The workes of Geffray Chaucer newlye printed, wyth dyuers workes whych were neuer in print before: as in the table more playnly doth appere. Cum priuilegio ad imprimendum solum.

[illustration]

¶The Romaūt of the Rose.

(Book Romance of the Rose)

MAnye man sayen, that in sweuenynges There nys but fables & lesynges But men may some swe∣uen sene which hardlye that false ne bene But aftewarde ben apparaunt This maye I drawe to warraunt An author that hyght Macrobes That halte nat dreames false ne lees But vndoth vs the auysyoun That whylom mette kyng Cipioun And whoso sayth, or weneth it be A••ape, or els nycetie To wene that dremes after fall Lette whoso lyst a foole me call For this trowe I, and saye for me That dremes signifiaunce be Of good and harme to many wightes That dremen in her slepe a nyghtes Full many thynges couertly That fallen after all openly within my twenty yere of age whan that loue taketh his corage Of yonge folke, I went soone To bed as I was wont to done And fast I slept, and in slepyng Me met suche a swenyng That lyke me wonders wele But in that sweue is neuer a dele That it nys afterwarde befal Rygh as this dreame wol tell vs all Now this dreme wol I ryme aryght To make your hertes gaye and lyght For loue it prayeth, and also Cōmaundeth we that it be so And yf there any aske me whether that it be, he or she How this boke, which is here Shall hate that I rede here It is the Romaunce of the Rose In which all the arte of loue I glose. ¶The matter fayre is of to make God graunt me in gre that she it take For whome that it begone is And that is she, that hath ywys So mokel pryse, and therto she So worthy is beloued to be That she well ought of pryse and ryght Be cleped Rose of euery wyght That it was May me thought tho It is fyue yere or more ago That it was May, thus dremed me In tyme of loue and iolitie That all thyng gynneth waxen gay For there is neyther buske nor haye In May, that it nyl shrouded bene And it with newe leues wrene These woddes eke recoueren grene That drye in wynter ben to sene And the erth wexeth proude withall For swote dewes that on it fall And the pore estate forgette In which that wynter had it sette And than becometh the ground so proude That it woll haue a newe shroude And maketh so queynt his robe and fayre That it had hewes an hundred payre Of grasse and floures, ynde and Pers And many hewes full dyuers That is the robe I mene ywys Through which the grounde to praysen is The byrdes that han lefft her songe whyle they han suffred colde full stronge In wethers grylle, and derke to syght Ben in may, for the sunne bryght So glad, that they shewe in syngyng That in her herte is suche lykyng That they mote syngen and ben lyght Than doth the nyghtyngale her myght To maken noyse, and syngen blythe Than is blysfull many a sythe The chelaundre, and the popyngay Than yonge folke entenden aye For to ben gay and amarous The tyme is than so sauorious Harde is his hert that loueth nought In May whan al this myrth is wrought whan he may on these braunches here The small byrbes syngen clere Her blysfull swete swete songe pitions And in this seson delytious whan loue affirmeth all thynge Me thougt one nyght in my slepyng Ryght in my bedde full redely That it was by the morowe erly And vp I rose and gan me clothe Anon I wysh myne hondes both A syluer nedle forth I drowe Out of an aguyler queynt ynowe And gan this nedle threde anon For out of towne me lyst to gone

The sowne of bryddes for to heare That on these buskes syngen cleare That in the swete season that lefe is with a threde bastyng my sleues Alone I went in my playing The small foules songe herkenyng That payned hem full many a payre To synge on bowes blossomed fayre Iolyfe and gaye, full of gladnesse Towarde a ryuer gan I me dresse That I herde renne fast by For fayrer playing none sawe I Than playen me by that ryuere For from an hyll that stode there nere Come downe the streme full styffe & bolde Clere was the water, and as colde As any well is soth to sayne And somdele lasse it was than Sayne But it was strayter, wele awaye And neuer saugh I er that daye The water that so wele lyked me And wonder gladde was I to se That lusty place, and that ryuere And with that water that ran so clere My face I wysh, tho sawe I wele The botome ypaued euery dele with grauell, full of stones shene The medowes softe, sote and grene Beet ryght on the water syde Ful clere was than the morowe tyde And full attempre out of drede Tho gan I walken thorowe the mede Downwarde aye, in my playing The ryuers syde coostyng. And when I had a whyle ygone I sawe a Garden ryght anon Full longe and brode, and euery dele Enclosed was, and walled wele with hye walles enbatayled Portrayed without and wel entayled with many ryche portreytures And both the ymages and peyntures Gan I beholde besely And I woll tell you redely Of thilke ymages the semblaunce As ferre as I haue remembraunce. A mydde sawe I hate stonde That for her wrath and yre, and onde Semed to be a mynoresse And angry with a chyderesse And full of gyle, and fell corage By semblaunt was that ylke ymage And she was nothyng wele arayed But lyke a wode woman afrayed Yfrounced foule was her vysage And grynnyng for disputous rage Her nose snorted vp for tene Full hydous was she for to sene Ful foule and rusty was she this Her heed ywryththen was ywys Full grymly with a great towayle. ¶An ymage of an other entayle A lyste halfe was her fast by Her name aboue her heed sawe I And she was called Felony ¶An other ymage that vyllany Ycleped was sawe I and fonde Vpon the wall on her right honde Vyllany was lyke somdele That other ymage, and trusteth wele She semed a wicked creature By countenaunce in portreture She semed be full dispytous And eke full proude, and outragious wel coulde he paynt I vndertake That suche an ymage coulde make Full foule and chorlysh semed she And eke vyllanous for to be And lytle coulde of norture To worshyppe any creature. ¶And next was paynted Couetyse That eggeth folke in many a gyse To take and yeue ryght nought agayne And great treasures vp to layne And that is she that for vsure Leueth to many a creature The lasse for the more wynnyng So couetous is her brennyng And that is she for pennes feele That teacheth for to robbe and steele These theues and these small harlotes And that is routh, for by her throtes Full many one hongeth at the last She maketh folke compasse and cast To taken other folkes thynge Through robbery and myscouetyng And that is she that maketh trechours And she maketh false pledours That with her termes and her domes Done maydens, chyldren, and eke gromes Her herytage to forgo Full croked were her hondes two For couetyse is euer wode To grypen other folkes good

Couetyse, for her wynnyng Full lefe hath other mens thyng ¶An other ymage sette saugh I Next Couetise fast by And she was cleped Auaryce Ful foule in payntyng was that vyce Full sad and caytyfe was she eke And also grene as any leke So euyll hewed was her coloure Her semed to haue lyued in langour She was lyke thyng for hungre deed That lad her lyfe onely by breed Kneden with eysell stronge and egre And therto she was leane and megre And she was clad full poorely All in a torne courtpy As she were al with dogges torne And both behynde and eke beforne Clouted was she beggarly A mantell honge her fast by Vpon a benche weke and small A burnyt cote honge there withall Furred with no menyuere But with a furre rough of heere Of lambe skynnes heuy and blake It was ful olde I vndertake For Auarice to cloth her wele Ne hasteth her neuer adele For certaynly it were her lothe To wearren oft that ylke clothe And yf it were forweared, she wolde haue full great nycetie Of clothyng, er she bought her newe All were it bad of woll and hewe This Auarice helde in her hande A purse that honge by a bande And that she hydde and bonde so stronge Men must abyde wonder longe Out of the purse or there come ought For that ne cōmeth in her thought It was not certayne her entent That fro that purse a peny went And by that ymage nygh ynough was paynted Enuy that neuer lough Nor neuer wel in her herte ferde But yf she eyther sawe or herde Some great myschannce, or great disese Nothyng may so moche her plese As myschefe and mysaduenture Or whan she seeth discomfyture Vpon any worthy man fall Than lyketh her well withall She is full glad in her corage Yf she se any great lynage Be brought to nought in shameful wyse And yf a man in honour ryse Or by his wyt, or by his prowesse Of that hath she great heuynesse For trusteth well she goth nye wood whan any chaunce happeth good Enuye is of suche crueltie That fayth ne trouth holdeth she To frende ne felowe, badde or good Ne she hath kynne none of her blood That she nys full her enemy She nolde, I dare sayne hardely Her owne father fared wele And sore abydeth she euery dele Her malyce, and her male talent For she is in so great turment And hate suche, when folke doth good That nygh she melteth for pure wood Her herte kerueth and so breaketh That god the people well awreketh Enuy ywys shall neuer let Some blame vpon the folke to set I trowe that yf Enuy ywys Knewe the best man that is On this syde or beyonde the see Yet somwhat lacken hym wolde she And yf he were so hende and wyse That she ne myght al abate his pryse Yet wolde she blame his worthynesse Or by her wordes make it lesse I sawe Enuy in that payntyng Had a wonderfull lokyng For she ne loked but awry Or ouetwharte, all baggyngly And she had a foule vsage She myght loke in no vysage Of man ne woman, forth ryght playne But shu••te her one eye for disdayne So for enuy brenned she whan she myght any man se That fayre or worthy were, or wyse Or els stode in folkes pryse ¶Sorowe was paynted next Enuy Vpon that wall of masourye But well was sene in her colour That she had lyued in langour Her semed to haue the iaundice Not halfe so pale was Auaryce Ne nothynge lyke of leanesse For sorowe, thought, and great distresse

That she had suffred daye and nyght Made her yelowe, and nothyng bryght Ful fade, pale, and megre also was neuer wight yet halfe so wo As that her semed for to be Nor so fulfylled with yre, as she I trowe that no wyght myght her plese Nor do that thyng that myght her ese Nor she ne wolde her sorowe slake Nor comfort none vnto her take So depe was her wo begon And eke her hert in angre ronne A sorowfull thyng wel semed she Nor she had nothyng slowe be For to cratchen all her face And for to rent in many place Her clothes, and for to tere her swyre As she that was fulfylled of yre And all to torne laye eke her heere About her shulders here and there As she that had it all to rent For angre and for male talent And eke I tell you certaynly How that she wept full tenderly In worlde nys wyght so harde of hert That had sene her sorowes smerte That nolde haue had of her pytye So wo begonne a thynge was she She al to dasht her selfe for wo And smote togyther her hondes two To sorowe was she full intentyfe That wofull rechelesse caytyfe Her rought lytle of playing Or of clyppynge or kyssynge For whoso sorowful is in herte Hym lust not to playe ne sterte Ne for to dauncen, ne to synge Ne may his hert in tempre brynge To make ioye on euen or morowe For ioye is contrary vnto sorowe. Elde was paynted after this That shorter was a fote iwys Than she was wont in her yonghede Vnneth her selfe she myght fede So feble and eke so olde was she That faded was all her beautye Ful salowe waxen her colour Her heed for hore was whyte as floure. Iwys great qualme ne were it none Ne synne, although her lyfe were gone All woxen was her body vnwelde And drye and dwyned al for elde A foule forwelked thynge was she That whylom rounde and soft had be Her eares shoken fast withall As from her heed they wolde fall Her face frounced and forpyned And both her hondes lorne forwyned So olde she was, that she ne went A fote, but it were by potent The tyme that passeth nyght and daye And restlesse trauayleth aye And steleth from vs so priuely That to vs semeth sekerly That it in one poynt dwelleth euer And certes it ne resteth neuer But goth so fast, and passeth aye That there nys man that thynke may what tyme that nowe present is Asketh at these clerkes this For men thynke it redely Thre tymes bene passed by The tyme that maye not soiourne But goth, and may neuer returne As water that downe renneth aye But neuer droppe returne maye There maye nothynge as tyme endure Metall, nor erthly creature For all thyng it frette and shall The tyme eke that chaungeth all And all doth waxe, and fostred be And all thynge destroyeth he The tyme that eldeth our auncestours And eldeth kynges and emperours And that vs all shall ouercōmen Er that deth vs shal haue nōmen The tyme that hath all in welde To elden folke had made her elde So inly, that to my wetyng She myght helpe her selfe nothyng But turned ayen vnto chyldheed She had nothyng her selfe to lede Ne wytte ne pythe in her holde More than a chylde of two yere olde But nathelesse I trowe that she was fayre sometyme, and fresh to se whan she was in her ryght full age But she was past all that passage And was a doted thyng becōmen A furred cappe on had she nummen well had she clad her selfe and warme For colde myght els done her harme These olde folke haue alwaye colde Her kynde is suche when they ben olde.

¶Another thynge was done there writ That semed lyke an Ipocryt And it was cleped Pope holy That ylke is she, that priuely Ne spareth neuer a wycked dede. whan men of her take none hede And maketh her outwarde precious wyth pale vysage and pytous And semeth a simple creature But there nys no misauenture That she ne thynketh in her corage Ful lyke to her was thylke ymage That maked was lyke her semblaunce She was ful symple of countenaunce And she was clothed and eke shod As she were for the loue of God Yolden to religion Such semed her deuocion A psauter helde she fast in honde And besyly she gan to fonde To make many a faynt prayere To god, and to hys sayntes dere Ne she was gaye, freshe, ne iolyfe But semed to be ful ententyfe To good werkes, and to fayre And therto she had on an hayre Ne certes she was fatte nothyng But semed wery for fastyng Of colour pale and deed was she From her the gates aye werned be Of paradyse, that blysful place For such folke maken leane her grace As Christ sayeth in hys Euangyle To gette hem prise in towne a whyle And for a lytle glory veigne They lesen god and eke hys reigne ¶And alderlaste of euerychone was paynted Pouert al alone That nat a peny had in holde Although she her clothes solde And though she shulde an honged be For naked as a worme was she And yf the wether stormy were For colde she myght haue dyed there. She ne had on but a strayte olde sacke. And many a cloute on it there stacke Thys was her cote, and her mantele No more was there neuer adele To cloth her wyth, I vndertake Great leyser had she to quake And she was put, that I of talke Ferre fro these other, vp in an halke There lurked, and there coured she For poore thyng where so it be Is shamefaste, and dispised aye Acursed may well be that daye That poore man conceyued is For god wot al to selde iwys Is any pore man well yfedde Or well arayed or ycledde Or well beloued, in such wyse In honour, that he maye aryse. ¶Al these thynges wel auysed As I haue you er thys deuysed wyth golde and assure ouer all Depaynted were on the wall Square was the wall, and hygh somdele Enclosed, and ybarred wele In stede of hegge, was that gardyn Come neuer shepherde therin In to that gardyn, wel wrought who so that me coulde haue brought By ladders, or els by degre It wolde wel haue lyked me For such solace, such ioy, and pley I trowe that neuer man ne sey As was in that place delicious The gardyn was not daungerous To herberowe byrdes many one So ryche a yere was neuer none Of byrdes songe, and braunches grene Therin were byrdes mo I wene Then bene in al the realme of Fraunce Ful blisful was the accordaunce Of swete pytous songe they made For al thys worlde it ought glade. And I my selfe so mery ferde. whan I her blysful songes herde That for an hundred pounde wolde I If that the passeage openly Had be vnto me free That I nolde entren for to se Thassemble, god kepe it 〈◊〉〈◊〉 care Of byrdes, whych therin ware That songen through her mery throtes Daunces of loue, and mery notes.

whan I thus herde foules synge I fell fast in a waymentyng By whych arte, or by what engyn I myght come in to that gardyn But way I couthe fynde none In to that gardayn for to gone Ne nought wyst I yf that there were

Eyther hole or place where By whych I might haue entre Ne there was none to teache me For I was al a lone I wys For wo and anguyshe of thys Tyl at laste bethought I me That by no waye ne myght it be That there nas ladder ne way to pace Or hole, in to so fayre a place Tho gan I go a ful great paas Enuyron, euen in compas The closyng of the square wall Tyl that I founde a wicket small So shette, that I ne might in gone And other entre was there none

Vpon the dore I gan to smyte That was fetys, and so lyte For other way coulde I not seke Ful longe I shofe, and knocked eke And stode full longe al herkenynge If that I herde any wyght comynge Tyl that the dore of thylke entre A mayden curteys opened me Her heer was as yelowe of hewe As any basen scoured newe Her fleshe tender as is a chycke with bent browes, smoth and slycke And by measure large were The openyng of her eyen clere Her nose of good proporcion Her eyen gray, as is a faucon with swete breth, and wel sauoured Her face white, and wel coloured with lytle mouth and rounde to se A cloue chynne eke had she Her necke was of good fassyon In length and greatnesse by reason without bleyne, scabbe, or royne Fro Hierusalem vnto Burgoyne There nys a fayre necke ywys To fele howe smoth and softe it is Her throte also white of hewe As snowe on braunche snowed newe Of body ful wel wrought was she Men neden not in no countre A fayrer body for to seke And of fyne Orfrays had she eke A chapelet, so semely on Ne wered neuer mayde vpon And fayre aboue that chapelet A rose garlande had she set She had a gay mirrour And wyth a rych golde tresour Her heed was tressed queyntly Her sleues sewed fetously And for to kepe her handes fayre Of gloues white she had a payre And she had on a cote of grene Of cloth of Gaunt, withouten wene wel semed by her apparayle She was not wont to great trauayle For whan she kempt was fetouslye And wel arayed and rychly Than had she done al her iournee For mery and wel begone was she She ladde a lusty lyfe in Maye She had no thought, by nyght ne daye Of nothyng, but yf it were onely To grayth her well and vncouthly.

whan that thys dore had opened me Thys May, semely for to se I thanked her as I best might And asked her howe that she hight And what she was, I asked eke And she to me was nought vnmeke Ne of her answere daungerous But fayre answerde, and sayd thus Lo s••e, my name is ydelnesse So clepe men me, more and lesse Ful myghty and ful ryche am I And that of one thyng namely For I entende to nothyng But to my ioye, and my playeng And for to kembe and trysse me Aquaynted am I and priue wyth myrth, lorde of thys gardyne That fro the lande of Alexandryne Made the trees hyther to be fette That in thys garden bene ysette And whan the trees were waxen on hyght Thys wall, that stant here in thy syght Dyd myrth enclosen al aboute And these ymages al without He dyd hem both entayle and peynte That neyther bene iolyfe ne queynte But they bene full of sorow and wo As thou haste sene a whyle ago

ANd ofte tyme hym to solace Sir myrth commeth in to this place

And eke wyth hym cometh his meyne That lyuen in lust and ioylyte And now is myrth therin, to here The byrdes howe they syngen clere The mauys and the nyghtyngale And other ioly byrdes smale And thus he walketh to solace Hym and hys folke, for sweter place To playen in, he may not fynde Although he sought one in tyl Inde The alther fayrest folke to se That in thys worlde may founde be Hath myrth wyth hym in hys route That folowen hym alwayes aboute.

whan ydelnesse had tolde all thys And I had herkened wel ywys Than sayde I to dame ydelnesse Nowe also wysly god me blesse Syth myrth, that is so fayre and fre Is in thys yerde, wyth his meyne Fro thylke assemble, yf I may Shal no man werne me to day That I thys nyght ne mote it se For wel wene I there wyth him be A fayre and ioly companye Fulfylled of al curtesye And forth without wordes mo In at the wycket went I tho That Idelnesse had opened me In to that garden fayre to se

And whan I was in ywys myne herte was ful glad of thys For wel wende I ful sykerly Haue bene in paradyse erthly So fayre it was, that trusteth well It semed a place espirituell For certes as at my deuyse There is no place in paradyse So good in for to dwel or be As in that garden thought me For there was many a byrde syngyng Throughout the yerde al thryngyng In many places were nyghtyngales Alpes, fynches, and wodwales That in her swete songe delyten In thylke places as they habyten There might men se many flockes Of turtles and lauerockes Chalaundres fele sawe I there That wery nygh forsongen were And thrustels, teryns, and mauyse That songen for to wyne hem pryse And eke to surmount in her songe That other birdes hem amonge By note made fayre seruise These byrdes, that I you deuise They songe her songe, as fayre and well As angels done espirituell And trusteth me, whan I hem herde Ful lusty and well I ferde For neuer yet such melodye was herde, of man that myght dye Such swete songe was hem amonge That me thought it no byrdes songe But it was wonder lyke to be Songe of Meremaydens of the see That for her syngyng is so clere Though we Meremaydens clepe hem here In Englyshe, as is our vsaunce Men clepe hem Sereyns in Fraunce

ENtentyfe weren for to synge These byrdes, that not vn∣konnynge were of her craft, and apren∣tyse But of songe subtyl and wyse And certes, whan I herde her songe And sawe the grene place amonge In herte I wext so wonder gay That I was neuer erst, er that day So iolyfe, nor so wel bygo Ne mery in herte, as I was tho And than wyst I, and sawe ful well That ydelnesse me serued well That me put in such iolyte Her frende wel ought I for to be Syth she the dore of that gardyn Had opened, and me let in.

From hence forth, how that I wrought I shal you tell, as me thought Fyrst wherof myrth serued there And eke what folke there wyth hym were wythout fable I wyl discriue And of that garden eke as bliue I wol you tellen after thys The fayre fassyon al ywys That well wrought was for the nones I may not tel you al atones But as I may and can, I shall

By ordure tellen you all. Ful fayre seruice, and eke ful swete These byrdes maden as they sete Layes of loue, ful wel sownyng they songen in her iargonyng Some hye, and some lowe songe Vpon the braunches grene ispronge The swetnesse of her melodye Made al my hert in reuelrye And whan that I had herde I trowe These byrdes syngyng on a rowe Than myght I not wyth holde me That I ne went in for to se Her myrth, for my desyryng was hym to sene ouer all thyng His countenaunce and hys manere That syght was to me full dere.

THo wēt I forth on my ryght hande Downe by a lytell pathe I founde Of myntes full, and fenell grene. And fast by wythout wene Her myrth I founde, and ryghte anon Vnto her Myrth gan I gon There as he was hym to solace And wyth hym in that lusty place So fayre folke and so freshe had he That whan I sawe, I woundred me Fro whence such folke myght come So fayre they wexen all and some For they were lyke, as to my syght To angels, that bene fethered bryght These folke, of whych I tell you so Vpon a karole wenten tho A lady karoled hem, that hyght Gladnesse, blysful and lyght well coulde she syng and lustely None halfe so wel and semely And couth make in songe suche refraynyng It sate her wonder wel to syng Her voice ful clere was and ful swete She was not rude ne vnmete But couth ynough of such doyng As longeth vnto karollyng For she was wont in euery place To syngen fyrst, folke to solace For syngyng moost she gaue her to No crafte had she so lefe to do.

THo myghteste thou karolles sene And folke daunce and mery bene And many a fayre turnyng Vpon the grene grasse springyng There myghtest thou se these stutours Mynstrales and eke ioglours That wel to synge dyd her payne Some songe longes of Lorayne For in Loreyne her notes be Ful sweter than in thys countre There was many a tymbestere And saylours, that I dare wel swere Couth her craft ful parfetly The tymbres vp ful subtelly They cast, and hente ful ofte Vpon a fynger fayre and softe That they fayled neuer mo. Ful fetys damosels two Ryght yonge, and ful of semelyhede In kyrtels, and none other wede And fayre tressed euery tresse Had myrth done for hys noblenesse Amydde the carole for to daunce But therof lyeth no remembraunce Howe that they daunced queyntly That one wolde come al priuely Agayne that other, and when they were Togyther almoost, they threwe yfere Her mouthes so, that through her play It semed as they kyst alway To dauncen well couthe they the gyse what shulde I more to you deuyse Ne bode I neuer thence go whyles that I sawe hem daunce so Vpon the karole wonder faste I gan beholde, tyl at last A lady gan me for to espye And she was cleped curtesye The worshypfull, the debonayre I praye to god euer fal her fayre Ful curteysly she called me what do ye there Beau sire ({quod} she) Come, and yf it lyke you To dauncen, daunceth wyth vs now And I wythout taryeng went in to the carollyng I was abashed neuer a dele But it to me lyked ryght wele That curtesye me cleped so And bade me on the daunce go

For yf I had durst certayne I wolde haue karoled ryght fayne As man that was to daunce right blyth Than gan I loke ofte syth The shap, the bodyes, and the cheres The countenaunce and the maneres Of all the folke that daunced there And I shall tell what they were.

Ful fayre was myrth, ful longe and high A fayrer man I neuer sigh As rounde as appel was his face Full roddy and whyte in euery place Fetys he was and well besey with metely mouthe, and eyen grey Hys nose by mesure wrought full ryght Cryspe was his heere, and eke full bryght His shulders of large brede And smallyshe in the gyrdelstede He semed lyke a purtreyture So noble he was of hys stature So fayre, so ioly, and so fetyse with lymmes wrought at poynt deuyse Delyuer, smerte, and of great myght Ne sawe thou neuer man so lyght Of herde vnneth had he nothyng For it was in the fyrst spryng Full yonge he was, and mery of thought And in samette, wyth byrdes wrought And wyth golde beten full fetously Hys bodye was clad full rychly wrought was hys robe in straunge gyse And all to slyttered for queyntyse In many a place, lowe and hye And shode he was with great maystrye wyth shone decoped, and wyth lace By drury, and by solace Hys leefe a rosen chapelet Had made, and on hys heed it set And were ye who was hys sefe Dame gladnesse there was hym so lefe That syngeth so well wyth glad corage That from she was twelue yere of age She of her loue graunt hym made Sir myrth her by the fynger hade Daunsynge, and she hym also Greate loue was a twixt hem two Both were they fayre and bryght of hewe She semed lyke a rose newe Of colours, and her fleshe so tendre That wyth a brere smalle and tendre Men myght it cleue, I dare well se•• Her forheed frouncels al pley Bent were her browes two Her eyen gray, and glad also That laugheden aye in her semblaunt Fyrst or the mouthe by couenaunt I wot not what of her nose I shal discryue So fayre hath no woman a lyue Her heere was yelowe, and clere shynyng I wot no lady so lykyng Or frayes freshe, was her garlande I whiche haue sene a thousande Sawe neuer ywys no garlande yet So well wrought of sylke as it And in an ouergylte samyte Cladde she was, by greate delyte Of whiche her leefe a robe werde The meryer she in her herte ferde And next her went, on her other syde The god of loue, that can deuyde Loue, and as hym lyketh it be But he can cherles daunten, he? And maken folkes pride fallen And he can well these lordes thrallen And ladyes put at lowe degre whan he maye hem to proude se.

Thys god of loue of hys fassyoun was lyke no knaue, ne quystroun Hys beautie greatly was to prise But of his robe to deuyse I drede encombred for to be For not ycladde in sylke was he But all in floures and stourettes I paynted all wyth amorettes And wyth losenges and scochons wyth byrdes, lyberdes, and lyons And other beastes wrought full wele Hys garment was euerydele Ypurtrayed and ywrought wyth flours By diuers medelynge of colours Floures there were of many gyse Yset by compace in a syse There lacked no floure to my dome Ne not so muche as floure of brome Ne vyolet, ne eke peruynke Ne floure none, that men can on thynke And many a rose lefe full longe was entermedled there amonge And also on hys heed was set Of roses reed a chapelet But nyghtyngales a full greate route That flyen ouer hys heede aboute

The leaues felden as they flyen And he was al with byrdes wrien with popingay, with nyghtyngale with chaulaundre, and with wodewale wyth fynche, with larke, and with archāgel He semed as he were an angel That downe were comen fro heuen clere Loue had wyth hym a bachelere That he made alwayes wyth hym be Swete lokynge, clepyng was he Thys bacheler stode beholdyng The daunce, and in hys hande holdyng Turke bowes two, full wel deuysed had he That one of hem was of a tree That beareth a fruite of sauoure wicke Ful croked was that foule stycke And knotty here and there also And blacke as bery, or any slo That other vowe was of a plante without wemme, I dare warrante Ful euen and by proporcion Trectes and longe, of ful good fassyon And it was paynted well and twhitten And ouer al diapred and written wyth ladyes and with bacheleres Ful lyghtsome and glad of cheres These bowes two helde swete lokyng That semed lyke no gadlyng And ten brode arowes helde he there Of whych fyue in hys ryghthande were But they were shauen well and dyght Nocked, and fethered aryght And al they were wyth golde begon And stronge poynted euerychon And sharpe for to keruen wele But yron was there none ne stele For al was golde, men myght se Out take the fethers and the tree.

