CHAPTER I.

Alas! Fortune! alas! I that som-tyme in delicious houres

was wont to enjoye blisful stoundes, am now drive by

unhappy hevinesse to bewaile my sondry yvels in tene!

Trewly, I leve, in myn herte is writte, of perdurable letters, al the

entencions of lamentacion that now ben y-nempned! For any

maner disese outward, in sobbing maner, sheweth sorowful yexinge

from within. Thus from my comfort I ginne to spille, sith she

that shulde me solace is fer fro my presence. Certes, her

absence is to me an helle; my sterving deth thus in wo it myneth,

that endeles care is throughout myne herte clenched; blisse of

my joye, that ofte me murthed, is turned in-to galle, to thinke on

thing that may not, at my wil, in armes me hente! Mirth is

chaunged in-to tene, whan swink is there continually that reste was

wont to sojourne and have dwelling-place. Thus witless, thoughtful,

sightles lokinge, I endure my penaunce in this derke prison,

†caitived fro frendshippe and acquaintaunce, and forsaken of al

that any †word dare speke. Straunge hath by waye of intrucioun

mad his home, there me shulde be, if reson were herd as he

shulde. Never-the-later yet hertly, lady precious Margarit, have

mynde on thy servaunt; and thinke on his disese, how lightles he

liveth, sithe the bemes brennende in love of thyn eyen are so

bewent, that worldes and cloudes atwene us twey wol nat suffre

my thoughtes of hem to be enlumined! Thinke that oon vertue

of a Margarite precious is, amonges many other, the sorouful to

comforte; yet †whyles that, me sorouful to comforte, is my lust

to have nought els at this tyme, d[r]ede ne deth ne no maner

traveyle hath no power, myn herte so moche to fade, as shulde

to here of a twinkling in your disese! Ah! god forbede that;

but yet let me deye, let me sterve withouten any mesure of

penaunce, rather than myn hertely thinking comfort in ought

were disesed! What may my service avayle, in absence of her

that my service shulde accepte? Is this nat endeles sorowe to

thinke? Yes, yes, god wot; myn herte breketh nigh a-sonder.

How shulde the ground, without kyndly noriture, bringen forth

any frutes? How shulde a ship, withouten a sterne, in the grete see

be governed? How shulde I, withouten my blisse, my herte, my

desyre, my joye, my goodnesse, endure in this contrarious prison,

that thinke every hour in the day an hundred winter? Wel may

now Eve sayn to me, 'Adam, in sorowe fallen from welth, driven

art thou out of paradise, with swete thy sustenaunce to beswinke!'

Depe in this pyninge pitte with wo I ligge y-stocked,

with chaynes linked of care and of tene. It is so hye from thens

I lye and the commune erth, there ne is cable in no lande maked,

that might strecche to me, to drawe me in-to blisse; ne steyers

to steye on is none; so that, without recover, endeles here to

endure, I wot wel, I [am] purveyed. O, where art thou now,

frendship, that som-tyme, with laughande chere, madest bothe

face and countenaunce to me-wardes? Truely, now art thou

went out of towne. But ever, me thinketh, he wereth his olde

clothes, and that the soule in the whiche the lyfe of frendship was

in, is drawen out from his other spirites. Now than, farewel,

frendship! and farewel, felawes! Me thinketh, ye al han taken

your leve; no force of you al at ones. But, lady of love, ye wote

what I mene; yet thinke on thy servaunt that for thy love

spilleth; al thinges have I forsake to folowen thyn hestes;

rewarde me with a thought, though ye do naught els. Remembraunce

of love lyth so sore under my brest, that other thought

cometh not in my mynde but gladnesse, to thinke on your goodnesse

and your mery chere; †ferdnes and sorowe, to thinke on your

wreche and your daunger; from whiche Christ me save! My

greet joye it is to have in meditacion the bountees, the vertues,

the nobley in you printed; sorowe and helle comen at ones, to

suppose that I be †weyved. Thus with care, sorowe, and tene

am I shapt, myn ende with dethe to make. Now, good goodly,

thinke on this. O wrecched foole that I am, fallen in-to so lowe,

the hete of my brenning tene hath me al defased. How shulde

ye, lady, sette prise on so foule fylthe? My conninge is thinne,

my wit is exiled; lyke to a foole naturel am I comparisoned.

