For love of thee, as loud as I may cry,
And then did she begin this song full high,
"Beshrew all them that are in love untrue."
And soon as she had sung it to the end,
Now farewell, quoth she, for I hence must wend;
And, God of Love, that can right well and may,
Send unto thee as mickle joy this day,
As ever he to Lover yet did send.
Thus takes the Nightingale her leave of me;
I pray to God with her always to be,
And joy of love to send her evermore;
And shield us from the Cuckoo and her lore,
For there is not so false a bird as she.
Forth then she flew, the gentle Nightingale,
To all the Birds that lodged within that dale,
And gathered each and all into one place;
And them besought to hear her doleful case,
And thus it was that she began her tale.
The Cuckoo-'tis not well that I should hide
How she and I did each the other chide,
And without ceasing, since it was daylight;
And now I pray you all to do me right
Of that false Bird whom Love can not abide.
Then spake one Bird, and full assent all gave:
This matter asketh counsel good as grave,
For birds we are all here together brought;
And, in good sooth, the Cuckoo here is not;
And therefore we a Parliament will have.
And thereat shall the Eagle be our Lord,
And other Peers whose names are on record;
A summons to the Cuckoo shall be sent,
And judgment there be given, or that intent
Failing, we finally shall make accord.
And all this shall be done, without a nay,
The morrow after Saint Valentine's day,
Under a maple that is well beseen,
Before the chamber-window of the Queen,
At Woodstock, on the meadow green and gay.
She thanked them; and then her leave she took,
And flew into a hawthorn by that brook;
And there she sate and sung-upon that tree-
'For term of life Love shall have hold of me "-
So loudly, that I with that song awoke.
Unlearned Book and rude, as well I know,
For beauty thou hast none, nor eloquence,
Who did on thee the hardiness bestow
To
appear before my Lady? but a sense
Thou surely hast of her benevolence,
Whereof her hourly bearing proof doth give
For of all good she is the best alive.
Alas, poor Book! for thy unworthiness,
To show to her some pleasant meanings writ
In winning words, since through her gentiless,
Thee she accepts as for her service fit!
Oh! it repents me I have neither wit
Nor leisure unto thee more worth to give;
For of all good she is the best alive.
Beseech her meekly with all lowliness,
Though I be far from her I reverence,
To think upon my truth and stedfastness,
And to abridge my sorrow's violence,
Caused by the wish, as knows your sapience,
She of her liking proof to me would give;
For of all good she is the best alive.
Pleasure's Aurora, Day of gladsomeness!
Luna by night, with heavenly influence
Illumined root of beauty and goodnesse,
Write, and allay, by your beneficence,
My sighs breathed forth in silence,- comfort give!
Since of all good, you are the best alive.
The following extracts from Miss Wordsworth's Journal show the date of the composition of this poem. "Sunday, 6th December 1801. A very fine beautiful sun-shiny morning. William worked a while at Chaucer; then he set forward to walk into Easdale. . . . In the afternoon I read Chaucer aloud." "Monday, 7th. . . William at work with Chaucer, 'The God of Love.' "8th November ... Wm. worked at The 'Cuckoo and the Nightingale' till he was tired." "Wed., Dec. 9. I read 'Palemon and Arcite,' William writing out his alterations of Chaucer's 'Cuckoo and Nightingale.' The question as to whether The Cuckoo and the Nightingale was written by Chaucer or not, may be solved either way without affecting its literary value.-ED.
NEXT morning Troilus began to clear
His eyes from sleep, at the first break of day,
And unto Pandarus, his own Brother dear,
For love of God, full piteously did say,
We must the Palace see of Cresida ;
For since we yet may have no other feast,
Let us behold her Palace at the least!
And therewithal to cover his intent
A cause he found into the Town to go,*
And they right forth to Cresid's Palace went
But, Lord, this simple Troilus was woe,
Him thought his sorrowful heart would break in two;
For when he saw her doors fast bolted all,
Well nigh for sorrow down he 'gan to fall.
Therewith when this true Lover 'gan behold
How shut was every window of the place,
Like frost he thought his heart was icy cold;
And therwithalle his meynye for to blende
A cause he fonde in toune for to go.
แ His meynye for to blende," i.e., to keep his household or his domestics in the dark. But Wordsworth writes
And therewithal to cover his intent,
possibly mistaking meynye for meaning.-EDWARD DOWDEN.
For which, with changèd, pale, and deadly face,
Without word uttered, forth he 'gan to pace;
And on his purpose bent so fast to ride
That no wight his continuance espied.
Then said he thus,-O Palace desolate !
O house of houses, once so richly dight!
O Palace empty and disconsolate!
Thou lamp of which extinguished is the light;
O Palace whilom day that now art night,
Thou ought'st to fall and I to die; since she
Is gone who held us both in sovereignty.
O, of all houses once the crowned boast!
Palace illumined with the sun of bliss;
O ring of which the ruby now is lost,
O cause of woe, that cause has been of bliss:
Yet, since I may no better, would I kiss
Thy cold doors; but I dare not for this rout;
Farewell, thou shrine of which the Saint is out!
Therewith he cast on Pandarus an eye,
With changed face, and piteous to behold;
And when he might his time aright espy,
Aye as he rode, to Pandarus he told
Both his new sorrow and his joys of old,
So piteously, and with so dead a hue,
That every wight might on his sorrow rue.
*When Troilus sees the shut windows and desolate aspect of his lady's house, his face grows blanched, and he rides past in haste, so fast says Wordsworth,
That no wight his continuance espied.
But in Chaucer he rides fast that his white face may not be noticed
And as God wolde he gan so faste ride
That no wight of his countenance espied.
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