Books: Playful Poems
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Henry Morley >> Playful Poems
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12.
And soon as I a glimpse of day espied,
No longer would I in my bed abide,
But straightway to a wood, that was hard by,
Forth did I go, alone and fearlessly,
And held the pathway down by a brook-side;
13.
Till to a lawn I came all white and green,
I in so fair a one had never been.
The ground was green, with daisy powdered over;
Tall were the flowers, the grove a lofty cover,
All green and white; and nothing else was seen.
14.
There sate I down among the fresh fair flowers,
And saw the birds come tripping from their bowers,
Where they had rested them all night; and they,
Who were so joyful at the light of day,
Began to honour May with all their powers.
15.
Well did they know that service all by rote,
And there was many and many a lovely note;
Some singing loud, as if they had complained;
Some with their notes another manner feigned;
And some did sing all out with the full throat.
16.
They pruned themselves, and made themselves right gay,
Dancing and leaping light upon the spray;
And ever two and two together were,
The same as they had chosen for the year,
Upon Saint Valentine's returning day.
17.
Meanwhile the stream, whose bank I sate upon,
Was making such a noise as it ran on
Accordant to the sweet birds' harmony;
Methought that it was the best melody
Which ever to man's ear a passage won.
18.
And for delight, but how I never wot,
I in a slumber and a swoon was caught,
Not all asleep, and yet not waking wholly;
And as I lay, the Cuckoo bird unholy
Broke silence, or I heard him in my thought.
19.
And that was right upon a tree fast by,
And who was then ill-satisfied but I?
"Now, God," quoth I, "that died upon the rood,
From thee and thy base throat, keep all that's good,
Full little joy have I now of thy cry."
20.
And, as I with the Cuckoo thus 'gan chide,
In the next bush that was me fast beside,
I heard the lusty Nightingale so sing,
That her clear voice made a loud rioting,
Echoing thorough all the green wood wide.
21.
"Ah! good sweet Nightingale! for my heart's cheer,
Hence hast thou stayed a little while too long;
For we have heard the sorry Cuckoo here,
And she hath been before thee with her song;
Evil light on her! she hath done me wrong."
22.
But hear you now a wondrous thing, I pray;
As long as in that swooning fit I lay,
Methought I wist right well what these birds meant,
And had good knowing both of their intent,
And of their speech, and all that they would say.
23.
The Nightingale thus in my hearing spake:
"Good Cuckoo, seek some other bush or brake
And, prithee, let us that can sing dwell here;
For every wight eschews thy song to hear,
Such uncouth singing verily dost thou make."
24.
"What!" quoth she then, "what is't that ails thee now?
It seems to me I sing as well as thou;
For mine's a song that is both true and plain, -
Although I cannot quaver so in vain
As thou dost in thy throat, I wot not how.
25.
"All men may understanding have of me,
But, Nightingale, so may they not of thee;
For thou hast many a foolish and quaint cry:-
Thou say'st OSEE, OSEE; then how may I
Have knowledge, I thee pray, what this may be?"
26.
"Ah, fool!" quoth she, "wist thou not what it is?
Oft as I say OSEE, OSEE, I wis,
Then mean I, that I should be wondrous fain
That shamefully they one and all were slain,
Whoever against Love mean aught amiss.
27.
"And also would I that they all were dead
Who do not think in love their life to lead;
For who is loth the God of Love to obey
Is only fit to die, I dare well say,
And for that cause OSEE I cry; take heed!"
28.
"Ay," quoth the Cuckoo, "that is a quaint law,
That all must love or die; but I withdraw,
And take my leave of all such company,
For mine intent it neither is to die,
Nor ever while I live Love's yoke to draw.
29.
"For lovers of all folk that be alive,
The most disquiet have and least do thrive;
Most feeling have of sorrow's woe and care,
And the least welfare cometh to their share;
What need is there against the truth to strive?"
30.
"What!" quoth she, "thou art all out of thy mind,
That in thy churlishness a cause canst find
To speak of Love's true Servants in this mood;
For in this world no service is so good
To every wight that gentle is of kind.
