Fierce warres and faithful loves shall moralize my song.
A gentle knight was pricking on the plaine.
O happy earth,
Whereon thy innocent feet doe ever tread!
The noblest mind the best contentment has.
A bold bad man.
Her angels face,
As the great eye of heaven, shyned bright,
And made a sunshine in the shady place.
Ay me, how many perils doe enfold
The righteous man, to make him daily fall!
As when in Cymbrian plaine
An heard of bulles, whom kindly rage doth sting,
Doe for the milky mothers want complaine,
And fill the fieldes with troublous bellowing.
Entire affection hateth nicer hands.
That darksome cave they enter, where they find
That cursed man, low sitting on the ground,
Musing full sadly in his sullein mind.
No daintie flowre or herbe that growes on grownd,
No arborett with painted blossoms drest
And smelling sweete, but there it might be fownd
To bud out faire, and throwe her sweete smels al arownd.
And is there care in Heaven? And is there love
In heavenly spirits to these Creatures bace?
How oft do they their silver bowers leave
To come to succour us that succour want!
Eftsoones they heard a most melodious sound.
Through thick and thin, both over bank and bush,
In hope her to attain by hook or crook.
Her berth was of the wombe of morning dew,
And her conception of the joyous Prime.
Roses red and violets blew,
And all the sweetest flowres that in the forrest grew.
Be bolde, Be bolde, and everywhere, Be bold.
Dan Chaucer, well of English undefyled,
On Fame's eternall beadroll worthie to be fyled.
For all that Nature by her mother-wit
Could frame in earth.
Ill can he rule the great that cannot reach the small.
Who will not mercie unto others show,
How can he mercy ever hope to have?
The gentle minde by gentle deeds is knowne;
For a man by nothing is so well bewrayed
As by his manners.
For we by conquest, of our soveraine might,
And by eternall doome of Fate's decree,
Have wonne the Empire of the Heavens bright.
For of the soule the bodie forme doth take;
For soule is forme, and doth the bodie make.