Chapter 33

And lich to such condicion, As forto speke it other wise, It falleth that the moste wise Ben otherwhile of love adoted, And so bewhaped and assoted, 80 Of drunke men that nevere yit Was non, which half so loste his wit Of drinke, as thei of such thing do Which cleped is the jolif wo; And waxen of here oghne thoght So drunke, that thei knowe noght What reson is, or more or lesse. Such is the kinde of that sieknesse, And that is noght for lacke of brain, Bot love is of so gret a main, 90 That where he takth an herte on honde, Ther mai nothing his miht withstonde: The wise Salomon was nome, And stronge Sampson overcome, The knihtli David him ne mihte Rescoue, that he with the sihte Of Bersabee ne was bestad, Virgile also was overlad, And Aristotle was put under. Forthi, mi Sone, it is no wonder 100 If thou be drunke of love among, Which is above alle othre strong: And if so is that thou so be, Tell me thi Schrifte in privite; It is no schame of such a thew A yong man to be dronkelew. Of such Phisique I can a part, And as me semeth be that art, Thou scholdest be Phisonomie Be schapen to that maladie 110 Of lovedrunke, and that is routhe.

Ha, holi fader, al is trouthe That ye me telle: I am beknowe That I with love am so bethrowe, And al myn herte is so thurgh sunke, That I am verrailiche drunke, And yit I mai bothe speke and go. Bot I am overcome so, And torned fro miself so clene, That ofte I wot noght what I mene; 120 So that excusen I ne mai Min herte, fro the ferste day That I cam to mi ladi kiththe, I was yit sobre nevere siththe. Wher I hire se or se hire noght, With musinge of min oghne thoght, Of love, which min herte assaileth, So drunke I am, that mi wit faileth And al mi brain is overtorned, And mi manere so mistorned, 130 That I foryete al that I can And stonde lich a mased man; That ofte, whanne I scholde pleie, It makth me drawe out of the weie In soulein place be miselve, As doth a labourer to delve, Which can no gentil mannes chere; Or elles as a lewed Frere, Whan he is put to his penance, Riht so lese I mi contienance. 140 And if it nedes to betyde, That I in compainie abyde, Wher as I moste daunce and singe The hovedance and carolinge, Or forto go the newefot, I mai noght wel heve up mi fot, If that sche be noght in the weie; For thanne is al mi merthe aweie, And waxe anon of thoght so full, Wherof mi limes ben so dull, 150 I mai unethes gon the pas. For thus it is and evere was, Whanne I on suche thoghtes muse, The lust and merthe that men use, Whan I se noght mi ladi byme, Al is foryete for the time So ferforth that mi wittes changen And alle lustes fro me strangen, That thei seie alle trewely, And swere, that it am noght I. 160 For as the man which ofte drinketh, With win that in his stomac sinketh Wext drunke and witles for a throwe, Riht so mi lust is overthrowe, And of myn oghne thoght so mat I wexe, that to myn astat Ther is no lime wol me serve, Bot as a drunke man I swerve, And suffre such a Passion, That men have gret compassion, 170 And everich be himself merveilleth What thing it is that me so eilleth. Such is the manere of mi wo Which time that I am hire fro, Til eft ayein that I hire se. Bot thanne it were a nycete To telle you hou that I fare: For whanne I mai upon hire stare, Hire wommanhede, hire gentilesse, Myn herte is full of such gladnesse, 180 That overpasseth so mi wit, That I wot nevere where it sit, Bot am so drunken of that sihte, Me thenkth that for the time I mihte Riht sterte thurgh the hole wall; And thanne I mai wel, if I schal, Bothe singe and daunce and lepe aboute, And holde forth the lusti route. Bot natheles it falleth so Fulofte, that I fro hire go 