The king Ligdus upon a strif Spak unto Thelacuse his wif, Which thanne was with childe grete; He swor it scholde noght be lete, That if sche have a dowhter bore, That it ne scholde be forlore And slain, wherof sche sory was. So it befell upon this cas, Whan sche delivered scholde be, Isis be nyhte in privete, 460 Which of childinge is the goddesse, Cam forto helpe in that destresse, Til that this lady was al smal, And hadde a dowhter forth withal; Which the goddesse in alle weie Bad kepe, and that thei scholden seie It were a Sone: and thus Iphis Thei namede him, and upon this The fader was mad so to wene. And thus in chambre with the qweene 470 This Iphis was forthdrawe tho, And clothed and arraied so Riht as a kinges Sone scholde. Til after, as fortune it wolde, Whan it was of a ten yer age, Him was betake in mariage A Duckes dowhter forto wedde, Which Iante hihte, and ofte abedde These children leien, sche and sche, Whiche of on age bothe be. 480 So that withinne time of yeeres, Togedre as thei ben pleiefieres, Liggende abedde upon a nyht, Nature, which doth every wiht Upon hire lawe forto muse, Constreigneth hem, so that thei use Thing which to hem was al unknowe; Wherof Cupide thilke throwe Tok pite for the grete love, And let do sette kinde above, 490 So that hir lawe mai ben used, And thei upon here lust excused. For love hateth nothing more Than thing which stant ayein the lore Of that nature in kinde hath sett: Forthi Cupide hath so besett His grace upon this aventure, That he acordant to nature, Whan that he syh the time best, That ech of hem hath other kest, 500 Transformeth Iphe into a man, Wherof the kinde love he wan Of lusti yonge Iante his wif; And tho thei ladde a merie lif, Which was to kinde non offence. And thus to take an evidence, It semeth love is welwillende To hem that ben continuende With besy herte to poursuie Thing which that is to love due. 510 Wherof, my Sone, in this matiere Thou miht ensample taken hiere, That with thi grete besinesse Thou miht atteigne the richesse Of love, if that ther be no Slowthe. I dar wel seie be mi trowthe, Als fer as I my witt can seche, Mi fader, as for lacke of speche, Bot so as I me schrof tofore, Ther is non other time lore, 520 Wherof ther mihte ben obstacle To lette love of his miracle, Which I beseche day and nyht. Bot, fader, so as it is riht In forme of schrifte to beknowe What thing belongeth to the slowe, Your faderhode I wolde preie, If ther be forthere eny weie Touchende unto this ilke vice. Mi Sone, ye, of this office 530 Ther serveth on in special, Which lost hath his memorial, So that he can no wit withholde In thing which he to kepe is holde, Wherof fulofte himself he grieveth: And who that most upon him lieveth, Whan that hise wittes ben so weyved, He mai full lihtly be deceived.