Thomas Occleve (1367 – 1426)
English poet and civil servant.
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Who was hiėr in philosophie
To Aristotle, in our tonge, but thow?
The firste fyndere of our faire langage.
For the more paart, youthe is rebel,
Un-to reson & hatith her doctryne.
O maister deere and Fadir reverent,
Mi maister Chaucer, flour of eloquence,
Mirour of fructuous entendement,
O, universel fadir in science!
Allas! ?at ?ou thyn excellent prudence
In ?i bed mortel mightist naght by-qwethe;
What eiled deth? allas! whi wolde he sle the?
With bookės of his ornat endytyng,
That is to al ?is land enlumynyng.
If that thise men that lovers hem pretende,
To women weren feythfull good and trewe,
And dreden hem to deceyven or offende,
Women, to love hem, wolde nat eschewe;
But every day hath man an herte newe:
Yt, upon oon, abide can no while.
What fore ys it, swich a wight to be-gile?
Many a servant un-to his lord seith,
"?at al the world spekith of him honour,"
Whan the contrarie of ?at is sooth, in feith.
O yowthe allas why wilt thow nat enclyne,
And un-to reuled reform bowe thee?
Syn resoun is the verray streighte lyne
?at ledith folk un-to felicitee.
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