And vertue eke that thou wilt make
Anight ful oft thine hed to ake
In thy fludye, so thou ywritest,
And evirmore of love enditest,
In honour of him and praifinges,
And in his folkis fourthiringes,
And in ther matir al devisest,
And not him ne his folke difpifeft,
Althoughe thou maiste go in the daunce
Of them that him lyft not avaunce;
Wherfore, as I now faide, ywis
Jupiter confidrith wel this,
And als, beaufire, of othir thinges,
That is, that thou hafte no tidinges
Of Lov'is folke if they be glade,
Ne of nothinge els that God made,
And not onely fro ferre countre
That no tidinges comin to the,
Not of thy very neighbouris,
That dwellen almost at thy doris,
Thou herift neithir that ne this,
And lyvist thus as an hermite,
Although thine abftinence is lyte;
And therfore Jovis throughe his grace
Wil that I bere the to a place
Whiche that yhight The Houfe of Fame,
And for to doe the sparte and game,
In fome recompensacion
Of thy labour and devocion
That thou hafte hadde, lo! caufèless,
To god Cupido the recheles,
And thus this god throughe his merite
Wil with fome manir thing the quite,
So that thou wilte be of gode chere;
For truftith wel that thou fhalte here,
Whan we ben comen there as I fay,
Mo wondir thingis dare I lay,
And of Love's folke mo tidingis,
Bothe fothfawis and lefingis,
And of mo lovis newe begon,
And longe fervid tyl love is won,
And of mo lovirs cafuelly
That ben betide, no man wote why,
But as a blinde man starteth an hare,
And more jolite and welfare,
Whilis they findin love of stele,
As thinkin men, and o'r al wele
Mo difcordes and mo jaloufics,
Mo murmures and mo novilries,
And eke mo holdinge in mo handes,
And alfo mo renovelaunces
Of olde forletin aqueintaunces,
Mo love dayis and mo accordes,
Than on inftrumentis ben cordes,
And eke of love mo exchaungis
Than evir corne were in graungis;
Unnethis maift thou trowin this,
(Quod he.) No fo', helpe me God as wis, (Quod I.) No, why? (quod he.) For it Were impoffible to my wit,
Although that Fame had al the pyes
In al a relme and al afpies,
Howe that yet he shulde here al this
Or they efpyin. O! yes, yes,
(Quod he to me) that can I preve
By refon worthy for to leve,
So that thou give thin advertence
To understandin my fentence.
Firft fhalt thou here where the dwellith,
Right fo as thine owne boke tellith:
Her palais ftandeth, as I fhal say,
Right even amiddis of the way
Bytwene hevin, and yerthe, and se,
That what fo er in al thefe thre
Is spoken' in prive or apperte,
The way therto is so overte,
And flante eke in fo jufte a place,
That every fowne mote to it pace,
Or what fo cometh from anie tongue,
Whethre' it be rownid, redde, or fonge,
Or spokin in fuertè or drede,
Certaine it motin thidir nede.
Nowe herkin wel; for why? I wil
Ytellin the a propir skil,
And worthy demonstracion
In mine imaginacion.
Geffray, thou wottift full wel this,
That every kindely thinge that is
Yhath a kyndely stede, there he
May beft in it confervid be,
Unto whiche place evèry thinge,
Thorough his kyndely enclininge
Ymevith for to comin to
Whan that it is away therfro;
As thus, lo! thou maiste al day se,
Take any thinge that hevy be,
As stone or led, or thinge of weight,
And bere it ner fo hie on height,
Let go thine hande it fallith downe;
Right fo fay I by fire or fowne,
Or fmoke, or othir thingis light,
Alway they feke upwarde on height,
Light thinges up and hevie down charge
While everiche of 'hem be at large;
And for this cause thou maist wel se
That every rivir to the se
Enclinid is to go by kynde,
And every speche that is fpokin,
Where loude or prive, foule or faire,
In his fubftaunce ne is but eyre;
For as flame is but lightid smoke,
Right fo is fowne but eyre ybroke:
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