That it is like an heven for to here.

Now dauncen lusty Venus children dere
For in the Fish hir lady set ful-hie,
And loketh on hem with a frendly eye.

This noble king is set upon his trone;
This straunge knight is fet to him ful sone,
And on the daunce he goth with Canace.
Here is the revell and the jolitee,
That is not able a dull man to devise:
He must han knowen love and his servise,
And ben a festlich man, as fresh as May,
That shulde you devisen swiche array.

Who coude tellen you the forme of daunces So uncouth, and so freshe contenaunces,

Another rowned to his felaw low,

And sayd, "He lieth, for it is rather like
An apparence ymade by som magike,
As jogelours plain at thise festes grete."

Of sondry doutes thus they jangle and trete,
As lewed peple demen comunly

Of thinges, that ben made more subtilly
Than they can in hir lewednesse comprehende,
They demen gladly to the badder ende.

And som of hem wondred on the mirrour,
That born was up in to the maister tour,
How men mighte in it swiche thinges see.
Another answered, and sayd, " It might wel be
Naturelly by compositions

66

Of angles, and of slie reflections ;"

And saide that in Rome was swiche on.
They speke of Alhazen and Vitellon,
And Aristotle, that writen in hir lives
Of queinte mirrours, and of prospectives,
As knowen they, that han hir bookes herd.
And other folk han wondred on the swerd,
That wolde percen thurghout every thing:
And fell in speche of Telephus the king,
And of Achilles for his queinte spere,
For he coude with it bothe hele and dere,
Right in swiche wise as men may with the swerd,
Of which right now ye have yourselven herd.
They speken of sondry harding of metall,
And speking of medicines therwithall,
And how, and whan it shuld yharded be,
Which is unknow algates unto me.

Tho speken they of Canacees ring,
And saiden all, that swiche a wonder thing
Of craft of ringes herd they never non,
Save that he Moises and king Salomon
Hadden a name of conning in swiche art.
Thus sain the peple, and drawen hem apart.
But natheles som saiden that it was

Wonder to maken of ferne ashen glas,
And yet is glas nought like ashen of ferne,
But for they han yknowen it so ferne,
Therfore ceseth hir jangling and hir wonder.

As sore wondren som on cause of thonder,
On ebbe and floud, on gossomer, and on mist,
And on all thing, til that the cause is wist.

Thus janglen they, and demen and devise, Til that the king gan fro his bord arise.

Phebus hath left the angle meridional,
And yet ascending was the beste real,
The gentil Leon, with his Aldrian,

Whan that this Tartre king, this Cambuscan,
Rose from his bord, ther as he sat ful hie:
Beforne him goth the loude minstralcie,
Til he come to his chambre of parements,
Ther as they sounden divers instruments,

For dred of jalous mennes apperceivings?
No man but Launcelot, and he is ded.
Therfore I passe over all this lustyhed,
I say no more but in this jolinesse

I lete hem, til men to the souper hem dresse.
The steward bit the spices for to hie
And eke the win, in all this melodie;
The ushers and the squierie ben gon,
The spices and the win is come anon:

They ete and drinke, and whan this had an end,
Unto the temple, as reson was, they wend:
The service don, they soupen all by day.

What nedeth you rehersen hir array?
Eche man wot wel, that at a kinges fest
Is plentee, to the most and to the lest,
And deintees mo than ben in my knowing.
At after souper goth this noble king
To seen this hors of bras, with all a route
Of lordes and of ladies him aboute.
Swiche wondring was ther on this hors of bras,
That sin the gret assege of Troye was,
Ther as men wondred on an hors also,
Ne was ther swiche a wondring, as was tho.
But finally the king asketh the knight
The vertue of this courser, and the might,
And praied him to tell liis governaunce.

This hors anon gan for to trip and daunce, Whan that the knight laid hond up on his rein, And saide," Sire, ther n'is no more to sain, But whan you list to riden any where, Ye moten trill a pin, stant in his ere, Which I shal tellen you betwixt us two, Ye moten nempne him to what place also, Or to what contree that you list to ride.

