Thou god of love and thou goddesse,
Where is pite? where is mekenesse ?
Now doth me pleinly live or die,
For certes fuche a maladie
As I now have and longe have had
It mighte make a wife man mad,
If that it shulde longe endure.
O Venus, quene of loves cure,
Thou life, thou luft, thou mannes hele,
Beholde my cause and my quarele
And yef me fome part of thy grace,
So that I may finde in this place,
If thou be gracious or none.
And with that worde I figh anone
The kinge of love and
quene
But he that king with eyen wrothe
His chere aweiward fro me cafte
And forthe he passed ate laste.
But netheles er he forth wente
A firy dart me thought he hente
And threwe it through min herte rote.
In him fonde I none other bote,
For lenger lift him nought to dwelle.
But the whiche is the fource and welle
Of wele or wo, that shal betide
To hem that loven at that tide,
Abode but for to tellen here
She caft on me no goodly chere,
Thus netheles to me fhe faide:
What art thou, fone? and I abraide
Right as a man doth out of flepe,
And therof toke she right good kepe
And bad me nothing be adradde.
But for al that I was nought gladde,
For I ne figh no cause why.
And eft she asketh, what was I?
I faide a caitif that lith here,
What wolde ye my lady dere?
Shall I be hole or elles die?
She faide telle thy maladie,
What is thy fore of which thou pleignest,
Ne hide it nought, for if thou feignest
I can do the no medicine.
Madame, I am a man of thine
That in thy court have longe served
And axe that I have deserved
Some wele after my longe wo.
And she began to loure tho
And faide there be many
of you
Faitours, and fo may be that thou
Art right suche one and by faintise
Saift, that thou haft me do fervice.
And netheles fhe wiste wele
My word stood on an other whele
Withouten any faiterie.
But algate of my maladie
She bad me tell and say her trouthe.
Madame, if ye wolde have routhe,
Quod I, than wolde I telle you.
Say forth, quod fhe, and telle me how,
Hic dicit, qualiter
Genio pro confes
Shewe me thy fikenesse every dele.
Madame, that can I do wele,
Be fo my life therto wol lafte.
With that her loke on me she cafte
And faide in aunter if thou live
My wille is first, that thou be shrive
And netheles how that it is
I wot my felfe, but for all this
Unto my preft which cometh anone
I wol thou telle it one and one
Both al thy thought and al thy werke.
O Genius min owne clerke,
Come forth and here this mannes fhrifte,
Quod Venus tho, and I uplifte
Min hede with that and gan beholde
The felfe preft, whiche as she wolde
Was redy there and set him doune
To here my confeffion.
Confeffus Genio fi fit medicina falutis
Experiar morbis, quos tulit ipfa Venus.
Lefa quidem ferro medicantur membra faluti,
Raro tamen medicum vulnus amoris habet.
This worthy preft, this holy man
fore fedenti provo- To me fpekend thus began
confitendum And faide: Benedicite
curvatur, fuppli- My fone, of the felicite
cans tamen, ut ad Of love and eke of all the wo
cionem confeflor Thou shalt be shrive of bothe two, ille in dicendis op
ponere fibi benig- What thou er this for loves fake
Haft felt let nothing be forfake,
Tel pleinly as it is befalle.
And with that worde I gan down falle
On knees and with devocion
And with full great contricion
I faide thanne: Dominus,
Min holy fader Genius,
So as thou hafte experience
Of love, for whofe reverence
Thou shalt me fhriven at this time,
I pray the let me nought mistime
My fhrifte, for I am deftourbed
In all min herte and fo contourbed,
That I ne may my
wittes gete.
So fhal I moche thing foryete,
But if thou wolt my fhrifte oppose
Fro point to pointe, than I fuppofe
There shall nothing be left behinde.
But now my wittes be fo blinde,
That I ne can my felfe teche.
Tho he beganne anon to preche
And with his wordes debonaire
He said to me softe and faire :
My fone, I am affigned here
Thy shrifte to oppose and here
By Venus the goddeffe above,
Whose prest I am touchend of love.
But netheles for certain skill
I mote algate and nedes will
Nought only make my spekinges
Of love, but of other thinges,
That touchen to the cause of vice.
For that belongeth to thoffice
Of preft, whofe ordre that I bere,
So that I wol nothing forbere,
That I the vices one and one
Ne fhall the fhewen everichone,
Wherof thou might take evidence
To reule with thy conscience.
But of conclufion finall
Conclude I wolde in speciall
For love whofe fervaunt I am
And why the cause is that I cam.
So thenke I to do bothe two,
First that min ordre longeth to
The vices for to telle a rewe,
But nexte above all other shewe
Of love I wol the propretes
How that they stonde by degres
After the difpoficion
Of Venus, whose condicion
I must folwe as I am holde,
For I with love am al witholde,
So that the laffe I am to wite,
Though I ne conne but a lite
Of other thinges that bene wife,
I am nought taught in suche a wife.
For it is nought my comun use
To fpeke of vices and vertuse,
But all of love and of his lore,
For Venus bokes of no more
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