Chapter IV: Part 4

His head was greate, beteled was his browes,
Hys eyen holow, and his nose croked;
His bryes brystled truely lyke a sowes;
His chekes here, and God wote he loked
Full lyke an ape, here and there he toted
With a pyed berde and hangyng lyppes grete,
And every tothe as blacke as ony gete.

His necke shorte, his sholders stode awry,
His breste fatte and bolne in the wast;
His armes great, with fyngers crokedly;
His legges kewed; he rode to me fast,
Full lyke a patron to be shaped in hast.
Good even, he sayd, and have good day,
If that it lyke you for to ryde merely.

Welcome, I sayde; I praye the now tell
Me what thou arte and where thou dost dwell?
Sothelyche, quod he, whan Icham in Kent
At home Icham; though I be hether sente,
Icham a gentylman of much noble kynne,
Though Iche be clad in a knaves skynne.
For there was one called Peter Pratefast,
That in all hys lyfe spake no worde in waste;
He wedde a wyfe that was called Maude.
I trowe, quod I, she was a gorgious baude.
Thou lyest, quod he, she was gentyl and good,
She gave her husbande many a furde hode,
And at his melys, without any mys,
She wolde him serve in clenly wyse ywys.
God love her soule as she loved clennes,
And kepe her dysshes from al foulnes.
Whan she lacketh cloutes, without any fayle
She wyped her disshes wyth her dogges tayle.
And they had yssue Sym Sadle-gander,
That for a wyfe in all the worlde did wander,
Tyll at the last, in the wynters nyght,
By Temmes he sayled, aryved by ryght
Amonge the nunnes of the grene cote.
He wente to lande out of his prety bote,
And wedde there one that was comen anewe:
He thought her stable, and fayfthfull, and trewe.
Her name was Betres, that so clenly was,
That no fylthe by her in any wyse shoulde passe.