Trewly, lady, but your mercy the more were, I wot wel al my

labour were in ydel; your mercy than passeth right. God graunt

that proposicion to be verifyed in me; so that, by truste of good

hope, I mowe come to the haven of ese. And sith it is impossible,

the colours of your qualitees to chaunge: and forsothe I

wot wel, wem ne spot may not abyde there so noble vertue

haboundeth, so that the defasing to you is verily [un]imaginable,

as countenaunce of goodnesse with encresinge vertue is so in you

knit, to abyde by necessary maner: yet, if the revers mighte falle

(which is ayenst kynde), I †wot wel myn herte ne shulde therfore

naught flitte, by the leste poynt of gemetrye; so sadly is it

†souded, that away from your service in love may he not departe.

O love, whan shal I ben plesed? O charitee, whan shal I ben

esed? O good goodly, whan shal the dyce turne? O ful of

vertue, do the chaunce of comfort upwarde to falle! O love,

whan wolt thou thinke on thy servaunt? I can no more but here,

out-cast of al welfare, abyde the day of my dethe, or els to see the

sight that might al my wellinge sorowes voyde, and of the flode

make an ebbe. These diseses mowen wel, by duresse of sorowe,

make my lyfe to unbodye, and so for to dye; but certes ye, lady,

in a ful perfeccion of love ben so knit with my soule, that deth

may not thilke knotte unbynde ne departe; so that ye and my

soule togider †in endeles blisse shulde dwelle; and there shal

my soule at the ful ben esed, that he may have your presence, to

shewe th'entent of his desyres. Ah, dere god! that shal be a

greet joye! Now, erthely goddesse, take regarde of thy servant,

though I be feble; for thou art wont to prayse them better that

wolde conne serve in love, al be he ful mener than kinges or

princes that wol not have that vertue in mynde.

Now, precious Margaryte, that with thy noble vertue hast

drawen me in-to love first, me weninge therof to have blisse,

[ther]-as galle and aloes are so moche spronge, that savour of

swetnesse may I not ataste. Alas! that your benigne eyen, in

whiche that mercy semeth to have al his noriture, nil by no

waye tourne the clerenesse of mercy to me-wardes! Alas! that

your brennande vertues, shyning amonges al folk, and enlumininge

al other people by habundaunce of encresing, sheweth to me

but smoke and no light! These thinges to thinke in myn herte

maketh every day weping in myn eyen to renne. These liggen

on my backe so sore, that importable burthen me semeth on my

backe to be charged; it maketh me backwarde to meve, whan

my steppes by comune course even-forth pretende. These

thinges also, on right syde and lift, have me so envolved with

care, that wanhope of helpe is throughout me ronne; trewly,

†I leve, that graceles is my fortune, whiche that ever sheweth it

me-wardes by a cloudy disese, al redy to make stormes of tene;

and the blisful syde halt stil awayward, and wol it not suffre to

me-wardes to turne; no force, yet wol I not ben conquered.

O, alas! that your nobley, so moche among al other creatures

commended by †flowinge streme †of al maner vertues, but

ther ben wonderful, I not whiche that let the flood to come

in-to my soule; wherefore, purely mated with sorowe thorough-sought,

my-selfe I crye on your goodnesse to have pitè on this

caytif, that in the in[ne]rest degree of sorowe and disese is left,

and, without your goodly wil, from any helpe and recovery.

These sorowes may I not sustene, but-if my sorowe shulde be

told and to you-wardes shewed; although moche space is bitwene

us twayne, yet me thinketh that by suche †joleyvinge wordes my

disese ginneth ebbe. Trewly, me thinketh that the sowne of my

lamentacious weping is right now flowe in-to your presence, and

there cryeth after mercy and grace, to which thing (me semeth)

thee list non answere to yeve, but with a deynous chere ye

commaunden it to avoide; but god forbid that any word shuld of

you springe, to have so litel routh! Pardè, pitè and mercy in

every Margarite is closed by kynde amonges many other vertues,

by qualitees of comfort; but comfort is to me right naught worth,

withouten mercy and pitè of you alone; whiche thinges hastely

god me graunt for his mercy!

CHAPTER II.

