ch hath be myn opinion
And evere schal: bot natheles
I seie noght sche is haveles,
That sche nys riche and wel at ese,
And hath ynow wherwith to plese
Of worldes good whom that hire liste;
Bot o thing wolde I wel ye wiste, 2620
That nevere for no worldes good
Min herte untoward hire stod,
Bot only riht for pure love;
That wot the hihe god above.
Nou, fader, what seie ye therto?
Mi Sone, I seie it is wel do.
For tak of this riht good believe,
What man that wole himself relieve
To love in eny other wise,
He schal wel finde his coveitise 2630
Schal sore grieve him ate laste,
For such a love mai noght laste.
Bot nou, men sein, in oure daies
Men maken bot a fewe assaies,
Bot if the cause be richesse;
Forthi the love is wel the lesse.
And who that wolde ensamples telle,
Be olde daies as thei felle,
Than mihte a man wel understonde
Such love mai noght longe stonde. 2640
Now herkne, Sone, and thou schalt hiere
A gret ensample of this matiere.
To trete upon the cas of love,
So as we tolden hiere above,
I finde write a wonder thing.
Of Puile whilom was a king,
A man of hih complexioun
And yong, bot his affeccioun
After the nature of his age
Was yit noght falle in his corage 2650
The lust of wommen forto knowe.
So it betidde upon a throwe
This lord fell into gret seknesse:
Phisique hath don the besinesse
Of sondri cures manyon
To make him hol; and therupon
A worthi maister which ther was
Yaf him conseil upon this cas,
That if he wolde have parfit hele,
He scholde with a womman dele, 2660
A freissh, a yong, a lusti wiht,
To don him compaignie a nyht:
For thanne he seide him redily,
That he schal be al hol therby,
And otherwise he kneu no cure.
This king, which stod in aventure
Of lif and deth, for medicine
Assented was, and of covine
His Steward, whom he tristeth wel,
He tok, and tolde him everydel, 2670
Hou that this maister hadde seid: