Ballade Adresse A Geoffrey Chaucer

O Socratès plains de philosophie, Seneque en meurs, Auglius en pratique, Ovides grans en ta poëtrie, Briés en parler, saiges en rethorique . . . Grant translateur, noble Geoffrey Chaucier. O Socrates, filled with philosophy, Seneca in morals, Aulus Gellius in practice, Great Ovid of your poetry, Brief in speech, wise in rhetoric, Most high eagle, who by your science Enlumined the realm of Æneas. The Isle of giants, of Brut, who has Sown the flowers and planted the rose bower For those ignorant of French, Great translator, noble Geoffrey Chaucer. You are the god of earthly love in Albion, And of the Rose - in the Angelic land, Which, from the Saxoness Angelica, has flourished Into Angle-land, from her whose name is applied As the last in this etymology - You have translated in good English; And a garden for which you ask for plants From those who compose in order to be authorities, You have long since created, Great translator, noble Geoffrey Chaucer. From you therefore, from the fountain of Helicon, I have asked to have an authentic drink, From the stream that is entirely in your power, In order to quench my fevered thirst, I who shall be shall be paralyzed in Gaul Until you send to give me drink. I am Eustaces; you shall have some of my plants; Take in good grace these works of a schoolboy Which you will recieve from me by Clifford, Great translator, noble Geoffrey Chaucer. L'envoy