THE TALE OF ROSIPHELEE

THE TALE OF ROSIPHELEEFrom the “Confessio Amantis” byJOHN GOWER(Died 1408)Of Armenye, I rede þus,Ther was a king, which HerupusWas hote, and he a lusti MaideTo dowhter hadde, and as men saideHire name was Rosiphelee;Which þo was of gret renomee,ffor sche was boþe wys and fair,And scholde ben hire fader hair.Bot sche hadde o defalte of SlowþeTowardes loue, and þat was rowþe;ffor so wel cowde noman seie,Which mihte sette hire in þe weieOf loues occupacionThurgh non ymaginacion;That scole wolde sche noght knowe.And þus sche was on of þe sloweAs of such hertes besinesse,Til whanne Venus þe goddesse,Which loues court haþ forto reule,Haþ broght hire into betre reule,fforþ wiþ Cupide and wiþ his miht:ffor þei merueille how such a wiht,Which þo was in hir lusti age,Desireþ nother MariageNe ȝit þe loue of paramours,Which euere haþ be þe comvn coursAmonges hem þat lusti were.So was it schewed after þere:ffor he þat hihe hertes loweþWiþ fyri Dartes whiche he þrovreþ,Cupide, which of loue is godd,In chastisinge haþ mad a roddTo dryue awei hir wantounesse;So þat wiþinne a while, I gesse,Sche hadde on such a chance sporned,That al hire mod was ouertorned,Which ferst sche hadde of slow manere:ffor þus it fell, as þou schalt hiere.Whan come was þe Monþe of Maii,Sche wolde walke vpon a dai,And þat was er þe Sonne Ariste;Of wommen bot a fewe it wiste,And forþ sche wente priuelyVnto þe Park was faste by,Al softe walkende on þe gras,Til sche cam þer þe Launde was,Thurgh which þer ran a gret riuere.It þoghte hir fair, and seide, HereI wole abide vnder þe schawe:And bad hire wommen to wiþdrawe,And þer sche stod al one stille,To þenke what was in hir wille.Sche sih þe swote floures springe,Sche herde glade foules singe,Sche sih þe bestes in her kinde,The buck, þe do, þe hert, þe hinde,The madle go wiþ þe femele;And so began þer a quereleBetwen loue and hir oghne herte,ffro which sche couþe noght asterte.And as sche caste hire yhe aboute,Sche syh clad in o suite a routeOf ladis, wher þei comen rydeAlong vnder þe wodes syde.On faire amblende hors þei sete,That were al whyte, fatte and grete,And euerichon þei ride on side:The Sadles were of such a Pride,Wiþ Perle and gold so wel begon,So riche syh sche neuere non:In kertles and in Copes richeThei weren cloþed, alle liche,Departed euene of whyt and blew;Wiþ alle lustes þat sche knewThei were enbrouded oueral.Here bodies weren long and smal,The beaute faye vpon her faceNon erþly þing it may desface;Corones on here hed þei beere,As ech of hem a qweene weere,That al þe gold of Cresus halleThe leste coronal of alleNe mihte haue boght after þe worþ:Thus come þei ridende forþ.The kinges dowhter, which þis syh,ffor pure abaissht drowh hire adryhAnd hield hire clos vnder þe bowh,And let hem passen stille ynowh;ffor as hire þoghte in hire avis,To hem þat were of such a prisSche was noght worþi axen þere,ffro when þei come or what þei were.Bot leuere þan þis worldes goodSche wolde haue wist hou þat it stod,And putte hire hed alitel oute;And as sche lokede hire aboute,Sche syh comende vnder þe lindeA womman vp an hors behinde.The hors on which sche