A Philosophre of which men tolde[Tale of Diogenes and Alexander.]Ther was whilom be daies olde,P. i. 320And Diogenes thanne he hihte.Hic ponit Confessor exemplum, quod hominis impetuosa voluntas sit discrecionis moderamine gubernanda. Et narrat qualiter Diogenes, qui motus animi sui racioni subiugarat, Regem Alexandrum super isto facto sibi opponentem953plenius informauit.So old he was that he ne mihteThe world travaile, and for the besteHe schop him forto take his reste,And duelte at hom in such a wise,That nyh his hous he let devise952Endlong upon an AxeltreTo sette a tonne in such degre,1210That he it mihte torne aboute;Wherof on hed was taken oute,954For he therinne sitte scholdeAnd torne himself so as he wolde,To take their and se the heveneAnd deme of the planetes sevene,As he which cowthe mochel what.And thus fulofte there he satTo muse in his philosophieSolein withoute compaignie:1220So that upon a morwetyde,As thing which scholde so betyde,955Whan he was set ther as him listeTo loke upon the Sonne ariste,Wherof the propretes he sih,It fell ther cam ridende nyhKing Alisandre with a route;And as he caste his yhe aboute,He sih this Tonne, and what it menteHe wolde wite, and thider sente1230A knyht, be whom he mihte it knowe,And he himself that ilke throweP. i. 321Abod, and hoveth there stille.This kniht after the kinges willeWith spore made his hors to gonAnd to the tonne he cam anon,Wher that he fond a man of Age,And he him tolde the message,Such as the king him hadde bede,And axeth why in thilke stede1240The Tonne stod, and what it was.956And he, which understod the cas,Sat stille and spak no word ayein.The kniht bad speke and seith, ‘Vilein,Thou schalt me telle, er that I go;It is thi king which axeth so.’‘Mi king,’ quod he, ‘that were unriht.’‘What is he thanne?’ seith the kniht,‘Is he thi man?’ ‘That seie I noght,’Quod he, ‘bot this I am bethoght,1250Mi mannes man hou that he is.’‘Thou lyest, false cherl, ywiss,’The kniht him seith, and was riht wroth,957And to the king ayein he gothAnd tolde him how this man ansuerde.The king, whan he this tale herde,Bad that thei scholden alle abyde,For he himself wol thider ryde.958And whan he cam tofore the tonne,He hath his tale thus begonne:1260‘Alheil,’ he seith, ‘what man art thou?’Quod he, ‘Such on as thou sest now.’P. i. 322The king, which hadde wordes wise,His age wolde noght despise,Bot seith, ‘Mi fader, I thee preieThat thou me wolt the cause seie,How that I am thi mannes man.’‘Sire king,’ quod he, ‘and that I can,If that thou wolt.’ ‘Yis,’ seith the king.Quod he, ‘This is the sothe thing:1270Sith I ferst resoun understod,And knew what thing was evel and good,The will which of my bodi moeveth,Whos werkes that the god reproeveth,I have restreigned everemore,As him which stant under the lore959Of reson, whos soubgit he is,So that he mai noght don amis:And thus be weie of covenantWill is my man and my servant,1280And evere hath ben and evere schal.And thi will is thi principal,And hath the lordschipe of thi witt,So that thou cowthest nevere yitTake o dai reste of thi labour;Bot forto ben a conquerourOf worldes good, which mai noght laste,Thou hiest evere aliche faste,Wher thou no reson hast to winne:And thus thi will is cause of Sinne,1290And is thi lord, to whom thou servest,Wherof thou litel thonk deservest.’P. i. 323The king of that he thus answerdeWas nothing wroth, bot whanne he herdeThe hihe wisdom which he seide,960With goodly wordes this he preide,961That he him wolde telle his name.‘I am,’ quod he, ‘that ilke same,The which men Diogenes calle.’Tho was the king riht glad withalle,1300For he hadde often herd toforeWhat man he was, so that therforeHe seide, ‘O wise Diogene,Now schal thi grete witt be sene;For thou schalt of my yifte haveWhat worldes thing that thou wolt crave.’Quod he, ‘Thanne hove out of mi Sonne,962And let it schyne into mi Tonne;For thou benymst me thilke yifte,Which lith noght in thi miht to schifte:1310Non other good of thee me nedeth.’This king, whom every contre dredeth,963Lo, thus he was enformed there:Wherof, my Sone, thou miht lereHow that thi will schal noght be lieved,[Contek.]Where it is noght of wit relieved.And thou hast seid thiself er thisHow that thi will thi maister is;964Thurgh which thin hertes thoght withinneIs evere of Contek to beginne,1320So that it is gretli to dredeThat it non homicide brede.P. i. 324For love is of a wonder kinde,And hath hise wittes ofte blinde,That thei fro mannes reson falle;Bot whan that it is so befalleThat will schal the corage lede,In loves cause it is to drede:Wherof I finde ensample write,Which is behovely forto wite.9651330[Pyramus and Thisbe.]I rede a tale, and telleth this:966The Cite which Semiramis967Hic in amoris causa ponit Confessor exemplum contra illos qui in sua dampna nimis accelerantes ex impetuositate seipsos multociens offendunt. Et narrat qualiter Piramus, cum ipse968Tisbee amicam suam in loco inter eosdem deputato tempore aduentus sui promptam non inuenit, animo impetuoso seipsum pre dolore extracto gladio mortaliter transfodit: que postea infra breue veniens cum ipsum sic mortuum inuenisset, eciam et illa in sui ipsius mortem impetuose festinans eiusdem gladii cuspide sui cordis intima per medium penetrauit.Enclosed hath with wall aboute,Of worthi folk with many a routeWas enhabited here and there;Among the whiche tuo ther wereAbove alle othre noble and grete,Dwellende tho withinne a StreteSo nyh togedre, as it was sene,That ther was nothing hem betwene,1340Bot wow to wow and wall to wall.This o lord hadde in specialA Sone, a lusti Bacheler,In al the toun was non his pier:That other hadde a dowhter eke,In al the lond that forto sekeMen wisten non so faire as sche.And fell so, as it scholde be,This faire dowhter nyh this SoneAs thei togedre thanne wone,1350Cupide hath so the thinges schape,That thei ne mihte his hand ascape,P. i. 325That he his fyr on hem ne caste:Wherof her herte he overcasteTo folwe thilke lore and suieWhich nevere man yit miht eschuie;And that was love, as it is happed,Which hath here hertes so betrapped,969That thei be alle weies secheHow that thei mihten winne a speche,1360Here wofull peine forto lisse.Who loveth wel, it mai noght misse,And namely whan ther be tuoOf on acord, how so it go,Bot if that thei som weie finde;For love is evere of such a kindeAnd hath his folk so wel affaited,That howso that it be awaited,Ther mai noman the pourpos lette:And thus betwen hem tuo thei sette1370An hole upon a wall to make,Thurgh which thei have her conseil takeAt alle times, whan thei myhte.This faire Maiden Tisbee hihte,And he whom that sche loveth hoteWas Piramus be name hote.So longe here lecoun thei recorden,Til ate laste thei acordenBe nihtes time forto wendeAl one out fro the tounes ende,1380Wher was a welle under a Tree;And who cam ferst, or sche or he,P. i. 326He scholde stille there abide.So it befell the nyhtes tide970This maiden, which desguised was,Al prively the softe pasGoth thurgh the large toun unknowe,Til that sche cam withinne a throweWher that sche liketh forto duelle,At thilke unhappi freisshe welle,1390Which was also the Forest nyh.Wher sche comende a Leoun syhInto the feld to take his preie,In haste and sche tho fledde aweie,971So as fortune scholde falle,For feere and let hire wympel falleNyh to the welle upon therbage.This Leoun in his wilde rageA beste, which that he fond oute,Hath slain, and with his blodi snoute,1400Whan he hath eten what he wolde,To drynke of thilke stremes coldeCam to the welle, where he fondThe wympel, which out of hire hondWas falle, and he it hath todrawe,Bebled aboute and al forgnawe;972And thanne he strawhte him forto drinkeUpon the freisshe welles brinke,And after that out of the pleinHe torneth to the wode ayein.1410And Tisbee dorste noght remue,Bot as a bridd which were in MueP. i. 327Withinne a buissh sche kepte hire closSo stille that sche noght aros;Unto hirself and pleigneth ay.And fell, whil that sche there lay,This Piramus cam after soneUnto the welle, and be the MoneHe fond hire wimpel blodi there.Cam nevere yit to mannes Ere1420Tidinge, ne to mannes sihteMerveile, which so sore aflihte973A mannes herte, as it tho dedeTo him, which in the same stedeWith many a wofull compleignyngeBegan his handes forto wringe,As he which demeth sikerlyThat sche be ded: and sodeinlyHis swerd al nakid out he breideIn his folhaste, and thus he seide:9741430‘I am cause of this felonie,So it is resoun that I die,As sche is ded be cause of me.’975And with that word upon his kneHe fell, and to the goddes alleUp to the hevene he gan to calle,And preide, sithen it was soThat he may noght his love as thoHave in this world, that of her graceHe miht hire have in other place,9761440For hiere wolde he noght abide,He seith: bot as it schal betide,P. i. 328The Pomel of his swerd to groundeHe sette, and thurgh his herte a woundeHe made up to the bare hilte:And in this wise himself he spilteWith his folhaste and deth he nam;For sche withinne a while cam,977Wher he lai ded upon his knif.So wofull yit was nevere lif1450As Tisbee was, whan sche him sih:Sche mihte noght o word on hihSpeke oute, for hire herte schette,That of hir lif no pris sche sette,Bot ded swounende doun sche fell,Til after, whanne it so befellThat sche out of hire traunce awok,With many a wofull pitous lokHire yhe alwei among sche casteUpon hir love, and ate laste1460Sche cawhte breth and seide thus:‘O thou which cleped art Venus,978Goddesse of love, and thou, Cupide,Which loves cause hast forto guide,I wot now wel that ye be blinde,Of thilke unhapp which I now findeOnly betwen my love and me.This Piramus, which hiere I seBledende, what hath he deserved?For he youre heste hath kept and served,1470And was yong and I bothe also:Helas, why do ye with ous so?P. i. 329Ye sette oure herte bothe afyre,979And maden ous such thing desireWherof that we no skile cowthe;Bot thus oure freisshe lusti yowtheWithoute joie is al despended,Which thing mai nevere ben amended:For as of me this wol I seie,980That me is levere forto deie1480Than live after this sorghful day.’And with this word, where as he lay,Hire love in armes sche embraseth,Hire oghne deth and so pourchasethThat now sche wepte and nou sche kiste,Til ate laste, er sche it wiste,So gret a sorwe is to hire falle,981Which overgoth hire wittes alle.As sche which mihte it noght asterte,982The swerdes point ayein hire herte1490Sche sette, and fell doun therupon,Wherof that sche was ded anon:And thus bothe on o swerd bledendeThei weren founde ded liggende.Confessor.Now thou, mi Sone, hast herd this tale,Bewar that of thin oghne bale983Thou be noght cause in thi folhaste,And kep that thou thi witt ne wasteUpon thi thoght in aventure,Wherof thi lyves forfeture1500Mai falle: and if thou have so thoghtEr this, tell on and hyde it noght.