Torpor bebes fenfus, fcola parva labor minimufque Caufant, quo minimus ipfe minora canam, Qua tamen Eugifti lingua canit infula Bruti Anglica carmen te metra juvante loquar. Offibus ergo carens qui conterit offa loquelis Abfit et interpres ftet procul oro malus.
F hem, that writen us to-fore, The bokesdwelle, and we therfore
Ben taught of that was writen
Forthy good is, that we also In oure time amonge us here Do write of newe fome matere Enfampled of the olde wife,
So that it might in fuche a wife, Whan we be dede and elles where, Beleve to the worldes ere
In time comend after this.
But for men fain, and fothe it is, That who that al of wisdom writ It dulleth ofte a mannes wit
Hic in principio li
bri declarat, qualiter in anno Regis
Hic declaratinprimis, qualiter ob reverenciam fereniffimi principis Domini fui Regis Anglie Ricardi fecundi totus fuus humilis Johannes Gower, licet quam infirmitate a diu multipliciter fatigatus huius opufculi labores fufcipere non recufavit, fed tanquam favum ex variis floribus recollectum prefentem libellum ex variis cronicis hiftoricis poetarum philofophorum
To hem that shall it alday rede,
For thilke cause if that ye rede I wolde the middel wey go
And write a boke betwene the twey Somwhat of luft, fomwhat of lore, That of the laffe or of the more Som man may like of that I write, And for that fewe men endite In oure englifshe, I thenke make* A boke for Englondes fake
In our englisfhe I thenke make A boke for king Richardes fake, To whom belongeth my legeaunce With all min hertes obeifaunce, In all that ever a lege man Unto his king may done or can, So ferforth and me recommaunde To him, which all me may commaunde, Preiend unto the highe regne, Which causeth every king to regne,
That his corone longe ftonde.
I thenke and have it understonde, As it befell upon a tide,
As thing, which fhulde tho betide, Under the town of newe Troy, Which toke of Brute his firste joy, In Themfe, whan it was flowend, As I by bote came rowend So as fortune her time fette, My lege lord perchaunce I mette. And fo befell as I came nigh Out of my bote, whan he me figh, He bad me come into his barge. And whan I was with him at large,
The fixtenthe of king Richard, yere What shall befalle here afterward, God wote, for nowe upon this fide Men feen the worlde on every fide In fondry wife fo diverfed,
That it wel nigh stant all reversed. As for to fpeke of time ago The cause why it chaungeth fo It nedeth nought to specifie, The thing fo open is at eye,
Amonges other thinges faid
He hath this charge upon me laid And bad me do my befineffe, That to his highe worthyneffe Some newe thing I fhulde boke, That he him self it mighte loke After the forme of my writing. And thus upon his commaunding Min herte is well the more glad To write fo as he me bad. And eke my fere is well the laffe, That none envie fhall compaffe Without a resonable wite To feigne and blame, that I write. A gentil herte his tunge stilleth, That it malice none distilleth But preife, that is to be preised. But he that hath his worde unpeised And handleth out wrong any thing,
pray unto the heven king
Fro fuche tunges he me fhilde.
And netheles this world is wilde
Of fuche jangling and what befalle, My kinges heste shall nought falle, That I in hope to deferve
That every man it may beholde.
And netheles by daies olde,
Whan that the bokes weren lever, Writinge was beloved ever Of hem, that weren vertuous. For here in erthe amonges us, If no man write, howe it stood, The pris of hem that were good Shulde, as who faith a great partie, Be loft, fo for to magnifie
The worthy princes that tho were The bokes fhewen here and there Wherof the worlde enfampled is And tho that diden than amis
His thank ne fhall his will obferve And elles were I nought excused.
For that thing may nought be refused, What that a king him felfe bit. Forthy the fimplesse of my wit I thenke if that I may availe In his fervice to travaile,
Though I fikeneffe have upon honde And longe have had, yet woll I fonde, So as I made my beheste,
To make a boke after his hefte And write in fuch a maner wife, Which may be wisdome to the wife And play to hem that lift to play. But in proverbe I have herde say, That who that wel his werk beginneth, The rather a good end he winneth.
And thus the prologue of my boke After the world, that whilom toke, And eke fomdele after the newe, I woll beginne for to newe.
Through tiranny and cruelte, Right as they stonden in degre So was the writinge of here werke. Thus I which am a borel clerke Purpose for to write a boke
After the worlde, that whilom toke Long time in olde daies paffed. But for men fain it is now laffed In worse plight than it was tho I thenke for to touche also The world, which neweth every day, So as I can, fo as I may.
Though I fikeneffe have upon honde And longe have had, yet wol I fonde To write and do my befineffe, That in fome part fo as I geffe The wife man may ben advised. For this prologue is so affised, That it to wisdome all belongeth, That wife man that it underfongeth He fhal drawe into remembraunce The fortune of this worldes chaunce, The which no man in his persone May knowe but the god alone. Whan the prologue is fo difpended, This boke fhall afterward ben ended Of love, which doth many a wonder And many a wife man hath put under, And in this wife I thenke to treate Towardes hem, that now be greate,
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