rod was blak,Al lene and galled on þe back,And haltede, as he were encluyed,Wherof þe womman was annvied;Thus was þe hors in sori plit,Bot for al þat a sterre whitAmiddes in þe front he hadde.Hir Sadel ek was wonder badde,In which þe wofull womman sat,And natheles þer was wiþ þatA riche bridel for þe nonesOf gold and preciouse Stones.Hire cote was somdiel totore;Aboute hir middel twenty scoreOf horse haltres and wel moTher hyngen ate þo.Thus whan sche cam þe ladi nyh,Than tok sche betre hiede and syhThis womman fair was of visage,ffreyssh, lusti, ȝong and of tendre age;And so þis ladi, þer sche stod,Beþoghte hire wel and vnderstodThat þis, which com ridende þo,Tidinges couþe telle of þo,Which as sche sih tofore ryde,And putte hir forþ and preide abide,And seide, Ha, Suster, let me hiere,What ben þei, þat now riden hiere,And ben so richeliche arraied?This womman, which com so esmaied,Ansuerde wiþ ful softe speche,And seiþ, Ma Dame, I schal ȝou teche.These ar of þo þat whilom wereSeruantz to loue, and trowþe beere,Ther as þei hadde here herte set.ffare wel, for I mai noght be let:Ma Dame, I go to mi seruise,So moste I haste in alle wise;fforþi, ma Dame, ȝif me leue,I mai noght longe wiþ ȝou leue.Ha, goode Soster, ȝit I preie,Tell me whi ȝe ben so beseie,And wiþ þese haltres þus begon.Ma Dame, whilom I was onThat to mi fader hadde a king;Bot I was slow, and for no þingMe liste noght to loue obeie,And þat I now ful sore abeie.ffor I whilom no loue hadde,Min hors is now so fieble and badde,And al totore is myn arai;And euery ȝeer þis freisshe MaiiThese lusti ladis ryde aboute,And I mot nedes suie here routeIn þis manere as ȝe now se,And trusse here haltres forþ wiþ me,And am bot as here horse knaue.Non oþer office I ne haue,Hem þenkþ I am worþi nomore,ffor I was slow in loues lore,Whan I was able forto lere,And wolde noght þe tales hiereOf hem þat covþen loue teche.Now tell me þanne, I ȝov beseche,Wherof þat riche bridel serueþ.Wiþ þat hire chere awei sche swerueþ,And gan to wepe, and þus sche tolde:This bridel, which ȝe nov beholdeSo riche vpon myn horse hed,—Ma Dame, afore, er I was ded,Whan I was in mi lusti lif,Ther fel into myn herte a strifOf loue, which me overcom,So þat þerafter hiede I nom,And þoghte I wolde loue a kniht:That laste wel a fourtenyht,ffor it no lengere mihte laste,So nyh my lif was ate laste.Bot now, allas, to late warThat I ne hadde him loued ar:ffor deþ cam so in haste bime,Er I þerto hadde eny time,That it ne mihte ben achieued.Bot for al þat I am relieued,Of þat mi will was good þerto,That loue soffreþ it be soThat I schal swiche a bridel were.Now haue ȝe herd al myn ansuere:To godd, ma Dame, I ȝou betake,And warneþ alle for mi sake,Of loue þat þei ben noght ydel,And bidd hem þenke vpon mi brydel.And wiþ þat word al sodeinlySche passeþ, as it were a Sky,Al clene out of þis ladi sihte.And þo for fere hire herte afflihte,And seide to hirself, Helas!I am riht in þe same cas:Bot if I liue after þis day,I schal amende it, if I may.And þus homward þis lady wente,And changede al hire ferste entente,Wiþinnne hire herte and gan to swereThat sche none haltres wolde bere.

