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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 assente.
He might nought the place asterte,
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
Alphonse was his propre name.
The knight also, if I shall name,
Danz Petro hight, and as men telle
His doughter wise Petronelle
Was cleped, which was full of grace.
And that was fene in thilke place,
Where The her fader out of tene
Hath brought and made her selfe a quene,
Of that she hath so well desclosed
The points, wherof she was opposed.
Lo now, my sone, as thou might here,
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 shall be weived
And every vice be resceived.
But humblesse is all other wise,
Which most is worth and no reprise
It taketh ayein, but softe and faire
If any thing stant in contraire
With humble fpeche it is redressed.
Thus was this yonge maiden blessed,
The whiche I spake of now to-fore,
Her faders life she gat therfore
And wan with all the kinges love.
Forthy my sone, if thou wolt love,
It fit the well to leve pride
And take humblesse on thy side,
The more of grace thou shalt gete.
My fader, I woll nought foryete
Of this that ye have told me here,
And if that any such manere
Of humble port may love appaie,
Here afterwarde I thonke affaie.
But now forth over I beseche,
That ye more of my shrifte seche.
Confeffor. My gode sone, 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 cause of love
That hast thou pleinly herde above,
So that there is no more to saie
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 delore,
Nam sua mens nullo tempore leta manet.
Quo gaudent alii, delet ille, nec unus amicus
Eft, cui de puro commoda velle facit.
Proximitatis bonor fua corda veretur, et omnis
EA sibi leticia fic aliena dolor.
Hoc etenim vicium quam fepe repugnat amanti,
Non fibi, fed reliquis, dum favet ipsa Venus.
Ef amor ex proprio motu fantasticus, et que
Gaudia fert aliis credit obeffe fibi.
R S SOW after pride the secounde Hic in fecundo li-
bro tractat de inviCANIN There is, which many a wo- dia et eius fpecie
bus, quarum dolor S VR full stounde,
alterius gaudii priVIP Tarden nohor berth abouts ma nuncupatur,
cuius condicionem Within him self and nought withoute.
confeflor primitus For in his thought he brenneth ever,
quatenus amorem Whan that he wote an other lever
eodem consequenOr more vertuos than he,
Which passeth him in his degre.
Therof he taketh his maladie.
That vice is cleped hot envie.
Forthy my sone, if it be so,
Thou art or hast ben one of tho,
As for to speke in loves cas
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 sene another blithe
Of love and hadde a goodly chere,
Ethna, which brenneth yere by yere,
Was thanne nought so hote as I
Of thilke sore which prively
Mine hertes thought withinne brenneth.
The ship, which on the wawes renneth
And is forstormed and forblowe,
Is nought more peined for a throwe
Than I am thanne whan I se
Another, which that passeth me
In that fortune of loves yifte.
But fader, this I telle in shrifte,
That is no where but in o place.
For who that lese 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 wiste for to sterve,
Min hert is full of such foly,
That I my selfe may nought chasty,
Whan I the court se of Cupide
Approche unto my lady fide
Of hem that lusty ben and freshe,
Though it availe hem nought a resihe.
But only that they ben of speche,
My sorwe is than nought to seche.