Classic Poem

A! dere God, what may this be,
That alle thing weres and wasteth away?
Frendship is but a vanité:
Unnethe it dures al a day.
They be so sliper at assay,
So leef to ham and loth to lete,
And so fikel in her fay,
That selden y-seye is soone foryete.

I say it not withouten a cause,
And therfore takes right good hede;
For if ye construwe wel this clause,
I put you holly out of drede
That for pure shame your hertes wil blede,
And ye this matere wisly trete:
He that was our moste spede
Is selden y-seye and soone foryete.

Sum time an English ship we had,
Nobel it was and heigh of towr;
Thorgh al Cristendam it was drad,
And stif wolde stande in ech a stowr,
And best durst bide a sharp showr,
And other stormes smale and grete.
Now is that ship, that bar the flowr,
Selden seye and soone foryete.

Into that ship ther longed a rother
That steered the ship and governed it;
In al this world n'is such another,
As me thinketh in my wit.
Whil ship and rother togeder was knit
They dredde nouther tempest drye nor wete;
Now be they bothe in sunder flit,
That selden seye is soone foryete.

Sharpe wawes that ship has sailed,
And sayed alle sees at àventure.
For wind ne wederes never it failed
Whil the rother mighte endure.
Though the see were rough or elles demure,
Goode havenes that ship wolde gete.
Now is that ship, I am wel sure,
Selde y-seye and soone foryete.

This goode ship I may remene
To the chivalrye of this lande;
Sum time they counted nought a bene
By al Fraunce, ich understande.
They took and slough hem with her hande,
The power of Fraunce, both smal and grete,
And brought the king hider to bide her bande:
And now right soone it is foryete.

That ship hadde a ful siker mast,
And a sail strong and large,
That made the goode ship never agast
To undertake a thing of charge;
And to that ship ther longed a barge
Of al Fraunce yaf nought a clete;
To us it was a siker targe,
And now right clene it is foryete.

The rother was nouther ok ne elm—
It was Edward the Thridde, the noble knight.
The Prince his sone bar up his helm,
That never scoumfited was in fight.
The King him rode and rouwed aright;
The Prince dredde nouther stok nor strete.
Now of hem we lete ful light:
That selde is seye is soone foryete.

The swifte barge was Duk Henri,
That noble knight and wel assayed;
And in his leggaunce worthily
He abode many a bitter brayd.
If that his enemys ought outrayed,
To chastise hem wolde he not lete.
Now is that lord ful lowe y-layd:
That selde is seye is soone foryete.

These goode Comùnes, by the roode!
I likne hem to the shipes mast,
That with her catel and her goode
Maintened the werre both first and last.
The wind that blew the ship with blast
It was goode prayers, I say it atrete.
Now is devoutness out y-cast,
And many goode dedes been clene foryete.

Thus been these lordes y-laid ful lowe:
The stok is of the same rote;
An impe biginnes for to growe
And yet I hope shal been our bote,
To holde his fomen under fote,
And as a lord be set in sete.
Crist leve that he so mote,
That selden y-seye be not foryete!

Were that impe fully growe,
That he had sarry sap and pith,
I hope he shulde be kud and knowe
For conquerour of many a kith.
He is ful liflich in lime and lith
In armes to travaile and to swete.
Crist leve we so fare him with
That selden seye be never foryete!

And therfore holliche I you rede,
Til that this impe be fully growe,
That ech a man up with the hede
And maintene him, bothe heighe and lowe.
The Frenshe men cunne bothe boste and blowe
And with her scornes us to-threte,
And we beeth bothe unkinde and slowe,
That selden seye is soone foryete.

And therfore, goode sires, taketh reward
Of your doughty king that diede in age,
And to his sone, Prince Edward,
That welle was of alle coràge.
Suche two lordes of heigh paràge
I n'ot in erthe when we shal gete;
And now her los biginneth to swage,
That selde y-seye is soone foryete.