66r]      5 10 15 20 25 30 35 40 45 50 55 60 65 70

¶ Weping haveth myn wonges wet   Dunprest      For wikked werk ant wone of wyt! Unblithe Y be til Y ha bet Bruches broken, ase Bok byt, Of levedis love, that Y ha let, That lemeth al with luefly lyt. Ofte in song Y have hem set, That is unsemly — ther hit syt!    Hit syt ant semeth noht,    Ther hit ys seid in song:    That Y have of hem wroht,    Ywis, hit is al wrong! Al wrong Y wrohte for a wyf That made us wo in world ful wyde: Heo rafte us alle richesse ryf, That durthe us nout in reynes ryde! A stythye stunte hire sturne stryf, That ys in heovene hert in hyde. In hire, lyht on — ledeth lyf — Ant shon thourh hire semly syde:    Thourh hyre side he shon    Ase sonne doth thourh the glas.    Wommon nes wicked non    Seththe he ybore was! Wycked nis non, that Y wot, That durste for werk hire wonges wete; Alle heo lyven from last of lot, Ant are al hende ase hake in chete. Forthi on molde Y waxe mot That Y sawes have seid unsete — My fykel fleishe, mi falsly blod! — On feld hem feole Y falle to fete:    To fet Y falle hem feole    For falsleke fifti-folde,    Of alle untrewe on tele    With tonge ase Y her tolde! Thah told beon tales untoun in toune (Such tiding mei tide, Y nul nout teme), Of brudes bryht with browes broune, Our blisse heo beyen, this briddes breme! In rude were roo with hem roune, That hem mihte henten ase him were heme; Nys kyng, cayser, ne clerk with croune, This semly serven that mene may seme:    Semen him may on sonde,    This semly serven so,    Bothe with fet ant honde,    For on that us warp from wo. Nou wo in world ys went away, Ant weole is come, ase we wolde, Thourh a mihti, methful mai, That ous hath cast from cares colde. Ever wymmen Ich herie ay, Ant ever in hyrd with hem Ich holde, Ant ever, at neode, Y nyckenay That Y ner nemnede that heo nolde:    Y nolde ant null yt noht,    Y nolde ant null yt noht,    Soth is that Y of hem ha wroht,    As Richard erst con red. Richard, rote of resoun ryht, Rykening of rym ant ron, Of maidnes meke thou hast myht! On molde Y holde the murgest mon, Cunde comely ase a knyht, Clerk ycud, that craftes con, In uch an hyrd thyn athel ys hyht, Ant uch an athel thin hap is on:    Hap that hathel hath hent,    With hendelec in halle!    Selthe be him sent    In londe of levedis alle!

¶ Weeping has made my cheeks all wet     Dunprest      For wicked deed and lack of wit! Unhappy I am till I’ve atoned For broken breaches, as the Book commands, Regarding ladies’ love, which I have hindered, Who shine entirely with a lovely hue. Often in song I have described them, In an unseemly way — there it stands!    It stands and is not seemly,    Where it is said in song:    What I've written about them,    Indeed, it is all wrong! All wrongly I acted because of a woman Who caused us grief in the very wide world: She robbed us all of abundant wealth, Who needed not to ride us on reins! An excellent one stopped her fierce strife, Who dwells in heaven’s heart in flesh. In her, one alighted — he who leads life — And shone through her seemly side:    Through her side he shone    As does the sun through the glass.    No woman has ever been wicked    Since the time that he was born! There’s none who’s wicked, of whom I know, Who must for sin dampen her cheeks; They all live free of blameful conduct, And are all as gracious as hawk in hall. Therefore on earth I grow sorry That I have unbecomingly spoken words — My deceitful flesh, my false blood! — On ground before them I fall oft at their feet:    At their feet I often fall    For falsehood fiftyfold,    For all falsehoods in slander    With tongue as I’ve here told! Though wanton tales be told in public (Such a thing may happen, I won’t vouch for it), About fair ladies with brown brows, They restore our bliss, these lovely ladies! To share secrets with them is peace mid discord, For he might obtain from them what befits him; There’s no king, emperor, or clerk with tonsure, Who’d seem small for serving these seemly ones:    It may become him to do an errand,    These fair ones so to serve,    Both with feet and hands,    For one who casts us from woe. Now woe in the world has gone away, And joy has arrived, as we wish, Through a mighty, gentle maiden, Who’s released us from cruel concerns. Always I praise women continually, And always in public I defend them, And always, when necessary, I deny That I ever said anything they didn’t like:    I didn’t and wouldn’t say anything,    For nothing now, necessarily,    Is true that I’ve written of them,    As Richard was first to point out. Richard, source of good sense, Paragon of verse and poetry, Over gracious maidens you hold sway! On earth I consider you the most pleasing man, Of parentage as fine as a knight, Scholar of fame, versed in skills, In every household your excellence is mentioned, And every man follows your fortune:    Fortune has that man obtained,    With courtesy in hall!    Happiness be sent to him    In the land of ladies all!

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