The works of our ancient, learned, & excellent English poet, Jeffrey Chaucer as they have lately been compar'd with the best manuscripts, and several things added, never before in print : to which is adjoyn'd The story of the siege of Thebes, by John Lidgate ... : together with The life of Chaucer, shewing his countrey, parentage, education, marriage, children, revenues, service, reward, friends, books, death : also a table, wherein the old and obscure words in Chaucer are explained, and such words ... that either are, by nature or derivation, Arabick, Greek, Latine, Italian, French, Dutch, or Saxon, mark'd with particular notes for the better understanding of their original.

The Legend of good Women. (Book Legend of Good Women)

For that some Ladies in the Court took offence at Chaucers large speeches against the untruth of Women, the Queen enjoyned him to compile this Book in the commendation of sundry Mai∣dens and Wives, who shewed themselves faithful to faithless men. (Book Legend of Good Women)

A Thousand times I have heard men tell, That there is joy in heaven, & pain in hell, And I accord it wele that it is so, But nathelesse yet wote I wele also, That there nis non dwelling in this countre, That either hath in heaven or in hell ibe, Ne may of it none other waies witten, But as he heard sayd, or found it written, For by assay there may no man it preve. But God forbede but men should leve Wel more thing than they have seen with iye, Men shall nat we••en every thing a lie But if himself it seeth, or els it dooth, For God wote thing is never the lesse soth, Though every wight ne may it not isee. Bernarde the Monke ne saugh all parde, Then mote we to bookes that we find, (Through which y^• old things ben in mind) And to the doctrine of the old wise, Yeve credence, in every skilful wise, That tellen of the old appreued stories, Of holines, of reignes, of victories, Of love, of hate, and other sundry things, Of which I may not make rehearsings: * And if that old bookes were away, Ilorne were of all remembraunce the kay. Well ought vs then, honouren & beleve These bookes, there we han none other preve. And as for me, though that I can but lite, On bookes for to rede I me delite, And to hem yeve I faith and full credence, And in mine herte have hem in reverence So hertely, that there is game none, That fro my bookes maketh me to gone, But it be seldome on the holy daie, Save certainly, when y^t the month of May Is comen, and that I heare the foules sing, And that the floures ginnen for to spring, Farwell my booke, and my deuocion, Now have I then eke this condicion, That of all the floures in the Mede, Then love I most these floures white & rede,

Soch that men callen Daisies in our toun, To hem I have so great affectioun, As I sayd erst, when comen is the Maie, That in my bedde there daweth me no daie, That I nam vp and walking in the Mede, To seen this floure ayenst the Sunne sprede, When it vp riseth early by the morrow, That blisfull sight softeneth all my sorow, So glad am I, when that I have presence Of it, to done it all reverence, As she that is of all flours floure, Fulfilled of all vertue and honoure, And every ilike faire, and fresh of hewe And ever I love it, and ever ilike newe, And ever shall, till that mine harte die, All sweare I not, of this I woll not lie. There loved no wight hotter in his life, And when that it is eve I renne blithe, As sone as ever the Sunne ginneth West, To seen this floure, how it woll go to rest, For feare of night, so hateth she derkenesse, Her chere is plainly spred in the brightnesse Of the Sunne, for there it woll vnclose: Alas that I ne had English rime, or prose Suffisaunt, this floure to praise aright, But helpeth ye, y^• han conning and might, Ye lovers that can make of sentement, In this case ought ye be diligent, To forthren me somewhat in my labour, Whether ye been with y^e lefe or with y^e flour, For well I wote, that ye han here beforne Of making, ropen, and had alway the corne, And I come after, glening here and there, And am full glad, if I may find an eare, Of any goodly worde that ye han left, And though it happen me to rehearsen eft, That ye han in your freshe songes sayd, Forbeareth me, and beth not euill apayd, Sith that ye se, I doe it in the honour Of love, and eke of service of the flour, Whom that I serve, as I have wit or might, She is the clerenesse and the very light, That in this derke world me wint and ledeth The hart within my sorowfull brest you dre∣deth, And loveth so sore, that ye ben verily The maistres of my wit, and nothing I, My word, my workes, is knit so in your bonde That as an harpe obeieth to the honde, And make it soune after his fingering, Right so mowe ye out of mine hart bring, Soch voice, right as you list, to laugh or pain, Be ye my guide, and Lady souerain, As to mine yearthly God, to you I call, Both in this werke, and my sorowes all, But wherefore that I spake to yeve credence To old stories, and done hem reverence, And that men musten more thing bileve That men may seen at iye or els preve, That shall I sein, when that I see my time, I may nat all atones speake in rime, My busie ghost, that thursteth alway new, To seen this flour so yong, so fresh of hew, Constrained me, with so gredy desire, That in my harte I fele yet the fire, That made me rise ere it were day, And this was now the first morow of Maie, With dreadfull harte, and glad deuocion For to been at the resurrection Of this floure, when that it should vnclose, Again the Sunne, that rose as redde as rose, That in the brest was of the beast that day, That Angenores doughter ladde away: And doune on knees anon right I me sette, And as I could, this fresh floure I grette: Kneeling alway, till it vnclosed was, Vpon the small, soft, swete gras, That was with floures swete embrouded all, Of such swetenesse, and soch odour over all, That for to speake of gomme, herbe, or tree, Comparison may not imaked be, For it surmounteth plainly all odoures, And of riche beaute of floures, Forgotten had the yearth his poore estate Of Winter, that him naked made & mate, And with his sword of cloud so sore greved, Now hath the attempre sunne al that releved That naked was, and clad it new again, The small foules of the season fain, That of the panter and the net been scaped, Vpon the fouler, that hem made awhaped In Winter, and destroied had her brood, In his dispite hem thought it did hem good To sing of him, and in her song dispise The foule chorle, that for his couetise, Had him betraied, with his Sophistrie, This was her song, The fouler we defie, And all his craft: and some songen clere, Laies of Love, that joy it was to here, In worshipping and praysing of her make, And for the new blisfull Somers sake, Vpon the braunches full of blosmes soft, In her dilite, they tourned hem ful oft, And songen, blissed be sainct Valentine, For on his day I chese you to be mine, Withouten repenting mine harte swete, And therewithall her bekes gonnen mete, Yelding honour, and humble obeisaunce To love and didden her other observaunce That longeth vnto love, and vnto nature, Constre we that as you list, I do no cure: And tho that had done vnkindnesse, As doeth the Tidife, for new fanglenesse, Besought mercy of her trespasing, And humbly song her repenting, And sworen on the blosmes to be true, So that her makes would vpon hem rue, And at the last maden her acorde, All found they Daunger for the time a lord, Yet Pite, through his strong gentill might, Foryave, and made Mercy passen right Through Innocence, and ruled Curtesie: But I ne cleape it nat Innocence folie, Ne false pite, for vertue is the meane, As Eticke sayth, in soch maner I meane. And thus these foule, voide of all malice, Acordeden to Love, and laften vice Of hate, and song all of one acorde, Welcome Sommer, our governour & lorde. And Zephirus, and Flora gentelly, Yave to the floures soft and tenderly, Her swote breth, and made hem for to sprede, As God and Goddesse of the flourie Mede,

In which me thoughte I might day by daie, Dwellen alway, the joly month of Maie, Withouten slepe, withouten meat or drinke, Adowne full softly I gan to sinke, And leaning on my elbow and my side, The long day I shope me for to abide, For nothing els, and I shall nat lie, But for to looke vpon the Daisie, That well by reason men it call may The Daisie, or els the iye of the day, The emprise, and floure of floures all, I pray to God that faire mote she fall, And all that loven floures, for her sake, But nathelesse, ne wene nat that I make In praising of the floure againe the lefe, No more than of the corne againe the shefe: For as to me nis lever none ne other, I nam withholden yet with never nother, Ne I not who serveth lefe, ne who the floure, Well brouken they her service or laboure, For this thing is all of another tonne, Of old storie, er soch thing was begonne, When y^t the sunne out the South gan West, And that this floure gan close, and gan to rest, For derknes of the night, the which she dred, Home to mine house full swiftly I me sped To gone to rest, and earely for to rise, To seene this floure to sprede, as I devise, And in a little herber that I have, That benched was on turves fresh igrave, I bad men shoulde me my couche make, For deintie of the newe Sommers sake, I bad hem strawen floures on my bedde, When I was laid, and had mine iyen hedde, I fell a slepe, and slept an houre or two, Me met how I lay in the Medow tho, To seen this floure, that I love so and drede, And from a ferre came walking in the Mede The God of Love, and in his hand a Quene, And she was clad in royall habite grene, A fret of golde she had next her heere, And vpon that a white croune she beare, With flourouns small, and I shall not lie, For all the world right as a Daisie Icrouned is, with white leaves lite, So were the florouns of her croune white, For of o perle fine orientall, Her white croune was imaked all, For which the white croune, above the grene, Made her like a Daisie for to seme, Considred eke her fret of gold above: Iclothed was this mighty God of Love In silke embroided, full of grene greves, In which a fret of redde rose leves, The freshest sens the world was first begon, His gilt heere was crouned with a son, In stede of gold, for hevinesse and weight, Therwith me thouʒt his face shone so bright That well vnnethes might I him behold, And in his hand, me thought I saw him hold Two firie dartes, as the gledes rede, And Angelike his winges saw I sprede: And all be that men sain, that blind is he, Algate me thought that he might se, For sternely on me he gan behold, So that his loking doeth mine hart cold, And by the hand he held this noble Queene, Crouned with white, & clothed al in greene, So womanly, so benigne, and so meke, That in this worlde though y^t men wold seke, Halfe her beaute should they not finde In creature that formed is by kinde, And therfore may I sain as thinketh me, This song in praising of this Lady fre.

Hide Absolon thy gilte tresses clere, Hester lay thou thy mekenesse all adoun, Hide Ionathas all thy frendly manere, Penelopee, and Marcia Catoun, Make of your wifehode no comparisoun, Hide your beauties, Isoude and Helein, My Lady cometh, that all this may distain.

Thy faire body let it not appere, Lavine, and thou Lucrece of Rome toun, And Polixene, that boughten love so dere, And Cleopatras, with all thy passioun, Hide your trouthe of love, and your renoun, And thou Tisbe, that hast of love soch pain, My Lady cometh, that all this may distain.

Hero, Dido, Laodomia, al ifere, And Phillis, hanging for Demophoun, And Canace, espied by thy chere, Hipsiphile betrayed with Iasoun: Maketh of your trouth neither boste ne soun, Nor Hipermistre, or Ariadne, ye twain, My Lady cometh, that all this may distain.

