So great a charite fulfille,
God wote it were well my wille. For he, which was a bachelere, My fader is now made a pere, So whan as ever that I cam An erles doughter nowe I am.
This yonge king, which peised all Her beaute and her wit withall, As he, which was with love hente, Anone therto yaf his afsente. He might nought the place afterte, That she nis lady of his herte. So that he toke her to his wife To holde, while that he hath life. And thus the king toward his knight Accordeth him, as it is right.
And over this good is to wite
In the cronique as it is write
This noble kinge, of whom I tolde,
Of Spaine by tho daies olde
The kingdom had in governaunce,
And as the boke maketh remembraunce
Alphonfe was his propre name.
The knight also, if I shall name, Danz Petro hight, and as men telle His doughter wife Petronelle Was cleped, which was full of grace. And that was fene in thilke place, Where she her fader out of tene
Hath brought and made her felfe a quene,
Of that she hath so well desclosed
The points, wherof the was opposed.
Lo now, my sone, as thou might here, Confeffor. Of all this thing to my matere
But one I take, and that is pride, To whom no grace may betide. In heven he fell out of his stede And paradise him was forbede, The good men in erthe him hate, So that to helle he mote algate, Where every vertue fhall be weived And every vice be refceived. But humbleffe is all other wife, Which most is worth and no reprise It taketh ayein, but softe and faire If any thing stant in contraire With humble speche it is redreffed. Thus was this yonge maiden bleffed, The whiche I spake of now to-fore, Her faders life fhe gat therfore And wan with all the kinges love. Forthy my fone, if thou wolt love, It fit the well to leve pride And take humbleffe on thy fide, The more of grace thou fhalt gete. My fader, I woll nought foryete Of this that ye have told me here, And if that any fuch manere Of humble port may love appaie, Here afterwarde I thonke afsaie.
But now forth over I befeche,
ye more of my shrifte feche. My gode fone, it shall be do. Now herken and lay an ere to, For as touchend of prides fare Als ferforth as I can declare In cause of vice, in caufe of love That haft thou pleinly herde above, So that there is no more to faie Touchend of that, but other waie Touchend envie I thenke telle,
Whiche hath the propre kinde of helle,
Withoute cause to misdo
Toward him self and other also
Here afterward as understonde
Thou shalt the spieces, as they stonde.
Incipit Liber Secundus.
Invidie culpa magis eft attrita dolore, Nam fua mens nullo tempore leta manet. Quo gaudent alii, dolet ille, nec unus amicus Eft, cui de puro commoda velle facit. Proximitatis honor fua corda veretur, et omnis Eft fibi leticia fic aliena dolor.
Hoc etenim vicium quam fepe repugnat amanti, Non fibi, fed reliquis, dum favet ipfa Venus. Eft amor ex proprio motu fantafticus, et que Gaudia fert aliis credit obeffe fibi.
OW after pride the secounde There is, which many a wo- full ftounde,
Towardes other berth aboute
Within him self and nought withoute. For in his thought he brenneth ever, Whan that he wote an other lever Or more vertuos than he, Which paffeth him in his degre. Therof he taketh his maladie. That vice is cleped hot envie. Forthy my fone, if it be so, Thou art or haft ben one of tho, As for to fpeke in loves cas
Hic in fecundo libro tractat de invi
dia et eius fpeciebus, quarum dolor alterius gaudii prima nuncupatur, cuius condicionem fecundum vicium confeffor primitus defcribens amanti,
quatenus amorem concernit, fuper eodem confequenter opponit.
If ever yet thin herte was
Seke of an other mannes hele?
So god avaunce my quarele, My fader, ye a thousand fithe, Whan I have fene another blithe Of love and hadde a goodly chere, Ethna, which brenneth yere by yere, Was thanne nought so hote as I Of thilke fore which prively
Mine hertes thought withinne brenneth. The ship, which on the wawes renneth And is forftormed and forblowe,
Is nought more peined for a throwe
Than I am thanne whan I fe Another, which that paffeth me In that fortune of loves yifte. But fader, this I telle in fhrifte, That is no where but in o place. For who that lefe or finde grace In other stede, it may nought greve. But this ye may right well beleve, Toward my lady, that I serve, Though that I wifte for to fterve, Min hert is full of fuch foly, That I my felfe may nought chasty, Whan I the court fe of Cupide Approche unto my lady fide
Of hem that lufty ben and fresshe, Though it availe hem nought a refihe. But only that they ben of speche, My forwe is than nought to feche.
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