For al mote out late or rathe,
All the sheues in the fathe.

I herde a great noise withall
In a corner of the hall,
There men of loue tidings told
And I gan thitherward behold,
For I saw renning euery wight,
As fast as that they hadden might,

And everich cride "What thing is that,"
And some said "I not neuer what,"
And whan they were all on a hepe,
Tho behind gone up lepe,
And clamben up on other faste
And up the noyse on highen caste,
And treden fast on others heles

And stampe as men done after eles.
At the last I saw a man,

Which that I nought ne can,
But he seemed for to be
A man of great auctorite.

And therewithall I abraide
Out of my slepe halfe afraide,
Remembring well what I had sene
And how hie and ferre I had bene
In my goost, and had great wonder
Of that the god of thonder

Had let me knowen, and began to write
Like as ye have herd me endite,
Wherefore to study and rede alway,
I purpose to do day by day.

Thus in dreaming and in game,
Endeth this litell booke of Fame.

HERE ENDETH THE BOOKE OF FAME.

THE

COMPLAINT OF MARS AND VENUS.

GLADETH ye louers in the morowe graie,
Lo Uenus risen among you rows rede,
And floures freshe honour ye this daie,
For whan the Sun vprist than wold they sprede,
But ye louers that lie in any drede,
Flieth least wicked tongues you aspie,
Lo yonde the 3un, the candell of jelousie.
With tears blew, and with a wounded herte
Taketh your leue, and with saint John to borow
Apeseth somewhat of your paines smert,
Time cometh eft, that cessen shall your sorrow,
The glad night is worth an heauy morow,
Saint Valentine, a foule thus heard I sing,
Upon thy day, or Sun gan vp spring.

Yet sang this foule, "I rede you all awake,
And ye that haue not chosen in humble wise,
Without repenting cheseth your make,
Yet at the least, renoueleth your seruice:
And ye that haue full chosen as I deuise,
Confermeth it perpetually to dure,
And paciently taketh your aventure."
And for the worship of this high feast,
Yet woll I my briddes wise sing,
The sentence of the complaint at the least,
That wofull Mars made at the departing
Fro fresh Uenus in a morowning,
Whan Phebus with his firie torches rede,
Ransaked hath euery louer in his drede.

Whilome the three Heauens lorde aboue,
As well by heavenlich reuolucion,
As by desert hath wonne Uenus his loue,
And she hath take him in subiection,
And as a maistresse taught him his lesson,
Commaunding him neuer in her seruice,
He were so bold no louer to dispise.

For she forbade him iealousie at all,
And cruelty, and boste, and tyranny,
She made him at her lust so humble and tall,
That whan she dained to cast on him her iye,
He tooke in patience to liue or die,
And thus she bridleth him in her maner,
With nothing, but with scorning of her chere.

Who reigneth now in blisse but Uenus,
That hath this worthy knight in gouernance
Who singeth now but Mars that serueth thus,
The faire Uenus, causer of pleasaunce,
He bint him to perpetuel obeysaunce,
And she binte her to loue him for euer,
But so be that his trespace it disceuer.

Thus be they kint, and reignen as in Heuen,
By loking most, as it fell on a tide,
That by her both assent was set a steuen,
That Mars shall enter as fast as he may glide,
In to her next palais to abide,

Walking his course till she had him ytake,
And he prayed her to hast her for his sake.

Than said he thus, "Mine hertes lady sweete,
Ye know well my mischief in that place,
For sikerly till that I with you meete,
My life stante there in auenture and grace,
But whan I see the beaute of your face,
There is no drede of death may do me smert,
For all your luste is ease to mine herte."
She bath so great compassion of her knight,
That dwelleth in solitude till she come,
For it stode so, that ilke time no wight,
Counsailed him, ne said to him welcome,
That nigh her wit for sorow was ouercome
Wherfore she spedded as fast in her way,
Almost in one day as he did in tway.

The great ioy that was betwix hem two,
Whan they be mette, there may no tong tel,
There is no more but unto bedde they go,
And thus in ioy and blisse I let hem dwell,
This worthy Mars that is of knighthood well,
The floure of fairnesse happeth in his arms,
And Uenus kisseth Mars the god of arms.

Sojourned hath this Mars of which I rede
In chambre amidde the palais priuely,
A certaine time, till him fell a drede,
'Through Phebus that was commen hastely,
Within the palais yates sturdely,
With torch in hond, of which the stremes bright
On Venus chambre, knockeden ful light.

The chambre there as lay this fresh queene,
Depainted was with white boles grete,
And by the light she knew that shon so shene,
That Phebus cam to bren hem with his hete
This silly Uenus ny dreint in teares wete,"
Enbraseth Mars, and said "Alas I die,
The torch is come, that al this world wol wrie."

