|
"What is the cause, if it be for to telle, |
| That ye be in this furial pyne of helle?" |
| Quod Canacee unto the hauk above, |
| 450 | "Is this for sorwe of deeth, or los of love? |
| For, as I trowe, thise been causes two |
| That causeth moost a gentil herte wo. |
| Of oother harm it nedeth nat to speke, |
| For ye yourself upon yourself yow wreke, |
| 455 | Which proveth wel, that oother love or drede |
| Moot been enchesoun of your cruel dede, |
| Syn that I see noon oother wight yow chace. |
| For love of God as dooth yourselven grace. |
| Or what may been your helpe? for west nor est |
| 460 | Ne saugh I nevere er now no bryd ne beest |
| That ferde with hymself so pitously. |
| Ye sle me with your sorwe, verraily, |
| I have of yow so greet compassioun. |
| For Goddes love com fro the tree adoun, |
| 465 | And as I am a kynges doghter trewe, |
| If that I verraily the cause knewe |
| Of your disese, if it lay in my myght |
| I wolde amenden it er that it were nyght, |
| As wisly helpe me, grete god of kynde! |
| 470 | And herbes shal I right ynowe yfynde, |
| To heele with youre hurtes hastily." |
|
| "What is the cause, if it be one to tell, |
| That you are in this furious pain of hell?" |
| Said Canace unto this hawk above. |
| 450 | "Is this for sorrow of death or loss of love? |
| For, as I think, these are the causes two |
| That torture gentle heart with greatest woe; |
| Of other ills there is no need to speak, |
| Because such harm upon yourself you wreak; |
| 455 | Which proves right well that either love or dread |
| Must be the reason for your cruel deed, |
| Since I can see no one that gives you chase. |
| For love of God, come, do yourself some grace, |
| Or say what thing may help; for west nor east |
| 460 | Have I before now seen a bird or beast |
| That ever treated self so wretchedly. |
| You slay me with your sorrow, verily, |
| Such great compassion in my heart has grown. |
| For God's dear love, come from the dry tree down; |
| 465 | And, as I am a monarch's daughter true, |
| If I but verily the real cause knew |
| Of your distress, if it lay in my might, |
| I would make you amends before the night, |
| As truly help me God of human kind! |
| 470 | And even now will I look out and find |
| Some herbs to heal your hurts with, speedily." |
|
