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to be cured and heled by my muses, that is to say, by my notefull sciences. And thus this companie of muses iblamed casten wrothly the chere dounward to the yerth, and shewing by rednesse ther shame, thei passeden sorowfully the thresholde. And I of whom the sight plounged in teres was darked, so that I ne might not know what that woman was, of so Imperial aucthoritie, I woxe all abashed and stonied, and cast my sight doune to the yerth, and began still for to abide what she would doen afterward. Then came she nere, and set her doune upon the utterest corner of my bed, and she beholdyng my chere, that was cast to the yerth, hevie and grevous of wepyng, complained with these wordes (that I shall saine) the perturbación of my thought.

The Conclusions of the ASTROLABIE.

This book (written to his son in the year of our Lord 1391, and in the 14 of King Richard II.) standeth so good at this day, especially for the horizon of Oxford, as in the opinion of the learned it cannot be amended, says an Edit. of Chaucer.

LYTEL Lowys my sonhe, I perceve well by certaine evidences thyne abylyte to lerne scyences, touching nombres and proporcions, and also well consydre I thy besye prayer in especyal to lerne the tretyse of the astrolabye. Than for as moche as a philosopher saithe, he wrapeth hym in his frende, that condiscendeth to the ryghtfull prayers of his frende; therfore I have given the a sufficient astrolabye for oure brizont, compowned after the latitude of Oxenforde: upon the whiche by mediacion of this lytell tretise, I purpose to teche the a certaine nombre of conclusions, pertainynge to this same instrument. I say a certaine nombre of conclusions for thre causes, the first cause is this. Truste wel that al the conclusions that have be founden, or ells possiblye might be founde in so noble an instrument as in the astrolabye, ben unknowen perfitely to anye mortal man in this region, as I suppose. Another cause is this, that sothely in any cartes of the astrolabye that I have ysene, ther ben some conclusions, that wol not in al thinges

haue brought a man to deathe) and suffer me to heale thys my man wyth my muses or scyences that be holsome and good. And after that philosophy had spoken these wordes the sayd companye of the musys poeticall beynge rebukyd and sad, caste down their countenaunce to the grounde, and by blussyng confessed their shamfastnes, and went out of the dores. But I (that had my syght dull and blynd wyth wepyng, so that I knew not what woman this was hauyng soo great aucthoritie) was amasyd or astonyed, and lokyng downeward, towarde the grounde, I began pryvylye to look what thyng she would saye ferther, then she had said. Then she approching and drawynge nere vnto me, sat downe vpon the vttermost part of my bed, and lokyng vpon my face sad with weping, and declynyd toward the earth for sorow, bewayled the trouble of my mind wyth these sayinges folowynge.

perfourme ther behestes: and some of 'hem ben to harde to thy tender age of ten yere to conceve. This tretise divided in five partes, wil I shewe the wondir light rules and naked wordes in Englishe, for Latine ne canst thou nat yet but smale, my litel sonne. But neverthelesse suffiseth to the these trewe conclusyons in Englishe, as wel as suffiseth to these noble clerkes Grekes these same conclusyons in Greke, and to the Arabines in Arabike, and to the Jewes in Hebrewe, and to the Latin folke in Latyn: whiche Latyn folke had 'hem firste out of other divers langages, and write 'hem in ther owne tonge, that is to saine in Latine.

And God wote that in all these lan

gages and in manye mo, have these conclusyons ben sufficientlye lerned and taught, and yet by divers rules, right as divers pathes leden divers folke the right waye to Rome.

Now wol I pray mekely every person discrete, that redeth or hereth this lityl tretise to have my rude ententing excused, and my superfluite of wordes, for two causes. The first cause is, for that curious endityng and harde sentences is ful hevy at ones, for soch a childe to lerne. And the seconde cause is this, that sothely me semeth better to writen unto a childe twise a gode sentence, that he foriete it ones. And, Lowis, if it be so that I shewe the in my lith Englishe, as trew conclusions touching this mater, not only as trewe but as many and subtil

and

conclusions as ben yshewed in Latin, in any comon tretise of the astrolabye, conne me the more thanke, and praye God save the kinge, that is lorde of this langage, and all that him faith bereth, and obeieth everiche in his degree, the more and the lasse. But consydreth well, that I ne usurpe not to have founden this werke of my labour or of myne engin. I n'ame but a leude compilatour of the laboure of olde astrologiens, and have it translated in myn Englishe onely for thy doctrine and with this swerde shal I slene envy.

