Whan I out of my peine awoke,
And caste up many a pitous loke
Unto the heven and saidé thus:
"O thou Cupide, O thou Venús
Thou god of love and thou goddesse,
Where is pité? where is mekenesse ?
Now doth me1 pleinly live or die,
For certes suche a maladie
As I now have and longe have had

It mighté make a wise man mad,
If that it shuldé longe endure.

O Venus, quene of loves cure,

Thou life, thou lust, thou mannés hele,

Beholde my cause and my quarele
And yef me some part of thy grace,
So that I may finde in this place,

If thou be gracious or none.'
And with that worde I sigh 2 anone
The Kinge of Love and Quene bothe.
But he that kinge with eyen wrothe
His chere aweiward fro me caste
And forthe he passéd atté laste.
But nethelés er he forth wente

A firy dart me thought he hente
And threwe it through min herté rote.
In him fonde I none other bote,
For lenger list him nought to dwelle.
But she whiche is the source and welle

Of wele or wo, that shal betide

Shewe me thy sikenesse every dele."
"Madamé, that can I do wele,
Be so my life therto wol laste."
With that her loke on me she caste
And saide: "In aunter if thou live
My wille is first, that thou be shrive
And nethéles how that it is

I wot my selfe, but for all this
Unto my prest which cometh anone

I wol thou telle it one and one

Both al thy thought and al thy werke.O Genius min owné clerke,

Come forth and here this mannés shrifte!"

To hem that loven at that tide,

Abode, but for to tellen here
She cast on me no goodly chere,
Thus nethéles to me she saide:
"What art thou, sone?" and I abraide3

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66

I saidé thanné: Dominus,

Min holy fader Genius,

So as thou haste experience

Of lové, for whose reverence
Thou shalt me shriven at this time,
I pray the let me nought mistime
My shrifté, for I am destourbed
In all min herte and so contourbed,
That I ne may my wittés gete.
So shal I moché thinge foryete,
But if thou wolt my shrifte oppose

Fro point to pointe, than I suppose
There shall no thing be left behinde.
But now my wittés be so blind,
That I ne can my selfé teche."

Tho he beganne anon to preche
And with his wordés debonaire
He saidé to me softe and faire:
"My sone, I am assigned here
Thy shrifté to oppose and here
By Venus the goddesse above,
Whose prest I am touchend of love.
But netheles for certain skill

I mote algate and nedes will
Nought only maké my spekinges
Of love, but of other thinges,
That touchen to the cause of vice.
For that belongeth to thoffice
Of prest, whose ordre that I bere,
So that I wol no thing forbere,
That I the vices one and one
Ne shall the shewen everichone,
Whereof thou might take evidence
To reulé with thy conscience.
But of conclusiön fináll

Conclude I wolde in speciall

For Lové whose servaúnt I am
And why the cause is that I cam.
So thenke I to do bothé two,
First that min ordre longeth to
The vices for to telle a rewe,
But nexte above all other shewe
Of love I wol the propretés
How that they stondé by degres
After the disposiciön

Of Venus, whose condiciön

I must folwe as I am holde,
For I with love am al witholde,
So that the lasse I am to wite,1
Though I ne conné but a lite
Of other thingés that bene wise,
I am nought taught in suche a wise.
For it is nought my comun use
To speke of vices and vertuse,
But all of love and of his lore,
For Venus bokés of no more
Me techen nouther text ne glose.
But for als moche as I suppose
It sit a prest to be wel thewed
And shame it is if he be lewed,
Of my presthode after the forme
I wol thy shrifté so enforme,

That at the lasté thou shalt here

The vices, and to thy matere

Of love I shal hem so remeve,
That thou shalt knowé what they meve.

For what a man shall axe or saine Touchend of shrifte, it mot be pleine, It nedeth nought to make it queinte,

For Trouth his wordés wol nought peinte.

That I wol axe of the forthý,

My sone, it shal be so pleinly,

That thou shalt knowe and understonde
The pointes of shrift how that they stonde."

Betwene the life and dethe I herde

This prestés tale er I answerde,

And than I praid him for to say

His will and I it wolde obey

After the forme of his apprise.

