| IN a valley of this restles mind |
| I sought in mountain and in mead, |
| Trusting a true love for to find. |
| Upon an hill then took I heed; |
| A voice I heard (and near I yede) |
| In great dolour complaining tho: |
| See, dear soul, how my sides bleed |
| Quia amore langueo. |
| |
| Upon this hill I found a tree, |
| Under a tree a man sitting; |
| From head to foot wounded was he; |
| His hearte blood I saw bleeding: |
| A seemly man to be a king, |
| A gracious face to look unto. |
| I askèd why he had paining; |
| [He said,] Quia amore langueo. |
| |
| I am true love that false was never; |
| My sister, man's soul, I loved her thus. |
| Because we would in no wise dissever |
| I left my kingdom glorious. |
| I purveyed her a palace full precious; |
| She fled, I followed, I loved her so |
| That I suffered this pain piteous |
| Quia amore langueo. |
| |
| My fair love and my spouse bright! |
| I saved her from beating, and she hath me bet; |
| I clothed her in grace and heavenly light; |
| This bloody shirt she hath on me set; |
| For longing of love yet would I not let; |
| Sweete strokes are these: lo! |
| I have loved her ever as I her het |
| Quia amore langueo. |
| |
| I crowned her with bliss and she me with thorn; |
| I led her to chamber and she me to die; |
| I brought her to worship and she me to scorn; |
| I did her reverence and she me villany. |
| To love that loveth is no maistry; |
| Her hate made never my love her foe: |
| Ask me then no question why— |
| Quia amore langueo. |
| |
| Look unto mine handes, man! |
| These gloves were given me when I her sought; |
| They be not white, but red and wan; |
| Embroidered with blood my spouse them brought. |
| They will not off; I loose hem nought; |
| I woo her with hem wherever she go. |
| These hands for her so friendly fought |
| Quia amore langueo. |
| |
| Marvel not, man, though I sit still. |
| See, love hath shod me wonder strait: |
| Buckled my feet, as was her will, |
| With sharpe nails (well thou may'st wait!) |
| In my love was never desait; |
| All my membres I have opened her to; |
| My body I made her herte's bait |
| Quia amore langueo. |
| |
| In my side I have made her nest; |
| Look in, how weet a wound is here! |
| This is her chamber, here shall she rest, |
| That she and I may sleep in fere. |
| Here may she wash, if any filth were; |
| Here is seat for all her woe; |
| Come when she will, she shall have cheer |
| Quia amore langueo. |
| |
| I will abide till she be ready, |
| I will her sue if she say nay; |
| If she be retchless I will be greedy, |
| If she be dangerous I will her pray; |
| If she weep, then bide I ne may: |
| Mine arms ben spread to clip her me to. |
| Cry once, I come: now, soul, assay |
| Quia amore langueo. |
| |
| Fair love, let us go play: |
| Apples ben ripe in my gardayne. |
| I shall thee clothe in a new array, |
| Thy meat shall be milk, honey and wine. |
| Fair love, let us go dine: |
| Thy sustenance is in my crippe, lo! |
| Tarry thou not, my fair spouse mine, |
| Quia amore langueo. |
| |
| If thou be foul, I shall thee make clean; |
| If thou be sick, I shall thee heal; |
| If thou mourn ought, I shall thee mene; |
| Why wilt thou not, fair love, with me deal? |
| Foundest thou ever love so leal? |
| What wilt thou, soul, that I shall do? |
| I may not unkindly thee appeal |
| Quia amore langueo. |
| |
| What shall I do now with my spouse |
| But abide her of my gentleness, |
| Till that she look out of her house |
| Of fleshly affection? love mine she is; |
| Her bed is made, her bolster is bliss, |
| Her chamber is chosen; is there none mo. |
| Look out on me at the window of kindeness |
| Quia amore langueo. |
| |
| My love is in her chamber: hold your peace! |
| Make ye no noise, but let her sleep. |
| My babe I would not were in disease, |
| I may not hear my dear child weep. |
| With my pap I shall her keep; |
| Ne marvel ye not though I tend her to: |
| This wound in my side had ne'er be so deep |
| But Quia amore langueo. |
| |
| Long thou for love never so high, |
| My love is more than thine may be. |
| Thou weepest, thou gladdest, I sit thee by: |
| Yet wouldst thou once, love, look unto me! |
| Should I always feede thee |
| With children meat? Nay, love, not so! |
| I will prove thy love with adversitè |
| Quia amore langueo. |
| |
| Wax not weary, mine own wife! |
| What mede is aye to live in comfort? |
| In tribulation I reign more rife |
| Ofter times than in disport. |
| In weal and in woe I am aye to support: |
| Mine own wife, go not me fro! |
| Thy mede is marked, when thou art mort: |
| Quia amore langueo. |