The first party.

The first partye of this tretise shal reherce the figures, and the membres of thyne astrolaby, bycause that thou shalte have the greter knowinge of thine own instrument.

The seconde party.

The seconde partye shal teche the to werken the very practike of the foresaid conclusions, as ferforthe and also narowe as may be shewed in so smale an instrument portaife aboute. For wel wote every astrologien, that smallest fractions ne wol not be shewed in so smal an instrument, as in subtil tables calculed for

a cause.

catchers therof ben the more redy to hent sentence.

Some men there ben, that painten with colours riche and some with wers, as with red inke, and some with coles and chalke: and yet is there gode matter to the leude peple of thylke chalkye purtreyture, as 'hem thinketh for the time, and afterward the syght of the better colours yeven to 'hem more joye for the first leudenesse. So sothly this leude clowdy occupacyon is not to prayse, but by the leude, for comenly leude leudenesse commendeth. Eke it shal yeve sight that other precyous thynges shall be the more in reverence. In Latin and French hath many soveraine wittes had grete delyte to endite, and have many noble thinges fulfilde, but certes there ben some that speken ther poisye mater in Frenche, of whiche speche the Frenche men have as gode a fantasye as we have in heryng of French mens Englishe. And many termes there ben in Engly she, whiche unneth we Englishe men connen declare the knowleginge: howe should than a Frenche man børne? soche termes connejumpere in his matter, but as the jay chatereth Englishe. Right so truely the understandyn of Englishmen woll not stretche to the privie termes in Frenche, what so ever we bosten of straunge langage. Let then clerkes en diten in Latin, for they have the proper tie of science, and the knowinge in that facultie: and lette Frenche men in ther Frenche also enditen ther queint ternes, for it is kyndely to ther mouthes; and let

The PROLOGUE of the TESTAMENT of us shewe our fantasies in such wordes as

LOVE.

MANY men ther ben, that with eres openly sprad so moche swalowen the deliciousnesse of jestes and of ryme, by queint knittinge coloures, that of the godenesse or of the badnesse of the sentence take they litel hede or els none.

Sothelye dulle witte and a thoughtfulle soule so sore have mined and graffed in my spirites, that soche craft of enditinge woll nat ben of mine acquaintaunce. And for rude wordes and boistous percen the herte of the herer to the inrest point, and planten there the sentence of thinges, so that with litel helpe it is able to spring, this boke, that nothynge hath of the grete flode of wytte, ne of semelyche colours, is dolven with rude wordes and boistous, and so drawe togiðer to maken the

VOL. I.

we lerneden of our dame's tonge. And although this boke be lytel thank worthy for the leudenesse in travaile, yet soch writing exiten men to thilke thinges that ben necessarie: for every man therby may as by a perpetual myrrour sene the vices or vertues of other, in whyche thynge lightly may be conceved to eschue perils, and necessaries to catch, after as aventures have fallen to other peple or persons.

Certes the soverainst thinge of desire and most creture resonable, have or els shuld have full appetite to ther perfeccyon: unresonable bestes mowen not, sithe reson hath in 'hem no workinge than resonable that wol not, is comparisoned to unresonable, and made lyke 'hem. Forsothe the most soveraine and final perfeccion of man is in knowynge f

of a sothe, withouten any entent decevable, and in love of one very God, that is inchaungeable, that is to knowe, and love his creatour.

