Of my true herte, take ye now pyte;
Thynke on my payne whiche am tofore you here,
Wyth your swete eyes beholde you and se,
How thought and wo, by great extremyte,
Hath chaunged my hue into pale and wanne:
It was not so whan I to love began.
Pucell.
So, me thynke, it doth right well appere
By your coloure that love hath done you wo;
Your hevy countenaunce and your dolefull chere;
Hath love suche myght for to aray you so
In so short a space? I marvayle moche also
That ye wolde love me so sure in certayne,
Before ye knewe that I wolde love agayne?
Amoure.
My good dere herte! it is no mervayle why;
Your beaute cleare and lovely lokes swete
My herte dyde perce with love so sodaynly
At the fyrste tyme that I dyde you mete;
In the olde temple whan I dyde you grete,
Your beaute my herte so surely assayde,
That syth that tyme it hath to you obayde.
CAP. XIX.
HOW LA BELL PUCELL GRAUNTED GRAUND AMOURE LOVE, AND OF HER
DISPITEOUS DEPARTAGE.
Your wo and payne, and all your languishynge
Continually ye shall not spende in vayne,
Sythen I am cause of your great mornynge,
Nothynge exyle you shall I by dysdayne;
Youre hert and myne shall never parte in twayne:
Though at the fyrste I wolde not condescende,
It was for fere ye dyde some yll entende.
Amoure.
With thought of yll my mynde was never myxte,
To you, madame, but alway clene and pure,
Bothe daye and nyght upon you hole perfyxte.
But I my mynde yet durst nothynge discure,
How for your sake I dyd suche wo endure,
Tyll now this houre with dredfull hert so faynt
To you, swete herte, I have made my complaynt.
Pucell.
I demed ofte you loved me before,
By your demenour I dyde it aspye,
And in my mynde I juged evermore
That at the laste ye wolde full secretly
Tell me your mynde of love right gentilly;
As ye have done, so my mercy to crave,
In all worshyppe you shal my true love have.
Amoure.
O Lorde God than! how joyfull was I!
She loked on me wyth lovely countenaunce;
I kyst her ones or twise right swetely;
Her depured vysage, replete with pleasaunce,
Rejoyced my heart with amerous purveaunce.
O lady clere! that perste me at the rote,
O floure of comforte, all my hele and bote!
O gemme of vertue, and lady excellent!
Above all other in beauteous goodlynesse!
O eyen bright as sterre refulgent,
O profounde cause of all my sekenesse,
Now all my joye and all my gladnes,
Wolde God that we were joyned in one,
In maryage, before this day were gone.
Pucell.
A, a! sayd she, ye must take a payne a whyle;
I must depart, by the compulcyon
Of my frendes, I wyl not you begyle,
Though they me led to a ferre nacion,
My heart shall be without variacion
Wyth you present, in perfite sykernes,
As true and stable without doublenes.
To me to come is harde and daungerous,
When I am there; for gyauntes ugly,
Wyth two monstres also, blacke and tedyous,
That by the waye awayte full cruelly
For to distroye you yll and utterly,
Whan you that way do take the passage,
To attayne my love by hye advauntage.
Amoure.
All that, madame, was to me certyfyde
By good dame Fame, at the begynnynge,
Whan she to me of you well notyfide,
As she came frome the toure of Lernynge,
Of all such enemyes the myght excludynge.
I promyse unto you here, full faythfully,
Whan I departe frome dame Astronomy,
That I wyll to the toure of Chyvalry,
And for your sake become adventurous
To subdue all enemyes to me contrary;
That I may after be ryght joyous
Wyth you, my lady, most swete and precyous.
Wo worth the cause of your departynge,
Which all my sorowes is in renuynge!
Alas! what pleasure, and eke wythout disporte,
Shall I now have, whan that ye be gone?
Ha, ha! truly now wythout good conforte,
My dolorous herte shall be left alone,
Wythout your presence to me is none;
For every houre I shall thynke a yere,
Tyll fortune brynge me unto you more nere.
Yet after you I wyll not be ryght longe,
But hast me after as faste as I maye;
In the toure of Chyvalry I shall make me stronge,
And after that passe shortly on my way,
Wyth diligent laboure on my journay.
