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´╗┐Title: Confessio Amantis, or, Tales of the Seven Deadly Sins
Author: Gower, John, 1330?-1408
Language: English
As this book started as an ASCII text book there are no pictures available.
Copyright Status: Not copyrighted in the United States. If you live elsewhere check the laws of your country before downloading this ebook. See comments about copyright issues at end of book.

*** Start of this Doctrine Publishing Corporation Digital Book "Confessio Amantis, or, Tales of the Seven Deadly Sins" ***

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By John Gower

1330-1408 A.D.

The following electronic text is based on that edition published
in THE WORKS OF JOHN GOWER, ed. Prof. G.C. Macauley.


          Torpor, ebes sensus, scola parua labor minimusque
               Causant quo minimus ipse minora canam:
          Qua tamen Engisti lingua canit Insula Bruti
               Anglica Carmente metra iuuante loquar.
          Ossibus ergo carens que conterit ossa loquelis
               Absit, et interpres stet procul oro malus.

          Of hem that writen ous tofore
          The bokes duelle, and we therfore
          Ben tawht of that was write tho:
          Forthi good is that we also
          In oure tyme among ous hiere
          Do wryte of newe som matiere,
          Essampled of these olde wyse
          So that it myhte in such a wyse,
          Whan we ben dede and elleswhere,
          Beleve to the worldes eere   10
          In tyme comende after this.
          Bot for men sein, and soth it is,
          That who that al of wisdom writ
          It dulleth ofte a mannes wit
          To him that schal it aldai rede,
          For thilke cause, if that ye rede,
          I wolde go the middel weie
          And wryte a bok betwen the tweie,
          Somwhat of lust, somewhat of lore,
          That of the lasse or of the more   20
          Som man mai lyke of that I wryte:
          And for that fewe men endite
          In oure englissh, I thenke make
          A bok for Engelondes sake,
          The yer sextenthe of kyng Richard.
          What schal befalle hierafterward
          God wot, for now upon this tyde
          Men se the world on every syde
          In sondry wyse so diversed,
          That it welnyh stant al reversed,   30
          As forto speke of tyme ago.
          The cause whi it changeth so
          It needeth nought to specifie,
          The thing so open is at ije
          That every man it mai beholde:
          And natheles be daies olde,
          Whan that the bokes weren levere,
          Wrytinge was beloved evere
          Of hem that weren vertuous;
          For hier in erthe amonges ous,   40
          If noman write hou that it stode,
          The pris of hem that weren goode
          Scholde, as who seith, a gret partie
          Be lost: so for to magnifie
          The worthi princes that tho were,
          The bokes schewen hiere and there,
          Wherof the world ensampled is;
          And tho that deden thanne amis
          Thurgh tirannie and crualte,
          Right as thei stoden in degre,   50
          So was the wrytinge of here werk.
          Thus I, which am a burel clerk,
          Purpose forto wryte a bok
          After the world that whilom tok
          Long tyme in olde daies passed:
          Bot for men sein it is now lassed,
          In worse plit than it was tho,
          I thenke forto touche also
          The world which neweth every dai,
          So as I can, so as I mai.   60
          Thogh I seknesse have upon honde
          And longe have had, yit woll I fonde
          To wryte and do my bisinesse,
          That in som part, so as I gesse,
          The wyse man mai ben avised.
          For this prologe is so assised
          That it to wisdom al belongeth:
          What wysman that it underfongeth,
          He schal drawe into remembrance
          The fortune of this worldes chance,   70
          The which noman in his persone
          Mai knowe, bot the god al one.
          Whan the prologe is so despended,
          This bok schal afterward ben ended
          Of love, which doth many a wonder
          And many a wys man hath put under.
          And in this wyse I thenke trete
          Towardes hem that now be grete,
          Betwen the vertu and the vice
          Which longeth unto this office.   80
          Bot for my wittes ben to smale
          To tellen every man his tale,
          This bok, upon amendment
          To stonde at his commandement,
          With whom myn herte is of accord,
          I sende unto myn oghne lord,
          Which of Lancastre is Henri named:
          The hyhe god him hath proclamed
          Ful of knyhthode and alle grace.
          So woll I now this werk embrace   90
          With hol trust and with hol believe;
          God grante I mot it wel achieve.
          If I schal drawe in to my mynde
          The tyme passed, thanne I fynde
          The world stod thanne in al his welthe:
          Tho was the lif of man in helthe,
          Tho was plente, tho was richesse,
          Tho was the fortune of prouesse,
          Tho was knyhthode in pris be name,
          Wherof the wyde worldes fame   100
          Write in Cronique is yit withholde;
          Justice of lawe tho was holde,
          The privilege of regalie
          Was sauf, and al the baronie
          Worschiped was in his astat;
          The citees knewen no debat,
          The poeple stod in obeissance
          Under the reule of governance,
          And pes, which ryhtwisnesse keste,
          With charite tho stod in reste:   110
          Of mannes herte the corage
          Was schewed thanne in the visage;
          The word was lich to the conceite
          Withoute semblant of deceite:
          Tho was ther unenvied love,
          Tho was the vertu sett above
          And vice was put under fote.
          Now stant the crop under the rote,
          The world is changed overal,
          And therof most in special   120
          That love is falle into discord.
          And that I take to record
          Of every lond for his partie
          The comun vois, which mai noght lie;
          Noght upon on, bot upon alle
          It is that men now clepe and calle,
          And sein the regnes ben divided,
          In stede of love is hate guided,
          The werre wol no pes purchace,
          And lawe hath take hire double face,   130
          So that justice out of the weie
          With ryhtwisnesse is gon aweie:
          And thus to loke on every halve,
          Men sen the sor withoute salve,
          Which al the world hath overtake.
          Ther is no regne of alle outtake,
          For every climat hath his diel
          After the tornynge of the whiel,
          Which blinde fortune overthroweth;
          Wherof the certain noman knoweth:   140
          The hevene wot what is to done,
          Bot we that duelle under the mone
          Stonde in this world upon a weer,
          And namely bot the pouer
          Of hem that ben the worldes guides
          With good consail on alle sides
          Be kept upriht in such a wyse,
          That hate breke noght thassise
          Of love, which is al the chief
          To kepe a regne out of meschief.   150
          For alle resoun wolde this,
          That unto him which the heved is
          The membres buxom scholden bowe,
          And he scholde ek her trowthe allowe,
          With al his herte and make hem chiere,
          For good consail is good to hiere.
          Althogh a man be wys himselve,
          Yit is the wisdom more of tuelve;
          And if thei stoden bothe in on,
          To hope it were thanne anon   160
          That god his grace wolde sende
          To make of thilke werre an ende,
          Which every day now groweth newe:
          And that is gretly forto rewe
          In special for Cristes sake,
          Which wolde his oghne lif forsake
          Among the men to yeve pes.
          But now men tellen natheles
          That love is fro the world departed,
          So stant the pes unevene parted   170
          With hem that liven now adaies.
          Bot forto loke at alle assaies,
          To him that wolde resoun seche
          After the comun worldes speche
          It is to wondre of thilke werre,
          In which non wot who hath the werre;
          For every lond himself deceyveth
          And of desese his part receyveth,
          And yet ne take men no kepe.
          Bot thilke lord which al may kepe,   180
          To whom no consail may ben hid,
          Upon the world which is betid,
          Amende that wherof men pleigne
          With trewe hertes and with pleine,
          And reconcile love ayeyn,
          As he which is king sovereign
          Of al the worldes governaunce,
          And of his hyhe porveaunce
          Afferme pes betwen the londes
          And take her cause into hise hondes,   190
          So that the world may stonde apppesed
          And his godhede also be plesed.
          To thenke upon the daies olde,
          The lif of clerkes to beholde,
          Men sein how that thei weren tho
          Ensample and reule of alle tho
          Whiche of wisdom the vertu soughten.
          Unto the god ferst thei besoughten
          As to the substaunce of her Scole,
          That thei ne scholden noght befole   200
          Her wit upon none erthly werkes,
          Which were ayein thestat of clerkes,
          And that thei myhten fle the vice
          Which Simon hath in his office,
          Wherof he takth the gold in honde.
          For thilke tyme I understonde
          The Lumbard made non eschange
          The bisschopriches forto change,
          Ne yet a lettre for to sende
          For dignite ne for Provende,   210
          Or cured or withoute cure.
          The cherche keye in aventure
          Of armes and of brygantaille
          Stod nothing thanne upon bataille;
          To fyhte or for to make cheste
          It thoghte hem thanne noght honeste;
          Bot of simplesce and pacience
          Thei maden thanne no defence:
          The Court of worldly regalie
          To hem was thanne no baillie;   220
          The vein honour was noght desired,
          Which hath the proude herte fyred;
          Humilite was tho withholde,
          And Pride was a vice holde.
          Of holy cherche the largesse
          Yaf thanne and dede gret almesse
          To povere men that hadden nede:
          Thei were ek chaste in word and dede,
          Wherof the poeple ensample tok;
          Her lust was al upon the bok,   230
          Or forto preche or forto preie,
          To wisse men the ryhte weie
          Of suche as stode of trowthe unliered.
          Lo, thus was Petres barge stiered
          Of hem that thilke tyme were,
          And thus cam ferst to mannes Ere
          The feith of Crist and alle goode
          Thurgh hem that thanne weren goode
          And sobre and chaste and large and wyse.
          Bot now men sein is otherwise,   240
          Simon the cause hath undertake,
          The worldes swerd on honde is take;
          And that is wonder natheles,
          Whan Crist him self hath bode pes
          And set it in his testament,
          How now that holy cherche is went,
          Of that here lawe positif
          Hath set to make werre and strif
          For worldes good, which may noght laste.
          God wot the cause to the laste   250
          Of every right and wrong also;
          But whil the lawe is reuled so
          That clerkes to the werre entende,
          I not how that thei scholde amende
          The woful world in othre thinges,
          To make pes betwen the kynges
          After the lawe of charite,
          Which is the propre duete
          Belongende unto the presthode.
          Bot as it thenkth to the manhode,   260
          The hevene is ferr, the world is nyh,
          And veine gloire is ek so slyh,
          Which coveitise hath now withholde,
          That thei non other thing beholde,
          Bot only that thei myhten winne.
          And thus the werres thei beginne,
          Wherof the holi cherche is taxed,
          That in the point as it is axed
          The disme goth to the bataille,
          As thogh Crist myhte noght availe   270
          To don hem riht be other weie.
          In to the swerd the cherche keie
          Is torned, and the holy bede
          Into cursinge, and every stede
          Which scholde stonde upon the feith
          And to this cause an Ere leyth,
          Astoned is of the querele.
          That scholde be the worldes hele
          Is now, men sein, the pestilence
          Which hath exiled pacience   280
          Fro the clergie in special:
          And that is schewed overal,
          In eny thing whan thei ben grieved.
          Bot if Gregoire be believed,
          As it is in the bokes write,
          He doth ous somdel forto wite
          The cause of thilke prelacie,
          Wher god is noght of compaignie:
          For every werk as it is founded
          Schal stonde or elles be confounded;   290
          Who that only for Cristes sake
          Desireth cure forto take,
          And noght for pride of thilke astat,
          To bere a name of a prelat,
          He schal be resoun do profit
          In holy cherche upon the plit
          That he hath set his conscience;
          Bot in the worldes reverence
          Ther ben of suche manie glade,
          Whan thei to thilke astat ben made,   300
          Noght for the merite of the charge,
          Bot for thei wolde hemself descharge
          Of poverte and become grete;
          And thus for Pompe and for beyete
          The Scribe and ek the Pharisee
          Of Moises upon the See
          In the chaiere on hyh ben set;
          Wherof the feith is ofte let,
          Which is betaken hem to kepe.
          In Cristes cause alday thei slepe,   310
          Bot of the world is noght foryete;
          For wel is him that now may gete
          Office in Court to ben honoured.
          The stronge coffre hath al devoured
          Under the keye of avarice
          The tresor of the benefice,
          Wherof the povere schulden clothe
          And ete and drinke and house bothe;
          The charite goth al unknowe,
          For thei no grein of Pite sowe:   320
          And slouthe kepeth the libraire
          Which longeth to the Saintuaire;
          To studie upon the worldes lore
          Sufficeth now withoute more;
          Delicacie his swete toth
          Hath fostred so that it fordoth
          Of abstinence al that ther is.
          And forto loken over this,
          If Ethna brenne in the clergie,
          Al openly to mannes ije   330
          At Avynoun thexperience
          Therof hath yove an evidence,
          Of that men sen hem so divided.
          And yit the cause is noght decided;
          Bot it is seid and evere schal,
          Betwen tuo Stoles lyth the fal,
          Whan that men wenen best to sitte:
          In holy cherche of such a slitte
          Is for to rewe un to ous alle;
          God grante it mote wel befalle   340
          Towardes him which hath the trowthe.
          Bot ofte is sen that mochel slowthe,
          Whan men ben drunken of the cuppe,
          Doth mochel harm, whan fyr is uppe,
          Bot if somwho the flamme stanche;
          And so to speke upon this branche,
          Which proud Envie hath mad to springe,
          Of Scisme, causeth forto bringe
          This newe Secte of Lollardie,
          And also many an heresie   350
          Among the clerkes in hemselve.
          It were betre dike and delve
          And stonde upon the ryhte feith,
          Than knowe al that the bible seith
          And erre as somme clerkes do.
          Upon the hond to were a Schoo
          And sette upon the fot a Glove
          Acordeth noght to the behove
          Of resonable mannes us:
          If men behielden the vertus   360
          That Crist in Erthe taghte here,
          Thei scholden noght in such manere,
          Among hem that ben holden wise,
          The Papacie so desguise
          Upon diverse eleccioun,
          Which stant after thaffeccioun
          Of sondry londes al aboute:
          Bot whan god wole, it schal were oute,
          For trowthe mot stonde ate laste.
          Bot yet thei argumenten faste   370
          Upon the Pope and his astat,
          Wherof thei falle in gret debat;
          This clerk seith yee, that other nay,
          And thus thei dryve forth the day,
          And ech of hem himself amendeth
          Of worldes good, bot non entendeth
          To that which comun profit were.
          Thei sein that god is myhti there,
          And schal ordeine what he wile,
          Ther make thei non other skile   380
          Where is the peril of the feith,
          Bot every clerk his herte leith
          To kepe his world in special,
          And of the cause general,
          Which unto holy cherche longeth,
          Is non of hem that underfongeth
          To schapen eny resistence:
          And thus the riht hath no defence,
          Bot ther I love, ther I holde.
          Lo, thus tobroke is Cristes folde,   390
          Wherof the flock withoute guide
          Devoured is on every side,
          In lacke of hem that ben unware
          Schepherdes, whiche her wit beware
          Upon the world in other halve.
          The scharpe pricke in stede of salve
          Thei usen now, wherof the hele
          Thei hurte of that thei scholden hele;
          And what Schep that is full of wulle
          Upon his back, thei toose and pulle,   400
          Whil ther is eny thing to pile:
          And thogh ther be non other skile
          Bot only for thei wolden wynne,
          Thei leve noght, whan thei begynne,
          Upon her acte to procede,
          Which is no good schepherdes dede.
          And upon this also men sein,
          That fro the leese which is plein
          Into the breres thei forcacche
          Her Orf, for that thei wolden lacche   410
          With such duresce, and so bereve
          That schal upon the thornes leve
          Of wulle, which the brere hath tore;
          Wherof the Schep ben al totore
          Of that the hierdes make hem lese.
          Lo, how thei feignen chalk for chese,
          For though thei speke and teche wel,
          Thei don hemself therof no del:
          For if the wolf come in the weie,
          Her gostly Staf is thanne aweie,   420
          Wherof thei scholde her flock defende;
          Bot if the povere Schep offende
          In eny thing, thogh it be lyte,
          They ben al redy forto smyte;
          And thus, how evere that thei tale,
          The strokes falle upon the smale,
          And upon othre that ben grete
          Hem lacketh herte forto bete.
          So that under the clerkes lawe
          Men sen the Merel al mysdrawe,   430
          I wol noght seie in general,
          For ther ben somme in special
          In whom that alle vertu duelleth,
          And tho ben, as thapostel telleth,
          That god of his eleccioun
          Hath cleped to perfeccioun
          In the manere as Aaron was:
          Thei ben nothing in thilke cas
          Of Simon, which the foldes gate
          Hath lete, and goth in othergate,   440
          Bot thei gon in the rihte weie.
          Ther ben also somme, as men seie,
          That folwen Simon ate hieles,
          Whos carte goth upon the whieles
          Of coveitise and worldes Pride,
          And holy cherche goth beside,
          Which scheweth outward a visage
          Of that is noght in the corage.
          For if men loke in holy cherche,
          Betwen the word and that thei werche   450
          Ther is a full gret difference:
          Thei prechen ous in audience
          That noman schal his soule empeire,
          For al is bot a chirie feire
          This worldes good, so as thei telle;
          Also thei sein ther is an helle,
          Which unto mannes sinne is due,
          And bidden ous therfore eschue
          That wikkid is, and do the goode.
          Who that here wordes understode,   460
          It thenkth thei wolden do the same;
          Bot yet betwen ernest and game
          Ful ofte it torneth other wise.
          With holy tales thei devise
          How meritoire is thilke dede
          Of charite, to clothe and fede
          The povere folk and forto parte
          The worldes good, bot thei departe
          Ne thenken noght fro that thei have.
          Also thei sein, good is to save   470
          With penance and with abstinence
          Of chastite the continence;
          Bot pleinly forto speke of that,
          I not how thilke body fat,
          Which thei with deynte metes kepe
          And leyn it softe forto slepe,
          Whan it hath elles al his wille,
          With chastite schal stonde stille:
          And natheles I can noght seie,
          In aunter if that I misseye.   480
          Touchende of this, how evere it stonde,
          I here and wol noght understonde,
          For therof have I noght to done:
          Bot he that made ferst the Mone,
          The hyhe god, of his goodnesse,
          If ther be cause, he it redresce.
          Bot what as eny man accuse,
          This mai reson of trowthe excuse;
          The vice of hem that ben ungoode
          Is no reproef unto the goode:   490
          For every man hise oghne werkes
          Schal bere, and thus as of the clerkes
          The goode men ben to comende,
          And alle these othre god amende:
          For thei ben to the worldes ije
          The Mirour of ensamplerie,
          To reulen and to taken hiede
          Betwen the men and the godhiede.
          Now forto speke of the comune,
          It is to drede of that fortune   500
          Which hath befalle in sondri londes:
          Bot often for defalte of bondes
          Al sodeinliche, er it be wist,
          A Tonne, whanne his lye arist,
          Tobrekth and renneth al aboute,
          Which elles scholde noght gon oute;
          And ek fulofte a litel Skar
          Upon a Banke, er men be war,
          Let in the Strem, which with gret peine,
          If evere man it schal restreigne.   510
          Wher lawe lacketh, errour groweth,
          He is noght wys who that ne troweth,
          For it hath proeved ofte er this;
          And thus the comun clamour is
          In every lond wher poeple dwelleth,
          And eche in his compleignte telleth
          How that the world is al miswent,
          And ther upon his jugement
          Yifth every man in sondry wise.
          Bot what man wolde himself avise,   520
          His conscience and noght misuse,
          He may wel ate ferste excuse
          His god, which evere stant in on:
          In him ther is defalte non,
          So moste it stonde upon ousselve
          Nought only upon ten ne twelve,
          Bot plenerliche upon ous alle,
          For man is cause of that schal falle.
          And natheles yet som men wryte
          And sein that fortune is to wyte,   530
          And som men holde oppinion
          That it is constellacion,
          Which causeth al that a man doth:
          God wot of bothe which is soth.
          The world as of his propre kynde
          Was evere untrewe, and as the blynde
          Improprelich he demeth fame,
          He blameth that is noght to blame
          And preiseth that is noght to preise:
          Thus whan he schal the thinges peise,   540
          Ther is deceipte in his balance,
          And al is that the variance
          Of ous, that scholde ous betre avise;
          For after that we falle and rise,
          The world arist and falth withal,
          So that the man is overal
          His oghne cause of wel and wo.
          That we fortune clepe so
          Out of the man himself it groweth;
          And who that other wise troweth,   550
          Behold the poeple of Irael:
          For evere whil thei deden wel,
          Fortune was hem debonaire,
          And whan thei deden the contraire,
          Fortune was contrariende.
          So that it proeveth wel at ende
          Why that the world is wonderfull
          And may no while stonde full,
          Though that it seme wel besein;
          For every worldes thing is vein,   560
          And evere goth the whiel aboute,
          And evere stant a man in doute,
          Fortune stant no while stille,
          So hath ther noman al his wille.
          Als fer as evere a man may knowe,
          Ther lasteth nothing bot a throwe;
          The world stant evere upon debat,
          So may be seker non astat,
          Now hier now ther, now to now fro,
          Now up now down, this world goth so,   570
          And evere hath don and evere schal:
          Wherof I finde in special
          A tale writen in the Bible,
          Which moste nedes be credible;
          And that as in conclusioun
          Seith that upon divisioun
          Stant, why no worldes thing mai laste,
          Til it be drive to the laste.
          And fro the ferste regne of alle
          Into this day, hou so befalle,   580
          Of that the regnes be muable
          The man himself hath be coupable,
          Which of his propre governance
          Fortuneth al the worldes chance.
          The hyhe almyhti pourveance,
          In whos eterne remembrance
          Fro ferst was every thing present,
          He hath his prophecie sent,
          In such a wise as thou schalt hiere,
          To Daniel of this matiere,   590
          Hou that this world schal torne and wende,
          Till it be falle to his ende;
          Wherof the tale telle I schal,
          In which it is betokned al.
          As Nabugodonosor slepte,
          A swevene him tok, the which he kepte
          Til on the morwe he was arise,
          For he therof was sore agrise.
          To Daniel his drem he tolde,
          And preide him faire that he wolde   600
          Arede what it tokne may;
          And seide: "Abedde wher I lay,
          Me thoghte I syh upon a Stage
          Wher stod a wonder strange ymage.
          His hed with al the necke also
          Thei were of fin gold bothe tuo;
          His brest, his schuldres and his armes
          Were al of selver, bot the tharmes,
          The wombe and al doun to the kne,
          Of bras thei were upon to se;   610
          The legges were al mad of Stiel,
          So were his feet also somdiel,
          And somdiel part to hem was take
          Of Erthe which men Pottes make;
          The fieble meynd was with the stronge,
          So myhte it wel noght stonde longe.
          And tho me thoghte that I sih
          A gret ston from an hull on hyh
          Fel doun of sodein aventure
          Upon the feet of this figure,   620
          With which Ston al tobroke was
          Gold, Selver, Erthe, Stiel and Bras,
          That al was in to pouldre broght,
          And so forth torned into noght."
          This was the swevene which he hadde,
          That Daniel anon aradde,
          And seide him that figure strange
          Betokneth how the world schal change
          And waxe lasse worth and lasse,
          Til it to noght al overpasse.   630
          The necke and hed, that weren golde,
          He seide how that betokne scholde
          A worthi world, a noble, a riche,
          To which non after schal be liche.
          Of Selver that was overforth
          Schal ben a world of lasse worth;
          And after that the wombe of Bras
          Tokne of a werse world it was.
          The Stiel which he syh afterward
          A world betokneth more hard:   640
          Bot yet the werste of everydel
          Is last, whan that of Erthe and Stiel
          He syh the feet departed so,
          For that betokneth mochel wo.
          Whan that the world divided is,
          It moste algate fare amis,
          For Erthe which is meynd with Stiel
          Togedre may noght laste wiel,
          Bot if that on that other waste;
          So mot it nedes faile in haste.   650
          The Ston, which fro the hully Stage
          He syh doun falle on that ymage,
          And hath it into pouldre broke,
          That swevene hath Daniel unloke,
          And seide how that is goddes myht,
          Which whan men wene most upryht
          To stonde, schal hem overcaste.
          And that is of this world the laste,
          And thanne a newe schal beginne,
          Fro which a man schal nevere twinne;   660
          Or al to peine or al to pes
          That world schal lasten endeles.
          Lo thus expondeth Daniel
          The kynges swevene faire and wel
          In Babiloyne the Cite,
          Wher that the wiseste of Caldee
          Ne cowthen wite what it mente;
          Bot he tolde al the hol entente,
          As in partie it is befalle.
          Of gold the ferste regne of alle   670
          Was in that kinges time tho,
          And laste manye daies so,
          Therwhiles that the Monarchie
          Of al the world in that partie
          To Babiloyne was soubgit;
          And hield him stille in such a plit,
          Til that the world began diverse:
          And that was whan the king of Perse,
          Which Cirus hyhte, ayein the pes
          Forth with his Sone Cambises   680
          Of Babiloine al that Empire,
          Ryht as thei wolde hemself desire,
          Put under in subjeccioun
          And tok it in possessioun,
          And slayn was Baltazar the king,
          Which loste his regne and al his thing.
          And thus whan thei it hadde wonne,
          The world of Selver was begonne
          And that of gold was passed oute:
          And in this wise it goth aboute   690
          In to the Regne of Darius;
          And thanne it fell to Perse thus,
          That Alisaundre put hem under,
          Which wroghte of armes many a wonder,
          So that the Monarchie lefte
          With Grecs, and here astat uplefte,
          And Persiens gon under fote,
          So soffre thei that nedes mote.
          And tho the world began of Bras,
          And that of selver ended was;   700
          Bot for the time thus it laste,
          Til it befell that ate laste
          This king, whan that his day was come,
          With strengthe of deth was overcome.
          And natheles yet er he dyde,
          He schop his Regnes to divide
          To knyhtes whiche him hadde served,
          And after that thei have deserved
          Yaf the conquestes that he wan;
          Wherof gret werre tho began   710
          Among hem that the Regnes hadde,
          Thurgh proud Envie which hem ladde,
          Til it befell ayein hem thus:
          The noble Cesar Julius,
          Which tho was king of Rome lond,
          With gret bataille and with strong hond
          Al Grece, Perse and ek Caldee
          Wan and put under, so that he
          Noght al only of thorient
          Bot al the Marche of thoccident   720
          Governeth under his empire,
          As he that was hol lord and Sire,
          And hield thurgh his chivalerie
          Of al this world the Monarchie,
          And was the ferste of that honour
          Which tok the name of Emperour.
          Wher Rome thanne wolde assaille,
          Ther myhte nothing contrevaille,
          Bot every contre moste obeie:
          Tho goth the Regne of Bras aweie,   730
          And comen is the world of Stiel,
          And stod above upon the whiel.
          As Stiel is hardest in his kynde
          Above alle othre that men finde
          Of Metals, such was Rome tho
          The myhtieste, and laste so
          Long time amonges the Romeins
          Til thei become so vileins,
          That the fals Emperour Leo
          With Constantin his Sone also   740
          The patrimoine and the richesse,
          Which to Silvestre in pure almesse
          The ferste Constantinus lefte,
          Fro holy cherche thei berefte.
          Bot Adrian, which Pope was,
          And syh the meschief of this cas,
          Goth in to France forto pleigne,
          And preith the grete Charlemeine,
          For Cristes sake and Soule hele
          That he wol take the querele   750
          Of holy cherche in his defence.
          And Charles for the reverence
          Of god the cause hath undertake,
          And with his host the weie take
          Over the Montz of Lombardie;
          Of Rome and al the tirandie
          With blodi swerd he overcom,
          And the Cite with strengthe nom;
          In such a wise and there he wroghte,
          That holy cherche ayein he broghte   760
          Into franchise, and doth restore
          The Popes lost, and yaf him more:
          And thus whan he his god hath served,
          He tok, as he wel hath deserved,
          The Diademe and was coroned.
          Of Rome and thus was abandoned
          Thempire, which cam nevere ayein
          Into the hond of no Romein;
          Bot a long time it stod so stille
          Under the Frensche kynges wille,   770
          Til that fortune hir whiel so ladde,
          That afterward Lombardz it hadde,
          Noght be the swerd, bot be soffrance
          Of him that tho was kyng of France,
          Which Karle Calvus cleped was;
          And he resigneth in this cas
          Thempire of Rome unto Lowis
          His Cousin, which a Lombard is.
          And so hit laste into the yeer
          Of Albert and of Berenger;   780
          Bot thanne upon dissencioun
          Thei felle, and in divisioun
          Among hemself that were grete,
          So that thei loste the beyete
          Of worschipe and of worldes pes.
          Bot in proverbe natheles
          Men sein, ful selden is that welthe
          Can soffre his oghne astat in helthe;
          And that was on the Lombardz sene,
          Such comun strif was hem betwene   790
          Thurgh coveitise and thurgh Envie,
          That every man drowh his partie,
          Which myhte leden eny route,
          Withinne Burgh and ek withoute:
          The comun ryht hath no felawe,
          So that the governance of lawe
          Was lost, and for necessite,
          Of that thei stode in such degre
          Al only thurgh divisioun,
          Hem nedeth in conclusioun   800
          Of strange londes help beside.
          And thus for thei hemself divide
          And stonden out of reule unevene,
          Of Alemaine Princes sevene
          Thei chose in this condicioun,
          That upon here eleccioun
          Thempire of Rome scholde stonde.
          And thus thei lefte it out of honde
          For lacke of grace, and it forsoke,
          That Alemans upon hem toke:   810
          And to confermen here astat,
          Of that thei founden in debat
          Thei token the possessioun
          After the composicioun
          Among hemself, and therupon
          Thei made an Emperour anon,
          Whos name as the Cronique telleth
          Was Othes; and so forth it duelleth,
          Fro thilke day yit unto this
          Thempire of Rome hath ben and is   820
          To thalemans. And in this wise,
          As ye tofore have herd divise
          How Daniel the swevene expondeth
          Of that ymage, on whom he foundeth
          The world which after scholde falle,
          Come is the laste tokne of alle;
          Upon the feet of Erthe and Stiel
          So stant this world now everydiel
          Departed; which began riht tho,
          Whan Rome was divided so:   830
          And that is forto rewe sore,
          For alway siththe more and more
          The world empeireth every day.
          Wherof the sothe schewe may,
          At Rome ferst if we beginne:
          The wall and al the Cit withinne
          Stant in ruine and in decas,
          The feld is wher the Paleis was,
          The toun is wast; and overthat,
          If we beholde thilke astat   840
          Which whilom was of the Romeins,
          Of knyhthode and of Citezeins,
          To peise now with that beforn,
          The chaf is take for the corn,
          As forto speke of Romes myht:
          Unethes stant ther oght upryht
          Of worschipe or of worldes good,
          As it before tyme stod.
          And why the worschipe is aweie,
          If that a man the sothe seie,   850
          The cause hath ben divisioun,
          Which moder of confusioun
          Is wher sche cometh overal,
          Noght only of the temporal
          Bot of the spirital also.
          The dede proeveth it is so,
          And hath do many day er this,
          Thurgh venym which that medled is
          In holy cherche of erthly thing:
          For Crist himself makth knowleching   860
          That noman may togedre serve
          God and the world, bot if he swerve
          Froward that on and stonde unstable;
          And Cristes word may noght be fable.
          The thing so open is at ije,
          It nedeth noght to specefie
          Or speke oght more in this matiere;
          Bot in this wise a man mai lere
          Hou that the world is gon aboute,
          The which welnyh is wered oute,   870
          After the forme of that figure
          Which Daniel in his scripture
          Expondeth, as tofore is told.
          Of Bras, of Selver and of Gold
          The world is passed and agon,
          And now upon his olde ton
          It stant of brutel Erthe and Stiel,
          The whiche acorden nevere a diel;
          So mot it nedes swerve aside
          As thing the which men sen divide.   880
          Thapostel writ unto ous alle
          And seith that upon ous is falle
          Thende of the world; so may we knowe,
          This ymage is nyh overthrowe,
          Be which this world was signified,
          That whilom was so magnefied,
          And now is old and fieble and vil,
          Full of meschief and of peril,
          And stant divided ek also
          Lich to the feet that were so,   890
          As I tolde of the Statue above.
          And this men sen, thurgh lacke of love
          Where as the lond divided is,
          It mot algate fare amis:
          And now to loke on every side,
          A man may se the world divide,
          The werres ben so general
          Among the cristene overal,
          That every man now secheth wreche,
          And yet these clerkes alday preche   900
          And sein, good dede may non be
          Which stant noght upon charite:
          I not hou charite may stonde,
          Wher dedly werre is take on honde.
          Bot al this wo is cause of man,
          The which that wit and reson can,
          And that in tokne and in witnesse
          That ilke ymage bar liknesse
          Of man and of non other beste.
          For ferst unto the mannes heste   910
          Was every creature ordeined,
          Bot afterward it was restreigned:
          Whan that he fell, thei fellen eke,
          Whan he wax sek, thei woxen seke;
          For as the man hath passioun
          Of seknesse, in comparisoun
          So soffren othre creatures.
          Lo, ferst the hevenly figures,
          The Sonne and Mone eclipsen bothe,
          And ben with mannes senne wrothe;   920
          The purest Eir for Senne alofte
          Hath ben and is corrupt fulofte,
          Right now the hyhe wyndes blowe,
          And anon after thei ben lowe,
          Now clowdy and now clier it is:
          So may it proeven wel be this,
          A mannes Senne is forto hate,
          Which makth the welkne to debate.
          And forto se the proprete
          Of every thyng in his degree,   930
          Benethe forth among ous hiere
          Al stant aliche in this matiere:
          The See now ebbeth, now it floweth,
          The lond now welketh, now it groweth,
          Now be the Trees with leves grene,
          Now thei be bare and nothing sene,
          Now be the lusti somer floures,
          Now be the stormy wynter shoures,
          Now be the daies, now the nyhtes,
          So stant ther nothing al upryhtes,   940
          Now it is lyht, now it is derk;
          And thus stant al the worldes werk
          After the disposicioun
          Of man and his condicioun.
          Forthi Gregoire in his Moral
          Seith that a man in special
          The lasse world is properly:
          And that he proeveth redely;
          For man of Soule resonable
          Is to an Angel resemblable,   950
          And lich to beste he hath fielinge,
          And lich to Trees he hath growinge;
          The Stones ben and so is he:
          Thus of his propre qualite
          The man, as telleth the clergie,
          Is as a world in his partie,
          And whan this litel world mistorneth,
          The grete world al overtorneth.
          The Lond, the See, the firmament,
          Thei axen alle jugement   960
          Ayein the man and make him werre:
          Therwhile himself stant out of herre,
          The remenant wol noght acorde:
          And in this wise, as I recorde,
          The man is cause of alle wo,
          Why this world is divided so.
          Division, the gospell seith,
          On hous upon another leith,
          Til that the Regne al overthrowe:
          And thus may every man wel knowe,   970
          Division aboven alle
          Is thing which makth the world to falle,
          And evere hath do sith it began.
          It may ferst proeve upon a man;
          The which, for his complexioun
          Is mad upon divisioun
          Of cold, of hot, of moist, of drye,
          He mot be verray kynde dye:
          For the contraire of his astat
          Stant evermore in such debat,   980
          Til that o part be overcome,
          Ther may no final pes be nome.
          Bot other wise, if a man were
          Mad al togedre of o matiere
          Withouten interrupcioun,
          Ther scholde no corrupcioun
          Engendre upon that unite:
          Bot for ther is diversite
          Withinne himself, he may noght laste,
          That he ne deieth ate laste.   990
          Bot in a man yit over this
          Full gret divisioun ther is,
          Thurgh which that he is evere in strif,
          Whil that him lasteth eny lif:
          The bodi and the Soule also
          Among hem ben divided so,
          That what thing that the body hateth
          The soule loveth and debateth;
          Bot natheles fulofte is sene
          Of werre which is hem betwene   1000
          The fieble hath wonne the victoire.
          And who so drawth into memoire
          What hath befalle of old and newe,
          He may that werre sore rewe,
          Which ferst began in Paradis:
          For ther was proeved what it is,
          And what desese there it wroghte;
          For thilke werre tho forth broghte
          The vice of alle dedly Sinne,
          Thurgh which division cam inne   1010
          Among the men in erthe hiere,
          And was the cause and the matiere
          Why god the grete flodes sende,
          Of al the world and made an ende
          Bot Noe5 with his felaschipe,
          Which only weren saulf be Schipe.
          And over that thurgh Senne it com
          That Nembrot such emprise nom,
          Whan he the Tour Babel on heihte
          Let make, as he that wolde feihte   1020
          Ayein the hihe goddes myht,
          Wherof divided anon ryht
          Was the langage in such entente,
          Ther wiste non what other mente,
          So that thei myhten noght procede.
          And thus it stant of every dede,
          Wher Senne takth the cause on honde,
          It may upriht noght longe stonde;
          For Senne of his condicioun
          Is moder of divisioun   1030
          And tokne whan the world schal faile.
          For so seith Crist withoute faile,
          That nyh upon the worldes ende
          Pes and acord awey schol wende
          And alle charite schal cesse,
          Among the men and hate encresce;
          And whan these toknes ben befalle,
          Al sodeinly the Ston schal falle,
          As Daniel it hath beknowe,
          Which al this world schal overthrowe,   1040
          And every man schal thanne arise
          To Joie or elles to Juise,
          Wher that he schal for evere dwelle,
          Or straght to hevene or straght to helle.
          In hevene is pes and al acord,
          Bot helle is full of such descord
          That ther may be no loveday:
          Forthi good is, whil a man may,
          Echon to sette pes with other
          And loven as his oghne brother;   1050
          So may he winne worldes welthe
          And afterward his soule helthe.
          Bot wolde god that now were on
          An other such as Arion,
          Which hadde an harpe of such temprure,
          And therto of so good mesure
          He song, that he the bestes wilde
          Made of his note tame and milde,
          The Hinde in pes with the Leoun,
          The Wolf in pes with the Moltoun,   1060
          The Hare in pees stod with the Hound;
          And every man upon this ground
          Which Arion that time herde,
          Als wel the lord as the schepherde,
          He broghte hem alle in good acord;
          So that the comun with the lord,
          And lord with the comun also,
          He sette in love bothe tuo
          And putte awey malencolie.
          That was a lusti melodie,   1070
          Whan every man with other low;
          And if ther were such on now,
          Which cowthe harpe as he tho dede,
          He myhte availe in many a stede
          To make pes wher now is hate;
          For whan men thenken to debate,
          I not what other thing is good.
          Bot wher that wisdom waxeth wod,
          And reson torneth into rage,
          So that mesure upon oultrage   1080
          Hath set his world, it is to drede;
          For that bringth in the comun drede,
          Which stant at every mannes Dore:
          Bot whan the scharpnesse of the spore
          The horse side smit to sore,
          It grieveth ofte. And now nomore,
          As forto speke of this matiere,
          Which non bot only god may stiere.

          Explicit Prologus

Incipit Liber Primus

          Naturatus amor nature legibus orbem
               Subdit, et vnanimes concitat esse feras:
          Huius enim mundi Princeps amor esse videtur,
               Cuius eget diues, pauper et omnis ope.
          Sunt in agone pares amor et fortuna, que cecas
               Plebis ad insidias vertit vterque rotas.
          Est amor egra salus, vexata quies, pius error,
               Bellica pax, vulnus dulce, suaue malum.

          I may noght strecche up to the hevene
          Min hand, ne setten al in evene
          This world, which evere is in balance:
          It stant noght in my sufficance
          So grete thinges to compasse,
          Bot I mot lete it overpasse
          And treten upon othre thinges.
          Forthi the Stile of my writinges
          Fro this day forth I thenke change
          And speke of thing is noght so strange,    10
          Which every kinde hath upon honde,
          And wherupon the world mot stonde,
          And hath don sithen it began,
          And schal whil ther is any man;
          And that is love, of which I mene
          To trete, as after schal be sene.
          In which ther can noman him reule,
          For loves lawe is out of reule,
          That of tomoche or of tolite
          Welnyh is every man to wyte,   20
          And natheles ther is noman
          In al this world so wys, that can
          Of love tempre the mesure,
          Bot as it falth in aventure:
          For wit ne strengthe may noght helpe,
          And he which elles wolde him yelpe
          Is rathest throwen under fote,
          Ther can no wiht therof do bote.
          For yet was nevere such covine,
          That couthe ordeine a medicine   30
          To thing which god in lawe of kinde
          Hath set, for ther may noman finde
          The rihte salve of such a Sor.
          It hath and schal ben everemor
          That love is maister wher he wile,
          Ther can no lif make other skile;
          For wher as evere him lest to sette,
          Ther is no myht which him may lette.
          Bot what schal fallen ate laste,
          The sothe can no wisdom caste,    40
          Bot as it falleth upon chance;
          For if ther evere was balance
          Which of fortune stant governed,
          I may wel lieve as I am lerned
          That love hath that balance on honde,
          Which wol no reson understonde.
          For love is blind and may noght se,
          Forthi may no certeinete
          Be set upon his jugement,
          Bot as the whiel aboute went     50
          He yifth his graces undeserved,
          And fro that man which hath him served
          Fulofte he takth aweye his fees,
          As he that pleieth ate Dees,
          And therupon what schal befalle
          He not, til that the chance falle,
          Wher he schal lese or he schal winne.
          And thus fulofte men beginne,
          That if thei wisten what it mente,
          Thei wolde change al here entente.     60
          And forto proven it is so,
          I am miselven on of tho,
          Which to this Scole am underfonge.
          For it is siththe go noght longe,
          As forto speke of this matiere,
          I may you telle, if ye woll hiere,
          A wonder hap which me befell,
          That was to me bothe hard and fell,
          Touchende of love and his fortune,
          The which me liketh to comune    70
          And pleinly forto telle it oute.
          To hem that ben lovers aboute
          Fro point to point I wol declare
          And wryten of my woful care,
          Mi wofull day, my wofull chance,
          That men mowe take remembrance
          Of that thei schall hierafter rede:
          For in good feith this wolde I rede,
          That every man ensample take
          Of wisdom which him is betake,    80
          And that he wot of good aprise
          To teche it forth, for such emprise
          Is forto preise; and therfore I
          Woll wryte and schewe al openly
          How love and I togedre mette,
          Wherof the world ensample fette
          Mai after this, whan I am go,
          Of thilke unsely jolif wo,
          Whos reule stant out of the weie,
          Nou glad and nou gladnesse aweie,    90
          And yet it may noght be withstonde
          For oght that men may understonde.
          Upon the point that is befalle
          Of love, in which that I am falle,
          I thenke telle my matiere:
          Now herkne, who that wol it hiere,
          Of my fortune how that it ferde.
          This enderday, as I forthferde
          To walke, as I yow telle may,-
          And that was in the Monthe of Maii,     100
          Whan every brid hath chose his make
          And thenkth his merthes forto make
          Of love that he hath achieved;
          Bot so was I nothing relieved,
          For I was further fro my love
          Than Erthe is fro the hevene above,
          As forto speke of eny sped:
          So wiste I me non other red,
          Bot as it were a man forfare
          Unto the wode I gan to fare,   110
          Noght forto singe with the briddes,
          For whanne I was the wode amiddes,
          I fond a swote grene pleine,
          And ther I gan my wo compleigne
          Wisshinge and wepinge al myn one,
          For other merthes made I none.
          So hard me was that ilke throwe,
          That ofte sithes overthrowe
          To grounde I was withoute breth;
          And evere I wisshide after deth,     120
          Whanne I out of my peine awok,
          And caste up many a pitous lok
          Unto the hevene, and seide thus:
          "O thou Cupide, O thou Venus,
          Thou god of love and thou goddesse,
          Wher is pite? wher is meknesse?
          Now doth me pleinly live or dye,
          For certes such a maladie
          As I now have and longe have hadd,
          It myhte make a wisman madd,   130
          If that it scholde longe endure.
          O Venus, queene of loves cure,
          Thou lif, thou lust, thou mannes hele,
          Behold my cause and my querele,
          And yif me som part of thi grace,
          So that I may finde in this place
          If thou be gracious or non."
          And with that word I sawh anon
          The kyng of love and qweene bothe;
          Bot he that kyng with yhen wrothe   140
          His chiere aweiward fro me caste,
          And forth he passede ate laste.
          Bot natheles er he forth wente
          A firy Dart me thoghte he hente
          And threw it thurgh myn herte rote:
          In him fond I non other bote,
          For lenger list him noght to duelle.
          Bot sche that is the Source and Welle
          Of wel or wo, that schal betide
          To hem that loven, at that tide     150
          Abod, bot forto tellen hiere
          Sche cast on me no goodly chiere:
          Thus natheles to me sche seide,
          "What art thou, Sone?" and I abreide
          Riht as a man doth out of slep,
          And therof tok sche riht good kep
          And bad me nothing ben adrad:
          Bot for al that I was noght glad,
          For I ne sawh no cause why.
          And eft scheo asketh, what was I:   160
          I seide, "A Caitif that lith hiere:
          What wolde ye, my Ladi diere?
          Schal I ben hol or elles dye?"
          Sche seide, "Tell thi maladie:
          What is thi Sor of which thou pleignest?
          Ne hyd it noght, for if thou feignest,
          I can do the no medicine."
          "Ma dame, I am a man of thyne,
          That in thi Court have longe served,
          And aske that I have deserved,    170
          Some wele after my longe wo."
          And sche began to loure tho,
          And seide, "Ther is manye of yow
          Faitours, and so may be that thow
          Art riht such on, and be feintise
          Seist that thou hast me do servise."
          And natheles sche wiste wel,
          Mi world stod on an other whiel
          Withouten eny faiterie:
          Bot algate of my maladie   180
          Sche bad me telle and seie hir trowthe.
          "Ma dame, if ye wolde have rowthe,"
          Quod I, "than wolde I telle yow."
          "Sey forth," quod sche, "and tell me how;
          Schew me thi seknesse everydiel."
          "Ma dame, that can I do wel,
          Be so my lif therto wol laste."
          With that hir lok on me sche caste,
          And seide: "In aunter if thou live,
          Mi will is ferst that thou be schrive;    190
          And natheles how that it is
          I wot miself, bot for al this
          Unto my prest, which comth anon,
          I woll thou telle it on and on,
          Bothe all thi thoght and al thi werk.
          O Genius myn oghne Clerk,
          Com forth and hier this mannes schrifte,"
          Quod Venus tho; and I uplifte
          Min hefd with that, and gan beholde
          The selve Prest, which as sche wolde   200
          Was redy there and sette him doun
          To hiere my confessioun.
          This worthi Prest, this holy man
          To me spekende thus began,
          And seide: "Benedicite,
          Mi Sone, of the felicite
          Of love and ek of all the wo
          Thou schalt thee schrive of bothe tuo.
          What thou er this for loves sake
          Hast felt, let nothing be forsake,   210
          Tell pleinliche as it is befalle."
          And with that word I gan doun falle
          On knees, and with devocioun
          And with full gret contricioun
          I seide thanne: "Dominus,
          Min holi fader Genius,
          So as thou hast experience
          Of love, for whos reverence
          Thou schalt me schriven at this time,
          I prai the let me noght mistime     220
          Mi schrifte, for I am destourbed
          In al myn herte, and so contourbed,
          That I ne may my wittes gete,
          So schal I moche thing foryete:
          Bot if thou wolt my schrifte oppose
          Fro point to point, thanne I suppose,
          Ther schal nothing be left behinde.
          Bot now my wittes ben so blinde,
          That I ne can miselven teche."
          Tho he began anon to preche,   230
          And with his wordes debonaire
          He seide tome softe and faire:
          "Thi schrifte to oppose and hiere,
          My Sone, I am assigned hiere
          Be Venus the godesse above,
          Whos Prest I am touchende of love.
          Bot natheles for certein skile
          I mot algate and nedes wile
          Noght only make my spekynges
          Of love, bot of othre thinges,    240
          That touchen to the cause of vice.
          For that belongeth to thoffice
          Of Prest, whos ordre that I bere,
          So that I wol nothing forbere,
          That I the vices on and on
          Ne schal thee schewen everychon;
          Wherof thou myht take evidence
          To reule with thi conscience.
          Bot of conclusion final
          Conclude I wol in special     250
          For love, whos servant I am,
          And why the cause is that I cam.
          So thenke I to don bothe tuo,
          Ferst that myn ordre longeth to,
          The vices forto telle arewe,
          Bot next above alle othre schewe
          Of love I wol the propretes,
          How that thei stonde be degrees
          After the disposicioun
          Of Venus, whos condicioun     260
          I moste folwe, as I am holde.
          For I with love am al withholde,
          So that the lasse I am to wyte,
          Thogh I ne conne bot a lyte
          Of othre thinges that ben wise:
          I am noght tawht in such a wise;
          For it is noght my comun us
          To speke of vices and vertus,
          Bot al of love and of his lore,
          For Venus bokes of nomore     270
          Me techen nowther text ne glose.
          Bot for als moche as I suppose
          It sit a prest to be wel thewed,
          And schame it is if he be lewed,
          Of my Presthode after the forme
          I wol thi schrifte so enforme,
          That ate leste thou schalt hiere
          The vices, and to thi matiere
          Of love I schal hem so remene,
          That thou schalt knowe what thei mene.    280
          For what a man schal axe or sein
          Touchende of schrifte, it mot be plein,
          It nedeth noght to make it queinte,
          For trowthe hise wordes wol noght peinte:
          That I wole axe of the forthi,
          My Sone, it schal be so pleinly,
          That thou schalt knowe and understonde
          The pointz of schrifte how that thei stonde."
          Betwen the lif and deth I herde
          This Prestes tale er I answerde,     290
          And thanne I preide him forto seie
          His will, and I it wolde obeie
          After the forme of his apprise.
          Tho spak he tome in such a wise,
          And bad me that I scholde schrive
          As touchende of my wittes fyve,
          And schape that thei were amended
          Of that I hadde hem misdispended.
          For tho be proprely the gates,
          Thurgh whiche as to the herte algates     300
          Comth alle thing unto the feire,
          Which may the mannes Soule empeire.
          And now this matiere is broght inne,
          Mi Sone, I thenke ferst beginne
          To wite how that thin yhe hath stonde,
          The which is, as I understonde,
          The moste principal of alle,
          Thurgh whom that peril mai befalle.
          And forto speke in loves kinde,
          Ful manye suche a man mai finde,     310
          Whiche evere caste aboute here yhe,
          To loke if that thei myhte aspie
          Fulofte thing which hem ne toucheth,
          Bot only that here herte soucheth
          In hindringe of an other wiht;
          And thus ful many a worthi knyht
          And many a lusti lady bothe
          Have be fulofte sythe wrothe.
          So that an yhe is as a thief
          To love, and doth ful gret meschief;   320
          And also for his oghne part
          Fulofte thilke firy Dart
          Of love, which that evere brenneth,
          Thurgh him into the herte renneth:
          And thus a mannes yhe ferst
          Himselve grieveth alther werst,
          And many a time that he knoweth
          Unto his oghne harm it groweth.
          Mi Sone, herkne now forthi
          A tale, to be war therby   330
          Thin yhe forto kepe and warde,
          So that it passe noght his warde.
          Ovide telleth in his bok
          Ensample touchende of mislok,
          And seith hou whilom ther was on,
          A worthi lord, which Acteon
          Was hote, and he was cousin nyh
          To him that Thebes ferst on hyh
          Up sette, which king Cadme hyhte.
          This Acteon, as he wel myhte,     340
          Above alle othre caste his chiere,
          And used it fro yer to yere,
          With Houndes and with grete Hornes
          Among the wodes and the thornes
          To make his hunting and his chace:
          Where him best thoghte in every place
          To finde gamen in his weie,
          Ther rod he forto hunte and pleie.
          So him befell upon a tide
          On his hunting as he cam ride,    350
          In a Forest al one he was:
          He syh upon the grene gras
          The faire freisshe floures springe,
          He herde among the leves singe
          The Throstle with the nyhtingale:
          Thus er he wiste into a Dale
          He cam, wher was a litel plein,
          All round aboute wel besein
          With buisshes grene and Cedres hyhe;
          And ther withinne he caste his yhe.    360
          Amidd the plein he syh a welle,
          So fair ther myhte noman telle,
          In which Diana naked stod
          To bathe and pleie hire in the flod
          With many a Nimphe, which hire serveth.
          Bot he his yhe awey ne swerveth
          Fro hire, which was naked al,
          And sche was wonder wroth withal,
          And him, as sche which was godesse,
          Forschop anon, and the liknesse     370
          Sche made him taken of an Hert,
          Which was tofore hise houndes stert,
          That ronne besiliche aboute
          With many an horn and many a route,
          That maden mochel noise and cry:
          And ate laste unhappely
          This Hert his oghne houndes slowhe
          And him for vengance al todrowhe.
          Lo now, my Sone, what it is
          A man to caste his yhe amis,   380
          Which Acteon hath dere aboght;
          Be war forthi and do it noght.
          For ofte, who that hiede toke,
          Betre is to winke than to loke.
          And forto proven it is so,
          Ovide the Poete also
          A tale which to this matiere
          Acordeth seith, as thou schalt hiere.
          In Metamor it telleth thus,
          How that a lord which Phorces     390
          Was hote, hadde dowhtres thre.
          Bot upon here nativite
          Such was the constellacion,
          That out of mannes nacion
          Fro kynde thei be so miswent,
          That to the liknesse of Serpent
          Thei were bore, and so that on
          Of hem was cleped Stellibon,
          That other soster Suriale,
          The thridde, as telleth in the tale,    400
          Medusa hihte, and natheles
          Of comun name Gorgones
          In every contre ther aboute,
          As Monstres whiche that men doute,
          Men clepen hem; and bot on yhe
          Among hem thre in pourpartie
          Thei hadde, of which thei myhte se,
          Now hath it this, now hath it sche;
          After that cause and nede it ladde,
          Be throwes ech of hem it hadde.     410
          A wonder thing yet more amis
          Ther was, wherof I telle al this:
          What man on hem his chiere caste
          And hem behield, he was als faste
          Out of a man into a Ston
          Forschape, and thus ful manyon
          Deceived were, of that thei wolde
          Misloke, wher that thei ne scholde.
          Bot Perses that worthi knyht,
          Whom Pallas of hir grete myht    420
          Halp, and tok him a Schield therto,
          And ek the god Mercurie also
          Lente him a swerd, he, as it fell,
          Beyende Athlans the hihe hell
          These Monstres soghte, and there he fond
          Diverse men of thilke lond
          Thurgh sihte of hem mistorned were,
          Stondende as Stones hiere and there.
          Bot he, which wisdom and prouesse
          Hadde of the god and the godesse,    430
          The Schield of Pallas gan enbrace,
          With which he covereth sauf his face,
          Mercuries Swerd and out he drowh,
          And so he bar him that he slowh
          These dredful Monstres alle thre.
          Lo now, my Sone, avise the,
          That thou thi sihte noght misuse:
          Cast noght thin yhe upon Meduse,
          That thou be torned into Ston:
          For so wys man was nevere non,      440
          Bot if he wel his yhe kepe
          And take of fol delit no kepe,
          That he with lust nys ofte nome,
          Thurgh strengthe of love and overcome.
          Of mislokynge how it hath ferd,
          As I have told, now hast thou herd,
          My goode Sone, and tak good hiede.
          And overthis yet I thee rede
          That thou be war of thin heringe,
          Which to the Herte the tidinge   450
          Of many a vanite hath broght,
          To tarie with a mannes thoght.
          And natheles good is to hiere
          Such thing wherof a man may lere
          That to vertu is acordant,
          And toward al the remenant
          Good is to torne his Ere fro;
          For elles, bot a man do so,
          Him may fulofte mysbefalle.
          I rede ensample amonges alle,     460
          Wherof to kepe wel an Ere
          It oghte pute a man in fere.
          A Serpent, which that Aspidis
          Is cleped, of his kynde hath this,
          That he the Ston noblest of alle,
          The which that men Carbuncle calle,
          Berth in his hed above on heihte.
          For which whan that a man be sleyhte,
          The Ston to winne and him to daunte,
          With his carecte him wolde enchaunte,   470
          Anon as he perceiveth that,
          He leith doun his on Ere al plat
          Unto the ground, and halt it faste,
          And ek that other Ere als faste
          He stoppeth with his tail so sore,
          That he the wordes lasse or more
          Of his enchantement ne hiereth;
          And in this wise himself he skiereth,
          So that he hath the wordes weyved
          And thurgh his Ere is noght deceived.     480
          An othre thing, who that recordeth,
          Lich unto this ensample acordeth,
          Which in the tale of Troie I finde.
          Sirenes of a wonder kynde
          Ben Monstres, as the bokes tellen,
          And in the grete Se thei duellen:
          Of body bothe and of visage
          Lik unto wommen of yong age
          Up fro the Navele on hih thei be,
          And doun benethe, as men mai se,     490
          Thei bere of fisshes the figure.
          And overthis of such nature
          Thei ben, that with so swete a stevene
          Lik to the melodie of hevene
          In wommanysshe vois thei singe,
          With notes of so gret likinge,
          Of such mesure, of such musike,
          Wherof the Schipes thei beswike
          That passen be the costes there.
          For whan the Schipmen leie an Ere   500
          Unto the vois, in here avys
          Thei wene it be a Paradys,
          Which after is to hem an helle.
          For reson may noght with hem duelle,
          Whan thei tho grete lustes hiere;
          Thei conne noght here Schipes stiere,
          So besiliche upon the note
          Thei herkne, and in such wise assote,
          That thei here rihte cours and weie
          Foryete, and to here Ere obeie,   510
          And seilen til it so befalle
          That thei into the peril falle,
          Where as the Schipes be todrawe,
          And thei ben with the Monstres slawe.
          Bot fro this peril natheles
          With his wisdom king Uluxes
          Ascapeth and it overpasseth;
          For he tofor the hond compasseth
          That noman of his compaignie
          Hath pouer unto that folie    520
          His Ere for no lust to caste;
          For he hem stoppede alle faste,
          That non of hem mai hiere hem singe.
          So whan they comen forth seilinge,
          Ther was such governance on honde,
          That thei the Monstres have withstonde
          And slain of hem a gret partie.
          Thus was he sauf with his navie,
          This wise king, thurgh governance.
          Wherof, my Sone, in remembrance     530
          Thou myht ensample taken hiere,
          As I have told, and what thou hiere
          Be wel war, and yif no credence,
          Bot if thou se more evidence.
          For if thou woldest take kepe
          And wisly cowthest warde and kepe
          Thin yhe and Ere, as I have spoke,
          Than haddest thou the gates stoke
          Fro such Sotie as comth to winne
          Thin hertes wit, which is withinne,     540
          Wherof that now thi love excedeth
          Mesure, and many a peine bredeth.
          Bot if thou cowthest sette in reule
          Tho tuo, the thre were eth to reule:
          Forthi as of thi wittes five
          I wole as now nomore schryve,
          Bot only of these ilke tuo.
          Tell me therfore if it be so,
          Hast thou thin yhen oght misthrowe?
          Mi fader, ye, I am beknowe,      550
          I have hem cast upon Meduse,
          Therof I may me noght excuse:
          Min herte is growen into Ston,
          So that my lady therupon
          Hath such a priente of love grave,
          That I can noght miselve save.
          What seist thou, Sone, as of thin Ere?
          Mi fader, I am gultyf there;
          For whanne I may my lady hiere,
          Mi wit with that hath lost his Stiere:    560
          I do noght as Uluxes dede,
          Bot falle anon upon the stede,
          Wher as I se my lady stonde;
          And there, I do yow understonde,
          I am topulled in my thoght,
          So that of reson leveth noght,
          Wherof that I me mai defende.
          My goode Sone, god thamende:
          For as me thenketh be thi speche
          Thi wittes ben riht feer to seche.     570
          As of thin Ere and of thin yhe
          I woll nomore specefie,
          Bot I woll axen overthis
          Of othre thing how that it is.
          Mi Sone, as I thee schal enforme,
          Ther ben yet of an other forme
          Of dedly vices sevene applied,
          Wherof the herte is ofte plied
          To thing which after schal him grieve.
          The ferste of hem thou schalt believe       580
          Is Pride, which is principal,
          And hath with him in special
          Ministres five ful diverse,
          Of whiche, as I the schal reherse,
          The ferste is seid Ypocrisie.
          If thou art of his compaignie,
          Tell forth, my Sone, and schrif the clene.
          I wot noght, fader, what ye mene:
          Bot this I wolde you beseche,
          That ye me be som weie teche     590
          What is to ben an ypocrite;
          And thanne if I be forto wyte,
          I wol beknowen, as it is.
          Mi Sone, an ypocrite is this,-
          A man which feigneth conscience,
          As thogh it were al innocence,
          Withoute, and is noght so withinne;
          And doth so for he wolde winne
          Of his desir the vein astat.
          And whanne he comth anon therat,     600
          He scheweth thanne what he was,
          The corn is torned into gras,
          That was a Rose is thanne a thorn,
          And he that was a Lomb beforn
          Is thanne a Wolf, and thus malice
          Under the colour of justice
          Is hid; and as the poeple telleth,
          These ordres witen where he duelleth,
          As he that of here conseil is,
          And thilke world which thei er this    610
          Forsoken, he drawth in ayein:
          He clotheth richesse, as men sein,
          Under the simplesce of poverte,
          And doth to seme of gret decerte
          Thing which is litel worth withinne:
          He seith in open, fy! to Sinne,
          And in secre ther is no vice
          Of which that he nis a Norrice:
          And evere his chiere is sobre and softe,
          And where he goth he blesseth ofte,     620
          Wherof the blinde world he dreccheth.
          Bot yet al only he ne streccheth
          His reule upon religioun,
          Bot next to that condicioun
          In suche as clepe hem holy cherche
          It scheweth ek how he can werche
          Among tho wyde furred hodes,
          To geten hem the worldes goodes.
          And thei hemself ben thilke same
          That setten most the world in blame,    630
          Bot yet in contraire of her lore
          Ther is nothing thei loven more;
          So that semende of liht thei werke
          The dedes whiche are inward derke.
          And thus this double Ypocrisie
          With his devolte apparantie
          A viser set upon his face,
          Wherof toward this worldes grace
          He semeth to be riht wel thewed,
          And yit his herte is al beschrewed.    640
          Bot natheles he stant believed,
          And hath his pourpos ofte achieved
          Of worschipe and of worldes welthe,
          And takth it, as who seith, be stelthe
          Thurgh coverture of his fallas.
          And riht so in semblable cas
          This vice hath ek his officers
          Among these othre seculers
          Of grete men, for of the smale
          As for tacompte he set no tale,   650
          Bot thei that passen the comune
          With suche him liketh to comune,
          And where he seith he wol socoure
          The poeple, there he woll devoure;
          For now aday is manyon
          Which spekth of Peter and of John
          And thenketh Judas in his herte.
          Ther schal no worldes good asterte
          His hond, and yit he yifth almesse
          And fasteth ofte and hiereth Messe:    660
          With mea culpa, which he seith,
          Upon his brest fullofte he leith
          His hond, and cast upward his yhe,
          As thogh he Cristes face syhe;
          So that it seemeth ate syhte,
          As he al one alle othre myhte
          Rescoue with his holy bede.
          Bot yet his herte in other stede
          Among hise bedes most devoute
          Goth in the worldes cause aboute,    670
          How that he myhte his warisoun
          Encresce.  And in comparisoun
          Ther ben lovers of such a sort,
          That feignen hem an humble port,
          And al is bot Ypocrisie,
          Which with deceipte and flaterie
          Hath many a worthi wif beguiled.
          For whanne he hath his tunge affiled,
          With softe speche and with lesinge,
          Forth with his fals pitous lokynge,     680
          He wolde make a womman wene
          To gon upon the faire grene,
          Whan that sche falleth in the Mir.
          For if he may have his desir,
          How so falle of the remenant,
          He halt no word of covenant;
          Bot er the time that he spede,
          Ther is no sleihte at thilke nede,
          Which eny loves faitour mai,
          That he ne put it in assai,    690
          As him belongeth forto done.
          The colour of the reyni Mone
          With medicine upon his face
          He set, and thanne he axeth grace,
          As he which hath sieknesse feigned.
          Whan his visage is so desteigned,
          With yhe upcast on hire he siketh,
          And many a contenance he piketh,
          To bringen hire in to believe
          Of thing which that he wolde achieve,   700
          Wherof he berth the pale hewe;
          And for he wolde seme trewe,
          He makth him siek, whan he is heil.
          Bot whanne he berth lowest the Seil,
          Thanne is he swiftest to beguile
          The womman, which that ilke while
          Set upon him feith or credence.
          Mi Sone, if thou thi conscience
          Entamed hast in such a wise,
          In schrifte thou thee myht avise    710
          And telle it me, if it be so.
          Min holy fader, certes no.
          As forto feigne such sieknesse
          It nedeth noght, for this witnesse
          I take of god, that my corage
          Hath ben mor siek than my visage.
          And ek this mai I wel avowe,
          So lowe cowthe I nevere bowe
          To feigne humilite withoute,
          That me ne leste betre loute     720
          With alle the thoghtes of myn herte;
          For that thing schal me nevere asterte,
          I speke as to my lady diere,
          To make hire eny feigned chiere.
          God wot wel there I lye noght,
          Mi chiere hath be such as my thoght;
          For in good feith, this lieveth wel,
          Mi will was betre a thousendel
          Than eny chiere that I cowthe.
          Bot, Sire, if I have in my yowthe   730
          Don other wise in other place,
          I put me therof in your grace:
          For this excusen I ne schal,
          That I have elles overal
          To love and to his compaignie
          Be plein withoute Ypocrisie;
          Bot ther is on the which I serve,
          Althogh I may no thonk deserve,
          To whom yet nevere into this day
          I seide onlyche or ye or nay,     740
          Bot if it so were in my thoght.
          As touchende othre seie I noght
          That I nam somdel forto wyte
          Of that ye clepe an ypocrite.
          Mi Sone, it sit wel every wiht
          To kepe his word in trowthe upryht
          Towardes love in alle wise.
          For who that wolde him wel avise
          What hath befalle in this matiere,
          He scholde noght with feigned chiere   750
          Deceive Love in no degre.
          To love is every herte fre,
          Bot in deceipte if that thou feignest
          And therupon thi lust atteignest,
          That thow hast wonne with thi wyle,
          Thogh it thee like for a whyle,
          Thou schalt it afterward repente.
          And forto prove myn entente,
          I finde ensample in a Croniqe
          Of hem that love so beswike.     760
          It fell be olde daies thus,
          Whil themperour Tiberius
          The Monarchie of Rome ladde,
          Ther was a worthi Romein hadde
          A wif, and sche Pauline hihte,
          Which was to every mannes sihte
          Of al the Cite the faireste,
          And as men seiden, ek the beste.
          It is and hath ben evere yit,
          That so strong is no mannes wit,     770
          Which thurgh beaute ne mai be drawe
          To love, and stonde under the lawe
          Of thilke bore frele kinde,
          Which makth the hertes yhen blinde,
          Wher no reson mai be comuned:
          And in this wise stod fortuned
          This tale, of which I wolde mene;
          This wif, which in hire lustes grene
          Was fair and freissh and tendre of age,
          Sche may noght lette the corage     780
          Of him that wole on hire assote.
          Ther was a Duck, and he was hote
          Mundus, which hadde in his baillie
          To lede the chivalerie
          Of Rome, and was a worthi knyht;
          Bot yet he was noght of such myht
          The strengthe of love to withstonde,
          That he ne was so broght to honde,
          That malgre wher he wole or no,
          This yonge wif he loveth so,   790
          That he hath put al his assay
          To wynne thing which he ne may
          Gete of hire graunt in no manere,
          Be yifte of gold ne be preiere.
          And whanne he syh that be no mede
          Toward hir love he myhte spede,
          Be sleyhte feigned thanne he wroghte;
          And therupon he him bethoghte
          How that ther was in the Cite
          A temple of such auctorite,    800
          To which with gret Devocioun
          The noble wommen of the toun
          Most comunliche a pelrinage
          Gon forto preie thilke ymage
          Which the godesse of childinge is,
          And cleped was be name Ysis:
          And in hire temple thanne were,
          To reule and to ministre there
          After the lawe which was tho,
          Above alle othre Prestes tuo.    810
          This Duck, which thoghte his love gete,
          Upon a day hem tuo to mete
          Hath bede, and thei come at his heste;
          Wher that thei hadde a riche feste,
          And after mete in prive place
          This lord, which wolde his thonk pourchace,
          To ech of hem yaf thanne a yifte,
          And spak so that be weie of schrifte
          He drowh hem unto his covine,
          To helpe and schape how he Pauline     820
          After his lust deceive myhte.
          And thei here trowthes bothe plyhte,
          That thei be nyhte hire scholden wynne
          Into the temple, and he therinne
          Schal have of hire al his entente:
          And thus acorded forth thei wente.
          Now lest thurgh which ypocrisie
          Ordeigned was the tricherie,
          Wherof this ladi was deceived.
          These Prestes hadden wel conceived     830
          That sche was of gret holinesse;
          And with a contrefet simplesse,
          Which hid was in a fals corage,
          Feignende an hevenely message
          Thei come and seide unto hir thus:
          "Pauline, the god Anubus
          Hath sent ous bothe Prestes hiere,
          And seith he woll to thee appiere
          Be nyhtes time himself alone,
          For love he hath to thi persone:    840
          And therupon he hath ous bede,
          That we in Ysis temple a stede
          Honestely for thee pourveie,
          Wher thou be nyhte, as we thee seie,
          Of him schalt take avisioun.
          For upon thi condicioun,
          The which is chaste and ful of feith,
          Such pris, as he ous tolde, he leith,
          That he wol stonde of thin acord;
          And forto bere hierof record     850
          He sende ous hider bothe tuo."
          Glad was hire innocence tho
          Of suche wordes as sche herde,
          With humble chiere and thus answerde,
          And seide that the goddes wille
          Sche was al redy to fulfille,
          That be hire housebondes leve
          Sche wolde in Ysis temple at eve
          Upon hire goddes grace abide,
          To serven him the nyhtes tide.   860
          The Prestes tho gon hom ayein,
          And sche goth to hire sovereign,
          Of goddes wille and as it was
          Sche tolde him al the pleine cas,
          Wherof he was deceived eke,
          And bad that sche hire scholde meke
          Al hol unto the goddes heste.
          And thus sche, which was al honeste
          To godward after hire entente,
          At nyht unto the temple wente,    870
          Wher that the false Prestes were;
          And thei receiven hire there
          With such a tokne of holinesse,
          As thogh thei syhen a godesse,
          And al withinne in prive place
          A softe bedd of large space
          Thei hadde mad and encourtined,
          Wher sche was afterward engined.
          Bot sche, which al honour supposeth,
          The false Prestes thanne opposeth,   880
          And axeth be what observance
          Sche myhte most to the plesance
          Of godd that nyhtes reule kepe:
          And thei hire bidden forto slepe
          Liggende upon the bedd alofte,
          For so, thei seide, al stille and softe
          God Anubus hire wolde awake.
          The conseil in this wise take,
          The Prestes fro this lady gon;
          And sche, that wiste of guile non,   890
          In the manere as it was seid
          To slepe upon the bedd is leid,
          In hope that sche scholde achieve
          Thing which stod thanne upon bilieve,
          Fulfild of alle holinesse.
          Bot sche hath failed, as I gesse,
          For in a closet faste by
          The Duck was hid so prively
          That sche him myhte noght perceive;
          And he, that thoghte to deceive,     900
          Hath such arrai upon him nome,
          That whanne he wolde unto hir come,
          It scholde semen at hire yhe
          As thogh sche verrailiche syhe
          God Anubus, and in such wise
          This ypocrite of his queintise
          Awaiteth evere til sche slepte.
          And thanne out of his place he crepte
          So stille that sche nothing herde,
          And to the bedd stalkende he ferde,     910
          And sodeinly, er sche it wiste,
          Beclipt in armes he hire kiste:
          Wherof in wommanysshe drede
          Sche wok and nyste what to rede;
          Bot he with softe wordes milde
          Conforteth hire and seith, with childe
          He wolde hire make in such a kynde
          That al the world schal have in mynde
          The worschipe of that ilke Sone;
          For he schal with the goddes wone,   920
          And ben himself a godd also.
          With suche wordes and with mo,
          The whiche he feigneth in his speche,
          This lady wit was al to seche,
          As sche which alle trowthe weneth:
          Bot he, that alle untrowthe meneth,
          With blinde tales so hire ladde,
          That all his wille of hire he hadde.
          And whan him thoghte it was ynowh,
          Ayein the day he him withdrowh   930
          So prively that sche ne wiste
          Wher he becom, bot as him liste
          Out of the temple he goth his weie.
          And sche began to bidde and preie
          Upon the bare ground knelende,
          And after that made hire offrende,
          And to the Prestes yiftes grete
          Sche yaf, and homward be the Strete.
          The Duck hire mette and seide thus:
          "The myhti godd which Anubus     940
          Is hote, he save the, Pauline,
          For thou art of his discipline
          So holy, that no mannes myht
          Mai do that he hath do to nyht
          Of thing which thou hast evere eschuied.
          Bot I his grace have so poursuied,
          That I was mad his lieutenant:
          Forthi be weie of covenant
          Fro this day forth I am al thin,
          And if thee like to be myn,    950
          That stant upon thin oghne wille."
          Sche herde his tale and bar it stille,
          And hom sche wente, as it befell,
          Into hir chambre, and ther sche fell
          Upon hire bedd to wepe and crie,
          And seide: "O derke ypocrisie,
          Thurgh whos dissimilacion
          Of fals ymaginacion
          I am thus wickedly deceived!
          Bot that I have it aperceived    960
          I thonke unto the goddes alle;
          For thogh it ones be befalle,
          It schal nevere eft whil that I live,
          And thilke avou to godd I yive."
          And thus wepende sche compleigneth,
          Hire faire face and al desteigneth
          With wofull teres of hire ije,
          So that upon this agonie
          Hire housebonde is inne come,
          And syh how sche was overcome    970
          With sorwe, and axeth what hire eileth.
          And sche with that hirself beweileth
          Welmore than sche dede afore,
          And seide, "Helas, wifhode is lore
          In me, which whilom was honeste,
          I am non other than a beste,
          Now I defouled am of tuo."
          And as sche myhte speke tho,
          Aschamed with a pitous onde
          Sche tolde unto hir housebonde   980
          The sothe of al the hole tale,
          And in hire speche ded and pale
          Sche swouneth welnyh to the laste.
          And he hire in hise armes faste
          Uphield, and ofte swor his oth
          That he with hire is nothing wroth,
          For wel he wot sche may ther noght:
          Bot natheles withinne his thoght
          His herte stod in sori plit,
          And seide he wolde of that despit   990
          Be venged, how so evere it falle,
          And sende unto hise frendes alle.
          And whan thei weren come in fere,
          He tolde hem upon this matiere,
          And axeth hem what was to done:
          And thei avised were sone,
          And seide it thoghte hem for the beste
          To sette ferst his wif in reste,
          And after pleigne to the king
          Upon the matiere of this thing.     1000
          Tho was this wofull wif conforted
          Be alle weies and desported,
          Til that sche was somdiel amended;
          And thus a day or tuo despended,
          The thridde day sche goth to pleigne
          With many a worthi Citezeine,
          And he with many a Citezein.
          Whan themperour it herde sein,
          And knew the falshed of the vice,
          He seide he wolde do justice:    1010
          And ferst he let the Prestes take,
          And for thei scholde it noght forsake,
          He put hem into questioun;
          Bot thei of the suggestioun
          Ne couthen noght a word refuse,
          Bot for thei wolde hemself excuse,
          The blame upon the Duck thei leide.
          Bot therayein the conseil seide
          That thei be noght excused so,
          For he is on and thei ben tuo,    1020
          And tuo han more wit then on,
          So thilke excusement was non.
          And over that was seid hem eke,
          That whan men wolden vertu seke,
          Men scholde it in the Prestes finde;
          Here ordre is of so hyh a kinde,
          That thei be Duistres of the weie:
          Forthi, if eny man forsueie
          Thurgh hem, thei be noght excusable.
          And thus be lawe resonable    1030
          Among the wise jugges there
          The Prestes bothe dampned were,
          So that the prive tricherie
          Hid under fals Ipocrisie
          Was thanne al openliche schewed,
          That many a man hem hath beschrewed.
          And whan the Prestes weren dede,
          The temple of thilke horrible dede
          Thei thoghten purge, and thilke ymage,
          Whos cause was the pelrinage,     1040
          Thei drowen out and als so faste
          Fer into Tibre thei it caste,
          Wher the Rivere it hath defied:
          And thus the temple purified
          Thei have of thilke horrible Sinne,
          Which was that time do therinne.
          Of this point such was the juise,
          Bot of the Duck was other wise:
          For he with love was bestad,
          His dom was noght so harde lad;     1050
          For Love put reson aweie
          And can noght se the rihte weie.
          And be this cause he was respited,
          So that the deth him was acquited,
          Bot for al that he was exiled,
          For he his love hath so beguiled,
          That he schal nevere come ayein:
          For who that is to trowthe unplein,
          He may noght failen of vengance.
          And ek to take remembrance    1060
          Of that Ypocrisie hath wroght
          On other half, men scholde noght
          To lihtly lieve al that thei hiere,
          Bot thanne scholde a wisman stiere
          The Schip, whan suche wyndes blowe:
          For ferst thogh thei beginne lowe,
          At ende thei be noght menable,
          Bot al tobreken Mast and Cable,
          So that the Schip with sodein blast,
          Whan men lest wene, is overcast;    1070
          As now fulofte a man mai se:
          And of old time how it hath be
          I finde a gret experience,
          Wherof to take an evidence
          Good is, and to be war also
          Of the peril, er him be wo.
          Of hem that ben so derk withinne,
          At Troie also if we beginne,
          Ipocrisie it hath betraied:
          For whan the Greks hadde al assaied,    1080
          And founde that be no bataille
          Ne be no Siege it myhte availe
          The toun to winne thurgh prouesse,
          This vice feigned of simplesce
          Thurgh sleyhte of Calcas and of Crise
          It wan be such a maner wise.
          An Hors of Bras thei let do forge
          Of such entaile, of such a forge,
          That in this world was nevere man
          That such an other werk began.   1090
          The crafti werkman Epius
          It made, and forto telle thus,
          The Greks, that thoghten to beguile
          The kyng of Troie, in thilke while
          With Anthenor and with Enee,
          That were bothe of the Cite
          And of the conseil the wiseste,
          The richeste and the myhtieste,
          In prive place so thei trete
          With fair beheste and yiftes grete     1100
          Of gold, that thei hem have engined;
          Togedre and whan thei be covined,
          Thei feignen forto make a pes,
          And under that yit natheles
          Thei schopen the destruccioun
          Bothe of the kyng and of the toun.
          And thus the false pees was take
          Of hem of Grece and undertake,
          And therupon thei founde a weie,
          Wher strengthe myhte noght aweie,    1110
          That sleihte scholde helpe thanne;
          And of an ynche a large spanne
          Be colour of the pees thei made,
          And tolden how thei weren glade
          Of that thei stoden in acord;
          And for it schal ben of record,
          Unto the kyng the Gregois seiden,
          Be weie of love and this thei preiden,
          As thei that wolde his thonk deserve,
          A Sacrifice unto Minerve,   1120
          The pes to kepe in good entente,
          Thei mosten offre er that thei wente.
          The kyng conseiled in this cas
          Be Anthenor and Eneas
          Therto hath yoven his assent:
          So was the pleine trowthe blent
          Thurgh contrefet Ipocrisie
          Of that thei scholden sacrifie.
          The Greks under the holinesse
          Anon with alle besinesse   1130
          Here Hors of Bras let faire dihte,
          Which was to sen a wonder sihte;
          For it was trapped of himselve,
          And hadde of smale whieles twelve,
          Upon the whiche men ynowe
          With craft toward the toun it drowe,
          And goth glistrende ayein the Sunne.
          Tho was ther joie ynowh begunne,
          For Troie in gret devocioun
          Cam also with processioun     1140
          Ayein this noble Sacrifise
          With gret honour, and in this wise
          Unto the gates thei it broghte.
          Bot of here entre whan thei soghte,
          The gates weren al to smale;
          And therupon was many a tale,
          Bot for the worschipe of Minerve,
          To whom thei comen forto serve,
          Thei of the toun, whiche understode
          That al this thing was do for goode,    1150
          For pes, wherof that thei ben glade,
          The gates that Neptunus made
          A thousend wynter ther tofore,
          Thei have anon tobroke and tore;
          The stronge walles doun thei bete,
          So that in to the large strete
          This Hors with gret solempnite
          Was broght withinne the Cite,
          And offred with gret reverence,
          Which was to Troie an evidence   1160
          Of love and pes for everemo.
          The Gregois token leve tho
          With al the hole felaschipe,
          And forth thei wenten into Schipe
          And crossen seil and made hem yare,
          Anon as thogh thei wolden fare:
          Bot whan the blake wynter nyht
          Withoute Mone or Sterre lyht
          Bederked hath the water Stronde,
          Al prively thei gon to londe     1170
          Ful armed out of the navie.
          Synon, which mad was here aspie
          Withinne Troie, as was conspired,
          Whan time was a tokne hath fired;
          And thei with that here weie holden,
          And comen in riht as thei wolden,
          Ther as the gate was tobroke.
          The pourpos was full take and spoke:
          Er eny man may take kepe,
          Whil that the Cite was aslepe,    1180
          Thei slowen al that was withinne,
          And token what thei myhten wynne
          Of such good as was sufficant,
          And brenden up the remenant.
          And thus cam out the tricherie,
          Which under fals Ypocrisie
          Was hid, and thei that wende pees
          Tho myhten finde no reles
          Of thilke swerd which al devoureth.
          Fulofte and thus the swete soureth,     1190
          Whan it is knowe to the tast:
          He spilleth many a word in wast
          That schal with such a poeple trete;
          For whan he weneth most beyete,
          Thanne is he schape most to lese.
          And riht so if a womman chese
          Upon the wordes that sche hiereth
          Som man, whan he most trewe appiereth,
          Thanne is he forthest fro the trowthe:
          Bot yit fulofte, and that is rowthe,    1200
          Thei speden that ben most untrewe
          And loven every day a newe,
          Wherof the lief is after loth
          And love hath cause to be wroth.
          Bot what man that his lust desireth
          Of love, and therupon conspireth
          With wordes feigned to deceive,
          He schal noght faile to receive
          His peine, as it is ofte sene.
          Forthi, my Sone, as I thee mene,     1210
          It sit the wel to taken hiede
          That thou eschuie of thi manhiede
          Ipocrisie and his semblant,
          That thou ne be noght deceivant,
          To make a womman to believe
          Thing which is noght in thi bilieve:
          For in such feint Ipocrisie
          Of love is al the tricherie,
          Thurgh which love is deceived ofte;
          For feigned semblant is so softe,    1220
          Unethes love may be war.
          Forthi, my Sone, as I wel dar,
          I charge thee to fle that vice,
          That many a womman hath mad nice;
          Bot lok thou dele noght withal.
          Iwiss, fader, nomor I schal.
          Now, Sone, kep that thou hast swore:
          For this that thou hast herd before
          Is seid the ferste point of Pride:
          And next upon that other side,    1230
          To schryve and speken overthis
          Touchende of Pride, yit ther is
          The point seconde, I thee behote,
          Which Inobedience is hote.
          This vice of Inobedience
          Ayein the reule of conscience
          Al that is humble he desalloweth,
          That he toward his god ne boweth
          After the lawes of his heste.
          Noght as a man bot as a beste,    1240
          Which goth upon his lustes wilde,
          So goth this proude vice unmylde,
          That he desdeigneth alle lawe:
          He not what is to be felawe,
          And serve may he noght for pride;
          So is he badde on every side,
          And is that selve of whom men speke,
          Which wol noght bowe er that he breke.
          I not if love him myhte plie,
          For elles forto justefie   1250
          His herte, I not what mihte availe.
          Forthi, my Sone, of such entaile
          If that thin herte be disposed,
          Tell out and let it noght be glosed:
          For if that thou unbuxom be
          To love, I not in what degree
          Thou schalt thi goode world achieve.
          Mi fader, ye schul wel believe,
          The yonge whelp which is affaited
          Hath noght his Maister betre awaited,   1260
          To couche, whan he seith "Go lowe,"
          That I, anon as I may knowe
          Mi ladi will, ne bowe more.
          Bot other while I grucche sore
          Of some thinges that sche doth,
          Wherof that I woll telle soth:
          For of tuo pointz I am bethoght,
          That, thogh I wolde, I myhte noght
          Obeie unto my ladi heste;
          Bot I dar make this beheste,   1270
          Save only of that ilke tuo
          I am unbuxom of no mo.
          Whan ben tho tuo? tell on, quod he.
          Mi fader, this is on, that sche
          Comandeth me my mowth to close,
          And that I scholde hir noght oppose
          In love, of which I ofte preche,
          Bot plenerliche of such a speche
          Forbere, and soffren hire in pes.
          Bot that ne myhte I natheles     1280
          For al this world obeie ywiss;
          For whanne I am ther as sche is,
          Though sche my tales noght alowe,
          Ayein hir will yit mot I bowe,
          To seche if that I myhte have grace:
          Bot that thing may I noght enbrace
          For ought that I can speke or do;
          And yit fulofte I speke so,
          That sche is wroth and seith, "Be stille."
          If I that heste schal fulfille   1290
          And therto ben obedient,
          Thanne is my cause fully schent,
          For specheles may noman spede.
          So wot I noght what is to rede;
          Bot certes I may noght obeie,
          That I ne mot algate seie
          Somwhat of that I wolde mene;
          For evere it is aliche grene,
          The grete love which I have,
          Wherof I can noght bothe save    1300
          My speche and this obedience:
          And thus fulofte my silence
          I breke, and is the ferste point
          Wherof that I am out of point
          In this, and yit it is no pride.
          Now thanne upon that other side
          To telle my desobeissance,
          Ful sore it stant to my grevance
          And may noght sinke into my wit;
          For ofte time sche me bit     1310
          To leven hire and chese a newe,
          And seith, if I the sothe knewe
          How ferr I stonde from hir grace,
          I scholde love in other place.
          Bot therof woll I desobeie;
          For also wel sche myhte seie,
          "Go tak the Mone ther it sit,"
          As bringe that into my wit:
          For ther was nevere rooted tre,
          That stod so faste in his degre,     1320
          That I ne stonde more faste
          Upon hire love, and mai noght caste
          Min herte awey, althogh I wolde.
          For god wot, thogh I nevere scholde
          Sen hir with yhe after this day,
          Yit stant it so that I ne may
          Hir love out of my brest remue.
          This is a wonder retenue,
          That malgre wher sche wole or non
          Min herte is everemore in on,     1330
          So that I can non other chese,
          Bot whether that I winne or lese,
          I moste hire loven til I deie;
          And thus I breke as be that weie
          Hire hestes and hir comandinges,
          Bot trewliche in non othre thinges.
          Forthi, my fader, what is more
          Touchende to this ilke lore
          I you beseche, after the forme
          That ye pleinly me wolde enforme,    1340
          So that I may myn herte reule
          In loves cause after the reule.
          Toward this vice of which we trete
          Ther ben yit tweie of thilke estrete,
          Here name is Murmur and Compleignte:
          Ther can noman here chiere peinte,
          To sette a glad semblant therinne,
          For thogh fortune make hem wynne,
          Yit grucchen thei, and if thei lese,
          Ther is no weie forto chese,   1350
          Wherof thei myhten stonde appesed.
          So ben thei comunly desesed;
          Ther may no welthe ne poverte
          Attempren hem to the decerte
          Of buxomnesse be no wise:
          For ofte time thei despise
          The goode fortune as the badde,
          As thei no mannes reson hadde,
          Thurgh pride, wherof thei be blinde.
          And ryht of such a maner kinde   1360
          Ther be lovers, that thogh thei have
          Of love al that thei wolde crave,
          Yit wol thei grucche be som weie,
          That thei wol noght to love obeie
          Upon the trowthe, as thei do scholde;
          And if hem lacketh that thei wolde,
          Anon thei falle in such a peine,
          That evere unbuxomly thei pleigne
          Upon fortune, and curse and crie,
          That thei wol noght here hertes plie   1370
          To soffre til it betre falle.
          Forthi if thou amonges alle
          Hast used this condicioun,
          Mi Sone, in thi Confessioun
          Now tell me pleinly what thou art.
          Mi fader, I beknowe a part,
          So as ye tolden hier above
          Of Murmur and Compleignte of love,
          That for I se no sped comende,
          Ayein fortune compleignende   1380
          I am, as who seith, everemo:
          And ek fulofte tyme also,
          Whan so is that I se and hiere
          Or hevy word or hevy chiere
          Of my lady, I grucche anon;
          Bot wordes dar I speke non,
          Wherof sche myhte be desplesed,
          Bot in myn herte I am desesed:
          With many a Murmur, god it wot,
          Thus drinke I in myn oghne swot,     1390
          And thogh I make no semblant,
          Min herte is al desobeissant;
          And in this wise I me confesse
          Of that ye clepe unbuxomnesse.
          Now telleth what youre conseil is.
          Mi Sone, and I thee rede this,
          What so befalle of other weie,
          That thou to loves heste obeie
          Als ferr as thou it myht suffise:
          For ofte sithe in such a wise    1400
          Obedience in love availeth,
          Wher al a mannes strengthe faileth;
          Wherof, if that the list to wite
          In a Cronique as it is write,
          A gret ensample thou myht fynde,
          Which now is come to my mynde.
          Ther was whilom be daies olde
          A worthi knyht, and as men tolde
          He was Nevoeu to themperour
          And of his Court a Courteour:    1410
          Wifles he was, Florent he hihte,
          He was a man that mochel myhte,
          Of armes he was desirous,
          Chivalerous and amorous,
          And for the fame of worldes speche,
          Strange aventures forto seche,
          He rod the Marches al aboute.
          And fell a time, as he was oute,
          Fortune, which may every thred
          Tobreke and knette of mannes sped,   1420
          Schop, as this knyht rod in a pas,
          That he be strengthe take was,
          And to a Castell thei him ladde,
          Wher that he fewe frendes hadde:
          For so it fell that ilke stounde
          That he hath with a dedly wounde
          Feihtende his oghne hondes slain
          Branchus, which to the Capitain
          Was Sone and Heir, wherof ben wrothe
          The fader and the moder bothe.   1430
          That knyht Branchus was of his hond
          The worthieste of al his lond,
          And fain thei wolden do vengance
          Upon Florent, bot remembrance
          That thei toke of his worthinesse
          Of knyhthod and of gentilesse,
          And how he stod of cousinage
          To themperour, made hem assuage,
          And dorsten noght slen him for fere:
          In gret desputeisoun thei were   1440
          Among hemself, what was the beste.
          Ther was a lady, the slyheste
          Of alle that men knewe tho,
          So old sche myhte unethes go,
          And was grantdame unto the dede:
          And sche with that began to rede,
          And seide how sche wol bringe him inne,
          That sche schal him to dethe winne
          Al only of his oghne grant,
          Thurgh strengthe of verray covenant    1450
          Withoute blame of eny wiht.
          Anon sche sende for this kniht,
          And of hire Sone sche alleide
          The deth, and thus to him sche seide:
          "Florent, how so thou be to wyte
          Of Branchus deth, men schal respite
          As now to take vengement,
          Be so thou stonde in juggement
          Upon certein condicioun,
          That thou unto a questioun    1460
          Which I schal axe schalt ansuere;
          And over this thou schalt ek swere,
          That if thou of the sothe faile,
          Ther schal non other thing availe,
          That thou ne schalt thi deth receive.
          And for men schal thee noght deceive,
          That thou therof myht ben avised,
          Thou schalt have day and tyme assised
          And leve saufly forto wende,
          Be so that at thi daies ende     1470
          Thou come ayein with thin avys.
          This knyht, which worthi was and wys,
          This lady preith that he may wite,
          And have it under Seales write,
          What questioun it scholde be
          For which he schal in that degree
          Stonde of his lif in jeupartie.
          With that sche feigneth compaignie,
          And seith: "Florent, on love it hongeth
          Al that to myn axinge longeth:   1480
          What alle wommen most desire
          This wole I axe, and in thempire
          Wher as thou hast most knowlechinge
          Tak conseil upon this axinge."
          Florent this thing hath undertake,
          The day was set, the time take,
          Under his seal he wrot his oth,
          In such a wise and forth he goth
          Hom to his Emes court ayein;
          To whom his aventure plein    1490
          He tolde, of that him is befalle.
          And upon that thei weren alle
          The wiseste of the lond asent,
          Bot natheles of on assent
          Thei myhte noght acorde plat,
          On seide this, an othre that.
          After the disposicioun
          Of naturel complexioun
          To som womman it is plesance,
          That to an other is grevance;    1500
          Bot such a thing in special,
          Which to hem alle in general
          Is most plesant, and most desired
          Above alle othre and most conspired,
          Such o thing conne thei noght finde
          Be Constellacion ne kinde:
          And thus Florent withoute cure
          Mot stonde upon his aventure,
          And is al schape unto the lere,
          As in defalte of his answere.    1510
          This knyht hath levere forto dye
          Than breke his trowthe and forto lye
          In place ther as he was swore,
          And schapth him gon ayein therfore.
          Whan time cam he tok his leve,
          That lengere wolde he noght beleve,
          And preith his Em he be noght wroth,
          For that is a point of his oth,
          He seith, that noman schal him wreke,
          Thogh afterward men hiere speke     1520
          That he par aventure deie.
          And thus he wente forth his weie
          Alone as knyht aventurous,
          And in his thoght was curious
          To wite what was best to do:
          And as he rod al one so,
          And cam nyh ther he wolde be,
          In a forest under a tre
          He syh wher sat a creature,
          A lothly wommannysch figure,   1530
          That forto speke of fleisch and bon
          So foul yit syh he nevere non.
          This knyht behield hir redely,
          And as he wolde have passed by,
          Sche cleped him and bad abide;
          And he his horse heved aside
          Tho torneth, and to hire he rod,
          And there he hoveth and abod,
          To wite what sche wolde mene.
          And sche began him to bemene,     1540
          And seide: "Florent be thi name,
          Thou hast on honde such a game,
          That bot thou be the betre avised,
          Thi deth is schapen and devised,
          That al the world ne mai the save,
          Bot if that thou my conseil have."
          Florent, whan he this tale herde,
          Unto this olde wyht answerde
          And of hir conseil he hir preide.
          And sche ayein to him thus seide:   1550
          "Florent, if I for the so schape,
          That thou thurgh me thi deth ascape
          And take worschipe of thi dede,
          What schal I have to my mede?"
          "What thing," quod he, "that thou wolt axe."
          "I bidde nevere a betre taxe,"
          Quod sche, "bot ferst, er thou be sped,
          Thou schalt me leve such a wedd,
          That I wol have thi trowthe in honde
          That thou schalt be myn housebonde."   1560
          "Nay," seith Florent, "that may noght be."
          "Ryd thanne forth thi wey," quod sche,
          "And if thou go withoute red,
          Thou schalt be sekerliche ded."
          Florent behihte hire good ynowh
          Of lond, of rente, of park, of plowh,
          Bot al that compteth sche at noght.
          Tho fell this knyht in mochel thoght,
          Now goth he forth, now comth ayein,
          He wot noght what is best to sein,   1570
          And thoghte, as he rod to and fro,
          That chese he mot on of the tuo,
          Or forto take hire to his wif
          Or elles forto lese his lif.
          And thanne he caste his avantage,
          That sche was of so gret an age,
          That sche mai live bot a while,
          And thoghte put hire in an Ile,
          Wher that noman hire scholde knowe,
          Til sche with deth were overthrowe.    1580
          And thus this yonge lusti knyht
          Unto this olde lothly wiht
          Tho seide: "If that non other chance
          Mai make my deliverance,
          Bot only thilke same speche
          Which, as thou seist, thou schalt me teche,
          Have hier myn hond, I schal thee wedde."
          And thus his trowthe he leith to wedde.
          With that sche frounceth up the browe:
          "This covenant I wol allowe,"    1590
          Sche seith: "if eny other thing
          Bot that thou hast of my techyng
          Fro deth thi body mai respite,
          I woll thee of thi trowthe acquite,
          And elles be non other weie.
          Now herkne me what I schal seie.
          Whan thou art come into the place,
          Wher now thei maken gret manace
          And upon thi comynge abyde,
          Thei wole anon the same tide     1600
          Oppose thee of thin answere.
          I wot thou wolt nothing forbere
          Of that thou wenest be thi beste,
          And if thou myht so finde reste,
          Wel is, for thanne is ther nomore.
          And elles this schal be my lore,
          That thou schalt seie, upon this Molde
          That alle wommen lievest wolde
          Be soverein of mannes love:
          For what womman is so above,   1610
          Sche hath, as who seith, al hire wille;
          And elles may sche noght fulfille
          What thing hir were lievest have.
          With this answere thou schalt save
          Thiself, and other wise noght.
          And whan thou hast thin ende wroght,
          Com hier ayein, thou schalt me finde,
          And let nothing out of thi minde."
          He goth him forth with hevy chiere,
          As he that not in what manere    1620
          He mai this worldes joie atteigne:
          For if he deie, he hath a peine,
          And if he live, he mot him binde
          To such on which of alle kinde
          Of wommen is thunsemlieste:
          Thus wot he noght what is the beste:
          Bot be him lief or be him loth,
          Unto the Castell forth he goth
          His full answere forto yive,
          Or forto deie or forto live.     1630
          Forth with his conseil cam the lord,
          The thinges stoden of record,
          He sende up for the lady sone,
          And forth sche cam, that olde Mone.
          In presence of the remenant
          The strengthe of al the covenant
          Tho was reherced openly,
          And to Florent sche bad forthi
          That he schal tellen his avis,
          As he that woot what is the pris.   1640
          Florent seith al that evere he couthe,
          Bot such word cam ther non to mowthe,
          That he for yifte or for beheste
          Mihte eny wise his deth areste.
          And thus he tarieth longe and late,
          Til that this lady bad algate
          That he schal for the dom final
          Yive his answere in special
          Of that sche hadde him ferst opposed:
          And thanne he hath trewly supposed     1650
          That he him may of nothing yelpe,
          Bot if so be tho wordes helpe,
          Whiche as the womman hath him tawht;
          Wherof he hath an hope cawht
          That he schal ben excused so,
          And tolde out plein his wille tho.
          And whan that this Matrone herde
          The manere how this knyht ansuerde,
          Sche seide: "Ha treson, wo thee be,
          That hast thus told the privite,     1660
          Which alle wommen most desire!
          I wolde that thou were afire."
          Bot natheles in such a plit
          Florent of his answere is quit:
          And tho began his sorwe newe,
          For he mot gon, or ben untrewe,
          To hire which his trowthe hadde.
          Bot he, which alle schame dradde,
          Goth forth in stede of his penance,
          And takth the fortune of his chance,    1670
          As he that was with trowthe affaited.
          This olde wyht him hath awaited
          In place wher as he hire lefte:
          Florent his wofull heved uplefte
          And syh this vecke wher sche sat,
          Which was the lothlieste what
          That evere man caste on his yhe:
          Hire Nase bass, hire browes hyhe,
          Hire yhen smale and depe set,
          Hire chekes ben with teres wet,   1680
          And rivelen as an emty skyn
          Hangende doun unto the chin,
          Hire Lippes schrunken ben for age,
          Ther was no grace in the visage,
          Hir front was nargh, hir lockes hore,
          Sche loketh forth as doth a More,
          Hire Necke is schort, hir schuldres courbe,
          That myhte a mannes lust destourbe,
          Hire body gret and nothing smal,
          And schortly to descrive hire al,    1690
          Sche hath no lith withoute a lak;
          Bot lich unto the wollesak
          Sche proferth hire unto this knyht,
          And bad him, as he hath behyht,
          So as sche hath ben his warant,
          That he hire holde covenant,
          And be the bridel sche him seseth.
          Bot godd wot how that sche him pleseth
          Of suche wordes as sche spekth:
          Him thenkth welnyh his herte brekth    1700
          For sorwe that he may noght fle,
          Bot if he wolde untrewe be.
          Loke, how a sek man for his hele
          Takth baldemoine with Canele,
          And with the Mirre takth the Sucre,
          Ryht upon such a maner lucre
          Stant Florent, as in this diete:
          He drinkth the bitre with the swete,
          He medleth sorwe with likynge,
          And liveth, as who seith, deyinge;     1710
          His youthe schal be cast aweie
          Upon such on which as the weie
          Is old and lothly overal.
          Bot nede he mot that nede schal:
          He wolde algate his trowthe holde,
          As every knyht therto is holde,
          What happ so evere him is befalle:
          Thogh sche be the fouleste of alle,
          Yet to thonour of wommanhiede
          Him thoghte he scholde taken hiede;    1720
          So that for pure gentilesse,
          As he hire couthe best adresce,
          In ragges, as sche was totore,
          He set hire on his hors tofore
          And forth he takth his weie softe;
          No wonder thogh he siketh ofte.
          Bot as an oule fleth be nyhte
          Out of alle othre briddes syhte,
          Riht so this knyht on daies brode
          In clos him hield, and schop his rode     1730
          On nyhtes time, til the tyde
          That he cam there he wolde abide;
          And prively withoute noise
          He bringth this foule grete Coise
          To his Castell in such a wise
          That noman myhte hire schappe avise,
          Til sche into the chambre cam:
          Wher he his prive conseil nam
          Of suche men as he most troste,
          And tolde hem that he nedes moste   1740
          This beste wedde to his wif,
          For elles hadde he lost his lif.
          The prive wommen were asent,
          That scholden ben of his assent:
          Hire ragges thei anon of drawe,
          And, as it was that time lawe,
          She hadde bath, sche hadde reste,
          And was arraied to the beste.
          Bot with no craft of combes brode
          Thei myhte hire hore lockes schode,     1750
          And sche ne wolde noght be schore
          For no conseil, and thei therfore,
          With such atyr as tho was used,
          Ordeinen that it was excused,
          And hid so crafteliche aboute,
          That noman myhte sen hem oute.
          Bot when sche was fulliche arraied
          And hire atyr was al assaied,
          Tho was sche foulere on to se:
          Bot yit it may non other be,   1760
          Thei were wedded in the nyht;
          So wo begon was nevere knyht
          As he was thanne of mariage.
          And sche began to pleie and rage,
          As who seith, I am wel ynowh;
          Bot he therof nothing ne lowh,
          For sche tok thanne chiere on honde
          And clepeth him hire housebonde,
          And seith, "My lord, go we to bedde,
          For I to that entente wedde,  1770
          That thou schalt be my worldes blisse:"
          And profreth him with that to kisse,
          As sche a lusti Lady were.
          His body myhte wel be there,
          Bot as of thoght and of memoire
          His herte was in purgatoire.
          Bot yit for strengthe of matrimoine
          He myhte make non essoine,
          That he ne mot algates plie
          To gon to bedde of compaignie:  1780
          And whan thei were abedde naked,
          Withoute slep he was awaked;
          He torneth on that other side,
          For that he wolde hise yhen hyde
          Fro lokynge on that foule wyht.
          The chambre was al full of lyht,
          The courtins were of cendal thinne,
          This newe bryd which lay withinne,
          Thogh it be noght with his acord,
          In armes sche beclipte hire lord,   1790
          And preide, as he was torned fro,
          He wolde him torne ayeinward tho;
          "For now," sche seith, "we ben bothe on."
          And he lay stille as eny ston,
          Bot evere in on sche spak and preide,
          And bad him thenke on that he seide,
          Whan that he tok hire be the hond.
          He herde and understod the bond,
          How he was set to his penance,
          And as it were a man in trance  1800
          He torneth him al sodeinly,
          And syh a lady lay him by
          Of eyhtetiene wynter age,
          Which was the faireste of visage
          That evere in al this world he syh:
          And as he wolde have take hire nyh,
          Sche put hire hand and be his leve
          Besoghte him that he wolde leve,
          And seith that forto wynne or lese
          He mot on of tuo thinges chese,  1810
          Wher he wol have hire such on nyht,
          Or elles upon daies lyht,
          For he schal noght have bothe tuo.
          And he began to sorwe tho,
          In many a wise and caste his thoght,
          Bot for al that yit cowthe he noght
          Devise himself which was the beste.
          And sche, that wolde his hertes reste,
          Preith that he scholde chese algate,
          Til ate laste longe and late    1820
          He seide: "O ye, my lyves hele,
          Sey what you list in my querele,
          I not what ansuere I schal yive:
          Bot evere whil that I may live,
          I wol that ye be my maistresse,
          For I can noght miselve gesse
          Which is the beste unto my chois.
          Thus grante I yow myn hole vois,
          Ches for ous bothen, I you preie;
          And what as evere that ye seie,  1830
          Riht as ye wole so wol I."
          "Mi lord," sche seide, " grant merci,
          For of this word that ye now sein,
          That ye have mad me soverein,
          Mi destine is overpassed,
          That nevere hierafter schal be lassed
          Mi beaute, which that I now have,
          Til I be take into my grave;
          Bot nyht and day as I am now
          I schal alwey be such to yow.   1840
          The kinges dowhter of Cizile
          I am, and fell bot siththe awhile,
          As I was with my fader late,
          That my Stepmoder for an hate,
          Which toward me sche hath begonne,
          Forschop me, til I hadde wonne
          The love and sovereinete
          Of what knyht that in his degre
          Alle othre passeth of good name:
          And, as men sein, ye ben the same,  1850
          The dede proeveth it is so;
          Thus am I youres evermo."
          Tho was plesance and joye ynowh,
          Echon with other pleide and lowh;
          Thei live longe and wel thei ferde,
          And clerkes that this chance herde
          Thei writen it in evidence,
          To teche how that obedience
          Mai wel fortune a man to love
          And sette him in his lust above,    1860
          As it befell unto this knyht.
          Forthi, my Sone, if thou do ryht,
          Thou schalt unto thi love obeie,
          And folwe hir will be alle weie.
          Min holy fader, so I wile:
          For ye have told me such a skile
          Of this ensample now tofore,
          That I schal evermo therfore
          Hierafterward myn observance
          To love and to his obeissance   1870
          The betre kepe: and over this
          Of pride if ther oght elles is,
          Wherof that I me schryve schal,
          What thing it is in special,
          Mi fader, axeth, I you preie.
          Now lest, my Sone, and I schal seie:
          For yit ther is Surquiderie,
          Which stant with Pride of compaignie;
          Wherof that thou schalt hiere anon,
          To knowe if thou have gult or non  1880
          Upon the forme as thou schalt hiere:
          Now understond wel the matiere.
          Surquiderie is thilke vice
          Of Pride, which the thridde office
          Hath in his Court, and wol noght knowe
          The trowthe til it overthrowe.
          Upon his fortune and his grace
          Comth "Hadde I wist" fulofte aplace;
          For he doth al his thing be gesse,
          And voideth alle sikernesse.    1890
          Non other conseil good him siemeth
          Bot such as he himselve diemeth;
          For in such wise as he compasseth,
          His wit al one alle othre passeth;
          And is with pride so thurghsoght,
          That he alle othre set at noght,
          And weneth of himselven so,
          That such as he ther be nomo,
          So fair, so semly, ne so wis;
          And thus he wolde bere a pris   1900
          Above alle othre, and noght forthi
          He seith noght ones "grant mercy"
          To godd, which alle grace sendeth,
          So that his wittes he despendeth
          Upon himself, as thogh ther were
          No godd which myhte availe there:
          Bot al upon his oghne witt
          He stant, til he falle in the pitt
          So ferr that he mai noght arise.
          And riht thus in the same wise  1910
          This vice upon the cause of love
          So proudly set the herte above,
          And doth him pleinly forto wene
          That he to loven eny qwene
          Hath worthinesse and sufficance;
          And so withoute pourveance
          Fulofte he heweth up so hihe,
          That chippes fallen in his yhe;
          And ek ful ofte he weneth this,
          Ther as he noght beloved is,  1920
          To be beloved alther best.
          Now, Sone, tell what so thee lest
          Of this that I have told thee hier.
          Ha, fader, be noght in a wer:
          I trowe ther be noman lesse,
          Of eny maner worthinesse,
          That halt him lasse worth thanne I
          To be beloved; and noght forthi
          I seie in excusinge of me,
          To alle men that love is fre.   1930
          And certes that mai noman werne;
          For love is of himself so derne,
          It luteth in a mannes herte:
          Bot that ne schal me noght asterte,
          To wene forto be worthi
          To loven, bot in hir mercy.
          Bot, Sire, of that ye wolden mene,
          That I scholde otherwise wene
          To be beloved thanne I was,
          I am beknowe as in that cas.    1940
          Mi goode Sone, tell me how.
          Now lest, and I wol telle yow,
          Mi goode fader, how it is.
          Fulofte it hath befalle or this
          Thurgh hope that was noght certein,
          Mi wenynge hath be set in vein
          To triste in thing that halp me noght,
          Bot onliche of myn oughne thoght.
          For as it semeth that a belle
          Lik to the wordes that men telle   1950
          Answerth, riht so ne mor ne lesse,
          To yow, my fader, I confesse,
          Such will my wit hath overset,
          That what so hope me behet,
          Ful many a time I wene it soth,
          Bot finali no spied it doth.
          Thus may I tellen, as I can,
          Wenyng beguileth many a man;
          So hath it me, riht wel I wot:
          For if a man wole in a Bot   1960
          Which is withoute botme rowe,
          He moste nedes overthrowe.
          Riht so wenyng hath ferd be me:
          For whanne I wende next have be,
          As I be my wenynge caste,
          Thanne was I furthest ate laste,
          And as a foll my bowe unbende,
          Whan al was failed that I wende.
          Forthi, my fader, as of this,
          That my wenynge hath gon amis   1970
          Touchende to Surquiderie,
          Yif me my penance er I die.
          Bot if ye wolde in eny forme
          Of this matiere a tale enforme,
          Which were ayein this vice set,
          I scholde fare wel the bet.
          Mi Sone, in alle maner wise
          Surquiderie is to despise,
          Wherof I finde write thus.
          The proude knyht Capanes   1980
          He was of such Surquiderie,
          That he thurgh his chivalerie
          Upon himself so mochel triste,
          That to the goddes him ne liste
          In no querele to beseche,
          Bot seide it was an ydel speche,
          Which caused was of pure drede,
          For lack of herte and for no nede.
          And upon such presumpcioun
          He hield this proude opinioun,   1990
          Til ate laste upon a dai,
          Aboute Thebes wher he lay,
          Whan it of Siege was belein,
          This knyht, as the Croniqes sein,
          In alle mennes sihte there,
          Whan he was proudest in his gere,
          And thoghte how nothing myhte him dere,
          Ful armed with his schield and spere
          As he the Cite wolde assaile,
          Godd tok himselve the bataille  2000
          Ayein his Pride, and fro the sky
          A firy thonder sodeinly
          He sende, and him to pouldre smot.
          And thus the Pride which was hot,
          Whan he most in his strengthe wende,
          Was brent and lost withouten ende:
          So that it proeveth wel therfore,
          The strengthe of man is sone lore,
          Bot if that he it wel governe.
          And over this a man mai lerne   2010
          That ek fulofte time it grieveth,
          Whan that a man himself believeth,
          As thogh it scholde him wel beseme
          That he alle othre men can deme,
          And hath foryete his oghne vice.
          A tale of hem that ben so nyce,
          And feigne hemself to be so wise,
          I schal thee telle in such a wise,
          Wherof thou schalt ensample take
          That thou no such thing undertake.    2020
          I finde upon Surquiderie,
          How that whilom of Hungarie
          Be olde daies was a King
          Wys and honeste in alle thing:
          And so befell upon a dai,
          And that was in the Monthe of Maii,
          As thilke time it was usance,
          This kyng with noble pourveance
          Hath for himself his Charr araied,
          Wher inne he wolde ride amaied  2030
          Out of the Cite forto pleie,
          With lordes and with gret nobleie
          Of lusti folk that were yonge:
          Wher some pleide and some songe,
          And some gon and some ryde,
          And some prike here hors aside
          And bridlen hem now in now oute.
          The kyng his yhe caste aboute,
          Til he was ate laste war
          And syh comende ayein his char  2040
          Two pilegrins of so gret age,
          That lich unto a dreie ymage
          Thei weren pale and fade hewed,
          And as a bussh which is besnewed,
          Here berdes weren hore and whyte;
          Ther was of kinde bot a lite,
          That thei ne semen fulli dede.
          Thei comen to the kyng and bede
          Som of his good par charite;
          And he with gret humilite    2050
          Out of his Char to grounde lepte,
          And hem in bothe hise armes kepte
          And keste hem bothe fot and hond
          Before the lordes of his lond,
          And yaf hem of his good therto:
          And whanne he hath this dede do,
          He goth into his char ayein.
          Tho was Murmur, tho was desdeign,
          Tho was compleignte on every side,
          Thei seiden of here oghne Pride    2060
          Eche until othre: "What is this?
          Oure king hath do this thing amis,
          So to abesse his realte
          That every man it myhte se,
          And humbled him in such a wise
          To hem that were of non emprise."
          Thus was it spoken to and fro
          Of hem that were with him tho
          Al prively behinde his bak;
          Bot to himselven noman spak.    2070
          The kinges brother in presence
          Was thilke time, and gret offence
          He tok therof, and was the same
          Above alle othre which most blame
          Upon his liege lord hath leid,
          And hath unto the lordes seid,
          Anon as he mai time finde,
          Ther schal nothing be left behinde,
          That he wol speke unto the king.
          Now lest what fell upon this thing.   2080
          The day was merie and fair ynowh,
          Echon with othre pleide and lowh,
          And fellen into tales newe,
          How that the freisshe floures grewe,
          And how the grene leves spronge,
          And how that love among the yonge
          Began the hertes thanne awake,
          And every bridd hath chose hire make:
          And thus the Maies day to thende
          Thei lede, and hom ayein thei wende.  2090
          The king was noght so sone come,
          That whanne he hadde his chambre nome,
          His brother ne was redi there,
          And broghte a tale unto his Ere
          Of that he dede such a schame
          In hindringe of his oghne name,
          Whan he himself so wolde drecche,
          That to so vil a povere wrecche
          Him deigneth schewe such simplesce
          Ayein thastat of his noblesce:  2100
          And seith he schal it nomor use,
          And that he mot himself excuse
          Toward hise lordes everychon.
          The king stod stille as eny ston,
          And to his tale an Ere he leide,
          And thoghte more than he seide:
          Bot natheles to that he herde
          Wel cortaisly the king answerde,
          And tolde it scholde be amended.
          And thus whan that her tale is ended,  2110
          Al redy was the bord and cloth,
          The king unto his Souper goth
          Among the lordes to the halle;
          And whan thei hadden souped alle,
          Thei token leve and forth thei go.
          The king bethoghte himselve tho
          How he his brother mai chastie,
          That he thurgh his Surquiderie
          Tok upon honde to despreise
          Humilite, which is to preise,    2120
          And therupon yaf such conseil
          Toward his king that was noght heil;
          Wherof to be the betre lered,
          He thenkth to maken him afered.
          It fell so that in thilke dawe
          Ther was ordeined be the lawe
          A trompe with a sterne breth,
          Which cleped was the Trompe of deth:
          And in the Court wher the king was
          A certein man this Trompe of bras  2130
          Hath in kepinge, and therof serveth,
          That whan a lord his deth deserveth,
          He schal this dredful trompe blowe
          Tofore his gate, and make it knowe
          How that the jugement is yove
          Of deth, which schal noght be foryove.
          The king, whan it was nyht, anon
          This man asente and bad him gon
          To trompen at his brother gate;
          And he, which mot so don algate,    2140
          Goth forth and doth the kynges heste.
          This lord, which herde of this tempeste
          That he tofore his gate blew,
          Tho wiste he be the lawe and knew
          That he was sikerliche ded:
          And as of help he wot no red,
          Bot sende for hise frendes alle
          And tolde hem how it is befalle.
          And thei him axe cause why;
          Bot he the sothe noght forthi   2150
          Ne wiste, and ther was sorwe tho:
          For it stod thilke tyme so,
          This trompe was of such sentence,
          That therayein no resistence
          Thei couthe ordeine be no weie,
          That he ne mot algate deie,
          Bot if so that he may pourchace
          To gete his liege lordes grace.
          Here wittes therupon thei caste,
          And ben apointed ate laste.  2160
          This lord a worthi ladi hadde
          Unto his wif, which also dradde
          Hire lordes deth, and children five
          Betwen hem two thei hadde alyve,
          That weren yonge and tendre of age,
          And of stature and of visage
          Riht faire and lusty on to se.
          Tho casten thei that he and sche
          Forth with here children on the morwe,
          As thei that were full of sorwe,    2170
          Al naked bot of smok and scherte,
          To tendre with the kynges herte,
          His grace scholden go to seche
          And pardoun of the deth beseche.
          Thus passen thei that wofull nyht,
          And erly, whan thei sihe it lyht,
          Thei gon hem forth in such a wise
          As thou tofore hast herd devise,
          Al naked bot here schortes one.
          Thei wepte and made mochel mone,    2180
          Here Her hangende aboute here Eres;
          With sobbinge and with sory teres
          This lord goth thanne an humble pas,
          That whilom proud and noble was;
          Wherof the Cite sore afflyhte,
          Of hem that sihen thilke syhte:
          And natheless al openly
          With such wepinge and with such cri
          Forth with hise children and his wif
          He goth to preie for his lif.   2190
          Unto the court whan thei be come,
          And men therinne have hiede nome,
          Ther was no wiht, if he hem syhe,
          Fro water mihte kepe his yhe
          For sorwe which thei maden tho.
          The king supposeth of this wo,
          And feigneth as he noght ne wiste;
          Bot natheles at his upriste
          Men tolden him how that it ferde:
          And whan that he this wonder herde,    2200
          In haste he goth into the halle,
          And alle at ones doun thei falle,
          If eny pite may be founde.
          The king, which seth hem go to grounde,
          Hath axed hem what is the fere,
          Why thei be so despuiled there.
          His brother seide: "Ha lord, mercy!
          I wot non other cause why,
          Bot only that this nyht ful late
          The trompe of deth was at my gate  2210
          In tokne that I scholde deie;
          Thus be we come forto preie
          That ye mi worldes deth respite."
          "Ha fol, how thou art forto wyte,"
          The king unto his brother seith,
          "That thou art of so litel feith,
          That only for a trompes soun
          Hast gon despuiled thurgh the toun,
          Thou and thi wif in such manere
          Forth with thi children that ben here,    2220
          In sihte of alle men aboute,
          For that thou seist thou art in doute
          Of deth, which stant under the lawe
          Of man, and man it mai withdrawe,
          So that it mai par chance faile.
          Now schalt thou noght forthi mervaile
          That I doun fro my Charr alihte,
          Whanne I behield tofore my sihte
          In hem that were of so grete age
          Min oghne deth thurgh here ymage,   2230
          Which god hath set be lawe of kynde,
          Wherof I mai no bote finde:
          For wel I wot, such as thei be,
          Riht such am I in my degree,
          Of fleissh and blod, and so schal deie.
          And thus, thogh I that lawe obeie
          Of which the kinges ben put under,
          It oghte ben wel lasse wonder
          Than thou, which art withoute nede
          For lawe of londe in such a drede,  2240
          Which for tacompte is bot a jape,
          As thing which thou miht overscape.
          Forthi, mi brother, after this
          I rede, sithen that so is
          That thou canst drede a man so sore,
          Dred god with al thin herte more:
          For al schal deie and al schal passe,
          Als wel a Leoun as an asse,
          Als wel a beggere as a lord,
          Towardes deth in on acord    2250
          Thei schullen stonde." And in this wise
          The king hath with hise wordes wise
          His brother tawht and al foryive.
          Forthi, mi Sone, if thou wolt live
          In vertu, thou most vice eschuie,
          And with low herte humblesce suie,
          So that thou be noght surquidous.
          Mi fader, I am amorous,
          Wherof I wolde you beseche
          That ye me som ensample teche,   2260
          Which mihte in loves cause stonde.
          Mi Sone, thou schalt understonde,
          In love and othre thinges alle
          If that Surquiderie falle,
          It may to him noght wel betide
          Which useth thilke vice of Pride,
          Which torneth wisdom to wenynge
          And Sothfastnesse into lesynge
          Thurgh fol ymaginacion.
          And for thin enformacion,  2270
          That thou this vice as I the rede
          Eschuie schalt, a tale I rede,
          Which fell whilom be daies olde,
          So as the clerk Ovide tolde.
          Ther was whilom a lordes Sone,
          Which of his Pride a nyce wone
          Hath cawht, that worthi to his liche,
          To sechen al the worldes riche,
          Ther was no womman forto love.
          So hihe he sette himselve above    2280
          Of stature and of beaute bothe,
          That him thoghte alle wommen lothe:
          So was ther no comparisoun
          As toward his condicioun.
          This yonge lord Narcizus hihte:
          No strengthe of love bowe mihte
          His herte, which is unaffiled;
          Bot ate laste he was beguiled:
          For of the goddes pourveance
          It fell him on a dai par chance,    2290
          That he in all his proude fare
          Unto the forest gan to fare,
          Amonges othre that ther were
          To hunte and to desporte him there.
          And whanne he cam into the place
          Wher that he wolde make his chace,
          The houndes weren in a throwe
          Uncoupled and the hornes blowe:
          The grete hert anon was founde,
          Which swifte feet sette upon grounde,  2300
          And he with spore in horse side
          Him hasteth faste forto ride,
          Til alle men be left behinde.
          And as he rod, under a linde
          Beside a roche, as I thee telle,
          He syh wher sprong a lusty welle:
          The day was wonder hot withalle,
          And such a thurst was on him falle,
          That he moste owther deie or drinke;
          And doun he lihte and be the brinke   2310
          He teide his Hors unto a braunche,
          And leide him lowe forto staunche
          His thurst: and as he caste his lok
          Into the welle and hiede tok,
          He sih the like of his visage,
          And wende ther were an ymage
          Of such a Nimphe as tho was faie,
          Wherof that love his herte assaie
          Began, as it was after sene,
          Of his sotie and made him wene  2320
          It were a womman that he syh.
          The more he cam the welle nyh,
          The nerr cam sche to him ayein;
          So wiste he nevere what to sein;
          For whanne he wepte, he sih hire wepe,
          And whanne he cride, he tok good kepe,
          The same word sche cride also:
          And thus began the newe wo,
          That whilom was to him so strange;
          Tho made him love an hard eschange,    2330
          To sette his herte and to beginne
          Thing which he mihte nevere winne.
          And evere among he gan to loute,
          And preith that sche to him come oute;
          And otherwhile he goth a ferr,
          And otherwhile he draweth nerr,
          And evere he fond hire in o place.
          He wepth, he crith, he axeth grace,
          There as he mihte gete non;
          So that ayein a Roche of Ston,   2340
          As he that knew non other red,
          He smot himself til he was ded.
          Wherof the Nimphes of the welles,
          And othre that ther weren elles
          Unto the wodes belongende,
          The body, which was ded ligende,
          For pure pite that thei have
          Under the grene thei begrave.
          And thanne out of his sepulture
          Ther sprong anon par aventure   2350
          Of floures such a wonder syhte,
          That men ensample take myhte
          Upon the dedes whiche he dede,
          As tho was sene in thilke stede;
          For in the wynter freysshe and faire
          The floures ben, which is contraire
          To kynde, and so was the folie
          Which fell of his Surquiderie.
          Thus he, which love hadde in desdeign,
          Worste of all othre was besein,  2360
          And as he sette his pris most hyhe,
          He was lest worth in loves yhe
          And most bejaped in his wit:
          Wherof the remembrance is yit,
          So that thou myht ensample take,
          And ek alle othre for his sake.
          Mi fader, as touchende of me,
          This vice I thenke forto fle,
          Which of his wenynge overtroweth;
          And nameliche of thing which groweth  2370
          In loves cause or wel or wo
          Yit pryded I me nevere so.
          Bot wolde god that grace sende,
          That toward me my lady wende
          As I towardes hire wene!
          Mi love scholde so be sene,
          Ther scholde go no pride a place.
          Bot I am ferr fro thilke grace,
          As forto speke of tyme now;
          So mot I soffre, and preie yow  2380
          That ye wole axe on other side
          If ther be eny point of Pride,
          Wherof it nedeth to be schrive.
          Mi Sone, godd it thee foryive,
          If thou have eny thing misdo
          Touchende of this, bot overmo
          Ther is an other yit of Pride,
          Which nevere cowthe hise wordes hide,
          That he ne wole himself avaunte;
          Ther mai nothing his tunge daunte,  2390
          That he ne clappeth as a Belle:
          Wherof if thou wolt that I telle,
          It is behovely forto hiere,
          So that thou myht thi tunge stiere,
          Toward the world and stonde in grace,
          Which lacketh ofte in many place
          To him that can noght sitte stille,
          Which elles scholde have al his wille.
          The vice cleped Avantance
          With Pride hath take his aqueintance,  2400
          So that his oghne pris he lasseth,
          When he such mesure overpasseth
          That he his oghne Herald is.
          That ferst was wel is thanne mis,
          That was thankworth is thanne blame,
          And thus the worschipe of his name
          Thurgh pride of his avantarie
          He torneth into vilenie.
          I rede how that this proude vice
          Hath thilke wynd in his office,  2410
          Which thurgh the blastes that he bloweth
          The mannes fame he overthroweth
          Of vertu, which scholde elles springe
          Into the worldes knowlechinge;
          Bot he fordoth it alto sore.
          And riht of such a maner lore
          Ther ben lovers: forthi if thow
          Art on of hem, tell and sei how.
          Whan thou hast taken eny thing
          Of loves yifte, or Nouche or ring,  2420
          Or tok upon thee for the cold
          Som goodly word that thee was told,
          Or frendly chiere or tokne or lettre,
          Wherof thin herte was the bettre,
          Or that sche sende the grietinge,
          Hast thou for Pride of thi likinge
          Mad thin avant wher as the liste?
          I wolde, fader, that ye wiste,
          Mi conscience lith noght hiere:
          Yit hadde I nevere such matiere,    2430
          Wherof min herte myhte amende,
          Noght of so mochel that sche sende
          Be mowthe and seide, "Griet him wel:"
          And thus for that ther is no diel
          Wherof to make myn avant,
          It is to reson acordant
          That I mai nevere, bot I lye,
          Of love make avanterie.
          I wot noght what I scholde have do,
          If that I hadde encheson so,  2440
          As ye have seid hier manyon;
          Bot I fond cause nevere non:
          Bot daunger, which welnyh me slowh,
          Therof I cowthe telle ynowh,
          And of non other Avantance:
          Thus nedeth me no repentance.
          Now axeth furthere of my lif,
          For hierof am I noght gultif.
          Mi Sone, I am wel paid withal;
          For wite it wel in special   2450
          That love of his verrai justice
          Above alle othre ayein this vice
          At alle times most debateth,
          With al his herte and most it hateth.
          And ek in alle maner wise
          Avantarie is to despise,
          As be ensample thou myht wite,
          Which I finde in the bokes write.
          Of hem that we Lombars now calle
          Albinus was the ferste of alle  2460
          Which bar corone of Lombardie,
          And was of gret chivalerie
          In werre ayein diverse kinges.
          So fell amonges othre thinges,
          That he that time a werre hadde
          With Gurmond, which the Geptes ladde,
          And was a myhti kyng also:
          Bot natheles it fell him so,
          Albinus slowh him in the feld,
          Ther halp him nowther swerd ne scheld,    2470
          That he ne smot his hed of thanne,
          Wherof he tok awey the Panne,
          Of which he seide he wolde make
          A Cuppe for Gurmoundes sake,
          To kepe and drawe into memoire
          Of his bataille the victoire.
          And thus whan he the feld hath wonne,
          The lond anon was overronne
          And sesed in his oghne hond,
          Wher he Gurmondes dowhter fond,  2480
          Which Maide Rosemounde hihte,
          And was in every mannes sihte
          A fair, a freissh, a lusti on.
          His herte fell to hire anon,
          And such a love on hire he caste,
          That he hire weddeth ate laste;
          And after that long time in reste
          With hire he duelte, and to the beste
          Thei love ech other wonder wel.
          Bot sche which kepth the blinde whel,  2490
          Venus, whan thei be most above,
          In al the hoteste of here love,
          Hire whiel sche torneth, and thei felle
          In the manere as I schal telle.
          This king, which stod in al his welthe
          Of pes, of worschipe and of helthe,
          And felte him on no side grieved,
          As he that hath his world achieved,
          Tho thoghte he wolde a feste make;
          And that was for his wyves sake,    2500
          That sche the lordes ate feste,
          That were obeissant to his heste,
          Mai knowe: and so forth therupon
          He let ordeine, and sende anon
          Be lettres and be messagiers,
          And warnede alle hise officiers
          That every thing be wel arraied:
          The grete Stiedes were assaied
          For joustinge and for tornement,
          And many a perled garnement  2510
          Embroudred was ayein the dai.
          The lordes in here beste arrai
          Be comen ate time set,
          On jousteth wel, an other bet,
          And otherwhile thei torneie,
          And thus thei casten care aweie
          And token lustes upon honde.
          And after, thou schalt understonde,
          To mete into the kinges halle
          Thei come, as thei be beden alle:  2520
          And whan thei were set and served,
          Thanne after, as it was deserved,
          To hem that worthi knyhtes were,
          So as thei seten hiere and there,
          The pris was yove and spoken oute
          Among the heraldz al aboute.
          And thus benethe and ek above
          Al was of armes and of love,
          Wherof abouten ate bordes
          Men hadde manye sondri wordes,   2530
          That of the merthe which thei made
          The king himself began to glade
          Withinne his herte and tok a pride,
          And sih the Cuppe stonde aside,
          Which mad was of Gurmoundes hed,
          As ye have herd, whan he was ded,
          And was with gold and riche Stones
          Beset and bounde for the nones,
          And stod upon a fot on heihte
          Of burned gold, and with gret sleihte    2540
          Of werkmanschipe it was begrave
          Of such werk as it scholde have,
          And was policed ek so clene
          That no signe of the Skulle is sene,
          Bot as it were a Gripes Ey.
          The king bad bere his Cuppe awey,
          Which stod tofore him on the bord,
          And fette thilke. Upon his word
          This Skulle is fet and wyn therinne,
          Wherof he bad his wif beginne:  2550
          "Drink with thi fader, Dame," he seide.
          And sche to his biddinge obeide,
          And tok the Skulle, and what hire liste
          Sche drank, as sche which nothing wiste
          What Cuppe it was: and thanne al oute
          The kyng in audience aboute
          Hath told it was hire fader Skulle,
          So that the lordes knowe schulle
          Of his bataille a soth witnesse,
          And made avant thurgh what prouesse   2560
          He hath his wyves love wonne,
          Which of the Skulle hath so begonne.
          Tho was ther mochel Pride alofte,
          Thei speken alle, and sche was softe,
          Thenkende on thilke unkynde Pride,
          Of that hire lord so nyh hire side
          Avanteth him that he hath slain
          And piked out hire fader brain,
          And of the Skulle had mad a Cuppe.
          Sche soffreth al til thei were uppe,   2570
          And tho sche hath seknesse feigned,
          And goth to chambre and hath compleigned
          Unto a Maide which sche triste,
          So that non other wyht it wiste.
          This Mayde Glodeside is hote,
          To whom this lady hath behote
          Of ladischipe al that sche can,
          To vengen hire upon this man,
          Which dede hire drinke in such a plit
          Among hem alle for despit    2580
          Of hire and of hire fader bothe;
          Wherof hire thoghtes ben so wrothe,
          Sche seith, that sche schal noght be glad,
          Til that sche se him so bestad
          That he nomore make avant.
          And thus thei felle in covenant,
          That thei acorden ate laste,
          With suche wiles as thei caste
          That thei wol gete of here acord
          Som orped knyht to sle this lord:  2590
          And with this sleihte thei beginne,
          How thei Helmege myhten winne,
          Which was the kinges Boteler,
          A proud a lusti Bacheler,
          And Glodeside he loveth hote.
          And sche, to make him more assote,
          Hire love granteth, and be nyhte
          Thei schape how thei togedre myhte
          Abedde meete: and don it was
          This same nyht; and in this cas    2600
          The qwene hirself the nyht secounde
          Wente in hire stede, and there hath founde
          A chambre derk withoute liht,
          And goth to bedde to this knyht.
          And he, to kepe his observance,
          To love doth his obeissance,
          And weneth it be Glodeside;
          And sche thanne after lay aside,
          And axeth him what he hath do,
          And who sche was sche tolde him tho,   2610
          And seide: "Helmege, I am thi qwene,
          Now schal thi love wel be sene
          Of that thou hast thi wille wroght:
          Or it schal sore ben aboght,
          Or thou schalt worche as I thee seie.
          And if thou wolt be such a weie
          Do my plesance and holde it stille,
          For evere I schal ben at thi wille,
          Bothe I and al myn heritage."
          Anon the wylde loves rage,    2620
          In which noman him can governe,
          Hath mad him that he can noght werne,
          Bot fell al hol to hire assent:
          And thus the whiel is al miswent,
          The which fortune hath upon honde;
          For how that evere it after stonde,
          Thei schope among hem such a wyle,
          The king was ded withinne a whyle.
          So slihly cam it noght aboute
          That thei ne ben descoevered oute,  2630
          So that it thoghte hem for the beste
          To fle, for there was no reste:
          And thus the tresor of the king
          Thei trusse and mochel other thing,
          And with a certein felaschipe
          Thei fledde and wente awey be schipe,
          And hielde here rihte cours fro thenne,
          Til that thei come to Ravenne,
          Wher thei the Dukes helpe soghte.
          And he, so as thei him besoghte,    2640
          A place granteth forto duelle;
          Bot after, whan he herde telle
          Of the manere how thei have do,
          This Duk let schape for hem so,
          That of a puison which thei drunke
          Thei hadden that thei have beswunke.
          And al this made avant of Pride:
          Good is therfore a man to hide
          His oghne pris, for if he speke,
          He mai lihtliche his thonk tobreke.   2650
          In armes lith non avantance
          To him which thenkth his name avance
          And be renomed of his dede:
          And also who that thenkth to spede
          Of love, he mai him noght avaunte;
          For what man thilke vice haunte,
          His pourpos schal fulofte faile.
          In armes he that wol travaile
          Or elles loves grace atteigne,
          His lose tunge he mot restreigne,   2660
          Which berth of his honour the keie.
          Forthi, my Sone, in alle weie
          Tak riht good hiede of this matiere.
          I thonke you, my fader diere,
          This scole is of a gentil lore;
          And if ther be oght elles more
          Of Pride, which I schal eschuie,
          Now axeth forth, and I wol suie
          What thing that ye me wole enforme.
          Mi Sone, yit in other forme  2670
          Ther is a vice of Prides lore,
          Which lich an hauk whan he wol sore,
          Fleith upon heihte in his delices
          After the likynge of his vices,
          And wol no mannes resoun knowe,
          Till he doun falle and overthrowe.
          This vice veine gloire is hote,
          Wherof, my Sone, I thee behote
          To trete and speke in such a wise,
          That thou thee myht the betre avise.  2680
          The proude vice of veine gloire
          Remembreth noght of purgatoire,
          Hise worldes joyes ben so grete,
          Him thenkth of hevene no beyete;
          This lives Pompe is al his pes:
          Yit schal he deie natheles,
          And therof thenkth he bot a lite,
          For al his lust is to delite
          In newe thinges, proude and veine,
          Als ferforth as he mai atteigne.   2690
          I trowe, if that he myhte make
          His body newe, he wolde take
          A newe forme and leve his olde:
          For what thing that he mai beholde,
          The which to comun us is strange,
          Anon his olde guise change
          He wole and falle therupon,
          Lich unto the Camelion,
          Which upon every sondri hewe
          That he beholt he moste newe    2700
          His colour, and thus unavised
          Fulofte time he stant desguised.
          Mor jolif than the brid in Maii
          He makth him evere freissh and gay,
          And doth al his array desguise,
          So that of him the newe guise
          Of lusti folk alle othre take;
          And ek he can carolles make,
          Rondeal, balade and virelai.
          And with al this, if that he may   2710
          Of love gete him avantage,
          Anon he wext of his corage
          So overglad, that of his ende
          Him thenkth ther is no deth comende:
          For he hath thanne at alle tide
          Of love such a maner pride,
          Him thenkth his joie is endeles.
          Now schrif thee, Sone, in godes pes,
          And of thi love tell me plein
          If that thi gloire hath be so vein.   2720
          Mi fader, as touchinge of al
          I may noght wel ne noght ne schal
          Of veine gloire excuse me,
          That I ne have for love be
          The betre adresced and arraied;
          And also I have ofte assaied
          Rondeal, balade and virelai
          For hire on whom myn herte lai
          To make, and also forto peinte
          Caroles with my wordes qweinte,  2730
          To sette my pourpos alofte;
          And thus I sang hem forth fulofte
          In halle and ek in chambre aboute,
          And made merie among the route,
          Bot yit ne ferde I noght the bet.
          Thus was my gloire in vein beset
          Of al the joie that I made;
          For whanne I wolde with hire glade,
          And of hire love songes make,
          Sche saide it was noght for hir sake,  2740
          And liste noght my songes hiere
          Ne witen what the wordes were.
          So forto speke of myn arrai,
          Yit couthe I nevere be so gay
          Ne so wel make a songe of love,
          Wherof I myhte ben above
          And have encheson to be glad;
          Bot rathere I am ofte adrad
          For sorwe that sche seith me nay.
          And natheles I wol noght say,    2750
          That I nam glad on other side;
          For fame, that can nothing hide,
          Alday wol bringe unto myn Ere
          Of that men speken hier and there,
          How that my ladi berth the pris,
          How sche is fair, how sche is wis,
          How sche is wommanlich of chiere;
          Of al this thing whanne I mai hiere,
          What wonder is thogh I be fain?
          And ek whanne I may hiere sain  2760
          Tidinges of my ladi hele,
          Althogh I may noght with hir dele,
          Yit am I wonder glad of that;
          For whanne I wot hire good astat,
          As for that time I dar wel swere,
          Non other sorwe mai me dere,
          Thus am I gladed in this wise.
          Bot, fader, of youre lores wise,
          Of whiche ye be fully tawht,
          Now tell me if yow thenketh awht   2770
          That I therof am forto wyte.
          Of that ther is I thee acquite,
          Mi sone, he seide, and for thi goode
          I wolde that thou understode:
          For I thenke upon this matiere
          To telle a tale, as thou schalt hiere,
          How that ayein this proude vice
          The hihe god of his justice
          Is wroth and gret vengance doth.
          Now herkne a tale that is soth:    2780
          Thogh it be noght of loves kinde,
          A gret ensample thou schalt finde
          This veine gloire forto fle,
          Which is so full of vanite.
          Ther was a king that mochel myhte,
          Which Nabugodonosor hihte,
          Of whom that I spak hier tofore.
          Yit in the bible his name is bore,
          For al the world in Orient
          Was hol at his comandement:  2790
          As thanne of kinges to his liche
          Was non so myhty ne so riche;
          To his Empire and to his lawes,
          As who seith, alle in thilke dawes
          Were obeissant and tribut bere,
          As thogh he godd of Erthe were.
          With strengthe he putte kinges under,
          And wroghte of Pride many a wonder;
          He was so full of veine gloire,
          That he ne hadde no memoire  2800
          That ther was eny good bot he,
          For pride of his prosperite;
          Til that the hihe king of kinges,
          Which seth and knoweth alle thinges,
          Whos yhe mai nothing asterte,-
          The privetes of mannes herte
          Thei speke and sounen in his Ere
          As thogh thei lowde wyndes were,-
          He tok vengance upon this pride.
          Bot for he wolde awhile abide   2810
          To loke if he him wolde amende,
          To him a foretokne he sende,
          And that was in his slep be nyhte.
          This proude kyng a wonder syhte
          Hadde in his swevene, ther he lay:
          Him thoghte, upon a merie day
          As he behield the world aboute,
          A tree fulgrowe he syh theroute,
          Which stod the world amiddes evene,
          Whos heihte straghte up to the hevene;   2820
          The leves weren faire and large,
          Of fruit it bar so ripe a charge,
          That alle men it myhte fede:
          He sih also the bowes spriede
          Above al Erthe, in whiche were
          The kinde of alle briddes there;
          And eke him thoghte he syh also
          The kinde of alle bestes go
          Under this tre aboute round
          And fedden hem upon the ground.    2830
          As he this wonder stod and syh,
          Him thoghte he herde a vois on hih
          Criende, and seide aboven alle:
          "Hew doun this tree and lett it falle,
          The leves let defoule in haste
          And do the fruit destruie and waste,
          And let of schreden every braunche,
          Bot ate Rote let it staunche.
          Whan al his Pride is cast to grounde,
          The rote schal be faste bounde,  2840
          And schal no mannes herte bere,
          Bot every lust he schal forbere
          Of man, and lich an Oxe his mete
          Of gras he schal pourchace and ete,
          Til that the water of the hevene
          Have waisshen him be times sevene,
          So that he be thurghknowe ariht
          What is the heveneliche myht,
          And be mad humble to the wille
          Of him which al mai save and spille."    2850
          This king out of his swefne abreide,
          And he upon the morwe it seide
          Unto the clerkes whiche he hadde:
          Bot non of hem the sothe aradde,
          Was non his swevene cowthe undo.
          And it stod thilke time so,
          This king hadde in subjeccioun
          Judee, and of affeccioun
          Above alle othre on Daniel
          He loveth, for he cowthe wel    2860
          Divine that non other cowthe:
          To him were alle thinges cowthe,
          As he it hadde of goddes grace.
          He was before the kinges face
          Asent, and bode that he scholde
          Upon the point the king of tolde
          The fortune of his swevene expounde,
          As it scholde afterward be founde.
          Whan Daniel this swevene herde,
          He stod long time er he ansuerde,   2870
          And made a wonder hevy chiere.
          The king tok hiede of his manere,
          And bad him telle that he wiste,
          As he to whom he mochel triste,
          And seide he wolde noght be wroth.
          Bot Daniel was wonder loth,
          And seide: "Upon thi fomen alle,
          Sire king, thi swevene mote falle;
          And natheles touchende of this
          I wol the tellen how it is,   2880
          And what desese is to thee schape:
          God wot if thou it schalt ascape.
          The hihe tree, which thou hast sein
          With lef and fruit so wel besein,
          The which stod in the world amiddes,
          So that the bestes and the briddes
          Governed were of him al one,
          Sire king, betokneth thi persone,
          Which stant above all erthli thinges.
          Thus regnen under the the kinges,   2890
          And al the poeple unto thee louteth,
          And al the world thi pouer doubteth,
          So that with vein honour deceived
          Thou hast the reverence weyved
          Fro him which is thi king above,
          That thou for drede ne for love
          Wolt nothing knowen of thi godd;
          Which now for thee hath mad a rodd,
          Thi veine gloire and thi folie
          With grete peines to chastie.   2900
          And of the vois thou herdest speke,
          Which bad the bowes forto breke
          And hewe and felle doun the tree,
          That word belongeth unto thee;
          Thi regne schal ben overthrowe,
          And thou despuiled for a throwe:
          Bot that the Rote scholde stonde,
          Be that thou schalt wel understonde,
          Ther schal abyden of thi regne
          A time ayein whan thou schalt regne.  2910
          And ek of that thou herdest seie,
          To take a mannes herte aweie
          And sette there a bestial,
          So that he lich an Oxe schal
          Pasture, and that he be bereined
          Be times sefne and sore peined,
          Til that he knowe his goddes mihtes,
          Than scholde he stonde ayein uprihtes,-
          Al this betokneth thin astat,
          Which now with god is in debat:    2920
          Thi mannes forme schal be lassed,
          Til sevene yer ben overpassed,
          And in the liknesse of a beste
          Of gras schal be thi real feste,
          The weder schal upon thee reine.
          And understond that al this peine,
          Which thou schalt soffre thilke tide,
          Is schape al only for thi pride
          Of veine gloire, and of the sinne
          Which thou hast longe stonden inne.   2930
          So upon this condicioun
          Thi swevene hath exposicioun.
          Bot er this thing befalle in dede,
          Amende thee, this wolde I rede:
          Yif and departe thin almesse,
          Do mercy forth with rihtwisnesse,
          Besech and prei the hihe grace,
          For so thou myht thi pes pourchace
          With godd, and stonde in good acord."
          Bot Pride is loth to leve his lord,    2940
          And wol noght soffre humilite
          With him to stonde in no degree;
          And whan a schip hath lost his stiere,
          Is non so wys that mai him stiere
          Ayein the wawes in a rage.
          This proude king in his corage
          Humilite hath so forlore,
          That for no swevene he sih tofore,
          Ne yit for al that Daniel
          Him hath conseiled everydel,  2950
          He let it passe out of his mynde,
          Thurgh veine gloire, and as the blinde,
          He seth no weie, er him be wo.
          And fell withinne a time so,
          As he in Babiloine wente,
          The vanite of Pride him hente;
          His herte aros of veine gloire,
          So that he drowh into memoire
          His lordschipe and his regalie
          With wordes of Surquiderie.  2960
          And whan that he him most avaunteth,
          That lord which veine gloire daunteth,
          Al sodeinliche, as who seith treis,
          Wher that he stod in his Paleis,
          He tok him fro the mennes sihte:
          Was non of hem so war that mihte
          Sette yhe wher that he becom.
          And thus was he from his kingdom
          Into the wilde Forest drawe,
          Wher that the myhti goddes lawe    2970
          Thurgh his pouer dede him transforme
          Fro man into a bestes forme;
          And lich an Oxe under the fot
          He graseth, as he nedes mot,
          To geten him his lives fode.
          Tho thoghte him colde grases goode,
          That whilom eet the hote spices,
          Thus was he torned fro delices:
          The wyn which he was wont to drinke
          He tok thanne of the welles brinke    2980
          Or of the pet or of the slowh,
          It thoghte him thanne good ynowh:
          In stede of chambres wel arraied
          He was thanne of a buissh wel paied,
          The harde ground he lay upon,
          For othre pilwes hath he non;
          The stormes and the Reines falle,
          The wyndes blowe upon him alle,
          He was tormented day and nyht,
          Such was the hihe goddes myht,   2990
          Til sevene yer an ende toke.
          Upon himself tho gan he loke;
          In stede of mete gras and stres,
          In stede of handes longe cles,
          In stede of man a bestes lyke
          He syh; and thanne he gan to syke
          For cloth of gold and for perrie,
          Which him was wont to magnefie.
          Whan he behield his Cote of heres,
          He wepte and with fulwoful teres   3000
          Up to the hevene he caste his chiere
          Wepende, and thoghte in this manere;
          Thogh he no wordes myhte winne,
          Thus seide his herte and spak withinne:
          "O mihti godd, that al hast wroght
          And al myht bringe ayein to noght,
          Now knowe I wel, bot al of thee,
          This world hath no prosperite:
          In thin aspect ben alle liche,
          The povere man and ek the riche,    3010
          Withoute thee ther mai no wight,
          And thou above alle othre miht.
          O mihti lord, toward my vice
          Thi merci medle with justice;
          And I woll make a covenant,
          That of my lif the remenant
          I schal it be thi grace amende,
          And in thi lawe so despende
          That veine gloire I schal eschuie,
          And bowe unto thin heste and suie  3020
          Humilite, and that I vowe."
          And so thenkende he gan doun bowe,
          And thogh him lacke vois and speche,
          He gan up with his feet areche,
          And wailende in his bestly stevene
          He made his pleignte unto the hevene.
          He kneleth in his wise and braieth,
          To seche merci and assaieth
          His god, which made him nothing strange,
          Whan that he sih his pride change.    3030
          Anon as he was humble and tame,
          He fond toward his god the same,
          And in a twinklinge of a lok
          His mannes forme ayein he tok,
          And was reformed to the regne
          In which that he was wont to regne;
          So that the Pride of veine gloire
          Evere afterward out of memoire
          He let it passe. And thus is schewed
          What is to ben of Pride unthewed   3040
          Ayein the hihe goddes lawe,
          To whom noman mai be felawe.
          Forthi, my Sone, tak good hiede
          So forto lede thi manhiede,
          That thou ne be noght lich a beste.
          Bot if thi lif schal ben honeste,
          Thou most humblesce take on honde,
          For thanne myht thou siker stonde:
          And forto speke it otherwise,
          A proud man can no love assise;    3050
          For thogh a womman wolde him plese,
          His Pride can noght ben at ese.
          Ther mai noman to mochel blame
          A vice which is forto blame;
          Forthi men scholde nothing hide
          That mihte falle in blame of Pride,
          Which is the werste vice of alle:
          Wherof, so as it was befalle,
          The tale I thenke of a Cronique
          To telle, if that it mai thee like,    3060
          So that thou myht humblesce suie
          And ek the vice of Pride eschuie,
          Wherof the gloire is fals and vein;
          Which god himself hath in desdeign,
          That thogh it mounte for a throwe,
          It schal doun falle and overthrowe.
          A king whilom was yong and wys,
          The which sette of his wit gret pris.
          Of depe ymaginaciouns
          And strange interpretaciouns,    3070
          Problemes and demandes eke,
          His wisdom was to finde and seke;
          Wherof he wolde in sondri wise
          Opposen hem that weren wise.
          Bot non of hem it myhte bere
          Upon his word to yeve answere,
          Outaken on, which was a knyht;
          To him was every thing so liht,
          That also sone as he hem herde,
          The kinges wordes he answerde;  3080
          What thing the king him axe wolde,
          Therof anon the trowthe he tolde.
          The king somdiel hadde an Envie,
          And thoghte he wolde his wittes plie
          To sette som conclusioun,
          Which scholde be confusioun
          Unto this knyht, so that the name
          And of wisdom the hihe fame
          Toward himself he wolde winne.
          And thus of al his wit withinne    3090
          This king began to studie and muse,
          What strange matiere he myhte use
          The knyhtes wittes to confounde;
          And ate laste he hath it founde,
          And for the knyht anon he sente,
          That he schal telle what he mente.
          Upon thre pointz stod the matiere
          Of questions, as thou schalt hiere.
          The ferste point of alle thre
          Was this: "What thing in his degre    3100
          Of al this world hath nede lest,
          And yet men helpe it althermest?"
          The secounde is: "What most is worth,
          And of costage is lest put forth?"
          The thridde is: "Which is of most cost,
          And lest is worth and goth to lost?"
          The king thes thre demandes axeth,
          And to the knyht this lawe he taxeth,
          That he schal gon and come ayein
          The thridde weke, and telle him plein    3110
          To every point, what it amonteth.
          And if so be that he misconteth,
          To make in his answere a faile,
          Ther schal non other thing availe,
          The king seith, bot he schal be ded
          And lese hise goodes and his hed.
          The knyht was sori of this thing
          And wolde excuse him to the king,
          Bot he ne wolde him noght forbere,
          And thus the knyht of his ansuere  3120
          Goth hom to take avisement:
          Bot after his entendement
          The more he caste his wit aboute,
          The more he stant therof in doute.
          Tho wiste he wel the kinges herte,
          That he the deth ne scholde asterte,
          And such a sorwe hath to him take,
          That gladschipe he hath al forsake.
          He thoghte ferst upon his lif,
          And after that upon his wif,  3130
          Upon his children ek also,
          Of whiche he hadde dowhtres tuo;
          The yongest of hem hadde of age
          Fourtiene yer, and of visage
          Sche was riht fair, and of stature
          Lich to an hevenely figure,
          And of manere and goodli speche,
          Thogh men wolde alle Londes seche,
          Thei scholden noght have founde hir like.
          Sche sih hire fader sorwe and sike,    3140
          And wiste noght the cause why;
          So cam sche to him prively,
          And that was where he made his mone
          Withinne a Gardin al him one;
          Upon hire knes sche gan doun falle
          With humble herte and to him calle,
          And seide: "O goode fader diere,
          Why make ye thus hevy chiere,
          And I wot nothing how it is?
          And wel ye knowen, fader, this,  3150
          What aventure that you felle
          Ye myhte it saufly to me telle,
          For I have ofte herd you seid,
          That ye such trust have on me leid,
          That to my soster ne my brother,
          In al this world ne to non other,
          Ye dorste telle a privite
          So wel, my fader, as to me.
          Forthi, my fader, I you preie,
          Ne casteth noght that herte aweie,  3160
          For I am sche that wolde kepe
          Youre honour." And with that to wepe
          Hire yhe mai noght be forbore,
          Sche wissheth forto ben unbore,
          Er that hire fader so mistriste
          To tellen hire of that he wiste:
          And evere among merci sche cride,
          That he ne scholde his conseil hide
          From hire that so wolde him good
          And was so nyh his fleissh and blod.  3170
          So that with wepinge ate laste
          His chiere upon his child he caste,
          And sorwfulli to that sche preide
          He tolde his tale and thus he seide:
          "The sorwe, dowhter, which I make
          Is noght al only for my sake,
          Bot for thee bothe and for you alle:
          For such a chance is me befalle,
          That I schal er this thridde day
          Lese al that evere I lese may,   3180
          Mi lif and al my good therto:
          Therfore it is I sorwe so."
          "What is the cause, helas!" quod sche,
          "Mi fader, that ye scholden be
          Ded and destruid in such a wise?"
          And he began the pointz devise,
          Whiche as the king told him be mowthe,
          And seid hir pleinly that he cowthe
          Ansuere unto no point of this.
          And sche, that hiereth how it is,   3190
          Hire conseil yaf and seide tho:
          "Mi fader, sithen it is so,
          That ye can se non other weie,
          Bot that ye moste nedes deie,
          I wolde preie of you a thing:
          Let me go with you to the king,
          And ye schull make him understonde
          How ye, my wittes forto fonde,
          Have leid your ansuere upon me;
          And telleth him, in such degre  3200
          Upon my word ye wole abide
          To lif or deth, what so betide.
          For yit par chaunce I may pourchace
          With som good word the kinges grace,
          Your lif and ek your good to save;
          For ofte schal a womman have
          Thing which a man mai noght areche."
          The fader herde his dowhter speche,
          And thoghte ther was resoun inne,
          And sih his oghne lif to winne  3210
          He cowthe don himself no cure;
          So betre him thoghte in aventure
          To put his lif and al his good,
          Than in the maner as it stod
          His lif in certein forto lese.
          And thus thenkende he gan to chese
          To do the conseil of this Maide,
          And tok the pourpos which sche saide.
          The dai was come and forth thei gon,
          Unto the Court thei come anon,   3220
          Wher as the king in juggement
          Was set and hath this knyht assent.
          Arraied in hire beste wise
          This Maiden with hire wordes wise
          Hire fader ladde be the hond
          Into the place, wher he fond
          The king with othre whiche he wolde,
          And to the king knelende he tolde
          As he enformed was tofore,
          And preith the king that he therfore  3230
          His dowhtres wordes wolde take,
          And seith that he wol undertake
          Upon hire wordes forto stonde.
          Tho was ther gret merveile on honde,
          That he, which was so wys a knyht,
          His lif upon so yong a wyht
          Besette wolde in jeupartie,
          And manye it hielden for folie:
          Bot ate laste natheles
          The king comandeth ben in pes,   3240
          And to this Maide he caste his chiere,
          And seide he wolde hire tale hiere,
          He bad hire speke, and sche began:
          "Mi liege lord, so as I can,"
          Quod sche, "the pointz of whiche I herde,
          Thei schul of reson ben ansuerde.
          The ferste I understonde is this,
          What thing of al the world it is,
          Which men most helpe and hath lest nede.
          Mi liege lord, this wolde I rede:  3250
          The Erthe it is, which everemo
          With mannes labour is bego;
          Als wel in wynter as in Maii
          The mannes hond doth what he mai
          To helpe it forth and make it riche,
          And forthi men it delve and dyche
          And eren it with strengthe of plowh,
          Wher it hath of himself ynowh,
          So that his nede is ate leste.
          For every man and bridd and beste,  3260
          And flour and gras and rote and rinde,
          And every thing be weie of kynde
          Schal sterve, and Erthe it schal become;
          As it was out of Erthe nome,
          It schal to therthe torne ayein:
          And thus I mai be resoun sein
          That Erthe is the most nedeles,
          And most men helpe it natheles.
          So that, my lord, touchende of this
          I have ansuerd hou that it is.  3270
          That other point I understod,
          Which most is worth and most is good,
          And costeth lest a man to kepe:
          Mi lord, if ye woll take kepe,
          I seie it is Humilite,
          Thurgh which the hihe trinite
          As for decerte of pure love
          Unto Marie from above,
          Of that he knew hire humble entente,
          His oghne Sone adoun he sente,   3280
          Above alle othre and hire he ches
          For that vertu which bodeth pes:
          So that I may be resoun calle
          Humilite most worth of alle.
          And lest it costeth to maintiene,
          In al the world as it is sene;
          For who that hath humblesce on honde,
          He bringth no werres into londe,
          For he desireth for the beste
          To setten every man in reste.   3290
          Thus with your hihe reverence
          Me thenketh that this evidence
          As to this point is sufficant.
          And touchende of the remenant,
          Which is the thridde of youre axinges,
          What leste is worth of alle thinges,
          And costeth most, I telle it, Pride;
          Which mai noght in the hevene abide,
          For Lucifer with hem that felle
          Bar Pride with him into helle.  3300
          Ther was Pride of to gret a cost,
          Whan he for Pride hath hevene lost;
          And after that in Paradis
          Adam for Pride loste his pris:
          In Midelerthe and ek also
          Pride is the cause of alle wo,
          That al the world ne may suffise
          To stanche of Pride the reprise:
          Pride is the heved of alle Sinne,
          Which wasteth al and mai noght winne;    3310
          Pride is of every mis the pricke,
          Pride is the werste of alle wicke,
          And costneth most and lest is worth
          In place where he hath his forth.
          Thus have I seid that I wol seie
          Of myn answere, and to you preie,
          Mi liege lord, of youre office
          That ye such grace and such justice
          Ordeigne for mi fader hiere,
          That after this, whan men it hiere,    3320
          The world therof mai speke good."
          The king, which reson understod
          And hath al herd how sche hath said,
          Was inly glad and so wel paid
          That al his wraththe is overgo:
          And he began to loke tho
          Upon this Maiden in the face,
          In which he fond so mochel grace,
          That al his pris on hire he leide,
          In audience and thus he seide:  3330
          "Mi faire Maide, wel thee be!
          Of thin ansuere and ek of thee
          Me liketh wel, and as thou wilt,
          Foryive be thi fader gilt.
          And if thou were of such lignage,
          That thou to me were of parage,
          And that thi fader were a Pier,
          As he is now a Bachilier,
          So seker as I have a lif,
          Thou scholdest thanne be my wif.   3340
          Bot this I seie natheles,
          That I wol schape thin encress;
          What worldes good that thou wolt crave,
          Axe of my yifte and thou schalt have."
          And sche the king with wordes wise
          Knelende thonketh in this wise:
          "Mi liege lord, god mot you quite!
          Mi fader hier hath bot a lite
          Of warison, and that he wende
          Hadde al be lost; bot now amende   3350
          He mai wel thurgh your noble grace."
          With that the king riht in his place
          Anon forth in that freisshe hete
          An  Erldom, which thanne of eschete
          Was late falle into his hond,
          Unto this knyht with rente and lond
          Hath yove and with his chartre sesed;
          And thus was all the noise appesed.
          This Maiden, which sat on hire knes
          Tofore the king, hise charitees    3360
          Comendeth, and seide overmore:
          "Mi liege lord, riht now tofore
          Ye seide, as it is of record,
          That if my fader were a lord
          And Pier unto these othre grete,
          Ye wolden for noght elles lete,
          That I ne scholde be your wif;
          And this wot every worthi lif,
          A kinges word it mot ben holde.
          Forthi, my lord, if that ye wolde  3370
          So gret a charite fulfille,
          God wot it were wel my wille:
          For he which was a Bacheler,
          Mi fader, is now mad a Pier;
          So whenne as evere that I cam,
          An Erles dowhter now I am."
          This yonge king, which peised al,
          Hire beaute and hir wit withal,
          As he that was with love hent,
          Anon therto yaf his assent.  3380
          He myhte noght the maide asterte,
          That sche nis ladi of his herte;
          So that he tok hire to his wif,
          To holde whyl that he hath lif:
          And thus the king toward his knyht
          Acordeth him, as it is riht.
          And over this good is to wite,
          In the Cronique as it is write,
          This noble king of whom I tolde
          Of Spaine be tho daies olde  3390
          The kingdom hadde in governance,
          And as the bok makth remembrance,
          Alphonse was his propre name:
          The knyht also, if I schal name,
          Danz Petro hihte, and as men telle,
          His dowhter wyse Peronelle
          Was cleped, which was full of grace:
          And that was sene in thilke place,
          Wher sche hir fader out of teene
          Hath broght and mad hirself a qweene,  3400
          Of that sche hath so wel desclosed
          The pointz wherof sche was opposed.
          Lo now, my Sone, as thou myht hiere,
          Of al this thing to my matiere
          Bot on I take, and that is Pride,
          To whom no grace mai betide:
          In hevene he fell out of his stede,
          And Paradis him was forbede,
          The goode men in Erthe him hate,
          So that to helle he mot algate,  3410
          Where every vertu schal be weyved
          And every vice be received.
          Bot Humblesce is al otherwise,
          Which most is worth, and no reprise
          It takth ayein, bot softe and faire,
          If eny thing stond in contraire,
          With humble speche it is redresced:
          Thus was this yonge Maiden blessed,
          The which I spak of now tofore,
          Hire fader lif sche gat therfore,   3420
          And wan with al the kinges love.
          Forthi, my Sone, if thou wolt love,
          It sit thee wel to leve Pride
          And take Humblesce upon thi side;
          The more of grace thou schalt gete.
          Mi fader, I woll noght foryete
          Of this that ye have told me hiere,
          And if that eny such manere
          Of humble port mai love appaie,
          Hierafterward I thenke assaie:  3430
          Bot now forth over I beseche
          That ye more of my schrifte seche.
          Mi goode Sone, it schal be do:
          Now herkne and ley an Ere to;
          For as touchende of Prides fare,
          Als ferforth as I can declare
          In cause of vice, in cause of love,
          That hast thou pleinly herd above,
          So that ther is nomor to seie
          Touchende of that; bot other weie  3440
          Touchende Envie I thenke telle,
          Which hath the propre kinde of helle,
          Withoute cause to misdo
          Toward himself and othre also,
          Hierafterward as understonde
          Thou schalt the spieces, as thei stonde.

