The Penguin Book of English Verse Read online

  Lucrece, which he naked fond:

  Wherof sche swounede in his hond,

  35

  And, as who seith, lay ded oppressed.

  And he, which al him hadde adresced

  To lust, tok thanne what him liste,

  And goth his wey, that non it wiste,

  Into his oghne chambre ayein,

  40

  And clepede up his chamberlein,

  And made him redi forto ryde.

  And thus this lecherouse pride

  To horse lepte and forth he rod;

  And sche, which in hire bed abod,

  45

  Whan that sche wiste he was agon,

  Sche clepede after liht anon

  And up aros long er the day,

  And caste awey hire freissh aray,

  As sche which hath the world forsake,

  50

  And tok upon the clothes blake:

  And evere upon continuinge,

  Right as men sen a welle springe,

  With yhen fulle of wofull teres,

  Hire her hangende aboute hire Eres,

  55

  Sche wepte, and noman wiste why.

  (1483)

  THOMAS HOCCLEVE from The Complaint of Hoccleve 1430

  Aftir that hervest inned had hise sheves

  And that the broun sesoun of Mihelmesse

  Was come, and gan the trees robbe of her leves

  That grene had ben and in lusty freisshenesse,

  5

  And hem into colour of yelownesse

  Had died and doun throwen undir foote-,

  That chaunge sanke into myn herte roote,

  For freisshly broughte it to my remembraunce

  That stablenesse in this worlde is ther noon:

  10

  Ther is nothing but chaunge and variaunce.

  Howe welthi a man be or wel-begoon,

  Endure it shal not, he shal it forgoon.

  Deeth undir foote shal him thriste adoun:

  That is every wightes conclucioun,

  15

  Whiche for to weyve is in no mannes myght,

  Howe riche he be, stronge, lusty, freissh and gay.

  And in the ende of Novembre uppon a night,

  Sighynge sore as I in my bed lay,

  For this and othir thoughtis wiche many a day

  20

  Byforne I tooke, sleep cam noon in myn ye,

  So vexid me the thoughtful maladie.

  I sy wel sithin I with siknesse last

  Was scourgid, cloudy hath bene the favour

  That shoon on me ful bright in times past.

  25

  The sunne abated and the dirke shour

  Hilded doun right on me and in langour

  Me made swymme, so that my spirite

  To lyve no lust had ne no delite.

  (…)

  Men seiden I loked as a wilde steer,

  30

  And so my looke aboute I gan to throwe.

  Min heed to hie, anothir seide, I beer:

  ‘Ful bukkissh is his brayn, wel may I trowe.’

  And seide the thridde – and apt is in the rowe

  To site of hem that a resounles reed

  35

  Can yeve – ‘No sadnesse is in his heed.’

  Chaunged had I my pas, somme seiden eke,

  For here and there forthe stirte I as a roo,

  Noon abood, noon areest, but al brain-seke.

  Another spake and of me seide also,

  40

  My feet weren ay wavynge to and fro

  Whanne that I stonde shulde and with men talke,

  And that myn yen soughten every halke.

  I leide an eere ay to as I by wente

  And herde al, and thus in myn herte I caste:

  45

  ‘Of longe abidinge here I may me repente;

  Lest that of hastinesse I at the laste

  Answere amys, beste is hens hie faste,

  For if I in this prees amys me gye,

  To harme wole it me turne and to folie.’

  50

  And this I demed wel and knewe wel eke:

  What-so that evere I shulde answere or seie

  They wolden not han holde it worth a leke.

  Forwhy, as I had lost my tunges keie,

  Kepte I me cloos and trussid me my weie

  55

  Droupinge and hevy and al woo-bistaad.

  Smal cause hadde I, me thoughte, to be glad.

  My spirites labouriden evere ful bisily

  To peinte countenaunce, chere and look,

  For that men spake of me so wondringly,

  60

  And for the verry shame and feer I qwook.

  Though myn herte hadde be dippid in the brook

  It weet and moist was ynow of my swoot,

  Wiche was nowe frosty colde, nowe firy hoot.