This balade may full well isongen be, As I have sayd erst, by my Lady fre, For certainly, all these mowe not suffice, To apperen with my Lady in no wise, For as the Sunne woll the fire distain, So passeth all my lady soverain, That is so good, so faire, so debonaire, I pray to God that ever fall her faire, For nad comforte ben of her presence, I had ben dead, withouten any defence, For drede of Loves wordes, and his chere, As when time is, hereafter ye shall here. Behind this God of Love vpon the grene, I saw coming of Ladies ninetene, In roiall habit, a full easie pace, And after hem came of women soch a trace, That sens y^• God, Adam had made of yerth, The third part of mankinde, or the ferth, Ne wende I nat by possibilite, Had ever in this wide world ibe, And true of love, these women were echon, Now whether was y^t a wonder thing or non, That right anon, as that they gonne espie This floure, which that I clepe the Daisie, Full sodainly they stinten all at ones, And kneled doune, as it were for the nones, And songen with o voice, heale and honour To trouth of womanhede, and to this flour, That beareth our alderprise in figuring, Her white croune beareth the witnessing, And with that word, a compas enviroun, They sitten hem ful softely adoun: First sat the god of Love, and sith his quene, With the white croune, clad all in grene,

And sithen al the remnaunt by and by, As they were of estate, full curtesly, Ne nat a worde was spoken in the place, The mountenance of a furlong way of space. I kneling by this floure, in good entent Abode to knowen what this people ment, As still as any stone, till at the last This God of Love, on me his iyen cast, And said, who kneleth there? and I answerde Vnto his asking, when that I it herde, And sayd, sir it am I, and come him nere, And salued him: (qd. he) what doest thou here, So nigh mine owne floure, so boldly? It were better worthy truely, A worme to nighen nere my floure than thou. And why sir (qd. I) and it like you? For thou (qd. he) art therto nothing able, It is my relike, digne and delitable, And thou my fo, and all my folke werriest, And of mine old servaunts thou missaiest, And hindrest hem, with thy translacion, And lettest folke from her devocion, To serve me, and holdest it folie To serve Love, thou mayst it nat denie, For in plain text, withouten nede of glose, Thou hast translated the Romaunt of y^• rose, That is an heresie ayenst my law, And makest wise folke fro me withdraw; And of Creseide, thou hast said as the list, That maketh men to women lesse trist, That ben as trewe as ever was any stele: Of thine answere avise thee right wele, For though thou renied hast my lay, As other wretches have done many a day, By seint Venus, that my mother is, If that thou live, thou shalt repenten this, So cruelly, that it shall well be sene. Tho spake this lady, clothed all in greene And saied, God right of your curtesie, Ye mote herken if he can replie Ayenst all this that ye have to him meved, A God ne shulde nat be thus agreved, But of his deite he shal be stable, And thereto gracious and merciable: And if ye nere a God that knowen all, Then might it be as I you tellen shall, This man to you may falsely ben accused, That as by right, him ought ben excused, For in your court is many a losengeour, And many a queinte totoler accusour, That tabouren in your eares many a soun, Right after her imaginacioun, To have your daliaunce, and for envie, These ben the causes, and I shall nat lie, Envie is lavender of the court alway, For she ne parteth neither night ne day, Out of the house of Cesar, thus saith Dant, Who so that goeth algate she wol nat want. And eke peraunter for this man is nice, He might done it, gessing no malice, But for he vseth thinges for to make, Him recketh nought of what mater he take, Or him was boden make thilke twey, Of some persone, and durst it nat withsey: Or him repenteth vtterly of this, He ne hath nat done so grevously amis, To translaten that old clerkes writen, As though that he of malice would enditen, Dispite of love, and had himselfe it wrought, This shold a riʒtwise lord have in his thouʒt, And nat be like tiraunts of Lombardie, That han no reward but at tyrannie, * For he that king or lorde is naturell, Him ought nat be tiraunt ne cruell, As is a fermour, to done the harme he can, He must thinke it is his liege man, And is his tresour, and his gold in cofer: This is the sentence of the Philosopher, A king to kepe his lieges in Iustice, Withouten doute that is his office, All woll he kepe his lordes in her degree, As it is right and skil, that they bee Enhaunsed and honoured, and most dere, For they ben halfe goddes in this world here, Yet mote he done both right to poore & riche, All be that her estate be nat both iliche, And have of poore folke compassion, For lo, the gentill kinde of the lion, For when a flie offendeth him or biteth, He with his taile away the flie smiteth, Al easily, for of his gentrie, Him deineth nat to wreke him on a flie, As doeth a curre, or els another beest, * In noble corage ought ben areest, And waien every thing by equite, And ever have regard vnto his owne degre: For sir, it is no maistrie for a lord To dampne a man, without answere of word, And for a lorde, that is full foule to vse And it so be, he may him nat excuse, But asketh mercy with a dreadfull hert, And profereth him, right in his bare sherte To ben right at your owne judgement. Then ought a God by short avisement, Consider his owne honour, and his trespace, For sith no cause of death lieth in this case, You ought to ben the lightlier merciable, Letteth your ire, & bethe somewhat tretable: The man hath served you of his conninges, And forthred well your law in his makinges, All be it that he can nat well endite, Yet hath he made leude folke delite To serve you, in preising of your name, He made the boke, y^t hight, The house of fame, And eke the death of Blaunche the Duchesse, And the Parliament of Foules, as I gesse, And al the love of Palamon and Arcite Of Thebes, though the storie is knowen li••e, And many an Himpne, for your holy daies, That highten balades, rondels, virelaies: And for to speake of other holinesse, He hath in prose translated Boece, And made the life also of saint Cecile: He made also, gone is a great while, Origenes vpon the Maudelaine: Him ought now to have the lesse paine, He hath made many a ley, and many a thing. Now as ye be a God, and eke a king, I your Alceste, whilom quene of Trace, I aske you this man right of your grace, That ye him never hurt in al his live, And he shal swearen to you, and that blive,

He shal never more agilten in this wise, But shal maken as ye woll devise, Of women trewe in loving al her life, Where so ye woll, of maiden or of wife, And forthren you as much as he misseide, Or in the Rose, or els in Creseide. The God of Love answerde her thus anon, Madame (qd. he) it is so long agon, That I you knew, so charitable and trewe, That never yet, sens the world was newe, To me ne found I better none than ye, If that I woll save my degree: I may nor woll nat werne your request, Al lieth in you, doth with him as you lest. I al foryeve withouten lenger space, * For who so yeveth a yefte or doth a grace, Do it betime, his thanke shall be the more, And demeth ye what ye shal do therfore. Go thanke now my lady here (qd. he) I rose, and doun I set me on my knee, And said thus: Madame, the God above For yelde you that the God of Love Have maked me his wrath to foryeve, And grace so long for to live, That I may know sothely what ye be, That have me holpen, and put in this degre, But trewly I wende, as in this caas Nought have a gilte, ne done to love trespas, * For why a trewe man withouten drede, Hath nat to parten with a theves dede. Ne a trewe lover ought me nat to blame, Though y^• I speke a false lover some shame: They ought rather with me for to hold, For that I of Creseide wrote or told, Or of the Rose, what so mine author ment, Algate God wotte it was mine entent To forthren trouth in love, and it cherice And to ben ware fro falsenesse and fro vice, By which ensample, this was my mening. And she answerde, let be thine arguing, For love ne wol not counterpleted be, In right ne wrong, and lerne that of me: Thou hast thy grace, & hold the right thereto Now woll I saine w^t penance thou shalt do For thy trespace, vnderstand it here, Thou shalt while y^t thou livest yere by yere, The most partie of thy time spende, In making of a glorious legende, Of good women, maidens, and wives, That weren trewe in loving all her lives, And tell of false men that hem betraien, That al her life ne do nat but assaien How many women they may done a shame, For in your world that is now hold a game: And though thee like nat a lover be, Speke wel of love, this penance yeve I thee, And to the God of love I shal so pray, That he shal charge his servants by any way, To forthren thee, and wel thy labour quite, Go now thy waie, this penaunce is but lite: And when this boke is made, yeve it y^• quene On my behalfe, at Eltham, or at Shene. The God of love gan smile, and then he said: Wost thou (qd. he) where this be wife or maid, Or queene, or countesse, or of what degree, That hath so littell penaunce yeven thee, That hast deserved sore for to smart, * But pite renneth soone in gentle hart: That maist thou sene, she kitheth what she is? And I answerde, naie sir so have I blis, No more, but that I see well she is good. That is a trewe tale by mine hood, (Qd. Love) and thou knowest wel parde, If it be so that thou avise the, Hast thou nat in a booke in thy cheste, The great goodnesse of the quene Alceste, That turned was into a Daiesie, She that for her husband chese to die, And eke to gone to hell, rather than he, And Hercules rescued her parde, And brought her out of hel againe to blis? And I answerde againe, and said yes, Now know I her, And is this good Alceste, The Daiesie, and mine owne herts reste? Now fele I well the goodnesse of this wife, That both after her death, and in her life, Her great bounte doubleth her renoun, Wel hath she quit me mine affectioun, That I have to her floure the daiesie, No wonder is though Iove her stellifie, As telleth Agaton, for her great goodnesse, Her white corowne beareth of it witnesse: For all so many vertues had she, As smal florounes in her corowne be, In remembraunce of her, and in honour, Cibilla made the daiesie and the floure, I crowned al with white, as men may se, And Mars yave to her a corowne reed parde, In stede of Rubies set among y^• white, Therewith this quene woxe reed for shame alite. When she was praysed so in her presence, Then said Love, a full great negligence Was it to thee, that ilke time thou made, (Hide Absolon thy tresses) in balade, That thou forget in thy songe to sette, Sith that thou art so greatly in her dette, And wost well that kalender is she To any woman, that woll lover be: For she taught all the craft of trewe loving, And namely of wifehode the living, And all the bondes that she ought keepe, Thy litel witte was thilke time a sleepe: But now I charge thee vpon thy life, That in thy legende make of this wife, When thou hast other smale imade before, And fare now well I charge thee no more, But er I go, thus much I will the tell, * Ne shal no trewe lover come in hell. These other ladies sitting here a rowe, Ben in my balade, if thou const hem know, And in thy bokes, al thou shalt hem find, Have hem now in thy legende al in mind, I meane of hem that ben in thy knowing, For here ben twenty thousand mo sitting Than thou knowest, good women all, And trewe of love, for ought that may befall: Make the metres of hem as the lest, I mote gone home, the sunne draweth west, To paradis, with all this companie, And serve alway the fresh Daiesie. At Cleopatras I woll that thou begin, And so forth, and my love so shalt thou win,

For let see now what man that lover be, Wol done so strong a paine for love as she, I wote well that thou maist nat all it rime, That suche lovers did in her time: It were too long to reden and to here, Suffiseth me thou make in this manere, That thou reherce of al her life the great, After these old authours listen for to treat, For who so shall so many a story tell, Sey shortly or he shall to long dwell: And with that worde my bookes gan I take, And right thus on my legende gan I make.

¶Thus endeth the Prologue.

¶Here beginneth the legende of Cleopa∣tras Queene of Egipt.

AFter y^e death of Ptholome the King, That all Egipt had in his governing, Reigned his Queene Cleopatras, Till on a time bifel there such a caas, That out of Rome was sent a senatour, For to conqueren realmes and honour, Vnto the toune of Rome, as was vsaunce, To have the world at her obeisaunce, And soth to say, Antonius was his name, So fil it, as fortune him ought a shame, When he was fallen in prosperite, Rebel vnto the toune of Rome is he, And over al this, the suster of Cesare He left her falsely, er that she was ware, And would algates han another wife, For which he toke with Rome, & Cesar strife. Nathelesse, forsoth this ilke Senatour, Was a full worthy gentill werriour, And of his deth it was ful great damage, But love had brought this man in such a rage And him so narow bounden in his laas, And all for the love of Cleopatras, That al the world he set at no value, Him thouʒt there was nothing to him so due, As Cleopatras, for to love and serve, Him thought that in armes for to sterve In the defence of her, and of her right. This noble quene, eke loved so this knight, Through his desert, and for his chevalrie, As certainly, but if that bokes lie, He was of person, and of gentilnesse, And of discretion, and of hardinesse, Worthy to any wight that liven may, And she was faire, as is the rose in Maie: And for to maken shorte is the best, She woxe his wife, and had him as her lest. The wedding and the feast to devise, To me that have itake such emprise, And so many a storie for to make, It were to long, lest that I should slake Of thing that beareth more effect & charge, For men may overlade a ship or barge, And for thy, to effect then woll I skippe, And al the remnaunt I woll let it slippe. Octavian, that wood was of this dede, Shope him an hooste on Antony to lede, Al vtterly for his distruction, With stoute Romaines, cruell as Lion To ship they went, and thus I let hem faile. Antonius was ware, and woll nat faile To meten with these Romaines, if he may, Toke eke his rede, and both vpon a day His wife and he, and all his host forth went To ship anone, no lenger they ne stent, And in the see it happed hem to mete, Vp goeth the trumpe, & for to shoute & shete And painen hem to set on with the sunne, With grisly sown out goeth the great gunne, And hertely they hurtlen in all at ones, And fro the top doune cometh y^• great stones, In goeth the grapenel so full of crokes, Among the ropes ran the shering hokes, In with the polaxe preaseth he and he, Behind the maste beginneth he to flee, And out againe, and driveth him over borde, He sticketh him vpon his speares orde, He rent the saile with hookes like a sith, He bringeth the cup, and biddeth hem be blith, He poureth peesen vpon the hatches slider, With pots full of lime, they gone togider, And thus the long day in fight they spend, Till at the last, as every thing hath end, Antony is shent, and put him to the flight, And all his folke to go, that best go might, Fleeth eke y^• quene, with all her purple saile, For strokes which y^• went as thicke as haile, No wonder was, he might it nat endure: And when that Antony saw that aventure, Alas (qd. he) the day that I was borne, My worship in this day thus have I lorne, And for dispaire out of his wit he start, And rofe himselfe anon throughout the hart, Ere that he ferther went out of the place: His wife, that could of Cesar have no grace, To Egipt is fled, for drede and for distresse, But herkeneth ye that speken of kindnesse. Ye men that falsely swearen many an oth, That ye woll die, if that your love be wroth, Here may ye seene of women such a trouth. This woful Cleopatra had made such routh, That there nis tong none that may it tell, But on the morow she woll no lenger dwell, But made her subtill werkmen make a shrine Of all the rubies and the stones fine In all Egipt, that she could espie, And put full the shrine of spicerie, And let the corse enbaume, and forth she fette This dead corse, and in the shrine it shette, And next the shrine a pit than doth she grave, And all the serpentes that she might have, She put hem in that grave, & thus she seid: Now love, to whom my sorowfull hert obeid, So ferforthly, that fro that blisfull hour That I you swore to ben all freely your, I meane you, Antonius my knight, That never waking in the day or night, Ye nere out of mine herts remembraunce, For wele or wo, for carole, or for daunce, And in my selfe this covenaunt made I tho, That right such as ye felten wele or wo, As ferforth as it in my power lay, Vnreprovable vnto my wifehood aye, The same would I felen, life or death, And thilke covenaunt while me lasteth breath

I woll fulfill, and that shall well be seene, Was never vnto her love a truer queene: And with y^• word, naked with full good hart, Among the serpents in the pit she start, And there she chese to have her burying. Anone the neders gonne her for to sting, And she her death receiueth with good chere, For love of Antony that was her so dere. And this is storiall, sooth it is no fable, Now ere I find a man thus true and stable, And woll for love his death so freely take, I pray God let our hedes never ake.

