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-

chesse,

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.

Drecche, delay.

Μ

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.

Her, their.

"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

amounte.

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-

founde

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

sterte,

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

ginne

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

Slouthe,

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

aunce

To preié love and to beseche,
As by ensample I shall the teche.

I finde, how whilom there was

one,

Whose name was Pigmaleón, Which was a lusty man of youthe.