Mi Sone, unto the trouthe wende 2060Now wol I for the love of thee,And lete alle othre truffles be.The more that the nede is hyh,The more it nedeth to be slyhTo him which hath the nede on honde.I have wel herd and understonde,Mi Sone, al that thou hast me seid,And ek of that thou hast me preid,Nou at this time that I schalAs for conclusioun final 2070Conseile upon thi nede sette:So thenke I finaly to knetteThis cause, where it is tobroke,And make an ende of that is spoke.For I behihte thee that yifteFerst whan thou come under my schrifte,That thogh I toward Venus were,Yit spak I suche wordes there,That for the Presthod which I have,Min ordre and min astat to save, 2080I seide I wolde of myn officeTo vertu more than to viceEncline, and teche thee mi lore.Forthi to speken overmoreOf love, which thee mai availe,Tak love where it mai noght faile:For as of this which thou art inne,Be that thou seist it is a Sinne,And Sinne mai no pris deserve,Withoute pris and who schal serve, 2090I not what profit myhte availe.Thus folweth it, if thou travaile,Wher thou no profit hast ne pris,Thou art toward thiself unwis:And sett thou myhtest lust atteigne,Of every lust thende is a peine,And every peine is good to fle;So it is wonder thing to se,Why such a thing schal be desired.The more that a Stock is fyred, 2100The rathere into Aisshe it torneth;The fot which in the weie spornethFulofte his heved hath overthrowe;Thus love is blind and can noght knoweWher that he goth, til he be falle:Forthi, bot if it so befalleWith good conseil that he be lad,Him oghte forto ben adrad.For conseil passeth alle thingTo him which thenkth to ben a king; 2110And every man for his partieA kingdom hath to justefie,That is to sein his oghne dom.If he misreule that kingdom,He lest himself, and that is moreThan if he loste Schip and OreAnd al the worldes good withal:For what man that in specialHath noght himself, he hath noght elles,Nomor the perles than the schelles; 2120Al is to him of o value:Thogh he hadde at his retenueThe wyde world ryht as he wolde,Whan he his herte hath noght withholdeToward himself, al is in vein.And thus, my Sone, I wolde sein,As I seide er, that thou aryse,Er that thou falle in such a wiseThat thou ne myht thiself rekevere;For love, which that blind was evere, 2130Makth alle his servantz blinde also.My Sone, and if thou have be so,Yit is it time to withdrawe,And set thin herte under that lawe,The which of reson is governedAnd noght of will. And to be lerned,Ensamples thou hast many onOf now and ek of time gon,That every lust is bot a while;And who that wole himself beguile, 2140He may the rathere be deceived.Mi Sone, now thou hast conceivedSomwhat of that I wolde mene;Hierafterward it schal be seneIf that thou lieve upon mi lore;For I can do to thee nomoreBot teche thee the rihte weie:Now ches if thou wolt live or deie.Mi fader, so as I have herdYour tale, bot it were ansuerd, 2150I were mochel forto blame.Mi wo to you is bot a game,That fielen noght of that I fiele;The fielinge of a mannes HieleMai noght be likned to the Herte:I mai noght, thogh I wolde, asterte,And ye be fre from al the peineOf love, wherof I me pleigne.It is riht esi to comaunde;The hert which fre goth on the launde 2160Not of an Oxe what him eileth;It falleth ofte a man merveilethOf that he seth an other fare,Bot if he knewe himself the fare,And felt it as it is in soth,He scholde don riht as he doth,Or elles werse in his degre:For wel I wot, and so do ye,That love hath evere yit ben used,So mot I nedes ben excused. 2170Bot, fader, if ye wolde thusUnto Cupide and to VenusBe frendlich toward mi querele,So that myn herte were in heleOf love which is in mi briest,I wot wel thanne a betre PrestWas nevere mad to my behove.Bot al the whiles that I hoveIn noncertein betwen the tuo,And not if I to wel or wo 2180Schal torne, that is al my drede,So that I not what is to rede.Bot for final conclusionI thenke a SupplicacionWith pleine wordes and expresseWryte unto Venus the goddesse,The which I preie you to bereAnd bringe ayein a good ansuere.Tho was betwen mi Prest and meDebat and gret perplexete: 2190Mi resoun understod him wel,And knew it was sothe everydelThat he hath seid, bot noght forthiMi will hath nothing set therby.For techinge of so wis a portIs unto love of no desport;Yit myhte nevere man beholdeReson, wher love was withholde,Thei be noght of o governance.And thus we fellen in distance, 2200Mi Prest and I, bot I spak faire,And thurgh mi wordes debonaireThanne ate laste we acorden,So that he seith he wol recordenTo speke and stonde upon mi sydeTo Venus bothe and to Cupide;And bad me wryte what I wolde,And seith me trewly that he scholdeMi lettre bere unto the queene.And I sat doun upon the grene 2210Fulfilt of loves fantasie,And with the teres of myn ijeIn stede of enke I gan to wryteThe wordes whiche I wolde enditeUnto Cupide and to Venus,And in mi lettre I seide thus.The wofull peine of loves maladie,Ayein the which mai no phisique availe,Min herte hath so bewhaped with sotie,That wher so that I reste or I travaile, 2220I finde it evere redy to assaileMi resoun, which that can him noght defende:Thus seche I help, wherof I mihte amende.Ferst to Nature if that I me compleigne,Ther finde I hou that every creatureSom time ayer hath love in his demeine,So that the litel wrenne in his mesureHath yit of kinde a love under his cure;And I bot on desire, of which I misse:And thus, bot I, hath every kinde his blisse. 2230The resoun of my wit it overpasseth,Of that Nature techeth me the weieTo love, and yit no certein sche compassethHou I schal spede, and thus betwen the tweieI stonde, and not if I schal live or deie.For thogh reson ayein my will debate,I mai noght fle, that I ne love algate.Upon miself is thilke tale come,Hou whilom Pan, which is the god of kinde,With love wrastlede and was overcome: 2240For evere I wrastle and evere I am behinde,That I no strengthe in al min herte finde,Wherof that I mai stonden eny throwe;So fer mi wit with love is overthrowe.Whom nedeth help, he mot his helpe crave,Or helpeles he schal his nede spille:Pleinly thurghsoght my wittes alle I have,Bot non of hem can helpe after mi wille;And als so wel I mihte sitte stille,As preie unto mi lady eny helpe: 2250Thus wot I noght wherof miself to helpe.Unto the grete Jove and if I bidde,To do me grace of thilke swete tunne,Which under keie in his celier amiddeLith couched, that fortune is overrunne,Bot of the bitter cuppe I have begunne,I not hou ofte, and thus finde I no game;For evere I axe and evere it is the same.I se the world stonde evere upon eschange,Nou wyndes loude, and nou the weder softe; 2260I mai sen ek the grete mone change,And thing which nou is lowe is eft alofte;The dredfull werres into pes fulofteThei torne; and evere is Danger in o place,Which wol noght change his will to do me grace.Bot upon this the grete clerc Ovide,Of love whan he makth his remembrance,He seith ther is the blinde god Cupide,The which hath love under his governance,And in his hond with many a fyri lance 2270He woundeth ofte, ther he wol noght hele;And that somdiel is cause of mi querele.Ovide ek seith that love to parforneStant in the hond of Venus the goddesse,Bot whan sche takth hir conseil with Satorne,Ther is no grace, and in that time, I gesse,Began mi love, of which myn hevynesseIs now and evere schal, bot if I spede:So wot I noght miself what is to rede.Forthi to you, Cupide and Venus bothe, 2280With al myn hertes obeissance I preie,If ye were ate ferste time wrothe,Whan I began to love, as I you seie,Nou stynt, and do thilke infortune aweie,So that Danger, which stant of retenueWith my ladi, his place mai remue.O thou Cupide, god of loves lawe,That with thi Dart brennende hast set afyreMin herte, do that wounde be withdrawe,Or yif me Salve such as I desire: 2290For Service in thi Court withouten hyreTo me, which evere yit have kept thin heste,Mai nevere be to loves lawe honeste.O thou, gentile Venus, loves queene,Withoute gult thou dost on me thi wreche;Thou wost my peine is evere aliche greneFor love, and yit I mai it noght areche:This wold I for my laste word beseche,That thou mi love aquite as I deserve,Or elles do me pleinly forto sterve. 2300Whanne I this SupplicaciounWith good deliberacioun,In such a wise as ye nou wite,Hadde after min entente writeUnto Cupide and to Venus,This Prest which hihte GeniusIt tok on honde to presente,On my message and forth he wenteTo Venus, forto wite hire wille.And I bod in the place stille, 2310And was there bot a litel while,Noght full the montance of a Mile,Whan I behield and sodeinlyI sih wher Venus stod me by.So as I myhte, under a treTo grounde I fell upon mi kne,And preide hire forto do me grace:Sche caste hire chiere upon mi face,And as it were halvinge a gameSche axeth me what is mi name. 2320“Ma dame,” I seide, “John Gower.”