And chased away with great manace
Bialacoil out of this place,

And sweareth shortly that he shall
Enclose him in a sturdy wall;
And all is for thy wickednesse,
For that thee faileth straungenesse;
Thine herte I trow be failed all;
Thou shalt repent in speciall,

If Ielousie the soothe knew,

Thou shalt forthinke, and sore rew."

With that the chorle his clubbe gan shake, Frouning his eyen gan to make, And hidous chere, as man in rage, For ire he brent in his visage: Whan that he heard him blamed so, He said, "Out of my witte I go, To be discomfite I haue great wrong, Certes, I haue now liued too long, Sith I may not this closer keepe, All quicke I would be doluen deepe, If any man shall more repaire Into this garden for foule or faire, Mine herte for ire gothe afere, That I let any entre here, I haue doe folly now I see, But now it shall amended be, Who setteth foot here any more, Truly he shall repent it sore, For no man more into this place Of me to enter shall haue grace, Lever I had with swerdes twaine, Throughout mine herte, in every vaine Perced to be, with many a wound, Than slouth should in me be found: From henceforth by night or day, I shall defend it if I may Withouten any exception Of eache manner condition, And if I it any man graunt, Holdeth me for recreaunt."

THEN Daunger on his feet gan stond,
And henta burdon in his hond,
Wroth in his ire ne left he nought,
But through the verger he hath sought,

If he might find hole or trace,

Where through that me mote forth by pace,
Or any gappe, he did it close,

That no man might touch a rose
Of the roser all about,

He shetteth euery man without.

Thus day by day Daunger is wers,
More wonderfull and more diuers,
Aud feller eke than euer he was,
For him full oft I sing alas,
For I ne may nought through his ire
Recouer that I most desire;
Mine herte alas woll brest atwo,
For Bialacoil I wrathed so:
For certainly in euery member
I quake, when I me remember
Of the bothum, which I would
Full oft a day seene and behold,
And when I thinke vpon the kisse,
And how muche ioy and blisse,
I had through the sauour swete,
For want of it I grone and grete:
Me thinketh I fele yet in my nose
The swete sauour of the rose,

And now I wote that I mote go
So ferre the fresh floures fro,
To me full welcome were the death,
Absence thereof (alas) me sleath,
For whylome with this rose, alas,
I touched nose, mouth, and face,
But now the death I must abide;
But Love consent another tide,
That ones I touch may and kisse,
I trow my paine shall neuer lisse;
Thereon is all my couetise,
Which brent my heart in many wise.
Now shall repaire againe sighing,
Long watch on nights, and no sleeping,
Thought in wishing, turment, and wo,
With many a turning to and fro,
That halfe my paine I cannot tell,
For I am fallen into Hell,

From paradise and wealth, the more
My turment greueth more and more,
Annoyeth now the bitternesse,

That I toforne haue felt sweetnesse,
And Wicked Tongue, through his falshede,
Causeth all my wo and drede,

On me he lieth a pitous charge,
Because his tongue was too large.
Now it is time shortly that 1
Tell you something of Ielousie,
That was in great suspection :
About him left he no mason,
That stone could lay, ne querrour,
He hired hem to make a tour:
And first the roses for to keepe,
About hem made he a ditch deepe,
Right wonder large, and also brode,
Upon the whiche also stode

Of squared stone a sturdy wall,
Which on a cragge was founded all,
And right great thicknesse eke it bare,
About it was founded square

An hundred fadome on euery side,
It was all liche long and wide,
Least any time it were assailed,
Full well about it was battailed,
And round enuiron eke were set
Full many a rich and faire tournet,
At euery corner of this wall
Was set a tour full principall,
And eueriche had without fable
A portcullise defensable

To keepe off enemies, and to greue,
That there hir force would preue.

And eke amidde this purprise
Was made a tour of great maistrise,
A fairer saugh no man with sight,
Large and wide, and of great might,
They dradde none assaut,
Of ginne, gonne, nor skaffaut,
The temprure of the mortere
Was made of liquour wonder dere,
Of quicke lime persaunt and egre,
The which was tempred with vinegre.
The stone was hard of adamaunt,
Whereof they made the foundemaunt,
The toure was round made in compas,
In all this world no richer was,
Ne better ordained therewithall,
About the tour was made a wall,
So that betwixt that and the tour,
Roses were set of sweet sauour,

With many roses that they bere,
And eke within the castle were

Springolds, gonnes, bowes, and archers,
And eke about at corners

Men seine ouer the wall stond
Great engines, who were nere hond,
And in the kernels here and there,
Of arblasters great plentie were.
None armour might hir stroke withstond,
It were folly to prease to hond;
Without the diche were listes made,
With wall battailed large and brade,
For men and horse should not attaine
Too nigh the diche ouer the plaine.
Thus lelousie hath enuiron
Sette about his garnison

With walles round, and diche deepe,
Onely the roser for to keepe,
And Daunger early and late
The keyes kept of the vtter gate,
The which opened toward the east,
And he had with him at least
Thirtie seruants echone by name.

