And right anone La Bell Pucell me sent Agaynst my weddyng of the saten fyne, White as the mylke, a goodly garment Braudred with pearle that clearely dyd shine. And so, the mariage for to determine, Venus me brought to a royal chapell, Whiche of fine golde was wrought everydell.

And after that the gay and glorious La Bell Pucell to the chapell was leade In a white vesture fayre and precious, With a golden chaplet on her yelowe heade; And Lex Ecclesie did me to her wedde. After whiche weddyng then was a great feast; Nothing we lacked, but had of the best.

What shoulde I tary by longe continuance Of the fest? for of my joy and pleasure Wisdome can judge, without variaunce, That nought I lacked, as ye may be sure, Paiyng the swete due dette of nature. Thus with my lady, that was fayre and cleare, In joy I lived full ryght, many a yere.

O lusty youth and yong tender hart, The true companion of my lady bryght! God let us never from other astart,3 But all in joye to live bothe daye and nyght. Thus after sorowe joye arived aryght; After my payne I had sport and playe; Full litle thought I that it shoulde decaye,

59

20

30

40

Open thine eares unto my song aloude.
Is not thy beauté, strength, and puyssance,
Though becladde with cloth of pleasaunce,
Very erth and also wormes fode,

When erth to erth shall turne to the blode?

And erth, with erth why art thou so wroth? Remembre the1 that it vayleth2 right nought; For thou mayst thinke, of a perfyte trothe, If with the erth thou hast a quarell sought, Amyddes the erth there is a place ywrought, Whan erth to erth is torned properly, The for thy synne to perrysh wonderly.

And erth, for erth why hast thou envy? And the erth upon erth to be more prosperous Than thou thyselfe, fretting the1 inwardly? It is a sinne right foul and vicious And unto God also full odious.

Toward heven to folow on the way
Thou arte full slow, and thinkest nothing*
That thy nature doth full sore decaye
And deth right fast is to the comyng.

God graunte the mercy, but no time enlongyng. 5
Whan thou hast time, take tyme and space;
Whan time is past, lost is the tyme of grace.
And whan erth to erth is nexte to reverte
And nature low in the last age,
Of erthly treasure erth doth sette his herte
Insaciately upon covetyse to rage;
He thynketh not his lyfe shall asswage;'
His good is his God, with his great ryches;
He thinketh not for to leve it doutles.8

4

6

7

The pomped clerkes, with foles delicious,10 Erth often fedeth with corrupt glotony, And nothing with werkes vertuous; The soule doth fede ryght well ententifly," But without mesure full inordinatly The body lyveth and wyll not remember

35

42

THE EXCUSATION OF THE AUCTHOURE

CAPIT. XLVI

Besechyng God for to geve me grace Bokes to compyle of morall vertue, Of my master Lidgate to folowe the trace, His noble fame for to laude and renue, Whiche in his lyfe the slouthe' did eschue, Makyng great bokes to be in memory; On whose soule I pray God have mercy!

ΙΟ

20

4

not at all 8 doubtless

5 pro9 fools

FROM WHY COME YE NOT TO

COURT?

Ones yet agayne

Of you I wolde frayne,1

Why come ye nat to court?

To whyche court?

To the kynges courte,

Or to Hampton Court?

Nay, to the kynges court!
The kynges courte

Shulde have the excellence;

But Hampton Court
Hath the preemynence,
And Yorkes Place,
With my lordes grace,
To whose magnifycence
Is all the conflewence,
Sutys and supplycacyons,
Embassades of all nacyons.
Strawe for lawe canon!

Or for the lawe common!

Or for lawe cyvyll!

It shall be as he wyll:

Stop at law tancrete,2

An obstract or a concrete;

Be it soure, be it swete,
His wysdome is so dyscrete,
That in a fume or an hete,
Wardeyn of the Flete,
Set hym fast by the fete!

And of his royall powre

Whan him lyst to lowre,

Than, have him to the Towre,

Saunz aulter remedy,

Have hym forthe by and by 5

400

410

420

Whiche, truly to expresse,

Is a forgetfulnesse,

Or wylfull blyndnesse,

Wherwith the Sodomites

Lost theyr inward syghtes,
The Gommoryans also

Were brought to deedly wo,

As Scrypture recordis.

A caecitate cordis,*

In the Latyne synge we,

Libera nos, Domine ! 5

But this madde Amalecke,

Lyke to a Mamelek,

He regardeth lordes

No more than potshordes;

He is in suche elacyon

Of his exaltacyon,
And the supportacyon
Of our soverayne lorde,
That, God to recorde,'
He ruleth all at wyll,
Without reason or skyll:
How be it the primordyall
Of his wretched originall,

And his base progeny,

And his gresy genealogy,

He came of the sank royall 8

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460

470

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490