Classic Poem

" Cupido, vnto whos commandement
The gentil kynrede of goddes on hy
And peple infernal been obedient,
And the mortel folk seruen bisyly,
Of goddesse Sitheree sone oonly,
To all tho þat to our deitee
Been sogettes, greetynges senden we.

" In general we wole þat yee knowe
þat ladyes of honur and reuerence,
And othir gentil wommen, han isowe
Swich seed of conpleynte in our audience,
Of men þat doon hem outrage and offense,
þat it oure eres greeueth for to heere,
So pitous is th'effect of hir mateere.

" And, passyng alle londes, on this yle
That clept is Albioun they moost conpleyne.
They seyn þat ther is croppe and roote of gyle,
So can tho men dissimulen and feyne,
With standyng dropes in hir yen tweyne,
Whan þat hir herte feelith no distresse,
To blynde wommen with hir doublenesse.

" Hir wordes spoken been so sighyngly,
And with so pitous cheere and contenance,
That euery wight þat meeneth trewely
Deemeth þat they in herte han swich greuance.
They seyn so importable is hir penance,
þat, but hir lady list to shewe hem grace,
They right anoon moot steruen in the place.

" " A, lady myn " , they seyn, " I yow ensure,
Shewe me grace, and I shal euere be,
Whyles my lyf may lasten and endure
To yow as humble in euery degree
As possible is, and keepe al thyng secree,
As þat yourseluen lykith þat I do,
And elles moot myn herte breste on two. "

" Ful hard is it to knowe a mannes herte,
For outward may no man the truthe deeme,
Whan word out of his mowth may ther noon sterte,
But it sholde any wight by reson qweeme
So is it seid of herte, it wolde seeme.
O feithful womman, ful of innocence,
Thow art betrayed by fals apparence.

" By procees wommen meeued of pitee,
Weenyng al thyng wer as þat tho men seye,
Granten hem grace of hir benignitee,
For they nat sholden for hir sake deye,
And with good herte sette hem in the weye
Of blisful loue, keepe it if they konne.
Thus othir whyle been the wommen wonne.

" And whan the man the pot hath by the stele,
And fully of hir hath possessioun,
With þat womman he keepith nat to dele
Aftir, if he may fynden in the toun
Any womman his blynd affeccion
On to bestowe. Foule moot he preeue!
A man, for al his ooth, is hard to leeue

" And for þat euery fals man hath a make,
As vnto euery wight is light to knowe,
Whan this traitour the womman hath forsake,
He faste him speedith vnto his felowe
Til he be ther his herte is on a lowe.
His fals deceit ne may him nat souffyse,
But of his treson tellith al the wyse.

" Is this a fair auant, is this honour,
A man himself to accuse and diffame?
Now is it good confesse him a traitour,
And brynge a womman to a sclaundrous name,
And telle how he hir body hath doon shame?
No worsship may he thus to him conquere,
But ful greet repreef vnto him and here.

" To her, nay, yit was it no repreef,
For al for pitee was it þat shee wroghte,
But he þat breewid hath al this mescheef,
þat spak so fair and falsly inward thoghte,
His be the shame, as it by reson oghte,
And vnto her thank perpetuel,
þat in a neede helpe can so wel.

" Althogh þat men, by sleighte and sotiltee,
A cely, symple and ignorant womman
Betraye, is no wondir, syn the citee
Of Troie, as þat the storie telle can,
Betrayed was thurgh the deceit of man,
And set afyr, and al doun ouerthrowe,
And finally destroyed, as men knowe.

" Betrayen men nat remes grete and kynges?
What wight is þat can shape a remedie
Ageynes false and hid purposid thynges?
Who can the craft tho castes to espye,
But man whos wil ay reedy is t'applie
To thyng þat sovneth into hy falshede?
Wommen, bewaar of mennes sleighte, I rede.

" And, ferthermore, han the men in vsage
þat wheras they nat likly been to speede,
Swiche as they been with a double visage
They procuren for to pursue hir neede.
He preyeth him in his cause proceede,
And largely him qwytith his trauaille
Smal witen wommen how men hem assaille.

