Hic loquitur de
delicacia Neronis,
But they that taken other wife
Her luftes, ben none of the wise,
And that whilom was fhewed eke,
If thou these olde bokes feke.
That man that wolde him well avise,
qui corporalibus Delicacy is to despise,
deliciis magis ad- Whan kinde accordeth nought v herens, fpiritualia
gaudia minus ob- Wherof ensample in speciall
Of Nero whilom may be tolde,
Whiche ayein kinde manifolde
His luftes toke, till ate last,
That god him wolde all overcast,
Of whom the cronique is so plein,
Me luft no more of him to fain.
And netheles for glotony
Of bodely delicacy
To knowe his ftomack how it ferde,
Of that no man to-fore herde,
Which he within him self bethought,
A wonder subtil thing he wrought.
Thre men upon election
Of age and of complexion
Lich to him felf by alle way
He toke towardes him to play,
And ete and dranke as well as he,
Therof was no diverfite.
For every day whan that they ete,
To-fore his owne bord they sete,
And of fuch mete as he was ferved,
All though they had it nought deserved,
They token service of the fame.
But afterward all thilke game
Was into wofull erneft torned.
For whan they were thus fojorned,
Within a time at after-mete
Nero, which hadde nought foryete
The luftes of his frele eftate,
As he, which all was delicate
To knowe thilke experience,
The men let come in his prefence.
And to that one the fame tide
A courfer, that he fholde ride
Into the felde, anone he bad,
Wherof this man was wonder glad
And goth to pricke and praunce about.
That other, while that he was out,
He laide upon his bed to slepe.
The thridde, which he wolde kepe
Within his chambre faire and fofte,
He goth now up, now down ful ofte,
Walkend a pace, that he ne flepte,
Till he, which on the courfer lepte,
Was comen fro the felde ayein.
Nero than, as the bokes fain,
These men did done take alle thre
And flough hem, for he wolde fe,
The whose ftomack was beft defied.
And whan he hath the fothe tried,
He found that he, which goth the pas,
Defied beft of alle was,
Which afterward he used ay.
And thus what thing unto his
Was most plefant, he lefte none.
With every luft he was begone,
Wherof the body mighte glade,
For he no abftinence made,
But most of alle erthly thinges
Of women unto the likinges
Nero fet all his hole herte,
For that luft fhuld him nought afterte.
Whan that the thurft of love him caught,
Where that him lift he toke a draught,
He spareth nouther wife ne maide,
That fuch another, as men faide,
In all this world was never yit.
He was fo drunke in all his wit
Through fondry luftes which he toke,
That ever, while there is a boke
Of Nero men shall rede and fing
Unto the worldes knouleching.
My gode fone, as thou haft herde,
For ever yet it hath fo ferde,
Delicacy in loves cas
Withoute refon is and was.
For where that love his herte fet,
Him thenketh, it might be no bet,
All though it be nought fully mete,
The lufte of love is ever fwete.
Lo, thus to-gider of felaship,
Delicacy and dronkeship,
Wherof reson stant out of herre,
Have made full many a wife man erre
In loves cause most of all.
For than how fo that ever it fall
Wit can no refon understonde,
But let the governaunce stonde
To will, which thanne wexeth fo wilde,
That he can nought him selven shilde
Fro the perill, but out of fere
he fecheth here and there,
Him reccheth nought upon what fide,
For ofte time he goth befide
And doth such thing withoute drede,
Wherof him oughte wel to drede.
But whan that love affoteth fore,
It paffeth alle mennes lore,
What luft it is, that he ordeigneth,
There is no mannes might reftreigneth,
And of god taketh he none hede.
But laweles withoute drede
His purpos for he wolde acheve,
Ayein the points of the beleve
He tempteth heven, erth and helle,
Here afterward as I fhall telle.
Dum ftimulatus amor, quicquid jubet orta voluptas,
Audet et aggreditur nulla timenda timens,
Omne quod aftra queunt herbarum five poteftas,
Seu vigor inferni fingula temptat amans.
Quod nequit ipfe, deo mediante, parare finiftrum,
Demonis hoc magica credulus arte parat.
Sic fibi non curat ad opus que retia tendit,
Ďummodo nudatam prendere poffet avem.
Hic tractat, quali- Who dare do thing, which love ne dare? licacia omnis pudi- To love is every lawe unware.
cicie contrarium But to the lawes of his heft inftigantes inter
alia ad carnalis The fish, the fowl, the man, the beste Of all the worldes kinde louteth,
concupifcencie
promocionem fortilegio magicam requirunt.
For love is he, which nothing doubteth
In mannes herte where he fit
He compteth nought toward his wit,
The wo no more than the wele,
No more the hete than the chele,
No more the wete than the drie,
No more to live than to deie,
So that to-fore ne behinde
He feeth no thing, but as the blinde
Withoute insight of his corage
He doth merveiles in his rage
To what thing, that he wol him drawe.
There is no god, there is no lawe
Of whom that he taketh any hede.
But as Bayard the blinde stede,
Till he falle in the dicche a midde,
He goth there no man will him bidde,
He ftant fo ferforth out of reule,
There is no wit that may him reule.
And thus to tell of him in foth,
Full many a wonder thing he doth,
That were better to be laft,
Among the whiche is wicche craft,
That some men clepen forcery,
Which for to winne his druery
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