(i) The author of the Prologue is the author of the Translation of the Bible (which may be granted, though not without the reservation that the helpers to whom allusion is made may have written sections of the Prologue, which would confuse any deductions).(ii) The Prologue has verbal resemblances to the treatise designatedEcclesiæ Regimen(the instances quoted seem to me resemblances merely of topics, and these not uncommon ones).(iii) TheEcclesiæ Regimenresembles Purvey's confession at his recantation in 1400 (the previous criticism applies here much more strongly).
(i) The author of the Prologue is the author of the Translation of the Bible (which may be granted, though not without the reservation that the helpers to whom allusion is made may have written sections of the Prologue, which would confuse any deductions).
(ii) The Prologue has verbal resemblances to the treatise designatedEcclesiæ Regimen(the instances quoted seem to me resemblances merely of topics, and these not uncommon ones).
(iii) TheEcclesiæ Regimenresembles Purvey's confession at his recantation in 1400 (the previous criticism applies here much more strongly).
Therefore the translation of the Bible is by the author of theEcclesiæ Regimen, and the author of this is Purvey. I must repeat that the chain seems to me lamentably weak, and that the resemblances which may be found between Section xv. of the Prologue and Trevisa's Dialogue and Letter to Lord Berkeley are stronger, because not arising out of quite such common topics. That they are only to a slight extent verbal resemblances is no drawback. We do not expect a man to repeat his own words exactly. What is interesting is to find two translators both interested in their own methods, and these methods similar.
Hereafter followeth the Battle of Agincourt and the great Siege of Rouen, by KingHenryof Monmouth, the Fifth of the name; that won Gascony, and Guienne, and Normandy.[See SirHarris Nicolas'sHistory of the Battle of Agincourt, p. 301, 2nd Ed. 1832, 8vo.]
Hereafter followeth the Battle of Agincourt and the great Siege of Rouen, by KingHenryof Monmouth, the Fifth of the name; that won Gascony, and Guienne, and Normandy.
[See SirHarris Nicolas'sHistory of the Battle of Agincourt, p. 301, 2nd Ed. 1832, 8vo.]
God, that all this world did makeAnd died for us upon a tree,Save England, forMarythy Mother's sake!As Thou art steadfast GOD in Trinity.And save KingHenry'ssoul, I beseech thee!That was full gracious and good withal;A courteous Knight and King royal.OfHenrythe Fifth, noble man of war,Thy deeds may never forgotten be!Of Knighthood thou wert the very Loadstar!In thy time England flowered in prosperity,Thou mortal Mirror of all Chivalry!Though thou be not set among the Worthies Nine;Yet wast thou a Conqueror in thy time!The Dauphin's offer of tennis balls.Our King sent into France full rath,His Herald that was good and sure.He desired his heritage for to have:That is Gascony and Guienne and Normandy.He bade the Dolphin [Dauphin] deliver. It should be his:All that belonged to the firstEdward"And if he say me, Nay!; iwisI will get it with dint of sword!"But then answered the Dolphin bold,By our ambassadors sending again,"Methinks that your King is not so old,Wars great for to maintain.Greet well," he said, "your comely KingThat is both gentle and small;A ton full of tennis balls I will him send,For to play him therewithal."Then bethought our Lords all,In France they would no longer abide:They took their leave both great and small,And home to England gan they ride.To our King they told their tale to the end;What that the Dolphin did to them say."I will him thank," then said the King,"By the grace ofGod, if I may!"Yet, by his own mind, this Dolphin bold,To our King he sent again hastily;And prayed him truce for to hold,ForJesus' love that died on a tree.King Henry will go to France."Nay," then said our comely King,"For into France will I wind!The Dolphin anger I trust I shall:And such a tennis ball I shall him send,That shall bear down the high roof of his hall."The King at Westminster lay that time,And all his Lords everych one;And they did set them down to dine:"Lordings," he saith, "by St. John!To France I think to take my way:Of good counsel I you pray,What is your will that I shall do?Shew me shortly without delay!"The Duke ofClarenceanswered soon,And said, "My Liege, I