<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=420405" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Confessio Amantis. Explicit Liber Tercius</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Incipit Liber Quartus</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>Dicunt accidiam fore nutricem viciorum,<br>Torpet et in cunctis tarda que lenta bonis:<br>Que fieri possent hodie transfert piger in cras,<br>Furatoque prius ostia claudit equo.<br>Poscenti tardo negat emolumenta Cupido,<br>Set Venus in celeri ludit amore viri.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Upon the vices to procede<br>After the cause of mannes dede,<br>The ferste point of Slowthe I calle<br>Lachesce, and is the chief of alle,<br>And hath this propreliche of kinde,<br>To leven alle thing behinde.<br>Of that he mihte do now hier<br>He tarieth al the longe yer,<br>And everemore he seith, 'Tomorwe';<br>And so he wol his time borwe, <br>And wissheth after 'God me sende,'<br>That whan he weneth have an ende,<br>Thanne is he ferthest to beginne.<br>Thus bringth he many a meschief inne<br>Unwar, til that he be meschieved,<br>And may noght thanne be relieved.<br>And riht so nowther mor ne lesse<br>It stant of love and of lachesce:<br>Som time he slowtheth in a day<br>That he nevere after gete mai. <br>Now, Sone, as of this ilke thing,<br>If thou have eny knowleching,<br>That thou to love hast don er this,<br>Tell on. Mi goode fader, yis.<br>As of lachesce I am beknowe<br>That I mai stonde upon his rowe,<br>As I that am clad of his suite:<br>For whanne I thoghte mi poursuite<br>To make, and therto sette a day<br>To speke unto the swete May, <br>Lachesce bad abide yit,<br>And bar on hond it was no wit<br>Ne time forto speke as tho.<br>Thus with his tales to and fro<br>Mi time in tariinge he drowh:<br>Whan ther was time good ynowh,<br>He seide, 'An other time is bettre;<br>Thou schalt mowe senden hire a lettre,<br>And per cas wryte more plein<br>Than thou be Mowthe durstest sein.' <br>Thus have I lete time slyde<br>For Slowthe, and kepte noght my tide,<br>So that lachesce with his vice<br>Fulofte hath mad my wit so nyce,<br>That what I thoghte speke or do<br>With tariinge he hield me so,<br>Til whanne I wolde and mihte noght.<br>I not what thing was in my thoght,<br>Or it was drede, or it was schame;<br>Bot evere in ernest and in game <br>I wot ther is long time passed.<br>Bot yit is noght the love lassed,<br>Which I unto mi ladi have;<br>For thogh my tunge is slowh to crave<br>At alle time, as I have bede,<br>Min herte stant evere in o stede<br>And axeth besiliche grace,<br>The which I mai noght yit embrace.<br>And god wot that is malgre myn;<br>For this I wot riht wel a fin, <br>Mi grace comth so selde aboute,<br>That is the Slowthe of which I doute<br>Mor than of al the remenant<br>Which is to love appourtenant.<br>And thus as touchende of lachesce,<br>As I have told, I me confesse<br>To you, mi fader, and beseche<br>That furthermor ye wol me teche;<br>And if ther be to this matiere<br>Som goodly tale forto liere <br>How I mai do lachesce aweie,<br>That ye it wolden telle I preie.<br>To wisse thee, my Sone, and rede,<br>Among the tales whiche I rede,<br>An old ensample therupon<br>Now herkne, and I wol tellen on.<br>Ayein Lachesce in loves cas<br>I finde how whilom Eneas,<br>Whom Anchises to Sone hadde,<br>With gret navie, which he ladde <br>Fro Troie, aryveth at Cartage,<br>Wher for a while his herbergage<br>He tok; and it betidde so,<br>With hire which was qweene tho<br>Of the Cite his aqueintance<br>He wan, whos name in remembrance<br>Is yit, and Dido sche was hote;<br>Which loveth Eneas so hote<br>Upon the wordes whiche he seide,<br>That al hire herte on him sche leide <br>And dede al holi what he wolde.<br>Bot after that, as it be scholde,<br>Fro thenne he goth toward Ytaile<br>Be Schipe, and there his arivaile<br>Hath take, and schop him forto ryde.<br>Bot sche, which mai noght longe abide<br>The hote peine of loves throwe,<br>Anon withinne a litel throwe<br>A lettre unto hir kniht hath write,<br>And dede him pleinly forto wite, <br>If he made eny tariinge,<br>To drecche of his ayeincomynge,<br>That sche ne mihte him fiele and se,<br>Sche scholde stonde in such degre<br>As whilom stod a Swan tofore,<br>Of that sche hadde hire make lore;<br>For sorwe a fethere into hire brain<br>Sche schof and hath hireselve slain;<br>As king Menander in a lay<br>The sothe hath founde, wher sche lay <br>Sprantlende with hire wynges tweie,<br>As sche which scholde thanne deie<br>For love of him which was hire make.<br>'And so schal I do for thi sake,'<br>This qweene seide, 'wel I wot.'<br>Lo, to Enee thus sche wrot<br>With many an other word of pleinte:<br>Bot he, which hadde hise thoghtes feinte<br>Towardes love and full of Slowthe,<br>His time lette, and that was rowthe: <br>For sche, which loveth him tofore,<br>Desireth evere more and more,<br>And whan sche sih him tarie so,<br>Hire herte was so full of wo,<br>That compleignende manyfold<br>Sche hath hire oghne tale told,<br>Unto hirself and thus sche spak:<br>'Ha, who fond evere such a lak<br>Of Slowthe in eny worthi kniht?<br>Now wot I wel my deth is diht <br>Thurgh him which scholde have be mi lif.'<br>Bot forto stinten al this strif,<br>Thus whan sche sih non other bote,<br>Riht evene unto hire herte rote<br>A naked swerd anon sche threste,<br>And thus sche gat hireselve reste<br>In remembrance of alle slowe.<br>Wherof, my Sone, thou miht knowe<br>How tariinge upon the nede<br>In loves cause is forto drede; <br>And that hath Dido sore aboght,<br>Whos deth schal evere be bethoght.<br>And overmore if I schal seche<br>In this matiere an other spieche,<br>In a Cronique I finde write<br>A tale which is good to wite.<br>At Troie whan king Ulixes<br>Upon the Siege among the pres<br>Of hem that worthi knihtes were<br>Abod long time stille there, <br>In thilke time a man mai se<br>How goodli that Penolope,<br>Which was to him his trewe wif,<br>Of his lachesce was pleintif;<br>Wherof to Troie sche him sende<br>Hire will be lettre, thus spekende:<br>'Mi worthi love and lord also,<br>It is and hath ben evere so,<br>That wher a womman is al one,<br>It makth a man in his persone <br>The more hardi forto wowe,<br>In hope that sche wolde bowe<br>To such thing as his wille were,<br>Whil that hire lord were elleswhere.<br>And of miself I telle this;<br>For it so longe passed is,<br>Sithe ferst than ye fro home wente,<br>That welnyh every man his wente<br>To there I am, whil ye ben oute,<br>Hath mad, and ech of hem aboute, <br>Which love can, my love secheth,<br>With gret preiere and me besecheth:<br>And some maken gret manace,<br>That if thei mihten come in place,<br>Wher that thei mihte here wille have,<br>Ther is nothing me scholde save,<br>That thei ne wolde werche thinges;<br>And some tellen me tidynges<br>That ye ben ded, and some sein<br>That certeinly ye ben besein <br>To love a newe and leve me.<br>Bot hou as evere that it be,<br>I thonke unto the goddes alle,<br>As yit for oght that is befalle<br>Mai noman do my chekes rede:<br>Bot natheles it is to drede,<br>That Lachesse in continuance<br>Fortune mihte such a chance,<br>Which noman after scholde amende.'<br>Lo, thus this ladi compleignende <br>A lettre unto hire lord hath write,<br>And preyde him that he wolde wite<br>And thenke hou that sche was al his,<br>And that he tarie noght in this,<br>Bot that he wolde his love aquite,<br>To hire ayeinward and noght wryte,<br>Bot come himself in alle haste,<br>That he non other paper waste;<br>So that he kepe and holde his trowthe<br>Withoute lette of eny Slowthe. <br>Unto hire lord and love liege<br>To Troie, wher the grete Siege<br>Was leid, this lettre was conveied.