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Wherfore to study' and rede alway
I purpose to do day by day.

And thus in dreminge and in game
Endith this litil Boke of Fame.

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Here foloweth a godely balade of Chaucer.


Moruir of norture, best beloved of all,
And freshè Moure, to whom gode thrift God sende,
Your childe, if it lufte you me so to call,
All be' l' unable my self so to pretende,

discrecion I recommende
Mine herte and all, with every circumftaunce,
All wholly to he' undir your govirnaunce.

Mofte desire I, and have, and evir shall,
Thing which that might your here'is ese amende;
Have me excused, my powir is but small;
Nathelesse of right ye onght for to commende
My gode will, whichè fainè would entende
To doc you service, for my suffisaunce
Is wholly to be’ undir your govirnaunce.

Meulx'un in herte, whiche nevir shall apall,
Aie freshe and new, and right glad to dispende
My time in your service, what so befall,
Besechyng your excellence to defende
My simplenesse if ignoraunce offende
In any wise, sith that myne affiaunce
Is whollię to be’undir your govirnauoce.




Dailie of light, very ground of comfort!
The Sunn'is doughrir ye hight, as I rede,
For when he weftrith farwell your disport;
By your nature anone right for pure drede:
Of the rude Night, that with his boistous wede
Of derkenesse Shadowith our hemisphere,
Then closin ye, my liv'is ladie dere!

Daunyng the daie unto his kinde resort,
And Phebus your fathir with his firemes rede
Adorneth the morowe, consuming the fort
Of mistie cloudes, that wouldin ovirlede
True humble hertis with ther mistie hede,
Nere comfort adaies, when your eyin clere
Disclose and sprede, my liv'is ladie dere!

Je vouldray, but the grete God disposech
And makith casuell by his providence
Soche thing as mann'is freie wit purposeth,
All for the best, if that your conscience
Not grutche it, but in humble pacience
It receve, for God faith withoutin å fable
A faithfull herte evir is acceptable.

Cautelis whoso ufith gladlie gloseth;
To eschewe foche it is right high prudence;
What ye saied onis mine herte opposeth,
That my writyng japis in your absence
Plesid you moche bettir than my presence,
Yet can i more, ye be not excusable;
A faithfull herte evir is acceptable.
Volume XIII,







Quakith my penne, my fpirite supposeth
That in my writing ye find woll offence;
Min hert welknith thus sone, anon it riseth,
Now hotte, now colde, and eft in grete fervence;
That miffe is is caufid of negligence,
And not of malice, therefore beth merciable;
A faithfull herte evir is acceptable.

Forthe complaint, forthe thou lacking eloquence,
Forthe litil lettir, of enditing lame,
I have befought my ladie's fapience
Of thy behalfe for to accept in game
Thine inabilite, doe thou the fame:
Abide, have more yet; Je ferve Jovesse:
Now forth, I close the' in holy Venus name,
The shall unclose my hert'is govirnesse.


Thus endeth this ballade.

A ballade in commendacion of our Ladie.

A Thousande stories coud I mo reherce
Of olde poetis touching this matere,
How that Cupide the hertis gan so perce
Of his servauntis, settyng 'hem in fere.
Lo here the fine of th'errour and the fere,
Lo here of love the guerdone and grevaunce,
That er what wo her servauntes do avaunce!


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Wherfore now plainly I woll my ftile dresse
Of one to speke at nede that woll not faile;
Alas! for dole I ne can ne maie' expresse
Her paffyng prise, and that is no mervaile.
O winde of grace! now blowe unto my faile,
O auriate licour of Clio! to write
My penne enspire of that I wollendite.

Alas! unworthie I am and unable
To love soche one, all women surmountyng,
But she be benigne to me and merciable,
That is of pitie the welle and the spryngs
Wherfore of her in laude and in praisyng,
So as I can, supportid by her grace,
Right thus I saie, knelyng before her face:

O stere of sterris, with thy Iremis clere,
Sterre of the se, to shipmen light and gide!
O lufstie livyng, mofte plesaunt to' appere,
Whose bright bemis the cloudis maie not hide!
O waie of life to 'hem that go or ride,
Haven aftir tempeft, furilt up to rive,
Oo me have mercie for thy joyis five!

O rightfull rule! o bote of holinesse!
And lightsome line of pitie for to plain,
Originall of grace and all godenesse,
And clenest conduct of vertue mofte soverain!
Mothir of mercie', our trouble to restrain,
Chambir and closit clenest of chastitie,
Aad namid herbrough of the deitie!

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