THE FRANKELEYNES PROLOGE.
HIS olde gentile Britouns in here dayes
Of diverse aventures maden layes,
Rymeden in here firste Britoun tonge;
Whiche layes with here instrumentzs
they songe,
Other elles redden hem for here plesaunce,
And on of hem have I in remembraunce,
Which I schal seye with as goode wille as I can.
But, sires, bycause that I am a burel man,
At my begynnyng first I you beseche
Haveth me excused of my rude speche,
I lerned never rethorik certayn;
Thing that I speke, it mot be bare and playn;
I slepte never on the mount of Pernaso,
Ne lered never Marcus, Thullius, ne Cithero.
Colours of Rethorik knowe I non, withouten drede,
But suche coloures as growen in the mede,
Or elles suche as men dye with or peynte;
Colours of rethorik ben me to queynte;
My spyrit feleth nought of suche matere.
But if ye luste my tale schyl ye nouthe here.' 20
THE FRANKELEYNES TALE.
HER was a knight, that loved and did his peyne
In Armoryke, that cleped is Briteyne,
To serven a lady in his beste wise;
And many a labour, and many a grete emprise
He for his lady wrought, er sche were wonne;
For sche was on the fairest under sonne,
And eek therto come of so heih kynrede,
That wel unnethes durst this knight for drede
Telle hire his woo, his peyne, and his distresse.
But atte laste sche for his worthinesse,
And namely for his meke obeissance,
Hath suche a pité caught of his penaunce,
That prively sche felle of his acord
To take him for hir housbonde and hire lord,
(Of suche lordschipe as men han over here wyves);
And, for to lede the more in blisse here lyves,
Of his fre wille he swor hire as a knight,
That never in his wille by day ne by night
Ne schulde he upon him take no maystrie
Ayeins hire wille, ne kuythe hire jalousye,
But hire obeye, and folwe hire wille in al,
As ony lovere to his lady schal;
Save that the name of sovereyneté
That wolde he han for schame of his degre.
Sche thanketh him, and with ful grete humblesse Sche sayde; Sire, seththen of your gentilnesse Ye profre me to han als large a reyne,
Ne wold nevere God betwixe us tweyne,
As in my gilt, were eyther werre or stryf.
Sire, I wil be your owne humble trewe wijf,
Have here my trouthe, til that myn herte breste.'
Thus be they bothe in quiete and in reste.
For o thing, syres, saufly dar I seye,
That frendes everich other motte obeye,
If thay wille longe holde companye
Love wol nought ben constreigned by maystrie.
Whan maystrie cometh, the god of love anon
Beteth on his wynges, and fare wel, he is gon.
Love is a thing, as any spiryt, fre.
Wommen of kynde desiren liberté,
And nought to be constreigned as a thral;
And so do men, if I the sothe seye schal.
Loke who that is most pacient in love,
He is at his avauntage al above.
Pacience is an heih vertue certeyn,
For it venquissheth, as these clerkes seyn,
Thynges that rigour schulde never atteigne.
For every word men may nought chyde ne pleyne.
Lerneth to suffre, or elles, so mote I gon,
Ye schullen it lerne whether ye wole or non.
For in this worlde certeyn no wight ther nys,
That he ne doth or saith som tyme amys.
Ire othir siknesse, other constillacioun,
Wyn, wo, or chaungynge of complexioun,
Causeth ful often to don amys other speken.
On every wrong men may nought ben awreken;
After the tyme moste be temperaunce
To every wight that can of governance.
And therfore hath this worthy wise knight
To lyve in ese suffraunce hir behight;
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