From the “Confessio Amantis” byJOHN GOWER(Died 1408)Of Armenye, I rede þus,Ther was a king, which HerupusWas hote, and he a lusti MaideTo dowhter hadde, and as men saideHire name was Rosiphelee;Which þo was of gret renomee,ffor sche was boþe wys and fair,And scholde ben hire fader hair.Bot sche hadde o defalte of SlowþeTowardes loue, and þat was rowþe;ffor so wel cowde noman seie,Which mihte sette hire in þe weieOf loues occupacionThurgh non ymaginacion;That scole wolde sche noght knowe.And þus sche was on of þe sloweAs of such hertes besinesse,Til whanne Venus þe goddesse,Which loues court haþ forto reule,Haþ broght hire into betre reule,fforþ wiþ Cupide and wiþ his miht:ffor þei merueille how such a wiht,Which þo was in hir lusti age,Desireþ nother MariageNe ȝit þe loue of paramours,Which euere haþ be þe comvn coursAmonges hem þat lusti were.So was it schewed after þere:ffor he þat hihe hertes loweþWiþ fyri Dartes whiche he þrovreþ,Cupide, which of loue is godd,In chastisinge haþ mad a roddTo dryue awei hir wantounesse;So þat wiþinne a while, I gesse,Sche hadde on such a chance sporned,That al hire mod was ouertorned,Which ferst sche hadde of slow manere:ffor þus it fell, as þou schalt hiere.Whan come was þe Monþe of Maii,Sche wolde walke vpon a dai,And þat was er þe Sonne Ariste;Of wommen bot a fewe it wiste,And forþ sche wente priuelyVnto þe Park was faste by,Al softe walkende on þe gras,Til sche cam þer þe Launde was,Thurgh which þer ran a gret riuere.It þoghte hir fair, and seide, HereI wole abide vnder þe schawe:And bad hire wommen to wiþdrawe,And þer sche stod al one stille,To þenke what was in hir wille.Sche sih þe swote floures springe,Sche herde glade foules singe,Sche sih þe bestes in her kinde,The buck, þe do, þe hert, þe hinde,The madle go wiþ þe femele;And so began þer a quereleBetwen loue and hir oghne herte,ffro which sche couþe noght asterte.And as sche caste hire yhe aboute,Sche syh clad in o suite a routeOf ladis, wher þei comen rydeAlong vnder þe wodes syde.On faire amblende hors þei sete,That were al whyte, fatte and grete,And euerichon þei ride on side:The Sadles were of such a Pride,Wiþ Perle and gold so wel begon,So riche syh sche neuere non:In kertles and in Copes richeThei weren cloþed, alle liche,Departed euene of whyt and blew;Wiþ alle lustes þat sche knewThei were enbrouded oueral.Here bodies weren long and smal,The beaute faye vpon her faceNon erþly þing it may desface;Corones on here hed þei beere,As ech of hem a qweene weere,That al þe gold of Cresus halleThe leste coronal of alleNe mihte haue boght after þe worþ:Thus come þei ridende forþ.The kinges dowhter, which þis syh,ffor pure abaissht drowh hire adryhAnd hield hire clos vnder þe bowh,And let hem passen stille ynowh;ffor as hire þoghte in hire avis,To hem þat were of such a prisSche was noght worþi axen þere,ffro when þei come or what þei were.Bot leuere þan þis worldes goodSche wolde haue wist hou þat it stod,And putte hire hed alitel oute;And as sche lokede hire aboute,Sche syh comende vnder þe lindeA womman vp an hors behinde.The hors on which sche rod was blak,Al lene and galled on þe back,And haltede, as he were encluyed,Wherof þe womman was annvied;Thus was þe hors in sori plit,Bot for al þat a sterre whitAmiddes in þe front he hadde.Hir Sadel ek was wonder badde,In which þe wofull womman sat,And natheles þer was wiþ þatA riche bridel for þe nonesOf gold and preciouse Stones.Hire cote was somdiel totore;Aboute hir middel twenty scoreOf horse haltres and wel moTher hyngen ate þo.Thus whan sche cam þe ladi nyh,Than tok sche betre hiede and syhThis womman fair was of visage,ffreyssh, lusti, ȝong and of tendre age;And so þis ladi, þer sche stod,Beþoghte hire wel and vnderstodThat þis, which com ridende þo,Tidinges couþe telle of þo,Which as sche sih tofore ryde,And putte hir forþ and preide abide,And seide, Ha, Suster, let me hiere,What ben þei, þat now riden hiere,And ben so richeliche arraied?This womman, which com so esmaied,Ansuerde wiþ ful softe speche,And seiþ, Ma Dame, I schal ȝou teche.These ar of þo þat whilom wereSeruantz to loue, and trowþe beere,Ther as þei hadde here herte set.ffare wel, for I mai noght be let:Ma Dame, I go to mi seruise,So moste I haste in alle wise;fforþi, ma Dame, ȝif me leue,I mai noght longe wiþ ȝou leue.Ha, goode Soster, ȝit I preie,Tell me whi ȝe ben so beseie,And wiþ þese haltres þus begon.Ma Dame, whilom I was onThat to mi fader hadde a king;Bot I was slow, and for no þingMe liste noght to loue obeie,And þat I now ful sore abeie.ffor I whilom no loue hadde,Min hors is now so fieble and badde,And al totore is myn arai;And euery ȝeer þis freisshe MaiiThese lusti ladis ryde aboute,And I mot nedes suie here routeIn þis manere as ȝe now se,And trusse here haltres forþ wiþ me,And am bot as here horse knaue.Non oþer office I ne haue,Hem þenkþ I am worþi nomore,ffor I was slow in loues lore,Whan I was able forto lere,And wolde noght þe tales hiereOf hem þat covþen loue teche.Now tell me þanne, I ȝov beseche,Wherof þat riche bridel serueþ.Wiþ þat hire chere awei sche swerueþ,And gan to wepe, and þus sche tolde:This bridel, which ȝe nov beholdeSo riche vpon myn horse hed,—Ma Dame, afore, er I was ded,Whan I was in mi lusti lif,Ther fel into myn herte a strifOf loue, which me overcom,So þat þerafter hiede I nom,And þoghte I wolde loue a kniht:That laste wel a fourtenyht,ffor it no lengere mihte laste,So nyh my lif was ate laste.Bot now, allas, to late warThat I ne hadde him loued ar:ffor deþ cam so in haste bime,Er I þerto hadde eny time,That it ne mihte ben achieued.Bot for al þat I am relieued,Of þat mi will was good þerto,That loue soffreþ it be soThat I schal swiche a bridel were.Now haue ȝe herd al myn ansuere:To godd, ma Dame, I ȝou betake,And warneþ alle for mi sake,Of loue þat þei ben noght ydel,And bidd hem þenke vpon mi brydel.And wiþ þat word al sodeinlySche passeþ, as it were a Sky,Al clene out of þis ladi sihte.And þo for fere hire herte afflihte,And seide to hirself, Helas!I am riht in þe same cas:Bot if I liue after þis day,I schal amende it, if I may.And þus homward þis lady wente,And changede al hire ferste entente,Wiþinnne hire herte and gan to swereThat sche none haltres wolde bere.

