His cokés ben for him affaited,
So that his body is awaited
That him shall lacké no delite
Als ferforth as his appetite
Suffiseth to the metés hote.
Wherof the lusty Vice is hote
Of gulé the Delícacý,1
Which all the holé progeny
Of lusty folke hath undertake
To fedé while that he may take
Richessé, wherof to be founde.
Of abstinence he wot no bounde,
To what profít it shuldé serve.
And yet phisíque of his conserve
Maketh many a restauración
Unto his recreación,

Which woldé be to Venus lefe.
Thus for the point of his relefe
The coke which shal his mete array
But he the bet his mouth assay
His lordés thank shall ofté lese
Er he be servéd to the chese.
For there may lacké nought so lite2
That he ne fint anone a wite,3
For but his lust be fully served
There hath no wight his thank de-
served,

And yet for mannés sustenaunce
To kepe and holde in governaunce
To him that woll his helé gete
Is none so good as comun mete.
For who that loketh on the bokes,
It saith, confection of cokes
A man him shuldé well avise

How he it toke and in what wise.
For who that useth that he knoweth
Full selden siknesse on him groweth,
And who that useth metés straunge
Though his natúre empeire and
chaunge

It is no wonder, levé sone,
Whan that he doth ayein his wone
To také metes and drinkés newe,

4

4 Wone, custom.

The which it shulde alwey eschewe
For in phisíqué this I finde,
That Usance is the seconde Kinde.1
"And right so chaungeth his

estate

He that of Love is delicate,
For though he haddé to his honde
The besté wife of all the londe
Or the fairésté love of alle,
Yet wolde his herte on other falle
And thinke hem more delicioús
Than he hath in his owné hous.
Men sain it is now ofté so,
Avise hem well, that they so do,
And for to speke in other way
Full ofté time I have herd say,
That he which hath no love acheved
Him thenketh that he is nought
relieved

Though that his lady make him chere,

So as she may in good manere
Her honour and her namé save,
But he the surplus mighté have;
Nothing withstanding her estate,
Of lové moré delicate,

He set her chere at no delite
But he have all his appetite.

"My sone, if it with the be so, Tell me?"_ "Min holy fader, no. For delicate in such a wise

Of Love, as ye to me devise,
Ne was I never yet giltife.
For if I hadde suche a wife,
As ye speke of, what shulde I more?
For than I woldé never more
For lust of any womanhede
Min herte upon none other fede.
And if I did, it were a waste.
But all withouté such repaste

Of lust as ye me tolde above, Of wife or yet of other love,

I faste and may no fodé gete,

So that for lack of deintie mete

1 Use is second Nature.

X

But might I getten as ye tolde
So mochel that my lady wolde
Me fedé with her glad semblaunt,
Though me lacke all the remenaunt,
Yet shulde I somdele ben abeshed 1
And for the timé wel refreshed.
But certes, fader, she ne doth;
For in good feith to tellé soth
I trowé, though I shuldé sterve,
She woldé nought her eyé swerve
My herté with one goodly loke
To fede, and thus for such a coke
I may go fasting evermo.
But if so is that any wo
May fede a mannés herté wele,
Therof I have at every mele
Of plenté more than inough.
But that is of him self so tough,
My stomack may it nought defie.2
Lo, such is the Delicacie

Of Love which min herté fedeth,
Thus have I lacke of that me nedeth.
But for all this yet nethéles,
I say, I am nought giltéles,
That I somdele am delicate.
For ellés were I fully mate
But if that I some lusty stounde
Of comfort and of esé founde
To take of lové some repast;
For though I with the fullé taste
The lust 3 of Lové may nought fele,
Min hunger otherwise I kele
Of smalé lustés whiche I pike,
And for a timé yet they like,
If that ye wisten, what I mene.'

"Now, godé soné, shrive the clene Of suché deinties as ben good Wherof thou takest thin herté food.".

"My fader, I you shall reherce,

1 Abeshed, astonished. Defie, digest.

Lust, pleasure, in no bad sense; so lusty= the German "lustig."

How that my fodés ben diverse,

So as they fallen in degre.
One feding is of that I se,
An other is of that I here,
The thridde, as I shall tellen here,
It groweth of min owné thought.
And ellés shulde I livé nought,
For whom that faileth food of herte
He may nought well the dethe as-

terte.

