The complete works of John Gower, volume 2 : $b The English worksGower, John
General
The complete works of John Gower, volume 2 : $b The English works
Gower, John
Poetry
With yhe upcast on hire he siketh,
And many a contenance he piketh,
To bringen hire in to believe
Of thing which that he wolde achieve, 700
Wherof he berth the pale hewe;
And for he wolde seme trewe,
He makth him siek, whan he is heil.
Bot whanne he berth lowest the Seil,[306]
Thanne is he swiftest to beguile
The womman, which that ilke while
Set upon him feith or credence.
[Sidenote: Opponit Confessor.]
Mi Sone, if thou thi conscience
[Sidenote: =P. i. 66=]
Entamed hast in such a wise,
In schrifte thou thee myht avise 710
And telle it me, if it be so.
[Sidenote: Respondet Amans.]
Min holy fader, certes no.
As forto feigne such sieknesse
It nedeth noght, for this witnesse
I take of god, that my corage
Hath ben mor siek than my visage.
And ek this mai I wel avowe,
So lowe cowthe I nevere bowe
To feigne humilite withoute,
That me ne leste betre loute 720
With alle the thoghtes of myn herte;
For that thing schal me nevere asterte,
I speke as to my lady diere,[307]
To make hire eny feigned chiere.
God wot wel there I lye noght,
Mi chiere hath be such as my thoght;
For in good feith, this lieveth wel,
Mi will was betre a thousendel
Than eny chiere that I cowthe.
Bot, Sire, if I have in my yowthe 730
Don other wise in other place,
I put me therof in your grace:[308]
For this excusen I ne schal,
That I have elles overal
To love and to his compaignie
Be plein withoute Ypocrisie;
Bot ther is on the which I serve,
Althogh I may no thonk deserve,
[Sidenote: =P. i. 67=]
To whom yet nevere into this day
I seide onlyche or ye or nay, 740
Bot if it so were in my thoght.
As touchende othre seie I noght
That I nam somdel forto wyte
Of that ye clepe an ypocrite.
[Sidenote: Confessor.]
Mi Sone, it sit wel every wiht
To kepe his word in trowthe upryht
Towardes love in alle wise.
For who that wolde him wel avise
What hath befalle in this matiere,
He scholde noght with feigned chiere 750
Deceive Love in no degre.
To love is every herte fre,
Bot in deceipte if that thou feignest
And therupon thi lust atteignest,
That thow hast wonne with thi wyle,
Thogh it thee like for a whyle,[309]
Thou schalt it afterward repente.
And forto prove myn entente,
I finde ensample in a Croniqe
Of hem that love so beswike. 760
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