Now goode fader, I you preie, That forto wisse me the more, Som good ensample upon this lore Ye wolden telle of that is write, That I the betre mihte wite 1750 How I Folhaste scholde eschuie, And the wisdom of conseil suie. Mi Sone, that thou miht enforme Thi pacience upon the forme Of old essamples, as thei felle, Now understond what I schal telle. Whan noble Troie was belein And overcome, and hom ayein The Gregois torned fro the siege, The kinges founde here oghne liege 1760 In manye places, as men seide, That hem forsoke and desobeide. Among the whiche fell this cas To Demephon and Athemas, That weren kinges bothe tuo, And bothe weren served so: Here lieges wolde hem noght receive, So that thei mote algates weyve To seche lond in other place, For there founde thei no grace. 1770 Wherof they token hem to rede, And soghten frendes ate nede, And ech of hem asseureth other To helpe as to his oghne brother, To vengen hem of thilke oultrage And winne ayein here heritage. And thus thei ryde aboute faste To gete hem help, and ate laste Thei hadden pouer sufficant, And maden thanne a covenant, 1780 That thei ne scholden no lif save, Ne prest, ne clerc, ne lord, ne knave, Ne wif, ne child, of that thei finde, Which berth visage of mannes kinde, So that no lif schal be socoured, Bot with the dedly swerd devoured: In such Folhaste here ordinance Thei schapen forto do vengance. Whan this pourpos was wist and knowe Among here host, tho was ther blowe 1790 Of wordes many a speche aboute: Of yonge men the lusti route Were of this tale glad ynowh, Ther was no care for the plowh; As thei that weren Folhastif, Thei ben acorded to the strif, And sein it mai noght be to gret To vengen hem of such forfet: Thus seith the wilde unwise tonge Of hem that there weren yonge. 1800 Bot Nestor, which was old and hor, The salve sih tofore the sor, As he that was of conseil wys: So that anon be his avis Ther was a prive conseil nome. The lordes ben togedre come; This Demephon and Athemas Here pourpos tolden, as it was; Thei sieten alle stille and herde, Was non bot Nestor hem ansuerde. 1810 He bad hem, if thei wolde winne, They scholden se, er thei beginne, Here ende, and sette here ferste entente, That thei hem after ne repente: And axeth hem this questioun, To what final conclusioun Thei wolde regne Kinges there, If that no poeple in londe were; And seith, it were a wonder wierde To sen a king become an hierde, 1820 Wher no lif is bot only beste Under the liegance of his heste; For who that is of man no king, The remenant is as no thing. He seith ek, if the pourpos holde To sle the poeple, as thei tuo wolde, Whan thei it mihte noght restore, Al Grece it scholde abegge sore, To se the wilde beste wone Wher whilom duelte a mannes Sone: 1830 And for that cause he bad hem trete, And stinte of the manaces grete. Betre is to winne be fair speche, He seith, than such vengance seche; For whanne a man is most above, Him nedeth most to gete him love.