“Now John,” quod sche, “in my pouerThou most as of thi love stonde;For I thi bille have understonde,In which to Cupide and to meSomdiel thou hast compleigned thee,And somdiel to Nature also.Bot that schal stonde among you tuo,For therof have I noght to done;For Nature is under the Mone 2330Maistresse of every lives kinde,Bot if so be that sche mai findeSom holy man that wol withdraweHis kindly lust ayein hir lawe;Bot sielde whanne it falleth so,For fewe men ther ben of tho,Bot of these othre ynowe be,Whiche of here oghne nyceteAyein Nature and hire officeDeliten hem in sondri vice, 2340Wherof that sche fulofte hath pleigned,And ek my Court it hath desdeignedAnd evere schal; for it receivethNon such that kinde so deceiveth.For al onliche of gentil loveMi court stant alle courtz aboveAnd takth noght into retenueBot thing which is to kinde due,For elles it schal be refused.Wherof I holde thee excused, 2350For it is manye daies gon,That thou amonges hem were onWhich of my court hast ben withholde;So that the more I am beholdeOf thi desese to commune,And to remue that fortune,Which manye daies hath the grieved.Bot if my conseil mai be lieved,Thou schalt ben esed er thou goOf thilke unsely jolif wo, 2360Wherof thou seist thin herte is fyred:Bot as of that thou hast desiredAfter the sentence of thi bille,Thou most therof don at my wille,And I therof me wole avise.For be thou hol, it schal suffise:Mi medicine is noght to siekeFor thee and for suche olde sieke,Noght al per chance as ye it wolden,Bot so as ye be reson scholden, 2370Acordant unto loves kinde.For in the plit which I thee finde,So as mi court it hath awarded,Thou schalt be duely rewarded;And if thou woldest more crave,It is no riht that thou it have.”Venus, which stant withoute laweIn noncertein, bot as men draweOf Rageman upon the chance,Sche leith no peis in the balance, 2380Bot as hir lyketh forto weie;The trewe man fulofte aweieSche put, which hath hir grace bede,And set an untrewe in his stede.Lo, thus blindly the world sche diemethIn loves cause, as tome siemeth:I not what othre men wol sein,Bot I algate am so besein,And stonde as on amonges alleWhich am out of hir grace falle: 2390It nedeth take no witnesse,For sche which seid is the goddesse,To whether part of love it wende,Hath sett me for a final endeThe point wherto that I schal holde.For whan sche hath me wel beholde,Halvynge of scorn, sche seide thus:“Thou wost wel that I am Venus,Which al only my lustes seche;And wel I wot, thogh thou beseche 2400Mi love, lustes ben ther none,Whiche I mai take in thi persone;For loves lust and lockes horeIn chambre acorden neveremore,And thogh thou feigne a yong corage,It scheweth wel be the visageThat olde grisel is no fole:There ben fulmanye yeres stoleWith thee and with suche othre mo,That outward feignen youthe so 2410And ben withinne of pore assay.Min herte wolde and I ne mayIs noght beloved nou adayes;Er thou make eny suche assaiesTo love, and faile upon the fet,Betre is to make a beau retret;For thogh thou myhtest love atteigne,Yit were it bot an ydel peine,Whan that thou art noght sufficantTo holde love his covenant. 2420Forthi tak hom thin herte ayein,That thou travaile noght in vein,Wherof my Court may be deceived.I wot and have it wel conceived,Hou that thi will is good ynowh;Bot mor behoveth to the plowh,Wherof the lacketh, as I trowe:So sitte it wel that thou beknoweThi fieble astat, er thou beginneThing wher thou miht non ende winne. 2430What bargain scholde a man assaie,Whan that him lacketh forto paie?Mi Sone, if thou be wel bethoght,This toucheth thee; foryet it noght:The thing is torned into was;That which was whilom grene gras,Is welked hey at time now.Forthi mi conseil is that thouRemembre wel hou thou art old.”Whan Venus hath hir tale told, 2440And I bethoght was al aboute,Tho wiste I wel withoute doute,That ther was no recoverir;And as a man the blase of fyrWith water quencheth, so ferd I;A cold me cawhte sodeinly,For sorwe that myn herte madeMi dedly face pale and fadeBecam, and swoune I fell to grounde.And as I lay the same stounde, 2450Ne fully quik ne fully ded,Me thoghte I sih tofor myn hedCupide with his bowe bent,And lich unto a Parlement,Which were ordeigned for the nones,With him cam al the world at onesOf gentil folk that whilom wereLovers, I sih hem alle thereForth with Cupide in sondri routes.Min yhe and as I caste aboutes, 2460To knowe among hem who was who,I sih wher lusty Youthe tho,As he which was a Capitein,Tofore alle othre upon the pleinStod with his route wel begon,Here hevedes kempt, and theruponGarlandes noght of o colour,Some of the lef, some of the flour,And some of grete Perles were;The newe guise of Beawme there, 2470With sondri thinges wel devised,I sih, wherof thei ben queintised.It was al lust that thei with ferde,Ther was no song that I ne herde,Which unto love was touchende;Of Pan and al that was likendeAs in Pipinge of melodieWas herd in thilke compaignieSo lowde, that on every sideIt thoghte as al the hevene cride 2480In such acord and such a sounOf bombard and of clarionWith Cornemuse and Schallemele,That it was half a mannes heleSo glad a noise forto hiere.And as me thoghte, in this manereAl freissh I syh hem springe and dance,And do to love her entendanceAfter the lust of youthes heste.Ther was ynowh of joie and feste, 2490For evere among thei laghe and pleie,And putten care out of the weie,That he with hem ne sat ne stod.And overthis I understod,So as myn Ere it myhte areche,The moste matiere of her specheWas al of knyhthod and of Armes,And what it is to ligge in armesWith love, whanne it is achieved.Ther was Tristram, which was believed 2500With bele Ysolde, and LancelotStod with Gunnore, and GalahotWith his ladi, and as me thoghte,I syh wher Jason with him broghteHis love, which that Creusa hihte,And Hercules, which mochel myhte,Was ther berende his grete Mace,And most of alle in thilke placeHe peyneth him to make chiereWith Eolen, which was him diere. 2510Theseüs, thogh he were untreweTo love, as alle wommen knewe,Yit was he there nathelesWith Phedra, whom to love he ches:Of Grece ek ther was Thelamon,Which fro the king LamenedonAt Troie his doghter refte aweie,Eseonen, as for his preie,Which take was whan Jason camFro Colchos, and the Cite nam 2520In vengance of the ferste hate;That made hem after to debate,Whan Priamus the newe tounHath mad. And in avisiounMe thoghte that I sih alsoEctor forth with his brethren tuo;Himself stod with Pantaselee,And next to him I myhte se,Wher Paris stod with faire Eleine,Which was his joie sovereine; 2530And Troilus stod with Criseide,Bot evere among, althogh he pleide,Be semblant he was hevy chiered,For Diomede, as him was liered,Cleymeth to ben his parconner.And thus full many a bacheler,A thousend mo than I can sein,With Yowthe I sih ther wel beseinForth with here loves glade and blithe.And some I sih whiche ofte sithe 2540Compleignen hem in other wise;Among the whiche I syh NarciseAnd Piramus, that sory were.The worthy Grek also was there,Achilles, which for love deide:Agamenon ek, as men seide,And Menelay the king alsoI syh, with many an other mo,Which hadden be fortuned soreIn loves cause.And overmore 2550Of wommen in the same cas,With hem I sih wher Dido was,Forsake which was with Enee;And Phillis ek I myhte see,Whom Demephon deceived hadde;And Adriagne hir sorwe ladde,For Theseüs hir Soster tokAnd hire unkindely forsok.I sih ther ek among the pressCompleignende upon Hercules 2560His ferste love Deyanire,Which sette him afterward afyre:Medea was there ek and pleignethUpon Jason, for that he feigneth,Withoute cause and tok a newe;Sche seide, “Fy on alle untrewe!”I sih there ek Deijdamie,Which hadde lost the compaignieOf Achilles, whan DiomedeTo Troie him fette upon the nede. 2570Among these othre upon the greneI syh also the wofull queeneCleopatras, which in a CaveWith Serpentz hath hirself begraveAlquik, and so sche was totore,For sorwe of that sche hadde loreAntonye, which hir love hath be:And forth with hire I sih Tisbee,Which on the scharpe swerdes pointFor love deide in sory point; 2580And as myn Ere it myhte knowe,Sche seide, “Wo worthe alle slowe!”The pleignte of Progne and PhilomeneTher herde I what it wolde mene,How Tereüs of his untroutheUndede hem bothe, and that was routhe;And next to hem I sih Canace,Which for Machaire hir fader graceHath lost, and deide in wofull plit.And as I sih in my spirit, 2590Me thoghte amonges othre thusThe doghter of king Priamus,Polixena, whom Pirrus slowh,Was there and made sorwe ynowh,As sche which deide gultelesFor love, and yit was loveles.And forto take the desport,I sih there some of other port,And that was Circes and Calipse,That cowthen do the Mone eclipse, 2600Of men and change the liknesses,Of Artmagique Sorceresses;Thei hielde in honde manyon,To love wher thei wolde or non.Bot above alle that ther wereOf wommen I sih foure there,Whos name I herde most comended:Be hem the Court stod al amended;For wher thei comen in presence,Men deden hem the reverence, 2610As thogh they hadden be goddesses,Of al this world or Emperesses.And as me thoghte, an Ere I leide,And herde hou that these othre seide,“Lo, these ben the foure wyves,Whos feith was proeved in her lyves:For in essample of alle goodeWith Mariage so thei stode,That fame, which no gret thing hydeth,Yit in Cronique of hem abydeth.” 