Chapter 34

Of sihte is al mi ferste fode, Thurgh which myn yhe of alle goode Hath that to him is acordant, A lusti fode sufficant. Whan that I go toward the place Wher I schal se my ladi face, Min yhe, which is loth to faste, Beginth to hungre anon so faste, 760 That him thenkth of on houre thre, Til I ther come and he hire se: And thanne after his appetit He takth a fode of such delit, That him non other deynte nedeth. Of sondri sihtes he him fedeth: He seth hire face of such colour, That freisshere is than eny flour, He seth hire front is large and plein Withoute fronce of eny grein, 770 He seth hire yhen lich an hevene, He seth hire nase strauht and evene, He seth hire rode upon the cheke, He seth hire rede lippes eke, Hire chyn acordeth to the face, Al that he seth is full of grace, He seth hire necke round and clene, Therinne mai no bon be sene, He seth hire handes faire and whyte; For al this thing withoute wyte 780 He mai se naked ate leste, So is it wel the more feste And wel the mor Delicacie Unto the fiedinge of myn yhe. He seth hire schapthe forth withal, Hire bodi round, hire middel smal, So wel begon with good array, Which passeth al the lust of Maii, Whan he is most with softe schoures Ful clothed in his lusti floures. 790 With suche sihtes by and by Min yhe is fed; bot finaly, Whan he the port and the manere Seth of hire wommanysshe chere, Than hath he such delice on honde, Him thenkth he mihte stille stonde, And that he hath ful sufficance Of liflode and of sustienance As to his part for everemo. And if it thoghte alle othre so, 800 Fro thenne wolde he nevere wende, Bot there unto the worldes ende He wolde abyde, if that he mihte, And fieden him upon the syhte. For thogh I mihte stonden ay Into the time of domesday And loke upon hire evere in on, Yit whanne I scholde fro hire gon, Min yhe wolde, as thogh he faste, Ben hungerstorven al so faste, 810 Til efte ayein that he hire syhe. Such is the nature of myn yhe: Ther is no lust so deintefull, Of which a man schal noght be full, Of that the stomac underfongeth, Bot evere in on myn yhe longeth: For loke hou that a goshauk tireth, Riht so doth he, whan that he pireth And toteth on hire wommanhiede; For he mai nevere fulli fiede 820 His lust, bot evere aliche sore Him hungreth, so that he the more Desireth to be fed algate: And thus myn yhe is mad the gate, Thurgh which the deyntes of my thoght Of lust ben to myn herte broght.

Riht as myn yhe with his lok Is to myn herte a lusti coc Of loves fode delicat, Riht so myn Ere in his astat, 830 Wher as myn yhe mai noght serve, Can wel myn hertes thonk deserve And fieden him fro day to day With suche deyntes as he may. For thus it is, that overal, Wher as I come in special, I mai hiere of mi ladi pris; I hiere on seith that sche is wys, An other seith that sche is good, And som men sein, of worthi blod 840 That sche is come, and is also So fair, that nawher is non so; And som men preise hire goodli chiere: Thus every thing that I mai hiere, Which souneth to mi ladi goode, Is to myn Ere a lusti foode. And ek min Ere hath over this A deynte feste, whan so is That I mai hiere hirselve speke; For thanne anon mi faste I breke 850 On suche wordes as sche seith, That full of trouthe and full of feith Thei ben, and of so good desport, That to myn Ere gret confort Thei don, as thei that ben delices. For al the metes and the spices, That eny Lombard couthe make, Ne be so lusti forto take Ne so ferforth restauratif, I seie as for myn oghne lif, 860 As ben the wordes of hire mouth: For as the wyndes of the South Ben most of alle debonaire, So whan hir list to speke faire, The vertu of hire goodly speche Is verraily myn hertes leche. And if it so befalle among, That sche carole upon a song, Whan I it hiere I am so fedd, That I am fro miself so ledd, 870 As thogh I were in paradis; For certes, as to myn avis, Whan I here of hir vois the stevene, Me thenkth it is a blisse of hevene.

