Classic Poem

. . . This poore damoseyll with chylde is grete,
Whiche of conceyvynge hathe the tyme foryete,
For of herselfe knoweth she but lyte
How she was brought into suche case and plyte,
And she no thynges knoweth of that arte,
Ne what it is, she toke so lytell parte--
But, yf it please our Lorde God, she shall knowe
How sedes groweth after they be sowe.
The moder avyseth wele, and seeth her hewe,
Whiche knoweth the olde testament and newe,
And calleth her into a secrete place.
She sayth, "Come hyder!' with an evyll grace,
"Have I not sayd to the afore this houre
That thou has lost thy worshyp and honoure
To do as thou hast done thus folyly?
But whan a thynge is done, what remedye?
That thou arte grete with chylde I knowe it wele--
Tell me the trouthe, and drede the neuer a dele.'
"Now, fayre moder, I wote not as ye saye
To tell you trouthe, wheder it be so or naye.'
Then sayth the moder, "It semeth me alwaye
Whan that the morowe cometh every daye
I here the coughe, and pytously forbrake,
And dyvers other countenaunces make.'
"Now, truely, so it is,' she sayth, "madame.'
"Ha!' sayth her moder, "Holde thy pease, for shame!
Thou art with chylde. Tell it not all aboute,
Ne to none erthely persone breke it out.
And alwaye take a good respecte and hede
To do as I the shall commaunde and bede.'
"Madame, so shall I do in every thynge,
And lowely you obeye and your byddynge.'
The moder then sayth to her doughter tho,
"Hast thou not sene so often come and go
Into our hous suche a yonge squyer ofte?'
And she sayth, "Yes, madame' with wordes softe.
"Now then, advyse the wele, for in certayne
Tomorowe heder wyll he come agayne.
Then take good hede that thou make hym good chere
In godly wyse, and in thy best manere,
And whan that other gentylmen and me
Thou seest togyder talke, then cast an eye
On hym alwaye.' And this good moder so
Her doughter techeth wele how she shall do:
"Also I the commaunde and charge, yf he
Of ony maner thynges speke to the,
Herken hym wele, and answere curteysly,
And swetely rule thy speche and manerly.
And yf he speke of love or thynges lyke,
Thenne other whyles softely gyve a syke
And thanke hym hertyly, but say ywys
Thou knowest not yet what maner thynge love is,
Ne it to lerne thou wylte nat the apply.
Rule and demeane the well and womanly;
And golde or sylver yf he proffre the,
Thenne take it not in hast. But herken me--
Yf he the proffre juell, crosse, or rynge,
Gyrdell, bracelet, owche or other thynge,
Refuse it gracyousely, but at the last
Yf he it often offre the and fast,
Receyve it thenne in goodly wyse and take
For love of hym, saynge that for his sake
Thou wyll it kepe, thynkynge no vyllonye,
Shame ne deceyte that shall ensuye therby.
And whan he taketh leve of the to go,
Thenne hym demaunde or he departe the fro
Yf one shall see hym hastyly agayne,
Wherof say that thou wolde be glad and fayne.'
Here is this galaunt come whiche shall be cast
Ynto the lepe, and therin holden fast,
Forwhy the dame wyll cause hym forto wedde
Her doughter sone, and with her go to bedde,
Yf that she can by ony caste or wyle.
This galaunt she porposeth to begyle,
For he moche hathe of herytage and rent,
And is but symple, and an innocent.
Now cometh he this damoysell to see
In hast, for over wele at ease is he.
Ryght many galauntes bent have theyr engyne
To take this damoysell and undermyne.
The lady taketh a squyer by the hande,
Or elles a knyght; and other sytte or stande,
Whiche joyeously togyder talke and rayle.
This galaunt eke draweth to the damoysayle,
And by the hande he dothe her take and holde,
Sayenge, "Fayre damoysell, good God it wolde
That ye my thought wele knewe and understode!'
"And how may I', she sayth, "for any gode
Knowe it but yf ye wyll it to me saye?
What! Do ye thynke suche thynges as ye ne may
Telle me?' "Nay, by my fayth, I wolde that ye
Knewe it so that it were not sayd by me!'
"Truely,' she sayth--and laugheth pratyly--
"Ye telle a thynge to me so mervaylousely
Whiche to be done it is as inpossyble
As for to cause an horse walke invysyble.'
"Yf it had lyked you,' this galaunt sayth,
"And no dyspleasyr taken in good fayth,
I wolde have playnely shewed you my thought.'
