Ensample that it falleth thus, Thou miht wel take of Piramus, 1660 Whan he in haste his swerd outdrowh And on the point himselve slowh For love of Tisbee pitously, For he hire wympel fond blody And wende a beste hire hadde slain; Wher as him oghte have be riht fain, For sche was there al sauf beside: Bot for he wolde noght abide, This meschief fell. Forthi be war, Mi Sone, as I the warne dar, 1670 Do thou nothing in such a res, For suffrance is the welle of Pes. Thogh thou to loves Court poursuie, Yit sit it wel that thou eschuie That thou the Court noght overhaste, For so miht thou thi time waste; Bot if thin happ therto be schape, It mai noght helpe forto rape. Therfore attempre thi corage; Folhaste doth non avantage, 1680 Bot ofte it set a man behinde In cause of love, and that I finde Be olde ensample, as thou schalt hiere, Touchende of love in this matiere. A Maiden whilom ther was on, Which Daphne hihte, and such was non Of beaute thanne, as it was seid. Phebus his love hath on hire leid, And therupon to hire he soghte In his folhaste, and so besoghte, 1690 That sche with him no reste hadde; For evere upon hire love he gradde, And sche seide evere unto him nay. So it befell upon a dai, Cupide, which hath every chance Of love under his governance, Syh Phebus hasten him so sore: And for he scholde him haste more, And yit noght speden ate laste, A dart thurghout his herte he caste, 1700 Which was of gold and al afyre, That made him manyfold desire Of love more thanne he dede. To Daphne ek in the same stede A dart of Led he caste and smot, Which was al cold and nothing hot. And thus Phebus in love brenneth, And in his haste aboute renneth, To loke if that he mihte winne; Bot he was evere to beginne, 1710 For evere awei fro him sche fledde, So that he nevere his love spedde. And forto make him full believe That no Folhaste mihte achieve To gete love in such degree, This Daphne into a lorer tre Was torned, which is evere grene, In tokne, as yit it mai be sene, That sche schal duelle a maiden stille, And Phebus failen of his wille. 1720 Be suche ensamples, as thei stonde, Mi Sone, thou miht understonde, To hasten love is thing in vein, Whan that fortune is therayein. To take where a man hath leve Good is, and elles he mot leve; For whan a mannes happes failen, Ther is non haste mai availen. Mi fader, grant merci of this: Bot while I se mi ladi is 1730 No tre, but halt hire oghne forme, Ther mai me noman so enforme, To whether part fortune wende, That I unto mi lyves ende Ne wol hire serven everemo. Mi Sone, sithen it is so, I seie nomor; bot in this cas Bewar how it with Phebus was. Noght only upon loves chance, Bot upon every governance 1740 Which falleth unto mannes dede, Folhaste is evere forto drede, And that a man good consail take, Er he his pourpos undertake, For consail put Folhaste aweie.