" To his felawe anothir wrecche seith,
" Thow fisshist fair. Shee þat hath thee fyrid,
Is fals and inconstant and hath no feith.
Shee for the rode of folk is so desyrid,
And as an hors fro day to day is hyrid,
That whan thow twynnest from hir conpaignie,
Anothir comth, and blerid is thyn ye.

" " Now prike on faste and ryde thy iourneye
Whyl thow art ther, shee, behynde thy bak,
So liberal is shee can no wight withseye,
But qwikly of anothir take a snak,
For so the wommen faren, al the pak.
Whoso hem trustith, hangid moot he be!
Ay they desiren chaunge and noueltee. "

" Wherof procedith this but of enuye?
For he himself here ne wynne may,
Repreef of here he spekth, and villenye,
As mannes labbyng tonge is wont alway.
Thus sundry men ful often make assay
For to destourbe folk in sundry wyse,
For they may nat accheuen hir empryse.

" Ful many a man eek wolde for no good,
þat hath in loue spent his tyme and vsid,
Men wiste his lady his axyng withstood,
And þat he wer of his lady refusid,
Or waast and veyn wer al þat he had musid,
Wherfore he can no bettre remedie,
But on his lady shapith him to lie.

" " Euery womman " , he seith, " is light to gete
Can noon seyn nay if shee be wel isoght
Whoso may leiser han with hire to trete,
Of his purpos ne shal he faille noght,
But on maddyng he be so deepe broght
þat he shende al with open hoomlynesse
þat louen wommen nat, as þat I gesse. "

" To sclaundre wommen thus what may profyte,
To gentils namly þat hem armen sholde,
And in deffense of wommen hem delyte,
As þat the ordre of gentillesse wolde
If þat a man list gentil to be holde,
Al moot he flee þat is to it contrarie
A sclaundryng tonge is therto aduersarie.

" A foul vice is of tonge to be light,
For whoso mochil clappith gabbith ofte
The tonge of man so swift is and so wight
þat wan it is areisid vp on lofte,
Reson it sueth so slowly and softe
þat it him neuere ouertake may.
Lord, so the men been trusty at assay!

" Al be it þat men fynde o womman nyce,
Inconstant, rechelees or variable,
Deynous or prowd, fulfillid of malice,
Withoute feith or loue and deceyuable,
Sly, qweynte and fals, in al vnthrift coupable,
Wikkid and feers and ful of crueltee,
It folwith nat swiche alle wommen be.

" Whan þat the hy God angels fourmed hadde,
Among hem all whethir ther was noon
þat fownden was malicious and badde?
Yis, men wel knowen ther was many oon
þat for hir pryde fil from heuene anoon.
Shal man therfore alle angels prowde name?
Nay, he þat that susteneth is to blame.

" Of xii apostles oon a traitour was
The remanaunt yit goode wer and treewe.
Thanne, if it happe men fynden par cas
O womman fals, swich is good for t'escheewe,
And deeme nat þat they been alle vntreewe.
I see wel mennes owne falsenesse
Hem causith wommen for to truste lesse.

" O, euery man oghte han an herte tendre
Vnto woman, and deeme hir honurable,
Whethir his shap be eithir thikke or sclendre,
Or he be badde or good, this is no fable
Euery man woot þat wit hath resonable,
þat of a womman he descendid is
Than is it shame spek of hir amis.

" A wikkid tree good fruyt may noon foorth brynge,
For swich the fruyt is as þat is the tree.
Take heede of whom thow took thy begynnynge.
Lat thy modir be mirour vnto thee
Honure hir if thow wilt honurid be
Despyse thow nat hir in no maneere,
Lest þat therthurgh thy wikkidnesse appeere.

" An old prouerbe seid is in Englissh:
Men seyn þat brid or foul is deshonest,
Whatso it be, and holden ful cherlissh,
þat wont is to deffoule his owne nest.
Men to seye of wommen wel it is best,
And nat for to despise hem ne depraue,
If þat hem list hir honur keepe and saue.

