pon the Vices to procede
After the cause of mannés dede
The firsté point of Slouth I calle Lachesse,1 and is the chefe of alle And hath this properlich of kind To leven allé thing behind, Of that he mighté do nowe here He tarieth all the longé yere And evermore he saith: To mor- we,'
And so he woll his timé borwe And wissheth after: God me sende,2 That whan he weneth have an ende, Than is he furthest to beginne. Thus bringeth he many a mischefe inne
Unware, till that he be mischéved And may nought thanné be releved. And right so nouther more ne lesse It stant of Love and of Lachesse. Some time he sloutheth on a day, That he never after geté may.
"Now, sone, as of this ilké thing If thou have any knouleching That thou to Love hast done er this, Tell on."-" My godé fader, yis. As of Lachesse I am beknowe, That I may stonde upon his rowe, As I that am clad of his suite, For whanne I thoughté my pursuite To make, and therto set a day
1 Lachesse, slackness. 2 For a godsend.
To speke unto that sweté may,1 Lachessé bad abidé yit
And bare on honde it was no Wit
Ne time for to speke as tho.2 Thus with his talés to and fro My time in tarieng he drough; Whan there was timé good inough, He said another time is better, Thou shalt now senden her a letter And par cas writé moré plein Than thou by mouthé durstest sain. Thus have I letté timé slide For slouthe, and kepté nought my tide,
So that Lachessé with his vice Full oft hath made my wit so nice, That what I thought to speke or do With tarieng he held me so
Til whan I wolde and mighté
And god wot that is malgré min. For this I wot right well afin,1 My gracé cometh so selde aboute, That is the Slouthé, which I doubte More than of all the remenaunt Whiche is to Love appartenaunt. "And thus as touchend of La-
As I have tolde, I me confesse To you, my fader; I beseche That furthermore ye wol me teche, And if there be to this matere Some goodly talé for to here, How I may do Lachesse awey, That ye it wolden telle, I prey."— "Towissé the, my sone, and rede, Among the talés whiche I rede, An olde ensample therupon Now herken, and I wol telle on. "Ayein lachesse in Lovés cas I finde, how whilom Eneás, Whom Ánchisés to soné hadde, With great navié, which he ladde, Fro Troie arriveth at Cartage. Wherfore a while his herbergage He toke, and it betiddé so With her which was a quené tho Of the citee, his ácqueintaúnce He wan, whos name in remem- braunce
Is yet, and Dido was she hote, Which loveth Éneás so hote Upon the wordés whiche he saide, That all her hert on him she laide And did all holy what he wolde. But after that, as it be sholde, Fro thenne he goth toward Itaile By ship and there his arrivaile Hath take and shope him for to ride.
But she, which may nought longe abide
The hoté peine of lovés throwe,3
Anon within a litel throwe 1 A letter unto her knight hath write And did him pleinly for to wite If he made any tarieng
To drecche 2 of his ayein comming, That she ne might him fele and se, She shuldé stonde in such degre As whilom stood a swan to-fore Of that she hadde her maké lore 3 For sorwe a fether into her brain She shof and hath her selvé slain. As king Menander in a lay The soth hath foundé, where she lay Spraulend with her wingés twey As she which shuldé thanné deie For love of him which was her make. And so shal I do for thy sake This quené saidé, wel I wote.
"Lo, to Eneë thus she wrote With many another word of pleint. But he which had his thoughtés feint Towardés Love and full of Slouthe, His timé let, and that was routhe. For she, which loveth him to-fore, Desireth ever more and more And whan she sigh him tary so, Her herté was so full of wo, That compleignend manyfolde She hath her owné talé tolde Unto her self and thus she spake : 'Ha, who found ever suche a lacke Of Slouth in any worthy knight? Now wote I well my deth is dight Through him, which shuld have be my life.'
But for to stinten all this strife Thus whan she sigh none other bote, Right even unto her herté rote A naked swerd anone she threste And thus she gat her selvé reste In remembraúnce of allé slowe. "Wherof, my soné, thou might knowe,
1 Throwe, space of time. 3 Make lore, lost her mate.
How tarieng upon the nede In Lovés cause is for to drede. And that hath Dido sore abought, Whose deth shall ever be bethought. And evermore if I shal seche In this matere another speche In a croníque I finde write A talé, whiche is good to wite. At Troie whan king Ylixés Upon the siege, among the pres Of hem that worthy knightés were, Abodé long time stillé there, In thilké time a man may se, How goodly that Penelope, Which was to him his trewé wife, Of his Lachessé was pleintife, Wherof to Troié she him sende Her will by letter, thus spekende : 'My worthy love and lord also, It is and hath ben ever so, That where a woman is alone It maketh a man in his persone The moré hardy for to wowe, In hope that she woldé bowe To such thinge as his willé were, While that her lord were ellés where. And of my self I tellé this, For it so longé passéd is Sith first that ye fro homé wente, That well nigh every man is wente To there I am while ye be oute, Hath made and eche of hem aboute Which lové can my lové seche With great praiére and me be- seche.
And somé maken great manáce, That if they mighten come in place, Where that they mighten her1 will have,
There is no thing me shuldé save, That they ne woldé werché thinges. And somé tellen me tidinges, That ye ben dede, and somé sain, That certainly ye ben besain 2
1 Her, their, 2 Besain, resolved.
To love a newe and levé me. But how as ever that it be, I thonke unto the goddés alle As yet for ought that is befalle, May no man do my chekés rede. But nethéles it is to drede, That Lachesse in continuaunce Fortuné mighté suche a chaunce, Which no man after sholde amende.'
