The cõforte of louers | Page 7

{An}d at the last / I felte the hande departe
The swerde I toke / with
all my besynesse
So I subdued / all the magykes arte
And founde
the scauberde / of meruaylous rychesse
After that I toke the shelde
doune doubtlesse
Kyssynge the swerde / and the shelde ofte I wys

Thankynge god / the whiche was cause of this
Gladde was I than / of my ryall floure
Of my swerde and shelde / I
reioyced also
It pacyfyed well / my inwarde doloure
But fro my
ladyes beaute / my mynde myght not go
I loued her surely / for I
loued no mo
Thus my fayre floure / and my swerde and shelde

With eyen ryght meke / full often I behelde
Than sayd I (well) this is an happy chaunce
I trust now shortly / my
lady for to se
O fortune sayd I / whiche brought me on the da[un]ce

Fyrst to beholde her ryght excellent beaute
And so by chaunce / hast
hyder conueyde me
Getynge me also / my floure my shelde and
swerde
I nought mystrust the / why sholde I be aferde
O ryght fayre lady / as the bryght daye sterre
Shyneth before the

rysynge of the sonne
Castynge her beames / all aboute aferre

Exylynge grete wyndes / and the mystes donne
So ryght fayre lady /
where as thou doost wonne
Thy beautefull bryghtnes / thy vertue and
thy grace
Dooth clere Illumyne / all thy boure and place
The gentyll {herte is plonged in} dystresse
Dooth walowe and tomble
in somers nyght
Replete with wo / and mortall heuynesse
Tyll that
aurora / with her beames bryght
Aboute the fyrmament / castynge her
pured lyght
Ageynst the rysynge / of refulgent tytan
Whan that
declyneth / the fayre dame dyan
Than dooth the louer / out of this bedde aryse
With wofull mynde /
beholdynge than the ayre
Alas he sayth / what nedeth to deuyse

Ony suche pastyme / here for to repayre
Where is my conforte /
where is my lady fayre
Where is my Ioye / where is now all my boote

Where is she nowe / that persed my herte rote
This maye I saye / vnto my owne dere loue
My goodly lady / fayrest
and moost swete
In all my bokes / fayre fortune doth moue
For a
place of grace / where that we sholde mete
Also my bokes full
pryuely you grete
The effectes therof / dooth well dayly ensue
By
meruelous thynges / to proue them to be true
The more my payne / the more my loue encreaseth
The more my
Ieopardy / the truer is my harte
The more I suffre / the lesse the fyre
releasheth
The more I complayne the more is my smarte
The more I
se her / the sharper is the darte
The more I wryte / the more my teeres
dystyll
The more I loue / the hotter is my wyll
O moost fayre lady / yonge / good / and vertuous
I knewe full well /
neuer your countenaunce
Shewed me ony token / to make me
amerous
But what for that / your prudent gouernaunce
Hath
enrached my herte / for to gyue attendaunce
your excellent beaute /
you coude no thynge lette
To cause my herte vpon you to be sette

My ryght fayre lady / yf at the chesse I drawe
My selfe I knowe not /
as a cheke frome a mate
But god aboue the whiche sholde haue in
awe
By drede truely euery true estate
He maye take vengeaunce /
though he tary late
He knoweth my mynde / he knoweth my remedy

He maye reuenge me / he knoweth my Ieoperdy
O thou fayre fortune / torne not fro me thy face
Remembre my
sorowe / for my goodly lady
My tendre herte / she dooth full oft
enbrace
And as of that it is no wonder why
For vpon her is all my
desteny
Submyttynge me / vnto her gracyous wyll
Me for to saue or
sodaynly to spyll
O ryght fayre lady of grene flourynge age
you can not do but as your
frendes agre
your wyte is grete / you mekenes / dooth not swage

Exyle dysdayne / and be ruled by pety
The frenshe man sayth / that
shall be shall be
yf that I dye / louer was neuer none
Deyed in this
worlde / for a fayrer persone
Your beaute causeth all my amyte
Why sholde your beaute / to my
dethe condyscende
your vertue and mekenes / dyde so arest me

Why sholde ye than to dame dysdayne intende
your prudence your
goodnes / dooth mercy extende
Why sholde ye than enclyne to
cruelte
Your grace I trust wyll non extremyte
A dere herte I maye complayne ryght longe
you here me not / nor se
me not arayed
Nor causes my paynes for to be stronge
It was myn
eyes / that made me fyrst dysmayde
With stroke of loue / that coude
not me delaye
My ryght fayre lady / my herte is colde and faynt

Wolde now to god / that you knewe my complaynte
Thus as I mourned I herde a lady speke
I loked asyde