No More Learning

80
Moult a dur cuer qui en Mai n'aime,

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Whan he may on these braunches here
The smale briddes singen clere
Hir blisful swete song pitous;
And in this sesoun delytous, 90
Whan love affrayeth alle thing,
Me thoughte a-night, in my sleping,
Right in my bed, ful redily,
That it was by the morowe erly,
And up I roos, and gan me clothe; 95
Anoon I wissh myn hondes bothe;
A sylvre nedle forth I drogh
Out of an aguiler queynt y-nogh,
And gan this nedle threde anon;
For out of toun me list to gon 100
The sowne of briddes for to here,
That on thise busshes singen clere.
And in the swete sesoun that leef is,
With a threde basting my slevis,
Aloon I wente in my playing, 105
The smale foules song harkning;
That peyned hem ful many a payre
To singe on bowes blosmed fayre.
Iolif and gay, ful of gladnesse,

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Quant il ot chanter sus la raime
As oisiaus les dous chans piteus.
En iceli tens deliteus,
Que tote riens d'amer s'effroie,
Sonjai une nuit que j'estoie,
Ce m'iert avis en mon dormant,
Qu'il estoit matin durement;
De mon lit tantost me levai,
Chaucai moi et mes mains lavai. 90
Lors trais une aguille d'argent
D'un aguiller mignot et gent,
Si pris l'aguille a enfiler.
Hors de vile oi talent d'aler,
Por oir des oisiaus les sons
Qui chantoient par ces boissons.
En icele saison novele,
Cousant mes manches a videle,
M'en alai tot seus esbatant,
Et les oiseles escoutant, 100
Qui de chanter moult s'engoissoient
Par ces vergiers qui florissoient.
Jolis, gais et plains de leesce,

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Toward a river I gan me dresse, 110
That I herde renne faste by;
For fairer playing non saugh I
Than playen me by that riveer,
For from an hille that stood ther neer,
Cam doun the streem ful stif and bold. 115
Cleer was the water, and as cold
As any welle is, sooth to seyne;
And somdel lasse it was than Seine,
But it was straighter wel away.
And never saugh I, er that day, 120
The water that so wel lyked me;
And wonder glad was I to see
That lusty place, and that riveer;
And with that water that ran so cleer
My face I wissh. Tho saugh I wel 125
The botme paved everydel
With gravel, ful of stones shene.
The medewe softe, swote, and grene,
Beet right on the water-syde.
Ful cleer was than the morow-tyde, 130
And ful attempre, out of drede.
Tho gan I walke through the mede,
Dounward ay in my pleying,

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Vers une riviere m'adresce.
Que j'oi pres d'ilecques bruire;
Car ne me soi aillors deduire
Plus bel que sus cele riviere.
D'ung tertre qui pres d'iluec iere
Descendoit l'iaue grant et roide,
Clere, bruiant, et aussi froide 110
Comme puiz, ou comme fontaine,
Et estoit poi mendre de Saine,
Mes qu'ele iere plus espandue.
Onques mes n'avoie veue
Cele iaue qui si bien coroit:
Moult m'abelissoit et seoit
A regarder le leu plaisant.
De l'iaue clere et reluisant
Mon vis rafreschi et lave.
Si vi tot covert et pave 120
Le fons de l'iaue de gravele;
La praerie grant et bele
Tres au pie de l'iaue batoit.
Clere et serie et bele estoit
La matinee et atrempee;
Lors m'en alai parmi la pree
Contre val l'iaue esbanoiant,

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The river-syde costeying.
And whan I had a whyle goon, 135
I saugh a GARDIN right anoon, THE GARDEN.
Ful long and brood, and everydel
Enclos it was, and walled wel,
With hye walles enbatailled,
Portrayed without, and wel entailled 140
With many riche portraitures;
And bothe images and peyntures
Gan I biholde bisily.
And I wol telle you, redily,
Of thilke images the semblaunce, 145
As fer as I have remembraunce.
A-midde saugh I HATE stonde, HATE.
That for hir wrathe, ire, and onde,
Semed to been a moveresse,
An angry wight, a chideresse; 150
And ful of gyle, and fel corage,
By semblaunt was that ilke image.
And she was no-thing wel arrayed,
But lyk a wood womman afrayed;
Y-frounced foule was hir visage, 155
And grenning for dispitous rage;
Hir nose snorted up for tene.

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Tot le rivage costoiant.
Quant j'oi ung poi avant ale,
Si vi ung vergier grant et le, 130
Tot clos d'ung haut mur bataillie,
Portrait defors et entaillie
A maintes riches escritures.
Les ymages et les paintures
Ai moult volentiers remire:
Si vous contere et dire
De ces ymages la semblance,
Si cum moi vient a remembrance.
Ens ou milieu je vi HAINE HAINE.
Qui de corrous et d'ataine 140
Sembloit bien estre moverresse,
Et correceuse et tencerresse,
Et plaine de grant cuvertage
Estoit par semblant cele ymage.