From the “Confessio Amantis” by

JOHN GOWER

(Died 1408)

Of Armenye, I rede þus,Ther was a king, which HerupusWas hote, and he a lusti MaideTo dowhter hadde, and as men saideHire name was Rosiphelee;Which þo was of gret renomee,ffor sche was boþe wys and fair,And scholde ben hire fader hair.Bot sche hadde o defalte of SlowþeTowardes loue, and þat was rowþe;ffor so wel cowde noman seie,Which mihte sette hire in þe weieOf loues occupacionThurgh non ymaginacion;That scole wolde sche noght knowe.And þus sche was on of þe sloweAs of such hertes besinesse,Til whanne Venus þe goddesse,Which loues court haþ forto reule,Haþ broght hire into betre reule,fforþ wiþ Cupide and wiþ his miht:ffor þei merueille how such a wiht,Which þo was in hir lusti age,Desireþ nother MariageNe ȝit þe loue of paramours,Which euere haþ be þe comvn coursAmonges hem þat lusti were.So was it schewed after þere:ffor he þat hihe hertes loweþWiþ fyri Dartes whiche he þrovreþ,Cupide, which of loue is godd,In chastisinge haþ mad a roddTo dryue awei hir wantounesse;So þat wiþinne a while, I gesse,Sche hadde on such a chance sporned,That al hire mod was ouertorned,Which ferst sche hadde of slow manere:ffor þus it fell, as þou schalt hiere.Whan come was þe Monþe of Maii,Sche wolde walke vpon a dai,And þat was er þe Sonne Ariste;Of wommen bot a fewe it wiste,And forþ sche wente priuelyVnto þe Park was faste by,Al softe walkende on þe gras,Til sche cam þer þe Launde was,Thurgh which þer ran a gret riuere.It þoghte hir fair, and seide, HereI wole abide vnder þe schawe:And bad hire wommen to wiþdrawe,And þer sche stod al one stille,To þenke what was in hir wille.Sche sih þe swote floures springe,Sche herde glade foules singe,Sche sih þe bestes in her kinde,The buck, þe do, þe hert, þe hinde,The madle go wiþ þe femele;And so began þer a quereleBetwen loue and hir oghne herte,ffro which sche couþe noght asterte.And as sche caste hire yhe aboute,Sche syh clad in o suite a routeOf ladis, wher þei comen rydeAlong vnder þe wodes syde.On faire amblende hors þei sete,That were al whyte, fatte and grete,And euerichon þei ride on side:The Sadles were of such a Pride,Wiþ Perle and gold so wel begon,So riche syh sche neuere non:In kertles and in Copes richeThei weren cloþed, alle liche,Departed euene of whyt and blew;Wiþ alle lustes þat sche knewThei were enbrouded oueral.Here bodies weren long and smal,The beaute faye vpon her faceNon erþly þing it may desface;Corones on here hed þei beere,As ech of hem a qweene weere,That al þe gold of Cresus halleThe leste coronal of alleNe mihte haue boght after þe worþ:Thus come þei ridende forþ.The kinges dowhter, which þis syh,ffor pure abaissht drowh hire adryhAnd hield hire clos vnder þe bowh,And let hem passen stille ynowh;ffor as hire þoghte in hire avis,To hem þat were of such a prisSche was noght worþi axen þere,ffro when þei come or what þei were.Bot leuere þan þis worldes goodSche wolde haue wist hou þat it stod,And putte hire hed alitel oute;And as sche lokede hire aboute,Sche syh comende vnder þe lindeA womman vp an hors behinde.The hors on which sche rod was blak,Al lene