He seyde, "Farewel, farewel, papyngay!" And then come the nyghtyngale to me, 230 I thanked her, and was ryght wel apayed: "Yee," quoth she, "and be thou not amayed, Thogh thou have herde the cukkow er then me ; For, if I lyve, hit shal amended be The nexte May, yf I be not affrayed.1 “And oon thing I wol rede the also, Ne leve 2 thou not the cukkow, loves fo, For al that he hath seyde is strong lesinge." "Nay, nay," quoth I, "ther shal nothing me bringe Fro love, and yet he doth me mekil wo." 240 "Yee? Use thou," quoth she, “this mede cyne, Every day this May er that thou dyne, — "And loke alwey that trewe, 3 thou be good and And I wol singe oon of my songes newe 1 Alarmed. 2 Believe. 8 Lessen. WE WOL HAVE A PARLEMENT." 563 For love of the, as loude as I may crie: And then she began this songe ful hye, "I shrewe hem al that be to love untrewe." And when she hadde songen hit out to the ende, 251 "Now fairewel," quoth she, "for I moste wende, And god of Love, that can ryght wel and may, As mekil joy sende yow this day, As ever yet he eny lover sende ! " Thus toke the nyghtyngale hir leve of me. Forthe she fley, the gentil nyghtyngale, 260 "Ye knowe wel, hit is not fro yow hidde, How that the cukkow and I fast have chidde, Ever sithe that hit was dayes lyght; I prey yow alle that ye do me ryght Of that foule fals, unkynde bridde." 270 Then spake oon brid for al, by oon assent: "This mater asketh good avysement; For we be fewe briddes her in fere, And soth hit ys, the cukkow is not here, And therfore we wol have a parlement. "And therat shal the egle be, our lorde, 12 280 She thanked hem, and then her leve she toke, And fleye into an hawthorne by the broke, 290 O lewde boke, with thy foule rudenesse, Sith thou hast neyther beaute ne eloquence, Who hath the caused or geve the hardynesse For to appere in my ladyes presence? 8 I am ful siker thou knowest hyr benivolence, Ful agreable to alle hir obeyinge, For of al goode she is the beste lyvynge. Alas! that thou ne haddest worthynesse, To shewe to hir somme plesaunt sentence, Sithen that she hath, thorgh hir gentilesse, 300 Acceptede the servant to hir digne reverence! 1 Peers. 2 Grass land, lawn. 3 Sure. A GOODLY BALLADE OF CHAUCER, 565 O me repenteth that I ne hadde science, And leyser als, to make the more florysshynge, For of al goode she ys the beste lyvynge. Beseche hir mekely with alle lowlynesse, Though I be ferre from hir in absence, To thenke on my trouthe and stidfastnesse, And to abregge of my sorwes the violence, Whiche caused ys, wherof knoweth your sapi ence, She lyke1 amonge to notefye me hir lykynge; For of alle goode she is the beste lyvynge. 311 Lenvoye. Aurore of gladnesse, and day of lustynesse, Lucerne 2 a nyght with hevenly influence Enlumyned, rote of beaute and goodenesse, Suspiries which I effunde in silence! 3 Of grace, I beseche, alegge let your writynge Now of al goode, syth ye be beste lyvynge. A GOODLY BALLADE OF CHAUCER. MOTHER of norture, best beloved of alle, And fresshest flour, to whom good thrift God sende ! Your childe, if it lust you me so to calle, 1 May please. 2 Lamp. Sighs. Pour out. To your discrecion I recommende Myn herte and al, with every circumstance, ΙΟ Moste desire I, and have and ever shal, Thyng whiche might your hertes ease amende ; Have me excused, my power is but smal; Nathelesse, of right, ye oughte to commende My goode wille, which fayne wolde entende To do you servyce; for al my suffysaunce Is holy to be under your governaunce. Meulx un1 in herte which never shal appalle, Aye fresshe and newe, and right glad to dispende My tyme in your service, what so befalle, Besechyng your excellence to defende My symplenesse, if ignoraunce offende In any wyse; sythe that myn affyaunce Is holy ben under your governaunce. 20 Daisy of lyght, very grounde of comforte, The Sonnes doughter ye hight, as I rede; For whan he westreth, farwel your disporte ! By your nature anon, right for pure drede Of the rude night that with his boystous wede Of derkenesse shadoweth our emyspere, Than closen ye, my lives lady dere! Dawnyng the Day to his kynde 2 resorte, Dan Phebus your father with his stremes rede Adorneth the morowe, consumyng the sorte 31 Of misty cloudes that wolden overlede Trewe humble hertes with her mistyhede, 1 Better one. 2 Natural. |