Complete Works of Matthew Prior
Page 14
Alas! what have ye done?
All my welfare to sorrowe and care
Sholde chaunge, yf ye were gone; 70
For, in my mynde, of all mankynde
I love but you alone.
HE.
I can beleve, it shall you greve,
And somewhat you dystrayne;
But, aftyrwarde, your paynes harde 75
Within a day or twayne
Shall sone aslake; and ye shall take
Comfort to you agayne.
Why sholde ye ought? for, to make thought,
Your labour were in vayne. 80
And thus I do; and pray you to,
As hartely, as I can;
For I must to the grene wode go,
Alone, a banyshed man.
SHE.
Now, syth that ye have shewed to me 85
The secret of your mynde,
I shall be playne to you agayne,
Lyke as ye shall me fynde.
Syth it is so, that ye wyll go,
I wolle not leve behynde; 90
Shall never be sayd, the Not-browne Mayd
Was to her love unkynde:
Make you redy, for so am I,
Allthough it were anone;
For, in my mynde, of all mankynde 95
I love but you alone.
HE.
Yet I you rede to take good hede
What men wyll thynke, and say:
Of yonge, and olde it shall be tolde,
That ye be gone away, 100
Your wanton wyll for to fulfill,
In grene wode you to play;
And that ye myght from your delyght
No lenger make delay.
Rather than ye sholde thus for me 105
Be called an yll woman,
Yet wolde I to the grene wode go,
Alone, a banyshed man.
SHE.
Though it be songe of old and yonge,
That I sholde be to blame, 110
Theyrs be the charge, that speke so large
In hurtynge of my name:
For I wyll prove, that faythfulle love
It is devoyd of shame;
In your dystresse, and hevynesse, 115
To part with you, the same:
And sure all tho, that do not so,
True lovers are they none;
For, in my mynde, of all mankynde
I love but you alone. 120
HE.
I counceyle you, remember howe,
It is no maydens lawe,
Nothynge to dout, but to renne out
To wode with an outlawe:
For ye must there in your hand bere 125
A bowe, redy to drawe;
And, as a thefe, thus must you lyve,
Ever in drede and awe;
Wherby to you grete harme myght growe:
Yet had I lever than, 130
That I had to the grene wode go,
Alone, a banyshed man.
SHE.
I thinke nat nay, but as ye say,
It is no maydens lore:
But love may make me for your sake, 135
As I have sayd before
To come on fote, to hunt, and shote
To gete us mete in store;
For so that I your company
May have, I aske no more: 140
From which to part, it maketh my hart
As colde as ony stone;
For, in my mynde, of all mankynde
I love but you alone.
HE.
For an outlawe this is the lawe, 145
That men hym take and bynde;
Without pyte, hanged to be,
And waver with the wynde.
If I had nede, (as God forbede!)
What rescous coude ye fynde? 150
Forsoth, I trowe, ye and your bowe
For fere wolde drawe behynde:
And no mervayle; for lytell avayle
Were in your counceyle than:
Wherfore I wyll to the grene wode go, 155
Alone, a banyshed man.
SHE.
Ryght wele knowe ye, that women be
But feble for to fyght;
No womanhede it is indede
To be bolde as a knyght: 160
Yet, in such fere yf that ye were
With enemyes day or nyght,
I wolde withstande, with bowe in hande,
To greve them as I myght,
And you to save; as women have 165
From deth ‘men’ many one:
For, in my mynde, of all mankynde
I love but you alone.
HE.
Yet take good hede; for ever I drede
That ye coude nat sustayne 170
The thornie wayes, the depe valeies,
The snowe, the frost, the rayne,
The colde, the hete: for dry, or wete,
We must lodge on the playne;
And, us above, none other rofe 175
But a brake bush, or twayne:
Which sone sholde greve you, I beleve;
And ye wolde gladly than
That I had to the grene wode go,
Alone, a banyshed man. 180
SHE.
Syth I have here bene partynere
With you of joy and blysse,
I must also parte of your wo
Endure, as reson is:
Yet am I sure of one plesure; 185
And, shortely, it is this:
That, where ye be, me semeth, parde,
I coude nat fare amysse.
Without more speche, I you beseche
That we were sone agone; 190
For, in my mynde, of all mankynde
I love but you alone.
HE.
If ye go thyder, ye must consyder,
Whan ye have lust to dyne,
There shall no mete be for you gete, 195
Nor drinke, bere, ale, ne wyne.
No shetes clene, to lye betwene,
Made of threde and twyne;
None other house, but leves and bowes,
To cover your hed and myne, 200
O myne harte swete, this evyll dyete
Sholde make you pale and wan;
Wherfore I wyll to the grene wode go,
Alone, a banyshed man.
SHE.
