1165

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For, as his brothers hamers ronge
Upon his anvelt up and doun,
Therof he took the firste soun;
But Grekes seyn, Pictagoras,
That he the firste finder was
Of the art; Aurora telleth so,
But therof no fors, of hem two.
Algates songes thus I made
Of my feling, myn herte to glade;
And lo! this was [the] alther-firste,
I not wher [that] hit were the werste.—
"Lord, hit maketh myn herte light,
Whan I thenke on that swete wight 1176
That is so semely on to see ;

And wisshe to god hit might so be, That she wolde holde me for hir knight, My lady, that is so fair and bright!"

Now have I told thee, sooth to saye, My firste song. Upon a daye

I bethoghte me what wo
And sorwe that I suffred tho

1182

For ferde, and myn hewe al pale,

Ful ofte I wex bothe pale and reed; 1215 Bowing to hir, I heng the heed;

I durste nat ones loke hir on,

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For wit, manere, and al was gon.
I seyde mercy !" and no more;
Hit nas no game, hit sat me sore
'So atte laste, sooth to seyn,
Whan that myn herte was come ageyn,
To telle shortly al my speche,
With hool herte I gan hir beseche
That she wolde be my lady swete;
And swor, and gan hir hertely hete
Ever to be stedfast and trewe,
And love hir alwey freshly newe,
And never other lady have,
And al hir worship for to save
As I best conde; I swor hir this-
"For youres is al that ever ther is
For evermore, myn herte swete!
And never false yow, but I mete,
I nil, as wis god helpe me so!"

'And whan I had my tale y-do,
God wot, she acounted nat a stree
Of al my tale, so thoghte me.
To telle shortly as hit is,
Trewly hir answere, hit was this;
I can not now wel counterfete
Hir wordes, but this was the grete
Of hir answere; she sayde,
Al-outerly. Allas! that day
The sorwe I suffred, and the wo!
That trewly Cassandra, that so
Bewayled the destruccioun

66

1230

1235

1240

nay"

1245

1195

Of Troye and of Ilioun,

So moche beaute, trewely,

And bounte, withouten mercy.

In hope of that, my tale I tolde

With sorwe, as that I never sholde, 1200 For nedes; and, maugree my heed,

I moste have told hir or be deed.

I not wel how that I began,
Ful evel reherse[n] hit I can ;
And eek, as helpe me god with-al,
I trowe hit was in the dismal,

'So hit befel, another yere,
I thoughte ones I wolde fonde
To do hir knowe and understonde
My wo; and she wel understood
That I ne wilned thing but good,
And worship, and to kepe hir name
Over tal thing, and drede hir shame,
And was so besy hir to serve ;-
And pite were I shulde sterve,
Sith that I wilned noon harm, y-wis.

So whan my lady knew al this,
My lady yaf me al hoolly
The noble yift of hir mercy,
Saving hir worship, by al weyes;
Dredles, I mene noon other weyes.
And therwith she yaf me a ring;
I trowe hit was the firste thing;
But if myn herte was y-waxe
Glad, that is no need to axe!
As helpe me god, I was as blyve,
Reysed, as fro dethe to lyve,
Of alle happes the alder-beste,

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1270

1275

I have lost more than thou wenest "-
God wot, allas! right that was she!'

'Allas! sir, how? what may that be?" 'She is deed!' Nay!' Yis, by my trouthe!'

'Is that your los? by god, hit is routhe!' And with that worde, right anoon, 1311 They gan to strake forth; al was doon, For that tyme, the hert-hunting.

With that, me thoghte, that this king Gan [quikly] hoomward for to ryde Unto a place +ther besyde,

Which was from us but a lyte,

A long castel with walles whyte,

By seynt Johan! on a riche hil,

As me mette; but thus it fil

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1331

She hath so gret compassion of hir knight, That dwelleth in solitude til she come; 65 For hit stood so, that ilke tyme, no wight Counseyled him, ne seyde to him welcome, That nigh hir wit for wo was overcome; Wherfore she spedde hir as faste in hir weye,

Almost in oon day, as he dide in tweye. 70

The grete joye that was betwix hem two, Whan they be met, ther may no tunge telle,

Ther is no more, but unto bed they go, And thus in joye and blisse I lete hem dwelle;

This worthy Mars, that is of knighthod welle,

75

This sely Venus, +dreynt in teres wete, Enbraceth Mars, and seyde, "alas! I dye! The torch is come, that al this world wol wrye." 91

Up sterte Mars, him liste not to slepe, Whan he his lady herde so compleyne; But, for his nature was not for to wepe, In stede of teres, fro his eyen tweyne 95 The fyry sparkes brosten out for peyne; And hente his hauberk, that lay him besyde;

Flee wolde he not, ne mighte him-selven hyde.

He throweth on his helm of huge wighte, And girt him with his swerde; and in his honde

100

Is passed halfe the stremes of thyn yên; That thou nere swift, wel mayst thou wepe and cryen.

Now fleeth Venus un-to Cylenius tour, With voide cours, for fere of Phebus light. Alas! and ther ne hath she no socour, 115 For she ne fond ne saw no maner wight; And eek as ther she had but litil might; Wher-for, hir-selven for to hyde and save, Within the gate she fledde into a cave.

Derk was this cave, and smoking as the helle,

120

Not but two pas within the gate hit stood; A naturel day in derk I lete hir dwelle. Now wol I speke of Mars, furious and wood;

For sorow he wolde have seen his herte blood;

Sith that he mighte thir don no companye,

125

He ne roghte not a myte for to dye.
So feble he wex, for hete and for his wo,
That nigh he swelt, he mighte unnethe
endure;

He passeth but oo steyre in dayes two,
But ner the les, for al his hevy armure, 130
He foloweth hir that is his lyves cure;
For whos departing he took gretter yre
Thanne for al his brenning in the fyre.
After he walketh softely a pas,

Compleyning, that hit pite was to here. 135 He seyde, "O lady bright, Venus! alas! That ever so wyde a compas is my spere! Alas! whan shal I mete yow, herte dere, This twelfte day of April I endure, Through jelous Phebus, this misaventure."

196

Shal I compleyne unto my lady free? Nay, certes! for she hath such hevinesse, For fere and eek for wo, that, as I gesse, In litil tyme hit wol hir bane be. But were she sauf, hit wer no fors of me, Alas! that ever lovers mote endure, For love, so many a perilous aventure!

For thogh so be that lovers be as trewe 200 As any metal that is forged newe,

In many a cas hem tydeth ofte sorowe. Somtyme hir ladies will not on hem rewe, Somtyme, yif that jelosye hit knewe, They mighten lightly leye hir heed to borowe ;

205

Somtyme envyous folke with tunges horowe

Depraven hem; alas! whom may they plese?

But he be fals, no lover hath his ese.