THAIR wes nane that he ourtuk,In rycht or yit in wrang,Bot all in schondir he thame schuk,The Gyand wes so strang.He held the Lady day and nychtWithin his deip dungeoun,He wald nocht gif of hir a sichtFor gold nor yit ransoun—Bot gif the King mycht get a knycht,To fecht with his persoun,To fecht with him beth day and nycht,Quhill ane wer dungin doun.The King gart seik baith fer and neir,Beth be se and land,Off ony knycht gif he mycht heirWald fecht with that Gyand:A worthy Prince, that had no peir,Hes tane the deid on handFor the luve of the Lady cleir,And held full trew cunnand.That Prince come prowdly to the tounOf that Gyand to heir,And fawcht with him, his awin persoun,And tuke him presoneir,And kest him in his awin dungeounAllane withouten feir,With hungir, cauld, and confusioun,As full weill worthy weir.
THAIR wes nane that he ourtuk,In rycht or yit in wrang,Bot all in schondir he thame schuk,The Gyand wes so strang.He held the Lady day and nychtWithin his deip dungeoun,He wald nocht gif of hir a sichtFor gold nor yit ransoun—Bot gif the King mycht get a knycht,To fecht with his persoun,To fecht with him beth day and nycht,Quhill ane wer dungin doun.The King gart seik baith fer and neir,Beth be se and land,Off ony knycht gif he mycht heirWald fecht with that Gyand:A worthy Prince, that had no peir,Hes tane the deid on handFor the luve of the Lady cleir,And held full trew cunnand.That Prince come prowdly to the tounOf that Gyand to heir,And fawcht with him, his awin persoun,And tuke him presoneir,And kest him in his awin dungeounAllane withouten feir,With hungir, cauld, and confusioun,As full weill worthy weir.
THAIR wes nane that he ourtuk,In rycht or yit in wrang,Bot all in schondir he thame schuk,The Gyand wes so strang.
He held the Lady day and nychtWithin his deip dungeoun,He wald nocht gif of hir a sichtFor gold nor yit ransoun—Bot gif the King mycht get a knycht,To fecht with his persoun,To fecht with him beth day and nycht,Quhill ane wer dungin doun.
The King gart seik baith fer and neir,Beth be se and land,Off ony knycht gif he mycht heirWald fecht with that Gyand:A worthy Prince, that had no peir,Hes tane the deid on handFor the luve of the Lady cleir,And held full trew cunnand.
That Prince come prowdly to the tounOf that Gyand to heir,And fawcht with him, his awin persoun,And tuke him presoneir,And kest him in his awin dungeounAllane withouten feir,With hungir, cauld, and confusioun,As full weill worthy weir.
quhill] until. dungin doun] beaten down. his awin persoun] himself. withouten feir] without companion.
quhill] until. dungin doun] beaten down. his awin persoun] himself. withouten feir] without companion.
SYNE brak the bour, had hame the brichtUnto her fadir fre.Sa evill wondit wes the KnychtThat he behuvit to de;Unlusum was his likame dicht,His sark was all bludy;In all the world was thair a wichtSo peteouss for to se?The Lady murnyt and maid grit mane,With all her mekill mycht—‘I luvit nevir lufe bot ane,That dulfully now is dicht;God sen my lyfe were fra me taneOr I had seen yone sicht,Or ellis in begging evir to ganeFurth with yone curtass knycht.’He said ‘Fair lady, now mone IDe, trestly ye me trow;Take ye my serk that is bludy,And hing it forrow yow;First think on it, and syne on me,Quhen men cumis yow to wow.’The Lady said ‘Be Mary fre,Thairto I mak a vow.’Quhen that scho lukit to the sarkScho thocht on the persoun,And prayit for him with all hir hartThat lowsit hir of bandoun,
SYNE brak the bour, had hame the brichtUnto her fadir fre.Sa evill wondit wes the KnychtThat he behuvit to de;Unlusum was his likame dicht,His sark was all bludy;In all the world was thair a wichtSo peteouss for to se?The Lady murnyt and maid grit mane,With all her mekill mycht—‘I luvit nevir lufe bot ane,That dulfully now is dicht;God sen my lyfe were fra me taneOr I had seen yone sicht,Or ellis in begging evir to ganeFurth with yone curtass knycht.’He said ‘Fair lady, now mone IDe, trestly ye me trow;Take ye my serk that is bludy,And hing it forrow yow;First think on it, and syne on me,Quhen men cumis yow to wow.’The Lady said ‘Be Mary fre,Thairto I mak a vow.’Quhen that scho lukit to the sarkScho thocht on the persoun,And prayit for him with all hir hartThat lowsit hir of bandoun,
SYNE brak the bour, had hame the brichtUnto her fadir fre.Sa evill wondit wes the KnychtThat he behuvit to de;Unlusum was his likame dicht,His sark was all bludy;In all the world was thair a wichtSo peteouss for to se?
The Lady murnyt and maid grit mane,With all her mekill mycht—‘I luvit nevir lufe bot ane,That dulfully now is dicht;God sen my lyfe were fra me taneOr I had seen yone sicht,Or ellis in begging evir to ganeFurth with yone curtass knycht.’
He said ‘Fair lady, now mone IDe, trestly ye me trow;Take ye my serk that is bludy,And hing it forrow yow;First think on it, and syne on me,Quhen men cumis yow to wow.’The Lady said ‘Be Mary fre,Thairto I mak a vow.’
Quhen that scho lukit to the sarkScho thocht on the persoun,And prayit for him with all hir hartThat lowsit hir of bandoun,
the bricht] the fair one. likame] body. lowsit hir of. bandoun] loosed her from thraldom.
the bricht] the fair one. likame] body. lowsit hir of. bandoun] loosed her from thraldom.
QUHAIR scho was wont to sit full merkInto that deip dungeoun;And evir quhill scho wes in quert,That was hir a lessoun.Sa weill the Lady luvit the KnychtThat no man wald scho tak:Sa suld we do our God of michtThat did all for us mak;Quhilk fullily to deid was dicht,For sinfull manis sak,Sa suld we do beth day and nycht,With prayaris to him mak.This King is lyk the Trinitie,Baith in hevin and heir;The manis saule to the Lady,The Gyand to Lucefeir,The Knycht to Chryst, that deit on treAnd coft our synnis deir;The pit to Hele with panis fell,The Syn to the woweir.The Lady was wowd, but scho said nayWith men that wald hir wed;Sa suld we wryth all sin awayThat in our breist is bred.I pray to Jesu Chryst verray,For ws his blud that bled,To be our help on domisdayQuhair lawis ar straitly led.
QUHAIR scho was wont to sit full merkInto that deip dungeoun;And evir quhill scho wes in quert,That was hir a lessoun.Sa weill the Lady luvit the KnychtThat no man wald scho tak:Sa suld we do our God of michtThat did all for us mak;Quhilk fullily to deid was dicht,For sinfull manis sak,Sa suld we do beth day and nycht,With prayaris to him mak.This King is lyk the Trinitie,Baith in hevin and heir;The manis saule to the Lady,The Gyand to Lucefeir,The Knycht to Chryst, that deit on treAnd coft our synnis deir;The pit to Hele with panis fell,The Syn to the woweir.The Lady was wowd, but scho said nayWith men that wald hir wed;Sa suld we wryth all sin awayThat in our breist is bred.I pray to Jesu Chryst verray,For ws his blud that bled,To be our help on domisdayQuhair lawis ar straitly led.
QUHAIR scho was wont to sit full merkInto that deip dungeoun;And evir quhill scho wes in quert,That was hir a lessoun.
