THE LADY BLANCHE.1
I saw her dance so comelily,
Carol and sing so sweetèly,
Laugh and play so womanly,
And look so debonairely,
So goodly speak and so friendly,
That, certes, I trow that nevermore
N'as seen so blissful a tresore.
For every hair on her head
Sooth to say, it was not red,
Ne neither yellow, ne brown it was ;
Me thought most like gold it was...
I have no wit that can suffice
To comprehende her beauty;
But this much dare I sayn, that she
Was ruddy, fresh, and lovely hued,
And every day her beauty newed.
And nigh her face was alder best ;2
For, certes, Nature had such lest3
To make that fair, that truly she
Was her chief pattern of beauty,
And chief ensample of all her work
And monstre : for, be it never so derk,5
Methinketh I see her evermo.
And yet, moreover, though all tho
That ever lived were now alive,
Ne wold have found they to descrive
In all her face a wicked sign,
For it was sad, simple, and benign.
And such a goodly softè speech
Had that sweet, my lifè's leech,8
So friendly, and so well y-grounded
Upon all reason, so well y-founded,
And so tretable9 to all good,
That I dare swear well by the rood1o
Of eloquence was never found
So sweet a souning facound,11
Ne truer tongued, ne scornèd less, .
Ne less flattering in her word;
That purely her simple record
1 This was the wife of John of Gaunt, who died 1369, after ten years of marriage. The husband is here supposed to be lamenting her loss and recounting
4 Marvel. 7 Descry. 8 Physician. 11 Eloquent (Lat. facundus).
Was found as true as any bond
Or troth of any mannes hond...
Her throat, as I have now memoire,
Seemed as a round tower of ivoire,
Of good greatness, and not too great ;1
And goodè fairè White' she hete."
That was my Lady's namè right :
She was thereto fair and bright;
She had not her namè wrong.
When I first my lady sey
I was right young, sooth to say ;
And full great need I had to learn,
When heartè wolde yearn
To love, it was a great emprise.5
But, as my wit wold best suffise,
After my young childly wit,
Without drede" I be-set" it.
To love her in my best wise,
To do her worship and servise,
That I could tho,8 by my troth,
Without feigning either sloth.
For wonder fain10 I wold her see:
So mickle11 it amended me
That, when I saw her first a-morrow,
I was warshed13 of all my sorrow;
Of all day after till it were eve
Me thought nothing might me grieve...
With sorrowful heart and woundès dead,1
Soft and quaking for pure dread
And shame, and stinting in my tale
For-feared, and my hue all pale,
Full oft I waxt both pale and red;
Bowing to her I heng' the head;
I durst not onès look her on,
For wit, manner, and all was gone ;
said "Mercy!" and no more.
It n'as no game, it sate me sore !
So, at the laste, sooth to sayn,
When that mine heart was come again,
To tellè shortly all my speech,
With whole heart I gan her beseech
That she wold be my lady sweet...
And, when I had my tale y-do,9
God wot, she accounted not a stree10
Of all my tale, so thoughtè me.
To tell shortly right as it is,
Truly her answer it was this:
I cannot now well counterfeit
Her wordès, but this was the gretell
Of her answer ;-she said "Nay,"
All utterly. Alas that day!
The sorrow I suffered and the woe,
That truly Cassandra, that so
Bewailed the destruction
Of Troye and of Ilion,
2 Ne wot.
6 Terrified.
10 Straw.
3 To that degree dismal.
7 Hung.
11 Substance.
Had never such sorrow as I tho.1
I durst no more say thereto
For pure fear, but stole away.
And thus I lived full many a day,
That truely I had no need
Further than my beddès head
Never a day to seeke sorrow;
I found it ready every morrow ...
So it befell another year
I thought onès2 I woldè fond3
To do1 her know and understond
My woe. And she well understood
That I ne wilned thing but good,
And worship, and to keep her name
Over all things, and dread her shame,
And was so busy her to serve,
And pity were that I should sterve,"
Sith that I willed none harm, I wiss.7
So, when my lady knew all this,
My lady gave me all wholly
The noble gift of her mercy.
FROM TROILUS AND CRESEIDE.
But, as she sat alone and thoughtè thus,
The ascry arose at skarmochR all without;
And men cried in the street, "See, Troilus
Hath right now put to flight the Greekès' rout!"
With that gan all her meinie9 for to shout
“Ah, go we see ! Cast up the gatès wide;
For through this street he mote10 to palace ride!
"For other way is fro the gatès none.
Of Dardanus there open is the chain."
With that come he, and all his folk anon,
An easy pace riding in routes11 twain ;
Right as his happy day was, sooth to sayn;
For that, men saith, may not disturbed be
That shall betidè of necessity.
This Troilus sat on his bayè steed,
All armed save his head full richely;
And wounded was his horse, and gan to bleed,
4 Make.
5 Desired.
9 All Creseide's household. 10 Must.
On which he rode apace full softely.
But such a knightly sightè, truely,
As was on him it was withouten fail
To look on Mars that god is of batail.
So like a man of armes and a knight
He was to seen; fulfilled of high prowess;
For both he had a body and a might
To done that thing, as well as hardiness.
And eke to seen him in his geare1 dress,
So fresh, so young, so wieldy seemed he,
It was an heaven upon him for to see.2
His helm to-hewen3 was in twenty places,
That by a tissue hong his back behind;
His shield to-dashed with swordès and with maces,
In which men mighte many an arrow find
That thirled had both horn, and nerf,5 and rind.
And aye the people cried, “Here cometh our joy,
And, next his brother, holder up of Troy !"
For which he waxt a little red for shame
When he so heard the people upon him crien;
That to behold it was a noble game
How soberly he cast adown his eyen.
Creseid anon gan all his chere espien,
And let it so soft in her heartè sink
That to herself she said, "Who gave me drink?”
For all her ownè thought she wox all red,
Remembering her right thus, "Lo! this is he
Which that mine uncle sweareth he mote dead"
But I on him have mercy and pity."
And with that thought for purè shame she
Gan in her head to pull, and that as fast,
While he and all the people forth-by passed.
THE PARTING OF TROILUS AND CRESEIDE.
Approachen gan9 the fatal destiny
That Jove hath in disposition,
And to you, angry Parcas,10 sistren11 three,
Committeth to done12 execution:
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