THe swyfteste of these arowes fyue Out of a bowe for to dryue And best fethered for to flye And fayrest eke, was cleped beautie That other arowe, that hurteth lesse was cleped (as I trowe) Symplesse the thyrde cleped was Fraunchyse That fethered was in noble wyse wyth valour and wyth curtesye The fourth was cleped companie That heuy for to shoten is But who so shoteth ryght ywys May therwith done great harme and wo The fyfth of these, and last also Fayre Semblaunt men that arowe cal The leest greuous of hem al yet can it make a full greate wounde But he maye hope hys sores sounde That hurt is wyth that arowe ywys Hys wo the better bestowed is For he maye soner haue gladnesse His langour ought to be the lesse

FIue arowes were of other gyse That bene full foule to deuyse For shaft & end, soth for to tel were also black as fend in hel The fyrst of hem is called pride That other arowe next hym besyde It was cleped vyllanye That arowe was, as with felonye Enuenymed, and wyth spitous blame The thyrde of hem was cleped shame The fourth wanhope cleped is The fyfth the newe thought ywys

These arowes that I speke of here were all fyue on one manere And all were they resemblable To hem was wel syttyng and able The foule croked bowe hydous That knotty was, and all roynous That bowe semed wel to shete These arowes fyue, that bene vnmete And contrarye to that other fyue But though I tell not as blyue Of her power, ne of her myght Hereafter shall I tellen ryght The soth, and eke signyfyaunce As ferre as I haue remembraunce All shall be sayd I vndertake Er of thys boke an ende I make

Nowe come I to my tale agayne But alderfyrst, I woll you sayne The fassyon and the countenaunces Of al the folke that on the daunce is The god of loue iolyte and lyght Ladde on his hande a lady bryght Of hygh prise, and of great degre Thys lady was called beaute

And an arowe, of whych I tolde Full well thewed was she holde Ne she was darke ne browne, but bryght And clere as the moone lyght Agayne whome all the sterres semen But smale candels, as we demen Her fleshe was tender as dewe of floure Her chere was symple as byrde in boure As whyte as lylye or rose in ryse Her face gentyll and treatyse Fetys she was, and smale to se No wyntred browes had she Ne popped her, for it neded nought To wyndre her, or to paynt her ought Her tresses yelowe, and longe straughten Vnto her heles downe they raughten Her nose, her mouth, and eye and cheke well wrought, and all the remenaunt eke A full great sauour and a swote Me thought in myne herte rote As helpe me God, when I remembre Of the fassyon of euery membre In worlde is none so fayre a wyght For yonge she was, and hewed bryght Sore pleasaunt, and fetyse wyth all Gent, and in her myddell small Besyde Beaute yede Rychesse And hyght lady of great noblesse And great of price in euery place But who so durst to her trespace Or tyll her folke, in werke or dede He were full hardy out of drede For both she helpe and hyndre may And that is not of yesterday That ryche folke haue full great myght To helpe, and eke to greue a wyght The best and greatest of valoure Dydden Rychesse full great honoure And besy weren her to serue For that they wolde her loue deserue They cleped her Lady great and small Thys wyde worlde her dredeth all Thys worlde is all in her daungere Her courte hath many a losengere And many a traytour enuyous That ben full besy and curious For to dysprayse, and to blame That best deseruen loue and name To forne the folke hem to begylen These losyngeours hem prayse and smylen And thus the worlde w^t worde anoynten But afterwarde they pryll and poynten The folke, ryght to the bare bone Behynde her backe when they ben gone And foule abaten folkes pryse Full many a worthy man and wyse Han hyndred, and ydon to dye These losyngeours wyth her flaterye And maketh folke full straunge be There as hem ought ben pryue well yuell mote they thryue and thee And yuell aryued mote they be These losengeours full of enuye No good man loueth her companye.

Rychesse a robe of purple on hadde Ne trowe not that I lye or madde For in thys worlde is none it lyche Ne by a thousande dele so ryche Ne none so fayre, for it full wele wyth Orfreyes leyde was euerydele And purtrayde in the rybanynges Of dukes stories, and of kynges And wyth a bende of golde tassyled And knoppes fyne of golde amyled Aboute her necke of gentyll entayle was shette the ryche Cheuesayle In whych there was full great plente Of stones clere, and fayre to se. ¶Rychesse a gyrdell had vpon The bokell of it was of ston Of vertue great, and mokell of myght For who so bare the stone so bryght Of venyme durste hym nothynge dout whyle he the stone had hym about That stone was greatly for to loue And tyll a ryche mans behoue worth all the golde in Rome, and Fryse The Mourdant wrought in noble gyse was of a stone full precious That was so fyne and vertuous That whole a man it couth make Of palsye, and of toth ake And yet the stone had suche a grace That he was seker in euery place All thylke daye not blynde to bene That fastynge myght that stone sene The barres were of golde full fyne Vpon a tyssue of Satyne Full heuy, great, and nothynge lyght In eueryche was a besaunt wyght Vpon the tresses of rychesse was set a cercle for noblesse Of brende golde, that full lyght shone

So fayre trowe I was neuer none But he were konnynge for the nones That coulde deuyse all the stones That in that cercle shewen clere It is a wonder thynge to here For no man coulde prayse or gesse Of hem the value or rychesse Rubyes there were, Saphyrs, Ragounces And Emeraudes, more then two ounces But all before full subtelly A fyne Charboncle sette sawe I The stone so clere was and so bryght That all so soone as it was nyght Men myght sene to go for nede A myle or two, in length and brede Such lyght sprange out of the stone That Rychesse wonder bryght shone Both her heed, and all her face And eke aboute her all her place Dame rychesse on her honde gan lede A yonge man full of semelyhede That she best loued of any thynge Hys lust was moche in housholdynge In clothynge was he full fetyse And loued well to haue horse of pryse He wende to haue reproued be Of thefte or murdre, yf that he Had in hys stable an hackenay And therfore he desyred aye To ben acqueynted wyth Rychesse For all hys purpose, as I gesse was for to make great dyspence wythouten warnynge or defence And Rychesse myght it well sustene And her dyspences wel mayntene And hym alwaye suche plentye sende Of golde and syluer for to spende wythout lackynge or daungere As it were pourde in a garnere.

And after on the daunce went Largesse, that set all her entent For to ben honorable and free Of Alexanders kynne was she Her moste ioye was ywys when that she yafe, and sayd: haue thys Not auaryce the foule caytyfe was halfe to grype so ententyfe As Largesse is, to yeue and spende And God alwaye ynowe her sende So that the more she yaue awaye The more ywys she had alwaye Great loos hath Largesse, and great pryse For both wyse folke and vnwyse were wholy to her bandon brought So well wyth yeftes hath she wrought And yf she had an enemy I trowe that she couth craftely Make hym full sone her frende to be So large of yeftes, and wyse was she Therfore she stode in loue and grace Of ryche and poore in euery place A full great foole is he ywys That both ryche and poore, and nygarde is A lorde maye haue no maner vyce That greueth more then auaryce For nygarde neuer wyth strength of hande May wynne hym great lordshyp or lande For frendes all to fewe hath he To done hys wyll performed be And who so woll haue frendes here He maye not holde hys treasour dere For by ensample tell I thys Ryght as an adamant ywys Can drawen to hym subtelly The yron, that is layde therby So draweth folkes hertes ywys Syluer and golde that yeuen is Largesse had on a robe freshe Of ryche purpure Sarlynyshe well fourmed was her face and clere And opened had she her colere For she ryght there had in present Vnto a lady made present Of a golde broche, full well wrought And certes it myssate her nought For through her smocke wrought with sylke The fleshe was sene as whyte as mylke Largesse, that worthy was and wyse Helde by the honde a knyght of pryse was sybbe to Arthour of Breteygne And that was he that bare the enseygne Of worshyp, and the Gousfaucoun And yet he is of suche renoun That men of hym saye fayre thynges Before barons, erles, and kynges Thys knyght was comen all newly Fro tourneynge faste by There had he done great chyualrye Through hys vertue and hys maystrye And for the loue of hys lemman He caste downe many a doughty man And nexte hym daunced dame Fraūchyse Arayed in full noble gyse

She nas not browne ne dunne of hewe But whyt as snowe yfallen newe Her nose was wrought at poynt deuyse For it was gentyll and tretyse wyth eyen glad, and browes hent Her heer downe to her heles went And she was symple as downe on tree Full debonayre of herte was she She durst neyther saye ne do But that, that hyr longeth to And yf a man were in dystresse And for her loue in heuynesse Her herte wolde haue full great pyte She was so amyable and free For were a man for her bestadde She wolde ben ryght sore adradde That she dyd ouer great outrage But she hym holpe hys harme taswage Her thought it all a vylanye And she had on a suckeny That not of hempe heerdes was So fayre was none in all Arras Lorde it was ryddeled fetylly There nas not a poynt truely That it nas in hys ryght assyse Full well yclothed was Fraunchyse For there nys no cloth sytteth bette On damosell, then doth rokette A woman well more fetyse is In rokette, then in cote ywys The whyte rokette ryddeled fayre Betokeneth that full debonayre And swete was she that it bere By her daunced a Bachelere I can not tellen you what he hyght But fayre he was and of good hyght All had he ben, I saye no more The lordes sonne of wyndesore. And next that daunced Curtesye That praysed was of lowe and hye For neyther proude ne fole was she She for to daunce called me I praye God gyue her good grace For when I come fyrst into the place She nas not nyce, ne outrageous But wyse and ware, and vertuous Of fayre speche, and fayre answere was neuer wyght myssayde of here She bare no rauncour to no wyght Clere browne she was, and therto bryght Of face and body auenaunt I wotte no lady so pleasaunt She were worthy for to bene An emperesse or crowned quene. And by her went a knyght dauncynge That worthy was and well speakynge And full well coude he done honour The knyght was fayre and styffe in stour And in armure a semely man And welbeloued of hys lemman. ¶Fayre Idelnesse then saugh I That alwaye was me fast by Of her haue I wythout fayle Tolde you the shappe and appareyle For (as I sayd) Lo, that was she That dyd to me so great bounte She the gate of that garden Vndyd, and let me passen in And after daunced as I gesse And she fulfylled of lustynesse That nas not yet .xij. yere of age wyth herte wylde, and thought volage Nyce she was, but she ne mente None harme ne sleyght in her entente But onely lust and iolyte For yonge folke, well weten ye Haue lytell thought, but on her playe Her lemman was besyde alwaye In suche a gyse that he her kyste At all tymes that hym lyste That all the daunce myght it se They make no force of preuyte For who so spake of hem yuell or wele They were ashamed neuer a dele But men myght sene hem kysse there As it two yonge douues were For yonge was thylke bachelere Of beaute wote I none hys pere And he was ryght of suche an age As Youth hys lefe, and suche corage The lusty folke that daunced there And also other that wyth hem were That weren all of her meyne Full hende folke, wyse, and free And folke of fayre porte truely There were all comenly when I had sene the countenaunces Of hem that ladden thus these daunces Then had I wyll to gone and se The garden that so lyked me And loken on these fayre Laurelles On Pyne trees, Cedres, and Olmeres The daunces then ended were For many of hem that daunced there

where wyth her loues went away Vnder the trees to haue her playe.

A Lorde they lyued lustely A Great foole were he sekerly That nolde hys thākes such lyfe lede For thys dare I sayne out of drede That who so myght so well fare For better lyfe durst hym not care For there nys so good paradyse As to haue a loue at hys deuyse Out of that place went I tho And in that gardyn gan I go Playenge alonge full merely The god of Loue full hastely Vnto hym Swete lokynge clepte No lenger wolde he that she kepte Hys bowe of golde, that shone so bryght He had hem bent anone ryght And he full sone sette an ende And at a brayde he gan it bende And toke hym of hys arowes fyue Full sharpe and ready for to dryue Nowe God that sytteth in maieste Fro deedly woundes he kepe me Yf so be that he had me shete For yf I wyth hys arowe mete It had me greued sore ywys But I that nothynge wyst of thys went vp and downe, full many a waye And he me folowed fast alwaye But no where wolde I resle me Tyll I had in all the garden be.

THe garden was by measu∣rynge Ryght euen and square in com∣pasynge It as longe was as it was large Of fruyte had euery tre hys charge But it were any hydous tree Of whych there were two or thre There were, and that wote I full wele Of Pome garnettes a full great dele That is a frute full well to lyke Namely to folke when they be syke And trees there were, great foyson That baren nuttes in her season Suche as men nutmygges call That swote of sauour ben wythall And Almandres great plente Fygges, and many a date tre There weren, yf men had nede Through the gardyn, in length and brede There was eke werynge many a spyce As clowe, gylofre, and lycorice Gyngere, and greyne de Parys Canell, and setewale of prys And many a spyce delytable To eaten when men ryse fro table And many homely trees ther were That peches, coynes, and apples bere Medlers, plommes, peeres, chesteynis Cheryse, of whych many one fayne is Notes, aleys, and bolas That for to sene it was solas wyth many hygh laurer, and pyne was renged clene all that gardyne wyth Cypres, and wyth Olyueris Of whych that nygh no plenty here is There were Elmes great and stronge Maples, ashe, oke, aspe, plants longe Fyne ewe, popler, and lyndes fayre And other trees full many a payre what shulde I tell you more of it? There were so many trees yet That I shulde all encombred be Er I had rekened euery tree These trees were sette that I deuyse One from another in assyse Fyue fadome or syxe, I trowe so But they were hye and great also And for to kepe out well the sonne The croppes were so thycke yronne And euery braunche in other knytte And full of grene leues sytte That sonne myght there none dyscende Lest the tender grasses shende There myght men Does and Roes yse And of squyrels full great plente From bowe to bowe alwaye lepynge Connes there were also playenge That comyn out of her clapers Of sondry colours and maners And maden many a tourneynge Vpon the freshe grasse spryngynge In places sawe I welles there In whych there no frogges were And fayre in shadowe was euery well But I ne can the nombre tell Of stremys small that by deuyse Myrthe had done come through condyse Of whych the water in rennynge Gan make a noyse full lykynge

Aboute the brynkes of these welles And by the stremes ouer all elles Sprange vp the grasse, as thycke yset And softe as any veluet On whych men myght hys lemman ley As on a fetherbed to pley For the erthe was full soft and swete Through moysture of the well wete Spronge vp the sote grene gras As fayre, as thycke, as myster was But moche amended it the place That therth was of suche a grace That it of floures hath plente That both in somer and wynter be There sprange the vyolet al newe And freshe peruynke ryche of hewe And floures yelowe, whyte, and rede Suche plente grewe there neuer in mede Full gaye was all the grounde and queynt And poudred, as men had it peynt wyth many a freshe and sondrye floure That casten vp full good sauoure I woll not longe holde you in fable Of all thys garden delectable I mote my tonge stynten nede For I ne maye wythouten drede Naught tellen you the beaute all Ne halfe the bounte there wyth all I went on ryght hande and on lefte Aboute the place, it was not lefte Tyll I had all the garden bene In the efters that men myght sene And thus whyle I wente in my playe The God of loue me folowed aye Ryght as an hunter can abyde The beest, tyll he seeth hys tyde To shoten at goodmesse to the dere when that hym nedeth go no nere And so befyll, I rested me Besydes a well vnder a tree whych tree in Fraunce men call a Pyne But syth the tyme of kynge Pepyne Ne grewe there tree in mannes syght So fayre, ne so well woxe in hyght In all that yarde so hygh was none And spryngynge in a marble stone Had nature set, the soth to tell Vnder that pyne tree a well And on the border all wythout was wrytten in the stone about Letters small, that sayden thus Here starfe the fayre Narcisus. Narcisus was a bachelere That loue had caught in hys daungere And in hys nette gan hym so strayne And dyd hym so to wepe and playne That nede hym muste hys lyfe forgo For a fayre lady that hyght Echo Hym loued ouer any creature And gan for hym suche payne endure That on a tyme she hym tolde That yf he her louen nolde That her behoued nedes dye There laye none other remedye But nathelesse for hys beaute So fyers and daungerous was he That he nolde graunten her askynge For wepynge ne for fayre prayenge And when she herde hym werne her so She had in herte so great wo And toke it in so great dyspyte That she wythout more respyte was deed anone: but ere she deyde Full pytously to God she prayde That proude herte Narcisus That was in loue so daungerous Myght on a daye ben hampred so For loue, and bene so hote for wo That neuer he myght to ioye attayne Then shulde he fele in euery vayne what sorowe true louers maken That ben so vyllaynously forsaken

THys prayer was but reaso∣nable Therfore God held it ferme and stable For Narcisus shortly to tell By auenture came to y^e well To rest hym in the shadowynge A daye, when he come from huntinge Thys Narcisus had suffred paynes For rennynge all daye in the playnes And was for thurst in great dystresse Of herte, and of hys werynesse That had hys breth almost be nomen when he was to that wel ycomen That shadowed was with braunches grene He thought of thylke water shene To drynke, and freshe hym well wythall And downe on knees he gan to fall And forth hys necke and heed out straught To drynke of that well a draught And in the water anone was sene

Hys nose, hys mouth, hys eyen shene And he therof was all abashed Hys owne shadowe had hym betrasshed For well wende he the forme se Of a chylde of great beaute well couth loue hym wreke tho Of daunger and of pryde also That Narcisus somtyme hym bere He quyte hym well hys guerdon there For he mused so in the well That shortly the soth to tell He loued hys owne shadowe so That at laste he starfe for wo For when he sawe that he hys wyll Myght in no maner waye fulfyll And that he was so faste caught That he hym couth comforte naught He lost hys wytte, ryght in that place And deyde wythin a lytell space And thus hys waryson he toke For the lady that he forsoke Ladyes I praye ensample taketh Ye that ayenst your loue mystaketh For yf her death be you to wyte God can full well your wyle quyte.

WHen y^t thys lettre of whych I tel Had taught me y^t it was y^e welle Of Narcisus in hys beaute I gan anon wythdrawe me when it fell in me remembraunce That hym betyde suche myschaunce But at the last then thought I That scathlesse, full sekerly I myght vnto the welle go wherof shulde I abashen so Vnto the welle then went I me And downe I louted for to se The clere water in the stone And eke the grauell, whych that shone Downe in the botome▪ as syluer fyne For of the welle, thys is the fyne In worlde is none so clere of hewe The water is euer freshe and newe That welmeth vp, wyth wawes bryght The mountenaunce of two fynger hyght Aboute it is grasse spryngynge For moyste so thycke and well lykynge That it ne maye in wynter dye No more then maye the see be drye.

DOwne at the botome set sawe I Two cristall stones craftely In thylke freshe and fayre well But o thynge sothly dare I tell That ye woll holde a great maruayle when it is tolde, wythouten fayle For when the sunne clere in syght Caste in that welle hys bemes bryght And that the heete dyscended is Then taketh the cristall stone ywys Agayne the sonne an hundred hewes Blewe, yelowe, and reed that fresh & new is Yet hath the meruaylous cristall Suche strength, that the place ouer all Both foule and tree, and leues grene And all the yerde in it is sene And for to done you to vnderstonde To make ensample woll I fonde Ryght as a myrrour openly Sheweth all thynge that standeth therby As well the coloure, as the fygure wythouten any couerture Ryght so the cristall stone shynynge wythouten any dysceyuynge The entrees of the yerde accuseth To hym that in the water museth For euer in whych halfe that ye be Ye maye well halfe the gardyne se And yf the turne, he maye ryght wele Sene the remnaunt euery dele For there is none so lytell thynge So hydde ne closed wyth shyttynge That it ne is sene, as though it were Paynted in the cristall there Thys is the myrrour perillus In whych the proude Narcisus Sey all hys fayre face bryght That made hym syth to lye vpryght For who so loketh in that myrrour There may nothynge be hys socour That he ne shall there se somthynge That shall hym lede into laughynge. Full many a worthy man hath it yblent, for folke of greatest wyt Ben soone caught here and wayted wythouten respyte ben they beyted Here cometh to folke of newe rage Here chaungeth many a wyght corage Here lyeth no rede ne wytte therto For Venus sonne, dan Cupido Hath sowen there of loue the sede That helpe ne lyeth there none, ne rede

So cercleth it the welle aboute Hys gynnes hath he set withoute Right for to catche in hys panters These damosels and bachelers Loue wyll none other byrde catche Though he set eyther nette or latche And for the sede that here was sowen Thys welle is cleped, as well is knowen The welle of Loue, of very ryght Of whyche there hath full many a wyght Spoken in bokes dyuersely But they shull neuer so verily Discripcion of the welle here Ne eke the sothe of thys matere As ye shull, whan I haue vndo The crafte that her belongeth to.

AL way me lyked for to dwell To sene the christall in the well That shewed me full openly A thousande thynges faste by But I may say in sory houre Stode I to loken or to powre For sythen I sore syghed That Myrrour hath me nowe entriked But had I fyrst knowen in my wyt The vertue and strengthes of it I nolde not haue mused there Me had bette ben els where For in the snare I fell anone That had bytreshed many one In thylke Myrrour sawe I tho Amonge a thousande thynges mo A Roser charged full of rosis That with an hedge aboute enclosis Tho had I suche luste and enuye That for Parys ne for Pauye Nolde I haue lefte to gone and se There greatest heape of roses be whan I was with thys rage hente That caught hath many a man and shente Towarde the Roser gan I go And whan I was not ferre therfro The sauour of the roses swote Me smote right to the herte rote As I had all enbaumed me And yf I ne had endouted me To haue ben hated or assayled My thankes woll I not haue fayled To pull a rose of all that route To bere in myne honde aboute And smellen to it where I went But euer I dredde me to repent And leste it greued or forthought The lorde that thylke gardyn wrought Of roses there were great wone So fayre ware neuer in Rone Of knoppes close, some sawe I there And some well better woxen were And some there ben of other moyson That drowe nygh to her season And spedde hem faste for to sprede I loue well suche roses rede For brode roses, and open also Ben passed in a day or two But knoppes wyll freshe be Two dayes at leest, or els thre The knoppes greatly lyked me For fayrer may there no man se who so myght haue one of all It ought hym ben full lefe withall Myght I garlonde of hem geten For no rychesse I wolde it leten Amonges the knoppes I chefe one So fayre, that of the remenaunt none Ne preyse I halfe so well as it Whan I auyse in my wyt For it so well was enlumyned wyth colour reed, as wel fyned As nature couthe it make fayre And it hath leaues wel foure payre That kynde hath set through hys knowynge Aboute the redde roses springyng The stalke was as ryshe ryght And theron stode the knoppe vpright That it ye bowed vpon no syde The swote smel spronge so wyde That it dyed all the place aboute whan I had smelled the sauour swote No wyll had I fro thence yet go But somdele nere it went I tho To take it, but myne honde for drede Ne durste I to the Rose bede For thystels sharpe of many maners Netles, thornes, and hoked briers For moche they distourbled me For sore I dradde to harmed be.

THe god of loue, with bowe bent That all day set had hys talent To pursue and to spyen me was stondyng by a fygge tree And whan he sawe how that I Had chosen so ententifly

The bothum more vnto my paye Than any other that I say He toke an arowe, ful sharply whette And in hys bowe whan it was sette He streight vp to hys eere drough The stronge bowe, that was so tough And shotte at me so wonder smerte That through myn eye vnto myn herte The takel smote, and depe it wente And therwithal such colde me hente That vnder clothes warme and softe Sythen that day I haue chyuered ofte Whan I was hurte thus in stounde I fell downe platte vnto the grounde Myne hert fayled, and faynted aye And longe tyme in swoune I laye But whan I came out of swounyng And had wytte, and my felyng I was al mate, and wende full wele Of bloode haue lorne a full great dele But certes the arowe that in me stoode Of me ne drewe no droppe of bloode For why, I founde my woundes al drey Than toke I with myn hondes twey The arowe, and full faste it ought plyght And in the pullyng sore I syght So at the laste the shafte of tree I drough out, with the fethers thre But yet the hoked heed ywis The whiche Beaute called is Gan so depe in myne herte pace That I it myght not arace But in myn hert styll it stoode All bledde I not a droppe of bloode I was bothe anguyshous and trouble For the peryll that I sawe double I nyste what to say or do Ne get a leche my woundes to For neyther through grasse ne rote Ne had I helpe of hope ne bote But to the bothum euer mo Myn herte drewe, for all my wo My thought was in none other thyng For had it ben in my kepyng It wolde haue brought my lyfe agayne For certes euenly, I dare wel sayne The syght onely, and the sauoure Alegged moche of my langoure Than gan I for to drawe me Towarde the Bothom fayre to se And loue had get hym in his throwe Another arowe in to hys bowe And for to shote gan hym dresse The arowes name was Symplesse And whan that Loue gan nygh me nere He drowe it vp withouten were And shotte at me wyth al hys myght So that thys arowe anon ryght Throughout eygh as it was founde In to myn herte hath made a wounde Than I anon dyd all my crafte For to drawen out the shafte And therwithall I syghed efte But in myn herte the heed was lefte whyche aye encresed my desyre Vnto the bothom drowe I nere And euermo that me was wo The more desyre had I to go Vnto the Roser, where that grewe The freshe bothom, so bright of hewe Better me were to haue letten be But it behoued nede me To don ryght as myne herte badde For euer the body muste be ladde After the herte, in wele and wo Of force togyther they muste go But neuer this archer wolde fyne To shote at me wyth all hys pyne And for to make me to hym mete The thyrde arowe he gan to shete Whan best hys tyme he myght espye The whiche was named Curtesye In to myne herte it dyd auale A swoune I fell, bothe deed and pale Longe tyme I lay, and styrred nought Tyll I abrayde out of my thought And faste than I auysed me To drawe out the shafte of tree But euer the heed was lefte behynde For aught I couthe pull or wynde So sore it stycked whan I was hytte That by no crafte I myght it flytte But anguyshous and full of thought I lefte suche wo, my wounde aye wrought That somoned me alway to go Towarde the Rose, that plesed me so But I ne durste in no manere Bycause the archer was so nere For euermore gladly as I rede Brent chylde of fyre hath moche drede And certes yet for al my peyne Though that I syght, yet arowes reyne And grounde quarels, sharpe of steele Ne for no payne that I might fele

Yet myght I not my selfe with holde The fayre Roser to beholde For Loue me yaue suche hardyment For to fulfyll hys commaundement Vpon my fete I rose vp than Feble, as a for wounded man And forthe to gon might I sette And for the archer nolde I lette Towarde the Roser faste I drowe But thornes sharpe, mo than ynowe There were, and also thystels thicke And breres brymme for to pricke That I ne myght get grace The roughe thornes for to pace To sene the freshe Roses of hewe I muste abyde, thought it me rewe The hedge about so thycke was That closed the Roses in compas But o thyng lyked me right wele I was so nyghe, I myght fele Of the bothom the swote odoure And also se the freshe coloure And that right greatly lyked me That I so nere might it se Suche ioye anon therof had I That I forgate my maladye To sene I had suche delyte Of sorowe and angre I was all quyte And of my woundes that I had thore For no thyng lyken me myght more Than dwellen by the Roser aye And thence neuer to passe awaye But whan a whyle I had be thare The god of Loue, whyche all to share Myne herte wyth hys arowes kene Casteth hym to yeue me woundes grene He shotte at me full hastely An arowe named Company The whyche takell is full able To make these ladyes merciable Than I anon gan chaungen hewe For greuaunce of my wounde newe That I agayne fel in swounyng And syghed sore, in complaynyng Sore I complayned that my sore On me gan greuen more and more I had non hope of allegeaunce So nygh I drowe to disperaunce I rought of dethe, ne of lyfe Whether that loue wolde me dryfe If me a martyr wolde he make I might hys power not forsake And whyle for anger thus I woke The god of Loue an arowe toke Ful sharpe it was and pugnaunt And it was called Fayre semblaunt The whiche in no wyse wol consent That any louer hym repente To serue hys loue, with herte and all For any peryll that may befall But though thys arowe was kene grounde As any rasour that is founde To cutte and kerue at the poynte The god of Loue it had anoynte wyth a precious oyntment Somdele to yeue alegement Vpon the woundes that he hade Through the body in my herte made To helpe her sores, and to cure And that they may the bette endure But yet thys arowe, without more Made in myne herte a large sore That in full great payne I abode But aye the oyntement went abrode Throughout my woundes large and wyde It spredde aboute in euery syde Through whose vertue, and whose myght Myne herte ioyfull was and lyght I had ben deed and all to shent But for the precious oyntment The shafte I drowe out of the arowe Rokyng for wo right wonder narowe But the heed, whiche made me smerte Lefte behynde in myne herte wyth other foure, I dare wel say That neuer woll be take away But the oyntment halpe me wele And yet suche sorowe dyd I fele That al day I chaunged hewe Of my woundes freshe and newe As men might se in my vysage The arowes were so ful of rage So varyaunt of diuersyte That men ••n eueryche myght se Bothe great anoye, and eke swetnesse And ioye meynt with bytternesse Nowe were they easy, now were they wood In hem I felte bothe harme and good Nowe sore without aleggement Nowe softyng wyth oyntment It softned here, and pricketh there Thus ease and anger togyther were.

