As little before thereto was wont.
To calle her lyst con me enchace,
Bot baysment gave myn hert a brunt:
175 I saw her in so strange a place,
Such a bur myght make myn herte blunt.
Then veres ho up her fayre frount,
Her visage white as playn yvore.
That stonge myn hert ful stray atount, –
180 And ever the lenger, the more and more.
IV
More then me lyst my drede aros;
I stod ful stille and durst not calle;
With iyen open and mouth ful clos,
I stod as hende as hawk in halle;
185 I hoped that gostly was that purpose;
I dred anende what schuld befalle,
Lest ho me eschaped that I there chos
Ere I at steven her myght stalle.
That gracious gay withouten galle,
190 So smothe, so smal, so seme slyght,
Rises up in her aray ryalle,
A precious pece in perles pyght.
Perles pyght of ryal pris
There myght man by grace have sene,
195 When that fresch as flor-de-lys
Doun the bonk con bow bydene:
All blysnande white was her beau mys,
Open at sides, and bounden bene
With the meriest margarys at my devise
200 That ever I saw yet with myn ene,
With lappes large, I wot and wene,
Dubbed with double perle and dight,
Her kyrtel of self sute schene
With precious perles all umbe pyght.
205 A pyght coroune yet wer that gyrle
Of margarys and non other stone,
High pinacled of clere white perle,
With flurted flowres perfet upon;
To hed had ho non other werle.
210 Her lere hit leke, all her umbe-gon,
Her semblaunt sad for duk or erle,
Her ble more blaght then whalles bon.
As schorne gold schyr her fax then schon,
On schulderes that lay unlapped lyght;
215 Her depe colour yet wonted non
Of precious perles in porfyl pyght.
Pyght was poyned and uch a hemme –
At hande, at sides, at overture –
With white perle and non other gemme,
220 And burnist white was her vesture.
Bot a wonder perle withouten wemme
In-myddes her brest was set so sure;
A manes dome myght dryly demme
Ere mynde myght malt in hit mesure;
225 I hope no tonge myght endure
No saverly sawe say of that sight,
So was hit clene and clere and pure,
That precious perle, there hit was pyght.
Pyght in perle, that precious pece
230 On wyther-half water com doun the schore;
No gladder gome hethen into Grece
Then I, when ho on brymme wore;
Ho was me nerre then aunt or nece:
My joy forthy was much the more.
235 Ho profered me speche, that special spyce,
Enclynande lowe in wommon lore:
Caght of her crowne of grete tresore,
And haylsed me with a lote lyght.
Wel was me that ever I was bore
240 To sware that swete in perles pyght!
V
‘O, perle,’ quoth I, ‘in perles pyght,
Art thou my perle that I have playned,
Regretted by myn one on nighte?
Much longing have I for thee layned
245 Syn into gresse thou me aglyghte.
Pensyf, payred, I am forpayned, –
And thou in a lif of lykyng lyght,
In Paradise erde, of stryf unstrayned.
What wyrde has hider my juel wayned
250 And done me in this doel and gret daunger?
Fro we in twynne were towen and twayned,
I have ben a joyles jueler.’
That juel then, in gemmes gent,
Vered up her vys with iyen gray,
255 Set on her crowne of perle orient,
And soberly after then con ho say:
‘Sir, ye haf your tale mysetente,
To say your perle is all away,
That is in cofer so comly clente
260 As in this garden gracious gay,
Hereinne to leng for ever and play,
There mysse ne mournyng com never here:
Here were a forser for thee, in fay,
If thou were a gentyl jueler.
265 ‘Bot, jueler gent, if thou schal lose
Thy joy for a gemme that thee was lef,
Me think thee put in a mad purpose
And busyes thee aboute a resoun bref:
For that thou lestes was bot a rose,
270 That flowred and fayled as kynde hit gef.
Now, thurgh kynde of the kyst that hit con close,
To a perle of pris hit is put in pref, –
And thou has called thy wyrde a thef
That oght of noght has made thee cler;
275 Thou blames the bote of thy meschef:
Thou art no kynde jueler.’
A juel to me then was this gest,
And jueles were her gentyl sawes.
‘Iwysse,’ quoth I, ‘my blysful best,
280 My gret distresse thou all to-drawes.
To be excused I make requeste:
I trowed my perle done out of dawes;
Now have I founde hit, I schal ma fest,
And wone with hit in schyr wodschawes,
285 And love my Lord and all his lawes,
That has me broght this blisse ner.
Now were I at yow biyonde these wawes,
I were a joyful jueler.’
‘Jueler,’ sayd that gemme clene,
290 ‘Why bourde ye men? So mad ye be.
Thre wordes has thou spoken at ene:
Unavysed for sothe were all thre;
Thou ne wost in world what one dos mene;
Thy word before thy wyt con fle.
295 Thou says thou trowes me in this dene,
Bicause thou may with iyen me see;
An other, thou says in this countre
Thyself schal wone with me right here;
The thrid, to passe this water fre, –
300 That may no joyful jueler.
VI
‘I holde that jueler little to prayse
That loues wel that he saw with iye,
And much to blame and uncortayse
That leves our Lord wolde make a lye,
305 That lelly hyght your lif to rayse,
Thagh fortune did your flesch to die.
Ye setten His wordes ful westernays
That loues no thing bot ye hit sye.
And that is a poynt of sorquydrye,
310 That uch good man may evel biseme,
To leve no tale be true to trye
Bot that his one skylle may deme.
‘Deme now thyself if thou con dayle
As man to God wordes schuld heve:
315 Thou says thou schal wone in this bayle:
Me think thee burde first ask leve,
And yet of graunt thou myghtes fayle.
Thou wilnes over this water to weve:
Ere most thou kever to other counsayle;
320 Thy corse in clot mot colder keve;
For hit was forgart at Paradise greve;
Our yore fader hit con mysse-yeme.
Thurgh drury deth bos uch man dreve
Ere over this dam him Dryhtyn deme.’
325 ‘Demes thou me,’ quoth I, ‘my swete,
To doel agayn, then I dewyne.
Now have I founde that I forlete,
Schal I eft forgo hit ere ever I fyne?
Why schal I hit both mysse and mete?
330 My precious perle dos me gret pine:
What serves tresor bot gares men grete,
When he hit schal eft with tenes tyne?
Now rech I never for to declyne,