And forth they yede togidir twain and twain, That to behold it was a worthy fight, Toward the ladies on the grenè plain, That fong and dauncid, as 1 faid now right; The ladies as fone as they godely might They brakin off both the fong and the daunce, And yede to mete them with full glad femblaunce: And every lady toke full womanly By the hond a knight, and fo forth they yede Unto a faire laurir that ftode faft by, With levis laid, the boughis of grete brede, And to my dome ther nevir was indede A man that had fene half fo faire a tre, For undirneth it there might well have be
An hundrid perfons at ther own plefaunce
Shadowid fro the hete of Phoebus bright,
So that they shouldin have felt no grevaunce
Neithir for rain, ne haile, that them hurt might
The favour eke rejoice would any wight
That hed be fick or melancholious,
It was fo very gode and vertuous.
And with grete rev'rence they enclinid low
Unto the tre fo fote and fair of hew,
And aftir that within a litil throw
They all began to fing and daunce of new;
Some fong of love, fome plaining of untrew,
Environing the tre that ftode upright,
And evir yede a lady and a knight.
And at the last I caft mine eie afide,
And was ware of a lufty company
That came roming out of the feldè wide,
And hond in hond a knight and a lady,
The ladies all in furcates, that richly
Purfilid were with many a rich stone,
And every knight of grene ware mantlis on,
Embroulid wele, fo as the furcots were,
And everich had a chapelet on her hed,
[Which did right wele upon the fhining here]
Makid of gedely fleuris white and red,
The knightis cke that they in honde led
In fute of them ware chaplets everichone,
And before them went minstrels many one,
As harpis, pipis, lutis, and fautry,
Allè in grene, and on ther hedis bare
Of diverse flouris made full craftily,
All in a fute, godely chaplets they ware,
And fo dauncing into the mede they fare,
In mid the which they found a tuft that was
All ovirfprad with flouris in compas,
Whereto they enclined evèrichone
With grete reverence, and that full humbly;
And at the last there tho began anon
A lady for to fing right womanly
A bargaret in praifing the daifie,
For (as methought) among her notis fwete
She faid Si douce et la Margarete!
Then they all anfwerid her in fere
So paffingly well and fo plefauntly,
That it was a most blisfull noife to here;
But I'not how it happid, fodainly
As about none the funn'fo fervently
Waxe hote that the pretty tendir floures
Had loft the beauty of their fresh colours.
For fhronke with hete the ladies eke to brent, That they ne wift where they them might bestow, The knightis fwelt, for lack of fhade nie fhent, And aftir that within a litil throw The wind began fo fturdily to blow That down goth all the flowris everichone, So that in all the mede there laft not one,
Save fuch as fuccoured were among the leves
Fro every ftorme that mightè them affaile,
Growing undir the heggis and thick greves;
And aftir that there came a ftorme of haile
And rain in fere, fo that withoutin faile
The ladies ne the knightis n'ade o' thred
Dry on them, fo drooping wet was ther wede.
And when the ftorme was clene paffid away
Tho in the white, that ftode undir the tre,
They felt nothing of all the grete affray
That they in grene without had in ybe;
To them they yede for routh and for pite,
Them to comfort aftir their grete difefe,
So fain they were the helpleffe for to efe.
Than I was ware how one of them in grene
Had on a coron rich and well-fitting,
Wherefore I demid well fhe was a quene,
And tho in grene on her were awaiting;
The ladies then in white that were coming
Towardis them, and the knightis in fere,
Began to comfort them and make them chere.
The quene in white, that was of grete beauty, Toke by the honde the quene that was in grene And feide, Suftir, I have grete pity
Of your annoy and of your troublous tene
Wherein ye and your company have bene
So long, alas! and if that it you plefe
To go with me I shall do you the efe
In al the plefure that I can or may; Whereof that othir, humbly as fhe might, Thankid her, for in right evil array She was with ftorme and hete I you And every lady then anon right That were in white one of them toke in grene By the hond, which when the knightis had fene In like manir eche of them toke a knight Clad in the grene, and forth with them they fare To an hegge, where that they anon right To makin thefe juftis they would not spare Boughis to hew down, and eke trees to fquare, Wherewith they made them stately firis grete To dry ther clothis, that were wringing wete: And aftir that of herbis that there grew They made for bliftirs of the fonne brenning Ointmentis very gode, wholfome and new, Where that they yede the fick faft anointing; And aftir that they yede about gadring Plefant faladis, which they made them ete For to refreshe ther grete unkindely hete.