<br>And he, which wisdom hath pourveied<br>Of al that to reson belongeth,<br>With gentil herte it underfongeth:<br>And whan he hath it overrad,<br>In part he was riht inly glad,<br>And ek in part he was desesed:<br>Bot love his herte hath so thorghsesed <br>With pure ymaginacioun,<br>That for non occupacioun<br>Which he can take on other side,<br>He mai noght flitt his herte aside<br>Fro that his wif him hadde enformed;<br>Wherof he hath himself conformed<br>With al the wille of his corage<br>To schape and take the viage<br>Homward, what time that he mai:<br>So that him thenketh of a day <br>A thousand yer, til he mai se<br>The visage of Penolope,<br>Which he desireth most of alle.<br>And whan the time is so befalle<br>That Troie was destruid and brent,<br>He made non delaiement,<br>Bot goth him home in alle hihe,<br>Wher that he fond tofore his yhe<br>His worthi wif in good astat:<br>And thus was cessed the debat <br>Of love, and Slowthe was excused,<br>Which doth gret harm, where it is used,<br>And hindreth many a cause honeste.<br>For of the grete Clerc Grossteste<br>I rede how besy that he was<br>Upon clergie an Hed of bras<br>To forge, and make it forto telle<br>Of suche thinges as befelle.<br>And sevene yeres besinesse<br>He leyde, bot for the lachesse <br>Of half a Minut of an houre,<br>Fro ferst that he began laboure<br>He loste all that he hadde do.<br>And otherwhile it fareth so,<br>In loves cause who is slow,<br>That he withoute under the wow<br>Be nyhte stant fulofte acold,<br>Which mihte, if that he hadde wold<br>His time kept, have be withinne.<br>Bot Slowthe mai no profit winne, <br>Bot he mai singe in his karole<br>How Latewar cam to the Dole,<br>Wher he no good receive mihte.<br>And that was proved wel be nyhte<br>Whilom of the Maidenes fyve,<br>Whan thilke lord cam forto wyve:<br>For that here oyle was aweie<br>To lihte here lampes in his weie,<br>Here Slowthe broghte it so aboute,<br>Fro him that thei ben schet withoute. <br>Wherof, my Sone, be thou war,<br>Als ferforth as I telle dar.<br>For love moste ben awaited:<br>And if thou be noght wel affaited<br>In love to eschuie Slowthe,<br>Mi Sone, forto telle trowthe,<br>Thou miht noght of thiself ben able<br>To winne love or make it stable,<br>All thogh thou mihtest love achieve.<br>Mi fader, that I mai wel lieve. <br>Bot me was nevere assigned place,<br>Wher yit to geten eny grace,<br>Ne me was non such time apointed;<br>For thanne I wolde I were unjoynted<br>Of every lime that I have,<br>If I ne scholde kepe and save<br>Min houre bothe and ek my stede,<br>If my ladi it hadde bede.<br>Bot sche is otherwise avised<br>Than grante such a time assised; <br>And natheles of mi lachesse<br>Ther hath be no defalte I gesse<br>Of time lost, if that I mihte:<br>Bot yit hire liketh noght alyhte<br>Upon no lure which I caste;<br>For ay the more I crie faste,<br>The lasse hire liketh forto hiere.<br>So forto speke of this matiere,<br>I seche that I mai noght finde,<br>I haste and evere I am behinde, <br>And wot noght what it mai amounte.<br>Bot, fader, upon myn acompte,<br>Which ye be sett to examine<br>Of Schrifte after the discipline,<br>Sey what your beste conseil is.<br>Mi Sone, my conseil is this:<br>Hou so it stonde of time go,<br>Do forth thi besinesse so,<br>That no Lachesce in the be founde:<br>For Slowthe is mihti to confounde <br>The spied of every mannes werk.<br>For many a vice, as seith the clerk,<br>Ther hongen upon Slowthes lappe<br>Of suche as make a man mishappe,<br>To pleigne and telle of hadde I wist.<br>And therupon if that thee list<br>To knowe of Slowthes cause more,<br>In special yit overmore<br>Ther is a vice full grevable<br>To him which is therof coupable, <br>And stant of alle vertu bare,<br>Hierafter as I schal declare.<br>Touchende of Slowthe in his degre,<br>Ther is yit Pusillamite,<br>Which is to seie in this langage,<br>He that hath litel of corage<br>And dar no mannes werk beginne:<br>So mai he noght be resoun winne;<br>For who that noght dar undertake,<br>Be riht he schal no profit take. <br>Bot of this vice the nature<br>Dar nothing sette in aventure,<br>Him lacketh bothe word and dede,<br>Wherof he scholde his cause spede:<br>He woll no manhed understonde,<br>For evere he hath drede upon honde:<br>Al is peril that he schal seie,<br>Him thenkth the wolf is in the weie,<br>And of ymaginacioun<br>He makth his excusacioun <br>And feigneth cause of pure drede,<br>And evere he faileth ate nede,<br>Til al be spilt that he with deleth.<br>He hath the sor which noman heleth,<br>The which is cleped lack of herte;<br>Thogh every grace aboute him sterte,<br>He wol noght ones stere his fot;<br>So that be resoun lese he mot,<br>That wol noght auntre forto winne.<br>And so forth, Sone, if we beginne <br>To speke of love and his servise,<br>Ther ben truantz in such a wise,<br>That lacken herte, whan best were<br>To speke of love, and riht for fere<br>Thei wexen doumb and dar noght telle,<br>Withoute soun as doth the belle,<br>Which hath no claper forto chyme;<br>And riht so thei as for the tyme<br>Ben herteles withoute speche<br>Of love, and dar nothing beseche; <br>And thus thei lese and winne noght.<br>Forthi, my Sone, if thou art oght<br>Coupable as touchende of this Slowthe,<br>Schrif thee therof and tell me trowthe.<br>Mi fader, I am al beknowe<br>That I have ben on of tho slowe,<br>As forto telle in loves cas.<br>Min herte is yit and evere was,<br>As thogh the world scholde al tobreke,<br>So ferful, that I dar noght speke <br>Of what pourpos that I have nome,<br>Whan I toward mi ladi come,<br>Bot let it passe and overgo.<br>Mi Sone, do nomore so:<br>For after that a man poursuieth<br>To love, so fortune suieth,<br>Fulofte and yifth hire happi chance<br>To him which makth continuance<br>To preie love and to beseche;<br>As be ensample I schal thee teche. <br>I finde hou whilom ther was on,<br>Whos name was Pymaleon,<br>Which was a lusti man of yowthe:<br>The werkes of entaile he cowthe<br>Above alle othre men as tho;<br>And thurgh fortune it fell him so,<br>As he whom love schal travaile,<br>He made an ymage of entaile<br>Lich to a womman in semblance<br>Of feture and of contienance, <br>So fair yit nevere was figure.<br>Riht as a lyves creature<br>Sche semeth, for of yvor whyt<br>He hath hire wroght of such delit,<br>That sche was rody on the cheke<br>And red on bothe hire lippes eke;<br>Wherof that he himself beguileth.<br>For with a goodly lok sche smyleth,<br>So that thurgh pure impression<br>Of his ymaginacion <br>With al the herte of his corage<br>His love upon this faire ymage<br>He sette, and hire of love preide;<br>Bot sche no word ayeinward seide.<br>The longe day, what thing he dede,<br>This ymage in the same stede<br>Was evere bi, that ate mete<br>He wolde hire serve and preide hire ete,<br>And putte unto hire mowth the cuppe;<br>And whan the bord was taken uppe, <br>He hath hire into chambre nome,<br>And after, whan the nyht was come,<br>He leide hire in his bed al nakid.<br>He was forwept, he was forwakid,<br>He keste hire colde lippes ofte,<br>And wissheth that thei weren softe,<br>And ofte he rouneth in hire Ere,<br>And ofte his arm now hier now there<br>He leide, as he hir wolde embrace,<br>And evere among he axeth grace, <br>As thogh sche wiste what he mente:<br>And thus himself he gan tormente<br>With such desese of loves peine,<br>That noman mihte him more peine.<br>Bot how it were, of his penance<br>He made such continuance<br>Fro dai to nyht, and preith so longe,<br>That his preiere is underfonge,<br>Which Venus of hire grace herde;<br>Be nyhte and whan that he worst ferde, <br>And it lay in his nakede arm,<br>The colde ymage he fieleth warm<br>Of fleissh and bon and full of lif.<br>Lo, thus he wan a lusti wif,<br>Which obeissant was at his wille;<br>And if he wolde have holde him stille<br>And nothing spoke, he scholde have failed:<br>Bot for he hath his word travailed<br>And dorste speke, his love he spedde,<br>And hadde al that he wolde abedde. <br>For er thei wente thanne atwo,<br>A knave child betwen hem two<br>Thei gete, which was after hote<br>Paphus, of whom yit hath the note<br>A certein yle, which Paphos<br>Men clepe, and of his name it ros.