And thanne I scholde in such a wise In rewardinge of my servise Be ded, me thenkth it were a rowthe: And furthermor, to telle trowthe, Sche, that hath evere be wel named, Were worthi thanne to be blamed 1600 And of reson to ben appeled, Whan with o word sche mihte have heled A man, and soffreth him so deie. Ha, who sawh evere such a weie? Ha, who sawh evere such destresse? Withoute pite gentilesse, Withoute mercy wommanhede, That wol so quyte a man his mede, Which evere hath be to love trewe. Mi goode fader, if ye rewe 1610 Upon mi tale, tell me now, And I wol stinte and herkne yow. Mi Sone, attempre thi corage Fro Wraththe, and let thin herte assuage: For who so wole him underfonge, He mai his grace abide longe, Er he of love be received; And ek also, bot it be weyved, Ther mihte mochel thing befalle, That scholde make a man to falle 1620 Fro love, that nevere afterward Ne durste he loke thiderward. In harde weies men gon softe, And er thei clymbe avise hem ofte: Men sen alday that rape reweth; And who so wicked Ale breweth, Fulofte he mot the werse drinke: Betre is to flete than to sincke; Betre is upon the bridel chiewe Thanne if he felle and overthrewe, 1630 The hors and stikede in the Myr: To caste water in the fyr Betre is than brenne up al the hous: The man which is malicious And folhastif, fulofte he falleth, And selden is whan love him calleth. Forthi betre is to soffre a throwe Than be to wilde and overthrowe; Suffrance hath evere be the beste To wissen him that secheth reste: 1640 And thus, if thou wolt love and spede, Mi Sone, soffre, as I the rede. What mai the Mous ayein the Cat? And for this cause I axe that, Who mai to love make a werre, That he ne hath himself the werre? Love axeth pes and evere schal, And who that fihteth most withal Schal lest conquere of his emprise: For this thei tellen that ben wise, 1650 Wicke is to stryve and have the werse; To hasten is noght worth a kerse; Thing that a man mai noght achieve, That mai noght wel be don at Eve, It mot abide til the morwe. Ne haste noght thin oghne sorwe, Mi Sone, and tak this in thi witt, He hath noght lost that wel abitt.