THe God of Loue delyuerly Come lepande to me hastely And sayd to me in great iape Yelde the, for thou may not escape May no defence auayle the here Therfore I rede make no daungere If thou wolte yelde the hastely Thou shalt rather haue mercy He is a foole in sykernesse That wyth daunger or stoutnesse Rebelleth, there that he shulde plese In suche folye is lytell ese Be meke, where thou muste nedes bowe To stryue ayen is nought thy prowe Come atones, and haue ydo For I woll that it be so Than yelde the here debonairly And I answered full humbly Gladly sir, at your byddyng I wol me yelde in all thyng To your seruyce I woll me take For god defende that I shulde make Ayen your byddyng resystence I woll not don so great offence For yf I dyd, it were no skyll Ye may do wyth me what ye wyll Saue or spyll, and also slo Fro you in no wyse may I go My lyfe, my dethe, is in your honde I may not laste out of your bonde Playne at your lyste I yelde me Hopyng in herte, that somtyme ye Comforte and ese shull me sende Or els shortly, this is the ende withouten helthe, I mote aye dure But yf ye take me to your cure Comforte or helthe, howe shulde I haue Sythe ye me hurte, but ye me saue The helthe of loue mote be founde where as they token fyrst her wounde And yf ye lyst of me to make Your prisoner, I woll it take Of herte and wyll fully at gre Holy and playne I yelde me wythout feynyng or feyntyse To be gouerned by your empryse Of you I here so moche price I woll ben hole at your deuyce For to fulfyll your lykyng And repente for nothyng Hopyng to haue yet in some tyde Mercy, of that I abyde And wyth that couenaunt yelde I me Anone downe knelyng vpon my kne Proferyng for to kysse hys fete But for nothyng he wolde me lete.

ANd said, I loue the bothe and preise Sens that thyn answer doth me ese For thou answered so curtesly For now I wote wel vtterly That thou arte gentyll by thy speche For though a man ferre wolde seche He shulde not fynden in certayne No suche answere of no vilayne For suche a worde ne myght nought Isse out of a vilayns thought Thou shalt not lesen of thy speche For thy helpyng woll I eche And eke encresen that I maye But fyrst I woll that thou obaye Fully for thyne auauntage Anon to do me here homage And sythe kysse thou shalte my mouthe whiche to no vilayne was neuer couthe For to aproche it, ne for to touche For saufe of cherles I ne vouche That they shall neuer neyght it nere For curteys, and of fayre manere well taught, and full of gentylnysse He muste ben, that shall me kysse And also of full hygh fraunchyse That shall atteyne to that emprese And fyrst of o thyng warne I the That payne and great aduersyte He mote endure, and eke trauayle That shall me serue, without fayle But there agaynst the to comforte And wyth thy seruyce to disporte Thou mayst full glad and ioyfull be So good a mayster to haue as me And lorde of so hygh renoun I beare of loue the Gonfenoun Of Curtesy the banere For I am of the selfe manere Gentyll, curteys, meke, and fre That who euer ententyfe be Me to honoure, doute, and serue And also that he hym obserue Fro trespace and fro vilanye And hym gouerne in curtesye wyth wyll and wyth entencion

For whan he fyrst in my prison Is caught, than muste he vtterly Fro thence forthe full besyly Caste hym gentyll for to be If he desyre helpe of me Anon without more delay withouten daunger or affray I become hys man anone And gaue hym thankes many a one And kneled downe wyth hondes ioynt And made it in my porte ful queynt The ioye went to my hert rote whan I had kyssed hys mouthe so swote I had suche myrthe and suche lykyng It cured me of languyshyng He asked of me than hostages I ha••te he sayd taken fele homages Of one and other, where I haue bene Disteyned ofte, withouten wene These felons ful of falsyte Haue many sythes begyled me And through her falshede her luste acheued Wherof I repent, and am agreued And I hem get in my daungere Her falshede shull they bye full dere But for I loue the, I say the playne I woll of the be more certayne For the so sore I woll nowe bynde That thou away ne shalt not wynde For to denyen the couenaunt Or done that is not auenaunt That thou were false, it were great ruthe Sythe thou semest so full of truthe Sir, yf the lyst to vnderstande I meruayle the askyng thys demande For why or wherfore shulde ye Hostages or borowes aske of me Or any other sykernesse Sythe ye wot in sothfastnesse That ye me haue susprised so And hole myne herte taken me fro That it woll do for me nothyng But yf it be at your byddyng Myne herte is yours, and myn right nought As it behoueth, in dede and thought Redy in all to worche your wyll whether so turne to good or yll So sore it lusteth you to plese No man therof may you disese Ye haue theron sette suche iustyse That it is werreyed in many wyse And yf ye doute it nolde obey Ye may therof do make a key And holde it wyth you for hostage Nowe certes thys is none outrage (Quod loue) and fully I accorde For of the body he is full lorde That hath the herte in hys tresore Outrage it were to asken more.

THan of his aumener he drough A lytell key fetyse ynough which was of gold polished cler And said to me, w^t this key here Thyn hert to me nowe woll I shette For all my iowell loke and knette I bynde vnder this lytell key That no wight maye cary awey This key is full of great poste wyth whyche anon he touched me Vnder the syde full softely That he myne herte sodaynly wythout anoye hadde speered That yet right nought it hath me deered Whan he hadde done his wyll all out And I had putte hem out of doute Syr I sayd: I haue right great wyll Your luste and pleasure to fulfyll Loke ye my seruyce take at gree By thylke faythe ye owe to me I saye nought for recreaundyse For I nought doute of your seruyce But the seruaunt traueyleth in vayne That for to seruen dothe hys payne Vnto that lorde, whyche in no wyse Conne hym no thanke for hys seruyce.

LOue sayd, dismay the nought Syth thou for socour haste me sought In thāke thy seruice wol I take And high of degree I woll the make If wyckednesse ne hynder the But (as I hoope) it shall nought be To worshyppe no wyght by auenture Maye come, but yf he payne endure Abyde and suffre thy distresse That hurteth nowe, it shall be lesse I wotte my selfe what maye the saue What medicyne thou woldest haue And yf thy trouthe to me thou kepe I shall vnto thyne helpyng eke To cure thy woundes and make hem clene where so they be olde or grene

Thou shalte be holpen at wordes fewe For certaynly thou shalte well shewe Where that thou seruest with good wyll For to accomplyshen and fulfyll My commaundementes daye and nyght whyche I to louers yeue of right.

AH syr, for goddes loue (sayd I) Er ye passe hens ententyfely Your commaundemētes to me ye say And I shall kepe hem yf I may For hem to kepen is all my thought And yf so be I wote hem nought Than maye I vnwyttingly Wherfore I praye you entierly wyth all myne herte, me to lere That I trespace in no manere The god of Loue than charged me Anone, as ye shall here and se worde by worde, by right empryse So as the Romaunt shall deuyse The maister leseth hys tyme to lere whan the disciple woll nat here It is but vayne on hym to swynke That on hys lernynge woll nat thynke Who so luste loue, lette hym entende For nowe the Romance begynneth to amēde Nowe is good to here in faye If any be that canne it saye And poynt it as the reason is Sette for other gate ywis It shall nat well in all thyng Be brought to good vnderstondyng For a reder that poynteth yll A good sentence maye ofte spyl The boke is good at the endyng Made of newe and lusty thyng For who so woll the endyng here The crafte of loue he shall nowe lere If that he woll so longe abyde Tyll I thys Romance maye vahyde And vndo the sygnyfiaunce Of thys dreme in to Romaunce The sothfastnesse that nowe is hydde without couerture shall be kydde whan I vndone haue thys dremyng wherin no worde is of leasyng.

VIllany at the begynnyng I woll saye loue ouer all thyng Thou leaue, yf thou wolte be False, and trespace ayenst me I curse and blame generally All hem that louen villany For villany maketh villeyne And by hys dedes a chorle is seyne These villayns arne without pyte Frendshyp, loue, and all bounte I nyll receyue vnto my seruyce Hem that ben villayns of emprise But vnderstonde in thyne entent That thys is not myne entendement To clepe no wight in no ages Onely gentyll for hys lynages But who so is vertuous And in hys porte not outragyous whan suche one thou seest the beforne Though he be not gentyll borne Thou mayste well seyne thys is in sothe That he is gentyll, bycause he dothe As longeth to a gentylman Of hem none other deme I can For certaynly withouten drede A chorle is demed by hys dede Of hye or lowe, as ye may se Or of what kynrede that he be Ne say nought for none yuell wyll Thyng that is to holden styll It is no worshyp to missey Thou mayste ensample take of key That was somtyme for missayeng Hated bothe of olde and yonge As ferre as Gaw••yn the worthy was preysed for hys curtesye Kaye was hated, for he was fell Of worde dispytous and cruell wherfore be wyse and aqueyntable Goodly of worde, and resonable Bothe to lesse and eke to mare And whan thou comest there men are Loke that thou haue in custome aye Fyrst to salue hem yf thou maye And yf it fall that of hem somme Salue the fyrst, be not domme But quyte hem curtesly anon wythout abydyng, er they gon For nothyng eke thy tonge applye To speke wordes of rybaudrye To villayne speche, in no degre Late neuer thy lyppe vnbounden be For I nought holde hym in good faythe Curteys that foule wordes saythe And all women serue and preyse And to thy power her honour reyse

And yf that any missayere Dispise women, that thou mayst here Blame him, and byde hym holde him styll And sette thy myght, and all thy wyll women and ladyes for to please And to do thynge that may hem ease That they euer speke good of the For so thou mayst best praysed be Loke fro pride thou kepe the wele For thou mayst both perceyue and fele That pride is bothe foly and synne And he that pryde hath him wythin Ne may hys herte in no wyse Meken ne souplen to seruyce For pride is founde in euery parte Contrarye vnto loues arte And he that loueth trewly Shulde hym conteyne iolyly wythout pride in sondrie wyse And hym disgysen in queyntyse For queynte aray, wythout drede Is nothyng proude, who taketh hede For freshe aray, as men may se wythout pride may ofte be Mayntayne thy selfe after thy rent Of robe and eke of garment For many syth fayre clothyng A man amendeth in much thyng And loke alwaye that they be shape what garment that thou shalte make Of hym that can beste do wythall that parteyneth therto Poyntes and sleues be wel syttande Ryght and streyght on the hande Of shone and bootes, newe and fayre Loke at the leest thou haue a payre And that they sytte so fetously That these rude may vtterly Meruayle, syth that they sytte so playne Howe they come on or of agayne weare strayte gloues wyth aumere Of sylke, and alway wyth good chere Thou gyue, yf thou haue rychesse And yf thou haue naught spende the lesse Alwaye be mery, yf thou may But wast not thy good alway Haue hatte of floures, as freshe as May Chapelet of Roses of whytsondaye For suche araye ne costneth but lyte Thine handes washe, thy teeth make white And let no fylth vpon the be Thy nayles blacke, yf thou mayst se Voyde it awaye delyuerly And kembe thyne heed ryght iolyly Farce not thy visage in no wyse For that of loue is not thempryse For loue doth haten, as I fynde A beaute that cometh nat of kynde Alwaye in hert I rede the Glad and mery for to be And be as ioyfull as thou can Loue hath no ioye of sorowful man That yuel is ful of curtesy That knoweth in hys malady For euer of loue the sycknesse Is meynte wyth swete and bytternesse The sore of loue is maruaylous For nowe the louer ioyous Nowe can he playne, nowe can he grone Nowe can he syngen, nowe maken mone To day he playneth for heuynesse To morowe he playneth for iolynesse The lyfe of loue is ful contrarye whyche stoundemeale can ofte varye But yf thou canst myrthes make That men in gre wol gladly take Do it goodly, I commaunde the For men shulde where so euer they be Do thynge that hem syttynge is For therof commeth good loos and pris wherof that thou be vertuous Ne be not straunge ne daungerous For yf thou good ryder be Prycke gladly that men may se In armes also yf thou come Pursue tyl thou a name haste wonne And yf thy voice be fayre and clere Thou shalt maken no greate daungere whan to synge they goodly pray It is thy worshyp for to abey Also to you it longeth aye To harpe and gyterne, daunce and playe For yf he can wel fote and daunce It maye hym greatly do auaunce Amonge eke for thy lady sake Songes and complayntes that thou make For that wol meuen in her hete whan they reden of thy smerte Loke that no man for scarce the holde For that may greue the manyfolde Reson wol that a louer be In his gyftes more large and fre Than chorles that be not of louyng For who therof can any thyng

He shal be lefe aye for to yeue In londes lore who so wolde leue For he that through a sodayne syght Or for a kyssyng anon ryght yaue hole his herte, in wyl and thought And to hym selfe kepeth right nought After this swyfte, it is good reason He yeue his good in abandon.

NOwe woll I here reherce Of that I haue sayde in verce All the sentence by and by In wordes fewe compendously That thou mayste the better on hem thynke whether so it be thou wake or wynke For the wordes lytel greue A man to kepe, whan it is breue who so with loue wol gon or ryde He mote be curteyes, and voyde of pryde Mery, and full of iolyte And of largesse a losed be.

First I ioyne the here in penaunce That euer without repentaunce Thou set thy thought in thy louyng To last without repentyng And thynke vpon thy myrthes swete That shal folowe after whan ye mete.

And for thou trew to loue shalt be I wyl, and cōmaunde the That in one place thou set al hole Thyne hert, wythout halfen dole For trechery and sykernesse For I loued neuer doublenesse To many his hert that wol depart Eueryche shal haue but lytel parte But of hym drede I me right nought That in one place setteth his thought Therfore in o place it sette And lette it neuer thens flette For if thou yeuest it in lenyng I holde it but a wreched thyng Therfore yeue it hole and quyte And thou shalt haue the more meryte If it be lent, than after soone The bounte and the thanke is done But in Loue, free yeuen thyng Requireth a great guerdonyng yeue it in yeft al quyte fully And make thy gyfte debonairly For men that yefte holde more dere That yeuen is wyth gladsome chere That gyfte nought to praysen is That man yeueth maugre his whan thou haste yenen thyne hert (as I Haue sayd) the here openly Than auentures shall the fall whych harde and heuy bene wyth all For oft whan thou bethynkest the Of thy louynge, where so thou be From folke thou must depart in hye That none perceyue thy malady But hyde thyne harme thou must alone And go forth sole, and make thy mone Thou shalt no whyle be in o state But whylom colde and whylom hate Nowe reed as Rose, now yelowe and fade Such sorowe I trowe thou neuer hade Cotidien, ne quarteyne It is nat so full of peyne For often tymes it shall fall In loue, amonge thy paynes all That thou thy selfe al holy Foryeten shalt so vtterly That many tymes thou shalt be Styl as an ymage of tree Dome as a stone, wythout steryng Of fote or hande, wythout spekyng Than sone after al thy payne To memorye shalt thou come agayne A man abashed wonder sore And after syghen more and more For wytte thou wele wythouten wene In such estate ful ofte haue I bene That haue the yuel of loue assayde wher through thou arte so dismayde

AFter a thought shal take the so That thy loue is to ferre the fro Thou shalte saye (God) what maye thys be That I ne may my lady se? Myne hert alone is to her go And I abyde al sole in wo Departed fro myne owne thought And wyth myne eyen se ryght nought Alas myne eyen sene I ne may My carefull hert to conuay Myne hertes gyde, but they be I prayse nothyng what euer they se Shulde they abyde than, nay But gone and visiten wythout delay That myne herte desyreth so For certaynly, but yf they go

A foole my selfe I may wel holde whan I ne se what myne hert wolde wherfore I wol gone her to sene Or eased shal I neuer bene But I haue some tokenyng Than gost thou forth wythout dwelling But oft thou faylest of thy desyre Er thou mayst come her any nere And wastest in vayne thy passage Than fallest thou in a newe rage For want of syght, thou gynnest mourne And homewarde pensyfe thou dost returne In greate mischefe than shalt thou be For than agayne shall come to the Syghes and playntes wyth newe wo That no itchynge prycketh so who wote it nought, he may go lere Of hem that byen loue so dere No thyng thyne herte appesen maye That ofte thou wolt gone and assaye If thou mayst sene by auenture Thy lyues ioye, thyne hertes cure So that by grace, yf thou myght Attayne of her to haue a syght Than shalt thou done none other dede But wyth that syght thyne eyen fede That fayre freshe whan thou mayst se Thyne herte shal so rauyshed be That neuer thou woldeste thy thankes lete Ne remoue, for to se that swete The more thou seest in sothfastnesse The more thou couytest of that swetnesse The more thyne hert brenneth in fyre The more thyne hert is in desyre For who consydreth euerydele It may be lykened wonder wele The payne of loue vnto a fere For euermore thou neyghest nere Thought, or who so that it be For very soth I tel it the The hotter euer shalt thou brenne As experience shal the kenne where so comest in any coste who is next fyre he brenneth moste And yet forsoth for al thyne hete Thoughe thou for loue swelte and swete Ne for no thynge thou felen maye Thou shalt not wyllen to passe awaye And though thou go, yet must the nede Thynke al day on her fayre hede whom thou behelde wyth so good wyll And holde thy selfe begyled yll That thou ne haddest none hardyment To shewe her ought of thyne entent Thyne hert full sore thou wolte dispise And eke repreue of cowardyse That thou so dull in euery thyng were dome for drede, wythout spekyng Thou shalt eke thynke thou dydest folye That thou were her so fast bye And durst not auntre the to say Some thyng, er thou come away For thou haddeste no more wonne To speke of her whan thou begonne But yet she wolde for thy sake In armes goodly the haue take It shuld haue bene more worth to the Than of treasour great plente Thus shalte thou mourne & eke cōplayne And get encheson to gone agayne Vnto thy walke, or to thy place where thou behelde her fleshely face And neuer for false suspection Thou woldost fynde occasion For thou gone vnto her house So arte thou than desyrouse A syght of her for to haue If thou thyne honour myghtest saue Or any erande myghtest make Thyder, for thy loues sake Ful fayne thou woldest, but for drede Thou goest not, leest that men take hede wherfore I rede in thy goyng And also in thyne agayne commyng Thou be wel ware that men ne wyt Feyne the other cause than it To go that waye, or fast bye To heale wel is no folye And yf so be it happe the That thou thy loue there mayst se In seker wyse thou her salewe wherwyth thy colour wol transmewe And eke thy bloude shall all to quake Thy hewe eke chaungen for her sake But worde and wytte, wyth chere full pale Shal wante for to tell thy tale And yf thou mayst so ferforth wynne That thou reason durst begynne And woldest sayne thre thynges or mo Thou shalt ful scarsly sayne the two Though thou bethynke the neuer so wele Thou shalt foryete yet somdele

BVt yf thou deale wyth trecherye For false louers mowe all folye Saine what the lust w^toutē drede They be so double in her falshede For they in herte can thynke o thynge And sayne another in her spekynge And whan thy speche is ended all Ryght thus to the it shall befall If any worde than come to mynde That thou to saye haste lefte behynde Than thou shalt brenne in great martyre For thou shalt brenne as any fyre Thys is the stryfe and eke the affraye And the batell that lasteth aye Thys bargayne ende maye neuer take But yf that she thy peace wyll make And whan the nyght is comen anon A thousande angres shall come apon To bedde as faste thou wolte the dyght where thou shalt haue but small delyght For whan thou wenest for to slepe So full of payne shalte thou crepe Sterte in thy bedde aboute full wyde And turne full often on euery syde Nowe downwarde grosse, & nowe vpright And walowe in wo the longe nyght Thyn armes shalte thou sprede a brede As man in werre were forwerede Than shall the come a remembraunce Of her shappe and her semblaunce wherto none other maye be pere And wete thou well wythout were That the shall se somtyme that nyght That thou haste her, that is so bryght Naked betwene thyne armes there All sothfastnesse as though it were Thou shalte than make castels in Spayne And dreme of ioye, al but it vayne And the delyten of ryght nought whyle thou so slombrest in that thought That so swete and delytable The whyche in soth nys but a fable For it ne shall no whyle laste Than shalte thou syghe and wepe faste And saye dere god, what thynge is this My dreme is turned all amys whyche was ful swete and apparent But nowe I wake it is all shent Nowe yede thys mery thought away Twenty tymes vpon a day I wolde thys thought wolde come agayne For it alegeth well my payne It maketh me full of ioyefull thought It sleeth me that it lasteth nought Ah lorde, why nyll ye me socoure? The ioye I trowe that I langoure The deth I wolde me shulde slo whyle I lye in her armes two Myne harme is harde wythouten wene My great vnease full ofte I mene

BVt wolde loue do so I myght Haue fully ioye of her so bryght My payne were quitte me richly Alas to greate a thynge aske I It is but folye, and wronge wenyng To aske so outragious a thyng And who so asketh folyly He mote be warned hastely And I ne wote what I maye say I am so ferre out of the way For I wolde haue full great lykyng And full greate ioye of lasse thyng For wolde she of her gentylnesse withouten more, me ones kesse It were to me a greate guerdon Relece of al my passion But it is harde to come therto All is but foly that I do So hygh I haue myne herte sette where I maye no comforte gette I wote not where I saye wel or nought But thys I wote well in my thought Thet it were better of her alone For to stynte my wo and mone A loke on her I cast goodly That for to haue all vtterly Of an other all hole the play Ah lorde where I shal byde the day That euer she shal my lady be He is full cured, that maye her se A god, whan shall the dawnyng sprynge? To lyggen thus is an angry thynge I haue no ioye thus here to lye whan that my loue is not me bye A man to lyen hath great disese whyche may not slepe, ne rest in ese I wolde it dawed, and were now day And that the nyght were went away For were it daye, I wolde vp ryse Ah slowe sunne, shewe thyne enprise Spede the to sprede thy beemes bryght And chace the derkenesse of the nyght To put away the stoundes stronge

whych in me lasten al to longe The nyght shalte thou contynue so wythout rest, in payne and wo yf euer thou knewe of loue distresse Thou shall mowe lerne in that sickenesse And thus endurynge shalte thou lye And ryse on morowe vp erly Out of thy bedde, and harneys the Er euer dawnyng thou mayst se Al priuely than shalte thou gone what whyder it be thy selfe alone For reyne or hayle, for snowe, for slete Thyder she dwelleth, that is so swete The whiche may fall a slepe be And thynketh but lytle vpon the Than shalte thou go, ful foule aferde Loke yf the gate be vnsperde And wayte wythout in wo and payne Ful yuel a coulde in wynde and rayne Than shalt thou go the dore before If thou mayst fynde any shore Or hole, or refte, what euer it were Than shalte thou stoupe, and laye to eer•• If they wythin a slepe be I meane al saue thy lady free whom wakynge yf thou mayst aspye Go put thy selfe in inpardye To aske grace, and the bymene That she may wete wythout wene That thou nyght no reste haste had So sore for her thou were bestad women well ought pytie to take Of hem that sorowen for her sake And loke for loue of that relyke That thou thynke none other lyke For whan thou hast so great annoy Shal kysse the er thou go awey And holde that in ful great deynte And for that no man shal the se Before the house, ne in the way Loke thou begone agayne er day Such commyng, and such goyng Such heuynesse, and such walkyng Maketh louers wythouten any wene Vnder her clothes pale and lene For loue leaueth coloure ne cleernesse who loueth trewe hath no fatnesse Thou shalt well by thy selfe se That thou must nedes assayed be For men that shape hem other way Falsely her ladyes for to betray It is no wonder though they be fatte wyth false othes her loues they gatte For ofte I se suche losengeours Fatter than Abottes or priours Yet wyth o thynge I the charge That is to saye, that thou be large Vnto the mayde, that her doth serue So best her thanke thou shalt deserue yeue her gyftes, and get her grace For so thou may thanke purchace That she the worthy holde and fre Thy lady, and al that may the se Also her seruauntes worshyp aye And please as much as thou maye Great good through hem maye come to the Bycause wyth her they bene priue They shal her tell howe they the fande Curreys and wyse, and wel doande And she shal preyse wel the more Loke out of lande, thou be not fore And yf such cause thou haue, that the Behoueth to gone out of countre Leaue hole thyne hert in hostage Tyl thou agayne make thy passage Thynke longe to se the swete thyng That hath thyne herte in her kepyng Nowe haue I tolde the, in what wyse A louer shal do me seruice Do it than, yf thou wolte haue The mede, that thou after craue.

WHan loue al thys had boden me I sayd hym, sir howe may it be That louers may in such manere Endure y^e paine ye haue said here I meruayle me wonder faste Howe any man may lyue or laste In such payne, and such brennyng In sorowe and thought, and such syghyng Aye vnrelesed wo to make whether so it be they slepe or wake In such anoy continually As helpe me god this meruayle I Howe man, but he were made of stele Myght lyue a month, such paynes to fele

THe God of loue than sayde me Frende, by the fayth I owe to the May no man haue good, but he it bye A man lyueth more tenderlye

The thyng, that he hath bought moste dere For wete thou well wythout were In thanke that thinge is taken more For whych a man hath suffred sore Certes no wo ne may attayne Vnto the sore of loues payne None yuell therto ne may amounte No more than a man counte The droppes that of the water be For drye as wel the greate see Thou myghtest, as the harmes tell Of hem that wyth loue dwell In seruice, for peyne hem sleeth And that eche man wolde flye the deth And trowe they shulde neuer escape Nere that hope couthe hem make Glad as man in prison sete And may not getten for to ete But barlye breed, and water pure And lyeth in vermyn and in ordure wyth all thys yet can he lyue Good hope such comforte hath hym yeue whiche maketh wene that he shall be Delyuered and come to liberte In fortune is full trust Though he lye in strawe or dust In hope is all hys sustaynyng And so for louers in her wenyng which loue hath shytte in hys prisoun Good hope is her saluatioun Good hope (howe sore that they smerte) yeueth hem both wyll and herte To profer her bodye to martyre For hope so sore doth hem desyre To suffre eche harme that men deuyse For ioye that afterwarde shall aryse

HOpe in desyre catche victorye In hope of loue is all the glorye For hope is all y^e loue maye yeue Nere hope, there shulde no lēger lyue Blessed be hope, whych with desyre Auaunceth louers in such manyre Good hope is curteyse for to please To kepe louers from all disease Hope kepeth hys lande, and woll abyde For any peryll that maye betyde For hope to louers, as moost chefe Doth hem endure all mischefe Hope is her helpe whan myster is And I shall yeue the eke ywys Thre other thynges, that greate solace Doth to hem that be in my lace The fyrste good that maye be founde To hem that in my lace be bounde Is swete thought, for to recorde Thynge wherwyth thou canst accorde Best in thyne herte, where she be Thynkyng in absence is good to the whan any louer doth complayne And lyueth in distresse, and in payne Than swete thought shall come as blyue Awaye hys angre for to dryue It maketh louers to haue remembraunce Of comforte, and of hygh pleasaunce That hope hathe hyght him for to wynne For thought anone than shall begynne As ferre god wotte, as he can fynde To make a myrrour of hys mynde For to beholde he wol not lette Her person he shall afore hym sette Her laughyng eyen persaunt and clere Her shappe, her forme, her goodly chere Her mouth, that is so gratious So swete, and eke so sauerous Of all her feyters he shall take hede Her eyen wyth all her lymmes fede.

Thus swete thynkynge shall aswage The paynes of louers, and her rage Thy ioye shall double wythout gesse whan thou thynkest on her symelynesse Or of her laughyng, or of her chere That to the made thy lady dere Thys comforte woll I that thou take And yf the nexte thou wolte forsake whiche is not lesse sauerous Thou shuldest not bene to daungerous.