31.
"For thereof comes all goodness and all worth;
All gentleness and honour thence come forth;
Thence worship comes, content and true heart's pleasure,
And full-assured trust, joy without measure,
And jollity, fresh cheerfulness, and mirth:
32.
"And bounty, lowliness, and courtesy,
And seemliness, and faithful company,
And dread of shame that will not do amiss;
For he that faithfully Love's servant is,
Rather than be disgraced, would choose to die.
33.
"And that the very truth it is which I
Now say--in such belief I'll live and die;
And Cuckoo, do thou so, by my advice."
"Then," quoth she, "let me never hope for bliss,
If with that counsel I do e'er comply.
34.
"Good Nightingale! thou speakest wondrous fair,
Yet, for all that, the truth is found elsewhere;
For Love in young folk is but rage, I wis;
And Love in old folk a great dotage is;
Whom most it useth, him 'twill most impair.
35.
"For thereof come all contraries to gladness;
Thence sickness comes, and overwhelming sadness,
Mistrust and jealousy, despite, debate,
Dishonour, shame, envy importunate,
Pride, anger, mischief, poverty and madness.
36.
"Loving is aye an office of despair,
And one thing is therein which is not fair;
For whoso gets of love a little bliss,
Unless it alway stay with him, I wis
He may full soon go with an old man's hair.
37.
"And, therefore, Nightingale! do thou keep nigh,
For trust me well, in spite of thy quaint cry,
If long time from thy mate thou be, or far,
Thou'lt be as others that forsaken are;
Then shalt thou raise a clamour as do I."
38.
"Fie," quoth she, "on thy name, Bird ill beseen!
The God of Love afflict thee with all teen,
For thou art worse than mad a thousandfold;
For many a one hath virtues manifold
Who had been nought, if Love had never been.
39.
"For evermore his servants Love amendeth,
And he from every blemish them defendeth;
And maketh them to burn, as in a fire,
In loyalty and worshipful desire,
And when it likes him, joy enough them sendeth."
40.
"Thou Nightingale!" the Cuckoo said, "be still;
For Love no reason hath but his own will; -
For to th' untrue he oft gives ease and joy;
True lovers doth so bitterly annoy,
He lets them perish through that grievous ill.
41.
"With such a master would I never be,
For he, in sooth, is blind, and may not see,
And knows not when he hurts and when he heals;
Within this court full seldom truth avails,
So diverse in his wilfulness is he."
42.
Then of the Nightingale did I take note,
How from her inmost heart a sigh she brought,
And said, "Alas! that ever I was born,
Not one word have I now, I am so forlorn," -
And with that word, she into tears burst out.
43.
"Alas, alas! my very heart will break,"
Quoth she, "to hear this churlish bird thus speak
Of Love, and of his holy services;
Now, God of Love! thou help me in some wise,
That vengeance on this Cuckoo I may wreak."
44.
And so methought I started up anon,
And to the brook I ran, and got a stone,
Which at the Cuckoo hardily I cast,
And he for dread did fly away full fast;
And glad, in sooth, was I when he was gone.
45.
And as he flew, the Cuckoo ever and aye
Kept crying, "Farewell!--farewell, popinjay!"
As if in scornful mockery of me;
And on I hunted him from tree to tree,
Till he was far, all out of sight, away.
46.
Then straightway came the Nightingale to me,
And said, "Forsooth, my friend, do I thank thee,
That thou wert near to rescue me; and now,
Unto the God of Love I make a vow,
That all this May I will thy songstress be."
47.
Well satisfied, I thanked her, and she said,
"By this mishap no longer be dismayed,
Though thou the Cuckoo heard, ere thou heard'st me;
Yet if I live it shall amended be,
When next May comes, if I am not afraid.
48.
"And one thing will I counsel thee also,
The Cuckoo trust not thou, nor his Love's saw;
All that she said is an outrageous lie."
