Original Text of Pearl - A Poem in Middle English by an Unknown Author

Original Text by Unknown Author
5 10 15 20	I Perle, plesaunte to prynces paye To clanly clos in golde so clere; Oute of oryent, I hardyly saye. Ne proved I never her precios pere. So rounde, so reken in uche araye, So smal, so smothe her sydes were, Quere-so-ever I jugged gemmes gaye, I sette hyr sengely in synglere. Allas! I leste hyr in on erbere; Thurgh gresse to ground hit fro me yot, I dewyne, fordolked of luf-daungere Of that pryvy perle wythouten spot. Sythen in that spote hit fro me sprange, Ofte haf I wayted, wyschande that wele, That wont was whyle devoyde my wrange And heven my happe and al my hele. That dos bot thrych my hert thrange Mr brest in bale bot bolne and bele. Yet thoght me never so swete a sange As stylle stounde let me stele, For sothe there fleten to me fele, To thenke hir color so clad in clot, O moul, thou marres a myry juele, My privy perle wyhouten spotte.
25 30 35 40 45	That spot of spyse mot nedes sprede, Ther such ryches to rot is runne; Blomes blyke nad blwe and rede Ther schynes ful schyr agayn the sunne. Flor and fryte may not fede Ther hit doun drof in moldes dunne; For uch gresse mot grow of graynes dede - No whete were elles to wones wonne. Of goud uche goude is ay bygonne; So semly a sede moght fayly not, That spryngande spyces up ne sponne Of that precios perle wythouten spoke. To that spot that I in speche expoun I entred in that erber grene, In Augoste in a hygh seysoun, Quen corne is covern wyth crokes kene. On huyle ther perle hit trendeled doun Schadowed this wortes ful schyre and schene - Gilofre, gyngure and gromylyoun, And pyonys powdered ay bytwene. Yif hit was semly on to sene, A fayr reflayr yet fro hit flot. Ther wonys that worthly, I wot and wene, My precious perle wythouten spot.
50 55 60 65 70	Before that spot my honde I spenned For care ful colde that to me caght; A devely dele in my hert denned, Thagh resoun sette my selven saght. I playned my perle that ther was spenned Wyth fyrce skylles that faste faght; Thagh kynde of Kryst me comfort kenned, My wreched wylle in wo ay wraghte. I felle upon that floury flaght, Suche odour to my hernes schot; I slode upon a slepyng-slaghte On that precios perle wythouten spot II Fro spot my spyryt ther sprang in space; My body on balke ther bod in sweven. My gost is gon in Godes grace In aventure ther mervayles meven. I ne wyste in this worlde quere that hit wace, Bot I knew me keste ther klyfes cleven. Towarde a foreste I bere the face, Where rych rokkes wer to dyscreven. The lyght of hem myght no mon leven, The glemande glory that of hem glent; For wern never webbes that wyyes weven Of half so dere adubbement.
75 80 85 90 95	Dubbed wern alle tho downes sydes Wyth crystal klyffes so cler of kynde. Holtewodes bryghte aboute then bydes Of bolles as blwe as ble of Ynde. As bornyst sylver the lef onslydes, That thike con trylle on uch a tynde. Quen glem of glodes agayns hem glydes, With schymeryng schene ful schrylle thay schynde. The gravayl that on grounde con grynde Wern precios perles of oryente, The sunnebemes bot blo and blynde In respecte of that adubbement. The adubbement of tho downes dere Garten my goste al greffe foryete. So frech flavores of frytes were, As fode hit con me fayre refete. Fowles ther flowen in fryth in fere, Of flaumbande hwes, both smale and grete. Bot sytole-stryng and gyternere Her reken myrthe moght not retrete; Fir quen those bryddes her wynges bete, Thay songen wyth a swete asent. So gracios gle couthe no mon gete As here and se her adubbement.
100 105 110 115 120	So al was dubbet on dere asyse That fryth ther fortwne forth me feres. The derthe therof for to devyse Nis no wyy worthé that tonge beres. I welke ay forth in wely wyse; No bonk so byg that did me deres. The fyrre in the fryth, the feier con ryse The playn, the plonttes, the spyse, the peres, The rawes and randes and rych reveres - As fyldor fyn her bonkes brent. I wan to a water by schore that scheres; Lorde, der was hit adubbement ! The dubbement of tho derworth depe Wern bonkes bene of beryl bryght. Swangeande swete the water con swepe, Wyth a rownande rourde raykande aryght. In the founce ther stonden stones stepe, As glente thurgh glas that glowed and glyght, As stremande sternes, quen strothe-men slepe, Staren in welkyn in wynter nyght. For uche a pobbel in pole ther pyght Was emerad, saffer, other gemme gente, That alle the loghe lemed of lyght, So dere was hit adubbement.