"Lo,thus this lady compleignénde A letter unto her lord hath write And praid him, that he woldé wite And thenke how that she was al his, And that he tarié nought in this, But that he wold his love acquite To her ayeinward, and nought write But come him self in allé haste, That he none other paper waste, So that he kepe and holde his trouthe
Withouté let of any Slouthe.
"Unto her lord and lové liege To Troié, where the greté siege Was laid, this letter was conveied. And he, which wisdome hath purveied
Of all that to resón belongeth, With gentil herte it underfongeth. And whan he hath it overrad, In parte he was right inly glad And eke in parte he was disesed.1 But love his hert hath so through sesed
With pure ymaginación, That for none occupación
Whiche he can take on other side He may nought flit his herte aside Fro that his wife him had enformed, Wherof he hath him self conformed With all the will of his coráge To shape and také the viáge Homeward, what time that he may. So that him thenketh of a day A thousand yere till he may se
1 Disesed, made uneasy.
The visage of Penelope, Whiche he desireth most of alle. And whan the time is so befalle That Troié was distruied and brent, He made non delaiément, But goth him home in alle hie,1 Where that he found to-fore his eye His worthy wife in good estate, And thus was cesséd the debate Of Love, and Slouthé was excused, Which doth great harm wher it is used,
And hindreth many a cause honést.
"For of the greté clerk Grostest I rede how busy that he was Upon the clergie an heved2 of bras To forge and make it for to telle Of suché thingés as befelle. And seven yerés besinesse He laidé, but for the Lachesse Of half a minute of an houre Fro firsté he began laboure He lost all that he hadde do. And other while it fareth so In Lovés causé, who is slowe, That he without under the wowe 3 By nighté stant full oft a colde, Which mighte, if that he haddé wolde
His timé kept, have be withinne. But Slouthé may nought profit winne,
But he may singe in his caróle, How latewar camé to the dole,4 Where he no good receivé might. And that was provéd well by night Whilome of the maidens five, Whan thilké lord came for to wive, For that her oilé was awey To light her lampés in his wey, Her Slouthé brought it so aboute Fro him that they be shet withoute. 2 Heved, head.
1 Hie, haste.
Wowe, wall.
4 Late-aware came to the sharing.
"Wherof, my soné, be thou ware, Als ferforth as I tellé dare. For Lové musté ben awaited, And if thou be nought well affaited1 In Love to escheué Slouthe, My soné, for to tellé trouthe Thou might nought of thy self ben able
To winné love or make it stable, All though thou mightest love acheve.".
"My fader, that I may well leve. But me was never assignéd place Where yet to geten any grace, Neme was non such time appointed, For than I wolde I were unjointed Of every limmé that I have And I ne shuldé kepe and save Min houré bothe and eke my stede, If my ladý it hadde bede. But she is otherwise avised Than graunté suche a time assised. And netheless of my Lachesse There hath be no default I gesse Of timé loste, if that I mighte. But yet her liketh nought alighte Upon no lure which I caste. For ay the more I crié faste The lasse her liketh for to here. So for to speke of this matere I seché that I may nought finde, I haste and ever I am behinde And wot nought what it may
But fader, upon min accompte, Whiche ye ben set to examíne Of shrifte after the disciplíne, Say what your besté counseile is.”- "My soné, my counseil is this. How so it stonde of timé go, Do forth thy besinessé so, That no Lachesse in thee be founde, For Slouthe is mighty to con-
1 Affaited, adapted to the purpose.
The spede of every mannés werke. For many a Vice, as saith the clerke, There hongen upon Slouthés lappe Of suche as make a man mishappe To pieigne and tell of had-I-wist.1 And therupon if that thee list To knowe of Slouthes causé more In speciál yet overmore There is a Vicé full grevable To him which is therof coulpable, And stant of allé Vertue bare Here after as I shall declare. "Touchend of slouth in his degré,
There is yet Pusillamité, Which is to say in this langáge He that hath litel of coráge And dare no mannés werk beginne; So may he nought by reson winne. For who that nought dare undertake By right he shall no profit take. But of this Vicé the natúre Dare nothing set in aventúre, Him lacketh bothé worde and dede, Wherof he shuld his causé spede. He woll no manhode understonde, For ever he hath drede upon honde All is perill that he shall say, Him thenketh the wolfe is in the way. And of ymaginación
He maketh his excusación And feigneth cause of puré drede And ever he faileth atté nede Till all be spilt that he with deleth. He hath the sore which no man heleth,
The whiche is clepéd lacke of herte; Though every grace about him
He woll nought onés stere his fote, So that by reson lese he mote That woll nought aunter for to winne.
1 Had-I-wist, if I had only known. See note 1, page 75.
"And so forth, sone, if we be
To speke of Love and his service, There ben truantes in suche a wise, That lacken herté whan best were They speken of Love, and right for fere
They waxen dombe and dare nought telle,
Withouten soun as doth the belle Whiche hath no clapper for to chime.
And right so they as for the time Ben hertélés withouté speche Of Love and dare nothing beseche: And thus they lese and winné nought.
Forthý, my sone, if thou art ought Coulpable as touchend of this
Shrive thee therof and tell me trouthe."
"My fader, I am all beknowe That I have ben one of the slowe As for to telle in Lovés cas. Min herte is yet and ever was As though the world shuld al tobreke,
So ferful that I dare nought speke Of what purpós that I have nome Whan I toward my lady come, But let it passe and overgo."
"My soné, do no moré so. For after that a man pursueth, To Lové so Fortúné sueth Ful oft and yiveth her happy chaunce
To him which maketh continu
To preié love and to beseche, As by ensample I shall the teche.
I finde, how whilom there was
Whose name was Pigmaleón, Which was a lusty man of youthe.
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