J'ay fait l'obseque de Madame Dedens le moustier amoureux; Et le service pour son ame A chanté penser doloreux : Maint cierges, de soupirs piteux Ont esté en son luminaire ; Aussy j'ay fait la tombe faire, De regrets tous de larmes paints; Et tout en tour moult richement Est escript: Cy gist vraiement Le trésor de tous biens mondains. Dessus elle gist une lame
Faiste d'or et de saffirs bleux : Car saffir est nommé la jame De Loyauté et l'or eureux : Bien luy appartiennent ces deux ; Car Eur et Loyauté pourtraire Voulu en la très-débonnaire, Dieu qui la fist de ses deux mains Et forma merveilleusement; C'estoit a parler plainement, Le trésor de tous biens mondains.
N'en parlons plus, mon cueur se pame, Quant il oyt les fais vertueux D'elle qui estoit sans nul blame, Comme jurent celles et ceulx Qui congnoissoient ses conseulx. Si croy que Dieu l'a voulu traire Vers luy, pour parer son repaire De paradis, où sont les saints: Car c'est d'elle bel parement, Que l'on nommoit communément Le trésor de tous biens mondains. De rien ne servent pleurs ne plains; Tous mourrons tart ou briefvement, Nul ne peust garder longuement
Le trésor de tous biens mondains.-p. 237.
Contemporary translation.
I have the obit of my lady dere
Made in the churche of love full solempnely; And for hir sowle the service and prayere, In thought waylyng, have songe hit hevyly. The torchis sett of sighis pitously,
Which was with sorowe sett a flame, The toumbe is made als to the same
In the MS. in the British Museum, it is Cy gist bravement,
which is a better reading.”
Of karfull cry depaynted all with teeris, The which richely is write abowt That here lo lith, withouten dowt, The hool tresoure of all worldly blys. Of gold on hir ther lith an ymage clere, With safyr blew ysett so inrichely; For hit is write and seide how the safere Doth token trouthe, and gold to ben happy; The which that welbisetteth hir hardily: For whi, hit was an ewrous trewe madame, And of goodnes ay flowren may hir name; For God the which that made hir so, y wys, To make such oon me thynke a myght ben prowt For so she was, as right well be she mowt The hool tresoure of all worldly blys. O pese, no more, myn hert, astoneth here, To here me prayse hir vertu so trewly, Of hir that had no fawt, withouten were 2; As all the world hit saith as well as y, The whiche that knewe hir deedis inthorowly. God hath hir tane, I trowe, for hir good fame, His hevene the more to joy with sport and game, The more to plese and comfort his seyntis, For, certis, well may she comfort a rowt3, Noon is the seynt she was here so devout, The hool tresoure of all worldly blys. Not vaylith now though y complayne this, Almost we deye therto, so lete us lowt, Ffor ay to kepe ther is no wight so stowt The hool tresoure of all worldly blys.-f. 44". Translation in the "London Magazine." To make my lady's obsequies My love a minster wrought, And in the chantry, service there Was sung by doleful thought;
The tapers were of burning sighs,
That light and odour gave;
And sorrows, painted o'er with tears,
Enlumined her grave;
And round about, in quaintest guise,
Was carved: "Within this tomb there lies
The fairest thing in mortal eyes."
Above her lieth spread a tomb Of gold and sapphires blue;
The gold doth show her blessedness, The sapphires mark her true :
3 a large assemblage of persons.
For blessedness and truth in her Were livelily portray'd,
When gracious God with both his hands Her goodly substance made:
He fram'd her in such wond'rous wise, She was, to speak without disguise, The fairest thing in mortal eyes.
No more, no more: my heart doth faint When I the life recall
Of her, who lived so free from taint, So virtuous deem'd by all : That in herself was so complete I think that she was ta'en By God to deck his paradise, And with his saints to reign;
For well she doth become the skies, Whom, while on earth, each one did prize The fairest thing in mortal eyes.
But nought our tears avail, or cries: All soon or late in death shall sleep: Nor living wight long time may keep The fairest thing in mortal eyes.
But we have not room for another specimen of this kind. The following are the three English "Rondels," which may safely be attributed to the Duke of Orleans; and which we insert as evidence of our remark, that he was not the translator of his own poetry :
"By helis body," the writer in the "London Magazine" says, "I suppose is meant one deprived of health or happiness. The word occurs in Chaucer, but with a difference in the spelling and quantity: A wight in torment and in drede
Troilus and Creseide, b. v. fol. 180, ed. 1602.”
Before concluding this article, we are tempted to introduce two or three other pieces from the MS. printed by Mr. Watson Taylor.
Qui la regarde de mes yeux."
Poésies de Charles d'Orleans, p. 52.
Whoso biholdith with mi eye,
Mi verry lady and ful maystres, In hir he shall se gret larges
Of plesaunt, spryngyng from gret to more goodly.
Hir speche is such, and hir demene trewly,
That hit would bringe any hert unto gladnes, Whoso biholdith with mi eye
Mi verry lady and ful maystres.
For yong and oold that loketh here wisly
To preysen hir hardily they nevir cesse,
But sayne echon that hit is a goddes,
Which is descended down from heven on hy.
Whoso biholdith, &c.-f. 65.
Of the following, the French originals have not been dis
O fayre madame, all though that there be noon
That for him silf kan speke so yvil as y,
Yet nevyrtheless, but ye had cause of whi,
"Query, for can smart, or comes smart."
"Prive and apert is in Chaucer, Cant. T. 6696: In private and in public. Tyrwhitt's Glossary."
5" Astert. Chaucer, Cant. T. 1597, 6550. To escape. Tyrwhitt's Glossary."
And, al be that y make a rewdisshe mon, Bithynke my trouth, lete me not dy,
O fayre madame, all though that there be noon That for him silf kan speke so yvil as y For voyde stonde y of hope, save you alon, Of whiche me seem ye sett but litil by, Alas! the deth gef that y ben worthi, Then do me so that y were goon. O fayre madame, &c.-f. 97.
Madame, y wold bi God alone, How that my hert were in yowre sleve; For, in good trouth, ye wol not leve1 How fayne he wold fro me bigoon: So take it now anoon,
For freely him y to yow geve; Madame, y wold bi God alone,
How that my hert were in youre sleve, For he and y are comen foon2, A doth to me so gret a greef,
ye lust me to myschef,
So take him, or sle me, the toon3. Madame, y wold, &c.-f. 89.
My gostly fadir, y me confesse First to God and then to yow, That at a window, wot ye how, I stale a cosse of gret swetnes, Which don was out avisynes ; But hit is doon, not undoon now: My gostly fadir, y me confesse, First to God and then to yow. But y restore it shall dowtless Ageyn, if so be that y mow5; And that God y make a vow, And ellis y axe forgefnes. My gostly fadir, &c.-f. 88.
Wherefore, wherfore make three nayes, whi? Methinke they nede not spoken ben so oft, If in yoursilf that ye were wele bithought; What cause se ye to say nay? fy, fy, fy, Remember yow also, am y not y,
That dare not doon but as ye hav me taught? Wherfore, wherfore make three nayes, whi? Methynke they nede not spoken ben so oft. For and so be that y do ungoodly
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