Here begynneth a lytell prosses or matter called the Chauc̃e of the dolorous louer newely cõpyled or made by Crystofer Goodwyn the yere of our Lorde God, a. M.ccccc.xx. Goodwin, Christopher. This text is an enriched version of the TCP digital transcription A01907 of text S3995 in the English Short Title Catalog (STC 12046). Textual changes and metadata enrichments aim at making the text more computationally tractable, easier to read, and suitable for network-based collaborative curation by amateur and professional end users from many walks of life. The text has been tokenized and linguistically annotated with MorphAdorner. The annotation includes standard spellings that support the display of a text in a standardized format that preserves archaic forms ('loveth', 'seekest'). Textual changes aim at restoring the text the author or stationer meant to publish. This text has not been fully proofread Approx. 19 KB of XML-encoded text transcribed from 9 1-bit group-IV TIFF page images. EarlyPrint Project Evanston,IL, Notre Dame, IN, St. Louis, MO 2018 A01907 STC 12046 ESTC S3995 34382691 ocm 34382691 29054 2240937442

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Early English books online. (EEBO-TCP ; phase 1, no. A01907) Transcribed from: (Early English Books Online ; image set 29054) Images scanned from microfilm: (Early English books, 1475-1640 ; 1896:8) Here begynneth a lytell prosses or matter called the Chauc̃e of the dolorous louer newely cõpyled or made by Crystofer Goodwyn the yere of our Lorde God, a. M.ccccc.xx. Goodwin, Christopher. [14] p. : ill. By Wynkyn de Worde, Imprynted at London in Flete strete at the sygne of the Sonne : [1520?] Imprint from colophon; date of publication from STC (2nd ed.). Title page contains wood-cut illustration. Imperfect: stained and with print show-through. Signatures: A⁴, B³. Reproduction of original in: British Library. eng eebo Here begynneth a lytell prosses or matter called the Chauc̃e of the dolorous louer newely cõpyled or made by Crystofer Goodwyn the yere of our Lorde Goodwin, Christopher 1520 17 2933 5 0 0 0 0 0 17.05 C The rate of 17.05 defects per 10,000 words puts this text in the C category of texts with between 10 and 35 defects per 10,000 words. 2000-00 Assigned for keying and markup 2001-00 Keyed and coded from ProQuest page images 2001-06 Sampled and proofread 2001-00 Text and markup reviewed and edited 2001-11 Batch review (QC) and XML conversion

Here begynneth a lytell prosses or matter called the chaunce of the dolorous louer newely compyled or made by Crystofer Goodwyn The yere of our Lorde god , a , M. ccccc . xx .

The prologue of the auctour . Upon a certayne tyme as it befell I was all pensyfe and thoughtfull in my herte For sondry thynges whiche I knewe full well Coude not be remedyed as touchynge my parte Wherfore I ymagynynge from me to astarte Suche thoughtes & fantasies comynge thrugh ydeues And euen so I began this lytell mater or prosses For as I haue redde in bokes and in storyes olde Of all vyces the chefe rote of Idelnes And yf it be as wyse men haue tolde Whiche veryfyenge of the same playnly dyde expres That of all synnes Slouthe is chefe maystres Into the whiche lest I sholde fall I made for fere This treatyse callyd the chaunce of the dolorous louer Not for no prasynge but my spyrytes to wake Whiche at that tyme were full rude and dull And so I you requyer that you wyll it take Whiche that dothe entende for to rede it full Or it to here and so I trust that you wyll That slouthe to auoyde whiche enemy is to vertue Thys werke I toke in honde that after dothe ensewe Thus endeth the prologue .
Here soweth a lytell treatyse called The chaunce of the dolorous louer . AS it fortuned me for passe Thrughe straunge countres my solace to take . Whan the feldes were resplendent and couered with grasse And with swete herbes and floures delycate And byrdes melodyously syngynge on euery busshe or stake I mene in the pleasaunt tyme of Autom Whiche nexte vnto vere may haue the chefe rome And thus as I rode my selfe all alone Musynge of thynges that were in tymes past By the space of thre dayes and than aboute none My waye I dyde lose by rydynge ouer fast Than I was full sory yet at the last A pleasaunt way I founde I thanke god of his grace In whiche I entred and rode in an esye pace For my Journayes whiche I had the dayes afore And also the wayes that I had reden wronge Had made me full wery and also faynte and sore That ferther on my hors I coude not endure longe Wherfore I thought me to rest & with that I herde asonge Nere by whiche was so melodyous and swete That all my werynes I dyde all forgete To knowe what it myght be I had grete purpose Wherfore thyderwarde full fast I dyde me hye And then before me I sawe a grene close Enuyronned with grete trees & hedges full strongly Yet not withstandynge I entred pryuely In at the gate wiche open then I founde And there I tyed my horse & lyghted on the grounde . And whan I within this close entred was Beynge nothynge rounde but of compas quadrant I behelde it well in euery corner and place Sayenge to my selfe that suche another skant Coulde not be founde of floures so habundaunt As was this lytell close whiche before truely I herde the songe that was songe so swetely And in beholdynge this felde rounde aboute Ryght agaynst me then dyde I espye A waye whiche as this close wente out Also in another place truely I sawe a byrde whiche sange full hye Upon foure floures castynge so swete a sauour that they quyckened my spyrytes with theyr doulcet odour And euer this byrde full plesauntly dyde synge With her sugered notes very lowde and shyll That all aboute the place her Iocounde voyce dyd rynge Whom dylygently to here I stode full softe and styll And to vnderstonde I fyxed my mynde and wyll The dytte of her songe whyche was so certayne God sende euery true louer his lady to optayne Than to this swete byrde or auys I 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 nere And as I wente I stombled on a busshe And almost had a fall and with a ragged bryere I was constrayned to make a grete russhe Wher with she was a ferde and sodaynly dyde flusshe And wolde no longer tary but with all her myght From thens I wyst not whyther fast she toke her flyght Than I was full sory whan I sawe her gone Not withstondynge I knewe there was no remedy And streyght vnto the place I walked all alone From whiche a lytell before I dyde se her flye And whan I was this foresayd place by I wyst not well wheder I dyde wake or slepe So grete a swetnes in to my stomake dyde bete And whan I was reuyued & come to my selfe agayne I behelde the meruaylous facyon of this foresayd place Whiche was square and also lowe and playne Compassed rounde about with hye herbes and gras So that no man myght se in but at one space Whiche was opyn wherin to entre I dyde purpose Thynkynge there my selfe for to repose And whan I had entred in this lytell gardyn grene Whiche full smothe and lowe was with herbes In all my lyfe I had neuer sene An arbour that was so pleasant I I wys Wherin stode in the myddes Of this sayd place foure delycyous floures Castynge meruaylous swete & delycyous sauoures 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 whiche I wente & downe by them dyd lye And ouer this as I lay ryght well I dyde beholde What herbes and floures they were yf I coude dyscry Then of all theyr names I might rede as I wolde The fyrst letters whiche were of beten golde Syngulerly set on euery floure aboue Growyng after the maner of a goodly trewe loue The fyrste floure to my thynkynge was of a crymsyn pure Hauynge an A wryten hym vpon Whiche stode for the fyrst letter of his name I was right sure Yet what floure it was I lay musynge longe And whan I had all studyed yet knewe I none Name that it had wherfore I was right sore For it passed all other in swetenes and beaute The seconde floure was a vyolet full swete That had on hym wryten of hys name the fyrst lettre Whiche was an . U. bothe fayre and grete In all the worlde coude not be a better The .iij. herbe orfloure whiche myght none be swetter Was Isope of sauour bothe good and holsome Whiche had for his name an I vpon hym wryten The souerayne herbe sauge was the fourte Whiche all other herbes in vertue dothe excell As in olde tyme wyse men dyde reporte Whiche had wryten vpon hym an . S. as I you tell For the fyrste letter of his name meruaylously well And than full well I knewe these herbes amonge Sate this lytell byrde or auys syngynge of her songe All these foure floures so swete and delectable Grewe lyke a trewe loue as I before dyde tell Hauynge this golde lettres without ony fable Eche one his owne whiche I to geder dyde spell And whan I had set them to gyder than I knewe wel That it was the name of my true loue Whome specyally I desyryd nexte god aboue And thus whan I had rede the name of my lady dere From wome I was departed not longe afore Sodaynly was chaunged all my mery chere And my herte began to be full heuy and sore With greuous grones and syghes more and wore So that in fayth it was no grete wondre Though in a hundrede peaces it had brast a sondre From her the departynge to me so greuous was Whome to the sayd floures full well lyken I myght She is so goodly and beautefull of face So curteys so gentyll so amyable and so bryght That in the wyde worlde suche another wyhgt Coude not be founde so full of grace and goodnes As is this myne owne swete lady and maystres And whan I had ben a longe tyme in this heuynes The absence of my loue ryght peteously be waylynge It came to my mynde my sorowes to releys Some balade to make whiche that I myght synge And thus I began ryght dolorously wenynge By cause of her the syghte I had lost Whome in this worlde I desyre moost

Here after foloweth the balade of the dolorous louer .

O Myserable creature wrapped all in wo Full well may I complayne both morne & wepe Syth my louely lady I am departed fro That was so gentell so goodly fayre and swete So dulcet a byrde or auys a man cannot gete Wherfore I maye saye alas my mortall payne . From her the departynge full nyghe hath me slayne . Sle me it wyll ye and that ryght shortely Without that I maye within a lytell space Haue of her a lyghte or elles ryght gladly Wolde I dye euen in this same place And neuer to se no body more in the face Wherfore I beseche dame venus aboue To sende me agayne the syght of my true loue Alas vnfortunate man what thynge dyd I mene Frome her whan I departed whome I so moche set by Has nowe out of her fauoure clene I shall be caste than may I bothe sobbe and cry And also to be sorowfull euer tyll I dye Wherfore alas my mortall payne Frome her to departe full nyghe hathe me slayne O rubycunde ruby and perle moost oryent O gyloffer gentyll and swete floure delyce O daynty dyamounde and moost respendent O doulset blossome of a full grete pryce O swete maystres aboue all creatueres mooste wyse Wherfore I beseche dame venus aboue To sende me agayne the syght of you my true loue In vertue to Magulon I maye you well acounte In wysdome to lady Florypes ye do insewe In mekenes Gryselde ye do surmounte In stedfastnes to Clerymounde that lady true In beaute to the lady Eglantyne I maye deme you And euer alas my mortall payne Frome you the departynge full nyghe hath me slayne Also foure letters ye haue in your name In tokenynge of loue ye sholde be true Of whiche these floures haue the same That be so swete and full of vertue Wherfore to theym I may well lyken you And yet I beseche dame venus aboue To sende me agayne the syght of my true loue This floure vnknowen and vyolet in swetenes This Isope so holsome thys sage so souerayn a thynge You passe and excell thrughe your goones Also to this byrde or auys that hereafore dyde synge With your dulcet voyece ye maye be lykened my dere swetynge But euer alas my mortall payne Frome you the departynge well nyghe hathe me slayne Alas dere lady ye be myne onely hope My Ioye my herte and the substaunce of my lyfe My payne my sorowe and also my dethe god wote Agaynst whiche I can make no maner of stryfe Nor other remedy I knowe but styll morne & syghe And yet I beseche dame venus aboue To sende me agayne the syght of my true loue That I myght to your goodly parsone declare How faythefull I haue ben how stedfast and how true But alas I fere that ye be voyde and bare Of pyte and compassyon whiche I full sore may rewe For then my wo and sorowe shall renewe Wherfore alas my mortall payne From you the departynge well neyghe hath me slayne Alas I trowe a Iewe on me wolde take compassyon Knowynge my faythfulnes and my louynge herte Whicheuer to her I have borne with all my hole entencion And styll purpose to do and neuer for to reuerte From her my mynde thoughe she vntrewe astarte And yet I beseche dame venus aboue To sende me agayne the syght of her whome I do loue Alas to call her vntrue I am gretely to blame Seynge that as yet I neuer shewed my mynde Unto her goodnes alas I durste not for shame Wherfore I am yet in good hope that I shall her fynde To me her owne true seruaunte bothe louynge & kynde And yet alas my mortall payne Frome her the departynge full nyghe hathe me slayne She is so gentell so louely and so meke So fayre so swete so good to more and les That whan I on her thynke I wene my herte shal breke For the loue of her I am in so grete dystres Whiche is myne owne dere lady and maystres Wherfore I beseche dame venus aboue To sende me agayne the syght of my true loue Of all her goodnes what sholde