Pride. Sir! it is no marvel.
Bade ye not me, the last day,
To go purvey for your array,
And ye remember well.
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!