2620Penolope that on was hote,Whom many a knyht hath loved hote,Whil that hire lord Ulixes layFull many a yer and many a dayUpon the grete Siege of Troie:Bot sche, which hath no worldes joieBot only of hire housebonde,Whil that hir lord was out of londe,So wel hath kept hir wommanhiede,That al the world therof tok hiede, 2630And nameliche of hem in Grece.That other womman was Lucrece,Wif to the Romain Collatin;And sche constreigned of TarquinTo thing which was ayein hir wille,Sche wolde noght hirselven stille,Bot deide only for drede of schameIn keping of hire goode name,As sche which was on of the beste.The thridde wif was hote Alceste, 2640Which whanne Ametus scholde dyeUpon his grete maladye,Sche preide unto the goddes so,That sche receyveth al the woAnd deide hirself to yive him lif:Lo, if this were a noble wif.The ferthe wif which I ther sih,I herde of hem that were nyhHou sche was cleped Alcione,Which to Seyix hir lord al one 2650And to nomo hire body kepte;And whan sche sih him dreynt, sche lepteInto the wawes where he swam,And there a Sefoul sche becam,And with hire wenges him bespraddeFor love which to him sche hadde.Lo, these foure were thoWhiche I sih, as me thoghte tho,Among the grete compaignieWhich Love hadde forto guye: 2660Bot Youthe, which in specialOf Loves Court was Mareschal,So besy was upon his lay,That he non hiede where I layHath take. And thanne, as I behield,Me thoghte I sih upon the field,Where Elde cam a softe pasToward Venus, ther as sche was.With him gret compaignie he ladde,Bot noght so manye as Youthe hadde: 2670The moste part were of gret Age,And that was sene in the visage,And noght forthi, so as thei myhte,Thei made hem yongly to the sihte:Bot yit herde I no pipe thereTo make noise in mannes Ere,Bot the Musette I myhte knowe,For olde men which souneth lowe,With Harpe and Lute and with Citole.The hovedance and the Carole, 2680In such a wise as love hath bede,A softe pas thei dance and trede;And with the wommen otherwhileWith sobre chier among thei smyle,For laghtre was ther non on hyh.And natheles full wel I syhThat thei the more queinte it madeFor love, in whom thei weren glade.And there me thoghte I myhte seThe king David with Bersabee, 2690And Salomon was noght withoute;Passende an hundred on a routeOf wyves and of Concubines,Juesses bothe and Sarazines,To him I sih alle entendant:I not if he was sufficant,Bot natheles for al his witHe was attached with that writWhich love with his hond enseleth,Fro whom non erthly man appeleth. 2700And overthis, as for a wonder,With his leon which he put under,With Dalida Sampson I knew,Whos love his strengthe al overthrew.I syh there Aristotle also,Whom that the queene of Grece soHath bridled, that in thilke timeSche made him such a Silogime,That he foryat al his logique;Ther was non art of his Practique, 2710Thurgh which it mihte ben excludedThat he ne was fully concludedTo love, and dede his obeissance.And ek Virgile of aqueintanceI sih, wher he the Maiden preide,Which was the doghter, as men seide,Of themperour whilom of Rome;Sortes and Plato with him come,So dede Ovide the Poete.I thoghte thanne how love is swete, 2720Which hath so wise men reclamed,And was miself the lasse aschamed,Or forto lese or forto winneIn the meschief that I was inne:And thus I lay in hope of grace.And whan thei comen to the placeWher Venus stod and I was falle,These olde men with o vois alleTo Venus preiden for my sake.And sche, that myhte noght forsake 2730So gret a clamour as was there,Let Pite come into hire Ere;And forth withal unto CupideSche preith that he upon his sideMe wolde thurgh his grace sendeSom confort, that I myhte amende,Upon the cas which is befalle.And thus for me thei preiden alleOf hem that weren olde aboute,And ek some of the yonge route, 2740Of gentilesse and pure troutheI herde hem telle it was gret routhe,That I withouten help so ferde.And thus me thoghte I lay and herde.Cupido, which may hurte and heleIn loves cause, as for myn heleUpon the point which him was preidCam with Venus, wher I was leidSwounende upon the grene gras.And, as me thoghte, anon ther was 2750On every side so gret presse,That every lif began to presse,I wot noght wel hou many score,Suche as I spak of now tofore,Lovers, that comen to beholde,Bot most of hem that weren olde:Thei stoden there at thilke tyde,To se what ende schal betydeUpon the cure of my sotie.Tho myhte I hiere gret partie 2760Spekende, and ech his oghne avisHath told, on that, an other this:Bot among alle this I herde,Thei weren wo that I so ferde,And seiden that for no rioteAn old man scholde noght assote;For as thei tolden redely,Ther is in him no cause why,Bot if he wolde himself benyce;So were he wel the more nyce. 2770And thus desputen some of tho,And some seiden nothing so,Bot that the wylde loves rageIn mannes lif forberth non Age;Whil ther is oyle forto fyre,The lampe is lyhtly set afyre,And is fulhard er it be queynt,Bot only if it be som seint,Which god preserveth of his grace.And thus me thoghte, in sondri place 2780Of hem that walken up and dounTher was diverse opinioun:And for a while so it laste,Til that Cupide to the laste,Forth with his moder full avised,Hath determined and devisedUnto what point he wol descende.And al this time I was liggendeUpon the ground tofore his yhen,And thei that my desese syhen 2790Supposen noght I scholde live;Bot he, which wolde thanne yiveHis grace, so as it mai be,This blinde god which mai noght se,Hath groped til that he me fond;And as he pitte forth his hondUpon my body, wher I lay,Me thoghte a fyri Lancegay,Which whilom thurgh myn herte he caste,He pulleth oute, and also faste 2800As this was do, Cupide namHis weie, I not where he becam,And so dede al the remenantWhich unto him was entendant,Of hem that in AvisionI hadde a revelacion,So as I tolde now tofore.Bot Venus wente noght therfore,Ne Genius, whiche thilke timeAbiden bothe faste byme. 2810And sche which mai the hertes byndeIn loves cause and ek unbinde,Er I out of mi trance aros,Venus, which hield a boiste clos,And wolde noght I scholde deie,Tok out mor cold than eny keieAn oignement, and in such pointSche hath my wounded herte enoignt,My temples and my Reins also.And forth withal sche tok me tho 2820A wonder Mirour forto holde,In which sche bad me to beholdeAnd taken hiede of that I syhe;Wherinne anon myn hertes yheI caste, and sih my colour fade,Myn yhen dymme and al unglade,Mi chiekes thinne, and al my faceWith Elde I myhte se deface,So riveled and so wo besein,That ther was nothing full ne plein, 2830I syh also myn heres hore.Mi will was tho to se nomoreOutwith, for ther was no plesance;And thanne into my remembranceI drowh myn olde daies passed,And as reson it hath compassed,I made a liknesse of miselveUnto the sondri Monthes twelve,Wherof the yeer in his astatIs mad, and stant upon debat, 2840That lich til other non acordeth.For who the times wel recordeth,And thanne at Marche if he beginne,Whan that the lusti yeer comth inne,Til Augst be passed and Septembre,The myhty youthe he may remembreIn which the yeer hath his deduitOf gras, of lef, of flour, of fruit,Of corn and of the wyny grape.And afterward the time is schape 2850To frost, to Snow, to Wind, to Rein,Til eft that Mars be come ayein:The Wynter wol no Somer knowe,The grene lef is overthrowe,The clothed erthe is thanne bare,Despuiled is the Somerfare,That erst was hete is thanne chele.And thus thenkende thoghtes fele,I was out of mi swoune affraied,Wherof I sih my wittes straied, 2860And gan to clepe hem hom ayein.And whan Resoun it herde seinThat loves rage was aweie,He cam to me the rihte weie,And hath remued the sotieOf thilke unwise fantasie,Wherof that I was wont to pleigne,So that of thilke fyri peineI was mad sobre and hol ynowh.Venus behield me than and lowh, 2870And axeth, as it were in game,What love was. And I for schameNe wiste what I scholde ansuere;And natheles I gan to swereThat be my trouthe I knew him noght;So ferr it was out of mi thoght,Riht as it hadde nevere be.