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And every gras that groweth upon rote

It were right good that al swiche thing were know.”
She shal eke know; and whom it wol do bote, Another rowned to his felaw low,
Al be his woundes never so depe and wide. And sayd: “He lieth, for it is rather like

* This naked swerd, that hangeth by my side, An apparence ymade by some magike,
Swiche vertue hath, that what man that it smite As jogelours plaien at thise festes grete."
Thurghout his armure it wol kerve and bite, Of sondry doutes thus they jangle and trete,
Were it as thick as is a braunched oke;

As lewed peple demen comunly
And what man that is wounded with the stroke Of thinges, that ben made more subtilly,
Slal never be hole, til that you list of grace Than they can in hir lewednesse comprehende,
To stroken him with the platte in thilke place They demen gladly to the badder ende.
Ther he is hurt; this is as much to sain,

And som of hem wondred on the mirrour Ye moten, with the platte swerd, again

That born was up in to the maister tour, Stroken him in the wound, and it wol close. How men mighte in it swiche thinges see. This is the veray soth withouten glose:

Another answers and sayd: “ It might wel be It failleth not while it is in your hold.”

Naturelly by compositions
And whan this knight hath thus his tale told, Of angles, and of slie reflections ;"
He rideth out of halle, and doun he light.

And sayd, that in Rome was swiche on.
His stede, which that shone as sonne bright, They speke of Alhazen and Vitellon,
Stant in the court as stille as any ston.

And Aristotle; that writen, in hir lives, This knight is to his chambre ladde, anon, Of queinte mirrours and of prospectives, And is unarmed, and to the mete ysette.

As knowen they that han hir bookes herd. Thise presents ben, ful richelich yfette,

And other folk han wondred on the swerd This is to sain, the swerd and the mirrour;

That wolde percen thurghout every thing, And borne, anon, into the highe tour

And fell in speche of Telephus the king, With certain officers ordained therfore;

And of Achilles for his queinte spere, And unto Canace the ring is bore

For he coude with it bothe hele and dere, Solempnely, ther she sat at the table.

Right in swiche wise as men may with the swerd But, sikerly, withouten any fable,

Of which, right now, ye have yourselven herd. The hors of bras, that may not be remued ;

They speken of sondry harding of metall, It stant as it were to the ground yglued:

And speken of medicines therwithall, Ther may no man out of the place it drive

And how and whan it shuld yharded be, For non engine, of windas or polive;

Which is unknow algates unto me. And cause why, for they con not the craft,

Tho, speken they of Canacees ring, And therfore in the place they han it last

And saiden all, that swiche a wonder thing Til that the knight hath taught hem the manere

Of craft of ringes herd they never nonTo voiden him, as ye shul after here.

Save that he Moises, and King Salomon, Gret was the prees that swarmed to and fro

Hadden a name of conning in swiche art. To gauren on this hors that stondeth so;

Thus sain the peple, and drawen hem apart. and so brod and long,

But, natheles, som saiden that it was So wel proportioned for to be strong,

Wonder to maken of ferne ashen glas, Right as it were a stede of Lumbardie;

And yet is glas nought like ashen of ferne, Therwith so horsly, and so quik of eye,

But for they han yknowen it so, ferne, As it a gentil Poileis courser were;

Therforth ceseth hir jangling and hir wonder. For certes fro his tayl unto his ere

As sore wondren som on cause of thunder, Nature ne art ne coud him not amend

On ebbe and floud, on gossomer and on mist, In no degree, as all the peple wend.

And on all thing, til that the cause is wist. But evermore hir moste wonder was

Thus janglen they, and demen and devise, How that it coude gon, and was of bras;

Til that the king gan fro his bord arise. It was of Faerie, as the peple semed.

Phæbus hath left the angle meridional, Diverse folk diversely han demed ;

And yet ascending was the beste real, As many heds, as many wittes ben.

The gentil Leon, with his Aldrian, They murmured as doth a swarme of been,

Whan that this Tartre king, this Cambuscan, And maden skilles after hir fantasies,

Rose from his bord, ther as he sat ful hie: Rehersing of the olde poetries.