"Nay, nothing shall me bring thereto," quoth I,
"For Love, and it hath done me mighty woe."
49.
"Yea, hath it? Use," quoth she, "this medicine,
This May-time, every day before thou dine,
Go look on the fresh daisy; then say I,
Although for pain thou may'st be like to die,
Thou wilt be eased, and less wilt droop and pine.
50.
"And mind always that thou be good and true,
And I will sing one song, of many new,
For love of thee, as loud as I may cry;"
And then did she begin this song full high,
"Beshrew all them that are in love untrue."
51.
And soon as she had sung it to the end,
"Now farewell," quoth she, "for I hence must wend;
And, God of Love, that can right well and may,
Send unto thee as mickle joy this day
As ever he to lover yet did send."
52.
Thus takes the Nightingale her leave of me;
I pray to God with her always to be,
And joy of love to send her evermore;
And shield us from the Cuckoo and her lore,
For there is not so false a bird as she.
53.
Forth then she flew, the gentle Nightingale,
To all the birds that lodged within that dale,
And gathered each and all into one place;
And them besought to hear her doleful case,
And thus it was that she began her tale:-
54.
"The Cuckoo--'tis not well that I should hide
How she and I did each the other chide,
And without ceasing, since it was daylight;
And now I pray you all to do me right
Of that false Bird whom Love can not abide."
55.
Then spake one Bird, and full assent all gave:
"This matter asketh counsel good as grave,
For birds we are--all here together brought;
And, in good sooth, the Cuckoo here is not;
And therefore we a parliament will have.
56.
"And thereat shall the Eagle be our Lord,
And other Peers whose names are on record;
A summons to the Cuckoo shall be sent,
And judgment there be given; or that intent
Failing, we finally shall make accord.
57.
"And all this shall be done, without a nay,
The morrow after Saint Valentine's day,
Under a maple that is well beseen,
Before the chamber-window of the Queen,
At Woodstock, on the meadow green and gay."
58.
She thanked them; and then her leave she took,
And flew into a hawthorn by that brook;
And there she sate and sung--upon that tree, -
"For term of life Love shall have hold of me!"
So loudly, that I with that song awoke.
Unlearned Book and rude, as well I know,
For beauty thou hast none, nor eloquence,
Who did on thee the hardiness bestow
To appear before my Lady? but a sense
Thou surely hast of her benevolence,
Whereof her hourly bearing proof doth give;
For of all good, she is the best alive.
Alas, poor Book! for thy unworthiness,
To show to her some pleasant meanings writ
In winning words, since through her gentleness,
Thee she accepts as for her service fit;
Oh! it repents me I have neither wit
Nor leisure unto thee more worth to give;
For of all good, she is the best alive.
Beseech her meekly with all lowliness,
Though I be far from her I reverence,
To think upon my truth and steadfastness,
And to abridge my sorrow's violence,
Caused by the wish, as knows your sapience,
She of her liking, proof to me would give;
For of all good, she is the best alive.
L'ENVOY.
Pleasure's Aurora, Day of gladsomeness!
Lucerne, by night, with heavenly influence
Illumined! root of beauty and goodness,
Write, and allay, by your beneficence,
My sighs breathed forth in silence,--comfort give!
Since of all good, you are the best alive.
EXPLICIT.
TREASURE TROVE
MODERNISED FROM THE FIFTH BOOK OF GOWER'S "CONFESSIO AMANTIS."
In ancient Chronicle I read:-
About a King, as it must need,
There was of Knights and of Squiers
Great rout, and eke of Officers.
Some for a long time him had served,
And thought that they had well deserved
Advancement, but had gone without;
And some also were of the Rout
That only came the other day
And were advanced without delay.
Those Older Men upon this thing,
So as they durst, against the King
Among themselves would murmur oft.
But there is nothing said so soft
That it shall not come out at last,
The King soon knew what Words had passed.
A King he was of high Prudence,
He shaped therefore an Evidence
Of them that plained them in that case,
To know of whose Default it was.