190 Ne mai, bot as it were a stake, I stonde avisement to take And loke upon hire faire face; That for the while out of the place For al the world ne myhte I wende. Such lust comth thanne unto mi mende, So that withoute mete or drinke, Of lusti thoughtes whiche I thinke Me thenkth I mihte stonden evere; And so it were to me levere 200 Than such a sihte forto leve, If that sche wolde yif me leve To have so mochel of mi wille. And thus thenkende I stonde stille Withoute blenchinge of myn yhe, Riht as me thoghte that I syhe Of Paradis the moste joie: And so therwhile I me rejoie, Into myn herte a gret desir, The which is hotere than the fyr, 210 Al soudeinliche upon me renneth, That al mi thoght withinne brenneth, And am so ferforth overcome, That I not where I am become; So that among the hetes stronge In stede of drinke I underfonge A thoght so swete in mi corage, That nevere Pyment ne vernage Was half so swete forto drinke. For as I wolde, thanne I thinke 220 As thogh I were at myn above, For so thurgh drunke I am of love, That al that mi sotye demeth Is soth, as thanne it to me semeth. And whyle I mai tho thoghtes kepe, Me thenkth as thogh I were aslepe And that I were in goddes barm; Bot whanne I se myn oghne harm, And that I soudeinliche awake Out of my thought, and hiede take 230 Hou that the sothe stant in dede, Thanne is mi sekernesse in drede And joie torned into wo, So that the hete is al ago Of such sotie as I was inne. And thanne ayeinward I beginne To take of love a newe thorst, The which me grieveth altherworst, For thanne comth the blanche fievere, With chele and makth me so to chievere, 240 And so it coldeth at myn herte, That wonder is hou I asterte, In such a point that I ne deie: For certes ther was nevere keie Ne frosen ys upon the wal More inly cold that I am al. And thus soffre I the hote chele, Which passeth othre peines fele; In cold I brenne and frese in hete: And thanne I drinke a biter swete 250 With dreie lippe and yhen wete. Lo, thus I tempre mi diete, And take a drauhte of such reles, That al mi wit is herteles, And al myn herte, ther it sit, Is, as who seith, withoute wit; So that to prove it be reson In makinge of comparison Ther mai no difference be Betwen a drunke man and me. 260 Bot al the worste of everychon Is evere that I thurste in on; The more that myn herte drinketh, The more I may; so that me thinketh, My thurst schal nevere ben aqueint. God schilde that I be noght dreint Of such a superfluite: For wel I fiele in mi degre That al mi wit is overcast, Wherof I am the more agast, 270 That in defaulte of ladischipe Per chance in such a drunkeschipe I mai be ded er I be war. For certes, fader, this I dar Beknowe and in mi schrifte telle: Bot I a drauhte have of that welle, In which mi deth is and mi lif, Mi joie is torned into strif, That sobre schal I nevere worthe, Bot as a drunke man forworthe; 280 So that in londe where I fare The lust is lore of mi welfare, As he that mai no bote finde. Bot this me thenkth a wonder kinde, As I am drunke of that I drinke, So am I ek for falte of drinke; Of which I finde no reles: Bot if I myhte natheles Of such a drinke as I coveite, So as me liste, have o receite, 290 I scholde assobre and fare wel. Bot so fortune upon hire whiel On hih me deigneth noght to sette, For everemore I finde a lette: The boteler is noght mi frend, Which hath the keie be the bend; I mai wel wisshe and that is wast, For wel I wot, so freissh a tast, Bot if mi grace be the more, I schal assaie neveremore. 300 Thus am I drunke of that I se, For tastinge is defended me, And I can noght miselven stanche: So that, mi fader, of this branche I am gultif, to telle trouthe.