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And betwene them bothe they did get a sonne,
Whiche was my father, that in Kente did wonne.
His name was Davy Dronken-nole,
He never dranke but in a fayre blacke boule.
He toke a wyfe that was very fayre,
And gate me on her for to be his ayre.
Her name was Alyson, she loved nought elles
But ever more to rynge her blacke belles.
Now are they deade all, so mote I well thryve,
Excepte my selfe Godfray Gobelive,
Whiche rode about a wyfe me to seke,
But I can finde none that is good and meke;
For all are shrewes in the world aboute,
I coude never mete with none other route;
For some develles wyll their husbandes bete,
And tho that can not, they wyll never let
Their tongues cease, but gyve thre wordes for one,
Fy on them all! I wyll of them have none:
Who loveth any for to make hym sadde,
I wene that he become worse than madde.
They are not stedfast nothyng in their mynde,
But alway tornyng lyke a blaste of wynde.
For let a man love them never so wele,
They will hym love agayne never a dele.
For though a man all his lyfe certayne
Unto her sue to have release of payne,
And at the last she on hym do rewe,
If by fortune there come another newe,
The first shall be clene out of her favoure.
Recorde of Creseyd and of Troylus the doloure.
They are so subtyll and so false of kynde,
There can no man wade beyonde their mynde.
Was not Aristotle for all his clergy,
For a woman rapt in love so marveylously,
That all his connyng he had sone forgotten.
This unhap love had his mynde so broken,
That evermore the salte teres downe hayled
Whan the chaunce of love he hymselfe bewayled.
Aferde he was of the true love to breke,
For sayng nay whan he therof should speke;
Tyll of constraynt of wofull hevynes,
For to have remedy of his sore sekenes,
Whan he her spyed ryght secrete alone,
Unto her he wente and made all his mone.
Alas! he sayd, the cause of my wo,
Myne only lady and maystres also,
Whose goodly beaute hath my harte enrached,
With fervent love and fyry lemes entached,
Wherfore take pyte of the paynfull sorowe
Of me your servaunt both even and morowe.
She stode ryght styll, and hearde what he sayde:
Alas! quod she, be ye no more dismayed,
For I am content to fulfill your will
In every maner, be it good or ill,
Of this condicion; that ye shall release
Me first of my wo and great distresse;
For I my selfe have thought many a daye
To you to speake, but for feare of a nay
I durst never of the matter meve
Unto your person, lest it should you greve.
Nay, nay, quod he, with all my whole entente,
I shall obeye to your commaundement.
Well then, quod she, I shall you nowe tell
Howe the case standeth, truely, every dele:
For you knowe well that some women do long
After nyce thynges, be it ryght or wrong.
Ryght so must I upon your backe nowe ryde,
In your mouthe also a brydle you to guyde.
And so a brydle she put in his mouthe,
Upon his backe she rode both north and south,
About a chamber as some clarkes wene,
Of many persones it was openly sene!
Lo! what is love, that can so sore blynde
A philosopher to bryng hym out of kynde?
For love doth passe any maner of thyng,
It is harde and privy in workyng.
So on the grounde Aristotle crept,
And in his teeth she long the brydle kept,
Till she therof had inough her fyll;
And yet for this he never had his wyll.
She dyd nothing but for to mocke and scorne
This true lover whiche was for love forlorne:
But when he knewe the poynt of the case,
The fyry angre dyde hys herte enbrace,
That he him selfe dyd anone well knowe,
His angre dyd his love so overthrowe,
And ryght anone, as some poets wryte,
He the gret mockage dyd her well acquyte.
Dyd not a woman the famouse Vyrgyle
By her greate fraude full craftely begyle?
For on a day, for hys owne dysporte,
To the court of Rome he gan to resorte,
Amonge the ladyes the tyme for to passe;
Tyl at the last, lyke Phebus in the glasse,
So dyd a lady wyth her beaute clere
Shyne throughe his hert wyth suche love so dere,
That of great force he must nedes obey,
She of his mynde bare bothe the locke and the kay:
So was his hart set upon a fyre
Wyth fervent love to attayne hys desyre.
She had him caught in suche a wyly snare,
Great was his payne and muche more his care,
To fynde a tyme whan it should be meved
To her of love and he nothynge repreved.
Thus every day, by ymagynacyon,
In his mynde was suche perturbacyon,
And at the last he had found a tyme
Hym thought to speke, and unto hym no cryme.
Mercy! lady, nowe, in all humble wyse,
To her he sayd: for yf ye me dyspyse
So hath your beaute my true hart aryed,
It is no mervayle thoughe I be afrayde
To you to speake it, that you deny
My purpose truely I am marde utterly.
So do I love now wyth all my heart entere,
Wyth inwarde care I by your beauty dere,
I must abyde wyth all my hole entente
Of lyfe or death your onely judgement.
Wyth fayned eares of perfyte audyence
She did him here, gyvyng this sentence:
Vyrgyl, she sayd, I wolde fayne you ease
Of your trouble, and of your great disease;
But I wote not howe that it should be,
Without tournynge us to great dyshoneste;
If it be knowen, than bothe you and I
Shall be reheited at full shamefully.
But what for that? I have me bethought
A praty craft by me shalbe wrought.
Ye knowe my chambre joyneth to a wall,
Beynge right hyghe and a wyndowe wythall.
Soone at nyght, when all folke be at reast.
I shall take a basket as me thynketh beast,
And therto I shall a longe corde well tye,
And from the wyndowe let it downe pryvely.
Right so, whan it is downe on the grounde,
Ye may well entre in it, both hole and sound,
And my two maydens the whiche secrete be
Shall anone helpe to hale you up with me.
Lo! in this wyse you may have ryght well
Your owne desyre in short space every deel.
At xi. of the clocke, in the nyght so darke,
They did appoynt for to fulfyll this worke.
He often thanked her gentlines,
And so departed with great gladnes;
And so he went unto his study,
Passyng the tyme himselfe full merely,
Tyll that the clocke did strike aleven,
Then to the wall he went full even,
And founde the basket at the grounde already,
And entred into it full sodaynly,
Waggyng the rope, which the lady espied,
Whiche to the wyndowe ryght anone her hyed.
With her two maydens she did him up wynde,
Amiddes the wall, and left hym there behynde,
That was fyve fadom and more from the grounde.
When him selfe in suche a case he founde,
Alas! he sayde, myne owne lady, save
Myne honestye, and what ye list to have,
Ye shall have it at your owne desire.
Nowe wynde me up, my hart is on fyre.
Thou shalt, quod she, in that place abyde,
That all the cytie so ryght long and wyde
May the beholde and the matter knowe,
For myne honestie, and thy shame, I trowe.
So there he hong tyll noone of the daye,
That every persone whiche went by the waye
Myght hym well se and also beholde,
And unto them the very cause she tolde.
Lo, howe with shame she her love rewarded.
His payne and sorowe she nothyng regarded;
Thus at the last he adowne was brought,
Replete with shame, it vayleth hym ryght nought.
Thus with great anger he his love confounded,
Healyng the stroke whiche that she hath wounded.
And by his craft he in Rome did drenche
Every fyre for he left none to quenche,
And towarde Rome a great circuite aboute,
There was no fyre that was un-put-out.
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Thus all the cytie upon her did wonder,
For perfite sorowe her harte was nere asunder;
And thus Vyrgyle, with crafty subtilnes,
Rewarded her falshode and doublenes.
All this I tell though that I be a fole,
To the, yong knight, for thou maist go to schole,
In tyme commyng of true love to learne.
Beware of that for thou canst not decerne
Thy ladies mynde: though that she speake the fayre,
Her harte is false, she wyll no truthe repayre.
Nay, quod I, they are not all disposed
So for to do as ye have here disclosed.
Aha! quod he, I trowe well ye be
A true lover: so mote I thrive and the,
Let not thy lady of thy harte be rother;
When thou art gone, she wyll sone have another.
Thus forth we rode tyll we sawe afarre
A royall tower as bryght as any starre,
To whiche we rode as fast as we myght.
When we came there, adowne my stede I lyght,
So dyd this Godfrey Gobilive also;
Into the temple after me gan go.
There sate dame Venus and Cupide her sonne,
Whiche had their parliament ryght newly begone.
To redresse lovers of their payne and wo,
Whiche in the temple did walke to and fro.
And every one his byll did present
Before Venus in her hyghe parliament.
The temple of her royall consistory
Was walled all about with yvory,
All of golde, like a place solacious,
The roufe was made of knottes curious.
I can nothing extende the goodlines
Of her temple, so much of ryches.
This Godfrey Gobilyve went lightly
Unto dame Sapience, the secretary,
That did him make this supplication
To the goddesse Venus with brevacion:
Redresse my payne of mortall heavines;
I did once woe an olde mayden ryche
A foule thefe, an olde wydred wiche.
Fayre mayde, I sayd, will ye me have?
Nay sir, so God me kepe and save!
For you are evill favoured and also ugly,
I am the worse to se your visnamy;
Yet was she fouler many an hundred folde
Then I my selfe, as ye may well beholde.
And therewithall he caused to depaynte
His face and hers, all under his complaynte.
And to Venus he made deliveraunce
Of his complaint by a short circumstaunce;
Whiche ryght anone, when she had it sene,
Began to laughe with all the courte I wene.
Lo here the fygures of them both certayne,
Judge whiche is best favoured of them twayne.
Thus Godfrey Gobilyve did make such a sporte,
That many lovers to hym did resorte;
When I sawe tyme I went to Sapience,
Shewyng to her with all my diligence
Howe that my hart by Venus was trapt,
With a snare of love so prively bewrapt;
And in her tower to have a dwellyng place,
I seke adventures to attayne her grace.
Her name, quod I, La Bell Pucell is,
Both east and west she is well knowen ywys:
And my name, La Graunde Amoure is called,
Whose harte with payne she all about hath walled
With her beautie, whiche dame Nature create,
Above all other in most hygh estate.
Well, sayde Sapience, I thinke in my mynde
Her love and favoure you shall attayne by kynde;
And I wyll drawe to you incontinent.
All your complaynt, as is convenient
Unto dame Venus, to se directly
For your payne and sorowe sone a remedy.
She drewe my pyteous lamentacion,
Accordyng to this supplication:

CAP. XXX.
THE SUPPLICATION.

