John Lydgate
The Flower of Courtesy
‘Looking very undancey indeed’ (1913) - Arthur Rackham (English, 1867-1939), Artvee
Translated and Modernised by A. S. Kline © Copyright 2025 All Rights Reserved
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Contents
Translator’s Introduction
John Lydgate of Bury (c. 1370 – c. 1451) an English monk and poet, was born in Lidgate, near Haverhill, in the county of Suffolk. He was admitted to the Benedictine monastery of Bury St Edmunds Abbey in 1382, took novice vows soon after, and was ordained as a subdeacon in 1389. He was likely a student at Oxford University, between 1406 and 1408. He admired Geoffrey Chaucer’s work, was a friend to the latter’s son, Thomas, and gained literary patronage at the courts of Henry IV, Henry V, and Henry VI. A prolific writer, The Floure of Courtesye belongs to his earlier period, 1400-1410, and is, like Chaucer’s Parlement of Foules, a Valentine’s Day Poem. This was one of a number of his works influenced by Chaucer’s writings. Lydgate wrote poems, fables, allegories, and romances. The most extensive of his writings were his Troy Book (1412–20), a translation of the Latin prose narrative Historia destructionis Troiae, by Guido delle Colonne, the Siege of Thebes, a translation of a French prose version of the Roman de Thebes, and the Fall of Princes (1431–8), the last and longest of his works.
The Floure of Courtesye blends courtly love, natural symbolism, and medieval allegory to celebrate both the joys and sorrows of devotion. On St. Valentine’s Day, as birds freely choose their mates, the narrator - tormented by unrequited love - retreats to a grove, lamenting his isolation while extolling the virtues of his idealized beloved, the “Flower of Courtesy.” She is compared to mythic women such as Helen and Penelope in her embodiment of perfect beauty, virtue, and grace. Lydgate contrasts the freedom of nature with the bonds of human love, with the narrator ultimately pledging his unwavering loyalty to his lady, despite the pain of rejection. The poem reflects the conventions of courtly love, while its structure (including a ballad and envoy) underscores the cyclical, almost ritualistic nature of romantic devotion.
The Flower of Courtesy
In February, when the frosty moon
Was horned, bright with Phoebus fiery light,
And began to shed her rays, full soon,
Saint Valentine, upon your blissful night
Of duty, when right glad is every wight,
And the birds choose, to void their old sorrow,
Each one, their mate, upon the next morrow,
At that very time, I heard the lark sing,
Full lustily, against the morrow grey,
‘Awake, you lovers, out of your slumbering,
This glad morn, with all the haste you may!
Strict observance is due upon this day,
Your heart’s choice once more to renew,
By your confirming forever to be true.
And you that, of your choosing, are at large
On this lusty day, be ruled by Nature;
Take upon you the blissful holy charge
To serve true love while life does endure
With body, heart, all your care and more,
Forever, as Cyprian Venus does you bid,
And thus arranges, with the god, Cupid.
We ought, for joy’s sake, to obey, say I,
That mighty lord’s every ordinance,
And, granted little mercy, rather die
Than ever find ourselves at variance.
So, though your life be full of grievance,
And at your heart, a scar alone is found,
Be ever one, as you are duty bound.’
When I had listened, silently, and long,
With heart devout, to the lusty melody,
Of that comforting and heavenly song,
So agreeable in its harmony,
I swiftly rose, and began to hie me
Towards a grove, at a most rapid rate;
To watch as every bird chose its mate.
And yet through thirst I was languishing,
My heart’s fever so fervent in its heat,
When Aurora, gloomily complaining,
Began to distil crystal tears, discreet
Upon the soil, in silvery dew so sweet,
Since she dares not, for shame, appear,
Beneath the light of Phoebus’ rays, full clear.
So, in anguish, from the pangs, fierce and keen,
And my constraining sighs, that pained me sore,
I sat beneath a laurel’s soothing green,
Full piteously, and ever, more and more,
As I peered into the grove, dark at its core,
Began to complain of the deadly smart,
That ever cramped the space about my heart.
