Of Ydoine and of Amadas, That whilom weren in mi cas, 880 And eke of othre many a score, That loveden longe er I was bore. For whan I of here loves rede, Min Ere with the tale I fede; And with the lust of here histoire Somtime I drawe into memoire Hou sorwe mai noght evere laste; And so comth hope in ate laste, Whan I non other fode knowe. And that endureth bot a throwe, 890 Riht as it were a cherie feste; Bot forto compten ate leste,[789] As for the while yit it eseth And somdel of myn herte appeseth: For what thing to myn Ere spreedeth, Which is plesant, somdel it feedeth With wordes suche as he mai gete Mi lust, in stede of other mete. [Sidenote: Amans.] Lo thus, mi fader, as I seie,[790] Of lust the which myn yhe hath seie, 900 And ek of that myn Ere hath herd, Fulofte I have the betre ferd. And tho tuo bringen in the thridde, The which hath in myn herte amidde [Sidenote: =P. iii. 32=] His place take, to arraie The lusti fode, which assaie[791] I mot; and nameliche on nyhtes, Whan that me lacketh alle sihtes, And that myn heringe is aweie, Thanne is he redy in the weie 910 Mi reresouper forto make, Of which myn hertes fode I take. This lusti cokes name is hote Thoght, which hath evere hise pottes hote [Sidenote: Qualiter cogitatus impressiones leticie ymaginatiuas cordibus inserit amantum.] Of love buillende on the fyr With fantasie and with desir, Of whiche er this fulofte he fedde Min herte, whanne I was abedde; And thanne he set upon my bord Bothe every syhte and every word 920 Of lust, which I have herd or sein. Bot yit is noght mi feste al plein, Bot al of woldes and of wisshes, Therof have I my fulle disshes, Bot as of fielinge and of tast, Yit mihte I nevere have o repast. And thus, as I have seid aforn,[792] I licke hony on the thorn,[793] And as who seith, upon the bridel I chiewe, so that al is ydel 930 As in effect the fode I have. Bot as a man that wolde him save, Whan he is sek, be medicine, Riht so of love the famine [Sidenote: =P. iii. 33=] I fonde in al that evere I mai To fiede and dryve forth the day, Til I mai have the grete feste, Which al myn hunger myhte areste. Lo suche ben mi lustes thre; Of that I thenke and hiere and se 940 I take of love my fiedinge Withoute tastinge or fielinge: And as the Plover doth of Eir I live, and am in good espeir That for no such delicacie I trowe I do no glotonie.[794] And natheles to youre avis, Min holi fader, that be wis, I recomande myn astat