That other gate kept Shame,
Which opened, as it was couth,
Toward the parte of the south,
Sergeaunts assigned were her to
Full many, her will for to do.
Than Drede had in her baille
The keeping of the constablerie,
Toward the north I vnderstond,
That opened vpon the left hond,
The which for nothing may be sure,
But if she doe busje cure
Early on morrow and also late,
Strongly to shette and barre the gate:
Of euery thing that she may see,
Drede is aferde, where so she bee,
For with a puffe of little wind,
Drede is astonied in her mind,
Therefore for stealing of the rose,
I rede her nat the yate vnclose,
A foules flight would make her flee,
And eke a shaddow if she it see.

THAN Wicked Tongue full of enuie,
With souldiers of Normandie,
As he that causeth all debate,
Was keeper of the fourth gate,
And also to the tother three,
He went full ofte for to see.
When his lotte was to walke a night,
His instrumentes would he dight,
For to blowe and make soune,
Ofter than he hath enchesoune,
And walken oft vpon the wall,
Corners and wickettes ouer all,
Full narrow searchen and espie;
Though he nought fond, yet would he lie
Discordaunt euer fro armonie,
And dissoned from melodie,
Controue he would, and foule faile,
With hornepipes of Cornewaile.
In floites made he discordaunce,
And in his musicke with mischaunce,
He would seine with notes newe,
That he fond no woman trew,
Ne that he saw neuer in his life,
Unto her husbond a trew wife:

Ne none so full of honeste,

That she nill laugh and merry be,
Whan that she heareth or may espie

A man speaken of lecherie.
Eueriche of hem hath some vice,
One is dishonest, another is nice,
If one be full of villanie,
Another with a licorous eie,
If one be full of wontonnesse,
Another is a chideresse.

Thus Wicked tong, God yeve him shame,
Can put hem euerichone in blame,
Without desert and causelesse,
He lieth, though they ben guiltlesse;
I have pity to seene the sorrow,
That waketh both euen and morrow,
To innocents doth such greuaunce,

I

I pray God yeue him euill chaunce, That he euer so busie is,

Of any woman to seine amis.

Eke Ielousie God confound, That hath made a toure so round, And made about a garison,

To sette Bialacoil in prison,

The which is shette there in the tour,
Full long to holde there soiour,
There for liue in pennaunce,
And for to do him more greuaunce,
Which hath ordained Ielousie,
An olde vecke for to spie

The manner of his gouernaunce,
The which deuill in her enfaunce
Had learned of Loues art,

And of his plais tooke her part,
She was expert in his seruis,

She knew each wrenche and euery gise
Of loue, and euery wile,

It was hard her to beguile.

Of Bialacoil she tooke aye hede, That euer he liueth in wo and drede, He kept him coy and eke priue, Least in him she hadde see And folly countenance,

For she knew all the old daunce.

And after this, whan Ielousie
Had Bialacoil in his baillie,
And shette him vp that was so free,
For sure of him he would bee,
He trusteth sore in his castell,
The strong werke him liketh well,
He dradde nat that no glotons
Should steale his roses or bothoms,
The roses weren assured all
Defenced with the strong wall,
Now Ielousie full well may be
Of drede deuoid in liberte,
Whether that he sleepe or wake,
For of his roses may none betake,

BUT I (alas) now mourne shall,
Because I was without the wall,
Full muche dole and mone I made,
Who had wist what wo I hade,
I trow he would haue bad pite,
Loue too deare had solde me
The good that of his loue had I,
I went about it all queintly,

But now through doubling of my paine

I see he woll it sell againe,

And me a new bargaine lere,

The which all out the more is dere,
For the sollace that I haue lorne,
Than I had it neuer aforne;
Certaine I am full like indeed

