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 OF THE. 
 
 UNIVERSITY 
 Of ILLINOIS 
 
 84IR66I 
 
 Or-Ec 
 
 1911a 
 
Return this book on or before the 
 Latest Date stamped below. 
 
 Theft, mutilation, and underlining of books 
 are reasons for disciplinary action and may 
 result in dismissal from the University. 
 University of Illinois Library 
 
Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 in 2015 
 
 https://archive.org/details/romauntofroserenOOguil 
 
* 
 

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
\ 
 

THE ROMAUNT 
 OF THE ROSE 
 
 RENDERED OUT OF THE FRENCH INTO 
 ENGLISH BY GEOFFREY CHAUCER AND 
 ILLUSTRATED BY KEITH HENDERSON 
 & NORMAN WILKINSON OF FOUR OAKS 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY 
 
 igi i 
 
Printed by Ballantyne, Hanson ts* Co. 
 At the Ballantyne Press, Edinburgh 
 

 <RUt 
 
 On • 
 
 / pi K. 
 
 £ 
 
 
 r~ 
 
 •=► 
 
 
 ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 AS BYRDE IN BOUR Frontispiece 
 
 IOLYF AND GAY To face page 2 
 
 IN AT THE WIKET WENT I THO 8 
 
 THE DAUNCE 10 
 
 MYNSTRALES 12 
 
 THE GOD OF LOVE 14 
 
 YDELNESSE 16 
 
 LOVE PURSUING 20 
 
 THE BOTHOUN 22 
 
 THE THREE ARROWS OF LOVE 24 
 
 PEYNE 42 
 
 THE LOVER LISTENING TO REASOUN 44 
 
 UNTO MY FREEND, AND TOLDE HYM ALL 46 
 “ A, BIALACOIL, MYN OWNE DEERE ” 58 
 
 SWEET REASON 62 
 
 YOUTHE AND DELITE 66 
 
 “MI MODIR IS OF GRET PROWESSE ” 78 
 
 “ IF THAT I WERE GOD OF RICHESSE ” 80 
 
 DAME ABSTINENCE-STREYNED 84 
 
 THE END 102 
 
 Of the above Illustrations, the Frontispiece and those 
 facing pages 2, 10, 16, 20, 42, 44, 46, 8o, and 102 are by 
 Keith Henderson; those facing pages 8, 12, 14, 22, 24, 58, 
 62, 66, 78, and 84 are by Norman Wilkinson. 
 
HERE BEGINS THE ROMAUNT OF THE ROSE BY GUILLAUME 
 DE LORRIS AND JEHANDE MEUNG: RENDEREDOUTOFTHE 
 FRENCH INTO ENGLISH BY GEOFFREY CHAUCER 
 
 M ANY men sayn that in 
 sweveninges 
 Ther nys but fables and 
 lesynges ; 
 
 But men may some swevenes sene 
 Whiche hardely that false ne bene, 
 But afterwarde ben apparaunt. 
 
 This maye I drawe to warraunt 
 An authour that hight Macrobes, 
 That halte nat dremes false ne lees, 
 But undothe us the avysioun 
 That whilom mette kyng Cipioun. 
 And who-so saith, or weneth it be 
 A jape, or elles nycete, 
 
 To wene that dremes after falle, 
 Lette who so lyste a foie me calle. 
 For this trowe I, and say for me, 
 That dremes signifiaunce be 
 Of good and harme to many wightes, 
 That dremen in her slepe a nyghtes 
 Ful many thynges covertly, 
 
 That fallen after al openly. 
 
 Within my twenty yere of age, 
 Whan that Love taketh his cariage 
 Of yonge folke, I wente soone 
 To bedde, as I was wont to done, 
 And faste I slepte ; and in slepyng 
 Me mette suche a swevenyng 
 That lyked me wonder wele. 
 
 But in that sweven is never a dele 
 That it nys afterwarde befalle, 
 Ryght as this dreme wol tel us alle. 
 
 Nowe this dreme wol I ryme a-right 
 To make your hertes gaye and lyght, 
 
 For Love it prayeth and also 
 Commaundeth me that it be so. 
 
 And if there any aske me, 
 
 Whether that it be he or she, 
 
 Howe [wil I] this booke whiche is here 
 Shal hatte, that I rede you here ; 
 
 It is the Romance of the Rose, 
 
 In whiche al the Arte of Love I close. 
 
 The mater fayre is of to make : 
 
 God graunt me in gree that she it take 
 For whom that it begonnen is ! 
 
 And that is she that hath y-wis 
 So mochel pris, and therto she 
 So worthy is biloved to be 
 That she wel ought of pris and ryght 
 Be cleped Rose of every wight. 
 
 That it was May me thoughte tho — 
 
 It is .V. yere or more ago — 
 
 That it was May thus dremed me, 
 
 In tyme of love and jolite, 
 
 That al thing gynneth waxen gay. 
 
 For ther is neither busk nor hay 
 In May that it nyl shrouded bene, 
 
 And it with newe leves wrene. 
 
 These wodes eek recoveren grene 
 That drie in wynter ben to sene. 
 
 And the erthe wexith proude withalle 
 For swote dewes that on it falle, 
 
 And [al] the pore estat forgette 
 In which that wynter had it sette. 
 
 And than bycomeththegroundsoproude, 
 That it wole have a newe shroude, 
 
 And makith so queynt his robe and faire 
 That it hath hewes an hundred payre, 
 
 A 
 
THE ROMAUNT OF THE ROSE 
 
 Of gras and flouris, ynde and pers, 
 
 And many hewes ful dyvers. 
 
 That is the robe I mene, y-wis, 
 Through whiche the ground to preisen is. 
 
 The byrdes that han lefte her song 
 While thei suffride cold so strong, 
 
 In wedres gryl and derk to sight, 
 
 Ben in May, for the sonne bright, 
 
 So glade that they shewe in syngyng, 
 That in her hertis is sich lykyng, 
 
 That they mote syngen and be light. 
 Than doth the nyghtyngale hir myght 
 To make noyse and syngen blythe; 
 Than is blisful many sithe 
 The chelaundre and [the] papyngay. 
 Than yonge folk entenden ay 
 Forto ben gay and amorous. 
 
 The tyme is than so saverous, 
 
 Hard is the hert that loveth nought 
 In May, whan al this mirth is wrought ; 
 Whan he may on these braunches here 
 The smale briddes syngen clere 
 Her blesful swete song pitous. 
 
 And in this sesoun delytous, 
 
 Whan love affraieth alle thing, 
 
 Me thoughte a-nyght, in my sleping 
 Right in my bed, ful redily 
 That it was by the morowe erly. 
 
 And up I roos, and gan me clothe. 
 Anoon I wisshe myn hondis bothe. 
 
 A sylvre nedle forth y droughe 
 Out of an aguler queynt ynoughe, 
 
 And gan this nedle threde anon ; 
 
 For out of toun me list to gon 
 The song of briddes forto here. 
 
 That in thise buskes syngen clere. 
 
 And in the swete seson that lefe is, 
 
 With a threde bastyng my slevis, 
 
 Alone I wente in my plaiyng, 
 
 The smale foules song harknyng, 
 
 That peyned hem ful many pevre 
 To synge on bowes blosmed fevre. 
 Iolyf and gay, ful of gladnesse, 
 
 Toward a ryver gan I me dresse, 
 
 That I herd renne faste by, 
 
 For fairer plaiyng non saugh I 
 Than playen me by that ryvere. 
 
 For from an hill that stood ther nere. 
 Cam doun the streme ful stif and bold ; 
 Cleer was the water and as cold 
 As any welle is, soth to seyne. 
 
 And somdele lasse it was than Seyne, 
 But it was strayghter, wel away ; 
 
 And never saugh I, er that day, 
 
 The watir that so wel lvked me, 
 
 j 
 
 And wondir glad was I to se 
 That lusty place and that ryvere. 
 
 And with that watir that ran so clere 
 My face I wysshe. Tho saugh I well 
 The botme paved everydell 
 With gravel ful of stones shene. 
 
 The medewe softe, swote, and grene, 
 Beet right on the watir syde. 
 
 Ful clere was than the morowtvde, 
 And ful attempre, out of drede. 
 
 Tho gan I walke thorough the mede, 
 Dounward ay in my pleiyng 
 The ryver syde costeiyng. 
 
 And whan I had a while goon, 
 
 I saugh a gardyn right anoon, 
 
 Ful long and brood, and euerydell 
 Enclosed was, and walled well 
 With highe walles enbatailled, 
 Portraied without and wel entailled 
 With many riche portraitures. 
 
 And bothe the vmages and peyntures 
 Gan I biholde bysyly ; 
 


 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
THE ROMAUNT OF THE ROSE 
 
 And I wole telle you redyly 
 Of thilk ymages the semblaunce, 
 
 As fer as I have remembraunce. 
 
 Amydde saugh I Hate stonde, 
 
 That for hir wrathe, yre, and onde 
 Semede to ben a meveresse, 
 
 An angry wight, a chideresse ; 
 
 And ful of gyle and felle corage 
 By semblaunt was that ilk ymage. 
 And she was no thyng wel arraied, 
 But lyk a wode womman afraied. 
 Y-frounced foule was hir visage 
 And grennyng for dispitous rage ; 
 Hir nose snorted up for tene. 
 
 Ful hidous was she forto sene, 
 
 Ful foule and rusty was she this; 
 
 Her heed y-writhen was, y-wis, 
 
 Ful grymly with a greet towayle. 
 
 An ymage of another entayle 
 A lyft half was hir faste by ; 
 
 Hir name above hir heed saugh I, 
 And she was called Felonye. 
 Another ymage, that Vilanye 
 Y-clepid was, saugh I and fonde 
 Upon the wal on hir right honde. 
 Vilany was lyk somdel 
 That other ymage, and, trustith wel, 
 She semede a wikked creature. 
 
 By countenaunce in portrayture 
 She semed be ful dispitous, 
 
 And eek ful proude and outragious. 
 Wel coude he peynte, I undirtake, 
 That sich ymage coude make. 
 
 Ful foule and cherlysshe semed she, 
 And eek vylayneus forto be, 
 
 And litel coude of norriture 
 To worshipe any creature. 
 
 And next was peynted Coveitise, 
 That eggith folk in many gise 
 To take and yeve right nought ageyne. 
 And gret tresouris up to leyne. 
 
 And that is she that for usure 
 Leneth to many a creature, 
 
 The lasse for the more wynnyng, 
 
 So coveteise is her brennyng. 
 
 And that is she for penyes fele, 
 
 That techith forto robbe and stele 
 These theves and these smale harlotes ; 
 And that is routh, for by her throtes 
 Ful many oon hangith at the laste. 
 
 She makith folk compasse and caste 
 To taken other folkis thyng 
 Through robberie or myscounting. 
 And that is she that makith trechoures 
 And she makith false pleadoures, 
 
 That, with hir termes and hir domes, 
 Doon maydens, children, & eek gromes 
 Her heritage to forgo. 
 
 Ful croked were hir hondis two, 
 
 For coveitise is evere wode 
 To gripen other folkis gode ; 
 
 Coveityse for hir wynnyng 
 Ful leef hath other mennes thing. 
 
 Another ymage set saugh I 
 Next Coveitise faste by, 
 
 And she was clepid Avarice. 
 
 Ful foule in peyntyng was that vice, 
 Ful fade and caytif was she eek. 
 
 And also grene as ony leek. 
 
 So yvel hewed was hir colour 
 Hir semed to have lyved in langour; 
 She was lyk thyng for hungre deed, 
 That ladde hir lyf oonly by breed 
 Kneden with eisel strong and egre ; 
 And therto she was lene and megre. 
 
 3 
 
THE ROMAUNT OF THE ROSE 
 
 And she was clad ful porely 
 A1 in an old torn courtepy, 
 
 As she were al with doggis torne ; 
 
 And both bihynde and eke biforne 
 Clouted was she beggarly. 
 
 A mantyl henge hir faste by. 
 
 Upon a perche weike and small ; 
 
 A burnet cote henge therwith-all, 
 Furred with no menyvere 
 But with a furre rough of here, 
 
 Of lambe skynnes hevy and blake ; 
 
 It was ful old I undirtake, 
 
 For Avarice to clothe hir well 
 Ne hastith hir neveradell. 
 
 For certeynly it were hir loth 
 To weren ofte that ilke cloth ; 
 
 And if it were forwered she 
 Wolde have ful gret necessite 
 Of clothyng, er she bought hir newe, 
 Al were it bad of woll and hewe. 
 
 This Avarice hilde in hir hande 
 A purs that henge [doun] by a bande, 
 And that she hidde and bonde so strong, 
 Men must abyde wondir long, 
 
 Out of that purs er ther come ought ; 
 For that ne cometh not in hir thought. 
 It was not, certein, hir entent 
 That fro that purs a peny went. 
 
 And by that ymage nygh ynough 
 Was peynted Envye, that never lough, 
 Nor never wel in hir herte ferde, 
 
 But if she outher saugh or herde 
 Som gret myschaunce, or gret disese. 
 No thyng may so moch hir plese 
 As myschef and mysaventure ; 
 
 Or whan she seeth discomfiture 
 Upon ony worthy man falle. 
 
 That likith hir wel with alle. 
 
 She is ful glade in hir corage, 
 
 If she se any grete lynage 
 
 Be brought to nought in shamful wise. 
 
 And if a man in honour rise, 
 
 Or by his witte or by his prowesse, 
 
 Of that hath she gret hevynesse. 
 
 For trustith wel she goth nygh woae, 
 Whan any chaunge happith gode. 
 Envie is of such crueltee 
 That feith ne trouth[e] holdith she 
 To freend ne felawe, bad or good. 
 
 Ne she hath kynne noon of hir blood, 
 That she nys ful her enemye ; 
 
 She nolde, I dar seyn hardelve, 
 
 Hir owne fadir ferde well. 
 
 And sore abieth she everydell 
 Hir malice and hir male talent, 
 
 For she is in so gret turment 
 Andhathsuch [wo] whanfolkdothgood, 
 That nygh she meltith for pure wood ; 
 Hir herte kervyth and so brekith, 
 
 That god the puple wel a-wrekith. 
 Envie, i-wis, shal nevere lette 
 Som blame upon the folk to sette ; 
 
 I trowe that if Envie, i-wis, 
 
 Knewe the beste man that is 
 On this side, or biyonde the see, 
 
 Yit somewhat lakken hym wolde she ; 
 And if he were so hende aijd wis, 
 
 That she ne myght al abate his pris, 
 
 Yit wolde she blame his worthynesse, 
 Or by hir wordis make it lesse. 
 
 I saugh Envie in that peyntyng 
 Hadde a vvondirful lokyng. 
 
 For she ne lokide but awrie, 
 
 Or overthart all baggyngly. 
 
 And she hadde a foule usage, 
 
 She myght loke in no visage 
 
 Of man or womman forth-right pleyn. 
 
 4 
 
THE ROMAUNT OF THE ROSE 
 
 But shette hir one eye for disdeyn ; 
 
 So for Envie brenned she, 
 
 Whan she myght any man y-se 
 That faire or worthi were, or wise, 
 
 Or elles stode in folkis pryse. 
 
 Sorwe was peynted next Envie 
 Upon that wall of masonrye, 
 
 But wel was seyn in hir colour 
 That she hadde lyved in langour ; 
 
 Hir semede to have the jaunyce. 
 Nought half so pale was Avarice, 
 
 Nor no thyng lyk [as] of lenesse ; 
 
 For sorowe, thought, and gret distresse, 
 That she hadde suffred day and nyght, 
 Made hirful yolweandno thyng bright, 
 Ful fade, pale, and megre also. 
 
 Was never wight yit half so wo 
 As that hir semede forto be, 
 
 Nor so fulfilled of ire as she. 
 
 I trowe that no wight myght hir please, 
 Nor do that thyng that myght hir ease ; 
 Nor she ne wolde hir sorowe slake 
 Nor comfort noon unto hir take, 
 
 So depe was hir wo bigonnen 
 And eek hir hert in angre ronnen. 
 
 A sorowful thyng wel semed she. 
 
 Nor she hadde no thyng slowe be 
 Forto forcracchen al hir face, 
 
 And forto rent in many place 
 Hir clothis, and forto tere hir swire, 
 
 As she that was fulfilled of ire. 
 
 And al to-torn lay eek hir here 
 Aboute hir shuldris here and there, 
 
 As she that hadde it al to-rent 
 For angre, and for maltalent. 
 
 And eek I telle you certevnly 
 H ow that she wepe ful tendirly. 
 
 In worlde nys wyght so harde of herte 
 
 That had [he] sene her sorowes smerte, 
 That nolde have had of her pyte, 
 
 So wo begone a thyng was she. 
 
 She al to-dassht her-selfe for woo, 
 
 And smote togyder her hondes two. 
 To sorowe was she ful ententyfe 
 That woful rechelesse caytyfe ; 
 
 Her roughte lytel of playing 
 Or of clypping, or [of] kissyng; 
 
 For who so sorouful is in herte, 
 
 Him luste not to play ne sterte, 
 
 Ne for to dauncen, ne to synge, 
 
 Ne may his herte in temper bringe, 
 
 To make joye on even or morowe, 
 
 For joy is contrarie unto sorowe. 
 
 Elde was paynted after this, 
 
 That shorter was a foote, i-wys, 
 
 Than she was wonte in her yonghede. 
 Unneth her selfe she mighte fede ; 
 
 So feble and eke so olde was she 
 That faded was al her beaute. 
 
 Ful salowe was waxen her colour ; 
 
 Her heed for hore was whyte as flour, 
 I-wys great qualme ne were it none, 
 Ne synne,al though her lyfe were gone ; 
 Al woxen was her body unwelde, 
 
 And drie and dwyned al for elde. 
 
 A foule forwelked thyng was she, 
 
 That whylom rounde and softe had be ; 
 Her eeres shoken faste withall, 
 
 As from her heed they wolde fall ; 
 
 Her face frounced and forpyned, 
 
 And botheherhondeslorne,fordwyned. 
 So olde she was that she ne went 
 A foote, but it were by potent. 
 
 The tyme that passeth nyght and daye, 
 And restelesse travayleth aye, 
 
 And steleth from us so prively, 
 
 5 
 
THE ROMAUNT OF THE ROSE 
 
 That to us semeth so sykerly 
 That it in one poynt dwelleth ever; 
 
 And certes it ne resteth never. 
 
 But gothe so faste, and passeth aye, 
 
 That there nys man that thynke may 
 What tyme that nowe present is; 
 
 Asketh at these clerkes this. 
 
 For [or] men thynke it redily 
 Thre tymes ben y-passed by. 
 
 The tyme that may not sojourne, 
 
 But goth and may never retourne, 
 
 As watir that doun renneth ay, 
 
 But never drope retourne may. 
 
 Ther may no thing as tyme endure, 
 Metall nor erthely creature ; 
 
 For alle thing it frette and shall. 
 
 The tyme eke that chaungith all, 
 
 And all doth waxe and fostred be, 
 
 And alle thing distroieth he ; 
 
 The tyme that eldith our auncessours. 
 And eldith kynges and emperours, 
 
 And that us alle shal overcomen 
 Er that deth us shal have nomen ; 
 
 The tyme, that hath al in welde 
 To elden folk, had maad hir elde 
 So ynly, that to my witing, 
 
 She myght[e] helpe hir sill no thing, 
 
 But turned ageyn unto childhede. 
 
 She had no thing hir silf to lede, 
 
 Ne witte ne pithe in hir holde 
 More than a child of two yeer olde. 
 
 But natheles I trowe that she 
 Was faire sumtyme, and fresh to se, 
 Whan she was in hir rightful age ; 
 
 But she was past al that passage, 
 
 And was a doted thing bicomen. 
 
 A furred cope on had she nomen, 
 
 Wei had she clad hir silf and warme, 
 
 For colde myght elles don hir harme. 
 
 6 
 
 These olde folk have alwey colde, 
 
 Her kynde is sich whan they ben olde. 
 
 Another thing was don there write, 
 That semede lyk an ipocrite, 
 
 And it was clepid Poope Holy. 
 
 That ilk is she that pryvely 
 Ne spareth never a wikked dede 
 Whan men of hir taken noon hede. 
 And maketh hir outward precious 
 With pale visage and pitous, 
 
 And semeth a simple creature. 
 
 But ther nys no mysaventure 
 That she ne thenkith in hir corage. 
 Ful lyk to hir was that ymage, 
 
 That makid was lyk hir semblaunce. 
 She was ful symple of countenaunce 
 And she was clothed and eke shod 
 As she were, for the love of god, 
 Yolden to relygioun, 
 
 Sich semede hir devocioun. 
 
 A sauter helde she faste in honde, 
 
 And bisily she gan to fonde 
 To make many a feynt praiere 
 To god, and to his seyntis dere. 
 
 Ne she was gay, ne fresh, ne jolyf, 
 
 But semede to be ful /ententyf 
 To gode werkis and to faire, 
 
 And therto she had on an haire ; 
 
 Ne certis she was fatt no thing, 
 
 But semed wery for fasting ; 
 
 Of colour pale and deed was she. 
 
 From hir the gate ay werned be 
 Of Paradys, that blisful place. 
 
 For sich folk maketh lene her face, 
 
 As Crist seith in his Evangile, 
 
 To gete prys in toun a while ; 
 
 And for a litel glorie veigne 
 They lesen god and ek his reigne. 
 
THE ROMAUNT OF THE ROSE 
 
 And alderlast of everychon 
 Was peynted Povert al aloon, 
 
 That not a peny hadde in holde, 
 
 All though she hir clothis solde, 
 
 And though she shulde an honged be ; 
 For nakid as a worme was she, 
 
 And if the wedir stormy were, 
 
 For colde she shulde have dyed there. 
 She nadde on but a streit olde sak, 
 
 And many a cloute on it ther stak ; 
 This was hir cote and hir mantell, 
 
 No more was there, never a dell, 
 
 To clothe hir with, I undirtake ; 
 
 Grete leyser hadde she to quake. 
 
 And she was putt, that I of talke, 
 
 Fer fro these other, up in an halke ; 
 There lurked and there coured she. 
 For pover thing, where so it be, 
 
 Is shamefast and dispised ay ; 
 
 Acursed may wel be that day 
 That povere man conceyved is, 
 
 For god wote al to selde, i-wys, 
 
 Is ony povere man wel fedde 
 Or wel araied or [wel] cledde, 
 
 Or welbiloved in sich wise 
 In honour that he may arise. 
 
 Alle these thingis well avised, 
 
 As I have you er this devysed, 
 
 With gold and asure over all 
 Depeynted were upon the wall. 
 
 Square was the wall and high sumdell. 
 Enclosed and barred well, 
 
 In stede of hegge, was that gardyne; 
 Come nevere shepherde therynne. 
 
 Into that gardyn wel y-wrought 
 Who so that me coude have brought 
 By laddre, or elles by degre, 
 
 It wolde wel have liked me, 
 
 For sich solace, sichjoie and play 
 
 I trowe that nevere man ne say, 
 
 As was in that place delytous. 
 
 The gardeyn was not daungerous 
 To herberwe briddes many oon, 
 
 So riche a yerde was nevere noon 
 Of briddes songe and braunches grene ; 
 Therynne were briddes mo I wene 
 Than ben in all the rewme of Fraunce. 
 Ful blisful was the accordaunce 
 Of swete and pitous songe thei made ; 
 For all this world it owghte glade. 
 
 And I my-silf so mery ferde, 
 
 Whan I her blisful songes herde, 
 
 That for an hundreth pounde nolde I, 
 If that the passage opunly 
 Hadde be unto me free, 
 
 That I nolde entren forto se 
 Thassemble — god kepe it fro care — 
 Of briddis whiche therynne ware. 
 That songen thorugh her mery throtes 
 Dauncis of love and mery notes. 
 
 Whan I thus herde foules synge, 
 
 I felle fast in a weymentyng, 
 
 By which art, or by what engync, 
 
 I myght come into that gardyne. 
 
 But way I couthe fynde noon 
 Into that gardyne for to goon. 
 
 Ne nought wist I if that ther were 
 Eyther hole or place where, 
 
 By which I myght have entre. 
 
 Ne ther was noon to teche me, 
 
 For I was al aloone i-wys, 
 
 For-wo and angwishis of this. 
 
 Til atte last bithought I me, 
 
 That by no weye ne myght it be 
 That ther nas laddre, or wey to passe, 
 Or hole, into so faire a place. 
 
 Tho gan I go a full grete pas, 
 Envyronyng evene in compas 
 
 7 
 
THE ROMAUNT OF THE ROSE 
 
 The closing of the square wall, 
 
 Tyl that 1 fonde a wiket small, 
 
 So shett that I ne myght in gon, 
 
 And other entre was ther noon. 
 Uppon this dore I gan to smyte 
 That was [so] fetys and so lite. 
 
 For other weye coude I not seke. 
 
 Ful long I shof, and knokkide eke, 
 And stood ful long and oft herknyng, 
 If that I herde ony wight comyng, 
 Til that dore of thilk entre 
 A mayden curteys openyde me. 
 
 Hir heer was as yelowe of hewe 
 As ony basyn scoured newe, 
 
 H ir flesh [as] tendre as is a chike, 
 With bente browis smothe and slyke ; 
 And by mesure large were 
 The openyng of hir yen clere; 
 
 Hir nose of good proporcioun, 
 
 Hir yen grey as is a faucoun ; 
 
 With swete breth and wel savoured, 
 Hir face white and wel coloured, 
 With litel mouth and rounde to see ; 
 A clove chynne eke hadde she, 
 
 Hir nekke was of good fasoun. 
 
 In lengthe and gretnesse by resoun, 
 Withoute bleyne, scabbe, or royne; 
 Fro Iersalem unto Burgoyne 
 Ther nys a fairer nekke, i-wys, 
 
 To fele how smothe and softe it is. 
 
 H ir throte also white of hewe 
 As snowe on braunche snowed newe. 
 Of body ful wel wrought was she, 
 Men neded not in no cuntre 
 A fairer body forto seke. 
 
 And of fyn orfrays hadde she eke 
 A chapelet so semly oon 
 Ne werede never mayde upon. 
 
 And faire above that chapelet 
 
 A rose gerland had she sett. 
 
 She hadde [in honde] a gav mirrour, 
 And with a riche gold tresour 
 Hir heed was tressed, queyntely. 
 
 Hir sieves sewid fetouslv. 
 
 And forto kepe hir hondis faire 
 Of gloves white she had a paire. 
 
 And she hadde on a cote of grene 
 Of cloth of Gaunt, withouten wene. 
 W el semyde by hir apparayle 
 She was not wont to gret travayle ; 
 
 For whan she kempte was fetisly, 
 
 And wel arayed and richely, 
 
 Thanne had she don al hir journe. 
 
 For merye and wel bigoon was she, 
 She ladde a lusty lyf in May ; 
 
 She hadde no thought by nyght ne day 
 Of no thyng, but it were oonly 
 To graythe hir wel and uncouthly. 
 Whan that this dore hadde opened me 
 This may[de] semely forto see, 
 
 I thanked hir as 1 best myght. 
 
 And axide hir how that she hight, 
 And v^hat she was I axide eke. 
 
 And she to me was nought unmeke, 
 Ne of hir answer daungerous, 
 
 But faire answeride, and seide thus : — 
 “ Lo, sir, my name is Ydelnesse ; 
 
 So clepe men me, more and lesse ; 
 
 Ful myghty and ful riche am I, 
 
 And that of oon thyng namely, 
 
 For I entende to no thvng. 
 
 But to my joye, and my plevvng. 
 
 And forto kembe and tresse me. 
 Aqueynted am I and pryve 
 With Myrthe, lord of this gardyne, 
 That fro the lande Alexandryne 
 Made the trees hidre be tette 
 That in this gardyne ben y-sette. 
 
 8 
 

 
 *?M§i & -'' • *»*» rt JJ 
 
 
 m . w '' tl 111 'JB 
 
 * 
 

 
 
 
 
 . 
 
 
 
 . 
 
 
 
 
THE ROMAUNT OF THE ROSE 
 
 And whan thetrees were woxen on hight, 
 This wall, that stant heere in thi sight, 
 Dide Myrthe enclosen al aboute. 
 
 And these ymages al withoute 
 He dide hem bothe entaile and peynte, 
 That neithir ben jolyf ne queynte, 
 
 But they ben ful of sorowe and woo, 
 
 As thou hast seen a while agoo. 
 
 And ofte tyme hym to solace 
 Sir Myrthe cometh into this place, 
 
 And eke with hym cometh his meynee, 
 That lyven in lust and jolite. 
 
 And now is Myrthe therynne to here 
 The briddis, how they syngen clere, 
 The mavys and the nyghtyngale, 
 
 And other joly briddis smale. 
 
 And thus he walketh to solace 
 Hym and his folk, for swetter place 
 To pleyen ynne he may not fynde, 
 
 Al though he sought oon in-tyl Ynde. 
 The alther-fairest folk to see 
 That in this world may founde be 
 Hath Mirthe with hym in his route, 
 That folowen hym always aboute.” 
 Whan Ydelnesse had tolde al this, 
 
 And I hadde herkned wel y-wys, 
 Thanne seide I to dame Ydelnesse: 
 
 “ Now also wisly god me blesse, 
 
 Sith Myrthe that is so faire and fre 
 Is in this yerde with his meyne, 
 
 Fro thilk assemble, if I may, 
 
 Shal no man werne me to-day. 
 
 That I this nyght ne mote it see. 
 
 For wel wene I there with hym be 
 A faire and joly companye, 
 
 Fulfilled of all curtesie.” 
 
 And forth, withoute wordis mo, 
 
 In at the wiket went I tho, 
 
 That Ydelnesse hadde opened me, 
 
 Into that gardyne faire to see. 
 
 And whan I was inne i-wys, 
 
 Myn herte was ful glad of this. 
 
 For wel wende I ful sikerly 
 Have ben in Paradys erthly ; 
 
 So faire it was that, trusteth wel, 
 
 It semede a place espirituel. 
 
 For certys, as at my devys, 
 
 Ther is no place in Paradys 
 So good inne forto dwelle or be, 
 
 As in that gardyne, thoughte me. 
 
 For there was many a bridde syngyng 
 Thorough-out the yerde al thringyng. 
 In many places were nyghtyngales, 
 Alpes, fynches, and wodewales, 
 
 That in her swete song deliten. 
 
 In thilke places as they habiten, 
 
 There myght[e] men see many flokkes 
 Of turtles and [of] laverokkes. 
 Chalaundres fele sawe I there, 
 
 That wery, nygh forsongen were. 
 
 And thrustles, terins, and mavys, 
 
 That songen forto wynne hem prys, 
 And eke to sormounte in hir songe 
 That othere briddes hem amonge. 
 
 By note made faire servyse 
 These briddes that I you devise ; 
 
 They songe her songe as faire and wele 
 As angels don espirituel. 
 
 And, trusteth wel, than I hem herde, 
 Ful lustily and wel I ferde, 
 
 For never yitt sich melody e 
 Was herd of man that myghte dye. 
 Sich swete song was hem amonge, 
 That me thought it no briddis songe, 
 But it was wondir lyk to be 
 Song of mermaydens of the see, 
 
 That, for her syngyng is so clere, 
 Though we mermaydensclepe hem here 
 
 9 
 
THE ROMAUNT OF THE ROSE 
 
 In English as is oure usaunce, 
 
 Men clepe hem sereyns in Fraunce. 
 Ententif weren forto synge 
 These briddis, that nought unkunnyng 
 Were of her craft and apprentys, 
 
 But of song sotil and wys. 
 
 And certis, whan I herde her songe, 
 
 And sawe the grene place amonge, 
 
 In herte I wexe so wondir gay, 
 
 That I was never erst er that day 
 So jolyf, nor so wel bigoo, 
 
 Ne merye in herte, as I was thoo. 
 
 And than wist I and sawe ful well, 
 
 That Ydelnesse me served well, 
 
 That me putte in sich jolite. 
 
 Hir freend wel ought I forto be 
 Sith she the dore of that gardyne 
 Hadde opened, and me leten inne. 
 Fromhennesforth how that I wroughte, 
 
 I shal you tellen as me thoughte. 
 
 First wherof Myrthe served there, 
 
 And ekewhatfolktherewith hymwere, 
 Withoute fable I wole discryve; 
 
 And of that gardyne eke as blyve 
 I wole you tellen aftir this 
 The faire fasoun all y-wys, 
 
 That wel y-wrought was for the nones. 
 
 I may not telle you all at ones, 
 
 But as I may and can, I shall 
 By ordre tellen you it all. 
 
 Ful faire servise, and eke ful swete, 
 
 These briddis maden, as they sete ; 
 
 Layes of love ful wel sownyng, 
 
 They songen in their jargonyng ; 
 
 Summe high and summeeke lowe songe 
 Upon the braunches grene y-spronge. 
 The swetnesse of her melodve 
 
 J 
 
 Made al myn herte in reverye. 
 
 And whan that I hadde herde, I trowe, 
 
 io 
 
 These briddis syngyng on a rowe. 
 Than myght I not withholde me 
 That I ne wente inne forto see 
 Sir Myrthe ; for my desiryng 
 Was hym to seen, over alle thyng ; 
 His countenaunce and his manere, 
 That sighte was to me ful dere. 
 
 Tho wente I forth on my right honde 
 Doun by a lytel path I fonde, 
 
 Of mentes full and fenell grene. 
 
 And faste by, withoute wene, 
 
 Sir Myrthe I fonde, and right anoon 
 Unto sir Myrthe gan I goon, 
 
 There as he was, hym to solace. 
 
 And with hym in that lusty place 
 So faire folk and so fresh had he, 
 
 That whan I sawe I wondred me 
 Fro whennes siche folk myght come. 
 So faire they weren all and some, 
 
 For they were lyk, as to my sighte, 
 To angels that ben fethered brighte. 
 
 This folk, of which I telle you soo, 
 Upon a karole wenten thoo. 
 
 A lady karolede hem, that hyght 
 Gladnesse, [the] blisfull and the light 
 Wel coude she synge and lustyly ; 
 Noon half so wel and semely, 
 
 Couthe make in song sich refreynynge 
 It sat hir wondir wel to synge ; 
 
 Hir voice ful clere was and tul swete. 
 She was nought rude ne unmete. 
 
 But couthe ynow of sich doyng 
 As longeth unto karolyng. 
 
 For she was wont in every place 
 To syngen first, folk to solace, 
 
 For syngyng moost she gat hir to. 
 
 No craft had she so leet to do. 
 
 Tho myghtist thou karoles sene. 
 

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
THE ROMAUNT OF THE ROSE 
 
 And folk daunce and mery bene, 
 
 And make many a faire tournyng 
 Upon the grene gras springyng. 
 
 There my ghtist thou see these flowtours, 
 Mynstrales, and eke jogelours, 
 
 That wel to synge dide her peyne ; 
 Somme songe songes of Loreyne, 
 
 For in Loreyn her notes bee 
 Full swetter than in this contre. 
 
 There was many a tymbester, 
 
 And saillouris that I dar wel swere, 
 Couth e her craft ful parfitly ; 
 
 The tymbres up ful sotilly, 
 
 They caste and hente full ofte, 
 
 Upon a fynger faire and softe, 
 
 That they [ne] failide never mo. 
 
 Ful fetys damyselles two, 
 
 Ryght yonge and full of semelyhede, 
 In kirtles and noon other wede 
 And faire tressed every tresse, 
 
 Hadde Myrthe doon, for his noblesse, 
 Amydde the karole forto daunce. 
 
 But herof lieth no remembraunce 
 How that they daunced queyntely ; 
 That oon wolde come all pryvyly 
 Agayn that other, and whan they were 
 To-gidre almost, they threwe yfere 
 Her mouthis so that through her play 
 It semed as they kiste alway. 
 
 To dauncen well koude they the gise, 
 What shulde I more to you devyse; 
 Ne bode I never thennes go, 
 
 Whiles that I sawe hem daunce so. 
 
 Upon the karoll wonder faste 
 I gan biholde, til atte laste 
 A lady gan me forto espie ; 
 
 And she was cleped Curtesie 
 The worshipfull, the debonaire. 
 
 I pray to god evere falle hir faire. 
 
 Ful curteisly she callede me, 
 
 “ What doy e there, Beau ser ? ” quod she, 
 “Come [here], and if it lyke yow 
 To dauncen, dauncith with us now.” 
 And I withoute tariyng 
 Wente into the karolyng. 
 
 I was abasshed never a dell, 
 
 But it to me liked right well 
 That Curtesie me cleped so, 
 
 And bad me on the daunce go. 
 
 For if I hadde durst, certeyn 
 I wolde have karoled right fayn. 
 
 As man that was to daunce blithe. 
 Thanne gan I loken ofte sithe 
 The shape, the bodies, and the cheres. 
 The countenaunce, and the maneres 
 Of all the folk that daunced there; 
 And I shal tell [you] what they were. 
 
 Fulfaire was Myrthe, fullongeand high, 
 A fairer man I nevere sigh ; 
 
 As rounde as appille was his face, 
 
 Ful rody and white in every place. 
 Fetys he was and wel beseye, 
 
 With metely mouth and yen greye, 
 His nose by mesure wrought ful right. 
 Crispe was his heer, and eek ful bright, 
 Hise shuldris of a large brede, 
 
 And smalish in the girdilstede. 
 
 He semed lyke a portreiture. 
 
 So noble he was of his stature, 
 
 So faire, so joly and so fetys, 
 
 With lymes wrought at poynt devys, 
 Dely ver, smert, and of grete myght ; 
 Ne sawe thou nevere man so lyght. 
 
 Of berde unnethe hadde he no thyng. 
 For it was in the firste spryng. 
 
 Ful yonge he was, and mery of thought ; 
 
THE ROMAUNT OF THE ROSE 
 
 And in samette with briddis wrought. 
 And with gold beten ful fetysly, 
 
 His body was clad ful richely. 
 Wrought was his robe in straunge gise 
 And al to-slytered for queyntise 
 In many a place lowe and hie ; 
 
 And shode he was with grete maistrie. 
 With shoon decoped and with laas. 
 
 By druery and by solas. 
 
 His leef a rosyn chapelet 
 Hadde made and on his heed it set. 
 
 And wite ye who was his leef? 
 
 Dame Gladnesse there was hym so leef, 
 That syngith so wel with glad cpurage, 
 That from she was .XII. yeer of age, 
 She of hir love graunt hym made. 
 
 Sir Mirthe hir by the fynger hadde 
 Daunsyng, and she hym also ; 
 
 Grete love was atwixe hem two. 
 
 Bothe were they faire and bright of 
 hewe ; 
 
 She semede lyke a rose newe 
 Of colour, and hir flesh so tendre 
 That with a brere smale and slendre 
 Men myght it cleve, I dar wel seyn ; 
 Hir forheed frounceles, al pleyn ; 
 
 Bent were hir [browne] browis two, 
 Hir yen greye and glad also. 
 
 That laugheden ay in hir semblaunt 
 First or the mouth, by covenaunt. 
 
 I not what of hir nose descryve, 
 
 So faire hath no womman alyve. 
 
 H irheerwas yelowe,andclereshynyng, 
 I wot no lady so likyng. 
 
 Of orfrays fresh was hir gerland ; 
 
 I, which seyen have a thousand, 
 
 Saugh never y-wys no gerlond yitt. 
 
 So wel y-wrought of silk as it. 
 
 And in an overgilt samit 
 Cladde she was, by grete debt, 
 
 Of which hir leef a robe werede ; 
 
 The myrier she in hir herte ferede. 
 
 And next hir wente, in hir other side. 
 The God of Love, that can devyde 
 Love, and as hym likith it be. 
 
 But he can cherles daunten, he, 
 
 And maken folkis pride fallen, 
 
 And he can wel these lordis thrallen. 
 And ladyes putt at lowe degre, 
 
 Whan he may hem to proude see. 
 This God of Love of his fasoun 
 Was lyke no knave, ne quystroun. 
 
 His beaute gretly was to preyse, 
 
 But of his robe to devise 
 I drede encombred forto be ; 
 
 For nought y-clad in silk was he, 
 
 But all in floures and in flourettes, 
 I-paynted all with amorettes. 
 
 And with losenges, and scochouns, 
 With briddes, lybardes, and lyouns, 
 And other beestis wrought ful well, 
 His garnement was everydell 
 Y-portreied, and wrought with floures 
 By dyvers medlyng of coloures. 
 Floures there were of many gise, 
 Y-sett by compas in assise; 
 
 Ther lakkide no flour to my dome, 
 
 Ne nought so mych as flour of brome, 
 Ne violete, ne eke pervynke, 
 
 Ne flour noon that man can on thynke 
 And many a rose-leef ful longe. 
 
 Was entermelled ther amonge. 
 
 And also on his heed was sette 
 Of roses reed a chapelett. 
 
 But nyghtyngales, a full grete route 
 That flyen over his heed aboute. 
 

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
THE ROMAUNT OF THE ROSE 
 
 The leeves felden as they flyen ; 
 
 And he was all with briddes wryen, 
 With popynjay, with nyghtyngale, 
 With chalaundre, and with wodewale, 
 With fynche,with lark, and with arch- 
 aungell. 
 
 He semede as he were an aungell, 
 Thatdoun were comenfro hevene clere. 
 
 Love hadd with hym a bachelere, 
 That he made alleweyes with hym be; 
 Swete lokyng cleped was he. 
 
 This bachelere stode biholdyng 
 The daunce ; and in his honde holdyng 
 Turke bowes two had he. 
 
 That oon of hem was of a tree 
 That bereth a fruyt of savour wykke, 
 Ful crokid was that foule stikke ; 
 
 And knotty here and there also. 
 
 And blak as bery, or ony slo. 
 
 That other bowe was of a plante 
 Withouten wem, I dar warante, 
 
 Ful evene, and by proporcioun 
 Treitys and long, of good fasoun ; 
 
 And it was peynted wel and thwyten, 
 And over al diapred and writen 
 With ladyes and with bacheleris, 
 
 Full lyghtsom and glad of cheris. 
 These bowes two helde Swete-lokyng, 
 That semede lyk no gadelyng, 
 
 And ten brode arowis hilde he there, 
 Of which .V. in his righthond were ; 
 But they were shaven well and dight, 
 Nokked and fethered aright, 
 
 And all they were with gold bygoon, 
 And stronge poynted everychoon. 
 
 And sharpe forto kerven well. 
 
 But iren was ther noon, ne steell, 
 
 For al was golde, men myght it see. 
 