counsel you so!"And other Lords said, "We think it for the bestWith you to be ready for to go;Whiles that our lives may endure and last.""Grammercy, Sirs!" the King gan say,"Our right, I trust, then shall be won,And I will 'quite you if I may:Therefore I warn you, both old and young,To make you ready without delayTo Southampton to take your wayAt St. Peter's tide at Lammas;[9]For by the grace ofGOD, and if I may,Over the salt sea I think to pass!"Great ordnance of guns the King let make,And shipped them at London all at once;Bows and arrows in chests were take,Spears and bills with iron gunstones,And arming daggers made for the nonce:With swords and bucklers that were full sure.And harness bright that strokes would endure.The English arrive in Normandy.The King to Southampton then did rideWith his Lords; for no longer would he dwell.Fifteen hundred fair ships there did him abide,With good sails and top-castle.Lords of France our King they soldFor a million of gold as I heard say.By England little price they told,Therefore their song was "Well a way!"Between Hampton and the Isle of Wight,These goodly ships lay there at road,With mastyards across, full seemly of sight,Over the haven spread abroad:On every pavis [target] a cross red;The waists decked with serpentines [cannon] strong.St George's streamers spread overhead,With the Arms of England hanging all along.Our King fully hastily to his ship yede,And all other Lords of every degree:Every ship weighed his anchor in deed,With the tide to haste them to the sea.They hoisted their sails, sailed aloft:A goodly sight it was to see.The wind was good, and blew but soft:And forth they went in the name of the Trinity.[10]Their course they took toward Normandy,And passed over in a day and a night.So in the second morning early,Of that country they had a sight:And ever [as] they drew near the coast,Of the day glad were they all;And when they were at the shore almost,Every ship his anchor let fall,With their tackles they launched many a long boatAnd over ha[t]ch threw them into the stream;A thousand shortly they saw afloat.With men of arms that light did leme.The guns play tennis with Harfleur.Our king landed at Cottaunses [Coutances] without delay,[11]On our Lady's Even [of] the Assumption;[12]And to Harflete [Harfleur] they took the wayAnd mustered fair before the town.Our King his banner there did 'splay,With standards bright and many [a] pennon:And there he pitched his tent adown;Full well broidered with armory gay.First our comely King's tent with the crown,And all other Lords in good array."My brotherClarence," the King did say,"The towers of the town will I keepWith her daughters and her maidens gay,To wake the Frenchmen of their sleep.""'London'," he said, "shall with him meet;And my guns that lieth fair upon the green;For they shall play with HarfleteA game of tennis as I ween.Go we to game, for God's grace!My children be ready everych one."For every great gun that there was,In his mouth he had a stone.The Captain of Harflete soon anonUnto our King he sent hastilyTo know what his will was to be done,For to come thither with such a meiny?"Deliver me the town!" the King said."Nay!" said the Captain, "by God and StDenis!""Then shall I win it," said our King,"By the grace of GOD and his goodness,Some hard tennis balls I have hither broughtOf marble and iron made full round.I swear, byJesuthat me dear bought,They shall beat the walls to the ground."King Henry grants a Truce.Then said the great gun,"Hold fellows, we go to game!"Thanked beMaryandJesuher son,They did the Frenchmen much shame."Fifteen afore," said "London" then;Her balls full fair she gan outthrow."Thirty" said the second gun, "I will win and I may."There as the wall was most sure,They bare it down without nay.The "King's Daughter" said "Hearken this play!Hearken Maidens now this tide!Five and forty we have, it is no nay."They beat down the walls on every side.The Normands said, "Let us not abide!But go we in haste, by one assent!Wheresoever the gunstones do glide,Our houses in Harfleet are all to rent:The Englishmen our bulwarks have brent"And women cried, "Alas that ever they were born!"The Frenchmen said, "Now be we shent!By us now the town is forlorn:It is best now thereforeThat we beseech this English King of grace,For to assail us no more;Lest he destroy us in this place.Then will we bid