DIALOGUE BETWEEN GRAUNDE AMOURE AND LA PUCEL.
[From Cantos xviii, and xix.]
O swete lady, the good perfect starre
Of my true hart, take ye nowe pitie,
Thinke on my paine, whiche am tofore you here,
With your swete eyes beholde you and se,
Howe thought and wo, by great extremitie
Hath chaunged my hue into pale and wanne.
It was not so when I to loue began.
So me thinke, it dothe right well appeare
By your coloure, that loue hath done you wo,—
Your heuy countenaunce, and your doleful cheare,-
Hath loue suche might, for to aray you so
In so short space? I maruell muche also
That you woulde loue me, so sure in certayne
Before ye knew that I woulde loue agayne.
My good deare hart, it is no maruaile why;
Your beauty cleare and louely lokes swete,
My hart did perce with loue so sodainely,
At the firste time, that I did you mete
In the olde temple, when I did you grete.
O lady deare, that pers'd me to the root;
O floure of comfort, all my heale and boote1.
Your wo and paine, and all your languishyng
Continually, ye shall not spende in vayne,
Sithe I am cause of your great mournyng.
Nothinge exile you shall I by disdaine,
Your hart and mine shall neuer part in twaine,
1 For these two lines the Ed. of 1555 reads:
Your beaute my herte so surely assayde
That syth that tyme it hath to you obayde.
Thoughe at the first I wouldne not condescende,
It was for feare ye did some yll entende.
With thought of yll my minde was neuer mixt
To you, madame, but always cleare and pure
Bothe daye and nyght, vpon you whole perfixt
Put I my minde, yet durst nothing discure
Howe for your sake I did such wo endure,
Till nowe this houre with dredfull hart so faint,
To you, swete hart, I haue made my complaint.
Pucel.
I demed oft you loued me before;
By your demenoure I did it espye,
And in my minde I judged euermore
That at the last ye woulde full secretely
Tell me your minde, of loue right gentilly:
All ye haue done so my mercy to craue
In all worship, you shall my true loue haue.
O gemme of vertue, and lady excellent
Aboue all other in beauteous goodlines,
O eyen bright as starre refulgent,
O profounde cause of all my sickenes,
Nowe all my joye and all my gladnes,
Wouldne God that we were joyned in one
In mariage, before this daye were gone.
AMOURE LAMENTS THE ABSENCE OF LA BELLE PUCEL. [From Canto xx.]
Then agayne I went to the tower melodious
Of good dame Musicke, my leaue for to take;
And priuely with these wordes dolorous
I saied; O tower, thou maiest well aslake
Suche melody nowe; in the more to make
The gemme is gone of all famous port
That was chefe cause of the great comfort.
Whilome thou was the faire tower of light,
But nowe thou art replete with darkenes,
She is nowe gone, that shone in the so bright
Thow wast sometime the tower of gladnes,
Now maist thou be the tower of heauines,
For the chefe is gone of all thy melody,
Whose beauty cleare made most swete armony.
The faire carbuncle, so full of clearenes,
That in the truely did most purely shine,
The pearle of pitie, replete with swetenes,
The gentle gillofloure, the goodly columbine,
The redolent plante of the dulcet vyne,
The dede aromatike may no more encense,
For she is so farre out of thy presence.
Ah, ah! truely, in the time so past
Mine errande was, the often for to se;
Nowe for to enter I may be agast
When thou art hence, the starre of beauty,
For all my delite was to beholde the:
Ah Tower, Tower! all my ioye is gone;
In me to enter comfort there is none.
So then inwardly my selfe bewaylyng
In the tower I went, into the habitacle
Of dame Musicke, where she was singyng
The ballades swete, in her fayre tabernacle ;
Alas, thought I, this is no spectacle
To fede mine eyen, whiche are nowe all blynde,
She is not here, that I was wont to finde.
Then of dame Musicke, with all lowlines,
I did take my leaue, withouten tariyng;
She thanked me with all her mekenes.
And all alone, forthe I went musyng:
Ah, ah, quoth I, my loue and likyng
Is none faire hence, on whom my whole delite
Daiely was set vpon her to haue sight.
Farewell, swete harte, farewell, farewel, farewel,
Adieu, adieu, I wouldne I were you by;
God geue me grace with you sone to dwell
Like as I did for to se you dayly;
Your lowly cheare and gentle company
Reioysed my hart with fode most delicate,
Mine eyen to se you were insaciate.
THE CHARACTER OF A TRUE KNIGHT.
For knyghthode is not in the feates of warre
As for to fight in quarrell ryght or wrong,
But in a cause which trouthe can not defarre.
He ought himselfe for to make sure and strong
Justice to kepe, myxt with mercy among,
And no quarell a knyght ought to take
But for a trouthe, or for a womman's sake.
For first good hope his legge harneyes shoulde be, His habergion, of perfect ryghteousnes
Gyrde fast wyth the girdle of chastitie.
His riche placarde shoulde be good busines
Brodred with almes so full of larges;
The helmet, mekenes, and the shelde, good fayeth,
His swerde God's word, as Saynt Paule sayeth.
Also true wydowes, he ought to restore
Unto their ryght, for to attayne their dower;
And to vpholde, and maytayne euermore
The wealth of maydens, wyth his myhty power,
And to his souerayne at euery maner hower
To be ready, true, and eke obeysaunt,
In stable loue fyxte, and not variaunt.
DESCRIPTION OF LA BELLE PUCEL.
The flower of comfort, the starre of vertue cleare,
Whose beauty bryght into my hart did passe,
Like as fayre Phebus dothe shyne in the glasse.
So was my harte by the stroke of loue
With sorowe persed and with mortall payne,
That vnneth I myght from the place remoue
Where as I stode, I was so take certayne.
Yet vp I loked to se her agayne,
And at aduenture, with a sory mode
Up then I went, where as her person stode.
And first of all, my harte gan to learne
Right well to regester in remembraunce
Howe that her beauty I might then decerne
From toppe to tooe endued with pleasaunce,
Whiche I shall shewe withouten variaunce;
Her shining heere so properly she dresses
Aloft her forheade with fayre golden tresses.
Her forheade stepe, with fayre browes ybent,
Her eyen gray, her nose straight and fayre.
In her white chekes the faire blonde it went
As among the wite the redde to repayre;
Her mouthe right small, her breathe swete of ayre;
Her lippes soft and ruddy as a rose;
No hart alive but it woulde him appose.
With a little pitte in her well fauoured chynne,
Her necke long, as white as any lillye,
With vaynes blewe in which the bloude ranne in,
Her pappes rounde, and therto right pretye;
Her armes slender, and of goodly bodye,
Her fingers small and therto right long,
White as the milke, with blewe vaynes among,
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