Balade to Rosemounde
Madame, ye ben of al beautè shryne
As fer as cercled is the mappemounde;
For as the cristal glorious ye shyne,
And lyke ruby ben your chekes rounde.
Therwith ye ben so mery and so iocounde,
That at a revel whan that I see you daunce,
It is an oynement unto my wounde,
Thogh ye to me ne do no daliaunce.
For thogh I wepe of teres ful a tyne,
Yet may that wo myn herte nat confounde;
Your seemly voys that ye so smal out-twyne
Maketh my thoght in Ioye and blis habounde.
So curteisly I go, with lovë bounde,
That to my-self I sey, in my penaunce,
Suffyseth me to love you, Rosemounde,
Thogh ye to me ne do no daliaunce.
Nas never pyk walwed in galauntyne
As I in love am walwed and y-wounde;
For which ful ofte I of my-self divyne
That I am trewe Tristan the secounde.
My love may not refreyd be nor afounde;
I brenne ay in an amorous plesaunce.
Do what you list, I wil your thral be founde,
Thoghe ye to me ne do no daliaunce.
Tregentil—-//—-Chaucer.
Ballade to Rosamond
Madam, ye been of all beauty shrine
As far as circled is the mappemonde;
For as the crystal glorious ye shine,
And like ruby been your cheeks round.
Therewith ye been so merry and so jocund
That at a revel when that I see you dance,
It is an ointment unto my wound,
Though ye to me ne do no dalliance.
For though I weep of tears full a tine,
Yet may that woe mine heart not confound;
Your seemly voice that ye so small out-twine
Maketh my thought in joy and bliss abound.
So courteously I go, with love bound,
That to myself I say, in my penance,
Sufficeth me to love you, Rosamond,
Though ye to me ne do no dalliance.
Nas never pike wallowed in galantine
As I in love am wallowed and y-wound;
For which full oft I of myself divine
That I am true Tristan the second.
My love may not refreid be nor afound;
I burn aye in an amorous pleasance.
Do what you list, I will your thrall be found,
Though ye to me ne do no dalliance.
Balade to Rosemounde
Madame, ye ben of al beautè shryne
As fer as cercled is the mappemounde;
For as the cristal glorious ye shyne,
And lyke ruby ben your chekes rounde.
Therwith ye ben so mery and so iocounde,
That at a revel whan that I see you daunce,
It is an oynement unto my wounde,
Thogh ye to me ne do no daliaunce.
For thogh I wepe of teres ful a tyne,
Yet may that wo myn herte nat confounde;
Your seemly voys that ye so smal out-twyne
Maketh my thoght in Ioye and blis habounde.
So curteisly I go, with lovë bounde,
That to my-self I sey, in my penaunce,
Suffyseth me to love you, Rosemounde,
Thogh ye to me ne do no daliaunce.
Nas never pyk walwed in galauntyne
As I in love am walwed and y-wounde;
For which ful ofte I of my-self divyne
That I am trewe Tristan the secounde.
My love may not refreyd be nor afounde;
I brenne ay in an amorous plesaunce.
Do what you list, I wil your thral be founde,
Thoghe ye to me ne do no daliaunce.
Tregentil—-//—-Chaucer.
Ballade to Rosamond
Madam, ye been of all beauty shrine
As far as circled is the mappemonde;
For as the crystal glorious ye shine,
And like ruby been your cheeks round.
Therewith ye been so merry and so jocund
That at a revel when that I see you dance,
It is an ointment unto my wound,
Though ye to me ne do no dalliance.
For though I weep of tears full a tine,
Yet may that woe mine heart not confound;
Your seemly voice that ye so small out-twine
Maketh my thought in joy and bliss abound.
So courteously I go, with love bound,
That to myself I say, in my penance,
Sufficeth me to love you, Rosamond,
Though ye to me ne do no dalliance.
Nas never pike wallowed in galantine
As I in love am wallowed and y-wound;
For which full oft I of myself divine
That I am true Tristan the second.
My love may not refreid be nor afound;
I burn aye in an amorous pleasance.
Do what you list, I will your thrall be found,
Though ye to me ne do no dalliance.