“Mi goode Sone,” tho quod sche,“Now at this time I lieve it wel,So goth the fortune of my whiel; 2880Forthi mi conseil is thou leve.”“Ma dame,” I seide, “be your leve,Ye witen wel, and so wot I,That I am unbehovelyYour Court fro this day forth to serve:And for I may no thonk deserve,And also for I am refused,I preie you to ben excused.And natheles as for the laste,Whil that my wittes with me laste, 2890Touchende mi confessionI axe an absolucionOf Genius, er that I go.”The Prest anon was redy tho,And seide, “Sone, as of thi schrifteThou hast ful pardoun and foryifte;Foryet it thou, and so wol I.”“Min holi fader, grant mercy,”Quod I to him, and to the queeneI fell on knes upon the grene, 2900And tok my leve forto wende.Bot sche, that wolde make an ende,As therto which I was most able,A Peire of Bedes blak as SableSche tok and heng my necke aboute;Upon the gaudes al withouteWas write of gold, Por reposer.“Lo,” thus sche seide, “John Gower,Now thou art ate laste cast,This have I for thin ese cast, 2910That thou nomore of love sieche.Bot my will is that thou besiecheAnd preie hierafter for the pes,And that thou make a plein relesTo love, which takth litel hiedeOf olde men upon the nede,Whan that the lustes ben aweie:Forthi to thee nys bot o weie,In which let reson be thi guide;For he may sone himself misguide, 2920That seth noght the peril tofore.Mi Sone, be wel war therfore,And kep the sentence of my loreAnd tarie thou mi Court nomore,Bot go ther vertu moral duelleth,Wher ben thi bokes, as men telleth,Whiche of long time thou hast write.For this I do thee wel to wite,If thou thin hele wolt pourchace,Thou miht noght make suite and chace, 2930Wher that the game is nought pernable;It were a thing unresonable,A man to be so overseie.Forthi tak hiede of that I seie;For in the lawe of my comuneWe be noght schape to comune,Thiself and I, nevere after this.Now have y seid al that ther isOf love as for thi final ende:Adieu, for y mot fro the wende.” 2940And with that word al sodeinly,Enclosid in a sterred sky,Venus, which is the qweene of love,Was take in to hire place above,More wiste y nought wher sche becam.And thus my leve of hire y nam,And forth with al the same tideHire prest, which wolde nought abide,Or be me lief or be me loth,Out of my sighte forth he goth, 2950And y was left with outen helpe.So wiste I nought wher of to yelpe,Bot only that y hadde loreMy time, and was sori ther fore.And thus bewhapid in my thought,Whan al was turnyd in to nought,I stod amasid for a while,And in my self y gan to smyleThenkende uppon the bedis blake,And how they weren me betake, 2960For that y schulde bidde and preie.And whanne y sigh non othre weieBot only that y was refusid,Unto the lif which y hadde usidI thoughte nevere torne ayein:And in this wise, soth to seyn,Homward a softe pas y wente,Wher that with al myn hol ententeUppon the point that y am schryveI thenke bidde whil y live. 2970He which withinne daies seveneThis large world forth with the heveneOf his eternal providenceHath mad, and thilke intelligenceIn mannys soule resonableHath schape to be perdurable,Wherof the man of his fetureAbove alle erthli creatureAftir the soule is immortal,To thilke lord in special, 2980As he which is of alle thingesThe creatour, and of the kyngesHath the fortunes uppon honde,His grace and mercy forto fondeUppon my bare knes y preie,That he this lond in siker weieWol sette uppon good governance.For if men takyn remembranceWhat is to live in unite,Ther ys no staat in his degree 2990That noughte to desire pes,With outen which, it is no les,To seche and loke in to the laste,Ther may no worldes joye laste.Ferst forto loke the Clergie,Hem oughte wel to justefieThing which belongith to here cure,As forto praie and to procureOure pes toward the hevene above,And ek to sette reste and love 3000Among ous on this erthe hiere.For if they wroughte in this manereAftir the reule of charite,I hope that men schuldyn seThis lond amende.And ovyr this,To seche and loke how that it isTouchende of the chevalerie,Which forto loke, in som partieIs worthi forto be comendid,And in som part to ben amendid, 3010That of here large retenueThe lond is ful of maintenue,Which causith that the comune rightIn fewe contrees stant upright.Extorcioun, contekt, ravineWithholde ben of that covyne,Aldai men hierin gret compleignteOf the desease, of the constreignte,Wher of the poeple is sore oppressid:God graunte it mote be redressid. 3020For of knyghthode thordre woldeThat thei defende and kepe scholdeThe comun right and the fraunchiseOf holy cherche in alle wise,So that no wikke man it dere,And ther fore servith scheld and spere:Bot for it goth now other weie,Oure grace goth the more aweie.And forto lokyn ovyrmore,Wher of the poeple pleigneth sore, 3030Toward the lawis of oure lond,Men sein that trouthe hath broke his bondAnd with brocage is goon aweie,So that no man can se the weieWher forto fynde rightwisnesse.And if men sechin sikernesseUppon the lucre of marchandie,Compassement and tricherieOf singuler profit to wynne,Men seyn, is cause of mochil synne, 3040And namely of divisioun,Which many a noble worthi tounFro welthe and fro prosperiteHath brought to gret adversite.So were it good to ben al on,For mechil grace ther upponUnto the Citees schulde falle,Which myghte availle to ous alle,If these astatz amendid were,So that the vertus stodyn there 3050And that the vices were aweie:Me thenkth y dorste thanne seie,This londis grace schulde arise.Bot yit to loke in othre wise,Ther is a stat, as ye schul hiere,Above alle othre on erthe hiere,Which hath the lond in his balance:To him belongith the leianceOf Clerk, of knyght, of man of lawe;Undir his hond al is forth drawe 3060The marchant and the laborer;So stant it al in his powerOr forto spille or forto save.Bot though that he such power have,And that his myghtes ben so large,He hath hem nought withouten charge,To which that every kyng ys swore:So were it good that he ther foreFirst un to rightwisnesse entende,Wherof that he hym self amende 3070Toward his god and leve vice,Which is the chief of his office;And aftir al the remenantHe schal uppon his covenantGoverne and lede in such a wise,So that ther be no tirandise,Wherof that he his poeple grieve,Or ellis may he nought achieveThat longith to his regalie.For if a kyng wol justifie 3080His lond and hem that beth withynne,First at hym self he mot begynne,To kepe and reule his owne astat,That in hym self be no debatToward his god: for othre wiseTher may non erthly kyng suffiseOf his kyngdom the folk to lede,Bot he the kyng of hevene drede.For what kyng sett hym uppon prideAnd takth his lust on every side 3090And wil nought go the righte weie,Though god his grace caste aweieNo wondir is, for ate lasteHe schal wel wite it mai nought laste,The pompe which he secheth here.Bot what kyng that with humble chereAftir the lawe of god eschuiethThe vices, and the vertus suieth,His grace schal be suffisantTo governe al the remenant 3100Which longith to his duite;So that in his prosperiteThe poeple schal nought ben oppressid,Wherof his name schal be blessid,For evere and be memorial.And now to speke as in final,Touchende that y undirtokIn englesch forto make a bookWhich stant betwene ernest and game,I have it maad as thilke same 3110Which axe forto ben excusid,And that my bok be nought refusidOf lered men, whan thei it se,For lak of curiosite:For thilke scole of eloquenceBelongith nought to my science,Uppon the forme of rethoriqeMy wordis forto peinte and pike,As Tullius som tyme wrot.Bot this y knowe and this y wot, 3120That y have do my trewe peyneWith rude wordis and with pleyne,In al that evere y couthe and myghte,This bok to write as y behighte,So as siknesse it soffre wolde;And also for my daies olde,That y am feble and impotent,I wot nought how the world ys went.So preye y to my lordis alleNow in myn age, how so befalle, 3130That y mot stonden in here grace:For though me lacke to purchaceHere worthi thonk as by decerte,Yit the symplesse of my poverteDesireth forto do plesanceTo hem undir whos governanceI hope siker to abide.But now uppon my laste tideThat y this book have maad and write,My muse doth me forto wite, 3140And seith it schal be for my besteFro this day forth to take reste,That y nomore of love make,Which many an herte hath overtake,And ovyrturnyd as the blyndeFro reson in to lawe of kynde;Wher as the wisdom goth aweieAnd can nought se the ryhte weieHow to governe his oghne estat,Bot everydai stant in debat 3150Withinne him self, and can nought leve.And thus forthy my final leveI take now for evere more,Withoute makynge any more,Of love and of his dedly hele,Which no phisicien can hele.For his nature is so divers,That it hath evere som traversOr of to moche or of to lite,That pleinly mai noman delite, 3160Bot if him faile or that or this.Bot thilke love which that isWithinne a mannes herte affermed,And stant of charite confermed,Such love is goodly forto have,Such love mai the bodi save,Such love mai the soule amende,The hyhe god such love ous sendeForthwith the remenant of grace;So that above in thilke place 3170Wher resteth love and alle pes,Oure joie mai ben endeles.Explicit iste liber, qui transeat, obsecro liber,Vt sine liuore vigeat lectoris in ore.Qui sedet in scannis celi det vt ista lohannisPerpetuis annis stet pagina grata Britannis,Derbeie Comiti, recolunt quem laude periti,Vade liber purus, sub eo requiesce futurus.[End of CONFESSIO AMANTIS]
