by Paul Keegan
15
With lufsom chere she on me logh,
With middel smal and wel y-make.
But she me wol to hirë take
For to ben hire owen make,
Longe to live Ichulle forsake
20
And feyë falle adoun.
An hendy, etc.
Nightës when I wende and wake –
Forthy myn wongës waxen won –
Lady, al for thinë sake,
25
Longinge is y-lent me on.
In world nis non so wyter mon
That al hire bounté tellë con,
Hire swyre is whitter then the swon,
And fairest may in toune.
30
An hendy, etc.
Ich am for wowyng al forwake,
Wery so water in wore,
Lest any revë me my make
Ichave y-yernëd yore.
35 Beter is tholen while sore
Then mournen evermore.
Geynest under gore,
Herknë to my roun.
An hendy, etc.
(1792)
ANONYMOUS
Erthë tok of erthe
erthë wyth wogh;
Erthe other erthë
to the erthë drogh;
5
Erthë leyde erthe
in erthënë throgh;
Tho hevëde erthe of erthe
erthe ynogh.
(1811)
[Grimestone Lyrics] 1350–1400
ANONYMOUS
Gold and al this worldës wyn
Is nought but Cristës rode;
I wolde be clad in Cristës skyn,
That ran so longe on blode,
5
And gon t’is herte and take myn in –
Ther is a fulsum fode.
Than yeve I litel of kith or kyn,
For ther is allë gode.
ANONYMOUS
Gloria mundi est:
Als a se flouwende
Als a skiye pasende
Als the sadwe in the undermel
And als the dore turnet on a quel.
ANONYMOUS
Love me broughte,
And love me wroughtë,
Man, to be thi ferë;
Love me fedde,
And love me ledde,
5
And love me lettëd herë.
Love me slow,
And love me drow,
And love me leyde on berë;
10
Love is my pes,
For love I ches
Man to byen derë.
Ne dred thee nought,
I have thee sought
15
Bothen day and night;
To haven thee,
Wel is me,
I have thee wonne in fight.
ANONYMOUS [The Dragon Speaks]*
‘I wille you allë swalewë withouten any bot;
But some wille I save, and some wille I not.’
GEOFFREY CHAUCER from The Parliament of Fowls
[Catalogue of the Birds]
Whan I was come ayeyn into the place
That I of spak, that was so sote and grene,
Forth welk I tho myselven to solace.
Tho was I war wher that ther sat a queene
5
That, as of lyght the somer sonne shene
Passeth the sterre, right so over mesure
She fayrer was than any creature.
And in a launde, upon an hil of floures,
Was set this noble goddesse Nature.
10
Of braunches were here halles and here boures
Iwrought after here cast and here mesure;
Ne there nas foul that cometh of engendrure
That they ne were prest in here presence,
To take hire dom and yeve hire audyence.
15
For this was on seynt Valentynes day,
Whan every foul cometh there to chese his make,
Of every kynde that men thynke may,
And that so huge a noyse gan they make
That erthe, and eyr, and tre, and every lake
20
So ful was, that unethe was there space
For me to stonde, so ful was al the place.
And right as Aleyn, in the Pleynt of Kynde,
Devyseth Nature of aray and face,
In swich aray men myghte hire there fynde.
25
This noble emperesse, ful of grace,
Bad every foul to take his owne place,
As they were woned alwey fro yer to yeere,
Seynt Valentynes day, to stonden theere.
That is to seyn, the foules of ravyne
Weere hyest set, and thanne the foules smale
That eten, as hem Nature wolde enclyne,
As worm or thyng of which I telle no tale;
And water-foul sat lowest in the dale;
But foul that lyveth by sed sat on the grene,
35
And that so fele that wonder was to sene.
There myghte men the royal egle fynde,
That with his sharpe lok perseth the sonne,
And othere egles of a lowere kynde,
Of whiche that clerkes wel devyse conne.
40
Ther was the tiraunt with his fetheres donne
And grey, I mene the goshauk, that doth pyne
To bryddes for his outrageous ravyne.
The gentyl faucoun, that with his feet distrayneth
The kynges hand; the hardy sperhauk eke,
45
The quayles foo; the merlioun, that payneth
Hymself ful ofte the larke for to seke;
There was the douve with hire yën meke;
The jelous swan, ayens his deth that syngeth;
The oule ek, that of deth the bode bryngeth;
50
The crane, the geaunt, with his trompes soun;
The thef, the chough; and ek the janglynge pye;
The skornynge jay; the eles fo, heroun;
The false lapwynge, ful of trecherye;
The stare, that the conseyl can bewrye;
55
The tame ruddok, and the coward kyte;
The kok, that orloge is of thorpes lyte;
The sparwe, Venus sone; the nyghtyngale,
That clepeth forth the grene leves newe;
The swalwe, mortherere of the foules smale
60
That maken hony of floures freshe of hewe;
The wedded turtil, with hire herte trewe;
The pekok, with his aungels fetheres bryghte;
The fesaunt, skornere of the cok by nyghte;
The waker goos; the cukkow ever unkynde;
65
The popynjay, ful of delicasye;
The drake, stroyere of his owene kynde;
The stork, the wrekere of avouterye;
The hote cormeraunt of glotenye;
The raven wys; the crowe with vois of care;
70
The throstil old; the frosty feldefare.
What shulde I seyn? Of foules every kynde
That in this world han fetheres and stature
Men myghten in that place assembled fynde
Byfore the noble goddesse of Nature,
75
And everich of hem dide his besy cure
Benygnely to chese or for to take,
By hire acord, his formel or his make.