"Of sight is all my firsté food,
Through which min eye of allé good
Hath that to him is accordaúnt
A lusty fodé suffisaúnt.

Whan that I go toward the place
Where I shall se my ladies face,
Min eyé, whiche is loth to faste,
Beginneth to hunger anone so faste
That him thenketh of an houré thre,
Till I there come and he her se.
And than after his appetite
He taketh a food of such delite,
That him none other deintie nedeth,
Of sondry sightés he him fedeth.
He seeth her face of such coloúr
That fressher is than any floúr;
Heseeth her front is large and pleine
Withouté frounce of any greine;
He seeth her eyen liche an heven;
He seeth her nasé straughte and

even;

He seeth her rudde upon the cheke;
He seeth her reddé lippés eke;
Her chinne accordeth to the face,
All that he seeth is full of grace;
Heseeth her necké rounde and clene,
Therinné may no bone be sene;
He seeth her handés faire and white,
For all this thingé without wite
He may se naked atté leste,
So is it well the moré feste
And well the more delicacie
Unto the feding of min eye.
He seeth her shapé forth with all,
Her body rounde, her middel small,

So well begone with good array, Which passeth all the lust of May Whan he is most with softé shoures Full clothed in his lusty floures. With suché sightés by and by Min eye is fed, but finally, Whan he the port and the manere Seeth of her womanisshé chere, Than hath he such delite on honde Him thenketh he might stillé stonde And that he hath full suffisaunce Of livelode and of sustenaunce As to his part for evermo. And if it thought all other so, Fro thenné wolde he never wende But there unto the worldés ende He wolde abide, if that he might, And feden him upon the sight. For though I mighté stonden ay Into the time of domésday And loke upon her ever in one, Yet whan I shuldé fro her gone Min eyé wolde, as though he faste, Ben hunger storven also faste Till eft ayein that he her see, Such is the nature of min eye. There is no lust so deintéfull, Of which a man shall nought be full Of that the stomack underfongeth, But ever in one min eyé longeth; For loke, how that a goshawk tireth,1 Right so doth he, whan that he pireth And toteth on her womanhede, For he may never fully fede His lust, but ever a liche sore Him hungreth, so that he the more Desireth to be fed algate.

And thus min eye is made the gate Through which the deinties of my thought

Of lust ben to min herté brought.
Right as min eyé with his loke
Is to min herte a lusty coke

1 Tireth, tears and plucks in feeding, as a bird of prey.

I here one say, that she is wise; An other saith, that she is good; And some men sain, of worthy blood That she is come, and is also

So fair, that no where is none so; And some men preise her goodly chere:

Thus every thing that I may here
Which souneth to my lady good,
Is to min ere a lusty food.
And eke min ere hath over this
A deinty festé, whan so is
That I may here her selven speke,
For than anone my faste I breke
On suché wordés as she saith,
That full of trouth and full of feith
They ben, and of so good disporte,
That to min eré great comfórte
They done as they that ben delíces.
For all the metés and the spices
That any Lumbard couthé make
Ne be so lusty for to take
Ne so ferforth restauratife
I say as for min owné life,
As be the wordés of her mouth.
For as the windés of the south
Ben most of allé debonaire,
So whan her list to speké faire
The vertue of her goodly speche
Is verrily min hertés leche.1
And if it so befall amonge
That she carole upon a songe,
Whan I it here I am so fed
That I am fro my self so led

1 Leche, physician.

As though I were in Paradis, For certes as to min avis, Whan I here of her vois the steven 1 Me thenkth it is a blisse of heven. And eke in otherwise also Ful ofté time it falleth so Min eré with a good pitaunce Is fed of reding of romaunce Of Ydoine and of Amadas, That whilom weren in my cas, And eke of other many a score, That loveden longe er I was bore; For whan I of her lovés rede, Min eré with the tale I fede And with the lust of her histoire. Somtime I drawe into memoire How sorwe may nought ever last, And so cometh hope in atté last, Whan I none other fodé knowe. And that endureth but a throwe, Right as it were a chery feste. But for to compten atté lest, As for the while yet it eseth And somdele of min hert appeseth. For what thing to min eré spredeth, Which is plesaunt, somdele it fedeth, With wordés such as he may gete, My lust in stede of other mete.

