I have non English convenient and digne
Myn hertes hele, lady, thee with t'honoure,
Ivorie clene; therfore I wol resigne
In-to thyn hand, til thou list socoure
To help my making bothe florisshe and floure;5
Than shulde I shewe, in love how I brende,
In songes making, thy name to commende.
For if I coude before thyn excellence
Singen in love, I wolde, what I fele,
And ever standen, lady, in thy presence,10
To shewe in open how I love you wele;
And sith, although your herte be mad of stele,
To you, withoute any disseveraunce,
J'ay en vous toute ma fiaunce.
Wher might I love ever better besette15
Than in this lilie, lyking to beholde?
The lace of love, the bond so wel thou knette,
That I may see thee or myn herte colde,
And or I passe out of my dayes olde,
Tofore singing evermore utterly—20
'Your eyën two wol slee me sodainly.'
For love I langour, blissed be such seknesse,
Sith it is for you, my hertely suffisaunce;
I can not elles saye, in my distresse,
So fair oon hath myn herte in governaunce;25
And after that I †ginne on esperaunce
282With feble entune, though it thyn herte perce,
Yet for thy sake this lettre I do reherce.
God wot, on musike I can not, but I gesse,
(Alas! why so?) that I might say or singe,30
So love I you, myn own soverain maistresse,
And ever shal, withouten départinge.
Mirrour of beautè, for you out shuld I ringe,
In rémembraunce eke of your eyen clere,
Thus fer from you, my soverain lady dere!35
So wolde god your love wold me slo,
Sith, for your sake, I singe day by day;
Herte, why nilt thou [never] breke a-two,
Sith with my lady dwellen I ne may?
Thus many a roundel and many a virelay40
In fresshe Englisshe, whan I me layser finde,
I do recorde, on you to have minde!
Now, lady myn! sith I you love and drede,
And you unchaunged finde, in o degree,
Whos grace ne may flye fro your womanhede,45
Disdayneth not for to remembre on me!
Myn herte bledeth, for I may nat you see;
And sith ye wot my mening désirous,
Pleurez pur moi, si vous plaist amorous!
What marveyle is, though I in payne be?50
I am departed from you, my soveraine;
Fortune, alas! dont vient la destenee,
That in no wyse I can ne may attayne
To see the beautè of your eyën twayne.
Wherfore I say, for tristesse doth me grame,55
Tant me fait mal departir de ma dame!
Why nere my wisshing brought to suche esploit
That I might say, for joye of your presence,
'Ore a man cuer ce quil veuilloit,
Ore a man cuer the highest excellence60
That ever had wight;' and sith myn advertence
283Is in you, reweth on my paynes smerte,
I am so sore wounded to the herte.
To live wel mery, two lovers were y-fere,
So may I say withouten any blame;65
If any man [per cas] to wilde were,
I coude him [sonë] teche to be tame;
Let him go love, and see wher it be game!
For I am brydled unto sobernesse
For her, that is of women cheef princesse.70
But ever, whan thought shulde my herte embrace,
Than unto me is beste remedye,
Whan I loke on your goodly fresshe face;
So mery a mirrour coude I never espye;
And, if I coude, I wolde it magnifye.75
For never non was [here] so faire y-founde,
To reken hem al, and also Rosamounde.
And fynally, with mouthe and wil present
Of double eye, withoute repentaunce,
Myn herte I yeve you, lady, in this entent,80
That ye shal hoolly therof have governaunce;
Taking my leve with hertes obeysaunce,
'Salve, regina!' singing laste of al,
To be our helpe, whan we to thee cal!
Al our lovë is but ydelnesse85
Save your aloon; who might therto attayne?
Who-so wol have a name of gentillesse,
I counsayle him in love that he not fayne.
Thou swete lady! refut in every payne,
Whos [pitous] mercy most to me avayleth90
To gye by grace, whan that fortune fayleth.
Nought may be told, withouten any fable,
Your high renome, your womanly beautè;
Your governaunce, to al worship able,
Putteth every herte in ese in his degree.95
O violet, O flour desiree,
284Sith I am for you so amorous,
Estreynez moy, [lady,] de cuer joyous!
With fervent herte my brest hath broste on fyre;
L'ardant espoir que mon cuer poynt, est mort,100
D'avoir l'amour de celle que je desyre,
I mene you, swete, most plesaunt of port,
Et je sai bien que ceo n'est pas mon tort
That for you singe, so as I may, for mone
For your departing; alone I live, alone.105
Though I mighte, I wolde non other chese;
In your servyce, I wolde be founden sad;
Therfore I love no labour that ye lese,
Whan, in longing, sorest ye be stad;
Loke up, ye lovers [alle], and be right glad110
Ayeines sëynt Valentynes day,
For I have chose that never forsake I may!
Explicit.