Mi Sone, unto the trouthe wende 2060Now wol I for the love of thee,And lete alle othre truffles be.The more that the nede is hyh,The more it nedeth to be slyhTo him which hath the nede on honde.I have wel herd and understonde,Mi Sone, al that thou hast me seid,And ek of that thou hast me preid,Nou at this time that I schalAs for conclusioun final 2070Conseile upon thi nede sette:So thenke I finaly to knetteThis cause, where it is tobroke,And make an ende of that is spoke.For I behihte thee that yifteFerst whan thou come under my schrifte,That thogh I toward Venus were,Yit spak I suche wordes there,That for the Presthod which I have,Min ordre and min astat to save, 2080I seide I wolde of myn officeTo vertu more than to viceEncline, and teche thee mi lore.Forthi to speken overmoreOf love, which thee mai availe,Tak love where it mai noght faile:For as of this which thou art inne,Be that thou seist it is a Sinne,And Sinne mai no pris deserve,Withoute pris and who schal serve, 2090I not what profit myhte availe.Thus folweth it, if thou travaile,Wher thou no profit hast ne pris,Thou art toward thiself unwis:And sett thou myhtest lust atteigne,Of every lust thende is a peine,And every peine is good to fle;So it is wonder thing to se,Why such a thing schal be desired.The more that a Stock is fyred, 2100The rathere into Aisshe it torneth;The fot which in the weie spornethFulofte his heved hath overthrowe;Thus love is blind and can noght knoweWher that he goth, til he be falle:Forthi, bot if it so befalleWith good conseil that he be lad,Him oghte forto ben adrad.For conseil passeth alle thingTo him which thenkth to ben a king; 2110And every man for his partieA kingdom hath to justefie,That is to sein his oghne dom.If he misreule that kingdom,He lest himself, and that is moreThan if he loste Schip and OreAnd al the worldes good withal:For what man that in specialHath noght himself, he hath noght elles,Nomor the perles than the schelles; 2120Al is to him of o value:Thogh he hadde at his retenueThe wyde world ryht as he wolde,Whan he his herte hath noght withholdeToward himself, al is in vein.And thus, my Sone, I wolde sein,As I seide er, that thou aryse,Er that thou falle in such a wiseThat thou ne myht thiself rekevere;For love, which that blind was evere, 2130Makth alle his servantz blinde also.My Sone, and if thou have be so,Yit is it time to withdrawe,And set thin herte under that lawe,The which of reson is governedAnd noght of will. And to be lerned,Ensamples thou hast many onOf now and ek of time gon,That every lust is bot a while;And who that wole himself beguile, 2140He may the rathere be deceived.Mi Sone, now thou hast conceivedSomwhat of that I wolde mene;Hierafterward it schal be seneIf that thou lieve upon mi lore;For I can do to thee nomoreBot teche thee the rihte weie:Now ches if thou wolt live or deie.
Mi fader, so as I have herdYour tale, bot it were ansuerd, 2150I were mochel forto blame.Mi wo to you is bot a game,That fielen noght of that I fiele;The fielinge of a mannes HieleMai noght be likned to the Herte:I mai noght, thogh I wolde, asterte,And ye be fre from al the peineOf love, wherof I me pleigne.It is riht esi to comaunde;The hert which fre goth on the launde 2160Not of an Oxe what him eileth;It falleth ofte a man merveilethOf that he seth an other fare,Bot if he knewe himself the fare,And felt it as it is in soth,He scholde don riht as he doth,Or elles werse in his degre:For wel I wot, and so do ye,That love hath evere yit ben used,So mot I nedes ben excused. 2170Bot, fader, if ye wolde thusUnto Cupide and to VenusBe frendlich toward mi querele,So that myn herte were in heleOf love which is in mi briest,I wot wel thanne a betre PrestWas nevere mad to my behove.Bot al the whiles that I hoveIn noncertein betwen the tuo,And not if I to wel or wo 2180Schal torne, that is al my drede,So that I not what is to rede.Bot for final conclusionI thenke a SupplicacionWith pleine wordes and expresseWryte unto Venus the goddesse,The which I preie you to bereAnd bringe ayein a good ansuere.Tho was betwen mi Prest and meDebat and gret perplexete: 2190Mi resoun understod him wel,And knew it was sothe everydelThat he hath seid, bot noght forthiMi will hath nothing set therby.For techinge of so wis a portIs unto love of no desport;Yit myhte nevere man beholdeReson, wher love was withholde,Thei be noght of o governance.And thus we fellen in distance, 2200Mi Prest and I, bot I spak faire,And thurgh mi wordes debonaireThanne ate laste we acorden,So that he seith he wol recordenTo speke and stonde upon mi sydeTo Venus bothe and to Cupide;And bad me wryte what I wolde,And seith me trewly that he scholdeMi lettre bere unto the queene.And I sat doun upon the grene 2210Fulfilt of loves fantasie,And with the teres of myn ijeIn stede of enke I gan to wryteThe wordes whiche I wolde enditeUnto Cupide and to Venus,And in mi lettre I seide thus.
The wofull peine of loves maladie,Ayein the which mai no phisique availe,Min herte hath so bewhaped with sotie,That wher so that I reste or I travaile, 2220I finde it evere redy to assaileMi resoun, which that can him noght defende:Thus seche I help, wherof I mihte amende.
Ferst to Nature if that I me compleigne,Ther finde I hou that every creatureSom time ayer hath love in his demeine,So that the litel wrenne in his mesureHath yit of kinde a love under his cure;And I bot on desire, of which I misse:And thus, bot I, hath every kinde his blisse. 2230
The resoun of my wit it overpasseth,Of that Nature techeth me the weieTo love, and yit no certein sche compassethHou I schal spede, and thus betwen the tweieI stonde, and not if I schal live or deie.For thogh reson ayein my will debate,I mai noght fle, that I ne love algate.
Upon miself is thilke tale come,Hou whilom Pan, which is the god of kinde,With love wrastlede and was overcome: 2240For evere I wrastle and evere I am behinde,That I no strengthe in al min herte finde,Wherof that I mai stonden eny throwe;So fer mi wit with love is overthrowe.
Whom nedeth help, he mot his helpe crave,Or helpeles he schal his nede spille:Pleinly thurghsoght my wittes alle I have,Bot non of hem can helpe after mi wille;And als so wel I mihte sitte stille,As preie unto mi lady eny helpe: 2250Thus wot I noght wherof miself to helpe.
Unto the grete Jove and if I bidde,To do me grace of thilke swete tunne,Which under keie in his celier amiddeLith couched, that fortune is overrunne,Bot of the bitter cuppe I have begunne,I not hou ofte, and thus finde I no game;For evere I axe and evere it is the same.
I se the world stonde evere upon eschange,Nou wyndes loude, and nou the weder softe; 2260I mai sen ek the grete mone change,And thing which nou is lowe is eft alofte;The dredfull werres into pes fulofteThei torne; and evere is Danger in o place,Which wol noght change his will to do me grace.
Bot upon this the grete clerc Ovide,Of love whan he makth his remembrance,He seith ther is the blinde god Cupide,The which hath love under his governance,And in his hond with many a fyri lance 2270He woundeth ofte, ther he wol noght hele;And that somdiel is cause of mi querele.
Ovide ek seith that love to parforneStant in the hond of Venus the goddesse,Bot whan sche takth hir conseil with Satorne,Ther is no grace, and in that time, I gesse,Began mi love, of which myn hevynesseIs now and evere schal, bot if I spede:So wot I noght miself what is to rede.
Forthi to you, Cupide and Venus bothe, 2280With al myn hertes obeissance I preie,If ye were ate ferste time wrothe,Whan I began to love, as I you seie,Nou stynt, and do thilke infortune aweie,So that Danger, which stant of retenueWith my ladi, his place mai remue.
O thou Cupide, god of loves lawe,That with thi Dart brennende hast set afyreMin herte, do that wounde be withdrawe,Or yif me Salve such as I desire: 2290For Service in thi Court withouten hyreTo me, which evere yit have kept thin heste,Mai nevere be to loves lawe honeste.