the Dolphin make him ready,Or else this town delivered must be."Messengers went forth by and bye,[13]And to our King came they:The LordCorgrauntcertainly,[14]For he was Captain of the place,AndGelam Bowserwith him did hie,With other Lords more and less.And when they to our King come where,Full lowly set them on their knee:"Hail, comely King!" gan they say"Christsave thee from adversity!Of truce we will beseech theeUntil that it be Sunday noon:[15]And if we may not recovered be,We will deliver the town."Then said our King full soon,"I grant you grace in this tide;One of you shall forth anon,And the remnant shall with me abide!"Their Captain took his next way,And to Rouen fast gan he ride.The Dolphin he had thought there to findBut he was gone; he durst not abide.The French surrender Harfleur.For help the Captain besought that tide"Harflete is lost for ever and aye;The walls be beaten down on every side,That we no longer keep it may."Of counsel all he did them pray."What is your will that I may do?We must ordain the King battle by Sunday,Or else deliver him the town!"The Lords of Rouen together did rown;And bade the town should openly yield.The King of England fareth as a lion:We will not meet with him in the field!The Captain would then no longer abide,And towards Harflete came he right;For so fast did he rideThat he was there the same night.And when he to our King did come,[16]Lowly he set him on his knee:"Hail, comely Prince!" then did he say,"The grace of GOD is with thee!Here have I brought the keys allOf Harflete that is so royal a city.All is yours, both chamber and hall;And at your will for to be.""Thanked beJesu!" said our King,"AndMaryhis mother truly!21,000French sent out of Harfleur.My uncleDorset, without letting,Captain of Harflete shall he be.And all that is within the cityAwhile yet they shall abide,To amend the walls in every degreeThat are beaten down on every side:And after that, they shall out rideTo other towns over all.Wife nor child shall not there abide:But have them forth, both great and small!"One and twenty thousand, men might see,When they went out, full sore did weep.The great guns and ordnance trulyWere brought into Harflete.Great sickness among our host was, in good fay,Which killed many of our Englishmen:There died beyond seven score upon a day;Alive there was left but thousands ten.Our King himself into the Castle yede,And rest him there as long as his will was:At the last he said, "Lords, so God me speed!Towards Calais I think to pass."After that Harflete was gotten, that royal city,Through the grace of GOD omnipotent;Our comely King made him ready soon,And towards Calais forth he went."My brotherGloucesterveramenteHere will we no longer abide!And Cousin ofYork, this is our intent:With us forth ye shall, this tide!My CousinHuntingdonwith us shall ride;And the Earl ofOxenfordwith you three!The Duke ofSouthfolk[Suffolk] by our sideHe shall come forth with his meiny!And the Earl ofDevonshiresikerly!SirThomas Harping[17]that never did fail;The LordBrokethat came heartilyAnd SirJohnofCornwall:SirGilbert Umfrey[18]that would us avail;And the LordClifford, so GOD me speed!SirWilliam Bowser[19], that will not fail;For all they will help, if it be need."Our King rode forth, blessed might he be![20]He spared neither dale nor down;By waters great fast rode he,Till he came to the water of Seine.[21]Englishmen to be sold six for a penny.The Frenchmen threw the bridge adownThat over the water they might not pass.Our King made him ready then;And to the town of Turreyn went more and less.The Frenchmen, our King about becastWith Battles strong on every side;The Duke ofOrleanssaid in haste"The King of England shall abide.Who gave him leave this way to pass?I trust that I shall him beguileFull long ere he come to Calais."The Duke ofBourbonanswered soonAnd swore by God and by St.Denis"We will play them every each one,These Lords of England at the tennis;Their gentlemen, I swear by St.John!And archers we will sell them great plenty:And so will we rid [of] them soon,Six for a penny of our money."Then answered the Duke ofBar,Words that were of great pride:"By God!" he said, "I will not spareOver all the Englishmen for to ride,If that they dare us abide:We will overthrow them in fere [company],And take them prisoners in this tide:Then come home again to our dinner!"Henryour King that was so