Most noble ladies, cherish your fair fame,
And for God's love the contrary eschew
Of good report, lest thus you come to blame:
Nor make your choice of all acquaintance new.
For some might tell (such evil tongues have they),
How wanton manners in your life they see,
Though never yet in any fault you lay:
And from such faithless rascals keep you free.
For little would it serve to bear the name
Of one whom many love, yet find for due
Nought but dishonour that from slanderers came
Telling abroad how in your works they knew
Your wantonness: so well it is alway
To hold aloof, ere any trial be,
From ill that follows after foolish play,
And from such faithless rascals keep you free.
Nay, be ye rather armed against the same
With perfect wit, so tirelessly they sue
To stain your honour, whence full often shame
Comes without cause, yet they to pleasure you
Feign courtesy: my warning may not stay,
So oft I hear how those ye hold in fee
Blame you no less: withdraw from these, I pray,
And from such faithless rascals keep you free.
Most noble ladies! be not wroth to-day
That I have ever counselled you to flee
These traitors: trust me, though no more I say,
And from such faithless rascals keep you free.
In such wise did the Lady of La Tour, who made me very sad by the letter
the which she wrote, make answer to my Lady, who was sore dismayed by it
albeit she was not displeased with her on account of it, but said
forthwith, "Ah! if it had pleased our lord that she had been alway with
me, she would have exhorted me wisely, and thus I should not have been
beguiled by evil counsel, but ne'ertheless I shall abandon this, and
abide me by her counsel, for I well perceive the grievous peril which
pertains to a life of love, but it is meet that he who is oft in my
thoughts should abandon it likewise." Then she wrote a letter to me,
even as is here set forth.
_Sealed Letter_
_My good Friend_,--It is indeed true that foolish love, the
which deceives many, and the sincere pity which I had for your
plaint, have led me much to forget that which I ought ever to
have had in remembrance, the which is, to preserve my soul and
mine honour. And I have fully come to see how that I have
already exposed myself to many great dangers and perils in order
to fulfil your youthful wishes and mine own. Thank God, however,
that there has been no evil in it, nor ever will be as long as I
live! Yet the world would in nowise believe this if any ill
chance befell me, from the which may God preserve me! And I well
perceive that whosoe'er pursues foolish love, is in nowise
master of himself or of his demeanour, so that it comes to pass
that he may be discovered, as you can see by the long letter
which the good and prudent woman, the Lady of La Tour, has
written to me, the which I send you in order that you may
perceive the reason which constrains me to withdraw from it.
For, when I gave myself up to this love, I took no thought for
the perils into the which I rushed, but this wise lady has
opened mine eyes to examine and consider my doings, and if I do
this not, I shall be defamed and ruined, and this, dear friend,
you could in nowise desire. And because of this, I beseech you
to withdraw from it, and know that I ask this of you in spite of
my love, and with my eyes full of tears, for none could be more
loved than I love you. Therefore in nowise believe that this
comes to pass through want of love, for I swear to you on my
portion in Paradise, and make promise to you by every oath that
can be made, that, as long as I live, you shall be my only
friend, and you alone will I love alway, if this will content
you, neither do I withdraw my love from you, for you have in
nowise deserved this, nor could my heart, which loves you,
consent to it, but it at least behoves you to cease from seeing
me, because of the harm which might come to me through it, the
which, I well know, will be very grievous to you, and full of
sorrow, but whiles that your heart may be sad about it, in
nowise will mine be happy. And I know not what more to say to
you, nor can I write more, for my desolate heart, my eyes, and
my face are suffused with tears, and I bid you farewell, my
sweet Love.
Your sorrowing Lady.
And when that I had read this sad letter, my pulse and my colour failed
me, and I became like unto one dead, and it was long ere I came to
myself again, for I swooned because of the grief which I felt to hear
that it was needful for me to keep away from my lady. Never had such a
sorrow chanced to me, and so sorely did I weep because of this, that my
heart was well nigh broken. And I read the long letter the which had set
this thing agoing, and God knows how, when I read it, I cursed the old
lady who had sent it. I would have drowned her but that this was not
possible. And when I had longwhiles borne this grievous sorrow without
that it was diminished, I wrote this letter, moistening it with my
tears.
