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The Complete Works of William Shakespeare - Israel Gollancz William Shakespeare [1622]

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Upon the cure of my sotie.

Tho myhte I hiere gret partie 2760

Spekende, and ech his oghne avis

Hath told, on that, an other this:

Bot among alle this I herde,

Thei weren wo that I so ferde,

And seiden that for no riote

An old man scholde noght assote;

For as thei tolden redely,

Ther is in him no cause why,

Bot if he wolde himself benyce;

So were he wel the more nyce. 2770

And thus desputen some of tho,

And some seiden nothing so,

Bot that the wylde loves rage

In mannes lif forberth non Age;

Whil ther is oyle forto fyre,

The lampe is lyhtly set afyre,

And is fulhard er it be queynt,

Bot only if it be som seint,

Which god preserveth of his grace.

And thus me thoghte, in sondri place 2780

Of hem that walken up and doun

Ther was diverse opinioun:

And for a while so it laste,

Til that Cupide to the laste,

Forth with his moder full avised,

Hath determined and devised

Unto what point he wol descende.

And al this time I was liggende

Upon the ground tofore his yhen,

And thei that my desese syhen 2790

Supposen noght I scholde live;

Bot he, which wolde thanne yive

His grace, so as it mai be,

This blinde god which mai noght se,

Hath groped til that he me fond;

And as he pitte forth his hond

Upon my body, wher I lay,

Me thoghte a fyri Lancegay,

Which whilom thurgh myn herte he caste,

He pulleth oute, and also faste 2800

As this was do, Cupide nam

His weie, I not where he becam,

And so dede al the remenant

Which unto him was entendant,

Of hem that in Avision

I hadde a revelacion,

So as I tolde now tofore.

Bot Venus wente noght therfore,

Ne Genius, whiche thilke time

Abiden bothe faste byme. 2810

And sche which mai the hertes bynde

In loves cause and ek unbinde,

Er I out of mi trance aros,

Venus, which hield a boiste clos,

And wolde noght I scholde deie,

Tok out mor cold than eny keie

An oignement, and in such point

Sche hath my wounded herte enoignt,

My temples and my Reins also.

And forth withal sche tok me tho 2820

A wonder Mirour forto holde,

In which sche bad me to beholde

And taken hiede of that I syhe;

Wherinne anon myn hertes yhe

I caste, and sih my colour fade,

Myn yhen dymme and al unglade,

Mi chiekes thinne, and al my face

With Elde I myhte se deface,

So riveled and so wo besein,

That ther was nothing full ne plein, 2830

I syh also myn heres hore.

Mi will was tho to se nomore

Outwith, for ther was no plesance;

And thanne into my remembrance

I drowh myn olde daies passed,

And as reson it hath compassed,

I made a liknesse of miselve

Unto the sondri Monthes twelve,

Wherof the yeer in his astat

Is mad, and stant upon debat, 2840

That lich til other non acordeth.

For who the times wel recordeth,

And thanne at Marche if he beginne,

Whan that the lusti yeer comth inne,

Til Augst be passed and Septembre,

The myhty youthe he may remembre

In which the yeer hath his deduit

Of gras, of lef, of flour, of fruit,

Of corn and of the wyny grape.

And afterward the time is schape 2850

To frost, to Snow, to Wind, to Rein,

Til eft that Mars be come ayein:

The Wynter wol no Somer knowe,

The grene lef is overthrowe,

The clothed erthe is thanne bare,

Despuiled is the Somerfare,

That erst was hete is thanne chele.

And thus thenkende thoghtes fele,

I was out of mi swoune affraied,

Wherof I sih my wittes straied, 2860

And gan to clepe hem hom ayein.

And whan Resoun it herde sein

That loves rage was aweie,

He cam to me the rihte weie,

And hath remued the sotie

Of thilke unwise fantasie,

Wherof that I was wont to pleigne,

So that of thilke fyri peine

I was mad sobre and hol ynowh.

Venus behield me than and lowh, 2870

And axeth, as it were in game,

What love was. And I for schame

Ne wiste what I scholde ansuere;

And natheles I gan to swere

That be my trouthe I knew him noght;

So ferr it was out of mi thoght,

Riht as it hadde nevere be.

"Mi goode Sone," tho quod sche,

"Now at this time I lieve it wel,

So goth the fortune of my whiel; 2880

Forthi mi conseil is thou leve."

"Ma dame," I seide, "be your leve,

Ye witen wel, and so wot I,

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