Spyte of your enemyes, I shal me so spede,
That in short tyme ye may rewarde my mede.
I thanke you, quod she, with my hert entere;
But yet with me ye shall make covenaunt,
As I to you am ryght lefe and dere,
Unto no persone ye shall so advaunte
That I to love you am so attendaunte,
For any thynge your councell not bewraye,
For that full soone might us bothe betraye.
And to tell me I pray you hertely;
Yonder is Counseyle, how were ye acquaynted?
He is bothe honest and true certaynly:
Doth he not knowe how your hert is faynted,
Wyth fervent love so surely attaynted?
Yf ye so do, yet I nothyng repent,
He is so secrete and true of entent.
Truely, madame, because ye are content
I shall you tell how the matter was;
Whan that your beaute, clerely splendent,
Into my herte full wonderly dyd passe,
Lyke as fayre Phebus dothe shyne in the glas,
All alone, wyth inwarde care so rent,
Into a temple forth on my way I went.
Where that I walked, plunged in the pytte
Of great dispayre; and he than me mette.
Alas! he sayde, me thinke ye lose your wytte;
Tell me the trouth now, wythout any lete,
Why ye demeane suche mortall sorow great.
A voyde! quod I, you shall nothing it knowe,
You can not helpe in the case I trow.
But he suche reason and fruytfull sentence
Dyd for him laye, that I tolde hym all.
Whan he it knewe with all my diligence,
He dyd me conforte than in specyall:
Unto my minde he bad me to call,
Who spareth to speke he to spede doth spare;
Go tell your lady the cause of your care.
By whose counseyle grounded in wysdome,
To the entent I should spede the better,
And ryght shortly I dyd than to you come,
But drede alway made my sorowe greatter;
After great payne the joyes is the sweter.
For who that tasteth paynfull bytternes,
The joye to him is double swetenes.
And, therwythall, I did unto her brynge
Councell my frende, and full right meke
Dyd him receive as he was comynge;
And of all thynges she did hym beseke,
After her departinge, the same weke,
To hast me forwarde to my journeyes ende.
Therto, quod I, I do well condyscende.
Fare well, quod she, I may no longer tary;
My frendes wyll come; of that were I lothe:
I shall retayne you in my memory,
And they it knewe they wolde with me be wrothe.
To love you best I promise you my trouthe!
And than mine eyen great sorowe shewed,
Wyth teres salte my chekes were endewed.
Her eyes graye began to loke right reed,
Her gaye whyte coloure began for to pale,
Upon her chekes so the droppes were sprede
Whiche from her eyen began to advale;
Frome her swete herte she dyd the syghes hale;
Never before, as I trowe and wene,
Was suche departyng true lovers betwene.
We wyped our chekes our sorowe to cloke,
Outwardly faynyng us to be glad and mery,
That the people should not perceyve the smoke
Of our hote fyre to lyght the emyspery:
Thoughe inwardly wyth a stormy pery
The fyre was blowen, yet we dyd it cover,
Bycause abrode it should nothyng perceyver.
Out of the garden to an haven syde
Forth he went, where as a shyppe ryght large
That taryed there after the floynge tyde,
And so than dyd there many a bote and barge.
The shyp was great, fyve c. tonne to charge.
La Bell Pucell ryght anone me tolde:
In yondre shyp, whyche that ye beholde,
Forthe must I sayle wythout longer delaye;
It is full see; my frendes wyll come soone;
Therfore I pray you to go hence your waye,
It draweth fast now towarde the none.
Madame, quod I, your pleasure shal be done.
Wyth wofull herte and great syghes, ofte
I kyssed her lyppes, that were swete and softe.
She unto me nor I unto her colde speke,
And as of that it was no great wondre,
Our hertes swelled as that they should breke;
The fyre of love was so sore kept under.
Whan I from her should depart asundre,
Wyth her fayre head she dyd lowe enclyne,
And in lykewyse so dyd I wyth myne.
CAP. XX.
OF THE GREAT SOROWE THAT GRAUNDE AMOUR MADE AFTER THE DEPARTYNGE
AND OF THE WORDES OF COUNCEYLE.
