The Parliament Of Fowles Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis

Rhyme Scheme: A B CDCDDDD EFEFFFF FEFEECC GFHFFEE CI IIEE BABAAFF AEAEEEE EA AAJJ AEAKKJJ EAEAAEE IAIAAKK CECEEA EAEAAEE EEEEKEE ECECCCC KCKCCE EEEEEEE K CECEEAA AKAKKE EKEKKJ KEKEEAA LEKEEEE AKAKKAA IAIAAE CECEECC E

Here begynyth the Parlement of FoulysA
-
THE PROEMB
-
The lyf so short the craft so long to lerneC
Thassay so hard so sharp the conqueringD
The dredful Ioy that alwey slit so yerneC
Al this mene I by love that my felingD
Astonyeth with his wonderful worchingD
So sore y wis that whan I on him thinkeD
Nat wot I wel wher that I wake or winkeD
-
For al be that I knowe nat love in dedeE
Ne wot how that he quyteth folk hir hyreF
Yet happeth me ful ofte in bokes redeE
Of his miracles and his cruel yreF
Ther rede I wel he wol be lord and syreF
I dar not seyn his strokes been so soreF
But God save swich a lord I can no moreF
-
Of usage what for luste what for loreF
On bokes rede I ofte as I yow toldeE
But wherfor that I speke al this not yoreF
Agon hit happed me for to beholdeE
Upon a boke was write with lettres oldeE
And ther upon a certeyn thing to lerneC
The longe day ful faste I radde and yerneC
-
For out of olde feldes as men seithG
Cometh al this newe corn fro yeer to yereF
And out of olde bokes in good feithH
Cometh al this newe science that men lereF
But now to purpos as of this matereF
To rede forth hit gan me so delyteE
That al the day me thoughte but a lyteE
-
This book of which I make of menciounC
Entitled was al thus as I shal telleI
Tullius of the dreme of Scipioun '-
Chapitres seven hit hadde of hevene and helleI
And erthe and soules that therinnr dwelleI
Of whiche as shortly as I can hit treteE
Of his sentence I wol you seyn the greteE
-
First telleth hit whan Scipion was comeB
In Afrik how he mette MassinisseA
That him for Ioye in armes hath y nomeB
Than telleth hit hir speche and al the blisseA
That was betwix hem til the day gan misseA
And how his auncestre African so dereF
Gan in his slepe that night to him appereF
-
Than telleth hit that fro a sterry placeA
How African hath him Cartage shewedE
And warned him before of al his graceA
And seyde him what man lered other lewedE
That loveth comun profit wel y thewedE
He shal unto a blisful place wendeE
Ther as Ioye is that last withouten endeE
-
Than asked he if folk that heer be dedeE
Have lyf and dwelling in another placeA
And African seyde ye withoute drede '-
And that our present worldes lyves spaceA
Nis but a maner deth what wey we traceA
And rightful folk shal go after they dyeJ
To heven and shewed him the galaxyeJ
-
Than shewed he him the litel erthe that heer isA
At regard of the hevenes quantiteE
And after shewed he him the nyne speresA
And after that the melodye herde heK
That cometh of thilke speres thryes threeK
That welle is of musyk and melodyeJ
In this world heer and cause of armonyeJ
-
Than bad he him sin erthe was so lyteE
And ful of torment and of harde graceA
That he ne shulde him in the world delyteE
Than tolde he him in certeyn yeres spaceA
That every sterre shulde come into his placeA
Ther hit was first and al shulde out of mindeE
That in this worlde is don of al mankindeE
-
Than prayde him Scipioun to telle him alI
The wey to come un to that hevene blisseA
And he seyde know thy self first immortalI
And loke ay besily thou werke and wisseA
To comun profit and thou shalt nat misseA
To comen swiftly to that place dereK
That ful of blisse is and of soules clereK
-
But brekers of the lawe soth to seyneC
And lecherous folk after that they be dedeE
Shul alwey whirle aboute therthe in peyneC
Til many a world be passed out of dredeE
And than for yeven alle hir wikked dedeE
Than shul they come unto that blisful placeA
To which to comen god thee sende his grace '-
-
The day gan failen and the derke nightE
That reveth bestes from her besinesseA
Berafte me my book for lakke of lightE
And to my bedde I gan me for to dresseA
Fulfild of thought and besy hevinesseA
For bothe I hadde thing which that I noldeE
