That of knighthode he is parfit richesse.
Honour honoureth him for his noblesse ;
Therto so wel hath formed him Nature,
That I am his for ever, I him assure, 15
For every wight preiseth his gentilesse.
And not-withstanding al his suffisaunce,
His gentil herte is of so greet humblesse
To me in worde, in werke, in contenaunce,
And me to serve is al his besinesse,
That I am set in verrey sikernesse.
Thus oghte I blesse wel myn aventure,
Sith that him list me serven and honoure;
For every wight preiseth his gentilesse.
II. (Disquietude caused by Jealousy.) Now certes, Love, hit is right covenable That men ful dere bye thy noble thing, 26 As wake a-bedde, and fasten at the table, Weping to laughe, and singe in compleyning,
And doun to caste visage and loking,
Often to chaungen hewe and contenaunce, +Pleyne in sleping, and dremen at the daunce,
Al the revers of any glad feling.
Jalousye be hanged by a cable!
She wolde al knowe through hir espying;
Ther doth no wight no-thing so resonable,
That al nis harm in hir imagening.
Thus dere abought is love, in yeving,
Which ofte he yiveth with-oute ordin-
As sorow ynogh, and litel of plesaunce, Al the revers of any glad feling.
A litel tyme his yift is agreable,
But ful encomberous is the using;
For sotel Jalousye, the deceyvable,
Ful often-tyme causeth destourbing.
Thus be we ever in drede and suffering,
In nouncerteyn we languisshe in pen-
46
And han ful often many an hard meschaunce,
Al the revers of any glad feling.
III. (Satisfaction in Constancy.) But certes, Love, I sey nat in such wyse That for t'escape out of your lace I mente; For I so longe have been in your servyse 51 That for to lete of wol I never assente; No force thogh Jalousye me tormente ; Suffyceth me to see him whan I may, 54 And therfore certes, to myn ending-day To love him best ne shal I never repente. And certes, Love, whan I me wel avyse On any estat that man may represente,
Than have ye maked me, through your
Chese the best that ever on erthe wente.
Now love wel, herte, and look thou never
stente;
And let the jelous putte hit in assay
That, for no peyne wol I nat sey nay;
To love him best ne shal I never repente.
Herte, to thee hit oghte y-nogh suffyse 65
That Love so hy a grace to thee sente,
To chese the worthiest in alle wyse
And most agreable unto myn entente.
Seche no ferther, neyther wey ne wente,
Sith I have suffisaunce unto my pay. 70
Thus wol I ende this compleynt or lay;
To love him best ne shal I never repente.
XIX. THE COMPLEINT OF CHAUCER TO HIS
To you, my purse, and to non other wight | Now purs, that be to me my lyves light, 15
Compleyne I, for ye be my lady dere!
I am so sory, now that ye be light;
For certes, but ye make me hevy chere,
Me were as leef be leyd up-on my bere; 5
For whiche un-to your mercy thus I
Beth hevy ageyn, or elles mot I dye!
Now voucheth sauf this day, or hit be
night,
That I of you the blisful soun may here,
Or see your colour lyk the sonne bright,
That of yelownesse hadde never pere. II
Ye be my lyf, ye be myn hertes stere,
Quene of comfort and of good companye:
Beth hevy ageyn, or elles mot I dye!
And saveour, as doun in this worlde here,
Out of this toune help me through your
might,
Sin that ye
wole nat been my tresorere;
For I am shave as nye as any frere.
But yit I pray un-to your curtesye :
Beth hevy ageyn, or elles mot I dye!
O conquerour of Brutes Albioun !
Which that by lyne and free eleccioun
Ben verray king, this song to you I sende;
And ye, that mowen al our harm amende,
Have minde up-on my supplicacioun ! 26
[The following Poems are also probably genuine; but are placed here for lack of external evidence.]