<br>Be this ensample thou miht finde<br>That word mai worche above kinde.<br>Forthi, my Sone, if that thou spare<br>To speke, lost is al thi fare, <br>For Slowthe bringth in alle wo.<br>And over this to loke also,<br>The god of love is favorable<br>To hem that ben of love stable,<br>And many a wonder hath befalle:<br>Wherof to speke amonges alle,<br>If that thee list to taken hede,<br>Therof a solein tale I rede,<br>Which I schal telle in remembraunce<br>Upon the sort of loves chaunce. <br>The king Ligdus upon a strif<br>Spak unto Thelacuse his wif,<br>Which thanne was with childe grete;<br>He swor it scholde noght be lete,<br>That if sche have a dowhter bore,<br>That it ne scholde be forlore<br>And slain, wherof sche sory was.<br>So it befell upon this cas,<br>Whan sche delivered scholde be,<br>Isis be nyhte in privete, <br>Which of childinge is the goddesse,<br>Cam forto helpe in that destresse,<br>Til that this lady was al smal,<br>And hadde a dowhter forth withal;<br>Which the goddesse in alle weie<br>Bad kepe, and that thei scholden seie<br>It were a Sone: and thus Iphis<br>Thei namede him, and upon this<br>The fader was mad so to wene.<br>And thus in chambre with the qweene <br>This Iphis was forthdrawe tho,<br>And clothed and arraied so<br>Riht as a kinges Sone scholde.<br>Til after, as fortune it wolde,<br>Whan it was of a ten yer age,<br>Him was betake in mariage<br>A Duckes dowhter forto wedde,<br>Which Iante hihte, and ofte abedde<br>These children leien, sche and sche,<br>Whiche of on age bothe be. <br>So that withinne time of yeeres,<br>Togedre as thei ben pleiefieres,<br>Liggende abedde upon a nyht,<br>Nature, which doth every wiht<br>Upon hire lawe forto muse,<br>Constreigneth hem, so that thei use<br>Thing which to hem was al unknowe;<br>Wherof Cupide thilke throwe<br>Tok pite for the grete love,<br>And let do sette kinde above, <br>So that hir lawe mai ben used,<br>And thei upon here lust excused.<br>For love hateth nothing more<br>Than thing which stant ayein the lore<br>Of that nature in kinde hath sett:<br>Forthi Cupide hath so besett<br>His grace upon this aventure,<br>That he acordant to nature,<br>Whan that he syh the time best,<br>That ech of hem hath other kest, <br>Transformeth Iphe into a man,<br>Wherof the kinde love he wan<br>Of lusti yonge Iante his wif;<br>And tho thei ladde a merie lif,<br>Which was to kinde non offence.<br>And thus to take an evidence,<br>It semeth love is welwillende<br>To hem that ben continuende<br>With besy herte to poursuie<br>Thing which that is to love due. <br>Wherof, my Sone, in this matiere<br>Thou miht ensample taken hiere,<br>That with thi grete besinesse<br>Thou miht atteigne the richesse<br>Of love, if that ther be no Slowthe.<br>I dar wel seie be mi trowthe,<br>Als fer as I my witt can seche,<br>Mi fader, as for lacke of speche,<br>Bot so as I me schrof tofore,<br>Ther is non other time lore, <br>Wherof ther mihte ben obstacle<br>To lette love of his miracle,<br>Which I beseche day and nyht.<br>Bot, fader, so as it is riht<br>In forme of schrifte to beknowe<br>What thing belongeth to the slowe,<br>Your faderhode I wolde preie,<br>If ther be forthere eny weie<br>Touchende unto this ilke vice.<br>Mi Sone, ye, of this office <br>Ther serveth on in special,<br>Which lost hath his memorial,<br>So that he can no wit withholde<br>In thing which he to kepe is holde,<br>Wherof fulofte himself he grieveth:<br>And who that most upon him lieveth,<br>Whan that hise wittes ben so weyved,<br>He mai full lihtly be deceived.<br>To serve Accidie in his office,<br>Ther is of Slowthe an other vice, <br>Which cleped is Foryetelnesse;<br>That noght mai in his herte impresse<br>Of vertu which reson hath sett,<br>So clene his wittes he foryet.<br>For in the tellinge of his tale<br>Nomore his herte thanne his male<br>Hath remembrance of thilke forme,<br>Wherof he scholde his wit enforme<br>As thanne, and yit ne wot he why.<br>Thus is his pourpos noght forthi <br>Forlore of that he wolde bidde,<br>And skarsly if he seith the thridde<br>To love of that he hadde ment:<br>Thus many a lovere hath be schent.<br>Tell on therfore, hast thou be oon<br>Of hem that Slowthe hath so begon?<br>Ye, fader, ofte it hath be so,<br>That whanne I am mi ladi fro<br>And thenke untoward hire drawe,<br>Than cast I many a newe lawe <br>And al the world torne up so doun,<br>And so recorde I mi lecoun<br>And wryte in my memorial<br>What I to hire telle schal,<br>Riht al the matiere of mi tale:<br>Bot al nys worth a note schale;<br>For whanne I come ther sche is,<br>I have it al foryete ywiss;<br>Of that I thoghte forto telle<br>I can noght thanne unethes spelle <br>That I wende altherbest have rad,<br>So sore I am of hire adrad.<br>For as a man that sodeinli<br>A gost behelde, so fare I;<br>So that for feere I can noght gete<br>Mi witt, bot I miself foryete,<br>That I wot nevere what I am,<br>Ne whider I schal, ne whenne I cam,<br>Bot muse as he that were amased.<br>Lich to the bok in which is rased <br>The lettre, and mai nothing be rad,<br>So ben my wittes overlad,<br>That what as evere I thoghte have spoken,<br>It is out fro myn herte stoken,<br>And stonde, as who seith, doumb and def,<br>That all nys worth an yvy lef,<br>Of that I wende wel have seid.<br>And ate laste I make abreid,<br>Caste up myn hed and loke aboute,<br>Riht as a man that were in doute <br>And wot noght wher he schal become.<br>Thus am I ofte al overcome,<br>Ther as I wende best to stonde:<br>Bot after, whanne I understonde,<br>And am in other place al one,<br>I make many a wofull mone<br>Unto miself, and speke so:<br>'Ha fol, wher was thin herte tho,<br>Whan thou thi worthi ladi syhe?<br>Were thou afered of hire yhe? <br>For of hire hand ther is no drede:<br>So wel I knowe hir wommanhede,<br>That in hire is nomore oultrage<br>Than in a child of thre yeer age.<br>Whi hast thou drede of so good on,<br>Whom alle vertu hath begon,<br>That in hire is no violence<br>Bot goodlihiede and innocence<br>Withouten spot of eny blame?<br>Ha, nyce herte, fy for schame] <br>Ha, couard herte of love unlered,<br>Wherof art thou so sore afered,<br>That thou thi tunge soffrest frese,<br>And wolt thi goode wordes lese,<br>Whan thou hast founde time and space?<br>How scholdest thou deserve grace,<br>Whan thou thiself darst axe non,<br>Bot al thou hast foryete anon?'<br>And thus despute I loves lore,<br>Bot help ne finde I noght the more, <br>Bot stomble upon myn oghne treine<br>And make an ekinge of my peine.<br>For evere whan I thenke among<br>How al is on miself along,<br>I seie, 'O fol of alle foles,<br>Thou farst as he betwen tuo stoles<br>That wolde sitte and goth to grounde.<br>It was ne nevere schal be founde,<br>Betwen foryetelnesse and drede<br>That man scholde any cause spede.' <br>And thus, myn holi fader diere,<br>Toward miself, as ye mai hiere,<br>I pleigne of my foryetelnesse;<br>Bot elles al the besinesse,<br>That mai be take of mannes thoght,<br>Min herte takth, and is thorghsoght<br>To thenken evere upon that swete<br>Withoute Slowthe, I you behete.<br>For what so falle, or wel or wo,<br>That thoght foryete I neveremo, <br>Wher so I lawhe or so I loure:<br>Noght half the Minut of an houre<br>Ne mihte I lete out of my mende,<br>Bot if I thoghte upon that hende.<br>Therof me schal no Slowthe lette,<br>Til deth out of this world me fette,<br>Althogh I hadde on such a Ring,<br>As Moises thurgh his enchanting<br>Som time in Ethiope made,<br>Whan that he Tharbis weddid hade. <br>Which Ring bar of Oblivion<br>The name, and that was be resoun<br>That where it on a finger sat,<br>Anon his love he so foryat,<br>As thogh he hadde it nevere knowe:<br>And so it fell that ilke throwe,<br>Whan Tharbis hadde it on hire hond,<br>No knowlechinge of him sche fond,<br>Bot al was clene out of memoire,<br>As men mai rede in his histoire; <br>And thus he wente quit away,<br>That nevere after that ilke day<br>Sche thoghte that ther was such on;<br>Al was foryete and overgon.