The cõforte of louers | Page 8

I sawe my lady
gracyous
My herte than fared / as it sholde breke
For perfyte Ioye
whiche was solacyous
Before her grace / ryght swete and precyous

I kneled doune / saynge with all mekenesse
Please it your grace / &

excellent noblenes
No dyspleasure to take for my beynge here
For fortune me brought /
to this place ryall
Where I haue wonne this floure so vertuous & dere

This swerde and shelde / also not peregall
Towadre hym aduenture
to be tryumphall
And now by fortunes desteny and fate
Do here my
duety vnto your hygh estate
Ihesu sayd she than / who hadde wende to fynde
Your selfe walkynge
/ in this place all alone
Full lytell thought I / ye were not in my
mynde
What is the cause / that ye make suche mone
I thynke some
thynge / be from you past and gone
But I wonder / how that ye dyde
attayne
This floure / this swerde / the shelde also certayne
For by a lady in the antyquyte
They were made to a meruaylous
entente
That none sholde get them / but by auctoryte
Whiche onely
by fortune / sholde hyder be sent
Full many knyghtes by entendement

Hath them aduentred / to haue them in dede
But all was vayne / for
they myght neuer spede
Wherfore surely / ye are moche fortunate
Them for to wynne by your
aduenture
But it was no thynge to you ordynate
And you dyde well
/ to put your selfe in vre
To proue the Ieoperdy / whiche hath made
you sure
Leue all your mournynge / for there is no wyght
Hath
greter cause / for to be gladde and lyght
I behelde well her demure countenaunce
Vnto her swete wordes /
gyuynge good audyence
And than I marked in my remembraunce

Her pleasaunt apparayle / with all my dylygence
Whiche was full
ryche of meruaylous excellence
Fyrst alofte her forheed / full
properly was dressed
Vnder her orellettes / her golden heere well
tressed
About her necke whyte as ony lyly
A prety chayne of the fynest golde

Some lynkes with grene enameled truely
And some were blacke /

the whiche I dyde beholde
The vaynes blewe / in her fayre necke well
tolde
With her swete vysage tydynges to my herte
That sodynly my
thoughtes were asterte
Her gowne was golde / of the clothe of tyssewe
With armyns poudred
/ and wyde sleues pendaunt
Her kyrtell grene of the fyne satyn newe

To bere her longe trayne / was well attendaunt
Gentyll dame
dylygence / neuer varyaunt
Than as touchynge her noble stature
I
thynke there can be / no goodlyer creature
As of her aege / so tendre and grene
Fayre / gracyous / prudent / and
louynge humylyte
Her vertue shyneth / beynge bryght and shene
In
her is nether pryde ne sybtylte
Her gentyll herte / enclyneth to bounte

Thus beaute / godlynesse / vertue / grace / and wytte
With bounte
and mekenesse / in this lady is knytte
[P] Amour.
Thus whan my eyes hadde beholde her wele
Madame I sayd how may
I now be gladde
But sygh and sorowe with herte euery dele
Longe
haue I loued / and lytell conforte hadde
Wherfore no wonder though
that I be sadde
Your tendre age / full lytell knoweth ywys
To loue
vnloued / what wofull payne it is
[P] Pucell.
{Tho}ughe that I be yonge / yet I haue perceuera[un]ce
{Th}at ther is
no lady / yf that she gentyll be
{And} ye haue with her ony
acquayntaunce
And after cast / to her your amyte
Grounded on
honoure / without duplycyte
I wolde thynke in mynde / she wolde
condescende
To graunt your fauoure / yf ye none yll intende
[P] Amour.
A fayre lady I haue vnto her spoken
That I loue best / and she dooth

not it knowe
Though vnto her / I haue my mynde broken
Her
beaute clere / dooth my herte ouerthrowe
Whan I do se her / my herte
booth sobbe I trowe
Wherfore fayre lady / all dysparate of conforte

I speke vnknowen / I must to wo resorte
[P] Pucell.
Me thynke ye speke / now vnder parable
Do ye se her here / whiche
is cause of your grefe
Yf ye so dyde / that sholde I be able
As in
this cause / te be to your relefe
Ryght lothe I were to se your
myschefe
For ye knowe well / what case that I am yn
Peryllous it
wolde be / or that ye coude me wyne
[P] Amour.
Madame sayd I / thoughe myn eyes se her not
Made dymme [with]
wepynde / & with grete wo togyder
Yet dooth myn herte / at this
tyme I wote
Her excellent beaute / ryght inwardly concyder
Good
fortune I trust / hath now brought me hyder
To se your mekenes /
whiche doth her rapyre
Whose swete conforte / dooth kepe me fro
dyspayre.
[P] Pucell.
Of late I sawe aboke of your makynge
Called the pastyme of pleasure
/ whiche is w[on]d{erous}
For I thynge and you had not ben in
louynge
Ye coude neuer haue made it so sentencyo{us}
I redde
there all your passage daungerous
Wherfore I wene