A Complaint to His Lady
In the long night, when every creature should naturally have some rest, or else his life cannot long endure, it falls most into my woeful mind how I have dropped so low that, save death, nothing can comfort me, so despair I of all happiness.
This thought abides with me until morning, and forth from the morning until evening. I need borrow no grief, for I have both leisure and leave to mourn. There is no creature who will take my woe or forbid me to weep enough and wail my fill; the sore spark of pain destroys me.
II
This love has set me in such a place that he will never fulfill my desire; for neither pity, mercy, nor grace can I find. Yet even for fear of death can I not root out love from my sorrowful heart. The more I love, the more my lady pains me; through this I see that, without remedy, I may in no way escape death.
III
Now in truth I will tell you what she is called. Her name is Goodness-Set-in-Womanhood, Constancy-in-Youth, Beauty-without-Pride, and Pleasure-under-Control-and-Fear. Her surname is Fair-Ruthless-The-Wise as well as Good-Fortune. Because I love her she innocently slays me.
Her I love best, and shall, as long as I may live, a hundred thousand times better than myself, better than all the riches and created beings of this world. Now has not Love bestowed me well, to love where I never shall have any part? Alas, so is Fortune’s wheel turned for me, so am I slain with Love’s fiery arrow! I can only love her best, my sweet foe. Love has taught me no more of his art than to serve always and to cease for no sorrow.
IV
Within my true, care-worn heart there is so much woe, and so little joy as well, that woe is me that ever I was born. For all that I desire I lack, and all that I would never want I find available to me at all times. And I know not to whom to complain of all this, for she who might bring me out of this cares not whether I weep or sing, so little pities she my pain.
Alas! In sleeping-time I wake; when I should dance I tremble with fear. This heavy life I lead for your sake, though you pay no heed to it, my heart’s lady, the queen of my entire life! For truly I dare say it, as I feel it: it seems to me that your sweet heart of steel is now whetted against me too sharply.
My dear heart and best-beloved foe, why do you wish to cause me all this sorrow? What have I done or said to grieve you, except that I serve and love you and nobody else. And as long as I live will ever do so, and therefore, sweet, be not displeased. You are so good and fair as you are, it would be a very great wonder if you did not have suitors of all kinds, both good and bad; and the least worthy of all, I am he.
Nevertheless, my own sweet lady, though I may be unskillful and unfit ever to serve your highness, even as best I knew how, yet this I swear, there is nobody more glad than I to do your pleasure or to cure whatever I know to distress you. And had I as much power as will, then should you feel whether it were so or not; for in this world is no living being who would more gladly fulfill your heart’s desire.
For I both love and fear you so sorely, and ever must and have done so for a long time, that none is better loved, and never shall be. And yet I would only beg you to believe me well, and be not angry, and let me continue to serve you. Lo, this is all! For I am not so bold or mad as to desire that you should love me, for well I know – alas! – that may not be; I have so little worth, and you so much.
For you are one of the most excellent of the living, and I the most unlikely to prosper. Yet, for all this, you know very well that you shall not so drive me from your service that I shall not ever serve you faithfully, with all my five senses, whatever woe I feel. For I am so set upon you that, though you may never pity me, I must love you and ever be as true as any man living can, or may, be.
The more I love you, gracious and noble one, the less I find you love me. Alas! When will that cruel spirit soften? Where now is all your womanly pity, your noble gentleness, your graciousness? Will you spend nothing of it on me? And as wholly as I am yours, sweet one, and as great will I have to serve you, if thus you let me die, you have gained but little from it.
For to my knowledge I have given no cause. And this I will beseech you heartily, that if ever you find, so long as you live, a servant more true to you than I, then leave me and boldly slay me, and I will forgive you all my death. And if you find no truer man, why will you allow me to perish thus, and for no type of guilt except my good desire? As good would then be as untrue as to be true.
But to your will I submit my life and death, and with a very obedient heart I wholly pray, do with me as is your pleasure. Much rather had I please you and die than to think or say anything to offend you at any time. Therefore, pity my bitter pains, sweet, and of your grace grant me some drop; for else neither hope nor happiness may remain with me, nor linger in my troubled and careworn heart.
Translated and Edited by Gerard NeCastro
© Copyright, 2007, All Rights Reserved
Citation. Chaucer, Geoffrey. A Complaint to His Lady. NeCastro, Gerard, ed. and trans. eChaucer: https://www.echaucer.com. [Site Visit Date.]
