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He wolde affaie the fortune

And gan his herte to comune
With goodly wordes in her ere,
And for to put her out of fere
He swore and hath his trouthe plight
To be for ever her owne knight.
And thus with her he ftille abode
There, while his ship on anker rode,
And had inough of time and space
To fpeke of love and feche grace.
This lady herd all that he saide,
And how he fwore, and how he praide,
Which was as an enchauntement

To here, that was as innocent.
As though it were trouthe and feith
She leveth all, that ever he faith,
And as her in fortune fholde,
She graunteth him all that he wolde.
Thus was he for the time in joie,
Til that he shulde go to Troie,
But tho fhe made mochel forwe
And he his trouthe laid to borwe
To come and if that he live may
Ayein within a monthe day.
And therupon they kisten bothe,
But were hem leef or were hem lothe,
To ship he goth and forth he went
To Troy, as was his first entent.
The daies go, the monthe paffeth,
Her love encrefeth, and his laffeth

For him she lefte flepe and mete,
And he his time hath all foryete,
So that this wofull yonge quene,
Which wot nought what it mighte mene,
A letter send and praid him come
And faith how she is overcome
With ftrengthe of love in fuche a wise,
That she nought longe may fuffife
To liven out of his prefence,
And put upon his conscience

The trouthe, whiche he hath behote,
Wherof she loveth him fo hote,

She faith, that if he lenger lette

Of fuch a day, as she him sette,
She shulde fterven in his flouthe,
Which were a shame unto his trouthe.
This letter is forth upon her fonde,
Wherof fomdele comfort on honde
She toke as fhe, that wolde abide
And waite upon that ilke tide,
Which the hath in her letter write.

But now is pite for to wite,

As he did erft, so he foryate

His time eftfone and over-fate.

But she, which mighte nought do so,

The tide awaiteth evermo

And caft her eye upon the fee.
Somtime nay, fomtime ye

Somtime he cam, fomtime nought.

Thus she disputeth in her thought

And wot nought what the thenke may.
But fastend all the longe day

She was into the derke night,

And tho fhe hath do fet

up light
In a lanterne on high alofte
Upon a toure, where fhe goth ofte
In hope, that in his comminge
He shulde se the light brenninge,
Wherof he might his weies right
To come, where he was by night.
But all for nought, fhe was deceived,
For Venus hath her hope weived
And fhewed her upon the sky,
How that the day was fafte by,
So that within a litel throwe
The daies light she mighte knowe,
Tho fhe beheld the fee at large.
And whan fhe figh there was no barge
Ne ship, als fer as she may kenne,
Down fro the tour fhe gan to renne
Into an herber all her owne,
Where many a wonder wofull mone
She made, that no life it wist
As she, which all her joie mist,

That now she swouneth, now fhe pleigneth,
And all her face she disteigneth
With teres, whiche as of a welle
The ftremes from her eyen felle,
So as fhe might and ever in one
She cleped upon Demephon

And faid: Alas, thou flowe wight,
Where was there ever fuche a knight,
That so through his ungentileffe
Of flouthe and of foryetelneffe
Ayein his trouthe brak his fteven.
And tho her eye up to the heven
She caft and faide: O thou unkinde,
Here shalt thou through thy flouthe finde,
If that the lift to come and fe

A lady dede for love of the
So as I fhall my felve fpille,
Whome, if it hadde be thy wille,
Thou mightest save well inough.
With that upon a grene bough

A ceinte of filke, which fhe there had,
She knette, and fo her felf fhe lad,
That the about her white fwere
It did and henge her felven there.
Wherof the goddes were amoved,
And Demephon was fo reproved,
That of the goddes providence
Was fhape fuche an evidence
Ever afterward ayein the flowe,
That Phillis in the fame throwe
Was shape into a nutte-tre,
That alle men it mighte fe,
And after Phillis philliberd

This tre was cleped in the yerd,

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This wofull chaunce how that it ferde
Anone as Demephon it herde

And every man it hadde in speche,
His forwe was nought tho to feche,
He gan his flouthe for to banne,
But it was all to late thanne.

Lo, thus, my fone, might thou wite
Ayein this vice how it is write,
For no man may the harmes geffe,
That fallen through foryetelneffe,
Wherof that I thy fhrift have herd.
But yet of flouthe how it hath ferd
In other wife I thenke oppofe,
If thou have gilt, as I fuppofe.

Dum plantare licet, cultor qui negligit hortum,
Si defint fructus, imputat ipfe fibi.
Preterit ifta dies bona, nec valet illa fecunda.
Hoc caret exemplo lentus amore fuo.

Fulfilled of flouthes exemplaire
There is yet one his fecretaire,
And he is cleped negligence,

Which woll nought loke his evidence,
Wherof he may beware to-fore.
But whan he hath his caufe lore,
Than is he wife after the honde,
Whan helpe may no maner bonde,
Than ate firfte wold he binde.

Thus evermore he stant behinde,
Whan he the thing may nought amende,
Than is he ware and faith at ende :

Confeffor.

Hic tractat confeffor de vicio negligencie, cuius condicio accidiam amplectens omnes artes fciencie tam in amoris caufa quam aliter ignominiofa pretermittens, cum nullum poterit eminere remedium, fui minifterii diligenciam ex poft facto in vacuum attemptare prefumit.

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