 Out-take the fetheres and the tree. 
 The swiftest of these arowis fyve 
 Out of a bowe forto dryve, 
 
 And beste fethered for to flee, 
 
 And fairest eke, was clepid Beaute ; 
 That other arowe that hurteth lesse 
 Was clepid, as I trowe, Symplesse ; 
 The thridde cleped was Fraunchise 
 That fethred was in noble wise, 
 
 With valour and with curtesye ; 
 
 The fourthe was cleped Compaignye, 
 That hevy forto shoten ys ; 
 
 But who so shetith right y-wys, 
 
 May therwithdoongreteharmeandwo. 
 The fifte of these, and laste also, 
 Faire-Semblaunt men that arowe calle. 
 The leeste grevous of hem alle, 
 
 Yit can it make a ful grete wounde. 
 But he may hope his soris sounde, 
 That hurt is with that arowe y-wys ; 
 His wo the bette bistowed is, 
 
 For he may sonner have gladnesse ; 
 His langour oughte be the lesse. 
 
 Five arowis were of other gise, 
 
 That ben ful foule to devy'se, 
 
 For shaft and ende, soth forto telle, 
 Were also blak as fende in helle. 
 
 The first of hem is called Pride, 
 
 That other arowe next hym biside. 
 
 It was [y-] cleped Vylanye. 
 
 That arowe was al with felonye 
 Envenymed, and with spitous blame. 
 The thridde of hem was cleped Shame, 
 The fourthe Wanhope cleped is. 
 
 The fifte Newe-thought, y-wys. 
 
 These arowis that I speke of heere 
 Were alle fyve on oon maneere. 
 
 And alle were they resemblable. 
 
 To hem was wel sittyng and able, 
 
 13 
 
THE ROMAUNT OF THE ROSE 
 
 The foule croked bowe hidous 
 That knotty was, and al roynous; 
 
 That bowe semede wel to shete 
 These arowis fyve, that ben unmete 
 And contrarye to that other fyve. 
 
 But though I telle not as blyve 
 Of her power, ne of her myght, 
 Herafter shal I tellen right 
 The soothe, and eke signyfiaunce ; 
 
 As fer as I have remembraunce 
 All shal be seid, I undirtake, 
 
 Er of this book an ende I make 
 
 Now come I to my tale ageyn. 
 
 But aldirfirst I wole you seyn 
 The fasoun and the countenaunces 
 Of all the folk that on the daunce is. 
 The God of Love, jolyf and lyght, 
 Ladde on his honde a lady bright, 
 
 Of high prys and of grete degre; 
 
 This lady called was Beaute, 
 
 As an arowe of which 1 tolde, 
 
 Ful wel [y-]thewed was she holde; 
 
 Ne she was derk, ne broun, but bright, 
 And clere as [is] the mone lyght, 
 Ageyn whom all the sterres semen 
 But smale candels, as we demen. 
 
 Hir flesh was tendre as dewe of flour, 
 
 H ir chere was symple as byrde in bour, 
 As whyte as lylye or rose in rys; 
 
 Hir face gentyl and tretys, 
 
 Fetys she was, and smale to se ; 
 
 No wyntred browis hadde she, 
 
 Ne popped hir, for it neded nought 
 To wyndre hir, or to peynte hir ought. 
 Hir tresses yelowe, and longe straughten 
 U nto hir helys doun they raughten ; 
 
 A ful grete savour and a swote 
 Me toucheth in myn herte rote, 
 
 As helpe me god, whan I remembre 
 Of the fasoun of every membre. 
 
 In world is noon so faire a wight ; 
 
 For yonge she was, and hewed bright. 
 Sore plesaunt, and fetys with all, 
 
 Gente, and in hir myddill small. 
 
 Biside Beaute yede richesse, 
 
 An high lady of gret noblesse, 
 
 And gret of prys in everv place ; 
 
 But who so durste to hir trespace, 
 
 Or til hir folk, in word or dede, 
 
 He were full hardy, out of drede. 
 
 For bothe she helpe and hyndre may ; 
 And that is nought of yisterday, 
 
 That riche folk have full gret myght 
 To helpe, and eke to greve a wyght. 
 The leste and grettest of valour 
 Diden Rychesse ful gret honour, 
 
 And besy weren hir to serve, 
 
 For that they wolde hir love deserve. 
 They cleped h ir “ Lady,” grete and small ; 
 This wide world hir dredith all, 
 
 This world is all in hir daungere. 
 
 Hir court hath many a losengere, 
 
 And many a traytour envvous, 
 
 That ben ful besy and curyous 
 Forto dispreisen and to blame 
 That best deserven love and name. 
 Bifore the folk, hem to bigilen, 
 Theselosengerishemprevse,andsmylen, 
 And th us the world with word anoynten ; 
 And aftirward thev prille, and poynten 
 The folk right to the bare boon, 
 Bihynde her bak whan thev ben goon. 
 And foule abate the folkis prys. 
 
 Hir nose, hir mouth, and ey he, and cheke Ful many a worthv man, v-wvs 
 Wel wrought, and all the remenaunt eke. An hundrid, have do to dye 
 
 14 
 

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 . 
 
 
 v 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 . 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
THE ROMAUNT OF THE ROSE 
 
 These losengers thorough flaterye; 
 
 And make folk ful straunge be 
 There hem oughte be pryve. 
 
 Wei yvel mote they thryve and thee, 
 And yvel arryved mote they be. 
 
 These losengers ful of envye ; 
 
 No good man loveth her companye. 
 Richesse a robe of purpur on hadde, 
 
 Ne trowe not that I lye or madde, 
 
 For in this world is noon hir lyche, 
 
 Ne by a thousand deel so riche, 
 
 Ne noon so faire ; for it ful well 
 With orfrays leyd was everydeell 
 And portraied in the ribanynges 
 Of dukes storyes, and of kynges, 
 
 And with a bend of gold tasseled. 
 
 And knoppis fyne of gold ameled. 
 Aboute hir nekke of gentyl entayle 
 Was shete the riche chevesaile, 
 
 In which ther was ful gret plente 
 Of stones clere and bright to see. 
 Rychesse a girdell hadde upon, 
 
 The bokele of it was of a stoon, 
 
 Of vertu gret and mochel of myght ; 
 For who so bare the stoon so bright. 
 
 Of venym durst hym no thing doute. 
 While he the stoon hadde hym aboute. 
 That stoon was gretly forto love, 
 
 And, tyl a riche mannys byhove, 
 
 Worth all the gold in Rome and Frise. 
 The mourdaunt wrought in noble 
 wise 
 
 Was of a stoon full precious. 
 
 That was so fyne and vertuous 
 That hole a man it koude make 
 Of palasie, and [of] tothe ake. 
 
 And yit the stoon hadde such a grace 
 That he was siker in every place. 
 
 All thilke day not blynde to bene, 
 
 i 
 
 That fastyng myght that stoon [have] 
 seene. 
 
 The barres were of gold ful fyne 
 Upon a tyssu of satyne, 
 
 Full hevy, gret, and no thyng lyght. 
 
 In everiche was a besaunt-wight. 
 
 Upon the tresses of Richesse 
 Was sette a cercle, for noblesse, 
 
 Of brend gold that full lyghte shoon. 
 So faire trowe I was never noon. 
 
 But she were kunnyng for the nonys. 
 That koude devyse alle the stonys. 
 That in that cercle shewen clere. 
 
 It is a wondir thing to here, 
 
 For no man koude preyse or gesse 
 Of hem the valewe or richesse. 
 
 Rubyes there were,saphires, jagounces. 
 And emeraudes more than two ounces. 
 But all byfore ful sotilly 
 A fyn charboncle sette saugh I ; 
 
 The stoon so clere was and so bright. 
 That also soone as it was nyght, 
 
 Men myght [e] seen to go for nede 
 A myle or two in lengthe and brede. 
 Sich lyght sprang oute of the stone, 
 That Richesse wondir brighte shone, 
 Bothe hir heed and all hir face, 
 
 And eke aboute hir al the place. 
 
 Dame Richesse on hir honde gan lede 
 A yong man full of semelyhede, 
 
 That she best loved of ony thing. 
 
 His lust was mych in housholding, 
 
 In clothyng was he ful fetys. 
 
 And loved to have well hors of prys ; 
 He wende to have reproved be 
 Of theft or moordre, if that he 
 Hadde in his stable ony hakeney. 
 
 And therfore he desired ay 
 
 5 
 
THE ROMAUNT OF THE ROSE 
 
 To be aqueynted with Richesse, 
 
 For all his purpos, as I gesse, 
 
 Was forto make gret dispense 
 Withoute wernyng or diffense; 
 
 And Richesse myght it wel sustene 
 And hir dispence well mayntene, 
 
 And hym alwey sich plente sende 
 Of gold and silver forto spende 
 Withoute lakking or daunger, 
 
 As it were poured in v a garner. 
 
 And after on the daunce wente 
 Largesse, that sette al hir entente 
 Forto be honourable and free. 
 
 Of Alexandres kyn was she ; 
 
 Hir moste joye was y-wys 
 Whan that she yaf, and seide, “Have 
 this.” 
 
 Not Avarice, the foule caytyf, 
 
 Was half to gripe so ententyf, 
 
 As Largesse is to yeve and spende ; 
 
 And god ynough alwey hir sende. 
 
 So that the more she yaf awey 
 The more y-wys she hadde alwey. 
 
 Gret loos hath Largesse and gret pris, 
 For bothe wyse folk and unwys 
 Were hooly to hir baundon brought. 
 
 So wel with yiftes hath she wrought. 
 And if she hadde an enemy, 
 
 I trowe that she coude tristely 
 Make hym full soone hir freend to be, 
 
 So large of yift and free was she. 
 Therfore she stode in love and grace 
 Of riche and pover in every place. 
 
 A full gret fool is he y-wys 
 That bothe riche and nygart is; 
 
 A lord may have no maner vice 
 That greveth more than avarice ; 
 
 For nygart never withstrengtheof honde 
 
 1 6 
 
 May wynne gret lordship or londe ; 
 
 For freendis all to fewe hath he 
 To doon his will perfourmed be. 
 
 And who so wole have freendis heere, 
 He may not holde his tresour deere. 
 
 For by ensample I telle this, 
 
 Right as an adamaund y-wys 
 Can drawen to hym sotylly 
 The yren that is leid therby, 
 
 So drawith folkes hertis y-wis 
 Silver and gold that yeven is. 
 
 Largesse hadde on a robe fresh 
 Of riche purpur Sarsynesh. 
 
 Wel fourmed was hir face and cleere. 
 And opened hadde she hir colere ; 
 
 For she right there hadde in present 
 
 Unto a lady maad present 
 
 Of a gold broche, ful wel wrought. 
 
 And certys it myssatte hir nought, 
 
 For thorough hir smokke wrought with 
 silk 
 
 The flesh was seen as white as mylk. 
 Largesse, that worthy was and wys, 
 Hilde by the honde a knyght of prys, 
 Was sibbe to Artour of Britaigne, 
 
 And that was he that bare the ensaigne 
 Of worship, and the gounfanoun. 
 
 And yit he is of sich renoun 
 That men of hym seye faire thynges 
 Byfore barouns, erles, and kynges. 
 
 This knyght was comen all newly 
 Fro [a] tourneiyng taste by. 
 
 Ther hadde he don gret chyvalrie 
 Through his vertu and his maistrie. 
 
 And for the love of his lemman 
 He caste doun many a doughty man. 
 And next hym daunced dame Fraunchise, 
 Arayed in full noble gyse. 
 

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
THE ROMAUNT OF THE ROSE 
 
 She was not broune ne dunne of hewe, 
 But white as snowe y-fallen newe. 
 
 Hir nose was wrought at poynt devys, 
 For it was gentyl and tretys, 
 
 With eyen gladde and browes bente, 
 
 Hir here doun to hir helis wente ; 
 
 And she was symple as dowve on tree. 
 Ful debonaire of herte was she ; 
 
 She durst neither seyn ne do 
 But that that hir longed to. 
 
 And if a man were in distresse, 
 
 And for hir love in hevynesse 
 Hir herte wolde have full gret pite, 
 
 She was so amiable and free. 
 
 For were a man for hir bistadde, 
 
 She wolde ben right sore adradde 
 That she dide over gret outrage ; 
 
 But she hym holpe his harme to aswage, 
 Hir thought it ell a vylanye. 
 
 And she hadde on a sukkenye 
 That not of hempe ne heerdis was; 
 
 So fair was noon in all Arras. 
 
 Lord, it was ridled fetysly ! 
 
 Ther nas nat a poynt trewely 
 That it nas in his right assise. 
 
 Full wel y-clothed was Fraunchise, 
 
 For ther is no cloth sittith bet 
 On damysell than doth roket ; 
 
 A womman wel more fetys is 
 In roket than in cote y-wis. 
 
 The whyte roket, rydled faire, 
 Bitokeneth that full debonaire 
 And swete was she that it bere. 
 
 Bi hir daunced a bachelere ; 
 
 I can not telle you what he hight, 
 
 But faire he was and of good hight, 
 
 All hadde he be, I sey no more, 
 
 The lordis sone of Wyndesore. 
 
 17 
 
 And next that daunced Curtesye, 
 That preised was of lowe and hye. 
 
 For neither proude ne foole was she. 
 She forto daunce called me, 
 
 I pray god yeve hir right good grace 
 Whanne I come first into the place. 
 She was not nyce ne outrageous, 
 
 But wys and ware and vertuous; 
 
 Of faire speche and of faire answere. 
 Was never wight mysseid of here, 
 
 Ne she bar rancour to no wight. 
 
 Clere broune she was and therto bright 
 Of face, of body avenaunt; 
 
 I wot no lady so plesaunt. 
 
 She were worthy forto bene 
 An emperesse or crowned quene. 
 
 And by hir wente a knyght dauncyng. 
 That worthy was and wel spekyng, 
 And ful wel koude he don honour. 
 The knyght was faire and styf in stour. 
 And in armure a semely man, 
 
 And welbiloved of his lemman. 
 
 Faire Idilnesse thanne saugh I, 
 
 That alwey was me faste by ; 
 
 Of hir have I withoute fayle 
 Told yow the shap and apparayle. 
 
 For, as I seide, loo that was she 
 That dide to me so gret bounte, 
 
 That she the gate of the gardyn 
 Undide and lete me passen in. 
 
 And after daunced, as I gesse, 
 
 Youthe fulfilled of lustynesse, 
 
 That nas not yit XII yeer of age. 
 
 With herte wylde and thought volage. 
 Nyce she was, but she ne mente 
 Noon harme ne slight in hir entente, 
 
 c 
 
THE ROMAUNT OF THE ROSE 
 
 But oonly lust and jolyte; 
 
 For yonge folk wele witen ye 
 Have lytel thought but on her play. 
 Hir lemman was biside alway 
 In sich a gise that he hir kyste 
 At alle tymes that hym lyste; 
 
 That all the daun^e myght it see, 
 
 They make no force of pryvete ; 
 
 For who spake of hem yvel or well, 
 They were ashamed neveradell, 
 
 But men myght seen hem kisse there, 
 As it two yonge dowves were. 
 
 For yong was thilke bachelere, 
 
 Of beaute wot I noon his pere, 
 
 And he was right of sich an age 
 As Youthe his leef, and sich corage. 
 
 The lusty folk that daunced there, 
 
 And also other that with hem were, 
 That weren all of her meyne, 
 
 Ful hende folk and wys and free 
 And folk of faire port trewely 
 They weren alle comunly. 
 Whannelhaddeseenthecountenaunces 
 Of hem that ladden thus these daunces, 
 Thanne hadde I will to gon and see 
 The gardyne that so lyked me, 
 
 And loken on these faire loreres, 
 
 On pyntrees, cedres, and olmeris. 
 
 The daunces thanne y-ended were, 
 
 For many of hem that daunced there 
 Were with her loves went awey, 
 Undir the trees to have her pley. 
 
 A lord , they lyved lustyly ! 
 
 A gret fool were he sikirly 
 
 That nolde his thankes such lyf lede. 
 
 For this dar I seyn oute of drede, 
 
 That who so myghte so wel fare. 
 
 For better lyf durst hym not care; 
 
 For ther nys so good paradys 
 As to have a love at his devys. 
 
 Oute of that place wente I thoo, 
 
 And in that gardyn gan I goo, 
 
 Pleyyng alonge full meryly. 
 
 The God of Love full hastely 
 Unto hym Swete-Lokyng clepte. 
 
 No lenger wolde he that he kepte 
 His bowe of gold, that shoon so bright ; 
 He bad hym bend it anoon ryght. 
 
 And he full soone sette an-ende, 
 
 And at a braid he gan it bende ; 
 
 And toke hym of his arowes fyve, 
 
 Full sharp and redy forto dryve. 
 
 Now god that sittith in mageste, 
 
 Fro deedly woundes he kepe me, 
 
 If so be that he hadde me shette ! 
 
 For if I with his arowe mette, 
 
 It hadde me greved sore y-wys. 
 
 But I, that no thyng wist of this, 
 Wente up and doun full many awey. 
 And he me folwed faste alwey ; 
 
 But no where wolde I reste me, 
 
 Till I hadde in all the gardyn be. 
 
 The gardyn was by mesuryng 
 Right evene and square ; in compassing 
 It was as long as it was large. 
 
 Of fruyt hadde every tree his charge. 
 But it were any hidous tree. 
 
 Of which ther were two or three. 
 There were, and that wote I full well. 
 Of pome garnettys a full gret dell, 
 That is a fruyt full well to lyke, 
 Namely to folk whanne they ben sike. 
 And trees there were of gret toisoun 
 That baren nottes in her sesoun 
 Such as men note mvgges calle. 
 
THE ROMAUNT OF THE ROSE 
 
 That swote of savour ben withalle ; 
 
 And almanderes gret plente, 
 
 Fyges, and many a date tree, 
 
 There wexen, if men hadde nede, 
 Thorough thegardyninlengthandbrede. 
 Ther was eke wexyng many a spice, 
 
 As clowe-gelofre, and lycorice, 
 Gyngevre, and greyn de Paradys, 
 Canell, and setewale of prys, 
 
 And many a spice delitable 
 To eten whan men rise fro table. 
 
 And many homly trees ther were 
 That peches, coynes, and apples beere, 
 Medlers, plowmes, perys, chesteynis, 
 Cherys, of which many oon fayne is, 
 Notes, aleys, and bolas, 
 
 That forto seen it was solas ; 
 
 With many high lorer and pyn 
 Was renged clene all that gardyn, 
 
 With cipres and with olyveris, 
 
 Of which that nygh no plente heere is. 
 There were elmes grete and stronge, 
 Maples, asshe, oke, aspe, planes longe, 
 Fyne ew, popler, and lyndes faire, 
 
 And othere trees full many a payre — 
 What shulde I tel you more of it? 
 There were so many trees yit, 
 
 That I shulde al encombred be 
 Er I had rekened every tree. 
 
 These trees were sette, that I devyse, 
 One from another in assyse 
 Fyve fadome or sixe, I trowe so ; 
 
 But they were hye and great also, 
 
 And for to kepe out wel the sonne, 
 
 The croppes were so thicke y-ronne. 
 And every braunche in other knette, 
 And ful of grene leves sette. 
 
 That sonne myght there none discende, 
 
 i 
 
 Lest [it] the tender grasses shende. 
 There myght men does and roes y-se. 
 And of squyrels ful great plente 
 From bowe to bowe alwaye lepynge ; 
 Connes there were also plaiynge, 
 
 That comyn out of her clapers, 
 
 Of sondrie colours and maners, 
 
 And maden many a tourneiyng 
 Upon the fresshe grasse spryngyng. 
 
 In places sawe I welles there 
 In whiche there no frogges were, 
 
 And fayre in shadowe was every welle. 
 But I ne can the nombre telle 
 Of stremys smal, that by devyse 
 Myrthehaddonecomethroughcondyse ; 
 Of whiche the water in rennyng 
 Gan make a noyse ful lykyng. 
 
 About the brinkes of these welles 
 And by the stremes over al elles 
 Sprange up the grasse, as thicke y-set 
 And softe as any veluet, 
 
 On whiche men myght his lemman ley 
 As on a fetherbed to pley. 
 
 For the erthe was ful softe and swete. 
 Through moisture of the welle wete 
 Spronge up the sote grene gras 
 As fayre, as thicke, as myster was. 
 
 But moche amended it the place 
 That therthe was of suche a grace 
 That it of floures hath plente, 
 
 That bothe in somer and wynter be. 
 There sprange the vyolet al newe, 
 
 And fresshe pervynke riche of hewe. 
 And floures yelowe, white, and rede, 
 Suche plente grewe there never in mede. 
 Ful gayewas al thegrounde,andqueynt 
 And poudred, as men had it peynt 
 
THE ROMAUNT OF THE ROSE 
 
 With manyafresshe and sondrie floure, 
 That casten up ful good savour. 
 
 I wol nat longe holde you in fable 
 Of al this garden delectable, 
 
 I mote my tonge stynten nede; 
 
 For I ne maye withouten drede 
 Naught tellen you the beaute al, 
 
 Ne halfe the bounte there with al. 
 
 I went on right honde and on lefte 
 About the place ; it was nat lefte 
 Tyl I had al the garden [in] bene, 
 
 In the esters that men myghte sene. 
 And thus while I wente in my playe 
 The God of Love me folowed aye, 
 Right as an hunter can abyde 
 The beest, tyl he seeth his tyde 
 To shoten at good messe to the dere, 
 Whan that hym nedeth go no nere. 
 
 And so befyl I rested me 
 Besydes a wel under a tree, 
 
 Whiche tree in Frauncemencalapyne ; 
 But sithe the tyme of kyng Pepyne, 
 Ne grewe there tree in mannes syght 
 So fayre, ne so wel woxe in hight, 
 
 In al that yarde so high was none. 
 
 And springyng in a marble stone 
 Had nature set, the sothe to telle, 
 Under that pyne tree a welle ; 
 
 And on the border al withoute 
 Was written in the stone aboute 
 Letters smal, that sayden thus: 
 
 “H ere starfe the fayre Narcisus.” 
 
 Narcisus was a bachelere 
 
 That Love had caught in his daungere, 
 
 And in his nette gan hym so strayne, 
 
 And dyd him so to wepe and playne. 
 That nede him must his lyfe forgo. 
 
 For a fayre lady that hight Echo 
 Him loved over any creature, 
 
 And gan for hym suche payne endure. 
 That on a tyme she him tolde 
 That, if he her loven nolde, 
 
 That her behoved nedes dve, 
 
 There laye none other remedye. 
 
 But nathelesse for his beaute 
 So feirs and daungerous was he 
 That he nolde graunte hir askyng, 
 
 For wepyng ne for faire praiyng. 
 
 And whanne she herd hym werne soo. 
 She hadde in herte so gret woo, 
 
 And took it in so gret dispite, 
 
 That she withoute more respite 
 Was deed anoon. But er she deied 
 Full pitously to god she preied, 
 
 That proude-hertid Narcisus, 
 
 That was in love so daungerous, 
 Myght on a day be hampred so 
 For love, and ben so hoot for woo, 
 That never he myght to joye atteyne. 
 Than he shulde feele in every veyne 
 What sorowe trewe lovers maken 
 That ben so velaynesly forsaken. 
 
 This prayer was but resonable, 
 Therfore god helde it ferme and stable. 
 For Narcisus, shortly to telle, 
 
 By aventure come to that welle. 
 
 To resten hym in that shadowing 
 A day whanne he come fro huntyng. 
 This Narcisus hadde suffred paynes 
 For rennyng alday in the playnes. 
 
 And was for thurst in grete distresse 
 
 Of beet, and of his werynesse 
 
 That hadde his breth almost bynomen. 
 
 20 
 

 i 
 
 I . , 
 
 - 
 
 
 
THE ROMAUNT OF THE ROSE 
 
 Whanne he was to thatwelle y-comen. 
 That shadowid was with braunches 
 grene. 
 
 He thoughte of thilke water shene 
 Todrynke,andfresshehymwelwithalle ; 
 And doun on knees he gan to falle, 
 Andforthhisheedandneckeout-straught 
 To drynken of that welle a draught. 
 And in the water anoon was sene 
 His nose, his mouth, his yen shene, 
 
 And he therof was all abasshed ; 
 
 His owneshadowehadhymbytrasshed, 
 For well wende he the forme see 
 Of a child of gret beaute. 
 
 Well kouthe Love hym wreke thoo 
 Of daunger and of pride also, 
 
 That Narcisus somtyme hym beere. 
 Hequyttehymwellhisguerdoun there; 
 For he musede so in the welle 
 That, shortly all the sothe to telle, 
 
 He lovede his owne shadowe soo, 
 
 That atte laste he starf for woo. 
 
 For whanne he saugh that he his wille 
 Myght in no maner way fulfille, 
 
 And that he was so faste caught 
 That he hym kouthe comforte nought, 
 He loste his witte right in that place, 
 And deyde withynne a lytel space. 
 
 And thus his warisoun he took 
 Fro the lady that he forsook. 
 
 Ladyes I preye ensample takith. 
 
 Ye that ageyns youre love mistakith ; 
 For if her deth be yow to wite, 
 
 God kan ful well youre while quyte. 
 Whanne that this lettre of which I telle 
 Hadde taught me that it was the welle 
 Of Narcisus in his beaute, 
 
 I gan anoon withdrawe me, 
 
 Whanne it felle in my remembraunce 
 
 That hym bitidde such myschaunce. 
 But at the laste thanne thought I 
 That scatheles full sykerly 
 I myght unto the welle goo — 
 
 Wherof shulde I abaisshen soo ? 
 
 Unto the welle than went I me, 
 
 And doun I loutede forto see 
 The clere water in the stoon, 
 
 And eke the gravell which that shoon 
 Down in the botme as silver fyn. 
 
 For of the well this is the fyn, 
 
 In world is noon so clere of hewe. 
 
 The water is evere fresh and newe 
 That welmeth up with wawis bright 
 The mountance of two fynger hight. 
 Abouten it is gras spryngyng 
 For moiste so thikke and wel likyng, 
 That it ne may in wynter dye 
 No more than may the see be drye. 
 
 Downe at the botme sette sawe I 
 Two cristall stonys craftely 
 In thilke freshe and faire welle. 
 
 But o thing sothly dar I telle 
 That ye wole holde a gret mervayle 
 Whanne it is tolde, withouten fayle. 
 For whanne the sonne clere in sight 
 Cast in that welle his bemys bright, 
 And that the heete descendid is, 
 Thanne taketh the cristall stoon y-wis 
 Agayn the sonne an hundrid hewis, 
 Blewe, yelowe, and rede that fresh and 
 newe is. 
 
 Yitt hath the merveilous cristall 
 Such strengthe, that the place overall, 
 Bothe flour, and tree, and leves grene. 
 And all the yerde in it is seene. 
 
 And forto don you to undirstonde. 
 
 To make ensample wole I fonde. 
 
 21 
 
THE ROMAUNT OF THE ROSE 
 
 Ryght as a myrrour openly 
 Shewith alle thing that stont therby, 
 As well the colour as the figure, 
 Withouten ony coverture ; 
 
 Right so the cristall stoon shynyng, 
 Withouten ony disseyvyng, 
 
 The estrees of the yerde accusith, 
 
 To hym that in the water musith. 
 
 For evere in which half that ye be 
 Ye may well half the gardyne se ; 
 
 And if he turne, he may right well 
 Sene the remenaunt everydell. 
 
 For ther is noon so litil thyng 
 So hidde ne closid with shittyng, 
 
 That it ne is sene as though it were 
 Peyntid in the cristall there. 
 
 This is the mirrour perilous, 
 
 In which the proude Narcisus 
 Sawe all his face faire and bright ; 
 That made hym swithe to lie upright. 
 For who so loketh in that mirrour, 
 Ther may no thyng ben his socour, 
 That he ne shall there sene some thyng 
 That shal hym lede into lovyng. 
 
 Full many worthy man hath it 
 Y-blent, for folk of grettist wit 
 Ben soone caught heere and awayted ; 
 Withouten respite ben they baited. 
 Heere comth to folk of newe rage, 
 Heere chaungith many wight corage ; 
 Heere lith no rede ne witte therto, 
 
 For Venus sone, daun Cupido, 
 
 Hath sowen there of love the seed. 
 That help ne lith there noon, ne rede, 
 So cerclith it the welle aboute. 
 
 His gynnes hath he sett withoute, 
 Ryght forto cacche in his panters 
 These damoysels and bachelers. 
 
 Love will noon other bridde cacche 
 
 Though he sette either nette or lacche. 
 And for the seed that heere was sowen 
 This welle is clepid, as well is knowen. 
 The Welle of Love of verray right, 
 
 Of which ther hath ful many a wight 
 Spoke in bookis dyversely. 
 
 But they shull never so verily 
 Descripcioun of the welle heere, 
 
 Ne eke the sothe of this matere, 
 
 As ye shull, whanne I have undo 
 The craft that hir bilongith to. 
 
 Allway me liked forto dwelle 
 To sene the cristall in the welle, 
 
 That shewide me full openly 
 A thousand thinges faste by. 
 
 But I may say in sory houre 
 Stode I to loken or to poure, 
 
 For sithen [have] I sore siked ; 
 
 That mirrour hath me now entriked. 
 But hadde I first knowen in my wit 
 The vertue and [the] strengthe of it, 
 
 I nolde not have mused there ; 
 
 Me had bette bene ellis where, 
 
 For in the snare I fell anoon 
 That hath bitresshed many oon. 
 
 In thilke mirrour sawe I tho, 
 
 Among a thousand thinges mo, 
 
 A roser chargid full of rosis, 
 
 That with an hegge aboute enclos is. 
 Tho had I sich lust and envie, 
 
 That for Parys, ne for Pavie, 
 
 Nolde I have left to goon and see 
 There grettist hepe ot roses be. 
 Whanne I was with this rage hent, 
 That caught hath many a man and shent. 
 Toward the roser gan I go. 
 
 And whanne I was not ter therfro, 
 
 The savour of the roses swote 
 
 22 
 

 
 
 
 
 . 
 
 i 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
THE ROMAUNT OF THE ROSE 
 
 Me smote right to the herte rote. 
 
 As I hadde all embawmed be. 
 
 And if I ne hadde endouted me 
 To have ben hatid or assailed, 
 
 My thankis wolde I not have failed 
 To pulle a rose of all that route 
 To beren in myn honde aboute, 
 
 And smellen to it where I wente ; 
 
 But ever I dredde me to repente, 
 
 And leste it grevede or forthought 
 The lord that thilke gardyn wrought. 
 Of roses ther were grete wone, 
 
 So faire waxe never in rone. 
 
 Of knoppes clos some sawe I there, 
 And some wel beter woxen were ; 
 And some ther ben of other moysoun, 
 That drowe nygh to her sesoun, 
 
 And spedde hem faste forto sprede. 
 
 I love well sich roses rede, 
 
 For brode roses and open also 
 Ben passed in a day or two. 
 
 But knoppes wille [al] freshe be 
 Two dayes atte leest or thre. 
 
 The knoppes gretly liked me, 
 
 For fairer may ther no man se. 
 Who-so myght have oon of all, 
 
 It ought hym ben full lief withall ; 
 Might I gerlond of hem geten. 
 
 For no richesse I wolde it leten. 
 Among the knoppes I chese oon 
 So faire, that of the remenaunt noon 
 No preise I half so well as it, 
 
 Whanne I avise it in my wit. 
 
 For it so well was enlumyned 
 With colour reed, [and] as well fyned 
 As nature couthe it make faire ; 
 
 And it hath leves wel foure paire, 
 That kynde hath sett thorough his 
 knowyng 
 
 Aboute the rede roses spryngyng. 
 
 The stalke was as rishe right, 
 
 And theron stode the knoppe upright, 
 That it ne bowide upon no side. 
 
 The swote smelle spronge so wide, 
 
 That it dide all the place aboute. 
 Whanne I haddesmelledthesavourswote. 
 No will hadde I fro thens yit goo ; 
 
 Bot somdell neer it wente I thoo 
 To take it, but myn hond for drede 
 Ne dorste I to the rose bede 
 For thesteles sharpe of many maneeres, 
 Netles, thornes, and hokede breres ; 
 
 For myche they distourbled me, 
 
 That sore I dradde to harmed be. 
 
 The God of Love with bowe bent, 
 
 That all day sette hadde his talent 
 To pursuen and to spien me, 
 
 Was stondyng by a fige tree. 
 
 And whanne he sawe how that I 
 Hadde chosen so ententifly 
 The bothoun more unto my paie 
 Than ony other that I say, 
 
 He toke an arowe full sharply whette, 
 And in his bowe whanne it was sette, 
 
 He streight up to his ere drough 
 The stronge bowe, that was so tough, 
 And shette att me so wondir smerte, 
 That thorough myn ye unto myn herte 
 The takel smote, and depe it wente. 
 
 And therwith-all such colde me hente. 
 That, under clothes warme and softe, 
 Sithen that day I have chevered ofte. 
 Whanne I was hurt thus, in [a] stounde 
 I felle doun platte unto the grounde ; 
 Myn herte failed and feynted ay, 
 
 And longe tyme a-swoone I lay. 
 
 But whanne I come out of swounyng, 
 
 23 
 
THE ROMAUNT OF THE ROSE 
 
 And hadde witt and my felyng, 
 
 I was all maate, and wende full well 
 Of bloode have loren a full gret dell. 
 But certes the arowe that in me stode 
 Of me ne drewe no drope of blode. 
 
 For why I foun^e my wounde alldreye. 
 Thanne toke I with myn hondis tweie 
 The arowe, and ful fast out it plight, 
 And in the pullyng sore I sight ; 
 
 So at the last the shaft of tree 
 I drough out with the fethers thre 
 But yet the hokede heed y-wis. 
 
 The which that Beaute callid is, 
 
 Gan so depe in myn herte pace 
 That I it myghte nought arace ; 
 
 But in myn herte still it stode. 
 
 A1 bledde I not a drope of blode. 
 
 I was bothe anguyssous and trouble 
 For the perill that I sawe double. 
 
 I nyste what to seye or do, 
 
 Ne gete a leche my woundis to ; 
 
 For neithir thorough gras ne rote 
 Ne hadde I helpe of hope ne bote. 
 
 But to the bothoun evermo 
 Myn herte drewe, for all my wo ; 
 
 My thought was in noon other thing, 
 For hadde it ben in my kepyng, 
 
 It wolde have brought my lyf agayn. 
 For certis evenly, I dar wel seyn, 
 
 The sight oonly and the savour 
 Alegged mych of my langour. 
 
 Thanne gan I forto drawe me 
 Toward the bothon faire to se. 
 
 And Love hadde gete hym in this throwe 
 Another arowe into his bowe, 
 
 And forto shete gan hym dresse ; 
 
 The arowis name was Symplesse. 
 
 And whanne that Love gan nyghe me 
 mere. 
 
 He drowe it up withouten were, 
 
 And shette at me with all his mvght ; 
 
 So that this arowe anoon right 
 Thourghout [myn]eigh,asitwasfounde. 
 Into myn herte hath maad a wounde. 
 Thanne I anoon dide al my crafte, 
 Forto drawen out the shafte ; 
 
 And therwith-all I sighede efte, 
 
 But in myn herte the heed was lefte. 
 Which ay encreside my desire, 
 
 Unto the bothon drawe nere. 
 
 And evermo that me was woo. 
 
 The more desir hadde I to goo 
 Unto the roser, where that grewe 
 The freysshe bothun so bright of hewe. 
 Betir me were to have laten be, 
 
 But it bihovede nede me 
 To done right as myn herte badde. 
 
 For evere the body must be ladde 
 Aftir the herte, in wele and woo; 
 
 Of force togidre they must goo. 
 
 But never this archer wolde feyne 
 To shete at me with all his peyne. 
 
 And forto make me to hym mete, 
 
 The thridde arowe he gan to shete, 
 Whanne best his tyme he myght espie. 
 The which was named Curtesie. 
 
 Into myn herte it dide avale. 
 
 A-swoone I fell bothe deed and pale. 
 Long tyme I lay and stired nought. 
 
 Till I abraide out of my thought. 
 
 And faste thanne I avysede me 
 To drawe out the shafte of tree ; 
 
 But evere the heed was left bihynde. 
 For ought I couthe pulle or wynde. 
 
 So sore it stikid whanne I was hit. 
 
 That by no craft I mvght it dit. 
 
 But anguyssous and full of thought 
 I felt sich woo my wounde ay wrought. 
 
 24 
 
' 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
THE ROMAUNT OF THE ROSE 
 
 That somonede me alway to goo 
 Toward the rose, that plesede me soo. 
 But I ne durste in no manere, 
 
 Bicause the archer was so nere ; 
 
 “For evermore gladly,” as I rede, 
 “Brent child of her hath myche drede.” 
 And certis yit, for al my peyne, 
 Though that I sigh yit arwis reyne. 
 And grounde quarels sharpe of steele, 
 Ne for no payne that I myght feele, 
 Yit myght I not my-silf witholde 
 The faire roser to biholde. 
 
 For Love me yaf sich hardement 
 Forto fulfille his comaundement, 
 
 Upon my fete I rose up thanne, 
 
 Feble as a forwoundid man. 
 
 And forth to gon [my] myght I sette, 
 And for the archer nolde I lette. 
 Toward the roser fast I drowe, 
 
 But thornes sharpe mo than ynowe 
 Ther were, and also thisteles thikke 
 And breres brymme forto prikke. 
 
 That I ne myghte gete grace 
 The rowe thornes forto passe, 
 
 To sene the roses fresshe of hewe. 
 
 I must abide, though it me rewe. 
 
 The hegge aboute so thikke was, 
 
 That closide the roses in compas. 
 
 But o thing lyked me right wele; 
 
 I was so nygh I myghte fele 
 Of the bothon the swote odour. 
 
 And also se the fresshe colour. 
 
 And that right gretly liked me. 
 
 That I so neer myght it se. 
 
 Sich joie anoon therof hadde I, 
 
 That I forgate my maladie ; 
 
 To sene I hadde siche delit, 
 
 Of sorwe and angre I was al quyte, 
 And of my woundes that I hadde thore. 
 
 For no thing liken me myght more 
 Than dwellen by the roser ay, 
 
 And thennes never to passe away. 
 
 But whanne a while I hadde be thare. 
 The god of Love, which alto-share 
 Myn herte with his arwis kene, 
 
 Cast hym to yeve me woundis grene. 
 He shette at me full hastily 
 An arwe named Company, 
 
 The whiche takell is full able 
 To make these ladies merciable. 
 Thanne I anoon gan chaungen hewe 
 For grevaunce of my wounde newe. 
 That I agayn fell in swounyng, 
 
 And sighede sore in compleynyng. 
 Soore I compleyned that my sore 
 On me gan greven more and more. 
 
 I hadde noon hope of allegeaunce ; 
 
 So nygh I drowe to desperaunce, 
 
 I roughte [ne] of deth ne lyf. 
 
 Wheder that Love wolde me dryf, 
 
 Yf me a martir wolde he make, 
 
 I myght his power nought forsake. 
 
 And while for anger thus I woke, 
 
 The God of Love an arowe toke ; 
 
 Ful sharpe it was and [ful] pugnaunt. 
 And it was callid Faire Semblaunt, 
 
 The which in no wise wole consente. 
 That ony lover hym repente 
 To serve his love with herte and all 
 For ony perill that may bifall. 
 
 But though this arwe was kene grounde. 
 As ony rasour that is founde 
 To kutte and kerve, at the poynt 
 The God of Love it hadde anoynt 
 With a precious oynement, 
 
 Somdell to yeve aleggement 
 Upon the woundes that he hadde 
 Through the body in my herte made, 
 25 D 
 
THE ROMAUNT OF THE ROSE 
 
 To helpe her sores and to cure, 
 
 And that they may the bette endure. 
 
 But yit this arwe, withoute more, 
 
 Made in myn herte a large sore, 
 
 That in full grete peyne I abode. 
 
 But ay the oyne^nent wente abrode, 
 Thourgh-outemy woundeslarge& wide 
 It spredde aboute in every side. 
 
 Through whos vertu and whos myght 
 Myn herte joyfull was and light; 
 
 I hadde ben deed and alto-shent 
 But for the precious oynement. 
 
 The shaft I drowe out of the arwe, 
 Roukyng for wo right wondir narwe, 
 But the heed, which made me smerte, 
 Lefte bihynde in myn herte 
 With other foure, I dar wel say. 
 
 That never wole be take away. 
 
 But the oynement halpe me wele; 
 
 And yit sich sorwe dide I fele 
 That al day I chaunged hewe 
 Of my woundes fresshe and newe. 
 
 As men myght se in my visage, 
 
 The arwis were so full of rage, 
 
 So variaunt of diversitee, 
 
 That men in everiche myght se 
 Bothe gret anoy, and eke swetnesse 
 And joie meynt with bittirnesse. 
 
 Now were they esy, now were they wode, 
 In hem I felte bothe harme and goode ; 
 Now sore without aleggement, 
 
 Now softyng with the oynement ; 
 
 It softed heere and prikked there, 
 
 Thus ese and anger to-gidre were. 
 
 The God of Love delyverly 
 Come lepande to me hastily, 
 
 And seide to me in gret rape, 
 
 “Yelde thee, for thou may not escape, 
 May no defence availe thee heere ; 
 
 26 
 
 Therfore I rede make no daungere. 
 
 If thou wolt yelde thee hastely. 
 
 Thou shalt [the] rather have mercy. 
 He is a foole in sikernesse, 
 
 That with daunger or stoutenesse 
 Rebellith there that he shulde plese; 
 In sich folye is litel ese. 
 
 Be meke where thou must nedis bowe. 
 To stryve ageyn is nought thi prowe ; 
 Come at oones and have y-doo. 
 
 For I wole that it be soo. 
 
 Thanne yelde thee heere debonairly.” 
 And I answerid ful hombly : 
 
 “ Gladly sir at youre biddyng 
 I wole me yelde in alle thyng ; 
 
 To youre servyse I wole me take. 
 
 For god defende that I shulde make 
 Ageyn youre biddyng resistence, 
 
 I wole not don so grete offence. 
 
 For if I dide, it were no skile ; 
 
 Ye may do with me what ye wile, 
 
 Save or spille and also sloo. 
 
 Fro you in no wise may I goo, 
 
 My lyf, my deth is in youre honde, 
 
 I may not laste out of youre bonde ; 
 Pleyn at youre lyst I yelde me, 
 Hopyng in herte that sumtyme ye 
 Comfort and ese shull me sende, 
 
 Or ellis shortly, this is the eende, 
 Withouten helthe I mote ay dure. 
 
 But if ye take me to youre cure. 
 Comfort or helthe how shuld I have, 
 Sith ye me hurt, but ye me save? 
 
