The Temple of Glass

by John Lydgate

But this theffect of my mater fynal
Witħ detħ or mercy relees for to fynde
For hert body thought lyf lust and al
Witħ al my reson and al my ful mynde
And fyue wittes of on assent I bynde
To her seruyse witħ oute ony stryf
And make her pryncesse of my detħ or lyf

And now I pray of routħ and eke pyte
O goodly planet, O lady venus bright
That ye your sone of his deyte
Cupide I mene that witħ his dredful myght
And witħ his brond that is so clere of light
Her herte so to fyre and to marke
As ye me whylem brent witħ a sparke

That euenlicħ and with the same fyre
She may be hit, as I now brenne and melte
So that her herte be flamed witħ desire
That she may knowe by feruence hou I swelte
For of pyte plainly yf she felte
The self hete that doth myn hert enbrace
I hope of routħ she wiƚƚ do me grace

And ther witħ al bemis as me thought
Towardes this man ful benyngely
Gan cast her eye, like as that she rought
Of his disease, and said ful goodly
Sith it is so, that thou so humbly
Witħ out gruachyng our hestes liste obeye
Toward thyn help I wil anon pourueye

And eke my sone Cupyde that is so blynde
He shal be helpyng fully to performe
Your hool desire, that nothing be behynde
Ne shal be lefte, so we shal reforme
This pietous cōpleynt, that maketħ the to morne
That she for whom thau sorowest most in hert
Shal thurgħ hur mercy relece al thy smert

Whan she scetħ tyme, thurgħ our purueaunce
Be not to hasty, but suffre althing wele
For in abydyng, thurgħ lowly obeyssaunce
Lyetħ ful redres, of al that ye now fele
And she shal be as trewe as ony stele
To you allone, by our myght and grace
Yf ye list mekely abyde a lityl space

But vnderstande ye that al her cherising
Shal be grounded vpon honeste
That no wight shal by ony compacyng
Demen amys of hur in no degre
For neyther mercy, coutħ ner pyte
She shal not haue ne take of the non hede
Further than longetħ vnto her womanhede

Be not astonyed of no wilfulnes
Ne not despeyred of this dissolucion
Late reson bridle lust by buxumnes
Witħout gruochyng or rebellyon
For ioye shal folowe al this passion
For who can suffre torment and endure
Ne may not faylle, but folowe shal his cure

For to fore alle she shal the louen best
So shal I her witħoute offencion
By Influence enspire in her brest
In honest wyse witħ ful entencion
For tenclyne by clene affection
Her hert fully on the to haue routhe
Be cause I knowe that thou menest trouthe

Go now to hir where as she stant a syde
Witħ humble chere, and put the in her grace
And al beforn lete hope be thy guyde
And thaugħ that drede wold witħ the pace
Hit sittetħ wel, but loke that thou arace
Out of thyn hert wanhop and despeire
To her presence er thou haue repeir