They feyne the Centures to be of lykenesse,
As halfe man and halfe horse truely;
Because Mylyzyus wyth hys worthynesse
Dyd fyrst attame and breke the wyldenes
Of the riall stedes, and ryght swyftly
Hys men and he rode on them surely.
And also Pluto, somtyme kynge of hell;
A cyte of Grece, standyng in Thessayle,
Betwene grete rockes, as the boke doth tell,
Wherin were people wythout any fayle,
Huge, fyerse, and strong in battayle,
Tyrauntes, theves, replete with treason;
Wherfore poetes, by true comparison,
Unto the devylles, blacke and tedious,
Dyd them resemble, in terrible fygure,
For theyr mysselyvyng so foule and vycyous,
As to thys daye it doth appere in ure
Of Cerebus the defloured pycture,
The porter of hell, wyth thre heades ugly,
Lyke an horrible gyaunt fyrce and wonderly:
Because alway hys customed tyranny
Was elevate in herte by hygh presumpcion,
Thynkyng hym selfe most strong and myghty;
And secondly, he was destruction
Of many ladies by yll compulcion;
And thyrdly, his desyre insaciable
Was to get ryches full innumerable.
Thus, for these thre vyces abhominable
They made hym wyth thre hedes serpentyne,
And like a feend his body semblable,
For his pryde, avaryce, and also rapyne.
The morall cense can soone enlumyne
The fatall pycture to be exuberaunt,
And to our syght clere, and not variaunte.
Also rehersed the cronicles of Spayne,
How redoubted Hercules by puyssaunce
Fought with an ydre, ryght grete certayne,
Having seven heades of full grete myschaunce;
For whan that he wyth all hys valiaunce
Had stryken of an head, ryght shortly,
Another anon arose ryght sodaynly.
Seven sophyms full hard and fallacyous
Thys ydre used in preposicion
Unto the people, and was full rigorious
To devoure them, where lacked responsion;
And whan one reason had conclusion,
Another reason than incontinent
Began agayne wyth subtyll argument.
For whych cause the poetes covertly
With vii. heades doth thys ydre depaynt,
For these vii. sophyms full ryght closely;
But of rude people the wyttes are so faynt,
That wyth theyr connyng they can not acquaynt,
But who that lyst theyr scyence to lerne,
Their obscure fygures he shall well decerne.
O redolent well of famous poetry,
O clere fountayne replete wyth swetenes,
Reflerynge out the dulcet delicacy
Of iiii. ryvers in mervaylous wydenesse,
Fayrer than Tygrys or yet Eufrates;
For the fyrst ryver is Understandyng;
The seconde ryver Close-concluding;
The thyrd ryver is called Novelry;
The fourth ryver is called Carbuncles,
Amyddes of whom the toure is so goodly
Of Vyrgyll standeth, most solacious,
Where he is entered in stones precious;
By thys fayre toure, in a goodly grene,
Thys well doth spryng both bryght and sheen.
To understandyng these iiii. accident:
Doctryne, perceyveraunce, and exercyse,
And also therto is equypolent
Evermore the perfyt practyse,
For fyrst doctryne in all goodly wyse
The perceyveraunt trowthe in hys bote of wyll
In understandyng for to knowe good from yll.
So famous poetes did us endoctrine
Of the ryght way for to be intellectyfe;
Theyr fables they dyd ryght so ymagyne,
That by example we may voyde the stryfe,
And wythout myschefe for to lede our lyfe,
By the advertence of theyr storyes olde,
The fruit wherof we may full well beholde
Depaynted on aras, how in antiquitie,
Dystroyed was the grete citie of Troye,
For a lytell cause, grounded on vanitie,
To mortall ruyn they tourned theyr joye.
Theyr understandyng they dyd than occupy,
Nothyng prepensyng how they dyd prepare
To scourge them selfe and bryng them in a snare.
Who is opprest with a lytell wrong,
Revengyng it he may it soone encrease;
For better it is for to suffer among
An injury, as for to keepe the peace,
Than to begyne whych he shall never cease.
Warre ones begon, it is hard to know
Who shall abyde and who shall overthrowe.
The hygh power, honour, and noblenes,
Of the myghty Romaynes, to whose excellence
All the wyde worlde so muche of gretenes
Unto theyr empyre was in obedience,
Suche was theyr famous porte and preemynence,
Tyll within themselfe there was a contraversy
Makyng them lese theyr worthy sygneoury.