The lady of the Lefè then gan to pray Her of the Floure [for fo to my feming They fhould be callid as by ther array To foupe with her, and eke for any thing That the fhould with her all her pepill bringe, And the ayen in right godely manere Thankith her faft of her most frendly chere
Saying plainèly that fhe would obay
With all her hert all her commandèment;
And then anon without lengir delay
The lady of the Lefe hath one yfent
To bring a palfray aftir her intent,
Arrayid wele in fair harneis of gold,
For nothing lackid that to him long fhold:
And aftir that to all her company
She made to purvey horfe and every thing
That they nedid, and then full haftily
Even by the herbir where I was fitting
They paffid all, fo merrily finging
That it would have comfortid any wight:
But then I fe a paffing wondir fight,
For then the nightingale, that all the day
Had in the laurir fete, and did her might
The whole fervice to fing longing to May,
All fodainly began to take her flight,
And to the lady of the Lefe forthright
She flew, and fet her on her hand foftly,
Which was a thing I mervail'd at gretly.
The goldfinch eke, that fro the medlar tre
Was fled for hete unto the bufhis cold,
Unto the lady of the Flowre gan fle,
And on her hond he fet him as he wold,
And plefauntly his wingis gan to fold,
And for to fing they peine them both as fore
As they had do of all the day before.
And fo thefe ladies rode forth a grete pace,
And all the rout of knightis eke in fere;
And I that had fene all this wondir cafe
Thought that I would affay in fome manere
To know fully the trouth of this mattere,
And what they were that rode fo plefauntly:
And when they were the herbir paffid by
I dreft me forth, and happid mete anon
A right fair lady, I do you enfure,
And fhe came riding by her felf alone,
Alle in white, with femblaunce full demure;
I her falued, bad her gode avinture
More her befall, as I coud most humbly,
And the answered, My doughtir, gramercy!
Madame, quoth I, if that
durit enquere
Of you, I wold fain of that company
Wit what they be that paffed by this harbere.
And the ayen anfwerid right frendly,
My doughtir, all tho that paffid hereby
In white clothing be fervants everichone
Urto the Lefe, and I my felf am one.
Se ye not her that crownid is (quod fhe)
Alle in white? Madame, then quod I, Yes.
That is Dian, goddefs of Chastity,
And for bicause that she a maidin is
Into her hond the branch fhe berith this
That agus caftus men call propírly;
And al the ladies in her company
Whier re fc of that herbe chaplets were
Be fuch as han alwey kept maidinhede,
Ano all they that of laurir chaplets bere
Be fuch as hardy were in manly dede,
Victo. ious, name which nevir may be dede
And all they were fo worthy of their honde
In their time that no one might them withstonde;
And tho that were chapèlets on ther hede
Of fresh wodebind be fuch as nevir were
To Love untrue in word, in thought, ne dede,
But ay ftedfaft, ne for plefance ne fere,
Tho that they fhulde ther hertis all to tere,
Woud never flit, but evir were fledfast
Till that ther livis there affundir braft.
Now, fair Madam! quod 1, yet woud I pray
Your ladifhip [if that it mightin be]
That I might knowe by fome manir of wey,
Sithin that it hath likid your beaute
The trouth of thefe ladies for to tell me,
What that these knightis be in rich armour,
And what tho be in grene and were the Flour,
And why that fome did rev'rence to the tre,
And some unto the plot of flouris fair?
