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Upon her goddes grace abide

To ferven him the nightes tide.

The preftes tho gon
home ayeine,
And she goth to her sovereine
Of goddes will. And as it was
She tolde him all the plaine cas,
Wherof he was deceived eke

And bad, that she her fhulde meke
All hole unto the goddes hefte.
And thus she, which was all honeste
To godward, after her entent
At night unto the temple went,
Where that the false prestes were.
And they receiven her there
With fuche a token of holineffe,
As though they seen a goddesse,
And all within in prive place
A fofte bedde of large space
They hadde made and encortined,
Where he was afterward engined.
But she, whiche all honour fuppofeth,
The false prestes than opposeth
And axeth by what obfervaunce
She might most to the plesaunce
Of god that nightes reule kepe.
And they her bidden for to slepe
Liggend upon the bedde a loft,
For, so they said, al still and soft
God Anubus her wolde awake.
The counfeil in this wife take

The preftes fro this lady gone.
And she that wiste of guile none
In the maner as it was faid
To flepe upon the bedde is leid,
In hope that she sholde acheve
Thing, which stode than upon

Fulfilled of all holinesse.
But she hath failed as I geffe,
For in a closet faste by

The duke was hid fo prively,

beleve

That she him mighte nought perceive.

And he that thoughte to deceive

Hath fuche array upon

him nome,

That whan he wold unto her come

It fhulde femen at her eye,
As though the verriliche feie
God Anubus, and in suche wise
This ypocrite of his queintise
Awaiteth ever til she slept.
And than out of his place he crept
So ftille, that she nothing herde,
And to the bed stalkend he ferde
And fodeinly, er she it wiste,
Beclipt in armes he her kifte,
Wherof in womannisfhe drede
She woke and nifte what to rede.
But he with fofte wordes milde
Comforteth her and faith, with childe
He wolde her make in fuche a kinde,
That al the world shall have in minde

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The worshippe of that ilke sone,
For he fhall with the goddes wone
And ben him felfe a god also.
With fuche wordes and with mo,
The which he feigneth in his fpeche,
This ladies wit was al to feche

As she, which alle trouthe weneth.
But he, that all untrouthe meneth,
With blinde tales fo her ladde,
That all his will of her he hadde.
And whan him thought it was inough,
Ayein the day he him withdrough
So prively, that she ne wiste

Where he be come, but as him liste
Out of the temple he goth his way.
And she began to bid and pray,
Upon the bare ground knelende,
And after that made her offrende
And to the preftes yeftes great
She yaf, and homeward by the strete
The duke her mette and faide thus:
The mighty god, whiche Anubus
Is hote, he fave the Pauline,
For thou art of his discipline
So holy, that no mannes might
May do, that he hath do to night
Of thing, which thou haft ever eschued.
But I his grace have fo pursued,
That I was made his lieutenaunt.
Forthy by way of covenaunt

Fro this day forth I am all thine,
And if the like to be mine

That ftant upon thin owne wille.
She herde his tale and bare it stille
And home she went as it befell
Into her chambre and there fhe fell
Upon her bed to wepe and crie
And faide: O derke ypocrisie,
Through whofe diffimulation
Of false ymagination

I am thus wickedly deceived,
But that I have it apperceived
I thonke unto the goddes alle.
For though it ones be befalle
I shall never eft while that I live,
And thilke avow to god I yive.
And thus wepende she compleigneth
Her faire face and all difteigneth
With wofull teres of her

So that upon this agonie

eye,

Her husbonde is inne come

And figh how she was overcome

With forwe and axeth her what her eileth.

And the with that her felf beweileth

Well more than fhe didde afore
And faid: alas, wifehode is lore
In me, which whilom was honest,
I am none other than a beste
Nowe I defouled am of two.
And as the mighte fpeake tho

Ashamed with a pitous onde,
She tolde unto her husebonde
The foth of all the hole tale,

And in her speche dead and pale
She fwouneth well nigh to the laste.
And he her in his armes fafte
Upheld and ofte fwore his oth,
That he with her is nothing wroth,
For wel he wot she may there nought.
But netheles within his thought
His hert stode in a sory plite

And faid, he wolde of that defpite
Be venged how fo ever it falle,
And fend unto his frendes alle.
And whan they were come in fere,
He tolde hem upon this matere
And axeth hem what was to done.
And they avised were fone

And said, it thought hem for the beste
To fette first his wife in refte
And after pleine to the king
Upon the matter of this thing.
Tho was his wofull wife comforted
By alle waies and difported,

Til that she was fomdele amended.
And thus a day or two dispended
The thridde day she goth to pleine
With many a worthy citezeine
And he with many a citezeine.
Whan themperour it herde faine

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