Rehersinge these thinges and many other, without tyme

or moment of rest, me semed, for anguisshe of disese, that

al-togider I was ravisshed, I can not telle how; but hoolly all my

passions and felinges weren lost, as it semed, for the tyme; and

sodainly a maner of drede lighte in me al at ones; nought suche

fere as folk have of an enemy, that were mighty and wolde hem

greve or don hem disese. For, I trowe, this is wel knowe to many

persones, that otherwhyle, if a man be in his soveraignes presence,

a maner of ferdnesse crepeth in his herte, not for harme, but of

goodly subjeccion; namely, as men reden that aungels ben aferde

of our saviour in heven. And pardè, there ne is, ne may no

passion of disese be; but it is to mene, that angels ben adradde,

not by †ferdnes of drede, sithen they ben perfitly blissed, [but]

as [by] affeccion of wonderfulnesse and by service of obedience.

Suche ferde also han these lovers in presence of their loves, and

subjectes aforn their soveraynes. Right so with ferdnesse myn

herte was caught. And I sodainly astonied, there entred in-to

the place there I was logged a lady, the semeliest and most

goodly to my sight that ever to-forn apered to any creature; and

trewly, in the blustringe of her looke, she yave gladnesse and

comfort sodaynly to al my wittes; and right so she doth to

every wight that cometh in her presence. And for she was so

goodly, as me thought, myn herte began somdele to be enbolded,

and wexte a litel hardy to speke; but yet, with a quakinge

voyce, as I durste, I salued her, and enquired what she was;

and why she, so worthy to sight, dayned to entre in-to so foule

a dongeon, and namely a prison, without leve of my kepers.

For certes, al-though the vertue of dedes of mercy strecchen to

visiten the poore prisoners, and hem, after that facultees ben had,

to comforte, me semed that I was so fer fallen in-to miserye and

wrecched hid caytifnesse, that me shulde no precious thing

neighe; and also, that for my sorowe every wight shulde ben

hevy, and wisshe my recovery. But whan this lady had somdele

apperceyved, as wel by my wordes as by my chere, what thought

besied me within, with a good womanly countenance she sayde

these wordes:—

'O my nory, wenest thou that my maner be, to foryete my

frendes or my servauntes? Nay,' quod she, 'it is my ful entente

to visyte and comforte al my frendshippes and allyes, as wel in

tyme of perturbacion as of moost propertee of blisse; in me shal

unkyndnesse never be founden: and also, sithen I have so fewe

especial trewe now in these dayes. Wherefore I may wel at more

leysar come to hem that me deserven; and if my cominge may

in any thinge avayle, wete wel, I wol come often.'

'Now, good lady,' quod I, 'that art so fayre on to loke,

reyninge hony by thy wordes, blisse of paradys arn thy lokinges,

joye and comfort are thy movinges. What is thy name? How

is it that in you is so mokel werkinge vertues enpight, as me

semeth, and in none other creature that ever saw I with myne

eyen?'

'My disciple,' quod she, 'me wondreth of thy wordes and on

thee, that for a litel disese hast foryeten my name. Wost thou

not wel that I am Love, that first thee brought to thy service?'

'O good lady,' quod I, 'is this worship to thee or to thyn

excellence, for to come in-to so foule a place? Pardè, somtyme,

tho I was in prosperitè and with forayne goodes envolved, I had

mokil to done to drawe thee to myn hostel; and yet many

werninges thou madest er thou liste fully to graunte, thyn home

to make at my dwelling-place; and now thou comest goodly by

thyn owne vyse, to comforte me with wordes; and so there-thorough

I ginne remembre on passed gladnesse. Trewly, lady,

I ne wot whether I shal say welcome or non, sithen thy coming

wol as moche do me tene and sorowe, as gladnesse and mirthe.

See why: for that me comforteth to thinke on passed gladnesse,

that me anoyeth efte to be in doinge. Thus thy cominge bothe

gladdeth and teneth, and that is cause of moche sorowe. Lo, lady,

how than I am comforted by your comminge'; and with that

I gan in teeres to distille, and tenderly wepe.

'Now, certes,' quod Love, 'I see wel, and that me over-thinketh,

that wit in thee fayleth, and [thou] art in pointe

to dote.'

'Trewly,' quod I, 'that have ye maked, and that ever wol

I rue.'