Sa weill the Lady luvit the KnychtThat no man wald scho tak:Sa suld we do our God of michtThat did all for us mak;Quhilk fullily to deid was dicht,For sinfull manis sak,Sa suld we do beth day and nycht,With prayaris to him mak.
This King is lyk the Trinitie,Baith in hevin and heir;The manis saule to the Lady,The Gyand to Lucefeir,The Knycht to Chryst, that deit on treAnd coft our synnis deir;The pit to Hele with panis fell,The Syn to the woweir.
The Lady was wowd, but scho said nayWith men that wald hir wed;Sa suld we wryth all sin awayThat in our breist is bred.I pray to Jesu Chryst verray,For ws his blud that bled,To be our help on domisdayQuhair lawis ar straitly led.
quert] prison. coft] bought. straitly led] strictly carried out.
quert] prison. coft] bought. straitly led] strictly carried out.
THE saule is Godis dochtir deir,And eik his handewerk,That was betrayit with Lucefeir,Quha sittis in hell full merk:Borrowit with Chrystis angell cleir,Hend men, will ye nocht herk?And for his lufe that bocht us deirThink on theBludy Serk!
THE saule is Godis dochtir deir,And eik his handewerk,That was betrayit with Lucefeir,Quha sittis in hell full merk:Borrowit with Chrystis angell cleir,Hend men, will ye nocht herk?And for his lufe that bocht us deirThink on theBludy Serk!
THE saule is Godis dochtir deir,And eik his handewerk,That was betrayit with Lucefeir,Quha sittis in hell full merk:Borrowit with Chrystis angell cleir,Hend men, will ye nocht herk?And for his lufe that bocht us deirThink on theBludy Serk!
17.hend] gentle.
17.hend] gentle.
1465-1520?
18.
SWEET rois of vertew and of gentilness,Delytsum lily of everie lustynes,Richest in bontie and in bewtie clear,And everie vertew that is wenit dear,Except onlie that ye are mercyless.Into your garth this day I did persew;There saw I flowris that fresche were of hew;Baith quhyte and reid most lusty were to seyne,And halesome herbis upon stalkis greene;Yet leaf nor flowr find could I nane of rew.I doubt that Merche, with his cauld blastis keyne,Has slain this gentil herb, that I of mene;Quhois piteous death dois to my heart sic paineThat I would make to plant his root againe,—So confortand his levis unto me bene.
SWEET rois of vertew and of gentilness,Delytsum lily of everie lustynes,Richest in bontie and in bewtie clear,And everie vertew that is wenit dear,Except onlie that ye are mercyless.Into your garth this day I did persew;There saw I flowris that fresche were of hew;Baith quhyte and reid most lusty were to seyne,And halesome herbis upon stalkis greene;Yet leaf nor flowr find could I nane of rew.I doubt that Merche, with his cauld blastis keyne,Has slain this gentil herb, that I of mene;Quhois piteous death dois to my heart sic paineThat I would make to plant his root againe,—So confortand his levis unto me bene.
SWEET rois of vertew and of gentilness,Delytsum lily of everie lustynes,Richest in bontie and in bewtie clear,And everie vertew that is wenit dear,Except onlie that ye are mercyless.
Into your garth this day I did persew;There saw I flowris that fresche were of hew;Baith quhyte and reid most lusty were to seyne,And halesome herbis upon stalkis greene;Yet leaf nor flowr find could I nane of rew.
I doubt that Merche, with his cauld blastis keyne,Has slain this gentil herb, that I of mene;Quhois piteous death dois to my heart sic paineThat I would make to plant his root againe,—So confortand his levis unto me bene.
18.rois] rose. wenit] weened, esteemed. garth] garden-close. to seyne] to see. that I of mene] that I complain of, mourn for.
18.rois] rose. wenit] weened, esteemed. garth] garden-close. to seyne] to see. that I of mene] that I complain of, mourn for.
19.
LONDON, thou art of townesA per se.Soveraign of cities, seemliest in sight,Of high renoun, riches and royaltie;Of lordis, barons, and many a goodly knyght;Of most delectable lusty ladies bright;Of famous prelatis, in habitis clericall;Of merchauntis full of substaunce and of myght:London, thou art the flour of Cities all.Gladdith anon, thou lusty Troynovaunt,Citie that some tyme cleped was New Troy;In all the erth, imperiall as thou stant,Pryncesse of townes, of pleasure and of joy,A richer restith under no Christen roy;For manly power, with craftis naturall,Fourmeth none fairer sith the flode of Noy:London, thou art the flour of Cities all.Gemme of all joy, jasper of jocunditie,Most myghty carbuncle of vertue and valour;Strong Troy in vigour and in strenuytie;Of royall cities rose and geraflour;Empress of townes, exalt in honour;In beawtie beryng the crone imperiall;Swete paradise precelling in pleasure;London, thou art the flour of Cities all.Above all ryvers thy Ryver hath renowne,Whose beryall stremys, pleasaunt and preclare,Under thy lusty wallys renneth down,Where many a swan doth swymme with wyngis fair;
LONDON, thou art of townesA per se.Soveraign of cities, seemliest in sight,Of high renoun, riches and royaltie;Of lordis, barons, and many a goodly knyght;Of most delectable lusty ladies bright;Of famous prelatis, in habitis clericall;Of merchauntis full of substaunce and of myght:London, thou art the flour of Cities all.Gladdith anon, thou lusty Troynovaunt,Citie that some tyme cleped was New Troy;In all the erth, imperiall as thou stant,Pryncesse of townes, of pleasure and of joy,A richer restith under no Christen roy;For manly power, with craftis naturall,Fourmeth none fairer sith the flode of Noy:London, thou art the flour of Cities all.Gemme of all joy, jasper of jocunditie,Most myghty carbuncle of vertue and valour;Strong Troy in vigour and in strenuytie;Of royall cities rose and geraflour;Empress of townes, exalt in honour;In beawtie beryng the crone imperiall;Swete paradise precelling in pleasure;London, thou art the flour of Cities all.Above all ryvers thy Ryver hath renowne,Whose beryall stremys, pleasaunt and preclare,Under thy lusty wallys renneth down,Where many a swan doth swymme with wyngis fair;
LONDON, thou art of townesA per se.Soveraign of cities, seemliest in sight,Of high renoun, riches and royaltie;Of lordis, barons, and many a goodly knyght;Of most delectable lusty ladies bright;Of famous prelatis, in habitis clericall;Of merchauntis full of substaunce and of myght:London, thou art the flour of Cities all.
Gladdith anon, thou lusty Troynovaunt,Citie that some tyme cleped was New Troy;In all the erth, imperiall as thou stant,Pryncesse of townes, of pleasure and of joy,A richer restith under no Christen roy;For manly power, with craftis naturall,Fourmeth none fairer sith the flode of Noy:London, thou art the flour of Cities all.
Gemme of all joy, jasper of jocunditie,Most myghty carbuncle of vertue and valour;Strong Troy in vigour and in strenuytie;Of royall cities rose and geraflour;Empress of townes, exalt in honour;In beawtie beryng the crone imperiall;Swete paradise precelling in pleasure;London, thou art the flour of Cities all.
Above all ryvers thy Ryver hath renowne,Whose beryall stremys, pleasaunt and preclare,Under thy lusty wallys renneth down,Where many a swan doth swymme with wyngis fair;
gladdith] rejoice. Troynovaunt] Troja nova or Trinovantum. fourmeth] appeareth. geraflour] gillyflower.
gladdith] rejoice. Troynovaunt] Troja nova or Trinovantum. fourmeth] appeareth. geraflour] gillyflower.
