85

Fair is my love, but not so fair as fickle;
Mild as a dove, but neither true nor trusty;
Brighter than glass, and yet, as glass is, brit-
tle;

Softer than wax, and yet, as iron, rusty:

A lily pale, with damask dye to grace her, None fairer, nor none falser to deface her. 90

Her lips to mine how often hath she joined, Between each kiss her oaths of true love swearing!

How many tales to please me hath she coined, Dreading my love, the loss thereof still fearing!

Yet in the midst of all her pure protestings, 95 Her faith, her oaths, her tears, and all were jestings.

She burn'd with love, as straw with fire flameth;

She burn'd out love, as soon as straw outburneth;

Here in these brakes deep-wounded with a boar, Deep in the thigh, a spectacle of ruth!

See, in my thigh," quoth she, "here was the

sore."

She showed hers: he saw more wounds than

one,

And blushing fled, and left her all alone. 130

X

Sweet rose, fair flower, untimely pluck'd, soon faded,

Pluck'd in the bud, and faded in the spring! Bright orient pearl, alack, too timely shaded! Fair creature, kill'd too soon by death's sharp sting!

Like a green plum that hangs upon a tree, 138 And falls, through wind, before the fall should be.

And as he fell to her, so fell she to him. "Even thus," quoth she, "the warlike god embrac'd me,'

And then she clipp'd Adonis in her arms;
"Even thus," quoth she, "the warlike god un-
lac'd me,

As if the boy should use like loving charms; 150
"Even thus," quoth she, "he seized on my lips,'
And with her lips on his did act the seizure:
And as she fetched breath, away he skips,
And would not take her meaning nor her plea-

For she doth welcome daylight with her ditty,
And drives away dark dreaming night.
The night so pack'd, I post unto my pretty;
Heart hath his hope, and eyes their wished
sight;

Sorrow chang'd to solace, and solace mix'd with sorrow;

For why, she sigh'd and bade me come to

Let reason rule things worthy blame,
As well as fancy, partial like.

Take counsel of some wiser head,
Neither too young nor yet unwed.

And when thou com'st thy tale to tell,
Smooth not thy tongue with filed talk,
Lest she some subtle practice smell,
A cripple soon can find a halt;

But plainly say thou lov'st her well,
And set thy person forth to sell.

What though her frowning brows be bent,
Her cloudy looks will calm ere night;
And then too late she will repent
That thus dissembled her delight;
And twice desire, ere it be day,
That which with scorn she put away.

What though she strive to try her strength,
And ban and brawl, and say thee nay,
Her feeble force will yield at length,
When craft hath taught her thus to say:
"Had women been so strong as men,
In faith, you had not had it then."

And to her will frame all thy ways;
Spare not to spend, and chiefly there
Where thy desert may merit praise,
By ringing in thy lady's ear.

The strongest castle, tower, and town,
The golden bullet beats it down.

Serve always with assured trust,

275

In howling wise, to see my doleful plight.

How sighs resound

Through heartless ground,

Like a thousand vanquish'd men in bloody

fight!

280

285

The wiles and guiles that women work,
Dissembled with an outward show,
The tricks and toys that in them lurk,
The cock that treads them shall not know.
Have you not heard it said full oft,
A woman's nay doth stand for nought?

Think women seek to strive with men
To sin, and never for to saint:

330

335

344

She, poor bird, as all forlorn,
Lean'd her breast up-till a thorn,
And there sung the dolefull'st ditty,
That to hear it was great pity.
"Fie, fie, fie," now would she cry;
"Tereu, tereu!" by and by;
That to hear her so complain,
Scarce I could from tears refrain;
For her griefs, so lively shown,
Made me think upon mine own.
Ah, thought I, thou mourn'st in vain!
None takes pity on thy pain.

Senseless trees they cannot hear thee;
Ruthless beasts, they will not cheer thee.
King Pandion he is dead;

All thy friends are lapp'd in lead;
All thy fellow birds do sing,
Careless of thy sorrowing.

[Even so, poor bird, like thee,
None alive will pity me.]

Whilst as fickle Fortune smil'd,
Thou and I were both beguil'd.
Every one that flatters thee

Is no friend in misery.

Words are easy, like the wind;

Faithful friends are hard to find:

But if store of crowns be scant,

No man will supply thy want.

If that one be prodigal,

Bountiful they will him call, And with such-like flattering,

Pity but he were a king!" If he be addict to vice, Quickly him they will entice: If to women he be bent, They have at commandement: But if Fortune once do frown, Then farewell his great renown; They that fawn'd on him before Use his company no more. He that is thy friend indeed, He will help thee in thy need: If thou sorrow, he will weep; If thou wake, he cannot sleep; Thus of every grief in heart He with thee doth bear a part. These are certain signs to know Faithful friend from flatt'ring foe.