The fee bet in on every fide,
They nisten what fortune abide,
But fetten hem all in goddes will,
Where he wolde hem fave or spill.
And it fell thilke time thus,
There was a kinge, which Nanplus
Was hote, and he a fone hadde
At Troie, which the Gregois ladde
As he, that was made prince of alle,
Till that fortune let him falle.
His name was Palamides,
But through an hate netheles
Of fom of hem his deth was cafte
And he by trefon overcaste.
His fader, whan he herde it telle,
He swore, if ever his time felle,
He wolde him venge if that he might,
And therto his avow he hight.
And thus this king through prive hate
Abode upon a waite algate,
For he was nought of fuche emprise,
To vengen him in open wife.
The fame, which goth wide where,
Maketh knowe, how that the Gregois were
Homward with al the felaship
Fro Troy upon the fee by ship.
Nanplus, whan he this understood
And knew the tides of the flood
And figh the wind blow to the londe,
A great deceipt anone he fonde
batur. Et fic, quod Nanplus viribus nequiit, odio latitante per diffimulacionis fraudem vendicavit.
Of prive hate, as thou fhalte here,
Wherof I telle all this matere.
This king the weder gan beholde
And wiste well, they moten holde
Her cours endlonge his marche right,
And made upon the derke night
Of grete fhides and of blockes
Great fire ayeine the great rockes,
To fhew upon the hilles high,
So that the flete of Grece it figh.
And so it fell right as he thought,
This flete, which an haven fought,
The brighte fires fighe a fer,
And they ben drawen ner and ner
And wende well and understood,
How all that fire was made for good
To fhewe where men shulde arrive.
And thiderward they haften blive.
In femblaunt as men fain is guile.
And that was proved thilke while.
The ship, which wend his helpe accroche,
Drof all to pieces on the roche.
And fo there deden ten or twelve
There no man mighte helpe him selve,
For there they wenden deth escape
Withouten helpe her deth was shape.
Thus they that comen first to-fore
Upon the rockes ben forlore.
But through the noife and through the cry
The other weren ware therby,
And whan the day began to rowe,
Tho mighten they the fothe knowe,
That where they wenden frendes finde,
They fonde frendship all behinde.
The londe than was fone weived,
Where that they hadden be deceived,
And toke hem to the highe fee,
Therto they saiden alle ye,
Fro that day forthe and ware they were
Of that they had affaied there.
My fone, wherof thou might avise,
How fraude ftant in many wife
Among hem, that guile thinke.
There is no fcrivener with his inke,
Whiche half the fraude write can,
That stant in fuche a maner man.
Forthy the wife men ne demen
The thinges after that they femen,
But after that they knowe and finde.
The mirrour fheweth in his kinde,
As he had all the world withinne
And is in foth nothing therinne.
And fo fareth hate for a throwe,
Till he a man hath overthrowe,
Shall no man knowe by his chere,
Whiche is avaunt, ne whiche arere.
Forthy my fone, thenke on this.
My fader, fo I woll iwis,
And if there more of wrathe be,
Nowe axeth forth pour charite,
Hic tractat confef
for fuper quarta et quinta fpecie ire,
que impetuofitas et
homicidium dicun
ye by your bokes knowe,
And I the fothe shall beknowe.
Qui cohibere manum nequit et fic fpem eius
Naribus hic populo fepe timendus erit.
Sepius in luctum Venus et fua gaudia transfert,
Cumque fuis thalamis talis amicus adeft.
Eft amor amplexu non ictibus alliciendus,
Frangit amicicias impetuofa manus.
My fone, thou shalt understonde,
yet
towarde wrathe stonde
Of dedly vices other two.
tur. Sed primo de And for to telle her names fo
impetuofitate spe-
cialiter tractare in- It is contek and homicide, tendit, cuius natura
fpiritum in naribus That ben to drede on every fide.
geftando ad omnes
ire mociones in vin- Contek fo as the bokes fain
dictam parata pa- Foolhaft hath to his chamberlain,
cienciam nullatenus obfervat.
By whofe counfeil all unavised
Is pacience most despised,
Till homicide with him mete.
Fro mercy they ben all unmete
And thus ben they the worst of alle
Of hem, whiche unto wrathe falle
In dede both and eke in thought.
For they accompte her wrath at nought,
But if there be sheding of blood.
And thus liche to a befte wode
They knowen nought the god of life,
Be so they have swerde or knife
Her dedly wrathe for to wreke,
Of pite lift hem nought to speke.
None other refon they ne fonge,
But that they ben of mightes stronge.
But ware hem well in other place,
Where every man behoveth grace.
But there I trowe it shall him faile,
To whom no mercy might availe,
But wroughten upon tirannie,
That no pite ne might hem plie.
Now tell, my fone. My fader, what?
If thou haft be coupable of that?
My fader, nay, Crift me forbede,
I fpeke onliche of the dede,
Of which I was never coupable
Without cause resonable.
But this is nought to my matere
Of shrifte, why we fitten here.
For we ben fet to shrive of love,
As we beganne first above.
And netheles I am beknowe,
That as touchend of loves throwe,
Whan I my wittes overwende,
Min hertes contek hath none ende,
But ever ftant upon debate
Το great difefe of min estate,
As for the time that it lafteth.
For whan my fortune overcasteth
Her whele and is to me fo ftraunge
And that I fe, she woll nought chaunge,
Than caft I all the worlde about
And thenk, howe I at home in dout
Have all my time in vein defpended
And fe nought how to be amended,
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