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With fervent hert my breft hath broft on fire,
L'ardant efpoer en mon cœur point eft mört,
D'avoir l'amour de celle que je defire,
I menè you fwete mofte plesaunt of porte,
Et je fcay bien que ce n'eft pas mon tort,
That for you fyng fo as I maie for mone,
For your departyng alone I live alone.

238 Though that I might I would none othir chefe, In your fervice I would ben foundin sadde, Therefore I love no labour that ye lese, When that in longyng forist ye be stadde; Loke up you loviris and be right gladde, Now ayenift Sainct Valentin'is daie, For I have chefe that ner forfake I taie.

Explicit.

Balade de bon confail.

Ir it befall that God the lift vifite

With any tourment or adverfite

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Thanke firfte the Lorde, and tho thy felfe to quite Upon fuffèraunce and humilite

Founde thou thy quaril, what er that it be,

Make thy defence, and thou shalt have no loffe,
The remembraunce of Chrift and of his croffe.

Explicit.

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SOMTY ME the worlde so stedfaft was and stable,
That manne's worde was an obligacioun,
And now it is fo false and difcevable,
That worde and dede, as in conclufioun,
Is nothyng like, for tourned is up fo doun
All the worlde, thorough mede and fikilnesse,
That all is lofte for lacke of ftedfastnesse.

What maketh the worlde to be so variable
But luft that men have in difcenfion?
For emong us a man is holde unable
But if he can by fome collufion

Doe his neighbour wrong and oppression:
What caufith this but wilfull wretchidnesse?
That all is lofte for lacke of ftedfastneffe.

Trouthe is put doune, refon is holde fable,
Vertue hath now no dóminacion,
Pitie 'is exiled, no man is merciable,
Through covetife is blente difcrecion;
The worlde hath made a permutacion
Fro right to wrong, fro trouthe to fikilnesse,
That all is lofte for lacke of stedfaftneffe.

L'envoye...

Prince, aye defire to be honourable,
Cherishe thy folke, and hate extorcion;
Suffre nothyng that maie be reprovable
To thine estate doen in thy region;
Shewe forthe the yerde of castigacion;

Drede God, do law, love treuth and worthines,
And wedde thy folke ayen to ftedfastnesse.

Explicit.

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Balade of the village without paintyng.
Plaintife to Fortune.

THIS wretchid world'is tranfmutacion,

As wele and wo, nowe pore and now honour,
Without ordir or due difcrecion,
Govirnid is by Fortun'is errour,

But nathèleffe the lacke of her favour

Ne maie not doe me fyng though that I die,
Fay tout perdu mon temps et mon labeur,
For finally Fortune I doe defie.

Yet is me left the fight of my refoun

To knowin frende fro foe in thy mirrour,
So moche hath yet thy tournyng up and doun
Itaughtin me to knowin in an hour,

But truly no force of thy reddour

To hym that ovir hymself hath maistrie;
My fuffifaunce yfhal be my fuccour,
For finally Fortune I do defie.

O Socrates! thou ftedfaft champion,
She ne might nevir be thy turmentour,
Thou nevir dreddift her oppreffion,

Ne in her chere foundin thou no favour;
Thou knewe wele the difceipt of her colour,
And that her mofle worship is for to lie;

I knowe her eke a falfe diflimulour,
For finally Fortune I do defie.

Volume XIII.

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The anfwere of Fortune.

No man is wretchid but hymfelf it wene;
He that yhath hymfelf hath fuffifaunce,
Why faieft thou then I am to the fo kene,
That haft thy self out of my govirnannce?
Saie thus, graunt mercie of thin habundaunce,
That thou haft lent or this, thou shalt not strive;
What wofl thou yet how I the woll avaunce?
And eke thou haft thy beftè frende alive.

I have the taught divifion betwene

Frende of effecte and frende of countinaunce,
The nedith not the gallè of an hine,
That curith eyin derke for ther penaunce,
Now feeft thou clere that wer in ignoraunce;
Yet holt thine anker, and thou maieft arive
There Bountie bereth the key of my substaunce,

And eke thou haste thy beftè frende alive.

How many have I refused to fuftene

Sith I have the foftrid in thy plefaunce?
Wolt thou then make a ftatute on thy quene,
That I fhall be aie at thine ordinaunce?

Thou born art in my reign of variaunce;
About the whele with othir must thou drive;
My lore is bet, then wicke is thy grevaunce,
And eke thou haft thy beftè frende alive.
The anfavere to Fortune.

Thy lore I dampne, it is adversitie;

My frend maift thou not revin, blind goddeffe:

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That I thy frendis knowe I thanke it the;
Take 'hem again, let 'hem go lie a preffe;
The nigardis in kepyng ther richeffe
Pronoflike is thou wolt ther toure affaile;
Wicke appetite cometh aie before fickenesse;
In generali this rule ne maie not faile.
Fortune.

Thou piuchist at my mutabilitie,
For I the lent a droppe of my richesse,
And now me likith to withdrawin me
Why shouldift thou my roialtie oppreffe?
The fe maie ebbe and flowin more and leffe,
The welkin hath might to fhine, rain, and haile,
Right fo must I kithin my brotilneffe;

In generall this rule ne maie not faile.

The plaintiffe.

Lo! the' execucion of the majeftie
That all purveighith of his rightwifeneffe,
That fame thyng Fortune yclepin ye,
Ye blinde beftis, full of leudènefs!
The heven hath propirtie of fikirness,
This worldè hath evir reftleffe travaile,
The laft daie is the ende of myne entreffe;
In generall this rule ne maie not faile.
Th' envoye of Fortune.

Princes, I praie you of your gentilneffe,

Let not this man and me thus crie and plain,
And I fhall quitin you this bufineffe;

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