Mi Sone, that me thenketh routhe; For lovedrunke is the meschief Above alle othre the most chief, If he no lusti thoght assaie, Which mai his sori thurst allaie: 310 As for the time yit it lisseth To him which other joie misseth. Forthi, mi Sone, aboven alle Thenk wel, hou so it the befalle, And kep thi wittes that thou hast, And let hem noght be drunke in wast: Bot natheles ther is no wyht That mai withstonde loves miht. Bot why the cause is, as I finde, Of that ther is diverse kinde 320 Of lovedrunke, why men pleigneth After the court which al ordeigneth, I wol the tellen the manere; Nou lest, mi Sone, and thou schalt hiere.

For the fortune of every chance After the goddes pourveance To man it groweth from above, So that the sped of every love Is schape there, er it befalle. For Jupiter aboven alle, 330 Which is of goddes soverein, Hath in his celier, as men sein, Tuo tonnes fulle of love drinke, That maken many an herte sinke And many an herte also to flete, Or of the soure or of the swete. That on is full of such piment, Which passeth all entendement Of mannes witt, if he it taste, And makth a jolif herte in haste: 340 That other biter as the galle, Which makth a mannes herte palle, Whos drunkeschipe is a sieknesse Thurgh fielinge of the biternesse. Cupide is boteler of bothe, Which to the lieve and to the lothe Yifth of the swete and of the soure, That some lawhe, and some loure. Bot for so moche as he blind is, Fulofte time he goth amis 350 And takth the badde for the goode, Which hindreth many a mannes fode Withoute cause, and forthreth eke. So be ther some of love seke, Whiche oghte of reson to ben hole, And some comen to the dole In happ and as hemselve leste Drinke undeserved of the beste. And thus this blinde Boteler Yifth of the trouble in stede of cler 360 And ek the cler in stede of trouble: Lo, hou he can the hertes trouble, And makth men drunke al upon chaunce Withoute lawe of governance. If he drawe of the swete tonne, Thanne is the sorwe al overronne Of lovedrunke, and schalt noght greven So to be drunken every even, For al is thanne bot a game. Bot whanne it is noght of the same, 370 And he the biter tonne draweth, Such drunkeschipe an herte gnaweth And fiebleth al a mannes thoght, That betre him were have drunke noght And al his bred have eten dreie; For thanne he lest his lusti weie With drunkeschipe, and wot noght whider To go, the weies ben so slider, In which he mai per cas so falle, That he schal breke his wittes alle. 380 And in this wise men be drunke After the drink that thei have drunke: Bot alle drinken noght alike, For som schal singe and som schal syke, So that it me nothing merveilleth, Mi Sone, of love that thee eilleth; For wel I knowe be thi tale, That thou hast drunken of the duale, Which biter is, til god the sende Such grace that thou miht amende. 390

Bot, Sone, thou schalt bidde and preie In such a wise as I schal seie, That thou the lusti welle atteigne Thi wofull thurstes to restreigne Of love, and taste the swetnesse; As Bachus dede in his distresse, Whan bodiliche thurst him hente In strange londes where he wente. This Bachus Sone of Jupiter Was hote, and as he wente fer 400 Be his fadres assignement To make a werre in Orient, And gret pouer with him he ladde, So that the heiere hond he hadde And victoire of his enemys, And torneth homward with his pris, In such a contre which was dreie A meschief fell upon the weie. As he rod with his compainie Nyh to the strondes of Lubie, 410 Ther myhte thei no drinke finde Of water nor of other kinde, So that himself and al his host Were of defalte of drinke almost Destruid, and thanne Bachus preide To Jupiter, and thus he seide: “O hihe fader, that sest al, To whom is reson that I schal Beseche and preie in every nede, Behold, mi fader, and tak hiede 420 This wofull thurst that we ben inne To staunche, and grante ous forto winne, And sauf unto the contre fare, Wher that oure lusti loves are Waitende upon oure hom cominge.” And with the vois of his preiynge, Which herd was to the goddes hihe, He syh anon tofore his yhe A wether, which the ground hath sporned; And wher he hath it overtorned, 430 Ther sprang a welle freissh and cler, Wherof his oghne boteler After the lustes of his wille Was every man to drinke his fille. And for this ilke grete grace Bachus upon the same place A riche temple let arere, Which evere scholde stonde there To thursti men in remembrance.

Forthi, mi Sone, after this chance 440 It sit thee wel to taken hiede So forto preie upon thi nede, As Bachus preide for the welle; And thenk, as thou hast herd me telle, Hou grace he gradde and grace he hadde. He was no fol that ferst so radde, For selden get a domb man lond: Tak that proverbe, and understond That wordes ben of vertu grete. Forthi to speke thou ne lete, 450 And axe and prei erli and late Thi thurst to quenche, and thenk algate, The boteler which berth the keie Is blind, as thou hast herd me seie; And if it mihte so betyde, That he upon the blinde side Per cas the swete tonne arauhte, Than schalt thou have a lusti drauhte And waxe of lovedrunke sobre. And thus I rede thou assobre 460 Thin herte in hope of such a grace; For drunkeschipe in every place, To whether side that it torne, Doth harm and makth a man to sporne And ofte falle in such a wise, Wher he per cas mai noght arise.

And forto loke in evidence Upon the sothe experience, So as it hath befalle er this, In every mannes mouth it is 470 Hou Tristram was of love drunke With Bele Ysolde, whan thei drunke The drink which Brangwein hem betok, Er that king Marc his Eem hire tok To wyve, as it was after knowe. And ek, mi Sone, if thou wolt knowe, As it hath fallen overmore In loves cause, and what is more Of drunkeschipe forto drede, As it whilom befell in dede, 480 Wherof thou miht the betre eschuie Of drunke men that thou ne suie The compaignie in no manere, A gret ensample thou schalt hiere.

