For in this worlde nis creature 325
Wakinge, in more discomfiture
Then I, ne more sorow endure;
And if I slepe a furlong wey or tweye,
Than thinketh me, that your figure
Before me stant, clad in asure, 330
To profren eft a newe assure
For to be trewe, and mercy me to preye.
Wakinge, in more discomfiture
Then I, ne more sorow endure;
And if I slepe a furlong wey or tweye,
Than thinketh me, that your figure
Before me stant, clad in asure, 330
To profren eft a newe assure
For to be trewe, and mercy me to preye.
Chaucer - Romuant of the Rose
rather deth then do so foul a dede, 300
And axe mercy gilteles! what nede?
And if I pleyne what lyf that I lede,
Yow rekketh not; that know I, out of drede;
And if I unto yow myn othes bede
For myn excuse, a scorn shal be my mede; 305
Your chere floureth, but hit wol not sede;
Ful longe agoon I oghte have take hede.
4. For thogh I hadde yow to-morow ageyn,
I might as wel holde Averill fro reyn,
As holde yow, to make yow stedfast. 310
Almighty god, of trouthe sovereyn,
Wher is the trouthe of man? who hath hit sleyn?
Who that hem loveth shal hem fynde as fast
As in a tempest is a roten mast.
Is that a tame best that is ay feyn 315
To renne away, when he is leest agast?
5. Now mercy, swete, if I misseye,
Have I seyd oght amis, I preye?
I not; my wit is al aweye.
I fare as doth the song of _Chaunte-pleure_. 320
For now I pleyne, and now I pleye,
I am so mased that I deye,
Arcite hath born awey the keye
Of al my worlde, and my good aventure!
?
For in this worlde nis creature 325
Wakinge, in more discomfiture
Then I, ne more sorow endure;
And if I slepe a furlong wey or tweye,
Than thinketh me, that your figure
Before me stant, clad in asure, 330
To profren eft a newe assure
For to be trewe, and mercy me to preye.
6. The longe night this wonder sight I drye,
And on the day for this afray I dye,
And of al this right noght, y-wis, ye recche. 335
Ne never mo myn yen two be drye,
And to your routhe and to your trouthe I crye.
But welawey! to fer be they to fecche;
Thus holdeth me my destinee a wrecche.
But me to rede out of this drede or gye 340
Ne may my wit, so weyk is hit, not strecche.
_Conclusion. _
Than ende I thus, sith I may do no more,
I yeve hit up for now and ever-more;
For I shal never eft putten in balaunce
My sekernes, ne lerne of love the lore. 345
But as the swan, I have herd seyd ful yore,
Ayeins his deth shal singe in his penaunce,
So singe I here my destiny or chaunce,
How that Arcite Anelida so sore
Hath thirled with the poynt of remembraunce! 350
_The story continued. _
Whan that Anelida this woful quene
Hath of hir hande writen in this wyse,
With face deed, betwixe pale and grene,
She fel a-swowe; and sith she gan to ryse,
And unto Mars avoweth sacrifyse 355
With-in the temple, with a sorowful chere,
That shapen was as ye shal after here. 357
(_Unfinished.
And axe mercy gilteles! what nede?
And if I pleyne what lyf that I lede,
Yow rekketh not; that know I, out of drede;
And if I unto yow myn othes bede
For myn excuse, a scorn shal be my mede; 305
Your chere floureth, but hit wol not sede;
Ful longe agoon I oghte have take hede.
4. For thogh I hadde yow to-morow ageyn,
I might as wel holde Averill fro reyn,
As holde yow, to make yow stedfast. 310
Almighty god, of trouthe sovereyn,
Wher is the trouthe of man? who hath hit sleyn?
Who that hem loveth shal hem fynde as fast
As in a tempest is a roten mast.
Is that a tame best that is ay feyn 315
To renne away, when he is leest agast?
5. Now mercy, swete, if I misseye,
Have I seyd oght amis, I preye?
I not; my wit is al aweye.
I fare as doth the song of _Chaunte-pleure_. 320
For now I pleyne, and now I pleye,
I am so mased that I deye,
Arcite hath born awey the keye
Of al my worlde, and my good aventure!
?
For in this worlde nis creature 325
Wakinge, in more discomfiture
Then I, ne more sorow endure;
And if I slepe a furlong wey or tweye,
Than thinketh me, that your figure
Before me stant, clad in asure, 330
To profren eft a newe assure
For to be trewe, and mercy me to preye.
6. The longe night this wonder sight I drye,
And on the day for this afray I dye,
And of al this right noght, y-wis, ye recche. 335
Ne never mo myn yen two be drye,
And to your routhe and to your trouthe I crye.
But welawey! to fer be they to fecche;
Thus holdeth me my destinee a wrecche.
But me to rede out of this drede or gye 340
Ne may my wit, so weyk is hit, not strecche.
_Conclusion. _
Than ende I thus, sith I may do no more,
I yeve hit up for now and ever-more;
For I shal never eft putten in balaunce
My sekernes, ne lerne of love the lore. 345
But as the swan, I have herd seyd ful yore,
Ayeins his deth shal singe in his penaunce,
So singe I here my destiny or chaunce,
How that Arcite Anelida so sore
Hath thirled with the poynt of remembraunce! 350
_The story continued. _
Whan that Anelida this woful quene
Hath of hir hande writen in this wyse,
With face deed, betwixe pale and grene,
She fel a-swowe; and sith she gan to ryse,
And unto Mars avoweth sacrifyse 355
With-in the temple, with a sorowful chere,
That shapen was as ye shal after here. 357
(_Unfinished.