and galled on þe back,And haltede, as he were encluyed,Wherof þe womman was annvied;Thus was þe hors in sori plit,Bot for al þat a sterre whitAmiddes in þe front he hadde.Hir Sadel ek was wonder badde,In which þe wofull womman sat,And natheles þer was wiþ þatA riche bridel for þe nonesOf gold and preciouse Stones.Hire cote was somdiel totore;Aboute hir middel twenty scoreOf horse haltres and wel moTher hyngen ate þo.Thus whan sche cam þe ladi nyh,Than tok sche betre hiede and syhThis womman fair was of visage,ffreyssh, lusti, ȝong and of tendre age;And so þis ladi, þer sche stod,Beþoghte hire wel and vnderstodThat þis, which com ridende þo,Tidinges couþe telle of þo,Which as sche sih tofore ryde,And putte hir forþ and preide abide,And seide, Ha, Suster, let me hiere,What ben þei, þat now riden hiere,And ben so richeliche arraied?This womman, which com so esmaied,Ansuerde wiþ ful softe speche,And seiþ, Ma Dame, I schal ȝou teche.These ar of þo þat whilom wereSeruantz to loue, and trowþe beere,Ther as þei hadde here herte set.ffare wel, for I mai noght be let:Ma Dame, I go to mi seruise,So moste I haste in alle wise;fforþi, ma Dame, ȝif me leue,I mai noght longe wiþ ȝou leue.Ha, goode Soster, ȝit I preie,Tell me whi ȝe ben so beseie,And wiþ þese haltres þus begon.Ma Dame, whilom I was onThat to mi fader hadde a king;Bot I was slow, and for no þingMe liste noght to loue obeie,And þat I now ful sore abeie.ffor I whilom no loue hadde,Min hors is now so fieble and badde,And al totore is myn arai;And euery ȝeer þis freisshe MaiiThese lusti ladis ryde aboute,And I mot nedes suie here routeIn þis manere as ȝe now se,And trusse here haltres forþ wiþ me,And am bot as here horse knaue.Non oþer office I ne haue,Hem þenkþ I am worþi nomore,ffor I was slow in loues lore,Whan I was able forto lere,And wolde noght þe tales hiereOf hem þat covþen loue teche.Now tell me þanne, I ȝov beseche,Wherof þat riche bridel serueþ.Wiþ þat hire chere awei sche swerueþ,And gan to wepe, and þus sche tolde:This bridel, which ȝe nov beholdeSo riche vpon myn horse hed,—Ma Dame, afore, er I was ded,Whan I was in mi lusti lif,Ther fel into myn herte a strifOf loue, which me overcom,So þat þerafter hiede I nom,And þoghte I wolde loue a kniht:That laste wel a fourtenyht,ffor it no lengere mihte laste,So nyh my lif was ate laste.Bot now, allas, to late warThat I ne hadde him loued ar:ffor deþ cam so in haste bime,Er I þerto hadde eny time,That it ne mihte ben achieued.Bot for al þat I am relieued,Of þat mi will was good þerto,That loue soffreþ it be soThat I schal swiche a bridel were.Now haue ȝe herd al myn ansuere:To godd, ma Dame, I ȝou betake,And warneþ alle for mi sake,Of loue þat þei ben noght ydel,And bidd hem þenke vpon mi brydel.And wiþ þat word al sodeinlySche passeþ, as it were a Sky,Al clene out of þis ladi sihte.And þo for fere hire herte afflihte,And seide to hirself, Helas!I am riht in þe same cas:Bot if I liue after þis day,I schal amende it, if I may.And þus homward þis lady wente,And changede al hire ferste entente,Wiþinnne hire herte and gan to swereThat sche none haltres wolde bere.

