And halted, as he were encloied,
Wherof the woman was annoied.
Thus was the hors in fory plight,
But for all that a fterre whit
Amiddes in her front she hadde.
Her fadel eke was wonder badde,
In which the wofull woman fat.
And netheles there was with that
A riche bridel for the nones
Of golde and preciouse stones,
Her cote was fomdele to-tore,
About her middel twenty score
Of horse halters and well mo
There hingen ate time tho.
Thus whan she came the lady nigh,
Than toke she better hede and figh
The woman fair was of visage,
Fresh, lufty, yong and tendre of
And fo this lady, there she stood,
Bethought her well and understood,
That this, which came ridende tho,
Tidinges couth telle of tho,
Whiche as the figh to-fore ride,
And put her forth and praide abide
And faid: Ha fufter, let me here,
What ben they, that riden now here
And ben fo richely arraied?
This woman, which came fo efmaied, Answerde with full fofte fpeche
And faid: Madame, I fhall you teche,
These are of tho, that whilom were Servaunts to love and trouthe bere, There as they had their hertes fette. Fare well, for I may nought be lette. Madame, I go to my fervice,
So muft I hafte in alle wife
Forthy madame, yif me leve.
may nought longe with leve.
Ha, gode fufter, yet I prey,
Tell me, why ye be fo befey
And with these halters thus begone?
Madame, whilom I was one,
That to my fader hadde a king.
But I was flowe and for no thing
Me lifte nought to love obey,
And that I now full fore abey,
For I whilom no love hadde,
My hors is now feble and badde
And all to-tore is min array,
And every yere this freshe may
These lufty ladies ride aboute,
And I muft nedes fue her route
In this maner, as ye now se
And truffe her halters forth with me
And am but as her horfe knave.
None other office I ne have,
Hem thenketh I am worthy no more,
For I was flowe in loves lore,
Whan I was able for to lere
And wolde nought the tales here
Of hem, that couthen love teche.
Now tell me than, I you befeche, Wherof that riche bridel ferveth? With that her chere away fhe fwerveth And gan to wepe and thus fhe tolde: This bridel, which ye now beholde, So riche upon min horse hed, Madame, afore er I was dede, Whan I was in my lusty life, There fell into min hert a ftrife Of love, which me overcome, So that therafter hede I nome And thought I wolde love a knight, That laste well a fourtenight, For it no lenger mighte lafte, So nigh my life was ate laste. But nowe alas to late ware That I ne had him loved ere, For deth cam fo in hafte byme, Er I therto had any time, That it ne mighte ben acheved. But for all that I am releved Of that my will was good therto That love fuffreth it be fo, That I fhall fuch a bridel were. Nowe have ye herd all min answere, To god, madame, I you betake, And warneth alle for my fake, Of love that they be nought idel And bid hem thenke upon my bridel.
Non quia fic fe habet veritas, fet
opinio amancium.
And with that worde all fodeinly
She paffeth as it were a skie
All clene out of this ladies fight.
And tho for fere her herte aflight
And faide to her felf: Helas!
I am right in the fame cas.
But if I live after this day,
I shall amende it if I may.
And thus homward this lady went
And chaunged all her first entent
Within her herte and gan to swere,
That she no halters wolde bere.
Lo fone, here might thou taken hede,
How idelneffe is for to drede,
Nameliche of love, as I have write.
For thou might understonde and wite,
Among the gentil nacion
Love is an occupacion,
Which for to kepe his luftes fave
Shold every gentil herte have,
For as the lady was chastised,
Right fo the knight may ben avised,
Which idel is and woll nought ferve
To love, he may parcas deferve
A greater peine than she hadde,
Whan fhe aboute with her ladde
The horse halters, and forthy
Good is to be ware therby.
But for to loke aboven alle
These maidens how fo it falle,
They fhulden take enfample of this,
Whiche I have tolde forfoth it is.
My lady Venus, whom I ferve,
What woman woll her thank deferve
She may nought thilke love efchue
Of paramours, but she mot sue
Cupides lawe, and netheles
Men fene fuch love felde in pees,
That it nis ever upon afpie
Of jangling and of fals envie,
Full ofte medled with difefe.
But thilke love is well at efe,
Which fet is upon mariage,
For that dare shewen the visage
In alle places openly.
A great merveile it is forthy,
How that a maiden wolde lette,
That she her time ne befette
To hafte unto that ilke fefte,
Wherof the love is all honeste.
Men may recover loss of good,
But fo wife man yet never stood,
Which may recover time ilore.
So may a maiden well therfore
Enfample take, of that she ftraungeth
Her love and longe er that she chaungeth
Her herte upon her luftes grene
To mariage, as it is fene.
For thus a yere or two or thre
She lefte, er that the wedded be,
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