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(Compleint Damours.)
An amorous Compleint, made at Windsor.
I, WHICH that am the sorwefulleste man | |
| That in this world was ever yit livinge, | |
| And leest recoverer of him-selven can, | |
| Beginne thus my deedly compleininge | |
| On hir, that may to lyf and deeth me bringe, | 5 |
| Which hath on me no mercy ne no rewthe | |
| That love hir best, but sleeth me for my trewthe. | |
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| Can I noght doon ne seye that may yow lyke, | |
| [For] certes, now, allas! allas! the whyle! | |
| Your plesaunce is to laughen whan I syke, | 10 |
| And thus ye me from al my blisse exyle. | |
| Ye han me cast in thilke spitous yle | |
| Ther never man on lyve mighte asterte; | |
| This have I for I lovë you, swete herte! | |
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| Sooth is, that wel I woot, by lyklinesse, | 15 |
| If that it were thing possible to do | |
| Tacompte youre beutee and goodnesse, | |
| I have no wonder thogh ye do me wo; | |
| Sith I, thunworthiest that may ryde or go, | |
| Durste ever thinken in so hy a place, | 20 |
| What wonder is, thogh ye do me no grace? | |
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| Allas! thus is my lyf brought to an ende, | |
| My deeth, I see, is my conclusioun; | |
| I may wel singe, ‘in sory tyme I spende | |
| My lyf;’ that song may have confusioun! | 25 |
| For mercy, pitee, and deep affeccioun, | |
| I sey for me, for al my deedly chere, | |
| Alle thise diden, in that, me love yow dere. | |
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| And in this wyse and in dispayre I live | |
| In lovë; nay, but in dispayre I dye! | 30 |
| But shal I thus [to] yow my deeth for-give, | |
| That causeles doth me this sorow drye? | |
| Ye, certes, I! For she of my folye | |
| Hath nought to done, although she do me sterve; | |
| Hit is nat with hir wil that I hir serve! | 35 |
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| Than sith I am of my sorowe the cause | |
| And sith that I have this, withoute hir reed, | |
| Than may I seyn, right shortly in a clause, | |
| It is no blame unto hir womanheed | |
| Though swich a wrecche as I be for hir deed; | 40 |
| [And] yet alwey two thinges doon me dyë, | |
| That is to seyn, hir beutee and myn yë. | |
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| So that, algates, she is the verray rote | |
| Of my disese, and of my dethe also; | |
| For with oon word she mighte be my bote, | 45 |
| If that she vouched sauf for to do so. | |
| But [why] than is hir gladnesse at my wo? | |
| It is hir wone plesaunce for to take, | |
| To seen hir servaunts dyen for hir sake! | |
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| But certes, than is al my wonderinge, | 50 |
| Sithen she is the fayrest creature | |
| As to my dome, that ever was livinge, | |
| The benignest and beste eek that nature | |
| Hath wrought or shal, whyl that the world may dure, | |
| Why that she lefte pite so behinde? | 55 |
| It was, y-wis, a greet defaute in kinde. | |
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| Yit is al this no lak to hir, pardee, | |
| But god or nature sore wolde I blame; | |
| For, though she shewe no pite unto me, | |
| Sithen that she doth othere men the same, | 60 |
| I ne oughte to despyse my ladies game; | |
| It is hir pley to laughen whan men syketh, | |
| And I assente, al that hir list and lyketh! | |
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| Yit wolde I, as I dar, with sorweful herte | |
| Biseche un-to your meke womanhede | 65 |
| That I now dorste my sharpe sorwes smerte | |
| Shewe by worde, that ye wolde ones rede | |
| The pleynte of me, the which ful sore drede | |
| That I have seid here, through myn unconninge, | |
| In any worde to your displesinge. | 70 |
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| Lothest of anything that ever was loth | |
| Were me, as wisly god my soule save! | |
| To seyn a thing through which ye might be wroth; | |
| And, to that day that I be leyd in grave, | |
| A trewer servaunt shulle ye never have; | 75 |
| And, though that I on yow have pleyned here, | |
| Forgiveth it me, myn owne lady dere! | |
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| Ever have I been, and shal, how-so I wende, | |
| Outher to live or dye, your humble trewe; | |
| Ye been to me my ginning and myn ende, | 80 |
| Sonne of the sterre bright and clere of hewe, | |
| Alwey in oon to love yow freshly newe, | |
| By god and by my trouthe, is myn entente; | |
| To live or dye, I wol it never repente! | |
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| This compleynt on seint Valentynes day, | 85 |
| Whan every foul [ther] chesen shal his make, | |
| To hir, whos I am hool, and shal alwey, | |
| This woful song and this compleynt I make, | |
| That never yit wolde me to mercy take; | |
| And yit wol I [for] evermore her serve | 90 |
And love hir best, although she do me sterve.
Explicit. | |
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