It is ever the grounde of sapience,
Before that thou accomplysh outwardly,
For to revolve understandyng and prepence
All in thy selfe full often inwardly,
The begynnyng and the myddle certaynly
Wyth the ende, or thou put it in ure,
And werke wyth councell that thou mayst be sure.
And who that so doth shall never repent,
For his dede is founded on a perfyt grounde,
And for to fall it hath none impediment,
Wyth surenes it is so hygh-walled rounde.
In welth and ryches it must needes habound,
On every syde it hath suche ordinaunce
That nothynge can do it anoyaunce.
Thus the poetes conclude full closely
Their fruitfull problemes for reformacion,
To make us lerne to lyve directly,
Theyr good entent and true construccion,
Shewyng to us the whole affeccion
Of the way of vertue, welth, and stablenes,
And to shut the gate of myschevous entres.
And evermore they are ymaginatyfe,
Tales newe from daye to daye to fayne,
The erryng people, that are retractif,
As to the ryght way to bryng them agayne:
And who that lyst their sentence retayne,
It shall hym prouffyt yf he wyll apply
To doo therafter ful conveniently.
Carbuncles in the most derke nyght
Dothe shyne fayre wyth clere radiant beames,
Exylyng derkenes wyth his rayes lyght;
And so these poetes, with theyr golden streames,
Devoyde our rudenes wyth grete fyry lemes;
Theyr centencious verses are refulgent
Encensyng out the odour redolent.
And is theyr worke also extynguyshible?
Nay, truely, for it doth shyne ryght cleere
Thrugh cloudes derke unto the odyble,
To whom truely it may nothyng appeere
Where connyng fayleth, the scyence so deere
Ignoraunce hateth wyth fervent envy,
And unto connyng is mortall ennemy.
O ygnoraunce, wyth slouth so opprest,
Open thy curtayne, so ryght dymme and derke,
And evermore remembre the behest
Of thy labour to understande thy werke,
Of many a noble and ryght famous clerke.
Fy upon slouth, the nourysher of vyce,
Whych unto youth doth often prejudice.
Who in youth lyst nothyng to lerne,
He wyl repent hym often in hys age,
That he the connynge can nothynge decerne;
Therfore now youth, with lusty courage,
Rule thy fleshe and thy slouth aswage,
And in thy youth the scyence engender
That in thyne age it may the worship render.
Connyng is lyght and also pleasaunt,
A gentyll burden wythout grevousnes,
Unto hym that is ryght well applyaunt
For to bere it wyth al his besenes;
He shal attaste the well of frutefulnes,
Which Vyrgyl claryfied, and also Tullyus,
Wyth Latyn pure, swete, and delicyous.
From whense my mayster Lydgate veryfyde
The depured rethoryke in Englysh language;
To make our tongue so clerely puryfyed,
That the vyle termes should nothing arage
As like a pye to chatter in a cage,
But for to speke wyth rethoryke formally,
In the good order, wythouten vylany.
And who his bokes lyst to here or se,
In them he shall fynd elocucyon,
With as good order as any may be,
Kepyng ful close the moralyzacyon
Of the trouth of his great intencyon,
Whose name is regestred in remembraunce
For to endure by longe contynuaunce.
Nowe after this, for to make relacyon
Of famous rethoryke so in this party,
As to the fourth part, Pronouncyacyon,
I shal it shew anone ryght openly,
Wyth many braunches of it sykerly;
And how it taketh the hole effect
In every place, degre, and aspecte.
CAP. XII.
OF PRONUNCIATION, THE IV. PART OF RETHORIKE.
Whan the matter is founde by invencyon,
Be it mery or yet of grete sadnes,
Sette in a place by the disposycyon,
And by elocucyons famous clerenes
Exornate well and redy to expres,
Then pronouncyacyon, wyth chere and countenance,
Convenyently must make the utteraunce.
Wyth humble voyce and also moderate,
Accordynge as by hym is audyence,
And if there be a ryght hye estate,
Then under honour and obedyence
Reasonably done unto his excellence,
Pronouncyng his matter so facundious,
In all due maner to be centencyous.