"And whan ye come ther as you list abide, Bid him descend, and trill another pin, (For therin lieth the effect of all the gin) And he wol doun descend and don your will, And in that place he wol abiden still: Though al the world had the contrary swore, He shal not thennes be drawe ne be bore. Or if you list to bid him thennes gón, Trille this pin, and he wol vanish anon Out of the sight of every maner wight, And come agen, be it by day or night, Whan that you list to clepen him again In swiche a guise, as I shal to you sain Betwixen you and me, and that ful sone. Ride whan you list, ther n'is no more to done." Enfourmed whan the king was of the knight, And hath conceived in his wit aright The maner and the forme of all this thing, Ful glad and blith, this noble doughty king Repaireth to his revel, as beforne. The bridel is in to the tour yborne,

And kept among his jewels lefe and dere:
The hors vanisht, I n'ot in what manere,
Out of hir sight, ye get no more of me :
But thus I lete in lust and jolitee
This Cambuscan his lordes festeying,
Til that wel nigh the day began to spring.

PARS SECUNDA.

The norice of digestion, the slepe,

Gan on hem winke, and bad hem taken kepe,
That mochel drinke, and labour wol have rest :
And with a galping mouth hem all he kest,
And said, "that it was time to lie adoun,
For blood was in his dominatioun :
Cherisheth blood, natures frend,” quod he.

They thanken him galping, by two by three;
And every wight gan drawe him to his rest,
As slepe hem bade, they toke it for the best.
Hir dremes shul not now be told for me;
Ful were hir hedes of fumositee,

That causeth dreme, of which ther is no charge.
They slepen til that it was prime large,
The moste part, but it were Canace;
She was ful mesurable, as women be.
For of hire father had she take hire leve
To gon to rest, sone after it was eve;
Hire liste not appalled for to be,
Nor on the morwe unfestliche for to see;
And slept hire firste slepe, and than awoke.
For swiche a joye she in hire herte toke
Both of hire queinte ring, and of hire mirrour,
That twenty time she chaunged hire colour;
And in hire slepe right for the impression
Of hire mirrour she had a vision.
Wherfore, or that the sonne gan up glide,
She clepeth upon hire maistresse hire beside,
And saide, that hire luste for to arise.

Thise old women, that ben gladly wise,
As is hire maistresse, answered hire anon,
And said; "Madame, whider wol ye gon
Thus erly? for the folk ben all in rest."

"I wol," quod she, " arisen (for me lest
No longer for to slepe) and walken aboute."
Hire maistresse clepeth women a gret route,
And up they risen, wel a ten or twelve;
Up riseth freshe Canace hireselve,

As rody and bright, as the yonge sonne,
That in the Ram is foure degrees yronne;
No higher was he, whan she redy was;
And forth she walketh esily a pas,
Arrayed after the lusty seson sote
Lightely for to playe, and walken on fote,
Nought but with five or sixe of her meinie;
And in a trenche forth in the park goth she.

The vapour, which that fro the erthe glode,
Maketh the sonne to seme rody and brode :
But natheles, it was so faire a sight,
That it made all hir hertes for to light,
What for the seson, and the morwening,
And for the foules that she herde sing.
For right anon she wiste what they ment
Right by hir song, and knew al hir entent.
The knotte, why that every tale is tolde,
If it be taried til the lust be colde
Of hem, that han it herkened after yore,
The savour passeth ever lenger the more,
For fulsumnesse of the prolixitee:
And by that same reson thinketh me

I shuld unto the knotte condescende,
And maken of hire walking sone an ende.

