"The
myhti God, which unbegunne
Stant
of Himself and hath begunne
Alle
othre thinges at His wille,
The
hevene Him liste to fulfille
Of
alle joie, where as He
Sit
inthronized in His see,
And
hath Hise angles Him to serve,
Suche
as Him liketh to preserve,
So
that thei mowe noght forsueie:
Bot
Lucifer He putte aweie,
With
al the route apostazied
Of
hem that ben to him allied,
Whiche
out of hevene into the helle
From
angles into fendes felle;
Wher
that ther is no joie of lyht,
Bot
more derk than eny nyht
The
peine schal ben endeles;
And
yit of fyres natheles
Ther
is plenté, bot thei ben blake,
Wherof
no syhte mai be take.
Thus whan the thinges ben befalle,
That
Luciferes court was falle
Wher
dedly Pride hem hath conveied,
Anon
forthwith it was pourveied
Thurgh
Him which alle thinges may;
He
made Adam the sexte day
In
Paradis, and to his make
Him
liketh Eve also to make,
And
bad hem cresce and multiplie.
For
of the mannes progenie,
Which
of the womman schal be bore,
The
nombre of angles which was lore,
Whan
thei out fro the blisse felle,
He
thoghte to restore, and felle
In
hevene thilke holy place
Which
stod tho voide upon His grace.
Bot
as it is wel wiste and knowe,
Adam
and Eve bot a throwe,
So
as it scholde of hem betyde,
In
Paradis at thilke tyde
Ne
duelten, and the cause why,
Write
in the bok of Genesi,
As
who seith, alle men have herd,
Hou
Raphael the fyri swerd
In
honde tok and drof hem oute,
To
gete here lyves fode aboute
Upon
this wofull erthe hiere.
Metodre
seith to this matiere,
As
he be revelacion
It
hadde upon avision,
Hou
that Adam and Eve also
Virgines
comen bothe tuo
Into
the world and were aschamed,
Til
that nature hem hath reclamed
To
love, and tauht hem thilke lore,
That
ferst thei keste, and overmore
Thei
don that is to kinde due,
Wherof
thei hadden fair issue.
A
sone was the ferste of alle,
And
Chain be name thei him calle;
Abel
was after the secounde,
And
in the geste as it is founde,
Nature
so the cause ladde,
Tuo
douhtres ek Dame Eve hadde,
The
ferste cleped Calmana
Was,
and that other Delbora.
Thus
was mankinde to beginne;
Forthi
that time it was no sinne
The
soster for to take hire brother,
Whan
that ther was of chois non other:
To
Chain was Calmana betake,
And
Delboram hath Abel take,
In
whom was gete natheles
Of
worldes folk the ferste encres.
Men
sein that nede hath no lawe,
And
so it was be thilke dawe
And
laste into the Secounde Age,
Til
that the grete water rage,
Of
Noe, which was seid the flod,
The
world, which thanne in senne stod,
Hath
dreint, outake lyves eyhte.
Tho
was mankinde of litel weyhte;
Sem,
Cham, Japhet, of these thre,
That
ben the sones of Noe,
The
world of mannes nacion
Into
multiplicacion
Was
tho restored newe agein
So
ferforth, as the bokes sein,
That
of hem thre and here issue
Ther
was so large a retenue,
Of
naciouns seventy and tuo,
In
sondri place ech on of tho
The
wyde world have enhabited.
Bot
as nature hem hath excited,
Thei
token thanne litel hiede,
The
brother of the sosterhiede
To
wedde wyves, til it cam
Into
the time of Habraham.
Whan
the thridde Age was begunne,
The
nede tho was overrunne,
For
ther was poeple ynouh in londe.
Thanne
ate ferste it cam to honde,
That
sosterhode of mariage
Was
torned into cousinage,
So
that after the rihte lyne
The
cousin weddeth the cousine.
