Alas! can they not flee the fires hete?
Ye that it use, I rede that ye it lete,
Lest ye lese all; for bet than never is late:
Never to thriven, were to long a date.
Though ye prolle ay, ye shul it never find:
Ye ben as bold as is Bayard the blind,
That blondereth forth, and peril casteth non:
He is as bold to renne agains a ston,
As for to go besides in the way:
So faren ye that multiplien, I say.
If that your eyen cannot seen aright,
Loketh that youre mind lacke not his sight.
For though ye loke never so brode and stare,
Ye shul not win a mite on that chaffare,
But wasten all that ye may rape and renne.
Withdraw the fire, lest it to faste brenne;
Medleth no more with that art, I mene;
For if ye don, your thrift is gon ful clene.
And right as swithe I wol you tellen here
What philosophres sain in this matere.
Lo, thus saith Arnolde of the newe toun,
As his Rosarie maketh mentioun,
He saith right thus, withouten any lie;
Ther may no man Mercurie mortifie,
But it be with his brothers knowleching.
Lo, how that he, whiche firste said this thing,
Of philosophres father was, Hermes :
He saith, how that the dragon douteles
Ne dieth not, but if that he be slain
With his brother. And this is for to sain,
By the dragon Mercury, and non other,
He understood, and brimstone by his brother,
VOL. I.
That out of Sol and Luna were ydrawe.
And therfore, said he, "Take heed to my sawe. Let no man besie him this art to seche,
But if that he the entention and speche
Of philosophres understonden can;
And if he do, he is a lewed man.
"For this science and this conning" (quod he) "Is of the secree of secrees parde."
Also ther was a disciple of Plato,
That on a time said his maister to,
As his book Senior wol bere witnesse,
And this was his demand in sothfastnesse :
"Telle me the name of thilke privee ston:
And Plato answerd unto him anon;
"Take the ston that Titanos men name. 93
"Which is that?" quod he.
"Ye, sire, and is it thus?
This is ignotum per ignotius.
What is magnetia, good sire, I pray?"
"It is a water that is made, I say, Of the elementes foure," quod Plato.
"Tell me the rote, good sire," quod he tho, "Of that water, if that it be your will."
"Nay, nay," quod Plato, "certain that I n'ill,
The philosophres were sworne everich on,
That they ne shuld discover it unto non,
Ne in no book it write in no manere;
For unto God it is so lefe and dere,
That he wol not that it discovered be,
But wher it liketh to his deitee
Man for to enspire, and eke for to defende
Whom that him liketh; lo, this is the ende."
Than thus conclude I, sin that God of Heven
Ne wol not that the philosophres neven,
How that a man shal come unto this ston,
I rede as for the best to let it gon.
For who so maketh God his adversary,
As for to werken any thing in contrary
Of his will, certes never shal he thrive,
Though that he multiply terme of his live.
And ther a point; for ended is my tale.
God send every good man bote of his bale.
A gentlewoman out of an arbour in a grove, seeth a great company of knights and ladies in a daunce upon the greene grass: the which being ended, they all kneel down, and do honour to the daisie, some to the flower, and some to the leaf. Afterward this gentlewoman learneth by one of these ladies the meaning here. of, which is this: They which honour the flower, a thing fading with every blast, are such as look after beauty and worldly pleasure. But they that honour the leaf, which abideth with the root, notwithstanding the frosts and winter storms, are they which follow vertue and during qualities, without regard of worldly respects.
WHAN that Phebus his chaire of gold so hie
Had whirled vp the sterry sky aloft,
And in the Boole was entred certainely,
Whan shoures sweet of raine discended oft,
Causing the ground fele times and oft,
Up for to giue many an wholesome aire,
And euery plaine was clothed faire
With new green, and maketh small floures
To springen here and there in field and in mede, So very good and wholesom be the shoures,
That it renueth that was old and dede,
In winter time and out of euery sede
Springeth the hearbe, so that euery wight
Of this season wexeth glad and light.
And I so glad of the season swete,
Was happed thus vpon a certaine night,
As I lay in my bed, sleepe full vnmete
Was vnto me, but why that I ne might
Rest, I ne wist, for there nas earthly wight
As I suppose had more hertes ease
Than I, for I nad sicknesse nor disease.
Wherefore I meruail greatly of my selfe,
That I so long withouten slepe lay,
And vp I rose thee houres after twelfe,
About the springing of the day,
And on I put my geare and mine array,
And to a pleasaunt groue I gan passe,
Long or the bright Sonne vp risen was.
In which were okes great, streight as a line,
Under the which the grasse so fresh of hew,
Was newly sprong, and an eight foot or nine
Euery tree well fro his fellow grew,
With branches brode, lade with leues new,
That sprongen out ayen the sunne shene,
Some very red, and some a glad light grene.
Which as me thought was right a pleasant sight,
And eke the briddes song for to here,
Would haue rejoyced any earthly wight,
And I that couth not yet in no manere
Heare the nightingale of all the yeare,
Ful busily herkened with herte and with eare,
If I her voice perceiue coud any where.
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