<br>Bot in good feith so mai noght I:<br>For sche is evere faste by,<br>So nyh that sche myn herte toucheth,<br>That for nothing that Slowthe voucheth<br>I mai foryete hire, lief ne loth;<br>For overal, where as sche goth, <br>Min herte folwith hire aboute.<br>Thus mai I seie withoute doute,<br>For bet, for wers, for oght, for noght,<br>Sche passeth nevere fro my thoght;<br>Bot whanne I am ther as sche is,<br>Min herte, as I you saide er this,<br>Som time of hire is sore adrad,<br>And som time it is overglad,<br>Al out of reule and out of space.<br>For whan I se hir goodli face <br>And thenke upon hire hihe pris,<br>As thogh I were in Paradis,<br>I am so ravisht of the syhte,<br>That speke unto hire I ne myhte<br>As for the time, thogh I wolde:<br>For I ne mai my wit unfolde<br>To finde o word of that I mene,<br>Bot al it is foryete clene;<br>And thogh I stonde there a myle,<br>Al is foryete for the while, <br>A tunge I have and wordes none.<br>And thus I stonde and thenke al one<br>Of thing that helpeth ofte noght;<br>Bot what I hadde afore thoght<br>To speke, whanne I come there,<br>It is foryete, as noght ne were,<br>And stonde amased and assoted,<br>That of nothing which I have noted<br>I can noght thanne a note singe,<br>Bot al is out of knowlechinge: <br>Thus, what for joie and what for drede,<br>Al is foryeten ate nede.<br>So that, mi fader, of this Slowthe<br>I have you said the pleine trowthe;<br>Ye mai it as you list redresce:<br>For thus stant my foryetelnesse<br>And ek my pusillamite.<br>Sey now forth what you list to me,<br>For I wol only do be you.<br>Mi Sone, I have wel herd how thou <br>Hast seid, and that thou most amende:<br>For love his grace wol noght sende<br>To that man which dar axe non.<br>For this we knowen everichon,<br>A mannes thoght withoute speche<br>God wot, and yit that men beseche<br>His will is; for withoute bedes<br>He doth his grace in fewe stedes:<br>And what man that foryet himselve,<br>Among a thousand be noght tuelve, <br>That wol him take in remembraunce,<br>Bot lete him falle and take his chaunce.<br>Forthi pull up a besi herte,<br>Mi Sone, and let nothing asterte<br>Of love fro thi besinesse:<br>For touchinge of foryetelnesse,<br>Which many a love hath set behinde,<br>A tale of gret ensample I finde,<br>Wherof it is pite to wite<br>In the manere as it is write. <br>King Demephon, whan he be Schipe<br>To Troieward with felaschipe<br>Sailende goth, upon his weie<br>It hapneth him at Rodopeie,<br>As Eolus him hadde blowe,<br>To londe, and rested for a throwe.<br>And fell that ilke time thus,<br>The dowhter of Ligurgius,<br>Which qweene was of the contre,<br>Was sojournende in that Cite <br>Withinne a Castell nyh the stronde,<br>Wher Demephon cam up to londe.<br>Phillis sche hihte, and of yong age<br>And of stature and of visage<br>Sche hadde al that hire best besemeth.<br>Of Demephon riht wel hire qwemeth,<br>Whan he was come, and made him chiere;<br>And he, that was of his manere<br>A lusti knyht, ne myhte asterte<br>That he ne sette on hire his herte; <br>So that withinne a day or tuo<br>He thoghte, how evere that it go,<br>He wolde assaie the fortune,<br>And gan his herte to commune<br>With goodly wordes in hire Ere;<br>And forto put hire out of fere,<br>He swor and hath his trowthe pliht<br>To be for evere hire oghne knyht.<br>And thus with hire he stille abod,<br>Ther while his Schip on Anker rod, <br>And hadde ynowh of time and space<br>To speke of love and seche grace.<br>This ladi herde al that he seide,<br>And hou he swor and hou he preide,<br>Which was as an enchantement<br>To hire, that was innocent:<br>As thogh it were trowthe and feith,<br>Sche lieveth al that evere he seith,<br>And as hire infortune scholde,<br>Sche granteth him al that he wolde. <br>Thus was he for the time in joie,<br>Til that he scholde go to Troie;<br>Bot tho sche made mochel sorwe,<br>And he his trowthe leith to borwe<br>To come, if that he live may,<br>Ayein withinne a Monthe day,<br>And therupon thei kisten bothe:<br>Bot were hem lieve or were hem lothe,<br>To Schipe he goth and forth he wente<br>To Troie, as was his ferste entente. <br>The daies gon, the Monthe passeth,<br>Hire love encresceth and his lasseth,<br>For him sche lefte slep and mete,<br>And he his time hath al foryete;<br>So that this wofull yonge qweene,<br>Which wot noght what it mihte meene,<br>A lettre sende and preide him come,<br>And seith how sche is overcome<br>With strengthe of love in such a wise,<br>That sche noght longe mai suffise <br>To liven out of his presence;<br>And putte upon his conscience<br>The trowthe which he hath behote,<br>Wherof sche loveth him so hote,<br>Sche seith, that if he lengere lette<br>Of such a day as sche him sette,<br>Sche scholde sterven in his Slowthe,<br>Which were a schame unto his trowthe.<br>This lettre is forth upon hire sonde,<br>Wherof somdiel confort on honde <br>Sche tok, as she that wolde abide<br>And waite upon that ilke tyde<br>Which sche hath in hire lettre write.<br>Bot now is pite forto wite,<br>As he dede erst, so he foryat<br>His time eftsone and oversat.<br>Bot sche, which mihte noght do so,<br>The tyde awayteth everemo,<br>And caste hire yhe upon the See:<br>Somtime nay, somtime yee, <br>Somtime he cam, somtime noght,<br>Thus sche desputeth in hire thoght<br>And wot noght what sche thenke mai;<br>Bot fastende al the longe day<br>Sche was into the derke nyht,<br>And tho sche hath do set up lyht<br>In a lanterne on hih alofte<br>Upon a Tour, wher sche goth ofte,<br>In hope that in his cominge<br>He scholde se the liht brenninge, <br>Wherof he mihte his weies rihte<br>To come wher sche was be nyhte.<br>Bot al for noght, sche was deceived,<br>For Venus hath hire hope weyved,<br>And schewede hire upon the Sky<br>How that the day was faste by,<br>So that withinne a litel throwe<br>The daies lyht sche mihte knowe.<br>Tho sche behield the See at large;<br>And whan sche sih ther was no barge <br>Ne Schip, als ferr as sche may kenne,<br>Doun fro the Tour sche gan to renne<br>Into an Herber all hire one,<br>Wher many a wonder woful mone<br>Sche made, that no lif it wiste,<br>As sche which all hire joie miste,<br>That now sche swouneth, now sche pleigneth,<br>And al hire face sche desteigneth<br>With teres, whiche, as of a welle<br>The stremes, from hire yhen felle; <br>So as sche mihte and evere in on<br>Sche clepede upon Demephon,<br>And seide, 'Helas, thou slowe wiht,<br>Wher was ther evere such a knyht,<br>That so thurgh his ungentilesce<br>Of Slowthe and of foryetelnesse<br>Ayein his trowthe brak his stevene?'<br>And tho hire yhe up to the hevene<br>Sche caste, and seide, 'O thou unkinde,<br>Hier schalt thou thurgh thi Slowthe finde, <br>If that thee list to come and se,<br>A ladi ded for love of thee,<br>So as I schal myselve spille;<br>Whom, if it hadde be thi wille,<br>Thou mihtest save wel ynowh.'<br>With that upon a grene bowh<br>A Ceinte of Selk, which sche ther hadde,<br>Sche knette, and so hireself sche ladde,<br>That sche aboute hire whyte swere<br>It dede, and hyng hirselven there. <br>Wherof the goddes were amoeved,<br>And Demephon was so reproeved,<br>That of the goddes providence<br>Was schape such an evidence<br>Evere afterward ayein the slowe,<br>That Phillis in the same throwe<br>Was schape into a Notetre,<br>That alle men it mihte se,<br>And after Phillis Philliberd<br>This tre was cleped in the yerd, <br>And yit for Demephon to schame<br>Into this dai it berth the name.<br>This wofull chance how that it ferde<br>Anon as Demephon it herde,<br>And every man it hadde in speche,<br>His sorwe was noght tho to seche;<br>He gan his Slowthe forto banne,<br>Bot it was al to late thanne.<br>Lo thus, my Sone, miht thou wite<br>Ayein this vice how it is write; <br>For noman mai the harmes gesse,<br>That fallen thurgh foryetelnesse,<br>Wherof that I thi schrifte have herd.<br>Bot yit of Slowthe hou it hath ferd<br>In other wise I thenke oppose,<br>If thou have gult, as I suppose.<br>Fulfild of Slowthes essamplaire<br>Ther is yit on, his Secretaire,<br>And he is cleped Negligence:<br>Which wol noght loke his evidence, <br>Wherof he mai be war tofore;<br>Bot whanne he hath his cause lore,<br>Thanne is he wys after the hond:<br>Whanne helpe may no maner bond,<br>Thanne ate ferste wolde he binde:<br>Thus everemore he stant behinde.<br>Whanne he the thing mai noght amende,<br>Thanne is he war, and seith at ende,<br>'Ha, wolde god I hadde knowe]'<br>Wherof bejaped with a mowe <br>He goth, for whan the grete Stiede<br>Is stole, thanne he taketh hiede,<br>And makth the stable dore fast:<br>Thus evere he pleith an aftercast<br>Of al that he schal seie or do.<br>He hath a manere eke also,<br>Him list noght lerne to be wys,<br>For he set of no vertu pris<br>Bot as him liketh for the while;<br>So fieleth he fulofte guile, <br>Whan that he weneth siker stonde.<br>And thus thou miht wel understonde,<br>Mi Sone, if thou art such in love,<br>Thou miht noght come at thin above<br>Of that thou woldest wel achieve.<br>Mi holi fader, as I lieve,<br>I mai wel with sauf conscience<br>Excuse me of necgligence<br>Towardes love in alle wise:<br>For thogh I be non of the wise, <br>I am so trewly amerous,<br>That I am evere curious<br>Of hem that conne best enforme<br>To knowe and witen al the forme,<br>What falleth unto loves craft.<br>Bot yit ne fond I noght the haft,<br>Which mihte unto that bladd acorde;<br>For nevere herde I man recorde<br>What thing it is that myhte availe<br>To winne love withoute faile. <br>Yit so fer cowthe I nevere finde<br>Man that be resoun ne be kinde<br>Me cowthe teche such an art,<br>That he ne failede of a part;<br>And as toward myn oghne wit,<br>Controeve cowthe I nevere yit<br>To finden eny sikernesse,<br>That me myhte outher more or lesse<br>Of love make forto spede:<br>For lieveth wel withoute drede, <br>If that ther were such a weie,<br>As certeinliche as I schal deie<br>I hadde it lerned longe ago.<br>Bot I wot wel ther is non so:<br>And natheles it may wel be,<br>I am so rude in my degree<br>And ek mi wittes ben so dulle,<br>That I ne mai noght to the fulle<br>Atteigne to so hih a lore.<br>Bot this I dar seie overmore, <br>Althogh mi wit ne be noght strong,<br>It is noght on mi will along,<br>For that is besi nyht and day<br>To lerne al that he lerne may,<br>How that I mihte love winne:<br>Bot yit I am as to beginne<br>Of that I wolde make an ende,<br>And for I not how it schal wende,<br>That is to me mi moste sorwe.<br>Bot I dar take god to borwe, <br>As after min entendement,<br>Non other wise necgligent<br>Thanne I yow seie have I noght be:<br>Forthi per seinte charite<br>Tell me, mi fader, what you semeth.<br>In good feith, Sone, wel me qwemeth,<br>That thou thiself hast thus aquit<br>Toward this vice, in which no wit<br>Abide mai, for in an houre<br>He lest al that he mai laboure <br>The longe yer, so that men sein,<br>What evere he doth it is in vein.<br>For thurgh the Slowthe of Negligence<br>Ther was yit nevere such science<br>Ne vertu, which was bodely,<br>That nys destruid and lost therby.<br>Ensample that it hath be so<br>In boke I finde write also.<br>Phebus, which is the Sonne hote,<br>That schyneth upon Erthe hote <br>And causeth every lyves helthe,<br>He hadde a Sone in al his welthe,<br>Which Pheton hihte, and he desireth<br>And with his Moder he conspireth,<br>The which was cleped Clemenee,<br>For help and conseil, so that he<br>His fader carte lede myhte<br>Upon the faire daies brihte.<br>And for this thing thei bothe preide<br>Unto the fader, and he seide <br>He wolde wel, bot forth withal<br>Thre pointz he bad in special<br>Unto his Sone in alle wise,<br>That he him scholde wel avise<br>And take it as be weie of lore.<br>Ferst was, that he his hors to sore<br>Ne prike, and over that he tolde<br>That he the renes faste holde;<br>And also that he be riht war<br>In what manere he lede his charr, <br>That he mistake noght his gate,<br>Bot up avisement algate<br>He scholde bere a siker yhe,<br>That he to lowe ne to hyhe<br>His carte dryve at eny throwe,<br>Wherof that he mihte overthrowe.<br>And thus be Phebus ordinance<br>Tok Pheton into governance<br>The Sonnes carte, which he ladde:<br>Bot he such veine gloire hadde <br>Of that he was set upon hyh,<br>That he his oghne astat ne syh<br>Thurgh negligence and tok non hiede;<br>So mihte he wel noght longe spede.<br>For he the hors withoute lawe<br>The carte let aboute drawe<br>Wher as hem liketh wantounly,<br>That ate laste sodeinly,<br>For he no reson wolde knowe,<br>This fyri carte he drof to lowe, <br>And fyreth al the world aboute;<br>Wherof thei weren alle in doubte,<br>And to the god for helpe criden<br>Of suche unhappes as betyden.<br>Phebus, which syh the necgligence,<br>How Pheton ayein his defence<br>His charr hath drive out of the weie,<br>Ordeigneth that he fell aweie<br>Out of the carte into a flod<br>And dreynte. Lo now, hou it stod <br>With him that was so necgligent,<br>That fro the hyhe firmament,<br>For that he wolde go to lowe,<br>He was anon doun overthrowe.<br>In hih astat it is a vice<br>To go to lowe, and in service<br>It grieveth forto go to hye,<br>Wherof a tale in poesie<br>I finde, how whilom Dedalus,<br>Which hadde a Sone, and Icharus <br>He hihte, and thogh hem thoghte lothe,<br>In such prison thei weren bothe<br>With Minotaurus, that aboute<br>Thei mihten nawher wenden oute;<br>So thei begonne forto schape<br>How thei the prison mihte ascape.<br>This Dedalus, which fro his yowthe<br>Was tawht and manye craftes cowthe,<br>Of fetheres and of othre thinges<br>Hath mad to fle diverse wynges <br>For him and for his Sone also;<br>To whom he yaf in charge tho<br>And bad him thenke therupon,<br>How that his wynges ben set on<br>With wex, and if he toke his flyhte<br>To hyhe, al sodeinliche he mihte<br>Make it to melte with the Sonne.<br>And thus thei have her flyht begonne<br>Out of the prison faire and softe;<br>And whan thei weren bothe alofte, <br>This Icharus began to monte,<br>And of the conseil non accompte<br>He sette, which his fader tawhte,<br>Til that the Sonne his wynges cawhte,<br>Wherof it malt, and fro the heihte<br>Withouten help of eny sleihte<br>He fell to his destruccion.<br>And lich to that condicion<br>Ther fallen ofte times fele<br>For lacke of governance in wele, <br>Als wel in love as other weie.<br>Now goode fader, I you preie,<br>If ther be more in the matiere<br>Of Slowthe, that I mihte it hiere.<br>Mi Sone, and for thi diligence,<br>Which every mannes conscience<br>Be resoun scholde reule and kepe,<br>If that thee list to taken kepe,<br>I wol thee telle, aboven alle<br>In whom no vertu mai befalle, <br>Which yifth unto the vices reste<br>And is of slowe the sloweste.<br>Among these othre of Slowthes kinde,<br>Which alle labour set behinde,<br>And hateth alle besinesse,<br>Ther is yit on, which Ydelnesse<br>Is cleped, and is the Norrice<br>In mannes kinde of every vice,<br>Which secheth eases manyfold.<br>In Wynter doth he noght for cold, <br>In Somer mai he noght for hete;<br>So whether that he frese or swete,<br>Or he be inne, or he be oute,<br>He wol ben ydel al aboute,<br>Bot if he pleie oght ate Dees.<br>For who as evere take fees<br>And thenkth worschipe to deserve,<br>Ther is no lord whom he wol serve,<br>As forto duelle in his servise,<br>Bot if it were in such a wise, <br>Of that he seth per aventure<br>That be lordschipe and coverture<br>He mai the more stonde stille,<br>And use his ydelnesse at wille.