WHERE many a barge doth saile and row with are;Where many a ship doth rest with top-royall.O, towne of townes! patrone and not compare,London, thou art the flour of Cities all.Upon thy lusty Brigge of pylers whiteBeen merchauntis full royall to behold;Upon thy stretis goeth many a semely knyghtIn velvet gownes and in cheynes of gold.By Julyus Cesar thy Tour founded of oldMay be the hous of Mars victoryall,Whose artillary with tonge may not be told:London, thou art the flour of Cities all.Strong be thy wallis that about thee standis;Wise be the people that within thee dwellis;Fresh is thy ryver with his lusty strandis;Blith be thy chirches, wele sownyng be thy bellis;Rich be thy merchauntis in substaunce that excellis;Fair be their wives, right lovesom, white and small;Clere be thy virgyns, lusty under kellis:London, thou art the flour of Cities all.Thy famous Maire, by pryncely governaunce,With sword of justice thee ruleth prudently.No Lord of Parys, Venyce, or FloraunceIn dignitye or honour goeth to hym nigh.He is exampler, loode-ster, and guye;Principall patrone and rose orygynalle,Above all Maires as maister most worthy:London, thou art the flour of Cities all.
WHERE many a barge doth saile and row with are;Where many a ship doth rest with top-royall.O, towne of townes! patrone and not compare,London, thou art the flour of Cities all.Upon thy lusty Brigge of pylers whiteBeen merchauntis full royall to behold;Upon thy stretis goeth many a semely knyghtIn velvet gownes and in cheynes of gold.By Julyus Cesar thy Tour founded of oldMay be the hous of Mars victoryall,Whose artillary with tonge may not be told:London, thou art the flour of Cities all.Strong be thy wallis that about thee standis;Wise be the people that within thee dwellis;Fresh is thy ryver with his lusty strandis;Blith be thy chirches, wele sownyng be thy bellis;Rich be thy merchauntis in substaunce that excellis;Fair be their wives, right lovesom, white and small;Clere be thy virgyns, lusty under kellis:London, thou art the flour of Cities all.Thy famous Maire, by pryncely governaunce,With sword of justice thee ruleth prudently.No Lord of Parys, Venyce, or FloraunceIn dignitye or honour goeth to hym nigh.He is exampler, loode-ster, and guye;Principall patrone and rose orygynalle,Above all Maires as maister most worthy:London, thou art the flour of Cities all.
WHERE many a barge doth saile and row with are;Where many a ship doth rest with top-royall.O, towne of townes! patrone and not compare,London, thou art the flour of Cities all.
Upon thy lusty Brigge of pylers whiteBeen merchauntis full royall to behold;Upon thy stretis goeth many a semely knyghtIn velvet gownes and in cheynes of gold.By Julyus Cesar thy Tour founded of oldMay be the hous of Mars victoryall,Whose artillary with tonge may not be told:London, thou art the flour of Cities all.
Strong be thy wallis that about thee standis;Wise be the people that within thee dwellis;Fresh is thy ryver with his lusty strandis;Blith be thy chirches, wele sownyng be thy bellis;Rich be thy merchauntis in substaunce that excellis;Fair be their wives, right lovesom, white and small;Clere be thy virgyns, lusty under kellis:London, thou art the flour of Cities all.
Thy famous Maire, by pryncely governaunce,With sword of justice thee ruleth prudently.No Lord of Parys, Venyce, or FloraunceIn dignitye or honour goeth to hym nigh.He is exampler, loode-ster, and guye;Principall patrone and rose orygynalle,Above all Maires as maister most worthy:London, thou art the flour of Cities all.
are] oar. small] slender. kellis] hoods, head-dresses. guye] guide.
are] oar. small] slender. kellis] hoods, head-dresses. guye] guide.
20.
Rorate coeli desuper!Hevins, distil your balmy schouris!For now is risen the bricht day-ster,Fro the rose Mary, flour of flouris:The cleir Sone, quhom no cloud devouris,Surmounting Phebus in the Est,Is cumin of his hevinly touris:Et nobis Puer natus est.Archangellis, angellis, and dompnationis,Tronis, potestatis, and marteiris seir,And all ye hevinly operationis,Ster, planeit, firmament, and spheir,Fire, erd, air, and water cleir,To Him gife loving, most and lest,That come in to so meik maneir;Et nobis Puer natus est.Synnaris be glad, and penance do,And thank your Maker hairtfully;For he that ye micht nocht come toTo you is cumin full humblyYour soulis with his blood to buyAnd loose you of the fiendis arrest—And only of his own mercy;Pro nobis Puer natus est.All clergy do to him inclyne,And bow unto that bairn benyng,And do your observance divyneTo him that is of kingis King:
Rorate coeli desuper!Hevins, distil your balmy schouris!For now is risen the bricht day-ster,Fro the rose Mary, flour of flouris:The cleir Sone, quhom no cloud devouris,Surmounting Phebus in the Est,Is cumin of his hevinly touris:Et nobis Puer natus est.Archangellis, angellis, and dompnationis,Tronis, potestatis, and marteiris seir,And all ye hevinly operationis,Ster, planeit, firmament, and spheir,Fire, erd, air, and water cleir,To Him gife loving, most and lest,That come in to so meik maneir;Et nobis Puer natus est.Synnaris be glad, and penance do,And thank your Maker hairtfully;For he that ye micht nocht come toTo you is cumin full humblyYour soulis with his blood to buyAnd loose you of the fiendis arrest—And only of his own mercy;Pro nobis Puer natus est.All clergy do to him inclyne,And bow unto that bairn benyng,And do your observance divyneTo him that is of kingis King:
Rorate coeli desuper!Hevins, distil your balmy schouris!For now is risen the bricht day-ster,Fro the rose Mary, flour of flouris:The cleir Sone, quhom no cloud devouris,Surmounting Phebus in the Est,Is cumin of his hevinly touris:Et nobis Puer natus est.
Archangellis, angellis, and dompnationis,Tronis, potestatis, and marteiris seir,And all ye hevinly operationis,Ster, planeit, firmament, and spheir,Fire, erd, air, and water cleir,To Him gife loving, most and lest,That come in to so meik maneir;Et nobis Puer natus est.
Synnaris be glad, and penance do,And thank your Maker hairtfully;For he that ye micht nocht come toTo you is cumin full humblyYour soulis with his blood to buyAnd loose you of the fiendis arrest—And only of his own mercy;Pro nobis Puer natus est.
All clergy do to him inclyne,And bow unto that bairn benyng,And do your observance divyneTo him that is of kingis King:
schouris] showers. cumin] come, entered. seir] various. erd] earth. lest] least. synnaris] sinners. benyng] benign.
schouris] showers. cumin] come, entered. seir] various. erd] earth. lest] least. synnaris] sinners. benyng] benign.
ENCENSE his altar, read and singIn holy kirk, with mind degest,Him honouring attour all thingQui nobis Puer natus est.Celestial foulis in the air,Sing with your nottis upon hicht,In firthis and in forrestis fairBe myrthful now at all your mycht;For passit is your dully nicht,Aurora has the cloudis perst,The Sone is risen with glaidsum licht,Et nobis Puer natus est.Now spring up flouris fra the rute,Revert you upward naturaly,In honour of the blissit fruteThat raiss up fro the rose Mary;Lay out your levis lustily,Fro deid take life now at the lestIn wirschip of that Prince worthyQui nobis Puer natus est.Sing, hevin imperial, most of hicht!Regions of air mak armony!All fish in flud and fowl of flichtBe mirthful and mak melody!All Gloria in excelsis cry!Heaven, erd, se, man, bird, and best,—He that is crownit abone the skyPro nobis Puer natus est!
