No More Learning

For fals lovers mowe al folye
Seyn, what hem lust, withouten drede,
They be so double in hir falshede; 2540
For they in herte cunne thenke a thing
And seyn another, in hir speking.
And whan thy speche is endid al,
Right thus to thee it shal bifal;
If any word than come to minde, 2545
That thou to seye hast left bihinde,
Than thou shalt brenne in greet martyr;
For thou shalt brenne as any fyr.
This is the stryf and eke the affray,
And the batail that lastith ay. 2550
This bargeyn ende may never take,
But-if that she thy pees wil make.
'And whan the night is comen, anon
A thousand angres shal come upon.
To bedde as fast thou wolt thee dight, 2555
Where thou shalt have but smal delyt;
For whan thou wenest for to slepe,
So ful of peyne shalt thou crepe,
Sterte in thy bedde aboute ful wyde,
And turne ful ofte on every syde; 2560
Now dounward groffe, and now upright,
And walowe in wo the longe night,
Thyne armis shalt thou sprede a-brede,
As man in werre were forwerreyd.
Than shal thee come a remembraunce 2565
Of hir shape and hir semblaunce,
Wherto non other may be pere.
And wite thou wel, withoute were,
That thee shal [seme], somtyme that night,
That thou hast hir, that is so bright, 2570
Naked bitwene thyn armes there,
Al sothfastnesse as though it were.
Thou shalt make castels than in Spayne,
And dreme of Ioye, al but in vayne,
And thee delyten of right nought, 2575
Whyl thou so slomrest in that thought,
That is so swete and delitable,
The which, in soth, nis but a fable,
For it ne shal no whyle laste.
Than shalt thou sighe and wepe faste, 2580
And say, "Dere god, what thing is this?
My dreme is turned al amis,
Which was ful swete and apparent,
But now I wake, it is al shent!
Now yede this mery thought away! 2585
Twenty tymes upon a day
I wolde this thought wolde come ageyn,
For it alleggith wel my peyn.
It makith me ful of Ioyful thought,
It sleeth me, that it lastith noght. 2590
A, lord!
why nil ye me socoure,
The Ioye, I trowe, that I langoure?
The deth I wolde me shulde slo
Whyl I lye in hir armes two.
Myn harm is hard, withouten wene, 2595
My greet unese ful ofte I mene.
But wolde Love do so I might
Have fully Ioye of hir so bright,
My peyne were quit me richely.
Allas, to greet a thing aske I! 2600
It is but foly, and wrong wening,
To aske so outrageous a thing.
And who-so askith folily,
He moot be warned hastily;
And I ne wot what I may say, 2605
I am so fer out of the way;
For I wolde have ful gret lyking
And ful gret Ioye of lasse thing.
For wolde she, of hir gentilnesse,
Withouten more, me onis kesse, 2610
It were to me a greet guerdoun,
Relees of al my passioun.
But it is hard to come therto;
Al is but foly that I do,
So high I have myn herte set, 2615
Where I may no comfort get.
I noot wher I sey wel or nought;
But this I wot wel in my thought,
That it were bet of hir aloon,
For to stinte my wo and moon, 2620
A loke on [me] y-cast goodly,
[Than] for to have, al utterly,
Of another al hool the pley.
A! lord! wher I shal byde the day
That ever she shal my lady be? 2625
He is ful cured that may hir see.
A! god!