# The Legend of Good Women/Balade
### Balade

| | Hyd, Absolon, thy gilte tresses clere; |
| 250 | Ester, ley thou thy meknesse al a-doun; |
| | Hyd, Ionathas, al thy frendly manere; |
| | Penalopee, and Marcia Catoun, |
| | Mak of your wyfhod no comparisoun; |
| | Hyde ye your beautes, Isoude and Eleyne, |
| | My lady cometh, that al this may disteyne. |
| | Thy faire body, lat hit nat appere, |
| | Lavyne; and thou, Lucresse of Rome toun, |
| | And Polixene, that boghten love so dere, |
| | And Cleopatre, with al thy passioun, |
| 260 | Hyde ye your trouthe of love and your renoun; |
| | And thou, Tisbe, that hast of love swich peyne; |
| | My lady cometh, that al this may disteyne. |
| | Herro, Dido, Laudomia, alle y-fere, |
| | And Phyllis, hanging for thy Demophon, |
| | And Canace, espyed by thy chere, |
| | Ysiphile, betrayed with Jasoun, |
| | Maketh of your trouthe neyther boost ne soun; |
| | Nor Ypermistre or Adriane, ye tweyne; |
| | My lady cometh, that al this may disteyne. |
| 270 | This balade may ful wel y-songen be, |
| | As I have seyd erst, by my lady free; |
| | For certeynly, alle these now nat suffyse |
| | To apperen with my lady in no wyse. |
| | For as the sonne wol the fyr disteyne, |
| | So passeth al my lady sovereyne, |
| | That is so good, so fair, so debonaire; |
| | I prey to god that ever falle hir faire! |
| | For, nadde comfort been of hir presence, |
| | I had ben deed, withouten any defence, |
| 280 | For drede of Loves wordes and his chere; |
| | As, when tyme is, her-after ye shal here. |
| | Behind this god of love, upon the grene, |
| | I saugh cominge of ladyes nyntene |
| | In real habit, a ful esy paas; |
| | And after hem com of women swich a traas, |
| | That, sin that god Adam had mad of erthe, |
| | The thridde part of mankynd, or the ferthe, |
| | Ne wende I nat by possibilitee, |
| | Had ever in this wyde worlde y-be; |
| 290 | And trewe of love thise women were echoon. |
| | Now whether was that a wonder thing or noon, |
| | That, right anoon as that they gonne espye |
| | This flour, which that I clepe the dayesye, |
| | Ful sodeinly they stinten alle at ones, |
| | And kneled doun, as it were for the nones, |
| | And songen with o vois, "hele and honour |
| | To trouthe of womanhede, and to this flour |
| | That berth our alder prys in figuringe! |
| | Hir whyte coroun berth the witnessinge!" |
| 300 | And with that word, a compas enviroun, |
| | They setten hem ful softly adoun. |
| | First sat the god of love, and sith his quene |
| | With the whyte coroun, clad in grene; |
| | And sithen al the remenant by and by, |
| | As they were of estaat, ful curteisly; |
| | Ne nat a word was spoken in the place |
| | The mountance of a furlong-wey of space. |
| | I kneling by this flour, in good entente |
| | Abood, to knowen what this peple mente, |
| 310 | As stille as any stoon; til at the laste, |
| | This god of love on me his eyen caste, |
| | And seyde, "who kneleth ther?" and I answerde |
| | Unto his asking, whan that I hit herde, |
| | And seyde, "sir, hit am I"; and com him neer, |
| | And salued him. Quod he, "what dostow heer |
| | So nigh myn owne flour, so boldely? |
| | For it were better worthy, trewely, |
| | A worm to neghen neer my flour than thou." |
| | "And why, sir," quod I, "and hit lyke yow?" |
| 320 | "For thou," quod he, "art ther-to nothing able. |
| | Hit is my relik, digne and delytable, |
| | And thou my fo, and al my folk werreyest, |
| | And of myn olde servaunts thou misseyest, |
| | And hindrest hem, with thy translacioun, |
| | And lettest folk from hir devocioun |
| | To serve me, and holdest hit folye |
| | To serve Love. Thou mayest hit nat denye; |
| | For in pleyn text, with-outen nede of glose, |
| | Thou hast translated the Romaunce of the Rose, |
| 330 | That is an heresye ageyns my lawe, |