And all within his own intent,
That not a man knew what it meant,
He caused two Coffers to be made
Alike in Shape, and Size, and Shade,
So like that no man, by their Show,
The one may from the other know.
They were into his Chamber brought,
But no man knew why they were wrought;
Yet from the King Command hath come
That they be set in private Room,
For he was in his Wisdom keen.
When he thereto his time had seen,
Slily, away from all the rest,
With his own hands he filled one Chest,
Full of fine Gold and Jewelry
The which out of his Treasury
Was taken; after that he thrust
Into the other Straw and Dust,
And filled it up with Stones also;
Full Coffers are they, both the two.
And early then upon a day
He bade within doors where he lay
That there should be before his Bed
A Board set up and fairly spread.
The Coffers then he let men get,
And on the Board he had them set.
Full well he knew the Names of those
Whose Murmurings against him rose,
Both of his Chamber and his Hall,
And speedily sent for them all,
And said unto them in this wise:
"There shall no man his Hap despise;
I know well that ye long have served,
And God knows what ye have deserved.
Whether it is along of me
That ye still unadvanced be,
Or whether it belong of you,
The Sooth is to be proved now,
Wherewith to stop your Evil Word.
Lo here two Coffers on the Board,
Of both the two choose which you will,
And know that ye may have your fill
Of Treasure heaped and packed in one,
That if ye happen thereupon
Ye shall be made Rich Men for ever.
Now choose and take which you is liever.
But be well ware, ere that ye take, -
For of the one I undertake
There is no manner good therein
Whereof ye might a Profit win.
Now go together of one assent
And take your own Advisement.
Whether I you this day advance
Stands only on your Choice and Chance.
No question here of Royal Grace,
It shall be showed in this place
Upon you all, and well and fine,
If Fortune fails by Fault of mine."
They all kneel down, and with one voice
They thank the King for this free Choice;
And after this they up arise
And go aside and them advise,
And at the last they all accord;
Whereof their Finding to record
To what Issue their Voices fall,
A Knight shall answer for them all.
He kneeleth down unto the King
And saith, that they upon this thing
Or for to win or for to lose
Are all decided how to choose.
Then took this Knight a Rod in hand
And goes to where the Coffers stand,
And with the Assent of every one
He layeth his Rod upon one,
And tells the King they only want
Him that for their Reward to grant,
And pray him that they might it have.
The King, who would his Honour save,
When he hath heard the common Voice,
Hath granted them their own free Choice,
And gave them thereupon the Key.
But as he would that men might see
What Good they got, as they suppose,
He bade anon the Coffer unclose, -
Which was filled full with Straw and Stone;
Thus are they served, the Luck's their own.
"Lo," saith the King, "now may ye see
That there is no Default in me;
Therefore myself I will acquit,
Bear ye the Blame now, as is fit,
For that which Fortune you refused."
Thus was this wise old King excused,
And they left off their evil Speech,
And Mercy of their King beseech.
Touching like matter to the quick,
I find a Tale how Frederick,
At that time Emperor of Rome,
Heard, as he went, a Clamour come
From two poor Beggars on the way.
The one of them began to say,
"Ha, Lord, the man is rich indeed
To whom a King's Wealth brings his Speed!"
The other said, "It is not so,
But he is rich and well-to-do
To whom God pleases Wealth to send."
And thus their Words went without end,
Whereto this Lord hath given ear
And caused both Beggars to appear
Straight at his Palace, there to eat;
And bade provide them for their Meat
Two Pasties which men were to make,
And in the one a Capon bake,
And in the other, Wealth to win,
Of Florins all that may within
He bade them put a great Richesse,
And just alike, as one may guess,
Outward they were, to Sight of Men.
This Beggar was commanded then,
He that had held him to the King,
That he first choose upon this thing.
He saw them, but he felt them not,
So that upon his single Thought
He chose the Capon, and forsook
That other, which his Fellow took.