For
Habraham, er that he deide,
This
charge upon his servant leide,
To
him and in this wise spak,
That
he his sone Isaac
Do
wedde for no worldes good,
Bot
only to his oghne blod:
Wherof
this servant, as he bad,
Whan
he was ded, his sone hath lad
To
Bathuel, wher he Rebecke
Hath
wedded with the whyte necke;
For
sche, he wiste wel and syh,
Was
to the child cousine nyh.
And thus as Habraham hath tawht,
Whan
Isaac was God betawht,
His
sone Jacob dede also,
And
of Laban the dowhtres tuo,
Which
was his em, he tok to wyve,
And
gat upon hem in his lyve,
Of
hire ferst which hihte Lie,
Sex
sones of his progenie,
And
of Rachel tuo sones eke:
The
remenant was for to seke,
That
is to sein of foure mo,
Wherof
he gat on Bala tuo,
And
of Zelpha he hadde ek tweie.
And
these tuelve, as I thee seie,
Thurgh
providence of God Himselve
Ben
seid the Patriarkes tuelve;
Of
whom, as afterward befell,
The
tribes tuelve of Irahel
Engendred
were, and ben the same
That
of Hebreus tho hadden name,
Which
of sibrede in alliance
For
evere kepten thilke usance
Most
comunly, til Crist was bore.
Bot
afterward it was forbore
Amonges
ous that ben baptized;
For
of the lawe canonized
The
Pope hath bede to the men,
That
non schal wedden of his ken
Ne
the seconde ne the thridde.
Bot
thogh that holy cherche it bidde,
So
to restreigne mariage,
Ther
ben yit upon loves rage
Full
manye of suche nou aday
That
taken wher thei take may.
For
love, which is unbesein
Of
alle reson, as men sein,
Thurgh
sotie and thurgh nyceté,
Of
his voluptuosité
He
spareth no condicion
Of
ken ne yit religion,
Bot
as a cock among the hennes,
Or
as a stalon in the fennes,
Which
goth amonges al the stod,
Riht
so can he no more good,
Bot
takth what thing comth next to honde.
Mi sone, thou schalt understonde,
That
such delit is for to blame.
Forthi
if thou hast be the same
To
love in eny such manere,
Tell
forth therof and schrif thee hiere."
"Mi
fader, nay, God wot the sothe,
Mi
feire is noght of such a bothe,
So
wylde a man yit was I nevere,
That
of mi ken or lief or levere
Me
liste love in such a wise:
And
ek I not for what emprise
I
scholde assote upon a nonne,
For
thogh I hadde hir love wonne,
It
myhte into no pris amonte,
So
therof sette I non acompte.
Ye
mai wel axe of this and that,
Bot
sothli for to telle plat,
In
al this world ther is bot on
The
which myn herte hath overgon;
I
am toward alle othre fre."
"Full
wel, mi sone, nou I see
Thi
word stant evere upon o place.
Bot
yit therof thou hast a grace,
That
thou thee myht so wel excuse
Of
love suche as som men use,
So
as I spak of now tofore.
For
al such time of love is lore,
And
lich unto the bitterswete;
For
thogh it thenke a man ferst swete,
He
schal wel fielen ate laste
That
it is sour and may noght laste.
For
as a morsell envenimed,
So
hath such love his lust mistimed,
And
grete ensamples manyon
A
man mai finde therupon.
At Rome ferst if we beginne,
Ther
schal I finde hou of this sinne
An
emperour was for to blame,
Gayus
Caligula be name,
Which
of his oghne sostres thre
Berefte
the virginité:
And
whanne he hadde hem so forlein,
As
he the which was al vilein,
He
dede hem out of londe exile.
Bot
afterward withinne a while
God
hath beraft him in his ire
His
lif and ek his large empire:
And
thus for likinge of a throwe
Forevere
his lust was overthrowe.
