Of one and other that wolde this lady see; Whiche sat behynde a traues[249] of sylke fyne, Of golde of tessew the fynest that myghte be, In a trone whiche fer clerer[250] dyde shyne 60 Than Phebus in his spere celestyne; Whoos beaute, honoure, goodly porte, I haue to lytyll connynge to reporte. But, of eche thynge there as I toke hede, Amonge all other was wrytten in her trone, In golde letters, this worde, whiche I dyde rede, _Garder[251] le fortune, que est mauelz et bone!_ And, as I stode redynge this verse myselfe allone, Her chyef gentylwoman, Daunger by her name, Gaue me a taunte, and sayde I was to blame 70 To be so perte to prese so proudly vppe: She sayde she trowed that I had[252] eten sause; She asked yf euer I dranke of saucys cuppe. And I than softly answered to that clause, That, so to saye, I had gyuen her no cause. Than asked she me, Syr, so God thé spede, What is thy name? and I sayde, it was Drede. What mouyd thé, quod she, hydder to come? Forsoth, quod I, to bye some of youre ware. And with that worde on me she gaue a glome 80 With browes bente, and gan on me to stare Full daynnously, and fro me she dyde fare, Leuynge me stondynge as a mased man: To whome there came an other gentylwoman; Desyre her name was, and so she me tolde, Sayenge to me, Broder,[253] be of good chere, Abasshe you not, but hardely be bolde, Auaunce yourselfe to aproche and come nere: What though our chaffer be neuer so dere, Yet I auyse you to speke, for ony drede: 90 Who spareth to speke, in fayth he spareth to spede.[254] Maystres, quod I, I haue none aquentaunce, That wyll for me be medyatoure and mene; And[255] this an other, I haue but smale substaunce. Pece, quod Desyre, ye speke not worth a bene: Yf ye haue not, in fayth I wyll you lene A precyous jewell, no rycher in this londe; Bone Auenture haue here now in your honde. Shyfte now therwith, let see, as ye can, In Bowge of Courte cheuysaunce to make; 100 For I dare saye that there nys erthly man But, an[256] he can Bone Auenture take, There can no fauour nor frendshyp hym forsake; Bone Auenture may brynge you in suche case That ye shall stonde in fauoure and in grace. But of one thynge I werne[257] you er[258] I goo, She that styreth the shyp, make her your frende. Maystres, quod I, I praye you tell me why soo, And how I maye that waye and meanes fynde. Forsothe, quod she, how euer blowe the wynde, 110 Fortune gydeth and ruleth all oure shyppe: Whome she hateth shall ouer the see boorde[259] skyp;