¶The Legend of Tisbe of Babilon.

AT Babiloine whylome fill it thus, The which toun y^• queen Simiramus Let dichen about, and wals make Full hie, of harde tiles well ibake: There were dwelling in this noble toun, Two lords, which y^• were of great renoun, And woneden so nigh vpon a grene, That ther nas but a stone wal hem between, As oft in great tounes is the wonne: And sothe to saine, that one man had a sonne, Of all that lond one of the lustiest, That other had a doughter, the fairest That estward in y^• world was tho dwelling, The name of everiche, gan to other spring, By women that were neighbours aboute, For in that countre yet withouten doute, Maidens ben ikept for ielousie, Ful straite, lest they didden some folie. This yong man was cleped Piramus, Thisbe hight the maide (Naso saith thus) And thus by report, was her name ishove, That as they woxe in age, so woxe her love: And certaine, as by reason of her age, Ther might have ben betwixt hem mariage, But that her fathers ••olde it nat assent, And bothe in love ilike sore they brent, That none of all her friendes might it lette, But prively sometime yet they mette By sleight, and spaken some of her desire, As wrie the glede and hotter is the fire, Forbid a love, and it is ten times so wode. This wal, which y^• bitwixt hem both stode, Was cloven atwo, right fro the top adoun, Of old time, of his foundatioun, But yet this clift was so narrow and lite It was nat seene, dere inough a mite, But what is that, that love cannot espie? Ye lovers two, if that I shall not lie, Ye founden first this little narrow clift, And with a sound, as soft as any shrift, They let her words through the clift pace, And tolden, while that they stoden in y^• place, All her complaint of love, and all her wo, At every time when they durst so. On that one side of the wall stood he, And on that other side stood Tisbe, The sweet soune of other to receive, And thus her wardeins would they disceive, And every day this wall they would threte, And wish to God that it were doun ibete, Thus wold they sain, alas thou wicked wall▪ Through thine enuie, thou vs lettest all, Why nilt thou cleave, or fallen all atwo, Or at the least, but thou wouldest so, Yet wouldest thou but ones let vs mete, Or ones that we might kissen swete, Then were we cured of our cares cold, But nathelesse, yet be we to thee hold, In as much as thou suffrest for to gone, Our words through thy lime & eke thy stone, Yet ought we with thee ben well apaid. And when these idle wordes weren said, The cold wall they woulden kisse of stone, And take her leave, & forth they wolden gone, And this was gladly in the eventide, Or wonder erly, least men it espide. And long time they wrought in this manere, Till on a day, when Phebus gan to clere, Aurora with the stremes of her hete Had dried vp the dew of herbes wete, Vnto this clift, as it was wont to be, Come Piramus, and after come Tisbe, And plighten trouthe fully in her faie, That ilke same night to steale awaie, And to beguile her wardeins everychone, And forth out of the Citie for to gone, And for the fieldes ben so brode and wide, For to mete in o place at o tide: They set markes, her meetings should be There king Ninus was grauen, vnder a tree, For old painems, that idolles heried, Vseden tho in fields to ben buried, And fast by his grave was a well, And shortely of this tale for to tell, This couenaunt was affirmed wonder fast, And long hem thought that the sunne last, That it nere gone vnder the see adoun. This Tisbe hath so great affectioun, And so great liking Piramus to see, That when she saw her time might be, At night she stale away full prively, With her face iwimpled subtelly, For all her friends (for to save her trouth) She hath forsake alas, and that is routh, That ever woman woulde be so trew, To trusten man, but she the bet him knew: And to the tree she goeth a full good pace, For love made her so hardy in this case, And by the well adoun she gan her dresse, Alas, then commeth a wild Lionesse Out of the wood, withouten more arrest, With bloody mouth, strangling of a beast, To drinken of the well there as she sat, And when that Tisbe had espied that, She rist her vp, with a full drery hart, And in a caue, with dreadfull foot she start, For by the Moone she saw it well withall, And as she ran, her wimple let she fall, And toke none hede, so sore she was a whaped, And eke so glad that she was escaped, And thus she sat, and lurketh wonder still: When that this Lionesse hath dronke her fill, About the well gan she for to wind, And right anon the wimple gan she find, And with her bloody mouth it all to rent, When this was done, no lenger she ne stent,

But to y^• wood her way then hath she nome. And at the last this Piramus is come, But all too long (alas) at home was hee, The Moone shone, men might well isee, And in his way, as that he come full fast, His eyen to the ground adoun he cast, And in the sonde, as he beheld adoun, He saw the steppes brode of a Lioun, And in his hart he suddainly agrose, And pale he wext, therwith his hart arose, And here he came, & found the wimple torne, Alas (qd. he) the day that I was borne, This o night woll both vs lovers slee, How should I asken mercy of Tisbee, When I am he that have you slaine, alas, My bidding hath you slaine in this caas, Alas, to bidde a woman gone by night In place thereas perill fallen might, And I so slow, alas I ne had be Here in this place, a furlong way ere ye, Now what Lion that is in this forest, My body mote he rente, or what beast That wild is, gnawen mote he mine hart, And with that word he to the wimple start, And kist it oft, and wept on it full sore, And said wimple alas, there nis no more, But thou shalt feele as well the blood of me, As thou hast felt the bleeding of Tisbe: And with that word he smote him to y^• hart, The blood out of the wound as broad start, As water, when the conduit broken is. Now Tisbe, which that wist nat this, But sitting in her drede, she thought thus, If it so fall out that my Piramus Be comen hither, and may me nat ifind, He may me holden false, and eke vnkind, And out she commeth, & after him gan espien, Both with her hart, and with her eien, And thought, I woll him tellen of my drede, Both of the Lionesse and of my dede. And at the last her love then hath she found, Beating with his heeles on the ground, All bloody, and therewithall abacke she start, And like the wawes, quappe gan her hart, And pale as boxe she woxe, and in a throw Avised her, and gan him well to know, That it was Piramus her hart dere. Who could write whiche a deadly chere Hath Tisbe now, and how her haire she rent, And how she gan her selfe to turment, And how she lieth & swouneth on the ground, And how she wept of teares full his wound, How medleth she his blood with her complaint, How with her blood her selven gan she paint, How clippeth she the red corse, alas, How doth this wofull Tisbe in this caas, How kisseth she his frosty mouth so cold: Who hath don this? & who hath ben so bold To sleen my lefe? o speake Piramus, I am thy Tisbe, that thee calleth thus, And therwithall she lifteth vp his head. This wofull man that was nat fully dead, When that he herd y^• name of Tisbe crien, On her he cast his heavy deadly eyen, And doun againe, and yeeldeth vp the ghost. Tisbe rist vp, without noise or bost, And saw her wimple and his empty sheath, And eke his swerd, y^t him hath done to death, Then spake she thus, thy woful hand (qd. she) Is strong ynough in such a werke to me, For love shall yeve me strength & hardinesse, To make my wound large ynough I gesse, I woll thee followen dead, and I woll be Felaw, and cause eke of thy death (qd. she) And though that nothing save y^• death only, Might thee fro me depart trewly, Thou shalt no more departe now fro me Than fro the death, for I woll go with thee. And now ye wretched jelous fathers our, We that weren whylome children your, We praien you, withouten more enuie, That in o grave we moten lie, Sens love hath brought vs this pitous end, And right wise God, to every lover send, That loveth trewly, more prosperite Than ever had Piramus and Tisbe, And let no gentill woman her assure, To putten her in such an aventure, * But God forbid but that a woman can Ben as true and loving as a man, And for my part I shall anon it kithe: And with y^• word, his swerde she tooke switche, That warme was of her loves blood, & hote, And to the hart she her selven smote. And thus are Tisbe and Piramus ago, Of true men I find but few mo In all my bookes, save this Piramus, And therefore have I spoken of him thus; For it is deintie to vs men to find A man that can in love be true and kind. Here may ye seene, what lover so he be, A woman dare, and can as well as he.

¶The Legend of Dido, Queene of Cartage.

GLory and honour, Virgile Mantuan, Be to thy name, and I shall as I can Follow thy lanterne, as thou goest beforne, How Eneas to Dido was forsworne, In thine Eneide, and Naso woll I take The tenour and the great effects make, When Troy brought was to destruction By Grekes sleight, and namely by Sinon, Faining the horse offred vnto Minerue, Thrugh which y^t many a Troian must sterve, And Hector had after his death apered, And fire so wood, it might nat ben stered, In all the noble toure of Ilion, That of the citie was the cheefe dungeon, And all the country was so low ybrought, And Priamus the king fordone and nought, And Eneas was charged by Venus To flien away, he tooke Ascanius That was his son, in his right hand & fled, And on his backe he bare and with him led His old father, cleped Anchises, And by the way his wife Creusa he lees, And mokell sorrow had he in his mind, Ere that he coulde his fellawship find: But at the last, when he had hem found, He made him redy in a certaine stound,