          Explicit Liber Primus

Incipit Liber Secundus

          Inuidie culpa magis est attrita dolore,
               Nam sua mens nullo tempore leta manet:
          Quo gaudent alii, dolet ille, nec vnus amicus
               Est, cui de puro comoda velle facit.
          Proximitatis honor sua corda veretur, et omnis
               Est sibi leticia sic aliena dolor.
          Hoc etenim vicium quam sepe repugnat amanti,
               Non sibi, set reliquis, dum fauet ipsa Venus.
          Est amor ex proprio motu fantasticus, et que
               Gaudia fert alius, credit obesse sibi.

          Now after Pride the secounde
          Ther is, which many a woful stounde
          Towardes othre berth aboute
          Withinne himself and noght withoute;
          For in his thoght he brenneth evere,
          Whan that he wot an other levere
          Or more vertuous than he,
          Which passeth him in his degre;
          Therof he takth his maladie:
          That vice is cleped hot Envie.   10
          Forthi, my Sone, if it be so
          Thou art or hast ben on of tho,
          As forto speke in loves cas,
          If evere yit thin herte was
          Sek of an other mannes hele?
          So god avance my querele,
          Mi fader, ye, a thousend sithe:
          Whanne I have sen an other blithe
          Of love, and hadde a goodly chiere,
          Ethna, which brenneth yer be yere,     20
          Was thanne noght so hot as I
          Of thilke Sor which prively
          Min hertes thoght withinne brenneth.
          The Schip which on the wawes renneth,
          And is forstormed and forblowe,
          Is noght more peined for a throwe
          Than I am thanne, whanne I se
          An other which that passeth me
          In that fortune of loves yifte.
          Bot, fader, this I telle in schrifte,     30
          That is nowher bot in o place;
          For who that lese or finde grace
          In other stede, it mai noght grieve:
          Bot this ye mai riht wel believe,
          Toward mi ladi that I serve,
          Thogh that I wiste forto sterve,
          Min herte is full of such sotie,
          That I myself mai noght chastie.
          Whan I the Court se of Cupide
          Aproche unto my ladi side     40
          Of hem that lusti ben and freisshe,-
          Thogh it availe hem noght a reisshe,
          Bot only that thei ben in speche,-
          My sorwe is thanne noght to seche:
          Bot whan thei rounen in hire Ere,
          Than groweth al my moste fere,
          And namly whan thei talen longe;
          My sorwes thanne be so stronge
          Of that I se hem wel at ese,
          I can noght telle my desese.     50
          Bot, Sire, as of my ladi selve,
          Thogh sche have wowers ten or twelve,
          For no mistrust I have of hire
          Me grieveth noght, for certes, Sire,
          I trowe, in al this world to seche,
          Nis womman that in dede and speche
          Woll betre avise hire what sche doth,
          Ne betre, forto seie a soth,
          Kepe hire honour ate alle tide,
          And yit get hire a thank beside.    60
          Bot natheles I am beknowe,
          That whanne I se at eny throwe,
          Or elles if I mai it hiere,
          That sche make eny man good chiere,
          Thogh I therof have noght to done,
          Mi thought wol entermette him sone.
          For thogh I be miselve strange,
          Envie makth myn herte change,
          That I am sorghfully bestad
          Of that I se an other glad    70
          With hire; bot of other alle,
          Of love what so mai befalle,
          Or that he faile or that he spede,
          Therof take I bot litel heede.
          Now have I seid, my fader, al
          As of this point in special,
          Als ferforthli as I have wist.
          Now axeth further what you list.
          Mi Sone, er I axe eny more,
          I thenke somdiel for thi lore    80
          Telle an ensample of this matiere
          Touchende Envie, as thou schalt hiere.
          Write in Civile this I finde:
          Thogh it be noght the houndes kinde
          To ete chaf, yit wol he werne
          An Oxe which comth to the berne,
          Therof to taken eny fode.
          And thus, who that it understode,
          It stant of love in many place:
          Who that is out of loves grace   90
          And mai himselven noght availe,
          He wolde an other scholde faile;
          And if he may put eny lette,
          He doth al that he mai to lette.
          Wherof I finde, as thou schalt wite,
          To this pourpos a tale write.
          Ther ben of suche mo than twelve,
          That ben noght able as of hemselve
          To gete love, and for Envie
          Upon alle othre thei aspie;   100
          And for hem lacketh that thei wolde,
          Thei kepte that non other scholde
          Touchende of love his cause spede:
          Wherof a gret ensample I rede,
          Which unto this matiere acordeth,
          As Ovide in his bok recordeth,
          How Poliphemus whilom wroghte,
          Whan that he Galathee besoghte
          Of love, which he mai noght lacche.
          That made him forto waite and wacche   110
          Be alle weies how it ferde,
          Til ate laste he knew and herde
          How that an other hadde leve
          To love there as he mot leve,
          As forto speke of eny sped:
          So that he knew non other red,
          Bot forto wayten upon alle,
          Til he may se the chance falle
          That he hire love myhte grieve,
          Which he himself mai noght achieve.    120
          This Galathee, seith the Poete,
          Above alle othre was unmete
          Of beaute, that men thanne knewe,
          And hadde a lusti love and trewe,
          A Bacheler in his degree,
          Riht such an other as was sche,
          On whom sche hath hire herte set,
          So that it myhte noght be let
          For yifte ne for no beheste,
          That sche ne was al at his heste.       130
          This yonge knyht Acis was hote,
          Which hire ayeinward als so hote
          Al only loveth and nomo.
          Hierof was Poliphemus wo
          Thurgh pure Envie, and evere aspide,
          And waiteth upon every side,
          Whan he togedre myhte se
          This yonge Acis with Galathe.
          So longe he waiteth to and fro,
          Til ate laste he fond hem tuo,   140
          In prive place wher thei stode
          To speke and have here wordes goode.
          The place wher as he hem syh,
          It was under a banke nyh
          The grete See, and he above
          Stod and behield the lusti love
          Which ech of hem to other made
          With goodly chiere and wordes glade,
          That al his herte hath set afyre
          Of pure Envie: and as a fyre     150
          Which fleth out of a myhti bowe,
          Aweie he fledde for a throwe,
          As he that was for love wod,
          Whan that he sih how that it stod.
          This Polipheme a Geant was;
          And whan he sih the sothe cas,
          How Galathee him hath forsake
          And Acis to hire love take,
          His herte mai it noght forbere
          That he ne roreth lich a Bere;   160
          And as it were a wilde beste,
          The whom no reson mihte areste,
          He ran Ethna the hell aboute,
          Wher nevere yit the fyr was oute,
          Fulfild of sorghe and gret desese,
          That he syh Acis wel at ese.
          Til ate laste he him bethoghte,
          As he which al Envie soghte,
          And torneth to the banke ayein,
          Wher he with Galathee hath seyn     170
          Acis, whom that he thoghte grieve,
          Thogh he himself mai noght relieve.
          This Geant with his ruide myht
          Part of the banke he schof doun riht,
          The which evene upon Acis fell,
          So that with fallinge of this hell
          This Poliphemus Acis slowh,
          Wherof sche made sorwe ynowh.
          And as sche fledde fro the londe,
          Neptunus tok hire into honde     180
          And kept hire in so sauf a place
          Fro Polipheme and his manace,
          That he with al his false Envie
          Ne mihte atteigne hir compaignie.
          This Galathee of whom I speke,
          That of hirself mai noght be wreke,
          Withouten eny semblant feigned
          Sche hath hire loves deth compleigned,
          And with hire sorwe and with hire wo
          Sche hath the goddes moeved so,     190
          That thei of pite and of grace
          Have Acis in the same place,
          Ther he lai ded, into a welle
          Transformed, as the bokes telle,
          With freisshe stremes and with cliere,
          As he whilom with lusti chiere
          Was freissh his love forto qweme.
          And with this ruide Polipheme
          For his Envie and for his hate
          Thei were wrothe. And thus algate,     200
          Mi Sone, thou myht understonde,
          That if thou wolt in grace stonde
          With love, thou most leve Envie:
          And as thou wolt for thi partie
          Toward thi love stonde fre,
          So most thou soffre an other be,
          What so befalle upon the chaunce:
          For it is an unwys vengance,
          Which to non other man is lief,
          And is unto himselve grief.   210
          Mi fader, this ensample is good;
          Bot how so evere that it stod
          With Poliphemes love as tho,
          It schal noght stonde with me so,
          To worchen eny felonie
          In love for no such Envie.
          Forthi if ther oght elles be,
          Now axeth forth, in what degre
          It is, and I me schal confesse
          With schrifte unto youre holinesse.    220
          Mi goode Sone, yit ther is
          A vice revers unto this,
          Which envious takth his gladnesse
          Of that he seth the hevinesse
          Of othre men: for his welfare
          Is whanne he wot an other care:
          Of that an other hath a fall,
          He thenkth himself arist withal.
          Such is the gladschipe of Envie
          In worldes thing, and in partie     230
          Fulofte times ek also
          In loves cause it stant riht so.
          If thou, my Sone, hast joie had,
          Whan thou an other sihe unglad,
          Schrif the therof. Mi fader, yis:
          I am beknowe unto you this.
          Of these lovers that loven streyte,
          And for that point which thei coveite
          Ben poursuiantz fro yeer to yere
          In loves Court, whan I may hiere    240
          How that thei clymbe upon the whel,
          And whan thei wene al schal be wel,
          Thei ben doun throwen ate laste,
          Thanne am I fedd of that thei faste,
          And lawhe of that I se hem loure;
          And thus of that thei brewe soure
          I drinke swete, and am wel esed
          Of that I wot thei ben desesed.
          Bot this which I you telle hiere
          Is only for my lady diere;    250
          That for non other that I knowe
          Me reccheth noght who overthrowe,
          Ne who that stonde in love upriht:
          Bot be he squier, be he knyht,
          Which to my ladiward poursuieth,
          The more he lest of that he suieth,
          The mor me thenketh that I winne,
          And am the more glad withinne
          Of that I wot him sorwe endure.
          For evere upon such aventure     260
          It is a confort, as men sein,
          To him the which is wo besein
          To sen an other in his peine,
          So that thei bothe mai compleigne.
          Wher I miself mai noght availe
          To sen an other man travaile,
          I am riht glad if he be let;
          And thogh I fare noght the bet,
          His sorwe is to myn herte a game:
          Whan that I knowe it is the same    270
          Which to mi ladi stant enclined,
          And hath his love noght termined,
          I am riht joifull in my thoght.
          If such Envie grieveth oght,
          As I beknowe me coupable,
          Ye that be wys and resonable,
          Mi fader, telleth youre avis.
          Mi Sone, Envie into no pris
          Of such a forme, I understonde,
          Ne mihte be no resoun stonde     280
          For this Envie hath such a kinde,
          That he wole sette himself behinde
          To hindre with an othre wyht,
          And gladly lese his oghne riht
          To make an other lesen his.
          And forto knowe how it so is,
          A tale lich to this matiere
          I thenke telle, if thou wolt hiere,
          To schewe proprely the vice
          Of this Envie and the malice.    290
          Of Jupiter this finde I write,
          How whilom that he wolde wite
          Upon the pleigntes whiche he herde,
          Among the men how that it ferde,
          As of here wrong condicion
          To do justificacion:
          And for that cause doun he sente
          An Angel, which about wente,
          That he the sothe knowe mai.
          So it befell upon a dai    300
          This Angel, which him scholde enforme,
          Was clothed in a mannes forme,
          And overtok, I understonde,
          Tuo men that wenten over londe,
          Thurgh whiche he thoghte to aspie
          His cause, and goth in compaignie.
          This Angel with hise wordes wise
          Opposeth hem in sondri wise,
          Now lowde wordes and now softe,
          That mad hem to desputen ofte,   310
          And ech of hem his reson hadde.
          And thus with tales he hem ladde
          With good examinacioun,
          Til he knew the condicioun,
          What men thei were bothe tuo;
          And sih wel ate laste tho,
          That on of hem was coveitous,
          And his fela was envious.
          And thus, whan he hath knowlechinge,
          Anon he feigneth departinge,     320
          And seide he mot algate wende.
          Bot herkne now what fell at ende:
          For thanne he made hem understonde
          That he was there of goddes sonde,
          And seide hem, for the kindeschipe
          That thei have don him felaschipe,
          He wole hem do som grace ayein,
          And bad that on of hem schal sein
          What thing him is lievest to crave,
          And he it schal of yifte have;   330
          And over that ek forth withal
          He seith that other have schal
          The double of that his felaw axeth;
          And thus to hem his grace he taxeth.
          The coveitous was wonder glad,
          And to that other man he bad
          And seith that he ferst axe scholde:
          For he supposeth that he wolde
          Make his axinge of worldes good;
          For thanne he knew wel how it stod,    340
          That he himself be double weyhte
          Schal after take, and thus be sleyhte,
          Be cause that he wolde winne,
          He bad his fela ferst beginne.
          This Envious, thogh it be late,
          Whan that he syh he mot algate
          Make his axinge ferst, he thoghte,
          If he worschipe or profit soghte,
          It schal be doubled to his fiere:
          That wolde he chese in no manere.   350
          Bot thanne he scheweth what he was
          Toward Envie, and in this cas
          Unto this Angel thus he seide
          And for his yifte this he preide,
          To make him blind of his on yhe,
          So that his fela nothing syhe.
          This word was noght so sone spoke,
          That his on yhe anon was loke,
          And his felawh forthwith also
          Was blind of bothe his yhen tuo.    360
          Tho was that other glad ynowh,
          That on wepte, and that other lowh,
          He sette his on yhe at no cost,
          Wherof that other two hath lost.
          Of thilke ensample which fell tho,
          Men tellen now fulofte so,
          The world empeireth comunly:
          And yit wot non the cause why;
          For it acordeth noght to kinde
          Min oghne harm to seche and finde   370
          Of that I schal my brother grieve;
          It myhte nevere wel achieve.
          What seist thou, Sone, of this folie?
          Mi fader, bot I scholde lie,
          Upon the point which ye have seid
          Yit was myn herte nevere leid,
          Bot in the wise as I you tolde.
          Bot overmore, if that ye wolde
          Oght elles to my schrifte seie
          Touchende Envie, I wolde preie.     380
          Mi Sone, that schal wel be do:
          Now herkne and ley thin Ere to.
          Touchende as of Envious brod
          I wot noght on of alle good;
          Bot natheles, suche as thei be,
          Yit is ther on, and that is he
          Which cleped in Detraccioun.
          And to conferme his accioun,
          He hath withholde Malebouche,
          Whos tunge neither pyl ne crouche   390
          Mai hyre, so that he pronounce
          A plein good word withoute frounce
          Awher behinde a mannes bak.
          For thogh he preise, he fint som lak,
          Which of his tale is ay the laste,
          That al the pris schal overcaste:
          And thogh ther be no cause why,
          Yit wole he jangle noght forthi,
          As he which hath the heraldie
          Of hem that usen forto lye.   400
          For as the Netle which up renneth
          The freisshe rede Roses brenneth
          And makth hem fade and pale of hewe,
          Riht so this fals Envious hewe,
          In every place wher he duelleth,
          With false wordes whiche he telleth
          He torneth preisinge into blame
          And worschipe into worldes schame.
          Of such lesinge as he compasseth,
          Is non so good that he ne passeth   410
          Betwen his teeth and is bacbited,
          And thurgh his false tunge endited:
          Lich to the Scharnebudes kinde,
          Of whos nature this I finde,
          That in the hoteste of the dai,
          Whan comen is the merie Maii,
          He sprat his wynge and up he fleth:
          And under al aboute he seth
          The faire lusti floures springe,
          Bot therof hath he no likinge;   420
          Bot where he seth of eny beste
          The felthe, ther he makth his feste,
          And therupon he wole alyhte,
          Ther liketh him non other sihte.
          Riht so this janglere Envious,
          Thogh he a man se vertuous
          And full of good condicioun,
          Therof makth he no mencioun:
          Bot elles, be it noght so lyte,
          Wherof that he mai sette a wyte,    430
          Ther renneth he with open mouth,
          Behinde a man and makth it couth.
          Bot al the vertu which he can,
          That wole he hide of every man,
          And openly the vice telle,
          As he which of the Scole of helle
          Is tawht, and fostred with Envie
          Of houshold and of compaignie,
          Wher that he hath his propre office
          To sette on every man a vice.    440
          How so his mouth be comely,
          His word sit evermore awry
          And seith the worste that he may.
          And in this wise now a day
          In loves Court a man mai hiere
          Fulofte pleigne of this matiere,
          That many envious tale is stered,
          Wher that it mai noght ben ansuered;
          Bot yit fulofte it is believed,
          And many a worthi love is grieved   450
          Thurgh bacbitinge of fals Envie.
          If thou have mad such janglerie
          In loves Court, mi Sone, er this,
          Schrif thee therof. Mi fader, yis:
          Bot wite ye how? noght openly,
          Bot otherwhile prively,
          Whan I my diere ladi mete,
          And thenke how that I am noght mete
          Unto hire hihe worthinesse,
          And ek I se the besinesse     460
          Of al this yonge lusty route,
          Whiche alday pressen hire aboute,
          And ech of hem his time awaiteth,
          And ech of hem his tale affaiteth,
          Al to deceive an innocent,
          Which woll noght ben of here assent;
          And for men sein unknowe unkest,
          Hire thombe sche holt in hire fest
          So clos withinne hire oghne hond,
          That there winneth noman lond;   470
          Sche lieveth noght al that sche hiereth,
          And thus fulofte hirself sche skiereth
          And is al war of "hadde I wist":-
          Bot for al that myn herte arist,
          Whanne I thes comun lovers se,
          That woll noght holden hem to thre,
          Bot welnyh loven overal,
          Min herte is Envious withal,
          And evere I am adrad of guile,
          In aunter if with eny wyle    480
          Thei mihte hire innocence enchaunte.
          Forthi my wordes ofte I haunte
          Behynden hem, so as I dar,
          Wherof my ladi may be war:
          I sai what evere comth to mowthe,
          And worse I wolde, if that I cowthe;
          For whanne I come unto hir speche,
          Al that I may enquere and seche
          Of such deceipte, I telle it al,
          And ay the werste in special.    490
          So fayn I wolde that sche wiste
          How litel thei ben forto triste,
          And what thei wolde and what thei mente,
          So as thei be of double entente:
          Thus toward hem that wicke mene
          My wicked word was evere grene.
          And natheles, the soth to telle,
          In certain if it so befelle
          That althertrewest man ybore,
          To chese among a thousend score,    500
          Which were alfulli forto triste,
          Mi ladi lovede, and I it wiste,
          Yit rathere thanne he scholde spede,
          I wolde swiche tales sprede
          To my ladi, if that I myhte,
          That I scholde al his love unrihte,
          And therto wolde I do mi peine.
          For certes thogh I scholde feigne,
          And telle that was nevere thoght,
          For al this world I myhte noght     510
          To soffre an othre fully winne,
          Ther as I am yit to beginne.
          For be thei goode, or be thei badde,
          I wolde non my ladi hadde;
          And that me makth fulofte aspie
          And usen wordes of Envie,
          Al forto make hem bere a blame.
          And that is bot of thilke same,
          The whiche unto my ladi drawe,
          For evere on hem I rounge and gknawe   520
          And hindre hem al that evere I mai;
          And that is, sothly forto say,
          Bot only to my lady selve:
          I telle it noght to ten ne tuelve,
          Therof I wol me wel avise,
          To speke or jangle in eny wise
          That toucheth to my ladi name,
          The which in ernest and in game
          I wolde save into my deth;
          For me were levere lacke breth   530
          Than speken of hire name amis.
          Now have ye herd touchende of this,
          Mi fader, in confessioun:
          And therfor of Detraccioun
          In love, of that I have mispoke,
          Tel how ye wole it schal be wroke.
          I am al redy forto bere
          Mi peine, and also to forbere
          What thing that ye wol noght allowe;
          For who is bounden, he mot bowe.    540
          So wol I bowe unto youre heste,
          For I dar make this beheste,
          That I to yow have nothing hid,
          Bot told riht as it is betid;
          And otherwise of no mispeche,
          Mi conscience forto seche,
          I can noght of Envie finde,
          That I mispoke have oght behinde
          Wherof love owhte be mispaid.
          Now have ye herd and I have said;   550
          What wol ye, fader, that I do?
          Mi Sone, do nomore so,
          Bot evere kep thi tunge stille,
          Thou miht the more have of thi wille.
          For as thou saist thiselven here,
          Thi ladi is of such manere,
          So wys, so war in alle thinge,
          It nedeth of no bakbitinge
          That thou thi ladi mis enforme:
          For whan sche knoweth al the forme,    560
          How that thiself art envious,
          Thou schalt noght be so gracious
          As thou peraunter scholdest elles.
          Ther wol noman drinke of tho welles
          Whiche as he wot is puyson inne;
          And ofte swich as men beginne
          Towardes othre, swich thei finde,
          That set hem ofte fer behinde,
          Whan that thei wene be before.
          Mi goode Sone, and thou therfore    570
          Bewar and lef thi wicke speche,
          Wherof hath fallen ofte wreche
          To many a man befor this time.
          For who so wole his handes lime,
          Thei mosten be the more unclene;
          For many a mote schal be sene,
          That wolde noght cleve elles there;
          And that schold every wys man fere:
          For who so wol an other blame,
          He secheth ofte his oghne schame,   580
          Which elles myhte be riht stille.
          Forthi if that it be thi wille
          To stonde upon amendement,
          A tale of gret entendement
          I thenke telle for thi sake,
          Wherof thou miht ensample take.
          A worthi kniht in Cristes lawe
          Of grete Rome, as is the sawe,
          The Sceptre hadde forto rihte;
          Tiberie Constantin he hihte,     590
          Whos wif was cleped Ytalie:
          Bot thei togedre of progenie
          No children hadde bot a Maide;
          And sche the god so wel apaide,
          That al the wide worldes fame
          Spak worschipe of hire goode name.
          Constance, as the Cronique seith,
          Sche hihte, and was so ful of feith,
          That the greteste of Barbarie,
          Of hem whiche usen marchandie,   600
          Sche hath converted, as thei come
          To hire upon a time in Rome,
          To schewen such thing as thei broghte;
          Whiche worthili of hem sche boghte,
          And over that in such a wise
          Sche hath hem with hire wordes wise
          Of Cristes feith so full enformed,
          That thei therto ben all conformed,
          So that baptesme thei receiven
          And alle here false goddes weyven.     610
          Whan thei ben of the feith certein,
          Thei gon to Barbarie ayein,
          And ther the Souldan for hem sente
          And axeth hem to what entente
          Thei have here ferste feith forsake.
          And thei, whiche hadden undertake
          The rihte feith to kepe and holde,
          The matiere of here tale tolde
          With al the hole circumstance.
          And whan the Souldan of Constance   620
          Upon the point that thei ansuerde
          The beaute and the grace herde,
          As he which thanne was to wedde,
          In alle haste his cause spedde
          To sende for the mariage.
          And furthermor with good corage
          He seith, be so he mai hire have,
          That Crist, which cam this world to save,
          He woll believe: and this recorded,
          Thei ben on either side acorded,    630
          And therupon to make an ende
          The Souldan hise hostages sende
          To Rome, of Princes Sones tuelve:
          Wherof the fader in himselve
          Was glad, and with the Pope avised
          Tuo Cardinals he hath assissed
          With othre lordes many mo,
          That with his doghter scholden go,
          To se the Souldan be converted.
          Bot that which nevere was wel herted,     640
          Envie, tho began travaile
          In destourbance of this spousaile
          So prively that non was war.
          The Moder which this Souldan bar
          Was thanne alyve, and thoghte this
          Unto hirself: "If it so is
          Mi Sone him wedde in this manere,
          Than have I lost my joies hiere,
          For myn astat schal so be lassed."
          Thenkende thus sche hath compassed     650
          Be sleihte how that sche may beguile
          Hire Sone; and fell withinne a while,
          Betwen hem two whan that thei were,
          Sche feigneth wordes in his Ere,
          And in this wise gan to seie:
          "Mi Sone, I am be double weie
          With al myn herte glad and blithe,
          For that miself have ofte sithe
          Desired thou wolt, as men seith,
          Receive and take a newe feith,   660
          Which schal be forthringe of thi lif:
          And ek so worschipful a wif,
          The doughter of an Emperour,
          To wedde it schal be gret honour.
          Forthi, mi Sone, I you beseche
          That I such grace mihte areche,
          Whan that my doughter come schal,
          That I mai thanne in special,
          So as me thenkth it is honeste,
          Be thilke which the ferste feste    670
          Schal make unto hire welcominge."
          The Souldan granteth hire axinge,
          And sche therof was glad ynowh:
          For under that anon sche drowh
          With false wordes that sche spak
          Covine of deth behinde his bak.
          And therupon hire ordinance
          She made so, that whan Constance
          Was come forth with the Romeins,
          Of clerkes and of Citezeins,         680
          A riche feste sche hem made:
          And most whan that thei weren glade,
          With fals covine which sche hadde
          Hire clos Envie tho sche spradde,
          And alle tho that hadden be
          Or in apert or in prive
          Of conseil to the mariage,
          Sche slowh hem in a sodein rage
          Endlong the bord as thei be set,
          So that it myhte noght be let;   690
          Hire oghne Sone was noght quit,
          Bot deide upon the same plit.
          Bot what the hihe god wol spare
          It mai for no peril misfare:
          This worthi Maiden which was there
          Stod thanne, as who seith, ded for feere,
          To se the feste how that it stod,
          Which al was torned into blod:
          The Dissh forthwith the Coppe and al
          Bebled thei weren overal;     700
          Sche sih hem deie on every side;
          No wonder thogh sche wepte and cride
          Makende many a wofull mone.
          Whan al was slain bot sche al one,
          This olde fend, this Sarazine,
          Let take anon this Constantine
          With al the good sche thider broghte,
          And hath ordeined, as sche thoghte,
          A nakid Schip withoute stiere,
          In which the good and hire in fiere,   710
          Vitailed full for yeres fyve,
          Wher that the wynd it wolde dryve,
          Sche putte upon the wawes wilde.
          Bot he which alle thing mai schilde,
          Thre yer, til that sche cam to londe,
          Hire Schip to stiere hath take in honde,
          And in Northumberlond aryveth;
          And happeth thanne that sche dryveth
          Under a Castel with the flod,
          Which upon Humber banke stod     720
          And was the kynges oghne also,
          The which Allee was cleped tho,
          A Saxon and a worthi knyht,
          Bot he believed noght ariht.
          Of this Castell was Chastellein
          Elda the kinges Chamberlein,
          A knyhtly man after his lawe;
          And whan he sih upon the wawe
          The Schip drivende al one so,
          He bad anon men scholden go   730
          To se what it betokne mai.
          This was upon a Somer dai,
          The Schip was loked and sche founde;
          Elda withinne a litel stounde
          It wiste, and with his wif anon
          Toward this yonge ladi gon,
          Wher that thei founden gret richesse;
          Bot sche hire wolde noght confesse,
          Whan thei hire axen what sche was.
          And natheles upon the cas     740
          Out of the Schip with gret worschipe
          Thei toke hire into felaschipe,
          As thei that weren of hir glade:
          Bot sche no maner joie made,
          Bot sorweth sore of that sche fond
          No cristendom in thilke lond;
          Bot elles sche hath al hire wille,
          And thus with hem sche duelleth stille.
          Dame Hermyngheld, which was the wif
          Of Elda, lich hire oghne lif     750
          Constance loveth; and fell so,
          Spekende alday betwen hem two,
          Thurgh grace of goddes pourveance
          This maiden tawhte the creance
          Unto this wif so parfitly,
          Upon a dai that faste by
          In presence of hire housebonde,
          Wher thei go walkende on the Stronde,
          A blind man, which cam there lad,
          Unto this wif criende he bad,    760
          With bothe hise hondes up and preide
          To hire, and in this wise he seide:
          "O Hermyngeld, which Cristes feith,
          Enformed as Constance seith,
          Received hast, yif me my sihte."
          Upon his word hire herte afflihte
          Thenkende what was best to done,
          Bot natheles sche herde his bone
          And seide, "In trust of Cristes lawe,
          Which don was on the crois and slawe,     770
          Thou bysne man, behold and se."
          With that to god upon his kne
          Thonkende he tok his sihte anon,
          Wherof thei merveile everychon,
          Bot Elda wondreth most of alle:
          This open thing which is befalle
          Concludeth him be such a weie,
          That he the feith mot nede obeie.
          Now lest what fell upon this thing.
          This Elda forth unto the king    780
          A morwe tok his weie and rod,
          And Hermyngeld at home abod
          Forth with Constance wel at ese.
          Elda, which thoghte his king to plese,
          As he that thanne unwedded was,
          Of Constance al the pleine cas
          Als goodliche as he cowthe tolde.
          The king was glad and seide he wolde
          Come thider upon such a wise
          That he him mihte of hire avise,    790
          The time apointed forth withal.
          This Elda triste in special
          Upon a knyht, whom fro childhode
          He hadde updrawe into manhode:
          To him he tolde al that he thoghte,
          Wherof that after him forthoghte;
          And natheles at thilke tide
          Unto his wif he bad him ride
          To make redi alle thing
          Ayein the cominge of the king,   800
          And seith that he himself tofore
          Thenkth forto come, and bad therfore
          That he him kepe, and told him whanne.
          This knyht rod forth his weie thanne;
          And soth was that of time passed
          He hadde in al his wit compassed
          How he Constance myhte winne;
          Bot he sih tho no sped therinne,
          Wherof his lust began tabate,
          And that was love is thanne hate;   810
          Of hire honour he hadde Envie,
          So that upon his tricherie
          A lesinge in his herte he caste.
          Til he cam home he hieth faste,
          And doth his ladi tunderstonde
          The Message of hire housebonde:
          And therupon the longe dai
          Thei setten thinges in arrai,
          That al was as it scholde be
          Of every thing in his degree;    820
          And whan it cam into the nyht,
          This wif hire hath to bedde dyht,
          Wher that this Maiden with hire lay.
          This false knyht upon delay
          Hath taried til thei were aslepe,
          As he that wolde his time kepe
          His dedly werkes to fulfille;
          And to the bed he stalketh stille,
          Wher that he wiste was the wif,
          And in his hond a rasour knif    830
          He bar, with which hire throte he cutte,
          And prively the knif he putte
          Under that other beddes side,
          Wher that Constance lai beside.
          Elda cam hom the same nyht,
          And stille with a prive lyht,
          As he that wolde noght awake
          His wif, he hath his weie take
          Into the chambre, and ther liggende
          He fond his dede wif bledende,   840
          Wher that Constance faste by
          Was falle aslepe; and sodeinly
          He cride alowd, and sche awok,
          And forth withal sche caste a lok
          And sih this ladi blede there,
          Wherof swoundende ded for fere
          Sche was, and stille as eny Ston
          She lay, and Elda therupon
          Into the Castell clepeth oute,
          And up sterte every man aboute,     850
          Into the chambre and forth thei wente.
          Bot he, which alle untrouthe mente,
          This false knyht, among hem alle
          Upon this thing which is befalle
          Seith that Constance hath don this dede;
          And to the bed with that he yede
          After the falshed of his speche,
          And made him there forto seche,
          And fond the knif, wher he it leide,
          And thanne he cride and thanne he seide,     860
          "Lo, seth the knif al blody hiere!
          What nedeth more in this matiere
          To axe?" And thus hire innocence
          He sclaundreth there in audience
          With false wordes whiche he feigneth.
          Bot yit for al that evere he pleigneth,
          Elda no full credence tok:
          And happeth that ther lay a bok,
          Upon the which, whan he it sih,
          This knyht hath swore and seid on hih,    870
          That alle men it mihte wite,
          "Now be this bok, which hier is write,
          Constance is gultif, wel I wot."
          With that the hond of hevene him smot
          In tokne of that he was forswore,
          That he hath bothe hise yhen lore,
          Out of his hed the same stounde
          Thei sterte, and so thei weren founde.
          A vois was herd, whan that they felle,
          Which seide, "O dampned man to helle,     880
          Lo, thus hath god the sclaundre wroke
          That thou ayein Constance hast spoke:
          Beknow the sothe er that thou dye."
          And he told out his felonie,
          And starf forth with his tale anon.
          Into the ground, wher alle gon,
          This dede lady was begrave:
          Elda, which thoghte his honour save,
          Al that he mai restreigneth sorwe.
          For the seconde day a morwe   890
          The king cam, as thei were acorded;
          And whan it was to him recorded
          What god hath wroght upon this chaunce,
          He tok it into remembrance
          And thoghte more than he seide.
          For al his hole herte he leide
          Upon Constance, and seide he scholde
          For love of hire, if that sche wolde,
          Baptesme take and Cristes feith
          Believe, and over that he seith     900
          He wol hire wedde, and upon this
          Asseured ech til other is.
          And forto make schorte tales,
          Ther cam a Bisschop out of Wales
          Fro Bangor, and Lucie he hihte,
          Which thurgh the grace of god almihte
          The king with many an other mo
          Hath cristned, and betwen hem tuo
          He hath fulfild the mariage.
          Bot for no lust ne for no rage       910
          Sche tolde hem nevere what sche was;
          And natheles upon the cas
          The king was glad, how so it stod,
          For wel he wiste and understod
          Sche was a noble creature.
          The hihe makere of nature
          Hire hath visited in a throwe,
          That it was openliche knowe
          Sche was with childe be the king,
          Wherof above al other thing   920
          He thonketh god and was riht glad.
          And fell that time he was bestad
          Upon a werre and moste ride;
          And whil he scholde there abide,
          He lefte at hom to kepe his wif
          Suche as he knew of holi lif,
          Elda forth with the Bisschop eke;
          And he with pouer goth to seke
          Ayein the Scottes forto fonde
          The werre which he tok on honde.    930
          The time set of kinde is come,
          This lady hath hire chambre nome,
          And of a Sone bore full,
          Wherof that sche was joiefull,
          Sche was delivered sauf and sone.
          The bisshop, as it was to done,
          Yaf him baptesme and Moris calleth;
          And therupon, as it befalleth,
          With lettres writen of record
          Thei sende unto here liege lord,    940
          That kepers weren of the qweene:
          And he that scholde go betwene,
          The Messager, to Knaresburgh,
          Which toun he scholde passe thurgh,
          Ridende cam the ferste day.
          The kinges Moder there lay,
          Whos rihte name was Domilde,
          Which after al the cause spilde:
          For he, which thonk deserve wolde,
          Unto this ladi goth and tolde    950
          Of his Message al how it ferde.
          And sche with feigned joie it herde
          And yaf him yiftes largely,
          Bot in the nyht al prively
          Sche tok the lettres whiche he hadde,
          Fro point to point and overradde,
          As sche that was thurghout untrewe,
          And let do wryten othre newe
          In stede of hem, and thus thei spieke:
          "Oure liege lord, we thee beseke    960
          That thou with ous ne be noght wroth,
          Though we such thing as is thee loth
          Upon oure trowthe certefie.
          Thi wif, which is of faierie,
          Of such a child delivered is
          Fro kinde which stant al amis:
          Bot for it scholde noght be seie,
          We have it kept out of the weie
          For drede of pure worldes schame,
          A povere child and in the name   970
          Of thilke which is so misbore
          We toke, and therto we be swore,
          That non bot only thou and we
          Schal knowen of this privete:
          Moris it hatte, and thus men wene
          That it was boren of the qweene
          And of thin oghne bodi gete.
          Bot this thing mai noght be foryete,
          That thou ne sende ous word anon
          What is thi wille therupon."     980
          This lettre, as thou hast herd devise,
          Was contrefet in such a wise
          That noman scholde it aperceive:
          And sche, which thoghte to deceive,
          It leith wher sche that other tok.
          This Messager, whan he awok,
          And wiste nothing how it was,
          Aros and rod the grete pas
          And tok this lettre to the king.
          And whan he sih this wonder thing,     990
          He makth the Messager no chiere,
          Bot natheles in wys manere
          He wrote ayein, and yaf hem charge
          That thei ne soffre noght at large
          His wif to go, bot kepe hire stille,
          Til thei have herd mor of his wille.
          This Messager was yifteles,
          Bot with this lettre natheles,
          Or be him lief or be him loth,
          In alle haste ayein he goth   1000
          Be Knaresburgh, and as he wente,
          Unto the Moder his entente
          Of that he fond toward the king
          He tolde; and sche upon this thing
          Seith that he scholde abide al nyht
          And made him feste and chiere ariht,
          Feignende as thogh sche cowthe him thonk.
          Bot he with strong wyn which he dronk
          Forth with the travail of the day
          Was drunke, aslepe and while he lay,   1010
          Sche hath hise lettres overseie
          And formed in an other weie.
          Ther was a newe lettre write,
          Which seith: "I do you forto wite,
          That thurgh the conseil of you tuo
          I stonde in point to ben undo,
          As he which is a king deposed.
          For every man it hath supposed,
          How that my wif Constance is faie;
          And if that I, thei sein, delaie    1020
          To put hire out of compaignie,
          The worschipe of my Regalie
          Is lore; and over this thei telle,
          Hire child schal noght among hem duelle,
          To cleymen eny heritage.
          So can I se non avantage,
          Bot al is lost, if sche abide:
          Forthi to loke on every side
          Toward the meschief as it is,
          I charge you and bidde this,     1030
          That ye the same Schip vitaile,
          In which that sche tok arivaile,
          Therinne and putteth bothe tuo,
          Hireself forthwith hire child also,
          And so forth broght unto the depe
          Betaketh hire the See to kepe.
          Of foure daies time I sette,
          That ye this thing no longer lette,
          So that your lif be noght forsfet."
          And thus this lettre contrefet   1040
          The Messager, which was unwar,
          Upon the kingeshalve bar,
          And where he scholde it hath betake.
          Bot whan that thei have hiede take,
          And rad that writen is withinne,
          So gret a sorwe thei beginne,
          As thei here oghne Moder sihen
          Brent in a fyr before here yhen:
          Ther was wepinge and ther was wo,
          Bot finaly the thing is do.   1050
          Upon the See thei have hire broght,
          Bot sche the cause wiste noght,
          And thus upon the flod thei wone,
          This ladi with hire yonge Sone:
          And thanne hire handes to the hevene
          Sche strawhte, and with a milde stevene
          Knelende upon hire bare kne
          Sche seide, "O hihe mageste,
          Which sest the point of every trowthe,
          Tak of thi wofull womman rowthe         1060
          And of this child that I schal kepe."
          And with that word sche gan to wepe,
          Swounende as ded, and ther sche lay;
          Bot he which alle thinges may
          Conforteth hire, and ate laste
          Sche loketh and hire yhen caste
          Upon hire child and seide this:
          "Of me no maner charge it is
          What sorwe I soffre, bot of thee
          Me thenkth it is a gret pite,    1070
          For if I sterve thou schalt deie:
          So mot I nedes be that weie
          For Moderhed and for tendresse
          With al myn hole besinesse
          Ordeigne me for thilke office,
          As sche which schal be thi Norrice."
          Thus was sche strengthed forto stonde;
          And tho sche tok hire child in honde
          And yaf it sowke, and evere among
          Sche wepte, and otherwhile song     1080
          To rocke with hire child aslepe:
          And thus hire oghne child to kepe
          Sche hath under the goddes cure.
          And so fell upon aventure,
          Whan thilke yer hath mad his ende,
          Hire Schip, so as it moste wende
          Thurgh strengthe of wynd which god hath yive,
          Estward was into Spaigne drive
          Riht faste under a Castell wall,
          Wher that an hethen Amirall   1090
          Was lord, and he a Stieward hadde,
          Oon Thelos, which al was badde,
          A fals knyht and a renegat.
          He goth to loke in what astat
          The Schip was come, and there he fond
          Forth with a child upon hire hond
          This lady, wher sche was al one.
          He tok good hiede of the persone,
          And sih sche was a worthi wiht,
          And thoghte he wolde upon the nyht     1100
          Demene hire at his oghne wille,
          And let hire be therinne stille,
          That mo men sih sche noght that dai.
          At goddes wille and thus sche lai,
          Unknowe what hire schal betide;
          And fell so that be nyhtes tide
          This knyht withoute felaschipe
          Hath take a bot and cam to Schipe,
          And thoghte of hire his lust to take,
          And swor, if sche him daunger make,    1110
          That certeinly sche scholde deie.
          Sche sih ther was non other weie,
          And seide he scholde hire wel conforte,
          That he ferst loke out ate porte,
          That noman were nyh the stede,
          Which myhte knowe what thei dede,
          And thanne he mai do what he wolde.
          He was riht glad that sche so tolde,
          And to the porte anon he ferde:
          Sche preide god, and he hire herde,    1120
          And sodeinliche he was out throwe
          And dreynt, and tho began to blowe
          A wynd menable fro the lond,
          And thus the myhti goddes hond
          Hire hath conveied and defended.
          And whan thre yer be full despended,
          Hire Schip was drive upon a dai,
          Wher that a gret Navye lay
          Of Schipes, al the world at ones:
          And as god wolde for the nones,     1130
          Hire Schip goth in among hem alle,
          And stinte noght, er it be falle
          And hath the vessell undergete,
          Which Maister was of al the Flete,
          Bot there it resteth and abod.
          This grete Schip on Anker rod;
          The Lord cam forth, and whan he sih
          That other ligge abord so nyh,
          He wondreth what it myhte be,
          And bad men to gon in and se.    1140
          This ladi tho was crope aside,
          As sche that wolde hireselven hide,
          For sche ne wiste what thei were:
          Thei soghte aboute and founde hir there
          And broghten up hire child and hire;
          And therupon this lord to spire
          Began, fro whenne that sche cam,
          And what sche was. Quod sche, "I am
          A womman wofully bestad.
          I hadde a lord, and thus he bad,    1150
          That I forth with my litel Sone
          Upon the wawes scholden wone,
          Bot why the cause was, I not:
          Bot he which alle thinges wot
          Yit hath, I thonke him, of his miht
          Mi child and me so kept upriht,
          That we be save bothe tuo."
          This lord hire axeth overmo
          How sche believeth, and sche seith,
          "I lieve and triste in Cristes feith,     1160
          Which deide upon the Rode tree."
          "What is thi name?" tho quod he.
          "Mi name is Couste," sche him seide:
          Bot forthermor for noght he preide
          Of hire astat to knowe plein,
          Sche wolde him nothing elles sein
          Bot of hir name, which sche feigneth;
          Alle othre thinges sche restreigneth,
          That a word more sche ne tolde.
          This lord thanne axeth if sche wolde   1170
          With him abide in compaignie,
          And seide he cam fro Barbarie
          To Romeward, and hom he wente.
          Tho sche supposeth what it mente,
          And seith sche wolde with him wende
          And duelle unto hire lyves ende,
          Be so it be to his plesance.
          And thus upon here aqueintance
          He tolde hire pleinly as it stod,
          Of Rome how that the gentil blod    1180
          In Barbarie was betraied,
          And therupon he hath assaied
          Be werre, and taken such vengance,
          That non of al thilke alliance,
          Be whom the tresoun was compassed,
          Is from the swerd alyve passed;
          Bot of Constance hou it was,
          That cowthe he knowe be no cas,
          Wher sche becam, so as he seide.
          Hire Ere unto his word sche leide,     1190
          Bot forther made sche no chiere.
          And natheles in this matiere
          It happeth thilke time so:
          This Lord, with whom sche scholde go,
          Of Rome was the Senatour,
          And of hir fader themperour
          His brother doughter hath to wyve,
          Which hath hir fader ek alyve,
          And was Salustes cleped tho;
          This wif Heleine hihte also,     1200
          To whom Constance was Cousine.
          Thus to the sike a medicine
          Hath god ordeined of his grace,
          That forthwith in the same place
          This Senatour his trowthe plihte,
          For evere, whil he live mihte,
          To kepe in worschipe and in welthe,
          Be so that god wol yive hire helthe,
          This ladi, which fortune him sende.
          And thus be Schipe forth sailende   1210
          Hire and hir child to Rome he broghte,
          And to his wif tho he besoghte
          To take hire into compaignie:
          And sche, which cowthe of courtesie
          Al that a good wif scholde konne,
          Was inly glad that sche hath wonne
          The felaschip of so good on.
          Til tuelve yeres were agon,
          This Emperoures dowhter Custe
          Forth with the dowhter of Saluste   1220
          Was kept, bot noman redily
          Knew what sche was, and noght forthi
          Thei thoghten wel sche hadde be
          In hire astat of hih degre,
          And every lif hire loveth wel.
          Now herke how thilke unstable whel,
          Which evere torneth, wente aboute.
          The king Allee, whil he was oute,
          As thou tofore hast herd this cas,
          Deceived thurgh his Moder was:   1230
          Bot whan that he cam hom ayein,
          He axeth of his Chamberlein
          And of the Bisschop ek also,
          Wher thei the qweene hadden do.
          And thei answerde, there he bad,
          And have him thilke lettre rad,
          Which he hem sende for warant,
          And tolde him pleinli as it stant,
          And sein, it thoghte hem gret pite
          To se so worthi on as sche,   1240
          With such a child as ther was bore,
          So sodeinly to be forlore.
          He axeth hem what child that were;
          And thei him seiden, that naghere,
          In al the world thogh men it soghte,
          Was nevere womman that forth broghte
          A fairer child than it was on.
          And thanne he axede hem anon,
          Whi thei ne hadden write so:
          Thei tolden, so thei hadden do.     1250
          He seide, "Nay." Thei seiden, "Yis."
          The lettre schewed rad it is,
          Which thei forsoken everidel.
          Tho was it understonde wel
          That ther is tresoun in the thing:
          The Messager tofore the king
          Was broght and sodeinliche opposed;
          And he, which nothing hath supposed
          Bot alle wel, began to seie
          That he nagher upon the weie     1260
          Abod, bot only in a stede;
          And cause why that he so dede
          Was, as he wente to and fro,
          At Knaresburgh be nyhtes tuo
          The kinges Moder made him duelle.
          And whan the king it herde telle,
          Withinne his herte he wiste als faste
          The treson which his Moder caste;
          And thoghte he wolde noght abide,
          Bot forth riht in the same tide     1270
          He tok his hors and rod anon.
          With him ther riden manion,
          To Knaresburgh and forth thei wente,
          And lich the fyr which tunder hente,
          In such a rage, as seith the bok,
          His Moder sodeinliche he tok
          And seide unto hir in this wise:
          "O beste of helle, in what juise
          Hast thou deserved forto deie,
          That hast so falsly put aweie    1280
          With tresoun of thi bacbitinge
          The treweste at my knowlechinge
          Of wyves and the most honeste?
          Bot I wol make this beheste,
          I schal be venged er I go."
          And let a fyr do make tho,
          And bad men forto caste hire inne:
          Bot ferst sche tolde out al the sinne,
          And dede hem alle forto wite
          How sche the lettres hadde write,   1290
          Fro point to point as it was wroght.
          And tho sche was to dethe broght
          And brent tofore hire Sones yhe:
          Wherof these othre, whiche it sihe
          And herden how the cause stod,
          Sein that the juggement is good,
          Of that hir Sone hire hath so served;
          For sche it hadde wel deserved
          Thurgh tresoun of hire false tunge,
          Which thurgh the lond was after sunge,    1300
          Constance and every wiht compleigneth.
          Bot he, whom alle wo distreigneth,
          This sorghfull king, was so bestad,
          That he schal nevermor be glad,
          He seith, eftsone forto wedde,
          Til that he wiste how that sche spedde,
          Which hadde ben his ferste wif:
          And thus his yonge unlusti lif
          He dryveth forth so as he mai.
          Til it befell upon a dai,     1310
          Whan he hise werres hadde achieved,
          And thoghte he wolde be relieved
          Of Soule hele upon the feith
          Which he hath take, thanne he seith
          That he to Rome in pelrinage
          Wol go, wher Pope was Pelage,
          To take his absolucioun.
          And upon this condicioun
          He made Edwyn his lieutenant,
          Which heir to him was apparant,     1320
          That he the lond in his absence
          Schal reule: and thus be providence
          Of alle thinges wel begon
          He tok his leve and forth is gon.
          Elda, which tho was with him there,
          Er thei fulliche at Rome were,
          Was sent tofore to pourveie;
          And he his guide upon the weie,
          In help to ben his herbergour,
          Hath axed who was Senatour,   1330
          That he his name myhte kenne.
          Of Capadoce, he seide, Arcenne
          He hihte, and was a worthi kniht.
          To him goth Elda tho forth riht
          And tolde him of his lord tidinge,
          And preide that for his comynge
          He wolde assigne him herbergage;
          And he so dede of good corage.
          Whan al is do that was to done,
          The king himself cam after sone.    1340
          This Senatour, whan that he com,
          To Couste and to his wif at hom
          Hath told how such a king Allee
          Of gret array to the Citee
          Was come, and Couste upon his tale
          With herte clos and colour pale
          Aswoune fell, and he merveileth
          So sodeinly what thing hire eyleth,
          And cawhte hire up, and whan sche wok,
          Sche syketh with a pitous lok    1350
          And feigneth seknesse of the See;
          Bot it was for the king Allee,
          For joie which fell in hire thoght
          That god him hath to toune broght.
          This king hath spoke with the Pope
          And told al that he cowthe agrope,
          What grieveth in his conscience;
          And thanne he thoghte in reverence
          Of his astat, er that he wente,
          To make a feste, and thus he sente     1360
          Unto the Senatour to come
          Upon the morwe and othre some,
          To sitte with him at the mete.
          This tale hath Couste noght foryete,
          Bot to Moris hire Sone tolde
          That he upon the morwe scholde
          In al that evere he cowthe and mihte
          Be present in the kinges sihte,
          So that the king him ofte sihe.
          Moris tofore the kinges yhe   1370
          Upon the morwe, wher he sat,
          Fulofte stod, and upon that
          The king his chiere upon him caste,
          And in his face him thoghte als faste
          He sih his oghne wif Constance;
          For nature as in resemblance
          Of face hem liketh so to clothe,
          That thei were of a suite bothe.
          The king was moeved in his thoght
          Of that he seth, and knoweth it noght;    1380
          This child he loveth kindely,
          And yit he wot no cause why.
          Bot wel he sih and understod
          That he toward Arcenne stod,
          And axeth him anon riht there,
          If that this child his Sone were.
          He seide, "Yee, so I him calle,
          And wolde it were so befalle,
          Bot it is al in other wise."
          And tho began he to devise    1390
          How he the childes Moder fond
          Upon the See from every lond
          Withinne a Schip was stiereles,
          And how this ladi helpeles
          Forth with hir child he hath forthdrawe.
          The king hath understonde his sawe,
          The childes name and axeth tho,
          And what the Moder hihte also
          That he him wolde telle he preide.
          "Moris this child is hote," he seide,     1400
          "His Moder hatte Couste, and this
          I not what maner name it is."
          But Allee wiste wel ynowh,
          Wherof somdiel smylende he lowh;
          For Couste in Saxoun is to sein
          Constance upon the word Romein.
          Bot who that cowthe specefie
          What tho fell in his fantasie,
          And how his wit aboute renneth
          Upon the love in which he brenneth,    1410
          It were a wonder forto hiere:
          For he was nouther ther ne hiere,
          Bot clene out of himself aweie,
          That he not what to thenke or seie,
          So fain he wolde it were sche.
          Wherof his hertes privete
          Began the werre of yee and nay,
          The which in such balance lay,
          That contenance for a throwe
          He loste, til he mihte knowe     1420
          The sothe: bot in his memoire
          The man which lith in purgatoire
          Desireth noght the hevene more,
          That he ne longeth al so sore
          To wite what him schal betide.
          And whan the bordes were aside
          And every man was rise aboute,
          The king hath weyved al the route,
          And with the Senatour al one
          He spak and preide him of a bone,   1430
          To se this Couste, wher sche duelleth
          At hom with him, so as he telleth.
          The Senatour was wel appaied,
          This thing no lengere is delaied,
          To se this Couste goth the king;
          And sche was warned of the thing,
          And with Heleine forth sche cam
          Ayein the king, and he tho nam
          Good hiede, and whan he sih his wif,
          Anon with al his hertes lif   1440
          He cawhte hire in his arm and kiste.
          Was nevere wiht that sih ne wiste
          A man that more joie made,
          Wherof thei weren alle glade
          Whiche herde tellen of this chance.
          This king tho with his wif Constance,
          Which hadde a gret part of his wille,
          In Rome for a time stille
          Abod and made him wel at ese:
          Bot so yit cowthe he nevere plese   1450
          His wif, that sche him wolde sein
          Of hire astat the trowthe plein,
          Of what contre that sche was bore,
          Ne what sche was, and yit therfore
          With al his wit he hath don sieke.
          Thus as they lihe abedde and spieke,
          Sche preide him and conseileth bothe,
          That for the worschipe of hem bothe,
          So as hire thoghte it were honeste,
          He wolde an honourable feste     1460
          Make, er he wente, in the Cite,
          Wher themperour himself schal be:
          He graunteth al that sche him preide.
          Bot as men in that time seide,
          This Emperour fro thilke day
          That ferst his dowhter wente away
          He was thanne after nevere glad;
          Bot what that eny man him bad
          Of grace for his dowhter sake,
          That grace wolde he noght forsake;     1470
          And thus ful gret almesse he dede,
          Wherof sche hadde many a bede.
          This Emperour out of the toun
          Withinne a ten mile enviroun,
          Where as it thoghte him for the beste,
          Hath sondry places forto reste;
          And as fortune wolde tho,
          He was duellende at on of tho.
          The king Allee forth with thassent
          Of Couste his wif hath thider sent     1480
          Moris his Sone, as he was taght,
          To themperour and he goth straght,
          And in his fader half besoghte,
          As he which his lordschipe soghte,
          That of his hihe worthinesse
          He wolde do so gret meknesse,
          His oghne toun to come and se,
          And yive a time in the cite,
          So that his fader mihte him gete
          That he wolde ones with him ete.    1490
          This lord hath granted his requeste;
          And whan the dai was of the feste,
          In worschipe of here Emperour
          The king and ek the Senatour
          Forth with here wyves bothe tuo,
          With many a lord and lady mo,
          On horse riden him ayein;
          Til it befell, upon a plein
          Thei sihen wher he was comende.
          With that Constance anon preiende   1500
          Spak to hir lord that he abyde,
          So that sche mai tofore ryde,
          To ben upon his bienvenue
          The ferste which schal him salue;
          And thus after hire lordes graunt
          Upon a Mule whyt amblaunt
          Forth with a fewe rod this qweene.
          Thei wondren what sche wolde mene,
          And riden after softe pas;
          Bot whan this ladi come was   1510
          To themperour, in his presence
          Sche seide alowd in audience,
          "Mi lord, mi fader, wel you be!
          And of this time that I se
          Youre honour and your goode hele,
          Which is the helpe of my querele,
          I thonke unto the goddes myht."
          For joie his herte was affliht
          Of that sche tolde in remembrance;
          And whanne he wiste it was Constance,     1520
          Was nevere fader half so blithe.
          Wepende he keste hire ofte sithe,
          So was his herte al overcome;
          For thogh his Moder were come
          Fro deth to lyve out of the grave,
          He mihte nomor wonder have
          Than he hath whan that he hire sih.
          With that hire oghne lord cam nyh
          And is to themperour obeied;
          Bot whan the fortune is bewreied,   1530
          How that Constance is come aboute,
          So hard an herte was non oute,
          That he for pite tho ne wepte.
          Arcennus, which hire fond and kepte,
          Was thanne glad of that is falle,
          So that with joie among hem alle
          Thei riden in at Rome gate.
          This Emperour thoghte al to late,
          Til that the Pope were come,
          And of the lordes sende some     1540
          To preie him that he wolde haste:
          And he cam forth in alle haste,
          And whan that he the tale herde,
          How wonderly this chance ferde,
          He thonketh god of his miracle,
          To whos miht mai be non obstacle:
          The king a noble feste hem made,
          And thus thei weren alle glade.
          A parlement, er that thei wente,
          Thei setten unto this entente,   1550
          To puten Rome in full espeir
          That Moris was apparant heir
          And scholde abide with hem stille,
          For such was al the londes wille.
          Whan every thing was fulli spoke,
          Of sorwe and queint was al the smoke,
          Tho tok his leve Allee the king,
          And with full many a riche thing,
          Which themperour him hadde yive,
          He goth a glad lif forto live;   1560
          For he Constance hath in his hond,
          Which was the confort of his lond.
          For whan that he cam hom ayein,
          Ther is no tunge it mihte sein
          What joie was that ilke stounde
          Of that he hath his qweene founde,
          Which ferst was sent of goddes sonde,
          Whan sche was drive upon the Stronde,
          Be whom the misbelieve of Sinne
          Was left, and Cristes feith cam inne   1570
          To hem that whilom were blinde.
          Bot he which hindreth every kinde
          And for no gold mai be forboght,
          The deth comende er he be soght,
          Tok with this king such aqueintance,
          That he with al his retenance
          Ne mihte noght defende his lif;
          And thus he parteth from his wif,
          Which thanne made sorwe ynowh.
          And therupon hire herte drowh        1580
          To leven Engelond for evere
          And go wher that sche hadde levere,
          To Rome, whenne that sche cam:
          And thus of al the lond sche nam
          Hir leve, and goth to Rome ayein.
          And after that the bokes sein,
          She was noght there bot a throwe,
          Whan deth of kinde hath overthrowe
          Hir worthi fader, which men seide
          That he betwen hire armes deide.    1590
          And afterward the yer suiende
          The god hath mad of hire an ende,
          And fro this worldes faierie
          Hath take hire into compaignie.
          Moris hir Sone was corouned,
          Which so ferforth was abandouned
          To Cristes feith, that men him calle
          Moris the cristeneste of alle.
          And thus the wel meninge of love
          Was ate laste set above;   1600
          And so as thou hast herd tofore,
          The false tunges weren lore,
          Whiche upon love wolden lie.
          Forthi touchende of this Envie
          Which longeth unto bacbitinge,
          Be war thou make no lesinge
          In hindringe of an other wiht:
          And if thou wolt be tawht ariht
          What meschief bakbitinge doth
          Be other weie, a tale soth    1610
          Now miht thou hiere next suiende,
          Which to this vice is acordende.
          In a Cronique, as thou schalt wite,
          A gret ensample I finde write,
          Which I schal telle upon this thing.
          Philippe of Macedoyne kyng
          Two Sones hadde be his wif,
          Whos fame is yit in Grece rif:
          Demetrius the ferste brother
          Was hote, and Perses that other.     1620
          Demetrius men seiden tho
          The betre knyht was of the tuo,
          To whom the lond was entendant,
          As he which heir was apparant
          To regne after his fader dai:
          Bot that thing which no water mai
          Quenche in this world, bot evere brenneth,
          Into his brother herte it renneth,
          The proude Envie of that he sih
          His brother scholde clymbe on hih,     1630
          And he to him mot thanne obeie:
          That may he soffre be no weie.
          With strengthe dorst he nothing fonde,
          So tok he lesinge upon honde,
          Whan he sih time and spak therto.
          For it befell that time so,
          His fader grete werres hadde
          With Rome, whiche he streite ladde
          Thurgh mihty hond of his manhode,
          As he which hath ynowh knihthode,   1640
          And ofte hem hadde sore grieved.
          Bot er the werre were achieved,
          As he was upon ordinance
          At hom in Grece, it fell per chance,
          Demetrius, which ofte aboute
          Ridende was, stod that time oute,
          So that this Perse in his absence,
          Which bar the tunge of pestilence,
          With false wordes whiche he feigneth
          Upon his oghne brother pleigneth    1650
          In privete behinde his bak,
          And to his fader thus he spak:
          "Mi diere fader, I am holde
          Be weie of kinde, as resoun wolde,
          That I fro yow schal nothing hide,
          Which mihte torne in eny side
          Of youre astat into grevance:
          Forthi myn hertes obeissance
          Towardes you I thenke kepe;
          For it is good ye take kepe   1660
          Upon a thing which is me told.
          Mi brother hath ous alle sold
          To hem of Rome, and you also;
          For thanne they behote him so,
          That he with hem schal regne in pes.
          Thus hath he cast for his encress
          That youre astat schal go to noght;
          And this to proeve schal be broght
          So ferforth, that I undertake
          It schal noght wel mow be forsake."    1670
          The king upon this tale ansuerde
          And seide, if this thing which he herde
          Be soth and mai be broght to prove,
          "It schal noght be to his behove,
          Which so hath schapen ous the werste,
          For he himself schal be the ferste
          That schal be ded, if that I mai."
          Thus afterward upon a dai,
          Whan that Demetrius was come,
          Anon his fader hath him nome,    1680
          And bad unto his brother Perse
          That he his tale schal reherse
          Of thilke tresoun which he tolde.
          And he, which al untrowthe wolde,
          Conseileth that so hih a nede
          Be treted wher as it mai spede,
          In comun place of juggement.
          The king therto yaf his assent,
          Demetrius was put in hold,
          Wherof that Perses was bold.       1690
          Thus stod the trowthe under the charge,
          And the falshede goth at large,
          Which thurgh beheste hath overcome
          The greteste of the lordes some,
          That privelich of his acord
          Thei stonde as witnesse of record:
          The jugge was mad favorable:
          Thus was the lawe deceivable
          So ferforth that the trowthe fond
          Rescousse non, and thus the lond    1700
          Forth with the king deceived were.
          The gulteles was dampned there
          And deide upon accusement:
          Bot such a fals conspirement,
          Thogh it be prive for a throwe,
          Godd wolde noght it were unknowe;
          And that was afterward wel proved
          In him which hath the deth controved.
          Of that his brother was so slain
          This Perses was wonder fain,   1710
          As he that tho was apparant,
          Upon the Regne and expectant;
          Wherof he wax so proud and vein,
          That he his fader in desdeign
          Hath take and set of non acompte,
          As he which thoghte him to surmonte;
          That wher he was ferst debonaire,
          He was tho rebell and contraire,
          And noght as heir bot as a king
          He tok upon him alle thing    1720
          Of malice and of tirannie
          In contempt of the Regalie,
          Livende his fader, and so wroghte,
          That whan the fader him bethoghte
          And sih to whether side it drowh,
          Anon he wiste well ynowh
          How Perse after his false tunge
          Hath so thenvious belle runge,
          That he hath slain his oghne brother.
          Wherof as thanne he knew non other,    1730
          Bot sodeinly the jugge he nom,
          Which corrupt sat upon the dom,
          In such a wise and hath him pressed,
          That he the sothe him hath confessed
          Of al that hath be spoke and do.
          Mor sori than the king was tho
          Was nevere man upon this Molde,
          And thoghte in certain that he wolde
          Vengance take upon this wrong.
          Bot thother parti was so strong,    1740
          That for the lawe of no statut
          Ther mai no riht ben execut;
          And upon this division
          The lond was torned up so doun:
          Wherof his herte is so distraght,
          That he for pure sorwe hath caght
          The maladie of which nature
          Is queint in every creature.
          And whan this king was passed thus,
          This false tunged Perses    1750
          The regiment hath underfonge.
          Bot ther mai nothing stonde longe
          Which is noght upon trowthe grounded;
          For god, which alle thing hath bounded
          And sih the falshod of his guile,
          Hath set him bot a litel while,
          That he schal regne upon depos;
          For sodeinliche as he aros
          So sodeinliche doun he fell.
          In thilke time it so befell,     1760
          This newe king of newe Pride
          With strengthe schop him forto ride,
          And seide he wolde Rome waste,
          Wherof he made a besi haste,
          And hath assembled him an host
          In al that evere he mihte most:
          What man that mihte wepne bere
          Of alle he wolde non forbere;
          So that it mihte noght be nombred,
          The folk which after was encombred     1770
          Thurgh him, that god wolde overthrowe.
          Anon it was at Rome knowe,
          The pompe which that Perse ladde;
          And the Romeins that time hadde
          A Consul, which was cleped thus
          Be name, Paul Emilius,
          A noble, a worthi kniht withalle;
          And he, which chief was of hem alle,
          This werre on honde hath undertake.
          And whanne he scholde his leve take    1780
          Of a yong dowhter which was his,
          Sche wepte, and he what cause it is
          Hire axeth, and sche him ansuerde
          That Perse is ded; and he it herde,
          And wondreth what sche meene wolde:
          And sche upon childhode him tolde
          That Perse hir litel hound is ded.
          With that he pulleth up his hed
          And made riht a glad visage,
          And seide how that was a presage    1790
          Touchende unto that other Perse,
          Of that fortune him scholde adverse,
          He seith, for such a prenostik
          Most of an hound was to him lik:
          For as it is an houndes kinde
          To berke upon a man behinde,
          Riht so behinde his brother bak
          With false wordes whiche he spak
          He hath do slain, and that is rowthe.
          "Bot he which hateth alle untrowthe,   1800
          The hihe god, it schal redresse;
          For so my dowhter prophetesse
          Forth with hir litel houndes deth
          Betokneth." And thus forth he geth
          Conforted of this evidence,
          With the Romeins in his defence
          Ayein the Greks that ben comende.
          This Perses, as noght seende
          This meschief which that him abod,
          With al his multitude rod,    1810
          And prided him upon the thing,
          Of that he was become a king,
          And how he hadde his regne gete;
          Bot he hath al the riht foryete
          Which longeth unto governance.
          Wherof thurgh goddes ordinance
          It fell, upon the wynter tide
          That with his host he scholde ride
          Over Danubie thilke flod,
          Which al befrose thanne stod     1820
          So harde, that he wende wel
          To passe: bot the blinde whiel,
          Which torneth ofte er men be war,
          Thilke ys which that the horsmen bar
          Tobrak, so that a gret partie
          Was dreint; of the chivalerie
          The rerewarde it tok aweie,
          Cam non of hem to londe dreie.
          Paulus the worthi kniht Romein
          Be his aspie it herde sein,   1830
          And hasteth him al that he may,
          So that upon that other day
          He cam wher he this host beheld,
          And that was in a large feld,
          Wher the Baneres ben desplaied.
          He hath anon hise men arraied,
          And whan that he was embatailled,
          He goth and hath the feld assailed,
          And slowh and tok al that he fond;
          Wherof the Macedoyne lond,        1840
          Which thurgh king Alisandre honoured
          Long time stod, was tho devoured.
          To Perse and al that infortune
          Thei wyte, so that the comune
          Of al the lond his heir exile;
          And he despeired for the while
          Desguised in a povere wede
          To Rome goth, and ther for nede
          The craft which thilke time was,
          To worche in latoun and in bras,    1850
          He lerneth for his sustienance.
          Such was the Sones pourveance,
          And of his fader it is seid,
          In strong prisoun that he was leid
          In Albe, wher that he was ded
          For hunger and defalte of bred.
          The hound was tokne and prophecie
          That lich an hound he scholde die,
          Which lich was of condicioun,
          Whan he with his detraccioun     1860
          Bark on his brother so behinde.
          Lo, what profit a man mai finde,
          Which hindre wole an other wiht.
          Forthi with al thin hole miht,
          Mi Sone, eschuie thilke vice.
          Mi fader, elles were I nyce:
          For ye therof so wel have spoke,
          That it is in myn herte loke
          And evere schal: bot of Envie,
          If ther be more in his baillie   1870
          Towardes love, sai me what.
          Mi Sone, as guile under the hat
          With sleyhtes of a tregetour
          Is hidd, Envie of such colour
          Hath yit the ferthe deceivant,
          The which is cleped Falssemblant,
          Wherof the matiere and the forme
          Now herkne and I thee schal enforme.
          Of Falssemblant if I schal telle,
          Above alle othre it is the welle    1880
          Out of the which deceipte floweth.
          Ther is noman so wys that knoweth
          Of thilke flod which is the tyde,
          Ne how he scholde himselven guide
          To take sauf passage there.
          And yit the wynd to mannes Ere
          Is softe, and as it semeth oute
          It makth clier weder al aboute;
          Bot thogh it seme, it is noght so.
          For Falssemblant hath everemo    1890
          Of his conseil in compaignie
          The derke untrewe Ypocrisie,
          Whos word descordeth to his thoght:
          Forthi thei ben togedre broght
          Of o covine, of on houshold,
          As it schal after this be told.
          Of Falssemblant it nedeth noght
          To telle of olde ensamples oght;
          For al dai in experience
          A man mai se thilke evidence     1900
          Of faire wordes whiche he hiereth;
          Bot yit the barge Envie stiereth
          And halt it evere fro the londe,
          Wher Falssemblant with Ore on honde
          It roweth, and wol noght arive,
          Bot let it on the wawes dryve
          In gret tempeste and gret debat,
          Wherof that love and his astat
          Empeireth. And therfore I rede,
          Mi Sone, that thou fle and drede    1910
          This vice, and what that othre sein,
          Let thi Semblant be trewe and plein.
          For Falssemblant is thilke vice,
          Which nevere was withoute office:
          Wher that Envie thenkth to guile,
          He schal be for that ilke while
          Of prive conseil Messagier.
          For whan his semblant is most clier,
          Thanne is he most derk in his thoght,
          Thogh men him se, thei knowe him noght;   1920
          Bot as it scheweth in the glas
          Thing which therinne nevere was,
          So scheweth it in his visage
          That nevere was in his corage:
          Thus doth he al his thing with sleyhte.
          Now ley thi conscience in weyhte,
          Mi goode Sone, and schrif the hier,
          If thou were evere Custummer
          To Falssemblant in eny wise.
          For ought I can me yit avise,    1930
          Mi goode fader, certes no.
          If I for love have oght do so,
          Now asketh, I wol praie yow:
          For elles I wot nevere how
          Of Falssemblant that I have gilt.
          Mi Sone, and sithen that thou wilt
          That I schal axe, gabbe noght,
          Bot tell if evere was thi thoght
          With Falssemblant and coverture
          To wite of eny creature    1940
          How that he was with love lad;
          So were he sori, were he glad,
          Whan that thou wistest how it were,
          Al that he rounede in thin Ere
          Thou toldest forth in other place,
          To setten him fro loves grace
          Of what womman that thee beste liste,
          Ther as noman his conseil wiste
          Bot thou, be whom he was deceived
          Of love, and from his pourpos weyved;     1950
          And thoghtest that his destourbance
          Thin oghne cause scholde avance,
          As who saith, "I am so celee,
          Ther mai no mannes privete
          Be heled half so wel as myn."
          Art thou, mi Sone, of such engin?
          Tell on. Mi goode fader, nay
          As for the more part I say;
          Bot of somdiel I am beknowe,
          That I mai stonde in thilke rowe    1960
          Amonges hem that Saundres use.
          I wol me noght therof excuse,
          That I with such colour ne steyne,
          Whan I my beste Semblant feigne
          To my felawh, til that I wot
          Al his conseil bothe cold and hot:
          For be that cause I make him chiere,
          Til I his love knowe and hiere;
          And if so be myn herte soucheth
          That oght unto my ladi toucheth     1970
          Of love that he wol me telle,
          Anon I renne unto the welle
          And caste water in the fyr,
          So that his carte amidd the Myr,
          Be that I have his conseil knowe,
          Fulofte sithe I overthrowe,
          Whan that he weneth best to stonde.
          Bot this I do you understonde,
          If that a man love elles where,
          So that my ladi be noght there,     1980
          And he me telle, I wole it hide,
          Ther schal no word ascape aside,
          For with deceipte of no semblant
          To him breke I no covenant;
          Me liketh noght in other place
          To lette noman of his grace,
          Ne forto ben inquisitif
          To knowe an other mannes lif:
          Wher that he love or love noght,
          That toucheth nothing to my thoght,    1990
          Bot al it passeth thurgh myn Ere
          Riht as a thing that nevere were,
          And is foryete and leid beside.
          Bot if it touche on eny side
          Mi ladi, as I have er spoken,
          Myn Eres ben noght thanne loken;
          For certes, whanne that betitt,
          My will, myn herte and al my witt
          Ben fully set to herkne and spire
          What eny man wol speke of hire.     2000
          Thus have I feigned compaignie
          Fulofte, for I wolde aspie
          What thing it is that eny man
          Telle of mi worthi lady can:
          And for tuo causes I do this,
          The ferste cause wherof is,-
          If that I myhte ofherkne and seke
          That eny man of hire mispeke,
          I wolde excuse hire so fully,
          That whan sche wist in inderly,     2010
          Min hope scholde be the more
          To have hir thank for everemore.
          That other cause, I you assure,
          Is, why that I be coverture
          Have feigned semblant ofte time
          To hem that passen alday byme
          And ben lovers als wel as I,
          For this I weene trewely,
          That ther is of hem alle non,
          That thei ne loven everich on        2020
          Mi ladi: for sothliche I lieve
          And durste setten it in prieve,
          Is non so wys that scholde asterte,
          Bot he were lustles in his herte,
          Forwhy and he my ladi sihe,
          Hir visage and hir goodlych yhe,
          Bot he hire lovede, er he wente.
          And for that such is myn entente,
          That is the cause of myn aspie,
          Why that I feigne compaignie     2030
          And make felawe overal;
          For gladly wolde I knowen al
          And holde me covert alway,
          That I fulofte ye or nay
          Ne liste ansuere in eny wise,
          Bot feigne semblant as the wise
          And herkne tales, til I knowe
          Mi ladi lovers al arowe.
          And whanne I hiere how thei have wroght,
          I fare as thogh I herde it noght    2040
          And as I no word understode;
          Bot that is nothing for here goode:
          For lieveth wel, the sothe is this,
          That whanne I knowe al how it is,
          I wol bot forthren hem a lite,
          Bot al the worste I can endite
          I telle it to my ladi plat
          In forthringe of myn oghne astat,
          And hindre hem al that evere I may.
          Bot for al that yit dar I say,   2050
          I finde unto miself no bote,
          Althogh myn herte nedes mote
          Thurgh strengthe of love al that I hiere
          Discovere unto my ladi diere:
          For in good feith I have no miht
          To hele fro that swete wiht,
          If that it touche hire eny thing.
          Bot this wot wel the hevene king,
          That sithen ferst this world began,
          Unto non other strange man    2060
          Ne feigned I semblant ne chiere,
          To wite or axe of his matiere,
          Thogh that he lovede ten or tuelve,
          Whanne it was noght my ladi selve:
          Bot if he wolde axe eny red
          Al onlich of his oghne hed,
          How he with other love ferde,
          His tales with myn Ere I herde,
          Bot to myn herte cam it noght
          Ne sank no deppere in my thoght,    2070
          Bot hield conseil, as I was bede,
          And tolde it nevere in other stede,
          Bot let it passen as it com.
          Now, fader, say what is thi dom,
          And hou thou wolt that I be peined
          For such Semblant as I have feigned.
          Mi Sone, if reson be wel peised,
          Ther mai no vertu ben unpreised
          Ne vice non be set in pris.
          Forthi, my Sone, if thou be wys,    2080
          Do no viser upon thi face,
          Which as wol noght thin herte embrace:
          For if thou do, withinne a throwe
          To othre men it schal be knowe,
          So miht thou lihtli falle in blame
          And lese a gret part of thi name.
          And natheles in this degree
          Fulofte time thou myht se
          Of suche men that now aday
          This vice setten in a say:    2090
          I speke it for no mannes blame,
          Bot forto warne thee the same.
          Mi Sone, as I mai hiere talke
          In every place where I walke,
          I not if it be so or non,
          Bot it is manye daies gon
          That I ferst herde telle this,
          How Falssemblant hath ben and is
          Most comunly fro yer to yere
          With hem that duelle among ous here,   2100
          Of suche as we Lombardes calle.
          For thei ben the slyeste of alle,
          So as men sein in toune aboute,
          To feigne and schewe thing withoute
          Which is revers to that withinne:
          Wherof that thei fulofte winne,
          Whan thei be reson scholden lese;
          Thei ben the laste and yit thei chese,
          And we the ferste, and yit behinde
          We gon, there as we scholden finde     2110
          The profit of oure oghne lond:
          Thus gon thei fre withoute bond
          To don her profit al at large,
          And othre men bere al the charge.
          Of Lombardz unto this covine,
          Whiche alle londes conne engine,
          Mai Falssemblant in special
          Be likned, for thei overal,
          Wher as they thenken forto duelle,
          Among hemself, so as thei telle,    2120
          Ferst ben enformed forto lere
          A craft which cleped is Fa crere:
          For if Fa crere come aboute,
          Thanne afterward hem stant no doute
          To voide with a soubtil hond
          The beste goodes of the lond
          And bringe chaf and take corn.
          Where as Fa crere goth toforn,
          In all his weie he fynt no lette;
          That Dore can non huissher schette     2130
          In which him list to take entre:
          And thus the conseil most secre
          Of every thing Fa crere knoweth,
          Which into strange place he bloweth,
          Where as he wot it mai most grieve.
          And thus Fa crere makth believe,
          So that fulofte he hath deceived,
          Er that he mai ben aperceived.
          Thus is this vice forto drede;
          For who these olde bokes rede    2140
          Of suche ensamples as were ar,
          Him oghte be the more war
          Of alle tho that feigne chiere,
          Wherof thou schalt a tale hiere.
          Of Falssemblant which is believed
          Ful many a worthi wiht is grieved,
          And was long time er we wer bore.
          To thee, my Sone, I wol therfore
          A tale telle of Falssemblant,
          Which falseth many a covenant,   2150
          And many a fraude of fals conseil
          Ther ben hangende upon his Seil:
          And that aboghten gulteles
          Bothe Deianire and Hercules,
          The whiche in gret desese felle
          Thurgh Falssemblant, as I schal telle.
          Whan Hercules withinne a throwe
          Al only hath his herte throwe
          Upon this faire Deianire,
          It fell him on a dai desire,     2160
          Upon a Rivere as he stod,
          That passe he wolde over the flod
          Withoute bot, and with him lede
          His love, bot he was in drede
          For tendresce of that swete wiht,
          For he knew noght the forde ariht.
          Ther was a Geant thanne nyh,
          Which Nessus hihte, and whanne he sih
          This Hercules and Deianyre,
          Withinne his herte he gan conspire,    2170
          As he which thurgh his tricherie
          Hath Hercules in gret envie,
          Which he bar in his herte loke,
          And thanne he thoghte it schal be wroke.
          Bot he ne dorste natheles
          Ayein this worthi Hercules
          Falle in debat as forto feihte;
          Bot feigneth Semblant al be sleihte
          Of frendschipe and of alle goode,
          And comth where as thei bothe stode,   2180
          And makth hem al the chiere he can,
          And seith that as here oghne man
          He is al redy forto do
          What thing he mai; and it fell so
          That thei upon his Semblant triste,
          And axen him if that he wiste
          What thing hem were best to done,
          So that thei mihten sauf and sone
          The water passe, he and sche.
          And whan Nessus the privete   2190
          Knew of here herte what it mente,
          As he that was of double entente,
          He made hem riht a glad visage;
          And whanne he herde of the passage
          Of him and hire, he thoghte guile,
          And feigneth Semblant for a while
          To don hem plesance and servise,
          Bot he thoghte al an other wise.
          This Nessus with hise wordes slyhe
          Yaf such conseil tofore here yhe    2200
          Which semeth outward profitable
          And was withinne deceivable.
          He bad hem of the Stremes depe
          That thei be war and take kepe,
          So as thei knowe noght the pas;
          Bot forto helpe in such a cas,
          He seith himself that for here ese
          He wolde, if that it mihte hem plese,
          The passage of the water take,
          And for this ladi undertake       2210
          To bere unto that other stronde
          And sauf to sette hire up alonde,
          And Hercules may thanne also
          The weie knowe how he schal go:
          And herto thei acorden alle.
          Bot what as after schal befalle,
          Wel payd was Hercules of this,
          And this Geant also glad is,
          And tok this ladi up alofte
          And set hire on his schuldre softe,    2220
          And in the flod began to wade,
          As he which no grucchinge made,
          And bar hire over sauf and sound.
          Bot whanne he stod on dreie ground
          And Hercules was fer behinde,
          He sette his trowthe al out of mynde,
          Who so therof be lief or loth,
          With Deianyre and forth he goth,
          As he that thoghte to dissevere
          The compaignie of hem for evere.    2230
          Whan Hercules therof tok hiede,
          Als faste as evere he mihte him spiede
          He hyeth after in a throwe;
          And hapneth that he hadde a bowe,
          The which in alle haste he bende,
          As he that wolde an Arwe sende,
          Which he tofore hadde envenimed.
          He hath so wel his schote timed,
          That he him thurgh the bodi smette,
          And thus the false wiht he lette.   2240
          Bot lest now such a felonie:
          Whan Nessus wiste he scholde die,
          He tok to Deianyre his scherte,
          Which with the blod was of his herte
          Thurghout desteigned overal,
          And tolde how sche it kepe schal
          Al prively to this entente,
          That if hire lord his herte wente
          To love in eny other place,
          The scherte, he seith, hath such a grace,    2250
          That if sche mai so mochel make
          That he the scherte upon him take,
          He schal alle othre lete in vein
          And torne unto hire love ayein.
          Who was tho glad bot Deianyre?
          Hire thoghte hire herte was afyre
          Til it was in hire cofre loke,
          So that no word therof was spoke.
          The daies gon, the yeres passe,
          The hertes waxen lasse and lasse    2260
          Of hem that ben to love untrewe:
          This Hercules with herte newe
          His love hath set on Eolen,
          And therof spieken alle men.
          This Eolen, this faire maide,
          Was, as men thilke time saide,
          The kinges dowhter of Eurice;
          And sche made Hercules so nyce
          Upon hir Love and so assote,
          That he him clotheth in hire cote,     2270
          And sche in his was clothed ofte;
          And thus fieblesce is set alofte,
          And strengthe was put under fote,
          Ther can noman therof do bote.
          Whan Deianyre hath herd this speche,
          Ther was no sorwe forto seche:
          Of other helpe wot sche non,
          Bot goth unto hire cofre anon;
          With wepende yhe and woful herte
          Sche tok out thilke unhappi scherte,   2280
          As sche that wende wel to do,
          And broghte hire werk aboute so
          That Hercules this scherte on dede,
          To such entente as she was bede
          Of Nessus, so as I seide er.
          Bot therof was sche noght the ner,
          As no fortune may be weyved;
          With Falssemblant sche was deceived,
          That whan sche wende best have wonne,
          Sche lost al that sche hath begonne.   2290
          For thilke scherte unto the bon
          His body sette afyre anon,
          And cleveth so, it mai noght twinne,
          For the venym that was therinne.
          And he thanne as a wilde man
          Unto the hihe wode he ran,
          And as the Clerk Ovide telleth,
          The grete tres to grounde he felleth
          With strengthe al of his oghne myght,
          And made an huge fyr upriht,     2300
          And lepte himself therinne at ones
          And brende him bothe fleissh and bones.
          Which thing cam al thurgh Falssemblant,
          That false Nessus the Geant
          Made unto him and to his wif;
          Wherof that he hath lost his lif,
          And sche sori for everemo.
          Forthi, my Sone, er thee be wo,
          I rede, be wel war therfore;
          For whan so gret a man was lore,    2310
          It oghte yive a gret conceipte
          To warne alle othre of such deceipte.
          Grant mercy, fader, I am war
          So fer that I nomore dar
          Of Falssemblant take aqueintance;
          Bot rathere I wol do penance
          That I have feigned chiere er this.
          Now axeth forth, what so ther is
          Of that belongeth to my schrifte.
          Mi Sone, yit ther is the fifte   2320
          Which is conceived of Envie,
          And cleped is Supplantarie,
          Thurgh whos compassement and guile
          Ful many a man hath lost his while
          In love als wel as otherwise,
          Hierafter as I schal devise.
          The vice of Supplantacioun
          With many a fals collacioun,
          Which he conspireth al unknowe,
          Full ofte time hath overthrowe   2330
          The worschipe of an other man.
          So wel no lif awayte can
          Ayein his sleyhte forto caste,
          That he his pourpos ate laste
          Ne hath, er that it be withset.
          Bot most of alle his herte is set
          In court upon these grete Offices
          Of dignitees and benefices:
          Thus goth he with his sleyhte aboute
          To hindre and schowve an other oute    2340
          And stonden with his slyh compas
          In stede there an other was;
          And so to sette himselven inne,
          He reccheth noght, be so he winne,
          Of that an other man schal lese,
          And thus fulofte chalk for chese
          He changeth with ful litel cost,
          Wherof an other hath the lost
          And he the profit schal receive.
          For his fortune is to deceive    2350
          And forto change upon the whel
          His wo with othre mennes wel:
          Of that an other man avaleth,
          His oghne astat thus up he haleth,
          And takth the bridd to his beyete,
          Wher othre men the buisshes bete.
          Mi Sone, and in the same wise
          Ther ben lovers of such emprise,
          That schapen hem to be relieved
          Where it is wrong to ben achieved:     2360
          For it is other mannes riht,
          Which he hath taken dai and niht
          To kepe for his oghne Stor
          Toward himself for everemor,
          And is his propre be the lawe,
          Which thing that axeth no felawe,
          If love holde his covenant.
          Bot thei that worchen be supplaunt,
          Yit wolden thei a man supplaunte,
          And take a part of thilke plaunte   2370
          Which he hath for himselve set:
          And so fulofte is al unknet,
          That som man weneth be riht fast.
          For Supplant with his slyhe cast
          Fulofte happneth forto mowe
          Thing which an other man hath sowe,
          And makth comun of proprete
          With sleihte and with soubtilite,
          As men mai se fro yer to yere.
          Thus cleymeth he the bot to stiere,    2380
          Of which an other maister is.
          Forthi, my Sone, if thou er this
          Hast ben of such professioun,
          Discovere thi confessioun:
          Hast thou supplanted eny man?
          For oght that I you telle can,
          Min holi fader, as of the dede
          I am withouten eny drede
          Al gulteles; bot of my thoght
          Mi conscience excuse I noght.    2390
          For were it wrong or were it riht,
          Me lakketh nothing bote myht,
          That I ne wolde longe er this
          Of other mannes love ywiss
          Be weie of Supplantacioun
          Have mad apropriacioun
          And holde that I nevere boghte,
          Thogh it an other man forthoghte.
          And al this speke I bot of on,
          For whom I lete alle othre gon;     2400
          Bot hire I mai noght overpasse,
          That I ne mot alwey compasse,
          Me roghte noght be what queintise,
          So that I mihte in eny wise
          Fro suche that mi ladi serve
          Hire herte make forto swerve
          Withouten eny part of love.
          For be the goddes alle above
          I wolde it mihte so befalle,
          That I al one scholde hem alle   2410
          Supplante, and welde hire at mi wille.
          And that thing mai I noght fulfille,
          Bot if I scholde strengthe make;
          And that I dar noght undertake,
          Thogh I were as was Alisaundre,
          For therof mihte arise sklaundre;
          And certes that schal I do nevere,
          For in good feith yit hadde I levere
          In my simplesce forto die,
          Than worche such Supplantarie.   2420
          Of otherwise I wol noght seie
          That if I founde a seker weie,
          I wolde as for conclusioun
          Worche after Supplantacioun,
          So hihe a love forto winne.
          Now, fader, if that this be Sinne,
          I am al redy to redresce
          The gilt of which I me confesse.
          Mi goode Sone, as of Supplant
          Thee thar noght drede tant ne quant,   2430
          As for nothing that I have herd,
          Bot only that thou hast misferd
          Thenkende, and that me liketh noght,
          For godd beholt a mannes thoght.
          And if thou understode in soth
          In loves cause what it doth,
          A man to ben a Supplantour,
          Thou woldest for thin oghne honour
          Be double weie take kepe:
          Ferst for thin oghne astat to kepe,    2440
          To be thiself so wel bethoght
          That thou supplanted were noght,
          And ek for worschipe of thi name
          Towardes othre do the same,
          And soffren every man have his.
          Bot natheles it was and is,
          That in a wayt at alle assaies
          Supplant of love in oure daies
          The lief fulofte for the levere
          Forsakth, and so it hath don evere.    2450
          Ensample I finde therupon,
          At Troie how that Agamenon
          Supplantede the worthi knyht
          Achilles of that swete wiht,
          Which named was Brexei5da;
          And also of Crisei5da,
          Whom Troilus to love ches,
          Supplanted hath Diomedes.
          Of Geta and Amphitrion,
          That whilom weren bothe as on    2460
          Of frendschipe and of compaignie,
          I rede how that Supplantarie
          In love, as it betidde tho,
          Beguiled hath on of hem tuo.
          For this Geta that I of meene,
          To whom the lusti faire Almeene
          Assured was be weie of love,
          Whan he best wende have ben above
          And sikerest of that he hadde,
          Cupido so the cause ladde,    2470
          That whil he was out of the weie,
          Amphitrion hire love aweie
          Hath take, and in this forme he wroghte.
          Be nyhte unto the chambre he soghte,
          Wher that sche lay, and with a wyle
          He contrefeteth for the whyle
          The vois of Gete in such a wise,
          That made hire of hire bedd arise,
          Wenende that it were he,
          And let him in, and whan thei be    2480
          Togedre abedde in armes faste,
          This Geta cam thanne ate laste
          Unto the Dore and seide, "Undo."
          And sche ansuerde and bad him go,
          And seide how that abedde al warm
          Hir lief lay naked in hir arm;
          Sche wende that it were soth.
          Lo, what Supplant of love doth:
          This Geta forth bejaped wente,
          And yit ne wiste he what it mente;     2490
          Amphitrion him hath supplanted
          With sleyhte of love and hire enchaunted:
          And thus put every man out other,
          The Schip of love hath lost his Rother,
          So that he can no reson stiere.
          And forto speke of this matiere
          Touchende love and his Supplant,
          A tale which is acordant
          Unto thin Ere I thenke enforme.
          Now herkne, for this is the forme.     2500
          Of thilke Cite chief of alle
          Which men the noble Rome calle,
          Er it was set to Cristes feith,
          Ther was, as the Cronique seith,
          An Emperour, the which it ladde
          In pes, that he no werres hadde:
          Ther was nothing desobeissant
          Which was to Rome appourtenant,
          Bot al was torned into reste.
          To some it thoghte for the beste,   2510
          To some it thoghte nothing so,
          And that was only unto tho
          Whos herte stod upon knyhthode:
          Bot most of alle of his manhode
          The worthi Sone of themperour,
          Which wolde ben a werreiour,
          As he that was chivalerous
          Of worldes fame and desirous,
          Began his fadre to beseche
          That he the werres mihte seche,     2520
          In strange Marches forto ride.
          His fader seide he scholde abide,
          And wolde granten him no leve:
          Bot he, which wolde noght beleve,
          A kniht of his to whom he triste,
          So that his fader nothing wiste,
          He tok and tolde him his corage,
          That he pourposeth a viage.
          If that fortune with him stonde,
          He seide how that he wolde fonde    2530
          The grete See to passe unknowe,
          And there abyde for a throwe
          Upon the werres to travaile.
          And to this point withoute faile
          This kniht, whan he hath herd his lord,
          Is swore, and stant of his acord,
          As thei that bothe yonge were;
          So that in prive conseil there
          Thei ben assented forto wende.
          And therupon to make an ende,    2540
          Tresor ynowh with hem thei token,
          And whan the time is best thei loken,
          That sodeinliche in a Galeie
          Fro Romelond thei wente here weie
          And londe upon that other side.
          The world fell so that ilke tide,
          Which evere hise happes hath diverse,
          The grete Soldan thanne of Perse
          Ayein the Caliphe of Egipte
          A werre, which that him beclipte,   2550
          Hath in a Marche costeiant.
          And he, which was a poursuiant
          Worschipe of armes to atteigne,
          This Romein, let anon ordeigne,
          That he was redi everydel:
          And whan he was arraied wel
          Of every thing which him belongeth,
          Straght unto Kaire his weie he fongeth,
          Wher he the Soldan thanne fond,
          And axeth that withinne his lond    2560
          He mihte him for the werre serve,
          As he which wolde his thonk deserve.
          The Soldan was riht glad with al,
          And wel the more in special
          Whan that he wiste he was Romein;
          Bot what was elles in certein,
          That mihte he wite be no weie.
          And thus the kniht of whom I seie
          Toward the Soldan is beleft,
          And in the Marches now and eft,     2570
          Wher that the dedli werres were,
          He wroghte such knihthode there,
          That every man spak of him good.
          And thilke time so it stod,
          This mihti Soldan be his wif
          A Dowhter hath, that in this lif
          Men seiden ther was non so fair.
          Sche scholde ben hir fader hair,
          And was of yeres ripe ynowh:
          Hire beaute many an herte drowh     2580
          To bowe unto that ilke lawe
          Fro which no lif mai be withdrawe,
          And that is love, whos nature
          Set lif and deth in aventure
          Of hem that knyhthode undertake.
          This lusti peine hath overtake
          The herte of this Romein so sore,
          That to knihthode more and more
          Prouesce avanceth his corage.
          Lich to the Leoun in his rage,   2590
          Fro whom that alle bestes fle,
          Such was the knyht in his degre:
          Wher he was armed in the feld,
          Ther dorste non abide his scheld;
          Gret pris upon the werre he hadde.
          Bot sche which al the chance ladde,
          Fortune, schop the Marches so,
          That be thassent of bothe tuo,
          The Soldan and the Caliphe eke,
          Bataille upon a dai thei seke,   2600
          Which was in such a wise set
          That lengere scholde it noght be let.
          Thei made hem stronge on every side,
          And whan it drowh toward the tide
          That the bataille scholde be,
          The Soldan in gret privete
          A goldring of his dowhter tok,
          And made hire swere upon a bok
          And ek upon the goddes alle,
          That if fortune so befalle    2610
          In the bataille that he deie,
          That sche schal thilke man obeie
          And take him to hire housebonde,
          Which thilke same Ring to honde
          Hire scholde bringe after his deth.
          This hath sche swore, and forth he geth
          With al the pouer of his lond
          Unto the Marche, where he fond
          His enemy full embatailled.
          The Soldan hath the feld assailed:     2620
          Thei that ben hardy sone assemblen,
          Wherof the dredfull hertes tremblen:
          That on sleth, and that other sterveth,
          Bot above all his pris deserveth
          This knihtly Romein; where he rod,
          His dedly swerd noman abod,
          Ayein the which was no defence;
          Egipte fledde in his presence,
          And thei of Perse upon the chace
          Poursuien: bot I not what grace     2630
          Befell, an Arwe out of a bowe
          Al sodeinly that ilke throwe
          The Soldan smot, and ther he lay:
          The chace is left for thilke day,
          And he was bore into a tente.
          The Soldan sih how that it wente,
          And that he scholde algate die;
          And to this knyht of Romanie,
          As unto him whom he most triste,
          His Dowhter Ring, that non it wiste,   2640
          He tok, and tolde him al the cas,
          Upon hire oth what tokne it was
          Of that sche scholde ben his wif.
          Whan this was seid, the hertes lif
          Of this Soldan departeth sone;
          And therupon, as was to done,
          The dede body wel and faire
          Thei carie til thei come at Kaire,
          Wher he was worthily begrave.
          The lordes, whiche as wolden save       2650
          The Regne which was desolat,
          To bringe it into good astat
          A parlement thei sette anon.
          Now herkne what fell therupon:
          This yonge lord, this worthi kniht
          Of Rome, upon the same niht
          That thei amorwe trete scholde,
          Unto his Bacheler he tolde
          His conseil, and the Ring with al
          He scheweth, thurgh which that he schal,     2660
          He seith, the kinges Dowhter wedde,
          For so the Ring was leid to wedde,
          He tolde, into hir fader hond,
          That with what man that sche it fond
          Sche scholde him take to hire lord.
          And this, he seith, stant of record,
          Bot noman wot who hath this Ring.
          This Bacheler upon this thing
          His Ere and his entente leide,
          And thoghte more thanne he seide,   2670
          And feigneth with a fals visage
          That he was glad, bot his corage
          Was al set in an other wise.
          These olde Philosophres wise
          Thei writen upon thilke while,
          That he mai best a man beguile
          In whom the man hath most credence;
          And this befell in evidence
          Toward this yonge lord of Rome.
          His Bacheler, which hadde tome,     2680
          Whan that his lord be nihte slepte,
          This Ring, the which his maister kepte,
          Out of his Pours awey he dede,
          And putte an other in the stede.
          Amorwe, whan the Court is set,
          The yonge ladi was forth fet,
          To whom the lordes don homage,
          And after that of Mariage
          Thei trete and axen of hir wille.
          Bot sche, which thoghte to fulfille    2690
          Hire fader heste in this matiere,
          Seide openly, that men mai hiere,
          The charge which hire fader bad.
          Tho was this Lord of Rome glad
          And drowh toward his Pours anon,
          Bot al for noght, it was agon:
          His Bacheler it hath forthdrawe,
          And axeth ther upon the lawe
          That sche him holde covenant.
          The tokne was so sufficant    2700
          That it ne mihte be forsake,
          And natheles his lord hath take
          Querelle ayein his oghne man;
          Bot for nothing that evere he can
          He mihte as thanne noght ben herd,
          So that his cleym is unansuerd,
          And he hath of his pourpos failed.
          This Bacheler was tho consailed
          And wedded, and of thilke Empire
          He was coroned Lord and Sire,    2710
          And al the lond him hath received;
          Wherof his lord, which was deceived,
          A seknesse er the thridde morwe
          Conceived hath of dedly sorwe:
          And as he lay upon his deth,
          Therwhile him lasteth speche and breth,
          He sende for the worthieste
          Of al the lond and ek the beste,
          And tolde hem al the sothe tho,
          That he was Sone and Heir also   2720
          Of themperour of grete Rome,
          And how that thei togedre come,
          This kniht and he; riht as it was,
          He tolde hem al the pleine cas,
          And for that he his conseil tolde,
          That other hath al that he wolde,
          And he hath failed of his mede:
          As for the good he takth non hiede,
          He seith, bot only of the love,
          Of which he wende have ben above.   2730
          And therupon be lettre write
          He doth his fader forto wite
          Of al this matiere as it stod;
          And thanne with an hertly mod
          Unto the lordes he besoghte
          To telle his ladi how he boghte
          Hire love, of which an other gladeth;
          And with that word his hewe fadeth,
          And seide, "A dieu, my ladi swete."
          The lif hath lost his kindly hete,     2740
          And he lay ded as eny ston;
          Wherof was sory manyon,
          Bot non of alle so as sche.
          This false knyht in his degree
          Arested was and put in hold:
          For openly whan it was told
          Of the tresoun which is befalle,
          Thurghout the lond thei seiden alle,
          If it be soth that men suppose,
          His oghne untrowthe him schal depose.     2750
          And forto seche an evidence,
          With honour and gret reverence,
          Wherof they mihten knowe an ende,
          To themperour anon thei sende
          The lettre which his Sone wrot.
          And whan that he the sothe wot,
          To telle his sorwe is endeles,
          Bot yit in haste natheles
          Upon the tale which he herde
          His Stieward into Perse ferde    2760
          With many a worthi Romein eke,
          His liege tretour forto seke;
          And whan thei thider come were,
          This kniht him hath confessed there
          How falsly that he hath him bore,
          Wherof his worthi lord was lore.
          Tho seiden some he scholde deie,
          Bot yit thei founden such a weie
          That he schal noght be ded in Perse;
          And thus the skiles ben diverse.    2770
          Be cause that he was coroned,
          And that the lond was abandoned
          To him, althogh it were unriht,
          Ther is no peine for him diht;
          Bot to this point and to this ende
          Thei granten wel that he schal wende
          With the Romeins to Rome ayein.
          And thus acorded ful and plein,
          The qwike body with the dede
          With leve take forth thei lede,     2780
          Wher that Supplant hath his juise.
          Wherof that thou thee miht avise
          Upon this enformacioun
          Touchende of Supplantacioun,
          That thou, my Sone, do noght so:
          And forto take hiede also
          What Supplant doth in other halve,
          Ther is noman can finde a salve
          Pleinly to helen such a Sor;
          It hath and schal ben everemor,     2790
          Whan Pride is with Envie joint,
          He soffreth noman in good point,
          Wher that he mai his honour lette.
          And therupon if I schal sette
          Ensample, in holy cherche I finde
          How that Supplant is noght behinde;
          God wot if that it now be so:
          For in Cronique of time ago
          I finde a tale concordable
          Of Supplant, which that is no fable,   2800
          In the manere as I schal telle,
          So as whilom the thinges felle.
          At Rome, as it hath ofte falle,
          The vicair general of alle
          Of hem that lieven Cristes feith
          His laste day, which non withseith,
          Hath schet as to the worldes ije,
          Whos name if I schal specefie,
          He hihte Pope Nicolas.
          And thus whan that he passed was,   2810
          The Cardinals, that wolden save
          The forme of lawe, in the conclave
          Gon forto chese a newe Pope,
          And after that thei cowthe agrope
          Hath ech of hem seid his entente:
          Til ate laste thei assente
          Upon an holy clerk reclus,
          Which full was of gostli vertus;
          His pacience and his simplesse
          Hath set him into hih noblesse.     2820
          Thus was he Pope canonized,
          With gret honour and intronized,
          And upon chance as it is falle,
          His name Celestin men calle;
          Which notefied was be bulle
          To holi cherche and to the fulle
          In alle londes magnified.
          Bot every worschipe is envied,
          And that was thilke time sene:
          For whan this Pope of whom I meene     2830
          Was chose, and othre set beside,
          A Cardinal was thilke tide
          Which the papat longe hath desired
          And therupon gretli conspired;
          Bot whan he sih fortune is failed,
          For which long time he hath travailed,
          That ilke fyr which Ethna brenneth
          Thurghout his wofull herte renneth,
          Which is resembled to Envie,
          Wherof Supplant and tricherie    2840
          Engendred is; and natheles
          He feigneth love, he feigneth pes,
          Outward he doth the reverence,
          Bot al withinne his conscience
          Thurgh fals ymaginacioun
          He thoghte Supplantacioun.
          And therupon a wonder wyle
          He wroghte: for at thilke whyle
          It fell so that of his lignage
          He hadde a clergoun of yong age,    2850
          Whom he hath in his chambre affaited.
          This Cardinal his time hath waited,
          And with his wordes slyhe and queinte,
          The whiche he cowthe wysly peinte,
          He schop this clerk of which I telle
          Toward the Pope forto duelle,
          So that withinne his chambre anyht
          He lai, and was a prive wyht
          Toward the Pope on nyhtes tide.
          Mai noman fle that schal betide.    2860
          This Cardinal, which thoghte guile,
          Upon a day whan he hath while
          This yonge clerc unto him tok,
          And made him swere upon a bok,
          And told him what his wille was.
          And forth withal a Trompe of bras
          He hath him take, and bad him this:
          "Thou schalt," he seide, "whan time is
          Awaite, and take riht good kepe,
          Whan that the Pope is fast aslepe   2870
          And that non other man by nyh;
          And thanne that thou be so slyh
          Thurghout the Trompe into his Ere,
          Fro hevene as thogh a vois it were,
          To soune of such prolacioun
          That he his meditacioun
          Therof mai take and understonde,
          As thogh it were of goddes sonde.
          And in this wise thou schalt seie,
          That he do thilke astat aweie    2880
          Of Pope, in which he stant honoured,
          So schal his Soule be socoured
          Of thilke worschipe ate laste
          In hevene which schal evere laste."
          This clerc, whan he hath herd the forme
          How he the Pope scholde enforme,
          Tok of the Cardinal his leve,
          And goth him hom, til it was Eve,
          And prively the trompe he hedde,
          Til that the Pope was abedde.    2890
          And at the Midnyht, whan he knewh
          The Pope slepte, thanne he blewh
          Withinne his trompe thurgh the wal,
          And tolde in what manere he schal
          His Papacie leve, and take
          His ferste astat: and thus awake
          This holi Pope he made thries,
          Wherof diverse fantasies
          Upon his grete holinesse
          Withinne his herte he gan impresse.    2900
          The Pope ful of innocence
          Conceiveth in his conscience
          That it is goddes wille he cesse;
          Bot in what wise he may relesse
          His hihe astat, that wot he noght.
          And thus withinne himself bethoght,
          He bar it stille in his memoire,
          Til he cam to the Consistoire;
          And there in presence of hem alle
          He axeth, if it so befalle    2910
          That eny Pope cesse wolde,
          How that the lawe it soffre scholde.
          Thei seten alle stille and herde,
          Was non which to the point ansuerde,
          For to what pourpos that it mente
          Ther was noman knew his entente,
          Bot only he which schop the guile.
          This Cardinal the same while
          Al openly with wordes pleine
          Seith, if the Pope wolde ordeigne   2920
          That ther be such a lawe wroght,
          Than mihte he cesse, and elles noght.
          And as he seide, don it was;
          The Pope anon upon the cas
          Of his Papal Autorite
          Hath mad and yove the decre:
          And whan that lawe was confermed
          In due forme and al affermed,
          This innocent, which was deceived,
          His Papacie anon hath weyved,    2930
          Renounced and resigned eke.
          That other was nothing to seke,
          Bot undernethe such a jape
          He hath so for himselve schape,
          That how as evere it him beseme,
          The Mitre with the Diademe
          He hath thurgh Supplantacion:
          And in his confirmacion
          Upon the fortune of his grace
          His name is cleped Boneface.     2940
          Under the viser of Envie,
          Lo, thus was hid the tricherie,
          Which hath beguiled manyon.
          Bot such conseil ther mai be non,
          With treson whan it is conspired,
          That it nys lich the Sparke fyred
          Up in the Rof, which for a throwe
          Lith hidd, til whan the wyndes blowe
          It blaseth out on every side.
          This Bonefas, which can noght hyde     2950
          The tricherie of his Supplant,
          Hath openly mad his avant
          How he the Papacie hath wonne.
          Bot thing which is with wrong begonne
          Mai nevere stonde wel at ende;
          Wher Pride schal the bowe bende,
          He schet fulofte out of the weie:
          And thus the Pope of whom I seie,
          Whan that he stod on hih the whiel,
          He can noght soffre himself be wel.    2960
          Envie, which is loveles,
          And Pride, which is laweles,
          With such tempeste made him erre,
          That charite goth out of herre:
          So that upon misgovernance
          Ayein Lowyz the king of France
          He tok querelle of his oultrage,
          And seide he scholde don hommage
          Unto the cherche bodily.
          Bot he, that wiste nothing why   2970
          He scholde do so gret servise
          After the world in such a wise,
          Withstod the wrong of that demande;
          For noght the Pope mai comande
          The king wol noght the Pope obeie.
          This Pope tho be alle weie
          That he mai worche of violence
          Hath sent the bulle of his sentence
          With cursinge and with enterdit.
          The king upon this wrongful plyt,   2980
          To kepe his regne fro servage,
          Conseiled was of his Barnage
          That miht with miht schal be withstonde.
          Thus was the cause take on honde,
          And seiden that the Papacie
          Thei wolde honoure and magnefie
          In al that evere is spirital;
          Bot thilke Pride temporal
          Of Boneface in his persone,
          Ayein that ilke wrong al one     2990
          Thei wolde stonden in debat:
          And thus the man and noght the stat
          The Frensche schopen be her miht
          To grieve. And fell ther was a kniht,
          Sire Guilliam de Langharet,
          Which was upon this cause set;
          And therupon he tok a route
          Of men of Armes and rod oute,
          So longe and in a wayt he lay,
          That he aspide upon a day     3000
          The Pope was at Avinoun,
          And scholde ryde out of the toun
          Unto Pontsorge, the which is
          A Castell in Provence of his.
          Upon the weie and as he rod,
          This kniht, which hoved and abod
          Embuisshed upon horse bak,
          Al sodeinliche upon him brak
          And hath him be the bridel sesed,
          And seide: "O thou, which hast desesed    3010
          The Court of France be thi wrong,
          Now schalt thou singe an other song:
          Thin enterdit and thi sentence
          Ayein thin oghne conscience
          Hierafter thou schalt fiele and grope.
          We pleigne noght ayein the Pope,
          For thilke name is honourable,
          Bot thou, which hast be deceivable
          And tricherous in al thi werk,
          Thou Bonefas, thou proude clerk,    3020
          Misledere of the Papacie,
          Thi false bodi schal abye
          And soffre that it hath deserved."
          Lo, thus the Supplantour was served;
          For thei him ladden into France
          And setten him to his penance
          Withinne a tour in harde bondes,
          Wher he for hunger bothe hise hondes
          Eet of and deide, god wot how:
          Of whom the wrytinge is yit now     3030
          Registred, as a man mai hiere,
          Which spekth and seith in this manere:
          Thin entre lich the fox was slyh,
          Thi regne also with pride on hih
          Was lich the Leon in his rage;
          Bot ate laste of thi passage
          Thi deth was to the houndes like.
          Such is the lettre of his Cronique
          Proclamed in the Court of Rome,
          Wherof the wise ensample nome.   3040
          And yit, als ferforth as I dar,
          I rede alle othre men be war,
          And that thei loke wel algate
          That non his oghne astat translate
          Of holi cherche in no degree
          Be fraude ne soubtilite:
          For thilke honour which Aaron tok
          Schal non receive, as seith the bok,
          Bot he be cleped as he was.
          What I schal thenken in this cas    3050
          Of that I hiere now aday,
          I not: bot he which can and may,
          Be reson bothe and be nature
          The help of every mannes cure,
          He kepe Simon fro the folde.
          For Joachim thilke Abbot tolde
          How suche daies scholden falle,
          That comunliche in places alle
          The Chapmen of such mercerie
          With fraude and with Supplantarie   3060
          So manye scholden beie and selle,
          That he ne may for schame telle
          So foul a Senne in mannes Ere.
          Bot god forbiede that it were
          In oure daies that he seith:
          For if the Clerc beware his feith
          In chapmanhod at such a feire,
          The remenant mot nede empeire
          Of al that to the world belongeth;
          For whan that holi cherche wrongeth,   3070
          I not what other thing schal rihte.
          And natheles at mannes sihte
          Envie forto be preferred
          Hath conscience so differred,
          That noman loketh to the vice
          Which is the Moder of malice,
          And that is thilke false Envie,
          Which causeth many a tricherie;
          For wher he may an other se
          That is mor gracious than he,    3080
          It schal noght stonden in his miht
          Bot if he hindre such a wiht:
          And that is welnyh overal,
          This vice is now so general.
          Envie thilke unhapp indrowh,
          Whan Joab be deceipte slowh
          Abner, for drede he scholde be
          With king David such as was he.
          And thurgh Envie also it fell
          Of thilke false Achitofell,   3090
          For his conseil was noght achieved,
          Bot that he sih Cusy believed
          With Absolon and him forsake,
          He heng himself upon a stake.
          Senec witnesseth openly
          How that Envie proprely
          Is of the Court the comun wenche,
          And halt taverne forto schenche
          That drink which makth the herte brenne,
          And doth the wit aboute renne,   3100
          Be every weie to compasse
          How that he mihte alle othre passe,
          As he which thurgh unkindeschipe
          Envieth every felaschipe;
          So that thou miht wel knowe and se,
          Ther is no vice such as he,
          Ferst toward godd abhominable,
          And to mankinde unprofitable:
          And that be wordes bot a fewe
          I schal be reson prove and schewe.     3110
          Envie if that I schal descrive,
          He is noght schaply forto wyve
          In Erthe among the wommen hiere;
          For ther is in him no matiere
          Wherof he mihte do plesance.
          Ferst for his hevy continance
          Of that he semeth evere unglad,
          He is noght able to ben had;
          And ek he brenneth so withinne,
          That kinde mai no profit winne,     3120
          Wherof he scholde his love plese:
          For thilke blod which scholde have ese
          To regne among the moiste veines,
          Is drye of thilke unkendeli peines
          Thurgh whiche Envie is fyred ay.
          And thus be reson prove I may
          That toward love Envie is noght;
          And otherwise if it be soght,
          Upon what side as evere it falle,
          It is the werste vice of alle,   3130
          Which of himself hath most malice.
          For understond that every vice
          Som cause hath, wherof it groweth,
          Bot of Envie noman knoweth
          Fro whenne he cam bot out of helle.
          For thus the wise clerkes telle,
          That no spirit bot of malice
          Be weie of kinde upon a vice
          Is tempted, and be such a weie
          Envie hath kinde put aweie    3140
          And of malice hath his steringe,
          Wherof he makth his bakbitinge,
          And is himself therof desesed.
          So mai ther be no kinde plesed;
          For ay the mor that he envieth,
          The more ayein himself he plieth.
          Thus stant Envie in good espeir
          To ben himself the develes heir,
          As he which is his nexte liche
          And forthest fro the heveneriche,   3150
          For there mai he nevere wone.
          Forthi, my goode diere Sone,
          If thou wolt finde a siker weie
          To love, put Envie aweie.
          Min holy fader, reson wolde
          That I this vice eschuie scholde:
          Bot yit to strengthe mi corage,
          If that ye wolde in avantage
          Therof sette a recoverir,
          It were tome a gret desir,    3160
          That I this vice mihte flee.
          Nou understond, my Sone, and se,
          Ther is phisique for the seke,
          And vertus for the vices eke.
          Who that the vices wolde eschuie,
          He mot be resoun thanne suie
          The vertus; for be thilke weie
          He mai the vices don aweie,
          For thei togedre mai noght duelle:
          For as the water of a welle   3170
          Of fyr abateth the malice,
          Riht so vertu fordoth the vice.
          Ayein Envie is Charite,
          Which is the Moder of Pite,
          That makth a mannes herte tendre,
          That it mai no malice engendre
          In him that is enclin therto.
          For his corage is tempred so,
          That thogh he mihte himself relieve,
          Yit wolde he noght an other grieve,    3180
          Bot rather forto do plesance
          He berth himselven the grevance,
          So fain he wolde an other ese.
          Wherof, mi Sone, for thin ese
          Now herkne a tale which I rede,
          And understond it wel, I rede.
          Among the bokes of latin
          I finde write of Constantin
          The worthi Emperour of Rome,
          Suche infortunes to him come,    3190
          Whan he was in his lusti age,
          The lepre cawhte in his visage
          And so forth overal aboute,
          That he ne mihte ryden oute:
          So lefte he bothe Schield and spere,
          As he that mihte him noght bestere,
          And hield him in his chambre clos.
          Thurgh al the world the fame aros,
          The grete clerkes ben asent
          And come at his comandement   3200
          To trete upon this lordes hele.
          So longe thei togedre dele,
          That thei upon this medicine
          Apointen hem, and determine
          That in the maner as it stod
          Thei wolde him bathe in childes blod
          Withinne sevene wynter age:
          For, as thei sein, that scholde assuage
          The lepre and al the violence,
          Which that thei knewe of Accidence     3210
          And noght be weie of kinde is falle.
          And therto thei acorden alle
          As for final conclusioun,
          And tolden here opinioun
          To themperour: and he anon
          His conseil tok, and therupon
          With lettres and with seales oute
          Thei sende in every lond aboute
          The yonge children forto seche,
          Whos blod, thei seiden, schal be leche    3220
          For themperoures maladie.
          Ther was ynowh to wepe and crie
          Among the Modres, whan thei herde
          Hou wofully this cause ferde,
          Bot natheles thei moten bowe;
          And thus wommen ther come ynowhe
          With children soukende on the Tete.
          Tho was ther manye teres lete,
          Bot were hem lieve or were hem lothe,
          The wommen and the children bothe   3230
          Into the Paleis forth be broght
          With many a sory hertes thoght
          Of hem whiche of here bodi bore
          The children hadde, and so forlore
          Withinne a while scholden se.
          The Modres wepe in here degre,
          And manye of hem aswoune falle,
          The yonge babes criden alle:
          This noyse aros, the lord it herde,
          And loked out, and how it ferde     3240
          He sih, and as who seith abreide
          Out of his slep, and thus he seide:
          "O thou divine pourveance,
          Which every man in the balance
          Of kinde hast formed to be liche,
          The povere is bore as is the riche
          And deieth in the same wise,
          Upon the fol, upon the wise
          Siknesse and hele entrecomune;
          Mai non eschuie that fortune         3250
          Which kinde hath in hire lawe set;
          Hire strengthe and beaute ben beset
          To every man aliche fre,
          That sche preferreth no degre
          As in the disposicioun
          Of bodili complexioun:
          And ek of Soule resonable
          The povere child is bore als able
          To vertu as the kinges Sone;
          For every man his oghne wone     3260
          After the lust of his assay
          The vice or vertu chese may.
          Thus stonden alle men franchised,
          Bot in astat thei ben divised;
          To some worschipe and richesse,
          To some poverte and distresse,
          On lordeth and an other serveth;
          Bot yit as every man deserveth
          The world yifth noght his yiftes hiere.
          Bot certes he hath gret matiere     3270
          To ben of good condicioun,
          Which hath in his subjeccioun
          The men that ben of his semblance."
          And ek he tok a remembrance
          How he that made lawe of kinde
          Wolde every man to lawe binde,
          And bad a man, such as he wolde
          Toward himself, riht such he scholde
          Toward an other don also.
          And thus this worthi lord as tho    3280
          Sette in balance his oghne astat
          And with himself stod in debat,
          And thoghte hou that it was noght good
          To se so mochel mannes blod
          Be spilt for cause of him alone.
          He sih also the grete mone,
          Of that the Modres were unglade,
          And of the wo the children made,
          Wherof that al his herte tendreth,
          And such pite withinne engendreth,     3290
          That him was levere forto chese
          His oghne bodi forto lese,
          Than se so gret a moerdre wroght
          Upon the blod which gulteth noght.
          Thus for the pite which he tok
          Alle othre leches he forsok,
          And put him out of aventure
          Al only into goddes cure;
          And seith, "Who that woll maister be,
          He mot be servant to pite."   3300
          So ferforth he was overcome
          With charite, that he hath nome
          His conseil and hise officers,
          And bad unto hise tresorers
          That thei his tresour al aboute
          Departe among the povere route
          Of wommen and of children bothe,
          Wherof thei mihte hem fede and clothe
          And saufli tornen hom ayein
          Withoute lost of eny grein.   3310
          Thurgh charite thus he despendeth
          His good, wherof that he amendeth
          The povere poeple, and contrevaileth
          The harm, that he hem so travaileth:
          And thus the woful nyhtes sorwe
          To joie is torned on the morwe;
          Al was thonkinge, al was blessinge,
          Which erst was wepinge and cursinge;
          Thes wommen gon hom glade ynowh,
          Echon for joie on other lowh,    3320
          And preiden for this lordes hele,
          Which hath relessed the querele,
          And hath his oghne will forsake
          In charite for goddes sake.
          Bot now hierafter thou schalt hiere
          What god hath wroght in this matiere,
          As he which doth al equite.
          To him that wroghte charite
          He was ayeinward charitous,
          And to pite he was pitous:    3330
          For it was nevere knowe yit
          That charite goth unaquit.
          The nyht, whan he was leid to slepe,
          The hihe god, which wolde him kepe,
          Seint Peter and seint Poul him sende,
          Be whom he wolde his lepre amende.
          Thei tuo to him slepende appiere
          Fro god, and seide in this manere:
          "O Constantin, for thou hast served
          Pite, thou hast pite deserved:   3340
          Forthi thou schalt such pite have
          That god thurgh pite woll thee save.
          So schalt thou double hele finde,
          Ferst for thi bodiliche kinde,
          And for thi wofull Soule also,
          Thou schalt ben hol of bothe tuo.
          And for thou schalt thee noght despeire,
          Thi lepre schal nomore empeire
          Til thou wolt sende therupon
          Unto the Mont of Celion,   3350
          Wher that Silvestre and his clergie
          Togedre duelle in compaignie
          For drede of thee, which many day
          Hast ben a fo to Cristes lay,
          And hast destruid to mochel schame
          The prechours of his holy name.
          Bot now thou hast somdiel appesed
          Thi god, and with good dede plesed,
          That thou thi pite hast bewared
          Upon the blod which thou hast spared.     3360
          Forthi to thi salvacion
          Thou schalt have enformacioun,
          Such as Silvestre schal the teche:
          The nedeth of non other leche."
          This Emperour, which al this herde,
          "Grant merci lordes," he ansuerde,
          "I wol do so as ye me seie.
          Bot of o thing I wolde preie:
          What schal I telle unto Silvestre
          Or of youre name or of youre estre?"   3370
          And thei him tolden what thei hihte,
          And forth withal out of his sihte
          Thei passen up into the hevene.
          And he awok out of his swevene,
          And clepeth, and men come anon:
          He tolde his drem, and therupon
          In such a wise as he hem telleth
          The Mont wher that Silvestre duelleth
          Thei have in alle haste soght,
          And founde he was and with hem broght     3380
          To themperour, which to him tolde
          His swevene and elles what he wolde.
          And whan Silvestre hath herd the king,
          He was riht joiful of this thing,
          And him began with al his wit
          To techen upon holi writ
          Ferst how mankinde was forlore,
          And how the hihe god therfore
          His Sone sende from above,
          Which bore was for mannes love,     3390
          And after of his oghne chois
          He tok his deth upon the crois;
          And how in grave he was beloke,
          And how that he hath helle broke,
          And tok hem out that were him lieve;
          And forto make ous full believe
          That he was verrai goddes Sone,
          Ayein the kinde of mannes wone
          Fro dethe he ros the thridde day,
          And whanne he wolde, as he wel may,    3400
          He styh up to his fader evene
          With fleissh and blod into the hevene;
          And riht so in the same forme
          In fleissh and blod he schal reforme,
          Whan time comth, the qwike and dede
          At thilke woful dai of drede,
          Where every man schal take his dom,
          Als wel the Maister as the grom.
          The mihti kinges retenue
          That dai may stonde of no value     3410
          With worldes strengthe to defende;
          For every man mot thanne entende
          To stonde upon his oghne dedes
          And leve alle othre mennes nedes.
          That dai mai no consail availe,
          The pledour and the plee schal faile,
          The sentence of that ilke day
          Mai non appell sette in delay;
          Ther mai no gold the Jugge plie,
          That he ne schal the sothe trie     3420
          And setten every man upriht,
          Als wel the plowman as the kniht:
          The lewed man, the grete clerk
          Schal stonde upon his oghne werk,
          And such as he is founde tho,
          Such schal he be for everemo.
          Ther mai no peine be relessed,
          Ther mai no joie ben encressed,
          Bot endeles, as thei have do,
          He schal receive on of the tuo.     3430
          And thus Silvestre with his sawe
          The ground of al the newe lawe
          With gret devocion he precheth,
          Fro point to point and pleinly techeth
          Unto this hethen Emperour;
          And seith, the hihe creatour
          Hath underfonge his charite,
          Of that he wroghte such pite,
          Whan he the children hadde on honde.
          Thus whan this lord hath understonde   3440
          Of al this thing how that it ferde,
          Unto Silvestre he thanne ansuerde,
          With al his hole herte and seith
          That he is redi to the feith.
          And so the vessel which for blod
          Was mad, Silvestre, ther it stod,
          With clene water of the welle
          In alle haste he let do felle,
          And sette Constantin therinne
          Al naked up unto the chinne.     3450
          And in the while it was begunne,
          A liht, as thogh it were a Sunne,
          Fro hevene into the place com
          Wher that he tok his cristendom;
          And evere among the holi tales
          Lich as thei weren fisshes skales
          Ther fellen from him now and eft,
          Til that ther was nothing beleft
          Of al his grete maladie.
          For he that wolde him purefie,   3460
          The hihe god hath mad him clene,
          So that ther lefte nothing sene;
          He hath him clensed bothe tuo,
          The bodi and the Soule also.
          Tho knew this Emperour in dede
          That Cristes feith was forto drede,
          And sende anon hise lettres oute
          And let do crien al aboute,
          Up peine of deth that noman weyve
          That he baptesme ne receive:     3470
          After his Moder qweene Heleine
          He sende, and so betwen hem tweine
          Thei treten, that the Cite all
          Was cristned, and sche forth withall.
          This Emperour, which hele hath founde,
          Withinne Rome anon let founde
          Tuo cherches, which he dede make
          For Peter and for Poules sake,
          Of whom he hadde avisioun;
          And yaf therto possessioun    3480
          Of lordschipe and of worldes good.
          Bot how so that his will was good
          Toward the Pope and his Franchise,
          Yit hath it proved other wise,
          To se the worchinge of the dede:
          For in Cronique this I rede;
          Anon as he hath mad the yifte,
          A vois was herd on hih the lifte,
          Of which al Rome was adrad,
          And seith: "To day is venym schad   3490
          In holi cherche of temporal,
          Which medleth with the spirital."
          And hou it stant of that degree
          Yit mai a man the sothe se:
          God mai amende it, whan he wile,
          I can ther to non other skile.
          Bot forto go ther I began,
          How charite mai helpe a man
          To bothe worldes, I have seid:
          And if thou have an Ere leid,    3500
          Mi Sone, thou miht understonde,
          If charite be take on honde,
          Ther folweth after mochel grace.
          Forthi, if that thou wolt pourchace
          How that thou miht Envie flee,
          Aqueinte thee with charite,
          Which is the vertu sovereine.
          Mi fader, I schal do my peine:
          For this ensample which ye tolde
          With al myn herte I have withholde,    3510
          So that I schal for everemore
          Eschuie Envie wel the more:
          And that I have er this misdo,
          Yif me my penance er I go.
          And over that to mi matiere
          Of schrifte, why we sitten hiere
          In privete betwen ous tweie,
          Now axeth what ther is, I preie.
          Mi goode Sone, and for thi lore
          I woll thee telle what is more,     3520
          So that thou schalt the vices knowe:
          For whan thei be to thee full knowe,
          Thou miht hem wel the betre eschuie.
          And for this cause I thenke suie
          The forme bothe and the matiere,
          As now suiende thou schalt hiere
          Which vice stant next after this:
          And whan thou wost how that it is,
          As thou schalt hiere me devise,
          Thow miht thiself the betre avise.    3530

          Explicit Liber Secundus

Incipit Liber Tercius

          Ira suis paribus est par furiis Acherontis,
               Quo furor ad tempus nil pietatis habet.
          Ira malencolicos animos perturbat, vt equo
               Iure sui pondus nulla statera tenet.
          Omnibus in causis grauat Ira, set inter amantes,
               Illa magis facili sorte grauamen agit:
          Est vbi vir discors leuiterque repugnat amori,
               Sepe loco ludi fletus ad ora venit.

