The Canterbury Tales [390]
*quickly, eagerly As soon as ever the sun begins to west,* *decline westward To see this flow'r, how it will go to rest, For fear of night, so hateth she darkness! Her cheer* is plainly spread in the brightness *countenance Of the sunne, for there it will unclose. Alas! that I had English, rhyme or prose, Sufficient this flow'r to praise aright! But help me, ye that have *cunning or might;* *skill or power* Ye lovers, that can make of sentiment, In this case ought ye to be diligent To further me somewhat in my labour, Whether ye be with the Leaf or the Flow'r; <3> For well I wot, that ye have herebefore Of making ropen,* and led away the corn; <4> *reaped And I come after, gleaning here and there, And am full glad if I may find an ear Of any goodly word that you have left. And though it hap me to rehearsen eft* *again What ye have in your freshe songes said, Forbeare me, and be not *evil apaid,* *displeased* Since that ye see I do it in th'honour Of love, and eke in service of the flow'r Whom that I serve as I have wit or might. <5> She is the clearness, and the very* light, *true That in this darke world me winds* and leads; *turns, guides The heart within my sorrowful breast you dreads, And loves so sore, that ye be, verily, The mistress of my wit, and nothing I. My word, my works, are knit so in your bond, That, as a harp obeyeth to the hand, That makes it sound after his fingering, Right so may ye out of my hearte bring Such voice, right as you list, to laugh or plain;* *complain, mourn Be ye my guide, and lady sovereign. As to mine earthly god, to you I call, Both in this work, and in my sorrows all.
But wherefore that I spake to give credence To old stories, and do them reverence, And that men muste more things believe Than they may see at eye, or elles preve,* *prove That shall I say, when that I see my time; I may not all at ones speak in rhyme. My busy ghost,* that thirsteth always new *spirit To see this flow'r so young, so fresh of hue, Constrained me with so greedy desire, That in my heart I feele yet the fire, That made me to rise ere it were day, -- And this was now the first morrow of May, -- With dreadful heart, and glad devotion, For to be at the resurrection Of this flower, when that it should unclose Against the sun, that rose as red as rose, That in the breast was of the beast* that day *the sign of the Bull That Agenore's daughter led away. <6> And down on knees anon right I me set, And as I could this freshe flow'r I gret,* *greeted Kneeling alway, till it unclosed was, Upon the smalle, softe, sweete grass, That was with flowers sweet embroider'd all, Of such sweetness and such odour *o'er all,* *everywhere* That, for to speak of gum, or herb, or tree, Comparison may none y-maked be; For it surmounteth plainly all odours, And for rich beauty the most gay of flow'rs. Forgotten had the earth his poor estate Of winter, that him naked made and mate,* *dejected, lifeless And with his sword of cold so sore grieved; Now hath th'attemper* sun all that releaved** *temperate **furnished That naked was, and clad it new again. anew with leaves The smalle fowles, of the season fain,* *glad That of the panter* and the net be scap'd, *draw-net Upon the fowler, that them made awhap'd* *terrified, confounded In winter, and destroyed had their brood, In his despite them thought it did them good To sing of him, and in their song despise The foule churl, that, for his covetise,* *greed Had them betrayed with his sophistry* *deceptions This was their song: "The fowler we defy, And all his craft:" and some sunge clear Layes of love, that joy it was to hear, In worshipping* and praising of their make;** *honouring **mate And for the blissful
But wherefore that I spake to give credence To old stories, and do them reverence, And that men muste more things believe Than they may see at eye, or elles preve,* *prove That shall I say, when that I see my time; I may not all at ones speak in rhyme. My busy ghost,* that thirsteth always new *spirit To see this flow'r so young, so fresh of hue, Constrained me with so greedy desire, That in my heart I feele yet the fire, That made me to rise ere it were day, -- And this was now the first morrow of May, -- With dreadful heart, and glad devotion, For to be at the resurrection Of this flower, when that it should unclose Against the sun, that rose as red as rose, That in the breast was of the beast* that day *the sign of the Bull That Agenore's daughter led away. <6> And down on knees anon right I me set, And as I could this freshe flow'r I gret,* *greeted Kneeling alway, till it unclosed was, Upon the smalle, softe, sweete grass, That was with flowers sweet embroider'd all, Of such sweetness and such odour *o'er all,* *everywhere* That, for to speak of gum, or herb, or tree, Comparison may none y-maked be; For it surmounteth plainly all odours, And for rich beauty the most gay of flow'rs. Forgotten had the earth his poor estate Of winter, that him naked made and mate,* *dejected, lifeless And with his sword of cold so sore grieved; Now hath th'attemper* sun all that releaved** *temperate **furnished That naked was, and clad it new again. anew with leaves The smalle fowles, of the season fain,* *glad That of the panter* and the net be scap'd, *draw-net Upon the fowler, that them made awhap'd* *terrified, confounded In winter, and destroyed had their brood, In his despite them thought it did them good To sing of him, and in their song despise The foule churl, that, for his covetise,* *greed Had them betrayed with his sophistry* *deceptions This was their song: "The fowler we defy, And all his craft:" and some sunge clear Layes of love, that joy it was to hear, In worshipping* and praising of their make;** *honouring **mate And for the blissful