And ek in other wise also Fulofte time it falleth so, Min Ere with a good pitance Is fedd of redinge of romance Of Ydoine and of Amadas, That whilom weren in mi cas, 880 And eke of othre many a score, That loveden longe er I was bore. For whan I of here loves rede, Min Ere with the tale I fede; And with the lust of here histoire Somtime I drawe into memoire Hou sorwe mai noght evere laste; And so comth hope in ate laste, Whan I non other fode knowe. And that endureth bot a throwe, 890 Riht as it were a cherie feste; Bot forto compten ate leste, As for the while yit it eseth And somdel of myn herte appeseth: For what thing to myn Ere spreedeth, Which is plesant, somdel it feedeth With wordes suche as he mai gete Mi lust, in stede of other mete.

Lo thus, mi fader, as I seie, Of lust the which myn yhe hath seie, 900 And ek of that myn Ere hath herd, Fulofte I have the betre ferd. And tho tuo bringen in the thridde, The which hath in myn herte amidde His place take, to arraie The lusti fode, which assaie I mot; and nameliche on nyhtes, Whan that me lacketh alle sihtes, And that myn heringe is aweie, Thanne is he redy in the weie 910 Mi reresouper forto make, Of which myn hertes fode I take.

This lusti cokes name is hote Thoght, which hath evere hise pottes hote Of love buillende on the fyr With fantasie and with desir, Of whiche er this fulofte he fedde Min herte, whanne I was abedde; And thanne he set upon my bord Bothe every syhte and every word 920 Of lust, which I have herd or sein. Bot yit is noght mi feste al plein, Bot al of woldes and of wisshes, Therof have I my fulle disshes, Bot as of fielinge and of tast, Yit mihte I nevere have o repast. And thus, as I have seid aforn, I licke hony on the thorn, And as who seith, upon the bridel I chiewe, so that al is ydel 930 As in effect the fode I have. Bot as a man that wolde him save, Whan he is seck, be medicine, Riht so of love the famine I fonde in al that evere I mai To fiede and dryve forth the day, Til I mai have the grete feste, Which al myn hunger myhte areste.

Lo suche ben mi lustes thre; Of that I thenke and hiere and se 940 I take of love my fiedinge Withoute tastinge or fielinge: And as the Plover doth of Eir I live, and am in good espeir That for no such delicacie I trowe I do no glotonie. And natheles to youre avis, Min holi fader, that be wis, I recomande myn astat Of that I have be delicat. 950

Mi Sone, I understonde wel That thou hast told hier everydel, And as me thenketh be thi tale, It ben delices wonder smale, Wherof thou takst thi loves fode. Bot, Sone, if that thou understode What is to ben delicious, Thou woldest noght be curious Upon the lust of thin astat To ben to sore delicat, 960 Wherof that thou reson excede: For in the bokes thou myht rede, If mannes wisdom schal be suied, It oghte wel to ben eschuied In love als wel as other weie; For, as these holi bokes seie, The bodely delices alle In every point, hou so thei falle, Unto the Soule don grievance. And forto take in remembrance, 970 A tale acordant unto this, Which of gret understondinge is To mannes soule resonable, I thenke telle, and is no fable.

Of Cristes word, who wole it rede, Hou that this vice is forto drede In thevangile it telleth plein, Which mot algate be certein, For Crist himself it berth witnesse. And thogh the clerk and the clergesse 980 In latin tunge it rede and singe, Yit for the more knoulechinge Of trouthe, which is good to wite, I schal declare as it is write In Engleissh, for thus it began.