Amidde a tree for-dry, as white as chalk,
As Canace was playing in hire walk,
Ther sat a faucon over hire hed ful hie,
That with a pitous vois so gan to crie,
That all the wood resouned of hire cry,
And beten had hireself so pitously
With bothe hire winges, til the rede blood
Ran endelong the tree, ther as she stood.
And ever in on alway she cried and shright,
And with hire bek hireselven she so twight,
That ther n'is tigre, ne no cruel best,
That dwelleth other in wood, or in forest,
That n'olde han wept, if that he wepen coude,
For sorwe of hire, she shright alway so loude.
For ther was never yet no man on live,
If that he coude a faucon well descrive,
That herde of swiche another of fayrenesse
As wel of plumage, as of gentilesse,

Of shape, of all that might yrekened be.
A faucon peregrine semed she

Of fremde lond, and ever as she stood,

She swouned now and now for lack of blood,
Til wel neigh is she fallen fro the tree.
This faire kinges doughter Canace,
That on hire finger bare the queinte ring,
Thurgh which she understood wel every thing
That any foule may in his leden sain,
And coude answere him in his leden again,
Hath understonden what this faucon seyd,
And wel neigh for the routhe almost she deyd:
And to the tree she goth ful hastily,
And on this faucon loketh pitously,

And held hire lap abrode, for wel she wist

The faucon muste fallen from the twist

Whan that she swouned next, for faute of blood.

A longe while to waiten hire she stood.
Til at the last she spake in this manere
Unto the hauk, as ye shul after here.

"What is the cause, if it be for to tell, That ye ben in this furial peine of hell?" Quod Canace unto this hauk above;

"Is this for sorwe of deth, or losse of love?.
For as I trow, thise be the causes two,
That causen most a gentil herte wo.
Of other harme it nedeth not to speke,
For ye yourself upon yourself awreke,
Which preveth wel, that other ire or drede
Mote ben encheson of your cruel dede,
Sin that I se non other wight you chace.
For the love of God, as doth yourselven grace:
Or what may be your helpe? for west ne est
Ne saw I never er now no brid ne best,
That ferde with himself so pitously.
Ye sle me with your sorwe veraily,

I have of you so gret compassioun.

For Goddes love come fro the tree adoun;
And as I am a kinges doughter trewe,
If that I veraily the causes knewe
Of your disese, if it lay in my might,
I wold amend it, or that it were night,
As wisly help me the gret God of kind.
And herbes shal I right ynough yfind,
To elen with your hurtes hastily."

Tho shright this faucon yet more pitously
Than ever she did, and fell to ground anon,
And lith aswoune, as ded as lith a ston,
Til Canace hath in hire lappe hire take,
Unto that time she gan of swoune awake;

And after that she out of swoune abraide, Right in hire haukes leden thus she sayde. "That pitee renneth sone in gentil herte (Feling his similitude in peines smerte) Is proved alle day, as men may see, As wel by werke as by auctoritee, For gentil herte kitheth gentillesse. I see wel, that ye have on my distresse Compassion, my faire Canace, Of veray womanly benignitee, That nature in your principles hath set. But for non hope for to fare the bet, But for to obey unto your herte free, And for to maken other yware by me, As by the whelpe chastised is the leon, Right for that cause and that conclusion, While that I have a leiser and a space, Min harme I wol confessen er I pace." And ever while that on hire sorwe told, That other wept, as she to water wold, Til that the faucon bad hire to be still, And with a sike right thus she said hire till. "Ther I was bred, alas that ilke day!) And fostred in a roche of marble gray So tendrely, that nothing ailed me. I ne wist not what was adversitee, Til I coud flee ful high under the skie. "Tho dwelled a tercelet me faste by, That semed welle of alle gentillesse, Al were he ful of treson and falsenesse. It was so wrapped under humble chere, And under hew of trouth in swiche manere, Under plesance, and under besy peine,

That no wight coud have wend he coude feine,
So depe in greyn he died his coloures.
Right as a serpent hideth him under floures,
Til he may see his time for to bite;
Right so this god of loves hypocrite
Doth so his ceremonies and obeisance,
And kepeth in semblaunt alle his observance,
That souneth unto gentillnesse of love.
As on a tombe is all the faire above,
And under is the corps, swiche as ye wote;
Swiche was this hypocrite both cold and hote,
And in this wise he served his entent,
That, save the fend, non wiste what he ment:
Til he so long had weped and complained,
And many a yere his service to me fained,
Till that min herte, to pitous and to nice,
Al innocent of his crowned malice,
For-fered of his deth, as thoughte me,
Upon his othes and his seuretee,
Graunted him love, on this conditioun,
That evermo min honour and renoun
Were saved, bothe privee and apert;
This is to say, that, after his desert,