O, Venus! lady, and excellent goddesse,
O celestiall starre! havyng the soverayntie
Above all other starres as lady and princes,
As is according unto your deitie;
Pleaseth it nowe your great benignitie
Unto my complaynt for to geve audience,
Whiche burne in love with pearcyng vyolence.

For so it happened that the lady Fame
Did with me mete, and gan to expresse
Of a fayre lady whiche had unto name
La Bell Pucel, come of hye noblesse;
Whose beautie cleare and comely goodlines
From day to day doth ryght well reuenue,
With grace brydled and with great vertue.

She tolde me of her fayre habitation,
And of the wayes therto full daungerous;
Her swete report gave me exhortation
Unto my herte for to be courigious,
To passe the passage harde and troublous;
And to bring me out of great encumbraunce,
She me delyvered both Grace and Governaunce.

So forth we went to the toure of Science,
For to attayne in every artike poole.
And first Doctryne by good experience
Unto dame Grammer did sette me to scoole,
Of mysty ignoraunce to oppres the dole;
And so I ascended unto dame Logyke,
And after her unto lusty Rethorike.

Tyll at the last, at a feast solemply
To a temple I went, dame Musike to heare
Play on her organs with swete armony;
But than on lofte I saw to me appeare
The floure of comforte, the sterre of vertue clere,
Whose beaute bright into my herte did passe,
Lyke as fayre Phebus doth shyne in the glasse.

So was my herte by the stroke of love
With sorow prest, and with mortall payne;
That unneth I myght from the place remove,
Where as I stode I was so take certayne,
Yet up I loked to se her agayne,
And at aventure with a sory moode,
Up than I went where as her person stode.

And first of all my herte gan to lerne
Right well to register in remembraunce,
How that her beautie I might than decerne,
From top to to endued with pleasaunce,
Which I shall shew withouten variaunce;
Her shining here so properly she dresses
Alofe her forehed with fayre golden tresses.

Her forehead stepe, with fayre browes ybent,
Her eyen gray, her nose streyght and fayre,
In her whyte chekes the fayre bloud it went
As among the whyte the rede to repayre:
Her mouth right small, her breth swete of ayre,
Her lyppes softe and ruddy as a rose,
No hert on lyve but it wold him appose.

Wyth a lyttle pytte in her well-favored chynne;
Her necke longe as whyte as ony lylly,
With vaynes blew in which the blode ran inne;
Her paypes round and therto right prety;
Her armes sclender and of goodly body;
Her fingers small and therto right longe,
White as the milke, with blew vaynes among.

Her fete proper, she gartered well her hose,
I never saw so swete a creature;
Nothing she lacketh as I do suppose,
That is longing to fayre dame Nature;
Yet more over her countenaunce so pure,
So swete, so lovely, wold my hert inspyre,
Wyth fervent love to attayne his desyre.

But what for her maners passeth all,
She is both gentyll, good, and vertuous;
Alas! what fortune did me to her call
Without that she be to me piteous?
With her so fettered in paynes dolorous,
Alas! shall pite be from her exyled,
Which all vertues hath so undefiled?

Thus in my mynde whan I had engraved
Her goodly countenaunce and fayre figure,
It was no wonder that I was amased,
My herte and minde she had so tane in cure.
Nothing of love I durst to her discure;
Yet for bicause I was in her presence,
I toke acquaintaunce of her excellence.

My herte was drenched in great sorow depe,
Though outwardly my countenaunce was lyght;
The inward wo into my hert did crepe,
To hide my payne it was great force and myght.
Thus her swete beaute with a soden sight
My hert hath wounded, which much nedes obey
Unto such a sorow, alas, welawaye!

For she is gone, and departed right ferre,
In her countre where she doth abyde;
She is now gone, the fayre shining sterre!
O lady Venus! I pray the provide
That I may after at the morow tide,
And by the way, with hert rigorious,
To subdue mine enemies contrarious.

And yet thy grace moost humbly I pray,
To send thy sonne lytle Cupide before,
With loving letters as fast as thou may,
That she may know somwhat of my paynes sore,
Which for her sake I suffer evermore.
Now, lady Venus, with my hole intent
Of lyfe or death I byde the judgement.

Well than, sayd Venus, I have perseveraunce
That you know somwhat of mighty power
Which to my court sue for my quayntaunce,
To have release of your great paynes sower.
Abyde a whyle, ye must tary the hower;
The time renneth toward right fast:
Joy cometh after whan the sorow is past.

Alas! I sayd, who is fettered in chaynes
He thinketh long after delyveracion
Of his great wo and eke mortall paynes;
For who abideth paynfull penaunce
Thinketh a short whyle a longe contynuaunce;
Who may not speke with her he loveth best,
It is no wonder though he take no rest.

Abyde, quod she; you must a whyle yet tary,
Though to have comfort ye right long do thinke:
I shall provide for you a lectuary,
Which after sorow into your herte shall sinke.
Though you be brought now unto dethes drynke,
Yet drede exile and lyve in hope and trust,
For at the last you shall attayne your lust.

