And it fell thilke time thus: Ther was a king, the which Namplus Was hote, and he a Sone hadde, At Troie which the Gregois ladde, As he that was mad Prince of alle, Til that fortune let him falle: His name was Palamades. Bot thurgh an hate natheles Of some of hem his deth was cast And he be tresoun overcast. 1010 His fader, whan he herde it telle, He swor, if evere his time felle, He wolde him venge, if that he mihte, And therto his avou behihte: And thus this king thurgh prive hate Abod upon await algate, For he was noght of such emprise To vengen him in open wise. The fame, which goth wyde where, Makth knowe how that the Gregois were 1020 Homward with al the felaschipe Fro Troie upon the See be Schipe. Namplus, whan he this understod, And knew the tydes of the flod, And sih the wynd blew to the lond, A gret deceipte anon he fond Of prive hate, as thou schalt hiere, Wherof I telle al this matiere. This king the weder gan beholde, And wiste wel thei moten holde 1030 Here cours endlong his marche riht, And made upon the derke nyht Of grete Schydes and of blockes Gret fyr ayein the grete rockes, To schewe upon the helles hihe, So that the Flete of Grece it sihe. And so it fell riht as he thoghte: This Flete, which an havene soghte, The bryghte fyres sih a ferr, And thei hem drowen nerr and nerr, 1040 And wende wel and understode How al that fyr was made for goode, To schewe wher men scholde aryve, And thiderward thei hasten blyve. In Semblant, as men sein, is guile, And that was proved thilke while; The Schip, which wende his helpe acroche, Drof al to pieces on the roche, And so ther deden ten or twelve; Ther mihte noman helpe himselve, 1050 For ther thei wenden deth ascape, Withouten help here deth was schape. Thus thei that comen ferst tofore Upon the Rockes be forlore, Bot thurgh the noise and thurgh the cri These othre were al war therby; And whan the dai began to rowe, Tho mihten thei the sothe knowe, That wher they wenden frendes finde, Thei founden frenschipe al behinde. 1060 The lond was thanne sone weyved, Wher that thei hadden be deceived, And toke hem to the hihe See; Therto thei seiden alle yee, Fro that dai forth and war thei were Of that thei hadde assaied there. Mi Sone, hierof thou miht avise How fraude stant in many wise Amonges hem that guile thenke; Ther is no Scrivein with his enke 1070 Which half the fraude wryte can That stant in such a maner man: Forthi the wise men ne demen The thinges after that thei semen, Bot after that thei knowe and finde. The Mirour scheweth in his kinde As he hadde al the world withinne, And is in soth nothing therinne; And so farth Hate for a throwe: Til he a man hath overthrowe, 1080 Schal noman knowe be his chere Which is avant, ne which arere. Forthi, mi Sone, thenke on this. Mi fader, so I wole ywiss; And if ther more of Wraththe be, Now axeth forth per charite, As ye be youre bokes knowe, And I the sothe schal beknowe.