But that me lust declaren my sentence. Than may men by this ordre well discerne, That thilke Mover stable is and eterne; Wel may men knowen, but it be a fool, That every part deriveth from his hool; For Nature hath not taken his beginning Of no partie ne cantel of a thing, But of a thing that parfit is and stable, Descending so til it be corrumpable; And therefore of his wise purveyance He hath so wel beset his ordinance, That speces of thinges and progressions Shullen enduren by successions, And not eterne, withouten any lie; This maist thou understand, and seen at eye. Lo the oke, that hath so long a norishing Fro the time that it ginneth first to spring, And hath so long a lif, as ye may see, Yet at the laste wasted is the tree. Considereth eke how that the harde stone Under our feet, on which we trede and gone, It wasteth, as it lieth by the wey; The brode river sometime wexeth drey; The grete tounes see we wane and wende; Than may ye see that all thing hathe an ende. Of man and woman see we wel also, That nedes in on of the termes two, That is to sayn, in youthe, or elles age, He mote be ded, the king as shall a page; Som in his bed, som in the depe see, Som in the large feld, as ye may see: Ther helpeth nought, all goth that ilke wey; Than may I sayn, that alle thing mote dey. What maketh this but Jupiter the King, The which is prince and cause of alle thing, Converting alle unto his propre wille, From which it is derived, soth to telle? And here-againes no creature on live Of no degree availleth for to strive. Than is it wisdom, as it thinketh me, To maken vertue of necessite, And take it wel that we may not eschewe, And namely that to us all is dewe; And whoso, grutcheth ought he doth folie, And rebel is to him that all may gie. And certainly a man hath most honour To dien in his excellence and flour, Whan he is siker of his goode name; Than hath he don his frend ne him no shame; And glader ought his frend ben of his deth, Whan with honour is yolden up his breth, Than whan his name appalled is for age, For all foryetten is his vassalage: Than is it best as for a worthy fame, To dein whan a man is best of name. The contrary of all this is wilfulnesse. Why grutchen we? why have we hevinesse, That good Arcite, of chivalry the flour, Departed is, with dutee and honour, Out of this foule prison of this lif? Why grutchen here his cosin and his wif Of his welfare, that loven him so wel? Can he hem thank? nay, God wot, never a del, That both his soule and eke himself offend, And yet they mow her lustres not amend. What may I conclude of this longe serie, But after sorwe I rede us to be merie, And thanken Jupiter of all his grace; And er that we departen from this place,