And specially I gyve to you a charge
To fyxe your love, for to be true and stable
Upon your lady, and not to fle at large
As in sundry wise for to be variable,
In corrupt thoughtes vyle and culpable;
Prepence nothing unto her dishonesty,
For love dishonest hath no certaynte.

And sithen that I was cause you be gone
Fyrst for to love, I shall a letter make
Unto your lady, and send it by my sonne,
Lytle Cupyde, that shall it to her take,
That she your sorow may detray or slake.
Her harded herte it shall well revolve,
Wyth pyteous wordes that shall it dissolve.

And right anon, as the mater foloweth,
She caused Sapyence a letter to wryte;
Lo! what her favour unto me avayleth
Whan for my selfe she did so well indite,
As I shall shew in a short respyte
The gentyll fourme and tenour of her letter,
To spede my cause for to attayne the better.

CAP. XXXI.
THE COPY OF THE LETTER THAT VENUS SENT TO LA BELL PUCELL.

Right gentyll herte of grene flouring age,
The sterre of beute and of famous porte,
Consyder well that your lusty courage
Age of his cours must at the last transporte:
Now trouth of his right dooth our selfe exhorte
That you your youth in ydelnes wyll spende,
Wythouten pleasure to bryng it to an ende.

What was the cause of your creacion,
But man to love, the world to multeply?
As to sow the sede of generacion,
Wyth fervent love so well conveniently,
The cause of love engendreth perfytely,
Upon an entent of dame Nature,
Which you have made so fayre a creature.

Than of dame Nature what is the entent
But to accomplyshe her fayre sede to sow?
In such a place as is convenient,
To Gods pleasure, for to increase and grow.
The kinde of her ye may not overthrow:
Say what ye lyst, ye can nothing deny,
But otherwhyle ye thinke full prively

What the man is, and what he can do
Of chambre werke, as nature can agre,
Though by experience ye know nothing therto,
Yet oft ye muse, and thinke what it may be.
Nature provoketh of her strong degre,
You so to as hath bene her olde guyse;
Why wyll you than the true love dispyse?

In our court there is a byll presented
By Graund Amour, whose hert in dures
You fast have fettered, not to be absented
Frome your person with mortall hevynes:
His hert and service, with all gentylnes,
He to you oweth, as to be obedient
For to fulfyll your swete commaundement.

What you avayleth your beaute so fayre,
Your lusty youth and your gentill countenaunce,
Without that you in your minde will repayre
It for to spend in joye and plesaunce?
To folow the trace of dame Natures daunce;
And thus in doing you shall your servaunt hele,
Of his disease and hurte you never a dele.

One must you love, it can not be denied,
For harde it is to voyde you of the chaunce
Than to love him best that you have so arayed
Wyth fyry chaynes fettered in penaunce;
For he is redy without doubtaunce
In every thing for to fulfyll your wyll,
And as ye lyst ye may him save or spyll.

Alas! what payne and mortall wo
Were it to you and you were in lyke cace,
Wyth him dismayde which you have rayed so;
Wold you not than thinke it a longe space
In his swete herte to have a dwellyng place?
Than in your minde you may revolve that he
Moost longe do thinke that joyfull day to se.

Is not he yonge, both wyse and lusty,
And eke descended of the gentyll lyne?
What wyll you have more of him truely,
Than you to serve as true love wyll inclyne?
But, as I thinke, you do now determine
To fyxe your minde for worldly treasure,
Though in your youth ye lese your pleasure.

Alas! remember first your beaute,
Your youth, your courage, and your tender herte;
What payne hereafter it may to you be
Whan you lacke that which is true lovers deserte;
I tell you this your selfe to converte,
For lytle know ye of this payne ywys,
To lyve with him in whome no pleasure is.

Where that is love, there can be no lacke;
Fye on that love for the land or substaunce,
For it must nedes right soone abacke
Whan that youth hath no joye nor pleasaunce
In the party with natures suffisaunce;
Than wyll you, for the sinne of averiche,
Unto your youth do such a prejudice?

Thus, sithen Nature hath you well indued
With so much beaute; and dame Grace also
Your vertuous maner hath so well renued;
Exyle Disdayne and let her from you go,
And also Straungenes, and to love the fo;
And let no covetous your true herte subdue,
But that in joye you may your youth ensue.

For of I love the goddes dame Venus,
Right well to know that in the world is none
That unto you shall be more joyous
Than Graund Amour, that loveth you alone;
Sith he so did, it is many dayes agone.
Who ever saw a fayre yong hart so harde,
Which for her sake wolde se her true love mard?

And so shall he, without ye take good hede,
If it so be ye be cause of the same,
For love with deth wyll ye reward his mede?
And if ye do ye be to muche to blame.
To love unloved ye know it is no game:
Wherfore, me thinke, ye can do no lesse
But with your love his paynes to redres.

If ye do not, this may be his songe;
Wo worth the time that ever he you met;
Wo worth your hert so doing him wrong;
Wo worth the houre that his true herte was set;
Wo worth dysdayne that wold his purpose let;
Wo worth the flour that can do no bote;
Wo worth you that perst him at the route.

Wo worth my love, the cause of my sorow;
Wo worth my lady that wyll not it releace;
Wo worth fortune both even and morow;
Wo worth trouble that shall have no peace;
Wo worth cruelte that may never cease;
Wo worth youth that wyll not pitie have;
Wo worth her that wyll not her love save;

Wo worth the trust without assuraunce;
Wo worth love rewarded with hate;
Wo worth love replete with variaunce;
Wo worth love without a frendly mate;
Wo worth the herte with love at debate;
Wo worth the beaute which toke me in snare;
Wo worth the hert that wyll not cease my care;

Wo worth her maners and her goodlynes;
Wo worth her eyes so clere and amyable;
Wo worth such cause of my great sicknes;
Wo worth pite on her not tendable;
Wo worth her minde in disdayne so stable;
Wo worth her that hath me fettered fast;
And wo worth love that I do spend in wast.