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290

The Confession begins with questions as to the Lover's use of his five senses, especially seeing and hearing. And now the setting is made ready for the ring of stories wherewith it is the main purpose of the "Confessio Amantis" to follow, in the way prescribed by Gower's own taste in design, the fashion set by the "Decameron." The tales are closely set, connected throughout, sometimes skilfully and sometimes with an obvious strain of ingenuity, by passages of dialogue between the Confessor and the Lover whom he systematically questions. When the dialogue is long, it is encrusted with brief anecdotes or allusions to history and fable. Genius, the Confessor, illustrates every vice that he inquires about with a tale or with tales showing its character; then asks the Lover whether he be guilty of that sort of offence. The Lover replies variously, but always in accordance with the character of a man

To wite, to blame.

purely devoted to the love of one fair woman who has not given him a ray of hope.

After suggestion of tales and legends touching the right use of the five senses follows a series of tales illustrating the chief forms of Pride, which has five ministers, Hypocrisy, Disobedience, Presumption, Boasting, and Vainglory. Tales illustrate each, and one of them, which illustrates Presumption, has been given in another volume of this Library as an example of Gower's manner as a story-teller. The First Book of the confession having ended with a general lesson against Pride and a commendation of Humility,

In the Second Book, Genius, the Confessor, questions the Lover touching Envy, the second of the Seven Deadly Sins. The stories here are classified under the several heads of the confession. There is the Envy of those who grudge others any pleasure they cannot themselves enjoy. There is the Envy shown in gladness at the grief of others. There is Detraction, which is as the shard-beetle that leaves the flowers to settle on the filth. The fourth and fifth subdivisions of Envy are Dissimulation and Supplantition. The book ends with a story that contrasts the virtue of Charity with the vice of Envy.

The Third Book treats of the next of the Seven Sins, Anger in the five forms of Melancholy, Chiding, Hate, Contest, and Homicide. Under the fourth and fifth heads, Gower's argument is earnest against warfare. Gower looked upon war, like Milton after him, as

argument

Of human weakness, rather than of strength.

Book the Fourth of the "Confessio Amantis illustrates the deadly sin of Sloth, and this also has its stories arranged in sections suggested by the systematic questioning of the confessional. The forms represented are six: Delay, Pusillanimity, Forgetfulness, Negligence, Idleness,

Which seeketh eases manifold.

In winter doth he nought for cold, In summer may he nought for heat, So whether that he freeze or sweat, Or be he in, or be he out,

He will ben idle all about;

and lastly, Somnolence, Sloth's chamberlain.

The Fifth Book turns to the next of the Seven Deadly Sins, Avarice. Pride takes the first place in the poem, as befits its character. Avarice also, as befits its character, takes largest space, for the book of Avarice is twice as long as any other of the six. Of the subdivisions of Avarice the first is Jealousy, the Avarice of Love. Here Genius, for a priest of Venus, is rather hard on the Greek gods and goddesses. As for Bacchus, he says,

"They clepéd him the God of Wine, And thus a glutton was divine."

See in "Shorter English Poems," pages 50-53, "The Trump of Death."

Venus, his own goddess, he cites as an example of "the foul miscreance of the Greeks," and he warns the Lover, as a good orthodox father confessor, against the heresy of the Lollards

"Beware that thou be not oppressed With Antichriste's Lollardie.

For as the Jewés prophecie
Was set of God for avantage,
Right so this newé tapinage1
Of Lollardie goeth about

To setté Christés faith in doubt,
The saints that weren us to fore,
By whom the faith was first upbore,
That Holy Churché stood relieved
That oughten better be believed
Than thesé whiché that men know

Not holy, though they feign and blow
Their Lollardie in mennés ear.
But if thou wilt live out of fear,
Such newé love I rede eschew,

And hold forthright the way and sue
As their ancestors did ere this,

So shalt thou not believe amiss."

The second form of Avarice illustrated by stories is Cupidity, then follow illustrations of False Witness, with Perjury, Usury, Parsimony, Ingratitude, Violent Seizure, Robbery, and Sacrilege. The book ends with praise of Largesse or Liberality, which keeps the right mean between prodigality and avarice.