          If thou the vices lest to knowe,
          Mi Sone, it hath noght ben unknowe,
          Fro ferst that men the swerdes grounde,
          That ther nis on upon this grounde,
          A vice forein fro the lawe,
          Wherof that many a good felawe
          Hath be distraght be sodein chance;
          And yit to kinde no plesance
          It doth, bot wher he most achieveth
          His pourpos, most to kinde he grieveth,  10
          As he which out of conscience
          Is enemy to pacience:
          And is be name on of the Sevene,
          Which ofte hath set this world unevene,
          And cleped is the cruel Ire,
          Whos herte is everemore on fyre
          To speke amis and to do bothe,
          For his servantz ben evere wrothe.
          Mi goode fader, tell me this:
          What thing is Ire? Sone, it is  20
          That in oure englissh Wrathe is hote,
          Which hath hise wordes ay so hote,
          That all a mannes pacience
          Is fyred of the violence.
          For he with him hath evere fyve
          Servantz that helpen him to stryve:
          The ferst of hem Malencolie
          Is cleped, which in compaignie
          An hundred times in an houre
          Wol as an angri beste loure,    30
          And noman wot the cause why.
          Mi Sone, schrif thee now forthi:
          Hast thou be Malencolien?
          Ye, fader, be seint Julien,
          Bot I untrewe wordes use,
          I mai me noght therof excuse:
          And al makth love, wel I wot,
          Of which myn herte is evere hot,
          So that I brenne as doth a glede
          For Wrathe that I mai noght spede.    40
          And thus fulofte a day for noght
          Save onlich of myn oghne thoght
          I am so with miselven wroth,
          That how so that the game goth
          With othre men, I am noght glad;
          Bot I am wel the more unglad,
          For that is othre mennes game
          It torneth me to pure grame.
          Thus am I with miself oppressed
          Of thoght, the which I have impressed,   50
          That al wakende I dreme and meete
          That I with hire al one meete
          And preie hire of som good ansuere:
          Bot for sche wol noght gladly swere,
          Sche seith me nay withouten oth;
          And thus wexe I withinne wroth,
          That outward I am al affraied,
          And so distempred and esmaied.
          A thousand times on a day
          Ther souneth in myn Eres nay,       60
          The which sche seide me tofore:
          Thus be my wittes as forlore;
          And namely whan I beginne
          To rekne with miself withinne
          How many yeres ben agon,
          Siththe I have trewly loved on
          And nevere tok of other hede,
          And evere aliche fer to spede
          I am, the more I with hir dele,
          So that myn happ and al myn hele   70
          Me thenkth is ay the leng the ferre,
          That bringth my gladschip out of herre,
          Wherof my wittes ben empeired,
          And I, as who seith, al despeired.
          For finaly, whan that I muse
          And thenke how sche me wol refuse,
          I am with anger so bestad,
          For al this world mihte I be glad:
          And for the while that it lasteth
          Al up so doun my joie it casteth,  80
          And ay the furthere that I be,
          Whan I ne may my ladi se,
          The more I am redy to wraththe,
          That for the touchinge of a laththe
          Or for the torninge of a stree
          I wode as doth the wylde Se,
          And am so malencolious,
          That ther nys servant in myn hous
          Ne non of tho that ben aboute,
          That ech of hem ne stant in doute,    90
          And wenen that I scholde rave
          For Anger that thei se me have;
          And so thei wondre more and lasse,
          Til that thei sen it overpasse.
          Bot, fader, if it so betide,
          That I aproche at eny tide
          The place wher my ladi is,
          And thanne that hire like ywiss
          To speke a goodli word untome,
          For al the gold that is in Rome    100
          Ne cowthe I after that be wroth,
          Bot al myn Anger overgoth;
          So glad I am of the presence
          Of hire, that I all offence
          Foryete, as thogh it were noght,
          So overgladed is my thoght.
          And natheles, the soth to telle,
          Ayeinward if it so befelle
          That I at thilke time sihe
          On me that sche miscaste hire yhe,    110
          Or that sche liste noght to loke,
          And I therof good hiede toke,
          Anon into my ferste astat
          I torne, and am with al so mat,
          That evere it is aliche wicke.
          And thus myn hand ayein the pricke
          I hurte and have do many day,
          And go so forth as I go may,
          Fulofte bitinge on my lippe,
          And make unto miself a whippe.  120
          With which in many a chele and hete
          Mi wofull herte is so tobete,
          That all my wittes ben unsofte
          And I am wroth, I not how ofte;
          And al it is Malencolie,
          Which groweth of the fantasie
          Of love, that me wol noght loute:
          So bere I forth an angri snoute
          Ful manye times in a yer.
          Bot, fader, now ye sitten hier  130
          In loves stede, I yow beseche,
          That som ensample ye me teche,
          Wherof I mai miself appese.
          Mi Sone, for thin hertes ese
          I schal fulfille thi preiere,
          So that thou miht the betre lere
          What mischief that this vice stereth,
          Which in his Anger noght forbereth,
          Wherof that after him forthenketh,
          Whan he is sobre and that he thenketh    140
          Upon the folie of his dede;
          And of this point a tale I rede.
          Ther was a king which Eolus
          Was hote, and it befell him thus,
          That he tuo children hadde faire,
          The Sone cleped was Machaire,
          The dowhter ek Canace hihte.
          Be daie bothe and ek be nyhte,
          Whil thei be yonge, of comun wone
          In chambre thei togedre wone,   150
          And as thei scholden pleide hem ofte,
          Til thei be growen up alofte
          Into the youthe of lusti age,
          Whan kinde assaileth the corage
          With love and doth him forto bowe,
          That he no reson can allowe,
          Bot halt the lawes of nature:
          For whom that love hath under cure,
          As he is blind himself, riht so
          He makth his client blind also.    160
          In such manere as I you telle
          As thei al day togedre duelle,
          This brother mihte it noght asterte
          That he with al his hole herte
          His love upon his Soster caste:
          And so it fell hem ate laste,
          That this Machaire with Canace
          Whan thei were in a prive place,
          Cupide bad hem ferst to kesse,
          And after sche which is Maistresse    170
          In kinde and techeth every lif
          Withoute lawe positif,
          Of which sche takth nomaner charge,
          Bot kepth hire lawes al at large,
          Nature, tok hem into lore
          And tawht hem so, that overmore
          Sche hath hem in such wise daunted,
          That thei were, as who seith, enchaunted.
          And as the blinde an other ledeth
          And til thei falle nothing dredeth,   180
          Riht so thei hadde non insihte;
          Bot as the bridd which wole alihte
          And seth the mete and noght the net,
          Which in deceipte of him is set,
          This yonge folk no peril sihe,
          Bot that was likinge in here yhe,
          So that thei felle upon the chance
          Where witt hath lore his remembrance.
          So longe thei togedre assemble,
          The wombe aros, and sche gan tremble,    190
          And hield hire in hire chambre clos
          For drede it scholde be disclos
          And come to hire fader Ere:
          Wherof the Sone hadde also fere,
          And feigneth cause forto ryde;
          For longe dorste he noght abyde,
          In aunter if men wolde sein
          That he his Soster hath forlein:
          For yit sche hadde it noght beknowe
          Whos was the child at thilke throwe.  200
          Machaire goth, Canace abit,
          The which was noght delivered yit,
          Bot riht sone after that sche was.
          Now lest and herkne a woful cas.
          The sothe, which mai noght ben hid,
          Was ate laste knowe and kid
          Unto the king, how that it stod.
          And whan that he it understod,
          Anon into Malencolie,
          As thogh it were a frenesie,        210
          He fell, as he which nothing cowthe
          How maistrefull love is in yowthe:
          And for he was to love strange,
          He wolde noght his herte change
          To be benigne and favorable
          To love, bot unmerciable
          Betwen the wawe of wod and wroth
          Into his dowhtres chambre he goth,
          And sih the child was late bore,
          Wherof he hath hise othes swore    220
          That sche it schal ful sore abye.
          And sche began merci to crie,
          Upon hire bare knes and preide,
          And to hire fader thus sche seide:
          "Ha mercy! fader, thenk I am
          Thi child, and of thi blod I cam.
          That I misdede yowthe it made,
          And in the flodes bad me wade,
          Wher that I sih no peril tho:
          Bot now it is befalle so,    230
          Merci, my fader, do no wreche!"
          And with that word sche loste speche
          And fell doun swounende at his fot,
          As sche for sorwe nedes mot.
          Bot his horrible crualte
          Ther mihte attempre no pite:
          Out of hire chambre forth he wente
          Al full of wraththe in his entente,
          And tok the conseil in his herte
          That sche schal noght the deth asterte,  240
          As he which Malencolien
          Of pacience hath no lien,
          Wherof the wraththe he mai restreigne.
          And in this wilde wode peine,
          Whanne al his resoun was untame,
          A kniht he clepeth be his name,
          And tok him as be weie of sonde
          A naked swerd to bere on honde,
          And seide him that he scholde go
          And telle unto his dowhter so       250
          In the manere as he him bad,
          How sche that scharpe swerdes blad
          Receive scholde and do withal
          So as sche wot wherto it schal.
          Forth in message goth this kniht
          Unto this wofull yonge wiht,
          This scharpe swerd to hire he tok:
          Wherof that al hire bodi qwok,
          For wel sche wiste what it mente,
          And that it was to thilke entente  260
          That sche hireselven scholde slee.
          And to the kniht sche seide: "Yee,
          Now that I wot my fadres wille,
          That I schal in this wise spille,
          I wole obeie me therto,
          And as he wole it schal be do.
          Bot now this thing mai be non other,
          I wole a lettre unto mi brother,
          So as my fieble hand may wryte,
          With al my wofull herte endite."   270
          Sche tok a Penne on honde tho,
          Fro point to point and al the wo,
          Als ferforth as hireself it wot,
          Unto hire dedly frend sche wrot,
          And tolde how that hire fader grace
          Sche mihte for nothing pourchace;
          And overthat, as thou schalt hiere,
          Sche wrot and seide in this manere:
          "O thou my sorwe and my gladnesse,
          O thou myn hele and my siknesse,   280
          O my wanhope and al my trust,
          O my desese and al my lust,
          O thou my wele, o thou my wo,
          O thou my frend, o thou my fo,
          O thou my love, o thou myn hate,
          For thee mot I be ded algate.
          Thilke ende may I noght asterte,
          And yit with al myn hole herte,
          Whil that me lasteth eny breth,
          I wol the love into my deth.    290
          Bot of o thing I schal thee preie,
          If that my litel Sone deie,
          Let him be beried in my grave
          Beside me, so schalt thou have
          Upon ous bothe remembrance.
          For thus it stant of my grevance;
          Now at this time, as thou schalt wite,
          With teres and with enke write
          This lettre I have in cares colde:
          In my riht hond my Penne I holde,  300
          And in my left the swerd I kepe,
          And in my barm ther lith to wepe
          Thi child and myn, which sobbeth faste.
          Now am I come unto my laste:
          Fare wel, for I schal sone deie,
          And thenk how I thi love abeie."
          The pomel of the swerd to grounde
          Sche sette, and with the point a wounde
          Thurghout hire herte anon sche made,
          And forth with that al pale and fade  310
          Sche fell doun ded fro ther sche stod.
          The child lay bathende in hire blod
          Out rolled fro the moder barm,
          And for the blod was hot and warm,
          He basketh him aboute thrinne.
          Ther was no bote forto winne,
          For he, which can no pite knowe,
          The king cam in the same throwe,
          And sih how that his dowhter dieth
          And how this Babe al blody crieth;    320
          Bot al that mihte him noght suffise,
          That he ne bad to do juise
          Upon the child, and bere him oute,
          And seche in the Forest aboute
          Som wilde place, what it were,
          To caste him out of honde there,
          So that som best him mai devoure,
          Where as noman him schal socoure.
          Al that he bad was don in dede:
          Ha, who herde evere singe or rede  330
          Of such a thing as that was do?
          Bot he which ladde his wraththe so
          Hath knowe of love bot a lite;
          Bot for al that he was to wyte,
          Thurgh his sodein Malencolie
          To do so gret a felonie.
          Forthi, my Sone, how so it stonde,
          Be this cas thou miht understonde
          That if thou evere in cause of love
          Schalt deme, and thou be so above  340
          That thou miht lede it at thi wille,
          Let nevere thurgh thi Wraththe spille
          Which every kinde scholde save.
          For it sit every man to have
          Reward to love and to his miht,
          Ayein whos strengthe mai no wiht:
          And siththe an herte is so constreigned,
          The reddour oghte be restreigned
          To him that mai no bet aweie,
          Whan he mot to nature obeie.    350
          For it is seid thus overal,
          That nedes mot that nede schal
          Of that a lif doth after kinde,
          Wherof he mai no bote finde.
          What nature hath set in hir lawe
          Ther mai no mannes miht withdrawe,
          And who that worcheth therayein,
          Fulofte time it hath be sein,
          Ther hath befalle gret vengance,
          Wherof I finde a remembrance.   360
          Ovide after the time tho
          Tolde an ensample and seide so,
          How that whilom Tiresias,
          As he walkende goth per cas,
          Upon an hih Montaine he sih
          Tuo Serpentz in his weie nyh,
          And thei, so as nature hem tawhte,
          Assembled  were, and he tho cawhte
          A yerde which he bar on honde,
          And thoghte that he wolde fonde    370
          To letten hem, and smot hem bothe:
          Wherof the goddes weren wrothe;
          And for he hath destourbed kinde
          And was so to nature unkinde,
          Unkindeliche he was transformed,
          That he which erst a man was formed
          Into a womman was forschape.
          That was to him an angri jape;
          Bot for that he with Angre wroghte,
          Hise Angres angreliche he boghte.  380
          Lo thus, my Sone, Ovide hath write,
          Wherof thou miht be reson wite,
          More is a man than such a beste:
          So mihte it nevere ben honeste
          A man to wraththen him to sore
          Of that an other doth the lore
          Of kinde, in which is no malice,
          Bot only that it is a vice:
          And thogh a man be resonable,
          Yit after kinde he is menable   390
          To love, wher he wole or non.
          Thenk thou, my Sone, therupon
          And do Malencolie aweie;
          For love hath evere his lust to pleie,
          As he which wolde no lif grieve.
          Mi fader, that I mai wel lieve;
          Al that ye tellen it is skile:
          Let every man love as he wile,
          Be so it be noght my ladi,
          For I schal noght be wroth therby.    400
          Bot that I wraththe and fare amis,
          Al one upon miself it is,
          That I with bothe love and kinde
          Am so bestad, that I can finde
          No weie how I it mai asterte:
          Which stant upon myn oghne herte
          And toucheth to non other lif,
          Save only to that swete wif
          For whom, bot if it be amended,
          Mi glade daies ben despended,   410
          That I miself schal noght forbere
          The Wraththe which that I now bere,
          For therof is non other leche.
          Now axeth forth, I yow beseche,
          Of Wraththe if ther oght elles is,
          Wherof to schryve. Sone, yis.
          Of Wraththe the secounde is Cheste,
          Which hath the wyndes of tempeste
          To kepe, and many a sodein blast
          He bloweth, wherof ben agast    420
          Thei that desiren pes and reste.
          He is that ilke ungoodlieste
          Which many a lusti love hath twinned;
          For he berth evere his mowth unpinned,
          So that his lippes ben unloke
          And his corage is al tobroke,
          That every thing which he can telle,
          It springeth up as doth a welle,
          Which mai non of his stremes hyde,
          Bot renneth out on every syde.  430
          So buillen up the foule sawes
          That Cheste wot of his felawes:
          For as a Sive kepeth Ale,
          Riht so can Cheste kepe a tale;
          Al that he wot he wol desclose,
          And speke er eny man oppose.
          As a Cite withoute wal,
          Wher men mai gon out overal
          Withouten eny resistence,
          So with his croked eloquence    440
          He spekth al that he wot withinne:
          Wherof men lese mor than winne,
          For ofte time of his chidinge
          He bringth to house such tidinge,
          That makth werre ate beddeshed.
          He is the levein of the bred,
          Which soureth al the past aboute:
          Men oghte wel such on to doute,
          For evere his bowe is redi bent,
          And whom he hit I telle him schent,   450
          If he mai perce him with his tunge.
          And ek so lowde his belle is runge,
          That of the noise and of the soun
          Men feeren hem in al the toun
          Welmore than thei don of thonder.
          For that is cause of more wonder;
          For with the wyndes whiche he bloweth
          Fulofte sythe he overthroweth
          The Cites and the policie,
          That I have herd the poeple crie,  460
          And echon seide in his degre,
          "Ha wicke tunge, wo thee be!"
          For men sein that the harde bon,
          Althogh himselven have non,
          A tunge brekth it al to pieces.
          He hath so manye sondri spieces
          Of vice, that I mai noght wel
          Descrive hem be a thousendel:
          Bot whan that he to Cheste falleth,
          Ful many a wonder thing befalleth,    470
          For he ne can nothing forbere.
          Now tell me, Sone, thin ansuere,
          If it hath evere so betidd,
          That thou at eny time hast chidd
          Toward thi love. Fader, nay:
          Such Cheste yit unto this day
          Ne made I nevere, god forbede:
          For er I sunge such a crede,
          I hadde levere to be lewed;
          For thanne were I al beschrewed    480
          And worthi to be put abak
          With al the sorwe upon my bak
          That eny man ordeigne cowthe.
          Bot I spak nevere yit be mowthe
          That unto Cheste mihte touche,
          And that I durste riht wel vouche
          Upon hirself as for witnesse;
          For I wot, of hir gentilesse
          That sche me wolde wel excuse,
          That I no suche thinges use.    490
          And if it scholde so betide
          That I algates moste chide,
          It myhte noght be to my love:
          For so yit was I nevere above,
          For al this wyde world to winne
          That I dorste eny word beginne,
          Be which sche mihte have ben amoeved
          And I of Cheste also reproeved.
          Bot rathere, if it mihte hir like,
          The beste wordes wolde I pike   500
          Whiche I cowthe in myn herte chese,
          And serve hem forth in stede of chese,
          For that is helplich to defie;
          And so wolde I my wordes plie,
          That mihten Wraththe and Cheste avale
          With tellinge of my softe tale.
          Thus dar I make a foreward,
          That nevere unto my ladiward
          Yit spak I word in such a wise,
          Wherof that Cheste scholde arise.  510
          This seie I noght, that I fulofte
          Ne have, whanne I spak most softe,
          Per cas seid more thanne ynowh;
          Bot so wel halt noman the plowh
          That he ne balketh otherwhile,
          Ne so wel can noman affile
          His tunge, that som time in rape
          Him mai som liht word overscape,
          And yit ne meneth he no Cheste.
          Bot that I have ayein hir heste    520
          Fulofte spoke, I am beknowe;
          And how my will is, that ye knowe:
          For whan my time comth aboute,
          That I dar speke and seie al oute
          Mi longe love, of which sche wot
          That evere in on aliche hot
          Me grieveth, thanne al my desese
          I telle, and though it hir desplese,
          I speke it forth and noght ne leve:
          And thogh it be beside hire leve,  530
          I hope and trowe natheles
          That I do noght ayein the pes;
          For thogh I telle hire al my thoght,
          Sche wot wel that I chyde noght.
          Men mai the hihe god beseche,
          And he wol hiere a mannes speche
          And be noght wroth of that he seith;
          So yifth it me the more feith
          And makth me hardi, soth to seie,
          That I dar wel the betre preie  540
          Mi ladi, which a womman is.
          For thogh I telle hire that or this
          Of love, which me grieveth sore,
          Hire oghte noght be wroth the more,
          For I withoute noise or cri
          Mi pleignte make al buxomly
          To puten alle wraththe away.
          Thus dar I seie unto this day
          Of Cheste in ernest or in game
          Mi ladi schal me nothing blame.    550
          Bot ofte time it hath betidd
          That with miselven I have chidd,
          That noman couthe betre chide:
          And that hath ben at every tide,
          Whanne I cam to miself al one;
          For thanne I made a prive mone,
          And every tale by and by,
          Which as I spak to my ladi,
          I thenke and peise in my balance
          And drawe into my remembrance;  560
          And thanne, if that I finde a lak
          Of eny word that I mispak,
          Which was to moche in eny wise,
          Anon my wittes I despise
          And make a chidinge in myn herte,
          That eny word me scholde asterte
          Which as I scholde have holden inne.
          And so forth after I beginne
          And loke if ther was elles oght
          To speke, and I ne spak it noght:  570
          And thanne, if I mai seche and finde
          That eny word be left behinde,
          Which as I scholde more have spoke,
          I wolde upon miself be wroke,
          And chyde with miselven so
          That al my wit is overgo.
          For noman mai his time lore
          Recovere, and thus I am therfore
          So overwroth in al my thoght,
          That I myself chide al to noght:   580
          Thus for to moche or for to lite
          Fulofte I am miself to wyte.
          Bot al that mai me noght availe,
          With cheste thogh I me travaile:
          Bot Oule on Stock and Stock on Oule;
          The more that a man defoule,
          Men witen wel which hath the werse;
          And so to me nys worth a kerse,
          Bot torneth on myn oghne hed,
          Thogh I, til that I were ded,   590
          Wolde evere chyde in such a wise
          Of love as I to you devise.
          Bot, fader, now ye have al herd
          In this manere how I have ferd
          Of Cheste and of dissencioun,
          Yif me youre absolucioun.
          Mi Sone, if that thou wistest al,
          What Cheste doth in special
          To love and to his welwillinge,
          Thou woldest flen his knowlechinge    600
          And lerne to be debonaire.
          For who that most can speke faire
          Is most acordende unto love:
          Fair speche hath ofte brought above
          Ful many a man, as it is knowe,
          Which elles scholde have be riht lowe
          And failed mochel of his wille.
          Forthi hold thou thi tunge stille
          And let thi witt thi wille areste,
          So that thou falle noght in Cheste,   610
          Which is the source of gret destance:
          And tak into thi remembrance
          If thou miht gete pacience,
          Which is the leche of alle offence,
          As tellen ous these olde wise:
          For whan noght elles mai suffise
          Be strengthe ne be mannes wit,
          Than pacience it oversit
          And overcomth it ate laste;
          Bot he mai nevere longe laste,      620
          Which wol noght bowe er that he breke.
          Tak hiede, Sone, of that I speke.
          Mi fader, of your goodli speche
          And of the witt which ye me teche
          I thonke you with al myn herte:
          For that world schal me nevere asterte,
          That I ne schal your wordes holde,
          Of Pacience as ye me tolde,
          Als ferforth as myn herte thenketh;
          And of my wraththe it me forthenketh.    630
          Bot, fader, if ye forth withal
          Som good ensample in special
          Me wolden telle of som Cronique,
          It scholde wel myn herte like
          Of pacience forto hiere,
          So that I mihte in mi matiere
          The more unto my love obeie
          And puten mi desese aweie.
          Mi Sone, a man to beie him pes
          Behoveth soffre as Socrates  640
          Ensample lefte, which is write:
          And for thou schalt the sothe wite,
          Of this ensample what I mene,
          Althogh it be now litel sene
          Among the men thilke evidence,
          Yit he was upon pacience
          So sett, that he himself assaie
          In thing which mihte him most mispaie
          Desireth, and a wickid wif
          He weddeth, which in sorwe and strif  650
          Ayein his ese was contraire.
          Bot he spak evere softe and faire,
          Til it befell, as it is told,
          In wynter, whan the dai is cold,
          This wif was fro the welle come,
          Wher that a pot with water nome
          Sche hath, and broghte it into house,
          And sih how that hire seli spouse
          Was sett and loked on a bok
          Nyh to the fyr, as he which tok    660
          His ese for a man of age.
          And sche began the wode rage,
          And axeth him what devel he thoghte,
          And bar on hond that him ne roghte
          What labour that sche toke on honde,
          And seith that such an Housebonde
          Was to a wif noght worth a Stre.
          He seide nowther nay ne ye,
          Bot hield him stille and let hire chyde;
          And sche, which mai hirself noght hyde,  670
          Began withinne forto swelle,
          And that sche broghte in fro the welle,
          The waterpot sche hente alofte
          And bad him speke, and he al softe
          Sat stille and noght a word ansuerde;
          And sche was wroth that he so ferde,
          And axeth him if he be ded;
          And al the water on his hed
          Sche pourede oute and bad awake.
          Bot he, which wolde noght forsake  680
          His Pacience, thanne spak,
          And seide how that he fond no lak
          In nothing which sche hadde do:
          For it was wynter time tho,
          And wynter, as be weie of kinde
          Which stormy is, as men it finde,
          Ferst makth the wyndes forto blowe,
          And after that withinne a throwe
          He reyneth and the watergates
          Undoth; "and thus my wif algates,  690
          Which is with reson wel besein,
          Hath mad me bothe wynd and rein
          After the Sesoun of the yer."
          And thanne he sette him nerr the fer,
          And as he mihte hise clothes dreide,
          That he nomore o word ne seide;
          Wherof he gat him somdel reste,
          For that him thoghte was the beste.
          I not if thilke ensample yit
          Acordeth with a mannes wit,  700
          To soffre as Socrates tho dede:
          And if it falle in eny stede
          A man to lese so his galle,
          Him oghte among the wommen alle
          In loves Court be juggement
          The name bere of Pacient,
          To yive ensample to the goode
          Of pacience how that it stode,
          That othre men it mihte knowe.
          And, Sone, if thou at eny throwe   710
          Be tempted ayein Pacience,
          Tak hiede upon this evidence;
          It schal per cas the lasse grieve.
          Mi fader, so as I believe,
          Of that schal be no maner nede,
          For I wol take so good hiede,
          That er I falle in such assai,
          I thenke eschuie it, if I mai.
          Bot if ther be oght elles more
          Wherof I mihte take lore,    720
          I preie you, so as I dar,
          Now telleth, that I mai be war,
          Som other tale in this matiere.
          Sone, it is evere good to lere,
          Wherof thou miht thi word restreigne,
          Er that thou falle in eny peine.
          For who that can no conseil hyde,
          He mai noght faile of wo beside,
          Which schal befalle er he it wite,
          As I finde in the bokes write.  730
          Yit cam ther nevere good of strif,
          To seche in all a mannes lif:
          Thogh it beginne on pure game,
          Fulofte it torneth into grame
          And doth grevance upon som side.
          Wherof the grete Clerk Ovide
          After the lawe which was tho
          Of Jupiter and of Juno
          Makth in his bokes mencioun
          How thei felle at dissencioun   740
          In manere as it were a borde,
          As thei begunne forto worde
          Among hemself in privete:
          And that was upon this degree,
          Which of the tuo more amorous is,
          Or man or wif. And upon this
          Thei mihten noght acorde in on,
          And toke a jugge therupon,
          Which cleped is Tiresias,
          And bede him demen in the cas;  750
          And he withoute avisement
          Ayein Juno yaf juggement.
          This goddesse upon his ansuere
          Was wroth and wolde noght forbere,
          Bot tok awey for everemo
          The liht fro bothe hise yhen tuo.
          Whan Jupiter this harm hath sein,
          An other bienfait therayein
          He yaf, and such a grace him doth,
          That for he wiste he seide soth,   760
          A Sothseiere he was for evere:
          Bot yit that other were levere,
          Have had the lokinge of his yhe,
          Than of his word the prophecie;
          Bot how so that the sothe wente,
          Strif was the cause of that he hente
          So gret a peine bodily.
          Mi Sone, be thou war ther by,
          And hold thi tunge stille clos:
          For who that hath his word desclos    770
          Er that he wite what he mene,
          He is fulofte nyh his tene
          And lest ful many time grace,
          Wher that he wolde his thonk pourchace.
          And over this, my Sone diere,
          Of othre men, if thou miht hiere
          In privete what thei have wroght,
          Hold conseil and descoevere it noght,
          For Cheste can no conseil hele,
          Or be it wo or be it wele:   780
          And tak a tale into thi mynde,
          The which of olde ensample I finde.
          Phebus, which makth the daies lihte,
          A love he hadde, which tho hihte
          Cornide, whom aboven alle
          He pleseth: bot what schal befalle
          Of love ther is noman knoweth,
          Bot as fortune hire happes throweth.
          So it befell upon a chaunce,
          A yong kniht tok hire aqueintance  790
          And hadde of hire al that he wolde:
          Bot a fals bridd, which sche hath holde
          And kept in chambre of pure yowthe,
          Discoevereth all that evere he cowthe.
          This briddes name was as tho
          Corvus, the which was thanne also
          Welmore whyt than eny Swan,
          And he that schrewe al that he can
          Of his ladi to Phebus seide;
          And he for wraththe his swerd outbreide,    800
          With which Cornide anon he slowh.
          Bot after him was wo ynowh,
          And tok a full gret repentance,
          Wherof in tokne and remembrance
          Of hem whiche usen wicke speche,
          Upon this bridd he tok this wreche,
          That ther he was snow whyt tofore,
          Evere afterward colblak therfore
          He was transformed, as it scheweth,
          And many a man yit him beschreweth,   810
          And clepen him into this day
          A Raven, be whom yit men mai
          Take evidence, whan he crieth,
          That som mishapp it signefieth.
          Be war therfore and sei the beste,
          If thou wolt be thiself in reste,
          Mi goode Sone, as I the rede.
          For in an other place I rede
          Of thilke Nimphe which Laar hihte:
          For sche the privete be nyhte,  820
          How Jupiter lay be Jutorne,
          Hath told, god made hire overtorne:
          Hire tunge he kutte, and into helle
          For evere he sende hir forto duelle,
          As sche that was noght worthi hiere
          To ben of love a Chamberere,
          For sche no conseil cowthe hele.
          And suche adaies be now fele
          In loves Court, as it is seid,
          That lete here tunges gon unteid.  830
          Mi Sone, be thou non of tho,
          To jangle and telle tales so,
          And namely that thou ne chyde,
          For Cheste can no conseil hide,
          For Wraththe seide nevere wel.
          Mi fader, soth is everydel
          That ye me teche, and I wol holde
          The reule to which I am holde,
          To fle the Cheste, as ye me bidde,
          For wel is him that nevere chidde.        840
          Now tell me forth if ther be more
          As touchende unto Wraththes lore.
          Of Wraththe yit ther is an other,
          Which is to Cheste his oghne brother,
          And is be name cleped Hate,
          That soffreth noght withinne his gate
          That ther come owther love or pes,
          For he wol make no reles
          Of no debat which is befalle.
          Now spek, if thou art on of alle,  850
          That with this vice hast ben withholde.
          As yit for oght that ye me tolde,
          Mi fader, I not what it is.
          In good feith, Sone, I trowe yis.
          Mi fader, nay, bot ye me lere.
          Now lest, my Sone, and thou schalt here.
          Hate is a wraththe noght schewende,
          Bot of long time gaderende,
          And duelleth in the herte loken,
          Til he se time to be wroken;    860
          And thanne he scheweth his tempeste
          Mor sodein than the wilde beste,
          Which wot nothing what merci is.
          Mi Sone, art thou knowende of this?
          My goode fader, as I wene,
          Now wot I somdel what ye mene;
          Bot I dar saufly make an oth,
          Mi ladi was me nevere loth.
          I wol noght swere natheles
          That I of hate am gulteles;  870
          For whanne I to my ladi plie
          Fro dai to dai and merci crie,
          And sche no merci on me leith
          Bot schorte wordes to me seith,
          Thogh I my ladi love algate,
          Tho wordes moste I nedes hate;
          And wolde thei were al despent,
          Or so ferr oute of londe went
          That I nevere after scholde hem hiere;
          And yit love I my ladi diere.   880
          Thus is ther Hate, as ye mai se,
          Betwen mi ladi word and me;
          The word I hate and hire I love,
          What so me schal betide of love.
          Bot forthere mor I wol me schryve,
          That I have hated al my lyve
          These janglers, whiche of here Envie
          Ben evere redi forto lie;
          For with here fals compassement
          Fuloften thei have mad me schent   890
          And hindred me fulofte time,
          Whan thei no cause wisten bime,
          Bot onliche of here oghne thoght:
          And thus fuloften have I boght
          The lie, and drank noght of the wyn.
          I wolde here happ were such as myn:
          For how so that I be now schrive,
          To hem ne mai I noght foryive,
          Til that I se hem at debat
          With love, and thanne myn astat    900
          Thei mihten be here oghne deme,
          And loke how wel it scholde hem qweme
          To hindre a man that loveth sore.
          And thus I hate hem everemore,
          Til love on hem wol don his wreche:
          For that schal I alway beseche
          Unto the mihti Cupido,
          That he so mochel wolde do,
          So as he is of love a godd,
          To smyte hem with the same rodd    910
          With which I am of love smite;
          So that thei mihten knowe and wite
          How hindringe is a wofull peine
          To him that love wolde atteigne.
          Thus evere on hem I wayte and hope,
          Til I mai sen hem lepe a lope,
          And halten on the same Sor
          Which I do now: for overmor
          I wolde thanne do my myht
          So forto stonden in here lyht,  920
          That thei ne scholden finde a weie
          To that thei wolde, bot aweie
          I wolde hem putte out of the stede
          Fro love, riht as thei me dede
          With that thei speke of me be mowthe.
          So wolde I do, if that I cowthe,
          Of hem, and this, so god me save,
          Is al the hate that I have,
          Toward these janglers everydiel;
          I wolde alle othre ferde wel.   930
          Thus have I, fader, said mi wille;
          Say ye now forth, for I am stille.
          Mi Sone, of that thou hast me said
          I holde me noght fulli paid:
          That thou wolt haten eny man,
          To that acorden I ne can,
          Thogh he have hindred thee tofore.
          Bot this I telle thee therfore,
          Thou miht upon my beneicoun
          Wel haten the condicioun  940
          Of tho janglers, as thou me toldest,
          Bot furthermor, of that thou woldest
          Hem hindre in eny other wise,
          Such Hate is evere to despise.
          Forthi, mi Sone, I wol thee rede,
          That thou drawe in be frendlihede
          That thou ne miht noght do be hate;
          So miht thou gete love algate
          And sette thee, my Sone, in reste,
          For thou schalt finde it for the beste.      950
          And over this, so as I dar,
          I rede that thou be riht war
          Of othre mennes hate aboute,
          Which every wysman scholde doute:
          For Hate is evere upon await,
          And as the fisshere on his bait
          Sleth, whan he seth the fisshes faste,
          So, whan he seth time ate laste,
          That he mai worche an other wo,
          Schal noman tornen him therfro,    960
          That Hate nyle his felonie
          Fulfille and feigne compaignie
          Yit natheles, for fals Semblant
          Is toward him of covenant
          Withholde, so that under bothe
          The prive wraththe can him clothe,
          That he schal seme of gret believe.
          Bot war thee wel that thou ne lieve
          Al that thou sest tofore thin yhe,
          So as the Gregois whilom syhe:  970
          The bok of Troie who so rede,
          Ther mai he finde ensample in dede.
          Sone after the destruccioun,
          Whan Troie was al bete doun
          And slain was Priamus the king,
          The Gregois, whiche of al this thing
          Ben cause, tornen hom ayein.
          Ther mai noman his happ withsein;
          It hath be sen and felt fulofte,
          The harde time after the softe:    980
          Be See as thei forth homward wente,
          A rage of gret tempeste hem hente;
          Juno let bende hire parti bowe,
          The Sky wax derk, the wynd gan blowe,
          The firy welkne gan to thondre,
          As thogh the world scholde al to sondre;
          Fro hevene out of the watergates
          The reyni Storm fell doun algates
          And al here takel made unwelde,
          That noman mihte himself bewelde.  990
          Ther mai men hiere Schipmen crie,
          That stode in aunter forto die:
          He that behinde sat to stiere
          Mai noght the forestempne hiere;
          The Schip aros ayein the wawes,
          The lodesman hath lost his lawes,
          The See bet in on every side:
          Thei nysten what fortune abide,
          Bot sette hem al in goddes wille,
          Wher he hem wolde save or spille.  1000
          And it fell thilke time thus:
          Ther was a king, the which Namplus
          Was hote, and he a Sone hadde,
          At Troie which the Gregois ladde,
          As he that was mad Prince of alle,
          Til that fortune let him falle:
          His name was Palamades.
          Bot thurgh an hate natheles
          Of some of hem his deth was cast
          And he be tresoun overcast.  1010
          His fader, whan he herde it telle,
          He swor, if evere his time felle,
          He wolde him venge, if that he mihte,
          And therto his avou behihte:
          And thus this king thurgh prive hate
          Abod upon await algate,
          For he was noght of such emprise
          To vengen him in open wise.
          The fame, which goth wyde where,
          Makth knowe how that the Gregois were    1020
          Homward with al the felaschipe
          Fro Troie upon the See be Schipe.
          Namplus, whan he this understod,
          And knew the tydes of the flod,
          And sih the wynd blew to the lond,
          A gret deceipte anon he fond
          Of prive hate, as thou schalt hiere,
          Wherof I telle al this matiere.
          This king the weder gan beholde,
          And wiste wel thei moten holde  1030
          Here cours endlong his marche riht,
          And made upon the derke nyht
          Of grete Schydes and of blockes
          Gret fyr ayein the grete rockes,
          To schewe upon the helles hihe,
          So that the Flete of Grece it sihe.
          And so it fell riht as he thoghte:
          This Flete, which an havene soghte,
          The bryghte fyres sih a ferr,
          And thei hem drowen nerr and nerr,    1040
          And wende wel and understode
          How al that fyr was made for goode,
          To schewe wher men scholde aryve,
          And thiderward thei hasten blyve.
          In Semblant, as men sein, is guile,
          And that was proved thilke while;
          The Schip, which wende his helpe acroche,
          Drof al to pieces on the roche,
          And so ther deden ten or twelve;
          Ther mihte noman helpe himselve,   1050
          For ther thei wenden deth ascape,
          Withouten help here deth was schape.
          Thus thei that comen ferst tofore
          Upon the Rockes be forlore,
          Bot thurgh the noise and thurgh the cri
          These othre were al war therby;
          And whan the dai began to rowe,
          Tho mihten thei the sothe knowe,
          That wher they wenden frendes finde,
          Thei founden frenschipe al behinde.   1060
          The lond was thanne sone weyved,
          Wher that thei hadden be deceived,
          And toke hem to the hihe See;
          Therto thei seiden alle yee,
          Fro that dai forth and war thei were
          Of that thei hadde assaied there.
          Mi Sone, hierof thou miht avise
          How fraude stant in many wise
          Amonges hem that guile thenke;
          Ther is no Scrivein with his enke  1070
          Which half the fraude wryte can
          That stant in such a maner man:
          Forthi the wise men ne demen
          The thinges after that thei semen,
          Bot after that thei knowe and finde.
          The Mirour scheweth in his kinde
          As he hadde al the world withinne,
          And is in soth nothing therinne;
          And so farth Hate for a throwe:
          Til he a man hath overthrowe,   1080
          Schal noman knowe be his chere
          Which is avant, ne which arere.
          Forthi, mi Sone, thenke on this.
          Mi fader, so I wole ywiss;
          And if ther more of Wraththe be,
          Now axeth forth per charite,
          As ye be youre bokes knowe,
          And I the sothe schal beknowe.
          Mi Sone, thou schalt understonde
          That yit towardes Wraththe stonde  1090
          Of dedly vices othre tuo:
          And forto telle here names so,
          It is Contek and Homicide,
          That ben to drede on every side.
          Contek, so as the bokes sein,
          Folhast hath to his Chamberlein,
          Be whos conseil al unavised
          Is Pacience most despised,
          Til Homicide with hem meete.
          Fro merci thei ben al unmeete,  1100
          And thus ben thei the worste of alle
          Of hem whiche unto wraththe falle,
          In dede bothe and ek in thoght:
          For thei acompte here wraththe at noght,
          Bot if ther be schedinge of blod;
          And thus lich to a beste wod
          Thei knowe noght the god of lif.
          Be so thei have or swerd or knif
          Here dedly wraththe forto wreke,
          Of Pite list hem noght to speke;   1110
          Non other reson thei ne fonge,
          Bot that thei ben of mihtes stronge.
          Bot war hem wel in other place,
          Where every man behoveth grace,
          Bot ther I trowe it schal hem faile,
          To whom no merci mihte availe,
          Bot wroghten upon tiraundie,
          That no pite ne mihte hem plie.
          Now tell, my Sone. Fader, what?
          If thou hast be coupable of that.  1120
          Mi fader, nay, Crist me forbiede:
          I speke onliche as of the dede,
          Of which I nevere was coupable
          Withoute cause resonable.
          Bot this is noght to mi matiere
          Of schrifte, why we sitten hiere;
          For we ben sett to schryve of love,
          As we begunne ferst above:
          And natheles I am beknowe
          That as touchende of loves throwe,    1130
          Whan I my wittes overwende,
          Min hertes contek hath non ende,
          Bot evere it stant upon debat
          To gret desese of myn astat
          As for the time that it lasteth.
          For whan mi fortune overcasteth
          Hire whiel and is to me so strange,
          And that I se sche wol noght change,
          Than caste I al the world aboute,
          And thenke hou I at home and oute  1140
          Have al my time in vein despended,
          And se noght how to ben amended,
          Bot rathere forto be empeired,
          As he that is welnyh despeired:
          For I ne mai no thonk deserve,
          And evere I love and evere I serve,
          And evere I am aliche nerr.
          Thus, for I stonde in such a wer,
          I am, as who seith, out of herre;
          And thus upon miself the werre  1150
          I bringe, and putte out alle pes,
          That I fulofte in such a res
          Am wery of myn oghne lif.
          So that of Contek and of strif
          I am beknowe and have ansuerd,
          As ye, my fader, now have herd.
          Min herte is wonderly begon
          With conseil, wherof witt is on,
          Which hath resoun in compaignie;
          Ayein the whiche stant partie   1160
          Will, which hath hope of his acord,
          And thus thei bringen up descord.
          Witt and resoun conseilen ofte
          That I myn herte scholde softe,
          And that I scholde will remue
          And put him out of retenue,
          Or elles holde him under fote:
          For as thei sein, if that he mote
          His oghne rewle have upon honde,
          Ther schal no witt ben understonde.   1170
          Of hope also thei tellen this,
          That overal, wher that he is,
          He set the herte in jeupartie
          With wihssinge and with fantasie,
          And is noght trewe of that he seith,
          So that in him ther is no feith:
          Thus with reson and wit avised
          Is will and hope aldai despised.
          Reson seith that I scholde leve
          To love, wher ther is no leve   1180
          To spede, and will seith therayein
          That such an herte is to vilein,
          Which dar noght love and til he spede,
          Let hope serve at such a nede:
          He seith ek, where an herte sit
          Al hol governed upon wit,
          He hath this lyves lust forlore.
          And thus myn herte is al totore
          Of such a Contek as thei make:
          Bot yit I mai noght will forsake,  1190
          That he nys Maister of my thoght,
          Or that I spede, or spede noght.
          Thou dost, my Sone, ayein the riht;
          Bot love is of so gret a miht,
          His lawe mai noman refuse,
          So miht thou thee the betre excuse.
          And natheles thou schalt be lerned
          That will scholde evere be governed
          Of reson more than of kinde,
          Wherof a tale write I finde.    1200
          A Philosophre of which men tolde
          Ther was whilom be daies olde,
          And Diogenes thanne he hihte.
          So old he was that he ne mihte
          The world travaile, and for the beste
          He schop him forto take his reste,
          And duelte at hom in such a wise,
          That nyh his hous he let devise
          Endlong upon an Axeltre
          To sette a tonne in such degre,    1210
          That he it mihte torne aboute;
          Wherof on hed was taken oute,
          For he therinne sitte scholde
          And torne himself so as he wolde,
          To take their and se the hevene
          And deme of the planetes sevene,
          As he which cowthe mochel what.
          And thus fulofte there he sat
          To muse in his philosophie
          Solein withoute compaignie:  1220
          So that upon a morwetyde,
          As thing which scholde so betyde,
          Whan he was set ther as him liste
          To loke upon the Sonne ariste,
          Wherof the propretes he sih,
          It fell ther cam ridende nyh
          King Alisandre with a route;
          And as he caste his yhe aboute,
          He sih this Tonne, and what it mente
          He wolde wite, and thider sente    1230
          A knyht, be whom he mihte it knowe,
          And he himself that ilke throwe
          Abod, and hoveth there stille.
          This kniht after the kinges wille
          With spore made his hors to gon
          And to the tonne he cam anon,
          Wher that he fond a man of Age,
          And he him tolde the message,
          Such as the king him hadde bede,
          And axeth why in thilke stede   1240
          The Tonne stod, and what it was.
          And he, which understod the cas,
          Sat stille and spak no word ayein.
          The kniht bad speke and seith, "Vilein,
          Thou schalt me telle, er that I go;
          It is thi king which axeth so."
          "Mi king," quod he, "that were unriht."
          "What is he thanne?" seith the kniht,
          "Is he thi man?" "That seie I noght,"
          Quod he, "bot this I am bethoght,  1250
          Mi mannes man hou that he is."
          "Thou lyest, false cherl, ywiss,"
          The kniht him seith, and was riht wroth,
          And to the king ayein he goth
          And tolde him how this man ansuerde.
          The king, whan he this tale herde,
          Bad that thei scholden alle abyde,
          For he himself wol thider ryde.
          And whan he cam tofore the tonne,
          He hath his tale thus begonne:  1260
          "Alheil," he seith, "what man art thou?"
          Quod he, "Such on as thou sest now."
          The king, which hadde wordes wise,
          His age wolde noght despise,
          Bot seith, "Mi fader, I thee preie
          That thou me wolt the cause seie,
          How that I am thi mannes man."
          "Sire king," quod he, "and that I can,
          If that thou wolt." "Yis," seith the king.
          Quod he, "This is the sothe thing:    1270
          Sith I ferst resoun understod,
          And knew what thing was evel and good,
          The will which of my bodi moeveth,
          Whos werkes that the god reproeveth,
          I have restreigned everemore,
          As him which stant under the lore
          Of reson, whos soubgit he is,
          So that he mai noght don amis:
          And thus be weie of covenant
          Will is my man and my servant,  1280
          And evere hath ben and evere schal.
          And thi will is thi principal,
          And hath the lordschipe of thi witt,
          So that thou cowthest nevere yit
          Take o dai reste of thi labour;
          Bot forto ben a conquerour
          Of worldes good, which mai noght laste,
          Thou hiest evere aliche faste,
          Wher thou no reson hast to winne:
          And thus thi will is cause of Sinne,  1290
          And is thi lord, to whom thou servest,
          Wherof thou litel thonk deservest."
          The king of that he thus answerde
          Was nothing wroth, bot whanne he herde
          The hihe wisdom which he seide,
          With goodly wordes this he preide,
          That he him wolde telle his name.
          "I am," quod he, "that ilke same,
          The which men Diogenes calle."
          Tho was the king riht glad withalle,  1300
          For he hadde often herd tofore
          What man he was, so that therfore
          He seide, "O wise Diogene,
          Now schal thi grete witt be sene;
          For thou schalt of my yifte have
          What worldes thing that thou wolt crave."
          Quod he, "Thanne hove out of mi Sonne,
          And let it schyne into mi Tonne;
          For thou benymst me thilke yifte,
          Which lith noght in thi miht to schifte:    1310
          Non other good of thee me nedeth."
          This king, whom every contre dredeth,
          Lo, thus he was enformed there:
          Wherof, my Sone, thou miht lere
          How that thi will schal noght be lieved,
          Where it is noght of wit relieved.
          And thou hast seid thiself er this
          How that thi will thi maister is;
          Thurgh which thin hertes thoght withinne
          Is evere of Contek to beginne,  1320
          So that it is gretli to drede
          That it non homicide brede.
          For love is of a wonder kinde,
          And hath hise wittes ofte blinde,
          That thei fro mannes reson falle;
          Bot whan that it is so befalle
          That will schal the corage lede,
          In loves cause it is to drede:
          Wherof I finde ensample write,
          Which is behovely forto wite.   1330
          I rede a tale, and telleth this:
          The Cite which Semiramis
          Enclosed hath with wall aboute,
          Of worthi folk with many a route
          Was enhabited here and there;
          Among the whiche tuo ther were
          Above alle othre noble and grete,
          Dwellende tho withinne a Strete
          So nyh togedre, as it was sene,
          That ther was nothing hem betwene,    1340
          Bot wow to wow and wall to wall.
          This o lord hadde in special
          A Sone, a lusti Bacheler,
          In al the toun was non his pier:
          That other hadde a dowhter eke,
          In al the lond that forto seke
          Men wisten non so faire as sche.
          And fell so, as it scholde be,
          This faire dowhter nyh this Sone
          As thei togedre thanne wone,    1350
          Cupide hath so the thinges schape,
          That thei ne mihte his hand ascape,
          That he his fyr on hem ne caste:
          Wherof her herte he overcaste
          To folwe thilke lore and suie
          Which nevere man yit miht eschuie;
          And that was love, as it is happed,
          Which hath here hertes so betrapped,
          That thei be alle weies seche
          How that thei mihten winne a speche,  1360
          Here wofull peine forto lisse.
          Who loveth wel, it mai noght misse,
          And namely whan ther be tuo
          Of on acord, how so it go,
          Bot if that thei som weie finde;
          For love is evere of such a kinde
          And hath his folk so wel affaited,
          That howso that it be awaited,
          Ther mai noman the pourpos lette:
          And thus betwen hem tuo thei sette    1370
          And hole upon a wall to make,
          Thurgh which thei have her conseil take
          At alle times, whan thei myhte.
          This faire Maiden Tisbee hihte,
          And he whom that sche loveth hote
          Was Piramus be name hote.
          So longe here lecoun thei recorden,
          Til ate laste thei acorden
          Be nihtes time forto wende
          Al one out fro the tounes ende,    1380
          Wher was a welle under a Tree;
          And who cam ferst, or sche or he,
          He scholde stille there abide.
          So it befell the nyhtes tide
          This maiden, which desguised was,
          Al prively the softe pas
          Goth thurgh the large toun unknowe,
          Til that sche cam withinne a throwe
          Wher that sche liketh forto duelle,
          At thilke unhappi freisshe welle,  1390
          Which was also the Forest nyh.
          Wher sche comende a Leoun syh
          Into the feld to take his preie,
          In haste and sche tho fledde aweie,
          So as fortune scholde falle,
          For feere and let hire wympel falle
          Nyh to the welle upon therbage.
          This Leoun in his wilde rage
          A beste, which that he fond oute,
          Hath slain, and with his blodi snoute,   1400
          Whan he hath eten what he wolde,
          To drynke of thilke stremes colde
          Cam to the welle, where he fond
          The wympel, which out of hire hond
          Was falle, and he it hath todrawe,
          Bebled aboute and al forgnawe;
          And thanne he strawhte him forto drinke
          Upon the freisshe welles brinke,
          And after that out of the plein
          He torneth to the wode ayein.   1410
          And Tisbee dorste noght remue,
          Bot as a bridd which were in Mue
          Withinne a buissh sche kepte hire clos
          So stille that sche noght aros;
          Unto hirself and pleigneth ay.
          And fell, whil that sche there lay,
          This Piramus cam after sone
          Unto the welle, and be the Mone
          He fond hire wimpel blodi there.
          Cam nevere yit to mannes Ere    1420
          Tidinge, ne to mannes sihte
          Merveile, which so sore aflihte
          A mannes herte, as it tho dede
          To him, which in the same stede
          With many a wofull compleignynge
          Began his handes forto wringe,
          As he which demeth sikerly
          That sche be ded: and sodeinly
          His swerd al nakid out he breide
          In his folhaste, and thus he seide:   1430
          "I am cause of this felonie,
          So it is resoun that I die,
          As sche is ded be cause of me."
          And with that word upon his kne
          He fell, and to the goddes alle
          Up to the hevene he gan to calle,
          And preide, sithen it was so
          That he may noght his love as tho
          Have in this world, that of her grace
          He miht hire have in other place,  1440
          For hiere wolde he noght abide,
          He seith: bot as it schal betide,
          The Pomel of his swerd to grounde
          He sette, and thurgh his herte a wounde
          He made up to the bare hilte:
          And in this wise himself he spilte
          With his folhaste and deth he nam;
          For sche withinne a while cam,
          Wher he lai ded upon his knif.
          So wofull yit was nevere lif    1450
          As Tisbee was, whan sche him sih:
          Sche mihte noght o word on hih
          Speke oute, for hire herte schette,
          That of hir lif no pris sche sette,
          Bot ded swounende doun sche fell.
          Til after, whanne it so befell
          That sche out of hire traunce awok,
          With many a wofull pitous lok
          Hire yhe alwei among sche caste
          Upon hir love, and ate laste    1460
          Sche cawhte breth and seide thus:
          "O thou which cleped art Venus,
          Goddesse of love, and thou, Cupide,
          Which loves cause hast forto guide,
          I wot now wel that ye be blinde,
          Of thilke unhapp which I now finde
          Only betwen my love and me.
          This Piramus, which hiere I se
          Bledende, what hath he deserved?
          For he youre heste hath kept and served,    1470
          And was yong and I bothe also:
          Helas, why do ye with ous so?
          Ye sette oure herte bothe afyre,
          And maden ous such thing desire
          Wherof that we no skile cowthe;
          Bot thus oure freisshe lusti yowthe
          Withoute joie is al despended,
          Which thing mai nevere ben amended:
          For as of me this wol I seie,
          That me is levere forto deie    1480
          Than live after this sorghful day."
          And with this word, where as he lay,
          Hire love in armes sche embraseth,
          Hire oghne deth and so pourchaseth
          That now sche wepte and nou sche kiste,
          Til ate laste, er sche it wiste,
          So gret a sorwe is to hire falle,
          Which overgoth hire wittes alle.
          As sche which mihte it noght asterte,
          The swerdes point ayein hire herte    1490
          Sche sette, and fell doun therupon,
          Wherof that sche was ded anon:
          And thus bothe on o swerd bledende
          Thei weren founde ded liggende.
          Now thou, mi Sone, hast herd this tale,
          Bewar that of thin oghne bale
          Thou be noght cause in thi folhaste,
          And kep that thou thi witt ne waste
          Upon thi thoght in aventure,
          Wherof thi lyves forfeture   1500
          Mai falle: and if thou have so thoght
          Er this, tell on and hyde it noght.
          Mi fader, upon loves side
          Mi conscience I woll noght hyde,
          How that for love of pure wo
          I have ben ofte moeved so,
          That with my wisshes if I myhte,
          A thousand times, I yow plyhte,
          I hadde storven in a day;
          And therof I me schryve may,    1510
          Though love fully me ne slowh,
          Mi will to deie was ynowh,
          So am I of my will coupable:
          And yit is sche noght merciable,
          Which mai me yive lif and hele.
          Bot that hir list noght with me dele,
          I wot be whos conseil it is,
          And him wolde I long time er this,
          And yit I wolde and evere schal,
          Slen and destruie in special.   1520
          The gold of nyne kinges londes
          Ne scholde him save fro myn hondes,
          In my pouer if that he were;
          Bot yit him stant of me no fere
          For noght that evere I can manace.
          He is the hindrere of mi grace,
          Til he be ded I mai noght spede;
          So mot I nedes taken hiede
          And schape how that he were aweie,
          If I therto mai finde a weie.   1530
          Mi Sone, tell me now forthi,
          Which is that mortiel enemy
          That thou manacest to be ded.
          Mi fader, it is such a qwed,
          That wher I come, he is tofore,
          And doth so, that mi cause is lore.
          What is his name? It is Daunger,
          Which is mi ladi consailer:
          For I was nevere yit so slyh,
          To come in eny place nyh      1540
          Wher as sche was be nyht or day,
          That Danger ne was redy ay,
          With whom for speche ne for mede
          Yit mihte I nevere of love spede;
          For evere this I finde soth,
          Al that my ladi seith or doth
          To me, Daunger schal make an ende,
          And that makth al mi world miswende:
          And evere I axe his help, bot he
          Mai wel be cleped sanz pite;    1550
          For ay the more I to him bowe,
          The lasse he wol my tale alowe.
          He hath mi ladi so englued,
          Sche wol noght that he be remued;
          For evere he hangeth on hire Seil,
          And is so prive of conseil,
          That evere whanne I have oght bede,
          I finde Danger in hire stede
          And myn ansuere of him I have;
          Bot for no merci that I crave,  1560
          Of merci nevere a point I hadde.
          I finde his ansuere ay so badde,
          That werse mihte it nevere be:
          And thus betwen Danger and me
          Is evere werre til he dye.
          Bot mihte I ben of such maistrie,
          That I Danger hadde overcome,
          With that were al my joie come.
          Thus wolde I wonde for no Sinne,
          Ne yit for al this world to winne;    1570
          If that I mihte finde a sleyhte,
          To leie al myn astat in weyhte,
          I wolde him fro the Court dissevere,
          So that he come ayeinward nevere.
          Therfore I wisshe and wolde fain
          That he were in som wise slain;
          For while he stant in thilke place,
          Ne gete I noght my ladi grace.
          Thus hate I dedly thilke vice,
          And wolde he stode in non office   1580
          In place wher mi ladi is;
          For if he do, I wot wel this,
          That owther schal he deie or I
          Withinne a while; and noght forthi
          On my ladi fulofte I muse,
          How that sche mai hirself excuse,
          If that I deie in such a plit.
          Me thenkth sche mihte noght be qwyt
          That sche ne were an homicide:
          And if it scholde so betide,    1590
          As god forbiede it scholde be,
          Be double weie it is pite.
          For I, which al my will and witt
          Have yove and served evere yit,
          And thanne I scholde in such a wise
          In rewardinge of my servise
          Be ded, me thenkth it were a rowthe:
          And furthermor, to telle trowthe,
          Sche, that hath evere be wel named,
          Were worthi thanne to be blamed    1600
          And of reson to ben appeled,
          Whan with o word sche mihte have heled
          A man, and soffreth him so deie.
          Ha, who sawh evere such a weie?
          Ha, who sawh evere such destresse?
          Withoute pite gentilesse,
          Withoute mercy wommanhede,
          That wol so quyte a man his mede,
          Which evere hath be to love trewe.
          Mi goode fader, if ye rewe   1610
          Upon mi tale, tell me now,
          And I wol stinte and herkne yow.
          Mi Sone, attempre thi corage
          Fro Wraththe, and let thin herte assuage:
          For who so wole him underfonge,
          He mai his grace abide longe,
          Er he of love be received;
          And ek also, bot it be weyved,
          Ther mihte mochel thing befalle,
          That scholde make a man to falle   1620
          Fro love, that nevere afterward
          Ne durste he loke thiderward.
          In harde weies men gon softe,
          And er thei clymbe avise hem ofte:
          Men sen alday that rape reweth;
          And who so wicked Ale breweth,
          Fulofte he mot the werse drinke:
          Betre is to flete than to sincke;
          Betre is upon the bridel chiewe
          Thanne if he felle and overthrewe,    1630
          The hors and stikede in the Myr:
          To caste water in the fyr
          Betre is than brenne up al the hous:
          The man which is malicious
          And folhastif, fulofte he falleth,
          And selden is whan love him calleth.
          Forthi betre is to soffre a throwe
          Than be to wilde and overthrowe;
          Suffrance hath evere be the beste
          To wissen him that secheth reste:  1640
          And thus, if thou wolt love and spede,
          Mi Sone, soffre, as I the rede.
          What mai the Mous ayein the Cat?
          And for this cause I axe that,
          Who mai to love make a werre,
          That he ne hath himself the werre?
          Love axeth pes and evere schal,
          And who that fihteth most withal
          Schal lest conquere of his emprise:
          For this thei tellen that ben wise,   1650
          Wicke is to stryve and have the werse;
          To hasten is noght worth a kerse;
          Thing that a man mai noght achieve,
          That mai noght wel be don at Eve,
          It mot abide til the morwe.
          Ne haste noght thin oghne sorwe,
          Mi Sone, and tak this in thi witt,
          He hath noght lost that wel abitt.
          Ensample that it falleth thus,
          Thou miht wel take of Piramus,  1660
          Whan he in haste his swerd outdrowh
          And on the point himselve slowh
          For love of Tisbee pitously,
          For he hire wympel fond blody
          And wende a beste hire hadde slain;
          Wher as him oghte have be riht fain,
          For sche was there al sauf beside:
          Bot for he wolde noght abide,
          This meschief fell. Forthi be war,
          Mi Sone, as I the warne dar,    1670
          Do thou nothing in such a res,
          For suffrance is the welle of Pes.
          Thogh thou to loves Court poursuie,
          Yit sit it wel that thou eschuie
          That thou the Court noght overhaste,
          For so miht thou thi time waste;
          Bot if thin happ therto be schape,
          It mai noght helpe forto rape.
          Therfore attempre thi corage;
          Folhaste doth non avantage,  1680
          Bot ofte it set a man behinde
          In cause of love, and that I finde
          Be olde ensample, as thou schalt hiere,
          Touchende of love in this matiere.
          A Maiden whilom ther was on,
          Which Daphne hihte, and such was non
          Of beaute thanne, as it was seid.
          Phebus his love hath on hire leid,
          And therupon to hire he soghte
          In his folhaste, and so besoghte,      1690
          That sche with him no reste hadde;
          For evere upon hire love he gradde,
          And sche seide evere unto him nay.
          So it befell upon a dai,
          Cupide, which hath every chance
          Of love under his governance,
          Syh Phebus hasten him so sore:
          And for he scholde him haste more,
          And yit noght speden ate laste,
          A dart thurghout his herte he caste,  1700
          Which was of gold and al afyre,
          That made him manyfold desire
          Of love more thanne he dede.
          To Daphne ek in the same stede
          A dart of Led he caste and smot,
          Which was al cold and nothing hot.
          And thus Phebus in love brenneth,
          And in his haste aboute renneth,
          To loke if that he mihte winne;
          Bot he was evere to beginne,    1710
          For evere awei fro him sche fledde,
          So that he nevere his love spedde.
          And forto make him full believe
          That no Folhaste mihte achieve
          To gete love in such degree,
          This Daphne into a lorer tre
          Was torned, which is evere grene,
          In tokne, as yit it mai be sene,
          That sche schal duelle a maiden stille,
          And Phebus failen of his wille.    1720
          Be suche ensamples, as thei stonde,
          Mi Sone, thou miht understonde,
          To hasten love is thing in vein,
          Whan that fortune is therayein.
          To take where a man hath leve
          Good is, and elles he mot leve;
          For whan a mannes happes failen,
          Ther is non haste mai availen.
          Mi fader, grant merci of this:
          Bot while I se mi ladi is    1730
          No tre, but halt hire oghne forme,
          Ther mai me noman so enforme,
          To whether part fortune wende,
          That I unto mi lyves ende
          Ne wol hire serven everemo.
          Mi Sone, sithen it is so,
          I seie nomor; bot in this cas
          Bewar how it with Phebus was.
          Noght only upon loves chance,
          Bot upon every governance    1740
          Which falleth unto mannes dede,
          Folhaste is evere forto drede,
          And that a man good consail take,
          Er he his pourpos undertake,
          For consail put Folhaste aweie.
          Now goode fader, I you preie,
          That forto wisse me the more,
          Som good ensample upon this lore
          Ye wolden telle of that is write,
          That I the betre mihte wite  1750
          How I Folhaste scholde eschuie,
          And the wisdom of conseil suie.
          Mi Sone, that thou miht enforme
          Thi pacience upon the forme
          Of old essamples, as thei felle,
          Now understond what I schal telle.
          Whan noble Troie was belein
          And overcome, and hom ayein
          The Gregois torned fro the siege,
          The kinges founde here oghne liege    1760
          In manye places, as men seide,
          That hem forsoke and desobeide.
          Among the whiche fell this cas
          To Demephon and Athemas,
          That weren kinges bothe tuo,
          And bothe weren served so:
          Here lieges wolde hem noght receive,
          So that thei mote algates weyve
          To seche lond in other place,
          For there founde thei no grace.    1770
          Wherof they token hem to rede,
          And soghten frendes ate nede,
          And ech of hem asseureth other
          To helpe as to his oghne brother,
          To vengen hem of thilke oultrage
          And winne ayein here heritage.
          And thus thei ryde aboute faste
          To gete hem help, and ate laste
          Thei hadden pouer sufficant,
          And maden thanne a covenant,    1780
          That thei ne scholden no lif save,
          Ne prest, ne clerc, ne lord, ne knave,
          Ne wif, ne child, of that thei finde,
          Which berth visage of mannes kinde,
          So that no lif schal be socoured,
          Bot with the dedly swerd devoured:
          In such Folhaste here ordinance
          Thei schapen forto do vengance.
          Whan this pourpos was wist and knowe
          Among here host, tho was ther blowe   1790
          Of wordes many a speche aboute:
          Of yonge men the lusti route
          Were of this tale glad ynowh,
          Ther was no care for the plowh;
          As thei that weren Folhastif,
          Thei ben acorded to the strif,
          And sein it mai noght be to gret
          To vengen hem of such forfet:
          Thus seith the wilde unwise tonge
          Of hem that there weren yonge.  1800
          Bot Nestor, which was old and hor,
          The salve sih tofore the sor,
          As he that was of conseil wys:
          So that anon be his avis
          Ther was a prive conseil nome.
          The lordes ben togedre come;
          This Demephon and Athemas
          Here pourpos tolden, as it was;
          Thei sieten alle stille and herde,
          Was non bot Nestor hem ansuerde.   1810
          He bad hem, if thei wolde winne,
          They scholden se, er thei beginne,
          Here ende, and sette here ferste entente,
          That thei hem after ne repente:
          And axeth hem this questioun,
          To what final conclusioun
          Thei wolde regne Kinges there,
          If that no poeple in londe were;
          And seith, it were a wonder wierde
          To sen a king become an hierde,    1820
          Wher no lif is bot only beste
          Under the liegance of his heste;
          For who that is of man no king,
          The remenant is as no thing.
          He seith ek, if the pourpos holde
          To sle the poeple, as thei tuo wolde,
          Whan thei it mihte noght restore,
          Al Grece it scholde abegge sore,
          To se the wilde beste wone
          Wher whilom duelte a mannes Sone:  1830
          And for that cause he bad hem trete,
          And stinte of the manaces grete.
          Betre is to winne be fair speche,
          He seith, than such vengance seche;
          For whanne a man is most above,
          Him nedeth most to gete him love.
          Whan Nestor hath his tale seid,
          Ayein him was no word withseid;
          It thoghte hem alle he seide wel:
          And thus fortune hire dedly whiel  1840
          Fro werre torneth into pes.
          Bot forth thei wenten natheles;
          And whan the Contres herde sein
          How that here kinges be besein
          Of such a pouer as thei ladde,
          Was non so bold that hem ne dradde,
          And forto seche pes and grith
          Thei sende and preide anon forthwith,
          So that the kinges ben appesed,
          And every mannes herte is esed;    1850
          Al was foryete and noght recorded.
          And thus thei ben togedre acorded;
          The kinges were ayein received,
          And pes was take and wraththe weived,
          And al thurgh conseil which was good
          Of him that reson understod.
          Be this ensample, Sone, attempre
          Thin herte and let no will distempre
          Thi wit, and do nothing be myht
          Which mai be do be love and riht.  1860
          Folhaste is cause of mochel wo;
          Forthi, mi Sone, do noght so.
          And as touchende of Homicide
          Which toucheth unto loves side,
          Fulofte it falleth unavised
          Thurgh will, which is noght wel assised,
          Whan wit and reson ben aweie
          And that Folhaste is in the weie,
          Wherof hath falle gret vengance.
          Forthi tak into remembrance  1870
          To love in such a maner wise
          That thou deserve no juise:
          For wel I wot, thou miht noght lette,
          That thou ne schalt thin herte sette
          To love, wher thou wolt or non;
          Bot if thi wit be overgon,
          So that it torne into malice,
          Ther wot noman of thilke vice,
          What peril that ther mai befalle:
          Wherof a tale amonges alle,  1880
          Which is gret pite forto hiere,
          I thenke forto tellen hiere,
          That thou such moerdre miht withstonde,
          Whan thou the tale hast understonde.
          Of Troie at thilke noble toun,
          Whos fame stant yit of renoun
          And evere schal to mannes Ere,
          The Siege laste longe there,
          Er that the Greks it mihten winne,
          Whil Priamus was king therinne;    1890
          Bot of the Greks that lyhe aboute
          Agamenon ladde al the route.
          This thing is knowen overal,
          Bot yit I thenke in special
          To my matiere therupon
          Telle in what wise Agamenon,
          Thurgh chance which mai noght be weived,
          Of love untrewe was deceived.
          An old sawe is, "Who that is slyh
          In place where he mai be nyh,   1900
          He makth the ferre Lieve loth":
          Of love and thus fulofte it goth.
          Ther while Agamenon batailleth
          To winne Troie, and it assailleth,
          Fro home and was long time ferr,
          Egistus drowh his qweene nerr,
          And with the leiser which he hadde
          This ladi at his wille he ladde:
          Climestre was hire rihte name,
          Sche was therof gretli to blame,   1910
          To love there it mai noght laste.
          Bot fell to meschief ate laste;
          For whan this noble worthi kniht
          Fro Troie cam, the ferste nyht
          That he at home abedde lay,
          Egistus, longe er it was day,
          As this Climestre him hadde asent,
          And weren bothe of on assent,
          Be treson slowh him in his bedd.
          Bot moerdre, which mai noght ben hedd,   1920
          Sprong out to every mannes Ere,
          Wherof the lond was full of fere.
          Agamenon hath be this qweene
          A Sone, and that was after sene;
          Bot yit as thanne he was of yowthe,
          A babe, which no reson cowthe,
          And as godd wolde, it fell him thus.
          A worthi kniht Taltabius
          This yonge child hath in kepinge,
          And whan he herde of this tidinge,    1930
          Of this treson, of this misdede,
          He gan withinne himself to drede,
          In aunter if this false Egiste
          Upon him come, er he it wiste,
          To take and moerdre of his malice
          This child, which he hath to norrice:
          And for that cause in alle haste
          Out of the lond he gan him haste
          And to the king of Crete he strawhte
          And him this yonge lord betawhte,  1940
          And preide him for his fader sake
          That he this child wolde undertake
          And kepe him til he be of Age,
          So as he was of his lignage;
          And tolde him over al the cas,
          How that his fadre moerdred was,
          And hou Egistus, as men seide,
          Was king, to whom the lond obeide.
          And whanne Ydomeneux the king
          Hath understondinge of this thing,    1950
          Which that this kniht him hadde told,
          He made sorwe manyfold,
          And tok this child into his warde,
          And seide he wolde him kepe and warde,
          Til that he were of such a myht
          To handle a swerd and ben a knyht,
          To venge him at his oghne wille.
          And thus Horestes duelleth stille,
          Such was the childes rihte name,
          Which after wroghte mochel schame  1960
          In vengance of his fader deth.
          The time of yeres overgeth,
          That he was man of brede and lengthe,
          Of wit, of manhod and of strengthe,
          A fair persone amonges alle.
          And he began to clepe and calle,
          As he which come was to manne,
          Unto the King of Crete thanne,
          Preiende that he wolde him make
          A kniht and pouer with him take,   1970
          For lengere wolde he noght beleve,
          He seith, bot preith the king of leve
          To gon and cleyme his heritage
          And vengen him of thilke oultrage
          Which was unto his fader do.
          The king assenteth wel therto,
          With gret honour and knyht him makth,
          And gret pouer to him betakth,
          And gan his journe forto caste:
          So that Horestes ate laste   1980
          His leve tok and forth he goth.
          As he that was in herte wroth,
          His ferste pleinte to bemene,
          Unto the Cite of Athene
          He goth him forth and was received,
          So there was he noght deceived.
          The Duc and tho that weren wise
          Thei profren hem to his servise;
          And he hem thonketh of here profre
          And seith himself he wol gon offre    1990
          Unto the goddes for his sped,
          As alle men him yeven red.
          So goth he to the temple forth:
          Of yiftes that be mochel worth
          His sacrifice and his offringe
          He made; and after his axinge
          He was ansuerd, if that he wolde
          His stat recovere, thanne he scholde
          Upon his Moder do vengance
          So cruel, that the remembrance  2000
          Therof mihte everemore abide,
          As sche that was an homicide
          And of hire oghne lord Moerdrice.
          Horestes, which of thilke office
          Was nothing glad, as thanne he preide
          Unto the goddes there and seide
          That thei the juggement devise,
          How sche schal take the juise.
          And therupon he hadde ansuere,
          That he hire Pappes scholde of tere   2010
          Out of hire brest his oghne hondes,
          And for ensample of alle londes
          With hors sche scholde be todrawe,
          Til houndes hadde hire bones gnawe
          Withouten eny sepulture:
          This was a wofull aventure.
          And whan Horestes hath al herd,
          How that the goddes have ansuerd,
          Forth with the strengthe which he ladde
          The Duc and his pouer he hadde,    2020
          And to a Cite forth thei gon,
          The which was cleped Cropheon,
          Where as Phoieus was lord and Sire,
          Which profreth him withouten hyre
          His help and al that he mai do,
          As he that was riht glad therto,
          To grieve his mortiel enemy:
          And tolde hem certein cause why,
          How that Egiste in Mariage
          His dowhter whilom of full Age  2030
          Forlai, and afterward forsok,
          Whan he Horestes Moder tok.
          Men sein, "Old Senne newe schame":
          Thus more and more aros the blame
          Ayein Egiste on every side.
          Horestes with his host to ride
          Began, and Phoieus with hem wente;
          I trowe Egiste him schal repente.
          Thei riden forth unto Micene,
          Wher lay Climestre thilke qweene,  2040
          The which Horestes moder is:
          And whan sche herde telle of this,
          The gates weren faste schet,
          And thei were of here entre let.
          Anon this Cite was withoute
          Belein and sieged al aboute,
          And evere among thei it assaile,
          Fro day to nyht and so travaile,
          Til ate laste thei it wonne;
          Tho was ther sorwe ynowh begonne.  2050
          Horestes dede his moder calle
          Anon tofore the lordes alle
          And ek tofor the poeple also,
          To hire and tolde his tale tho,
          And seide, "O cruel beste unkinde,
          How mihtest thou thin herte finde,
          For eny lust of loves drawhte,
          That thou acordest to the slawhte
          Of him which was thin oghne lord?
          Thi treson stant of such record,   2060
          Thou miht thi werkes noght forsake;
          So mot I for mi fader sake
          Vengance upon thi bodi do,
          As I comanded am therto.
          Unkindely for thou hast wroght,
          Unkindeliche it schal be boght,
          The Sone schal the Moder sle,
          For that whilom thou seidest yee
          To that thou scholdest nay have seid."
          And he with that his hond hath leid   2070
          Upon his Moder brest anon,
          And rente out fro the bare bon
          Hire Pappes bothe and caste aweie
          Amiddes in the carte weie,
          And after tok the dede cors
          And let it drawe awey with hors
          Unto the hound and to the raven;
          Sche was non other wise graven.
          Egistus, which was elles where,
          Tidinges comen to his Ere    2080
          How that Micenes was belein,
          Bot what was more herd he noght sein;
          With gret manace and mochel bost
          He drowh pouer and made an host
          And cam in rescousse of the toun.
          Bot al the sleyhte of his tresoun
          Horestes wiste it be aspie,
          And of his men a gret partie
          He made in buisshement abide,
          To waite on him in such a tide  2090
          That he ne mihte here hond ascape:
          And in this wise as he hath schape
          The thing befell, so that Egiste
          Was take, er he himself it wiste,
          And was forth broght hise hondes bounde,
          As whan men han a tretour founde.
          And tho that weren with him take,
          Whiche of tresoun were overtake,
          Togedre in o sentence falle;
          Bot false Egiste above hem alle    2100
          Was demed to diverse peine,
          The worste that men cowthe ordeigne,
          And so forth after be the lawe
          He was unto the gibet drawe,
          Where he above alle othre hongeth,
          As to a tretour it belongeth.
          Tho fame with hire swifte wynges
          Aboute flyh and bar tidinges,
          And made it cowth in alle londes
          How that Horestes with hise hondes    2110
          Climestre his oghne Moder slowh.
          Some sein he dede wel ynowh,
          And som men sein he dede amis,
          Diverse opinion ther is:
          That sche is ded thei speken alle,
          Bot pleinli hou it is befalle,
          The matiere in so litel throwe
          In soth ther mihte noman knowe
          Bot thei that weren ate dede:
          And comunliche in every nede    2120
          The worste speche is rathest herd
          And lieved, til it be ansuerd.
          The kinges and the lordes grete
          Begonne Horestes forto threte
          To puten him out of his regne:
          "He is noght worthi forto regne,
          The child which slowh his moder so,"
          Thei saide; and therupon also
          The lordes of comun assent
          A time sette of parlement,   2130
          And to Athenes king and lord
          Togedre come of on accord,
          To knowe hou that the sothe was:
          So that Horestes in this cas
          Thei senden after, and he com.
          King Menelay the wordes nom
          And axeth him of this matiere:
          And he, that alle it mihten hiere,
          Ansuerde and tolde his tale alarge,
          And hou the goddes in his charge   2140
          Comanded him in such a wise
          His oghne hond to do juise.
          And with this tale a Duc aros,
          Which was a worthi kniht of los,
          His name was Menestes,
          And seide unto the lordes thus:
          "The wreeche which Horeste dede,
          It was thing of the goddes bede,
          And nothing of his crualte;
          And if ther were of mi degree   2150
          In al this place such a kniht
          That wolde sein it was no riht,
          I wole it with my bodi prove."
          And therupon he caste his glove,
          And ek this noble Duc alleide
          Ful many an other skile, and seide
          Sche hadde wel deserved wreche,
          Ferst for the cause of Spousebreche,
          And after wroghte in such a wise
          That al the world it oghte agrise,    2160
          Whan that sche for so foul a vice
          Was of hire oghne lord moerdrice.
          Thei seten alle stille and herde,
          Bot therto was noman ansuerde,
          It thoghte hem alle he seide skile,
          Ther is noman withseie it wile;
          Whan thei upon the reson musen,
          Horestes alle thei excusen:
          So that with gret solempnete
          He was unto his dignete   2170
          Received, and coroned king.
          And tho befell a wonder thing:
          Egiona, whan sche this wiste,
          Which was the dowhter of Egiste
          And Soster on the moder side
          To this Horeste, at thilke tide,
          Whan sche herde how hir brother spedde,
          For pure sorwe, which hire ledde,
          That he ne hadde ben exiled,
          Sche hath hire oghne lif beguiled  2180
          Anon and hyng hireselve tho.
          It hath and schal ben everemo,
          To moerdre who that wole assente,
          He mai noght faille to repente:
          This false Egiona was on,
          Which forto moerdre Agamenon
          Yaf hire acord and hire assent,
          So that be goddes juggement,
          Thogh that non other man it wolde,
          Sche tok hire juise as sche scholde;  2190
          And as sche to an other wroghte,
          Vengance upon hireself sche soghte,
          And hath of hire unhappi wit
          A moerdre with a moerdre quit.
          Such is of moerdre the vengance.
          Forthi, mi Sone, in remembrance
          Of this ensample tak good hiede:
          For who that thenkth his love spiede
          With moerdre, he schal with worldes schame
          Himself and ek his love schame.    2200
          Mi fader, of this aventure
          Which ye have told, I you assure
          Min herte is sory forto hiere,
          Bot only for I wolde lere
          What is to done, and what to leve.
          And over this now be your leve,
          That ye me wolden telle I preie,
          If ther be lieffull eny weie
          Withoute Senne a man to sle.
          Mi Sone, in sondri wise ye.  2210
          What man that is of traiterie,
          Of moerdre or elles robberie
          Atteint, the jugge schal noght lette,
          Bot he schal slen of pure dette,
          And doth gret Senne, if that he wonde.
          For who that lawe hath upon honde,
          And spareth forto do justice
          For merci, doth noght his office,
          That he his mercy so bewareth,
          Whan for o schrewe which he spareth   2220
          A thousand goode men he grieveth:
          With such merci who that believeth
          To plese god, he is deceived,
          Or elles resoun mot be weyved.
          The lawe stod er we were bore,
          How that a kinges swerd is bore
          In signe that he schal defende
          His trewe poeple and make an ende
          Of suche as wolden hem devoure.
          Lo thus, my Sone, to socoure    2230
          The lawe and comun riht to winne,
          A man mai sle withoute Sinne,
          And do therof a gret almesse,
          So forto kepe rihtwisnesse.
          And over this for his contre
          In time of werre a man is fre
          Himself, his hous and ek his lond
          Defende with his oghne hond,
          And slen, if that he mai no bet,
          After the lawe which is set.    2240
          Now, fader, thanne I you beseche
          Of hem that dedly werres seche
          In worldes cause and scheden blod,
          If such an homicide is good.
          Mi Sone, upon thi question
          The trowthe of myn opinion,
          Als ferforth as my wit arecheth
          And as the pleine lawe techeth,
          I woll thee telle in evidence,
          To rewle with thi conscience.       2250
          The hihe god of his justice
          That ilke foule horrible vice
          Of homicide he hath forbede,
          Be Moi5ses as it was bede.
          Whan goddes Sone also was bore,
          He sende hise anglis doun therfore,
          Whom the Schepherdes herden singe,
          Pes to the men of welwillinge
          In erthe be among ous here.
          So forto speke in this matiere  2260
          After the lawe of charite,
          Ther schal no dedly werre be:
          And ek nature it hath defended
          And in hir lawe pes comended,
          Which is the chief of mannes welthe,
          Of mannes lif, of mannes helthe.
          Bot dedly werre hath his covine
          Of pestilence and of famine,
          Of poverte and of alle wo,
          Wherof this world we blamen so,    2270
          Which now the werre hath under fote,
          Til god himself therof do bote.
          For alle thing which god hath wroght
          In Erthe, werre it bringth to noght:
          The cherche is brent, the priest is slain,
          The wif, the maide is ek forlain,
          The lawe is lore and god unserved:
          I not what mede he hath deserved
          That suche werres ledeth inne.
          If that he do it forto winne,   2280
          Ferst to acompte his grete cost
          Forth with the folk that he hath lost,
          As to the wordes rekeninge
          Ther schal he finde no winnynge;
          And if he do it to pourchace
          The hevene mede, of such a grace
          I can noght speke, and natheles
          Crist hath comanded love and pes,
          And who that worcheth the revers,
          I trowe his mede is ful divers.    2290
          And sithen thanne that we finde
          That werres in here oghne kinde
          Ben toward god of no decerte,
          And ek thei bringen in poverte
          Of worldes good, it is merveile
          Among the men what it mai eyle,
          That thei a pes ne conne sette.
          I trowe Senne be the lette,
          And every mede of Senne is deth;
          So wot I nevere hou that it geth:  2300
          Bot we that ben of o believe
          Among ousself, this wolde I lieve,
          That betre it were pes to chese,
          Than so be double weie lese.
          I not if that it now so stonde,
          Bot this a man mai understonde,
          Who that these olde bokes redeth,
          That coveitise is on which ledeth,
          And broghte ferst the werres inne.
          At Grece if that I schal beginne,  2310
          Ther was it proved hou it stod:
          To Perce, which was ful of good,
          Thei maden werre in special,
          And so thei deden overal,
          Wher gret richesse was in londe,
          So that thei leften nothing stonde
          Unwerred, bot onliche Archade.
          For there thei no werres made,
          Be cause it was bareigne and povere,
          Wherof thei mihten noght recovere;    2320
          And thus poverte was forbore,
          He that noght hadde noght hath lore.
          Bot yit it is a wonder thing,
          Whan that a riche worthi king,
          Or other lord, what so he be,
          Wol axe and cleyme proprete
          In thing to which he hath no riht,
          Bot onliche of his grete miht:
          For this mai every man wel wite,
          That bothe kinde and lawe write    2330
          Expressly stonden therayein.
          Bot he mot nedes somwhat sein,
          Althogh ther be no reson inne,
          Which secheth cause forto winne:
          For wit that is with will oppressed,
          Whan coveitise him hath adressed,
          And alle resoun put aweie,
          He can wel finde such a weie
          To werre, where as evere him liketh,
          Wherof that he the world entriketh,   2340
          That many a man of him compleigneth:
          Bot yit alwei som cause he feigneth,
          And of his wrongful herte he demeth
          That al is wel, what evere him semeth,
          Be so that he mai winne ynowh.
          For as the trew man to the plowh
          Only to the gaignage entendeth,
          Riht so the werreiour despendeth
          His time and hath no conscience.
          And in this point for evidence  2350
          Of hem that suche werres make,
          Thou miht a gret ensample take,
          How thei her tirannie excusen
          Of that thei wrongfull werres usen,
          And how thei stonde of on acord,
          The Souldeour forth with the lord,
          The povere man forth with the riche,
          As of corage thei ben liche,
          To make werres and to pile
          For lucre and for non other skyle:    2360
          Wherof a propre tale I rede,
          As it whilom befell in dede.
          Of him whom al this Erthe dradde,
          Whan he the world so overladde
          Thurgh werre, as it fortuned is,
          King Alisandre, I rede this;
          How in a Marche, where he lay,
          It fell per chance upon a day
          A Rovere of the See was nome,
          Which many a man hadde overcome    2370
          And slain and take here good aweie:
          This Pilour, as the bokes seie,
          A famous man in sondri stede
          Was of the werkes whiche he dede.
          This Prisoner tofor the king
          Was broght, and there upon this thing
          In audience he was accused:
          And he his dede hath noght excused,
          Bot preith the king to don him riht,
          And seith, "Sire, if I were of miht,  2380
          I have an herte lich to thin;
          For if the pouer were myn,
          Mi will is most in special
          To rifle and geten overal
          The large worldes good aboute.
          Bot for I lede a povere route
          And am, as who seith, at meschief,
          The name of Pilour and of thief
          I bere; and thou, which routes grete
          Miht lede and take thi beyete,  2390
          And dost riht as I wolde do,
          Thi name is nothing cleped so,
          Bot thou art named Emperour.
          Oure dedes ben of o colour
          And in effect of o decerte,
          Bot thi richesse and my poverte
          Tho ben noght taken evene liche.
          And natheles he that is riche
          This dai, tomorwe he mai be povere;
          And in contraire also recovere  2400
          A povere man to gret richesse
          Men sen: forthi let rihtwisnesse
          Be peised evene in the balance.
          The king his hardi contienance
          Behield, and herde hise wordes wise,
          And seide unto him in this wise:
          "Thin ansuere I have understonde,
          Wherof my will is, that thou stonde
          In mi service and stille abide."
          And forth withal the same tide  2410
          He hath him terme of lif withholde,
          The mor and for he schal ben holde,
          He made him kniht and yaf him lond,
          Which afterward was of his hond
          And orped kniht in many a stede,
          And gret prouesce of armes dede,
          As the Croniqes it recorden.
          And in this wise thei acorden,
          The whiche of o condicioun
          Be set upon destruccioun:    2420
          Such Capitein such retenue.
          Bot forto se to what issue
          The thing befalleth ate laste,
          It is gret wonder that men caste
          Here herte upon such wrong to winne,
          Wher no beyete mai ben inne,
          And doth desese on every side:
          Bot whan reson is put aside
          And will governeth the corage,
          The faucon which that fleth ramage    2430
          And soeffreth nothing in the weie,
          Wherof that he mai take his preie,
          Is noght mor set upon ravine,
          Than thilke man which his covine
          Hath set in such a maner wise:
          For al the world ne mai suffise
          To will which is noght resonable.
          Wherof ensample concordable
          Lich to this point of which I meene,
          Was upon Alisandre sene,  2440
          Which hadde set al his entente,
          So as fortune with him wente,
          That reson mihte him non governe,
          Bot of his will he was so sterne,
          That al the world he overran
          And what him list he tok and wan.
          In Ynde the superiour
          Whan that he was ful conquerour,
          And hadde his wilful pourpos wonne
          Of al this Erthe under the Sonne,  2450
          This king homward to Macedoine,
          Whan that he cam to Babiloine,
          And wende most in his Empire,
          As he which was hol lord and Sire,
          In honour forto be received,
          Most sodeinliche he was deceived,
          And with strong puison envenimed.
          And as he hath the world mistimed
          Noght as he scholde with his wit,
          Noght as he wolde it was aquit.    2460
          Thus was he slain that whilom slowh,
          And he which riche was ynowh
          This dai, tomorwe he hadde noght:
          And in such wise as he hath wroght
          In destorbance of worldes pes,
          His werre he fond thanne endeles,
          In which for evere desconfit
          He was. Lo now, for what profit
          Of werre it helpeth forto ryde,
          For coveitise and worldes pride    2470
          To sle the worldes men aboute,
          As bestes whiche gon theroute.
          For every lif which reson can
          Oghth wel to knowe that a man
          Ne scholde thurgh no tirannie
          Lich to these othre bestes die,
          Til kinde wolde for him sende.
          I not hou he it mihte amende,
          Which takth awei for everemore
          The lif that he mai noght restore.    2480
          Forthi, mi Sone, in alle weie
          Be wel avised, I thee preie,
          Of slawhte er that thou be coupable
          Withoute cause resonable.
          Mi fader, understonde it is,
          That ye have seid; bot over this
          I prei you tell me nay or yee,
          To passe over the grete See
          To werre and sle the Sarazin,
          Is that the lawe? Sone myn,  2490
          To preche and soffre for the feith,
          That have I herd the gospell seith;
          Bot forto slee, that hiere I noght.
          Crist with his oghne deth hath boght
          Alle othre men, and made hem fre,
          In tokne of parfit charite;
          And after that he tawhte himselve,
          Whan he was ded, these othre tuelve
          Of hise Apostles wente aboute
          The holi feith to prechen oute,    2500
          Wherof the deth in sondri place
          Thei soffre, and so god of his grace
          The feith of Crist hath mad aryse:
          Bot if thei wolde in other wise
          Be werre have broght in the creance,
          It hadde yit stonde in balance.
          And that mai proven in the dede;
          For what man the Croniqes rede,
          Fro ferst that holi cherche hath weyved
          To preche, and hath the swerd received,  2510
          Wherof the werres ben begonne,
          A gret partie of that was wonne
          To Cristes feith stant now miswent:
          Godd do therof amendement,
          So as he wot what is the beste.
          Bot, Sone, if thou wolt live in reste
          Of conscience wel assised,
          Er that thou sle, be wel avised:
          For man, as tellen ous the clerkes,
          Hath god above alle ertheli werkes    2520
          Ordeined to be principal,
          And ek of Soule in special
          He is mad lich to the godhiede.
          So sit it wel to taken hiede
          And forto loke on every side,
          Er that thou falle in homicide,
          Which Senne is now so general,
          That it welnyh stant overal,
          In holi cherche and elles where.
          Bot al the while it stant so there,   2530
          The world mot nede fare amis:
          For whan the welle of pite is
          Thurgh coveitise of worldes good
          Defouled with schedinge of blod,
          The remenant of folk aboute
          Unethe stonden eny doute
          To werre ech other and to slee.
          So is it all noght worth a Stree,
          The charite wherof we prechen,
          For we do nothing as we techen:    2540
          And thus the blinde conscience
          Of pes hath lost thilke evidence
          Which Crist upon this Erthe tawhte.
          Now mai men se moerdre and manslawhte
          Lich as it was be daies olde,
          Whan men the Sennes boghte and solde.
          In Grece afore Cristes feith,
          I rede, as the Cronique seith,
          Touchende of this matiere thus,
          In thilke time hou Peles   2550
          His oghne brother Phocus slowh;
          Bot for he hadde gold ynowh
          To yive, his Senne was despensed
          With gold, wherof it was compensed:
          Achastus, which with Venus was
          Hire Priest, assoilede in that cas,
          Al were ther no repentance.
          And as the bok makth remembrance,
          It telleth of Medee also;
          Of that sche slowh her Sones tuo,  2560
          Eges in the same plit
          Hath mad hire of hire Senne quit.
          The Sone ek of Amphioras,
          Whos rihte name Almes was,
          His Moder slowh, Eriphile;
          Bot Achilo the Priest and he,
          So as the bokes it recorden,
          For certein Somme of gold acorden
          That thilke horrible sinfull dede
          Assoiled was. And thus for mede    2570
          Of worldes good it falleth ofte
          That homicide is set alofte
          Hiere in this lif;  bot after this
          Ther schal be knowe how that it is
          Of hem that suche thinges werche,
          And hou also that holi cherche
          Let suche Sennes passe quyte,
          And how thei wole hemself aquite
          Of dedly werres that thei make.
          For who that wolde ensample take,  2580
          The lawe which is naturel
          Be weie of kinde scheweth wel
          That homicide in no degree,
          Which werreth ayein charite,
          Among the men ne scholde duelle.
          For after that the bokes telle,
          To seche in al this worldesriche,
          Men schal noght finde upon his liche
          A beste forto take his preie:
          And sithen kinde hath such a weie,    2590
          Thanne is it wonder of a man,
          Which kynde hath and resoun can,
          That he wol owther more or lasse
          His kinde and resoun overpasse,
          And sle that is to him semblable.
          So is the man noght resonable
          Ne kinde, and that is noght honeste,
          Whan he is worse than a beste.
          Among the bokes whiche I finde
          Solyns spekth of a wonder kinde,   2600
          And seith of fowhles ther is on,
          Which hath a face of blod and bon
          Lich to a man in resemblance.
          And if it falle him so per chance,
          As he which is a fowhl of preie,
          That he a man finde in his weie,
          He wol him slen, if that he mai:
          Bot afterward the same dai,
          Whan he hath eten al his felle,
          And that schal be beside a welle,  2610
          In which whan he wol drinke take,
          Of his visage and seth the make
          That he hath slain, anon he thenketh
          Of his misdede, and it forthenketh
          So gretly, that for pure sorwe
          He liveth noght til on the morwe.
          Be this ensample it mai well suie
          That man schal homicide eschuie,
          For evere is merci good to take,
          Bot if the lawe it hath forsake    2620
          And that justice is therayein.
          For ofte time I have herd sein
          Amonges hem that werres hadden,
          That thei som while here cause ladden
          Be merci, whan thei mihte have slain,
          Wherof that thei were after fain:
          And, Sone, if that thou wolt recorde
          The vertu of Misericorde,
          Thou sihe nevere thilke place,
          Where it was used, lacke grace.    2630
          For every lawe and every kinde
          The mannes wit to merci binde;
          And namely the worthi knihtes,
          Whan that thei stonden most uprihtes
          And ben most mihti forto grieve,
          Thei scholden thanne most relieve
          Him whom thei mihten overthrowe,
          As be ensample a man mai knowe.
          He mai noght failen of his mede
          That hath merci: for this I rede,  2640
          In a Cronique and finde thus.
          Whan Achilles with Telaphus
          His Sone toward Troie were,
          It fell hem, er thei comen there,
          Ayein Theucer the king of Mese
          To make werre and forto sese
          His lond, as thei that wolden regne
          And Theucer pute out of his regne.
          And thus the Marches thei assaile,
          Bot Theucer yaf to hem bataille;   2650
          Thei foghte on bothe sides faste,
          Bot so it hapneth ate laste,
          This worthi Grek, this Achilles,
          The king among alle othre ches:
          As he that was cruel and fell,
          With swerd in honde on him he fell,
          And smot him with a dethes wounde,
          That he unhorsed fell to grounde.
          Achilles upon him alyhte,
          And wolde anon, as he wel mihte,   2660
          Have slain him fullich in the place;
          Bot Thelaphus his fader grace
          For him besoghte, and for pite
          Preith that he wolde lete him be,
          And caste his Schield betwen hem tuo.
          Achilles axeth him why so,
          And Thelaphus his cause tolde,
          And seith that he is mochel holde,
          For whilom Theucer in a stede
          Gret grace and socour to him dede,    2670
          And seith that he him wolde aquite,
          And preith his fader to respite.
          Achilles tho withdrowh his hond;
          Bot al the pouer of the lond,
          Whan that thei sihe here king thus take,
          Thei fledde and han the feld forsake:
          The Grecs unto the chace falle,
          And for the moste part of alle
          Of that contre the lordes grete
          Thei toke, and wonne a gret beyete.   2680
          And anon after this victoire
          The king, which hadde good memoire,
          Upon the grete merci thoghte,
          Which Telaphus toward him wroghte,
          And in presence of al the lond
          He tok him faire be the hond,
          And in this wise he gan to seie:
          "Mi Sone, I mot be double weie
          Love and desire thin encress;
          Ferst for thi fader Achilles    2690
          Whilom ful many dai er this,
          Whan that I scholde have fare amis,
          Rescousse dede in mi querele
          And kepte al myn astat in hele:
          How so ther falle now distance
          Amonges ous, yit remembrance
          I have of merci which he dede
          As thanne: and thou now in this stede
          Of gentilesce and of franchise
          Hast do mercy the same wise.    2700
          So wol I noght that eny time
          Be lost of that thou hast do byme;
          For hou so this fortune falle,
          Yit stant mi trust aboven alle,
          For the mercy which I now finde,
          That thou wolt after this be kinde:
          And for that such is myn espeir,
          As for my Sone and for myn Eir
          I thee receive, and al my lond
          I yive and sese into thin hond."   2710
          And in this wise thei acorde,
          The cause was Misericorde:
          The lordes dede here obeissance
          To Thelaphus, and pourveance
          Was mad so that he was coroned:
          And thus was merci reguerdoned,
          Which he to Theucer dede afore.
          Lo, this ensample is mad therfore,
          That thou miht take remembrance,
          Mi Sone; and whan thou sest a chaunce,   2720
          Of other mennes passioun
          Tak pite and compassioun,
          And let nothing to thee be lief,
          Which to an other man is grief.
          And after this if thou desire
          To stonde ayein the vice of Ire,
          Consaile thee with Pacience,
          And tak into thi conscience
          Merci to be thi governour.
          So schalt thou fiele no rancour,   2730
          Wherof thin herte schal debate
          With homicide ne with hate
          For Cheste or for Malencolie:
          Thou schalt be soft in compaignie
          Withoute Contek or Folhaste:
          For elles miht thou longe waste
          Thi time, er that thou have thi wille
          Of love; for the weder stille
          Men preise, and blame the tempestes.
          Mi fader, I wol do youre hestes,   2740
          And of this point ye have me tawht,
          Toward miself the betre sawht
          I thenke be, whil that I live.
          Bot for als moche as I am schrive
          Of Wraththe and al his circumstance,
          Yif what you list to my penance,
          And asketh forthere of my lif,
          If otherwise I be gultif
          Of eny thing that toucheth Sinne.
          Mi Sone, er we departe atwinne,    2750
          I schal behinde nothing leve.
          Mi goode fader, be your leve
          Thanne axeth forth what so you list,
          For I have in you such a trist,
          As ye that be my Soule hele,
          That ye fro me wol nothing hele,
          For I schal telle you the trowthe.
          Mi Sone, art thou coupable of Slowthe
          In eny point which to him longeth?
          My fader, of tho pointz me longeth    2760
          To wite pleinly what thei meene,
          So that I mai me schrive cleene.
          Now herkne, I schal the pointz devise;
          And understond wel myn aprise:
          For schrifte stant of no value
          To him that wol him noght vertue
          To leve of vice the folie:
          For word is wynd, bot the maistrie
          Is that a man himself defende
          Of thing which is noght to comende,   2770
          Wherof ben fewe now aday.
          And natheles, so as I may
          Make unto thi memoire knowe,
          The pointz of Slowthe thou schalt knowe.

          Explicit Liber Tercius

Incipit Liber Quartus

          Dicunt accidiam fore nutricem viciorum,
               Torpet et in cunctis tarda que lenta bonis:
          Que fieri possent hodie transfert piger in cras,
               Furatoque prius ostia claudit equo.
          Poscenti tardo negat emolumenta Cupido,
               Set Venus in celeri ludit amore viri.

