Delphi Poetry Anthology: The World's Greatest Poems (Delphi Poets Series Book 50)

by Homer

Bot for al that I was noght glad,

  For I ne sawh no cause why.

  And eft scheo asketh, what was I: 160

  I seide, “A Caitif that lith hiere:

  What wolde ye, my Ladi diere?

  Schal I ben hol or elles dye?”

  Sche seide, “Tell thi maladie:

  What is thi Sor of which thou pleignest?

  Ne hyd it noght, for if thou feignest,

  I can do the no medicine.”

  “Ma dame, I am a man of thyne,

  That in thi Court have longe served,

  And aske that I have deserved, 170

  Some wele after my longe wo.”

  And sche began to loure tho,

  And seide, “Ther is manye of yow

  Faitours, and so may be that thow

  Art riht such on, and be feintise

  Seist that thou hast me do servise.”

  And natheles sche wiste wel,

  Mi world stod on an other whiel

  Withouten eny faiterie:

  Bot algate of my maladie 180

  Sche bad me telle and seie hir trowthe.

  “Ma dame, if ye wolde have rowthe,”

  Quod I, “than wolde I telle yow.”

  “Sey forth,” quod sche, “and tell me how;

  Schew me thi seknesse everydiel.”

  “Ma dame, that can I do wel,

  Be so my lif therto wol laste.”

  With that hir lok on me sche caste,

  And seide: “In aunter if thou live,

  Mi will is ferst that thou be schrive; 190

  And natheles how that it is

  I wot miself, bot for al this

  Unto my prest, which comth anon,

  I woll thou telle it on and on,

  Bothe all thi thoght and al thi werk.

  O Genius myn oghne Clerk,

  Com forth and hier this mannes schrifte,”

  Quod Venus tho; and I uplifte

  Min hefd with that, and gan beholde

  The selve Prest, which as sche wolde 200

  Was redy there and sette him doun

  To hiere my confessioun.

  This worthi Prest, this holy man

  To me spekende thus began,

  And seide: “Benedicite,

  Mi Sone, of the felicite

  Of love and ek of all the wo

  Thou schalt thee schrive of bothe tuo.

  What thou er this for loves sake

  Hast felt, let nothing be forsake, 210

  Tell pleinliche as it is befalle.”

  And with that word I gan doun falle

  On knees, and with devocioun

  And with full gret contricioun

  I seide thanne: “Dominus,

  Min holi fader Genius,

  So as thou hast experience

  Of love, for whos reverence

  Thou schalt me schriven at this time,

  I prai the let me noght mistime 220

  Mi schrifte, for I am destourbed

  In al myn herte, and so contourbed,

  That I ne may my wittes gete,

  So schal I moche thing foryete:

  Bot if thou wolt my schrifte oppose

  Fro point to point, thanne I suppose,

  Ther schal nothing be left behinde.

  Bot now my wittes ben so blinde,

  That I ne can miselven teche.”

  Tho he began anon to preche, 230

  And with his wordes debonaire

  He seide tome softe and faire:

  “Thi schrifte to oppose and hiere,

  My Sone, I am assigned hiere

  Be Venus the godesse above,

  Whos Prest I am touchende of love.

  Bot natheles for certein skile

  I mot algate and nedes wile

  Noght only make my spekynges

  Of love, bot of othre thinges, 240

  That touchen to the cause of vice.

  For that belongeth to thoffice

  Of Prest, whos ordre that I bere,

  So that I wol nothing forbere,

  That I the vices on and on

  Ne schal thee schewen everychon;

  Wherof thou myht take evidence

  To reule with thi conscience.

  Bot of conclusion final

  Conclude I wol in special 250

  For love, whos servant I am,

  And why the cause is that I cam.

  So thenke I to don bothe tuo,

  Ferst that myn ordre longeth to,

  The vices forto telle arewe,

  Bot next above alle othre schewe

  Of love I wol the propretes,

  How that thei stonde be degrees

  After the disposicioun

  Of Venus, whos condicioun 260

  I moste folwe, as I am holde.