  And in my chaumbre at home whanne that I was

  65

  Mysilfe aloone, I in this wise wrought:

  I streite unto my mirrour and my glas

  To loke howe that me of my chere thought,

  If any othir were it than it ought,

  For fain wolde I, if it had not bene right,

  70

  Amendid it to my kunnynge and myght.

  Many a saute made I to this mirrour,

  Thinking, ‘If that I looke in this manere

  Amonge folke as I nowe do, noon errour

  Of suspecte look may in my face appere.

  75

  This countinaunce, I am sure, and this chere,

  If I it forthe use, is nothing reprevable

  To hem that han conceitis resonable.’

  And therwithal I thoughte thus anoon:

  ‘Men in her owne cas bene blinde alday,

  80

  As I have herde seie manie a day agoon,

  And in that same plite I stonde may.

  Howe shal I do? Wiche is the beste way

  My troublid spirit for to bringe in rest?

  If I wiste howe, fain wolde I do the best.’

  85

  Sithen I recovered was, have I ful ofte

  Cause had of anger and impacience,

  Where I borne have it esily and softe,

  Suffringe wronge be done to me and offence

  And not answerid ayen but kepte scilence,

  90

  Leste that men of me deme wolde and sein,

  ‘Se howe this man is fallen in ayein.’

  As that I oones fro Westminstir cam,

  Vexid ful grevously with thoughtful hete,

  Thus thoughte I: ‘A greet fool I am

  95

  This pavyment a-daies thus to bete

  And in and oute laboure faste and swete,

  Wondringe and hevinesse to purchace,

  Sithen I stonde out of al favour and grace.’

  And thane thoughte I on that othir side:

  100

  ‘If that I not be sen amonge the prees,

  Men deme wole that I myn heed hide

  And am werse than I am, it is no lees.’

  O Lorde, so my spirit was restelees!

  I soughte reste and I not it fonde,

  105

  But ay was trouble redy at myn honde.

  (1892)

  1440CHARLES OF ORLEANS [Ballade]

  In the forest of Noyous Hevynes

  As I went wandryng in the moneth of May,

  I mette of Love the myghti gret goddes,

  Which axid me whithir I was away.

  5

  I hir answerid, ‘As Fortune doth convey

  As oon exylid from joy, al be me loth,

  That passyng well all folke me clepyn may

  The man forlost that wot not where he goth.’

  Half in a smyle, ayen of hir humblesse

  10

  She seide, ‘My frend, if so I wist, ma fay,

  Wherfore that thou art brought in such distresse,

  To shape thyn ese I wolde mysi
lf assay,

  For here-tofore I sett thyn hert in way

  Of gret plesere – I not who made thee wroth.

  15

  Hit grevith me thee see in suche aray,

  The man forlost that wot not where he goth.’

  ‘Allas!’ I seide, ‘most sovereyne good princesse,

  Ye knowe my case: what nedith to yow say?

  Hit is thorugh Deth, that shewith to all rudesse,

  20

  Hath fro me tane that I most lovyd ay,

  In whom that all myn hope and comfort lay.

  So passyng frendship was bitwene us both

  That I was not, to fals Deth did hir day,

  The man forlost that wot not where he goth.

  25

  ‘Thus am I blynd, allas and welaway!

  Al fer myswent, with my staf grapsyng wey,

  That nothyng axe but me a grave to cloth;

  For pite is that I lyve thus a day,

  The man forlost that wot not where he goth.’

  CHARLES OF ORLEANS [Roundel]

  Take, take this cosse, atonys, atonys, my hert!

  That thee presentid is of thi maystres –

  The goodly fayre so full of lustynes –

  Only of grace to lessen with thi smert.

  5

  But to myn honoure loke thou well avert

  That Daunger not parseyve my sotilnes.

  Take, take this cosse, atonys, atonys, my hert!

  That thee presentid is of thi maystres.

  Daunger wacchith al nyght in his shert

  10

  To spye me, in a gery currisshenes;

  So to have doon attones let se thee dresse

  While in a slepe his eyen ben covert.