          Upon the vices to procede
          After the cause of mannes dede,
          The ferste point of Slowthe I calle
          Lachesce, and is the chief of alle,
          And hath this propreliche of kinde,
          To leven alle thing behinde.
          Of that he mihte do now hier
          He tarieth al the longe yer,
          And everemore he seith, "Tomorwe";
          And so he wol his time borwe,   10
          And wissheth after "God me sende,"
          That whan he weneth have an ende,
          Thanne is he ferthest to beginne.
          Thus bringth he many a meschief inne
          Unwar, til that he be meschieved,
          And may noght thanne be relieved.
          And riht so nowther mor ne lesse
          It stant of love and of lachesce:
          Som time he slowtheth in a day
          That he nevere after gete mai.  20
          Now, Sone, as of this ilke thing,
          If thou have eny knowleching,
          That thou to love hast don er this,
          Tell on. Mi goode fader, yis.
          As of lachesce I am beknowe
          That I mai stonde upon his rowe,
          As I that am clad of his suite:
          For whanne I thoghte mi poursuite
          To make, and therto sette a day
          To speke unto the swete May,    30
          Lachesce bad abide yit,
          And bar on hond it was no wit
          Ne time forto speke as tho.
          Thus with his tales to and fro
          Mi time in tariinge he drowh:
          Whan ther was time good ynowh,
          He seide, "An other time is bettre;
          Thou schalt mowe senden hire a lettre,
          And per cas wryte more plein
          Than thou be Mowthe durstest sein."   40
          Thus have I lete time slyde
          For Slowthe, and kepte noght my tide,
          So that lachesce with his vice
          Fulofte hath mad my wit so nyce,
          That what I thoghte speke or do
          With tariinge he hield me so,
          Til whanne I wolde and mihte noght.
          I not what thing was in my thoght,
          Or it was drede, or it was schame;
          Bot evere in ernest and in game    50
          I wot ther is long time passed.
          Bot yit is noght the love lassed,
          Which I unto mi ladi have;
          For thogh my tunge is slowh to crave
          At alle time, as I have bede,
          Min herte stant evere in o stede
          And axeth besiliche grace,
          The which I mai noght yit embrace.
          And god wot that is malgre myn;
          For this I wot riht wel a fin,  60
          Mi grace comth so selde aboute,
          That is the Slowthe of which I doute
          Mor than of al the remenant
          Which is to love appourtenant.
          And thus as touchende of lachesce,
          As I have told, I me confesse
          To you, mi fader, and beseche
          That furthermor ye wol me teche;
          And if ther be to this matiere
          Som goodly tale forto liere  70
          How I mai do lachesce aweie,
          That ye it wolden telle I preie.
          To wisse thee, my Sone, and rede,
          Among the tales whiche I rede,
          An old ensample therupon
          Now herkne, and I wol tellen on.
          Ayein Lachesce in loves cas
          I finde how whilom Eneas,
          Whom Anchises to Sone hadde,
          With gret navie, which he ladde    80
          Fro Troie, aryveth at Cartage,
          Wher for a while his herbergage
          He tok; and it betidde so,
          With hire which was qweene tho
          Of the Cite his aqueintance
          He wan, whos name in remembrance
          Is yit, and Dido sche was hote;
          Which loveth Eneas so hote
          Upon the wordes whiche he seide,
          That al hire herte on him sche leide  90
          And dede al holi what he wolde.
          Bot after that, as it be scholde,
          Fro thenne he goth toward Ytaile
          Be Schipe, and there his arivaile
          Hath take, and schop him forto ryde.
          Bot sche, which mai noght longe abide
          The hote peine of loves throwe,
          Anon withinne a litel throwe
          A lettre unto hir kniht hath write,
          And dede him pleinly forto wite,     100
          If he made eny tariinge,
          To drecche of his ayeincomynge,
          That sche ne mihte him fiele and se,
          Sche scholde stonde in such degre
          As whilom stod a Swan tofore,
          Of that sche hadde hire make lore;
          For sorwe a fethere into hire brain
          Sche schof and hath hireselve slain;
          As king Menander in a lay
          The sothe hath founde, wher sche lay  110
          Sprantlende with hire wynges tweie,
          As sche which scholde thanne deie
          For love of him which was hire make.
          "And so schal I do for thi sake,"
          This qweene seide, "wel I wot."
          Lo, to Enee thus sche wrot
          With many an other word of pleinte:
          Bot he, which hadde hise thoghtes feinte
          Towardes love and full of Slowthe,
          His time lette, and that was rowthe:  120
          For sche, which loveth him tofore,
          Desireth evere more and more,
          And whan sche sih him tarie so,
          Hire herte was so full of wo,
          That compleignende manyfold
          Sche hath hire oghne tale told,
          Unto hirself and thus sche spak:
          "Ha, who fond evere such a lak
          Of Slowthe in eny worthi kniht?
          Now wot I wel my deth is diht   130
          Thurgh him which scholde have be mi lif."
          Bot forto stinten al this strif,
          Thus whan sche sih non other bote,
          Riht evene unto hire herte rote
          A naked swerd anon sche threste,
          And thus sche gat hireselve reste
          In remembrance of alle slowe.
          Wherof, my Sone, thou miht knowe
          How tariinge upon the nede
          In loves cause is forto drede;  140
          And that hath Dido sore aboght,
          Whos deth schal evere be bethoght.
          And overmore if I schal seche
          In this matiere an other spieche,
          In a Cronique I finde write
          A tale which is good to wite.
          At Troie whan king Ulixes
          Upon the Siege among the pres
          Of hem that worthi knihtes were
          Abod long time stille there,    150
          In thilke time a man mai se
          How goodli that Penolope,
          Which was to him his trewe wif,
          Of his lachesce was pleintif;
          Wherof to Troie sche him sende
          Hire will be lettre, thus spekende:
          "Mi worthi love and lord also,
          It is and hath ben evere so,
          That wher a womman is al one,
          It makth a man in his persone   160
          The more hardi forto wowe,
          In hope that sche wolde bowe
          To such thing as his wille were,
          Whil that hire lord were elleswhere.
          And of miself I telle this;
          For it so longe passed is,
          Sithe ferst than ye fro home wente,
          That welnyh every man his wente
          To there I am, whil ye ben oute,
          Hath mad, and ech of hem aboute,   170
          Which love can, my love secheth,
          With gret preiere and me besecheth:
          And some maken gret manace,
          That if thei mihten come in place,
          Wher that thei mihte here wille have,
          Ther is nothing me scholde save,
          That thei ne wolde werche thinges;
          And some tellen me tidynges
          That ye ben ded, and some sein
          That certeinly ye ben besein    180
          To love a newe and leve me.
          Bot hou as evere that it be,
          I thonke unto the goddes alle,
          As yit for oght that is befalle
          Mai noman do my chekes rede:
          Bot natheles it is to drede,
          That Lachesse in continuance
          Fortune mihte such a chance,
          Which noman after scholde amende."
          Lo, thus this ladi compleignende   190
          A lettre unto hire lord hath write,
          And preyde him that he wolde wite
          And thenke hou that sche was al his,
          And that he tarie noght in this,
          Bot that he wolde his love aquite,
          To hire ayeinward and noght wryte,
          Bot come himself in alle haste,
          That he non other paper waste;
          So that he kepe and holde his trowthe
          Withoute lette of eny Slowthe.  200
          Unto hire lord and love liege
          To Troie, wher the grete Siege
          Was leid, this lettre was conveied.
          And he, which wisdom hath pourveied
          Of al that to reson belongeth,
          With gentil herte it underfongeth:
          And whan he hath it overrad,
          In part he was riht inly glad,
          And ek in part he was desesed:
          Bot love his herte hath so thorghsesed   210
          With pure ymaginacioun,
          That for non occupacioun
          Which he can take on other side,
          He mai noght flitt his herte aside
          Fro that his wif him hadde enformed;
          Wherof he hath himself conformed
          With al the wille of his corage
          To schape and take the viage
          Homward, what time that he mai:
          So that him thenketh of a day   220
          A thousand yer, til he mai se
          The visage of Penolope,
          Which he desireth most of alle.
          And whan the time is so befalle
          That Troie was destruid and brent,
          He made non delaiement,
          Bot goth him home in alle hihe,
          Wher that he fond tofore his yhe
          His worthi wif in good astat:
          And thus was cessed the debat   230
          Of love, and Slowthe was excused,
          Which doth gret harm, where it is used,
          And hindreth many a cause honeste.
          For of the grete Clerc Grossteste
          I rede how besy that he was
          Upon clergie an Hed of bras
          To forge, and make it forto telle
          Of suche thinges as befelle.
          And sevene yeres besinesse
          He leyde, bot for the lachesse  240
          Of half a Minut of an houre,
          Fro ferst that he began laboure
          He loste all that he hadde do.
          And otherwhile it fareth so,
          In loves cause who is slow,
          That he withoute under the wow
          Be nyhte stant fulofte acold,
          Which mihte, if that he hadde wold
          His time kept, have be withinne.
          Bot Slowthe mai no profit winne,   250
          Bot he mai singe in his karole
          How Latewar cam to the Dole,
          Wher he no good receive mihte.
          And that was proved wel be nyhte
          Whilom of the Maidenes fyve,
          Whan thilke lord cam forto wyve:
          For that here oyle was aweie
          To lihte here lampes in his weie,
          Here Slowthe broghte it so aboute,
          Fro him that thei ben schet withoute.    260
          Wherof, my Sone, be thou war,
          Als ferforth as I telle dar.
          For love moste ben awaited:
          And if thou be noght wel affaited
          In love to eschuie Slowthe,
          Mi Sone, forto telle trowthe,
          Thou miht noght of thiself ben able
          To winne love or make it stable,
          All thogh thou mihtest love achieve.
          Mi fader, that I mai wel lieve.    270
          Bot me was nevere assigned place,
          Wher yit to geten eny grace,
          Ne me was non such time apointed;
          For thanne I wolde I were unjoynted
          Of every lime that I have,
          If I ne scholde kepe and save
          Min houre bothe and ek my stede,
          If my ladi it hadde bede.
          Bot sche is otherwise avised
          Than grante such a time assised;   280
          And natheles of mi lachesse
          Ther hath be no defalte I gesse
          Of time lost, if that I mihte:
          Bot yit hire liketh noght alyhte
          Upon no lure which I caste;
          For ay the more I crie faste,
          The lasse hire liketh forto hiere.
          So forto speke of this matiere,
          I seche that I mai noght finde,
          I haste and evere I am behinde,    290
          And wot noght what it mai amounte.
          Bot, fader, upon myn acompte,
          Which ye be sett to examine
          Of Schrifte after the discipline,
          Sey what your beste conseil is.
          Mi Sone, my conseil is this:
          Hou so it stonde of time go,
          Do forth thi besinesse so,
          That no Lachesce in the be founde:
          For Slowthe is mihti to confounde  300
          The spied of every mannes werk.
          For many a vice, as seith the clerk,
          Ther hongen upon Slowthes lappe
          Of suche as make a man mishappe,
          To pleigne and telle of hadde I wist.
          And therupon if that thee list
          To knowe of Slowthes cause more,
          In special yit overmore
          Ther is a vice full grevable
          To him which is therof coupable,   310
          And stant of alle vertu bare,
          Hierafter as I schal declare.
          Touchende of Slowthe in his degre,
          Ther is yit Pusillamite,
          Which is to seie in this langage,
          He that hath litel of corage
          And dar no mannes werk beginne:
          So mai he noght be resoun winne;
          For who that noght dar undertake,
          Be riht he schal no profit take.   320
          Bot of this vice the nature
          Dar nothing sette in aventure,
          Him lacketh bothe word and dede,
          Wherof he scholde his cause spede:
          He woll no manhed understonde,
          For evere he hath drede upon honde:
          Al is peril that he schal seie,
          Him thenkth the wolf is in the weie,
          And of ymaginacioun
          He makth his excusacioun  330
          And feigneth cause of pure drede,
          And evere he faileth ate nede,
          Til al be spilt that he with deleth.
          He hath the sor which noman heleth,
          The which is cleped lack of herte;
          Thogh every grace aboute him sterte,
          He wol noght ones stere his fot;
          So that be resoun lese he mot,
          That wol noght auntre forto winne.
          And so forth, Sone, if we beginne  340
          To speke of love and his servise,
          Ther ben truantz in such a wise,
          That lacken herte, whan best were
          To speke of love, and riht for fere
          Thei wexen doumb and dar noght telle,
          Withoute soun as doth the belle,
          Which hath no claper forto chyme;
          And riht so thei as for the tyme
          Ben herteles withoute speche
          Of love, and dar nothing beseche;  350
          And thus thei lese and winne noght.
          Forthi, my Sone, if thou art oght
          Coupable as touchende of this Slowthe,
          Schrif thee therof and tell me trowthe.
          Mi fader, I am al beknowe
          That I have ben on of tho slowe,
          As forto telle in loves cas.
          Min herte is yit and evere was,
          As thogh the world scholde al tobreke,
          So ferful, that I dar noght speke  360
          Of what pourpos that I have nome,
          Whan I toward mi ladi come,
          Bot let it passe and overgo.
          Mi Sone, do nomore so:
          For after that a man poursuieth
          To love, so fortune suieth,
          Fulofte and yifth hire happi chance
          To him which makth continuance
          To preie love and to beseche;
          As be ensample I schal thee teche.    370
          I finde hou whilom ther was on,
          Whos name was Pymaleon,
          Which was a lusti man of yowthe:
          The werkes of entaile he cowthe
          Above alle othre men as tho;
          And thurgh fortune it fell him so,
          As he whom love schal travaile,
          He made an ymage of entaile
          Lich to a womman in semblance
          Of feture and of contienance,   380
          So fair yit nevere was figure.
          Riht as a lyves creature
          Sche semeth, for of yvor whyt
          He hath hire wroght of such delit,
          That sche was rody on the cheke
          And red on bothe hire lippes eke;
          Wherof that he himself beguileth.
          For with a goodly lok sche smyleth,
          So that thurgh pure impression
          Of his ymaginacion  390
          With al the herte of his corage
          His love upon this faire ymage
          He sette, and hire of love preide;
          Bot sche no word ayeinward seide.
          The longe day, what thing he dede,
          This ymage in the same stede
          Was evere bi, that ate mete
          He wolde hire serve and preide hire ete,
          And putte unto hire mowth the cuppe;
          And whan the bord was taken uppe,  400
          He hath hire into chambre nome,
          And after, whan the nyht was come,
          He leide hire in his bed al nakid.
          He was forwept, he was forwakid,
          He keste hire colde lippes ofte,
          And wissheth that thei weren softe,
          And ofte he rouneth in hire Ere,
          And ofte his arm now hier now there
          He leide, as he hir wolde embrace,
          And evere among he axeth grace,    410
          As thogh sche wiste what he mente:
          And thus himself he gan tormente
          With such desese of loves peine,
          That noman mihte him more peine.
          Bot how it were, of his penance
          He made such continuance
          Fro dai to nyht, and preith so longe,
          That his preiere is underfonge,
          Which Venus of hire grace herde;
          Be nyhte and whan that he worst ferde,   420
          And it lay in his nakede arm,
          The colde ymage he fieleth warm
          Of fleissh and bon and full of lif.
          Lo, thus he wan a lusti wif,
          Which obeissant was at his wille;
          And if he wolde have holde him stille
          And nothing spoke, he scholde have failed:
          Bot for he hath his word travailed
          And dorste speke, his love he spedde,
          And hadde al that he wolde abedde.    430
          For er thei wente thanne atwo,
          A knave child betwen hem two
          Thei gete, which was after hote
          Paphus, of whom yit hath the note
          A certein yle, which Paphos
          Men clepe, and of his name it ros.
          Be this ensample thou miht finde
          That word mai worche above kinde.
          Forthi, my Sone, if that thou spare
          To speke, lost is al thi fare,  440
          For Slowthe bringth in alle wo.
          And over this to loke also,
          The god of love is favorable
          To hem that ben of love stable,
          And many a wonder hath befalle:
          Wherof to speke amonges alle,
          If that thee list to taken hede,
          Therof a solein tale I rede,
          Which I schal telle in remembraunce
          Upon the sort of loves chaunce.    450
          The king Ligdus upon a strif
          Spak unto Thelacuse his wif,
          Which thanne was with childe grete;
          He swor it scholde noght be lete,
          That if sche have a dowhter bore,
          That it ne scholde be forlore
          And slain, wherof sche sory was.
          So it befell upon this cas,
          Whan sche delivered scholde be,
          Isis be nyhte in privete,    460
          Which of childinge is the goddesse,
          Cam forto helpe in that destresse,
          Til that this lady was al smal,
          And hadde a dowhter forth withal;
          Which the goddesse in alle weie
          Bad kepe, and that thei scholden seie
          It were a Sone: and thus Iphis
          Thei namede him, and upon this
          The fader was mad so to wene.
          And thus in chambre with the qweene   470
          This Iphis was forthdrawe tho,
          And clothed and arraied so
          Riht as a kinges Sone scholde.
          Til after, as fortune it wolde,
          Whan it was of a ten yer age,
          Him was betake in mariage
          A Duckes dowhter forto wedde,
          Which Iante hihte, and ofte abedde
          These children leien, sche and sche,
          Whiche of on age bothe be.   480
          So that withinne time of yeeres,
          Togedre as thei ben pleiefieres,
          Liggende abedde upon a nyht,
          Nature, which doth every wiht
          Upon hire lawe forto muse,
          Constreigneth hem, so that thei use
          Thing which to hem was al unknowe;
          Wherof Cupide thilke throwe
          Tok pite for the grete love,
          And let do sette kinde above,   490
          So that hir lawe mai ben used,
          And thei upon here lust excused.
          For love hateth nothing more
          Than thing which stant ayein the lore
          Of that nature in kinde hath sett:
          Forthi Cupide hath so besett
          His grace upon this aventure,
          That he acordant to nature,
          Whan that he syh the time best,
          That ech of hem hath other kest,   500
          Transformeth Iphe into a man,
          Wherof the kinde love he wan
          Of lusti yonge Iante his wif;
          And tho thei ladde a merie lif,
          Which was to kinde non offence.
          And thus to take an evidence,
          It semeth love is welwillende
          To hem that ben continuende
          With besy herte to poursuie
          Thing which that is to love due.   510
          Wherof, my Sone, in this matiere
          Thou miht ensample taken hiere,
          That with thi grete besinesse
          Thou miht atteigne the richesse
          Of love, if that ther be no Slowthe.
          I dar wel seie be mi trowthe,
          Als fer as I my witt can seche,
          Mi fader, as for lacke of speche,
          Bot so as I me schrof tofore,
          Ther is non other time lore,    520
          Wherof ther mihte ben obstacle
          To lette love of his miracle,
          Which I beseche day and nyht.
          Bot, fader, so as it is riht
          In forme of schrifte to beknowe
          What thing belongeth to the slowe,
          Your faderhode I wolde preie,
          If ther be forthere eny weie
          Touchende unto this ilke vice.
          Mi Sone, ye, of this office  530
          Ther serveth on in special,
          Which lost hath his memorial,
          So that he can no wit withholde
          In thing which he to kepe is holde,
          Wherof fulofte himself he grieveth:
          And who that most upon him lieveth,
          Whan that hise wittes ben so weyved,
          He mai full lihtly be deceived.
          To serve Accidie in his office,
          Ther is of Slowthe an other vice,  540
          Which cleped is Foryetelnesse;
          That noght mai in his herte impresse
          Of vertu which reson hath sett,
          So clene his wittes he foryet.
          For in the tellinge of his tale
          Nomore his herte thanne his male
          Hath remembrance of thilke forme,
          Wherof he scholde his wit enforme
          As thanne, and yit ne wot he why.
          Thus is his pourpos noght forthi   550
          Forlore of that he wolde bidde,
          And skarsly if he seith the thridde
          To love of that he hadde ment:
          Thus many a lovere hath be schent.
          Tell on therfore, hast thou be oon
          Of hem that Slowthe hath so begon?
          Ye, fader, ofte it hath be so,
          That whanne I am mi ladi fro
          And thenke untoward hire drawe,
          Than cast I many a newe lawe    560
          And al the world torne up so doun,
          And so recorde I mi lecoun
          And wryte in my memorial
          What I to hire telle schal,
          Riht al the matiere of mi tale:
          Bot al nys worth a note schale;
          For whanne I come ther sche is,
          I have it al foryete ywiss;
          Of that I thoghte forto telle
          I can noght thanne unethes spelle  570
          That I wende altherbest have rad,
          So sore I am of hire adrad.
          For as a man that sodeinli
          A gost behelde, so fare I;
          So that for feere I can noght gete
          Mi witt, bot I miself foryete,
          That I wot nevere what I am,
          Ne whider I schal, ne whenne I cam,
          Bot muse as he that were amased.
          Lich to the bok in which is rased  580
          The lettre, and mai nothing be rad,
          So ben my wittes overlad,
          That what as evere I thoghte have spoken,
          It is out fro myn herte stoken,
          And stonde, as who seith, doumb and def,
          That all nys worth an yvy lef,
          Of that I wende wel have seid.
          And ate laste I make abreid,
          Caste up myn hed and loke aboute,
          Riht as a man that were in doute   590
          And wot noght wher he schal become.
          Thus am I ofte al overcome,
          Ther as I wende best to stonde:
          Bot after, whanne I understonde,
          And am in other place al one,
          I make many a wofull mone
          Unto miself, and speke so:
          "Ha fol, wher was thin herte tho,
          Whan thou thi worthi ladi syhe?
          Were thou afered of hire yhe?   600
          For of hire hand ther is no drede:
          So wel I knowe hir wommanhede,
          That in hire is nomore oultrage
          Than in a child of thre yeer age.
          Whi hast thou drede of so good on,
          Whom alle vertu hath begon,
          That in hire is no violence
          Bot goodlihiede and innocence
          Withouten spot of eny blame?
          Ha, nyce herte, fy for schame]  610
          Ha, couard herte of love unlered,
          Wherof art thou so sore afered,
          That thou thi tunge soffrest frese,
          And wolt thi goode wordes lese,
          Whan thou hast founde time and space?
          How scholdest thou deserve grace,
          Whan thou thiself darst axe non,
          Bot al thou hast foryete anon?"
          And thus despute I loves lore,
          Bot help ne finde I noght the more,   620
          Bot stomble upon myn oghne treine
          And make an ekinge of my peine.
          For evere whan I thenke among
          How al is on miself along,
          I seie, "O fol of alle foles,
          Thou farst as he betwen tuo stoles
          That wolde sitte and goth to grounde.
          It was ne nevere schal be founde,
          Betwen foryetelnesse and drede
          That man scholde any cause spede."    630
          And thus, myn holi fader diere,
          Toward miself, as ye mai hiere,
          I pleigne of my foryetelnesse;
          Bot elles al the besinesse,
          That mai be take of mannes thoght,
          Min herte takth, and is thorghsoght
          To thenken evere upon that swete
          Withoute Slowthe, I you behete.
          For what so falle, or wel or wo,
          That thoght foryete I neveremo,    640
          Wher so I lawhe or so I loure:
          Noght half the Minut of an houre
          Ne mihte I lete out of my mende,
          Bot if I thoghte upon that hende.
          Therof me schal no Slowthe lette,
          Til deth out of this world me fette,
          Althogh I hadde on such a Ring,
          As Moises thurgh his enchanting
          Som time in Ethiope made,
          Whan that he Tharbis weddid hade.  650
          Which Ring bar of Oblivion
          The name, and that was be resoun
          That where it on a finger sat,
          Anon his love he so foryat,
          As thogh he hadde it nevere knowe:
          And so it fell that ilke throwe,
          Whan Tharbis hadde it on hire hond,
          No knowlechinge of him sche fond,
          Bot al was clene out of memoire,
          As men mai rede in his histoire;   660
          And thus he wente quit away,
          That nevere after that ilke day
          Sche thoghte that ther was such on;
          Al was foryete and overgon.
          Bot in good feith so mai noght I:
          For sche is evere faste by,
          So nyh that sche myn herte toucheth,
          That for nothing that Slowthe voucheth
          I mai foryete hire, lief ne loth;
          For overal, where as sche goth,    670
          Min herte folwith hire aboute.
          Thus mai I seie withoute doute,
          For bet, for wers, for oght, for noght,
          Sche passeth nevere fro my thoght;
          Bot whanne I am ther as sche is,
          Min herte, as I you saide er this,
          Som time of hire is sore adrad,
          And som time it is overglad,
          Al out of reule and out of space.
          For whan I se hir goodli face   680
          And thenke upon hire hihe pris,
          As thogh I were in Paradis,
          I am so ravisht of the syhte,
          That speke unto hire I ne myhte
          As for the time, thogh I wolde:
          For I ne mai my wit unfolde
          To finde o word of that I mene,
          Bot al it is foryete clene;
          And thogh I stonde there a myle,
          Al is foryete for the while,    690
          A tunge I have and wordes none.
          And thus I stonde and thenke al one
          Of thing that helpeth ofte noght;
          Bot what I hadde afore thoght
          To speke, whanne I come there,
          It is foryete, as noght ne were,
          And stonde amased and assoted,
          That of nothing which I have noted
          I can noght thanne a note singe,
          Bot al is out of knowlechinge:  700
          Thus, what for joie and what for drede,
          Al is foryeten ate nede.
          So that, mi fader, of this Slowthe
          I have you said the pleine trowthe;
          Ye mai it as you list redresce:
          For thus stant my foryetelnesse
          And ek my pusillamite.
          Sey now forth what you list to me,
          For I wol only do be you.
          Mi Sone, I have wel herd how thou  710
          Hast seid, and that thou most amende:
          For love his grace wol noght sende
          To that man which dar axe non.
          For this we knowen everichon,
          A mannes thoght withoute speche
          God wot, and yit that men beseche
          His will is; for withoute bedes
          He doth his grace in fewe stedes:
          And what man that foryet himselve,
          Among a thousand be noght tuelve,  720
          That wol him take in remembraunce,
          Bot lete him falle and take his chaunce.
          Forthi pull up a besi herte,
          Mi Sone, and let nothing asterte
          Of love fro thi besinesse:
          For touchinge of foryetelnesse,
          Which many a love hath set behinde,
          A tale of gret ensample I finde,
          Wherof it is pite to wite
          In the manere as it is write.   730
          King Demephon, whan he be Schipe
          To Troieward with felaschipe
          Sailende goth, upon his weie
          It hapneth him at Rodopeie,
          As Eolus him hadde blowe,
          To londe, and rested for a throwe.
          And fell that ilke time thus,
          The dowhter of Ligurgius,
          Which qweene was of the contre,
          Was sojournende in that Cite    740
          Withinne a Castell nyh the stronde,
          Wher Demephon cam up to londe.
          Phillis sche hihte, and of yong age
          And of stature and of visage
          Sche hadde al that hire best besemeth.
          Of Demephon riht wel hire qwemeth,
          Whan he was come, and made him chiere;
          And he, that was of his manere
          A lusti knyht, ne myhte asterte
          That he ne sette on hire his herte;   750
          So that withinne a day or tuo
          He thoghte, how evere that it go,
          He wolde assaie the fortune,
          And gan his herte to commune
          With goodly wordes in hire Ere;
          And forto put hire out of fere,
          He swor and hath his trowthe pliht
          To be for evere hire oghne knyht.
          And thus with hire he stille abod,
          Ther while his Schip on Anker rod,  760
          And hadde ynowh of time and space
          To speke of love and seche grace.
          This ladi herde al that he seide,
          And hou he swor and hou he preide,
          Which was as an enchantement
          To hire, that was innocent:
          As thogh it were trowthe and feith,
          Sche lieveth al that evere he seith,
          And as hire infortune scholde,
          Sche granteth him al that he wolde.   770
          Thus was he for the time in joie,
          Til that he scholde go to Troie;
          Bot tho sche made mochel sorwe,
          And he his trowthe leith to borwe
          To come, if that he live may,
          Ayein withinne a Monthe day,
          And therupon thei kisten bothe:
          Bot were hem lieve or were hem lothe,
          To Schipe he goth and forth he wente
          To Troie, as was his ferste entente.  780
          The daies gon, the Monthe passeth,
          Hire love encresceth and his lasseth,
          For him sche lefte slep and mete,
          And he his time hath al foryete;
          So that this wofull yonge qweene,
          Which wot noght what it mihte meene,
          A lettre sende and preide him come,
          And seith how sche is overcome
          With strengthe of love in such a wise,
          That sche noght longe mai suffise  790
          To liven out of his presence;
          And putte upon his conscience
          The trowthe which he hath behote,
          Wherof sche loveth him so hote,
          Sche seith, that if he lengere lette
          Of such a day as sche him sette,
          Sche scholde sterven in his Slowthe,
          Which were a schame unto his trowthe.
          This lettre is forth upon hire sonde,
          Wherof somdiel confort on honde    800
          Sche tok, as she that wolde abide
          And waite upon that ilke tyde
          Which sche hath in hire lettre write.
          Bot now is pite forto wite,
          As he dede erst, so he foryat
          His time eftsone and oversat.
          Bot sche, which mihte noght do so,
          The tyde awayteth everemo,
          And caste hire yhe upon the See:
          Somtime nay, somtime yee,    810
          Somtime he cam, somtime noght,
          Thus sche desputeth in hire thoght
          And wot noght what sche thenke mai;
          Bot fastende al the longe day
          Sche was into the derke nyht,
          And tho sche hath do set up lyht
          In a lanterne on hih alofte
          Upon a Tour, wher sche goth ofte,
          In hope that in his cominge
          He scholde se the liht brenninge,  820
          Wherof he mihte his weies rihte
          To come wher sche was be nyhte.
          Bot al for noght, sche was deceived,
          For Venus hath hire hope weyved,
          And schewede hire upon the Sky
          How that the day was faste by,
          So that withinne a litel throwe
          The daies lyht sche mihte knowe.
          Tho sche behield the See at large;
          And whan sche sih ther was no barge   830
          Ne Schip, als ferr as sche may kenne,
          Doun fro the Tour sche gan to renne
          Into an Herber all hire one,
          Wher many a wonder woful mone
          Sche made, that no lif it wiste,
          As sche which all hire joie miste,
          That now sche swouneth, now sche pleigneth,
          And al hire face sche desteigneth
          With teres, whiche, as of a welle
          The stremes, from hire yhen felle;    840
          So as sche mihte and evere in on
          Sche clepede upon Demephon,
          And seide, "Helas, thou slowe wiht,
          Wher was ther evere such a knyht,
          That so thurgh his ungentilesce
          Of Slowthe and of foryetelnesse
          Ayein his trowthe brak his stevene?"
          And tho hire yhe up to the hevene
          Sche caste, and seide, "O thou unkinde,
          Hier schalt thou thurgh thi Slowthe finde,  850
          If that thee list to come and se,
          A ladi ded for love of thee,
          So as I schal myselve spille;
          Whom, if it hadde be thi wille,
          Thou mihtest save wel ynowh."
          With that upon a grene bowh
          A Ceinte of Selk, which sche ther hadde,
          Sche knette, and so hireself sche ladde,
          That sche aboute hire whyte swere
          It dede, and hyng hirselven there.    860
          Wherof the goddes were amoeved,
          And Demephon was so reproeved,
          That of the goddes providence
          Was schape such an evidence
          Evere afterward ayein the slowe,
          That Phillis in the same throwe
          Was schape into a Notetre,
          That alle men it mihte se,
          And after Phillis Philliberd
          This tre was cleped in the yerd,   870
          And yit for Demephon to schame
          Into this dai it berth the name.
          This wofull chance how that it ferde
          Anon as Demephon it herde,
          And every man it hadde in speche,
          His sorwe was noght tho to seche;
          He gan his Slowthe forto banne,
          Bot it was al to late thanne.
          Lo thus, my Sone, miht thou wite
          Ayein this vice how it is write;   880
          For noman mai the harmes gesse,
          That fallen thurgh foryetelnesse,
          Wherof that I thi schrifte have herd.
          Bot yit of Slowthe hou it hath ferd
          In other wise I thenke oppose,
          If thou have gult, as I suppose.
          Fulfild of Slowthes essamplaire
          Ther is yit on, his Secretaire,
          And he is cleped Negligence:
          Which wol noght loke his evidence,    890
          Wherof he mai be war tofore;
          Bot whanne he hath his cause lore,
          Thanne is he wys after the hond:
          Whanne helpe may no maner bond,
          Thanne ate ferste wolde he binde:
          Thus everemore he stant behinde.
          Whanne he the thing mai noght amende,
          Thanne is he war, and seith at ende,
          "Ha, wolde god I hadde knowe]"
          Wherof bejaped with a mowe   900
          He goth, for whan the grete Stiede
          Is stole, thanne he taketh hiede,
          And makth the stable dore fast:
          Thus evere he pleith an aftercast
          Of al that he schal seie or do.
          He hath a manere eke also,
          Him list noght lerne to be wys,
          For he set of no vertu pris
          Bot as him liketh for the while;
          So fieleth he fulofte guile,    910
          Whan that he weneth siker stonde.
          And thus thou miht wel understonde,
          Mi Sone, if thou art such in love,
          Thou miht noght come at thin above
          Of that thou woldest wel achieve.
          Mi holi fader, as I lieve,
          I mai wel with sauf conscience
          Excuse me of necgligence
          Towardes love in alle wise:
          For thogh I be non of the wise,    920
          I am so trewly amerous,
          That I am evere curious
          Of hem that conne best enforme
          To knowe and witen al the forme,
          What falleth unto loves craft.
          Bot yit ne fond I noght the haft,
          Which mihte unto that bladd acorde;
          For nevere herde I man recorde
          What thing it is that myhte availe
          To winne love withoute faile.   930
          Yit so fer cowthe I nevere finde
          Man that be resoun ne be kinde
          Me cowthe teche such an art,
          That he ne failede of a part;
          And as toward myn oghne wit,
          Controeve cowthe I nevere yit
          To finden eny sikernesse,
          That me myhte outher more or lesse
          Of love make forto spede:
          For lieveth wel withoute drede,    940
          If that ther were such a weie,
          As certeinliche as I schal deie
          I hadde it lerned longe ago.
          Bot I wot wel ther is non so:
          And natheles it may wel be,
          I am so rude in my degree
          And ek mi wittes ben so dulle,
          That I ne mai noght to the fulle
          Atteigne to so hih a lore.
          Bot this I dar seie overmore,       950
          Althogh mi wit ne be noght strong,
          It is noght on mi will along,
          For that is besi nyht and day
          To lerne al that he lerne may,
          How that I mihte love winne:
          Bot yit I am as to beginne
          Of that I wolde make an ende,
          And for I not how it schal wende,
          That is to me mi moste sorwe.
          Bot I dar take god to borwe,    960
          As after min entendement,
          Non other wise necgligent
          Thanne I yow seie have I noght be:
          Forthi per seinte charite
          Tell me, mi fader, what you semeth.
          In good feith, Sone, wel me qwemeth,
          That thou thiself hast thus aquit
          Toward this vice, in which no wit
          Abide mai, for in an houre
          He lest al that he mai laboure  970
          The longe yer, so that men sein,
          What evere he doth it is in vein.
          For thurgh the Slowthe of Negligence
          Ther was yit nevere such science
          Ne vertu, which was bodely,
          That nys destruid and lost therby.
          Ensample that it hath be so
          In boke I finde write also.
          Phebus, which is the Sonne hote,
          That schyneth upon Erthe hote   980
          And causeth every lyves helthe,
          He hadde a Sone in al his welthe,
          Which Pheton hihte, and he desireth
          And with his Moder he conspireth,
          The which was cleped Clemenee,
          For help and conseil, so that he
          His fader carte lede myhte
          Upon the faire daies brihte.
          And for this thing thei bothe preide
          Unto the fader, and he seide    990
          He wolde wel, bot forth withal
          Thre pointz he bad in special
          Unto his Sone in alle wise,
          That he him scholde wel avise
          And take it as be weie of lore.
          Ferst was, that he his hors to sore
          Ne prike, and over that he tolde
          That he the renes faste holde;
          And also that he be riht war
          In what manere he lede his charr,  1000
          That he mistake noght his gate,
          Bot up avisement algate
          He scholde bere a siker yhe,
          That he to lowe ne to hyhe
          His carte dryve at eny throwe,
          Wherof that he mihte overthrowe.
          And thus be Phebus ordinance
          Tok Pheton into governance
          The Sonnes carte, which he ladde:
          Bot he such veine gloire hadde  1010
          Of that he was set upon hyh,
          That he his oghne astat ne syh
          Thurgh negligence and tok non hiede;
          So mihte he wel noght longe spede.
          For he the hors withoute lawe
          The carte let aboute drawe
          Wher as hem liketh wantounly,
          That ate laste sodeinly,
          For he no reson wolde knowe,
          This fyri carte he drof to lowe,   1020
          And fyreth al the world aboute;
          Wherof thei weren alle in doubte,
          And to the god for helpe criden
          Of suche unhappes as betyden.
          Phebus, which syh the necgligence,
          How Pheton ayein his defence
          His charr hath drive out of the weie,
          Ordeigneth that he fell aweie
          Out of the carte into a flod
          And dreynte. Lo now, hou it stod   1030
          With him that was so necgligent,
          That fro the hyhe firmament,
          For that he wolde go to lowe,
          He was anon doun overthrowe.
          In hih astat it is a vice
          To go to lowe, and in service
          It grieveth forto go to hye,
          Wherof a tale in poesie
          I finde, how whilom Dedalus,
          Which hadde a Sone, and Icharus    1040
          He hihte, and thogh hem thoghte lothe,
          In such prison thei weren bothe
          With Minotaurus, that aboute
          Thei mihten nawher wenden oute;
          So thei begonne forto schape
          How thei the prison mihte ascape.
          This Dedalus, which fro his yowthe
          Was tawht and manye craftes cowthe,
          Of fetheres and of othre thinges
          Hath mad to fle diverse wynges  1050
          For him and for his Sone also;
          To whom he yaf in charge tho
          And bad him thenke therupon,
          How that his wynges ben set on
          With wex, and if he toke his flyhte
          To hyhe, al sodeinliche he mihte
          Make it to melte with the Sonne.
          And thus thei have her flyht begonne
          Out of the prison faire and softe;
          And whan thei weren bothe alofte,  1060
          This Icharus began to monte,
          And of the conseil non accompte
          He sette, which his fader tawhte,
          Til that the Sonne his wynges cawhte,
          Wherof it malt, and fro the heihte
          Withouten help of eny sleihte
          He fell to his destruccion.
          And lich to that condicion
          Ther fallen ofte times fele
          For lacke of governance in wele,   1070
          Als wel in love as other weie.
          Now goode fader, I you preie,
          If ther be more in the matiere
          Of Slowthe, that I mihte it hiere.
          Mi Sone, and for thi diligence,
          Which every mannes conscience
          Be resoun scholde reule and kepe,
          If that thee list to taken kepe,
          I wol thee telle, aboven alle
          In whom no vertu mai befalle,   1080
          Which yifth unto the vices reste
          And is of slowe the sloweste.
          Among these othre of Slowthes kinde,
          Which alle labour set behinde,
          And hateth alle besinesse,
          Ther is yit on, which Ydelnesse
          Is cleped, and is the Norrice
          In mannes kinde of every vice,
          Which secheth eases manyfold.
          In Wynter doth he noght for cold,  1090
          In Somer mai he noght for hete;
          So whether that he frese or swete,
          Or he be inne, or he be oute,
          He wol ben ydel al aboute,
          Bot if he pleie oght ate Dees.
          For who as evere take fees
          And thenkth worschipe to deserve,
          Ther is no lord whom he wol serve,
          As forto duelle in his servise,
          Bot if it were in such a wise,  1100
          Of that he seth per aventure
          That be lordschipe and coverture
          He mai the more stonde stille,
          And use his ydelnesse at wille.
          For he ne wol no travail take
          To ryde for his ladi sake,
          Bot liveth al upon his wisshes;
          And as a cat wolde ete fisshes
          Withoute wetinge of his cles,
          So wolde he do, bot natheles    1110
          He faileth ofte of that he wolde.
          Mi Sone, if thou of such a molde
          Art mad, now tell me plein thi schrifte.
          Nay, fader, god I yive a yifte.
          That toward love, as be mi wit,
          Al ydel was I nevere yit,
          Ne nevere schal, whil I mai go.
          Now, Sone, tell me thanne so,
          What hast thou don of besischipe
          To love and to the ladischipe   1120
          Of hire which thi ladi is?
          Mi fader, evere yit er this
          In every place, in every stede,
          What so mi lady hath me bede,
          With al myn herte obedient
          I have therto be diligent.
          And if so is sche bidde noght,
          What thing that thanne into my thoght
          Comth ferst of that I mai suffise,
          I bowe and profre my servise,   1130
          Somtime in chambre, somtime in halle,
          Riht as I se the times falle.
          And whan sche goth to hiere masse,
          That time schal noght overpasse,
          That I naproche hir ladihede,
          In aunter if I mai hire lede
          Unto the chapelle and ayein.
          Thanne is noght al mi weie in vein,
          Somdiel I mai the betre fare,
          Whan I, that mai noght fiele hir bare,   1140
          Mai lede hire clothed in myn arm:
          Bot afterward it doth me harm
          Of pure ymaginacioun;
          For thanne this collacioun
          I make unto miselven ofte,
          And seie, "Ha lord, hou sche is softe,
          How sche is round, hou sche is smal]
          Now wolde god I hadde hire al
          Withoute danger at mi wille]"
          And thanne I sike and sitte stille,   1150
          Of that I se mi besi thoght
          Is torned ydel into noght.
          Bot for al that lete I ne mai,
          Whanne I se time an other dai,
          That I ne do my besinesse
          Unto mi ladi worthinesse.
          For I therto mi wit afaite
          To se the times and awaite
          What is to done and what to leve:
          And so, whan time is, be hir leve,    1160
          What thing sche bit me don, I do,
          And wher sche bidt me gon, I go,
          And whanne hir list to clepe, I come.
          Thus hath sche fulliche overcome
          Min ydelnesse til I sterve,
          So that I mot hire nedes serve,
          For as men sein, nede hath no lawe.
          Thus mot I nedly to hire drawe,
          I serve, I bowe, I loke, I loute,
          Min yhe folweth hire aboute,    1170
          What so sche wole so wol I,
          Whan sche wol sitte, I knele by,
          And whan sche stant, than wol I stonde:
          Bot whan sche takth hir werk on honde
          Of wevinge or enbrouderie,
          Than can I noght bot muse and prie
          Upon hir fingres longe and smale,
          And now I thenke, and now I tale,
          And now I singe, and now I sike,
          And thus mi contienance I pike.    1180
          And if it falle, as for a time
          Hir liketh noght abide bime,
          Bot besien hire on other thinges,
          Than make I othre tariinges
          To dreche forth the longe dai,
          For me is loth departe away.
          And thanne I am so simple of port,
          That forto feigne som desport
          I pleie with hire litel hound
          Now on the bedd, now on the ground,   1190
          Now with hir briddes in the cage;
          For ther is non so litel page,
          Ne yit so simple a chamberere,
          That I ne make hem alle chere,
          Al for thei scholde speke wel:
          Thus mow ye sen mi besi whiel,
          That goth noght ydeliche aboute.
          And if hir list to riden oute
          On pelrinage or other stede,
          I come, thogh I be noght bede,  1200
          And take hire in min arm alofte
          And sette hire in hire sadel softe,
          And so forth lede hire be the bridel,
          For that I wolde noght ben ydel.
          And if hire list to ride in Char,
          And thanne I mai therof be war,
          Anon I schape me to ryde
          Riht evene be the Chares side;
          And as I mai, I speke among,
          And otherwhile I singe a song,  1210
          Which Ovide in his bokes made,
          And seide, "O whiche sorwes glade,
          O which wofull prosperite
          Belongeth to the proprete
          Of love, who so wole him serve]
          And yit therfro mai noman swerve,
          That he ne mot his lawe obeie."
          And thus I ryde forth mi weie,
          And am riht besi overal
          With herte and with mi body al,    1220
          As I have said you hier tofore.
          My goode fader, tell therfore,
          Of Ydelnesse if I have gilt.
          Mi Sone, bot thou telle wilt
          Oght elles than I mai now hiere,
          Thou schalt have no penance hiere.
          And natheles a man mai se,
          How now adayes that ther be
          Ful manye of suche hertes slowe,
          That wol noght besien hem to knowe    1230
          What thing love is, til ate laste,
          That he with strengthe hem overcaste,
          That malgre hem thei mote obeie
          And don al ydelschipe aweie,
          To serve wel and besiliche.
          Bot, Sone, thou art non of swiche,
          For love schal the wel excuse:
          Bot otherwise, if thou refuse
          To love, thou miht so per cas
          Ben ydel, as somtime was  1240
          A kinges dowhter unavised,
          Til that Cupide hire hath chastised:
          Wherof thou schalt a tale hiere
          Acordant unto this matiere.
          Of Armenye, I rede thus,
          Ther was a king, which Herupus
          Was hote, and he a lusti Maide
          To dowhter hadde, and as men saide
          Hire name was Rosiphelee;
          Which tho was of gret renomee,  1250
          For sche was bothe wys and fair
          And scholde ben hire fader hair.
          Bot sche hadde o defalte of Slowthe
          Towardes love, and that was rowthe;
          For so wel cowde noman seie,
          Which mihte sette hire in the weie
          Of loves occupacion
          Thurgh non ymaginacion;
          That scole wolde sche noght knowe.
          And thus sche was on of the slowe  1260
          As of such hertes besinesse,
          Til whanne Venus the goddesse,
          Which loves court hath forto reule,
          Hath broght hire into betre reule,
          Forth with Cupide and with his miht:
          For thei merveille how such a wiht,
          Which tho was in hir lusti age,
          Desireth nother Mariage
          Ne yit the love of paramours,
          Which evere hath be the comun cours   1270
          Amonges hem that lusti were.
          So was it schewed after there:
          For he that hihe hertes loweth
          With fyri Dartes whiche he throweth,
          Cupide, which of love is godd,
          In chastisinge hath mad a rodd
          To dryve awei hir wantounesse;
          So that withinne a while, I gesse,
          Sche hadde on such a chance sporned,
          That al hire mod was overtorned,   1280
          Which ferst sche hadde of slow manere:
          For thus it fell, as thou schalt hiere.
          Whan come was the Monthe of Maii,
          Sche wolde walke upon a dai,
          And that was er the Sonne Ariste;
          Of wommen bot a fewe it wiste,
          And forth sche wente prively
          Unto the Park was faste by,
          Al softe walkende on the gras,
          Til sche cam ther the Launde was,  1290
          Thurgh which ther ran a gret rivere.
          It thoghte hir fair, and seide, "Here
          I wole abide under the schawe":
          And bad hire wommen to withdrawe,
          And ther sche stod al one stille,
          To thenke what was in hir wille.
          Sche sih the swote floures springe,
          Sche herde glade foules singe,
          Sche sih the bestes in her kinde,
          The buck, the do, the hert, the hinde,   1300
          The madle go with the femele;
          And so began ther a querele
          Betwen love and hir oghne herte,
          Fro which sche couthe noght asterte.
          And as sche caste hire yhe aboute,
          Sche syh clad in o suite a route
          Of ladis, wher thei comen ryde
          Along under the wodes syde:
          On faire amblende hors thei sete,
          That were al whyte, fatte and grete,  1310
          And everichon thei ride on side.
          The Sadles were of such a Pride,
          With Perle and gold so wel begon,
          So riche syh sche nevere non;
          In kertles and in Copes riche
          Thei weren clothed, alle liche,
          Departed evene of whyt and blew;
          With alle lustes that sche knew
          Thei were enbrouded overal.
          Here bodies weren long and smal,       1320
          The beaute faye upon her face
          Non erthly thing it may desface;
          Corones on here hed thei beere,
          As ech of hem a qweene weere,
          That al the gold of Cresus halle
          The leste coronal of alle
          Ne mihte have boght after the worth:
          Thus come thei ridende forth.
          The kinges dowhter, which this syh,
          For pure abaissht drowh hire adryh    1330
          And hield hire clos under the bowh,
          And let hem passen stille ynowh;
          For as hire thoghte in hire avis,
          To hem that were of such a pris
          Sche was noght worthi axen there,
          Fro when they come or what thei were:
          Bot levere than this worldes good
          Sche wolde have wist hou that it stod,
          And putte hire hed alitel oute;
          And as sche lokede hire aboute,    1340
          Sche syh comende under the linde
          A womman up an hors behinde.
          The hors on which sche rod was blak,
          Al lene and galled on the back,
          And haltede, as he were encluyed,
          Wherof the womman was annuied;
          Thus was the hors in sori plit,
          Bot for al that a sterre whit
          Amiddes in the front he hadde.
          Hir Sadel ek was wonder badde,  1350
          In which the wofull womman sat,
          And natheles ther was with that
          A riche bridel for the nones
          Of gold and preciouse Stones.
          Hire cote was somdiel totore;
          Aboute hir middel twenty score
          Of horse haltres and wel mo
          Ther hyngen ate time tho.
          Thus whan sche cam the ladi nyh,
          Than tok sche betre hiede and syh  1360
          This womman fair was of visage,
          Freyssh, lusti, yong and of tendre age;
          And so this ladi, ther sche stod,
          Bethoghte hire wel and understod
          That this, which com ridende tho,
          Tidinges couthe telle of tho,
          Which as sche sih tofore ryde,
          And putte hir forth and preide abide,
          And seide, "Ha, Suster, let me hiere,
          What ben thei, that now riden hiere,  1370
          And ben so richeliche arraied?"
          This womman, which com so esmaied,
          Ansuerde with ful softe speche,
          And seith, "Ma Dame, I schal you teche.
          These ar of tho that whilom were
          Servantz to love, and trowthe beere,
          Ther as thei hadde here herte set.
          Fare wel, for I mai noght be let:
          Ma Dame, I go to mi servise,
          So moste I haste in alle wise;  1380
          Forthi, ma Dame, yif me leve,
          I mai noght longe with you leve."
          "Ha, goode Soster, yit I preie,
          Tell me whi ye ben so beseie
          And with these haltres thus begon."
          "Ma Dame, whilom I was on
          That to mi fader hadde a king;
          Bot I was slow, and for no thing
          Me liste noght to love obeie,
          And that I now ful sore abeie.  1390
          For I whilom no love hadde,
          Min hors is now so fieble and badde,
          And al totore is myn arai,
          And every yeer this freisshe Maii
          These lusti ladis ryde aboute,
          And I mot nedes suie here route
          In this manere as ye now se,
          And trusse here haltres forth with me,
          And am bot as here horse knave.
          Non other office I ne have,  1400
          Hem thenkth I am worthi nomore,
          For I was slow in loves lore,
          Whan I was able forto lere,
          And wolde noght the tales hiere
          Of hem that couthen love teche."
          "Now tell me thanne, I you beseche,
          Wherof that riche bridel serveth."
          With that hire chere awei sche swerveth,
          And gan to wepe, and thus sche tolde:
          "This bridel, which ye nou beholde    1410
          So riche upon myn horse hed,-
          Ma Dame, afore, er I was ded,
          Whan I was in mi lusti lif,
          Ther fel into myn herte a strif
          Of love, which me overcom,
          So that therafter hiede I nom
          And thoghte I wolde love a kniht:
          That laste wel a fourtenyht,
          For it no lengere mihte laste,
          So nyh my lif was ate laste.    1420
          Bot now, allas, to late war
          That I ne hadde him loved ar:
          For deth cam so in haste bime,
          Er I therto hadde eny time,
          That it ne mihte ben achieved.
          Bot for al that I am relieved,
          Of that mi will was good therto,
          That love soffreth it be so
          That I schal swiche a bridel were.
          Now have ye herd al myn ansuere:   1430
          To godd, ma Dame, I you betake,
          And warneth alle for mi sake,
          Of love that thei ben noght ydel,
          And bidd hem thenke upon mi brydel."
          And with that word al sodeinly
          Sche passeth, as it were a Sky,
          Al clene out of this ladi sihte:
          And tho for fere hire herte afflihte,
          And seide to hirself, "Helas]
          I am riht in the same cas.   1440
          Bot if I live after this day,
          I schal amende it, if I may."
          And thus homward this lady wente,
          And changede al hire ferste entente,
          Withinne hire herte and gan to swere
          That sche none haltres wolde bere.
          Lo, Sone, hier miht thou taken hiede,
          How ydelnesse is forto drede,
          Namliche of love, as I have write.
          For thou miht understonde and wite,   1450
          Among the gentil nacion
          Love is an occupacion,
          Which forto kepe hise lustes save
          Scholde every gentil herte have:
          For as the ladi was chastised,
          Riht so the knyht mai ben avised,
          Which ydel is and wol noght serve
          To love, he mai per cas deserve
          A grettere peine than sche hadde,
          Whan sche aboute with hire ladde   1460
          The horse haltres; and forthi
          Good is to be wel war therbi.
          Bot forto loke aboven alle,
          These Maidens, hou so that it falle,
          Thei scholden take ensample of this
          Which I have told, for soth it is.
          Mi ladi Venus, whom I serve,
          What womman wole hire thonk deserve,
          Sche mai noght thilke love eschuie
          Of paramours, bot sche mot suie    1470
          Cupides lawe; and natheles
          Men sen such love sielde in pes,
          That it nys evere upon aspie
          Of janglinge and of fals Envie,
          Fulofte medlid with disese:
          Bot thilke love is wel at ese,
          Which set is upon mariage;
          For that dar schewen the visage
          In alle places openly.
          A gret mervaile it is forthi,   1480
          How that a Maiden wolde lette,
          That sche hir time ne besette
          To haste unto that ilke feste,
          Wherof the love is al honeste.
          Men mai recovere lost of good,
          Bot so wys man yit nevere stod,
          Which mai recovere time lore:
          So mai a Maiden wel therfore
          Ensample take, of that sche strangeth
          Hir love, and longe er that sche changeth   1490
          Hir herte upon hir lustes greene
          To mariage, as it is seene.
          For thus a yer or tuo or thre
          Sche lest, er that sche wedded be,
          Whyl sche the charge myhte bere
          Of children, whiche the world forbere
          Ne mai, bot if it scholde faile.
          Bot what Maiden hire esposaile
          Wol tarie, whan sche take mai,
          Sche schal per chance an other dai    1500
          Be let, whan that hire lievest were.
          Wherof a tale unto hire Ere,
          Which is coupable upon this dede,
          I thenke telle of that I rede.
          Among the Jewes, as men tolde,
          Ther was whilom be daies olde
          A noble Duck, which Jepte hihte.
          And fell, he scholde go to fyhte
          Ayein Amon the cruel king:
          And forto speke upon this thing,   1510
          Withinne his herte he made avou
          To god and seide, "Ha lord, if thou
          Wolt grante unto thi man victoire,
          I schal in tokne of thi memoire
          The ferste lif that I mai se,
          Of man or womman wher it be,
          Anon as I come hom ayein,
          To thee, which art god sovereign,
          Slen in thi name and sacrifie."
          And thus with his chivalerie    1520
          He goth him forth, wher that he scholde,
          And wan al that he winne wolde
          And overcam his fomen alle.
          Mai noman lette that schal falle.
          This Duc a lusti dowhter hadde,
          And fame, which the wordes spradde,
          Hath broght unto this ladi Ere
          How that hire fader hath do there.
          Sche waiteth upon his cominge
          With dansinge and with carolinge,  1530
          As sche that wolde be tofore
          Al othre, and so sche was therfore
          In Masphat at hir fader gate
          The ferste; and whan he com therate,
          And sih his douhter, he tobreide
          Hise clothes and wepende he seide:
          "O mihti god among ous hiere,
          Nou wot I that in no manere
          This worldes joie mai be plein.
          I hadde al that I coude sein    1540
          Ayein mi fomen be thi grace,
          So whan I cam toward this place
          Ther was non gladdere man than I:
          But now, mi lord, al sodeinli
          Mi joie is torned into sorwe,
          For I mi dowhter schal tomorwe
          Tohewe and brenne in thi servise
          To loenge of thi sacrifise
          Thurgh min avou, so as it is."
          The Maiden, whan sche wiste of this,  1550
          And sih the sorwe hir fader made,
          So as sche mai with wordes glade
          Conforteth him, and bad him holde
          The covenant which he is holde
          Towardes god, as he behihte.
          Bot natheles hire herte aflihte
          Of that sche sih hire deth comende;
          And thanne unto the ground knelende
          Tofore hir fader sche is falle,
          And seith, so as it is befalle  1560
          Upon this point that sche schal deie,
          Of o thing ferst sche wolde him preie,
          That fourty daies of respit
          He wolde hir grante upon this plit,
          That sche the whyle mai bewepe
          Hir maidenhod, which sche to kepe
          So longe hath had and noght beset;
          Wherof her lusti youthe is let,
          That sche no children hath forthdrawe
          In Mariage after the lawe,   1570
          So that the poeple is noght encressed.
          Bot that it mihte be relessed,
          That sche hir time hath lore so,
          Sche wolde be his leve go
          With othre Maidens to compleigne,
          And afterward unto the peine
          Of deth sche wolde come ayein.
          The fader herde his douhter sein,
          And therupon of on assent
          The Maidens were anon asent,    1580
          That scholden with this Maiden wende.
          So forto speke unto this ende,
          Thei gon the dounes and the dales
          With wepinge and with wofull tales,
          And every wyht hire maidenhiede
          Compleigneth upon thilke nede,
          That sche no children hadde bore,
          Wherof sche hath hir youthe lore,
          Which nevere sche recovere mai:
          For so fell that hir laste dai  1590
          Was come, in which sche scholde take
          Hir deth, which sche may noght forsake.
          Lo, thus sche deiede a wofull Maide
          For thilke cause which I saide,
          As thou hast understonde above.
          Mi fader, as toward the Love
          Of Maidens forto telle trowthe,
          Ye have thilke vice of Slowthe,
          Me thenkth, riht wonder wel declared,
          That ye the wommen have noght spared  1600
          Of hem that tarien so behinde.
          Bot yit it falleth in my minde,
          Toward the men hou that ye spieke
          Of hem that wole no travail sieke
          In cause of love upon decerte:
          To speke in wordes so coverte,
          I not what travaill that ye mente.
          Mi Sone, and after min entente
          I woll thee telle what I thoghte,
          Hou whilom men here loves boghte   1610
          Thurgh gret travaill in strange londes,
          Wher that thei wroghten with here hondes
          Of armes many a worthi dede,
          In sondri place as men mai rede.
          That every love of pure kinde
          Is ferst forthdrawe, wel I finde:
          Bot natheles yit overthis
          Decerte doth so that it is
          The rather had in mani place.
          Forthi who secheth loves grace,    1620
          Wher that these worthi wommen are,
          He mai noght thanne himselve spare
          Upon his travail forto serve,
          Wherof that he mai thonk deserve,
          There as these men of Armes be,
          Somtime over the grete Se:
          So that be londe and ek be Schipe
          He mot travaile for worschipe
          And make manye hastyf rodes,
          Somtime in Prus, somtime in Rodes,    1630
          And somtime into Tartarie;
          So that these heraldz on him crie,
          "Vailant, vailant, lo, wher he goth]"
          And thanne he yifth hem gold and cloth,
          So that his fame mihte springe,
          And to his ladi Ere bringe
          Som tidinge of his worthinesse;
          So that sche mihte of his prouesce
          Of that sche herde men recorde,
          The betre unto his love acorde  1640
          And danger pute out of hire mod,
          Whanne alle men recorden good,
          And that sche wot wel, for hir sake
          That he no travail wol forsake.
          Mi Sone, of this travail I meene:
          Nou schrif thee, for it schal be sene
          If thou art ydel in this cas.
          My fader ye, and evere was:
          For as me thenketh trewely
          That every man doth mor than I  1650
          As of this point, and if so is
          That I have oght so don er this,
          It is so litel of acompte,
          As who seith, it mai noght amonte
          To winne of love his lusti yifte.
          For this I telle you in schrifte,
          That me were levere hir love winne
          Than Kaire and al that is ther inne:
          And forto slen the hethen alle,
          I not what good ther mihte falle,  1660
          So mochel blod thogh ther be schad.
          This finde I writen, hou Crist bad
          That noman other scholde sle.
          What scholde I winne over the Se,
          If I mi ladi loste at hom?
          Bot passe thei the salte fom,
          To whom Crist bad thei scholden preche
          To al the world and his feith teche:
          Bot now thei rucken in here nest
          And resten as hem liketh best   1670
          In all the swetnesse of delices.
          Thus thei defenden ous the vices,
          And sitte hemselven al amidde;
          To slen and feihten thei ous bidde
          Hem whom thei scholde, as the bok seith,
          Converten unto Cristes feith.
          Bot hierof have I gret mervaile,
          Hou thei wol bidde me travaile:
          A Sarazin if I sle schal,
          I sle the Soule forth withal,   1680
          And that was nevere Cristes lore.
          Bot nou ho ther, I seie nomore.
          Bot I wol speke upon mi schrifte;
          And to Cupide I make a yifte,
          That who as evere pris deserve
          Of armes, I wol love serve;
          And thogh I scholde hem bothe kepe,
          Als wel yit wolde I take kepe
          Whan it were time to abide,
          As forto travaile and to ryde:  1690
          For how as evere a man laboure,
          Cupide appointed hath his houre.
          For I have herd it telle also,
          Achilles lefte hise armes so
          Bothe of himself and of his men
          At Troie for Polixenen,
          Upon hire love whanne he fell,
          That for no chance that befell
          Among the Grecs or up or doun,
          He wolde noght ayein the toun   1700
          Ben armed, for the love of hire.
          And so me thenketh, lieve Sire,
          A man of armes mai him reste
          Somtime in hope for the beste,
          If he mai finde a weie nerr.
          What scholde I thanne go so ferr
          In strange londes many a mile
          To ryde, and lese at hom therwhile
          Mi love? It were a schort beyete
          To winne chaf and lese whete.   1710
          Bot if mi ladi bidde wolde,
          That I for hire love scholde
          Travaile, me thenkth trewely
          I mihte fle thurghout the Sky,
          And go thurghout the depe Se,
          For al ne sette I at a stre
          What thonk that I mihte elles gete.
          What helpeth it a man have mete,
          Wher drinke lacketh on the bord?
          What helpeth eny mannes word    1720
          To seie hou I travaile faste,
          Wher as me faileth ate laste
          That thing which I travaile fore?
          O in good time were he bore,
          That mihte atteigne such a mede.
          Bot certes if I mihte spede
          With eny maner besinesse
          Of worldes travail, thanne I gesse,
          Ther scholde me non ydelschipe
          Departen fro hir ladischipe.    1730
          Bot this I se, on daies nou
          The blinde god, I wot noght hou,
          Cupido, which of love is lord,
          He set the thinges in discord,
          That thei that lest to love entende
          Fulofte he wole hem yive and sende
          Most of his grace; and thus I finde
          That he that scholde go behinde,
          Goth many a time ferr tofore:
          So wot I noght riht wel therfore,  1740
          On whether bord that I schal seile.
          Thus can I noght miself conseile,
          Bot al I sette on aventure,
          And am, as who seith, out of cure
          For ought that I can seie or do:
          For everemore I finde it so,
          The more besinesse I leie,
          The more that I knele and preie
          With goode wordes and with softe,
          The more I am refused ofte,  1750
          With besinesse and mai noght winne.
          And in good feith that is gret Sinne;
          For I mai seie, of dede and thoght
          That ydel man have I be noght;
          For hou as evere I be deslaied,
          Yit evermore I have assaied.
          Bot thogh my besinesse laste,
          Al is bot ydel ate laste,
          For whan theffect is ydelnesse,
          I not what thing is besinesse.  1760
          Sei, what availeth al the dede,
          Which nothing helpeth ate nede?
          For the fortune of every fame
          Schal of his ende bere a name.
          And thus for oght is yit befalle,
          An ydel man I wol me calle
          As after myn entendement:
          Bot upon youre amendement,
          Min holi fader, as you semeth,
          Mi reson and my cause demeth.   1770
          Mi Sone, I have herd thi matiere,
          Of that thou hast thee schriven hiere:
          And forto speke of ydel fare,
          Me semeth that thou tharst noght care,
          Bot only that thou miht noght spede.
          And therof, Sone, I wol thee rede,
          Abyd, and haste noght to faste;
          Thi dees ben every dai to caste,
          Thou nost what chance schal betyde.
          Betre is to wayte upon the tyde    1780
          Than rowe ayein the stremes stronge:
          For thogh so be thee thenketh longe,
          Per cas the revolucion
          Of hevene and thi condicion
          Ne be noght yit of on acord.
          Bot I dar make this record
          To Venus, whos Prest that I am,
          That sithen that I hidir cam
          To hiere, as sche me bad, thi lif,
          Wherof thou elles be gultif,    1790
          Thou miht hierof thi conscience
          Excuse, and of gret diligence,
          Which thou to love hast so despended,
          Thou oghtest wel to be comended.
          Bot if so be that ther oght faile,
          Of that thou slowthest to travaile
          In armes forto ben absent,
          And for thou makst an argument
          Of that thou seidest hiere above,
          Hou Achilles thurgh strengthe of love        1800
          Hise armes lefte for a throwe,
          Thou schalt an other tale knowe,
          Which is contraire, as thou schalt wite.
          For this a man mai finde write,
          Whan that knyhthode schal be werred,
          Lust mai noght thanne be preferred;
          The bedd mot thanne be forsake
          And Schield and spere on honde take,
          Which thing schal make hem after glade,
          Whan thei ben worthi knihtes made.    1810
          Wherof, so as it comth to honde,
          A tale thou schalt understonde,
          Hou that a kniht schal armes suie,
          And for the while his ese eschuie.
          Upon knyhthode I rede thus,
          How whilom whan the king Nauplus,
          The fader of Palamades,
          Cam forto preien Ulixes
          With othre Gregois ek also,
          That he with hem to Troie go,   1820
          Wher that the Siege scholde be,
          Anon upon Penolope
          His wif, whom that he loveth hote,
          Thenkende, wolde hem noght behote.
          Bot he schop thanne a wonder wyle,
          How that he scholde hem best beguile,
          So that he mihte duelle stille
          At home and welde his love at wille:
          Wherof erli the morwe day
          Out of his bedd, wher that he lay,    1830
          Whan he was uppe, he gan to fare
          Into the field and loke and stare,
          As he which feigneth to be wod:
          He tok a plowh, wher that it stod,
          Wherinne anon in stede of Oxes
          He let do yoken grete foxes,
          And with gret salt the lond he siew.
          But Nauplus, which the cause kniew,
          Ayein the sleihte which he feigneth
          An other sleihte anon ordeigneth.  1840
          And fell that time Ulixes hadde
          A chyld to Sone, and Nauplus radde
          How men that Sone taken scholde,
          And setten him upon the Molde,
          Wher that his fader hield the plowh,
          In thilke furgh which he tho drowh.
          For in such wise he thoghte assaie,
          Hou it Ulixes scholde paie,
          If that he were wod or non.
          The knihtes for this child forthgon;  1850
          Thelamacus anon was fett,
          Tofore the plowh and evene sett,
          Wher that his fader scholde dryve.
          Bot whan he sih his child, als blyve
          He drof the plowh out of the weie,
          And Nauplus tho began to seie,
          And hath half in a jape cryd:
          "O Ulixes, thou art aspyd:
          What is al this thou woldest meene?
          For openliche it is now seene   1860
          That thou hast feigned al this thing,
          Which is gret schame to a king,
          Whan that for lust of eny slowthe
          Thou wolt in a querele of trowthe
          Of armes thilke honour forsake,
          And duelle at hom for loves sake:
          For betre it were honour to winne
          Than love, which likinge is inne.
          Forthi tak worschipe upon honde,
          And elles thou schalt understonde  1870
          These othre worthi kinges alle
          Of Grece, which unto thee calle,
          Towardes thee wol be riht wrothe,
          And grieve thee per chance bothe:
          Which schal be tothe double schame
          Most for the hindrynge of thi name,
          That thou for Slouthe of eny love
          Schalt so thi lustes sette above
          And leve of armes the knyhthode,
          Which is the pris of thi manhode   1880
          And oghte ferst to be desired."
          Bot he, which hadde his herte fyred
          Upon his wif, whan he this herde,
          Noght o word therayein ansuerde,
          Bot torneth hom halvinge aschamed,
          And hath withinne himself so tamed
          His herte, that al the sotie
          Of love for chivalerie
          He lefte, and be him lief or loth,
          To Troie forth with hem he goth,   1890
          That he him mihte noght excuse.
          Thus stant it, if a knyht refuse
          The lust of armes to travaile,
          Ther mai no worldes ese availe,
          Bot if worschipe be with al.
          And that hath schewed overal;
          For it sit wel in alle wise
          A kniht to ben of hih emprise
          And puten alle drede aweie;
          For in this wise, I have herd seie,   1900
          The worthi king Protheselai
          On his passage wher he lai
          Towardes Troie thilke Siege,
          Sche which was al his oghne liege,
          Laodomie his lusti wif,
          Which for his love was pensif,
          As he which al hire herte hadde,
          Upon a thing wherof sche dradde
          A lettre, forto make him duelle
          Fro Troie, sende him, thus to telle,  1910
          Hou sche hath axed of the wyse
          Touchende of him in such a wise,
          That thei have don hire understonde,
          Towardes othre hou so it stonde,
          The destine it hath so schape
          That he schal noght the deth ascape
          In cas that he arryve at Troie.
          Forthi as to hir worldes joie
          With al hire herte sche him preide,
          And many an other cause alleide,   1920
          That he with hire at home abide.
          Bot he hath cast hir lettre aside,
          As he which tho no maner hiede
          Tok of hire wommannysshe drede;
          And forth he goth, as noght ne were,
          To Troie, and was the ferste there
          Which londeth, and tok arryvaile:
          For him was levere in the bataille,
          He seith, to deien as a knyht,
          Than forto lyve in al his myht  1930
          And be reproeved of his name.
          Lo, thus upon the worldes fame
          Knyhthode hath evere yit be set,
          Which with no couardie is let.
          Of king Sal also I finde,
          Whan Samuel out of his kinde,
          Thurgh that the Phitonesse hath lered,
          In Samarie was arered
          Long time after that he was ded,
          The king Sal him axeth red,   1940
          If that he schal go fyhte or non.
          And Samuel him seide anon,
          "The ferste day of the bataille
          Thou schalt be slain withoute faile
          And Jonathas thi Sone also."
          Bot hou as evere it felle so,
          This worthi kniht of his corage
          Hath undertake the viage,
          And wol noght his knyhthode lette
          For no peril he couthe sette;       1950
          Wherof that bothe his Sone and he
          Upon the Montz of Gelboe5
          Assemblen with here enemys:
          For thei knyhthode of such a pris
          Be olde daies thanne hielden,
          That thei non other thing behielden.
          And thus the fader for worschipe
          Forth with his Sone of felaschipe
          Thurgh lust of armes weren dede,
          As men mai in the bible rede;   1960
          The whos knyhthode is yit in mende,
          And schal be to the worldes ende.
          And forto loken overmore,
          It hath and schal ben evermore
          That of knihthode the prouesse
          Is grounded upon hardinesse
          Of him that dar wel undertake.
          And who that wolde ensample take
          Upon the forme of knyhtes lawe,
          How that Achilles was forthdrawe   1970
          With Chiro, which Centaurus hihte,
          Of many a wondre hiere he mihte.
          For it stod thilke time thus,
          That this Chiro, this Centaurus,
          Withinne a large wildernesse,
          Wher was Leon and Leonesse,
          The Lepard and the Tigre also,
          With Hert and Hynde, and buck and doo,
          Hadde his duellinge, as tho befell,
          Of Pileon upon the hel,   1980
          Wherof was thanne mochel speche.
          Ther hath Chiro this Chyld to teche,
          What time he was of tuelve yer age;
          Wher forto maken his corage
          The more hardi be other weie,
          In the forest to hunte and pleie
          Whan that Achilles walke wolde,
          Centaurus bad that he ne scholde
          After no beste make his chace,
          Which wolde flen out of his place,    1990
          As buck and doo and hert and hynde,
          With whiche he mai no werre finde;
          Bot tho that wolden him withstonde,
          Ther scholde he with his Dart on honde
          Upon the Tigre and the Leon
          Pourchace and take his veneison,
          As to a kniht is acordant.
          And therupon a covenant
          This Chiro with Achilles sette,
          That every day withoute lette   2000
          He scholde such a cruel beste
          Or slen or wounden ate leste,
          So that he mihte a tokne bringe
          Of blod upon his hom cominge.
          And thus of that Chiro him tawhte
          Achilles such an herte cawhte,
          That he nomore a Leon dradde,
          Whan he his Dart on honde hadde,
          Thanne if a Leon were an asse:
          And that hath mad him forto passe  2010
          Alle othre knihtes of his dede,
          Whan it cam to the grete nede,
          As it was afterward wel knowe.
          Lo, thus, my Sone, thou miht knowe
          That the corage of hardiesce
          Is of knyhthode the prouesce,
          Which is to love sufficant
          Aboven al the remenant
          That unto loves court poursuie.
          Bot who that wol no Slowthe eschuie,  2020
          Upon knihthode and noght travaile,
          I not what love him scholde availe;
          Bot every labour axeth why
          Of som reward, wherof that I
          Ensamples couthe telle ynowe
          Of hem that toward love drowe
          Be olde daies, as thei scholde.
          Mi fader, therof hiere I wolde.
          Mi Sone, it is wel resonable,
          In place which is honorable  2030
          If that a man his herte sette,
          That thanne he for no Slowthe lette
          To do what longeth to manhede.
          For if thou wolt the bokes rede
          Of Lancelot and othre mo,
          Ther miht thou sen hou it was tho
          Of armes, for thei wolde atteigne
          To love, which withoute peine
          Mai noght be gete of ydelnesse.
          And that I take to witnesse  2040
          An old Cronique in special,
          The which into memorial
          Is write, for his loves sake
          Hou that a kniht schal undertake.
          Ther was a king, which Oe5nes
          Was hote, and he under his pes
          Hield Calidoyne in his Empire,
          And hadde a dowhter Deianire.
          Men wiste in thilke time non
          So fair a wiht as sche was on;  2050
          And as sche was a lusti wiht,
          Riht so was thanne a noble kniht,
          To whom Mercurie fader was.
          This kniht the tuo pilers of bras,
          The whiche yit a man mai finde,
          Sette up in the desert of Ynde;
          That was the worthi Hercules,
          Whos name schal ben endeles
          For the merveilles whiche he wroghte.
          This Hercules the love soghte       2060
          Of Deianire, and of this thing
          Unto hir fader, which was king,
          He spak touchende of Mariage.
          The king knowende his hih lignage,
          And dradde also hise mihtes sterne,
          To him ne dorste his dowhter werne;
          And natheles this he him seide,
          How Achelons er he ferst preide
          To wedden hire, and in accord
          Thei stode, as it was of record:   2070
          Bot for al that this he him granteth,
          That which of hem that other daunteth
          In armes, him sche scholde take,
          And that the king hath undertake.
          This Achelons was a Geant,
          A soubtil man, a deceivant,
          Which thurgh magique and sorcerie
          Couthe al the world of tricherie:
          And whan that he this tale herde,
          Hou upon that the king ansuerde    2080
          With Hercules he moste feighte,
          He tristeth noght upon his sleighte
          Al only, whan it comth to nede,
          Bot that  which voydeth alle drede
          And every noble herte stereth,
          The love, that no lif forbereth,
          For his ladi, whom he desireth,
          With hardiesse his herte fyreth,
          And sende him word withoute faile
          That he wol take the bataille.  2090
          Thei setten day, they chosen field,
          The knihtes coevered under Schield
          Togedre come at time set,
          And echon is with other met.
          It fell thei foghten bothe afote,
          Ther was no ston, ther was no rote,
          Which mihte letten hem the weie,
          But al was voide and take aweie.
          Thei smyten strokes bot a fewe,
          For Hercules, which wolde schewe   2100
          His grete strengthe as for the nones,
          He sterte upon him al at ones
          And cawhte him in hise armes stronge.
          This Geant wot he mai noght longe
          Endure under so harde bondes,
          And thoghte he wolde out of hise hondes
          Be sleyhte in som manere ascape.
          And as he couthe himself forschape,
          In liknesse of an Eddre he slipte
          Out of his hond, and forth he skipte;    2110
          And efte, as he that feighte wole,
          He torneth him into a Bole,
          And gan to belwe of such a soun,
          As thogh the world scholde al go doun:
          The ground he sporneth and he tranceth,
          Hise large hornes he avanceth
          And caste hem here and there aboute.
          Bot he, which stant of him no doute,
          Awaiteth wel whan that he cam,
          And him be bothe hornes nam  2120
          And al at ones he him caste
          Unto the ground, and hield him faste,
          That he ne mihte with no sleighte
          Out of his hond gete upon heighte,
          Til he was overcome and yolde,
          And Hercules hath what he wolde.
          The king him granteth to fulfille
          His axinge at his oghne wille,
          And sche for whom he hadde served,
          Hire thoghte he hath hire wel deserved.  2130
          And thus with gret decerte of Armes
          He wan him forto ligge in armes,
          As he which hath it dere aboght,
          For otherwise scholde he noght.
          And overthis if thou wolt hiere
          Upon knihthode of this matiere,
          Hou love and armes ben aqueinted,
          A man mai se bothe write and peinted
          So ferforth that Pantasilee,
          Which was the queene of Feminee,   2140
          The love of Hector forto sieke
          And for thonour of armes eke,
          To Troie cam with Spere and Schield,
          And rod hirself into the field
          With Maidens armed al a route
          In rescouss of the toun aboute,
          Which with the Gregois was belein.
          Fro Pafagoine and as men sein,
          Which stant upon the worldes ende,
          That time it likede ek to wende    2150
          To Philemenis, which was king,
          To Troie, and come upon this thing
          In helpe of thilke noble toun;
          And al was that for the renoun
          Of worschipe and of worldes fame,
          Of which he wolde bere a name:
          And so he dede, and forth withal
          He wan of love in special
          A fair tribut for everemo.
          For it fell thilke time so;  2160
          Pirrus the Sone of Achilles
          This worthi queene among the press
          With dedli swerd soghte out and fond,
          And slowh hire with his oghne hond;
          Wherof this king of Pafagoine
          Pantasilee of Amazoine,
          Wher sche was queene, with him ladde,
          With suche Maidens as sche hadde
          Of hem that were left alyve,
          Forth in his Schip, til thei aryve;   2170
          Wher that the body was begrave
          With worschipe, and the wommen save.
          And for the goodschipe of this dede
          Thei granten him a lusti mede,
          That every yeer as for truage
          To him and to his heritage
          Of Maidens faire he schal have thre.
          And in this wise spedde he,
          Which the fortune of armes soghte,
          With his travail his ese he boghte;   2180
          For otherwise he scholde have failed,
          If that he hadde noght travailed.
          Eneas ek withinne Ytaile,
          Ne hadde he wonne the bataille
          And don his miht so besily
          Ayein king Turne his enemy,
          He hadde noght Lavine wonne;
          Bot for he hath him overronne
          And gete his pris, he gat hire love.
          Be these ensamples here above,  2190
          Lo, now, mi Sone, as I have told,
          Thou miht wel se, who that is bold
          And dar travaile and undertake
          The cause of love, he schal be take
          The rathere unto loves grace;
          For comunliche in worthi place
          The wommen loven worthinesse
          Of manhode and of gentilesse,
          For the gentils ben most desired.
          Mi fader, bot I were enspired   2200
          Thurgh lore of you, I wot no weie
          What gentilesce is forto seie,
          Wherof to telle I you beseche.
          The ground, Mi Sone, forto seche
          Upon this diffinicion,
          The worldes constitucion
          Hath set the name of gentilesse
          Upon the fortune of richesse
          Which of long time is falle in age.
          Thanne is a man of hih lignage  2210
          After the forme, as thou miht hiere,
          Bot nothing after the matiere.
          For who that resoun understonde,
          Upon richesse it mai noght stonde,
          For that is thing which faileth ofte:
          For he that stant to day alofte
          And al the world hath in hise wones,
          Tomorwe he falleth al at ones
          Out of richesse into poverte,
          So that therof is no decerte,   2220
          Which gentilesce makth abide.
          And forto loke on other side
          Hou that a gentil man is bore,
          Adam, which alle was tofore
          With Eve his wif, as of hem tuo,
          Al was aliche gentil tho;
          So that of generacion
          To make declaracion,
          Ther mai no gentilesce be.
          For to the reson if we se,   2230
          Of mannes berthe the mesure,
          It is so comun to nature,
          That it yifth every man aliche,
          Als wel to povere as to the riche;
          For naked thei ben bore bothe,
          The lord nomore hath forto clothe
          As of himself that ilke throwe,
          Than hath the povereste of the rowe.
          And whan thei schulle both passe,
          I not of hem which hath the lasse  2240
          Of worldes good, bot as of charge
          The lord is more forto charge,
          Whan god schal his accompte hiere,
          For he hath had hise lustes hiere.
          Bot of the bodi, which schal deie,
          Althogh ther be diverse weie
          To deth, yit is ther bot on ende,
          To which that every man schal wende,
          Als wel the beggere as the lord,
          Of o nature, of on acord:    2250
          Sche which oure Eldemoder is,
          The Erthe, bothe that and this
          Receiveth and alich devoureth,
          That sche to nouther part favoureth.
          So wot I nothing after kinde
          Where I mai gentilesse finde.
          For lacke of vertu lacketh grace,
          Wherof richesse in many place,
          Whan men best wene forto stonde,
          Al sodeinly goth out of honde:  2260
          Bot vertu set in the corage,
          Ther mai no world be so salvage,
          Which mihte it take and don aweie,
          Til whanne that the bodi deie;
          And thanne he schal be riched so,
          That it mai faile neveremo;
          So mai that wel be gentilesse,
          Which yifth so gret a sikernesse.
          For after the condicion
          Of resonable entencion,   2270
          The which out of the Soule groweth
          And the vertu fro vice knoweth,
          Wherof a man the vice eschuieth,
          Withoute Slowthe and vertu suieth,
          That is a verrai gentil man,
          And nothing elles which he can,
          Ne which he hath, ne which he mai.
          Bot for al that yit nou aday,
          In loves court to taken hiede,
          The povere vertu schal noght spiede,  2280
          Wher that the riche vice woweth;
          For sielde it is that love alloweth
          The gentil man withoute good,
          Thogh his condicion be good.
          Bot if a man of bothe tuo
          Be riche and vertuous also,
          Thanne is he wel the more worth:
          Bot yit to putte himselve forth
          He moste don his besinesse,
          For nowther good ne gentilesse  2290
          Mai helpen him whiche ydel be.
          Bot who that wole in his degre
          Travaile so as it belongeth,
          It happeth ofte that he fongeth
          Worschipe and ese bothe tuo.
          For evere yit it hath be so,
          That love honeste in sondri weie
          Profiteth, for it doth aweie
          The vice, and as the bokes sein,
          It makth curteis of the vilein,    2300
          And to the couard hardiesce
          It yifth, so that verrai prouesse
          Is caused upon loves reule
          To him that can manhode reule;
          And ek toward the wommanhiede,
          Who that therof wol taken hiede,
          For thei the betre affaited be
          In every thing, as men may se.
          For love hath evere hise lustes grene
          In gentil folk, as it is sene,  2310
          Which thing ther mai no kinde areste:
          I trowe that ther is no beste,
          If he with love scholde aqueinte,
          That he ne wolde make it queinte
          As for the while that it laste.
          And thus I conclude ate laste,
          That thei ben ydel, as me semeth,
          Whiche unto thing that love demeth
          Forslowthen that thei scholden do.
          And overthis, mi Sone, also  2320
          After the vertu moral eke
          To speke of love if I schal seke,
          Among the holi bokes wise
          I finde write in such a wise,
          "Who loveth noght is hier as ded";
          For love above alle othre is hed,
          Which hath the vertus forto lede,
          Of al that unto mannes dede
          Belongeth: for of ydelschipe
          He hateth all the felaschipe.   2330
          For Slowthe is evere to despise,
          Which in desdeign hath al apprise,
          And that acordeth noght to man:
          For he that wit and reson kan,
          It sit him wel that he travaile
          Upon som thing which mihte availe,
          For ydelschipe is noght comended,
          Bot every lawe it hath defended.
          And in ensample therupon
          The noble wise Salomon,   2340
          Which hadde of every thing insihte,
          Seith, "As the briddes to the flihte
          Ben made, so the man is bore
          To labour," which is noght forbore
          To hem that thenken forto thryve.
          For we, whiche are now alyve,
          Of hem that besi whylom were,
          Als wel in Scole as elleswhere,
          Mowe every day ensample take,
          That if it were now to make  2350
          Thing which that thei ferst founden oute,
          It scholde noght be broght aboute.
          Here lyves thanne were longe,
          Here wittes grete, here mihtes stronge,
          Here hertes ful of besinesse,
          Wherof the worldes redinesse
          In bodi bothe and in corage
          Stant evere upon his avantage.
          And forto drawe into memoire
          Here names bothe and here histoire,   2360
          Upon the vertu of her dede
          In sondri bokes thou miht rede.
          Of every wisdom the parfit
          The hyhe god of his spirit
          Yaf to the men in Erthe hiere
          Upon the forme and the matiere
          Of that he wolde make hem wise:
          And thus cam in the ferste apprise
          Of bokes and of alle goode
          Thurgh hem that whilom understode  2370
          The lore which to hem was yive,
          Wherof these othre, that now live,
          Ben every day to lerne newe.
          Bot er the time that men siewe,
          And that the labour forth it broghte,
          Ther was no corn, thogh men it soghte,
          In non of al the fieldes oute;
          And er the wisdom cam aboute
          Of hem that ferst the bokes write,
          This mai wel every wys man wite,   2380
          Ther was gret labour ek also.
          Thus was non ydel of the tuo,
          That on the plogh hath undertake
          With labour which the hond hath take,
          That other tok to studie and muse,
          As he which wolde noght refuse
          The labour of hise wittes alle.
          And in this wise it is befalle,
          Of labour which that thei begunne
          We be now tawht of that we kunne:  2390
          Here besinesse is yit so seene,
          That it stant evere alyche greene;
          Al be it so the bodi deie,
          The name of hem schal nevere aweie.
          In the Croniqes as I finde,
          Cham, whos labour is yit in minde,
          Was he which ferst the lettres fond
          And wrot in Hebreu with his hond:
          Of naturel Philosophie
          He fond ferst also the clergie.    2400
          Cadmus the lettres of Gregois
          Ferst made upon his oghne chois.
          Theges of thing which schal befalle,
          He was the ferste Augurre of alle:
          And Philemon be the visage
          Fond to descrive the corage.
          Cladyns, Esdras and Sulpices,
          Termegis, Pandulf, Frigidilles,
          Menander, Ephiloquorus,
          Solins, Pandas and Josephus  2410
          The ferste were of Enditours,
          Of old Cronique and ek auctours:
          And Heredot in his science
          Of metre, of rime and of cadence
          The ferste was of which men note.
          And of Musique also the note
          In mannes vois or softe or scharpe,
          That fond Jubal; and of the harpe
          The merie soun, which is to like,
          That fond Poulins forth with phisique.   2420
          Zenzis fond ferst the pourtreture,
          And Promothes the Sculpture;
          After what forme that hem thoghte,
          The resemblance anon thei wroghte.
          Tubal in Iren and in Stel
          Fond ferst the forge and wroghte it wel:
          And Jadahel, as seith the bok,
          Ferst made Net and fisshes tok:
          Of huntynge ek he fond the chace,
          Which now is knowe in many place:  2430
          A tente of cloth with corde and stake
          He sette up ferst and dede it make.
          Verconius of cokerie
          Ferst made the delicacie.
          The craft Minerve of wolle fond
          And made cloth hire oghne hond;
          And Delbora made it of lyn:
          Tho wommen were of great engyn.
          Bot thing which yifth ous mete and drinke
          And doth the labourer to swinke    2440
          To tile lond and sette vines,
          Wherof the cornes and the wynes
          Ben sustenance to mankinde,
          In olde bokes as I finde,
          Saturnus of his oghne wit
          Hath founde ferst, and more yit
          Of Chapmanhode he fond the weie,
          And ek to coigne the moneie
          Of sondri metall, as it is,
          He was the ferste man of this.  2450
          Bot hou that metall cam a place
          Thurgh mannes wit and goddes grace
          The route of Philosophres wise
          Controeveden be sondri wise,
          Ferst forto gete it out of Myne,
          And after forto trie and fyne.
          And also with gret diligence
          Thei founden thilke experience,
          Which cleped is Alconomie,
          Wherof the Selver multeplie  2460
          Thei made and ek the gold also.
          And forto telle hou it is so,
          Of bodies sevene in special
          With foure spiritz joynt withal
          Stant the substance of this matiere.
          The bodies whiche I speke of hiere
          Of the Planetes ben begonne:
          The gold is titled to the Sonne,
          The mone of Selver hath his part,
          And Iren that stant upon Mart,  2470
          The Led after Satorne groweth,
          And Jupiter the Bras bestoweth,
          The Coper set is to Venus,
          And to his part Mercurius
          Hath the quikselver, as it falleth,
          The which, after the bok it calleth,
          Is ferst of thilke fowre named
          Of Spiritz, whiche ben proclamed;
          And the spirit which is secounde
          In Sal Armoniak is founde:   2480
          The thridde spirit Sulphur is;
          The ferthe suiende after this
          Arcennicum be name is hote.
          With blowinge and with fyres hote
          In these thinges, whiche I seie,
          Thei worchen be diverse weie.
          For as the philosophre tolde
          Of gold and selver, thei ben holde
          Tuo principal extremites,
          To whiche alle othre be degres  2490
          Of the metalls ben acordant,
          And so thurgh kinde resemblant,
          That what man couthe aweie take
          The rust, of which thei waxen blake,
          And the savour and the hardnesse,
          Thei scholden take the liknesse
          Of gold or Selver parfitly.
          Bot forto worche it sikirly,
          Betwen the corps and the spirit,
          Er that the metall be parfit,   2500
          In sevene formes it is set;
          Of alle and if that on be let,
          The remenant mai noght availe,
          Bot otherwise it mai noght faile.
          For thei be whom this art was founde
          To every point a certain bounde
          Ordeignen, that a man mai finde
          This craft is wroght be weie of kinde,
          So that ther is no fallas inne.
          Bot what man that this werk beginne,  2510
          He mot awaite at every tyde,
          So that nothing be left aside,
          Ferst of the distillacion,
          Forth with the congelacion,
          Solucion, descencion,
          And kepe in his entencion
          The point of sublimacion,
          And forth with calcinacion
          Of veray approbacion
          Do that ther be fixacion  2520
          With tempred hetes of the fyr,
          Til he the parfit Elixir
          Of thilke philosophres Ston
          Mai gete, of which that many on
          Of Philosophres whilom write.
          And if thou wolt the names wite
          Of thilke Ston with othre tuo,
          Whiche as the clerkes maden tho,
          So as the bokes it recorden,
          The kinde of hem I schal recorden.    2530
          These olde Philosophres wyse
          Be weie of kinde in sondri wise
          Thre Stones maden thurgh clergie.
          The ferste, if I schal specefie,
          Was lapis vegetabilis,
          Of which the propre vertu is
          To mannes hele forto serve,
          As forto kepe and to preserve
          The bodi fro siknesses alle,
          Til deth of kinde upon him falle.  2540
          The Ston seconde I thee behote
          Is lapis animalis hote,
          The whos vertu is propre and cowth
          For Ere and yhe and nase and mouth,
          Wherof a man mai hiere and se
          And smelle and taste in his degre,
          And forto fiele and forto go
          It helpeth man of bothe tuo:
          The wittes fyve he underfongeth
          To kepe, as it to him belongeth.   2550
          The thridde Ston in special
          Be name is cleped Minerall,
          Which the metalls of every Mine
          Attempreth, til that thei ben fyne,
          And pureth hem be such a weie,
          That al the vice goth aweie
          Of rust, of stink and of hardnesse:
          And whan thei ben of such clennesse,
          This Mineral, so as I finde,
          Transformeth al the ferste kynde   2560
          And makth hem able to conceive
          Thurgh his vertu, and to receive
          Bothe in substance and in figure
          Of gold and selver the nature.
          For thei tuo ben thextremetes,
          To whiche after the propretes
          Hath every metal his desir,
          With help and confort of the fyr
          Forth with this Ston, as it is seid,
          Which to the Sonne and Mone is leid;  2570
          For to the rede and to the whyte
          This Ston hath pouer to profite.
          It makth mulptiplicacioun
          Of gold, and the fixacioun
          It causeth, and of his habit
          He doth the werk to be parfit
          Of thilke Elixer which men calle
          Alconomie, as is befalle
          To hem that whilom weren wise.
          Bot now it stant al otherwise;  2580
          Thei speken faste of thilke Ston,
          Bot hou to make it, nou wot non
          After the sothe experience.
          And natheles gret diligence
          Thei setten upon thilke dede,
          And spille more than thei spede;
          For allewey thei finde a lette,
          Which bringeth in poverte and dette
          To hem that riche were afore:
          The lost is had, the lucre is lore,   2590
          To gete a pound thei spenden fyve;
          I not hou such a craft schal thryve
          In the manere as it is used:
          It were betre be refused
          Than forto worchen upon weene
          In thing which stant noght as thei weene.
          Bot noght forthi, who that it knewe,
          The science of himself is trewe
          Upon the forme as it was founded,
          Wherof the names yit ben grounded  2600
          Of hem that ferste it founden oute;
          And thus the fame goth aboute
          To suche as soghten besinesse
          Of vertu and of worthinesse.
          Of whom if I the names calle,
          Hermes was on the ferste of alle,
          To whom this art is most applied;
          Geber therof was magnefied,
          And Ortolan and Morien,
          Among the whiche is Avicen,  2610
          Which fond and wrot a gret partie
          The practique of Alconomie;
          Whos bokes, pleinli as thei stonde
          Upon this craft, fewe understonde;
          Bot yit to put hem in assai
          Ther ben full manye now aday,
          That knowen litel what thei meene.
          It is noght on to wite and weene;
          In forme of wordes thei it trete,
          Bot yit they failen of beyete,  2620
          For of tomoche or of tolyte
          Ther is algate founde a wyte,
          So that thei folwe noght the lyne
          Of the parfite medicine,
          Which grounded is upon nature.
          Bot thei that writen the scripture
          Of Grek, Arabe and of Caldee,
          Thei were of such Auctorite
          That thei ferst founden out the weie
          Of al that thou hast herd me seie;    2630
          Wherof the Cronique of her lore
          Schal stonde in pris for everemore.
          Bot toward oure Marches hiere,
          Of the Latins if thou wolt hiere,
          Of hem that whilom vertuous
          Were and therto laborious,
          Carmente made of hire engin
          The ferste lettres of Latin,
          Of which the tunge Romein cam,
          Wherof that Aristarchus nam  2640
          Forth with Donat and Dindimus
          The ferste reule of Scole, as thus,
          How that Latin schal be componed
          And in what wise it schal be soned,
          That every word in his degre
          Schal stonde upon congruite.
          And thilke time at Rome also
          Was Tullius with Cithero,
          That writen upon Rethorike,
          Hou that men schal the wordes pike    2650
          After the forme of eloquence,
          Which is, men sein, a gret prudence:
          And after that out of Hebreu
          Jerom, which the langage kneu,
          The Bible, in which the lawe is closed,
          Into Latin he hath transposed;
          And many an other writere ek
          Out of Caldee, Arabe and Grek
          With gret labour the bokes wise
          Translateden. And otherwise  2660
          The Latins of hemself also
          Here studie at thilke time so
          With gret travaile of Scole toke
          In sondri forme forto boke,
          That we mai take here evidences
          Upon the lore of the Sciences,
          Of craftes bothe and of clergie;
          Among the whiche in Poesie
          To the lovers Ovide wrot
          And tawhte, if love be to hot,  2670
          In what manere it scholde akiele.
          Forthi, mi Sone, if that thou fiele
          That love wringe thee to sore,
          Behold Ovide and take his lore.
          My fader, if thei mihte spede
          Mi love, I wolde his bokes rede;
          And if thei techen to restreigne
          Mi love, it were an ydel peine
          To lerne a thing which mai noght be.
          For lich unto the greene tree,  2680
          If that men toke his rote aweie,
          Riht so myn herte scholde deie,
          If that mi love be withdrawe.
          Wherof touchende unto this sawe
          There is bot only to poursuie
          Mi love, and ydelschipe eschuie.
          Mi goode Sone, soth to seie,
          If ther be siker eny weie
          To love, thou hast seid the beste:
          For who that wolde have al his reste  2690
          And do no travail at the nede,
          It is no resoun that he spede
          In loves cause forto winne;
          For he which dar nothing beginne,
          I not what thing he scholde achieve.
          Bot overthis thou schalt believe,
          So as it sit thee wel to knowe,
          That ther ben othre vices slowe,
          Whiche unto love don gret lette,
          If thou thin herte upon hem sette.    2700
          Toward the Slowe progenie
          Ther is yit on of compaignie,
          And he is cleped Sompnolence,
          Which doth to Slouthe his reverence,
          As he which is his Chamberlein,
          That many an hundrid time hath lein
          To slepe, whan he scholde wake.
          He hath with love trewes take,
          That wake who so wake wile,
          If he mai couche a doun his bile,  2710
          He hath al wowed what him list;
          That ofte he goth to bedde unkist,
          And seith that for no Druerie
          He wol noght leve his sluggardie.
          For thogh noman it wole allowe,
          To slepe levere than to wowe
          Is his manere, and thus on nyhtes,
          Whan that he seth the lusti knyhtes
          Revelen, wher these wommen are,
          Awey he skulketh as an hare,    2720
          And goth to bedde and leith him softe,
          And of his Slouthe he dremeth ofte
          Hou that he stiketh in the Myr,
          And hou he sitteth be the fyr
          And claweth on his bare schanckes,
          And hou he clymbeth up the banckes
          And falleth into Slades depe.
          Bot thanne who so toke kepe,
          Whanne he is falle in such a drem,
          Riht as a Schip ayein the Strem,   2730
          He routeth with a slepi noise,
          And brustleth as a monkes froise,
          Whanne it is throwe into the Panne.
          And otherwhile sielde whanne
          That he mai dreme a lusti swevene,
          Him thenkth as thogh he were in hevene
          And as the world were holi his:
          And thanne he spekth of that and this,
          And makth his exposicion
          After the disposicion  2740
          Of that he wolde, and in such wise
          He doth to love all his service;
          I not what thonk he schal deserve.
          Bot, Sone, if thou wolt love serve,
          I rede that thou do noght so.
          Ha, goode fader, certes no.
          I hadde levere be mi trowthe,
          Er I were set on such a slouthe
          And beere such a slepi snoute,
          Bothe yhen of myn hed were oute.   2750
          For me were betre fulli die,
          Thanne I of such a slugardie
          Hadde eny name, god me schilde;
          For whan mi moder was with childe,
          And I lay in hire wombe clos,
          I wolde rathere Atropos,
          Which is goddesse of alle deth,
          Anon as I hadde eny breth,
          Me hadde fro mi Moder cast.
          Bot now I am nothing agast,          2760
          I thonke godd; for Lachesis,
          Ne Cloto, which hire felawe is,
          Me schopen no such destine,
          Whan thei at mi nativite
          My weerdes setten as thei wolde;
          Bot thei me schopen that I scholde
          Eschuie of slep the truandise,
          So that I hope in such a wise
          To love forto ben excused,
          That I no Sompnolence have used.   2770
          For certes, fader Genius,
          Yit into nou it hath be thus,
          At alle time if it befelle
          So that I mihte come and duelle
          In place ther my ladi were,
          I was noght slow ne slepi there:
          For thanne I dar wel undertake,
          That whanne hir list on nyhtes wake
          In chambre as to carole and daunce,
          Me thenkth I mai me more avaunce,  2780
          If I mai gon upon hir hond,
          Thanne if I wonne a kinges lond.
          For whanne I mai hire hand beclippe,
          With such gladnesse I daunce and skippe,
          Me thenkth I touche noght the flor;
          The Ro, which renneth on the Mor,
          Is thanne noght so lyht as I:
          So mow ye witen wel forthi,
          That for the time slep I hate.
          And whanne it falleth othergate,   2790
          So that hire like noght to daunce,
          Bot on the Dees to caste chaunce
          Or axe of love som demande,
          Or elles that hir list comaunde
          To rede and here of Troilus,
          Riht as sche wole or so or thus,
          I am al redi to consente.
          And if so is that I mai hente
          Somtime among a good leisir,
          So as I dar of mi desir   2800
          I telle a part; bot whanne I preie,
          Anon sche bidt me go mi weie
          And seith it is ferr in the nyht;
          And I swere it is even liht.
          Bot as it falleth ate laste,
          Ther mai no worldes joie laste,
          So mot I nedes fro hire wende
          And of my wachche make an ende:
          And if sche thanne hiede toke,
          Hou pitousliche on hire I loke,    2810
          Whan that I schal my leve take,
          Hire oghte of mercy forto slake
          Hire daunger, which seith evere nay.
          Bot he seith often, "Have good day,"
          That loth is forto take his leve:
          Therfore, while I mai beleve,
          I tarie forth the nyht along,
          For it is noght on me along
          To slep that I so sone go,
          Til that I mot algate so;    2820
          And thanne I bidde godd hire se,
          And so doun knelende on mi kne
          I take leve, and if I schal,
          I kisse hire, and go forth withal.
          And otherwhile, if that I dore,
          Er I come fulli to the Dore,
          I torne ayein and feigne a thing,
          As thogh I hadde lost a Ring
          Or somwhat elles, for I wolde
          Kisse hire eftsones, if I scholde,    2830
          Bot selden is that I so spede.
          And whanne I se that I mot nede
          Departen, I departe, and thanne
          With al myn herte I curse and banne
          That evere slep was mad for yhe;
          For, as me thenkth, I mihte dryhe
          Withoute slep to waken evere,
          So that I scholde noght dissevere
          Fro hire, in whom is al my liht:
          And thanne I curse also the nyht   2840
          With al the will of mi corage,
          And seie, "Awey, thou blake ymage,
          Which of thi derke cloudy face
          Makst al the worldes lyht deface,
          And causest unto slep a weie,
          Be which I mot nou gon aweie
          Out of mi ladi compaignie.
          O slepi nyht, I thee defie,
          And wolde that thou leye in presse
          With Proserpine the goddesse    2850
          And with Pluto the helle king:
          For til I se the daies spring,
          I sette slep noght at a risshe."
          And with that word I sike and wisshe,
          And seie, "Ha, whi ne were it day?
          For yit mi ladi thanne I may
          Beholde, thogh I do nomore."
          And efte I thenke forthermore,
          To som man hou the niht doth ese,
          Whan he hath thing that mai him plese    2860
          The longe nyhtes be his side,
          Where as I faile and go beside.
          Bot slep, I not wherof it serveth,
          Of which noman his thonk deserveth
          To gete him love in eny place,
          Bot is an hindrere of his grace
          And makth him ded as for a throwe,
          Riht as a Stok were overthrowe.
          And so, mi fader, in this wise
          The slepi nyhtes I despise,  2870
          And evere amiddes of mi tale
          I thenke upon the nyhtingale,
          Which slepeth noght be weie of kinde
          For love, in bokes as I finde.
          Thus ate laste I go to bedde,
          And yit min herte lith to wedde
          With hire, wher as I cam fro;
          Thogh I departe, he wol noght so,
          Ther is no lock mai schette him oute,
          Him nedeth noght to gon aboute,    2880
          That perce mai the harde wall;
          Thus is he with hire overall,
          That be hire lief, or be hire loth,
          Into hire bedd myn herte goth,
          And softly takth hire in his arm
          And fieleth hou that sche is warm,
          And wissheth that his body were
          To fiele that he fieleth there.
          And thus miselven I tormente,
          Til that the dede slep me hente:   2890
          Bot thanne be a thousand score
          Welmore than I was tofore
          I am tormented in mi slep,
          Bot that I dreme is noght of schep;
          For I ne thenke noght on wulle,
          Bot I am drecched to the fulle
          Of love, that I have to kepe,
          That nou I lawhe and nou I wepe,
          And nou I lese and nou I winne,
          And nou I ende and nou beginne.    2900
          And otherwhile I dreme and mete
          That I al one with hire mete
          And that Danger is left behinde;
          And thanne in slep such joie I finde,
          That I ne bede nevere awake.
          Bot after, whanne I hiede take,
          And schal arise upon the morwe,
          Thanne is al torned into sorwe,
          Noght for the cause I schal arise,
          Bot for I mette in such a wise,    2910
          And ate laste I am bethoght
          That al is vein and helpeth noght:
          Bot yit me thenketh be my wille
          I wolde have leie and slepe stille,
          To meten evere of such a swevene,
          For thanne I hadde a slepi hevene.
          Mi Sone, and for thou tellest so,
          A man mai finde of time ago
          That many a swevene hath be certein,
          Al be it so, that som men sein  2920
          That swevenes ben of no credence.
          Bot forto schewe in evidence
          That thei fulofte sothe thinges
          Betokne, I thenke in my wrytinges
          To telle a tale therupon,
          Which fell be olde daies gon.
          This finde I write in Poesie:
          Cei5x the king of Trocinie
          Hadde Alceone to his wif,
          Which as hire oghne hertes lif  2930
          Him loveth; and he hadde also
          A brother, which was cleped tho
          Dedalion, and he per cas
          Fro kinde of man forschape was
          Into a Goshauk of liknesse;
          Wherof the king gret hevynesse
          Hath take, and thoghte in his corage
          To gon upon a pelrinage
          Into a strange regioun,
          Wher he hath his devocioun   2940
          To don his sacrifice and preie,
          If that he mihte in eny weie
          Toward the goddes finde grace
          His brother hele to pourchace,
          So that he mihte be reformed
          Of that he hadde be transformed.
          To this pourpos and to this ende
          This king is redy forto wende,
          As he which wolde go be Schipe;
          And forto don him felaschipe    2950
          His wif unto the See him broghte,
          With al hire herte and him besoghte,
          That he the time hire wolde sein,
          Whan that he thoghte come ayein:
          "Withinne," he seith, "tuo Monthe day."
          And thus in al the haste he may
          He tok his leve, and forth he seileth
          Wepende, and sche hirself beweileth,
          And torneth hom, ther sche cam fro.
          Bot whan the Monthes were ago,  2960
          The whiche he sette of his comynge,
          And that sche herde no tydinge,
          Ther was no care forto seche:
          Wherof the goddes to beseche
          Tho sche began in many wise,
          And to Juno hire sacrifise
          Above alle othre most sche dede,
          And for hir lord sche hath so bede
          To wite and knowe hou that he ferde,
          That Juno the goddesse hire herde,    2970
          Anon and upon this matiere
          Sche bad Yris hir Messagere
          To Slepes hous that sche schal wende,
          And bidde him that he make an ende
          Be swevene and schewen al the cas
          Unto this ladi, hou it was.
          This Yris, fro the hihe stage
          Which undertake hath the Message,
          Hire reyny Cope dede upon,
          The which was wonderli begon    2980
          With colours of diverse hewe,
          An hundred mo than men it knewe;
          The hevene lich into a bowe
          Sche bende, and so she cam doun lowe,
          The god of Slep wher that sche fond.
          And that was in a strange lond,
          Which marcheth upon Chymerie:
          For ther, as seith the Poesie,
          The god of Slep hath mad his hous,
          Which of entaille is merveilous.   2990
          Under an hell ther is a Cave,
          Which of the Sonne mai noght have,
          So that noman mai knowe ariht
          The point betwen the dai and nyht:
          Ther is no fyr, ther is no sparke,
          Ther is no dore, which mai charke,
          Wherof an yhe scholde unschette,
          So that inward ther is no lette.
          And forto speke of that withoute,
          Ther stant no gret Tree nyh aboute    3000
          Wher on ther myhte crowe or pie
          Alihte, forto clepe or crie:
          Ther is no cok to crowe day,
          Ne beste non which noise may
          The hell, bot al aboute round
          Ther is growende upon the ground
          Popi, which berth the sed of slep,
          With othre herbes suche an hep.
          A stille water for the nones
          Rennende upon the smale stones,    3010
          Which hihte of Lethes the rivere,
          Under that hell in such manere
          Ther is, which yifth gret appetit
          To slepe. And thus full of delit
          Slep hath his hous; and of his couche
          Withinne his chambre if I schal touche,
          Of hebenus that slepi Tree
          The bordes al aboute be,
          And for he scholde slepe softe,
          Upon a fethrebed alofte   3020
          He lith with many a pilwe of doun:
          The chambre is strowed up and doun
          With swevenes many thousendfold.
          Thus cam Yris into this hold,
          And to the bedd, which is al blak,
          Sche goth, and ther with Slep sche spak,
          And in the wise as sche was bede
          The Message of Juno sche dede.
          Fulofte hir wordes sche reherceth,
          Er sche his slepi Eres perceth;    3030
          With mochel wo bot ate laste
          His slombrende yhen he upcaste
          And seide hir that it schal be do.
          Wherof among a thousend tho,
          Withinne his hous that slepi were,
          In special he ches out there
          Thre, whiche scholden do this dede:
          The ferste of hem, so as I rede,
          Was Morphes, the whos nature
          Is forto take the figure  3040
          Of what persone that him liketh,
          Wherof that he fulofte entriketh
          The lif which slepe schal be nyhte;
          And Ithecus that other hihte,
          Which hath the vois of every soun,
          The chiere and the condicioun
          Of every lif, what so it is:
          The thridde suiende after this
          Is Panthasas, which may transforme
          Of every thing the rihte forme,    3050
          And change it in an other kinde.
          Upon hem thre, so as I finde,
          Of swevenes stant al thapparence,
          Which otherwhile is evidence
          And otherwhile bot a jape.
          Bot natheles it is so schape,
          That Morphes be nyht al one
          Appiereth until Alceone
          In liknesse of hir housebonde
          Al naked ded upon the stronde,  3060
          And hou he dreynte in special
          These othre tuo it schewen al.
          The tempeste of the blake cloude,
          The wode See, the wyndes loude,
          Al this sche mette, and sih him dyen;
          Wherof that sche began to crien,
          Slepende abedde ther sche lay,
          And with that noise of hire affray
          Hir wommen sterten up aboute,
          Whiche of here ladi were in doute,    3070
          And axen hire hou that sche ferde;
          And sche, riht as sche syh and herde,
          Hir swevene hath told hem everydel.
          And thei it halsen alle wel
          And sein it is a tokne of goode;
          Bot til sche wiste hou that it stode,
          Sche hath no confort in hire herte,
          Upon the morwe and up sche sterte,
          And to the See, wher that sche mette
          The bodi lay, withoute lette    3080
          Sche drowh, and whan that sche cam nyh,
          Stark ded, hise harmes sprad, sche syh
          Hire lord flietende upon the wawe.
          Wherof hire wittes ben withdrawe,
          And sche, which tok of deth no kepe,
          Anon forth lepte into the depe
          And wolde have cawht him in hire arm.
          This infortune of double harm
          The goddes fro the hevene above
          Behielde, and for the trowthe of love,   3090
          Which in this worthi ladi stod,
          Thei have upon the salte flod
          Hire dreinte lord and hire also
          Fro deth to lyve torned so,
          That thei ben schapen into briddes
          Swimmende upon the wawe amiddes.
          And whan sche sih hire lord livende
          In liknesse of a bridd swimmende,
          And sche was of the same sort,
          So as sche mihte do desport,    3100
          Upon the joie which sche hadde
          Hire wynges bothe abrod sche spradde,
          And him, so as sche mai suffise,
          Beclipte and keste in such a wise,
          As sche was whilom wont to do:
          Hire wynges for hire armes tuo
          Sche tok, and for hire lippes softe
          Hire harde bile, and so fulofte
          Sche fondeth in hire briddes forme,
          If that sche mihte hirself conforme   3110
          To do the plesance of a wif,
          As sche dede in that other lif:
          For thogh sche hadde hir pouer lore,
          Hir will stod as it was tofore,
          And serveth him so as sche mai.
          Wherof into this ilke day
          Togedre upon the See thei wone,
          Wher many a dowhter and a Sone
          Thei bringen forth of briddes kinde;
          And for men scholden take in mynde    3120
          This Alceoun the trewe queene,
          Hire briddes yit, as it is seene,
          Of Alceoun the name bere.
          Lo thus, mi Sone, it mai thee stere
          Of swevenes forto take kepe,
          For ofte time a man aslepe
          Mai se what after schal betide.
          Forthi it helpeth at som tyde
          A man to slepe, as it belongeth,
          Bot slowthe no lif underfongeth    3130
          Which is to love appourtenant.
          Mi fader, upon covenant
          I dar wel make this avou,
          Of all mi lif that into nou,
          Als fer as I can understonde,
          Yit tok I nevere Slep on honde,
          Whan it was time forto wake;
          For thogh myn yhe it wolde take,
          Min herte is evere therayein.
          Bot natheles to speke it plein,    3140
          Al this that I have seid you hiere
          Of my wakinge, as ye mai hiere,
          It toucheth to mi lady swete;
          For otherwise, I you behiete,
          In strange place whanne I go,
          Me list nothing to wake so.
          For whan the wommen listen pleie,
          And I hir se noght in the weie,
          Of whom I scholde merthe take,
          Me list noght longe forto wake,    3150
          Bot if it be for pure schame,
          Of that I wolde eschuie a name,
          That thei ne scholde have cause non
          To seie, "Ha, lo, wher goth such on,
          That hath forlore his contenaunce]"
          And thus among I singe and daunce,
          And feigne lust ther as non is.
          For ofte sithe I fiele this;
          Of thoght, which in mi herte falleth
          Whanne it is nyht, myn hed appalleth,    3160
          And that is for I se hire noght,
          Which is the wakere of mi thoght:
          And thus as tymliche as I may,
          Fulofte whanne it is brod day,
          I take of all these othre leve
          And go my weie, and thei beleve,
          That sen per cas here loves there;
          And I go forth as noght ne were
          Unto mi bedd, so that al one
          I mai ther ligge and sighe and grone  3170
          And wisshen al the longe nyht,
          Til that I se the daies lyht.
          I not if that be Sompnolence,
          Bot upon youre conscience,
          Min holi fader, demeth ye.
          My Sone, I am wel paid with thee,
          Of Slep that thou the Sluggardie
          Be nyhte in loves compaignie
          Eschuied hast, and do thi peine
          So that thi love thar noght pleine:   3180
          For love upon his lust wakende
          Is evere, and wolde that non ende
          Were of the longe nyhtes set.
          Wherof that thou be war the bet,
          To telle a tale I am bethoght,
          Hou love and Slep acorden noght.
          For love who that list to wake
          Be nyhte, he mai ensample take
          Of Cephalus, whan that  he lay
          With Aurora that swete may   3190
          In armes all the longe nyht.
          Bot whanne it drogh toward the liht,
          That he withinne his herte sih
          The dai which was amorwe nyh,
          Anon unto the Sonne he preide
          For lust of love, and thus he seide:
          "O Phebus, which the daies liht
          Governest, til that it be nyht,
          And gladest every creature
          After the lawe of thi nature,-  3200
          Bot natheles ther is a thing,
          Which onli to the knouleching
          Belongeth as in privete
          To love and to his duete,
          Which asketh noght to ben apert,
          Bot in cilence and in covert
          Desireth forto be beschaded:
          And thus whan that thi liht is faded
          And Vesper scheweth him alofte,
          And that the nyht is long and softe,  3210
          Under the cloudes derke and stille
          Thanne hath this thing most of his wille.
          Forthi unto thi myhtes hyhe,
          As thou which art the daies yhe,
          Of love and myht no conseil hyde,
          Upon this derke nyhtes tyde
          With al myn herte I thee beseche
          That I plesance myhte seche
          With hire which lith in min armes.
          Withdrawgh the Banere of thin Armes,  3220
          And let thi lyhtes ben unborn,
          And in the Signe of Capricorn,
          The hous appropred to Satorne,
          I preie that thou wolt sojorne,
          Wher ben the nihtes derke and longe:
          For I mi love have underfonge,
          Which lith hier be mi syde naked,
          As sche which wolde ben awaked,
          And me lest nothing forto slepe.
          So were it good to take kepe    3230
          Nou at this nede of mi preiere,
          And that the like forto stiere
          Thi fyri Carte, and so ordeigne,
          That thou thi swifte hors restreigne
          Lowe under Erthe in Occident,
          That thei towardes Orient
          Be Cercle go the longe weie.
          And ek to thee, Diane, I preie,
          Which cleped art of thi noblesse
          The nyhtes Mone and the goddesse,  3240
          That thou to me be gracious:
          And in Cancro thin oghne hous
          Ayein Phebus in opposit
          Stond al this time, and of delit
          Behold Venus with a glad yhe.
          For thanne upon Astronomie
          Of due constellacion
          Thou makst prolificacion,
          And dost that children ben begete:
          Which grace if that I mihte gete,      3250
          With al myn herte I wolde serve
          Be nyhte, and thi vigile observe."
          Lo, thus this lusti Cephalus
          Preide unto Phebe and to Phebus
          The nyht in lengthe forto drawe,
          So that he mihte do the lawe
          In thilke point of loves heste,
          Which cleped is the nyhtes feste,
          Withoute Slep of sluggardie;
          Which Venus out of compaignie   3260
          Hath put awey, as thilke same,
          Which lustles ferr from alle game
          In chambre doth fulofte wo
          Abedde, whanne it falleth so
          That love scholde ben awaited.
          But Slowthe, which is evele affaited,
          With Slep hath mad his retenue,
          That what thing is to love due,
          Of all his dette he paieth non:
          He wot noght how the nyht is gon   3270
          Ne hou the day is come aboute,
          Bot onli forto slepe and route
          Til hyh midday, that he arise.
          Bot Cephalus dede otherwise,
          As thou, my Sone, hast herd above.
          Mi fader, who that hath his love
          Abedde naked be his syde,
          And wolde thanne hise yhen hyde
          With Slep, I not what man is he:
          Bot certes as touchende of me,  3280
          That fell me nevere yit er this.
          Bot otherwhile, whan so is
          That I mai cacche Slep on honde
          Liggende al one, thanne I fonde
          To dreme a merie swevene er day;
          And if so falle that I may
          Mi thought with such a swevene plese,
          Me thenkth I am somdiel in ese,
          For I non other confort have.
          So nedeth noght that I schal crave    3290
          The Sonnes Carte forto tarie,
          Ne yit the Mone, that sche carie
          Hire cours along upon the hevene,
          For I am noght the more in evene
          Towardes love in no degree:
          Bot in mi slep yit thanne I se
          Somwhat in swevene of that me liketh,
          Which afterward min herte entriketh,
          Whan that I finde it otherwise.
          So wot I noght of what servise  3300
          That Slep to mannes ese doth.
          Mi Sone, certes thou seist soth,
          Bot only that it helpeth kinde
          Somtyme, in Phisique as I finde,
          Whan it is take be mesure:
          Bot he which can no Slep mesure
          Upon the reule as it belongeth,
          Fulofte of sodein chance he fongeth
          Such infortune that him grieveth.
          Bot who these olde bokes lieveth,  3310
          Of Sompnolence hou it is write,
          Ther may a man the sothe wite,
          If that he wolde ensample take,
          That otherwhile is good to wake:
          Wherof a tale in Poesie
          I thenke forto specefie.
          Ovide telleth in his sawes,
          How Jupiter be olde dawes
          Lay be a Mayde, which Yo
          Was cleped, wherof that Juno    3320
          His wif was wroth, and the goddesse
          Of Yo torneth the liknesse
          Into a cow, to gon theroute
          The large fieldes al aboute
          And gete hire mete upon the griene.
          And therupon this hyhe queene
          Betok hire Argus forto kepe,
          For he was selden wont to slepe,
          And yit he hadde an hundred yhen,
          And alle alyche wel thei syhen.    3330
          Now herkne hou that he was beguiled.
          Mercurie, which was al affiled
          This Cow to stele, he cam desguised,
          And hadde a Pipe wel devised
          Upon the notes of Musiqe,
          Wherof he mihte hise Eres like.
          And over that he hadde affaited
          Hise lusti tales, and awaited
          His time; and thus into the field
          He cam, where Argus he behield  3340
          With Yo, which beside him wente.
          With that his Pype on honde he hente,
          And gan to pipe in his manere
          Thing which was slepi forto hiere;
          And in his pipinge evere among
          He tolde him such a lusti song,
          That he the fol hath broght aslepe.
          Ther was non yhe mihte kepe
          His hed, the which Mercurie of smot,
          And forth withal anon fot hot   3350
          He stal the Cow which Argus kepte,
          And al this fell for that he slepte.
          Ensample it was to manye mo,
          That mochel Slep doth ofte wo,
          Whan it is time forto wake:
          For if a man this vice take,
          In Sompnolence and him delite,
          Men scholde upon his Dore wryte
          His epitaphe, as on his grave;
          For he to spille and noght to save    3360
          Is schape, as thogh he were ded.
          Forthi, mi Sone, hold up thin hed,
          And let no Slep thin yhe englue,
          Bot whanne it is to resoun due.
          Mi fader, as touchende of this,
          Riht so as I you tolde it is,
          That ofte abedde, whanne I scholde,
          I mai noght slepe, thogh I wolde;
          For love is evere faste byme,
          Which takth no hiede of due time.  3370
          For whanne I schal myn yhen close,
          Anon min herte he wole oppose
          And holde his Scole in such a wise,
          Til it be day that I arise,
          That selde it is whan that I slepe.
          And thus fro Sompnolence I kepe
          Min yhe: and forthi if ther be
          Oght elles more in this degre,
          Now axeth forth. Mi Sone, yis:
          For Slowthe, which as Moder is  3380
          The forthdrawere and the Norrice
          To man of many a dredful vice,
          Hath yit an other laste of alle,
          Which many a man hath mad to falle,
          Wher that he mihte nevere arise;
          Wherof for thou thee schalt avise,
          Er thou so with thiself misfare,
          What vice it is I wol declare.
          Whan Slowthe hath don al that he may
          To dryve forth the longe day,   3390
          Til it be come to the nede,
          Thanne ate laste upon the dede
          He loketh hou his time is lore,
          And is so wo begon therfore,
          That he withinne his thoght conceiveth
          Tristesce, and so himself deceiveth,
          That he wanhope bringeth inne,
          Wher is no confort to beginne,
          Bot every joie him is deslaied:
          So that withinne his herte affraied   3400
          A thousend time with o breth
          Wepende he wissheth after deth,
          Whan he fortune fint adverse.
          For thanne he wole his hap reherce,
          As thogh his world were al forlore,
          And seith, "Helas, that I was bore]
          Hou schal I live? hou schal I do?
          For nou fortune is thus mi fo,
          I wot wel god me wol noght helpe.
          What scholde I thanne of joies yelpe,    3410
          Whan ther no bote is of mi care?
          So overcast is my welfare,
          That I am schapen al to strif.
          Helas, that I nere of this lif,
          Er I be fulliche overtake]"
          And thus he wol his sorwe make,
          As god him mihte noght availe:
          Bot yit ne wol he noght travaile
          To helpe himself at such a nede,
          Bot slowtheth under such a drede,  3420
          Which is affermed in his herte,
          Riht as he mihte noght asterte
          The worldes wo which he is inne.
          Also whan he is falle in Sinne,
          Him thenkth he is so ferr coupable,
          That god wol noght be merciable
          So gret a Sinne to foryive;
          And thus he leeveth to be schrive.
          And if a man in thilke throwe
          Wolde him consaile, he wol noght knowe   3430
          The sothe, thogh a man it finde:
          For Tristesce is of such a kinde,
          That forto meintiene his folie,
          He hath with him Obstinacie,
          Which is withinne of such a Slouthe,
          That he forsaketh alle trouthe,
          And wole unto no reson bowe;
          And yit ne can he noght avowe
          His oghne skile bot of hed:
          Thus dwyneth he, til he be ded,    3440
          In hindringe of his oghne astat.
          For where a man is obstinat,
          Wanhope folweth ate laste,
          Which mai noght after longe laste,
          Till Slouthe make of him an ende.
          Bot god wot whider he schal wende.
          Mi Sone, and riht in such manere
          Ther be lovers of hevy chiere,
          That sorwen mor than it is ned,
          Whan thei be taried of here sped   3450
          And conne noght hemselven rede,
          Bot lesen hope forto spede
          And stinten love to poursewe;
          And thus thei faden hyde and hewe,
          And lustles in here hertes waxe.
          Hierof it is that I wolde axe,
          If thou, mi Sone, art on of tho.
          Ha, goode fader, it is so,
          Outake a point, I am beknowe;
          For elles I am overthrowe    3460
          In al that evere ye have seid.
          Mi sorwe is everemore unteid,
          And secheth overal my veines;
          Bot forto conseile of mi peines,
          I can no bote do therto;
          And thus withouten hope I go,
          So that mi wittes ben empeired,
          And I, as who seith, am despeired
          To winne love of thilke swete,
          Withoute whom, I you behiete,   3470
          Min herte, that is so bestad,
          Riht inly nevere mai be glad.
          For be my trouthe I schal noght lie,
          Of pure sorwe, which I drye
          For that sche seith sche wol me noght,
          With drecchinge of myn oghne thoght
          In such a wanhope I am falle,
          That I ne can unethes calle,
          As forto speke of eny grace,
          Mi ladi merci to pourchace.  3480
          Bot yit I seie noght for this
          That al in mi defalte it is;
          For I cam nevere yit in stede,
          Whan time was, that I my bede
          Ne seide, and as I dorste tolde:
          Bot nevere fond I that sche wolde,
          For oght sche knew of min entente,
          To speke a goodly word assente.
          And natheles this dar I seie,
          That if a sinful wolde preie    3490
          To god of his foryivenesse
          With half so gret a besinesse
          As I have do to my ladi,
          In lacke of askinge of merci
          He scholde nevere come in Helle.
          And thus I mai you sothli telle,
          Save only that I crie and bidde,
          I am in Tristesce al amidde
          And fulfild of Desesperance:
          And therof yif me mi penance,   3500
          Min holi fader, as you liketh.
          Mi Sone, of that thin herte siketh
          With sorwe, miht thou noght amende,
          Til love his grace wol thee sende,
          For thou thin oghne cause empeirest
          What time as thou thiself despeirest.
          I not what other thing availeth,
          Of hope whan the herte faileth,
          For such a Sor is incurable,
          And ek the goddes ben vengable:    3510
          And that a man mai riht wel frede,
          These olde bokes who so rede,
          Of thing which hath befalle er this:
          Now hier of what ensample it is.
          Whilom be olde daies fer
          Of Mese was the king Theucer,
          Which hadde a kniht to Sone, Iphis:
          Of love and he so maistred is,
          That he hath set al his corage,
          As to reguard of his lignage,   3520
          Upon a Maide of lou astat.
          Bot thogh he were a potestat
          Of worldes good, he was soubgit
          To love, and put in such a plit,
          That he excedeth the mesure
          Of reson, that himself assure
          He can noght; for the more he preide,
          The lass love on him sche leide.
          He was with love unwys constreigned,
          And sche with resoun was restreigned:  3530
          The lustes of his herte he suieth,
          And sche for dred schame eschuieth,
          And as sche scholde, tok good hiede
          To save and kepe hir wommanhiede.
          And thus the thing stod in debat
          Betwen his lust and hire astat:
          He yaf, he sende, he spak be mouthe,
          Bot yit for oght that evere he couthe
          Unto his sped he fond no weie,
          So that he caste his hope aweie,  3540
          Withinne his herte and gan despeire
          Fro dai to dai, and so empeire,
          That he hath lost al his delit
          Of lust, of Slep, of Appetit,
          That he thurgh strengthe of love lasseth
          His wit, and resoun overpasseth.
          As he which of his lif ne rowhte,
          His deth upon himself he sowhte,
          So that be nyhte his weie he nam,
          Ther wiste non wher he becam;  3550
          The nyht was derk, ther schon no Mone,
          Tofore the gates he cam sone,
          Wher that this yonge Maiden was
          And with this wofull word, "Helas!"
          Hise dedli pleintes he began
          So stille that ther was noman
          It herde, and thanne he seide thus:
          "O thou Cupide, o thou Venus,
          Fortuned be whos ordinaunce
          Of love is every mannes chaunce,  3560
          Ye knowen al min hole herte,
          That I ne mai your hond asterte;
          On you is evere that I crie,
          And yit you deigneth noght to plie,
          Ne toward me youre Ere encline.
          Thus for I se no medicine
          To make an ende of mi querele,
          My deth schal be in stede of hele.
            Ha, thou mi wofull ladi diere,
          Which duellest with thi fader hiere  3570
          And slepest in thi bedd at ese,
          Thou wost nothing of my desese.
          Hou thou and I be now unmete.
          Ha lord, what swevene schalt thou mete,
          What dremes hast thou nou on honde?
          Thou slepest there, and I hier stonde.
          Thogh I no deth to the deserve,
          Hier schal I for thi love sterve,
          Hier schal a kinges Sone dye
          For love and for no felonie;  3580
          Wher thou therof have joie or sorwe,
          Hier schalt thou se me ded tomorwe.
          O herte hard aboven alle,
          This deth, which schal to me befalle
          For that thou wolt noght do me grace,
          Yit schal be told in many a place,
          Hou I am ded for love and trouthe
          In thi defalte and in thi slouthe:
          Thi Daunger schal to manye mo
          Ensample be for everemo,  3590
          Whan thei my wofull deth recorde."
          And with that word he tok a Corde,
          With which upon the gate tre
          He hyng himself, that was pite.
            The morwe cam, the nyht is gon,
          Men comen out and syhe anon
          Wher that this yonge lord was ded:
          Ther was an hous withoute red,
          For noman knew the cause why;
          Ther was wepinge and ther was cry.  3600
          This Maiden, whan that sche it herde,
          And sih this thing hou it misferde,
          Anon sche wiste what it mente,
          And al the cause hou it wente
          To al the world sche tolde it oute,
          And preith to hem that were aboute
          To take of hire the vengance,
          For sche was cause of thilke chaunce,
          Why that this kinges Sone is split.
          Sche takth upon hirself the gilt,  3610
          And is al redi to the peine
          Which eny man hir wole ordeigne:
          And bot if eny other wolde,
          Sche seith that sche hirselve scholde
          Do wreche with hire oghne hond,
          Thurghout the world in every lond
          That every lif therof schal speke,
          Hou sche hirself i scholde wreke.
          Sche wepth, sche crith, sche swouneth ofte,
          Sche caste hire yhen up alofte  3620
          And seide among ful pitously:
          "A godd, thou wost wel it am I,
          For whom Iphis is thus besein:
          Ordeine so, that men mai sein
          A thousend wynter after this,
          Hou such a Maiden dede amis,
          And as I dede, do to me:
          For I ne dede no pite
          To him, which for mi love is lore,
          Do no pite to me therfore."  3630
          And with this word sche fell to grounde
          Aswoune, and ther sche lay a stounde.
          The goddes, whiche hir pleigntes herde
          And syhe hou wofully sche ferde,
          Hire lif thei toke awey anon,
          And schopen hire into a Ston
          After the forme of hire ymage
          Of bodi bothe and of visage.
          And for the merveile of this thing
          Unto the place cam the king  3640
          And ek the queene and manye mo;
          And whan thei wisten it was so,
          As I have told it heir above,
          Hou that Iphis was ded for love,
          Of that he hadde be refused,
          Thei hielden alle men excused
          And wondren upon the vengance.
          And forto kepe in remembrance,
          This faire ymage mayden liche
          With compaignie noble and riche  3650
          With torche and gret sollempnite.
          To Salamyne the Cite
          Thei lede, and carie forth withal
          The dede corps, and sein it schal
          Beside thilke ymage have
          His sepulture and be begrave:
          This corps and this ymage thus
          Into the Cite to Venus,
          Wher that goddesse hire temple hadde,
          Togedre bothe tuo thei ladde.  3660
          This ilke ymage as for miracle
          Was set upon an hyh pinacle,
          That alle men it mihte knowe,
          And under tht thei maden lowe
          A tumbe riche for the nones
          Of marbre and ek of jaspre stones,
          Wherin this Iphis was beloken,
          That evermor it schal be spoken.
          And for men schal the sothe wite,
          Thei have here epitaphe write,  3670
          As thing which scholde abide stable:
          The lettres graven in a table
          Of marbre were and seiden this:
          "Hier lith, which slowh himself, Iphis,
          For love of Araxarathen:
          And in ensample of tho wommen,
          That soffren men to deie so,
          Hire forme a man mai sen also,
          Hou it is torned fleissh and bon
          Into the figure of a Ston:  3680
          He was to neysshe and sche to hard.
          Be war forthi hierafterward;
          Ye men and wommen bothe tuo,
          Ensampleth you of that was tho:
            Lo thus, mi Sone, as I thee seie,
          It grieveth be diverse weie
          In desepeir a man to falle,
          Which is the laste branche of alle
          Of Slouthe, as thou hast herd devise.
          Wherof that thou thiself avise  3690
          Good is, er that thou be deceived,
          Wher that the grace of hope is weyved.
            Mi fader, hou so that it stonde,
          Now have I pleinly understonde
          Of Slouthes court the proprete,
          Wherof touchende in my degre
          For evere I thenke to be war.
          Bot overthis, so as I dar,
          With al min herte I you beseche,
          That ye me wolde enforme and teche  3700
          What ther is more of youre aprise
          In love als wel as otherwise,
          So that I mai me clene schryve.
            Mi Sone, whyl thou art alyve
          And hast also thi fulle mynde,
          Among the vices whiche I finde
          Ther is yit on such of the sevene,
          Which al this world hath set unevene
          And causeth manye thinges wronge,
          Where he the cause hath underfonge:  3710
          Wherof hierafter thou schalt hiere
          The forme bothe and the matiere.

          Explicit Liber Quartus.

Incipit Liber Quintus

          Obstat auaricia nature legibus, et que
               Largus amor poscit, striccius illa vetat.
          Omne quod est nimium viciosum dicitur aurum,
               Vellera sicut oues, seruat auarus opes.
          Non decet vt soli seruabitur es, set amori
               Debet homo solam solus habere suam.

