And flain, wherof the fory was.
So it befelle upon this cas,
Whan fhe delivered fholde be,
Yfis by nighte in privete,

quene

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

mutarunt.

Confeffor.

Amans.

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.

immemorem conftituit.

Confeffio amantis.

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,