That al the folk that is a-lyve
Ne han the cunning to discryve
The thinges that I herde there,
What aloude, and what in ere.
But al the wonder-most was this:-
Whan oon had herd a thing, y-wis,
He com +forth to another wight,
And gan him tellen, anoon-right,
The same that to him was told,
Or hit a furlong-way was old,
But gan somwhat for to eche
To this tyding in this speche
More than hit ever was.
They were a-chekked bothe two,
And neither of hem moste out go;
For other so they gonne croude,
Til eche of hem gan cryen loude,
'Lat me go first!' 'Nay, but lat me!
And here I wol ensuren thee
With the nones that thou wolt do so,
That I shal never fro thee go, (1010) 2100
But be thyn owne sworen brother!
We wil medle us ech with other,
That no man, be he never so wrothe,
Shal han that oon of two, but bothe
At ones, al beside his leve,
Come we a-morwe or on eve,
Be we cryed or stille y-rouned.'
And nat so sone departed nas
That he fro him, that he ne mette
With the thridde; and, or he lette
Any stounde, he tolde him als;
Were the tyding sooth or fals,
And leet hem gon. Ther mighte I
Wenged wondres faste fleen,
And, lord! this hous, in alle tymes, Was ful of shipmen and pilgrymes, With scrippes bret-ful of lesinges, Entremedled with tydinges, And eek alone by hem-selve. O, many a thousand tymes twelve Saugh I eek of these pardoneres, Currours, and eek messangeres, With boistes crammed ful of lyes As ever vessel was with lyes. And as I alther-fastest wente Aboute, and dide al myn entente Me for to pleye and for to lere, And eek a tyding for to here,
And, whan that was ful y-spronge,
And woxen more on every tonge
Than ever hit was, thit wente anoon
Up to a windowe, out to goon;
Or, but hit mightë out ther pace,
Hit gan out crepe at som crevace,
And fleigh forth faste for the nones.
And somtyme saugh I tho, at ones,
lesing and a sad soth-sawe,
That gonne of aventure drawe (1000) 2090
Out at a windowe for to pace;
And, when they metten in that place,
Thogh every wight ne may hit nat y-see.
Bernard the monk ne saugh nat al, parde!
Than mote we to bokes that we finde,
Through which that olde thinges been in
minde,
And to the doctrine of these olde wyse,
Yeven credence, in every skilful wyse, 20
And trowen on these olde aproved stories
Of holinesse, of regnes, of victories,
Of love, of hate, of other sundry thinges,
Of whiche I may not maken rehersinges.
And if that olde bokes were a-weye,
Y-loren were of remembraunce the keye.
Wel oghte us than on olde bokes leve,
The prologe of .ix. goode Wimmen.
A THOUSAND tymes have I herd men telle,
That ther is joye in heven, and peyne in helle;
And I acorde wel that hit is so;
But natheles, yit wot I wel also,
That ther nis noon dwelling in this
contree,
That either hath in heven or helle y-be, Ne may of hit non other weyes witen, But as he hath herd seyd, or founde hit
For by assay ther may no man hit preve.
But god forbede but men shulde leve
Wel more thing then men han seen with
yë!
Men shal nat wenen every-thing a lyë
But-if him-self hit seeth, or elles dooth;
For, god wot, thing is never the lasse
sooth,
And that the floures ginne for to springe, Farwel my studie, as lasting that sesoun! Now have I therto this condicioun That, of alle the floures in the mede, Than love I most these floures whyte and rede,
Swiche as men callen daysies in our toun.
To hem have I so greet affeccioun,
As I seyde erst, whan comen is the May,
That in my bed ther daweth me no day
That I nam up, and walking in the mede
To seen these floures agein the sonne
sprede,
Whan it up-riseth by the morwe shene, 49
The longe day, thus walking in the grene.
And whan the sonne ginneth for to weste,
Than closeth hit, and draweth hit to reste.
So sore hit is afered of the night,
Til on the morwe, that hit is dayes light.
This dayesye, of alle floures flour,
Fulfild of vertu and of alle honour,
And ever y-lyke fair and fresh of hewe,
As wel in winter as in somer newe,
Fain wolde I preisen, if I coude aright; 59 But wo is me, hit lyth nat in my might!
For wel I wot, that folk han her-beforn
Of making ropen, and lad a-wey the corn;
And I come after, glening here and
there,
And am ful glad if I may finde an ere
Of any goodly word that they han left. 65
And, if hit happe me rehersen eft
That they han in her fresshe songes sayd,
I hope that they wil nat ben evel apayd,
Sith hit is seid in forthering and honour
Of hem that either serven leef or flour. 70
[Cf. p. 354, col. 2, ll. 188-196.] For trusteth wel, I ne have nat undertake
As of the leef, ageyn the flour, to make;
Ne of the flour to make, ageyn the leef,
No more than of the corn ageyn the
sheef.
For, as to me, is leefer noon ne lother; 75
I am with-holde yit with never nother.
I not who serveth leef, ne who the flour;
That nis nothing the entent of my labour.
For this werk is al of another tunne,
Of olde story, er swich stryf was begunne.
But wherfor that I spak, to yeve cre-
dence
To bokes olde and doon hem reverence,
Is for men shulde autoritees beleve,
Ther as ther lyth non other assay by
For myn entent is, or I fro yow fare, 85
The naked text in English to declare
Of many a story, or elles of many a geste,
As autours seyn; leveth hem if yow leste!
And am ful glad if I may finde an ere
Of any goodly word that ye han left.
And thogh it happen me rehercen eft
That ye han in your fresshe songes sayd,
For-bereth me, and beth nat evel apayd,
Sin that ye see I do hit in the honour 81
Of love, and eek in service of the flour,
Whom that I serve as I have wit or
might.
She is the clernesse and the verray light, That in this derke worlde me wynt and ledeth, 85
The herte in-with my sorowful brest yow
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