[Old forms like serven, serve; wollen, will; tellen, tell; doin, done; and the Imperatives bethe, be; telleth, tell; occur in this Poem.]

Cupido, (unto whose commandÈment
The gentle kindred of goddis on high
And people infernal be obedient;
And mortal folk all serven busily),
Of the goddess son Cythera only;
Unto all those that to our deity
Be subjects, heartly greeting, sendÈ we!
In general, we wollen that ye know
That Ladies of honour and reverence,
And other Gentlewomen havin sow
Such seed of complaint in our audience,
Of men that do them outrage and offence;
That it our earis grieveth for to hear,
So piteous is the effect of this matere.
Passing all landis, on the little isle
That cleped is Albion, they most complain,
They say that there is crop and root of guile:
So can those men dissimulen and feign,
With standing dropis in their eyen twain;
When that their heartis feeleth no distress,
To blinden women with their doubleness.

Their wordis, spoken be so sighingly,
With so piteous a cheer and countenance
That every wight that meaneth truÈly
Deemeth that they in heart have such grievance.
They say, "So importable is their penance,
That but their lady lust to shew them grace
They, right anon, must starven in the place."
"Ah, Lady mine!" they say, "I you ensure
As doth me grace! and I shall ever be,
While that my life may laste and endure
To you as humble and low in each degree
As possible is, and keep all things secree
Right as yourselven listÉ that I do!
And elles must mine heartÈ burst in two."
Full hard it is, to know a manis heart
For outward may no man the truthÈ deem,
When word out of his mouth may none astert
But it by reason seemed a wight to queme,
So it is said of heart, as it would seem.
O faithful woman! full of innocence!
Thou art deceivÈd by false appearance!
By process moveth oft woman's pity.
Weening all things were as these men ysay,
They grant them grace, of their benignity,
For that men shoulden not, for their sake die,
And with good hearte, set them in the way
Of blissful lovÉ: keep it, if they con!
Thus, otherwhilÉ, women beth ywon.

And when this man the pan hath by the steel
And fully is in his possession;
With that woman keepeth he no more to deal
After, if he may finden in the town
Any woman, his blind affection
On to bestow. But evil mote he preve!
A man, for all his oaths, is hard to believe!
And for that every false Man hath a Make,
(As unto every wight is light to know)
When this traitor, this woman hath forsake,
He fast him speedeth unto his fellow.
Till he be there, his heart is on a low;
His false deceit ne may him not suffice,
But of his treason telleth all the wise.
Is this a fair avaunt? Is this honour?
A man himself accuse thus and defame!
Is it good to confess himself a traitor?
And bring a woman into slanderous name
And tell how he her body hath do shame?
No worship may he thus, to him conquer,
But great dislander unto him and her!
To her! Nay! Yet ywas it no reprefe;
For all for virtue was, that she ywrought!
But he that brewÈd hath all this mischief,
That spake so fair, and falsely inward thought;
His be the slander! as it by reason ought
And unto her be thank perpetual
That, in such a neede helpen can so well.

Although through manis sleight and subtilty,
A silly simple and innocent woman
Betrayed is: no wonder! since the city
Of Troy, as that the story tellen can,
BetrayÈd was, through the deceit of man,
And set on fire, and all down overthrow;
And finally destroyÈd, as men know.
Betrayen not men cities great and kings?
What wight is it that can shape remedy
Against these falsely proposÈd things?
Who can the craft such craftÉs to espy
But man? whose wit is e'er ready to apply
To thing that sowning is into falshede?
Woman! beth'ware of false men! I thee rede.
And, furthermore, have these men in usage
That where they not likely been to sped,
Such as they been with a double visage,
They procuren, for to pursue their need;
He prayeth him, in his causÉ to proceed,
And largely guerdoneth he his travail.
Little wot women, how men them assail!
Another wretch, unto his fellow saith,
"Thou fishest fair! She which that thee hath fired
Is false, inconstant, and she hath no faith.
She for the road of folk is so desired;
And, as an horse, from day to day she is hired!
That when thou twinnest from her company,
Cometh another; and bleared is thine eye!