| | And makest wyse folk fro me withdrawe. |
| | And of Criseyde thou hast seyd as thee liste, |
| | That maketh men to wommen lasse triste, |
| | That ben as trewe as ever was any steel. |
| | Of thyn answere avyse thee right weel; |
| | For, thogh that thou reneyed hast my lay, |
| | As other wrecches han doon many a day, |
| | By seynt Venus, that my moder is, |
| | If that thou live, thou shalt repenten this |
| 340 | So cruelly, that hit shal wel be sene!" |
| | Tho spak this lady, clothed al in grene, |
| | And seyde, "god, right of your curtesye, |
| | Ye moten herknen if he can replye |
| | Agayns al this that ye han to him meved; |
| | A god ne sholde nat be thus agreved, |
| | But of his deitee he shal be stable, |
| | And therto gracious and merciable. |
| | And if ye nere a god, that knowen al, |
| | Than mighte hit be, as I yow tellen shal; |
| 350 | This man to you may falsly been accused, |
| | Ther as by right him oghte been excused. |
| | For in your court is many a losengeour, |
| | And many a queynte totelere accusour, |
| | That tabouren in your eres many a soun, |
| | Right after hir imaginacioun, |
| | To have your daliance, and for envye; |
| | These been the causes, and I shall nat lye. |
| | Envye is lavender of the court alway; |
| | For she ne parteth, neither night ne day, |
| 360 | Out of the hous of Cesar; thus seith Dante; |
| | Who-so that goth, algate she wol nat wante. |
| | And eek, paraunter, for this man is nyce, |
| | He mighte doon hit, gessing no malyce, |
| | But for he useth thinges for to make; |
| | Him rekketh noght of what matere he take; |
| | Or him was boden maken thilke tweye |
| | Of som persone, and durste hit nat with-seye; |
| | Or him repenteth utterly of this. |
| | He ne hath nat doon so grevously amis |
| 370 | To translaten that olde clerkes wryten, |
| | As thogh that he of malice wolde endyten |
| | Despyt of love, and had him-self hit wroght. |
| | This shulde a rightwys lord have in his thoght, |
| | And nat be lyk tiraunts of Lumbardye, |
| | That han no reward but at tirannye. |
| | For he that king or lord is naturel, |
| | Him oghte nat be tiraunt ne cruel, |
| | As is a fermour, to doon the harm he can. |
| | He moste thinke hit is his lige man, |
| 380 | And is his tresour, and his gold in cofre. |
| | This is the sentence of the philosophre: |
| | A king to kepe his liges in Iustyce; |
| | With-outen doute, that is his offyce. |
| | Al wole he kepe his lordes hir degree, |
| | As hit is right and skilful that they be |
| | Enhaunced and honoured, and most dere -- |
| | For they ben half-goddes in this world here -- |
| | Yit mot he doon bothe right, to pore and riche, |
| | Al be that hir estat be nay y-liche, |
| 390 | And han of pore folk compassioun, |
| | For lo, the gentil kynd of the leoun! |
| | For whan a flye offendeth him or byteth, |
| | He with his tayl awey the flye smyteth |
| | Al esily; for, of his genterye, |
| | Him deyneth nat to wreke him on a flye, |
| | As doth a curre or elles another beste. |
| | In noble corage oghte been areste, |
| | And weyen every thing by equitee, |
| | And ever han reward to his owen degree. |
| 400 | For, sir, hit is no maystrie for a lord |
| | To dampne a man with-oute answere of word; |
| | And, for a lord, that is ful foul to use. |
| | And if so be he may him nat excuse, |
| | But asketh mercy with a dredful herte, |
| | And profreth him, right in his bare sherte, |
| | To been right at your owne Iugement, |
| | Than oghte a god, by short avysement, |
| | Considre his owne honour and his trespas. |
| | For sith no cause of deeth lyth in his cas, |
| 410 | Yow oghte been the lighter merciable; |
| | Leteth your yre, and beth somwhat tretable! |
| | The man hath served yow of his conning, |
| | And forthred wel your lawe in his making. |
| | "Al be hit that he can nat wel endyte, |