Amonge the wylde dere, such an archere, 205
As men say that ye be,
Ne may nat fayle of good vitayle,
Where is so grete plente:
And water clere of the ryvere
Shall be full swete to me; 210
With which in hele I shall ryght wele
Endure, as ye shall see;
And, or we go, a bedde or two
I can provyde anone;
For, in my mynde, of all mankynde 215
I love but you alone.
HE.
Lo yet, before, ye must do more,
Yf ye wyll go with me:
As cut your here up by your ere,
Your kyrtel by the kne; 220
With bowe in hande, for to withstande
Your enemyes, yf nede be:
And this same nyght before day-lyght,
To wode-warde wyll I fle.
Yf that ye wyll all this fulfill, 225
Do it shortely as ye can;
Els wyll I to the grene wode go,
Alone, a banyshed man.
SHE.
I shall as nowe do more for you
Than longeth to womanhede; 230
To shorte my here, a bowe to bere,
To shote in tyme of nede.
O my swete mother, before all other
For you I have most drede:
But nowe, adue! I must ensue, 235
Where fortune doth me lede.
All this make ye: Now let us fle;
The day cometh fast upon;
For, in my mynde, of all mankynde
I love but you alone. 240
HE.
Nay, nay, nat so; ye
shall nat go,
And I shall tell ye why, —
Your appetyght is to be lyght
Of love, I wele espy:
For, lyke as ye have sayed to me, 245
In lyke wyse hardely
Ye wolde answere whosoever it were,
In way of company.
It is sayd of olde, Sone hote, sone colde;
And so is a woman. 250
Wherfore I to the wode wyll go,
Alone, a banyshed man.
SHE.
Yf ye take hede, it is no nede
Such wordes to say by me;
For oft ye prayed, and longe assayed, 255
Or I you loved, parde:
And though that I of auncestry
A barons daughter be,
Yet have you proved howe I you loved
A squyer of lowe degre; 260
And ever shall, whatso befall;
To dy therfore anone;
For, in my mynde, of all mankynde
I love but you alone.
HE.
A barons chylde to be begylde! 265
It were a cursed dede;
To be felawe with an outlawe!
Almighty God forbede!
Yet beter were, the pore squyere
Alone to forest yede, 270
Than ye sholde say another day,
That, by my cursed dede,
Ye were betray’d: Wherfore, good mayd,
The best rede that I can,
Is, that I to the grene wode go, 275
Alone, a banyshed man.
SHE.
Whatever befall, I never shall
Of this thyng you upbrayd:
But yf ye go, and leve me so,
Than have ye me betrayd. 280
Remember you wele, howe that ye dele;
For, yf ye, as ye sayd,
Be so unkynde, to leve behynde,
Your love, the Not-browne Mayd,
Trust me truly, that I shall dy 285
Sone after ye be gone;
For, in my mynde, of all mankynde
I love but you alone.
HE.
Yf that ye went, ye sholde repent;
For in the forest nowe 290
I have purvayed me of a mayd,
Whom I love more than you;
Another fayrere, than ever ye were,
I dare it wele avowe;
And of you bothe eche sholde be wrothe 295
With other, as I trowe:
It were myne ese, to lyve in pese;
So wyll I, yf I can;
Wherfore I to the wode wyll go,
Alone, a banyshed man. 300
SHE.
Though in the wode I undyrstode
Ye had a paramour,
All this may nought remove my thought,
But that I wyll be your:
And she shall fynde me soft, and kynde, 305
And courteys every hour;
Glad to fulfyll all that she wyll
Commaunde me to my power:
For had ye, lo, an hundred mo,
‘Of them I wolde be one;’ 310
For, in my mynde, of all mankynde
I love but you alone.
HE.
Myne owne dere love, I se the prove
That ye be kynde, and true;
Of mayde, and wyfe, in all my lyfe, 315
The best that ever I knewe.
Be mery and glad, be no more sad,
The case is chaunged newe;
For it were ruthe, that, for your truthe,
Ye sholde have cause to rewe. 320
Be nat dismayed; whatsoever I sayd
To you, whan I began;
I wyll nat to the grene wode go,
I am no banyshed man.
SHE.
These tydings be more gladd to me, 325
Than to be made a quene,
Yf I were sure they sholde endure:
But it is often sene,
Whan men wyll breke promyse, they speke
The wordes on the splene. 330
Ye shape some wyle me to begyle,
And stele from me, I wene:
Than, were the case worse than it was,
And I more wo-begone:
For, in my mynde, of all mankynde 335
I love but you alone.
HE.
Ye shall nat nede further to drede;
I wyll nat dysparage
You, (God defend)! syth ye descend
Of so grete a lynage. 340
Nowe undyrstande; to Westmarlande,
Which is myne herytage,
I wyll you brynge; and with a rynge,
By way of maryage
I wyll you take, and lady make, 345
As shortely as I can:
Thus have you won an erlys son,
And not a banyshed man.
