Of thy behalfe, to accept in game

Thyn inabylite; do thou the same:

Abyde! have more yet! Je serve Jouesse.1 Nowe forth I close the in holy Venus name! The shal unclose my hertes governeresse.

A PRAISE OF WOMEN.

бо

AL tho that lyste of women evyl to speke, And sayn of hem worse than they deserve, I praye to God that her neckes to-breke, Or on some evyl dethe mote tho janglers sterve; For every man were holden hem to serve, And do hem worship, honour, and servyce, In every maner that they best coude devyse.

For we oughte first to thinke on what manere They bring us forth, and what payn they endure First in our byrth, and syth 2 fro yere to yere 10 How busely they done hir busy cure,3 To kepe us fro every misaventure In our youthe, whan we have no might Our selfe to kepe, neither by day nor nyght. Alas! howe may we say on hem but wele,

Of whom we were fostred and ybore,

And ben al our sucoure, and ever trewe as stele,
And for our sake ful ofte they suffre sore?
Withoute women were al our joye lore;
Wherfore we ought alle women to obeye
In al goodnesse; I can no more saye.

1 I serve Joyous. Then. Care.

20

WHAT LOVE WAS."

569

This is wel knowen, and hath ben or1 this,
That women ben cause of alle lightnesse,2
Of knyghthode, norture, eschewyng al malis,
Encrease of worshyp, and of alle worthynesse;
Therto curteys and meke, and ground of al
goodnesse,

Glad and mery, and trewe in every wyse
That any gentyl herte can thynke or devyse.
And though any wolde truste to your un

truthe,

29

And to your fayre wordes wold aught assente,
In goode fayth me thynketh it were gret ruthe,
That other women sholde for hir gylt be shent,
That never knew, ne wiste nought of hir entent,
Ne lyste not to here the fayre words ye write,
Which ye you payne fro day to day tendyte.
But who may, beware of your tales untrewe,
That ye so busyly paynt and endite?
For ye wyl swere that ye never knewe,
Ne sawe the woman, neyther moche ne lyte,1
Save onely her to whom ye hadde delite,
As for to serve of al that ever ye seye,
And for her love must ye nedes deye.

40

Then wyl ye swere that ye knewe never before What Love was, ne his dredful observaunce, But nowe ye fele that he can wounde sore; Wherfore ye putte you into her governaunce, Whom Love hath ordeyned you to serve and do piesaunce

Ere. 2 Joyousness. Ruined for their fault

• Little.

With al your might your lytel lyves space, Whiche endeth sone but if she do you grace.

And then to bedde wylle ye soone drawe, 50 And sone sicke ye wylle you than fayne, And swere faste your lady hath you slawe, And brought you sudeynly so high a payne That fro your deth may no man you restrayne, With a daungerous loke of her eyen two, That to your dethe muste ye nedes go.

Thus wylle ye morne, thus wylle ye sighe sore,
As though your herte anon in two wolde breste,
And swere faste that ye may live no more;
"Myne owne lady! that might, if ye leste, 60
Bringe myn herte somdele into reste,

As if you lyst mercy on me to have ;"
Thus your untrouth wyl ever mercy crave.
Thus wol ye playne, thogh ye nothyng smerte,
These innocent creatures for to begyle,
And swere to hem, so wounded is your herte
For her love, that ye may lyve no whyle,
Scarsly so longe as one mighte go a mile,
So hyeth dethe to bringe you to an ende,
But if your soverayn lady lyst you to amende.
And if for routhe she comforte you in any

wyse

For pyte of your false othes sere,

69

So that innocent weneth that it be as you devyse And weneth your herte be as she may here, Thus for to comfort and somwhat do you chere ;

"YE BE TO BLAME."

571

Than wol these janglers deme of her ful ylle, And sayne that ye have her fully at your wylle.

Lo, howe redy her tonges ben, and preste To speke harme of women causelesse ! Alas! why might ye not as wel saye the beste, As for to deme hem thus gyltelesse?

81

In your herte, ywis, there is no gentylnesse,
That of your owne gylt lyst thus women fame;'
Now, by my trouth, me thynke ye be to blame.
For of women cometh this worldly wele,
Wherfore we oughte to worship hem evermore;
And thou it mishap one, we oughte for to hele,2
For it is al through our false lore,

That day and night we payne us evermore
With many an othe these women to begyle 90
With false tales, and many a wicked wyle.

And if falshede shulde be reckened and tolde In women, iwys ful trouthe were,

Not as in men, by a thousand fold;
Fro alle vices, iwys they stande clere,
In any thing that ever I coude of here,
But if entysing of these men it make,
That hem to flatteren connen never slake.

I wolde fayne wete wher ever ye coude here, Withoute mennes tysing, what women dyd

amis,

100

For ther ye may get hem ye lye fro yere to

yere,

And many a gabbing ye make to hem, iwys;

Defame. 3 Hide. Except. Know. 5 Enticing. That.

For I could never here ne knowen ere this,
Where ever ye coude fynde in any place,
That ever women besoughte you of grace.
There ye you payne with al your fulle
might,

With al your herte, and al your besynesse,
To pleasen hem bothe by day and night,
Prayeng hem of her grace and gentylnesse,
To have pyte upon youre greate distresse, 110
And that they wolde on your payne have routhe,
And slee you not, sens ye meane but trouthe.
Thus may ye see that they ben fautelesse,
And innocent to alle your werkes slie,

And alle your craftes that touche falsnesse,
They knowe hem not, ne may hem not espye;
So sweare ye that ye muste nedes die,
But if they wolde, of hir womanheed,
Upon you rewe, er that ye be deed.
And than your "lady" and you

66 hertes

quene"
Ye calle hem, and therewith ye syghe sore,
And say, "My lady, I trowe that it be sene
In what plite that I have lyved ful yore;
But nowe I hope that ye wol no more
In these peynes suffre me for to dwelle,
For of al goodnesse, iwys, ye be the welle."

I2C

Lo, whiche a paynted processe can ye make, These harmlesse creatures for to begyle! And whan they slepe, ye payne you to wake, And to bethinke you on many a wicked wyle