Of Armenye, I rede þus,

Ther was a king, which Herupus

Was hote, and he a lusti Maide

To dowhter hadde, and as men saide

Hire name was Rosiphelee;

Which þo was of gret renomee,

ffor sche was boþe wys and fair,

And scholde ben hire fader hair.

Bot sche hadde o defalte of Slowþe

Towardes loue, and þat was rowþe;

ffor so wel cowde noman seie,

Which mihte sette hire in þe weie

Of loues occupacion

Thurgh non ymaginacion;

That scole wolde sche noght knowe.

And þus sche was on of þe slowe

As of such hertes besinesse,

Til whanne Venus þe goddesse,

Which loues court haþ forto reule,

Haþ broght hire into betre reule,

fforþ wiþ Cupide and wiþ his miht:

ffor þei merueille how such a wiht,

Which þo was in hir lusti age,

Desireþ nother Mariage

Ne ȝit þe loue of paramours,

Which euere haþ be þe comvn cours

Amonges hem þat lusti were.

So was it schewed after þere:

ffor he þat hihe hertes loweþ

Wiþ fyri Dartes whiche he þrovreþ,

Cupide, which of loue is godd,

In chastisinge haþ mad a rodd

To dryue awei hir wantounesse;

So þat wiþinne a while, I gesse,

Sche hadde on such a chance sporned,

That al hire mod was ouertorned,

Which ferst sche hadde of slow manere:

ffor þus it fell, as þou schalt hiere.

Whan come was þe Monþe of Maii,

Sche wolde walke vpon a dai,

And þat was er þe Sonne Ariste;

Of wommen bot a fewe it wiste,

And forþ sche wente priuely

Vnto þe Park was faste by,

Al softe walkende on þe gras,

Til sche cam þer þe Launde was,

Thurgh which þer ran a gret riuere.

It þoghte hir fair, and seide, Here

I wole abide vnder þe schawe:

And bad hire wommen to wiþdrawe,

And þer sche stod al one stille,

To þenke what was in hir wille.

Sche sih þe swote floures springe,

Sche herde glade foules singe,

Sche sih þe bestes in her kinde,

The buck, þe do, þe hert, þe hinde,

The madle go wiþ þe femele;

And so began þer a querele

Betwen loue and hir oghne herte,

ffro which sche couþe noght asterte.

And as sche caste hire yhe aboute,

Sche syh clad in o suite a route

Of ladis, wher þei comen ryde

Along vnder þe wodes syde.

On faire amblende hors þei sete,

That were al whyte, fatte and grete,

And euerichon þei ride on side:

The Sadles were of such a Pride,

Wiþ Perle and gold so wel begon,

So riche syh sche neuere non:

In kertles and in Copes riche

Thei weren cloþed, alle liche,

Departed euene of whyt and blew;

Wiþ alle lustes þat sche knew

Thei were enbrouded oueral.

Here bodies weren long and smal,

The beaute faye vpon her face

Non erþly þing it may desface;

Corones on here hed þei beere,

As ech of hem a qweene weere,

That al þe gold of Cresus halle

The leste coronal of alle

Ne mihte haue boght after þe worþ:

Thus come þei ridende forþ.

The kinges dowhter, which þis syh,

ffor pure abaissht drowh hire adryh

And hield hire clos vnder þe bowh,

And let hem passen stille ynowh;

ffor as hire þoghte in hire avis,

To hem þat were of such a pris

Sche was noght worþi axen þere,

ffro when þei come or what þei were.

