This Widow thus her little Son hath taught
Our blissful Lady, Jesu's Mother dear,
To worship aye, and he forgat it not;
For simple infant hath a ready ear.
Sweet is the holiness of youth; and hence,
Calling to mind this matter when I may,
Saint Nicholas in my presence standeth aye,
For he so young to Christ did reverence.
This little Child, while in the school he sate
His Primer conning with an earnest cheer,
The whilst the rest their anthem-book repeat,
The Alma Redemptoris did he hear;
And as he durst he drew him near and near,
And hearkened to the words and to the note,
Till the first verse he learned it all by rote.
XI,
This Latin knew he nothing what it said,
For he too tender was of age to know;
But to his comrade he repaired, and prayed
That he the meaning of this song would show,
And unto him declare why men sing so;
This oftentimes, that he might be at ease,
This child did him beseech on his bare knees.
And praiseth Christ that is our heavenly King, | And, when the Abbot had this wonder seen, And eke his Mother, honour of Mankind: His salt tears trickled down like showers of Which done, he bade that they the Jews should rain; bind.
And on his face he dropped upon the ground,
And still he lay as if he had been bound.
And see the budding leaves the branches
throng,
This unto their rememberance doth bring
All kinds of pleasure mix'd with sorrowing:
And longing of sweet thoughts that ever long.
Meanwhile the stream, whose bank I sate upon,
Was making such a noise as it ran on
Accordant to the sweet Birds' harmony;
Methought that it was the best melody
Which ever to man's ear a passage won.
XVIII.
I in a slumber and a swoon was caught,
And for delight, but how I never wot,
Not all asleep and yet not waking wholly;
And as I lay, the Cuckoo, bird unholy,
Broke silence, or I heard him in my thought.
And that was right upon a tree fast by,
And who was then ill satisfied but I?
Now, God, quoth I, that died upon the rood,
From thee and thy base throat, keep all that's
good,
Full little joy have I now of thy cry.
And, as I with the Cuckoo thus 'gan chide,
In the next bush that was me fast beside,
I heard the lusty Nightingale so sing,
That her clear voice made a loud rioting,
Echoing thorough all the green wood wide.
Ah! good sweet Nightingafe! for my heart's cheer,
Hence hast thou stay'd a little while too long;
For we have had the sorry Cuckoo here,
And she hath been before thee with her song;
Evil light on her! she hath done me wrong.
But hear you now a wondrous thing, I pray; As long as in that swooning-fit I lay, Methought I wist right well what these birds
And had good knowing both of their intent, And of their speech, and all that they would
The Nightingale thus in my hearing spake :Good Cuckoo, seek some other bush or brake, And, prithee, let us that can sing dwell here; For every wight eschews thy song to hear, Such uncouth singing verily dost thou make.
What! quoth she then, what is't that ails thee
It seems to me I sing as well as thou ;
For mine's a song that is both true and plain,-
Although I cannot quaver so in vain
As thou dost in thy throat, I wot not how.
All men may understanding have of me,
For thou hast many a foolish and quaint cry :--
But, Nightingale, so may they not of thee;
Thou say'st OSEE, OSEE; then how may I
Have knowledge, I thee pray, what this may
be?
Ah, fool! quoth she, wist thou not what it is? Oft as I say OSEE, OSEE, I wis,
Then mean I that I should be wonderous fain That shamefully they one and all were slain, Whoever against Love mean aught amiss.
What! quoth she, thou art all out of thy mind,
That in thy churlishness a cause canst find
To speak of Love's true Servants in this mood;
For in this world no service is so good
To every wight that gentle is of kind.
If long time from thy mate thou be, or far,
Thou'lt be as others that forsaken are;
Then shalt thou raise a clamour as do I.
XXXVIII.
Fie, quoth she, on thy name, Bird ill beseen!
The God of Love afflict thee with all teen,
For thou art worse than mad a thousand fold;
For many a one hath virtues manifold,
Who had been nought, if Love had never been.
For evermore his servants Love amendeth,
And he from every blemish them defendeth ;
And maketh them to burn, as in a fire,
In loyalty, and worshipful desire,
And, when it likes him, joy enough them
sendeth.
Thou Nightingale! the Cuckoo said, be still
For Love no reason hath but his own will;-
For to th' untrue he oft gives ease and joy;
True lovers doth so bitterly annoy,
He lets them perish through that grievous ill.
With such a master would I never be ;
For he, in sooth, is blind, and may not see,
And knows not when he hurts and when he
heals;
For thereof comes all goodness and all worth;
All gentiless and honour thence come forth;
Thence worship comes, content and true heart's Within this court full seldom Truth avails,
And full-assured trust, joy without measure,
And jollity, fresh cheerfulness, and mirth;
So diverse in his wilfulness is he.
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And there she sate and sung-upon that tree-
"For term of life Love shall have hold of me"-
So loudly, that I with that song awoke.
Unlearned Book and rude, as well I know,
For beauty thou hast none, nor eloquence,
Who did on thee the hardiness bestow
To appear before my Lady? but a sense
Thou surely hast of her benevolence,
Whereof her hourly bearing proof doth give;
For of all good she is the best alive.
Alas, poor Book! for thy unworthiness,
To show to her some pleasant meanings writ
In winning words, since through her gentiless,
Thee she accepts as for her service fit!
Oh! it repents me I have neither wit
Nor leisure unto thee more worth to give ;
For of all good she is the best alive.
Beseech her meekly with all lowliness,
Though I be far from her I reverence,
To think upon my truth and stedfastness.
And to abridge my sorrow's violence,
Caused by the wish, as knows your sapience,
She of her liking proof to me would give;
For of all good she is the best alive.
L'ENVOY.
Pleasure's Aurora, Day of gladsomeness!
Luna by night, with heavenly mutluence
Illumined! root of beauty and goodnesse,
Write, and allay, by your beneficence,
My sighs breathed forth in silence, -comfort
give!
Since of all good, you are the best alive.
TROILUS AND CRESIDA.
NEXT morning Troilus began to clear
His
eyes from sleep, at the first break of day
And unto Pandarus, his own Brother dear,
For love of God, full piteously did say,
We must the Palace see of Cresida ;
For since we yet may have no other feast,
Let us behold her Palace at the least!
And therewithal to cover his intent
A cause he found into the Town to go,
And they right forth to Cresid's Palace went
But, Lord, this simple Troilus was woe,
Him thought his sorrowful heart would break
in two;
For when he saw her doors fast bolted all,
Well nigh for sorrow down he 'gan to fall.
Therewith when this true Lover 'gan behold
How shut was every window of the place,
Like frost he thought his heart was icy cold;
For which, with changèd, pale, and deadly
face,
Without word uttered, forth he 'gan to pace;
And on his purpose bent so fast to ride
That no wight his continuance espied.
Then said he thus,-O Palace desolate!
O house of houses, once so richly dight!
O Palace empty and disconsolate!
Thou lamp of which extinguished is the light;
O Palace whilom day that now art night,
Thou ought'st to fall and I to die; since she
Is gone who held us both in sovereignty
O. of all houses once the crownèd boast!
Falace illumined with the sun of bliss:
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