Prefacio Translatoris Poem by John Walton

I Insuffishaunce of cunnyng and of wit
Defaut of langage and of eloquence
Þis work from me schuld haue withholdyn yit
Bot þat youre heste haþ done me violence,
Þat nedes most I do my diligence
In thyng þat passeth myn abilite
Besekyng to youre noble excellence
Þat be youre help it may amended be.
II This subtile matere of boecius
Heere in þis book of consolacioun
So hye it is, so hard and curious
Ful fair abouen myn estimacioun,
Þat it be noght be my translacioun
Defouled ne corrupt to god I praye.
So help me wiþ hys inspiracioun
Þat is of wisdom boþe lok and keye,
III As fro þe text þat I ne vary noght
But kepe þe sentence in hys trewe entent,
And wordes eke als neigh as may be broght
Where lawe of metir is noght resistent;
This mater wiche þat is so excellent
And passeth boþe my cunnyng and my myght
So saue it lord in þy gouernement
Þat kannest reformen alle þing to right.
IV I haue herd speke and sumwhat haue i-seyne
Of diuerse men þat wondir subtillye,
In metir sum and sum in prose pleyne,
This book translated haue suffyshauntlye
Into Englisshe tonge, word for word, wel neye;
Bot I most use þe wittes þat I haue;
Þogh I may noght do so, yit noght-for-thye,
With help of god þe sentence schal I saue.
V To Chaucer þat is floure of rethoryk
In Englisshe tong and excellent poete,
This wot I wel, no þing may I do like,
Þogh so þat I of makyng entirmete;
And Gower þat so craftily doþ trete
As in hys book[es] of moralite;
Þogh I to þeym in makyng am vnmete,
Yit must I schewe it forth þat is in me.
VI Noght liketh me to labour ne to muse
Upon þese olde poysees derk,
For Cristes feith suche þing[es] schulde refuse;
Witnes upon Ierom þe holy clerk.
Hit schulde not ben a Cristen mannes werk
Tho false goddes names to renewe,
For he þat hath resayued Cristes merk,
If he do so to Crist he is vntrewe.
VII Of þo þat Crist in heuene blisse schal
Suche manere werkys scholde ben set on side;
For certaynly it nedeþ noght at all
To whette now þe dartes of cupide,
Ne for to bidde þat venus be oure gyde
So þat we may oure foule lustes wynne,
Onaunter lest þe same on us betide
As dede þe same venus for hire synne.
VIII And certayn I haue tasted wonder lyte
As of the welles of calliope
No wonder þough I sympilly endite,
Yit will I not vnto Tessiphone
Ne to Allecto ne to Megare
Besechyn after craft of eloquence,
But pray þat god of hys benignite
My spirit enspire wiþ hys influence;
IX So þat in schenschip and confusioun
Of all þis foule worldly wrecchydnesse,
He helpe me in þis occupacioun.
In honour of þat sofferayn blisfulnesse
And eke in reuerence of youre worthinesse
This simple werk as for an obseruance
I schal begynne after my simpelnesse
In wil to do your seruice and plesance.