| I, which that am the sorwefulleste man |
| That in this world was ever yit livinge, |
| And leest recoverer of himselven can, |
| Beginne right thus my deedly compleininge |
| 5 | On hir that may to lyf and deeth me bringe, |
| Which hath on me no mercy ne no rewthe, |
| That love hir best, but sleeth me for my trewthe. |
| |
| Can I noght doon ne seye that may yow lyke? |
| Ne, certes now; allas, allas the whyle! |
| 10 | Your plesaunce is to laughen whan I syke, |
| And thus ye me from al my blisse exyle. |
| Ye han me cast in thilke spitous yle |
| Ther never man on lyve mighte asterte; |
| This have I, for I love you, swete herte! |
| |
| 15 | Sooth is, that wel I woot, by lyklinesse, |
| If that it were a thing possible to do |
| For to acompte youre beautee and goodnesse, |
| I have no wonder thogh ye do me wo; |
| Sith I, th' unworthiest that may ryde or go, |
| 20 | Durste ever thinken in so hy a place. |
| What wonder is, thogh ye do me no grace? |
| |
| Allas, thus is my lyf brought to an ende; |
| My deeth, I see, is my conclusioun. |
| I may wel singe, "In sory tyme I spende |
| 25 | My lyf." That song may have confusioun. |
| For mercy, pitee, and deep affeccioun, |
| I sey for me, for al my deedly chere, |
| Alle thise diden, in that, me love yow dere. |
| |
| And in this wyse and in dispayr I live |
| 30 | In love -- nay, but in dispayr I dye! |
| But shal I thus yow my deeth foryive, |
| That causeles doth me this sorwe drye? |
| Ye, certes, I! For she of my folye |
| Hath nought to done although she do me sterve, |
| 35 | Hit is nat with hir wil that I hir serve. |
| |
| Than sithen I am of my sorwe the cause |
| And sithen I have this withoute hir reed, |
| Than may I seyn right shortly in a clause, |
| It is no blame unto hir womanheed |
| 40 | Though swich a wrecche as I be for hir deed. |
| Yet alwey two thinges doon me dye, |
| That is to seyn, hir beautee and myn ye'; |
| |
| So that, algates, she is verray rote |
| Of my disese and of my deth also, |
| 45 | For with oon word she mighte be my bote, |
| If that she vouched sauf for to do so. |
| But than is hir gladnesse at my wo? |
| It is hir wone plesaunce for to take |
| To seen hir servaunts dyen for hir sake. |
| |
| 50 | But certes, than is al my wonderinge, |
| Sithen she is the fayrest creature, |
| As to my doom, that ever was livinge, |
| The benignest and beste eek that Nature |
| Hath wrought or shal, whyl that the world may dure, |
| 55 | Why that she lefte Pite so behinde? |
| It was, ywis, a greet defaute in Kinde. |
| |
| Yit is al this no lak to hir, pardee, |
| But God or Nature sore wolde I blame. |
| For though she shewe no pite unto me, |
| 60 | Sithen that she doth othere men the same, |
| I ne oughte to despyse my ladyes game; |
| It is hir pley to laughen whan men syketh, |
| And I assente al that hir list and lyketh. |
| |
| Yet wolde I, as I dar, with sorwful herte |
| 65 | Biseche unto your meke womanhede |
| That I now dorste my sharpe sorwes smerte |
| Shewe by word, that ye wolde ones rede |
| The compleynte of me, which ful sore I drede |
| That I have seid here, through myn unkonninge, |
| 70 | In any word to your displesinge. |
| |
| Lothest of anything that ever was loth |
| Were me, as wisly God my soule save, |
| To seyn a thing through which ye might be wroth; |
| And, to that day that I be leyd in grave, |
| 75 | A trewer servaunt shulle ye never have; |
| And, though that I have pleyned unto you here, |
| Foryiveth it me, myn owne lady dere. |
| |
| Ever have I been, and shal, how-so I wende, |
| Outher to live or dye, your humble trewe. |
| 80 | Ye been to me my ginning and myn ende, |
| Sonne of the sterre bright and clere of hewe; |
| Alwey in oon to love yow freshly newe, |
| By God and by my trouthe, is myn entente; |
| To live or dye, I wol it never repente! |
| |
| 85 | This compleynte on Seint Valentynes day, |
| Whan every foughel chesen shal his make, |
| To hir, whos I am hool and shal alwey, |
| This woful song and this compleynte I make, |
| That never yit wolde me to mercy take; |
| 90 | And yit wol I evermore her serve |
| And love hir best, although she do me sterve. |