And for these watir foulës tho began
The goos to speke, and in hir cakëlynge,
She seydë, 'Pes now, tak kepe1 every man,
And herkneth which a resoun I shal forth bringe!
My wyt ys sharpe, I love no taryinge!
I sey I rede hym, though he were my brother,
But she wol love hym, lat hym love another.'
'Loo! here a parfyte resoun of a goos!'
'Never mote she thee 3! have a tongë loos!
Now pardé, fool, yet were hit bet for the
Have holde thy pes, than shewed thy nycëté;
Hyt lyth not in hys wyt, nor in hys wille;
But sooth ys seyd, a fool kan noght be stille.'
The laughtre aroos of gentil foulës alle,
And ryght anoon the sede-foul" chosen hadde
The turtel trewe, and ganne hir to hem calle;
And prayden hir to seyë the soth sadde
Of thys matere, and asked what she radde.
And she answerde, that pleynly hir entente
She wolde shewe, and sothly what she mente.
'Nay, God forbede a lover shulde chaunge!'
The turtel seyde, and wex for shame al reed:
'Thoogh that hys lady evermore be straunge,
Yet let hym serve hir ever, tyl he be deed.
Forsoth, I preysë noght the gooses reed;
For though she deyed, I wolde noon other make';
I wol ben hirs til that the deth me take.'
'Wel bourded,' quod the dukë, 'by my hat!
That men shulde alwey loven causëles,
Who kan a resoun fynde, or wyt in that?
Daunceth he murye 10 that ys murtheles?
Who shulde rechche" of that ys rechcheles?
Ye! quek! yet,' quod the dukë, 'wel and faire !
There ben moo sterrës, God woot, than a paire.'
'Now fy, cherl!' quod the gentil tercëlet,-
'Out of the dunghil com that word ful ryght;
Thou kanst noght see which thing is wel beset;
Thou farest be love as owlës doon by lyght,—
The day hem blent, ful wel they see by nyght;
Thy kynde ys of so lowe a wrechednesse,
That what love is thou kanst not see ne gesse.'
Thoo gan the cukkow put hym forth in pres1
For foule that eteth worm, and seyde blyve2:
'So I,' quod he, 'may have my make in pes,
I rechë not how longë that ye strive.
Lat ech of hem be soleyn al her lyve,
This ys my reed, syne they may not acorde;
This shortë lessoun nedeth noght recorde.'
'Yee, have the glotoun fild ynogh hys paunche,
Thanne are we wel!' seyde the merlyoun3:-
'Thou mordrere of the haysogge1 on the braunche
That broghtë the forth! thou rewful glotoun!
Lyve thou soleyn, wormës corrupcioun !
For no fors ys of lak of thy nature";
Goo, lewëd be thou while the world may dure!'
'Now pes,' quod Nature, 'I commaundë here,
For I have herd al your opynioun,
And in effect yet be we never the nere;
But fynally, this ys my conclusioun,—
That she hir self shal have the eleccioun
Of whom hir lyst, who-so be wrooth or blythe ;
Hym that she cheest, he shal han hir as swithe".
2 among the crowd. quickly. s the merlin.
' failure of thy whole species would not matter.
[Chaucer dreams that he is carried up by an eagle to the House of Fame, midway between heaven, earth, and sea. The eagle thus explains why Jove does him this honour.]
'But er I bere thee mochë ferre',
I wol thee tellë what I am,
And whider thou shalt, and why I cam
To do thys, so that thou [thee] take
Good herte, and not for ferë quake.'
'Gladly,' quod I. 'Now wel,' quod he:
'First, I, that in my feet have thee,
Of which thou hast a fere and wonder,
Am dwellyng with the god of thonder,
Whiche that men callen Jupiter,
That dooth me flee ful oftë fer
To do al hys comaundëment.
And for this cause he hath me sent
To thee now herkë, be thy trouthe!
Certeyn he hath of thee routhe,
That thou so longë trewëly
Hast served so ententyfly2
Hys blyndë nevew 3 Cupido,
And fairë Venus also,
Withoutë guerdoun ever yit,
And nevertheles hast set thy wit,
(Although [that] in thy hede ful lyt is)
To make songës, bokes, and dytees,
In ryme, or ellës in cadence,
As thou best conne, in reverence
Of Love, and of hys servantes eke,
That have hys servyse soght, and seke;
And peynest the to preyse hys art,
Although thou haddest never part;
Wherfore, al-so God me blesse,
Jovës halt hyt gret humblesse,
And vertu eke, that thou wolt make
A nyght ful ofte thyn hede to ake,
In thy studyë so thou writest,
And evermo of love enditest,
In honour of hym and preysynges,
And in his folkës furtherynges,
And in hir matere al devisest,
And noght hym nor his folk dispisest,
Although thou maist goo in the daunce
Of hem that hym lyst not avaunce.
Wherfore, as I seyde, ywys,
Jupiter considereth this;
And also, beausir, other thynges;
That is, that thou hast no tydynges
Of Lovës folke, yf they be glade,
Ne of noght ellës that God made;
And noght oonly fro fer contree,
That ther no tydyng cometh to thee,
Not of thy verray neyghëbores,
That dwellen almost at thy dores,
Thou herest neyther that nor this,
For when thy labour doon al ys,
And hast made al thy rekënynges,
Instede of reste and newë thynges,
Thou goost home to thy house anoon,
And, also domb as any stoon,
Thou sittest at another booke,
Tyl fully dasewyd ys thy looke,
And lyvest thus as an heremyte,
Although thyn abstynence ys lyte.
And therfore Jovës, through hys grace,
Wol that I bere thee to a place,
Which that hight the Hous of Fame,
To do thee som disport and game,
2 quite as.
In som recompensacioun
Of labour and devocioun
That thou hast had, loo! causëles,
To Cupido the rechchëles.
PROLOGUE TO THE LEGENDE OF GOODE WOMEN.
[The poet loves books, but loves the daisy more.]
And as for me, though than I kon but lyte',
On bokës for to rede I me delyte,
And to hem yive I feyth and ful credence,
And in myn herte have hem in reverence
So hertely, that ther is gamë noon
That fro my bokës maketh me to goon,
But yt be seldom on the holy day,
Save, certeynly, when that the moneth of May
Is comen, and that I here the foulës synge,
And that the flourës gynnen for to sprynge,
Farewel my boke, and my devocioun !
Now have I than suche a condicioun,
That of allë the flourës in the mede,
Than2 love I most thise flourës white and rede,
Suche as men callen daysyes in her toun.
To hem have I so gret affeccioun,
As I seyde erst, whan comen is the May,
That, in my bed ther daweth 2 me no day,
That I nam up and walkyng in the mede,
To seen this floure ayein the sonnë sprede,
Whan it up ryseth erly by the morwe;
That blisful sight softeneth al my sorwe,
So glad am I, whan that I have presence
Of it, to doon it allë reverence,
As she that is of allë flourës flour,
Fulfilled of al vertue and honour,
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