Now prick on faste! and ride thy journey
While thou art there! For she, behind thy back,
So liberal is, she will nothing withsay,
But smartly of another take a smack.
And thus faren these women all the pack
Whoso them trusteth, hanged mote he be!
Ever they desire change and novelty."
Whereof proceedeth this, but of envy?
For that he himselve her ne winnen may.
He speaketh her reprefe and villainy;
As manis blabbing tongue is wont alway.
Thus divers men full often make assay.
For to disturben folk in sundry wise,
For they may not acheven their emprise.
Many one eke would speaken for no good,
That hath in love his timÈ spent and used.
Men wist, his Lady his asking withstood;
Ere that he were of her, plainly refused.
Or waste and vain were all that he had mused:
Wherefore he can none other remedy,
But on his Lady shapeth him to lie.
"Every woman," he saith, "is light to get,
Can none say, 'Nay!' if she be well ysought;
Whoso may leisure have with her to treat
Of his purpose ne shall be failen ought
But he on madness be so deep ybrought
That he shende all with open homeliness;
That loven women not, as that I guess."

To slaunder women thus, what may profit
To gentles? namely, that them armen should,
And in defence of women them delight
As that the Order of Gentilesse would?
If that a man list gentle to be held
He must all flee that thereto is contrary.
A slanderous tongue is his great adversary!
A foul vice is of tongue to be light.
For whoso mochil clappeth, gabbeth oft.
The Tongue of Man so swift is, and so wight
That when it is yraisÈd up on loft,
Reason it sueth so slowly and soft,
That it him never overtaken may.
Lord! so these men been trusty in assay!
Albeit that men find one woman nice,
Inconstant, recheless, and variable,
Deignous and proud, full fillÈd of malice,
Withouten faith or love, and deceivable,
Sly, quaint, false, in all untrust culpable,
Wicked or fierce, or full of cruelty:
Yet followeth not that such all women be!
When the high God angellis formÈd had,
Among them alle formed were there none
That founden were malicious and bad?
Yes! all men wot that there were many one
That for their pridÉ fell from heaven anon.
Should we, forthy, give all angels proud name?
Nay, he that that sustaineth, is to blame!

Of twelve Apostles, one a traitor was;
The remenant yet good weren and true.
So if it happen men finden, percase,
A woman false; such good is to eschew:
And deemÉ not that they be all untrue.
I see well, that men's ownÉ falseness
Them causeth woman for to trust the less.
O, every man ought have a heartÉ tender
Unto woman, and deem her honourable;
Whether her shape be thick, or else slender,
Or she be good or bad! It is no fable.
Every wight wot, that wit hath reasonable,
That of a woman, he descendÈd is:
Then is it shame of her to speak amiss!
A wicked tree good fruit may none forth bring;
For such the fruit is aye as is the tree.
Take heed of whom thou took thy beginning!
Let thy mother be mirror unto thee!
Honour her, if thou wilt honoured be!
Despiseth her then not, in no manere!
Lest that thereby thy wickedness appear.
An old proverb there said is, in English,
That bird or fowl, soothly, is dishonest
What that he be, and holden full churlish
That useth to defoulen his own nest.
Men to say well of women, it is the best:
And naught for to despise them, ne deprave;
If that they will their honour keep or save.

The Ladies ever complainen them on Clerks
That they have made bookis of their defame;
In which they despise women and their works,
And speaken of them great reproof and shame:
And causÈless give them a wicked name.
Thus they despisÈd be, on every side,
DislanderÈd and blown upon full wide.
Those sorry bookes maken mention
How women betrayed in especial
Adam, David, Sampson, and Solomon,
And many one more; who may rehearse them all,
The treasons that they havÉ done, and shall?
The world their malice may not comprehend
(As Clerkis feign), for it ne hath none end.
Ovid, in his book called Remedy
Of LovÈ, great reproof of woman writeth,
Wherein, I know that he did great folly;
And every wight who, in such case, him delighteth.
A Clerkis custom is, when he enditeth
Of women (be it prose, or rhyme, or verse)
Say, "They be wicked!" all know he the reverse.
And the book Scholars learned in their childhead
For they of women beware should in age,
And for to love them ever be in dread.
Sith to deceive is set all their courage,
They say peril to cast is advantage,
Namely, of such as men have in been wrapped:
For many a man, by woman hath mishapped.

No charge is what so that these Clerkis sain
Of all their writing I ne do no cure
All their labour and travail is in vain
For between me and my Lady Nature
Shall not be suffred, while the world may 'dure.
Thus these Clerkis, by their cruel tyranny,
On silly women kithen their mastery.
Whilom full many of them were in my chain
Ytied; and now, what for unwieldy age
And unlust, they may not to love attain:
And sain that "Love is but very dotage!"
Thus, for that they themself lacken courage,
They folk exciten by their wicked saws
For to rebell against me, and my laws!
But, maugre them that blamen women most,
Such is the force of mine impression
That, suddenly, I can fell all their boast,
And all their wrong imagination.
It shall not be in their election
The foulest slut in all the town to refuse;
If that me list, for all that they can muse:
But her in heart as brenningly desire
As though she were a Duchess, or a Queen;
So can I folkis heartis set on fire
And, as me list, them senden joy or teen.
They that to women ben ywhet so keen,
My sharpÈ piercing strokis, how they smite,
Shall feel and know, and how they kerve and bite!