O thou, gentile Venus, loves queene,Withoute gult thou dost on me thi wreche;Thou wost my peine is evere aliche greneFor love, and yit I mai it noght areche:This wold I for my laste word beseche,That thou mi love aquite as I deserve,Or elles do me pleinly forto sterve. 2300
Whanne I this SupplicaciounWith good deliberacioun,In such a wise as ye nou wite,Hadde after min entente writeUnto Cupide and to Venus,This Prest which hihte GeniusIt tok on honde to presente,On my message and forth he wenteTo Venus, forto wite hire wille.And I bod in the place stille, 2310And was there bot a litel while,Noght full the montance of a Mile,Whan I behield and sodeinlyI sih wher Venus stod me by.So as I myhte, under a treTo grounde I fell upon mi kne,And preide hire forto do me grace:Sche caste hire chiere upon mi face,And as it were halvinge a gameSche axeth me what is mi name. 2320“Ma dame,” I seide, “John Gower.”“Now John,” quod sche, “in my pouerThou most as of thi love stonde;For I thi bille have understonde,In which to Cupide and to meSomdiel thou hast compleigned thee,And somdiel to Nature also.Bot that schal stonde among you tuo,For therof have I noght to done;For Nature is under the Mone 2330Maistresse of every lives kinde,Bot if so be that sche mai findeSom holy man that wol withdraweHis kindly lust ayein hir lawe;Bot sielde whanne it falleth so,For fewe men ther ben of tho,Bot of these othre ynowe be,Whiche of here oghne nyceteAyein Nature and hire officeDeliten hem in sondri vice, 2340Wherof that sche fulofte hath pleigned,And ek my Court it hath desdeignedAnd evere schal; for it receivethNon such that kinde so deceiveth.For al onliche of gentil loveMi court stant alle courtz aboveAnd takth noght into retenueBot thing which is to kinde due,For elles it schal be refused.Wherof I holde thee excused, 2350For it is manye daies gon,That thou amonges hem were onWhich of my court hast ben withholde;So that the more I am beholdeOf thi desese to commune,And to remue that fortune,Which manye daies hath the grieved.Bot if my conseil mai be lieved,Thou schalt ben esed er thou goOf thilke unsely jolif wo, 2360Wherof thou seist thin herte is fyred:Bot as of that thou hast desiredAfter the sentence of thi bille,Thou most therof don at my wille,And I therof me wole avise.For be thou hol, it schal suffise:Mi medicine is noght to siekeFor thee and for suche olde sieke,Noght al per chance as ye it wolden,Bot so as ye be reson scholden, 2370Acordant unto loves kinde.For in the plit which I thee finde,So as mi court it hath awarded,Thou schalt be duely rewarded;And if thou woldest more crave,It is no riht that thou it have.”
Venus, which stant withoute laweIn noncertein, bot as men draweOf Rageman upon the chance,Sche leith no peis in the balance, 2380Bot as hir lyketh forto weie;The trewe man fulofte aweieSche put, which hath hir grace bede,And set an untrewe in his stede.Lo, thus blindly the world sche diemethIn loves cause, as tome siemeth:I not what othre men wol sein,Bot I algate am so besein,And stonde as on amonges alleWhich am out of hir grace falle: 2390It nedeth take no witnesse,For sche which seid is the goddesse,To whether part of love it wende,Hath sett me for a final endeThe point wherto that I schal holde.For whan sche hath me wel beholde,Halvynge of scorn, sche seide thus:“Thou wost wel that I am Venus,Which al only my lustes seche;And wel I wot, thogh thou beseche 2400Mi love, lustes ben ther none,Whiche I mai take in thi persone;For loves lust and lockes horeIn chambre acorden neveremore,And thogh thou feigne a yong corage,It scheweth wel be the visageThat olde grisel is no fole:There ben fulmanye yeres stoleWith thee and with suche othre mo,That outward feignen youthe so 2410And ben withinne of pore assay.Min herte wolde and I ne mayIs noght beloved nou adayes;Er thou make eny suche assaiesTo love, and faile upon the fet,Betre is to make a beau retret;For thogh thou myhtest love atteigne,Yit were it bot an ydel peine,Whan that thou art noght sufficantTo holde love his covenant. 2420Forthi tak hom thin herte ayein,That thou travaile noght in vein,Wherof my Court may be deceived.I wot and have it wel conceived,Hou that thi will is good ynowh;Bot mor behoveth to the plowh,Wherof the lacketh, as I trowe:So sitte it wel that thou beknoweThi fieble astat, er thou beginneThing wher thou miht non ende winne. 2430What bargain scholde a man assaie,Whan that him lacketh forto paie?Mi Sone, if thou be wel bethoght,This toucheth thee; foryet it noght:The thing is torned into was;That which was whilom grene gras,Is welked hey at time now.Forthi mi conseil is that thouRemembre wel hou thou art old.”
Whan Venus hath hir tale told, 2440And I bethoght was al aboute,Tho wiste I wel withoute doute,That ther was no recoverir;And as a man the blase of fyrWith water quencheth, so ferd I;A cold me cawhte sodeinly,For sorwe that myn herte madeMi dedly face pale and fadeBecam, and swoune I fell to grounde.And as I lay the same stounde, 2450Ne fully quik ne fully ded,Me thoghte I sih tofor myn hedCupide with his bowe bent,And lich unto a Parlement,Which were ordeigned for the nones,With him cam al the world at onesOf gentil folk that whilom wereLovers, I sih hem alle thereForth with Cupide in sondri routes.Min yhe and as I caste aboutes, 2460To knowe among hem who was who,
I sih wher lusty Youthe tho,As he which was a Capitein,Tofore alle othre upon the pleinStod with his route wel begon,Here hevedes kempt, and theruponGarlandes noght of o colour,Some of the lef, some of the flour,And some of grete Perles were;The newe guise of Beawme there, 2470With sondri thinges wel devised,I sih, wherof thei ben queintised.It was al lust that thei with ferde,Ther was no song that I ne herde,Which unto love was touchende;Of Pan and al that was likendeAs in Pipinge of melodieWas herd in thilke compaignieSo lowde, that on every sideIt thoghte as al the hevene cride 2480In such acord and such a sounOf bombard and of clarionWith Cornemuse and Schallemele,That it was half a mannes heleSo glad a noise forto hiere.And as me thoghte, in this manereAl freissh I syh hem springe and dance,And do to love her entendanceAfter the lust of youthes heste.Ther was ynowh of joie and feste, 2490For evere among thei laghe and pleie,And putten care out of the weie,That he with hem ne sat ne stod.And overthis I understod,So as myn Ere it myhte areche,The moste matiere of her specheWas al of knyhthod and of Armes,And what it is to ligge in armesWith love, whanne it is achieved.
Ther was Tristram, which was believed 2500With bele Ysolde, and LancelotStod with Gunnore, and GalahotWith his ladi, and as me thoghte,I syh wher Jason with him broghteHis love, which that Creusa hihte,And Hercules, which mochel myhte,Was ther berende his grete Mace,And most of alle in thilke placeHe peyneth him to make chiereWith Eolen, which was him diere. 2510
Theseüs, thogh he were untreweTo love, as alle wommen knewe,Yit was he there nathelesWith Phedra, whom to love he ches:Of Grece ek ther was Thelamon,Which fro the king LamenedonAt Troie his doghter refte aweie,Eseonen, as for his preie,Which take was whan Jason camFro Colchos, and the Cite nam 2520In vengance of the ferste hate;That made hem after to debate,Whan Priamus the newe tounHath mad. And in avisioun
Me thoghte that I sih alsoEctor forth with his brethren tuo;Himself stod with Pantaselee,And next to him I myhte se,Wher Paris stod with faire Eleine,Which was his joie sovereine; 2530And Troilus stod with Criseide,Bot evere among, althogh he pleide,Be semblant he was hevy chiered,For Diomede, as him was liered,Cleymeth to ben his parconner.And thus full many a bacheler,A thousend mo than I can sein,With Yowthe I sih ther wel beseinForth with here loves glade and blithe.
And some I sih whiche ofte sithe 2540Compleignen hem in other wise;Among the whiche I syh NarciseAnd Piramus, that sory were.The worthy Grek also was there,Achilles, which for love deide:Agamenon ek, as men seide,And Menelay the king alsoI syh, with many an other mo,Which hadden be fortuned soreIn loves cause.
And overmore 2550Of wommen in the same cas,With hem I sih wher Dido was,Forsake which was with Enee;And Phillis ek I myhte see,Whom Demephon deceived hadde;And Adriagne hir sorwe ladde,For Theseüs hir Soster tokAnd hire unkindely forsok.I sih ther ek among the pressCompleignende upon Hercules 2560His ferste love Deyanire,Which sette him afterward afyre:Medea was there ek and pleignethUpon Jason, for that he feigneth,Withoute cause and tok a newe;Sche seide, “Fy on alle untrewe!”I sih there ek Deijdamie,Which hadde lost the compaignieOf Achilles, whan DiomedeTo Troie him fette upon the nede. 2570
Among these othre upon the greneI syh also the wofull queeneCleopatras, which in a CaveWith Serpentz hath hirself begraveAlquik, and so sche was totore,For sorwe of that sche hadde loreAntonye, which hir love hath be:And forth with hire I sih Tisbee,Which on the scharpe swerdes pointFor love deide in sory point; 2580And as myn Ere it myhte knowe,Sche seide, “Wo worthe alle slowe!”The pleignte of Progne and PhilomeneTher herde I what it wolde mene,How Tereüs of his untroutheUndede hem bothe, and that was routhe;And next to hem I sih Canace,Which for Machaire hir fader graceHath lost, and deide in wofull plit.And as I sih in my spirit, 2590Me thoghte amonges othre thusThe doghter of king Priamus,Polixena, whom Pirrus slowh,Was there and made sorwe ynowh,As sche which deide gultelesFor love, and yit was loveles.
And forto take the desport,I sih there some of other port,And that was Circes and Calipse,That cowthen do the Mone eclipse, 2600Of men and change the liknesses,Of Artmagique Sorceresses;Thei hielde in honde manyon,To love wher thei wolde or non.
