The Cotrauerse Bytwene A Louer And A Laye Poem by Thomas Feylde

Here behynneth the auctoure.
In an arbere.
Late as I were
The foules to here
Was myne entente
Syngynge in fere.
With notes clere
They made good chere
On bowes bente
Theyr tewnes swete
Moued me to slepe
Ferther to flete
I coude not restrayne
To take my rest
Me thought it best
It was my lust
Styll to remayne.
The floures florysshed
The trees burnysshed
The odoure me nourysshed
With grete suauyte
That styll I laye
All the longe daye
In sporte and playe
By songes of melody.
Me thought in slombre
I herde a louer
Without recouer
Cryenge alas.
My loue vnkynde
That dyde me bynde
Hathe chaunged her mynde.
For no trespace.
With rewfull songe.
His hondes he wronge
Endurynge longe.
His herte was thro.
Bothe erthe and heuen.
With planettes seuen.
Myght here his steuen
Where he dyde go.
His coloure reede
Was pale as leede
Lyke asshes deede
For greuous payne
In herte can dare
And lothely fare
In gretter care
Was neuer man.
His herte was faynte
For grete complaynte.
His heere he rente
Without pyte.
And fell to the grounde
Often tymes that stounde.
With mortall wounde
He cryed on hye.

Amator. O herte vnfayne.
Thou may complayne
Of thy lemman
And lady swete.
For lacke of comforte
Or goodly sporte
Thou must resorte
And wayle and wepe
O paynes outragyous.
Grete and contagyous.
No myrthe solacyous.
Maye you abate
But euer to renewe.
And euer to extewe.
She is vntrewe
Alacke Alacke.
O inwarde sorowe
Bothe euen and morowe
Saynt George to borowe.
Thou hast grete wronge
Without on thought
Auaylynge nought
For loue hath wrought.
The in suche thronge
O wonderfull loue
That me dyde moue
Without reproue
Of thought vntrue
O loue ryght clene
As Phebus beme
Syth the fyrste tyme
That I the knewe
O loue constrayned.
O loue sore payned
O loue not fayned
O loue of lykynge
Where is thy solace
Where is thy maystres
Where in thy gladnes
Where is thy swetynge.
O gentyll floure
Reclayme thy paramoure
Wounded ryght sore
With loues launce
Reclayme reclayme
And thynke no shame
Exyle dysdayne
From your remembraunce
Lette pyte lede
Your womanhede
And mercy guyde
your tendre aege
O famus pucell
Meke courtoys and gentell
Semynge to be ryght well
Of noble parentage
Retourne retourne
Beholde I mourne
Was neuer none borne
That loue more greued.
Full lytell it ywys.
Knowe ye I gesse
What payne it is
To loue vnloued
Alas o nature
Why dyde ye fygure.
So fayre a creature
Of flesshe and bone
Excepte that she
To loue wolde plye
And haue pyte
On her true man
O cupyde kynge
Of loue and louynge
Grete is thy werkynge
And vyolent powre
Constrayne constrayne
To me a gayne
Myne owne lemman
And paramoure.
O Uenus hyghe
Of goddes chefe
Beholde my grefe
And wofull chere
Redresse my smerte
And cause my swete herte
Shortely reuerte
To her prysonere
O meruaylous fortune
That helthe domynyon
And in thy bandon
Euery lyuynge wyght
Helpe to preuayle
My paynfull trauayle.
I wepe and I wayle
Bothe daye and nyght
Syth you me brought
To loue vnsought
Me thynke you ought
Be reason good.
To wounde her sore
With dyntes of armoure
That pyte poore
May chaunge her mode
O dethe do swarue
My herte vayne to carue
That I may sterue.
My lyfe is lorne.
He fell in swowne
Recouerynge soone
He set hym downe.
Under a thorne.

The auctoure. The byrdes aboute
Sange in a route
With tewnes stoute.
Of armony.
Hym to aswage
Fallynge in rage.
Of loues bondage.
For his lady.
Coude not refrayne.
His mortall payne
But dyde complayne
With heuynesse
Alas sayd he
What cause hath she
Unkynde to be.
For no trespace.

Graculus loquitur amatori. In that affraye.
A Ianglynge Iaye
Sange on a spraye
Bothe two and fro
Thou carefull man
That dothe complayne
In herte vnfayne
Why doest thou so.

Amator. With wofull chere
And sorowes sere.
Was nought afere
Trouthe to reporte
That vnkyndnesse
Of his maystresse
Was paynfulnesse.
Without comforte.

Graculus. To set thy mynde
On one vnkynde.
Thy wyttes were blynde
Yet neuerthelesse
Thyselfe to spyll
Do way be styll
For after trouble
Cometh Ioyfulnesse.
Exyle dyspayre
To myrth repayre
For sorowe and care
Auayleth nought
To good request
Be alwaye prest
For wytte is beest
Whan it is bought

Amator. Her beaute pure
And countenaunce demure.
Is prynted sure
In myne herte rote
No remedy
But I must dye
Without that she
Wyll be my bote.
With grete tourment
And syghes feruent
I make complaynte
To god aboue.
Was neuer wyght
So doulefully dyght
By daye nor nyght
And all for loue.
Erly or late
No rest I take
But for her sake
Mourneth styll
Trustynge for grace
But none can pourchace
Adue alas God knoweth my wyll.