[The Lover’s Confession. Danger.]P. i. 330Mi fader, upon loves side984Mi conscience I woll noght hyde,Confessio Amantis.How that for love of pure woI have ben ofte moeved so,That with my wisshes if I myhte,A thousand times, I yow plyhte,I hadde storven in a day;And therof I me schryve may,1510Though love fully me ne slowh,Mi will to deie was ynowh,985So am I of my will coupable:And yit is sche noght merciable,Which mai me yive lif and hele.Bot that hir list noght with me dele,I wot be whos conseil it is,And him wolde I long time er this,And yit I wolde and evere schal,Slen and destruie in special.1520The gold of nyne kinges londesNe scholde him save fro myn hondes,In my pouer if that he were;Bot yit him stant of me no fereFor noght that evere I can manace.He is the hindrere of mi grace,Til he be ded I mai noght spede;So mot I nedes taken hiedeAnd schape how that he were aweie,If I therto mai finde a weie.1530Confessor.Mi Sone, tell me now forthi,Which is that mortiel enemyP. i. 331That thou manacest to be ded.Confessio Amantis.Mi fader, it is such a qwed,That wher I come, he is tofore,And doth so, that mi cause is lore.What is his name?It is Daunger,Which is mi ladi consailer:For I was nevere yit so slyh,To come in eny place nyh1540[Danger.]Wher as sche was be nyht or day,That Danger ne was redy ay,With whom for speche ne for medeYit mihte I nevere of love spede;For evere this I finde soth,Al that my ladi seith or dothTo me, Daunger schal make an ende,And that makth al mi world miswende:And evere I axe his help, bot heMai wel be cleped sanz pite;1550For ay the more I to him bowe,The lasse he wol my tale alowe.He hath mi ladi so englued,Sche wol noght that he be remued;For evere he hangeth on hire Seil,And is so prive of conseil,That evere whanne I have oght bede,I finde Danger in hire stedeAnd myn ansuere of him I have;Bot for no merci that I crave,1560Of merci nevere a point I hadde.I finde his ansuere ay so badde,986P. i. 332That werse mihte it nevere be:And thus betwen Danger and meIs evere werre til he dye.Bot mihte I ben of such maistrie,That I Danger hadde overcome,With that were al my joie come.Thus wolde I wonde for no Sinne,Ne yit for al this world to winne;1570If that I mihte finde a sleyhte,To leie al myn astat in weyhte,I wolde him fro the Court dissevere,So that he come ayeinward nevere.Therfore I wisshe and wolde fainThat he were in som wise slain;For while he stant in thilke place,Ne gete I noght my ladi grace.Thus hate I dedly thilke vice,And wolde he stode in non office1580In place wher mi ladi is;For if he do, I wot wel this,That owther schal he deie or IWithinne a while; and noght forthiOn my ladi fulofte I muse,How that sche mai hirself excuse,If that I deie in such a plit.Me thenkth sche mihte noght be qwytThat sche ne were an homicide:And if it scholde so betide,1590As god forbiede it scholde be,Be double weie it is pite.P. i. 333For I, which al my will and wittHave yove and served evere yit,And thanne I scholde in such a wiseIn rewardinge of my serviseBe ded, me thenkth it were a rowthe:987And furthermor, to telle trowthe,Sche, that hath evere be wel named,Were worthi thanne to be blamed1600And of reson to ben appeled,Whan with o word sche mihte have heledA man, and soffreth him so deie.988Ha, who sawh evere such a weie?Ha, who sawh evere such destresse?989Withoute pite gentilesse,Withoute mercy wommanhede,That wol so quyte a man his mede,Which evere hath be to love trewe.Mi goode fader, if ye rewe1610Upon mi tale, tell me now,990And I wol stinte and herkne yow.Confessor.Mi Sone, attempre thi corageFro Wraththe, and let thin herte assuage:For who so wole him underfonge,[More haste worse speed.]He mai his grace abide longe,Er he of love be received;And ek also, bot it be weyved,Ther mihte mochel thing befalle,That scholde make a man to falle1620Fro love, that nevere afterwardNe durste he loke thiderward.P. i. 334In harde weies men gon softe,And er thei clymbe avise hem ofte:Men sen alday that rape reweth;And who so wicked Ale breweth,Fulofte he mot the werse drinke:Betre is to flete than to sincke;Betre is upon the bridel chieweThanne if he felle and overthrewe,1630The hors and stikede in the Myr:To caste water in the fyrBetre is than brenne up al the hous:The man which is maliciousAnd folhastif, fulofte he falleth,And selden is whan love him calleth.Forthi betre is to soffre a throweThan be to wilde and overthrowe;Suffrance hath evere be the besteTo wissen him that secheth reste:1640And thus, if thou wolt love and spede,991Mi Sone, soffre, as I the rede.What mai the Mous ayein the Cat?And for this cause I axe that,Who mai to love make a werre,That he ne hath himself the werre?Love axeth pes and evere schal,And who that fihteth most withalSchal lest conquere of his emprise:992For this thei tellen that ben wise,1650Wicke is to stryve and have the werse;To hasten is noght worth a kerse;P. i. 335Thing that a man mai noght achieve,That mai noght wel be don at Eve,It mot abide til the morwe.Ne haste noght thin oghne sorwe,Mi Sone, and tak this in thi witt,He hath noght lost that wel abitt.Ensample that it falleth thus,Thou miht wel take of Piramus,1660Whan he in haste his swerd outdrowh993And on the point himselve slowhFor love of Tisbee pitously,For he hire wympel fond blodyAnd wende a beste hire hadde slain;Wher as him oghte have be riht fain,For sche was there al sauf beside:Bot for he wolde noght abide,This meschief fell. Forthi be war,Mi Sone, as I the warne dar,1670Do thou nothing in such a res,994For suffrance is the welle of Pes.Thogh thou to loves Court poursuie,Yit sit it wel that thou eschuieThat thou the Court noght overhaste,For so miht thou thi time waste;Bot if thin happ therto be schape,It mai noght helpe forto rape.Therfore attempre thi corage;Folhaste doth non avantage,1680Bot ofte it set a man behindeIn cause of love, and that I findeP. i. 336Be olde ensample, as thou schalt hiere,Touchende of love in this matiere.[Tale of Phebus and Daphne.]A Maiden whilom ther was on,Which Daphne hihte, and such was non995Of beaute thanne, as it was seid.Hic ponit Confessor exemplum contra illos qui in amoris causa nimia festinacione concupiscentes tardius expediunt. Et narrat qualiter pro eo quod Phebus quamdam virginem pulcherimam nomine Daphnem nimia amoris acceleracione insequebatur, iratus Cupido cor Phebi sagitta aurea ignita ardencius vulnerauit: et econtra cor Daphne quadam sagitta plumbea, que frigidissima fuit, sobrius perforauit. Et sic quanto magis Phebus ardencior in amore Daphnem prosecutus996est, tanto magis ipsa frigidior Phebi concupiscenciam toto corde fugitiua dedignabatur.Phebus his love hath on hire leid,And therupon to hire he soghteIn his folhaste, and so besoghte,1690That sche with him no reste hadde;For evere upon hire love he gradde,And sche seide evere unto him nay.So it befell upon a dai,Cupide, which hath every chanceOf love under his governance,Syh Phebus hasten him so sore:And for he scholde him haste more,And yit noght speden ate laste,A dart thurghout his herte he caste,1700Which was of gold and al afyre,That made him manyfold desireOf love more thanne he dede.To Daphne ek in the same stedeA dart of Led he caste and smot,Which was al cold and nothing hot.And thus Phebus in love brenneth,And in his haste aboute renneth,To loke if that he mihte winne;Bot he was evere to beginne,1710For evere awei fro him sche fledde,So that he nevere his love spedde.P. i. 337And forto make him full believeThat no Folhaste mihte achieveTo gete love in such degree,This Daphne into a lorer treWas torned, which is evere grene,In tokne, as yit it mai be sene,That sche schal duelle a maiden stille,And Phebus failen of his wille.1720Be suche ensamples, as thei stonde,Mi Sone, thou miht understonde,To hasten love is thing in vein,Whan that fortune is therayein.To take where a man hath leveGood is, and elles he mot leve;For whan a mannes happes failen,Ther is non haste mai availen.Amans.Mi fader, grant merci of this:[Fool-haste.]Bot while I se mi ladi is1730No tre, but halt hire oghne forme,Ther mai me noman so enforme,997To whether part fortune wende,That I unto mi lyves endeNe wol hire serven everemo.Confessor.Mi Sone, sithen it is so,I seie nomor; bot in this casBewar how it with Phebus was.Noght only upon loves chance,Bot upon every governance1740Which falleth unto mannes dede,Folhaste is evere forto drede,P. i. 338And that a man good consail take,Er he his pourpos undertake,For consail put Folhaste aweie.Amans.Now goode fader, I you preie,That forto wisse me the more,Som good ensample upon this loreYe wolden telle of that is write,That I the betre mihte wite1750How I Folhaste scholde eschuie,And the wisdom of conseil suie.Confessor.Mi Sone, that thou miht enformeThi pacience upon the formeOf olde essamples, as thei felle,Now understond what I schal telle.
