No More Learning

For certeynly no suche [a] beeste
To be loved is not worthy,
Or bere the name of druery.
Noon shulde hir please, but he were wood, 5065
That wol dispoile him of his good.
Yit nevertheles, I wol not sey
[But] she, for solace and for pley,
May a Iewel or other thing
Take of her loves free yeving; 5070
But that she aske it in no wyse,
For drede of shame of coveityse.
And she of hirs may him, certeyn,
Withoute sclaundre, yeven ageyn,
And ioyne her hertes togidre so 5075
In love, and take and yeve also.
Trowe not that I wolde hem twinne,
Whan in her love ther is no sinne;
I wol that they togedre go,
And doon al that they han ado, 5080
As curteis shulde and debonaire,
And in her love beren hem faire,
Withoute vyce, bothe he and she;
So that alwey, in honestee,
Fro foly love [they] kepe hem clere 5085
That brenneth hertis with his fere;
And that her love, in any wyse,
Be devoid of coveityse.
Good love shulde engendrid be
Of trewe herte, iust, and secree, 5090
And not of such as sette her thought
To have her lust, and ellis nought,
So are they caught in Loves lace,
Truly, for bodily solace.
Fleshly delyt is so present 5095
With thee, that sette al thyn entent,
Withoute more (what shulde I glose? )
For to gete and have the Rose;
Which makith thee so mate and wood
That thou desirest noon other good. 5100
But thou art not an inche the nerre,
But ever abydest in sorwe and werre,
As in thy face it is sene;
It makith thee bothe pale and lene;
Thy might, thy vertu goth away. 5105
A sory gest, in goode fay,
Thou [herberedest than] in thyn inne,
The God of Love whan thou let inne!
Wherfore I rede, thou shette him out,
Or he shal greve thee, out of doute; 5110
For to thy profit it wol turne,
If he nomore with thee soiourne.
In gret mischeef and sorwe sonken
Ben hertis, that of love arn dronken,
As thou peraventure knowen shal, 5115
Whan thou hast lost [thy] tyme al,
And spent [thy youthe] in ydilnesse,
In waste, and woful lustinesse;
If thou maist live the tyme to see
Of love for to delivered be, 5120
Thy tyme thou shall biwepe sore
The whiche never thou maist restore.
(For tyme lost, as men may see,
For no-thing may recured be).
And if thou scape yit, atte laste, 5125
Fro Love, that hath thee so faste
Knit and bounden in his lace,
Certeyn, I holde it but a grace.
For many oon, as it is seyn,
Have lost, and spent also in veyn, 5130
In his servyse, withoute socour,
Body and soule, good, and tresour,
Wit, and strengthe, and eek richesse,
Of which they hadde never redresse.
'
Thus taught and preched hath Resoun, 5135
But Love spilte hir sermoun,
That was so imped in my thought,
That hir doctrine I sette at nought.
And yit ne seide she never a dele,
That I ne understode it wele, 5140
Word by word, the mater al.
But unto Love I was so thral,
Which callith over-al his pray,
He chasith so my thought [alway],
And holdith myn herte undir his sele, 5145
As trust and trew as any stele;
So that no devocioun
Ne hadde I in the sermoun
Of dame Resoun, ne of hir rede;
It toke no soiour in myn hede. 5150
For alle yede out at oon ere
That in that other she dide lere;
Fully on me she lost hir lore,
Hir speche me greved wondir sore.
[Than] unto hir for ire I seide, 5155
For anger, as I dide abraide:
Dame, and is it your wille algate,
That I not love, but that I hate
Alle men, as ye me teche?
For if I do aftir your speche, 5160
Sith that ye seyn love is not good,
Than must I nedis say with mood,
If I it leve, in hatrede ay
Liven, and voide love away
From me, [and been] a sinful wrecche, 5165
Hated of all that [love that] tecche.
I may not go noon other gate,
For either must I love or hate.
And if I hate men of-newe
More than love, it wol me rewe, 5170
As by your preching semeth me,
For Love no-thing ne preisith thee.
Ye yeve good counseil, sikirly,
That prechith me al-day, that I
Shulde not Loves lore alowe; 5175
He were a fool, wolde you not trowe!
In speche also ye han me taught
Another love, that knowen is naught,
Which I have herd you not repreve,
To love ech other; by your leve, 5180
If ye wolde diffyne it me,
I wolde gladly here, to see,
At the leest, if I may lere
Of sondry loves the manere. '
_Raison. _ 'Certis, freend, a fool art thou 5185
Whan that thou no-thing wolt allowe
That I [thee] for thy profit say.
Yit wol I sey thee more, in fay;
For I am redy, at the leste,
To accomplisshe thy requeste, 5190
But I not wher it wol avayle;
In veyne, perauntre, I shal travayle.
Love ther is in sondry wyse,
As I shal thee here devyse.
For som love leful is and good; 5195
I mene not that which makith thee wood,
And bringith thee in many a fit,
And ravisshith fro thee al thy wit,
It is so merveilous and queynt;
With such love be no more aqueynt. 5200

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