Crist seith: “Ther was a riche man, A mihti lord of gret astat, And he was ek so delicat Of his clothing, that everyday Of pourpre and bisse he made him gay, 990 And eet and drank therto his fille After the lustes of his wille, As he which al stod in delice And tok non hiede of thilke vice. And as it scholde so betyde, A povere lazre upon a tyde Cam to the gate and axed mete: Bot there mihte he nothing gete His dedly hunger forto stanche; For he, which hadde his fulle panche 1000 Of alle lustes ate bord, Ne deigneth noght to speke a word, Onliche a Crumme forto yive, Wherof the povere myhte live Upon the yifte of his almesse. Thus lai this povere in gret destresse Acold and hungred ate gate, Fro which he mihte go no gate, So was he wofulli besein. And as these holi bokes sein, 1010 The houndes comen fro the halle, Wher that this sike man was falle, And as he lay ther forto die, The woundes of his maladie Thei licken forto don him ese. Bot he was full of such desese, That he mai noght the deth eschape; Bot as it was that time schape, The Soule fro the bodi passeth, And he whom nothing overpasseth, 1020 The hihe god, up to the hevene Him tok, wher he hath set him evene In Habrahammes barm on hyh, Wher he the hevene joie syh And hadde al that he have wolde.

And fell, as it befalle scholde, This riche man the same throwe With soudein deth was overthrowe, And forth withouten eny wente Into the helle straght he wente; 1030 The fend into the fyr him drouh, Wher that he hadde peine ynouh Of flamme which that evere brenneth. And as his yhe aboute renneth, Toward the hevene he cast his lok, Wher that he syh and hiede tok Hou Lazar set was in his Se Als ferr as evere he mihte se With Habraham; and thanne he preide Unto the Patriarch and seide: 1040 “Send Lazar doun fro thilke Sete, And do that he his finger wete In water, so that he mai droppe Upon my tunge, forto stoppe The grete hete in which I brenne.” Bot Habraham answerde thenne And seide to him in this wise: “Mi Sone, thou thee miht avise And take into thi remembrance, Hou Lazar hadde gret penance, 1050 Whyl he was in that other lif, Bot thou in al thi lust jolif The bodily delices soghtest: Forthi, so as thou thanne wroghtest, Nou schalt thou take thi reward Of dedly peine hierafterward In helle, which schal evere laste; And this Lazar nou ate laste The worldes peine is overronne, In hevene and hath his lif begonne 1060 Of joie, which is endeles. Bot that thou preidest natheles, That I schal Lazar to the sende With water on his finger ende, Thin hote tunge forto kiele, Thou schalt no such graces fiele; For to that foule place of Sinne, For evere in which thou schalt ben inne, Comth non out of this place thider, Ne non of you mai comen hider; 1070 Thus be yee parted nou atuo.”

The riche ayeinward cride tho: “O Habraham, sithe it so is, That Lazar mai noght do me this Which I have axed in this place, I wolde preie an other grace. For I have yit of brethren fyve, That with mi fader ben alyve Togedre duellende in on hous; To whom, as thou art gracious, 1080 I preie that thou woldest sende Lazar, so that he mihte wende To warne hem hou the world is went, That afterward thei be noght schent Of suche peines as I drye. Lo, this I preie and this I crie, Now I may noght miself amende.”

The Patriarch anon suiende To his preiere ansuerde nay; And seide him hou that everyday 1090 His brethren mihten knowe and hiere Of Moises on Erthe hiere And of prophetes othre mo, What hem was best. And he seith no; Bot if ther mihte a man aryse Fro deth to lyve in such a wise, To tellen hem hou that it were, He seide hou thanne of pure fere Thei scholden wel be war therby.

Quod Habraham: “Nay sikerly; 1100 For if thei nou wol noght obeie To suche as techen hem the weie, And alday preche and alday telle Hou that it stant of hevene and helle, Thei wol noght thanne taken hiede, Thogh it befelle so in dede That eny ded man were arered, To ben of him no betre lered Than of an other man alyve.”

If thou, mi Sone, canst descryve 1110 This tale, as Crist himself it tolde, Thou schalt have cause to beholde, To se so gret an evidence, Wherof the sothe experience Hath schewed openliche at ije, That bodili delicacie Of him which yeveth non almesse Schal after falle in gret destresse. And that was sene upon the riche: For he ne wolde unto his liche 1120 A Crumme yiven of his bred, Thanne afterward, whan he was ded, A drope of water him was werned. Thus mai a mannes wit be lerned Of hem that so delices taken; Whan thei with deth ben overtaken, That erst was swete is thanne sour. Bot he that is a governour Of worldes good, if he be wys, Withinne his herte he set no pris 1130 Of al the world, and yit he useth The good, that he nothing refuseth, As he which lord is of the thinges. The Nouches and the riche ringes, The cloth of gold and the Perrie He takth, and yit delicacie He leveth, thogh he were al this. The beste mete that ther is He ett, and drinkth the beste drinke; Bot hou that evere he ete or drinke, 1140 Delicacie he put aweie, As he which goth the rihte weie Noght only forto fiede and clothe His bodi, bot his soule bothe. Bot thei that taken otherwise Here lustes, ben none of the wise; And that whilom was schewed eke, If thou these olde bokes seke, Als wel be reson as be kinde, Of olde ensample as men mai finde. 1150

What man that wolde him wel avise, Delicacie is to despise, Whan kinde acordeth noght withal; Wherof ensample in special Of Nero whilom mai be told, Which ayein kinde manyfold Hise lustes tok, til ate laste That god him wolde al overcaste; Of whom the Cronique is so plein, Me list nomore of him to sein. 1160 And natheles for glotonie Of bodili Delicacie, To knowe his stomak hou it ferde, Of that noman tofore herde, Which he withinne himself bethoghte, A wonder soubtil thing he wroghte.

Thre men upon eleccioun Of age and of complexioun Lich to himself be alle weie He tok towardes him to pleie, 1170 And ete and drinke als wel as he. Therof was no diversite; For every day whan that thei eete, Tofore his oghne bord thei seete, And of such mete as he was served, Althogh thei hadde it noght deserved, Thei token service of the same. Bot afterward al thilke game Was into wofull ernest torned; For whan thei weren thus sojorned, 1180 Withinne a time at after mete Nero, which hadde noght foryete The lustes of his frele astat, As he which al was delicat, To knowe thilke experience, The men let come in his presence: And to that on the same tyde, A courser that he scholde ryde Into the feld, anon he bad; Wherof this man was wonder glad, 1190 And goth to prike and prance aboute. That other, whil that he was oute, He leide upon his bedd to slepe: The thridde, which he wolde kepe Withinne his chambre, faire and softe He goth now doun nou up fulofte, Walkende a pass, that he ne slepte, Til he which on the courser lepte Was come fro the field ayein. Nero thanne, as the bokes sein, 1200 These men doth taken alle thre And slouh hem, for he wolde se The whos stomak was best defied: And whanne he hath the sothe tryed, He fond that he which goth the pass Defyed best of alle was, Which afterward he usede ay.

And thus what thing unto his pay Was most plesant, he lefte non: With every lust he was begon, 1210 Wherof the bodi myhte glade, For he non abstinence made; Bot most above alle erthli thinges Of wommen unto the likinges Nero sette al his hole herte, For that lust scholde him noght asterte. Whan that the thurst of love him cawhte, Wher that him list he tok a drauhte, He spareth nouther wif ne maide, That such an other, as men saide, 1220 In al this world was nevere yit. He was so drunke in al his wit Thurgh sondri lustes whiche he tok, That evere, whil ther is a bok, Of Nero men schul rede and singe Unto the worldes knowlechinge, Mi goode Sone, as thou hast herd. For evere yit it hath so ferd, Delicacie in loves cas Withoute reson is and was; 1230 For wher that love his herte set, Him thenkth it myhte be no bet; And thogh it be noght fulli mete, The lust of love is evere swete.