I yave him all min herte and all my thought,
(God wote, and he, that other wayes nought)
And toke his herte in chaunge of min for ay.
But soth is said, gon sithen is many a day,
A trewe wight and a theef thinken not on.
"And whan he saw the thing so fer ygon,
That I had granted him fully my love,
In swiche a guise as I have said above,
And yeven him my trewe herte as free
As he swore that he yaf his herte to me,
Anon this tigre, ful of doublenesse,
Fell on his knees with so gret humblesse,
With so high reverence, as by his chere,
So like a gentil lover of manere,

So ravished, as it semed, for the joye,
That never Jason, ne Paris of Troye,
Jason? certes, ne never other man,
Sin Lamech was, that alderfirst began
To loven two, as writen folk beforne,
Ne never sithen the first man was borne,
Ne coude man by twenty thousand part
Contrefete the sophimes of his art;

Ne were worthy to unbocle his galoche,
Ther doublenesse of faining shuld approche,
Ne coude so thanke a wight, as he did me.
His maner was an heven for to see
To any woman, were she never so wise;
So painted he and kempt, at point devise,
As wel his wordes, as his contenance.
And I so loved him for his obeisance,
And for the trouthe I demed in his herte,
That if so were that any thing him smerte,
Al were it never so lite, and I it wist,
Me thought I felt deth at myn herte twist.
And shortly, so ferforth this thing is went,
That my will was his willes instrument;
This is to say, my will obeied his will
In alle thinge, as fer as reson fill,
Keping the boundes of my worship ever :
Ne never had I thing so lefe, ne lever,
As him, God wot, ne never shal no mo.

"This lasteth lenger than a yere or two,
That I supposed of him nought but good.
But finally, thus at the last it stood,
That fortune wolde that he muste twin
Out of that place, which that I was in.
Wher me was wo, it is no question;
I cannot make of it description.
For o thing dare I tellen boldely,

I know what is the peine of deth therby,
Swiche harme I felt, for he ne might byleve.

"So on a day of me he toke his leve,
So sorweful eke, that I wend veraily,
That he had felt as mochel harme as I,
Whan that I herd him speke, and sawe his hewe.
But natheles, I thought he was so trewe,
And eke that he repairen shuld again
Within a litel while, soth to sain,
And reson wold eke that he muste go
For his honour, as often happeth so,
That I made vertue of necessitee,
And toke it wel, sin that it muste be.
As I best might, I hid fro him my sorwe,
And toke him by the hond, Seint John to borwe,
And said him thus ; Lo, I am youres all,
Beth swiche as I have ben to you and shall.'
"What he answerd, it nedeth not reherse;
Who can say bet than he, who can do werse?
Whan he hath al wel said, than hath he done.
Therfore behoveth him a ful long spone,
That shal ete with a fend; thus herd I say.
"So at the last he muste forth his way,
And forth he fleeth, til he come ther him lest.
Whan it came him to purpos for to rest,

I trow that he had thilke text in mind,
That alle thing repairing to his kind
Gladeth himself; thus sain men as I gesse:
Men loven of propre kind newefangelnesse,
As briddes don, that men in cages fede.

For though thou night and day take of hem hede,
And strew hir cage faire and soft as silke,
And give hem sugre, hony, bred, and milke,
Yet right anon as that his dore is up,

He with his feet wol spurnen doun his cup,

And to the wood he wol, and wormes ete;
So newefangel ben they of hir mete,
And loven noveltees of propre kind;
No gentillesse of blood ne may hem bind.

"So ferd this tercelet, alas the day!
Though he were gentil borne, and fresh, and gay,
And goodly for to seen, and humble, and free,
He saw upon a time a kite flee,

And sodenly he loved this kite so,
That all his love is clene fro me ago:
And hath his trouthe falsed in this wise.
Thus hath the kite my love in hire service,
And I am lorn withouten remedy."