Bot leuere þan þis worldes good

Sche wolde haue wist hou þat it stod,

And putte hire hed alitel oute;

And as sche lokede hire aboute,

Sche syh comende vnder þe linde

A womman vp an hors behinde.

The hors on which sche rod was blak,

Al lene and galled on þe back,

And haltede, as he were encluyed,

Wherof þe womman was annvied;

Thus was þe hors in sori plit,

Bot for al þat a sterre whit

Amiddes in þe front he hadde.

Hir Sadel ek was wonder badde,

In which þe wofull womman sat,

And natheles þer was wiþ þat

A riche bridel for þe nones

Of gold and preciouse Stones.

Hire cote was somdiel totore;

Aboute hir middel twenty score

Of horse haltres and wel mo

Ther hyngen ate þo.

Thus whan sche cam þe ladi nyh,

Than tok sche betre hiede and syh

This womman fair was of visage,

ffreyssh, lusti, ȝong and of tendre age;

And so þis ladi, þer sche stod,

Beþoghte hire wel and vnderstod

That þis, which com ridende þo,

Tidinges couþe telle of þo,

Which as sche sih tofore ryde,

And putte hir forþ and preide abide,

And seide, Ha, Suster, let me hiere,

What ben þei, þat now riden hiere,

And ben so richeliche arraied?

This womman, which com so esmaied,

Ansuerde wiþ ful softe speche,

And seiþ, Ma Dame, I schal ȝou teche.

These ar of þo þat whilom were

Seruantz to loue, and trowþe beere,

Ther as þei hadde here herte set.

ffare wel, for I mai noght be let:

Ma Dame, I go to mi seruise,

So moste I haste in alle wise;

fforþi, ma Dame, ȝif me leue,

I mai noght longe wiþ ȝou leue.

Ha, goode Soster, ȝit I preie,

Tell me whi ȝe ben so beseie,

And wiþ þese haltres þus begon.

Ma Dame, whilom I was on

That to mi fader hadde a king;

Bot I was slow, and for no þing

Me liste noght to loue obeie,

And þat I now ful sore abeie.

ffor I whilom no loue hadde,

Min hors is now so fieble and badde,

And al totore is myn arai;

And euery ȝeer þis freisshe Maii

These lusti ladis ryde aboute,

And I mot nedes suie here route

In þis manere as ȝe now se,

And trusse here haltres forþ wiþ me,

And am bot as here horse knaue.

Non oþer office I ne haue,

Hem þenkþ I am worþi nomore,

ffor I was slow in loues lore,

Whan I was able forto lere,

And wolde noght þe tales hiere

Of hem þat covþen loue teche.

Now tell me þanne, I ȝov beseche,

Wherof þat riche bridel serueþ.

Wiþ þat hire chere awei sche swerueþ,

And gan to wepe, and þus sche tolde:

This bridel, which ȝe nov beholde

So riche vpon myn horse hed,—

Ma Dame, afore, er I was ded,

Whan I was in mi lusti lif,

Ther fel into myn herte a strif

Of loue, which me overcom,

So þat þerafter hiede I nom,

And þoghte I wolde loue a kniht:

That laste wel a fourtenyht,

ffor it no lengere mihte laste,

So nyh my lif was ate laste.

Bot now, allas, to late war

That I ne hadde him loued ar:

ffor deþ cam so in haste bime,

Er I þerto hadde eny time,

That it ne mihte ben achieued.

Bot for al þat I am relieued,

Of þat mi will was good þerto,

That loue soffreþ it be so

That I schal swiche a bridel were.

Now haue ȝe herd al myn ansuere:

To godd, ma Dame, I ȝou betake,

And warneþ alle for mi sake,

Of loue þat þei ben noght ydel,

And bidd hem þenke vpon mi brydel.

And wiþ þat word al sodeinly

Sche passeþ, as it were a Sky,

Al clene out of þis ladi sihte.

And þo for fere hire herte afflihte,

And seide to hirself, Helas!

I am riht in þe same cas:

Bot if I liue after þis day,

I schal amende it, if I may.

And þus homward þis lady wente,

And changede al hire ferste entente,

Wiþinnne hire herte and gan to swere

That sche none haltres wolde bere.

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