ENCENSE his altar, read and singIn holy kirk, with mind degest,Him honouring attour all thingQui nobis Puer natus est.Celestial foulis in the air,Sing with your nottis upon hicht,In firthis and in forrestis fairBe myrthful now at all your mycht;For passit is your dully nicht,Aurora has the cloudis perst,The Sone is risen with glaidsum licht,Et nobis Puer natus est.Now spring up flouris fra the rute,Revert you upward naturaly,In honour of the blissit fruteThat raiss up fro the rose Mary;Lay out your levis lustily,Fro deid take life now at the lestIn wirschip of that Prince worthyQui nobis Puer natus est.Sing, hevin imperial, most of hicht!Regions of air mak armony!All fish in flud and fowl of flichtBe mirthful and mak melody!All Gloria in excelsis cry!Heaven, erd, se, man, bird, and best,—He that is crownit abone the skyPro nobis Puer natus est!
ENCENSE his altar, read and singIn holy kirk, with mind degest,Him honouring attour all thingQui nobis Puer natus est.
Celestial foulis in the air,Sing with your nottis upon hicht,In firthis and in forrestis fairBe myrthful now at all your mycht;For passit is your dully nicht,Aurora has the cloudis perst,The Sone is risen with glaidsum licht,Et nobis Puer natus est.
Now spring up flouris fra the rute,Revert you upward naturaly,In honour of the blissit fruteThat raiss up fro the rose Mary;Lay out your levis lustily,Fro deid take life now at the lestIn wirschip of that Prince worthyQui nobis Puer natus est.
Sing, hevin imperial, most of hicht!Regions of air mak armony!All fish in flud and fowl of flichtBe mirthful and mak melody!All Gloria in excelsis cry!Heaven, erd, se, man, bird, and best,—He that is crownit abone the skyPro nobis Puer natus est!
attour] over, above. perst] pierced. raiss] rose. best] beast.
attour] over, above. perst] pierced. raiss] rose. best] beast.
21.
ITHAT in heill was and gladnèssAm trublit now with great sicknessAnd feblit with infirmitie:—Timor Mortis conturbat me.Our plesance here is all vain glory,This fals world is but transitory,The flesh is bruckle, the Feynd is slee:—Timor Mortis conturbat me.The state of man does change and vary,Now sound, now sick, now blyth, now sary,Now dansand mirry, now like to die:—Timor Mortis conturbat me.No state in Erd here standis sicker;As with the wynd wavis the wickerSo wannis this world’s vanitie:—Timor Mortis conturbat me.Unto the Death gois all Estatis,Princis, Prelatis, and Potestatis,Baith rich and poor of all degree:—Timor Mortis conturbat me.He takis the knichtis in to the fieldEnarmit under helm and scheild;Victor he is at all mellie:—Timor Mortis conturbat me.
ITHAT in heill was and gladnèssAm trublit now with great sicknessAnd feblit with infirmitie:—Timor Mortis conturbat me.Our plesance here is all vain glory,This fals world is but transitory,The flesh is bruckle, the Feynd is slee:—Timor Mortis conturbat me.The state of man does change and vary,Now sound, now sick, now blyth, now sary,Now dansand mirry, now like to die:—Timor Mortis conturbat me.No state in Erd here standis sicker;As with the wynd wavis the wickerSo wannis this world’s vanitie:—Timor Mortis conturbat me.Unto the Death gois all Estatis,Princis, Prelatis, and Potestatis,Baith rich and poor of all degree:—Timor Mortis conturbat me.He takis the knichtis in to the fieldEnarmit under helm and scheild;Victor he is at all mellie:—Timor Mortis conturbat me.
ITHAT in heill was and gladnèssAm trublit now with great sicknessAnd feblit with infirmitie:—Timor Mortis conturbat me.
Our plesance here is all vain glory,This fals world is but transitory,The flesh is bruckle, the Feynd is slee:—Timor Mortis conturbat me.
The state of man does change and vary,Now sound, now sick, now blyth, now sary,Now dansand mirry, now like to die:—Timor Mortis conturbat me.
No state in Erd here standis sicker;As with the wynd wavis the wickerSo wannis this world’s vanitie:—Timor Mortis conturbat me.
Unto the Death gois all Estatis,Princis, Prelatis, and Potestatis,Baith rich and poor of all degree:—Timor Mortis conturbat me.
He takis the knichtis in to the fieldEnarmit under helm and scheild;Victor he is at all mellie:—Timor Mortis conturbat me.
heill] health. bruckle] brittle, feeble. slee] sly. dansand] dancing. sicker] sure. wicker] willow. wannis] wanes. mellie] mellay.
heill] health. bruckle] brittle, feeble. slee] sly. dansand] dancing. sicker] sure. wicker] willow. wannis] wanes. mellie] mellay.
THAT strong unmerciful tyrandTakis, on the motheris breast sowkand,The babe full of benignitie:—Timor Mortis conturbat me.He takis the campion in the stour,The captain closit in the tour,The lady in bour full of bewtie:—Timor Mortis conturbat me.He spairis no lord for his piscence,Na clerk for his intelligence;His awful straik may no man flee:—Timor Mortis conturbat me.Art-magicianis and astrologgis,Rethoris, logicianis, and theologgis,Them helpis no conclusionis slee:—Timor Mortis conturbat me.In medecine the most practicianis,Leechis, surrigianis, and physicianis,Themself from Death may not supplee:—Timor Mortis conturbat me.I see that makaris amang the lavePlayis here their padyanis, syne gois to grave;Sparit is nocht their facultie:—Timor Mortis conturbat me.He has done petuously devourThe noble Chaucer, of makaris flour,The Monk of Bury, and Gower, all three:—Timor Mortis conturbat me.
THAT strong unmerciful tyrandTakis, on the motheris breast sowkand,The babe full of benignitie:—Timor Mortis conturbat me.He takis the campion in the stour,The captain closit in the tour,The lady in bour full of bewtie:—Timor Mortis conturbat me.He spairis no lord for his piscence,Na clerk for his intelligence;His awful straik may no man flee:—Timor Mortis conturbat me.Art-magicianis and astrologgis,Rethoris, logicianis, and theologgis,Them helpis no conclusionis slee:—Timor Mortis conturbat me.In medecine the most practicianis,Leechis, surrigianis, and physicianis,Themself from Death may not supplee:—Timor Mortis conturbat me.I see that makaris amang the lavePlayis here their padyanis, syne gois to grave;Sparit is nocht their facultie:—Timor Mortis conturbat me.He has done petuously devourThe noble Chaucer, of makaris flour,The Monk of Bury, and Gower, all three:—Timor Mortis conturbat me.
THAT strong unmerciful tyrandTakis, on the motheris breast sowkand,The babe full of benignitie:—Timor Mortis conturbat me.
He takis the campion in the stour,The captain closit in the tour,The lady in bour full of bewtie:—Timor Mortis conturbat me.
He spairis no lord for his piscence,Na clerk for his intelligence;His awful straik may no man flee:—Timor Mortis conturbat me.
Art-magicianis and astrologgis,Rethoris, logicianis, and theologgis,Them helpis no conclusionis slee:—Timor Mortis conturbat me.
In medecine the most practicianis,Leechis, surrigianis, and physicianis,Themself from Death may not supplee:—Timor Mortis conturbat me.
I see that makaris amang the lavePlayis here their padyanis, syne gois to grave;Sparit is nocht their facultie:—Timor Mortis conturbat me.
He has done petuously devourThe noble Chaucer, of makaris flour,The Monk of Bury, and Gower, all three:—Timor Mortis conturbat me.
sowkand] sucking. campion] champion. stour] fight. piscence] puissance. straik] stroke. supplee] save. makaris] poets. the lave] the leave, the rest. padyanis] pageants.
sowkand] sucking. campion] champion. stour] fight. piscence] puissance. straik] stroke. supplee] save. makaris] poets. the lave] the leave, the rest. padyanis] pageants.
