CAP. XXX. THE SUPPLICATION.

Previous

O, Venus! lady, and excellent goddesse,

O celestiall starre! havyng the soverayntie

Above all other starres as lady and princes,

As is according unto your deitie;

Pleaseth it nowe your great benignitie

Unto my complaynt for to geve audience,

Whiche burne in love with pearcyng vyolence.

For so it happened that the lady Fame

Did with me mete, and gan to expresse

Of a fayre lady whiche had unto name

La Bell Pucel, come of hye noblesse;

Whose beautie cleare and comely goodlines

From day to day doth ryght well reuenue,

With grace brydled and with great vertue.

She tolde me of her fayre habitation,

And of the wayes therto full daungerous;

Her swete report gave me exhortation

Unto my herte for to be courigious,

To passe the passage harde and troublous;

And to bring me out of great encumbraunce,

She me delyvered both Grace and Governaunce.

So forth we went to the toure of Science,

For to attayne in every artike poole.

And first Doctryne by good experience

Unto dame Grammer did sette me to scoole,

Of mysty ignoraunce to oppres the dole;

And so I ascended unto dame Logyke,

And after her unto lusty Rethorike.

Tyll at the last, at a feast solemply

To a temple I went, dame Musike to heare

Play on her organs with swete armony;

But than on lofte I saw to me appeare

The floure of comforte, the sterre of vertue clere,

Whose beaute bright into my herte did passe,

Lyke as fayre Phebus doth shyne in the glasse.

So was my herte by the stroke of love

With sorow prest, and with mortall payne;

That unneth I myght from the place remove,

Where as I stode I was so take certayne,

Yet up I loked to se her agayne,

And at aventure with a sory moode,

Up than I went where as her person stode.

And first of all my herte gan to lerne

Right well to register in remembraunce,

How that her beautie I might than decerne,

From top to to endued with pleasaunce,

Which I shall shew withouten variaunce;

Her shining here so properly she dresses

Alofe her forehed with fayre golden tresses.

Her forehead stepe, with fayre browes ybent,

Her eyen gray, her nose streyght and fayre,

In her whyte chekes the fayre bloud it went

As among the whyte the rede to repayre:

Her mouth right small, her breth swete of ayre,

Her lyppes softe and ruddy as a rose,

No hert on lyve but it wold him appose.

Wyth a lyttle pytte in her well-favored chynne;

Her necke longe as whyte as ony lylly,

With vaynes blew in which the blode ran inne;

Her paypes round and therto right prety;

Her armes sclender and of goodly body;

Her fingers small and therto right longe,

White as the milke, with blew vaynes among.

Her fete proper, she gartered well her hose,

I never saw so swete a creature;

Nothing she lacketh as I do suppose,

That is longing to fayre dame Nature;

Yet more over her countenaunce so pure,

So swete, so lovely, wold my hert inspyre,

Wyth fervent love to attayne his desyre.

But what for her maners passeth all,

She is both gentyll, good, and vertuous;

Alas! what fortune did me to her call

Without that she be to me piteous?

With her so fettered in paynes dolorous,

Alas! shall pite be from her exyled,

Which all vertues hath so undefiled?

Thus in my mynde whan I had engraved

Her goodly countenaunce and fayre figure,

It was no wonder that I was amased,

My herte and minde she had so tane in cure.

Nothing of love I durst to her discure;

Yet for bicause I was in her presence,

I toke acquaintaunce of her excellence.

My herte was drenched in great sorow depe,

Though outwardly my countenaunce was lyght;

The inward wo into my hert did crepe,

To hide my payne it was great force and myght.

Thus her swete beaute with a soden sight

My hert hath wounded, which much nedes obey

Unto such a sorow, alas, welawaye!

For she is gone, and departed right ferre,

In her countre where she doth abyde;

She is now gone, the fayre shining sterre!

O lady Venus! I pray the provide

That I may after at the morow tide,

And by the way, with hert rigorious,

To subdue mine enemies contrarious.

And yet thy grace moost humbly I pray,

To send thy sonne lytle Cupide before,

With loving letters as fast as thou may,

That she may know somwhat of my paynes sore,

Which for her sake I suffer evermore.

Now, lady Venus, with my hole intent

Of lyfe or death I byde the judgement.

Well than, sayd Venus, I have perseveraunce

That you know somwhat of mighty power

Which to my court sue for my quayntaunce,

To have release of your great paynes sower.

Abyde a whyle, ye must tary the hower;

The time renneth toward right fast:

Joy cometh after whan the sorow is past.

Alas! I sayd, who is fettered in chaynes

He thinketh long after delyveracion

Of his great wo and eke mortall paynes;

For who abideth paynfull penaunce

Thinketh a short whyle a longe contynuaunce;

Who may not speke with her he loveth best,

It is no wonder though he take no rest.

Abyde, quod she; you must a whyle yet tary,

Though to have comfort ye right long do thinke:

I shall provide for you a lectuary,

Which after sorow into your herte shall sinke.

Though you be brought now unto dethes drynke,

Yet drede exile and lyve in hope and trust,

For at the last you shall attayne your lust.

And specially I gyve to you a charge

To fyxe your love, for to be true and stable

Upon your lady, and not to fle at large

As in sundry wise for to be variable,

In corrupt thoughtes vyle and culpable;

Prepence nothing unto her dishonesty,

For love dishonest hath no certaynte.

And sithen that I was cause you be gone

Fyrst for to love, I shall a letter make

Unto your lady, and send it by my sonne,

Lytle Cupyde, that shall it to her take,

That she your sorow may detray or slake.

Her harded herte it shall well revolve,

Wyth pyteous wordes that shall it dissolve.

And right anon, as the mater foloweth,

She caused Sapyence a letter to wryte;

Lo! what her favour unto me avayleth

Whan for my selfe she did so well indite,

As I shall shew in a short respyte

The gentyll fourme and tenour of her letter,

To spede my cause for to attayne the better.

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                           

Clyx.com


Top of Page
Top of Page