“Mi worthi love and lord also, It is and hath ben evere so, That wher a womman is al one, It makth a man in his persone 160 The more hardi forto wowe, In hope that sche wolde bowe To such thing as his wille were, Whil that hire lord were elleswhere. And of miself I telle this; For it so longe passed is, Sithe ferst than ye fro home wente, That welnyh every man his wente To there I am, whil ye ben oute, Hath mad, and ech of hem aboute, 170 Which love can, my love secheth, With gret preiere and me besecheth: And some maken gret manace, That if thei mihten come in place, Wher that thei mihte here wille have, Ther is nothing me scholde save, That thei ne wolde werche thinges; And some tellen me tidynges That ye ben ded, and some sein That certeinly ye ben besein 180 To love a newe and leve me. Bot hou as evere that it be, I thonke unto the goddes alle, As yit for oght that is befalle Mai noman do my chekes rede: Bot natheles it is to drede, That Lachesse in continuance Fortune mihte such a chance, Which noman after scholde amende.” Lo, thus this ladi compleignende 190 A lettre unto hire lord hath write, And preyde him that he wolde wite And thenke hou that sche was al his, And that he tarie noght in this, Bot that he wolde his love aquite, To hire ayeinward and noght wryte, Bot come himself in alle haste, That he non other paper waste; So that he kepe and holde his trowthe Withoute lette of eny Slowthe. 200 Unto hire lord and love liege To Troie, wher the grete Siege Was leid, this lettre was conveied. And he, which wisdom hath pourveied Of al that to reson belongeth, With gentil herte it underfongeth: And whan he hath it overrad, In part he was riht inly glad, And ek in part he was desesed: Bot love his herte hath so thorghsesed 210 With pure ymaginacioun, That for non occupacioun Which he can take on other side, He mai noght flitt his herte aside Fro that his wif him hadde enformed; Wherof he hath himself conformed With al the wille of his corage To schape and take the viage Homward, what time that he mai: So that him thenketh of a day 220 A thousand yer, til he mai se The visage of Penolope, Which he desireth most of alle. And whan the time is so befalle That Troie was destruid and brent, He made non delaiement, Bot goth him home in alle hihe, Wher that he fond tofore his yhe His worthi wif in good astat: And thus was cessed the debat 230 Of love, and Slowthe was excused, Which doth gret harm, where it is used, And hindreth many a cause honeste. For of the grete Clerc Grossteste I rede how besy that he was Upon clergie an Hed of bras To forge, and make it forto telle Of suche thinges as befelle. And sevene yeres besinesse He leyde, bot for the lachesse 240 Of half a Minut of an houre, Fro ferst that he began laboure He loste all that he hadde do.