good;He prepared there full royally:Stakes he let [caused to] hew in a wood,And then set them before his archers verily.The Frenchmen our ordnance gan espy.They that we ordained for to rideLighted adown, with sorrow truly;So on their feet fast gan abide.The famous Battle of Agincourt.Our King went up upon a hill highAnd looked down to the valleys low:He saw where the Frenchmen came hastilyAs thick as ever did hail or snow.Then kneeled our King down, in that stound,And all his men on every side:Every man made a cross and kissed the ground,And on their feet fast gan abide.Our King said, "Sirs, what time of the day?""My Liege," they said, "it is nigh Prime [9a.m.]""Then go we to our journey,By the grace ofJesu, it is good time:For saints that lie in their shrine,To GOD for us be praying.All the Religious of England, in this time,Ora pro nobisfor us they sing."St.Georgewas seen over the host:Of very truth this sight men did see.Down was he sent by the HOLY GHOST,To give our King the victory.Then blew the trumpets merrily,[22]These two Battles [Armies] together yede.Our archers stood up full heartily,And made the Frenchmen fast to bleed.Their arrows went fast, without any let,And many shot they throughout;Through habergeon, breastplate, and bassinet.An eleven thousand were slain in that rout.King Henry's Triumph in London.Our gracious King, as I well know,That day he fought with his own hand.He spared neither high ne low.There was never King in no land,That ever did better on a day.Wherefore England may sing a song:Laus DEO!may we say;And other prayers ever among.The Duke ofOrleans, without nay,That day was taken prisoner.The Duke ofBourbonalso in fere:And also the Duke ofBartruly.SirBergygauntehe gan him yield;And other Lords of France many.Lo, thus our comely King conquered the field,By the grace of God omnipotent,He took his prisoners, both old and young,And towards Calais forth he went.He shipped there with good intent:[23]To Canterbury full fair he passed,And offered to St.Thomas's shrine.And through Kent he rode in haste;To Eltham he came all in good time.[24]And over Blackheath, as he was riding,[25]Of the city of London he was ware."Hail, royal city!" said our King,"Christkeep thee ever from sorrow and care!"And then he gave that noble city his blessingHe prayedJesuit might well fare!To Westminster did he ride,And the French prisoners with him also:He ransomed them in that tide,And again to their country he let them go.The Lamentable Siege of Rouen.Thus of this matter I make an end,To th'effect of the Battle have I gone:For in this book I cannot comprehendThe greatest battle of all, called the Siege of Rouen.For that Siege lasted three years and more,And there a rat was at forty penceFor in the city the people hungered sore.Women and children, for fault of meat, were lore;And some for pain bare bones were gnawing,That at their breasts had two children sucking.Of the Siege of Rouen it to write were pity,It is a thing so lamentable:Yet every High Feast, our King, of his charity,Gave them meat to their bodies comfortable;And at the last the town won, without fable.Thus of all as now I make an end:To the bliss of heaven, GOD our souls send!
The Dauphin's offer of tennis balls.
King Henry will go to France.
The English arrive in Normandy.
The guns play tennis with Harfleur.
King Henry grants a Truce.
The French surrender Harfleur.
21,000French sent out of Harfleur.
Englishmen to be sold six for a penny.
The famous Battle of Agincourt.
King Henry's Triumph in London.
The Lamentable Siege of Rouen.
Imprinted at London in Foster lane,in Saint Leonard's parish,by meJohn Skot.
Cupid
Footnotes:
[9]1st August 1415.
[10]7th August 1415.
[11]It should beClef de caus.
[12]14th August 1415.
[13]10th September 1415.
[14]It should beSirLionel Braquemont.
[15]22nd September 1415.
[16]22nd September 1415.
[17]It should beSirThomas Erpingham.
[18]It should beSirGilbert Umfreville.
[19]It should beSirWilliam Bourchier.
[20]?8th October 1415.
[21]It should beSomme.
[22]25th October 1415.
[23]16th November 1415.
[24]22nd November 1415.
[25]23rd November 1415.
[Old forms likeserven, serve;wollen, will;tellen, tell;doin, done; and the Imperativesbethe, be;telleth, tell; occur in this Poem.]
[Old forms likeserven, serve;wollen, will;tellen, tell;doin, done; and the Imperativesbethe, be;telleth, tell; occur in this Poem.]
