Bulchevy's Book of English Verse Part 2

Thus contrar thingis evirmar Discoweryngis off the tothir ar.

liking] liberty. na ellys nocht] nor aught else. yarnyt] yearned for. perquer] thoroughly, by heart.

Geoffrey Chaucer. 1340?-1400

10. The Love Unfeigned

O YONGE fresshe folkes, he or she, In which that love up groweth with your age, Repeyreth hoom from worldly vanitee, And of your herte up-casteth the visage To thilke G.o.d that after his image Yow made, and thinketh al nis but a fayre This world, that pa.s.seth sone as floures fayre.

And loveth him, the which that right for love Upon a cros, our soules for to beye, First starf, and roos, and sit in hevene a-bove; For he nil falsen no wight, dar I seye, That wol his herte al hoolly on him leye.

And sin he best to love is, and most meke, What nedeth feyned loves for to seke?

repeyreth] repair ye. starf] died.

Geoffrey Chaucer. 1340?-1400

11. Balade

HYD, Absolon, thy gilte tresses clere; Ester, ley thou thy meknesse al a-doun; Hyd, Jonathas, al thy frendly manere; Penalopee, and Marcia Catoun, Mak of your wyfhod no comparisoun; Hyde ye your beautes, Isoude and Eleyne; My lady cometh, that al this may disteyne.

Thy faire body, lat hit nat appere, Lavyne; and thou, Lucresse of Rome toun, And Polixene, that boghten love so dere, And Cleopatre, with al thy pa.s.sioun, Hyde ye your trouthe of love and your renoun; And thou, Tisbe, that hast of love swich peyne; My lady cometh, that al this may disteyne.

Herro, Dido, Laudomia, alle y-fere, And Phyllis, hanging for thy Demophoun, And Canace, espyed by thy chere, Ysiphile, betraysed with Jasoun, Maketh of your trouthe neyther boost ne soun; Nor Ypermistre or Adriane, ye tweyne; My lady cometh, that al this may distevne.

disteyne] bedim. y-fere] together.

Geoffrey Chaucer. 1340?-1400

12. Merciles Beaute

A TRIPLE ROUNDEL

1. CAPTIVITY

YOUR eyen two wol slee me sodenly, I may the beaute of hem not sustene, So woundeth hit through-out my herte kene.

And but your word wol helen hastily My hertes wounde, whyl that hit is grene, Your eyen two wol slee me sodenly, I may the beaute of hem not sustene.

Upon my trouthe I sey yow feithfully, That ye ben of my lyf and deeth the quene; For with my deeth the trouthe shal be sene.

Your eyen two wol slee me sodenly, I may the beaute of hem not sustene, So woundeth hit through-out my herte kene.

2. REJECTION

So hath your beaute fro your herte chaced Pitee, that me ne availeth not to pleyne; For Daunger halt your mercy in his cheyne.

Giltles my deeth thus han ye me purchaced; I sey yow sooth, me nedeth not to feyne; So hath your beaute fro your herte chaced Pitee, that me ne availeth not to pleyne.

Allas! that nature hath in yow compa.s.sed So greet beaute, that no man may atteyne To mercy, though he sterve for the peyne.

So hath your beaute fro your herte chaced Pitee, that me ne availeth not to pleyne; For Daunger halt your mercy in his cheyne.

3. ESCAPE

Sin I fro Love escaped am so fat, I never thenk to ben in his prison lene; Sin I am free, I counte him not a bene.

He may answere, and seye this or that; I do no fors, I speke right as I mene.

Sin I fro Love escaped am so fat, I never thenk to ben in his prison lene.

Love hath my name y-strike out of his sclat, And he is strike out of my bokes clene For ever-mo; ther is non other mene.

Sin I fro Love escaped am so fat, I never thenk to ben in his prison lene; Sin I am free, I counte him not a bene.

halt] holdeth. sclat] slate.

Thomas Hoccleve. 1368-9?-1450?

13. Lament for Chaucer

ALLAS! my worthi maister honorable, This landes verray tresor and richesse!

Deth by thy deth hath harme irreparable Unto us doon: hir vengeable duresse Despoiled hath this land of the swetnesse Of rethorik; for unto Tullius Was never man so lyk amonges us.

Also who was hier in philosophie To Aristotle in our tonge but thou?

The steppes of Virgile in poesie Thou folwedist eeke, men wot wel ynow.

Thou combre-worlde that the my maister slow-- Wolde I slayn were!--Deth, was to hastyf To renne on thee and reve the thi lyf...

She myghte han taried hir vengeance a while Til that sum man had egal to the be; Nay, lat be that! sche knew wel that this y1e May never man forth brynge lyk to the, And hir office needes do mot she: G.o.d bad hir so, I truste as for the beste; O maister, maister, G.o.d thi soule reste!

hier] heir. combre-worlde] enc.u.mberer of earth. slow] slew.

John Lydgate. 1370?-1450?

14. Vox ultima Crucis

TARYE no lenger; toward thyn heritage Hast on thy weye, and be of ryght good chere.

Go eche day onward on thy pylgrymage; Thynke howe short tyme thou hast abyden here.

Thy place is bygged above the sterres clere, Noon erthly palys wrought in so statly wyse.

Come on, my frend, my brother most entere!

For the I offered my blood in sacryfice.

bygged] built. palys] palace.

King James I of Scotland. 1394-1437

15. Spring Song of the Birds