A balade whiche Chaucer made against women unconflaunt.

MADAME, ye have for your newfanglenesse
Many a fervaunt put out of your grace;
I take my leve of your unftedfastneffe,
For well I wote while ye to live have space
Ye can not love full halfe yere in a place;
To new thing is your lufte is evere kene;
In ftede of blew thus may ye were al grene.

Ryght as a mirour that nothing may' enpreffe,
But lightli as it cometh fo mote it paffe,

So fareth your love, your workis bereth witnes;
Ther is no faithè may youre herte enbrace,
But as a wedircock, that turneth his face
With every winde, ye fare, and that is fene;
In fted of blew thus may ye were al grene.

Ye might be fhrinid for your brotilneffe
Bettir than Dalila, Creffeide, or Candace,
For ever in chaunging stondeth your fikirneffe,
That tatche may no wight from your hert arace;
If ye lofe one ye can wel tweine purchace,
Al light for fomar, ye' wot wel what I mene;
In flede of blewe thus may ye were al grene.
Explicit.

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Here foleweth a balade whiche Chaucer made in the praise or rather difpreife of women for ther doublenes. THIS world is full of variaunce

In everye thinge, who takith hede,

That faithe and trufte, and all conftaunce,

Exilid ben, this is no drede,

And fave only in womanhed
I can yfe no fikirnes;

But for al that yet, as I rede,
Beware alwaye of doublenes.

Al fo that the freshe fomir flourcs,

The white and rede, the blewe and grene,
Ben fodenly with wintir fhours

Made feinte and fade, without in wene,

That truft is none, as ye may fene,

In no thing, nor no stedfaftnes,

Except in

women, thus I mene;

Yet aye beware of doublenes.

The crokid mone, this is no tale,

Some while ishene and bright of hewe,
And aftir that ful derke and pale,
And every monith chaungith newe,
That who the veray fothe knew
Al thinge is bilt on brotlenes,
Save that women alwaye be trewe;

Yet aye beware of doublenes,

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The lufty freshè fommirs daye,
And Phoebus with his bemis clere,
Towardis night they drawe awaye,
And non lengir lift to appere,
That in this prefentę life now here
Nothinge abieth in his fairenes,
Save women aye be found intere,
And devoide of alle doublenes.

The fe eke with his fternè wawes

Eche daye yflowith new againe,

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And by the concours of his lawes
The ebbe yflowith in certeine;

Aftir grete drought there cometh a raine;
That farewel here al stabilnes,

Save that women be whole and pleine;
Yet aye beware of doublenes.

Fortune's whele goith round aboute
A thousand timis daye and nighte,
Whofe cours flandith evir in doute
For to tranfmew, fhe is fo lighte,
For whiche advertith in your fight
The' untruft of worldely fikilnes,
Save women, whiche of kindely right
Ne hath no teche of doublenes.

What man ymay the wind reftreine,

Or holdin a snake by the taile?
Who may a flippir ele conftreine
That it will voide withoutin faile

48

Or who can drivin fo a naile

To make fuere newfongilnes,

Save women, that can gie ther faile
To row ther bote with doublenes?
At every haven they can arive
Wher as they wote is gode paffage;
Of innocence they can not ftrive

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With wawis, nor no rockis rage;

So happy is ther lodemanage

With nedle' and ftone ther cours to dreffe,

That Salomon was not fo fage

To finde in them no doublenes:

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Therfore who fo doth them accufe

Of any double entencion,

To fpekè rowne, othir to muse,
To pinch at ther condicion,
All is but falfe collufion,

I dare right wel the fothe expreffe,
They have no bettir protection,
But shroud them undir doublenes.

So wel fortunid is ther chaunce,
The dice to turnin uppe fo doune,
With fife and fincke they can avaunce,
And than by revolucioun

They fet a fel conclufioun

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Of lombis, as in fothefafines,

Though clerk is makin mencioun

Ther kinde is fret with doublenes.

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Sampfon yhad experience

That women were ful trew ifound

Whan Dalila of innocence

With fheris gan his here to round;
To fpeke also of Rosamounde,
And Cleopatri's feithfulnes,
The stories plainly wil confounde
Men that apeche ther doublenes.
Single thinge ne is not ypraised,

Nor of olde is of no renoun,

In balaunce whan they be ypeised,

For lacke of waighte they be bore doune,
And for this cause of juste resoun

These women al of rightwifenes
Of chois and fre electioun

Moft love efchaunge and doublenes.

L'envoye.

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O ye women! whiche ben enclined

By influence of your nature

To ben as pure as golde yfined,

And in your trouth for to endure,
Armith your felfe in strong armure,
Left men affaile your fikirnes,
Set on your breft, your self to' affure,
A mightie shelde of doublenes.

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Volume X111,

Explicit.

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