For though a matter be never so good,
Yf it be tolde wyth tongue of barbary,
In rude maner wythout the discrete mode,
It is distourbance to a hole company
For to se them so rude and boystously
Demeane them selfe, utterynge the sentence
Wythout good maner or yet intellygence.
It is a thinge ryght greatly convenable
To pronounce the matter as it is convenient,
And to the herers ryght delectable,
Whan the utterer, wythout impediment,
Wyth ryght good maner, countenaunce, and entent
Dothe his tale unto them tretably,
Kepynge his maner and voyce full moderately.
This is the costome that the poetes use,
To tel theyr tale with al due circumstance,
The vylayne courage they do much refuse
That is boystous and rude of governaunce,
And evermore they do to them avaunce
Nurture, maner, and al gentylnes.
In their behavyng wyth all semelynes.
And thus the gentyl rethoricyan,
Through the labour of his ryal clergy,
The famous nurture originally began
Oppressynge our rudenes and our foly,
And for to governe us ryght prudently,
The good maner encreaseth dignitie,
And the rudenes also iniquitie.
The famous poete who so lyst to here,
To tell this tale it is solacyous,
Beholdyng hys maners and also hys chere
After the maner be it sad or joyous.
Yf it be sad, his chere is dolorus,
As in bewaylyng a woful tragedy
That worthy is to be in memory.
And if the matter be joyfull and glad,
Lyke countenaunce outwardly they make;
But moderacyon in theyr myndes is had,
So that outrage may them not overtake.
I can not wryte to muche for theyr sake,
Them to laude, for my tyme is shorte
And the matter longe which I must reporte.
CAP. XIII.
OF MEMORY, THE V. PART OF RETHORYKE.
And the v. parte is than memoratyfe,
The whiche the perfyte mynystracyon
Ordinately causeth to be retentyfe,
Dryving the tale to good conclusyon;
For it behoveth to have respeccyon
Unto the tale, and the veray grounde
And on what ymage he his matter found.
If to the oratour many a sundry tale,
One after other, treatably be tolde,
Than sundry ymages in his closed male
Eche for a mater he doth than well holde,
Lyke to the tale he doth than so beholde,
And inwarde a recapitulacyon,
Of eche ymage the moralazacyon.
Whiche be the tales he grounded pryvely
Upon these ymages significacyon,
And whan tyme is for him to specify
All his tales by demonstracion,
In due order, maner and reason,
Than eche ymage inwarde dyrectly
The oratour doth take full properly.
So is enprynted in his propre mynde
Every tale wyth hole resemblaunce.
By this ymage he doth his mater fynde,
Eche after other wythouten varyaunce.
Who to this arte wyl gyve attendaunce,
As therof to knowe the perfytenes,
In the poetes scole he must have intres.
Than shal he knowe, by perfyte study,
The memorial arte of rethoryke defuse,
It shal to him so wel exemplefy,
If that him lyst, the scyence to use;
Though at the fyrste it be to hym obtuse,
With exercyse he shal it well augment,
Under cloudes derke and termes eloquent.
But nowadayes the synne of avaryce
Exyleth the mynde and the hole delyght,
To coveyt connyng, which is gret prejudice,
For insacyatly so blynded is theyr syght
Wyth the sylver and the golde so bryght,
They nothing thynke on fortune varable,
Whyche al theyr ryches shal make transmutable.
The olde sawes they ryght clene abject,
Whych for our lernyng the poetes dyd wryte;
With avaryce they arose so sore infect,
They take no hede nothyng they wryte,
Whyche morally dyd so nobly endyte,
Reprovyng vyce, praysyng the vertue,
Whiche idelnes dyd evermore eschewe.
Nowe wyl I cease of lusty rethoryke;
I may not tary, for my tyme is short;
For I must procede, and shew of Arismetrik
With divers nombres which I must reporte.
Hope inwardly doth me wel comforte,
To brynge my boke unto a fynyshment,
Of al my matter and my true entent.
CAP. XIV.
A COMMENDATION OF GOWER, CHAUCER, AND LYDGATE.
O thoughtful herte, tombled all aboute
Upon the se of stormy ignoraunce,
For to sayle forthe thou arte in grete doute,
Over the waves of grete encombraunce;
Wythout ony comforte, saufe of esperaunce,
Whiche the exhorteth hardely to sayle
Unto thy purpose wyth diligent travayle.