Graculus. Syth fortunes chaunce
Hath made instaunce
The to auaunce
In venus playe
Beware agayne
Of false dysdayne
That with gyle and trayne
Wyll the betraye.
When thou wenest leest
And trusteth best
Thou shalte be fyrste
Desceyued in dede
For loue is vayne
And neuer certayne
But full of payne.
And foly to mede.
Loue is delycyous
Loue is prymerose
Loue is more precyous
Than golde and tapasyon
Loue is a prety cage
For foules of tender aege
Loue is but dotage
When we haue all done.
Loue is grete pleasure
To euery yonge creature
Loue is a treasure.
That wasteth faste
Loue is comfortable
Loue is ofte varyable
Loue is deceyuable
And nought at the laste
What thynge is loue.
That so dothe moue.
Fayne wolde I proue
Howe it dothe come
Nothynge loue is
But nature I gesse
And from nature it comes.
By faythfull affeccyon.
Thoughe nature moue
And bydde the loue
Yet wysdome wolde proue.
Or it be hote
When fortune sowre
Dothe on the lowre
Thou getest an owre
In cocke lorels bote.
Auyse the well.
And take good counsell
Thou hast fre wyll
To rule and guyde
For loue is daungerous
False and contagyous
And as sure as a mouse
Tyed at a threde.
I can not contrary
But mannes moost felycyte
Is close in femynyte
By affeccyon naturall
Yet trewly it is but foly
To loue contynually
A thynge that is transytory
And not perpetuall
Thou mayst take ensample.
Of Graundamoure and Grysyll
Iason and Isaphyll
Ferther to pursewe
Of Tysbe and Pyramys
Helyne and Parys
Scylla and Mynoys
That were louers trewe
What is become
Of Phylys and Demophon
Alcumena and Alphytyon.
With many thousandes mo
Pollyxena and Achylles.
Dyanyra and hercules
Where is there grette gladnes
And amyable Ioye.
Where is Semele and Iocasta.
Cleoparte and Ixonya
Semyrramys and Syluya
So fayre of fauoure.
What auayleth the beautyousnesse
Of Medea and Lucresse
Syth all thynge is vanytes.
And fadeth as a floure.
Whyle fortune was frendely
And tourned her whele kyndely
They had moche felycyte.
In loue and lykynge.
Grete was theyr affeccyon
In carnall dylectacyon
Now are they all gone.
For all theyr louynge.
Penelope was faythfull
Cyrcys was deceytefull
Neobe was carefull
And Hester was good
Theyr padyandes are past
And ours wasteth fast
Nothynge dothe aye last
But the grace of god.
Therfore well consyder
This worldes Ioye is slyder
Nothynge is more sweter
And decayeth so soone
With reason be contente
For fere thou repente
To my counsayle consente
And let loue alone.

Amator. O foule of fayrenesse.
Swete are thy storyes
That thou doest expresse
To me in doloure
Yet neuerthelesse
Nature is fresshe
And woundeth me doubtelesse
With dyntes of armoure
I knowe ryght well
No loue is durable
When fortune vnstable
Tourneth her face
On wretches to wrythe
And her power kythe.
Be they wrothe or blythe
She chaungeth theyr solace.
Yet my poore herte
Can not awaye sterte
From the penetable darte
Of blynde Cupydo
His doughter wyll
Woundeth me styll
With paynes vnmedsynable
Where euer I go.
Thus am I wrapped.
And in wo vnbelapped
Suche loue hath me trapped.
Without ony cure
Syr Trystram the good
For his lemman Isoude
More sorowe neuer bode
Then I do endure.
Lamwell and Lamaroke.
Gawayne and Launcelorte
Garathe and Craddocke
With the table rounde
Syr Beuys/syr Eglamoure
Syr Terry/syr Tryamoure
In more greuous doloure
Was neuer in bounde
Phedra and theseus
Progne and Thereus
Pasyphe and Taurus
Who lyketh to proue
Canace and Machareus
Galathea and Pamphylus
Was neuer more dolorous.
And all for true loue.
Dydo and Deydamya
Leda and Lanynya
Marra and Medusa
And Tomyrys so hynde.
Candacys and Cyrene
Calysto and Cydyppe
Was neuer none lyke me
In trewe herte and mynde.
Treusa and Cletemnestra
Smylax and Latona
Bybles and Atalanta
Of arcady the quene
Daphnys Hypermestra
Dyrce and Cloylea
Hypolyte and Dyana
All these louers hath bene
I haue serched of late
Many poete laureate.
That dyuers bookes dyde make
And storyes regystred
Yet in comparyson.
Of my trewe affeccyon
Scarsely can I fynde one
Syth Troylus reygned
That was trewe and faythfull.
In loue that is paynfull
Without fraude dysceytefull
Or preuy stryfe.
Therfore as I fynde
I wyll shewe my mynde
Ryght fewe of Gryseldes kynde
Is now lefte on lyue.
This worlde is altered
Condycyons are chaunged
As is dayly proued
By trewe experyence
Trust is now trechery
And loue is but Lechery.
All thynges decayeth dayly
Without repentaunce
Thoughe I more speke
My herte wyll breke
So loue wyll wreke
On me with tene
Fare well delectacyon
Welcome my fortune
I must be contente with reason
As other hathe ben.