This finde I write in Poesie Of thilke faire Ipotacie, Of whos beaute ther as sche was Spak every man,—and fell per cas, That Pirotous so him spedde, That he to wyve hire scholde wedde, 490 Wherof that he gret joie made. And for he wolde his love glade, Ayein the day of mariage Be mouthe bothe and be message Hise frendes to the feste he preide, With gret worschipe and, as men seide, He hath this yonge ladi spoused. And whan that thei were alle housed, And set and served ate mete, Ther was no wyn which mai be gete, 500 That ther ne was plente ynouh: Bot Bachus thilke tonne drouh, Wherof be weie of drunkeschipe The greteste of the felaschipe Were oute of reson overtake; And Venus, which hath also take The cause most in special, Hath yove hem drinke forth withal Of thilke cuppe which exciteth The lust wherinne a man deliteth: 510 And thus be double weie drunke, Of lust that ilke fyri funke Hath mad hem, as who seith, halfwode, That thei no reson understode, Ne to non other thing thei syhen, Bot hire, which tofore here yhen Was wedded thilke same day, That freisshe wif, that lusti May, On hire it was al that thei thoghten. And so ferforth here lustes soghten, 520 That thei the whiche named were Centauri, ate feste there Of on assent, of an acord This yonge wif malgre hire lord In such a rage awei forth ladden, As thei whiche non insihte hadden Bot only to her drunke fare, Which many a man hath mad misfare In love als wel as other weie. Wherof, if I schal more seie 530 Upon the nature of the vice, Of custume and of exercice The mannes grace hou it fordoth, A tale, which was whilom soth, Of fooles that so drunken were, I schal reherce unto thine Ere.

I rede in a Cronique thus Of Galba and of Vitellus, The whiche of Spaigne bothe were The greteste of alle othre there, 540 And bothe of o condicion After the disposicion Of glotonie and drunkeschipe. That was a sori felaschipe: For this thou miht wel understonde, That man mai wel noght longe stonde Which is wyndrunke of comun us; For he hath lore the vertus, Wherof reson him scholde clothe; And that was seene upon hem bothe. 550 Men sein ther is non evidence, Wherof to knowe a difference Betwen the drunken and the wode, For thei be nevere nouther goode; For wher that wyn doth wit aweie, Wisdom hath lost the rihte weie, That he no maner vice dredeth; Nomore than a blind man thredeth His nedle be the Sonnes lyht, Nomore is reson thanne of myht, 560 Whan he with drunkeschipe is blent. And in this point thei weren schent, This Galba bothe and ek Vitelle, Upon the cause as I schal telle, Wherof good is to taken hiede. For thei tuo thurgh her drunkenhiede Of witles excitacioun Oppressede al the nacion Of Spaigne; for of fool usance, Which don was of continuance 570 Of hem, whiche alday drunken were, Ther was no wif ne maiden there, What so thei were, or faire or foule, Whom thei ne token to defoule, Wherof the lond was often wo: And ek in othre thinges mo Thei wroghten many a sondri wrong. Bot hou so that the dai be long, The derke nyht comth ate laste: God wolde noght thei scholden laste, 580 And schop the lawe in such a wise, That thei thurgh dom to the juise Be dampned forto be forlore. Bot thei, that hadden ben tofore Enclin to alle drunkenesse,— Here ende thanne bar witnesse; For thei in hope to assuage The peine of deth, upon the rage That thei the lasse scholden fiele, Of wyn let fille full a Miele, 590 And dronken til so was befalle That thei her strengthes losten alle Withouten wit of eny brain; And thus thei ben halfdede slain, That hem ne grieveth bot a lyte.

Mi Sone, if thou be forto wyte In eny point which I have seid, Wherof thi wittes ben unteid, I rede clepe hem hom ayein.

I schal do, fader, as ye sein, 600 Als ferforth as I mai suffise: Bot wel I wot that in no wise The drunkeschipe of love aweie I mai remue be no weie, It stant noght upon my fortune. Bot if you liste to comune Of the seconde Glotonie, Which cleped is Delicacie, Wherof ye spieken hier tofore, Beseche I wolde you therfore. 610

Mi Sone, as of that ilke vice, Which of alle othre is the Norrice, And stant upon the retenue Of Venus, so as it is due, The proprete hou that it fareth The bok hierafter nou declareth.