And while I, all melancholy and in pain,
Sat, and gazed at the birds in every tree,
That perched together, not alone but twain,
I thought within: ‘Alas, why should it be,
That all the birds here are at liberty
To choose freely, as they may desire,
Each one, their mate, each year, amidst their choir.
The tiny wren, with the titmouse also,
And the red-breasted robin, all are free,
To keep company, and flutter to and fro,
Together as they wish, from tree to tree,
As they are each inclined, instinctively,
Or as Nature, the empress and the guide
Of everything, does secretly decide.
But Man alone, alas, his fate unsound,
Full cruelly, by Nature’s ordinance,
Is constrained and, by her statute, bound,
And so debarred from pleasant circumstance.
What does this mean? What plan does He advance,
Our God, above, against all right of kind,
Without due cause, so tightly Man to bind?
Thus, can I speak, and thus complain, alas,
Of my woeful hours, the sorrow I endure,
Who have arrived at the same fell pass,
So far removed from all health, or cure,
My hurt an unhealed wound, my fate unsure;
For Fortune does of me so cruelly dispose,
The harm lies hid, that I may not disclose.
For I have set my heart so on a place,
To which I’m never likely to succeed,
So far am I hindered from her grace,
Meeting Resistance with every deed,
That I know not who to turn to, at need,
That might, to aid me, shape a remedy,
To counteract Ill-Talk and false Envy,
Which twain forever stand in my way,
Maliciously, and also false Suspicion,
Is a cause of my dying, day by day,
The root and origin of my destruction,
Such that I feel, to draw to a conclusion,
That through their mischief, they will rend
My labour from me, till death make an end.
Yet, ere I die, with heart, will, and thought,
To the God of Love, this vow I make:
Best as I can, however dearly bought,
Whether I’m asleep or whether I wake,
While Boreas, icily, the leaves does shake,
As promised, I will serve her until death,
For weal or woe, and with my every breath.
And for her sake now, at this holy time,
Saint Valentine’s Day, of her I write;
Although I’ll but prove I cannot rhyme,
Nor cleverly compose a poem aright,
Yet I would rather she did me indict
For ignorance, and not for negligence,
With regard to all I say of her excellence.
Whatever I say will be said courteously,
And honestly, and without presumption;
That I assure you of, who shall this see,
And that the whole is subject to correction,
All that I rehearse in commendation
Of her, all that I shall for you inscribe:
As best I can, her virtues I’ll describe.
Just as, for example, the summer sun
Exceeds the other stars, with its bright beams,
Or Lucifer, midst the sky, dark and dun,
Shines at dawn, voiding the night’s foul dreams,
So truly, ne’er to be doubted, it seems,
My Lady exceeds all others; take heed
Midst the living, all you that of woman read.
And as the rich ruby holds sovereignty
Over all precious stones, set there on high,
While the rose, for freshness and beauty,
Excels among the flowers, here is no lie:
Rightly, in truth, she, with sparkling eye,
Excels all in munificence, and fairness,
In fine manners also, and graciousness.
For she is both the fairest and the best,
By every reckoning, in plain truthfulness,
For every virtue is in her expressed,
And furthermore, as regards steadfastness,
She is indeed the root and, of seemliness,
The very mirror and, of governance,
The paragon, through her invariance.
Of benign mien, and full of wondrous cheer,
Attending always to reason and to sense,
Such that her every wish, it would appear,
Is restrained by intellect, and reticence,
And so, of intelligence, and prudence,
She’s the wellspring, ever devoid of pride;
Thus, to virtue, she herself is e’er the guide.
And beyond all that, in social dalliance,
Modest, and discrete, and quiet is she,
Yet, by nature, cheerful of countenance,
That every wight, of high or low degree,
Is glad at heart, to be of her company,
So that, if I speak the truth but briefly,
She’s ever called ‘The Flower of Courtesy’.