THe seconde shall be swete speche That hathe to manye on be leche To brynge hem oute of wo and were And helpe manye a bachelere And many a lady sent succour That haue loued paramour Through spekynge, whan they myght here Of her louers to hem so dere To me it voydeth al her smerte The whiche is closed in her herte In herte it maketh hem glad and lyght Speche whan they mowe haue syght

And therfore now it cōmeth to mynde In olde dayes as I fynde That clerkes wryten that her knewe Ther was a lady fresh of hewe which of her loue made a songe On hym for to remembre amonge In which she sayd whan that I here Speken of hym that is so dere To me it voydeth all smerte I wys he sytteth so nere my herte To speake of hym at eue or morowe It cureth me of all my sorowe To me is none so hygh pleasaunce As of his person dalyaunce She wyst ful wel that swete speakyng Comforteth in full moche thynge Her loue she had full well assayde Of hym she was full well apayde To speke of hym her ioye was set Therfore I rede the that thou get A felowe that can wel concele And kepe thy counsayle, and wel hele To whome go shewe holly thyne hert Both well and wo, ioye and smerte To get comfort to hym thou go And priuyly bytwene you two Ye shall speake of that goodly thyng That hath thyne hert in her kepynge Of her beautie and her semblaunce And of her goodly countenaunce Of al thy state thou shalt hym say And aske hym counsayle how thou maye Do any thyng that may her plese For it to the shall do great ese That he may wete thou trust hym so Bothe of thy wele and of thy wo And yf his het to loue be set His company is moche the bet For reson wyll he shewe to the All vtterly his priuitie And what she is he loueth so To the playnly he shall vndo without drede of any shame Bothe tell her renome and her name Than shall he farther ferre and nere And namely to thy lady dere In syker wyse, yea euery other Shall helpen as his owne brother In trouth without doublenesse And kepen close in sykernesse For it is noble thynge in fay To haue a man thou darst say Thy priuy counsayle euery dele For that wyll comfort the ryght wele And thou shalt holde the wel apayed whan suche a frende thou hast assayed

THe thyrde good of greate comforte That yeueth to louers most disporte Commeth of syght and be∣holdynge That cleped is swete lokyng The which maye none ese do whan thou art ferre thy lady fro wherfore thou prese alway to be In place, where thou mayest her se For it is thyng moost amerous Moost delytable and fauerous For to aswage a mans sorowe To sene his lady by the morowe For it is a full noble thynge whan thyne eyen haue metyng with that relyke precyous wherof they be so desyrous But all daye after soth it is They haue no drede to faren amys They dreden neyther wynde ne rayne Ne non other maner payne For when thyne eyen were thus in blysse Yet of her curtesye ywys Alone they can not haue her ioye But to the hert they conuoye Parte of her blysse to hym thou sende Of all his harme to make an ende The eye is a good messangere which can to the hert in suche manere Tydynges sende, that hath sene To voyde hym of his paynes clene wherof the hert reioyseth so That a great partye of his wo Is voyded and put awaye to flyght Ryght as the darkenesse of the nyght Is chased with clerenesse of the mone Ryght so is al his wo full soone Deuoyded clene, whan that the syght Beholden may that fresh wyght That the herte desyreth so That all his darknesse is ago For than the hert is all at ease whan they sene that they hem please Now haue I declared the all out Of that thou were in drede and dout

For I haue tolde the faythfully what the may curen vtterly And all louers that wol be Faythfull and full of stabylitie Good hope alway kepe by thy syde And swete thought make eke abyde Swete lokyng and swete speche Of all thyne harmes they shalbe leche Of euery thou shalt haue great pleasaunce Yf thou canst byde in suffraunce And serue well without fayntyse Thou shalt be quyte of thyne empryse with more guerdoun yf that thou lyue But all this tyme, this I the yeue

THe god of loue whan al the daye Had taught me as ye haue herde saye And enfourmed me compen¦dously He vanyshed away all sodaynly And I alone left all sole So full of complaynt and of dole For I sawe noman there me by My woundes me greued wondersly Me for to curen nothyng I knewe Saue the bothom bryght of hewe wheron was set holly my thought Of other comfort knewe I nought But it were through the god of loue I knewe not ele to my behoue That myght me ease or comfort gete But yf he wolde hym entermete The Roser was withouten dout Closed with an hedge without As ye toforne haue herde me sayne And fast I busyed and wolde fayne Haue passed the haye, yf I myght Haue getten in by any sleyght Vnto the bothom so fayre to se But euer I drad blamed to be If men wolde haue suspectioun That I wolde of ententioun Haue stole the roses that there were Therfore to entre I was in fere But at the last as I bethought whether I shulde passe or nought I sawe come with a glad chere To me a lustye bachelere Of good stature and of good height And Bialacoil forsoth he hight Sonne he was to curtesy And he me graunted full gladly The passage of the vtter hay And sayde, syr: how that ye maye Passe yf your wyll be The fresh Roser for to se And ye the swete sauour fele Your warrans may ryght wele So thou the kepe fro foly Shal no man do the vylany Yf I may helpe you in ought I shall not fayne, dredeth nought For I am bounde to your seruyse Fully deuoyde of feyntyse Than vnto Bialacoil sayd I I thanke you syr full hertely And your behest take at gre That ye so goodly proffer me To you it cōmeth of great fraunchyse That ye me profe your seruyse Than after full delyuerly Through the breers anon went I whereof encombred was the haye I was well plesed, the soth to saye To se the bothom, fayre and swote So fresh spronge out of the rote

And Bialacoil me serued wele whan I so nygh me myght fele Of the bothome the swete odour And so lusty hewed of colour But than a churle foule hym betyde Besyde the roses gan hym hyde To kepe the roses of that Rosere Of whome the name was Daungere This churle was hyd there in the greues Couered with grasse and with leues To spye and take whom that he fonde Vnto that Roser put an honde He was not fole for there was mo For with hym were other two Of wicked maners, and euyl fame Than one was cleped by his name wycked tonge, god yeue hym sorowe For neyther at eue ne at morowe He can of no man good speake On many a iust man doth he wreke There was a woman eke that hyght Shame, that who can reken ryght Trespasse was her fathers name

Her mother reason, and thus shame Brought of these ylke two And yet had trespasse neuer ado with reson, ne neuer laye her by He was so hydous and so vgly I meane this, that trespasse hyght But reason conceyueth of a syght Shame of that I spake aforne And whan that shame was this borne It was ordayned that chastitie Shulde of the Roser lady be which of the bothoms more and las with sondrye folke assayled was That she ne wyst what to do For Venus her assayleth so That nyght and day from her she stal Bothoms and Roses ouer all To reason than prayeth Chastitie whom Venus hath flemed ouer the see That she her doughter wolde her leue To kepe the Roser fresh and grene Anon reason to chastitie Is fully assented, that it be And graunted her, at her request That shame, bycause she is honest Shal keper of the Roser be And thus to kepe it, there were thre That none shulde hardy be ne bolde (were he yonge, or were he olde) Agayne her wyll away to bere Bothoms ne roses, that there were I had well sped, had I nat bene Awayted with these thre and sene For Bialacoil, that was so fayre So gratious and debonayre Quytte hym to me full curtesly And me to please bad that I Shulde drawe me to the bothom nere Prese in to touche the rosere which bare the roses, he yafe me leue This graunt ne myght, but lytle greue And for he sawe it lyked me Ryght nygh the bothom pulled he A leafe al grene, and yaue me that The which full nygh the bothom sat I made of that leafe ful queynt And when I felte I was acquaynt with Bialacoil, and so pryue I wende all at my wyll had be Than wext I hardy for to tell To Bialacoil how me befell Of loue, that toke and wounded me And sayd, syr so mote I the I maye no ioye haue in no wyse Vpon no syde, but it ryse For syth (yf I shall not feyne) In hert I haue had so great peyne So great anoy and suche affray That I ne wot what I shall saye I drede your wrath to deserue Leuer me were, that knyues kerue My body shulde in peces small Than in any wyse it shulde fall That ye wrathed shulde ben with me Saye boldly thy wyll (quod he) I nyl be wroth yf that I maye For nought that thou shalt to me saye.

THan sayde I syr, not you dis∣please To knowen of my greate vnease In whiche onelye loue hath me brought For paynes greate, disese, and thought Fro day to day he doth me drye Supposeth not syr, that I lye In me fyue woundes dyd he make The sore of which shall neuer slake But ye the bothom graunt me which is moost passaunt of beautie My lyfe my deth, and my martyre And treasour, that I moost desyre Than Bialacoil affrayed all Sayd syr, it may not fall That ye desyre it maye not aryse what wolde ye shende me in this wyse A mokel foole than I were Yf I suffred you away to bere The fresh bothom, so fayre of syght For it were neyther skyll ne ryght Of the Roser ye broke the rynde Or take the rose aforne his kynde Ye are not curteys to aske it Let it styll on the Roser syt And let it growe tyl it amended be And parfetly come to beautie I nolde not that it pulled were Fro the roser that it bere To me it is so lefe and dere with that anon stert out daunger Out of the place where he was hydde His malyce in his chere was kydde Full great he was and blacke of hewe

Sturdy and hydous, whoso hym knewe Lyke sharpe vrchons his heer was growe His eyes red sparklyng as the fyre glowe His nose frounced full kyrked stode He come cryande as he were wood And sayd, Bialacoil tell me why Thou bryngest hyther so boldly Hym that so nygh the rosere Thou worchest in a wronge manere He thynketh to dishonour the Thou art well worthy to haue maugre To let hym of the Rosere wytte who serueth a felon is euyll quytte Thou woldest haue done great bountie And he with shame wolde quyte the Flye hence felowe I rede the go It wanteth lytle he wol the slo For Bialacoil ne knewe the nought whan the to serue he set his thought For thou wolt shame hym yf thou myght Both agayne reason and ryght I woll nomore in the affye That comest so slyghly for tespye For it proueth wonder wele Thy sleyght and trayson euery dele I durst nomore make there abode For the churle he was so wode So gan he thret and manace And through the hay he dyd me chace For feare of hym I trymbled and quoke So churlyshly his heed he shoke And sayd, yf eft he myght me take I shulde not from his hondes scape Than Bialacoil is fled and mate And I all sole disconsolate was left alone in payne and thought For shame to death I was nygh brought Than thought I on my hygh folly How that my body vtterly was yeue to payne and to martyre And therto hadde I so great yre That I ne durst the hayes passe There was no hope, there was no grace I trowe neuer man wyst of payne But he were laced in loues chayne Ne no man, and soth it is But yf he loue, what angre is Loue holdeth his heest to me ryght wele whan payne (he sayd) I shulde fele No hert may thynke, ne tonge sayne A quarter of my wo and payne I myght not with the angre last Myne hert in poynt was for to brast whan I thought on the rose that so was through daunger cast me fro A longe whyle stode I in that state Tyll that me sawe so mad and mate The lady of the hygh warde which from her tower loked thytherwarde

Reason men clepe that lady which from her tower delyuerly Come downe to me without more But she was neyther yonge ne hore Ne hygh ne lowe, ne fat ne lene But best, as it were in a mene Her eyen two were clere and lyght As any candel, that brenneth bryght And on her heed she had a crowne Her semed well an hygh person For rounde enuyron her crownet was full of ryche stones fret Her goodly semblaunt by deuyse I trowe was made in paradyse For nature had neuer suche a grace To forge a werke of suche compasse For certeyne, but yf the letter lye God hym selfe, that is so hye Made her after his ymage And yaue her sythe suche auauntage That she hath myght and segnorie To kepe men from all folly who so woll trowe her lore Ne may offenden neuermore

And whyle I stode this darke and pale Reason began to me her tale She sayde: alhayle my swete frende Foly and chyldhode wyll the shende which the haue put in great affraye Thou hast bought dere the tyme of Maye That made thyne herte mery to be In euyll tyme thou wentest to se The garden wherof ydlenesse Bare the keye and was mastresse whan thou yedest in the daunce with her and had acquayntaunce Her acquayntaunce is peryllous Fyrst soft, and after noyous She hath trasshed without wene The god of loue had the nat sene Ne had ydlenesse the conueyde In the verger, where myrth hym pleyde Yf follye haue supprysed the

Do so that it recouered be And be welware to take nomore Counsayle, that greueth after sore He is wyse, that wyll hym selfe chastyse And though a yonge man in any wyse Trespasse amonge, and do folly Let hym not tary, but hastely Let hym amende whatso be mys And eke I counsayle the ywis The god of loue holly foryet That hath the in suche payne set And the in hert turmented so I can not sene how thou must go Other wayes to garysoun For daunger, that is so feloun Felly purposeth the to werrey which is full cruell the soth to sey.

ANd yet of Daunger commeth no blame In rewarde of my doughter Shame which hath y^e roses in her ward As she that maye be no musarde And wycked tonge is with these two That suffreth no man thyther go For er a thyng be do he shal where that he cometh ouer all In fourty places yf it be sought Say thing that neuer was don ne wrought So moche trayson is in his male Of falsnesse for to sayne a tale Thou delest with angry folke ywys wherfore to the better is From these folke awaye to fare For they wol make the lyue in care This is the euyll that loue they call wherin there is but foly all For loue is folly euery dell who loueth, in nowyse maye do well Ne setteth his though on no good werke His schole he leseth, yf he be clerke Or other craft eke, yf that he be He shall not thryue therin, for he In loue shall haue more passyoun Than monke, hermyte, or chanoun This payne is herde out of mesure The ioye maye eke no whyle endure And in the possessyoun Is moche tribulatioun The ioye it is so short lastyng And but in happe is the gettyng For I se there many in trauayle That at last foule fayle I was nothyng thy counsayler whan thou were made the homager Of god of loue to hastely There was no wysdom but folly Thyne hert was ioly, but not sage whan thou were brought in suche a rage To yelde the so redely And to loue of his great maystry.

I Rede the loue awaye to dryue That maketh the retche not of thy lyue The folly more fro day to day Shall growe, but thou it put awaye Take with thy teeth the brydle fast To daunt thyne hert, and eke the cast Yf that thou mayest to get the defence For to redresse thy fyrst offence whoso his hert alway wol leue Shall fynde amonge that shal hym greue.

whan I her herde thus me chastyse I answered in full angry wyse I prayed her cesse of her speche Eyther to chastyse me or teche To byd me my thought refreyne which loue hath caught in his demeyne what wene ye loue woll consent (That me assayleth with bowe bent) To drawe myne hert out of his honde which is so quyckly in his bonde That ye counsayle may neuer be For when he fyrst arested me He toke myne hert so sore hym tyll That it is nothyng at my wyll He thought it so hym for to obey That it sparred with a key I praye you let me be all styll For ye may well, yf that ye wyll Your wordes waste in ydlenesse For vtterly wit houten gesse Al that ye sayne is but in vayne Me were leuer dye in the payne Than loue to mewarde shulde arette Falshed or treson on me sette I wyll me get pryse or blame And loue true to saue my name who that me chasteseth I hym hate

with that worde Reson went her gate whan she sawe for no sermonyng She myght me fro my foly brynge Than dismayed I left all sole Forwery, forwandred as a fole For I ne knewe no cherysaunce Than fell into my remembraunce How loue bade me to puruey A felowe, to whom I myght sey My counsel and my priuytie For that shulde moche auayle me with that bethought I me, that I Had a felowe fast by True and syker, curteys and hende And he was called by name a frende A trewer felowe was no where non In haste to hym I went anon And to hym all my wo I tolde From hym ryght nought I wold witholde I tolde hym all without were And made my compleynt on Daungere Nowe for to se he was hydous And to mewarde contrarious The which through his crueltie was in poynt to haue meymed me with Bialacoil whan heme sey within the garden walke and pley Fro me he made hym for to go And I beleste alone in wo I durst no lenger with hym speke For daunger sayd he wolde be wreke whan that he sawe howe I went The fresh bothom for to hent Yf I were hardy to come nere Bytwene the hay and the rosere.

This frend when he wyst of my thought He discomforted me ryght nought But sayd felow, be not so mad Ne so abashed nor bestad My selfe I knowe full well daungere And howe he is fers of chere At prime temps loue to manace Full oft I haue bene in his case A felon fyrst though that he be After thou shalt hym souple se Of longe passed I knewe hym wele Vngoodly fyrst though men hym fele He woll meke after in his bearynge Ben, for seruyce and obeysynge I shal the tell what thou shalt do Mekely I rede thou go hym to Of herte praye hym specyally Of thy trespace to haue mercy And hote hym well here to plese That thou shalt neuer more hym displese who can best serue of flatery Shall please daunger most vtterly

My frende hath sayd to me so wele That he me eased hath somdele And eke alegged of my turment For through hym had I hardement Agayne to daunger for to go To preue if I myght meke hym so.

TO Daunger came I all as∣shamed The whiche aforne me had blamed Desyrynge for to pease my woo But ouer hedge durst I not go For he forbode me the passage I founde hym cruell in his rage And in his honde a great burdowne To hym I kneled lowe adowne Full meke of porte, and symple of chere And sayde syr, I am comen here Onely to aske of you mercy That greueth me full greatly That euer my lyfe I wrathed you But for to amenden I am come now with all my myght both loude and styl To done ryght at your owne wyll For loue made me for to do That I haue trespassed hytherto Fro whom I ne maye withdrawe we myne herte Yet shall I neuer for ioye ne smert (what so befall good or yll) Offende more agayne your wyll Leuer I haue endure disease Than do that shulde you displease.

I You requyre, and pray that ye Of me haue mercy and pytye To stint your yre, that greueth so That I wol swere for euer mo To be redressed at your lykyng Yf I trespasse in any thynge Saue that (I praye the) graunt me A thyng that may not warned be

That I maye loue all onely None other thynge of you aske I I shall done all well ywis Yf of your grace ye graunt me thys And ye maye nat letten me For well wote ye, that loue is free And I shall louen suche that I wyll who euer lyke it well or yll And yet ne wolde I for all Fraunce Do thynge to do you displesaunce.

THan Daungere fyll in hys entent For to foryeue hys male talent But all hys wrathe yet at last He hath released, I prayde so fast Shortely (he sayd) thy request Is nat to mokell dishonest Ne I woll nat werne it the For yet nothynge engreueth me For though thou loue thus euermore To me is neyther softe ne sore Loue where that the lyst, what retcheth me So ferre fro my Roses be Trust nat on me for none assaye In any tyme to passe the haye Thus hath he graunted my prayere Than went I forthe withouten were Vnto my frende, and tolde hym all whyche was right ioyfull of my tale (He sayd) nowe gothe well thyne affayre 〈◊〉〈◊〉 shall to the be debonayre Though he aforne was dispitous He shall herafter be gratious If he were touched on some good veyne He shulde yet rewen on thy peyne Suffer I rede, and no boost make Tyll thou at good mes mayst hym take By sufferaunce, and wordes softe A man maye ouercome ofte Hym, that aforne he had in drede In bokes sothely as I rede Thus hath my frende with great comforte Auaunced me wyth hygh disporte whyche wolde me good, as moche as I And than anone full sodainly I toke my leaue, and streight I went Vnto the haye, for great talent I hadde to sene the freshe bothom wherin laye my saluatioun And Daungere to kepe, yf that I kepe hym couenaunt trewly So sore I dradde hys manasyng I durste nat breke hys byddyng For lest that I were of hym shent I brake nat hys commaundement For to purchase hys good wyll It was for to come there tyll Hys mercy was to ferre behynde I kepte, for I ne myght it fynde I complayned and sighed sore And languyshed euermore For I durst nat ouer go Vnto the Rose I loued so Throughout my demyng vtterly That he had knowlege certaynly Than Loue me ladde in suche a wyse That in me there was no fentyse Falsheed, ne no trechery And yet he full of villany Of disdayne, and cruelte On me ne wolde haue pyte Hys cruel wyll for to refrayne Tho I wepte alwaye, and me complayne

ANd while I was in thys tourment were come of grace, by god sent Fraunchyse, and with her Pyte Fulfylde the Bothom of bounte They go to Daungere anon ryght To forther me wyth all her myght And helpe in worde and in dede For well they sawe that it was nede Fyrst of her grace dame Fraunchyse Hath taken of thys empryse She sayd, Daungere great wronge ye do To worche thys man so moche wo Or pynen hym so angerly It is to you great villany I canne nat se, why ne how That he hath trespassed agayne you Saue that he loueth, wherfore ye shulde The more in cherete of hym holde The force of loue maketh hym do thys who wolde hym blame he dyd amys He lefeth more than ye maye do Hys payne is harde, ye maye se lo And Loue in no wyse wolde consent That ye haue power to repent For though that quicke ye wolde hym slo Fro loue hys herte may nat go Nowe swete syr, it is your ease Hym for to angre or disease Alas, what maye it you auaunce To done to hym so great greuaunce

what worshyppe is it agayne hym take Or on your man a werre make Sithe he so lowly euery wyse, Is redy, as ye luste deuyse If Loue haue caught hym in hys lace You for to bey in euery caas And ben your subiecte at your wyll Shulde ye therfore wyllen hym yll Ye shulde hym spare more all out Than hym that is bothe proude and stout Curtesy woll that ye socure Hem, that ben meke vnder your cure Hys hert is harde that woll nat meke whan men of mekenesse hym beseke.

THys is certayne, sayd Pyte we se ofte that humylyte Bothe yre, and also felony Venquysheth, and also melancoly To stonde forthe in suche duresse Thys cruelte and wyckednesse wherfore I pray you sir Daungere For to mayntene no lenger here Suche cruell werre agayne your man As holly yours as euer he can Nor that ye worchen no more wo Vpon thys caytife, that languysheth so whyche woll no more to you trespace But put hym holly in your grace Hys offence ne was but lyte The god of Loue it was to wyte That he your thrall so greatly is And yf ye harme hym ye done amys For he hath had full harde penaunce Sythe that ye reste hym thaqueyntaunce Of Bialacoil, hys moste ioye whyche all hys paynes myght acoye He was before anoyed sore But than ye doubled hym well more For he of blysse hath ben full bare Sythe Bialacoil was fro hym fare Loue hath to hym great distresse He hath no nede of more duresse Voydeth from hym your yre I rede Ye may not wynnen in thys dede Maketh Bialacoil repayre agayne And haueth pyte vpon hys payne For Franchyse woll, and I Pyte That mercyfull to hym ye be And sythe that she and I accorde Haue vpon hym mis••••icorde For I you pray, and eke mou••ste Nought to refusen our requeste For he is harde, and fell of thought That for vs two woll do right nought Daunger ne might no more endure He meked hym vnto mesure.

I Wol in no wyse, saythe Daun∣gere Deny, that ye haue asked here It were to great vncurtesye I woll ye haue the companye Of Bialacoil, as ye deuyse I woll hym let in no wyse To Bialacoil than went in hye Fraunchyse, and sayde full curteslye Ye haue to longe be deignous Vnto thys louer, and daungerous Fro hym to withdrawe your presence whyche hath do to hym great offence That ye not wolde vpon hym se wherfore a soroufull man is he Shape ye to paye hym, and to please Of my loue yf ye woll haue case Fulfyll hys wyll, sythe that ye knowe Daunger is daunted and brought lowe Through helpe of me and of Pyte You dare no more aferde be I shall do right as ye wyll Saythe Bialacoil, for it is skyll Sythe Daunger woll that it so be Than Fraunchyse hath hym sent to me.

BYalacoil at the begynnyng Salued me in hys cōmyng No straūgenesse was in him sene No more thā he ne had wra∣thed bene As fayre semblaunt than shewed he me And goodly, as aforne dyd he And by the honde without done wythin the haye ryght all about He ladde me wyth right good chere All enuyron the vergere That Daunger hadde me chased fro Nowe haue I leaue ouer all to go Nowe am I raysed at my deuyse Fro hell vnto paradyse Thus Bialacoil of gentylnesse wyth all hys payne and besynesse Hathe shewed me onely of grace The eftres of the swote place

I sawe the Rose whan I was nygh was greatter woxen, and more high Fresshe, roddy, and fayre of hewe Of coloure euer yliche newe And whan I hadde it longe sene I sawe that through the leues grene The Rose spredde to spaunyshinge To sene it was a goodly thynge But it ne was so sprede on brede That men within myght knowe the sede For it couert was and close Bothe with the leues and with the rose The stalke was euen and grene vpright It was theron a goodly syght And wel the better without wene For the seed was nat sene Ful fayre it spradde the god of blesse For suche another, as I gesse Aforne ne was ne more vermayle I was abawed for marueyle For euer the fayrer that it was The more I am bounden in loues laas Longe I abode there sothe to saye Tyl Bialacoil I ganne to praye whan that I sawe him in no wyse To me warnen his seruyce That he me wolde graunt a thynge whiche to remembre is wel syttynge This is to sayne, that of his grace He wolde me yeue leysar and space To me that was so desyrous To haue a kyssynge prectous Of the goodly freshe Rose That so swetely smelleth in my nose For if you displeased nought I wolde gladly, as I haue sought Haue a cosse therof freely Of your yeft, for certainly I wol none haue, but by your leue So lothe me were you for to greue

HE sayd, frende so god me spede Of Chastite I haue suche drede Thou shuldest nat warned be for me But I dare nat for Chastyte Agayne her dare I nat mysdo For alwaye byddeth she me so To yeue no louer leaue to kysse For who therto maye wynnen ywisse He of the surplus of the praye My lyfe in hoope to gette some daye For who so kyssynge maye attayne Of loues payne hath (sothe to sayne) The best and most auenaunt And ernest of the remenaunt.

OF hys answere I sighed sore I durst assaye him tho no more I hadde suche drede to greue hym aye A mā shuld nat to moche assaye To chafe hys frende out of measure Nor putte hys lyfe in auenture For no man at the fyrst stroke Ne maye nat fel downe an oke Nor of the reysyns haue the wyne Tyll grapes be rype and well a fyne Be sore empressed, I you ensure And drawen out of the pressure But I forpeyned wonder stronge Though that I abode right longe After the kysse, in payne and wo Sythe I to kysse desyred so Tyll that rennynge on my distresse There come Venus the goddesse (whyche aye werryeth Chastite) Came of her grace to socour me whose myght is knowe ferre and wyde For she is mother of Cupyde.

THe God of Loue, blynde as stone That helpeth louers manye one This lady brought in her right honde Of brennynge fyre a blasyng bronde wherof the flame and hote fyre Hath many a lady in desyre Of Loue brought, and sore hette And in her seruyce her hert is sette Thys lady was of good entayle Right wonderfull of apparayle By her atyre so bryght and shene Men myght perceyue well and sene She was nat of Relygioun Nor I nyll make mencioun Nor of robe, nor of tresour Of broche, neyther of her riche attour Ne of her gyrdell about her syde For that I nyll nat longe abyde But knoweth well, that certaynly

She was arrayed richely Deuoyde of pride certayne she was To Bialacoil she went a paas And to hym shortely in a clause She sayd, sir: what is the cause Ye ben of porte so daungerous Vnto thys louer, and daynous To graunt hym nothyng but a kysse To warne it hym ye done amysse Sythe well ye wotte, howe that he Is loues seruaunt, as ye maye se And hath beaute, wherthrough is worthy of loue to haue the blys Howe he is semely beholde and se Howe he is fayre, howe he is free Howe he is swote, and debonayre Of age yonge, lusty, and fayre There is no lady so hawtayne Duchesse, countesse, ne chastelayne That I nolde holde her vngoodly For to refuce hym vtterly Hys brethe is also good and swete And eke hys lyppes roddy and mete Onely to playne, and to kysse Graunt hym a kysse of gentylnysse Hys teth arne also whyte and clene Me thynketh wronge withouten wene If ye nowe warne hym, trusteth me To graunt that a kysse haue he The lasse ye helpe hym that ye haste And the more tyme shull ye waste whan the flame of the very bronde That Venus brought in her right honde Hadde Bialacoil with hys hete smete Anone he badde me withouten lete Graunt to me the rose kysse Than of my payne I ganne to lysse And to the rose anone went I And kyssed it full faythfully There nede no man aske, yf I was blythe whan the sauour softe and lythe Stroke to myne hert without more And me allegged of my sore So was I full of ioye and blysse It is fayre suche a floure to kysse It was so swote and sauerous I myght nat be so anguysshous That I mote gladde and ioly be whan that I remembre me Yet euer amonge sothly to fayne I suffre noye and moche payne.

THe see may neuer be so styll That wyth a lytell wynde at wyll Ouerwhelme and tourne al∣so As it were woode in wawes go After the calme the trouble sonne Mote folowe, and chaunge as the moone Right so fareth Loue, that selde in one Holdeth hys ancre, for ryght anone whan they in ease wene best to lyue They ben wyth tempest all fordryue who serueth Loue, cannt tel of wo The stoundmele ioye mote ouergo Nowe he hurteth, and nowe he cureth For selde in o poynte Loue endureth.

NOwe is it ryght me to procede Howe Shame gan medle and take hede Through whom fel angres I haue hade And howe the stronge wall was made And the castell of brede and length That god of Loue wan wyth hys strength All thys in Romaunce wyll I sette And for no thyng ne wyll I lette So that it lykynge to her be That is the floure of beaute For she maye best my labour quyte That I for her loue shall endyte Wycked tonge that the couyne Of euerye louer can deuyne worste, and addeth more somdele (For wycked tonge saythe neuer wele) To mewarde bare he ryght great hate Espyenge me erly and late Tyll he hathe sene the great chere Of Bialacoil and me yfere He myght not hys tonge wythstonde worse to reporte than he fonde He was so full of cursed rage It satte hym wele of hys lynage For hym an Irishe woman bare Hys tonge was fyled sharpe and square Poignaunt and ryght keruyng And wonder bytter in spekyng For whan that he me gan espye He swore (affyrmyng sykerly) Bytwene Bialacoil and me was yuel aquayntaunce and pryue He spake therof so folilye

That he awaked Ielousye whyche all afrayde in hys rysyng whan that he herde ianglyng He ran anone as he were wode To Bialacoil there that he stode whyche had leuer in thys caas Haue ben at Reynes or Amyas For foote hote in hys felonye To hym thus sayd Ielousye Why haste thou ben so neglygent To kepen, whan I was absent Thys verger here left eyn thy warde? To me thou haddest no regarde To truste (to thy confusyon) Hym thus, to whom suspection I haue ryght great, for it is nede It is well shewed by the dede Great faute in the nowe haue I founde By god anone thou shalt be bounde And faste locken in a toure without refuyte or socoure.

FOr Shame to longe hath be the fro Ouer soone she was ago Whan thou hast lost bothe drede and fere It semed well she was nat here She was besy in no wyse To kepe the and chastice And for to helpen Chastite To kepe the Roser, as thynketh me For than this boye knaue so boldly Ne shulde nat haue be hardy In this verge hadde suche game whyche nowe me tourneth to great shame.

BIalacoil nyst what to saye Full fayne he wolde haue fledde away For frare haue hydde, nere that he All sodaynly toke hym wyth me And whan I sawe he had so Thys Ielousye take vs two I was astoned, and knewe no rede But fledde away for very drede.