Of
this sotie also I finde,
Amon
his soster agein kinde,
Which
hihte Thamar, he forlay;
Bot
he that lust an other day
Aboghte,
whan that Absolon
His
oghne brother therupon,
Of
that he hadde his soster schent,
Tok
of that senne vengement
And
slowh him with his oghne hond:
And
thus th'unkinde unkinde fond.
And for to se more of this thing,
The
Bible makth a knowleching,
Wherof
thou miht take evidence
Upon
the sothe experience.
Whan
Lothes wif was overgon
And
schape into the salte ston,
As
it is spoke into this day,
Be
bothe hise dowhtres thanne he lay,
With
childe and made hem bothe grete,
Til
that nature hem wolde lete,
And
so the cause aboute ladde
That
ech of hem a sone hadde,
Moab
the ferste, and the seconde
Amon,
of whiche, as it is founde,
Cam
afterward to gret encres
Tuo
nacions: and natheles,
For
that the stockes were ungoode,
The
branches mihten noght be goode;
For
of the false Moabites
Forth
with the strengthe of Amonites,
Of
that thei weren ferst misgete,
The
poeple of God was ofte upsete
In
Irahel and in Judee,
As
in the Bible a man mai se.
Lo thus, my sone, as I thee seie,
Thou
miht thiselve be beseie
Of
that thou hast of othre herd.
For
evere yit it hath so ferd,
Of
loves lust if so befalle
That
it in other place falle
Than
it is of the lawe set,
He
which his love hath so beset
Mote
afterward repente him sore.
And
every man is othres lore;
Of
that befell in time er this
The
present time which now is
May
ben enformed hou it stod,
And
take that him thenketh good,
And
leve that which is noght so.
Bot
for to loke of time go,
Hou
lust of love excedeth lawe,
It
oghte for to be withdrawe;
For
every man it scholde drede,
And
nameliche in his sibrede,
Which
torneth ofte to vengance:
Wherof
a tale in remembrance,
Which
is a long process to hiere,
I
thenke for to tellen hiere."
[The
Tale of Apollonius of Tyre]
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
beauté, 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 for to 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 sche 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 wel nyh 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 beauté 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 agein 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 for to 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 priveté
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
for to 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 agein 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
for to tellen of the care
That
thei of Tyr begonne tho,
Whan
that thei wiste he was ago,
It
is a pité for to 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 no man 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 agein.
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 privé 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 forthwithal 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 agein,
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 agein unsped.
The
king was sori for a while,
Bot
whan he sih that with no wyle
He
myhte achieve his crualté,
He
stinte his wraththe and let him be.
Bot over this now for to 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 cité,
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 cité so
Before
time and thanne also,
Thurgh
strong famyne which hem ladde
Was
non that eny whete hadde.
Appolinus,
whanne that he herde
The
meschief, hou the cité ferde,
Al
freliche of his oghne gifte
His
whete, among hem for to schifte,
The
which be schipe he hadde broght,
He
gaf, 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 cité was beholde;
It
was of latoun overgilt:
Thus
hath he noght his gifte 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 agein,
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 for to hiere.
This
lord, which wolde don his beste,
Withinne
himself hath litel reste,
And
thoghte he wolde his place change
And
seche a contré 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
for to se the schip travaile:
Bot
al that myhte him nogth 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
al tobroke 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 for to mote
To
gete agein 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 pité 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 agein,
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 cité 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 degré
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 for to 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 youre leve,
Mi
name is hote Appolinus,
And
of mi richesse it is thus,
Upon
the see I have it lore.
The
contré 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 pité to sen him wepe,
And
for his doghter sende agein,
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 for to 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 all 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 agein.
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
Agein
hire youthe freissh and frele,
That
malgré 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
for to 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 agein.
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 for to make an ende
And
wryte agein 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 agein 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
gaf 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 priveté,
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
gifte 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
no man 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
for to speke of the mervailes
Whiche
afterward to hem befelle,
It
is a wonder for to 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 |