" Ladyes eek conpleynen hem on clerkis,
þat they han maad bookes of hir deffame,
In whiche they lakken wommennes werkis,
And speken of hem greet repreef and shame,
And causelees hem yeue a wikkid name
Thus they despysid been on euery syde,
And sclaundred and belowen on ful wyde.

" Tho wikkid bookes maken mencion,
How they betrayeden, in special,
Adam, Dauid, Sampson and Salomon,
And many oon mo. Who may rehercen al
The tresoun þat they haue doon and shal?
Who may hir hy malice conprehende?
Nat the world, clerkes seyn, it hath noon ende.

" Ouyde, in his book callidRemedie
Of Louegreet repreef of wommen writith,
Wherin I trowe he dide greet folie,
And euery wight þat in swich cas delitith.
A clerkes custume is whan he endytith
Of wommen, be it prose, rym or vers,
Seyn they be wikke, al knowe he the reuers.

" And þat book scolers lerne in hir childhede,
For they of wommen be waar sholde in age,
And for to loue hem euere been in drede,
Syn to deceyue is set al hir corage
They seyn peril to caste is auantage,
Namely swich as men han in be trappid,
For many a man by wommen han mishappid.

" No charge what so þat the clerkes seyn.
Of al hir wrong wrytyng do we no cure
Al hir labour and trauaille is in veyn,
For, betwixt vs and my lady Nature,
Shal nat be souffred, whyl the world may dure,
Clerkes, by hir outrageous tirannye,
Thus vpon wommen kythen hir maistrye.

" Whilom ful many of hem wer in our cheyne
Tyd, and lo now, what for vnweeldy age,
And for vnlust, may nat to loue atteyne,
And seyn þat loue is but verray dotage
Thus, for þat they hemself lakken corage,
They folk excyten by hir wikked sawes,
For to rebelle ageyn vs and our lawes.

" But maugree hem þat blamen wommen moost,
Swich is the force of oure impressioun
þat sodeynly we felle can hir boost
And al hir wrong ymaginacioun
It shal nat been in hir elleccioun,
The foulest slutte in al a town refuse,
If þat vs list, for al þat they can muse,

" But hir in herte as brennyngly desyre
As thogh shee wer a duchesse or a qweene:
So can we mennes hertes sette on fyre,
And, as vs list, hem sende ioie and teene
They that to wommen been iwhet so keene,
Our sharpe strokes, how sore they smyte,
Shul feele and knowe, and how they kerue and byte.

" Pardee, this greet clerk, this sotil Ouyde,
And many anothir, han deceyued be
Of wommen, as it knowen is ful wyde,
What, no men more, and þat is greet deyntee.
So excellent a clerk as þat was he,
And othir mo þat kowde so wel preche,
Betrappid wern for aght they kowde teche.

" And trustith wel þat it is no meruaille,
For wommen kneewen pleynly hir entente.
They wiste how sotilly they kowde assaille
Hem, and what falshode in herte they mente,
And tho clerkes they in hir daunger hente
With o venym anothir was destroyed,
And thus the clerkes often wer anoyed.

" This ladyes ne gentils nathelees
Weren nat they þat wroghten in this wyse,
But swiche filthes þat wern vertulees:
They qwitten thus thise olde clerkes wyse.
To clerkes forthy lesse may souffyse
Than to depraue wommen generally,
For honur shuln they gete noon therby.

" If þat tho men þat louers hem pretende,
To wommen weren feithful, goode and treewe,
And dredden hem to deceyue and offende,
Wommen to loue hem wolde nat escheewe,
But euery day hath man an herte neewe
It vpon oon abyde can no whyle.
What force is it swich oon for to begyle?

" Men beren eek the wommen vpon honde,
þat lightly, and withouten any peyne,
They wonne been. They can no wight withstonde,
þat his disese list to hem conpleyne
They been so freel, they mowe hem nat restreyne,
Bot whoso lykith may hem lightly haue,
So been hire hertes esy in to graue.

" To maistir Iohn de Meun, as I suppose,
Than it was a lewde occupacioun,
In makynge of theRomance of the Rose:
So many a sly ymaginacioun
And perils for to rollen vp and doun,
So long procees, so many a sly cautele,
For to deceyue a cely damoisele!

