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Whylome thou was the fayre toure of lyght,
But now thou arte replete with darkenes;
She is now gone that shone in the so bryght;
Thou was some time the toure of gladnes,
Now mayst thou be the toure of hevynes,
For the chefe is gone of all thy melody,
Whose beauty clere made moost swete armony.

The fayre carbuncle, so ful of clerenes,
That in thee truely dyd moost purely shyne,
The perle of pyte replete with swetenes,
The gentyll gyllofer, the goodly columbyne,
The redolente plant of the dulcet vyne,
The dede aromatyke may no more ensence,
For she is so ferre out of thy presence.

A, a! truly in the tyme so past,
Myne erande was the often for to se;
Now for to entre I may be agast,

When thou art hens, the sterre of beaute,
For all my delyte was to beholde the!
A toure, toure! all my joye is gone,
In the to entre comfort is there none!

So then inwardly my selfe bewaylynge,
In the toure I went, into the habytacle
Of dame Musyke, where she was syngynge
The ballades swete in her fayre tabernacle.
Alas! thought I, this is no spectacle

To fede myn eyne, whiche ar now all blynde;
She is not here that I was wonte to fynde.

H

Than of dame Musyke, with all lowlines
I dyde take my leve, withouten itarenge.
She thanked me with all here mekenes;
And all alone fourth I went musynge.
A, a! quod I, my love and lykinge

Is nowe ferre hence, on whome my hole delyght
Dayly was sette, upon her to have sight.

Fare well, swete herte! farwell, farewell, farewell! Adieu, adieu! I wold I were you by!

God gyve me grace with you sone to dwell,

Lyke as I dyd for to se you dayly.
Your lowly chere and gentyll company

Rejoysed my herte with fode most delycate,

Myne eyen to se you were insaciate.

Now, good swete herte! my lady and maystresse,
I recommende me unto your pyte;
Besechyng you wyth all my gentylnes,
Yet other whyle to thynke upon me;
What payne I suffer by great extremyte,
And to pardon me of my rude wrytyng,
For with woful herte was myne endytynge!

CAP. XXI.

HOWE GRAUNDE AMOURE WENT TO GEOMETRY, AND WHAT GEOMETRY IS.

So forth I went, upon a craggy roche,
Upon the toure moost wonderfully wrought
Of Geometry; and as I did approche
The altitude all in my mynd I sought.
Sixe hundreth fote, as by my nomber thought;
Quadrant it was, and did heve and sette
At every storme whan the wind was great.

Thus at the last I came into an hall,
Hanged with arres riche and precious,
And every window glased with cristall,
Lyke a place of plesure much solacious.
With knottes sixeangled, gay and glorious,
The rofe did hange, right high and pleasauntly,
By Geometry made right well and craftely.

In this marveylous hall, replete with richesse,
At the hye ende she sat full worthely.
I came anone unto her great noblenesse,
And kneled adowne before her mekely.
Madame, I sayd, ye werke full ryally;
I beseche you, with all my diligence,
To instructe me in your wonderfull science.

My science, she sayd, it is moost profitable
Unto Astronomy, for I do it mesure
In every thing as it is probable;
For I my selfe can ryght well discure
Of every sterre, which is sene in ure,
The mervaylous gretnes by my mesuring;
For God made all at the begynnyng.

By good mesuryng both the heyght and depnes
Of every thing, as I understand,

The length and brede with al the greatnes,
Of the firmament so compassing the land;
And who my cunning list to take in hand,
In his emyspery of hye or low degre
Nothing there is but it may measure be.

Though that it be from us hye and farre,
If ony thing fall we may it truely se,
As the sonne or moone or any other sterre,
We may therof know well the quantite.
Who of this science dooth know the certaynte,
All maysteries might measure perfytely;
For geometry doth shew it openly.

Where that is mesure there is no lacking; Where that is mesure hole is the body; Where that is mesure good is the living; Where that is mesure wisdome is truely; Where that is mesure werke is directly; Where that is mesure, natures werking Nature increaseth by right good knowledging.

Where lacketh mesure there is no plente; Where lacketh mesure seke is the courage; Where lacketh mesure there is iniquite; Where lacketh mesure there is great outrage; Where lacketh mesure is none advantage; Where lacketh mesure there is great glotony; Where lacketh mesure is moost unhappy.

For there is no hye nor great estate,
Without mesure can kepe his dignite;
It doth preserve him both early and late,
Keping him from the pytte of poverte.
Mesure is moderate to all bounte,
Gretely nedeful for to take the charge
Man for to rule, that he go not at large.

Who loveth mesure can not do amys,
So perfitely is the high operacion
Among all thynges; so wonderfull it is,
That it is full of all delectacion,
And to vertue hath inclynacion.
Mesure also doth well exemplefy,
The hasty dome to swage and modefy.

Without mesure wo worth the jugement; Without mesure wo worth the temperaunce; Without mesure wo worth the punishmeut; Without mesure wo worth the purveyaunce; Without mesure wo worth the sustenaunce; Without mesure wo worth the sadnes;

And without mesure wo worth the gladnes.

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