"Lo thus, my fader, as I you say Of lust the which min eye hath see And eke of that min ere hath herde, Full ofte I have the better ferde. And tho two bringen in the thridde, The which hath in min herte amidde His placé také to array The lusty fodé whiche assay I mote, and namélich on nightes, Whan that me lacketh allé sightes, And that min hering is awey, Than is he redy in the wey My reré souper 2 for to make, Of which min hertés fode I take. "This lusty cokés name is hote 1 Steven, voice, sound.

2 Reré souper, a supper after supper for the luxurious who sat up late.

Of lové boilend on the fire
With fantasy and with desire,
Of which er this full ofte he fed
Min herté whan I was a bed.
And than he set upon my borde
Both every sight and every worde
Of lust which I have herd or seen.
But yet is nought my fest all plein,
But all of woldés and of wisshes
Therof have I my fullé disshes,
But as of feling and of taste
Yet might I never have o repaste.
And thus as I have said a-forn,
I lické hony on the thorn,
And as who saith upon the bridel
I chewé, so that all is idel,
As in effect the fode I have.
But as a man that wolde him save
Whan he is sike by medicíne,
Right so of love the famíne

I fonde in all that ever I may
To fede, and drivé forth the day
Till I may have the greté fest
Which all min hunger might arest.

"Lo, suché ben my lustes thre,
Of that I thenké, here and se,
I take of lové my fedíng
Withouté tasting or felíng,
And as the plover doth of aire
I live, and am in good espeire
That for no such delícacy
I trowe I do no glotený.
And nethéles to your avis,
Min holy fader, that ben wis,
I recommaundé min estate
Of that I have ben delicate."-

"My sone, I understondé wele That thou hast told here every dele, And as me thenketh by thy tale It ben delités wonder smale Wherof thou takest thy lovés fode. But, sone, if that thou understode, What is to ben delicious,

Thou woldest nought ben curioús
Upon the lust of thin estate
To ben to soré delicate
Wherof that thou resón excede ;
For in the bokés thou might rede,
If mannés wisdom shall be sued
It oughté wel to ben escheued
In Love als well as other way;
For as these haly bokés say,
The bodély delíces alle

In every point how so they falle
Unto the soulé done grevaúnce.
And for to take in remembraúnce
A tale accordaunt unto this,
Which of great understanding is
To mannés soulé resonable,
I thenke tell and is no fable.
"Of Cristés word who wol it
rede

How that this Vice is for to drede
In thevangile it telleth pleine,
Which mote algaté be certeine
For Crist him self it bereth witnesse.
And though the clerke and the

But there might he nothing gete
His dedely hunger for to staunche,
For he which had his fullé paunche
Of allé lustés atté borde
Nedeigneth nought to spekea worde
Onlich a crummé for to yive
Wherof the pouer mighté live
Upon the yift of his almesse.
Thus lay this pouer in great distresse
A colde and hungry at the gate,
Fro which he mighté go no gate
So was he wofully besene.
And as these haly bokés sain,
The houndés comen fro the halle,
Where that this siké man was falle,
And as he lay there for to deie,
The woundés of his maladý
They licken, for to done him ese.
But he was full of such disese
That he may nought the deth escape.
But as it was that timé shape
The soulé fro the body passeth,
And he whom nothing overpasseth,
The highé God up to the heven
Him toke, where he hath set him

even

In Abrahamés barme1 on high,
Where he the hevens joié sigh
And had all that he havé wolde.
And fell as it befallé sholde,
This riché man the samé throwe
With sodein deth was overthrowe
And forth withouten any went 2
Unto the helle straught he went,
The fende into the fire him drough
Where that he haddé peine inough
Of flamé which that ever brenneth.
And as his eye abouté renneth,
Toward the heven he cast his loke,
Where that he sigh and hedé toke
How Lazar set was in his see
Als fer as ever he mighté see
With Abraham, and than he praide
Unto the patriarch and saide :
1 Barme, bosom. 2 Went, turning.