THan Shame came fortheful symply she wende haue trespaced ful greatly Hūble of her porte, & made it symple wearyng a vayle in stede of wymple As nonnes done in her abbey Bycause her herte was in affray She gan to speke wythin a throwe To Ielousye, right wonder lowe Fyrst of hys grace she befought And sayd sir, ne leueth nought wycked tonge, that false espye whyche is so glad to fayne and lye He hath you made, through flateryng On Bialacoil a false leasyng Hys falsnesse is not nowe a newe It is to longe that he hym knewe This is not the fyrst daye For wycked tonge hath custome aye Yonge folkes to bewrye And false lesynges on hem lye.

YEt neuerthelesse I se amonge That the loigne it is so longe Of Bialacoil, hertes to lure In loues seruyce for to endure Drawyng suche folke hym to That he hath nothynge wyth to do But in sothnesse I trowe nought That Bialacoil had euer in thought To do trespace or vilanye But for hys mother Curtesye Hathe taught hym euer to be Good of aqueyntaunce and pryue For he loueth none heuynesse But myrthe and play, and all gladnesse He hateth all trechours Soleyne folke and enuyous For ye weten howe that he woll euer glade and ioyfull be Honestly wyth folke to pley I haue be neglygent in good fey To chastyse hym, therfore nowe I Of herte I crye you here mercy That I haue ben so recheles To tamen hym wythouten lees Of my foly I me repente Nowe woll I hole set myne entente To kepe bothe lowe and styll Bialacoyl to do youre wyll Shame Shame (sayde Ielousye) To be bytrasshed great drede haue I Lecherye hathe clombe so hye That almoste blered is myne eye No wonder is, yf that drede haue I Ouer all reygneth lechery whose myght groweth nyght and dey Bothe in cloystre and in abbey Chastyte is werreyed ouer all

Therfore I woll wyth syker wall Close bothe roses and rosere I haue to longe in thys manere Lefte hem vnclosed wylfully wherfore I am right inwardly Soroufull, and repente me But nowe they shall no lenger be Vnclosed and yet I drede sore I shall repent ferthermore For the game gothe all amys Counsayle I must newe iwys I haue to longe trusted the But nowe it shall no lenger be For he may beste in euery coste Disceyue, that men trusten moste I se well that I am nyghe shent But yf I shette my full entent Remedye to puruey wherfore close I shall the wey Fro hem that woll the rose espye And come to waite me vilonye For in good faythe and in trouthe I woll not let for no slouthe To lyue the more in sykernesse Do make anone a fortresse Than close the roses of good sauour In myddes shall I make a tour To put Bialacoil in prison For euer I drede me of treson I trowe I shall hym kepe so That he shall haue no myght to go Aboute to make companye To hem that thynke of vilanye Ne to no suche as hath ben here Aforne, and founde in hym good chere whyche han assayled hym to shende And wyth her trowandyse to blende A foole is eyth to begyle But may I lyue a lytell whyle He shall forthynke hys fayre semblaunt. And with that worde came Drede auaunt whyche was abashed, and in great fere whan he wyste Ielousye was there He was for drede in suche affray That not a worde durste he saye But quakyng stode full styll alone (Tyll Ielousye hys way was gone) Saue Shame, that hym not forsoke Bothe Drede and she full sore quoke That at laste Drede abrayde And to hys cosyn Shame sayde

SHame (he sayd) in sothfastnesse To me it is great heuynesse That the noyse so ferre is go And the sclaunder of vs two But sythe that it is befall we may it not agayne call whan ones spronge is a fame For many a yere wythouten blame we haue ben, and many a day For many an Aprill, and many a May we han passed, not shamed ❧ Tyll Ielousye hath vs blamed Of mystrust and suspection Causelesse, wythout encheson Go we to Daunger hastely And let vs shewe hym openly That he hath not a right wrought whan that he set not hys thought To kepe better the purprise In hys doyng he is not wyse He hath to vs do great wronge That hath suffred nowe so longe Bialacoil to haue hys wyll All hys lustes to fulfyll He muste amende it vtterly Or els shall he vilaynously Exiled he out of thys londe For he the werre may not wythstonde Of Ielousye, nor the grefe Sythe Bialacoil is at mischefe.

TO Daunger Shame & Drede anon The right way ben gon The chorle they foūd hē aforne Ligging vnder an hawethorne Vnder hys heed no pylowe was But in the stede a trusse of gras He slombred, and a nappe he toke Tyll Shame pitously hym shoke And great manace on hym gan make Why slepest thou, whan thou shuld wake (Quod Shame) thou doest vs vilanye who trusteth the, he dothe folye To kepe roses or bothoms whan they ben fayre in her sesons Thou arte woxe to famyliere where thou shulde be straunge of chere Stoute of thy porte, redy to greue Thou doest great folye for to leue Bialacoil here inne to call The yonder man, to shenden vs all

Though that thou slepe, we maye here Of Ielousye great noyse here Arte thou nowe late, ryse vp an hye And stoppe sone and delyuerly All the gappes of the hay Do no fauoure, I the pray It falleth nothynge to thy name To make fayre semblant, where thou mayst blame.

IF Bialacoil be swete and free Dogged and fell thou shuldest be Frowarde and outragious ywys A chorle chaūgeth that curtyse is Thys haue I herde ofte in sayenge That man may for no dauntynge Make a sperhauke of a bosarde All men woll holde the for musarde That debonayre haue founden the It sytteth the nought curteys to be To do men pleasaunce or seruyse In the it is recreaundyse Let thy werkes ferre and nere Be lyke thy name, whych is Daungere Then all abawed in shewynge Anone spake Drede, ryght thus sayenge And sayd, Daungyr I drede me That thou ne wolte besy be To kepe that thou hast to kepe when thou shuldesh wake, thou arte a slepe Thou shalt be greued certaynly Yf the aspye Ielousye Or yf he fynde the in blame He hath to daye assayled shame And chased away, wyth great manace Bialacoil out of thys place And swereth shortly that he shall Enclose hym in a sturdy wall And all is for thy wyckednesse For that he fayleth straungenesse Thyne herte I trowe be fayled all Thou shalt repent in speciall Yf Ielousye the sothe knewe Thou shalt forthynke, and sore rewe.

Wyth y^t the churle his clubbe gan shake Frownynge hys eyen gan to make And hydous chere, as man in rage For yre he brent in hys vysage when that he herde hym blamed so He sayd out of my wytte I go To be dyscomfyte I haue great wronge Certes I haue nowe lyued to longe Syth I maye not thys closer kepe All quycke I woll be doluen depe Yf any man shall more repayre Into thys gardyn for foule or fayre Myne herte for yre gothe a fere That I lette any enter here I haue do folly nowe I se But nowe it shall amended be who setteth fote here any more Truly he shall repent it sore For no man more into thys place Of me to entre shall haue grace Leuer I had wyth swerdes twayne Throughout myne herte, in euery vayne Perced to be, wyth many a wounde Then slouth shulde in me be founde From hence forth by nyght or daye I shall defende it yf I maye wythouten any excepcion Of eche maner condicion And yf I it any man graunt Holdeth me for recreaunt.

THen Daūger on hys fete gan stande And hente a burden in his hande wroth in hys yre ne left he nought But through the verger he hath sought Yf he myght fynde hole or trace where through that me mote forth by pace Or any gappe, he dyd it close That no man myght touche a rose Of the Roser all aboute He shytteth euery man wythout Thus daye by daye Daunger is wers More wonderfull and more dyuers And feller eke, then euer he was For hym full ofte I synge alas For I ne maye nought, through hys yre Recouer that I moste desyre Myne herte alas, woll brast a two For Bialacoil I wrathed so For certaynly in euery membre I quake, when I remembre Of the bothom, whych I wolde Full ofte a daye sene and beholde And when I thynke vpon the kysse And howe moche ioye and blysse I had through the sauour swete For wante of it I grone and grete Me thynketh I fele yet in my nose The swete sauour of the rose And nowe I wote that I mote go

So ferre the freshe floures fro To me full welcome were the dethe Absence therof (alas) me slethe For whylom wyth thys rose, alas I touched nose, mouth, and face But nowe the death I muste abyde But Loue consent an other tyde That ones I touche maye and kysse I trowe my payne shall neuer lysse Theron is all my couetyse whych brent myne herte in many wyse Nowe shall repayre agayne syghynge Longe watche on nyghtes, and no slepynge Thought in wyshynge, turment, and wo wyth many a turnynge to and fro That halfe my payne I can not tell For I am fallen into hell From paradyse and welth, the more My turment greueth more, and more Anoyeth nowe the bytternesse That I to forne haue felte swetnesse And wycked tonge, through hys falshede Causeth all me wo and drede On me he leyeth a pytous charge Bycause hys tonge was to large.

NOwe it is tyme shortly that I Tell you somthynge of Ielousy That was in great suspection Aboute hym selfe he no mason That stone coulde laye, ne querrour He hyred hem to make a tour And fyrst the roses for to kepe Aboute hem made he a dyche depe Ryght wonder large, and also brode Vpon the whych also stode Of squared stone, a sturdy wall whych on a cragge was founded all And ryght great thycknesse eke it bare Aboute it was founded square An hundred fadome on euery syde It was all lych longe and wyde Lest any tyme it were assayled Full well about it was batayled▪ And rounde enuyron eke were sette Full many a ryche and fayre tourette At euery corner of thys wall was set a toure full principall And eueryche had wythout fable A portcolyse defensable To kepe of enemyes, and to greue That there her force wolde preue And eke amydde thys purpryse was made a toure of great maystryse A fayrer saugh no man wyth syght Large and wyde, and of great myght They drad none assaut Of gynne, gonne, nor skaffaut The temprure of the mortere was made of lycoure wonder dere Of quycke lyme persaunt and egre The whych was tempred wyth vynegre The stone was harde of adamant wherof they made the foundemant The toure was rounde made in compas In all thys worlde no rycher was Ne better ordayned there wythall Aboute the toure was made a wal So that betwyxt that and the toure Roses were sette of swete sauoure wyth many roses that they bere And eke wythin the castell were Spryngoldes, gonnes, bowes, and archers And eke about at corners Men seyne ouer the wall stonde Great engyns, who were nere honde And in the kernels here and there Of arblasters great plentye were None armure myght her stroke wythstonde It were foly to preace to honde wythout the dytche were lystes made wyth wall batayled large and brade For men and horse shulde not attayne To nygh the dyche ouer the playne Thus Ielousye hath enuyron Sette aboute hys garnyson wyth walles rounde, and dyche depe Onely the Roser for to kepe And Daunger erly and late The keyes kept of the vtter gate The whych openeth towarde the eest And he had wyth hym at leest Thurty seruauntes eche one by name That other gate kepte Shame whych opened, as it was couthe Towarde the parte of the southe Sergeauntes assygned were her to Full many, her wyll for to do Then Drede had in her bayllye The kepynge of the conestablerye Towarde the north I vnderstonde That opened vpon the lyfte honde The whych for nothynge may be sure But yf she do besy cure

Erly on morowe, and also late Strongly to shette and barre the gate Of euery thynge that she may se Drede is aferde, where so she be For wyth a puffe of lytell wynde Drede is astonyed in her mynde Therfore for stealynge of the Rose I rede her not the yate vnclose A foules flyght woll make her fle And eke a shadowe yf she it se.

THen wycked tonge ful of enuye wyth soudyours of Normandye As he that causeth all the bate was keper of the fourth gate And also to the tother thre He went full ofte for to se when hys lotte was to wake a nyght Hys instrumentes wolde he dyght For to blowe and make sowne After then he hath enchesoune And walken ofte vpon the wall Corners and wyckettes ouer all Full narowe serchen and espye Though he nought fonde, yet wolde he lye Dyscordaunt euer fro armonye And destoned from melodye Controue he wolde, and foule fayle wyth hornepypes of Cornewayle In floyres made he dyscordaunce And in hys musyke wyth myschaunce He wolde seyne wyth notes newe That he fonde no woman trewe Ne that he sawe neuer in hys lyfe Vnto her husbonde a trewe wyfe Ne none so full of honeste That she nyll lauge and mery be when that she hereth or maye espye A man speaken of lecherye Eueryche of hem hath some vyce One is dyshonest, another is nyce Yf one be full of vyllanye Another hath a lykerous eye Yf one be full of wantonnesse Another is a chyderesse.

THus wycked tonge, God yeue hym shame Can put hem euerychone in blame wythout deserte and causelesse He lyeth, though they ben gyltlesse I haue pyte to sene the sorowe That walketh both eue and morowe To innocentes doth suche greuaunce I praye God yeue hym yuell chaunce That he euer so besye is Of any woman to seyne amys Eke Ielousye, God confounde That hath made a toure so rounde And made aboute a garyson To sette Bealacoil in pryson The whych is shette there in the tour Full longe to holde there soiour There for to lyue in penaunce And for to do hym more greuaunce whyche hath ordeyned Ielousye An olde vecke for to espye The maner of hys gouernaunce The whych dyuell in her enfaunce Had lerned of loues arte And of hys pleys toke her parte She was except in hys seruyse She knewe eche wrenche and euery gyse Of Loue, and euery wyle It was harde her to begyle Of Bealacoil she toke aye hede That euer he lyueth in wo and drede He kept hym koye, and eke pryne Leest in hym she had se Any foly countenaunce For she knewe all the olde daunce And after thys when Ielousye Had Bealacoil in hys baillye And shette hym vp that was so fre For sure of hym he wolde be He trusteth sore in hys castell The stronge werke hym lyketh well He dradde not that no glotons Sulde steale hys roses or bothoms The roses weren assured all Defenced wyth the stronge wall Nowe Ielousye full well maye be Of drede deuoyde in lyberte whether that he slepe or wake For of hys roses maye none be take.

BVt I (alas) nowe mourne shall Bycause I was wythout the wall Full moche doole and mone I made who had wyst what wo I hadde I trowe he wolde haue had pete Loue to dere had solde me The good that of hys loue had I

I went about it all queyntly But nowe through doublynge of my payne I se he wolde it sell agayne And me a newe bargayne lere The whych all out the more is dere For the solace that I haue lorne Then I had it neuer aforne Certayne I am full lyke in dede To hym that cast in earth hys sede And hath ioye of the newe sprynge when it greneth in the gynnynge And is also fayre and freshe of floure Lusty to sene, swote of odoure But er he it in sheues shere Maye fall a wether that shall it dere And make it to fade and fall The stalke, the greyne, and floures all That to the tyllers is fordone The hope that he had to sone I drede certayne that so fare I For hope and trauayle sykerly Ben me byraste all wyth a storme The floure nyll seden of my corne For Loue hath so auaunced me when I began my pryuyte To Bailacoil all for to tell whome I ne founde frowarde ne fell But toke agree all hole my playe But loue is of so harde assaye That all at ones he reued me when I wente best abouen to haue be It is of loue, as of fortune That chaungeth ofte, and nyll contune whych whylom woll on folke smyle And glombe on hem another whyle Nowe frende nowe foe shalt her fele For a twynclynge tourneth her whele She can wrythe her heed awaye Thys is the concourse of her playe She can areyst that doth mourne And whirle adowne and ouertourne who sytteth hyghest, but as her lust A foole is he that woll her trust For it is I that am come downe Through charge and reuolutioun Syth Bialacoil more fro my twyne Shette in the prison yonde wythinne Hys absence at myne herte I fele For all my ioye and all myne hele was in hym, and in the Rose That but you woll, whych hym doth close Open, that I maye hym se Loue woll not that I cured be Of the paynes that I endure Nor of my cruell auenture

AH, Bialacoil myne owne dere Though thou be nowe a prisonere Kepe at leest thyne herte to me And suffre not that it daunted be Ne let not Ielousye in hys rage Putten thyne herte in no seruage All though he chastyce the wythout And make thy body vnto hym lout Haue herte as harde as diamaunt Stedfast, and naught plyaunt In prison though thy body be At large kepe thyne herte free A trewe herte woll not plye For no manace that it maye drye If Ielosye doth the payne Quyte hym hys whyle thus agayne To venge the at leest in thought Yf other waye thou mayst nought And in thys wyse subtelly worche, and wynne the maystry But yet I am in great affraye Lest thou do not, as I saye I drede thou canst me great maugre That thou enprysoned arte for me But that not for my trespas For through me neuer dyscouered was Yet thynge, that ought by secret well more annoye is in me Then is in the of thys myschaunce For I endure more harde penaunce Then any can sayne or thynke That for the sorowe almost I synke when I remembre me of my wo Full nyghe out of my wytte I go. Inwarde myne herte I fele blede For comfortlesse the death I drede Owe I not well to haue dystresse when false, through her wyckednesse And traytours, that arne enuyous To noyen me, be so coragious Ah, Bialacoil full well I se That they hem shape to dysceyue the To make the buxome to her lawe And wyth her corde the to drawe where so hem lust, ryght at her wyll I drede they haue the brought there tyll wythout comforte, thought me slethe Thys game woll brynge me to my dethe

For yf I your good wyll lese I more be deed I maye not chese And yf that thou foryete me Myne herte shall neuer in lykynge be Nor elswhere fynde solace Yf I be put out of your grace As it shall neuer ben I hope Then shulde I fall in wanhope Alas, in wanhope: naye parde For I woll neuer dyspeyred be Yf hope me fayle, then am I Vngratious and vnworthy In hope I woll conforted be For Loue, when he betaught her me Sayd, that hope where so I go Shulde aye be relees to my wo But what and she my bales bete And be to me curteys and swete She is in nothynge full certayne Louers she put in full great payne And maketh hem wyth wo to dele Her fayre behest dysceyueth fele For she woll behote sykerly And faylen after vtterly Ah, that is a full noyous thynge For many a louer in louynge Hangeth vpon her, and trusteth fast whych lese her trauayle at the last Of thyng to cōmen she wote ryght nought Therfore yf it be wysely sought Her counsayle foly is to take For many tymes, when she woll make A full good sylogysme, I drede That afterwarde there shall in dede Folowe an yuell conclusyoun This put me in confusioun For many tymes I haue it sene That many haue begyled bene For truste that they haue set in hope whych fell hem afterwarde a slope

BVt nathelesse yet gladlye she wolde That he that woll hym wyth her holde Had altymes her purpose clere wythout dysceyte or any were That she desyreth sykerly when I her blamed I dyd foly But what auayleth her good wyll when she ne may staunche my stounde yll That helpeth lytell that she may do Outtake behest vnto my wo And heest certayne in no wyse wythout yefte is not to prayse.

WHen heest and dede a sondre vary They done a great contrary Thus am I possed vp and downe wyth doole, thought, and confusyoun Of my dysease there is no nombre Daungere and shame me encombre Drede also, and Ielousye And wycked Tonge full of enuye Of whych the sharpe and cruel Ire Full ofte me put in great martyre They haue my ioye fully lette Syth Bialacoil they haue beshette Fro me in pryson wyckedly whome I loue so entierly That it woll my bane be But I the sooner maye hym se And yet more ouer worst of all There is set to kepe, foule her befall A Rympled vecke ferre roune in rage Frownynge and yelowe in her vysage whych in awayte lyeth daye and nyght That none of hem maye haue a syght.

NOwe mote my sorow enforsed be Full soth it is that Loue yafe me Thre wonder yeftes of hys grace whych I haue lorne now in thys place Syth they ne may wythout drede Helpen but lytell who taketh hede For here auayleth no Swete thought And swete Speche helpeth ryght nought The thyrde was called Swete Lokynge That nowe is lorne wythout lesynge.

YEftes were fayre, but not for thy They helpe me but symply But Bialacoil loosed be To gone at large, and to be free For hym my lyfe lyeth all in doute But yf he come the rather oute Alas I trowe it woll not bene For howe shulde I euermore hym sene? He maye not out, and that is wronge Bycause the Toure is so stronge Howe shulde he out, or by whose prowesse Of so stronge a forteresse? By me certayne it nyll be do

God wotte I haue no wytte therto But well I wote I was in rage when I to Loue dyd homage who was in cause (in sothfastnesse) But her selfe dame Idelnesse? whych me conueyd through fayre prayere To entre in to that fayre vergere She was to blame me to leue The whych nowe doth me sore greue A fooles worde is nought to trowe Ne worthe an apple for to lowe Menne shulde hym snybbe bytterly At pryme temps of hys foly I was a foole, and she me leued Through who I am ryght nought releued She accomplyshed all my wyll That nowe me greueth wonder yll.

REason me sayd what shulde fall A foole my selfe I maye well call That loue asyde I had not layde And trowed that dame Reason sayde Reason had both skyll and ryght when she me blamed, wyth all her myght To medle of loue, that hath me shent But certayne nowe I woll repent.

ANd shulde I repente? naye parde A false traytour, then shulde I be The dyuels engyns wolde me take Yf I my loue wolde forsake Or Bialacoil falsly betraye Shulde I at myschefe hate hym? naye Syth he nowe for hys curtesye Is in pryson of Ielousye Curtesye certayne dyd he me So moche, that it maye not yolden be when he the hay passen me lete To kysse the Rose, fayre and swete Shulde I therfore con hym maugre Naye certaynly, it shall not be For Loue shall neuer yeue good wyll Here of me, through worde or wyll Offence or complaynt more or lesse Neyther of Hope nor Idelnesse For certes it were wronge that I Hated hem for her curtesye There is not els, but suffre and thynke And waken when I shulde wynke Abyde in hope, tyll Loue through chaunce Sende me socour or allegeaunce Expectant aye tyll I maye mete To getten mercy of that swete.

WHylom I thynke howe Loue to me Sayd he wolde take at gre My seruyce, yf vnpacience Caused me to done offence He sayd, in thanke I shall it take And hygh mayster eke the make Yf wyckednesse ne reue it the But soue I trowe that shall not be These were hys wordes by and by It semed he loued me truely Nowe is there not but serue hym wele Yf that I thynke hys thanke to fele My good myne harme, lyeth hole in me In loue maye no defaute be For trewe loue ne fayled neuer man Sothly the faute mote nedes than As God forbyd, be founde in me And how it cōmeth, I can not se Nowe let it gone as it maye go whether Loue woll socoure me or slo He may do hole on me hys wyll I am so sore bounde hym tyll From hys seruyce I maye not ••lene For lyfe and death wythouten wene Is in hys hande, I maye not chese He maye me do both wynne and lest And syth so sore he doth me greue Yet yf my luste he wolde acheue To Bialacoil goodly to be I yeue no force what fell on me For though I dye, as I mote nede I praye Loue of hys goodlyhede To Bialacoil do gentylnesse For whome I lyue in suche dystresse That I mote dyen for penaunce But fyrst, wythout repentaunce I woll me confesse in good entent And make in hast my testament As louers done that felen smerte To Bialacoil leaue I myne herte All hole, wythout departynge Or doublenesse of repentynge

¶Cōment Raison vient a Lamant.

THus as I made my passage In complaynt and in cruell rage And I not where to fynde a leche That couthe vnto myne hel∣pynge eche Sodaynly agayne comen doune Out of her tour I sawe Reasoun Discrete and wyse, and full pleasaunt And of her port full auenaunt The ryght waye she toke to me which stode in great perplexitie That was posshed in euery syde That I nyst where I myght abyde Tyll she demurely sad of chere Sayd to me as she came nere Myne owne frende, art thou greued? Now is this quarel yet atcheued Of loues syde? anon tell me Hast thou not yet of loue thy fyll? Art thou nat wery of thy seruyce? That the hath in suche wyse what ioye hast thou in thy louyng? Is it swete or bytter thyng Canst thou yet chese, let me se what best thy socour myght be.

THou seruest a full noble lorde That maketh the thrall for thy rewarde which aye returneth thy tur∣ment with foly so he hath the blent Thou fell in myschefe thylke daye whan thou dyddest, the sothe to saye Obeysaunce, and eke homage Thou wroughtest nothyng as the sage whan thou became his liege man Thou dyddest a great foly than Thou wystest nat what fell therto with what lorde thou hadst to do yf thou haddest hym well knowe Thou hadst nought be brought so lowe For yf thou wystest what it were Thou woldest serue hym halfe a yere Nat a weke, nor halfe a daye Ne yet an houre without delaye Ne neuer I loued paramours His lordshyp is so full of shours Knowest hym ought?

Lamaunt.

Yea dame pardye

Reasoun.

Nay nay

Lamaunt.

Yes I

Reasoun.

wherfore let se

Lamaunt.

Of that he sayd I shulde be Glad to haue suche lorde (as he) And master of suche seignorie

Reasoun.

Knowest hym nomore

Lamaunt.

Nay certes I Saue that ye yafe me rules there And went his way, I nyst where And I abode bounde in balaunce Lo, there a noble conysaunce.

¶Reasoun.

BVt I woll that thou knowe hym nowe Gynnynge and ende, syth that thou Arte so anguyshious and mate Disfigured out of astate There maye no wretche haue more of wo Ne cautyfe none enduren so It were to euery man syttyng Of his lorde haue knowledgyng For yf thou knewe hym out of doubt Lyghtly thou shuldest escapen out Of thy pryson that marreth the

Lamaunt.

Ye dame syth my lorde is he And I his man made with myne honde I wolde ryght fayne vnderstonde To knowe of what kynde he be Yf any wolde enforme me.

¶Reasoun

I wolde (sayde reason) the lere Sith thou to lerne hast such de And shew the w^toutē fable (sire A thyng y^t is not demonstrable Thou shalt withouten science And knowe withouten experience The thyng that may not knowen be Ne wyst ne shewed in no degree Thou mayst the soth of it nat wytten Though in the it were wrytten Thou shalt not knowe therof more whyle thou art ruled by his lore But vnto hym that loue woll flye The knotte maye vnclosed be which hath to the, as it is founde So longe to knytte, and not vnbounde Now sette well thyne ententioun To here of loue descriptioun.