'Wottest thou not wel,' quod she, 'that every shepherde ought

by reson to seke his sperkelande sheep, that arn ronne in-to

wildernesse among busshes and perils, and hem to their pasture

ayen-bringe, and take on hem privy besy cure of keping? And

though the unconninge sheep scattred wolde ben lost, renning to

wildernesse, and to desertes drawe, or els wolden putte hem-selfe

to the swalowinge wolfe, yet shal the shepherde, by businesse and

travayle, so putte him forth, that he shal not lete hem be lost by

no waye. A good shepherde putteth rather his lyf to ben lost for

his sheep. But for thou shalt not wene me being of werse

condicion, trewly, for everich of my folke, and for al tho that to

me-ward be knit in any condicion, I wol rather dye than suffre

hem through errour to ben spilte. For me liste, and it me lyketh,

of al myne a shepherdesse to be cleped. Wost thou not wel,

I fayled never wight, but he me refused and wolde negligently go

with unkyndenesse? And yet, pardè, have I many such holpe

and releved, and they have ofte me begyled; but ever, at the ende,

it discendeth in their owne nekkes. Hast thou not rad how kinde

I was to Paris, Priamus sone of Troy? How Jason me falsed,

for al his false behest? How Cesars †swink, I lefte it for no tene

til he was troned in my blisse for his service? What!' quod she,

'most of al, maked I not a loveday bytwene god and mankynde,

and chees a mayde to be nompere, to putte the quarel at ende?

Lo! how I have travayled to have thank on al sydes, and yet list

me not to reste, and I might fynde on †whom I shulde werche.

But trewly, myn owne disciple, bycause I have thee founde, at al

assayes, in thy wil to be redy myn hestes to have folowed, and

hast ben trewe to that Margarite-perle that ones I thee shewed;

and she alwaye, ayenward, hath mad but daungerous chere;

I am come, in propre person, to putte thee out of errours, and

make thee gladde by wayes of reson; so that sorow ne disese shal

no more hereafter thee amaistry. Wherthrough I hope thou

shalt lightly come to the grace, that thou longe hast desyred, of

thilke jewel. Hast thou not herd many ensamples, how I have

comforted and releved the scholers of my lore? Who hath

worthyed kinges in the felde? Who hath honoured ladyes in

boure by a perpetuel mirrour of their tr[o]uthe in my service?

Who hath caused worthy folk to voyde vyce and shame? Who

hath holde cytees and realmes in prosperitè? If thee liste clepe

ayen thyn olde remembraunce, thou coudest every point of this

declare in especial; and say that I, thy maistresse, have be cause,

causing these thinges and many mo other.'

'Now, y-wis, madame,' quod I, 'al these thinges I knowe wel

my-selfe, and that thyn excellence passeth the understanding of

us beestes; and that no mannes wit erthely may comprehende thy

vertues.'

'Wel than,' quod she, 'for I see thee in disese and sorowe,

I wot wel thou art oon of my nories; I may not suffre thee so to

make sorowe, thyn owne selfe to shende. But I my-selfe come

to be thy fere, thyn hevy charge to make to seme the lesse. For wo

is him that is alone; and to the sorye, to ben moned by a sorouful

wight, it is greet gladnesse. Right so, with my sicke frendes I am

sicke; and with sorie I can not els but sorowe make, til whan

I have hem releved in suche wyse, that gladnesse, in a maner of

counterpaysing, shal restore as mokil in joye as the passed hevinesse

biforn did in tene. And also,' quod she, 'whan any of my

servauntes ben alone in solitary place, I have yet ever besied me

to be with hem, in comfort of their hertes, and taught hem to

make songes of playnte and of blisse, and to endyten letters of

rethorike in queynt understondinges, and to bethinke hem in what

wyse they might best their ladies in good service plese; and

also to lerne maner in countenaunce, in wordes, and in bering,

and to ben meke and lowly to every wight, his name and fame to

encrese; and to yeve gret yeftes and large, that his renomè may

springen. But thee therof have I excused; for thy losse and thy

grete costages, wherthrough thou art nedy, arn nothing to me

unknowen; but I hope to god somtyme it shal ben amended, as

thus I sayd. In norture have I taught al myne; and in curtesye

made hem expert, their ladies hertes to winne; and if any wolde

[b]en deynous or proude, or be envious or of wrecches acqueyntaunce,

hasteliche have I suche voyded out of my scole. For

al vyces trewly I hate; vertues and worthinesse in al my power

I avaunce.'

'Ah! worthy creature,' quod I, 'and by juste cause the name

of goddesse dignely ye mowe bere! In thee lyth the grace

thorough whiche any creature in this worlde hath any goodnesse.