Beforne him goth the loude minstralcie, And sayd it was ylike the Pegasee,

Til he come to bis chambre of parements, The hors that hadde winges for to flee ;

Ther as they sounden divers instruments, Or, elles, it was the Grekes hors Sinon,

That it is like an heven for to here. That broughte Troye to destruction,

Now dauncen lusty Venus children dere ; As men moun in thise olde gestes rede.

For in the Fish hir lady set ful hie,

And loketh on hem with a frendly eye. “Myn herte," quod on, « is evermore in drede; I trow some men of armes ben therin,

This noble king is set upon his trone ; That shapen hem this citee for to win:

This straunge knight is fet to him, ful sone,

For it so high was,

Repaireth to his revel, as beforne,
The bridel is in to the tour yborne,
And kept among his jewels lefe and dere:
The hors vanisht, I n'ot in what manere,
Out of hir sight: ye get no more of me;
But thus I lete, in lust and jolitee,
This Cambuscan his lordes festeying,
Til that wel nigh the day began to spring.

And on the daunce he goth with Canace.

Here is the revell and the jolitee,
That is not able a dull man to devise:
He must han knowen Love and his service,
And ben a festlich man, as fresh as May,
That shulde you devisen swiche array.

Who coude tellen you the forme of daunces
So uncouth, and so freshe contenaunces,
Swiche subtil lokings and dissimulings,
For dred of jalous mennes apperceivings?
No man but Launcelot, and he is ded:
Therfore I passe over all this lustyhed;
I say no more, but in this jolinesse
I lete hem, til men to the souper hem dresse.

The steward bit the spices for to hie,
And eke the win, in all this melodie;
The ushers and the squierie ben gon;
The spices and the win is come anon:
They ete and drinke, and whan this had an end
Unto the temple, as reson was, they wend:
The service don, they soupen all by day.

What nedeth you rehersen hir array ?
Eche man wot wel that at a kinges feste
Is plentee, to the most and to the lest,
And deintees mo than ben in my knowing.

At after souper goth this noble king
To seen the hors of bras, with all a route
Of lordes and of ladies him aboute.
Swiche wondring was er on this hors of bras,
That sin the gret assege of Troye was,
Ther as men wondred on an hors also,
Ne was ther swiche a wondring, as was, tho.
But, finally, the king asketh the knight
The vertue of this courser, and the might,
And praied him to tell his governaunce.

This hors, anon, gan for to trip and daunce, Whan that the knight laid hond upon his rein; And said, “ Sire! ther n'is no more to sain, But whan you list to riden any where, Ye moten trill a pin, stant in his ere, Which I shal tellen you betwixt us two, Ye moten nempne him to what place also Or to what contree, that you list to ride.

“ And whan ye come ther as you list abide, Bid him descend, and trill another pin, (For therin lieth the effect of all the gin,) And he wol doun descend and don your will, And in that place he wol abiden still: Though al the world had the contrary swore, He shal not thennes be drawe ne be bore. Or if you list to bid him thennes gon, Trille this pin, and he wol vanish anon Out of the sight of every maner wight, And come agen, be it day or night, Whan that you list to clepen him, again, In swiche a guise as I shal to you sain Betwixen you and me,

and that ful sone. Ride whan you list, ther n'is no more to done."

Enfourmed whan the king was of the knight, And hath conceived in his wit aright The maner and the forme of all this thing, Ful glad and blith, this noble doughty king

The norice of digestion, the slepe,
Gan on hem winke, and bad hem taken kepe
That mochel drinke and labour wol have rest,
And with a galping mouth hem all he kest
And said that it was time to lie adoun,
For blood was in his dominatioun:
Cherisheth blood, nature's frend, quod he.

They thanken him galping, by two, by three;
And every wight gan drawe him to his rest,
As slepe him bade; they take it for the best.

Hir dremes shul not now be told for me; Ful were hir hedes of fumositee, That causeth dreme, of which ther is no charge: They slepen, til that it was prime large, The moste parte, but it were Canace; She was ful mesurable as women be. For of hire father had she taken hire leve To gon to rest, sone after it was eve; Hire liste not appalled for to be, Nor on ihe morwe unfestliche for to see, And slept hire firste slepe and than awoke. For swiche a joy she in her herte toke Both of hire queinte ring, and of hire mirrour, That twenty time she chaunged hire colour; And in hire slepe right for the impression Of hire mirrour she had a vision ;Wherfore, or that the sonne gan up glide, She clepeth upon hire maistresse hire beside, And saide that hire luste for to arise.

bise olde women that ben gladly wise, As is hire maistresse, answerd hire anon; And said: “ Madam! whider wol ye gon Thus erly? for the folk ben all in rest.”

I wol,” quod she,“ arisen (for me lest No longer for to slepe) and walken aboute."

Hire maistresse clepeth women a gret route, And up they risen, wel a ten or twelve; Up riseth freshe Canace hireselve, As rody and bright, as the yonge sonne, That in the Ram is four degrees yronne; No higher was he whan she redy was: And forth she walketh esily a pas, Arrayed after the lusty seson sote Lightely for to playe, and walken on fote, Nought but with five or sixe of hire meinie; Aud in a trenche forth in the park goth she.

The vapour, which that fro the erthe glode, Maketh the sonne to seme rody and brode: But, natheles, it was so faire a sight, That it made all hir hertes for to light, What for the seson and the morwening And for the foules that she herd sing.

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For, right anon, she wiste what they ment

That ferde with himself so pitously. Right by hir song, and knew all hir entent.

Ye sle me with your sorwe veraily, The knotte why that every tale is tolde

I have of you so gret compassioun. If it be taried til the lust be colde

For Goddes love, come fro the tree adoun, Of hem, that han it herkened after yore,

And as I am a kinges daughter trewe The savour passeth, ever lenger the more,

If that I veraily the causes knewe For fulsomnesse of the prolixitee;

Of your disese, if it lay in my might And, by that same reson, thinketh me

I wold amend it, or that it were night, I shuld unto the knotte condescende,

As wisly help me the gret God of kind.
And maken of hire walking sone an ende.

And herbes shal I, right ynough, yfind,
Amidde a tree for-dry, as white as chalk, To helen with your hurtes, hastily.”
As Canace was playing in hire walk,

Tho shright this faucon yet more pitously Ther sat a faucon over hir hed ful hie,

Than ever she did, and fell to ground, anon, That with a pitous vois so gan to crie,

And lithe aswoune, as ded as lith a ston, That all the wood resouned of hire cry,

Til Canace hath in hire lappe hire take And beten had hireself so pitously

C'nto that time she gan of swoune awake; With both hire winges, til the rede blood

And after that she out of swoune abraide, Ran endelong the tree ther as she stood;

Right, in hire haukes leden, thus she sayde: And ever in on, alway she cried and shright; “ That pitee renneth sone in gentil herte, And with hire bek hireselven she so twight; (Feling his similitude in peines smerte,) That ther n'is tigre, ne no cruel best,

Is proved alle day, as men may see
That dwelleth other in wood, or in forest,

As wel by werke as by auctoritee,
That n'olde han wept, if that he wepen coude, For gentil herte kitheth gentilesse.
For sorwe of hire, she shright alway so loude. I se wel that ye have on my distresse
For ther was never yet no man on live,

Compassion, my faire Canace!
If that he coude a faucon wel descrive,

Of veray womanly benignitee, That herd of swiche another, of fayrenesse

That Nature in your principles hath set. As wel of plumage as of gentilesse,

But, for non hope for to fare the bet, Of shape; of all that might yrekened be.

But, for to obey unto your herte free, A faucon peregrine semed she

And for to maken other yware by me, Of fremde londe; and, ever, as she stood,

As by the whelpe chastised is the leon, She swouned, now and now, for lack of blood, Right for that cause and that conclusion, Til wel neigh is she fallen fro the tree.