And to the sea full fast he gan him hie, And saileth forth with all his companie Towards Itaile, as would destinee: But of his aventures in the see, Nis nat to purpose for to speke of here, For it accordeth nat to my matere, But as I said, of him and of Dido Shall be my tale, till that I have do. So long he sailed in the salt see, Till in Libie vnneth arriued he, So was he with the tempest all to shake, And when that he the haven had itake, He had a knight was called Achatees, And him of all his fellowship he chees, To gone with him, the country for tespie, He tooke with him no more companie, But forth they gon, and left his ships ride, His feere and he, withouten any guide. So long he walketh in this wildernesse, Till at the last he met an hunteresse, A bow in hond, and arrowes had she, Her clothes cutted were vnto the knee, But she was yet the fairest creature That ever was iformed by nature, And Eneas and Achates she gret, And thus she to hem spake, when she hem met. Saw ye (qd. she) as ye han walked wide, Any of my sustren walke you beside, With any wild Bore or other beast, That they have hunted into this forrest, I tucked vp with arrowes in her caas? Nay sothly Lady (qd. this Eneas) But by thy beautie, as it thinketh me, Thou mightest never yearthly woman be, But Phebus suster art thou, as I gesse, And if so be that thou be a goddesse, Have mercy on our labour and our wo. I nam no goddesse soothly (qd. she) tho, For maidens walken in this country here, With arrows & with bow, in this manere: This is the realme of Libie there ye been, Sf which that Dido lady is and queen, And shortly told all the occasion Why Dido came into that region, Of which as now me lifteth nat to rime, It nedeth nat, it nere but losse of time, For this is all and some, it was Venus His owne mother, that spake with him thus, And to Cartage she bade he should him dight, And vanished anon out of his sight. I could follow word for word Vergile, But it would lasten all to long while. This noble queen, that cleped was Dido, That whylom was the wife of Sicheo, That fairer was than the bright sunne, This noble toun of Carthage hath begunne, In which she reigneth in so great honour, That she was hold of all Quenes flour, Of gentillesse, of freedome, and of beaute, That well was him that might her ones se, Of Kings and Lordes so desired, That all the world her beautie had ifired, She stood so well in every wights grace. When Eneas was come vnto the place, Vnto the maister temple of all the toun, There Dido was in her deuotioun, Full priuely his way then hath he nome: When he was in the large temple come, I cannot saine, if that it be possible, But Venus had him maked invisible, Thus sayth the booke, withouten any lees. And when this Eneas and Achates Hadden in this temple ben over all, Then found they depainted on a wall, How Troy and all the land destroyed was, Alas that I was borne (qd. Eneas) Through the world our shame is kid so wide, Now it is painted vpon every side: We that weren in prosperite, Ben now disclaundred, and in such degre, No lenger for to liven I ne kepe, And with that word he brast out for to wepe So tenderly that routh it was to seene. This fresh Lady, of the citie Queen, Stood in the temple, in her estate roiall, So richely, and eke so faire withall, So yong, so lustie, with her eyen glade, That if that God y^t heaven & yearth made, Would have a love, for beauty & goodnesse, And womanhede, trouth, and semelinesse, Whom should he loven but this lady swete? There nis no woman to him halfe so mete: Fortune, that hath y^• world in governaunce, Hath sodainly brought in so new a chaunce, That never was there yet so frened a caas, For all the company of Eneas, Which that we wend have lorne in the see, Arrived is nought ferre fro that citee, For which the greatest of his lords, some By aventure ben to the citie come Vnto that same temple for to seke The Queene, and of her socour her beseke, Such renome was ther sprong of her goodnes. And when they had tolde all her distresse, And all her tempest and all her hard caas, Vnto the Queene appeared Eneas, And openly beknew that it was he, Who had joy then, but his meine, That hadden found her lord, her governour. The Quene saw they did him such honour, And had heard of Eneas, ere tho, And in her hart had routh and wo, That ever such a noble man as he Shall ben disherited in such degre, And saw the man, that he was like a knight, And suffisaunt of person and of might, And like to ben a very gentilman, And well his words he beset can, And had a noble visage for the nones, And formed well of brawne and of bones, And after Venus had such fairenesse, That no man might be halfe so faire I gesse, And well a lord him semed for to be, And for he was a straunger, somewhat she Liked him the bet, as God doe bote, To some folke often new thing is sote, Anon her hart hath pitee of his wo, And with pitie, Love came also, And thus for pitie and for gentilnesse, Refreshed must he ben of his distresse. She said, certes, that she sorry was, That he hath had such perill and such caas,

And in her friendly speech, in this manere She to him spake, and sayd as ye may here. Be ye nat Venus sonne and Anchises, In good faith, all the worship and encrees That I may goodly done you, ye shall have, Your ships and your meine shall I save, And many a gentle word she spake him to, And commaunded her messengers to go The same day withouten any faile His ships for to seeke and hem vitaile, Full many a beast she to the ships sent, And with the wine she gan hem to present, And to her roiall paleis she her sped, And Eneas she alway with her led. What nedeth you the feastes to discrive, He never better at ease was in live, Full was the feast of deinties and richesse, Of instruments, of song, and of gladnesse, And many an amorous looking and devise. This Eneas is come to Paradise Out of the swolowe of hell and thus in joy Remembreth him of his estate in Troy, To dauncing chambers full of paraments, Of rich beds, and of pavements, This Eneas in ledde after the meat, And with the queene when that he had seat, And spices parted, and the wine agon, Vnto his chamber was he lad anon To take his ease, and for to have his rest With all his folke, to done what so him lest, There nas courser well ibridled none, Ne stede for the Iusting well to gone, Ne large palfrey, easie for the nones, Ne iewell fret full of rich stones Ne sackes full of gold, of large wight, Ne Rubie none that shineth by night, Ne gentill hauten faukon hereonere, Ne hound for Hart, wild Bore, or Dere, Ne cup of gold, with floreins new ibette, That in the lond of Libie may ben gette, That Dido ne hath Eneas it isent, And all is payed, what that he hath spent. Thus can this honorable quene her gests call, As she that can in freedome passen all. Eneas soothly eke, without lees, Hath sent to his shippe by Achates After his sonne, and after rich things, Both scepter, clothes, broches, & eke rings, Some for to weare, and some to present To her, that all these noble things him sent, And bad his sonne how that he should make The presenting, and to the quene it take. Repaired is this Achates againe, And Eneas full blisfull is and faine, To seene his yong sonne Ascanius, For to him it was reported thus, That Cupido, that is the god of Love, At prayer of his mother high above, Had the likenesse of the child itake, This noble queene enamoured for to make On Eneas: but of that scripture Be as be may, I make of it no cure, But soth is this, y^• queen hath made such chere Vnto this child, that wonder was to here, And of the present that his father sent, She thanked him oft in good entent. Thus is this queen in pleasaunce and joy, With all these new lustie folke of Troy, And of the deeds hath she more enquired Of Eneas, and all the story lered Of Troy, and all the long day they tway Entendeden for to speake and for to play, Of which there gan to breden such a fire, That silly Dido hath now such desire With Eneas her new guest to deale, That she lost her hew and eke her heale. Now to theffect, now to the fruit of all, Why I have told this story, and tellen shall. Thus I begin, it fell vpon a night, When that the Mone vpreised had her light, This noble Queene vnto her rest went, She sighed sore, and gon her felfe tourment, She walketh, waloweth, & made many brayd, As done these lovers, as I have heard sayd, And at the last, vnto her suster Anne She made her mone, & riʒt thus spake she than. Now dere suster mine, what may it be That me agasteth in my dreme (qd. she) This ilke new Troian is so in my thought, For that me thinketh he is so weil iwrought. And eke so likely to ben a man, And therwith so mikell good he can, That all my love and life lieth in his cure, Have ye nat heard him tell his aventure? Now certes Anne, if that ye rede me, I woll faine to him iwedded be, This is the effect, what should I more seine, In him lieth all, to do me live or deine. Her suster Anne, as she y^t coud her good, Said as her thought, & somdele it withstood, But hereof was so long a sermoning: It were to long to make rehearsing: But finally, it may not be withstonde, * Love woll love, for no wight woll it wonde, The dawning vp rist out of the see, This amorous Quene chargeth her meine, The nettes dresse, and speres brode and kene, An hunting woll this lustie fresh Quene, So pricketh her this new jolly wo, To horse is all her lustie folke igo, Vnto the court the houndes ben ibrought, And vp on courser swift as any thought, Her yong knights heven all about, And of her women eke an huge rout, Vpon a thicke palfray, paper white, With saddle redde, enbrouded with delite, Of gold the barres, vp enbossed high, Sate Dido, all in gold and perrey wrigh, And she is faire as is the bright morrow, That healeth sicke folkes of nights sorrow: Vpon a courser, startling as the fire, Men might tourne him with a little wire. But Eneas, like Phebus to devise, So was he fresh arrayed in his wise, The fomie bridle, with the bitte of gold, Governeth he right as himselfe hath would, And forth this noble Queene, this lady ride On hunting, with this Troian by her side, The herd of Hartes founden is anon, With hey gobet, pricke thou, let gon, let gon, Why nill the Lion comen or the Beare, That Imiʒt him ones meten with this spear,

Thus saine this yong folke, and vp they kill The wild Hartes, and have hem at her will. Emong all this, to romblen gan y^• heven, The thunder rored with a grisly steven, Doune come y^e rain, with haile & sleet so fast, With heavens fire, that made so sore agast This noble Queene, and also her meine, That ech of hem was glad away to flie, And shortly, fro y^• tempest her to save, She fled her selfe into a little cave, And with her went this Eneas also, I not with hem if there went any mo, The authour maketh of it no mention: And here began the deepe affection Betwixt hem two, this was y^e first morrow Of her gladnesse, and ginning of her sorrow, For there hath Eneas ikneled so, And told her all his hurt and all his wo, And sworne so deepe to her to be true, For wele or wo, and chaunge for no new, And as a false lover, so well can plaine, That silly Dido rewed on his paine, And toke him for husbond, & became his wife For evermore, while that hem last life, And after this, when that the tempest stent, With mirth out as they came, home they went. The wicked fame vp rose, & y^• anon, How Eneas hath with the Queene igon Into the cave, and demed as hem list: And when y^• king (that Yarbas hight) it wist, As he that had her loved ever his life, And woed her to have her to his wife, Such sorrow as he hath maked, & such chere, It is a routh and pitie for to here, * But as in love, alday it happeth so, That one shall laughen at anothers wo. Now laugheth Eneas, and is in joy, And more richesse than ever was in Troy. O silly woman, full of innocence, Full of pitie, of truth, and continence, What maked you to men to trusten so? Have ye such routh vpon her fained wo, And have such old ensamples you beforne? See ye nat all how they ben forsworne, Where see ye one, y^• he ne hath laft his lefe, Or ben vnkind, or done her some mischefe, Or pilled her or bosted of his dede, Ye may as well it seene, as ye may rede. Take hede now of this great gentilman, This Troian, that so well her please can, That faineth him so true and obeising, So gentill, and so privie of his doing, And can so well done all his obeysaunce To her, at feasts and at daunce, And when she goeth to temple, & home again, And fasten till he hath his lady sein, And bearen in his devises for her sake, Not I nat what, & songs would he make, Iusten, and done of armes many things, Send her letters, tokens, brooches, & rings. Now herkneth how he shal his lady serve: There as he was in perill for to sterve For hunger and for mischefe in the see, And desolate, and fled fro his countree, And all his folke with tempest all to driven, She hath her body and eke her realme yeven Into his hond, there she might have been Of other land than of Cartage a Queen, And lived in joy inough, w^t would ye more. This Eneas, that hath thus deepe iswore, Is wearie of his craft within a throw, The hote earnest is all overblow, And prively he doeth his ships dight, And shapeth him to steale away by night. This Dido hath suspection of this, And thought well that it was al amis, For in his bed he lieth a night and siketh, She asketh him anon, what him misliketh, My dere hart, which that I love most. Certes (qd. he) this night my fathers ghost Hath in my slepe me so sore tourmented, And eke Mercury his message hath presented, That needes to the conquest of Itaile My destinie is soone for to saile, For which me thinketh, brosten is mine hart: Therwith his false teares out they start, And taketh her within his armes two. Is that in earnest (qd. she) woll ye so, Have ye nat sworne, to wife me to take, Alas, what woman woll ye of me make? I am a Gentlewoman, and a Queen, Ye woll not fro your wife thus foule fleen, That I was borne alas, what shall I do? To tellen in short, this noble Queen Dido She seeketh hallowes, and doth Sacrifise, She kneeleth, crieth, that routh is to devise, Coniureth him, and profereth him to be His thrall, his servaunt, in the best degre, She falleth him to foot, and sowneth there, Discheuile with her bright gilt heere, And sayth, have mercy, let me with you ride, These lordes, which that wonnen me beside, Woll me destroyen only for your sake: And ye woll me now to wife take, As ye have sworne, then woll I yeve you leve To slaen me with your swerd now sone at eve, For then yet shall I dien as your wife, I am with child, and yeve my child his life, Mercy lord, have pitie in your thought. But all this thing a vaileth her right nought, And as a traitour forthe gan to saile Toward the large countrey of Itaile, And thus hath he laft Dido in wo and pine, And wedded there a ladie hight Lavine, A cloth he laft, and eke his sword standing, When he fro Dido stale in her sleeping, Right at her beds head, so gan he hie, When that he stale away to his nauie. Which cloth, when sillie Dido gan awake, She hath it kist full oft for his sake, And said, O sweet cloth, while Iupiter it lest, Take my soule, vnbind me of this vnrest, I have fulfilled of fortune all the course, And thus alas, withouten his socourse, Twentie time iswouned hath she than, And when that she vnto her suster Anne Complained had, of which I may not write, So great routh I have it for to endite, And bad her norice and her sustren gone To fetchen fire, and other things anone, And sayd that she would sacrifie, And when she might her time well aspie,

Vpon the fire of Sacrifice she start, And with his sword she rofe her to the hart: But as mine authour saith, yet this she seide, Or she was hurt, beforne or she deide, She wrote a letter anon, and thus began. Right so (qd. she) as the white Swan Ayenst his death beginneth for to sing, Right so to you I make my complaining, Not that I trow to getten you againe, For well I wote it is all in vaine, Sens that the gods ben contrarious to me, But sin my name is lost through you (qd. she) I may well lese a word on you or letter, Albeit I shall be never the better, For thilke wind that blew your ship away, The same wind hath blow away your fay, But who so woll all this letter have in mind, Rede Ovide, and in him he shall it find.

