Thomas Humphry Ward, ed. The English Poets. 1880–1918.rnVol. I. Early Poetry: Chaucer to Donne
Geoffrey Chaucer (c. 13401400)Extracts from The Court of Love
Critical Introduction by Thomas Humphry Ward
A
Stode not fer thens in abite mervelous;
‘Yon is,’ thought I, ‘som sprite or [els] som elf,
His sotill image is so curious:
How is,’ quod I, ‘that he is shaded thus
With yonder cloth, I note of what coloure?’
And nere I went and gan to lere and pore,
‘What is,’ quod I, ‘the thyng thou lovest best?
Or what is bote unto thy paynës hard?
Me think thou livest here in grete unrest,
Thow wandrest ay from south to est and west,
And est to north; as fer as I can see,
There is no place in courte may holden the.
But my demaunde asoile I thee require.’
‘Me thoughte,’ quod he, ‘no creature may lette
Me to ben here and where as I desire:
For where as absence hath don out the fire,
My mery thought it kyndelith yet agayn,
That bodily me thinke with my souverayne
So that my thought comforteth me ful ofte:
I think, God wot, though all the world be false,
I wil be trewe; I think also how softe
My lady is in speche, and this on-lofte
Bryngeth myn harte in joye and grete gladnesse;
This prevey thought alayeth myne hevynesse.
In all this erth can tell, iwis, but I:
And eke there nys no swalowe swifte, ne swan
So wight of wyng, ne half so yerne can flye;
For I can ben, and that right sodenly,
In Heven, in Helle, in Paradise, and here,
And with my lady, whan I wil desire.
With lord and lady, and here privité
I wot it all; and be it cold or hoot,
Thay shalle not speke withoute licence of me.
I mynde, in suche as sesonable bee,
Tho first the thing is thought withyn the harte,
Er any worde out from the mouth astarte.’
And furth the cokkowe gan procede anon,
With ‘Benedictus’ thankyng God in haste,
That in this May wold visite hem echon,
And gladden hem all while the feste shall laste:
And therewithal a loughter out he braste,
‘I thanke it God that I shuld ende the song,
And all the service which hath ben so long.’
And that was done right erly, to my dome;
And furth goth all the courte, bothe moste and leste,
To feche the flourës fressh, and braunche and blome;
And namly hawthorn brought both page and grome,
With fressh garlantis, partie blewe and white,
And hem rejoysen in her grete delite.
The prymerose, the violet, and the golde;
So than, as I beheld the riall sighte,
My lady gan me sodenly beholde,
And with a trewe love, plited many-folde,
She smote me thrugh the very harte as blive,
And Venus yet I thanke I am alive.