Her frendes and she on theyr waye they sayled
Alonge the haven, God them save, and bryng
Unto the londe! I herd whan that they hayled,
Wyth a great peale of gunnes, at theyr departyng,
The marvaylous toure of famous cunnynge;
No gunne was shotte, but my herte dyd wepe
For her departynge wyth wofull teres depe.
Councell me comforted as ever he myght,
Wyth many storyes of olde antyquyte.
Remembre, he saide, that never yet was wyght
That lyved alway in great tranquylyte,
But that him happed some adversyte;
Than after that, whan the payne was paste,
The double joye dyd comfort them at laste.
Ye nede nothynge for to make great dolour,
Fortune to you hath bene ryght favourable,
Makyng you to attayne the good favour
Of your lady so swete and amyable.
No doubte it is she is true and stable;
And demeane you so that in no wyse
No man perceyve of your love surmyse.
Be hardy, fyers, and also coragyous,
In all your batayles without feblenes,
For ye shall be ryght well vyctoryous
Of all your enemyes so full of subtylnes.
Arme you wyth wysdome for more surenes,
Let wysdome werke, for she can stedfastly
In tyme of nede resyste the contrary.
Was never man yet surely at the bayte
Wyth Sapyence, but that he dyd repent;
Who that is ruled by her higher estate,
Of hys after wytte shall never be shent;
She is to man ryght benyvolent;
Wyth walles sure she doth hym fortyfye,
Whan it is nede to resyste a contrary.
Was never place where as she did guyde
Wyth enemyes brought to destruccyon;
A remedy she can so well provyde;
To her hygh werke is no comparison,
It hath so stronge and sure foundacyon:
Nothyng there is that can it molyfy,
So sure it is agaynst a contrary.
Of her alwayes it is the parfyte guyse
To begynne nothyng of mutabylyte,
As is the warre which may sone aryse
And wyl not downe, it may so stourdy be,
The begynner oft hath the iniquite.
Whan he began, wysdome did reply,
In his grete nede to resyst the contrary.
The myghty Pryant, somtyme kynge of Troye,
Wyth all his cyte so well fortyfyed,
Lytle regarded all his welth or joye,
Wythout wysdome truely exemplyfied,
His propre death him selfe he nutrifyed;
Agaynst his warre wysdome did reply,
At his grete nede to resyst the contrary.
And where that wysdome ruleth hardynes,
Hardynes than is ever invincyble,
There may nothinge it vanquishe or oppres;
For prudence is so well intellygyble,
To her there is nothing impossible;
Her grounded werke is made so perfytely,
That it must nedes resyst the contrary.
To wofull creatures she is goodly leche,
Wyth her good syster called Pacyence,
To the toure of joye she doth them tell weche,
In the way of hope wythout resystence;
Who to her lyst to applye hys dylygence,
She wyll hym brynge to worshyppe shortly
That he shall well resyst the contrary.
Ryght so let wysdome your sorowe surrendre,
And hye you fast unto dame Geometry,
And let no thought in your herte engendre,
But after thys speke to Astronomye;
And so frome thence to the toure of Chyvalry,
Wher of the worthy kynge Melyzyus
You shall be made soone knyght adventurous.
And fare you well, for I must frome you go,
To other lovers whyche are in dyspayre,
As I dyd you, to confort them also:
It is great nede that I to them repayre,
Habundant teres theyr hertes do refleyre.
Farewell! quod I, my good frende so true,
I wolde wyth me ye might alwaye ensue!
Then agayne I went to the toure melodyous
Of good dame Musyke, my leve for to take;
And pryvely wyth these wordes dolorous
I sayd: O toure! thou mayst well aslake
Suche melody now in the more to make
The gemme is gone of all famous porte,
That was chefe cause of the great comforte.
Whylome thou was the fayre toure of lyght,
But now thou arte replete with darkenes;
She is now gone that shone in the so bryght;
Thou was some time the toure of gladnes,
Now mayst thou be the toure of hevynes,
For the chefe is gone of all thy melody,
Whose beauty clere made moost swete armony.
The fayre carbuncle, so ful of clerenes,
That in thee truely dyd moost purely shyne,
The perle of pyte replete with swetenes,
The gentyll gyllofer, the goodly columbyne,
The redolente plant of the dulcet vyne,
The dede aromatyke may no more ensence,
For she is so ferre out of thy presence.
