No More Learning

D'un samit portret a oysiaus,
Qui ere tout a or batus,
Fu ses cors richement vestus.
Moult iert sa robe desguisee,
Et fu moult riche et encisee,
Et decopee par cointise;
Chaucies refu par grant mestrise 830
D'uns solers decopes a las;
Par druerie et par solas
Li ot s'amie fet chapel
De roses qui moult li sist bel.

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And wite ye who was his leef?
Dame GLADNES ther was him so leef, GLADNESSE.
That singeth so wel with glad corage,
That from she was twelve yeer of age, 850
She of hir love graunt him made.
Sir Mirthe hir by the finger hadde
[In] daunsing, and she him also;
Gret love was atwixe hem two.
Bothe were they faire and brighte of hewe; 855
She semede lyk a rose newe
Of colour, and hir flesh so tendre,
That with a brere smale and slendre
Men mighte it cleve, I dar wel sayn.
Hir forheed, frounceles al playn. 860
Bente were hir browes two,
Hir yen greye, and gladde also,
That laughede ay in hir semblaunt,
First or the mouth, by covenaunt.
I not what of hir nose descryve; 865
So fair hath no womman alyve. . . .
Hir heer was yelowe, and cleer shyning,
I wot no lady so lyking.

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Saves-vous qui estoit s'amie?
Leesce qui nel' haoit mie,
L'envoisie, la bien chantans,
Qui des lors qu'el n'ot que sept ans
De s'amor li donna l'otroi;
Deduit la tint parmi le doi 840
A la karole, et ele lui,
Bien s'entr'amoient ambedui:
Car il iert biaus, et ele bele,
Bien resembloit rose novele
De sa color. S'ot la char tendre,
Qu'en la li peust toute fendre
A une petitete ronce.
Le front ot blanc, poli, sans fronce,
Les sorcis bruns et enarchies,
Les yex gros et si envoisies, 850
Qu'il rioient tousjors avant
Que la bouchete par convant.
Je ne vous sai du nes que dire,
L'en nel' feist pas miex de cire.
Ele ot la bouche petitete,
Et por baisier son ami, preste;
Le chief ot blons et reluisant.
Que vous iroie-je disant?
Bele fu et bien atornee;
D'ung fil d'or ere galonnee, 860
S'ot ung chapel d'orfrois tout nuef;
Je qu'en oi veu vint et nuef,

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Of orfrays fresh was hir gerland;
I, whiche seen have a thousand, 870
Saugh never, y-wis, no gerlond yit,
So wel [y]-wrought of silk as it.
And in an over-gilt samyt
Clad she was, by gret delyt,
Of which hir leef a robe werde, 875
The myrier she in herte ferde.
And next hir wente, on hir other syde, CUPIDE.
The god of Love, that can devyde
Love, as him lyketh it [to] be.
But he can cherles daunten, he, 880
And maken folkes pryde fallen.
And he can wel these lordes thrallen,
And ladies putte at lowe degree,
Whan he may hem to proude see.
This God of Love of his fasoun 885
Was lyk no knave, ne quistroun;
His beautee gretly was to pryse.
But of his robe to devyse
I drede encombred for to be.
For nought y-clad in silk was he, 890
But al in floures and flourettes,
Y-painted al with amorettes;

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A nul jor mes veu n'avoie
Chapel si bien ouvre de soie.
D'un samit qui ert tous dores
Fu ses cors richement pares,
De quoi son ami avoit robe,
Si en estoit asses plus gobe.