To him that cast in earth his seed,
And hath ioy of the new springing,
Whan it greeneth in the ginning,
And is also faire and fresh of flour,
Lustie to seene, swote of odour,
But ere he it in his sheues shere,
May fall a weather that shall it dere,
And make it to fade and fall,

The stalke, the greine, and floures all,
That to the tillers is fordone,
The hope that he had too soone:
I drede certaine that so fare I,
For hope and trauaile sikerly
Ben me beraft ail with a storme,
The floure nill seden of my corne,
For Loue bath so auaunced me,
When I began my priuite,
To Bialacoil all for to tell,
Whom I ne found froward ne fell,
But tooke agree all whole my play;
But Loue is of so hard assay,
That all at ones he reued me,

Whan I weent best abouen to haue be.
It is of Loue, as of Fortune,
That chaungeth oft, and nill contune,
Which whylome woll of folke smile,
And glombe on hem another while,
Now friend, now foe, shalt her feele,
For a twinckling tourneth her wheele.
She can writhe her head away,
This is the concourse of her play,
She can areise that doeth mourne,
And whirle adoune, and ouertourne
Who sitteth highest, but as her lust,
A foole is he that woll her trust,
For it is I that am come doun
Through charge and reuolutioun,
Sith Bialacoil mote fro me twin,
Shette in her prison yonde within,
His absence at mine herte I fele,
For all my ioy and all mine hele
Was in him and in the rose,

That but you will, which him doeth close,
Open, that I may him see,

Loue woll not that I cured bee
Of the paines that I endure,
Nor of my cruell auenture.

Au, Bialacoil mine owne dere,
Though thou be now a prisonere,
Keepe at least thine herte to me,
And suffer nat that it daunted be,
Ne let not Iealousie in his rage,
Putten thine heart in no seruage,
Although he chastice thee without,
And make thy bodie vnto him lout,
Haue herte as hard as Diamaunt,
Stedfast, and naught pliaunt:
In prison through thy bodie bee
At large keepe thine herte free,
A true herte will not plie
For no mannace that it may drie.
If Ielousie doeth thee paine,
Quite him his while thus againe,
To venge thee at least in thought,

If other way thou maiest nought,
And in this wise subtelly
Worch, and winne the maistrie.
But yet I am in great affray,
Least thou doe nat as I say,

I drede thou canst me great maugre,
That thou emprisoned art for me,
But that nat for my trespas,
For through me neuer discouered was
Yet thing that ought be secre:
Well more annoie
in me,
Than is in thee of this mischaunce,
For I endure more hard pennaunce
Than any can saine or thinke,
That for the sorrow almost I sinke,
Whan I remember me of my wo,
Fuli nigh out of my witte I go.

Inward mine herte I feele blede,
For comfortlesse the death í drede,
Owe I nat well to haue distresse,
Whan false, through hir wickednesse,
And traitours, that arne envious,
To noien me be so coragious.

Ah, Bialacoil full well I see,
That they hem shape to deceiue thee,
To make thee buxum to hir law,
And with hir corde thee to draw
Where so hem lust, right at hir will,

I drede they haue thee brought theretill:
Without comfort, thought me sleath,
This game would bring me to my death,
For if your good will I lese,

I mote be dead, I may not chese, .
And if that thou foryete me,
Mine herte shall neuer in liking be,
Nor elswhere find sollace,
If I be put out of your grace,
As it shall neuer ben I hope,
Than should I fall in wanhope.

Alas, in wanhope, nay parde,
For I woll neuer dispaired be;
If Hope me faile, than am I
Ungracious and unworthy;
In Hope I woll comforted be,
For Loue, when be betaught her me,
Saied, that Hope where so I go,
Should aye be relees to my wo.

But what and she my bales bete,
And be to me curteis and swete?
She is in nothing full certaine,
Louers she put in full great paine,
And maketh hem with wo to dele,
Her faire beheste deceiueth fele,
For she woll behote sikerly,
And failen after ytterly.

Ah, that is a full noyous thing,

For many a louer in louing

Hangeth upon her, and trusteth fast,
Which lese hir trauaile at the last.

