Which tent was church perochiall,

Ordaint was in especiall,

For the feast and for the sacre,
Where archbishop, and archdiacre,
Songe full oute the servise,

After the custome and the guise,
And the churches ordinaunce;
And after that to dine and daunce
Brought were we, and to divers plaies,
And for our speed ech with praies,

And merry was most and leaste,

And said amended was the feaste,
And were right glad lady and lord,
Of the marriage and thaccord,
And wished us heartes pleasaunce,
Joy, hele, and continuance,

And to the ministrils made request,
That in encreasing of the fest,
They woulde touchen here cords,
And with some new joyeux accords,
Moove the people to gladnesse,
And praiden of all gentilnesse,
Ech to paine hem for the day,
To shew his cunning and his play.
Tho beganne sownes mervelous
Entuned with accords joyous,
Round about alle the tentes,
With thousandes of instrumentes,

That every wight to daunce hem painede,
To be merry was none that fainede,
Which sowne me troubled in my sleepe,

That fro my bedde forth I lepe,
Wening to be at thilke feast,

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But when I woke all was iceast,
For ther nas lady ne creature,
Save on the walles olde portraiture
Of horsmen, haukes, and houndes,
And hurte deere full of woundes,
Some like bitten, some hurt with shot,
And, as my dreame, seemed that was not;
And when I wake, and knew the trouth,
And ye hadde seen, of very routh,

I trow ye would have wept a weke,
For never man yet halfe so seke;
I went escaped with the life,

And was for fault that sword ne knife
I finde ne mighte my life tabridge,
Ne thing that kervede, ne had edge,
Wherewith I mighte my woful paines,
Have voided with bleeding of my vaines.
Lo, here my blisse, lo, here my paine,
Which to my lady I do complaine,
And grace and mercy
her requere,
To ende my wo and busie fere,
And me accepte to her servise,
After her service in such avise,

That of my dreame the substaunce
Mighte once turne to cognisaunce,
And cognisaunce to very preve
By full consent and goode leve,
Or elles without more I pray,
That thilke night, or it be day,
I mote unto my dreame returne,
And sleeping so, forth aie sojourne
About the yle of pleasaunce,
Under my ladies obeisaunce,

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In her servise, and in such wise,
As it please her may to devise,
And grace ones to be accepte,
Like as I dreamed when I slepte,
And dure a thousand yeare and ten,
In her good will, Amen! Amen!

FAIREST of faire, and goodliest on live,
All my secret to you I plaine and shrive,
Requiring grace and of complaint,

To be healed or martyred as a saint,
For by my trouth I sweare, and by this booke,
both heale and slea me with a looke.

Ye

may

Go forth mine owne true hart innocent,
And with humblesse, do thine observaunce,
And to thy lady on thy knees present

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Thy servise new, and think how great pleasance It is to live under thobeisance

Of her that may with her lookes softe

Give thee the blisse that thou desirest ofte.

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Be diligent, awake, obey, and drede,
And not too wild be of thy countenaunce,
But meeke and glad, and thy nature feede,
To do each thing that may her pleasance,
When thou shalt sleep, have aie in remembrance
Thimage of her which may with lookes softe
Give thee the blisse that thou desirest ofte.

And if so be that thou her name finde
Written in booke, or elles upon walle,
Looke that thou, as servaunt true and kinde,

Thine obeisaunce, as she were there withalle; 3130
Faining in love is breeding of a falle

From the grace of her, whose lookes softe
May give the blisse that thou desirest ofte.

Ye that this ballade reade shalle,
I pray you keepe you from the falle.

10

THE BOKE OF THE DUCHESSE;

OR, THE DETHE OF BLANCHE.

HAVE grete wonder, be this lyghte,
How that I lyve; for day ne nyghte
I may nat slepe welnygh noght,
I have so many an ydel thoght,

Purely for defaulte of slepe,

That, by my trouthe I take no kepe

Of noothinge, how hyt commeth or gooth.
Ne me nys nothynge leve nor looth;

Al is ylyche goode to me,

Joye or sorowe, wher so hyt be.
For I have felynge in nothynge,
But, as yt were a mased thynge,
Alway in poynt to falle adoun;
For sorwful ymagynacioun
Ys alway hooly in my mynde.

And wel ye woote, agaynes kynde
Hyt were to lyven in thys wyse;
For nature wolde nat suffyse,
To noon erthely creature,
Nat longe tyme to endure

Withoute slepe, and be in sorwe.

And I ne may, ne nyght ne morwe,