Nowe principallye the mene to brynge in knowleging and lovynge his creatour, is the consideracyon of thynges made by the creatour, wher through by thylke thinges that ben made, understandynge here to our wyttes, arne the unsene pryvities of God made to us syghtfull and knowinge, in our contemplacion and understondinge. These thinges than forsothe moche bringen us to the ful knowleginge sothe, and to the parfyte love of the maker of hevenly thinges. Lo! David saith: thou haste delited me in makinge, as who saith, to have delite in the tune how God hat lent me in consideracion of thy makinge. Wherof Aristotle in the boke de Animalibus, saith to naturell philosophers: it is a grete likynge in love of knowinge ther cretoure and also in knowinge of causes in kindelye thynges, considrid forsothe the formes of kindelye thynges and the shap, a gret kyndelye love we shulde have to the werkman that 'hem made. The crafte of a werkman is shewed in the werk. Herefore trulie the philosophers with a lyvely studie manie noble thinges, righte precious, and worthy to memorye, writen, and by a gret swet and travaille to us leften of causes the properties in natures of thinges, to whiche thertore philosophers it was more joy, more lykinge, more herty lust in kindely vertues and matters of reson the perfeccion by busy study to knowe, than to have had all the tresour, al the richesse, al the vaine glory, that the passed emperours, princes, or kinges hadden. Therfore the names of 'hem in the boke of perpetuall memorie in vertue and pece arne writen; and in the contrarie, that is to saine, in Styxe the foule pitte of helle arne thilke pressed that soch godenes hated. And bicause this boke shall be of love, and the prime causes of stering in that doinge with passions and diseses for wantinge of desire, I wil that this boke be cleped the testament of love.

But nowe thou reder, who is thilke that will not in scorne laughe, to here a dwarfe or els halfe a man, say he will rende out the swerde of Hercules handes, and also he shulde set Hercules Gades a mile yet ferther, and over that he had power of strength to pull up the spere,

that Alisander the noble might never wagge, and that passinge al thinge to ben mayster of Fraunce by might, there as the noble gracious Edwarde the thirde for al his grete prowesse in victories ne might al yet conquere?

Certes I wote well, ther shall be made more scorne and jape of me, that I so unworthely clothed altogither in the cloudie cloude of unconning, wil putten me in prees to speke of love, or els of the causes in that matter, sithen al the grettest clerkes han had ynough to don, and as who saith gathered up clene toforne 'hem, and with ther sharp sithes of conning al mowen and made therof grete rekes and noble, ful of al plenties to fede me and many an other. Envye forsothe commendeth noughte his reson, that he hath in hain, be it never so trusty. And although these noble repers, as gode workmen and worthy ther hier, han al draw and bounde up in the sheves, and made many shockes, yet have I ensample to gader the smale crommes, and fullin ma walet of tho that falled from the bourde among the smalle houndes, notwithstanding the travaile of the almoigner, that hath draw up in the ck th al the remissailes, as trenchours, and the relefe to bere to the almesse. Yet also heve I leve of the noble husbande Boece, although I be a straunger of conninge to come after his doctrine, and these grete workmen, and glene my handfuls of the shedynge after ther handes, and yf me faile ought of my ful, to encrese my porcion with that I shal drawe by privyties out of shockes; a slye servaunte in his owne helpe is often moche commended; knowynge of trouthe in causes of thynges, was more hardier in the firste sechers, and so sayth Aristotle, and lighter in us that han folowed after. For ther passing study han freshed our wittes, and oure understandynge han excited in consideracion of trouth by sharpenes of ther resons. Utterly these thinges be no dremes ne japes, to throwe to hogges, it is lifelych mete for children of trouth, and as they me betiden whan I pilgramed out of my kith in wintere, whan the wether out of mesure was boistous, and the wyld wynd Boreas, as his kind asketh, with dryinge coldes maked the wawes of the ocean se so to arise unkindely over the commune bankes that it was in point te spill all the erthe.

