And set a time of parlément, Where all the londe of one assent Forth with his wife have him coroned,
Where allé good him was foisoned.1 "Lo, what it is to be well
For he hath first his lové founded Honestélich as for to wedde, Honestélich his love he spedde And hadde children with his wife, And as him list he lad his life. And in ensaumple his life was write, That allé lovers mighten wite How atté last it shal be sene Of love what they wolden mene. For se now, on that other side, Antiochus with all his pride Which set his love unkindély, His ende he hadde sodeinly Set ayein kinde upon vengeaúnce, And for his lust hath his penaúnce.
"Lothus, my soné,might thou lere, What is to love in good manere, And what to love in other wise. The mede ariseth of the servíce, Fortúné though she be nought stable,
Yet at somtime is favourable To hem that ben of lové trewe. But certés it is for to rewe To se love ayein kindé falle, For that maketh sore a man to falle, As thou might of to-foré rede. Forthý my sone, I woldé rede To let all other love awey, But if it be through such a wey As love and reson wold accorde."-
I may right wel, that never yit I was assoted in my wit, But onely in that worthy place Where allé lust and allé grace Is set, if that Daunger ne were, But that is all my mosté fere. I not what ye Fortúne accompte, But what thing Daunger may
I wot wel, for I have assaied. For whan min hert is best arraied And I have all my wit through sought Of love to beseche her ought, For all that ever I skillé may I am concluded with a nay, That o silláble hath over throwe A thousand wordés on a rowe Of suche as I best speké can, Thus am I but a lewdé man. But fader, for ye ben a clerke Of love, and this matere is derke And I can ever lenger the lasse But yet I may nought let it passe, Your holé counseil I beseche, That ye me by some weié teche, What is my best, as for an ende."-
"My sone, unto the trouthé wende Now woll I for the love of the And lete all other trifles be.
"The moré that the nede is high, The more it nedeth to be sligh To him which hath the nede on honde.
I have well herd and understonde, My sone, all that thou hast me saied Andeke of that thou hast me praied. Nowe at this time that I shall As for conclusión fináll Counseil upon thy nedé set, So thenke I finally to knet Thy causé where it is to-broke, And make an ende of that is spoke. For I behighté the that yift First whan thou come under my shrift,
That though I toward Venus were, Yet spake I suché wordés there, That for the presthode which I have, Min order and min estate to save, I saide, I wolde of min office To vertu more than to vice Encline and teché the my lore. Forthy to speken overmore Of Love which the may availe, Take Lové where it may nought faile. For as of this which thou art in, By that thou seest it is a sinne, And sinné may no prise deserve, Withouté prise and who shall serve I not what profit might availe. Thus folweth it, if thou travaile Where thou no profit hast ne prise Thou art toward thy self unwise, And sith thou mightest lust atteine, Of every lust the ende is peine And every pein is good to flee. So it is wonder thing to se Why such a thing shall be desired. The moré that a stock is fired The rather into ashe it torneth. The fote which in the weié sporneth Full ofte his heved hath overthrowe. Thus Love is blinde and can nought knowe
Where that he goth till he be falle. Forthý but if it so befalle
With good counseíl that he be lad, Him oughté for to ben adrad. For counseil passeth allé thing To him which thenketh to ben a king.
And every man for his partý A kingdom hath to justifý, That is to sain, his owné dome. If he misreulé that kingdóme, He lest him self, and that is more, Than if he losté ship and ore And all the worldés good with all. For what man that in speciáll
Hath nought him self, he hath nought ellés,
No more the perlés than the shelles, All is to him of o value- Though he had all his retenue The wide world right as he wolde- Whan he his hert hath nought witholde
Toward him self, all is in vein. And thus, my sone, I woldé sain, As I said er, that thou arise Er that thou falle in such a wise That thou ne might thy selfrekever; For Lové, which that blind was ever, Maketh all his servaunts blinde also.
"My sone, and if thou have be so, Yet it is time to withdrawe And set thin hert under that lawe The which of Reson is governed And nought of Will. And to be lerned
Ensamples thou hast many one Of now and eke of timé gone, That every lust is but a while. And who that woll him self beguile, He may the rather be deceived, My soné, now thou hast conceived Somwhat of that I woldé mene, Here afterward it shall be sene, If that thou leve upon my lore. For I can do to the no more, But teché the the righté way. Now chese, if thou wilt live or deie."
“My fader, so as I have herde- Your talé, but it were answérde, I weré mochel for to blame. My wo to you is but a game, That feleth nought of that I fele. The feling of a mannés hele May nought be likened to the herte; I wot that though I wolde asterte And ye be fre from all the peine Of love wherof I me pleine, It is right esy to commaunde.