T. Occleve. 1402.
Cupido, (unto whose commandèmentThe gentle kindred of goddis on highAnd people infernal be obedient;And mortal folk all serven busily),Of the goddess sonCytheraonly;Unto all those that to our deityBe subjects, heartly greeting, sendè we!In general, we wollen that ye knowThat Ladies of honour and reverence,And other Gentlewomen havin sowSuch seed of complaint in our audience,Of men that do them outrage and offence;That it our earis grieveth for to hear,So piteous is the effect of this matere.Passing all landis, on the little isleThat cleped is Albion, they most complain,They say that there is crop and root of guile:So can those men dissimulen and feign,With standing dropis in their eyen twain;When that their heartis feeleth no distress,To blinden women with their doubleness.Their wordis, spoken be so sighingly,With so piteous a cheer and countenanceThat every wight that meaneth truèlyDeemeth that they in heart have such grievance.They say, "So importable is their penance,That but their lady lust to shew them graceThey, right anon, must starven in the place.""Ah, Lady mine!" they say, "I you ensureAs doth me grace! and I shall ever be,While that my life may laste and endureTo you as humble and low in each degreeAs possible is, and keep all things secreeRight as yourselven listé that I do!And elles must mine heartè burst in two."Full hard it is, to know a manis heartFor outward may no man the truthè deem,When word out of his mouth may none astertBut it by reason seemed a wight to queme,So it is said of heart, as it would seem.O faithful woman! full of innocence!Thou art deceivèd by false appearance!By process moveth oft woman's pity.Weening all things were as these men ysay,They grant them grace, of their benignity,For that men shoulden not, for their sake die,And with good hearte, set them in the wayOf blissful lové: keep it, if they con!Thus, otherwhilé, women beth ywon.And when this man the pan hath by the steelAnd fully is in his possession;With that woman keepeth he no more to dealAfter, if he may finden in the townAny woman, his blind affectionOn to bestow. But evil mote he preve!A man, for all his oaths, is hard to believe!And for that every false Man hath a Make,(As unto every wight is light to know)When this traitor, this woman hath forsake,He fast him speedeth unto his fellow.Till he be there, his heart is on a low;His false deceit ne may him not suffice,But of his treason telleth all the wise.Is this a fair avaunt? Is this honour?A man himself accuse thus and defame!Is it good to confess himself a traitor?And bring a woman into slanderous nameAnd tell how he her body hath do shame?No worship may he thus, to him conquer,But great dislander unto him and her!To her! Nay! Yet ywas it no reprefe;For all for virtue was, that she ywrought!But he that brewèd hath all this mischief,That spake so fair, and falsely inward thought;His be the slander! as it by reason oughtAnd unto her be thank perpetualThat, in such a neede helpen can so well.Although through manis sleight and subtilty,A silly simple and innocent womanBetrayed is: no wonder! since the cityOf Troy, as that the story tellen can,Betrayèd was, through the deceit of man,And set on fire, and all down overthrow;And finally destroyèd, as men know.Betrayen not men cities great and kings?What wight is it that can shape remedyAgainst these falsely proposèd things?Who can the craft such craftés to espyBut man? whose wit is e'er ready to applyTo thing that sowning is into falshede?Woman! beth'ware of false men! I thee rede.And, furthermore, have these men in usageThat where they not likely been to sped,Such as they been with a double visage,They procuren, for to pursue their need;He prayeth him, in his causé to proceed,And largely guerdoneth he his travail.Little wot women, how men them assail!Another wretch, unto his fellow saith,"Thou fishest fair! She which that thee hath firedIs false, inconstant, and she hath no faith.She for the road of folk is so desired;And, as an horse, from day to day she is hired!That when thou twinnest from her company,Cometh another; and bleared is thine eye!Now prick on faste! and ride thy journeyWhile thou art there! For she, behind thy back,So liberal is, she will nothing withsay,But smartly of another take a smack.And thus faren these women all the packWhoso them trusteth, hanged mote he be!Ever they desire change and novelty."Whereof proceedeth this, but of envy?For that he himselve her ne winnen may.He speaketh her reprefe and villainy;As manis blabbing tongue is wont alway.Thus divers men full often make assay.For to disturben folk in sundry wise,For they may not acheven