"Now, syr,' sayth she, "Telle on, and spare it nought.
So moche of you knowe I that by the rode
Ye wyll not say ne shewe thynge but all gode.'
"Maystresse,' he sayth, "Ye knowe ryght welle that I
Am but a poore gentylman, forwhy
I wote I am unworthy and unable
To be youre love, or with you compaygnable,
For ye be gentyll, fayre, and gracyouse,
And of all vertues full, and beauteuouse.
And yf it pleased you to do to me
Suche honour that your lover I myght be
I durst make myn avaunt that with good wylle
I sholde do all the pleasyrs you untylle
That any man by possybylyté
May to his lady do in soveraynté.
I shall you serve, and eke your honour kepe
More thenne myn owne, whether ye wake or slepe.'
"Graunt mercy, syr,' thenne sayth this damoysell,
"But for the love of God speke neuer a dell
Of suche thynges unto me after this,
For I knowe not what maner thynge love is,
Ne yet I wyll not lerne it ferthermore,
For it is not doctryne ne the lore
The whiche my moder hathe me taught alwaye.
Thenne sayth this squyer, "Damoysell, in fay,
My fayre lady of whome ye speke is good,
But I wolde not yet that she understode
Suche thynges as be sayd betwexte us twaye.'
"A, syr,' she sayth, "Of you I have herde saye
This other daye that ye sholde maryed be,
Wherof I marvayle and ye come to me
And speke suche ydell wordes.' And thenne he
Sayth, "Damoysell, O benedycyte!
Now by my faythe, yf that it please yowe,
I shall never other wedde--I make avowe--
Whyle that I lyve, so that ye wyll me take
As for youre servaunt, and I undertake
That with my servyce ye shall be contente!'
"What! wolde ye have me deshonoured and shente?'
She sayth. "Nay! yet me lever were to dye,'
Sayth he, "thenne for to do you vyllonye!'
"For Goddes love be styll, and speke no more
Herof; and I shall tell you, syr, wherfore--
Yf that my moder it perceyve or wytte,
I shall destroyed be, I knowe wele it!'
And parauenture the moder maketh a sygne
That of her spekynge she shall cesse and fyne.
And thenne this galaunt gyveth her a rynge
Under her hande, or elles some other thynge,
Saynge to her, "Fayre lady, I you pray,
Take this and kepe it for my love alway.'
"Certes,' sayth she, "I wyll not take it, no!'
"Alas! my love,' he sayth, "why saye ye so?
I pray you hertely!', and in her hande
He putteth it agayne so as they stande,
And she it taketh, and sayth, "This I receyve
To have your love, as you may well perceyve,
Without thought of thynge but all honoure--
I take wytenesse unto my Savyoure!'
The lady of that house thus speketh then
In curteyse wyse unto the gentyll men,
"Tomoro we must igo with Goddes grace
Unto Our Blyssed Lady of suche a place,
On pylgrymage to suche a toune hereby.'
"Truely, madame,' they say, "ryght vertuously
And well ye speke.' And forth withall they go
To souper, and this galaunt evermo
Anenst this damoysell is put or set,
That he to her may talke withouten let,
And she so well can make her personage
In suche a wyse that he, halfe in a rage,
With love is take of her that was so bryght
And beauteuous as semed to his syght.
The morowe cometh. This company must ryde
On pylgrymage, and lenger not abyde.
And all men say they cannot se ne fynde
An horse amonge them all that bereth behynde
Excepte this galauntes horse there, by Saynt Loy,
Whereof grete pleasure taketh he and joy,
For one the damoysell behynde his backe
Dooth sette uppon his horse--and he no lacke
Fyndeth therin--and she clyppeth hym fast
To holde her on the horse that he ne cast
Her doune, and, God wote, therwith he is eased,
As an hauke whiche hathe an heron seased.
Now draweth he nyghe the lepe withouten bote!
They do this foresayd vyage, God it wote,
With perfyte mynde and good entencyon,
And home retorne, as made is mencyon,
Where merély they set them doune to mete,
With suche vytayles as they can fynde and gete.
And after mete, the lady fayre and well
Gooth to her chambre and this damoysell,
To whome she sayth, "Whan thou spekest with this man,
Say unto hym as sadly as thou can
That there is one whiche spoken hath to the
Of maryage, but thou ne wylte accorded be
As yet. And yf he offre the to take,
Thanke hym, and say that he must meanes make
To me, and put the mater to my wyll,
And that I do therin thou shalte fulfyll
On my behalfe, and say that there is none
Lyvynge in this worlde--I excepte not one--
That thou lovest halfe so wele in certaynté
As hym, so as may stande with honesté.'