Up sterte Mars, him list not to sleepe,
Whan he bis lady herde so complaine,
But for his nature was not for to weepe,
Instede of teares from his eyen twaine,
The firy sparcles sprongen out for paine,
And hente his hauberke that lay him beside,,
Flie wold he nought, ne might himself hide.

He throweth on his helme of huge weight,
And girt him with his swerde, and in his honde
His mighty speare, as he was wont to feight,
He shoketh so, that it almost to wonde,
Full heuy was he to walken ouer londe,
He may not hold with Uenus company,
But bad ber flie least Phebus her espy.

O woful Mars alas, what maist thou sain
That in the palais of thy disturbaunce,
Art left behind in peril to be slain,
And yet there to is double thy penaunce,
For she that hath thine herte in gouernance,
Is passed halfe the stremes of thine eyen,
That thou nere swift, wel maist thou wepe and crien.

Now flieth Uenus in to Ciclinius tour,
With void corse, for fear of Phebus light,
Alas and there hath she no socour,
For she ne found ne sey no maner wight,
And eke as there she had but littel might,
Wherefore her selven for to hide and saue,
Within the gate she fledde in to a caue.

Darke was this caue, and smoking as the hell
Nat but two paas within the yate it stood,
A naturel day in darke I let her dwell,
Now wol I speake of Mars furious and wood,
For sorow he wold haue seene his herte blood,
Sith that he might haue done her no company,
He ne rought not a mite for to die.

So feble hc wext for hete and for his wo,
That nigh he swelt, he might vnneth endure
He passeth but a sterre in daies two,
But neuertheles, for al his hevy armure,
He foloweth her that is his liues cure,
For whose departing he tooke greater yre,
Than for his brenning in the fire.

After he walketh softly a paas,
Complayning that it pitie was to bere,
He saide, "O lady bright Uenus alas,
That euer so wide a compas is my sphere,
Alas, whan shall I mete you herte dere,
This twelve dayes of April I endure,
Through ielous Phebus this misauenture."

Now God helpe scly Uenus alone,
But as God wold it happed for to be,
That while the weping Uenus made her mone
Ciclinius riding in his chyuanche,
Fro Uenus Ualanus might this palais see,
And Uenus he salueth, and maketh chere,
And her receiueth as his frende full dere.

Mars dwelleth forth in his aduersite,
Complayning ever in her departing,

And what his complaint was remembreth me,
And therefore in this lusty morowning,
As I best can, I wol it saine and sing,
And after that I woll my leaue take,
And God yeue euery wight ioy of his make.

THE COMPLAINT OF MARS.

THE order of complaint requireth skilfully,
That if a wight shal plain pitously,
There mote be cause wherfore that men plain,
Or men may deme he plaineth folily,
And causeles, alas that am not I,
Wherfore the ground and cause of al my pain,
So as my troubled witte may it attain,
I wol reherse, not for to haue redresse,
But to declare my ground of heuinesse.

The first time alas that I was wrought,
And for certain effects hider brought,
By him that lorded each intelligence,
I yaue my trew seruice aud my thought,
For euermo, how dere I haue it bought,
To her that is of so great excellence,
That what wight that sheweth first her offence,
Whan she is wroth and taketh of him no cure,
He may not long in ioy of love endure.

This is no fained mater that I tell,
My lady is the very sours and well
Of beaute, luste, fredome, and gentilnesse,
Of rich array, how dere men it sell,
Of all disport in which men frendly dwell,
Of loue and play, and of benigne humblesse,
Of sowne of instruments of al sweetnesse,
And thereto so well fortuned and thewed,
That through the world her goodnes is shewed.
What wonder is than though that I be set
My seruice on soch one that may me knet
To wele or wo, sith it lithe in her might,
Therfore myne herte for euer I to her hette,
Ne trewly for my death shall I not lette,
To ben her trewest seruaunt and her knight,
I flatter nat, that may wete enery wight,
For this day in her seruice shall I dye,
But grace be, I see her neuer with eye.

To whom shall I plaine of my distresse,
Who may me help, who may my herte redresse?
Shall I complaine vnto my lady free,
Nay certes, for she hath soch heauinesse,
For feare and eke for wo, that as I gesse,

In littel time it would her bane bee,

But were she safe, it were no force of mee,
Alas that euer louers mote endure,
For loue so many perilous auenture.