The PROLOGUE of the CANTERBURY TALES of CHAUCER, from the MSS,

WHEN that Aprilis with his shouris sote, The drought of March had percid to the rote, And bathed every veyn in such licour, Of which vertue engendrid is the flour. When Zephyrus eke, with his swere breth Enspirit hath, in very holt and heth The tender croppis; and that the yong Sunn Hath in the Ramm his halvè cours yrunn: And smale foulis makin melodye, That slepin alle night with opin eye, (So pricking them rature in ther corage) Then onzin fork to go on pilgrimage: And paimers for to sekin strange strondes, To servin hallowes couth in sondry landes: And specially fro every shir is end Of England, to Canterbury they wend, Taenly bl.sfuil martyr for to ske, That them hath holpin, whan that they were s.ke,

Befell that in that seson on a day In Southwerk at the Tabberd as í lay, Redy to wendin on my pilgrimage To Canterbury, with devote corage, At night wer come into that hostery Wele nine and twenty in a company Of sundrie folk, by aven'ure y fall In feluship; and pilgrimes wer they all: That toward Canterbury wouldin ride. The chambers and the stablis werin wide, And well we wern esid at the best : And shortly whan the sunnè was to rest, So had I spokin with them everych one, That I was of ther felaship anone; And made forward eni for to rise, To take our weye, ther as I did devise. But nathless while that I have time and

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A knight ther was, and that a worthy man, That fro the time that he first began To ridin out, he Ivid Chevalrie, Trouth and honour, fredome and curtesy. Full worthy was he in his lord'is werre. And thereto had he riddin nane more ferre As well in Christendom, as in Hethness; And evyr honoured for his worthiness.

At Alessandre' he was whan it was won; Full oft timis he had the bord begon Abovin alle naciouns in Pruce; In Lettow had he riddin, and in Luce, No Christen-man so oft of his degree In Granada; in the sege had he beOf Algezir, and ridd in Belmary; At Leyis was he, and at Sataly,

Whan that they wer won; and in the grete

sce

At many a noble army had he be:
At mortal battails had he ben fiftene,
And foughtin for our feith at Tramesene,
In listis thrys, and alwey slein his fo.

This ilke worthy knight hath been also
Sometimis with the lord of Palathy,
Ayens anothir hethin in Turky;
And evirmore he had a sov'rane prize;
And though that he was worthy, he was
wise;

And of his port as meke as is a maid,
Ne nevir yet no villany he said
In all his life unto no manner wight:
He was a very parfit gentil knight.
But for to tellin you of his array,

His hors wer good; but he was nothing gay,
Of fustian he werid a gipon,

Alle besmottrid with his haburgeon.
For he was late y come from his viage,
And wentè for to do his pilgrimage.

The HOUSE of FAME,

The First Boke.

Now herken, as I have you saied,
What that I mette or I abraied,
Of December the tenith daie,
When it was night, to siepe I laie,
Right as I was wonte for to doen,
And fill aslepé wondir sone,
As he that was werie forgo
On pilgrimage milis two

To the corps of sainct Leonarde,
To makin lithe that erst was harde

But as me slept me mette I was
Within a tempie' imade of glas,
In whiche there werin mo iinages
Of golde standyng in sondrie stages,
Sette in mo riche tabirnacles,
And with perre mo pinnacles,
And mo curious portraituris,
And queint manir of figuris
Of golde worke, then I sawe evir.
But certainly I n'ist nevir
Where that it was, but well wist I
It was of Venus redily
This temple, for in purtreiture
I sawe anone right her figure
Nakid yfletyng in a se,

And also on her hedde parde
Her rosy garland white and redde,
And her combe for to kembe her hedde
Her dovis, and Dan Cupido
Her blindè sonne, and Vulcano,
That in his face ywas full broune.
But as I romid up and doune,

I founde that on the wall there was
Thus writtin on a table' of brus.

I woll now syng, if that I can,
The armis, and also the man,
That first came through his destine
Fugitife fro Troye the countre

Into Itaile, with full moche pine,
Unto the strondis of Lavine,
And tho began the storie anone,
As I shall tellin you echone.

