Wherfore, me thynketh, if that we hadde grace, We oughten honour women in every place.
Therfore I rede that, to our lyves ende,
Fro this tyme forth, while that we have space, 170 That we have trespaced, pursue to amende, Prayeng our Lady, wel of alle grace,
To bringe us unto that blysful place,
There as she and alle goode women shal be infere In heven above, amonge the angels clere.
THE COMPLEYNTE OF THE DETHE
HOW PITÉ IS DEDE AND BURIED IN A GENTLE HERTE.
ITÉ, that I have sought so yore agoo
With herte soore, and ful of besy
That in this worlde was never wight
Withoute the dethe; and yf I shal not feyne,
My purpose was of Pitee for to pleyne,
And eke upon the crueltee and tirannye
Of Love, that for my trouthe doth me dye.
And when that I be lengthe of certeyne yeres
Had, evere in oon, soughte a tyme to speke,
To Pitee ran I, al bespreynte with teres,
To prayen hir on Cruelté me wreke;
But er I myghte with any worde out breke,
Or tellen any of my peynes smerte,
I fonde hir dede and buried in an herte.
And doune I fel when that I saugh the herse
Dede as stone while that the swogh laste;
But up I roose with coloure wel dyverse,
And pitously on hir myn eyen I caste,
And ner the corps I came to pressen faste,
And for the soule I shope me for to preye;
I was but lorne, ther was no more to seye.
Thus am I slayne sith that Pité is dede ;
Allas, the day that ever hyt shulde falle!
What maner man dar now hold up his hede?
To whom shal now any sorwful herte calle?
Now Cruelté hath caste to slee us alle
In ydel hope we lyve redelesse of peyne;
Sith she is dede, to whom shulde we compleyne?
But yet encreseth me this wonder newe,
That no wight woot that she is dede but I,
So mony men as in her tyme hir knewe;
And yit she dyede not so sodeynly;
For I have sought hir ever ful besely,
Sith I hadde firste witte or mannes mynde;
But she was dede er that I koude hir fynde.
Aboute hir herse there stoden lustely
Withouten any woo, as thoughte me,
Bounté, parfyte wel araied and richely,
And fressh Beauté, Lust, and Jolyté,
Assured-maner, Youthe, and Honesté,
Wisdome, Estaat, Drede, and Governance
Confedred bothe by honde and alliance.
A compleynt had I writen in myn honde,
To have put to Pittee, as a bille,
But when I al this companye ther fonde,
That rather wolde al my cause spille
Then do me helpe, I helde my compleynt stille;
For to that folke, withouten ony fayle,
Withoute Pitee ther ne may no bille availe.
Then leve we alle vertues, save oonly Pité,
Kepynge the corps as ye have herde me seyn,
Confedered by bonde and by Cruelté,
And ben assented when I shal be sleyn.
And I have put my complaynt up ageyn,
For to my foes my bille I dar not shewe,
Theffect of which seith thus in wordes fewe.
THE COMPLEYNT IN THE BILLE
'Humblest of herte, higheste of reverence,
Benygne flour, coroune of vertues alle!
Sheweth unto youre rialle excellence
Youre servaunt, yf I durste me so calle,
His mortal harme, in which he is i-falle,
And noght al oonly for his evel fare,
But for your renoun, as I shal declare.
'Hit stondeth thus :-your contrary Crueltee
Allyed is ayenst your regaltye
Under colour of womanly beauté,
(For men shulde not know hir tirannye) With Bountee, Gentilesse, and Curtesye, And hath depryved yow nowe of your place,
That is hygh beauté, appartenent to your grace. 70
For kyndely, by youre herytage and ryght
Ye be annexed ever unto Bounté,
And verrely ye oughte do youre myght.
To helpe Trouthe in his adversyté;
Ye be also the corowne of beauté ;
And certes, yf ye wanten in these tweyn
The worlde is lore, ther is no more to seyn.
'Eke what availeth maner or gentilesse
Withoute yow, benygne creature?
Shal Cruelté be now youre governeresse?
Allas, what herte may hyt longe endure?
Wherfore but ye the rather taken cure
To breke that perilouse allyaunce,
Ye sleen hem that ben of your obeisaunce.
And furtherover, if ye suffre this,
Youre renoun is fordoon then in a throwe,
Ther shal no man wete welle what pité is.
Allas, that ever your renoun is falle so lowe!
Ye be also fro youre heritage ythrowe
By Cruelté, that occupieth youre place,
And we despeyred that seken to youre grace.
'Have mercy on me, thow hevenes quene,
That yow have sought so tendirly and yore,
Let somme streme of youre light on me be sene,
That love and drede yow ever lenger more;
For sothely for to seyne, I bere so sore,
And though I bee not kunnynge for to pleyne,
For Goddis love have mercy on my peyne.
6. My peyne is this, that what so I desire,
That have I not, ne nothing lyke therto;
And ever setteth Desire myn hert on fyre
Eke on that other syde, where-so I goo.
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