Trewly, al maner of blisse and preciousnesse in vertue out of

thee springen and wellen, as brokes and rivers proceden from

their springes. And lyke as al waters by kynde drawen to the see,

so al kyndely thinges thresten, by ful appetyte of desyre, to drawe

after thy steppes, and to thy presence aproche as to their kyndely

perfeccion. How dare than beestes in this worlde aught forfete

ayenst thy devyne purveyaunce? Also, lady, ye knowen al the

privy thoughtes; in hertes no counsayl may ben hid from your

knowing. Wherfore I wot wel, lady, that ye knowe your-selfe that

I in my conscience am and have ben willinge to your service, al

coude I never do as I shulde; yet, forsothe, fayned I never to

love otherwyse than was in myn herte; and if I coude have made

chere to one and y-thought another, as many other doon alday

afore myn eyen, I trowe it wolde not me have vayled.'

'Certes,' quod she, 'haddest thou so don, I wolde not now

have thee here visited.'

'Ye wete wel, lady, eke,' quod I, 'that I have not played raket,

"nettil in, docke out," and with the wethercocke waved; and

trewly, there ye me sette, by acorde of my conscience I wolde

not flye, til ye and reson, by apert strength, maden myn herte to

tourne.'

'In good fayth,' quod she, 'I have knowe thee ever of tho

condicions; and sithen thou woldest (in as moch as in thee was)

a made me privy of thy counsayl and juge of thy conscience

(though I forsook it in tho dayes til I saw better my tyme), wolde

never god that I shuld now fayle; but ever I wol be redy

witnessing thy sothe, in what place that ever I shal, ayenst al tho

that wol the contrary susteyne. And for as moche as to me is

naught unknowen ne hid of thy privy herte, but al hast thou tho

thinges mad to me open at the ful, that hath caused my cominge

in-to this prison, to voyde the webbes of thyne eyen, to make thee

clerely to see the errours thou hast ben in. And bycause that

men ben of dyvers condicions, some adradde to saye a sothe, and

some for a sothe anon redy to fighte, and also that I may not my-selfe

ben in place to withsaye thilke men that of thee speken

otherwyse than the sothe, I wol and I charge thee, in vertue of

obedience that thou to me owest, to wryten my wordes and sette

hem in wrytinges, that they mowe, as my witnessinge, ben

noted among the people. For bookes written neyther dreden ne

shamen, ne stryve conne; but only shewen the entente of the

wryter, and yeve remembraunce to the herer; and if any wol in

thy presence saye any-thing to tho wryters, loke boldely; truste on

Mars to answere at the ful. For certes, I shal him enfourme of

al the trouthe in thy love, with thy conscience; so that of his

helpe thou shalt not varye at thy nede. I trowe the strongest and

the beste that may be founde wol not transverse thy wordes;

wherof than woldest thou drede?'

CHAPTER III.

Gretly was I tho gladded of these wordes, and (as who

saith) wexen somdel light in herte; both for the auctoritè

of witnesse, and also for sikernesse of helpe of the forsayd

beheste, and sayd:—

'Trewly, lady, now am I wel gladded through comfort of

your wordes. Be it now lykinge unto your nobley to shewe

whiche folk diffame your servauntes, sithe your service ought

above al other thinges to ben commended.'

'Yet,' quod she, 'I see wel thy soule is not al out of the

amased cloude. Thee were better to here thing that thee might

lighte out of thyn hevy charge and after knowing of thyn owne

helpe, than to stirre swete wordes and such resons to here;

for in a thoughtful soule (and namely suche oon as thou art)

wol not yet suche thinges sinken. Come of, therfore, and let

me seen thy hevy charge, that I may the lightlier for thy comfort

purveye.'

'Now, certes, lady,' quod I, 'the moste comfort I might have

were utterly to wete me be sure in herte of that Margaryte I

serve; and so I thinke to don with al mightes, whyle my lyfe

dureth.'

'Than,' quod she, 'mayst thou therafter, in suche wyse that

misplesaunce ne entre?'

'In good fayth,' quod I, 'there shal no misplesaunce be

caused through trespace on my syde.'

'And I do thee to weten,' quod she, 'I sette never yet person

to serve in no place (but-if he caused the contrary in defautes

and trespaces) that he ne spedde of his service.'