          Ferst whan the hyhe god began
          This world, and that the kinde of man
          Was falle into no gret encress,
          For worldes good tho was no press,
          Bot al was set to the comune.
          Thei spieken thanne of no fortune
          Or forto lese or forto winne,
          Til Avarice broghte it inne;
          And that was whan the world was woxe
          Of man, of hors, of Schep, of Oxe,    10
          And that men knewen the moneie.
          Tho wente pes out of the weie
          And werre cam on every side,
          Which alle love leide aside
          And of comun his propre made,
          So that in stede of schovele and spade
          The scharpe swerd was take on honde;
          And in this wise it cam to londe,
          Wherof men maden dyches depe
          And hyhe walles forto kepe   20
          The gold which Avarice encloseth.
          Bot al to lytel him supposeth,
          Thogh he mihte al the world pourchace;
          For what thing that he may embrace
          Of gold, of catel or of lond,
          He let it nevere out of his hond,
          Bot get him more and halt it faste,
          As thogh the world scholde evere laste.
          So is he lych unto the helle;
          For as these olde bokes telle,  30
          What comth therinne, lasse or more,
          It schal departe neveremore:
          Thus whanne he hath his cofre loken,
          It schal noght after ben unstoken,
          Bot whanne him list to have a syhte
          Of gold, hou that it schyneth brihte,
          That he ther on mai loke and muse;
          For otherwise he dar noght use
          To take his part, or lasse or more.
          So is he povere, and everemore  40
          Him lacketh that he hath ynowh:
          An Oxe draweth in the plowh,
          Of that himself hath no profit;
          A Schep riht in the same plit
          His wolle berth, bot on a day
          An other takth the flees away:
          Thus hath he, that he noght ne hath,
          For he therof his part ne tath.
          To seie hou such a man hath good,
          Who so that reson understod,    50
          It is impropreliche seid,
          For good hath him and halt him teid,
          That he ne gladeth noght withal,
          Bot is unto his good a thral,
          And as soubgit thus serveth he,
          Wher that he scholde maister be:
          Such is the kinde of thaverous.
          Mi Sone, as thou art amerous,
          Tell if thou farst of love so.
          Mi fader, as it semeth, no;  60
          That averous yit nevere I was,
          So as ye setten me the cas:
          For as ye tolden here above,
          In full possession of love
          Yit was I nevere hier tofore,
          So that me thenketh wel therfore,
          I mai excuse wel my dede.
          Bot of mi will withoute drede,
          If I that tresor mihte gete,
          It scholde nevere be foryete,   70
          That I ne wolde it faste holde,
          Til god of love himselve wolde
          That deth ous scholde part atuo.
          For lieveth wel, I love hire so,
          That evene with min oghne lif,
          If I that swete lusti wif
          Mihte ones welden at my wille,
          For evere I wolde hire holde stille:
          And in this wise, taketh kepe,
          If I hire hadde, I wolde hire kepe,   80
          And yit no friday wolde I faste,
          Thogh I hire kepte and hielde faste.
          Fy on the bagges in the kiste!
          I hadde ynogh, if I hire kiste.
          For certes, if sche were myn,
          I hadde hir levere than a Myn
          Of Gold; for al this worldesriche
          Ne mihte make me so riche
          As sche, that is so inly good.
          I sette noght of other good;    90
          For mihte I gete such a thing,
          I hadde a tresor for a king;
          And thogh I wolde it faste holde,
          I were thanne wel beholde.
          Bot I mot pipe nou with lasse,
          And suffre that it overpasse,
          Noght with mi will, for thus I wolde
          Ben averous, if that I scholde.
          Bot, fader, I you herde seie
          Hou thaverous hath yit som weie,   100
          Wherof he mai be glad; for he
          Mai whanne him list his tresor se,
          And grope and fiele it al aboute,
          Bot I fulofte am schet theroute,
          Ther as my worthi tresor is.
          So is mi lif lich unto this,
          That ye me tolden hier tofore,
          Hou that an Oxe his yock hath bore
          For thing that scholde him noght availe:
          And in this wise I me travaile;    110
          For who that evere hath the welfare,
          I wot wel that I have the care,
          For I am hadd and noght ne have,
          And am, as who seith, loves knave.
          Nou demeth in youre oghne thoght,
          If this be Avarice or noght.
          Mi Sone, I have of thee no wonder,
          Thogh thou to serve be put under
          With love, which to kinde acordeth:
          Bot, so as every bok recordeth,    120
          It is to kinde no plesance
          That man above his sustienance
          Unto the gold schal serve and bowe,
          For that mai no reson avowe.
          Bot Avarice natheles,
          If he mai geten his encress
          Of gold, that wole he serve and kepe,
          For he takth of noght elles kepe,
          Bot forto fille hise bagges large;
          And al is to him bot a charge,  130
          For he ne parteth noght withal,
          Bot kepth it, as a servant schal:
          And thus, thogh that he multeplie
          His gold, withoute tresorie
          He is, for man is noght amended
          With gold, bot if it be despended
          To mannes us; wherof I rede
          A tale, and tak therof good hiede,
          Of that befell be olde tyde,
          As telleth ous the clerk Ovide.    140
          Bachus, which is the god of wyn,
          Acordant unto his divin
          A Prest, the which Cillenus hihte,
          He hadde, and fell so that be nyhte
          This Prest was drunke and goth astraied,
          Wherof the men were evele apaied
          In Frigelond, where as he wente.
          Bot ate laste a cherl him hente
          With strengthe of other felaschipe,
          So that upon his drunkeschipe   150
          Thei bounden him with chenes faste,
          And forth thei ladde him als so faste
          Unto the king, which hihte Myde.
          Bot he, that wolde his vice hyde,
          This courteis king, tok of him hiede,
          And bad that men him scholde lede
          Into a chambre forto kepe,
          Til he of leisir hadde slepe.
          And tho this Prest was sone unbounde,
          And up a couche fro the grounde    160
          To slepe he was leid softe ynowh;
          And whanne he wok, the king him drowh
          To his presence and dede him chiere,
          So that this Prest in such manere,
          Whil that him liketh, there he duelleth:
          And al this he to Bachus telleth,
          Whan that he cam to him ayein.
          And whan that Bachus herde sein
          How Mide hath don his courtesie,
          Him thenkth it were a vilenie,  170
          Bot he rewarde him for his dede,
          So as he mihte of his godhiede.
          Unto this king this god appiereth
          And clepeth, and that other hiereth:
          This god to Mide thonketh faire
          Of that he was so debonaire
          Toward his Prest, and bad him seie:
          What thing it were he wolde preie,
          He scholde it have, of worldes good.
          This king was glad, and stille stod,  180
          And was of his axinge in doute,
          And al the world he caste aboute,
          What thing was best for his astat,
          And with himself stod in debat
          Upon thre pointz, the whiche I finde
          Ben lievest unto mannes kinde.
          The ferste of hem it is delit,
          The tuo ben worschipe and profit.
          And thanne he thoghte, "If that I crave
          Delit, thogh I delit mai have,  190
          Delit schal passen in myn age:
          That is no siker avantage,
          For every joie bodily
          Schal ende in wo: delit forthi
          Wol I noght chese. And if worschipe
          I axe and of the world lordschipe,
          That is an occupacion
          Of proud ymaginacion,
          Which makth an herte vein withinne;
          Ther is no certain forto winne,    200
          For lord and knave al is o weie,
          Whan thei be bore and whan thei deie.
          And if I profit axe wolde,
          I not in what manere I scholde
          Of worldes good have sikernesse;
          For every thief upon richesse
          Awaiteth forto robbe and stele:
          Such good is cause of harmes fele.
          And also, thogh a man at ones
          Of al the world withinne his wones    210
          The tresor myhte have everydel,
          Yit hadde he bot o mannes del
          Toward himself, so as I thinke,
          Of clothinge and of mete and drinke,
          For more, outake vanite,
          Ther hath no lord in his degre."
          And thus upon the pointz diverse
          Diverseliche he gan reherce
          What point him thoghte for the beste;
          Bot pleinly forto gete him reste   220
          He can so siker weie caste.
          And natheles yit ate laste
          He fell upon the coveitise
          Of gold; and thanne in sondri wise
          He thoghte, as I have seid tofore,
          Hou tresor mai be sone lore,
          And hadde an inly gret desir
          Touchende of such recoverir,
          Hou that he mihte his cause availe
          To gete him gold withoute faile.   230
          Withinne his herte and thus he preiseth
          The gold, and seith hou that it peiseth
          Above al other metall most:
          "The gold," he seith, "may lede an host
          To make werre ayein a King;
          The gold put under alle thing,
          And set it whan him list above;
          The gold can make of hate love
          And werre of pes and ryht of wrong,
          And long to schort and schort to long;   240
          Withoute gold mai be no feste,
          Gold is the lord of man and beste,
          And mai hem bothe beie and selle;
          So that a man mai sothly telle
          That al the world to gold obeieth."
          Forthi this king to Bachus preieth
          To grante him gold, bot he excedeth
          Mesure more than him nedeth.
          Men tellen that the maladie
          Which cleped is ydropesie    250
          Resembled is unto this vice
          Be weie of kinde of Avarice:
          The more ydropesie drinketh,
          The more him thursteth, for him thinketh
          That he mai nevere drinke his fille;
          So that ther mai nothing fulfille
          The lustes of his appetit:
          And riht in such a maner plit
          Stant Avarice and evere stod;
          The more he hath of worldes good,  260
          The more he wolde it kepe streyte,
          And evere mor and mor coveite.
          And riht in such condicioun
          Withoute good discrecioun
          This king with avarice is smite,
          That al the world it myhte wite:
          For he to Bachus thanne preide,
          That wherupon his hond he leide,
          It scholde thurgh his touche anon
          Become gold, and therupon    270
          This god him granteth as he bad.
          Tho was this king of Frige glad,
          And forto put it in assai
          With al the haste that he mai,
          He toucheth that, he toucheth this,
          And in his hond al gold it is,
          The Ston, the Tree, the Lef, the gras,
          The flour, the fruit, al gold it was.
          Thus toucheth he, whil he mai laste
          To go, bot hunger ate laste  280
          Him tok, so that he moste nede
          Be weie of kinde his hunger fede.
          The cloth was leid, the bord was set,
          And al was forth tofore him fet,
          His disch, his coppe, his drinke, his mete;
          Bot whanne he wolde or drinke or ete,
          Anon as it his mouth cam nyh,
          It was al gold, and thanne he syh
          Of Avarice the folie.
          And he with that began to crie,    290
          And preide Bachus to foryive
          His gilt, and soffre him forto live
          And be such as he was tofore,
          So that he were not forlore.
          This god, which herde of his grevance,
          Tok rowthe upon his repentance,
          And bad him go forth redily
          Unto a flod was faste by,
          Which Paceole thanne hyhte,
          In which as clene as evere he myhte   300
          He scholde him waisshen overal,
          And seide him thanne that he schal
          Recovere his ferste astat ayein.
          This king, riht as he herde sein,
          Into the flod goth fro the lond,
          And wissh him bothe fot and hond,
          And so forth al the remenant,
          As him was set in covenant:
          And thanne he syh merveilles strange,
          The flod his colour gan to change,    310
          The gravel with the smale Stones
          To gold thei torne bothe at ones,
          And he was quit of that he hadde,
          And thus fortune his chance ladde.
          And whan he sih his touche aweie,
          He goth him hom the rihte weie
          And liveth forth as he dede er,
          And putte al Avarice afer,
          And the richesse of gold despiseth,
          And seith that mete and cloth sufficeth.    320
          Thus hath this king experience
          Hou foles don the reverence
          To gold, which of his oghne kinde
          Is lasse worth than is the rinde
          To sustienance of mannes fode;
          And thanne he made lawes goode
          And al his thing sette upon skile:
          He bad his poeple forto tile
          Here lond, and live under the lawe,
          And that thei scholde also forthdrawe    330
          Bestaile, and seche non encress
          Of gold, which is the breche of pes.
          For this a man mai finde write,
          Tofor the time, er gold was smite
          In Coign, that men the florin knewe,
          Ther was welnyh noman untrewe;
          Tho was ther nouther schield ne spere
          Ne dedly wepne forto bere;
          Tho was the toun withoute wal,
          Which nou is closed overal;  340
          Tho was ther no brocage in londe,
          Which nou takth every cause on honde:
          So mai men knowe, hou the florin
          Was moder ferst of malengin
          And bringere inne of alle werre,
          Wherof this world stant out of herre
          Thurgh the conseil of Avarice,
          Which of his oghne propre vice
          Is as the helle wonderfull;
          For it mai neveremor be full,   350
          That what as evere comth therinne,
          Awey ne may it nevere winne.
          Bot Sone myn, do thou noght so,
          Let al such Avarice go,
          And tak thi part of that thou hast:
          I bidde noght that thou do wast,
          Bot hold largesce in his mesure;
          And if thou se a creature,
          Which thurgh poverte is falle in nede,
          Yif him som good, for this I rede  360
          To him that wol noght yiven here,
          What peine he schal have elleswhere.
          Ther is a peine amonges alle
          Benethe in helle, which men calle
          The wofull peine of Tantaly,
          Of which I schal thee redely
          Devise hou men therinne stonde.
          In helle, thou schalt understonde,
          Ther is a flod of thilke office,
          Which serveth al for Avarice:   370
          What man that stonde schal therinne,
          He stant up evene unto the chinne;
          Above his hed also ther hongeth
          A fruyt, which to that peine longeth,
          And that fruit toucheth evere in on
          His overlippe: and therupon
          Swich thurst and hunger him assaileth,
          That nevere his appetit ne faileth.
          Bot whanne he wolde his hunger fede,
          The fruit withdrawth him ate nede,    380
          And thogh he heve his hed on hyh,
          The fruit is evere aliche nyh,
          So is the hunger wel the more:
          And also, thogh him thurste sore
          And to the water bowe a doun,
          The flod in such condicioun
          Avaleth, that his drinke areche
          He mai noght. Lo nou, which a wreche,
          That mete and drinke is him so couth,
          And yit ther comth non in his mouth!  390
          Lich to the peines of this flod
          Stant Avarice in worldes good:
          He hath ynowh and yit him nedeth,
          For his skarsnesse it him forbiedeth,
          And evere his hunger after more
          Travaileth him aliche sore,
          So is he peined overal.
          Forthi thi goodes forth withal,
          Mi Sone, loke thou despende,
          Wherof thou myht thiself amende    400
          Bothe hier and ek in other place.
          And also if thou wolt pourchace
          To be beloved, thou most use
          Largesce, for if thou refuse
          To yive for thi loves sake,
          It is no reson that thou take
          Of love that thou woldest crave.
          Forthi, if thou wolt grace have,
          Be gracious and do largesse,
          Of Avarice and the seknesse  410
          Eschuie above alle other thing,
          And tak ensample of Mide king
          And of the flod of helle also,
          Where is ynowh of alle wo.
          And thogh ther were no matiere
          Bot only that we finden hiere,
          Men oghten Avarice eschuie;
          For what man thilke vice suie,
          He get himself bot litel reste.
          For hou so that the body reste,    420
          The herte upon the gold travaileth,
          Whom many a nyhtes drede assaileth;
          For thogh he ligge abedde naked,
          His herte is everemore awaked,
          And dremeth, as he lith to slepe,
          How besi that he is to kepe
          His tresor, that no thief it stele.
          Thus hath he bot a woful wele.
          And riht so in the same wise,
          If thou thiself wolt wel avise,    430
          Ther be lovers of suche ynowe,
          That wole unto no reson bowe.
          If so be that thei come above,
          Whan thei ben maistres of here love,
          And that thei scholden be most glad,
          With love thei ben most bestad,
          So fain thei wolde it holden al.
          Here herte, here yhe is overal,
          And wenen every man be thief,
          To stele awey that hem is lief;    440
          Thus thurgh here oghne fantasie
          Thei fallen into Jelousie.
          Thanne hath the Schip tobroke his cable,
          With every wynd and is muable.
          Mi fader, for that ye nou telle,
          I have herd ofte time telle
          Of Jelousie, bot what it is
          Yit understod I nevere er this:
          Wherfore I wolde you beseche,
          That ye me wolde enforme and teche    450
          What maner thing it mihte be.
          Mi Sone, that is hard to me:
          Bot natheles, as I have herd,
          Now herkne and thou schalt ben ansuerd.
          Among the men lacke of manhode
          In Mariage upon wifhode
          Makth that a man himself deceiveth,
          Wherof it is that he conceiveth
          That ilke unsely maladie,
          The which is cleped Jelousie:   460
          Of which if I the proprete
          Schal telle after the nycete,
          So as it worcheth on a man,
          A Fievere it is cotidian,
          Which every day wol come aboute,
          Wher so a man be inne or oute.
          At hom if that a man wol wone,
          This Fievere is thanne of comun wone
          Most grevous in a mannes yhe:
          For thanne he makth him tote and pryhe,  470
          Wher so as evere his love go;
          Sche schal noght with hir litel too
          Misteppe, bot he se it al.
          His yhe is walkende overal;
          Wher that sche singe or that sche dance,
          He seth the leste contienance,
          If sche loke on a man aside
          Or with him roune at eny tyde,
          Or that sche lawghe, or that sche loure,
          His yhe is ther at every houre.    480
          And whanne it draweth to the nyht,
          If sche thanne is withoute lyht,
          Anon is al the game schent;
          For thanne he set his parlement
          To speke it whan he comth to bedde,
          And seith, "If I were now to wedde,
          I wolde neveremore have wif."
          And so he torneth into strif
          The lust of loves duete,
          And al upon diversete.    490
          If sche be freissh and wel araied,
          He seith hir baner is displaied
          To clepe in gestes fro the weie:
          And if sche be noght wel beseie,
          And that hir list noght to be gladd,
          He berth an hond that sche is madd
          And loveth noght hire housebonde;
          He seith he mai wel understonde,
          That if sche wolde his compaignie,
          Sche scholde thanne afore his ije  500
          Schewe al the plesir that sche mihte.
          So that be daie ne be nyhte
          Sche not what thing is for the beste,
          Bot liveth out of alle reste;
          For what as evere him liste sein,
          Sche dar noght speke a word ayein,
          Bot wepth and holt hire lippes clos.
          Sche mai wel wryte, "Sanz repos,"
          The wif which is to such on maried.
          Of alle wommen be he waried,    510
          For with this Fievere of Jalousie
          His echedaies fantasie
          Of sorghe is evere aliche grene,
          So that ther is no love sene,
          Whil that him list at hom abyde.
          And whan so is he wol out ryde,
          Thanne hath he redi his aspie
          Abidinge in hir compaignie,
          A janglere, an evel mouthed oon,
          That sche ne mai nowhider gon,  520
          Ne speke a word, ne ones loke,
          That he ne wol it wende and croke
          And torne after his oghne entente,
          Thogh sche nothing bot honour mente.
          Whan that the lord comth hom ayein,
          The janglere moste somwhat sein;
          So what withoute and what withinne,
          This Fievere is evere to beginne,
          For where he comth he can noght ende,
          Til deth of him have mad an ende.  530
          For thogh so be that he ne hiere
          Ne se ne wite in no manere
          Bot al honour and wommanhiede,
          Therof the Jelous takth non hiede,
          Bot as a man to love unkinde,
          He cast his staf, as doth the blinde,
          And fint defaulte where is non;
          As who so dremeth on a Ston
          Hou he is leid, and groneth ofte,
          Whan he lith on his pilwes softe.  540
          So is ther noght bot strif and cheste;
          Whan love scholde make his feste,
          It is gret thing if he hir kisse:
          Thus hath sche lost the nyhtes blisse,
          For at such time he gruccheth evere
          And berth on hond ther is a levere,
          And that sche wolde an other were
          In stede of him abedde there;
          And with tho wordes and with mo
          Of Jelousie, he torneth fro  550
          And lith upon his other side,
          And sche with that drawth hire aside,
          And ther sche wepeth al the nyht.
          Ha, to what peine sche is dyht,
          That in hire youthe hath so beset
          The bond which mai noght ben unknet!
          I wot the time is ofte cursed,
          That evere was the gold unpursed,
          The which was leid upon the bok,
          Whan that alle othre sche forsok   560
          For love of him; bot al to late
          Sche pleigneth, for as thanne algate
          Sche mot forbere and to him bowe,
          Thogh he ne wole it noght allowe.
          For man is lord of thilke feire,
          So mai the womman bot empeire,
          If sche speke oght ayein his wille;
          And thus sche berth hir peine stille.
          Bot if this Fievere a womman take,
          Sche schal be wel mor harde schake;   570
          For thogh sche bothe se and hiere,
          And finde that ther is matiere,
          Sche dar bot to hirselve pleine,
          And thus sche suffreth double peine.
          Lo thus, mi Sone, as I have write,
          Thou miht of Jelousie wite
          His fievere and his condicion,
          Which is full of suspecion.
          Bot wherof that this fievere groweth,
          Who so these olde bokes troweth,   580
          Ther mai he finden hou it is:
          For thei ous teche and telle this,
          Hou that this fievere of Jelousie
          Somdel it groweth of sotie
          Of love, and somdiel of untrust.
          For as a sek man lest his lust,
          And whan he may no savour gete,
          He hateth thanne his oughne mete,
          Riht so this fieverous maladie,
          Which caused is of fantasie,    590
          Makth the Jelous in fieble plit
          To lese of love his appetit
          Thurgh feigned enformacion
          Of his ymaginacion.
          Bot finali to taken hiede,
          Men mai wel make a liklihiede
          Betwen him which is averous
          Of gold and him that is jelous
          Of love, for in on degre
          Thei stonde bothe, as semeth me.   600
          That oon wolde have his bagges stille,
          And noght departen with his wille,
          And dar noght for the thieves slepe,
          So fain he wolde his tresor kepe;
          That other mai noght wel be glad,
          For he is evere more adrad
          Of these lovers that gon aboute,
          In aunter if thei putte him oute.
          So have thei bothe litel joye
          As wel of love as of monoie.    610
          Now hast thou, Sone, at my techinge
          Of Jelousie a knowlechinge,
          That thou myht understonde this,
          Fro whenne he comth and what he is,
          And ek to whom that he is lik.
          Be war forthi thou be noght sik
          Of thilke fievere as I have spoke,
          For it wol in himself be wroke.
          For love hateth nothing more,
          As men mai finde be the lore    620
          Of hem that whilom were wise,
          Hou that thei spieke in many wise.
          Mi fader, soth is that ye sein.
          Bot forto loke therayein,
          Befor this time hou it is falle,
          Wherof ther mihte ensample falle
          To suche men as be jelous
          In what manere it is grevous,
          Riht fain I wolde ensample hiere.
          My goode Sone, at thi preiere   630
          Of suche ensamples as I finde,
          So as thei comen nou to mynde
          Upon this point, of time gon
          I thenke forto tellen on.
          Ovide wrot of manye thinges,
          Among the whiche in his wrytinges
          He tolde a tale in Poesie,
          Which toucheth unto Jelousie,
          Upon a certein cas of love.
          Among the goddes alle above  640
          It fell at thilke time thus:
          The god of fyr, which Vulcanus
          Is hote, and hath a craft forthwith
          Assigned, forto be the Smith
          Of Jupiter, and his figure
          Bothe of visage and of stature
          Is lothly and malgracious,
          Bot yit he hath withinne his hous
          As for the likynge of his lif
          The faire Venus to his wif.  650
          Bot Mars, which of batailles is
          The god, an yhe hadde unto this:
          As he which was chivalerous,
          It fell him to ben amerous,
          And thoghte it was a gret pite
          To se so lusti on as sche
          Be coupled with so lourde a wiht:
          So that his peine day and nyht
          He dede, if he hire winne myhte;
          And sche, which hadde a good insihte  660
          Toward so noble a knyhtli lord,
          In love fell of his acord.
          Ther lacketh noght bot time and place,
          That he nys siker of hire grace:
          Bot whan tuo hertes falle in on,
          So wys await was nevere non,
          That at som time thei ne mete;
          And thus this faire lusti swete
          With Mars hath ofte compaignie.
          Bot thilke unkynde Jelousie,    670
          Which everemor the herte opposeth,
          Makth Vulcanus that he supposeth
          That it is noght wel overal,
          And to himself he seide, he schal
          Aspie betre, if that he may;
          And so it fell upon a day,
          That he this thing so slyhli ledde,
          He fond hem bothe tuo abedde
          Al warm, echon with other naked.
          And he with craft al redy maked    680
          Of stronge chenes hath hem bounde,
          As he togedre hem hadde founde,
          And lefte hem bothe ligge so,
          And gan to clepe and crie tho
          Unto the goddes al aboute;
          And thei assembled in a route
          Come alle at ones forto se.
          Bot none amendes hadde he,
          Bot was rebuked hiere and there
          Of hem that loves frendes were;    690
          And seiden that he was to blame,
          For if ther fell him eny schame,
          It was thurgh his misgovernance:
          And thus he loste contienance,
          This god, and let his cause falle;
          And thei to skorne him lowhen alle,
          And losen Mars out of hise bondes.
          Wherof these erthli housebondes
          For evere myhte ensample take,
          If such a chaunce hem overtake:    700
          For Vulcanus his wif bewreide,
          The blame upon himself he leide,
          Wherof his schame was the more;
          Which oghte forto ben a lore
          For every man that liveth hiere,
          To reulen him in this matiere.
          Thogh such an happ of love asterte,
          Yit scholde he noght apointe his herte
          With Jelousie of that is wroght,
          Bot feigne, as thogh he wiste it noght:  710
          For if he lete it overpasse,
          The sclaundre schal be wel the lasse,
          And he the more in ese stonde.
          For this thou myht wel understonde,
          That where a man schal nedes lese,
          The leste harm is forto chese.
          Bot Jelousie of his untrist
          Makth that full many an harm arist,
          Which elles scholde noght arise;
          And if a man him wolde avise    720
          Of that befell to Vulcanus,
          Him oghte of reson thenke thus,
          That sithe a god therof was schamed,
          Wel scholde an erthli man be blamed
          To take upon him such a vice.
          Forthi, my Sone, in thin office
          Be war that thou be noght jelous,
          Which ofte time hath schent the hous.
          Mi fader, this ensample is hard,
          Hou such thing to the heveneward   730
          Among the goddes myhte falle:
          For ther is bot o god of alle,
          Which is the lord of hevene and helle.
          Bot if it like you to telle
          Hou suche goddes come aplace,
          Ye mihten mochel thonk pourchace,
          For I schal be wel tawht withal.
          Mi Sone, it is thus overal
          With hem that stonden misbelieved,
          That suche goddes ben believed:    740
          In sondri place sondri wise
          Amonges hem whiche are unwise
          Ther is betaken of credence;
          Wherof that I the difference
          In the manere as it is write
          Schal do the pleinly forto wite.
          Er Crist was bore among ous hiere,
          Of the believes that tho were
          In foure formes thus it was.
          Thei of Caldee as in this cas   750
          Hadde a believe be hemselve,
          Which stod upon the signes tuelve,
          Forth ek with the Planetes sevene,
          Whiche as thei sihe upon the hevene.
          Of sondri constellacion
          In here ymaginacion
          With sondri kerf and pourtreture
          Thei made of goddes the figure.
          In thelementz and ek also
          Thei hadden a believe tho;       760
          And al was that unresonable:
          For thelementz ben servicable
          To man, and ofte of Accidence,
          As men mai se thexperience,
          Thei ben corrupt be sondri weie;
          So mai no mannes reson seie
          That thei ben god in eny wise.
          And ek, if men hem wel avise,
          The Sonne and Mone eclipse bothe,
          That be hem lieve or be hem lothe,    770
          Thei soffre; and what thing is passible
          To ben a god is impossible.
          These elementz ben creatures,
          So ben these hevenly figures,
          Wherof mai wel be justefied
          That thei mai noght be deified:
          And who that takth awey thonour
          Which due is to the creatour,
          And yifth it to the creature,
          He doth to gret a forsfaiture.  780
          Bot of Caldee natheles
          Upon this feith, thogh it be les,
          Thei holde affermed the creance;
          So that of helle the penance,
          As folk which stant out of believe,
          They schull receive, as we believe.
          Of the Caldeus lo in this wise
          Stant the believe out of assisse:
          Bot in Egipte worst of alle
          The feith is fals, hou so it falle;   790
          For thei diverse bestes there
          Honoure, as thogh thei goddes were:
          And natheles yit forth withal
          Thre goddes most in special
          Thei have, forth with a goddesse,
          In whom is al here sikernesse.
          Tho goddes be yit cleped thus,
          Orus, Typhon and Isirus:
          Thei were brethren alle thre,
          And the goddesse in hir degre   800
          Here Soster was and Ysis hyhte,
          Whom Isirus forlai be nyhte
          And hield hire after as his wif.
          So it befell that upon strif
          Typhon hath Isre his brother slain,
          Which hadde a child to Sone Orayn,
          And he his fader deth to herte
          So tok, that it mai noght asterte
          That he Typhon after ne slowh,
          Whan he was ripe of age ynowh.  810
          Bot yit thegipcienes trowe
          For al this errour, which thei knowe,
          That these brethren ben of myht
          To sette and kepe Egipte upriht,
          And overthrowe, if that hem like.
          Bot Ysis, as seith the Cronique,
          Fro Grece into Egipte cam,
          And sche thanne upon honde nam
          To teche hem forto sowe and eere,
          Which noman knew tofore there.  820
          And whan thegipcienes syhe
          The fieldes fulle afore here yhe,
          And that the lond began to greine,
          Which whilom hadde be bareigne,-
          For therthe bar after the kinde
          His due charge,- this I finde,
          That sche of berthe the goddesse
          Is cleped, so that in destresse
          The wommen there upon childinge
          To hire clepe, and here offringe   830
          Thei beren, whan that thei ben lyhte.
          Lo, hou Egipte al out of syhte
          Fro resoun stant in misbelieve
          For lacke of lore, as I believe.
          Among the Greks, out of the weie
          As thei that reson putte aweie,
          Ther was, as the Cronique seith,
          Of misbelieve an other feith,
          That thei here goddes and goddesses,
          As who seith, token al to gesses   840
          Of suche as weren full of vice,
          To whom thei made here sacrifice.
          The hihe god, so as thei seide,
          To whom thei most worschipe leide,
          Saturnus hihte, and king of Crete
          He hadde be; bot of his sete
          He was put doun, as he which stod
          In frenesie, and was so wod,
          That fro his wif, which Rea hihte,
          Hise oghne children he to plihte,  850
          And eet hem of his comun wone.
          Bot Jupiter, which was his Sone
          And of full age, his fader bond
          And kutte of with his oghne hond
          Hise genitals, whiche als so faste
          Into the depe See he caste;
          Wherof the Greks afferme and seie,
          Thus whan thei were caste aweie,
          Cam Venus forth be weie of kinde.
          And of Saturne also I finde  860
          How afterward into an yle
          This Jupiter him dede exile,
          Wher that he stod in gret meschief.
          Lo, which a god thei maden chief!
          And sithen that such on was he,
          Which stod most hihe in his degre
          Among the goddes, thou miht knowe,
          These othre, that ben more lowe,
          Ben litel worth, as it is founde.
          For Jupiter was the secounde,   870
          Which Juno hadde unto his wif;
          And yit a lechour al his lif
          He was, and in avouterie
          He wroghte many a tricherie;
          And for he was so full of vices,
          Thei cleped him god of delices:
          Of whom, if thou wolt more wite,
          Ovide the Poete hath write.
          Bot yit here Sterres bothe tuo,
          Saturne and Jupiter also,    880
          Thei have, althogh thei be to blame,
          Attitled to here oghne name.
          Mars was an other in that lawe,
          The which in Dace was forthdrawe,
          Of whom the clerk Vegecius
          Wrot in his bok, and tolde thus,
          Hou he into Ytaile cam,
          And such fortune ther he nam
          That he a Maiden hath oppressed,
          Which in hire ordre was professed,    890
          As sche which was the Prioresse
          In Vestes temple the goddesse,
          So was sche wel the mor to blame.
          Dame Ylia this ladi name
          Men clepe, and ek sche was also
          The kinges dowhter that was tho,
          Which Mynitor be name hihte.
          So that ayein the lawes ryhte
          Mars thilke time upon hire that
          Remus and Romulus begat,  900
          Whiche after, whan thei come in Age,
          Of knihthode and of vassellage
          Ytaile al hol thei overcome
          And foundeden the grete Rome;
          In Armes and of such emprise
          Thei weren, that in thilke wise
          Here fader Mars for the mervaile
          The god was cleped of bataille.
          Thei were his children bothe tuo,
          Thurgh hem he tok his name so,  910
          Ther was non other cause why:
          And yit a Sterre upon the Sky
          He hath unto his name applied,
          In which that he is signified.
          An other god thei hadden eke,
          To whom for conseil thei beseke,
          The which was brother to Venus,
          Appollo men him clepe thus.
          He was an Hunte upon the helles,
          Ther was with him no vertu elles,  920
          Wherof that enye bokes karpe,
          Bot only that he couthe harpe;
          Which whanne he walked over londe,
          Fulofte time he tok on honde,
          To gete him with his sustienance,
          For lacke of other pourveance.
          And otherwhile of his falshede
          He feignede him to conne arede
          Of thing which after scholde falle;
          Wherof among hise sleyhtes alle    930
          He hath the lewed folk deceived,
          So that the betre he was received.
          Lo now, thurgh what creacion
          He hath deificacion,
          And cleped is the god of wit
          To suche as be the foles yit.
          An other god, to whom thei soghte,
          Mercurie hihte, and him ne roghte
          What thing he stal, ne whom he slowh.
          Of Sorcerie he couthe ynowh,    940
          That whanne he wolde himself transforme,
          Fulofte time he tok the forme
          Of womman and his oghne lefte;
          So dede he wel the more thefte.
          A gret spekere in alle thinges
          He was also, and of lesinges
          An Auctour, that men wiste non
          An other such as he was on.
          And yit thei maden of this thief
          A god, which was unto hem lief,    950
          And clepede him in tho believes
          The god of Marchantz and of thieves.
          Bot yit a sterre upon the hevene
          He hath of the planetes sevene.
          But Vulcanus, of whom I spak,
          He hadde a courbe upon the bak,
          And therto he was hepehalt:
          Of whom thou understonde schalt,
          He was a schrewe in al his youthe,
          And he non other vertu couthe   960
          Of craft to helpe himselve with,
          Bot only that he was a Smith
          With Jupiter, which in his forge
          Diverse thinges made him forge;
          So wot I noght for what desir
          Thei clepen him the god of fyr.
          King of Cizile Ypolitus
          A Sone hadde, and Eolus
          He hihte, and of his fader grant
          He hield be weie of covenant    970
          The governance of every yle
          Which was longende unto Cizile,
          Of hem that fro the lond forein
          Leie open to the wynd al plein.
          And fro thilke iles to the londe
          Fulofte cam the wynd to honde:
          After the name of him forthi
          The wyndes cleped Eoli
          Tho were, and he the god of wynd.
          Lo nou, hou this believe is blynd!    980
          The king of Crete Jupiter,
          The same which I spak of er,
          Unto his brother, which Neptune
          Was hote, it list him to comune
          Part of his good, so that be Schipe
          He mad him strong of the lordschipe
          Of al the See in tho parties;
          Wher that he wroghte his tyrannyes,
          And the strange yles al aboute
          He wan, that every man hath doute  990
          Upon his marche forto saile;
          For he anon hem wolde assaile
          And robbe what thing that thei ladden,
          His sauf conduit bot if thei hadden.
          Wherof the comun vois aros
          In every lond, that such a los
          He cawhte, al nere it worth a stre,
          That he was cleped of the See
          The god be name, and yit he is
          With hem that so believe amis.  1000
          This Neptune ek was thilke also,
          Which was the ferste foundour tho
          Of noble Troie, and he forthi
          Was wel the more lete by.
          The loresman of the Schepherdes,
          And ek of hem that ben netherdes,
          Was of Archade and hihte Pan:
          Of whom hath spoke many a man;
          For in the wode of Nonarcigne,
          Enclosed with the tres of Pigne,   1010
          And on the Mont of Parasie
          He hadde of bestes the baillie,
          And ek benethe in the valleie,
          Wher thilke rivere, as men seie,
          Which Ladon hihte, made his cours,
          He was the chief of governours
          Of hem that kepten tame bestes,
          Wherof thei maken yit the festes
          In the Cite Stinfalides.
          And forth withal yit natheles   1020
          He tawhte men the forthdrawinge
          Of bestaile, and ek the makinge
          Of Oxen, and of hors the same,
          Hou men hem scholde ryde and tame:
          Of foules ek, so as we finde,
          Ful many a soubtiel craft of kinde
          He fond, which noman knew tofore.
          Men dede him worschipe ek therfore,
          That he the ferste in thilke lond
          Was which the melodie fond   1030
          Of Riedes, whan thei weren ripe,
          With double pipes forto pipe;
          Therof he yaf the ferste lore,
          Til afterward men couthe more.
          To every craft for mannes helpe
          He hadde a redi wit to helpe
          Thurgh naturel experience:
          And thus the nyce reverence
          Of foles, whan that he was ded,
          The fot hath torned to the hed,    1040
          And clepen him god of nature,
          For so thei maden his figure.
          An other god, so as thei fiele,
          Which Jupiter upon Samele
          Begat in his avouterie,
          Whom, forto hide his lecherie,
          That non therof schal take kepe,
          In a Montaigne forto kepe,
          Which Dyon hihte and was in Ynde,
          He sende, in bokes as I finde:  1050
          And he be name Bachus hihte,
          Which afterward, whan that he mihte,
          A wastour was, and al his rente
          In wyn and bordel he despente.
          Bot yit, al were he wonder badde,
          Among the Greks a name he hadde;
          Thei cleped him the god of wyn,
          And thus a glotoun was dyvyn.
          Ther was yit Esculapius
          A godd in thilke time as thus.  1060
          His craft stod upon Surgerie,
          Bot for the lust of lecherie,
          That he to Daires dowhter drowh,
          It felle that Jupiter him slowh:
          And yit thei made him noght forthi
          A god, and was no cause why.
          In Rome he was long time also
          A god among the Romeins tho;
          For, as he seide, of his presence
          Ther was destruid a pestilence,    1070
          Whan thei to thyle of Delphos wente,
          And that Appollo with hem sente
          This Esculapius his Sone,
          Among the Romeins forto wone.
          And there he duelte for a while,
          Til afterward into that yle,
          Fro whenne he cam, ayein he torneth,
          Where al his lyf that he sojorneth
          Among the Greks, til that he deide.
          And thei upon him thanne leide  1080
          His name, and god of medicine
          He hatte after that ilke line.
          An other god of Hercules
          Thei made, which was natheles
          A man, bot that he was so strong,
          In al this world that brod and long
          So myhti was noman as he.
          Merveiles tuelve in his degre,
          As it was couth in sondri londes,
          He dede with hise oghne hondes  1090
          Ayein geantz and Monstres bothe,
          The whiche horrible were and lothe,
          Bot he with strengthe hem overcam:
          Wherof so gret a pris he nam,
          That thei him clepe amonges alle
          The god of strengthe, and to him calle.
          And yit ther is no reson inne,
          For he a man was full of sinne,
          Which proved was upon his ende,
          For in a rage himself he brende;   1100
          And such a cruel mannes dede
          Acordeth nothing with godhede.
          Thei hadde of goddes yit an other,
          Which Pluto hihte, and was the brother
          Of Jupiter, and he fro youthe
          With every word which cam to mouthe,
          Of eny thing whan he was wroth,
          He wolde swere his commun oth,
          Be Lethen and be Flegeton,
          Be Cochitum and Acheron,  1110
          The whiche, after the bokes telle,
          Ben the chief flodes of the helle:
          Be Segne and Stige he swor also,
          That ben the depe Pettes tuo
          Of helle the most principal.
          Pluto these othes overal
          Swor of his commun custummance,
          Til it befell upon a chance,
          That he for Jupiteres sake
          Unto the goddes let do make  1120
          A sacrifice, and for that dede
          On of the pettes for his mede
          In helle, of which I spak of er,
          Was granted him; and thus he ther
          Upon the fortune of this thing
          The name tok of helle king.
          Lo, these goddes and wel mo
          Among the Greks thei hadden tho,
          And of goddesses manyon,
          Whos names thou schalt hiere anon,    1130
          And in what wise thei deceiven
          The foles whiche here feith receiven.
          So as Saturne is soverein
          Of false goddes, as thei sein,
          So is Sibeles of goddesses
          The Moder, whom withoute gesses
          The folk Payene honoure and serve,
          As thei the whiche hire lawe observe.
          Bot forto knowen upon this
          Fro when sche cam and what sche is,   1140
          Bethincia the contre hihte,
          Wher sche cam ferst to mannes sihte;
          And after was Saturnes wif,
          Be whom thre children in hire lif
          Sche bar, and thei were cleped tho
          Juno, Neptunus and Pluto,
          The whiche of nyce fantasie
          The poeple wolde deifie.
          And for hire children were so,
          Sibeles thanne was also   1150
          Mad a goddesse, and thei hire calle
          The moder of the goddes alle.
          So was that name bore forth,
          And yit the cause is litel worth.
          A vois unto Saturne tolde
          Hou that his oghne Sone him scholde
          Out of his regne putte aweie;
          And he be cause of thilke weie,
          That him was schape such a fate,
          Sibele his wif began to hate        1160
          And ek hire progenie bothe.
          And thus, whil that thei were wrothe,
          Be Philerem upon a dai
          In his avouterie he lai,
          On whom he Jupiter begat;
          And thilke child was after that
          Which wroghte al that was prophecied,
          As it tofore is specefied:
          So that whan Jupiter of Crete
          Was king, a wif unto him mete   1170
          The Dowhter of Sibele he tok,
          And that was Juno, seith the bok.
          Of his deificacion
          After the false oppinion,
          That have I told, so as thei meene;
          And for this Juno was the queene
          Of Jupiter and Soster eke,
          The foles unto hire sieke,
          And sein that sche is the goddesse
          Of Regnes bothe and of richesse:   1180
          And ek sche, as thei understonde,
          The water Nimphes hath in honde
          To leden at hire oghne heste;
          And whan hir list the Sky tempeste,
          The reinbowe is hir Messager.
          Lo, which a misbelieve is hier!
          That sche goddesse is of the Sky
          I wot non other cause why.
          An other goddesse is Minerve,
          To whom the Greks obeie and serve:    1190
          And sche was nyh the grete lay
          Of Triton founde, wher sche lay
          A child forcast, bot what sche was
          Ther knew noman the sothe cas.
          Bot in Aufrique sche was leid
          In the manere as I have seid,
          And caried fro that ilke place
          Into an Yle fer in Trace,
          The which Palene thanne hihte,
          Wher a Norrice hir kepte and dihte.   1200
          And after, for sche was so wys
          That sche fond ferst in hire avis
          The cloth makinge of wolle and lyn,
          Men seiden that sche was divin,
          And the goddesse of Sapience
          Thei clepen hire in that credence.
          Of the goddesse which Pallas
          Is cleped sondri speche was.
          On seith hire fader was Pallant,
          Which in his time was geant,    1210
          A cruel man, a bataillous:
          An other seith hou in his hous
          Sche was the cause why he deide.
          And of this Pallas some ek seide
          That sche was Martes wif; and so
          Among the men that weren tho
          Of misbelieve in the riote
          The goddesse of batailles hote
          She was, and yit sche berth the name.
          Now loke, hou they be forto blame.    1220
          Saturnus after his exil
          Fro Crete cam in gret peril
          Into the londes of Ytaile,
          And ther he dede gret mervaile,
          Wherof his name duelleth yit.
          For he fond of his oghne wit
          The ferste craft of plowh tilinge,
          Of Eringe and of corn sowinge,
          And how men scholden sette vines
          And of the grapes make wynes;   1230
          Al this he tawhte, and it fell so,
          His wif, the which cam with him tho,
          Was cleped Cereres be name,
          And for sche tawhte also the same,
          And was his wif that ilke throwe,
          As it was to the poeple knowe,
          Thei made of Ceres a goddesse,
          In whom here tilthe yit thei blesse,
          And sein that Tricolonius
          Hire Sone goth amonges ous   1240
          And makth the corn good chep or dere,
          Riht as hire list fro yer to yeere;
          So that this wif be cause of this
          Goddesse of Cornes cleped is.
          King Jupiter, which his likinge
          Whilom fulfelde in alle thinge,
          So priveliche aboute he ladde
          His lust, that he his wille hadde
          Of Latona, and on hire that
          Diane his dowhter he begat   1250
          Unknowen of his wif Juno.
          And afterward sche knew it so,
          That Latona for drede fledde
          Into an Ile, wher sche hedde
          Hire wombe, which of childe aros.
          Thilke yle cleped was Delos;
          In which Diana was forthbroght,
          And kept so that hire lacketh noght.
          And after, whan sche was of Age,
          Sche tok non hiede of mariage,  1260
          Bot out of mannes compaignie
          Sche tok hire al to venerie
          In forest and in wildernesse
          For ther was al hire besinesse
          Be daie and ek be nyhtes tyde
          With arwes brode under the side
          And bowe in honde, of which sche slowh
          And tok al that hir liste ynowh
          Of bestes whiche ben chacable:
          Wherof the Cronique of this fable  1270
          Seith that the gentils most of alle
          Worschipen hire and to hire calle,
          And the goddesse of hihe helles,
          Of grene trees, of freisshe welles,
          They clepen hire in that believe,
          Which that no reson mai achieve.
          Proserpina, which dowhter was
          Of Cereres, befell this cas:
          Whil sche was duellinge in Cizile,
          Hire moder in that ilke while   1280
          Upon hire blessinge and hire heste
          Bad that sche scholde ben honeste,
          And lerne forto weve and spinne,
          And duelle at hom and kepe hire inne.
          Bot sche caste al that lore aweie,
          And as sche wente hir out to pleie,
          To gadre floures in a pleine,
          And that was under the monteine
          Of Ethna, fell the same tyde
          That Pluto cam that weie ryde,  1290
          And sodeinly, er sche was war,
          He tok hire up into his char.
          And as thei riden in the field,
          Hire grete beaute he behield,
          Which was so plesant in his ije,
          That forto holde in compainie
          He weddeth hire and hield hire so
          To ben his wif for everemo.
          And as thou hast tofore herd telle
          Hou he was cleped god of helle,    1300
          So is sche cleped the goddesse
          Be cause of him, ne mor ne lesse.
          Lo, thus, mi Sone, as I thee tolde,
          The Greks whilom be daies olde
          Here goddes hadde in sondri wise,
          And thurgh the lore of here aprise
          The Romeins hielden ek the same.
          And in the worschipe of here name
          To every godd in special
          Thei made a temple forth withal,   1310
          And ech of hem his yeeres dai
          Attitled hadde; and of arai
          The temples weren thanne ordeigned,
          And ek the poeple was constreigned
          To come and don here sacrifice;
          The Prestes ek in here office
          Solempne maden thilke festes.
          And thus the Greks lich to the bestes
          The men in stede of god honoure,
          Whiche mihten noght hemself socoure,  1320
          Whil that thei were alyve hiere.
          And over this, as thou schalt hiere,
          The Greks fulfild of fantasie
          Sein ek that of the helles hihe
          The goddes ben in special,
          Bot of here name in general
          Thei hoten alle Satiri.
          Ther ben of Nimphes proprely
          In the believe of hem also:
          Oreades thei seiden tho   1330
          Attitled ben to the monteines;
          And for the wodes in demeynes
          To kepe, tho ben Driades;
          Of freisshe welles Naiades;
          And of the Nimphes of the See
          I finde a tale in proprete,
          Hou Dorus whilom king of Grece,
          Which hadde of infortune a piece,-
          His wif forth with hire dowhtres alle,
          So as the happes scholden falle,   1340
          With many a gentil womman there
          Dreint in the salte See thei were:
          Wherof the Greks that time seiden,
          And such a name upon hem leiden,
          Nerei5des that thei ben hote,
          The Nimphes whiche that thei note
          To regne upon the stremes salte.
          Lo now, if this believe halte!
          Bot of the Nimphes as thei telle,
          In every place wher thei duelle    1350
          Thei ben al redi obeissant
          As damoiselles entendant
          To the goddesses, whos servise
          Thei mote obeie in alle wise;
          Wherof the Greks to hem beseke
          With tho that ben goddesses eke,
          And have in hem a gret credence.
          And yit withoute experience
          Salve only of illusion,
          Which was to hem dampnacion,    1360
          For men also that were dede
          Thei hadden goddes, as I rede,
          And tho be name Manes hihten,
          To whom ful gret honour thei dihten,
          So as the Grekes lawe seith,
          Which was ayein the rihte feith.
          Thus have I told a gret partie;
          Bot al the hole progenie
          Of goddes in that ilke time
          To long it were forto rime.  1370
          Bot yit of that which thou hast herd,
          Of misbelieve hou it hath ferd,
          Ther is a gret diversite.
          Mi fader, riht so thenketh me.
          Bot yit o thing I you beseche,
          Which stant in alle mennes speche,
          The godd and the goddesse of love,
          Of whom ye nothing hier above
          Have told, ne spoken of her fare,
          That ye me wolden now declare   1380
          Hou thei ferst comen to that name.
          Mi Sone, I have it left for schame,
          Be cause I am here oghne Prest;
          Bot for thei stonden nyh thi brest
          Upon the schrifte of thi matiere,
          Thou schalt of hem the sothe hiere:
          And understond nou wel the cas.
          Venus Saturnes dowhter was,
          Which alle danger putte aweie
          Of love, and fond to lust a weie;  1390
          So that of hire in sondri place
          Diverse men felle into grace,
          And such a lusti lif sche ladde,
          That sche diverse children hadde,
          Nou on be this, nou on be that.
          Of hire it was that Mars beyat
          A child, which cleped was Armene;
          Of hire also cam Andragene,
          To whom Mercurie fader was:
          Anchises begat Eneas   1400
          Of hire also, and Ericon
          Biten begat, and therupon,
          Whan that sche sih ther was non other,
          Be Jupiter hire oghne brother
          Sche lay, and he begat Cupide.
          And thilke Sone upon a tyde,
          Whan he was come unto his Age,
          He hadde a wonder fair visage,
          And fond his Moder amourous,
          And he was also lecherous:   1410
          So whan thei weren bothe al one,
          As he which yhen hadde none
          To se reson, his Moder kiste;
          And sche also, that nothing wiste
          Bot that which unto lust belongeth,
          To ben hire love him underfongeth.
          Thus was he blind, and sche unwys:
          Bot natheles this cause it is,
          Why Cupide is the god of love,
          For he his moder dorste love.   1420
          And sche, which thoghte hire lustes fonde,
          Diverse loves tok in honde,
          Wel mo thanne I the tolde hiere:
          And for sche wolde hirselve skiere,
          Sche made comun that desport,
          And sette a lawe of such a port,
          That every womman mihte take
          What man hire liste, and noght forsake
          To ben als comun as sche wolde.
          Sche was the ferste also which tolde  1430
          That wommen scholde here bodi selle;
          Semiramis, so as men telle,
          Of Venus kepte thilke aprise,
          And so dede in the same wise
          Of Rome faire Neabole,
          Which liste hire bodi to rigole;
          Sche was to every man felawe,
          And hild the lust of thilke lawe,
          Which Venus of hirself began;
          Wherof that sche the name wan,  1440
          Why men hire clepen the goddesse
          Of love and ek of gentilesse,
          Of worldes lust and of plesance.
          Se nou the foule mescreance
          Of Greks in thilke time tho,
          Whan Venus tok hire name so.
          Ther was no cause under the Mone
          Of which thei hadden tho to done,
          Of wel or wo wher so it was,
          That thei ne token in that cas  1450
          A god to helpe or a goddesse.
          Wherof, to take mi witnesse,
          The king of Bragmans Dindimus
          Wrot unto Alisandre thus:
          In blaminge of the Grekes feith
          And of the misbelieve, he seith
          How thei for every membre hadden
          A sondri god, to whom thei spradden
          Here armes, and of help besoghten.
          Minerve for the hed thei soghten,  1460
          For sche was wys, and of a man
          The wit and reson which he can
          Is in the celles of the brayn,
          Wherof thei made hire soverain.
          Mercurie, which was in his dawes
          A gret spekere of false lawes,
          On him the kepinge of the tunge
          Thei leide, whan thei spieke or sunge.
          For Bachus was a glotoun eke,
          Him for the throte thei beseke,    1470
          That he it wolde waisshen ofte
          With swote drinkes and with softe.
          The god of schuldres and of armes
          Was Hercules; for he in armes
          The myhtieste was to fihte,
          To him tho Limes they behihte.
          The god whom that thei clepen Mart
          The brest to kepe hath for his part,
          Forth with the herte, in his ymage
          That he adresce the corage.  1480
          And of the galle the goddesse,
          For sche was full of hastifesse
          Of wraththe and liht to grieve also,
          Thei made and seide it was Juno.
          Cupide, which the brond afyre
          Bar in his hond, he was the Sire
          Of the Stomak, which builleth evere,
          Wherof the lustes ben the levere.
          To the goddesse Cereres,
          Which of the corn yaf hire encress    1490
          Upon the feith that tho was take,
          The wombes cure was betake;
          And Venus thurgh the Lecherie,
          For which that thei hire deifie,
          Sche kept al doun the remenant
          To thilke office appourtenant.
          Thus was dispers in sondri wise
          The misbelieve, as I devise,
          With many an ymage of entaile,
          Of suche as myhte hem noght availe;   1500
          For thei withoute lyves chiere
          Unmyhti ben to se or hiere
          Or speke or do or elles fiele;
          And yit the foles to hem knele,
          Which is here oghne handes werk.
          Ha lord, hou this believe is derk,
          And fer fro resonable wit!
          And natheles thei don it yit:
          That was to day a ragged tre,
          To morwe upon his majeste    1510
          Stant in the temple wel besein.
          How myhte a mannes resoun sein
          That such a Stock mai helpe or grieve?
          Bot thei that ben of such believe
          And unto suche goddes calle,
          It schal to hem riht so befalle,
          And failen ate moste nede.
          Bot if thee list to taken hiede
          And of the ferste ymage wite,
          Petornius therof hath write  1520
          And ek Nigargorus also;
          And thei afferme and write so,
          That Promothes was tofore
          And fond the ferste craft therfore,
          And Cirophanes, as thei telle,
          Thurgh conseil which was take in helle,
          In remembrance of his lignage
          Let setten up the ferste ymage.
          Of Cirophanes seith the bok,
          That he for sorwe, which he tok    1530
          Of that he sih his Sone ded,
          Of confort knew non other red,
          Bot let do make in remembrance
          A faire ymage of his semblance
          And sette it in the market place,
          Which openly tofore his face
          Stod every dai to don him ese.
          And thei that thanne wolden plese
          The fader, scholden it obeie,
          Whan that they comen thilke weie.  1540
          And of Ninus king of Assire
          I rede hou that in his empire
          He was next after the secounde
          Of hem that ferst ymages founde.
          For he riht in semblable cas
          Of Belus, which his fader was
          Fro Nembroth in the rihte line,
          Let make of gold and Stones fine
          A precious ymage riche
          After his fader evene liche;    1550
          And therupon a lawe he sette,
          That every man of pure dette
          With sacrifice and with truage
          Honoure scholde thilke ymage:
          So that withinne time it fell,
          Of Belus cam the name of Bel,
          Of Bel cam Belzebub, and so
          The misbelieve wente tho.
          The thridde ymage next to this
          Was, whan the king of Grece Apis   1560
          Was ded, thei maden a figure
          In resemblance of his stature.
          Of this king Apis seith the bok
          That Serapis his name tok,
          In whom thurgh long continuance
          Of misbelieve a gret creance
          Thei hadden, and the reverence
          Of Sacrifice and of encence
          To him thei made: and as thei telle,
          Among the wondres that befelle,    1570
          Whan Alisandre fro Candace
          Cam ridende, in a wilde place
          Undur an hull a Cave he fond;
          And Candalus, which in that lond
          Was bore, and was Candaces Sone,
          Him tolde hou that of commun wone
          The goddes were in thilke cave.
          And he, that wolde assaie and have
          A knowlechinge if it be soth,
          Liht of his hors and in he goth,   1580
          And fond therinne that he soghte:
          For thurgh the fendes sleihte him thoghte,
          Amonges othre goddes mo
          That Serapis spak to him tho,
          Whom he sih there in gret arrai.
          And thus the fend fro dai to dai
          The worschipe of ydolatrie
          Drowh forth upon the fantasie
          Of hem that weren thanne blinde
          And couthen noght the trouthe finde.  1590
          Thus hast thou herd in what degre
          Of Grece, Egipte and of Caldee
          The misbelieves whilom stode;
          And hou so that thei be noght goode
          Ne trewe, yit thei sprungen oute,
          Wherof the wyde world aboute
          His part of misbelieve tok.
          Til so befell, as seith the bok,
          That god a poeple for himselve
          Hath chose of the lignages tuelve,    1600
          Wherof the sothe redely,
          As it is write in Genesi,
          I thenke telle in such a wise
          That it schal be to thin apprise.
          After the flod, fro which Noe5
          Was sauf, the world in his degre
          Was mad, as who seith, newe ayein,
          Of flour, of fruit, of gras, of grein,
          Of beste, of bridd and of mankinde,
          Which evere hath be to god unkinde:   1610
          For noght withstondende al the fare,
          Of that this world was mad so bare
          And afterward it was restored,
          Among the men was nothing mored
          Towardes god of good lyvynge,
          Bot al was torned to likinge
          After the fleissh, so that foryete
          Was he which yaf hem lif and mete,
          Of hevene and Erthe creatour.
          And thus cam forth the grete errour,  1620
          That thei the hihe god ne knewe,
          Bot maden othre goddes newe,
          As thou hast herd me seid tofore:
          Ther was noman that time bore,
          That he ne hadde after his chois
          A god, to whom he yaf his vois.
          Wherof the misbelieve cam
          Into the time of Habraham:
          Bot he fond out the rihte weie,
          Hou only that men scholde obeie    1630
          The hihe god, which weldeth al,
          And evere hath don and evere schal,
          In hevene, in Erthe and ek in helle;
          Ther is no tunge his miht mai telle.
          This Patriarch to his lignage
          Forbad, that thei to non ymage
          Encline scholde in none wise,
          Bot here offrende and sacrifise
          With al the hole hertes love
          Unto the mihti god above  1640
          Thei scholden yive and to no mo:
          And thus in thilke time tho
          Began the Secte upon this Erthe,
          Which of believes was the ferthe.
          Of rihtwisnesse it was conceived,
          So moste it nedes be received
          Of him that alle riht is inne,
          The hihe god, which wolde winne
          A poeple unto his oghne feith.
          On Habraham the ground he leith,   1650
          And made him forto multeplie
          Into so gret a progenie,
          That thei Egipte al overspradde.
          Bot Pharao with wrong hem ladde
          In servitute ayein the pes,
          Til god let sende Moi5ses
          To make the deliverance;
          And for his poeple gret vengance
          He tok, which is to hiere a wonder.
          The king was slain, the lond put under,  1660
          God bad the rede See divide,
          Which stod upriht on either side
          And yaf unto his poeple a weie,
          That thei on fote it passe dreie
          And gon so forth into desert:
          Wher forto kepe hem in covert,
          The daies, whan the Sonne brente,
          A large cloude hem overwente,
          And forto wissen hem be nyhte,
          A firy Piler hem alyhte.  1670
          And whan that thei for hunger pleigne,
          The myhti god began to reyne
          Manna fro hevene doun to grounde,
          Wherof that ech of hem hath founde
          His fode, such riht as him liste;
          And for thei scholde upon him triste,
          Riht as who sette a tonne abroche,
          He percede the harde roche,
          And sprong out water al at wille,
          That man and beste hath drunke his fille:   1680
          And afterward he yaf the lawe
          To Moi5ses, that hem withdrawe
          Thei scholden noght fro that he bad.
          And in this wise thei be lad,
          Til thei toke in possession
          The londes of promission,
          Wher that Caleph and Josue5
          The Marches upon such degre
          Departen, after the lignage
          That ech of hem as Heritage  1690
          His porpartie hath underfonge.
          And thus stod this believe longe,
          Which of prophetes was governed;
          And thei hadde ek the poeple lerned
          Of gret honour that scholde hem falle;
          Bot ate moste nede of alle
          Thei faileden, whan Crist was bore.
          Bot hou that thei here feith have bore,
          It nedeth noght to tellen al,
          The matiere is so general:   1700
          Whan Lucifer was best in hevene
          And oghte moste have stonde in evene,
          Towardes god he tok debat;
          And for that he was obstinat,
          And wolde noght to trouthe encline,
          He fell for evere into ruine:
          And Adam ek in Paradis,
          Whan he stod most in al his pris
          After thastat of Innocence,
          Ayein the god brak his defence  1710
          And fell out of his place aweie:
          And riht be such a maner weie
          The Jwes in here beste plit,
          Whan that thei scholden most parfit
          Have stonde upon the prophecie,
          Tho fellen thei to most folie,
          And him which was fro hevene come,
          And of a Maide his fleissh hath nome,
          And was among hem bore and fedd,
          As men that wolden noght be spedd  1720
          Of goddes Sone, with o vois
          Thei hinge and slowhe upon the crois.
          Wherof the parfit of here lawe
          Fro thanne forth hem was withdrawe,
          So that thei stonde of no merit,
          Bot in truage as folk soubgit
          Withoute proprete of place
          Thei liven out of goddes grace,
          Dispers in alle londes oute.
          And thus the feith is come aboute,    1730
          That whilom in the Jewes stod,
          Which is noght parfihtliche good.
          To speke as it is nou befalle,
          Ther is a feith aboven alle,
          In which the trouthe is comprehended,
          Wherof that we ben alle amended.
          The hihe almyhti majeste,
          Of rihtwisnesse and of pite,
          The Sinne which that Adam wroghte,
          Whan he sih time, ayein he boghte,    1740
          And sende his Sone fro the hevene
          To sette mannes Soule in evene,
          Which thanne was so sore falle
          Upon the point which was befalle,
          That he ne mihte himself arise.
          Gregoire seith in his aprise,
          It helpeth noght a man be bore,
          If goddes Sone were unbore;
          For thanne thurgh the ferste Sinne,
          Which Adam whilom broghte ous inne,   1750
          Ther scholden alle men be lost;
          Bot Crist restoreth thilke lost,
          And boghte it with his fleissh and blod.
          And if we thenken hou it stod
          Of thilke rancoun which he payde,
          As seint Gregoire it wrot and sayde,
          Al was behovely to the man:
          For that wherof his wo began
          Was after cause of al his welthe,
          Whan he which is the welle of helthe,    1760
          The hihe creatour of lif,
          Upon the nede of such a strif
          So wolde for his creature
          Take on himself the forsfaiture
          And soffre for the mannes sake.
          Thus mai no reson wel forsake
          That thilke Senne original
          Ne was the cause in special
          Of mannes worschipe ate laste,
          Which schal withouten ende laste.  1770
          For be that cause the godhede
          Assembled was to the manhede
          In the virgine, where he nom
          Oure fleissh and verai man becom
          Of bodely fraternite;
          Wherof the man in his degre
          Stant more worth, as I have told,
          Than he stod erst be manyfold,
          Thurgh baptesme of the newe lawe,
          Of which Crist lord is and felawe.    1780
          And thus the hihe goddes myht,
          Which was in the virgine alyht,
          The mannes Soule hath reconsiled,
          Which hadde longe ben exiled.
          So stant the feith upon believe,
          Withoute which mai non achieve
          To gete him Paradis ayein:
          Bot this believe is so certein,
          So full of grace and of vertu,
          That what man clepeth to Jhesu  1790
          In clene lif forthwith good dede,
          He mai noght faile of hevene mede,
          Which taken hath the rihte feith;
          For elles, as the gospel seith,
          Salvacion ther mai be non.
          And forto preche therupon
          Crist bad to hise Apostles alle,
          The whos pouer as nou is falle
          On ous that ben of holi cherche,
          If we the goode dedes werche;   1800
          For feith only sufficeth noght,
          Bot if good dede also be wroght.
          Now were it good that thou forthi,
          Which thurgh baptesme proprely
          Art unto Cristes feith professed,
          Be war that thou be noght oppressed
          With Anticristes lollardie.
          For as the Jwes prophecie
          Was set of god for avantage,
          Riht so this newe tapinage   1810
          Of lollardie goth aboute
          To sette Cristes feith in doute.
          The seintz that weren ous tofore,
          Be whom the feith was ferst upbore,
          That holi cherche stod relieved,
          Thei oghten betre be believed
          Than these, whiche that men knowe
          Noght holy, thogh thei feigne and blowe
          Here lollardie in mennes Ere.
          Bot if thou wolt live out of fere,    1820
          Such newe lore, I rede, eschuie,
          And hold forth riht the weie and suie,
          As thine Ancestres dede er this:
          So schalt thou noght believe amis.
          Crist wroghte ferst and after tawhte,
          So that the dede his word arawhte;
          He yaf ensample in his persone,
          And we the wordes have al one,
          Lich to the Tree with leves grene,
          Upon the which no fruit is sene.   1830
          The Priest Thoas, which of Minerve
          The temple hadde forto serve,
          And the Palladion of Troie
          Kepte under keie, for monoie,
          Of Anthenor which he hath nome,
          Hath soffred Anthenor to come
          And the Palladion to stele,
          Wherof the worschipe and the wele
          Of the Troiens was overthrowe.
          Bot Thoas at the same throwe,   1840
          Whan Anthenor this Juel tok,
          Wynkende caste awei his lok
          For a deceipte and for a wyle:
          As he that scholde himself beguile,
          He hidde his yhen fro the sihte,
          And wende wel that he so mihte
          Excuse his false conscience.
          I wot noght if thilke evidence
          Nou at this time in here estatz
          Excuse mihte the Prelatz,    1850
          Knowende hou that the feith discresceth
          And alle moral vertu cesseth,
          Wherof that thei the keies bere,
          Bot yit hem liketh noght to stere
          Here gostliche yhe forto se
          The world in his adversite;
          Thei wol no labour undertake
          To kepe that hem is betake.
          Crist deide himselve for the feith,
          Bot nou our feerfull prelat seith,    1860
          "The lif is suete," and that he kepeth,
          So that the feith unholpe slepeth,
          And thei unto here ese entenden
          And in here lust her lif despenden,
          And every man do what him list.
          Thus stant this world fulfild of Mist,
          That noman seth the rihte weie:
          The wardes of the cherche keie
          Thurgh mishandlinge ben myswreynt,
          The worldes wawe hath welnyh dreynt   1870
          The Schip which Peter hath to stiere,
          The forme is kept, bot the matiere
          Transformed is in other wise.
          Bot if thei weren gostli wise,
          And that the Prelatz weren goode,
          As thei be olde daies stode,
          It were thanne litel nede
          Among the men to taken hiede
          Of that thei hieren Pseudo telle,
          Which nou is come forto duelle,    1880
          To sowe cokkel with the corn,
          So that the tilthe is nyh forlorn,
          Which Crist sew ferst his oghne hond.
          Nou stant the cockel in the lond,
          Wher stod whilom the goode grein,
          For the Prelatz nou, as men sein,
          Forslowthen that thei scholden tile.
          And that I trowe be the skile,
          Whan ther is lacke in hem above,
          The poeple is stranged to the love    1890
          Of trouthe, in cause of ignorance;
          For wher ther is no pourveance
          Of liht, men erren in the derke.
          Bot if the Prelatz wolden werke
          Upon the feith which thei ous teche,
          Men scholden noght here weie seche
          Withoute liht, as now is used:
          Men se the charge aldai refused,
          Which holi cherche hath undertake.
          Bot who that wolde ensample take,  1900
          Gregoire upon his Omelie
          Ayein the Slouthe of Prelacie
          Compleigneth him, and thus he seith:
          "Whan Peter, fader of the feith,
          At domesdai schal with him bringe
          Judeam, which thurgh his prechinge
          He wan, and Andrew with Achaie
          Schal come his dette forto paie,
          And Thomas ek with his beyete
          Of Ynde, and Poul the routes grete    1910
          Of sondri londes schal presente,
          And we fulfild of lond and rente,
          Which of this world we holden hiere,
          With voide handes schul appiere,
          Touchende oure cure spirital,
          Which is our charge in special,
          I not what thing it mai amonte
          Upon thilke ende of oure accompte,
          Wher Crist himself is Auditour,
          Which takth non hiede of vein honour."   1920
          Thoffice of the Chancellerie
          Or of the kinges Tresorie
          Ne for the writ ne for the taille
          To warant mai noght thanne availe;
          The world, which nou so wel we trowe,
          Schal make ous thanne bot a mowe:
          So passe we withoute mede,
          That we non otherwise spede,
          Bot as we rede that he spedde,
          The which his lordes besant hedde  1930
          And therupon gat non encress.
          Bot at this time natheles,
          What other man his thonk deserve,
          The world so lusti is to serve,
          That we with him ben all acorded,
          And that is wist and wel recorded
          Thurghout this Erthe in alle londes
          Let knyhtes winne with here hondes,
          For oure tunge schal be stille
          And stonde upon the fleisshes wille.  1940
          It were a travail forto preche
          The feith of Crist, as forto teche
          The folk Paiene, it wol noght be;
          Bot every Prelat holde his See
          With al such ese as he mai gete
          Of lusti drinke and lusti mete,
          Wherof the bodi fat and full
          Is unto gostli labour dull
          And slowh to handle thilke plowh.
          Bot elles we ben swifte ynowh   1950
          Toward the worldes Avarice;
          And that is as a sacrifice,
          Which, after that thapostel seith,
          Is openly ayein the feith
          Unto thidoles yove and granted:
          Bot natheles it is nou haunted,
          And vertu changed into vice,
          So that largesce is Avarice,
          In whos chapitre now we trete.
          Mi fader, this matiere is bete  1960
          So fer, that evere whil I live
          I schal the betre hede yive
          Unto miself be many weie:
          Bot over this nou wolde I preie
          To wite what the branches are
          Of Avarice, and hou thei fare
          Als wel in love as otherwise.
          Mi Sone, and I thee schal devise
          In such a manere as thei stonde,
          So that thou schalt hem understonde.          1970
          Dame Avarice is noght soleine,
          Which is of gold the Capiteine;
          Bot of hir Court in sondri wise
          After the Scole of hire aprise
          Sche hath of Servantz manyon,
          Wherof that Covoitise is on;
          Which goth the large world aboute,
          To seche thavantages oute,
          Wher that he mai the profit winne
          To Avarice, and bringth it inne.   1980
          That on hald and that other draweth,
          Ther is no day which hem bedaweth,
          No mor the Sonne than the Mone,
          Whan ther is eny thing to done,
          And namely with Covoitise;
          For he stant out of al assisse
          Of resonable mannes fare.
          Wher he pourposeth him to fare
          Upon his lucre and his beyete,
          The smale path, the large Strete,  1990
          The furlong and the longe Mile,
          Al is bot on for thilke while:
          And for that he is such on holde,
          Dame Avarice him hath withholde,
          As he which is the principal
          Outward, for he is overal
          A pourveour and an aspie.
          For riht as of an hungri Pie
          The storve bestes ben awaited,
          Riht so is Covoitise afaited    2000
          To loke where he mai pourchace,
          For be his wille he wolde embrace
          Al that this wyde world beclippeth;
          Bot evere he somwhat overhippeth,
          That he ne mai noght al fulfille
          The lustes of his gredi wille.
          Bot where it falleth in a lond,
          That Covoitise in myhti hond
          Is set, it is ful hard to fiede;
          For thanne he takth non other hiede,  2010
          Bot that he mai pourchace and gete,
          His conscience hath al foryete,
          And not what thing it mai amonte
          That he schal afterward acompte.
          Bote as the Luce in his degre
          Of tho that lasse ben than he
          The fisshes griedeli devoureth,
          So that no water hem socoureth,
          Riht so no lawe mai rescowe
          Fro him that wol no riht allowe;   2020
          For wher that such on is of myht,
          His will schal stonde in stede of riht.
          Thus be the men destruid fulofte,
          Til that the grete god alofte
          Ayein so gret a covoitise
          Redresce it in his oghne wise:
          And in ensample of alle tho
          I finde a tale write so,
          The which, for it is good to liere,
          Hierafterward thou schalt it hiere.   2030
          Whan Rome stod in noble plit,
          Virgile, which was tho parfit,
          A Mirour made of his clergie
          And sette it in the tounes ije
          Of marbre on a piler withoute;
          That thei be thritty Mile aboute
          Be daie and ek also be nyhte
          In that Mirour beholde myhte
          Here enemys, if eny were,
          With al here ordinance there,   2040
          Which thei ayein the Cite caste:
          So that, whil thilke Mirour laste,
          Ther was no lond which mihte achieve
          With werre Rome forto grieve;
          Wherof was gret envie tho.
          And fell that ilke time so,
          That Rome hadde werres stronge
          Ayein Cartage, and stoden longe
          The tuo Cites upon debat.
          Cartage sih the stronge astat   2050
          Of Rome in thilke Mirour stonde,
          And thoghte al prively to fonde
          To overthrowe it be som wyle.
          And Hanybal was thilke while
          The Prince and ledere of Cartage,
          Which hadde set al his corage
          Upon knihthod in such a wise,
          That he be worthi and be wise
          And be non othre was conseiled,
          Wherof the world is yit merveiled  2060
          Of the maistries that he wroghte
          Upon the marches whiche he soghte.
          And fell in thilke time also,
          The king of Puile, which was tho,
          Thoghte ayein Rome to rebelle,
          And thus was take the querele,
          Hou to destruie this Mirour.
          Of Rome tho was Emperour
          Crassus, which was so coveitous,
          That he was evere desirous   2070
          Of gold to gete the pilage;
          Wherof that Puile and ek Cartage
          With Philosophres wise and grete
          Begunne of this matiere trete,
          And ate laste in this degre
          Ther weren Philosophres thre,
          To do this thing whiche undertoke,
          And therupon thei with hem toke
          A gret tresor of gold in cophres,
          To Rome and thus these philisophres   2080
          Togedre in compainie wente,
          Bot noman wiste what thei mente.
          Whan thei to Rome come were,
          So prively thei duelte there,
          As thei that thoghten to deceive:
          Was non that mihte of hem perceive,
          Til thei in sondri stedes have
          Here gold under the ground begrave
          In tuo tresors, that to beholde
          Thei scholden seme as thei were olde.    2090
          And so forth thanne upon a day
          Al openly in good arai
          To themperour thei hem presente,
          And tolden it was here entente
          To duellen under his servise.
          And he hem axeth in what wise;
          And thei him tolde in such a plit,
          That ech of hem hadde a spirit,
          The which slepende a nyht appiereth
          And hem be sondri dremes lereth    2100
          After the world that hath betid.
          Under the ground if oght be hid
          Of old tresor at eny throwe,
          They schull it in here swevenes knowe;
          And upon this condicioun,
          Thei sein, what gold under the toun
          Of Rome is hid, thei wole it finde,
          Ther scholde noght be left behinde,
          Be so that he the halvendel
          Hem grante, and he assenteth wel;  2110
          And thus cam sleighte forto duelle
          With Covoitise, as I thee telle.
          This Emperour bad redily
          That thei be logged faste by
          Where he his oghne body lay;
          And whan it was amorwe day,
          That on of hem seith that he mette
          Wher he a goldhord scholde fette:
          Wherof this Emperour was glad,
          And therupon anon he bad  2120
          His Mynours forto go and myne,
          And he himself of that covine
          Goth forth withal, and at his hond
          The tresor redi there he fond,
          Where as thei seide it scholde be;
          And who was thanne glad bot he?
          Upon that other dai secounde
          Thei have an other goldhord founde,
          Which the seconde maister tok
          Upon his swevene and undertok.  2130
          And thus the sothe experience
          To themperour yaf such credence,
          That al his trist and al his feith
          So sikerliche on hem he leith,
          Of that he fond him so relieved,
          That thei ben parfitli believed,
          As thogh thei were goddes thre.
          Nou herkne the soutilete.
          The thridde maister scholde mete,
          Which, as thei seiden, was unmete  2140
          Above hem alle, and couthe most;
          And he withoute noise or bost
          Al priveli, so as he wolde,
          Upon the morwe his swevene tolde
          To themperour riht in his Ere,
          And seide him that he wiste where
          A tresor was so plentivous
          Of gold and ek so precious
          Of jeueals and of riche stones,
          That unto alle hise hors at ones   2150
          It were a charge sufficant.
          This lord upon this covenant
          Was glad, and axeth where it was.
          The maister seide, under the glas,
          And tolde him eke, as for the Myn
          He wolde ordeigne such engin,
          That thei the werk schull undersette
          With Tymber, that withoute lette
          Men mai the tresor saufli delve,
          So that the Mirour be himselve  2160
          Withoute empeirement schal stonde:
          And this the maister upon honde
          Hath undertake in alle weie.
          This lord, which hadde his wit aweie
          And was with Covoitise blent,
          Anon therto yaf his assent;
          And thus they myne forth withal,
          The timber set up overal,
          Wherof the Piler stod upriht;
          Til it befell upon a nyht    2170
          These clerkes, whan thei were war
          Hou that the timber only bar
          The Piler, wher the Mirour stod,-
          Here sleihte noman understod,-
          Thei go be nyhte unto the Myne
          With pich, with soulphre and with rosine,
          And whan the Cite was a slepe,
          A wylde fyr into the depe
          They caste among the timberwerk,
          And so forth, whil the nyht was derk,    2180
          Desguised in a povere arai
          Thei passeden the toun er dai.
          And whan thei come upon an hell,
          Thei sihen how the Mirour fell,
          Wherof thei maden joie ynowh,
          And ech of hem with other lowh,
          And seiden, "Lo, what coveitise
          Mai do with hem that be noght wise!"
          And that was proved afterward,
          For every lond, to Romeward  2190
          Which hadde be soubgit tofore,
          Whan this Mirour was so forlore
          And thei the wonder herde seie,
          Anon begunne desobeie
          With werres upon every side;
          And thus hath Rome lost his pride
          And was defouled overal.
          For this I finde of Hanybal,
          That he of Romeins in a dai,
          Whan he hem fond out of arai,   2200
          So gret a multitude slowh,
          That of goldringes, whiche he drowh
          Of gentil handes that ben dede,
          Buisshelles fulle thre, I rede,
          He felde, and made a bregge also,
          That he mihte over Tibre go
          Upon the corps that dede were
          Of the Romeins, whiche he slowh there.
          Bot now to speke of the juise,
          The which after the covoitise   2210
          Was take upon this Emperour,
          For he destruide the Mirour;
          It is a wonder forto hiere.
          The Romeins maden a chaiere
          And sette here Emperour therinne,
          And seiden, for he wolde winne
          Of gold the superfluite,
          Of gold he scholde such plente
          Receive, til he seide Ho:
          And with gold, which thei hadden tho  2220
          Buillende hot withinne a panne,
          Into his Mouth thei poure thanne.
          And thus the thurst of gold was queynt,
          With gold which hadde ben atteignt.
          Wherof, mi Sone, thou miht hiere,
          Whan Covoitise hath lost the stiere
          Of resonable governance,
          Ther falleth ofte gret vengance.
          For ther mai be no worse thing
          Than Covoitise aboute a king:   2230
          If it in his persone be,
          It doth the more adversite;
          And if it in his conseil stonde,
          It bringth alday meschief to honde
          Of commun harm; and if it growe
          Withinne his court, it wol be knowe,
          For thanne schal the king be piled.
          The man which hath hise londes tiled,
          Awaiteth noght more redily
          The Hervest, than thei gredily  2240
          Ne maken thanne warde and wacche,
          Wher thei the profit mihten cacche:
          And yit fulofte it falleth so,
          As men mai sen among hem tho,
          That he which most coveiteth faste
          Hath lest avantage ate laste.
          For whan fortune is therayein,
          Thogh he coveite, it is in vein;
          The happes be noght alle liche,
          On is mad povere, an other riche,  2250
          The court to some doth profit,
          And some ben evere in o plit;
          And yit thei bothe aliche sore
          Coveite, bot fortune is more
          Unto that o part favorable.
          And thogh it be noght resonable,
          This thing a man mai sen alday,
          Wherof that I thee telle may
          A fair ensample in remembrance,
          Hou every man mot take his chance  2260
          Or of richesse or of poverte.
          Hou so it stonde of the decerte,
          Hier is noght every thing aquit,
          For ofte a man mai se this yit,
          That who best doth, lest thonk schal have;
          It helpeth noght the world to crave,
          Which out of reule and of mesure
          Hath evere stonde in aventure
          Als wel in Court as elles where:
          And hou in olde daies there  2270
          It stod, so as the thinges felle,
          I thenke a tale forto telle.
          In a Cronique this I rede.
          Aboute a king, as moste nede,
          Ther was of knyhtes and squiers
          Gret route, and ek of Officers:
          Some of long time him hadden served,
          And thoghten that thei have deserved
          Avancement, and gon withoute;
          And some also ben of the route  2280
          That comen bot a while agon,
          And thei avanced were anon.
          These olde men upon this thing,
          So as thei dorste, ayein the king
          Among hemself compleignen ofte:
          Bot ther is nothing seid so softe,
          That it ne comth out ate laste;
          The king it wiste, and als so faste,
          As he which was of hih Prudence,
          He schop therfore an evidence   2290
          Of hem that pleignen in that cas,
          To knowe in whos defalte it was.
          And al withinne his oghne entente,
          That noman wiste what it mente,
          Anon he let tuo cofres make
          Of o semblance and of o make,
          So lich that no lif thilke throwe
          That on mai fro that other knowe:
          Thei were into his chambre broght,
          Bot noman wot why thei be wroght,  2300
          And natheles the king hath bede
          That thei be set in prive stede.
          As he that was of wisdom slih,
          Whan he therto his time sih,
          Al prively, that non it wiste,
          Hise oghne hondes that o kiste
          Of fin gold and of fin perrie,
          The which out of his tresorie
          Was take, anon he felde full;
          That other cofre of straw and mull    2310
          With Stones meind he felde also.
          Thus be thei fulle bothe tuo,
          So that erliche upon a day
          He bad withinne, ther he lay,
          Ther scholde be tofore his bed
          A bord upset and faire spred;
          And thanne he let the cofres fette,
          Upon the bord and dede hem sette.
          He knew the names wel of tho,
          The whiche ayein him grucche so,   2320
          Bothe of his chambre and of his halle,
          Anon and sende for hem alle,
          And seide to hem in this wise:
          "Ther schal noman his happ despise;
          I wot wel ye have longe served,
          And god wot what ye have deserved:
          Bot if it is along on me
          Of that ye unavanced be,
          Or elles it be long on you,
          The sothe schal be proved nou,  2330
          To stoppe with youre evele word.
          Lo hier tuo cofres on the bord:
          Ches which you list of bothe tuo;
          And witeth wel that on of tho
          Is with tresor so full begon,
          That if ye happe therupon,
          Ye schull be riche men for evere.
          Now ches and tak which you is levere:
          Bot be wel war, er that ye take;
          For of that on I undertake   2340
          Ther is no maner good therinne,
          Wherof ye mihten profit winne.
          Now goth togedre of on assent
          And taketh youre avisement,
          For bot I you this dai avance,
          It stant upon youre oghne chance
          Al only in defalte of grace:
          So schal be schewed in this place
          Upon you alle wel afyn,
          That no defalte schal be myn."  2350
          Thei knelen alle and with o vois
          The king thei thonken of this chois:
          And after that thei up arise,
          And gon aside and hem avise,
          And ate laste thei acorde;
          Wherof her tale to recorde,
          To what issue thei be falle,
          A kniht schal speke for hem alle.
          He kneleth doun unto the king,
          And seith that thei upon this thing,  2360
          Or forto winne or forto lese,
          Ben alle avised forto chese.
          Tho tok this kniht a yerde on honde,
          And goth there as the cofres stonde,
          And with assent of everichon
          He leith his yerde upon that on,
          And seith the king hou thilke same
          Thei chese in reguerdoun be name,
          And preith him that thei mote it have.
          The king, which wolde his honour save,   2370
          Whan he hath herd the commun vois,
          Hath granted hem here oghne chois
          And tok hem therupon the keie.
          Bot for he wolde it were seie
          What good thei have, as thei suppose,
          He bad anon the cofre unclose,
          Which was fulfild with straw and stones:
          Thus be thei served al at ones.
          This king thanne in the same stede
          Anon that other cofre undede,   2380
          Where as thei sihen gret richesse,
          Wel more than thei couthen gesse.
          "Lo," seith the king, "nou mai ye se
          That ther is no defalte in me;
          Forthi miself I wole aquyte,
          And bereth ye youre oghne wyte
          Of that fortune hath you refused."
          Thus was this wise king excused,
          And thei lefte of here evele speche
          And mercy of here king beseche.    2390
          Somdiel to this matiere lik
          I finde a tale, hou Frederik,
          Of Rome that time Emperour,
          Herde, as he wente, a gret clamour
          Of tuo beggers upon the weie.
          That on of hem began to seie,
          "Ha lord, wel mai the man be riche
          Whom that a king list forto riche."
          That other saide nothing so,
          Bot, "He is riche and wel bego,    2400
          To whom that god wole sende wele."
          And thus thei maden wordes fele,
          Wherof this lord hath hiede nome,
          And dede hem bothe forto come
          To the Paleis, wher he schal ete,
          And bad ordeine for here mete
          Tuo Pastes, whiche he let do make.
          A capoun in that on was bake,
          And in that other forto winne
          Of florins al that mai withinne    2410
          He let do pute a gret richesse;
          And evene aliche, as man mai gesse,
          Outward thei were bothe tuo.
          This begger was comanded tho,
          He that which hield him to the king,
          That he ferst chese upon this thing:
          He sih hem, bot he felte hem noght,
          So that upon his oghne thoght
          He ches the Capoun and forsok
          That other, which his fela tok.    2420
          Bot whanne he wiste hou that it ferde,
          He seide alowd, that men it herde,
          "Nou have I certeinly conceived
          That he mai lihtly be deceived,
          That tristeth unto mannes helpe;
          Bot wel is him whom god wol helpe,
          For he stant on the siker side,
          Which elles scholde go beside:
          I se my fela wel recovere,
          And I mot duelle stille povere."   2430
          Thus spak this begger his entente,
          And povere he cam and povere he wente;
          Of that he hath richesse soght,
          His infortune it wolde noght.
          So mai it schewe in sondri wise,
          Betwen fortune and covoitise
          The chance is cast upon a Dee;
          Bot yit fulofte a man mai se
          Ynowe of suche natheles,
          Whiche evere pute hemself in press    2440
          To gete hem good, and yit thei faile.
          And forto speke of this entaile
          Touchende of love in thi matiere,
          Mi goode Sone, as thou miht hiere,
          That riht as it with tho men stod
          Of infortune of worldes good,
          As thou hast herd me telle above,
          Riht so fulofte it stant be love:
          Thogh thou coveite it everemore,
          Thou schalt noght have o diel the more,  2450
          Bot only that which thee is schape,
          The remenant is bot a jape.
          And natheles ynowe of tho
          Ther ben, that nou coveiten so,
          That where as thei a womman se,
          Ye ten or tuelve thogh ther be,
          The love is nou so unavised,
          That wher the beaute stant assised,
          The mannes herte anon is there,
          And rouneth tales in hire Ere,  2460
          And seith hou that he loveth streite,
          And thus he set him to coveite,
          An hundred thogh he sihe aday.
          So wolde he more thanne he may;
          Bot for the grete covoitise
          Of sotie and of fol emprise
          In ech of hem he fint somwhat
          That pleseth him, or this or that;
          Som on, for sche is whit of skin,
          Som on, for sche is noble of kin,  2470
          Som on, for sche hath rodi chieke,
          Som on, for that sche semeth mieke,
          Som on, for sche hath yhen greie,
          Som on, for sche can lawhe and pleie,
          Som on, for sche is long and smal,
          Som on, for sche is lyte and tall,
          Som on, for sche is pale and bleche,
          Som on, for sche is softe of speche,
          Som on, for that sche is camused,
          Som on, for sche hath noght ben used,        2480
          Som on, for sche can daunce and singe;
          So that som thing to his likinge
          He fint, and thogh nomore he fiele,
          Bot that sche hath a litel hiele,
          It is ynow that he therfore
          Hire love, and thus an hundred score,
          Whil thei be newe, he wolde he hadde;
          Whom he forsakth, sche schal be badde.
          The blinde man no colour demeth,
          But al is on, riht as him semeth;  2490
          So hath his lust no juggement,
          Whom covoitise of love blent.
          Him thenkth that to his covoitise
          Hou al the world ne mai suffise,
          For be his wille he wolde have alle,
          If that it mihte so befalle:
          Thus is he commun as the Strete,
          I sette noght of his beyete.
          Mi Sone, hast thou such covoitise?
          Nai, fader, such love I despise,   2500
          And whil I live schal don evere,
          For in good feith yit hadde I levere,
          Than to coveite in such a weie,
          To ben for evere til I deie
          As povere as Job, and loveles,
          Outaken on, for haveles
          His thonkes is noman alyve.
          For that a man scholde al unthryve
          Ther oghte no wisman coveite,
          The lawe was noght set so streite:    2510
          Forthi miself withal to save,
          Such on ther is I wolde have,
          And non of al these othre mo.
          Mi Sone, of that thou woldest so,
          I am noght wroth, bot over this
          I wol thee tellen hou it is.
          For ther be men, whiche otherwise,
          Riht only for the covoitise
          Of that thei sen a womman riche,
          Ther wol thei al here love affiche;   2520
          Noght for the beaute of hire face,
          Ne yit for vertu ne for grace,
          Which sche hath elles riht ynowh,
          Bot for the Park and for the plowh,
          And other thing which therto longeth:
          For in non other wise hem longeth
          To love, bot thei profit finde;
          And if the profit be behinde,
          Here love is evere lesse and lesse,
          For after that sche hath richesse,    2530
          Her love is of proporcion.
          If thou hast such condicion,
          Mi Sone, tell riht as it is.
          Min holi fader, nay ywiss,
          Condicion such have I non.
          For trewli, fader, I love oon
          So wel with al myn hertes thoght,
          That certes, thogh sche hadde noght,
          And were as povere as Medea,
          Which was exiled for Creusa,    2540
          I wolde hir noght the lasse love;
          Ne thogh sche were at hire above,
          As was the riche qwen Candace,
          Which to deserve love and grace
          To Alisandre, that was king,
          Yaf many a worthi riche thing,
          Or elles as Pantasilee,
          Which was the quen of Feminee,
          And gret richesse with hir nam,
          Whan sche for love of Hector cam   2550
          To Troie in rescousse of the toun,-
          I am of such condicion,
          That thogh mi ladi of hirselve
          Were also riche as suche tuelve,
          I couthe noght, thogh it wer so,
          No betre love hir than I do.
          For I love in so plein a wise,
          That forto speke of coveitise,
          As for poverte or for richesse
          Mi love is nouther mor ne lesse.   2560
          For in good feith I trowe this,
          So coveitous noman ther is,
          Forwhy and he mi ladi sihe,
          That he thurgh lokinge of his yhe
          Ne scholde have such a strok withinne,
          That for no gold he mihte winne
          He scholde noght hire love asterte,
          Bot if he lefte there his herte;
          Be so it were such a man,
          That couthe Skile of a womman.  2570
          For ther be men so ruide some,
          Whan thei among the wommen come,
          Thei gon under proteccioun,
          That love and his affeccioun
          Ne schal noght take hem be the slieve;
          For thei ben out of that believe,
          Hem lusteth of no ladi chiere,
          Bot evere thenken there and hiere
          Wher that here gold is in the cofre,
          And wol non other love profre:  2580
          Bot who so wot what love amounteth
          And be resoun trewliche acompteth,
          Than mai he knowe and taken hiede
          That al the lust of wommanhiede,
          Which mai ben in a ladi face,
          Mi ladi hath, and ek of grace
          If men schull yiven hire a pris,
          Thei mai wel seie hou sche is wys
          And sobre and simple of contenance,
          And al that to good governance  2590
          Belongeth of a worthi wiht
          Sche hath pleinli: for thilke nyht
          That sche was bore, as for the nones
          Nature sette in hire at ones
          Beaute with bounte so besein,
          That I mai wel afferme and sein,
          I sawh yit nevere creature
          Of comlihied and of feture
          In eny kinges regioun
          Be lich hire in comparisoun:    2600
          And therto, as I have you told,
          Yit hath sche more a thousendfold
          Of bounte, and schortli to telle,
          Sche is the pure hed and welle
          And Mirour and ensample of goode.
          Who so hir vertus understode,
          Me thenkth it oughte ynow suffise
          Withouten other covoitise
          To love such on and to serve,
          Which with hire chiere can deserve    2610
          To be beloved betre ywiss
          Than sche per cas that richest is
          And hath of gold a Milion.
          Such hath be myn opinion
          And evere schal: bot natheles
          I seie noght sche is haveles,
          That sche nys riche and wel at ese,
          And hath ynow wherwith to plese
          Of worldes good whom that hire liste;
          Bot o thing wolde I wel ye wiste,  2620
          That nevere for no worldes good
          Min herte untoward hire stod,
          Bot only riht for pure love;
          That wot the hihe god above.
          Nou, fader, what seie ye therto?
          Mi Sone, I seie it is wel do.
          For tak of this riht good believe,
          What man that wole himself relieve
          To love in eny other wise,
          He schal wel finde his coveitise   2630
          Schal sore grieve him ate laste,
          For such a love mai noght laste.
          Bot nou, men sein, in oure daies
          Men maken bot a fewe assaies,
          Bot if the cause be richesse;
          Forthi the love is wel the lesse.
          And who that wolde ensamples telle,
          Be olde daies as thei felle,
          Than mihte a man wel understonde
          Such love mai noght longe stonde.  2640
          Now herkne, Sone, and thou schalt hiere
          A gret ensample of this matiere.
          To trete upon the cas of love,
          So as we tolden hiere above,
          I finde write a wonder thing.
          Of Puile whilom was a king,
          A man of hih complexioun
          And yong, bot his affeccioun
          After the nature of his age
          Was yit noght falle in his corage  2650
          The lust of wommen forto knowe.
          So it betidde upon a throwe
          This lord fell into gret seknesse:
          Phisique hath don the besinesse
          Of sondri cures manyon
          To make him hol; and therupon
          A worthi maister which ther was
          Yaf him conseil upon this cas,
          That if he wolde have parfit hele,
          He scholde with a womman dele,  2660
          A freissh, a yong, a lusti wiht,
          To don him compaignie a nyht:
          For thanne he seide him redily,
          That he schal be al hol therby,
          And otherwise he kneu no cure.
          This king, which stod in aventure
          Of lif and deth, for medicine
          Assented was, and of covine
          His Steward, whom he tristeth wel,
          He tok, and tolde him everydel,    2670
          Hou that this maister hadde seid:
          And therupon he hath him preid
          And charged upon his ligance,
          That he do make porveance
          Of such on as be covenable
          For his plesance and delitable;
          And bad him, hou that evere it stod,
          That he schal spare for no good,
          For his will is riht wel to paie.
          The Steward seide he wolde assaie:    2680
          Bot nou hierafter thou schalt wite,
          As I finde in the bokes write,
          What coveitise in love doth.
          This Steward, forto telle soth,
          Amonges al the men alyve
          A lusti ladi hath to wyve,
          Which natheles for gold he tok
          And noght for love, as seith the bok.
          A riche Marchant of the lond
          Hir fader was, and hire fond    2690
          So worthily, and such richesse
          Of worldes good and such largesse
          With hire he yaf in mariage,
          That only for thilke avantage
          Of good this Steward hath hire take,
          For lucre and noght for loves sake,
          And that was afterward wel seene;
          Nou herkne what it wolde meene.
          This Steward in his oghne herte
          Sih that his lord mai noght asterte   2700
          His maladie, bot he have
          A lusti womman him to save,
          And thoghte he wolde yive ynowh
          Of his tresor; wherof he drowh
          Gret coveitise into his mynde,
          And sette his honour fer behynde.
          Thus he, whom gold hath overset,
          Was trapped in his oghne net;
          The gold hath mad hise wittes lame,
          So that sechende his oghne schame  2710
          He rouneth in the kinges Ere,
          And seide him that he wiste where
          A gentile and a lusti on
          Tho was, and thider wolde he gon:
          Bot he mot yive yiftes grete;
          For bot it be thurgh grete beyete
          Of gold, he seith, he schal noght spede.
          The king him bad upon the nede
          That take an hundred pound he scholde,
          And yive it where that he wolde,   2720
          Be so it were in worthi place:
          And thus to stonde in loves grace
          This king his gold hath abandouned.
          And whan this tale was full rouned,
          The Steward tok the gold and wente,
          Withinne his herte and many a wente
          Of coveitise thanne he caste,
          Wherof a pourpos ate laste
          Ayein love and ayein his riht
          He tok, and seide hou thilke nyht  2730
          His wif schal ligge be the king;
          And goth thenkende upon this thing
          Toward his In, til he cam hom
          Into the chambre, and thanne he nom
          His wif, and tolde hire al the cas.
          And sche, which red for schame was,
          With bothe hire handes hath him preid
          Knelende and in this wise seid,
          That sche to reson and to skile
          In what thing that he bidde wile   2740
          Is redy forto don his heste,
          Bot this thing were noght honeste,
          That he for gold hire scholde selle.
          And he tho with hise wordes felle
          Forth with his gastly contienance
          Seith that sche schal don obeissance
          And folwe his will in every place;
          And thus thurgh strengthe of his manace
          Hir innocence is overlad,
          Wherof sche was so sore adrad   2750
          That sche his will mot nede obeie.
          And therupon was schape a weie,
          That he his oghne wif be nyhte
          Hath out of alle mennes sihte
          So prively that non it wiste
          Broght to the king, which as him liste
          Mai do with hire what he wolde.
          For whan sche was ther as sche scholde,
          With him abedde under the cloth,
          The Steward tok his leve and goth  2760
          Into a chambre faste by;
          Bot hou he slep, that wot noght I,
          For he sih cause of jelousie.
          Bot he, which hath the compainie
          Of such a lusti on as sche,
          Him thoghte that of his degre
          Ther was noman so wel at ese:
          Sche doth al that sche mai to plese,
          So that his herte al hol sche hadde;
          And thus this king his joie ladde,    2770
          Til it was nyh upon the day.
          The Steward thanne wher sche lay
          Cam to the bedd, and in his wise
          Hath bede that sche scholde arise.
          The king seith, "Nay, sche schal noght go."
          His Steward seide ayein, "Noght so;
          For sche mot gon er it be knowe,
          And so I swor at thilke throwe,
          Whan I hire fette to you hiere."
          The king his tale wol noght hiere,    2780
          And seith hou that he hath hire boght,
          Forthi sche schal departe noght,
          Til he the brighte dai beholde.
          And cawhte hire in hise armes folde,
          As he which liste forto pleie,
          And bad his Steward gon his weie,
          And so he dede ayein his wille.
          And thus his wif abedde stille
          Lay with the king the longe nyht,
          Til that it was hih Sonne lyht;    2790
          Bot who sche was he knew nothing.
          Tho cam the Steward to the king
          And preide him that withoute schame
          In savinge of hire goode name
          He myhte leden hom ayein
          This lady, and hath told him plein
          Hou that it was his oghne wif.
          The king his Ere unto this strif
          Hath leid, and whan that he it herde,
          Welnyh out of his wit he ferde,    2800
          And seide, "Ha, caitif most of alle,
          Wher was it evere er this befalle,
          That eny cokard in this wise
          Betok his wif for coveitise?
          Thou hast bothe hire and me beguiled
          And ek thin oghne astat reviled,
          Wherof that buxom unto thee
          Hierafter schal sche nevere be.
          For this avou to god I make,
          After this day if I thee take,  2810
          Thou schalt ben honged and todrawe.
          Nou loke anon thou be withdrawe,
          So that I se thee neveremore."
          This Steward thanne dradde him sore,
          With al the haste that he mai
          And fledde awei that same dai,
          And was exiled out of londe.
          Lo, there a nyce housebonde,
          Which thus hath lost his wif for evere!
          Bot natheles sche hadde a levere;  2820
          The king hire weddeth and honoureth,
          Wherof hire name sche socoureth,
          Which erst was lost thurgh coveitise
          Of him, that ladde hire other wise,
          And hath himself also forlore.
          Mi Sone, be thou war therfore,
          Wher thou schalt love in eny place,
          That thou no covoitise embrace,
          The which is noght of loves kinde.
          Bot for al that a man mai finde    2830
          Nou in this time of thilke rage
          Ful gret desese in mariage,
          Whan venym melleth with the Sucre
          And mariage is mad for lucre,
          Or for the lust or for the hele:
          What man that schal with outher dele,
          He mai noght faile to repente.
          Mi fader, such is myn entente:
          Bot natheles good is to have,
          For good mai ofte time save  2840
          The love which scholde elles spille.
          Bot god, which wot myn hertes wille,
          I dar wel take to witnesse,
          Yit was I nevere for richesse
          Beset with mariage non;
          For al myn herte is upon on
          So frely, that in the persone
          Stant al my worldes joie al one:
          I axe nouther Park ne Plowh,
          If I hire hadde, it were ynowh,    2850
          Hir love scholde me suffise
          Withouten other coveitise.
          Lo now, mi fader, as of this,
          Touchende of me riht as it is,
          Mi schrifte I am beknowe plein;
          And if ye wole oght elles sein,
          Of covoitise if ther be more
          In love, agropeth out the sore.
          Mi Sone, thou schalt understonde
          Hou Coveitise hath yit on honde    2860
          In special tuo conseilours,
          That ben also hise procurours.
          The ferst of hem is Falswitnesse,
          Which evere is redi to witnesse
          What thing his maister wol him hote:
          Perjurie is the secounde hote,
          Which spareth noght to swere an oth,
          Thogh it be fals and god be wroth.
          That on schal falswitnesse bere,
          That other schal the thing forswere,  2870
          Whan he is charged on the bok.
          So what with hepe and what with crok
          Thei make here maister ofte winne
          And wol noght knowe what is sinne
          For coveitise, and thus, men sain,
          Thei maken many a fals bargain.
          Ther mai no trewe querele arise
          In thilke queste and thilke assise,
          Where as thei tuo the poeple enforme;
          For thei kepe evere o maner forme,    2880
          That upon gold here conscience
          Thei founde, and take here evidence;
          And thus with falswitnesse and othes
          Thei winne hem mete and drinke and clothes.
          Riht so ther be, who that hem knewe,
          Of thes lovers ful many untrewe:
          Nou mai a womman finde ynowe,
          That ech of hem, whan he schal wowe,
          Anon he wole his hand doun lein
          Upon a bok, and swere and sein  2890
          That he wole feith and trouthe bere;
          And thus he profreth him to swere
          To serven evere til he die,
          And al is verai tricherie.
          For whan the sothe himselven trieth,
          The more he swerth, the more he lieth;
          Whan he his feith makth althermest,
          Than mai a womman truste him lest;
          For til he mai his will achieve,
          He is no lengere forto lieve.   2900
          Thus is the trouthe of love exiled,
          And many a good womman beguiled.
          And ek to speke of Falswitnesse,
          There be nou many suche, I gesse,
          That lich unto the provisours
          Thei make here prive procurours,
          To telle hou ther is such a man,
          Which is worthi to love and can
          Al that a good man scholde kunne;
          So that with lesinge is begunne    2910
          The cause in which thei wole procede,
          And also siker as the crede
          Thei make of that thei knowen fals.
          And thus fulofte aboute the hals
          Love is of false men embraced;
          Bot love which is so pourchaced
          Comth afterward to litel pris.
          Forthi, mi Sone, if thou be wis,
          Nou thou hast herd this evidence,
          Thou miht thin oghne conscience    2920
          Oppose, if thou hast ben such on.
          Nai, god wot, fader I am non,
          Ne nevere was; for as men seith,
          Whan that a man schal make his feith,
          His herte and tunge moste acorde;
          For if so be that thei discorde,
          Thanne is he fals and elles noght:
          And I dar seie, as of my thoght,
          In love it is noght descordable
          Unto mi word, bot acordable.    2930
          And in this wise, fader, I
          Mai riht wel swere and salvely,
          That I mi ladi love wel,
          For that acordeth everydel.
          It nedeth noght to mi sothsawe
          That I witnesse scholde drawe,
          Into this dai for nevere yit
          Ne mihte it sinke into mi wit,
          That I my conseil scholde seie
          To eny wiht, or me bewreie   2940
          To sechen help in such manere,
          Bot only of mi ladi diere.
          And thogh a thousend men it wiste,
          That I hire love, and thanne hem liste
          With me to swere and to witnesse,
          Yit were that no falswitnesse;
          For I dar on this trouthe duelle,
          I love hire mor than I can telle.
          Thus am I, fader, gulteles,
          As ye have herd, and natheles   2950
          In youre dom I put it al.
          Mi Sone, wite in special,
          It schal noght comunliche faile,
          Al thogh it for a time availe
          That Falswitnesse his cause spede,
          Upon the point of his falshiede
          It schal wel afterward be kid;
          Wherof, so as it is betid,
          Ensample of suche thinges blinde
          In a Cronique write I finde.    2960
          The Goddesse of the See Thetis,
          Sche hadde a Sone, and his name is
          Achilles, whom to kepe and warde,
          Whil he was yong, as into warde
          Sche thoghte him salfly to betake,
          As sche which dradde for his sake
          Of that was seid in prophecie,
          That he at Troie scholde die,
          Whan that the Cite was belein.
          Forthi, so as the bokes sein,   2970
          Sche caste hire wit in sondri wise,
          Hou sche him mihte so desguise
          That noman scholde his bodi knowe:
          And so befell that ilke throwe,
          Whil that sche thoghte upon this dede,
          Ther was a king, which Lichomede
          Was hote, and he was wel begon
          With faire dowhtres manyon,
          And duelte fer out in an yle.
          Nou schalt thou hiere a wonder wyle:  2980
          This queene, which the moder was
          Of Achilles, upon this cas
          Hire Sone, as he a Maiden were,
          Let clothen in the same gere
          Which longeth unto wommanhiede:
          And he was yong and tok non hiede,
          Bot soffreth al that sche him dede.
          Wherof sche hath hire wommen bede
          And charged be here othes alle,
          Hou so it afterward befalle,    2990
          That thei discovere noght this thing,
          Bot feigne and make a knowleching,
          Upon the conseil which was nome,
          In every place wher thei come
          To telle and to witnesse this,
          Hou he here ladi dowhter is.
          And riht in such a maner wise
          Sche bad thei scholde hire don servise,
          So that Achilles underfongeth
          As to a yong ladi belongeth  3000
          Honour, servise and reverence.
          For Thetis with gret diligence
          Him hath so tawht and so afaited,
          That, hou so that it were awaited,
          With sobre and goodli contenance
          He scholde his wommanhiede avance,
          That non the sothe knowe myhte,
          Bot that in every mannes syhte
          He scholde seme a pure Maide.
          And in such wise as sche him saide,   3010
          Achilles, which that ilke while
          Was yong, upon himself to smyle
          Began, whan he was so besein.
          And thus, after the bokes sein,
          With frette of Perle upon his hed,
          Al freissh betwen the whyt and red,
          As he which tho was tendre of Age,
          Stod the colour in his visage,
          That forto loke upon his cheke
          And sen his childly manere eke,    3020
          He was a womman to beholde.
          And thanne his moder to him tolde,
          That sche him hadde so begon
          Be cause that sche thoghte gon
          To Lichomede at thilke tyde,
          Wher that sche seide he scholde abyde
          Among hise dowhtres forto duelle.
          Achilles herde his moder telle,
          And wiste noght the cause why;
          And natheles ful buxomly  3030
          He was redy to that sche bad,
          Wherof his moder was riht glad,
          To Lichomede and forth thei wente.
          And whan the king knew hire entente,
          And sih this yonge dowhter there,
          And that it cam unto his Ere
          Of such record, of such witnesse,
          He hadde riht a gret gladnesse
          Of that he bothe syh and herde,
          As he that wot noght hou it ferde  3040
          Upon the conseil of the nede.
          Bot for al that king Lichomede
          Hath toward him this dowhter take,
          And for Thetis his moder sake
          He put hire into compainie
          To duelle with Dei5damie,
          His oghne dowhter, the eldeste,
          The faireste and the comelieste
          Of alle hise doghtres whiche he hadde.
          Lo, thus Thetis the cause ladde,   3050
          And lefte there Achilles feigned,
          As he which hath himself restreigned
          In al that evere he mai and can
          Out of the manere of a man,
          And tok his wommannysshe chiere,
          Wherof unto his beddefere
          Dei5damie he hath be nyhte.
          Wher kinde wole himselve rihte,
          After the Philosophres sein,
          Ther mai no wiht be therayein:  3060
          And that was thilke time seene.
          The longe nyhtes hem betuene
          Nature, which mai noght forbere,
          Hath mad hem bothe forto stere:
          Thei kessen ferst, and overmore
          The hihe weie of loves lore
          Thei gon, and al was don in dede,
          Wherof lost is the maydenhede;
          And that was afterward wel knowe.
          For it befell that ilke throwe  3070
          At Troie, wher the Siege lay
          Upon the cause of Menelay
          And of his queene dame Heleine,
          The Gregois hadden mochel peine
          Alday to fihte and to assaile.
          Bot for thei mihten noght availe
          So noble a Cite forto winne,
          A prive conseil thei beginne,
          In sondri wise wher thei trete;
          And ate laste among the grete   3080
          Thei fellen unto this acord,
          That Prothes, of his record
          Which was an Astronomien
          And ek a gret Magicien,
          Scholde of his calculacion
          Seche after constellacion,
          Hou thei the Cite mihten gete:
          And he, which hadde noght foryete
          Of that belongeth to a clerk,
          His studie sette upon this werk.   3090
          So longe his wit aboute he caste,
          Til that he fond out ate laste,
          Bot if they hadden Achilles
          Here werre schal ben endeles.
          And over that he tolde hem plein
          In what manere he was besein,
          And in what place he schal be founde;
          So that withinne a litel stounde
          Ulixes forth with Diomede
          Upon this point to Lichomede        3100
          Agamenon togedre sente.
          Bot Ulixes, er he forth wente,
          Which was on of the moste wise,
          Ordeigned hath in such a wise,
          That he the moste riche aray,
          Wherof a womman mai be gay,
          With him hath take manyfold,
          And overmore, as it is told,
          An harneis for a lusti kniht,
          Which burned was as Selver bryht,  3110
          Of swerd, of plate and ek of maile,
          As thogh he scholde to bataille,
          He tok also with him be Schipe.
          And thus togedre in felaschipe
          Forth gon this Diomede and he
          In hope til thei mihten se
          The place where Achilles is.
          The wynd stod thanne noght amis,
          Bot evene topseilcole it blew,
          Til Ulixes the Marche knew,  3120
          Wher Lichomede his Regne hadde.
          The Stieresman so wel hem ladde,
          That thei ben comen sauf to londe,
          Wher thei gon out upon the stronde
          Into the Burgh, wher that thei founde
          The king, and he which hath facounde,
          Ulixes, dede the message.
          Bot the conseil of his corage,
          Why that he cam, he tolde noght,
          Bot undernethe he was bethoght  3130
          In what manere he mihte aspie
          Achilles fro Dei5damie
          And fro these othre that ther were,
          Full many a lusti ladi there.
          Thei pleide hem there a day or tuo,
          And as it was fortuned so,
          It fell that time in such a wise,
          To Bachus that a sacrifise
          Thes yonge ladys scholden make;
          And for the strange mennes sake,   3140
          That comen fro the Siege of Troie,
          Thei maden wel the more joie.
          Ther was Revel, ther was daunsinge,
          And every lif which coude singe
          Of lusti wommen in the route
          A freissh carole hath sunge aboute;
          Bot for al this yit natheles
          The Greks unknowe of Achilles
          So weren, that in no degre
          Thei couden wite which was he,  3150
          Ne be his vois, ne be his pas.
          Ulixes thanne upon this cas
          A thing of hih Prudence hath wroght:
          For thilke aray, which he hath broght
          To yive among the wommen there,
          He let do fetten al the gere
          Forth with a knihtes harneis eke,-
          In al a contre forto seke
          Men scholden noght a fairer se,-
          And every thing in his degre    3160
          Endlong upon a bord he leide.
          To Lichomede and thanne he preide
          That every ladi chese scholde
          What thing of alle that sche wolde,
          And take it as be weie of yifte;
          For thei hemself it scholde schifte,
          He seide, after here oghne wille.
          Achilles thanne stod noght stille:
          Whan he the bryhte helm behield,
          The swerd, the hauberk and the Schield,  3170
          His herte fell therto anon;
          Of all that othre wolde he non,
          The knihtes gere he underfongeth,
          And thilke aray which that belongeth
          Unto the wommen he forsok.
          And in this wise, as seith the bok,
          Thei knowen thanne which he was:
          For he goth forth the grete pas
          Into the chambre where he lay;
          Anon, and made no delay,  3180
          He armeth him in knyhtli wise,
          That bettre can noman devise,
          And as fortune scholde falle,
          He cam so forth tofore hem alle,
          As he which tho was glad ynowh.
          But Lichomede nothing lowh,
          Whan that he syh hou that it ferde,
          For thanne he wiste wel and herde,
          His dowhter hadde be forlein;
          Bot that he was so oversein,    3190
          The wonder overgoth his wit.
          For in Cronique is write yit
          Thing which schal nevere be foryete,
          Hou that Achilles hath begete
          Pirrus upon Dei5damie,
          Wherof cam out the tricherie
          Of Falswitnesse, whan thei saide
          Hou that Achilles was a Maide.
          Bot that was nothing sene tho,
          For he is to the Siege go    3200
          Forth with Ulixe and Diomede.
          Lo, thus was proved in the dede
          And fulli spoke at thilke while:
          If o womman an other guile,
          Wher is ther eny sikernesse?
          Whan Thetis, which was the goddesse,
          Dei5damie hath so bejaped,
          I not hou it schal ben ascaped
          With tho wommen whos innocence
          Is nou alday thurgh such credence  3210
          Deceived ofte, as it is seene,
          With men that such untrouthe meene.
          For thei ben slyhe in such a wise,
          That thei be sleihte and be queintise
          Of Falswitnesse bringen inne
          That doth hem ofte forto winne,
          Wher thei ben noght worthi therto.
          Forthi, my Sone, do noght so.
          Mi fader, as of Falswitnesse
          The trouthe and the matiere expresse,    3220
          Touchende of love hou it hath ferd,
          As ye have told, I have wel herd.
          Bot for ye seiden otherwise,
          Hou thilke vice of Covoitise
          Hath yit Perjurie of his acord,
          If that you list of som record
          To telle an other tale also
          In loves cause of time ago,
          What thing it is to be forswore,
          I wolde preie you therfore,  3230
          Wherof I mihte ensample take.
          Mi goode Sone, and for thi sake
          Touchende of this I schall fulfille
          Thin axinge at thin oghne wille,
          And the matiere I schal declare,
          Hou the wommen deceived are,
          Whan thei so tendre herte bere,
          Of that thei hieren men so swere;
          Bot whan it comth unto thassay,
          Thei finde it fals an other day:   3240
          As Jason dede to Medee,
          Which stant yet of Auctorite
          In tokne and in memorial;
          Wherof the tale in special
          Is in the bok of Troie write,
          Which I schal do thee forto wite.
          In Grece whilom was a king,
          Of whom the fame and knowleching
          Beleveth yit, and Peles
          He hihte; bot it fell him thus,    3250
          That his fortune hir whiel so ladde
          That he no child his oghne hadde
          To regnen after his decess.
          He hadde a brother natheles,
          Whos rihte name was Eson,
          And he the worthi kniht Jason
          Begat, the which in every lond
          Alle othre passede of his hond
          In Armes, so that he the beste
          Was named and the worthieste,   3260
          He soghte worschipe overal.
          Nou herkne, and I thee telle schal
          An aventure that he soghte,
          Which afterward ful dere he boghte.
          Ther was an yle, which Colchos
          Was cleped, and therof aros
          Gret speche in every lond aboute,
          That such merveile was non oute
          In al the wyde world nawhere,
          As tho was in that yle there.   3270
          Ther was a Schiep, as it was told,
          The which his flees bar al of gold,
          And so the goddes hadde it set,
          That it ne mihte awei be fet
          Be pouer of no worldes wiht:
          And yit ful many a worthi kniht
          It hadde assaied, as thei dorste,
          And evere it fell hem to the worste.
          Bot he, that wolde it noght forsake,
          Bot of his knyhthod undertake   3280
          To do what thing therto belongeth,
          This worthi Jason, sore alongeth
          To se the strange regiouns
          And knowe the condiciouns
          Of othre Marches, where he wente;
          And for that cause his hole entente
          He sette Colchos forto seche,
          And therupon he made a speche
          To Peles his Em the king.
          And he wel paid was of that thing;    3290
          And schop anon for his passage,
          And suche as were of his lignage,
          With othre knihtes whiche he ches,
          With him he tok, and Hercules,
          Which full was of chivalerie,
          With Jason wente in compaignie;
          And that was in the Monthe of Maii,
          Whan colde stormes were away.
          The wynd was good, the Schip was yare,
          Thei tok here leve, and forth thei fare  3300
          Toward Colchos: bot on the weie
          What hem befell is long to seie;
          Hou Lamedon the king of Troie,
          Which oghte wel have mad hem joie.
          Whan thei to reste a while him preide,
          Out of his lond he hem congeide;
          And so fell the dissencion,
          Which after was destruccion
          Of that Cite, as men mai hiere:
          Bot that is noght to mi matiere.   3310
          Bot thus this worthi folk Gregeis
          Fro that king, which was noght curteis,
          And fro his lond with Sail updrawe
          Thei wente hem forth, and many a sawe
          Thei made and many a gret manace,
          Til ate laste into that place
          Which as thei soghte thei aryve,
          And striken Sail, and forth as blyve
          Thei sente unto the king and tolden
          Who weren ther and what thei wolden.  3320
          Oe5tes, which was thanne king,
          Whan that he herde this tyding
          Of Jason, which was comen there,
          And of these othre, what thei were,
          He thoghte don hem gret worschipe:
          For thei anon come out of Schipe,
          And strawht unto the king thei wente,
          And be the hond Jason he hente,
          And that was ate paleis gate,
          So fer the king cam on his gate    3330
          Toward Jason to don him chiere;
          And he, whom lacketh no manere,
          Whan he the king sih in presence,
          Yaf him ayein such reverence
          As to a kinges stat belongeth.
          And thus the king him underfongeth,
          And Jason in his arm he cawhte,
          And forth into the halle he strawhte,
          And ther they siete and spieke of thinges,
          And Jason tolde him tho tidinges,  3340
          Why he was come, and faire him preide
          To haste his time, and the kyng seide,
          "Jason, thou art a worthi kniht,
          Bot it lith in no mannes myht
          To don that thou art come fore:
          Ther hath be many a kniht forlore
          Of that thei wolden it assaie."
          Bot Jason wolde him noght esmaie,
          And seide, "Of every worldes cure
          Fortune stant in aventure,   3350
          Per aunter wel, per aunter wo:
          Bot hou as evere that it go,
          It schal be with myn hond assaied."
          The king tho hield him noght wel paied,
          For he the Grekes sore dredde,
          In aunter, if Jason ne spedde,
          He mihte therof bere a blame;
          For tho was al the worldes fame
          In Grece, as forto speke of Armes.
          Forthi he dredde him of his harmes,       3360
          And gan to preche him and to preie;
          Bot Jason wolde noght obeie,
          Bot seide he wolde his porpos holde
          For ought that eny man him tolde.
          The king, whan he thes wordes herde,
          And sih hou that this kniht ansuerde,
          Yit for he wolde make him glad,
          After Medea gon he bad,
          Which was his dowhter, and sche cam.
          And Jason, which good hiede nam,   3370
          Whan he hire sih, ayein hire goth;
          And sche, which was him nothing loth,
          Welcomede him into that lond,
          And softe tok him be the hond,
          And doun thei seten bothe same.
          Sche hadde herd spoke of his name
          And of his grete worthinesse;
          Forthi sche gan hir yhe impresse
          Upon his face and his stature,
          And thoghte hou nevere creature    3380
          Was so wel farende as was he.
          And Jason riht in such degre
          Ne mihte noght withholde his lok,
          Bot so good hiede on hire he tok,
          That him ne thoghte under the hevene
          Of beaute sawh he nevere hir evene,
          With al that fell to wommanhiede.
          Thus ech of other token hiede,
          Thogh ther no word was of record;
          Here hertes bothe of on acord   3390
          Ben set to love, bot as tho
          Ther mihten be no wordes mo.
          The king made him gret joie and feste,
          To alle his men he yaf an heste,
          So as thei wolde his thonk deserve,
          That thei scholde alle Jason serve,
          Whil that he wolde there duelle.
          And thus the dai, schortly to telle,
          With manye merthes thei despente,
          Til nyht was come, and tho thei wente,   3400
          Echon of other tok his leve,
          Whan thei no lengere myhten leve.
          I not hou Jason that nyht slep,
          Bot wel I wot that of the Schep,
          For which he cam into that yle,
          He thoghte bot a litel whyle;
          Al was Medea that he thoghte,
          So that in many a wise he soghte
          His witt wakende er it was day,
          Som time yee, som time nay,  3410
          Som time thus, som time so,
          As he was stered to and fro
          Of love, and ek of his conqueste
          As he was holde of his beheste.
          And thus he ros up be the morwe
          And tok himself seint John to borwe,
          And seide he wolde ferst beginne
          At love, and after forto winne
          The flees of gold, for which he com,
          And thus to him good herte he nom.    3420
          Medea riht the same wise,
          Til dai cam that sche moste arise,
          Lay and bethoughte hire al the nyht,
          Hou sche that noble worthi kniht
          Be eny weie mihte wedde:
          And wel sche wiste, if he ne spedde
          Of thing which he hadde undertake,
          Sche mihte hirself no porpos take;
          For if he deide of his bataile,
          Sche moste thanne algate faile  3430
          To geten him, whan he were ded.
          Thus sche began to sette red
          And torne aboute hir wittes alle,
          To loke hou that it mihte falle
          That sche with him hadde a leisir
          To speke and telle of hir desir.
          And so it fell that same day
          That Jason with that suete may
          Togedre sete and hadden space
          To speke, and he besoughte hir grace.    3440
          And sche his tale goodli herde,
          And afterward sche him ansuerde
          And seide, "Jason, as thou wilt,
          Thou miht be sauf, thou miht be spilt;
          For wite wel that nevere man,
          Bot if he couthe that I can,
          Ne mihte that fortune achieve
          For which thou comst: bot as I lieve,
          If thou wolt holde covenant
          To love, of al the remenant  3450
          I schal thi lif and honour save,
          That thou the flees of gold schalt have."
          He seide, "Al at youre oghne wille,
          Ma dame, I schal treuly fulfille
          Youre heste, whil mi lif mai laste."
          Thus longe he preide, and ate laste
          Sche granteth, and behihte him this,
          That whan nyht comth and it time is,
          Sche wolde him sende certeinly
          Such on that scholde him prively   3460
          Al one into hire chambre bringe.
          He thonketh hire of that tidinge,
          For of that grace him is begonne
          Him thenkth alle othre thinges wonne.
          The dai made ende and lost his lyht,
          And comen was the derke nyht,
          Which al the daies yhe blente.
          Jason tok leve and forth he wente,
          And whan he cam out of the pres,
          He tok to conseil Hercules,  3470
          And tolde him hou it was betid,
          And preide it scholde wel ben hid,
          And that he wolde loke aboute,
          Therwhiles that he schal ben oute.
          Thus as he stod and hiede nam,
          A Mayden fro Medea cam
          And to hir chambre Jason ledde,
          Wher that he fond redi to bedde
          The faireste and the wiseste eke;
          And sche with simple chiere and meke,    3480
          Whan sche him sih, wax al aschamed.
          Tho was here tale newe entamed;
          For sikernesse of Mariage
          Sche fette forth a riche ymage,
          Which was figure of Jupiter,
          And Jason swor and seide ther,
          That also wiss god scholde him helpe,
          That if Medea dede him helpe,
          That he his pourpos myhte winne,
          Thei scholde nevere parte atwinne,    3490
          Bot evere whil him lasteth lif,
          He wolde hire holde for his wif.
          And with that word thei kisten bothe;
          And for thei scholden hem unclothe,
          Ther cam a Maide, and in hir wise
          Sche dede hem bothe full servise,
          Til that thei were in bedde naked:
          I wot that nyht was wel bewaked,
          Thei hadden bothe what thei wolde.
          And thanne of leisir sche him tolde,  3500
          And gan fro point to point enforme
          Of his bataile and al the forme,
          Which as he scholde finde there,
          Whan he to thyle come were.
          Sche seide, at entre of the pas
          Hou Mars, which god of Armes was,
          Hath set tuo Oxen sterne and stoute,
          That caste fyr and flamme aboute
          Bothe at the mouth and ate nase,
          So that thei setten al on blase    3510
          What thing that passeth hem betwene:
          And forthermore upon the grene
          Ther goth the flees of gold to kepe
          A Serpent, which mai nevere slepe.
          Thus who that evere scholde it winne,
          The fyr to stoppe he mot beginne,
          Which that the fierce bestes caste,
          And daunte he mot hem ate laste,
          So that he mai hem yoke and dryve;
          And therupon he mot as blyve    3520
          The Serpent with such strengthe assaile,
          That he mai slen him be bataile;
          Of which he mot the teth outdrawe,
          As it belongeth to that lawe,
          And thanne he mot tho Oxen yoke,
          Til thei have with a plowh tobroke
          A furgh of lond, in which arowe
          The teth of thaddre he moste sowe,
          And therof schule arise knihtes
          Wel armed up at alle rihtes.    3530
          Of hem is noght to taken hiede,
          For ech of hem in hastihiede
          Schal other slen with dethes wounde:
          And thus whan thei ben leid to grounde,
          Than mot he to the goddes preie,
          And go so forth and take his preie.
          Bot if he faile in eny wise
          Of that ye hiere me devise,
          Ther mai be set non other weie,
          That he ne moste algates deie.  3540
          "Nou have I told the peril al:
          I woll you tellen forth withal,"
          Quod Medea to Jason tho,
          "That ye schul knowen er ye go,
          Ayein the venym and the fyr
          What schal ben the recoverir.
          Bot, Sire, for it is nyh day,
          Ariseth up, so that I may
          Delivere you what thing I have,
          That mai youre lif and honour save."  3550
          Thei weren bothe loth to rise,
          Bot for thei weren bothe wise,
          Up thei arisen ate laste:
          Jason his clothes on him caste
          And made him redi riht anon,
          And sche hir scherte dede upon
          And caste on hire a mantel clos,
          Withoute more and thanne aros.
          Tho tok sche forth a riche Tye
          Mad al of gold and of Perrie,   3560
          Out of the which sche nam a Ring,
          The Ston was worth al other thing.
          Sche seide, whil he wolde it were,
          Ther myhte no peril him dere,
          In water mai it noght be dreynt,
          Wher as it comth the fyr is queynt,
          It daunteth ek the cruel beste,
          Ther may no qued that man areste,
          Wher so he be on See or lond,
          Which hath that ring upon his hond:   3570
          And over that sche gan to sein,
          That if a man wol ben unsein,
          Withinne his hond hold clos the Ston,
          And he mai invisible gon.
          The Ring to Jason sche betauhte,
          And so forth after sche him tauhte
          What sacrifise he scholde make;
          And gan out of hire cofre take
          Him thoughte an hevenely figure,
          Which al be charme and be conjure  3580
          Was wroght, and ek it was thurgh write
          With names, which he scholde wite,
          As sche him tauhte tho to rede;
          And bad him, as he wolde spede,
          Withoute reste of eny while,
          Whan he were londed in that yle,
          He scholde make his sacrifise
          And rede his carecte in the wise
          As sche him tauhte, on knes doun bent,
          Thre sithes toward orient;       3590
          For so scholde he the goddes plese
          And winne himselven mochel ese.
          And whanne he hadde it thries rad,
          To opne a buiste sche him bad,
          Which sche ther tok him in present,
          And was full of such oignement,
          That ther was fyr ne venym non
          That scholde fastnen him upon,
          Whan that he were enoynt withal.
          Forthi sche tauhte him hou he schal   3600
          Enoignte his armes al aboute,
          And for he scholde nothing doute,
          Sche tok him thanne a maner glu,
          The which was of so gret vertu,
          That where a man it wolde caste,
          It scholde binde anon so faste
          That noman mihte it don aweie.
          And that sche bad be alle weie
          He scholde into the mouthes throwen
          Of tho tweie Oxen that fyr blowen,    3610
          Therof to stoppen the malice;
          The glu schal serve of that office.
          And over that hir oignement,
          Hir Ring and hir enchantement
          Ayein the Serpent scholde him were,
          Til he him sle with swerd or spere:
          And thanne he may saufliche ynowh
          His Oxen yoke into the plowh
          And the teth sowe in such a wise,
          Til he the knyhtes se arise,    3620
          And ech of other doun be leid
          In such manere as I have seid.
          Lo, thus Medea for Jason
          Ordeigneth, and preith therupon
          That he nothing foryete scholde,
          And ek sche preith him that he wolde,
          Whan he hath alle his Armes don,
          To grounde knele and thonke anon
          The goddes, and so forth be ese
          The flees of gold he scholde sese.    3630
          And whanne he hadde it sesed so,
          That thanne he were sone ago
          Withouten eny tariynge.
          Whan this was seid, into wepinge
          Sche fell, as sche that was thurgh nome
          With love, and so fer overcome,
          That al hir world on him sche sette.
          Bot whan sche sih ther was no lette,
          That he mot nedes parte hire fro,
          Sche tok him in hire armes tuo,    3640
          An hundred time and gan him kisse,
          And seide, "O, al mi worldes blisse,
          Mi trust, mi lust, mi lif, min hele,
          To be thin helpe in this querele
          I preie unto the goddes alle."
          And with that word sche gan doun falle
          On swoune, and he hire uppe nam,
          And forth with that the Maiden cam,
          And thei to bedde anon hir broghte,
          And thanne Jason hire besoghte,    3650
          And to hire seide in this manere:
          "Mi worthi lusti ladi dere,
          Conforteth you, for be my trouthe
          It schal noght fallen in mi slouthe
          That I ne wol thurghout fulfille
          Youre hestes at youre oghne wille.
          And yit I hope to you bringe
          Withinne a while such tidinge,
          The which schal make ous bothe game."
          Bot for he wolde kepe hir name,    3660
          Whan that he wiste it was nyh dai,
          He seide, "A dieu, mi swete mai."
          And forth with him he nam his gere,
          Which as sche hadde take him there,
          And strauht unto his chambre he wente,
          And goth to bedde and slep him hente,
          And lay, that noman him awok,
          For Hercules hiede of him tok,
          Til it was undren hih and more.
          And thanne he gan to sighe sore    3670
          And sodeinliche abreide of slep;
          And thei that token of him kep,
          His chamberleins, be sone there,
          And maden redi al his gere,
          And he aros and to the king
          He wente, and seide hou to that thing
          For which he cam he wolde go.
          The king therof was wonder wo,
          And for he wolde him fain withdrawe,
          He tolde him many a dredful sawe,  3680
          Bot Jason wolde it noght recorde,
          And ate laste thei acorde.
          Whan that he wolde noght abide,
          A Bot was redy ate tyde,
          In which this worthi kniht of Grece
          Ful armed up at every piece,
          To his bataile which belongeth,
          Tok ore on honde and sore him longeth,
          Til he the water passed were.
          Whan he cam to that yle there,  3690
          He set him on his knes doun strauht,
          And his carecte, as he was tawht,
          He radde, and made his sacrifise,
          And siththe enoignte him in that wise,
          As Medea him hadde bede;
          And thanne aros up fro that stede,
          And with the glu the fyr he queynte,
          And anon after he atteinte
          The grete Serpent and him slowh.
          Bot erst he hadde sorwe ynowh,  3700
          For that Serpent made him travaile
          So harde and sore of his bataile,
          That nou he stod and nou he fell:
          For longe time it so befell,
          That with his swerd ne with his spere
          He mihte noght that Serpent dere.
          He was so scherded al aboute,
          It hield all eggetol withoute,
          He was so ruide and hard of skin,
          Ther mihte nothing go therin;   3710
          Venym and fyr togedre he caste,
          That he Jason so sore ablaste,
          That if ne were his oignement,
          His Ring and his enchantement,
          Which Medea tok him tofore,
          He hadde with that worm be lore;
          Bot of vertu which therof cam
          Jason the Dragon overcam.
          And he anon the teth outdrouh,
          And sette his Oxen in a plouh,  3720
          With which he brak a piece of lond
          And sieu hem with his oghne hond.
          Tho mihte he gret merveile se:
          Of every toth in his degre
          Sprong up a kniht with spere and schield,
          Of whiche anon riht in the field
          Echon slow other; and with that
          Jason Medea noght foryat,
          On bothe his knes he gan doun falle,
          And yaf thonk to the goddes alle.  3730
          The Flees he tok and goth to Bote,
          The Sonne schyneth bryhte and hote,
          The Flees of gold schon forth withal,
          The water glistreth overal.
          Medea wepte and sigheth ofte,
          And stod upon a Tour alofte:
          Al prively withinne hirselve,
          Ther herde it nouther ten ne tuelve,
          Sche preide, and seide, "O, god him spede,
          The kniht which hath mi maidenhiede!"    3740
          And ay sche loketh toward thyle.
          Bot whan sche sih withinne a while
          The Flees glistrende ayein the Sonne,
          Sche saide, "Ha, lord, now al is wonne,
          Mi kniht the field hath overcome:
          Nou wolde god he were come;
          Ha lord, that he ne were alonde!"
          Bot I dar take this on honde,
          If that sche hadde wynges tuo,
          Sche wolde have flowe unto him tho    3750
          Strawht ther he was into the Bot.
          The dai was clier, the Sonne hot,
          The Gregeis weren in gret doute,
          The whyle that here lord was oute:
          Thei wisten noght what scholde tyde,
          Bot waiten evere upon the tyde,
          To se what ende scholde falle.
          Ther stoden ek the nobles alle
          Forth with the comun of the toun;
          And as thei loken up and doun,  3760
          Thei weren war withinne a throwe,
          Wher cam the bot, which thei wel knowe,
          And sihe hou Jason broghte his preie.
          And tho thei gonnen alle seie,
          And criden alle with o stevene,
          "Ha, wher was evere under the hevene
          So noble a knyht as Jason is?"
          And welnyh alle seiden this,
          That Jason was a faie kniht,
          For it was nevere of mannes miht   3770
          The Flees of gold so forto winne;
          And thus to talen thei beginne.
          With that the king com forth anon,
          And sih the Flees, hou that it schon;
          And whan Jason cam to the lond,
          The king himselve tok his hond
          And kist him, and gret joie him made.
          The Gregeis weren wonder glade,
          And of that thing riht merie hem thoghte,
          And forth with hem the Flees thei broghte,  3780
          And ech on other gan to leyhe;
          Bot wel was him that mihte neyhe,
          To se therof the proprete.
          And thus thei passen the cite
          And gon unto the Paleis straght.
          Medea, which foryat him naght,
          Was redy there, and seide anon,
          "Welcome, O worthi kniht Jason."
          Sche wolde have kist him wonder fayn,
          Bot schame tornede hire agayn;  3790
          It was noght the manere as tho,
          Forthi sche dorste noght do so.
          Sche tok hire leve, and Jason wente
          Into his chambre, and sche him sente
          Hire Maide to sen hou he ferde;
          The which whan that sche sih and herde,
          Hou that he hadde faren oute
          And that it stod wel al aboute,
          Sche tolde hire ladi what sche wiste,
          And sche for joie hire Maide kiste.   3800
          The bathes weren thanne araied,
          With herbes tempred and assaied,
          And Jason was unarmed sone
          And dede as it befell to done:
          Into his bath he wente anon
          And wyssh him clene as eny bon;
          He tok a sopp, and oute he cam,
          And on his beste aray he nam,
          And kempde his hed, whan he was clad,
          And goth him forth al merie and glad  3810
          Riht strawht into the kinges halle.
          The king cam with his knihtes alle
          And maden him glad welcominge;
          And he hem tolde the tidinge
          Of this and that, hou it befell,
          Whan that he wan the schepes fell.
          Medea, whan sche was asent,
          Com sone to that parlement,
          And whan sche mihte Jason se,
          Was non so glad of alle as sche.   3820
          Ther was no joie forto seche,
          Of him mad every man a speche,
          Som man seide on, som man seide other;
          Bot thogh he were goddes brother
          And mihte make fyr and thonder,
          Ther mihte be nomore wonder
          Than was of him in that cite.
          Echon tauhte other, "This is he,
          Which hath in his pouer withinne
          That al the world ne mihte winne:  3830
          Lo, hier the beste of alle goode."
          Thus saiden thei that there stode,
          And ek that walkede up and doun,
          Bothe of the Court and of the toun.
          The time of Souper cam anon,
          Thei wisshen and therto thei gon,
          Medea was with Jason set:
          Tho was ther many a deynte fet
          And set tofore hem on the bord,
          Bot non so likinge as the word  3840
          Which was ther spoke among hem tuo,
          So as thei dorste speke tho.
          Bot thogh thei hadden litel space,
          Yit thei acorden in that place
          Hou Jason scholde come at nyht,
          Whan every torche and every liht
          Were oute, and thanne of other thinges
          Thei spieke aloud for supposinges
          Of hem that stoden there aboute:
          For love is everemore in doute,    3850
          If that it be wisly governed
          Of hem that ben of love lerned.
          Whan al was don, that dissh and cuppe
          And cloth and bord and al was uppe,
          Thei waken whil hem lest to wake,
          And after that thei leve take
          And gon to bedde forto reste.
          And whan him thoghte for the beste,
          That every man was faste aslepe,
          Jason, that wolde his time kepe,   3860
          Goth forth stalkende al prively
          Unto the chambre, and redely
          Ther was a Maide, which him kepte.
          Medea wok and nothing slepte,
          Bot natheles sche was abedde,
          And he with alle haste him spedde
          And made him naked and al warm.
          Anon he tok hire in his arm:
          What nede is forto speke of ese?
          Hem list ech other forto plese,    3870
          So that thei hadden joie ynow:
          And tho thei setten whanne and how
          That sche with him awey schal stele.
          With wordes suche and othre fele
          Whan al was treted to an ende,
          Jason tok leve and gan forth wende
          Unto his oughne chambre in pes;
          Ther wiste it non bot Hercules.
          He slepte and ros whan it was time,
          And whanne it fell towardes prime,    3880
          He tok to him suche as he triste
          In secre, that non other wiste,
          And told hem of his conseil there,
          And seide that his wille were
          That thei to Schipe hadde alle thinge
          So priveliche in thevenynge,
          That noman mihte here dede aspie
          Bot tho that were of compaignie:
          For he woll go withoute leve,
          And lengere woll he noght beleve;  3890
          Bot he ne wolde at thilke throwe
          The king or queene scholde it knowe.
          Thei saide, "Al this schal wel be do:"
          And Jason truste wel therto.
          Medea in the mene while,
          Which thoghte hir fader to beguile,
          The Tresor which hir fader hadde
          With hire al priveli sche ladde,
          And with Jason at time set
          Awey sche stal and fond no let,    3900
          And straght sche goth hire unto schipe
          Of Grece with that felaschipe,
          And thei anon drowe up the Seil.
          And al that nyht this was conseil,
          Bot erly, whan the Sonne schon,
          Men syhe hou that thei were agon,
          And come unto the king and tolde:
          And he the sothe knowe wolde,
          And axeth where his dowhter was.
          Ther was no word bot Out, Allas!   3910
          Sche was ago. The moder wepte,
          The fader as a wod man lepte,
          And gan the time forto warie,
          And swor his oth he wol noght tarie,
          That with Caliphe and with galeie
          The same cours, the same weie,
          Which Jason tok, he wolde take,
          If that he mihte him overtake.
          To this thei seiden alle yee:
          Anon thei weren ate See,  3920
          And alle, as who seith, at a word
          Thei gon withinne schipes bord,
          The Sail goth up, and forth thei strauhte.
          Bot non espleit therof thei cauhte,
          And so thei tornen hom ayein,
          For al that labour was in vein.
          Jason to Grece with his preie
          Goth thurgh the See the rihte weie:
          Whan he ther com and men it tolde,
          Thei maden joie yonge and olde.    3930
          Eson, whan that he wiste of this,
          Hou that his Sone comen is,
          And hath achieved that he soughte
          And hom with him Medea broughte,
          In al the wyde world was non
          So glad a man as he was on.
          Togedre ben these lovers tho,
          Til that thei hadden sones tuo,
          Wherof thei weren bothe glade,
          And olde Eson gret joie made    3940
          To sen thencress of his lignage;
          For he was of so gret an Age,
          That men awaiten every day,
          Whan that he scholde gon away.
          Jason, which sih his fader old,
          Upon Medea made him bold,
          Of art magique, which sche couthe,
          And preith hire that his fader youthe
          Sche wolde make ayeinward newe:
          And sche, that was toward him trewe,  3950
          Behihte him that sche wolde it do,
          Whan that sche time sawh therto.
          Bot what sche dede in that matiere
          It is a wonder thing to hiere,
          Bot yit for the novellerie
          I thenke tellen a partie.
          Thus it befell upon a nyht,
          Whan ther was noght bot sterreliht,
          Sche was vanyssht riht as hir liste,
          That no wyht bot hirself it wiste,    3960
          And that was ate mydnyht tyde.
          The world was stille on every side;
          With open hed and fot al bare,
          Hir her tosprad sche gan to fare,
          Upon hir clothes gert sche was,
          Al specheles and on the gras
          Sche glod forth as an Addre doth:
          Non otherwise sche ne goth,
          Til sche cam to the freisshe flod,
          And there a while sche withstod.   3970
          Thries sche torned hire aboute,
          And thries ek sche gan doun loute
          And in the flod sche wette hir her,
          And thries on the water ther
          Sche gaspeth with a drecchinge onde,
          And tho sche tok hir speche on honde.
          Ferst sche began to clepe and calle
          Upward unto the sterres alle,
          To Wynd, to Air, to See, to lond
          Sche preide, and ek hield up hir hond    3980
          To Echates, and gan to crie,
          Which is goddesse of Sorcerie.
          Sche seide, "Helpeth at this nede,
          And as ye maden me to spede,
          Whan Jason cam the Flees to seche,
          So help me nou, I you beseche."
          With that sche loketh and was war,
          Doun fro the Sky ther cam a char,
          The which Dragouns aboute drowe:
          And tho sche gan hir hed doun bowe,   3990
          And up sche styh, and faire and wel
          Sche drof forth bothe char and whel
          Above in thair among the Skyes.
          The lond of Crete and tho parties
          Sche soughte, and faste gan hire hye,
          And there upon the hulles hyhe
          Of Othrin and Olimpe also,
          And ek of othre hulles mo,
          Sche fond and gadreth herbes suote,
          Sche pulleth up som be the rote,   4000
          And manye with a knyf sche scherth,
          And alle into hir char sche berth.
          Thus whan sche hath the hulles sought,
          The flodes ther foryat sche nought,
          Eridian and Amphrisos,
          Peneie and ek Sperchei5dos,
          To hem sche wente and ther sche nom
          Bothe of the water and the fom,
          The sond and ek the smale stones,
          Whiche as sche ches out for the nones,   4010
          And of the rede See a part,
          That was behovelich to hire art,
          Sche tok, and after that aboute
          Sche soughte sondri sedes oute
          In feldes and in many greves,
          And ek a part sche tok of leves:
          Bot thing which mihte hire most availe
          Sche fond in Crete and in Thessaile.
          In daies and in nyhtes Nyne,
          With gret travaile and with gret pyne,   4020
          Sche was pourveid of every piece,
          And torneth homward into Grece.
          Before the gates of Eson
          Hir char sche let awai to gon,
          And tok out ferst that was therinne;
          For tho sche thoghte to beginne
          Such thing as semeth impossible,
          And made hirselven invisible,
          As sche that was with Air enclosed
          And mihte of noman be desclosed.   4030
          Sche tok up turves of the lond
          Withoute helpe of mannes hond,
          Al heled with the grene gras,
          Of which an Alter mad ther was
          Unto Echates the goddesse
          Of art magique and the maistresse,
          And eft an other to Juvente,
          As sche which dede hir hole entente.
          Tho tok sche fieldwode and verveyne,
          Of herbes ben noght betre tueine,  4040
          Of which anon withoute let
          These alters ben aboute set:
          Tuo sondri puttes faste by
          Sche made, and with that hastely
          A wether which was blak sche slouh,
          And out therof the blod sche drouh
          And dede into the pettes tuo;
          Warm melk sche putte also therto
          With hony meynd: and in such wise
          Sche gan to make hir sacrifice,    4050
          And cride and preide forth withal
          To Pluto the god infernal,
          And to the queene Proserpine.
          And so sche soghte out al the line
          Of hem that longen to that craft,
          Behinde was no name laft,
          And preide hem alle, as sche wel couthe,
          To grante Eson his ferste youthe.
          This olde Eson broght forth was tho,
          Awei sche bad alle othre go  4060
          Upon peril that mihte falle;
          And with that word thei wenten alle,
          And leften there hem tuo al one.
          And tho sche gan to gaspe and gone,
          And made signes manyon,
          And seide hir wordes therupon;
          So that with spellinge of hir charmes
          Sche tok Eson in bothe hire armes,
          And made him forto slepe faste,
          And him upon hire herbes caste.    4070
          The blake wether tho sche tok,
          And hiewh the fleissh, as doth a cok;
          On either alter part sche leide,
          And with the charmes that sche seide
          A fyr doun fro the Sky alyhte
          And made it forto brenne lyhte.
          Bot whan Medea sawh it brenne,
          Anon sche gan to sterte and renne
          The fyri aulters al aboute:
          Ther was no beste which goth oute  4080
          More wylde than sche semeth ther:
          Aboute hir schuldres hyng hir her,
          As thogh sche were oute of hir mynde
          And torned in an other kynde.
          Tho lay ther certein wode cleft,
          Of which the pieces nou and eft
          Sche made hem in the pettes wete,
          And put hem in the fyri hete,
          And tok the brond with al the blase,
          And thries sche began to rase   4090
          Aboute Eson, ther as he slepte;
          And eft with water, which sche kepte,
          Sche made a cercle aboute him thries,
          And eft with fyr of sulphre twyes:
          Ful many an other thing sche dede,
          Which is noght writen in this stede.
          Bot tho sche ran so up and doun,
          Sche made many a wonder soun,
          Somtime lich unto the cock,
          Somtime unto the Laverock,   4100
          Somtime kacleth as a Hen,
          Somtime spekth as don the men:
          And riht so as hir jargoun strangeth,
          In sondri wise hir forme changeth,
          Sche semeth faie and no womman;
          For with the craftes that sche can
          Sche was, as who seith, a goddesse,
          And what hir liste, more or lesse,
          Sche dede, in bokes as we finde,
          That passeth over manneskinde.  4110
          Bot who that wole of wondres hiere,
          What thing sche wroghte in this matiere,
          To make an ende of that sche gan,
          Such merveile herde nevere man.
          Apointed in the newe Mone,
          Whan it was time forto done,
          Sche sette a caldron on the fyr,
          In which was al the hole atir,
          Wheron the medicine stod,
          Of jus, of water and of blod,   4120
          And let it buile in such a plit,
          Til that sche sawh the spume whyt;
          And tho sche caste in rynde and rote,
          And sed and flour that was for bote,
          With many an herbe and many a ston,
          Wherof sche hath ther many on:
          And ek Cimpheius the Serpent
          To hire hath alle his scales lent,
          Chelidre hire yaf his addres skin,
          And sche to builen caste hem in;   4130
          A part ek of the horned Oule,
          The which men hiere on nyhtes houle;
          And of a Raven, which was told
          Of nyne hundred wynter old,
          Sche tok the hed with al the bile;
          And as the medicine it wile,
          Sche tok therafter the bouele
          Of the Seewolf, and for the hele
          Of Eson, with a thousand mo
          Of thinges that sche hadde tho,    4140
          In that Caldroun togedre as blyve
          Sche putte, and tok thanne of Olyve
          A drie branche hem with to stere,
          The which anon gan floure and bere
          And waxe al freissh and grene ayein.
          Whan sche this vertu hadde sein,
          Sche let the leste drope of alle
          Upon the bare flor doun falle;
          Anon ther sprong up flour and gras,
          Where as the drope falle was,   4150
          And wox anon al medwe grene,
          So that it mihte wel be sene.
          Medea thanne knew and wiste
          Hir medicine is forto triste,
          And goth to Eson ther he lay,
          And tok a swerd was of assay,
          With which a wounde upon his side
          Sche made, that therout mai slyde
          The blod withinne, which was old
          And sek and trouble and fieble and cold.    4160
          And tho sche tok unto his us
          Of herbes al the beste jus,
          And poured it into his wounde;
          That made his veynes fulle and sounde:
          And tho sche made his wounde clos,
          And tok his hond, and up he ros;
          And tho sche yaf him drinke a drauhte,
          Of which his youthe ayein he cauhte,
          His hed, his herte and his visage
          Lich unto twenty wynter Age;    4170
          Hise hore heres were away,
          And lich unto the freisshe Maii,
          Whan passed ben the colde shoures,
          Riht so recovereth he his floures.
          Lo, what mihte eny man devise,
          A womman schewe in eny wise
          Mor hertly love in every stede,
          Than Medea to Jason dede?
          Ferst sche made him the flees to winne,
          And after that fro kiththe and kinne  4180
          With gret tresor with him sche stal,
          And to his fader forth withal
          His Elde hath torned into youthe,
          Which thing non other womman couthe:
          Bot hou it was to hire aquit,
          The remembrance duelleth yit.
          King Peles his Em was ded,
          Jason bar corone on his hed,
          Medea hath fulfild his wille:
          Bot whanne he scholde of riht fulfille   4190
          The trouthe, which to hire afore
          He hadde in thyle of Colchos swore,
          Tho was Medea most deceived.
          For he an other hath received,
          Which dowhter was to king Creon,
          Creusa sche hihte, and thus Jason,
          As he that was to love untrewe,
          Medea lefte and tok a newe.
          Bot that was after sone aboght:
          Medea with hire art hath wroght    4200
          Of cloth of gold a mantel riche,
          Which semeth worth a kingesriche,
          And that was unto Creusa sent
          In name of yifte and of present,
          For Sosterhode hem was betuene;
          And whan that yonge freisshe queene
          That mantel lappeth hire aboute,
          Anon therof the fyr sprong oute
          And brente hir bothe fleissh and bon.
          Tho cam Medea to Jason    4210
          With bothe his Sones on hire hond,
          And seide, "O thou of every lond
          The moste untrewe creature,
          Lo, this schal be thi forfeture."
          With that sche bothe his Sones slouh
          Before his yhe, and he outdrouh
          His swerd and wold have slayn hir tho,
          Bot farewel, sche was ago
          Unto Pallas the Court above,
          Wher as sche pleigneth upon love,  4220
          As sche that was with that goddesse,
          And he was left in gret destresse.
          Thus miht thou se what sorwe it doth
          To swere an oth which is noght soth,
          In loves cause namely.
          Mi Sone, be wel war forthi,
          And kep that thou be noght forswore:
          For this, which I have told tofore,
          Ovide telleth everydel.
          Mi fader, I may lieve it wel,   4230
          For I have herde it ofte seie
          Hou Jason tok the flees aweie
          Fro Colchos, bot yit herde I noght
          Be whom it was ferst thider broght.
          And for it were good to hiere,
          If that you liste at mi preiere
          To telle, I wolde you beseche.
          Mi Sone, who that wole it seche,
          In bokes he mai finde it write;
          And natheles, if thou wolt wite,   4240
          In the manere as thou hast preid
          I schal the telle hou it is seid.
          The fame of thilke schepes fell,
          Which in Colchos, as it befell,
          Was al of gold, schal nevere deie;
          Wherof I thenke for to seie
          Hou it cam ferst into that yle.
          Ther was a king in thilke whyle
          Towardes Grece, and Athemas
          The Cronique of his name was;   4250
          And hadde a wif, which Philen hihte,
          Be whom, so as fortune it dihte,
          He hadde of children yonge tuo.
          Frixus the ferste was of tho,
          A knave child, riht fair withalle;
          A dowhter ek, the which men calle
          Hellen, he hadde be this wif.
          Bot for ther mai no mannes lif
          Endure upon this Erthe hiere,
          This worthi queene, as thou miht hiere,  4260
          Er that the children were of age,
          Tok of hire ende the passage,
          With gret worschipe and was begrave.
          What thing it liketh god to have
          It is gret reson to ben his;
          Forthi this king, so as it is,
          With gret suffrance it underfongeth:
          And afterward, as him belongeth,
          Whan it was time forto wedde,
          A newe wif he tok to bedde,  4270
          Which Yno hihte and was a Mayde,
          And ek the dowhter, as men saide,
          Of Cadme, which a king also
          Was holde in thilke daies tho.
          Whan Yno was the kinges make,
          Sche caste hou that sche mihte make
          These children to here fader lothe,
          And schope a wyle ayein hem bothe,
          Which to the king was al unknowe.
          A yeer or tuo sche let do sowe  4280
          The lond with sode whete aboute,
          Wherof no corn mai springen oute;
          And thus be sleyhte and be covine
          Aros the derthe and the famine
          Thurghout the lond in such a wise,
          So that the king a sacrifise
          Upon the point of this destresse
          To Ceres, which is the goddesse
          Of corn, hath schape him forto yive,
          To loke if it mai be foryive,   4290
          The meschief which was in his lond.
          Bot sche, which knew tofor the hond
          The circumstance of al this thing,
          Ayein the cominge of the king
          Into the temple, hath schape so,
          Of hire acord that alle tho
          Whiche of the temple prestes were
          Have seid and full declared there
          Unto the king, bot if so be
          That he delivere the contre  4300
          Of Frixus and of Hellen bothe,
          With whom the goddes ben so wrothe,
          That whil tho children ben therinne,
          Such tilthe schal noman beginne,
          Wherof to gete him eny corn.
          Thus was it seid, thus was it sworn
          Of all the Prestes that ther are;
          And sche which causeth al this fare
          Seid ek therto what that sche wolde,
          And every man thanne after tolde   4310
          So as the queene hem hadde preid.
          The king, which hath his Ere leid,
          And lieveth al that evere he herde,
          Unto here tale thus ansuerde,
          And seith that levere him is to chese
          Hise children bothe forto lese,
          Than him and al the remenant
          Of hem whiche are aportenant
          Unto the lond which he schal kepe:
          And bad his wif to take kepe    4320
          In what manere is best to done,
          That thei delivered weren sone
          Out of this world. And sche anon
          Tuo men ordeigneth forto gon;
          Bot ferst sche made hem forto swere
          That thei the children scholden bere
          Unto the See, that non it knowe,
          And hem therinne bothe throwe.
          The children to the See ben lad,
          Wher in the wise as Yno bad  4330
          These men be redy forto do.
          Bot the goddesse which Juno
          Is hote, appiereth in the stede,
          And hath unto the men forbede
          That thei the children noght ne sle;
          Bot bad hem loke into the See
          And taken hiede of that thei sihen.
          Ther swam a Schep tofore here yhen,
          Whos flees of burned gold was al;
          And this goddesse forth withal  4340
          Comandeth that withoute lette
          Thei scholde anon these children sette
          Above upon this Schepes bak;
          And al was do, riht as sche spak,
          Wherof the men gon hom ayein.
          And fell so, as the bokes sein,
          Hellen the yonge Mayden tho,
          Which of the See was wo bego,
          For pure drede hire herte hath lore,
          That fro the Schep, which hath hire bore,   4350
          As sche that was swounende feint,
          Sche fell, and hath hirselve dreint;
          With Frixus and this Schep forth swam,
          Til he to thyle of Colchos cam,
          Where Juno the goddesse he fond,
          Which tok the Schep unto the lond,
          And sette it there in such a wise
          As thou tofore hast herd devise,
          Wherof cam after al the wo,
          Why Jason was forswore so    4360
          Unto Medee, as it is spoke.
          Mi fader, who that hath tobroke
          His trouthe, as ye have told above,
          He is noght worthi forto love
          Ne be beloved, as me semeth:
          Bot every newe love quemeth
          To him which newefongel is.
          And natheles nou after this,
          If that you list to taken hiede
          Upon mi Schrifte to procede,    4370
          In loves cause ayein the vice
          Of covoitise and Avarice
          What ther is more I wolde wite.
          Mi Sone, this I finde write,
          Ther is yit on of thilke brood,
          Which only for the worldes good,
          To make a Tresor of Moneie,
          Put alle conscience aweie:
          Wherof in thi confession
          The name and the condicion   4380
          I schal hierafterward declare,
          Which makth on riche, an other bare.
          Upon the bench sittende on hih
          With Avarice Usure I sih,
          Full clothed of his oghne suite,
          Which after gold makth chace and suite
          With his brocours, that renne aboute
          Lich unto racches in a route.
          Such lucre is non above grounde,
          Which is noght of tho racches founde;    4390
          For wher thei se beyete sterte,
          That schal hem in no wise asterte,
          Bot thei it dryve into the net
          Of lucre, which Usure hath set.
          Usure with the riche duelleth,
          To al that evere he beith and selleth
          He hath ordeined of his sleyhte
          Mesure double and double weyhte:
          Outward he selleth be the lasse,
          And with the more he makth his tasse,    4400
          Wherof his hous is full withinne.
          He reccheth noght, be so he winne,
          Though that ther lese ten or tuelve:
          His love is al toward himselve
          And to non other, bot he se
          That he mai winne suche thre;
          For wher he schal oght yive or lene,
          He wol ayeinward take a bene,
          Ther he hath lent the smale pese.
          And riht so ther ben manye of these   4410
          Lovers, that thogh thei love a lyte,
          That scarsly wolde it weie a myte,
          Yit wolde thei have a pound again,
          As doth Usure in his bargain.
          Bot certes such usure unliche,
          It falleth more unto the riche,
          Als wel of love as of beyete,
          Than unto hem that be noght grete,
          And, as who seith, ben simple and povere;
          For sielden is whan thei recovere,    4420
          Bot if it be thurgh gret decerte.
          And natheles men se poverte
          With porsuite and continuance
          Fulofte make a gret chevance
          And take of love his avantage,
          Forth with the help of his brocage,
          That maken seme wher is noght.
          And thus fulofte is love boght
          For litel what, and mochel take,
          With false weyhtes that thei make.    4430
          Nou, Sone, of that I seide above
          Thou wost what Usure is of love:
          Tell me forthi what so thou wilt,
          If thou therof hast eny gilt.
          Mi fader, nay, for ought I hiere.
          For of tho pointz ye tolden hiere
          I wol you be mi trouthe assure,
          Mi weyhte of love and mi mesure
          Hath be mor large and mor certein
          Than evere I tok of love ayein:    4440
          For so yit couthe I nevere of sleyhte,
          To take ayein be double weyhte
          Of love mor than I have yive.
          For als so wiss mot I be schrive
          And have remission of Sinne,
          As so yit couthe I nevere winne,
          Ne yit so mochel, soth to sein,
          That evere I mihte have half ayein
          Of so full love as I have lent:
          And if myn happ were so wel went,  4450
          That for the hole I mihte have half,
          Me thenkth I were a goddeshalf.
          For where Usure wole have double,
          Mi conscience is noght so trouble,
          I biede nevere as to my del
          Bot of the hole an halvendel;
          That is non excess, as me thenketh.
          Bot natheles it me forthenketh;
          For wel I wot that wol noght be,
          For every day the betre I se    4460
          That hou so evere I yive or lene
          Mi love in place ther I mene,
          For oght that evere I axe or crave,
          I can nothing ayeinward have.
          Bot yit for that I wol noght lete,
          What so befalle of mi beyete,
          That I ne schal hire yive and lene
          Mi love and al mi thoght so clene,
          That toward me schal noght beleve.
          And if sche of hire goode leve  4470
          Rewarde wol me noght again,
          I wot the laste of my bargain
          Schal stonde upon so gret a lost,
          That I mai neveremor the cost
          Recovere in this world til I die.
          So that touchende of this partie
          I mai me wel excuse and schal;
          And forto speke forth withal,
          If eny brocour for me wente,
          That point cam nevere in myn entente:    4480
          So that the more me merveilleth,
          What thing it is mi ladi eilleth,
          That al myn herte and al my time
          Sche hath, and doth no betre bime.
          I have herd seid that thoght is fre,
          And natheles in privete
          To you, mi fader, that ben hiere
          Min hole schrifte forto hiere,
          I dar min herte wel desclose.
          Touchende usure, as I suppose,  4490
          Which as ye telle in love is used,
          Mi ladi mai noght ben excused;
          That for o lokinge of hire ye5
          Min hole herte til I dye
          With al that evere I may and can
          Sche hath me wonne to hire man:
          Wherof, me thenkth, good reson wolde
          That sche somdel rewarde scholde,
          And yive a part, ther sche hath al.
          I not what falle hierafter schal,  4500
          Bot into nou yit dar I sein,
          Hire liste nevere yive ayein
          A goodli word in such a wise,
          Wherof min hope mihte arise,
          Mi grete love to compense.
          I not hou sche hire conscience
          Excuse wole of this usure;
          Be large weyhte and gret mesure
          Sche hath mi love, and I have noght
          Of that which I have diere boght,  4510
          And with myn herte I have it paid;
          Bot al that is asyde laid,
          And I go loveles aboute.
          Hire oghte stonde if ful gret doute,
          Til sche redresce such a sinne,
          That sche wole al mi love winne
          And yifth me noght to live by:
          Noght als so moche as "grant mercy"
          Hir list to seie, of which I mihte
          Som of mi grete peine allyhte.  4520
          Bot of this point, lo, thus I fare
          As he that paith for his chaffare,
          And beith it diere, and yit hath non,
          So mot he nedes povere gon:
          Thus beie I diere and have no love,
          That I ne mai noght come above
          To winne of love non encress.
          Bot I me wole natheles
          Touchende usure of love aquite;
          And if mi ladi be to wyte,   4530
          I preie to god such grace hir sende
          That sche be time it mot amende.
          Mi Sone, of that thou hast ansuerd
          Touchende Usure I have al herd,
          Hou thou of love hast wonne smale:
          Bot that thou tellest in thi tale
          And thi ladi therof accusest,
          Me thenkth tho wordes thou misusest.
          For be thin oghne knowlechinge
          Thou seist hou sche for o lokinge  4540
          Thin hole herte fro the tok:
          Sche mai be such, that hire o lok
          Is worth thin herte manyfold;
          So hast thou wel thin herte sold,
          Whan thou hast that is more worth.
          And ek of that thou tellest forth,
          Hou that hire weyhte of love unevene
          Is unto thin, under the hevene
          Stod nevere in evene that balance
          Which stant in loves governance.   4550
          Such is the statut of his lawe,
          That thogh thi love more drawe
          And peise in the balance more,
          Thou miht noght axe ayein therfore
          Of duete, bot al of grace.
          For love is lord in every place,
          Ther mai no lawe him justefie
          Be reddour ne be compaignie,
          That he ne wole after his wille
          Whom that him liketh spede or spille.    4560
          To love a man mai wel beginne,
          Bot whether he schal lese or winne,
          That wot noman til ate laste:
          Forthi coveite noght to faste,
          Mi Sone, bot abyd thin ende,
          Per cas al mai to goode wende.
          Bot that thou hast me told and said,
          Of o thing I am riht wel paid,
          That thou be sleyhte ne be guile
          Of no brocour hast otherwhile   4570
          Engined love, for such dede
          Is sore venged, as I rede.
          Brocours of love that deceiven,
          No wonder is thogh thei receiven
          After the wrong that thei decerven;
          For whom as evere that thei serven
          And do plesance for a whyle,
          Yit ate laste here oghne guile
          Upon here oghne hed descendeth,
          Which god of his vengance sendeth,    4580
          As be ensample of time go
          A man mai finde it hath be so.
          It fell somtime, as it was sene,
          The hihe goddesse and the queene
          Juno tho hadde in compainie
          A Maiden full of tricherie;
          For sche was evere in on acord
          With Jupiter, that was hire lord,
          To gete him othre loves newe,
          Thurgh such brocage and was untrewe   4590
          Al otherwise than him nedeth.
          Bot sche, which of no schame dredeth,
          With queinte wordes and with slyhe
          Blente in such wise hir lady yhe,
          As sche to whom that Juno triste,
          So that therof sche nothing wiste.
          Bot so prive mai be nothing,
          That it ne comth to knowleching;
          Thing don upon the derke nyht
          Is after knowe on daies liht:   4600
          So it befell, that ate laste
          Al that this slyhe maiden caste
          Was overcast and overthrowe.
          For as the sothe mot be knowe,
          To Juno was don understonde
          In what manere hir housebonde
          With fals brocage hath take usure
          Of love mor than his mesure,
          Whan he tok othre than his wif,
          Wherof this mayden was gultif,  4610
          Which hadde ben of his assent.
          And thus was al the game schent;
          She soffreth him, as sche mot nede,
          Bot the brocour of his misdede,
          Sche which hir conseil yaf therto,
          On hire is the vengance do:
          For Juno with hire wordes hote,
          This Maiden, which Eccho was hote,
          Reproveth and seith in this wise:
          "O traiteresse, of which servise   4620
          Hast thou thin oghne ladi served!
          Thou hast gret peine wel deserved,
          That thou canst maken it so queinte,
          Thi slyhe wordes forto peinte
          Towardes me, that am thi queene,
          Wherof thou madest me to wene
          That myn housbonde trewe were,
          Whan that he loveth elleswhere,
          Al be it so him nedeth noght.
          Bot upon thee it schal be boght,   4630
          Which art prive to tho doinges,
          And me fulofte of thi lesinges
          Deceived hast: nou is the day
          That I thi while aquite may;
          And for thou hast to me conceled
          That my lord hath with othre deled,
          I schal thee sette in such a kende,
          That evere unto the worldes ende
          Al that thou hierest thou schalt telle,
          And clappe it out as doth a belle."   4640
          And with that word sche was forschape,
          Ther may no vois hire mouth ascape,
          What man that in the wodes crieth,
          Withoute faile Eccho replieth,
          And what word that him list to sein,
          The same word sche seith ayein.
          Thus sche, which whilom hadde leve
          To duelle in chambre, mot beleve
          In wodes and on helles bothe,
          For such brocage as wyves lothe,   4650
          Which doth here lordes hertes change
          And love in other place strange.
          Forthi, if evere it so befalle,
          That thou, mi Sone, amonges alle
          Be wedded man, hold that thou hast,
          For thanne al other love is wast.
          O wif schal wel to thee suffise,
          And thanne, if thou for covoitise
          Of love woldest axe more,
          Thou scholdest don ayein the lore  4660
          Of alle hem that trewe be.
          Mi fader, as in this degre
          My conscience is noght accused;
          For I no such brocage have used,
          Wherof that lust of love is wonne.
          Forthi spek forth, as ye begonne,
          Of Avarice upon mi schrifte.
          Mi Sone, I schal the branches schifte
          Be ordre so as thei ben set,
          On whom no good is wel beset.   4670
          Blinde Avarice of his lignage
          For conseil and for cousinage,
          To be withholde ayein largesse,
          Hath on, whos name is seid Skarsnesse,
          The which is kepere of his hous,
          And is so thurghout averous,
          That he no good let out of honde;
          Thogh god himself it wolde fonde,
          Of yifte scholde he nothing have;
          And if a man it wolde crave,    4680
          He moste thanne faile nede,
          Wher god himselve mai noght spede.
          And thus Skarsnesse in every place
          Be reson mai no thonk porchace,
          And natheles in his degree
          Above all othre most prive
          With Avarice stant he this.
          For he governeth that ther is
          In ech astat of his office
          After the reule of thilke vice;    4690
          He takth, he kepth, he halt, he bint,
          That lihtere is to fle the flint
          Than gete of him in hard or neisshe
          Only the value of a reysshe
          Of good in helpinge of an other,
          Noght thogh it were his oghne brother.
          For in the cas of yifte and lone
          Stant every man for him al one,
          Him thenkth of his unkindeschipe
          That him nedeth no felaschipe:  4700
          Be so the bagge and he acorden,
          Him reccheth noght what men recorden
          Of him, or it be evel or good.
          For al his trust is on his good,
          So that al one he falleth ofte,
          Whan he best weneth stonde alofte,
          Als wel in love as other wise;
          For love is evere of som reprise
          To him that wole his love holde.
          Forthi, mi Sone, as thou art holde,   4710
          Touchende of this tell me thi schrifte:
          Hast thou be scars or large of yifte
          Unto thi love, whom thou servest?
          For after that thou wel deservest
          Of yifte, thou miht be the bet;
          For that good holde I wel beset,
          For why thou miht the betre fare;
          Thanne is no wisdom forto spare.
          For thus men sein, in every nede
          He was wys that ferst made mede;   4720
          For where as mede mai noght spede,
          I not what helpeth other dede:
          Fulofte he faileth of his game
          That wol with ydel hand reclame
          His hauk, as many a nyce doth.
          Forthi, mi Sone, tell me soth
          And sei the trouthe, if thou hast be
          Unto thy love or skars or fre.
          Mi fader, it hath stonde thus,
          That if the tresor of Cresus    4730
          And al the gold Octovien,
          Forth with the richesse Yndien
          Of Perles and of riche stones,
          Were al togedre myn at ones,
          I sette it at nomore acompte
          Than wolde a bare straw amonte,
          To yive it hire al in a day,
          Be so that to that suete may
          I myhte like or more or lesse.
          And thus be cause of my scarsnesse    4740
          Ye mai wel understonde and lieve
          That I schal noght the worse achieve
          The pourpos which is in my thoght.
          Bot yit I yaf hir nevere noght,
          Ne therto dorste a profre make;
          For wel I wot sche wol noght take,
          And yive wol sche noght also,
          Sche is eschu of bothe tuo.
          And this I trowe be the skile
          Towardes me, for sche ne wile   4750
          That I have eny cause of hope,
          Noght also mochel as a drope.
          Bot toward othre, as I mai se,
          Sche takth and yifth in such degre,
          That as be weie of frendlihiede
          Sche can so kepe hir wommanhiede,
          That every man spekth of hir wel.
          Bot sche wole take of me no del,
          And yit sche wot wel that I wolde
          Yive and do bothe what I scholde   4760
          To plesen hire in al my myht:
          Be reson this wot every wyht,
          For that mai be no weie asterte,
          Ther sche is maister of the herte,
          Sche mot be maister of the good.
          For god wot wel that al my mod
          And al min herte and al mi thoght
          And al mi good, whil I have oght,
          Als freliche as god hath it yive,
          It schal ben hires, while I live,  4770
          Riht as hir list hirself commande.
          So that it nedeth no demande,
          To axe of me if I be scars
          To love, for as to tho pars
          I wole ansuere and seie no.
          Mi Sone, that is riht wel do.
          For often times of scarsnesse
          It hath be sen, that for the lesse
          Is lost the more, as thou schalt hiere
          A tale lich to this matiere.    4780
          Skarsnesse and love acorden nevere,
          For every thing is wel the levere,
          Whan that a man hath boght it diere:
          And forto speke in this matiere,
          For sparinge of a litel cost
          Fulofte time a man hath lost
          The large cote for the hod.
          What man that scars is of his good
          And wol noght yive, he schal noght take:
          With yifte a man mai undertake  4790
          The hihe god to plese and queme,
          With yifte a man the world mai deme;
          For every creature bore,
          If thou him yive, is glad therfore,
          And every gladschipe, as I finde,
          Is confort unto loves kinde
          And causeth ofte a man to spede.
          So was he wys that ferst yaf mede,
          For mede kepeth love in house;
          Bot wher the men ben coveitouse    4800
          And sparen forto yive a part,
          Thei knowe noght Cupides art:
          For his fortune and his aprise
          Desdeigneth alle coveitise
          And hateth alle nygardie.
          And forto loke of this partie,
          A soth ensample, hou it is so,
          I finde write of Babio;
          Which hadde a love at his menage,
          Ther was non fairere of hire age,  4810
          And hihte Viola be name;
          Which full of youthe and ful of game
          Was of hirself, and large and fre,
          Bot such an other chinche as he
          Men wisten noght in al the lond,
          And hadde affaited to his hond
          His servant, the which Spodius
          Was hote. And in this wise thus
          The worldes good of sufficance
          Was had, bot likinge and plesance,    4820
          Of that belongeth to richesse
          Of love, stod in gret destresse;
          So that this yonge lusty wyht
          Of thing which fell to loves riht
          Was evele served overal,
          That sche was wo bego withal,
          Til that Cupide and Venus eke
          A medicine for the seke
          Ordeigne wolden in this cas.
          So as fortune thanne was,    4830
          Of love upon the destine
          It fell, riht as it scholde be,
          A freissh, a fre, a frendly man
          That noght of Avarice can,
          Which Croceus be name hihte,
          Toward this swete caste his sihte,
          And ther sche was cam in presence.
          Sche sih him large of his despence,
          And amorous and glad of chiere,
          So that hir liketh wel to hiere    4840
          The goodly wordes whiche he seide;
          And therupon of love he preide,
          Of love was al that he mente,
          To love and for sche scholde assente,
          He yaf hire yiftes evere among.
          Bot for men sein that mede is strong,
          It was wel seene at thilke tyde;
          For as it scholde of ryht betyde,
          This Viola largesce hath take
          And the nygard sche hath forsake:  4850
          Of Babio sche wol no more,
          For he was grucchende everemore,
          Ther was with him non other fare
          Bot forto prinche and forto spare,
          Of worldes muk to gete encress.
          So goth the wrecche loveles,
          Bejaped for his Skarcete,
          And he that large was and fre
          And sette his herte to despende,
          This Croceus, the bowe bende,   4860
          Which Venus tok him forto holde,
          And schotte als ofte as evere he wolde.
          Lo, thus departeth love his lawe,
          That what man wol noght be felawe
          To yive and spende, as I thee telle,
          He is noght worthi forto duelle
          In loves court to be relieved.
          Forthi, my Sone, if I be lieved,
          Thou schalt be large of thi despence.
          Mi fader, in mi conscience   4870
          If ther be eny thing amis,
          I wol amende it after this,
          Toward mi love namely.
          Mi Sone, wel and redely
          Thou seist, so that wel paid withal
          I am, and forthere if I schal
          Unto thi schrifte specefie
          Of Avarices progenie
          What vice suieth after this,
          Thou schalt have wonder hou it is,    4880
          Among the folk in eny regne
          That such a vice myhte regne,
          Which is comun at alle assaies,
          As men mai finde nou adaies.
          The vice lik unto the fend,
          Which nevere yit was mannes frend,
          And cleped is Unkindeschipe,
          Of covine and of felaschipe
          With Avarice he is withholde.
          Him thenkth he scholde noght ben holde   4890
          Unto the moder which him bar;
          Of him mai nevere man be war,
          He wol noght knowe the merite,
          For that he wolde it noght aquite;
          Which in this world is mochel used,
          And fewe ben therof excused.
          To telle of him is endeles,
          Bot this I seie natheles,
          Wher as this vice comth to londe,
          Ther takth noman his thonk on honde;  4900
          Thogh he with alle his myhtes serve,
          He schal of him no thonk deserve.
          He takth what eny man wol yive,
          Bot whil he hath o day to live,
          He wol nothing rewarde ayein;
          He gruccheth forto yive o grein,
          Wher he hath take a berne full.
          That makth a kinde herte dull,
          To sette his trust in such frendschipe,
          Ther as he fint no kindeschipe;    4910
          And forto speke wordes pleine,
          Thus hiere I many a man compleigne,
          That nou on daies thou schalt finde
          At nede fewe frendes kinde;
          What thou hast don for hem tofore,
          It is foryete, as it were lore.
          The bokes speken of this vice,
          And telle hou god of his justice,
          Be weie of kinde and ek nature
          And every lifissh creature,  4920
          The lawe also, who that it kan,
          Thei dampnen an unkinde man.
          It is al on to seie unkinde
          As thing which don is ayein kinde,
          For it with kinde nevere stod
          A man to yelden evel for good.
          For who that wolde taken hede,
          A beste is glad of a good dede,
          And loveth thilke creature
          After the lawe of his nature    4930
          Which doth him ese. And forto se
          Of this matiere Auctorite,
          Fulofte time it hath befalle;
          Wherof a tale amonges alle,
          Which is of olde ensamplerie,
          I thenke forto specefie.
          To speke of an unkinde man,
          I finde hou whilom Adrian,
          Of Rome which a gret lord was,
          Upon a day as he per cas  4940
          To wode in his huntinge wente,
          It hapneth at a soudein wente,
          After his chace as he poursuieth,
          Thurgh happ, the which noman eschuieth,
          He fell unwar into a pet,
          Wher that it mihte noght be let.
          The pet was dep and he fell lowe,
          That of his men non myhte knowe
          Wher he becam, for non was nyh,
          Which of his fall the meschief syh.   4950
          And thus al one ther he lay
          Clepende and criende al the day
          For socour and deliverance,
          Til ayein Eve it fell per chance,
          A while er it began to nyhte,
          A povere man, which Bardus hihte,
          Cam forth walkende with his asse,
          And hadde gadred him a tasse
          Of grene stickes and of dreie
          To selle, who that wolde hem beie,    4960
          As he which hadde no liflode,
          Bot whanne he myhte such a lode
          To toune with his Asse carie.
          And as it fell him forto tarie
          That ilke time nyh the pet,
          And hath the trusse faste knet,
          He herde a vois, which cride dimme,
          And he his Ere to the brimme
          Hath leid, and herde it was a man,
          Which seide, "Ha, help hier Adrian,   4970
          And I wol yiven half mi good."
          The povere man this understod,
          As he that wolde gladly winne,
          And to this lord which was withinne
          He spak and seide, "If I thee save,
          What sikernesse schal I have
          Of covenant, that afterward
          Thou wolt me yive such reward
          As thou behihtest nou tofore?"
          That other hath his othes swore    4980
          Be hevene and be the goddes alle,
          If that it myhte so befalle
          That he out of the pet him broghte,
          Of all the goodes whiche he oghte
          He schal have evene halvendel.
          This Bardus seide he wolde wel;
          And with this word his Asse anon
          He let untrusse, and therupon
          Doun goth the corde into the pet,
          To which he hath at ende knet       4990
          A staf, wherby, he seide, he wolde
          That Adrian him scholde holde.
          Bot it was tho per chance falle,
          Into that pet was also falle
          An Ape, which at thilke throwe,
          Whan that the corde cam doun lowe,
          Al sodeinli therto he skipte
          And it in bothe hise armes clipte.
          And Bardus with his Asse anon
          Him hath updrawe, and he is gon.   5000
          But whan he sih it was an Ape,
          He wende al hadde ben a jape
          Of faierie, and sore him dradde:
          And Adrian eftsone gradde
          For help, and cride and preide faste,
          And he eftsone his corde caste;
          Bot whan it cam unto the grounde,
          A gret Serpent it hath bewounde,
          The which Bardus anon up drouh.
          And thanne him thoghte wel ynouh,  5010
          It was fantosme, bot yit he herde
          The vois, and he therto ansuerde,
          "What wiht art thou in goddes name?"
          "I am," quod Adrian, "the same,
          Whos good thou schalt have evene half."
          Quod Bardus, "Thanne a goddes half
          The thridde time assaie I schal":
          And caste his corde forth withal
          Into the pet, and whan it cam
          To him, this lord of Rome it nam,  5020
          And therupon him hath adresced,
          And with his hand fulofte blessed,
          And thanne he bad to Bardus hale.
          And he, which understod his tale,
          Betwen him and his Asse al softe
          Hath drawe and set him up alofte
          Withouten harm al esely.
          He seith noght ones "grant merci,"
          Bot strauhte him forth to the cite,
          And let this povere Bardus be.  5030
          And natheles this simple man
          His covenant, so as he can,
          Hath axed; and that other seide,
          If so be that he him umbreide
          Of oght that hath be speke or do,
          It schal ben venged on him so,
          That him were betre to be ded.
          And he can tho non other red,
          But on his asse ayein he caste
          His trusse, and hieth homward faste:  5040
          And whan that he cam hom to bedde,
          He tolde his wif hou that he spedde.
          Bot finaly to speke oght more
          Unto this lord he dradde him sore,
          So that a word ne dorste he sein:
          And thus upon the morwe ayein,
          In the manere as I recorde,
          Forth with his Asse and with his corde
          To gadre wode, as he dede er,
          He goth; and whan that he cam ner  5050
          Unto the place where he wolde,
          He hath his Ape anon beholde,
          Which hadde gadred al aboute
          Of stickes hiere and there a route,
          And leide hem redy to his hond,
          Wherof he made his trosse and bond;
          Fro dai to dai and in this wise
          This Ape profreth his servise,
          So that he hadde of wode ynouh.
          Upon a time and as he drouh  5060
          Toward the wode, he sih besyde
          The grete gastli Serpent glyde,
          Til that sche cam in his presence,
          And in hir kinde a reverence
          Sche hath him do, and forth withal
          A Ston mor briht than a cristall
          Out of hir mouth tofore his weie
          Sche let doun falle, and wente aweie,
          For that he schal noght ben adrad.
          Tho was this povere Bardus glad,   5070
          Thonkende god, and to the Ston
          He goth an takth it up anon,
          And hath gret wonder in his wit
          Hou that the beste him hath aquit,
          Wher that the mannes Sone hath failed,
          For whom he hadde most travailed.
          Bot al he putte in goddes hond,
          And torneth hom, and what he fond
          Unto his wif he hath it schewed;
          And thei, that weren bothe lewed,  5080
          Acorden that he scholde it selle.
          And he no lengere wolde duelle,
          Bot forth anon upon the tale
          The Ston he profreth to the sale;
          And riht as he himself it sette,
          The jueler anon forth fette
          The gold and made his paiement,
          Therof was no delaiement.
          Thus whan this Ston was boght and sold,
          Homward with joie manyfold   5090
          This Bardus goth; and whan he cam
          Hom to his hous and that he nam
          His gold out of his Purs, withinne
          He fond his Ston also therinne,
          Wherof for joie his herte pleide,
          Unto his wif and thus he seide,
          "Lo, hier my gold, lo, hier mi Ston!"
          His wif hath wonder therupon,
          And axeth him hou that mai be.
          "Nou be mi trouthe I not," quod he,   5100
          "Bot I dar swere upon a bok,
          That to my Marchant I it tok,
          And he it hadde whan I wente:
          So knowe I noght to what entente
          It is nou hier, bot it be grace.
          Forthi tomorwe in other place
          I wole it fonde forto selle,
          And if it wol noght with him duelle,
          Bot crepe into mi purs ayein,
          Than dar I saufly swere and sein,  5110
          It is the vertu of the Ston."
          The morwe cam, and he is gon
          To seche aboute in other stede
          His Ston to selle, and he so dede,
          And lefte it with his chapman there.
          Bot whan that he cam elleswhere,
          In presence of his wif at hom,
          Out of his Purs and that he nom
          His gold, he fond his Ston withal:
          And thus it fell him overal,    5120
          Where he it solde in sondri place,
          Such was the fortune and the grace.
          Bot so wel may nothing ben hidd,
          That it nys ate laste kidd:
          This fame goth aboute Rome
          So ferforth, that the wordes come
          To themperour Justinian;
          And he let sende for the man,
          And axede him hou that it was.
          And Bardus tolde him al the cas,   5130
          Hou that the worm and ek the beste,
          Althogh thei maden no beheste,
          His travail hadden wel aquit;
          Bot he which hadde a mannes wit,
          And made his covenant be mouthe
          And swor therto al that he couthe
          To parte and yiven half his good,
          Hath nou foryete hou that it stod,
          As he which wol no trouthe holde.
          This Emperour al that he tolde  5140
          Hath herd, and thilke unkindenesse
          He seide he wolde himself redresse.
          And thus in court of juggement
          This Adrian was thanne assent,
          And the querele in audience
          Declared was in the presence
          Of themperour and many mo;
          Wherof was mochel speche tho
          And gret wondringe among the press.
          Bot ate laste natheles    5150
          For the partie which hath pleigned
          The lawe hath diemed and ordeigned
          Be hem that were avised wel,
          That he schal have the halvendel
          Thurghout of Adrianes good.
          And thus of thilke unkinde blod
          Stant the memoire into this day,
          Wherof that every wysman may
          Ensamplen him, and take in mynde
          What schame it is to ben unkinde;  5160
          Ayein the which reson debateth,
          And every creature it hateth.
          Forthi, mi Sone, in thin office
          I rede fle that ilke vice.
          For riht as the Cronique seith
          Of Adrian, hou he his feith
          Foryat for worldes covoitise,
          Fulofte in such a maner wise
          Of lovers nou a man mai se
          Full manye that unkinde be:  5170
          For wel behote and evele laste
          That is here lif; for ate laste,
          Whan that thei have here wille do,
          Here love is after sone ago.
          What seist thou, Sone, to this cas?
          Mi fader, I wol seie Helas,
          That evere such a man was bore,
          Which whan he hath his trouthe suore
          And hath of love what he wolde,
          That he at eny time scholde  5180
          Evere after in his herte finde
          To falsen and to ben unkinde.
          Bot, fader, as touchende of me,
          I mai noght stonde in that degre;
          For I tok nevere of love why,
          That I ne mai wel go therby
          And do my profit elles where,
          For eny sped I finde there.
          I dar wel thenken al aboute,
          Bot I ne dar noght speke it oute;  5190
          And if I dorste, I wolde pleigne,
          That sche for whom I soffre peine
          And love hir evere aliche hote,
          That nouther yive ne behote
          In rewardinge of mi servise
          It list hire in no maner wise.
          I wol noght say that sche is kinde,
          And forto sai sche is unkinde,
          That dar I noght; bot god above,
          Which demeth every herte of love,  5200
          He wot that on myn oghne side
          Schal non unkindeschipe abide:
          If it schal with mi ladi duelle,
          Therof dar I nomore telle.
          Nou, goode fader, as it is,
          Tell me what thenketh you of this.
          Mi Sone, of that unkindeschipe,
          The which toward thi ladischipe
          Thou pleignest, for sche wol thee noght,
          Thou art to blamen of that thoght.    5210
          For it mai be that thi desir,
          Thogh it brenne evere as doth the fyr,
          Per cas to hire honour missit,
          Or elles time com noght yit,
          Which standt upon thi destine:
          Forthi, mi Sone, I rede thee,
          Thenk wel, what evere the befalle;
          For noman hath his lustes alle.
          Bot as thou toldest me before
          That thou to love art noght forswore,    5220
          And hast don non unkindenesse,
          Thou miht therof thi grace blesse:
          And lef noght that continuance;
          For ther mai be no such grevance
          To love, as is unkindeschipe.
          Wherof to kepe thi worschipe,
          So as these olde bokes tale,