| | Yet hath he maked lewed folk delyte |
| | To serve you, in preysing of your name. |
| | He made of the book that hight the Hous of Fame, |
| | And eek the Deeth of Blaunche the Duchesse, |
| | And the Parlement of Foules, and I gesse, |
| 420 | And al the love of Palamon and Arcyte |
| | Of Thebes, thogh the story is knowen lyte; |
| | And many an ympne for your halydayes, |
| | That highten Balades, Roundels, Virelayes; |
| | And, for to speke of other holynesse, |
| | He hath in prose translated Boece, |
| | And mad the Lyf also of seynt Cecyle; |
| | He made also, goon sithen a greet whyl, |
| | Origenes upon the Maudeleyne; |
| | Him oghte now to have the lesse peyne; |
| 430 | He hath mad many a lay and many a thing. |
| | "Now as ye been a god, and eek a king, |
| | I, your Alceste, whylom quene of Trace, |
| | I aske yow this man, right of your grace, |
| | That ye him never hurte in al his lyve; |
| | And he shal sweren yow, and that as blyve, |
| | He shal no more agilten in this wyse; |
| | But he shal maken, as ye wil devyse, |
| | Of wommen trewe in lovinge al hir lyve, |
| | Wher-so ye wil, of maiden or of wyve, |
| 440 | And forthren yow, as muche as he misseyde |
| | Or in the Rose or elles in Creseyde." |
| | The god of love answerde hir thus anoon, |
| | "Madame," quod he, "hit is so long agoon |
| | That I yow knew so charitable and trewe, |
| | That never yit, sith that the world was newe, |
| | To me ne fond I better noon than ye. |
| | If that I wolde save my degree, |
| | I may ne wol nat werne your requeste; |
| | Al lyth in yow, doth with him as yow leste. |
| 450 | I al foryeve, with-outen lenger space; |
| | For who-so yeveth a yift, or doth a grace, |
| | Do hit by tyme, his thank is wel the more; |
| | And demeth ye what he shal do therfore. |
| | Go thanke now my lady heer," quod he. |
| | I roos, and doun I sette me on my knee, |
| | And seyde thus: "madame, the god above |
| | Foryelde yow, that ye the god of love |
| | Han maked me his wrathe to foryive; |
| | And yeve me grace so long for to live, |
| 460 | That I may knowe soothly what ye be |
| | That han me holpe and put in this degree. |
| | But truly I wende, as in this cas, |
| | Naught have agilt, ne doon to love trespas. |
| | Forwhy a trewe man, with-outen drede, |
| | Hath not to parten with a theves dede; |
| | Ne a trewe lover oghte me nat blame, |
| | Thogh that I speke a fals lover som shame. |
| | They oghte rather with me for to holde, |
| | For that I of Creseyde wroot or tolde, |
| 470 | Or of the Rose; what-so myn auctour mente, |
| | Algate, god wot, hit was myn entente |
| | To forthren trouthe in love and hit cheryce; |
| | And to be war fro falsnesse and fro vyce |
| | By swich ensample; this was my meninge." |
| | And she answerde, "lat be thyn arguinge; |
| | For Love ne wol nat countrepleted be |
| | In right ne wrong; and lerne that of me! |
| | Thou hast thy grace, and hold thee right ther-to. |
| | Now wol I seyn what penance thou shald do |
| 480 | For thy trespas, and understond hit here: |
| | Thou shalt, whyl that thou livest, yeer by yere, |
| | The moste party of thy tyme spende |
| | In making of a glorious Legende |
| | Of Gode Wommen, maidenes and wyves, |
| | That weren trewe in lovinge al hir lyves; |
| | And telle of false men that hem bitrayen, |
| | That al hir lyf ne doon nat but assayen |
| | How many wommen they may doon a shame; |
| | For in your world that is now holde a game. |
| 490 | And thogh thee lyke nat a lover be, |
| | Spek wel of love; this penance yive I thee. |
| | And to the god of love I shal so preye, |
| | That he shal charge his servants, by any weye, |
| | To forthren thee, and wel thy labour quyte; |
| | Go now thy wey, this penance is but lyte. |
| | And whan this book is maad, yive hit the quene |
| | On my behalfe, at Eltham, or at Shene." |
