"The which pillers ferre beyond Inde,
Be set of gold for a remembraunce:
And for all that was he set behinde,
With hem that love list feebly avaunce,
For him set last upon a daunce
Against whom helpe may no strife,
For all his trouth he lost his life.

"Phebus also, for his pleasaunt light,
Whan that he went here in earth lowe,
Unto the herte with Venus sight
Ywounded was through Cupides bowe,
And yet his lady list him not to knowe,
Though for her love his herte did blede,
She let him go, and toke of him no hede.

"What shall I say of yonge Piramus ?
Of trewe Tristram, for all his hie renowne,
Of Achilles, or of Antonius,
Of Arcite, or of him Palemoune,
What was the end of hir passioune,
But after sorow death, and then hir grave?
Lo, here the guerdon that these lovers have!

"But false Jason with his doublenesse,
That was untrewe at Colkos to Medee,
And Theseus, roote of unkindnesse,
And with these two eke the false Enee.
Lo, thus the false aye in one degree,
Had in love hir lust and all hir will,
And, save falshood, there was none other skill.

"Of Thebes eke the false Arcite,
And Demophon eke for his slouth,
They had hir lust and all that might delite,
For all hir falshood and great untrouth:
Thus ever Love, alas, and that is routh,
His false lieges forthereth what he may,
And sleeth the trewe ungoodly, day by day.

"For trewe Adon was slaine with the bore,
Amidde the forest in the grene shade,
For Venus love he felt all the sore,
But Vulcanus with her no mercy made,
The foule chorle had many nights glade,
Where Mars her knight and her man,
To find mercy comfort none he can.

"Also the yonge fresh Ipomedes,
So lustly free as of his corage,

That for to serve with all his herte he ches
Athalant, so faire of her visage,
But Love, alas, quite him so his wage
With cruell daunger plainly at the last,
That with the death guerdonlesse he past.

"Lo, here the fine of Loves service,
Lo, how that Love can his servaunts quite,
Lo, how he can his faithfull men dispise,
To slee the trewe men, and false to respite!
Lo, how he doth the swerde of sorow bite
In hertes, soch as most his lust obey,
To save the false and do the trewe dey.
"For faith nor othe, worde ne assuraunce,
Trewe meaning, awaite, or businesse,
Still porte, ne faithfull attendaunce,
Manhood ne might in armes worthinesse,
Pursute of worship nor hie prowesse,
In straunge land riding ne travaile,
Full litell or nought in love doth availe.

"Perill of death, nor in sce ne land,
Hunger ne thrust, sorow ne sicknesse,
Ne great emprises for to take in hand,
Sheding of blood, ne manfull hardinesse,
Ne oft wounding at sautes by distresse,
Nor in parting of life nor death also,
All is for nought, Love taketh no heed thereto.
"But lesings with hir flatterie,

Through hir falshede, and with hir doublenesse,
With tales new, and many fained lie,

By false semblaunt, and counterfeit humblesse,
Under colour depaint with stedfastnesse,
With fraud covered under a pitous face,
Accept be now rathest unto grace:

"And can himselfe now best magnifie
With fained port and presumption,
They haunce hir cause with false surquedrie,
Under meaning of double entention,
To thinke one in hir opinion,

And say another, to set himselfe aloft,
And hinder trouth, as it is seene full oft.

"The which thing I buy now all too deare,
Thanked be Venus and the god Cupide,
As it is seene by mine oppressed cheare,
And by his arrowes that sticken in my side,
That save death I nothing abide,
Fro day to day, alas, the hard while,
Whan ever his dart that him list to file,

"My wofull herte for to rive atwo,
For faut of mercy and lacke of pite
Of her that causeth all my paine and wo,
And list not ones of grace for to see
Unto my trouth through her cruelte;
And most of all I me complaine,
That she hath joy to laugh at my paine;

"And wilfully hath my death sworne,
All guiltlesse, and wote no cause why,
Save for the trouth that I had aforne
To her alone to serve faithfully.
O god of love, unto thee I cry,
And to thy blind double deite,
Of this great wrong I complaine me!
"And unto thy stormy wilfull variaunce,
Ymeint with change and great unstablenesse,
Now up, now doun, so renning is thy chance,
That thee to trust may be no sikernesse,
I wite it nothing but thy doublenesse,
And who that is an archer, and is blend,
Marketh nothing, but shooteth by wend.

"And for that he hath no discretion,
Without advise he let his arrow go,
For lacke of sight, and also of reason,
In his shooting it happeth ofte so,
To hurt his friend rather than his fo,
So doth this god with his sharpe flone,
The trew sleeth, and letteth the false gone.

"And of his wounding this is the worst of all,
Whan he hurt doeth to so cruell wretch,
And maketh the sicke for to cry and call
Unto his foe for to be his leche,
And hard it is for a man to seche
Upon the point of death in jeoperdie,
Unto his foe to find a remedie.

"Thus fareth it now even by me,

That to my foe that gave my herte a wound,
Mote aske grace, mercy, and pite,

And namely there where none may be found,
For now my sore my leche will confound,
And god of kind so hath set mine ure,
My lives foe to have my wound in cure.

"Alas the while, now that I was borne,
Or that I ever saw the bright Sonne!
For now I see that full long aforne,
Or I was borne, my desteny was sponne
By Parcas sisterne, to slee me if they conne,
For they my death shopen or my shert,
Only for trouth, I may it not astert.

