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For nowe I plaine and nowe agen I pley;
I am fo mafid that I dey, I dey;

Arcite, Arcite, hath born away the key
Of al my wele and my gode avinture:

For in this world there ne is no creture
Walking, alas! in more discomfiture
Than I, ne that more forowe doth endure,
For yf I flepe á furlonge way or twey
Than thinkith me anon that your figure
Suppliant before me ftante clad in asure,
Redy efte to profre a newe affure -
For to ben tréwe, and mercy me to prey.

The longè night this wondir fyght I drie,
That on the day for foche affray I dye;
And of al this right naught iwys ye retche;
Ne nevirmore myne eyin two ben drye;
And to your routhe and to your trouthe I crye,
But wel away! to ferre ben they to fetche :
Thus holdith me my Destiny a wretche;
But me to rede out of this drede or gye
Ne may my wit (fo weke is it) not stretche.
Than ende I thus, fithe I may do no more,

I yeve it up for nowe and evirmore,
For I fhall nevir efte putten in balaunce
My fikirnefs, ne lerne of love the lore,
But as the fwan, I have herde fay ful yere,
Ayenft his deth wol fing in his penance,
So finge I here the deflinie and chaunce

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Howe that Arcite Annelida fo fore

Hath thrillid with the poynt of remembraunce. 350

Whan that Annelida, this woful Quene,

Hath of her hande ywrittin in this wise,
With face all ded, betwixin pale and grene,
She fel a fwoune, and fithe fhe gan to rife,
And unto Mars avowith facrifife

Within the temple, with a forow full chere,
That shapin was as ye may plainly here.

Explicit.

THE COMPLAINT

OF THE BLACKE KNIGHT.

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The beavy Complaint of a knight for that he can not win bis lady's grace.

IN Maie, when Flora the freshe luftie quene

The foile hath cladde in grene, and red, and whight,
And Phoebus gan to fhede his ftremis fhene
Amidde the Bulle with al the bemis bright,
And Lucifer to chace awaie the night,
Ayen the morowe our orizont hath take
To bid all lovirs out of flepe awake,

And hertis hevie for to recomforte
From drerihed of hevie night'is forowe,
Nature bad 'hem rife, and 'hem difporte
Ayen' the godelie and the glad greie morowe,
And Hope alfo, with Sainct Ihon to borowe,
Bad in despite of daungir and dispaire
For to takin the wholfome luftie aire;

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And with a figh I gan for to abreide

Out of my flombre', and fodainly up fterte,
As he (alas) that nigh for forowe deide,
My fikèneffe fate aye so nie my herte,
But for to findin foccour of my smerte,
Or at the left some relese of my paine,
That me fo fore yhalte in every veine.

I rose anone, and thought I wouldè gone
Into the wodde to here the birdis syng
When that the mistie vapour was agone,
And cleare and faire ywas the morownyng,
The dewe also like filvir in shinyng
Upon the levis, as any baume fwete,

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Till firie Titan with his persaunt hete

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Had dryid up the luftie licour newe

Upon the herbis in the grenè mede,
And that the floures of many divers hewe
Upon ther stalkis gonin for to fprede,
And for to fplaie out ther levis in brede

Again the fonne, golde burnid in his spere,

That doune to 'hem ycaft his bemis clere.

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And by a rivir forthe I gan costie
Of watir clere as birell or cristall,
Till at the laft I founde a little weie
Toward a parke, enclofid with a wall,
In compace rounde, and by a gatè small;
Who fo that would he frelie mightin gone
Into this parke, ywallid with grene stone :

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And in I went to here the birdis fong,
Which on the braunchis both in plain and vale
So loude yfang that all the wode yrong
Like as it fhould fhivir in pecis fmale,
And as methoughtin that the nightingale
With fo great might her voice began out wrest
Right as her harte for love would all to breft.

The foile was plain and smoth, and wondir soft, All everfprad with tapettes that Nature

Had made her felf, covirid eke aloft

With bowis grene, the flouris for to cure,

That in ther beautie thei maie long endure
From all affaute of Phoebus fervent fere,

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Whiche in his fphere fo hotte yfhone and clere. 56
The aire attempre, and the fmothe winde

Of Zephyrus emong the blofomes white
So wholfome was and nourishing by kinde,
That fmale buddis and round blofomis lite
In maner gan of her brethe to delite,
To yeve us hope that there fruit shall ytake
Ayenift autumpne redy for to shake.

I fawe the Daphne clofid undir rinde,
With the grene laurir and the wholsome pine,
The Mirre alfo, that wepith ever' of kinde,
The cedris hie, as upright as a line,

The filbert eke, that lowe doith encline
Her bowis grene unto the yerth adoun
Unto her knight callid Demophoon.

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There fawe I growing eke the freshe hauthorne
In white motley, that fo fote doeth ysmell,
Afhe, firre, and oke, with many a yong acorn,
And many a tre mo then I can tell,

And me beforne I fawe a little well,
That had his course, as I could wele beholde,
Undir an hill, with quicke ftremis and colde,
The gravill gold, the watir pure as glasse,
The bankis rounde the well invironing,
And foft as velvet was the yongè graffe
That thereupon luftilie came fpringyng,
The fute of trees aboutin compaffyng

Ther shadowe caft, clofyng the well arounde,
And all the herbis growyng on the groundė.

The water was fo wholfome and fo vertuous,
Through might of herbis growyng it hefide,
Not like to the welle where as Narciffus
Iflain was through the vengeaunce of Cupide,
Where fo wondir covertly he did hide
The grain of deth upon eche fatal brinke
That deth mote folowe who that ever drinke;
Ne like unto the pitte of the Pegace
Undir Parnaffus, where poëtis flept,
Nor like to the welle of pure chastitè
Which that Diana with her nymphis kept,
When the nakid into the watir lepte,
That flowe Acteon with her handis fell,
Onily for he came fo nigh the well:

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