Wherefore of right I pray you to remembre
All that I wryte unto you right now:
How your true love is of age but tendre,
His umble service we pray you alow:
And he him selfe evermore emprowe,
You for to please and give the soveraynte,
How can you have a more true love than he?

And fare ye well: there is no more to say;
Under our signet, in our court ryall,
Of September the two and twenty day.
She closed the letter, and to her did call
Cupyde her sonne, so dere and speciall,
Commaunding him, as fast as he myght,
To La Belle Pucell for to take his flyght.

So did Cupyde with the letter flye
Unto La Belle Pucelles dominacion,
There that he spedde full well and wonderly,
As I shall after make relacion.
But to my matter with brevyacion:
A turtle I offred for to magnefy
Dame Venus hye estate to glorify.

She me exhorted for to be right hardy,
Forth on travayle, and to drede nothing;
I toke my leve of her full humbly,
And on my way as I was riding
This Godfrey Gobelyve came rennyng,
Wyth his little nagge, and cryed: tary! tary!
For I wyll come and bere you company.

CAP. XXXII.
HOW GODFREY GOBELIVE WAS TAKEN OF CORRECTION, AND PUNYSHED.

And for because that I was than full sadde
And by the way he made me good game;
To have his company I was somwhat gladde.
I was not proude, I toke of him no shame:
He came to me and sayd: Ye are to blame
So to ryde louring for a womans sake,
Unto the devyll I do them all betake.

They be not stedfast, but chaunge as the mone;
Whan one is gone, they love another sone.
Who that is single and wyll have a wyfe,
Right out of joy he shall be brought in stryfe.
Thus whan Godfrey did so mery make,
There did a lady us sone overtake,
And in her hand she had a knotted whyp;
At every yerte she made Godfrey to skyppe.
Alas! he sayd, that ever I was borne;
Now am I take for all my mocke and scorne!
I loked about whan that I herde hym crye,
Seing this lady on her palfray ryde hye:
Madame, I sayde, I pray you me tell
Your proper name, and where that you dwell?
My name, quod she, is called Correccion;
And the toure of Chastite is my mancyon.
This strong thefe, called False Reporte,
Wyth Vylayne Courage, and an other sorte
And vyle perlers False Conjecture,
All these I had in pryson full sure.
But this False Reporte hath broken pryson,
With his subtyl crafte and evyl treason,
And this journey prively to spede
He hath clad him in this fooles wede.
Now have I answered you your question,
And I pray you of a lyke solucion;
You seme, me thinke, for to be a knight;
I pray you first to tell me your name aryght.
My name, quod I, is La Graund Amour.
A! well, quod she, you are the perfite floure
Of al true lovers, as I do wel know;
You shall attayne La Belle Pucell, I trow.
I know right well ye are adventurous,
Onward your way to the toure peryllous;
And for as much as the night is nere,
I humbly pray you for to take the chere
That I may make you in my toure this night:
It is here by, you shall of it have a sight.
And I pray you to helpe me to bynde
This False Reporte, as you should do by kynde.
What! Godfrey, quod I, wyll you chaunge your name?
Nay, nay, quod he, it was for no shame;
But, alas! for wo, that she hath me taken!
I must obey, it can not be forsaken.
His fete were fettered underneth his nagge,
And bound his handes behinde to his bagge;
Thus Correction, with her whyp did dryve
The litle nagge wyth Godfrey Gobelyve
Tyll at the last we gan to approche
Her riall tour upon a craggy roche.
The night was come, for it was right late;
Yet right anone we came unto the gate,
Where we were let in by dame Measure,
That was a fayre and a goodly creature.
And so Correccion brought me to the hall,
Of gete well wrought, glased with cristall;
The rofe was golde, and amiddes was set
A carbuncle that was large and great,
Whose vertue clere in the hall so bryght
About did cast a great mervaylous lyght.
So forth we went unto a chamber fayre,
Where many ladies did them selfe repayre,
And at our coming than incontinent
They welcomed us as was convenient.
But of Correccyon they were very glad,
Which False Reporte agayne take had.
There was quene Phantasyle with Penalape,
Quene Helayne and quene Menelape,
Quene Ythesile and quene Prosperine,
The lady Meduse and yong Polixine;
With many mo that I do not rehearse:
My time is short, I must from them reverse.
And dame Correccion into a chambre ledde
Me right anone, for to go to my bedde.
What nede I shew of my great chere and rest?
I wanted nought, but had all of the best.
And so I slept tyll that Aurora clere
Began to shyne amiddes the golden spere.
Than up I rose, and my verlet also,
Which made me redy, and to my stede did go;
And dame Correccion, at the morow tyde,
Did me entreat a while to abyde;
And right anone my breakfast was brought,
To make me chere there wanted right nought.
And after this, dame Correccion
Did lede me to a mervaylous dongen:
And first she led me to the upper ward,
Where Shamefastnes did us well regarde,
For he was gayler, and had at his charge
Every rebell not for to go at large.
In the first ward there wente to and fro
Both men and women might no ferther go,
But yet they hoped for to have releve
Of theyr imprison which did them so greve.
These prisoners, whan true love was meved,
They wold dryve of and release the greved;
And for this cause, by egal jugement,
Lyke as they did, here hath they punishment.
And Shamefastnes lower did us bring
Where we saw men in great tormenting,
With many ladies, that their mouthes gagged;
And Fales Reporte on me his head wagged.
Than right anone a lady gan to scrape
His furred tonge, that he cryed lyke an ape;
And, vyle peller, in lykewyse also,
His tonge was scraped that he suffered wo;
And yet we went into a depe vale,
Where I saw men that were in great bale,
In holly bushes they did hange aloft,
Theyr hedes downeward for to fall unsofte;
And two ladyes dyde theyr bodyes bete,
With knotted whyppes in the flesshe to frete,
That the desyre it sholde sone aswage
And specyally of the Vylayne Courage.
These men, with sugred mouthes so eloquente,
A maydens herte coude ryght sone relente,
And these yonge madens for to take in snare
They fayne greate wo and for to suffer care:
The folyshe maydens dyd byleve they smarted,
That to theyr wyll the men them converted:
Thus whan that they had them so begyled,
And with theyr fraude these maydens defyled,
They cast them of; they toke no lenger kepe;
Go where ye lyst, though they crye and wepe;
Therfore these ladyes, wyth theyr whyppes harde,
Theyr bodyes bete that theyr bodyes had marde.
And every man as he hath deserved
A payne there is whiche is for hym observed.
Thus whan I had all the pryson sene,
With the tourmente of many a one I wene,
And forthe we wente agayne to the hall;
My stede was redy and brought to the wall,
And of the ladyes clere in excellence
I toke my leve, with all due reverence,
And thanked Correccyon, with my herte entere,
Of my repose and of her lovynge chere.
To me she sayd: Remembre you well
Of the swete beaute of La Belle Pucell;
Whan you her herte in fetters have chayned,
Let her have yours in lykewyse retayned;
Loke that your herte, your worde, and countenaunce,
Agre all in one without varyaunce.
Yf she for pyte do release your payne,
Consyder it and love her best agayne.
Be true and secrete, and make none advaunte
Whan you of love have a perfyte graunte.
And if ye wyll come unto your wyll,
Both here and se and than holde you styll.
Drede you nothing, but take a good herte,
For right sone after you from hens departe
Right high adventures unto you shall fall.
In tyme of fight unto your mind than call,
If you prevayle you shall attayne the fame
Of hye honour to certify the same.
And therwith I lyght upon my stede.
Madame, I sayd, I pray God do you mede!
Farewell! she sayd, for you must now hens,
Adue, quod I, with all my diligens.

