Nota, qualiter rex Zoraftes ftatim, cum ab utero ma
The maistry and the power hadde,
His creator to nought him ladde,
Ayein whofe lawe his craft he useth,
Whan he for luft his god refuseth
And toke him for the devels craft.
Lo, what profit is him belaft.
That thing, through which he wend have
First him exiled out of londe,
Which was his own, and from a king
Made him to be an underling,
And fithen to deceive a quene,
That torneth him to mochel tene,
Through luft of love he gat him hate,
That ende couth he nought abate
His olde fleightes, which he cast,
Yonge Alifaundre him overcast.
His fader, which him misbegat,
He flough, a great mishap was that.
But for o mis an other mis
Was yolde, and fo full ofte it is.
Nectanabus his craft mifwent,
So it misfell him, er he went.
I not what helpeth that clergy,
Which maketh a man to do foly,
And namelich of nigromaunce,
Which stont upon the mifcreaunce.
And for to fe more evidence
Zoraftes, which thexperience
tris fue nafceretur, of art magique first forth drough,
in quo pronofticum Anone as he was bore he lough, doloris fubfequen
Which token was of wo fuinge,
For of his owne controvinge
He found magique and taught it forth,
But all that was him litel worth.
For of Surrie a worthy king
Him flewe and that was his ending.
But yet through him this craft is used,
And he through all the world accused,
For it fhall never well acheve,
That front nought right with the beleve.
But lich to wolle is evil fponne,
Who lefeth him self hath litel wonne,
An ende proveth every thing.
Saul, which was of Jewes king,
Up peine of deth forbad this arte,
And yet
he toke therof his parte.
The Phitoniffe in Samary
Yaf him counfeil by forcery,
Which after fell to mochel forwe,
To conne mochel thing it helpeth,
But of to moche no man yelpeth.
So for to loke on every fide,
Magique may nought well betide.
Forthy my fone, I woll the rede,
That thou of these ensamples drede,
That for no luft of erthly love
Thou feche fo to come above,
Wherof as in the worldes wonder
Thou shalt for ever be put under.
My gode fader, graunt mercy.
For ever I shall beware therby
Of love what me fo befalle
Such forcery aboven alle.
Fro this day forth I fhall efcheue,
That fo ne woll I nought purfue
My luft of love for to feche.
But this I wolde you befeche
Befide that me ftant of love,
As I
you herde fpeke above,
How Alifaundre was betaught
Of Ariftotle and fo well taught
Of all that to a king belongeth,
Wherof my herte fore longeth
To wite what it wolde mene.
For by refon I wolde wene,
But if I herde of thinges ftraunge,
Yet for a time it fhulde chaunge
My peine and liffe me fomdele.
My gode fone, thou faieft wele.
For wisdom, how that ever it stonde,
To him that can it understonde
Doth great profit in fondry wife,
But touchend of so high a prise,
Which is nought unto Venus knowe,
I may it nought my felve knowe,
Which of her court am all forth drawe
And can no thing but of her lawe.
But netheles to knowe more
As wel as thou me longeth fore.
And for it helpeth to comune,
All be they nought to me comune,
The scoles of philofophy
Yet thenk I for to specify
In boke as it is comprehended, Wherof thou mightest ben amended. For though I be nought all cunning Upon the forme of this writing, Some part therof yet I have herde, In this matere how it hath ferde.
Quia omnis doctrina bona humano regimini falutem confert, in hoc feptimo libro ad inftanciam amantis languidi intendit Genius illam, ex qua
Incipit Liber Septimus.
Omnibus in caufis fapiens doctrina falutem
Confequitur, nec habet quis nifi doctus opem.
Naturam fuperat doctrina, viro quod et ortus
Ingenii docilis non dedit, ipfa dabit.
Non ita difcretus hominum per climata regnat,
Quin magis ut fapiat, indiget ipfe fchole.
GENIUS the prest of love,
My fone, as thou hast praid
That I the fcole fhall declare
philofophi et aftrolo- Of Ariftotle and eke the fare
trinam regem Alex- Of Alifaundre, how he was taught,
fecundum aliquid de- I am fomdele therof deftraught.
nim philofophiam in For it is nought the matere
prima theorica, fe- Of love, why we fitten here cunda rhetorica, ter- To fhrive fo as Venus badde,
pata eft, de quarum But netheles for it is gladde,
quenter per fingula So as thou faift for thin apprise
To here of fuche thinges wife,
Wherof thou might thy time liffe,
So as I can, I fhall the wiffe.
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