          I schal thee telle a redi tale:
          Nou herkne and be wel war therby,
          For I wol telle it openly.   5230
          Mynos, as telleth the Poete,
          The which whilom was king of Crete,
          A Sone hadde and Androchee
          He hihte: and so befell that he
          Unto Athenes forto lere
          Was send, and so he bar him there,
          For that he was of hih lignage,
          Such pride he tok in his corage,
          That he foryeten hath the Scoles,
          And in riote among the foles    5240
          He dede manye thinges wronge;
          And useth thilke lif so longe,
          Til ate laste of that he wroghte
          He fond the meschief which he soghte,
          Wherof it fell that he was slain.
          His fader, which it herde sain,
          Was wroth, and al that evere he mihte,
          Of men of Armes he him dighte
          A strong pouer, and forth he wente
          Unto Athenys, where he brente   5250
          The pleine contre al aboute:
          The Cites stode of him in doute,
          As thei that no defence hadde
          Ayein the pouer which he ladde.
          Eges, which was there king,
          His conseil tok upon this thing,
          For he was thanne in the Cite:
          So that of pes into tretee
          Betwen Mynos and Eges
          Thei felle, and ben acorded thus;  5260
          That king Mynos fro yer to yeere
          Receive schal, as thou schalt here,
          Out of Athenys for truage
          Of men that were of myhti Age
          Persones nyne, of whiche he schal
          His wille don in special
          For vengance of his Sones deth.
          Non other grace ther ne geth,
          Bot forto take the juise;
          And that was don in such a wise,   5270
          Which stod upon a wonder cas.
          For thilke time so it was,
          Wherof that men yit rede and singe,
          King Mynos hadde in his kepinge
          A cruel Monstre, as seith the geste:
          For he was half man and half beste,
          And Minotaurus he was hote,
          Which was begete in a riote
          Upon Pasiphe, his oghne wif,
          Whil he was oute upon the strif    5280
          Of thilke grete Siege at Troie.
          Bot sche, which lost hath alle joie,
          Whan that sche syh this Monstre bore,
          Bad men ordeigne anon therfore:
          And fell that ilke time thus,
          Ther was a Clerk, on Dedalus,
          Which hadde ben of hire assent
          Of that hir world was so miswent;
          And he made of his oghne wit,
          Wherof the remembrance is yit,  5290
          For Minotaure such an hous,
          Which was so strange and merveilous,
          That what man that withinne wente,
          Ther was so many a sondri wente,
          That he ne scholde noght come oute,
          But gon amased al aboute.
          And in this hous to loke and warde
          Was Minotaurus put in warde,
          That what lif that therinne cam,
          Or man or beste, he overcam  5300
          And slow, and fedde him therupon;
          And in this wise many on
          Out of Athenys for truage
          Devoured weren in that rage.
          For every yeer thei schope hem so,
          Thei of Athenys, er thei go
          Toward that ilke wofull chance,
          As it was set in ordinance,
          Upon fortune here lot thei caste;
          Til that Theses ate laste,    5310
          Which was the kinges Sone there,
          Amonges othre that ther were
          In thilke yeer, as it befell,
          The lot upon his chance fell.
          He was a worthi kniht withalle;
          And whan he sih this chance falle,
          He ferde as thogh he tok non hiede,
          Bot al that evere he mihte spiede,
          With him and with his felaschipe
          Forth into Crete he goth be Schipe;   5320
          Wher that the king Mynos he soghte,
          And profreth all that he him oghte
          Upon the point of here acord.
          This sterne king, this cruel lord
          Tok every day on of the Nyne,
          And put him to the discipline
          Of Minotaure, to be devoured;
          Bot Theses was so favoured,
          That he was kept til ate laste.
          And in the meene while he caste    5330
          What thing him were best to do:
          And fell that Adriagne tho,
          Which was the dowhter of Mynos,
          And hadde herd the worthi los
          Of Theses and of his myht,
          And syh he was a lusti kniht,
          Hire hole herte on him sche leide,
          And he also of love hir preide,
          So ferforth that thei were al on.
          And sche ordeigneth thanne anon    5340
          In what manere he scholde him save,
          And schop so that sche dede him have
          A clue of thred, of which withinne
          Ferst ate dore he schal beginne
          With him to take that on ende,
          That whan he wolde ayeinward wende,
          He mihte go the same weie.
          And over this, so as I seie,
          Of pich sche tok him a pelote,
          The which he scholde into the throte  5350
          Of Minotaure caste rihte:
          Such wepne also for him sche dighte,
          That he be reson mai noght faile
          To make an ende of his bataile;
          For sche him tawhte in sondri wise,
          Til he was knowe of thilke emprise,
          Hou he this beste schulde quelle.
          And thus, schort tale forto telle,
          So as this Maide him hadde tawht,
          Theses with this Monstre fawht,  5360
          Smot of his hed, the which he nam,
          And be the thred, so as he cam,
          He goth ayein, til he were oute.
          Tho was gret wonder al aboute:
          Mynos the tribut hath relessed,
          And so was al the werre cessed
          Betwen Athene and hem of Crete.
          Bot now to speke of thilke suete,
          Whos beaute was withoute wane,
          This faire Maiden Adriane,   5370
          Whan that sche sih Theses sound,
          Was nevere yit upon the ground
          A gladder wyht that sche was tho.
          Theses duelte a dai or tuo
          Wher that Mynos gret chiere him dede:
          Theses in a prive stede
          Hath with this Maiden spoke and rouned,
          That sche to him was abandouned
          In al that evere that sche couthe,
          So that of thilke lusty youthe  5380
          Al prively betwen hem tweie
          The ferste flour he tok aweie.
          For he so faire tho behihte
          That evere, whil he live mihte,
          He scholde hire take for his wif,
          And as his oghne hertes lif
          He scholde hire love and trouthe bere;
          And sche, which mihte noght forbere,
          So sore loveth him ayein,
          That what as evere he wolde sein   5390
          With al hire herte sche believeth.
          And thus his pourpos he achieveth,
          So that assured of his trouthe
          With him sche wente, and that was routhe.
          Fedra hire yonger Soster eke,
          A lusti Maide, a sobre, a meke,
          Fulfild of alle curtesie,
          For Sosterhode and compainie
          Of love, which was hem betuene,
          To sen hire Soster mad a queene,   5400
          Hire fader lefte and forth sche wente
          With him, which al his ferste entente
          Foryat withinne a litel throwe,
          So that it was al overthrowe,
          Whan sche best wende it scholde stonde.
          The Schip was blowe fro the londe,
          Wherin that thei seilende were;
          This Adriagne hath mochel fere
          Of that the wynd so loude bleu,
          As sche which of the See ne kneu,  5410
          And preide forto reste a whyle.
          And so fell that upon an yle,
          Which Chyo hihte, thei ben drive,
          Where he to hire his leve hath yive
          That sche schal londe and take hire reste.
          Bot that was nothing for the beste:
          For whan sche was to londe broght,
          Sche, which that time thoghte noght
          Bot alle trouthe, and tok no kepe,
          Hath leid hire softe forto slepe,  5420
          As sche which longe hath ben forwacched;
          Bot certes sche was evele macched
          And fer from alle loves kinde;
          For more than the beste unkinde
          Theses, which no trouthe kepte,
          Whil that this yonge ladi slepte,
          Fulfild of his unkindeschipe
          Hath al foryete the goodschipe
          Which Adriane him hadde do,
          And bad unto the Schipmen tho   5430
          Hale up the seil and noght abyde,
          And forth he goth the same tyde
          Toward Athene, and hire alonde
          He lefte, which lay nyh the stronde
          Slepende, til that sche awok.
          Bot whan that sche cast up hire lok
          Toward the stronde and sih no wyht,
          Hire herte was so sore aflyht,
          That sche ne wiste what to thinke,
          Bot drouh hire to the water brinke,   5440
          Wher sche behield the See at large.
          Sche sih no Schip, sche sih no barge
          Als ferforth as sche mihte kenne:
          "Ha lord," sche seide, "which a Senne,
          As al the world schal after hiere,
          Upon this woful womman hiere
          This worthi kniht hath don and wroght!
          I wende I hadde his love boght,
          And so deserved ate nede,
          Whan that he stod upon his drede,  5450
          And ek the love he me behihte.
          It is gret wonder hou he mihte
          Towardes me nou ben unkinde,
          And so to lete out of his mynde
          Thing which he seide his oghne mouth.
          Bot after this whan it is couth
          And drawe into the worldes fame,
          It schal ben hindringe of his name:
          For wel he wot and so wot I,
          He yaf his trouthe bodily,   5460
          That he myn honour scholde kepe."
          And with that word sche gan to wepe,
          And sorweth more than ynouh:
          Hire faire tresces sche todrouh,
          And with hirself tok such a strif,
          That sche betwen the deth and lif
          Swounende lay fulofte among.
          And al was this on him along,
          Which was to love unkinde so,
          Wherof the wrong schal everemo      5470
          Stonde in Cronique of remembrance.
          And ek it asketh a vengance
          To ben unkinde in loves cas,
          So as Theses thanne was,
          Al thogh he were a noble kniht;
          For he the lawe of loves riht
          Forfeted hath in alle weie,
          That Adriagne he putte aweie,
          Which was a gret unkinde dede:
          And after this, so as I rede,   5480
          Fedra, the which hir Soster is,
          He tok in stede of hire, and this
          Fel afterward to mochel teene.
          For thilke vice of which I meene,
          Unkindeschipe, where it falleth,
          The trouthe of mannes herte it palleth,
          That he can no good dede aquite:
          So mai he stonde of no merite
          Towardes god, and ek also
          Men clepen him the worldes fo;  5490
          For he nomore than the fend
          Unto non other man is frend,
          Bot al toward himself al one.
          Forthi, mi Sone, in thi persone
          This vice above all othre fle.
          Mi fader, as ye techen me,
          I thenke don in this matiere.
          Bot over this nou wolde I hiere,
          Wherof I schal me schryve more.
          Mi goode Sone, and for thi lore,   5500
          After the reule of coveitise
          I schal the proprete devise
          Of every vice by and by.
          Nou herkne and be wel war therby.
          In the lignage of Avarice,
          Mi Sone, yit ther is a vice,
          His rihte name it is Ravine,
          Which hath a route of his covine.
          Ravine among the maistres duelleth,
          And with his servantz, as men telleth,   5510
          Extorcion is nou withholde:
          Ravine of othre mennes folde
          Makth his larder and paieth noght;
          For wher as evere it mai be soght,
          In his hous ther schal nothing lacke,
          And that fulofte abyth the packe
          Of povere men that duelle aboute.
          Thus stant the comun poeple in doute,
          Which can do non amendement;
          For whanne him faileth paiement,   5520
          Ravine makth non other skile,
          Bot takth be strengthe what he wile.
          So ben ther in the same wise
          Lovers, as I thee schal devise,
          That whan noght elles mai availe,
          Anon with strengthe thei assaile
          And gete of love the sesine,
          Whan thei se time, be Ravine.
          Forthi, mi Sone, schrif thee hier,
          If thou hast ben a Raviner   5530
          Of love. Certes, fader, no:
          For I mi ladi love so,
          That thogh I were as was Pompeie,
          That al the world me wolde obeie,
          Or elles such as Alisandre,
          I wolde noght do such a sklaundre;
          It is no good man, which so doth.
          In good feith, Sone, thou seist soth:
          For he that wole of pourveance
          Be such a weie his lust avance,        5540
          He schal it after sore abie,
          Bot if these olde ensamples lie.
          Nou, goode fader, tell me on,
          So as ye cunne manyon,
          Touchende of love in this matiere.
          Nou list, mi Sone, and thou schalt hiere,
          So as it hath befalle er this,
          In loves cause hou that it is
          A man to take be Ravine
          The preie which is femeline.    5550
          Ther was a real noble king,
          And riche of alle worldes thing,
          Which of his propre enheritance
          Athenes hadde in governance,
          And who so thenke therupon,
          His name was king Pandion.
          Tuo douhtres hadde he be his wif,
          The whiche he lovede as his lif;
          The ferste douhter Progne hihte,
          And the secounde, as sche wel mihte,  5560
          Was cleped faire Philomene,
          To whom fell after mochel tene.
          The fader of his pourveance
          His doughter Progne wolde avance,
          And yaf hire unto mariage
          A worthi king of hih lignage,
          A noble kniht eke of his hond,
          So was he kid in every lond,
          Of Trace he hihte Teres;
          The clerk Ovide telleth thus.   5570
          This Teres his wif hom ladde,
          A lusti lif with hire he hadde;
          Til it befell upon a tyde,
          This Progne, as sche lay him besyde,
          Bethoughte hir hou it mihte be
          That sche hir Soster myhte se,
          And to hir lord hir will sche seide,
          With goodly wordes and him preide
          That sche to hire mihte go:
          And if it liked him noght so,   5580
          That thanne he wolde himselve wende,
          Or elles be som other sende,
          Which mihte hire diere Soster griete,
          And schape hou that thei mihten miete.
          Hir lord anon to that he herde
          Yaf his acord, and thus ansuerde:
          "I wole," he seide, "for thi sake
          The weie after thi Soster take
          Miself, and bringe hire, if I may."
          And sche with that, there as he lay,  5590
          Began him in hire armes clippe,
          And kist him with hir softe lippe,
          And seide, "Sire, grant mercy."
          And he sone after was redy,
          And tok his leve forto go;
          In sori time dede he so.
          This Teres goth forth to Schipe
          With him and with his felaschipe;
          Be See the rihte cours he nam,
          Into the contre til he cam,  5600
          Wher Philomene was duellinge,
          And of hir Soster the tidinge
          He tolde, and tho thei weren glade,
          And mochel joie of him thei made.
          The fader and the moder bothe
          To leve here douhter weren lothe,
          Bot if thei weren in presence;
          And natheles at reverence
          Of him, that wolde himself travaile,
          Thei wolden noght he scholde faile    5610
          Of that he preide, and yive hire leve:
          And sche, that wolde noght beleve,
          In alle haste made hire yare
          Toward hir Soster forto fare,
          With Teres and forth sche wente.
          And he with al his hole entente,
          Whan sche was fro hir frendes go,
          Assoteth of hire love so,
          His yhe myhte he noght withholde,
          That he ne moste on hir beholde;   5620
          And with the sihte he gan desire,
          And sette his oghne herte on fyre;
          And fyr, whan it to tow aprocheth,
          To him anon the strengthe acrocheth,
          Til with his hete it be devoured,
          The tow ne mai noght be socoured.
          And so that tirant raviner,
          Whan that sche was in his pouer,
          And he therto sawh time and place,
          As he that lost hath alle grace,   5630
          Foryat he was a wedded man,
          And in a rage on hire he ran,
          Riht as a wolf which takth his preie.
          And sche began to crie and preie,
          "O fader, o mi moder diere,
          Nou help!" Bot thei ne mihte it hiere,
          And sche was of to litel myht
          Defense ayein so ruide a knyht
          To make, whanne he was so wod
          That he no reson understod,  5640
          Bot hield hire under in such wise,
          That sche ne myhte noght arise,
          Bot lay oppressed and desesed,
          As if a goshauk hadde sesed
          A brid, which dorste noght for fere
          Remue: and thus this tirant there
          Beraft hire such thing as men sein
          Mai neveremor be yolde ayein,
          And that was the virginite:
          Of such Ravine it was pite.      5650
          Bot whan sche to hirselven com,
          And of hir meschief hiede nom,
          And knew hou that sche was no maide,
          With wofull herte thus sche saide,
          "O thou of alle men the worste,
          Wher was ther evere man that dorste
          Do such a dede as thou hast do?
          That dai schal falle, I hope so,
          That I schal telle out al mi fille,
          And with mi speche I schal fulfille   5660
          The wyde world in brede and lengthe.
          That thou hast do to me be strengthe,
          If I among the poeple duelle,
          Unto the poeple I schal it telle;
          And if I be withinne wall
          Of Stones closed, thanne I schal
          Unto the Stones clepe and crie,
          And tellen hem thi felonie;
          And if I to the wodes wende,
          Ther schal I tellen tale and ende,    5670
          And crie it to the briddes oute,
          That thei schul hiere it al aboute.
          For I so loude it schal reherce,
          That my vois schal the hevene perce,
          That it schal soune in goddes Ere.
          Ha, false man, where is thi fere?
          O mor cruel than eny beste,
          Hou hast thou holden thi beheste
          Which thou unto my Soster madest?
          O thou, which alle love ungladest,    5680
          And art ensample of alle untrewe,
          Nou wolde god mi Soster knewe,
          Of thin untrouthe, hou that it stod!"
          And he than as a Lyon wod
          With hise unhappi handes stronge
          Hire cauhte be the tresses longe,
          With whiche he bond ther bothe hire armes,
          That was a fieble dede of armes,
          And to the grounde anon hire caste,
          And out he clippeth also faste  5690
          Hire tunge with a peire scheres.
          So what with blod and what with teres
          Out of hire yhe and of hir mouth,
          He made hire faire face uncouth:
          Sche lay swounende unto the deth,
          Ther was unethes eny breth;
          Bot yit whan he hire tunge refte,
          A litel part therof belefte,
          Bot sche with al no word mai soune,
          Bot chitre and as a brid jargoune.    5700
          And natheles that wode hound
          Hir bodi hent up fro the ground,
          And sente hir there as be his wille
          Sche scholde abyde in prison stille
          For everemo: bot nou tak hiede
          What after fell of this misdede.
          Whanne al this meschief was befalle,
          This Teres, that foule him falle,
          Unto his contre hom he tyh;
          And whan he com his paleis nyh,    5710
          His wif al redi there him kepte.
          Whan he hir sih, anon he wepte,
          And that he dede for deceite,
          For sche began to axe him streite,
          "Wher is mi Soster?" And he seide
          That sche was ded; and Progne abreide,
          As sche that was a wofull wif,
          And stod betuen hire deth and lif,
          Of that sche herde such tidinge:
          Bot for sche sih hire lord wepinge,   5720
          She wende noght bot alle trouthe,
          And hadde wel the more routhe.
          The Perles weren tho forsake
          To hire, and blake clothes take;
          As sche that was gentil and kinde,
          In worschipe of hir Sostres mynde
          Sche made a riche enterement,
          For sche fond non amendement
          To syghen or to sobbe more:
          So was ther guile under the gore.  5730
          Nou leve we this king and queene,
          And torne ayein to Philomene,
          As I began to tellen erst.
          Whan sche cam into prison ferst,
          It thoghte a kinges douhter strange
          To maken so soudein a change
          Fro welthe unto so grete a wo;
          And sche began to thenke tho,
          Thogh sche be mouthe nothing preide,
          Withinne hir herte thus sche seide:   5740
          "O thou, almyhty Jupiter,
          That hihe sist and lokest fer,
          Thou soffrest many a wrong doinge,
          And yit it is noght thi willinge.
          To thee ther mai nothing ben hid,
          Thou wost hou it is me betid:
          I wolde I hadde noght be bore,
          For thanne I hadde noght forlore
          Mi speche and mi virginite.
          Bot, goode lord, al is in thee,    5750
          Whan thou therof wolt do vengance
          And schape mi deliverance."
          And evere among this ladi wepte,
          And thoghte that sche nevere kepte
          To ben a worldes womman more,
          And that sche wissheth everemore.
          Bot ofte unto hir Soster diere
          Hire herte spekth in this manere,
          And seide, "Ha, Soster, if ye knewe
          Of myn astat, ye wolde rewe,    5760
          I trowe, and my deliverance
          Ye wolde schape, and do vengance
          On him that is so fals a man:
          And natheles, so as I can,
          I wol you sende som tokninge,
          Wherof ye schul have knowlechinge
          Of thing I wot, that schal you lothe,
          The which you toucheth and me bothe."
          And tho withinne a whyle als tyt
          Sche waf a cloth of Selk al whyt   5770
          With lettres and ymagerie,
          In which was al the felonie,
          Which Teres to hire hath do;
          And lappede it togedre tho
          And sette hir signet therupon
          And sende it unto Progne anon.
          The messager which forth it bar,
          What it amonteth is noght war;
          And natheles to Progne he goth
          And prively takth hire the cloth,  5780
          And wente ayein riht as he cam,
          The court of him non hiede nam.
          Whan Progne of Philomene herde,
          Sche wolde knowe hou that it ferde,
          And opneth that the man hath broght,
          And wot therby what hath be wroght
          And what meschief ther is befalle.
          In swoune tho sche gan doun falle,
          And efte aros and gan to stonde,
          And eft sche takth the cloth on honde,   5790
          Behield the lettres and thymages;
          Bot ate laste, "Of suche oultrages,"
          Sche seith, "wepinge is noght the bote:"
          And swerth, if that sche live mote,
          It schal be venged otherwise.
          And with that sche gan hire avise
          Hou ferst sche mihte unto hire winne
          Hir Soster, that noman withinne,
          Bot only thei that were suore,
          It scholde knowe, and schop therfore  5800
          That Teres nothing it wiste;
          And yit riht as hirselven liste,
          Hir Soster was delivered sone
          Out of prison, and be the mone
          To Progne sche was broght be nyhte.
          Whan ech of other hadde a sihte,
          In chambre, ther thei were al one,
          Thei maden many a pitous mone;
          Bot Progne most of sorwe made,
          Which sihe hir Soster pale and fade   5810
          And specheles and deshonoured,
          Of that sche hadde be defloured;
          And ek upon hir lord sche thoghte,
          Of that he so untreuly wroghte
          And hadde his espousaile broke.
          Sche makth a vou it schal be wroke,
          And with that word sche kneleth doun
          Wepinge in gret devocioun:
          Unto Cupide and to Venus
          Sche preide, and seide thanne thus:   5820
          "O ye, to whom nothing asterte
          Of love mai, for every herte
          Ye knowe, as ye that ben above
          The god and the goddesse of love;
          Ye witen wel that evere yit
          With al mi will and al my wit,
          Sith ferst ye schopen me to wedde,
          That I lay with mi lord abedde,
          I have be trewe in mi degre,
          And evere thoghte forto be,  5830
          And nevere love in other place,
          Bot al only the king of Trace,
          Which is mi lord and I his wif.
          Bot nou allas this wofull strif!
          That I him thus ayeinward finde
          The most untrewe and most unkinde
          That evere in ladi armes lay.
          And wel I wot that he ne may
          Amende his wrong, it is so gret;
          For he to lytel of me let,   5840
          Whan he myn oughne Soster tok,
          And me that am his wif forsok."
          Lo, thus to Venus and Cupide
          Sche preide, and furthermor sche cride
          Unto Appollo the hiheste,
          And seide, "O myghti god of reste,
          Thou do vengance of this debat.
          Mi Soster and al hire astat
          Thou wost, and hou sche hath forlore
          Hir maidenhod, and I therfore   5850
          In al the world schal bere a blame
          Of that mi Soster hath a schame,
          That Teres to hire I sente:
          And wel thou wost that myn entente
          Was al for worschipe and for goode.
          O lord, that yifst the lives fode
          To every wyht, I prei thee hiere
          Thes wofull Sostres that ben hiere,
          And let ous noght to the ben lothe;
          We ben thin oghne wommen bothe."   5860
          Thus pleigneth Progne and axeth wreche,
          And thogh hire Soster lacke speche,
          To him that alle thinges wot
          Hire sorwe is noght the lasse hot:
          Bot he that thanne had herd hem tuo,
          Him oughte have sorwed everemo
          For sorwe which was hem betuene.
          With signes pleigneth Philomene,
          And Progne seith, "It schal be wreke,
          That al the world therof schal speke."   5870
          And Progne tho seknesse feigneth,
          Wherof unto hir lord sche pleigneth,
          And preith sche moste hire chambres kepe,
          And as hir liketh wake and slepe.
          And he hire granteth to be so;
          And thus togedre ben thei tuo,
          That wolde him bot a litel good.
          Nou herk hierafter hou it stod
          Of wofull auntres that befelle:
          Thes Sostres, that ben bothe felle,-  5880
          And that was noght on hem along,
          Bot onliche on the grete wrong
          Which Teres hem hadde do,-
          Thei schopen forto venge hem tho.
          This Teres be Progne his wif
          A Sone hath, which as his lif
          He loveth, and Ithis he hihte:
          His moder wiste wel sche mihte
          Do Teres no more grief
          Than sle this child, which was so lief.  5890
          Thus sche, that was, as who seith, mad
          Of wo, which hath hir overlad,
          Withoute insihte of moderhede
          Foryat pite and loste drede,
          And in hir chambre prively
          This child withouten noise or cry
          Sche slou, and hieu him al to pieces:
          And after with diverse spieces
          The fleissh, whan it was so toheewe,
          Sche takth, and makth therof a sewe,  5900
          With which the fader at his mete
          Was served, til he hadde him ete;
          That he ne wiste hou that it stod,
          Bot thus his oughne fleissh and blod
          Himself devoureth ayein kinde,
          As he that was tofore unkinde.
          And thanne, er that he were arise,
          For that he scholde ben agrise,
          To schewen him the child was ded,
          This Philomene tok the hed   5910
          Betwen tuo disshes, and al wrothe
          Tho comen forth the Sostres bothe,
          And setten it upon the bord.
          And Progne tho began the word,
          And seide, "O werste of alle wicke,
          Of conscience whom no pricke
          Mai stere, lo, what thou hast do!
          Lo, hier ben nou we Sostres tuo;
          O Raviner, lo hier thi preie,
          With whom so falsliche on the weie    5920
          Thou hast thi tirannye wroght.
          Lo, nou it is somdel aboght,
          And bet it schal, for of thi dede
          The world schal evere singe and rede
          In remembrance of thi defame:
          For thou to love hast do such schame,
          That it schal nevere be foryete."
          With that he sterte up fro the mete,
          And schof the bord unto the flor,
          And cauhte a swerd anon and suor   5930
          That thei scholde of his handes dye.
          And thei unto the goddes crie
          Begunne with so loude a stevene,
          That thei were herd unto the hevene;
          And in a twinclinge of an yhe
          The goddes, that the meschief syhe,
          Here formes changen alle thre.
          Echon of hem in his degre
          Was torned into briddes kinde;
          Diverseliche, as men mai finde,    5940
          After thastat that thei were inne,
          Here formes were set atwinne.
          And as it telleth in the tale,
          The ferst into a nyhtingale
          Was schape, and that was Philomene,
          Which in the wynter is noght sene,
          For thanne ben the leves falle
          And naked ben the buisshes alle.
          For after that sche was a brid,
          Hir will was evere to ben hid,  5950
          And forto duelle in prive place,
          That noman scholde sen hir face
          For schame, which mai noght be lassed,
          Of thing that was tofore passed,
          Whan that sche loste hir maidenhiede:
          For evere upon hir wommanhiede,
          Thogh that the goddes wolde hire change,
          Sche thenkth, and is the more strange,
          And halt hir clos the wyntres day.
          Bot whan the wynter goth away,  5960
          And that Nature the goddesse
          Wole of hir oughne fre largesse
          With herbes and with floures bothe
          The feldes and the medwes clothe,
          And ek the wodes and the greves
          Ben heled al with grene leves,
          So that a brid hire hyde mai,
          Betwen Averil and March and Maii,
          Sche that the wynter hield hir clos,
          For pure schame and noght aros,    5970
          Whan that sche seth the bowes thikke,
          And that ther is no bare sticke,
          Bot al is hid with leves grene,
          To wode comth this Philomene
          And makth hir ferste yeres flyht;
          Wher as sche singeth day and nyht,
          And in hir song al openly
          Sche makth hir pleignte and seith, "O why,
          O why ne were I yit a maide?"
          For so these olde wise saide,   5980
          Which understoden what sche mente,
          Hire notes ben of such entente.
          And ek thei seide hou in hir song
          Sche makth gret joie and merthe among,
          And seith, "Ha, nou I am a brid,
          Ha, nou mi face mai ben hid:
          Thogh I have lost mi Maidenhede,
          Schal noman se my chekes rede."
          Thus medleth sche with joie wo
          And with hir sorwe merthe also,    5990
          So that of loves maladie
          Sche makth diverse melodie,
          And seith love is a wofull blisse,
          A wisdom which can noman wisse,
          A lusti fievere, a wounde softe:
          This note sche reherceth ofte
          To hem whiche understonde hir tale.
          Nou have I of this nyhtingale,
          Which erst was cleped Philomene,
          Told al that evere I wolde mene,   6000
          Bothe of hir forme and of hir note,
          Wherof men mai the storie note.
          And of hir Soster Progne I finde,
          Hou sche was torned out of kinde
          Into a Swalwe swift of winge,
          Which ek in wynter lith swounynge,
          Ther as sche mai nothing be sene:
          Bot whan the world is woxe grene
          And comen is the Somertide,
          Than fleth sche forth and ginth to chide,   6010
          And chitreth out in hir langage
          What falshod is in mariage,
          And telleth in a maner speche
          Of Teres the Spousebreche.
          Sche wol noght in the wodes duelle,
          For sche wolde openliche telle;
          And ek for that sche was a spouse,
          Among the folk sche comth to house,
          To do thes wyves understonde
          The falshod of hire housebonde,    6020
          That thei of hem be war also,
          For ther ben manye untrewe of tho.
          Thus ben the Sostres briddes bothe,
          And ben toward the men so lothe,
          That thei ne wole of pure schame
          Unto no mannes hand be tame;
          For evere it duelleth in here mynde
          Of that thei founde a man unkinde,
          And that was false Teres.
          If such on be amonges ous    6030
          I not, bot his condicion
          Men sein in every region
          Withinne toune and ek withoute
          Nou regneth comunliche aboute.
          And natheles in remembrance
          I wol declare what vengance
          The goddes hadden him ordeined,
          Of that the Sostres hadden pleigned:
          For anon after he was changed
          And from his oghne kinde stranged,    6040
          A lappewincke mad he was,
          And thus he hoppeth on the gras,
          And on his hed ther stant upriht
          A creste in tokne he was a kniht;
          And yit unto this dai men seith,
          A lappewincke hath lore his feith
          And is the brid falseste of alle.
          Bewar, mi Sone, er thee so falle;
          For if thou be of such covine,
          To gete of love be Ravine    6050
          Thi lust, it mai thee falle thus,
          As it befell of Teres.
          Mi fader, goddes forebode!
          Me were levere be fortrode
          With wilde hors and be todrawe,
          Er I ayein love and his lawe
          Dede eny thing or loude or stille,
          Which were noght mi ladi wille.
          Men sein that every love hath drede;
          So folweth it that I hire drede,   6060
          For I hire love, and who so dredeth,
          To plese his love and serve him nedeth.
          Thus mai ye knowen be this skile
          That no Ravine don I wile
          Ayein hir will be such a weie;
          Bot while I live, I wol obeie
          Abidinge on hire courtesie,
          If eny merci wolde hir plie.
          Forthi, mi fader, as of this
          I wot noght I have don amis:    6070
          Bot furthermore I you beseche,
          Som other point that ye me teche,
          And axeth forth, if ther be auht,
          That I mai be the betre tauht.
          Whan Covoitise in povere astat
          Stant with himself upon debat
          Thurgh lacke of his misgovernance,
          That he unto his sustienance
          Ne can non other weie finde
          To gete him good, thanne as the blinde,  6080
          Which seth noght what schal after falle,
          That ilke vice which men calle
          Of Robberie, he takth on honde;
          Wherof be water and be londe
          Of thing which othre men beswinke
          He get him cloth and mete and drinke.
          Him reccheth noght what he beginne,
          Thurgh thefte so that he mai winne:
          Forthi to maken his pourchas
          He lith awaitende on the pas,   6090
          And what thing that he seth ther passe,
          He takth his part, or more or lasse,
          If it be worthi to be take.
          He can the packes wel ransake,
          So prively berth non aboute
          His gold, that he ne fint it oute,
          Or other juel, what it be;
          He takth it as his proprete.
          In wodes and in feldes eke
          Thus Robberie goth to seke,  6100
          Wher as he mai his pourpos finde.
          And riht so in the same kinde,
          My goode Sone, as thou miht hiere,
          To speke of love in the matiere
          And make a verrai resemblance,
          Riht as a thief makth his chevance
          And robbeth mennes good aboute
          In wode and field, wher he goth oute,
          So be ther of these lovers some,
          In wylde stedes wher thei come  6110
          And finden there a womman able,
          And therto place covenable,
          Withoute leve, er that thei fare,
          Thei take a part of that chaffare:
          Yee, though sche were a Scheperdesse,
          Yit wol the lord of wantounesse
          Assaie, althogh sche be unmete,
          For other mennes good is swete.
          Bot therof wot nothing the wif
          At hom, which loveth as hir lif    6120
          Hir lord, and sitt alday wisshinge
          After hir lordes hom comynge:
          Bot whan that he comth hom at eve,
          Anon he makth his wif beleve,
          For sche noght elles scholde knowe:
          He telth hire hou his hunte hath blowe,
          And hou his houndes have wel runne,
          And hou ther schon a merye Sunne,
          And hou his haukes flowen wel;
          Bot he wol telle her nevere a diel    6130
          Hou he to love untrewe was,
          Of that he robbede in the pas,
          And tok his lust under the schawe
          Ayein love and ayein his lawe.
          Which thing, mi Sone, I thee forbede,
          For it is an ungoodly dede.
          For who that takth be Robberie
          His love, he mai noght justefie
          His cause, and so fulofte sithe
          For ones that he hath be blithe    6140
          He schal ben after sory thries.
          Ensample of suche Robberies
          I finde write, as thou schalt hiere,
          Acordende unto this matiere.
          I rede hou whilom was a Maide,
          The faireste, as Ovide saide,
          Which was in hire time tho;
          And sche was of the chambre also
          Of Pallas, which is the goddesse
          And wif to Marte, of whom prouesse    6150
          Is yove to these worthi knihtes.
          For he is of so grete mihtes,
          That he governeth the bataille;
          Withouten him may noght availe
          The stronge hond, bot he it helpe;
          Ther mai no knyht of armes yelpe,
          Bot he feihte under his banere.
          Bot nou to speke of mi matiere,
          This faire, freisshe, lusti mai,
          Al one as sche wente on a dai   6160
          Upon the stronde forto pleie,
          Ther cam Neptunus in the weie,
          Which hath the See in governance;
          And in his herte such plesance
          He tok, whan he this Maide sih,
          That al his herte aros on hih,
          For he so sodeinliche unwar
          Behield the beaute that sche bar.
          And caste anon withinne his herte
          That sche him schal no weie asterte,  6170
          Bot if he take in avantage
          Fro thilke maide som pilage,
          Noght of the broches ne the Ringes,
          Bot of some othre smale thinges
          He thoghte parte, er that sche wente;
          And hire in bothe hise armes hente,
          And putte his hond toward the cofre,
          Wher forto robbe he made a profre,
          That lusti tresor forto stele,
          Which passeth othre goodes fele    6180
          And cleped is the maidenhede,
          Which is the flour of wommanhede.
          This Maiden, which Cornix be name
          Was hote, dredende alle schame,
          Sih that sche mihte noght debate,
          And wel sche wiste he wolde algate
          Fulfille his lust of Robberie,
          Anon began to wepe and crie,
          And seide, "O Pallas, noble queene,
          Scheu nou thi myht and let be sene,   6190
          To kepe and save myn honour:
          Help, that I lese noght mi flour,
          Which nou under thi keie is loke."
          That word was noght so sone spoke,
          Whan Pallas schop recoverir
          After the will and the desir
          Of hire, which a Maiden was,
          And sodeinliche upon this cas
          Out of hire wommanisshe kinde
          Into a briddes like I finde  6200
          Sche was transformed forth withal,
          So that Neptunus nothing stal
          Of such thing as he wolde have stole.
          With fetheres blake as eny cole
          Out of hise armes in a throwe
          Sche flih before his yhe a Crowe;
          Which was to hire a more delit,
          To kepe hire maidenhede whit
          Under the wede of fethers blake,
          In Perles whyte than forsake    6210
          That no lif mai restore ayein.
          Bot thus Neptune his herte in vein
          Hath upon Robberie sett;
          The bridd is flowe and he was let,
          The faire Maide him hath ascaped,
          Wherof for evere he was bejaped
          And scorned of that he hath lore.
          Mi Sone, be thou war therfore
          That thou no maidenhode stele,
          Wherof men sen deseses fele  6220
          Aldai befalle in sondri wise;
          So as I schal thee yit devise
          An other tale therupon,
          Which fell be olde daies gon.
          King Lichaon upon his wif
          A dowhter hadde, a goodly lif,
          A clene Maide of worthi fame,
          Calistona whos rihte name
          Was cleped, and of many a lord
          Sche was besoght, bot hire acord   6230
          To love myhte noman winne,
          As sche which hath no lust therinne;
          Bot swor withinne hir herte and saide
          That sche wolde evere ben a Maide.
          Wherof to kepe hireself in pes,
          With suche as Amadriades
          Were cleped, wodemaydes, tho,
          And with the Nimphes ek also
          Upon the spring of freisshe welles
          Sche schop to duelle and nagher elles.   6240
          And thus cam this Calistona
          Into the wode of Tegea,
          Wher sche virginite behihte
          Unto Diane, and therto plihte
          Her trouthe upon the bowes grene,
          To kepe hir maidenhode clene.
          Which afterward upon a day
          Was priveliche stole away;
          For Jupiter thurgh his queintise
          From hire it tok in such a wise,   6250
          That sodeinliche forth withal
          Hire wombe aros and sche toswal,
          So that it mihte noght ben hidd.
          And therupon it is betidd,
          Diane, which it herde telle,
          In prive place unto a welle
          With Nimphes al a compainie
          Was come, and in a ragerie
          Sche seide that sche bathe wolde,
          And bad that every maide scholde   6260
          With hire al naked bathe also.
          And tho began the prive wo,
          Calistona wax red for schame;
          Bot thei that knewe noght the game,
          To whom no such thing was befalle,
          Anon thei made hem naked alle,
          As thei that nothing wolden hyde:
          Bot sche withdrouh hire evere asyde,
          And natheles into the flod,
          Wher that Diane hirselve stod,  6270
          Sche thoghte come unaperceived.
          Bot therof sche was al deceived;
          For whan sche cam a litel nyh,
          And that Diane hire wombe syh,
          Sche seide, "Awey, thou foule beste,
          For thin astat is noght honeste
          This chaste water forto touche;
          For thou hast take such a touche,
          Which nevere mai ben hol ayein."
          And thus goth sche which was forlein  6280
          With schame, and fro the Nimphes fledde,
          Til whanne that nature hire spedde,
          That of a Sone, which Archas
          Was named, sche delivered was.
          And tho Juno, which was the wif
          Of Jupiter, wroth and hastif,
          In pourpos forto do vengance
          Cam forth upon this ilke chance,
          And to Calistona sche spak,
          And sette upon hir many a lak,  6290
          And seide, "Ha, nou thou art atake,
          That thou thi werk myht noght forsake.
          Ha, thou ungoodlich ypocrite,
          Hou thou art gretly forto wyte!
          Bot nou thou schalt ful sore abie
          That ilke stelthe and micherie,
          Which thou hast bothe take and do;
          Wherof thi fader Lichao
          Schal noght be glad, whan he it wot,
          Of that his dowhter was so hot,    6300
          That sche hath broke hire chaste avou.
          Bot I thee schal chastise nou;
          Thi grete beaute schal be torned,
          Thurgh which that thou hast be mistorned,
          Thi large frount, thin yhen greie,
          I schal hem change in other weie,
          And al the feture of thi face
          In such a wise I schal deface,
          That every man thee schal forbere."
          With that the liknesse of a bere   6310
          Sche tok and was forschape anon.
          Withinne a time and therupon
          Befell that with a bowe on honde,
          To hunte and gamen forto fonde,
          Into that wode goth to pleie
          Hir Sone Archas, and in his weie
          It hapneth that this bere cam.
          And whan that sche good hiede nam,
          Wher that he stod under the bowh,
          Sche kneu him wel and to him drouh;   6320
          For thogh sche hadde hire forme lore,
          The love was noght lost therfore
          Which kinde hath set under his lawe.
          Whan sche under the wodesschawe
          Hire child behield, sche was so glad,
          That sche with bothe hire armes sprad,
          As thogh sche were in wommanhiede,
          Toward him cam, and tok non hiede
          Of that he bar a bowe bent.
          And he with that an Arwe hath hent    6330
          And gan to teise it in his bowe,
          As he that can non other knowe,
          Bot that it was a beste wylde.
          Bot Jupiter, which wolde schylde
          The Moder and the Sone also,
          Ordeineth for hem bothe so,
          That thei for evere were save.
          Bot thus, mi Sone, thou myht have
          Ensample, hou that it is to fle
          To robbe the virginite    6340
          Of a yong innocent aweie:
          And overthis be other weie,
          In olde bokes as I rede,
          Such Robberie is forto drede,
          And nameliche of thilke good
          Which every womman that is good
          Desireth forto kepe and holde,
          As whilom was be daies olde.
          For if thou se mi tale wel
          Of that was tho, thou miht somdiel    6350
          Of old ensample taken hiede,
          Hou that the flour of maidenhiede
          Was thilke time holde in pris.
          And so it was, and so it is,
          And so it schal for evere stonde:
          And for thou schalt it understonde,
          Nou herkne a tale next suiende,
          Hou maidenhod is to commende.
          Of Rome among the gestes olde
          I finde hou that Valerie tolde  6360
          That what man tho was Emperour
          Of Rome, he scholde don honour
          To the virgine, and in the weie,
          Wher he hire mette, he scholde obeie
          In worschipe of virginite,
          Which tho was of gret dignite.
          Noght onliche of the wommen tho,
          Bot of the chaste men also
          It was commended overal:
          And forto speke in special   6370
          Touchende of men, ensample I finde,
          Phyryns, which was of mannes kinde
          Above alle othre the faireste
          Of Rome and ek the comelieste,
          That wel was hire which him mihte
          Beholde and have of him a sihte.
          Thus was he tempted ofte sore;
          Bot for he wolde be nomore
          Among the wommen so coveited,
          The beaute of his face streited    6380
          He hath, and threste out bothe hise yhen,
          That alle wommen whiche him syhen
          Thanne afterward, of him ne roghte:
          And thus his maidehiede he boghte.
          So mai I prove wel forthi,
          Above alle othre under the Sky,
          Who that the vertus wolde peise,
          Virginite is forto preise,
          Which, as thapocalips recordeth,
          To Crist in hevene best acordeth.  6390
          So mai it schewe wel therfore,
          As I have told it hier tofore,
          In hevene and ek in Erthe also
          It is accept to bothe tuo.
          And if I schal more over this
          Declare what this vertu is,
          I finde write upon this thing
          Of Valentinian the king
          And Emperour be thilke daies,
          A worthi knyht at alle assaies,    6400
          Hou he withoute Mariage
          Was of an hundred wynter Age,
          And hadde ben a worthi kniht
          Bothe of his lawe and of his myht.
          Bot whan men wolde his dedes peise
          And his knyhthode of Armes preise,
          Of that he dede with his hondes,
          Whan he the kinges and the londes
          To his subjeccion put under,
          Of al that pris hath he no wonder,    6410
          For he it sette of non acompte,
          And seide al that may noght amonte
          Ayeins o point which he hath nome,
          That he his fleissh hath overcome:
          He was a virgine, as he seide;
          On that bataille his pris he leide.
          Lo nou, my Sone, avise thee.
          Yee, fader, al this wel mai be,
          Bot if alle othre dede so,
          The world of men were sone go:  6420
          And in the lawe a man mai finde,
          Hou god to man be weie of kinde
          Hath set the world to multeplie;
          And who that wol him justefie,
          It is ynouh to do the lawe.
          And natheles youre goode sawe
          Is good to kepe, who so may,
          I wol noght therayein seie nay.
          Mi Sone, take it as I seie;
          If maidenhod be take aweie   6430
          Withoute lawes ordinance,
          It mai noght failen of vengance.
          And if thou wolt the sothe wite,
          Behold a tale which is write,
          Hou that the King Agamenon,
          Whan he the Cite of Lesbon
          Hath wonne, a Maiden ther he fond,
          Which was the faireste of the Lond
          In thilke time that men wiste.
          He tok of hire what him liste   6440
          Of thing which was most precious,
          Wherof that sche was dangerous.
          This faire Maiden cleped is
          Criseide, douhter of Crisis,
          Which was that time in special
          Of thilke temple principal,
          Wher Phebus hadde his sacrifice,
          So was it wel the more vice.
          Agamenon was thanne in weie
          To Troieward, and tok aweie  6450
          This Maiden, which he with him ladde,
          So grete a lust in hire he hadde.
          Bot Phebus, which hath gret desdeign
          Of that his Maiden was forlein,
          Anon as he to Troie cam,
          Vengance upon this dede he nam
          And sende a comun pestilence.
          Thei soghten thanne here evidence
          And maden calculacion,
          To knowe in what condicion   6460
          This deth cam in so sodeinly;
          And ate laste redyly
          The cause and ek the man thei founde:
          And forth withal the same stounde
          Agamenon opposed was,
          Which hath beknowen al the cas
          Of the folie which he wroghte.
          And therupon mercy thei soghte
          Toward the god in sondri wise
          With preiere and with sacrifise,   6470
          The Maide and hom ayein thei sende,
          And yive hire good ynouh to spende
          For evere whil sche scholde live:
          And thus the Senne was foryive
          And al the pestilence cessed.
          Lo, what it is to ben encressed
          Of love which is evele wonne.
          It were betre noght begonne
          Than take a thing withoute leve,
          Which thou most after nedes leve,  6480
          And yit have malgre forth withal.
          Forthi to robben overal
          In loves cause if thou beginne,
          I not what ese thou schalt winne.
          Mi Sone, be wel war of this,
          For thus of Robberie it is.
          Mi fader, youre ensamplerie
          In loves cause of Robberie
          I have it riht wel understonde.
          Bot overthis, hou so it stonde,    6490
          Yit wolde I wite of youre aprise
          What thing is more of Covoitise.
          With Covoitise yit I finde
          A Servant of the same kinde,
          Which Stelthe is hote, and Mecherie
          With him is evere in compainie.
          Of whom if I schal telle soth,
          He stalketh as a Pocok doth,
          And takth his preie so covert,
          That noman wot it in apert.  6500
          For whan he wot the lord from home,
          Than wol he stalke aboute and rome;
          And what thing he fint in his weie,
          Whan that he seth the men aweie,
          He stelth it and goth forth withal,
          That therof noman knowe schal.
          And ek fulofte he goth a nyht
          Withoute Mone or sterreliht,
          And with his craft the dore unpiketh,
          And takth therinne what him liketh:   6510
          And if the dore be so schet,
          That he be of his entre let,
          He wole in ate wyndou crepe,
          And whil the lord is faste aslepe,
          He stelth what thing as him best list,
          And goth his weie er it be wist.
          Fulofte also be lyhte of day
          Yit wole he stele and make assay;
          Under the cote his hond he put,
          Til he the mannes Purs have cut,   6520
          And rifleth that he fint therinne.
          And thus he auntreth him to winne,
          And berth an horn and noght ne bloweth,
          For noman of his conseil knoweth;
          What he mai gete of his Michinge,
          It is al bile under the winge.
          And as an hound that goth to folde
          And hath ther taken what he wolde,
          His mouth upon the gras he wypeth,
          And so with feigned chiere him slypeth,  6530
          That what as evere of schep he strangle,
          Ther is noman therof schal jangle,
          As forto knowen who it dede;
          Riht so doth Stelthe in every stede,
          Where as him list his preie take.
          He can so wel his cause make
          And so wel feigne and so wel glose,
          That ther ne schal noman suppose,
          Bot that he were an innocent,
          And thus a mannes yhe he blent:    6540
          So that this craft I mai remene
          Withouten help of eny mene.
          Ther be lovers of that degre,
          Which al here lust in privete,
          As who seith, geten al be Stelthe,
          And ofte atteignen to gret welthe
          As for the time that it lasteth.
          For love awaiteth evere and casteth
          Hou he mai stele and cacche his preie,
          Whan he therto mai finde a weie:   6550
          For be it nyht or be it day,
          He takth his part, whan that he may,
          And if he mai nomore do,
          Yit wol he stele a cuss or tuo.
          Mi Sone, what seist thou therto?
          Tell if thou dedest evere so.
          Mi fader, hou? Mi Sone, thus,-
          If thou hast stolen eny cuss
          Or other thing which therto longeth,
          For noman suche thieves hongeth:   6560
          Tell on forthi and sei the trouthe.
          Mi fader, nay, and that is routhe,
          For be mi will I am a thief;
          Bot sche that is to me most lief,
          Yit dorste I nevere in privete
          Noght ones take hire be the kne,
          To stele of hire or this or that,
          And if I dorste, I wot wel what:
          And natheles, bot if I lie,
          Be Stelthe ne be Robberie    6570
          Of love, which fell in mi thoght,
          To hire dede I nevere noght.
          Bot as men sein, wher herte is failed,
          Ther schal no castell ben assailed;
          Bot thogh I hadde hertes ten,
          And were als strong as alle men,
          If I be noght myn oghne man
          And dar noght usen that I can,
          I mai miselve noght recovere.
          Thogh I be nevere man so povere,   6580
          I bere an herte and hire it is,
          So that me faileth wit in this,
          Hou that I scholde of myn acord
          The servant lede ayein the lord:
          For if mi fot wolde awher go,
          Or that min hand wolde elles do,
          Whan that myn herte is therayein,
          The remenant is al in vein.
          And thus me lacketh alle wele,
          And yit ne dar I nothing stele  6590
          Of thing which longeth unto love:
          And ek it is so hyh above,
          I mai noght wel therto areche,
          Bot if so be at time of speche,
          Ful selde if thanne I stele may
          A word or tuo and go my way.
          Betwen hire hih astat and me
          Comparison ther mai non be,
          So that I fiele and wel I wot,
          Al is to hevy and to hot  6600
          To sette on hond withoute leve:
          And thus I mot algate leve
          To stele that I mai noght take,
          And in this wise I mot forsake
          To ben a thief ayein mi wille
          Of thing which I mai noght fulfille.
          For that Serpent which nevere slepte
          The flees of gold so wel ne kepte
          In Colchos, as the tale is told,
          That mi ladi a thousendfold  6610
          Nys betre yemed and bewaked,
          Wher sche be clothed or be naked.
          To kepe hir bodi nyht and day,
          Sche hath a wardein redi ay,
          Which is so wonderful a wyht,
          That him ne mai no mannes myht
          With swerd ne with no wepne daunte,
          Ne with no sleihte of charme enchaunte,
          Wherof he mihte be mad tame,
          And Danger is his rihte name;   6620
          Which under lock and under keie,
          That noman mai it stele aweie,
          Hath al the Tresor underfonge
          That unto love mai belonge.
          The leste lokinge of hire yhe
          Mai noght be stole, if he it syhe;
          And who so gruccheth for so lyte,
          He wolde sone sette a wyte
          On him that wolde stele more.
          And that me grieveth wonder sore,  6630
          For this proverbe is evere newe,
          That stronge lokes maken trewe
          Of hem that wolden stele and pyke:
          For so wel can ther noman slyke
          Be him ne be non other mene,
          To whom Danger wol yive or lene
          Of that tresor he hath to kepe.
          So thogh I wolde stalke and crepe,
          And wayte on eve and ek on morwe,
          Of Danger schal I nothing borwe,   6640
          And stele I wot wel may I noght:
          And thus I am riht wel bethoght,
          Whil Danger stant in his office,
          Of Stelthe, which ye clepe a vice,
          I schal be gultif neveremo.
          Therfore I wolde he were ago
          So fer that I nevere of him herde,
          Hou so that afterward it ferde:
          For thanne I mihte yit per cas
          Of love make som pourchas    6650
          Be Stelthe or be som other weie,
          That nou fro me stant fer aweie.
          Bot, fader, as ye tolde above,
          Hou Stelthe goth a nyht for love,
          I mai noght wel that point forsake,
          That ofte times I ne wake
          On nyhtes, whan that othre slepe;
          Bot hou, I prei you taketh kepe.
          Whan I am loged in such wise
          That I be nyhte mai arise,   6660
          At som wyndowe and loken oute
          And se the housinge al aboute,
          So that I mai the chambre knowe
          In which mi ladi, as I trowe,
          Lyth in hir bed and slepeth softe,
          Thanne is myn herte a thief fulofte:
          For there I stonde to beholde
          The longe nyhtes that ben colde,
          And thenke on hire that lyth there.
          And thanne I wisshe that I were    6670
          Als wys as was Nectanabus
          Or elles as was Prothes,
          That couthen bothe of nigromaunce
          In what liknesse, in what semblaunce,
          Riht as hem liste, hemself transforme:
          For if I were of such a forme,
          I seie thanne I wolde fle
          Into the chambre forto se
          If eny grace wolde falle,
          So that I mihte under the palle    6680
          Som thing of love pyke and stele.
          And thus I thenke thoghtes fele,
          And thogh therof nothing be soth,
          Yit ese as for a time it doth:
          Bot ate laste whanne I finde
          That I am falle into my mynde,
          And se that I have stonde longe
          And have no profit underfonge,
          Than stalke I to mi bedd withinne.
          And this is al that evere I winne  6690
          Of love, whanne I walke on nyht:
          Mi will is good, bot of mi myht
          Me lacketh bothe and of mi grace;
          For what so that mi thoght embrace,
          Yit have I noght the betre ferd.
          Mi fader, lo, nou have ye herd
          What I be Stelthe of love have do,
          And hou mi will hath be therto:
          If I be worthi to penance
          I put it on your ordinance.  6700
          Mi Sone, of Stelthe I the behiete,
          Thogh it be for a time swete,
          At ende it doth bot litel good,
          As be ensample hou that it stod
          Whilom, I mai thee telle nou.
          I preie you, fader, sei me hou.
          Mi Sone, of him which goth be daie
          Be weie of Stelthe to assaie,
          In loves cause and takth his preie,
          Ovide seide as I schal seie,    6710
          And in his Methamor he tolde
          A tale, which is good to holde.
          The Poete upon this matiere
          Of Stelthe wrot in this manere.
          Venus, which hath this lawe in honde
          Of thing which mai noght be withstonde,
          As sche which the tresor to warde
          Of love hath withinne hir warde,
          Phebum to love hath so constreigned,
          That he withoute reste is peined   6720
          With al his herte to coveite
          A Maiden, which was warded streyte
          Withinne chambre and kept so clos,
          That selden was whan sche desclos
          Goth with hir moder forto pleie.
          Leuchotoe, so as men seie,
          This Maiden hihte, and Orchamus
          Hir fader was; and befell thus.
          This doughter, that was kept so deere,
          And hadde be fro yer to yeere   6730
          Under hir moder discipline
          A clene Maide and a Virgine,
          Upon the whos nativite
          Of comelihiede and of beaute
          Nature hath set al that sche may,
          That lich unto the fresshe Maii,
          Which othre monthes of the yeer
          Surmonteth, so withoute pier
          Was of this Maiden the feture.
          Wherof Phebus out of mesure  6740
          Hire loveth, and on every syde
          Awaiteth, if so mai betyde,
          That he thurgh eny sleihte myhte
          Hire lusti maidenhod unrihte,
          The which were al his worldes welthe.
          And thus lurkende upon his stelthe
          In his await so longe he lai,
          Til it befell upon a dai,
          That he thurghout hir chambre wall
          Cam in al sodeinliche, and stall   6750
          That thing which was to him so lief.
          Bot wo the while, he was a thief!
          For Venus, which was enemie
          Of thilke loves micherie,
          Discovereth al the pleine cas
          To Clymene, which thanne was
          Toward Phebus his concubine.
          And sche to lette the covine
          Of thilke love, dedli wroth
          To pleigne upon this Maide goth,   6760
          And tolde hire fader hou it stod;
          Wherof for sorwe welnyh wod
          Unto hire moder thus he saide:
          "Lo, what it is to kepe a Maide!
          To Phebus dar I nothing speke,
          Bot upon hire I schal be wreke,
          So that these Maidens after this
          Mow take ensample, what it is
          To soffre her maidenhed be stole,
          Wherof that sche the deth schal thole."  6770
          And bad with that do make a pet,
          Wherinne he hath his douhter set,
          As he that wol no pite have,
          So that sche was al quik begrave
          And deide anon in his presence.
          Bot Phebus, for the reverence
          Of that sche hadde be his love,
          Hath wroght thurgh his pouer above,
          That sche sprong up out of the molde
          Into a flour was named golde,   6780
          Which stant governed of the Sonne.
          And thus whan love is evele wonne,
          Fulofte it comth to repentaile.
          Mi fader, that is no mervaile,
          Whan that the conseil is bewreid.
          Bot ofte time love hath pleid
          And stole many a prive game,
          Which nevere yit cam into blame,
          Whan that the thinges weren hidde.
          Bot in youre tale, as it betidde,  6790
          Venus discoverede al the cas,
          And ek also brod dai it was,
          Whan Phebus such a Stelthe wroghte,
          Wherof the Maide in blame he broghte,
          That afterward sche was so lore.
          Bot for ye seiden nou tofore
          Hou stelthe of love goth be nyhte,
          And doth hise thinges out of syhte,
          Therof me liste also to hiere
          A tale lich to the matiere,  6800
          Wherof I myhte ensample take.
          Mi goode Sone, and for thi sake,
          So as it fell be daies olde,
          And so as the Poete it tolde,
          Upon the nyhtes micherie
          Nou herkne a tale of Poesie.
          The myhtieste of alle men
          Whan Hercules with Eolen,
          Which was the love of his corage,
          Togedre upon a Pelrinage  6810
          Towardes Rome scholden go,
          It fell hem be the weie so,
          That thei upon a dai a Cave
          Withinne a roche founden have,
          Which was real and glorious
          And of Entaile curious,
          Be name and Thophis it was hote.
          The Sonne schon tho wonder hote,
          As it was in the Somer tyde;
          This Hercules, which be his syde   6820
          Hath Eolen his love there,
          Whan thei at thilke cave were,
          He seide it thoghte him for the beste
          That sche hire for the hete reste
          Al thilke day and thilke nyht;
          And sche, that was a lusti wyht,
          It liketh hire al that he seide:
          And thus thei duelle there and pleide
          The longe dai. And so befell,
          This Cave was under the hell    6830
          Of Tymolus, which was begrowe
          With vines, and at thilke throwe
          Faunus with Saba the goddesse,
          Be whom the large wildernesse
          In thilke time stod governed,
          Weere in a place, as I am lerned,
          Nyh by, which Bachus wode hihte.
          This Faunus tok a gret insihte
          Of Eolen, that was so nyh;
          For whan that he hire beaute syh,  6840
          Out of his wit he was assoted,
          And in his herte it hath so noted,
          That he forsok the Nimphes alle,
          And seide he wolde, hou so it falle,
          Assaie an other forto winne;
          So that his hertes thoght withinne
          He sette and caste hou that he myhte
          Of love pyke awey be nyhte
          That he be daie in other wise
          To stele mihte noght suffise:   6850
          And therupon his time he waiteth.
          Nou tak good hiede hou love afaiteth
          Him which withal is overcome.
          Faire Eolen, whan sche was come
          With Hercules into the Cave,
          Sche seide him that sche wolde have
          Hise clothes of and hires bothe,
          That ech of hem scholde other clothe.
          And al was do riht as sche bad,
          He hath hire in hise clothes clad      6860
          And caste on hire his gulion,
          Which of the Skyn of a Leoun
          Was mad, as he upon the weie
          It slouh, and overthis to pleie
          Sche tok his grete Mace also
          And knet it at hir gerdil tho.
          So was sche lich the man arraied,
          And Hercules thanne hath assaied
          To clothen him in hire array:
          And thus thei jape forth the dai,  6870
          Til that her Souper redy were.
          And whan thei hadden souped there,
          Thei schopen hem to gon to reste;
          And as it thoghte hem for the beste,
          Thei bede, as for that ilke nyht,
          Tuo sondri beddes to be dyht,
          For thei togedre ligge nolde,
          Be cause that thei offre wolde
          Upon the morwe here sacrifice.
          The servantz deden here office  6880
          And sondri beddes made anon,
          Wherin that thei to reste gon
          Ech be himself in sondri place.
          Faire Eole hath set the Mace
          Beside hire beddes hed above,
          And with the clothes of hire love
          Sche helede al hire bed aboute;
          And he, which hadde of nothing doute,
          Hire wympel wond aboute his cheke,
          Hire kertell and hire mantel eke   6890
          Abrod upon his bed he spredde.
          And thus thei slepen bothe abedde;
          And what of travail, what of wyn,
          The servantz lich to drunke Swyn
          Begunne forto route faste.
          This Faunus, which his Stelthe caste,
          Was thanne come to the Cave,
          And fond thei weren alle save
          Withoute noise, and in he wente.
          The derke nyht his sihte blente,   6900
          And yit it happeth him to go
          Where Eolen abedde tho
          Was leid al one for to slepe;
          Bot for he wolde take kepe
          Whos bed it was, he made assai,
          And of the Leoun, where it lay,
          The Cote he fond, and ek he fieleth
          The Mace, and thanne his herte kieleth,
          That there dorste he noght abyde,
          Bot stalketh upon every side    6910
          And soghte aboute with his hond,
          That other bedd til that he fond,
          Wher lai bewympled a visage.
          Tho was he glad in his corage,
          For he hir kertell fond also
          And ek hir mantell bothe tuo
          Bespred upon the bed alofte.
          He made him naked thanne, and softe
          Into the bedd unwar he crepte,
          Wher Hercules that time slepte,    6920
          And wende wel it were sche;
          And thus in stede of Eole
          Anon he profreth him to love.
          But he, which felte a man above,
          This Hercules, him threw to grounde
          So sore, that thei have him founde
          Liggende there upon the morwe;
          And tho was noght a litel sorwe,
          That Faunus of himselve made,
          Bot elles thei were alle glade  6930
          And lowhen him to scorne aboute:
          Saba with Nimphis al a route
          Cam doun to loke hou that he ferde,
          And whan that thei the sothe herde,
          He was bejaped overal.
          Mi Sone, be thou war withal
          To seche suche mecheries,
          Bot if thou have the betre aspies,
          In aunter if the so betyde
          As Faunus dede thilke tyde,  6940
          Wherof thou miht be schamed so.
          Min holi fader, certes no.
          Bot if I hadde riht good leve,
          Such mecherie I thenke leve:
          Mi feinte herte wol noght serve;
          For malgre wolde I noght deserve
          In thilke place wher I love.
          Bot for ye tolden hier above
          Of Covoitise and his pilage,
          If ther be more of that lignage,   6950
          Which toucheth to mi schrifte, I preie
          That ye therof me wolde seie,
          So that I mai the vice eschuie.
          Mi Sone, if I be order suie
          The vices, as thei stonde arowe,
          Of Covoitise thou schalt knowe
          Ther is yit on, which is the laste;
          In whom ther mai no vertu laste,
          For he with god himself debateth,
          Wherof that al the hevene him hateth.    6960
          The hihe god, which alle goode
          Pourveied hath for mannes fode
          Of clothes and of mete and drinke,
          Bad Adam that he scholde swinke
          To geten him his sustienance:
          And ek he sette an ordinance
          Upon the lawe of Moi5ses,
          That though a man be haveles,
          Yit schal he noght be thefte stele.
          Bot nou adaies ther ben fele,       6970
          That wol no labour undertake,
          Bot what thei mai be Stelthe take
          Thei holde it sikerliche wonne.
          And thus the lawe is overronne,
          Which god hath set, and namely
          With hem that so untrewely
          The goodes robbe of holi cherche.
          The thefte which thei thanne werche
          Be name is cleped Sacrilegge,
          Ayein the whom I thenke alegge.    6980
          Of his condicion to telle,
          Which rifleth bothe bok and belle,
          So forth with al the remenant
          To goddes hous appourtenant,
          Wher that he scholde bidde his bede,
          He doth his thefte in holi stede,
          And takth what thing he fint therinne:
          For whan he seth that he mai winne,
          He wondeth for no cursednesse,
          That he ne brekth the holinesse    6990
          And doth to god no reverence;
          For he hath lost his conscience,
          That though the Prest therfore curse,
          He seith he fareth noght the wurse.
          And forto speke it otherwise,
          What man that lasseth the franchise
          And takth of holi cherche his preie,
          I not what bedes he schal preie.
          Whan he fro god, which hath yive al,
          The Pourpartie in special,   7000
          Which unto Crist himself is due,
          Benymth, he mai noght wel eschue
          The peine comende afterward;
          For he hath mad his foreward
          With Sacrilegge forto duelle,
          Which hath his heritage in helle.
          And if we rede of tholde lawe,
          I finde write, in thilke dawe
          Of Princes hou ther weren thre
          Coupable sore in this degre.    7010
          That on of hem was cleped thus,
          The proude king Antiochus;
          That other Nabuzardan hihte,
          Which of his crualte behyhte
          The temple to destruie and waste,
          And so he dede in alle haste;
          The thridde, which was after schamed,
          Was Nabugodonosor named,
          And he Jerusalem putte under,
          Of Sacrilegge and many a wonder    7020
          There in the holi temple he wroghte,
          Which Baltazar his heir aboghte,
          Whan Mane, Techel, Phares write
          Was on the wal, as thou miht wite,
          So as the bible it hath declared.
          Bot for al that it is noght spared
          Yit nou aday, that men ne pile,
          And maken argument and skile
          To Sacrilegge as it belongeth,
          For what man that ther after longeth,    7030
          He takth non hiede what he doth.
          And riht so, forto telle soth,
          In loves cause if I schal trete,
          Ther ben of suche smale and grete:
          If thei no leisir fynden elles,
          Thei wol noght wonden for the belles,
          Ne thogh thei sen the Prest at masse;
          That wol thei leten overpasse.
          If that thei finde here love there,
          Thei stonde and tellen in hire Ere,   7040
          And axe of god non other grace,
          Whyl thei ben in that holi place;
          Bot er thei gon som avantage
          Ther wol thei have, and som pilage
          Of goodli word or of beheste,
          Or elles thei take ate leste
          Out of hir hand or ring or glove,
          So nyh the weder thei wol love,
          As who seith sche schal noght foryete,
          Nou I this tokne of hire have gete:   7050
          Thus halwe thei the hihe feste.
          Such thefte mai no cherche areste,
          For al is leveful that hem liketh,
          To whom that elles it misliketh.
          And ek riht in the selve kinde
          In grete Cites men mai finde
          This lusti folk, that make it gay,
          And waite upon the haliday:
          In cherches and in Menstres eke
          Thei gon the wommen forto seke,    7060
          And wher that such on goth aboute,
          Tofore the faireste of the route,
          Wher as thei sitten alle arewe,
          Ther wol he most  his bodi schewe,
          His croket kembd and theron set
          A Nouche with a chapelet,
          Or elles on of grene leves,
          Which late com out of the greves,
          Al for he scholde seme freissh.
          And thus he loketh on the fleissh,        7070
          Riht as an hauk which hath a sihte
          Upon the foul, ther he schal lihte;
          And as he were of faierie,
          He scheweth him tofore here yhe
          In holi place wher thei sitte,
          Al forto make here hertes flitte.
          His yhe nawher wole abyde,
          Bot loke and prie on every syde
          On hire and hire, as him best lyketh:
          And otherwhile among he syketh;    7080
          Thenkth on of hem, "That was for me,"
          And so ther thenken tuo or thre,
          And yit he loveth non of alle,
          Bot wher as evere his chance falle.
          And natheles to seie a soth,
          The cause why that he so doth
          Is forto stele an herte or tuo,
          Out of the cherche er that he go:
          And as I seide it hier above,
          Al is that Sacrilege of love;   7090
          For wel mai be he stelth away
          That he nevere after yelde may.
          Tell me forthi, my Sone, anon,
          Hast thou do Sacrilege, or non,
          As I have said in this manere?
          Mi fader, as of this matiere
          I wole you tellen redely
          What I have do; bot trewely
          I mai excuse min entente,
          That nevere I yit to cherche wente    7100
          In such manere as ye me schryve,
          For no womman that is on lyve.
          The cause why I have it laft
          Mai be for I unto that craft
          Am nothing able so to stele,
          Thogh ther be wommen noght so fele.
          Bot yit wol I noght seie this,
          Whan I am ther mi ladi is,
          In whom lith holly mi querele,
          And sche to cherche or to chapele  7110
          Wol go to matins or to messe,-
          That time I waite wel and gesse,
          To cherche I come and there I stonde,
          And thogh I take a bok on honde,
          Mi contienance is on the bok,
          Bot toward hire is al my lok;
          And if so falle that I preie
          Unto mi god, and somwhat seie
          Of Paternoster or of Crede,
          Al is for that I wolde spede,   7120
          So that mi bede in holi cherche
          Ther mihte som miracle werche
          Mi ladi herte forto chaunge,
          Which evere hath be to me so strange.
          So that al mi devocion
          And al mi contemplacion
          With al min herte and mi corage
          Is only set on hire ymage;
          And evere I waite upon the tyde.
          If sche loke eny thing asyde,   7130
          That I me mai of hire avise,
          Anon I am with covoitise
          So smite, that me were lief
          To ben in holi cherche a thief;
          Bot noght to stele a vestement,
          For that is nothing mi talent,
          Bot I wold stele, if that I mihte,
          A glad word or a goodly syhte;
          And evere mi service I profre,
          And namly whan sche wol gon offre,    7140
          For thanne I lede hire, if I may,
          For somwhat wolde I stele away.
          Whan I beclippe hire on the wast,
          Yit ate leste I stele a tast,
          And otherwhile "grant mercy"
          Sche seith, and so winne I therby
          A lusti touch, a good word eke,
          Bot al the remenant to seke
          Is fro mi pourpos wonder ferr.
          So mai I seie, as I seide er,   7150
          In holy cherche if that I wowe,
          My conscience it wolde allowe,
          Be so that up amendement
          I mihte gete assignement
          Wher forto spede in other place:
          Such Sacrilege I holde a grace.
          And thus, mi fader, soth to seie,
          In cherche riht as in the weie,
          If I mihte oght of love take,
          Such hansell have I noght forsake.    7160
          Bot finali I me confesse,
          Ther is in me non holinesse,
          Whil I hire se in eny stede;
          And yit, for oght that evere I dede,
          No Sacrilege of hire I tok,
          Bot if it were of word or lok,
          Or elles if that I hir fredde,
          Whan I toward offringe hir ledde,
          Take therof what I take may,
          For elles bere I noght away:    7170
          For thogh I wolde oght elles have,
          Alle othre thinges ben so save
          And kept with such a privilege,
          That I mai do no Sacrilege.
          God wot mi wille natheles,
          Thogh I mot nedes kepe pes
          And malgre myn so let it passe,
          Mi will therto is noght the lasse,
          If I mihte other wise aweie.
          Forthi, mi fader, I you preie,  7180
          Tell what you thenketh therupon,
          If I therof have gult or non.
          Thi will, mi Sone, is forto blame,
          The remenant is bot a game,
          That I have herd the telle as yit.
          Bot tak this lore into thi wit,
          That alle thing hath time and stede,
          The cherche serveth for the bede,
          The chambre is of an other speche.
          Bot if thou wistest of the wreche,    7190
          Hou Sacrilege it hath aboght,
          Thou woldest betre ben bethoght;
          And for thou schalt the more amende,
          A tale I wole on the despende.
          To alle men, as who seith, knowe
          It is, and in the world thurgh blowe,
          Hou that of Troie Lamedon
          To Hercules and to Jasoun,
          Whan toward Colchos out of Grece
          Be See sailende upon a piece    7200
          Of lond of Troie reste preide,-
          Bot he hem wrathfulli congeide:
          And for thei founde him so vilein,
          Whan thei come into Grece ayein,
          With pouer that thei gete myhte
          Towardes Troie thei hem dyhte,
          And ther thei token such vengance,
          Wherof stant yit the remembrance;
          For thei destruide king and al,
          And leften bot the brente wal.  7210
          The Grecs of Troiens many slowe
          And prisoners thei toke ynowe,
          Among the whiche ther was on,
          The kinges doughter Lamedon,
          Esiona, that faire thing,
          Which unto Thelamon the king
          Be Hercules and be thassent
          Of al the hole parlement
          Was at his wille yove and granted.
          And thus hath Grece Troie danted,  7220
          And hom thei torne in such manere:
          Bot after this nou schalt thou hiere
          The cause why this tale I telle,
          Upon the chances that befelle.
          King Lamedon, which deide thus,
          He hadde a Sone, on Priamus,
          Which was noght thilke time at hom:
          Bot whan he herde of this, he com,
          And fond hou the Cite was falle,
          Which he began anon to walle    7230
          And made ther a cite newe,
          That thei whiche othre londes knewe
          Tho seiden, that of lym and Ston
          In al the world so fair was non.
          And on that o side of the toun
          The king let maken Ylioun,
          That hihe Tour, that stronge place,
          Which was adrad of no manace
          Of quarel nor of non engin;
          And thogh men wolde make a Myn,    7240
          No mannes craft it mihte aproche,
          For it was sett upon a roche.
          The walles of the toun aboute,
          Hem stod of al the world no doute,
          And after the proporcion
          Sex gates weren of the toun
          Of such a forme, of such entaile,
          That hem to se was gret mervaile:
          The diches weren brode and depe,
          A fewe men it mihte kepe  7250
          From al the world, as semeth tho,
          Bot if the goddes weren fo.
          Gret presse unto that cite drouh,
          So that ther was of poeple ynouh,
          Of Burgeis that therinne duellen;
          Ther mai no mannes tunge tellen
          Hou that cite was riche of good.
          Whan al was mad and al wel stod,
          King Priamus tho him bethoghte
          What thei of Grece whilom wroghte,    7260
          And what was of her swerd devoured,
          And hou his Soster deshonoured
          With Thelamon awey was lad:
          And so thenkende he wax unglad,
          And sette anon a parlement,
          To which the lordes were assent.
          In many a wise ther was spoke,
          Hou that thei mihten ben awroke,
          Bot ate laste natheles
          Thei seiden alle, "Acord and pes."    7270
          To setten either part in reste
          It thoghte hem thanne for the beste
          With resonable amendement;
          And thus was Anthenor forth sent
          To axe Esionam ayein
          And witen what thei wolden sein.
          So passeth he the See be barge
          To Grece forto seie his charge,
          The which he seide redely
          Unto the lordes by and by:   7280
          Bot where he spak in Grece aboute,
          He herde noght bot wordes stoute,
          And nameliche of Thelamon;
          The maiden wolde he noght forgon,
          He seide, for no maner thing,
          And bad him gon hom to his king,
          For there gat he non amende
          For oght he couthe do or sende.
          This Anthenor ayein goth hom
          Unto his king, and whan he com,    7290
          He tolde in Grece of that he herde,
          And hou that Thelamon ansuerde,
          And hou thei were at here above,
          That thei wol nouther pes ne love,
          Bot every man schal don his beste.
          Bot for men sein that nyht hath reste,
          The king bethoghte him al that nyht,
          And erli, whan the dai was lyht,
          He tok conseil of this matiere;
          And thei acorde in this manere,    7300
          That he withouten eny lette
          A certein time scholde sette
          Of Parlement to ben avised:
          And in the wise it was devised,
          Of parlement he sette a day,
          And that was in the Monthe of Maii.
          This Priamus hadde in his yhte
          A wif, and Hecuba sche hyhte,
          Be whom that time ek hadde he
          Of Sones fyve, and douhtres thre   7310
          Besiden hem, and thritty mo,
          And weren knyhtes alle tho,
          Bot noght upon his wif begete,
          Bot elles where he myhte hem gete
          Of wommen whiche he hadde knowe;
          Such was the world at thilke throwe:
          So that he was of children riche,
          As therof was noman his liche.
          Of Parlement the dai was come,
          Ther ben the lordes alle and some;    7320
          Tho was pronounced and pourposed,
          And al the cause hem was desclosed,
          Hou Anthenor in Grece ferde.
          Thei seten alle stille and herde,
          And tho spak every man aboute:
          Ther was alegged many a doute,
          And many a proud word spoke also;
          Bot for the moste part as tho
          Thei wisten noght what was the beste,
          Or forto werre or forto reste.  7330
          Bot he that was withoute fere,
          Hector, among the lordes there
          His tale tolde in such a wise,
          And seide, "Lordes, ye ben wise,
          Ye knowen this als wel as I,
          Above all othre most worthi
          Stant nou in Grece the manhode
          Of worthinesse and of knihthode;
          For who so wole it wel agrope,
          To hem belongeth al Europe,  7340
          Which is the thridde parti evene
          Of al the world under the hevene;
          And we be bot of folk a fewe.
          So were it reson forto schewe
          The peril, er we falle thrinne:
          Betre is to leve, than beginne
          Thing which as mai noght ben achieved;
          He is noght wys that fint him grieved,
          And doth so that his grief be more;
          For who that loketh al tofore   7350
          And wol noght se what is behinde,
          He mai fulofte hise harmes finde:
          Wicke is to stryve and have the worse.
          We have encheson forto corse,
          This wot I wel, and forto hate
          The Greks; bot er that we debate
          With hem that ben of such a myht,
          It is ful good that every wiht
          Be of himself riht wel bethoght.
          Bot as for me this seie I noght;   7360
          For while that mi lif wol stonde,
          If that ye taken werre on honde,
          Falle it to beste or to the werste,
          I schal miselven be the ferste
          To grieven hem, what evere I may.
          I wol noght ones seie nay
          To thing which that youre conseil demeth,
          For unto me wel more it quemeth
          The werre certes than the pes;
          Bot this I seie natheles,    7370
          As me belongeth forto seie.
          Nou schape ye the beste weie."
          Whan Hector hath seid his avis,
          Next after him tho spak Paris,
          Which was his brother, and alleide
          What him best thoghte, and thus he seide:
          "Strong thing it is to soffre wrong,
          And suffre schame is more strong,
          Bot we have suffred bothe tuo;
          And for al that yit have we do  7380
          What so we mihte to reforme
          The pes, whan we in such a forme
          Sente Anthenor, as ye wel knowe.
          And thei here grete wordes blowe
          Upon her wrongful dedes eke;
          And who that wole himself noght meke
          To pes, and list no reson take,
          Men sein reson him wol forsake:
          For in the multitude of men
          Is noght the strengthe, for with ten  7390
          It hath be sen in trew querele
          Ayein an hundred false dele,
          And had the betre of goddes grace.
          This hath befalle in many place;
          And if it like unto you alle,
          I wolde assaie, hou so it falle,
          Oure enemis if I mai grieve;
          For I have cawht a gret believe
          Upon a point I wol declare.
          This ender day, as I gan fare   7400
          To hunte unto the grete hert,
          Which was tofore myn houndes stert,
          And every man went on his syde
          Him to poursuie, and I to ryde
          Began the chace, and soth to seie,
          Withinne a while out of mi weie
          I rod, and nyste where I was.
          And slep me cauhte, and on the gras
          Beside a welle I lay me doun
          To slepe, and in a visioun   7410
          To me the god Mercurie cam;
          Goddesses thre with him he nam,
          Minerve, Venus and Juno,
          And in his hond an Appel tho
          He hield of gold with lettres write:
          And this he dede me to wite,
          Hou that thei putt hem upon me,
          That to the faireste of hem thre
          Of gold that Appel scholde I yive.
          With ech of hem tho was I schrive,    7420
          And echon faire me behihte;
          Bot Venus seide, if that sche mihte
          That Appel of mi yifte gete,
          Sche wolde it neveremor foryete,
          And seide hou that in Grece lond
          Sche wolde bringe unto myn hond
          Of al this Erthe the faireste;
          So that me thoghte it for the beste,
          To hire and yaf that Appel tho.
          Thus hope I wel, if that I go,  7430
          That sche for me wol so ordeine,
          That thei matiere forto pleigne
          Schul have, er that I come ayein.
          Nou have ye herd that I wol sein:
          Sey ye what stant in youre avis."
          And every man tho seide his,
          And sundri causes thei recorde,
          Bot ate laste thei acorde
          That Paris schal to Grece wende,
          And thus the parlement tok ende.   7440
          Cassandra, whan sche herde of this,
          The which to Paris Soster is,
          Anon sche gan to wepe and weile,
          And seide, "Allas, what mai ous eile?
          Fortune with hire blinde whiel
          Ne wol noght lete ous stonde wel:
          For this I dar wel undertake,
          That if Paris his weie take,
          As it is seid that he schal do,
          We ben for evere thanne undo."  7450
          This, which Cassandre thanne hihte,
          In al the world as it berth sihte,
          In bokes as men finde write,
          Is that Sibille of whom ye wite,
          That alle men yit clepen sage.
          Whan that sche wiste of this viage,
          Hou Paris schal to Grece fare,
          No womman mihte worse fare
          Ne sorwe more than sche dede;
          And riht so in the same stede   7460
          Ferde Helenus, which was hir brother,
          Of prophecie and such an other:
          And al was holde bot a jape,
          So that the pourpos which was schape,
          Or were hem lief or were hem loth,
          Was holde, and into Grece goth
          This Paris with his retenance.
          And as it fell upon his chance,
          Of Grece he londeth in an yle,
          And him was told the same whyle    7470
          Of folk which he began to freyne,
          Tho was in thyle queene Heleyne,
          And ek of contres there aboute
          Of ladis many a lusti route,
          With mochel worthi poeple also.
          And why thei comen theder tho,
          The cause stod in such a wise,-
          For worschipe and for sacrifise
          That thei to Venus wolden make,
          As thei tofore hadde undertake,    7480
          Some of good will, some of beheste,
          For thanne was hire hihe feste
          Withinne a temple which was there.
          Whan Paris wiste what thei were,
          Anon he schop his ordinance
          To gon and don his obeissance
          To Venus on hire holi day,
          And dede upon his beste aray.
          With gret richesse he him behongeth,
          As it to such a lord belongeth,    7490
          He was noght armed natheles,
          Bot as it were in lond of pes,
          And thus he goth forth out of Schipe
          And takth with him his felaschipe:
          In such manere as I you seie
          Unto the temple he hield his weie.
          Tydinge, which goth overal
          To grete and smale, forth withal
          Com to the queenes Ere and tolde
          Hou Paris com, and that he wolde   7500
          Do sacrifise to Venus:
          And whan sche herde telle thus,
          Sche thoghte, hou that it evere be,
          That sche wole him abyde and se.
          Forth comth Paris with glad visage
          Into the temple on pelrinage,
          Wher unto Venus the goddesse
          He yifth and offreth gret richesse,
          And preith hir that he preie wolde.
          And thanne aside he gan beholde,   7510
          And sih wher that this ladi stod;
          And he forth in his freisshe mod
          Goth ther sche was and made her chiere,
          As he wel couthe in his manere,
          That of his wordes such plesance
          Sche tok, that al hire aqueintance,
          Als ferforth as the herte lay,
          He stal er that he wente away.
          So goth he forth and tok his leve,
          And thoghte, anon as it was eve,   7520
          He wolde don his Sacrilegge,
          That many a man it scholde abegge.
          Whan he to Schipe ayein was come,
          To him he hath his conseil nome,
          And al devised the matiere
          In such a wise as thou schalt hiere.
          Withinne nyht al prively
          His men he warneth by and by,
          That thei be redy armed sone
          For certein thing which was to done:  7530
          And thei anon ben redi alle,
          And ech on other gan to calle,
          And went hem out upon the stronde
          And tok a pourpos ther alonde
          Of what thing that thei wolden do,
          Toward the temple and forth thei go.
          So fell it, of devocion
          Heleine in contemplacion
          With many an other worthi wiht
          Was in the temple and wok al nyht,    7540
          To bidde and preie unto thymage
          Of Venus, as was thanne usage;
          So that Paris riht as him liste
          Into the temple, er thei it wiste,
          Com with his men al sodeinly,
          And alle at ones sette ascry
          In hem whiche in the temple were,
          For tho was mochel poeple there;
          Bot of defense was no bote,
          So soffren thei that soffre mote.  7550
          Paris unto the queene wente,
          And hire in bothe hise armes hente
          With him and with his felaschipe,
          And forth thei bere hire unto Schipe.
          Up goth the Seil and forth thei wente,
          And such a wynd fortune hem sente,
          Til thei the havene of Troie cauhte;
          Where out of Schipe anon thei strauhte
          And gon hem forth toward the toun,
          The which cam with processioun  7560
          Ayein Paris to sen his preie.
          And every man began to seie
          To Paris and his felaschipe
          Al that thei couthen of worschipe;
          Was non so litel man in Troie,
          That he ne made merthe and joie
          Of that Paris hath wonne Heleine.
          Bot al that merthe is sorwe and peine
          To Helenus and to Cassaundre;
          For thei it token schame and sklaundre   7570
          And lost of al the comun grace,
          That Paris out of holi place
          Be Stelthe hath take a mannes wif,
          Wherof that he schal lese his lif
          And many a worthi man therto,
          And al the Cite be fordo,
          Which nevere schal be mad ayein.
          And so it fell, riht as thei sein,
          The Sacrilege which he wroghte
          Was cause why the Gregois soughte  7580
          Unto the toun and it beleie,
          And wolden nevere parte aweie,
          Til what be sleihte and what be strengthe
          Thei hadde it wonne in brede and lengthe,
          And brent and slayn that was withinne.
          Now se, mi Sone, which a sinne
          Is Sacrilege in holy stede:
          Be war therfore and bidd thi bede,
          And do nothing in holy cherche,
          Bot that thou miht be reson werche.   7590
          And ek tak hiede of Achilles,
          Whan he unto his love ches
          Polixena, that was also
          In holi temple of Appollo,
          Which was the cause why he dyde
          And al his lust was leyd asyde.
          And Troilus upon Criseide
          Also his ferste love leide
          In holi place, and hou it ferde,
          As who seith, al the world it herde;  7600
          Forsake he was for Diomede,
          Such was of love his laste mede.
          Forthi, mi Sone, I wolde rede,
          Be this ensample as thou myht rede,
          Sech elles, wher thou wolt, thi grace,
          And war the wel in holi place
          What thou to love do or speke,
          In aunter if it so be wreke
          As thou hast herd me told before.
          And tak good hiede also therfore   7610
          Upon what forme, of Avarice
          Mor than of eny other vice,
          I have divided in parties
          The branches, whiche of compainies
          Thurghout the world in general
          Ben nou the leders overal,
          Of Covoitise and of Perjure,
          Of fals brocage and of Usure,
          Of Skarsnesse and Unkindeschipe,
          Which nevere drouh to felaschipe,  7620
          Of Robberie and privi Stelthe,
          Which don is for the worldes welthe,
          Of Ravine and of Sacrilegge,
          Which makth the conscience agregge;
          Althogh it mai richesse atteigne,
          It floureth, bot it schal noght greine
          Unto the fruit of rihtwisnesse.
          Bot who that wolde do largesse
          Upon the reule as it is yive,
          So myhte a man in trouthe live  7630
          Toward his god, and ek also
          Toward the world, for bothe tuo
          Largesse awaiteth as belongeth,
          To neither part that he ne wrongeth;
          He kepth himself, he kepth his frendes,
          So stant he sauf to bothe hise endes,
          That he excedeth no mesure,
          So wel he can himself mesure:
          Wherof, mi Sone, thou schalt wite,
          So as the Philosophre hath write.  7640
          Betwen the tuo extremites
          Of vice stant the propretes
          Of vertu, and to prove it so
          Tak Avarice and tak also
          The vice of Prodegalite;
          Betwen hem Liberalite,
          Which is the vertu of Largesse,
          Stant and governeth his noblesse.
          For tho tuo vices in discord
          Stonde evere, as I finde of record;   7650
          So that betwen here tuo debat
          Largesse reuleth his astat.
          For in such wise as Avarice,
          As I tofore have told the vice,
          Thurgh streit holdinge and thurgh skarsnesse
          Stant in contraire to Largesse,
          Riht so stant Prodegalite
          Revers, bot noght in such degre.
          For so as Avarice spareth,
          And forto kepe his tresor careth,  7660
          That other al his oghne and more
          Ayein the wise mannes lore
          Yifth and despendeth hiere and there,
          So that him reccheth nevere where.
          While he mai borwe, he wol despende,
          Til ate laste he seith, "I wende";
          Bot that is spoken al to late,
          For thanne is poverte ate gate
          And takth him evene be the slieve,
          For erst wol he no wisdom lieve.   7670
          And riht as Avarice is Sinne,
          That wolde his tresor kepe and winne,
          Riht so is Prodegalite:
          Bot of Largesse in his degre,
          Which evene stant betwen the tuo,
          The hihe god and man also
          The vertu ech of hem commendeth.
          For he himselven ferst amendeth,
          That overal his name spredeth,
          And to alle othre, where it nedeth,   7680
          He yifth his good in such a wise,
          That he makth many a man arise,
          Which elles scholde falle lowe.
          Largesce mai noght ben unknowe;
          For what lond that he regneth inne,
          It mai noght faile forto winne
          Thurgh his decerte love and grace,
          Wher it schal faile in other place.
          And thus betwen tomoche and lyte
          Largesce, which is noght to wyte,  7690
          Halt evere forth the middel weie:
          Bot who that torne wole aweie
          Fro that to Prodegalite,
          Anon he lest the proprete
          Of vertu and goth to the vice;
          For in such wise as Avarice
          Lest for scarsnesse his goode name,
          Riht so that other is to blame,
          Which thurgh his wast mesure excedeth,
          For noman wot what harm that bredeth.    7700
          Bot mochel joie ther betydeth,
          Wher that largesse an herte guydeth:
          For his mesure is so governed,
          That he to bothe partz is lerned,
          To god and to the world also,
          He doth reson to bothe tuo.
          The povere folk of his almesse
          Relieved ben in the destresse
          Of thurst, of hunger and of cold;
          The yifte of him was nevere sold,  7710
          Bot frely yive, and natheles
          The myhti god of his encress
          Rewardeth him of double grace;
          The hevene he doth him to pourchace
          And yifth him ek the worldes good:
          And thus the Cote for the hod
          Largesse takth, and yit no Sinne
          He doth, hou so that evere he winne.
          What man hath hors men yive him hors,
          And who non hath of him no fors,   7720
          For he mai thanne on fote go;
          The world hath evere stonde so.
          Bot forto loken of the tweie,
          A man to go the siker weie,
          Betre is to yive than to take:
          With yifte a man mai frendes make,
          Bot who that takth or gret or smal,
          He takth a charge forth withal,
          And stant noght fre til it be quit.
          So forto deme in mannes wit,    7730
          It helpeth more a man to have
          His oghne good, than forto crave
          Of othre men and make him bounde,
          Wher elles he mai stonde unbounde.
          Senec conseileth in this wise,
          And seith, "Bot, if thi good suffise
          Unto the liking of thi wille,
          Withdrawh thi lust and hold the stille,
          And be to thi good sufficant."
          For that thing is appourtenant  7740
          To trouthe and causeth to be fre
          After the reule of charite,
          Which ferst beginneth of himselve.
          For if thou richest othre tuelve,
          Wherof thou schalt thiself be povere,
          I not what thonk thou miht recovere.
          Whil that a man hath good to yive,
          With grete routes he mai live
          And hath his frendes overal,
          And everich of him telle schal.    7750
          Therwhile he hath his fulle packe,
          Thei seie, "A good felawe is Jacke";
          Bot whanne it faileth ate laste,
          Anon his pris thei overcaste,
          For thanne is ther non other lawe
          Bot, "Jacke was a good felawe."
          Whan thei him povere and nedy se,
          Thei lete him passe and farwel he;
          Al that he wende of compainie
          Is thanne torned to folie.   7760
          Bot nou to speke in other kinde
          Of love, a man mai suche finde,
          That wher thei come in every route
          Thei caste and waste her love aboute,
          Til al here time is overgon,
          And thanne have thei love non:
          For who that loveth overal,
          It is no reson that he schal
          Of love have eny proprete.
          Forthi, mi Sone, avise thee  7770
          If thou of love hast be to large,
          For such a man is noght to charge:
          And if it so be that thou hast
          Despended al thi time in wast
          And set thi love in sondri place,
          Though thou the substance of thi grace
          Lese ate laste, it is no wonder;
          For he that put himselven under,
          As who seith, comun overal,
          He lest the love special  7780
          Of eny on, if sche be wys;
          For love schal noght bere his pris
          Be reson, whanne it passeth on.
          So have I sen ful many on,
          That were of love wel at ese,
          Whiche after felle in gret desese
          Thurgh wast of love, that thei spente
          In sondri places wher thei wente.
          Riht so, mi Sone, I axe of thee
          If thou with Prodegalite  7790
          Hast hier and ther thi love wasted.
          Mi fader, nay; bot I have tasted
          In many a place as I have go,
          And yit love I nevere on of tho,
          Bot forto drive forth the dai.
          For lieveth wel, myn herte is ay
          Withoute mo for everemore
          Al upon on, for I nomore
          Desire bot hire love al one:
          So make I many a prive mone,    7800
          For wel I fiele I have despended
          Mi longe love and noght amended
          Mi sped, for oght I finde yit.
          If this be wast to youre wit
          Of love, and Prodegalite,
          Nou, goode fader, demeth ye:
          Bot of o thing I wol me schryve,
          That I schal for no love thryve,
          Bot if hirself me wol relieve.
          Mi Sone, that I mai wel lieve:  7810
          And natheles me semeth so,
          For oght that thou hast yit misdo
          Of time which thou hast despended,
          It mai with grace ben amended.
          For thing which mai be worth the cost
          Per chaunce is nouther wast ne lost;
          For what thing stant on aventure,
          That can no worldes creature
          Telle in certein hou it schal wende,
          Til he therof mai sen an ende.  7820
          So that I not as yit therfore
          If thou, mi Sone, hast wonne or lore:
          For ofte time, as it is sene,
          Whan Somer hath lost al his grene
          And is with Wynter wast and bare,
          That him is left nothing to spare,
          Al is recovered in a throwe;
          The colde wyndes overblowe,
          And still be the scharpe schoures,
          And soudeinliche ayein his floures  7830
          The Somer hapneth and is riche:
          And so per cas thi graces liche,
          Mi Sone, thogh thou be nou povere
          Of love, yit thou miht recovere.
            Mi fader, certes grant merci:
          Ye have me tawht so redeli,
          That evere whil I live schal
          The betre I mai be war withal
          Of thing which ye have seid er this.
          Bot overmore hou that it is,  7840
          Toward mi schrifte as it belongeth,
          To wite of othre pointz me longeth;
          Wherof that ye me wolden teche
          With al myn herte I you beseche.

