[Sidenote: =P. ii. 356=] And bad with that do make a pet,[564] Wherinne he hath his douhter set, As he that wol no pite have, So that sche was al quik begrave And deide anon in his presence. Bot Phebus, for the reverence Of that sche hadde be his love, Hath wroght thurgh his pouer above, That sche sprong up out of the molde Into a flour was named golde, 6780 Which stant governed of the Sonne. And thus whan love is evele wonne, Fulofte it comth to repentaile. [Sidenote: Amans.] Mi fader, that is no mervaile, Whan that the conseil is bewreid. Bot ofte time love hath pleid And stole many a prive game, Which nevere yit cam into blame, Whan that the thinges weren hidde. Bot in youre tale, as it betidde, 6790 Venus discoverede al the cas, And ek also brod dai it was, Whan Phebus such a Stelthe wroghte, Wherof the Maide in blame he broghte, That afterward sche was so lore.[565] Bot for ye seiden nou tofore Hou stelthe of love goth be nyhte, And doth hise thinges out of syhte, Therof me liste also to hiere A tale lich to the matiere, 6800 [Sidenote: =P. ii. 357=] Wherof I miyhte ensample take. [Sidenote: Confessor.] Mi goode Sone, and for thi sake,[566] So as it fell be daies olde,[567] And so as the Poete it tolde, Upon the nyhtes micherie Nou herkne a tale of Poesie.