The hert which fre goth on the launde Not of an oxé what him eileth, It falleth oft a man merveileth Of that he seeth another fare. But if he knew himself the fare And felt it as it is in soth, He shuldé do right as he doth Or ellés wors in his degré. For wel I wote and so do ye, That love hath ever yet ben used, So mote I nedés ben excused. But fader, if ye woldé thus Unto Cupide and to Venús Be frendly toward my quarele, So that my herté were in hele Of love which is in my breste, I wot wel than a better preste Was never made to my behove. But all the while that I hove In none certein betwene the two, And not where 2 I to well or wo Shall torné, that is all my drede, So that I not what is to rede. But for fináll conclusión I thenke a supplicación With pleiné wordés and expresse Write unto Venus the goddesse, The which I praié you to bere And bring ayein a good answere." Tho was betwene my prest
and me Debate and great perplexeté. My Reson understode him wele And knewe it was soth every dele That he hath said, but nought forthý My Will hath no thing set ther by. For touching of so wise a porte It is unto love no disporte. Yet mighté never man beholde Resón, where Lové was witholde,3 They be nought of o governaunce. And thus we fellen in distaunce My prest and I, but I spake faire
1 Not, knows not.
2 Not where, know not whether. 3 Witholde, held with.
And through my wordés debonaire Than atté lasté we accorden, So that he saith, he woll accorden To speke and stond upon my side To Venus both and to Cupide, And bad me writé what I wolde. And said me truly that he sholde My letter bere unto the quene. And I sat down upon the grene Fulfilled of Loves fantasy And with the terés of min eye l In stede of inke I gan to write The wordés which I wol endite Unto Cupide and to Venus, And in my letter I saide thus :—
How shal I spede; and thus betwen the twey
I stonde and not1 if I shall live or dey. For though Resón ayein my will debate,
I se the world stond ever upon eschaunge,
Now windés loudé, now the weder softe,
I may seekethegreté moné chaunge,
I may nought flee that I ne love And thing which now is low is eft algate.
The dredful werrés into pees ful ofte They torne, and ever is Daunger in o place,
Which woldé chaunge his Will to do me grace.
But upon this the greté clerk Ovíde, Of Lové whan he maketh rémem
He saith Ther is the blindé god Cupide,
The which hath love under his governaúnce
And in his hond with many a firy launce
He woundeth ofté where he woll nought hele,
And that somdele is cause of my quarele.
Ovídeeke saith, that lové to performe Stant in the hond of Venus the goddesse,
But whan she taketh counseil with Satorne
There is no grace, and in that time I gesse
Began my love, of which min hevi
Is now and ever shall, but if I spede, So wot I nought my self what is to rede.
Forthy to you, Cupide and Venus
With all min hertés obeisaúnce I
If ye were atté firsté timé wroth,
Whan I began to loven, I you say, Now stint, and do thilké Fortúne
So that Daungér, which stant of
With my lady, his placé may remue.
O thou Cupidé, god of lovés lawe, That with thy dart brennénd hast set a fire
My herté, do that woundé be withdrawe,
Or yivé me salve, suche as I desire. For service in thy court withouten hire
To me which ever yet have kept thin heste,
May never be to lovés lawe honeste.
O thou, gentilé Venus, lovés quene, Withouté gilt thou dost on me thy wreche,
Thou wost my pein is ever alich grene For love, and yet I may it nought arecche,1
Thus wolde I for my lasté word beseche
That thou my love aquite as I deserve,
Or ellés do me pleinly for to sterve.
Whan I this supplicación With good deliberación,
In suche a wise as ye now wite, Had after min ententé write Unto Cupide and to Venús, This presté which hight Geniús It toke on hondé to presente. On my message and forth he wente To Venus for to wit her wille. And I bode in the placé stille And was there but a litel while Noughtfull the mountance of a mile, Whan I behelde and sodeinlý 1 Arecche, reach to.
I sigh where Venus stood me by. So as I might, under a tree To grounde I felle upon my knee And preid her for to do me grace. She cast her chere upon my face And as it were halving a game She axeth me, what was my name. 'Madame,' I saidé, 'Iohan Gower.'
Now Iohan,' quod she, in my
Thou must as of thy lové stonde. For I thy bill have understonde In which to Cupide and to me Somdele thou hast compleignéd the; And somdele to Natúre also,
But that shall stonde among you two For therof have I nought to done, For Natúre is under the mone Maistresse of every livés kinde, But if so be that she may finde Some holy man that woll withdrawe His kindely lust, ayein her lawe. But seldéwhan it falleth so, For fewé men there ben of tho. But of these other inowé be, Whiche of her owné nicité Ayein Natúre and her office Deliten hem in sondry vice Wherof that she full oft hath pleigned;
Andeke my Court it hath disdeigned And ever shall, for it receiveth None such that kindé so desceiveth. For all onlich of gentil love My Court stant allé Courts above And taketh nought into retenue But thing which is to Kindé due. For ellés it shall be refused, Wherof I holdé the excused. For it is many daiés gone, That thou amongés hem were one. Which of my court shall be witholde, So that the more I am beholde Of thy disesé to commúne And to remüé that Fortune
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