At daybreak, when the falcon claps his wings, No whit for grief, but noble heart and high, With loud glad noise he stirs himself and springs, And takes his meat and toward his lure draws nigh; Such good I wish you! Yea, and heartily I am fired with hope of true love's meed to get; Know that Love writes it in his book; for why, This is the end for which we twain are met. Mine own heart's lady with no gainsayings You shall be always wholly till I die; And in my right against all bitter things Sweet laurel with fresh rose its force shall try; Seeing reason wills not that I cast love by (Nor here with reason shall I chide or fret) Nor cease to serve, but serve more constantly; This is the end for which we twain are met. And, which is more, when grief about me clings Through Fortune's fit or fume of jealousy, Your sweet kind eye beats down her threatenings As wind doth smoke; such power sits in your eye. Thus in your field my seed of harvestry Thrives, for the fruit is like me that I set; God bids me tend it with good husbandry; This is the end for which we twain are met. Princess, give ear to this my summary; That heart of mine your heart's love should forget Shall never be: like trust in you put I: This is the end for which we twain are met. BALLAD AGAINST THE ENEMIES OF FRANCE May he fall in with beasts that scatter fire, Like Jason, when he sought the fleece of gold, Or change from man to beast three years entire, As King Nebuchadnezzar did of old; Or else have times as shameful and as bad As Trojan folk for ravished Helen had; Or gulfed with Proserpine and Tantalus Let hell's deep fen devour him dolorous, With worse to bear than Job's worst sufferance, Bound in his prison-maze with Daedalus, Who could wish evil to the state of France! May he four months, like bitterns in the mire, Howl with head downmost in the lake-springs cold, Or to bear harness like strong bulls for hire To the Great Turk for money down be sold; Or thirty years like Magdalen live sad, With neither wool nor web of linen clad; Drown like Narciss', or swing down pendulous Like Absalom with locks luxurious, Or liker Judas fallen to reprobance; Or find such death as Simon sorcerous, Who could wish evil to the state of France! May the old times come of fierce Octavian's ire, And in his belly molten coin be told; May he like Victor in the mill expire, Crushed between moving millstones on him rolled, Or in deep sea drenched breathless, more adrad Than in the whale's bulk Jonas, when God bade: From Phoebus' light, from Juno's treasure-house Driven, and from joys of Venus amorous, And cursed of God most high to the utterance, As was the Syrian king Antiochus, Who could wish evil to the state of France!