Thurgh providence of god himselve Ben seid the Patriarkes tuelve; Of whom, as afterward befell, The tribes tuelve of Irahel[1464] [Sidenote: =P. iii. 280=] Engendred were, and ben the same That of Hebreus tho hadden name, Which of Sibrede in alliance For evere kepten thilke usance 140 Most comunly, til Crist was bore. Bot afterward it was forbore Amonges ous that ben baptized; For of the lawe canonized The Pope hath bede to the men,[1465] That non schal wedden of his ken Ne the seconde ne the thridde. Bot thogh that holy cherche it bidde,[1466] So to restreigne Mariage, Ther ben yit upon loves Rage 150 Full manye of suche nou aday That taken wher thei take may. For love, which is unbesein Of alle reson, as men sein, Thurgh sotie and thurgh nycete, Of his voluptuosite He spareth no condicion Of ken ne yit religion, Bot as a cock among the Hennes, Or as a Stalon in the Fennes, 160 Which goth amonges al the Stod, Riht so can he nomore good, Bot takth what thing comth next to honde. [Sidenote: Confessor.] Mi Sone, thou schalt understonde, That such delit is forto blame. Forthi if thou hast be the same [Sidenote: =P. iii. 281=] To love in eny such manere, Tell forth therof and schrif thee hiere. [Sidenote: Amans.] Mi fader, nay, god wot the sothe, Mi feire is noght of such a bothe,[1467] 170 So wylde a man yit was I nevere, That of mi ken or lief or levere Me liste love in such a wise: And ek I not for what emprise I scholde assote upon a Nonne, For thogh I hadde hir love wonne, It myhte into no pris amonte,[1468] So therof sette I non acompte. Ye mai wel axe of this and that, Bot sothli forto telle plat, 180 In al this world ther is bot on The which myn herte hath overgon; I am toward alle othre fre. Full wel, mi Sone, nou I see [Sidenote: Confessor.] Thi word stant evere upon o place,[1469] Bot yit therof thou hast a grace, That thou thee myht so wel excuse Of love such as som men use,[1470] So as I spak of now tofore. For al such time of love is lore, 190 And lich unto the bitterswete; For thogh it thenke a man ferst swete, He schal wel fielen ate laste That it is sour and may noght laste. For as a morsell envenimed, So hath such love his lust mistimed, [Sidenote: =P. iii. 282=] And grete ensamples manyon A man mai finde therupon.