LOue it is an hatefull pees A free acquaintaunce without relees And through the fret full of falshede A syckernesse all set in drede In herte is a dispayryng hope And full of hope it is wanhope wyse woodnesse, and voyde Reason A swete peryl in to drowne An heuy burthen lyght to beare A wicked vawe awaye to weare It is Carybdes perylous Disagreable and gratious It is discordaunce that can accorde And accordaunce to discorde It is connyng without science wysedome without sapience without discretioun Hauoyre without possessyoun It is lyke hele and hole sycknesse A trust drowned and dronkenesse And helthe ful of maladye And charyte ful of enuye And angre ful of habundaunce And a gredye suffisaunce Delyte right ful of heuynesse And dreried ful of gladnesse Bytter swetnesse and swete errour Right yuel sauoured good sauour Sen that pardon hath within And pardon spotted without synne A payne also it is ioyous And felony ryght pytious Also playe that selde is stable And stedfast ryght meuable A strength weyked to stande vpryght And feblenesse full of myght wytte vnaduysed, sage follye And ioye full of tourmentrye A laughter it is wepyng aye Rest that trauayleth nyght and daye Also a swete hell it is And a sorowfull paradys A plesaunt gayle and prisoun And full of frost somer season Pryme temps full of frostes whyte And Maye deuoyde of all delyte with seer braunches blossoms vngrene And newe frute fylled with wynter tene It is a slowe maye not forbeare Ragges rybaned with golde to weare For all so well woll loue be sette Vnder ragges as ryche rochette And eke as wel by amorettes In mournyng blacke, as bryght burnettes For none is of so mokel pryse Ne noman founden so wyse Ne none so hygh is of parage Ne noman founde of wyt so sage No man so hardye ne so wyght Ne no man of so mokell myght None so fulfylled of bountie That he with loue maye daynted be All the worlde holdeth this waye Loue maketh all to gone myswaye But it be they of euyll lyfe whome Genius cursed man and wyfe That wrongly werke agayne nature None suche I loue, ne haue no cure Of suche as loue seruauntes bene And woll not by my counsayle flene For I ne preyse that louynge wherthrough men at the last endyng Shall call hem wretches full of wo Loue greueth hem and shendeth so But yf thou wolt well loue eschewe For to escape out of his mewe And make all hole thy sorowe to slake No better counsayle mayst thou take Than thynke to fleen well ywys Maye nought helpe els, for wyt thou this yf thou flye it, it shall flye the Folowe it, and folowen shall it the

¶Lamaunt.

whan I had herde al Reason sayne which had spylt her speche in vayne Dame (sayde I) I dare well saye Of this auaunt me well I maye That from your schole so deuiaunt I am, that neuer the more auaunt Ryght nought am I through your doctrine I dull vnder your disciplyne I wot nomore than wyst euer To me so contrary and so fer Is euery thynge that ye me lere And yet I can it al by partuere My hert foryeteth therof ryght nought It is so wrytten in my thought And depe grauen it is so tender That all myne hert I can it render And rede it ouer communely But to my selfe leudest am I

BVt syth ye loue discryuen so And lacke and preise it bothe two Defyneth it into this letter That I maye thynke on it the better For I herde neuer defyned here And wylfully I wolde it lere Yf loue be searched well and sought It is a syknesse of the thought Annexed and lined bytwyxt tweyne with male and female with o cheyne So frely that byndeth, that they ne twynne whether so therof they lese or wynne The rote spryngeth through hote brenning Into disordinate desyryng For to kyssen and embrace And at her lust them to solace Of other thynge loue retcheth nought But setteth her hert and all her thought More for delectatioun Than any procreatioun Of other frute by engendrure which loue to god is nat pleasure For of her body frute to get They yeue no forse, they are so set Vpon delyte to play in fere And some haue also this manere To faynen hem for loue seke Suche loue I prayse not at a leke For paramours they do but fayne To loue truly they disdayne They falsen ladyes traytoursly And swerne hem othes vtterly with many a lesyng, & many a sable And all they fynden disceyuable And whan they han her lust getten The hote ernes they all foryeten women the harme byen full sore But men this thynken euermore That lasse harme is so mote I the Disceyue them, than disceyued be And namely where they ne may Fynde none other meane way For I wot well in sothfastnesse That who doeth nowe his busynesse with any woman for to dele For any lust that he may fele But yf it be so for engendrure He doth trespasse I you ensure For he shulde letten all his wyll To getten a lykely thyng hym tyll And to sustayne yf he myght And kepe forth by kyndes ryght His owne lykenesse and semblable For bycause all is corumpable And fayle shulde successyoun Ne were theyr generatioun Our sectes sterne for to saue whan father or mother arne in graue Her chyldren shulde, whan they ben bede Full diligent bene in her stede To vse that warke on suche a wyse That one may through another ryse Therfore set kynde therin delyte For men therin shulde haue delyte And of that dede be not erke But oft sythens haunt that werke For none wolde drawe therof a draught Ne were delyte which hath hym caught This had subtyl dame Nature For none goth ryght I the ensure Ne hath entent hole ne perfyte For her desyre is for delyte The which fortened crease, and eke The playe of loue for oft seke And thrall hem selfe they be so nyse Vnto the prince of euery vyce For of eche synne it is the rote Vnlefull lust though it be sote And of all euyll the racyne As Tullius can determyne which in his tyme was full sage In a boke he made of age where that more he prayseth elde Though he be croked and vnwelde And more of cōmendatioun Than youth in his descriptioun For youth set both man and wyfe In all paryll of soule and lyfe And parell is, but men haue grace The paryll of youth for to pace without any deth or distresse It is so full of wyldnesse So oft it doth shame or domage To hym or to his lynage And ledeth man now vp nowe downe In mokell dissolutioun And maketh hym loue well company And led his lyfe disrulely And halte hym payde with none estate within hym selfe is suche debate He chaungeth purpose and entent And yalte into some couent

To lyuen after her empryse And leseth fredom and fraunchyse That nature in hym had sette The whiche agayne he may not gette Yf he there make his mansyon For to abyde professyon Though for a tyme his hert absent It maye not fayle he shall repent And eke abyde thylke daye To leaue his habyte, and gone his waye And leseth his worshyp and his name And dare not come agayne for shame But all his lyfe he doth so mourne Bycause he dare not home retourne Fredom of kynde so lost hath he That neuer may recured be But that yf god hym graunt grace That he may or he hence pace Conteyne vnder obedience Through the vertue of patience For youth set man in all folye In vnthryft and in rybaudrye In lechery and in outrage So oft it chaungeth of corage Youth gynneth oft suche bargayne That may not ende without payne In great paryll is set youth hede Delyte so doth his brydell lede Delyte this hangeth, drede the nought Both mans body and his thought Onely through youthes chambere That to done euyll is customere And of naught els taketh hede But onely folkes for to lede In to disporte and wyldenesse So is fro warde from sadnesse But elde draweth hem therfro who wote it not, he may wel go And mo of hem, that nowe arne olde That whylom youthe had in holde whiche yet remembreth of tender age Howe it hem brought in many arage And many a folly therin wrought But now y^t elde hath hym through sought They repent hem of her follye That youth hem put in ieopardye In paryll and in moche wo And made hem oft amysse to do And sewen euyll companye Ryot and auoutryce.

BVt elde can agayne restrayne From suche folly, and refrayne And set men by her ordynaunce In good rule and in gouernaunce But euyll she spendeth her seruyse For noman woll her loue neyther preyse She is hated, this wote I wele Her acquayntaunce wolde no man fele Ne han of elde company Men hate to be of her alye For no man wolde become olde Ne dye whan he is yonge and bolde And elde maruayleth ryght greatly whan they remembre hem inwardly Of many a peryllous empryse which that they wrought in sondry wyse How euer they myght without blame Escape awaye without shame In youth without domage Or reprefe of her lynage Losse of membre, shedyng of bloude Parell of deth, or losse of good wost thou not where youth abyt That men so preysen in her wyt with delyte she halte soiour For both they dwellen in o tour As longe as youth is in season They dwell in one mansyon Delyte of youth woll haue seruyce To do what so he woll deuyse And youth is redy euermore For to obeye for smerte of sore Vnto delyte, and hym to yeue Her seruyce, whyle that she maye lyue.

WHere elde habytte, I wol the tell Shortly, and no whyle dwel For thither behoueth y^t to go Yf deth in youth the not slo Of this iourneye thou mayst not fayle with her labour and trauayle Lodged ben with sorowe and wo That neuer out of her courte go Payne and distresse, syknesse and yre And melancoly that angry syre Bene of her paleys senatours Gronyng and grutchynge her harbegeours The daye and nyght her to tourment with cruell deth they her present And tellen her erlyche and late That deth standeth armed at her gate

Than brynge they to her remembraunce The folly dedes of her enfaunce which causen her to mourne in wo That youth hath her begyled so which sodaynly away is hasted She wepeth the tyme that she hath wasted Complaynyng of the preterytte And the present, that nat abytte And of her olde vanitie That but aforne her she maye se In the future some socour To leggen her of her dolour To graunt her tyme of repentaunce For her synnes to do penaunce And at the last so her gouerne To wynne the ioye that is eterne Fro which go bakwarde youth he made In vanitie to drowne and wade For present tyme abydeth nought It is more swyft than any thought So lytle whyle it doth endure That there nys compt ne measure But how that euer the game go who lyst to loue, ioy and myrth also Of loue, be it he or she Hye or lowe who it be In frute they shulde hem delyte Her parte they may not els quyte To saue hem selfe in honestie And yet full many one I se Of women, sothly for to sayne That desyre, and wolde fayne The playe of loue, they be so wylde And not coueyte to go with chylde And yf with chylde they be perchaunce They wol it holde a great mischaunce But what so euer wo they fele They woll not playne, but concele But yf it be any foole or nyce In whome that shame hath no iustyce For to delyte echone they drawe That haunt this worke both hye and lawe Saue suche that arne worth right nought That for moneye woll be bought Suche loue I prayse in no wyse whan it is gyuen for couetyse I preyse no woman, though so be woode That yeueth her selfe for any good For lytle shulde a man tell Of her that wyl her body sell Be she mayde, be she wyfe That quycke wyll sell her by her lyfe How fayre chere that euer she make He is a wretche I vndertake That loued suche one, for swete or soure Though she hym called her paramoure And laugheth on him, and maketh him feest For certaynly no suche beest To be loued is not worthy Or beare the name of drury Non shulde her please, but he were woode That woll dispoyle hym of his good Yet nathelesse I woll not saye That she for solace and for playe Maye a iewell or other thyng Take of her louers free yeuyng But that she aske it in no wyse For drede of shame, or couetyse And she of hers may hym certayne without slaunder yeuen agayne And ioyne her hertes togyther so In loue, and take and yeue also Trowe not that I woll hem twynne whan in her loue there is no synne I woll that they togyther go And don all that they han ado As curteys shulde and debonayre And in her loue beren hem fayre without vyce both he and she So that alwaye in honestie Fro folly loue to kepe hem clere That brenneth hertes with his fere And that her loue in any wyse Be deuoyde of couetyse Good loue shulde engendred be Of true hert, iust and secree And not of suche as set her thought To haue her lust, or els nought So are they caught in loues lace Truly for bodily solace Fleshly delyte is so present with the, that set all thyne entent without more what shuld I glose For to get and haue the rose which maketh the so mate and wood That thou desyrest none other good But thou art not an yuche the nerere But euer abydest in sorowe and werre As in thy face it is to sene It maketh the both pale and lene Thy myght, thy vertue goth awaye A sory gest in good faye Thou harborest in thyne Inne

The god of loue whan thou let in wherfore I rede thou shet hym out Or he shall greue the out of dout For to thy profyt it wyll turne Yf he nomore with the soiourne In great myschefe and sorowe sonken Ben hertes that of loue arne dronken As thou peraduenture knowen shall whan thou hast lost the tyme all And spent by thought in ydlenesse In waste, and wofull lustynesse Yf thou mayst lyue the tyme to se Of loue for to delyuered be Thy tyme thou shalt bewepe sore The which neuer thou mayest restore For tyme lost, as men may se For nothyng may recouered be And yf thou scape, yet at last Fro loue that hath the so fast Knytte and bounden in his lace Certayne I holde it but a grace For many one as it is seyne Haue lost and spent also in veyne In his seruyce without socour Body and soule, good and treasour wytte and strength, and eke rychesse Of which they had neuer redresse.

¶Lamant

THus taught and preached hath Reason But loue spylte her sermon That was so imped in my thought That her doctryne I set at nought And yet ne sayd she neuer a dele That I ne vnderstode it wele worde by worde the mater all But vnto loue I was so thral which calleth ouer all his praye He chaseth so my thought aye And holdeth myne hert vnder his seale As trusty and true as any stele So that no deuocion Ne had I in the sermon Of dame Reason, ne of her rede It toke no soiour in myne heed For all yede out at one ere That in that other she dyd lere Fully on me she lost her lore Her speche me greued wonder sore

THat vnto her for yre I sayd For angre, as I dydde a∣brayde Dame, and is it your wyll algate That I not loue, but that I hate All men as ye me teche For yf I do after your speche Syth that ye sayne loue is not good Than must I nedes saye with mode Yf I it leue, in hatred aye Lyuen, and voyde loue alwaye From me a synfull wretche Hated of all that teche I maye not go none other gate For eyther must I loue or hate And yf I hate men of newe More than loue, it woll me rewe As by your prechyng semeth me For loue nothyng ne prayseth the Ye yeue good counsayle sykerly That precheth me al day, that I Shulde not loues lore alowe He were a foole wolde you not trowe In speche also ye han me taught Another loue that knowen is nought which I herde you not repreue To loue eche other by your leue Yf ye I wolde diffyne it me I wolde gladly here to se At the lest yf I may lere Of sondry loues the manere.

¶Raison.

CErtes frende, a fole art thou whan that thou nothynge wolt alowe That I for thy profyte saye Yet woll I saye the more in saye For I am redy at the leest To acomplysh thy request But I not where it woll aueyle In vayne peraduenture I shall traueyle Loue there is in sondry wyse As I shall the here deuyse. For some loue lefull is and good I mene nat y^t which maketh the woode And bryngeth the in many a fytte And rauysheth fro the all thy wytte It is so marueylous and queynt with suche loue be nomore acqueynt

¶Cōment Reason diffinist Aunsete.

LOue of frenshyppe also there is whych maketh no man done amys Of wyl knytte betwyxte two That wol not breke for wele ne wo whych longe is lykely to contune whan wyl and goodes bene in commune Grounded by goddes orddinaunce Hoole wythout discordaunce wyth hem holdyng cōmunte Of al her good in charite That there be none exceptioun Through chaungyng of ententioun That eche helpe other at her nede And wysely hele both worde and dede Trewe of meanyng, deuoyde of slouth For wytte is nought wythout trouth So that the tone dare al his thought Sayne to his frende, and spare nought As to him selfe without dredyng To be discouered by wreying For glad is that coniunction whan there is none suspection whom they wolde proue That trewe and parfyte weren in loue For no man may be amiable But yf he be so ferme and stable That fortune chaunge hym nat ne blynde But that hys frende alwaye him fynde Both poore and ryche in o state For yf hys frende through any gate wol complayne of his pouerte He shulde nat byde so longe, tyl he Of hys helpyng hym requyre For good dede done through prayere Is solde and bought to dere ywys To herte that of great valure is For hert fulfylled of gentylnesse Can yuel demeaue his distresse And man that worthy is of name To asken often hath great shame A good man brenneth in his thought For shame whan he asketh ought He hath great thought, and dredeth aye For hys disease whan he shal praye His frende lest that he warned be Tyl that he preue his stabilite But whan that he hath founden one That trustye is and trewe as stone And assayed him at al And founde him stedfast as a wal And of hys frenshyp be certayne He shal him shewe, both ioye and payne And al that dare thynke or saye wythout shame, as he wel maye For howe shulde he a shamed be Of such one as I tolde the For whan he wotte hys secrete thought The thyrde shal know therof ryght nought For twey in nombre is bette than thre In euery counsayle and secree Repreue he dredeth neuer a dele who that besette his wordes wele For euery wyse man out of drede Can kepe hys tonge tyll he se nede And fooles can nat holde her tonge A fooles belle is sone ronge Yet shal a trewe frende do more To helpe his felowe of hys sore And succour him whan he hath nede In al that he may done in dede And gladder that he hym pleaseth Than his felowe that he easeth And yf he do not his request He shal as much him molest As hys felowe, for that he Maye not fulfyl hys volunte Fully as he hath requyred If both the hertes loue hath fyred Ioye and wo they shal departe And take euenly eche hys parte Halfe his anoye he shall haue aye And comfort what that he maye And of thys blysse parte shal he If loue wol departed be.

ANd whylom of thys vnite Spake Tulllius in a dyte And shulde maken hys request Vnto his frende, that is honest And he goodly shulde it fulfyl But it the more were out of skyl And otherwyse not graunt therto Excepte only in causes two If men his frende to dethe wolde dryue Let hym be besy to saue hys lyue Also yf men wollen hym assayle Of hys worshyp to make hym fayle And hyndren hym of his renoun Let him wyth ful ententioun his deuer done in eche degre

That hys frende ne shamed be In thys two case wyth hys myght Takyng no kepe to skyl nor ryght As ferre as loue maye hym excuse Thys ought no man to refuse Thys loue that I haue tolde the Is nothyng contrary to me Thys wol I that thou folowe wele And leaue the tother euery dele Thys loue to vertue al entendeth The tother fooles blent and shendeth.

Another loue also there is That is contrary vnto thys whych desyre is so constrayned That is but wyl fayned Awaye fro trouth it doth so varye That to good loue it is contrarye For it maymeth in many wyse Syke hertes wyth couetyse Al in wynnynge and in profyte Suche loue setteth his delyte Thys loue so hangeth in balaunce That yf it lese hys hope parchaunce Of luere, that he is set vpon It wol fayle, and quenche anon For no man may be amorous Ne in hys lyuyng vertuous But he loue more in moode Men for hem selfe, than for her goode For loue that profyte doth abyde Is false and bydeth not in no tyde Loue cometh of dame fortune That lytle whyle wyl contune For it shall chaungen wonder soone And take eclyps ryght as the moone whan he is from vs lette Through erth, that betwyxt is sette The sunne and her, as it may fal Be it in partie, or in al The shadowe maketh her bemes merke And her hornes to shewe derke That parte, where she hath lost her lyght Of Phebus fully, and the syght Tyl whan the shadowe is ouerpast She is enlumyned agayne as fast Through the bryghtnesse of the sūne bemes That yeueth to her agayne her lemes That loue is ryght of such nature Nowe is fayre, and nowe obscure nowe bryght, nowe clipsy of manere And whylom dymme, and whylom clere As sone as pouerte gynneth take wyth mantel and weedes blake Hydeth of loue the lyght away That in to nyght it turneth day It may not se ryches shyne Tyl the blacke shadowes fyne For whan rychesse shyneth bryght Loue recouereth ayen his lyght And whan it fayleth, he wol flyt And as she greueth, so greueth it Of thys loue here what I saye The ryche men are loued aye And namely tho that sparande bene That wol nat washe her hertes clene Of the fylth nor of the byce Of gredy brennyng auaryce The ryche man ful fonde is ywys That weneth that he loued is If that hys herte it vnderstode It is not he, it is hys good He may wel weten in his thought Hys good is loued, and he ryght nought For yf he be a nygarde eke Men wyl not set by hym a leke But haten hym, thys is the soth Lo what profyte hys catel doth Of euery man that may hym se It getteth hym nough but cumyte But he amende hym selfe of that vyce And knowe hym selfe he is not wyse Certes he shulde aye frendly be To gette hym loue also bene fre Or els he is not wyse ne sage No more than is a gote ramage That he not loueth, his dede proueth whan he hys rychesse so wel loueth That he wol hyde it aye and spare Hys poore frendes sene forfare To kepen aye hys purpose Tyl for drede hys eyen close And tyl a wycked death hym take Hym had leuer a sondre shake And let al hys lymmes a sondre ryue Than leaue his rychesse in his lyue He thynketh to parte it wyth no man Certayne no loue is in him than Howe shulde loue wythin hym be whan in hys hert is no pyte That he trespaseth wel I wate For eche man knoweth hys estate For wel hym ought to be reproued That loueth nought, ne is not loued

But syth we arne to fortune comen And hath our sermon of her nomen A wonder wyl I tel the nowe Thou hardest neuer such one I trowe I not where thou me leuen shal Though sothfastnesse it be al As it is writen: and is soth That vnto men more profyte doth The frowarde fortune and contraire Than the swote and debonaire And yf the thynke it is doutable It is through argument prouable For the debonayre and softe Falseth and begyleth ofte For lyche a mother, she can cheryshe And mylken as doth a norice And of her good to hym deles And yeueth him part of her to weles with great rychesse and degnite And hem she hoteth stabilyte In a state that is not stable But chaungyng aye and variable And fedeth him wyth glory vayne And worldly blysse noncertayne whan she hym setteth on her whele Than wene they to be right wele And in so stable state wythall That neuer they wene for to fall And whan they sette so hygh be They wene to haue in certeynte Of hertly frendes to great nombre That nothynge myght her state encombre They truste hem so on euery syde wenyng wyth hym they wolde abyde In euery parel and mischaunce wythout chaunge or variaunce Both of catel and of good And also for to spende her blood And al her membres for to spyll Onely for to fulfyl her wyll They maken it hole in many wyse And hoten hem her full seruyse Howe sore that it do hem smerte In to her very naked sherte Herte and also hole they gyue For the tyme that they may lyue So that wyth her flatterye They maken fooles glorifye Of her wordes spekyng And han chere of a reioysyng And trowe hem as the Euangyle And it is al falsheed and gyle As they shal afterwarde se whan they arne fallen in pouerte And bene of good and catel bare Than shul they sene who frendes ware For of an hundrede certaynly Nor of a thousande ful scarsly Ne shal they fynde vnnethes one whan pouerte is comen vpon For thus fortune that I of tell wyth men whan her lust to dwell Maketh hem to lese her conysaunce And norisheth hem in ignoraunce

But frowarde fortune and peruerse whan hygh estates she doth reuerse And maketh hem to tomble doune Of her whele wyth sodayne tourne And from her rychesse doch hem flye And plongeth hem in pouerte As a stepmother enuyous And layeth a playstre dolorous Vnto her hertes wounded egre whych is not tempred wyth vynegre But wyth pouerte and indigence For to shewe by experience That she is fortune verylye In whom no man shulde affye Nor in her yeftes haue fyaunce She is so full of varyaunce Thus can she maken hye and lowe whan they from rychesse arne throwe Fully to knowen without were Frende of affecte, and frende of chere And whych in loue weren trewe and stable And whych also weren varyable After fortune her goddesse In pouerte eyther in rychesse For all that yeueth here out of drede Vnhappe bereueth it in dede For in fortune let not one Of frendes, whan fortune is gone I meane tho frendes that wyll fle Anone as entreth pouerte And yet they woll not leaue hem so But in eche place where they go They cal hem wretche, scorne, and blame And of her mishappe hem diffame And namely such as in rychesse Pretendeth moost of stablenesse whan that hey sawe hym set on lofte And weren of hym socoured ofte And moost yholpe in al her nede

But nowe they take no maner hede But seyne in voyce of flatery That nowe appereth her foly Ouer al where so they fare And synge, go farewel feldefare Al such frendes I beshrewe For of trewe there be to fewe But sothfast frendes, what so betyde In euery fortune wollen abyde They han her hertes in such noblesse That they nyl loue for no rychesse Nor for that fortune may hem sende They wollen hem socour and defende And chaunge for softe ne for sore For who is frende loueth euermore Though men drewe swerde hys frend to slo He may not hewe her loue a two But in case that I shal say For pride and ire lese it he may And for reproue by nycete And discoueryng of priuite wyth tonge woundyng, as felon Through venemous detraction Frende in thys case wol gon hys way For nothyng greue him more ne may And for nought els wol he fle If that he loue in stabylyte And Certayne he is wel begone Amonge a thousande that fyndeth one For there maye be no rychesse Ayenst frendshyp of worthynesse For it ne may so hygh attayne As may the valure, soth to sayne Of hym that loueth trewe and wel Frendshyp is more than is catel For frende in courte aye better is Than peny in purse certis And fortune mishappyng whan vpon men she is fablyng Though misturnyng of her chaunce And cast hem out of balaunce She maketh through her aduersite Men ful clerely for to se Hym that is frende in existence From hym that is by apparence For in fortune maketh anone To knowe thy frendes fro thy fone By experience ryght as it is The whych is more to prayse ywys Than is much rychesse and tresour For more depe profyte and valour Pouerte, and such aduersyte Before than doth prosperite For that one yeueth conysaunce And the tother ignoraunce

And thys pouerte is in dede Troth declared fro falshede For faynt frendes it wol declare And trewe also what wey they fare For whan he was in hys rychesse These frendes ful of doublenesse Offred hym in many wyse Herte and body, and seruyce what wold he thā haue you to haue bought To knowen openly her thought That he nowe hath so clerely sene The lasse begyled he shulde haue bene And he had than perceyued it But rychesse nolde not let hym wytte wel more auantage doth hym than Syth that maketh hym a wyse man The great mischefe that he perceyueth Than doth rychesse that hym deceyueth Rychesse riche ne maketh nought Hym that on tresour sette hys thought For rychesse stoute in suffysaunce And nothynge in habundaunce For suffysaunce al onely Maketh men to lyue rychly.

FOr he that hathe mytches tweyne Ne value in hys demayne Lyueth more at ease, & more is ryche Than doth he that is chiche And in hys berne hath soth to sayne An hundrede mauys of where grayne Though he be chapman or marchaunt And haue of golde many besaunt For in the gettynge he hath such wo And in the kepynge drede also And sette euermore hys besynesse For to encrease, and not to lesse For to augment and multyplye And thoughe on heapes that lye hym by Yet neuer shal make hys rychesse Asseth vnto hys gredynesse But the poore that recheth nought Saue of his lyuelode in hys thought whych that he getteth wyth hys traueyle He dredeth naught that it shal feyle Though he haue lytle worldes goode

Meate and drynke, and easy foode Vpon hys traueyle and lyuyng And also suffysaunt clothyng Or yf in syckenesse that he fall And loth meate and drynke wythall Though he haue nat his me•••••• to bye He shal bethynke hym hast••ly To put hym out of al daungere That he of meate hath no mistere Or that he may wyth lytle eke Befounden, whyle that he is seke Or that men shul hym berne in haste To lyue tyl hys syckenesse be paste To some May sondewe besyde He caste nought what shal hym betyde He thynketh nought that euer he shal In to any syckenesse fal.

ANd though it fal, as it maye be That al be tyme spare shal he As mokel as shal to hym suffyce why••e he is sycke in any wyse He doth for that he wol be Content wyth his pouerte wythout nede of any man So much in lytle haue he can He is apayed wyth hys fortune And for he nyl be importune Vnto no wyght ne onerous Nor of her goodesse coueytous Therfore he spareth, it may wel bene hys pore estate for to sustene.

OR yf hym luste not for to spare But suffreth forthe, as not ne ware At laste it hapneth as it maye Ryght vnto hys last daye And take the worlde as it wolde be For euer in hert thynketh he The sooner that deth hym slo To paradyse the sooner go He shall, there for to lyue in blysse where that he shal no good mysse Thyder he hopeth god shal him sende After hys wretched lyues ende Pythagoras hym selfe reherses In a boke that the golden verses Is cleped, for the nobylite Of the honorable dyte Than whan thou gost thy body fro Free in the heyre thou shalt vp go And leauen al humanyte And purely lyue in deite He is a foole wythouten were That troweth haue hys countrey here In erth is not our countre That may these clerkes seyne and se In Boece of consolation where it is maked mention Of our countre playne at the eye By techyng of phylosophye where leude men mygh lere wyt who so that wolde translaten it If he be such that can well lyue After hys rent, maye hym yeue And not desyreth more to haue Than may fro pouerte hym saue A wyse man sayd, as we may sene Is no man wretched, but he it wene Be he kynge, knyght, or rybaude And many a rybaude is mery and baude That swynketh, & bereth both day & nyght Many a burthen of great myght The whych doth hym lasse offence For he suffreth in pacience They laugh and daunce, tryppe and synge And lay nought vp for her lyuyng But in the tauerne all dispendeth The wynnyng that god hem sendeth Than goth he fardels for to bere wyth as good chere as he dyd ere To swynke and trauayle he not fayneth For to robben he disdayneth But right anon, after hys swynke He goeth to the tauerne for to drynke Al these are ryche in abundaunce That can thus haue suffisaunce wel more than can an vsurere As god wel knoweth, wythout were For an vsurer, so god me se Shal neuer for rychesse ryche be

But euermore poore and indigent Scare and gredy in hys entent. For soth it is, whom it displese There may no marchaunt lyue at ese Hys herte in such a where is set That it quycke brenneth to get Ne neuer shal, though he hath geten Though he hath golde in garners yeten For to be nedy he dredeth sore wherfore to getten more and more

He set hys hert and hys desyre So hote he brenneth in the fyre Of couetyse, that maketh hym wood To purchase other mennes good He vnderfongeth a great payne That vndertaketh to drynke vp Sayne For the more he drynketh aye The more he leaueth, soth to saye Thus is thurst of false gettyng That last euer in coueytyng And the anguyshe and distresse wyth the fyre of gredynesse She fyghteth with hym aye, and stryueth That his herte asonder ryueth Suche gredynesse hym assayleth That whan he most hath, moste he sayleth Physiciens, and aduocates Gone ryght by the same yates They sel her seyence for wenyng And haunt her craft for great gettyng Her wenyng is of suche swetnesse That yf a man fall in sycknesse They are full glad for her encrase For by her wyl, without lease Eueryche man shulde be seke And though they dye they set not a l••ke After whan they the golde haue take Ful lytle care for hem they make They wolde that fourty were sycke at ones Yea two hundred in fleshe and bones And yet two thousande, as I gesse For to encresen her rychesse They wol not worchen in no wyse But for luere and couetyse For physycke gynneth fyrst by (phy) The phisycien also sothly And sythen it gothe fro fye to fye To trust on hem it is folye For they nyl in no maner gre Do ryght nought for charite Eke in the same sect are sette Al tho that prechen for to gette worshyps, honour, and rychesse Her hertes arne in great distresse That folke lyue not holyly But abouen al specially Such as prechen veynglory And towarde god haue no memory But forth as ypocrites trace And to her soules deth purchace And outwarde shewyng holynesse Though they be ful of cursednesse Nat lyche to the apostles twelue They disceyue other and hem selue Begyled is the gyler than For preachyng of a cursed man Thoughe to other may profyte Hym selfe it aueyleth not amyte For ofte good predicatioun Cometh of y••el ententioun To hym nat vayleth hys preachyng Al helpe he other wyth hys teachyng For where they good ensample take There is he wyth vayn glorye shake But lette vs leuen these preachours And speke of hem that in her tours Heape vp her golde, and fast shette And sore theran her herte sette They neyther loue God ne drede They kepe more than it is nede And in her bagges sore it bynde Out of the sunne, and of the wynde They put vp more than nede ware whan they sene pore folke forfare For hungre dye, and for colde quake God can wel vengeaunce therof take The great mischeues hem assayleth And thus in gadryng aye trauayleth wyth much payne they wynne rychesse And drede hem holdeth in distresse To kepe that they gather faste wyth sorowe they leaue it at the laste wyth sorowe they both dye and lyue That vnto rychesse her hertes yeue And in defaute of loue it is As it sheweth ful wel ywis For yf these gredy, the soth to sayne Loueden and were loued agayne And good loue reygned ouer al Suche wyckednesse ne shulde fal But he shulde yeue, that moost good had To hem that weren in nede bestade And lyue wythout false vsure For charyte, ful clene and pure If they hem yeue to goodnesse Defendyng hem fro ydlenesse In al thys worlde than poore none we shude fynde I trowe not one But chaunged is thys worlde vnstabale For loue is ouer al vendable we se that no man loueth nowe But for wynnyng and for prowe And loue is thralled in seruage whan it is solde for auauntage

yet women woll her bodyes sell Suche soules goeth the dyuell of hell.