While that I have a leiser and a space, This faire kinges daughter Canace,

Min harme I wol confessen er I pace.” That on hire finger bare the queinte ring,

And, ever, while that on hire sorwe told, Thurgh which she understood wel every thing That other wept, as she to water wold, That any foule may in his leden sain,

Til that the faucon bad hire to be still; And coude answere him in his leden again,

And, with a sike, right thus she said bire till: Hath understonden what this faucon seyd,

“ Ther I was bred, (alas that ilke day!) And wel neigh, for the routhe, almost she deyd; And fostred in a rocke of marble gray, And to the tree she goth ful hastily,

So tendrely, that nothing ailed me,
And on this faucon loketh pitously,

I ne wist not what was adversitee,
And held hire lap abrode; for wel she wist Til I coud flee ful high under the skie.
The faucon muste fallen from the twist

“ Tho dwelled a tercelet me faste by.
Whan that she swouned next, for faute of blood. That semed welle of alle gentilesse,
A longe while to waiten hire she stode.

Al were he ful of treson and falsenesse. Til at the last she spake in this manere

It was so wrapped under humble chere, Unto the hauk, as ye shul after here.

And under hew of trouth in swiche manere, What is the cause if it be for to tell,

Under plesance, and under besy peine, That ye ben in this furial peine of hell ?"

That no wight coud have wend he coude feine; Quod Canace unto this hauk above;

So depe in greyn he died his coloures, "Is this for sorwe of deth, or losse of love?

Right as a serpent hideth him under floures, Par as I trow, thise be the causes two,

Til he may see his time for to bite; That causen most a gentil herte wo.

Right so, this god of loves hypocrite of other harine it nedeth not to speke,

Doth so his ceremonies and obeisance, Per ye yourself upon yourself awreke,

And kepeth in semblaunt alle his observance, Which preveth wel that other ire or drede

That souneth unto gentillesse of love. Mate ben enchesen of your cruel dede,

As on a tombe is all the faire above, Sin that I se non other wight you chace.

And under is the corps, swiche as ye wote, For the love of God, as doth yourselven grace;

Swiche was this hypocrite both cold and hote,

And in this wise he served his entent,
Or what may be your helpe? for west ne est,
Ne saw I never, er now, no brid ne best,

That, save the fend, non wiste what he meat;

Till he so long had weped and complained, So sorweful eke, that I wend veraily,
And many a yere his service to me fained,

That he had felt as mochel harme as I,
Til that min herte, to pitous and to nice,

Whan that I herd him speke and sawe his hewe: Al innocent of his crowned malice,

But, nathelesse, I thought he was so trewe, For-fered of his deth, as thoughte me,

And eke that he repairen shuld again, Upon his othes, and his seuretee,

Within a litel while, soth to sain,Graunted him love on this conditioun,

And reson wold, eke, that he muste go That evermo min honour and renoun

For his honour, as often happeth so,. Were saved, both privee and apert;

That I made vertue of necessitee,
This is to say, that after his desert,

And toke it wel, sin that it muste be.
I yave him all min herte and all my thought, As I best might I hid from him my sorwe,
God wote, and in none other wise nought;

And toke him by the hand, Seint John to borwe, And toke his herte in chaunge of min, for ay.

And said him thus: • Lo, I am youres all But soth is said, gon sithen is many a day,

Both swiche as I have ben to you and shall.' A trewe wight, and a theef, thinken not on.

