Chapter 70

But wherefore that I spake to give credence To old stories, and do them reverence, And that men muste more things believe Than they may see at eye, or elles preve,* *prove That shall I say, when that I see my time; I may not all at ones speak in rhyme. My busy ghost,* that thirsteth always new *spirit To see this flow’r so young, so fresh of hue, Constrained me with so greedy desire, That in my heart I feele yet the fire, That made me to rise ere it were day, — And this was now the first morrow of May, — With dreadful heart, and glad devotion, For to be at the resurrection Of this flower, when that it should unclose Against the sun, that rose as red as rose, That in the breast was of the beast* that day *the sign of the Bull That Agenore’s daughter led away. <6> And down on knees anon right I me set, And as I could this freshe flow’r I gret,* *greeted Kneeling alway, till it unclosed was, Upon the smalle, softe, sweete grass, That was with flowers sweet embroider’d all, Of such sweetness and such odour *o’er all,* *everywhere* That, for to speak of gum, or herb, or tree, Comparison may none y-maked be; For it surmounteth plainly all odours, And for rich beauty the most gay of flow’rs. Forgotten had the earth his poor estate Of winter, that him naked made and mate,* *dejected, lifeless And with his sword of cold so sore grieved; Now hath th’attemper* sun all that releaved** *temperate **furnished That naked was, and clad it new again. anew with leaves The smalle fowles, of the season fain,* *glad That of the panter* and the net be scap’d, *draw-net Upon the fowler, that them made awhap’d* *terrified, confounded In winter, and destroyed had their brood, In his despite them thought it did them good To sing of him, and in their song despise The foule churl, that, for his covetise,* *greed Had them betrayed with his sophistry* *deceptions This was their song: “The fowler we defy, And all his craft:” and some sunge clear Layes of love, that joy it was to hear, In worshipping* and praising of their make;** *honouring **mate And for the blissful newe summer’s sake, Upon the branches full of blossoms soft, In their delight they turned them full oft, And sunge, “Blessed be Saint Valentine! <7> For on his day I chose you to be mine, Withoute repenting, my hearte sweet.” And therewithal their heals began to meet, Yielding honour, and humble obeisances, To love, and did their other observances That longen unto Love and to Nature; Construe that as you list, I *do no cure.* *care nothing* And those that hadde *done unkindeness,* *committed offence As doth the tidife, <8> for newfangleness, against natural laws* Besoughte mercy for their trespassing And humblely sange their repenting, And swore upon the blossoms to be true; So that their mates would upon them rue,* *take pity And at the laste made their accord.* *reconciliation All* found they Danger** for a time a lord, *although **disdain Yet Pity, through her stronge gentle might, Forgave, and made mercy pass aright Through Innocence, and ruled Courtesy. But I ne call not innocence folly Nor false pity, for virtue is the mean, As Ethic <9> saith, in such manner I mean. And thus these fowles, void of all malice, Accorded unto Love, and lefte vice Of hate, and sangen all of one accord, “Welcome, Summer, our governor and lord!” And Zephyrus and Flora gentilly Gave to the flowers, soft and tenderly, Their sweete breath, and made them for to spread, As god and goddess of the flow’ry mead; In which me thought I mighte, day by day, Dwellen alway, the jolly month of May, Withoute sleep, withoute meat or drink. Adown full softly I began to sink, And, leaning on mine elbow and my side The longe day I shope* to abide, *resolved, prepared For nothing elles, and I shall not lie But for to look upon the daisy; That men by reason well it calle may The Daye’s-eye, or else the Eye of Day, The empress and the flow’r of flowers all I pray to God that faire may she fall! And all that love flowers, for her sake: But, nathelesse, *ween not that I make* *do not fancy that I In praising of the Flow’r against the Leaf, write this poem* No more than of the corn against the sheaf; For as to me is lever none nor lother, I n’am withholden yet with neither n’other.<10> *Nor I n’ot* who serves Leaf, nor who the Flow’r; *nor do I know* Well *brooke they* their service or labour! *may they profit by* For this thing is all of another tun, <11> Of old story, ere such thing was begun.