125 130 135 140	III The dubbement dere of doun and dales, Of wod and water wlonk playnes. Bylde in me blys, abated my bales, Forbidden my stresse, dystryed my paynes Doun after a strem that dryyly hales I bowed in blys, bredful my braynes, The fyrre I folwed those floty vales, The more strenghthe of joye myn herte straynes. As fortune fares, ther as ho fraynes, Whether solace ho sende other elles sore, The wyy to wham her wylle ho waynes Hyttes to have ay more and more. More of wele was in that wyse That I cowthe telle thagh I tom hade, For uthely herte myght not suffyse To the tenth dole of tho gladnes glade. Forthy I thoght that Paradyse Was ther over gayn tho bonkes brade. I hoped the water were a devyse Bytwene myrthes by meres made. Beyonde the broke, by slente other slade, I hoped that mote merked wore. Bot the water was depe, I dorst not wade, And ever me longed ay more and more.
145 150 155 160 165	More and more, and yet wel mare, Me lyste to se the broke byyonde; For if hit was fayr ther I can fare, Wel loveloker was the fyrre londe. Abowte me con I stote and stare, To fynde a for the faste con I fonde; Bot wothes mo iwysse ther ware, The fyrre I stalked by the stronde. And ever me thoght I schulde not wonde For wo there weles so wynne wore, Thenne new note me com on honde That meved my mynde ay more and more. More mervayle con my dom adaunt: I sey byyonde that myry mere A crystal clyffe ful relusaunt; Mony ryal ray con fro hit rere. At the fote therof ther sete a faunt, A mayden of menske, ful debonere; Blysnande whyt was hyr bleaunt. I knew hyr wel, I hade sen hyr ere. As glysnande golde that man con schere, So schon that schene anunder shore, On lenghe I loked to hyr there; The lenger, I knew hyr more and more.
170 175 180 185 190	The more I frayste hyr fayre face Her fygure fyn quen I had fonte, Suche gladande glory con to me glace As lyttel byfore therto was wonte. To call hyr lyste con me enchace, Bot baysment gef myn hert a brunt; I sey hyr in so strange a place, Such a burre myght make myn herte blunt. Thenne veres ho up her fayre frount, Her vysage whyt as playn yvore; That strong myn hert ful stray atount, And ever the lenger, the more and more. IV More then me lyste my drede aros, I stod ful stylle and dorste not calle; With yyen open and mouth ful clos I stod as hende as hawk in halle. I hoped that gostly was that purpose; I dred onende quat schulde byfalle, Lest ho me eschaped that I ther chose, Er I at steven hir moght stalle. That gracios gay wythouten galle, So smothe, so smal, so seme slyght, Ryses up in hir araye ryalle, A precios pyece in perles pyght.
195 200 205 210 215	Perles pyght of ryal prys, There moght mon by grace haf sene, Quen that frech as flor-de-lys Doun the bonke con bowe bydene. Al blysnande whyt was hir beau blys, Upon at sydes and bounden bene With the myrest margarys, at my devyse, That ever I sey yet with myn yyen; Wyth lappes large, I wot and I wene, Dubbed with double perle and dyghte; Her cortel of self sute schene, With precios perles at umbepyghte. A pyghte coroune yet were that gyrle Of mariorys and non other ston, High pynakled of cler quyt perle, With flurted flowrs perfet upon. To hed hade ho non other werle. Her lere leke al hyr umbegon, Her semblaunt sade for doc other erle, Her ble more blaght then whalles bon. As schorne golde schyr her fax thenne schon, On schylderes that leghe unlapped lyghte. Her depe colour yet wonted non Of precios perle in porfyl pyghte.
220 225 230 235 240	Pyght was poyned and uche a hemme At honde, at sydes, at overture, With whyte perle and non other gem, And bornyste quyte was her vesture. Bot a wonder perle wythouten wemme Inmyddes her breste was sette so sure; A mannes dom moght dryyly demme, Er mynde moght malte in hit mesure. I hope no tong moght endure No saverly saghe say of that syght, So hit was clene and cler and pure, That precios perle ther hit was pyght. Pyght in perle, that precios pyse On wyther half water com doun the schore. No gladder gome heten into Grece Then I, quen ho on brymme wore. Ho was me nerre than aunt or nece; My joy forthy was much the more, Ho profered me speche, that special spyce, Enclynande lowe in wommon lore, Caghte of her coroun of grete tresore And haylsed me wyth a lothe lyghte. Wel was me that ever I was bore To sware that swete in perles pyghte.