Afrycus, Auster bloweth frowardly,
Towarde the lande and habitacyon
Of thy wel faverde and moost fayre lady,
For whose sake and delectacyon
Thou hast take this occupacyon,
Principally ryght well to attayne
Her swete rewarde for thy besy payne.
O pensyfe herte, in the stormy pery
Mercury northwest thou mayst se appere,
After tempest to glad thyne emespery;
Hoyse up thy sayle, for thou must drawe nere
Towarde the ende of thy purpose so clere,
Remembre the of the trace and daunce
Of poetes olde wyth all the purveyaunce.
As morall Gower, whose sentencyous dewe
Adowne reflayreth with fayre golden bemes,
And after Chaucers all abrode doth shewe,
Our vyces to clense; his depared stremes
Kyndlynge our hertes wyth the fyry lemes
Of moral vertue, as is probable
In all hys bokes so swete and profytable.
The boke of fame, which is sentencyous,
He drewe hym selfe on hys own invencyon;
And than the tragidyes so pytous
Of the xix. ladyes, was his translacyon;
And upon hys ymaginacyon
He made also the tales of Caunterbury;
Some vertuous, and some glad and mery.
And of Troylus the pytous dolour
For his lady Cresyde, full of doublenes,
He did bewayle ful well the langoure,
Of all hys love and grete unhappines.
And many other bokes doubtles
He dyd compyle, whose godly name
In printed bokes doth remayne in fame.
And, after him, my mayster Lydgate,
The monke of Bury, dyd hym wel apply
Both to contryve and eke to translate;
And of vertue ever in especyally,
For he dyd compyle than full ryally
Of our blessed lady the conversacion,
Saint Edmunde’s life martred with treson.
Of the fall of prynces, ryght wofully
He did endyte in all piteous wyse,
Folowynge his auctoure Bocas rufully;
A ryght greate boke he did truly compryse,
A good ensample for us to dispyse
This worlde, so ful of mutabilyte,
In whiche no man can have a certente.
And thre reasons ryght greatly profytable
Under coloure he cloked craftely;
And of the chorle he made the fable
That shutte the byrde in a cage so closely,
The pamflete sheweth it expressely;
He fayned also the courte of Sapyence,
And translated wyth al his dylygence
The grete boke of the last destruccyon
Of the cyte of Troye, whylome so famous,
How for woman was the confusyon;
And betwene vertue and the lyfe vycyous
Of goddes and goddes, a boke solacyous
He did compyle, and the tyme to passe,
Of love he made the bryght temple of glasse.
Were not these thre gretly to commende,
Whyche them applyed such bokes to contryve,
Whose famous draughtes no man can amende?
The synne of slouth they dyd from them dryve,
After theyr death for to abyde on lyve
In worthy fame by many a nacyon,
Their bokes theyr actes do make relacyon.
O mayster Lydgate, the most dulcet sprynge
Of famous rethoryke, wyth balade ryall,
The chefe orygynal of my lernyng,
What vayleth it on you for to call
Me for to ayde, now in especiall;
Sythen your body is now wrapte in chest,
I pray God to gyve your soule good rest.
O what losse is it of suche a one!
It is to grete truely me for to tell;
Sythen the tyme that his lyfe was gone,
In al this realme his pere did not dwell;
Above al other he did so excell,
None sith his time in arte wolde succede,
After their death to have fame for their mede.
But many a one is ryght well experte
In this connyng, but upon auctoryte,
They fayne no fables pleasaunt and covert,
But spende theyr time in vaynful vanyte,
Makynge balades of fervent amyte.
As gestes and tryfles wythout frutefulnes;
Thus al in vayne they spende their besynes.
I, lytell or nought expert in poetry,
Of my mayster Lydgate wyll folowe the trace,
As evermore so his name to magnyfy
Wyth suche lytle bokes, by Goddes grace,
If in this worlde I may have the space;
The lytell connyng that his grace me sente
In tyme amonge in suche wyse shall be spente.
And yet nothinge upon presumpcyon
My mayster Lydgate I wyll not envy,
But all onely is mine entencyon
With suche labour my selfe to occupy;
As whyte by blacke doth shyne more clerely,
So shal theyr matters appeare more pleasaunt
Besyde my draughtes rude and ignoraunt.
CAP. XV.
OF ARSMETRIKE.
