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Of this lady Lampedo, with her sistir Masifit,
That al the land of Feminie, Europe, and Epheson,
Be yeldin and applied lowly to her subjeccion;
Many an high toure she raisid, and ybilt touris long,
Perpetuelly to lastin, with hugè wallis strong. 49

Quene Semiramis.
Lo here Semiramis, the Quene of grete Babilon,
The moste generous gem and the floure of lovily favor,
Whose excellent powir from Mede unto Septentrion
Florished in her regally as a mightie conqueror,
Subdued al Barbary, and Zorast the King of honor,
She flue Ethiop, and conquirid Armenie and Inde, 55
In which non entrid but Alexander and she as I finde.

Ladie Menalippe. Also the ladie Menalippe, thy liftir so dere, [stand, Whosemartial powirthere was no man that coud withFor thorough the wide worldè there was not yfound

[hande, The famous Duke of Athenis, Theseus, she had in And she forely chastisid him and conquirid his lande; The proudè Grekis mightilie also she did assaile, 62 Andovircameand vanquishid them bravely in bataile.

Explicit the balade of the IX. Worthies of Ladies.

her pere,

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ALONE walkyng,
In thought plainyng, All defolate,
And fore fighyng,

Me remembryng
Of my livyng, Bothe erly and late,
My death wishyng

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Yet I full faine
Would me complaine From this pénaunce;
Me to abstaine


But in fubftaunce
None allegeaunce Can I not finde:
Of my grevaunce



Right so my chaunce
With displesaunce
Doeth me avaunce ;

And thus an ende.



A ballade. In Feverere, when that it was full colde, Froste, snowe, haile, raine, hath dominacion, With chaungable'elementes and windes manifolde, Whiche hath of ground, foure, herbe, jurisdiccion For to dispose aftir their correccion, And yet Aprilis with his plefaunt fhourcs Dissolveth the fnow and bringith forthe his floures, ?

Of whose invencion lovirs maie be glade, For thei bring in the kalendis of Maie, And thei with countinaunce demure, meke, and fad, Owe to worship the luftie floures alwaie, And in speciall one called se of the daie, The däifie, a flowir white and rede, And in Frenche callid La bel Margarete.

14 O commendable floure, and mofte in minde! O floure and gracious of excellence! O amiable Marga'rite! of natife kind,


To whom I must resort with diligence,
With hert, wil, thought, most lowly obedience,
I to be your servaunt, ye my regent,
For life ne deth nevir for to repent.

Of this proceffe now forth will I procede,
Whiche happith unto me with grete disdain,
As for the time thereof I take left hede,
For unto me was brought the forè paine,
Therfore my cause was the more to complaine,
Vit unto me my grevaunce was the lefse
That I was so nigủ my ladie’and maistresse. 28

There where she was present in this same place,
I having in herte grete adversite,
Except onely the fortune and gode grace
Of her whose I am, the whiche releved me,
And my grete dures unlasid hath she,
And brought me out of the ferfull grevaunce,
Jf'it were her ese it were to me plesaunce. 33

As for the wo whiche that I did endure
It was to me a verie plesaunt pain,
Seyng it was for that faire creäture
Whiche is my ladie and my soverain,
In whose presence I would be passyng fain,
So that I wist it werin her plesure,
For she’ is from all distaunce my protedour.

Though unto me dredíull ywere the chaunce,
No maner of gentilnes oweth me to blame,
For l'had le vir sufre' of deth the penaunce

Than she should for me' have dihonor or shame,
Or in any wise losin her gode name;
So wisely God for his endlesse mercie
Graunt every lovir joy of his lady!



A ballade.

O Mercifull and o merciable
Kyng of kyngis, and fathir of pite,
Whose might and mercie is incomperable!
O prince eterne, o mightie Lorde! saie we,
To whom mercie is given of propirtie,
On thy servaunt that lieth in prison bounde
Have thou mercic or that his hertè wounde.

And that thou wilt graunt to him thy prisoner
Fre libertie, and lose hym out of pain,
All his desires, and all his hevie chere
To all gladnesse thei were restored again,
Thy high vengeance why should thou not refrain,
And thewe mercie, fith he is penitent?
Now helpe hym Lorde, and let him not be shent. 14

But fith it' is so there is a trespas done,
Unto Mercie let yelde the trespassour,
It is her office to redresse it fone,
For Trespasse to Mercie is a mirrour,
And like as the fwete hath the price by soure,
So by Trespaffe Mercie hath all her might,
Without Crespasse Mercie hath lacke of light.


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