Lo, thus togedre of felaschipe Delicacie and drunkeschipe, Wherof reson stant out of herre, Have mad full many a wisman erre In loves cause most of alle: For thanne hou so that evere it falle, 1240 Wit can no reson understonde, Bot let the governance stonde To Will, which thanne wext so wylde, That he can noght himselve schylde Fro no peril, bot out of feere The weie he secheth hiere and there, Him recheth noght upon what syde: For oftetime he goth beside, And doth such thing withoute drede, Wherof him oghte wel to drede. 1250 Bot whan that love assoteth sore, It passeth alle mennes lore; What lust it is that he ordeigneth, Ther is no mannes miht restreigneth, And of the godd takth he non hiede: Bot laweles withoute drede, His pourpos for he wolde achieve Ayeins the pointz of the believe, He tempteth hevene and erthe and helle, Hierafterward as I schall telle. 1260

Who dar do thing which love ne dar? To love is every lawe unwar, Bot to the lawes of his heste The fissch, the foul, the man, the beste Of al the worldes kinde louteth. For love is he which nothing douteth: In mannes herte where he sit, He compteth noght toward his wit The wo nomore than the wele, No mor the hete than the chele, 1270 No mor the wete than the dreie, No mor to live than to deie, So that tofore ne behinde He seth nothing, bot as the blinde Withoute insyhte of his corage He doth merveilles in his rage. To what thing that he wole him drawe, Ther is no god, ther is no lawe, Of whom that he takth eny hiede; Bot as Baiard the blinde stede, 1280 Til he falle in the dich amidde, He goth ther noman wole him bidde; He stant so ferforth out of reule, Ther is no wit that mai him reule. And thus to telle of him in soth, Ful many a wonder thing he doth, That were betre to be laft, Among the whiche is wicchecraft, That som men clepen Sorcerie, Which forto winne his druerie 1290 With many a circumstance he useth, Ther is no point which he refuseth.

The craft which that Saturnus fond, To make prickes in the Sond, That Geomance cleped is, Fulofte he useth it amis; And of the flod his Ydromance, And of the fyr the Piromance, With questions echon of tho He tempteth ofte, and ek also 1300 Aëremance in juggement To love he bringth of his assent: For these craftes, as I finde, A man mai do be weie of kinde, Be so it be to good entente. Bot he goth al an other wente; For rathere er he scholde faile, With Nigromance he wole assaile To make his incantacioun With hot subfumigacioun. 1310 Thilke art which Spatula is hote, And used is of comun rote Among Paiens, with that craft ek Of which is Auctor Thosz the Grek, He worcheth on and on be rowe: Razel is noght to him unknowe, Ne Salomones Candarie, His Ydeac, his Eutonye; The figure and the bok withal Of Balamuz, and of Ghenbal 1320 The Seal, and therupon thymage Of Thebith, for his avantage He takth, and somwhat of Gibiere, Which helplich is to this matiere. Babilla with hire Sones sevene, Which hath renonced to the hevene, With Cernes bothe square and rounde, He traceth ofte upon the grounde, Makende his invocacioun; And for full enformacioun 1330 The Scole which Honorius Wrot, he poursuieth: and lo, thus Magique he useth forto winne His love, and spareth for no Sinne. And over that of his Sotie, Riht as he secheth Sorcerie Of hem that ben Magiciens, Riht so of the Naturiens Upon the Sterres from above His weie he secheth unto love, 1340 Als fer as he hem understondeth. In many a sondry wise he fondeth: He makth ymage, he makth sculpture, He makth writinge, he makth figure, He makth his calculacions, He makth his demonstracions; His houres of Astronomie He kepeth as for that partie Which longeth to thinspeccion Of love and his affeccion; 1350 He wolde into the helle seche The devel himselve to beseche, If that he wiste forto spede, To gete of love his lusti mede: Wher that he hath his herte set, He bede nevere fare bet Ne wite of other hevene more.

Mi Sone, if thou of such a lore Hast ben er this, I red thee leve.

Min holi fader, be youre leve 1360 Of al that ye have spoken hiere Which toucheth unto this matiere, To telle soth riht as I wene, I wot noght o word what ye mene. I wol noght seie, if that I couthe, That I nolde in mi lusti youthe Benethe in helle and ek above To winne with mi ladi love Don al that evere that I mihte; For therof have I non insihte 1370 Wher afterward that I become, To that I wonne and overcome Hire love, which I most coveite.