WHen Loue had tolde hem hys entent The baronage to coūsayle went In many sentences they fyll And dyuersly they sayd her wyll But after dyscorde they accorded And her acorde to Loue recorded Syr sayden they, we ben atone By euen accorde of euerychone Out take Rychesse all onely That sworne hath full hauteynly That she the castell nyll not assayle N••ūn••te a stroke in thys batayle wyth darte ne mace, speare, ne knyfe For man that speaketh, or beareth the lyfe And blameth your empryse ywys And from our hoste departed is At leest waye, as in thys plyte So hath she thys man in dyspyte For she sayeth he ne loued her neuer And therfore she woll hate hym euer For he woll gather no treasore He hath her wrath for euermore He agylte her neuer in other caas Lo here all holy hys trespas She sayeth well, that thys other daye He asked her leaue to gone the waye That is clypped to moche yeuynge And spake full fayre in hys prayenge But when he prayed her, poore was he Therfore she warned hym the entre Ne yet is he not thryuen so That he hath getten a peny or two That quytely is hys owne in holde Thus hath Rychesse vs all tolde And when Rychesse vs thys recorded wythouten her we ben accorded.

ANd we fynde in our accordaunce That false Semblant and Absti∣naunce wyth all the folke of her batayle Shull at the hynder gate assayle That wycked Tonge hath in kepynge wyth hys Normans full of ianglynge And with hem Curtesy and Largesse That shull shewe her hardynesse To the olde wyfe that kepte so harde Fayre welcomynge wythin her warde Then shall Delyte and well Helynge Fonde, Shame adowne to brynge wyth all her hoost early and late They shull assaylen that ylke gate Agaynst Drede shall Hardynesse Assayle, and also Sykernesse wyth all the folke of her leadynge That neuer wyst what was fleynge

FRaunchyse shall fyght and eke Pyte with Daūgere ful of cruelte Thus is your hoost ordey∣ned wele down shal y^e castel euery dele Yf eueryche do hys entent So that Venus be present Your mother full of vesselage That canne ynough of suche vsage wythouten her maye no wyght spede Thys werke, neyther for worde ne dede Therfore is good ye for her sende For through her maye thys worke amende.

LOrdynges, my mother the goddesse That is my lady, and my maystresse Nys not al at my wyllyng? Ne doth not al my desyryng? Yet canne she somtyme done labour when that her luste in my socour As my nede is for to atcheue But nowe I thynke her nat to greue My mother is she, and of chylde hede I both worshyp her, and eke drede For who that dredeth syre ne dame Shall it abye in body or name And nathelesse, yet conne we Sende after her yf nede be And were she nygh she cōmen wolde I trowe that nothynge myght her holde

MY mother is of great prowesse She hath tane many a forteresse That cost hath many a poūd er this There I nas not present ywys And yet men sayd it was my dede But I come neuer in that stede Ne me ne lyketh so mote I the That suche toures ben take wyth me

For why? My thynketh that in no wyse It maye be cleped but marchaundyse.

GO bye a courser blacke or whyte And paye therfore, then arte y^u quyte The marchaūt oweth y^e right noght Ne thou hym when thou it bought I woll not sellynge clepe yeuynge For sellynge asketh no guerdonynge Here lyeth no thanke, ne no meryte That one goeth from that other all quyte But thys sellynge is not semblable For when hys horse is in the stable He maye it selle agayne parde And wynnen on it, suche happe maye be All maye the manne not lese ywys For at the leest the skynne is hys Or els, yf it so betyde That he woll kepe hys horse to ryde Yet is he lorde aye of hys horse But thylke chaffare is well worse There Venus entremeteth ought For who so suche chaffare hath bought He shall not worchen so wysely That he ne shall lese all vtterly Both hys money, and hys caffare But the seller of the ware The pryse and profite haue shall Certayne the byer shall lese all For he ne can so dere it bye To haue lordshyppe, and full maystry Ne haue power to make lettynge Neyther for yefte ne for preachynge That of hys chaffare maugre hys Another shall haue as moche ywys Yf he woll yeue as moche as h•• Of what countrey so that he be Or for ryght nought so happe maye Yf he can flatter her to her paye Ben then suche marchauntes wyse? No, but fooles in euery wyse when they bye suche thynge wylfully There as they lese her good folyly But nathelesse, thys dare I saye My mother is not wonte to paye For she is neyther so foole ne nyce To entremete her of suche vyce But trust well, he shall paye all That repent of hys bargayne shall when pouerte putte hym in dystresse All were the scholer to Rychesse That is for me in great yernynge when she assenteth to my wyllynge.

BVt my mother saynt Venus And by her father Saturnus That her engendred by hys lyfe But not vpon hys wedded wyfe Yet woll I more vnto you swere To make thys thynge the surere Nowe by that fayth, and that beaute That I owe to all my brethren free Of whych there nys wyght vnder heuen That can her fathers names neuen So dyuers and so many there be That wyth my mother haue be pryue Yet wolde I swere for syckernesse The Pole of helle to my wytnesse Nowe drynke I not thys yere clarre Yf that I lye, or forsworne be For of the goddes the vsage is That who so hym forsweareth amys Shall that yere drynke no clarre Nowe haue I sworne ynough parde Yf I forswere me then am I lorne But I woll neuer be forsworne Syth Rychesse hath me sayled here She shall abye that trespas full dere At leestwaye but her arme wyth swerde, or sparth, or gysarme For certes syth she loueth not me Fro thylke tyme that she maye se The castell and the toure to shake In sorye tyme she shall awake Yf I maye grype a ryche manne I shall so pulle hym, yf I canne That he shall in a fewe stoundes Lese all hys markes, and hys poundes I shall hym make hys pens out slynge But they in hys garner sprynge Our maydens shall eke plucke hym so That hym shall neden fethers mo And make hym sell hys lande to spende But he the bette conne hym defende.

POore men han made her lorde of me All thoughe they not so mygh∣tye be That they maye fede me in delyte I woll not haue hem in dyspyte No good man hateth hem, as I gesse For chynche and feloun is rychesse That so can chase hem and dyspyse

And hem defoule in sondrye wyse They louen ful bette, so god me spede Than dothe the riche chynchy grede And bene (in good faythe) more stable And trewer, and more seruyable And therfore it suffyseth me Her good herte, and her beaute They han on me sette all her thought And therfore I foryet hem nought I woll hem brynge in great noblesse If that I were god of Rychesse As I am god of Loue sothely Suche routh vpon her playnt haue I Therfore I muste hys socour be That payneth hym to seruen me For yf he deyde for loue of thys Then semeth in me no loue ther is

SIr sayd they, soth is euery dele That ye reherce, & we wot wele Thylke oth to hold is resonable For it is good and couenable That ye on rych mē han sworne For syr, thys wote we well beforne Yf ryche men done you homage That is as fooles done outrage But ye shull not forsworne be Ne let therfore to drynke clarre Or pyment maked freshe and newe Ladyes shull hem suche pepyr brewe Yf that they fall in to her laas That they for wo mowe sayne alas Ladyes shullen euer so curteys be That they shall quyte your othe all free Ne seketh neuer other vycayre For they shall speake wyth hem so fayre That ye shall holde ye payde full wele Though ye you medle neuer a dele Late ladyes worche wyth her thynges They shall hem tell so fele tydynges And moue hem eke so many requestes By slatery, that not honest is And therto yeue hem suche tankynges what wyth kyssynge, and wyth thalkynges That certes yf they trowed be Shall neuer leaue hem londe ne fee That it nyll as the moeble fare Of whych they fyrst delyuered are Nowe maye ye tell vs all your wyll And we your hestes shall fulfyll

BVt False sēblant dare not for drede Of you syr, medle hym of thys dede For he sayeth, that ye ben hys fo He not, yf ye wol worche hym wo wherfore we praye you all beausyre That ye forgyue hym nowe your yre And that he maye dwell as your man wyth Abstinence hys dere lemman Thys our acorde and our wyll nowe Parfey sayd Loue, I graunt it you I woll well holde hym for my man Nowe let hym come, and he forth ran False semblant ({quod} Loue) in thys wyse I take the here to my seruyce That thou our frendes helpe alwaye And hyndreth hem neyther nyght ne daye But do thy myght hem to releue And eke our enemyes that thou greue Thyne be thys myght, I graunt it the My kynge of harlotes shalte thou be we woll that thou haue suche honour Certayne thou arte a false traytour And eke a thefe, syth thou were borne A thousande tymes thou arte forsworne But nathelesse in our herynge To put our folke out of doutynge I bydde the teche hem, wost thou howe? By some generall sygne nowe In what place thou shalt founden be Yf that men had myster of the And howe men shall the best espye For the to knowe is great maystrye Tell in what place is thyne hauntynge Syr I haue full dyuers wonnynge That I kepe not rehersed be So that ye wolde respyten me For yf that I tell you the sothe I maye haue harme and shame bothe Yf that my felowes wysten it My tales shulden me be quyt For certayne they wolde hate me Yf euer I knewe her cruelte For they wolde ouer all holde hem styll Of trouth, that is agayne her wyll Suche tales kepen they not here I myght eftsone bye it full dere Yf I sayd of hem any thynge That ought dyspleaseth to her herynge For what worde that hem prycke or byteth In that worde none of hem delyteth All were it gospell the euangyle That wolde reproue hem of her gyle

For they are cruell and hautayne And thys thynge wote I well certayne Yf I speake ought to payre her loos Your court shall not so well be cloos That they ne shall wyte it at last Of good men am I nought agast For they woll taken on hem nothynge when that they knowe all my meanynge But he that woll it on hem take He woll hym selfe suspecious make That he hys lyfe let couertly In gyle and in Ipocrisy That me engendred and yaue fostrynge They made a full good engendrynge (Quod Loue) for who so sothly tell They engendred the dyuell of hell.

BVt nedely, howe so euer it be (Quod loue) I wyll & charge y^e To tel anon thy wōning places Hearynge eche wyght that in thys place is And what lyfe that thou lyuest also Hyde it no lenger nowe, wherto? Thou must dyscouer all thy worchynge Howe thou seruest, and of what thynge Though y^t thou shuldest for thy soth sawe Ben all to beaten and to drawe And yet arte thou not wonte parde But nathelesse, though thou beaten be Thou shalt not be the fyrst that so Hath for sothsawe suffred wo.

SYr, syth that it maye lyken you Thoughe that I shulde be slayne ryght nowe I shal done your cōmaūdement For therto haue I great talent

WYthoutē wordes mo, ryght than False Sēblant hys sermō began And sayd hem thus in audience Barons take hede of my sentēce y^e wyght y^t lyst to haue knowing Of false semblant, full of flateryng He must in worldly folke hym seke And certes in the cloysters eke I wone no where, but in hem twey But not lyke euen, soth to say Shortly I woll herberowe me There I hope best to hulstred be And certaynly, sykerest hydynge Is vnderneth humblest clothynge Religious folke ben full couerte Seculer folke ben more apperte But nathelesse, I wyll not blame Religious folke, ne hem dyffame In what habyte that euer they go Religyon humble, and trewe also woll I not blame, ne dyspyse But I nyll loue it in no wyse I meane of false religious That stoute ben, and malicious That wollen in an habyte go And setten not her herte therto.

REligious folke ben all pytous Thou shalt not sene one dyspytous They louen no pryde, ne no stryfe But humbly they woll lede her lyfe wyth whych folke woll I neuer be And yf I dwell, I fayne me I maye well in her habyte go But me were leuer my necke a two Then lette a purpose that I take what couenaunt that euer I make I dwell wyth hem that proude be And full of wyles and subtelte That worshyp of thys worlde coueyten And great nede connen expleyten And gone and gadren great pitaunces And purchace hem the acqueyntaunces Of men that myghty lyfe may leden And fayne hem poore, and hem selfe feden wyth good morcels delicious And drynken good wyne precious And preche vs pouert and dystresse And fyshen hem selfe great rychesse wyth wyly nettes, that they caste It woll come foule out at the laste They ben fro clene religion went They make the worlde an argument That hath a foule conclusyon I haue a robe of religion Then am I all religious Thys argument is all roignous It is not worth a croked brere Habyte ne maketh neyther monke ne frere But clene lyfe and deuocion Maketh good men of religion Nathelesse, there can none answere Howe hygh that euer hys heed he shere wyth rasour whetted neuer so kene That gyle in braunches cutte thurtene There can no wyght dystyncte it so

That he dare saye a worde therto. But what herberowe that euer I take Or what semblaunt that euer I make I meane but gyle, and folowe that For ryght no more then gybbe our cat (That awayteth myce & rattes to kyllen) Ne entende I but to begylen Ne no wyght may, by my clothynge wete wyth what folke is my dwellynge Ne by my wordes yet parde So soft and so pleasaunt they be Beholde the dedes that I do But thou be blynde thou oughtest so For varye her wordes fro her dede They thynke on gyle wythout drede what maner clothynge that they were Or what estate that euer they bere Leted or leude, lorde or lady Knyght, squyer, burgeys, or bayly.

RYght thus whyle False semblant sermoneth Eft sones Loue hym aresoneth And brake hys tale in hys speakynge As though he had hym tolde leasynge And sayd: what deuell is that I here? what folke hast thou vs nempned here? Maye men fynde religion In worldly habitacion? Yea syr, it foloweth not that they Shulde lede a wycked lyfe parfey Ne not therfore her soules lese That hem to worldly clothes chese For certes it were great pyte Menne maye in seculer clothes se Floryshen holy religioun Full many a saynt in felde and towne wyth many a virgyn glorious Deuoure, and full religious Han dyed, that cōmen cloth aye beren Yet sayntes neuerthelesse they weren I coude recken you many a ten Yea, welnygh all these holy wemen That menne in churches herry and seke Both maydens, and these wyues eke That baren full many a fayre chylde here weared alwaye clothes seculere And in the same dydden they That sayntes weren, and ben alwaye ¶The .xi. thousande maydens dere That bearen in heuen her cierges clere Of whych men rede in church and synge were take in seculer clothynge when they receyued martyrdome And wonnen heuen vnto her home Good herte maketh the good thought The clothynge yeueth ne reueth nought The good thought and the worchynge That maketh the religion flourynge There lyeth the good religioun After the ryght ententioun

WHo so toke a wethers skynne And wrapped a gredy wolfe ther∣inne For he shuld go with lābes whyte wenest thou not he wolde hem byte? Yes: neuerthelesse, as he were wode He wolde hem wirry, and drynke the blode And well the rather hem dysceyue For syth they coude not perceyue Hys tregette, and hys cruelte They wolde hym folowe all tho he flye.

IF there be wolues of suche hewe Amonges these apostles newe Thou holy church thou mayst be¦wayled Syth that thy cyte is assayled Through knyghtes of thyne owne table God wote thy lordshyp is doutable Yf they enforse it to wyn That shulde defende it fro wythin who myght defence ayenst hem make wythout stroke it mote be take Of trepeget or mangonell wythout dysplayenge of pensell And yf god nyll done it socoure But let renne in thys coloure Thou muste thy heestes letten be Then is there nought, but yelde the Or yeue hem trybute doutles And holde it of hem to haue pees But greater harme betyde the That they all mayster of it be well conne they scorne the wythall By day stuffen they the wall And all the nyght they mynen there Naye, thou planten muste els where Thyne ympes, yf thou wolt fruyte haue Abyde not there thy selfe to saue.

BVt now peace, here I turne agayne I woll nomore of thys thynge sayne Yf I maye passen me hereby

I myght maken you wery But I woll heten you alwaye To helpe your frendes what I maye So they wollen my company For they be shent all vtterly But yf so fall, that I be Ofte wyth hem, and they wyth me And eke my lemman mote they serue Or they shull not my loue deserue Forsoth I am a false traytour God iuged me for a thefe trechour Forsworne I am, but well nygh none wote of my gyle, tyll it be done

TThrough me hath many one death receaued That my treget neuer aperceyued And yet receyueth, and shall receyue That my falsnesse shall neuer apperceyue But who so doth, yf he wyse be Hym is ryght good beware of me But so slyghe is the aperceyuynge That all to late cometh knowynge For Protheus that coude hym chaunge In euery shappe, homely and straunge Coude neuer suche gyle ne treasoune As I, for I come neuer in towne There as I myght knowen be Though men me both myght here and se Full well I can my clothes chaunge Take one, and make another straunge Nowe am I knyght, nowe chastelayne Nowe prelate, and nowe chapelayne Nowe preest, nowe clerke, and nowe fostere Nowe am I mayster, nowe scholere Nowe monke, nowe chanon, nowe bayly what euer myster man am I Nowe am I prynce, nowe am I page And can by herte euery langage Somtyme am I hoore and olde Nowe am I yonge, stoute, and bolde Nowe am I Robert, nowe Robyn Nowe Frere mynor, nowe Iacobyn And wyth me foloweth my loteby To done me solace and company That hyght dame Abstinence, and raygned In many a queynt arraye fayned Ryght as it cometh to her lykynge I fulfyll all her desyrynge Somtyme a womans cloth take I Nowe am I a mayde, nowe lady Somtyme I am religious Nowe lyke an anker in an hous Somtyme am I prioresse And nowe a nonne, and nowe abbesse And go through all regiouns Sekynge all religiouns But to what order that I am sworne I take the strawe and beate the corne To ioly folke I enhabyte I aske no more but her habyte what woll ye more in euery wyse Ryght as me lyst I me dysgyse? well can I beare me vnder wede Vnlyke is my worde to my dede Thus make I into my trappes fall The people, through my priuyleges all That bene in christendome a lyue I maye assoyle, and I maye shryue That no prelate maye let me All folke, where euer they founde be I not no prelate maye done so But I onlye, and no mo That made thylke establyshynge Nowe is not thys a propre thynge? But were my sleyghtes aperceyued As I was wonte, and woste thou why? For I dyd hem a tregetry But therof yeue I a lytell tale I haue the syluer and the male So haue I preached and eke shryuen So haue I take, so haue I yeuen Through her foly, husbande and wyfe That I lede ryght a ioly lyfe Through symplesse of the prelacye They knowe not all my tregettrye.

BVt for as moche as a man and wyfe Shulde shewe her peryshe preest her lyfe Ones a yere, as saythe the boke Er any wyght hys housel toke Then haue I priuyleges large That maye of moche thynge dyscharge For he maye saye ryght thus parde Syr preest, in shryfte I tell it the That he to whome that I am shryuen Hath me assoyled, and me yeuen Penaunce sothly for my syn whych that I fonde me gylty in Ne I ne haue neuer entencion To make double confessyon Ne reherce efte my shryft to the

O shrift is ryght ynough to me Thys ought the suffyse wele Ne be not rebell neuer a dele For certes, though thou haddest it sworne I wote no preest ne prelate borne That may to shrift efte me constrayne And yf they done I woll me playne For I wote where to playne wele Thou shalt not streyne me a dele Ne enforce me, ne not me trouble To make my confessyon double Ne I haue none affection To haue double absolution The fyrst is right ynough to me Thys latter assoylyng quyte I the I am vnbounde, what mayst thou fynde More of my synnes me to vnbynde For he that myght hath in hys honde Of all my synnes me vnbonde And yf thou wolte me thus constrayne That me mote nedes on the playne There shall no iuge imperyall Ne byshop, ne offyciall Done iugement on me, for I Shall gone and playne me openly Vnto my shriftfather newe That hyght Frere wolfe vntrewe And he shall chuse hym for me For I trowe he can hamper the But lorde he wolde be wrothe wythall If men hym wolde Frere wolfe call For he wolde haue no pacience But done all cruell vengience He wolde hys myght done at the leest Nothyng spare for goddes heest And god so wyse be my socour But thou yeue me my sauyour At Eester, whan it lyketh me wythout preasyng more on the I woll forthe, and to hym gone And he shall housell me anon For I am out of thy grutchyng I kepe not deale wyth the nothyng Thus may he shryue hym, that forsaketh Hys paryshe preest, and to me taketh And yf the preest woll hym refuse I am full redy hym to accuse And hym punishe and hamper so That he his churche shall for go.

BVt who so hath in hys felyng The consequence of such shryuyng Shall sene, that preest maye neuer haue myght To knowe the conscience a right Of hym, that is vnder hys cure And thys is ayenst holy scripture That byddeth euery heerd honest Haue very knowyng of hys beest But poore folke that gon by strete That haue no golde, ne sommes grete Hem wolde I let to her prelates Or let her preestes knowe her states For to me right nought yeue they And why it is, for they ne may They ben so bare, I take no kepe But I woll haue the fatte shepe Let paryshe preestes haue the lene I yeue not of her harme a bene And yf that prelates grutche it That oughten woth be in her wyt To lese her fatte beestes so I shall yeue hem a stroke or two That they shall lesen wyth force Ye, bothe her mytre and her croce Thus iape I hem, and haue do longe My priuileges ben so stronge.

FAlse Semblaunt wolde haue stynted here But Loue ne made hym no suche chere That he was werye of hys sawe But for to make hym glad and fawe He sayd, T••ll on more specially Howe tha•• thou seruest vntruely Tell ••orthe, and shame the neuer a dele For as ••hyne h••oyt sheweth wele Thou seruest an holy Heremyte Sothe is, but I am but an Ypocryte Thou gost and prechest pouerte? Ye syr, but rychesse hath poste Thou prechest abstynence also Syr, I woll fyllen so mote I go My paunche, of good meate and wyne As shulde a maister of diuyne For thowe that I me poore fayne Yet all poore folke I disdayne.

I Loue better the acqueyntaunce Ten tymes of the kyng of Fraunce Than of a poore mā of mylde mode Though that hys soule be also good For whan I se beggers quakyng

Naked on myxins all stynkyng For hongre crye, and eke for care I entremet not of her fare They ben so poore, and full of pyne They myght not ones yeue me a dyne For they haue nothyng but her lyfe what shulde he yeue that lycketh hys knyfe? It is but folly to entremete To seke in houndes nest fatte mete Lette beare hem to the spyttle anone But for me, comforte gette they none But a ryche sycke vsurere wolde I visyte and drawe nere Hym woll I comforte and rehete For I hoope of hys golde to gete And yf that wycked dethe hym haue I woll go wyth hym to hys graue And yf there any reproue me why that I lette the poore be wost thou howe I not ascape I saye and swere hym full rape That riche menne han more tetches Of synne, than han poore wretches And hanne of counsayle more myster And therfore I wolde drawe hem ner But as great hurte, it maye so be Hath a soule in right great pouerte As soule in great richesse forsothe Al be it that they hurten bothe For richesse and mendicitees Bene cleped two extremytees The meane is cleped Suffysaunce There lyeth of vertue the aboundaunce For Salomon full well I wote In hys Parables vs wrote As it is knowe of many a wyght In hys thrittene chapiter ryght God thou me kepe for thy poste Fro rychesse and mendycite For yf a ryche manne hym dresse To thynke to moche on rychesse Hys herte on that so ferre is sette That he hys creatour dothe foryette And hym that beggeth woll aye greue Howe shulde I by hys worde hym leue Vnneth that he nys a mycher Forsworne, or els goddes lyer Thus saythe Salomon sawes Ne we fynde written in no lawes And namely in our christen laye who so saythe yea, I dare say naye That Christ, ne hys apostels dere while that they walked in erthe here were neuer seen herbred beggyng For they nolden beggen for nothyng And right thus were men wont to teche And in thys wyse wolde it preche The maysters of dyuinyte Somtyme in Parys the cyte.

ANd yf men wold there gayne appose The naked texte and lette the glose It myght soone assoyled be For menne may wel y^t soth se That pardie they myght aske a thynge Playnly forthe wythout beggynge For they weren goddes heerdes dere And cure of soules hadden here They nolde nothyng begge her foode For after Chryst was done on rodde wyth theyr proper hondes they wrought And wyth traueyle, and els nought They wonnen all her sustenaunce And lyueden forthe in her penaunce And the remenaunt yaf awaye To other poore folkes alwaye They neyther bylden towre ne halle But they in houses small wyth alle A mighty man that canne and maye Shulde wyth hys honde and body alwaye Wynne hym hys foode in laboryng If he ne haue rent or suche a thyng All though he be relygious And god to seruen curyous Thus mote he done, or do trespas But yf it be in certayne caas That I can reherce, yf myster be Ryght well, whan the tyme Ise.

SEke the boke of saynt Au∣styne Be it ī paper or perchmyne There as he writte of these worchynges Thou shalt sene that none excusynges A parfyte man ne shulde seke By wordes, ne by dedes eke All though he be religyous And god to seruen curyous That he ne shall, so mote I go Wyth propre hondes, and body also

Get hys fode in laboryng If he ne haue proprete of thyng Yet shulde he fell all hys substaunce And with hys swynke haue sustenaunce If he be parfyte in bounte Thus han the bookes tolde me For he that woll gone ydelly And vseth it aye besyly To haunten other mennes table He is a trechour full of fable Ne he ne may by good reason Excuse hym by hys orison For men behoueth in some gyse Ben somtyme in goddes seruyse To gone and purchasen her nede Men mote eaten, that is no drede And slepe, and eke do other thyng So longe may they leaue prayeng So may they eke her prayer blynne whyle that they werke her meate to wynne Seynt Austyn woll therto accorde In thylke boke that I recorde Iustinian eke, that made lawes Hath thus forboden by olde sawes.

NO man, vp payne to be deed Mighty of body, to begge hys breed If he may swynke it for to gete Men shuld hym rather mayme or bete Or done of hym aperte iustyce Than suffren hym in suche malyce They done not well so mote I go That taken suche almesse so But yf they haue somme priuilege That of the payne hem woll alege But howe that is, can I not se But yf the prynce disceyued be Ne I ne wene not sykerly That they may haue it ryghtfully But I woll not determyne Of princes power, ne defyne Ne by my worde comprehende iwys If it so ferre may stretche in thys I woll not intremete a dele But I trowe that the boke saythe wele who that taketh almesses, that be Dewe to folke that men may se Lame, feble, wery, and bare Poore, or in suche maner care That conne wynne hem neuer mo For they haue no power therto He eateth hys owne dampnyng But yf he lye, that made all thyng And yf ye suche a truaunt fynde Chastyse hym well, yf ye be kynde But they wolde hate you parcaas If ye fyllen in her laas They wolde eftsones do you scatche If that they might, late or rathe For they be not full pacient That han the worlde thus foule blent And weteth well, that god bad The good man sell all that he had And folowe hym, and to poore it yeue He wolde not therfore that he lyue To seruen hym in mendience For it was neuer hys sentence But he had werken, whan that nede is And folowe hym in good dedes Saynt Poule, that loued all holy churche He bade the apostels for to wurche And wynnen her lyue lode in that wyse And hem defended truandyse And sayd, werketh wyth your honden Thus shulde the thyng be vnderstonden He nolde iwys haue byd hem beggyng Ne sellen gospell, ne prechyng Lest they berafte, wyth her askyng Folke of her catell or of her thyng For in thys worlde is many a man That yeueth hys good, for he ne can werne it for shame, or els he wolde of the asker delyuered be And for he hym encombreth so He yeueth hym good to let hym go But it can hym no thyng profyte They lese the yefte and the meryte The good folke that Poule to preched Profred hym ofte, whan he hem teched Some of her good in charyte But therfore right nothyng toke he But of hys hondewerke wolde he gete Clothes to wryne hym, and hys mete.

TEll me than howe a man may lyuen That al his good to poore hath yeuen And woll but onely bydde hys bedes And neuer wyth hondes labour hys nedes Maye he do so? Ye syr: And howe? Syr, I woll gladly tell you

SEynt Austen saith, a man may be In houses that han properte As templers, and hospytelers And as these chanons regulers Or whyte monkes, or these blake I woll no mo ensamples make And take therof hys susteynyng For therin lythe no beggyng But otherwayes not ywis Yet Austyn gabbeth not of thys And yet full many a monke laboureth That god in holy churche honoureth For whan her swynkyng is agon They rede and synge in churche anon.

ANd for there hath ben great dis¦corde As manye a wyght may beare recorde Vpon the estate of mendicience I woll shortly in your presence Tel howe a man may begge at nede That hath not wherwith hym to fede Maugre hys felowes iangelynges For sothfastnesse woll none hydynges And yet parcase I may abey That I to you sothly thus sey.