THE good Sir Hew of Eglintoun,Ettrick, Heriot, and Wintoun,He has tane out of this cuntrie:—Timor Mortis conturbat me.That scorpion fell has done infeckMaister John Clerk, and James Afflek,Fra ballat-making and tragedie:—Timor Mortis conturbat me.Holland and Barbour he has berevit;Alas! that he not with us levitSir Mungo Lockart of the Lee:—Timor Mortis conturbat me.Clerk of Tranent eke he has tane,That made the anteris of Gawaine;Sir Gilbert Hay endit has he:—Timor Mortis conturbat me.He has Blind Harry and Sandy TraillSlain with his schour of mortal hail,Quhilk Patrick Johnstoun might nought flee:—Timor Mortis conturbat me.He has reft Merseir his endite,That did in luve so lively write,So short, so quick, of sentence hie:—Timor Mortis conturbat me.He has tane Rowll of Aberdene,And gentill Rowll of Corstorphine;Two better fallowis did no man see:—Timor Mortis conturbat me.
THE good Sir Hew of Eglintoun,Ettrick, Heriot, and Wintoun,He has tane out of this cuntrie:—Timor Mortis conturbat me.That scorpion fell has done infeckMaister John Clerk, and James Afflek,Fra ballat-making and tragedie:—Timor Mortis conturbat me.Holland and Barbour he has berevit;Alas! that he not with us levitSir Mungo Lockart of the Lee:—Timor Mortis conturbat me.Clerk of Tranent eke he has tane,That made the anteris of Gawaine;Sir Gilbert Hay endit has he:—Timor Mortis conturbat me.He has Blind Harry and Sandy TraillSlain with his schour of mortal hail,Quhilk Patrick Johnstoun might nought flee:—Timor Mortis conturbat me.He has reft Merseir his endite,That did in luve so lively write,So short, so quick, of sentence hie:—Timor Mortis conturbat me.He has tane Rowll of Aberdene,And gentill Rowll of Corstorphine;Two better fallowis did no man see:—Timor Mortis conturbat me.
THE good Sir Hew of Eglintoun,Ettrick, Heriot, and Wintoun,He has tane out of this cuntrie:—Timor Mortis conturbat me.
That scorpion fell has done infeckMaister John Clerk, and James Afflek,Fra ballat-making and tragedie:—Timor Mortis conturbat me.
Holland and Barbour he has berevit;Alas! that he not with us levitSir Mungo Lockart of the Lee:—Timor Mortis conturbat me.
Clerk of Tranent eke he has tane,That made the anteris of Gawaine;Sir Gilbert Hay endit has he:—Timor Mortis conturbat me.
He has Blind Harry and Sandy TraillSlain with his schour of mortal hail,Quhilk Patrick Johnstoun might nought flee:—Timor Mortis conturbat me.
He has reft Merseir his endite,That did in luve so lively write,So short, so quick, of sentence hie:—Timor Mortis conturbat me.
He has tane Rowll of Aberdene,And gentill Rowll of Corstorphine;Two better fallowis did no man see:—Timor Mortis conturbat me.
anteris] adventures. schour] shower. endite] inditing. fallowis] fellows.
anteris] adventures. schour] shower. endite] inditing. fallowis] fellows.
IN Dunfermline he has tane BrounWith Maister Robert Henrysoun;Sir John the Ross enbrast has he:—Timor Mortis conturbat me.And he has now tane, last of a,Good gentil Stobo and Quintin Shaw,Of quhom all wichtis hes pitie:—Timor Mortis conturbat me.Good Maister Walter KennedyIn point of Death lies verily;Great ruth it were that so suld be:—Timor Mortis conturbat me.Sen he has all my brether tane,He will naught let me live alane;Of force I man his next prey be:—Timor Mortis conturbat me.Since for the Death remeid is none,Best is that we for Death dispone,After our death that live may we:—Timor Mortis conturbat me.
IN Dunfermline he has tane BrounWith Maister Robert Henrysoun;Sir John the Ross enbrast has he:—Timor Mortis conturbat me.And he has now tane, last of a,Good gentil Stobo and Quintin Shaw,Of quhom all wichtis hes pitie:—Timor Mortis conturbat me.Good Maister Walter KennedyIn point of Death lies verily;Great ruth it were that so suld be:—Timor Mortis conturbat me.Sen he has all my brether tane,He will naught let me live alane;Of force I man his next prey be:—Timor Mortis conturbat me.Since for the Death remeid is none,Best is that we for Death dispone,After our death that live may we:—Timor Mortis conturbat me.
IN Dunfermline he has tane BrounWith Maister Robert Henrysoun;Sir John the Ross enbrast has he:—Timor Mortis conturbat me.
And he has now tane, last of a,Good gentil Stobo and Quintin Shaw,Of quhom all wichtis hes pitie:—Timor Mortis conturbat me.
Good Maister Walter KennedyIn point of Death lies verily;Great ruth it were that so suld be:—Timor Mortis conturbat me.
Sen he has all my brether tane,He will naught let me live alane;Of force I man his next prey be:—Timor Mortis conturbat me.
Since for the Death remeid is none,Best is that we for Death dispone,After our death that live may we:—Timor Mortis conturbat me.
21.wichtis] wights, persons. man] must. dispone] make disposition.
21.wichtis] wights, persons. man] must. dispone] make disposition.
15th Cent.
22.
In somer when the shawes be sheyne,And leves be large and long,Hit is full merry in feyre foresteTo here the foulys song.
In somer when the shawes be sheyne,And leves be large and long,Hit is full merry in feyre foresteTo here the foulys song.
In somer when the shawes be sheyne,And leves be large and long,Hit is full merry in feyre foresteTo here the foulys song.
22.sheyne] bright.
22.sheyne] bright.
TO se the dere draw to the daleAnd leve the hilles hee,And shadow him in the leves greneUnder the green-wode tree.Hit befell on WhitsontideEarly in a May mornyng,The Sonne up faire can shyne,And the briddis mery can syng.‘This is a mery mornyng,’ said Litulle Johne,‘Be Hym that dyed on tre;A more mery man than I am oneLyves not in Christiantè.‘Pluk up thi hert, my dere mayster,’Litulle Johne can say,‘And thynk hit is a fulle fayre tymeIn a mornynge of May.’
TO se the dere draw to the daleAnd leve the hilles hee,And shadow him in the leves greneUnder the green-wode tree.Hit befell on WhitsontideEarly in a May mornyng,The Sonne up faire can shyne,And the briddis mery can syng.‘This is a mery mornyng,’ said Litulle Johne,‘Be Hym that dyed on tre;A more mery man than I am oneLyves not in Christiantè.‘Pluk up thi hert, my dere mayster,’Litulle Johne can say,‘And thynk hit is a fulle fayre tymeIn a mornynge of May.’
TO se the dere draw to the daleAnd leve the hilles hee,And shadow him in the leves greneUnder the green-wode tree.
Hit befell on WhitsontideEarly in a May mornyng,The Sonne up faire can shyne,And the briddis mery can syng.
‘This is a mery mornyng,’ said Litulle Johne,‘Be Hym that dyed on tre;A more mery man than I am oneLyves not in Christiantè.
‘Pluk up thi hert, my dere mayster,’Litulle Johne can say,‘And thynk hit is a fulle fayre tymeIn a mornynge of May.’
23.
15th Cent.
ISING of a maidenThat is makeles;King of all kingsTo her son she ches.He came al so stillThere his mother was,As dew in AprilThat falleth on the grass.
ISING of a maidenThat is makeles;King of all kingsTo her son she ches.He came al so stillThere his mother was,As dew in AprilThat falleth on the grass.
ISING of a maidenThat is makeles;King of all kingsTo her son she ches.
