Where they the dukes helpe fought. And he, so as they him besought, A place graunteth for to dwelle. But after, whan he herde telle Of the maner how they have do, The duke let shape for hem so, That of a poifon which they drunke They hadden that they have befwunke. And all this made avaunt of pride. Good is therfore a man to hide His owne prise, for if he speke, He may lightly his thanke breke. In armes lith none avauntance
To him, which thenketh his name avaunce And be renomed of his dede.
And also who that thenketh to spede Of love he may nought him avaunte. For what man thilke vice haunte, His purpose shall full ofte faile. In armes he that woll travaile
Or elles loves grace atteigne,
His lose tunge he mot reftreigne, Whiche bereth of his honour the keie. Forthy my fone, in alle waie
Take right good hede of this matere. I thonke you, my fader dere, This fcole is of a gentil lore. And if there be ought elles more Of pride whiche I shall escheue, Nowe axeth forth, and I woll fue
Hie loquitur de quinta fpecie fu
What thing, that ye me woll enforme.
My fone, yet in other forme
There is a vice of prides lore,
Which like an hawk, whan he will fore, up on high in his delices After the likinge of his vices
And woll no mannes refon knowe, Till he down falle and overthrowe. This vice veingloire is hote, Wherof, my fone, I the behote To trete and fpeke in fuche a wise, That thou the might better avise.
Gloria perpetuos pregnat mundana dolores, Qui tamen eft vanus gaudia vana cupit. Eius amiciciam, quem gloria tollit inanis,
Non fine blandiciis planus habebit homo. Verbis compofitis qui fcit ftrigilare favellum, Scandere fellata jura valebit eques. Sic in amore magis qui blanda fubornat in ore Verba per hoc bravium que nequit alter habet. Et tamen ornatos cantus variofque paratus Letaque corda fuis legibus optat amor. The proude vice of veingloire
perbie, que inanis Remembreth nought of purgatoire, His worldes joies ben fo grete,
gloria vocatur, et
eiufdem vicii natu
ram primo defcri- Him thenketh of heven no beyete. bens fuper eodem
in amoris caufa This lives pompe is all his pees,
confequenter op- Yet fhall he deie netheles,
And therof thenketh he but a lite, For all his luft is to delite
In newe thinges, proude and veine, Als ferforth as he may atteine.
Itrowe, if that he mighte make His body newe, he wolde take A newe forme and leve his olde.
For what thing, that he may beholde, The which to comun ufe is ftraunge, Anone his olde guise chaunge He woll and falle therupon Lich unto the camelion,
Whiche upon every fondry hewe That he beholt he mote newe His colour, and thus unavifed Ful ofte time he stant desguised More jolif than the brid in maie. He maketh him ever fresh and gaie And doth all his array desguise, So that of him the newe guise Of lufty folke all other take. And eke he can carolles make, Roundel, balade and virelay.
And with all this, if that he may Of love gete him avauntage, Anone he wext of his corage So over glad, that of his ende
He thenketh there is no deth comende. For he hath than at alle tide
Of love fuch a maner pride,
Him thenketh his joy is endeles.
Now fhrive the, fone, in goddes pees
And of thy love tell me plein,
If that thy gloire hath be so vein.
Salomon. Amictus eius annunciat de eo.
My fader, as touchend of all
may nought well ne nought ne shall Of vein gloire excuse me,
That I ne have for love be
The better addressed and arraied. And also I have ofte affaied Roundel, balade and virelay
For her, on whom min herte lay, To make and also for to peinte Carolles with my wordes queinte To fette my purpos alofte.
And thus I fang hem forth full ofte In halle and eke in chambre aboute And made merie among the route. But yet ne ferde I nought the bet. Thus was my gloire in vein beset Of all the joie that I made. For when I wolde with her glade And of her love fonges make,
She faide, it was nought for her fake, And lifte nought my fonges here Ne witen, what the wordes were. So for to fpeke of min array Yet couth I never be fo gay Ne fo well make a fonge of love, Wherof I mighte ben above And have enchefon to be glad. But rather I am ofte adrad For forwe, that the faith me nay. And netheles I woll nought fay,
That I nam glad on other fide For fame, that can nothing hide. All day woll bringe unto min ere Of that men speken here and there, How that my lady berth the prise, How she is faire, how fhe is wife, How fhe is womanlich of chere.
Of all this thing whan I
may here, What wonder is though I be fain. And eke whan I may here fain Tidinges of my ladis hele,
All though I may nought with her dele, Yet am I wonder glad of that.
For whan I wote her good eftate, As for that time I dare well fwere, None other forwe may me dere. Thus am I gladed in this wise. But, fader, of your lores wife, Of whiche ye be fully taught, Now tell me if ye thenketh ought, That I therof am for to wite. Of that there is, I the acquite, My fone, he faide, and for thy good I woll that thou understood, For I thenke upon this matere To tell a tale, as thou shalt here, How that ayein this proude vice The highe god of his justice
Is wrothe and great vengeaunce doth. Nowe herken a tale, that is foth,
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