For though so be that louers be as trewe,
As any metal that is forged newe,
In many a case hem tideth oft sorowe,
Somtime hir ladies woll nat on hem rewe.
Somtime if that ielousie it knewe,
They might lightly lay hir heed to borow,
Somtime enuious folke with tongs horow,
Deprauen hem alas, whom may they please,
But he befalse, no louer hath his ease.
But what auaileth soch a long sermonun,
Of auentures of loue vp and doun,

I wol retourne and speaken of my paine,
The point is this of my distruction,
My right lady, my saluacioun,

Is in affray, and not to whom to plaine,
O herte sweete, O lady soueraine,

For your disease I ought wel swoun and swelt,
Though I none other harme ne drede felt.

A little time his yeft is greable,
But full accombrous is the vsing,
For subtel ielousie the deceiuable,
Full often time causeth distourbing,
Thus ben we euer in drede and suffring,
In no certaine, we languishen in penaunce,
And haue well oft many an hard mischance,
All the reuers of any glad feling.

But certes, Loue, I say not in soch wise,
That for to scape out of your lace I ment,
For I so long haue been in your seruice,
That for to lete of will I neuer assent,
No force though ielousie me tourment,
Suffiseth me to see him whan I may,
And therefore certes to my ending day,
To loue him best, shall me neuer repent.

And certes, Loue, whan I me well aduise,
Of any estate that man may represent,
Than haue ye made me through your franchise
Thefe the best that euer in earth went,

Now loue well herte, and look thou neuer stent,
And lette the iealous put it in assay,
That for no paine woll I not say nay,
To loue him best, shall I neuer repent.
Herte to thee it ought ynough suffice,
That Loue so high a grace to you sent,
To chose the worthies in all wise,
And most agreable vnto mine entent,
Seek no ferther, neither way ne went,
Sith ye haue suffisaunce vnto my pay,
Thus wol I end this complaining or this lay,
To loue him best shall I neuer repent.

LENUOY.

Princes receiueth this complaining in gree,
Unto your excellent benignite,
Direct after my litel suffisaunce,

For elde, that in my spirite dulleth mee,
Hath of enditing all the subtelte

Welnigh berafte out of my remembraunce:
And eke to me it is a great penaunce,
Sith rime in English hath soch scarcite,
To folow word by word the curiosite

Of Gransonflour, of hem that make in Fraunce.

EXPLICIT.

OF THE

CUCKOW AND THE NIGHTINGALE.

Chaucer dreameth that he heareth the cuckow

and the nightingale contend for excellency in singing.

THE god of love and benedicite,

How mighty and how great a lord is he,
For he can make of low hertes hy,
And of high low, and like for to dy,
And hard hertes he can maken free.
He can make within a little stound
Of sicke folke hole, fresh, and sound,
And of hole he can make seeke,
He can bind and vnbinden eke
That he woll have bounden or vnbound.

To tell his might my wit may not suffice,
For he can make of wise folke full nice,
For he may do all that he woll devise,
And lithy folke to destroyen vice,
And proud hertes he can make agrise.

Shortly all that ever he woll he may,
Against him dare no wight say nay,

For he can glad and greve whom him liketh,
And who that he woll, he longheth or siketh,
And most his might be shedeth ever in May.

For every true gentle herte free,
That with him is or thinketh for to be,
Againe May now shall have some stering,
Or to joy or els to some mourning,
In no season so much, as thinketh me.

For whan they may here the birds sing,
And see the floures and the leaves spring,
That bringeth into hir remembraunce
A manner ease, medled with grevaunce,
And lustie thoughts full of great longing.

And of that longing commeth hevinesse,
And thereof groweth of great sicknesse,
And for lacke of that that they desire,
And thus in May ben hertes set on fire,
So that they brennen forth in great distresse.

I speake this of feeling truly,
If I be old and vnlusty,

Yet I have felt of the sicknesse through May
Both hote and cold, and axes every day,
How sore ywis there wote no wight but I.

I am so shaken with the fevers white,
Of all this May sleepe I but a lite,
And also it is not like to me,
That any herte should sleepy be,

In whom that Love his firy dart woll smite.

But as I lay this other night waking,
I thought how lovers had a tokening,
And among hem it was a commune tale,
That it were good to here the nightingale,
Rather than the leud cuckow sing.

And than I thought anon as it was day,
I would go some where to assay
If that I might a nightingale here,
For yet had I none heard of all that yere,
And it was tho the third night of May.

And anone as I the day aspide,
No lenger would I in my bed abide,
But vnto a wood that was fast by,
I went forth alone boldely,

And held the way downe by a brooke side.

Till I came to a laund of white and green,
So faire one had I never in been,
The ground was green, ypoudred with daisie,
The floures and the greues like hy,
All greene and white, was nothing els seene.