A, a! truly in the tyme so past,
Myne erande was the often for to se;
Now for to entre I may be agast,
When thou art hens, the sterre of beaute,
For all my delyte was to beholde the!
A! toure, toure! all my joye is gone,
In the to entre comfort is there none!
So then inwardly my selfe bewaylynge,
In the toure I went, into the habytacle
Of dame Musyke, where she was syngynge
The ballades swete in her fayre tabernacle.
Alas! thought I, this is no spectacle
To fede myn eyne, whiche ar now all blynde;
She is not here that I was wonte to fynde.
Than of dame Musyke, with all lowlines
I dyde take my leve, withouten itarenge.
She thanked me with all here mekenes;
And all alone fourth I went musynge.
A, a! quod I, my love and lykinge
Is nowe ferre hence, on whome my hole delyght
Dayly was sette, upon her to have sight.
Fare well, swete herte! farwell, farewell, farewell!
Adieu, adieu! I wold I were you by!
God gyve me grace with you sone to dwell,
Lyke as I dyd for to se you dayly.
Your lowly chere and gentyll company
Rejoysed my herte with fode most delycate,
Myne eyen to se you were insaciate.
Now, good swete herte! my lady and maystresse,
I recommende me unto your pyte;
Besechyng you wyth all my gentylnes,
Yet other whyle to thynke upon me;
What payne I suffer by great extremyte,
And to pardon me of my rude wrytyng,
For with woful herte was myne endytynge!
CAP. XXI.
HOWE GRAUNDE AMOURE WENT TO GEOMETRY, AND WHAT GEOMETRY IS.
So forth I went, upon a craggy roche,
Upon the toure moost wonderfully wrought
Of Geometry; and as I did approche
The altitude all in my mynd I sought.
Sixe hundreth fote, as by my nomber thought;
Quadrant it was, and did here and sette
At every storme whan the wind was great.
Thus at the last I came into an hall,
Hanged with arres riche and precious,
And every window glased with cristall,
Lyke a place of plesure much solacious.
With knottes sixeangled, gay and glorious,
The rofe did hange, right high and pleasauntly,
By Geometry made right well and craftely.
In this marveylous hall, replete with richesse,
At the hye ende she sat full worthely.
I came anone unto her great noblenesse,
And kneled adowne before her mekely.
Madame, I sayd, ye werke full ryally;
I beseche you, with all my diligence,
To instructe me in your wonderfull science.
My science, she sayd, it is moost profitable
Unto Astronomy, for I do it mesure
In every thing as it is probable;
For I my selfe can ryght well discure
Of every sterre, which is sene in ure,
The mervaylous gretnes by my mesuring;
For God made all at the begynnyng.
By good mesuryng both the heyght and depnes
Of every thing, as I understand,
The length and brede with al the greatnes,
Of the firmament so compassing the land;
And who my cunning list to take in hand,
In his emyspery of hye or low degre
Nothing there is but it may measure be.
Though that it be from us hye and farre,
If ony thing fall we may it truely se,
As the sonne or moone or any other sterre,
We may therof know well the quantite.
Who of this science dooth know the certaynte,
All maysteries might measure perfytely;
For geometry doth shew it openly.
Where that is mesure there is no lacking;
Where that is mesure hole is the body;
Where that is mesure good is the living;
Where that is mesure wisdome is truely;
Where that is mesure werke is directly;
Where that is mesure, natures working
Nature increaseth by right good knowledging.
Where lacketh mesure there is no plente;
Where lacketh mesure seke is the courage;
Where lacketh mesure there is iniquite;
Where lacketh mesure there is great outrage;
Where lacketh mesure is none advauntage;
Where lacketh mesure there is great glotony;
Where lacketh mesure is moost unhappy.
For there is no hye nor great estate,
Without mesure can kepe his dignite;
It doth preserve him both early and late,
Keping him from the pytte of poverte.
Mesure is moderate to all bounte,
Gretely nedeful for to take the charge
Man for to rule, that he go not at large.
Who loveth mesure can not do amys,
So perfitely is the high operacion
Among all thynges; so wonderfull it is,
That it is full of all delectacion,
And to vertue hath inclynacion.
Mesure also doth well exemplefy,
The hasty dome to swage and modefy.