LO here the case especiall If a man be so bestyall That he of no crafte hath science And nought desyreth ignorence Thā may he go a begging yerne Tyll he some maner crafte can lerne Through whyche wythout truandyng He may in trouthe haue hys lyuyng Or yf he may done no labour For elde, or sicknesse, or langour Or for hys tendre age also Than may he yet a beggyng go Or yf he haue perauenture Through vsage of hys noriture Lyued ouer delyciously Than oughten good folke comenly Han of hys mischefe some pyte And suffren hym also, that he May gon aboute and begge hys breed That he be not for honger deed Or yf he haue of crafte connyng And strength also, and desyryng To worchen, as he had what But he fynde neyther thys ne that Than may he begge tyll that he Haue getten hys necessyte Or yf hys wynnyng be so lyte That hys labour woll not acquyte Suffyciantly all hys lyuyng Yet may he go hys breed beggyng Fro doore to doore, he may go trace Tyll he the remenaunt may purchace Or yf a man wolde vndertake Any emprise for to make In the rescous of our lay And it defenden, as he may Be it with armes, or lettrure Or other couenable cure If it be so he poore be Than may he begge, tyll that he May fynde in trouthe for to swynke And get hym clothe, meate, and drynke Swynke he wyth hys hondes corporell And not wyth hondes espyrituell.

IN all this case, and in semblables If that there ben mo resonables He may begge, as I tell you here And els not, in no manere As willyam seynt Amour wolde preche And ofte wolde dispute and teche Of thys mater all openly At Parys full solemply And also god my soule blesse As he had in thys stedfastnesse The accorde of the vniuersyte And of the people, as semeth me.

NO good man ought it to refuse Ne ought hym therof to excuse Be wrothe or blythe, who so be For I woll speke, and tel it the All shulde I dye, and be put doun As was seynt Poule in derke prisoun Or be exiled in thys caas wyth wronge, as mayster william was That my mother Hypocrise Banysshed for her great enuye.

MY mother flemed hym Seynt A∣mour Thys noble dyd suche labour To susteyne euer the loyalte That he to moche agylte me

He made a boke, and let it write wheryn hys lyfe he dyd all write And wolde yche renyed beggyng And lyued by my traueylyng If I ne had rent ne other good what weneth he that I were wood? For labour might me neuer plese I haue more wyll to ben at ese And haue well leuer, sothe to saye Before the people pattre and pray And wrye me in my foxerye Vnder a cope of papelardie.

Q(Vod Loue) what dyuell is this that I here What wordes tellest y^u me here What sir Falsnesse that apert is Than dredest thou not god? No certis▪ For selde in great thyng shall he spede In this worlde, that god woll drede For folke that hem to vertue yeuen And truely on her owne lyuen And hem in goodnesse aye coutene On hem is lytell thrifte ysene Suche folke drinken great misese That lyfe may me neuer plese But se what golde han vsurers And syluer eke in garners Tayla••••ers, and these monyours Bayliff••s, bedels, prouost, countours These lyuen well nygh by rauyne The smale people hym mote enclyne And they as wolues wol hem eten Vpon the poore folke they geten Full moche of that they spende or kepe Nys none of hem that he nyll strepe And w••yne hem selfe well at full wythout scaldyng, they hem pull The stronge the feble ouergothe But I that weare my symple clothe Robbe bothe robbyng and robbours And gyle gylyng, and gylours By my treget, I gather and threst The great tresour in to my cheste That lyeth wyth me so faste bounde Myne hygh paleys do I founde And my delytes I fulfyll wyth wyne at feestes, at my wyll And tables full of entremees I woll no lyfe, but ease and pees And wynne golde to spende also For whan the great bagge is go It cometh ryght with my iapes Make I not well tomble myne apes To wynnen is alway myne entent My purchace is better than my rent For though I shulde beten be Ouer all I entremet me Without me may no wight dure I walke soules for to cure Of all the worlde cure haue I In brede and length boldly I woll bothe preche, and eke counsaylen with hondes wyll I not trauaylen For of the Pope I haue the bull I ne holde not my wyttes dull I woll not stynten in my lyue These Emperours for to shriue Of kynges, dukes, and lordes grete But poore folke all quyte I lete I loue no suche shryuyng parde But it for other cause be I recke not of poore men Her astate is not worthe an hen Where fyndest thou a swynker of labor Haue me vnto hys confessour? But Empresses, and duchesses These quenes, and eke countesses These abesses, and eke bygyns These great ladyes palasyns These iolye knyghtes, and bayliues These nonnes, and these burgeys wyues That ryche ben, and eke plesyng And these maydens welfaryng where so they clad or naked be Vncounsayled gothe there none fro me And for her soules sauete At lorde and lady, and her meyne I aske, whan they hem to me shriue The proprete of all her lyue And make hem trowe, bothe moste and leest Her parysshe preest nys but a beest Ayens me and my company That shrewes ben, as great (as I) For whyche I woll not hyde in holde No pryuite that me is tolde That I by worde or signe ywis Ne woll make hem knowe what it is And they wollen also tellen me They hele fro me no pryuite And for to make you hem perceyuen That vsen folke thus to disceyuen I woll you sayne withouten drede

what menne maye in the Gospell rede Of saynt Mathue the gospelere That saythe, as I shall you saye here.

VPon the chayre of Moyses Thus it is glosed doutlees (That is the olde Testament For therby is the chayre ment) Sytte Scribes and Pharysen That is to sayne, the cursed men whyche that we hypocrites call Dothe that they preche I rede you all But dothe nat as they done a dele That bene nat wery to saye wele But to do well, no wyll haue they And they wolde bynde on folke alwaye That bene to begyled able Burdons that ben importable On folkes shulders thynges they couchen That they nyll wyth her fyngers touchen And why woll they nat touche it why? For hem ne lyste nat sykerly For sadde burdons that men taken Make folkes shulders aken And yf they do ought that good be That is for folke it shulde se Her burdons larger maken they And make her hemmes wyde alwaye And louen seates at the table The fyrste, and most honorable And for to hanne the fyrste chayris In synagogges, to hem full dere is And wyllen that folke hem loute and grete whan that they passen through the strete And wollen be cleped mayster also But they ne shulde nat wyllen so The gospell is there agaynst I gesse That sheweth well her wyckednesse.

ANother custome vse we Of hem that wol ayenst vs be we hate hī deedly euerichone & we wol werrey him, as one Hym y^e one hateth, hate we al And cōiecte, how to done him fal And yf we sene hym wynne honour Rychesse or preyse, through hys valour Prouende, rente, or dignyte Full faste ywis compassen we By what ladder he is clomben so And for to maken hym downe to go with trayson we woll hym defame And done hym lese hys good name Thus from hys ladder we hym take And thus hys frendes foes we make But worde ne wete shall he noon Tyll all hys frendes bene hys foon For yf we dyd it openly we myght haue blame redily For hadde he wyste of our malyce He hadde hym kepte, but he were nyce.

ANother is thys, that yf so fall That ther be one amōge vs al That doth a good tourne, out of drede We sayne it is our alder dede Ye sikerly, though he it famed Or that hym lyste, or that hym dayned A manne through hym auaunced be Therof all parceners be we And tellen folke, where so we go That manne through vs is sprongen so And for to haue of menne preysyng we purchace through our flatterynge Of ryche menne of great poste Letters, to wytnesse our bounte So that manne weneth that maye vs se That all vertue in vs be And alwaye poore we vs fayne But howe so that we begge or playne we bene the folke without leasyng That all thynge haue wythout hauyng Thus be we dradde of the people ywis And gladly my purpose is thys. ¶I deale wyth no wyght, but he Haue golde and treasour great plente Her acqueyntaunce well loue I Thys is moche my desyre shortely I entremete me of brocages I make peace, and mariages I am gladly executour And many tymes a procuratour I am somtyme messagere That falseth nat to my mystere And many tymes I make enqueste For me that offyce is nat honest To deale with other mennes thynge That is to me a great lykynge And yf that ye haue ought to do In place that I repeyre to I shall it speden through my wyt As soone as ye haue tolde me it So that ye serue me to paye

My seruyce shalbe yours alwaye But who so wol chastyce me Anone my loue lost hath he For I loue no man in no gyse That wol me repreue, or chastyce But I wolde al folke vndertake And of no wyght no teachyng take For I that other folke chasty wol not be taught fro my foly

I Loue none Hermytage more Al desertes, and holtes hoore And greate woodes euerychone I Let them to the Baptiste Iohn I queth hym quyte and hym relesse Of Egypte al the wyldernesse To ferre were al my mansions Fro al cities and good towns My paleys and myne house make I There menne may renne in openly And saye that I the worlde forsake But al amydde I bylde and make My house, and swymme and playe therinne Bette than a fyshe doth wyth hys fynne.

OF Antechristes menne am I Of whiche that Christe sayeth openly They haue habyte of holy∣nesse And lyuen in such wyckednesse To the copye, yf hym talent toke Of the Euangelistes boke Ther myght he se by great trayson Ful many false comparison As moche as though hys greate myght Be it of heate or of lyght The sunne surmounteth the moone That troubler is, and chaungeth soone And the nutte kyrnel the shelle I skorne not that I you telle Ryght so wythouten any gyle Surmounteth thys noble Euangyle The worde of any Euangelist And to her tytel they token Christ And many such comparysoun Of whyche I make no mencioun Myght men in that booke fynde who so coulde of hem haue mynde.

The vniuersyte that tho was a slepe Gan for to brayde, and taken kepe And at the noyse, the heed vp cast Ne neuer sythen slepte it fast But vp it sterte, and armes tooke Ayenst thys false horrible booke All redy batayle for to make And to the iuge the boke they take But they that broughten the boke there Hent it anone away for fere They nolde shewe it no more a dele But than it kepte, and kepen wele Tyl such a tyme that they may se That they so stronge woxen be That no wyght maye hem wel wythstonde For by that boke they durst nat stonde Awaye they gonne it for to bere For they ne durst nat answere By expositioun no glose To that that clerkes wol appose Ayenst the cursednesse ywys That in that boke wrytten is Now wotte I nat, ne I can nat se what maner ende that there shall be Of al thys that they hyde But yet algate they shal abyde Tyl that they may it bette defende Thys trowe I best woll be her ende.

Thus Antechrist abyden we For we bene al of hys meyne And what man that wol not be so Ryght soone he shal hys lyfe for go Outwarde Lamben semen we Ful of goodnesse and of pyte And inwarde we wythouten fable Bene gredy wolues rauysable we enuyroun both lande and see wyth al the worlde werryen we we wol ordayne of al thyng Of folkes good, and her lyuyng.

If there be castel or citye wherin that any bougerons be Al though that they of Myllayne were For therof bene they blamed there Or yf a wyght out of measure wolde leane her golde, and take vsure For that he is so coueytous Or yf he be to lecherous Or these that haunten Simonye Or prouost ful of trechery Or Prelate lyuyng iolyly Or preest that halte hys queyn hym by

Or olde hoores hostylers Or other baudes or bordellers Or els blamed of any vyce Of whyche men shulden done iustyce By al the sayntes that we prey But they defende them wyth lamprey wyth luce, wyth elys, wyth samons wyth tendre gees, and with capons wyth tartes, or wyth cheffes fatte wyth deyntye flaunes, brode and flatte wyth caleweys, or wyth pullayle wyth conynges, or fyne vytayle That we vnder our clothes wyde Maken through our golet glyde Or but he wol do come in haste Roe venyson bake in paste whether so that he loure or groyne He shal haue of a corde a loygne wyth whiche men shal hym bynde and lede To brenne hym for hys synful dede That men shulde here hym crye and rore A myle waye aboute and more Or els he shal in prison dye But yf he wol hys frendshyp bye Or smerten that, that he hath do More than hys gylte amounteth to But and he couth, through hys sleyght Do make vp a toure of heyght Nought rought I, wheder of stone or tre Or erth, or turnes though it be Though it were of no vounde stone wrought wyth squyre and scantilone So that the toure were stuffed wel wyth al rychesse temporel And than that he wolde vp dresse Engyns, both more and lesse To cast at vs by euery syde To bere hys good name wyde Such sleyghtes I shal you neuen Barels of wyne, by syxe or seuen Or golde in sackes greate plente He shulde sone delyuered be And yf he haue no such pytences Let hym study in equipolences And let lyes, and fallaces If that he wolde deserue our graces Or we shal beare hym such wytnesse O•• ••nne, and of hys wretchednesse 〈◊〉〈◊〉 done hys lose so wyde renne That al quicke we shulde hym brenne Or els yeue hym such penaunce That is wel worse than the pytaunce For thou shalt neuer for nothyng Con knowen a ryght by her clothyng The traitours ful of trecherye But thou her werkes can aspye And ne had the good kepyng be whylom of the vniuersite That kepeth the key of christendome we had bene turmented al and some Such bene the stynkyng prophetis Nys none of hem, that good prophete is For they through wycked entention The yere of the incarnation A thousande, and two hundred yere Fyue and fyfty, ferther ne nere Broughten a boke, wyth sory grace To yeue ensample in comune place That sayd thus, though it were fable Thys is the gospel pardurable That fro the holy ghost is sent wel were it worth to bene brent Entytled was in such manere Thys boke of whyche I tel here There nas no wyght in al Parys Beforne our lady at parnys That they ne myght the booke by The sentence pleased hem well trewly. But I wol stynte of thys matere For it is wonder longe to here But had that ylke boke endured Of better estate I were ensured And frendes haue I yet parde That han me set in great degre

OF al thys worlde is Emperour Gyle my father, the trechour And Empresse my mother is Maugre the holy ghost ywys Our myghty lynage, and our route Reygneth in euery reygne aboute And wel is worthy we maystres be For al thys worlde gouerne we And can the folke so wel disceyue That none our gyle can perceyue And though they done, they dare not say The soth dare no wyght bewray But he in Christes wrath hym ledeth That more than Christ my brethern dredeth He nys no ful good champion That dredeth such similacion Nor that for payne wol refusen Vs to correcte and accusen He wol not entremete by ryght

Ne haue god in hys eye syght And therfore shal god hym punyce But me ne recketh of no vyce Sythen men vs louen comunably And holden vs for so worthy That we may folke repreue echone And we nyl haue reprefe of none whom shulden folke worshypen so But vs that stynten neuer mo To patren, whyle that folke may vs se Though it not so behynde hem be.

ANd where is more woode foly Than to enhaunce chiualry And loue noble men and gaye That ioly clothes weren alwaye If they be such folke as they semen So clene, as men her clothes demen And that her wordes folowe her dede It is great pyte out of drede For they wol be none hypocritis Of hem me thynketh great spyte is I can not loue hem on no syde But beggers wyth these hoodes wyde wyth sleygh and pale faces leane And graye clothes nat ful cleane But fretted ful of tatarwagges And hygh shoes knopped wyth dagges That frouncen lyke a quayle pype Or bootes ryuelyng as a gype To such folke, as I you deuyse Shulde princes and these lordes wyse Take al her landes and her thynges Both warre and peace in gouernynges To such folke shulde a prince hym yeue That wolde hys lyfe in honour leue

And yf they be nat as they seme That seruen thus the worlde to queme There wolde I dwelle to disceyue The folke, for they shal not parceyue But I ne speke in no suche wyse That men shulde humble habytte dispyse So that no pride there vnder be No man shulde hate, as thynketh me The poore man in such clothyng But god ne preyseth hym nothyng That sayeth he hath the worlde forsake And hath to worldly glory hym take And wol of such delyces vse who maye that begger wel excuse? That papelarde, that hym yeldeth so And wol to worldly ease go And sayth that he the worlde hath lefte And gredyly it grypeth efte He is the hounde, shame is to sayne That to hys castyng goth agayne

BVt vnto you dare I not lye But myght I felen or espye That ye perceyued it nothyng Ye shulde haue a starke leasyng Ryght in your hande thus to begynne I nolde it let for no synne The god loughe at the wonder tho And euery wyght ganne laughe also And sayd: Lo here a man aryght For to be trusty to euery wyght.

FAlse semblant ({quod} Loue) saye to me Sythe I thus haue auaun∣ced the That in my courte is thy dwellyng And of rybaudes shalt be my kyng wolte thou wel holden my forwardes? Yee sir, from hence forwardes we wol people vpon hym areyse And through our gyle, done hym ceyse And hym on sharpe speares ryue Or other wayes brynge hym fro lyue But yf that he wol folowe ywys That in our boke written is

THus muche wol our boke sig∣nyfye That whyle Peter hath ma∣strye Maye neuer Iohn shewe wel hys myght Nowe haue I you declared ryght The meanyng of the barke and rynde That maketh the ententions blynde But nowe at erst I wol be gyn To expowne you the pythe wythin And the seculers comprehende That Christes lawe wol defende And shulde it kepen and mayntenen Ayenst hem that al susteynen And falsly to the people teachen That Iohan betoketh hem to prechen That there nys lawe couenable But thylke gospell pardurable

That fro the holy ghost was sent To turne folke that bene myswent

The strength of Iohan they vnderstonde The grace in whych they say they stonde That doth the synful folke conuerte And hem to Iesu Christ reuerte Ful many an other horriblete Maye men in that booke se That bene commaunded doutelesse Ayenst the lawe of Rome expresse And al wyth Antechrist they holden As men may in the boke beholden And than commaunden they to sleen Al tho that wyth Peter been But they shall neuer haue that myght And god to forne, for stryfe to fyght That they ne shal ynough fynde That Peters lawe shal haue in mynde And euer beholde, and so mayntene That at the last it shal be sene That they shall al come therto For aught that they can speke or do And thylke lawe shal not stonde That they by Ihon haue vnderstonde But maugre hem, it shal doun And hem brought to confusioun Had neuer your father here beforne Seruaunt so trewe, syth he was borne That is ayenst al nature Sir, put you that in auenture For though ye borowes take of me The sykerer shal ye neuer be For hostages, ne sykernesse Or charters for to bere wytnesse I take your selfe to recorde here That men ne maye in no manere Teren the wolfe out of hys hyde Tyl he be slayne, backe and syde Though men hym beate and al defyle what wene ye that I wol begyle? For I am clothed mekely There vnder is al my trechery Myne hert chaungeth neuer the mo For none habyt, in whych I go Though I haue chere of simplenesse I am not wery of shreudnesse My lemman, strayned abstenaunce Hath mister of my purueyaunce She had ful longe ago be dede Nere my counsayle and my rede Let her alone, and you and me And loue answerde, I trust the wythout borowe, for I woll none And false semblaunt the thefe anone Ryght in that ylke same place That had of treson al his face Ryght blacke wythin, and whyte wythout Thankyng hym, gan on hys knees lout

Than was there nought, but euerye man Nowe to assaute, that saylen can (Quod Loue) and that ful hardely Than armed they hem comenly Of such armoure, as to hem fell whan they were armed, fyers and fel They went hem forth al in aroute And set the castel al aboute They wyl not away for no drede Tyl it so be that they bene dede Or tyl they haue the castel take And foure batels they gan make And partid hem in foure anone And toke her way, and forth they gone The foure gates for to assayle Of whych the kepers woll not fayle For they bene neyther sycke ne dede But hardy folke, and stronge in dede

Nowe wol I sayne the countenaunce Of false semblaunt, and abstinaunce That bene to wycked tonge went But fyrst they helde her parlyment whether it to done were To maken hem knowen there Or els walken forth dysgysed But at the laste they deuysed That they wolde gone in tapynage As it were in a pylgrymage Lyke good and holy folke vnfeyned And dame abstinence streyned Toke on a robe of camelyne And gan her gratche as a bygyne A large couercheife of threde She wrapped al aboute her hede But she forgate not her psaltere A payre of beedes eke she bere Vpon a lace al of whyte threde On whych that she her beades bede But she ne bought hem neuer a dele For they were gyuen her, I wote wele God wote of a ful holy frere That sayd he was her father dere To whom she had ofter went

Than any frere of hys couent And he vysited her also And many a sermon sayd her to He nolde let for man on lyue That he ne wolde her ofte shryue And wyth so great deuotion They made her confession That they had ofte for the nones Two heedes in one hode at ones Of fayre shappe, I deuysed her the But pale of face somtyme was she That false traytouresse vntrewe was lyke that salowe horse of hewe That in the Apocalips is shewed That signyfyeth to folke beshrewed That bene al ful of trecherye And pale, through hypocrisye For on that horse no colour is But onely deed and pale ywys Of such a colour enlangoured was abstinence ywys coloured Of her estate she her repented As her vysage represented She had a burdowne al of thefte That gyle had yeue her of hys yefte And a skryppe of faynte distresse That ful was of elengenesse And forth she walked sobrely And false semblaunt saynt, ie vous die And as it were for such mistere Done on the cope of a frere wyth chere symple, and full pytous Hys lokyng was not disdeynous Ne proude, but meke and ful pesyble About hys necke he bare a Byble And squierly, forth gan he gon And for to rest hys lymmes vpon He had of treason a potent As he were feble, hys way he went But in hys sleue he gan to thryng A rasoure sharpe, and wel bytyng That was forged in a forge whyche that men clepen Coupe Gorge So longe forth her waye they nomen Tyl they to wycked tonge comen That at hys gate was syttyng And sawe folke in the way passyng The pylgrymes sawe he faste by That beren hem ful mekely And humbly they wyth hym mette Dame abstinence fyrst hym grette And syth hym false semblant salued And he hem, but he not remeued For he ne dred hem not a dele For whan he sawe her faces wele Alwaye in herte, hym thought so He shulde knowe hem both two For wele he knewe dame abstynaunce But he ne knewe not Constreynaunce He ne knewe nat that she was constreyned Ne of her theues lyfe fayned But wende she come of wyll al fre But she come in another degre And yf of good wyl she beganne That wyl was fayled her thanne.

ANd false semblant had he sayne alse But he knewe nat that he was false Yet false was he, but his false∣nesse Ne coulde he not espye, nor gesse For semblant was so slye wrought That falsenesse he ne espyed nought But haddest thou knowen hym beforne Thou woldest on a boke haue sworne whan thou hym saugh in thylke araye That he that whylome was so gaye And of the daunce Ioly Robyn was tho become a Iacobyn But sothly what so men hym call Frere preachours bene good men all Her order wyckedly they beren Such minstrels, yf they weren So bene Augustyns, and Cordylers And Carmes, and eke sacked freers And al freres shodde and bare Though some of hem bene great and square Ful holy men, as I hem deme Eueryche of hem wolde good man seme But shalt thou neuer of apparence Sene conclude good consequence In none argument ywys If existence all fayled is For men may fynde alwaye sopheme The consequence to eueneme who so that hath had the subtelte The double sentence for to se.

whan the pylgrymes comen were To wycked tonge that dwelled there Her harneys nygh hem was algate By wycked tonge adowne they sate That badde hem nere hym for to come

And of tidynges telle hym some And sayde hem: what case maketh you To come to this place nowe:

SIr sayde Strayned Absti∣naunce we for to drye our penaunce with hertes pytous deuoute Are cōmen, as pylgrimes gon aboute wel nyght on fote alway we go Ful doughty ben our heeles two And thus bothe we ben sent Throughoute this worlde that is myswent To yeue ensample, and preche also To fyshen synfull menne we go For other fyshynge, ne fyshe we And syr, for that charite As we be wont, herborowe we craue Your lyfe to amende Christ it saue And so it shulde you nat displease we wolden, yf it were your case A shorte sermon vnto you sayne And wicked tonge answered agayne The house (quod he) such (as ye se) Shal not be warned you for me Say what you lyst, and I wol here Graunt mercy swete syr dere.

(Quod alder first) dame abstynence And thus began she her sentence Sir the fyrst vertue certayne The greatest and moost souerayne That may be founde in any man For hauyng, or for wytte he can That is hys tonge to refrayne Therto ought euery wyght hym payne For it is better styl be Than for to speken harme parde And he that herkeneth it gladly He is no good man sykerly And sir, abouen al other synne In that arte thou moost gylty inne Thou spake a iape, not longe ago And sir, that was ryght yuel do Of a yonge man, that here repayred And neuer yet thys place apayred Thou saydest he awayted nothynge But to deceyue fayre welcomyng Ye sayd nothyng soth of that But sir, ye lye, I tel you plat He ne cometh no more, ne goth parde I trowe ye shal hym nen•••• se Fayre welcomynge in prison is That ofte hath played wyth you er thys The fayrest games that he coulde wythout fylth styl or loude Nowe dare she not her selfe solace ye han also the man to chace That he dare neyther come ne go what meueth you to hate hym so? But properly your wycked thought That many a false leasyng hath thought That meueth youre foole eloquence That iangleth euer in audience And on the folke areyseth blame And doth hem d••shonour and shame For thyng that maye haue no preuyng But lykelynesse, and contryuyng.

For I dare sayne, that reason demeth It is not al soth thynge that semeth And it is synne to controue Thyng that is to reproue Thys wote ye wele, and syr: therfore Ye arne to blame the more And nathlesse, he recketh lyte He yeueth nat nowe therof a myte For yf he thought harme parfaye He wolde come and gone al daye He coulde him selfe not abstene Nowe cometh he not, and that is sene For he ne taketh of it no cure But yf it be through auenture And lasse than other folke algate And thou her watchest at the gate wyth speare in thyne arest alwaye There muse musarde al the daye Thou wakest nyght and daye for thought Iwys thy traueyle is for nought And Ielosy wythouten fayle Shal neuer quyte the thy trauayle And skath is, that fayre welcomyng wythout any trespassyng Shal wrongfully in prison be There wepeth and languysheth he And though thou neuer yet ywys Agyltest man no more but thys Take not a grefe it were worthy To put the out of thys bayly And afterwarde in prison lye And fettre the tyl that thou dye For thou shalt for thys synne dwelle Ryght in the dyuels arse of helle But yf that thou repent the

Mafaye, thou lyest falsely (quod he) what, welcome with mischaunce now Haue I therfore herbered you To saye me shame, and eke reproue with sory hap to your behoue Am I today your harbegere Go herber you els where, than here That han a lyer called me Two tregeturs art thou and he That in myne house, do me this shame And for my sothe sawe ye me blame Is this the sermon that ye make To all the deuyls I me take Or els god thou me confounde But er men dydden this castell founde It passeth not ten dayes or twelue But it was tolde ryght to my selue And as they sayd, ryght so tolde I He kyst the rose priuyly Thus sayd I now, and haue sayd yore I not where he dyd any more why shulde men saye me such a thynge Yf it had ben gabbynge Ryght so sayd I, and woll say yet I trowe I lyed not of it And with my bemes I woll blowe To all neyghbours arowe How he hath both cōmen and gone Tho spake false semblaunt ryght anon All is not gospell out of dout That men sayne in the towne about Laye no deefe ere to my speakyng I swere you syr, it is gabbyng I trowe ye wot well certaynly That no man loueth hym tenderly That sayth hym harme, yf he wote it All be he neuer so poore of wyt And sothe is also sykerly This knowe ye syr, as well as I That louers gladly woll vysiten The places there her loues habyten This man you loueth, and eke honoureth This man to serue you laboureth And clepeth you his frende so dere And this man maketh you good chere And euery where that you meteth He you salweth, and he you greteth He preseth not so oft as ye Ought of his commyng encombred be There presen other folke on you Full ofter than he doth nowe And yf his hert hym strayned so Vnder the Rose for to go Ye shulde hym sene so oft nede That ye shulde take hym with the dede He coude his commyng not forbeare Though he hym thrilled with a speare It nere nat than, as it is nowe But trusteth well, I swere it you That it is clene out of his thought Syr, certes he ne thynketh it nought Nomore ne doth Fayre welcomyng That sore abyeth all this thynge And yf they were of one assent Full soone were the Rose hent The maugre yours wolde be And syr of o thyng herkeneth me Syth ye this man, that loueth you Han sayd suche harme, and shame now wytteth well, yf he gessed it Ye maye well demen in your wyt He noulde nothynge loue you so Ne callen you his frende also But nyght and daye he wol wake The castel to destroye and take Yf it were soth as ye deuyse Or some man in some maner wyse Myght it warne hym euery dele Or by hym self perceyue wele For syth he myght not come and gone As he was whylom wont to done He myght it soone wyte and se But nowe all otherwyse wot he Than haue we syr all vtterly Deserued hell, and iolyly The deth of hell doutlesse That thrallen folke so gyltlesse

FAlse semblaunte so proueth this thynge That he canne none answe∣rynge And seeth alwaye, suche ap∣paraunce That nygh he fell in repentaunce And sayd hym, syr: it maye well be Semblaunt, a good man semen ye And Abstinence, full wyse ye seme Of o talent you both I deme what counsayle woll ye to me yeuen? Ryght here anon thou shalt be shryuen And say thy synne, without more Of this shalt thou repent sore

For I am prest, and haue poste To shryue folke of moost dignitie That ben as wyde as worlde may dure Of al this worlde I haue the cure And that had neuer yet persoun Ne vicarie of no maner toun And god wot I haue of the A thousande tymes more pytye Than hath thy prest parochial Though thy frende be specyall I haue auauntage in o wyse That your prelates ben not so wyse Ne halfe so lettred (as am I) I am lycenced boldly In diuinitie for to rede And to confessen out of drede Yf ye woll you nowe confesse And leaue your synnes more and lesse without abode, knele downe anon And you shall haue absolucion.

FINIS.

¶Here endeth the Romaunt of the Rose: And here foloweth the boke of Troy∣lous and Cre∣seyde.