This Emperour al that he tolde 5140 Hath herd, and thilke unkindenesse He seide he wolde himself redresse. And thus in court of juggement This Adrian was thanne assent, And the querele in audience Declared was in the presence Of themperour and many mo; Wherof was mochel speche tho And gret wondringe among the press. Bot ate laste natheles 5150 For the partie which hath pleigned The lawe hath diemed and ordeigned Be hem that were avised wel, That he schal have the halvendel Thurghout of Adrianes good. And thus of thilke unkinde blod Stant the memoire into this day, Wherof that every wysman may Ensamplen him, and take in mynde What schame it is to ben unkinde; 5160 Ayein the which reson debateth, And every creature it hateth. Forthi, mi Sone, in thin office I rede fle that ilke vice. For riht as the Cronique seith Of Adrian, hou he his feith Foryat for worldes covoitise, Fulofte in such a maner wise Of lovers nou a man mai se Full manye that unkinde be: 5170 For wel behote and evele laste That is here lif; for ate laste, Whan that thei have here wille do, Here love is after sone ago. What seist thou, Sone, to this cas? Mi fader, I wol seie Helas, That evere such a man was bore, Which whan he hath his trouthe suore And hath of love what he wolde, That he at eny time scholde 5180 Evere after in his herte finde To falsen and to ben unkinde. Bot, fader, as touchende of me, I mai noght stonde in that degre; For I tok nevere of love why, That I ne mai wel go therby And do my profit elles where, For eny sped I finde there. I dar wel thenken al aboute, Bot I ne dar noght speke it oute; 5190 And if I dorste, I wolde pleigne, That sche for whom I soffre peine And love hir evere aliche hote, That nouther yive ne behote In rewardinge of mi servise It list hire in no maner wise. I wol noght say that sche is kinde, And forto sai sche is unkinde, That dar I noght; bot god above, Which demeth every herte of love, 5200 He wot that on myn oghne side Schal non unkindeschipe abide: If it schal with mi ladi duelle, Therof dar I nomore telle. Nou, goode fader, as it is, Tell me what thenketh you of this. Mi Sone, of that unkindeschipe, The which toward thi ladischipe Thou pleignest, for sche wol thee noght, Thou art to blamen of that thoght. 5210 For it mai be that thi desir, Thogh it brenne evere as doth the fyr, Per cas to hire honour missit, Or elles time com noght yit, Which standt upon thi destine: Forthi, mi Sone, I rede thee, Thenk wel, what evere the befalle; For noman hath his lustes alle. Bot as thou toldest me before That thou to love art noght forswore, 5220 And hast don non unkindenesse, Thou miht therof thi grace blesse: And lef noght that continuance; For ther mai be no such grevance To love, as is unkindeschipe. Wherof to kepe thi worschipe, So as these olde bokes tale, I schal thee telle a redi tale: Nou herkne and be wel war therby, For I wol telle it openly. 5230