Charles Brockden Brown (1771–1810). Edgar Huntley; or, Memoirs of a Sleep-Walker. 1857.
The Minor PoemsXII. Balade to Rosemounde
MADAME, ye ben of al beautè shryneAs fer as cercled is the mappemounde;For as the cristal glorious ye shyne,And lyke ruby ben your chekes rounde.Therwith ye ben so mery and so iocounde,That at a revel whan that I see you daunce,It is an oynement unto my wounde,Thogh ye to me ne do no daliaunce.For thogh I wepe of teres ful a tyne,Yet may that wo myn herte nat confounde;Your seemly voys that ye so smal out-twyneMaketh my thoght in Ioye and blis habounde.So curteisly I go, with lovë bounde,That to my-self I sey, in my penaunce,Suffyseth me to love you, Rosemounde,Thogh ye to me ne do no daliaunce.Nas never pyk walwed in galauntyneAs I in love am walwed and y-wounde;For which ful ofte I of my-self divyneThat I am trewe Tristam the secounde.My love may not refreyd be nor afounde;I brenne ay in an amorous plesaunce.Do what you list, I wil your thral be founde,Thogh ye to me ne do no daliaunce.Tregentil.Chaucer.