The Temple of Glass

by John Lydgate

And mercy first shal thy way make
And honest menyng afore do thy message
To make pyte in her herte awake
And secretnes to further thy viage
Witħ humble porte to her that is so sage
Shal menes be, and I my self also
Shal the fortune, or thy tale be do

Go fortħ anon, and be right good of chere
For specheles nothing mayst thou spede
Be good of trust & be no thing in were
Sitħ I my self shal helpen in this nede
For atte lest of her goodly hede
She shal to the her audience enclyne
And lowe the to her til thou thy tale fyne

For wel thou wost yf I shal not feyne
Witħoute speche thou maist no mercy haue
For who that wil of his pryue peyne
Fully be cured his lyf to helpe and saue
He must mekely out of his hert graue
Discure his wound and shewe hit his leche
Or ellis deye for defaute of speche

For he that is in myschief reklees
To seche help I holde hym a wrecche
And she ne may thyn hert bryng in pees
But yf thy compleynt to hir hert strecche
Woldest thou be cured & wilt no salue fecche
Hit wil not be, for no wight may atteyne
To come to blys, yf he list lyue in peyne

Therfore attones go fortħ in humble wyse
To fore thy lady and lowly knele a doun
And in al trouthe thy wordes so deuyse
That she on the haue compassion
For she that is of so hye renoun
In al vertues as quene and souerayn
Of womanhed shal rue on thy payn

And whan the goddes this lesson had told
Aboute me so I gan behold
Rigħt so a stoned stode in a traunce
To se the maner and contenance
And al the chere of this woful man
That was of hue dedely pale and wan
Witħ drede supprised in his owne thought

Makyng chere as thaugħ he rought nought
Of lyf ne detħ ne what so hym betyde
So moche fere he had on euery side
To put hym fortħ to tel his peyne
Vnto his lady, other to compleyne
What woo he felt torment or disese
What dedely sorow his hert dide sese
For coutħ of whiche his wo as I endite
My penne I fele quaken as I wryte
Of hym I had so grete compassion
For to reherce his weymentacion
That vnnethe, thougħ I witħ my self stryue
I want connyng his peynes to discryue
Allas to whom shal I for help calle
Not to the muses for cause they ben alle
Help of right in Ioye and not in woo
And in matiers that they delite also
Wherfore they nyl as now directe my style
Nor me enspiren Alas the hard whyle
I can no further but to the siphon
And to her suster to calle help vpon
That be goddesses of torment and peyne
Nowe lete your teris in to myn Inke reyne

Witħ woful wordes my paper for to blotte
This woful mater not to peynt, but spotte
To tel the maner of this dredeful man
Vpon his complaynt whan he first began
To tel his lady whan he gan declare
His hid sorowis, and his euel fare
That at his herte constreyned so sore
Theffect of whiche was this witħoute more

Pryncesse of yougtħ & flour of gentilesse
Ensample of vertu ground of curtesye
Of beaute rote quene and eke maistres
To alle women how they shal hem gye
And sotħfast mirrour texemplifye
The right way of port and of womanhede
What I shal saye, of mercy take ye hede
Besechyng first vnto your hye nobles
Witħ quakyng hert of my Inward drede
Of grace and pyte & not of right wysnes
Of verrey coutħe to help in this nede
This is to say O wel of goodlyhede
That I ne rekke thaugħ ye do me deye
So ye list first to heven what I seye

The dredeful stroke the gret force and might
Of god cupide that noman may rebelle
So inwardly thurgħ out myn hert right
Y perced hatħ that I ne may councele
Myn hid wound ne I ne may apele
Vnto no gretter, this mighty god so faste
You to serue hatħ me bound vnto my laste