their emprise.Many one eke would speaken for no good,That hath in love his timè spent and used.Men wist, his Lady his asking withstood;Ere that he were of her, plainly refused.Or waste and vain were all that he had mused:Wherefore he can none other remedy,But on his Lady shapeth him to lie."Every woman," he saith, "is light to get,Can none say, 'Nay!' if she be well ysought;Whoso may leisure have with her to treatOf his purpose ne shall be failen oughtBut he on madness be so deep ybroughtThat he shende all with open homeliness;That loven women not, as that I guess."To slaunder women thus, what may profitTo gentles? namely, that them armen should,And in defence of women them delightAs that the Order of Gentilesse would?If that a man list gentle to be heldHe must all flee that thereto is contrary.A slanderous tongue is his great adversary!A foul vice is of tongue to be light.Forwhoso mochil clappeth, gabbeth oft.The Tongue of Man so swift is, and so wightThat when it is yraisèd up on loft,Reason it sueth so slowly and soft,That it him never overtaken may.Lord! so these men been trusty in assay!Albeit that men find one woman nice,Inconstant, recheless, and variable,Deignous and proud, full fillèd of malice,Withouten faith or love, and deceivable,Sly, quaint, false, in all untrust culpable,Wicked or fierce, or full of cruelty:Yet followeth not that such all women be!When the high God angellis formèd had,Among them alle formed were there noneThat founden were malicious and bad?Yes! all men wot that there were many oneThat for their pridé fell from heaven anon.Should we, forthy, give all angels proud name?Nay, he that that sustaineth, is to blame!Of twelve Apostles, one a traitor was;The remenant yet good weren and true.So if it happen men finden, percase,A woman false; such good is to eschew:And deemé not that they be all untrue.I see well, that men's owné falsenessThem causeth woman for to trust the less.O, every man ought have a hearté tenderUnto woman, and deem her honourable;Whether her shape be thick, or else slender,Or she be good or bad! It is no fable.Every wight wot, that wit hath reasonable,That of a woman, he descendèd is:Then is it shame of her to speak amiss!A wicked tree good fruit may none forth bring;For such the fruit is aye as is the tree.Take heed of whom thou took thy beginning!Let thy mother be mirror unto thee!Honour her, if thou wilt honoured be!Despiseth her then not, in no manere!Lest that thereby thy wickedness appear.An old proverb there said is, in English,That bird or fowl, soothly, is dishonestWhat that he be, and holden full churlishThat useth to defoulen his own nest.Men to say well of women, it is the best:And naught for to despise them, ne deprave;If that they will their honour keep or save.The Ladies ever complainen them on ClerksThat they have made bookis of their defame;In which they despise women and their works,And speaken of them great reproof and shame:And causèless give them a wicked name.Thus they despisèd be, on every side,Dislanderèd and blown upon full wide.Those sorry bookes maken mentionHow women betrayed in especialAdam,David,Sampson, andSolomon,And many one more; who may rehearse them all,The treasons that they havé done, and shall?The world their malice may not comprehend(As Clerkis feign), for it ne hath none end.Ovid, in his book calledRemedyOf Lovè, great reproof of woman writeth,Wherein, I know that he did great folly;And every wight who, in such case, him delighteth.A Clerkis custom is, when he enditethOf women (be it prose, or rhyme, or verse)Say, "They be wicked!" all know he the reverse.And the book Scholars learned in their childheadFor they of women beware should in age,And for to love them ever be in dread.Sith to deceive is set all their courage,They say peril to cast is advantage,Namely, of such as men have in been wrapped:For many a man, by woman hath mishapped.No charge is what so that these Clerkis sainOf all their writing I ne do no cureAll their labour and travail is in vainFor between me and my Lady NatureShall not be suffred, while the world may 'dure.Thus these Clerkis, by their cruel tyranny,On silly women kithen their mastery.Whilom full many of them were in my chainYtied; and now, what for unwieldy ageAnd unlust, they may not to love attain:And sain that "Love is but very dotage!"Thus, for that they themself lacken courage,They folk exciten by their wicked sawsFor to rebell against me, and my laws!But, maugre them that blamen women most,Such is the force of mine impressionThat, suddenly, I can fell all their boast,And all their wrong imagination.It shall not be in their electionThe foulest slut in all the town to refuse;If that me list, for all that they can muse:But her in heart as brenningly desireAs though she were a Duchess, or a Queen;So can I folkis heartis set on fireAnd, as me list, them senden joy or teen.They that to women ben ywhet so keen,My sharpè piercing strokis, how they smite,Shall feel and know, and how they kerve and bite!Pardie! this Clerk, this subtle slyOvidAnd many another have deceived beOf women, as it knowen is full wide.What! no men more! and that is great daintySo excellent a Clerk as was he!And other more, that coulde full well preachBetrapped were, for aught that they could teach!And trusteth well, that it is no marvail!For women knowen plainly their intent.They wist how softily they could assailThem; and what falsehood they in heartè meant:And thus they Clerkis in their danger hent,With one venom, another is destroyed!And thus these Clerkis often were annoyed.These Ladies, ne these gentles ne'ertheless,Where none of those that wroughten in this wise;But such women as weren vertuelessThey quittin thus these old Clerkis wise.To Clerkis muchil less ought to sufficeThan to dispraven women generally;For worship shall they geten noon thereby.If that these men, that lovers them pretend,To women weren faithful, good, and true,And dread them to deceive, or to offend;Women, to love them wouldé not eschew.But, every day hath man an harté new!It upon one abiden can no while.What force is it, such a wight to beguile?Men bearen, eke, the women upon handThat lightly, and withouten any painThey wonnen be; they can no wight withstandThat his disease list to them to complain!They be so frail, they may them not refrain!But whoso liketh them may lightly have;So be their heartis easy in to grave.To MasterJean de Meun, as I suppose,Then, it is a lewd occupation,In making of theRomance of the Rose,So many a sly imagination,And perils for to rollen up and down,So long process, so many a sly cautelFor to deceive a silly damosel!Nought can I see, ne my wit comprehend,That art, and pain, and subtilty should failFor to conquer, and soon to make an end;When men a feeble placé shall assail:And soon, also, to vanquish a battleOf which no wight shall maken resistance;Ne heart hath none to stonden at defence.Then mote it follow, of necessity,Sith art asketh so great engine and painA woman to deceive, what so she be?Of constancy be they not so barrenAs that some of these subtle Clerkis feign;But they be, as that women oughten be,Sad, constant, and fulfilled of pity.How friendly wasMedeatoJasonIn his Conquering of the Fleece of Gold!How falsely quit he her true affection,By whom victory he gat as he would!How may this man, for shame, be so boldTo falsen her, that, from his death and shameHim kept, and gat him so great a prize and name?Of Troy also, the traitorÆneas,The faithless wretch! how he himself forsworToDido, which that Queen of Carthage wasThat him relievèd of his smartis sore!What gentilessè might she have doon moreThan she, with heart unfeigned, to him kidde?And what mischief to her thereof betid!In myLegend of Martyrsmay men find(Whoso that liketh therein for to read)That oathis ne behest may man not bindOf reprovable shame have they no dreadIn manis hearte truth ne hath no stead.The soil is naught; there may be no trothè grow!To women, namely, it is not unknown.Clerkis feign also there is no maliceLike unto woman's wicked crabbedness.O Woman! how shalt thou thyself chevice;Sith men of thee so mochil harm witness?Beth ware! O Woman! of their fickleness.Kepeth thine ownè! what men clap or crake!And some of them shall smart, I undertake!Malice of women! What is it to dread?They slay no man, destroyen no cities,Ne oppress people, ne them overlead,Betray Empires, Realmes, or Duchies,Nor bereaven men their landis, ne their mees,Empoison folk, ne houses set on fire,Ne false contractis maken for no hire.Trust, Perfect Love, and Entire Charity,Fervent Will, and Entalented Courage,All thewis good, as sitteth well to be,Have women ay, of custom and usage.And well they can a manis ire assuage,With softè wordis, discreet and benign.What they be inward, they show outward by sign.Womanis heart unto no crueltyInclined is; but they be Charitable,Piteous, Devout, Full of Humility,Shamefastè, Debonaire, and Amiable,Dread full, and of their wordis measurable:What women, these have not, peradventure;Followeth not the way of her nature.Men sayen that our First Mother na'thelessMade all mankinde lose his liberty,And nakid it of joyè, doubteless,For Godis hestès disobeyed she,When she presumed to taste of the tree,That God forbade that she eat thereof should.And ne had the Devil be, no