With right gode wil, my doughtir fair! quod fhe,
Sith your defire is gode and debonaire:
Tho nine crounid be very exemplaire
Of all honour longing to chivalry,
And those certain be clept The Nine Worthy
Which that ye may fe riding all before,
That in ther time did many' a noble dede,
And for ther worthinefs full oft have bore
The crown of laurir levis on ther hede,
ye may in your oldè bokis rede,
And how that he that was a conqueror
Had by laurir alwey his moft honour:
And tho that barin bowes in ther hond
Of the precious laurir fo notable
Be fuch as were [I woll ye undirstond]
Moft noble Knightis of The Round Table,
And eke the Doufeperis honourable,
Which they bere in the fign of victory,
As witnefs of ther dedis mightily:
Eke ther be Knightis old of the Gartir,
That in ther timis did tight worthily,
And the honour they did to the laurir
Is for by it they have ther laud wholly,
Ther triumph eke and martial glory,
Which unto them is more perfite riches
Than any wight imagin can or geffe;
For one Lefe givin of that noble tre
To any wight that hath done worthily
[An it be done fo as it ought to be]
Is more honour than any thing erthly,
Witnefs of Rome, that foundir was truly
Of all knighthode and dedis marvelous,
Record I take of Titus Livius.
And as for her that crounid is in
It is Flora, of thefe flouris goddeffe,
And all that here on her awaiting bene
It are fuch folk that lovid idleneffe,
And not delite in no kind befineffe
But for to hunt, and hawke, and pley in medes,
And many othir fuch like idle dedes.
And for the grete delite and the plefaunce
They have to the Flour, and fo reverently
They unto it doin fuch obeifaunce,
As ye may fe. Now, fair Madame ! quod I,
[If I durft afk] what is the cause and why
That knightis have the enfigne of honour
Rathir by the Lefè than by the Flour?
Sothly, doughtir, quod fhe, this is the trouth,
For knightes evir fhould be perfevering
To feke honour without feintife or flouth,
Fro wele to bettir in all manir thing,
In fign of which with levis ay lafting
They be rewardid aftir ther degre,
Whose lufty grene may not appairid be,
But ay keping ther beauty fresh and grene,
For ther n'is no storme that may them deface,
Ne hail nor fnowe, ne wind nor frostis kene,
Wherfore they have this propirty and grace;
And for the Flour within a litil space
Wollin be loft, fo fimple of nature
They be that they no grevaunce may endure:
And every forme woll blowe them fone away,
Ne they lafte not but for a fefon,
That is the caufe [the very trouth to fay]
That they may not by no way of refon
Be put to no fuch occupacion.
Madame, quod I, with all mine whole fervise
I thank you now in my most humble wise;
For now I am afcertain'd thoroughly
Of every thing I defirid to knowe.
I am right glad that I have faid, fothly,
Ought to your plesure, (if ye will me trow.)
Quod fhe ayen. But to whom do ye owe
Your fervice, and which wollin ye honour
[Pray tell me] this year, the Lefe or the Flour?
Madam, quod I, although I left worthy,
Unto the Lefe I ow mine obfervaunce.
That is, quod fhe, right well done certainly,
And I pray God to honour you advaunce,
And kepe you fro the wickid remembraunce
Of Malebouch and all his cruiltie,
And all that gode and well-condition'd be;
For here I may no lengir now abide,
But I must follow the grete company
That ye may fe yondir before you ride;
And forthwith as I couth moft humily
I toke my leve of her, and the gan hie
Aftir them as fast as evir fhe might,
And I drow homeward, for it was nigh night,
And put all that I had fene in writing,
Undir fupport of them that luft it rede.
O little boke! thou art fo unconning,
How darft thou put thy felf in prees for drede?
It is wondir that thou wexift not rede,
Sith that thou woft full lite who fhall bohold
Thy rude langage full boyftoufly unfold,
WITH timerous herte and trembling hand of drede,
Of cunning nakid, bare of eloquence,
Unto the flour of port in womanhede
I write, as he that none intelligence
Of metris hath ne flouris of fentence,
Saufe that me lift my writing to convey
In that I can to plefe her high nobley.
