Mi Sone, if reson be wel peised, Ther mai no vertu ben unpreised Ne vice non be set in pris. Forthi, my Sone, if thou be wys, 2080 Do no viser upon thi face, Which as wol noght thin herte embrace: For if thou do, withinne a throwe To othre men it schal be knowe, So miht thou lihtli falle in blame And lese a gret part of thi name. And natheles in this degree Fulofte time thou myht se Of suche men that now aday This vice setten in a say: 2090 I speke it for no mannes blame, Bot forto warne thee the same. Mi Sone, as I mai hiere talke In every place where I walke, I not if it be so or non, Bot it is manye daies gon That I ferst herde telle this, How Falssemblant hath ben and is Most comunly fro yer to yere With hem that duelle among ous here, 2100 Of suche as we Lombardes calle. For thei ben the slyeste of alle, So as men sein in toune aboute, To feigne and schewe thing withoute Which is revers to that withinne: Wherof that thei fulofte winne, Whan thei be reson scholden lese; Thei ben the laste and yit thei chese, And we the ferste, and yit behinde We gon, there as we scholden finde 2110 The profit of oure oghne lond: Thus gon thei fre withoute bond To don her profit al at large, And othre men bere al the charge. Of Lombardz unto this covine, Whiche alle londes conne engine, Mai Falssemblant in special Be likned, for thei overal, Wher as they thenken forto duelle, Among hemself, so as thei telle, 2120 Ferst ben enformed forto lere A craft which cleped is Fa crere: For if Fa crere come aboute, Thanne afterward hem stant no doute To voide with a soubtil hond The beste goodes of the lond And bringe chaf and take corn. Where as Fa crere goth toforn, In all his weie he fynt no lette; That Dore can non huissher schette 2130 In which him list to take entre: And thus the conseil most secre Of every thing Fa crere knoweth, Which into strange place he bloweth, Where as he wot it mai most grieve. And thus Fa crere makth believe, So that fulofte he hath deceived, Er that he mai ben aperceived. Thus is this vice forto drede; For who these olde bokes rede 2140 Of suche ensamples as were ar, Him oghte be the more war Of alle tho that feigne chiere, Wherof thou schalt a tale hiere.