Out of these blake wawes for to sayle,O wind, O wind, the weder ginneth clere;For in this see the boot hath swich travayle,Of my conning, that unnethe I it stere:This see clepe I the tempestous matere 5Of desespeyr that Troilus was inne:But now of hope the calendes biginne.O lady myn, that called art Cleo,Thou be my speed fro this forth, and my muse,To ryme wel this book, til I have do; 10Me nedeth here noon other art to use.For-why to every lovere I me excuse,That of no sentement I this endyte,But out of Latin in my tonge it wryte.Wherfore I nil have neither thank ne blame 15Of al this werk, but prey yow mekely,Disblameth me if any word be lame,For as myn auctor seyde, so seye I.Eek though I speke of love unfelingly,No wondre is, for it no-thing of newe is; 20A blind man can nat Iuggen wel in hewis.Ye knowe eek, that in forme of speche is chaungeWith-inne a thousand yeer, and wordes thoThat hadden prys, now wonder nyce and straungeUs thinketh hem; and yet they spake hem so, 25And spedde as wel in love as men now do;Eek for to winne love in sondry ages,In sondry londes, sondry ben usages.And for-thy if it happe in any wyse,That here be any lovere in this place 30That herkneth, as the storie wol devyse,How Troilus com to his lady grace,And thenketh, so nolde I nat love purchace,Or wondreth on his speche or his doinge,I noot; but it is me no wonderinge; 35For every wight which that to Rome went,Halt nat o path, or alwey o manere;Eek in som lond were al the gamen shent,If that they ferde in love as men don here,As thus, in open doing or in chere, 40In visitinge, in forme, or seyde hire sawes;For-thy men seyn, ech contree hath his lawes.Eek scarsly been ther in this place threeThat han in love seid lyk and doon in al;For to thy purpos this may lyken thee, 45And thee right nought, yet al is seyd or shal;Eek som men grave in tree, som in stoon wal,As it bitit; but sin I have begonne,Myn auctor shal I folwen, if I conne.Exclipit prohemium Secundi Libri.