Wherof the foule ftood amended
Upon this erth yet is commended.
An emperour by olde daies There was, and he at all affaies
A worthy knight was of his honde,
There was none fuch in all the londe, But
yet for all his vaffellage
He stood unwedded all his age, And in cronique as it is tolde He was an hundred winter olde.] And if I fhall more over this Declare what this vertue is, I finde write upon this thing Of Valentinian the king And emperour be thilke daies, A worthy knight at alle affaies, How he withoute mariage Was of an hundred winter age. And hadde ben a worthy knight Both of his lawe and of his might. But whan men wolde his dedes peise And of his knighthode of armes preise, Of that he dide with his hondes, Whan he the kinges and the londes To his fubjection put under, Of all that prise hath he no wonder, For he it fet of none accompte And faid, all that may nought amounte Ayein a point, whiche he hath nome, That he his flesh hath overcome.
He was a virgine, as he said, On that bataile his pris he laid. Lo now, my fone, avise the. Ye, fader, all this may well be. But if all other dide fo,
The world of men were fone ago, And in the lawe a man may finde,
How god to man by wey of kinde Hath fet the world to multiply. And who that woll him juftify, It is inough to do the lawe. And netheles your gode fawe Is good to kepe, who fo may, I woll nought there ayein say nay. My fone, take it as I fay, If maidenhed be take away Withoute lawes ordenaunce,
It may nought failen of vengeaunce. And if thou wolt the fothe wite, Behold a tale, which is write, How that the king Agamenon,
Whan he the citee of Lesbon
Hath won, a maiden there he fonde, Which was the fairest of the londe In thilke time, that men wist.
He toke of her what him list Of thing which was moft precious, Wherof that she was daungerous. This faire maiden cleped is
Crifeid, the doughter of Crisis,
Which was that time speciall Of thilke temple principall, Where Phebus had his facrifice, So was it well the more vice. Agamenon was than in way To Troie ward and toke awey
This maiden, whiche he with him lad, luft in her he had.
But Phebus, which hath great disdein Of that his maiden was forlein, Anone as he to Troie came,
Vengeaunce upon this dede he name And send a comune peftilence. They foughten than her evidence And maden calculacion,
To knowe in what condicion
This deth cam in fo fodeinly,
And ate lafte redely
The cause and eke the man they founde, And forth with al the fame stounde
Agamenon opposed was,
Whiche hath beknowen all the cas Of the folie, which he wrought. And therupon mercy they fought Toward the god in fondry wife With praier and with sacrifice, The maiden home ayein they fende And yaf her good inough to spende, For ever whiles fhe fhulde live, And thus the finne was foryive
And all the peftilence cefed.
Lo, what it is to ben encrefed Of love, whiche is evil wonne. It were better nought begonne Than take a thing withoute leve, Which thou must after nedes leve, And yet have malgre forth with all. Forthy to robben over all
In loyes cause if thou beginne, I not what efe thou fhalt winne. My fone, be well ware of this, For thus of robbery it is.
My fader, your enfamplarie In loves cause of robberie
I have it right well understonde. But over this how fo it ftonde, Yet wol I wite of your apprise, What thing is more of covetife.
Infidiando latens tempus rimatur et horam
Fur, quibus occulto tempore furta parat. Sic amor infidiis vacat, ut fub tegmine ludos Prendere furtivos nocte favente queat.
With covetife yet I finde
illa cupiditatis fpe- A fervaunt of the fame kinde, cie, que fecretum
latrocinium dici- Which stelth is hote and micherie
cuftode rerum nef- With him is ever in compaignie.
tam per diem quam Of whom if I fhall telle foth
ftrepitu clanculo He stalketh as a pecock doth
And taketh his preie fo coverte,
That no man wote it in aperte.
For whan he wot the lord from home, Than woll he ftalke about and come, And what thing he fint in his wey, Whan that he seeth the men awey, He steleth it and goth forth withall, That therof no man knowe shall. And eke full ofte he goth anight Withoute mone or sterre light And with his craft the dore unpiketh And taketh therinne what him liketh. And if the dore be fo fhet, That he be of his entre let, He woll in ate window crepe, And while the lord is faft aflepe, He fteleth what thing him best list, And goth his wey er it be wist. Full ofte alfo by light of day Yet woll he stele and make affay, Under the cote his honde he put, Till he the mannes purs have kut And rifleth that he fint therinne. And thus he auntreth him to winne
And bereth an horn and nought ne bloweth, For no man of his counfeil knoweth, What he may get of his miching, It is all bile under the wing. And as an hound that goth to folde And hath there take what he wolde
His mouth upon the gras he wipeth, And fo with feigned chere him flipeth,
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