And loke upon hire evere in on, Yit whanne I scholde fro hire gon, Min yhe wolde, as thogh he faste, Ben hungerstorven al so faste, 810 Til efte ayein that he hire syhe. Such is the nature of myn yhe: Ther is no lust so deintefull, Of which a man schal noght be full, [Sidenote: =P. iii. 29=] Of that the stomac underfongeth, Bot evere in on myn yhe longeth: For loke hou that a goshauk tireth, Riht so doth he, whan that he pireth And toteth on hire wommanhiede; For he mai nevere fulli fiede 820 His lust, bot evere aliche sore Him hungreth, so that he the more Desireth to be fed algate: And thus myn yhe is mad the gate, Thurgh which the deyntes of my thoght Of lust ben to myn herte broght. Riht as myn yhe with his lok[785] Is to myn herte a lusti coc Of loves fode delicat, [Sidenote: Qualiter auris in amore delectatur.] Riht so myn Ere in his astat, 830 Wher as myn yhe mai noght serve, Can wel myn hertes thonk deserve And fieden him fro day to day With suche deyntes as he may. For thus it is, that overal, Wher as I come in special, I mai hiere of mi ladi pris; I hiere on seith that sche is wys,[786] An other seith that sche is good, And som men sein, of worthi blod 840 That sche is come, and is also[787] So fair, that nawher is non so; And som men preise hire goodli chiere: Thus every thing that I mai hiere, [Sidenote: =P. iii. 30=] Which souneth to mi ladi goode, Is to myn Ere a lusti foode. And ek min Ere hath over this A deynte feste, whan so is That I mai hiere hirselve speke; For thanne anon mi faste I breke 850 On suche wordes as sche seith, That full of trouthe and full of feith Thei ben, and of so good desport, That to myn Ere gret confort Thei don, as thei that ben delices. For al the metes and the spices,[788] That eyn Lombard couthe make, Ne be so lusti forto take Ne so ferforth restauratif, I seie as for myn oghne lif, 860 As ben the wordes of hire mouth: For as the wyndes of the South Ben most of alle debonaire, So whan hir list to speke faire, The vertu of hire goodly speche Is verraily myn hertes leche. And if it so befalle among, That sche carole upon a song, Whan I it hiere I am so fedd, That I am fro miself so ledd, 870 As thogh I were in paradis; For certes, as to myn avis, Whan I here of hir vois the stevene, Me thenkth it is a blisse of hevene. [Sidenote: =P. iii. 31=] And ek in other wise also Fulofte time it falleth so, Min Ere with a good pitance Is fedd of redinge of romance