Bot above alle that ther wereOf wommen I sih foure there,Whos name I herde most comended:Be hem the Court stod al amended;For wher thei comen in presence,Men deden hem the reverence, 2610As thogh they hadden be goddesses,Of al this world or Emperesses.And as me thoghte, an Ere I leide,And herde hou that these othre seide,“Lo, these ben the foure wyves,Whos feith was proeved in her lyves:For in essample of alle goodeWith Mariage so thei stode,That fame, which no gret thing hydeth,Yit in Cronique of hem abydeth.” 2620
Penolope that on was hote,Whom many a knyht hath loved hote,Whil that hire lord Ulixes layFull many a yer and many a dayUpon the grete Siege of Troie:Bot sche, which hath no worldes joieBot only of hire housebonde,Whil that hir lord was out of londe,So wel hath kept hir wommanhiede,That al the world therof tok hiede, 2630And nameliche of hem in Grece.
That other womman was Lucrece,Wif to the Romain Collatin;And sche constreigned of TarquinTo thing which was ayein hir wille,Sche wolde noght hirselven stille,Bot deide only for drede of schameIn keping of hire goode name,As sche which was on of the beste.
The thridde wif was hote Alceste, 2640Which whanne Ametus scholde dyeUpon his grete maladye,Sche preide unto the goddes so,That sche receyveth al the woAnd deide hirself to yive him lif:Lo, if this were a noble wif.
The ferthe wif which I ther sih,I herde of hem that were nyhHou sche was cleped Alcione,Which to Seyix hir lord al one 2650And to nomo hire body kepte;And whan sche sih him dreynt, sche lepteInto the wawes where he swam,And there a Sefoul sche becam,And with hire wenges him bespraddeFor love which to him sche hadde.
Lo, these foure were thoWhiche I sih, as me thoghte tho,Among the grete compaignieWhich Love hadde forto guye: 2660Bot Youthe, which in specialOf Loves Court was Mareschal,So besy was upon his lay,That he non hiede where I layHath take. And thanne, as I behield,
Me thoghte I sih upon the field,Where Elde cam a softe pasToward Venus, ther as sche was.With him gret compaignie he ladde,Bot noght so manye as Youthe hadde: 2670The moste part were of gret Age,And that was sene in the visage,And noght forthi, so as thei myhte,Thei made hem yongly to the sihte:Bot yit herde I no pipe thereTo make noise in mannes Ere,Bot the Musette I myhte knowe,For olde men which souneth lowe,With Harpe and Lute and with Citole.The hovedance and the Carole, 2680In such a wise as love hath bede,A softe pas thei dance and trede;And with the wommen otherwhileWith sobre chier among thei smyle,For laghtre was ther non on hyh.And natheles full wel I syhThat thei the more queinte it madeFor love, in whom thei weren glade.
And there me thoghte I myhte seThe king David with Bersabee, 2690And Salomon was noght withoute;Passende an hundred on a routeOf wyves and of Concubines,Juesses bothe and Sarazines,To him I sih alle entendant:I not if he was sufficant,Bot natheles for al his witHe was attached with that writWhich love with his hond enseleth,Fro whom non erthly man appeleth. 2700And overthis, as for a wonder,With his leon which he put under,With Dalida Sampson I knew,Whos love his strengthe al overthrew.
I syh there Aristotle also,Whom that the queene of Grece soHath bridled, that in thilke timeSche made him such a Silogime,That he foryat al his logique;Ther was non art of his Practique, 2710Thurgh which it mihte ben excludedThat he ne was fully concludedTo love, and dede his obeissance.And ek Virgile of aqueintanceI sih, wher he the Maiden preide,Which was the doghter, as men seide,Of themperour whilom of Rome;Sortes and Plato with him come,So dede Ovide the Poete.I thoghte thanne how love is swete, 2720Which hath so wise men reclamed,And was miself the lasse aschamed,Or forto lese or forto winneIn the meschief that I was inne:And thus I lay in hope of grace.
And whan thei comen to the placeWher Venus stod and I was falle,These olde men with o vois alleTo Venus preiden for my sake.And sche, that myhte noght forsake 2730So gret a clamour as was there,Let Pite come into hire Ere;And forth withal unto CupideSche preith that he upon his sideMe wolde thurgh his grace sendeSom confort, that I myhte amende,Upon the cas which is befalle.And thus for me thei preiden alleOf hem that weren olde aboute,And ek some of the yonge route, 2740Of gentilesse and pure troutheI herde hem telle it was gret routhe,That I withouten help so ferde.And thus me thoghte I lay and herde.
Cupido, which may hurte and heleIn loves cause, as for myn heleUpon the point which him was preidCam with Venus, wher I was leidSwounende upon the grene gras.And, as me thoghte, anon ther was 2750On every side so gret presse,That every lif began to presse,I wot noght wel hou many score,Suche as I spak of now tofore,Lovers, that comen to beholde,Bot most of hem that weren olde:Thei stoden there at thilke tyde,To se what ende schal betydeUpon the cure of my sotie.Tho myhte I hiere gret partie 2760Spekende, and ech his oghne avisHath told, on that, an other this:Bot among alle this I herde,Thei weren wo that I so ferde,And seiden that for no rioteAn old man scholde noght assote;For as thei tolden redely,Ther is in him no cause why,Bot if he wolde himself benyce;So were he wel the more nyce. 2770And thus desputen some of tho,And some seiden nothing so,Bot that the wylde loves rageIn mannes lif forberth non Age;Whil ther is oyle forto fyre,The lampe is lyhtly set afyre,And is fulhard er it be queynt,Bot only if it be som seint,Which god preserveth of his grace.And thus me thoghte, in sondri place 2780Of hem that walken up and dounTher was diverse opinioun:And for a while so it laste,Til that Cupide to the laste,Forth with his moder full avised,Hath determined and devisedUnto what point he wol descende.And al this time I was liggendeUpon the ground tofore his yhen,And thei that my desese syhen 2790Supposen noght I scholde live;Bot he, which wolde thanne yiveHis grace, so as it mai be,This blinde god which mai noght se,Hath groped til that he me fond;And as he pitte forth his hondUpon my body, wher I lay,Me thoghte a fyri Lancegay,Which whilom thurgh myn herte he caste,He pulleth oute, and also faste 2800As this was do, Cupide namHis weie, I not where he becam,And so dede al the remenantWhich unto him was entendant,Of hem that in AvisionI hadde a revelacion,So as I tolde now tofore.
Bot Venus wente noght therfore,Ne Genius, whiche thilke timeAbiden bothe faste byme. 2810And sche which mai the hertes byndeIn loves cause and ek unbinde,Er I out of mi trance aros,Venus, which hield a boiste clos,And wolde noght I scholde deie,Tok out mor cold than eny keieAn oignement, and in such pointSche hath my wounded herte enoignt,My temples and my Reins also.And forth withal sche tok me tho 2820A wonder Mirour forto holde,In which sche bad me to beholdeAnd taken hiede of that I syhe;Wherinne anon myn hertes yheI caste, and sih my colour fade,Myn yhen dymme and al unglade,Mi chiekes thinne, and al my faceWith Elde I myhte se deface,So riveled and so wo besein,That ther was nothing full ne plein, 2830I syh also myn heres hore.Mi will was tho to se nomoreOutwith, for ther was no plesance;And thanne into my remembranceI drowh myn olde daies passed,And as reson it hath compassed,I made a liknesse of miselveUnto the sondri Monthes twelve,Wherof the yeer in his astatIs mad, and stant upon debat, 2840That lich til other non acordeth.For who the times wel recordeth,And thanne at Marche if he beginne,Whan that the lusti yeer comth inne,Til Augst be passed and Septembre,The myhty youthe he may remembreIn which the yeer hath his deduitOf gras, of lef, of flour, of fruit,Of corn and of the wyny grape.And afterward the time is schape 2850To frost, to Snow, to Wind, to Rein,Til eft that Mars be come ayein:The Wynter wol no Somer knowe,The grene lef is overthrowe,The clothed erthe is thanne bare,Despuiled is the Somerfare,That erst was hete is thanne chele.
And thus thenkende thoghtes fele,I was out of mi swoune affraied,Wherof I sih my wittes straied, 2860And gan to clepe hem hom ayein.And whan Resoun it herde seinThat loves rage was aweie,He cam to me the rihte weie,And hath remued the sotieOf thilke unwise fantasie,Wherof that I was wont to pleigne,So that of thilke fyri peineI was mad sobre and hol ynowh.
Venus behield me than and lowh, 2870And axeth, as it were in game,What love was. And I for schameNe wiste what I scholde ansuere;And natheles I gan to swereThat be my trouthe I knew him noght;So ferr it was out of mi thoght,Riht as it hadde nevere be.“Mi goode Sone,” tho quod sche,“Now at this time I lieve it wel,So goth the fortune of my whiel; 2880Forthi mi conseil is thou leve.”
