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O herte hard aboven alle,

This deth, which fhall to me befalle,
For that thou wol nought do my grace,
Yet shall be tolde in many a place,
That I am dede for love and trouth
In thy defaulte and in thy flouth,
Thy daunger shall to many mo
Enfample be for evermo,

Whan they my wofull deth recorde.

And with that worde he toke a corde,

With which upon the gate tre

He henge him self, that was pite.
The morwe cam, the night is gone,
Men comen out and figh anone,
Where that this yonge lord was dede.
There was an hous withoute rede,
For no man knewe the cause why,
There was wepinge, there was cry.
This maiden, whan that she it herde
And figh this thing howe it misferde,
Anone the wifte what it ment
And all the cause how it went,
To all the world she tolde it out
And preith to hem, that were about,
To take of her the vengeaunce,
For fhe was cause of thilke chaunce,
Why that this kinges fone is spilt.
She taketh upon her self the gilt
And is all redy to the peine,

Whiche any man her wold ordeigne.

And but if any other wolde,

She faith, that the her felve sholde
Do wreche with her owne honde,
Through out the worlde in every londe
That every life therof shall speke,

How the her felf it fhulde wreke.

She wepeth, the crieth, she swouneth ofte,
She caft her eyen up alofte

And faid among full pitously :
O god, thou woft wel it am I,
For whom Iphis is thus beseine,
Ordeigne fo, that men may faine
A thousand winter after this,
How fuche a maiden did amis,
And as I didde do to me,
For I ne didde no pite

To him, which for my love is lore,
Do no pite to me therfore.

And with this word fhe fell to grounde
A fwoune, and there she lay astounde.
The goddes, which her pleintes herd
And figh how wofully the ferd,
Her life they toke awey anone
And shopen her into a stone
After the forme of her ymage
Of body both and of visage.
And for the merveile of this thing
Unto this place came the king
And eke the quene and many mo,
And whan they wiften it was fo,

As I have tolde it here above,

How that Iphis was dede for love,
Of that he hadde be refused,
They helden alle men excused
And wondren upon the
vengeaunce.
And for to kepe remembraunce
This faire ymage maiden liche
With compaignie noble and riche
With torche and great folempnite
To Salamine the cite

They lede and carie forth withall
This dede corps, and faine it shall
Befide thilke ymage have

His fepulture and be begrave.

This corps and this ymage
Into the cite to Venus,

thus

Where that goddeffe her temple had,

To-gider bothe two they lad.
This ilke ymage as for miracle
Was fet upon an high pinacle
That alle men it mighte knowe,
And under that they maden lowe
A tombe riche for the nones
Of marbre and eke of jaspre stones,
Wherin that Iphis was beloken
That evermore it shall be spoken.
And for men fhall the fothe wite
They have her epitaphe write
As thing, which fhulde abide ftable,
The letters graven in a table

Of marbre were and faiden this:

Here lith, which floughe him self, Iphis

For love of Araxarathen,

And in enfample of tho women,

That fuffren men to deie fo,

Her forme a man may fe also,

How it is torned flesshe and bone
Into the figure of a stone.

He was to neisfh and fhe to harde,
Beware forthy here afterwarde,
Ye men and women bothe two,
Enfampleth you of that was tho.

Lo thus, my fone, as I the say
It greveth by diverse way

In defefpeire a man to falle,

Which is the laste braunch of alle
Of flouthe, as thou haft herd devise,
Wherof that thou thy self avise.
Good is er that thou be deceived,
Wher that the grace of hope is weived.
My fader, how so that it ftonde,
Now have I pleinly understonde
Of flouthes court the properte,
Wherof touchend in my degre
For ever I thenke to beware.
But over this fo as I dare

With all min hert I

you befeche,

That ye me wolde enforme and teche,
What there is more of your apprise
In love als well as otherwise,

Confeffor.

Amans.

Confeffor.

So that I may me clene shrive.
My fone, while thou art alive
And haft alfo thy fulle minde,
Among the vices, which I finde,
There is yet one such of the seven,
Which all this world hath fet uneven
And causeth many thinges wronge,
Where he the cause hath underfonge,
Wherof hereafter thou fhalt here
The forme bothe and the matere.

Explicit liber quartus.

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