 The helthe of love mot be founde 
 Where as they token firste her wounde. 
 And if ye lyst of me to make 
 Youre prisoner, I wole it take 
 Of herte and willfully at gree; 
 
 Hoolly and pleyn y yelde me, 
 
THE ROMAUNT OF THE ROSE 
 
 Withoute feynyng or feyntise. 
 
 To be governed by youre emprise. 
 
 Of you I here so mych pris, 
 
 I wole ben hool at youre devis 
 Forto fulfille youre lykyng. 
 
 And repente for no thyng, 
 
 Hopyng to have yit in some tide 
 The mercy of that I abide.” 
 
 And with that covenaunt yelde I me, 
 Anoon down knelyng upon my kne, 
 Proferyng forto kisse his feete. 
 
 But for no thyng he wolde me lete, 
 Andseide,“Ilovetheebotheandpreise, 
 Sens that thyn answer doth me ese, 
 For thou answerid so curteisly. 
 
 For now I wote wel uttirly 
 That thou art gentyll by thi speche ; 
 For, though a man fer wolde seche, 
 He shulde not fynden in certeyn 
 No sich answer of no vileyn, 
 
 For sich a word ne myghte nought 
 Isse out of a vilayns thought. 
 
 Thou shalt not lesen of thi speche, 
 
 For [to] thy helpyng wole I eche, 
 
 And eke encresen that I may. 
 
 But first I wole that thou obaye 
 Fully for thyn avauntage, 
 
 Anoon to do me heere homage ; 
 
 And sithe kisse thou shalt my mouthe, 
 Which to no vilayn was never couthe 
 Forto aproche it ne forto touche. 
 
 For sauff of cherlis I ne vouche 
 That they shull never neigh it nere ; 
 For curteis and of faire manere, 
 
 Well taught and full of gentilnesse. 
 
 He muste ben that shal me kysse ; 
 
 And also of full high fraunchise. 
 
 That shal atteyne to that emprise. 
 
 And first of o thing warne I thee, 
 
 That peyne and gret adversite 
 He mote endure, and eke travaile, 
 That shal me serve withoute fade. 
 
 But ther ageyns thee to comforte, 
 
 And with thi servise to desporte. 
 
 Thou mayst full glad and joyfull be 
 So good a maister to have as me, 
 
 And lord of so high renoun. 
 
 I bere of love the gonfenoun, 
 
 Of curtesie the banere. 
 
 For I am of the silf manere, 
 
 Gentil, curteys, meke, and fre, 
 
 That who ever ententyf be 
 Me to honoure, doute, and serve, 
 
 Nede is that he hym observe 
 Fro trespasse and fro vilanye, 
 
 And hym governe in curtesie 
 With will and with entencioun. 
 
 For whanne he first in my prisoun 
 Is caught, thanne must be uttirly 
 Fro thennes forth full bisily 
 Caste hym gentyll forto bee 
 If he desire helpe of me.” 
 
 Anoon withoute more delay, 
 Withouten daunger or affray, 
 
 I bicome his man anoon, 
 
 And gave hym thankes many a oon, 
 And knelide doun with hondis joynt. 
 And made it in my port full quoint. 
 The joye wente to myn herte rote, 
 Whanne I hadde kissed his mouth so 
 swote ; 
 
 I hadde sich myrthe and sich likyng 
 It cured me of langwisshing. 
 
 He askide of me thanne hostages. 
 
 “I have,” he seide,“ taken fele homages 
 Of oon and other, where I have bene 
 Disceyved ofte withouten wene. 
 
 These felouns full of falsite 
 
 27 
 
THE ROMAUNT OF THE ROSE 
 
 Have many sithes biguyled me, 
 
 And through falshede her lust achieved, 
 Whereof I repente and am agreved. 
 
 And I hem gete in my daungere. 
 
 Her falshede shull they bie full dere ! 
 
 But for I love thee, I seie thee pleyn, 
 
 I wole of thee be more certeyn. 
 
 For thee so sore I wole now bynde, 
 
 That thou away ne shalt not wynde 
 Forto denyen the covenaunt 
 Or don that is not avenaunt. 
 
 That thou were fals itwere gret reuthe, 
 Sith thou semest so full of treuthe.” 
 “Sire, if thee lyst to undirstande, 
 
 I merveile the askyng this demande. 
 
 For why or wherfore shulde ye 
 Ostages, or borwis aske of me. 
 
 Or ony other sikirnesse, 
 
 Sith ye wote in sothfastnesse 
 That ye have me susprised so, 
 
 And hole myn herte taken me fro, 
 
 That it wole do for me no thing 
 But if it be at youre biddyng; 
 
 Myn herteisyoures and myn right nought 
 As it bihoveth in dede and thought, 
 Redy in all to worche youre will, 
 Whether so turne to good or ill. 
 
 So sore it lustith you to plese, 
 
 No man therof may you desese. 
 
 Ye have theron sette sich justice, 
 
 That it is werreid in many wise. 
 
 And if ye doute it nolde obeye. 
 
 Ye may therof do make a keye, 
 
 And holde it with you for ostage.” 
 “Now certis this is noon outrage,” 
 
 Quod Love, “and fully I acorde; 
 
 For of the body he is full lord 
 That hath the herte in his tresour; 
 Outrage it were to asken more.” 
 
 28 
 
 Thanne of his awmener he drough 
 A litell keye, fetys ynowgh, 
 
 Which was of gold polisshed clere ; 
 And seide to me, “With thiskeve heere 
 Thyn herte to me now wole I shette ; 
 For all my jowell, loke and knette, 
 
 I bynde undir thislitel keye, 
 
 That no wight may carie aweye. 
 
 This keye is full of gret poste.” 
 
 With which anoon he touchide me 
 Under the side full softily, 
 
 That he myn herte sodeynly 
 Without anoye hadde spered, 
 
 That yit right nought it hath me dered. 
 Whanne he hadde don his will al oute. 
 And I hadde putte hym out of doute, 
 “Sire,” I seide, “I have right gret wille 
 Youre lust and plesaunce to fulfille. 
 Loke ye my servise take atte gree 
 By thilke feith ye owe to me. 
 
 I seye nought for recreaundise, 
 
 For I nought doute of youre servise. 
 But the servaunt traveileth in vayne, 
 That forto serven doth his payne 
 Unto that lord which in no wise 
 Kan hym no thank for his servyse.” 
 Love seide, “Dismaie thee nought, 
 
 Syn thou for sokour hast me sought ; 
 In thank thi servise wole I take 
 And high of gre I wole thee make, 
 
 If wikkidnesse ne hvndre thee; 
 
 But as I hope it shal nought be, 
 
 To worshipe no wight by aventure 
 May come, but if he peyne endure; 
 Abide and suffre thy distresse 
 That hurtith now ; it shal be lesse. 
 
 I wote my silf what may thee save. 
 What medicyne thou woldist have; 
 And if thi trouthe to me thou kepe. 
 
THE ROMAUNT OF THE ROSE 
 I shal unto thyn helpyng eke, Maad of newe and lusty thyng. 
 
 T o cure thy woundes and make hem clene, 
 Where so they be olde or grene ; 
 
 Thou shalt be holpen at wordis fewe. 
 For certeynly thou shalt well shewe 
 Wherethat thouservestwith goodwille 
 Forto accomplysshen and fulfille 
 My comaundementis day and nyght 
 Whiche I to lovers yeve of right.” 
 
 <c Ah Sire, for goddis love,” seide I, 
 
 “ Er ye passe hens ententyfly, 
 
 Youre comaundementis to me ye say, 
 And I shall kepe hem if I may. 
 
 For hem to kepen is all my thought. 
 And if so be I wote hem nought, 
 Thanne may I [erre] unwityngly. 
 Wherfore I pray you entierly. 
 
 With all myn herte me to lere, 
 
 That I trespasse in no manere.” 
 
 The God of Love thanne chargide me, 
 Anoon as ye shall here and see, 
 
 Worde by worde by right emprise, 
 
 So as the Romance shall devise. 
 
 The maister lesith his tyme to lere 
 Whanne the disciple wole not here ; 
 
 It is but veyn on hym to swynke 
 That on his lernyng wole not thynke. 
 Who so luste love, late hym entende, 
 For now the Romance bigynneth to 
 amende ; 
 
 Now is good to here in fay 
 If ony be that can it say, 
 
 And poynte it as the resoun is. 
 
 Set forth [an] other gate ywys, 
 
 It shall nought well in alle thyng 
 Be brought to good undirstondyng. 
 
 For a reder that poyntith ille 
 A good sentence may ofte spille. 
 
 The book is good at the eendyng 
 
 For who so wole the eendyng here, 
 The crafte of love he shall mowe lere, 
 If that ye wole so long abide 
 Tyl I this Romance may unhide, 
 
 And undo the signifiance 
 Of this dreme into Romance. 
 
 The sothfastnesse that now is hidde 
 Without coverture shall be kidde, 
 Whanne I undon have this dremyng, 
 Wherynne no word is of lesyng. 
 
 “ Vylanye at the bigynnyng 
 I wole,” sayde Love, “ over alle thyng 
 Thou leve, if thou wolt nought be 
 Fals and trespasse ageyns me. 
 
 I curse and blame generaly 
 All hem that loven vilanye. 
 
 For vilanye makith vilayn, 
 
 And by his dedis a cherle is seyn. 
 
 Thise vilayns arn withouten pitee, 
 Frendshipe, love, and all bounte. 
 
 I nyl resseyve unto my servise 
 Hem that ben vilayns of emprise. 
 
 But undirstonde in thyn entent 
 That this is not myn entendement, 
 
 To clepe no wight in noo ages 
 Oonly gentill for his lynages. 
 
 But who so [that] is vertuous, 
 
 And in his port nought outrageous, 
 Whanne sich oon thouseest thee biforn. 
 Though he be not gentill born. 
 
 Thou maist well seyn this is in soth, 
 That he is gentil by cause he doth 
 As longeth to a gentilman, 
 
 Of hym noon other deme I can. 
 
 For certeynly withouten drede 
 A cherle is demed by his dede 
 Of hie or lowe, as ye may see. 
 
THE ROMAUNT OF THE ROSE 
 
 Or of what kynrede that he bee. 
 
 Ne say nought, for noon yvel wille, 
 Thyng that is to holden stille ; 
 
 It is no worshipe to mysseye, 
 
 Thou maist ensample take of Keye, 
 That was somtyrpe, for mysseiyng. 
 Hated bothe of olde and ying. 
 
 As fer as Gaweyn the worthy 
 Was preised for his curtesie, 
 
 Kay was hated, for he was fell, 
 
 Of word dispitous and cruell. 
 Wherfore be wise and aqueyntable, 
 Goodly of word and resonable, 
 
 Bothe to lesse and eke to mare. 
 Andwhanne thou comestthere men are, 
 Loke that thou have in custome ay 
 First to salue hym, if thou may ; 
 
 And if it fall that of hem somme 
 Salue thee first, be not domme. 
 
 But quyte hym curteisly anoon, 
 Without abidyng, er they goon. 
 
 For no thyng eke thy tunge applye 
 To speke wordis of rebaudrye ; 
 
 To vilayne speche in no degre 
 Late never thi lippe unbounden be, 
 For I nought holde hym, in good feith, 
 Curteys that foule wordis seith. 
 
 And alle wymmen serve and preise, 
 And to thy power her honour reise; 
 And if that ony myssaiere 
 Dispise wymmen, that thou maist here. 
 Blame hym and bidde hym holde hym 
 stille. 
 
 And set thy myght, and all thy wille, 
 Wymmen and ladies forto please. 
 
 And to do thyng that may hem ese. 
 That they ever speke good of thee; 
 For so thou maist best preised be. 
 
 Loke fro pride thou kepe thee wele. 
 
 For thou maist bothe perceyve and fele. 
 That pride is bothe foly and synne. 
 
 And he that pride hath hym withvnne, 
 Ne may his herte in no wise 
 Meken ne souplen to servyse. 
 
 For pride is founde in everv part 
 Contrarie unto loves art, 
 
 And he that loveth trew[e]ly 
 Shulde hym contene jolily 
 Withoute pride in sondry wise, 
 
 And hym disgysen in queyntise; 
 
 For queynte array withoute drede 
 Is no thyng proude, who takith hede ; 
 For fresh array, as men may see, 
 Withoute pride may ofte be. 
 
 Mayntene thy silf aftir thi rent, 
 
 Of robe and eke of garnement ; 
 
 For many sithe faire clothyng 
 A man amendith in mych thyng. 
 
 And loke alwev that they be shape, 
 What garnement that thou shalt make. 
 Of hym that kan [hem] beste do 
 With all that perteyneth therto. 
 Poyntis and sieves be well sittande, 
 Right and streght on the hande ; 
 
 Of shone and bootes newe and faire, 
 Loke at the leest thou have a paire, 
 
 And that they sitte so fetisly, 
 
 That these ruyde may uttirly 
 Merveyle, si th that they sitte so plevn. 
 How they come on or off ageyn. 
 
 Were streite gloves with awmere 
 Of silk, and alwey with good chere 
 Thou yeve, if thou have [gret] richesse ; 
 And if thou have nought, spende the lesse. 
 Alwey be mery, if thou may. 
 
 But waste not thi good ahvay. 
 
 Have hatte of doures as fresh as Mav, 
 Chapelett of roses of Wissonday ; 
 
 30 
 
THE ROMAUNT OF THE ROSE 
 
 For sich array ne costneth but lite. 
 Thyn hondis wasshe, thy teeth make 
 white, 
 
 And lete no filthe upon thee bee ; 
 
 Thy nailes blak if thou maist see, 
 Voide it awey delyverly ; 
 
 And kembe thyn heed right jolily. 
 Farce not thi visage in no wise, 
 
 For that of love is not themprise, 
 
 For love doth haten, as I fynde, 
 
 A beaute that cometh not of kynde. 
 Alwey in herte, I rede thee, 
 
 Glad and mery forto be ; 
 
 And be as joyfull as thou can, 
 
 Love hath no joye of sorowful man. 
 That yvell is full of curtesie 
 That lowith in his maladie. 
 
 For ever of love the sikenesse 
 Is meynde with swete and bitternesse. 
 The sore of love is merveilous, 
 
 For now [is] the lover joyous, 
 
 Now can he pleyne, now can he grone, 
 Now can he syngen, now maken mone ; 
 To day he pleyneth for hevynesse, 
 
 To morowe he pleyeth for jolynesse. 
 The lyf of love is full contrarie, 
 
 Which stounde-mele can ofte varie. 
 But if thou canst mirthis make, 
 
 That men in gre wole gladly take, 
 
 Do it goodly, I comaunde thee. 
 
 For men shulde, where soevere they be, 
 Do thing that [to] hem sittyng is ; 
 
 For therof cometh good loos and pris. 
 Where-of that thou be vertuous 
 Ne be not straunge ne daungerous, 
 
 For if that thou good ridere be, 
 
 Prike gladly that men may [the] se. 
 
 In armes also, if thou konne, 
 
 Pursue tyl thou a name hast wonne. 
 
 And if thi voice be faire and clere 
 Thou shalt make [no] gret daungere 
 Whanne to synge they goodly prey. 
 
 It is thi worship fortobeye. 
 
 Also to you it longith ay 
 Toharpeandgitterne,daunceandplay ; 
 For if he can wel foote and daunce, 
 
 It may hym greetly do avaunce. 
 Among eke, for thy lady sake. 
 
 Songes and complayntes [se] that thou 
 make, 
 
 For that wole meven in her herte, 
 Whanne they reden of thy smerte. 
 Loke that no man for scarce thee holde, 
 For that may greve thee many folde ; 
 Resoun wole that a lover be 
 In his yiftes more large and fre 
 Than cherles that kan naught of lovyng. 
 For who therof can ony thyng. 
 
 He shall be leef ay forto yeve, 
 
 In loves lore who so wolde leve. 
 
 For he that through a sodeyn sight, 
 
 Or for a kyssyng, anoon right 
 Yaffhoole hisherteinwilland thought, 
 And to hym silf kepith right nought, 
 Aftir swich gift is good resoun 
 He yeve his good [al] in abandoun. 
 
 Now wole I shortly heere reherce 
 Of that I have seid in verce 
 Al the sentence by and by, 
 
 In wordis fewe compendiously. 
 
 That thou thebetmaystonhemthynke. 
 Whether so it be thou wake or wynke. 
 For the wordis litel greve 
 A man to kepe, whanne it is breve. 
 Who so with love wole goon or ride. 
 He mote be curteis and voide of pride, 
 Mery, and full ofjolite, 
 
 3 1 
 
THE ROMAUNT OF THE ROSE 
 
 And of largesse alosed be. 
 
 Firste I joyne thee heere in penaunce 
 That evere, withoute repentaunce. 
 
 Thou sette thy thought in thy lovyng 
 To laste withoute repentyng, 
 
 And thenke upon^thi myrthis swete, 
 That shall folowe aftir, whan ye mete. 
 And for thou trewe to love shalt be, 
 
 I wole, and comaunde thee 
 That in oo place thou sette all hoole 
 Thyn herte, withoute halfen doole 
 Of trecherie and sikernesse; 
 
 For I lovede nevere doublenesse. 
 
 To many his herte that wole departe, 
 Everiche shal have but litel parte ; 
 
 But of hym drede I me right nought 
 That in oo place settith his thought. 
 Therfore in oo place it sette. 
 
 And lat it nevere thennys flette. 
 
 For if thou yevest it in lenyng, 
 
 I holde it but a wrecchid thyng. 
 Therfore yeve it hoole and quyte. 
 
 And thou shalt have the more merite ; 
 
 If it be lent, that aftir soone 
 The bounte and the thank is doone, 
 
 But in love fre yeven thing 
 Requyrith a gret guerdonyng. 
 
 Yeve it in yift al quyte fully. 
 
 And make thi yifte debonairly, 
 
 For men that yifte holde more dere 
 That yeven [is] with gladsome chere. 
 That yifte nought to preisen is 
 That man yeveth maugre his. 
 
 Whanne thou hastyeven thyn herte, as I 
 Have seid [to] thee heere openly, 
 Thanne aventures shull thee fall 
 Which harde and hevy ben with-all. 
 
 For ofte, whan thou bithenkist thee 
 Of thy lovyng, where so thou be, 
 
 32 
 
 Fro folk thou must departe in hie. 
 
 That noon perceyve thi maladie. 
 
 But hyde thyne harme thou must alone. 
 And go forthe sole, and make thy mone. 
 Thou shake no whyle be in o state, 
 
 But whylom colde and whilom hate, 
 Nowereed as rose,nowyelowe and fade. 
 Suche sorowe I trowe thou never hade ; 
 Cotidien, ne quarteyne, 
 
 It is nat so ful of peyne. 
 
 For often tymes it shal fal 
 In love, among thy paynes al, 
 
 That thou thy selfe al holy 
 Foryeten shake so utterly. 
 
 That many tymes thou shake be 
 Styl as an ymage of tree, 
 
 Domme as a stone, without steryng 
 Of fote or honde, without spekyng. 
 
 Than, soone after al thy payne, 
 
 To memorye shake thou come agayne, 
 A man abasshed wonder sore. 
 
 And after syghen more and more. 
 
 For wytte thou wele, withouten wene. 
 In suche astate ful ofte have bene, 
 
 That have the yvel of love assayde, 
 Wherthrough thou arte so dismayde. 
 After a thought shal take the so, 
 
 That thy love is to ferre the fro ; 
 Thoushaltesaye‘God ! Whatmay thisbe 
 That I ne maye my lady se ? 
 
 Myne herte alone is to her go, 
 
 And I abyde al sole in wo. 
 
 Departed fro myne owne thought. 
 
 And with myne eyen se right nought. 
 
 Alas ! myne eyen send I ne may 
 My careful herte to convay ! 
 
 Myne hertes gyde but they be, 
 
THE ROMAUNT OF THE ROSE 
 
 I prayse nothyng what ever they se. 
 
 Shul they abyde than ? nay, 
 
 But gone visyte without delay. 
 
 That myne herte desyreth so. 
 
 For certainly, but if they go, 
 
 A foole my selfe I maye wel holde, 
 
 Whan I ne se what myne hert wolde. 
 
 Wherfore I wol gone her to sene, 
 
 For eased shal I never bene. 
 
 But I have some tokenyng.’ 
 
 Than gost thou forthe without dwelly ng. 
 
 But ofte thou faylest of thy desyre, 
 
 Er thou mayst come her any nere, 
 
 And wastest in vayn thi passage. 
 
 Thanne fallest thou in a newe rage; 
 
 For want of sight, thou gynnest morne, 
 Andhomewardepensyfthoudostretorne. 
 
 In greet myscheef thanneshaltthou bee, 
 
 For thanne agayne shall come to thee 
 Sighes and pleyntes with newe woo, 
 
 That no yecchyng prikketh soo. 
 
 Who wote it nought, he may go lere 
 Of hem that bien love so dere. 
 
 No thyng thyn herte appesen may 
 That ofte thou wole goon and assay, 
 
 If thou maist seen by aventure 
 Thi lyves joy, thine hertis cure. 
 
 So that bi grace if thou myght 
 Atteyne of hire to have a sight, 
 
 Thanneshalt thou done noon other dede, 
 
 But with that sight thyne eyen fede. 
 
 That faire fresh whanne thou maist see, 
 
 Thyne herte shall so ravysshed be, 
 
 Thatneverethouwoldest,thithankis,lete It shulde have be more worth to thee 
 
 The more thine herte brenneth in her, 
 The more thine herte is in desire. 
 
 For who considreth everydeell, 
 
 It may be likned wondir well 
 The peyne of love unto a fere. 
 
 For evermore thou neighest nere, 
 
 Thou or whoo so that it bee, 
 
 For verray sothe I tell it thee, 
 
 The hatter evere shall thou brenne, 
 
 As experience shall thee kenne. 
 
 Where so comest in ony coost, 
 
 Who is next fuyre he brenneth moost. 
 And yitt forsothe for all thine hete, 
 Though thou for love swelte and swete, 
 Ne for no thyng thou felen may, 
 
 Thou shalt not willen to passen away. 
 And though thou go, yitt must thee nede 
 Thenke alle day on hir fairhede, 
 
 Whom thou biheelde with so good wille, 
 And holde thi silf biguyled ille 
 That thou ne haddest noon hardement 
 To shewe hir ought of thyne entent. 
 Thyn herte full sore thou wolt dispise, 
 And eke repreve of cowardise, 
 
 That thou, so dulle in every thing, 
 Weredommefordredewithoutespekyng. 
 Thou shalt eke thenke thou didestfolye, 
 That thou were hir so faste bye, 
 
 And durst not auntre thee to say 
 Som thyng er thou cam away. 
 
 For thou haddist nomore wonne, 
 
 To speke of hir whanne thou bigonne, 
 But yitt she wolde, for thy sake, 
 
 In armes goodly thee have take, 
 
 Ne remove forto see that swete. 
 
 The more thou seest, in sothfastnesse, 
 The more thou coveytest of that swet- 
 nesse; 
 
 Than of tresour gret plente. 
 
 Thus shalt thou morne and eke 
 compleyne, 
 
 And gete enchesoun to goone ageyne 
 
 33 e 
 
THE ROMAUNT OF THE ROSE 
 
 Unto the walke, or to the place 
 Where thou biheelde hir fleshly face. 
 And never, for fals suspeccioun. 
 
 Thou woldest fynde occasioun 
 Forto gone unto hire hous. 
 
 So art thou thanne -desirous 
 A sight of hir forto have, 
 
 If thou thine honour myghtist save, 
 
 Or ony erande myghtist make, 
 
 Thider for thi loves sake 
 Full fayn thou woldist, but for drede 
 Thou gost not, lest that men take hede. 
 Wherfore I red [the] in thi goyng 
 And also in thyne ageyn comyng, 
 
 Thou be well ware that men ne wite; 
 Feyne thee other cause than itte 
 To go that weye or faste bye ; 
 
 To hele wel is no folye. 
 
 And if so be it happe thee, 
 
 That thou thi love there maist see. 
 
 In siker wise thou hir salewe, 
 Wherewith thi colourwoletransmewe, 
 And eke thy blode shal alto quake, 
 Thyne hewe eke chaungen for hir sake ; 
 Butword andwittewith chere full pale 
 Shull wante [the] forto tell thy tale. 
 And if thou maist so fer forth wynne, 
 That thou [thi] resoun dorst bigynne, 
 And woldist seyn thre thingis or mo, 
 Thou shalt full scarsly seyn the two. 
 Though thou bithenke thee never so well, 
 Thou shalt foryete yit somdell. 
 
 But if thou dele with trecherie ; 
 
 For fals lovers mowe all folye 
 Seyn what hem lust withouten drede. 
 They be so double in her falshede ; 
 
 For they in herte cunne thenkeathyng. 
 And seyn another in her spekyng. 
 
 And whanne thi speche is eendid all, 
 
 Ryght thus to thee it shall byfall, 
 
 If ony word thanne come to mynde 
 That thou to seye hast left bihynde. 
 Thanne thou shalt brenne in gretmartire. 
 For thou shalt brenne as ony fiere. 
 
 This is the stryf and eke the affray. 
 
 And the batell that lastith ay ; 
 
 This bargeyn eende may never take, 
 But if that she thi pees will make. 
 
 And whanne the nyght is comenanoon, 
 A thousande angres shall come uppon. 
 To bedde as fast thou wolt thee dight. 
 Where thou shalt have but smal delite; 
 For whanne thou wenest forto slepe 
 So full of peyne shalt thou crepe, 
 
 Sterte in thi bedde aboute full wide, 
 And turne full ofte on every side. 
 
 Now dounward groff and nowupright. 
 And walowe in woo the longe nyght ; 
 Thine armys shalt thou sprede abrede 
 As man in werre were forwerede. 
 Thanneshalltheecomearemembraunce 
 Of hir shappe and hir semblaunce. 
 Whereto none other may be pere. 
 
 And wite thou wel withoute were, 
 That thee shal [seme] somtyme that 
 nyght 
 
 That thou hast hir, that is so bright, 
 Naked bitwene thvne armes there, 
 
 All sothfastnesse as though it were. 
 Thou shalt makecastels thanne in Spavne 
 And dreme of joye, all but in vayne, 
 And thee deliten of right nought. 
 While thou so slomrest in that thought. 
 That is so swete and delitable; 
 
 The which in soth[e] nys but fable, 
 For it ne shall no while laste. 
 
 Thanne shalt thou sighe and wepe faste 
 And say, ‘ Dere god, what thing is this? 
 
THE ROMAUNT OF THE ROSE 
 My dreme is turned all amys, A loke on me I-caste goodly, 
 
 Which was full swete and apparent ; 
 
 But now I wake, it is al shent ! 
 
 How yede this mery thought away ! 
 Twenty tymes upon a day 
 I wolde this thought wolde come ageyne. 
 For it aleggith well my peyne ; 
 
 It makith me full ofjoyfull thought. 
 
 It sleth me that it lastith noght 
 A lord, why nyl ye me socoure 
 Fro joye? I trowe that I langoure; 
 The deth I wolde me shulde sloo 
 While I lye in hir armes twoo. 
 
 Myne harme is harde, withouten wene. 
 My gret unease full ofte I meene. 
 
 But wolde love do so I myght 
 Have fully joye of hir so bright, 
 
 My peyne were quytte me rychely. 
 Allas, to grete a thing aske I ! 
 
 Hit is but foly and wrong wenyng 
 To aske so outrageous a thyng; 
 
 And who so askith folily, 
 
 He mote be warned hastily. 
 
 And I ne wote what I may say, 
 
 I am so fer out of the way. 
 
 For I wolde have full gret likyng 
 And full gret joye of lasse thing; 
 
 For wolde she of hir gentylnesse 
 Withoute more me oonys kysse, 
 
 It were to me a grete guerdoun, 
 
 Relees of all my passioun. 
 
 But it is harde to come therto. 
 
 All is but folye that I do ; 
 
 So high I have myne herte sette 
 Where I may no comfort gette ; 
 
 I not where I seye well or nought, 
 
 But this I wote wel in my thought, 
 That it were better of hir alloone, 
 
 Forto stynte my woo and moone, 
 
 Than forto have al utterly 
 Of an other all hoole the pley. 
 
 A lord, where I shall byde the day 
 That evere she shall my lady be ? 
 
 He is full cured that may hir see. 
 
 A god, whanne shal the dawnyng 
 springe ? 
 
 To lye thus is an angry thyng; 
 
 I have no joye thus heere to lye 
 Whanne that my love is not me bye. 
 
 A man to lye hath gret disese, 
 
 Which may not slepe ne reste in ese. 
 
 I wolde it dawed and were now day, 
 And that the nyght were went away ; 
 For were it day I wolde uprise. 
 
 A slowe sonne, shewe thine enprise ! 
 Spede thee to sprede thy beemys bright. 
 And chace the derknesse of the nyght, 
 To putte away the stoundes stronge, 
 Whiche in me lasten all to longe !’ 
 The nyght shalt thou contene soo 
 Withoute rest, in peyne and woo. 
 
 If evere thou knewe of love distresse, 
 Thoushaltmowelerne inthatsicknesse. 
 And thus enduryng shalt thou lye, 
 
 And ryse on morwe up erly 
 Out of thy bedde, and harneyse thee, 
 Er evere dawnyng thou maist see. 
 
 All pryvyly thanne shall thou goon, 
 What weder it be, thi silf alloon, 
 
 For reyne or hayle, for snowe, for slete, 
 Thider she dwellith that is so swete. 
 The which may fall a-slepe be, 
 
 And thenkith hut lytel upon thee. 
 Thanne shalt thougoonfulfoule a-feerd 
 Loke if the gate be unspered, 
 
 And waite without in woo and peyne, 
 Full yvel acoolde, in wynde and reyne. 
 35 
 
THE ROMAUNT OF THE ROSE 
 
 Thanne shal thou go the dore bifore, 
 If thou maist fynde ony score, 
 
 Or hoole, or reeft what evere it were. 
 Thanne shalt thou stoupe,and lay toere, 
 If they withynne a-slepe be — 
 
 I mene all save the-lady free. 
 
 Whom wakyng if thou maist aspie, 
 
 Go putte thi-silf in jupartie, 
 
 To aske grace, and thee bimene, 
 
 That she may wite withoute wene 
 That thou [a-]nyght no rest hast hadde. 
 So sore for hir thou were bystadde ; 
 Wommen wel ought pite to take 
 Of hem that sorwen for her sake. 
 
 And loke, for love of that relyke, 
 
 That thou thenke noon other lyke ; 
 For whanne thou hast so gret annoy, 
 Shall kysse thee er thou go away, 
 
 And holde that in full gret deynte. 
 
 And for that noman shal thee see 
 Bifore the hous, ne in the way, 
 
 Loke thou be goone ageyn er day. 
 
 Such comyng and such goyng, 
 
 Such hevynesse and such wakyng 
 Makith lovers, withouten wene. 
 
 Under her clothes pale and lene. 
 
 For love leveth colour ne cleernesse, 
 Who loveth trewe hath no fatnesse ; 
 Thou shalt wel by thy-silf [y-]see 
 That thou must nedis assaied be; 
 
 For men that shape hem other weye 
 Falsly her ladyes to bitraye. 
 
 It is no wonder though they be fatt, 
 With false othes her loves they gatt. 
 For oft I see suche losengours 
 Fatter than abbatis or priours. 
 
 Yit with o thing I thee charge. 
 
 That is to seye that thou be large 
 
 Unto the mavde that hir doith serve. 
 
 So best hir thanke thou shalt deserve. 
 Yeve hir yiftes, and gete hir grace, 
 
 For so thou may thank purchace. 
 
 That she thee worthy holde and free, 
 Thi lady, and all that may thee see. 
 
 Also hir servauntes worshipe ay, 
 
 And please as mych as thou may ; 
 
 Grete good through hem may come to thee 
 Bi-cause with hir they ben pryve ; 
 
 They shal hir telle hoe they thee fande 
 Curteis, and wys, and well doande. 
 
 And she shall preise well the mare. 
 
 Loke oute of londe thou be not fare, 
 
 And if such cause thou have that thee 
 Bihoveth to gone out of contree, 
 
 Leve hoole thin herte in hostage, 
 
 Till thou ageyn make thi passage. 
 Thenke longe to see the swete thyng. 
 That hath thine herte in hir kepyng. 
 Now have I tolde thee in what wise 
 A lovere shall do me servise ; 
 
 Do it thanne if thou wolt have 
 The meede that thou aftir crave.” 
 Whanne Love all this hadde boden me, 
 
 I seide hym, “Sire, how may it be 
 That lovers may in such manere 
 Endure the pevne ye have seid heere? 
 
 I merveyle me wonder laste 
 
 How ony man may lyve or laste 
 
 In such peyne and [in] such brennyng; 
 
 In sorwe and thought, and such sighing. 
 Aye unrelesed woo to make, 
 
 Whether so it be they slepe or wake, 
 
 In such annoy contynuely, 
 
 As helpe me god, this merveile I 
 How man, but he were maad of stele, 
 Myght lvve a monthe such peynes to 
 fele.” ' 
 
 3 6 
 
THE ROMAUNT OF THE ROSE 
 
 The God of Love thanne seide me, 
 “Freend, by the feith I owe to thee. 
 May no man have good but he it bye; 
 A man loveth more tendirly 
 The thyng that he hath bought most dere. 
 For wite thou well, withouten were. 
 
 In thanke that thyng is taken more 
 For which a man hath suffred sore. 
 Certis no wo ne may atteyne 
 Unto the sore of loves peyne ; 
 
 Noon yvel therto ne may amounte, 
 Nomore than a man [may] counte 
 The dropes that of the water be. 
 
 For drye as well the greete see 
 Thou myghtist, as the harmes telle 
 Of hem that with love dwelle 
 In servyse ; for peyne hem sleeth, 
 
 And yet ech man wolde fle the deeth. 
 And trowe thei shulde nevere escape, 
 Nere that hope couthe hem make 
 Glad, as man in prisoun sett, 
 
 And may not geten forto ete 
 But barly breed and watir pure, 
 
 And lyeth in vermyn and in ordure ; 
 With all this yitt can he lyve. 
 
 Good hopesuch comforthath hymyive. 
 Which maketh wene that he shall be 
 Delyvered and come to liberte. 
 
 In fortune is [his] full trust, 
 
 Though he lye in strawe or dust ; 
 
 In hoope is all his susteynyng. 
 
 And so for lovers in her wenyng, 
 WhicheLove hathshitteinhis prisoun. 
 Good hope is her salvacioun. 
 
 Good hope how sore that they smerte 
 Yeveth hem bothe will and herte 
 To profre her body to martire ; 
 
 For hope so sore doith hem desire 
 To suffre ech harme that men devise 
 
 For joye that aftirward shall aryse. 
 
 Hope in desire hathe victorie, 
 
 In hope of love is all the glorie, 
 
 For hope is all that love may yive ; 
 
 Nere hope ther shulde no lover lyve. 
 Blessid be hope, which with desire 
 Avaunceth lovers in such manere ! 
 
 Good hope is curteis forto please, 
 
 To kepe lovers from all disese ; 
 
 Hope kepith his bonde, and wole abide 
 For ony perill that may betyde ; 
 
 For hope to lovers, as most cheef, 
 
 Doth hem endure all myscheef; 
 
 Hope is her helpe whanne myster is. 
 
 And I shall yeve thee eke I-wys 
 Three other thingis, that gret solas 
 Doith to hem that be in my las. 
 
 The firste good that may be founde 
 To hem that in my lace be bounde 
 Is Swete Thought, forto recorde 
 Thing wherwith thou canst accorde 
 Best in thyne herte, where she be. 
 Thenkyng in absence is good to thee. 
 Whanne ony lover doth compleyne, 
 
 And lyveth in distresse and in peyne, 
 ThanneSwete-Thoughtshalcomeasblyve 
 Awey his angre forto dryve. 
 
 It makith lovers to have remembraunce, 
 Of comfort and of high plesaunce. 
 
 That hope hathhighthym forto wynne. 
 ForThoughtanoonthanneshallbygynne, 
 As ferre, god wote, as he can fynde, 
 
 To make a mirrour of his mynde; 
 
 Forto biholde he wole not lette. 
 
 Hir persone he shall afore hym sette, 
 
 Hir laughing eyen, persaunt and clere, 
 Hirshappe,hirfourme,hirgoodlychere ; 
 Hir mouth, that is so gracious, 
 
 37 
 
THE ROMAUNT OF THE ROSE 
 
 swete and eke so saverous ; 
 
 Of all hir fetures he shall take heede, 
 His eyen with all hir lymes fede. 
 
 Thus Swete-Thenkyng shall aswage 
 The peyne of lovers and her rage. 
 
 Thi joye shall double withoute gesse 
 Whannethouthenkistonhirsemlynesse, 
 Or of hir laughing, or of hir chere 
 That to thee made thi lady dere. 
 
 This comfort wole I that thou take ; 
 And if the next thou wolt forsake, 
 Which is not lesse saverous, 
 
 Thou shuldist ben to daungerous. 
 
 The secounde shal be Swete-speche, 
 That hath to many oon be leche 
 To bringe hem out of woo and were, 
 And holpe many a bachilere, 
 
 And many a lady sent socoure, 
 
 That have loved paramour. 
 
 Through spekyng whanne they myght 
 heere 
 
 Of hir lovers, to hem so dere. 
 
 To hem it voidith all her smerte, 
 
 The which is closed in her herte ; 
 
 In herte it makith hem glad and light, 
 Speche,whannetheymowehave[no]sight 
 And therfore now it cometh to mynde 
 In olde dawes, as I fynde, 
 
 That clerkis writen that hir knewe; 
 Ther was a lady, fresh of hewe, 
 
 Which of hir love made a songe, 
 
 On hym forto remembre amonge. 
 
 In whichsheseyde: ‘Whannethat I here 
 Speken of hym that is so dere, 
 
 To me it voidith alle smerte. 
 
 I-wys, he sittith so nere myne herte 
 To speke of hym at eve or morwe 
 It cureth me of all my sorwe. 
 
 To me is noon so high plesaunce 
 As of his persone dalyaunce.’ 
 
 She wist full well that Swete-Spekyng 
 Comfortith in full myche thyng. 
 
 Hir love she hadde full well assaid, 
 
 Of him she was full well apaid ; 
 
 To speke of hym hir joye was sett. 
 Therfore I rede thee that thou gett 
 A felowe that can well concele, 
 
 And kepe thi counsell, and well hele, 
 To whom go shewe hoolly thine herte, 
 Bothe well and woo, joye and smerte ; 
 To gete comfort to hym thou goo, 
 And pryvyly bitwene yow twoo 
 Yee shall speke of that goodly thyng, 
 That hath thyne herte in hir kepyng. 
 Of hir beaute, and hir semblaunce, 
 And of hir goodly countenaunce ; 
 
 Of all thi state, thou shalt hym seye, 
 And aske hym counseill how thou may 
 Do ony thyng that may hir plese ; 
 
 For it to thee shall do gret ese, 
 
 That he may wife thou trust hym soo, 
 Bothe of thi wele and of thi woo. 
 
 And if his herte to love be sett. 
 
 His companye is myche the bett, 
 
 For resoun wole he shewe to thee 
 All uttirly his pryvyte, 
 
 And what she is he loveth so. 
 
 To thee pleynly he shall undo, 
 Withoute drede of ony shame, 
 
 Bothe tell hir renoun and hir name. 
 Thanne shall he forther, ferre and nere. 
 And namely to thi lady dere. 
 
 In syker wise yee every other 
 Shall helpen, as his owne brother, 
 
 In trouthe withoute doublenesse. 
 
 And kepen cloos in sikernesse ; 
 
 For it is noble thing in fay 
 
THE ROMAUNT OF THE ROSE 
 
 To have a man thou darst say 
 Thy pryve counsell every deell ; 
 
 For that wole comforte thee right well, 
 And thou shalt holde thee well apayed, 
 Whanne such a freend thou hast assayed. 
 
 The thridde good of gret comforte, 
 
 That yeveth to lovers moste disporte, 
 Comyth of sight and of biholdyng, 
 
 That clepid is Swete-lokyng. 
 
 The which may [thee] noon ese do 
 Whanne thou art fer thy lady fro. 
 Wherfore thou prese alwey to be 
 In place where thou maist hir see. 
 
 For it is thyng most amerous. 
 
 Most delytable and saverous, 
 
 Forto a-swage a mannes sorowe, 
 
 To sene his lady by the morwe. 
 
 For it is a full noble thing, 
 
 Whanne thyne eyen have metyng 
 With that relike precious 
 Wherof they be so desirous. 
 
 But al day after, soth it is, 
 
 They have no drede to faren amysse ; 
 They dreden neither wynde ne reyne, 
 Ne noon other maner peyne. 
 
 For whanne thyneeyen were thus in blisse, 
 Yit of hir curtesie, y-wysse, 
 
 Alloone they can not have her joye, 
 
 But to the herte they [it] convoye ; 
 
 Parte oi her blisse to hym they sende, 
 Of all this harme to make an ende. 
 
 The eye is a good messangere, 
 
 Which can to the herte in such manere 
 Tidyngis sende, that hath sene 
 To voide hym of his peynes clene. 
 Wherof the herte rejoiseth soo, 
 
 That a gret partye of his woo 
 Is voided, and putte awey to flight, 
 
 Right as the derknesse of the nyght 
 Is chased with clerenesse of the mone. 
 Right so is al his woo full soone 
 Devoided clene, whanne that the sight 
 Biholden may that freshe wight 
 That the herte desireth soo, 
 
 That al his derknesse is agoo. 
 
 For thanne the herte is all at ese, 
 Whanne the eyen sene that may hem 
 plese. 
 
 Now have I declared thee all oute 
 Of that thou were in drede and doute,. 
 For I have tolde thee feithfully 
 What thee may curen utterly. 
 
 And alle lovers that wole be 
 Feithfull and full of stabilite. 
 
 Good hope alwey kepe bi thi side. 
 
 And Swete-Thought, make eke abide 
 Swete-Lokyng and Swete-Speche. 
 
 Of all thyne harmes thei shall be leche : 
 Ofevery thou shalt have gret plesaunce, 
 If thou canst bide in suffraunce, 
 
 And serve wel withoute feyntise ; 
 Thou shalt be quyte of thyne emprise 
 Withmore guerdoun,if that thou lyve. 
 But at this tyme this I thee yive.” 
 
 The God of Love, whanne al the day 
 Had taught me as ye have herd say, 
 And enfourmed compendiously, 
 
 He vanyshide awey all sodeynly ; 
 
 And I alloone lefte all soole. 
 