Without mesure wo worth the jugement;
Without mesure wo worth the temperaunce;
Without mesure wo worth the punishmeut;
Without mesure wo worth the purveyaunce;
Without mesure wo worth the sustenaunce;
Without mesure wo worth the sadnes;
And without mesure wo worth the gladnes.
Mesure mesuring mesurably taketh;
Mesure mesuring mesuratly dooth all;
Mesure mesuring mesuratly maketh;
Mesure mesuring mesuratly guyde shall;
Mesure mesuring mesuratly doth call;
Mesure mesuryng to right hye preemynence,
For alway mesure is grounde of excellence.
Mesure mesureth mesure in effecte;
Mesure mesureth every quantyte;
Mesure mesureth all waye the aspecte;
Mesure mesureth all in certayne;
Mesure mesureth in the stabilitie;
Mesure mesuryth in every doutful case;
And mesure is the lodesterre of all grace.
Affycte of mesure is long continuaunce,
Quantite without mesure is nought;
Aspect of mesure devoydeth repentaunce;
Certayne wold weye all thinges thought;
Stabilitie upon a perfite grounde is wrought;
Cace doubtfull may yet a whyle abyde;
Grace may in space a remedy provyde.
Countenaunce causeth the promocyon;
Nought avayleth service without attendaunce,
Repentaunce is after all abusion;
Thought afore wolde have had perseveraunce;
Wrought how should be bydede the mischaunce;
Abyde nothing tyll thou do the dede;
Provyde in mynde how thou mayst have mede.
Promocion groweth after good governaunce;
Attendaunce doth attayne good favour;
Abusyon is causer of all variaunce;
Perceyveraunce causeth great honour;
Mischaunce alway is roote of dolour;
Dede done can not be called agayne;
Mede well rewarded both with joye and payne.
Than I toke my leve, and went from Geometry
Toward Astronomy as fast as I myght:
For all my mynde was set right inwardly
Upon my lady that was fayre and bryght.
My herte with her was bothe day and night:
She had it locked with a locke so sure,
It was her owne, she had therof the cure.
CAP. XXII.
OF DAME ASTRONOMY.
Than forth I wente into a medow grene,
With Flora paynted in many a sundry colour,
Lyke a gay goddesse of all floures the quene,
She encenced out her aromatyke odour.
The brethe of Zepherus encreased the floure.
Amiddes the medow fayre replendishaunt,
Was a pavilyon right hye and quadraunt,
Of grene sarcenet bordered with golde,
Wherein dede hange a fayre astrology.
Which oft Astronomy did full well beholde;
Unto whome than I came full shortly,
And kneled adowne before her mekely,
Beseching her of her great gentylnes
Of her scyence to shew the perfitenes.
My scyence, sayd she, it is ryght resonable,
And is the last of the sciences seven;
Unto man it is also ryght profitable,
Shewing the course above of the heaven;
Right merveylous for any man to neven.
Who knew astronomy at every maner ceason,
Might set in ordre every thing by reason.
Also the other vi. sciences liberall
By astronomy principally were found;
And one were lost they were vanished all,
Eche upon other had so sure a ground.
In all the world, that is so wide and round,
Is none so wise that can then multiply,
Nor know them all right well and surely.
The hye astronomier, that is God omnipotent,
That the first day devided all the lyght
Frome the derkenes with his wyll prepotent;
And the second day, with his excellent might,
The waters above he did devide aryght,
From the erthely waters which are inferiall;
The third daye herbes and fruytes in speciall
In erthe he planted for to have their life
By divers vertues and sundry growing,
So to continue and be vegitative;
And the third day he sette in werking
The bodies above to have their moving,
In the xii. signes them selfe to domify,
Some rethrogarde, and some dyrectly.
The fyfth day he dyd fysshes make;
In the see the great stormy flode,
To and fro theyr courses for to take
And in the water for to have theyr fode,
Lyke to the same colde alway theyr blode;
The vi. day, bestes, wyth foules sensatyve,
And man also, with soule intellectyve.
The sevent day he restes of hys werke,
Nothynge constrayned as of werynes,
As wryteth many a ryght famous clerke;
But that he had accomplysshe doutles
Her purpensed purpose by infynite prowes,
As to us doth moost playnely discure
The perfyte grounde of holy Scrypture.
