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Of that he seth an other fare,

Bot if he knewe himself the fare,

And felt it as it is in soth,

He scholde don riht as he doth,

Or elles werse in his degre:

For wel I wot, and so do ye,

That love hath evere yit ben used,

So mot I nedes ben excused. 2170

Bot, fader, if ye wolde thus

Unto Cupide and to Venus

Be frendlich toward mi querele,

So that myn herte were in hele

Of love which is in mi briest,

I wot wel thanne a betre Prest

Was nevere mad to my behove.

Bot al the whiles that I hove

In noncertein betwen the tuo,

And not if I to wel or wo 2180

Schal torne, that is al my drede,

So that I not what is to rede.

Bot for final conclusion

I thenke a Supplicacion

With pleine wordes and expresse

Wryte unto Venus the goddesse,

The which I preie you to bere

And bringe ayein a good ansuere.

Tho was betwen mi Prest and me

Debat and gret perplexete: 2190

Mi resoun understod him wel,

And knew it was sothe everydel

That he hath seid, bot noght forthi

Mi will hath nothing set therby.

For techinge of so wis a port

Is unto love of no desport;

Yit myhte nevere man beholde

Reson, wher love was withholde,

Thei be noght of o governance.

And thus we fellen in distance, 2200

Mi Prest and I, bot I spak faire,

And thurgh mi wordes debonaire

Thanne ate laste we acorden,

So that he seith he wol recorden

To speke and stonde upon mi syde

To Venus bothe and to Cupide;

And bad me wryte what I wolde,

And seith me trewly that he scholde

Mi lettre bere unto the queene.

And I sat doun upon the grene 2210

Fulfilt of loves fantasie,

And with the teres of myn ije

In stede of enke I gan to wryte

The wordes whiche I wolde endite

Unto Cupide and to Venus,

And in mi lettre I seide thus.

The wofull peine of loves maladie,

Ayein the which mai no phisique availe,

Min herte hath so bewhaped with sotie,

That wher so that I reste or I travaile, 2220

I finde it evere redy to assaile

Mi resoun, which that can him noght defende:

Thus seche I help, wherof I mihte amende.

Ferst to Nature if that I me compleigne,

Ther finde I hou that every creature

Som time ayer hath love in his demeine,

So that the litel wrenne in his mesure

Hath yit of kinde a love under his cure;

And I bot on desire, of which I misse:

And thus, bot I, hath every kinde his blisse. 2230

The resoun of my wit it overpasseth,

Of that Nature techeth me the weie

To love, and yit no certein sche compasseth

Hou I schal spede, and thus betwen the tweie

I stonde, and not if I schal live or deie.

For thogh reson ayein my will debate,

I mai noght fle, that I ne love algate.

Upon miself is thilke tale come,

Hou whilom Pan, which is the god of kinde,

With love wrastlede and was overcome: 2240

For evere I wrastle and evere I am behinde,

That I no strengthe in al min herte finde,

Wherof that I mai stonden eny throwe;

So fer mi wit with love is overthrowe.

Whom nedeth help, he mot his helpe crave,

Or helpeles he schal his nede spille:

Pleinly thurghsoght my wittes alle I have,

Bot non of hem can helpe after mi wille;

And als so wel I mihte sitte stille,

As preie unto mi lady eny helpe: 2250

Thus wot I noght wherof miself to helpe.

Unto the grete Jove and if I bidde,

To do me grace of thilke swete tunne,

Which under keie in his celier amidde

Lith couched, that fortune is overrunne,

Bot of the bitter cuppe I have begunne,

I not hou ofte, and thus finde I no game;

For evere I axe and evere it is the same.

I se the world stonde evere upon eschange,

Nou wyndes loude, and nou the weder softe; 2260

I mai sen ek the grete mone change,

And thing which nou is lowe is eft alofte;

The dredfull werres into pes fulofte

Thei torne; and evere is Danger in o place,

Which wol noght change his will to do me grace.

Bot upon this the grete clerc Ovide,

Of love whan he makth his remembrance,

He seith ther is the blinde god Cupide,

The which hath love under his governance,

And in his hond with many a fyri lance 2270

He woundeth ofte, ther he wol noght hele;

And that somdiel is cause of mi querele.

Ovide ek seith that