When that the sun out of the south gan west, And that this flow’r gan close, and go to rest, For darkness of the night, the which she dread;* *dreaded Home to my house full swiftly I me sped, To go to rest, and early for to rise, To see this flower spread, as I devise.* *describe And in a little arbour that I have, That benched was of turfes fresh y-grave,* <12> *cut out I bade men shoulde me my couche make; For dainty* of the newe summer’s sake, *pleasure I bade them strowe flowers on my bed. When I was laid, and had mine eyen hid, I fell asleep; within an hour or two, Me mette* how I lay in the meadow tho,** *dreamed **then To see this flow’r that I love so and dread. And from afar came walking in the mead The God of Love, and in his hand a queen; And she was clad in royal habit green; A fret* of gold she hadde next her hair, *band And upon that a white corown she bare, With flowrons* small, and, as I shall not lie, *florets <13> For all the world right as a daisy Y-crowned is, with white leaves lite,* *small So were the flowrons of her crowne white. For of one pearle, fine, oriential, Her white crowne was y-maked all, For which the white crown above the green Made her like a daisy for to see’n,* *look upon Consider’d eke her fret of gold above. Y-clothed was this mighty God of Love In silk embroider’d, full of greene greves,* *boughs In which there was a fret of red rose leaves, The freshest since the world was first begun. His gilt hair was y-crowned with a sun, lnstead of gold, for* heaviness and weight; *to avoid Therewith me thought his face shone so bright, That well unnethes might I him behold; And in his hand me thought I saw him hold Two fiery dartes, as the gledes* red; *glowing coals And angel-like his winges saw I spread. And *all be* that men say that blind is he, *although* Algate* me thoughte that he might well see; *at all events For sternly upon me he gan behold, So that his looking *did my hearte cold.* *made my heart And by the hand he held this noble queen, grow cold* Crowned with white, and clothed all in green, So womanly, so benign, and so meek, That in this worlde, though that men would seek. Half of her beauty shoulde they not find In creature that formed is by Kind;* *Nature And therefore may I say, as thinketh me, This song in praising of this lady free:

“Hide, Absolon, thy gilte* tresses clear; *golden Esther, lay thou thy meekness all adown; Hide, Jonathan, all thy friendly mannere, Penelope, and Marcia Catoun,<14> Make of your wifehood no comparisoun; Hide ye your beauties, Isoude <15> and Helene; My lady comes, that all this may distain.* *outdo, obscure

“Thy faire body let it not appear, Lavine; <16> and thou, Lucrece of Rome town; And Polyxene, <17> that boughte love so dear, And Cleopatra, with all thy passioun, Hide ye your truth of love, and your renown; And thou, Thisbe, that hadst of love such pain My lady comes, that all this may distain.

“Hero, Dido, Laodamia, y-fere,* *together And Phyllis, hanging for Demophoon, And Canace, espied by thy cheer, Hypsipyle, betrayed by Jasoun, Make of your truthe neither boast nor soun’; Nor Hypermnestr’ nor Ariadne, ye twain; My lady comes, that all this may distain.”

This ballad may full well y-sungen be, As I have said erst, by my lady free; For, certainly, all these may not suffice *T’appaire with* my lady in no wise; *surpass in beauty For, as the sunne will the fire distain, or honour* So passeth all my lady sovereign, That is so good, so fair, so debonair, I pray to God that ever fall her fair! For *n’hadde comfort been* of her presence, *had I not the I had been dead, without any defence, comfort of* For dread of Love’s wordes, and his cheer; As, when time is, hereafter ye shall hear. Behind this God of Love, upon the green, I saw coming of Ladies nineteen, In royal habit, a full easy pace; And after them of women such a trace,* *train That, since that God Adam had made of earth, The thirde part of mankind, or the ferth,* *fourth *Ne ween’d I not* by possibility, *I never fancied* Had ever in this wide world y-be;* *been And true of love these women were each one. Now whether was that a wonder thing, or non,* *not That, right anon as that they gan espy This flow’r, which that I call the daisy, Full suddenly they stenten* all at once, *stopped And kneeled down, as it were for the nonce, And sange with one voice, “Heal and honour To truth of womanhead, and to this flow’r, *That bears our aller prize in figuring;* *that in its figure bears Her white crowne bears the witnessing!” the prize from us all* And with that word, *a-compass enviroun* *all around in a ring* They sette them full softely adown. First sat the God of Love, and since* his queen, *afterwards With the white corowne, clad in green; And sithen* all the remnant by and by, *then As they were of estate, full courteously; And not a word was spoken in the place, The mountance* of a furlong way of space. *extent <18>

I, kneeling by this flow’r, in good intent Abode, to knowe what this people meant, As still as any stone, till, at the last, The God of Love on me his eyen cast, And said, “Who kneeleth there? “and I answer’d Unto his asking, when that I it heard, And said, “It am I,” and came to him near, And salued* him. Quoth he, “What dost thou here, *saluted So nigh mine owen flow’r, so boldely? It were better worthy, truely, A worm to nighe* near my flow’r than thou.” *approach, draw nigh “And why, Sir,” quoth I, “an’ it liketh you?” “For thou,” quoth he, “art thereto nothing able, It is my relic,* dign** and delectable, *emblem <19> **worthy And thou my foe, and all my folk warrayest,* *molestest, censurest And of mine olde servants thou missayest, And hind’rest them, with thy translation, And lettest* folk from their devotion *preventest To serve me, and holdest it folly To serve Love; thou may’st it not deny; For in plain text, withoute need of glose,* *comment, gloss Thu hast translated the Romance of the Rose, That is a heresy against my law, And maketh wise folk from me withdraw; And of Cresside thou hast said as thee list, That maketh men to women less to trust, That be as true as e’er was any steel. Of thine answer *advise thee right weel;* *consider right well* For though that thou *renied hast my lay,* *abjured my law As other wretches have done many a day, or religion* By Sainte Venus, that my mother is, If that thou live, thou shalt repente this, So cruelly, that it shall well be seen.”

Then spake this Lady, clothed all in green, And saide, “God, right of your courtesy, Ye mighte hearken if he can reply Against all this, that ye have *to him meved;* *advanced against him* A godde shoulde not be thus aggrieved, But of his deity he shall be stable, And thereto gracious and merciable.* *merciful And if ye n’ere* a god, that knoweth all, *were not Then might it be, as I you telle shall, This man to you may falsely be accused, Whereas by right him ought to be excused; For in your court is many a losengeour,* *deceiver <20> And many a *quaint toteler accusour,* *strange prating accuser <21>* That tabour* in your eares many a soun’, *drum Right after their imaginatioun, To have your dalliance,* and for envy; *pleasant conversation, These be the causes, and I shall not lie, company Envy is lavender* of the Court alway, *laundress For she departeth neither night nor day <22> Out of the house of Caesar, thus saith Dant’; Whoso that go’th, algate* she shall not want. *at all events And eke, parauntre,* for this man is nice,** *peradventure **foolish He mighte do it guessing* no malice; *thinking For he useth thinges for to make;* *compose poetry Him *recketh naught of * what mattere he take; *cares nothing for* Or he was bidden *make thilke tway* *compose those two* Of* some person, and durst it not withsay;* *by **refuse, deny Or him repenteth utterly of this. He hath not done so grievously amiss, To translate what olde clerkes write, As though that he of malice would endite,* *write down *Despite of* Love, and had himself it wrought. *contempt for* This should a righteous lord have in his thought, And not be like tyrants of Lombardy, That have no regard but at tyranny. For he that king or lord is naturel, Him oughte not be tyrant or cruel, <23> As is a farmer, <24> to do the harm he can; He muste think, it is his liegeman, And is his treasure, and his gold in coffer; This is the sentence* of the philosopher: *opinion, sentiment A king to keep his lieges in justice, Withoute doubte that is his office. All* will he keep his lords in their degree, — *although As it is right and skilful* that they be, *reasonable Enhanced and honoured, and most dear, For they be halfe* in this world here, — *demigods Yet must he do both right to poor and rich, All be that their estate be not y-lich;* *alike And have of poore folk compassion. For lo! the gentle kind of the lion; For when a fly offendeth him, or biteth, He with his tail away the flye smiteth, All easily; for of his gentery* *nobleness Him deigneth not to wreak him on a fly, As doth a cur, or else another beast. *In noble corage ought to be arrest,* *in a noble nature ought And weighen ev’rything by equity, to be self-restraint* And ever have regard to his degree. For, Sir, it is no mastery for a lord To damn* a man, without answer of word; *condemn And for a lord, that is *full foul to use.* *most infamous practice* And it be so he* may him not excuse, *the offender But asketh mercy with a dreadful* heart, *fearing, timid And proffereth him, right in his bare shirt, To be right at your owen judgement, Then ought a god, by short advisement,* *deliberation Consider his own honour, and his trespass; For since no pow’r of death lies in this case, You ought to be the lighter merciable; Lette* your ire, and be somewhat tractable! *restrain This man hath served you of his cunning,* *ability, skill And further’d well your law in his making.* *composing poetry Albeit that he cannot well endite, Yet hath he made lewed* folk delight *ignorant To serve you, in praising of your name. He made the book that hight the House of Fame, And eke the Death of Blanche the Duchess, And the Parliament of Fowles, as I guess, And all the Love of Palamon and Arcite, <25> Of Thebes, though the story is known lite;* *little And many a hymne for your holydays, That highte ballads, roundels, virelays. And, for to speak of other holiness, He hath in prose translated Boece, <26> And made the Life also of Saint Cecile; He made also, gone is a greate while, Origenes upon the Magdalene. <27> Him oughte now to have the lesse pain;* *penalty He hath made many a lay, and many a thing. Now as ye be a god, and eke a king, I your Alcestis, <28> whilom queen of Thrace, I aske you this man, right of your grace, That ye him never hurt in all his life; And he shall sweare to you, and that blife,* *quickly He shall no more aguilten* in this wise, *offend But shall maken, as ye will him devise, Of women true in loving all their life, Whereso ye will, of maiden or of wife, And further you as much as he missaid Or* in the Rose, or elles in Cresseide.” *either

The God of Love answered her anon: “Madame,” quoth he, “it is so long agone That I you knew, so charitable and true, That never yet, since that the world was new, To me ne found I better none than ye; If that I woulde save my degree, I may nor will not warne* your request; *refuse All lies in you, do with him as you lest. I all forgive withoute longer space;* *delay For he who gives a gift, or doth a grace, Do it betimes, his thank is well the more; <29> And deeme* ye what he shall do therefor. *adjudge Go thanke now my Lady here,” quoth he. I rose, and down I set me on my knee, And saide thus; “Madame, the God above Foryielde* you that ye the God of Love *reward Have made me his wrathe to forgive; And grace* so longe for to live, *give me grace That I may knowe soothly what ye be, That have me help’d, and put in this degree! But truely I ween’d, as in this case, Naught t’ have aguilt,* nor done to Love trespass;** *offended For why? a true man, withoute dread, **offence Hath not *to parte with* a thieve’s deed. *any share in* Nor a true lover oughte me to blame, Though that I spoke a false lover some shame. They oughte rather with me for to hold, For that I of Cressida wrote or told, Or of the Rose, *what so mine author meant;* *made a true translation* Algate, God wot, it was mine intent *by all ways To further truth in love, and it cherice,* *cherish And to beware from falseness and from vice, By such example; this was my meaning.”