<br>For he ne wol no travail take<br>To ryde for his ladi sake,<br>Bot liveth al upon his wisshes;<br>And as a cat wolde ete fisshes<br>Withoute wetinge of his cles,<br>So wolde he do, bot natheles <br>He faileth ofte of that he wolde.<br>Mi Sone, if thou of such a molde<br>Art mad, now tell me plein thi schrifte.<br>Nay, fader, god I yive a yifte.<br>That toward love, as be mi wit,<br>Al ydel was I nevere yit,<br>Ne nevere schal, whil I mai go.<br>Now, Sone, tell me thanne so,<br>What hast thou don of besischipe<br>To love and to the ladischipe <br>Of hire which thi ladi is?<br>Mi fader, evere yit er this<br>In every place, in every stede,<br>What so mi lady hath me bede,<br>With al myn herte obedient<br>I have therto be diligent.<br>And if so is sche bidde noght,<br>What thing that thanne into my thoght<br>Comth ferst of that I mai suffise,<br>I bowe and profre my servise, <br>Somtime in chambre, somtime in halle,<br>Riht as I se the times falle.<br>And whan sche goth to hiere masse,<br>That time schal noght overpasse,<br>That I naproche hir ladihede,<br>In aunter if I mai hire lede<br>Unto the chapelle and ayein.<br>Thanne is noght al mi weie in vein,<br>Somdiel I mai the betre fare,<br>Whan I, that mai noght fiele hir bare, <br>Mai lede hire clothed in myn arm:<br>Bot afterward it doth me harm<br>Of pure ymaginacioun;<br>For thanne this collacioun<br>I make unto miselven ofte,<br>And seie, 'Ha lord, hou sche is softe,<br>How sche is round, hou sche is smal]<br>Now wolde god I hadde hire al<br>Withoute danger at mi wille]'<br>And thanne I sike and sitte stille, <br>Of that I se mi besi thoght<br>Is torned ydel into noght.<br>Bot for al that lete I ne mai,<br>Whanne I se time an other dai,<br>That I ne do my besinesse<br>Unto mi ladi worthinesse.<br>For I therto mi wit afaite<br>To se the times and awaite<br>What is to done and what to leve:<br>And so, whan time is, be hir leve, <br>What thing sche bit me don, I do,<br>And wher sche bidt me gon, I go,<br>And whanne hir list to clepe, I come.<br>Thus hath sche fulliche overcome<br>Min ydelnesse til I sterve,<br>So that I mot hire nedes serve,<br>For as men sein, nede hath no lawe.<br>Thus mot I nedly to hire drawe,<br>I serve, I bowe, I loke, I loute,<br>Min yhe folweth hire aboute, <br>What so sche wole so wol I,<br>Whan sche wol sitte, I knele by,<br>And whan sche stant, than wol I stonde:<br>Bot whan sche takth hir werk on honde<br>Of wevinge or enbrouderie,<br>Than can I noght bot muse and prie<br>Upon hir fingres longe and smale,<br>And now I thenke, and now I tale,<br>And now I singe, and now I sike,<br>And thus mi contienance I pike. <br>And if it falle, as for a time<br>Hir liketh noght abide bime,<br>Bot besien hire on other thinges,<br>Than make I othre tariinges<br>To dreche forth the longe dai,<br>For me is loth departe away.<br>And thanne I am so simple of port,<br>That forto feigne som desport<br>I pleie with hire litel hound<br>Now on the bedd, now on the ground, <br>Now with hir briddes in the cage;<br>For ther is non so litel page,<br>Ne yit so simple a chamberere,<br>That I ne make hem alle chere,<br>Al for thei scholde speke wel:<br>Thus mow ye sen mi besi whiel,<br>That goth noght ydeliche aboute.<br>And if hir list to riden oute<br>On pelrinage or other stede,<br>I come, thogh I be noght bede, <br>And take hire in min arm alofte<br>And sette hire in hire sadel softe,<br>And so forth lede hire be the bridel,<br>For that I wolde noght ben ydel.<br>And if hire list to ride in Char,<br>And thanne I mai therof be war,<br>Anon I schape me to ryde<br>Riht evene be the Chares side;<br>And as I mai, I speke among,<br>And otherwhile I singe a song, <br>Which Ovide in his bokes made,<br>And seide, 'O whiche sorwes glade,<br>O which wofull prosperite<br>Belongeth to the proprete<br>Of love, who so wole him serve]<br>And yit therfro mai noman swerve,<br>That he ne mot his lawe obeie.'<br>And thus I ryde forth mi weie,<br>And am riht besi overal<br>With herte and with mi body al, <br>As I have said you hier tofore.<br>My goode fader, tell therfore,<br>Of Ydelnesse if I have gilt.<br>Mi Sone, bot thou telle wilt<br>Oght elles than I mai now hiere,<br>Thou schalt have no penance hiere.<br>And natheles a man mai se,<br>How now adayes that ther be<br>Ful manye of suche hertes slowe,<br>That wol noght besien hem to knowe <br>What thing love is, til ate laste,<br>That he with strengthe hem overcaste,<br>That malgre hem thei mote obeie<br>And don al ydelschipe aweie,<br>To serve wel and besiliche.<br>Bot, Sone, thou art non of swiche,<br>For love schal the wel excuse:<br>Bot otherwise, if thou refuse<br>To love, thou miht so per cas<br>Ben ydel, as somtime was <br>A kinges dowhter unavised,<br>Til that Cupide hire hath chastised:<br>Wherof thou schalt a tale hiere<br>Acordant unto this matiere.<br>Of Armenye, I rede thus,<br>Ther was a king, which Herupus<br>Was hote, and he a lusti Maide<br>To dowhter hadde, and as men saide<br>Hire name was Rosiphelee;<br>Which tho was of gret renomee, <br>For sche was bothe wys and fair<br>And scholde ben hire fader hair.<br>Bot sche hadde o defalte of Slowthe<br>Towardes love, and that was rowthe;<br>For so wel cowde noman seie,<br>Which mihte sette hire in the weie<br>Of loves occupacion<br>Thurgh non ymaginacion;<br>That scole wolde sche noght knowe.<br>And thus sche was on of the slowe <br>As of such hertes besinesse,<br>Til whanne Venus the goddesse,<br>Which loves court hath forto reule,<br>Hath broght hire into betre reule,<br>Forth with Cupide and with his miht:<br>For thei merveille how such a wiht,<br>Which tho was in hir lusti age,<br>Desireth nother Mariage<br>Ne yit the love of paramours,<br>Which evere hath be the comun cours <br>Amonges hem that lusti were.<br>So was it schewed after there:<br>For he that hihe hertes loweth<br>With fyri Dartes whiche he throweth,<br>Cupide, which of love is godd,<br>In chastisinge hath mad a rodd<br>To dryve awei hir wantounesse;<br>So that withinne a while, I gesse,<br>Sche hadde on such a chance sporned,<br>That al hire mod was overtorned, <br>Which ferst sche hadde of slow manere:<br>For thus it fell, as thou schalt hiere.<br>Whan come was the Monthe of Maii,<br>Sche wolde walke upon a dai,<br>And that was er the Sonne Ariste;<br>Of wommen bot a fewe it wiste,<br>And forth sche wente prively<br>Unto the Park was faste by,<br>Al softe walkende on the gras,<br>Til sche cam ther the Launde was, <br>Thurgh which ther ran a gret rivere.<br>It thoghte hir fair, and seide, 'Here<br>I wole abide under the schawe':<br>And bad hire wommen to withdrawe,<br>And ther sche stod al one stille,<br>To thenke what was in hir wille.<br>Sche sih the swote floures springe,<br>Sche herde glade foules singe,<br>Sche sih the bestes in her kinde,<br>The buck, the do, the hert, the hinde, <br>The madle go with the femele;<br>And so began ther a querele<br>Betwen love and hir oghne herte,<br>Fro which sche couthe noght asterte.<br>And as sche caste hire yhe aboute,<br>Sche syh clad in o suite a route<br>Of ladis, wher thei comen ryde<br>Along under the wodes syde:<br>On faire amblende hors thei sete,<br>That were al whyte, fatte and grete, <br>And everichon thei ride on side.<br>The Sadles were of such a Pride,<br>With Perle and gold so wel begon,<br>So riche syh sche nevere non;<br>In kertles and in Copes riche<br>Thei weren clothed, alle liche,<br>Departed evene of whyt and blew;<br>With alle lustes that sche knew<br>Thei were enbrouded overal.<br>Here bodies weren long and smal, <br>The beaute faye upon her face<br>Non erthly thing it may desface;<br>Corones on here hed thei beere,<br>As ech of hem a qweene weere,<br>That al the gold of Cresus halle<br>The leste coronal of alle<br>Ne mihte have boght after the worth:<br>Thus come thei ridende forth.