For feigned semblant is so softe, 1220
Unethes love may be war.
Forthi, my Sone, as I wel dar,
I charge thee to fle that vice,
That many a womman hath mad nice;
Bot lok thou dele noght withal.
Amans.
Iwiss, fader, nomor I schal.
Confessor.
Now, Sone, kep that thou hast swore: