Mi fader, it hath stonde thus, That if the tresor of Cresus 4730 And al the gold Octovien, Forth with the richesse Yndien Of Perles and of riche stones, Were al togedre myn at ones, I sette it at nomore acompte Than wolde a bare straw amonte, To yive it hire al in a day, Be so that to that suete may I myhte like or more or lesse. And thus be cause of my scarsnesse 4740 Ye mai wel understonde and lieve That I schal noght the worse achieve The pourpos which is in my thoght. Bot yit I yaf hir nevere noght, Ne therto dorste a profre make; For wel I wot sche wol noght take, And yive wol sche noght also, Sche is eschu of bothe tuo. And this I trowe be the skile Towardes me, for sche ne wile 4750 That I have eny cause of hope, Noght also mochel as a drope. Bot toward othre, as I mai se, Sche takth and yifth in such degre, That as be weie of frendlihiede Sche can so kepe hir wommanhiede, That every man spekth of hir wel. Bot sche wole take of me no del, And yit sche wot wel that I wolde Yive and do bothe what I scholde 4760 To plesen hire in al my myht: Be reson this wot every wyht, For that mai be no weie asterte, Ther sche is maister of the herte, Sche mot be maister of the good. For god wot wel that al my mod And al min herte and al mi thoght And al mi good, whil I have oght, Als freliche as god hath it yive, It schal ben hires, while I live, 4770 Riht as hir list hirself commande. So that it nedeth no demande, To axe of me if I be scars To love, for as to tho pars I wole ansuere and seie no. Mi Sone, that is riht wel do. For often times of scarsnesse It hath be sen, that for the lesse Is lost the more, as thou schalt hiere A tale lich to this matiere. 4780 Skarsnesse and love acorden nevere, For every thing is wel the levere, Whan that a man hath boght it diere: And forto speke in this matiere, For sparinge of a litel cost Fulofte time a man hath lost The large cote for the hod. What man that scars is of his good And wol noght yive, he schal noght take: With yifte a man mai undertake 4790 The hihe god to plese and queme, With yifte a man the world mai deme; For every creature bore, If thou him yive, is glad therfore, And every gladschipe, as I finde, Is confort unto loves kinde And causeth ofte a man to spede. So was he wys that ferst yaf mede, For mede kepeth love in house; Bot wher the men ben coveitouse 4800 And sparen forto yive a part, Thei knowe noght Cupides art: For his fortune and his aprise Desdeigneth alle coveitise And hateth alle nygardie. And forto loke of this partie, A soth ensample, hou it is so,