<br>The kinges dowhter, which this syh,<br>For pure abaissht drowh hire adryh <br>And hield hire clos under the bowh,<br>And let hem passen stille ynowh;<br>For as hire thoghte in hire avis,<br>To hem that were of such a pris<br>Sche was noght worthi axen there,<br>Fro when they come or what thei were:<br>Bot levere than this worldes good<br>Sche wolde have wist hou that it stod,<br>And putte hire hed alitel oute;<br>And as sche lokede hire aboute, <br>Sche syh comende under the linde<br>A womman up an hors behinde.<br>The hors on which sche rod was blak,<br>Al lene and galled on the back,<br>And haltede, as he were encluyed,<br>Wherof the womman was annuied;<br>Thus was the hors in sori plit,<br>Bot for al that a sterre whit<br>Amiddes in the front he hadde.<br>Hir Sadel ek was wonder badde, <br>In which the wofull womman sat,<br>And natheles ther was with that<br>A riche bridel for the nones<br>Of gold and preciouse Stones.<br>Hire cote was somdiel totore;<br>Aboute hir middel twenty score<br>Of horse haltres and wel mo<br>Ther hyngen ate time tho.<br>Thus whan sche cam the ladi nyh,<br>Than tok sche betre hiede and syh <br>This womman fair was of visage,<br>Freyssh, lusti, yong and of tendre age;<br>And so this ladi, ther sche stod,<br>Bethoghte hire wel and understod<br>That this, which com ridende tho,<br>Tidinges couthe telle of tho,<br>Which as sche sih tofore ryde,<br>And putte hir forth and preide abide,<br>And seide, 'Ha, Suster, let me hiere,<br>What ben thei, that now riden hiere, <br>And ben so richeliche arraied?'<br>This womman, which com so esmaied,<br>Ansuerde with ful softe speche,<br>And seith, 'Ma Dame, I schal you teche.<br>These ar of tho that whilom were<br>Servantz to love, and trowthe beere,<br>Ther as thei hadde here herte set.<br>Fare wel, for I mai noght be let:<br>Ma Dame, I go to mi servise,<br>So moste I haste in alle wise; <br>Forthi, ma Dame, yif me leve,<br>I mai noght longe with you leve.'<br>'Ha, goode Soster, yit I preie,<br>Tell me whi ye ben so beseie<br>And with these haltres thus begon.'<br>'Ma Dame, whilom I was on<br>That to mi fader hadde a king;<br>Bot I was slow, and for no thing<br>Me liste noght to love obeie,<br>And that I now ful sore abeie. <br>For I whilom no love hadde,<br>Min hors is now so fieble and badde,<br>And al totore is myn arai,<br>And every yeer this freisshe Maii<br>These lusti ladis ryde aboute,<br>And I mot nedes suie here route<br>In this manere as ye now se,<br>And trusse here haltres forth with me,<br>And am bot as here horse knave.<br>Non other office I ne have, <br>Hem thenkth I am worthi nomore,<br>For I was slow in loves lore,<br>Whan I was able forto lere,<br>And wolde noght the tales hiere<br>Of hem that couthen love teche.'<br>'Now tell me thanne, I you beseche,<br>Wherof that riche bridel serveth.'<br>With that hire chere awei sche swerveth,<br>And gan to wepe, and thus sche tolde:<br>'This bridel, which ye nou beholde <br>So riche upon myn horse hed,-<br>Ma Dame, afore, er I was ded,<br>Whan I was in mi lusti lif,<br>Ther fel into myn herte a strif<br>Of love, which me overcom,<br>So that therafter hiede I nom<br>And thoghte I wolde love a kniht:<br>That laste wel a fourtenyht,<br>For it no lengere mihte laste,<br>So nyh my lif was ate laste. <br>Bot now, allas, to late war<br>That I ne hadde him loved ar:<br>For deth cam so in haste bime,<br>Er I therto hadde eny time,<br>That it ne mihte ben achieved.<br>Bot for al that I am relieved,<br>Of that mi will was good therto,<br>That love soffreth it be so<br>That I schal swiche a bridel were.<br>Now have ye herd al myn ansuere: <br>To godd, ma Dame, I you betake,<br>And warneth alle for mi sake,<br>Of love that thei ben noght ydel,<br>And bidd hem thenke upon mi brydel.'<br>And with that word al sodeinly<br>Sche passeth, as it were a Sky,<br>Al clene out of this ladi sihte:<br>And tho for fere hire herte afflihte,<br>And seide to hirself, 'Helas]<br>I am riht in the same cas. <br>Bot if I live after this day,<br>I schal amende it, if I may.'<br>And thus homward this lady wente,<br>And changede al hire ferste entente,<br>Withinne hire herte and gan to swere<br>That sche none haltres wolde bere.<br>Lo, Sone, hier miht thou taken hiede,<br>How ydelnesse is forto drede,<br>Namliche of love, as I have write.<br>For thou miht understonde and wite, <br>Among the gentil nacion<br>Love is an occupacion,<br>Which forto kepe hise lustes save<br>Scholde every gentil herte have:<br>For as the ladi was chastised,<br>Riht so the knyht mai ben avised,<br>Which ydel is and wol noght serve<br>To love, he mai per cas deserve<br>A grettere peine than sche hadde,<br>Whan sche aboute with hire ladde <br>The horse haltres; and forthi<br>Good is to be wel war therbi.<br>Bot forto loke aboven alle,<br>These Maidens, hou so that it falle,<br>Thei scholden take ensample of this<br>Which I have told, for soth it is.<br>Mi ladi Venus, whom I serve,<br>What womman wole hire thonk deserve,<br>Sche mai noght thilke love eschuie<br>Of paramours, bot sche mot suie <br>Cupides lawe; and natheles<br>Men sen such love sielde in pes,<br>That it nys evere upon aspie<br>Of janglinge and of fals Envie,<br>Fulofte medlid with disese:<br>Bot thilke love is wel at ese,<br>Which set is upon mariage;<br>For that dar schewen the visage<br>In alle places openly.<br>A gret mervaile it is forthi, <br>How that a Maiden wolde lette,<br>That sche hir time ne besette<br>To haste unto that ilke feste,<br>Wherof the love is al honeste.<br>Men mai recovere lost of good,<br>Bot so wys man yit nevere stod,<br>Which mai recovere time lore:<br>So mai a Maiden wel therfore<br>Ensample take, of that sche strangeth<br>Hir love, and longe er that sche changeth <br>Hir herte upon hir lustes greene<br>To mariage, as it is seene.<br>For thus a yer or tuo or thre<br>Sche lest, er that sche wedded be,<br>Whyl sche the charge myhte bere<br>Of children, whiche the world forbere<br>Ne mai, bot if it scholde faile.<br>Bot what Maiden hire esposaile<br>Wol tarie, whan sche take mai,<br>Sche schal per chance an other dai <br>Be let, whan that hire lievest were.<br>Wherof a tale unto hire Ere,<br>Which is coupable upon this dede,<br>I thenke telle of that I rede.<br>Among the Jewes, as men tolde,<br>Ther was whilom be daies olde<br>A noble Duck, which Jepte hihte.<br>And fell, he scholde go to fyhte<br>Ayein Amon the cruel king:<br>And forto speke upon this thing, <br>Withinne his herte he made avou<br>To god and seide, 'Ha lord, if thou<br>Wolt grante unto thi man victoire,<br>I schal in tokne of thi memoire<br>The ferste lif that I mai se,<br>Of man or womman wher it be,<br>Anon as I come hom ayein,<br>To thee, which art god sovereign,<br>Slen in thi name and sacrifie.'<br>And thus with his chivalerie <br>He goth him forth, wher that he scholde,<br>And wan al that he winne wolde<br>And overcam his fomen alle.<br>Mai noman lette that schal falle.<br>This Duc a lusti dowhter hadde,<br>And fame, which the wordes spradde,<br>Hath broght unto this ladi Ere<br>How that hire fader hath do there.<br>Sche waiteth upon his cominge<br>With dansinge and with carolinge, <br>As sche that wolde be tofore<br>Al othre, and so sche was therfore<br>In Masphat at hir fader gate<br>The ferste; and whan he com therate,<br>And sih his douhter, he tobreide<br>Hise clothes and wepende he seide:<br>'O mihti god among ous hiere,<br>Nou wot I that in no manere<br>This worldes joie mai be plein.<br>I hadde al that I coude sein <br>Ayein mi fomen be thi grace,<br>So whan I cam toward this place<br>Ther was non gladdere man than I:<br>But now, mi lord, al sodeinli<br>Mi joie is torned into sorwe,<br>For I mi dowhter schal tomorwe<br>Tohewe and brenne in thi servise<br>To loenge of thi sacrifise<br>Thurgh min avou, so as it is.'