[Roundel]
Now welcome, somer, with thy sonne softe,
That hast this wintres wedres overshake,
And driven away the longe nyghtes blake!
Saynt Valentyn, that art ful hy on-lofte,
5
Thus syngen smale foules for thy sake:
Now welcome, somer, with thy sonne softe,
That hast this wintres wedres overshake.
Wel han they cause for to gladen ofte,
Sich ech of hem recovered hath hys make,
10
Ful blissful mowe they synge when they wake:
Now welcome, somer, with thy sonne softe,
That hast thes wintres wedres overshake,
And driven away the longe nyghtes blake!
(1478)
GEOFFREY CHAUCER from The Boke of Troilus
[Envoi]
Go, litel boke, go, litel myn tragedye,
Ther God thi makere yet, er that he dye,
So sende myght to make in som comedye!
But litel book, no makyng thow n’envie,
5
But subgit be to alle poyesye,
And kis the steppes where as thow seest pace
Virgile, Ovide, Omer, Lucan, and Stace.
And for ther is so gret diversite
In Englissh and in writyng of oure tonge,
10
So prey I to God that non myswrite the,
Ne the mysmetre for defaute of tonge;
And red wherso thow be, or elles songe,
That thow be understonde, God I biseche!
But yet to purpos of my rather speche.
15
The wrath, as I bigan yow for to seye,
Of Troilus the Grekis boughten deere,
For thousandes his hondes maden deye,
As he that was withouten any peere
Save Ector, in his tyme, as I kan heere.
20
But weilawey – save only Goddes wille –
Despitously hym slough the fierse Achille.
And whan that he was slayn in this manere,
His lighte goost ful blisfully is went
Up to the holughnesse of the eighthe spere,
25
In convers letyng everich element;
And ther he saugh with ful avysement
The erratik sterres, herkenyng armonye
With sownes ful of hevenyssh melodie.
And down from thennes faste he gan avyse
30
This litel spot of erthe that with the se
Embraced is, and fully gan despise
This wrecched world, and held al vanite
To respect of the pleyn felicite
That is in hevene above; and at the laste,
35
Ther he was slayn his lokyng down he caste,
And in hymself he lough right at the wo
Of hem that wepten for his deth so faste,
And dampned al oure werk that foloweth so
The blynde lust, the which that may nat laste,
40
And sholden al oure herte on heven caste,
And forth he wente, shortly for to telle,
Ther as Mercurye sorted hym to dwelle.
Swich fyn hath, lo, this Troilus for love!
Swich fyn hath al his grete worthynesse,
45
Swich fyn hath his estat real above,
Swich fyn his lust, swich fyn hath his noblesse,
Swych fyn hath false worldes brotelnesse.
And thus bigan his lovyng of Criseyde,
As I have told, and in this wise he deyde.
50
O yonge, fresshe folkes, he or she,
In which that love up groweth with youre age,
Repeyreth hom fro worldly vanyte,
And of youre herte up casteth the visage
To thilke God that after his ymage
Yow made, and thynketh al nys but a faire
This world that passeth soone as floures faire.
And loveth hym the which that right for love
Upon a crois, oure soules for to beye,
First starf, and roos, and sit in hevene above;
60
For he nyl falsen no wight, dar I seye,
That wol his herte al holly on hym leye.
And syn he best to love is, and most meke,
What nedeth feynede loves for to seke?
Lo here, of payens corsed olde rites!
65
Lo here, what alle hire goddes may availle!
Lo here, thise wrecched worldes appetites!
Lo here, the fyn and guerdoun for travaille
Of Jove, Appollo, of Mars, of swich rascaille!
Lo here, the forme of olde clerkis speche
70
In poetrie, if ye hire bokes seche.
O moral Gower, this book I directe
To the, and to the, philosophical Strode,
To vouchen-sauf, ther nede is, to correcte,
Of youre benignites and zeles goode.
75
And to that sothfast Crist, that starf on rode,
With al myn herte of mercy evere I preye,
And to the Lord right thus I speke and seye:
Thow oon, and two, and thre, eterne on lyve,
That regnest ay in thre, and two, and oon,
80
Uncircumscript, and al maist circumscrive,
Us from visible and invisible foon
Defende, and to thy mercye, everichon,
So make us, Jesus, for thi mercy, digne,
For love of Mayde and Moder thyn benigne.
Amen.
(1483)
ANONYMOUS
When Adam dalf and Eve span
Who was tho a gentelman?
(1530)
WILLIAM LANGLAND from The Vision of Piers Plowman
[Prologue]
In a somur sesoun whan softe was the sonne
I shope me into shroudes as I a shep were –
In abite as an heremite unholy of werkes
Wente forth in the world wondres to here,
5
And say many sellies and selkouthe thynges.
Ac on a May mornyng on Malverne hulles
Me biful for to slepe, for werynesse of-walked;
And in a launde as I lay, lened I and slepte,
And merveylousliche me mette, as I may telle.
10
Al the welthe of the world and the wo bothe
Wynkyng, as hit were, witterliche I seigh hit;
Of treuthe and tricherye, tresoun and gyle,
Al I say slepynge, as I shal telle.
Estward I beheld aftir the sonne
15
And say a tour – as I trowed, Treuthe was there-ynne;
Westward I waytede in a while aftir
And seigh a depe dale – Deth, as I leue,
Woned in tho wones, and wikkede spirites.