Now in my boke ferder to procede;
To a chambre I went, replete wyth rychesse,
Where sat Arysmatryke in a golden wede,
Lyke a lady pure and of great worthynes.
The walles about dyd full well expres,
With golde depaynted, every perfyte nombre,
To adde, detraye, and to devyde asonder.
The rofe was paynted with golden beames,
The wyndowes cristall clerely claryfyde,
The golden rayes and depured streames
Of radyant Phebus that was puryfyde
Right in the Bull, that tyme so domysyde,
Through windowes was resplendyshaunt
About the chambre fayre and radyaunt.
I kneled downe right soone on my kne,
And to her I sayd: O lady marveylous,
I right humbly beseche your majeste
Your arte to shewe me so facundyous,
Whyche is defuse and right fallacyous;
But I shall so apply myne exercyse,
That the vary trouth I shall well devyse.
My scyence, said she, is right necessary,
And in the myddes of the scyences all
It is now sette right well and parfytely;
For unto them it is so specyall,
Nombrynge so theyr werkes in generall,
Wythout me they had no parfytenes,
I must them nombre alwayes doubteles.
Without nombre is no maner of thynge,
That in our sight we may well se;
For God made all the begynnynge
In nombre perfyte well in certaynte,
Who knewe arsmetryke in every degre,
All maner nombre in his minde were had,
Bothe to detraye and to devyde and adde.
But who wyl knowe all the experience,
It behoveth hym to have great lernynge
In many thinges, wyth true intelligence,
Or that he can have perfyte rekenynge
In every nombre by expert connynge.
To reherse in Englysshe more of this science,
It were foly and the great neclygence.
I thought full longe, till I had a syght
Of La Bell Pucell, the most fayre ladye;
My minde upon her was bothe day and nyght,
The fervent love so perst me inwardly,
Wherfore I went anone right shortly
Unto the toure swete and melodyous,
Of dame Musyke so gaye and gloryous.
CAP. XVI.
OF MUSIKE: MUNDAIN, HUMAYN, AND INSTRUMENTAL.
Whan splendent Phebus, in his midday spere,
Was hyght in Gemine in the fresshe season
Of lusty Maye, with golden beames clere,
And derke Diane made declynacion;
Whan Flora florisshed in this nacion,
I called to mynde right inwardly
The reporte of Fame so muche ententifly
Of La Bell Pucell in the toure musycall,
And ryght anone unto the toure I went;
Where I sawe a temple made of christal,
In whiche Musyke, the lady excellent,
Played on base organs expedient,
Accordyng well unto dyopason,
Dyapenthe, and eke dyetesseron.
In this temple was great solempnyte,
And of muche people there was great prease;
I loked about whether I coude se
La Bell Pucell, my langour to cease;
I coude not se her; my payne dyd encrease,
Tyl that I spyed her above, in a vaute,
Whiche to my hert did make so sore assaute,
Wyth her beaute clere and swete countenaunce,
The stroke of love I coulde nothynge resyste:
And anone, wythout lenger cyrcumstaunce,
To her I wente, or that her person wyste;
Her thought I knewe not, she thought as she lyst;
By her I stode, with herte sore and faynte,
And dyd my selfe wyth her sone acquaynt.
The comyn wyt dyd full lytell regarde
Of dame Musyke the dulcet armony;
The eres herde not, for the mynde inwarde
Venus had rapte and taken fervently:
Imaginacion wrought full prively.
The fantasy gave perfyte jugement
Alway to her for to be obedyent.
By estymacion muche doubtfully I cast
Whether I should by long tyme and space
Atteyne her, or els to love in wast.
My herte sobbed and quaked in this case;
I stode by her ryght nere in the place,
Wyth many other fayre ladyes also,
But so fayre as she I never sawe no mo.
The feste done, dame Musyke dyd go;
She folowed after, and she wolde not tary.
Fare well, she sayde, for I must parte you fro.
Alas! thought I, that fortune doth so vary;
My sadde body my hevy hert did cary;
I coude not speke, my herte was nere broken,
But wyth my head I made her a token.