But when he wist how that it fared,
He said aloud, that men it heard:
"Now have I certainly conceived
That he may lightly be deceived
Who puts his trust in Help of Man.
He's rich whom God helps, for he can
Stand ever on the safer side
That else on Vain Hope had relied.
I see my Fellow well supplied,
And still a Poor Man I abide."
Thus spake the Beggar his intent,
And poor he came, and poor he went;
Of all the Riches that he sought
His evil Fortune gave him nought.
And right as it with those men stood,
Of evil Hap in worldly Good,
As thou hast heard me tell above,
Right so, full oft, it stands by Love;
Though thou desire it evermore
Thou shalt not have a whit the more,
But only what is meant for thee,
Of all the rest not worth a Pea.
And yet a long and endless Row
There be of Men who covet so
That whereas they a Woman see,
To ten or twelve though there may be,
The Love is now so little wise
That where the Beauty takes his Eyes
Anon the Man's whole Heart is there
And whispers Tales into her Ear,
And says on her his Love is set,
And thus he sets him to covet.
A hundred though he saw a day,
So would he have more than he may;
In each of them he finds somewhat
That pleaseth him, or this or that.
Some one, for she is white of skin,
Some one, for she is noble of kin,
Some one, for she hath a ruddy cheek,
Some one, for that she seemeth meek,
Some one, for that her eyes are gray,
Some one, for she can laugh and play,
Some one, for she is long and small,
Some one, for she is lithe and tall,
Some one, for she is pale and bleach,
Some one, for she is soft of speech,
Some one, for that her nose turns down,
Some one, for that she hath a frown,
Some one, for she can dance and sing;
So that of what he likes something
He finds, and though no more he feel
But that she hath a little heel,
It is enough that he therefore
Her love; and thus an hundred score
While they be new he would he had,
Whom he forsakes, she shall be bad.
So the Blind Man no Colour sees,
All's one to take as he may please;
And his Desire is darkly minded
Whom Covetise of Love hath blinded.
LONDON LICKPENNY
BY JOHN LYDGATE.
To London once my steps I bent,
Where truth in nowise should be faint;
To Westminster-ward I forthwith went,
To a man of law to make complaint,
I said, "For Mary's love, that holy saint,
Pity the poor that would proceed!"
But for lack of Money I could not speed.
And as I thrust the press among,
By froward chance my hood was gone,
Yet for all that I stayed not long
Till to the King's Bench I was come.
Before the judge I kneeled anon,
And prayed him for God's sake to take heed.
But for lack of Money I might not speed.
Beneath them sat clerks a great rout,
Which fast did write by one assent,
There stood up one and cried about,
"Richard, Robert, and John of Kent!"
I wist not well what this man meant,
He cried so thickly there indeed.
But he that lacked Money might not speed
Unto the Common Pleas I yode tho, {81}
Where sat one with a silken hood;
I did him reverence, for I ought to do so,
And told my case as well as I could,
How my goods were defrauded me by falsehood.
I got not a mum of his mouth for my meed,
And for lack of Money I might not speed.
Unto the Rolls I gat me from thence,
Before the clerks of the Chancerie,
Where many I found earning of pence,
But none at all once regarded me.
I gave them my plaint upon my knee;
They liked it well when they had it read,
But lacking Money I could not be sped.
In Westminster Hall I found out one
Which went in a long gown of ray, {82a}
I crouched and kneeled before him anon,
For Mary's love of help I him pray.
"I wot not what thou mean'st," gan he say;
To get me thence he did me bede:
For lack of Money I could not speed.
Within this Hall, neither rich nor yet poor
Would do for me aught although I should die.
Which seeing, I got me out of the door
Where Flemings began on me for to cry,
"Master, what will you copen or buy? {82b}
Fine felt hats, or spectacles to read?
Lay down your silver, and here you may speed."
Then to Westminster Gate I presently went,
When the sun was at highe prime;
Cooks to me they took good intent,
And proffered me bread with ale and wine,
Ribs of beef, both fat and full fine;
A fair cloth they gan for to sprede,
But wanting Money I might not then speed.
