Ladies that have intelligence in love

Ladies that have intelligence in love,Of mine own lady I would speak with you;Not that I hope to count her praises through,But telling what I may, to ease my mind.And I declare that when I speak thereof,Love sheds such perfect sweetness over meThat if my courage failed not, certainlyTo him my listeners must be all resign’d.Wherefore I will not speak in such large kindThat mine own speech should foil me, which were base;But only will discourse of her high graceIn these poor words, the best that I can find,With you alone, dear dames and damozels:’Twere ill to speak thereof with any else.

An Angel, of his blessed knowledge, saithTo God: “Lord, in the world that Thou hast made,A miracle in action is display’d,By reason of a soul whose splendours fareEven hither: and since Heaven requirethNought saving her, for her it prayeth Thee,Thy Saints crying aloud continually.”Yet Pity still defends our earthly shareIn that sweet soul; God answering thus the prayer:“My well-belovèd, suffer that in peaceYour hope remain, while so My pleasure is,There where one dwells who dreads the loss of her:And who in Hell unto the doomed shall say,‘I have looked on that for which God’s chosen pray.’”

My lady is desired in the high Heaven:_Wherefore_, it now behoveth me to tell,Saying: Let any maid that would be wellEsteemed keep with her: for as she goes by,Into foul hearts a deathly chill is drivenBy Love, that makes ill thought to perish there:While any who endures to gaze on herMust either be ennobled, or else die.When one deserving to be raised so highIs found, ’tis then her power attains its proof,Making his heart strong for his soul’s behoofWith the full strength of meek humility.Also this virtue owns she, by God’s will:Who speaks with her can never come to ill.

Love saith concerning her: “How chanceth itThat flesh, which is of dust, should be thus pure?”Then, gazing always, he makes oath: “Forsure,This is a creature of God till now unknown.”She hath that paleness of the pearl that’s fitIn a fair woman, so much and not more;She is as high as Nature’s skill can soar;Beauty is tried by her comparison.Whatever her sweet eyes are turned upon,Spirits of love do issue thence in flame,Which through their eyes who then may look on themPierce to the heart’s deep chamber every one.And in her smile Love’s image you may see;Whence none can gaze upon her steadfastly.

Dear Song, I know thou wilt hold gentle speechWith many ladies, when I send thee forth:Wherefore (being mindful that thou hadst thy birthFrom Love, and art a modest, simple child),Whomso thou meetest, say thou this to each:“Give me good speed! To her I wend alongIn whose much strength my weakness is made strong.”And if, i’ the end, thou wouldst not be beguiledOf all thy labour, seek not the defiledAnd common sort; but rather choose to beWhere man and woman dwell in courtesy.So to the road thou shalt be reconciled,And find the lady, and with the lady, Love.Commend thou me to each, as doth behove.