“ What he answerd, it nedeth not reherse; “ And whan he saw the thing so fer ygon, Who can Say bet than he ? who can Do werse? That I had granted him fully my love,

Whan he hath al well said, than hath he done. In swiche a guise, as I have said above,

Therfore, behoveth him a full long spone And yeven him my trewe herte as free

That shal ete with a fend; thus herd I say. As he swore that he yaf his herte to me;

“ So at the last, he muste forth his way; Anon this tigre, ful of doublenesse,

And forth he fleeth, til he com ther him lest. Fell on his knees, with so gret humblesse,

Whan it came him to purpos for to rest, With so high reverence, as by his chere,

I trow that he had thilke text in mind, So like a gentil lover of manere,

That alle thing repairing to his kind So ravished, as it semed, for the joye,

Gladeth himself; thus sain men, as I gesse: That never Jason ne Paris of Troye,

Men loven of propre kind newefangelnesse, Jason! certes, ne never other man

As briddes don, that mer, in cages fede. Sin Lamech was, that alderfirst began

For though thou night and day take of hem hede To loven two, as writen folk beforne;

And strew hir cage faire and soft as silke, Ne never, sithen the first man was borne,

And give hem sugre, hony, bred, and milke,Ne coude man by twenty thousand part

Yet, right anon as that his dore is up, Contrefete the sophimes of his art;

He with his feet wol spurnen doun his cup, Ne were worthy to unbocle his galoche,

And to the wood he wol, and wormes ete;
Ther doublenesse of faining shuld approche, So newefangel ben they of hir mete,
Ne coude so thanke a wight, as he did me,

And loven noveltees of propre kind;
His maner was an heven for to see

No gentillesse of blood ne may hem bind. To any woman, were she never so wise,

“ So ferd this tercelet, alas the day! So painted he, and kempt at point devise,

Though he were gentil borne, and fresh, and gay, As wel his wordes, as his contenance:

And goodly for to seen, and humble, and free. And I so loved him for his obeisance,

He sawe upon a time a kite flee; And for the trouthe I demed in his herte,

And, sodenly, he loved this kite so That if so were that any thing him smerte,

That all his love is clene from me ago; Al were it never so lite, and I it wist,

And hath his trouthe falsed in this wise, Me thought I felt deth at myn herte twist.

Thus hath the kite my love in her service, And, shortly, so ferforth this thing is went,

And I am lorn withouten remedy." That my will was his willes instrument;

And with that word this faucon gan to cry, This is to say, my will obeid his will

And swouneth eft in Canacees barme. In alle thing, as fer as reson fill,

Gret was the sorwe for that haukes harme, Képing the boundes of my worship ever:

That Canace and all hire women made; Ne never had I thing so lefe, ne lever,

They n'isten how they might the faucon glade. As him, God wot, ne never shal no mo.

But Canace home bereth hire in hire lap, “ This lasteth lenger than a yere or two,

And softely in plastres gan hire wrap, That I supposed of him nought but good;

Ther as she with hire bek had hurt hireselve. But finally, thus at the last it stood,

Now cannot Canace but herbes delve That Fortune wolde that he muste twin

Out of the ground; and maken salves newe Out of that place, which that I was in.

Of herbes precious and fine of hewe; Wher me was wo, it is no question ;

To helen with this hauk, fro day to night I cannot make of it description.

She doth bire besinesse and all hire might. For o thing dare 1 tellen boldely,

And by hire beddes hed, she made a mew, I know what is the peine of deth therby;

And covered it with velouettes blew, Swiche harme I felt, for he ne might byleve. In signe of trouthe that is in woman sene ; " So on a day of me he toke his leve,

And, all without, the mew is peinted grene,

Right so fare l; and, therfore, I you pray Gideth my song that I shal of ychu say.”

In which were peinted all thise false foules,
As ben thise tidifes, tercelettes, and owles;
And pies, on hem for to cry and chide,
Right for despit, were peinted hem beside.

Thus lete I Canace hire hauk keping.
I wol no more, as now, speke of hire ring,
Til it come est to purpos for to sain,
How that this faucon gat hire love again
Repentant, as the story telleth us,
By mediation of Camballus,
The kinges sone, of which that I you told.
But hennesforth I wol my processe hold
To speke of avantures, and of batailles,
That yet was never herd so gret mervailles.

