A Goodly Balade

¶ Moder of norture, best beloved of al, And fresshest flour, to whom good thrift god sende. Your child, if it list you me so to cal, Al be I unable my-self so to pretende, To your discrecioun I recommende Myn herte and al, with every circumstaunce, Al hoolly to be under your governaunce.

Most desyre I, and have, and ever shal Thing, whiche might your hertës ese amende; Have me excused, my power is but smal; Natheles, of right ye ought[e] to commende My good[e] will, which fayn wolde entende To do you service; for al my suffisaunce Is hoolly to be under your governaunce.

Meulx un: in herte, which never shal apal, Ay fresshe and newe, and right glad to dispende My tyme in your servyce, what-so befal, Beseching your excéllence to defende My simplenesse, if ignoraunce offende In any wyse; sith that myn affiaunce Is hoolly to be under your governaunce.

¶ Daisy of light! very ground of comfort! The sonnes doughter ye hight, as I rede; For when he westreth, farwel your disport! By your nature anon, right for pure drede Of the rude night, that with his boystous wede Of derkness shadoweth our emispere, Than closen ye, my lyves lady dere!

Dawing the day to his kinde resort, Phebus your fader, with his stremes rede, Adorneth the morow, cónsuming the sort Of misty cloudës, that wolde overlede Trewe humble hertës with hir mistihede, Nere comfort a-dayes, whan eyën clere Disclose and sprede my lyves lady dere.

[A stanza lost; lines 36-42.]

¶ Je vouldray:—but [the] gret[e] god disposeth And maketh casuel by his providence Such thing as mannës frelë wit purposeth; Al for the best, if that our conscience Nat grucche it, but in humble pacience It receyve; for god saith, without[e] fable, A faithful hertë ever is acceptáble.

Cautels who useth gladly, gloseth; To eschewe suche it is right high prudence; What ye said[e] onës, [now] myn herte opposeth, "That my wryting japës, in your absence, Plesed you moche bet than my presence!" Yet can I more, ye be nat excusáble; A faithful hertë ever is acceptáble.

Quaketh my penne; my spirit supposeth That in my wryting ye finde wol som offence; Myn herte welkeneth thus sone, anon it †roseth; Now hot, now cold, and eft in [al] fervence; That mis is, is caused of negligence And not of malice; therfor beth merciable; A faithful hertë ever is acceptáble.

Lenvoy.

¶ Forth, complaynt! forth, lakking eloquence, Forth, litel lettre, of endyting lame! I have besought my ladies sapience Of thy behalfe, to accept in game Thyn inabilitee; do thou the same! Abyd! have more yet; Je serve Jonesse. Now forth; I close thee, in holy Venus name; Thee shal unclose my hertes governeresse.

Finis.