'I am true Love that false was never;
Mine own-man's soul-I loved her thus.
Because we would nowise dessever,

I left my kingdom glorious.

I purveyed her a palace full precious ;
She fled, I followed, I loved her so,
That I suffered this pain piteous
Quia amore langueo.

'My fair love and my spousé bright!

I saved her from beating, and she hath me bet ; I clothed her in grace and heavenly light;

This bloody shirt she hath on me set :

For longing of love yet could I not let [hinder it]';
Sweeté strokes are thesé ; lo!

I have loved her ever as I her het [promised]
Quia amore langueo.

'I crowned her with bliss and she me with thorn;
I led her to chamber and she me to die :

I brought her to worship, and she me to scorn;

I did her reverence and she me villany :

To love that loveth is no maistry [over-mastering].
Her hate made never my love her foe,
Ask me then no questions why-

Quia amore langueo.

'I sit on this hill for to see far,

I look into the valley my spouse to see;

Now runneth she awayward, now cometh she narre [near], Yet out of my sight she may not be.

Some wait their prey to make her to flee,

I run to-fore [forward] and fleme [drive] her foe : Return, my soul, again to me,

Quia amore langueo.

'If thou be foul, I shall make thee clean,

If thou be sick, I shall thee heal,

If thou mourn ought, I shall thee mene [care for];

Spouse, why wilt thou not with me deal?

Foundest thou ever love so leal?

What will thou, soul, that I shall do?

I may not unkindly thee appeal,

Quia amore langueo.

Long and love thou never so high,

My love is more than thine may be.
Thou gladdest, thou weepest, I sit thee by:
Yet wouldst thou once, love, look at me!
Should I always feedé thee

With children's meat? my love, not so
I will prove thy love with adversity,
Quia amore langueo.

'Wax not weary, mine own wife!
What meed is aye to live in comfort.
In tribulation I reign more rife

Ofter times than in disport.

In weal and in woe I am aye to support;
My own wife, go not me fro!

Thy meed is marked, when thou art mort,
Quia amore langueo.'

The following lines are from a piece entitled How the Goode Wif thaught hir Doughter, written, says the edition of 1597, nine years before the death of Chaucer, i.e. in 1391. Hazlitt does not think it quite so early. Similar religious and moral admonitions frequently recur in the subsequent age.

Daughter, if thou wilt be a wife, and wisely werche [work],
Look that thou love well God and holy Church.

Go to church when thou may'st, let [stop] for no rain;
Better thou fare'st each day thou hast seen God;
Well thriveth he that loveth God, dear child.

Blithely give thou thy tithes and offerings both :
To poor men at the door be not thou loth,

But give them blithely of thy good, be not too hard;
Seldom is that house poor, where God's toward;

Treasure he hath that feeds the poor, dear child.

The while thou sit'st in church, prayers shalt thou daily bid,
Nor jangling shalt thou make with stranger nor with sibbe.
[neighbour; cf. gossip]

And laugh thou none to scorn, nor old nor young;
But be thou of good bearing and good tongue;
Worship begins in thy good bearing, my dear child.

Sweet of speech shalt thou be, glad, of mild mood;
True, word and deed; in life and in soul, good;

Keep thee from sin, from villainy [low conduct], and shame ;
Look that thou bear thee so, that no man say thee blame,
For a good name fore-winneth, my dear child.

And if thy neighbour's wife have rich attire,

Make thou therefore no strife, and burn thou not as fire,
But thank thou God for all that good that He hath given,
So shalt thou, my good child, in great ease liv-en;
Who seldom thinketh [is disquieted] is at ease, dear child.
Housewifely shalt thou go on every working-day ;
But pride and rest and idleness will do it all away.
And when the holiday shall come, wise shalt thou be,
That holiday, to worship, so shall God love thee.
Be more for worship than for pride, dear child.

Now have I taught thee, daughter, as did my mother me ;
Think thereon night and day, forget not these things three—
Have measure, lowliness, and forethought, as I thee have taught,
So whoso weddeth thee in nothing is by-caught.

Better were child unborn than one untaught, dear child.

Now thrift and thedam [prosperity] mayst thou have, my dear sweet bairn ;

Of all our former fathers, that e'er were, or are-n,

Of prophets and of patriarchs that ever were alive,
A blessing may'st thou have, and well may'st ever thrive,
Well is the child that well may thrive, dear child.1

John Barbour was Archdeacon of Aberdeen in 1357, and died in 1395. He knew England well, having often travelled in this country. His Bruce, a long poem in fourteen books, was completed in 1378. It is wholly historical, written to celebrate the deeds of the patriot king. But there was throughout it a tone of reverence; and a few lines may be quoted here, relating a wellknown incident of the battle of Bannockburn :

When this was said, that now said I,
The men of Scotland commonly
Knelt them all down, to God to pray.
And a short prayer there made they
To God, to help them in that fight.
And when the English king had sight
Of them a-kneeling, quick said he,
'They kneel, yon folk, to ask mercy.'

1 Hazlitt's Remains of the Early Popular Poetry of England, 1864,

vol. ii. 190-2:

Doughter, gif thou wilt ben a wif, and wiseliche werche,
Loke that thou loue welle God and holy Cherche.'

Sir Ingrahame said: 'Ye say sooth now;
Mercy they ask, but not of you;

For their trespass to God they cry.
A thing I tell you sickerly [for certain],
That yonder men will win or die.
For fear of death they will not fly.'

1 Barbour's Bruce, ed. by J. Jamieson, 1720, bk. ix. 69-82 :

Quhen this wes said, that er said I,

The Scottis men comounaly

Knelyt all downe, to God to pray.

CHAPTER IV

THE FIFTEENTH CENTURY

ENGLISH sacred poetry in the fifteenth century is almost always in the minor key, plaintive and penitential. A deep feeling of religious fear on the one hand, and an earnest but trembling confidence in the greatness of Divine love on the other hand, are struggling, as it were, which is to have the mastery. It is often pathetic and beautiful; but on the whole there is a shade of sadness upon it, which is doubtless in some degree borrowed from the external troubles of the period.

The poetry of this century, religious as well as secular, commences with the composition of Dan John Lydgate, a monk of Bury St. Edmunds. He lived to advanced years, and died about 1446, nearly half a century later than his friend Chaucer. He is best known by his Story of Thebes. But he was a prolific writer, and, in addition to the many compositions which are undoubtedly his, appears by internal evidence to have been the author of various anonymous poems, remaining to us from the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries. Others followed in his steps, and caught his tone of thought. I quote some verses from his Testament. It was written in his old age, and contains far more words taken from the French than most of his earlier poems :

No song so sweet unto the audience [hearing]
As Jesu is, that name full of pleasance;
Against all foes shield, buckler, and defence,
To heavy hearts chief comfort in substance,