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But certaine thei were wondir fewe,
And gonne to standin on a rewe,
And saidin, Certis, ladie bright!
We have doen well with all our might,
But we ne kepe to havin Fame;
Hidith our workis and our name
For Godd'is love, for certis we
Have surely doen it for bounte,
And for no manir othir thyng.

I grauntin you all your askyng,
(Quod fhe;) let your workis be dedde.

With that about I tourned my hedde,
And sawe anone the fivith rout,
That to this ladie gan to lout,
And doune on knees anone to fall,
And to her tho besoughtin all
To hidin ther gode workis eke,
And sayid, thei yeve not a leke
For no Fame, ne no foche renoun,
For thei for contemplacioun
And Godd'is love had it ywrought,
Ne of Fame wouldin thei have nought.

What! (quod she) and be ye so wode?
And wenin ye for to doe gode
And for to have of that no Fame?
Have ye dispite to have my name?
Naie, ye shail lyin everichone.
Llowith thy trumpe, and that anone,

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(Quod she) thou Æolus, I hote,
And ring these folkis workes by note,
That all the worlde maie of it here:
And he gan blowe ther loos so clere
Within his goldin clarioun,
That through the worlde ywent the foun
Al so kindely and eke so soft
That ther Fame was yblowe aloft.

And tho came the sixt companie,
And gonin fast to Fame to crie
Right verily in this manere ;
Thei saidin, Mercie, ladie dere !
To tellin certain as it is
We have doen neithir that ne this,
But idill all our life hath be;
But nathèlesse yet prayin we
That we maie have as gode a Fame,
And grete renome and knowin name,
As thei that have doe noble jestes,
And have achevid all ther questes,
As well of love as othir thyng,
All was us nevir broche ne ryng,
Ne ellis what fro women sent,
Ne onis in ther herte iment,
To maken us onely frendly chere,
But mought ytemin us on bere,
Yet let us to the peple senie
Soche as the worlde maie of us denie

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That women lovin us for wode,
It shall do us as mochil gode,
And to our herte as moche availe
The countirpeise, ese, and travaile,
As we had wonnin with labour,
For that is dere ybought honour,
At the regard of our grete ese;
And yet ye must us more yplese,
Let us beholdin eke thereto
Worthie, and wise, and gode also,
And riche, and happie unto love,
For Godd'is love that Gitteth above;
Though we maie not the bodie have
Of women, yet, fo God me fave,
Let men yglewe on us the name;
Suffifith that we have the Fame.

I graunt it, (quod she) by my trouth.
Now, Æolus, withoutin flouth
Take out thy trumpe of golde, (quod fhe)
And blowe as thei have afkid me,
That every man wene 'hem at ese
Although thei go in full badde lese.
This Æolus gan it so blowe
That through the woride it was iknowe.

Tho came the seventh route anone,
And fill on kneis everichone,
And sayid, Ladie, graunte us sone
The same thyng, the same bone,

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Which that this nexte folke you have done.: 685

Fie on you (quod fhe) everichone! Ye na tie swine, ye idle wretches, Fullfillid of rottin flowe tetches! What ! falfè chevis, where ye wolde Ben famid gode, and nothyng n'olde

690 Deservin why, ne nevir thought, : Men rathir you to hangin ought, For ye be like the flepie cat, That would have fishe, but wost thou what? He woll nothyng wete his clawis: Evill thrifte come to your jawis, And on myne, if I yoy it graunte, Or doe favour you to ayaunte.

Thou Æolus, thou Kyng of Thrace, Go blowe this folke a soric grace

700 (Quod fhe) anone; and woft thou how? As I shall cellin the right nowé ; Say chefe ben they that wolde honour Have and do no kinde of labour, Ne do no gode, and yet have laude,

705 And that men wende that belle I faude Ne coude 'hem not of lovè werne, And yet she that ygrint at querne Is al to gode to ese thér herte. This Æolus anone up sterte,

710 And with his blackè clarioun He gan to blafin out a soun

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As loud as bellich winde in hel,
And eke therwith, the sothe to tel,
This sowne was so full of japes
As evir mowis were in apes,
And that went al the worlde aboute,
That every wight gan on 'hem shoute
And for to laugh as they were wode,
Soche game yfounde they in ther hode.

Tho came anothir companye
That hadde ydone the trechèry,
The harme and the grete wickednesse,
That any herte coudin ygesse,
And prayid her to have gode Fame
And that the n'olde do 'hem no shame,
But give 'hem loos and gode renoun,
And do it blowe in clarioun.

Nay, wis, (quod she) it were a vyce;
Al be there in me no justice
Me lyft not for to do it nowe,
Ne this I ne will graunt it you.

Tho came there lepinge in a route,
And gan to clappin al aboute.
Every man upon the crowne,
That al thc hal began to sowne,
And sayid, Lady lefe and dere!
We ben soche folkes, as ye may here,
To tellin all the tale aright,
We ben Ihrewis every wight,

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