The blofomes fresh of Tulius gardein fote
Prefent thei not, my mattir for to borne,
Poemes of Virgile takin here no rote,
Ne crafte of Galfride may not here fojourne;
Why n'am I cunning? 'o well maie I morne
For lacke of fcience, that I can nat write
Unto the princes of my lyfe aright!
No termes are digne unto her excellence,
So is the fpronge of noble stripe and high;
A world of honour and of revèrence
There is in her, this will I teftifie :
Caliope, thou fiftir wife and fly,
And thou Minerva! guide me with thy grace,
That langage rude my mattir not deface.
Thy fugir dropis fwete of Helicon
Diftil in me, thou gentle Mufe! I praye,
And the Melpomene I cal anone
Of ignoraunce the mifte to chace awaye,
And geve me grace fo for to write and faie
That the my lady of her worthineffe
Accept in gre this litil fhort treteffe,
That is entitled thus, The Courte of Love;
And ye that ben metriciens me excufe,
I you befeche, for Venus fake above,
For what I mene in this ye nede not mufe;
And if fo be my lady it refufe
For lake of ornate fpeche, I wolde be wo
'That I prefume to her to writin fo.
This book is an Imitation of The Romaunt of the Rofe, thewing that all are fubject to love, what impedi ments foever to the contrary, containing alio thofe zo ftarutes that are to be oblerved in The Court of Love. Crry.
But my entente and all my bufy cure Is for to write this treteffe as I can, Unto my lady ftable, true, and fure, Faithful and kind, fith firfte tha; she began Me to accept in fervice as her man; To her be al the plefure of this boke, That when her like she may it rede and lokt.
When I was yong, at xviii yere of age,
Lufty and light, defirous of plefaunce,
Approching on full fade and ripe corage,
Love artid me to do my obfervaunce
To his eftate, and done him obeifaunce,
Commaundinge me The Court of ove to le
A lite befide the Mounte of Cithere;
There Citherca goddeffe was and quene,
Honourid highly for her majefte,
And eke her fonne, the mighty god I wene,
Cupid the blind, that for his dignite
A M. lovirs worshipp on ther kne;
There was I bid in paine of deth to pere
By Mercury the wingid meffingere:
So than I went by ftrange and ferre countrees,
Enquiringe aye what coafte had to it drewe
The Court of Love, and thidirward as bees
At laft I fe the peple gan pursue;
Anon me though, fome wight was ther that know
Where that the Court was holdin ferre or nic.
And aftir than ful fafte I ganne me hie.
Anon as I them ovirtoke I faid,
Heile, frendis whethir purpofe ye to wend?
For foth, (quod one) that answered lyche a ma,
To Low'is Courte now go we, gentil frend!
Where is that place, (quod 1) my felowe hend?
At Citheron, Sir, faide he, without doute,
The kinge of Love, and al his noble route,
Dwelling within a caftil rially.
So than apace I journid forth amonge;
And as he faide fo fond I there truly,
For I behelde the touris high and stronge
And high pinaclis large of hight and longe,
With plate of gold befpred on every fide,
And precious ftones, the ftone werke for to hide.
No faphire of Inde, no rubie riche of price,
There lackid then, nor emeraude fo grene,
Balis Turkis, ne thing to my devise
That may the caftil makin for to fhene,
All was as bright as fterres in wintir bene,
And Phoebus thone to make his pece ageine
For treipas done to high eftatis tweine:
Venus and Mars, the god and goddeffe clere,
When he them founde in armis cheinid faste,
Venus was than ful fad of herte and chere,
But Phoebus bemtis, freight as is the mafte,
Upon the caftil ginnith he to caft
To picfe the lady, princes of that place,
la figne he lokith aftir Lov'is grace :
For ther n'is god in heven or hel iwys
Bat he hath ben right foget unto Love,
Jove, Pluto, or what fo ever he is,
Ne creature in erth or yet above,
Of this the revers may no wight approve;
But furthirmore the caftill to defcrie
Yet fawe I nevir none fo large and hie,
For unto heven it stretchith I fuppofe,
Within and out depeintid wondirly,
With many a thousand daify rede as rofe,
And white alfo, this fawe I verily,
But what the deifis might do fignifie
Can I not tel, faufe that the quen'is floure
Alceste it was, that kept ther her fojoure
Which undir Venus lady was and quene,
And Admete kyng and foverain of that place,
To whom obeied the ladies gode xix,
With many' a thoufand othir bright of face,
And young men fele came forth with lufti pace,
And agid eke, ther homage to difpofe,
But what they were I could not well difclofe.
