I may noght strecche up to the hevene Min hand, ne setten al in evene This world, which evere is in balance: It stant noght in my sufficance So grete thinges to compasse, Bot I mot lete it overpasse And treten upon othre thinges. Forthi the Stile of my writinges Fro this day forth I thenke change And speke of thing is noght so strange, 10 Which every kinde hath upon honde, And wherupon the world mot stonde, And hath don sithen it began, And schal whil ther is any man; And that is love, of which I mene To trete, as after schal be sene. In which ther can noman him reule, For loves lawe is out of reule, That of tomoche or of tolite Welnyh is every man to wyte, 20 And natheles ther is noman In al this world so wys, that can Of love tempre the mesure, Bot as it falth in aventure: For wit ne strengthe may noght helpe, And he which elles wolde him yelpe Is rathest throwen under fote, Ther can no wiht therof do bote. For yet was nevere such covine, That couthe ordeine a medicine 30 To thing which god in lawe of kinde Hath set, for ther may noman finde The rihte salve of such a Sor. It hath and schal ben everemor That love is maister wher he wile, Ther can no lif make other skile; For wher as evere him lest to sette, Ther is no myht which him may lette. Bot what schal fallen ate laste, The sothe can no wisdom caste, 40 Bot as it falleth upon chance; For if ther evere was balance Which of fortune stant governed, I may wel lieve as I am lerned That love hath that balance on honde, Which wol no reson understonde. For love is blind and may noght se, Forthi may no certeinete Be set upon his jugement, Bot as the whiel aboute went 50 He yifth his graces undeserved, And fro that man which hath him served Fulofte he takth aweye his fees, As he that pleieth ate Dees, And therupon what schal befalle He not, til that the chance falle, Wher he schal lese or he schal winne. And thus fulofte men beginne, That if thei wisten what it mente, Thei wolde change al here entente. 60