“Ma dame,” I seide, “be your leve,Ye witen wel, and so wot I,That I am unbehovelyYour Court fro this day forth to serve:And for I may no thonk deserve,And also for I am refused,I preie you to ben excused.And natheles as for the laste,Whil that my wittes with me laste, 2890Touchende mi confessionI axe an absolucionOf Genius, er that I go.”The Prest anon was redy tho,And seide, “Sone, as of thi schrifteThou hast ful pardoun and foryifte;Foryet it thou, and so wol I.”
“Min holi fader, grant mercy,”Quod I to him, and to the queeneI fell on knes upon the grene, 2900And tok my leve forto wende.Bot sche, that wolde make an ende,As therto which I was most able,A Peire of Bedes blak as SableSche tok and heng my necke aboute;Upon the gaudes al withouteWas write of gold, Por reposer.“Lo,” thus sche seide, “John Gower,Now thou art ate laste cast,This have I for thin ese cast, 2910That thou nomore of love sieche.Bot my will is that thou besiecheAnd preie hierafter for the pes,And that thou make a plein relesTo love, which takth litel hiedeOf olde men upon the nede,Whan that the lustes ben aweie:Forthi to thee nys bot o weie,In which let reson be thi guide;For he may sone himself misguide, 2920That seth noght the peril tofore.Mi Sone, be wel war therfore,And kep the sentence of my loreAnd tarie thou mi Court nomore,Bot go ther vertu moral duelleth,Wher ben thi bokes, as men telleth,Whiche of long time thou hast write.For this I do thee wel to wite,If thou thin hele wolt pourchace,Thou miht noght make suite and chace, 2930Wher that the game is nought pernable;It were a thing unresonable,A man to be so overseie.Forthi tak hiede of that I seie;For in the lawe of my comuneWe be noght schape to comune,Thiself and I, nevere after this.Now have y seid al that ther isOf love as for thi final ende:Adieu, for y mot fro the wende.” 2940And with that word al sodeinly,Enclosid in a sterred sky,Venus, which is the qweene of love,Was take in to hire place above,More wiste y nought wher sche becam.And thus my leve of hire y nam,And forth with al the same tideHire prest, which wolde nought abide,Or be me lief or be me loth,Out of my sighte forth he goth, 2950And y was left with outen helpe.So wiste I nought wher of to yelpe,Bot only that y hadde loreMy time, and was sori ther fore.And thus bewhapid in my thought,Whan al was turnyd in to nought,I stod amasid for a while,And in my self y gan to smyleThenkende uppon the bedis blake,And how they weren me betake, 2960For that y schulde bidde and preie.And whanne y sigh non othre weieBot only that y was refusid,Unto the lif which y hadde usidI thoughte nevere torne ayein:And in this wise, soth to seyn,Homward a softe pas y wente,Wher that with al myn hol ententeUppon the point that y am schryveI thenke bidde whil y live. 2970
He which withinne daies seveneThis large world forth with the heveneOf his eternal providenceHath mad, and thilke intelligenceIn mannys soule resonableHath schape to be perdurable,Wherof the man of his fetureAbove alle erthli creatureAftir the soule is immortal,To thilke lord in special, 2980As he which is of alle thingesThe creatour, and of the kyngesHath the fortunes uppon honde,His grace and mercy forto fondeUppon my bare knes y preie,That he this lond in siker weieWol sette uppon good governance.For if men takyn remembranceWhat is to live in unite,Ther ys no staat in his degree 2990That noughte to desire pes,With outen which, it is no les,To seche and loke in to the laste,Ther may no worldes joye laste.
Ferst forto loke the Clergie,Hem oughte wel to justefieThing which belongith to here cure,As forto praie and to procureOure pes toward the hevene above,And ek to sette reste and love 3000Among ous on this erthe hiere.For if they wroughte in this manereAftir the reule of charite,I hope that men schuldyn seThis lond amende.
And ovyr this,To seche and loke how that it isTouchende of the chevalerie,Which forto loke, in som partieIs worthi forto be comendid,And in som part to ben amendid, 3010That of here large retenueThe lond is ful of maintenue,Which causith that the comune rightIn fewe contrees stant upright.Extorcioun, contekt, ravineWithholde ben of that covyne,Aldai men hierin gret compleignteOf the desease, of the constreignte,Wher of the poeple is sore oppressid:God graunte it mote be redressid. 3020For of knyghthode thordre woldeThat thei defende and kepe scholdeThe comun right and the fraunchiseOf holy cherche in alle wise,So that no wikke man it dere,And ther fore servith scheld and spere:Bot for it goth now other weie,Oure grace goth the more aweie.
And forto lokyn ovyrmore,Wher of the poeple pleigneth sore, 3030Toward the lawis of oure lond,Men sein that trouthe hath broke his bondAnd with brocage is goon aweie,So that no man can se the weieWher forto fynde rightwisnesse.
And if men sechin sikernesseUppon the lucre of marchandie,Compassement and tricherieOf singuler profit to wynne,Men seyn, is cause of mochil synne, 3040And namely of divisioun,Which many a noble worthi tounFro welthe and fro prosperiteHath brought to gret adversite.So were it good to ben al on,For mechil grace ther upponUnto the Citees schulde falle,Which myghte availle to ous alle,If these astatz amendid were,So that the vertus stodyn there 3050And that the vices were aweie:Me thenkth y dorste thanne seie,This londis grace schulde arise.
Bot yit to loke in othre wise,Ther is a stat, as ye schul hiere,Above alle othre on erthe hiere,Which hath the lond in his balance:To him belongith the leianceOf Clerk, of knyght, of man of lawe;Undir his hond al is forth drawe 3060The marchant and the laborer;So stant it al in his powerOr forto spille or forto save.Bot though that he such power have,And that his myghtes ben so large,He hath hem nought withouten charge,To which that every kyng ys swore:So were it good that he ther foreFirst un to rightwisnesse entende,Wherof that he hym self amende 3070Toward his god and leve vice,Which is the chief of his office;And aftir al the remenantHe schal uppon his covenantGoverne and lede in such a wise,So that ther be no tirandise,Wherof that he his poeple grieve,Or ellis may he nought achieveThat longith to his regalie.For if a kyng wol justifie 3080His lond and hem that beth withynne,First at hym self he mot begynne,To kepe and reule his owne astat,That in hym self be no debatToward his god: for othre wiseTher may non erthly kyng suffiseOf his kyngdom the folk to lede,Bot he the kyng of hevene drede.For what kyng sett hym uppon prideAnd takth his lust on every side 3090And wil nought go the righte weie,Though god his grace caste aweieNo wondir is, for ate lasteHe schal wel wite it mai nought laste,The pompe which he secheth here.Bot what kyng that with humble chereAftir the lawe of god eschuiethThe vices, and the vertus suieth,His grace schal be suffisantTo governe al the remenant 3100Which longith to his duite;So that in his prosperiteThe poeple schal nought ben oppressid,Wherof his name schal be blessid,For evere and be memorial.
And now to speke as in final,Touchende that y undirtokIn englesch forto make a bookWhich stant betwene ernest and game,I have it maad as thilke same 3110Which axe forto ben excusid,And that my bok be nought refusidOf lered men, whan thei it se,For lak of curiosite:For thilke scole of eloquenceBelongith nought to my science,Uppon the forme of rethoriqeMy wordis forto peinte and pike,As Tullius som tyme wrot.Bot this y knowe and this y wot, 3120That y have do my trewe peyneWith rude wordis and with pleyne,In al that evere y couthe and myghte,This bok to write as y behighte,So as siknesse it soffre wolde;And also for my daies olde,That y am feble and impotent,I wot nought how the world ys went.So preye y to my lordis alleNow in myn age, how so befalle, 3130That y mot stonden in here grace:For though me lacke to purchaceHere worthi thonk as by decerte,Yit the symplesse of my poverteDesireth forto do plesanceTo hem undir whos governanceI hope siker to abide.
But now uppon my laste tideThat y this book have maad and write,My muse doth me forto wite, 3140And seith it schal be for my besteFro this day forth to take reste,That y nomore of love make,Which many an herte hath overtake,And ovyrturnyd as the blyndeFro reson in to lawe of kynde;Wher as the wisdom goth aweieAnd can nought se the ryhte weieHow to governe his oghne estat,Bot everydai stant in debat 3150Withinne him self, and can nought leve.And thus forthy my final leveI take now for evere more,Withoute makynge any more,Of love and of his dedly hele,Which no phisicien can hele.For his nature is so divers,That it hath evere som traversOr of to moche or of to lite,That pleinly mai noman delite, 3160Bot if him faile or that or this.Bot thilke love which that isWithinne a mannes herte affermed,And stant of charite confermed,Such love is goodly forto have,Such love mai the bodi save,Such love mai the soule amende,The hyhe god such love ous sendeForthwith the remenant of grace;So that above in thilke place 3170Wher resteth love and alle pes,Oure joie mai ben endeles.
Explicit iste liber, qui transeat, obsecro liber,Vt sine liuore vigeat lectoris in ore.Qui sedet in scannis celi det vt ista lohannisPerpetuis annis stet pagina grata Britannis,Derbeie Comiti, recolunt quem laude periti,Vade liber purus, sub eo requiesce futurus.
[End of CONFESSIO AMANTIS]