That in her is no more oultrage Than in a childe of thre yere age. Why haft thou drede of fo good one, Whom alle vertue hath begone, That in her is no violence But goodly hede and innocence. Withouten spot of any blame. Ha, nice herte, fy for shame, A cowarde herte of love unlered, Wherof art thou fo fore afered, That thou thy tunge suffrest frese And wolt thy gode wordes lefe, Whan thou haft founde time and space, How fholdeft thou deserve grace, Whan thou thy felf darft axe none? But all thou haft foryete anone. And thus difpute in loves lore, But helpe ne finde I nought the more, But ftomble upon min owne treine And make an eking of my peine. For ever whan I thenke amonge, Howe all is on my felf alonge I fay: O fool of alle fooles Thou fareft as he betwene two stoles That wolde fit and goth to grounde. It was ne never fhall be founde Betwene foryetelneffe and drede, That man fhulde any cause fpede. And thus, min holy father dere, Toward my self, as ye may here,

I pleigne of my foryetelneffe.

But elles all the bufineffe,

That may be take of mannes thought,
My herte taketh and is through fought
To thenken ever upon that fwete
Withoute flouthe I you behete.
For what fo falle or wel or wo,
That thought foryete I nevermo,
Where fo I laugh, or so I loure
Nought half a minute of an houre
Ne might I lette out of my minde,
But if I thought upon that ende,
Therof me fhall no flouthe lette,
Till deth out of this world me fette,
All though I had on fuche a ring,
As Moifes through his enchaunting
Sometime in Ethiope made,

Whan that he Tharbis wedded had,
Which ringe bare of oblivion

The name, and that was by refon,
That were it on a finger fate,
Anone his love he fo foryate,
As though he had it never knowe.
And fo it fell that ilke throwe,
Whan Tharbis had it on her honde,
No knouleching of him the fonde,
But all was clene out of memoire,
As men may rede in histoire.
And thus he wente quite away,
That never after that ilke day

She thought, that there was such a one.
All was foryete and overgone.

But in good feith so may nought I.
For she is ever fafte by

So nigh, that she min herte toucheth
That for no thing that flouthe voucheth

I

may foryete her lefe ne loth.

For over all where as she goth,

Min herte folweth her aboute.
Thus may I say withouten doubte,
For bet, for wers, for ought, for nought
She paffeth never fro my thought,
But whan I am there, as she is,
Min hert, as I you faid er this,
Somtime of her is fore adrad
And sometime is overglad
All out of reule and out of space.
For whan I se her goodly face
And thenke upon her highe pris,
As though I were in paradis,
I am fo ravished of the fight,
That speke unto her I ne might
As for the time, though I wolde.
For I ne may my witte unfolde
To finde o worde of that I mene,
But all it is foryete clene.
And though I ftonde there a mile,
All is foryete for the while.
A tunge I have and wordes none.
And thus I ftonde and thenke alone

Of thing that helpeth ofte nought.
But what I had afore thought
To speke, whan I come there,
It is foryete, as nought ne were.
And ftonde amafed and affoted,
That of no thing, which I have noted,
I can nought than a note finge,
But all is out of knoulechinge.
Thus what for joy and what for drede
All is foryeten ate nede,

So that, my fader, of this flouthe
I have you faid the pleine trouthe,
Ye may it, as ye lift, redresse.

For thus ftant my foryetelneffe
And eke my pufillamite.

Say now forth what ye
lift to me,
For I wol only do by you.

My fone, I have wel herd, how thou
Haft faid, and that thou must amende.
For love his grace wol nought fende
To that man, which dare axe none.
For this we knowen everychone,
A mannes thought withoute speche
God wot, and yet that men befeche
His will is. For withoute bedes
He doth his grace in fewe stedes.
And what man that foryete him selve
Among a thousand be nought twelve,
That wol him take in remembraunce,
But let him falle and take his chaunce.

Confeffor.

Hic in amoris caufa

Forthy pull up a besy herte,

My fone, and let no thing afterte
Of love fro thy befineffe.
For touching of foryetelnesse,
Which many a love hath fet behinde,
A tale of great enfample I finde,
Wherof it is pite to wite

In the maner as it is write.

King Demephon whan he by ship

contra obliviofos po- To Troie ward with felaship

nit confeffor exem

plum, qualiter De- Sailend goth upon his

mephon verfus bellum

wey,

Trojanum itinerando It hapneth him at Rodepey,

a Phillide Rodopeie

regina non tantum in As Eolus him hadde blowe hofpicium, fed etiam

in amorem gaudio To londe and refted for a throwe. magno fufceptus eft,

qui poftea ab ipfa And fell that ilke time thus,

Troie defcendens re

diturum infra certum

That the doughter of Ligurgus, tempus fideliffime fe Which quene was of the contre,

compromifit, fed quia

huiufmodi promiffio- Was fojourned in that citee

nis diem ftatutum

poftmodum oblitus Within a caftel nigh the stronde,

eft, Phillis oblivionem

Demephontis lacri- Where Demephon cam up to londe. mis primo deplan

gens, tandem cordula Phillis fhe hight and of yong age

collo fuo circumligata in quodam corulo pre dolore fe mortuam fufpendit.

And of ftature and of visage

She had all that her best besemeth.
Of Demephon right wel her quemeth,
Whan he was come and made him chere.
And he, that was of his manere

A lufty knight, ne might afterte,
That he ne fet on her his herte,
So that within a day or two
He thought, how ever that it go,