Pardie! this Clerk, this subtle sly Ovid
And many another have deceived be
Of women, as it knowen is full wide.
What! no men more! and that is great dainty
So excellent a Clerk as was he!
And other more, that coulde full well preach
Betrapped were, for aught that they could teach!
And trusteth well, that it is no marvail!
For women knowen plainly their intent.
They wist how softily they could assail
Them; and what falsehood they in heartÈ meant:
And thus they Clerkis in their danger hent,
With one venom, another is destroyed!
And thus these Clerkis often were annoyed.
These Ladies, ne these gentles ne'ertheless,
Where none of those that wroughten in this wise;
But such women as weren vertueless
They quittin thus these old Clerkis wise.
To Clerkis muchil less ought to suffice
Than to dispraven women generally;
For worship shall they geten noon thereby.
If that these men, that lovers them pretend,
To women weren faithful, good, and true,
And dread them to deceive, or to offend;
Women, to love them wouldÉ not eschew.
But, every day hath man an hartÉ new!
It upon one abiden can no while.
What force is it, such a wight to beguile?

Men bearen, eke, the women upon hand
That lightly, and withouten any pain
They wonnen be; they can no wight withstand
That his disease list to them to complain!
They be so frail, they may them not refrain!
But whoso liketh them may lightly have;
So be their heartis easy in to grave.
To Master Jean de Meun, as I suppose,
Then, it is a lewd occupation,
In making of the Romance of the Rose,
So many a sly imagination,
And perils for to rollen up and down,
So long process, so many a sly cautel
For to deceive a silly damosel!
Nought can I see, ne my wit comprehend,
That art, and pain, and subtilty should fail
For to conquer, and soon to make an end;
When men a feeble placÉ shall assail:
And soon, also, to vanquish a battle
Of which no wight shall maken resistance;
Ne heart hath none to stonden at defence.
Then mote it follow, of necessity,
Sith art asketh so great engine and pain
A woman to deceive, what so she be?
Of constancy be they not so barren
As that some of these subtle Clerkis feign;
But they be, as that women oughten be,
Sad, constant, and fulfilled of pity.

How friendly was Medea to Jason
In his Conquering of the Fleece of Gold!
How falsely quit he her true affection,
By whom victory he gat as he would!
How may this man, for shame, be so bold
To falsen her, that, from his death and shame
Him kept, and gat him so great a prize and name?
Of Troy also, the traitor Æneas,
The faithless wretch! how he himself forswor
To Dido, which that Queen of Carthage was
That him relievÈd of his smartis sore!
What gentilessÈ might she have doon more
Than she, with heart unfeigned, to him kidde?
And what mischief to her thereof betid!
In my Legend of Martyrs may men find
(Whoso that liketh therein for to read)
That oathis ne behest may man not bind
Of reprovable shame have they no dread
In manis hearte truth ne hath no stead.
The soil is naught; there may be no trothÈ grow!
To women, namely, it is not unknown.
Clerkis feign also there is no malice
Like unto woman's wicked crabbedness.
O Woman! how shalt thou thyself chevice;
Sith men of thee so mochil harm witness?
Beth ware! O Woman! of their fickleness.
Kepeth thine ownÈ! what men clap or crake!
And some of them shall smart, I undertake!

Malice of women! What is it to dread?
They slay no man, destroyen no cities,
Ne oppress people, ne them overlead,
Betray Empires, Realmes, or Duchies,
Nor bereaven men their landis, ne their mees,
Empoison folk, ne houses set on fire,
Ne false contractis maken for no hire.
Trust, Perfect Love, and Entire Charity,
Fervent Will, and Entalented Courage,
All thewis good, as sitteth well to be,
Have women ay, of custom and usage.
And well they can a manis ire assuage,
With softÈ wordis, discreet and benign.
What they be inward, they show outward by sign.
Womanis heart unto no cruelty
Inclined is; but they be Charitable,
Piteous, Devout, Full of Humility,
ShamefastÈ, Debonaire, and Amiable,
Dread full, and of their wordis measurable:
What women, these have not, peradventure;
Followeth not the way of her nature.
Men sayen that our First Mother na'theless
Made all mankinde lose his liberty,
And nakid it of joyÈ, doubteless,
For Godis hestÈs disobeyed she,
When she presumed to taste of the tree,
That God forbade that she eat thereof should.
And ne had the Devil be, no more she would!