 So full of compleynt and of doole. 
 
 For I sawe no man there me by. 
 
 My woundes me greved wondirly ; 
 
 Me forto curen no thyng I knewe 
 Save the bothon bright of hewe, 
 Wheron was sett hoolly my thought.. 
 Of other comfort knewe I nought, 
 
 But it were thrugh the God of Love.. 
 
 39 
 
THE ROMAUNT OF THE ROSE 
 
 I knewe not elles to my bihove 
 That myght me ease or comfort gete, 
 But if he wolde hym entermete. 
 
 The roser was withoute doute 
 Closed with an haye withoute, 
 
 As ye toforn have herd me seyne. 
 
 And fast I bisiede, and wolde fayne 
 Have passed the hay, if [that] I myght 
 Have geten ynne by ony slight 
 Unto the bothon so faire to see. 
 
 But evere I dradde blamed to be, 
 
 If men wolde have suspeccioun 
 That I wolde of entencioun 
 Have stole the roses that there were ; 
 Therfore to entre I was in fere. 
 
 But at the last, as I bithought, 
 Whether I shulde passe or nought, 
 
 I sawe come with a glad chere 
 To me a lusty bachelere, 
 
 Of good stature and of good hight ; 
 And Bialacoil forsothe he hight, 
 Sone he was to Curtesie. 
 
 And he me grauntide full gladly 
 The passage of the outter hay, 
 
 And seide, “ Sir, how that yee may 
 Passe, if [that] youre wille be 
 The freshe roser forto see, 
 
 And yee the swete savour fele, 
 
 You warrante may [I] right wele. 
 
 So thou thee kepe fro folye, 
 
 Shall no man do thee vylanye ; 
 
 If I may helpe you in ought, 
 
 I shall not feyne, dredeth nought, 
 
 P'or I am bounde to youre servise, 
 Fully devoide of feyntise.” 
 
 Thanne unto Bialacoil saide I : 
 
 “ I thanke you, sir, full hertely 
 And youre biheeste take at gre, 
 
 That ye so goodly profer me. 
 
 To you it cometh of gret fraunchise 
 That ye me profer youre servise.” 
 Thanne aftir, full delyverly, 
 
 Thorough the breres anoon wente I, 
 Wherof encombred was the hay. 
 
 I was wel plesed, the soth to say, 
 
 To se the bothon faire and swote 
 So freshe spronge out of the rote. 
 
 And Bialacoil me served well 
 Whanne I so nygh me myghte fele 
 Of the bothon the swete odour 
 And so lusty hewed of colour. 
 
 But thanneacherle (foulehvmbityde !) 
 Biside the roses gan hvm hyde, 
 
 To kepe the roses of that roser 
 Of whom the name was Daunger. 
 
 This cherle was hid there in thegreves, 
 Kovered with gras and with leves, 
 
 To spie and take whom that he fonde 
 Unto that Roser putte an honde. 
 
 He was not soole, for ther was moo ; 
 For with hym were other twoo 
 Of wikkid maners and yvel fame. 
 
 That oon was clepid by his name 
 WYKKED-ToNGE(godyevehymsorwe !), 
 For neither at eve ne at morwe 
 He can of no man good [ne] speke ; 
 
 On many a just man doth he wreke. 
 Ther was a womman eke that hight 
 Shame, that, who can reken right, 
 Trespace was hir fadir name, 
 
 Hirmoder Resoun; and thus was Shame 
 Brought of these ilke twoo. 
 
 And yitt hadde Trespasse never adoo 
 With Resoun, ne never ley hir bye 
 He was so hidous and so ugly, 
 
 I mene this that Trespas hight ; 
 
 But resoun conceyved of a sight 
 Shame, of that I spake aforne. 
 
 40 
 
THE ROMAUNT OF THE ROSE 
 
 And whanne that Shame was thus [y-] 
 borne, 
 
 It was ordeyned that Chastite 
 Shulde of the Roser lady be, 
 
 Which of the bothons more and lasse 
 With sondre folk assailed was, 
 
 That she ne wiste what to doo. 
 
 For Venus hir assailith soo, 
 
 That nyght and day from hir she stale 
 Bothons and roses over-all. 
 
 To Resoun thanne praieth Chastite, 
 Whom Venus hath flemed over the see, 
 That she hir doughter wolde hir lene, 
 
 To kepe the Roser fresh and grene. 
 Anoon Resoun to Chastite 
 Is fully assented that it be, 
 
 And grauntide hir at hir request 
 That Shame, by cause she is honest. 
 Shall keper of the roser be. 
 
 And thus to kepe it ther were three, 
 That noon shulde hardy be ne bolde. 
 Were he yong or were he olde, 
 
 Ageyn hir will awey to here 
 Bothons ne roses that there were. 
 
 I hadde wel spedde, hadde I not bene 
 Awayted with these three and sene. 
 
 For Bialacoil, that was so faire. 
 
 So gracious and debonaire, 
 
 Quytt hym to me full curteislye, 
 
 And me to please, bade that I 
 Shulde drawe me to the bothon nere ; 
 Prese in to touche the rosere 
 Which bare the roses, he yaf me leve; 
 This graunte ne myght but lytel greve. 
 And for he sawe it liked me, 
 
 Ryght nygh the bothon pullede he 
 A leef all grene and yaff me that ; 
 
 The whiche full nygh the bothon sat, 
 
 I made [me] of that leef full queynte. 
 
 4i 
 
 And whanne I felte I was aqueynte 
 With Bialacoil, and so pryve, 
 
 I wende all at my will hadde be. 
 Thanne waxe I hardy forto telle 
 To Bialacoil how me bifelle 
 Of love, that toke and wounded me; 
 And seide : “ Sir, so mote I thee, 
 
 I may no joye have in no wise 
 Uppon no side, but it rise. 
 
 For sithens, if I shall not feyne, 
 
 In herte I have hadde so gret peyne, 
 So gret annoy and such affray, 
 
 That I ne wote what I shall say, 
 
 I drede youre wrathe to disserve. 
 
 Lever me were that knyves kerve 
 My body shulde in pecys small, 
 
 Than any weyes it shulde fall 
 That yewratthed shulde ben with me.” 
 “ Sey boldely thi will,” quod he, 
 
 “ I nyl be wroth, if that I may. 
 
 For nought that thou shalt to me say.” 
 Thanne seide I, “Ser, not you displease 
 To knowen of myn gret unnese. 
 
 In which oonly love hath me brought. 
 For peynes gret, disese, and thought, 
 Fro day to day he doth me drye — 
 Supposeth not, sir, that I lye. 
 
 In me fyve woundes dide he make, 
 The soore of whiche shall nevereslake ; 
 But ye the Bothon graunte me 
 Which is moost passaunt of beaute. 
 My lyf, my deth, and my martire. 
 
 And tresour, that I moost desire.” 
 Thanne Bialacoil, affrayed all, 
 
 Seyde, “ Sir, it may not fall — 
 
 That ye desire, it may not arise. 
 
 What ! Wolde ye shende me in this 
 wise ? 
 
 A mochel foole thanne I were. 
 
 F 
 
THE ROMAUNT OF THE ROSE 
 
 If I suffride you awey to bere 
 The fresh bothoun so faire of sight. 
 For it were neither skile ne right, 
 
 Of the roser ye broke the rynde. 
 
 Or take the rose aforn his kynde; 
 
 Ye are not curteys to aske it. 
 
 Late it still on the roser sitt, 
 
 And growe til it amended be 
 And parfytly come to beaute; 
 
 I nolde not that it pulled were 
 Fro the roser that it bere, 
 
 To me it is so leef and deere.” 
 
 With that sterteoute anoon Daungere, 
 Out of the place were he was hidde ; 
 His malice in his chere was kidde. 
 
 Full grete he was and blak of hewe, 
 Sturdy and hidous,who so hym knewe, 
 Likesharp urchouns hishere wasgrowe ; 
 His eyes reed as the fyre glowe. 
 
 His nose frounced, full kirked stoode. 
 He come criande as he were woode, 
 And seide : “ Bialacoil, telle me why 
 Thou bryngest hider so booldely 
 Hym that [is] so nygh the roser! 
 
 Thou worchist in a wrong manner ; 
 
 He thenkith to dishonoure thee. 
 
 Thou art wel worthy to have maugree, 
 To late hym of the roser wite ; 
 
 Who serveth feloun is yvel quitte. 
 Thou woldist have doon gret bounte, 
 And he with shamewoulde quyte thee. 
 Fie hennes, Felowe ! I rede thee goo, 
 It wanteth litel I wole thee sloo; 
 
 For Bialacoil ne knewe thee nought, 
 Whanne thee to serve he sette his 
 thought ; 
 
 For thou wolt shame hym, if thou 
 myght, 
 
 Bothe ageyns resoun and right. 
 
 I wole no more in thee affye, 
 
 That comest so slyghly for tespye ; 
 
 For it preveth wonder well 
 
 Thy sleight and tresoun every deell.” 
 
 I durst no more there make abode 
 For the cherl, he was so wode ; 
 
 So gan he threte and manace, 
 
 And thurgh the haye hedide me chace. 
 Forfeerofhym I tremblyde and quoke, 
 So cherlishly his heed it shoke ; 
 
 And seide, if eft he myght me take 
 I shulde not from his hondis scape. 
 Thanne Bialacoil is fledde and mate, 
 And I, all soole, disconsolate, 
 
 Was left aloone in peyne and thought. 
 For shame to deth I was nygh brought. 
 Thanne thought I on myn high foly, 
 How that my body utterly 
 Was yeve to peyne and to martire ; 
 And therto hadde I so gret ire, 
 
 That I ne durst the haye passe. 
 
 There was noon hope, there was no 
 grace, 
 
 I trowe nevere man wiste of peyne, 
 
 But he were laced in loves cheyne ; 
 
 Ne no man [not], and sooth it is, 
 
 But if he love, what anger is. 
 
 Love holdith his heest tome right wele, 
 Whanne peyne he seide I shulde fele. 
 Noon hertemay thenke,ne tunge seyne 
 A quarter of my woo and peyne ; 
 
 I myght not with the anger laste. 
 
 Myn herte in poynt was forto brast, 
 Whanne I thought on the rose, that soo 
 Was thurgh Daunger cast me troo. 
 
 A longe while stode I in that state. 
 
 Til that me saugh so madde and mate 
 The lady of the highe ward, 
 
 Which from hirtourlokidethiderward. 
 
 42 
 

 

 
 
 
 * 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 ■ 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 ' 
 
 
 
 
 
THE ROMAUNT OF THE ROSE 
 
 Resoun men clepe that lady, 
 
 Which from hir tour delyverly, 
 
 Come doun to me withoute more. 
 
 But she was neither yong ne hoore, 
 
 Ne high ne lowe, ne fat ne lene, 
 
 But best as it were in a mene. 
 
 Hir eyen twoo were cleer and light 
 As ony candell that brenneth bright ; 
 And in hir heed she hadde a crowne. 
 Hir semede wel an high persoune ; 
 
 For rounde enviroun hir crownet 
 Was full of riche stonys frett. 
 
 Hir goodly semblaunt by devys 
 I trowe were maad in Paradys ; 
 
 For nature hadde nevere such a grace 
 To forge a werk of such compace. 
 
 For certeyn, but if the letter lye, 
 
 God hym-silf, that is so high, 
 
 Made hir aftir his ymage, 
 
 And yaffhir sith sich avauntage, 
 
 That she hath myght and seignorie 
 To kepe men from all folye. 
 
 Who so wole trowe hir lore, 
 
 Ne may offenden nevermore. 
 
 And while I stode thus derk and pale, 
 Resoun bigan to me hir tale. 
 
 She seide: “A1 hayle,myswetefreende! 
 Foly and childhoode wole theesheende, 
 Which the have putt in gret affray ; 
 Thou hast bought deere the tyme of May 
 That made thyn herte mery to be. 
 
 In yvell tyme thou wentist to see 
 The gardyne, wherof Idilnesse 
 Bare the keye and was maistresse, 
 Whanne thou yedest in the daunce 
 With hir, and haddest aqueyntaunce. 
 Hir aqueyntaunce is perilous, 
 
 First softe and aftir noious ; 
 
 She hath [thee] trasshed withoute wene. 
 The God of Love hadde the not sene, 
 Ne hadde Idilnesse thee conveyed 
 In the verger, where Myrthehympleyed. 
 If foly have supprised thee, 
 
 Do so that it recovered be, 
 
 And be wel ware to take nomore, 
 Counsel that greveth aftir sore. 
 
 He is wise that wole hym-silf chastise ; 
 And though a yong man in ony wise 
 Trespace amonge and do foly, 
 
 Late hym not tarye, but hastily 
 Late hym amende what so be mys. 
 
 And eke I counseile thee I-wys 
 The God of Love hoolly foryete, 
 
 That hath thee in sich peyne sette, 
 
 And thee in herte tourmented soo. 
 
 I can not sene how thou maist goo 
 Other weyes to garisoun ; 
 
 For Daunger that is so feloun 
 Felly purposith thee to werreye, 
 
 Which is ful cruel, the soth to seye. 
 
 And yitt of Daunger cometh no blame 
 In rewarde of my doughter Shame, 
 Which hath the roses in her warde, 
 
 As she that may be no musarde. 
 
 And Wikked-Tunge iswith these two, 
 That suffrith no man thider goo. 
 
 For er a thing be, do he shall, 
 
 Where that he cometh over-all, 
 
 In fourty places, if it be sought, 
 
 Seye thyng that nevere was don ne 
 wrought ; 
 
 So moche tresoun is in his male, 
 
 Of falsnesse forto seyne a tale. 
 
 Thou delest with angry folk y-wis ; 
 Wherfore to thee bettir is 
 From these folk awey to fare, 
 
 43 
 
THE ROMAUNT OF THE ROSE 
 
 For they wole make thee lyve in care. 
 This is the yvell that love they calle, 
 Wherynne ther is but foly alle ; 
 
 For love is foly everydell. 
 
 Who loveth in no wise may do well, 
 
 Ne sette his thought on no good werk. 
 His scole he lesith, if he be clerk ; 
 
 Of other craft eke if he be, 
 
 He shal not thryve therynne, for he 
 In love shal have more passioun 
 Than monke, hermyte, or chanoun. 
 
 The peyne is hard out of mesure, 
 
 The joye may eke no while endure; 
 
 And in the possessioun, 
 
 Is mych tribulacioun. 
 
 The joye it is so short lastyng, 
 
 And but in happe is the getyng. 
 
 For I see there many in travaill 
 That atte laste foule fayle. 
 
 I was no thyng thi counseler 
 Whanne thou were maad the omager 
 Of God of Love to hastily. 
 
 Ther was no wisdom, but foly ; 
 
 Thyne herte was joly but not sage, 
 Whanne thou were brought in sich a rage, 
 To yelde thee so redily. 
 
 And to leve of his gret maistrie, 
 
 I rede thee Love awey to dryve, 
 
 That makith thee recche not of thi lyve. 
 
 The foly more fro day to day 
 
 Shal growe, but thou it putte away. 
 
 Take with thy teeth the bridel faste 
 To daunte thyne herte, and eke thee 
 caste, 
 
 If that thou maist gete thee defence, 
 Forto redresse thi first offence. 
 
 Who so his herte alwey wole leve 
 Shalfynde amongethat shal hym greve.” 
 
 44 
 
 Whanne I hir herd thus me chastise, 
 
 I answerd in ful angry wise ; 
 
 I prayed hir ceessen of hir speche, 
 Outher to chastise me or teche, 
 
 To bidde me my thought refreyne, 
 "^Vhich Love hath caught in his demeyne. 
 “ What ! Wene ye Love wole consente, 
 That me assailith with bowe bente, 
 
 To drawe myne herte out of his honde. 
 Which is so qwikly in his bonde? 
 
 That ye counseyle may nevere be; 
 
 For whanne he firste arestide me, 
 
 He took myne herte so hoole hymtille, 
 That it is no thyng at my wille. 
 
 He taught it so hym forto obey, 
 
 That he it sparrede with a key. 
 
 I pray yow late me be all stille, 
 
 For ye may well, if that ye wille, 
 
 Youre wordis waste in idilnesse. 
 
 For utterly, withouten gesse, 
 
 All that ye seyn is but in veyne. 
 
 Me were lever dve in the peyne, 
 
 Than Love to-me-ward shulde arette 
 Falsheed, or tresoun on me sette. 
 
 I wole me gete prys or blame 
 And Love trewe to save mv name ; 
 Who that me chastith I hym hate.” 
 With that word Resounvvente hir gate, 
 Whanne she saugh for no sermonynge 
 She myght me fro my foly brvnge. 
 Thanne dismaied I, lefte all sool, 
 Forwery, forwandred, as a fool. 
 
 For I ne knewe no chevisaunce. 
 
 Thanne fell into my remembraunce 
 How Love bade me to purveye 
 A felowe, to whom I myght seye 
 My counsell and my pryvete. 
 
 For that shulde moche availe me. 
 
 With that bithought I me that 1 
 

 
 . 
 
 
THE ROMAUNT OF THE ROSE 
 
 Hadde a felowe faste by 
 Trewe and siker, curteys and hende ; 
 
 And he was called by name a Freende, 
 
 A trewer felowe was no wher noon. 
 
 In haste to hym I wente anoon, 
 
 And to hym all my woo I tolde, 
 
 Fro hym right noughtlwoldwitholde. 
 
 I tolde him all withoute were, 
 
 And made mycompleynt onDaungere, 
 
 H ow forto see he was hidous, 
 
 And to-me-ward contrarious; 
 
 The whiche, thurgh his cruelte 
 Was in poynt to have meygned me. 
 
 With Bialacoil whanne he me sey 
 Withynne the gardeynwalke and pley, 
 Fro me he made hym forto go ; 
 
 And I, bilefte aloone in woo, 
 
 I durst no lenger with hym speke, 
 
 For Daunger seide he wolde be wreke, 
 Whanne that he sawe how I wente 
 The freshe bothon forto hente, 
 
 If I were hardy to come neer 
 Bitwene the hay and the Roser. 
 
 This freend, whanne he wiste of my 
 thought, 
 
 He discomforted me right nought. 
 
 But seide, “Felowe, be not so madde, 
 
 Ne so abaysshed, nor bystadde ; 
 
 My silf I knowe full well Daungere, 
 
 And how he is feers of his cheere 
 At prime temps love to manace. 
 
 Ful ofte I have ben in his caas ; 
 
 A feloun firste though that he be, 
 
 Aftir thou shalt hym souple se. 
 
 Of longe passed I knewe hym well ; 
 Ungoodly first though men hym feele, 
 He wole meke aftir in his beryng 
 Been, for service and obeyssyng. 
 
 45 
 
 I shal thee telle what thou shalt doo : 
 Mekely I rede thou go hym to, 
 
 Of herte pray hym specialy 
 Of thy trespace to have mercy, 
 
 And hote well, [hym] here to plese. 
 That thou shalt nevermore hym displese. 
 Who can best serve of flaterie, 
 
 Shall please Daunger most uttirly.” 
 
 My freend hath seid to me so wel, 
 
 That he me esid hath somdell, 
 
 And eke allegged of my torment. 
 
 For thurgh hym had I hardement 
 Agayn to Daunger forto go. 
 
 To preve if I myght meke hym soo. 
 
 To Daunger came I all ashamed, 
 
 The which aforn me hadde y-blamed, 
 Desiryng forto pese my woo. 
 
 But over hegge durst I not goo, 
 
 For he forbede me the passage. 
 
 I fonde hym cruel in his rage 
 And in his honde a gret burdoun. 
 
 To hym I knelide lowe a-doun, 
 
 Ful meke of port and symple of chere. 
 And seide, “Sir, I am comen heere 
 Oonly to aske of you mercy ; 
 
 It greveth me full gretly 
 
 That evere my lyf I wratthed you. 
 
 But forto amenden I am come now, 
 With all my myght, botheloude and stille. 
 To doon right at youre owne wille. 
 
 For Love made me forto doo 
 That I have trespassed hidirto, 
 
 Fro whom I ne may withdrawe myne 
 herte. 
 
 Yit shall never for joy ne smerte, 
 
 What so bifalle, good or ille, 
 
 Offende more ageyn youre wille ; 
 
 Lever I have endure disese, 
 
 Than do that you shulde displese. 
 
THE ROMAUNT OF THE ROSE 
 
 I you require and pray that ye 
 Of me have mercy and pitee 
 To stynte your ire that greveth soo. 
 That I wole swere for ever mo 
 To be redressid at youre likyng. 
 
 If I trespasse in ony thyng. 
 
 Save that I pray thee graunte me 
 A thyng that may not warned be: 
 That I may love all oonly, 
 
 Noon other thyng of you aske I. 
 
 I shall doon elles well I-wys, 
 
 If of youre grace ye graunte me this ; 
 And ye may not letten me, 
 
 For wel wot ye that love is free, 
 
 And I shall loven sithen that I wille, 
 Who evere like it, well or ille. 
 
 And yit ne wold I for all Fraunce 
 Do thyng to do you displesaunce.” 
 
 Thanne Daunger fille in his entent 
 Forto foryeve his male talent ; 
 
 But all his wratthe yit atte laste 
 He hath relesed, I preyde so faste. 
 Shortly he seide, “ Thy request 
 Is not to mochel dishonest, 
 
 Ne I wole not werne it thee ; 
 
 For yit no thyng engreveth me. 
 
 For though thou love thus evermore, 
 To me is neither softe ne soore. 
 
 Love where the list, what recchith me, 
 So [thou] fer fro my roses be ? 
 
 Trust not on me for noon assay. 
 
 If ony tyme thou passe the hay.” 
 
 Thus hath he graunted my praiere. 
 Thanne wente I forth withouten were 
 Unto my freend, and tolde hym all. 
 Which was right joyfull of my tale. 
 
 Fie seide, “Now goth wel thyn affaire, 
 He shall to thee be debonaire ; 
 
 Though he aforn was dispitous, 
 
 He shall heere aftir be gracious. 
 
 If he were touchid on somme good 
 veyne, 
 
 Tie shuld yit rewen on thi peyne. 
 Suffre I rede, and no boost make, 
 
 Till thou at good mes maist hym take. 
 By sufferaunce and wordis softe 
 A man may overcome ofte 
 Hym that aforn he hadde in drede, 
 
 In bookis sothly as I rede.” 
 
 Thus hath my freend with gret comfort 
 Avaunced me with high disport, 
 Which wolde me good as mych as I. 
 And thanne anoon full sodeynly 
 I toke my leve, and streight I wente 
 Unto the hay, for gret talent 
 I hadde to sene the fresh bothoun 
 Wherynne lay my salvacioun. 
 
 And Daunger toke kepe, if that I 
 Kepe hym covenaunt trewely. 
 
 So sore I dradde his manasyng 
 I durst not breke his biddyng, 
 
 For lest that I were of hym shent 
 I brake not his comaundement, 
 
 Forto purchase his good wille. 
 
 It was [nat] forto come ther-tille. 
 
 His mercy was to ferre bihynde ; 
 
 I wepte for I ne myght it fynde. 
 
 I compleyned and sighed sore, 
 
 And langwisshed evermore, 
 
 For I durst not over goo 
 Unto the rose I loved soo. 
 
 Thurgh my demenyng outerly 
 [Thanne he had knowlege certanly,] 
 That Love me ladde in sich a wise 
 That in me ther was no feyntise, 
 Falsheed, ne no trecherie. 
 
 And yit he full of vylanye, 
 
 46 
 

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
THE ROMAUNT OF THE ROSE 
 
 Of disdeyne, and cruelte, 
 
 On me ne wolde have pite 
 His cruel will forto refreyne, 
 
 Though I wepe alwey and me com- 
 pleyne. 
 
 And while I was in this torment, 
 
 Were come of grace, by god sent, 
 Fraunchise and with hir Pite. 
 
 Fulfild the bothen of bounte, 
 
 They go to Daunger anoon-right. 
 
 To forther me with all her myght. 
 
 And hel'pe in worde and in dede ; 
 
 For well they saugh that it was nede. 
 First of hir grace dame Fraunchise 
 Hath taken [word] of this emprise; 
 
 She seide, “Daunger, gret wrong ye do 
 To worche this man so myche woo, 
 
 Or pynen hym so angerly ; 
 
 It is to you gret villanye. 
 
 I can not see [ne] why ne how 
 That he hath trespassed ageyn you, 
 
 Save that he loveth ; wherforeye shulde 
 The more in cherete of hym holde. 
 
 The force of love makith hym do this ; 
 Who wolde hym blame, he dide amys. 
 He leseth more than ye may do ; 
 
 His peyne is harde, ye may see lo. 
 
 And Love in no wise wolde consente 
 That he have power to repente. 
 Forthough that quykye wolde hymsloo. 
 Fro love his herte may not goo. 
 
 Now, swete Sir, is it youre ese 
 Hym forto angre or disese ? 
 
 Allas, what may it you avaunce 
 To done to hym so gret grevaunce ? 
 What worship is it agayn hym take, 
 
 Or on youre man a werre make, 
 
 Sith he so lowly every wise 
 Is redy, as ye lust devise ? 
 
 47 
 
 If Love hath caught hym in his lace 
 You for tobeye in every caas, 
 
 And ben youre suget at youre will, 
 Shuld ye therfore willen hym ill ? 
 
 Ye shulde hym spare more all oute 
 Than hym that is bothe proude and 
 stoute. 
 
 Curtesie wole that ye socour 
 Hem that ben meke undir youre cure. 
 His herte is hard that wole not meke, 
 Whannemenofmekenessehymbiseke.” 
 “ That is certeyn,” seide Pite, 
 
 “ We se ofte that humilite 
 Bothe ire and also felonye 
 Venquyssheth, and also malencolye. 
 To stonde forth in such duresse, 
 
 This cruelte and wikkidnesse. 
 Wherfore I pray you, Sir Daungere, 
 Forto mayntene no lenger heere 
 Such cruel werre agayn youre man. 
 
 As hoolly youres as ever he can ; 
 
 Nor that ye worchen no more woo 
 On this caytif that langwisshith soo, 
 Which wole no more to you trespasse. 
 But putte hym hoolly in youre grace. 
 His offense ne was but lite ; 
 
 The god of Love it was to wife, 
 
 That he youre thrall so gretly is ; 
 
 And if ye harme hym, ye done amys. 
 For he hath hadde full hard penaunce, 
 Sith that ye refte hym thaqueyntaunce 
 Of Bialacoil, his mostejoye, 
 
 Which alle hise peynes myght acoye. 
 He was biforn anoyed sore, 
 
 But thanne ye doubled hem well more. 
 For he of blis hath ben full bare, 
 
 Sith Bialacoil was fro hym fare. 
 
 Love hath to hym do gret distresse, 
 
 He hath no nede of more duresse ; 
 
THE ROMAUNT OF THE ROSE 
 
 Voideth from hym youre ire, I rede. 
 Ye may not wynnen in this dede. 
 Makith Bialacoil repeire ageyn, 
 
 And haveth pite upon his peyne ; 
 
 For Fraunchise wole and I, Pite, 
 
 That mercyful to hym ye be. 
 
 And sith that she and I accorde 
 Have upon hym misericorde, 
 
 For I you pray and eke moneste 
 Nought to refusen oure requeste. 
 
 For he is hard and fell of thought, 
 That for us twoo wole dorightnought.” 
 
 Daunger ne myght no more endure, 
 He mekede hym unto mesure. 
 
 “I wole in no wise,” seith Daungere, 
 “Denye that ye have asked heere, 
 
 It were to gret uncurtesie ; 
 
 I wole he have the companye 
 Of Bialacoil, as ye devise ; 
 
 I wole hym lette in no wise.” 
 
 To Bialacoil thanne wente in hye 
 Fraunchise, and seide full curteislye : 
 “Ye have to longe be deignous 
 Unto this lover and daungerous, 
 
 Fro hym to withdrawe your presence, 
 Whiche hath do to him great offence. 
 That ye not wolde upon him se ; 
 Wherfore a sorouful man is he. 
 
 Shape ye to paye him, and to please, 
 Of my love if ye wol have ease ; 
 
 Fulfyl his wyl, sithe that ye knowe 
 Daunger is daunted and brought lowe 
 Through helpe of me and of Pyte ; 
 You dare no more aferde be.” 
 
 “I shal do right as ye wyl.” 
 
 Saith Bialacoil, “for it is skyl, 
 
 Sithe Daunger wol that it so be.” 
 
 Than Fraunchise hath him sent to me 
 Bialacoil at the begynnyng, 
 
 Salued me in his commyng ; 
 
 No straungenesse was in him sene, 
 
 No more than he ne had wrathed bene. 
 As fayre semblaunt than shewed he me. 
 And goodly, as aforne dyd he. 
 
 And by the honde withoute doute, 
 Within the haye right al aboute 
 He ladde me with right good chere, 
 
 Al envyron the vergere 
 
 That Daunger hadde me chased fro. 
 
 Nowe have I leave over al to go, 
 
 No we am I raysed at my devyse 
 Fro helle unto paradyse. 
 
 Thus Bialacoil of gentylnesse, 
 
 With al his payne and besynesse. 
 
 Hath shewed me onely ot grace 
 The estres of the swote place. 
 
 I sawe the Rose whan I was nygh 
 Was greatter woxen and more high, 
 Fresshe, roddy, and fayre ot hewe, 
 
 Of coloure veer yliche newe. 
 
 And whan I hadde it longe sene, 
 
 I sawe that through the leves grene 
 The Rose spredde to spaunysshinge, 
 To sene it was a goodly thynge. 
 
 But it ne was so sprede on brede 
 That men within mvght knowe the sede 
 For it covert was and close 
 Bothe with the leves and with the rose. 
 The stalke was even and grene upright. 
 It was theron a goodly syght. 
 
 And wel the better, withoute wene, 
 For the seed was nat [y-]sene. 
 
 Ful fayre it spradde (God it blesse), 
 For suche another, as I gesse, 
 
 Aforne ne was, ne more vermayle. 
 
 48 
 
THE ROMAUNT OF THE ROSE 
 
 I was abawed for marveyle, 
 
 For ever the fayrer that it was, 
 
 The more I am bounde in Loves laas. 
 Longe I abode there, sothe to saye, 
 Tyl Bialacoil I ganne to praye. 
 
 Whan that I sawe him, in no wyse 
 To me warnen his servyce, 
 
 That he me wolde graunt a thynge, 
 Whiche to remembre is wel syttynge. 
 This is to sayne, that of his grace 
 He wolde me yeve leysar and space, 
 To me that was so desyrous 
 To have a kyssynge precious 
 Of the goodly fresshe Rose, 
 
 That so swetely smelleth in my nose. 
 “For if it you displeased nought 
 I wolde gladly, as I have sought, 
 
 Have a cosse therof freely 
 Of your yefte ; for certainly 
 I wol none have, but by your leve, 
 
 So lothe me were you for to greve.” 
 
 He sayde, “Frende, so god me spede, 
 Of Chastite I have suche drede, 
 
 Thou shuldest nat warned be for me ; 
 But I dare nat for Chastyte. 
 
 Agayne her dare I nat mysdo, 
 
 For alwaye byddeth she me so 
 To yeve no lover leave to kysse. 
 
 For who therto maye wynne y-wisse. 
 He of the surplus of the praye 
 May lyve in hoope to gette some daye. 
 For who so kyssynge maye attayne 
 Of loves payne hath, soth to sayne, 
 The best and [the] most avenaunt, 
 And ernest of the remenaunt.” 
 
 Of his answere I sighed sore; 
 
 I durst assaye him tho no more, 
 
 I hadde suche drede to greve him aye. 
 A man shulde nat to moche assaye 
 To chafe hys frende out of measure, 
 Nor putte his lyfe in aventure. 
 
 For no man at the firste stroke 
 Ne maye nat felle downe an oke, 
 
 Nor of the reysyns have the wyne, 
 
 Tyl grapes be rype, and wel afyne 
 Be sore empressid, I you ensure, 
 
 And drawen out of the pressure. 
 
 But I forpeyned wonder stronge, 
 Though that I aboode right longe 
 Aftir the kis in peyne and woo, 
 
 Sith I to kis desired soo ; 
 
 Till that, rewyng on my distresse, 
 Ther come Venus the goddesse, 
 Which ay werreyeth Chastite, 
 
 Came of hir grace to socoure me, 
 Whos myght is knowe ferre and wide ; 
 For she is modir of Cupide, 
 
 The god of love, blynde as stoon, 
 
 That helpith lovers many oon. 
 
 This lady brought in hir right honde 
 Of brennyng fyre a blasyng bronde, 
 Wherof the flawme and hoote fire 
 Hath many a lady in desire 
 Of love brought, and sore hette, 
 
 And in hir servise her hertes sette. 
 This lady was of good entaile, 
 
 Right wondirfull of apparayle; 
 
 Bi hir atyre so bright and shene 
 Men myght perceyve well and sene 
 She was not of religioun. 
 
 Nor I nell make mencioun 
 Nor of robe nor of tresour, 
 
 Of broche nor of hir riche attour, 
 
 Ne of hir girdill aboute hir side, 
 
 For that I nyll not longe abide. 
 
 But knowith wel that certeynly 
 49 G 
 
THE ROMAUNT OF THE ROSE 
 
 She was araied richely ; 
 
 Devoyde of pruyde certeyn she was. 
 
 To Bialacoil she wente apas, 
 
 And to hym, shortly in a clause, 
 
 She seide, “Sir, what is the cause 
 Ye ben of port so daungerous 
 Unto this lover and deynous, 
 
 To graunte hym nothyng but a kisse. 
 
 To werne it hym ye done amysse, 
 
 Sith well ye wote how that he 
 Is loves servaunt, as ye may see, 
 
 And hath beaute, wher-through is 
 Worthy of love to have the blis. 
 
 How he is semely, biholde and see 
 How he is faire, how he is free. 
 
 How he is swoote and debonaire, 
 
 Of age yonge, lusty and faire. 
 
 Ther is no lady so hawteyne, 
 
 Duchesse ne countesse, ne chasteleyne, 
 That I nolde holde hir ungoodly 
 Forto refuse hym outterly. 
 
 His breth is also good and swete. 
 
 And eke his lippis rody, and mete 
 Oonly to pleyen and to kisse ; 
 
 Graunte hym a kis of gentilnysse. 
 
 His teth arn also white and clene. 
 Methenkith [it] wrong, withoutenwene, 
 If ye now werne hym, trustith me, 
 
 To graunte that a kis have he. 
 
 The lasse to helpe hym that ye haste, 
 The more tyme shul ye waste.” 
 Whannetheflawmeof theverry bronde. 
 That Venus brought in hir right honde, 
 Hadde Bialacoil with hete smete, 
 Anoon he bade me withouten lette, 
 Grauntede to me the Rose kisse. 
 
 Thanne of my peyne I gan to lysse. 
 
 And to the Rose anoon wente I, 
 
 And kisside it full feithfully. 
 
 Thar no man aske if I was blithe 
 Whanne the savour soft and lythe 
 Stroke to myn herte withoute more. 
 And me alegged of my sore. 
 
 So was I full of joye and blisse. 
 
 It is faire sich a flour to kisse ; 
 
 It was so swoote and saverous. 
 
 I myght not be so angwisshous, 
 
 That I [ne] mote glad and joly be, 
 Whanne that I remembre me. 
 
 Yit ever among, sothly to seyne, 
 
 I suffre noye and moche peyne. 
 
 The see may never be so stille, 
 
 That with a litel wynde it nylle 
 Overwbelme and turne also, 
 
 As it were woode in wawis goo. 
 
 Aftir the calme, the trouble soone 
 Motefolowe,andchaungeasthemoone. 
 Right so farith Love, that seide in oon 
 Holdith his anker: for right anoon, 
 Whanne they in ese wene beste to 
 lyve, 
 
 They ben with tempest all fordryve. 
 Who serveth love can telle ol woo ; 
 The stoundemele joie mote overgoo ; 
 Now he hurteth and now he cureth, 
 For seide in oo poynt love endureth. 
 
 Now is it right me to procede 
 How Shame gan medle, and take hede, 
 Thurgh whom feleangres I have hadde. 
 And how the stronge wall was maad, 
 And the castell of brede and lengthe. 
 That God of Love wanne with his 
 strengthe. 
 
 All this in Romance will I sette, 
 
 And for no thyng ne will I lette. 
 
 So that it lykyng to hir be 
 That is the flour ot beaute. 
 
 5 ° 
 
THE ROMAUNT OF THE ROSE 
 
 For she may best my labour quyte, 
 
 That I for hir love shal endite. 
 
 Wikkid-Tunge, that the covyne 
 Of every lover can devyne 
 Worste, and addith more somdell 
 (For wikkid tunge seith never well), 
 To-me-ward bare he right gret hate, 
 Espiyng me erly and late, 
 
 Till he hath sene the grete chere 
 Of Bialacoil and me I-feere. 
 
 He myghte not his tunge withstonde 
 Worse to reporte than he fonde, 
 
 He was so full of cursed rage ; 
 
 It satte hym well of his lynage, 
 
 For hym an Irish womman bare. 
 
 His tunge was fyled sharpe and square, 
 Poign[i]aunt, and right kervyng, 
 
 And wonder bitter in spekyng. 
 
 For whanne that he me gan espie, 
 
 He swoore, affermyng sikirlye, 
 
 Ritwene Bialacoil and me 
 Was yvel aquayntaunce and pryve. 
 
 He spake therof so folilye. 
 
 That he awakide Ielousye, 
 
 Which all afrayed in his risyng, 
 
 Whanne that he herd [him] janglyng, 
 He ran anoon as he were woode 
 To Bialacoil there that he stode ; 
 
 Which hadde lever in this caas 
 Have ben at Reynes or Amyas. 
 
 For foot-hoot in his felonye, 
 
 To hym thus seide Ielousie : 
 
 “ Why hast thou ben so necligent 
 To kepen, whanne I was absent, 
 
 This verger heere left in thi warde. 
 
 To me thou haddist no rewarde, 
 
 To truste, to thy confusioun, 
 
 Hym thus, to whom suspeccioun 
 
 5 1 
 
 I have right gret, for it is nede ; 
 
 It is well shewed by the dede. 
 
 Grete faute in thee now have I founde ; 
 By God, anoon thou shalt be bounde, 
 And faste loken in a tour, 
 
 Withoute refuyt or socour. 
 
 For Shame to longe hath be thee froo ; 
 Over soone she was agoo. 
 
 Whanne thou hast lost bothe drede and 
 feere, 
 
 It semede wel she was not heere. 
 
 She was bisy in no wyse 
 To kepe thee and [to] chastise, 
 
 And forto helpen Chastite 
 To kepe the roser, as thenkith me. 
 
 For thanne this boy knave so booldely 
 Ne shulde not have be hardy, 
 
 [Ne] in this verger hadde such game, 
 Which nowmeturnethto gret shame.” 
 Bialacoil nyst what to sey ; 
 
 Full fayn he wolde have fled awey, 
 
 For feere han hidde, nere that he 
 All sodeynly toke hym with me. 
 
 And whanne I saugh he hadde soo, 
 This Ielousie, take us twoo, 
 
 I was a-stoned, and knewe no rede. 
 
 But fledde awey for verrey drede. 
 Thanne Shame camforthfullsymplely. 
 She wende have trespaced full gretly, 
 Humble of hir port, and made it symple, 
 Weryng a vayle in stede of wymple, 
 As nonnys don in her abbey. 
 
 By cause hir herte was in affray, 
 
 She gan to speke withynne a throwe 
 To Ielousie right wonder lowe. 
 
 First of his grace she bysoughte 
 And seide, “ Sire, ne leveth noughte 
 Wikkid-Tunge, that false espie, 
 Which is so glad to feyne and lye. 
 
 ML, OF ILL Life, 
 
THE ROMAUNT OF THE ROSE 
 
 He hath you maad, thurgh flateryng, 
 
 On Bialacoil afals lesyng; 
 
 His falsnesse is not now a-newe, 
 
 It is to long that he hym knewe ; 
 
 This is not the firste day, 
 
 For Wikkid-Tunge hath custome ay 
 Yonge folkis to bewreye, 
 
 And false lesynges on hem leye. 
 
 Yit nevertheles I see amonge 
 That the loigne it is so longe 
 Of Bialacoil, hertis to lure 
 In Loves servyse forto endure, 
 
 Drawyng such folk hym too, 
 
 That he hath no thyng with to doo. 
 
 But in sothnesse I trowe nought 
 That Bialacoil hadde ever in thought 
 To do trespace or vylonye. 
 
 But for his modir Curtesie 
 Hath taught hym ever to be 
 Good of aqueyntaunce and pryve. 
 
 For he loveth noon hevynesse, 
 
 But mirthe,and pley,and all gladnesse ; 
 He hateth all trechours, 
 
 Soleyn folk and envyou[r]s ; 
 
 For ye witen how that he 
 Wole ever glad and joyfull be, 
 
 Honestly with folk to pleye. 
 
 I have be negligent in good feye 
 To chastise hym ; therfore now I, 
 
 Of herte I crye you heere mercy 
 That I have Seen so recheles 
 To tamen hym, withouten lees. 
 
 Of my foly I me repente. 
 
 Now wole I hoole sette myn entente 
 To kepe, bothe low[d]e and stille, 
 Bialacoil to do youre wille.” 
 
 “ Shame, shame,” seyde Ielousie, 
 
 “ To be bytrasshed gret drede have I ; 
 Leccheriejvath clombe so hye, 
 
 5 2 
 
 That almoost blered is myn ye : 
 
 No wonder is if that drede have I ; 
 Over all regnyth Lecchery, 
 
 Whos myght growith nyght and day 
 Bothe in cloistre and in abbey ; 
 Chastite is werried over all, 
 
 Therfore I wole with siker wall 
 Close bothe roses and roser. 
 
 I have to longe in this maner 
 Left hem unclosid wilfully ; 
 Wherfore I am right inwardly 
 Sorowfull, and repente me. 
 
 But now they shall no lenger be 
 Unclosid, and yit I drede sore 
 I shall repente ferthermore ; 
 
 For the game goth all amys, 
 
 Counsell I must newe y-wys. 
 
 I have to longe tristed thee, 
 
 But now it shal no lenger be ; 
 
 For he may best in every cost 
 Disceyve that men tristen most. 
 
 I see wel that I am nygh shent, 
 
 But if I sette my full entent 
 Remedye to purveye. 
 
 Therfore close I shall the weye. 
 
 Fro hem that wole the Rose espie, 
 And come to wayte me vilonye. 
 
 For in good feith and in trouthe, 
 
 I wole not lette for no slouthe. 
 
