It readily would learn

My Lord and God has lent.

Thou thoughtest how that it might well

To mickle profit turn,

If English folk, for love of Christ,

And follow it, fulfilling it

With thought, with word, with deed,

And therefore yearnedst thou that I
This work for thee should work;

And I have forwarded it for thee,
And all through help of Christ.

And since the holy gospel book

All this goodness shows us,

This sevenfold good that Christ to us
Did grant through His great love,
For this 'tis meet all Christian folk
Should follow gospel's lore.

And therefore have I rendered it
Into English speech,
Because I wished most earnestly
That all good English folk
With ear should hearken unto it,
With heart should truly believe,
With tongue should ever tell of it,
In deed should follow it,

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To win through Christ in Christendom The soul's salvation true.

And God almighty give us might

And wish and wit and will

To follow well this English book That is all holy lore,

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Those noble knights that once were bold As breath of wind pass from their place, Under the mold now lie they cold, Wither like grass and leave no trace.

There's none so rich, nor none so free, But that he soon shall hence away. Nothing may ever his warrant be, Gold, nor silver, nor ermine gay. Though swift, his end he may not flee, Nor shield his life for a single day. Thus is this world, as thou may'st see, Like to the shadow that glides away.

This world all passes as the wind,
When one thing comes, another flies;
What was before, is now behind;
What was held dear, we now despise.
Therefore he does as doth the blind
That in this world would claim his prize.
This world decays, as ye may find;
Truth is put down and wrong doth rise.

The love that may not here abide,
Thou dost great wrong to trust to now;
E'en so it soon shall from thee glide,
'Tis false, and brittle, and slight, I trow,
Changing and passing with every tide,
While it lasts it is sorrow enow;
At end, man wears not robe so wide
But he shall fall as leaf from bough.

Paris and Helen, where are they That were so bright and fair of face? 1 A love poem, writing, or counsel.

THE OWL AND THE NIGHTINGALE1 (c. 1216-1225)

Once within a summer's dale,

In a very secret vale,

Heard I 'gainst each other rail

Hoary Owl and Nightingale.

That strife was stiff, and stark, and strong,

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Now 'twas soft, now loud it rung,

And each bird would the other flout,

And all the evil mood let out;

And each said of the other's way

The very worst she knew to say;

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Indeed, about each other's song

The strife they waged was very strong.

The Nightingale began the speech

From her corner in a beech:

Rather it seemed the joy I heard
Of harp or pipe than song of bird.
Such strains, methought, must rather float
From harp or pipe than feathered throat.

1 This poem and the following are examples of a popular poetic mode in the middle ages, i. e. debates or disputes. In The Owl and the Nightingale, the two birds are represented as disputing over their respective modes of life. The poem has a broad human interest, as the two birds express two opposing ideals of life: the nightingale that of the refined, joyous, pleasure-lover; the owl, that of the ascetic. The birds submit their case at last to the judgment of Nicholas of Guildford, whom some suppose to be the author of the poem.

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Then, from a trunk that stood hard-by,
The Owl in turn made her reply,
O'er it the ivy grew apace;

There made the Owl her dwelling-place.
The Nightingale, who saw her plain,
Surveyed the bird with high disdain,
Filled with contempt she viewed the Owl,
Whom all men loathsome deem and foul.
"Monster," she cried, "take wings and flee,
I am the worse for sight of thee,
Truly, at thy black looks of yore
Full oft my song I've given o'er;
My tongue grows weak, my courage flies
When you appear before mine eyes,
I'm more inclined to spit than sing
At sound of thy harsh sputtering.'
The Owl abode till it grew late.
Eve came, she could no longer wait;
Her heart began to swell and strain

Thou'rt like some cross-grained, crabbed wight,

Thou sing'st in winter welawo!

Thou sing'st as doth a hen in snow,

And all she sings is but for woe:

Who turns black looks on each delight,

Till scarce she could her breath contain.

Ready to grudge it, and to lower

Half choked with rage, these words she flung:

If men are happy for an hour;

"What think'st thou now about my song?

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He wishes rather to espy

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If in my claws I held thee fast,

The tears of grief in each man's eye,
Let the mob fight, he does not care
Though each man pulls the other's hair.
E'en so thou dost upon thy side,
For when the snow lies thick and wide,
And every creature has his sorrow,

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Thou sing'st from night-fall till the morrow. But I, all bliss with me doth wake,

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Each heart is gladder for my sake,

All live in joy when I am here,

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All wait for me to reappear.

And so, mayhap, I shall at last,-
And thou wert down from off thy spray
Then should'st thou sing another way.'
Then made the Nightingale reply:

"If I avoid the open sky,

And shield myself in places bare,
Nothing for all thy threats I care;
While in my hedge secure I sit,

I reck not of your threats a whit.
I know you cruel to devour

All helpless things within your power,
Wreaking your wrath in evil way
On smaller birds where'er you may.
Hated of all the feathered rout,
The birds combine to drive you out;
Shrieking and scolding after you,
They hard upon your flight pursue.
The tit-mouse, if she had her will,

Would tease you and would work you ill.
Hateful to look upon thou art

The blossom 'gins to spring and sprede
Upon the tree and on the mede,
The lily, with her face of snow,
Welcometh me, as well you know,
And bids me, with her aspect fair,
To fly to her, and greet her there.
So too, with ruddy face, the rose,
That from the thorny briar grows,
Bids me to sing in bush and grove,
A joyous carol for her love."

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It said: "Woe! woe! and welawoe!
Woe worth thy flesh, thy foule blood,
Wretched body, why liest thou so
That wert but now so wild and wode??

"Thou that once wert wont to ride High on horse with head un-bowed, Famed for prowess far and wide, As a lion fierce and proud, Where is all thy mighty pride, And thy voice that rang so loud, Why dost thou there all naked bide, Stitched within that wretched shroud?

"Where is now thy broidered weed,
Thy sumpters, bearing thy rich bed?
Thy palfreys and thy battle-steed
Which at thy side thy Squire led?
Thy crying hawks of chosen breed,
And the hounds that thou hast fed?
Methinks, God recks not of thy need,
For all thy friends are from thee fled.

"Where are thy castles and thy towers,
Thy chambers and thy stately halls,
Painted with many-coloured flowers,
And thy riché robės all?

Thy downy quilts and covertures,
Thy sendals and thy purple palls?
Wretch full dark is now thy bower,
To-morrow thou therein shalt fall!"

...

Now when the ghost with gruesome cheer5 49
Thus had made his mournful moan,
The corpse, stretched stark upon the bier,-
A ghastly thing thus left alone,-

Its head and neck did strait uprear;
As a sick thing it 'gan to groan,

And said: "Where art thou now, my fere, 55
My ghost, that quite art from me gone?

"God shaped thee in His image fair, And gave to thee both wit and skill; He trusted me unto thy care

To guide according to thy will.
In witchcrafts foul I had no share,
Nor wist I what was good nor ill,
But like dumb beast thy yoke I bare
And as thou bad'st I must fulfill.

"Placed thy pleasures to fulfill,

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Surely should'st have judged beforn
Of my pride, my foolish will;
Now alone thou liest forlorn."

I must before thee bend devout, To do aught else I did not dare.

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