The secret groves, which oft we made resound Of pleasant plaint, and of our ladies' praise; Recording oft what grace each one had found, What hope of speed, what dread of long delays. The wild forest, the clothed holts with green; With reins availed, and swift y-breathed horse, With cry of hounds, and merry blasts between, Where we did chase the fearful hart of force.

1

The wide vales 1 eke, that harbour'd us each night:
Wherewith, alas! reviveth in my breast

The sweet accord: such sleeps as yet delight;
The pleasant dreams, the quiet bed of rest;
The secret thoughts, imparted with such trust;
The wanton talk, the divers change of play;
The friendship sworn, each promise kept so just,
Wherewith we past the winter night away.
And with this thought the blood forsakes the face;
The tears berain my cheeks of deadly hue:
The which, as soon as sobbing sighs, alas!
Up-supped have, thus I my plaint renew:
'O place of bliss! renewer of my woes!
Give me account, where is my noble fere?3
Whom in thy walls thou dost each night enclose;
To other lief; but unto me most dear.'
Echo, alas! that doth my sorrow rue,
Returns thereto a hollow sound of plaint.
Thus I alone, where all my freedom grew,
In prison pine, with bondage and restraint:
And with remembrance of the greater grief,
To banish the less, I find my chief relief.

1 According to Dr. Nott, this line in the Harrington MS. reads thus,

The void walls eke, that harbour'd us each night.

2 Bedew, as with rain.

3

Companion. 4 Endeared.

THE LOVER COMFORTETH HIMSELF WITH

THE WORTHINESS OF HIS LOVE.

HEN raging love with extreme pain
Most cruelly distrains my heart;
When that my tears, as floods of rain,
Bear witness of my woful smart;

When sighs have wasted so my breath
That I lie at the point of death:

I call to mind the navy great
That the Greeks brought to Troyè town:
And how the boisterous winds did beat
Their ships, and rent their sails adown;
Till Agamemnon's daughter's blood
Appeas'd the gods that them withstood.

And how that in those ten years war
Full many a bloody deed was done;
And many a lord that came full far,
There caught his bane, alas! too soon;
And many a good knight overrun,
Before the Greeks had Helen won.

Then think I thus:

Sith such repair,

So long time war of valiant men,
Was all to win a lady fair,

Shall I not learn to suffer then?

And think my life well spent to be,
Serving a worthier wight than she?'
Therefore I never will repent,

But pains contented still endure;
For like as when, rough winter spent,

The pleasant spring straight draweth in ure;1
So after raging storms of care,

Joyful at length may be my fare.

COMPLAINT OF THE ABSENCE OF HER

LOVER BEING UPON THE SEA.

HAPPY dames! that may embrace

The fruit of your delight;

Help to bewail the woful case,
And eke the heavy plight

Of me, that wonted to rejoice

The fortune of my pleasant choice:

Good ladies! help to fill my mourning voice.

In ship, freight with remembrance

Of thoughts and pleasures past,
He sails that hath in governance
My life, while it will last;

With scalding sighs, for lack of gale,
Furthering his hope, that is his sail,
Toward me, the sweet port of his avail.

1 In use.

Alas! how oft in dreams I see

Those eyes that were my food;
Which sometime so delighted me,
That yet they do me good:

Wherewith I wake with his return,

Whose absent flame did make me burn:

But when I find the lack, Lord! how I mourr.

When other lovers in arms across,
Rejoice their chief delight;
Drowned in tears, to mourn my loss,
I stand the bitter night

In my window, where I may see
Before the winds how the clouds flee:
Lo! what mariner love hath made me.

And in green waves, when the salt flood
Doth rise by rage of wind;

A thousand fancies in that mood

Assail my restless mind.

Alas! now drencheth1 my sweet foe,
That with the spoil of my heart did go,
And left me; but, alas! why did he so?

And when the seas wax calm again,
To chase from me annoy,

My doubtful hope doth cause me plain;
So dread cuts off my joy.

Thus is my wealth mingled with woe,

And of each thought a doubt doth grow;

Now he comes! will he come? alas! no, no!

Is drowned.

DLE

COMPLAINT OF A DYING LOVER

REFUSED UPON HIS LADY'S UNJUST MISTAKING OF

HIS WRITING.

N winter's just return, when Boreas gan
his reign,

And every tree unclothed fast, as na-
ture taught them plain :

In misty morning dark, as sheep are then in hold,
I hied me fast, it sat me on, my sheep for to unfold.
And as it is a thing that lovers have by fits,
Under a palm I heard one cry as he had lost his

wits.

Whose voice did ring so shrill in uttering of his

plaint,

That I amazed was to hear how love could him

attaint.

'Ah! wretched man,' quoth he; 'come, death, and rid this woe;

A just reward, a happy end, if it may chance thee

so.

Thy pleasures past have. wrought thy woe without

redress;

If thou hadst never felt no joy, thy smart had been the less.'

And rechless of his life, he gan both sigh and groan: A rueful thing me thought it was, to hear him make such moan.