The Clerke’s Compleinte

The Clerke's Compleinte

Whanne that Octobre mid his schoures derke
The erthe hath dreint, and wete windes cherke
And swoghe in naked braunches colde and bare,
And th' olde sonne is hennes longe yfare;
Whan misti cloudes blake ymeind with smoke
Her yen blenden and her throtes choke,
And frosty Eurus with his kene teth
Ech man forwelked biteth that him fleth,
And wrecche cattes youlen umbewhiles,
That slepen nat bot wandren on the tiles
(So priketh hem nature in her corages),
Than thinken folk to doon her avantages,
And seken hem faire educacioun
In yonge dayes of the sessiou ;
And specially from every schires ende
In al the North to Leedes don they wende,
And in the fairest toune of Yorkeschire
Seken of lore the welle depe and schire.
Bifel that in that sesoun dim and mat,
In Leedes atte dores as I sat,
At morne was come into tho halles hye
Wel nigh fyve hondred in my companye
Of newe clerkes in an egre presse,
Langages old that wolden lerne, I gesse,
Of Fraunce or Engelonde or Spayne or Ruce,
Tho tonges harde of Hygh Almaine and Pruce,
Or historye, or termes queinte of lawe;
Yet nas bot litel Latin in her mawe,
And bolde men, alas, ther were yet lece
That thoughten wrestle with the tonge of Grece,
Or doon her hedet aken with etyk [hedes
And with philosophye malencolyk.
Bot yonder was an heep so huge ythronge
Unnethe mighte I counte tho clerkes yonge
That wolden lerne how here in fattes depe
With queynte odour men hydes sethe and stepe,
And weven wolle in webbes soft and faire;
Or brennen col and fylen nat the aire ;
And soghte a grete prees matematyk,
And fragraunt chymistrie and sleigh physyk,
And mani uncouth science for the nones
Of floures, fissches, or of olde stones.
The mani vois ther maden swich a din
The hoote aires schook, and mani a pin
Unherd ther fel upon tho floores wide,
Till that on cride schille min ere biside
Of fees and of examinacioun,
And axede of matriculacioun,
And wher I hadde of goddes ful faire grace
By adventure ychaunced it to pace.
Thogh maystres hadde I mo than thryes ten,
And wisdom of an heap of lerned men, [heep
That were of lore expert and curious,
Yet couthe I nat, not more than can a mous,
Of swiche lettrure, ne wiste I what he mente;
And fro the halles swithe men me sente
To dwellen al a year withoute yate [yeer
And pleinen me of myn unkind fate ;
Withoute yates al a yeer to dwelle,
Ne durre drinken of the clere welle

N.N.