And then, to speak of her femininity,
She’s the least mannish in conformation,
And humility itself, full of pity.
For those in a state of tribulation,
For she herself is a consolation
To all that are in trouble, or in need,
Comforting them by some womanly deed.
Ever her mind with virtue she does charge,
Sad, and demure, and then of words but few,
Cautious also of tongues that wag at large,
Avoiding those that love ‘to cut and hew
Above their heads’, uttering things untrue;
For she e’er hates to have within her sight
Those who will speak slander of any wight.
She is one whose heart’s so honest and clean,
And her intent so faithful and sincere,
That she would not, for all the world, demean
Herself by allowing her ears to hear
A word about friend or foe, far or near,
Conveying aught that might harm their name,
And if they do, she waxes red for shame.
Right clearly her intent is ever writ,
Without alteration, without falseness,
For grace and beauty are together knit,
In her person, ruled by faithfulness;
Since she is free of any fickleness,
Of one mind ever, wrought to persevere,
Thus, is she set, never to stray or veer.
I am too coarse to speak of every one
Of her virtues skilfully, or of them write;
For well you know that skill I have none,
Discreetly, like her, such virtues to indite,
All that I say must seem but scant and slight;
Wherefore, to you, my failings I excuse,
By saying I’m unacquainted with the Muse.
Trying, through rhetoric, fresh style to learn,
In which to offer praise and commendation,
I am far too blind to deeply discern
Enough of her worth to yield a true description,
Save this which I offer, in conclusion:
If that I, here, do briefly her commend,
In her is naught that Nature should amend.
For good she is, and thus like Polyxena,
Fair as Helen in beauty, I maintain,
Steadfast of heart, as was Dorigen ever,
And as for wifely truth, I should explain:
In constancy, and faith, she may attain
To Cleopatra’s; and to discretion’s height,
Like hers of Troy, Antigone the white.
Meek as Esther, like Judith in her prudence,
True as Alcestis, or Cato’s Marcia,
And then akin to Griselda in patience;
Ariadne’s discretion was similar.
To Lucretia, Rome’s virtuous daughter,
She may be likened for her honesty,
And to Penelope for loyalty,
To fair Phyllis, and to Hypsipyle,
For femininity and innocence;
And in seemliness like to Canace;
While, beyond this, to speak of excellence,
She so exceeds all women of consequence,
In word and deed, that in naught does she fail,
For, in all her actions, virtue does prevail.
For though Dido, in her judgement sage,
Was steadfast, in her day, to Aeneas,
Through hastiness she did herself outrage,
And, like Medea for Jason, died alas,
But my lady is so prudent, that whereas
Virtue and beauty, both, she can claim,
Yet Virtue is sovereign in her domain.
That is to say, Virtue e’er goes before,
Led by Prudence, and has sovereignty,
While Beauty follows, subject to her law,
So, it offends not, in the least degree.
In sum, in this goodly lady, as we see,
Who exceeds all others, in every measure,
Join virtue and beauty, in one form, together.
And though that I, through utter ignorance,
Cannot describe her every virtue, fully,
Yet, on this one day, as a remembrance,
My sole support being my lady’s mercy,
With quaking hand, I shall, full humbly,
To her highness, her mercy to requite,
A little ballad, set here beneath, indite,
If ever I can express what is in my heart,
Being oft in fear, betwixt dread and shame,
Lest some loose word should fail to play its part
In the metre, and make the verse seem lame;
Chaucer is dead, that won so fine a name
For fair making, who doubtless was, I ween,
Fairest in our tongue, as the laurel green.
We may attempt to counterfeit, complete,
His happy style, yet do but wretchedly!
