The Temple of Glass

by John Lydgate

That hert and aƚƚ witħ out stryf ar yolde
For lyf or detħ to your seruyse allone
Right as the goddesse myghty venus wolde
To for her mekely whan I made my mone
She me constrayned witħoute chaunge anone
To your seruyse and neuer for to fayne
Wherso euer ye list to do me ease or payne

So that I can no thing but mercy crye
Of you my lady, and chaunge for no newe
That ye list godely to fore er that I dye
Of verray couthe vpon my paynes rue
For by my trouthe, and ye my peynes knewe
What is the cause of myne aduersite
On myn disese ye wolde haue pyte

For vnto you trewe and eke secre
I wil be founde to serue as I best can
And therwitħ al as lowly in eche degre
To you be allone as euer yet was man
Vnto his lady from the tyme I began
And shal so fortħ witħouten ony sleutħ
Whylis that I lyue, by god & by my troutħ

For leuer I had to deyen sodenly
Than you offende in any maner wyse
And suffre paynes inward priuely
Than my seruyse as now ye shold dispyse
For I right neught wil axe in no wyse
But for your seruaunt ye wold me accepte
And whan I trespace, goodly me correcte

And for to graunte of mercy the prayer
Only of grace and womanly pyte
From day to day that I myght leve
You for to plese, and therwitħ al that ye
Whan I do mys, list for to teche me
In your seruyse hou that I may amende
From hensfortħ and neuer you offende

For vnto me it doth ynowħ suffyse
That for your man ye wold me resseyue
Fully to ben as you lyst deuyse
And as ferforth as my wittes can conceyue
And therwith al liche as ye preue
That I be true, to guerdone me of grace
Or ellis to punysshe after my trespace

And yf so be that I may not atteyne
Vnto your mercy, yet graunte at the leste
In your seruyse for al my wo and peyne
That I may deyen after my beheste
This is al and som the fyn of my request
Outher with mercy your seruaunt to saue
Or mercyles that I may be begraue

And whan this benygne of her entent true
Conceyued hatħ the compleynt of this man
Right as the fresh rody Rose newe
Of her colour to wexen she began
Her blood astoned so from her herte ran
In to her face of verray femynyte
Thurgh honest drede abasshed was she

And humbly she began her eyen caste
Towardes hym of hir benygnyte
So that no word by her lippes past
For hast nor drede mercy ne pyte
For so demened she was in honeste
That vnaduysed no thing fro her stert
So moche of reson was compassed in her hert

Til atte last of whiche she did abreyd
Whan she is trouthe and menyng did fele
And vnto hym ful goodly spack and seyd
Of your behest and your menyng wele
And your seruyse so faitħful euerydele
Whiche vnto me so lowly now ye offre
Witħ al my herte, I thanke you of your profre