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The more hardy for to wowe, In hope that she wolde bowe To such thinge, as his wille were, While that her lord were elles where. And of my self I telle this, For it so longe passed is, Sith first that ye fro home wente, That well nigh every man is wente To there I am, while ye be oute, Had made and eche of hem aboute, Which love can, my love secheth With great praiere and me besecheth. And some maken great manace, That if they mighten come in place, Where that they mighten her will have, There is no thing me shulde save, That they ne wolde werche thinges. And some tellen me tidinges, That ye ben dede, and some sain, That certainly ye ben besain To love a newe and leve me. But how as ever that it be, I thonke unto the goddes alle As yet for ought that is befalle, May no man do my chekes rede. But netheles it is to drede, That lachesse in continuaunce Fortune might suche a chaunce, Which no man after sholde amende.

Lo, thus this lady compleignende

A letter unto her lord hath write
And praid him, that he wolde wite
And thenke, how that she was al his,
And that he tarie nought in this,
But that he wold his love açquite
To her ayeinward and nought write,
But come him self in alle haste,
That he none other paper waste,
So that he kepe and holde his trouthe
Withoute let of any Nouthe.

Unto her lord and love liege
To Troie, where the grete fiege
Was laid, this letter was conveied.
And he, which wisdome hath purveied
Of all that to reson belongeth,
With gentil herte it underfongeth.
And whan he hath it overrad,
In parte he was right inly glad
And eke in parte he was disesed.
But love his hert hath so through sesed
With pure ymaginacion,
That for none occupacion,
Whiche he can take on other side,
He may nought Ait his herte aside,
For that his wife him had enformed,
Wherof he hath him self conformed
With all the will of his corage
To shape and take the viage
Homeward, what time that he may.
So that him thenketh of a day

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A thousand yere till he may se
The visage of Penelope,
Whiche he desireth most of alle.
And whan the time is so befalle,
That Troie was distruied and brent,
He made non delaiement,
But goth him home in alle hie,
Where that he found to-fore his eye
His worthy wife in good estate,
And thus was cessed the debate
Of love, and southe was excused,
Which doth great harm, wher it is used,
And hindreth many a cause honest.

For of the grete clerk Grostest
I rede how busy that he was
Upon the clergie an heved of bras
To forge and make it for to telle
Of suche thinges as befelle.
And seven yeres befinesse
He laide, but for the lachesse
Of half a minute of an houre
Fro firste he began laboure
He lost all that he hadde do.
And other while it fareth so
In loves cause, who is flowe,
That he without under the wowe
By night stant full oft a colde,
Which mighte, if that he had wolde
His time kept, have be withinne.

But southe may nought profit winne,

Nota hic de quodam astrologo super eodem, qui quoddam opus ingeniosum quasi ad complementum feptennio perducens unius momenti tardacione omnem fui operis diligenciam penitus frustravit.

- Nota adhuc contra tardacionem de virnimiam moram fa

ginibus fatuis, que But he may finge in his carole,
cientes intrante How latewar came to the dole,
sponso ad nupcias Where he no good receive might.
cum ipfo non in-
troierunt.

And that was proved well by night
Whilome of the maidens five,
Whan thilke lord came for to wive,
For that her oile was awey
To light her lampes in his wey,
Her southe brought it so aboute

Fro him that they be shet withoute.
Confessor. Wherof, my sone, be thou ware,

Als ferforth as I telle dare.
For love muste ben awaited,
And if thou be nought well affaited
In love to escheue Nouthe,
My fone, for to telle trouthe
Thou might nought of thy self ben able
To winne love or make it stable,

All though thou mightest love acheve. Confesfio amantis. My fader, that I may well leve.

But me was never assigned place,
Where yet to geten any grace,
Ne me was non such time appointed,
For than I wolde I were unjointed
Of every limme that I have,
And I ne shulde kepe and save
Min houre bothe and eke my stede,
If my lady it hadde bede.
But she is otherwise avised
Than graunte suche a time assised.

And netheless of my lachesse
There hath be no default I gefse
Of time lofte, if that I mighte.
But yet her liketh nought alighte
Upon no lure, which I caste.
For ay the more I crie faste
The lasse her liketh for to here.
So for to speke of this matere
I seche that I may nought finde,
I haste and ever I am behinde
And wot nought what it may amounte.
But fader, upon min accompte,
Whiche ye ben set to examine
Of Ihrifte after the discipline,
Say what your best counseile is.

My sone, my counseil is this.
How so it stonde of time go,
Do forth thy besinesse so,
That no lachesse in the be founde,
For flouthe is mighty to confounde
The spede of every mannes werke.
For many a vice, as faith the clerke,
There hongen upon flouthes lappe
Of suche as make a man mishappe
To pleigne and tell of: had I wist.
And therupon if that the list
To knowe of southes cause more
In special yet overmore
There is a vice full grevable
To him, which is therof coulpable;

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