The well is dry, that liquid fountain sweet,
The gift of Clio and Calliope,
And I am first to ask that she excuse me,
She who is the ground of goodliness,
For speaking to her thus, nonetheless:
Balade Simple
‘With all my might, and with my best intent,
With all the faith the mighty God of Kind,
Granted me, when soul and sense he sent,
I choose, and to this bond myself do bind,
To love you best, while I have life and mind.’
Thus, I heard the sweet birds in the dawning,
All upon Saint Valentine’s Day, singing.
‘Still, from the start, I choose with true intent,
To love you, though scant mercy I receive.
Ask that I die, and I would yet assent,
As swiftly as I could these branches leave;
Your feathers, blue, suffice me I believe.’
Thus, I heard the sweet birds in the dawning,
All upon Saint Valentine’s Day, singing.
‘And more: that both my heart and will consent
To bow, in honour solely of the woodbine,
Wholly, I pledge, and never shall repent,
In joy or woe, whatever path is mine,
That blind Cupid rules with power divine.’
All the birds, as Hyperion forth did spring,
Methought, with devout hearts, I heard sing.
Envoi
Princess of beauty, to you I present
This simple ballad, crude in its making,
With heart and will, faithful in my intent,
Like to the birds, this day, that I heard singing.
Notes:
Boreas – The North Wind
Lucifer – An epithet for the planet Venus in its dawn aspect, risen before the sun. Hesperus being its evening aspect.
Resistance and Ill-Talk – that is ‘Daunger’ and ‘Male Bouche’ in the original text are allegorical figures, signifying slander and denial, both obstacles to the lover’s courtship of the lady. They first appear in ‘The Romance of the Rose’ (by Guillaume de Lorris, continued by Jean de Meung).
Polyxena (Polycene) – the daughter of Priam of Troy, was sacrificed on Achilles’ tomb to appease his ghost (see Ovid, Metamorphoses 13.448-80). Helen of Troy (Helayne) was a paragon of beauty. Dorigen (Dorigene), the heroine of Chaucer’s ‘Franklin’s Tale’, considers suicide when her fidelity is at risk. In Chaucer’s take on the Antony and Cleopatra legend, Cleopatra (Cleopatre) hurls herself into a snake-pit, while in his ‘Troilus and Criseyde’, Cressida’s cautious niece is named as ‘fresshe Antigone the white’ (2.876).
Esther – the proverbially meek wife of King Ahasuerus, saved the Israelites from slaughter (see the Biblical ‘Book of Esther’). Judith, beheaded Holofernes, an Assyrian general, (see the ‘Book of Judith’) to assist them. Alcestis, in the Greek myth, offered to die in place of her husband Admetus, and is a prominent character in Chaucer’s ‘The Legend of Good Women’. Marcia was the wife of Marcus Cato the Younger and considered a model of devotion. Griselda is the patient and obedient heroine of Chaucer’s ‘Clerk’s Tale.’
Ariadne – in the Greek myth, discreetly aided Theseus in navigating the labyrinth by unwinding a spool of thread to mark his route. Lucretia of Rome committed suicide, out of a sense of duty and honour after being raped by Tarquin. Penelope is Ulysses’ patient and faithful wife, in Homer’s ‘Odyssey’.
Phyllis – in the Greek myth, hanged herself after being abandoned by Demophon. Jason deserted Hypsipyle and their children. Canace may refer to the heroine of Chaucer’s ‘Squire’s Tale’, though the Canace of Greek myth committed suicide both as a punishment, and to conceal her crime of incest.
Dido – committed suicide after being abandoned by Aeneas (see Virgil’s ‘Aeneid’). In Greek myth, Medea, spurned by Jason, slew their two children.
Clio – is the Muse of history in Greek myth; Calliope is the Muse of epic poetry and the leader of the nine Muses.
The colour blue, and the entwining woodbine plant (the honeysuckle, Lonicera periclymenum), are both symbolic of constancy.
The ‘Titan’ referred to in the original text is Hyperion, often merged with his son Helios as a personification of the Sun.
The End of John Lydgate’s ‘The Flower of Courtesy’