CAP. XXXIII.
HOW GRAUNDE AMOURE DYSCOMFYTED THE GIAUNTE WITH THRE HEDES, AND WAS
RECEIVED OF THRE FAYRE LADIES.

Whan golden Phebus in the Capricorne
Gan to ascend fast unto Aquary,
And Janus Bifrus the crowne had wone
With his frosty berd in January;
Whan clere Diana joyned with Mercury,
The cristall ayre and assured firmanent
Were all depured without encumbrement.

Forth than I rode, at myne owne adventure,
Over the mountaynes and the craggy roche;
To beholde the countrees I had great pleasure,
Where corall growed by right hye flackes;
And the popyngayes in the tre toppes;
Than as I rode I sawe me beforne
Besyde a welle hange both a shelde and horne.

Whan I came there, adowne my stede I lyght,
And the fayre bugle I right well behelde;
Blasynge the armes as well as I myghte
That was so graven upon the goodly shelde;
Fyrst all of sylver dyd appere the felde,
With a rampynge lyon of fyne golde so pure,
And under the shelde there was this scrypture:

Yf ony knyght that is adventurous
Of his great pride dare the bugle blowe,
There is a gyaunte bothe fyerce and rygorous
That wyth his might shall hym soune overthrowe.
This is the waye as ye shall nowe knowe
To La Belle Pucell, but withouten fayle
The sturdy gyaunte wyll geve you batayle.

Whan I the scripture ones or twyes hadde redde,
And knewe therof all the hole effecte,
I blewe the horne without any drede,
And toke good herte all fare to abjecte,
Makynge me redy, for I dyde suspecte
That the great gyaunte unto me wolde hast
Whan he had herde me blowe so loude a blast.

I alyght anone upon my gentyll stede,
Aboute the well then I rode to and fro,
And thought ryght well upon the joyfull mede
That I shoulde have after my payne and wo;
And on my lady I dyd thynke also:
Tyll at the last my varlet dyd me tell,
Take hede, quod he, here is a fende of hell!

My greyhoundes leped and my stede did sterte,
My spere I toke and did loke aboute;
Wyth hardy courage I did arme me herte;
At last I saw a sturdy giaunt stoute,
Twelve fote of length to fere a great route,
Thre hedes he had, and he armed was
Both hedes and body all about with bras.

Upon his first head in his helmet crest
There stode a fane of the silke so fyne,
Where was wrytten, with letters of the best,
My name is Falshed, I shall cause enclyne
My neyghbours goods for to make them myne:
Alway I get theyr lande or substaunce,
With subtyll fraude, deceyte, or variaunce.

And whan a knyght with noble chyvalry
Of La Bell Pucell should attayne the grace,
Wyth my great falshed I werke so subtylly
That in her herte he hath no place:
Thus of his purpose I do let the cace.
This is I my power and my condicion,
Love to remove by great illusion.

And of the second head, in a silken tassell,
There I saw wrytten: Ymaginacion;
My crafty wytte is withouten fayle
Love for to bring in perturbacion;
Where La Bell Pucell wold have affeccion
To Graund Amour, I shall a tale devyse
To make her hate him and him to dispyse.

By my false wytte so muche imaginative
The trouth full ofte I bring in disease;
Whereas was peace I cause to be stryfe;
I wyll suffer no man for to lyve in ease;
For if by fortune he wyll be displease,
I shall of him ymagin such a tale,
That out of joy it shall turne into bale.

And on the thirde hede, in a stremer grene,
There was written: My name is Perjury;
In many a towne I am knowen as I wene,
Where as I lyst I do great injury,
And do forswere my selfe full wrongfully:
Of all thinges I do hate conscience.
But I love lucre with all diligence.

Betwene two lovers I do make debate;
I will so swere, that they thinke I am true;
For ever falshed with his owne estate
To a lady cometh, and sayeth to eschew
An inconvenience that ye do not rue;
Your love is nought ymaginacion knoweth;
I swere in lykewise and anon she troweth.