more she would!The envious swelling, that the Fiend our foeHad unto man in heartè, for his wealth,Sent a serpent, and made her for to goTo deceiveEve; and thus was manis healthBereft him by the Fiend, right in a stealth,The woman not knowing of the deceit,God wot! Full far was it from her conceit!Wherefore I say, that this good womanEveOur fatherAdam, ne deceived nought.There may no man for a deceit it preveProperly, but if that she, in heart and thought,Had it compassed first, ere she it wrought.And for such was not her impression,Men may it call no Deceit, by reason.Ne no wight deceiveth, but he purpose!The fiend this deceit cast, and nothing she.Then it is wrong to deemen or supposeThat of this harm she should the causè be.Wytith the Fiend, and his be the maugree!And all excusèd have her innocence,Save only, that she brake obedience!And touching this, full fewè men there be,Unnethis any, dare I safely say!From day to day, as men may all day see,But that the hest of God they disobey.Have this in mindè, siris! I you pray.If that ye be discreet and reasonable;Ye will her holdè the more excusable!And where men say, "In man is stedfastness;And woman is of her courage unstable."Who may ofAdambear such a witness?Tellith me this! Was he not changeable?They bothè werin in one case semblable.Save that willing the Fiend deceivedEve;And so did she notAdam, by your leave!Yet was this sinnè happy to mankind,The Fiend deceivèd was, for all his sleight;For aught he could him in his sleightis wind,God, to discharge man of the heavy weightOf his trespass, came down from heaven on heightAnd flesh and blood he took of a Virgine,And suffered death, him to deliver of pine.And God, to whom there may nothing hid be,If He in woman knowen had such malice,As men record of them in generalty;Of our Lady, of Life ReparatriceNold have been born: but for that she of viceWas void, and full of virtue, well He wist,Endowid! of her to be born Him list.Her heapèd virtue hath such excellenceThat all too lean is manis facultyTo declare it; and therefore in suspenseHer due praising put must needis be.But this we witen, verily, that she,Next God, the best friend is that to Man 'longeth.The Key of Mercy by her girdle hangeth!And of mercy hath every man such need,That razing that, farewel the joy of man!And of her power, now takith right good heed!She mercy may well and purchasen can.Depleasith her not! Honoureth that woman!And other women honour for her sake!And but ye do, your sorrow shall awake!In any book also, where can ye findThat of the workis, or the death or life,OfJesuspelleth or maketh any mind,That women Him forsook, for woe or strife?Where was there any wight so ententifeAbouten Him as woman? Proved none!The Apostles him forsooken everichone.Woman forsook him not! For all the faithOf holy church in woman left only!These are no lies, for Holy Writ thus saith,Look! and ye shall so find it hardily!And therefore I may well proven therebyThat in woman reigneth stable constancy;And in men is change and variancy.Thou Precious Gem of martyrs, Margarite!That of thy blood dreadest none effusion!Thou Lover true! Thou Maiden mansuete!Thou, constant Woman! in thy passionOvercame the Fiendis temptation!And many a wight convertid thy doctrine,Unto the faith of God, holy Virgin!But, understandeth this! I commend her nought,By encheson of her virginity.Trusteth, it came never into thought!For ever werry against Chastity.And ever shall. But, lo, this moveth me,Her loving heart and constant to her layDrove out of my remembrance I ne may.decorative leafNow holdith this for firm, and for no lie!That this true and just commendationOf women tell I for no flattery;Nor because of pride or elation:But only, lo! for this intentionTo give them courage of perseveranceIn virtue, and their honour to advance.The more the virtue, the less is the pride.Virtue so digne is, and so noble in kind,That Vice and he will not in fere abide.He putteth vices clean out of his mind,He flyeth from them, he leaveth them behind.O, Woman! that of Virtue, art hostess;Great is thy honour, and thy worthiness!decorative leafThen will I thus concluden and define.We, you command! our ministers each oneThat ready ye be our hestès to incline!That of these falsè men, our rebell foon,Ye do punishèment! and that, anon!Void them our Court! and banish them for ever!So that therein more comen may they never!Fulfilled be it! Ceasing all delay,Look that there be none excusation!Written in the air, the lusty month of May,In our Palace, where many a millionOf lovers true, have habitation;In the year of grace, joyful and jocond,A thousand and four hundred and second.