No More Learning

Qui en cel mireor se mire,
Ne puet avoir garant de mire,
Que tel chose a ses yex ne voie,
Qui d'amer l'a tost mis en voie.
Maint vaillant homme a mis a glaive
Cis mireors, car li plus saive,
Li plus preus, li miex afetie
I sunt tost pris et aguetie. 1590
Ci sourt as gens novele rage,
Ici se changent li corage;
Ci n'a mestier sens, ne mesure,
Ci est d'amer volente pure;
Ci ne se set conseiller nus;
Car Cupido, li fils Venus,

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So cercleth it the welle aboute.
His ginnes hath he set withoute 1620
Right for to cacche in his panteres
These damoysels and bacheleres.
Love wil noon other bridde cacche,
Though he sette either net or lacche.
And for the seed that heer was sowen, 1625
This welle is cleped, as wel is knowen,
The Welle of Love, of verray right,
Of which ther hath ful many a wight
Spoke in bokes dyversely.
But they shulle never so verily 1630
Descripcioun of the welle here,
Ne eek the sothe of this matere,
As ye shulle, whan I have undo
The craft that hir bilongeth to.
Alway me lyked for to dwelle, 1635
To seen the cristal in the welle,
That shewed me ful openly
A thousand thinges faste by.
But I may saye, in sory houre
Stood I to loken or to poure; 1640
For sithen [have] I sore syked,
That mirour hath me now entryked.

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Sema ici d'Amors la graine
Qui toute a cainte la fontaine;
Et fist ses las environ tendre,
Et ses engins i mist por prendre 1600
Damoiseles et Damoisiaus;
Qu'Amors ne velt autres oisiaus.
Por la graine qui fu semee,
Fu cele fontaine clamee
La Fontaine d'Amors par droit,
Dont plusors ont en maint endroit
Parle, en romans et en livre;
Mais james n'orrez miex descrivre
La verite de la matere,
Cum ge la vous vodre retrere. 1610
Ades me plot a demorer
A la fontaine, et remirer
Les deus cristaus qui me monstroient
Mil choses qui ilec estoient.
Mes de fort hore m'i mire:
Las! tant en ai puis souspire!
Cis mireors m'a deceu;
Se j'eusse avant cogneu

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But hadde I first knowen in my wit
The vertue and [the] strengthe of it,
I nolde not have mused there; 1645
Me hadde bet ben elles-where;
For in the snare I fel anoon,
That hath bitraisshed many oon.
In thilke mirour saw I tho,
Among a thousand thinges mo, 1650
A ROSER charged ful of roses, THE ROSER.
That with an hegge aboute enclos is.
Tho had I swich lust and envye,
That, for Parys ne for Pavye,
Nolde I have left to goon and see 1655
Ther grettest hepe of roses be.
Whan I was with this rage hent,
That caught hath many a man and shent,
Toward the roser gan I go.
And whan I was not fer therfro, 1660
The savour of the roses swote
Me smoot right to the herte rote,
As I hadde al embawmed [be. ]
And if I ne hadde endouted me
To have ben hated or assailed, 1665
My thankes, wolde I not have failed

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Quex sa force ert et sa vertu,
Ne m'i fusse ja embatu: 1620
Car meintenant ou las chai
Qui meint homme ont pris et trai.
Ou miroer entre mil choses,
Choisi rosiers chargies de roses,
Qui estoient en ung detor
D'une haie clos tout entor:
Adont m'en prist si grant envie,
Que ne laissasse por Pavie,
Ne por Paris, que ge n'alasse
La ou ge vi la greignor masse. 1630
Quant cele rage m'ot si pris,
Dont maint ont este entrepris,
Vers les rosiers tantost me tres;
Et sachies que quant g'en fui pres,
L'oudor des roses savorees
M'entra ens jusques es corees,
Que por noient fusse embasmes:
Se assailli ou mesames

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To pulle a rose of al that route
To beren in myn honde aboute,
And smellen to it wher I wente;
But ever I dredde me to repente, 1670
And lest it greved or for-thoughte
The lord that thilke gardyn wroughte.
Of roses were ther gret woon,
So faire wexe never in roon.
Of knoppes clos, some saw I there, 1675
And some wel beter woxen were;
And some ther been of other moysoun,
That drowe nigh to hir sesoun,
And spedde hem faste for to sprede;
I love wel swiche roses rede; 1680
For brode roses, and open also,
Ben passed in a day or two;
But knoppes wilen fresshe be
Two dayes atte leest, or three.
The knoppes gretly lyked me, 1685
For fairer may ther no man see.
Who-so mighte haven oon of alle,
It oughte him been ful leef withalle.
Mighte I [a] gerlond of hem geten,
For no richesse I wolde it leten. 1690

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Ne cremisse estre, g'en cuillisse,
Au mains une que ge tenisse 1640
En ma main, por l'odor sentir;
Mes paor oi du repentir:
Car il en peust de legier
Peser au seignor du vergier.
Des roses i ot grans monciaus,
Si beles ne vit homs sous ciaus;
Boutons i ot petit et clos,
Et tiex qui sunt ung poi plus gros.
Si en i ot d'autre moison
Qui se traient a lor soison, 1650
Et s'aprestoient d'espanir,
Et cil ne font pas a hair.