'Myn owne erthly lady,' quod I tho, 'and yet remembre to

your worthinesse how long sithen, by many revolving of yeres,

in tyme whan Octobre his leve ginneth take and Novembre

sheweth him to sight, whan bernes ben ful of goodes as is the

nutte on every halke; and than good lond-tillers ginne shape

for the erthe with greet travayle, to bringe forth more corn to

mannes sustenaunce, ayenst the nexte yeres folowing. In suche

tyme of plentee he that hath an home and is wyse, list not to

wander mervayles to seche, but he be constrayned or excited.

Oft the lothe thing is doon, by excitacion of other mannes

opinion, whiche wolden fayne have myn abydinge. [Tho gan I]

take in herte of luste to travayle and see the wynding of the erthe

in that tyme of winter. By woodes that large stretes wern in,

by smale pathes that swyn and hogges hadden made, as lanes

with ladels their maste to seche, I walked thinkinge alone

a wonder greet whyle; and the grete beestes that the woode

haunten and adorneth al maner forestes, and heerdes gonne to

wilde. Than, er I was war, I neyghed to a see-banke; and for

ferde of the beestes "shipcraft" I cryde. For, lady, I trowe ye

wete wel your-selfe, nothing is werse than the beestes that

shulden ben tame, if they cacche her wildenesse, and ginne ayen

waxe ramage. Thus forsothe was I a-ferd, and to shippe me

hyed.

Than were there y-nowe to lacche myn handes, and drawe me

to shippe, of whiche many I knew wel the names. Sight was

the first, Lust was another, Thought was the thirde; and Wil eke

was there a mayster; these broughten me within-borde of this

shippe of Traveyle. So whan the sayl was sprad, and this ship

gan to move, the wind and water gan for to ryse, and overthwartly

to turne the welken. The wawes semeden as they kiste togider;

but often under colour of kissinge is mokel old hate prively

closed and kept. The storm so straungely and in a devouring

maner gan so faste us assayle, that I supposed the date of my

deth shulde have mad there his ginning. Now up, now downe,

now under the wawe and now aboven was my ship a greet

whyle. And so by mokel duresse of †weders and of stormes,

and with greet avowing [of] pilgrimages, I was driven to an yle,

where utterly I wende first to have be rescowed; but trewly, †at

the first ginning, it semed me so perillous the haven to cacche,

that but thorow grace I had ben comforted, of lyfe I was ful

dispayred. Trewly, lady, if ye remembre a-right of al maner

thinges, your-selfe cam hastely to sene us see-driven, and to

weten what we weren. But first ye were deynous of chere, after

whiche ye gonne better a-lighte; and ever, as me thought, ye

lived in greet drede of disese; it semed so by your chere.

And whan I was certifyed of your name, the lenger I loked in

you, the more I you goodly dradde; and ever myn herte on you

opened the more; and so in a litel tyme my ship was out of

mynde. But, lady, as ye me ladde, I was war bothe of beestes

and of fisshes, a greet nombre thronging togider; among whiche

a muskel, in a blewe shel, had enclosed a Margaryte-perle, the

moste precious and best that ever to-forn cam in my sight.

And ye tolden your-selfe, that ilke jewel in his kinde was so

good and so vertuous, that her better shulde I never finde, al

sought I ther-after to the worldes ende. And with that I held

my pees a greet whyle; and ever sithen I have me bethought on

the man that sought the precious Margarytes; and whan he had

founden oon to his lyking, he solde al his good to bye that jewel.

Y-wis, thought I, (and yet so I thinke), now have I founden the

jewel that myn herte desyreth; wherto shulde I seche further?

Trewly, now wol I stinte, and on this Margaryte I sette me for

ever: now than also, sithen I wiste wel it was your wil that

I shulde so suche a service me take; and so to desyre that thing,

of whiche I never have blisse. There liveth non but he hath

disese; your might than that brought me to suche service, that to

me is cause of sorowe and of joye. I wonder of your worde that

ye sayn, "to bringen men in-to joye"; and, pardè, ye wete wel

that defaut ne trespace may not resonably ben put to me-wardes,

as fer as my conscience knoweth.

