Toward the Slowe progenie Ther is yit on of compaignie, And he is cleped Sompnolence, Which doth to Slouthe his reverence, As he which is his Chamberlein, That many an hundrid time hath lein To slepe, whan he scholde wake. He hath with love trewes take, That wake who so wake wile, If he mai couche a doun his bile, 2710 He hath al wowed what him list; That ofte he goth to bedde unkist, And seith that for no Druerie He wol noght leve his sluggardie. For thogh noman it wole allowe, To slepe levere than to wowe Is his manere, and thus on nyhtes, Whan that he seth the lusti knyhtes Revelen, wher these wommen are, Awey he skulketh as an hare, 2720 And goth to bedde and leith him softe, And of his Slouthe he dremeth ofte Hou that he stiketh in the Myr, And hou he sitteth be the fyr And claweth on his bare schanckes, And hou he clymbeth up the banckes And falleth into Slades depe. Bot thanne who so toke kepe, Whanne he is falle in such a drem, Riht as a Schip ayein the Strem, 2730 He routeth with a slepi noise, And brustleth as a monkes froise, Whanne it is throwe into the Panne. And otherwhile sielde whanne That he mai dreme a lusti swevene, Him thenkth as thogh he were in hevene And as the world were holi his: And thanne he spekth of that and this, And makth his exposicion After the disposicion 2740 Of that he wolde, and in such wise He doth to love all his service; I not what thonk he schal deserve. Bot, Sone, if thou wolt love serve, I rede that thou do noght so. Ha, goode fader, certes no. I hadde levere be mi trowthe, Er I were set on such a slouthe And beere such a slepi snoute, Bothe yhen of myn hed were oute. 2750 For me were betre fulli die, Thanne I of such a slugardie Hadde eny name, god me schilde; For whan mi moder was with childe, And I lay in hire wombe clos, I wolde rathere Atropos, Which is goddesse of alle deth, Anon as I hadde eny breth, Me hadde fro mi Moder cast. Bot now I am nothing agast, 2760 I thonke godd; for Lachesis, Ne Cloto, which hire felawe is, Me schopen no such destine, Whan thei at mi nativite My weerdes setten as thei wolde; Bot thei me schopen that I scholde Eschuie of slep the truandise, So that I hope in such a wise To love forto ben excused, That I no Sompnolence have used. 2770 For certes, fader Genius, Yit into nou it hath be thus, At alle time if it befelle So that I mihte come and duelle In place ther my ladi were, I was noght slow ne slepi there: For thanne I dar wel undertake, That whanne hir list on nyhtes wake In chambre as to carole and daunce, Me thenkth I mai me more avaunce, 2780 If I mai gon upon hir hond, Thanne if I wonne a kinges lond. For whanne I mai hire hand beclippe, With such gladnesse I daunce and skippe, Me thenkth I touche noght the flor; The Ro, which renneth on the Mor, Is thanne noght so lyht as I: So mow ye witen wel forthi, That for the time slep I hate. And whanne it falleth othergate, 2790 So that hire like noght to daunce,