FATHER. I see nothing truly, my son, so meet,
And to prove so profitable for thee,
As unto the school to move thy feet,
With studious lads there for to be.
SON. What, the school! nay, father, nay!
Go to the school is not the best way.
FATHER. Say what thou list, for I cannot invent
A way more commodious to my judgment.[298]
SON. It is well known how that ye have loved
Me heretofore at all times most tenderly;
But now (me-think) ye have plainly showed
Certain tokens of hatred;
For if I should go to my book after your advice,
Which have spent my childhood so pleasantly,
I may then seem driven out of paradise,
To take pain and woe, grief and misery.
All things I had rather sustain and abide,
The business of the school once cast aside;
Therefore, though ye cry, till ye reve[299] asunder,
I will not meddle with such a matter.
FATHER. Why, cannot I thee thus much persuade?
For that in my mind is the best trade.
SON. When all is said and all is done,
Concerning all things, both more and less,
Yet like to the school none under the sun
Bringeth to children so much heaviness.
FATHER. What, though it be painful, what, though it be grievous,
For so be all things at the first learning,
Yet marvellous pleasure it bringeth unto us,
As a reward for such painstaking.
Wherefore come off, and be of good cheer,
And go to thy book without any fear,
For a man without knowledge (as I have read)
May well be compared to one that is dead.
SON. No more of the school; no more of the book;
That woful work is not for my purpose,
For upon those books I may not look:
If so I did, my labour I should lose.
FATHER. Why then to me thy fancy [doth] express,
That the school matters to thee are counted weariness.
SON. Even as to a great man, wealthy and rich,
Service and bondage is a hard thing,
So to a boy, both dainty and nice,[300]
Learning and study is greatly displeasing.