And flain, wherof the fory was. So it befelle upon this cas, Whan fhe delivered fholde be, Yfis by nighte in privete,
Whiche of childing is the goddeffe, Came for to helpe in that diftreffe, Till that this lady was all small And had a doughter forth with all, Which the goddesse in alle way Bad kepe, and that they fholde say, It were a fone. And thus Yphis They named him, and upon this The fader was made for to wene. And thus in chambre with the This Yphis was forth drawe tho And clothed and arraied fo Right as a kinges fone fholde. Till after, as fortune it wolde, Whan it was of a ten yere age, Him was betake in mariage A dukes doughter for to wedde, Whiche Iante hight, and ofte abedde These children lien, she and she,) Whiche of one age bothe be. So that withinne time of yeres To-gider, as they ben play-feres Liggend abedde upon a night Nature, which doth every wight Upon her lawe for to muse,
Conftreigneth hem, so that they use
filiam nomine filii Yphiappellari ipfamque more mafculi educare admonuit, quam pater filium credens, ipfam in maritagium filie cuiufdam principis etate folita copulavit, fed cum Yphis debitum fue conjugi unde folvere non habuit, deos in fui adjutorium interpellabat, qui fuper hoc miserti femineum genus in mafculinum ob affectum nature in Yphe per omnia trans
Thing, which to hem was all unknowe, Wherof Cupide thilke throwe
Toke pite for the grete love And let do fette kinde above, So that her lawe may ben used And they upon her luft excused. For love hateth nothing more Than thing, which stant ayein the lore Of that nature in kinde hath fet. Forthy Cupide hath so befet His grace upon this aventure That be accordant to nature, Whan that he figh his time best, That eche of hem hath other keft, Transformeth Yphe into a man, Wherof the kinde love he wan Of lufty yonge Iante his wife. And tho they ledde a merie life, Which was to kinde none offence.
And thus to take an evidence It femeth love is welwillende To hem, that ben continuende With befy herte to pursue Thing, which that is to love due. Wherof, my fone, in this matere Thou might enfample taken here, That with thy grete befineffe Thou might atteigne the richeffe Of love, that there be no flouth.
I dare well fay by my trouth,
Als ferre as my wit can feche, My fader, as for lacke of fpeche, But fo as I me fhrofe to-fore, There is none other time lore, Wherof there mighte be obstacle To lette love of his miracle, Whiche I befeche day and night. But fader, fo as it is right
In forme of fhrifte to be knowe What thing belongeth to the flowe, Your faderhode I wolde pray, If there be further any way Touchend unto this ilke vice. My fone ye, of this office There ferveth one in special, Which loft hath his memorial, So that he can no wit witholde
In thing, which he to kepe his holde Wherof full ofte him felf he greveth. And who that most upon him leveth, Whan that his wittes ben fo weived, He may full lightly be deceived.
Mentibus oblitus alienis labitur ille,
Quem probat accidia non meminisse fui. Sic amor incautus, qui non memoratur ad horas, Perdit et offendit, quod cuperare nequit.
To ferve accidie in his office, There is of flouth an other vice, Which cleped is foryetelnesse,
That nought may in his herte impresse
et in amoris caufa Of vertue, which refon hath fet, So clene his wittes he foryete.
For in tellinge of his tale
No more his herte than his male Hath remembraunce of thilke forme, Wherof he fholde his wit enforme As than, and yet ne wot he why. Thus is his purpos nought forthy Forlore of that he wolde bidde And scarfely, if he feeth the thridde To love of that he hadde ment. Thus many a lover hath be fhent. Telle on therefore, haft thou ben one Of hem, that flouth hath fo begonne?
Ye fader, ofte it hath ben fo, That whan I am my lady fro And thenke untoward her drawe, Than caft I many a newe lawe And all the world torne up fo down And fo recorde I my leffon And write in my memoriall What I to her telle fhall, Right all the mater of my tale. But all nis worth a nutteshale. For whan I come there fhe is, I have it all foryete iwis Of that I thought for to telle I can nought than unnethes spelle, That I wende altherbest have rad, So fore I am of her adrad.
For as a man that fodeinly A goft beholdeth fo fare I,
So that for fere I can nought gete My wit, but I my self foryete, That I wot never, what I am,
Ne whider I fhall, ne whenne I cam, But mufe as he, that were amased. Lich to the boke, in whiche is rafed The letter and may nothing be rad, So ben my wittes overlad,
That what as ever I thought have spoken, It is out of min herte ftoken
And ftonde, as who faith, doumbe and defe, That all nis worth an yvy lefe,
Of that I wende well have faide. And ate last I make abraide,
Caft up min heed and loke aboute Right as a man, that were in doubte And wot not, where he shall become. Thus am I oft all overcome
There as I wende beft to ftonde. But after, whan I understonde And am in other place alone, I make many a wofull mone Unto my self and speke fo:
Ha fool, where was thine herte tho, Whan thou thy worthy lady figh, Were thou afered of her eye? For of her hond there is no drede, So well I knowe her womanhede,
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