Of thing to commen she wot right nought, Therefore if it be wisely sought,

Her counsaile follie is to take,
For many times, when she woll make
A full good sillogisme, I drede,
That afterward there shall indede
Follow an euill conclusion,
This put me in confusion.
For many times I haue it seene,
That many haue beguiled becne,
For trust that they haue set in hope,
Which fell hem afterward a slope,

BUT nathelesse yet gladly she would,
That he that woll him with her hold,
Had all times her purpose clere,
Without deceit any where,
That she desireth sikerly;
Whan I her blamed, I did folly;
But what auaileth her good will,

Whan she ne may staunch my stonnd ill,
That helpeth little that she may do,
Or take behest vnto my wo:
And heste certaine in no wise,
Without ifete is not to preise.

When heste and deed asunder vary,
They doen a great contrary;
Thus am I posted vp and doun
With dole, thought, and confusioun,
Of my desease there is no number,
Daunger and Shame me encumber,
Drede also, and Jelousie,

And Wicked Tongue full of enuie,
Of which the sharpe and cruell ire
Full oft me put in great mattire;
They haue my ioie fully let,
Sith Bialacoil they haue beshet
Fro me in prison wickedly,
Whom I loue so entierly,
That it woll my bane bee,
But I the sooner may him see.

And yet moreouer worst of all,
There is set to keepe, foule her befall,
A rimpled vecke ferre ronne in rage,
Frouning and yellow in her visage,
Which in await lieth day and night,
That none of him may haue a sight,

Now mote my sorrow enforced be,
Full sooth it is, that Loue yafe me
Three wonder yeftes of his grace,
Which I haue lorne, now in this place,
Sith they ne maie without drede
Helpen but little, who taketh hede:
For her auaileth no Sweet Thought,
And Sweet Speech helpeth right nought,
The third was called Sweet Looking,
That now is lorne without lesing.

Yeftes were faire, but nat for thy
They helpe me but simply,
But Bialacoil loosed bee

To gone at large and to be free,
For him my life lieth all in dout,
But if he come the rather out.

Alas, I trow it woll nat beene,

For how should I euermore him seene?
He may nat out, and that is wrong,
Because the toure is so strong,

How should he out, or by whose prowesse
Of so strong a forteresse?

By me certaine it bill be do,

God wote I haue no wit thereto,
But well I wote I was in rage,
When I to Loue did homage;

Who was the cause (in soothfastnesse)
But her selfe dame Idlenesse?

Which me conueide through faire praiere
To enter into that faire vergere:

She was to blame me to leue,

The which now doeth me sore greue,

A fooles word is nought to trow,

Ne worth an apple for to low,

Men should hem snibbe bitterly,
At prime temps of his folly:
I was a foole, and she me leued,
Through whom I am right nought releued,
She accomplished all my will,
That now me greueth wonder ill.

REASON me saied what should fall,
A foole my selfe I may well call,
That loue aside I had not laied,
And trowed that dame Reason saied.
Reason had both skill and right,
When she me blamed with all her might
To meddle of loue, that hath me shent,
But certaine now I woll repent.

AND should I repent? Nay parde,
A false traitour then should I be,
The devils engins would me take,

If I Love would forsake,

Or Bialacoil falsly betray.

Should I at mischeefe hate him? nay,
Sith he now for his courtesie

Is in prison of Ielousie ;

Courtesie certaine did he me,

So much, that it may not yolden be,
When he the haie passen me lete,
To kisse the rose, faire and swete,
Should I therefore conne him maugre?
Nay certainely, it shall nat be,
For Love shall neuer (yeue God will)
Here of me, through word or will,
Offence or complaint more or lesse,
Neither of Hope nor Idlenesse:
For certes, it were wrong that I
Hated hem for hir courtesie.

There is not els, but suffer and thinke,
And waken whan I should winke,

Abide in hope, till Loue through chaunce
Send me succour or allegeaunce,
Expectaunt aye till I may mete,
To getten mercie of that swete.
Whilome I thinke how Loue to mee
Saied he would take at gree
My service, if vnpatience
Caused me to doen offence:

He saied, "In thanke I shall it take,
And high maister eke thee make,
If wickednesse ne reue it thee,
But soone I trow that shall nat bee."
These were his wordes by and by,
It seemed he loved me truely.