And with that word this faucon gan to cry,
And swouneth eft in Canacees barme.
Gret was the sorwe for that haukes harme,
That Canace and all hire women made;
They n'isten how they might the faucon glade.
But Canace hom bereth hire in hire lap,
And softely in plastres gan hire wrap,
Ther as she with hire bek had hurt hireselve.
Now cannot Canace but herbes delve
Out of the ground, and maken salves newe
Of herbes precious and fine of hewe,
To helen with this hauk; fro day to night
She doth hire besinesse, and all hire might.
And by hire beddes hed she made a mew,
And covered it with velouettes blew,

In signe of trouth, that is in woman sene;
And all without the mew is peinted grene,
In which were peinted all thise false foules,
As ben thise tidifes, tercelettes, and owles;
And pies, on hem for to cry and chide,
Right for despit were peinted hem beside.

Thus lete I Canace hire hauk keping.
I wol no more as now speke of hire ring,
Til it come eft to purpos for to sain,
How that this faucon gat hire love again
Repentant, as the story telleth us,
By mediation of Camballus

The kinges sone, of which that I you told.
But hennesforth I wol my processe hold
To speke of aventures, and of batailles,
That yet was never herd so gret mervailles.
First wol I tellen you of Cambuscan,
That in his time many a citee wan:
And after wol I speke of Algarsif,
How that he wan Theodora to his wif,
For whom ful oft in gret peril he was,
Ne had he ben holpen by the hors of bras.
And after wol I speke of Camballo,
That fought in listes with the brethren two
For Canace, er that he might hire winne,
And ther I left I wol again beginne.

THE ASSEMBLY OF FOWLS.

ALL fowls are gathered before nature on S. Valentines day, to chuse their makes. A formell eagle, being belov'd of three tercels, requireth a years respite to make her choice: upon this trial, qui bien aime tard oublie : he that loveth well, is slow to forget.

THE lyfe so short, the craft so long to lerne,
Thassay so hard, so sharpe the conquering,

The dreadful joy, alway that flit so yerne,
All this mean I by Love, that my feeling
Astonieth with his wonderful werkyng,
So sore I wis, that whan I on him think,
Naught wete I wel, whether I flete or sink.

For all be that I know not Love in dede,
Ne wot how that he quiteth folke hir hire,
Yet happeth me full oft in bookes rede
Of his myracles, and of his cruell ire,
There rede I well, he wol be lorde and sire :

I dare not say his strokes be sore,
But God save soch a lorde, I can no more.

Of vsage, what for lust and what for lore,
On bookes rede I of, as I you told,
But wherfore speake I all this? naught yore
Agon, it happed me to behold

Upon a booke was iwritten with letters old,
And therevpon a certain thing to lerne,
The long day, full fast I radde and yerne.

For out of the old fieldes, as men saith,
Commeth al this new corne fro yere to yere,
And out of old bookes, in good faith,
Commeth all this new science that men lere,
But now to purpose, as of this mattere,
To rede forth it gan me so delite,
That all that day, me thought it but a lite.

This booke of which I make mencion,
Entitled was right thus, as I shall tell,
Tullius, of the dreame of Scipion :
Chapiters seven it had, of heaven and hell,
And yearth, and soules that therein dwell,
Of which as shortly as I can it treate,
Of his sentence I woll you saine the greate.

First telleth it, whan Scipion was come
In Affricke, how he meteth Massinisse,
That him for joy, in armes hath inome,
Than telleth he her speach and all the blisse,
That was betwixt hem til the day gan misse,
And how his auncester Affrikan so dere,
Gan in his slepe that night til him appere.

Than telleth it, that from a sterrie place,
How Affrikan hath him Cartage shewed,
And warned him before of all his grace,
And said him, what man lered eyther leude,
That loveth common profite well itheude,
He should into a blisfull place wend,
There as the joy is without any end.

Than asked he, if folke that here been dede Have life, and dwelling in another place?

And Affrikan said Ye, without any drede, And how our present lives space, Ment but a maner death, what way we trace, And rightfull folke, shull gon after they die To heaven, and shewed him the Galaxie.

