In this sad world have pity, my lady dear,
Dear to me more than any other there:
Their pride you know not; let not gracious cheer
Cheer me at so great cost, oh white and fair!
Fare I thus ill, yet canst thou bid me see
Seasons of solace that may comfort me.
If for unfitness I be slighted here,
Here am I dead, and arrows of despair
Spare not to pierce my heart, and life grows drear,
Drear as my brooding on the doom I bear.
Bear witness, Love withholds in obduracy
Seasons of solace that might comfort me.
O loveliest one and sweetest, without peer,
Peerless in honour, of all bounties heir,
Ere I thy servant pine in sorry fear
Fear not a kind and gentle guise to wear.
Where shall I find, 'mid this deep dolorous sea,
Seasons of solace that may comfort me?
Dear Lady, grant in gracious courtesy
Seasons of solace that may comfort me.
Thus as you have heard did I write to my lady, and by my letter I made
known to her my trouble, for to gain her solace. And my cousin bare the
letter. For awhile he remained on his guard, and carefully watched for
the time when he could safely have speech of her. And then he told her
of my letter, at the which she in nowise made complaint, but received it
gladly. And, smiling, she read the letter and the ballads twice or
thrice, and then the fair and gracious one said, "I will write in reply
to your cousin, and more I will not say to you now, but I will set me
about it. And whiles that I am so occupied, do you divert yourself with
chess, and checkmate my kinswoman here."
Then she withdrew to an inner chamber with her secretary, who well knew
how to keep her counsel, and than whom she had none other more
confidential, and she commenced to express her thoughts in writing, and
composed the letter the which is here set forth.
_Reply of the Lady to the Afore-Mentioned Letter_