He came al so stillThere his mother was,As dew in AprilThat falleth on the grass.
23.makeles] matchless. ches] chose.
23.makeles] matchless. ches] chose.
HE came al so stillTo his mother’s bour,As dew in AprilThat falleth on the flour.He came al so stillThere his mother lay,As dew in AprilThat falleth on the spray.Mother and maidenWas never none but she;Well may such a ladyGoddes mother be.
HE came al so stillTo his mother’s bour,As dew in AprilThat falleth on the flour.He came al so stillThere his mother lay,As dew in AprilThat falleth on the spray.Mother and maidenWas never none but she;Well may such a ladyGoddes mother be.
HE came al so stillTo his mother’s bour,As dew in AprilThat falleth on the flour.
He came al so stillThere his mother lay,As dew in AprilThat falleth on the spray.
Mother and maidenWas never none but she;Well may such a ladyGoddes mother be.
24.
15th Cent. (?)
IN a valley of this restles mindI sought in mountain and in mead,Trusting a true love for to find.Upon an hill then took I heed;A voice I heard (and near I yede)In great dolour complaining tho:See, dear soul, how my sides bleedQuia amore langueo.Upon this hill I found a tree,Under a tree a man sitting;From head to foot wounded was he;His hearte blood I saw bleeding:A seemly man to be a king,A gracious face to look unto.I askèd why he had paining;[He said,]Quia amore langueo.
IN a valley of this restles mindI sought in mountain and in mead,Trusting a true love for to find.Upon an hill then took I heed;A voice I heard (and near I yede)In great dolour complaining tho:See, dear soul, how my sides bleedQuia amore langueo.Upon this hill I found a tree,Under a tree a man sitting;From head to foot wounded was he;His hearte blood I saw bleeding:A seemly man to be a king,A gracious face to look unto.I askèd why he had paining;[He said,]Quia amore langueo.
IN a valley of this restles mindI sought in mountain and in mead,Trusting a true love for to find.Upon an hill then took I heed;A voice I heard (and near I yede)In great dolour complaining tho:See, dear soul, how my sides bleedQuia amore langueo.
Upon this hill I found a tree,Under a tree a man sitting;From head to foot wounded was he;His hearte blood I saw bleeding:A seemly man to be a king,A gracious face to look unto.I askèd why he had paining;[He said,]Quia amore langueo.
24.yede] went.
24.yede] went.
IAM true love that false was never;My sister, man’s soul, I loved her thus.Because we would in no wise disseverI left my kingdom glorious.I purveyed her a palace full precious;She fled, I followed, I loved her soThat I suffered this pain piteousQuia amore langueo.My fair love and my spouse bright!I saved her from beating, and she hath me bet;I clothed her in grace and heavenly light;This bloody shirt she hath on me set;For longing of love yet would I not let;Sweete strokes are these: lo!I have loved her ever as I her hetQuia amore langueo.I crowned her with bliss and she me with thorn;I led her to chamber and she me to die;I brought her to worship and she me to scorn;I did her reverence and she me villany.To love that loveth is no maistry;Her hate made never my love her foe:Ask me then no question why—Quia amore langueo.Look unto mine handes, man!These gloves were given me when I her sought;They be not white, but red and wan;Embroidered with blood my spouse them brought.They will not off; I loose hem nought:
IAM true love that false was never;My sister, man’s soul, I loved her thus.Because we would in no wise disseverI left my kingdom glorious.I purveyed her a palace full precious;She fled, I followed, I loved her soThat I suffered this pain piteousQuia amore langueo.My fair love and my spouse bright!I saved her from beating, and she hath me bet;I clothed her in grace and heavenly light;This bloody shirt she hath on me set;For longing of love yet would I not let;Sweete strokes are these: lo!I have loved her ever as I her hetQuia amore langueo.I crowned her with bliss and she me with thorn;I led her to chamber and she me to die;I brought her to worship and she me to scorn;I did her reverence and she me villany.To love that loveth is no maistry;Her hate made never my love her foe:Ask me then no question why—Quia amore langueo.Look unto mine handes, man!These gloves were given me when I her sought;They be not white, but red and wan;Embroidered with blood my spouse them brought.They will not off; I loose hem nought:
IAM true love that false was never;My sister, man’s soul, I loved her thus.Because we would in no wise disseverI left my kingdom glorious.I purveyed her a palace full precious;She fled, I followed, I loved her soThat I suffered this pain piteousQuia amore langueo.
My fair love and my spouse bright!I saved her from beating, and she hath me bet;I clothed her in grace and heavenly light;This bloody shirt she hath on me set;For longing of love yet would I not let;Sweete strokes are these: lo!I have loved her ever as I her hetQuia amore langueo.
I crowned her with bliss and she me with thorn;I led her to chamber and she me to die;I brought her to worship and she me to scorn;I did her reverence and she me villany.To love that loveth is no maistry;Her hate made never my love her foe:Ask me then no question why—Quia amore langueo.
Look unto mine handes, man!These gloves were given me when I her sought;They be not white, but red and wan;Embroidered with blood my spouse them brought.They will not off; I loose hem nought:
het] promised.
het] promised.
IWOO her with hem wherever she go.These hands for her so friendly foughtQuia amore langueo.Marvel not, man, though I sit still.See, love hath shod me wonder strait:Buckled my feet, as was her will,With sharpe nails (well thou may’st wait!)In my love was never desait;All my membres I have opened her to;My body I made her herte’s baitQuia amore langueo.In my side I have made her nest;Look in, how weet a wound is here!This is her chamber, here shall she rest,That she and I may sleep in fere.Here may she wash, if any filth were;Here is seat for all her woe;Come when she will, she shall have cheerQuia amore langueo.I will abide till she be ready,I will her sue if she say nay;If she be retchless I will be greedy,If she be dangerous I will her pray;If she weep, then bide I ne may:Mine arms ben spread to clip her me to.Cry once, I come: now, soul, assayQuia amore langueo.Fair love, let us go play:Apples ben ripe in my gardayne.
IWOO her with hem wherever she go.These hands for her so friendly foughtQuia amore langueo.Marvel not, man, though I sit still.See, love hath shod me wonder strait:Buckled my feet, as was her will,With sharpe nails (well thou may’st wait!)In my love was never desait;All my membres I have opened her to;My body I made her herte’s baitQuia amore langueo.In my side I have made her nest;Look in, how weet a wound is here!This is her chamber, here shall she rest,That she and I may sleep in fere.Here may she wash, if any filth were;Here is seat for all her woe;Come when she will, she shall have cheerQuia amore langueo.I will abide till she be ready,I will her sue if she say nay;If she be retchless I will be greedy,If she be dangerous I will her pray;If she weep, then bide I ne may:Mine arms ben spread to clip her me to.Cry once, I come: now, soul, assayQuia amore langueo.Fair love, let us go play:Apples ben ripe in my gardayne.
IWOO her with hem wherever she go.These hands for her so friendly foughtQuia amore langueo.
Marvel not, man, though I sit still.See, love hath shod me wonder strait:Buckled my feet, as was her will,With sharpe nails (well thou may’st wait!)In my love was never desait;All my membres I have opened her to;My body I made her herte’s baitQuia amore langueo.
In my side I have made her nest;Look in, how weet a wound is here!This is her chamber, here shall she rest,That she and I may sleep in fere.Here may she wash, if any filth were;Here is seat for all her woe;Come when she will, she shall have cheerQuia amore langueo.
I will abide till she be ready,I will her sue if she say nay;If she be retchless I will be greedy,If she be dangerous I will her pray;If she weep, then bide I ne may:Mine arms ben spread to clip her me to.Cry once, I come: now, soul, assayQuia amore langueo.
