Our Hoste saw well that the brighte sun Th’ arc of his artificial day had run The fourthe part, and half an houre more; And, though he were not deep expert in lore, He wist it was the eight-and-twenty day Of April, that is messenger to May; And saw well that the shadow of every tree Was in its length of the same quantity That was the body erect that caused it; And therefore by the shadow he took his wit*, *knowledge That Phoebus, which that shone so clear and bright, Degrees was five-and-forty clomb on height; And for that day, as in that latitude, It was ten of the clock, he gan conclude; And suddenly he plight* his horse about.
*pulled <1> 'Lordings,' quoth he, 'I warn you all this rout*, *company The fourthe partie of this day is gone. Now for the love of God and of Saint John Lose no time, as farforth as ye may.
Lordings, the time wasteth night and day, And steals from us, what privily sleeping, And what through negligence in our waking, As doth the stream, that turneth never again, Descending from the mountain to the plain. Well might Senec, and many a philosopher, Bewaile time more than gold in coffer.
For loss of chattels may recover’d be, But loss of time shendeth* us, quoth he. *destroys It will not come again, withoute dread,* No more than will Malkin’s maidenhead,<2> When she hath lost it in her wantonness. Let us not moulde thus in idleness.
'Sir Man of Law,' quoth he, 'so have ye bliss, Tell us a tale anon, as forword* is. *the bargain Ye be submitted through your free assent To stand in this case at my judgement. Acquit you now, and *holde your behest*; *keep your promise* Then have