Whan she was gone, inwardly than wrought
Upon her beaute my mynde retentyfe;
Her goodly fygure I graved in my thought;
Except her selfe all were expulcyfe;
My mynde to her was so ententyfe,
That I folowed her into a temple ferre,
Replete wyth joy, as bryght as any sterre;
Where dulcet Flora her aromatyke dewe
In the fayre temple adowne dyd dystyll,
All abrode the fayre dropes dyd shewe,
Encensynge out all the vapours yll;
With suche a swetenes Flora dyd fulfyll
All the temple, that my gowne well shewed
The lycoure swete of the droppes endewed.
And so to a chambre full solacyous
Dame Musyke wente wyth La Bell Pucell;
All of jasper, wyth stones precyous,
The rofe was wrought, curyously and well;
The wyndowes glased marvaylously to tell.
With cloth of tyssue in the rychest maner
The walles were hanged hye and cyrculer.
There sat dame Musyke, with all her mynstrasy;
As tabours, trumpettes, with pipes melodious,
Sakbuttes, organs, and the recorder swetely,
Harpes, lutes, and crouddes ryght delycyous;
Cymphans, doussemers, wyth claricimbales glorious.
Rebeckes, clarycordes, eche in theyr degre,
Dyd sytte aboute theyr ladyes mageste.
Before dame Musike I dyd knele adowne,
Saying to her: O fayre lady plesaunt,
Your prudence reyneth most hye in renowne,
For you be ever ryght concordant
With perfyte reason, whiche is not variaunt;
I beseche your grace, with all my diligence,
To instructe me in your noble science.
It is, she sayde, right gretely proffitable;
For musike doth sette in all unyte
The discorde thynges whiche are variable
And devoydeth myschiefe and greate iniquite.
Where lacketh musyke there is no pleynte;
For musyke is concorde and also peace,
Nothyng without musyke may well encreace.
The vii. scyences in one monacorde,
Eche upon other do full well depende;
Musyke hath them so set in concorde,
That all in one may right well extende.
All perfite reason they do so comprehende,
That theyr waye and perfite doctryne
To the joye above, whiche is celestine.
And yet also the perfite physyke,
Which appertayneth well to the body,
Doth well resemble unto the musyke,
Whan the inwarde intrayles tourneth contrary,
That nature can not worke dyrectly;
Then doth physike the partes interiall
In ordre set to their originall.
But yet physyke can not be lyberall
As the vii. science by good auctorite,
Which ledeth the soule the way in specyall
By good doctrine to dame Eternite;
Onely of phisike it is the properte
To ayde the body in every sekenes,
That is right frayle and full of bryttilnes.
And because phisyke is appendaunt
Unto the body by helpe of medecyne,
And to the soule nothing approtenaunt,
To cause the body for to enclyne
In eternal helth so the soule to domyne,
For to the body the science seven
Doth teche to lede the soule to heven.
And musike selfe is melodious
To rejoyce the yeres and comfort the brayne,
Sharping the wittes with sounde solacious,
Devoydyng bad thoughtes whiche dyd remayne,
It gladdeth the herte also well certayne;
Lengthe the lyfe with dulcet armony,
As is good recreacion after study.
She commaunded her mynstrelles right anone to play
Mamours the swete and the gentill daunce;
With La Bell Pucell, that was fayre and gaye,
She me recommaunded, with all pleasaunce,
To daunce true mesures without varyaunce.
O Lorde God! how glad than was I,
So for to daunce with my swete lady.
By her propre hande, soft as any sylke,
With due obeysaunce I dyd her then take;
Her skynne was white as whales bone or mylke.
My thought was ravysshed, I might not aslake
My brennynge hert, she the fyre dyd make;
These daunces truely musyke hath me tought
To lute or daunce, but it avayleth nought:
For the fyre kyndled, and waxed more and more,
The dauncynge blewe it, wyth her beaute clere,
My hert sekened and began to waxe sore;
A mynute vi. houres, and vi. houres a yere
I thought it was, so hevy was my chere;
But yet for cover my great love aryght,
The outwarde countenaunce I made glad and light.
CAP. XVII.
HOWE GRAUNDE AMOURE WAS ENAMOURED OF LA BELL PUCELL IN THE TOWER OF
MUSIKE, AND MET WITH COUNSAYLE IN A TEMPLE
And for fere myne eyes should my hert bewray,
I toke my leve and to a temple wente,
And all alone I to my selfe dyd saye:
Alas! what fortune hath me hyther sente,
To devoyde my joye and my hert torment;
No man can tell howe great payne it is,
But yf he wyll fele it, as I do ywys.