¶The Legend of Hipsiphile and Medea.

THou root of false lovers, Duke Iason, Thou sleer, devourer, and confusion Of gentlewomen, gentle creatures, Thou madest thy reclaiming and thy lures To Ladies of thy scathliche apparaunce, And of thy words farsed with pleasaunce, And of thy fained trouth, and thy manere, With thine obeisaunce and humble chere, And with thine counterfeited paine and wo, There other fallen one, thou falsed two, O oft swore thou that thou wouldest die For love, when thou ne feltest maladie, Save foule delite, which thou callest love, If that I live, thy name shall be shove In English, that thy deceit shall be know, Have at thee Iason, now thine honor is blow, But certes, it is both routh and wo, That Love with false lovers werketh so, For they shall have well better love & chere, Than he that hath bought love full dere, Or had in armes many a bloodie boxe, * For ever as tender a Capon eateth y^e Foxe, Though he be fals, & hath the foule betraied, As shall the good man that therefore paied, Although he have to the Capon skill & right, The false Foxe woll have his part at night. On Iason this ensample is well iseene, By Hipsiphile and Medea the Queene. In Thessalie, as Ovide telleth vs, There was a knight, that hight Peleus, That had a brother, which that hight Eson, And when for age he might vnnethes gon, He yave to Peleus the governing Of al his reign, and made him lord and king, Of which Eson, this Iason getten was, That in his time in all that land there nas Nat such a famous knight of gentillesse, Of freedome, of strength, and of lustinesse, After his fathers death he bare him so, That there nas none that list ben his fo, But did him all honour and companie, Of which this Peleus hath great envie, Imagining, that Iason might be Enhaunsed so, and put in such degre, With love of lordes of his regioun, That from his reigne he may be put adoun. And in his wit a night compassed he How Iason might best destroyed be, Withouten slaunder of his compasment: And at the last he tooke avisement, That to send him into some ferre countre, There as this Iason may destroyed be, This was his wit, all made he to Iason Great chere of looke, and of affection, For drede least his lords it espide, So fell it, as fame ronneth wide, There was such tiding over all, and such loos, That in an Isle, that called was Colcos, Beyond Troy Eastward in the see, That there was a Ram, that men might see, That had a flees of gold, that shone so bright, That no where was there such another sight, But it was kept alway with a Dragoun, And many other marvailes vp and doun, And with two Buls, maked all of Bras, That spitten fire, and much thing there was, But this was eke the tale nathelees, That who so would winnen thilke Flees, He must both, or he it winnen might, With the Buls and the Dragon fight. And king Otes lord was of that Ile, This Peleus bethought vpon this while, That he his nephew Iason would exhort, To sailen to that lond, him to disport, And sayd, nephew, if it might bee, That such worship might fall thee, That thou this famous treasure might win, And bring it my region within, It were to me great pleasaunce and honour, Then were I hold to quite thy labour, And all thy costes I woll my selfe make, And chose w^t folke thou wolt with thee take, Let see now, darste thou taken this voyage. Iason was yong, and lustie of corage, And vndertooke to done this like emprise, Anon Argus his ships gan devise. With Iason went the strong Hercules, And many another, that he with him ches, But who so asketh, who is with him gon, Let him rede Argonauticon, For he woll tell a tale long ynough. Philoctetes anon the saile vp drough, When the wind was good, and gan him hie Out of his countrey, called Thessalie, So long they sayled in the salt see, Till in the Isle of Lemnon arrived hee, All be this nat rehearsed of Guido, Yet saieth Ovide in his Epistles so, And of this Isle lady was and Quene, The faire yong Hipsiphile the shene, That whylom Thoas doughter was y^• king. Hipsiphile was gone in her playing, And roming on the clevis by the see, Vnder a banke anone esped she Where lay the ship, that Iason gan arrive: Of her goodnesse adoune she sendeth blive, To weten, if that any straunge wight With tempest thider were iblow anight, To done him succour, as was her vsaunce, To further en every wight, & done pleasaunc••

Of very bountie, and of courtesie. This messenger adoune him gan to hie, And found Iason and Hercules also, That in a cogge to lond were igo, Hem to refreshen, and to take the aire. The morning attempre was and faire, And in her way this messenger hem mette, Full cunningly these lordes two he grette, And did his message, asking hem anon If y^• they were broken, or ought wo begon, Or had need of lodesmen or vitaile, For succour they should nothing faile, For it was vtterly the Queenes will. Iason answerde meekely and still: My lady (qd. he) thanke I hartely Of her goodnesse, vs needeth truly Nothing as now, but that we weary be, And come for to play out of the see, Till that the wind be better in our way. This lady rometh by the cliffe to play With her meine, endlong the strond, And findeth this Iason and this other stond In speaking of this thing, as I you told. This Hercules and Iason gan behold How that the queen it was, & faire her grete, Anone right as they with this lady mete, And she tooke heed, and knew by her manere, By her array, by wordes, and by chere, That it were gentill men of great degree, And to the castle with her leadeth she These strange folk, & doth hem great honour, And asketh hem of travaile and of labour That they have suffred in the salt see, So that within a day two or three She knew by the folke that in his ships be, That it was Iason full of renomee, And Hercules, that had the great loos, That soughten the aventures of Colcos, And did hem honour more than before, And with hem dealed ever longer the more, For they ben worthy folke withouten lees, And namely most she spake with Hercules, To him her hart bare, he should be Sadde, wise, and true, of words avisee, Withouten any other affection Of love, or any other imagination. This Hercules hath this Iason praised, That to the Sunne he hath it vp raised, That halfe so true a man there nas of love Vnder the cope of heaven, that is above, And he was wise, hardie, secret, and riche, Of these iii. points, there nas none him liche, Of freedome passed he, and lustie head, All tho that liven, or ben dead, Thereto so great a gentill man was he, And of Thessalie likely king to be, There nas no lacke, but that he was agast To love, and for to speake shamefast, Him had lever himselfe to murder and die, Than that men should a lover him espie, As would God that I had iyeve My blood and flesh, so that I might live With the bones, y^• he had aught where a wife For his estate, for such a lustie life She shoulden lede with this lustie knight. And all this was compassed on the night Betwixt him Iason, and this Hercules, Of these two here was a shreud lees, To come to house vpon an innocent, For to bedote this Queene was her entent: And Iason is as coy as is a maid, He looketh pitously, but naught he sayd But freely yave he to her counsailers Yefts great, and to her officers, As would God that I leaser had and time, By processe, all his wrong for to rime: But in this house, if any false lover be, Right as himselfe now doth, right so did he, With faining, and with every subtill dede, Ye get no more of me, but ye woll rede Thoriginall, that telleth all the caas, The sooth is this, that Iason wedded was Vnto this queene, & tooke of her substaunce What so him list, vnto his purveyaunce, And vpon her begate children two, And drough his faile, and saw her never mo: A letter sent she him certaine, Which were too long to writen and to saine, And him reproveth of his great vntrouth, And praieth him on her to have some routh, And on his children two, she sayd him this, That they be like of all thing iwis To Iason, save they couth nat beguile, And prayd God, or it were long while, That she that had his hart ireft her fro, Must ••nden him vntrue also: And that she must both her children spill, And all tho that suffreth him his will: And true to Iason was she all her life, And ever kept her chast, as for his wife, Ne never had she joy at her hart, But died for his love of sorrowes smart. To Colcos come is this duke Iason, That is of love devourer and dragon, As Matire appeteth forme alway, And from forme to forme it passen may, Or as a well that were bottomles, Right so can Iason have no pees, For to desiren through his appetite, To done with gentlewomen his delite, This is his lust, and his felicite, Iason is romed forth to the citie, That whylome cleped was Iasonicos, That was the master toune of all Colcos, And hath itold the cause of his comming Vnto Otes, of that countrey king, Praying him that he must done his assay To get the Fleece of gold, if that he may, Of which the king assenteth to his boone, And doth him honour, as it is doone, So ferforth, that his doughter and his heire, Medea, which that was so wise and faire, That fairer saw there never man with eie, He made her done to Iason companie At meat, and sitte by him in the hall. Now was Iason a seemely man withall, And like a Lord, and had a great renoun, And of his looke as royall as a Lioun, And godly of his speech, and famil lere, And coud of love all the craft and art plenere Withouten booke, with everiche observaunce, And as fortune her ought a foule mischaunce,

She woxe enamoured vpon this man. Iason (qd. she) for ought I see or can, As of this thing, the which ye ben about, Ye and your selfe ye put in much dout, For who so woll this aventure atcheve, He may nat wele asterten as I leve, Withouten death, but I his helpe be, But nathelesse, it is my will (qd. she) To forthren you, so that ye shall nat die, But turnen sound home to your Thessalie. My right lady (qd. this Iason) tho, That ye have of my death or my wo Any regard, and done me this honour, I wot well, that my might, ne my labour, May nat deserve it my lives day, God thanke you, there I ne can ne may, Your man am I, and lowely you beseech To ben my helpe, withouten more speech, But certes for my death shall I not spare. Tho gan this Medea to him declare The perill of this case, fro point to point Of his batayle, and in what desioint He mote stonde, of which no creature Save only she, ne might his life assure: And shortly, right to the point for to go, They ben accorded fully betwixt hem two, That Iason shall her wedde, as true knight, And terme yset to come soone at night Vnto her chambre, and make there his othe Vpon the goddes, that he for lefe or lothe Ne shulde her never falsen night ne day, To ben her husband whyle he live may, As she that from his deth him saved here, And her vpon at night they mete yfere, And doth his othe, & gothe with her to bedde, And on the morow vpward he him spedde, For she hath taught him how he shall nat faile The flees to winne, & stinten his bataile, And saved him his life, and his honour, And gate him a name, as a conquerour, Right through y^e sleight of her enchantment, Now hath Iason the flese, & home is went With Medea, & treasours fell great wonne, But vnwist of her father she is gonne To Thessalie, with duke Iason her lefe, That afterward hath broght her to mischeife, For as a traytour he is from her go, And with her left yong children two, And falsely hath betraied her, alas, And ever in love a chefe traytour he was, And wedded yet the thirde wife anon, That was the doughter of king Creon, This is the meede of loving and guerdon, That Medea received of duke Iason Right for her trouth, and for her kindnesse, That loved him better than her selfe I gesse, And left her father, and her heritage, And of Iason this is the vassalage, That in his dayes nas never none yfound So salse a lover, going on the ground, And therfore in her letter thus she said, First when she of his falsenesse him vpbraid: Why liked the my yellow haire to see, More than the bounds of mine honestie? Why liked me my youth and thy fairenesse, And of thy tong the infinite graciousnesse? O haddest thou in thy conquest dead ybe, Ful mikel vntrouth had there diede with thee, Well can Ovide her letter in verse endite. Which were as now too long for to write.

¶The Legende of Lucrece of Rome.