A Philosophre of which men tolde[Tale of Diogenes and Alexander.]Ther was whilom be daies olde,P. i. 320And Diogenes thanne he hihte.Hic ponit Confessor exemplum, quod hominis impetuosa voluntas sit discrecionis moderamine gubernanda. Et narrat qualiter Diogenes, qui motus animi sui racioni subiugarat, Regem Alexandrum super isto facto sibi opponentem953plenius informauit.So old he was that he ne mihteThe world travaile, and for the besteHe schop him forto take his reste,And duelte at hom in such a wise,That nyh his hous he let devise952Endlong upon an AxeltreTo sette a tonne in such degre,1210That he it mihte torne aboute;Wherof on hed was taken oute,954For he therinne sitte scholdeAnd torne himself so as he wolde,To take their and se the heveneAnd deme of the planetes sevene,As he which cowthe mochel what.And thus fulofte there he satTo muse in his philosophieSolein withoute compaignie:1220So that upon a morwetyde,As thing which scholde so betyde,955Whan he was set ther as him listeTo loke upon the Sonne ariste,Wherof the propretes he sih,It fell ther cam ridende nyhKing Alisandre with a route;And as he caste his yhe aboute,He sih this Tonne, and what it menteHe wolde wite, and thider sente1230A knyht, be whom he mihte it knowe,And he himself that ilke throweP. i. 321Abod, and hoveth there stille.This kniht after the kinges willeWith spore made his hors to gonAnd to the tonne he cam anon,Wher that he fond a man of Age,And he him tolde the message,Such as the king him hadde bede,And axeth why in thilke stede1240The Tonne stod, and what it was.956And he, which understod the cas,Sat stille and spak no word ayein.The kniht bad speke and seith, ‘Vilein,Thou schalt me telle, er that I go;It is thi king which axeth so.’‘Mi king,’ quod he, ‘that were unriht.’‘What is he thanne?’ seith the kniht,‘Is he thi man?’ ‘That seie I noght,’Quod he, ‘bot this I am bethoght,1250Mi mannes man hou that he is.’‘Thou lyest, false cherl, ywiss,’The kniht him seith, and was riht wroth,957And to the king ayein he gothAnd tolde him how this man ansuerde.The king, whan he this tale herde,Bad that thei scholden alle abyde,For he himself wol thider ryde.958And whan he cam tofore the tonne,He hath his tale thus begonne:1260‘Alheil,’ he seith, ‘what man art thou?’Quod he, ‘Such on as thou sest now.’P. i. 322The king, which hadde wordes wise,His age wolde noght despise,Bot seith, ‘Mi fader, I thee preieThat thou me wolt the cause seie,How that I am thi mannes man.’‘Sire king,’ quod he, ‘and that I can,If that thou wolt.’ ‘Yis,’ seith the king.Quod he, ‘This is the sothe thing:1270Sith I ferst resoun understod,And knew what thing was evel and good,The will which of my bodi moeveth,Whos werkes that the god reproeveth,I have restreigned everemore,As him which stant under the lore959Of reson, whos soubgit he is,So that he mai noght don amis:And thus be weie of covenantWill is my man and my servant,1280And evere hath ben and evere schal.And thi will is thi principal,And hath the lordschipe of thi witt,So that thou cowthest nevere yitTake o dai reste of thi labour;Bot forto ben a conquerourOf worldes good, which mai noght laste,Thou hiest evere aliche faste,Wher thou no reson hast to winne:And thus thi will is cause of Sinne,1290And is thi lord, to whom thou servest,Wherof thou litel thonk deservest.’P. i. 323The king of that he thus answerdeWas nothing wroth, bot whanne he herdeThe hihe wisdom which he seide,960With goodly wordes this he preide,961That he him wolde telle his name.‘I am,’ quod he, ‘that ilke same,The which men Diogenes calle.’Tho was the king riht glad withalle,1300For he hadde often herd toforeWhat man he was, so that therforeHe seide, ‘O wise Diogene,Now schal thi grete witt be sene;For thou schalt of my yifte haveWhat worldes thing that thou wolt crave.’Quod he, ‘Thanne hove out of mi Sonne,962And let it schyne into mi Tonne;For thou benymst me thilke yifte,Which lith noght in thi miht to schifte:1310Non other good of thee me nedeth.’This king, whom every contre dredeth,963Lo, thus he was enformed there:Wherof, my Sone, thou miht lereHow that thi will schal noght be lieved,[Contek.]Where it is noght of wit relieved.And thou hast seid thiself er thisHow that thi will thi maister is;964Thurgh which thin hertes thoght withinneIs evere of Contek to beginne,1320So that it is gretli to dredeThat it non homicide brede.P. i. 324For love is of a wonder kinde,And hath hise wittes ofte blinde,That thei fro mannes reson falle;Bot whan that it is so befalleThat will schal the corage lede,In loves cause it is to drede:Wherof I finde ensample write,Which is behovely forto wite.9651330[Pyramus and Thisbe.]I rede a tale, and telleth this:966The Cite which Semiramis967Hic in amoris causa ponit Confessor exemplum contra illos qui in sua dampna nimis accelerantes ex impetuositate seipsos multociens offendunt. Et narrat qualiter Piramus, cum ipse968Tisbee amicam suam in loco inter eosdem deputato tempore aduentus sui promptam non inuenit, animo impetuoso seipsum pre dolore extracto gladio mortaliter transfodit: que postea infra breue veniens cum ipsum sic mortuum inuenisset, eciam et illa in sui ipsius mortem impetuose festinans eiusdem gladii cuspide sui cordis intima per medium penetrauit.Enclosed hath with wall aboute,Of worthi folk with many a routeWas enhabited here and there;Among the whiche tuo ther wereAbove alle othre noble and grete,Dwellende tho withinne a StreteSo nyh togedre, as it was sene,That ther was nothing hem betwene,1340Bot wow to wow and wall to wall.This o lord hadde in specialA Sone, a lusti Bacheler,In al the toun was non his pier:That other hadde a dowhter eke,In al the lond that forto sekeMen wisten non so faire as sche.And fell so, as it scholde be,This faire dowhter nyh this SoneAs thei togedre thanne wone,1350Cupide hath so the thinges schape,That thei ne mihte his hand ascape,P. i. 325That he his fyr on hem ne caste:Wherof her herte he overcasteTo folwe thilke lore and suieWhich nevere man yit miht eschuie;And that was love, as it is happed,Which hath here hertes so betrapped,969That thei be alle weies secheHow that thei mihten winne a speche,1360Here wofull peine forto lisse.Who loveth wel, it mai noght misse,And namely whan ther be tuoOf on acord, how so it go,Bot if that thei som weie finde;For love is evere of such a kindeAnd hath his folk so wel affaited,That howso that it be awaited,Ther mai noman the pourpos lette:And thus betwen hem tuo thei sette1370An hole upon a wall to make,Thurgh which thei have her conseil takeAt alle times, whan thei myhte.This faire Maiden Tisbee hihte,And he whom that sche loveth hoteWas Piramus be name hote.So longe here lecoun thei recorden,Til ate laste thei acordenBe nihtes time forto wendeAl one out fro the tounes ende,1380Wher was a welle under a Tree;And who cam ferst, or sche or he,P. i. 326He scholde stille there abide.So it befell the nyhtes tide970This maiden, which desguised was,Al prively the softe pasGoth thurgh the large toun unknowe,Til that sche cam withinne a throweWher that sche liketh forto duelle,At thilke unhappi freisshe welle,1390Which was also the Forest nyh.Wher sche comende a Leoun syhInto the feld to take his preie,In haste and sche tho fledde aweie,971So as fortune scholde falle,For feere and let hire wympel falleNyh to the welle upon therbage.This Leoun in his wilde rageA beste, which that he fond oute,Hath slain, and with his blodi snoute,1400Whan he hath eten what he wolde,To drynke of thilke stremes coldeCam to the welle, where he fondThe wympel, which out of hire hondWas falle, and he it hath todrawe,Bebled aboute and al forgnawe;972And thanne he strawhte him forto drinkeUpon the freisshe welles brinke,And after that out of the pleinHe torneth to the wode ayein.1410And Tisbee dorste noght remue,Bot as a bridd which were in MueP. i. 327Withinne a buissh sche kepte hire closSo stille that sche noght aros;Unto hirself and pleigneth ay.And fell, whil that sche there lay,This Piramus cam after soneUnto the welle, and be the MoneHe fond hire wimpel blodi there.Cam nevere yit to mannes Ere1420Tidinge, ne to mannes sihteMerveile, which so sore aflihte973A mannes herte, as it tho dedeTo him, which in the same stedeWith many a wofull compleignyngeBegan his handes forto wringe,As he which demeth sikerlyThat sche be ded: and sodeinlyHis swerd al nakid out he breideIn his folhaste, and thus he seide:9741430‘I am cause of this felonie,So it is resoun that I die,As sche is ded be cause of me.’975And with that word upon his kneHe fell, and to the goddes alleUp to the hevene he gan to calle,And preide, sithen it was soThat he may noght his love as thoHave in this world, that of her graceHe miht hire have in other place,9761440For hiere wolde he noght abide,He seith: bot as it schal betide,P. i. 328The Pomel of his swerd to groundeHe sette, and thurgh his herte a woundeHe made up to the bare hilte:And in this wise himself he spilteWith his folhaste and deth he nam;For sche withinne a while cam,977Wher he lai ded upon his knif.So wofull yit was nevere lif1450As Tisbee was, whan sche him sih:Sche mihte noght o word on hihSpeke oute, for hire herte schette,That of hir lif no pris sche sette,Bot ded swounende doun sche fell,Til after, whanne it so befellThat sche out of hire traunce awok,With many a wofull pitous lokHire yhe alwei among sche casteUpon hir love, and ate laste1460Sche cawhte breth and seide thus:‘O thou which cleped art Venus,978Goddesse of love, and thou, Cupide,Which loves cause hast forto guide,I wot now wel that ye be blinde,Of thilke unhapp which I now findeOnly betwen my love and me.This Piramus, which hiere I seBledende, what hath he deserved?For he youre heste hath kept and served,1470And was yong and I bothe also:Helas, why do ye with ous so?P. i. 329Ye sette oure herte bothe afyre,979And maden ous such thing desireWherof that we no skile cowthe;Bot thus oure freisshe lusti yowtheWithoute joie is al despended,Which thing mai nevere ben amended:For as of me this wol I seie,980That me is levere forto deie1480Than live after this sorghful day.’And with this word, where as he lay,Hire love in armes sche embraseth,Hire oghne deth and so pourchasethThat now sche wepte and nou sche kiste,Til ate laste, er sche it wiste,So gret a sorwe is to hire falle,981Which overgoth hire wittes alle.As sche which mihte it noght asterte,982The swerdes point ayein hire herte1490Sche sette, and fell doun therupon,Wherof that sche was ded anon:And thus bothe on o swerd bledendeThei weren founde ded liggende.Confessor.Now thou, mi Sone, hast herd this tale,Bewar that of thin oghne bale983Thou be noght cause in thi folhaste,And kep that thou thi witt ne wasteUpon thi thoght in aventure,Wherof thi lyves forfeture1500Mai falle: and if thou have so thoghtEr this, tell on and hyde it noght.