"The mighty goddesse, also, of Nature,
That under God hath the governaunce
Of worldly things committed to her cure,
Disposed have through her wise purveiance,
To give my lady so much suffisaunce
Of all vertues, and therewithall purvide
To murder Trouth, hath take Danger to gide.

"For bounte, beaute, shape, and seemelihede,
Prudence, wit, passingly fairenesse,
Benigne port, glad chere, with lowlihede,
Of womanhede right plenteous largenesse,
Nature did in her fully empresse,

Whan she her wrought, and alderlast Disdain,
To hinder Trouth, she made her chamberlain.

"Whan Mistrust also, and False-suspection,
With Misbeleve she made for to be
Cheefe of counsaile to this conclusion,
For to exile Trouth, and cke Pite,
Out of her court to make Mercy flee,
So that dispite now holdeth forth her reigne,
Through hasty bileve of tales that men feigne.

"And thus I am for my trouth, alas,
Murdred and slain with words sharp and kene,
Guiltlesse, God wote, of all trespas,
And lie and blede upon this cold grene,
Now mercy swete, mercy my lives quene,
And to your grace of mercy yet I prey,
In your service that your man may dey.

"But if so be that I shall die algate,
And that I shall none other mercy have,
Yet of my death let this been the date,
That by your wil I was broght to my grave,
Or hastely, if that you list me save,
My sharpe wounds that ake so and blede,
Of mercy charme, and also of womanhede.
"For other charme, plainly, is there none,
But only mercy to helpe in this case,
For though my wounds bleed ever in one,
My life, my death, standeth in your grace,
And though my guilt be nothing, alas,
I aske mercy in all my best entent,
Ready to die, if that ye assent.

"For there against shall I never strive
In word ne werke, plainely I ne may,
For lever I have than to be alive,
To die soothly, and it be to her pay,
Ye, though it be this same day,
Or whan that ever her list to devise,
Suffiseth me to die in your servise.

"And God, that knowest the thought of every wight,
Right as it is, in every thing thou maist see,
Yet ere I die, with all my full might,
Lowly I pray to graunt unto mee,
That ye goodly, faire, fresh, and free,
Which onely sle me for default of routh,
Or that I die, ye may know my trouth.

"For that in sooth sufficeth me,
And she it know in every circumstaunce,
And after I am well paid that she,

If that her list, of death to do vengeaunce
Unto me, that am under her ligeaunce,
It sit me not her doome to disobey,
But at her lust wilfully to dey.

"Without grutching or rebellion
In will or word, holy I assent,
Or any manner contradiction,
Fully to be at her commaundement,
And, if I die, in my testament
My herte I send, and my spirit also,
What so ever she list with hem to do.

"And alderlast, to her womanhede,
And to her mercy me I recommaund,
That lie now here betwixe hope and drede,
Abiding plainly what she list commaund,
For utterly this n'is no demaund
Welcome to me while me lasteth breath,
Right at her choice, where it be life or death.

"In this matter more what might I saine,
Sith in her hand, and in her will is all,
But life and death, my joy, and all my paine,
And finally my best hold I shall,
Till my spirit by desteny fatall,

Whan that her list fro my body wend,

Have here my trouth, and thus I make an end."

And with that word he gan sigh as sore,
Like as his herte rive would atwaine,
And held his peace, and spake no word more,
But for to see his wo and mortal paine,
The teares gonne fro mine eyen raine
Full pitously, for very inward routh,
That I him saw so long wishing for trouth.

And all this while my selfe I kepte close
Among the bowes, and my selfe gonne hide,
Till at the last the wofull man arose,
And to a lodge went there beside,
Where all the May his custome was t'abide,
Sole to complaine of his paines kene,
From yere to yere, under the bowes grene;

And for bicause that it drew to the night,
And that the Sunne his arke diurnal
Ypassed was, so that his persaunt light,
His bright beams and his streams all
Were in the waves of the water fall,
Under the bordure of our occian,
His chaire of gold, his course so swiftly ran :

And while the twilight and the rowes rede
Of Phebus light were deaurate a lite,
A penne I tooke, and gan me fast spede
The wofull plaint of this man to write,
Word by word, as he did endite,
Like as I heard, and coud hem tho report,
I have here set, your hertes to disport.

And ere that thou now go fro us adoun,
For that love thou haddest to Adoun."

And whan she was gone to her rest,
I rose anone, and home to bed went,
Forweary, me thought it for the best,
Praying thus in all my best entent,
That all trew, that be with daunger shent,
With mercy may in release of hir paine,
Recured be, ere May come efte againe.

And for that I ne may no lenger wake,
Farewell ye lovers all that be trew,
Praying to God, and thus my leve I take,
That ere the Sunne to morrow be risen new,
And ere he have ayen rosen hew,
That each of you may have such a grace,
His owne lady in armes to embrace.

I meane thus, in all honesty,

Without more ye may togider speake
What so ye list at good liberty,
That each may to other hir herte breke,
On jelousies onely to be wreke,

That hath so long of his mallice and envy
Werred trouth with his tiranny.

LENVOYE.

Princesse, pleaseth it to your benignitie
This little ditie to have in mind,
Of womanhede also for to see,
Your man may your mercy find,
And pity eke, that long hath be behind,
Let him againe be provoked to grace,
For by my trouth it is against kind
False daunger to occupy his place.

Go little quaire unto my lives queene

And my very hertes soveraine,

And be right glad for she shall thee seene,
Such is thy grace, but I alas, in paine
Am left behind, and n'ot to whom to plaine,
For mercy, ruth, grace, and eke pite
Exiled be, that I may not attaine
Recure to find of mine adversite.