The envious swelling, that the Fiend our foe
Had unto man in heartÈ, for his wealth,
Sent a serpent, and made her for to go
To deceive Eve; and thus was manis health
Bereft him by the Fiend, right in a stealth,
The woman not knowing of the deceit,
God wot! Full far was it from her conceit!
Wherefore I say, that this good woman Eve
Our father Adam, ne deceived nought.
There may no man for a deceit it preve
Properly, but if that she, in heart and thought,
Had it compassed first, ere she it wrought.
And for such was not her impression,
Men may it call no Deceit, by reason.
Ne no wight deceiveth, but he purpose!
The fiend this deceit cast, and nothing she.
Then it is wrong to deemen or suppose
That of this harm she should the causÈ be.
Wytith the Fiend, and his be the maugree!
And all excusÈd have her innocence,
Save only, that she brake obedience!
And touching this, full fewÈ men there be,
Unnethis any, dare I safely say!
From day to day, as men may all day see,
But that the hest of God they disobey.
Have this in mindÈ, siris! I you pray.
If that ye be discreet and reasonable;
Ye will her holdÈ the more excusable!

And where men say, "In man is stedfastness;
And woman is of her courage unstable."
Who may of Adam bear such a witness?
Tellith me this! Was he not changeable?
They bothÈ werin in one case semblable.
Save that willing the Fiend deceived Eve;
And so did she not Adam, by your leave!
Yet was this sinnÈ happy to mankind,
The Fiend deceivÈd was, for all his sleight;
For aught he could him in his sleightis wind,
God, to discharge man of the heavy weight
Of his trespass, came down from heaven on height
And flesh and blood he took of a Virgine,
And suffered death, him to deliver of pine.
And God, to whom there may nothing hid be,
If He in woman knowen had such malice,
As men record of them in generalty;
Of our Lady, of Life Reparatrice
Nold have been born: but for that she of vice
Was void, and full of virtue, well He wist,
Endowid! of her to be born Him list.
Her heapÈd virtue hath such excellence
That all too lean is manis faculty
To declare it; and therefore in suspense
Her due praising put must needis be.
But this we witen, verily, that she,
Next God, the best friend is that to Man 'longeth.
The Key of Mercy by her girdle hangeth!

And of mercy hath every man such need,
That razing that, farewel the joy of man!
And of her power, now takith right good heed!
She mercy may well and purchasen can.
Depleasith her not! Honoureth that woman!
And other women honour for her sake!
And but ye do, your sorrow shall awake!
In any book also, where can ye find
That of the workis, or the death or life,
Of Jesu spelleth or maketh any mind,
That women Him forsook, for woe or strife?
Where was there any wight so ententife
Abouten Him as woman? Proved none!
The Apostles him forsooken everichone.
Woman forsook him not! For all the faith
Of holy church in woman left only!
These are no lies, for Holy Writ thus saith,
Look! and ye shall so find it hardily!
And therefore I may well proven thereby
That in woman reigneth stable constancy;
And in men is change and variancy.
Thou Precious Gem of martyrs, Margarite!
That of thy blood dreadest none effusion!
Thou Lover true! Thou Maiden mansuete!
Thou, constant Woman! in thy passion
Overcame the Fiendis temptation!
And many a wight convertid thy doctrine,
Unto the faith of God, holy Virgin!

But, understandeth this! I commend her nought,
By encheson of her virginity.
Trusteth, it came never into thought!
For ever werry against Chastity.
And ever shall. But, lo, this moveth me,
Her loving heart and constant to her lay
Drove out of my remembrance I ne may.
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Now holdith this for firm, and for no lie!
That this true and just commendation
Of women tell I for no flattery;
Nor because of pride or elation:
But only, lo! for this intention
To give them courage of perseverance
In virtue, and their honour to advance.
The more the virtue, the less is the pride.
Virtue so digne is, and so noble in kind,
That Vice and he will not in fere abide.
He putteth vices clean out of his mind,
He flyeth from them, he leaveth them behind.
O, Woman! that of Virtue, art hostess;
Great is thy honour, and thy worthiness!
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Then will I thus concluden and define.
We, you command! our ministers each one
That ready ye be our hestÈs to incline!
That of these falsÈ men, our rebell foon,
Ye do punishÈment! and that, anon!
Void them our Court! and banish them for ever!
So that therein more comen may they never!

Fulfilled be it! Ceasing all delay,
Look that there be none excusation!
Written in the air, the lusty month of May,
In our Palace, where many a million
Of lovers true, have habitation;
In the year of grace, joyful and jocond,
A thousand and four hundred and second.