  For I with love am al withholde,

  So that the lasse I am to wyte,

  Thogh I ne conne bot a lyte

  Of othre thinges that ben wise:

  I am noght tawht in such a wise;

  For it is noght my comun us

  To speke of vices and vertus,

  Bot al of love and of his lore,

  For Venus bokes of nomore 270

  Me techen nowther text ne glose.

  Bot for als moche as I suppose

  It sit a prest to be wel thewed,

  And schame it is if he be lewed,

  Of my Presthode after the forme

  I wol thi schrifte so enforme,

  That ate leste thou schalt hiere

  The vices, and to thi matiere

  Of love I schal hem so remene,

  That thou schalt knowe what thei mene. 280

  For what a man schal axe or sein

  Touchende of schrifte, it mot be plein,

  It nedeth noght to make it queinte,

  For trowthe hise wordes wol noght peinte:

  That I wole axe of the forthi,

  My Sone, it schal be so pleinly,

  That thou schalt knowe and understonde

  The pointz of schrifte how that thei stonde.”

  Betwen the lif and deth I herde

  This Prestes tale er I answerde, 290

  And thanne I preide him forto seie

  His will, and I it wolde obeie

  After the forme of his apprise.

  Tho spak he tome in such a wise,

  And bad me that I scholde schrive

  As touchende of my wittes fyve,

  And schape that thei were amended

  Of that I hadde hem misdispended.

  For tho be proprely the gates,

  Thurgh whiche as to the herte algates 300

  Comth alle thing unto the feire,

  Which may the mannes Soule empeire.

  And now this matiere is broght inne,

  Mi Sone, I thenke ferst beginne

  To wite how that thin yhe hath stonde,

  The which is, as I understonde,

  The moste principal of alle,

  Thurgh whom that peril mai befalle.

  And forto speke in loves kinde,

  Ful manye suche a man mai finde, 310

  Whiche evere caste aboute here yhe,

  To loke if that thei myhte aspie

  Fulofte thing which hem ne toucheth,

  Bot only that here herte soucheth

  In hindringe of an other wiht;

  And thus ful many a worthi knyht

  And many a lusti lady bothe

  Have be fulofte sythe wrothe.

  So that an yhe is as a thief

  To love, and doth ful gret meschief; 320

  And also for his oghne part

  Fulofte thilke firy Dart

  Of love, which that evere brenneth,

  Thurgh him into the herte renneth:

  And thus a mannes yhe ferst

  Himselve grieveth alther werst,

  And many a time that he knoweth

  Unto his oghne harm it groweth.

  Mi Sone, herkne now forthi

  A tale, to be war therby 330

  Thin yhe forto ke
pe and warde,

  So that it passe noght his warde.

  Ovide telleth in his bok

  Ensample touchende of mislok,

  And seith hou whilom ther was on,

  A worthi lord, which Acteon

  Was hote, and he was cousin nyh

  To him that Thebes ferst on hyh

  Up sette, which king Cadme hyhte.

  This Acteon, as he wel myhte, 340

  Above alle othre caste his chiere,

  And used it fro yer to yere,

  With Houndes and with grete Hornes

  Among the wodes and the thornes

  To make his hunting and his chace:

  Where him best thoghte in every place

  To finde gamen in his weie,

  Ther rod he forto hunte and pleie.

  So him befell upon a tide

  On his hunting as he cam ride, 350

  In a Forest al one he was:

  He syh upon the grene gras

  The faire freisshe floures springe,

  He herde among the leves singe

  The Throstle with the nyhtingale:

  Thus er he wiste into a Dale

  He cam, wher was a litel plein,

  All round aboute wel besein

  With buisshes grene and Cedres hyhe;

  And ther withinne he caste his yhe. 360

  Amidd the plein he syh a welle,

  So fair ther myhte noman telle,

  In which Diana naked stod

  To bathe and pleie hire in the flod

  With many a Nimphe, which hire serveth.