 To lyve the more in sikirnesse, 
 
 To make anoon a fort[e]resse, 
 Tenclose the roses of good savour. 
 
 In myddis shall I make a tour. 
 
 To putte Bialacoil in prisoun; 
 
 For evere I drede me of tresoun. 
 
 I trowe I shal hym kepe soo 
 That he shal have no myght to goo 
 Aboute, to make companye 
 To hem that thenke of vylanye ; 
 
THE ROMAUNT OF THE ROSE 
 
 Ne to no such as hath ben heere 
 Aforn, and founde in hym good chere ; 
 Which han assailed hym to shende, 
 
 And with her trowandyse to blynde. 
 
 A foole is eythe to bigyle ; 
 
 But, may I lyve a litel while, 
 
 He shal forthenke his fair semblaunt.” 
 
 Andwith that word cameDREDE avaunt, 
 Which was abasshed and in gret fere. 
 Whanne he wiste Ielousie was there, 
 
 He was for drede in sich affray, 
 
 That not a word durst he say, 
 
 But quakyng stode full still aloone, 
 
 Til Ielousie his weye was gone, 
 
 Save Shame, that him not forsoke. 
 
 Bothe Drede and she ful sore quoke, 
 Than atte laste Drede abreyde, 
 
 And to his cosyn Shame seide : 
 
 “ Shame,” he seide, “ in sothfastnesse, 
 
 To me it is gret hevynesse 
 That the noyse so ferre is go, 
 
 And the sclaundre of us twoo ; 
 
 But sithe that it is byfall, 
 
 We may it not ageyn call 
 Whanne onys sprongen is a fame. 
 
 For many a yeer withouten blame 
 We han ben, and many a day ; 
 
 For many an Aprill and many a May 
 We han passed not [a-] shamed, 
 
 Till Ielousie hath us blamed 
 Of mystrust and suspecioun, 
 
 Causeles, withoute enchesoun. 
 
 Go we to Daunger hastily. 
 
 And late us shewe hym openly 
 That he hath not aright [y-] wrought, 
 Whanne thathesettenought his thought 
 To kepe better the purprise. 
 
 In his doyng he is not wise ; 
 
 53 
 
 He hath to us do gret wronge, 
 
 That hath suffred now so longe 
 Bialacoil to have his wille, 
 
 All his lustes to fulfille. 
 
 He must amende it utterly. 
 
 Or ellys shall he vilaynesly 
 Exiled be out of this londe ; 
 
 For he the werre may not withstonde 
 Of Ielousie, nor the greef, 
 
 Sith Bialacoil is at myscheef.” 
 
 To Daunger, Shame and Drede anoon 
 The righte weye ben goon. 
 
 The cherle thei founden hem aforn 
 Liggyng undir an hawethorn ; 
 
 Undir his heed no pilowe was. 
 
 But in the stede a trusse of gras. 
 
 He slombred, and a nappe he toke, 
 Tyll Shame pitously hym shoke, 
 
 And grete manace on hym gan make. 
 “ Why slepist thou, whanne thou 
 shulde wake ?” 
 
 Quod Shame. “Thoudoistus 
 vylanye ; 
 
 Who tristith thee, he doth folye, 
 
 To kepe roses or bothouns 
 Whanne thei ben faire in her sesouns. 
 Thou art woxe to familiere, 
 
 Where thou shulde be straunge of 
 chere, 
 
 Stoute of thi porte, redy to greve. 
 Thou doist gret folye forto leve 
 Bialacoil here inne to calle 
 The yonder man, to shende us alle. 
 Though that thou slepe, we may here 
 Of Ielousie gret noyse heere. 
 
 Art thou now late ? Rise up an high. 
 And stoppe sone, and delyverly, 
 
 All the gappis of the hay ; 
 
 Do no favour, I thee pray. 
 
THE ROMAUNT OF THE ROSE 
 
 It fallith no thyng to thy name 
 To make faire semblaunt, where thou 
 maist blame. 
 
 Yf Bialacoil be sweete and free. 
 Dogged and fell thou shuldist be, 
 Froward and outerageous y-wis. 
 
 A cherl chaungeth that curteis is. 
 
 This have I herd ofte in seiyng, 
 
 “ That man may, for no dauntyng, 
 Make a sperhauke of a bosarde.” 
 
 Alle men wole holde thee for musarde 
 That debonair have founden thee. 
 
 It sittith thee nought curteis to be, 
 
 To do men plesaunce or servise ; 
 
 In thee it is recreaundise. 
 
 Lete thi werkis fer and nere 
 
 Be like thi name, which is Daungere.” 
 
 Thanne, all abawid in shewing, 
 
 Anoon spake Drede right thus seiyng, 
 And seide, “ Daungere, I drede me 
 That thou ne wolt bisy be 
 To kepe that thou hast to kepe ; 
 Whanne thou shuldist wake thou art 
 a slepe. 
 
 Thou shalt be greved certeynly, 
 
 If the aspie Ielousie, 
 
 Or if he fynde thee to blame. 
 
 He hath to day assailed Shame 
 And chased awey, with gret manace, 
 Bialacoil oute of this place. 
 
 And swereth shortly that he shall 
 Enclose hym in a sturdy wall ; 
 
 And all is for thi wikkidnesse. 
 
 For that thee faileth straungenesse. 
 Thyne herte I trowe be failed all. 
 Thou shalt repente in speciall, 
 
 If Ielousie the sooth knewe ; 
 
 Thou shalt forthenke and sore rewe.’’ 
 
 With that the cherl his clubbe gan 
 shake, 
 
 Frounyng his eyen gan to make, 
 
 And hidous chere ; as man in rage 
 For ire he brente in his visage. 
 Whanne that [he] herdhvm blamed soo, 
 He seide, “Oute of my witte I goo; 
 To be discomfyt I have gret wronge. 
 Certis I have now lyved to longe, 
 
 Sith I may not this roser kepe. 
 
 All quykke I wolde be dolven deepe 
 If ony man shal more repeire 
 Into this gardyne, for foule or faire. 
 Myne herte for ire goth a-fere 
 That I lete ony entre heere. 
 
 I have do folie, now I see ; 
 
 But now it shall amended bee. 
 
 Who settith foot heere ony more, 
 Truly he shall repente it sore, 
 
 For no man moo into this place 
 Of me to entre shal have grace. 
 
 Lever I hadde with swerdis tweyne 
 Thurghoute myne herte in every veyne 
 Perced to be with many a wounde, 
 Thanneslouthe shulde in mebe founde. 
 From hennes forth, bynyght or day, 
 
 1 shall defende it, if I mav, 
 
 Withouten ony excepcioun 
 Of ech maner condicioun. 
 
 And if I it env man graunte, 
 
 Holdeth me for recreaunte.” 
 
 Thanne Daungeronhis feet gan stonde. 
 And hente a burdoun in his honde. 
 Wroth in his ire, ne lefte he nought 
 But thurgh the verger he hath sought ; 
 If he myght fvnde hole or trace, 
 Where-thurgh that me mote forth by 
 pace, 
 
 54 
 
THE ROMAUNT OF THE ROSE 
 
 Or ony gappe, he dide it close, 
 
 That no man myghte touche a rose. 
 
 Of the roser all aboute 
 He shitteth every man withoute. 
 
 Thus day by day Daunger is wers. 
 
 More wondirfull, and more dyvers, 
 
 And feller eke than evere he was. 
 
 For hym full ofte I synge “alias,” 
 
 For I ne may nought, thurgh his ire, 
 Recovere that I moost desire. 
 
 Myne herte, alias, wole brest a-twoo, 
 For Bialacoil I wratthed soo; 
 
 For certeynly in every membre 
 I quake whanne I me remembre 
 Of the bothon which I wolde 
 Full ofte a day sene and biholde. 
 
 And whanne I thenke upon the kisse. 
 And how mych joye and blisse 
 I hadde thurgh the savour swete. 
 
 For wante of it I grone and grete. 
 
 Me thenkith I fele yit in my nose 
 The swete savour of the rose. 
 
 And now I woot that I mote goo 
 So fer the freshe floures froo, 
 
 To me full welcome were the deth. 
 Absens therof alias me sleeth. 
 
 For whilom with this Rose, alias, 
 
 I touched nose, mouth, and face ; 
 
 But now the deth I must abide. 
 
 But love consente another tyde 
 That onys I touche may and kisse, 
 
 I trowe my peyne shall never lisse. 
 Theron is all my coveitise. 
 
 Which brent myn herte in many wise. 
 Now shal repaire agayn sighinge, 
 Longwaccheonnyghtis,andnoslepinge, 
 Thought in wisshing, torment and woo. 
 With many a turnyng to and froo. 
 
 That half my peyne I can not telle, 
 
 For I am fallen into helle 
 From paradys, and wel the more 
 My turment greveth more and more. 
 Anoieth now the bittirnesse, 
 
 That I to forn have felt swetnesse. 
 
 And W ikkid-T unge thurgh hisfalshede 
 Causeth all my woo and drede. 
 
 On me he leieth a pitous charge, 
 Bi-cause his tunge was to large. 
 
 Now it is tyme shortly that I 
 Telle you som-thyng of Ielousie, 
 
 That was in gret suspecioun. 
 
 Aboute hym lefte he no masoun, 
 
 That stoon coude leye, ne querrour; 
 He hirede hem to make a tour. 
 
 And first, the roses forto kepe, 
 
 Aboute hem made he a diche deepe. 
 Right wondir large, and also broode. 
 Upon the whiche also stode 
 Of squared stoon a sturdy wall, 
 
 Which on a cragge was founded all. 
 And right grete thikkenesse eke it bare 
 Abouten it was founded square, 
 
 An hundred fademe on every side. 
 
 It was aliche longe and wide ; 
 
 Lest ony tyme it were assayled, 
 
 Ful wel aboute it was batayled, 
 
 And rounde enviroun eke were sette 
 Ful many a riche and faire tourette. 
 
 At every corner of this wall 
 Was sette a tour full pryncipall, 
 
 And everich hadde, withoute fable, 
 
 A porte-colys defensable 
 To kepe of enemyes, and to greve 
 That there her force wolde preve. 
 
 And eke amydde this purprise 
 Was maad a tour of gret maistrise ; 
 
 A fairer saugh no man with sight, 
 
 55 
 
THE ROMAUNT OF THE ROSE 
 
 Large, and wide, and of gret myght. 
 They dredde noon assaut 
 Of gynne, gunne, nor skaffaut. 
 
 The temprure of the mortere 
 Was maad of lycour wonder dere, 
 
 Of quykke lyme, persant and egre. 
 The which was tempred with vynegre. 
 The stoon was hard of ademant, 
 Wherof they made the foundement. 
 The tour was rounde, maad in compas ; 
 In all this world no riccher was, 
 
 Ne better ordeigned therwith-all. 
 Aboute the tour was maad a wall, 
 
 So that bitwixt that and the tour 
 Rosers were sette of swete savour 
 With many roses that thei bere. 
 
 And eke withynne the castell were 
 Spryngoldes, gunnes, bows and archers, 
 And eke aboven atte corners 
 Men seyn over the walle stonde 
 Grete engynes, who were nygh honde. 
 And in the kernels heere and there 
 Of Arblasters grete plente were; 
 
 Noon armure myght her stroke with- 
 stonde, 
 
 It were foly to prece to honde. 
 Withoute the diche were lystes maade 
 With wall batayled large and brade, 
 For men and hors shulde not atteyne 
 To neighe the dyche over the pleyne. 
 Thus Ielousie hath enviroun 
 Sette aboute his garnysoun, 
 
 With walles rounde and diche depe, 
 Oonly the roser forto kepe. 
 
 And Daunger bere erly and late 
 The keyes of the utter gate, 
 
 The whiche openeth toward the eest. 
 And he hadde with hym atte leest 
 Thrittv servauntes, echon bv name. 
 
 That other gate kepte Shame, 
 
 Which openede, as it was couth, 
 Toward the part[i]e of the south. 
 Sergeauntes assigned were hir too 
 Ful many, hir wille forto doo. 
 
 Thanne Drede hadde in hir baillie 
 The kepyng of the Conestablerye, 
 Toward the north I undirstonde, 
 
 That openyde upon the lyfte honde. 
 The which for no thyng may be sure 
 But if she do bisy cure, 
 
 Erly on morowe and also late, 
 Strongly to shette and barre the gate. 
 Of every thing that she may see 
 Drede is aferd, wher so she be ; 
 
 For with a puff of litell wynde 
 Drede is a-stonyed in hir mynde. 
 Therfore for stelyng of the Rose 
 I rede hir nought the yate unclose; 
 
 A foulis flight wole make hir flee, 
 
 And eke a shadowe if she it see. 
 
 Thanne Wikked-Tunge, full of envye, 
 With soudiours of Normandye, 
 
 As he that causeth all the bate, 
 
 Was keper of the fourthe gate. 
 
 And also to the tother three 
 He wente full ofte forto see. 
 
 Whanne his lotte was to wake anyght. 
 His instrumentis wolde he dight 
 Forto blowe and make sowne 
 (Ofte thanne he hath enchesoun) 
 
 And walken oft upon the wall, 
 
 Corners and wikettis over all 
 Full narwe serchen and espie. 
 
 Though he nought fonde, y it wole he lye 
 Discordaunt ever fro armonye. 
 
 And distoned from melodie. 
 
 Controve he wolde, and foule fayle 
 
 5 6 
 
THE ROMAUNT OF THE ROSE 
 
 With hornepipes of Cornewaile; 
 
 In floytes made he discordaunce. 
 
 And in his musyk with myschaunce, 
 
 He wolde seyn with notes newe 
 That he fonde no womman trewe, 
 
 Ne that he saugh never in his lyf 
 Unto hir husbonde a trewe wyf ; 
 
 Ne noon so ful of honeste, 
 
 That she nyl laughe and mery be 
 Whanne that she hereth, or may espie, 
 
 A man speken of leccherie. 
 
 Everiche of hem hath somme vice ; 
 
 Oon is dishonest, another is nyce ; 
 
 If oon be full of vylanye, 
 
 Another hath a likerous ighe ; 
 
 If oon be full of wantonesse, 
 
 Another is a chideresse. 
 
 Thus Wikked Tunge (god yeve hem 
 shame) 
 
 Can putt hem everychone in blame 
 Withoute desert, and causeles. 
 
 He lieth, though they ben giltles. 
 
 I have pite to sene the sorwe 
 That waketh bothe eve and morwe, 
 
 To Innocentis doith such grevaunce. 
 
 I pray god yeve hym evel chaunce, 
 
 That he ever so bisie is 
 Of ony womman to seyn amys. 
 
 Eke lelousie God confounde, 
 
 That hath maad a tour so rounde, 
 
 And made aboute a garisoun 
 To sette Bealacoil in prisoun, 
 
 The which is shette there in the tour 
 Ful longe to holde there sojour, 
 
 There forto lyven in penaunce. 
 
 And forto do hym more grevaunce 
 Ther hath ordeyned lelousie 
 An olde vekke forto espye 
 
 57 
 
 The maner of his governaunce. 
 
 The whiche devel in hir enfaunce 
 Hadde lerned of loves arte, 
 
 And of his pleyes toke hir parte. 
 
 She was expert in his servise, 
 
 She knewe eche wrenche and everyfgise 
 Of love, and every wile; 
 
 It was [the] harder hir to gile. 
 
 Of Bealacoil she toke ay hede, 
 
 That evere he lyveth in woo and drede. 
 He kepte hym koy and eye pryve, 
 
 Lest in hym she hadde see 
 Ony foly countenaunce ; 
 
 For she knewe all the olde daunce. 
 And aftir this, whanne lelousie 
 Hadde Bealacoil in his baillie, 
 
 And shette hym up that was so fre ; 
 For seure of hym he wolde be. 
 
 He trusteth sore in his castell, 
 
 The stronge werk hym liketh well. 
 
 He dradde not that no glotouns 
 Shulde stele his roses or bothouns. 
 
 The roses weren assured all, 
 
 Defenced with the stronge wall. 
 
 Now lelousie full well may be 
 Of drede devoide in liberte, 
 
 Whether that he slepe or wake. 
 
 For his roses may noon be take. 
 
 But I alias now morne shall 
 Bi-cause I was withoute the wall. 
 
 Full moche doole and moone I made. 
 Who hadde wist what woo I hadde, 
 
 I trowe he wolde have had pite. 
 
 Love to deere hadde soolde to me 
 The good, that of his love hadde I. 
 
 I wente a bought it all queyntly, 
 
 But now, thurgh doublyng of my peyne, 
 I see he wolde it selle ageyne, 
 
 H 
 
THE ROMAUNT OF THE ROSE 
 
 And me a newe bargeyn leere, 
 
 The which all-oute the more is deere ; 
 For the solace that I have lorn, 
 Thanne I hadde it never aforn. 
 Certayn I am ful like in deede 
 To hym that caste in erthe his seede, 
 And hath joie of the newe spryng, 
 Whanne it greneth in the gynnyng, 
 And is also faire and fresh of flour, 
 Lusty to seen, swoote of odour, 
 
 But er he it in sheves shere, 
 
 Mav falle a weder that shal it dere. 
 And maken it to fade and falle, 
 
 The stalke, the greyne, and floures alle, 
 That to the tylyer is fordone 
 The hope that he hadde to soone. 
 
 I drede certeyn that so fare I ; 
 
 For hope and travaile sikerlye 
 Ben me byraft all with a storme; 
 
 The floure nel seeden of my corne. 
 
 For Love hath so avaunced me 
 Whanne I bigan my pryvite 
 To Bialacoil all forto telle. 
 
 Whom I ne fonde froward ne felle, 
 
 But toke a gree all hool my play. 
 
 But Love is of so hard assay. 
 
 That all at oonys he reved me, 
 Whanne I wente best aboven have be. 
 It is of love as of fortune, 
 
 That chaungeth ofte, and nyl contune ; 
 Which whilom wole on folkes smyle, 
 And glowmbe on hem another while; 
 Now freend, now foo,shaltowhir feele. 
 For [in] a twynklyng, turnehirwheele, 
 She can writhe hir heed awey ; 
 
 This is the concours of hir pley. 
 
 She canne arise that doth morne, 
 
 And whirle adown, and over turne. 
 Who sittith hieghst, but as hir lust? 
 
 A foole is he that wole hir trust. 
 
 For it is I that am come down 
 Thurgh change and revolucioun. 
 
 Sith Bealacoil mote fro me twynne, 
 Shette in the prisoun yonde withynne. 
 His absence at myn herte I fele. 
 
 For all my joye and all myne hele 
 Was in hym and in the rose, 
 
 That but yon walle, which hymdoth close, 
 Opene that I may hym see, 
 
 Love nyl not that I cured be 
 Of the peynes that I endure, 
 
 Nor of my cruel aventure. 
 
 A, Bialacoil, myn owne deere, 
 
 Though thou be now a prisonere, 
 
 Kepe atte leste thyne herte to me, 
 
 And suffre not that it daunted be ; 
 
 Ne late not Ielousie in his rage 
 Putten thine herte in no servage. 
 
 A1 though he chastice thee withoute. 
 And make thy body unto hym loute, 
 Have herte as hard as dyamaunt, 
 Stedefast, and nought pliaunt ; 
 
 In prisoun though thi body be. 
 
 At large kepe thyne herte free. 
 
 A trewe herte wole not plie. 
 
 For no manace that it may drye. 
 
 If Ielousie doth thee payne, 
 
 Quyte hym his while thus agayne 
 To venge thee atte leest in thought. 
 
 If other way thou mai[e]st nought; 
 
 And in this wise sotilly 
 Worche and Wynne the maistrie. 
 
 But yit I am in gret affray 
 Lest thou do not as I say ; 
 
 I drede thou canst me gret maugre 
 That thou enprisoned art for me. 
 
 But that [is] not for my trespas. 
 
 For thurgh me never discovred was 
 58 
 


 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 * 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 ' 
 
 
 
 
 
 . 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
THE ROMAUNT OF THE ROSE 
 
 That thyng that oughte be secree. 
 
 Wei more anoye is in me 
 Than is in thee of this myschaunce, 
 For I endure more harde penaunce 
 Than ony [man] can seyn or thynke; 
 That for the sorwe almost I synke. 
 Whanne I remembre me of my woo. 
 Full nygh out of my witt I goo. 
 Inward myn herte I feele blede ; 
 
 For comfortles the deth I drede. 
 
 Owe I not wel to have distresse 
 Whanne false thurgh hir wikkednesse 
 And traitours, that arn envyous, 
 
 To noyen me be so curious? 
 
 A, Bialacoil, full wel I see 
 
 That they hem shape to disceyve thee, 
 
 To make thee buxom to her lawe, 
 
 And with her corde thee to drawe 
 Where so hem lust, right at her wille ; 
 I drede they have thee brought thertille. 
 Withoute comfort thought me sleeth, 
 This gamewole bryngemetomy deeth ; 
 For if youre good[e] wille I leese, 
 
 I mote be deed, I may not chese ; 
 
 And if that thou foryete me, 
 
 Myne herte shal nevere in likyng be, 
 Nor elles where fynde solace, 
 
 If I be putt out of youre grace, 
 
 As it shal never been, I hope. 
 
 Thanne shulde I fallen in wanhope. 
 Allas — in wanhope ? nay pardee, 
 
 For I wole never dispeired be. 
 
 If hope me faile, thanne am I 
 Ungracious and unworthy. 
 
 In hope I wole comforted be, 
 
 For Love, whanne he bitaught hir me, 
 Seide that Hope, where so I goo, 
 Shulde ay be reles to my woo. 
 
 But what and she my baalis beete, 
 
 And be to me curteis and sweete? 
 
 She is in no thyng full certeyne. 
 
 Lovers she putt in full gret peyne, 
 
 And makith hem with woo to deele ; 
 Hir faire biheeste disceyveth feele. 
 
 For she wole byhote sikirly. 
 
 And failen aftir outrely. 
 
 A, that is a full noyous thyng ! 
 
 For many a lover in lovyng 
 Hangeth upon hir, and trusteth fast, 
 Whiche leese her travel at the last. 
 Ofthyng to comen she woot right nought ; 
 Therfore if it be wysely sought, 
 
 Hir counseill foly is to take. 
 
 For many tymeswhanne shewole make 
 A full good silogisme, I dreede 
 That aftirward ther shal in deede 
 Folwe an evell conclusioun. 
 
 This putte me in confusioun ; 
 
 For many tymes I have it seen 
 That many have bigyled been 
 For trust that they have sette in hope, 
 Which felle hem aftirward a-slope. 
 
 But nevertheles yit gladly she wolde 
 That he, that wole hymwith hir holde, 
 Hadde alle tymes his purpos clere, 
 Withoute deceyte or ony were ; 
 
 That she desireth sikirly. 
 
 Whanne I hir blamed, I dide foly.. 
 
 But what avayleth hir good wille? 
 Whanne she ne may staunche my 
 stounde ille. 
 
 That helpith litel that she may doo, 
 Outake biheest unto my woo. 
 
 And heeste certeyn, in no wise 
 Withoute yift is not to prise. 
 
 Whanne heest and deede a-sundry varie. 
 They doon a gret contrarie. 
 
 Thus am I possed up and doun 
 
 59 
 
THE ROMAUNT OF THE ROSE 
 
 With dool, thought, and confusioun ; 
 Of my disese ther is no noumbre. 
 Daunger and Shame me encumbre, 
 Drede also, and Ielousie, 
 
 And Wikked-Tunge full of envie, 
 
 Of whiche the sharpe and cruel ire 
 Full ofte me putte in gret martire. 
 They han my joye fully lette, 
 
 Sith Bialacoil they have bishette 
 Fro me in prisoun wikkidly, 
 
 Whom I love so entierly 
 That it wole my bane bee 
 But I the sonner may hym see. 
 
 And yit more over, wurst of all, 
 
 Ther is sette to kepe (foule hir bifall !) 
 A rympled vekke, ferre ronne in age, 
 Frownyng and yelowe in hir visage, 
 Which in a-wayte lyth day and nyght, 
 That noon of hym may have a sight. 
 Now mote my sorwe enforced be ; 
 Full soth it is that Love yaf me 
 Three wonder yiftes, of his grace, 
 Whiche I have lorn now in this place, 
 Sith they ne may, withoute drede, 
 Helpen but lytel, who taketh heede. 
 For here availeth no Swete-Thought, 
 And Sweete-Speche helpith right 
 nought ; 
 
 The thridde was called Swete-Lokyng, 
 That now is lorn without lesyng. 
 
 Yiftes were faire, but not forthy 
 They helpe me but symplely 
 But Bialacoil loosed be. 
 
 To gon at large and to be free. 
 
 For hym my lyf lyth all in doute, 
 
 But if he come the rather oute. 
 
 Allas, I trowe it wole not bene ! 
 
 For how shult I evermore hym sene ? 
 He may not oute, and that is wronge, 
 
 By cause the tour is so stronge. 
 Howshuldeheoute? By whosprowesse, 
 Oute of so stronge a forteresse ? 
 
 By me certeyn it nyl be doo ; 
 
 God woot I have no witte therto. 
 
 But wel I woot I was in rage, 
 
 Whonne I to Love dide homage. 
 
 Who was the cause, in sothfastnesse. 
 But hir-silf Dame Idelnesse, 
 
 Which me conveied, thurgh my praiere. 
 To entre into that faire verger ? 
 
 She was to blame me to leve. 
 
 The which now doth me soore greve. 
 A foolis word is nought to trowe, 
 
 Ne worth an appel forto love. 
 
 Men shulde hym snybbe bittirly 
 At pryme temps of his foly. 
 
 I was a fool and she me leevede, 
 Thurgh whom I am right nought 
 releeved ; 
 
 She accomplisshid all my wille, 
 
 That now me greveth wondir ille. 
 Resoun me seide what shulde falle. 
 
 A fool my silf I may wel calle 
 That love asyde I hadde not leyde. 
 And trowed that dame Resoun seide. 
 Resoun hadde bothe skile and ryght, 
 Whanne she me blamed with all hir 
 myght 
 
 To medle of love that hath me shent ; 
 But certyn now I wole repente. 
 
 And shulde I repente ? Nay, parde, 
 
 A fals traitour thanne shulde I be. 
 
 The develes engynnes wolde me take. 
 If I my lorde wolde forsake. 
 
 Or Bialacoil falsly bitrave. 
 
 Shulde I at myscheefhate hym? Nay, 
 Sith he now for his curtesie 
 
THE ROMAUNT OF THE ROSE 
 
 Is in prisoun of Ielousie. 
 
 Curtesie certeyn dide he me, 
 
 So mych that may not yolden be, 
 Whanne he the hay passen me lete 
 To kisse the Rose faire and swete ; 
 Shulde I therfore cunne hym mawgre ? 
 Nay, certeynly, it shal not be; 
 
 For Love shall nevere, yif God wille. 
 Here of me, thurgh word or wille, 
 Offence or complaynt more or lesse, 
 Neither of Hope nor Idilnesse. 
 
 For certis it were wrong that I 
 Hated hem for her curtesie. 
 
 Ther is not ellys but suffre and thynke, 
 And waken whanne I shulde wynke ; 
 Abide in hopetil Love, thurgh chaunce, 
 Sende me socour or allegeaunce, 
 Expectant ay till I may mete 
 To geten mercy of that swete. 
 
 Whilom I thenke how love to me 
 Seide he wolde take att gree 
 My servise, if unpacience 
 Caused me to done offence. 
 
 He seide, “In thank I shal it take, 
 
 And high maister eke thee make, 
 
 If wikkednesse ne reve it thee ; 
 
 But, sone, I trowe that shall not be.” 
 These were his wordis by and by ; 
 
 It semede he lovede me trewely. 
 
 Now is ther not but serve hym wele, 
 
 If that I thenke his thanke to fele ; 
 
 My good, myne harme lyth hoolinme. 
 
 In love may no defaute be, 
 
 For trewe Love ne failide never man ; 
 Sothly the faute mote nedys than, 
 
 As god forbede, be founde in me. 
 
 And how it cometh, I can not see ; 
 
 Now late it goon as it may goo, 
 
 61 
 
 Whether Lovewolesocoure meorsloo ; 
 He may do hool on me his wille ; 
 
 I am so sore bounde hym tille, 
 
 From his servise I may not fleen ; 
 
 For lyf and deth, withouten wene, 
 
 Is in his hande, I may not chese, 
 
 He may me doo bothewynne and leese. 
 And sith so sore he doth me greve, 
 
 Yit if my lust he wolde acheve 
 To Bialacoil goodly to be, 
 
 I yeve no force what felle on me. 
 
 For though I dye as I mote nede, 
 
 I praye Love of his goodlyhede 
 To Bialacoil do gentylnesse, 
 
 For whom I lyve in such distresse, 
 That I mote deyen for penaunce. 
 
 But first withoute repentaunce, 
 
 I wole me confesse in good entent. 
 
 And make in haste my testament, 
 
 As lovers doon that feelen smerte. 
 
 To Bialacoil leve I myne herte 
 All hool withoute departyng, 
 
 Or doublenesse of repentyng. 
 
 Thus as I made my passage 
 In compleynt, and in cruel rage, 
 
 And I not where to fynde a leche 
 That couthe unto myne helpyng eche, 
 Sodeynly agayn comen doun 
 Out of hir tour I saugh Resoun, 
 Discrete, and wis, and full plesaunt, 
 And of hir porte full avenaunt. 
 
 The righte weye she tooke to me, 
 Which stode in gret perplexite, 
 
 That was posshed in every side, 
 
 That I nyst where I myght abide ; 
 
 Till she demurely sad of chere, 
 
 Seide to me, as she come nere, 
 
 “ Myne owne freend, art thouy itgreved ? 
 
THE ROMAUNT OF THE ROSE 
 
 How is this quarell yit acheved 
 Of Loves side? Anoon me telle. 
 
 Hast thou not yit of Love thi fille ? 
 
 Art thou not wery of thy servise 
 That the hath in siche wise? 
 
 What joye hast thou in thy lovyng? 
 
 Is it swete or bitter thyng ? 
 
 Canst thou yit chese, late me see, 
 
 What best thi socour myght be? 
 
 Thou servest a full noble lorde, 
 Thatmaketh theethrallfor thi rewarde, 
 Which ay renewith thi turment, 
 
 With foly so he hath thee blent. 
 
 Thou fell in mycheef thilke day 
 Whanne thou didist, the sothe to say, 
 Obeysaunce and eke homage. 
 
 Thou wroughtest no-thyng as the sage, 
 Whanne thou bicam his liege man ; 
 Thou didist a gret foly than, 
 
 Thou wistest not what fell therto. 
 
 With what lord thou haddist to do ; 
 
 If thou haddist hym wel knowe, 
 
 Thou haddist nought be brought so 
 lowe. 
 
 For if thou wistest what it were. 
 
 Thou noldist serve hym half a yeer, 
 
 Not a weke nor half a day, 
 
 Ne yit an hour withoute delay, 
 
 Ne never ha lovede paramours. 
 
 His lordshipp is so full of shoures, 
 Knowest hym ought?” 
 
 L' Amaunt. “Ye, Dame, parde. 
 
 Raisoun. “Nay, nay.” 
 
 L' Amaunt. “ Yis, I.” 
 
 Raisoun. “Wherof? late se.” 
 
 L' Amaunt. “Of that he seide I 
 shulde be 
 
 Glad to have sich lord as he. 
 
 And maister of sich seignorie.” 
 
 62 
 
 Raisoun. “ Knowist hym no more ? ” 
 L' Amaunt. “Nay, certis, I, 
 
 Save that he yaf me rewles there, 
 
 And wente his wey, I nyste where, 
 And I aboode bounde in balaunce.” 
 Raisoun. “Lo, there a noble coni- 
 saunce ! 
 
 But I wille that thou knowe hym now, 
 Gynnyng and eende, sith that thou 
 Art so anguisshous and mate, 
 Disfigured oute of a-state ; 
 
 Ther may no wrecche have more of woo, 
 Ne caytyfe noon enduren soo. 
 
 It were to every man sittyng 
 Of his lord have knowleching ; 
 
 For if thou knewe hym oute of doute. 
 Lightly thou shulde escapen oute 
 Of the prisoun that marreth thee.” 
 
 Li Amaunt. “Ye, Dame, sith my lord 
 is he, 
 
 And I his man maad with myn honde, 
 I wolde right fayne undirstonde 
 To knowen of what kynde he be, 
 
 If ony wolde enforme me.” 
 
 Raisoun. “I wolde,” seide Resoun, 
 “ thee lere 
 
 Sith thou to lerne hast sich desire. 
 
 And shewe thee withouten fable, 
 
 A thyng that is not demonstrable. 
 Thou shalt [wife] withouten science. 
 And knowe withouten experience, 
 The thyng that may not knowen be, 
 Ne wist ne shewid in no degre. 
 
 Thou maist the sothe of it not witen. 
 Though in thee it were writen. 
 
 Thou shalt not knowe therof more. 
 While thou art reuled by his lore. 
 
 But unto hym that love wole Hee 
 The knotte may unclosed bee, 
 


 
 ■ 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
THE ROMAUNT OF THE ROSE 
 
 Which hath to thee, as it is founde. 
 
 So long be knette and not unbounde. 
 Now sette wel thyne entencioun. 
 
 To here of love discripcioun. 
 
 Love it is an hatefull pees, 
 
 A free acquitaunce withoute relees, 
 
 A truthe frette full of falsheede ; 
 
 A sikernesse all sette in drede, 
 
 In hertis a dispeiryng hope, 
 
 And full of hope it is wanhope ; 
 
 Wise woodnesse and wode resoun, 
 
 A swete perell in to droune. 
 
 An hevy birthen lyght to bere ; 
 
 A wikked wawe alwey to ware, 
 
 It is Karibdous perilous; 
 
 Disagreable and gracious ; 
 
 It is discordaunce that can accorde, 
 And accordaunce to discorde; 
 
 It is kunnyng withoute science, 
 Wisdome withoute sapience, 
 
 Witte withoute discrecioun, 
 
 Havoire withoute possessioun ; 
 
 It is sike hele and hool sekenesse, 
 
 A thrust drowned in dronknesse ; 
 
 An helthe full of maladie, 
 
 And charite full of envie ; 
 
 An hunger full of habundaunce, 
 
 And a gredy suffisaunce; 
 
 Delite right ful of hevynesse, 
 
 And drerihed full of gladnesse ; 
 
 Bitter swetnesse and swete errour, 
 Right evell savoured good savour ; 
 Syn[ne] that pardoun hath withynne, 
 And pardoun spotted oute with synne ; 
 A peyne also it is joious, 
 
 And felonye right pitous ; 
 
 Also pley that selde is stable, 
 
 And stedefast [stat] right mevable. 
 
 A strengthe weyked to stonde upright. 
 And feblenesse full of myght ; 
 
 Witte unavised, sage folie, 
 
 And joie full of turmentrie; 
 
 A laughter it is, weping ay, 
 
 Reste that traveyleth nyght and day ; 
 Also a swete helle it is. 
 
 And a soroufull paradys ; 
 
 A plesaunt gayl and esy prisoun. 
 
 And, full of froste, [a] somer sesoun, 
 Pryme temps full of frostes white, 
 
 And May devoide of al delite ; 
 
 With seer braunches blossoms ungrene. 
 And newe fruyt fillid with wynter tene. 
 It is a slowe may not forbere 
 Ragges ribaned with gold to were ; 
 For also well wole love be sette 
 Under ragges as riche rochette, 
 
 And eke. as wel by amourettes 
 In mournyng blak, as bright burnettes. 
 For noon is of so mochel pris, 
 
 Ne no man founden [is] so wys, 
 
 Ne noon so high is of parage, 
 
 Ne no man founde of witt so sage, 
 
 No man so hardy, ne so wight, 
 
 Ne no man of so mychel myght. 
 
 Noon so fulfilled of bounte, 
 
 That hewith love [ne] maydaunted be. 
 All the world holdith this wey. 
 
 Love makith all to goon myswey, 
 
 But it be they of yvel lyf 
 Whom Genius cursith man and wyf. 
 That wrongly werke ageyn nature. 
 Noon such I love, ne have no cure 
 Of sich as loves servauntes bene, 
 
 And wole not by my counsel flene. 
 
 For I ne preise that lovyng, 
 Wherthurgh men at the laste eendyng 
 Shall calle hem wrecchis full of woo, 
 
 63 
 
THE ROMAUNT OF THE ROSE 
 
 Love greveth hem and shendith soo. 
 
 But if thou wolt wel love eschewe 
 Forto escape out of his mewe, 
 
 And make al hool thi sorwe to slake, 
 
 No bettir counsel maist thou take 
 Than thynke to fleen wel I-wis. 
 
 May nought helpe elles ; for wite thou 
 this : 
 
 If thou lie it, it shal flee thee ; 
 
 Folowe it, and folowen shal it thee.” 
 
 Whanne I hadde herde all Resoun seyne, 
 Which hadde spilt hir speche in veyne, 
 “Dame,” seide I, “I dar wel sey, 
 
 Of this avaunt me wel I may, 
 
 That from youre scole so devyaunt 
 I am, that never the more avaunt 
 Right nought am I thurgh youre 
 doctrine. 
 
 I dulle under youre discipline, 
 
 I wote no more than wist [I] ever; 
 
 To me so contrarie and so fer 
 Is every thing that ye me lere, 
 
 And yit I can it all by par cuer , 
 
 Myne herte foryetith therof right 
 nought, 
 
 It is so writen in my thought ; 
 
 And depe greven it is so tendir 
 That all by herte I can it rendre, 
 
 And rede it over comunely ; 
 
 But to my-silf lewedist am I. 
 
 But sith ye love discreven so, 
 
 And lak and preise it bothe twoo, 
 
 Defyneth it into this letter 
 
 That I may thenke on it the better; 
 
 For I herde never diffyne it ere, 
 
 And wilfully I wolde it lere.” 
 
 Raisoun. “ If love be serched wel and 
 sought, 
 
 It is a sykenesse of the thought. 
 Annexed and knet bitwixe tweyne 
 Which male and female with oo cheyne 
 So frely byndith that they nyll twynne. 
 Whether so therof they leese or wynne. 
 The roote springith thurgh hoote 
 brennyng 
 
 Into disordinat desiryng 
 Forto kissen and enbrace, 
 
 And at her lust them to solace ; 
 
 Of other thyng love recchith nought 
 But setteth her herte and all her thought. 
 More for delectacioun 
 Than ony procreacioun 
 Of other fruyt by engendrure ; 
 
 (Which love to god is not plesure), 
 
 For of her body fruyt to gete 
 They yeve no force, they are so sette 
 Upon delite to pley in-feere. 
 
 And somme have also this manere. 
 
 To feynen hem for love seke. 
 
 Sich love I preise not at a leke, 
 
 For paramours they do but feyne. 
 
 To love truly they disdeyne ; 
 
 They falsen ladies traitoursly. 
 
 And swerne hem othes utterly, 
 
 With many a lesyng and many a fable. 
 And all they fynden deceyvable; 
 
 And whanne they han her lust [yjgeten. 
 The hoote ernes they al foryeten. 
 Wymmen the harme they bien lull sore 
 But men this thenken evermore; 
 
 That lasse harme is, so mote I the, 
 Deceyve them than deceyved be ; 
 
 And namely where they ne may 
 Fynde none other mene wey. 
 
 For I wote wel, in sothfastnesse. 
 
 What wight doth now his bisynesse 
 With ony womman forto dele 
 
THE ROMAUNT OF THE ROSE 
 
 For ony lust that he may fele, 
 
 But if it be for engendrure, 
 
 He doth trespasse, I you ensure. 
 
 For he shulde setten all his wille 
 To geten a likly thyng hym tille, 
 
 And to sustene, if he myght. 
 
 And kepe forth, by kyndes right, 
 
 His owne lyknesse and semblable. 
 
 For because all is corumpable, 
 
 And fade shulde successioun, 
 
 Ne were ther generacioun 
 Oure sectis strene forto save, 
 
 Whanne fader or moder arn in grave, 
 Her children shulde, whanne they ben 
 deede, 
 
 Full diligent ben in her steede 
 To use that werke on such a wise, 
 That oon may thurgh another rise. 
 Therfore sette Kynde therynne delite; 
 For men therynne shulde hem delite, 
 And of that deede be not erke, 
 
 But ofte sithes haunt that werke. 
 
 For noon wolde drawe therof a draught, 
 Ne were delite which hath hym kaught. 
 Thus hath sotilled Dame Nature; 
 
 For noon goth right, I thee ensure, 
 
 Ne hath entent hool ne parfit, 
 
 For hir desir is for delyte; 
 
 The which for tene crece, and eke 
 The pley of love for-ofte seke, 
 
 And thrall hem silf they be so nyce 
 Unto the prince of every vyce; 
 
 For of ech synne it is the rote 
 Unlefull lust, though it be sote, 
 
 And of all yvell the racyne, 
 
 As Tulius can determyne 
 (Which in his tyme was full sage,) 
 
 In a boke he made of age, 
 
 Where that more he preyseth eelde, 
 
 Though he be croked and unweelde, 
 And more of commendacioun 
 Than youthe in his discripcioun, 
 
 For youthe sette bothe man and wyf 
 In all perell of soule and lyf, 
 
 And perell is, but men have grace, 
 
 The perell of yougth[e] forto pace 
 Withoute ony deth or distresse, 
 
 It is so full of wyldenesse. 
 
 So ofte it doth shame or damage 
 To hym, or to his lynage. 
 
 It ledith man now up, now doun, 
 
 In mochel dissolucioun. 
 
 And makith hym love yvell companye. 
 And lede his lyf disrewlilye, 
 
 And halt hym payed with noon estate. 
 Withynne hym-silf is such debate, 
 
 He chaungith purpos and entente 
 And yalte [him] into somme covente, 
 To lyven aftir her emprise, 
 
 And lesith fredom and fraunchise, 
 That nature in hym hadde sette. 
 
 The which ageyne he may not gette. 
 If he there make his mansioun, 
 
 For to abide professioun. 
 
 Though for a tyme his herte absente, 
 It may not fayle, he shal repente, 
 
 And eke abide thilke day 
 To leve his abite and gone his way ; 
 And lesith his worship and his name, 
 And dar not come ageyn for shame, 
 But al his lyf he doth so morne, 
 
 By cause he dar not horn retourne. 
 Fredom of kynde so lost hath he, 
 
 That never may recured be, 
 
 But that if God hym graunte grace 
 That he may, er he hennes pace, 
 Conteyne undir obedience 
 Thurgh the vertu of pacience. 
 
