine
While distancing himself from sin,
As suits the office he is in.
His royal lineage to conserve
His covenant he shall observe
To lead and govern righteously,
So there will be no tyranny,
Beneath which should his subjects groan,
Else may his wishes for his throne
Be foiled, and glory not be known.
For if a king would save from sin
His land and they who live therein,
First with himself he must begin,
All that is sinister to shun,
That with his God he is at one:
For if he takes a different tack
All kings the competence would lack
To bliss to bring his people back,
Save one who heaven’s king reveres.
For with a king, when pride appears.
Who to indulge his lust is prone,
And leave the righteous way he’s known,
His grace by God is cast away,
And he will realize someday
That all the foolish pomp he prized
Was worthless dross as gold disguised.
A sovereign, though, with charity
Who vice avoids as Deity
Commands, and after virtue seeks,
God’s grace his worthiness bespeaks
In all those ways to govern well
The folk which in his kingdom dwell;
So in prosperity and rest
The people shall not be oppressed,
And shall regard his name as blessed;
For ever him they shall revere.
And so now as the end I near
Of that grand task I undertook
In English to compose a book
Half to instruct and half amuse
I’ve made it, and I’ll trust my Muse,
Not asking it to be excused,
But that my book be not refused
By learned men, when it they see,
For lack of curiosity:
For eloquence is not my forte
As to directness I resort,
Not to that polished rhetoric
Of flowery words, the bailiwick
In ancient times of Cicero
Who wrote that way. But this I know,
That language plain and simple I
Have used, and taken pains to try
With unsophisticated phrase
To write this book despite the days
When I’ve been weakened by malaise;
And since I’m getting on in years
Infirmity’s one of my fears,
I’m losing touch with world affairs.
So to my lords I raise my prayers
Now that I’m elderly and gray,
That in their good grace I might stay;
For though their worthy thanks I may
No longer merit by my works
Yet may I still deserve some perks
As in my simple way I would,
For those who govern, only good
Desire, and on their care depend.
Of working on this book the end
Has come, my writing done, and so
My muse would like for me to know,
And says that it is best for me,
That I from this day forth should be
No longer with love’s lore concerned,
Which many a broken heart has burned,
And many a man from reason turned
Who has the law of nature learned;
Thus making him from wisdom stray
So that he cannot see the way
His own life properly to guide,
But constantly he’s torn inside,
His sin away he cannot cast.
Accordingly I’ll take at last
My final leave forevermore
Of love, that fatal guarantor
Of pleasure’s fraudulent allure
For which no doctor has the cure.
It is inherently like sand,
Inconstant, shifting on the strand
With too much here, too little there;
There’s no delight found in such fare,
For always something’s incomplete.
But there’s a love that is discreet,
Steadfast, within man’s heart unmoved,
And stands of charity approved;
To have such love should be man’s goal,
Such love may make the body whole,
And such love may redeem the soul;
God send such love from his high place
To us, a token of his grace;
So that in heaven above where we
Eternal peace and love shall see,
May find joy that will endless be. |