  Bot he his yhe awey ne swerveth

  Fro hire, which was naked al,

  And sche was wonder wroth withal,

  And him, as sche which was godesse,

  Forschop anon, and the liknesse 370

  Sche made him taken of an Hert,

  Which was tofore hise houndes stert,

  That ronne besiliche aboute

  With many an horn and many a route,

  That maden mochel noise and cry:

  And ate laste unhappely

  This Hert his oghne houndes slowhe

  And him for vengance al todrowhe.

  Lo now, my Sone, what it is

  A man to caste his yhe amis, 380

  Which Acteon hath dere aboght;

  Be war forthi and do it noght.

  For ofte, who that hiede toke,

  Betre is to winke than to loke.

  And forto proven it is so,

  Ovide the Poete also

  A tale which to this matiere

  Acordeth seith, as thou schalt hiere.

  In Metamor it telleth thus,

  How that a lord which Phorce.s 390

  Was hote, hadde dowhtres thre.

  Bot upon here nativite

  Such was the constellacion,

  That out of mannes nacion

  Fro kynde thei be so miswent,

  That to the liknesse of Serpent

  Thei were bore, and so that on

  Of hem was cleped Stellibon,

  That other soster Suriale,

  The thridde, as telleth in the tale, 400

  Medusa hihte, and natheles

  Of comun name Gorgones

  In every contre ther aboute,

  As Monstres whiche that men doute,

  Men clepen hem; and bot on yhe

  Among hem thre in pourpartie

  Thei hadde, of which thei myhte se,

  Now hath it this, now hath it sche;

  After that cause and nede it ladde,

  Be throwes ech of hem it hadde. 410

  A wonder thing yet more amis

  Ther was, wherof I telle al this:

  What man on hem his chiere caste

  And hem behield, he was als faste

  Out of a man into a Ston

  Forschape, and thus ful manyon

  Deceived were, of that thei wolde

  Misloke, wher that thei ne scholde.

  Bot Perse.s that worthi knyht,

  Whom Pallas of hir grete myht 420

  Halp, and tok him a Schield therto,

  And ek the god Mercurie also

  Lente him a swerd, he, as it fell,

  Beyende Athlans the hihe hell

  These Monstres soghte, and there he fond

  Diverse men of thilke lond

  Thurgh sihte of hem mistorned were,

  Stondende as Stones hiere and there.

  Bot he, which wisdom and prouesse

  Hadde of the god and the godesse, 430

  The Schield of Pallas gan enbrace,

  With which he covereth sauf his face,

  Mercuries Swerd and out he drowh,

  And so he bar him that he slowh

  These dredful Monstres alle thre.

  Lo now, my Sone, avise the,

  That thou thi sihte noght misuse:

  Cast noght thin yhe upon Meduse,

  That thou be torned into Ston:

  For so wys man was nevere non, 440

  Bot if he wel his yhe kepe

  And take of fol delit no kepe,

  That he with lust nys ofte nome,

  Thurgh strengthe of love and overcome.

  Of mislokynge how it hath ferd,

  As I have told, now hast thou herd,

  My goode Sone, and tak good hiede.

  And overthis yet I thee rede

  That thou be war of thin heringe,

  Which to the Herte the tidinge 450

  Of many a vanite hath broght,

  To tarie with a mannes thoght.

  And natheles good is to hiere

  Such thing wherof a man may lere

  That to vertu is acordant,

  And toward al the remenant

  Good is to torne his Ere fro;

  For elles, bot a man do so,

  Him may fulofte mysbefalle.

  I rede ensample amonges alle, 460

  Wherof to kepe wel an Ere

  It oghte pute a man in fere.

  A Serpent, which that Aspidis

  Is cleped, of his kynde hath this,

  That he the Ston noblest of alle,

  The which that men Carbuncle calle,

  Berth in his hed above on heihte.