 65 
 
 1 
 
THE ROMAUNT OF THE ROSE 
 
 For youthe sett man in all folye. 
 
 In unthrift and [in] ribaudie, 
 
 In leccherie and in outrage, 
 
 So ofte it chaungith of corage. 
 
 Youthe gynneth ofte sich bargeyne 
 That may not eende withouten peyne. 
 In gret perell is sett youthede, 
 
 Delite so doth his bridil leede. 
 
 Delite thushangith,drede thee nought, 
 Bothe mannys body and his thought 
 Oonly thurgh youth, [his] chamberere, 
 That to done yvell is custommere, 
 
 And of nought elles taketh hede 
 But oonly folkes forto lede 
 Into disporte and wyldenesse, 
 
 So [she] is frowarde from sadnesse. 
 
 But Eelde drawith hem therfro, 
 
 Who wote it nought, he may wel goo 
 And moo of hem that now arn olde, 
 Thatwhilom youthhed hadde in holde, 
 Which yit remembre of tendir age, 
 How it hem brought in many a rage, 
 And many a foly therynne wrought. 
 But now that Eelde hath hem thourgh 
 sought, 
 
 They repente hem of her folye, 
 
 That youthe hem putte in jupardye, 
 
 In perell, and in myche woo, 
 
 And made hem ofte amys to do, 
 
 And suen yvell companye, 
 
 Riot and avouterie. 
 
 But Eelde can ageyn restreyne 
 From sich folye, and refreyne 
 And sette men by her ordinaunce 
 In good reule and in governaunce. 
 
 But yvell she spendith hir servise 
 For no man wole hir love ne preise. 
 She is hated, this wote I welle, 
 
 Hir acqueyntaunce wolae noman fele 
 Ne han of Elde companye, 
 
 Men hate to be of hir alye ; 
 
 For noman wolde bicomen olde 
 Ne dye, whanne he is yong and bolde. 
 And Eelde merveilith right gretlye, 
 Whanne thei remembre hem inwardly, 
 Of many a perelous emprise, 
 Whichethat they wrought in sondry wise. 
 How evere they myght, withoute blame. 
 Escape awey withoute shame. 
 
 In youthe withoute damage 
 Or repreef of her lynage, 
 
 Losse of membre, shedvng of blode, 
 Perell of deth, or losse of good. 
 
 Woste thou nought where Youtheabit, 
 That men so preisen in her witt ? 
 
 With Delite she halt sojour, 
 
 For bothe they dwellen in oo tour. 
 
 As longe as Youthe is in sesoun 
 They dwellen in oon mansioun. 
 
 Delite of Youthe wole have servise 
 To do what so he wole devise ; 
 
 And Youthe is redy evermore 
 Forto obey for smerte of sore 
 Unto Delite, and hym to yive 
 Hir servise while that she may lyve. 
 Where Elde abit I wole thee telle 
 Shortly, and no while dwelle, 
 
 For thidir byhoveth thee to goo. 
 
 If deth in youthe [hath] thee not sloo. 
 
 Of this journey thou maist not faile. 
 With hir Labour and Travaile 
 Logged ben, with Sorwe and Woo 
 That never out of hir court goo. 
 
 Peyne and Distresse, Syknesse and Ire 
 And Malencoly, that angry sire, 
 
 Ben of hir paleys senatours; 
 
 Gronyngand Grucchynghirherbejours 
 
 66 
 

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 . 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
THE ROMAUNT OF THE ROSE 
 
 The day and nyght hir to turment, 
 
 With cruell deth they hir present ; 
 
 And tellen hir, erliche and late, 
 
 That Deth stont armed at hir gate. 
 Thanne brynge they toher remembraunce 
 The foly dedis of hir infaunce, 
 
 Whiche causen hir to mourne in woo 
 That Youthe hath hir bigiled so, 
 
 Which sodeynly awey is hasted. 
 
 She wepeth the tyme that she hath wasted, 
 Compleynyng of the preterit 
 And the present, that not abit, 
 
 And of hir olde vanite ; 
 
 That, but aforn hir she may see 
 In the future somme socour, 
 
 To leggen hir of hir dolour, 
 
 To graunte hir tyme of repentaunce, 
 
 For her synnes to do penaunce. 
 
 And at the laste so hir governe 
 To wynne the joy that is eterne, 
 
 Fro which gobakward Youthe her made 
 In vanite to droune and wade, — 
 
 For present tyme abidith nought. 
 
 It is more swift than any thought, 
 
 So litel while it doth endure 
 That ther nys compte ne mesure. 
 
 But how that evere the game go 
 Who list to have joie and mirth also 
 Of love, be it he or she 
 High or lowe, who it be, 
 
 In fruyt they shulde hem delyte ; 
 
 Her part they may not elles quyte, 
 
 To save hem-silf in honeste. 
 
 And yit full many one I se 
 Of wymmen, sothly forto seyne, 
 
 That desire and wolde fayne 
 The pley of love, they be so wilde, 
 
 And not coveite to go with childe. 
 
 And if with child they be perchaunce, 
 
 They wole it holde a gret myschaunce; 
 But what-som-ever woo they fele, 
 They wole not pleyne but concele, 
 
 But if it be ony fool or nyce 
 In whom that Shame hath no justice. 
 For to delyte echone they drawe. 
 
 That haunte this werke bothe high 
 and lawe, 
 
 Save sich that arn worth right nought 
 That for money wole be bought. 
 
 Such love I preise in no wise, 
 
 Whanne it is goven for coveitise. 
 
 I preisenowommanthoughshebewood 
 That yeveth hir-silf for ony good. 
 
 For litel shulde a man telle, 
 
 Of hir that wole hir body selle, 
 
 Be she mayde, be she wyf, 
 
 That quyk wole selle hir, bi hir lif. 
 How faire chere that evere she make 
 He is a wrecche, I undirtake, 
 
 That loved such one, for swete or soure, 
 Though she hym calle hir paramoure. 
 And laughethonhym,and makith hym 
 feeste ; 
 
 For certeynly no such beeste 
 To be loved is not worthy, 
 
 Or here the name of druerie. 
 
 Noon shulde hir please, but he were 
 woode, 
 
 That wole dispoile hym of his goode. 
 Yit nevertheles I wole not sey 
 That she for solace and for pley 
 Ne may a jewel or other thyng 
 Take of her loves fre yevyng ; 
 
 But that she aske it in no wise, 
 
 For drede of shame of coveitise. 
 
 And she of hirs may hym certeyn 
 Withoute sclaundre yeven ageyn, 
 
 And joyne her hertes to-gidre so 
 
THE ROMAUNT OF THE ROSE 
 
 In love, and take and yeve also. 
 
 Trowe not that I wolde hem twynne 
 Whanne in her love ther is no synne; 
 
 I wole that they to-gedre go, 
 
 And don al that they han ado, 
 
 As curteis shulde and debonaire, 
 
 And in her love beren hem faire, 
 Withoute vice, bothe he and she, 
 
 So that alwey in honeste 
 
 Fro foly love they kepe hem clere, 
 
 That brenneth hertis with his fere, 
 
 And that her love in ony wise 
 Be devoide of coveitise. 
 
 Good love shulde engendrid be 
 Of trewe herte, just and secre, 
 
 And not of such as sette her thought 
 To have her lust, and ellis nought. 
 
 So are they caught in loves lace, 
 
 Truly for bodily solace. 
 
 Fleshly delite is so present 
 With thee, that sette all thyne entent, 
 Withoute more (what shulde I glose ?) 
 Forto gete and have the Rose, 
 
 Which makith [thee] somateandwoode. 
 That thou desirest noon other goode. 
 But thou art not an inche the nerre. 
 
 But evere abidist in sorwe and werre, 
 As in thi face it is sene; 
 
 It makith thee bothe pale and lene ; 
 Thy myght, thi vertu goth away. 
 
 A sory geste, in goode fay. 
 
 Thou herberest then in thyne inne, 
 TheGod of Love whanne thou let inne. 
 Wherfore I rede thou shette hym oute. 
 Or he shall greve thee, oute of doute; 
 For to thi profit it wole turne. 
 
 Iff he nomore with thee sojourne. 
 
 In gret myscheef and sorwe sonken 
 Ben hertis that of love arn dronken. 
 
 As thou peraunter knowen shall 
 Whanne thou hast lost thi tvme all. 
 And spent thy youth in ydilnesse 
 In waste and wofull lustynesse. 
 
 If thow maist lyve the tyme to se 
 Of love forto delyvered be, 
 
 Thy tyme thou shalt biwepe sore, 
 
 The whiche never thou maist restore. 
 For tyme lost, as men mav see, 
 
 For no thyng may recured be. 
 
 And if thou scape yit atte laste 
 Fro Love that hath thee so faste 
 Knytt and bounden in his lace, 
 Certeyn I holde it but a grace. 
 
 For many oon, as it is seyne, 
 
 Have lost and spent also in veyne 
 In his servise, withoute socour, 
 
 Body and soule, good and tresour, 
 Witte and strengthe and eke richesse. 
 Of which they hadde never redresse.” 
 
 Thus taught and preched hath resoun. 
 But Love spilte hir sermoun, 
 
 That was so ymped in mv thought, 
 That hir doctrine I sette at nought. 
 And yitt ne seide she never a dele 
 That I ne undirstode it wele, 
 
 Word by word the mater all ; 
 
 But unto love I was so thrall, 
 
 Which callith over-all his pray, 
 
 He chasith so my thought al day. 
 
 And halt myne herte undir his sele. 
 
 As trust and trew as ony stele. 
 
 So that no devocioun 
 Ne hadde I in the sermoun 
 Of dame Resoun, ne of hir rede. 
 
 It toke no sojour in myne hede, 
 
 For all yede oute at [that] oon ere. 
 That in that other she dide lere ; 
 
THE ROMAUNT OF THE ROSE 
 
 Fully on me she lost hir lore. 
 
 Hir speche me greved wondir sore. 
 
 Than unto hir for ire I seide, 
 
 For anger as I dide abraide : 
 
 “Dame, and is it youre wille algate 
 That I not love, but that I hate 
 Alle men, as ye me teche ? 
 
 For if I do aftir youre speche, 
 
 Sith that ye seyne love is not good, 
 Thanne must I nedis say with mood, 
 If I it leve, in hatrede ay 
 To lyven, and voide love away 
 From me, [and be] a synfull wrecche, 
 Hated of all that [love that] tecche; 
 
 I may not go noon other gate, 
 
 For other must I love or hate. 
 
 And if I hate men of newe 
 More than love, it wole me rewe, 
 
 As by youre preching semeth me, 
 
 For Love no thing ne preisith thee. 
 
 Ye yeve good counsel sikirly. 
 
 That prechith me al day that I 
 Shulde not loves lore alowe, 
 
 He were a foole wolde you not trowe. 
 In speche also ye han me taught 
 Another love that knowen is naught. 
 Which I have herd you not repreve. 
 To love ech other. By youre leve, 
 
 If ye wolde diffyne it me, 
 
 I wolde gladly here to se, 
 
 Atte the leest, if I may lere, 
 
 Of sondry loves the manere.” 
 
 Raisoun. “Certis freend a fool art 
 thou 
 
 Whan that thou no thyng wolt allowe, 
 That I for thi profit say. 
 
 Yit wole I sey thee more in fay. 
 
 For I am redy at the leste 
 
 To accomplisshe thi requeste. 
 
 But I not where it wole avayle. 
 
 In veyn perauntre I shal travayle. 
 
 Love ther is in sondry wise, 
 
 As I shal thee heere devise. 
 
 For somme love leful is and good ; 
 
 I mene not that which makith thee wood. 
 And bringith thee in many a fitte 
 And ravysshith fro thee al thi witte, 
 
 It is so merveilouse and queynte ; 
 
 With such love be no more aqueynte. 
 
 Love of freendship also ther is, 
 
 Which makith no man done amys, 
 
 Of wille knytt bitwixe two. 
 
 That wole not breke for wele ne woo ; 
 Which long is likly to contune 
 Whanne wille and goodis ben in comune; 
 Grounded by goddis ordinaunce, 
 
 Hoole withoute discordaunce ; 
 
 With hem holdyng comunte 
 Of all her goode in charite ; 
 
 That ther be noon excepcioun 
 Thurgh chaungyng of entencioun ; 
 That ech helpe other at her neede, 
 
 And wisely hele bothe word and dede ; 
 Trewe of menyng, devoide of slouthe, 
 For witt is nought withoute trouthe, 
 
 So that the ton dar all his thought, 
 
 Seyn to his freend and spare nought 
 As to hym silf, withoute dredyng 
 To be discovered by wreying. 
 
 For glad is that conjunccioun 
 Whanne ther is noon susspecioun, 
 [Nelakinhem]whomthey woldeprove. 
 That trewe and parfit weren in love. 
 For no man may be amyable, 
 
 But if he be so ferme and stable 
 Thatfortunechaungehymnot,neblynde 
 69 
 
THE ROMAUNT OF THE ROSE 
 
 But that his freend all-wey hym fynde, 
 Bothe pore and riche, in oon estate. 
 
 For if his freend, thurgh ony gate, 
 
 Wole compleyne of his poverte. 
 
 He shulde not bide so long til he 
 Of his helpyng hym requere ; 
 
 For goode dede done thurgh praiere 
 Is sold and bought to deere, I-wys, 
 
 To hert that of grete valour is. 
 
 For hert fulfilled of gentilnesse 
 Can yvel demene his distresse. 
 
 And man, that worthy is of name. 
 
 To asken often hath gret shame. 
 
 A good man brenneth in his thought 
 For shame, whanne he axeth ought. 
 
 He hath gret thought, and dredeth ay 
 For his disese, whanne he shal pray 
 His freend, lest that he warned be, 
 
 Til that he preve his stabilte. 
 
 But whanne that he hath founden oon, 
 That trusty is and trewe as stone, 
 
 And [hath] assaied hym at alle, 
 
 And founde hym stedefast as a walle 
 And of his freendship be certeyne, 
 
 He shal hym shewe bothe joye and peyne 
 And all that [he] dar thynke or sey, 
 Withoute shame, as he wel may. 
 
 For how shulde he a-shamed be 
 Of sich one as I tolde thee? 
 
 For whanne he woot his secre thought, 
 The thridde shal knowe therof right 
 nought ; 
 
 For tweyne of noumbre is bet thanthre 
 In every counsell and secre. 
 
 Repreve he dredeth never a deele 
 Who that bisett his wordis wele. 
 
 For every wise man, out of drede. 
 
 Can kepe his tunge till he se nede; 
 
 And fooles can not holde her tunge — 
 
 ‘A fooles belle is soone runge.’ 
 
 Yit shal a trewe freend do more, 
 
 To helpe hisfelowe of his sore, 
 Andsocoure hym, whannehe hath neede, 
 In all that he may done in deede ; 
 
 And gladder [be] that he hym plesith, 
 Than his felowe, that he esith. 
 
 And if he do not his requeste, 
 
 He shal as mochel hym moleste 
 As his felow, for that he 
 May not fulfille his volunte 
 Fully, as he hath requered. 
 
 If bothe the hertis Love hath fered, 
 
 Joy and woo they shull departe 
 And take evenly ech his parte ; 
 
 Half his anoy he shal have ay, 
 
 And comfort [him] what that he mav ; 
 And of his blisse parte shal he, 
 
 If love wel departed be. 
 
 And whilom of this unyte 
 Spake Tulius in a ditee, 
 
 Man shulde maken his requeste 
 Unto his freend that is honeste, 
 
 And he goodly shulde it fulfille. 
 
 But if the more were out of skile ; 
 
 And other wise not graunte therto, 
 Except oonly in causes twoo; 
 
 If men his freend to deth wolde drive, 
 Late hym be bisy to save his lyve ; 
 
 Also if men wolen hym assayle 
 Of his wurship to make hym fade, 
 
 And hyndren hym of his renoun; 
 
 Late hym, with full entencioun, 
 
 His dever done in eche degre 
 That his freend ne shamed be, 
 
 In this two causes with his mvght. 
 Taking no kepe to skile nor right 
 As ferre as love may hym excuse; 
 
 70 
 
THE ROMAUNT OF THE ROSE 
 
 This ought no man to refuse. 
 
 This love, that I have tolde to thee, 
 
 Is no thing contrarie to me ; 
 
 This wole I that thou folowe wele, 
 
 And leve the tother every dele ; 
 
 This love to vertu all entendith, 
 
 The tothir fooles blent and shendith. 
 
 Another love also there is, 
 
 That is contrarie unto this ; 
 
 Which desire is so constreyned 
 That [it] is but wille feyned. 
 
 Awey fro trouthe it doth so varie, 
 
 That to good love it is contrarie, 
 
 For it maymeth in many wise 
 Sike herds with coveitise. 
 
 All in wynnyng and in profit 
 Sich love settith his delite. 
 
 This love so hangeth in balaunce, 
 
 That if it lese his hope perchaunce 
 Of lucre that he is sett upon, 
 
 It wole fade and quenche anoon. 
 
 For no man may be amerous, 
 
 Ne in his lyvyng vertuous. 
 
 But he love more in moode 
 Men for him-silf than for her goode. 
 
 For love that profit doth abide 
 Is fals, and bit not in no tyde 
 [This] love cometh of Dame Fortune, 
 That litel while wole contune ; 
 
 For it shal chaungen wonder soone. 
 
 And take Eclips ; right as the moone 
 Whanne he is from us lett 
 Thurgh erthe, that bitwixe is sett 
 The sonne and hir, as it may falle, 
 
 Be it in partie or in all. 
 
 The shadowe makethherbemysmerke. 
 And hir homes to shewe derke 
 That part where she hath lost hir lyght 
 
 7i 
 
 Of Phebus fully, and the sight; 
 
 Til, whanne the shadowe is overpaste. 
 She is enlumyned ageyn as faste 
 Thurgh the brightnesse of the sonne 
 bemes, 
 
 That yeveth to hir ageyne hir lemes. 
 That love is right of sich nature, 
 
 Now is faire, and now obscure, 
 
 Now bright, now clipsi of manere, 
 Andwhilom dymme,andwhilom clere. 
 As soone as poverte gynneth take, 
 With mantel and [with] wedis blake 
 Hidith of love the light awey, 
 
 That into nyght it turneth day ; 
 
 It may not see richesse shyne, 
 
 Till the blake shadowes fyne. 
 
 For whanne richesse shyneth bright 
 Love recovereth ageyn his light, 
 
 And whanne it failith, he wole flit ; 
 And as she groweth, so groweth it. 
 
 Of this love here what I sey : 
 
 The riche men are loved ay, 
 
 And namely tho that sparand bene, 
 That wole not wasshe her hertes clene 
 Of the filthe, nor of the vice 
 Of gredy brennyng avarice. 
 
 The riche man full fonned is y-wys, 
 That weneth that he loved is; 
 
 If that his herte it undirstode, 
 
 It is not he, it is his goode ; 
 
 He may wel witen in his thought 
 His good is loved and he right nought. 
 For if he be a nygard eke, 
 
 Men wole not sette by hym a leke. 
 
 But haten hym, this is the sothe. 
 
 Lo, what profit his catell doth ? 
 
 Of every man that may hym see, 
 
 It geteth hym nought but enmyte. 
 
 But he amende hym of that vice. 
 
THE ROMAUNT OF THE ROSE 
 
 And knowe hym silf, he is not wys. 
 Certys he shulde ay freendly be, 
 
 To gete hym love also ben free, 
 
 Or ellis he is not wise ne sage, 
 
 Nomore than is a gote ramage. 
 
 That he not loveth his dede proveth, 
 Whan he his richesse so wel loveth 
 That he wole hide it ay and spare, 
 
 His pore freendis sene forfare 
 To kepen alway his purpose. 
 
 Til for drede his yen close. 
 
 And til a wikked deth hym take. 
 
 Hym hadde lever a-sondre shake 
 And late hise lymes a-sondre ryve, 
 Than leve his richesse in his lyve ; 
 
 He thenkith parte it with no man. 
 Certayn no love is in hym than ; 
 
 How shulde love withynne hym be, 
 Whanne in his herte is no pite? 
 
 That he trespasseth wel I wat, 
 
 For ech man knowith his estate. 
 
 For wel hym ought to be reproved 
 That loveth nought, ne is not loved. 
 But sen we arn to fortune comen, 
 
 And hath oure sermoun of hir nomen, 
 A wondir will y telle thee nowe ; 
 Thou herdist never sich oon I trowe. 
 
 I note where thou me leven shall, 
 Though sothfastnesse it be at all. 
 
 As it is writen and is soth, 
 
 That unto men more profit doth 
 The froward fortune and contraire, 
 Than the swote and debonaire; 
 
 And if thee thynke it is doutable 
 It is thurgh argument provable; 
 
 For the debonaire and softe 
 Falsith and bigilith ofte. 
 
 For lyche a moder she can cherishe, 
 
 And mylken [hem] as doth a norys ; 
 And of hir goode to hem deles, 
 
 And yeveth hem parte of her joweles, 
 With grete richesse and dignite; 
 
 And hem she hoteth stabilite 
 In a state that is not stable, 
 
 But chaungynge ay and variable ; 
 
 And fedith hym with glorie veyne, 
 
 In worldly blisse noncerteyne. 
 
 Whanne she hem settith on hir whele 
 Thanne wene they to be right wele, 
 And in so stable state withall 
 That never they wene forto falle. 
 
 And whanne they sette so highe be, 
 They wene to have in certeynte 
 Of hertly freendis so grete noumbre 
 That no thyngmyght her state encombre. 
 They trust hem so on every side, 
 Wenyng with hem they wolde abide 
 In every perell and myschaunce, 
 Withoute chaunge or variaunce 
 Bothe of catell and of goode. 
 
 And also forto spende her bloode, 
 
 And all her membris forto spille, 
 
 Oonly to fulfille her wille. 
 
 They maken it hole in many wise, 
 
 And hoten hem her full servise. 
 
 How sore that it do hem smerte, 
 
 Into her naked sherte. 
 
 Herte and all so hole they yive. 
 
 For the tyme that they may lyve. 
 
 So that with her flaterie, 
 
 They maken foolis glorifie 
 Of her wordis spekyng, 
 
 And han ther-of a rejoysyng, 
 
 And trowe hem as the Evangile: 
 
 And it is all falsheede and gile. 
 
 As they shal aftirwarde se 
 Whanne they arn Falle in poverte, 
 
 72 
 
THE ROMAUNT OF THE ROSE 
 
 And ben of good and catell bare ; 
 Thanne shulde they sene who freendis 
 ware. 
 
 For of an hundred certeynly, 
 
 Nor of a thousande full scarsly, 
 
 Ne shal they fynde unnethis oon 
 Whanne poverte is comen upon. 
 
 For this Fortune that I of telle 
 With men whanne hir lust to dwelle, 
 Makith hem to leese her conisaunce. 
 And norishith hem in ignoraunce. 
 
 But froward Fortune and perverse, 
 Whanne high estatis she doth reverse, 
 And maketh hem to tumble doune 
 Of hir whele, with sodeyn tourne, 
 
 And from her richesse doth hem fie, 
 And plongeth hem in poverte, 
 
 As a stepmoder envyous 
 And leieth a piastre dolorous 
 Unto her hertis wounded egre, 
 
 Which is not tempred with vynegre 
 But with poverte and indigence — 
 Forto shewe by experience 
 That she is Fortune verelye, 
 
 In whom no man shulde affye, 
 
 Nor in hir yeftis have fiaunce. 
 
 She is so full of variaunce. 
 
 Thus kan she maken high and lowe, 
 Whanne they from richesse arn [y-] 
 throwe, 
 
 Fully to knowen without were 
 Freend of affect and freend of chere ; 
 And which inlove weretreweand stable, 
 And whiche also were variable. 
 
 After Fortune her goddesse. 
 
 In poverte outher in richesse. 
 
 For all she yeveth here, out of drede, 
 Unhappe bereveth it in dede ; 
 
 For in-fortune late not oon 
 Of freendis, whanne Fortune is gone — 
 
 I mene tho freendis that wole fie 
 Arioon, as entreth poverte ; 
 
 And yit they wole not leve hem so. 
 
 But in ech place where they go, 
 
 They calle hem ‘wrecche,’ scorne, and 
 blame, 
 
 And of her myshappe hem diffame. 
 
 And namely siche as in richesse 
 Pretendid moost of stablenesse, 
 
 Whanne that they sawehymsetteonlofte, 
 And were of hym socoured ofte, 
 
 And most yholpe in all her neede ; 
 
 But now they take no maner heede. 
 
 But seyn in voice of flaterie, 
 
 That now apperith her folye 
 Over-all where so they fare, 
 
 And synge ‘Go fare-wel, feldefare.’ 
 
 All suche freendis I beshrewe. 
 
 For of trewe ther be to fewe. 
 
 But sothfast freendis, what so bitide, 
 
 In every fortune wolen abide ; 
 
 Thei han her hertis in suche noblesse 
 That they nyl love for no richesse, 
 
 Nor for that fortune may hem sende 
 Thei wolen hem socoure and defende, 
 And chaunge for softe ne for sore ; 
 
 For who is freend loveth evermore. 
 Though men drawe swerde his freend to 
 slo, 
 
 He may not hewe her love a-two, 
 
 But in case that I shall sey ; 
 
 For pride and ire lese it he may. 
 
 And for reprove by nycete, 
 
 And discovering of privite; 
 
 With tonge woundyng as feloun, 
 Thurgh venemous detraccioun. 
 
 Frende in this case wole gone his way, 
 
 73 K 
 
THE ROMAUNT OF THE ROSE 
 
 For no thyng greve hym more ne may, 
 And for nought ellis wole he fle, 
 
 If that he love in stabilite. 
 
 And certeyn he is wel bigone, 
 
 Among a thousand that fyndith oon ; 
 
 For ther may be no richesse 
 Ageyns frendshipp of worthynesse ; 
 
 For it ne may so high atteigne 
 As may the valoure, soth to seyne. 
 
 Of hym that loveth trew and well. 
 Frendshipp is more than is catell, 
 
 For freend in court ay better is, 
 
 Than peny in purs certis. 
 
 And Fortune myshappyng, 
 
 Whanne upon men she is fallyng 
 Thurgh mysturnyng of hir chaunce. 
 
 And casteth hem oute of balaunce, 
 
 She makith thurgh hir adversite 
 Men full clerly forto se 
 Hym that is freend in existence, 
 
 From hym that is by apparence. 
 
 For yn-fortune makith anoon, 
 
 To knowe thy freendis fro thy foon, 
 
 By experience right as it is. 
 
 The which is more to preise y-wis, 
 
 Than is myche richesse and tresour. 
 
 For more dothe profit and valour 
 Poverte and such adversite 
 Bi fer than doth prosperite; 
 
 For the toon yeveth conysaunce, 
 
 And the tother ignoraunce. 
 
 And thus in poverte is in dede 
 Trouthe declared fro falsheed, 
 
 For feynte frendis it wole declare, 
 
 And trewe also what wey they fare. 
 
 For whanne he was in his richesse, 
 
 These freendis ful of doublenesse 
 Offrid hym in many wise 
 
 74 
 
 Hert, and body, and servise; 
 
 What wolde he thanne ha yove to ha 
 bought 
 
 To knowen openly her thought, 
 
 That he now hath so clerly seen ? 
 
 The lasse bigiled he shulde have bene. 
 And he hadde thanne perceyved it ; 
 But richesse nold not late hym witte. 
 Wel more avauntage doth hymthanne, 
 Sith that it makith hym a wise man, 
 The gret myscheef that he receyveth. 
 Than doth richesse that hym deceyveth. 
 Richesse riche ne makith nought 
 Hym that on tresour sette his thought. 
 For richesse stonte in suffisaunce 
 And no-thyng in habundaunce ; 
 
 For suffisaunce all oonly 
 Makith men to lyve richely. 
 
 For he that at mycches tweyne, 
 
 Ne valued [is] in his demeine, 
 
 Lyveth more at ese, and more is riche. 
 Than doth he that is chiche, 
 
 And in his berne hath, soth to seyn, 
 An hundred mowis of whete greyne, 
 Though he be chapman or marchaunte. 
 And have of golde many [a] besaunte. 
 For in the getyng he hath such woo, 
 And in the kepyng drede also, 
 
 And sette evermore his bisynesse 
 Forto encrese, and not to lesse, 
 
 Forto aument and multiplie. 
 
 And though on hepis that lye hym bye 
 Yit never shal make his richesse 
 Asseth unto his gredynesse. 
 
 But the povere that recchith nought. 
 Save of his lyflode, in his thought, 
 Which that he getith with his travaile. 
 He dredith nought that it shall fade. 
 Though he have ly tel worldis goode, 
 
THE ROMAUNT OF THE ROSE 
 
 Mete, and drynke, and esy foode. 
 
 Upon his travel and lyvyng, 
 
 And also suffisaunt clothyng. 
 
 Or if in syknesse that he fall, 
 
 And lothe mete and drynke withall, 
 Though he have not his mete to bye 
 He shal bithynke hym hastily 
 To putte hym oute of all daunger. 
 
 That he of mete hath no myster; 
 
 Or that he may with lytel eke 
 Be founden, while that he is seke ; 
 
 Or that men shull hym berne in haste, 
 To lyve til his syknesse be paste, 
 
 To somme maysondewe biside ; 
 
 Or he caste nought what shal hym 
 bitide — 
 
 He thenkith nought that evere he shall 
 Into ony sykenesse fall. 
 
 And though it falle, as it may be, 
 
 That all be-tyme spare shall he 
 As mochel, as shal to hym suffice 
 While he is sike in ony wise, 
 
 He doth [that] for that he wole be 
 Contente with his poverte, 
 
 Withoute nede of ony man. 
 
 So myche in litel have he can, 
 
 He is apaied with his fortune ; 
 
 And for he nyl be importune 
 Unto no wight, ne honerous, 
 
 Nor of her goodes coveitous, 
 
 Therfore he spareth, it may wel bene, 
 His pore estate forto sustene. 
 
 Or if hym lust not forto spare, 
 
 But suffrith forth as not ne ware, 
 
 Atte last it hapneth as it may 
 Right unto his laste day, 
 
 And taketh the world as it wolde be; 
 
 For evere in herte thenkith he. 
 
 The sonner that [the] deth hym slo, 
 
 75 
 
 To paradys the sonner go 
 He shal, there forto lyve in blisse, 
 Where that he shalnoo good misse; 
 Thider he hopith God shal hym sende, 
 Aftir his wrecchid lyves ende. 
 Pictagoras hym silf reherses 
 In a book, that the Golden Verses 
 Is clepid for the nobilite 
 Of the honourable ditee, 
 
 That whanne thou goste thy body fro, 
 Fre in the eir thou shalt up go, 
 
 And leven al humanite. 
 
 And purely lyve in deite. 
 
 He is a foole withouten were 
 That trowith have his Countre heere ; 
 In erthe is not oure Countre — 
 
 That may these clerkis seyn, and see 
 In Boice of Consolacioun, 
 
 Where it is maked mencioun 
 Of oure countre pleyn at the ye 
 By teching of Philosophic ; 
 
 Where lewid men myght lere witte. 
 Who so that wolde translaten it. 
 
 If he be sich that can wel lyve 
 Aftir his rente may hym yive, 
 
 And not desireth more to have. 
 
 Than may fro poverte hym save. 
 
 A wise man seide, as we may seen, 
 
 Is no man wrecche but he it wene. 
 
 Be he kyng, knyght, or ribaude; 
 
 And many a ribaude is mery and baude 
 That swynkith and berith bothe day 
 and nyght 
 
 Many a burthen of gret myght, 
 
 The whiche doth hym lasse offense 
 For he suffrith in pacience. 
 
 They laugh anddaunce, trippeand synge, 
 And ley not up for her lyvyng. 
 
 But in the taverne all dispendith 
 
THE ROMAUNT OF THE ROSE 
 
 The wynnyng that God hem sendith. 
 Thanne goth he fardeles forto here, 
 With as good chere as he dide ere; 
 
 To swynke and traveile he not feynith, 
 For for to robben he disdeynith ; 
 
 But right anoon aftir his swynke 
 He goth to taverne forto drynke. 
 
 All these ar riche in abundaunce, 
 
 That can thus have suffisaunce 
 Wei more than can an usurere, 
 
 As God wel knowith, withoute were. 
 For an usurer, so God me se, 
 
 Shal nevere for richesse riche be, 
 
 But evermore pore and indigent. 
 
 Scarce and gredy in his entent. 
 
 For soth it is, whom it displese, 
 
 Ther may no marchaunt lyve at ese. 
 
 His herte in sich a werre is sett, 
 
 That it quyk brenneth more to gete, 
 
 Ne never shal enough have geten, 
 Though he have gold in gerners yeten. 
 Forto be nedy he dredith sore, 
 
 Wherfore to geten more and more 
 He sette his herte and his desire. 
 
 So hote he brennyth in the fire, 
 
 Of coveitise, that makith hym woode 
 To purchace other mennes goode. 
 
 He undirfongith a gret peyne 
 That undirtakith to drynke up Seyne; 
 For the more he drynkith ay 
 The more he leveth, the soth to say. 
 Thus is thurst of fals getyng, 
 
 That laste ever in coveityng. 
 
 And the angwisshe and distresse, 
 
 With the fire of gredy nesse. 
 
 She fightith with hym ay and stryveth, 
 That his herte a-sondre ryveth ; 
 
 Such gredynesse hym assaylith, 
 
 76 
 
 Thatwhannehemosthath,mosthefailith. 
 Phisiciens and advocates 
 Gone right by the same yates ; 
 
 They selle her science for wynnyng. 
 
 And haunte her crafte for gret getyng. 
 Her wynnyng is of such swetnesse, 
 
 That if a man falle in sikenesse, 
 
 They are full glad for ther encrese ; 
 
 For by her wille, withoute lees, 
 
 Everiche man shulde be seke, 
 
 And though they die, they sette not a leke. 
 After, whanne they the gold have take. 
 Full litel care for hem they make ; 
 
 They wolde that fourty were seke 
 atonys — 
 
 Ye ii hundred in flesh and bonys, 
 
 And yit ii thousand, as I gesse, 
 
 Forto encrecen her richesse. 
 
 They wole not worchen in no wise. 
 
 But for lucre and coveitise. 
 
 For Fysic gynneth first by ‘ Fy * 
 
 (The Phisicien also sothely) ; 
 
 And sithen it goth fro ‘Fy’ to ‘Sy,’ 
 
 To truste on hem [it] is foly, 
 
 For they nyl, in no maner gre. 
 
 Do right nought for charite. 
 
 Eke in the same secte ar sette 
 All tho that prechen forto gete 
 Worshipes, honour, and richesse. 
 
 Her hertis arn in grete distresse, 
 
 That folk [ne] lyve not holily. 
 
 But aboven all specialy 
 
 Sich as prechen [in] veynglorie. 
 
 And toward god have no memorie. 
 
 But forth as ypocrites trace. 
 
 And to her soules deth purchace 
 An outward shewing holynesse. 
 
 Though they be full of cursidnesse. 
 
THE ROMAUNT OF THE ROSE 
 
 Not liche to the apostles twelve. 
 
 They deceyve other and hem selve ; 
 Bigiled is the giler thanne, 
 
 For prechyng of a cursed man 
 Though [it] to other may profite, 
 Hymsilf it vaileth not a myte. 
 
 For ofte goode predicacioun 
 Cometh of evel entencioun. 
 
 To hym not vailith his preching, 
 
 All helpe he other with his teching. 
 
 For where they good ensaumple take, 
 There is he with veynglorie shake. 
 
 But late us leven these prechoures, 
 
 And speke of hem that in her toures 
 Hepe up her gold, and faste shette, 
 
 And sore theron her herte sette. 
 
 They neither love God ne drede, 
 
 They kepe more than it is nede, 
 
 And in her bagges sore it bynde ; 
 
 Out of the sonne, and of the wynde, 
 They putte up more than nede ware. 
 Whanne they seen pore folk forfare. 
 
 For hunger die, and for cold quake, 
 
 God can wel vengeaunce therof take. 
 Thre gret myscheves hem assailith, 
 
 And thus in gadring ay travaylith: 
 
 With mychelpeyne they wynne richesse, 
 And drede hem holdith in distresse 
 To kepe that they gadre faste, 
 
 With sorwe they leve it at the laste ; 
 With sorwe they bothe dye and lyve 
 That unto richesse her hertis yive. 
 
 And in defaute of love it is, 
 
 As it shewith ful wel I-wys ; 
 
 For if this gredy, the sothe to seyn, 
 Loveden and were loved ageyn, 
 
 And goode Love regned over-all, 
 
 Such wikkidnesse ne shulde fall. 
 
 But he shuldeyeve, that most good hadde, 
 
 77 
 
 To hem that weren in nede bistadde ; 
 And lyve withoute false usure. 
 
 For charite, full clene and pure. 
 
 If they hem yeve to goodnesse, 
 Defendyng hem from ydelnesse, 
 
 In all this world thanne pover noon 
 We shulde fynde, I trowe not oon. 
 
 But chaunged is this world unstable, 
 For love is over-all vendable ; 
 
 We se that no man loveth nowe. 
 
 But for wynnyng and for prowe. 
 
 And love is thralled in servage, 
 Whanne it is sold for avauntage; 
 
 Yit wommen wole her bodyes selle — 
 Suche soules goth to the devel of helle. 
 
 Whanne Love hadde toldhemhisentent. 
 The baronage to councel went ; 
 
 In many sentences they fille, 
 
 And dyversly they seide hir wille. 
 
 But aftir discorde they accorded. 
 
 And her accord to Love recorded : 
 
 “ Sir,” seiden they, “ we ben atone 
 Bi evene accorde of everichone, 
 
 Outake Richesse al oonly, 
 
 That sworne hath ful hauteynly, 
 
 That she the castell nyl not assaile, 
 
 Ne smyte a stroke in this bataile 
 With darte ne mace, spere ne knyf, 
 
 For man that spekith or berith the lyf, 
 And blameth youre emprise, I-wys, 
 And from oure hoost departed is, 
 
 Atte lest wey as in this plyte. 
 
 So hath she this man in dispite. 
 
 For, she seith, he ne loved hir never, 
 And therfore she wole hate hym evere. 
 For he wole gadre no tresoure, 
 
 He hath hir wrath for evermore ; 
 
 He agylte hir never in other caas, 
 
THE ROMAUNT OF THE ROSE 
 
 Lo, heere all hoolly his trespas. 
 
 She seith wel that this other day 
 He axide hir leve to gone the way 
 That is clepid ‘To-moche-yevyng,’ 
 And spak full faire in his praiyng. 
 
 But whanne he praide hir, pore was he, 
 Therfore she warned hym the entre; 
 Ne yit is he not thryven so 
 That he hath geten a peny or two, 
 That quytly is his owne, in holde. 
 Thus hath Richesse us all[e] tolde; 
 And whanne Richesse us this recorded, 
 Withouten hir we ben accorded. 
 
 And we fynde in oure accordaunce 
 That False-Semblant and Abstinaunce, 
 With all the folk of her bataille, 
 
 Shull at the hyndre gate assayle, 
 
 That Wikkid-Tunge hath in kepyng 
 With his Normans full of janglyng; 
 And with hem Curtesie and Largesse, 
 That shull shewe her hardynesse 
 To the olde wyf, that kepte so harde 
 Fair-Welcomyng withynne herwarde ; 
 Thanneshal Delite and Wel-Heelynge 
 Fonde Shame adowne to brynge, 
 
 With all her oost early and late 
 They shull assailen that ilke gate; 
 Agaynes Drede shall Hardynesse 
 Assayle, and also Sikernesse 
 With all the folk of her ledyng, 
 
 That never wist what was fleyng ; 
 Fraunchise shall fight and eke Pite 
 With Daunger, full of Cruelte ; 
 
 Thus is youre hoost ordeyned wele. 
 Doune shall the castell every-dele. 
 
 If everiche do his entent. 
 
 So that Venus be present, 
 
 Youre modir full of vesselage 
 That can ynough of such usage. 
 
 Withouten hir may no wight spede 
 This werk, neithir for word ne deede ; 
 Therfore is good ye for hir sende, 
 
 For thurgh hir may this werk amende.” 
 
 “Lordynges, my modir, the goddesse. 
 That is my lady and my maistresse, 
 
 Nis not [at] all at my willyng, 
 
 Ne doth not all my desiryng ; 
 
 Yit can she some tyme done labour, 
 Whanne that hir lust, in my socour. 
 
 As my nede is forto a-cheve. 
 
 But now I thenke hir not to geve ; 
 
 My modir is she, and of childehede, 
 
 I bothe worshipe hir and drede. 
 
 For who that dredith sire ne dame, 
 Shal it abye in body or name. 
 
 And netheles yit kunne we 
 Sende aftir hir if nede be ; 
 
 And were she nygh she comen wolde, 
 
 I trowe that no thyng myght hir holde. 
 Mi modir is of gret prowesse, 
 
 She hath tan many a forteresse. 
 
 That cost hath many a pounde, er this. 
 There I nas not present y-wis ; 
 
 And yit men seide it was my dede. 
 
 But I come never in that stede, 
 
 Ne me ne likith, so mote I the, 
 
 That suchetouresben take withoute me. 
 For why me thenkith that in no wise 
 It may bene clepid but marchandise. 
 Go bye a courser, blak or white. 
 
 And pay therfore, than art thou quyte ; 
 The marchauntowith thee right nought, 
 Ne thou hym, whanne thou it bought, 
 
 I wole not sellyng clepe ‘yevyng,’ 
 
 For sellyng axeth no guerdonyng. 
 
 Here lith no thank ne no merite; 
 
 That oon goth from that other al quyte. 
 7S 
 

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 . 
 
 
 
THE ROMAUNT OF THE ROSE 
 
 But this sellyng is not semblable ; 
 
 For whanne his hors is in the stable. 
 
 He may it selle ageyn, parde. 
 
 And wynnen on it, such happe may be ; 
 All may the man not leese I-wys, 
 
 For at the leest the skynne is his. 
 
 Or ellis if it so bitide 
 That he wole kepe his hors to ride, 
 
 Yit is he lord ay of his hors. 
 
 But thilke chaffare is wel wors, 
 
 There Venus entremetith ought. 
 
 For who-so such chaffare hath bought, 
 He shal not worchen so wisely, 
 
 That he ne shal leese al outerly 
 Bothe his money and his chaffare. 
 
 But the seller of the ware 
 The prys and profit have shall, 
 
 Certeyn the bier shal leese all. 
 
