FullReads

He can make, within a little stound,* *moment
Of sicke folke whole, and fresh, and sound,
And of the whole he can make sick;
He can bind, and unbinden eke,
What he will have bounden or unbound.

To tell his might my wit may not suffice;
For he can make of wise folk full nice,* — *foolish
For he may do all that he will devise, —
And lither* folke to destroye vice, *idle, vicious
And proude heartes he can make agrise.* *tremble

Shortly, all that ever he will he may;
Against him dare no wight say nay;
For he can glad and grieve *whom him liketh.* *whom he pleases*
And who that he will, he laugheth or siketh,* *sigheth
And most his might he sheddeth ever in May.

For every true gentle hearte free,
That with him is, or thinketh for to be,
Against May now shall have some stirring,* *impulse
Either to joy, or else to some mourning,
In no season so much, as thinketh me.

For when that they may hear the birdes sing,
And see the flowers and the leaves spring,
That bringeth into hearte’s remembrance
A manner ease, *medled with grievance,* *mingled with sorrow*
And lusty thoughtes full of great longing.

And of that longing cometh heaviness,
And thereof groweth greate sickeness,
And <2> for the lack of that that they desire:
And thus in May be heartes set on fire,
So that they brennen* forth in great distress. *burn

I speake this of feeling truely;
If I be old and unlusty,
Yet I have felt the sickness thorough May
*Both hot and cold, an access ev’ry day,* *every day a hot and a
How sore, y-wis, there wot no wight but I. cold fit*

I am so shaken with the fevers white,
Of all this May sleep I but lite;* *little
And also it is not like* unto me *pleasing
That any hearte shoulde sleepy be,
In whom that Love his fiery dart will smite,

But as I lay this other night waking,
I thought how lovers had a tokening,* *significance
And among them it was a common tale,
That it were good to hear the nightingale
Rather than the lewd cuckoo sing.

And then I thought, anon* it was day, *whenever
I would go somewhere to assay
If that I might a nightingale hear;
For yet had I none heard of all that year,
And it was then the thirde night of May.

And anon as I the day espied,
No longer would I in my bed abide;
But to a wood that was fast by,
I went forth alone boldely,
And held the way down by a brooke’s side,

Till I came to a laund* of white and green, *lawn
So fair a one had I never in been;
The ground was green, *y-powder’d with daisy,* *strewn with daisies*
The flowers and the *greves like high,* *bushes of the same height*
All green and white; was nothing elles seen.

There sat I down among the faire flow’rs,
And saw the birdes trip out of their bow’rs,
There as they rested them alle the night;
They were so joyful of the daye’s light,
They began of May for to do honours.

They coud* that service all by rote; *knew
There was many a lovely note!
Some sange loud as they had plain’d,
And some in other manner voice feign’d,
And some all out with the full throat.