[The Lover’s Confession. Danger.]P. i. 330Mi fader, upon loves side984Mi conscience I woll noght hyde,Confessio Amantis.How that for love of pure woI have ben ofte moeved so,That with my wisshes if I myhte,A thousand times, I yow plyhte,I hadde storven in a day;And therof I me schryve may,1510Though love fully me ne slowh,Mi will to deie was ynowh,985So am I of my will coupable:And yit is sche noght merciable,Which mai me yive lif and hele.Bot that hir list noght with me dele,I wot be whos conseil it is,And him wolde I long time er this,And yit I wolde and evere schal,Slen and destruie in special.1520The gold of nyne kinges londesNe scholde him save fro myn hondes,In my pouer if that he were;Bot yit him stant of me no fereFor noght that evere I can manace.He is the hindrere of mi grace,Til he be ded I mai noght spede;So mot I nedes taken hiedeAnd schape how that he were aweie,If I therto mai finde a weie.1530Confessor.Mi Sone, tell me now forthi,Which is that mortiel enemyP. i. 331That thou manacest to be ded.Confessio Amantis.Mi fader, it is such a qwed,That wher I come, he is tofore,And doth so, that mi cause is lore.What is his name?It is Daunger,Which is mi ladi consailer:For I was nevere yit so slyh,To come in eny place nyh1540[Danger.]Wher as sche was be nyht or day,That Danger ne was redy ay,With whom for speche ne for medeYit mihte I nevere of love spede;For evere this I finde soth,Al that my ladi seith or dothTo me, Daunger schal make an ende,And that makth al mi world miswende:And evere I axe his help, bot heMai wel be cleped sanz pite;1550For ay the more I to him bowe,The lasse he wol my tale alowe.He hath mi ladi so englued,Sche wol noght that he be remued;For evere he hangeth on hire Seil,And is so prive of conseil,That evere whanne I have oght bede,I finde Danger in hire stedeAnd myn ansuere of him I have;Bot for no merci that I crave,1560Of merci nevere a point I hadde.I finde his ansuere ay so badde,986P. i. 332That werse mihte it nevere be:And thus betwen Danger and meIs evere werre til he dye.Bot mihte I ben of such maistrie,That I Danger hadde overcome,With that were al my joie come.Thus wolde I wonde for no Sinne,Ne yit for al this world to winne;1570If that I mihte finde a sleyhte,To leie al myn astat in weyhte,I wolde him fro the Court dissevere,So that he come ayeinward nevere.Therfore I wisshe and wolde fainThat he were in som wise slain;For while he stant in thilke place,Ne gete I noght my ladi grace.Thus hate I dedly thilke vice,And wolde he stode in non office1580In place wher mi ladi is;For if he do, I wot wel this,That owther schal he deie or IWithinne a while; and noght forthiOn my ladi fulofte I muse,How that sche mai hirself excuse,If that I deie in such a plit.Me thenkth sche mihte noght be qwytThat sche ne were an homicide:And if it scholde so betide,1590As god forbiede it scholde be,Be double weie it is pite.P. i. 333For I, which al my will and wittHave yove and served evere yit,And thanne I scholde in such a wiseIn rewardinge of my serviseBe ded, me thenkth it were a rowthe:987And furthermor, to telle trowthe,Sche, that hath evere be wel named,Were worthi thanne to be blamed1600And of reson to ben appeled,Whan with o word sche mihte have heledA man, and soffreth him so deie.988Ha, who sawh evere such a weie?Ha, who sawh evere such destresse?989Withoute pite gentilesse,Withoute mercy wommanhede,That wol so quyte a man his mede,Which evere hath be to love trewe.Mi goode fader, if ye rewe1610Upon mi tale, tell me now,990And I wol stinte and herkne yow.Confessor.Mi Sone, attempre thi corageFro Wraththe, and let thin herte assuage:For who so wole him underfonge,[More haste worse speed.]He mai his grace abide longe,Er he of love be received;And ek also, bot it be weyved,Ther mihte mochel thing befalle,That scholde make a man to falle1620Fro love, that nevere afterwardNe durste he loke thiderward.P. i. 334In harde weies men gon softe,And er thei clymbe avise hem ofte:Men sen alday that rape reweth;And who so wicked Ale breweth,Fulofte he mot the werse drinke:Betre is to flete than to sincke;Betre is upon the bridel chieweThanne if he felle and overthrewe,1630The hors and stikede in the Myr:To caste water in the fyrBetre is than brenne up al the hous:The man which is maliciousAnd folhastif, fulofte he falleth,And selden is whan love him calleth.Forthi betre is to soffre a throweThan be to wilde and overthrowe;Suffrance hath evere be the besteTo wissen him that secheth reste:1640And thus, if thou wolt love and spede,991Mi Sone, soffre, as I the rede.What mai the Mous ayein the Cat?And for this cause I axe that,Who mai to love make a werre,That he ne hath himself the werre?Love axeth pes and evere schal,And who that fihteth most withalSchal lest conquere of his emprise:992For this thei tellen that ben wise,1650Wicke is to stryve and have the werse;To hasten is noght worth a kerse;P. i. 335Thing that a man mai noght achieve,That mai noght wel be don at Eve,It mot abide til the morwe.Ne haste noght thin oghne sorwe,Mi Sone, and tak this in thi witt,He hath noght lost that wel abitt.Ensample that it falleth thus,Thou miht wel take of Piramus,1660Whan he in haste his swerd outdrowh993And on the point himselve slowhFor love of Tisbee pitously,For he hire wympel fond blodyAnd wende a beste hire hadde slain;Wher as him oghte have be riht fain,For sche was there al sauf beside:Bot for he wolde noght abide,This meschief fell. Forthi be war,Mi Sone, as I the warne dar,1670Do thou nothing in such a res,994For suffrance is the welle of Pes.Thogh thou to loves Court poursuie,Yit sit it wel that thou eschuieThat thou the Court noght overhaste,For so miht thou thi time waste;Bot if thin happ therto be schape,It mai noght helpe forto rape.Therfore attempre thi corage;Folhaste doth non avantage,1680Bot ofte it set a man behindeIn cause of love, and that I findeP. i. 336Be olde ensample, as thou schalt hiere,Touchende of love in this matiere.[Tale of Phebus and Daphne.]A Maiden whilom ther was on,Which Daphne hihte, and such was non995Of beaute thanne, as it was seid.Hic ponit Confessor exemplum contra illos qui in amoris causa nimia festinacione concupiscentes tardius expediunt. Et narrat qualiter pro eo quod Phebus quamdam virginem pulcherimam nomine Daphnem nimia amoris acceleracione insequebatur, iratus Cupido cor Phebi sagitta aurea ignita ardencius vulnerauit: et econtra cor Daphne quadam sagitta plumbea, que frigidissima fuit, sobrius perforauit. Et sic quanto magis Phebus ardencior in amore Daphnem prosecutus996est, tanto magis ipsa frigidior Phebi concupiscenciam toto corde fugitiua dedignabatur.Phebus his love hath on hire leid,And therupon to hire he soghteIn his folhaste, and so besoghte,1690That sche with him no reste hadde;For evere upon hire love he gradde,And sche seide evere unto him nay.So it befell upon a dai,Cupide, which hath every chanceOf love under his governance,Syh Phebus hasten him so sore:And for he scholde him haste more,And yit noght speden ate laste,A dart thurghout his herte he caste,1700Which was of gold and al afyre,That made him manyfold desireOf love more thanne he dede.To Daphne ek in the same stedeA dart of Led he caste and smot,Which was al cold and nothing hot.And thus Phebus in love brenneth,And in his haste aboute renneth,To loke if that he mihte winne;Bot he was evere to beginne,1710For evere awei fro him sche fledde,So that he nevere his love spedde.P. i. 337And forto make him full believeThat no Folhaste mihte achieveTo gete love in such degree,This Daphne into a lorer treWas torned, which is evere grene,In tokne, as yit it mai be sene,That sche schal duelle a maiden stille,And Phebus failen of his wille.1720Be suche ensamples, as thei stonde,Mi Sone, thou miht understonde,To hasten love is thing in vein,Whan that fortune is therayein.To take where a man hath leveGood is, and elles he mot leve;For whan a mannes happes failen,Ther is non haste mai availen.Amans.Mi fader, grant merci of this:[Fool-haste.]Bot while I se mi ladi is1730No tre, but halt hire oghne forme,Ther mai me noman so enforme,997To whether part fortune wende,That I unto mi lyves endeNe wol hire serven everemo.Confessor.Mi Sone, sithen it is so,I seie nomor; bot in this casBewar how it with Phebus was.Noght only upon loves chance,Bot upon every governance1740Which falleth unto mannes dede,Folhaste is evere forto drede,P. i. 338And that a man good consail take,Er he his pourpos undertake,For consail put Folhaste aweie.Amans.Now goode fader, I you preie,That forto wisse me the more,Som good ensample upon this loreYe wolden telle of that is write,That I the betre mihte wite1750How I Folhaste scholde eschuie,And the wisdom of conseil suie.Confessor.Mi Sone, that thou miht enformeThi pacience upon the formeOf olde essamples, as thei felle,Now understond what I schal telle.