 For he ne can so dere it bye 
 To have lordship and full maistrie, 
 
 Ne have power to make lettyng 
 Neithir for yift ne for prechyng, 
 
 That of his chaffare, maugre his, 
 Another shal have asmoche, I-wis, 
 
 If he wole yeve as myche as he, 
 
 Of what contrey so that he be ; 
 
 Or for right nought, so happe may, 
 
 If he can flater hir to hir pay. 
 
 Ben thanne siche marchauntz wise? 
 
 No but fooles in every wise, 
 
 Whanne they bye sich thyng wilfully 
 There as they leese her good fully. 
 
 But natheles this dar I say, 
 
 My modir is not wont to pay, 
 
 For she is neither so fool ne nyce 
 To entremete hir of sich vyce. 
 
 But trusteth wel he shal pay all, 
 
 That repent of his bargeyn shall, 
 Whanne poverte puttehym in distresse, 
 
 79 
 
 All were he scoler to Richesse, 
 
 That is for me in gret yernyng 
 Whanne she assentith to my willyng. 
 But [by] my modir seint Venus, 
 
 And by hir fader Saturnus, 
 
 That hir engendride by his lyf 
 (But not upon his weddid wyf) — 
 
 Yit wole I more unto you swere 
 To make this thyng the sikerere : — 
 Now by that feith and that leaute 
 That I owe to all my britheren fre. 
 
 Of which ther nys wight undir heven 
 That kan her fadris names neven. 
 
 So dyverse and so many ther be, 
 
 That with my modir have be prive ; 
 Yit wolde I swere for sikirnesse, 
 
 The pole of helle to my witnesse, 
 
 Now drynke I not this yeere clarre. 
 
 If that I lye or forsworne be ! 
 
 (For of the goddes the usage is, 
 
 That who so hym forswereth amys 
 Shal that yeer drynke no clarre.) 
 
 Now have I sworne ynough pardee, 
 
 If I forswere me, thanne am I lorne — 
 But I wole never be forsworne. 
 
 Syth Richesse hath me failed heere, 
 She shal abye that trespas dere, 
 
 Atte leest wey but hir arme 
 With swerd, or sparth or [wi th] gy sarme. 
 For certis sith she loveth not me 
 Fro thilke tyme that she may se 
 The castell and the tour to-shake, 
 
 In sory tyme she shal awake. 
 
 If I may grype a riche man, 
 
 I shal so pulle hym, if I can, 
 
 That he shal in a fewe stoundes 
 Lese all his markis and his poundis; 
 
 I shal hym make his pens outslynge. 
 But they in his gerner sprynge. 
 
THE ROMAUNT OF THE ROSE 
 
 Oure maydens shal eke pluk hym so, 
 That hym shal neden fetheres mo, 
 
 And makehym sellehis londeto spende, 
 But he the bet kunne hym defende. 
 Pore men han maad her lord of me ; 
 
 A1 though they not so myghty be 
 That they may fede me in delite, 
 
 I wole not have hem in despite; 
 
 No good man hateth hem as I gesse. 
 For chynche and feloun is richesse ; 
 That so can chase hym and dispise. 
 And hem defoule in sondry wise. 
 
 They loven full bet, so God me spede, 
 Than doth the riche chynchy gnede ; 
 And ben in goode feith more stable, 
 And trewer and more serviable. 
 
 And therfore it suffisith me 
 Her goode herte and her leaute. 
 
 They han on me sette all her thought, 
 And therfore I forgete hem nought; 
 
 I wolde hem bringe in grete noblesse, 
 If that I were god of richesse, 
 
 As I am god of love sothely, 
 
 Sich routhe upon her pleynt have I. 
 Therfore I must his socour be 
 That peyneth hym to serven me, 
 
 For if he deide for love of this, 
 
 Thanne semeth in me no love ther is.” 
 
 “Sir,” seide they, “soth is every deel 
 That ye reherce, and we wote wel 
 Thilke oth to holde is resonable. 
 
 For it is good and covenable 
 That ye on riche men han sworne; 
 
 For, Sir, this wote we wel biforne : 
 
 If Riche men done you homage, 
 
 That is, as fooles done, outrage. 
 
 But ye shull not forsworen be, 
 
 Ne lette, therfore, to drynke clarre 
 
 Or pyment makid fresh and newe. 
 Ladies shull hem such pepir brewe, 
 
 If that they fall into her laas, 
 
 That they for woo mowe seyn, ‘Allas ! 
 Ladyes shullen evere so curteis be, 
 That they shal quyte youre oth all free. 
 Ne sekith never othir vicaire, 
 
 For they shal speke with hem so faire. 
 That ye shal holde you paied full wele. 
 Though ye you medle never a dele. 
 Late ladies worche with her thvngis 
 They shal hem telle so fele tidynges, 
 And moeve hem eke so many requestis, 
 Bi flateri, that not honest is; 
 
 And therto yeve hvm such thankvnges. 
 What with kissyng, and with talkynges. 
 That certis, if they trowed be, 
 
 Shal never leve hem londe ne tee. 
 
 That it nyl as the moeble fare 
 Of which they first delyverid are. 
 
 Now may ye telle us all youre wille. 
 And we youre heestes shal fulfille. 
 
 But Fals-Semblaunt dar not for drede 
 Of you, Sir, medle hym of this dede ; 
 For he seith that ye ben his foo, 
 
 He note if ye wole worche hym woo. 
 Wherfore we pray you alle, Beausire, 
 That ye forgyve hym now your Ire, 
 And that he may dwelle as your man 
 With Abstinence, his dere lemman. 
 This oure accord and oure wille nowc.” 
 “Parfay,” seide Love, “I graunte it 
 yowe ; 
 
 I wole wel holde hvm for my man, 
 Nowlatehymcome.” Andheforth ran. 
 “Fals-Semblant,” quod Love, “in this 
 wise 
 
 I take thee heere to my servise. 
 

 
 
 ■ 
 
 ' 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
THE ROMAUNT OF THE ROSE 
 
 That thou oure freendis helpe away, 
 Andhyndrethhemneithirnyghtneday, 
 But do thy myght hem to releve ; 
 
 And eke oure enemyes that thou greve ; 
 Thyne be this myght, I graunte it thee, 
 My Kyng of Harlotes shalt thou be, 
 We wole that thou have such honour. 
 Certeyne thou art a fals traitour, 
 
 And eke a theef ; sith thou were borne, 
 A thousand tyme thou art forsworne ; 
 But netheles in oure heryng, 
 
 To putte oure folk out of doutyng 
 I bidde thee teche hem,wostowe howe, 
 Bi somme general signe nowe, 
 
 In what place thou shalt founden be, 
 If that men had myster of thee, 
 
 And how men shal thee best espye ; 
 For thee to knowe is gret maistrie. 
 Telle in what place is thyn hauntyng.” 
 “Sir, I have fele dy verse wonyng, 
 That I kepe not rehersed be ; 
 
 So that ye wolde respiten me. 
 
 For if that I telle you the sothe, 
 
 I may have harme and shame bothe ; 
 If that my felowes wisten it, 
 
 My tabs shulden me be quytt, 
 
 For certeyne they wolde hate me 
 If ever I knewe her cruelte. 
 
 For they wolde overall holde hem stille 
 Of trouthe that is ageyne her wille ; 
 Suche tales kepen they not here. 
 
 I myght eftsoone bye it full deere, 
 
 If I seide of hem ony thing 
 That ought displesith to her heryng. 
 For what word that hem prikketh or 
 biteth, 
 
 In that word noon of hem deliteth, 
 
 A1 were it gospel the Evangile, 
 
 That wolde reprove hem of her gile. 
 
 For they are cruel and hauteyne, 
 
 And this thyng wote I well certeyne ; 
 If I speke ought to peire her loos, 
 
 Your court shal not so well be cloos 
 That they ne shall wite it atte last. 
 
 Of good men am I nought agast, 
 
 For they wole taken on hem no thyng, 
 Whanne that they knowealmymenyng. 
 But he that wole it on hym take, 
 
 He wole hym-silf suspecious make 
 That he his lyf let covertly. 
 
 In gile and in Ipocrisie 
 That me engendred and yaf fostryng.” 
 “They made a full good engendryng,” 
 Quod Love, “for who so sothly telle, 
 They engendred the Devel of Helle. 
 But nedely, how so evere it be,” 
 
 Quod Love, “I wole and charge thee 
 To telle anoon thy wonyng places, 
 Heryng ech wight that in this place is, 
 And what lyf that thou lyvest also ; 
 Hide it no lenger now — Wherto ? 
 Thou most discovere all thi wurchyng, 
 H ow thou servest, and of what thyng, 
 Though that thou shuldist for thi 
 sothe-sawe 
 
 Ben alto beten and to-drawe. 
 
 And yit art thou not wont pardee. 
 
 But natheles though thou beten be, 
 Thou shalt not be the first that so 
 Hath for sothsawe suffred woo.” 
 
 “Sir, sith that it may liken you, 
 Though that I shulde be slayne right now, 
 I shal done youre comaundement, 
 
 For therto have I gret talent.” 
 Withouten wordis mo right thanne 
 Fals-Semblant his sermon biganne, 
 
 And seide hem thus in audience : 
 
 L 
 
THE ROMAUNT OF THE ROSE 
 
 “ Barouns, take heede of my sentence : 
 That wight that list to have knowing 
 Of Fals-Semblant, full of flatering, 
 
 He must in worldly folk hym seke. 
 
 And certes in the cloistres eke, 
 
 I wone no where but in hem twey ; 
 
 But not lyk even, soth to sey. 
 
 Shortly, I wole herberwe me 
 There I hope best to holstred be ; 
 
 And certeynly sikerest hidyng, 
 
 Is undirnethe humblest clothing. 
 Religiouse folk ben full covert, 
 
 Seculer folk ben more appert. 
 
 But natheles I wole not blame 
 Religious folk, ne hem diffame ; 
 
 In what habit that ever they go, 
 Religioun umble and trewe also, 
 
 Wole I not blame, ne dispise. 
 
 But I nyl love it in no wise — 
 
 I mene of false religious, 
 
 That stoute ben and malicious, 
 
 That wolen in an abit goo, 
 
 And setten not her herte therto. 
 Religious folk ben al pitous, 
 
 Thou shalt not seen oon dispitous; 
 
 They loven no pride, ne no strif, 
 
 But humbely they wole lede her lyf. 
 With which folk wole I never be. 
 
 And if I dwelle, I feyne me. 
 
 I may wel in her abit go, 
 
 But me were lever my nekke a-two 
 Than lete a purpose that I take, 
 
 What covenaunt that ever I make. 
 
 I dwelle with hem that proude be, 
 
 And full of wiles and subtilte, 
 
 That worship of this world coveiten. 
 
 And grete nedes kunnen espleiten. 
 
 And gone and gadren gret pitaunces, 
 
 And purchace hem theacquevntaunces 
 
 82 
 
 Of men that myghty lyf may leden, 
 Andfeyne hem pore, and hem silf feden 
 With gode morcels delicious. 
 
 And drinken good wyne precious, 
 
 And preche us povert and distresse, 
 And fisshen hem silf gret richesse 
 With wily nettis that they cast ; 
 
 It wole come foule out at the last. 
 They ben fro clene religioun went. 
 They make the world an argument. 
 That [hath] a foule conclusioun : 
 
 ‘I have a robe of religioun, 
 
 Thanne am I all religious.’ 
 
 This argument is all roignous, 
 
 It is not worth a croked brere ; 
 
 Abit ne makith neithir monk ne frere. 
 But clene lyf and devocioun 
 Makith gode men of religioun. 
 Netheles ther kan noon answere. 
 
 How high that evere his heed he shere 
 With rasour whetted never so kene, 
 That Gile in braunches kut thrittene; 
 Ther can no wight distincte it so, 
 
 That he dare sey a word therto. 
 
 But what herberwe that ever I take 
 Or what Semblant that evere I make, 
 
 I mene but gile, and folowe that. 
 
 For right no mo than Gibbe oure cat, 
 Thatawaitethmvceandrattestokyllen, 
 Ne entende I but to bigilen. 
 
 Ne no wight may by my clothing 
 Wite with what folk is my dwellvng, 
 Ne by my wordis yit, parde. 
 
 So softe and so plesaunt thev be. 
 Biholde the dedis that I do. 
 
 But thou be blynde thou oughtest so. 
 For varie her wordis fro her deede, 
 Thev thenke on gile withoute dreede. 
 
THE ROMAUNT OF THE ROSE 
 
 What maner clothing that they were 
 Or what estate that evere they here 
 Lered or lewde, lord or lady, 
 
 Knyght, squyer, burgeis, or bayly.” 
 
 Right thus while Fals-Semblant 
 sermoneth 
 
 Eftsones Love hym aresoneth, 
 
 And brake his tale in his spekyng, 
 
 As though he had hym tolde lesyng, 
 And seide,“What Devel is that I here? 
 What folk hast thouusnempnedheere ? 
 May men fynde religioun 
 In worldly habitacioun ?” 
 
 “Ye, Sir, it folowith not that they 
 Shulde lede a wikked lyf, parfey, 
 
 Ne not therfore her soules leese, 
 
 That hem to worldly clothes chese ; 
 
 For certis it were gret pitee. 
 
 Men may in seculer clothes see 
 Florishen hooly religioun. 
 
 Full many a seynt in feeld and toune, 
 With many a virgine glorious, 
 
 Devoute and full religious 
 
 Han deied,that comyn cloth aybeeren, 
 
 Yit seyntes nevere the lesse they weren. 
 
 I cowde reken you many a ten, 
 
 Ye wel nygh [al] these hooly wymmen. 
 That men in chirchis herie and seke, 
 Bothe maydens and these wyves eke, 
 That barenfull many afaire child heere, 
 Wered alwey clothis seculere, 
 
 And in the same dieden they, 
 
 That seyntes weren, and ben alwey. 
 The xi. thousand maydens deere, 
 
 That beren in heven her ciergis clere, 
 Ofwhiche men rede in chirche andsynge, 
 Were take in seculer clothing, 
 
 Whanne they resseyved martirdome, 
 
 And wonnen hevene unto her home. 
 Good herte makith the goode thought, 
 The clothingyeveth ne reveth nought ; 
 The goode thought and the worching 
 That makith the religioun flowryng — 
 Ther lyth the goode religioun, 
 
 Aftir the right entencioun. 
 
 Whoso took a wether’s skynne, 
 
 And wrapped a gredy wolf therynne 
 For he shulde go with lambis whyte, 
 Wenest thou not he wolde hem bite? 
 Yis, neverthelasse, as he were woode, 
 He wolde hem wery and drinke ther 
 bloode, 
 
 And wel the rather hem disceyve ; 
 
 For sith they cowde not perceyve 
 His treget and his cruelte, 
 
 They wolde hym folowe al wolde he fle. 
 If ther be wolves of sich hewe 
 Amonges these apostlis newe, 
 
 Thou, Hooly Chirche, thou maist be 
 wailed, 
 
 Sith that thy Citee is assayled 
 Thourgh knyghtis of thyn owne table. 
 God wote thi lordship is doutable, 
 
 If thei enforce [hem] it to wynne, 
 That shulde defende it fro withynne. 
 Who myght defense ayens hem make ? 
 Withoute stroke it mote be take 
 Of trepeget, or mangonel, 
 
 Without displaiyng of pensel. 
 
 And if God nyl done it socour, 
 
 But lat [it] renne in this colour, 
 
 Thou most thyn heestis laten be ; 
 Thanne is ther nought but yelde thee, 
 Or yeve hem tribute doutelees, 
 
 And holde it of hem to have pees. 
 
 But gretter harme bitideth thee 
 83 
 
THE ROMAUNT OF THE ROSE 
 
 That they al maister of it be. 
 
 Wei konne they scorne thee withal; 
 
 By daye stuffen they the wall, 
 
 And al the nyght they mynen there. 
 Nay, thou planten most elles where 
 Thyn ympes, if thou wolt fruyt have ; 
 Abide not there thi-silf to save. 
 
 But now pees! Heere I turne ageyne, 
 
 I wole nomore of this thing seyne, 
 
 If I may passen me herby. 
 
 I myghte maken you wery ; 
 
 But I wole heten you al-way 
 To helpe youre freendis, what I may, 
 
 So they wollen my company ; 
 
 For they be shent al outerly, 
 
 But if so falle that I be 
 Ofte with hem and they with me. 
 
 And eke my lemman mote they serve, 
 
 Or they shull not my love deserve. 
 Forsothe I am a fals traitour, 
 
 God jugged me for a theef trichour; 
 Forsworne I am, but wel nygh none 
 Wote of my gile til it be done. 
 
 Thurgh me hath many oon deth ressey ved, 
 That my treget nevere aperceyved ; 
 
 And yit resseyveth, and shal resseyve, 
 That my falsnesse shal nevereapercey ve. 
 But who so doth, if he wise be, 
 
 Hym is right good be war of me. 
 
 But so sligh is the deceyvyng 
 That to hard is the aperceyvyng. 
 
 For Protheus, that cowde hymchaunge. 
 
 In every shap homely and straunge, 
 Cowde nevere sich gile ne tresoune 
 As I. For I come never in toune, 
 
 There as I myght knowen be; 
 
 Though men me bot he my gh there and see, 
 Full wel I can mv clothis chaunge, 
 
 84 
 
 Take oon and make another straunge. 
 Now am I knyght, now chastelevne. 
 Now prelat, and now chapeleyne. 
 
 Now prest,nowclerk,and now forstere ; 
 Now am I maister, now scolere, 
 
 Now monke, now chanoun, now bailv ; 
 What ever myster man am I, 
 
 Now am I prince, now am I page, 
 
 And kan by herte every langage ; 
 Somme tyme am I hore and olde, 
 NowamIyonge,[and]stoute,andbolde ; 
 Now am I Robert, now Robyn, 
 
 Now Frere Menour, now Iacobyn. 
 And with me folwith my loteby, 
 
 To done me solas and company, 
 
 That high t Dame Abstinence-Streyned. 
 In many a queynte array feyned, 
 
 Ryght as it cometh to hir lykyng, 
 
 I fulfille al hir desiryng; 
 
 Somtyme a wommans cloth take I, 
 Now am I mayde, now lady ; 
 
 Somtyme I am religious, 
 
 Now lyk an anker in an hous; 
 Somtyme am I Prioresse, 
 
 And now a nonne, and now Abbesse ; 
 And go thurgh alle regiouns, 
 
 Sekyng all religiouns. 
 
 But to what ordre that I am sworne, 
 
 I take the strawe, and lete the corne 
 To joly folk I enhabite; 
 
 I axe nomore but her abite. 
 
 What wole ye more? In every wise. 
 Right as me lyst, I me disgise; 
 
 Wel can I wre me undir wede, 
 
 Unlyk is my word to my dede. 
 
 [I] make into my trappis falle, 
 
 Thurgh my pryveleges, alle 
 That ben in Cristendome alyve, 
 
 I may assoile and I may shrvve 
 

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 . 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
THE ROMAUNT OF THE ROSE 
 
 (That no prelat may lette me) 
 
 All folk where evere thei founde be ; 
 
 I note no prelate may done so, 
 
 But it the pope be, and no mo, 
 
 That made thilk establisshing. 
 
 Now is not this a propre thing? 
 
 But where my sleight is aperceyved, 
 Of hem I am nomore resceyved, 
 
 As I was wont ; and wostow why ? 
 
 For I dide hem a tregetrie. 
 
 But therof yeve I lytel tale ; 
 
 I have the silver and the male. 
 
 So have I prechid, and eke shriven. 
 
 So have I take, so have me yiven 
 Thurgh her foly husbonde and wyf, 
 That I lede right a joly lyf, 
 
 Thurgh symplesse of the prelacye ; 
 They knowe not al my tregettrie. 
 
 But for asmoche as man and wyf 
 Shulde shewe her paroch-prest her lyf 
 Onys a yeer, as seith the book, 
 
 Er ony wight his housel took, 
 
 Thanne have I pryvylegis large 
 That may of myche thing discharge. 
 For he may seie right thus, parde : — 
 ‘Sir Preest, in shrift I telle it thee, 
 That he to whom that I am shryven 
 Hath me assoiled, and me yiven 
 For penaunce sothly for my synne 
 Which that I fonde me gilty ynne ; 
 
 Ne I ne have nevere entencioun, 
 
 To make double confessioun, 
 
 Ne reherce efte my shrift to thee ; 
 
 0 shrift is right ynough to me. 
 
 This oughte thee suffice wele, 
 
 Ne be not rebel never a dele, 
 
 F or certis, though thou haddist it sworn, 
 
 1 wote no prest ne prelat borne 
 
 That may to shrift efte me constreyne. 
 
 And if they done, I wole me pleyne. 
 For I wote where to pleyne wele. 
 Thou shalt not streyne me a dele 
 Ne enforce me, ne not me trouble 
 To make my confessioun double. 
 
 Ne I have none affeccioun. 
 
 To have double absolucioun. 
 
 The firste is right ynough to me, 
 
 This latter assoilyng quyte I thee. 
 
 I am unbounde — What ! Maist thou 
 fynde 
 
 More of my synnes me to unbynde ! 
 For he that myght hath in his honde 
 Of all my synnes me unbonde. 
 
 And if thou wolt me thus constreyne 
 That me mote nedis on thee pleyne, 
 There shall no jugge imperial 
 Ne bisshop, ne official, 
 
 Donejugement on me; for I 
 Shal gone and pleyne me openly 
 Unto my shriftefadir newe, 
 
 That highte not Frere Wolf untrewe ! 
 And he shal chevys hym for me, 
 
 For I trowe he can hampre thee. 
 
 But lord ! he wolde be wrooth withall. 
 If men hym wolde Frere Wolf call; 
 For he wolde have no pacience, 
 
 But done al cruel vengeaunce; 
 
 He wolde his myght done at the leest 
 No thing spare, for goddis heest. 
 
 And god so wys be my socour, 
 
 But thou yeve me my Savyour 
 At Ester, whanne it likith me, 
 Withoute presyng more on thee, 
 
 I wole forth and to hym gone, 
 
 And he shal housel me anoon. 
 
 For I am out of thi grucching; 
 
 I kepe not dele with thee no thing.’ 
 Thusmay he shryve hym that forsaketh 
 8S 
 
THE ROMAUNT OF THE ROSE 
 
 His paroch prest, and to me takith ; 
 And if the prest wole hym refuse, 
 
 I am full redy hym to accuse. 
 
 And hym punysshe and hampre so 
 That he his chirche shal forgo. 
 
 But who so hath in his felyng 
 The consequence of such shryvyng, 
 Shall sene that prest may never have 
 myght 
 
 To knowe the conscience a-right 
 Of hym that is undir his cure. 
 
 And this ageyns Holy Scripture, 
 
 That biddith every heerde honeste 
 Have verry knowing of his beeste. 
 
 But pore folk that gone by strete, 
 
 That have no gold, ne sommes grete, 
 Hem wolde I lete to her prelates; 
 
 Or lete her prestis knowe her states. 
 Forto me right nought yeve they.” 
 
 “ And why ?” 
 
 “It is for they ne may. 
 They ben so bare I take no kepe, 
 
 But I wole have the fatte sheepe ; 
 
 Lat parish prestis have the lene, 
 
 I yeve not of her harme a bene. 
 
 And if that prelates grucche it. 
 
 That oughten wroth be in her witt 
 To leese her fatte beestes so, 
 
 I shal yeve hem a stroke or two 
 That they shal leesen with [her] force 
 Ye bothe her mytre and her croce. 
 Thus jape I hem, and have do longe, 
 My pryveleges ben so stronge.” 
 
 Fals-Semblaunt wolde have stynted 
 heere. 
 
 But Love ne made hym no such cheere 
 That he was wery of his sawe, 
 
 But forto make hvm glad and fawe 
 He seide : “Telle on more specialy, 
 How that thou servest untrewly; 
 Telleforth,and shamethee never a dele 
 For as thyn abit shewith wele 
 Thou semest an hooly heremyte.” 
 “Sothe is, but I am an ypocrite.” 
 “Thou goste and prechest poverte.” 
 “Ye sir but richesse hath pouste.” 
 “Thou prechest abstinence also.” 
 
 “Sir, I wole fillen, so mote I go, 
 
 My paunche of good mete and [good] 
 wyne. 
 
 As shulde a maister of dyvyne; 
 
 For how that I me pover feyne, 
 
 Yit all [e] pore folk I disdevne. 
 
 I Love bettir thacqueyntaunce 
 Ten tyme of the Kyng of Fraunce, 
 Than of a pore man of mvlde mode. 
 Though that his soule be also gode. 
 For whanne I see beggers quakyng 
 Naked on myxnes al stynkyng 
 For hungre crie, and eke for care, 
 
 I entremete not of her fare. 
 
 They ben so pore and iul of pyne, 
 They myght not oonys yeve me a dyne 
 For they have no thing but her lyf; 
 What shulde he yeve that likketh his 
 knyf? 
 
 It is but foly to entremete. 
 
 To seke in houndes nest fat mete. 
 
 Lete bere hem to the spitel anoon, 
 
 But for me comfort gete they noon. 
 
 But a riche sike usurere 
 Wolde 1 visite and drawe nere; 
 
 Hym wole I comforte and rehete. 
 
 For I hope of his gold to gete. 
 
 And if that wikkid deth hym have. 
 
THE ROMAUNT OF THE ROSE 
 
 I wole go with hym to his grave ; 
 
 And if ther ony reprove me 
 Why that I lete the pore be, 
 
 Wostow how I mot a-scape? 
 
 I sey and swere hym ful rape 
 That riche men han more tecches 
 Of synne than han pore wrecches. 
 
 And han of counsel more mister. 
 
 And therfore I wole drawe hem ner. 
 But as grete hurt, it may so be. 
 
 Hath soule in right grete poverte 
 As soule in grete richesse, forsothe, 
 
 A1 be it that they hurten bothe ; 
 
 For richesse and mendicitees 
 Ben clepid ii. extremytees; 
 
 The mene is cleped suffisaunce, 
 
 Ther lyth of vertu the aboundaunce. 
 For Salamon, full wel I wote, 
 
 In his Parablis us wrote, 
 
 As it is knowe to many a wight. 
 
 In his thrittene chapitre right : 
 
 ‘God thou me kepe, for thi pouste, 
 
 Fro richesse and mendicite ; 
 
 For if a riche man hym dresse, 
 
 To thenke to myche on [his] richesse, 
 His herte on that so fer is sett, 
 
 That he his creatour foryett ; 
 
 And hym that begging wole ay greve. 
 How shulde I bi his word hym leve ? 
 Unnethe [is] that he nys a mycher 
 Forsworne or ellis God is Iyer.’ 
 
 Thus seith Salamones sawes. 
 
 Ne we fynde writen in no lawis 
 And namely in oure Cristen lay 
 (Whoso seith, ‘Ye,’ I dar sey, ‘Nay,’) 
 That Crist ne his apostlis dere, 
 
 While that theywalkide inerthe heere, 
 Were never seen her bred beggyng ; 
 For they nolde beggen for no thing. 
 
 And right thus was men wont to teche 
 And in this wise wolde it preche 
 The maistres of divinite 
 Somtyme in Parys the citee. 
 
 And if men wolde ther-geyn appose 
 The nakid text and lete the glose, 
 
 It myghte soone assoiled be. 
 
 For men may wel the sothe see, 
 
 That, parde, they myght aske a thing 
 Pleynly forth without begging ; 
 
 For they were Goddis herdis deere, 
 And cure of soules hadden heere. 
 They nolde no thing begge her fode ; 
 For aftir Crist was done on rode 
 With therpropre hondis they wrought 
 And with travel, and ellis nought, 
 They wonnen all her sustenaunce, 
 And lyveden forth in her penaunce, 
 And the remenaunt yaf awey 
 To other pore folkis alwey. 
 
 They neither bilden tour ne halle, 
 
 But ley in houses smale with-alle. 
 
 A myghty man that can and may, 
 Shulde with his honde and body alway 
 Wynne hym his fode in laboring, 
 
 If he ne have rent or sich a thing, 
 
 A1 though he be religious, 
 
 And god to serven curious. 
 
 Thus mote he done, or do trespas, 
 
 But if it be in certeyn cas, 
 
 That I can reherce if myster be 
 Right wel, whanne the tyme I se. 
 Seke the book of seynt Austyne, 
 
 Be it in papir or perchemyne, 
 
 There as he writ of these worchynges 
 Thou shalt seen that noon excusynges 
 A parfit man ne shulde seke 
 Bi wordis, ne bi dedis eke, 
 
 A1 though he be religious 
 87 
 
THE ROMAUNT OF THE ROSE 
 
 And god to serven curious, 
 
 That he ne shal, so mote I go, 
 
 With propre hondis and body also, 
 
 Gete his fode in laboryng, 
 
 If he ne have proprete of thing. 
 
 Yit shulde he selle all his substaunce 
 And with his swynk have sustenaunce, 
 If he be parfit in bounte; 
 
 Thus han tho bookes tolde me. 
 
 For he that wole gone ydilly 
 And usith it ay besily 
 To haunten other mennes table, 
 
 He is a trechour ful of fable, 
 
 Ne he ne may by gode resoun 
 Excuse hym by his orisoun ; 
 
 For men bihoveth in somme gise 
 Blynne somtyme in Goddis servise 
 To gone and purchasen her nede. 
 
 Men mote eten, that is no drede, 
 
 And slepe, and eke do other thing ; 
 
 So longe may they leve praiyng; 
 
 So may they eke her praier blynne, 
 
 Wh ile that they werke her mete to wynne. 
 Seynt Austyn wole therto accorde 
 In thilke book that I recorde. 
 
 Justinian eke, that made lawes, 
 
 Hath thus forboden, by old dawes. 
 
 No man up peyne to be dede, 
 
 Mighty of body, to begge his brede, 
 
 If he may swynke itforto gete; 
 Menshuldehymrather mayme or bete, 
 Or done of hym aperte justice. 
 
 Than suffren hym in such malice. 
 
 They done not wel, so mote I go, 
 
 That taken such almesse so, 
 
 But if they have somme pryvelege, 
 
 That of the peyne hem wole allege. 
 
 But how that is, can I not see, 
 
 But if the prince disseyved be. 
 
 Ne I ne wene not sikerly 
 That they may have it rightfully. 
 
 But I wole not determine 
 Of prynces power, ne defvne, 
 
 Ne by my word comprende, I-wys, 
 
 If it so ferre may strecche in this ; 
 
 I wole not entremete a dele. 
 
 But I trowe that the book seith wele. 
 Who that takith almessis that be 
 Dewe to folk, that men may se 
 Lame, feble, wery and bare, 
 
 Pore or in such maner care, 
 
 That konne wynne hem never mo, 
 
 For they have no power therto, 
 
 He etith his owne dampnyng. 
 
 But if he lye that made al thing. 
 
 And if ye such a truaunt fynde, 
 
 Chastise hym wel, if ye be kynde. 
 
 But they wolde hate you percas, 
 
 And if ye fillen in her laas, 
 
 They wolde eftsoonys do you scathe, 
 
 If that they myghte, late or rathe. 
 
 For they be not full pacient, 
 
 That han the world thus foule blent. 
 And witeth wel, that [though] God bad 
 The good-man selle al that he had. 
 
 And folowe hym, and to pore it yive, 
 He wolde not therfore that he lyve 
 To serven hym in mendience. 
 
 For it was nevere his sentence. 
 
 Buthe bad wirkenwhannethatneedeis. 
 And folwe hym in goode dedis. 
 
 Seynt Poule,thatlovedal Hooly Chirche, 
 He bade thappostles forto wirche, 
 
 And wynnen her lytlode in that wise. 
 And hem defended truaundise; 
 
 And seide,‘Wirketh with youre honden' 
 Thusshulde the thing be undirstonden. 
 He nolde,I-wvs, have bidde hem begging. 
 
THE ROMAUNT OF THE ROSE 
 
 Ne sellen gospel ne prechyng, 
 
 Lest they berafte, with her askyng, 
 
 Folk of her catel or of her thing. 
 
 For in this world is many a man 
 That yeveth his good for he ne can 
 Werne it for shame, or ellis he 
 Wolde of the asker delyvered be ; 
 
 And for he hym encombrith so, 
 
 He yeveth hym good to late hym go. 
 
 But it can hem no thyng profit 
 They lese the yift and the meryte. 
 
 The goode folk that Poule to preched 
 Profredhymofte,whan he hem teched, 
 Somme of her good in charite. 
 
 But therfore right no thing toke he, 
 
 But of his hondwerk wolde he gete 
 Clothes to wryne hym, and his mete.” 
 
 “ T elle me thanne how a man may ly ven. 
 That al his good to pore hath yiven, 
 
 And wole but oonly bidde his bedis, 
 
 And nevere with hondeslabour his nedeis. 
 May he do so ? ” 
 
 “ Ye sir.” 
 
 “ And how ? ” 
 
 “ Sir, I wole gladly telle yow. 
 
 Seynt Austyn seith a man may be 
 In houses that han proprete, 
 
 As Templers, and Hospitelers, 
 
 And as these Chanouns Regulers, 
 
 Or White monkes or these Blake — 
 
 I wole no mo ensamplis make — 
 
 And take therof his sustenyng, 
 
 For therynne lyth no begging ; 
 
 But other wey[e]s not, y-wys, 
 
 Yif Austyn gabbith not of this. 
 
 And yit full many a monke laboreth, 
 That God in hooly chirche honoureth ; 
 
 89 
 
 For whanne her swynkyng is agone, 
 They rede and synge in chirche anone. 
 And for ther hath ben gret discorde, 
 As many a wight may bere recorde, 
 Upon the estate of mendience, 
 
 I wole shortly, in youre presence, 
 
 Telle how a man may begge at nede. 
 That hath not wherwith hym to fede. 
 Maugre this felones jangelyngis, 
 
 For sothfastnesse wole none hidyngis ; 
 And yit percas I may abey, 
 
 That I to yow sothly thus sey. 
 
 Lo heere the caas especial : 
 
 If a man be so bestial, 
 
 That he of no craft hath science, 
 
 And nought desireth ignorence, 
 Thanne may he go a-begging yerne, 
 Til he somme maner crafte kan lerne ; 
 Thurgh which withoute truaundyng 
 He may in trouthe have his lyvyng. 
 
 Or if he may done no labour 
 For elde, or sykenesse, or langour, 
 
 Or for his tendre age also, 
 
 Thanne may he yit a-begging go. 
 
 Or if he have peraventure, 
 
 Thurgh usage of his norriture, 
 
 Lyved over deliciously, 
 
 Thanne oughten good folk comunly 
 Han of his myscheef somme pitee, 
 And suffren hym also that he 
 May gone aboute and begge his breed, 
 That he be not for hungur deed. 
 
 Or if he have of craft kunnyng, 
 
 And strengthe also, and desiryng 
 To wirken as he had what 
 But he fynde neithir this ne that, 
 Thanne may he begge, til that he 
 Have geten his necessite. 
 
 M 
 
THE ROMAUNT OF THE ROSE 
 
 Or if his wynnyng be so lite 
 That his labour wole not acquyte 
 Sufficiantly al his lyvyng, 
 
 Yit may he go his breed begging; 
 
 Fro dore to dore he may go trace, 
 
 Til he the remenaunt may purchace. 
 
 Or if a man wolde undirtake 
 Ony emprise forto make 
 In the rescous of oure lay, 
 
 And it defenden as he may, 
 
 Be it with armes or lettrure 
 Or other covenable cure, 
 
 If it be so he pore be, 
 
 Thanne may he begge til that he 
 May fynde in trouthe forto swynke, 
 And gete hym clothe, mete and drvnke, 
 Swynke he with hondis corporell 
 And not with hondis espirituell. 
 
 In al this caas and in semblables. 
 
 If that ther ben mo resonables. 
 
 He may begge as I telle you heere, 
 
 And ellis nought in no manere ; 
 
 As William Seynt Amour wolde preche. 
 And ofte wolde dispute and teche, 
 
 Of this mater all openly 
 At Parys full solempnely. 
 
 And, also god my soule blesse. 
 
 As he had in this stedfastnesse 
 The accorde of the universite 
 And of the puple, as semeth me, 
 
 No good man oughte it to refuse, 
 
 Ne ought hym therof to excuse. 
 
 Be wrothe or blithe who-so be. 
 
 For I wole speke and telle it thee, 
 
 Al shulde I dye, and be putt doun 
 As was seynt Poule in derke prisoun. 
 Or be exiled in this caas 
 With wrong, as maister William was, 
 That my moder, Ypocrysie, 
 
 Banysshed for hir gret envve. 
 
 My modir flemed hvm, Sevnt Amour : 
 The noble dide such labour 
 To susteyne evere the lovalte, 
 
 That he to moche agilte me ; 
 
 He made a book, and lete it write 
 Wheryn hvs lyfe he dvd al write. 
 
 And wolde ich reneyed begging, 
 
 And lyved by my traveylyng, 
 
 If I ne had rent ne other gooae. 
 
 What ! Wened he that I were woode ? 
 For labour myght me never plese, 
 
 I have more wille to bene at ese, 
 
 And have wel lever, soth to sev, 
 
 Bifore the puple patre and prev ; 
 
 And wrie me in my foxerie 
 Under a cope of papelardie.” 
 
 Quod Love, “What devel is this that 
 I heere? 
 
 What wordis tellest thou me heere?” 
 “What, Sir?” 
 
 “Falsnesse that apert is; 
 Thanne dredist thou not god?” 
 
 “No certis ; 
 
 For selde in grete thing shal he spede 
 In this worlde, that god wole drede. 
 For folk that hem to vertu vvven, 
 
 And truly on her owne lyven. 
 
 And hem in goodnesse av contene, 
 
 On hem is lytel thrift y-sene. 
 
 Such folk drinken gret mvsese; 
 
 That lyf may me never plese. 
 
 But se what gold han usurers 
 And silver eke in [her] garners, 
 Taylagiers and these monyours, 
 
 Bailifs, bedels, provost countours 
 These lyven wel nysrh bv ravyne. 
 
 The smale puple hem mote enclvne, 
 90 
 
THE ROMAUNT OF THE ROSE 
 
 And they as wolves wole hem eten. 
 Upon the pore folk they geten 
 Full mocheof that they spende or kepe. 
 Nis none of hem that he nyl strepe, 
 And wrine hem silf wel atte fulle ; 
 Withoute scaldyng they hem pulle. 
 The stronge the feble overgoth, 
 
 But I, that were my symple cloth, 
 Robbe bothe robbed and robbours, 
 And gile giled and gilours. 
 
 By my treget, I gadre and threste 
 The gret tresour into my cheste, 
 
 That lyth with me so faste bounde. 
 Myn highe paleys do I founde, 
 
 And my delites I fulfille 
 With wyne at feestes at my wille 
 And tables full of entremees. 
 
 I wole no lyf but ese and pees, 
 
 And wynne gold to spende also. 
 
 For whanne the grete bagge is go, 
 
 It cometh right with my japes. 
 
 Make I not wel tumble myn apes? 
 
 To wynnen is alwey myn entent, 
 
 My purchace is bettir than my rent ; 
 For though I shulde beten be, 
 
 Over-al I entremete me ; 
 
 Withoute me may no wight dure. 
 
 I walke soules forto cure, 
 
 Of al the worlde cure have I 
 In brede and lengthe. Bold[e]ly 
 I wole bothe precheandeke counceilen; 
 With hondis wille I not traveilen, 
 
 For of the Pope I have the bull, 
 
 I ne holde not my wittes dull. 
 
 I wole not stynten in my lyve 
 These emperouris forto shryve, 
 
 Or kyngis, dukis, lordis grete; 
 
 But pore folk al quyte I lete, 
 
 I love no such shryvyng, parde ; 
 
 But it for other cause be, 
 
 I rekke not of pore men — 
 
 Her astate is not worth an hen ; 
 Wherefyndest thouaswynker of labour 
 Have me unto his confessour? 
 
 But emperesses and duchesses, 
 
 Thise queenes, and eke countesses, 
 Thise abbessis, and eke bygyns. 
 
 These grete ladyes palasyns, 
 
 These joly knyghtis and baillyves, 
 Thise nonnes, and thise burgeis wyves 
 That riche ben and eke plesyng. 
 
 And thise maidens welfaryng, 
 
 Wher so they clad or naked be, 
 Uncounceiled goth ther noon fro me. 
 And for her soules savete 
 At lord and lady and her meyne 
 I axe, whanne thei hem to me shryve, 
 The proprete of al her lyve, 
 
 And make hem trowe, bothe meest 
 and leest, 
 
 Hir paroch prest nys but a beest 
 Ayens me and my companye, 
 
 That shrewis ben as gret as I. 
 
 Fro whiche I wole not hide in holde 
 No pryvete that me is tolde, 
 
 That I, by word or signe y-wis, 
 
 [Nyl] make hem knowe what it is. 
 And they wolen also tellen me, 
 
 They hele fro me no pryvyte, 
 
 And forto make yow hem perceyven, 
 That usen folk thus to disceyven, 
 
 I wole you seyn withouten drede 
 What men may in the gospel rede 
 Of seynt Mathew, the gospelere, 
 
 That seith as I shal you sey heere : 
 
 ‘Uppon the chaire of Moyses 
 (Thus is it glosed douteles : 
 
THE ROMAUNT OF THE ROSE 
 
 That is the Olde Testament, 
 
 For ther-by is the chaire ment) 
 
 Sitte Scribes and Pharisen 
 (That is to seyn, the cursid men 
 Whiche that we ypocritis calle). 
 
 Doth that they preche, I rede you alle, 
 But doth not as they don a dele ; 
 
 That ben not wery to seye wele, 
 
 But to do wel no will have they. 
 
 And they wolde bynde on folk al-wey, 
 That ben to be giled able, 
 
 Burdons that ben importable. 
 Onfolkesshuldristhingestheycouchen, 
 That they nyl with her fyngris touchen.’ 
 
 “And why wole they not touche it?” 
 “Why, 
 
 For hem ne lyst not sikirly, 
 
 For sadde burdons that men taken, 
 
 Make folkes shuldris aken. 
 
 And if they do ought that good be, 
 
 That is for folk it shulde se. 
 
 Her bordurs larger maken they, 
 
 And make her hemmes wide alwey, 
 
 And loven setes at the table. 
 
 The firste and moste honourable, 
 
 And forto han the firste chaieris 
 In synagogis to hem full deere is, 
 Andwillen that folk hemloute and grete, 
 Whanne that they passen thurgh thestrete, 
 And wolen be cleped ‘Maister’ also. 
 
 But they ne shulde not willen so, 
 
 The gospel is ther-ageyns, I gesse. 
 
 That shewith wel her wikkidnesse. 
 