" Nat can we seen ne in our wit conprehende,
þat art and peyne and sotiltee may faille
For to conquere, and soone make an ende,
Whan man a feeble place shal assaille,
And soone also to venquisshe a bataille,
Of which no wight dar make resistence,
Ne herte hath noon to stonden at deffense.

" Than moot it folwen of necessitee,
Syn art askith so greet engyn and peyne,
A womman to deceuye, what shee be,
Of constance they been nat so bareyne
As þat some of tho sotil clerkes feyne,
But they been as þat wommen oghten be,
Sad, constaunt and fulfillid of pitee.

" How freendly was Medea to Iasoun,
In the conqueryng of the flees of gold
How falsly quitte he hir affeccion,
By whom victorie he gat, as he hath wold
How may this man for shame be so bold
To falsen hir þat from deeth and shame
Him kepte, and gat him so greet prys and name?

" Of Troie also the traitour Eneas,
The feithlees man, how hath he him forswore
To Dydo þat queene of Cartage was,
þat him releeued of his greeues sore!
What gentillesse mighte shee do more
Than shee, with herte vnfeyned, to him kidde,
And what mescheef to hire of it betidde!

" In our legende of martirs may men fynde,
Whoso þat lykith therin for to rede,
That ooth noon, ne byheeste, may men bynde.
Of repreef ne of shame han they no drede.
In herte of man conceites treewe arn dede.
The soile is naght; ther may no trouthe growe.
To womman is hir vice nat vnknowe.

" Clerkes seyn also ther is no malice
Vnto wommannes crabbid wikkidnesse.
O womman, how shalt thow thyself cheuyce,
Syn men of thee so mochil harm witnesse?
Yee, strah, do foorth, take noon heuynesse.
Keepe thyn owne, what men clappe or crake,
And some of hem shuln smerte, I vndirtake.

" Malice of wommen, what is it to drede?
They slee no men, destroien no citees.
They nat oppressen folk, ne ouerlede,
Betraye empyres, remes ne duchees,
Ne men byreue hir landes ne hir mees,
Folk enpoysone or howses sette on fyre,
Ne fals contractes maken for noon hyre.

" Trust, parfyt loue and enteer charitee,
Feruent wil and entalentid corage
To thewes goode as it sit wel to be,
Han wommen ay of custume and vsage,
And wel they can a mannes ire asswage
With softe wordes, discreet and benigne
What they been inward shewith owtward signe.

" Wommannes herte to no creweltee
Enclyned is, but they been charitable,
Pitous, deuout, ful of humilitee,
Shamefast, debonair and amiable,
Dreedful and of hir wordes mesurable
What womman thise hath nat, per auenture,
Folwyth nothyng the way of hir nature.

" Men seyn our firste modir, nathelees,
Made al mankynde leese his libertee,
And nakid it of ioie, douteless,
For Goddes heeste disobeied shee,
Whan shee presumed to ete of the tree
Which God forbad þat shee nat ete of sholde,
And nad the feend been, no more she wolde.

" Th'enuyous swellyng þat the feend our fo
Had vnto man in herte for his welthe
Sente a serpent and made hir to go
To deceuye Eeue, and thus was mannes welthe
Byreft him by the feend, right in a stelthe,
The womman nat knowyng of the deceit
God woot, ful fer was it from hir conceit.

" Wherfore we seyn, this good womman Eeue
Our fadir Adam ne deceyued noght
Ther may no man for a deceit it preeue
Proprely but if þat shee in hir thoght
Had it conpassid first or it was wroght,
And, for swich was nat hire impressioun,
Men call it may no deceit, by resoun.

" No wight deceyueth but he it purpose.
The feend this deceit caste, and nothyng shee
Than is it wrong for to deeme or suppose
þat shee sholde of þat gilt the cause be
Wytith the feend and his be the maugree,
And for excusid haue hir innocence,
Sauf oonly þat shee brak obedience.