Then unto London I did me hie,
Of all the land it beareth the prize.
"Hot peascods!" one began to cry,
"Strawberry ripe!" and "Cherries in the rise!" {82c}
One bade me come near and buy some spice,
Pepper and saffron they gan me bede,
But for lack of Money I might not speed.
Then to the Cheap I began me drawn,
Where much people I saw for to stand;
One offered me velvet, silk, and lawn,
Another he taketh me by the hand,
"Here is Paris thread, the finest in the land!"
I never was used to such things indeed,
And wanting Money I might not speed.
Then went I forth by London Stone,
Throughout all Can'wick Street. {83}
Drapers much cloth me offered anon;
Then comes me one cried, "Hot sheep's feet!"
One cried, "Mackerel!" "Rushes green!" another gan greet;
One bade me buy a hood to cover my head,
But for want of Money I might not be sped,
Then I hied me into East Cheap;
One cries "Ribs of beef," and many a pie;
Pewter pots they clattered on a heap,
There was harp, pipe, and minstrelsie.
"Yea, by cock!" "Nay, by cock!" some began cry;
Some sung of Jenkin and Julian for their meed,
But for lack of Money I might not speed.
Then into Cornhill anon I yode,
Where was much stolen gear among;
I saw where hung mine owne hood
That I had lost among the throng:
To buy my own hood I thought it wrong;
I knew it well as I did my Creed,
But for lack of Money I could not speed.
The taverner took me by the sleeve,
"Sir," saith he, "will you our wine assay?"
I answered, "That cannot much me grieve,
A penny can do no more than it may."
I drank a pint, and for it I did pay.
Yet soon ahungered from thence I yede,
And wanting Money I could not speed.
Then hied I me to Billingsgate,
And one cried, "Hoo! Go we hence!"
I prayed a barge man, for God's sake,
That he would spare me my expence.
"Thou scrap'st not here," quoth he, "under two pence;
I list not yet bestow any alms deed."
Thus lacking Money I could not speed.
Then I conveyed me into Kent;
For of the law would I meddle no more,
Because no man to me took intent,
I dight me to do as I did before.
Now Jesus, that in Bethlehem was bore,
Save London, and send true lawyers their meed!
For whoso wants Money with them shall not speed.
BICORN AND CHICHEVACHE
BY JOHN LYDGATE.
First there shall stand an image in Poet-wise, saying these verses:-
O prudent folkes, taketh heed,
And remembreth in your lives
How this story doth proceed
Of the husbands and their wives,
Of their accord and their strives,
With life or death which to darrain {85a}
Is granted to these beastes twain.
Then shall be pourtrayed two beasts, one fat; another lean.
For this Bicorn of his nature
Will none other manner food,
But patient husbands his pasture,
And Chichevache eat'th the women good;
And both these beastes, by the Rood,
Be fat or lean, it may not fail,
Like lack or plenty of their vitail.
Of Chichevache and of Bicorn, {85b}
Treateth wholly this matere,
Whose story hath taught us beforn
How these beastes both infere {85c}
Have their pasture, as you shall hear,
Of men and women in sentence
Through suffrance or through impatience.
Then shall be pourtrayed a fat beast called Bicorn, of the country
of Bicornis, and say these three verses following:-
"Of Bicornis I am Bicorn,
Full fat and round here as I stand,
And in marriage bound and sworn
To Chichevache as her husband,
Which will not eat on sea nor land
But patient wives debonair,
Which to their husbands be n't contraire
"Full scarce, God wot, is her vitail,
Humble wives she finds so few,
For always at the contre tail
Their tongue clappeth and doth hew.
Such meeke wives I beshrew,
That neither can at bed ne board
Their husbands not forbear one word.
"But my food and my cherishing,
To tell plainly and not to vary,
Is of such folks which, their living,
Dare to their wives be not contrary,
Ne from their lustes dare not vary,
Nor with them hold no champarty, {86a}
All such my stomach will defy." {86b}
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