Whan it was time for to wake,
For though min eye it wolde take,
Min herte is ever there ayein.
But netheles to speke it plein
All this that I have faid you here
Of my wakinge, as ye may here,
It toucheth to my lady fwete,
For other wife I you behete,
In ftraunge place whan I go
Me lift no thing to wake fo.
For whan the women liften play
And I her fe nought in the way,
Of whome I fhulde merthe take,
Me lift nought longe for to wake.
But if it be for pure shame
Of that I wolde efcheue a name,
That they ne fhuld have cause none
To fay: Ha, where goth such one,
That hath forlore his contenaunce,
And thus among I finge and daunce
And feigne luft, thereas none is.
For ofte fith I fele this,
Of thought, which in min herte falleth,
Whan it is night min hede appalleth,
And that is for I fe her nought,
Whiche is the waker of my thought.
And thus as timelich as I may
Ful oft, whan it is brode day,
I take of all these other leve
And
go my wey, and they beleve,
Hic dicit, quod vigi
lia in amantibus, et
upon youre conscience,
Min holy fader, demeth ye.
My fone, I am well paid with the
Of flepe, that thou the fluggardy
By night in loves compaignie
Escheued haft, and do thy pain
So, that thy love dare nought pleine.
For love upon his luft wakende
Is ever and wolde that none ende
Were of the longe nightes fet,
Wherof that thou beware the bet
To telle a tale I am bethought,
How love and flepe accorden nought.
For love who that lift to wake
fompnolencia By night, he may enfample take laudanda eft. Et po- Of Cephalus, whan that he lay phalo filio Phebi, qui With Aurora the swete
roram amicam fuam In armes all the longe night.
tens folem et lunam But whan it drough toward the light, interpellabat, videli
cet quod fol in circulo That he within his herte figh
currum cum luce fua The day, which was the morwe nigh, retardaret, et quod Anone unto the fonne he preyde luna fpera fua lon
giffima orbem circu- For luft of love and thus he faide:
O Phebus, which the daies light
Governest til that it be night
And gladdeft every creature
After the lawe of thy nature,
'But netheles there is a thing,
Whiche only to thy knouleching
Belongeth, as in privete
To love and to his duete,
Whiche axeth nought to ben apert,
But in filence and in covert
Defireth for to be beshaded.
And thus whan that the light is faded
And vefper fheweth him alofte
And that the night is longe and fofte
Under the cloudes derke and stille,
Than hath this thing most of his wille.
Forthy unto thy mightes high,
As thou, whiche art the daies eye
Of love and might no counfeil hide,
Upon this derke nightes tide
With all min herte I the befeche,
That I plesaunce mighte feche
With her, which lieth in min armes.
Withdrawe the banner of thin armes
And let thy lightes ben unborne
And in the figne of Capricorne
The hous appropred to Satorne,
I prey the, that thou wolt fojorne,
Where ben the nightes derke and longe.
For I my love have underfonge,
aret, ita ut ipsum Cephalum amplexibus Aurore volutum priufquam dies illucefceret fuis deliciis adquiefcere diucius permittere dignarentur.
Which lith here by my fide naked
As fhe, which wolde ben awaked,
And me lift no thing for to flepe,
So were it good to take kepe
Now at this nede of my praiere,
And that the like for to stere
Thy firy cart and fo ordeigne,
That thou thy fwifte hors reftreigne
Lowe under erthe in occident,
That they towardes orient
By cercle go the longe wey.
And eke to the, Diane, I prey,
Which cleped art of thy noblesse
The nightes mone and the goddeffe,
That thou to me be gracious
And in Cancro thin owne hous
Ayein Phebus in oppofite
Stond al this time, and of delite
Behold Venus with a glad eye,
For than upon astronomy
Of due conftellacion
Thou makest prolificacion
And doft that children ben begete,
Which grace if that I might gete
With all min herte I woll ferve
By night and thy vigile observe.
Lo, thus this lufty Cephalus,
Praid unto Phebe and to Phebus
The night in lengthe for to drawe,
So that he mighte do the lawe
In thilke point of loves heste,
Which cleped is the nightes feste
Withoute slepe of fluggardy,
Which Venus oute of compaigny
Hath put awey, as thilke fame,
Which luftles fer from alle game
In chambre doth full ofte wo
A bedde, whan it falleth fo,
That love fhulde ben awaited.
But flouthe, which is evil affaited,
With slepe hath made his retenue,
That what thinge is to love due
Of all his dette he paieth none.
He wot nought, how the night is gone
Ne how the day is come aboute,
But only for to flepe and route,
Til high midday, that he arise.
But Cephalus did otherwise,
As thou, my fone, hast herd above.
My fader, who that hath his love
A bedde naked by his fide
And wolde than his eyen hide
With flepe, I not what man is he.
But certes as touchend of me,
That fell me never yet er this.
But other while whan fo is,
That I may cacche flepe on honde
Liggend alone, than I fonde
To dreme a mery fweven er day.
And if fo falle, that I may
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