A Philosophre of which men tolde[Tale of Diogenes and Alexander.]Ther was whilom be daies olde,P. i. 320And Diogenes thanne he hihte.Hic ponit Confessor exemplum, quod hominis impetuosa voluntas sit discrecionis moderamine gubernanda. Et narrat qualiter Diogenes, qui motus animi sui racioni subiugarat, Regem Alexandrum super isto facto sibi opponentem953plenius informauit.So old he was that he ne mihteThe world travaile, and for the besteHe schop him forto take his reste,And duelte at hom in such a wise,That nyh his hous he let devise952Endlong upon an AxeltreTo sette a tonne in such degre,1210That he it mihte torne aboute;Wherof on hed was taken oute,954For he therinne sitte scholdeAnd torne himself so as he wolde,To take their and se the heveneAnd deme of the planetes sevene,As he which cowthe mochel what.And thus fulofte there he satTo muse in his philosophieSolein withoute compaignie:1220So that upon a morwetyde,As thing which scholde so betyde,955Whan he was set ther as him listeTo loke upon the Sonne ariste,Wherof the propretes he sih,It fell ther cam ridende nyhKing Alisandre with a route;And as he caste his yhe aboute,He sih this Tonne, and what it menteHe wolde wite, and thider sente1230A knyht, be whom he mihte it knowe,And he himself that ilke throweP. i. 321Abod, and hoveth there stille.This kniht after the kinges willeWith spore made his hors to gonAnd to the tonne he cam anon,Wher that he fond a man of Age,And he him tolde the message,Such as the king him hadde bede,And axeth why in thilke stede1240The Tonne stod, and what it was.956And he, which understod the cas,Sat stille and spak no word ayein.The kniht bad speke and seith, ‘Vilein,Thou schalt me telle, er that I go;It is thi king which axeth so.’‘Mi king,’ quod he, ‘that were unriht.’‘What is he thanne?’ seith the kniht,‘Is he thi man?’ ‘That seie I noght,’Quod he, ‘bot this I am bethoght,1250Mi mannes man hou that he is.’‘Thou lyest, false cherl, ywiss,’The kniht him seith, and was riht wroth,957And to the king ayein he gothAnd tolde him how this man ansuerde.The king, whan he this tale herde,Bad that thei scholden alle abyde,For he himself wol thider ryde.958And whan he cam tofore the tonne,He hath his tale thus begonne:1260‘Alheil,’ he seith, ‘what man art thou?’Quod he, ‘Such on as thou sest now.’P. i. 322The king, which hadde wordes wise,His age wolde noght despise,Bot seith, ‘Mi fader, I thee preieThat thou me wolt the cause seie,How that I am thi mannes man.’‘Sire king,’ quod he, ‘and that I can,If that thou wolt.’ ‘Yis,’ seith the king.Quod he, ‘This is the sothe thing:1270Sith I ferst resoun understod,And knew what thing was evel and good,The will which of my bodi moeveth,Whos werkes that the god reproeveth,I have restreigned everemore,As him which stant under the lore959Of reson, whos soubgit he is,So that he mai noght don amis:And thus be weie of covenantWill is my man and my servant,1280And evere hath ben and evere schal.And thi will is thi principal,And hath the lordschipe of thi witt,So that thou cowthest nevere yitTake o dai reste of thi labour;Bot forto ben a conquerourOf worldes good, which mai noght laste,Thou hiest evere aliche faste,Wher thou no reson hast to winne:And thus thi will is cause of Sinne,1290And is thi lord, to whom thou servest,Wherof thou litel thonk deservest.’P. i. 323The king of that he thus answerdeWas nothing wroth, bot whanne he herdeThe hihe wisdom which he seide,960With goodly wordes this he preide,961That he him wolde telle his name.‘I am,’ quod he, ‘that ilke same,The which men Diogenes calle.’Tho was the king riht glad withalle,1300For he hadde often herd toforeWhat man he was, so that therforeHe seide, ‘O wise Diogene,Now schal thi grete witt be sene;For thou schalt of my yifte haveWhat worldes thing that thou wolt crave.’Quod he, ‘Thanne hove out of mi Sonne,962And let it schyne into mi Tonne;For thou benymst me thilke yifte,Which lith noght in thi miht to schifte:1310Non other good of thee me nedeth.’This king, whom every contre dredeth,963Lo, thus he was enformed there:Wherof, my Sone, thou miht lereHow that thi will schal noght be lieved,[Contek.]Where it is noght of wit relieved.And thou hast seid thiself er thisHow that thi will thi maister is;964Thurgh which thin hertes thoght withinneIs evere of Contek to beginne,1320So that it is gretli to dredeThat it non homicide brede.P. i. 324For love is of a wonder kinde,And hath hise wittes ofte blinde,That thei fro mannes reson falle;Bot whan that it is so befalleThat will schal the corage lede,In loves cause it is to drede:Wherof I finde ensample write,Which is behovely forto wite.9651330
A Philosophre of which men tolde
[Tale of Diogenes and Alexander.]
Ther was whilom be daies olde,
P. i. 320
And Diogenes thanne he hihte.
Hic ponit Confessor exemplum, quod hominis impetuosa voluntas sit discrecionis moderamine gubernanda. Et narrat qualiter Diogenes, qui motus animi sui racioni subiugarat, Regem Alexandrum super isto facto sibi opponentem953plenius informauit.
So old he was that he ne mihte
The world travaile, and for the beste
He schop him forto take his reste,
And duelte at hom in such a wise,
That nyh his hous he let devise952
Endlong upon an Axeltre
To sette a tonne in such degre,1210
That he it mihte torne aboute;
Wherof on hed was taken oute,954
For he therinne sitte scholde
And torne himself so as he wolde,
To take their and se the hevene
And deme of the planetes sevene,
As he which cowthe mochel what.
And thus fulofte there he sat
To muse in his philosophie
Solein withoute compaignie:1220
So that upon a morwetyde,
As thing which scholde so betyde,955
Whan he was set ther as him liste
To loke upon the Sonne ariste,
Wherof the propretes he sih,
It fell ther cam ridende nyh
King Alisandre with a route;
And as he caste his yhe aboute,
He sih this Tonne, and what it mente
He wolde wite, and thider sente1230
A knyht, be whom he mihte it knowe,
And he himself that ilke throwe
P. i. 321
Abod, and hoveth there stille.
This kniht after the kinges wille
With spore made his hors to gon
And to the tonne he cam anon,
Wher that he fond a man of Age,
And he him tolde the message,
Such as the king him hadde bede,
And axeth why in thilke stede1240
The Tonne stod, and what it was.956
And he, which understod the cas,
Sat stille and spak no word ayein.
The kniht bad speke and seith, ‘Vilein,
Thou schalt me telle, er that I go;
It is thi king which axeth so.’
‘Mi king,’ quod he, ‘that were unriht.’
‘What is he thanne?’ seith the kniht,
‘Is he thi man?’ ‘That seie I noght,’
Quod he, ‘bot this I am bethoght,1250
Mi mannes man hou that he is.’
‘Thou lyest, false cherl, ywiss,’
The kniht him seith, and was riht wroth,957
And to the king ayein he goth
And tolde him how this man ansuerde.
The king, whan he this tale herde,
Bad that thei scholden alle abyde,
For he himself wol thider ryde.958
And whan he cam tofore the tonne,
He hath his tale thus begonne:1260
‘Alheil,’ he seith, ‘what man art thou?’
Quod he, ‘Such on as thou sest now.’
P. i. 322
The king, which hadde wordes wise,
His age wolde noght despise,
Bot seith, ‘Mi fader, I thee preie
That thou me wolt the cause seie,
How that I am thi mannes man.’
‘Sire king,’ quod he, ‘and that I can,
If that thou wolt.’ ‘Yis,’ seith the king.
Quod he, ‘This is the sothe thing:1270
Sith I ferst resoun understod,
And knew what thing was evel and good,
The will which of my bodi moeveth,
Whos werkes that the god reproeveth,
I have restreigned everemore,
As him which stant under the lore959
Of reson, whos soubgit he is,
So that he mai noght don amis:
And thus be weie of covenant
Will is my man and my servant,1280
And evere hath ben and evere schal.
And thi will is thi principal,
And hath the lordschipe of thi witt,
So that thou cowthest nevere yit
Take o dai reste of thi labour;
Bot forto ben a conquerour
Of worldes good, which mai noght laste,
Thou hiest evere aliche faste,
Wher thou no reson hast to winne:
And thus thi will is cause of Sinne,1290
And is thi lord, to whom thou servest,
Wherof thou litel thonk deservest.’
P. i. 323
The king of that he thus answerde
Was nothing wroth, bot whanne he herde
The hihe wisdom which he seide,960
With goodly wordes this he preide,961
That he him wolde telle his name.
‘I am,’ quod he, ‘that ilke same,
The which men Diogenes calle.’
Tho was the king riht glad withalle,1300
For he hadde often herd tofore
What man he was, so that therfore
He seide, ‘O wise Diogene,
Now schal thi grete witt be sene;
For thou schalt of my yifte have
What worldes thing that thou wolt crave.’
Quod he, ‘Thanne hove out of mi Sonne,962
And let it schyne into mi Tonne;
For thou benymst me thilke yifte,
Which lith noght in thi miht to schifte:1310
Non other good of thee me nedeth.’
This king, whom every contre dredeth,963
Lo, thus he was enformed there:
Wherof, my Sone, thou miht lere
How that thi will schal noght be lieved,
[Contek.]
Where it is noght of wit relieved.
And thou hast seid thiself er this
How that thi will thi maister is;964
Thurgh which thin hertes thoght withinne
Is evere of Contek to beginne,1320
So that it is gretli to drede
That it non homicide brede.
