It was a lording’s daughter, the fairest one of three,
That liked of her master as well as well might be,
Till looking on an Englishman, the fairest that eye could see,
Her fancy fell a-turning.
Long was the combat doubtful, that love with love did fight,
To leave the master loveless, or kill the gallant knight;
To put in practice either, alas, it was a spite
Unto the silly damsel!
But one must be refused; more mickle was the pain,
That nothing could be used to turn them both to gain,
For of the two the trusty knight was wounded with disdain:
Alas she could not help it!
Thus art with arms contending was victor of the day,
Which by a gift of learning did bear the maid away:
Then lullaby, the learned man hath got the lady gay;
For now my song is ended.
XVI
On a day, alack the day!
Love, whose month was ever May,
Spied a blossom passing fair,
Playing in the wanton air.
Through the velvet leaves the wind
All unseen ’gan passage find,
That the lover, sick to death,
Wish’d himself the heaven’s breath:
“Air,” quoth he, “thy cheeks may blow;
Air, would I might triumph so!
But, alas, my hand hath sworn
Ne’er to pluck thee from thy thorn:
Vow, alack, for youth unmeet,
Youth, so apt to pluck a sweet!
Thou for whom Jove would swear
Juno but an Ethiope were,
And deny himself for Jove,
Turning mortal for thy love.”
XVII
My flocks feed not, my ewes breed not,
My rams speed not, all is amis:
Love is dying, faith’s defying,
Heart’s denying, causer of this.
All my merry jigs are quite forgot,
All my lady’s love is lost, God wot:
Where her faith was firmely fix’d in love,
There a nay is plac’d without remove.
One silly cross wrought all my loss;
O frowning fortune, cursed fickle dame!
For now I see inconstancy
More in women than in men remain.
In black mourn I, all fears scorn I,
Love hath forlorn me, living in thrall.
Heart is bleeding, all help needing,
O cruel speeding, fraughted with gall.
My shepherd’s pipe can sound no deal.
My weather’s bell rings doleful knell;
My curtal dog that wont to have play’d,
Plays not at all, but seems afraid.
With sighs so deep procures to weep,
In howling wise, to see my doleful plight.
How sighs resound through heartless ground,
Like a thousand vanquish’d men in bloody fight!
Clear wells spring not, sweet birds sing not,
Green plants bring not forth their dye;
Herds stands weeping, flocks all sleeping,
Nymphs black peeping fearfully.
All our pleasure known to us poor swains,
All our merry meetings on the plains,
All our evening sport from us is fled,
All our love is lost, for love is dead.
Farewel, sweet love, thy like ne’er was
For a sweet content, the cause of all my woe!
Poor Corydon must live alone;
Other help for him I see that there is none.
XVIII
Whenas thine eye hath chose the dame,
And stall’d the deer that thou shouldst strike,
Let reason rule things worthy blame,
As well as fancy, partial might;
Take counsel of some wiser head,
Neither too young nor yet unwed.
And when thou com’st thy tale to tell,
Smooth not thy tongue with filed talk,
Least she some subtle practice smell,—
A cripple soon can find a halt,—
But plainly say thou lov’st her well,
And set her person forth to sale.
What though her frowning brows be bent,
Her cloudy looks will calm ere night,
And then too late she will repent,
That thus dissembled her delight;
And twice desire, ere it be day,
That which with scorn she put away.
What though she strive to try her strength,
And ban and brawl, and say thee nay,
Her feeble force will yield at length,
When craft hath taught her thus to say:
“Had women been so strong as men,
In faith, you had not had it then.”
And to her will frame all thy ways;
Spare not to spend, and chiefly there
Where thy desert may merit praise,
By ringing in thy lady’s ear:
The strongest castle, tower and town,
The golden bullet beats it down.
Serve always with assured trust,
And in thy suit be humble true;
Unless thy lady prove unjust,
Press never thou to choose a new:
When time shall serve, be thou not slack,
To proffer, though she put thee back.
The wiles and guiles that women work,
Dissembled with an outward show,
The tricks and toys that in them lurk,
The cock that treads them shall not know,
Have you not heard it said full oft,
A woman’s nay doth stand for nought.
Think women still to strive with men,
To sin and never for to saint:
There is no heaven, by holy then,
When time with age shall them attaint,
Were kisses all the joys in bed,
One woman would another wed.
But soft, enough,—too much,—I fear
Lest that my mistress hear my song:
She will not stick to round me on th’ ear,
To teach my tongue to be so long.
Yet will she blush, here be it said,
To hear her secrets so bewray’d.
XIX
Live with me and be my love,
And we will all the pleasures prove
That hills and valleys, dales and fields,
And all the craggy mountains yield.
There will we sit upon the rocks,
And see the shepherds feed their flocks,
By shallow rivers, by whose falls
Melodious birds sing madrigals.
There will I make thee a bed of roses,
With a thousand fragrant posies,
A cap of flowers, and a kirtle
Embroidered all with leaves of myrtle.
A belt of straw and ivy buds,
With coral clasps and amber studs;
And if these pleasures may thee move,
Then live with me and be my love.