Youre two eyn will sle me sodenly,slay
I may the beauté of them not sustene,sustain
So wendeth it thorow-out my herte kene.goeth
And but your wordes will helen hastely
My hertis wound, while that it is grene,
Youre two eyn will sle me sodenly, &c.
Upon my trouth I say yow feithfullytell
That ye ben of my liffe and deth the quene,are
For with my deth the trouth shal be i-sene
Youre two eyn, &c.
Your fair two eyes will slay me suddenly,
I know not how to bear their beauty’s sheen,
It pierceth all my heart athrough so keen.
And if your words heal not full speedily
My heart’s deep wound, while still the wound is green,
Your fair two eyes will slay me suddenly,
I know not how to bear their beauty’s sheen,
It pierceth all my heart athrough so keen.
Upon my faith I tell you faithfully
Both of my life and death you are the queen,
For in my dying shall the truth be seen.
Your fair two eyes will slay me suddenly,
I know not how to bear their beauty’s sheen
It pierceth all my heart athrough so keen.
Syn I, fro Love escaped, am so fat,
I nere thinke to ben in his prison lene:[198]taken
Syn I am fre, I counte him not a bene.since, free
He may answere and seye this and that:
I do no fors, I speak ryght as I mene:I care not
Syn I fro Love escaped am so fat.
Love hath my name i-strike out of his sclat,struck, slate
And he is strike out of my bokes clenebooks
For evermo, there is none other mene.means
Syn I fro Love, &c.
Since I escaped from love, I am so fat,
No more I shall his captive be so lean:
Since I am free, I count him not a bean!
He may reply, and answer this and that:
I care not, for I speak but as I mean:
Since I from love escaped, I am so fat!
My name—out of his slate Love striketh that.
And he is struck out of my books as clean
For evermore, there is no way between!
Since I escaped, etc.
Virelai.
Alone walkyng,
In thought pleynyngmourning
And sore syghyng,
Al desolate,
Me remembryngremembering
Of my lyvyng,my way of living
My deth wyshyngwishing
Bothe erly and late.
Infortunateunfortunate
Is soo my fateso
That, wote ye whate?
Oute of mesurebeyond measure
My lyfe I hate,
Thus, desperate,
In suche pore estatepoor
Do I endure.remain
Of other cure
Am I nat sure;not
Thus to endure
Ys hard, certayn!
Suche ys my ure,use
I yow ensure:assure
What creature
May have more payn?
My trouth so pleyntruth
Ys take in veyn,taken
And gret disdeyn
In remembraunce;remembrance
Yet I ful feyngladly
Wolde me compleyn,
Me to absteynto avoid
From thys penaunce.penance
But, in substaunce,substance
None allegeauncealleviation
Of my grevauncegrievance
Can I nat fynd;not
Ryght so my chaunce
With displesauncedispleasure
Doth me avaunce;advance
And thus an end.
Alone walk I,
With many a sigh
In secrecy,
All desolate,
And still review
My life anew:
For death I sue
Both early and late.
My fate doth grow
So luckless now
That—do you know?
Beyond all telling
My life I hate:
Thus, desperate,
In woeful state
I still am dwelling.
I am not sure
Of any cure;
’Tis hard t’ endure
With no relief!
But certain ’tis,
My state is this:
What thing that is
Could have more grief?
My story plain
Is taken in vain,
With great disdain
In recollection;
Yet I would fain
Alway complain,
To shun the pain
Of this correction!
For which find I,
Substantially,
No remedy,
My lot to mend;
So fate, I see,
Still draws on me
More enmity—
And there’s an end!
Notes by the Way.
Chaucer’s ‘Complaint to his Purse’ was written, according to Mr. Furnivall, in September, 1399, when Chaucer was in distress for money, and sent to Henry IV. as a broad hint,—which was at once attended to.
It is a very clever piece of versification, like the ‘Good Counsel,’ &c., each line rhyming with the corresponding line in the other verses. He addresses his hapless purse as though it were his lady-love, and comically entreats her mercy, when he sees her inclined to be ‘light.’
Mr. Furnivall’s ingenious suggestion, that Chaucer’s penury may possibly be due to his having dabbled in alchemy (an empirical branch of chemistry), is borne out by the technical knowledge displayed in the Canon’s Yeoman’s Tale.