But of my disese me list now a whyle to speke, and to enforme

you in what maner of blisse ye have me thronge. For truly

I wene, that al gladnesse, al joye, and al mirthe is beshet under

locke, and the keye throwe in suche place that it may not be

founde. My brenning wo hath altred al my hewe. Whan

I shulde slepe, I walowe and I thinke, and me disporte. Thus

combred, I seme that al folk had me mased. Also, lady myne,

desyre hath longe dured, some speking to have; or els at the lest

have ben enmoysed with sight; and for wantinge of these thinges

my mouth wolde, and he durst, pleyne right sore, sithen yvels

for my goodnesse arn manyfolde to me yolden. I wonder, lady,

trewly, save evermore your reverence, how ye mowe, for shame,

suche thinges suffre on your servaunt to be so multiplied.

Wherfore, kneling with a lowe herte, I pray you to rue on this

caytif, that of nothing now may serve. Good lady, if ye liste,

now your help to me shewe, that am of your privyest servantes

at al assayes in this tyme, and under your winges of proteccion.

No help to me-wardes is shapen; how shal than straungers in

any wyse after socour loke, whan I, that am so privy, yet of helpe

I do fayle? Further may I not, but thus in this prison abyde;

what bondes and chaynes me holden, lady, ye see wel your-selfe.

A renyant forjuged hath not halfe the care. But thus, syghing

and sobbing, I wayle here alone; and nere it for comfort of your

presence, right here wolde I sterve. And yet a litel am I gladded,

that so goodly suche grace and non hap have I hent, graciously

to fynde the precious Margarite, that (al other left) men shulde

bye, if they shulde therfore selle al her substaunce. Wo is me,

that so many let-games and purpose-brekers ben maked wayters,

suche prisoners as I am to overloke and to hinder; and, for

suche lettours, it is hard any suche jewel to winne. Is this, lady,

an honour to thy deitee? Me thinketh, by right, suche people

shulde have no maistrye, ne ben overlokers over none of thy

servauntes. Trewly, were it leful unto you, to al the goddes

wolde I playne, that ye rule your devyne purveyaunce amonges

your servantes nothing as ye shulde. Also, lady, my moeble is

insuffysaunt to countervayle the price of this jewel, or els to

make th'eschange. Eke no wight is worthy suche perles to were

but kinges or princes or els their peres. This jewel, for vertue,

wold adorne and make fayre al a realme; the nobley of vertue is

so moche, that her goodnesse overal is commended. Who is it

that wolde not wayle, but he might suche richesse have at his

wil? The vertue therof out of this prison may me deliver, and

naught els. And if I be not ther-thorow holpen, I see my-selfe

withouten recovery. Although I might hence voyde, yet wolde

I not; I wolde abyde the day that destenee hath me ordeyned,

whiche I suppose is without amendement; so sore is my herte

bounden, that I may thinken non other. Thus strayte, lady,

hath sir Daunger laced me in stockes, I leve it be not your wil;

and for I see you taken so litel hede, as me thinketh, and wol

not maken by your might the vertue in mercy of the Margaryte

on me for to strecche, so as ye mowe wel in case that you liste,

my blisse and my mirthe arn feld; sicknesse and sorowe ben

alwaye redy. The cope of tene is wounde aboute al my body,

that stonding is me best; unneth may I ligge for pure misesy

sorowe. And yet al this is litel ynough to be the ernest-silver in

forwarde of this bargayne; for treble-folde so mokel muste I suffer

er tyme come of myn ese. For he is worthy no welthe, that may

no wo suffer. And certes, I am hevy to thinke on these thinges;

but who shal yeve me water ynough to drinke, lest myn eyen

drye, for renning stremes of teres? Who shal waylen with me

myn owne happy hevinesse? Who shal counsaile me now in

my lyking tene, and in my goodly harse? I not. For ever the

more I brenne, the more I coveyte; the more that I sorow, the

more thrist I in gladnesse. Who shal than yeve me a contrarious

drink, to stanche the thurste of my blisful bitternesse? Lo, thus

I brenne and I drenche; I shiver and I swete. To this reversed

yvel was never yet ordeyned salve; forsoth al †leches ben unconning,

save the Margaryte alone, any suche remedye to purveye.'

CHAPTER IV.

And with these wordes I brast out to wepe, that every teere

of myne eyen, for greetnesse semed they boren out the bal of

my sight, and that al the water had ben out-ronne. Than thought

me that Love gan a litel to hevye for miscomfort of my chere;

and gan soberly and in esy maner speke, wel avysinge what

she sayd. Comenly the wyse speken esily and softe for many

skilles. Oon is, their wordes are the better bileved; and also, in

esy spekinge, avysement men may cacche, what to putte forth

and what to holden in. And also, the auctoritè of esy wordes is

the more; and eke, they yeven the more understandinge to other

intencion of the mater. Right so this lady esely and in a softe

maner gan say these wordes.