And all they after walketh twayne and twayne
Togyder arme in arme to the gardeyne,
Whereas amonge the herbes and the floures
They smell and taste the holsom swete odoures,
And playenge take the floures by the stalke,
Whiche to theyr nose they put so as they walke--
One taketh a gelofer or vyolere,
Another plucketh of the englentere,
And every one of them as they espye
Take herbe or floure after theyr fantasye.
This galaunt squyre with the doughter gothe,
And telleth her every thynge, but she is wrothe.
"Alas!' she sayth, "speke no more so, for I
Shall, yf ye do, forsake your company!
What wolde ye do? Me semeth ye suppose
To cause me myn honoure for to lose.
Have ye not herde of late dayes ysayde
That one to mary me hath spoke and prayde?'
"Now, by my soule!' he sayth, "I can not blame
Hym though to mary you he wolde attame,
But I thynke that of myn habylyté
I am as good in value as is he,
Ane eke as able servyce you to do
As is the man of whome that ye speke so.'
"Now, by my fayth,' she sayth than with a syke,
"I wolde that he were to your persone lyke.'
"Graunt mercy, fayre damoysell,' he sayth,
"For of your grete curtesy, in fayth,
Well more than I am worthy ye me prayse.
But ye myn honoure gretely may up rayse
Yf ye wolde take me as your man to grace
To do you servyce all my lyves space.'
And she sayth, "Syr, graunt mercy therwithall.
This must be spoken in especyall
Unto my fader sadly and my moder,
And to my kynne, and frendes dyvers oder.'
Than sayth he thus, "Yf I myght knowe that they
Sholde be content, I wold bothe speke and prey.'
"A, syr,' she sayth, "Be ware that ye ne saye
That ye to me have spoken by ony way,
For rather wold I suffre dethe than ye
Sholde ony wordes shewe of prevyté
That hathe be sayd in ony maner wyse
Bytwene us twayne.' "Nay! that is not my guyse!'
Sayth he, whiche to the moder speketh soone,
And, as God wolde, in suche poynte was the moone
Whan he unto the moder made request
That he all his desyre had at the leest,
For she and other have them trouthes plyght--
And peradventure caused them at nyght
Togyder for to lye in bedde and slepe.
Now is this poore squyre plonged depe
Within the lepe, and spedely they make
The weddynge for this gentyl womans sake,
And hastely they do this mater spede,
Bycause her frendes have grete doute and drede
Leste ony let may come in this matere,
For in the wynde the weder was clere.
The nyght is come after they be wedde:
This damoysell with man must go to bedde,
And--knowe ye wele--the olde wylé dame
Wyll teche her doughter somwhat of the game,
How she ryght maydenly shall her demeane,
As though she were an holy vyrgyn cleane.
Myn auctour sayth her moder dooth her teche
That whan her husbande wyll unto her reche
She shall for drede tremble, quake, and crye,
And hym withstande, and how that she shall lye
In many maner wyse as sholde a mayde
Upon the nyght whan she fyrst is assayde.
Also the moder dooth her well enfourme
How she shall her demeane and in what fourme:
Whan that this galaunt her wolde enforce or stryke,
Also sodaynly than shall she sterte and syke
As though she were cast in colde water depe
Up to the brests--also she shall wepe.
But in conclusyon as to the dede,
She playeth metely wele whan she must nede.
And yet the fader and the moder bothe
For love and pyté angry be and wrothe
Whiche that they have upon theyr doughter yonge,
Supposynge that this man hath doone her wronge,
And causes them in presence to be brought.
Now hath this squyre founde that he hath sought!
Here may ye se one of the gretest payne,
For she, whiche with a ladde hath ben forlayne,
Or monethes thre may passe and come aboute,
Shall have a baby lapped in a cloute.
Oftymes ago then joyes and pleasaunce
To hevynes be tourned and penaunce.
And peradventure he shall her after bete,
And manace, curse, and chyde with wordes grete,
And never after shall good housholde kepe.
So in the lepe he put is for to stepe,
And out therof he never shall departe.
Of sorowe and hevynes he shall have parte,
And ever more abyde shall in dystres,
Endynge his dayes in care and wretchednes.