Then follows the Sixth Book, upon Gluttony in the two forms of Drunkenness and Daintiness. There remains only Lust, but that is reserved for the Eighth Book, the Seventh Book containing a summary of a work called the "Secretum Secretorum," falsely ascribed in the Middle Ages to Aristotle, and supposed to be a summary of his philosophy, which Aristotle made, late in life, for the instruction of Alexander. It is here popularised in easy verse by Gower, as an outline of what Alexander learnt from Aristotle. A considerable section of the "Secretum Secretorum" was given to illustration of the duties of a king, and for this reason the book had become very popular with English scholars during the misgovernment of Richard II. Gower's play on it includes this story of kings' counsellors. Lucius, King of Rome, stood by the chimney with a knight and his chamberlain, asking them what sort of king the people said he

friends who amended wrongful laws and stayed the oppression of the people.

For if the common people cry
And than a king list not to ply
To heré, what the clamour wolde,
And other wisé that he sholde
Disdaineth for to do them grace,
It hath be seen in many place,

There hath befallé great contraire,
And that I find of ensamplaire.

The Lover thanks the Confessor for all his instruction, though, he says,

"The talés sounen in mine ear,
But yet mine heart is elleswhere."

And begs his dear father to

"Leave, and speak of my matere,
Touchend of Love as we begun,
If that there be ought over run,
Or aught forgot, or left behind,
Which falleth unto Lovés kind,
Whereof it needeth to be shrive,
Now axeth, so that while I live

I might amend that is amiss."

Confessor. "My goodé, dearé soné, Yis."

In the Eighth Book, therefore, he returns to Love with warning stories against Lust, the last of the Seven Deadly Sins. The last of its tales is the story of Apollonius of Tyre, which is given at greater length than any other piece in the "Confessio Amantis," and than which there is no tale in the book told better. The story is in the "Gesta Romanorum," and the "Pantheon" of Godfrey of Viterbo, from which Gower says that he took it. It was taken direct from Gower for plot of the play of "Pericles, Prince of Tyre," which is among the works of Shakespeare. Gower, as Chorus, opens and closes that play, and connects some of its parts. The opening speech assigned to him testifies not only to the popularity of this story of his, but also to the use made of this one, and doubtless not a few other of the tales of the "Confessio Amantis," many years after the poet's death.

To sing a song that old was sung,
From ashes ancient Gower is come;

It hath been sung at festivals,
On ember eves, and holy ales,

And lords and ladies in their lives
Have read it for restoratives.

After hearing this last of the tales, the Lover entered more particularly with his Confessor into a discussion of his own affairs. Genius offered to convey to Venus and Cupid a letter from the woful poet, written with his tears instead of ink. Upon this Venus appeared to him:

She axeth me, what was my name. "Madame," I saidé, "Johan Gower."

And many more, the recital of whose names is chiefly a recitation of the characters of the love-tales he has been telling. Then came towards Venus, with a soft pace, Eld, who had a smaller company than Youth; David and Solomon, Samson, Virgil, Övid— old men who had been servants to love; and they, coming to the place where Venus stood and the poet lay, with one voice prayed for his sake. Upon which Venus bade Cupid comfort him, and he did this by drawing the fiery dart out of his heart. Then Venus put over his heart an ointment more cold than any key, and held to him a mirror, in which he saw his faded colour, dim, sad eyes, face wrinkled with age, and hoary hair. He compared, therefore, the course of his life to the twelve months of the year. Venus then, laughing, asked him what love was, and he replied that he knew not. So he received absolution from Genius, and from Venus a pair of black beads hung about his neck, inscribed "Pur reposer," with the counsel

"My soné, be well ware therefore And keep the sentence of my lore, And tarry thou in my court no more, But go there vertue moral dwelleth, Where ben thy bokés, as men telleth, Which of long timé thou hast write."

The name of "moral Gower," given to his friend by Chaucer, in the closing dedication of his "Troilus and Cressida," appears thus at once to have passed into use. Gower, in recognising it, made Venus add, with pleasant compliment, reminder to his friend Chaucer, that he also was growing old and ripe for other work than songs of love. For thus spoke Venus to the aged Gower, whom she had dismissed from her court:

"And greet well Chaucer, when ye meet

As my disciple and my poete.

For in the flourés of his youth,

In sundry wise, as he well couth

Of ditties and of songés glade,

The which he for my saké made, The land fulfilled is over all; Whereof to him in speciall

Above all other I am most hold.