Now is there not but serue him wele,
If that I thinke his thanke to fele,
My good, mine harme, lithe hole in me,
In Love may no defaut be,

For true Love ne failed neuer man:
Soothly the faute mote needs than
As God forbide, be found in me,
And how it commeth, I cannot see.
Now let it gone as it may go,
Whether Love woll succour me or slo,
He may do hole on me his will,
I am so sore bound him till,
From his seruice I may not flene,
For life and death withouten wene
Is in his hond, I may nat chese,
He may me doe both winne and lese,

And sith so sore he doth me grene,
Yet, if my lust he would acheue,
To Bialacoil goodly to be,
I yeue no force what fell on me:
For though I die, as I mote nede,
I pray Love of his goodlyhede,
To Bialacoil doe gentlenesse,
For whom I liue in such distresse,
That I mote dien for penaunce,
But first, without repentaunce,
I woll me confesse in good entent,
And make in hast my testament,
As louers doen that feelen smart:
To Bialacoil leaue I mine herte
All hole, without departing,
Or doublenesse of repenting.

COMENT RAISON VIENT A LAMANT.

THUS as I made my passage
In complaint, and in cruell rage,
And I not where to finde a leche,
That couth vnto mine helping eche,
Suddainely againe comen doun
Out of her toure I saw Reasoun,
Discreet and wise, and full pleasaunt,
And of her port full auenaunt;
The right waie she tooke to me,
Which stood in gret perplexite
That was poshed in euery side,
That I nist where I might abide,
Till she demurely sad of chere
Saied to me as she came nere.

"Mine owne friend, art thou greued,
How is this quarrell yet atcheued
Of Loves side? Anone me tell,
Hast thou not yet of love thy fill?
Art thou nat wearie of thy seruice
That thee hath in suche wise?

"What joy hast thou in thy louing? Is it sweet or bitter thing? Canst thou yet chese, let me see, What best thy succour might bee?

"Thou seruest a full noble lord,
That maketh thee thrall for thy reward,
Which aye reneweth thy tourment,
With folly so he hath thee blent;
Thou fell in mischeefe thilke day,
When thou diddest the sooth to say
Obeisaunce and eke homage

Thou wroughtest nothing as the sage;
When thou became his liege man,
Thou diddest a great follie than;
Thou wistest nat what fell thereto,
With what lord thou haddest to do,
If thou haddest him well know

Thou haddest nought be brought so low,
For if thou wiste what it were,
Thou noldest serue him halfe a yere,
Nat a weeke, nor halfe a day,

Ne yet an houre without delay:
Ne neuer iloved paramours,
His lordship is so full of shours:
Knowest him ought?"
Lamaunt, Ye, dame, parde.
Raisoun. Nay nay. Lamaunt. Yes I.
Raisoun. Wherefore let see.

Lamaunt. Of that he saied I should be
Glad to haue such lord as (he)

And maister of such seignorie. Raisoun. Knowest him no more? Lamaunt. Nay, certes, I,

Saue that he yafe me rules there, And went his way I nist where, And I abode bound in ballaunce, Lo there a noble cognisance.

RAISOUN.

BUT I woll that thou know him now
Ginning and end, sithe that thou
Art so anguishous and mate,
Disfigured out of astate,

There may no wreche haue more of wo,
Ne caitife none enduren so,
It were to euery man sitting,
Of his lord haue knowledging:
For if thou knew him out of dout,
Lightly thou shouldest scapen out
Of thy prison that marreth thee.

LAMAUNT.

YEA dame sith my lord is hee,
And I his man made with mine hond,
I would right faine understond
To knowe of what kind he be,
If any would enforme me.

RAISOUN.

"I WOULD" (saied Reason) "thee lere,
Sith thou to learne hast such desire,
And shewe thee withouten fable
A thing that is not demonstrable;
Thou shalt withouten science,
And know withouten experience
The thing that may not knowen bee,
Ne wist ne sheweth in no degree,
Thou maiest the sooth of it not witten,
Though in thee it were written,
Thou shalt not knowe thereof more,
While thou art ruled by his lore,
But unto him that loue woll flie,
The knotte may unlosed be,
Which hath to thee, as it is found,
So long to knitte and not unbound,
Now set well thine entention,
To heare of loue the description.

LOVE it is an hatefull pees,
A free acquitaunce without relees,
And through the fret full of falshede,
A sikernesse all set in drede,
In herte is a despairing hope,
And full of hope it is wanhope,
Wise woodnesse, and void reasoun,
A swete perill in to droun,

An heauie burthen light to beare,
A wicked wawe away to weare.
It is Caribdes perillous,
Disagreeable and gracious,
It is discordaunce that can accord,
And accordaunce to discord,
It is conning without science,
Wisedome without sapience,
Witte without discretion,
Hauoire without possession;

It is like heale and hole sickenesse,
A trust drowned and dronkennesse,