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In the original, where the image of death is meant to be represented, an old man looks back in repentance, and with great aversion, upon his youthful days when he found pleasure in love. The original verse stood thus: I lothe that I did love, In youth that I thought swete, As time requires for my behove, Methinks they are not mete.
And Lydgate traces all the beauty of rhetoric to Calliope, "that with thyn hony swete sugrest tongis of rethoricyens." The most complete example, however, of the mediaeval restriction of rhetoric to style, and of the absorption of poetic by rhetoric is afforded by Lydgate in his Court of Sapyence.
Wolsey seems to have been a lover of good food, for Skelton, for whose verse the Cardinal had perhaps expressed contempt, wrote: "To drynke and for to eate Swete hypocras and swete meate To keep his flesh chast In Lent for a repast He eateth capon's stew, Fesaunt and partriche mewed Hennes checkynges and pygges." He had not a robust constitution, and suffered from many ailments.
He posits it as a nice point. Should one answer truthfully, or deceive?" "For my part," answered my uncle, "I should knock him down." "In a harbour grene aslope whereas I lay, The byrdes sang swete in the middes of the day, I dreamed fast of mirth and play: In youth is pleasure, in youth is pleasure." Robert Wever.
"Amonge the wylde dere, such an archere As men say that ye be, He may not fayle of good vitayle Where is so great plente: And water clere of the rivere, Shall be full swete to me, With which in hele, I shall right wele, Endure, as ye may see." Then called they themselves "merry men," and the forest the "merry greenwood"; and sang, with Robin Hood,
The Squire of low degree, of whom he had just been reading, was, like himself, a gentleman void of land and living, and yet the generous Princess of Hungary bestowed on him, without scruple, more substantial marks of her affection than the billet he had just received: "'Welcome, she said, 'my swete Squyre, My heart's roots, my soul's desire, I will give thee kisses three, And als five hundrid poundis in fee."
"Sweet blushes stayned her rud-red cheek, Her eyen were black as sloe, The ripening cherrye swelled her lippe, And all her neck was snow. Sir Gawain kist that ladye faire Lying upon the sheete, And swore, as he was a true knight, The spice was never so swete." The dissolution of the charm which had held the lady also released her brother, the "grim baron," for he too had been implicated in it.
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