Mic tractat Confessor super secunda specie ire, que Lis dicitur, ex cuius contumeliis innumerosa dolorum occasio, tam in amoris eausa quam aliter, in quem pluribus sepissime exorta est.
Or wrath the second is chest,
Whiche hath the wyndes of tempest
To kepe, and many a sodeine blast
He bloweth, wherof ben agast
Thei, that desiren pes and reste:
He is that ilke vngoodlyeste,
Whiche many a lustie loue hath twynned,
For he beareth euer his mouth vnpinned :
So that his lippes ben vnloke,
And his courage is all to broke,
That euery thyng, whiche he can tell,
It springeth vp as doth a welle,
Whiche maie no man of his stremes hide,
But renneth out on euery side:
So boylen vp the foule sawes,
That cheste wote of his felawes.
For as a siue kepeth Ale,
Right so can cheste kepe a tale.
All that he wote, he woll disclose,
And speke er any man oppose.
As a citee without walle,
Where men maie gon out oueralle,
Withouten any resistence :
So with his croked eloquence
He speketh all, that he wote with ynne,
Wherof men lese more than wynne.
For often tyme of his chidynge,
He bringeth to hous suche tidynge,
That maketh warre at beddes heade:
He is the leuein of the breade,
Whiche soureth all the past about:
Men ought well such one to doute.
For euer his bowe is redy bent,
And whom he hit, I tell hym shent.
If he maie perce hym with his tonge,
And eke so loude his belle is ronge,
That of the noyse, and of the soune
Men fearen hym in all the towne
Well more than thei done of thonder.
For that is cause of more wonder.
For with the windes, whiche he bloweth,
Full ofte sith he ouerthroweth
The Citees, and the policie.
That I haue herde the people crie
And echone saide in his degree:
Ha wicke tonge wo thou bee.
For men sayn, that the harde bone,
All though hym selfe haue none,
A tonge breaketh it all to pieces,
He hath so many sondry spices
Of vice, that I maie not wele
Descriue hem by a thousand dele.
Qui nihil attemptat, nihil expedit, oreque muto
Munus amicitie vir sibi raro capit.
Est modus in verbis, sed ei qui parcit amori
Verba referre sua non fauet vllus amor.
Hic loquitur Confessor de quadam specie Accidie, quæ pusillanimitas dicta est, cuius imaginatiua formido neque virtutes aggredi, neque vitia fugere audet, sicque vtriusque vite tam actiue quam contemplatiue præmium non attingit.
TOUCHENDE of slouth in his degree
There is yet pusillanimitee,
Whiche is to saie in this langage,
He that hath littell of courage,
And dare no mans werke begynne :
So may he nought by reason wynne.
For who that nought dare vndertake,
By right he shall no profit take.
But of this vice the nature
Dare nothyng sette in auenture,
Hym lacketh bothe worde and dede,
Wherof he shulde his cause spede :
He woll no manhode vnderstonde:
For euer he hath drede vpon honde.
All his perill, that he shall saie,
Hym thynketh the wolfe is in the waie :
And of imaginacion
He maketh his excusacion,
And feigneth cause of pure drede,
And euer he faileth at nede,
Till all be spilte, that he with dealeth,
He hath the sore, whiche no man heleth,
The whiche is cleped Lacke of herte:
Though euery grace aboute hym sterte,
He woll not ones stere his fote,
So that by reason lese he mote,
That woll not aunter for to wynne.
And so forth sonne, if we begynne
To speke of loue and his seruice,
There ben truantes in suche a wise,
That lacken hert, whan best were
Thei speken of loue, and right for fere
Thei waxen dombe, and dare not telle,
Without sowne, as dothe the belle,
Whiche hath no clapper for to chyme :
And right so thei, as for the tyme
Ben herteles without speche,
Of loue and dare nothyng beseche:
And thus thei lese, and wynne nought.
For thy my sonne if thou arte ought
Culpable, as touchende of this slouthe,
Shriue the therof, and tell me trouth.
My fader I am all beknowe,
That I haue ben one of the slowe,
As for to telle in loues cas
Myn herte is yet, and euer was,
Although the worlde shulde all to breke,
So fearfull, that I dare not speke,
Of what purpose that I haue nome,
Whan I towarde my ladie come :
But lette it pas and ouer go.
My sonne do no more so.
For after that a man pursueth
To loue, so fortune seweth
Full ofte, and yeueth hir happie chance
To hym, whiche maketh continuance
To preie loue, and to beseche,
As by ensample I shall the teche.
Hic tractat Confessor de vitiis negligentie, cuius condicio Accidiam amplectens omnes artes scientia tam in amoris causa quam aliter ignominiosa pretermittens, cum nullum poterit eminere reme. dium sui ministerii diligentiam ex post facto in vacuum attemp tare presumit.
FULFILLED of slouthes exemplair,
There is yet one his secretair,
And he is cleped Negligence :
Whiche woll not loke his euidence,
Wherof he maie beware tofore :
But whan he hath his cause lore,
Than is he wise after the honde,
Whan helpe maie no maner bonde,
Than at first wold he bynde.
Thus euermore he stant behynde,
Whan he the thyng maie not amende,
Than is he ware, and saith at ende :
A wolde god I had knowe,
Wherof beiaped with a mowe
He goth, for whan the great stede
Is stole, than he taketh hede,
And maketh the stable dore fast.
Thus euer he pleith an after cast
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