XXVII And also would I that they all were dead,
Who do not think in love their life to lead;
For who is both the God of Love to obey,
Is only fit to die, I dare well say,
And for that cause OSEE I cry; take heed! 135

XXVIII Ay, quoth the Cuckoo, that is a quaint law,
That all must love or die; but I withdraw,
And take my leave of all such company,
For mine intent it neither is to die,
Nor ever while I live Love’s yoke to draw. 140

XXIX For lovers of all folk that be alive,
The most disquiet have and least do thrive;
Most feeling have of sorrow [3] woe and care,
And the least welfare cometh to their share;
What need is there against the truth to strive? 145

XXX What! quoth she, thou art all out of thy mind,
That in thy churlishness a cause canst find
To speak of Love’s true Servants in this mood;
For in this world no service is so good
To every wight that gentle is of kind. 150

XXXI For thereof comes all goodness and all worth;
All gentiless [4] and honour thence come forth;
Thence worship comes, content and true heart’s pleasure,
And full-assured trust, joy without measure,
And jollity, fresh cheerfulness, and mirth; 155

XXXII And bounty, lowliness, and courtesy,
And seemliness, and faithful company,
And dread of shame that will not do amiss;
For he that faithfully Love’s servant is,
Rather than be disgraced, would chuse to die. 160

XXXIII And that the very truth it is which I
Now say—­in such belief I’ll live and die;
And Cuckoo, do thou so, by my advice. 
Then, quoth she, let me never hope for bliss,
If with that counsel I do e’er comply. 165

XXXIV Good Nightingale! thou speakest wondrous fair,
Yet for all that, the truth is found elsewhere;
For Love in young folk is but rage, I wis;
And Love in old folk a great dotage is;
Who most it useth, him ’twill most impair. 170

XXXV For thereof come all contraries to gladness;
Thence sickness comes, and overwhelming sadness,
Mistrust and jealousy, despite, debate,
Dishonour, shame, envy importunate,
Pride, anger, mischief, poverty, and madness. 175

XXXVI Loving is aye an office of despair,
And one thing is therein which is not fair;
For whoso gets of love a little bliss,
Unless it alway stay with him, I wis
He may full soon go with an old man’s hair. 180

XXXVII And, therefore, Nightingale! do thou keep nigh,
For trust me well, in spite of thy quaint cry,
If long time from thy mate thou be, or far,
Thou’lt be as others that forsaken are;
Then shall thou raise a clamour as do I. 185

XXXVIII Fie, quoth she, on thy name, Bird ill beseen! 
The God of Love afflict thee with all teen,
For thou art worse than mad a thousand fold;
For many a one hath virtues manifold,
Who had been nought, if Love had never been. 190