 Another custome use we 
 Of hem that wole ayens us be; 
 
 We hate hym deedly everichone, 
 
 And we wole werrev hym as oon ; 
 
 J j 
 
 Hym that oon hatith hate we alle, 
 
 92 
 
 And congecte how to done hym falle. 
 And if we seen hym wynne honour, 
 Richesse, or preis, thurgh his valour, 
 Provende, rent, or dignyte, 
 
 Full fast y-wys compassen we 
 Bi what ladder he is clomben so ; 
 
 And forto maken hym doun to go 
 With traisoun we wole hym defame, 
 And done hym leese his goode name. 
 Thus from his ladder we hvm take, 
 And thus his freendis foes we make. 
 But word ne wife shal he noon, 
 
 Till all hise freendis ben his foon. 
 
 For if we dide it openly 
 We myght have blame redilv ; 
 
 For hadde he wist of oure malice, 
 
 He hadde hym kept, but he were nyce. 
 
 Another is this, that if so falle 
 That ther be oon amonge us alle 
 That doth a good turne out of drede, 
 We seyn it is oure alder deede. 
 
 Ye sikerly though he it fevned, 
 
 Or that hym list, or that hym devned 
 A man thurgh hvm avaunced be, 
 Therof all parseners be we, 
 
 And tellen folk where so we go. 
 
 That man thurgh us is sprongen so. 
 And forto have of men preysyng, 
 
 We purchace thurgh oure flateryng 
 Of riche men of gret pouste 
 Lettres to witnesse oure bounte. 
 
 So that man weneth that may us see 
 That alle vertu in us be. 
 
 And al-wey pore we us fevne ; 
 
 But how so that we begge or pleyne, 
 We ben the folk without lesyng 
 That all thing have without havyng. 
 Thus be we dred of the puple v-wis. 
 
THE ROMAUNT OF THE ROSE 
 
 And gladly my purpos is this : 
 
 I dele with no wight but he 
 Have gold and tresour gret plente ; 
 
 Her acqueyntaunce wel love I, 
 
 This is moche my desire shortly. 
 
 I entremete me of brokages, 
 
 I make pees and mariages, 
 
 I am gladly executour, 
 
 And many tymes procuratour; 
 
 I am somtyme messager 
 (That fallith not to my myster), 
 
 And many tymes I make enquestes — 
 For me that office not honest is. 
 
 To dele with other mennes thing, 
 
 That is to me a gret lykyng. 
 
 And if that ye have ought to do 
 In place that I repeire to, 
 
 I shal it speden thurgh my witt, 
 
 As soone as ye have told me it. 
 
 So that ye serve me to pay, 
 
 My servyse shal be youre alway ; 
 
 But who-so wole chastise me, 
 
 Anoon my love lost hath he. 
 
 For I love no man in no gise 
 That wole me repreve or chastise ; 
 
 But I wolde al folk undirtake, 
 
 And of no wight no teching take ; 
 
 For I that other folk chastie, 
 
 Wole not be taught fro my folie. 
 
 I love noon hermitage more ; 
 
 All desertes, and holtes hore, 
 
 And grete wodes everichon, 
 
 I lete hem to the Baptist Iohn. 
 
 I quethe hym quyte, and hym relese 
 Of Egipt all the wildirnesse. 
 
 To ferre were alle my mansiouns 
 Fro al citees and goode tounes; 
 
 My paleis and myn hous make I 
 There men may renne ynne openly ; 
 
 93 
 
 And sey that I the world forsake, 
 
 But al amydde I bilde and mak 
 Myhous,andswimmeandpley therynne. 
 Bet than a fish doth with his fynne. 
 
 Of Antecristes men am I, 
 
 Of whiche that Crist seith openly, 
 
 They have abit of hoolynesse, 
 
 And lyven in such wikkednesse. 
 Outward lambren semen we, 
 
 Full of goodnesse and of pitee, 
 
 And inward we withouten fable 
 Ben gredy wolves ravysable. 
 
 We enviroune bothe londe and se, 
 
 With all the worlde werrien we ; 
 
 We wole ordeyne of alle thing, 
 
 Of folkis good and her lyvyng. 
 
 If ther be castel or citee 
 Wherynne that ony bourgerons be, 
 
 Al though that they of Milayne were 
 (For therof ben they blamed there) ; 
 
 Or if a wight out of mesure 
 Wolde lene his gold and take usure, 
 
 For that he is so coveitous ; 
 
 Or if he be to leccherous, 
 
 Or these that haunte symonye, 
 
 Or provost full of trecherie, 
 
 Or prelat lyvyng jolily. 
 
 Or prest that halt his quene hym by, 
 
 Or olde horis hostilers, 
 
 Or other bawdes or bordillers, 
 
 Or elles blamed of ony vice 
 Of whiche men shulden done justice: 
 
 Bi all the seyntes that me pray, 
 
 But they defende them with lamprey. 
 With luce, with elys, with samons. 
 With tendre gees, and with capons, 
 With tartes, or with chesis fat, 
 
 With deynte dawns brode and dat, 
 
 With caleweis, or with pullaylle, 
 
THE ROMAUNT OF THE ROSE 
 
 With conynges, or with fyne vitaille, 
 That we undir our clothes wide 
 Maken thourgh oure golet glide. 
 
 Or but he wole do come in haste 
 Roo-venysoun bake in paste, 
 
 Whether so that he loure or groyne, 
 
 He shal have of a corde a loigne 
 With whiche men shal hym bynde 
 and lede 
 
 To brenne hym for his synful deede, 
 That men shull here hym crie and rore, 
 A myle-wey aboute and more; 
 
 Or ellis he shal in prisoun dye, 
 
 But if he wole his frendship bye, 
 
 Or smerten that that he hath do 
 More than his gilt amounteth to. 
 
 But and he couthe thurgh his sleight 
 Do maken up a tour of height, — 
 Nought rought I whethirofstone,ortree, 
 Or erthe or turves though it be, 
 Though it were of no vounde stone 
 W rought with squyre and scantilone, 
 So that the tour were stuffed well 
 With alle richesse temporell — 
 
 And thanne that he wolde updresse 
 Engyns bothe more and lesse, 
 
 To cast at us by every side 
 To bere his goode name wide, 
 
 Such dightes [as] 1 shal yow nevene, 
 Barelles of wyne by sixe or sevene 
 Or gold in sakkis gret plente, 
 
 He shulde soone delyvered be. 
 
 And if he have noon sich pitaunces, 
 Late hym study in equipolences. 
 
 And late lyes and fallaces. 
 
 If that he wolde deserve oure graces; 
 Or we shal bere hym such witnesse 
 Of synne and of his wrecchidnesse, 
 
 And done his loos so wide renne. 
 
 That al quyk we shulden hym brenne, 
 Or ellis yeve hym suche penaunce 
 That is wel wors than the pitaunce. 
 For thou shalt never for no thing 
 Kon knowen a-right by her clothing 
 The traitours full of trecherie, 
 
 But thou her werkis can a-spie. 
 
 And ne hadde the good kepyng be 
 Whilom of the universite 
 That kepith the key of Cristendome 
 We had bene turmented, al and some. 
 Suche ben the stynkyng prophetis; 
 Nys noneof hem that good prophete is, 
 For they thurgh wikked entencioun, 
 The yeer of the Incarnacioun 
 A thousand and two hundred yeer, 
 Fyve and fifty, ferther ne ner, 
 Broughten a book with sory grace 
 To yeven ensample in comune place, 
 That seide thus though it were fable: 
 ‘This is the Gospel Perdurable, 
 
 That fro the Holy Goost is sent.’ — 
 Wel were it worthi to bene brent ! 
 Entitled was in such manere 
 Th is book, of which I telle heere 
 Ther nas no wight in all Parys 
 Biforne Oure Lady at parvvs 
 That he ne mighte bye the book 
 To copy, if hym talent toke. 
 
 There myght he se by gret tresoun 
 Full many fals comparisoun : — 
 
 ‘As moche as thurgh his gret myght, 
 Be it of hete or oflyght, 
 
 The sonne sourmounteth the mone, 
 That trouble is and chaungith soone. 
 And the note kernell the shell — 
 
 (I scorne not, that I vow tell) — 
 
 Right so, withouten ony gile, 
 Sourmounteth this noble Evangile 
 
 94 
 
THE ROMAUNT OF THE ROSE 
 
 The word of ony evangelist.’ 
 
 And to her title they token Crist. 
 
 And many such comparisoun 
 Of which I make no mencioun, 
 Mighte men in that book fynde 
 Who so coude of hem have mynde. 
 
 The Universite, that tho was a-slepe, 
 Gan forto braide and taken kepe, 
 
 And at the noys the heed upcast, 
 
 Ne never sithen slept it fast ; 
 
 But up it stert, and armes toke 
 Ayens this false horrible boke, 
 
 A1 redy bated for to make, 
 
 And to the juge the book to take. 
 
 But they that broughten the boke there 
 Hent it anoon awey for fere ; 
 
 They nolde shewe more a dele 
 But thenne it kept, and kepen will, 
 
 Til such a tyme that they may see 
 That they so stronge woxen be, 
 Thatnowyghtmay hemwel withstonde. 
 For by that book they durst not stonde. 
 Awey they gonne it forto bere, 
 
 For they ne durste not answere 
 By exposicioun ne glose 
 To that that clerkis wole appose 
 Ayens the cursednesse y-wys 
 That in that booke writen is. 
 
 Now wote I not, ne I can not see 
 What maner eende that there shal be 
 Of al this [bokes] that they hyde ; 
 
 But yit algate they shal abide 
 Til that they may it bet defende, 
 
 This trowe I best wole be her ende. 
 Thus Antecrist abiden we, 
 
 For we ben alle of his meyne; 
 
 And what man that wole not be so, 
 Right soone he shal his lyf forgo. 
 
 We wole a puple upon hym areyse, 
 
 And thurgh oure gile done hym seise, 
 And hym on sharpe speris ryve, 
 
 Or other weyes brynge hym fro lyve, 
 But if that he wole folowe y-wis 
 That in oure booke writen is. 
 
 Thus mych wole oure book signifie, 
 That while Petre hath maistrie, 
 
 May never Iohn shewe well his myght. 
 Now have I you declared right 
 The menyng of the bark and rynde, 
 That makith the entenciouns blynde ; 
 But now at erst I wole bigynne, 
 
 To expowne you the pith withynne: — 
 
 And the seculers comprehende, 
 
 That Cristes lawe wole defende, 
 
 And shulde it kepen and mayntenen 
 Ayenes hem that all sustenen, 
 
 And falsly to the puple techen. 
 
 That Iohn bitokeneth hem that prechen 
 That ther nys lawe covenable 
 But thilke Gospel Perdurable, 
 
 That fro the Holygost was sent 
 To turne folk that ben myswent. 
 
 The strengthe of Iohn, they undirstonde 
 Thegraceinwhichetheyseie they stonde, 
 That doth the synfull folk converte 
 And hem to lesus Crist reverte. 
 
 Full many another orriblite 
 May men in that booke se, 
 
 That ben comaunded douteles 
 Ayens the lawe of Rome expres ; 
 
 And all with Antecrist they holden, 
 
 As men may in the book biholden. 
 
 And thanne comaunden they to sleen 
 Alle tho that with Petre been ; 
 
 But they shal nevere have that myght, 
 And God to-forne for strif to fight, 
 
 95 
 
THE ROMAUNT OF THE ROSE 
 
 That they ne shal enowe fynde, 
 
 That Petres lawe shal have in mynde, 
 And evere holde, and so mayntene; 
 That at the last it shal be sene 
 That they shal alle come therto 
 For ought that they can speke or do. 
 And thilke lawe shal not stonde 
 That they by Iohn have undirstonde, 
 But, maugre hem, it shal adowne, 
 
 And bene brought to confusioun. 
 
 But I wole stynt of this matere, 
 
 For it is wonder longe to here. 
 
 But hadde that ilke book endured, 
 
 Of better estate I were ensured ; 
 
 And freendis have I yit pardee 
 That han me sett in gret degre. 
 
 Of all this world is Emperour 
 Gyle my fadir, the trechour, 
 
 And Emperis my moder is, 
 
 Maugre the Holygost y-wis. 
 
 Oure myghty lynage and oure rowte 
 Regneth in every regne aboute. 
 
 And well is worthy we [maystres] be; 
 For all this world governe we. 
 
 And can the folk so wel disceyve, 
 
 That noon oure gile can perceyve; 
 
 And though they done, they darnotsey. 
 The sothe dar no wight bywray. 
 
 But he in Cristis wrath hym ledith 
 That more than Crist my britheren 
 dredith. 
 
 He nys no full good champioun 
 That dredith such similacioun. 
 
 Nor that for peyne wole refusen 
 Us to correcte and accusen. 
 
 He wole not entremete by right, 
 
 Ne have God in his eye-sight ; 
 
 And therfore God shal hym punyce. 
 
 But me ne rekketh of no vice, 
 
 Sithen men us loven comunablv, 
 
 And holden us for so worthy, 
 
 That we may folk repreve echoon, 
 And we nyl have repref of noon. 
 Whom shulden folk worshipen so 
 But us, that stynten never mo 
 To patren while that folk may us see, 
 Though it not so bihynde hem be. 
 And where is more wode folye 
 Than to enhaunce chyvalrie, 
 
 And love noble men and gay, 
 
 That joly clothis weren alway ? 
 
 If they be sich folk as they semen, 
 
 So clene as men her clothis demen, 
 And that her wordis folowe her dede, 
 It is gret pite, out of drede, 
 
 For they wole be noon ypocritis ! 
 
 Of hem me thynketh [it] gret spite is 
 I can not love hem on no side. 
 
 But beggers with these hodes wide, 
 With sleigh and pale faces lene. 
 
 And greye clothis not full clene, 
 
 But fretted full of tatarwagges, 
 
 And highe shoes knopped with dagges 
 That frouncen lyke a quaile-pipe, 
 
 Or botis revelyng as a gype ; 
 
 To such folk as 1 you dyvyse 
 Shulde princes and these lordis wise 
 Take all her londis and her thingis, 
 Bothe werre and pees in governyngis; 
 To such folk shulde a prince hym yive 
 That wolde his lvf in honour lvve. 
 
 J J 
 
 And if they be not as they seme. 
 
 That serven thus the world to queme. 
 There wolde I dwelle to disceyve 
 The folk, for they shal not perceyve. 
 But 1 ne speke in no such wise 
 That men shulde humble abit dispise. 
 
THE ROMAUNT OF THE ROSE 
 
 So that no pride ther-undir be. 
 
 No man shulde hate, as thynkith me, 
 The pore man in sich clothyng. 
 
 But God ne preisith hym no thing 
 That seith he hath the world forsake, 
 And hath to worldly glorie hym take, 
 And wole of siche delices use. 
 
 Who may that begger wel excuse, 
 That papelard that hym yeldith so, 
 And wole to worldly ese go, 
 
 And seith that he the world hath lefte, 
 And gredily it grypeth efte ? 
 
 He is the hounde, shame is to seyn, 
 That to his castyng goth ageyn. 
 
 But unto you dar I not lye ; 
 
 But myght I felen or aspie 
 That ye perceyved it no thyng, 
 
 Ye shulde have a stark lesyng 
 Right in youre honde thus, to bigynne, 
 I nolde it lette ror no synne.” 
 
 The god lough at the wondir tho, 
 
 And every wight gan laugh also, 
 
 And seide : — “ Lo heere a man, a right 
 Forto be trusty to every wight ! ” 
 
 “Falssemblant,” quod Love, “ sey tome, 
 Sith I thus have advaunced thee 
 That in my court is thi dwellyng, 
 
 And of ribawdis shalt be my kyng, 
 Wolt thou wel holden my forwardis ? ” 
 “Yhe, sir, from hennes forewardis ; 
 Hadde never youre fadir heere biforne 
 Servaunt so trewe, sith he was borne.” 
 
 “ That is ageynes all nature.” 
 
 “ Sir, putte you in that aventure ; 
 
 For though ye borowes take of me, 
 
 The sikerer shal ye never be 
 For ostages, ne sikirnsese, 
 
 Or chartres, forto bere witnesse 
 I take youre silf to recorde heere, 
 
 That men ne may, in no manere, 
 
 Teren the wolf out of his hide, 
 
 Til he be flayen bak and side, 
 
 Though men hym bete and al defile. 
 What ! Wene ye that I wole bigile 2 
 For I am clothed mekely, 
 
 Ther-undir is all my trechery ; 
 
 Myn herte chaungith never the mo 
 For noon abit in which I go. 
 
 Though I have chere of symplenesse, 
 
 I am not wery of shrewidnesse. 
 
 Myn lemman Streyneth-Abstinence, 
 Hath myster of my purveaunce ; 
 
 She hadde ful longe ago be deede, 
 Nere my councel and my rede ; 
 
 Lete hir allone and you and me.” 
 
 And Love answerde : “ I truste thee 
 Withoute borowe for I wole noon.” 
 
 And Falssemblant, the theef, anoon 
 Ryght in that ilke same place, 
 
 That hadde of tresoun al his face 
 Ryght black withynneand white with- 
 oute, 
 
 Thankyth hym, gan on his knees loute. 
 
 Thanne was ther nought but “Every 
 man 
 
 Now to assaut that sailen can,” 
 
 Quod Love, “and that full hardyly !” 
 Thanne armed they hem communly 
 Of sich armour as to hem felle. 
 Whanne the were armed fers and felle, 
 They wente hem forth all in a route, 
 
 97 n 
 
THE ROMAUNT OF THE ROSE 
 
 And set the castel al aboute. 
 
 They will nought away for no drede, 
 Till it so be that they ben dede, 
 
 Or till they have the castel take. 
 
 And foure batels they gan make, 
 
 And parted hem in foure anoon. 
 
 And toke her way and forth they gone, 
 The foure gates forto assaile, 
 
 Of whiche the kepers wole not fade. 
 For they ben neithir sike ne dede. 
 
 But hardy folk and stronge in dede. 
 
 Now wole I seyn the countynaunce 
 Of Falssemblant and Abstynaunce, 
 That ben to Wikkid-Tonge went. 
 
 But first they heelde her parlement 
 Whether it to done were 
 To maken hem be knowen there, 
 
 Or elles walken forth disgised. 
 
 But at the laste they devysed 
 That they wolde gone in tapinage, 
 
 As it were in a pilgrimage, 
 
 Lyke good and hooly folk unfeyned. 
 And Dame Abstinence-Streyned 
 Toke on a robe of kamelyne, 
 
 And gan hir graithe as a Bygynne. 
 
 A large coverechief of threde 
 She wrapped all aboute hir heede ; 
 
 But she forgate not hir sawter ; 
 
 A peire of bedis eke she here 
 Upon a lace all of white threde, 
 
 On which that she hir bedes bede. 
 
 But she ne bought hem never a dele, 
 For they were geven her I wote wele, 
 God wote, of a full hooly frere. 
 
 That seide he was hir fadir dere 
 To whom she hadde ofter went 
 Than ony frere of his covent. 
 
 And he visited hir also. 
 
 And many a sermoun seide hir to ; 
 He nolde lette for man on lyve 
 That he ne wolde hir ofte shryve, 
 And with so great devocion 
 They made her confession, 
 
 That they had ofte, for the nones, 
 Two heedes in one hoode at ones. 
 
 Of fayre shappe I devyse her the, 
 
 But pale of face somtvme was she ; 
 That false traytouresse untrewe, 
 
 Was lyke that salowe horse of hewe, 
 That in the Apocalips is shewed, 
 That signifyeth tho folke beshrewed. 
 That ben al ful of trecherye 
 And pale through hypocrisye. 
 
 For on that horse no colour is, 
 
 But onely deed and pale y-wis. 
 
 Of suche a colour enlangoured 
 Was Abstynence i-wys coloured ; 
 
 Of her estate she her repented, 
 
 As her visage represented. 
 
 She had a burdowne al of Thefte, 
 That Gyle had yeve her of his yefte ; 
 And a skryppe of Faynte Distresse, 
 That ful was of elengenesse. 
 
 And forthe she walked sobrely ; 
 
 And False Semblant savnt je vous die , 
 Had, as it were for suche mistere, 
 Done on the cope of a frere. 
 
 With chere symple and ful pytous, 
 Hys lokyng was not disdeynous 
 Ne proude, but meke and till pesyble. 
 
 About his neck he bare a bvble, 
 
 And squierly forthe gan he gon ; 
 
 And, for to rest his lymmes upon. 
 
 He had of Treson a potent ; 
 
 98 
 
THE ROMAUNT OF THE ROSE 
 
 As he were feble his way he went. 
 
 But in his sieve he gan to thring 
 A rasour sharpe, and wel bytyng, 
 
 That was forged in a forge, 
 Whichethat men clepen Coupe-gorge. 
 So longe forthe her waye they nomen, 
 Tyl they to Wicked-Tonge comen. 
 That at his gate was syttyng, 
 
 And sawe folke in the way passyng. 
 The pilgrymes sawe he faste by, 
 
 That beren hem ful mekely, 
 
 And humbly they with him mette, 
 Dame Abstynence first him grette, 
 And sythe him False-Semblant salued, 
 And he hem ; but he not remeued 
 For he ne dredde hem not a dele. 
 
 For whan he sawe her faces wele, 
 Alway in herte hem thought so, 
 
 He shulde knowe hem bothe two ; 
 
 For wel hekneweDameAbstynaunce, 
 But he ne knewe not Constreynaunce. 
 He knewenat thatshe wasconstrayned, 
 Ne of her theves lyfe [y-]fayned, 
 
 But wende she come of wyl al free ; 
 But she come in another degree ; 
 
 And if of good wyl she heganne 
 That wyl was fayled her [as] thanne. 
 And False-Semblant had he sayne alse, 
 But he knewe nat that he was false. 
 Yet false was he, but his falsnesse 
 Ne coude he nat espye nor gesse ; 
 
 For Semblant was so slye wrought, 
 That Falsenesse he ne espyed nought. 
 
 But haddest thou knowen hym beforne 
 Thou woldest on a boke have sworne, 
 Whan thou him saugh in thylke araye, 
 That he that whilome was so gaye, 
 And of the daunce joly Robyn, 
 
 Was tho become a Iacobyn. 
 
 But sothely what so menne hym calle, 
 Freres Prechours bene good menne 
 alle, 
 
 Her order wickedly they beren, 
 
 Suche myn[e]strelles if they weren. 
 
 So bene Augustyns and Cordyleres 
 And Carmes, and eke Sacked freeres 
 And alle freres, shodde and bare, 
 (Though some of hem ben gret and 
 square) 
 
 Ful hooly men, as I hem deme. 
 Everycheofhem woldegood man seme ; 
 But shake thou never of apparence 
 Sene conclude good consequence 
 In none argument y-wis 
 If existens al fayled is. 
 
 For menne mayefynde alwayesophyme 
 The consequence to envenyme, 
 
 Who so that hath hadde the subtelte 
 The double sentence for to se. 
 
 Whan the pylgrymes commen were 
 To Wicked-Tonge that dwelled there, 
 Her harneys nygh hem was algate; 
 
 By Wicked-Tonge adowne they sate, 
 That badde hem nere him for to come 
 And of tidynges telle him some. 
 
 And say d hem : “ What case maketh you 
 To come in-to this place nowe?” 
 
 “Sir,” sayd Strayned-Abstynaunce, 
 “We, for to drye our penaunce 
 With hertes pytous and devoute 
 Are commen, as pylgrimes gon aboute : 
 Wel nygh on fote always we go ; 
 
 Ful doustv ben our heeles two. 
 
 J 
 
 And thus bothe we ben sent 
 
 99 
 
THE ROMAUNT OF THE ROSE 
 
 Throughout this worlde that is miswent, 
 To yeve ensample, and preche also. 
 
 To fysshen synful menne we go, 
 
 For other fysshynge, ne fysshe we. 
 And, sir, for that charyte, 
 
 As we be wonte, herborowe we crave 
 Your lyfe to amende, Christ it save, 
 And so it shulde you nat displese, 
 
 We wolden, if it were your ese, 
 
 A shorte sermon unto you sayne.” 
 
 And Wicked-Tonge answered agayne : 
 
 “The house,” quod he, “such as ye se 
 Shal nat be warned you for me. 
 
 Say what you lyst, and I wol here.” 
 
 “Graunt mercy, swete sir, dere,” 
 
 Quod alderfirst Dame Abstynence, 
 
 And thus began she her sentence : 
 
 “Sir, the firste vertue certayne. 
 
 The greatest, and moste soverayne 
 That may be founde in any man 
 For havynge or for wytte he can, 
 
 That is his tonge to refrayne. 
 
 Therto ought every wight him payne, 
 
 For it is better stylle be 
 
 Than for to speken harme, parde ; 
 
 And he that herkeneth it gladly. 
 
 He is no good man sykerly. 
 
 And, sir, aboven al other synne, 
 
 In that arte thou moste gylty inne. 
 Thou spake a jape not long a-go 
 (And, sir, that was ryght yvel do) 
 
 Of a yonge man, that here repayred 
 And never yet this place apayred. 
 
 Thou saydest he awayted nothyng 
 But to disceyve Fayre-Welcomyng. 
 
 Ye sayde nothyng sothe of that ; 
 
 But, sir, ye lye, I tel you plat ; 
 
 He necomethnomore,negothe, parde ! 
 I trowe ye shal him never se. 
 Fayre-Welcomyng in prison is, 
 
 That ofte hath played with vou er this 
 The fayrest games that he coude, 
 Withoute fylthe, styl or loude ; 
 
 Nowe dare he nat him selfe solace. 
 
 Ye han also the manne do chace, 
 
 That he dare neyther come ne go ; 
 What meveth you to hate him so, 
 
 But properly your wicked thought, 
 That many a false lesyng hath thought, 
 That meveth your foole eloquence, 
 That jangleth ever in audvence. 
 
 And on the folke areyseth blame, 
 
 And doth hem dishonour and shame, 
 For thynge that maye have no prevyng 
 But lykelynesse, and contryvyng? 
 
 For I dare sayne that reason demeth, 
 
 It is nat al sothe thynge that semeth ; 
 And it is synne to controve 
 Thynge that is to reprove ; 
 
 This wote ye wele; and, sir, therfore 
 Ye arne to blame [wel] the more. 
 
 And nathelesse he recketh lvte 
 He yeveth nat nowe therof a myte. 
 
 For if he thoughte harme, parfaye. 
 
 He wolde come and gone al daye ; 
 
 He coude himselfe nat abstene. 
 
 Now cometh he nat, and that is sene, 
 For he ne taketh of it no cure. 
 
 But if it be through aventure, 
 
 And lasse than other folke, algate. 
 
 And thou her watchest at the gate. 
 With speare in thyne arest alwaye; 
 There muse, musarde, al the daye. 
 ioo 
 
THE ROMAUNT OF THE ROSE 
 
 Thouwakest nightanddayforthought ; 
 I-wis thy traveyle is for nought. 
 
 And lelousye, withouten fayle, 
 
 Shal never quyte the thy traveyle. 
 Andskathe is that Fayre-Welcomyng 
 Withouten any trespassyng, 
 
 Shal wrongfully in prison be, 
 
 There wepeth and languyssheth he. 
 And though thou never yet, y-wis, 
 Agyltest manne no more but this, — 
 Take nat a grefe, — it were worthy 
 To putte the out of this bayly, 
 
 And afterwards in prison lye. 
 
 And fettre the, tyl that thou dye. 
 
 For thou shalt for this synne dwelle 
 Right in the devels ers of belle, 
 
 But if that thou repente thee.” 
 “Mafay, thou liest falsly !” quod he. 
 “What? welcome with myschaunce 
 nowe ! 
 
 Have I therfore herberd yowe 
 To seye me shame, and eke reprove 
 With sory happe, to youre bihove? 
 Am I to day youre herbegere? 
 
 Go herberyow elles-where than heere, 
 That han a Iyer called me ! 
 
 Two tregetours art thou and he, 
 
 That in myn hous do me this shame. 
 And for my sothe-saugh ye me blame. 
 Is this the sermoun that ye make ? 
 
 To all the develles I me take, 
 
 Or elles, God, thou me confounde ! 
 
 But er men diden this castel founde, 
 
 It passith not ten daies or twelve 
 But it was tolde right to my selve. 
 
 And as they seide, right so tolde I : 
 
 He kyst the Rose pryvyly ! 
 
 Thus seide I now and have seid yore ; 
 
 I not where he dide ony more. 
 
 Why shulde men sey me such a thyng 
 If it hadde bene gabbyng? 
 
 Ryght so seide I and wol seye yit ; 
 
 I trowe I lied not of it. 
 
 And with my bemes I wole blowe 
 To alle neighboris a-rowe, 
 
 How he hath bothe comen and gone.” 
 Tho spake Falssemblant right anone : 
 “All is not gospel, oute of doute, 
 
 That men seyn in the towne aboute ; 
 Ley no deef ere to my spekyng ; 
 
 I swere yow, sir, it is gabbyng ; 
 
 I trowe ye wote wel certeynly, 
 
 That no man loveth hym tenderly 
 That seith hym harme, if he wote it, 
 All be he never so pore of wit. 
 
 And soth is also sikerly 
 (This knowe ye, sir, as wel as I) 
 
 That lovers gladly wole visiten 
 The places there her loves habiten. 
 Thismanyowlovethandekehonoureth 
 This man to serve you laboureth, 
 
 And clepith you ‘his freend so deere,’ 
 And this man makith you good chere. 
 And every-where that [he] you meteth 
 He yow saloweth and he you greteth. 
 He preseth not so ofte that ye 
 Ought of his come encombred be; 
 Ther presen other folk on yow 
 Full ofter than he doth now. 
 
 And if his herte hym streyned so, 
 
 Unto the Rose forto go, 
 
 Ye shulde hym sene so ofte nede, 
 
 That ye shulde take hym with thedede. 
 He cowde his comyng not forbere 
 Though he hym thrilled with a spere ; 
 It nere not thanne as it is now. 
 
 But trustith wel, I swere it yow, 
 
 That it is clene out of his thought; 
 
 IOI 
 
THE ROMAUNT OF THE ROSE 
 
 Sir, certis he ne thenkith it nought, 
 No more ne doth Faire-Welcomyng, 
 That sore abieth al this thing. 
 
 And if they were of oon assent, 
 
 Full soone were the Rose hent, 
 
 The maugre youres wolde be. 
 
 And, sir, of o thing herkeneth me: 
 Sith ye this man that loveth yow 
 Han seid such harme and shame now, 
 Witeth wel if he gessed it, 
 
 Ye may wel demen in youre wit 
 He nolde no thyng love you so, 
 
 Ne callen you his freende also ; 
 
 But nyght and day he wolde wake 
 The castell to destroie and take, 
 
 If it were soth as ye devise ; 
 
 Or some man in some maner wise. 
 Might it warne hym everydele. 
 
 Or by hymsilf perceyven wele. 
 
 For sith he myght not come and gone 
 As he was whilom wont to done, 
 
 He myght it sone wite and see. 
 
 But now all other wise doth he. 
 Thanne have, [ye] sir, al outerly 
 Deserved helle, and Iolyly 
 The deth of helle douteles, 
 
 That thrallen folk so gilteles.” 
 
 Fals Semblant proveth so this thing, 
 That he can noon answeryng, 
 
 And seth alwey such apparaunce, 
 
 That nygh he fel in repentaunce 
 And seide hym: — “Sir, it may wel be, 
 Semblant, a good man semen ve ; 
 
 And, Abstinence, full wise ye seme ; 
 
 Of o talent you bothe I deme. 
 
 What counceil wole ye to me yeven ?” 
 “Ryghtheereanoon thoushaltbeshryven. 
 And sey thy synne withoute more ; 
 
 Of this shalt thou repente sore. 
 
 For I am prest, and have pouste 
 To shryve folk of most dignvte 
 That ben, as wide as world may dure. 
 
 Of all this world I have the cure. 
 
 And that hadde never yit persoun, 
 
 Ne vicarie of no maner toun. 
 
 And, God wote, I have of thee 
 A thousand tyme more pitee 
 Than hath thi preest parochial. 
 
 Though he thy freend be special. 
 
 I have avauntage in o wise 
 That youre prelatis ben not so wise, 
 
 Ne half so lettred as am I. 
 
 I am licenced boldely 
 
 To rede in Divinite 
 
 And to confessen, out of drede. 
 
 If ye wol you now confesse, 
 
 And leve your sinnes more and lesse 
 Withoute abood, knele down anon, 
 
 And you shal have absolucion.” 
 
HERE ENDS THE ROMAUNT OF THE ROSE IN THE 
 VERSION ASCRIBED TO GEOFFREY CHAUCER. BY 
 COURTEOUS PERMISSION OF MESSRS MACMILLAN 
 & CO, THE TEXT FOLLOWED IS THAT EDITED BY 
 PROF. MARK H. LIDDELL IN THE GLOBE EDITION 
 
GLOSSARY 
 
 Abieth, pays for 
 Abood, delay 
 Abraide, Abreyd, awoke 
 Acoye, coax 
 Adamaund, magnet 
 Affraietfi, arouses 
 Affye, trust 
 Aguler, needle-case 
 Agylte, offend 
 Alder, of all 
 Alderfirst, first of all 
 Aleys, fruit of the service-tree 
 Algate, any way 
 Alosed, praised 
 Alpes, bullfinches 
 Alto-share, cut in pieces 
 Apaied, contented 
 Appert, open 
 Archaungell, titmouse 
 Arest, in rest 
 Attempre, temperate 
 Auntre, adventure 
 Avaunt, forward 
 Avenaunt, comely 
 Avysion, vision 
 Awmere, bag for alms 
 
 Baalis beete, bale’s boot — harm’s cure 
 Baude, gay 
 Baundon, power 
 Berne, barn 
 
 Besaunt, a small gold coin 
 
 Besaunt-wight, the weight of a besaunt 
 
 Bigoo, clothed 
 
 Bimene, bemoan 
 
 Biseke, beseech 
 
 Bisett, employs 
 
 Blent, to blench 
 
 Blynne, cease 
 
 Bolas, bullace, the wild plum 
 Bordillers, brothel-keepers 
 Borowes, pledges 
 Braide, start 
 
 Burnet cote, brown garment 
 Burnettes, brown garments 
 
 Bygyns, beguines, a charitable order of 
 
 Byhote, promise 
 
 Bynomen, taken away 
 
 Byrde, bride 
 
 Bystadde, bestead 
 
 Bytrasshed, betrayed 
 
 Caleweis, pears 
 Canell, cinnamon 
 Chelaundre, lark 
 Chevesaile, collar 
 Chevisaunce, bargain 
 Chiche, Chynchy, niggardly 
 Ciergis, tapers 
 Clapers, burrows 
 Clowe-gelofre, clove-gillyflower 
 Comyn, common 
 Controve, contrive 
 Conynges, rabbits 
 Corde A loigne, tether-cord 
 Cordyleres, a Franciscan order 
 Corumpable, corruptible 
 Cosse, kiss 
 Countours, auditors 
 Courtepy, short cloak 
 Covenable, fit 
 Covyne, deceit 
 Criande, crying 
 Cunne, study 
 
 Dampnyng, condemning 
 Daungere, power, or domain 
 Dawes, days 
 Decoped, slit 
 Delices, delights 
 Delyver, quick 
 Delyverly, nimbly 
 Dever, duty 
 
 Deynous, Deighnous, disdainful 
 Dispitous, contemptuous 
 Doande, doing 
 Dome, judgment 
 Druerie, affection 
 Durst, need 
 
 O 
 
GLOSSARY 
 
 Egre, sharp 
 
 Herbejours, harbingers 
 
 Eisel, vinegar 
 
 Holstred, concealed 
 
 Elengenesse, misery 
 
 Honde, hand 
 
 Emprise, enterprise 
 
 Hoole, whole 
 
 Enchesoun, occasion 
 
 Horis, prostitutes 
 
 Entremete, interfere 
 Equipolences, equivalents 
 Erke, weary 
 
 Hote, promise 
 
 Hoteth, promises 
 
 Ernes, pledges 
 
 Jagounces, jacinths 
 
 Esters, Estres, Estrees, inmost part of a 
 Farce, paint 
 
 house Jangelyngis, chatterings 
 Jupartie, jeopardy 
 
 Fawe, fain 
 
 Kamelyne, camel’s hair 
 
 Fele, many 
 
 Karole, a dance, singing 
 
 Fette, fetched 
 
 Kepe, care 
 
 Fetys, neat 
 
 Kernels, loopholes 
 
 Flawns, pancakes 
 
 Kidde, revealed 
 
 Flemed, exiled 
 
 Kirked, crooked 
 
 Flowtours, pipers 
 Foisoun, increase 
 
 Knoppis, buds 
 
 Fonde, foolishly 
 
 Laas, snare 
 
 Fordwyned, wasted 
 
 Lacche, snare 
 
 Forpyned, wretched 
 
 Laverokkes, larks 
 
 Forthenke, repent 
 
 Lemes, beams 
 
 Forwelked, withered 
 
 Lenyng, lending 
 
 Forwered, worn out 
 
 Lepande, leaping 
 
 For- wo, weary 
 
 Lere, learn 
 
 Frett, adorned 
 
 Lesynges, falsehoods 
 
 Frounced, wrinkled 
 
 Lettrure, learning 
 Loigne, tether 
 
 Gadelyng, vagabond 
 
 Loos, fame 
 
 Gnede, gnawed 
 
 Loreres, bay-trees 
 
 Golet, gullet 
 
 Losengere, flatterer 
 
 Gounfanoun, banner 
 
 Loteby, paramour 
 
 Graithe, Graythe, prepare 
 
 Loure, lower 
 
 Gree (take atte), agree to 
 Greve, grove 
 
 Lowith, praises 
 
 Greyn de paradys, a kind of spice 
 
 Maate, dejected 
 
 Groyne, grant 
 
 Mangonel, a military engine 
 
 Grucching, grumbling 
 
 Maugree, in spite of 
 
 Gype, tunic 
 
 Mentes, mint 
 
 Gysarme, halberd 
 
 Mes, advantage 
 Meveresse, agitator 
 
 Haire, hair-shirt 
 
 Meygned, maimed 
 
 Hatte, be called 
 
 Meynde, mingled 
 
 Hawteyne, haughty 
 
 Moeble, movable 
 
 Haye, hedge 
 
 Mourdaunt, part of the girdle 
 
 Heerdis, coarse flax 
 
 Mowe, may 
 
 Hende, gracious 
 
 Mowis, stacks or heaps in a barn 
 
 Hent, caught 
 
 Moysoun, crop 
 
 106 
 
Musarde, dreamer 
 Mycher, thief 
 Mysseye, traduce 
 Myssaiere, scandal-monger 
 Myster, need 
 
 Nedely, of necessity 
 Neigh, nigh, come nigh 
 Nempned, called 
 Nokked, notched 
 Norriture, nurture 
 Nycete, folly 
 
 Olmeris, elms 
 Omager, vassal 
 Onde, hatred 
 
 Orfrays, embroidery in gold 
 
 Paie, content 
 
 Palasie, palsy 
 
 Palasyns, palaces 
 
 Papelardie, deceit 
 
 Parseners, partners 
 
 Patre, to repeat prayers 
 
 Peire, injure 
 
 Pensel, banner 
 
 Perdurable, enduring 
 
 Perell, pearl 
 
 Persant, piercing 
 
 Popped, over-dressed 
 
 Possed, pushed 
 
 Potent (by), with a crutch 
 
 Pouste, power 
 
 Poynten, prick or probe 
 
 Poynt devys (at), minutely 
 
 Prece, press 
 
 Prey, pray 
 
 Prille, spin round 
 
 Provende, food 
 
 Prowe, profit 
 
 PULLAYLLE, fowl 
 
 Puple, people 
 
 Purveaunce, providence 
 
 Pyment, spiced wine and honey 
 
 GLOSSARY 
 
 Racyne, root 
 Ramage, wild 
 Rape, haste 
 Recchith, care 
 Refuyt, refuge 
 Rehete, cheer 
 Remeued, removed 
 Rescous, rescue 
 Reved, robbed 
 Rishe, rush 
 Roket, linen vest 
 Rone, bush 
 Roukyng, cowering 
 Royne, scurf 
 Ryve, pierce 
 
 Saillouris, dancers 
 
 Sauff, except 
 
 Scantilone, mason’s rule 
 
 Scochouns, escutcheons 
 
 Setewale, valerian 
 
 Shende, harm 
 
 Shendith, confounds 
 
 Shere, shorn 
 
 Shof, shoved 
 
 SlBBE, related 
 
 Sikerly, surely 
 
 SlTTANDE, fitting 
 
 Skathe, harm 
 
 Slowe, sluggard 
 
 Sothe-sawe, true story 
 
 Souple, pliant 
 
 Souplen, make pliant 
 
 Sparthe, axe 
 
 Spaunysshinge, blooming 
 
 Spryngoldes, stone-throwers 
 
 Starfe, died 
 
 Stonte, stand 
 
 Stounde-mele, at times 
 
 Stoundes, instants 
 
 Styf in stour, stubborn in conflict 
 
 Sukkenye, a jacket 
 
 Sweveninges, dreams 
 
 Swire, throat 
 
 Swithe, quickly 
 
 Quarels, cross-bow bolts 
 Queme, please 
 Quoint, quaint 
 Quystroun, scullion 
 
 Tapinage, hiding 
 Tatarwagges, tatters 
 Temprure, tempering 
 Tene, sorrow 
 
Terins, finches 
 Thwyten, whittled 
 To-drawe, to draw asunder 
 To-slytered, slashed 
 Treget, trickery 
 
 Trepeget, engine for casting stones 
 Tretys, well-formed 
 Trowandyse, Truandise, vagrancy 
 Twynne, separate 
 Tymbres, timbrels or tabors 
 Tymbester, a timbrel-player 
 
 Unnethe, scarcely 
 
 Veer yliche, spring-like 
 Vekke, old woman 
 Volage, giddy 
 
 Warisoun, reward 
 Warnen, denied 
 
 GLOSSARY 
 
 Wem, blemish 
 Wene, doubt 
 Were, danger 
 Werne, refuse 
 Werreid, persecuted 
 Weymentyng, lamentation 
 Wisly, surely 
 Wodewales, a kind of bird 
 Woll, wool, will 
 Wone, abundance 
 Woode, mad 
 Wreying, betrayal 
 Wrine, Wryne, cover 
 Wyndre, to trim the hair 
 
 Yeechyng, itching 
 Yerne, desirous 
 Yfere, together 
 Y mped, grafted 
 Ynde, indigo 
 
 Printed by Ballantyne, Hanson & Co. 
 Edinburgh London