  For which whan that a man be sleyhte,

  The Ston to winne and him to daunte,

  With his carecte him wolde enchaunte, 470

  Anon as he perceiveth that,

  He leith doun his on Ere al plat

  Unto the ground, and halt it faste,

  And ek that other Ere als faste

  He stoppeth with his tail so sore,

  That he the wordes lasse or more

  Of his enchantement ne hiereth;

  And in this wise himself he skiereth,

  So that he hath the wordes weyved

  And thurgh his Ere is noght deceived. 480

  An othre thing, who that recordeth,

  Lich unto this ensample acordeth,

  Which in the tale of Troie I finde.

  Sirenes of a wonder kynde

  Ben Monstres, as the bokes tellen,

  And in the grete Se thei duellen:

  Of body bothe and of visage

  Lik unto wommen of yong age

  Up fro the Navele on hih thei be,

  And doun benethe, as men mai se, 490

  Thei bere of fisshes the figure.

  And overthis of such nature

  Thei ben, that with so swete a stevene

  Lik to the melodie of hevene

  In wommanysshe vois thei singe,

  With notes of so gret likinge,

  Of such mesure, of such musike,

  Wherof the Schipes thei beswike

  That passen be the costes there.

  For whan the Schipmen leie an Ere 500

  Unto the vois, in here avys

  Thei wene it be a Paradys,

  Which after is to hem an helle.

  For reson may noght with hem duelle,

  Whan thei tho grete lustes hiere;

  Thei conne noght here Schipes st
iere,

  So besiliche upon the note

  Thei herkne, and in such wise assote,

  That thei here rihte cours and weie

  Foryete, and to here Ere obeie, 510

  And seilen til it so befalle

  That thei into the peril falle,

  Where as the Schipes be todrawe,

  And thei ben with the Monstres slawe.

  Bot fro this peril natheles

  With his wisdom king Uluxes

  Ascapeth and it overpasseth;

  For he tofor the hond compasseth

  That noman of his compaignie

  Hath pouer unto that folie 520

  His Ere for no lust to caste;

  For he hem stoppede alle faste,

  That non of hem mai hiere hem singe.

  So whan they comen forth seilinge,

  Ther was such governance on honde,

  That thei the Monstres have withstonde

  And slain of hem a gret partie.

  Thus was he sauf with his navie,

  This wise king, thurgh governance.

  Wherof, my Sone, in remembrance 530

  Thou myht ensample taken hiere,

  As I have told, and what thou hiere

  Be wel war, and yif no credence,

  Bot if thou se more evidence.

  For if thou woldest take kepe

  And wisly cowthest warde and kepe

  Thin yhe and Ere, as I have spoke,

  Than haddest thou the gates stoke

  Fro such Sotie as comth to winne

  Thin hertes wit, which is withinne, 540

  Wherof that now thi love excedeth

  Mesure, and many a peine bredeth.

  Bot if thou cowthest sette in reule

  Tho tuo, the thre were eth to reule:

  Forthi as of thi wittes five

  I wole as now nomore schryve,

  Bot only of these ilke tuo.

  Tell me therfore if it be so,

  Hast thou thin yhen oght misthrowe?

  Mi fader, ye, I am beknowe, 550

  I have hem cast upon Meduse,

  Therof I may me noght excuse:

  Min herte is growen into Ston,

  So that my lady therupon

  Hath such a priente of love grave,

  That I can noght miselve save.

  What seist thou, Sone, as of thin Ere?

  Mi fader, I am gultyf there;

  For whanne I may my lady hiere,

  Mi wit with that hath lost his Stiere: 560

  I do noght as Uluxes dede,

  Bot falle anon upon the stede,

  Wher as I se my lady stonde;

  And there, I do yow understonde,

  I am topulled in my thoght,

  So that of reson leveth noght,

  Wherof that I me mai defende.

  My goode Sone, god thamende:

  For as me thenketh be thi speche

  Thi wittes ben riht feer to seche. 570

  As of thin Ere and of thin yhe

  I woll nomore specefie,

  Bot I woll axen overthis

  Of othre thing how that it is.

  Mi Sone, as I thee schal enforme,

  Ther ben yet of an other forme

  Of dedly vices sevene applied,

  Wherof the herte is ofte plied