_Man._ Yea, fore God! have ye done the same? _Pride._ Yea, by the rood! else were I to blame. All thing is ready, in pain of shame, Else I quit me ill. The tailor told me yester night That all your garments were ready dight-- Will ye go thither and have a sight? _Man._ Yea, marry! with a good will. _Sloth._ Will ye that I go with you also? _Man._ I wot never whether ye may attend thereto; For ye do nothing But even after your own sweet will. _Sloth._ Why should I ever wait nay that I nill? For, to be a king, I may not endure continual business. I was never used thereto; doubtless I should not live a year If I followed you, I am sure; Ye stir and labour out of measure: I saw never your peer: Ye ween there can nothing be do But if ye put your hand thereto; And I wis that is no need. Ye have servants, that be true and just, If it would like you to put them in trust, And quit well their meed. What should I attend you for to please, When I see well ye set by none ease, Which belongeth to me? _Man._ Why, Ease! what meaneth thee thus to say? I do but eat, drink, sleep, and play, And none other labour, parde! _Sloth._ Yea, ye may say what ye will But I can never see you idle, And quiet as ye should be. Your body laboureth as doth an hackney That beareth the burden every day, That pity it is to see; And your mind, on that other side, Is never idle, nor unoccupied. I wis it grieveth me To see you demeaned that wise: I trow ye be set all on covetise! _Man._ Covetise? nay, let be! It is a thing of greater cure That sticketh in my mind, be thou sure! _Sloth._ So methought, by the rood! I wist as much there was something, By your lowering cheer and your sighing, That was not all thing good-- But, what is the matter? I pray you, heartily! _Man._ I wis thou canst not devise the remedy With all the wit thou hast. But this is the case, to tell it shortly: A thing was told me as I came hereby How Reason purveyeth fast, And maketh very great labour and ordinance To dash us all out of countenance; And, for that purpose, He hath gathered a great company. _Sloth._ What to do? _Man._ I wot ne'er I. But, as I suppose, It is to bring me in captivity; And to take from me my liberty-- So he hath oft said. _Pride._ Fear ye that matter? _Man._ Nay, never a deal! But I care for it, wit ye well, Yet am I not afraid. For I will withstand it proudly; And, sirs! I trust ye will stand thereby When it shall be need. _Pride._ Yea, by the way that God went! Or he have of you his intent First shall I bleed The best blood that is in this carcase.