First, wol I tellen you of Cambuscan,
That in his time many a citee wan:-
And, after, wol I speke of Algarsif,
How that he wan Theodora to his wif;
For whom ful oft in gret peril he was,
Ne had he ben holpen by the hors of bras:
And after wol I speke of Camballo,
That fought in listes, with the brethren two
For Canace er that he might hire winne;
And ther I left, I wol again beginne.

[The rest is wanting.

* O Lord our Lord! thy name how merveillous
Is in this large world yspread!” (quod she)
“ For, not al only, thy laude precious
Parfourmed is by men of dignitee;
But by the mouth of children thy bountee
Parfourmed is, for on the brest souking
Somtime shewen they thin herying.

“ Wherfore in laude, as I can best and may,
Of thee and of the white lily flour
Which that thee bare, and is a maide alway,
To tell a storie I wol do my labour ;
Not that I may encresen hire honour,
For she, hireselven, is honour and rote
Of bountee, next hire sone; and soules bote.

O mother maide! O maide and mother fre!
O bushe unbrent! brenning in Moyses sight, .
That ravishedst doun fro the deitee,
Thurgh thin humblesse, the gost that in thee alight:
Of whos vertue, whan he thin herte light,
Conceived was the fathers sapience;
Helpe me to tell it in thy reverence.

- Lady! thy bountee, thy magnificence,
Thy vertue, and thy gret humilitee,
Ther may no tonge expresse in no science ;
For somtime, Lady! or men pray to thee,
Thoa gost beforn of thy benignitee,
And getest us the light of thy prayere,
To giden us unto thy sone so dere.

“ My couning is so weke, O blissful Quene!
For to declare thy grete worthinesse,
That I ne may the weighte not sustene ;
But as a child of twelf moneth old or lesse,
That can unnethes any word expresse,

Ther was in Asie, in a gret citee,
Amonges Cristen folk a Jewerie,
Sustened by a lord (of that contree)
For foul usure and lucre of vilanie,
Hateful to Crist and to his compagnie,-
And thurgh the strete men mighten ride and wende,
For it was free, and open at eyther ende.

A litel scole of Cristen folk there stood
Doun at the ferther end, in which ther were
Children an hepe, comen of Cristen blood,
Thạt lerned in that scole yere by yere
Swiche manere doctrine as men used there;
This is to say, to singen and to rede,
As smale children don in hir childhede.

Among thise children was a widewes sone,
A litel clergion, sevene yere of age,
That day by day to scole was his wone;
And, eke also, wheras he sey the image
Of Cristes moder, had he in usage,
As him was taught, to knele adoun, and say
Ave Marie as he goth by the way.

Thus hath this widewe hire litel sone ytaught
Our blissful Lady, Cristes moder dere,
To worship ay; and he forgate it nought;
For sely childe wol alway sone lere.
But, ay, whan I remembre on this matere,
Saint Nicholas stant ever in my presence,
For he so yong to Crist did reverence.

This litel childe his litel book lerning,
As he sate in the scole at his primere,
He Alma Redemptoris herde sing
As children lered hir antiphonere:
And as he dorst, he drew him nere and nere,
And herkened, ay, the wordes and the note,
Til he the firste vers coude al by rote.

Nought wist he what this Latin was to say,
For he so yonge and tendre was of age;
But on a day his felaw gan he pray
To expounden him this song in his langage,
Or telle him why this song was in usage:
This prayde he him to construe and declare,
* Ful often time upon his knees bare.

His felaw, which that elder was than he,
Answer'd him thus ; “ This song, I have herd say,
Was maked of our blissful Lady fre,
Hire to salue, and eke hire for to pray
To ben our help, and socour, whan we dey.
I can no more expound in this matere;
I lerne song; I can but smal gramere.'

“ And is this song maked in reverence
Of Cristes moder?" said this innocent;
“ Now, certes, I wil don my diligence
To conne it all, or Cristemasse be went,
Though that I for my primer shal be shent,
And shal be beten thries in an houre,
I wol it conne our Ladie for to honoure.”

His felaw taught him homeward, prively,
Fro day to day, til he coude it by rote,
And than he song it, wel and boldely,

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