P. i. 324
For love is of a wonder kinde,
And hath hise wittes ofte blinde,
That thei fro mannes reson falle;
Bot whan that it is so befalle
That will schal the corage lede,
In loves cause it is to drede:
Wherof I finde ensample write,
Which is behovely forto wite.9651330
[Pyramus and Thisbe.]I rede a tale, and telleth this:966The Cite which Semiramis967Hic in amoris causa ponit Confessor exemplum contra illos qui in sua dampna nimis accelerantes ex impetuositate seipsos multociens offendunt. Et narrat qualiter Piramus, cum ipse968Tisbee amicam suam in loco inter eosdem deputato tempore aduentus sui promptam non inuenit, animo impetuoso seipsum pre dolore extracto gladio mortaliter transfodit: que postea infra breue veniens cum ipsum sic mortuum inuenisset, eciam et illa in sui ipsius mortem impetuose festinans eiusdem gladii cuspide sui cordis intima per medium penetrauit.Enclosed hath with wall aboute,Of worthi folk with many a routeWas enhabited here and there;Among the whiche tuo ther wereAbove alle othre noble and grete,Dwellende tho withinne a StreteSo nyh togedre, as it was sene,That ther was nothing hem betwene,1340Bot wow to wow and wall to wall.This o lord hadde in specialA Sone, a lusti Bacheler,In al the toun was non his pier:That other hadde a dowhter eke,In al the lond that forto sekeMen wisten non so faire as sche.And fell so, as it scholde be,This faire dowhter nyh this SoneAs thei togedre thanne wone,1350Cupide hath so the thinges schape,That thei ne mihte his hand ascape,P. i. 325That he his fyr on hem ne caste:Wherof her herte he overcasteTo folwe thilke lore and suieWhich nevere man yit miht eschuie;And that was love, as it is happed,Which hath here hertes so betrapped,969That thei be alle weies secheHow that thei mihten winne a speche,1360Here wofull peine forto lisse.Who loveth wel, it mai noght misse,And namely whan ther be tuoOf on acord, how so it go,Bot if that thei som weie finde;For love is evere of such a kindeAnd hath his folk so wel affaited,That howso that it be awaited,Ther mai noman the pourpos lette:And thus betwen hem tuo thei sette1370An hole upon a wall to make,Thurgh which thei have her conseil takeAt alle times, whan thei myhte.This faire Maiden Tisbee hihte,And he whom that sche loveth hoteWas Piramus be name hote.So longe here lecoun thei recorden,Til ate laste thei acordenBe nihtes time forto wendeAl one out fro the tounes ende,1380Wher was a welle under a Tree;And who cam ferst, or sche or he,P. i. 326He scholde stille there abide.So it befell the nyhtes tide970This maiden, which desguised was,Al prively the softe pasGoth thurgh the large toun unknowe,Til that sche cam withinne a throweWher that sche liketh forto duelle,At thilke unhappi freisshe welle,1390Which was also the Forest nyh.Wher sche comende a Leoun syhInto the feld to take his preie,In haste and sche tho fledde aweie,971So as fortune scholde falle,For feere and let hire wympel falleNyh to the welle upon therbage.This Leoun in his wilde rageA beste, which that he fond oute,Hath slain, and with his blodi snoute,1400Whan he hath eten what he wolde,To drynke of thilke stremes coldeCam to the welle, where he fondThe wympel, which out of hire hondWas falle, and he it hath todrawe,Bebled aboute and al forgnawe;972And thanne he strawhte him forto drinkeUpon the freisshe welles brinke,And after that out of the pleinHe torneth to the wode ayein.1410And Tisbee dorste noght remue,Bot as a bridd which were in MueP. i. 327Withinne a buissh sche kepte hire closSo stille that sche noght aros;Unto hirself and pleigneth ay.And fell, whil that sche there lay,This Piramus cam after soneUnto the welle, and be the MoneHe fond hire wimpel blodi there.Cam nevere yit to mannes Ere1420Tidinge, ne to mannes sihteMerveile, which so sore aflihte973A mannes herte, as it tho dedeTo him, which in the same stedeWith many a wofull compleignyngeBegan his handes forto wringe,As he which demeth sikerlyThat sche be ded: and sodeinlyHis swerd al nakid out he breideIn his folhaste, and thus he seide:9741430‘I am cause of this felonie,So it is resoun that I die,As sche is ded be cause of me.’975And with that word upon his kneHe fell, and to the goddes alleUp to the hevene he gan to calle,And preide, sithen it was soThat he may noght his love as thoHave in this world, that of her graceHe miht hire have in other place,9761440For hiere wolde he noght abide,He seith: bot as it schal betide,P. i. 328The Pomel of his swerd to groundeHe sette, and thurgh his herte a woundeHe made up to the bare hilte:And in this wise himself he spilteWith his folhaste and deth he nam;For sche withinne a while cam,977Wher he lai ded upon his knif.So wofull yit was nevere lif1450As Tisbee was, whan sche him sih:Sche mihte noght o word on hihSpeke oute, for hire herte schette,That of hir lif no pris sche sette,Bot ded swounende doun sche fell,Til after, whanne it so befellThat sche out of hire traunce awok,With many a wofull pitous lokHire yhe alwei among sche casteUpon hir love, and ate laste1460Sche cawhte breth and seide thus:‘O thou which cleped art Venus,978Goddesse of love, and thou, Cupide,Which loves cause hast forto guide,I wot now wel that ye be blinde,Of thilke unhapp which I now findeOnly betwen my love and me.This Piramus, which hiere I seBledende, what hath he deserved?For he youre heste hath kept and served,1470And was yong and I bothe also:Helas, why do ye with ous so?P. i. 329Ye sette oure herte bothe afyre,979And maden ous such thing desireWherof that we no skile cowthe;Bot thus oure freisshe lusti yowtheWithoute joie is al despended,Which thing mai nevere ben amended:For as of me this wol I seie,980That me is levere forto deie1480Than live after this sorghful day.’And with this word, where as he lay,Hire love in armes sche embraseth,Hire oghne deth and so pourchasethThat now sche wepte and nou sche kiste,Til ate laste, er sche it wiste,So gret a sorwe is to hire falle,981Which overgoth hire wittes alle.As sche which mihte it noght asterte,982The swerdes point ayein hire herte1490Sche sette, and fell doun therupon,Wherof that sche was ded anon:And thus bothe on o swerd bledendeThei weren founde ded liggende.Confessor.Now thou, mi Sone, hast herd this tale,Bewar that of thin oghne bale983Thou be noght cause in thi folhaste,And kep that thou thi witt ne wasteUpon thi thoght in aventure,Wherof thi lyves forfeture1500Mai falle: and if thou have so thoghtEr this, tell on and hyde it noght.[The Lover’s Confession. Danger.]P. i. 330Mi fader, upon loves side984Mi conscience I woll noght hyde,Confessio Amantis.How that for love of pure woI have ben ofte moeved so,That with my wisshes if I myhte,A thousand times, I yow plyhte,I hadde storven in a day;And therof I me schryve may,1510Though love fully me ne slowh,Mi will to deie was ynowh,985So am I of my will coupable:And yit is sche noght merciable,Which mai me yive lif and hele.Bot that hir list noght with me dele,I wot be whos conseil it is,And him wolde I long time er this,And yit I wolde and evere schal,Slen and destruie in special.1520The gold of nyne kinges londesNe scholde him save fro myn hondes,In my pouer if that he were;Bot yit him stant of me no fereFor noght that evere I can manace.He is the hindrere of mi grace,Til he be ded I mai noght spede;So mot I nedes taken hiedeAnd schape how that he were aweie,If I therto mai finde a weie.1530Confessor.Mi Sone, tell me now forthi,Which is that mortiel enemyP. i. 331That thou manacest to be ded.Confessio Amantis.Mi fader, it is such a qwed,That wher I come, he is tofore,And doth so, that mi cause is lore.What is his name?It is Daunger,Which is mi ladi consailer:For I was nevere yit so slyh,To come in eny place nyh1540[Danger.]Wher as sche was be nyht or day,That Danger ne was redy ay,With whom for speche ne for medeYit mihte I nevere of love spede;For evere this I finde soth,Al that my ladi seith or dothTo me, Daunger schal make an ende,And that makth al mi world miswende:And evere I axe his help, bot heMai wel be cleped sanz pite;1550For ay the more I to him bowe,The lasse he wol my tale alowe.He hath mi ladi so englued,Sche wol noght that he be remued;For evere he hangeth on hire Seil,And is so prive of conseil,That evere whanne I have oght bede,I finde Danger in hire stedeAnd myn ansuere of him I have;Bot for no merci that I crave,1560Of merci nevere a point I hadde.I finde his ansuere ay so badde,986P. i. 332That werse mihte it nevere be:And thus betwen Danger and meIs evere werre til he dye.Bot mihte I ben of such maistrie,That I Danger hadde overcome,With that were al my joie come.Thus wolde I wonde for no Sinne,Ne yit for al this world to winne;1570If that I mihte finde a sleyhte,To leie al myn astat in weyhte,I wolde him fro the Court dissevere,So that he come ayeinward nevere.Therfore I wisshe and wolde fainThat he were in som wise slain;For while he stant in thilke place,Ne gete I noght my ladi grace.Thus hate I dedly thilke vice,And wolde he stode in non office1580In place wher mi ladi is;For if he do, I wot wel this,That owther schal he deie or IWithinne a while; and noght forthiOn my ladi fulofte I muse,How that sche mai hirself excuse,If that I deie in such a plit.Me thenkth sche mihte noght be qwytThat sche ne were an homicide:And if it scholde so betide,1590As god forbiede it scholde be,Be double weie it is pite.P. i. 333For I, which al my will and wittHave yove and served evere yit,And thanne I scholde in such a wiseIn rewardinge of my serviseBe ded, me thenkth it were a rowthe:987And furthermor, to telle trowthe,Sche, that hath evere be wel named,Were worthi thanne to be blamed1600And of reson to ben appeled,Whan with o word sche mihte have heledA man, and soffreth him so deie.988Ha, who sawh evere such a weie?Ha, who sawh evere such destresse?989Withoute pite gentilesse,Withoute mercy wommanhede,That wol so quyte a man his mede,Which evere hath be to love trewe.Mi goode fader, if ye rewe1610Upon mi tale, tell me now,990And I wol stinte and herkne yow.Confessor.Mi Sone, attempre thi corageFro Wraththe, and let thin herte assuage:For who so wole him underfonge,[More haste worse speed.]He mai his grace abide longe,Er he of love be received;And ek also, bot it be weyved,Ther mihte mochel thing befalle,That scholde make a man to falle1620Fro love, that nevere afterwardNe durste he loke thiderward.P. i. 334In harde weies men gon softe,And er thei clymbe avise hem ofte:Men sen alday that rape reweth;And who so wicked Ale breweth,Fulofte he mot the werse drinke:Betre is to flete than to sincke;Betre is upon the bridel chieweThanne if he felle and overthrewe,1630The hors and stikede in the Myr:To caste water in the fyrBetre is than brenne up al the hous:The man which is maliciousAnd folhastif, fulofte he falleth,And selden is whan love him calleth.Forthi betre is to soffre a throweThan be to wilde and overthrowe;Suffrance hath evere be the besteTo wissen him that secheth reste:1640And thus, if thou wolt love and spede,991Mi Sone, soffre, as I the rede.What mai the Mous ayein the Cat?And for this cause I axe that,Who mai to love make a werre,That he ne hath himself the werre?Love axeth pes and evere schal,And who that fihteth most withalSchal lest conquere of his emprise:992For this thei tellen that ben wise,1650Wicke is to stryve and have the werse;To hasten is noght worth a kerse;P. i. 335Thing that a man mai noght achieve,That mai noght wel be don at Eve,It mot abide til the morwe.Ne haste noght thin oghne sorwe,Mi Sone, and tak this in thi witt,He hath noght lost that wel abitt.Ensample that it falleth thus,Thou miht wel take of Piramus,1660Whan he in haste his swerd outdrowh993And on the point himselve slowhFor love of Tisbee pitously,For he hire wympel fond blodyAnd wende a beste hire hadde slain;Wher as him oghte have be riht fain,For sche was there al sauf beside:Bot for he wolde noght abide,This meschief fell. Forthi be war,Mi Sone, as I the warne dar,1670Do thou nothing in such a res,994For suffrance is the welle of Pes.Thogh thou to loves Court poursuie,Yit sit it wel that thou eschuieThat thou the Court noght overhaste,For so miht thou thi time waste;Bot if thin happ therto be schape,It mai noght helpe forto rape.Therfore attempre thi corage;Folhaste doth non avantage,1680Bot ofte it set a man behindeIn cause of love, and that I findeP. i. 336Be olde ensample, as thou schalt hiere,Touchende of love in this matiere.
