I finde hou whilom ther was on, Whos name was Pymaleon, Which was a lusti man of yowthe: The werkes of entaile he cowthe Above alle othre men as tho; And thurgh fortune it fell him so, As he whom love schal travaile, He made an ymage of entaile Lich to a womman in semblance Of feture and of contienance, 380 So fair yit nevere was figure. Riht as a lyves creature Sche semeth, for of yvor whyt He hath hire wroght of such delit, That sche was rody on the cheke And red on bothe hire lippes eke; Wherof that he himself beguileth. For with a goodly lok sche smyleth, So that thurgh pure impression Of his ymaginacion 390 With al the herte of his corage His love upon this faire ymage He sette, and hire of love preide; Bot sche no word ayeinward seide. The longe day, what thing he dede, This ymage in the same stede Was evere bi, that ate mete He wolde hire serve and preide hire ete, And putte unto hire mowth the cuppe; And whan the bord was taken uppe, 400 He hath hire into chambre nome, And after, whan the nyht was come, He leide hire in his bed al nakid. He was forwept, he was forwakid, He keste hire colde lippes ofte, And wissheth that thei weren softe, And ofte he rouneth in hire Ere, And ofte his arm now hier now there He leide, as he hir wolde embrace, And evere among he axeth grace, 410 As thogh sche wiste what he mente: And thus himself he gan tormente With such desese of loves peine, That noman mihte him more peine. Bot how it were, of his penance He made such continuance Fro dai to nyht, and preith so longe, That his preiere is underfonge, Which Venus of hire grace herde; Be nyhte and whan that he worst ferde, 420 And it lay in his nakede arm, The colde ymage he fieleth warm Of fleissh and bon and full of lif. Lo, thus he wan a lusti wif, Which obeissant was at his wille; And if he wolde have holde him stille And nothing spoke, he scholde have failed: Bot for he hath his word travailed And dorste speke, his love he spedde, And hadde al that he wolde abedde. 430 For er thei wente thanne atwo, A knave child betwen hem two Thei gete, which was after hote Paphus, of whom yit hath the note A certein yle, which Paphos Men clepe, and of his name it ros. Be this ensample thou miht finde That word mai worche above kinde. Forthi, my Sone, if that thou spare To speke, lost is al thi fare, 440 For Slowthe bringth in alle wo. And over this to loke also, The god of love is favorable To hem that ben of love stable, And many a wonder hath befalle: Wherof to speke amonges alle, If that thee list to taken hede, Therof a solein tale I rede, Which I schal telle in remembraunce Upon the sort of loves chaunce. 450