No More Learning

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'Bet? ne no wight so wel! ' quod he. 1045
I trowe hit, sir,' quod I, 'parde! '
Nay, leve hit wel! ' 'Sir, so do I;
I leve yow wel, that trewely
Yow thoghte, that she was the beste,
And to beholde the alderfaireste, 1050
Who so had loked with your eyen. '
'With myn? nay, alle that hir seyen
Seyde, and sworen hit was so.
And thogh they ne hadde, I wolde tho
Have loved best my lady fre, 1055
Thogh I had had al the beautee
That ever had Alcipyades,
And al the strengthe of Ercules,
And therto had the worthinesse
Of Alisaundre, and al the richesse 1060
That ever was in Babiloyne,
In Cartage, or in Macedoyne,
Or in Rome, or in Ninive;
And therto al-so hardy be
As was Ector, so have I Ioye, 1065
That Achilles slow at Troye--
And therfor was he slayn also
In a temple, for bothe two
Were slayn, he and Antilegius,
And so seyth Dares Frigius, 1070
For love of [hir] Polixena--
Or ben as wys as Minerva,
I wolde ever, withoute drede,
Have loved hir, for I moste nede!
"Nede! " nay, I gabbe now, 1075
Noght "nede," and I wol telle how,
For of good wille myn herte hit wolde,
And eek to love hir I was holde
As for the fairest and the beste.
'She was as good, so have I reste, 1080
As ever was Penelope of Grece,
Or as the noble wyf Lucrece,
That was the beste--he telleth thus,
The Romain Tytus Livius--
She was as good, and no-thing lyke, 1085
Thogh hir stories be autentyke;
Algate she was as trewe as she.
'But wherfor that I telle thee
Whan I first my lady sey?
I was right yong, [the] sooth to sey, 1090
And ful gret need I hadde to lerne;
Whan my herte wolde yerne
To love, it was a greet empryse.
But as my wit coude best suffyse,
After my yonge childly wit, 1095
Withoute drede, I besette hit
To love hir in my beste wyse,
To do hir worship and servyse
That I tho coude, by my trouthe,
Withoute feyning outher slouthe; 1100
For wonder fayn I wolde hir see.
So mochel hit amended me,
That, whan I saw hir first a-morwe,
I was warished of al my sorwe
Of al day after, til hit were eve; 1105
Me thoghte no-thing mighte me greve,
Were my sorwes never so smerte.
And yit she sit so in myn herte,
That, by my trouthe, I nolde noght,
For al this worlde, out of my thoght 1110
Leve my lady; no, trewly! '
'Now, by my trouthe, sir,' quod I,
Me thinketh ye have such a chaunce
As shrift withoute repentaunce. '
'Repentaunce! nay fy,' quod he; 1115
Shulde I now repente me
To love? nay, certes, than were I wel
Wers than was Achitofel,
Or Anthenor, so have I Ioye,
The traytour that betraysed Troye, 1120
Or the false Genelon,
He that purchased the treson
Of Rowland and of Olivere.
Nay, whyl I am a-lyve here
I nil foryete hir never-mo. ' 1125
'Now, goode sir,' quod I [right] tho,
Ye han wel told me her-before.
It is no need reherse hit more
How ye sawe hir first, and where;
But wolde ye telle me the manere, 1130
To hir which was your firste speche--
Therof I wolde yow be-seche--
And how she knewe first your thoght,
Whether ye loved hir or noght,
And telleth me eek what ye have lore; 1135
I herde yow telle her-before. '
'Ye,' seyde he, 'thou nost what thou menest;
I have lost more than thou wenest. '
'What los is that, [sir]? ' quod I tho;
'Nil she not love yow? is hit so? 1140
Or have ye oght [y-]doon amis,
That she hath left yow? is hit this?
For goddes love, tel me al.