Fair love, let us go play:Apples ben ripe in my gardayne.
bait] resting-place. weet] wet. in fere] together.
bait] resting-place. weet] wet. in fere] together.
ISHALL thee clothe in a new array,Thy meat shall be milk, honey and wine.Fair love, let us go dine:Thy sustenance is in my crippe, lo!Tarry thou not, my fair spouse mine,Quia amore langueo.If thou be foul, I shall thee make clean;If thou be sick, I shall thee heal;If thou mourn ought, I shall thee mene;Why wilt thou not, fair love, with me deal?Foundest thou ever love so leal?What wilt thou, soul, that I shall do?I may not unkindly thee appealQuia amore langueo.What shall I do now with my spouseBut abide her of my gentleness,Till that she look out of her houseOf fleshly affection? love mine she is;Her bed is made, her bolster is bliss,Her chamber is chosen; is there none mo.Look out on me at the window of kindenessQuia amore langueo.My love is in her chamber: hold your peace!Make ye no noise, but let her sleep.My babe I would not were in disease,I may not hear my dear child weep.With my pap I shall her keep;Ne marvel ye not though I tend her to:This wound in my side had ne’er be so deepButQuia amore langueo.
ISHALL thee clothe in a new array,Thy meat shall be milk, honey and wine.Fair love, let us go dine:Thy sustenance is in my crippe, lo!Tarry thou not, my fair spouse mine,Quia amore langueo.If thou be foul, I shall thee make clean;If thou be sick, I shall thee heal;If thou mourn ought, I shall thee mene;Why wilt thou not, fair love, with me deal?Foundest thou ever love so leal?What wilt thou, soul, that I shall do?I may not unkindly thee appealQuia amore langueo.What shall I do now with my spouseBut abide her of my gentleness,Till that she look out of her houseOf fleshly affection? love mine she is;Her bed is made, her bolster is bliss,Her chamber is chosen; is there none mo.Look out on me at the window of kindenessQuia amore langueo.My love is in her chamber: hold your peace!Make ye no noise, but let her sleep.My babe I would not were in disease,I may not hear my dear child weep.With my pap I shall her keep;Ne marvel ye not though I tend her to:This wound in my side had ne’er be so deepButQuia amore langueo.
ISHALL thee clothe in a new array,Thy meat shall be milk, honey and wine.Fair love, let us go dine:Thy sustenance is in my crippe, lo!Tarry thou not, my fair spouse mine,Quia amore langueo.
If thou be foul, I shall thee make clean;If thou be sick, I shall thee heal;If thou mourn ought, I shall thee mene;Why wilt thou not, fair love, with me deal?Foundest thou ever love so leal?What wilt thou, soul, that I shall do?I may not unkindly thee appealQuia amore langueo.
What shall I do now with my spouseBut abide her of my gentleness,Till that she look out of her houseOf fleshly affection? love mine she is;Her bed is made, her bolster is bliss,Her chamber is chosen; is there none mo.Look out on me at the window of kindenessQuia amore langueo.
My love is in her chamber: hold your peace!Make ye no noise, but let her sleep.My babe I would not were in disease,I may not hear my dear child weep.With my pap I shall her keep;Ne marvel ye not though I tend her to:This wound in my side had ne’er be so deepButQuia amore langueo.
crippe] scrip. mene] care for.
crippe] scrip. mene] care for.
LONG thou for love never so high,My love is more than thine may be.Thou weepest, thou gladdest, I sit thee by:Yet wouldst thou once, love, look unto me!Should I always feede theeWith children meat? Nay, love, not so!I will prove thy love with adversitèQuia amore langueo.Wax not weary, mine own wife!What mede is aye to live in comfort?In tribulation I reign more rifeOfter times than in disport.In weal and in woe I am aye to support:Mine own wife, go not me fro!Thy mede is marked, when thou art mort:Quia amore langueo.
LONG thou for love never so high,My love is more than thine may be.Thou weepest, thou gladdest, I sit thee by:Yet wouldst thou once, love, look unto me!Should I always feede theeWith children meat? Nay, love, not so!I will prove thy love with adversitèQuia amore langueo.Wax not weary, mine own wife!What mede is aye to live in comfort?In tribulation I reign more rifeOfter times than in disport.In weal and in woe I am aye to support:Mine own wife, go not me fro!Thy mede is marked, when thou art mort:Quia amore langueo.
LONG thou for love never so high,My love is more than thine may be.Thou weepest, thou gladdest, I sit thee by:Yet wouldst thou once, love, look unto me!Should I always feede theeWith children meat? Nay, love, not so!I will prove thy love with adversitèQuia amore langueo.
Wax not weary, mine own wife!What mede is aye to live in comfort?In tribulation I reign more rifeOfter times than in disport.In weal and in woe I am aye to support:Mine own wife, go not me fro!Thy mede is marked, when thou art mort:Quia amore langueo.
25.
15th Cent.
He.Be it right or wrong, these men amongOn women do complain;Affirming this, how that it isA labour spent in vainTo love them wele; for never a deleThey love a man again:For let a man do what he canTheir favour to attain,Yet if a new to them pursue,Their first true lover thanLaboureth for naught; for from her thoughtHe is a banished man.
He.Be it right or wrong, these men amongOn women do complain;Affirming this, how that it isA labour spent in vainTo love them wele; for never a deleThey love a man again:For let a man do what he canTheir favour to attain,Yet if a new to them pursue,Their first true lover thanLaboureth for naught; for from her thoughtHe is a banished man.
He.Be it right or wrong, these men amongOn women do complain;Affirming this, how that it isA labour spent in vainTo love them wele; for never a deleThey love a man again:For let a man do what he canTheir favour to attain,Yet if a new to them pursue,Their first true lover thanLaboureth for naught; for from her thoughtHe is a banished man.
25.never a dele] never a bit. than] then.
25.never a dele] never a bit. than] then.
She.I say not nay, but that all dayIt is both written and saidThat woman’s faith is, as who saith,All utterly decayd:But nevertheless, right good witnèssIn this case might be laidThat they love true and continue:Record the Nut-brown Maid,Which, when her love came her to prove,To her to make his moan,Would not depart; for in her heartShe loved but him alone.He.Then between us let us discussWhat was all the manereBetween them two: we will alsoTell all the pain in fereThat she was in. Now I begin,So that ye me answere:Wherefore all ye that present be,I pray you, give an ear.I am the Knight. I come by night,As secret as I can,Saying, Alas! thus standeth the case,I am a banished man.She.And I your will for to fulfilIn this will not refuse;Trusting to show, in wordes few,That men have an ill use—To their own shame—women to blame,And causeless them accuse.
She.I say not nay, but that all dayIt is both written and saidThat woman’s faith is, as who saith,All utterly decayd:But nevertheless, right good witnèssIn this case might be laidThat they love true and continue:Record the Nut-brown Maid,Which, when her love came her to prove,To her to make his moan,Would not depart; for in her heartShe loved but him alone.He.Then between us let us discussWhat was all the manereBetween them two: we will alsoTell all the pain in fereThat she was in. Now I begin,So that ye me answere:Wherefore all ye that present be,I pray you, give an ear.I am the Knight. I come by night,As secret as I can,Saying, Alas! thus standeth the case,I am a banished man.She.And I your will for to fulfilIn this will not refuse;Trusting to show, in wordes few,That men have an ill use—To their own shame—women to blame,And causeless them accuse.
She.I say not nay, but that all dayIt is both written and saidThat woman’s faith is, as who saith,All utterly decayd:But nevertheless, right good witnèssIn this case might be laidThat they love true and continue:Record the Nut-brown Maid,Which, when her love came her to prove,To her to make his moan,Would not depart; for in her heartShe loved but him alone.
