Imatges de pàgina

So mochel hath yit thy whirlynge up and down

Ytaught me for to knowe in an hour;

But trewely no fors of thi reddour1

To hym that over hymself hath the maystrye,

My suffysaunce shal be my socour,

For fynaly, Fortune, I thee deffye.

0 Socrates, thou stidfast chaumpyoun, She never myhte be thi tormentour, Thow never dreddest hyr oppressyoun,

Ne in hyr chere2 founde thow no savoure; %n
Thow knewe wel the deseyte of hyr coloure,
And that hir moste worshipe is to lye;
I knew hir ek a fals dissimuloure,
For fynaly, Fortune, I the deffye.

Le Respond de Fortune a Pleintif.

No man ys wrechchyd but hymself yt wene,* And he that hath hymself hath suffisaunce. Whi seysthow thanne I am to the so kene, That hast thyself out of my govern aunce? Sey thus: "Graunt mercy 4 of thyn haboundaunce

That thow hast lent or this;" why wolt thou stryve. 3c What woost thow yit how I the wol avaunce? And ek thow hast thy bests frende alyve.

1 have the taught devisyoun bytwene Frend of effect6 and frende of countenaunce. VISAGE SANZ PE1NTURE. 201


The nedeth nat the galle of no hyene,
That cureth eyen derkyd for penaunce;
Now sest thow cleer that weere in ignoraunce.
Yit halt thin ancre, and yit thow mayst aryve
Ther bounte 1 berth the keye of my substaunce,
And ek thou hast thy beste frende alyve. 40

How manye have I refused to sustene,
Syn I the fostred have in thy plesaunce!
Wolthow thanne make a statute on thy quene,
That I shal ben ay at thy ordynaunce?
Thow born art in my regne of varyaunce,2
Aboute the wheel with oother most thow dryve;
My loore * is bet, than wikke is thi grevaunce,
And ek thou hast thy beste frende alyve.

Le Responce du Pleintif contre Fortune.

Thy loore I dempne! it is adversyte! My frend maysthow nat reven,4 blynde goddesse! 50 That I thy frendes 5 knowe, I thanke to the; Tak hem agayn! lat hem go lye on presse! The negardye in kepynge hyr rychesse Pronostik' is thow wolt hire toure asayle; Wikke appetyt comth ay before sykenesse, — In general this rewle may nat fayle.

Le Responce de Fortune contre le Pleintif.

Thow pynchest at my mutabylyte,
For I the lente a drope of my rychesse;

1 Goodness. • Changeable kingdom. 'Lesson. * Take away That is, friends who are such during good fortune only- * Prog

A.nd now me lykyth to withdrawe me,
Whi sholdysthow my realte1 opresse? 60
The see may ebbe and flowen moore or lesse;
The welkne hath myht to shyne, reyne, 01

Ryht so mot I kythen my brutelnesse,* —
In general this rewle may nat fayle.

Le Pkintif.

Lo, excussyoun of the Majeste That al purveyeth of his ryghtwysnesse, That same thinge Fortune clepyn ye, Ye blynde beestys, ful of lewednesse J The hevene hath proprete of sykyrnesse; This world hath ever resteles travayle; 70 Thy laste day 8 is ende of myn interesse,4 — In general this rewele may nat fayle.

Lenvoy de Fortune.

Prynses! I prey yow of yowre gentilesse, Lat nat this man on me thus crye and pleyne, And I shal quyte yow youre bysynesse, At my requeste as thre of yow or tweyne; That but yow lest releve hym of hys peyne, Preyeth hys beste frend 6 of his noblesse, That to som betere estat he may attayne.

1 Royalty. 1 Show my fickleness. • Doomsday. 4 That b, is affairs of this world. • An nnknown friend, to whom this delkati petition for assistance was addressed.



To you, my purse, and to noon other wight

Compleyn I, for ye be my lady dere I I am so sory now that ye been lyght,

For, certes, but-yf ye make me hevy chere, Me were as leef be layde upon my bere, For whiche unto your mercy thus I crye, — Beeth hevy ageyne, or elles mote I dye I

Now voucheth sauf this day, or it be nyghte,
That I of you the blissful soune may here,

Or see your colour lyke the sonne bryghte,
That of yelownesse hadde never pere.
Ye be my lyfe! ye be myn hertys stere !1

Quene of comfort and goode companye I

Beth hevy ageyne, or elles mote I dye.

Now, purse, that ben to me my lyves lyght
And saveour, as doun in this worlde here,

Oute of this toune helpe me thurgh your myght,
Syn that ye-wole not bene my tresorere;
For I am shave as nye as is a frere.

But I praye unto your curtesye,

Beth hevy ageyn, or elles moote I dye!

VEnvoye de Chaucer.
O conquerour of Brutes Albyoun,1
Whiche that by lygne and free eleccioun

Been verray kynge,2 this song to you I sende, And ye that mowen * alle myn harme amende, Have mynde upon my supplicacioun!

1 The Albion of Brutus, a descendant of Aneas. * King Henry IV. seems to be meant. * May.

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