No More Learning

THE COMPLEYNT OF MARS.

_The Proem. _

Gladeth, ye foules, of the morow gray,
Lo! Venus risen among yon rowes rede!
And floures fresshe, honoureth ye this day;
For when the sonne uprist, then wol ye sprede.
But ye lovers, that lye in any drede, 5
Fleeth, lest wikked tonges yow espye;
Lo! yond the sonne, the candel of Ielosye!

With teres blewe, and with a wounded herte
Taketh your leve; and, with seynt Iohn to borow,
Apeseth somwhat of your sorowes smerte, 10
Tyme cometh eft, that cese shal your sorow;
The glade night is worth an hevy morow! '--
(Seynte Valentyne! a foul thus herde I singe
Upon thy day, er sonne gan up-springe). --

Yet sang this foul--'I rede yow al a-wake, 15
And ye, that han not chosen in humble wyse,
Without repenting cheseth yow your make.
And ye, that han ful chosen as I devyse,
Yet at the leste renoveleth your servyse;
Confermeth it perpetuely to dure, 20
And paciently taketh your aventure.

And for the worship of this hye feste,
Yet wol I, in my briddes wyse, singe
The sentence of the compleynt, at the leste,
That woful Mars made atte departinge 35
Fro fresshe Venus in a morweninge,
Whan Phebus, with his fyry torches rede,
Ransaked every lover in his drede.

_The Story. _

?
Whylom the thridde hevenes lord above,
As wel by hevenish revolucioun 30
As by desert, hath wonne Venus his love,
And she hath take him in subieccioun,
And as a maistresse taught him his lessoun,
Comaunding him that never, in hir servyse,
He nere so bold no lover to despyse. 35

For she forbad him Ielosye at alle,
And cruelte, and bost, and tirannye;
She made him at hir lust so humble and talle,
That when hir deyned caste on him her ye,
He took in pacience to live or dye; 40
And thus she brydeleth him in hir manere,
With no-thing but with scourging of hir chere.

Who regneth now in blisse but Venus,
That hath this worthy knight in governaunce?
Who singeth now but Mars, that serveth thus 45
The faire Venus, causer of plesaunce?
He bynt him to perpetual obeisaunce,
And she bynt hir to loven him for ever,
But so be that his trespas hit dissever.

Thus be they knit, and regnen as in heven 50
By loking most; til hit fil, on a tyde,
That by hir bothe assent was set a steven,
That Mars shal entre, as faste as he may glyde,
Into hir nexte paleys, to abyde,
Walking his cours til she had him a-take, 55
And he preyde hir to haste hir for his sake.

Then seyde he thus--"myn hertes lady swete,
Ye knowe wel my mischef in that place;
For sikerly, til that I with yow mete,
My lyf stant ther in aventure and grace; 60
But when I see the beaute of your face,
Ther is no dreed of deth may do me smerte,
For al your lust is ese to myn herte. "

She hath so gret compassion of hir knight,
That dwelleth in solitude til she come; 65
For hit stood so, that ilke tyme, no wight
Counseyled him, ne seyde to him welcome,
That nigh hir wit for wo was overcome;
Wherfore she spedde hir as faste in hir weye,
Almost in oon day, as he dide in tweye. 70

The grete Ioye that was betwix hem two,
Whan they be met, ther may no tunge telle,
Ther is no more, but unto bed they go,
And thus in Ioye and blisse I let hem dwelle;
This worthy Mars, that is of knighthod welle, 75
The flour of fairnes lappeth in his armes,
And Venus kisseth Mars, the god of armes.

Soiourned hath this Mars, of which I rede,
In chambre amid the paleys prively
A certeyn tyme, til him fel a drede, 80
Through Phebus, that was comen hastely
Within the paleys-yates sturdely,
With torche in honde, of which the stremes brighte
On Venus chambre knokkeden ful lighte.

The chambre, ther as lay this fresshe quene, 85
Depeynted was with whyte boles grete,
And by the light she knew, that shoon so shene,
That Phebus cam to brenne hem with his hete;
This sely Venus, dreynt in teres wete,
Enbraceth Mars, and seyde, "alas! I dye! 90
The torch is come, that al this world wol wrye. "

Up sterte Mars, him liste not to slepe,
Whan he his lady herde so compleyne;
But, for his nature was not for to wepe,
In stede of teres, fro his eyen tweyne 95
The fyry sparkes brosten out for peyne;
And hente his hauberk, that lay him besyde;
Flee wolde he not, ne mighte him-selven hyde.

He throweth on his helm of huge wighte,
And girt him with his swerde; and in his honde 100
His mighty spere, as he was wont to fighte,
He shaketh so that almost it to-wonde;
Ful hevy he was to walken over londe;
He may not holde with Venus companye,
But bad hir fleen, lest Phebus hir espye. 105

O woful Mars!