| | The god of love gan smyle, and than he seyde, |
| | "Wostow," quod he, "wher this be wyf or mayde, |
| 500 | Or quene, or countesse, or of what degree, |
| | That hath so litel penance yiven thee, |
| | That hast deserved sorer for to smerte? |
| | But pitee renneth sone in gentil herte; |
| | That maystow seen, she kytheth what she is." |
| | And I answerde, "nay, sir, so have I blis, |
| | No more but that I see wel she is good." |
| | "That is a trewe tale, by myn hood," |
| | Quod Love, "and that thou knowest wel, pardee, |
| | If hit be so that thou avyse thee. |
| 510 | Hastow nat in a book, lyth in thy cheste, |
| | The grete goodnesse of the quene Alceste, |
| | That turned was into a dayesye: |
| | She that for hir husbande chees to dye, |
| | And eek to goon to helle, rather than he, |
| | And Ercules rescowed hir, pardee, |
| | And broghte hir out of helle agayn to blis?" |
| | "And I answerde ageyn, and seyde, "yis, |
| | Now knowe I hir! And is this good Alceste, |
| | The dayesye, and myn owne hertes reste? |
| 520 | Now fele I wel the goodnesse of this wyf, |
| | That bothe after hir deeth, and in hir lyf, |
| | Hir grete bountee doubleth hir renoun! |
| | Wel hath she quit me myn affeccioun |
| | That I have to hir flour, the dayesye! |
| | No wonder is thogh Iove hir stellifye, |
| | As telleth Agaton, for hir goodnesse! |
| | Hir whyte coroun berth of hit witnesse; |
| | For also many vertues hadde she, |
| | As smale floures in hir coroun be. |
| 530 | In remembraunce of hir and in honour, |
| | Cibella made the dayesy and the flour |
| | Y-coroned al with whyt, as men may see; |
| | And Mars yaf to hir coroun reed, pardee, |
| | In stede of rubies, set among the whyte." |
| | Therwith this quene wex reed for shame a lyte, |
| | Whan she was preysed so in hir presence. |
| | Than seyde Love, "a ful gret negligence |
| | Was hit to thee, that ilke tyme thou made |
| | `Hyd, Absolon, thy tresses,' in balade, |
| 540 | That thou forgete hir in thy song to sette, |
| | Sin that thou art so gretly in hir dette, |
| | And wost so wel, that kalender is she |
| | To any woman that wol lover be. |
| | For she taughte al the craft of fyn lovinge, |
| | And namely of wyfhood the livinge, |
| | And alle the boundes that she oghte kepe; |
| | Thy litel wit was thilke tyme a-slepe. |
| | But now I charge thee, upon thy lyf, |
| | That in thy Legend thou make of this wyf, |
| 550 | Whan thou hast other smale y-maad before; |
| | And fare now wel, I charge thee no more. |
| | "But er I go, thus muche I wol thee telle, |
| | Ne shal no trewe lover come in helle. |
| | Thise other ladies sittinge here arowe |
| | Ben in thy balade, if thou canst hem knowe, |
| | And in thy bokes alle thou shalt hem finde; |
| | Have hem now in thy Legend alle in minde, |
| | I mene of hem that been in thy knowinge. |
| | For heer ben twenty thousand mo sittinge |
| 560 | That thou knowest, that been good wommen alle |
| | And trewe of love, for aught that may befalle; |
| | Make the metres of hem as thee leste. |
| | I mot gon hoom, the sonne draweth weste, |
| | To Paradys, with al this companye; |
| | And serve alwey the fresshe dayesye. |
| | "At Cleopatre I wol that thou beginne; |
| | And so forth; and my love so shalt thou winne. |
| | For lat see now what man that lover be, |
| | Wol doon so strong a peyne for love as she. |
| 570 | I wot wel that thou mayest nat al hit ryme, |
| | That swiche lovers diden in hir tyme; |
| | It were so long to reden and to here; |
| | Suffyceth me, thou make in this manere, |
| | That thou reherce of al hir lyf the grete, |
| | After thise olde auctours listen to trete. |
| | For who-so shal so many a storie telle, |
| | Sey shortly, or he shal to longe dwelle." |
| | And with that word my bokes gan I take, |
| | And right thus on my Legend gan I make. |