That we have sayd is of very trouth,
Her love she casteth right clene out of minde;
That with her love she is wonderly wroth;
With fayned kindnes we do her so blynde,
Than to her lover she is full unkinde.
Thus our thre powers were joyned in one,
In this mighty giaunt many dayes agone.

And whan that I had sene every thinge,
My spere I charged that was very great,
And to this giaunt so fyersly coming
I toke my course, that I with him mette,
Broking my spere upon his first helmet.
And right anone adowne my stede I lyght,
Drawing my swerde that was fayre and bryght,

Iclyped Clara Prudence, that was fayre and sure.
At the giaunt I stroke with all my vyolence,
But he my strokes might right well endure
He was so great and huge of puysaunce;
His glave he did agaynst me advaunce,
Whiche was foure fote and more of cuttyng;
And as he was his stroke dischargyng,

Because his stroke wys hevy to beare
I lept asyde from hym full quickly,
And to him I ran without any feare.
Whan he had discharged agayne full lightly,
He rored loude, and sware I should abye,
But what for that? I stroke at him fast,
And he at me, but I was not agast.

But as he faught he had a vauntage,
He was right hye and I under him low;
Tyll at the last, with lusty courage
Upon the side I gave him such a blow
That I right nere did him overthrow,
But right anone he did his might enlarge,
That upon me he did such a stroke discharge,

That unneth I might make resistaunce
Agayng his power, for he was so stronge.
I dyd defend me agaynst his vyolence,
And thus the battayll dured right longe;
Yet evermore I did thinke amonge
Of La Belle Pucell, whom I shold attayne
After my battayles, to release my payne.

And as I loked I saw than overale
Fayre golden Phebus with his beames read,
Than up my courage I began to hale,
Which nigh before was agone and dead.
My swerde so entred that the giaunt blede,
And with my strokes I cut of anone
One of his legges amiddes the thye bone.

Than to the ground he adowne did fall,
And upon me he gan to loure and glum,
Enforcing him so for to ryse withall,
But that I shortly unto hem did cum,
With his thre hedes he spytte all his venum,
And I with my swerde, as fast a coude be,
With all my force cut of his hedes thre.

Whan I had so obteyned the victory,
Unto me than my verlet well sayd:
You have demaunded well and worthely:
My greyhoundes lepte and my stede than brayde,
And than from ferre I saw, well arayed,
To me come ryding thre ladyes swete;
Forth than I rode and did wyth them mete.

The fyrst of them was called Veryte,
And the second Good Operacion,
The thirde and cleped Fydelyte:
All they at ones wyth good opinion
Did geve to me great laudacion,
And me beseched with her hert entere
Wyth them to rest and to make good chere.

I graunted them, and than backeward we rode
The mighty giaunt to se and behold,
Whose huge body was more than five carte lode,
Which lay there bleding that was almost colde;
They for his death did thanke me many a fold,
For he to them was enmy mortall,
Wherfore his thre hedes they toke in special.

And than Verite, on the first fane,
Did sette aloft of Falshoed the hede,
And Good Operacion in lykewise had tane
Of Ymaginacion that full sore than bledde
His hede alofte upon his baner rede.
And in likewise Fydelite had served
Perjuries hede, as he had well deserved.

And with swete songes and swete armony
Before me they rode to their fayre castell;
So forth I rode, with great joy and glory,
Unto the place where these ladies did dwell,
Sette on a rocke beside a spryng or a well,
And fayre Observaunce, the goodly portres,
Did us receyve with solempe gladnes.

Than to the chambre, that was very bryght,
They did me lede for to take myne ease,
After my trouble and my great sturdy fight;
But thre woundes I had, causing my disease:
My pane and wo they did sone appease,
And heled my woundes with salves aromatyke,
Telling me of a great giaunt lunatyke,

Whose name truely was called Variaunce,
Whome I should mete after my departyng.
These ladies unto me did great pleasaunce;
And in meane while as we were talking
For me my suppour was in ordeyning;
Thus whan by Temperaunce it was prepared,
And than to it we went and right well fared.

Tell me, quod Veritie, if you be content,
What is your name so hye adventurous,
And who that you into this cost hath sent?
Madame, I sayd, I was so amarous
Of La Belle Pucell so fayre and beauteous,
La Graunde Amoure truely is my name,
Which seke adventures to attayne the same.

A, ha! quod she, I thought as much before,
That you were he, for your great hardines.
La Bell Pucell must love you evermore,
Which for her sake, in your hye nobles,
Doth such actes by chyvalrous exces:
Her gentyl hert may nothing deny
To rewarde your mede with love full fervently.

Thus did we passe time in all maner of joye,
I lacketh nothyng that might make me solace,
But evermore, as noble Troyelus of Troy,
Full ofte I thought on my fayre ladyes face,
And her to se a muche longer space.
When time was come, to rest I was brought,
All to me longyng there lacked right nought.

What should I wade by perambulucion?
My tyme is shorte and I have farre to sayle
Unto the lande of my conclusion.
The wynde is east, ryght slowe without fayle,
To blowe my shyppe of diligent travayle
To the last ende of my matter troublous,
With waves enclosed so tempestuous.

Ryght in the morowe, when Aurora clere
Her radiaunt beames began for to spreade,
And splendent Phebus, in his golden spere,
The cristalle ayr did make fayre and redde,
Darke Dyane declining pale as any ledde,
When the lytle byrdes swetely dyd syng
Laudes to their maker early in the mornyng.

CAP. XXXIV.
HOW HE MET WITH PERCEVERAUNCE, AND REPOSED HYM IN THE MANOUR PLACE
OF DAME COMFORT.

