CHAUCER, Geoffrey


Truth or Ballade de bon conseyl

Flee from the crowd, and dwell with truthfulness,

Let your thing suffice, though it be small;

Hoarding brings hatred, climbing fickleness,

Praise brings envy, and wealth blinds overall;

Savour no more than ‘tis good that you recall;

Rule well yourself, who others advise here;

And truth shall deliver you, have no fear.

Trouble you not the crooked to redress,

Trusting in her who wobbles like a ball.

Well-being rests on scorning busyness;

Beware therefore of kicking at an awl;

Strive not like the crockery with the wall.

Control yourself, who would control your peer;

And truth shall deliver you, have no fear.

That which is sent, receive in humbleness,

Wrestling for this world asks but a fall.

Here’s not your home, here is but wilderness.

Forth, pilgrim, forth! Forth, beast, out of your stall!

Know your country: look up, thank God for all;

Hold the high way, and let your spirit steer,

And truth shall deliver you, have no fear.

Envoy

Therefore, La Vache, cease your old wretchedness;

To the world cease now to be in thrall;

Cry Him mercy, that out of his high goodness

Made thee from naught, on Him especially call,

Draw unto Him, and pray in general

For yourself, and others, for heavenly cheer;

And truth shall deliver you, have no fear.

Cmplaint to His Empty Purse

To you, my purse, and to none other wight

Complain I, for you be my lady dear!

I am so sorry, now that you be light;

For certain, but you make me heavy cheer,

Me were as lief be laid upon my bier;

For which unto your mercy thus I cry:

Be heavy again, or else might I die!

Now voucheth safe this day, or be it night,

That I of you the blissful sound may hear,

Or see your colour like the sun bright,

That of yellowness had never peer.

You be my life, you be mine heart's steer, 

Queen of comfort and of good company:

Be heavy again, or else might I die!

You, purse, that be to me my life's light

And saviour, as done in this world here,

Out of this town help me through your might,

Since that you will not be my treasurer;

For I am shaved as nigh as any friar.

But yet I pray unto your courtesy:

Be heavy again, or else might I die!

Envoy to Henry IV

O conqueror of Brutus Albioun,

Which that by line and free election

Be very king, this song to you I send;

And you, that may all our harms amend,

Have mind upon my supplication!