" Touchynge which, ful fewe men ther been —
Vnnethes any, dar we saufly seye,
Fro day to day, as men mowe wel seen —
But þat the heeste of God they disobeye.
This haue in mynde, sires, we yow preye.
If þat yee be discreet and resonable,
Yee wole hir holde the more excusable.

" And wher men seyn in man is stidfastnesse,
And womman is of hir corage vnstable,
Who may of Adam bere swich witnesse?
Tellith on this, was he nat changeable?
They bothe weren in a cas semblable,
Sauf willyngly the feend deceyued Eeue
So dide shee nat Adam, by your leeue.

" Yit was þat synne happy to mankynde.
The feend deceyued was, for al his sleighte.
For aght he kowde him in his sleightes wynde,
God, to descharge mankynde of the weighte
Of his trespas, cam doun from heuenes heighte,
And flessh and blood he took of a virgyne
And souffred deeth, man to deliure of pyne.

" And God, fro whom ther may no thyng hid be,
If he in womman knowe had swich malice
As men of hem recorde in generaltee,
Of our lady, of lyf reparatrice,
Nolde han be born But for þat shee of vice
Was voide, and of al vertu wel, he wiste,
Endowid, of hir be born him liste.

" Hir hepid vertu hath swich excellence
þat al to weyk is mannes facultee
To declare it and therfore, in suspense,
Hir due laude put moot needes be.
But this we witen verraily, þat shee,
Next God, the best freend is þat to man longith.
The keye of mercy by hir girdil hongith,

" And of mercy hath euery wight swich neede,
þat, cessyng it, farwel the ioie of man!
Of hir power it is to taken heede
Shee mercy may, wole, and purchace can
Displese hir nat. Honureth þat womman,
And othir wommen all for hir sake,
And, but yee do, your sorwe shal awake.

" Thow precious gemme, martir Margarete,
Of thy blood dreddist noon effusioun
Thy martirdom ne may we nat foryete
O constant womman, in thy passioun
Ouercam the feendes temptacioun,
And many a wight conuerted thy doctryne
Vnto the feith of God, holy virgyne.

" But vndirstondith, we commende hir noght
By encheson of hir virginitee.
Trustith right wel, it cam nat in our thoght,
For ay we werreie ageyn chastitee,
And euere shal, but, this leeueth wel yee,
Hir louyng herte and constant to hir lay,
Dryue out of remembrance we nat may

" In any book also wher can yee fynde
þat of the wirkes, or the deeth or lyf
Of Ihesu spekth or makith any mynde,
þat wommen him forsook for wo or stryf?
Wher was ther any wight so ententyf
Abouten him as wommen? Perdee, noon
Th'apostles him forsooken euerichoon.

" Wommen forsook him noght, for al the feith
Of holy chirche in womman lefte oonly
This is no lees, for thus holy writ seith
Looke, and yee shuln so fynde it, hardily
And therfore it may preeued be therby,
That in womman regneth al the constaunce,
And in man is al chaunge and variaunce.

" Now holdith this for ferme and for no lye,
þat this treewe and iust commendacioun
Of wommen is nat told for flaterie,
Ne to cause hem pryde or elacioun,
But oonly, lo, for this entencioun,
To yeue hem corage of perseuerance
In vertu and hir honur to enhaunce.

" The more vertu, the lasse is the pryde
Vertu so noble is and worthy in kynde,
þat vice and shee may nat in feere abyde
Shee puttith vice cleene out of mynde.
Shee fleeth from him, shee leueth him behynde.
O womman, þat of vertu art hostesse,
Greet is thyn honur and thy worthynesse.

" Than thus we wolen conclude and deffyne:
We yow commaunde, our ministres echoon,
þat reedy been to our heestes enclyne,
þat of tho men vntreewe, our rebel foon,
Yee do punisshement, and þat anoon
Voide hem our court and banisshe hem for euere,
So þat therynne they ne come neuere.

" Fulfillid be it, cessyng al delay
Looke ther be noon excusacion
Writen in th'eir the lusty monthe of May,
In our paleys, wher many a milion
Of louers treewe han habitacion,
The yeer of grace ioieful and iocounde,
Millesimo CCCC and secounde."