NOw mote I saine thexiling of kings Of Rome, for her horrible doings Of the last king Tarquinius, As saith Ovid, and Titus Liuivs, But for that cause tell I nat this storie, But for to praysen, and drawen in memorie The very wife, the very Lucresse, That for her wifehood, and her stedfastnesse, Nat only that the painems her commend, But that cleped is in our Legend The great Austyn, that hath compassioun Of this Lucrece that starfe in Rome toun, And in what wise I woll but shortly treat, And of this thing I touch but the great. When Ardea besieged was about With Romanes, y^t full sterne were & stout, Full long lay the siege, and little wroughten, So y^t they were halfe idle, as hem thoughten, And in his play Tarquinius the yong, Gan for to yape, for he was light of tong, And said, that it was an idle life, No man did there no more than his wife, And let vs speke of wives that is best, Praise every man his owne as him lest, And with our speech let vs ease our hert. A knight (that hight Collatin) vp stert, And sayd thus, nay sir it is no nede To trowen on the word, but on the dede: I have a wife (qd. he) that as I trow Is holden good of all that ever her know, Go we to Rome to night, and we shull see. Tarquinius answerde, that liketh mee. To Rome they be comen, & fast hem dight To Colatins house, and downe they light, Tarquinius, and eke this Colatine, The husbond knew the efters well and fine, And full prively into the house they gone. Nor at the gate porter was there none, And at the chamber dore they abide: This noble wife sate by her beds side Discheueled, for no mallice she ne thought, And soft wooll sayth Liuie that she wrought, To kepe her from slouth and idlenesse, And bad her servaunts done her businesse, And asketh hem, what tidings heren ye? How sayth men of the siege, how shall it be? God would the wals were fallen adoun, Mine husbond is too long out of this toun, For which drede doth me sore to smert, Right as a sword it stingeth to mine hert, When I thinke on this or of that place, God save my lord, I pray him for his grace: And therwithall so tenderly she gan weepe, And of her werke she tooke no more keepe, But meekely she let her eyen fall, And thilke semblant sate her well withall, And eke her teares full of heavinesse, Embesessed her wifely chastnesse, Her countenaunce is to her hert digne, For they acordeden in deed and signe,

And with that word her husbond Collatin, Or she of him was ware, came stertling in, And said, drede thee nat, for I am here, And she anone vp rose, with blisfull chere, And kissed him, as of wives is the wonne. Tarquinius, this proud kings sonne Conceived hath her beautie and her chere, Her yellow haire, her bountie, & her manere, Her hew, her words, y^• she hath complained, And by no craft her beautie was nat fained, And caught to this lady such desire, That in his hert he brent as any fire, So woodly, that his wit was all forgotten, For well thought he she should nat be gotten, And aye the more he was in dispaire, The more coveiteth, and thought her faire, His blind lust was all his coveiring. On morrow, when the bird began to sing, Vnto the siege he commeth full prively, And by himselfe he walketh soberly, The image of her recording alway new, Thus lay her hair, & thus fresh was her hew, Thus sate, thus span, this was her chere, Thus fair she was, and this was her manere: All this conceit his heart hath new itake, And as the see, with tempest all to shake, That after when the storme is all ago, Yet woll the water quappe a day or two, Right so, though that her forme were absent, The pleasaunce of her forme was present, But nathelesse, nat pleasaunce, but delite, Or an vnrightfull talent with dispite, For maugre her, she shall my lemman be: * Hap helpeth hardy man alway (qd. he) What end that I make, it shall be so, And girt him with his sword, and gan to go, And he forthright, till to Rome he come, And all alone his way that he hath nome, Vnto the house of Colatin full right, Doun was y^• sunne, & day hath lost his light, And in he come, vnto a privie halke, And in the night full theefely gan he stalke, When every wight was to his rest brought, Ne no wight had of treason such a thought, Whether by window, or by other gin, With swerd ydraw, shortly he commeth in There as she lay, this noble wife Lucresse, And as she woke, her bedde she felt presse: What beast is that (qd. she) that wayeth thus? I am the kings sonne Tarquinius (Qd. he) but and thou crie, or any noise make, Or if thou any creature awake, By thilke God, that formed man of live, This swerd through thine hert shall I rive, And therwithall vnto her throte he stert, And set the swerd all sharpe on her hert: No word she spake she hath no might therto, What shall she saine, her wit is all ago, Right as when a wolfe findeth a lamb alone, To whom shall she complaine or make mone: What, shall she fight with an hardy knight, Well wote men a woman hath no might: What, shall she crie, or how shall she astert? That hath her by y^e throte, with swerd at hert, She asketh grace, and said all that she can. No wolt thou nat (qd. this cruell man) As wisely Iupiter my soule save, I shall in thy stable slea thy knave, And lay him in thy bed, and loud crie, That I thee find in such avoutrie, And thus thou shalt be dead, and also lese Thy name, for thou shalt nat chese. This Romans wives loveden so her name At thilke time, and dreden so the shame, That w^t for fere of slander, & drede of death She lost both at ones wit and breath, And in a swough she lay, and woxe so dead, Men mighten smite off her arme or head, She feleth nothing, neither foule ne faire. Tarquinius, that art a kings heire, And shouldest as by linage and by right Done as a lord, and a very knight, Why hast thou done dispite to chivalrie? Why hast thou done thy lady villanie? Alas, of thee this was a villanous dede, But now to the purpose, in the story I rede, When he was gon, & this mischaunce is fall, This lady sent after her friendes all, Father, mother, and husbond, all ifere, And discheveled with her haire clere, In habite such as women vsed tho Vnto the burying of her friends go, She sate in hall, with a sorowfull sight, Her friends asken what her aylen might, And who was dead, and she sate aye weeping, A word for shame ne may she forth out bring, Ne vpon hem she durst nat behold, But at the last of Tarquiny she hem told This rufull case, and all this thing horrible, The wo to tell were impossible That she and all her friends make at ones, All had folkes herts ben of stones, It might have maked hem vpon her rew, Her hert was so wifely and so trew, She said, that for her gilt ne for her blame Her husbond should nat have y^e foule name, That would she nat suffren by no way: And they answerde all vnto her fay, That they foryave it her, for it was right, It was no gilt, it lay nat in her might, And saiden her ensamples many one, But all for naught, for thus she said anone: Be as be may (qd. she) of forgiving, I will nat have no forgift for nothing, But prively she cought forth a knife, And therwithall she raft her selfe her life, And as she fell adowne she cast her looke, And of her clothes yet heed she tooke, For in her falling yet she had a care, Least that her feet or such things lay bare, So well she loved cleannesse, and eke trouth, Of her had all the towne of Rome routh, And Brutus hath by her chast blood swore, That Tarquin should ybanished be therfore, And all his kinne, and let the people call, And openly the tale he told hem all, And openly let carry her on a bere Through all y^• town, that men may see & here The horrible deed of her oppressioun, Ne never was there king in Rome toun Sens thilke day, and she was holden there A saint, and ever her day yhallowed dere,

As in her law: and thus endeth Lucresse The noble wife, Titus beareth witnesse: I tell it, for she was of love so trew, Ne in her will she chaunged for no new, And in her stable hert, sadde and kind, That in these women men may all day find There as they cast her hert, there it dwelleth, For well I wote, that Christ himselfe telleth, That in Israel, as wide as is the lond, That so great faith in all the lond he ne fond, As in a woman, and this is no lie, And as for men, looke ye such tyrannie They doen all day, assay hem who so list, * The truest is full brothell for to trist.

¶The Legend of Ariadne of Athens.

JVdge infernall Minos, of Crete king, Now commeth thy lot, thou commest on the ring, Nat for thy sake only written is this storie, But for to clepe ayen vnto memorie, Of Theseus the great vntrouth of love, For which the gods of heaven above Ben wroth, & wrath have take for thy sinne, Be red for shame, now I thy life beginne. Minos, that was y^• mighty king of Crete, That had an hundred cities strong and grete, To schoole hath sent his sonne Androgeus To Athens, of the which it happed thus, That he was slaine, learning Phylosophie, Right in that citie, nat but for envie. The great Minos, of the which I speke, His sonnes death is come for to wreke, Alcathoe he besieged hard and long, But nathelesse, the walles be so strong, And Nisus, that was king of that cite, So chivalrous, that little dredeth he, Of Minos or his hoast tooke he no cure, Till on a day befell an aventure, That Nisus doughter stood vpon the wall, And of the siege saw the manner all: So happed it, that at scarmishing, She cast her hert vpon Minos the king, For his beautie, and his chevalrie, So sore, that she wende for to die. And shortly of this processe for to pace, She made Minos winnen thilke place, So that the citie was all at his will, To saven whom him list, or els spill, But wickedly he quit her kindnesse, And let her drench in sorrow and distresse, Nere that the gods had of her pite, But that tale were too long as now for me, Athenes wan this king Minos also, As Alcathoe, and other townes mo, And this the effect, that Minos hath so driven Hem of Athenes, that they mote him yeven Fro yere to yere her owne children dere For to be slaine, as ye shall after here. This Minos hath a monster, a wicked best, That was so cruell, that without areest, When y^• a man was brought into his presence, He would him eat, there helpeth no defence: And every third yeare withouten dout, They casten lotte, as it came about, On rich and poore, he must his sonne take, And of his childe he must present make To Minos, to save him or to spill, Or let his beast devour him at his will. And this hath Minos done right in dispite, To wreke his sonne was set all his delite, And make hem of Athenes his thrall Fro yere to yere, while he liven shall. And home he saileth when this toun is won, This wicked custome is so long yron, Till of Athenes king Egeus Mote senden his owne sonne Theseus, Sens that the lotte is fallen him vpon To ben devoured, for grace is there non. And forth is ladde this wofull yong knight Vnto y^e country of king Minos full of might, And in a prison fettred fast is he, Till the time he should yfreten be. Well maist thou wepe, O wofull Theseus, That art a kings sonne, and damned thus, Me thinketh this, that thou art depe yhold To whom that saved thee fro cares cold, And now if any woman helpe thee, Well oughtest thou her servaunt for to bee, And ben her true lover yere by yere, But now to come ayen to my matere. The toure, there this Theseus is throw, Down in the bottome derk, and wonder low, Was joyning to the wall of a foreine, Longing vnto the doughtren tweine Of Minos that in her chambers grete Dwelten above the maister strete Of the towne, in joy and in sollas: Not I nat how it happed percaas, As Theseus complained him by night, The kings doughter, that Ariadne hight, And eke her suster Phedra, herden all His complaint, as they stood on the wall, And looked vpon the bright moone, Hem list nat to go to bed so soone: And of his wo they had compassion, A kings sonne to be in such prison, And ben devoured, thought hem great pite: Then Ariadne spake to her suster free, And said: Phedra lefe suster dere, This wofull lords sonne may ye nat here, How pitously he complaineth his kin, And eke his poore estate that he is in? And guiltlesse, certes now it is routh, And if ye woll assent, by my trouth, He shall ben holpen, how so that we do. Phedra answerde, iwis me is as wo For him, as ever I was for any man, And to his helpe the best rede I can, Is, that we done the gailer prively To come and speke with vs hastely, And done this wofull man with him to come, For if he may this monster overcome, Then were he quit, there is none other boot, Let vs well tast him at his hart root, That if so be that he a weapon have, Where that he his life dare kepe or save, Fighten with this fiend, and him defend, For in the prison, here as he shall discend, Ye wote well, that the beast is in a place That is not derke, & hath roume & eke space

