What was the fyne also of Hercules, For al his conquest and his worthinesse, 345 That was of strengthe alone pereles? For, lyk as bokes of him list expresse, He sette pillers, through his hy prowesse, Away at Gades, for to signifye That no man mighte him passe in chevalrye. 350 The whiche pillers ben ferre beyonde Inde Beset of golde, for a remembraunce; And, for al that, was he set behinde With hem that Love liste febly avaunce; For [he] him sette last upon a daunce, 355 Ageynes whom helpe may no stryf; For al his trouthe, yit he loste his lyf. Phebus also, for al his persaunt light, Whan that he wente here in erthe lowe, Unto the herte with fresh Venus sight 360 Y-wounded was, through Cupydes bowe, And yet his lady liste him not to knowe. Though for her love his herte didë blede, She leet him go, and took of him no hede. What shal I saye of yonge Piramus? 365 Of trew Tristram, for al his hye renoun? Of Achilles, or of Antonius? Of Arcite eke, or of him Palemoun? What was the endë of hir passioun But, after sorowe, deeth, and than hir grave? 370 Lo, here the guerdon that these lovers have! But false Jason, with his doublenesse, That was untrewe at Colkos to Medee, And Theseus, rote of unkindënesse, And with these two eek the false Enee; 375 Lo! thus the falsë, ay in oon degrè, Had in love hir lust and al hir wille; And, save falshood, ther was non other skille. Of Thebes eek the false [knight] Arcyte, And Demophon +also, for [al] his slouthe, 380 They had hir lust and al that might delyte For al hir falshode and hir greet untrouthe. Thus ever Love (alas! and that is routhe!) His false leges forthereth what he may, And sleeth the trewe ungoodly, day by day. 385 For trewe Adon was slayn with the bore Amid the forest, in the grene shade; For Venus love he feltë al the sore. But Vulcanus with her no mercy made; The foule chorl had many nightes glade, 390 Wher Mars, her worthy knight, her trewe man, To finde mercy, comfort noon he can. Also the yonge fresshe Ipomenes So lusty free [was], as of his corage, That for to serve with al his herte he chees 395 Athalans, so fair of hir visage; But Love, alas! quitte him so his wage With cruel daunger plainly, at the laste, That, with the dethe, guerdonles he paste. Lo! here the fyne of loveres servyse! 400 Lo! how that Love can his servaunts quyte! Lo! how he can his faythful men despyse, To slee the trewe, and false to respyte! Lo! how he doth the swerd of sorowe byte In hertes, suche as most his lust obeye, 405 To save the false, and do the trewe deye!