A Complaint To His Lady
In
the
long
night,
when
every
creature
should
naturally
take
some
rest,
or
else
his
life
cannot
long
hold
out,
then
it
falls
most
into
my
woeful
thoughts
how
I
have
dropped
so
far
behind
that
except
death
nothing
can
comfort
me,
so
do
I
despair
of
all
happiness.
This
thought
remains
with
me
until
morning,
and
forth
from
morning
until
eve.
I
need
borrow
no
grief;
I
have
both
leisure
and
leave
to
mourn.
There
is
no
creature
who
will
take
my
woe
or
forbid
me
to
weep
enough
and
wail
my
fill;
the
sore
spark
of
pain
destroys
me.
This
love
has
so
placed
me
that
he
will
never
fulfill
my
desire;
for
neither
pity,
mercy,
nor
grace
can
I
find.
Yet
even
for
fear
of
death
can
I
not
root
out
love
from
my
sorrowful
heart.
The
more
I
love,
the
more
my
lady
pains
me;
through
which
I
see,
without
remedy,
that
I
may
in
no
way
escape
death.
Now
in
truth
I
will
rehearse
her
name.
She
is
called
Goodness-set-in-womanhood,
Staidness-in-youth,
and
Beauty-without-pride,
and
Pleasure-under-
control-and-fear.
Her
surname
is
Fair-ruthless,
Wisdom-knit-to-fortune.
Because
I
love
her
she
slays
me
guiltless.
Her
I
love
best,
and
shall
as
long
as
I
live,
better
an
hundred
thousand
times
than
myself,
better
than
all
the
riches
and
created
beings
of
this
world.
Now
has
not
Love
bestowed
me
well,
to
love
where
I
shall
never
have
part
or
lot!
Alas,
so
is
Fortune's
wheel
turned
for
me,
so
am
I
slain
with
Love's
fiery
arrow!
I
can
only
love
her
best,
my
sweet
foe.
Love
has
taught
me
no
more
of
his
art
than
ever
to
serve,
and
cease
for
no
sorrow.
Within
my
true,
care-worn
heart
there
is
so
much
woe,
and
so
little
joy
as
well,
that
woe
is
me
that
ever
I
was
born.
For
all
that
I
desire
I
lack,
and
all
that
ever
I
would
not
have,
that,
in
truth,
I
ever
find
ready
to
my
hand.
And
of
all
this
I
know
not
to
whom
to
complain,
for
she
who
might
bring
me
out
of
this
cares
not
whether
I
weep
or
sing,
so
little
pities
she
my
pain.
Alas!
In
sleeping-time
I
wake;
when
I
should
dance
I
tremble
with
fear.
This
heavy
life
I
lead
for
your
sake,
though
you
pay
no
heed
thereto,
my
heart's
lady,
all
my
life's
queen!
For
truly
I
dare
say
it,
as
I
see
it:
I
seems
to
me
that
your
sweet
heart
of
steel
is
now
whetted
against
me
too
keenly.
My
dear
heart,
foe
best-beloved,
why
will
you
do
me
all
this
sorrow?
What
have
I
done
or
said
to
grieve
you,
except
that
I
serve
and
love
you
and
nobody
else,
and
as
long
as
I
live
will
ever?
Therefore,
sweet,
be
not
displeased.
You
are
so
good
and
fair,
it
would
be
a
very
great
wonder
if
you
did
not
have
suitors
of
all
kinds,
both
good
and
bad;
and
the
least
worthy
of
all,
I
am
he.
Nevertheless,
my
own
sweet
lady,
though
I
be
unskillful
and
unfit
ever
to
serve
your
highness,
even
as
best
I
knew
how,
yet
this
I
swear,
there
is
nobody
more
glad
than
I
to
do
your
pleasure
or
to
cure
whatever
I
know
to
distress
you.
And
had
I
as
much
power
as
will,
then
should
you
feel
whether
it
were
so
or
not;
for
in
this
world
is
no
living
being
who
would
more
gladly
fulfill
your
heart's
desire.
For
I
both
love
and
fear
you
so
sorely,
and
ever
must
and
have
done
right
long,
that
none
is
better
loved,
and
never
shall
be.
And
yet
I
would
only
beg
you
to
believe
me
well,
and
be
not
angry,
and
let
me
continue
to
serve
you.
Lo,
this
is
all!
For
I
am
not
so
bold
or
mad
as
to
desire
that
you
should
love
me;
for
alas!
Well
I
know
that
may
not
be;
I
have
so
little
worth,
and
you
so
much.
For
you
are
one
of
the
most
excellent
of
the
living,
and
I
the
most
unlikely
to
prosper.
Yet,
for
all
this,
know
you
right
well
you
shall
not
so
drive
me
from
your
service
that
I
shall
not
ever
serve
you
faithfully,
with
all
my
five
wits,
whatever
woe
I
feel.
For
I
am
so
set
upon
you
that
though
you
never
pity
me,
I
must
love
you
and
ever
be
as
true
as
any
man
living
can
be.
The
more
I
love
you,
goodly
and
noble
one,
the
less
I
find
you
love
me.
Alas!
When
will
that
obduracy
soften?
Where
now
is
all
your
womanly
pity,
your
noble
gentleness,
your
graciousness?
Will
you
spend
nothing
of
it
on
me?
And
as
wholly
as
I
am
your,
sweet,
and
as
great
will
I
have
to
serve
you,
if
thus
you
let
me
die,
you
have
gained
but
little
from
it.
For
I
believe
I
have
given
no
cause.
And
this
I
beseech
you
heartily,
that
if
ever
you
find,
so
long
as
you
live,
a
servant
more
true
to
you
than
I,
then
leave
me
and
boldly
slay
me,
and
I
will
forgive
you
all
my
death.
And
if
you
find
no
truer
man,
why
will
you
allow
me
to
perish
thus,
and
for
no
type
of
guilt
except
my
good
desire?
As
good
then
be
untrue
as
true.
But
to
your
will
I
submit
my
life
and
death,
and
with
a
fully
obedient
heart
I
pray,
do
with
me
as
is
your
pleasure.
Much
rather
had
I
please
you
and
die
than
to
think
or
say
anything
to
offend
you
at
any
time.
Therefore,
pity
my
bitter
pains,
sweet,
and
of
your
grace
grant
me
some
drop;
for
else
neither
hope
nor
happiness
may
remain
with
me,
nor
linger
in
my
troubled,
careworn
heart.