Yet nere and nere forth in I gan me dresse
Into an halle of noble apparaile,
With arras (pred and cloth of gold I geffe,
And othir filke of efyir availe;
Undir the cloth of ther eftate, fauns faile,
The king and quene there fat, as I beheld;
It paid joye of Helife the feld.
There faintis have ther cominge and resorte
To feen the kinge fo rially befene
In purple clad, and eke the quene in forte,
And on ther heddis fawe I crounis tweine
With ftonis fret, fo that it was no paine
Withoutin mete and drinke to ftand and fe
The king is honor and the rialte.
And for to trete of ftatis with the king,
That ben of counfell chefe, and with the quene;
The king had Daungir nere to him ftanding,
The
quene of Love Difdain, and that was fene,
For by the faith 1 fhal to God I wene
Was nevir ftraungir none in her degre
Than was the quene in caftinge of her eye.
And as I ftode perceving her aparte,
And ke the bemis fhininge of her eyen,
Me thought they werein fhapin lyche a darte,
sharpe and perfinge, fmale and freight as a line,
And al her here it fhone as golde fo fine, Dishivil, crifpe, doune hanging at her backe A yard in length, and fouthely than I spake:
O bright Regina! who made the fo faire? Who made thy colour vermelet and white? Wher wonneth the god, how far above the eyre? Grete was his crafte, and grete was his delite; Now marvil I nothing that ye do hight The quene of Love, and occupie the place Of Cithare: now, fwete lady! thy grace.
In mewit fpake I, fo that nought afterte
By no condicion word that might be hard,
But in my inward thought I gan adverte,
And oft I faid My wit is dul and hard,
For with her beautie thus God wot I ferde
As doeth the man yravifhid with fight,
When I beheld her criftal eyen fo bright,
No refpecte havyng what was befte to done,
Till right anone beholding here and there
I fpied a frend of myne, and that ful fone,
A gentil woman, was the chambirere
Unto the quene, that hote as ye shall here,
Philobone, that lovid al her life;
Whan fhe me fey fhe led me forth as blife,
And me demaundid how and in what wife
I thithir come, and what my erand was?
To fene the Courte (quod 1) and al the guife,
And eke to fue for pardon and for grace,
And mercy afke for al my grete trefpaffe;
That I none erite come to The Court of Love
Foryeve me this, ye goddis al above.
That is well faid (quod Philobone') in dede;
But were ye not affomoned to appere
By Mercurius, for that is al my drede?
Yes, gentill feire! (quod I) now am I here.
Ye, yet what tho though that be true, my dere?
Of your fre wil ye fhuld have come unfente,
For ye did not I deme ye will be fhente:
For ye that reigne in youth and lustines,
Pampired with efe, and jalous in your age,
Your dutie is, as far as I can geffe,
To Lov'is Courte to dreflin your viage
Alfone as Nature makith you fo fage
That ye may know a woman from a fwan.
Or whan your fote is growin balfe a span.
But fithe that ye by wilful negligence
This xviii yere hath kept your felfe at large
The gretir is your trefpas and offence,
And in your neck you mote bere all the charge,
For bettir were ye ben withoutin barge
Amidde the fe in tempeft and in rayne
Then bidin here receving wo and pain
That ordeined is for foche as them abfente Fro Lov'is Courte by yeris long and fele;
I ley my life ye fhal ful fone repente,
For Love wil reive youre coloure, luft, and hele,
Eke ye muft baite on many' an hevy mele:
No force iwis, I fired you longe agon
To drawe to Courte, quod litil Philobon;
Ye fhal wel fe how rough and angry face
The king of Love will fhewe when ye him fe;
By myn advife knele down and afke him grace,
Efchewing peril and adverfite,
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