First sawe I the distruccion
Of Troie, thorough the Greke Sinon,
With his false untrue forswerynges,
And with his chere and his lesynges,
That made a horse, brought into Troye,
By whiche Trojans loste all their joye.
And aftir this was graved, alas!
How Ilions castill assailed was,
And won, and kyng Priamus slain,
And Polites his sonne certain,
Dispitously of Dan Pyrrhus.

And next that sawe I howe Venus,
When that she sawe the castili brende,
Doune from hevin she gan discende,
And bade her sonne Æneas fle,
Aud how he fled, and how that he
Escapid was from all the pros,
And toke his fathre', old Anchises,
And bare hym on his backe awaie,
Crying alas and welawaie!
The whiche Anchises in his hande,
Bare the the goddis of the lande
I mene thilke that unbrennid were.
Then sawe I next that all in sere
How Creusa, Dan Eneas wife,
Whom that he lovid all his life,
And her yong sonne clepid Julo,
And eke Ascanius also,

Fleddin eke, with full drerie chere,
That it was pite for to here,
And in a forest as thei went
How at a tournyng of a went
Creusa was iloste, alas!

That rede not I, how that it was.

How he her sought, and how her ghoste
Bad hym to flie the Grekis hoste,
And saied he must into Itaile,
As was his destinie, sauns faile,
That it was pitie for to here,
When that her spirite gan appere,
The wordis that she to hym saied,
And for to kepe her sonne hym praied.
There sawe I gravin eke how he
His fathir eke, and his meine,
With his shippis began to saile
Toward the countrey of Iraile,
As streight as ere thei mightin go.
There sawe I eke the, cruill Juno,
That art Dan Jupiter his wife,
That hast ihated all thy life
Merciless all the Trojan blode,
Rennin and crie as thou were wode
On Eolus, the god of windes,
To blowin out of alle kindes
So loudè, that he should ydrenche
Lorde, and ladie, and grome, and wenche
Of all the Trojanis nacion,
Without any' of their salvacion.

There sawe I soche tempest arise,
That every herte might agrise,
To se it paintid on the wall.

There sawe I eke gravin withall,
Venus, how ye, my ladie dere,
Ywepyng with full wofull chere

Yprayid Jupiter on hie,

To save and kepin that navie
Of that dere Trojan Æneas,
Sithins that he your sonne y was.

Gode Counsaile of CHAUCER.

FLIE fro the prese and dwell with soth

fastnesse,

Suffise unto thy gode though it be small, For horde hath hate, and climbyng tikilnesse, Prece hath envie, and wele it brent oer all, Savour no more then the behovin shall, Rede well thy self, that othir folke canst rede,

And trouthe the shall delivir it is no drede.

Paine the not eche crokid to redresse,

In trust of her that tournith as a balle,
Grete rest standith in litil businesse,
Beware also to spurne against a nalle,
Strive not as doith a crocke with a walle,
Demith thyself that demist othir's dede,
And trouthe the shall deliver it is no
drede.

That the is sent receve in buxomenesse;
The wrastlyng of this worlde skith a fall,
Here is no home, here is but wildirnesse,
Forthe pilgrim, forthe o best out of thy
stall,

Loke up on high, and thanke thy God of

all.

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nour,

Without ordir or due discrecion,
Govirnid is by fortune'is errour.
But nathèlesse the lacke of her favour
Ne maie not doe me syng though that Ţ
die,
J'ay tout perdu, mon temps & mon labeur,
For finally fortune I doe defie,

Yet is me left the sight of my resoun

To knowin frende fro foe in thy mirrour,
So moche hath yet thy tournyng up and doun,
Itaughtin me to knowin in an hour,
But truly no force of thy reddour

To hym that ovir hymself hath maistrie,
My suffisaunce yshal be my succour,
For finally fortune I do defie.

O Socrates, thou stedfast champion,

She ne might nevir be thy turmentour, Thou nevir dreddist her oppression,

Ne in her chere foundin thou no favour,
Thou knewe wele the disceipt of her co-
lour,

And that her moste worship is for to lie,
I knowe her eke a false dissimulour.
For finally fortune I do defie.

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