To welde an axe, or swerde, staffe, or knife, So that me thinketh he should save his life, If that he be a man, he shall do so: And we shall make him balles eke also Of were and towe, that when he gapeth fast, Into the beestes throte he shall hem cast, To sleke his honger, and encomber his teeth, And right anon when that Theseus seeth The beest acheked, he shall on him leepe To sleen him, or they comen more to heepe: This we apen shal the gailer, or that tide, Full prively within the prison hide: And for the house is crencled to and fro, And hath so queint waies for to go, For it is shapen as the mase is wrought, Thereto have I a remedy in my thought, That by a clewe of twine, as he hath gon, The same way he may returne anon, Folowing alway the threde, as he hath come, And when this beest is overcome, Then may he flien away out of this stede, And eke the gailer may he with him lede, And him avaunce at home in his countre, Sens that so great a Lords sonne is he. This is my rede, if that ye dare it take. What shold I lenger sermon of it make, The gailer cometh, and with him Theseus, When these things ben accorded thus. Downe sate Theseus vpon his knee, The right lady of my life (qd. he) I sorowfull man, ydamned to the deth: Fro you, whiles that me lasteth breth, I wol nat twinne, after this aventure, But in your service, thus I woll endure, That as a wretch vnknow, I woll you serve Forevermore, till that mine hert sterve, Forsake I woll at home mine heritage, And as I said, ben of your court a page, If that ye vouchsafe that in this place, Ye graunt me to have soche a grace, That I may have nat but my meate & drinke, And for my sustinaunce yet woll I swinke, Right as you list, that Minos ne no wight. Sens that he saw me never with eyen sight, Ne no man els shall me espie, So slily, and so well I shal me gie, And me so wel disfigure, and so low, That in this world there shall no man me know, To have my life, and to have presence Of you, that done to me this excellence, And to my father shall I sende here, This worthy man, that is your gaylere, And him so guerdon, that he shall well be One of the greatest men of my countre, And if I durst saine, my lady bright, I am a kings sonne and eke a knight As wold God, if that it might be, Ye weren in my countrey all thre, And I with you, to beare you companie, Then shuld ye sene if that I thereof lie, And if that I profer you in lowe manere, To ben your page, and serven you right here, But I you serve as lowly in that place, I pray to Mars to yeve me soch grace, That shames death on me there mote fall, And death and poverte to my frends all, And that my sprite by night mote go, After my death, and walke to and fro, That I mote of traitour have a name, For which my sprit mote go, to do me shame, And if I clayme ever other degree, But ye vouchsafe to yeve it mee, As I have said, of shames death I dey, And mercy Lady, I can naught els sey. A semely knight was this Theseus to see, And yonge, but of twenty yere and three, But who so had ysene his countenance, He wold have wept, for routh of his penance: For which this Ariadne in this manere, Answerde to his profre and to his chere. A kings sonne, and eke a knight (qd. she) Go ben my servaunt in so lowe degree, God shilde it, for the shame of women all, And lene me never soch a case befall, And sende you grace, and sleight of hert also You to defend, & knightly to sleen your foe, And lene hereafter I may you find To me, and to my suster here so kind, That I ne repent nat to yeve you life, Yet were it better I were your wife, Sith ye ben as gentill borne as I, And have a realme nat but fast by, Than that I suffred your gentillesse to sterve, Or that I let you as a page serve, It is no profite, as vnto your kinrede, But what is that, y^• man woll nat do for dred, And to my suster sith that it is so, That she mote gone with me, if that I go, Or els suffre death as wel as I, That ye vnto your sonne as trewly, Done her be wedded, at your home coming, This is the finall end of all this thing, Ye swere it here, vpon all that may be sworne? Ye Lady mine (qd. he) or els to torne Mote I be with the Minotaure or to morow, And haveth here of mine hert blood to borow, If that ye woll, if I had knife or speare, I would it letten out, and thereon sweare, For then at erste, I wot ye would me leve, By Mars, that is chiefe of my beleve, So that I might liven, and nat faile To morow for to taken my bataile, I nolde never fro this place flie, Till that ye should the very profe se, For now, if that the soth I shall you say, I have loved you full many a day, Though ye ne wist nat, in my countre, And aldermost desired you to see, Of any earthly living creature, Vpon my truth I sweare and you assure, This seven yere I have your servaunt be, Now have I you, and also have ye me, My dere hert, of Athenes duchesse. This Lady smileth at his stedfastnesse, And at his hartely wordes, and at his chere, And to her luster said in this manere: And sothly suster mine (qd. she) Now be we duchesses both I and ye, And sikerde to the regals of Athenes, And both hereafter likely to be Queenes, And saved fro his death a kings sonne, As ever of gentill women is the wonne,

To save a gentil man, enforth her might, In honest cause, and namely in his right, Me thinketh no wight ought vs her of blame, Ne bearen vs therefore an yvel name, And shortly of this mater for to make, This Theseus of her hath leave ytake, And every point was performed in dede, As ye have in this covenaunt herde me rede, His wepen, his clewe, his thing y^t I have said, Was by the gailer in the house ylaid, There as the Minotaure hath his dwelling, Right fast by the dore, at his entring, And Theseus is lad vnto his dethe, And forth vnto this Minotaure he gethe, And by the teaching of this Adriane, He overcame this beest, and was his bane, And out he cometh by the clewe againe Ful prively, when he this beest hath slaine, And the gailer gotten hath a barge, And of his wives treasure gan it charge And toke his wife, and eke her suster free, And by the gailer, and with hem al three Is stole away out of the lond by night, And to the countre of Enupie him dight, There as he had a frende of his knowing, There feesten they, there daunsen they & sing, And in his armes hath this Adriane, That of the beest hath kept him fro his bane, And get him there a noble barge anone, And of his countrey folke a ful great wone, And taketh his leave, & homeward saileth hee, And in an yle, amidde the wilde see, There as there dwelt creature none, Save wild beestes, and that full many one, He made his shippe a londe for to sette, And in that yle halfe a day he lett e. And said, that on the londe he must him rest, His mariners have done right as him lest. And for to tell shortly in this caas, When Ariadne his wife a slepe was, For that her suster fayrer was than she, He taketh her in his honde, & forth goeth he To ship, and as a traitour stale away, While that this Ariadne a slepe lay, And to his countrey warde he sailed blive, A twenty divel way, the winde him drive. And found his father drenched in the see, Me liste no more to speke of him parde, These false lovers, poison be her bane. But I wol turne againe to Adriane, That is with slepe for werinesse ytake, Ful sorowfully her hert may awake. Alas, for thee mine herte hath pite, Right in the dawning awaketh she, And gropeth in the bed, & fond right nought: Alas (qd. she) that ever I was wrought, I am betrayed, and her heere to rent, And to the stronde barefote fast she went, And cried: Theseus mine hert swete, Where he ye, that I may nat with you mete? And might thus with beestes ben yslaine. The halow rockes answerde her againe, No man she saw, and yet shone the moone, And hie vpon a rocke she went soone, And sawe his barge sayling in the see, Cold woxe her hert, and right thus said she: Meker then ye find I the beestes wilde, Hath he nat sinne, that he her thus begilde, She cried, O turne againe for routhe & sinne, Thy barge hath nat all his meine in, Her kerchefe on a pole sticked she, Ascaunce he should it well yse, And him remembre that she was behind, And turne againe, & on the stronde her find. But all for naught, his way he is gone, And downe she fel a swowne on a stone, And vp she riste, and kissed in all her care The steppes of his feete, there he hath fare, And to her bed right thus she speketh tho: Thou bed (qd. she) that hast received two, Thou shalt answere of two, and not of one, Where is the greater parte, away gone. Alas, wher shal I wretched wight become? For though so be that bote none here come, Home to my countrey dare I nat for drede, I can my selfe in this case nat rede. What should I tell more her complaining, It is so long, it were an heavy thing? In her epistle, Naso telleth all, But shortly to the end tell I shall, The goddes have her holpen for pite, And in the signe of Taurus men may see, The stones of her crowne shine clere, I will no more speake of this matere, But thus this false lover can begile His trew love, the divel quite him his wile.

¶The Legende of Philomene.

THou yever of y^e formes y^t hast wrought The fayre world, & bare it in thy thought Eternally, er thou thy werke began, Why madest thou vnto the slaunder of man, Or all be that it was not thy doing, As for that end to make soch a thing, Why suffredest thou that Tereus was bore, That is in love so false and so forswore, That fro this world vp to the first heven, Corrumpeth, when y^t folke his name neven? And as to me, so grisly was his dede, That when that I this foule storie rede, Mine iyen wexen foule, and sore also, Yet lasteth the venime of so longe ago, That enfecteth him that wolde behold The storie of Tereus, of which I told, Of Trace was he lord, and kin to Marte The cruel God that stante with blody darte, And wedded had he with blisfull chere King Pandionis faire doughter dere, That hight Progne, floure of her countre, Though Iuno list not at the feast be, Ne Himeneus, that god of Wedding is, But at the feast ready ben iwis, The furies three, with all her mortall bronde, The Oule all night above the balkes wonde, That Prophete is of wo, and of mischaunce. This revell, full of song, and full of daunce, Last a fourtenight, or little lasse, But shortly of this storie for to passe, (For I am weary of him for to tell) Five yere his wife and he togither dwell,

Till on a day she gan so sore long To seene her suster, that she saw not long, That for desire she nist what to say, But to her husbond gan she for to pray For Gods love, that she mote ones gone Her suster for to seene, and come ayen anone, Or els but she mote to her wend, She praied him that he would after her send: And this was day by day all her prayere, With al himblesse of wifehood, word & chere. This Tereus let make his ships yare, And into Grece himselfe is forth ifare, Vnto his father in law gan he pray, To vouchsafe, that for a moneth or tway, That Philomene his wives suster might On Progne his wife but ones have a sight, And she shall come to you again anon My selfe with her, I will both come and gon, And as my herts life I will her kepe. This old Pandion, this king gan wepe For tendernesse of hert, for to leve His doughter gon, and for to yeve her leve, Of all this world he loved nothing so, But at the last, leave hath she to go, For Philomene with salt teares eke Gan of her father grace to beseke, To seene her suster, that her longeth so, And him enbraceth, with her armes two, And there also yong and faire was she, That when that Tereus saw her beaute, And of array, that there was none her liche, And yet of beautie was she to so riche, He cast his fierie hert vpon her so, That he woll have her, how so that it go, And with his wiles kneled, and so praied, Till at the last Pandion thus saied. Now sonne (qd. he) that art to me so dere, I thee betake my yong doughter dere, That beareth the key of all mine herts life, And grete well my doughter, and thy wife, And yeve her leave sometime for to pley, That she may seen me ones or I deie. And sothly he hath made him riche feast, And to his folke, the most and eke the least, That with him came: & yave him yefts great, And him conveieth through the master streat Of Athenes, and to the sea him brought, And tourneth home, no malice he ne thought. The Ores pulleth forth the vessell fast, And into Trace arriveth at the last, And vp in to a Forest he her led, And to a cave prively he him sped, And in this darke cave, if her lest Or list nought, he bad her for to rest, Of which her herte agrose, and saied thus: Where is my suster, brother Tereus? And therewithall she wept tenderly, And quoke for feare, pale and pitiously, Right as y^• lambe, that of y^• Wolfe is bitten, Or as y^• Culver, that of the Egle is smitten, And is out of his claves forth escaped, Yet it is aferde, and a waped, Lest it be hent eftsones: so sate sehe, But vtterly it may none other be, By force hath this traitour done a deede, That he hath reft her of her maidenhede, Maugre her head, by strength & by his might. Lo here a deede of men, and that aright. She crieth suster, with full loude steven, And father dere helpe me God in heven: All helpeth not, and yet this false thefe, Hath done this Lady yet a more mischefe, For feare lest she should his shame crie, And done him openly a villanie, And with his sweard her tong of kerfe he, And in a Castell made her for to be, Full prively in prison evermore, And kept her to her vsage and to his store, So that she ne might never more astarte. O sely Philomene, wo is in thine hart, Huge been thy sorowes, and wonder smart, God wreke thee, and sende thee thy bone, Now is time I make an end sone. This Tereus is to his wife icome, And in his armes hath his wife inome, And pitiously he wept, and shoke his hedde, And swore her, that he found her suster dedde, For which this selie Progne hath soch wo, That nigh her sorowfull hert brake a two. And thus in teares let I Progne dwell, And of her suster forth I woll you tell. This wofull Lady ilearned had in youth, So that she worken and enbrauden couth, And weaven in stole the rade vore, As it of women hath be woved yore, And sothly for to saine, she hath her fill Of meate and drinke, of clothing at her will, And couthe eke rede well inough and endite, But with a penne she could not write, But letters can she weave to and fro, So that by the yere was all ago, She had woven in a stames large, How she was brought fro Athens in a barge, And in a cave how that she was brought, And all the thing that Tereus wrought, She wave it wel, and wrote the storie above, How she was served for her susters love, And to a man a ring she yave anon, And praied him by signes for to gon Vnto the queene, and bearen her that clothe, And by signe swore many an othe, She should him yeve what she getten might. This man anon vnto the quene him dight, And toke it her, and all the maner told, And when y^• Progne hath this thing behold, No worde she spake, for sorow & eke for rage, But fained her to gon on pilgrimage To Baccus remple, and in a little stound Her dombe suster sitting hath she found Weeping in the castell her selfe alone, Alas the wo, constraint, and the mone That Progne vpon her dombe suster maketh, In armes everich of hem other taketh, And thus I let hem in her sorow dwell, The remnaunt is no charge to tell, For this is all and some, thus was she served That never agilt, ne deserved Vnto this cruell man, that she of wist Ye may beware of men if that you list, * For all be that he woll not for shame Doen as Tereus, to lese his name,

Ne serve you as a murtherer or a knave, Full little while shull ye trewe him have, That wol I sain, al were he now my brother, But it so be that he may have another.

