OF LEARNED MEN CONCERNING CHAUCER AND HIS WORKS.
Occleve, in the prologue to his book De Regimine Principis. Bur welaweye! fo is myn herte wo
That the honour of English tong is dede,
Of which I wont was han counfail and rede.
O mayfter dere and fadir reverent,
My mayster Chaucer, floure of eloquence,
Mirrour of fructuous entendement,
O univerfel fadir in fcience!
Alas that thou thyn excellent prudence
In thy bed mortel mightest nought bequethe!
What eylid Deth? alas! why would he fle'the?
O Deth! that didift nought harm fingulere
In flaughtre' of him, but all the lond it fmertith:
But natheleffe yit hastow no powere
His name to fle; his hie vertue aftertith
Unflayn fro the, which ay us lifely hertith
With bokis of his ornat enditing,
That is to al this lond enlumyning.
The fame author, ibid.
My dere mayfter (God his foule quite)
And fadir Chaucer faine wold han me taught,
But I was yong (a) and lerned lyte or naught.
Alas! my worthy maister honorable,
This londis verray trefour and richesse,
Deth by thy deth hath harme irreparable
Unto us done; hir (b) vengeable dureffe
Difpoiled hath this lond of the fweteneffe
Of rethoryke, for unto Tullius
Was never man fo like amonges us.
Alfo, who was heyre in philofophy
To Aristotle in our tonge but thow?
The steppis of Virgil in poefie
Thou fuedeft eke; men know well inow
That combre-world that thee my mayfter flow.
Wolde I flain were! Deth was too haftife
To renne on thee and reve thee thy life:
She might have tarried her vengeaunce a while,
To that some man had egal to the be:
Nay, let be that; fhe knew well that this ifle
May never man forth bryng like unto the,
And her office nedis do mote she;
God bad her fo, I truft all for the best:
O mayfter, mayfter! God thy foule rest!
The fame, in the title De Confilio Habendo in omnibus factis.
THE firfte fynder of our fayre langage
Hath feyde in caas femblable and othir mo
So hyly well, that it is my dotage
For to expreffe or touche ony of tho:
Alas! my fader fro the world is go,
My worthy mayster Chaucer, hym I mene;
Be thou advocate for hym, hevenes quene.
Aftow wel knowift, o bleffid Virgyne!
With lovyng herte and hye devocioun
In thyn honour he wroot full many a lyne,
O now thyn help and thy promocioun !
To God thy fone make a mocioun
How he thy fervaunt was, mayden Marie,
And late his love floure and fructifie.
Although his life be queynt, the resemblaunce
Of hym hath in me so fresh liflyneffe,
That to put other men in remembraunce
Of his perfone I have heere his lykenesse
Do make, to this end in foothfaftneffe,
That they that have of hym lost thought and mynde By this peynture may ageyn hym fynde.
Jo. Gower de Confeffione Amantis, printed by Thomas Berthelette 1554, fol. 190, a. where Venus fpeaks to Gower.
GRETE well Chaucer when ye mete,
As my difciple and my poete,
For in the floures of his youth
In fondrie wife, as he well couth,
Of ditees and of fonges glade,
The which he for my fake made,
The londe fulfilled is over all,
Whereof to hym in speciall
Above all other I am moft holde.
Forthy nowe in his daies olde
Thou shalt hym tell this meffage,
That he upon his later
age,
To fette an ende of all his werke,
As he whiche is myn owne clerke,
Do make his Teftament of Love,
As thou hast done thy fhrifte above,
So that my courte it may recorde.
Madame, I can me well accorde
(Quod I) to telle as ye me bid.
John Lydgate in his prologue to The Story of Thebes, speak ing of The Canterbury Tales.
As openly the ftory can you lere
Word by word, with every circumftaunce,
Echone iwrit and put in remembraunce
By him that was, if [that] I fhall not faine,
Floure of poetes throughout all Bretaine,
Which fothely had mofte of excellence
In rhetorike and in eloquence.
Rede his making who lifte the trouthe find,
Which never shall appallen in my mind,
But alwaie freshe been in myne memorie,
To whom be yove prife, honour, and glorie;
Of well feyng firft in our language,
Cheefe regiftrer in this pilgrimage,
All that was told foryeting nought at all,
Feined tales nor thing historiall,
With many proverbs divers and uncouthe,
By reherfaile of his fugred mouthe,
Of eche thyng kepyng in fubftaunce
The fentence hole withoutin variaunce,
Voidyng the chaffe, fothely for to feine,
Enlumining the true piked greine
By craftie writyng of his fawes fwete
Fro the tyme that they did mete.
The fame author, in the prologue to his tranflation of Boccacs
My maifter Chaucer, with his fresh comedies,
Is dede, alas! chiefe poete of Bretayne,
That whilom made ful piteous tragedies,
The fall of princes he did alfo complayne,
As he that was of makyng foverayne,
Whom all this londe fchulde of ryght preferre,
Sith of our langage he was the lode-fterre.
And femblably, as I have told toforne,
My maifter Chaucer did his befineffe,
And in his dayes hath fo well him borne
Qut of out tong t'avoyden all rudeneffe,
And to reforme it with colors of fweteneffe,
Wherfore let us yeve him laude and glorye,
And put his name with poetes in memorye.
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