There sate I downe among the faire flours, And saw the birds trip out of hir bours, There as they rested hem all the night, They were so joyfull of the dayes light, They began of May for to done honours.

They coud that seruice all by rote,
There was many a louely note,
Some song loud as they had plained,
And some in other manner voice yfained,
And some all out with the full throte.

They proyned hem, and made hem right gay,
And daunceden and lepten on the spray,
And euermore two and two in fere,
Right so as they had chosen hem to yere
In Fenerere vpon saint Ualentines day.

And the riuer that I sate vpon,
It made such a noise as it ron,
Accordaunt with the birds armony,
Me thought it was the best melody
That might ben yheard of any mon.

And for delite, I wote neuer How
I fell in such a slomber and a swow,
Nat all asleepe, ne fully waking,

And in that swow me thought I heard sing
The sorry bird the leaud cuckow.

And that was on a tree right fast by,
But who was than euill apaid but I:
"Now God" (quod I) "that died on the crois
Yeue sorrow on thee, and on thy leaud vois,
Full little joy haue I now of thy cry."

And as I with the cuckow thus gan chide,
I heard in the next bush beside
A nightingale so lustely sing,
That with her clere voice she made ring
Through all the greene wood wide.

"Ah, good nightingale" (quod I than)
"A little bast thou ben too long hen,
For here hath ben the leaud cuckow,
And songen songs rather than hast thou,
pray to God euill fire her bren."

But now I woll you tell a wonder thing,
As long as I lav in that swouning,
Me thought I wist what the birds ment,
And what they said, and what was hir entent,
And of hir speech I had good knowing.

There heard I the nightingale say,
"Now good cuckow go somewhere away,
And let vs that can singen dwellen here,
For euery wight escheueth thee to here,
Thy songs be so elenge in good fay.”

"What" (quod she) "what may thee aylen now,
It thinketh me, I sing as well as thou,
For my song is both true and plaine,
And though I cannot crakell so in vaine,
As thou dost in thy throte, I wot neuer how.

"And euery wight may vnderstand mee,
But nightingale so may they not done thee,
For thou hast many a nice queint cry,
I haue thee heard saine, ocy, ocy,
How might I know what that should be?"

"And also I would that all tho were dede,
That thinke not in loue hir life to lede,
For who so that wol not the god of loue serue,
I dare well say he is worthy to sterue,
And for that skill, ocy, ocy, I grede."

"Eye" (quod the cuckow) "this is a queint law, That euery wight shall loue or be to draw, But I forsake all such companie,

For mine entent is not for to die,

Ne neuer while I liue on Loues yoke to draw.

"For louers ben the folke that ben on liue,
That most discase haue, and most vnthriue,
And most endure sorrow, wo, and care,
And least feelen of welfare,

What needeth it ayenst trouth to striue."

"What" (quod she) "thou art out of thy mind,
How might thou in thy churlenesse find
To speake of Loues seruaunts in this wise,
For in this world is none so good seruise
To euery wight that gentle is of kind.

"For thereof truly commeth all goodnesse,
All honour and all gentlenesse,
Worship, ease, and all hertes lust,
Parfite joy, and full assured trust,
lolitie, pleasaunce, and freshnesse,

"Lowlyhead, largesse, and curtesie,
Semelyhead, and true companie,
Drede of shame for to done amis:
For he that truly Lones seruaunt is,
Were lother be shamed than to die.

"And that this is soth that I sey,
In that beleeue I will liue and dey,
And cuckow so I rede that thou do ywis:"
"Than" (quod he) "let me neuer haue blisse,
If euer I vnto that counsaile obey.

Nightingale thou speakest wonder faire, But for all that is the sooth contraire,

For loue is in yong folke but rage,

And in old folke a great dotage,

Who most it vseth, most shall enpaire.

"For thereof cometh disease and heuinesse,
So sorow and care, and many a great sicknesse,
Despite, debate, anger, and enuie,
Deprauing, shame, vntrust, and jelousie,
Pride, mischeefe, pouerty, and woodnesse:

"Louing is an office of despaire,
And one thing is therein that is not faire,
For who that getteth of loue a little blisse,
But if he be alway therewith ywis,
He may full soone of age haue his haire.

"And nightingale therefore hold thee ny,
For leue me well, for all thy queint cry,
If thou be ferre or long fro thy make,
Thou shalt be as other that been forsake,
And than thou shalt hoten as doe 1."

Whan that I say, ocy, ocy, ywis,

The god of loue ne let thee neuer ythee,
For thou art worse a thousand fold than wood,
For many a one is full worthy and full good,
That had be naught ne had loue ybee.