Lenvoy de Chaucer a Bukton

This time a letter from Chaucer to Bukton

My maister Bukton, whan of Crist our kinge  

Was axed what is trouthe or sothfastnesse, 

He nat a word answerde to that axinge.  

As who saith, ''No man is al trewe," I gesse.  

And therfore, thogh I highte to expresse  

The sorwe and wo that is in mariage,  

I dar not wryte of hit no wikkednesse  

Lest I my-self falle eft in swich dotage.   

I wol nat seyn how that hit is the cheyne  

Of Sathanas, on which he gnaweth evere,  

But I dar seyn, were he out of his peyne.  

As by his wille, he wolde be bounde nevere.  

But thilke doted fool that eft hath levere  

Y-cheyned be than out of prison crepe,  

God lete him nevere fro his wo dissevere,  

Ne no man him bewayle though he wepe.   

But yit, lest thou do worse, tak a wyf :  

Bet is to wedde than brenne in worse wyse.  

But thou shalt have sorwe on thy flesh thy lyf,  

And been thy wyves thral, as seyn these wyse, 

And if that holy writ may nat suffyse.  

Experience shal thee teche, so may happe.  

That thee were lever to be take in Fryse  

Than eft to falle of wedding in the trappe.   

Envoy  

This litel writ, proverbes, or figure,  

I sende you, tak keep of hit, I rede.  

Unwys is he that can no wele endure;  

If thou be siker, put thee nat in drede.  

The Wyf of Bathe I pray you that ye rede  

Of this matere that we have on honde.  

God graunte you your lyf frely to lede  

In fredom; for ful hard is to be bonde.