Of this chapitre in which we trete There is yit on of such diete, To which no povere mai atteigne; For al is Past of paindemeine 620 And sondri wyn and sondri drinke, Wherof that he wole ete and drinke: Hise cokes ben for him affaited, So that his body is awaited, That him schal lacke no delit, Als ferforth as his appetit Sufficeth to the metes hote. Wherof this lusti vice is hote Of Gule the Delicacie, Which al the hole progenie 630 Of lusti folk hath undertake To feede, whil that he mai take Richesses wherof to be founde: Of Abstinence he wot no bounde, To what profit it scholde serve. And yit phisique of his conserve Makth many a restauracioun Unto his recreacioun, Which wolde be to Venus lief. Thus for the point of his relief 640 The coc which schal his mete arraie, Bot he the betre his mouth assaie, His lordes thonk schal ofte lese, Er he be served to the chese: For ther mai lacke noght so lyte, That he ne fint anon a wyte; For bot his lust be fully served, Ther hath no wiht his thonk deserved. And yit for mannes sustenance, To kepe and holde in governance, 650 To him that wole his hele gete Is non so good as comun mete: For who that loketh on the bokes, It seith, confeccion of cokes, A man him scholde wel avise Hou he it toke and in what wise. For who that useth that he knoweth, Ful selden seknesse on him groweth, And who that useth metes strange, Though his nature empeire and change 660 It is no wonder, lieve Sone, Whan that he doth ayein his wone; For in Phisique this I finde, Usage is the seconde kinde.

And riht so changeth his astat He that of love is delicat: For though he hadde to his hond The beste wif of al the lond, Or the faireste love of alle, Yit wolde his herte on othre falle 670 And thenke hem mor delicious Than he hath in his oghne hous: Men sein it is nou ofte so; Avise hem wel, thei that so do. And forto speke in other weie, Fulofte time I have herd seie, That he which hath no love achieved, Him thenkth that he is noght relieved, Thogh that his ladi make him chiere, So as sche mai in good manere 680 Hir honour and hir name save, Bot he the surplus mihte have. Nothing withstondende hire astat, Of love more delicat He set hire chiere at no delit, Bot he have al his appetit.

Mi Sone, if it be with thee so, Tell me.

Myn holi fader, no: For delicat in such a wise Of love, as ye to me devise, 690 Ne was I nevere yit gultif; For if I hadde such a wif As ye speke of, what scholde I more? For thanne I wolde neveremore For lust of eny wommanhiede Myn herte upon non other fiede: And if I dede, it were a wast. Bot al withoute such repast Of lust, as ye me tolde above, Of wif, or yit of other love, 700 I faste, and mai no fode gete; So that for lacke of deinte mete, Of which an herte mai be fedd, I go fastende to my bedd. Bot myhte I geten, as ye tolde, So mochel that mi ladi wolde Me fede with hir glad semblant, Though me lacke al the remenant, Yit scholde I somdel ben abeched And for the time wel refreched. 710 Bot certes, fader, sche ne doth; For in good feith, to telle soth, I trowe, thogh I scholde sterve, Sche wolde noght hire yhe swerve, Min herte with o goodly lok To fede, and thus for such a cok I mai go fastinge everemo: Bot if so is that eny wo Mai fede a mannes herte wel, Therof I have at every meel 720 Of plente more than ynowh; Bot that is of himself so towh, Mi stomac mai it noght defie. Lo, such is the delicacie Of love, which myn herte fedeth; Thus have I lacke of that me nedeth.

Bot for al this yit natheles I seie noght I am gylteles, That I somdel am delicat: For elles were I fulli mat, 730 Bot if that I som lusti stounde Of confort and of ese founde, To take of love som repast; For thogh I with the fulle tast The lust of love mai noght fiele, Min hunger otherwise I kiele Of smale lustes whiche I pike, And for a time yit thei like; If that ye wisten what I mene.

Nou, goode Sone, schrif thee clene 740 Of suche deyntes as ben goode, Wherof thou takst thin hertes fode.

Mi fader, I you schal reherce, Hou that mi fodes ben diverse, So as thei fallen in degre. O fiedinge is of that I se, An other is of that I here, The thridde, as I schal tellen here, It groweth of min oghne thoght: And elles scholde I live noght; 750 For whom that failleth fode of herte, He mai noght wel the deth asterte.