Than shewed he him, the little Yerth that here is

To regard of the Heavens quantite,

And after shewed he hym the nine speris,
And after that the melodie heard he,
That commeth of thilke speres thrise three,
That welles of musicke been and melodie
In this world here, and cause of armonie.

Than said he him, sens Earth was so lite
And full of tourment, and of hard grace,
That he ne should him in this world delite :
Than told he him, in certain yeres space,
That every sterre should come into his place,
There it was first, and all should out of mind,
That in this world is done of all mankind.

Than prayed him Scipion, to tell him all
The way to come into that Heaven blisse,
And he said: "First know thy selfe immortall,
And loke aie busely, that thou werche and wisse,
To common profite, and thou shalt not misse
To come swiftly vnto that place dere,
That full of blisse is, and of soules clere.

"And breakers of the law, soth to saine,
And likerous folke, after that they been dede,
Shall whirle about the world, alway in paine
Till many a world be passed out of drede,
And than foryeven all hir wicked dede,
Than shullen they come to that blisfull place,
To which to comen, God send thee grace."

The day gan failen, and the darke night, That reveth beastes from hir businesse, Beraft me my book for lacke of light, And to my bedde I gan me for to dresse, Fulfilled of thought and busie heauinesse, For both I had thyng, which that I nold, And eke I ne had that thing that I wold.

But finally my spirite at last,
For weary of my labour all that day,
Tooke rest, that made me to slepe fast,
And in my sleepe I met, as that I say,
How Affrikan, right in the selfe aray
That Scipion him saw, before that tide,
Was come, and stode right at my beds side,

The wearie hunter sleeping in his bedde,
The wood ayen his mind goeth anone,
The judge dremeth, how his plees be spedde,
The carter dremeth, how his cartes gone,
The rich of gold, the knight fight with his fone,
The sicke mette he drinketh of the tonne,
The lover mette he hath his lady wonne.

Can I not saine, if that the cause were,
For I had radde of Affrikan beforne,
That made me to mete that he stood there,
But thus said he: "Thou hast thee so wel borne
In looking of mine old booke all to torne,
Of which Macrobie raught not a lite,
That some dele of thy labour would I quite."

Citherea, thou blisful lady swete,

That with thy fire brond, dauntest whan the lest
That madest me this sweven for to mete,
Be thou my helpe in this, for thou maist best,
As wisely as I seigh the north northwest,
Whan I began my sweven for to write,
So yeve me might to rime it and endite.

This aforesaid Affrikan me hent anone,
And forthwith him to a gate brought,
Right of a parke, walled with grene stone,
And over the gate, with letters large iwrought,
There were verse ywritten as me thought
On either halfe, of full great difference,

Of which I shall you say the playne sentence:

And said, "It standeth written in thy face,
Thine errour, though thou tell it not me,
But dread thee not to come into this place,
For this writing is nothing meant by thee,
Ne by none, but he Loves servaunt bee,
For thou of love hast lost thy tast I gesse,
As sicke man hath, of swete and bitternesse.
"But natheles, although thou be dull,

That thou canst not doe, yet mayst thou see,
For many a man that may not stand a pull,
Yet liketh it him at the wrestlyng for to be,
And demeth yet, whether he doe bet, or he,
And if thou haddest connyng for tendite,
I shall thee shew matter of to write."
And with that my hand in his he toke anon,
Of which I comfort caught, and went in fast,
But Lord so I was glad, and well begon,
For ouer all, where I mine iyen cast,
Were trees clad with leaues, that aie shal last
Eche in his kind, with colour fresh and grene,
As emeraude, that joy it was to sene.

The bilder oke, and eke the hardy asshe,
The piller elme, the coffre vnto caraine,
The boxe pipe tree, holme to whips lasshe,
The sailing firre, the cipres death to plaine,
The shooter ewe, the aspe for shaftes plaine,
The oliue of peace, and eke the dronken vine,
The victor palme, the laurer to diuine.

A gardein saw I, full of blosomed bowis,
Upon a river, in a grene mede,
There as sweetnesse euermore inough is,
With floures white, blewe, yelowe, and red,
And cold welle streames, nothing dede,
That swommen full of smale fishes light,
With finnes rede, and scales silver bright.