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Classic and Contemporary Poetry
LENVOY DE CHAUCER A SCOGAN, by GEOFFREY CHAUCER Poet Analysis Poet's Biography First Line: Tobroken been the statutz hye in hevene Last Line: Far-wel, and loke thow never eft love dyffye. Variant Title(s): Envoy To Scogan | |||
Tobroken been the statutz hye in hevene That creat were eternally to dure, Syth that I see the bryghte goddis sevene Mowe wepe and wayle, and passion endure, As may in erthe a mortal creature. Allas, fro whennes may thys thing procede? Of which errour I deye almost for drede. By word eterne whilom was yshape That fro the fyfte sercle, in no manere, Ne myghte a drope of teeres doun escape. But now so wepith Venus in hir spere That with hir teeres she wol drenche us here. Allas! Scogan, this is for thyn offence; Thow causest this diluge of pestilence. Hastow not seyd, in blaspheme of the goddes, Thurgh pride, or thrugh thy grete rekelnesse, Swich thing as in the lawe of love forbode is, That, for thy lady sawgh nat thy distresse, Therfore thow yave hir up at Michelmesse? Allas! Scogan, of olde folk ne yonge Was never erst Scogan blamed for his tonge. Thow drowe in skorn Cupide eke to record Of thilke rebel word that thou hast spoken, For which he wol no lenger be thy lord. And, Scogan, though his bowe be nat broken, He wol nat with his arwes been ywroken On the, ne me, ne noon of oure figure; We shul of him have neyther hurt ne cure. Now certes, frend, I dreede of thyn unhap, Lest for thy gilt the wreche of Love procede On alle hem that ben hoor and rounde of shap, That ben so lykly folk in love to spede. Than shal we for oure labour han no mede; But wel I wot, thow wolt answere and saye: "Lo, olde Grisel lyst to ryme and playe!" Nay, Scogan, say not so, for I m'excuse -- God helpe me so! -- in no rym, dowteles, Ne thynke I never of slep to wake my muse, That rusteth in my shethe stille in pees. While I was yong, I put hir forth in prees; But al shal passe that men prose or ryme; Take every man hys turn, as for his tyme. Envoy Scogan, that knelest at the stremes hed Of grace, of alle honour and worthynesse, In th'ende of which strem I am dul as ded, Forgete in solytarie wildernesse, -- Yet, Scogan, thenke on Tullius kyndenesse; Mynne thy frend, there it may fructyfye! Far-wel, and loke thow never eft Love dyffye. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...LACK OF STEADFASTNESS; BALLAD by GEOFFREY CHAUCER MERCILES BEAUTE; A TRIPLE ROUNDEL: 1. CAPTIVITY by GEOFFREY CHAUCER MERCILES BEAUTE; A TRIPLE ROUNDEL: 2. REJECTION by GEOFFREY CHAUCER MERCILES BEAUTE; A TRIPLE ROUNDEL: 3. ESCAPE by GEOFFREY CHAUCER THE CANTERBURY TALES: THE GENERAL PROLOGUE by GEOFFREY CHAUCER THE CHARACTER OF A GOOD PARSON by GEOFFREY CHAUCER THE COCK AND THE FOX, OR THE TALE OF THE NUN'S PRIEST by GEOFFREY CHAUCER THE COMPLAINT OF CHAUCER TO HIS EMPTY PURSE by GEOFFREY CHAUCER TO ROSAMONDE: A BALADE by GEOFFREY CHAUCER A BALADE OF COMPLAINT by GEOFFREY CHAUCER |
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