Chaucerian and Other Pieces. Various

al-though the vertue of dedes of mercy strecchen to

      visiten the poore prisoners, and hem, after that facultees ben had,

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      to comforte, me semed that I was so fer fallen in-to miserye and

      wrecched hid caytifnesse, that me shulde no precious thing

      neighe; and also, that for my sorowe every wight shulde ben

      hevy, and wisshe my recovery. But whan this lady had somdele

      apperceyved, as wel by my wordes as by my chere, what thought

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      besied me within, with a good womanly countenance she sayde

      these wordes:—

      'O my nory, wenest thou that my maner be, to foryete my

      frendes or my servauntes? Nay,' quod she, 'it is my ful entente

      to visyte and comforte al my frendshippes and allyes, as wel in

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      tyme of perturbacion as of moost propertee of blisse; in me shal

      unkyndnesse never be founden: and also, sithen I have so fewe

      especial trewe now in these dayes. Wherefore I may wel at more

      leysar come to hem that me deserven; and if my cominge may

      in any thinge avayle, wete wel, I wol come often.'

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      'Now, good lady,' quod I, 'that art so fayre on to loke,

      reyninge hony by thy wordes, blisse of paradys arn thy lokinges,

      joye and comfort are thy movinges. What is thy name? How

      is it that in you is so mokel werkinge vertues enpight, as me

      semeth, and in none other creature that ever saw I with myne

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      eyen?'

      'My disciple,' quod she, 'me wondreth of thy wordes and on

      thee, that for a litel disese hast foryeten my name. Wost thou

      not wel that I am Love, that first thee brought to thy service?'

      'O good lady,' quod I, 'is this worship to thee or to thyn

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      excellence, for to come in-to so foule a place? Pardè, somtyme,

      tho I was in prosperitè and with forayne goodes envolved, I had

      mokil to done to drawe thee to myn hostel; and yet many

      werninges thou madest er thou liste fully to graunte, thyn home

      to make at my dwelling-place; and now thou comest goodly by

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      thyn owne vyse, to comforte me with wordes; and so there-thorough

      I ginne remembre on passed gladnesse. Trewly, lady,

      I ne wot whether I shal say welcome or non, sithen thy coming

      wol as moche do me tene and sorowe, as gladnesse and mirthe.

      See why: for that me comforteth to thinke on passed gladnesse,

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      that me anoyeth efte to be in doinge. Thus thy cominge bothe

      gladdeth and teneth, and that is cause of moche sorowe. Lo, lady,

      how than I am comforted by your comminge'; and with that

      I gan in teeres to distille, and tenderly wepe.

      'Now, certes,' quod Love, 'I see wel, and that me over-thinketh,

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      that wit in thee fayleth, and [thou] art in pointe

      to dote.'

      'Trewly,' quod I, 'that have ye maked, and that ever wol

      I rue.'

      'Wottest thou not wel,' quod she, 'that every shepherde ought

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      by reson to seke his sperkelande sheep, that arn ronne in-to

      wildernesse among busshes and perils, and hem to their pasture

      ayen-bringe, and take on hem privy besy cure of keping? And

      though the unconninge sheep scattred wolde ben lost, renning to

      wildernesse, and to desertes drawe, or els wolden putte hem-selfe

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      to the swalowinge wolfe, yet shal the shepherde, by businesse and

      travayle, so putte him forth, that he shal not lete hem be lost by

      no waye. A good shepherde putteth rather his lyf to ben lost for

      his sheep. But for thou shalt not wene me being of werse

      condicion, trewly, for everich of my folke, and for al tho that to

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      me-ward be knit in any condicion, I wol rather dye than suffre

      hem through errour to ben spilte. For me liste, and it me lyketh,

      of al myne a shepherdesse to be cleped. Wost thou not wel,

      I fayled never wight, but he me refused and wolde negligently go

      with unkyndenesse? And yet, pardè, have I many such holpe

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      and releved, and they have ofte me begyled; but ever, at the ende,

      it discendeth in their owne nekkes. Hast thou not rad how kinde

      I was to Paris, Priamus sone of Troy? How Jason me falsed,

      for al his false behest? How Cesars †swink, I lefte it for no tene

      til he was troned in my blisse for his service? What!' quod she,

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      'most of al, maked I not a loveday bytwene god and mankynde,

      and chees a mayde to be nompere, to putte the quarel at ende?

      Lo! how I have travayled to have thank on al sydes, and yet list

      me not to reste, and I might fynde on †whom I shulde werche.

      But trewly, myn owne disciple, bycause I have thee founde, at al

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      assayes, in thy wil to be redy myn hestes to have folowed, and

      hast ben trewe to that Margarite-perle that ones I thee shewed;

      and she alwaye, ayenward, hath mad but daungerous chere;

      I am come, in propre person, to putte thee out of errours, and

      make thee gladde by wayes of reson; so that sorow ne disese shal

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      no more hereafter thee amaistry. Wherthrough I hope thou

      shalt lightly come to the grace, that thou longe hast desyred, of

      thilke jewel. Hast thou not herd many ensamples, how I have

      comforted and releved the scholers of my lore? Who hath

      worthyed kinges in the felde? Who hath honoured ladyes in

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      boure by a perpetuel mirrour of their tr[o]uthe in my service?

      Who hath caused worthy folk to voyde vyce and shame? Who

      hath holde cytees and realmes in prosperitè? If thee liste clepe

      ayen thyn olde remembraunce, thou coudest