The vice lik unto the fend, Which nevere yit was mannes frend, And cleped is Unkindeschipe, Of covine and of felaschipe With Avarice he is withholde. Him thenkth he scholde noght ben holde 4890 Unto the moder which him bar; Of him mai nevere man be war, He wol noght knowe the merite, For that he wolde it noght aquite; Which in this world is mochel used, And fewe ben therof excused. To telle of him is endeles, Bot this I seie natheles, Wher as this vice comth to londe, Ther takth noman his thonk on honde; 4900 Thogh he with alle his myhtes serve, He schal of him no thonk deserve. He takth what eny man wol yive, Bot whil he hath o day to live, He wol nothing rewarde ayein; He gruccheth forto yive o grein, Wher he hath take a berne full. That makth a kinde herte dull, To sette his trust in such frendschipe, Ther as he fint no kindeschipe; 4910 And forto speke wordes pleine, Thus hiere I many a man compleigne, That nou on daies thou schalt finde At nede fewe frendes kinde; What thou hast don for hem tofore, It is foryete, as it were lore. The bokes speken of this vice, And telle hou god of his justice, Be weie of kinde and ek nature And every lifissh creature, 4920 The lawe also, who that it kan, Thei dampnen an unkinde man. It is al on to seie unkinde As thing which don is ayein kinde, For it with kinde nevere stod A man to yelden evel for good. For who that wolde taken hede, A beste is glad of a good dede, And loveth thilke creature After the lawe of his nature 4930 Which doth him ese. And forto se Of this matiere Auctorite, Fulofte time it hath befalle; Wherof a tale amonges alle, Which is of olde ensamplerie, I thenke forto specefie. To speke of an unkinde man, I finde hou whilom Adrian, Of Rome which a gret lord was, Upon a day as he per cas 4940 To wode in his huntinge wente, It hapneth at a soudein wente, After his chace as he poursuieth, Thurgh happ, the which noman eschuieth, He fell unwar into a pet, Wher that it mihte noght be let. The pet was dep and he fell lowe, That of his men non myhte knowe Wher he becam, for non was nyh, Which of his fall the meschief syh. 4950 And thus al one ther he lay Clepende and criende al the day For socour and deliverance, Til ayein Eve it fell per chance, A while er it began to nyhte, A povere man, which Bardus hihte, Cam forth walkende with his asse, And hadde gadred him a tasse Of grene stickes and of dreie To selle, who that wolde hem beie, 4960 As he which hadde no liflode, Bot whanne he myhte such a lode To toune with his Asse carie. And as it fell him forto tarie That ilke time nyh the pet, And hath the trusse faste knet, He herde a vois, which cride dimme, And he his Ere to the brimme Hath leid, and herde it was a man, Which seide, “Ha, help hier Adrian, 4970 And I wol yiven half mi good.”