slew the fyr and made him to escape.
But to be ware yet grace noon he hadde,
Til fortune on the gallows made him gape.

Whan he escapéd was, he coud nought stente
For to bygynne a newe werre agayn;
He wende wel, for that fortúne him sente
Such hap, that he escaped thurgh the rayn,
That of his foos he mighte not be slayn.
And eek a dream upon a night him lad,
Of which he was so proud and eek so fayn,
That to vengeaunce he al his herte bad.

Upon a tree he was set, as him thoughte,
Wher Jubiter him wasshed bothe bak and side,
And Phebus eek a fair towel him broughte
To drye him with, and therfore wax his pride;
And to his doughter that stood him biside,
Which that he knew in high sciénce abounde,
And bad hir tellen what it signifyde,
And she his dreem right thus began expounde.

“The tree,” quod she, “the gallows is to mene,
And Jubiter betokeneth snow and rayn,
And Phebus with his towel al so clene,
Tho be, the sonne stremes, soth to sayn.
Thou shalt anhangid be, fader, certayn;
Rayn shal thee wash, and sonne shal thee drye.”
Thus warned she him ful plat and ek ful playn
His doughter, which that callèd was Phanie.

And hangèd was Cresus this proude king,
His royal trone might him not availe.
Tragedie is noon other maner thing,
Nor can for other thinges cry or waile,
But for that fortune wil alway assayle
With unware strook the realmes that be proude;
For whan men trusteth hir, than wil she faile,
And cover hir bright face with a clowde.