[Pyramus and Thisbe.]
I rede a tale, and telleth this:966
The Cite which Semiramis967
Hic in amoris causa ponit Confessor exemplum contra illos qui in sua dampna nimis accelerantes ex impetuositate seipsos multociens offendunt. Et narrat qualiter Piramus, cum ipse968Tisbee amicam suam in loco inter eosdem deputato tempore aduentus sui promptam non inuenit, animo impetuoso seipsum pre dolore extracto gladio mortaliter transfodit: que postea infra breue veniens cum ipsum sic mortuum inuenisset, eciam et illa in sui ipsius mortem impetuose festinans eiusdem gladii cuspide sui cordis intima per medium penetrauit.
Enclosed hath with wall aboute,
Of worthi folk with many a route
Was enhabited here and there;
Among the whiche tuo ther were
Above alle othre noble and grete,
Dwellende tho withinne a Strete
So nyh togedre, as it was sene,
That ther was nothing hem betwene,1340
Bot wow to wow and wall to wall.
This o lord hadde in special
A Sone, a lusti Bacheler,
In al the toun was non his pier:
That other hadde a dowhter eke,
In al the lond that forto seke
Men wisten non so faire as sche.
And fell so, as it scholde be,
This faire dowhter nyh this Sone
As thei togedre thanne wone,1350
Cupide hath so the thinges schape,
That thei ne mihte his hand ascape,
P. i. 325
That he his fyr on hem ne caste:
Wherof her herte he overcaste
To folwe thilke lore and suie
Which nevere man yit miht eschuie;
And that was love, as it is happed,
Which hath here hertes so betrapped,969
That thei be alle weies seche
How that thei mihten winne a speche,1360
Here wofull peine forto lisse.
Who loveth wel, it mai noght misse,
And namely whan ther be tuo
Of on acord, how so it go,
Bot if that thei som weie finde;
For love is evere of such a kinde
And hath his folk so wel affaited,
That howso that it be awaited,
Ther mai noman the pourpos lette:
And thus betwen hem tuo thei sette1370
An hole upon a wall to make,
Thurgh which thei have her conseil take
At alle times, whan thei myhte.
This faire Maiden Tisbee hihte,
And he whom that sche loveth hote
Was Piramus be name hote.
So longe here lecoun thei recorden,
Til ate laste thei acorden
Be nihtes time forto wende
Al one out fro the tounes ende,1380
Wher was a welle under a Tree;
And who cam ferst, or sche or he,
P. i. 326
He scholde stille there abide.
So it befell the nyhtes tide970
This maiden, which desguised was,
Al prively the softe pas
Goth thurgh the large toun unknowe,
Til that sche cam withinne a throwe
Wher that sche liketh forto duelle,
At thilke unhappi freisshe welle,1390
Which was also the Forest nyh.
Wher sche comende a Leoun syh
Into the feld to take his preie,
In haste and sche tho fledde aweie,971
So as fortune scholde falle,
For feere and let hire wympel falle
Nyh to the welle upon therbage.
This Leoun in his wilde rage
A beste, which that he fond oute,
Hath slain, and with his blodi snoute,1400
Whan he hath eten what he wolde,
To drynke of thilke stremes colde
Cam to the welle, where he fond
The wympel, which out of hire hond
Was falle, and he it hath todrawe,
Bebled aboute and al forgnawe;972
And thanne he strawhte him forto drinke
Upon the freisshe welles brinke,
And after that out of the plein
He torneth to the wode ayein.1410
And Tisbee dorste noght remue,
Bot as a bridd which were in Mue
P. i. 327
Withinne a buissh sche kepte hire clos
So stille that sche noght aros;
Unto hirself and pleigneth ay.
And fell, whil that sche there lay,
This Piramus cam after sone
Unto the welle, and be the Mone
He fond hire wimpel blodi there.
Cam nevere yit to mannes Ere1420
Tidinge, ne to mannes sihte
Merveile, which so sore aflihte973
A mannes herte, as it tho dede
To him, which in the same stede
With many a wofull compleignynge
Began his handes forto wringe,
As he which demeth sikerly
That sche be ded: and sodeinly
His swerd al nakid out he breide
In his folhaste, and thus he seide:9741430
‘I am cause of this felonie,
So it is resoun that I die,
As sche is ded be cause of me.’975
And with that word upon his kne
He fell, and to the goddes alle
Up to the hevene he gan to calle,
And preide, sithen it was so
That he may noght his love as tho
Have in this world, that of her grace
He miht hire have in other place,9761440
For hiere wolde he noght abide,
He seith: bot as it schal betide,
P. i. 328
The Pomel of his swerd to grounde
He sette, and thurgh his herte a wounde
He made up to the bare hilte:
And in this wise himself he spilte
With his folhaste and deth he nam;
For sche withinne a while cam,977
Wher he lai ded upon his knif.
So wofull yit was nevere lif1450
As Tisbee was, whan sche him sih:
Sche mihte noght o word on hih
Speke oute, for hire herte schette,
That of hir lif no pris sche sette,
Bot ded swounende doun sche fell,
Til after, whanne it so befell
That sche out of hire traunce awok,
With many a wofull pitous lok
Hire yhe alwei among sche caste
Upon hir love, and ate laste1460
Sche cawhte breth and seide thus:
‘O thou which cleped art Venus,978
Goddesse of love, and thou, Cupide,
Which loves cause hast forto guide,
I wot now wel that ye be blinde,
Of thilke unhapp which I now finde
Only betwen my love and me.
This Piramus, which hiere I se
Bledende, what hath he deserved?
For he youre heste hath kept and served,1470
And was yong and I bothe also:
Helas, why do ye with ous so?
P. i. 329
Ye sette oure herte bothe afyre,979
And maden ous such thing desire
Wherof that we no skile cowthe;
Bot thus oure freisshe lusti yowthe
Withoute joie is al despended,
Which thing mai nevere ben amended:
For as of me this wol I seie,980
That me is levere forto deie1480
Than live after this sorghful day.’
And with this word, where as he lay,
Hire love in armes sche embraseth,
Hire oghne deth and so pourchaseth
That now sche wepte and nou sche kiste,
Til ate laste, er sche it wiste,
So gret a sorwe is to hire falle,981
Which overgoth hire wittes alle.
As sche which mihte it noght asterte,982
The swerdes point ayein hire herte1490
Sche sette, and fell doun therupon,
Wherof that sche was ded anon:
And thus bothe on o swerd bledende
Thei weren founde ded liggende.
Confessor.
Now thou, mi Sone, hast herd this tale,
Bewar that of thin oghne bale983
Thou be noght cause in thi folhaste,
And kep that thou thi witt ne waste
Upon thi thoght in aventure,
Wherof thi lyves forfeture1500
Mai falle: and if thou have so thoght
Er this, tell on and hyde it noght.
[The Lover’s Confession. Danger.]
P. i. 330
Mi fader, upon loves side984
Mi conscience I woll noght hyde,
Confessio Amantis.
How that for love of pure wo
I have ben ofte moeved so,
That with my wisshes if I myhte,
A thousand times, I yow plyhte,
I hadde storven in a day;
And therof I me schryve may,1510
Though love fully me ne slowh,
Mi will to deie was ynowh,985
So am I of my will coupable:
And yit is sche noght merciable,
Which mai me yive lif and hele.
Bot that hir list noght with me dele,
I wot be whos conseil it is,
And him wolde I long time er this,
And yit I wolde and evere schal,
Slen and destruie in special.1520
The gold of nyne kinges londes
Ne scholde him save fro myn hondes,
In my pouer if that he were;
Bot yit him stant of me no fere
For noght that evere I can manace.
He is the hindrere of mi grace,
Til he be ded I mai noght spede;
So mot I nedes taken hiede
And schape how that he were aweie,
If I therto mai finde a weie.1530
Confessor.
Mi Sone, tell me now forthi,
Which is that mortiel enemy
P. i. 331
That thou manacest to be ded.
Confessio Amantis.
Mi fader, it is such a qwed,
That wher I come, he is tofore,
And doth so, that mi cause is lore.
What is his name?
It is Daunger,
Which is mi ladi consailer:
For I was nevere yit so slyh,
To come in eny place nyh1540
[Danger.]
Wher as sche was be nyht or day,
That Danger ne was redy ay,
With whom for speche ne for mede
Yit mihte I nevere of love spede;
For evere this I finde soth,
Al that my ladi seith or doth
To me, Daunger schal make an ende,
And that makth al mi world miswende:
And evere I axe his help, bot he
Mai wel be cleped sanz pite;1550
For ay the more I to him bowe,
The lasse he wol my tale alowe.
He hath mi ladi so englued,
Sche wol noght that he be remued;
For evere he hangeth on hire Seil,
And is so prive of conseil,
That evere whanne I have oght bede,
I finde Danger in hire stede
And myn ansuere of him I have;
Bot for no merci that I crave,1560
Of merci nevere a point I hadde.
I finde his ansuere ay so badde,986
P. i. 332
That werse mihte it nevere be:
And thus betwen Danger and me
Is evere werre til he dye.
Bot mihte I ben of such maistrie,
That I Danger hadde overcome,
With that were al my joie come.
