Myne eyin to the heven I cafte;
Tho was I ware, lo! at the lafte,
That faftè by the fonne on hie,
As kennin myght I with mine eye,
Me thought I fawe an egle fore,
But that it femid mochil more
Than I had anye egle' yfeine,
This is as fothe as deth certaine,
It was of golde, and fhone fo bright,
That nevir fawe men foche a fight,
But yf the hevin had ywonne
Al newe of God anothir fonne,
So fhone the egl'is fethirs bright,
And fomwhat downwarde gan it lyght.
THE SECOND BOKE.
Nowe herkin everye manir man
That Englishe undirftandè can,
And lyflith of my dreme to here,
For now at erft fhallin ye lere
So fely' and dredefull avysion,
That I faye neithir Scipion
Ne Kinge Nabugodonofore,
Pharao, Turnus, ne Alcanore,
Ne mettin foche a dreme as this.
Nowe, o thou faire blisful Cipris!
So be my favour at this time
That ye me to endite and rime
Helpith that in Parnaffus dwel,
Befyde Helicon the clere wel.
O Thought! that wrote al that I met,
And in the treforie it fet
Of my braine, nowe shal men yfe
To tellin al my dreme aright
Nowe kithe thy engin and thy might.
This egle', of whiche I have you tolde,
That with fethirs fhone al of golde,
Whiche that fo hie began to fore,.
I gan beholdin more and more
To fene her beaute and the wonder,
But nevir was that dente of thonder,
Ne that thinge that men callin foudre,
That fmite fometime a toure to poudre,
And in his fwifte comminge brende,
That fo fwithe gan downwarde difcende
As this foule whan that it behelde
That I arowme was in the felde,
And with his grim pawis fo ftronge
Within his fharpè nailis longe
Me fleyng at a fwappe he hente,
And with his fours again up wente,
Me carying in his clawis ftarke
As lightly as I had ben a larke,
For why? it was a gret affraye.
Thus I longe in his clawis laye,
Til at the last he to me fpake
In mann'is voice, and said, Awake,
And be not agaft so for shame,
And callid me tho by my name;
And for I fhulde bettir abraide
Me to awakin thus he saide,
Right in the fame voice and stevin
That ufith one I can nevin,
And with that voice, the fothe to faine,
My minde ycame to me againe,
For it was godely saide to me,
So n'as it nevir wonte to be;
And herewithal I gan to stere
As he me in his fete ybere,
Til that he felte that I had hete,
And felte eke tho mine herte ybete;
And tho gan he me to difporte,
And with gentil wordes me comforte,
And sayid twife, By Saint Mary
Thou arte a noyous thinge to cary,
Volume XIII.
And nothinge nedith it parde,
For all fo willy God helpe me
As thou no harme fhalte have of this,
And this cafe that betidde the is
O God! (quod I) that madest al kinde,
But er I berin the moche ferre
I wil the tellin what I am,
And where thou fhalte, and why I came
To doin this, fo that thou take
Gode herte, and not for fere yquake.
Gladly, (quod I.) Now wel, (quod he.)
First 1, that in my fete have the,
Of whom thou hafte grete fere and wonder,
Am dwellinge with the god of Thonder,
Whiche men ycallin Jupiter,
That doth me flyin ful ofte fer
To do all his commaundèment,
And for this cause he hath me fent
To the; herkin nowe by thy trouthe:
Certaine he hath of the grete routhe,
For that thou hafte fo truly
So long fervid ententifly
His blindè nephewe Cupido
And the faire quene Venus alfo
Withoutin guerdon evir yet,
And nathèles haft fet thy wit,
Althoughe in thy hed ful lite is,
To make bokes, fongis, and ditis,
In rime or ellis in cadence,
As thou beft canft, in reverence
Of Love and of his fervauntes eke,
That have his fervice fought and seke,
And painift the to praise his arte,
Althoughe thou haddist nevir parte;
Wherfore, fo wifly God me bleffe,
Jovis yhalte it grete humblesse
|