_To the most noble of ladies_.
Alas, my sweet and honoured Lady, my peerless love whom I serve,
fear, obey, and worship! Where can I find words sufficing to
declare unto you, and to make you wholly to know, my grievous
sorrow? Tears and weeping so dull my mind and my memory, that I
know not where I am, or what I do. Ah, my Lady! you have indeed
discomforted me by your cruel letter, the which tells me that it
behoves me to keep away from you! Certes it is indeed true,
whatsoe'er the Lady of La Tour says of Lovers, that I am more to
you than aught that you have in the world beside, and that I
have made promise unto you (the which I will keep truly all my
life), that, as far as in me lies, I will obey you in all
things, without doing aught that is contrary to your wishes. But
when your wish is that I withdraw me from this, I cannot obey,
for I have abandoned my life to it. Thus it is not in my power
to give it up, even if I die for this. And, dear Lady, as to
obeying your command that I see you no more, if it is your
pleasure that it be alway thus, it is meet that I resist this
with all my might, since if you bid me do that which would kill
me or drive me mad, I know of a truth that in this I cannot
obey. And so that you may perceive that I desire your honour
more than does she who has written so much to you concerning it,
and to prevent any suspicion that you are the cause of my death,
I shall go beyond the seas to end my days, and nevermore shall I
return from thence, and I pledge you my faith that you will find
this to be so. Alas! where has this one, in order to compass my
ruin, discovered that already there is rumour and talk of our
love? Truly she must have imagined it. Saving her reverence, it
is not possible, for naught was ever conducted more prudently or
secretly than, up to this present, our sweet love has been, and
alway will be if God wills. For God knows that I would rather
suffer death than do aught that would cause you dishonour. Ah,
my Lady, my Lady! Shall I never see you again? If this must be
so, God grant that I may lose my sight, and that I may never
again look on anything, for naught beside could delight me. How
could my heart dure and remain alive when it no longer has the
joy the which it receives when it is nigh unto yours? Ah, woe is
me! This thought, alas, is a lance which pierces right through
my sorrowful heart. It cannot be that I must thus lose, and
without cause, the tender comfort, the amorous delights, the
pleasing glances, and the winsome words, the which I receive
from you, and of which the sweet remembrance, which remained in
my thoughts with the hope of their renewal, made me more
gladsome and contented than aught beside. And, my very sweet
Lady, since I must needs die without deserving it, one favour
only do I beg of you, for the sake of all the love your tender
and noble heart erewhiles had for me, and do not be so cruel to
your poor servant as to deny it to him, the which is that, ere I
take leave of you for ever, I may for once have speech with you,
so that I may bid you farewell, and say adieu to all the
delights the which you have so lovingly bestowed on me, for
never, on my soul, have I thought on that which is evil, or
contrary to your desires. Alas, my Lady! Well do I know how you
do wrong to those desires, and unjustly cause them to endure
misfortune, for boldly do I declare that this farewell is in
nowise in accordance with their assent or wish. May this favour
be vouchsafed to me, dear Lady. And I know not what more to say
to you, but be assured that I shall obey you unto death. May it
please you to make known to me forthwith what you would have me
to do, and whether you would that I go beyond the seas as I have
said, or what is your pleasure. And be pleased to pardon me that
this letter is blotted with my tears, for, on my soul, it has
not been possible for me to restrain them whiles that I have
been writing it. Honoured Lady, I commend me to you more than I
know how to say, and I pray God to grant you all good things
that are to be desired.--Written in great grief, with tears and
weeping.
Your poor lover, the most unhappy of men.
And I sent this letter to my lady, and wept sorely whilst delivering it.
And I remained cast down, sad, and silent, making plaint unto myself.
And I said in my grief--