          Explicit Liber Quintus.

Incipit Liber Sextus

          Est gula, que nostrum maculavit prima parentem
               Ex vetito pomo, quo dolet omnis homo
          Hec agit, ut corpus anime contraria spirat,
               Quo caro fit crassa, spiritus atque macer.
          Intus et exterius si que virtutis habentur,
               Potibus ebrietas conviciata ruit.
          Mersa sopore labis, que Bachus inebriat hospes,
               Indignata Venus oscula raro premit.

          The grete Senne original,
          Which every man in general
          Upon his berthe hath envenymed,
          In Paradis it was mystymed:
          Whan Adam of thilke Appel bot,
          His swete morscel was to hot,
          Which dedly made the mankinde.
          And in the bokes as I finde,
          This vice, which so out of rule
          Hath sette ous alle, is cleped Gule;  10
          Of which the branches ben so grete,
          That of hem alle I wol noght trete,
          Bot only as touchende of tuo
          I thenke speke and of no mo;
          Wherof the ferste is Dronkeschipe,
          Which berth the cuppe felaschipe.
          Ful many a wonder doth this vice,
          He can make of a wisman nyce,
          And of a fool, that him schal seme
          That he can al the lawe deme,   20
          And yiven every juggement
          Which longeth to the firmament
          Bothe of the sterre and of the mone;
          And thus he makth a gret clerk sone
          Of him that is a lewed man.
          Ther is nothing which he ne can,
          Whil he hath Dronkeschipe on honde,
          He knowth the See, he knowth the stronde,
          He is a noble man of armes,
          And yit no strengthe is in his armes:    30
          Ther he was strong ynouh tofore,
          With Dronkeschipe it is forlore,
          And al is changed his astat,
          And wext anon so fieble and mat,
          That he mai nouther go ne come,
          Bot al togedre him is benome
          The pouer bothe of hond and fot,
          So that algate abide he mot.
          And alle hise wittes he foryet,
          The which is to him such a let,    40
          That he wot nevere what he doth,
          Ne which is fals, ne which is soth,
          Ne which is dai, ne which is nyht,
          And for the time he knowth no wyht,
          That he ne wot so moche as this,
          What maner thing himselven is,
          Or he be man, or he be beste.
          That holde I riht a sori feste,
          Whan he that reson understod
          So soudeinliche is woxe wod,    50
          Or elles lich the dede man,
          Which nouther go ne speke can.
          Thus ofte he is to bedde broght,
          Bot where he lith yit wot he noght,
          Til he arise upon the morwe;
          And thanne he seith, "O, which a sorwe
          It is a man be drinkeles!"
          So that halfdrunke in such a res
          With dreie mouth he sterte him uppe,
          And seith, "Nou baillez a the cuppe."        60
          That made him lese his wit at eve
          Is thanne a morwe al his beleve;
          The cuppe is al that evere him pleseth,
          And also that him most deseseth;
          It is the cuppe whom he serveth,
          Which alle cares fro him kerveth
          And alle bales to him bringeth:
          In joie he wepth, in sorwe he singeth,
          For Dronkeschipe is so divers,
          It may no whyle stonde in vers.    70
          He drinkth the wyn, bot ate laste
          The wyn drynkth him and bint him faste,
          And leith him drunke be the wal,
          As him which is his bonde thral
          And al in his subjeccion.
          And lich to such condicion,
          As forto speke it other wise,
          It falleth that the moste wise
          Ben otherwhile of love adoted,
          And so bewhaped and assoted,    80
          Of drunke men that nevere yit
          Was non, which half so loste his wit
          Of drinke, as thei of such thing do
          Which cleped is the jolif wo;
          And waxen of here oghne thoght
          So drunke, that thei knowe noght
          What reson is, or more or lesse.
          Such is the kinde of that sieknesse,
          And that is noght for lacke of brain,
          Bot love is of so gret a main,  90
          That where he takth an herte on honde,
          Ther mai nothing his miht withstonde:
          The wise Salomon was nome,
          And stronge Sampson overcome,
          The knihtli David him ne mihte
          Rescoue, that he with the sihte
          Of Bersabee ne was bestad,
          Virgile also was overlad,
          And Aristotle was put under.
          Forthi, mi Sone, it is no wonder   100
          If thou be drunke of love among,
          Which is above alle othre strong:
          And if so is that thou so be,
          Tell me thi Schrifte in privite;
          It is no schame of such a thew
          A yong man to be dronkelew.
          Of such Phisique I can a part,
          And as me semeth be that art,
          Thou scholdest be Phisonomie
          Be schapen to that maladie   110
          Of lovedrunke, and that is routhe.
          Ha, holi fader, al is trouthe
          That ye me telle: I am beknowe
          That I with love am so bethrowe,
          And al myn herte is so thurgh sunke,
          That I am verrailiche drunke,
          And yit I mai bothe speke and go.
          Bot I am overcome so,
          And torned fro miself so clene,
          That ofte I wot noght what I mene;    120
          So that excusen I ne mai
          Min herte, fro the ferste day
          That I cam to mi ladi kiththe,
          I was yit sobre nevere siththe.
          Wher I hire se or se hire noght,
          With musinge of min oghne thoght,
          Of love, which min herte assaileth,
          So drunke I am, that mi wit faileth
          And al mi brain is overtorned,
          And mi manere so mistorned,  130
          That I foryete al that I can
          And stonde lich a mased man;
          That ofte, whanne I scholde pleie,
          It makth me drawe out of the weie
          In soulein place be miselve,
          As doth a labourer to delve,
          Which can no gentil mannes chere;
          Or elles as a lewed Frere,
          Whan he is put to his penance,
          Riht so lese I mi contienance.  140
          And if it nedes to betyde,
          That I in compainie abyde,
          Wher as I moste daunce and singe
          The hovedance and carolinge,
          Or forto go the newefot,
          I mai noght wel heve up mi fot,
          If that sche be noght in the weie;
          For thanne is al mi merthe aweie,
          And waxe anon of thoght so full,
          Wherof mi limes ben so dull,    150
          I mai unethes gon the pas.
          For thus it is and evere was,
          Whanne I on suche thoghtes muse,
          The lust and merthe that men use,
          Whan I se noght mi ladi byme,
          Al is foryete for the time
          So ferforth that mi wittes changen
          And alle lustes fro me strangen,
          That thei seie alle trewely,
          And swere, that it am noght I.  160
          For as the man which ofte drinketh,
          With win that in his stomac sinketh
          Wext drunke and witles for a throwe,
          Riht so mi lust is overthrowe,
          And of myn oghne thoght so mat
          I wexe, that to myn astat
          Ther is no lime wol me serve,
          Bot as a drunke man I swerve,
          And suffre such a Passion,
          That men have gret compassion,  170
          And everich be himself merveilleth
          What thing it is that me so eilleth.
          Such is the manere of mi wo
          Which time that I am hire fro,
          Til eft ayein that I hire se.
          Bot thanne it were a nycete
          To telle you hou that I fare:
          For whanne I mai upon hire stare,
          Hire wommanhede, hire gentilesse,
          Myn herte is full of such gladnesse,  180
          That overpasseth so mi wit,
          That I wot nevere where it sit,
          Bot am so drunken of that sihte,
          Me thenkth that for the time I mihte
          Riht sterte thurgh the hole wall;
          And thanne I mai wel, if I schal,
          Bothe singe and daunce and lepe aboute,
          And holde forth the lusti route.
          Bot natheles it falleth so
          Fulofte, that I fro hire go  190
          Ne mai, bot as it were a stake,
          I stonde avisement to take
          And loke upon hire faire face;
          That for the while out of the place
          For al the world ne myhte I wende.
          Such lust comth thanne unto mi mende,
          So that withoute mete or drinke,
          Of lusti thoughtes whiche I thinke
          Me thenkth I mihte stonden evere;
          And so it were to me levere  200
          Than such a sihte forto leve,
          If that sche wolde yif me leve
          To have so mochel of mi wille.
          And thus thenkende I stonde stille
          Withoute blenchinge of myn yhe,
          Riht as me thoghte that I syhe
          Of Paradis the moste joie:
          And so therwhile I me rejoie,
          Into myn herte a gret desir,
          The which is hotere than the fyr,  210
          Al soudeinliche upon me renneth,
          That al mi thoght withinne brenneth,
          And am so ferforth overcome,
          That I not where I am become;
          So that among the hetes stronge
          In stede of drinke I underfonge
          A thoght so swete in mi corage,
          That nevere Pyment ne vernage
          Was half so swete forto drinke.
          For as I wolde, thanne I thinke    220
          As thogh I were at myn above,
          For so thurgh drunke I am of love,
          That al that mi sotye demeth
          Is soth, as thanne it to me semeth.
          And whyle I mai tho thoghtes kepe,
          Me thenkth as thogh I were aslepe
          And that I were in goddes barm;
          Bot whanne I se myn oghne harm,
          And that I soudeinliche awake
          Out of my thought, and hiede take  230
          Hou that the sothe stant in dede,
          Thanne is mi sekernesse in drede
          And joie torned into wo,
          So that the hete is al ago
          Of such sotie as I was inne.
          And thanne ayeinward I beginne
          To take of love a newe thorst,
          The which me grieveth altherworst,
          For thanne comth the blanche fievere,
          With chele and makth me so to chievere,  240
          And so it coldeth at myn herte,
          That wonder is hou I asterte,
          In such a point that I ne deie:
          For certes ther was nevere keie
          Ne frosen ys upon the wal
          More inly cold that I am al.
          And thus soffre I the hote chele,
          Which passeth othre peines fele;
          In cold I brenne and frese in hete:
          And thanne I drinke a biter swete      250
          With dreie lippe and yhen wete.
          Lo, thus I tempre mi diete,
          And take a drauhte of such reles,
          That al mi wit is herteles,
          And al myn herte, ther it sit,
          Is, as who seith, withoute wit;
          So that to prove it be reson
          In makinge of comparison
          Ther mai no difference be
          Betwen a drunke man and me.  260
          Bot al the worste of everychon
          Is evere that I thurste in on;
          The more that myn herte drinketh,
          The more I may; so that me thinketh,
          My thurst schal nevere ben aqueint.
          God schilde that I be noght dreint
          Of such a superfluite:
          For wel I fiele in mi degre
          That al mi wit is overcast,
          Wherof I am the more agast,  270
          That in defaulte of ladischipe
          Per chance in such a drunkeschipe
          I mai be ded er I be war.
          For certes, fader, this I dar
          Beknowe and in mi schrifte telle:
          Bot I a drauhte have of that welle,
          In which mi deth is and mi lif,
          Mi joie is torned into strif,
          That sobre schal I nevere worthe,
          Bot as a drunke man forworthe;  280
          So that in londe where I fare
          The lust is lore of mi welfare,
          As he that mai no bote finde.
          Bot this me thenkth a wonder kinde,
          As I am drunke of that I drinke,
          So am I ek for falte of drinke;
          Of which I finde no reles:
          Bot if I myhte natheles
          Of such a drinke as I coveite,
          So as me liste, have o receite,    290
          I scholde assobre and fare wel.
          Bot so fortune upon hire whiel
          On hih me deigneth noght to sette,
          For everemore I finde a lette:
          The boteler is noght mi frend,
          Which hath the keie be the bend;
          I mai wel wisshe and that is wast,
          For wel I wot, so freissh a tast,
          Bot if mi grace be the more,
          I schal assaie neveremore.   300
          Thus am I drunke of that I se,
          For tastinge is defended me,
          And I can noght miselven stanche:
          So that, mi fader, of this branche
          I am gultif, to telle trouthe.
          Mi Sone, that me thenketh routhe;
          For lovedrunke is the meschief
          Above alle othre the most chief,
          If he no lusti thoght assaie,
          Which mai his sori thurst allaie:  310
          As for the time yit it lisseth
          To him which other joie misseth.
          Forthi, mi Sone, aboven alle
          Thenk wel, hou so it the befalle,
          And kep thi wittes that thou hast,
          And let hem noght be drunke in wast:
          Bot natheles ther is no wyht
          That mai withstonde loves miht.
          Bot why the cause is, as I finde,
          Of that ther is diverse kinde   320
          Of lovedrunke, why men pleigneth
          After the court which al ordeigneth,
          I wol the tellen the manere;
          Nou lest, mi Sone, and thou schalt hiere.
          For the fortune of every chance
          After the goddes pourveance
          To man it groweth from above,
          So that the sped of every love
          Is schape there, er it befalle.
          For Jupiter aboven alle,  330
          Which is of goddes soverein,
          Hath in his celier, as men sein,
          Tuo tonnes fulle of love drinke,
          That maken many an herte sinke
          And many an herte also to flete,
          Or of the soure or of the swete.
          That on is full of such piment,
          Which passeth all entendement
          Of mannes witt, if he it taste,
          And makth a jolif herte in haste:  340
          That other biter as the galle,
          Which makth a mannes herte palle,
          Whos drunkeschipe is a sieknesse
          Thurgh fielinge of the biternesse.
          Cupide is boteler of bothe,
          Which to the lieve and to the lothe
          Yifth of the swete and of the soure,
          That some lawhe, and some loure.
          Bot for so moche as he blind is,
          Fulofte time he goth amis    350
          And takth the badde for the goode,
          Which hindreth many a mannes fode
          Withoute cause, and forthreth eke.
          So be ther some of love seke,
          Whiche oghte of reson to ben hole,
          And some comen to the dole
          In happ and as hemselve leste
          Drinke undeserved of the beste.
          And thus this blinde Boteler
          Yifth of the trouble in stede of cler    360
          And ek the cler in stede of trouble:
          Lo, hou he can the hertes trouble,
          And makth men drunke al upon chaunce
          Withoute lawe of governance.
          If he drawe of the swete tonne,
          Thanne is the sorwe al overronne
          Of lovedrunke, and schalt noght greven
          So to be drunken every even,
          For al is thanne bot a game.
          Bot whanne it is noght of the same,   370
          And he the biter tonne draweth,
          Such drunkeschipe an herte gnaweth
          And fiebleth al a mannes thoght,
          That betre him were have drunke noght
          And al his bred have eten dreie;
          For thanne he lest his lusti weie
          With drunkeschipe, and wot noght whider
          To go, the weies ben so slider,
          In which he mai per cas so falle,
          That he schal breke his wittes alle.  380
          And in this wise men be drunke
          After the drink that thei have drunke:
          Bot alle drinken noght alike,
          For som schal singe and som schal syke,
          So that it me nothing merveilleth,
          Mi Sone, of love that thee eilleth;
          For wel I knowe be thi tale,
          That thou hast drunken of the duale,
          Which biter is, til god the sende
          Such grace that thou miht amende.  390
          Bot, Sone, thou schalt bidde and preie
          In such a wise as I schal seie,
          That thou the lusti welle atteigne
          Thi wofull thurstes to restreigne
          Of love, and taste the swetnesse;
          As Bachus dede in his distresse,
          Whan bodiliche thurst him hente
          In strange londes where he wente.
          This Bachus Sone of Jupiter
          Was hote, and as he wente fer   400
          Be his fadres assignement
          To make a werre in Orient,
          And gret pouer with him he ladde,
          So that the heiere hond he hadde
          And victoire of his enemys,
          And torneth homward with his pris,
          In such a contre which was dreie
          A meschief fell upon the weie.
          As he rod with his compainie
          Nyh to the strondes of Lubie,   410
          Ther myhte thei no drinke finde
          Of water nor of other kinde,
          So that himself and al his host
          Were of defalte of drinke almost
          Destruid, and thanne Bachus preide
          To Jupiter, and thus he seide:
          "O hihe fader, that sest al,
          To whom is reson that I schal
          Beseche and preie in every nede,
          Behold, mi fader, and tak hiede    420
          This wofull thurst that we ben inne
          To staunche, and grante ous forto winne,
          And sauf unto the contre fare,
          Wher that oure lusti loves are
          Waitende upon oure hom cominge."
          And with the vois of his preiynge,
          Which herd was to the goddes hihe,
          He syh anon tofore his yhe
          A wether, which the ground hath sporned;
          And wher he hath it overtorned,    430
          Ther sprang a welle freissh and cler,
          Wherof his oghne boteler
          After the lustes of his wille
          Was every man to drinke his fille.
          And for this ilke grete grace
          Bachus upon the same place
          A riche temple let arere,
          Which evere scholde stonde there
          To thursti men in remembrance.
          Forthi, mi Sone, after this chance    440
          It sit thee wel to taken hiede
          So forto preie upon thi nede,
          As Bachus preide for the welle;
          And thenk, as thou hast herd me telle,
          Hou grace he gradde and grace he hadde.
          He was no fol that ferst so radde,
          For selden get a domb man lond:
          Tak that proverbe, and understond
          That wordes ben of vertu grete.
          Forthi to speke thou ne lete,   450
          And axe and prei erli and late
          Thi thurst to quenche, and thenk algate,
          The boteler which berth the keie
          Is blind, as thou hast herd me seie;
          And if it mihte so betyde,
          That he upon the blinde side
          Per cas the swete tonne arauhte,
          Than schalt thou have a lusti drauhte
          And waxe of lovedrunke sobre.
          And thus I rede thou assobre    460
          Thin herte in hope of such a grace;
          For drunkeschipe in every place,
          To whether side that it torne,
          Doth harm and makth a man to sporne
          And ofte falle in such a wise,
          Wher he per cas mai noght arise.
          And forto loke in evidence
          Upon the sothe experience,
          So as it hath befalle er this,
          In every mannes mouth it is  470
          Hou Tristram was of love drunke
          With Bele Ysolde, whan thei drunke
          The drink which Brangwein hem betok,
          Er that king Marc his Eem hire tok
          To wyve, as it was after knowe.
          And ek, mi Sone, if thou wolt knowe,
          As it hath fallen overmore
          In loves cause, and what is more
          Of drunkeschipe forto drede,
          As it whilom befell in dede,    480
          Wherof thou miht the betre eschuie
          Of drunke men that thou ne suie
          The compaignie in no manere,
          A gret ensample thou schalt hiere.
          This finde I write in Poesie
          Of thilke faire Ipotacie,
          Of whos beaute ther as sche was
          Spak every man, - and fell per cas,
          That Pirotos so him spedde,
          That he to wyve hire scholde wedde,   490
          Wherof that he gret joie made.
          And for he wolde his love glade,
          Ayein the day of mariage
          Be mouthe bothe and be message
          Hise frendes to the feste he preide,
          With gret worschipe and, as men seide,
          He hath this yonge ladi spoused.
          And whan that thei were alle housed,
          And set and served ate mete,
          Ther was no wyn which mai be gete,    500
          That ther ne was plente ynouh:
          Bot Bachus thilke tonne drouh,
          Wherof be weie of drunkeschipe
          The greteste of the felaschipe
          Were oute of reson overtake;
          And Venus, which hath also take
          The cause most in special,
          Hath yove hem drinke forth withal
          Of thilke cuppe which exciteth
          The lust wherinne a man deliteth:      510
          And thus be double weie drunke,
          Of lust that ilke fyri funke
          Hath mad hem, as who seith, halfwode,
          That thei no reson understode,
          Ne to non other thing thei syhen,
          Bot hire, which tofore here yhen
          Was wedded thilke same day,
          That freisshe wif, that lusti May,
          On hire it was al that thei thoghten.
          And so ferforth here lustes soghten,  520
          That thei the whiche named were
          Centauri, ate feste there
          Of on assent, of an acord
          This yonge wif malgre hire lord
          In such a rage awei forth ladden,
          As thei whiche non insihte hadden
          Bot only to her drunke fare,
          Which many a man hath mad misfare
          In love als wel as other weie.
          Wherof, if I schal more seie    530
          Upon the nature of the vice,
          Of custume and of exercice
          The mannes grace hou it fordoth,
          A tale, which was whilom soth,
          Of fooles that so drunken were,
          I schal reherce unto thine Ere.
          I rede in a Cronique thus
          Of Galba and of Vitellus,
          The whiche of Spaigne bothe were
          The greteste of alle othre there,  540
          And bothe of o condicion
          After the disposicion
          Of glotonie and drunkeschipe.
          That was a sori felaschipe:
          For this thou miht wel understonde,
          That man mai wel noght longe stonde
          Which is wyndrunke of comun us;
          For he hath lore the vertus,
          Wherof reson him scholde clothe;
          And that was seene upon hem bothe.    550
          Men sein ther is non evidence,
          Wherof to knowe a difference
          Betwen the drunken and the wode,
          For thei be nevere nouther goode;
          For wher that wyn doth wit aweie,
          Wisdom hath lost the rihte weie,
          That he no maner vice dredeth;
          Nomore than a blind man thredeth
          His nedle be the Sonnes lyht,
          Nomore is reson thanne of myht,    560
          Whan he with drunkeschipe is blent.
          And in this point thei weren schent,
          This Galba bothe and ek Vitelle,
          Upon the cause as I schal telle,
          Wherof good is to taken hiede.
          For thei tuo thurgh her drunkenhiede
          Of witles excitacioun
          Oppressede al the nacion
          Of Spaigne; for of fool usance,
          Which don was of continuance    570
          Of hem, whiche alday drunken were,
          Ther was no wif ne maiden there,
          What so thei were, or faire or foule,
          Whom thei ne token to defoule,
          Wherof the lond was often wo:
          And ek in othre thinges mo
          Thei wroghten many a sondri wrong.
          Bot hou so that the dai be long,
          The derke nyht comth ate laste:
          God wolde noght thei scholden laste,  580
          And schop the lawe in such a wise,
          That thei thurgh dom to the juise
          Be dampned forto be forlore.
          Bot thei, that hadden ben tofore
          Enclin to alle drunkenesse,-
          Here ende thanne bar witnesse;
          For thei in hope to assuage
          The peine of deth, upon the rage
          That thei the lasse scholden fiele,
          Of wyn let fille full a Miele,  590
          And dronken til so was befalle
          That thei her strengthes losten alle
          Withouten wit of eny brain;
          And thus thei ben halfdede slain,
          That hem ne grieveth bot a lyte.
          Mi Sone, if thou be forto wyte
          In eny point which I have seid,
          Wherof thi wittes ben unteid,
          I rede clepe hem hom ayein.
          I schal do, fader, as ye sein,  600
          Als ferforth as I mai suffise:
          Bot wel I wot that in no wise
          The drunkeschipe of love aweie
          I mai remue be no weie,
          It stant noght upon my fortune.
          Bot if you liste to comune
          Of the seconde Glotonie,
          Which cleped is Delicacie,
          Wherof ye spieken hier tofore,
          Beseche I wolde you therfore.   610
          Mi Sone, as of that ilke vice,
          Which of alle othre is the Norrice,
          And stant upon the retenue
          Of Venus, so as it is due,
          The proprete hou that it fareth
          The bok hierafter nou declareth.
          Of this chapitre in which we trete
          There is yit on of such diete,
          To which no povere mai atteigne;
          For al is Past of paindemeine   620
          And sondri wyn and sondri drinke,
          Wherof that he wole ete and drinke:
          Hise cokes ben for him affaited,
          So that his body is awaited,
          That him schal lacke no delit,
          Als ferforth as his appetit
          Sufficeth to the metes hote.
          Wherof this lusti vice is hote
          Of Gule the Delicacie,
          Which al the hole progenie   630
          Of lusti folk hath undertake
          To feede, whil that he mai take
          Richesses wherof to be founde:
          Of Abstinence he wot no bounde,
          To what profit it scholde serve.
          And yit phisique of his conserve
          Makth many a restauracioun
          Unto his recreacioun,
          Which wolde be to Venus lief.
          Thus for the point of his relief   640
          The coc which schal his mete arraie,
          Bot he the betre his mouth assaie,
          His lordes thonk schal ofte lese,
          Er he be served to the chese:
          For ther mai lacke noght so lyte,
          That he ne fint anon a wyte;
          For bot his lust be fully served,
          Ther hath no wiht his thonk deserved.
          And yit for mannes sustenance,
          To kepe and holde in governance,       650
          To him that wole his hele gete
          Is non so good as comun mete:
          For who that loketh on the bokes,
          It seith, confeccion of cokes,
          A man him scholde wel avise
          Hou he it toke and in what wise.
          For who that useth that he knoweth,
          Ful selden seknesse on him groweth,
          And who that useth metes strange,
          Though his nature empeire and change  660
          It is no wonder, lieve Sone,
          Whan that he doth ayein his wone;
          For in Phisique this I finde,
          Usage is the seconde kinde.
          And riht so changeth his astat
          He that of love is delicat:
          For though he hadde to his hond
          The beste wif of al the lond,
          Or the faireste love of alle,
          Yit wolde his herte on othre falle    670
          And thenke hem mor delicious
          Than he hath in his oghne hous:
          Men sein it is nou ofte so;
          Avise hem wel, thei that so do.
          And forto speke in other weie,
          Fulofte time I have herd seie,
          That he which hath no love achieved,
          Him thenkth that he is noght relieved,
          Thogh that his ladi make him chiere,
          So as sche mai in good manere   680
          Hir honour and hir name save,
          Bot he the surplus mihte have.
          Nothing withstondende hire astat,
          Of love more delicat
          He set hire chiere at no delit,
          Bot he have al his appetit.
          Mi Sone, if it be with thee so,
          Tell me. Myn holi fader, no:
          For delicat in such a wise
          Of love, as ye to me devise,    690
          Ne was I nevere yit gultif;
          For if I hadde such a wif
          As ye speke of, what scholde I more?
          For thanne I wolde neveremore
          For lust of eny wommanhiede
          Myn herte upon non other fiede:
          And if I dede, it were a wast.
          Bot al withoute such repast
          Of lust, as ye me tolde above,
          Of wif, or yit of other love,   700
          I faste, and mai no fode gete;
          So that for lacke of deinte mete,
          Of which an herte mai be fedd,
          I go fastende to my bedd.
          Bot myhte I geten, as ye tolde,
          So mochel that mi ladi wolde
          Me fede with hir glad semblant,
          Though me lacke al the remenant,
          Yit scholde I somdel ben abeched
          And for the time wel refreched.    710
          Bot certes, fader, sche ne doth;
          For in good feith, to telle soth,
          I trowe, thogh I scholde sterve,
          Sche wolde noght hire yhe swerve,
          Min herte with o goodly lok
          To fede, and thus for such a cok
          I mai go fastinge everemo:
          Bot if so is that eny wo
          Mai fede a mannes herte wel,
          Therof I have at every meel  720
          Of plente more than ynowh;
          Bot that is of himself so towh,
          Mi stomac mai it noght defie.
          Lo, such is the delicacie
          Of love, which myn herte fedeth;
          Thus have I lacke of that me nedeth.
          Bot for al this yit natheles
          I seie noght I am gylteles,
          That I somdel am delicat:
          For elles were I fulli mat,  730
          Bot if that I som lusti stounde
          Of confort and of ese founde,
          To take of love som repast;
          For thogh I with the fulle tast
          The lust of love mai noght fiele,
          Min hunger otherwise I kiele
          Of smale lustes whiche I pike,
          And for a time yit thei like;
          If that ye wisten what I mene.
          Nou, goode Sone, schrif thee clene    740
          Of suche deyntes as ben goode,
          Wherof thou takst thin hertes fode.
          Mi fader, I you schal reherce,
          Hou that mi fodes ben diverse,
          So as thei fallen in degre.
          O fiedinge is of that I se,
          An other is of that I here,
          The thridde, as I schal tellen here,
          It groweth of min oghne thoght:
          And elles scholde I live noght;    750
          For whom that failleth fode of herte,
          He mai noght wel the deth asterte.
          Of sihte is al mi ferste fode,
          Thurgh which myn yhe of alle goode
          Hath that to him is acordant,
          A lusti fode sufficant.
          Whan that I go toward the place
          Wher I schal se my ladi face,
          Min yhe, which is loth to faste,
          Beginth to hungre anon so faste,       760
          That him thenkth of on houre thre,
          Til I ther come and he hire se:
          And thanne after his appetit
          He takth a fode of such delit,
          That him non other deynte nedeth.
          Of sondri sihtes he him fedeth:
          He seth hire face of such colour,
          That freisshere is than eny flour,
          He seth hire front is large and plein
          Withoute fronce of eny grein,   770
          He seth hire yhen lich an hevene,
          He seth hire nase strauht and evene,
          He seth hire rode upon the cheke,
          He seth hire rede lippes eke,
          Hire chyn acordeth to the face,
          Al that he seth is full of grace,
          He seth hire necke round and clene,
          Therinne mai no bon be sene,
          He seth hire handes faire and whyte;
          For al this thing withoute wyte    780
          He mai se naked ate leste,
          So is it wel the more feste
          And wel the mor Delicacie
          Unto the fiedinge of myn yhe.
          He seth hire schapthe forth withal,
          Hire bodi round, hire middel smal,
          So wel begon with good array,
          Which passeth al the lust of Maii,
          Whan he is most with softe schoures
          Ful clothed in his lusti floures.  790
          With suche sihtes by and by
          Min yhe is fed; bot finaly,
          Whan he the port and the manere
          Seth of hire wommanysshe chere,
          Than hath he such delice on honde,
          Him thenkth he mihte stille stonde,
          And that he hath ful sufficance
          Of liflode and of sustienance
          As to his part for everemo.
          And if it thoghte alle othre so,   800
          Fro thenne wolde he nevere wende,
          Bot there unto the worldes ende
          He wolde abyde, if that he mihte,
          And fieden him upon the syhte.
          For thogh I mihte stonden ay
          Into the time of domesday
          And loke upon hire evere in on,
          Yit whanne I scholde fro hire gon,
          Min yhe wolde, as thogh he faste,
          Ben hungerstorven al so faste,  810
          Til efte ayein that he hire syhe.
          Such is the nature of myn yhe:
          Ther is no lust so deintefull,
          Of which a man schal noght be full,
          Of that the stomac underfongeth,
          Bot evere in on myn yhe longeth:
          For loke hou that a goshauk tireth,
          Riht so doth he, whan that he pireth
          And toteth on hire wommanhiede;
          For he mai nevere fulli fiede   820
          His lust, bot evere aliche sore
          Him hungreth, so that he the more
          Desireth to be fed algate:
          And thus myn yhe is mad the gate,
          Thurgh which the deyntes of my thoght
          Of lust ben to myn herte broght.
          Riht as myn yhe with his lok
          Is to myn herte a lusti coc
          Of loves fode delicat,
          Riht so myn Ere in his astat,   830
          Wher as myn yhe mai noght serve,
          Can wel myn hertes thonk deserve
          And fieden him fro day to day
          With suche deyntes as he may.
          For thus it is, that overal,
          Wher as I come in special,
          I mai hiere of mi ladi pris;
          I hiere on seith that sche is wys,
          An other seith that sche is good,
          And som men sein, of worthi blod   840
          That sche is come, and is also
          So fair, that nawher is non so;
          And som men preise hire goodli chiere:
          Thus every thing that I mai hiere,
          Which souneth to mi ladi goode,
          Is to myn Ere a lusti foode.
          And ek min Ere hath over this
          A deynte feste, whan so is
          That I mai hiere hirselve speke;
          For thanne anon mi faste I breke   850
          On suche wordes as sche seith,
          That full of trouthe and full of feith
          Thei ben, and of so good desport,
          That to myn Ere gret confort
          Thei don, as thei that ben delices.
          For al the metes and the spices,
          That eny Lombard couthe make,
          Ne be so lusti forto take
          Ne so ferforth restauratif,
          I seie as for myn oghne lif,    860
          As ben the wordes of hire mouth:
          For as the wyndes of the South
          Ben most of alle debonaire,
          So whan hir list to speke faire,
          The vertu of hire goodly speche
          Is verraily myn hertes leche.
          And if it so befalle among,
          That sche carole upon a song,
          Whan I it hiere I am so fedd,
          That I am fro miself so ledd,   870
          As thogh I were in paradis;
          For certes, as to myn avis,
          Whan I here of hir vois the stevene,
          Me thenkth it is a blisse of hevene.
          And ek in other wise also
          Fulofte time it falleth so,
          Min Ere with a good pitance
          Is fedd of redinge of romance
          Of Ydoine and of Amadas,
          That whilom weren in mi cas,    880
          And eke of othre many a score,
          That loveden longe er I was bore.
          For whan I of here loves rede,
          Min Ere with the tale I fede;
          And with the lust of here histoire
          Somtime I drawe into memoire
          Hou sorwe mai noght evere laste;
          And so comth hope in ate laste,
          Whan I non other fode knowe.
          And that endureth bot a throwe,    890
          Riht as it were a cherie feste;
          Bot forto compten ate leste,
          As for the while yit it eseth
          And somdel of myn herte appeseth:
          For what thing to myn Ere spreedeth,
          Which is plesant, somdel it feedeth
          With wordes suche as he mai gete
          Mi lust, in stede of other mete.
          Lo thus, mi fader, as I seie,
          Of lust the which myn yhe hath seie,  900
          And ek of that myn Ere hath herd,
          Fulofte I have the betre ferd.
          And tho tuo bringen in the thridde,
          The which hath in myn herte amidde
          His place take, to arraie
          The lusti fode, which assaie
          I mot; and nameliche on nyhtes,
          Whan that me lacketh alle sihtes,
          And that myn heringe is aweie,
          Thanne is he redy in the weie   910
          Mi reresouper forto make,
          Of which myn hertes fode I take.
          This lusti cokes name is hote
          Thoght, which hath evere hise pottes hote
          Of love buillende on the fyr
          With fantasie and with desir,
          Of whiche er this fulofte he fedde
          Min herte, whanne I was abedde;
          And thanne he set upon my bord
          Bothe every syhte and every word   920
          Of lust, which I have herd or sein.
          Bot yit is noght mi feste al plein,
          Bot al of woldes and of wisshes,
          Therof have I my fulle disshes,
          Bot as of fielinge and of tast,
          Yit mihte I nevere have o repast.
          And thus, as I have seid aforn,
          I licke hony on the thorn,
          And as who seith, upon the bridel
          I chiewe, so that al is ydel    930
          As in effect the fode I have.
          Bot as a man that wolde him save,
          Whan he is seck, be medicine,
          Riht so of love the famine
          I fonde in al that evere I mai
          To fiede and dryve forth the day,
          Til I mai have the grete feste,
          Which al myn hunger myhte areste.
          Lo suche ben mi lustes thre;
          Of that I thenke and hiere and se  940
          I take of love my fiedinge
          Withoute tastinge or fielinge:
          And as the Plover doth of Eir
          I live, and am in good espeir
          That for no such delicacie
          I trowe I do no glotonie.
          And natheles to youre avis,
          Min holi fader, that be wis,
          I recomande myn astat
          Of that I have be delicat.   950
          Mi Sone, I understonde wel
          That thou hast told hier everydel,
          And as me thenketh be thi tale,
          It ben delices wonder smale,
          Wherof thou takst thi loves fode.
          Bot, Sone, if that thou understode
          What is to ben delicious,
          Thou woldest noght be curious
          Upon the lust of thin astat
          To ben to sore delicat,   960
          Wherof that thou reson excede:
          For in the bokes thou myht rede,
          If mannes wisdom schal be suied,
          It oghte wel to ben eschuied
          In love als wel as other weie;
          For, as these holi bokes seie,
          The bodely delices alle
          In every point, hou so thei falle,
          Unto the Soule don grievance.
          And forto take in remembrance,  970
          A tale acordant unto this,
          Which of gret understondinge is
          To mannes soule resonable,
          I thenke telle, and is no fable.
          Of Cristes word, who wole it rede,
          Hou that this vice is forto drede
          In thevangile it telleth plein,
          Which mot algate be certein,
          For Crist himself it berth witnesse.
          And thogh the clerk and the clergesse    980
          In latin tunge it rede and singe,
          Yit for the more knoulechinge
          Of trouthe, which is good to wite,
          I schal declare as it is write
          In Engleissh, for thus it began.
          Crist seith: "Ther was a riche man,
          A mihti lord of gret astat,
          And he was ek so delicat
          Of his clothing, that everyday
          Of pourpre and bisse he made him gay,    990
          And eet and drank therto his fille
          After the lustes of his wille,
          As he which al stod in delice
          And tok non hiede of thilke vice.
          And as it scholde so betyde,
          A povere lazre upon a tyde
          Cam to the gate and axed mete:
          Bot there mihte he nothing gete
          His dedly hunger forto stanche;
          For he, which hadde his fulle panche  1000
          Of alle lustes ate bord,
          Ne deigneth noght to speke a word,
          Onliche a Crumme forto yive,
          Wherof the povere myhte live
          Upon the yifte of his almesse.
          Thus lai this povere in gret destresse
          Acold and hungred ate gate,
          Fro which he mihte go no gate,
          So was he wofulli besein.
          And as these holi bokes sein,   1010
          The houndes comen fro the halle,
          Wher that this sike man was falle,
          And as he lay ther forto die,
          The woundes of his maladie
          Thei licken forto don him ese.
          Bot he was full of such desese,
          That he mai noght the deth eschape;
          Bot as it was that time schape,
          The Soule fro the bodi passeth,
          And he whom nothing overpasseth,   1020
          The hihe god, up to the hevene
          Him tok, wher he hath set him evene
          In Habrahammes barm on hyh,
          Wher he the hevene joie syh
          And hadde al that he have wolde.
          And fell, as it befalle scholde,
          This riche man the same throwe
          With soudein deth was overthrowe,
          And forth withouten eny wente
          Into the helle straght he wente;   1030
          The fend into the fyr him drouh,
          Wher that he hadde peine ynouh
          Of flamme which that evere brenneth.
          And as his yhe aboute renneth,
          Toward the hevene he cast his lok,
          Wher that he syh and hiede tok
          Hou Lazar set was in his Se
          Als ferr as evere he mihte se
          With Habraham; and thanne he preide
          Unto the Patriarch and seide:   1040
          "Send Lazar doun fro thilke Sete,
          And do that he his finger wete
          In water, so that he mai droppe
          Upon my tunge, forto stoppe
          The grete hete in which I brenne."
          Bot Habraham answerde thenne
          And seide to him in this wise:
          "Mi Sone, thou thee miht avise
          And take into thi remembrance,
          Hou Lazar hadde gret penance,   1050
          Whyl he was in that other lif,
          Bot thou in al thi lust jolif
          The bodily delices soghtest:
          Forthi, so as thou thanne wroghtest,
          Nou schalt thou take thi reward
          Of dedly peine hierafterward
          In helle, which schal evere laste;
          And this Lazar nou ate laste
          The worldes peine is overronne,
          In hevene and hath his lif begonne    1060
          Of joie, which is endeles.
          Bot that thou preidest natheles,
          That I schal Lazar to the sende
          With water on his finger ende,
          Thin hote tunge forto kiele,
          Thou schalt no such graces fiele;
          For to that foule place of Sinne,
          For evere in which thou schalt ben inne,
          Comth non out of this place thider,
          Ne non of you mai comen hider;  1070
          Thus be yee parted nou atuo."
          The riche ayeinward cride tho:
          "O Habraham, sithe it so is,
          That Lazar mai noght do me this
          Which I have axed in this place,
          I wolde preie an other grace.
          For I have yit of brethren fyve,
          That with mi fader ben alyve
          Togedre duellende in on hous;
          To whom, as thou art gracious,  1080
          I preie that thou woldest sende
          Lazar, so that he mihte wende
          To warne hem hou the world is went,
          That afterward thei be noght schent
          Of suche peines as I drye.
          Lo, this I preie and this I crie,
          Now I may noght miself amende."
          The Patriarch anon suiende
          To his preiere ansuerde nay;
          And seide him hou that everyday    1090
          His brethren mihten knowe and hiere
          Of Moi5ses on Erthe hiere
          And of prophetes othre mo,
          What hem was best. And he seith no;
          Bot if ther mihte a man aryse
          Fro deth to lyve in such a wise,
          To tellen hem hou that it were,
          He seide hou thanne of pure fere
          Thei scholden wel be war therby.
          Quod Habraham: "Nay sikerly;    1100
          For if thei nou wol noght obeie
          To suche as techen hem the weie,
          And alday preche and alday telle
          Hou that it stant of hevene and helle,
          Thei wol noght thanne taken hiede,
          Thogh it befelle so in dede
          That eny ded man were arered,
          To ben of him no betre lered
          Than of an other man alyve."
          If thou, mi Sone, canst descryve   1110
          This tale, as Crist himself it tolde,
          Thou schalt have cause to beholde,
          To se so gret an evidence,
          Wherof the sothe experience
          Hath schewed openliche at ije,
          That bodili delicacie
          Of him which yeveth non almesse
          Schal after falle in gret destresse.
          And that was sene upon the riche:
          For he ne wolde unto his liche  1120
          A Crumme yiven of his bred,
          Thanne afterward, whan he was ded,
          A drope of water him was werned.
          Thus mai a mannes wit be lerned
          Of hem that so delices taken;
          Whan thei with deth ben overtaken,
          That erst was swete is thanne sour.
          Bot he that is a governour
          Of worldes good, if he be wys,
          Withinne his herte he set no pris  1130
          Of al the world, and yit he useth
          The good, that he nothing refuseth,
          As he which lord is of the thinges.
          The Nouches and the riche ringes,
          The cloth of gold and the Perrie
          He takth, and yit delicacie
          He leveth, thogh he were al this.
          The beste mete that ther is
          He ett, and drinkth the beste drinke;
          Bot hou that evere he ete or drinke,  1140
          Delicacie he put aweie,
          As he which goth the rihte weie
          Noght only forto fiede and clothe
          His bodi, bot his soule bothe.
          Bot thei that taken otherwise
          Here lustes, ben none of the wise;
          And that whilom was schewed eke,
          If thou these olde bokes seke,
          Als wel be reson as be kinde,
          Of olde ensample as men mai finde.    1150
          What man that wolde him wel avise,
          Delicacie is to despise,
          Whan kinde acordeth noght withal;
          Wherof ensample in special
          Of Nero whilom mai be told,
          Which ayein kinde manyfold
          Hise lustes tok, til ate laste
          That god him wolde al overcaste;
          Of whom the Cronique is so plein,
          Me list nomore of him to sein.  1160
          And natheles for glotonie
          Of bodili Delicacie,
          To knowe his stomak hou it ferde,
          Of that noman tofore herde,
          Which he withinne himself bethoghte,
          A wonder soubtil thing he wroghte.
          Thre men upon eleccioun
          Of age and of complexioun
          Lich to himself be alle weie
          He tok towardes him to pleie,   1170
          And ete and drinke als wel as he.
          Therof was no diversite;
          For every day whan that thei eete,
          Tofore his oghne bord thei seete,
          And of such mete as he was served,
          Althogh thei hadde it noght deserved,
          Thei token service of the same.
          Bot afterward al thilke game
          Was into wofull ernest torned;
          For whan thei weren thus sojorned,    1180
          Withinne a time at after mete
          Nero, which hadde noght foryete
          The lustes of his frele astat,
          As he which al was delicat,
          To knowe thilke experience,
          The men let come in his presence:
          And to that on the same tyde,
          A  courser that he scholde ryde
          Into the feld, anon he bad;
          Wherof this man was wonder glad,   1190
          And goth to prike and prance aboute.
          That other, whil that he was oute,
          He leide upon his bedd to slepe:
          The thridde, which he wolde kepe
          Withinne his chambre, faire and softe
          He goth now doun nou up fulofte,
          Walkende a pass, that he ne slepte,
          Til he which on the courser lepte
          Was come fro the field ayein.
          Nero thanne, as the bokes sein,    1200
          These men doth taken alle thre
          And slouh hem, for he wolde se
          The whos stomak was best defied:
          And whanne he hath the sothe tryed,
          He fond that he which goth the pass
          Defyed best of alle was,
          Which afterward he usede ay.
          And thus what thing unto his pay
          Was most plesant, he lefte non:
          With every lust he was begon,   1210
          Wherof the bodi myhte glade,
          For he non abstinence made;
          Bot most above alle erthli thinges
          Of wommen unto the likinges
          Nero sette al his hole herte,
          For that lust scholde him noght asterte.
          Whan that the thurst of love him cawhte,
          Wher that him list he tok a drauhte,
          He spareth nouther wif ne maide,
          That such an other, as men saide,  1220
          In al this world was nevere yit.
          He was so drunke in al his wit
          Thurgh sondri lustes whiche he tok,
          That evere, whil ther is a bok,
          Of Nero men schul rede and singe
          Unto the worldes knowlechinge,
          Mi goode Sone, as thou hast herd.
          For evere yit it hath so ferd,
          Delicacie in loves cas
          Withoute reson is and was;   1230
          For wher that love his herte set,
          Him thenkth it myhte be no bet;
          And thogh it be noght fulli mete,
          The lust of love is evere swete.
          Lo, thus togedre of felaschipe
          Delicacie and drunkeschipe,
          Wherof reson stant out of herre,
          Have mad full many a wisman erre
          In loves cause most of alle:
          For thanne hou so that evere it falle,   1240
          Wit can no reson understonde,
          Bot let the governance stonde
          To Will, which thanne wext so wylde,
          That he can noght himselve schylde
          Fro no peril, bot out of feere
          The weie he sec