“O Phebus, which the daies liht Governest, til that it be nyht, And gladest every creature After the lawe of thi nature,— 3200 Bot natheles ther is a thing, Which onli to the knouleching Belongeth as in privete To love and to his duete, Which asketh noght to ben apert, Bot in cilence and in covert Desireth forto be beschaded: And thus whan that thi liht is faded And Vesper scheweth him alofte, And that the nyht is long and softe, 3210 Under the cloudes derke and stille Thanne hath this thing most of his wille. Forthi unto thi myhtes hyhe, As thou which art the daies yhe, Of love and myht no conseil hyde, Upon this derke nyhtes tyde With al myn herte I thee beseche That I plesance myhte seche With hire which lith in min armes. Withdrawgh the Banere of thin Armes, 3220 And let thi lyhtes ben unborn, And in the Signe of Capricorn, The hous appropred to Satorne, I preie that thou wolt sojorne, Wher ben the nihtes derke and longe: For I mi love have underfonge, Which lith hier be mi syde naked, As sche which wolde ben awaked, And me lest nothing forto slepe. So were it good to take kepe 3230 Nou at this nede of mi preiere, And that the like forto stiere Thi fyri Carte, and so ordeigne, That thou thi swifte hors restreigne Lowe under Erthe in Occident, That thei towardes Orient Be Cercle go the longe weie. And ek to thee, Diane, I preie, Which cleped art of thi noblesse The nyhtes Mone and the goddesse, 3240 That thou to me be gracious: And in Cancro thin oghne hous Ayein Phebus in opposit Stond al this time, and of delit Behold Venus with a glad yhe. For thanne upon Astronomie Of due constellacion Thou makst prolificacion, And dost that children ben begete: Which grace if that I mihte gete, 3250 With al myn herte I wolde serve Be nyhte, and thi vigile observe.” Lo, thus this lusti Cephalus Preide unto Phebe and to Phebus The nyht in lengthe forto drawe, So that he mihte do the lawe In thilke point of loves heste, Which cleped is the nyhtes feste, Withoute Slep of sluggardie; Which Venus out of compaignie 3260 Hath put awey, as thilke same, Which lustles ferr from alle game In chambre doth fulofte wo Abedde, whanne it falleth so That love scholde ben awaited. But Slowthe, which is evele affaited, With Slep hath mad his retenue, That what thing is to love due, Of all his dette he paieth non: He wot noght how the nyht is gon 3270 Ne hou the day is come aboute, Bot onli forto slepe and route Til hyh midday, that he arise. Bot Cephalus dede otherwise, As thou, my Sone, hast herd above.