Thus wolde I wonde for no Sinne,
Ne yit for al this world to winne;1570
If that I mihte finde a sleyhte,
To leie al myn astat in weyhte,
I wolde him fro the Court dissevere,
So that he come ayeinward nevere.
Therfore I wisshe and wolde fain
That he were in som wise slain;
For while he stant in thilke place,
Ne gete I noght my ladi grace.
Thus hate I dedly thilke vice,
And wolde he stode in non office1580
In place wher mi ladi is;
For if he do, I wot wel this,
That owther schal he deie or I
Withinne a while; and noght forthi
On my ladi fulofte I muse,
How that sche mai hirself excuse,
If that I deie in such a plit.
Me thenkth sche mihte noght be qwyt
That sche ne were an homicide:
And if it scholde so betide,1590
As god forbiede it scholde be,
Be double weie it is pite.
P. i. 333
For I, which al my will and witt
Have yove and served evere yit,
And thanne I scholde in such a wise
In rewardinge of my servise
Be ded, me thenkth it were a rowthe:987
And furthermor, to telle trowthe,
Sche, that hath evere be wel named,
Were worthi thanne to be blamed1600
And of reson to ben appeled,
Whan with o word sche mihte have heled
A man, and soffreth him so deie.988
Ha, who sawh evere such a weie?
Ha, who sawh evere such destresse?989
Withoute pite gentilesse,
Withoute mercy wommanhede,
That wol so quyte a man his mede,
Which evere hath be to love trewe.
Mi goode fader, if ye rewe1610
Upon mi tale, tell me now,990
And I wol stinte and herkne yow.
Confessor.
Mi Sone, attempre thi corage
Fro Wraththe, and let thin herte assuage:
For who so wole him underfonge,
[More haste worse speed.]
He mai his grace abide longe,
Er he of love be received;
And ek also, bot it be weyved,
Ther mihte mochel thing befalle,
That scholde make a man to falle1620
Fro love, that nevere afterward
Ne durste he loke thiderward.
P. i. 334
In harde weies men gon softe,
And er thei clymbe avise hem ofte:
Men sen alday that rape reweth;
And who so wicked Ale breweth,
Fulofte he mot the werse drinke:
Betre is to flete than to sincke;
Betre is upon the bridel chiewe
Thanne if he felle and overthrewe,1630
The hors and stikede in the Myr:
To caste water in the fyr
Betre is than brenne up al the hous:
The man which is malicious
And folhastif, fulofte he falleth,
And selden is whan love him calleth.
Forthi betre is to soffre a throwe
Than be to wilde and overthrowe;
Suffrance hath evere be the beste
To wissen him that secheth reste:1640
And thus, if thou wolt love and spede,991
Mi Sone, soffre, as I the rede.
What mai the Mous ayein the Cat?
And for this cause I axe that,
Who mai to love make a werre,
That he ne hath himself the werre?
Love axeth pes and evere schal,
And who that fihteth most withal
Schal lest conquere of his emprise:992
For this thei tellen that ben wise,1650
Wicke is to stryve and have the werse;
To hasten is noght worth a kerse;
P. i. 335
Thing that a man mai noght achieve,
That mai noght wel be don at Eve,
It mot abide til the morwe.
Ne haste noght thin oghne sorwe,
Mi Sone, and tak this in thi witt,
He hath noght lost that wel abitt.
Ensample that it falleth thus,
Thou miht wel take of Piramus,1660
Whan he in haste his swerd outdrowh993
And on the point himselve slowh
For love of Tisbee pitously,
For he hire wympel fond blody
And wende a beste hire hadde slain;
Wher as him oghte have be riht fain,
For sche was there al sauf beside:
Bot for he wolde noght abide,
This meschief fell. Forthi be war,
Mi Sone, as I the warne dar,1670
Do thou nothing in such a res,994
For suffrance is the welle of Pes.
Thogh thou to loves Court poursuie,
Yit sit it wel that thou eschuie
That thou the Court noght overhaste,
For so miht thou thi time waste;
Bot if thin happ therto be schape,
It mai noght helpe forto rape.
Therfore attempre thi corage;
Folhaste doth non avantage,1680
Bot ofte it set a man behinde
In cause of love, and that I finde
P. i. 336
Be olde ensample, as thou schalt hiere,
Touchende of love in this matiere.
[Tale of Phebus and Daphne.]A Maiden whilom ther was on,Which Daphne hihte, and such was non995Of beaute thanne, as it was seid.Hic ponit Confessor exemplum contra illos qui in amoris causa nimia festinacione concupiscentes tardius expediunt. Et narrat qualiter pro eo quod Phebus quamdam virginem pulcherimam nomine Daphnem nimia amoris acceleracione insequebatur, iratus Cupido cor Phebi sagitta aurea ignita ardencius vulnerauit: et econtra cor Daphne quadam sagitta plumbea, que frigidissima fuit, sobrius perforauit. Et sic quanto magis Phebus ardencior in amore Daphnem prosecutus996est, tanto magis ipsa frigidior Phebi concupiscenciam toto corde fugitiua dedignabatur.Phebus his love hath on hire leid,And therupon to hire he soghteIn his folhaste, and so besoghte,1690That sche with him no reste hadde;For evere upon hire love he gradde,And sche seide evere unto him nay.So it befell upon a dai,Cupide, which hath every chanceOf love under his governance,Syh Phebus hasten him so sore:And for he scholde him haste more,And yit noght speden ate laste,A dart thurghout his herte he caste,1700Which was of gold and al afyre,That made him manyfold desireOf love more thanne he dede.To Daphne ek in the same stedeA dart of Led he caste and smot,Which was al cold and nothing hot.And thus Phebus in love brenneth,And in his haste aboute renneth,To loke if that he mihte winne;Bot he was evere to beginne,1710For evere awei fro him sche fledde,So that he nevere his love spedde.P. i. 337And forto make him full believeThat no Folhaste mihte achieveTo gete love in such degree,This Daphne into a lorer treWas torned, which is evere grene,In tokne, as yit it mai be sene,That sche schal duelle a maiden stille,And Phebus failen of his wille.1720Be suche ensamples, as thei stonde,Mi Sone, thou miht understonde,To hasten love is thing in vein,Whan that fortune is therayein.To take where a man hath leveGood is, and elles he mot leve;For whan a mannes happes failen,Ther is non haste mai availen.Amans.Mi fader, grant merci of this:[Fool-haste.]Bot while I se mi ladi is1730No tre, but halt hire oghne forme,Ther mai me noman so enforme,997To whether part fortune wende,That I unto mi lyves endeNe wol hire serven everemo.Confessor.Mi Sone, sithen it is so,I seie nomor; bot in this casBewar how it with Phebus was.Noght only upon loves chance,Bot upon every governance1740Which falleth unto mannes dede,Folhaste is evere forto drede,P. i. 338And that a man good consail take,Er he his pourpos undertake,For consail put Folhaste aweie.Amans.Now goode fader, I you preie,That forto wisse me the more,Som good ensample upon this loreYe wolden telle of that is write,That I the betre mihte wite1750How I Folhaste scholde eschuie,And the wisdom of conseil suie.Confessor.Mi Sone, that thou miht enformeThi pacience upon the formeOf olde essamples, as thei felle,Now understond what I schal telle.
[Tale of Phebus and Daphne.]
A Maiden whilom ther was on,
Which Daphne hihte, and such was non995
Of beaute thanne, as it was seid.
Hic ponit Confessor exemplum contra illos qui in amoris causa nimia festinacione concupiscentes tardius expediunt. Et narrat qualiter pro eo quod Phebus quamdam virginem pulcherimam nomine Daphnem nimia amoris acceleracione insequebatur, iratus Cupido cor Phebi sagitta aurea ignita ardencius vulnerauit: et econtra cor Daphne quadam sagitta plumbea, que frigidissima fuit, sobrius perforauit. Et sic quanto magis Phebus ardencior in amore Daphnem prosecutus996est, tanto magis ipsa frigidior Phebi concupiscenciam toto corde fugitiua dedignabatur.
Phebus his love hath on hire leid,
And therupon to hire he soghte
In his folhaste, and so besoghte,1690
That sche with him no reste hadde;
For evere upon hire love he gradde,
And sche seide evere unto him nay.
So it befell upon a dai,
Cupide, which hath every chance
Of love under his governance,
Syh Phebus hasten him so sore:
And for he scholde him haste more,
And yit noght speden ate laste,
A dart thurghout his herte he caste,1700
Which was of gold and al afyre,
That made him manyfold desire
Of love more thanne he dede.
To Daphne ek in the same stede
A dart of Led he caste and smot,
Which was al cold and nothing hot.
And thus Phebus in love brenneth,
And in his haste aboute renneth,
To loke if that he mihte winne;
Bot he was evere to beginne,1710
For evere awei fro him sche fledde,
So that he nevere his love spedde.
P. i. 337
And forto make him full believe
That no Folhaste mihte achieve
To gete love in such degree,
This Daphne into a lorer tre
Was torned, which is evere grene,
In tokne, as yit it mai be sene,
That sche schal duelle a maiden stille,
And Phebus failen of his wille.1720
Be suche ensamples, as thei stonde,
Mi Sone, thou miht understonde,
To hasten love is thing in vein,
Whan that fortune is therayein.
To take where a man hath leve
Good is, and elles he mot leve;
For whan a mannes happes failen,
Ther is non haste mai availen.
Amans.
Mi fader, grant merci of this:
[Fool-haste.]
Bot while I se mi ladi is1730
No tre, but halt hire oghne forme,
Ther mai me noman so enforme,997
To whether part fortune wende,
That I unto mi lyves ende
Ne wol hire serven everemo.
Confessor.
Mi Sone, sithen it is so,
I seie nomor; bot in this cas
Bewar how it with Phebus was.
Noght only upon loves chance,
Bot upon every governance1740
Which falleth unto mannes dede,
Folhaste is evere forto drede,
P. i. 338
And that a man good consail take,
Er he his pourpos undertake,
For consail put Folhaste aweie.
Amans.
Now goode fader, I you preie,
That forto wisse me the more,
Som good ensample upon this lore
Ye wolden telle of that is write,
That I the betre mihte wite1750
How I Folhaste scholde eschuie,
And the wisdom of conseil suie.
Confessor.
Mi Sone, that thou miht enforme
Thi pacience upon the forme
Of olde essamples, as thei felle,
Now understond what I schal telle.