Now certes, swete, thogh that ye
Thus causeles the cause be
Of my dedly adversitee,
Your manly reson oghte it to respyte
To slee your frend, and namely me, 260
That never yet in no degree
Offended yow, as wisly he,
That al wot, out of wo my soule quyte!
Thus causeles the cause be
Of my dedly adversitee,
Your manly reson oghte it to respyte
To slee your frend, and namely me, 260
That never yet in no degree
Offended yow, as wisly he,
That al wot, out of wo my soule quyte!
Chaucer - Romuant of the Rose
And shal I pleyne--alas!
the harde stounde--
Un-to my foo that yaf my herte a wounde,
And yet desyreth that myn harm be more? 240
Nay, certes! ferther wol I never founde
Non other help, my sores for to sounde.
My desteny hath shapen it ful yore;
I wil non other medecyne ne lore;
I wil ben ay ther I was ones bounde, 245
That I have seid, be seid for ever-more!
4. Alas! wher is become your gentilesse!
Your wordes ful of plesaunce and humblesse?
Your observaunces in so low manere,
And your awayting and your besinesse 250
Upon me, that ye calden your maistresse,
Your sovereyn lady in this worlde here?
Alas! and is ther nother word ne chere
Ye vouchesauf upon myn hevinesse?
Alas! your love, I bye hit al to dere. 255
5.
Now certes, swete, thogh that ye
Thus causeles the cause be
Of my dedly adversitee,
Your manly reson oghte it to respyte
To slee your frend, and namely me, 260
That never yet in no degree
Offended yow, as wisly he,
That al wot, out of wo my soule quyte!
? But for I shewed yow, Arcite,
Al that men wolde to me wryte, 265
And was so besy, yow to delyte--
My honour save--meke, kinde, and free,
Therfor ye putte on me the wyte,
And of me recche not a myte,
Thogh that the swerd of sorow byte 270
My woful herte through your crueltee.
6. My swete foo, why do ye so, for shame?
And thenke ye that furthered be your name,
To love a newe, and been untrewe? nay!
And putte yow in sclaunder now and blame, 275
And do to me adversitee and grame,
That love yow most, god, wel thou wost! alway?
Yet turn ayeyn, and be al pleyn som day,
And than shal this that now is mis be game,
And al for-yive, whyl that I live may. 280
(_Antistrophe. _)
1. Lo! herte myn, al this is for to seyne,
As whether shal I preye or elles pleyne?
Whiche is the wey to doon yow to be trewe?
For either mot I have yow in my cheyne,
Or with the dethe ye mot departe us tweyne; 285
Ther ben non other mene weyes newe;
For god so wisly on my soule rewe,
As verily ye sleen me with the peyne;
That may ye see unfeyned of myn hewe.
Un-to my foo that yaf my herte a wounde,
And yet desyreth that myn harm be more? 240
Nay, certes! ferther wol I never founde
Non other help, my sores for to sounde.
My desteny hath shapen it ful yore;
I wil non other medecyne ne lore;
I wil ben ay ther I was ones bounde, 245
That I have seid, be seid for ever-more!
4. Alas! wher is become your gentilesse!
Your wordes ful of plesaunce and humblesse?
Your observaunces in so low manere,
And your awayting and your besinesse 250
Upon me, that ye calden your maistresse,
Your sovereyn lady in this worlde here?
Alas! and is ther nother word ne chere
Ye vouchesauf upon myn hevinesse?
Alas! your love, I bye hit al to dere. 255
5.
Now certes, swete, thogh that ye
Thus causeles the cause be
Of my dedly adversitee,
Your manly reson oghte it to respyte
To slee your frend, and namely me, 260
That never yet in no degree
Offended yow, as wisly he,
That al wot, out of wo my soule quyte!
? But for I shewed yow, Arcite,
Al that men wolde to me wryte, 265
And was so besy, yow to delyte--
My honour save--meke, kinde, and free,
Therfor ye putte on me the wyte,
And of me recche not a myte,
Thogh that the swerd of sorow byte 270
My woful herte through your crueltee.
6. My swete foo, why do ye so, for shame?
And thenke ye that furthered be your name,
To love a newe, and been untrewe? nay!
And putte yow in sclaunder now and blame, 275
And do to me adversitee and grame,
That love yow most, god, wel thou wost! alway?
Yet turn ayeyn, and be al pleyn som day,
And than shal this that now is mis be game,
And al for-yive, whyl that I live may. 280
(_Antistrophe. _)
1. Lo! herte myn, al this is for to seyne,
As whether shal I preye or elles pleyne?
Whiche is the wey to doon yow to be trewe?
For either mot I have yow in my cheyne,
Or with the dethe ye mot departe us tweyne; 285
Ther ben non other mene weyes newe;
For god so wisly on my soule rewe,
As verily ye sleen me with the peyne;
That may ye see unfeyned of myn hewe.