Graculus. For thy dystresse
And geuynesse.
I wyll expresse
In wordes playne
That women frayle
Are seldome leale
The trouthe to tell
I wyll not layne.
Thy wyll consente
And soone repente
It is them lente
And gyuen by nature.
Therfore beware
To proue ouer ferre
For to loues daungere
They wyll the flatter
Theyr wordes softe blandysshynge
Are quaynte with flaterynge
And with countenaunce faynynge
They can make it nyse
Couered aboue falsely
Forgynge fraudes craftely
That they haue brought many
To a foles paradyse.
Lyke serpentes furyous
Amonge floures odyous.
Theyr venyme hydeous
Remayneth styll
The seugre appereth
The gall behynde leueth
What man that proueth
Shall lyke them full yll
Theyr speches is amyable
Theyr hertes are chaungeable
Theyr myndes are varyable
With mutabylyte
They are worthy no prayse
They are so tempred with alwayes
And as Guydo sayes
They are neuer in suretye
In teres they seme carefull
And inwardly they are dysceytefull
Ryght fewe that be faythfull
For sykernes
They wyll speke fayre outwarde
And thynke the contrary
Thus do they alwaye vary
Without doublenesse.
Recorde of Cresyde
Whome Troylus loued
And was sore payned
Canser dothe tell
Her loue was fayned
And wortely chaunged.
And gyuen to Dyomede
With grekes to dwelle
Who trusteth them best
He shall be the fyrst
Desceyued I trust
By fortune euen
Than may he go
Where he came fro
With sorowe and wo
Iacke vnshryuen.
Ofte tymes they smyle
In loues style
And dothe begyle
Yonge louers faynte
With sportes and playes
But now a dayes
He that truthe sayes
He shall be shente
Uery fewe or none.
Is contente with one
But as the mone
Oftentymes they chaunge
Therfore let a man.
Do as well as he can
For lytell brytayne
Is no graunge
Serche scrypture and polesy
Crownacle and phylosophy
The fraudes of femynyte
With gylefull trayne.
Hathe brought to confusyon
Many a chefe champyon
As Sampson and Salamon
Whose storyes are playne
Dauyd the conqueroure
Arystotle the phylosophre
Hercules and Arthure.
With many other mo.
Defamed was craftely
Thrughe womens fraylte
Answere lette vs se
Is it not so.
Many cytees and townes
Many countres and regyons
Many Erles Dukes and Barons
Destroyed hathe bene
Many a kynge and Emperoure
And bolde knyghtes of aduenture
Hathe dyed with doloure
And all for women
Pryamys and Patys
Hector and Achylles
Patraclus and Palomydes
Dyepholus a roy
Many a noble freke
Of Asye and of Greke
For fayre Helyns sake
Was slayne at the syege of troy
How sholde I more wryte
Or yet endyte
My herte dothe wepe
To thynke therupon
What myschefe what murmure
What slaundre and manslaughter
What dysdayne and what murdre
That hathe ben for women
Ferther to procede
Me thynke no nede
To regystre in dede
Theyr propertyes peryllous
Yet who wolde here
Mo craftes of them sere
Lette hym rede and lere
Guydo and Secundus
Thus in conclysyon
Women are confusyon
And fynall destruccyon
To man at the ende
Yet shame it is
To blame them doubtelesse
For as clerkes sayes
They haue it of kynde.
Therfore remembre
Theyr yonge ages tendre.
That to loue is egre
With lusty courage.
To loue in youthe
Is pleasure ynoughe
And in age forsothe
It is but dotage
Trust not theyr wordes.
Nor mery bourdes
For knyghtes and lordes
Desceyued haue bene.
They are ofte mutable
They are false and varyable
Therfore trust them but lytell
For all theyr fayre eyen.
Take comforte good
And chaunge thy mode
For by the swete rode
They tourne as the wyde
On the see I haue bende
And many Ieoperdyes sene
What nede I more to rekyn
Thou knowest my mynde
Remembre well I saye
I must awaye
Passed is the daye
I maye not abyde
She toke her flyght
And flewe forthe ryght
And the wofull wyght
Fast after yede

The auctoure With that I awoke
And toke my boke
Theron to loke
Was my solace
Lyke as I herde
I was not aferde
But worde by worde
I wrote this treatyse.