I more endyght The halfe wherof it wolde not well suffyse For to be declared is an hole seuvn nyght If styll therat syt I sholde and neuer fer to ryse She is so beautefull so curtyes and so wyse Whefore alas my mortall payne Frome her the departynge full nyghe hath me slayne Alas at this tyme I maye no more synge I feble my herte so fele and so sore With lamentacyons and contynuall wepynge Whiche doth in dure euer more and more Wherfore adue the best that euer was bore Alwaye besechynge dame venus aboue To sende me agayne the syght of my trewe loue Adue my swetynge adue my darlynge dere Adue my helthe and solas with paynes smarte Adue the goodlyest that euer lyfe dyde bere Adue for whome I am bothe pale and swarte Yet crystes dere blessynge have swete herte But euer alas my mortall payne Frome you the departynge full nyghe hath me slayne Adue adue my lyfe so swete Adue my dethe so sherpe and stronge Adue fayre byrde and auys so dulset Adue for euer I cannot endure longe Wherfore this is the last of my songe yet or I dye I beseche dame venus aboue To sende me agayne the syght or my true loue There endeth the balade of the dolorous louer & soweth of the aduenture that happened vnto hym shewed by vysyon in his slepe
And thus whan I had of this balade made an ende I began ryght strongely to sobbe syghe and wepe Besechynge dame venus some conforte me to sende And from all parelles my dere herte for to kepe And then for pure werynes I fell in a lytell slepe And as I slepte me thought the foresayd auys To me dyde come and bad me aryse Saynge o thou slouthfull man & full of ydylnes Wenest thou with slouggynge thy lady to optayne Or by alone complaynynge her sorowes to redres Nay nay it must be througe grete labour and payne And here thou doost but spende thy tyme in vayne Wherfore I the counsayle that shortly to her thou go Elles thy mynde & purpose shalte thou neuer come to And be nothynge agast to shewe to her playne All thy mynde and wyll requyrynge her of grace And when she knoweth that trouth then wyll she agayne Some conforte the gyue & that within shorte space Otherwyse loke neuer thy wyll to brynge to passe Farewell for I go hens and loke thou take good hede Unto to my forsayd wordes yf thou purpose to spede Than out of my slepe sodaynly I made abrayde And loked rounde aboute but nothynge I coude aspy And than I remembred what the byrde to me had sayd And in my secrete mynde I prynted it surely Sayenge that I wolde do after it for me thought truely It was the best counsayll I that herde my lyfe dayes Wherfore I concluded to ryse and go my wayes And whan I was by I wente a full softe pace Unto my horse whome I lefte behynde Whan I wente the songe to here and in the same place Where as I hym lefte I dyde hym fynde Uppon whome I lyght all thoughtfull in my mynde And rode for the on my way besechynge our lorde Iesu To kepe my lady and me and all louers that be true AMEN
Lenuoy of the auctour . Go forthe lytell quayre with full due reuerence Unto the prynces of beauty souerayne And the humbly submyt vnto her magnyfycence Requyrynge her to take not in dysdayne This lytell werke whiche with grete labour & payne Her goodnes to declare I toke on honde to make Though I vnworthy were suche thynges to vnder take Wherfore I beseche all you that shall ouer rede This lytell proses to haue me in no skornynge Nor me to dysprayse thoughe I so rudely enterprysed suche maters to take in honde to me nothynge pertainynge But where as is amys there to be amendynge Thus I you pray with my hole affeccyon Whiche entendeth to rede or thys dytte to loke uppon Finis .

Imprynted at London in Flete strete at the sygne of the Sonne by Wynkyn de Worde .