¶ 'Mervayle,' quod she, 'greet it is, that by no maner of semblaunt,

as fer as I can espye, thou list not to have any recour;

but ever thou playnest and sorowest, and wayes of remedye, for

folisshe wilfulnesse, thee list not to seche. But enquyre of thy

next frendes, that is, thyne inwit and me that have ben thy

maystresse, and the recour and fyne of thy disese; [f]or of disese is

gladnesse and joy, with a ful †vessel so helded, that it quencheth

the felinge of the firste tenes. But thou that were wont not only

these thinges remembre in thyne herte, but also fooles therof to

enfourmen, in adnullinge of their errours and distroying of their

derke opinions, and in comfort of their sere thoughtes; now canst

thou not ben comfort of thyn owne soule, in thinking of these

thinges. O where hast thou be so longe commensal, that hast so

mikel eeten of the potages of foryetfulnesse, and dronken so of

ignorance, that the olde souking[es] whiche thou haddest of me

arn amaystred and lorn fro al maner of knowing? O, this is

a worthy person to helpe other, that can not counsayle him-selfe!'

And with these wordes, for pure and stronge shame, I wox al

reed.

And she than, seing me so astonyed by dyvers stoundes,

sodainly (which thing kynde hateth) gan deliciously me comforte

with sugred wordes, putting me in ful hope that I shulde the

Margarite getten, if I folowed her hestes; and gan with a fayre

clothe to wypen the teres that hingen on my chekes; and than

sayd I in this wyse.

'Now, wel of wysdom and of al welthe, withouten thee may

nothing ben lerned; thou berest the keyes of al privy thinges.

In vayne travayle men to cacche any stedship, but-if ye, lady,

first the locke unshet. Ye, lady, lerne us the wayes and the

by-pathes to heven. Ye, lady, maken al the hevenly bodyes

goodly and benignely to don her cours, that governen us beestes

here on erthe. Ye armen your servauntes ayenst al debates with

imperciable harneys; ye setten in her hertes insuperable blood of

hardinesse; ye leden hem to the parfit good. Yet al thing

desyreth ye werne no man of helpe, that †wol don your

lore. Graunt me now a litel of your grace, al my sorowes

to cese.'

'Myne owne servaunt,' quod she, 'trewly thou sittest nye

myne herte; and thy badde chere gan sorily me greve. But

amonge thy playning wordes, me thought, thou allegest thinges to

be letting of thyne helpinge and thy grace to hinder; wherthrough,

me thinketh, that wanhope is crope thorough thyn hert. God

forbid that nyse unthrifty thought shulde come in thy mynde,

thy wittes to trouble; sithen every thing in coming is contingent.

Wherfore make no more thy proposicion by an impossible.

But now, I praye thee reherse me ayen tho thinges that

thy mistrust causen; and thilke thinges I thinke by reson to

distroyen, and putte ful hope in thyn herte. What understondest

thou there,' quod she, 'by that thou saydest, "many let-games

are thyn overlokers?" And also by "that thy moeble is insuffysaunt"?

I not what thou therof menest.'

'Trewly,' quod I, 'by the first I say, that janglers evermore

arn spekinge rather of yvel than of good; for every age of man

rather enclyneth to wickednesse, than any goodnesse to avaunce.

Also false wordes springen so wyde, by the stering of false lying

tonges, that fame als swiftely flyeth to her eres and sayth many

wicked tales; and as soone shal falsenesse ben leved as tr[o]uthe,

for al his gret sothnesse.

'Now by that other,' quod I, 'me thinketh thilke jewel so

precious, that to no suche wrecche as I am wolde vertue therof

extende; and also I am to feble in worldly joyes, any suche

jewel to countrevayle. For suche people that worldly joyes han

at her wil ben sette at the highest degree, and most in reverence

ben accepted. For false wening maketh felicitè therin to be

supposed; but suche caytives as I am evermore ben hindred.'

'Certes,' quod she, 'take good hede, and I shal by reson to

thee shewen, that al these thinges mowe nat lette thy purpos

by the leest point that any wight coude pricke.