XXI. AGAINST WOMEN UNCONSTANT.
MADAME, for your newe-fangelnesse,
Many a servaunt have ye put out of
I take my leve of your unstedfastnesse,
For wel I wot, whyl ye have lyves space,
Ye can not love ful half yeer in a place; 5
To newe thing your lust is ever kene ;
In stede of blew, thus may ye were al
grene.
Right as a mirour nothing may enpresse,
But, lightly as it cometh, so mot it pace,
So fareth your love, your werkes bereth
witnesse.
Ther is no feith that may your herte en-
brace;
Ye han me cast in thilke spitous yle
Ther never man on lyve mighte asterte ;
This have I for I love you, swete herte!
Sooth is, that wel I woot, by lyklinesse,
If that it were thing possible to do 16
T'acompte youre beutee and goodnesse,
I have no wonder thogh ye do me wo;
Sith I, th'unworthiest that may ryde or go,
Durste ever thinken in so hy a place, 20
What wonder is, thogh ye do me no grace?
Allas! thus is my lyf brought to an ende,
My deeth, I see, is my conclusioun ;
may wel singe, 'in sory tyme I spende
My lyf;' that song may have confusioun !
For mercy, pitee, and deep affeccioun, 26
I sey for me, for al my deedly chere,
Alle thise diden, in that, me love yow dere.
And in this wyse and in dispayre I live
In love; nay, but in dispayre I dye!
But shal I thus [to] yow my deeth for-give,
That causeles doth me this sorow drye?
Ye, certes, I! For she of my folye
Hath nought to done, although she do me
sterve;
[And] yet alwey two thinges doon me dyë,
That is to seyn, hir beutee and myn yë.
So that, algates, she is the verray rote
Of my disese, and of
dethe also;
my
For with oon word she mighte be my bote,
If that she vouched sauf for to do so. 46
But [why] than is hir gladnesse at my wo?
It is hir wone plesaunce for to take,
To seen hir servaunts dyen for hir sake!
But certes, than is al my wonderinge, 50
Sithen she is the fayrest creature
As to my dome, that ever was livinge,
The benignest and beste eek that nature
Hath wrought or shal, why that the
world may dure,
Why that she lefte pite so behinde?
It was, y-wis, a greet defaute in kinde.
Yit is al this no lak to hir, pardee,
But god or nature sore wolde I blame;
For, though she shewe no pite unto me,
Sithen that she doth othere men the same,
I ne oughte to despyse my ladies game; 61
It is hir pley to laughen whan men syketh,
And I assente, al that hir list and lyketh!
Yit wolde I, as I dar, with sorweful herte
Biseche un-to your meke womanhede 65
That I now dorste my sharpe sorwes
76 Forgiveth it me, myn owne lady dere! Ever have I been, and shal, how-so I wende,
Outher to live or dye, your humble trewe; Ye been to me my ginning and myn ende, Sonne of the sterre bright and clere of hewe, 81
Alwey in oon to love yow freshly newe, By god and by my trouthe, is myn entente; To live or dye, I wol it never repente! This compleynt on seint Valentynes day, Whan every foul [ther] chesen shal his make,
To hir, whos I am hool, and shal alwey, This woful song and this compleynt I make,
That never yit wolde me to mercy take: And yit wol I [for] evermore her serve go And love hir best, although she do me sterve.
XXIII. A BALADE OF COMPLEYNT.
This is added as being a good example of a Compleynt in Chaucer's style.]
COMPLEYNE ne coude, ne might myn herte
And deeth also, whan ye my peynes newe, My worldes joye, whom I wol serve and
My heven hool, and al my suffisaunce, Whom for to serve is set al my plesaunce.
Beseching yow in my most humble wyse
T'accepte in worth this litel povre dyte, 16
And for my trouthe my service nat de-
spyse,
Myn observaunce eek have nat in despyte,
Ne yit to long to suffren in this plyte;
I yow beseche, myn hertes lady, here, 20
Sith I yow serve, and so wil yeer by
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