Mi Sone, that goth wonder streite: For this I mai wel telle soth, Ther is noman the which so doth, For al the craft that he can caste, That he nabeith it ate laste. For often he that wol beguile Is guiled with the same guile, 1380 And thus the guilour is beguiled; As I finde in a bok compiled To this matiere an old histoire, The which comth nou to mi memoire, And is of gret essamplerie Ayein the vice of Sorcerie, Wherof non ende mai be good. Bot hou whilom therof it stod, A tale which is good to knowe To thee, mi Sone, I schal beknowe. 1390

Among hem whiche at Troie were, Uluxes ate Siege there Was on be name in special; Of whom yit the memorial Abit, for whyl ther is a mouth, For evere his name schal be couth. He was a worthi knyht and king And clerk knowende of every thing; He was a gret rethorien, He was a gret magicien; 1400 Of Tullius the rethorique, Of king Zorastes the magique, Of Tholome thastronomie, Of Plato the Philosophie, Of Daniel the slepi dremes, Of Neptune ek the water stremes, Of Salomon and the proverbes, Of Macer al the strengthe of herbes, And the Phisique of Ypocras, And lich unto Pictagoras 1410 Of Surgerie he knew the cures. Bot somwhat of his aventures, Which schal to mi matiere acorde, To thee, mi Sone, I wol recorde.

This king, of which thou hast herd sein, Fro Troie as he goth hom ayein Be Schipe, he fond the See divers, With many a wyndi storm revers. Bot he thurgh wisdom that he schapeth Ful many a gret peril ascapeth, 1420 Of whiche I thenke tellen on, Hou that malgre the nedle and ston Wynddrive he was al soudeinly Upon the strondes of Cilly, Wher that he moste abyde a whyle. Tuo queenes weren in that yle Calipsa named and Circes; And whan they herde hou Uluxes Is londed ther upon the ryve, For him thei senden als so blive. 1430 With him suche as he wolde he nam And to the court to hem he cam. Thes queenes were as tuo goddesses Of Art magique Sorceresses, That what lord comth to that rivage, Thei make him love in such a rage And upon hem assote so, That thei wol have, er that he go, Al that he hath of worldes good. Uluxes wel this understod, 1440 Thei couthe moche, he couthe more; Thei schape and caste ayein him sore And wroghte many a soutil wyle, Bot yit thei mihte him noght beguile. Bot of the men of his navie Thei tuo forschope a gret partie, Mai non of hem withstonde here hestes; Som part thei schopen into bestes, Som part thei schopen into foules, To beres, tigres, Apes, oules, 1450 Or elles be som other weie; Ther myhte hem nothing desobeie, Such craft thei hadde above kinde. Bot that Art couthe thei noght finde, Of which Uluxes was deceived, That he ne hath hem alle weyved, And broght hem into such a rote, That upon him thei bothe assote; And thurgh the science of his art He tok of hem so wel his part, 1460 That he begat Circes with childe. He kepte him sobre and made hem wilde, He sette himselve so above, That with here good and with here love, Who that therof be lief or loth, Al quit into his Schip he goth. Circes toswolle bothe sides He lefte, and waiteth on the tydes, And straght thurghout the salte fom He takth his cours and comth him hom, 1470 Where as he fond Penolope; A betre wif ther mai non be, And yit ther ben ynowhe of goode. Bot who hir goodschipe understode Fro ferst that sche wifhode tok, Hou many loves sche forsok And hou sche bar hire al aboute, Ther whiles that hire lord was oute, He mihte make a gret avant Amonges al the remenant 1480 That sche was on of al the beste. Wel myhte he sette his herte in reste, This king, whan he hir fond in hele; For as he couthe in wisdom dele, So couthe sche in wommanhiede: And whan sche syh withoute drede Hire lord upon his oghne ground, That he was come sauf and sound, In al this world ne mihte be A gladdere womman than was sche. 1490