  Take, take this cosse, atonys, atonys, my hert!

  That thee presentid is of thi maystres.

  CHARLES OF ORLEANS [Roundel]

  Go forth myn hert wyth my lady,

  Loke that ye spar no besynes

  To serve hyr wyth seche lowlynes

  That ye get hyr grace and mercy.

  5

  Pray hyr oftymes pryvely

  That sche quippe trewly hyr promes.

  Go forth myn hert wyth my lady

  Loke that ye spar no besynes.

  I most as a hertles body

  10

  Abyde alone in hevynes

  And ye schal dowel wyth your maistres

  In plesans glad and mery.

  Go forth myn hert wyth my lady

  Loke that ye spar no besynes.

  (1827)

  1450 [Sloane Lyrics]

  ANONYMOUS

  Adam lay y-bownden bownden in a bond,

  Fower thousand wynter thought he not to long,

  And al was for an appil an appil that he took,

  As clerkës fynden writen in herë book.

  5

  Ne hadde the appil takë ben the appil takë ben,

  Ne haddë never our lady have ben hevenë quen.

  Blessed be the tymë that appil take was,

  Therefore we mown singen ‘Deo gratias!’

  ANONYMOUS

  I syng of a mayden that is makëles,

  King of allë kingës to here sone she ches.

  He cam also styllë ther his moder was,

  As dew in Aprylle that fallëth on the gras.

  5

  He cam also styllë to his moderës bowr

  As dew in Aprille that fallëth on the flour.

  He cam also stillë ther his moder lay,

  As dew in Aprille that fallëth on the spray.

  Moder and mayden was never non but she –

  10

  Wel may swych a lady Godës moder be!

  (1856)

  ANONYMOUS

  The merthe of alle this londe

  Maketh the gode husbonde

  With erynge of his plowe;

  Iblessyd be Cristes sonde

  5

  That hath us sent in honde

  Merthe and j oye ynowe.

  The plowe goth mony a gate

  Both erly and eke late

  In wynter in the clay

  10

  Aboute barly and whete,

  That maketh men to swete,

  God spede the plowe al day!

  Browne, Morel and Gore

  Drawen the plowe ful sore

  15

  Al in the morwenynge;

  Rewarde hem therfore

  With a shefe or more

  Al in the evenynge.

  Whan men bygynne to sowe

  20

  Ful wel here corne they knowe

  In the monnthe of May.

  Howe ever Janyver blowe,

  Whether hye or lowe,

  God spede the plowe allway!

  25

  Whan men bygynneth to wede

  The thystle fro the sede,

  In somer whan they may,

  God lete hem wel to spede;

  And longe gode lyfe to lede

  30

  All that for plowemen pray.

  ANONYMOUS [Christ Triumphant]

  I have laborede sore and suffered deyyth,

  And now I rest and draw my breyth;

  But I schall come and call ryght sone

  Hevene and erth and hell to dome;

  And thane schall know both devyll and mane,

  What I was and what I ame.

  (1939)

  ANONYMOUS [Holly against Ivy]

  Nay, Ivy, nay, hyt shal not be, iwys;

  Let Holy hafe the maystry, as the maner ys.

  Holy stond in the hall, fayre to behold;

  Ivy stond without the dore; she ys ful sore a-cold.

  5

  Holy and hys mery men, they dawnsyn and they syng;

  Ivy and hur maydenys, they wepyn and they wryng.

  Ivy hath a kybe; she kaght yt with the colde;

  So mot they all haf ae that with Ivy hold.

  Holy hat berys as rede as any rose;

  10

  The foster, the hunters kepe hem fro the doos.

  Ivy hath berys as blake as any slo;

  Ther com the oule and ete hym as she goo.

  Holy hath byrdys, a ful fayre flok,

  The nyghtyngale, the poppynguy, the gayntyl lavyrok.

  15

  Gode Ivy, what byrdys ast thou?

  Non but the howlat, that kreye, ‘How, how!’

  ANONYMOUS