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
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.
THE COMPLAINT
OF THE BLACKE KNIGHT.
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;
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,
Till firie Titan with his persaunt hete
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.
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 :
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,
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.
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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