He.Then between us let us discussWhat was all the manereBetween them two: we will alsoTell all the pain in fereThat she was in. Now I begin,So that ye me answere:Wherefore all ye that present be,I pray you, give an ear.I am the Knight. I come by night,As secret as I can,Saying, Alas! thus standeth the case,I am a banished man.
She.And I your will for to fulfilIn this will not refuse;Trusting to show, in wordes few,That men have an ill use—To their own shame—women to blame,And causeless them accuse.
in fere] in company together.
in fere] in company together.
Therefore to you I answer now,All women to excuse—Mine own heart dear, with you what cheer?I pray you, tell anone;For, in my mind, of all mankindI love but you alone.He.It standeth so: a deed is doWhereof great harm shall grow:My destiny is for to dieA shameful death, I trow;Or else to flee. The t’ one must be.None other way I knowBut to withdraw as an outlàw,And take me to my bow.Wherefore adieu, mine own heart true!None other rede I can:For I must to the green-wood go,Alone, a banished man.She.O Lord, what is this worldis bliss,That changeth as the moon!My summer’s day in lusty MayIs darked before the noon.I hear you say, farewell: Nay, nay,We dèpart not so soon.Why say ye so? whither will ye go?Alas! what have ye done?All my welfàre to sorrow and careShould change, if ye were gone:For, in my mind, of all mankindI love but you alone.
Therefore to you I answer now,All women to excuse—Mine own heart dear, with you what cheer?I pray you, tell anone;For, in my mind, of all mankindI love but you alone.He.It standeth so: a deed is doWhereof great harm shall grow:My destiny is for to dieA shameful death, I trow;Or else to flee. The t’ one must be.None other way I knowBut to withdraw as an outlàw,And take me to my bow.Wherefore adieu, mine own heart true!None other rede I can:For I must to the green-wood go,Alone, a banished man.She.O Lord, what is this worldis bliss,That changeth as the moon!My summer’s day in lusty MayIs darked before the noon.I hear you say, farewell: Nay, nay,We dèpart not so soon.Why say ye so? whither will ye go?Alas! what have ye done?All my welfàre to sorrow and careShould change, if ye were gone:For, in my mind, of all mankindI love but you alone.
Therefore to you I answer now,All women to excuse—Mine own heart dear, with you what cheer?I pray you, tell anone;For, in my mind, of all mankindI love but you alone.
He.It standeth so: a deed is doWhereof great harm shall grow:My destiny is for to dieA shameful death, I trow;Or else to flee. The t’ one must be.None other way I knowBut to withdraw as an outlàw,And take me to my bow.Wherefore adieu, mine own heart true!None other rede I can:For I must to the green-wood go,Alone, a banished man.
She.O Lord, what is this worldis bliss,That changeth as the moon!My summer’s day in lusty MayIs darked before the noon.I hear you say, farewell: Nay, nay,We dèpart not so soon.Why say ye so? whither will ye go?Alas! what have ye done?All my welfàre to sorrow and careShould change, if ye were gone:For, in my mind, of all mankindI love but you alone.
rede I can] counsel I know.
rede I can] counsel I know.
He.I can believe it shall you grieve,And somewhat you distrain;But afterward, your paines hardWithin a day or twainShall soon aslake; and ye shall takeComfort to you again.Why should ye ought? for, to make thought,Your labour were in vain.And thus I do; and pray you to,As hartely as I can:For I must to the green-wood go,Alone, a banished man.She.Now, sith that ye have showed to meThe secret of your mind,I shall be plain to you again,Like as ye shall me find.Sith it is so that ye will go,I will not live behind.Shall never be said the Nut-brown MaidWas to her love unkind.Make you readý, for so am I,Although it were anone:For, in my mind, of all mankindI love but you alone.He.Yet I you rede to take good heedWhat men will think and say:Of young, of old, it shall be toldThat ye be gone awayYour wanton will for to fulfil,In green-wood you to play;And that ye might for your delightNo longer make delayRather than ye should thus for meBe called an ill womànYet would I to the green-wood go,Alone, a banished man.She.Though it be sung of old and youngThat I should be to blame,Theirs be the charge that speak so largeIn hurting of my name:For I will prove that faithful loveIt is devoid of shame;In your distress and heavinessTo part with you the same:And sure all tho that do not soTrue lovers are they none:For in my mind, of all mankindI love but you alone.He.I counsel you, Remember howIt is no maiden’s lawNothing to doubt, but to run outTo wood with an outlàw.For ye must there in your hand bearA bow readý to draw;And as a thief thus must you liveEver in dread and awe;Whereby to you great harm might grow:Yet had I liever thanThat I had to the green-wood go,Alone, a banished man.
He.I can believe it shall you grieve,And somewhat you distrain;But afterward, your paines hardWithin a day or twainShall soon aslake; and ye shall takeComfort to you again.Why should ye ought? for, to make thought,Your labour were in vain.And thus I do; and pray you to,As hartely as I can:For I must to the green-wood go,Alone, a banished man.She.Now, sith that ye have showed to meThe secret of your mind,I shall be plain to you again,Like as ye shall me find.Sith it is so that ye will go,I will not live behind.Shall never be said the Nut-brown MaidWas to her love unkind.Make you readý, for so am I,Although it were anone:For, in my mind, of all mankindI love but you alone.He.Yet I you rede to take good heedWhat men will think and say:Of young, of old, it shall be toldThat ye be gone awayYour wanton will for to fulfil,In green-wood you to play;And that ye might for your delightNo longer make delayRather than ye should thus for meBe called an ill womànYet would I to the green-wood go,Alone, a banished man.She.Though it be sung of old and youngThat I should be to blame,Theirs be the charge that speak so largeIn hurting of my name:For I will prove that faithful loveIt is devoid of shame;In your distress and heavinessTo part with you the same:And sure all tho that do not soTrue lovers are they none:For in my mind, of all mankindI love but you alone.He.I counsel you, Remember howIt is no maiden’s lawNothing to doubt, but to run outTo wood with an outlàw.For ye must there in your hand bearA bow readý to draw;And as a thief thus must you liveEver in dread and awe;Whereby to you great harm might grow:Yet had I liever thanThat I had to the green-wood go,Alone, a banished man.
He.I can believe it shall you grieve,And somewhat you distrain;But afterward, your paines hardWithin a day or twainShall soon aslake; and ye shall takeComfort to you again.Why should ye ought? for, to make thought,Your labour were in vain.And thus I do; and pray you to,As hartely as I can:For I must to the green-wood go,Alone, a banished man.
She.Now, sith that ye have showed to meThe secret of your mind,I shall be plain to you again,Like as ye shall me find.Sith it is so that ye will go,I will not live behind.Shall never be said the Nut-brown MaidWas to her love unkind.Make you readý, for so am I,Although it were anone:For, in my mind, of all mankindI love but you alone.
He.Yet I you rede to take good heedWhat men will think and say:Of young, of old, it shall be toldThat ye be gone awayYour wanton will for to fulfil,In green-wood you to play;And that ye might for your delightNo longer make delayRather than ye should thus for meBe called an ill womànYet would I to the green-wood go,Alone, a banished man.
She.Though it be sung of old and youngThat I should be to blame,Theirs be the charge that speak so largeIn hurting of my name:For I will prove that faithful loveIt is devoid of shame;In your distress and heavinessTo part with you the same:And sure all tho that do not soTrue lovers are they none:For in my mind, of all mankindI love but you alone.
He.I counsel you, Remember howIt is no maiden’s lawNothing to doubt, but to run outTo wood with an outlàw.For ye must there in your hand bearA bow readý to draw;And as a thief thus must you liveEver in dread and awe;Whereby to you great harm might grow:Yet had I liever thanThat I had to the green-wood go,Alone, a banished man.