Up I rose, and did make me ready,
For I thought long unto my journeys ende:
My grahoundes lept on me ryght merely,
To cheare me forwarde they condescende;
And the thre ladies, my cheare to amende,
A good breakefast did for me ordayne;
They were ryght gladde the gyaunt was slayne.

I toke my leave and on my way I ryde,
Through the woodes and on rockes hye.
I loked about, and on the hyll abode.
Till in the vale I sawe full hastely
To me come ryding a lady sikerly:
I well behelde the hye waye so used,
But of this lady ryght often I mused:

Till at the last we did mete together.
Madame, I sayde, the hye God you save!
She thanked me, and did aske me whether
That I so rode, and what I would have?
Truely, quod I, nothyng els I crave
Of the hye God, but to be so fortunate,
La Bell Pucell to have to my mate.

What is your name? then sayde she.
La Graunde Amoure, forsothe, madame, quod I.
Then was she glad as any one myght be,
And sayde she was sent fro myne owne lady.
Tidynges, I sayde, I praye you hartely!
Your lady, quod she, is in perfect health,
And would be glad to heare of your wealth.

She promised you in a garden grene
To love you best of any creature;
So doth she yet, as I thynke and wene,
Though that Disdayne brought her to her lure:
But of her harte nowe you shall be sure.
Be of good chere, and for nothyng dismaye,
I spake with her but nowe this other daye,

And she my selfe unto you hath sent;
My name is called dame Perceveraunce.
A little before that I from her went,
To her came Cupide, with great circumstaunce,
And brought a letter of Venus ordinaunce,
Whiche unto her he did anone present.
When she it reade and knewe the entent,

All inwardly full wondersly dismayed,
Withouten worde she did stande right well,
Her harded harte was full well delayed,
What for to do she knewe not good or yll.
You for to helpe or let you so spyll.
Disdayne and Strangenes did stande then therby;
Seing her countenaunce they gan to drawe nye.

Madame, quod they, why are ye so sadde?
Alas! quod she, it is no marvayle why.
Ryght nowe of Cupide a letter I had,
Sent from Venus, full ryght marveylously,
By whiche I have perceyved utterly
That a yong knyght called Graunde Amoure
Doth for my sake suffer suche doloure,

That of constraynte of wofull hevines
He is nere dead all onely for my sake;
Shall he nowe dye, or shall I him relese
Of his great wo and to my mercy take?
Abyde, quod Strangenes, and your sorowe slake:
Have you hym sene in any time before?
Yes, yes, quod she; that doth my wo restore.

At Penticost, nowe many dayes agone,
Musike to heare at great solemnitie,
To and fro he walked him selfe all alone
In a great temple of olde antiquitie;
Tyll that by fortune he had espied me;
And ryght anone, or that I was ware,
To me he came: I knewe nought of his care.

He semeth gentle, his maners ryght good,
I behelde ryght well all his condicion:
Humble of chere and of goodly mode;
But I thought nothyng of his affliction;
But his behavour sheweth the occasion
Of fervent love, as then in myne entent
I oft dyd deme, and geve a judgement.

So after this I dyd then sone departe
Home to my countrey where I dyd abyde;
When I was gone full heavy was his harte.
As Cupide sayeth, I must for hym provyde
A gentle remedy at this sodayne tyde;
And for my sake he is adventurous
To subdue mine enemies to me contrarious.

A! quod Disdayne, knowe ye his substaunce?
Why wyll you love suche a one as he?
Though he seme gentle and of good governaunce,
You shall have one of farre hyer degre.
He is nothyng mete, as it semeth me,
To be your fere your favour to attayne.
What is it to you though he suffer payne?

Coulde your selfe let his eyen to have a syght
Of your beauty or his harte to be set,
What skilleth you though that he dye this nyght?
You called hym not when he with you mette;
And he will love you, you can not hym let.
Be as be may, ye shall have myne assent
Him for to forsake as is moste expedient.

Alas! madame, then saide dame Strangenes,
When he cometh hether your courage abate;
Loke hye upon hym; beware of mekenes;
And thinke that you shall have an hie estate.
Let not Graunde Amour saye to you checkmate.
Be straunge unto hym, as ye knowe nothyng
The perfite cause of his true commyng.

And in meane whyle came to her presence
Dame Peace and Mercie, and to her they sayde:
Alas! madame, consyder your excellence,
And howe your beauty hath hym so arayed:
If you have hym ye may be well apayed.
And doubt you not if that ye love for love,
God will sende ryches to come to you above.

Will you for love let hym dye or peryshe,
Whiche loveth you so with fervent desyre?
And you your selfe may his sorowe minishe,
That with your beauty set his harte a fyre.
Your swete lokes did his harte enspire,
That of fyne force he must to you obeye,
To live or dye there is no more to saye.

Alas! quod Peace, wyll ye let him endure
In mortal payne withouten remedy?
Sithen his harte you have so tane in cure,
Your hasty dome loke that ye modefy.
Exile Disdayne and Strangenes shortly,
And sende Perceverance as fast as ye may
To comfort hym in his troublous journey.

Then in her mynde she gan to revolve
The lovyng wordes of Mercy and Peace;
Her hardy harte she gan for to dissolve,
And inwardly she did to me release
Her perfite love your great payne to cease;
And did exile then from her to wyldernes
Bothe dame Disdayne and eke dame Strangenes.

And did me sende to you incontinent,
With this goodly shelde, that ye should it were,
For her swete sake as is convenient.
It is sure; ye shall not nede to feare
The stroke of swerde or yet the grate of spere.
She prayeth you to be of good chere;
Above all men ye are to her moste deare.

Nowe, sayde Perceverance, I pray you repose
This long nyght with my cosen Comfort,
A gentle lady as any may suppose;
She can you tell and also well exhort
Of La Bell Pucell with a true report.
I thanke her of her great goodnes,
And so we rode with joye and gladnes,