Ne may with Venus holdë champartye',
For as hir list the world than may sche gye3,
Lo, alle thise folk i-caught were in hir las3,
Til they for wo ful often sayde allas.
Sufficeth heer ensamples oon or tuo,

And though I couthe rekne a thousend mo.
The statue of Venus, glorious for to see,

6

And fro the navel doun al covered was
With wawes grene, and brighte as any glas.
A citole in hir right hond hadde sche,
And on hir heed, ful semely for to see,
A rosë garland, fresch and wel smellyng,
Above hir heed hir dowvës flickeryng.
Biform hir stood hir sonë Cupido,

Upon his schuldres wyngës hadde he two;
And blynd he was, as it is oftë seene;

A bowe he bar and arwes brighte and kene.
Why schulde I nought as wel eek telle you al
The portreiture, that was upon the wal
Withinne the temple of mighty Mars the reede?
Al peynted was the wal in lengthe and breede
Lik to the estres of the grisly place,

That highte9 the gretë temple of Mars in Trace,
In thilke coldë frosty regioun,

Ther as Mars hath his sovereyn mansioun.
First on the wal was peynted a forest,

In which ther dwelleth neyther man ne best 1o,
With knotty knarry bareyne trees olde

Of stubbës scharpe and hidous to byholde;
In which ther ran a swymbel in a swough",
As though a storm schulde bersten every bough:
And downward on an hil under a bente 12,
Ther stood the temple of Marz armypotente,
Wrought al of burned 18 steel, of which thentré

Was long and streyt', and gastly for to sec.
And therout cam a rage and such a vese1,
That it made al the gates for to rese3.
The northern light in at the dorës schon,
For wyndowe on the wal ne was ther noon,
Thurgh which men mighten any light discerne.
The dore was al of ademaunt eterne,

I-clenched overthwart and endëlong'

With iren tough; and, for to make it strong,
Every piler the temple to susteene

7

8

Was tonnë greet, of iren bright and schene.
Ther saugh I first the derke ymaginyng
Of felonye, and al the compassyng ;
The cruel ire, as reed as eny gleede;
The pikëpurs, and eek the palë drede;
The smyler with the knyf under the cloke;
The schepne brennyng with the blakë smoke;
The tresoun of the murtheryng in the bed;
The open werre, with woundës al bi-bled;
Contek with bloody knyf, and scharp manace.
Al ful of chirkyng 10 was that sory place.
The sleëre of himself" yet saugh I there,
His hertë-blood hath bathëd al his here ;
The nayl y-dryven in the schode 12 a-nyght;
The colde deth, with mouth gapyng upright.
Amyddës of the temple sat meschaunce,
With disconfort and sory contenaunce.
Yet saugh I woodnesse 13 laughying in his rage;
Armed complaint, outhees", and fiers outrage.
The caroigne 15 in the bussh, with throte y-corve 16:
A thousand slain, and not of qualme y-storve "7;
The tiraunt, with the prey by force y-raft 18;
The toun destroyed, ther was no thyng laft.
Yet sawgh I brent 19 the schippes hoppesteres "";

17

4

16 cut.

10 the dancing ships.

across and

1 stable.

12 temple.

17 dead of

The hunte1 strangled with the wilde beres 2:
The sowe freten3 the child right in the cradel;
The cook i-skalded, for al his longe ladel.

4

5

Nought was foryete by the infortune of Marte;
The cartere over-ryden with his carte,

Under the whel ful lowe he lay adoun.

Ther were also of Martes divisioun,

The barbour, and the bocher; and the smyth
That forgeth scharpe swerdës on his stith
And al above depeynted in a tour
Saw I conquést sittyng in gret honour,

With the scharpë swerd over his heed
Hangynge by a sotil twynës threed.

8

GOOD COUNSEIL OF CHAUCER.

Fle fro the pres, and dwelle with sothfastnesse ;
Suffice thee thy good, though hit be smal;
For hord hath hate, and clymbyng tikelnesse9,
Pres hath envye, and wele blent over al1o.
Savour no more then thee behovë shal;
Do wel thy-self that other folk canst rede,
And trouthe thee shal delyver, hit ys no drede ".

Peynë thee not eche croked to redresse
In trust of hir that turneth as a bal1,

13

Gret restë stant in lytil besynesse ;
Bewar also to spurne ayein a nal13,
Stryve not as doth a crokkë with a wal1 ;

14

Dauntë thy-selfe that dauntest otheres dede,
And trouthe thee shal delyver, hit is no drede.

VOL. L.

That thee is sent receyve in buxumnesse',
The wrasteling of this world asketh 2

a fal;

Heer is no hoom, heer is but wyldernesse.

Forth pilgrime, forth! forth best, out of thy stal!
Loke up on hye, and thonke God of al;

3

Weyve thy lust, and let thy gost thee lede,

And trouthe shal thee delyver, hit is no drede.

L'Envoye1.

Therfor, thou vache, leve thyn old wrecchednesse ;

Unto the worlde leve now to be thral";

Crye him mercy, that of his heigh goodnesse
Made thee of naught; and, in especial,
Draw unto him, and pray in general

For thee, and eek for other, hevenly mede';

And trouthe schal thee delivere, it is no drede.

Q

POEMS COMMONLY ATTRIBUTED TO CHAUCER.

THE ROMAUNT OF THE ROSE.

It has already been said (p. 7) that Chaucer translated the Romaunt, and that a version has been current under his name for centuries. There is only one MS. of this translation, in the Hunterian Museum at Glasgow, so that we have no means of comparing texts, and thus settling the difficult questions that have been raised about it. As it stands, the poem contains various features which, in the opinion of the most advanced school of Chaucerian criticism, mark it out as being not Chaucer's; the principal difficulty being connected with the rhymes, some of which seem to be irreconcileable with Chaucer's principles of pronunciation. The question cannot be properly discussed here, but in deference to what seems to be the balance of opinion we quote the Romaunt under the head of 'Poems attributed to Chaucer.' The passage given is remarkable as the original of the 'May morning' passages which abound in Chaucer and his successors. Whether by Chaucer or not, it is a vigorous and exact rendering of the French.

2

That it was May me thoughtë tho',
It is .v. yere or more ago;
That it was May, thus dremëd me,
In tyme of love and jolité,
That al thing gynneth waxen gay,
For ther is neither busk nor hay'
In May, that it nyl shrouded been,
And it with newë levës wreen 3.
These wodës eek recoveren grene,
That drie in wynter ben to sene;
And the erth wexith proud withalle,
For swotë dewes that on it falle;
And the pore estat forget,

In which that wynter had it set.