So art thou thanne desirous,
A sight of hire for to have,
If thou thine honour myghtist save,
Or ony erande myghtist make
Thider, for thi loves sake,
Fulle fayn thou woldist, but for drede
'T'hou gost not, lest that men take hede. Wherfore I rede1 in thi goyng,
And also in thyne ageyn-comyng,
Thou be welle ware that men ne wite ;*
Feyne thee other cause than itte,
go that weye, or faste bye,
To hele wel is no folye.'
"And if so be it happe thee, That thou thi love there maist see, In siker wise thou hir salewe,
Wherewith thy colour wole transmewe,
And eke thy blode shal al to quake,
Thyne hewe eke chaungen for hir sake.
But word and witte, with chere fulle pale,
Shulle wante for to telle thy tale.
And if thou maist so fer forth wynne,
That thou to resoun derst bigynne,
And woldist seyn thre thingis or mo,
Thou shalt fulle scarsly seyn the two.
Though thou bithenke thee never so welle,
Thou shalt forgete yit somdelle,
But if thou dele with trecherie.
For false lovers mowe alle folye
1 Counsel. Know. Conceal
Seyn what hem lust withouten drede,
They be so double in her falshede;
For they in herte cunne thenke a thyng
And seyn another, in her spekyng.
"And whanne thi speche is eendid alle,
Ryght thus to thee it shalle byfalle ;
If ony word thanne come to mynde,
That thou to seye hast left bihynde,
Thanne thou shalt brenne in gret martire;
For thou shalt brenne as ony fiere,
This is the stryf and eke the affray,
And the batelle that lastith ay.
This bargeyn eende may never take,
But if that she thi pees wille make.
"And whanne the nyght is comen, anoon
A thosande angres shalle come uppon.
To bedde as fast thou wolt thee dighte,
Where thou shalt have but smal delite;
For whanne thou wenest for to slepe,
So fulle of peyne shalt thou crepe,
Sterte in thi bedde aboute fulle wide,
And turne fulle ofte on every side;
Now dounward groff, and now upright,
And walowe in woo the longe nyght,
Thine armys shalt thou sprede abrode,
As man in werre were forweriede.
"Thanne shalle thee come a remembraunce
Of hir shappe and hir semblaunce,
Whereto none other may be pere.
And wite thou wel withoute were,
That thee shal seme somtyme that nyght,
That thou hast hir that is so bright,
Naked bitwene thyne armes there,
Alle sothfastnesse as though it were.
"Thou shalt make castels thanne in Spayne,
And dreme of joye, alle but in vayne,
And thee deliten of right nought,
While thou so slomrest in that thought,
That is so swete and delitable,
The which in sothe nys but fable,
For it ne shalle no while laste.
Thanne shalt thou sighe and wepe faste, 2580
And say, 'Dere God, what thing is this?
My dreme is turned alle amys,
Which was fulle swete and apparent,1
But now I wake it is al shent!
Now gede this mery thought away.
Twenty tymes upon a day
I wolde this thought wolde come ageyne,
For it aleggith welle my peyne.
It makith me fulle of joyfulle thought,
It sleth me that it lastith noght.
'A, Lord! why nyl ye me socoure?
The joye I trowe that I langoure,
The deth I wolde me shulde sloo,3
While I lye in hir armes twoo.
Myne harme is harde withouten wene,1
My gret unease fulle ofte I meene.
But wolde Love do so I myghte
liave fully joye of hir so brighte,
My peyne were quytte me rychely.
"Allas, to grete a thing aske I!
Hit is but foly, and wrong wenyng,
To aske so outrageous a thyng.
And who so askith folily,
He mote be warned hastily;
And I ne wote what I may saye,
I am so fer out of the waye;
For I wolde have fulle gret likyng,
And fulle gret joye of lasse thing,
For wolde she of hir gentylnesse,
Withoute more, me oonys kysse,
It were to me a grete guerdoun,
Relees of alle my passioun.
But it is harde to come therto;
Alle is but folye, that I do,
So high I have myne herte sette,
Where I may no comfort gette.
I wote not where I seye welle or nought;
But this I wote wel in my thought,
That it were better of hir alloone,
For to stynte my woo and moone,
A loke on hir i-caste goodly,
Than for to have al utterly
Of an other alle hoole the pley.
A, Lord, where I shalle byde the day
That evere she shalle my lady be?
He is fulle cured, that may hir see.
A, God! whanne shal the dawnyng springe?
To liggen thus is an angry thyng;
I have no joye thus heere to lye,
Whanne that my love is not me bye.
"A man to lyen hath gret disese,
Which may not slepe ne reste in ese.
I wolde it dawed, and were now day,
And that the nyght were went away,
For were it day, I wolde uprise.
A! slowe sonne, shewe thine enprise!
Spede thee to sprede thy beemys brighte,
And chace the derknesse of the nyghte,
To putte away the stoundes 2 stronge,
Whiche in me lasten alle to longe.'
"The nyght shalt thou contene3 soo,
Withoute rest, in peyne and woo;
If evere thou knewe of love distresse,
Thou shalt mowe 4 lerne in that siknesse.
And thus enduryng shalt thou lye
And ryse on morwe up erly,
Out of thy bedde, and harneyse thee
Er evere dawnyng thou maist see.
Alle pryvyly thanne shalt thou goon,
What whider it be, thy silf alloon,
For reyne, or hayle, for snowe, for slete,
Thider she dwellith that is so swete,
The which may falle a-slepe be,
And thenkith but lytel upon thee.
"Thanne shalt thou goon, ful foule a-feerd,
1 Lie. Moments. 8 Continue. 4 More.
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