Min holy fader, certes no. As forto feigne such sieknesse It nedeth noght, for this witnesse I take of god, that my corage Hath ben mor siek than my visage. And ek this mai I wel avowe, So lowe cowthe I nevere bowe To feigne humilite withoute, That me ne leste betre loute 720 With alle the thoghtes of myn herte; For that thing schal me nevere asterte, I speke as to my lady diere, To make hire eny feigned chiere. God wot wel there I lye noght, Mi chiere hath be such as my thoght; For in good feith, this lieveth wel, Mi will was betre a thousendel Than eny chiere that I cowthe. Bot, Sire, if I have in my yowthe 730 Don other wise in other place, I put me therof in your grace: For this excusen I ne schal, That I have elles overal To love and to his compaignie Be plein withoute Ypocrisie; Bot ther is on the which I serve, Althogh I may no thonk deserve, To whom yet nevere into this day I seide onlyche or ye or nay, 740 Bot if it so were in my thoght. As touchende othre seie I noght That I nam somdel forto wyte Of that ye clepe an ypocrite. Mi Sone, it sit wel every wiht To kepe his word in trowthe upryht Towardes love in alle wise. For who that wolde him wel avise What hath befalle in this matiere, He scholde noght with feigned chiere 750 Deceive Love in no degre. To love is every herte fre, Bot in deceipte if that thou feignest And therupon thi lust atteignest, That thow hast wonne with thi wyle, Thogh it thee like for a whyle, Thou schalt it afterward repente. And forto prove myn entente, I finde ensample in a Croniqe Of hem that love so beswike. 760 It fell be olde daies thus, Whil themperour Tiberius The Monarchie of Rome ladde, Ther was a worthi Romein hadde A wif, and sche Pauline hihte, Which was to every mannes sihte Of al the Cite the faireste, And as men seiden, ek the beste. It is and hath ben evere yit, That so strong is no mannes wit, 770 Which thurgh beaute ne mai be drawe To love, and stonde under the lawe Of thilke bore frele kinde, Which makth the hertes yhen blinde, Wher no reson mai be comuned: And in this wise stod fortuned This tale, of which I wolde mene; This wif, which in hire lustes grene Was fair and freissh and tendre of age, Sche may noght lette the corage 780 Of him that wole on hire assote.