ROUNDEL.

I.

1.

OURE two eyn will sle me sodenly,

I

may the beauté of them not sustene, So wendeth it thorow-out my herte kene.

2.

And but your words will helen hastely
My hertis wound, while that it is grene,
Youre two eyn will sle me sodenly.

3.

liffe and deth the quene,

Upon my trouth I sey yow feithfully,
That
For with my deth the trouth shal be i-sene.

ben of ye

my

Youre two, &c.

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II.

1.

So hath youre beauty fro your herte chased
Pitee, that me navaileth not to pleyne;
For daunger halt your mercy in his cheyne.

2.

Giltless my deth thus have ye purchased;

I sey yow soth, me nedeth not to fayne;
So hath your beauté fro your herte chased, &c.

3.

Alas, that nature hath in yow compassed
So grete beauté, that no man may atteyne
To mercy, though he stewe for the peyne.
So hath youre beauté, &c.

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III.

1.

SYN I fro love escaped am so fat,

I nere thinke to ben in his prison lene;
Syn I am fre, I counte him not a bene.

2.

He may answere, and seye this and that,
I do no fors, I speak ryght as I mene;
Syn I fro love escaped am so fat.

3.

Love hath my i-strike out of his sclat,
And he is strike out of my bokes clene
For ever mo, ther is non other mene.

Syn I fro love escaped, &c.

CHAUCER'S PROPHECY.

WAN prestis faylin in her sawes,
And Lordis turnin Goddis lawes
Ageynis ryght;

And lecherie is holdin as privy solas,

And robberie as fre purchas,

Bewar than of ille!

Than schall the Lond of Albion

Turnin to confusion,

As sumtyme it befelle.

Ora pro Anglia Sancta Maria, quod Thomas
Cantuarie.

Sweete Jhesu heven-king

Fayr and beste of alle thyng

Thou bring us owt of this morning
To come to the at owre ending.

CHAUCER'S WORDS UNTO HIS OWN

SCRIVENER.

DAM Scrivener, if ever it thee befalle,
Boece or Troilus for to write newe,

Under thy longe lockes maist thou have
the scalle,

But after my making thou write more trewe!
So oft a day I mote thy werke renewe,
It to correct and eke to rubbe and scrape:
And all is thorow thy necligence and rape.

INCIPIT ORATIO GALFRIDI CHAUCER.

ORISOUNE TO THE HOLY VIRGIN.

ODER of God, and virgyne undefouled,
O blisfulle quene, our quenys emperice!
Preye thou for me that am in syn ymouled,
To God thy sone, the punyschar of vice,
That of his merci, thogh that I be nyce
And negligent in keping of his lawe,
His hie mercy my soule unto him drawe.

Thou moder of mercy, way of indulgence,
That of alle mercy art superlatyve!
Savour of saulis be thy benevolence!
O humble lady, maide, moder, and wyfe!
Causar of pes, styntar of wo and stryfe!
My prayere to thy sone that thou present,
Syn of my gilt hooly I me repent.
'Benynge confort of us wreches alle-weye
Be at myn ending quhen that I schall deye.
O well of pitee, unto the I calle,
Fulfillit of swetnesse, helpe me to weye
Agane the fende, that with his handis tweye
And alle his mycht wille pluk at the balance
To wey us doune, kepe us from his mischance.

And for thou art ensample of chastité,
And of alle virgynes, worschip, and honour,
Above all women blessed mote thou be!
Now speke, now preye, unto oure Salviour,

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