Now lest, and I wol telle yow, Mi goode fader, how it is. Fulofte it hath befalle or this Thurgh hope that was noght certein, Mi wenynge hath be set in vein To triste in thing that halp me noght, Bot onliche of myn oughne thoght. For as it semeth that a belle Lik to the wordes that men telle 1950 Answerth, riht so ne mor ne lesse, To yow, my fader, I confesse, Such will my wit hath overset, That what so hope me behet, Ful many a time I wene it soth, Bot finali no spied it doth. Thus may I tellen, as I can, Wenyng beguileth many a man; So hath it me, riht wel I wot: For if a man wole in a Bot 1960 Which is withoute botme rowe, He moste nedes overthrowe. Riht so wenyng hath ferd be me: For whanne I wende next have be, As I be my wenynge caste, Thanne was I furthest ate laste, And as a foll my bowe unbende, Whan al was failed that I wende. Forthi, my fader, as of this, That my wenynge hath gon amis 1970 Touchende to Surquiderie, Yif me my penance er I die. Bot if ye wolde in eny forme Of this matiere a tale enforme, Which were ayein this vice set, I scholde fare wel the bet. Mi Sone, in alle maner wise Surquiderie is to despise, Wherof I finde write thus. The proude knyht Capaneus 1980 He was of such Surquiderie, That he thurgh his chivalerie Upon himself so mochel triste, That to the goddes him ne liste In no querele to beseche, Bot seide it was an ydel speche, Which caused was of pure drede, For lack of herte and for no nede. And upon such presumpcioun He hield this proude opinioun, 1990 Til ate laste upon a dai, Aboute Thebes wher he lay, Whan it of Siege was belein, This knyht, as the Croniqes sein, In alle mennes sihte there, Whan he was proudest in his gere, And thoghte how nothing myhte him dere, Ful armed with his schield and spere As he the Cite wolde assaile, Godd tok himselve the bataille 2000 Ayein his Pride, and fro the sky A firy thonder sodeinly He sende, and him to pouldre smot. And thus the Pride which was hot, Whan he most in his strengthe wende, Was brent and lost withouten ende: So that it proeveth wel therfore, The strengthe of man is sone lore, Bot if that he it wel governe. And over this a man mai lerne 2010 That ek fulofte time it grieveth, Whan that a man himself believeth, As thogh it scholde him wel beseme That he alle othre men can deme, And hath foryete his oghne vice. A tale of hem that ben so nyce, And feigne hemself to be so wise, I schal thee telle in such a wise, Wherof thou schalt ensample take That thou no such thing undertake. 2020