¶The Legende of Phillis.

BY prove, as wel as by aucthorite, That wicked fruicte commeth of a wicked tree, That may ye find, if that it liketh you, But for this end, I speake this as now, To tell you of false Demophon, In love a falser heard I never non, But it were his father Theseus, God for his grace fro soch one kepe vs, Thus these women praied, that it here, Now to the effect tourne I of my matere. Destroied is of Troie the Citee, This Demopon came sayling in the see Toward Athenes, to his paleis large, With him came many a ship, & many a barge Full of folke, of which full many one Is wounded sore, and sicke, and wo begone, And they have at the siege long ilaine, Behind him came a winde, and eke a raine, That shofe so sore, his saile might not stonde, Him were lever than all the world a londe, So hunteth him the tempest to and fro, So darke it was, he could no where go, And with a wave brusten was his stere, His ship was rent so lowe, in such manere, That Carpenter could it not amende, The see by night as any Torche brende, For wood, and posseth him vp and doun, Till Neptune hath of him compassioun, And Thetis, Chorus, Triton, and they all, And maden him vp a londe to fall, Wherof that Phillis Lady was and Queene, Lycurgus doughter, fairer vnto seene Than is the floure again the bright Sonne, Vnneth is Demophon to londe iwonne, Weake and eke werie, and his folke forpined Of werinesse, and also enfamined, And to the death he was almost idriven, His wise folke counsaile have him yeven, To seken helpe and succour of the Queene, And loken what his grace might bene, And maken in that lande some chevesaunce, And kepen him fro wo, and fro mischaunce, For sicke he was, and almost at the death, Vnneth might he speake, or draw breath, And lieth in Rhodopeia him for to rest, When he may walk, him thought it was best Vnto the countrey to seeken for succour, Men knew him wele, and did him honour, For at Athenes Duke and Lord was he, As Theseus his father hath ibe, That in his time was great of renoun, No man so great in all his regioun, And like his father of face and of stature, And false of love, it came him of nature, As doth the Foxe Renarde, the Foxes sonne, Of kind he could his old father wonne Without lore, as can a Drake swimme When it is caught, and caried to the brimme: This honorable queen Phillis doth him chere, Her liketh well his sporte and his manere, But I am agroted here beforne, To write of hem that in love been forsworne, And eke to haste me in my Legende, Which to performe, God me grace sende, Therfore I passe shortly in this wise, Ye have well heard of Theseus the gise, In the betraiyng of faire Adriane, That of her pite kept him fro his bane, At short wordes, right so Demophon, The same way, and the same pathe hath gon That did his false father Theseus, For vnto Phillis hath he sworne thus, To wedden her, and her his trouth plight, And piked of her all the good he might, When he was hole & sound, and had his rest, And doth with Phillis what so that him lest, As well I could, if that me list so, Tellen all his doing to and fro. He sayd to his countrey mote him saile, For there he would her wedding apparaile, As fill to her honour, and his also, And openly he tooke his leave tho, And to her swore he would not sojourne, But in a month again he would retourne, And in that londe let make his ordinaunce, As very Lorde, and tooke the obeisaunce, Well and humbly, and his shippes dight, And home he goeth the next way he might, For vnto Phillis yet came he nought, And that hath she so harde and sore ibought, Alas, as the storie doth vs record, She was her owne death with a corde, When that she saw y^• Demophon her traied. But first wrote she to him, & fast him praied He would come, and deliver her of pain, As I rehearse shall a worde or twain, Me liste not vouchsafe on him to swinke, Dispenden on him a penne full of ynke, For false in love was he, right as his sire, The Devill set her soules both on a fire, But of the letter of Phillis woll I write, A worde or twain, although it be but lite. Thine hostesse (qd. she) O Demophon, Thy Phillis, which that is so wo begon, Of Rhodopeie, vpon you mote complain, Over the terme set betwixt vs twain, That ye ne holden forward, as ye sayd: Your ancre, which ye in our haven layd, Hight vs, that ye would comen out of doubt, Or that the Moone ones went about, But times fower, y^• Moone hath hid her face Sens thilke day ye went fro this place, And fower times light the world again, But for all that, yet shall I sothly sain, Yet hath the streme of Scython not brought From Athens the ship, yet came it nought, And if that ye the terme reken would, As I or other true lovers doe should, I plain not (God wot) before my day. But al her letter writen I ne may, By order, for it were to me a charge, Her letter was right long, and therto large, But here and there, in rime I have it layd There as me thought that she hath wel sayd.

She sayd, the sailes cometh not again, Ne to the worde, there nis no ••ey certain, But I wot why ye come not (qd. she) For I was of my love to you so fre, And of the Goddes that ye have swore, That her vengeaunce fall on you therfore, Ye be not suffisaunt to beare the pain, To moche trusted I, well may I sain, Vpon your linage, and your faire tong, And on your teares falsly out wrong, How coud ye wepe so by craft? qd. she) May there soche teares fained be? Now certes, if ye would have in memory, It ought be to you but little glory, To have a selie maide thus betrayed, To God (qd. she) pray I, and oft have prayed, That it be now the greatest price of all, And most honour, that ever you shall befall, And when thine old aunceters painted bee, In which men may her worthinesse see, Then pray I God, thou painted be also, That folke may reden, forth by as they go. Lo this is he, that with his flattery Betraied hath, and done her villany, That was his true love, in thought & dede. But sothly of o point yet may they rede, That ye been like your father, as in this, For he begiled Ariadne iwis, With such an arte, and such subtelte, As thou thy selves hast begiled me: As in that poinct, although it be not feire Thou folowest certain, and art his heire. But sens thus sinfully ye me begile, My body mote ye sene, within a while Right in the haven of Athenes fleeting, Withouten Sepulture and buriyng, Though ye been harder then is any stone. And when this letter was forth sent anone, And knew how brotell and how fals he was, She for dispaire fordid her selfe, alas, Such sorow hath she, for she beset her so. Beware ye women of your subtill fo, Sens yet this day men may ensample se, And trusteth now in love no man but me.

¶The Legende of Hypermestre.

IN Grecen whilom were brethren two, Of which that one was called Danao, That many a son hath of his body wonne, As soch false lovers ofte conne. Emong his sonnes all there was one, That aldermost he loved of everychone, And when this child was borne, this Danao Shope him a name, and called him Lino, That other brother called was Egiste, That was of love as false as ever him liste, And many a daughter gate he in his life, Of which he gate vpon his right wife, A doughter dere, and did her for to call, Hypermestra, yongest of hem all, The which child of her nativite, To all good thewes borne was she, As liked to the Goddes or she was borne, That of the shefe she should be the corne, The werdes that we clepen destine, Hath shapen her, that she must needes be Pitous, sad, wise, true as stele, And to this woman it accordeth wele, For though y^• Venus yave her great beaute, With Iupiter compowned so was she, That conscience, trouth, and drede of shame, And of her wifehode for to kepe her name, This thought her was felicite as here, And reed Mars, was that time of the yere So feble, that his malice is him raft, Repressed hath Venus his cruell craft, And what with Venus, and other oppression Of houses, Mars his venime is a don, That Hypermestre dare not handle a knife, In malice, though she should lese her life, But nathelesse, as heaven gan tho turne, Two bad aspectes hath she of Saturne, That made her to die in prison, And I shall after make mencion, Of Danao and Cgistes also, And though so be y^• they were brethren two, For thilke tyme nas spared no linage, It liked hem to maken mariage Betwixt Hypermestre, and him Lino, And casten soch a day it shall be so, And full accorded was it vtterly, The aray is wrought, the tyme is fast by, And thus Lino hath of his fathers brother, The doughter wedded, and ech of hem hath other, The torches brennen, & y^e lamps bright The Sacrifice been full ready dight, Thensence out of the fire reketh soote, The floure, the leefe, is rent vp by the roote, To maken garlandes and crounes hie, Full is the place of sound of Minstralcie, Of songes amourous of mariage, As thilke tyme was the plain vsage, And this was in the paleis of Egiste, That in his hous was lord, right as him liste And thus that day they driven to an end, The frendes taken leve, & home they wend, The night is come, the bride shall go to bed, Egiste to his chamber fast him sped, And prively let his doughter call, When that the house voided was of hem all, He looketh on his doughter with glad chere, And to her spake, as ye shall after here. My right doughter, tresour of mine hert, Sens first that day, y^• shapen was my shert, Or by the fatall suster had my dome, So nie mine hert never thing ne come, As thou Hypermestre, doughter dere, Take hede what thy father sayth thee here, * And werke after thy wiser ever mo, For alderfirst doughter I love thee so, That all the world to me nis halfe so lefe, Ne nolde rede thee to thy mischefe, For all the good vnder the cold Mone, And what I meane, it shall be said right sone, With protestacion, as saine these wise, That but thou doe, as I shall thee devise, Thou shalt be ded by him y^• al hath wrought, At short wordes thou ne scapest nought Out of my paleis, or that thou be deed, But thou consent, and werke after my reed,

Take this to the fearfull conclusioun. This Hypermestre cast her iyen doun, And quoke as doth the leefe of ashe grene, Deed wext her hew, and like ashen to sene, And sayd: Lord and father all your will, After my might, God wote I will fulfill, So it be to me no confusion. I nill (qd. he) have none excepcion, And out he caught a knife, as rasour kene, Hide this (qd. he) that it be not isene, And when thine housbond is to bed go, While that he slepeth cut his throte atwo, For in my dreme it is warned me, How that my nevewe shall my bane be, But which I not, wherfore I woll be siker, If thou say nay, we two shall have a biker, As I have sayd, by him that I have sworn. This Hipermestre hath nigh her wit forlorn, And for to passen harmelesse out of that place, She graunted him, ther was none other grace: And withall a costrell taketh he tho And sayd, hereof a draught or two, Yeve him drinke, when he goeth to rest, And he shal slepe as long as ever thee lest, The narcotikes and apies been so strong, And go thy way, lest that him thinke to long. Out cometh the bride, & with full sobre chere, As is of maidens oft the manere, To chamber brought, with revel & with song, And shortly, leste this tale be to long, This Lino and she beth brought to bed, And every wight out at the doore him sped, The night is wasted, and he fell aslepe, Full tenderly beginneth she to weepe, She rist her vp, and dredfully she quaketh, As doth the braunch, that Zephirus shaketh, And husht were all in Aragone that citee, As colde as any Frost now wexeth shee, For pite by the herte strained her so, And drede of death doth her so moche wo, That thrise doune she fill, in soche a were, She riste her vp, & stakereth here and there, And on her hands fast looketh she, Alas, shall mine hands bloudie be, I am maide, and as by my nature, And by my semblaunt, and by my vesture, Mine hands been not shapen for a knife, As for to reve no man fro his life, What Devill have I with the knife to do? And shall I have my throte corve a two? Then shall I blede alas, and be shende, And nedes this thing mote have an ende, Or he or I mote nedes lese our life, Now certes (qd. she) sens I am his wife, And hath my faith, yet is it bette for me For to be dedde, in wifely honeste, Than be a traitour, living in my shame, Be as be may, for earnest or for game, He shall awake, and rise and go his way Out at this gutter er that it be day: And wept full tenderly vpon his face, And in her armes gan him to embrace, And him she joggeth, and awaketh soft, And at the window lepe he fro the loft, When she hath warned him, & done him bote This Lino swift was, and light of foote, And from her ran, a full good paas. This selie woman is so weake, alas And helplesse, so that er she ferre went, Her cruell father did her for to hent, Alas Lino, why art thou so vnkind, Why ne hast thou remembred in thy mind, And taken her, and led her forth with thee, For when she saw that gone away was hee, And that she might not so fast go, Ne folowen him, she sate doune right tho, Vntill she was caught, and fettred in prison This tale is sayd for this conclusion.

¶Here endeth the Legende of good Women.