AUTHOR.
Here may ye se, that women be
In love, meke, kynde, and stable; 350
Late never man reprove them than,
Or call them variable;
But, rather, pray God, that we may
To them be comfortable;
Which sometyme proveth such, as he loveth, 355
Yf they be charytable.
For syth men wolde that women sholde
Be meke to them each one;
Moche more ought they to God obey,
And serve but hym alone. 360
HENRY AND EMMA
To Cloe.
Thou, to whose Eyes I bend; at whose Command,
(Tho’ low my Voice, tho’ artless be my Hand)
I take the sprightly Reed, and sing, and play;
Careless of what the cens’ring World may say:
Bright Cloe, Object of my constant Vow,
Wilt thou awhile unbend thy serious Brow?
Wilt thou with Pleasure hear Thy Lover’s Strains,
And with one Heav’nly Smile o’erpay His Pains?
No longer shall the Nut-brown Maid be old;
Tho’ since her Youth three hundred Years have roll’d.
At Thy Desire, She shall again be rais’d;
And her reviving Charms in lasting Verse be prais’d.
No longer Man of Woman shall complain,
That He may Love, and not be Lov’d again:
That We in vain the fickle Sex pursue,
Who change the Constant Lover for the New.
Whatever has been writ, whatever said
Of Female Passion feign’d, or Faith decay’d;
Henceforth shall in my Verse refuted stand,
Be said to Winds, or writ upon the Sand.
And while my Notes to future Times proclaim
Unconquer’d Love, and ever-during Flame;
O fairest of the Sex! be Thou my Muse:
Deign on my Work thy Influence to diffuse.
Let me partake the Blessings I rehearse;
And grant me Love, the just Reward of Verse.
As Beauty’s Potent Queen, with ev’ry Grace
That once was Emma’s, has adorn’d Thy Face;
And as Her Son has to My Bosom dealt
That constant Flame, which faithful Henry felt:
O let the Story with Thy Life agree;
Let Men once more the bright Example see;
What Emma was to Him, be Thou to Me.
Nor send Me by thy Frown from Her I love,
Distant and sad, a banish’d Man to rove.
But oh! with Pity long intreated Crown
My Pains and Hopes; and when thou say’st that One
Of all Mankind thou lov’st; Oh! think on Me alone.
Where beauteous Isis and her Husband Tame
With mingl’d Waves, for ever, flow the Same:
In Times of Yore, an antient Baron liv’d;
Great Gifts bestow’d, and great Respect receiv’d.
When dreadful Edward, with successful Care,
Led his free Britons to the Gallic War;
This Lord had Headed his appointed Bands,
And (all due Honors faithfully discharg’d)
Had brought back his Paternal Coat, inlarg’d
With a new Mark, the Witness of his Toil;
And no inglorious part of Foreign Spoil.
From the loud Camp retir’d, and noisy Court,
In Honorable Ease and Rural Sport,
The Remnant of his Days, He safely past;
Nor found they Lagg’d too slow, nor Flew too fast.
He made his Wish with his Estate comply;
Joyful to Live, yet not afraid to Dye.
One Child He had, a Daughter chast and fair;
His Age’s Comfort, and his Fortune’s Heir.
They call’d her Emma; for the beauteous Dame
Who gave the Virgin Birth, had born the Name.
The Name th’indulgent Father doubly lov’d;
For in the Child the Mother’s Charms improv’d.
Yet, as when little, round his Knees She plaid;
He call’d her oft, in Sport, His Nut-brown Maid:
The Friends and Tenants took the fondling Word;
(As still they please, who imitate their Lord)
Usage confirm’d what Fancy had begun:
The mutual Terms around the Lands were known;
And Emma and the Nut-brown Maid were One.
As with her Stature, still her Charms encreas’d;
Thro’ all the Isle her Beauty was confess’d.
Oh! what Perfections must that Virgin share,
Who Fairest is esteem’d, where all are Fair?
From distant Shires repair the noble Youth,
And find, Report, for once, had lessen’d Truth.
By Wonder first, and then by Passion mov’d,
They came; they saw; they marvell’d; and they lov’d.
By public Praises, and by secret Sighs,
Each own’d the gen’ral Pow’r of Emma’s Eyes.
In Tilts and Turnaments the Valiant strove,
By glorious Deeds, to purchase Emma’s Love.
In gentle Verse, the Witty told their Flame,
And grac’d their choicest Songs with Emma’s Name.
In vain they Combated, in vain they Writ:
Useless their Strength, and impotent their Wit.
Great Venus only must direct the Dart,