Bot toward oure Marches hiere, Of the Latins if thou wolt hiere, Of hem that whilom vertuous Were and therto laborious, Carmente made of hire engin The ferste lettres of Latin, Of which the tunge Romein cam, Wherof that Aristarchus nam 2640 Forth with Donat and Dindimus The ferste reule of Scole, as thus, How that Latin schal be componed And in what wise it schal be soned, That every word in his degre Schal stonde upon congruite. And thilke time at Rome also Was Tullius with Cithero, That writen upon Rethorike, Hou that men schal the wordes pike 2650 After the forme of eloquence, Which is, men sein, a gret prudence: And after that out of Hebreu Jerom, which the langage kneu, The Bible, in which the lawe is closed, Into Latin he hath transposed; And many an other writere ek Out of Caldee, Arabe and Grek With gret labour the bokes wise Translateden. And otherwise 2660 The Latins of hemself also Here studie at thilke time so With gret travaile of Scole toke In sondri forme forto boke, That we mai take here evidences Upon the lore of the Sciences, Of craftes bothe and of clergie; Among the whiche in Poesie To the lovers Ovide wrot And tawhte, if love be to hot, 2670 In what manere it scholde akiele. Forthi, mi Sone, if that thou fiele That love wringe thee to sore, Behold Ovide and take his lore. My fader, if thei mihte spede Mi love, I wolde his bokes rede; And if thei techen to restreigne Mi love, it were an ydel peine To lerne a thing which mai noght be. For lich unto the greene tree, 2680 If that men toke his rote aweie, Riht so myn herte scholde deie, If that mi love be withdrawe. Wherof touchende unto this sawe There is bot only to poursuie Mi love, and ydelschipe eschuie. Mi goode Sone, soth to seie, If ther be siker eny weie To love, thou hast seid the beste: For who that wolde have al his reste 2690 And do no travail at the nede, It is no resoun that he spede In loves cause forto winne; For he which dar nothing beginne, I not what thing he scholde achieve. Bot overthis thou schalt believe, So as it sit thee wel to knowe, That ther ben othre vices slowe, Whiche unto love don gret lette, If thou thin herte upon hem sette. 2700