And eek I ne hadde that thing that I woldeE
-
But fynally my spirit at the lasteE
For wery of my labour al the dayE
Took rest that made me to slepe fasteE
And in my slepe I mette as I layE
How African right in the selfe arayK
That Scipioun him saw before that tydeE
Was comen and stood right at my bedes sydeE
-
The wery hunter slepinge in his bedE
To wode ayein his minde goth anoonC
The Iuge dremeth how his plees ben spedE
The carter dremeth how his cartes goonC
The riche of gold the knight fight with his foonC
The seke met he drinketh of the tonneC
The lover met he hath his lady wonneC
-
Can I nat seyn if that the cause wereK
For I had red of African befornC
That made me to mete that he stood thereK
But thus seyde he thou hast thee so wel bornC
In loking of myn olde book to tornC
Of which Macrobie roghte nat a lyteE
That somdel of thy labour wolde I quyte '-
-
Citherea thou blisful lady sweteE
That with thy fyr brand dauntest whom thee lestE
And madest me this sweven for to meteE
Be thou my help in this for thou mayst bestE
As wisly as I saw thee north north westE
When I began my sweven for to wryteE
So yif me might to ryme and endyteE
-
THE STORYK
-
This forseid African me hente anoonC
And forth with him unto a gate broghteE
Right of a parke walled of grene stoonC
And over the gate with lettres large y wroghteE
Ther weren vers y writen as me thoghteE
On eyther halfe of ful gret differenceA
Of which I shal yow sey the pleyn sentenceA
-
Thorgh me men goon in to that blisful placeA
Of hertes hele and dedly woundes cureK
Thorgh me men goon unto the welle of GraceA
Ther grene and lusty May shal ever endureK
This is the wey to al good aventureK
Be glad thou reder and thy sorwe of casteE
Al open am I passe in and hy the faste '-
-
Thorgh me men goon ' than spak that other sydeE
Unto the mortal strokes of the spereK
Of which Disdayn and Daunger is the gydeE
Ther tre shal never fruyt ne leves bereK
This streem yow ledeth to the sorwful wereK
Ther as the fish in prison is al dryeJ
Theschewing is only the remedye '-
-
Thise vers of gold and blak y writen wereK
Of whiche I gan a stounde to beholdeE
For with that oon encresed ay my fereK
And with that other gan myn herte boldeE
That oon me hette that other did me coldeE
No wit had I for errour for to cheseA
To entre or flee or me to save or leseA
-
Right as betwixen adamauntes twoL
Of even might a pece of iren y setE
That hath no might to meve to ne froK
For what that on may hale that other letE
Ferde I that niste whether me was betE
To entre or leve til African my gydeE
Me hente and shoof in at the gates wydeE
-
And seyde hit stondeth writen in thy faceA
Thyn errour though thou telle it not to meK
But dred the nat to come in to this placeA
For this wryting is no thing ment by theeK
Ne by noon but he Loves servant beK
For thou of love hast lost thy tast I gesseA
As seek man hath of swete and bitternesseA
-
But natheles al though that thou be dulleI
Yit that thou canst not do yit mayst thou seeA
For many a man that may not stonde a pulleI
Yit lyketh him at the wrastling for to beA
And demeth yit wher he do bet or heA
And if thou haddest cunning for tendyteE
I shal thee shewen mater of to wryte '-
-
With that my hond in his he took anoonC
Of which I comfort caughte and went in fasteE
But lord so I was glad and wel begoonC
For over al wher that I myn eyen casteE
Were trees clad with leves that ay shal lasteE
Eche in his kinde of colour fresh and greneC
As emeraude that Ioye was to seneC
-
The bilder ook and eek the hardyE

Geoffrey Chaucer



Rate:
(1)



Poem topics: , Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme

Submit Spanish Translation
Submit German Translation
Submit French Translation


Write your comment about The Parliament Of Fowles poem by Geoffrey Chaucer


 

Recent Interactions*

This poem was read 27 times,

This poem was added to the favorite list by 0 members,

This poem was voted by 0 members.

(* Interactions only in the last 7 days)

New Poems

Popular Poets