<br>The Maiden, whan sche wiste of this, <br>And sih the sorwe hir fader made,<br>So as sche mai with wordes glade<br>Conforteth him, and bad him holde<br>The covenant which he is holde<br>Towardes god, as he behihte.<br>Bot natheles hire herte aflihte<br>Of that sche sih hire deth comende;<br>And thanne unto the ground knelende<br>Tofore hir fader sche is falle,<br>And seith, so as it is befalle <br>Upon this point that sche schal deie,<br>Of o thing ferst sche wolde him preie,<br>That fourty daies of respit<br>He wolde hir grante upon this plit,<br>That sche the whyle mai bewepe<br>Hir maidenhod, which sche to kepe<br>So longe hath had and noght beset;<br>Wherof her lusti youthe is let,<br>That sche no children hath forthdrawe<br>In Mariage after the lawe, <br>So that the poeple is noght encressed.<br>Bot that it mihte be relessed,<br>That sche hir time hath lore so,<br>Sche wolde be his leve go<br>With othre Maidens to compleigne,<br>And afterward unto the peine<br>Of deth sche wolde come ayein.<br>The fader herde his douhter sein,<br>And therupon of on assent<br>The Maidens were anon asent, <br>That scholden with this Maiden wende.<br>So forto speke unto this ende,<br>Thei gon the dounes and the dales<br>With wepinge and with wofull tales,<br>And every wyht hire maidenhiede<br>Compleigneth upon thilke nede,<br>That sche no children hadde bore,<br>Wherof sche hath hir youthe lore,<br>Which nevere sche recovere mai:<br>For so fell that hir laste dai <br>Was come, in which sche scholde take<br>Hir deth, which sche may noght forsake.<br>Lo, thus sche deiede a wofull Maide<br>For thilke cause which I saide,<br>As thou hast understonde above.<br>Mi fader, as toward the Love<br>Of Maidens forto telle trowthe,<br>Ye have thilke vice of Slowthe,<br>Me thenkth, riht wonder wel declared,<br>That ye the wommen have noght spared <br>Of hem that tarien so behinde.<br>Bot yit it falleth in my minde,<br>Toward the men hou that ye spieke<br>Of hem that wole no travail sieke<br>In cause of love upon decerte:<br>To speke in wordes so coverte,<br>I not what travaill that ye mente.<br>Mi Sone, and after min entente<br>I woll thee telle what I thoghte,<br>Hou whilom men here loves boghte <br>Thurgh gret travaill in strange londes,<br>Wher that thei wroghten with here hondes<br>Of armes many a worthi dede,<br>In sondri place as men mai rede.<br>That every love of pure kinde<br>Is ferst forthdrawe, wel I finde:<br>Bot natheles yit overthis<br>Decerte doth so that it is<br>The rather had in mani place.<br>Forthi who secheth loves grace, <br>Wher that these worthi wommen are,<br>He mai noght thanne himselve spare<br>Upon his travail forto serve,<br>Wherof that he mai thonk deserve,<br>There as these men of Armes be,<br>Somtime over the grete Se:<br>So that be londe and ek be Schipe<br>He mot travaile for worschipe<br>And make manye hastyf rodes,<br>Somtime in Prus, somtime in Rodes, <br>And somtime into Tartarie;<br>So that these heraldz on him crie,<br>'Vailant, vailant, lo, wher he goth]'<br>And thanne he yifth hem gold and cloth,<br>So that his fame mihte springe,<br>And to his ladi Ere bringe<br>Som tidinge of his worthinesse;<br>So that sche mihte of his prouesce<br>Of that sche herde men recorde,<br>The betre unto his love acorde <br>And danger pute out of hire mod,<br>Whanne alle men recorden good,<br>And that sche wot wel, for hir sake<br>That he no travail wol forsake.<br>Mi Sone, of this travail I meene:<br>Nou schrif thee, for it schal be sene<br>If thou art ydel in this cas.<br>My fader ye, and evere was:<br>For as me thenketh trewely<br>That every man doth mor than I <br>As of this point, and if so is<br>That I have oght so don er this,<br>It is so litel of acompte,<br>As who seith, it mai noght amonte<br>To winne of love his lusti yifte.<br>For this I telle you in schrifte,<br>That me were levere hir love winne<br>Than Kaire and al that is ther inne:<br>And forto slen the hethen alle,<br>I not what good ther mihte falle, <br>So mochel blod thogh ther be schad.<br>This finde I writen, hou Crist bad<br>That noman other scholde sle.<br>What scholde I winne over the Se,<br>If I mi ladi loste at hom?<br>Bot passe thei the salte fom,<br>To whom Crist bad thei scholden preche<br>To al the world and his feith teche:<br>Bot now thei rucken in here nest<br>And resten as hem liketh best <br>In all the swetnesse of delices.<br>Thus thei defenden ous the vices,<br>And sitte hemselven al amidde;<br>To slen and feihten thei ous bidde<br>Hem whom thei scholde, as the bok seith,<br>Converten unto Cristes feith.<br>Bot hierof have I gret mervaile,<br>Hou thei wol bidde me travaile:<br>A Sarazin if I sle schal,<br>I sle the Soule forth withal, <br>And that was nevere Cristes lore.<br>Bot nou ho ther, I seie nomore.<br>Bot I wol speke upon mi schrifte;<br>And to Cupide I make a yifte,<br>That who as evere pris deserve<br>Of armes, I wol love serve;<br>And thogh I scholde hem bothe kepe,<br>Als wel yit wolde I take kepe<br>Whan it were time to abide,<br>As forto travaile and to ryde: <br>For how as evere a man laboure,<br>Cupide appointed hath his houre.<br>For I have herd it telle also,<br>Achilles lefte hise armes so<br>Bothe of himself and of his men<br>At Troie for Polixenen,<br>Upon hire love whanne he fell,<br>That for no chance that befell<br>Among the Grecs or up or doun,<br>He wolde noght ayein the toun <br>Ben armed, for the love of hire.<br>And so me thenketh, lieve Sire,<br>A man of armes mai him reste<br>Somtime in hope for the beste,<br>If he mai finde a weie nerr.<br>What scholde I thanne go so ferr<br>In strange londes many a mile<br>To ryde, and lese at hom therwhile<br>Mi love? It were a schort beyete<br>To winne chaf and lese whete. <br>Bot if mi ladi bidde wolde,<br>That I for hire love scholde<br>Travaile, me thenkth trewely<br>I mihte fle thurghout the Sky,<br>And go thurghout the depe Se,<br>For al ne sette I at a stre<br>What thonk that I mihte elles gete.<br>What helpeth it a man have mete,<br>Wher drinke lacketh on the bord?<br>What helpeth eny mannes word <br>To seie hou I travaile faste,<br>Wher as me faileth ate laste<br>That thing which I travaile fore?<br>O in good time were he bore,<br>That mihte atteigne such a mede.<br>Bot certes if I mihte spede<br>With eny maner besinesse<br>Of worldes travail, thanne I gesse,<br>Ther scholde me non ydelschipe<br>Departen fro hir ladischipe. <br>Bot this I se, on daies nou<br>The blinde god, I wot noght hou,<br>Cupido, which of love is lord,<br>He set the thinges in discord,<br>That thei that lest to love entende<br>Fulofte he wole hem yive and sende<br>Most of his grace; and thus I finde<br>That he that scholde go behinde,<br>Goth many a time ferr tofore:<br>So wot I noght riht wel therfore, <br>On whether bord that I schal seile.<br>Thus can I noght miself conseile,<br>Bot al I sette on aventure,<br>And am, as who seith, out of cure<br>For ought that I can seie or do:<br>For everemore I finde it so,<br>The more besinesse I leie,<br>The more that I knele and preie<br>With goode wordes and with softe,<br>The more I am refused ofte, <br>With besinesse and mai noght winne.<br>And in good feith that is gret Sinne;<br>For I mai seie, of dede and thoght<br>That ydel man have I be noght;<br>For hou as evere I be d</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=John+Gower">John Gower</a><div class=q> <img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share"> <script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=420405" data-title="Confessio Amantis. Explicit Liber Tercius de John Gower" data-description="Incipit Liber Quartus Dicunt accidiam fore nutricem viciorum, Torpet et in cunctis tarda que lenta bonis: Que fieri possent hodie transfert piger in cras, Furatoque prius ostia claudit equo. Poscenti tardo negat emolumenta Cupido, Set Venus in c..."></div> </div> </div>

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