Forthy, now in his dayés old,
Thou shalt him tellé this message,
That he, upon his later age
To set an end of all his werke,
As he which is min owné clerke,
Do make his testament of Love,
As thou has do thy shrifte above,

So that my court it may record."

We part thus from the two old friends and brother poets with a pleasant note of the good-will between them. In a former year, when Chaucer was out of England, he had left John Gower as one of the two trusted neighbours who were to act in his absence as his representatives, and to have charge over his private affairs.

From a later copy of the "Confessio Amantis this passage was omitted when the occasion for it had passed away; when Chaucer's Prologue to "The Canterbury Tales" having become known to his friend, the retention of a reminder that he also was now too old for the writing of love ditties would have been not so much a compliment as an impertinence. Venus, having spoken, vanished into the sky. Then Gower went home "a softé pas," with his heart set upon his country; and being come home, he says, to the Creator of kings.

"Upon my baré knees I pray, That he this londe in sicker way Woll set upon good governaunce. For if men take in remembraunce What is to live in unité."

And so the poem ends, as it opened, by earnestly calling upon all classes of Englishmen to do their duty before God. As for the old poet, his work is done as a writer:

And thus forthy my final leave

I také now for ever more.

I write no more of love, so various and fickle in its nature, that gives no man fulness of delight:

But thilké lové, which that is
Within a mannés herte affirmed
And stant of charité confirmed,
Such love is goodly for to have,
Such lové may the body save,
Such lové may the soul amend.
The highé God such love us send
Forth with the remenaunt of grace,

So that above, in thilké place
Where resteth love and allé pees,
Our joié may ben endélees.

These are the last lines of Gower's English poem.

HIRTY years old, or thereabout, when Chaucer died, John Lydgate was the chief poet of the generation after Chaucer. He was named from his birthplace, the INITIAL. (From the MS. village of Lydgate, six or seven of Lydgate's "Life of St. miles from Newmarket. As he Edmund," Harl. 2278.) was ordained Sub-deacon in the Benedictine Monastery of Bury St. Edmunds-from which he is known as the Monk of Bury-in 1389, he could hardly have been born later than 1370. He was ordained Deacon in 1393, and Priest in 1397. He spoke of himself as old in verses addressed to an Abbot who died in 1446. In a poem called his "Testament" he wrote:

Age is crope in, calleth me to my grave

To make reknýng how I my time have spent.

Then he proceeded to remembrances of misspent life, in the fourteen years of the spring-time of youth, when following the appetites of childhood, "weepyng for nouhte and anone affter glad." He preferred play to learning, and though "somtyme in awe to be scoured" (scourged), he was loth toward school. He would be late at school, excuse himself with a lie,

Ran into gardens, apples there I stall;
To gather frutés sparéd hedge nor wall;
To plucké grapes on other mennés vines
Was more readý than for to say mattínes.

He enjoyed jesting and scoffing; was readier to count cherry-stones than go to church; loth to go

to bed in the evening or to get up of mornings; prompt to come to dinner with unwashed hands, casting his Paternoster and Creed at the cook, and deaf to the warnings of his friends. After a little more gravity in censure of the days of childishness when an apple-orchard tempted him as it tempts also the young Lydgates of the present day, the literary monk tells how he made his profession of religion, but went forward, like Lot's wife, often looking back. Taught lowly bearing and restraint of looks, "of blessed Benet to folowe the doctryne," he heard all well from "vertuous men relygious and sadde," and took but little heed. His black habit of religion was worn only outwardly. He did not care to set his foot upon the ladder of the nine degrees of humility. He preferred to holy stories good clear wine, and, as a reckless youth, was one with the first to take disport in the indulgence of the senses.

Then, said the old poet, remembering in age those days of his youth, he saw on a cloister-wall a crucifix, beside which was written, "Behold my meekness, child, and leave thy pride." This word in his last age he understood, and so taking his pen he wrote the "little ditty" on the love of Christ, which, thus introduced, is called "John Lydgate's Testament." There then, again, we see the best mind of our country striving Godward. After a spiritual sketch of all that is represented on the crucifix, "thus endeth the Testament of John Lydgate, monke of Bery," in the last words of the voice that his soul hears from the Cross:

Tarry no longer, toward thy heritage

Haste on thy way, and be of right good cheer.
Go cach day onward on thy pilgrimage,
Think how short timé thou shalt abide here.