And she answer’d; “Let be thine arguing, For Love will not counterpleaded be <30> In right nor wrong, and learne that of me; Thou hast thy grace, and hold thee right thereto. Now will I say what penance thou shalt do For thy trespass;* and understand it here: *offence Thou shalt, while that thou livest, year by year, The moste partie of thy time spend In making of a glorious Legend Of Goode Women, maidenes and wives, That were true in loving all their lives; And tell of false men that them betray, That all their life do naught but assay How many women they may do a shame; For in your world that is now *held a game.* *considered a sport* And though thou like not a lover be, <31> Speak well of love; this penance give I thee. And to the God of Love I shall so pray, That he shall charge his servants, by any way, To further thee, and well thy labour quite:* *requite Go now thy way, thy penance is but lite. And, when this book ye make, give it the queen On my behalf, at Eltham, or at Sheen.”

The God of Love gan smile, and then he said: “Know’st thou,” quoth he, “whether this be wife or maid, Or queen, or countess, or of what degree, That hath so little penance given thee, That hath deserved sorely for to smart? But pity runneth soon in gentle* heart; <32> *nobly born That may’st thou see, she kitheth* what she is. *showeth And I answer’d: “Nay, Sir, so have I bliss, No more but that I see well she is good.” “That is a true tale, by my hood,” Quoth Love; “and that thou knowest well, pardie! If it be so that thou advise* thee. *bethink Hast thou not in a book, li’th* in thy chest, *(that) lies The greate goodness of the queen Alceste, That turned was into a daisy She that for her husbande chose to die, And eke to go to hell rather than he; And Hercules rescued her, pardie! And brought her out of hell again to bliss?” And I answer’d again, and saide; “Yes, Now know I her; and is this good Alceste, The daisy, and mine own hearte’s rest? Now feel I well the goodness of this wife, That both after her death, and in her life, Her greate bounty* doubleth her renown. *virtue Well hath she quit* me mine affectioun *recompensed That I have to her flow’r the daisy; No wonder is though Jove her stellify, <33> As telleth Agathon, <34> for her goodness; Her white crowne bears of it witness; For all so many virtues hadde she As smalle flowrons in her crowne be. In remembrance of her, and in honour, Cybele made the daisy, and the flow’r, Y-crowned all with white, as men may see, And Mars gave her a crowne red, pardie! Instead of rubies set among the white.”

Therewith this queen wax’d red for shame a lite When she was praised so in her presence. Then saide Love: “A full great negligence Was it to thee, that ilke* time thou made *that same ‘Hide Absolon thy tresses,’ in ballade, That thou forgot her in thy song to set, Since that thou art so greatly in her debt, And knowest well that calendar* is she *guide, example To any woman that will lover be: For she taught all the craft of true loving, And namely* of wifehood the living, *especially And all the boundes that she ought to keep: Thy little wit was thilke* time asleep. *that But now I charge thee, upon thy life, That in thy Legend thou make* of this wife, *poetise, compose When thou hast other small y-made before; And fare now well, I charge thee no more. But ere I go, thus much I will thee tell, — Never shall no true lover come in hell. These other ladies, sitting here a-row, Be in my ballad, if thou canst them know, And in thy bookes all thou shalt them find; Have them in thy Legend now all in mind; I mean of them that be in thy knowing. For here be twenty thousand more sitting Than that thou knowest, goode women all, And true of love, for aught that may befall; Make the metres of them as thee lest; I must go home, — the sunne draweth west, — To Paradise, with all this company: And serve alway the freshe daisy. At Cleopatra I will that thou begin, And so forth, and my love so shalt thou win; For let see now what man, that lover be, Will do so strong a pain for love as she. I wot well that thou may’st not all it rhyme, That suche lovers didden in their time; It were too long to readen and to hear; Suffice me thou make in this mannere, That thou rehearse of all their life the great,* *substance After* these old authors list for to treat; *according as For whoso shall so many a story tell, Say shortly, or he shall too longe dwell.”

And with that word my bookes gan I take, And right thus on my Legend gan I make.