Thus God hym selfe is chyef astronomyer,
That made all thyng according to his wyll;
The sunne, the mone, and every lytle sterre,
To a good entent and for no maner of yll.
Wythouten vayne he dyd all thyng fulfyll,
As astronomy doth make apparaunce,
By reason he weyed all thynges in balauns.
CAP. XXIII.
OF THE DIRECT OPERATION OF NATURE.
And forasmuche that he made nature
Fyrst of all to have domynacyon,
The power of her I shall anone dyscure,
How that she taketh her operacyon,
And whereupon is her fundacyon,
In symple and rude, opprest wyth neclygence,
Shall discryve the myght of her preemynence.
For though that aungell be invysyble,
Inpalpable, and also celestiall,
Wythouten substaunce as incencyble,
Yet have they nature whych is angelycall;
For nature naturynge nature made all,
Heven and earth and the bodyes above,
By cours of nature for to werke and move.
On man or beest, wythouten ony mys,
She werketh directly after the aspecte
Of the mater, be it more or lesse, ywys,
And doth therof the hole fourme dyrecte,
After the qualyte it doth take effecte;
Yf there be more than may one suffyse,
A bye membre she wyll than more devyse.
As that in ure ye may it dayly se,
Upon one hande some hath thombes twayne;
And other also somtyme armes thre;
The superfluite is cause therof certayne;
Whyche that dame Nature dooth constrayne
So for to do, for she lesed noughte
Of the mater, but hath it hooly wroughte.
And in like wyse, where is not suffycyent
Of the mater for the hole reformacion,
There lacketh a membre by great impediment,
So that there can be no perfyte facyon;
As may be judged by perfyte reason,
After the qualyte of thy matter lackynge,
So lacketh the of natures fourmynge.
Some lacketh a legge, some an arme also,
Some a fynger, and some more or lesse;
All these causes, wyth many other mo,
Nature werketh so dyrectly doutles
Upon the mater, as I do expresse,
After the qualyte in many a sundry wyse,
The kynde of her we ought nothyng to despyse.
Some be fayre and replete with grace;
Some be fayre and yet right unhappy;
Some be foule and can sone purchace
Landes and possessyons to them shortely;
Some be fooles and some be ryght wytty;
Whereupon I shall shewe a dyfference
Of the v. wyttes by good experyence.
CAP. XXIV.
OF THE FIVE INTERNALL WITTES.
The eyen, the eres, and also the nose,
The mouth, and handes, inwarde wyttes are none;
But outwarde offyces, as ye may suppose,
To the inwarde wyttes, whiche do judge alone;
For unto them all thinges have gone,
But these outwarde gates to have the knowledginge,
By the inwarde wyttes to have decernynge.
These are the v. wyttes remeuing inwardly:
Fyrst, commyn wytte, and than ymaginacyon,
Fantasy, and estymacyon truely,
And memory, as I make narracyon;
Eche upon other hath occupacyon.
Fyrst, the comyn wytte unto the front aplyde,
Doth thynke, decerne, it may not be denyde.
Of the eyen the offyce only is the syght,
To se the fayre, the lowe, or altytude,
The whyte, or blacke, the hevy, or the lyght,
The lytle or great, the weyke or fortytude,
The ugly favour, or yet the pulcrytude;
This is the use of the eyene intere,
To se all thynges whiche may well appere.
But of themselfe they can decerne nothynge
One frome an other; but the comyn wytte
Decerneth colours by spyrytuall connynge,
To the fyve inwarde wittes it is so well knytte,
Nothynge is sene but it doth judge it:
It doth decerne the good from badnes,
The hye, the lowe, the foule, the fayrenes.
The nose, also, every ayre doth smel,
But yet it hath nothynge auctoryte
Yf it be swete for to judge and tell;
But the comyn wyt doth it in certaynte,
Decernynge favours in every degre,
Knowynge the swete ayre from the stynkinge,
Whan that the nose therof hath smellinge.
The eres, also, right well gyve audyence
Unto a tale, herynge it perfytely;
But they can not decerne the sentence
To knowe whereupon it doth so ratyfy,
Upon great wysedome or elles upon foly:
Thus, whether the tale be ryght good or bad
By the comyn wytte the knowledge is had.