Whan Nestor hath his tale seid, Ayein him was no word withseid; It thoghte hem alle he seide wel: And thus fortune hire dedly whiel 1840 Fro werre torneth into pes. Bot forth thei wenten natheles; And whan the Contres herde sein How that here kinges be besein Of such a pouer as thei ladde, Was non so bold that hem ne dradde, And forto seche pes and grith Thei sende and preide anon forthwith, So that the kinges ben appesed, And every mannes herte is esed; 1850 Al was foryete and noght recorded. And thus thei ben togedre acorded; The kinges were ayein received, And pes was take and wraththe weived, And al thurgh conseil which was good Of him that reson understod. Be this ensample, Sone, attempre Thin herte and let no will distempre Thi wit, and do nothing be myht Which mai be do be love and riht. 1860 Folhaste is cause of mochel wo; Forthi, mi Sone, do noght so. And as touchende of Homicide Which toucheth unto loves side, Fulofte it falleth unavised Thurgh will, which is noght wel assised, Whan wit and reson ben aweie And that Folhaste is in the weie, Wherof hath falle gret vengance. Forthi tak into remembrance 1870 To love in such a maner wise That thou deserve no juise: For wel I wot, thou miht noght lette, That thou ne schalt thin herte sette To love, wher thou wolt or non; Bot if thi wit be overgon, So that it torne into malice, Ther wot noman of thilke vice, What peril that ther mai befalle: Wherof a tale amonges alle, 1880 Which is gret pite forto hiere, I thenke forto tellen hiere, That thou such moerdre miht withstonde, Whan thou the tale hast understonde. Of Troie at thilke noble toun, Whos fame stant yit of renoun And evere schal to mannes Ere, The Siege laste longe there, Er that the Greks it mihten winne, Whil Priamus was king therinne; 1890 Bot of the Greks that lyhe aboute Agamenon ladde al the route. This thing is knowen overal, Bot yit I thenke in special To my matiere therupon Telle in what wise Agamenon, Thurgh chance which mai noght be weived, Of love untrewe was deceived. An old sawe is, “Who that is slyh In place where he mai be nyh, 1900 He makth the ferre Lieve loth”: Of love and thus fulofte it goth. Ther while Agamenon batailleth To winne Troie, and it assailleth, Fro home and was long time ferr, Egistus drowh his qweene nerr, And with the leiser which he hadde This ladi at his wille he ladde: Climestre was hire rihte name, Sche was therof gretli to blame, 1910 To love there it mai noght laste. Bot fell to meschief ate laste; For whan this noble worthi kniht Fro Troie cam, the ferste nyht That he at home abedde lay, Egistus, longe er it was day, As this Climestre him hadde asent, And weren bothe of on assent, Be treson slowh him in his bedd. Bot moerdre, which mai noght ben hedd, 1920 Sprong out to every mannes Ere, Wherof the lond was full of fere.